#same time next year 1978

[mourningmaybells]

The Exorcist (1973)

real screencaps from The Exorcist 1973 i promise

[thenewdemocratus]

Lain Lucey: Video: Same Time Next Year (1978) Starring Alan Alda & Ellen Burstyn

. The New Democrat Same Time Next Year might be the best romantic comedy of all-time. And if it isn’t, it might be the smartest romantic comedy of all-time and definitely in the top one percent of both categories. Because I don’t believe it was trying to be funny, but the movie was just so natural. With the two main characters George and Dorris played by Alan Alda and Ellen Burstyn, who were just…

[romanoffsbish]

Insatiable

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!R

As you prepare for your college reunion, and life evolves around you, your wife realizes she’s ready for more. | WC: 1978

18+ | Minors DNI

Smut: Natasha has a penis | Oral / Fingering (R) | Overstimulation | 🤏 Penetration (R) | Breeding

You weren't exactly sure how you got here, or so you feigned—because one second you are on the phone, telling your bestie about your plans for the reunion today with Wanda, the other piece of your trio. Then the next you're pressed up against a door until things eventually escalated to the bed. Certainly, you weren't complaining but you did hear Darcy's muffled disgust followed by the earned dial tone, shortly after a moan.

———

Now though, after an hour, you were starting to feel an aching where pleasure once reigned. "Tasha please," you mewled but she just couldn't stop, "shh," her tone was hushed yet intensely raspy as she begged, "just one more for me detka, please." You moaned, discomfort quieted down for now, your spent body melting into the mattress as it succumbed to the pleasure; again.

Natasha couldn't help it, her eyes were transfixed on your cunt as she just continued to plow her fingers into you, the finest rings of white continued to form on her skin, passing her knuckles and thickening every time she pulled out to slam back in and curl up. Each time without fail you'd gasp, then whine rather incoherently—your pussy took over speaking for you as it gushed and her tongue communicated right back, all you could vaguely hear now was your juices splashing about since her lips had left the curve of your jaw to devour you.

It amazed Natasha just how much you always gave, she looked forward to making love to you every few days just so she could bury herself in your warm core. It wasn't scheduled or anything, just a perfect routine that always led to communal pleasure and comfort. It'd be daily but she liked to give you a break from time to time, even though she still spent it wrapped up in you because she couldn't imagine anywhere better to be.

Ever since retirement you'd become her only focus, she read novels from time to time—like whenever you were out with Wanda and Darcy, which in turn inspired many long nights as you usually walked in wearing a new outfit meant to catch her attention, with a sway to your hips that left her pants tight and her mind wild.

Outside of that though, she had no hobbies, her hero training replaced with nights of endless passion. You were astonished that your vagina still worked; it wept for her the same way your heart yearned for her care.

Natasha was a perfect lover, in all ways, but it wasn't always the case. It took years of patience to receive her unwavering love like this. You fought so hard for her too, making it through hell and back in this life just to find her, then it took forever to break down her walls. Because, up until you she had never regarded anyone romantically; everything was carnal for the redhead.

Now, there was a much deeper connection—a roaring fire lit within you by being her one and only lover. It never wavered; the passion, even on the calm nights where you two were just cuddling, the unique, for you intimacy, it just always got you to a point of neediness..

Like last night, when Natasha stretched behind you and you'd felt the soft outline of her bulge against your backside, it made you wet but then she curled around you so sweetly you'd fall for it, she yawned against your cheek before teasingly questioning your disengaged focus, "how are you liking the movie, moya 'lyubov?"

Knowing full and damn well you were more than likely desperate for her touch, she kept her grip on you firm but it was begrudgingly innocent enough. Which was distracting beyond words as you tried to remember any stupid scene you could critique before huffing, "I hate the Bond series, Tasha." Your wife snuggled closer and kissed you tenderly before changing the film, softening you into the perfect, pliable mess you now were.

Natasha was already clued in when you woke up today, you exited the room in a plush grey robe which usually insinuated you were working on your hygiene routine, shaving away your unwanted hair, leaving behind a soft mound for both of your comfort. You had grabbed a banana then winked at your wife as you walked by and she knew that was an invitation to come ruin you.

Whenever she heard the water being turned off is when she knew you would be close to ready for her, so she set her dishes in the sink and briefly waited for the sign. Soon enough the pipes in the wall swooshed and the redhead ran up the stairs, in a grey sports bra and boxers that had an embarrassing wet patch at the top.

Just as you exited you found yourself between strong arms, with warm lips repeatedly being pressed into the crook of your jaw and neck as her hands gripped your hips roughly. A sweet whimper left your lips as she nipped and sucked on your pulse and the redhead chuckled softly, endeared by your usual neediness.

Then a phone fell from your nervous hands right by her feet and she momentarily froze, then you moaned and she was back, the phone loudly disconnected. It was a blur of sinful pleasure; you were desperate.

Natasha pulled away rather abruptly, biting back a laugh with her smirk as you glared at her. "You've already RSVP'd detka, shouldn't we be leaving now?" It took you a long moment to understand what she was even referring to seeing as how the only thing really thinking for you was your dripping, needy pussy.

You were supposed to go to a reunion luncheon today, that's what you were telling Darcy, who was already with the redhead, because Wanda knew better than to expect you there. To greet the class that brought you into both of their lives when you could stay in solitude with your lover. Plus, she is only even going because she is spearheading a scholarship for young women in stem with her boat loads of Tony Stark's guilt money.

If not for her required presence to pass the first check on in a show, she'd be back at home with her wife, Monica, and their kids—Toby, a blue eyed siamese kitten, and Evelyn, their three month old daughter.

It was crazy to think about, how different life is after a decade of being in one another's lives. Natasha never imagined her circumstances would be this sweet and she thanks the witches ambition for it. She'd went to the college campus one day to visit the Sokovian, who decided to get an education alongside her hero gig. It was an end of the world situation, you were with your part time dorm mate at the time and so the Russian brought you too—muttering crap about your safety.

Four months on the lam later, and you were her girl. Tony apologized and got your education fees paid off for all your prior years and the rest to come for being the reason you nearly lost your future, but now you know you were just being rerouted to the right spot.

"Come back to me sweetheart," she cooed, her heart melting as she somehow caught your love drunk gaze. It was like she was lost in the memories with you. The chance to fall in love all over again was enticing but then she remembered her stubbornness and settled into the moment with you. "What's your color?"

"Yellow." It was an instant answer, but you shrugged because you were unsure if you were truly done yet. Natasha knew that what you needed here was a break, so she made the choice to ignore her throbbing cock.

The redhead hummed softly, then kissed your lips just the same, a smile instantly disrupting the gesture as she felt your delicate hands cup her cheeks to firmly hold her in place. There was no rush to the moment though, you two simply kissed, as if you weren't the same women who just missed a college reunion to fuck.

Natasha had plans for tonight though, while everyone there reminisced on their past few years she had you pinned to the mattress with the future on her mind. For years she turned your pleas down for a variety of reasons, but now, after seeing you with Wanda's baby she realized that there's no more time for her fears. You looked so at peace, with the infant you soothed in your arms and she could see your life to be so clearly.

The kiss that spoke your love for one another came to an end when she felt your grip on her face going limp. Natasha chose then to gently slip her fingers out of you. A soft whimper left you at the loss, soothed only into silence as the redhead lovingly kissed your neck.

Once she pulled back from your body, to kneel above you, her eyes were enamored by the way your essence coated her fingers and slowly trailed down the grooves of her palm. She licked her skin clean, sinful noises leaving her as she shamelessly slurped and moaned. She peered down to see your eyes shut, so she left the room. You were much too tired to protest the loss of your wife's comforting embrace, because the delicious void of sleep began to creep into your once clear vision.

Natasha returned to the room a while later, boxers tight with need but heart full as she found you snoring softly. You looked so pretty, curled around her pillow as if it had actually pained you to be apart from her. A singular tear trailed down her cheek at the feeling of your love that surrounded her in this quiet moment.

A sudden urge to fill you, to give you what you wanted, took over her body as she rushed forward. Still, her approach to you was tender, a thumb traced over the apple of your cheek before descending to your lips, where she gently tapped until you naturally pouted. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, met with the smile of your beautiful wife, you instantly smiled back at her.

"Welcome back," she teased, bringing a bottle of water to your lips before you could sass her right back. Then you were being fed various fruits from the tip of a fork, there was no conversation flowing, the both of you enjoying the comfort of the silence. You were oblivious to your lovers giddy look as you enjoyed a watermelon chunk, unaware she was ready to break it. Then you heard the sound of the fork scraping against ceramic, you flinched back to reality in time to hear her loud and clear, "I am finally ready to fuck a baby into you."

"Natasha no," you warned without the bark, she could see you were asking her not to joke, and her face lit up with resolute amusement. "Fuck," you gulped, her body now hovered yours once again, and you knew you were a goner when she wolfishly grinned down at you. "Detka," her hands wrapped around your ankles and you propped your body up on your elbows to watch.

"Color?" There was no hesitation from you, her eyes told you that she meant it, she was ready, "green."

"Oh fuck," you cried when the tip of her thick cock slid through your glistening slit, unrestricted for the first time, her thumbs dug into the dimples in your thighs as she felt your warmth envelop her. "Dermo." You knew once her mouth met yours—moans leaving her in carnal waves as her hips repeatedly met yours with brutal force, that you were screwed beyond a prayer.

Or, to be more on the nose, you were about to be...

[yandere-daydreams]

Screening: Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978).

Pairing: Yandere!Carlisle Cullen x Reader (Twilight).

Word Count: 2.1k.

TW: Wildly Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Medical Malpractice, Blood, Controlling Behavior, Deliberate Social Isolation, Misuse of Prescription Drugs, and Generalized Twilight. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

It might’ve just been the isolation getting to you, but you were starting to think that your doctor wasn’t completely human.

Not that you’d ever say so out loud. At best, it was awful thing to think about a man who’d only ever been kind to you and, at worst, it proved yet another symptom to your ever-developing, ever-worsening illness had cropped up and would need further treatment to correct. You knew better than to say things that would make you seem more sick than you already were, but it was hard to stop yourself from lingering on the idea – especially considering you only had books, sleep, and his company to pass the endless time. Admittedly, it’d been a while since you’d seen another person, but you could’ve sworn he was paler than he should’ve been, to the point of bloodlessness. He never ate or drank around you, but sometimes when he spoke, the light would catch on his teeth in a way that made them look too sharp, too prominent. You might’ve been dreaming, but once, after you took your medicine but just before you fell asleep, you swore you saw him taking the cap off of the blood sample he’d taken a few minutes prior, like he planned to do something aside from—

You heard a door open and instantly, your paranoia was dismissed in favor of more interesting stimuli. In this case, that came in the form of your doctor, Carlisle Cullen, stepping into your bedroom, an inhumanly perfect smile already painted across his inhumanly perfect lips.

…maybe you should tell somebody about your little conspiracy. If only to be absolutely sure that you were really losing your mind.

“Good morning,” he said, and it occurred to you that you hadn’t thought to check the time, yet. Your life existed in three states: alone, asleep, and with Carlisle. Only that last one really mattered – the other two could easily be lumped into the same category helpfully labeled ‘waiting for Carlisle’s next visit’. “Have you been keeping yourself busy?”

“I’ve only been awake for a couple hours,” you explained, shrugging as he took his usual seat in the chair left next to your bed. He was always polite enough to ask about the boring details of your day, and you were always embarrassed enough to skirt around just how little you had the energy for. Most of the time, it was all you could do to pull yourself out of bed and yourself to eat before retreating back into your little safe haven. On a good day, you’d be able to go for a walk, maybe respond to a few of the calls you were constantly missing, but most days weren’t very good. “Reading, mostly. Thanks again for the recommendation.”

The book he’d lent you – a dry historical drama with characters as bland as water and a plot as boring as sin – sat open on your lap, but you’d only gotten through half a chapter before giving up. It was hard to believe Carlisle was only a few years older than you, sometimes. You couldn’t imagine how someone who seemed so young could have such awful taste.

Still, he looked pleased, his pleasantly aloof expression taking on a defined note of satisfaction. “It’s important to keep your mind occupied while your body’s recovering. You wouldn’t want to waste all of my hard work by letting yourself die of boredom, now, would you?”

“No, doctor.” It was stupid to try, but he’d set himself up for it. You couldn’t seem to stop yourself, your heart beating just a little faster as you grasped blindly for the impossible. “You know, there’s this friend of mine who keeps asking when she’ll be able to visit, and I thought it might help pass the time if—”  

“You’ll have to find a way to let her down.” Carlisle’s voice was smooth, calm. You did your best not to sulk, but still, he let out a labored sigh, only a touch too professional to roll his eyes. “It’s for the best. It’s good that you stay active, but you know what’ll happen if you overexert yourself, don’t you?”

Vaguely. It was hard to remember the details of your condition, and you weren’t in the mood for another lecture. “I do, doctor.”

“And you’re going to behave your check-up, aren’t you?”

“I am, doctor.”

“And that’s why you’re my favorite patient.” Your compliance was rewarded with a beaming smile, an appeased nod as he pulled his old-fashioned leather doctor’s bag into his lap. “We better make good on that promise before you change your mind, then.”

You didn’t protest. Honestly, you didn’t say much of anything. You never talked during your exam, preferring to let Carlisle go through the necessary motions with as little interference as possible. Instead, he filled the silence with mindless chatter about his children and how they were doing at the local public school, the hospital’s ongoings since you were unofficially discharged, and your favorite – Forks’ particularly colorful smalltown gossip, from the sheriff’s wayward daughter moving back into town to the spike in bear sightings on the local hiking paths. “It’ll be a busy week,” he mentioned, as he finished taking your blood pressure. “You might have some unexpected company, after all.”

At that, you perked up. You met nearly all of Carlisle’s assistants (medical students, you guessed, judging by their ages) by now, and even if you didn’t care for all of them, it was still nice to see someone other than him. Your least favorites were the dark haired twins – the wiry boy who always seemed to be biting back a smirk and the pixie-like girl who always acted like she knew something you didn’t – and you were particularly fond of the blonde girl… Rosemary, or maybe Rosaline. She was nice, compassionate, kind enough to keep you company even when Carlisle wasn’t in the room. More importantly, she brought interesting books – romance and horror, novels like Dracula and Carmilla and Interview with a Vampire, always handing over with a sweet smile and a hushed reminder not to let Carlisle know she was breaking his rules. Looking back on it, you probably shouldn’t have accepted anything she tried to give you. You would’ve hated for her to get in trouble just because she was trying to be nice.

Rather than voicing your overwhelming bias, you watched intently as he slipped the loose cuff off of your arm, tucking it back into his bag and removing something else, something long and silver and sharp. Immediately, your gaze shot back to your lap, your throat going dry in an instant. The next time you managed to spit something out, it was nearly too quiet to be audible. “…is there any chance we could, uh, I don’t know,” You paused, shrunk into yourself. “…skip the phlebotomy, this time?”

Carlisle’s answer was as swift as it was ruthless. An airy laugh, a jagged twist to this smile as he took up the needle properly and turned it over in his hand, looking for defects. It was already attached the glass syringe and, even worse, an empty vial; just a touch bigger than you remembered it being, the day before. “And take that kind of risk? How little do you think of me, (Y/n)?”

“It’s not you, it’s just—I already feel a little faint, and you take one every day, and—” You cut yourself off, inhaling sharply. “I just don’t know if it’s really necessary. Considering how careful you are and everything.”

“You’re right, I am careful. Which is exactly why I have to do this each and every time I come to see you.” He sighed, shook his head – suddenly more of a patronizing, paternal figure than any kind of medical professional, let alone peer. “You understand, don’t you? Without regular testing, your condition may worsen, and if you get any sicker than you are now…” You stiffened as he trailed off, bracing yourself. You knew what came next, what always came next.

“You’ll have to go back to the hospital, angel.”

It was strange, how a voice as smooth and as beautiful as his could be so difficult to listen to.

You didn’t like Carlisle. You hated his condescending smile, his repetitive rambling, his terrible taste in books and his creepy little students. You hated how little he let you do, how he talked about your illness – always skirting around the details, never giving you enough information to know whether you were on the verge of dying or a few days away from making a full recovery. No, when you were honest with yourself, you didn’t like him. Hated him, even.

But you couldn’t go back to the hospital, with its blank white walls and sobbing patients and strange, mind-altering drugs that put your sleep and made you feel like someone was biting into your throat. It’d been a miracle when Carlisle first told you about his domestic services, when he offered to have you discharged in exchange for only the promise that you wouldn’t seek care that didn’t come from him. Arrangements were made, your rent and bills taken over by some nameless, faceless local charity, and for the first time in months, you got to go home. You could live with Carlisle and his once weekly, now daily check-ups. You could live with the fact that you didn’t remember the last time you’d gotten to make a decision for yourself.

And, if you had to, you could live with paying for your freedom in blood, too. As long as it meant you didn’t have to go back to that terrible place.

Once again, you didn’t say anything, but you didn’t resist as he sighed and ran a sterilizing pad over your forearm, the antibiotic strong enough to burn. You clenched your eyes shut, but that did nothing to block out the feeling of a thin elastic band being wrapped around the crook of your elbow, of his needle pushing through your skin and burrowing into the vein underneath it. There was a second of pressure, of knotted soreness, and then, the syringe was gone and you were left feeling just a little colder, just a little more empty than you had before.

Even after opening your eyes, you kept them trained on your lap. You easily could’ve spent the rest of his visit in silence, but metal clinked against glass as he rushed to cap his vial and suddenly, you needed to hear the sound of your own voice. “I think I might be getting paranoid,” you managed, with a breath of a laugh. “For a few minutes this morning, I was able to convince myself that you were… I don’t know, an alien studying humanity, or something.”

“If I was, I’m sure that I would still pick you as the best possible specimen for my examination.” It was hollow comfort, but you smiled anyway, nodding along. Your medication came next, in the form of a small, chalky white pill that you still struggled to swallow under Carlisle’s vigilant gaze. You managed to choke it down, though, and as always, the effects were instant; a sudden clearness, blankness, followed shortly by an exhaustion so thick and so heavy, you couldn’t remember what it’d ever felt like not to be tired. You tried to hold yourself up, but faltered – buckling under your own weight. Carlisle chuckled as he caught you, helping you lay down with a soft squeeze to your shoulder, a feather-light kiss to the top of your head. “Sleep, angel. It’s good for you.” And then, his grin still pressing into your scalp. “And try not to dream about vampires, this time.”

So he did know about Rosalie’s books. Pouting, you shrunk into yourself, letting him drag the comforter over your abruptly immobile body as your eyes eased shut, as he pulled away – a vial of your blood still warm in his hand. It would’ve been impossible to stop yourself from falling asleep, but you managed to stave off unconscious long enough to watch him remove the vial’s carefully applied seal, to unscrew the air-tight cap with the kind of tenderness you’d only seen him use while taking your temperature or petting his fingers through your hair after he thought you were already too far gone to remember. He did a lot of things when he thought you weren’t looking, didn’t he? You’d never really noticed that, before.

Through your eyelashes, you watched him bring the vial to his lips before everything went dark.

[johnbrand]

Screen Froze

Podcasting had become inescapable in recent years. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on...well everything. Politics, world sports, cooking, an obscure movie from 1978 only released in a now-extinct language. If it could be covered, it would be. And one could find this content anywhere across the internet. Youtube, social media, even streaming services promoted their podcasters. Everyone was watching everyone talking. 

Of course, with so many different podcasters flying about, it was difficult to actually spot out talent. And from a sociologically micro perspective, it was even harder for individuals to find podcasters discussing the content they actually wanted to hear about. The more unique the niche, the less people one could happen upon to be talking about it during their recorded stream of consciousness. It was a simple formula, but it forced individuals to browse for hours or even days to find what they were searching for.

Sometimes though, people could not hold such patience. They would not wait for their new hero, a disciple preaching their values and morals to audiences around the globe. They would skip past one livestream discussing the economics of green villages in Switzerland to the next debating the potential existence between a minor character in two separate fandom universes. They could even perhaps land into a podcast like Sean’s.

“Most people just don’t understand the Soviet Union’s impact on architecture,” the measly, pale nerd innocently commented. A little shy in front of the camera, he was only able to relax a bit when discussing his favorite topics. Sean dressed in theme too, wearing a brutalist-like business casual outfit, a trait his small but dedicated fanbase adored.

“There were a lot of architects that really shaped this movement from all around the world,” Sean continued. “But today, we are just going to focus on those from the USSR.”

So what happened when one’s patience dried up? Well, everything was brought to a halt.

DragonHeart49: anyone else’s screen freeze? superduperloverboy: mine too <3bitsandmore: sean, I think ur glitching out

With the screen frozen, our impatient soul could now get to work. If one could not find the podcast they were looking for, then why not just create their own? Obviously, this did not mean constructing a podcast themselves, but rather alter the fabric of reality and completely realign another’s being to their preferred state. That was much easier.

Physical modifications were made first. A much larger body was necessary, something that demanded confidence and respect from others. Juicy pecs, rippling abs, sturdy legs. There was always something unreasonably fun in bloating the podcaster’s feet up a few sizes. An imposing frame to be craved by others, even when hidden underneath clothes, was priority. And speaking of clothes, those were quickly stripped down to less formal articles. Expensive branded tee, athletic shorts so small that boxer-briefs were visible, classic white Nike socks, all of it much more respectable than a button-up and tie.

This was not the impatient soul’s first time altering a podcaster to their liking, nor would it be their last. Physically at least, each of the end products were a little different. All alpha males, but just enough variation to not warrant any unnecessary rumors. This particular podcaster had his pre-American heritage redirected from France to India, the features in the screenshot tanning accordingly as a dark stubble acquainted itself along the sharper jawline. Of course, the bulge was accurately enlarged for geographical standards too.

Mentally however, all the podcasters could be considered copies. They each spoke of the same rhetoric, theories, and ideologies that our impatient soul wanted to hear. No matter how “backwards” or “hateful” their discussions were deemed as, nearly anything could be said by hulking bodies with undeniable charisma.

“These homos have no idea what they’re talking about!” Sanjay raged as the podcast restarted, his deep voice cocky and assertive. "Sure bro, I was just thinkin’ about a girl’s rack I saw earlier today but there's more to a girl than big tits. There's a tight pussy too!”

The chat section lit off with encouragement, their fates too having been altered.

MassiveFART69: you tell them fags bro! LOL XD crassmassschlongnator: we want to BREED THEM TOO!!!! <3TITSGALORE: JUST TALKIN ABOUT IT ALREADY GOT SANJAY GRABBIN HIMSELF AGAIN

Sanjay vacantly looked down, finding himself already subconsciously scratching at the thick bush within his shorts. He let out a hot protein fart followed by a laugh, his scratching slowly extending into groping his fat 8 inch babymaker.

“God, that was WET bros!” Sanjay applauded himself, his free massive hand swallowing the mic. “Anyway, I’ll catch you on the flip side dudes, gotta go hit the gym. Bros for life!”

There was a reason the traditional masculine movement was becoming stronger. Maybe it was because men were slowly aspiring to become the alphas’ equals, or because fags were beginning to submit to their nature. Or possibly, it could have been because each time a screen froze, reality was altered one click closer to traditional, normal masculinity.

[spidermans-l-o-v-e-r]

9-1-1 Masterlist

Oh gee finally a place I can keep these! Thank you to my bestest most amazing friend in the whole world for making these headers for me i literally actually literally could not do it without you

Two of a kind

Buck can’t stop thinking about his coworker, so he does what every guy at 3am does on a 24 hour shift!! He sneaks out to his car to get off. But it turns out, certain coworkers (that might possibly be the love of his life) have the exact same idea!

Fairest of Them All:

The party downstairs rages on as Buck decides to do something about the pretty little thing he’s been staring at all night

Clothing Optional:

I can’t. I can’t keep writing summaries. I’ve done 2

After a stupid work shift, in the stupid heat, Buck just wants to enjoy a sweet little sundae, fortunately it comes with a side of dat ass (I’m not sorry)

That Should Be Me:

Buck has never ever been jealous ever a single damn day in his life

Gamer Girl

Buck thinks you’re so, so pretty. You’d looked even prettier with your thighs around his head

Now You See Me:

✨Mirror sex✨

Sleepy Hollow, 1999

Scream, 1996

The Exorcist, 1973

The Shining, 1990

Grease Lightning

The Polar Express, 2004

Growing Pains:

Everything is all wonderful and cool and dandy until you nearly die from your appendix!!

(I KNOW. THERE IS. AN AMBULANCE.)

Cry To Me:

Eddie loves when you’re crying during sex, nothing turns him on more… except when those tears are very very real and he’s very very worried

10 Things I Hate About You:

You guys freaking h a t e each other… or do you? Wink wink wink wink enemies to lovers wink

I Spy:

Eddie is the sweetest neighbor in the entire world… who knows where you work

Better Than Revenge:

You and Eddie get locked into a closet at your job after an accident, it also turns out your now EX boyfriend is a cheating asshole! Eddie has absolutely no problem filling in for the revenge role

Front Row:

Why do firehouses have to work f o r e v e r. Eddie needs a freaking shower and to pass out for the next six years on an overnight shift. It turns out someone has the same idea, and possibly another idea on how to left off some steam

Yeti Point:

Eddie finally takes you on that skiing vacation you’ve been begging him for and it’s going great! Until you get snowed in. But that’s okay, Eddie has a secret plan to keep you both warm

Slow and Steady:

Buck helps Eddie into the house, holding him up as you frantically get the bed ready for your injured boyfriend. Turns out, pain killers make Eddie horny!

(Hahahahahaha)

Encanto:

Dad!Eddie x Daughter!reader

Nightmares never get easier no matter how old you get. Especially ones where your father dies

Smoke Dector:

Eddie always has to be the hero, okay not really but it’s hard when you see your boyfriend running into a burning building for the first time

One Puff Or Two:

Take your freaking inhaler Eddie 🔪🔪🔪

Into The Fire:

(PTSD WARNING, PANIC ATTACK WARNING)

You’ve been on edge lately, and Eddie knows there’s something up. One night things come to a head when you have a nightmare about what happened and Eddie wakes up to a very bad situation

Night Changes:

Eddie comforts you after a bad nightmare about him dying over and over in different ways (based off of 5.14)

Busy Bees:

Two words ✨Sex Pollen✨

Soup or Salad?

✨I’ll freaking summarize this later✨

Sink or Swim

I Was Made For Lovin’ You

Halloween, 1978

It, 1990

Die Hard, 1988

A Rose by any Other Name

This is one of the funniest titles I've ever made up. Buck finds your simple collection of toys and shows them to Eddie... and now they want you to put on a little show for them

Finish Line:

A little game of "whoever cums first loses"

Twice Bitten:

Double Penetration from my kinktober list!

Alexander Hamilton:

Buck can't stop having feelings for Eddie's girlfriend... but what if that's okay?

Captured, With Love

[professorsnape394]

DAY 11 - Unrequited Love

Pairing: Severus Snape x Reader

Rating: 😡

Prompt: Buried

Summary: Long Buried feelings finally come to light and Severus does not know how to react.

A/N: For this one I took inspiration from the last Snapetober I participated in (2021). I found an half-finished unpublished story in my drafts, so here is it finished and fully fleshed out. Enjoy :-)

Warnings:  Angst. Rejection. Spoilers: Unhappy Ending.

Word Count: 2307

Credits to Gif Creator.

Hogwarts Christmas Ball, 1978.

Y/N stared across the dance floor longingly, her gaze captivated by the slender boy on the other side of the room. Despite his tattered dress robes, and slightly greasy hair, Y/N always found herself drawn to him. In fact, her attention was rarely on anything but him. Severus Snape had stolen Y/N’s heart long ago; it was just a shame he knew nothing about it.

Her stomach lurched at the sight of Severus approaching a familiar red-head. While Y/N spent her days watching the boy, Snape spent his trailing around after Lily Evans.

It did not come as a shock to see them at the ball together since it was rumoured her infatuation, James Potter, was absent due to a bad batch of pumpkin pasties. What was surprising, however, was the fact that Severus was supposed to be attending the ball with her. A fact that seems to have slipped his mind.

Fighting back a second bout of tears that week, Y/N turned her gaze elsewhere. While she was under no illusions that Severus would return her feelings, she had hoped that the two of them might enjoy one dance together, even if they remained only friends. She watched on from afar, as her date laughed with another girl. Her face burned with a mixture of jealously and embarrassment.

It wasn’t the first time Severus’ feelings for Lily Evans made her feel small. But it was the first time her best friend had betrayed her so blatantly.  

Hours passed and without a single offer to dance, her classmate’s uninterested in anyone else besides their own dates. Severus remained on the opposite side of the Great Hall, oblivious to the girl whose heart was breaking over him.

Finding the night to be a lost cause, Y/N resided to return to her dorm. With one last glance over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of Severus and Lily dancing arm in arm to a slow song; her head positioned intimately on his chest, his lips brushing against her auburn hair.   When he turned in time with the music, Y/N recognised the unrequited look on his face as the same one she often wore around him. It was in that moment she lost all hope of ever ensnaring the man she so longed to love.

That night forever haunted Y/N’s memory even years after she had graduated from Hogwarts. It was the night she had lost all hope on love, and despite trying to overcome her teenage infatuation, the remnants of her feelings still remained. It was this that prevented her from finding love elsewhere, thus leaving her just as alone in her twenties as she had been as a teen.

Diagon Alley, 1985.

Y/N’s usual weekend ritual consisted of a trip to Flourish and Blotts to purchase a brand-new novel, then visit a local café to begin her next literary adventure. It seemed the only way to escape the bitter thoughts of reality that often creeped up on her whenever she was alone.

The familiar chime of the doorbell welcomed her into the shop, the wall of heat easing the sting of the cold winter air outside. She took her time browsing the bookshelves, roaming up and down the aisles multiple different times before settling upon her final pick.

Y/N finally reached for the hardback, tugging only to find it would not budge. The witch crouched to inspect the issue, finding a second hand tightly gripped the spine from one aisle over, seemingly as reluctant to let go as she was.

An irritated grunt echoed through the silence of the shop, and the book was ripped from her grasp.

“Excuse me, what exactly do you think you are doing?” Y/N exclaimed, marching her way around the shelves. “I had that book firs-“

Her voice trailed away, the sight of her competitor stealing all the breath in her lungs.

“Severus.” She gasped.

“Y/N?” He turned to the woman in surprise.

“It’s… good to see you.” She bit back the tone of shock in her voice. A sickly feeling forming in the pit of her stomach.

“How long as it been? I can’t remember the last we spoke.”

“I can.” She blurted without thought.

After that night at the Christmas Ball, Y/N swore to never speak a word to the man again. Though it pained her, it was ultimately the right decision to try and lessen the hold he had on her. What hurt more was that he never once tried to reach out after that night; it hadn’t occurred to Y/N that their friendship had meant so very little to him.

Snape raised an eyebrow questioningly, waiting for the woman to elaborate.

“I should get going. It was nice to see you again, Severus.” She made a dash for the door.

“Wait. Your book.” He called after her, feeling nothing but utter confusion.

“Keep it, it’s yours.” She disappeared from his sight.

Struggling for breath, Y/N planted herself in the far corner of the café, peeling off her layers of scarfs and her winter coat. Her encounter with Severus had sent her blood boiling, flushing her face with colour and breaking a sweat out on her forehead. He was both the first and the last man she wanted to run into on any given day, she just never expected it to actually happen.

He looked so different now; no longer the lanky teenager she first developed feelings for. Yes, his face had aged, but his slight wrinkles only added to his appeal. At least when she thought back on him, she was picturing the scrawny boy with clothes that barely fit him. Now, however, she would forever see him as the man he had grown to become; tall, broad shoulders, and not completely lacking in the muscle department. And it didn’t escape her notice how strong his grip was when he forced the book from her hands.

Burying her head in her palms, Y/N wanted to scream, cry and throw up all at once. What had once been a distant memory of a childhood crush was now back in full force and she couldn’t get the image of the man out her head.

There was no way of telling how long she sat like that, except for the fact her tea had long since turned cold and the busy streets of Diagon Alley had almost emptied.

Had her hands not been pried away from her face, she may very well have sat like that all night. Her eyes first landed on the leather-bound novel that had been placed gently in front of her, not daring to look at where it had come from.

“Y/N.” Severus spoke softly, announcing his presence.

“How did you know I was here.” She croaked, burning a hole into the cover of the book.

“I remembered how much you liked tea. There was only so many places you could run to.” He took the seat opposite hers. “Why did you run?”

Y/N fought the urge to bury her head in her hands again. How was she going to explain the bizarre reaction she had to seeing him again after all these years.

“What can I get you, Sir?” A waitress interrupted, buying her time.

“Coffee. Black.”

“That’ll be with you in just a moment.” She smiled, returning behind the counter, leaving the two of them to sit in silence once more.

The loaded silence between the two threatened to swallow Y/N whole. Her need to see the look on Severus’ face, outweighed the need to hide the embarrassment on her own. She appreciated he did not push her for an answer, but his intense stare had a similar effect. There was no escaping his question.

“Seeing you again, after all these years… it’s too painful.” She stuttered.

Severus swallowed; it was clear he did not expect such an answer from her.

“Care to enlighten me as to why an encounter with me is … painful for you?”

Y/N searched his face for a semblance of understanding, surely he was not entirely oblivious to her feelings for him.

“Do you remember the last time we spoke?”

Severus didn’t bat an eyelid at her swift change of subject.

“I didn’t think I did.” He started. “But upon seeing you again, I think I remember when it was.”

“It was the day before the Christmas Ball in our Seventh year. We were sat in the common room by the fire. I was telling you about my dress, I was so excited to wear it for the ball.” The memory of the moment had her blinking back tears, it hurt to recount the events. “We were complaining that we both had to attend the ball alone, almost everyone in our year had dates and frankly it was a bit embarrassing that no one had even thought to ask me. You on the other hand made your own choice by refusing to ask anyone at all, considering the one person you wanted to ask was already taken.”

“I recall.” Severus clenched his jaw at the mention of the late Lily Potter.  

“Do you remember what happened later that night? You came to me in my dorm; slightly dishevelled I admit, maybe you had been drinking? I don’t know. But you came to me and asked me to accompany you to the ball.”

Severus froze, the memory slowly coming back to him.

“I don’t think you ever knew how happy that made me. I was completely over-joyed at the thought of having a date to the ball. Not just any date; you. You were the only one I truly wanted to go with and I felt like my dreams were finally coming true. I could barely sleep I was so happy. I spent the whole next day prepping and primping, making myself look the best I possibly could, in the hopes I could somehow manage to impress you.”

“You did not need to impress me.”

“Didn’t I?” Y/N couldn’t help but laugh as a tear fell from her eyes. “Because if my memory is correct; despite my efforts to prepare for a magical evening with you, I spend all of it alone. I arrived in the Great Hall to find my date had apparently been double booked.”

Suddenly it all dawned on Severus at once. He had completely fucked up. Not only by forgetting his arrangement with you, but for leaving his friend on the lurch when she had no one else to go with. He had been so blind by Lily’s request to replace James; he had forgotten everything the two of them had spoken about the night before.

“Y/N.” Severus sighed, massaging his forehead.

“I discovered through my own humiliating research that Lily Evans had become short of a date at the last moment and came to you for help. Which you so graciously offered.” She swiped at the stream of tears pouring down her cheeks.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.” Snape reached across the table to take her hand in his.

“It’s done now.” She sniffled. “But you never even spoke to me after that. All those years of friendship forgotten about in an instant.”

“You were avoiding me like the plague, Y/N. I had no idea what I had done to piss you off, all I knew was that you were mad at me. I thought it would be better if I left you alone.”

“I wasn’t mad at you Severus. I was in love with you.” She looked teary-eyed into his pitying gaze.

Her confession left Severus speechless. Had he really been so blind, that he hadn’t noticed his best friend was in love with him?

He swallowed, clearing the ever-growing lump in his throat.

“I had no idea.” His words were nothing more than a whisper.

“Well, you wouldn’t, would you? While I was staring at you, you were too busy looking at her.”

Severus closed his eyes, taking a second to think back. She was right, his entire youth was memories of pining after. He hadn’t even taken a second to appreciate the one girl who stuck by him through it all.

“That still doesn’t explain why you ran away from me just now? Did I hurt you so bad that you’re still annoyed with me?”

It was Y/N’s turn to fall silent now.

“I think I should go.” She said after an uncomfortably long pause.

Y/N rushed to stand from the small wooden table, Severus stood just as quickly, blocking her exit path.

“Tell me.” He stared intensely into her eyes, his cold hands wrapping around her dainty wrist. “Please.”

The length between his words and hers seemed to go on for days. Finally, she gathered the courage to say the words she had been holding in for so many years.

“I think… I think I might still be in love with you.” His hand fell from hers, retracting as if he had been burned.

While it was her instinct to run away as far as she could, Y/N suspected this would be the one time she would regret fleeing. She needed to hear what he had to say.

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

Her heart sunk.

“Nothing.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “If the obvious doesn’t occur to you, then the best thing to say would be nothing.”

“I’m sorry.” He repeated sincerely.

“It really is time I should get going.” This time Severus stepped out of her way, allowing her access to the door.

“Your book.” He lifted it from the table.

“Keep it. If you ever have a change of heart, I might borrow it from you someday.”

Severus nodded, understanding her words.

Y/N took one last glimpse of him before leaving, flashing him a sad smile that might haunt his memory forever.

[simply-ivanka]

My Long Road From Truman to Trump

I’ve been a Democrat since 1948, when I was 10. But I can no longer abide what my old party has become.

By Bartle Bull Sr. -- Wall Street Journal

I’ve been an outspoken Democrat since 1948, when I was the only student in my fifth-grade class to “vote” for Harry Truman. It’s been astonishingly difficult to disclose that next month I will vote for Donald Trump.

Like many, I will be doing so in the European way, voting for a party and its issues, rather than in the American way of supporting someone I like. When I have expressed my views—on economics, security and cultural matters—long-time liberal friends have said, “You sound like Trump, or some uneducated hillbilly.” Ignoring my schooling at Harvard, Oxford and the Sorbonne, these friends sound like well-meaning dilettantes, otherwise described as self-righteous, useful idiots or bien-pensant.

Such responses prompt me to compare my own liberal credentials with theirs. This makes me a difficult adversary, as I have long been an extremely useful idiot, overloaded with liberal credentials.

To name a few: In 1956 I helped coordinate Harvard Freshmen for Adlai Stevenson. Ten years later, I was arrested as a civil-rights lawyer in Hattiesburg, Miss., where Vernon Dahmer, the local head of the NAACP, had been burned alive in his house. In the same state, I later campaigned for Charles Evers for governor.

In 1968 I quit my job as a Wall Street lawyer to serve as Robert F. Kennedy’s New York campaign coordinator. In 1972, I organized the New York Citizens Committee for McGovern-Shriver. During this period, I was publisher of the Village Voice, a left-wing Manhattan newspaper. In 1976 I worked as Jimmy Carter’s New York state campaign manager, and in 1978 in South Carolina to support Charles Ravenel’s challenge to Sen. Strom Thurmond. My last Democratic Party campaign was in Harlem, backing Craig Schley, a young black reformer, in a primary against Rep. Charles Rangel. In 2008 I was chairman of New York Democrats for John McCain for President.

At the international level, in 1993-94, I volunteered in Bosnia with the International Rescue Committee to help Muslim refugees, spending Christmas Eve with Bosnian soldiers in a bunker in the mountains. In 2010, at 72, I worked in Afghanistan with the Initiative to Educate Afghan Women, going on foot patrols to girls’ schools. The Biden administration later abandoned these courageous women to the Taliban.

For a long time, like an old locomotive, I have been building steam inside when liberal friends, with the certitude and arrogance of the righteous, decry me as a “right-winger.” In a Harvard class-reunion speech many years ago, I said that “Harvard should stand up to the tyrannies of the left today the way it stood up to the tyrannies of the right in the days of Joe McCarthy.” But the progressive agenda doesn’t seem to include what Truman and John F. Kennedy considered liberal values, such as true political tolerance.

Now, as a lifelong Democrat, I am voting Republican for policy reasons, not because I like Mr. Trump. I believe my old party, as it abuses the powers of office and threatens to pack the Supreme Court and end the filibuster, now supports a government that is far too strong at home and far too weak abroad.

Mr. Bull is a writer living in upstate New York. His latest novel is “We’ll Meet Again.”

[citizenscreen]

Love them and this.

Alan Alda and Ellen Burstyn in Robert Mulligan‘s SAME TIME, NEXT YEAR (1978)

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Hugh D’Andrade’s “The Murder Next Door”

I'm about to leave for a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me on Feb 14 in BOSTON for FREE at BOSKONE , and on Feb 15 for a virtual event with YANIS VAROUFAKIS. More tour dates here.

Hugh D'Andrade is a brilliant visual communicator, the art director responsible for the look-and-feel of EFF's website. He's also haunted by a murder – the killing of the mother of his childhood playmates, which cast a long, long shadow over his life, as he recounts in his debut graphic novel, The Murder Next Door:

https://www.streetnoisebooks.com/the-murder-next-door-a-graphic-memoir

In 1978, Hugh was a normal ten year old, always drawing and obsessed with riding his dirt bike around his quiet suburban neighborhood. The brothers next door, Derek and Ari, were his constant playmates. One day, he came home from school to find them standing on the lawn. The brothers were crying, arguing. When Hugh asked them what was going on, Derek said there was a dead body in their house, then Ari quickly said, "It's someone else, Derek, it's not her." Ari insisted that it was their mother.

As they argued, Derek told Hugh to go inside and look for himself. That's how he found the dead body of his next door neighbor.

This became the defining moment of Hugh's life. For the rest of his life, he felt like there was a before-Hugh and an after-Hugh, the Hugh before the trauma and the Hugh after it. Passing strangers on the street, he wonders about their rifts, the moments that transformed them, that haunt them.

After finding the body, Hugh ran to his own parents, who called the police, gathered in Derek and Ari, and took charge of the situation. When the dust settled, Derek and Ari had disappeared, sent off to a neighbor's place. A week later, when Hugh returned to school, a classmate told him that the whole school had "decided not to talk about it." So he didn't.

But he was haunted by the murder, seized by spasms of fear that the murderer would return for him. He threw tantrums, broke things, smashed things. His parents said it was "just a phase." He interrogated his parents relentlessly about what they would do if the murderer came back. Their answers were meant to reassure him, but failed. Life went on. Whispers blamed his neighbor's husband – a doctor who was at the hospital at the time of the killing – for the murder.

Murder Next Door is told in a series of interleaved scenes of Hugh's childhood, his adolescence, his contemporary therapy sessions, his life today in Oakland. He interrogates his own motivations for engaging endlessly with online conspiracists. He reflects on the years he spent with his mother, campaigning for the Equal Rights Amendment, and how that informed both his lifelong feminist beliefs, and his view of the murder of a woman in the house next door. He comes to see a pathway from harassment and sexist remarks to sexual violence and murder, and to notice how the boys at school exhibited the same sexist attitudes that he was noticing in wider society. He struggles to figure out what masculinity is, and what kind of man he wants to be – a strong man, who protects women from men like the murderer? But the murderer was a strong man, too.

As a young activist campaigning against the first Gulf War, Hugh becomes militant, aggressive, trying to bully his classmates into caring about the conflict as much as he does – to care about the innocents whose blood was about to shed in their name. Their indifference makes him relive, over and over, the murder of his neighbor. It's as though he knew in advance that she was about to be killed and couldn't get anyone else to care about it.

Eventually, as an adult DNA analysis identified the killer, a long-dead man who had done some upholstery work for the family a few weeks before the murder. Some of Hugh's nightmares go away.

The Murder Next Door is a haunting, beautiful meditation on masculinity, trauma, and fear. Hugh is a superb illustrator, particularly when it comes to bringing abstract ideas to life (which is why he's so valued at the EFF!), and this is a tale beautifully told (with permission from Derek and Ari and other family members). It's an extraordinary book.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/10/pivot-point/#eff

[one-divides-into-two]

"If we treat the Stonewall Uprising as initiating the modern gay mass movement in 1969, the left-adventurist line was initially dominant, and fell by the wayside in the late 70s. Those who led the first wave of the LGBT movement of the 60s understood themselves (however incompletely) as participating in a revolutionary movement and process: In broad strokes, the early “left” line groups of gay liberation located the center of gay oppression in the family form itself and were explicitly in solidarity with the women’s movement as in many ways the same as their own (ideologically if not always practically). The British Gay Liberation Front’s Manifesto reads

The oppression of gay people starts in the most basic unit of society, the family...At some point nearly all gay people have found it difficult to cope with having the restricting images of man or woman pushed on them by their parents...we are expected to prove ourselves socially to our parents as members of the right sex (to bring home a boy/girl friend) and to start being a 'real' (oppressive) young man or a 'real' (oppressed) young woman

The Boston Gay Men’s Liberation group argued in their manifesto for the collectivization of childcare and housework, saying

Rearing children should be the common responsibility of the whole community. Any legal rights parents have over ‘their’ children should be dissolved and each child should be free to choose its own destiny. Free twenty-four hour child care centers should be established where faggots and lesbians can share the responsibility of child rearing

Others explicitly aligned themselves with the national liberation and anti-imperialist struggles of the time –Third World Gay Revolution went so far as to explicitly call for armed struggle towards establishing socialism. The gay struggle, to these organizations, was necessarily part of the struggle for the end of capitalism and the liberation of all oppressed and exploited peoples.

Nevertheless, these groups primarily took the left-adventurist line, and the failure of these organizations to place politics in command and take up Marxism fully (despite its influence within the movement), and the failure of the leading Marxist organizations of the time to cast aside their chauvinism, place politics in command, and embrace the LGBT movement (most notably RU/RCP, which maintained that homosexuality was “perpetuated and fostered by the decay of capitalism” and to be eliminated under socialism until 2001 and engaged in conversion therapy-style practices on their gay cadre), allowed the bourgeoisie to co-opt the movement and suppress its revolutionary strains. By the end of the 1970s the main left-adventurist groups that emerged from the movement's popular initiation via the Stonewall Uprising (GLF, STAR, TWGR, etc) had collapsed, and were replaced by the newly dominant right-opportunist trend, represented in groups like Lambda Legal (founded 1971), GLAD (1978), and the Human Rights Campaign (1980). Occasional left-adventurist ruptures emerged over the succeeding years, with ACT UP's break (rooted in part in gay and lesbian anti-imperialist solidarity work in the preceding years) from Gay Men's Health Crisis representing the most significant of these, but over the next three decades the bourgeois "marriage equality" became the central demand of the movement, with the implication that once these various reforms proposed by the right-opportunist trend were enacted, the gay movement would cease to be necessary.

In the first two decades of the 21st century these reforms were realized, and the idealist fantasies of the leading bourgeois gay organizations were not. These reforms were granted because they reaffirmed the bourgeois family form, successfully assimilating the leading upper strata of LGBT people as a method of defusing the movement as a whole. While in some ways the broad social acceptability of homosexuality, transness and gender nonconformity have increased, the reaction to these reforms has produced a vicious effort to oppress the lower strata, typically trans people.

Indeed, all empirical evidence points to the continuing existence of anti-gay and anti-trans oppression. In our younger years, parents, teachers, and other authority figures will attempt to suppress any expression of homosexuality, transness, or gender non-conformity. The passive and active social enforcement of your sex/gender role is a universal experience, but is felt particularly acutely by those most directly in contradiction with those roles. When this fails, authority figures sometimes resort to violence and sexual abuse – gay and trans children suffer higher rates of psychological, physical, and sexual abuse across the board as compared to their cis and straight peers. LGBT people as a whole make 10% less than the average worker. This is felt more acutely among trans people, particularly trans women (in line with their cis counterparts), who make just 60% of the average. What bourgeois sociological evidence does exist points to significant discrimination in housing, jobs, medical care, etc. Accessing medical care is a struggle of its own for trans people – getting the treatment needed for basic day-to-day existence is often humiliating and expensive.

For younger LGBT people, particularly trans people, this political sequence has produced significant "whiplash." We grew up in a period of a real increase in broad social "acceptance," and being told that these reforms would guarantee an end to our oppression. But the utter abdication of leadership by the rightists following the reforms (after all, "we won") and the reactionary backlash has left the movement with a vacuum of political and organizational leadership at a crucial conjuncture. In the absence of this leadership, small groups have begun to emerge, largely taking up the left-adventurist anarchist line, sometimes explicitly. In some ways, this is a positive situation for communists. The broad masses of LGBT people are crying out for leadership in their struggle against the reactionary offensive, and the failure of the bourgeois rightist line to provide its promised victory has revealed to many gay and trans people, particularly those of the lower strata, the bankruptcy of reformism.

The current assault on our self-determination by the reactionary wing of first-world politics presents us with an opportunity to smash that trend, to effect a final rupture. Gay and trans people, particularly trans people, are increasingly forced into direct confrontation with the bourgeois state (through its repressive laws) and its extra-legal shock troops (with trans events becoming one of the primary targets for street fascist attacks). Not since the AIDS crisis have we seen such direct confrontation – and with it, openness to revolutionary communist political projects.

The task before communists in the gay movement is therefore to rectify the line of the movement through theoretical and practical struggle, to offer leadership to the gay and trans masses, and transform this movement into a detachment of the world proletarian struggle for communism."

Half the Sky: Preliminary Materials for a Proletarian Feminist Politics

[mourningmaybells]

this movie would be unbearable if I wasn’t insanely attracted to ellen burstyn and alan alda and it wasn’t referenced so much that i needed to know what the fuss was about

[t4twnyclaw]

'Perfect' Timeline

I have come up with the 'perfect' timeline of events- where the clans exist roughly 30 years before firestar joins. Spoilers for Ivypool's Heart.

**KEEP IN MIND. Especially in eras before Firestar's time, the average life expectancy was about 5-6 years old with many cats dying rather young.

(This is 'canon' as most of the first ARC warriors actually die before the time they're 7 years old, Whitestorm, Willowpelt, Brindleface, Redtail, Spottedleaf, even Bluestar died before she was 8 years old, I think.)**

"Dawn of a New Era" (1978-1983)

First five years : The DOTC Arc take place, For REDUX purposes, i'd switch around some events and family trees but timeline-wise, things are the same.

'Great Migration' -> Mountain cats, Who are hybrids between bobcats and lynx's (Like the cats seen in Ivypool's Heart.) Leave the mountains to 'discover' the Forest.

'Gorse and Forest cats Vs. Settlers' -> The typical nonsense with Clear Sky and Tall Shadow fighting the cats that already live there.

'The first Blood Bath' -> The battle at the Five trees take place and first 'Leadership' and 'Clans' are officially formed.

Mothwing discovers the religion known as 'Starclan'. However, this is not the only spiritual belief. The mountain cats early religion is a mesh of the Sister's belief and the Wildcats belief from Ivypool's Heart.*

"Discovery Era" (1983-1988)

The next five years: The OG founders die, Shadowstar dies, Skystar dies etc. Leadership is 'passed down' to deputies.

Official 'Code of the Clans' is formed. This is where the rules are created by individual cats come in. Noticeably, the Queens Rule is absent/just the bare bones.

Mentorship and Naming conventions created

Individualism within the Clans are utilised. (Windclan are spiritual and pray, Shadowclan are 'nocturnal' etc.)

"The Rotting of the Fifth Tree" (1988-1993)

Skyclan is driven out, with their territory becoming a dog park/ new homes for humans and kitty pets.

Stripestar and Galestar are born around this time, and grow up alongside Cloudstar's offspring. They merge their Clans together and decide to leave the forest like in canon--however they make their previous deputies leaders of the forest with a very small amount of both WC and TC choosing to follow the young leaders away from the forest.

Both Stormclan and Skyclan are erased from history- since the events happened very close to each other and alot of cats families and loyalties were severed.

Mapleshade is born near the end of this era.

"Modern Era" (1993-2003)

Mapleshades Death -> As a result the Queens Code is solidified and built upon. No cat is required to reveal a kitten's parentage. No cat can ignore a kitten in pain or in need. Kittens from half-Clan unions 'belong' to the clan they are born in.

Willowbreeze + Graypool -> When they're taken from RC, the Queens Code is changed again and solidified.

Era ends when Firepaw joins TC as an apprentice.

[atlasdoe]

THE HOGWARTS CLASS OF 1978 - pt 20

JAMES POTTER

Name - James Potter

Blood status - Purebloood

Date of birth - 27th March 1960

House - Gryffindor

Academic achievements - Chaser for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Quidditch captain, Headboy

He was killed by Voldemort trying to protect his wife and son after they were betrayed by their secret keeper

Cannon

Both of his parents were elderly even by wizarding standards

Having been conceived so late in his parents lives, he was raised in a doting household with little material limits and pampered a great deal. Hence, it was no surprise that he's grew to be proud. arrogant and boastful but deep down still a good person

At some point during his school years, James took a photo of Hogwarts Castle at sunset and gave it to Remus

At the age of sixteen James' parents allowed Sirius to move in with them so he could escape his family

Both of James' parents attended his and Lilys wedding

In around 1977 he and Sirius were involved in a motorbike chase with two Muggle policemen. Although the chase started off as a bit of fun, it turned more serious when the pair were attacked by three men on broomsticks

He and Lily defied Voldemort three time

At some point between 1979 and 1980 James' parents died of Dragon Pox and he inherited the cast Potter family fortune from them which enabled him to comfortably support his family without the need for a paying job

James also used his wealth to support a Remus who was en employed due to his status as a werewolf

Headcanons

Pansexual

Growing up, whenever his parents had to go to work or out with their friends they would drop them off at the ice cream shop where Florean Fortescue would watch him for the day as he also took care of Alice. Barty Crouch Jrs parents also did the same

Usually, when they were really young theyd only just sit in a booth together and colour and play hide and seek in the shop (which theyd always get in trouble for) and as they got older theyd be allowed to go around Diagon Alley but only if they stuck together and would stick to the village only. (And theyd have like everyone there keeping an eye on them because Alices father is well known and liked so nobody would let anything bad happen to them anyways.)

* Alice goes to Hogwarts first and when she comes back she is telling stories upon stories about school to the point where James and Barty would tease her about always talking about Hogwarts and nothing else.

* James goes next and gets sorted into Gryffindor along with Alice. While at Hogwarts Alice watched James like a hawk for his first few weeks, she really was the older sister he never had and she was so excited to share Hogwarts with him. She gave him a tour and told him everything about everyone and wanted to know all of his thoughts

* When Barty joined he was sorted into Slytherin and made it his mission to get James and Alice to leave him alone. He wanted to fit in and he had no trouble in doing so. He made sure that he acted his worse around James and Alice and no matter how hard they tried they weren't getting him to change

* Alice gave up on Barty before James did

* James became friends with Dorcas Meadows when they were in their fourth year during a game of seven minuets in heaven

* James had wanted to befriend Dorcas for a while, mostly because she was Remus’ step sister and James thought they would get on most

* Dorcas was hesitant to be his friend at first because of not only the history and common knowledge f James hating all Slytherins but just because she didnt think they would be good friends, but she did accepted his hand of friendship

* That night they came up with three ruled for their friendship also 1) No house slander off of the Quidditch pitch 2) No telling on each other to Remus and 3) Only say "I love you" if its for a dramatic goodbye

* Since that day James and Dorcas began to build a bond. One that went further than house colours and rivalry. From the friendly nods that they gave each other in the corridor to the countless times that Slughorn now had to call them out for talking too much. Something had sparked between the two that only grew into a friendship that neither of them could ever deny

While Lily and James were in hiding James got a letter from Dorcas which she sighed off with "I love you" James knew what it meant but couldn't do anything since he was in hiding

He was a little bit pissed off that he didn't make Prefect in his year since he thought he had it in the bag. He started working more in his academics after that and improved so much that he became Head Boy

While Quidditch captain he chose who was on the team based on his friends. He told everyone that every position was up for grabs but there was no universe where he wasn't having Sirius, Alice, Frank and Mary on the team

Everyone was his friend but he was not everyone's friend. There was only a few people who James truly cared about

Those people were Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Lily Evans, Mary MacDonald, Alice Fortescue, and Frank Longbottom

His first crush was Patricia Rakepick who was in her fifth year when his was in his first

He secretly dated Regulus Black during his fifth year and Regulus' fourth. The only people who knew was Sirius, Alice and Pandora Ollivander. James and Regulus had an agreement that James could tell Sirius if Regulus could tell Pandora. Alice found out about them after walking in on them kissing

Regulus started ignoring James after Sirius ran away because he was mad at James for letting Sirius stay with him. James attempted to get Regulus to talk to him but gave up completely when rumors that Regulus had joined the Death Eaters started going around the school

He and Lily got together during the summer before their seventh year

When James and Lily got married they went all out. They had a wedding weekend in the country side and has a massive reception that everyone they knew was invited to

[lupinmoonlight]

Could you do smth like they meet again after years??? She's a professor and he too so she saw him at the first day in the great hall and after that they run into each other in the teachers' room. They were friends when they went to school and they were always attractedby each other.

Thank you and btw I love your writing:)

Lost and Found

Masterlist AO3

Summary - You and Remus Lupin had a crush on each other ever since you were students at Hogwarts but never had the courage to even speak. You spend the next 20 years living your separate lives, you as an Auror, and he, just surviving. Unable to live under the stress of your profession anymore, you retire and start teaching at Hogwarts, still hoping to fill the void Remus had left behind. In September 1993, everything changes. (3,190 words)

Warnings - Fluff, cheesy, angst, a bit of hurt/comfort, a bit of self-hatred, kissing, mention of wizarding war and lost of loved ones, my grammar (english is not my first language), not proof read.

Notes - I am almost ashamed of posting this considering I received this request over a month ago. I am so sorry anon, I have been traveling all of August. Thank you so much for your request and kind comment. I hope you like this one! (sorry if it's too cheesy I got carried away lol)

June 1978

One last glance, that's all you wanted. You pulled your hair back, looking discreetly across the Great Hall. As always, Remus was there, just a few seats away. He looked sad, just as sad as you, but it couldn't be for the same reason. The warm, golden rays of the sun reached through the windows and danced across his face, as if the sky itself was trying to comfort him. It graced his scars, making them glow a beautiful shade of gold. You were doomed. Absolutely doomed. And sad. And in love. And doomed. 

You would always sit close, steal glances, exchange the occasional smile in the library. You had become experts at unsaid conversations, your hearts screaming out words that your lips never uttered. 7 years of unspoken love, of quick glances, of butterflies in your stomach, of hoping he would sit next to you in potions, of worrying when he would disappear for a few days. You knew why, it was easy enough to figure out for anyone who paid close attention. But you didn't care. You loved him for 7 years. 7 years that were about to be ripped away from you. 

Remus felt your gaze and looked up. Your eyes met, and for a split second, time seemed to stop. You wanted to say something. I love you. But the lump in your throat held your words hostage. The weight of the impending silent goodbye threatened to shatter the fragile world you had created. 

As breakfast came to an end, you all began your journey towards Hogwarts Express. The station was alive with chatter, laughter, and tearful goodbyes. But amidst the chaos, there were two souls whose worlds had never been more silent. 

You found yourself in a compartment and gazed out the window, lost in thoughts, watching what had become your second home for 7 years slowly disappear in the distance. Every time the train jolted, you wished it would be Remus entering your compartment, as if he would be braver than you. Why didn't you go to his compartment? You were a coward that's why. Because being rejected would hurt more than saying goodbye. 

Remus sat a few compartments away, his heart pounding in his chest. Despite the presence of his three best friends, he felt alone. The knowledge that this journey might be his last with you was gnawing at his soul. 

The train finally pulled into King's Cross, and students disembarked, eagerly searching for their families. You made your way through the crowd, hoping, stupidly praying for one last moment with Remus. As you approached the barrier between the platform and the muggle world, you took a deep breath and looked back. And there he was, Remus, looking just as lost as you felt. Your eyes met across the platform, and everything went quiet, blurry. 

You crossed the barrier and found yourself on the muggle side of the platform and looked back once more, catching a fleeting glimpse of Remus, who seemed to be vanishing amidst the crowd. You felt a visceral ache. A lump formed in your throat, stubborn and solid, just as you had been during those 7 years, refusing to admit your feelings. You hated yourself. Coward, you kept telling yourself. But you loved him. Was teenage love supposed to be this painful? Because if yes, you were done with it. Never again, you thought. You wiped away the unshed tears from your eyes, put on your most determined face on, and went to your parents waiting in the crowd. You had a career to build, and Aurors were not made of lovesick teenagers. 

1981 - 1991

After graduating, the world outside Hogwarts proved to be colder and crueler than you had imagined. The First Wizarding War was a brutal, heart-wrenching time. As planned, you took the path of an Auror, but not for the same reasons you had wanted. Rather, it was in a desperate attempt to right the world's wrongs, to lose yourself, to numb yourself. It was your refuge, but it was also a painful reminder of the war's cost, a daily confrontation with terror and death. Was Remus alive? The question gnawed at you the moment you opened your eyes every morning. It consumed you. You had not seen each other in over 10 years, but the mere thought of him losing his life felt like someone was ripping you open with their bare hands, no magic. Maybe that's what drove you, in the end, to be an Auror. Stupid teenage love. 

The horrors of your profession haunted you every night. You had been dishonest with yourself. Sure, you wanted to "right the world's wrongs". But really, every time you were out on a mission, you were looking for him, the boy, now man, with sandy hair, with golden scars, with the softest voice, kindest eyes, shyest smile. But he was never there. So you gave up and did everything you could to bury every memory of him as deep as possible, unreachable, and decided to try and go teach other lovesick teenagers. At least then, you would feel at home. 

And home, you were. The old headmaster was still there, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. Professor McGonagall, head of your house years ago, welcomed you back with the expression of a proud mother. In her eyes, you had made it. You had been successful. An Auror retiring to teach young witches and wizards. But you didn't feel successful, you felt broken, empty. And the only other colleague who seemed to reflect that void was Severus. You had been surprised to see him as a teacher. The man had always been isolated, grim-looking, sad. He reminded you of a dementor, and maybe that's why you enjoyed sharing a cup of tea with this old classmate in the staff room, to torture yourself and forget about your lost love. Had he really been a dementor, you don't even think you would have been affected because all that was left was nothing. Longing. Hurt. Despair. 

Yet, in your first term as a teacher, you had this stupid hope. Maybe. Maybe Remus would walk through the Great Hall. Of all four troublemakers, he was the prefect, after all. Of course he would be a teacher. You had been so obsessed with this idea that you started losing sleep months before the term started. You surveyed the staff table like a hawk, looking for him. You were going mad. Here you were, grown, accomplished, yet still obsessing over your teenage love, retracing your steps through the halls like you used to 20 years ago to catch only a glimpse of him. Except now you knew he wouldn't be there. 

September 1993

You sat at the long staff table, your eyes idly scanning the crowd of eager young faces gathered in the Great Hall. You were numb. Not even waiting for anything anymore. Just going through the motions. Professor McGonagall had just finished calling out the names of the first-year students when the staff entrance at the side of the Hall creaked open. 

You turned your head reflexively, expecting another late-arriving student or perhaps a staff member who'd lost track of time. What you did not expect was the sight that greeted you, freezing you in your seat. 

A man stepped into the Great Hall, pausing for a moment to soak in the ambiance as if he too were revisiting old memories. Older and more weathered than you remembered, his sandy hair was now tinged with grey, and his face bore scars that were definitely not there during your Hogwarts years. His robes, though neat, were faded and had seen better days. But it was his eyes- those gentle blue eyes, filled with a unique blend of sorrow and kindness- that told you everything you needed to know. 

Remus. 

Your heart was pounding so loud in your chest that you were sure the entire Hall could hear it. The moment his eyes met yours, he too froze in place, as if the mere sight of you had rooted him to the ground. A mixture of emotions swirled in his gaze- surprise, confusion, and something softer, more intimate, that you hadn't seen in anyone's eyes for a long time. 

Tears welled up in your eyes, unbidden but not unwelcome, as you shared a look so intense, it was as if no one else existed. A look that whispered of years lost, of what could have been, and- perhaps- of what still might be. Not a word was spoken, but in that moment, volumes were said, a dialogue only you could understand. 

The gravity of the moment was so strong that you barely registered Remus moving again, navigating his way through the Hall to join the staff at the table. As he sat down beside you, the familiar scent of him struck you like a freight train- parchment, coffee, and a hint of pine trees. It was intoxicating, transporting you back to a simpler time, back to late-night study sessions and furtive glances. Your cheeks flushed as you realized that the empty chair next to you would be his for the entire year. There you were, a lovesick teenager again. 

You found yourself struggling to maintain your composure as Dumbledore rose to his feet to introduce the new staff member. 

"Before we continue, I'm pleased to welcome Professor R.J Lupin, who's kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," he announced, his eyes twinkling as he gestured towards Remus. 

The students erupted into applause as Remus stood up awkwardly, a sheepish smile on his face. You found yourself unable to clap, your hands trembling in your lap as you watched him. It was surreal to see him here, after all these years. 

As soon as the ceremony ended, before the feast even began, Remus got up from his seat and made his way out of the Great Hall almost immediately, without saying a word. He looked almost...flustered? Impossible, you thought. YOU were flustered. How could he be? 

For days after your wordless reunion, you and Remus moved in parallel orbits, close yet never intersecting. The tension between you was palpable; an emotional undercurrent that resonated through every stolen glance and momentary brush of your eyes. You would catch him staring at you across the Great Hall during meals, only for him to look away, flustered, when you met his gaze. He would spot you in the corridors, seemingly engrossed in conversation with Professor McGonagall, but he knew you were acutely aware of his presence. 

You both longed to talk, to share the feelings that had overwhelmed you during that first eye contact, yet you were both paralyzed by a mix of fear, vulnerability, and the weight of years that had gone by. Remus, scarred by the war, lost everyone he loved most, was terribly afraid of loving again. And you, scarred by years of void, searching, numbing, were terribly afraid of being rejected. 

The tension reached its peak one fateful evening when you found yourselves alone in the staff room. You had come to fetch some papers you had left behind, while Remus had sought the space for its quiet ambiance to prepare for his next lesson. As you entered, you were met by the aroma of ancient books, polished wood, and a hint of brewing tea. Remus was standing there, looking startled but then quickly regaining his composure. 

"Ah, good evening," he stuttered, his voice tinged with the nervousness he felt. It was the first time you heard his voice in 20 years. It was deeper, but just as rich, just as soft, making you feel just as weak. 

You felt your cheeks flush as you stepped further into the room. "Good evening," you responded, your voice a half-octave higher than you intended. 

It was awkward, the air was thick with unspoken sentiments and unanswered questions. Remus cleared his throat and offered a formal, almost painfully awkward introduction. 

"You might not remember me, I'm R-" 

Might not remember him? Was he dumb? Clueless? Blind? No. He was just a man, you thought. 

"I know," you cut him off gently, trying to act as if he had not consumed 99% of your brain capacity for the last 20 years. "I do know, Remus." 

The air lightened a little at your words, as if acknowledging your shared history made it easier to breathe. Almost easier. 

"I was just about to make myself a cup of tea. Would you like one?" he offered, trying to navigate the awkwardness that hung in the room. 

"Yes, thank you", you agreed, grateful for a way to break the emotional deadlock. 

As Remus moved to pour the boiling water into the cups, his hands were less steady than he'd have liked. You watched him, your heart pounding in your chest as if it wanted to leap out and bridge the gap that had opened up between you over the years. He handed you the cup, your fingers brushed ever so slightly. The contact, though fleeting, sent a rush of warmth surging through you both. 

From that day on, you became inseparable- or as inseparable as two Hogwarts professors could be. You found excuses to bump into each other in the hallways, 'accidentally' coinciding your evening strolls by the lake or the Forbidden Forest's edge. You began to steal moments wherever you could- sitting together at meals when you could manage it, pausing in empty classrooms for brief, whispered conversations. 

Yet, for all your newfound closeness, you both tiptoed around the deeper emotions and unspoken confessions that hovered in the background. You would catch yourself about to say something too revealing and would quickly pivot the conversation to safer topics. Remus, too, would often find himself on the verge of saying something he feared could ruin everything but would pull back at the last moment, as though treading on dangerous ground. 

The late-night strolls became your sanctuary, where the rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you and your carefully guarded feelings. 

"You've changed the curriculum quite a bit," you would say, your eyes sparkling as you discussed his innovative teaching methods. 

"And you've managed to make Arithmancy popular. I've never seen so many students signing up for it," he would reply, his eyes lingering on your face as if trying to decipher the mysteries hidden behind your eyes. 

You would both laugh, the tension easing for a moment, yet neither of you would take that final, daunting step to acknowledge the flame that had been rekindled and now burned almost painfully. 

It was a dance you both had perfected, a dangerous game you played. And though you circled around your feelings, it was clear to you both that this delicate balance couldn't last forever. It was as if you were students again. Desperate, lovesick, terrified teenagers. 

And you couldn't take it anymore. You wouldn't. That night, the air was particularly cold, the air crisp, and the half-moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the grounds. 

"It's been weeks, Remus. Weeks since you came back into my life," you began, your voice shaky. "We keep circling around each other like we're afraid of something." 

"Afraid?" Remus responded, trying to maintain his composure. "There's nothing to be afraid of." 

"Isn't there?" You looked up, your eyes meeting his. "Then why haven't you touched me? Why haven't we talked about what's really going on between us? Why haven't you invited me out for a coffee?" 

Remus looked away, visibly wrestling with himself. "I can't. I can't give you what you want." 

The raw pain in his voice struck you, and you felt your own eyes brimming with tears. "And what do you think I want, Remus? Is it so wrong to want to be with you? Or am I not good enough for you?" 

He took a deep breath, his voice tinged with bitterness. "You deserve someone better, someone who can be there for you in all the ways I can't."

That was it. The dam of emotions you'd been holding back for years finally burst. "Better? Do you have any idea how many nights I've lain awake wondering if you were even alive? Do you know how terrifying it is to love someone and not know if they're dead or alive, Remus?" 

Your words struck him to his core. Of course, he knew what it felt like. He had lived it for 20 years. 

Your voice had risen to almost a scream, your body shaking as you confronted him, assaulted him with your words. "All those years, I never had the courage to approach you, to tell you how I felt. We lost all that time, and now here you are, yet you've never felt so out of reach." 

Remus couldn't look at you. His gaze was fixed on the ground, and he seemed to be shrinking into himself. "You don't understand. I'm not good for you." 

"Why? Because you're a werewolf?" you snapped, the words tumbling out of you before you could stop them. 

Remus's head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock. 

"I've known since Hogwarts, Remus. And I never cared. Are you blind? All I've wanted for the past 20 years was to be with you, to even just see you, to-" 

Before you could say another word, Remus closed the distance between you in two quick strides, his hands gripping your waist as he pushed you against a tree. Your eyes met for a split second- a second filled with anger, surprise, confusion, but above all, an overwhelming love- and his lips crashed into yours in a desperate, hungry kiss. His hand snaked up to your neck, feeling your pulse, as if he was trying to convince himself that this was real. You pressed your body against him, the heat radiating from him was intoxicating, dizzying. 

But then the kiss slowed, its intensity giving way to a slow, loving gentleness, one that you associated with him so much. Remus's hands moved from your neck to cup your face, his thumbs wiping away the tears that had spilled onto your cheeks. Your hands found their way to his chest, gripping his robes like they were a lifeline, like he would vanish any second. 

Finally, you broke the kiss, a little out of breath, but remained close, your foreheads touching. "I'm sorry," Remus whispered, his voice tinged with regret. "I'm sorry for all the years we lost, for all the pain I've caused you." 

You shook your head, your eyes searching his. "We can't get back the years we've lost, but we have now, Remus. That has to count for something." 

He looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time since the war, he allowed himself to believe in the possibility for a future- a future filled with love, warmth, and a happiness he had never thought he'd deserve. 

"Okay," he said softly, the word heavy with the weight of the promise it carried. 

"Okay," you repeated. 

[scotianostra]

Happy 80th birthday pop star Rod Stewart.

A bit late with my posts today, was had a busy morning.

Although born in London Rod's father was Scottish and he counts himself as a Scot. Stewart performed in several bands in the 1960s including Python Lee Jackson and The Faces. He worked a series of odd jobs, including working as a grave digger, before his singing career took off

Embarking on a solo career, Maggie May became his first hit single in 1971 Stewart moved to the United States in 1975. The next year, he reached the top of the U.S. charts with "Tonight's the Night" from A Night on the Town. Stewart continued to have a slicker, more pop sound as the decade progressed. He also developed a reputation for his partying lifestyle and for dating numerous actresses and models. With 1978's Blondes Have More Fun, he had another smash hit single with "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?"

The 1980s proved to be more challenging for Stewart. While 1981's Tonight I'm Yours went platinum, the albums that followed did not fare as well. He ended the decade on a positive note, however. His remake of the Tom Waits song "Downtown Train" in 1989 received a lot of radio play. A few years later, he released Unplugged and Seated (1993), which was recorded at MTV Unplugged concert and featured the hit "Have I Told You Lately."

With his distinctive throaty, almost scratchy-sounding voice, Stewart decided to take on some of the classic songs and make them his own with It Had to be You: The Great American Songbook (2002). He recorded four volumes of the Great American Songbook series, and won his first Grammy Award (best traditional pop vocal album) for Stardust: The Great American Songbook, Volume III in 2004.

At the age of 60, Stewart became a father for seventh time. His son, Alastair Wallace Stewart, was born on November 27, 2005. This was his first child with then fiancée Penny Lancaster. The couple married in 2007 and welcomed a second son, Aiden, in 2011. He also has a daughter, Kimberly, and a son, Sean, from his first wife Alana Stewart and a daughter named Ruby with former girlfriend Kelly Emberg. He also has two children from his marriage to model Rachel Hunter—Renee and Liam. Stewart publicly acknowledged his oldest daughter, Sarah Streeter, in 2013. Streeter was born when Stewart was only 18 years old, and he and the girl's mother had decided to put their baby up for adoption. Stewart and Streeter first met in 2008.

In 2006, Stewart returned to rock music with Still The Same: Great Rock Classics of Our Time. The album reached the top of the pop charts in October of that year. Stewart put down the microphone and picked up a pen to write his 2012 memoir Rod: The Autobiography. The following year, he made an impressive return to songwriting with his album Time. Stewart co-wrote of many of the record's songs as well as serving as a co-producer on the project. Last year he took to Instagram to declare . “I have no desire to retire,” adding I’m fit, have a full head of hair and can run 100 metres in 18 seconds at the age of 79"

Penny Lancaster, said she was planning a series of special events that would last “several weeks” It’s fair to assume they will be joined for the festivities by several of Rod’s eight children, including his and 53-year-old Penny’s sons Alastair, 19, and Aiden, 13, as well as his four daughters and two sons from former relationships: Sarah, 61, Kimberly, 45, Ruby, 37, Renee, 32, Sean, 44, and Liam, 30. Rod’s three grandchildren, Delilah, 13, and Otis and Louie, who are both 19 months, are also likely to be part of the fun. Known affectionately as the “Rodfather” by his extended clan, Rod once told how the age gaps between his children means being “several different fathers” all at once.

But with an upcoming residency at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas, he’s unlikely to give up his snake-hipped moves on stage. “I don’t see any possibility of slowing down anytime soon,” says Rod, whose latest album Swing Fever with Jools Holland was released last February. “As I get older, I only really want to do things that give me great pleasure.”

This year sees him headline Glastonbury certain to be one of the must-see events of the summer. When his Glastonbury appearance was announced in November, Rod told how he was “absolutely thrilled” on Instagram, adding, “After all these years, I’m proud and ready and more than able to take the stage again to pleasure and titillate my friends at Glastonbury in June. I’ll see you there!”

Rod seems to have no worries about the prospect of death, admitting last year, “I’m aware my days are numbered but I’ve got no fear. We have all got to pass on at some point, so we are all in the same basket.” Rod’s relaxed attitude could mean we will see him celebrating his 90th birthday a decade from now. “I am going to enjoy myself for these last few years as much as I can,” he insists. “I say few − probably another 15. I can do that easy mate, easy.” We’re glad to hear it!

After Glastonbury Rod will be jetting off to the US and doing a joint concert with Billy Joel. Rod announced ;“New York! I’m thrilled to announce I’ll be joining my mate [Billy Joel] for a one-night-only performance at the legendary [Yankee Stadium]!” he wrote. “Mark your calendars for Friday, July 18, 2025!”

In his 80th year he also has dozens more concerts penned in for 2025, mainly in the USA.