#best Places to Visit in Egypt

[lifeofsims3]

Lauren and Trevor went to Egypt! Together they uncovered the abandoned copper mine, and Lauren ransacked her first pyramid. She took some time to learn the falafel recipe, and the couple woohooed for the first time. Trevor took joy in some of the insects around the base camp.

[egyptatous]

Best Family Vacations to Egypt

[culturaltoursinegypt]

Cultural Tours in Egypt: Explore History Beyond the Pyramids

While the Pyramids of Giza are undoubtedly one of Egypt’s top attractions, the country offers so much more to explore. From ancient temples to local villages, Egypt is rich in Cultural tours in egypt and history. Here are some cultural tours that offer a deep dive into Egypt’s past and present.

1. The Temples of Abu Simbel Located in southern Egypt, Abu Simbel’s towering statues and intricately carved temples will leave you in awe. A guided tour will provide insights into the history of Ramses II, the pharaoh who had these temples built, and the significance of this archaeological marvel.

2. Siwa Oasis Tour Nestled deep in the Western Desert, Siwa Oasis is one of Egypt’s most tranquil and culturally rich destinations. A guided tour will introduce you to the traditional lifestyle of the Berber people, ancient temples, and natural hot springs, offering a peaceful escape from Egypt’s busier tourist sites.

3. Nubian Village Tour The Nubian people have a unique culture and history that differs from much of Egypt. A cultural tour to the Nubian villages along the Nile River provides a fascinating glimpse into their colorful homes, traditional music, and warm hospitality. You can even take a boat ride to explore the islands near Aswan, where many Nubians reside.

4. The City of Alexandria Founded by Alexander the Great, Alexandria has long been a hub of history, culture, and learning. A guided cultural tour will take you to the ancient Library of Alexandria, the stunning Catacombs of Kom el Shoqafa, and the medieval Qaitbay Citadel, showcasing the city’s layered history.

5. Islamic Cairo Walking Tour For a deep dive into Egypt’s Islamic history, explore the ancient streets of Cairo. The tour will take you through the Al-Hussein Mosque, the historic Al-Azhar University, and Khan El Khalili Bazaar, one of the world’s oldest markets. You’ll experience Cairo's vibrant blend of ancient and modern Islamic culture.

These Cultural tours in egypt offer an immersive experience into Egypt’s rich heritage, giving travelers a deeper appreciation of its diverse history and traditions, far beyond its famous monuments.

[worldtimetv]

Is It Safe to Travel to Egypt in 2024? Your Ultimate Guide

[matan4il]

An incomplete "there's a good chance the icon you love and support is a Zionist" list

🌟 Raphael Lemkin, a Jewish Holocaust survivor, whose family was murdered during it. Lemkin is responsible for coining the term "genocide," and for every legal provision that exists today against it. His work against genocide was inspired by his Zionism.

🌟 Martin Luther King, Jr., who did not only support Israel and its right to security, a fellow participant at a dinner with MLK shortly before his assassination quotes him as having stopped a student attacking Zionism, and replied, "When people criticize Zionists, they mean Jews. You’re talking antisemitism." He also encouraged Americans in 1967 to support the Jewish state, as Egypt blockaded the Straits of Tiran, endangering Israeli citizens by cutting the country off from its oil supply.

🌟 Emma Lazarus, a Jewish American poet, whose words ("Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breath free") are engraved on the Statue of Liberty's pedestal, after they helped raise the money needed for its completion. Drawing from the value of Jewish solidarity, she also wrote, "Until we are all free, we are none of us free," adopted as a slogan by intersectionality (while many in the movement exclude Jews from it). She was a great supporter of establishing a state for Jews in the Jewish homeland, having argued for this idea years before the word "Zionist" was even coined.

🌟 The 14th Dalai Lama, the leader of the fight against the occupation of Tibet, who was invited in 1994 to Israel, at a time when China's communist regime did its best to prevent his visits anywhere in the world, and who came to Israel more than once, talking about the 2000 years long Zionism of Jewish culture in exile as an inspiration and role model for Tibetans. "Among Tibetan refugees, we are always saying to ourselves that we must learn the Jewish secret to keep our traditions, in some cases under hostile circumstances."

🌟 Ruth Bader Ginsburg, who spoke more than once about how her pursuit of justice is a continuation of that very same thing in Jewish tradition. She had repeatedly referred to American Zionist Jews as sources of inspiration. For example, in 2018, during her fifth visit to Israel, in a speech she gave when receiving the Genesis Award, she mentioned two such women, Emma Lazarus and Henrietta Szold.

🌟 Nelson Mandela had an ambivalent view of Israel, but repeatedly recognized its right to exist, which makes him a Zionist, he also called upon Arab states to do the same, and was favorable towards the Zionist Jews who supported him during his underground days. Mandela being critical of Israel and still a Zionist is an apt reminder that criticizing the Jewish state and opposing its very existence are NOT the same thing, and only one's antisemitic.

🌟 Felix Salten, the Jewish author of Bambi (the book Disney's movie is based on). The tale was originally a metaphor for Jews suffering antisemitism, something Salten personally had to cope with. He was also an ardent Zionist, feeling the self-liberation at the core of this ideology suited his idea of how to deal with Jew hatred.

🌟 Sun Yat-Sen, who helped end the rule of China's last imperial dynasty, was its first provisional president, and is nowadays honored as an important Chinese leader in both China and Taiwan (sometimes referred to as "Father of the Chinese Nation"). He was an enthusiastic supporter of Zionism. Among other instances of expressing that, he wrote in a 1920 letter to a leader of the Jewish community in Shang Hai about Zionism that it is, "one of the greatest movements of the present time. All lovers of Democracy cannot help but support wholeheartedly and welcome with enthusiasm the movement to restore your wonderful and historic nation, which has contributed so much to the civilization of the world and which rightfully deserves an honorable place in the family of nations."

🌟 Magnus Hirschfeld, a gay Jewish sexologist, nicknamed among other things "The Einstein of Sex" and "The Father of Gay Liberation," because his medical and scientific work on human sexuality, as well as social advocacy for women's, gay and trans rights, was nothing short of pioneering. He was persecuted by the Nazis to the point where he died in exile. They broke into his institute of sexual research, where the world's first clinic performing sex reassignments surgeries was located, and burned down the institute's library. Hirschfeld had attended a Zionist conference following the Balfor Declaration of 1917, and his work on sexual liberation found inspiration in young socialist Jewish Zionist workers he met during a visit to the Land of Israel in 1931-2.

🌟 Marcia Langton, a professor and prominent Aboriginal rights activist from Australia, who has been leading the fight against racism and for her community. She spoke out against the hijacking of native rights movements by terrorist sympathizers and antisemites, and has clearly stood against all loss of life, including that of Israelis.

🌟 Felix Zandman, a Holocaust survivor whose work on resistors is integrated into many smartphones, laptops, cars, satellites, hospital ventilators (saving many Covid patients), airplanes and more. Whenever the anti-Israel crowd is scrolling social media on their phones, they're enjoying the work of a Zionist, who enthusiastically supported the State of Israel, and even introduced an important improvement to the Israeli Merkava tank, which has likely saved many Israeli lives, Jewish and non-Jewish alike, and others like him, since Israel's high tech is considered only second to Silicon Valley (going back to at least the 1990's). If they truly wish to boycott everything that's been "contaminated" by Zionism, they should probably just boycott technology.

🌟 Rosa Parks, an African American leader of the civil rights movement (and someone who personally demonstrated how one can resist without turning violent). She was one of 200 notable black American leaders who publicly organized to express their support and respect of Zionism as the Jewish right to self-determination, and Israel as the manifestation of that right.

-> Like I said, this is VERY incomplete, even just in terms of how the overwhelming majority of Jews are Zionist, and have been since the inception of Judaism, which is itself Zionist. Over the years, this led to many non-Jewish human and native rights champions to be supportive of Zionism, too. Take note of who is being vilified, when the term "Zionist" is ignorantly used as if it means anything other than belief in the equal right of Jews to liberation and self-determination in the Jewish ancestral land. Especially when it is used as being inherently evil.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[yonaioana]

Okay first of all! I loved that request where is God reader from ennead! So!

What IS relationship with Egypt Gods with reader? The God of festivals and happiness but real role is the God of freedom? So as I read that request it says that he DID have good relationship with them(I think) because he was in Egypt but not anymore? And they never talk anymore as he moved from Egypt where all god mostly where, why did he move away from them? Did he knew what will happend?

So my request is about male reader God of festivals and happyness/ God of freedom.

How would they react to seeing reader once more? But there is plot twist! The reader is not kinda happy about seeing them.( I love angst, dont mind me)

That all!

Heeey im back, im sorry I was gone all this time I moved, finished highschool and now im struggling to finish my first year of college but im back and im trying to get through my entire inbox and write for everything I missed, I will also update the masterlist with a few new fandoms. This is a short one i still had in my drafts. Kisses!!!

I guess that as the god of freedom and happiness ennead is not the best place to live. Since all the gods have to obey Ra and her kinda liking the suffering of everyone else cause she sees it as entertainment would not sit well with a god who's entire concept is boring to her.

I dont think that you would have beef with any of them other than Ra and maybe Osiris if you try to call out his bluff of being the victim and all that. You could have some trouble with Seth if you tried to opose him in his early years when he ruled Egipt but i dont think he is the kind to try and hurt other gods. Cause he tried to hurt Isis and Horus only because of some prophecy not because he really hated them. So my guess is that you either tried to vouch for someone who was in trouble or did something to upset Ra but she just pushed you aside and continued as if you were not there. Or you found out about some of the things Osiris did to Seth and you tried to tell everyone but because nobody really liked Seth they only listened to what Osiris said and called you a liar, ultimately pushing you aside. So you got sick and tired of them and left.

Anyway back to the present Horus and Anubis actually like you cause they're not as old as the other gods so either they were not born when you left or they were too young to remember. If we take the first route Ra will not be verry pleased to see you but if we take the second one Isis and Osiris are the ones in a sour mood.

Lets say that after you left you found yourself a village on the other side of Egipt where it was like a port so there was a big mix of cultures and instead of asserting dominance as a god you just lived among them helping out and being nice to everyone. Of course horus while searching for Seth could happen to accidentally find your little comunity and asks Isis about it wich leads to the others finding you and dragging you back to explain yourself and interogate you on the "where is seth" matter. While at first you were happy thinking they came to visit it was auickly shut down when chains apeared around your neck, wrists and ankles and you were being dragged away from your home and people back to ennead. If you knew about what happened to seth osiris will try to keep you quiet one way or another, gods forbid you helped him escape or helped him while he was on the run with resources and hiding from the others, in the I feel like horus will try to take you with him against his mom's dissaproval to help him heal seth emotionally with your powers

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 7: Heart Attack]

A/N: Hello all! Only 3 chapters left!!! 🥰 Thank you so much for loving this fic and giving all my eccentric AU ideas a chance. I’m currently in Washington DC visiting one of my best friends, so if I’m a little bit tardy replying to your comments/messages then that’s why. Don’t fear!! I will check in as soon as I can, and I am still amazed by and will forever cherish your support. 💜

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (+18), drugs, alcohol, smoking, Shelby being a bigger plague than the locusts of Egypt, mental health struggles, references to violence and abuse, New Jersey, pregnancy, mini golf, lots of content for the Cregan girlies.

Selected Chapter Quote: “We’re meant to be together. We have so much history.”

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: ​​@doingfondue​ @catalina-howard​ @randomdragonfires​ @myspotofcraziness​ @arcielee​ @fan-goddess​ @talesofoldandnew​ @marvelescvpe​ @tinykryptonitewerewolf​ @mariahossain​ @chainsawsangel​ @darkenchantress​ @not-a-glad-gladiator​ @gemini-mama​ @trifoliumviridi​ @herfantasyworldd​ @babyblue711​ @namelesslosers​ @thelittleswanao3​ @daenysx​ @moonlightfoxx​ @libroparaiso​ @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics​ @mizfortuna​ @florent1s​ @heimtathurs​ @bhanclegane​ @poohxlove​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @heavenly1927​ @mariahossain​ @echos-muses​ @padfooteyes​ @minttea07​ @queenofshinigamis​ @juliavilu1​ @amiraisgoingthruit​ @lauraneedstochill​ @wintrr13​ @r0segard3n​ @seabasscevans​ @tsujifreya​ 

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

You type into Google as you hide in the public bathroom stall, pink tile walls and mint green porcelain, very 1950s, phantom drips of water and humming florescent lights: Can Plan B make your period late?

You scroll through the results, clutching your iPhone with both hands. Faintly, you can hear the rest of the band outside, chattering, laughing, slurping on Slush Puppies, smacking trees and rocks with their golf clubs. Yes, the consensus seems to be; Plan B can delay your period. Incidentally, so can pregnancy.

“Fuck,” you whimper. You peer down at your panties, as if you can force bloodstains to appear: sparce rosy threads of warning, dark red splotches like rust, you aren’t particular. You’ll take anything. “Fuck,” you say again, defeated. You get dressed, wash your hands, and head back out into the cloudless afternoon sunshine.

“Stargirl, it’s your turn!” Aegon shouts as you trot over to them: tenth hole, shaped like an L, featuring an intimidating loop de loop. The course is dinosaur themed; Rhaena picked it. Aegon points to Jace. “This deformed bastard wanted to skip you.”

“I told you,” Jace moans. His speech is garbled and lisping, his face comically swollen, bruised yellow-emerald-indigo and drooling blood, stitches above his left eyebrow. He just had his dental implants placed yesterday; the four teeth that he lost at Club Camelot could not be readily located for reattachment. “I can’t keep track of who’s next. I’m on like four different opiates.”

Baela frets over him. “Shh, shh, baby. Try not to talk.” There’s something about watching someone get almost-murdered that makes you want to forgive them, you suppose.

You grab your club and golf ball, dark blue, from where you left them by a tree. Rhaena gives you a covert little thumbs up and raised eyebrows. Everything good? You smile—too widely, insincere, a liar—and nod. Technically, you have yet to obtain concrete evidence to the contrary.

You take your turn, somewhat awkwardly due to the splint that still encumbers your dominant hand. You are thinking about anything but mini golf. Your ball goes halfway through the loop de loop and then comes rolling back. How many strokes? Four, five, you lose count, it doesn’t matter. Aegon is snickering, though not in a mean way, never in a mean way. Aemond is watching you. He does this constantly; you can feel his eyes—river water, otherworldly atmosphere—on you all the time, you can see him on the periphery of your vision. But when you glance at Aemond, he looks away. You’re wearing flip flops, a black NSYNC t-shirt, and bright pink shorts that Baela insists are of the very short variety. Aemond is staring a little extra hard today. Shelby alternates between glaring at him and at you.

Jace putts next. He misses the ball twice. On the third try, he hits it into a nearby pond. Golden koi fish scatter beneath the rippling sheen of the water.

“Loser,” Aegon declares mildly. “Criston, why the fuck are we in New Jersey?”

“Because you’re playing three shows at the MetLife Stadium in East Rutherford,” Criston says as he putts; his green golf ball sails through the loop de loop, bounces off a wall, and then rolls straight into the cup, a hole in one. “One Direction did it, Taylor Swift did it, and now you’re going to do it too. And if you don’t make it too unbearable for me, I’ll even take you to the beach while we’re here. Okay?”

“Okay,” Aegon agrees. He slurps on his Slush Puppie. “Oh, Aemond, I need the Netflix password.”

“You forgot it again?!” Daeron says. Jace, groaning softly, lies down on the ground in a patch of shade. Baela gets a bottle of Orajel rinse out of her purse and starts pouring it into his mouth.

“Get your own account,” Aemond snaps at Aegon. “I think you can afford it.”

“Bruh, that’s not the point! I don���t know where I left off in Grey’s Anatomy!”

They keep bickering. You stop listening. You can only hear the sounds of rustling leaves, squawking seagulls, the whistling of the warm August wind. You can only feel the weight of Aemond’s half-fascinated, half-resentful gaze on you. He wouldn’t believe me, you think. If I really am pregnant, he would never believe that it was an accident. He would never believe that I was that guilelessly, unambitiously stupid. Hell, I did it and I barely believe it.

You steal a glimpse of Aemond—black shirt and black sunglasses, white shorts, Adidas sneakers—and he turns away, pretending to pick dirt off his golf ball. Interestingly, he will talk to you about things not related to that night in Tokyo; perhaps it would be too suspicious not to, a neon sign for the rest of the band to read. But he never allows himself to be alone with you. And he never touches you, not even a grazing of hands or an absentminded bump as he passes you in aisles or hallways.

Bump, you think miserably. An inauspicious choice of words.

“We should watch Se7en,” Aegon is saying now. “Comet fam movie night.”

You mutter: “We’re not watching Se7en.”

“What’s Se7en about?” Rhaena asks.

“You wouldn’t like it.”

“What’s in the box?!” Aegon shouts dramatically—quoting the beautiful yet doomed David Mills, a name he once borrowed to schedule a Zoom meeting with you—and then cackles. It’s his turn. He clobbers his golf ball and sends it flying through the loop de loop; it pops over the barrier and disappears into a bush. Startled squirrels dart out of the leaves.

“Loser!” Jace slurs as he lies sprawled across the ground, vindicated.

“Stop spitting blood everywhere,” Aemond says. He putts next, and badly: poor depth perception. “You’re getting it on my sneakers.”

“Watch it, cyclops.” Jace points to his own stitches, bruises, surgically replaced teeth. “I let you have this one. Now we’re even. But next time I won’t be so charitable.”

“You’re not even,” Aegon tells Jace, abruptly severe. He whips off his aviator sunglasses, crouches over Jace, glaring and thunderous like a storm. Baela observes this warily. “Not even close.”

Jace is intrigued. “No?”

“No. Your face will heal.” Then Aegon pokes him in the jaw and Jace screams, tears slithering down his puffy, mottled cheeks. Cregan yanks Aegon away before Baela can scratch his eyes out. Criston repossesses Aegon’s blue raspberry Slush Puppie as punishment. Luke wins the game, five under par.

Comet’s first shows in the United States this tour start just like the last few in Asia: Jace is iced, painted with concealer, thoroughly medicated, numbed into semi-consciousness. He does lines of coke in the bathroom under Cregan’s supervision. He can’t perform without it. Criston tried to negotiate a month off for Jace, but the label’s message was clear: get him on stage, we don’t care how you do it, we don’t want to know about it, here’s a blank check, figure it out or we’ll find another manager who can. Now Criston watches Jace with his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes wounded and anxious, his shoulders slumped beneath the weight of what he believes is failure.

The story released to the press is that Jace fell down a flight of stairs but is recovering smoothly. He can barely sing; his mic is turned up, and during Jace’s verses Cregan or Luke layer their voice with his. He wobbles and flubs his way through Night 1 in East Rutherford. You spend the show staring up at the stage without seeing it. Baela and Rhaena are with you, but you aren’t really with them; you feel like if they reached out to touch you, their hands would find only translucent emptiness like a mirage. Shelby is flocked by fellow influencers that she’s invited in from New York City. Aemond is somewhere, somewhere: lurking in shadows, brooding, avoiding, musing, suffering, jotting down starlight-colored judgments in his black-paged notebook.

Per tradition, the band and their entourage coalesce in Jace’s suite after the show. Jace himself, the gracious host, promptly collapses on a couch and lies there senseless as the party spins around him like the planets of a solar system. Baela is perched dutifully beside him, holding ice packs to his jaw, wiping away drool the color of one of Aemond’s Brambles. A tattoo artist is inking a goldfinch, New Jersey’s state bird, to the top of Jace’s right foot. Criston is across the room and speaking—rather tensely, it seems—with cigar-smoking label executives. Shelby is snapping photos with her friends; they take turns posing each other out on the balcony, adjusting elbows and wrists and knees, swiping away stray flecks of mascara, rearranging hair, recommending plastic surgeons. Aegon is typing WhatsApp messages—mostly emojis, from what you can see—to Miley Cyrus. At Luke’s prompting, Aemond begins sharing his comments to the presently sentient members of Comet. He puffs on one of his Benson & Hedges cigarettes as he reads aloud. He kindly skips over any criticisms of Jace’s performance.

You can’t stand hearing Aemond’s voice; not because there’s anything wrong with it, but because there isn’t, because you can’t stop remembering what he said to you in that florescent-white bathroom at Club Camelot in Tokyo, because he uses his words on so many people who aren’t you, because sooner or later your time with Comet will be over and you’ll only ever hear him again through Spotify songs and YouTube clips from before the accident, because he will one day be a ghost who haunts you, rattling doorknobs and chilling pockets of air but never speaking. You escape to ask the bartender: “Can I get a Coke?”

“A rum and Coke?”

“No.”

“Like…white powder coke?”

“No, a Coca-Cola. With nothing else in it.”

“Okay, whatever,” the bartender says, perplexed. He fills a glass with ice and dark liquid that pops and fizzes with carbonation, then slides it across the counter to you. You meander out into the hallway where you can be alone, where you don’t have to pretend to be okay.

The carpet is gold but frayed, the walls adorned with faux marble columns and scuffs from recklessly handled suitcases. Even the hotels are worse in New Jersey. You sip your soda—nonalcoholic, huh? you think, then push it aside—and roam past suite doors and vending machines until you reach the cove of elevators. There’s a full-length mirror hanging on the wall there, gilded, gaudy. You frown at yourself, a reflection that suddenly looks a bit like a stranger. You’re wearing a short seafoam green dress, gold earrings and sandals, and an eerily vacuous expression. You turn and move your hair aside so you can peer over your shoulder at what’s been indelibly penned there since Rome: the tiny comet, the lyrics that encircle it.

I wanted to remember this band forever. To remember Aemond. You can feel your stomach drop as it grows heavy with dread. The pulsing music from Jace’s suite has followed you down the hall, Sugar by Robin Schulz and Francesco Yates. I think I might just have more than a tattoo to remember him by after all.

One of the elevators dings and opens. A man lumbers out, towering, broad, monstrous. You gape up at him: brown threadbare coat, heavy boots, unruly dark beard, grey eyes like a bleak winter sky. There is a miasma that colors the air around him with smoke and alcohol, sweat and earth.

“Hello there,” he says, politely enough. His voice is such a baritone rumble that it’s difficult to understand. He has a British accent, but not like Aegon’s, not like Aemond’s. He reminds you of someone you can’t quite place. “I’m looking for a certain young gentleman. I’m hoping you can point me in his direction.”

“Sure,” you reply, trying to disguise your shock so you don’t offend him. He could be someone important. He could be an eccentric producer or a consultant. Or a drug dealer. “Who…uh…who was it you were hoping to speak with…?”

He smiles: sharp canine teeth yellowed by nicotine, glinting eyes like silver coins. “Cregan Stark.”

“Okay,” you stammer. Drug dealer?? “Okay, okay, I’ll…uh…I’ll go get him.”

You hurry down the hall and into Jace’s crowded, smokey suite, clinking glasses and flirtatious titters in dim lighting like late twilight. You return your empty drink to the bartender, then tap Cregan on the shoulder and inform him that someone out in the hallway is asking for him. He doesn’t seem surprised to hear this. Drug dealer, you think confidently. Cregan gulps his vodka shot and follows you out of the suite. He steps through the doorway. He turns towards the stranger. And then he stops dead. His eyes go wide. The blood drains from his face. And Cregan—immovable, inscrutable, unflappable Cregan—shrinks until he is a child again.

Immediately, you know you’ve made a mistake. You reach for him. “Cregan, wait—”

“My son,” the monstrous man sighs. And of course now you’ve realized exactly who the mirrorlike grey of his eyes reminded you of. “My son.”

You can’t stop him. How could you stop him? Faster than you can think, he has crossed the space between you and entombed Cregan in a stifling embrace. Cregan stands paralyzed, his eyes shifting, searching for escape. Tentatively, appeasingly, his hands slowly rise to hug the man in return.

“Criston?!” you shout. But within the suite, he cannot hear you over the music and the berating of smoke-veiled, bejeweled label executives.

“Did you forget about me, huh?” the man asks Cregan gruffly. And as he steps back he grips one of Cregan’s shoulders: not like Criston would, not like a father, like a vice, like a bear trap. He shakes Cregan once, not too hard. “You can fly your private jet all over the world but you can’t call your own father back? Huh? Huh?!” He shakes Cregan again, harder.

“Criston!” you scream. “Security! Somebody!”

Nobody can hear me. Nobody is coming.

You sprint into Jace’s suite, seize Criston by one hand, drag him out into the hall. On the blurry periphery of your vision, you can see Aemond getting up off the couch to follow you. The second he spots the monstrous man, Criston is roaring. “No no no, get away from him!” He pushes between Cregan and the giant, terrifying, wrathful. The man dwarfs him. Criston doesn’t seem to know it. “You can’t be here. We’ve been over this, you’re not allowed to be here—”

The man tries to reach around him to clutch at Cregan’s shirt. Aemond pulls you away from the scuffle. Criston hits the man in the solar plexus; he is momentarily stunned, wheezing. By the time he straightens up, Criston—louder than you, bellowing and fierce—has summoned security. They are swarming the man and escorting him back down the hallway towards the elevators. Aemond goes to Cregan. Criston looks at you. You’re quivering, penitent.

“I had no idea…he asked for Cregan…I would never have…I thought maybe he was a friend of the band…”

“He’s on our no fly list,” Criston says. His voice is tired yet patient. “But you wouldn’t know that.”

You try to apologize to Cregan, but he isn’t listening to you. He’s listening to Aemond. Aemond is speaking to him, low and calm, too quietly for you to hear. “I’m okay,” Cregan says unsteadily. “I’m fine.”

“It’s alright if you’re not,” Aemond tells him.

And you know that right now you are unnecessary, intrusive. Criston goes downstairs to figure out how Comet’s security guards in the lobby didn’t catch this and—presumably—to ensure that the invader is properly dealt with. Aemond slings an arm across Cregan’s shoulders and leads him back to the party where he is cared for, welcome, valued, safe. You hide in your own suite and try not to think about the dates on the calendar—missing blood, summer days ticking down towards zero—as you steep in a hot bath and attempt to scrub everything you’ve done wrong, today, yesterday, ever, off your skin. Then you change into an oversized Backstreet Boys t-shirt and your favorite Cookie Monster pajama pants.

You try to sleep but of course you can’t, surrounded by a silence that only gets louder. When you hear the swipe of a keycard and the creaking of your door, you don’t know who to expect: Cregan, Criston, Rhaena, Luke, Baela, Jace, Daeron, Shelby, Aemond, ghosts. The clopping of his Crocs gives him away, neon pink to match his tank top. “I’m really not in the mood for anything resembling sex.”

Aegon replies as he kicks off his Crocs: “Did I ask, succubus?” He crawls into the bed, throws an arm casually across your waist, rests his head on your belly as your fingers thread through his chaotic blond hair, fond and tender. He burrows into you, into your softness and your warmth and your truth and your mysteries. Sometimes you feel like you’ll give until he falls into you like a trapdoor, the bones of his hands tangling around your spine, his blood vessels spilling into all of your rage-scarlet cavities, hollows of the flesh, hollows of the soul. “You’re sad.”

You stare up at the ceiling. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know what. That’s the strange thing. Usually I can tell.”

“You’ve been gone.”

He looks up at you, confused. “I’ve been right here.”

“You know what I meant.”

Aegon doesn’t argue with you, doesn’t try to defend himself, doesn’t make promises both of you know he could never keep. He only lays his head down on your belly again and pulls himself closer to you, closer, closer, melting into your melancholy, dissolving into dreams.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I was eleven when he broke my arm. Thirteen when he cracked my skull for the first time. Then I got big enough to hurt him back.” Cregan looks out over the waves: blue currents, white froth, sunbeams like glinting blades. As Criston promised, Comet is spending an afternoon in Seaside Heights. You and Cregan are sitting on the sand together twenty yards from the others. “I grew up in a two-bedroom cabin with no electricity or running water. We had a metal wash tub outside, ate deer and squirrels and rabbits, never had clothes that fit, never saw a doctor except when what was wrong might kill us. We had a woodstove and chopped down trees to burn in the winter. I had eight siblings, six of whom are still alive. Barnett overdosed. Courtland drove his friend’s Nissan into a brick wall. I’m not sure it was accidental.”

Your words are soft like a whisper, like gentle hands. “Cregan, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not…” His voice breaks. He stops for a while, composes himself, begins again. “It’s not something I talk about. Not because I’m trying to forget it. I can’t forget it, I’ll never be able to, I understand that, believe me. There’s just nothing to be gained from talking about it. I never feel better afterwards. I always feel worse.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“I know that. Don’t you think I know that?”

You wait, watching him. There’s something he needs to say. Down the beach a ways, Baela is doing yoga, her bare feet sure and agile in shifting sand. Rhaena, Luke, and Aemond are flying kites in the breeze: black dragons, green dragons. Shelby is, predictably, filming them from where she stands on Aemond’s good side. Aegon and Daeron are swimming so far out that you’re beginning to worry about sharks. Criston is parked under an umbrella with an unconscious Jace, reading Memoirs Of A Geisha and eating a sandwich full of something called pork roll.

“After Comet happened, I got all of them out,” Cregan continues. “My mum, my siblings. Good houses in safe neighborhoods. Security in case Dad makes an appearance. He does, every once in a while. He’s locked up, he’s free, he’s locked up again. He has nothing else to do but haunt us. I’ve been waiting for him to die since I was old enough to understand what a graveyard is.” Cregan looks at you. “Does that make me a bad person?”

“No,” you answer immediately.

“The thing is…” He holds out one large hand, palm down, like he’s resting it on a table. Then he shakes it. “Nothing ever feels stable. Nothing ever feels safe. No matter how much money I see stack up in accounts, I lie awake at night wondering what I’ll do if it disappears. So many people rely on me. I can’t stop worrying I’ll end up back in that cabin somehow. I can still hear drops of rainwater seeping in through the gaps in the roof. I can still smell burning wood.”

“The fact that you feel this way, given your history, is completely logical…even if the fear itself is not. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Cregan says. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Do you think it would help if we sat down and looked at the numbers and did some math? Because I suspect that even with a hundred dependents, you’d easily be able to float them for the rest of your lifetime just using the money you already have. And there will be royalties from Comet’s songs forever. Maybe if we can show you exactly how improbable your worst case scenario is, that fear will begin to fade a bit. Not go away, not completely, maybe not ever…but I think you’ll be able to quiet it down.”

“I’ll give it a try. If you recommend it.” Cregan lights a cigarette and takes a drag. Criston glances over and then pretends he didn’t notice. “I have a daughter,” Cregan says; and you can’t stop the shock from hitting your face like a fist. He smiles faintly, wistfully. “I know. I’ve worked very hard to make sure she is kept away from…” He gestures broadly. “All of this.” Fame. Debauchery. Tabloids. Reddit threads. “I was way too young. And her mother and I…we were never really together. It was contentious for a while, but we’ve sorted through things. I support them financially, obviously. And when I’m not on tour or in the studio, I disappear up to Lancaster for a few weeks at a time and no one is the wiser.”

You study him as wind tears in off the Atlantic Ocean, as seagulls swoop and screech overhead. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate how you’ve protected her once she can understand.”

“I don’t know how to be a father. Not a good one. But I try. I don’t just show up for movie nights and birthdays. I take her shopping for school supplies. I put her back to bed when she has nightmares. I take her to the dentist, to the park, to the library. She really likes pigs, so I adopted a few from a farm animal rescue and we learned how to raise them together.”

“You caring about being a good parent puts you ahead of a lot of people already,” you say. “Nobody in Comet knows?”

“Just Aemond. Once, years ago, her mother needed something and I was out of the country. I had to let somebody in on the secret, somebody I could trust. I chose Aemond. I chose right.” Now Cregan is amused. “He’s the one who suggested the pigs.”

“Of course he did,” you say; and you can’t help but smile. “How old is she?”

“Six and a half. Do you want to see a picture her?”

“Absolutely. If it’s alright with you.”

Cregan pulls his iPhone from his pocket, swipes around for a while, and then turns the screen so you can see. She looks like him, a lot like him, but with round cheeks and long dark lashes. And Cregan is beaming as he says: “Her name is Iris.”

“So you didn’t have to do the Maury paternity test thing.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “No. I knew from the second I saw her she was mine.”

“She’s lucky to have you.”

Cregan shrugs, pensive, evasive. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do.” And he believes that you mean it; you can see it on his face. Aemond is watching you and Cregan, you notice now. He glances over, pretends he didn’t, glances again. You gesture to the crashing waves and say to Cregan: “If Aegon gets attacked by a shark, will you jump in and punch it or something please?”

Cregan chuckles. “Yeah. That’s my main job here, I think. Stopping people from dying.” And then, seriously: “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I haven’t done anything that warrants it.”

“No. Really.” Cregan reaches out, takes your uninjured hand, squeezes it briefly before releasing you. “Thank you, Stargirl.” Then he stands and walks to the water’s edge, letting the surf rush up over his ankles, for just a moment feeling nothing on his shoulders but the sunlight.

Aemond gives Shelby his kite and, as she glares bitterly, makes his way over to you. He takes off his sunglasses so he can see you better and hooks them on the waistband of his swim trunks: black, of course, his usual color. You’re actually wearing black today too, a flowing coverup over a pink swimsuit. You feel very much like hiding. When Aemond speaks, there is perhaps a hint of envy, green like leaves of poison, gleaming like snakeskin. “What were you and Cregan talking about?”

“Fatherhood.” And then you realize how it might sound.

There is a split second where Aemond looks startled; then he remembers Iris. “Right. Not so easy for people like us to navigate.”

People like us. Celebrities, boy band members, haunted men. You scramble for a nonchalant way to feel out the subject with him. “How does Louis Tomlinson handle it?”

“He’s a saint,” Aemond says. And you think: Patron saint of baby daddies? “Freddie was very, very unplanned. The mother was a nobody, a rebound. And a lot of people assumed she did it on purpose to try to keep Louis. Or to get eighteen years of a luxury lifestyle out of him. Or to just get fame in general. Personally, I believe it was all of the above.”

“Right,” you say, sweating heavily beneath your coverup.

“But none of that is the kid’s fault, and Louis is a good enough guy to realize it. So he plays nice with Freddie’s mother and they don’t go to war through tabloids anymore.”

“So, uh…” How can I put this? “You’re good with kids too. Cregan told me you had the pig idea.”

And the look that crosses Aemond’s face, the look: caustic, incredulous, night-dark, self-loathing. “Are you insane? Have you met me? I terrify kids. And I should, but not just because of the eye and the scar. What the hell do I know about being a decent father? What do I know about being a decent anything? I’d have no idea where to start. I’d fuck it up even if I tried desperately not to. I’d end up with kids like Aegon: addicts who hate themselves, people who are irrevocably lost.”

You say meekly: “I think Criston is something like a father to you. He could be a role model.”

“I’m not half as good a man as Criston is.”

Change the topic, change the topic, before Aemond gets suspicious. And there’s something else you’ve been meaning to ask him. “Aemond…after you almost murdered Jace…when we didn’t know if or how he was going to be able to perform until he healed…did anyone ask you to come back to Comet and fill in for him?”

“No,” Aemond says. And he’s thunderstruck by the thought, appalled, petrified.

“You don’t think that it might have been a good idea? That it might make sense?”

“No,” he says again instantly.

“But…in Tokyo…when Daeron made that speech at the last show…I think the crowd’s reaction was pretty powerful, don’t you? People still care about you. They love and respect you. And I think…maybe…it might help you with what you’ve experienced. To get back on stage—even just one last time—and prove to yourself that you still have what it takes. To know that if you do leave Comet, it’s your choice, not anyone else’s.”

“They love who I was,” Aemond says. “Not who I am now. And that’s easy to do. They don’t have to look at me.”

“Goddammit, there’s nothing wrong with how you look, Aemond!” you burst out. “You look fantastic. I never get tired of looking at you. I want to look at you all the fucking time. I’d hang life-sized portraits of you on every wall in my apartment in Kansas City. That’s how much I enjoy looking at you.”

He thinks you’re joking, he thinks you’re trying to make him feel better. You can’t stop him from thinking these things. And yet still, as he turns away, he is smiling: just a whisper of a curl at the corner of his lips, secretive, fragile.

As Comet is leaving the beach, you stop at a souvenir shop on the boardwalk to buy your keepsake for this tour destination. You settle on a pink frisbee that has I love the Jersey Shore! embossed on it in large, abrasive letters. You think your parents’ Australian cattle dogs will enjoy fetching it when you get home. Home feels so much closer—both literally and figuratively—than it did just a few weeks ago.

Criston is browsing through the t-shirts. “Hey, what size is your mom, Aegon? Medium?”

“How the hell would I know? Probably.” He holds up a pair of red, white, and blue bikini bottoms that say Firecracker across the ass. “You think my dad would mind if you sent her these?”

Criston is blushing. “Aegon, stop.”

“You could get her a bikini top too. Oh look, that one over there is red, it matches. And it says MILF across the tits. So that’s pertinent.”

“Stop!” Criston cries, distressed, and flees the store.

Halfway through the hour-long drive back to the hotel, Aegon insists that Criston stop the Escalades so he can get a hoagie from a Wawa. Aegon has never had a hoagie before. He says he cannot truly experience America without one.

At the ordering counter, Jace—slightly less bruised and swollen today, and thus in better spirits—taunts Aegon: “Are you sure you need all that bread? You’re going to be wearing a muumuu on stage by the time we get to the Midwest.”

“You know, just because you said that, now I’m going to get two hoagies…”

On the television mounted inside the Wawa, CNN is reporting on a group of tornadoes that just struck Wichita. And it occurs to you that tornadoes don’t have trajectories to calculate like hurricanes or airplanes or comets; they are climatological sharks. They strike quickly, indiscriminately, and then they’re gone again. They aren’t named. They aren’t enshrined. They don’t even have a belly to cut open and retrieve pieces of your loved ones from. If they take someone, they’re just gone.

While the rest of the band is in line to order their food, and Aemond is scrutinizing the dried fruit and nuts selection, you sneak through the other aisles.

It’s time. I have to find out eventually. I have to know.

You pluck a pregnancy test—cute, pink, nausea-inducing—off a rack, purchase it with truly impressive speed at the checkout counter, and race to the bathroom. It’s surprisingly difficult to piss on a tiny stick of doom, especially when your primary hand is in a splint and only partially useable. Eventually, you manage. You put the cap back on the pregnancy test, set it on top of the toilet paper dispenser, and stare at the metal door of the stall. The Wawa speakers are playing The Fray’s Over My Head.

It won’t be positive. It can’t be positive.

You think of pregnancy test commercials you’ve seen: happy couples rejoicing, happy single women getting negatives. How are you supposed to react to bad news? Nobody ever tells you. Do you scream, sob, beg for forgiveness, schedule an appointment at Planned Parenthood? Do you kick the bathroom stall door down in mindless feminine fury? Do you throw yourself off a balcony?

There’s no way it will be positive. It was one time. Just one goddamn time.

And who knows if that will ever happen again with Aemond. This does not improve your mood.

You pick up the pregnancy test. It is unequivocally positive.

You shove it into the small rectangular trashcan for pads and tampons, things you won’t be needing in the immediate future. You get dressed, leave the stall, go to the sink and wash your hands. Then you grip the cool, slick, white porcelain and gaze at yourself in the mirror under nowhere-to-hide florescent lights. What do you feel? Everything, nothing, things you can’t name yet. You’re a raw nerve, you’re completely numb.

The bathroom door swings open. Shelby enters. She squares up with great purpose. Your eyes roll to her, slowly, with no tolerance left, not a drop of it. “Stay away from Aemond,” she demands.

“Make me.”

She is in disbelief. “I’m sorry, what?”

You turn all the way towards her. “Fucking make me, Shelby.”

“I knew you wanted him,” she says, she seethes. “I saw you in those paparazzi photos from Reykjavik and I knew you were already twisting your claws into him.”

You hold up your hands to show her; your thoughts are fuzzy, dazed, without inhibition. “I have no claws whatsoever. If I did, you’d know about it. Believe me. You’d be able to look down and watch your heart beating through the gashes.”

“You don’t belong here. Some Midwestern farm girl running around in flip flops and Cookie Monster pajama pants? You’re trash. You’re a user. You’re a nobody. And if you’re trying to steal a taken man, then you’re a whore too.”

“I’ve been called worse things by better people.”

“I can make them hate you,” Shelby says indignantly. “Comet. The world.”

“Good luck with that, Malibu Barbie. Nobody even knows I exist.”

“Stay away from Aemond,” she says again, trembling with her futile bleach-blond rage. “We’re meant to be together. We have so much history.”

“And yet no future.” You smile sweetly, breeze past her, step on one of her perfectly pedicured feet with a thoroughly unpretentious flip flop. By the time you return to them, the band is almost ready to leave Wawa.

You’re not hungry, but Aegon coaxes you into taking a few bites from his hoagie. You’re not able to focus on what people are saying, but you hear Aemond mention that he wishes Comet had time to visit a planetarium in some nearby town called Toms River. You think about what it would be like to lie side by side with him under the stars, under the sky where comets appear again after vanishing for centuries. You wonder if there’s anyplace where you and Aemond could ever be truthful with each other.

At night you can’t sleep. There is no shortage of reasons why. You wander from your bed to the gold-carpet hallway to the vending machines, where you stare brainlessly at the options. Am I supposed to not be drinking caffein? Did I get any Vitamin D today? How much sugar is too much? You buy a bottle of apple juice—surely a safe bet—and head back to your suite.

As you walk by Aemond and Shelby’s door, your steps slow. Some nights you can hear them in there arguing: Shelby reiterating all the reasons why they’re perfect for each other, clearly a rebuttal to an accusation you weren’t privy to. Some nights you hear muffled casual conversation or episodes of Cosmos. Some nights you hear nothing at all. Some nights your imagination colors in the gaps before you can stop it: his hands on her, his mouth on her, things you know you have no right to dread and yet you do. But tonight, Shelby is momentarily removed from the scene. You can hear the distant pattering of the shower, and then Aemond alone in the living room gathering up plates and glasses. He’s singing something very quietly, so quietly it takes you a while to recognize it. It’s not even a Comet Donati song. It’s Through The Dark.

You sit down in the empty hallway, your back to his door. And you lean your head against it as you listen to Aemond singing softly to himself, doubt sinking into you the same way that trapped blood fills a bruise: Maybe it wasn’t as good for him as it was for me. Maybe he doesn’t talk to me because he doesn’t want to. Maybe I don’t belong here anymore. Maybe I’ve invented a history that we don’t really share. Maybe he didn’t mean it when he said he loves me.

“What am I going to do?” you whisper, scalding tears brimming in your eyes, shivering hands settling on your belly. In a few months, you’ll be showing. “What the hell am I going to do?”

[gatorbites-imagines]

Can I request The Moonkinght boys with a Tall and Stoic Male History Teacher ?

Marc Spector, Steven Grant, and Jake Lockley x male reader

Headcanons

I’ve missed the moonboys, they still have a special place in my heart even though I’ve been mainly into DC lately.

You most likely met Steven first out of all of them, having to take your students on trips to the museum he works at. And at the end of the trips, they’re allowed to go into the giftshop, where you meet the cute clerk.

In the beginning its just small talk, until you learn how much he truly knows about Egyptology and the likes. And even though you rarely show any outward emotions, you listen closely when Steven infodumps about the subject.

I could imagine you visiting the museum quite regularly, with students of all ages, or to give speeches and the like. But you also start going on your own just to look at the things there and to talk to Steven.

If this takes place after the series then March and Jake are of course cautious about you, since your tall and show very few emotions, which means they cant really read you. Of course, Steven always defends you, since he’s so happy to finally have someone to talk too.

You end up able to pull some strings and get Steven to help guide your students around and talking about Egypt. Steven almost doesn’t believe you since its too good to be true, since all he’s ever wanted was to be a guide.

After his first time guiding your students around, you ask him out for coffee. Steven gladly accepts not thinking too deeply about it, until Marc tells him you asked him on a date.

The first date you guys go on is a little awkward but in an endearing way, since Steven has never been the one people focus on. It has always been Marc or Jake, and since he really likes you, he wants this date to go well.

He even gets you to crack a small laugh, which sends not only Stevens, but Marcs and Jakes hearts stuttering. Over time the other two have developed feelings for you as well, even though they’ve never interacted with you on their own.

When you guys start officially dating Steven is on a high for weeks after that, texting you about his day and planning dates for the two of you, with the help of Marc and Jake of course.

The first time you meet Marc or Jake is most likely an accident, or Steven has had a horrible day. Maybe Steven is so stressed one small mistake like breaking one of your cups has him retreating back into himself, pushing Marc to the front.

Marc isn’t used to interacting with you, and he tries to stay in the role of Steven since they don’t want to scare you off, but you’re an educated man so you notice the changes. After a while you ask him what’s truly wrong, looking at him with visible concern.

It takes some debating between Jake and Marc, but Marc ends up telling you the truth since its for the best. You’d figure it out one way or another, so its better they tell you when it’s up to them.

They expect you to react negatively, so they’re all surprised when you just accept it and thank them for telling you. They all get a little flustered when you ask them if there are boundaries or limits, or triggers you need to look out for. They’ve never really had someone care enough to want to make them comfortable like that.

After that your relationship with Steven continues on like before, but you also hang out with Jake and Marc every now and then. It takes even longer for Marc and Jakes feelings to come to the front, and its most likely with the help of Steven.

Like Steven kissing you and then pushing Jake to the front, or when your cuddling in bed he shoves Marc to the front. They’re both very embarrassed about having fallen for you two, so when they finally confess you just lean down and kiss them and welcome them with open arms.

You’re the smart one in the relationship, and they all abuse your height to reach things. Sure, they aren’t a short man, not at all, but why should they step on their tippytoes to reach something when your right there.

They also all enjoy pulling you down by your shirt when they want to kiss you, or using your tie to pull you down when they want to tease you.

All three of them also thrive off of making you smile since you are a very stoic person, so when they get you to smile just a little they can live off of that high for a while. They also try to find ways to make you laugh, even if its just a huff out the nose, it still counts.

[spockanalia-archive]

Spockanalia #1: Excerpt from the Young Vulcan's Handbook of Emotional Control

By Shirley Meech

Art by DEA

Excerpt from The Young Vulcan's Handbook of Emotional Control

translated by Shirley Meech

(The following is an excerpt from a Vulcan book-tape, obtained via the Baggins method, from the possessions of Commander Spock, on his recent visit to Earth. The tape is well worn, and sensor readings show that it is nearly as old as the subject himself, suggesting that he made frequent use of it from an early age.)

Historical fact: Actions based on primitive emotion nearly destroyed our race, our culture, and even our planet. Actions based on reason and logic prevented this catastrophe.

Sociological fact: The preservation of our civilization depends upon the suppression by every individual of all emotions. One uncontrolled emotion leads to another as a spark leads to a roaring inferno, and one person's unrestrained emotion can lead to the breakdown of control in many others. Therefore, it is expected that every person shall do his duty in upholding logic and eradicating emotion.

The standard instruction in logical behavior will teach you many techniques useful for developing and maintaining the controlled personality. The following instructions have been found useful in the acquisition of these skills.

When at all possible, avoid or withdraw from situations which will place your emotional control in jeopardy. When this is not possible:

Keep in mind these Basic Ideas

You are not an infant.

You are not a savage or a predator.

To give in to emotion never improves a situation; it can only create greater difficulties.

Each instance of successful control makes the practice easier; any lapse makes future control more difficult.

Civilization depends upon your logic and emotional control. You must not fail.

Use these Basic Techniques

Check first impulse to emotional action.

Control physical reactions such as tears, laughter, trembling, etc. Breathe deeply; keep your hands at your sides or behind your back, or turn away; use pain control when necessary.

Mentally repeat the Basic Ideas.

Concentrate on positive action which will improve the situation.

If no positive action can be taken, divert the mind from dwelling upon thoughts which will produce undesirable reactions. Count to ten, repeat the multiplication table, verbalize your personal strength, etc.

Emotions cause premature, uncontrolled release of physical energy, which must be suppressed until it can be channeled into constructive activity or released in an acceptable manner, such as extra calisthenics.

Specific Emotions

In addition to the Basic Ideas and Basic Techniques, the following specific dangers must be remembered in dealing with emotions.

Anger—Those who succumb to this most illogical of behaviors often injure persons or objects. They may be so gauche as to shout or use abusive language. Therefore, confine your words to statements of fact and do not raise your voice.

Grief—You must not give in to tears. Remember your age, your responsibilities, and your duties.

Fear—Remember that you are a Vulcan. There is never any cause to demonstrate such a weakness.

Love—Care must be taken to avoid showing this emotion by words, and especially by touch. It is best to avoid touching other persons entirely except for specific, acceptable reasons.

Happiness—This is a much overrated emotional state, which leads to such unsophisticated behavior as laughter. This is undignified and unacceptable. A silent smile may be permitted on rare occasion, but never laughter. However, when you are engaged in subduing all the emotions, the temptation to indulge in this state will greatly diminish.

(TRANSLATOR'S NOTE: You bet your pointed ears, it will.)

Mr. Spock's ears meet the requirements set by the Cat Fanciers Society of America for the Abyssinian breed of feline. The Abyssinian cat is said to be a direct descendent of the Kaffir cat of Egypt, one of the first cats on this planet.

Courtesy of Sandy Deckinger

Note: With the help and guidance of Open Doors, we digitized the first volume of Spockanalia and imported it to AO3, which you can view here. In order to meet AO3's terms of service, some of the content was edited or removed. The full version of the zine is preserved on this blog. The masterpost is here.

[callmemaeverick]

Trouble at the Smithsonian - The Spy Next Door Part III

AN: Sorry for the late upload, you guys. The story was already written, but I’m just struggling with the chapter titles, lol. Im still not feeling the title as much. Also, so hard to find a suitable GIF to accompany these fics. 

Ps: this was inspired by that episode on Modern Family

WC: 1.2 k (sorry, I went overboard)

Part I  Part II

“You can’t be serious.”

You looked up at Peter’s face, surprised at the incredulity in his voice. “What?”

“You’re gonna wear that?”

The that he was referring to were your boots. Your high heeled suede Chelsea boots, to be exact. You had bought them almost a year and a half ago but you hadn’t really had the chance to properly wear them.

“What’s wrong with my boots?”

Peter looked at you like you’d grown a second head. He scanned you down and huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “You- you do know we will be doing a lot of walking right? The Smithsonian is like 20 museums.”

“Oh come on, it's not like we're gonna see all of them. 3 at most.” You assured him as you locked your door. “Besides, I’ll be fine! I’ve been looking forward to this since I was a girl and I wanna look my best when I visit places they filmed those movies.” 

You knew it was highly unlikely that the Captain America exhibit was actually filmed in the Smithsonian or if they even have the Blackbird that was actually a Decepticon in disguise in the Air and Space Museum. But even the thought of standing close to your favorite movies sent a thrill through you. 

“So you’re dragging me out to this place, on our off day, because you wanna check out the places where they film your favorite movies,” The look on his face had not changed. “Not for the museums themselves?”

“Well, no! Of course not! I am going for the museums… but I can’t help the geek in me from being also excited about the movies. I mean, c’mon. Transformers!”

Peter watched you do a little hop of excitement and shook his head. “Well, don’t come to me when your feet start to hurt.”

This time, it was you who scoffed at him. “In your dreams, Sutherland.”

~ One of the best things about going to a local attraction, or anywhere, really, on a weekday was that the place would still have people, but not so many that you get overwhelmed too quickly. It was one of the reasons why you applied for a special leave on a Wednesday to go to the museum.

In fact, it was actually Peter’s idea.

And just as you planned, finding a parking near the entrance was a cake walk. The both of you started with the Museum of Natural History because it was the one that contained your interests the most.

The moment you entered, it was like you were absorbed into another dimension. Your eyes went wide at the marvels before you and your heart thumped in your chest in excitement. Turning to Peter, you grinned wide before you grabbed his hand and ran into the first hall.

It was your first museum that day and you were already so happy. There were many exhibits on display. There was a hall full of fossils of ancient dinosaurs, huge and intimidating and you couldn’t help but feel like Ellie Sattler as you named them one by one. Then, more excitingly, you got to live out your Evie O'Connell fantasies when you climbed up to the second floor to the Ancient Egypt exhibit.

And Peter. Peter indulged you with a small smile on his face. Not once did he make fun of your abundant movie references and not once did he look at you funny. He followed you from exhibit to exhibit, listening attentively to every anecdote you made. He even pitched in some of his own memories when he could.

Before you knew it, the both of you had managed to clear 2 museums. And by lunch, your feet had started to hurt.

The Smithsonian was better than you thought it would be. And it was also bigger than you thought it would be. But being the stubborn creature that you are, you kept quiet. You had known it would happen eventually, but you had wanted to look your best more than you cared about the pain. The boots, while not that high-heeled, was not your normal attire. However, wearing them made you feel good and confident. It gave you a boost in height and a sexy walk.

Besides, you didn't have to look up so high to talk to Peter with them on. And you could better see the smattering of freckles on his face. That alone was totally worth the blisters.

~

The call of your name snapped you out of your thoughts and you blushed as Peter took his seat beside you and handed you a hotdog.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just... thinking where to go next."

"How's your feet?"

A muscle in your jaw ticked and your smile was tight. You bit into your lunch. "They're fine."

Peter eyed you like he knew you were lying, but let it go.

After lunch, the two of you made your way to the Air and Space Museum. But as you went through the exhibits, you began to lag behind as the pain in your feet slowly got worse.

By the third time Peter noticed you were not beside him, he has had enough.

"That's it. Come on,"

All of a sudden, there was a hand at the small of your back pushing you gently towards a bench.

"Hey, what?! Careful!" You exclaimed as you stumbled along, hissing when you stepped wrongly and aggravated your ankles.

"Sit.” Peter’s voice brooked no argument and reluctantly, you did as he asked. 

"What's this about, Peter?"

"You're hurting." He nodded to your feet.

You opened your mouth to rebuke him, but he levelled you with a look that shut you up. There was no use in hiding it. He was right.

"Stay here." He sighed and disappeared somewhere in the crowd.

Disappointment churned in your stomach. You were pissed at yourself for being so stubborn, for ruining the whole day. Now both of you were upset and it was all your fault. You heaved a long sigh and reached down to massage your ankles.

The crinkling of a plastic bag made you look up and you watched as Peter approached you with a pair of flip flops he bought from, by the picture of the rocket on it, the museum gift shop.

"Put this on."

You looked at him incredulously as he knelt to place the footwear by your feet. "Did you just-"

"It's either this or you're walking barefoot. And I'm not about to let you do that. So, come on."

Something in you reacted oddly at the action, spreading warmth across your chest. You stared at Peter for a few beats as your thoughts ran rampant. But then you blinked them away, too shocked to examine them and turned your attention to the flip flops.

"But it's so ugly though," You complained, but toed off your boots nonetheless.

"Too bad. It's the only design they had." Peter took your boots and put them into the plastic bag as you grumbled, standing and taking a few steps.

"How is it?"

It was perfect. The cool air against your abused and pinched skin felt like a balm and the ability to wiggle your toes made a small smile creep onto your face. Before turning back though, you schooled your features to indifference. "It'll do."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Yeah. You're welcome. Now, come on," He passed you, the plastic bag dangling from his fingers.  "Jetstar is waiting for you."

"Jetfire!"

TBC

Tagging: @strnqer @thefictionalgemini​ @bcon24​ @medievalfangirl​ @coldheartedmar​ @iamzuul​ 

[whimsicallywiddershins]

My best guesses on which cultures/countries Tamora Pierce bases her places and peoples off of. Obviously these aren't perfect copies, but more of where the idea may have come from.

Tortall is definitely Europe. Knights, castles, European names like John and George, ect. Easy.

Bazhir Desert: this one is trickier. Very likely based on Arab deserts or the Sahara and the peoples who live there. It's very ambiguous, just a basic desert culture, not a ton of world building here, but it's been a long time since I've read the Lioness books.

Galla and Scanra: I believe these are both based off Northern countries, with Scanra definitely based on Viking culture. Galla is less so, more like Lithuania or Poland, but neither is Russia. We will get to Russia in a bit.

Sairen and K'miri: Definitely Mongolia and steppe people and place.

Roof of the World: Tibet

Carthak: Egypt. Definitely based on ancient Egypt. Crocodiles, hyenas, lots of gold and darker skinned people. Old, powerful and center of learning.

Yamani Islands: Japan. I don't need to elaborate.

Copper Isles: This one I think is a bit of a mix of Indonesia and Hawaii.

Now, for Circle of Magic! (aka the fun and interesting culture and worldbuilding)

Emelan and the Pebbled Sea: Definitely Mediterranean, but I'm not sure which. My best guess is a sorta Turkey/Persian influence. It's not as obvious as Tortall. I believe the Chandlers and Tris are from a more Italian culture, probably from a country up North, but close enough to border Emelan and making travel easy. The whole merchant family thing made me think of Italy.

Traders: Likely based of Roma/Romani people. Trading caravans and largely persecuted. Not an exact copy, but similar.

Namorn: Russia! Definitely Russia. Large empire, very cold, far north and uses vaguely Russian terms. Powerful and not to be messed with.

Tharios: This one was tricky and fascinating. Probably ancient Greece, but I believe there were some other influences. The world building was massive as the plot directly involved the culture of the city. We also view the city from the scholarly but judgemental eyes of Tris.

Chammur: My best guess is India. Briar is more concerned with gangs and Evy so he doesn't really let us see the city as well. But India seems like a fair bet.

Yanjing: China. No needed discussion here lol.

Gyongxe: I'm guessing Tibet, again. The Roof of the World was way too quick, so Im glad Tamora re-visited this culture in a better way. Who knows, the Shang Dragon was very Chinese inspired, maybe Alanna did travel that far and missed Briar, Rosethorn and Evy by a few years! I'm still firm in the belief that all the books are in the same world.

If you agree or disagree with my picks, feel free to comment and propose your own theories! Or if I missed a country.

[highonakuweeds]

FLFM (Part 5)

(A/N: will be continuing this on ao3 for the other parts :33)

Feign Lust to Fool the Masses

TAGS: fluff, reader is overworked and stressed, Vox is bad at feelings (and so is reader), denial is a river in Egypt

“This should be here.” You ordered, pointing at the newest product in the store before doing the same to an empty spot. Many sinners hurried to carry the things and place it where you told them to, not even a single peep in them. 

“That shouldn’t be there.” You furrowed your eyebrows in annoyance; do people not know how to organize their damn shit? You glared at the crooked placement of one of the cardboard cut-outs of Valentino and the new love potion he had concocted with Velvette, your arms crossed. That was enough to make one of the demons that worked at Voxtek straighten it, fixing their posture as they looked at you for approval. 

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “That’s okay. Oh, dear,” your lips curled into a grimace, disgust clear in your eyes as you stared at one of the broken computers on display. “Is this really how things are run here? Dear God, you’re lucky you have many supporters, otherwise this would not fly.” 

Vox entered the shop with his usual grin, his eyebrows shooting up at your modifications of the place. “Hello, my dear (Name).” He called out, his smile slightly straining when you didn’t respond to him immediately.

“Uh huh yes hello, Vox, mi amor.” You acknowledged mindlessly, leaning forward to face a worker as they showed you a clipboard with loads of papers clipped on it. “Yes, that’ll do nicely; thank you.”

“I can see you’re busy.” He commented with a tight voice, looking around the bustling atmosphere of multiple sinners running around, trying to accommodate all of your commands. You replied to Vox with a sigh, muttering the demon you were talking to to leave you two alone. They nodded, and started walking towards one of the shelves, barking out the commands you fed them.

“What do you need, Vox?” You raised a brow as you crossed your arms, placing your weight on one hip. He studied your expression, and he found himself amused at your irritated demeanor today. Though, the more he read into it, it hadn't just been today; it had been the whole week.

“What,” he grinned, snaking an arm around your waist, making your eyes widen. “Am I not allowed to visit my so-called lover?” 

You tried your best to not let your flusteredness show. Your facial expression was filled with skepticism as you responded to him. “...What’s the occasion?”

Vox’s smile dropped ever so slightly when you didn’t give into his flirting, whether it be fake or not. But just as he was about to sigh and complain about that like a baby, you slid your arm up from his chest to his shoulder, your eyes traveling around his vest. “Seriously, what’s the occasion?”

He seemingly froze at your fingers playing with the lapels of his coat, before clearing his throat. “Where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you around.”

You blinked at him, slightly shocked and in disbelief that he noticed your absence. “...I’ve been busy doing my job.” You narrowed your eyes faintly so that only Vox could see it. Your hand was a contradiction to your look, though, as it slid to rest against the junction between Vox’s shoulder and neck. You didn’t even have to do it; you just liked seeing Vox squirm.

His shoulders stiffened at your hand before he rolled his eyes. “I know that. But why are you so busy?”

You pouted your lips at him, edges of your lips curling into a small mocking smile. “Aw, does someone miss me?”

“Very funny, (Name); answer my question.”

Your smile faded quickly into a frown of annoyance; this man has no humor. “Ever since the new edition of headsets dropped, people have been buying it in bulk, and I have no idea why. And other than that, the people working here are so incompetent—” You cut yourself off with a deep sigh, regaining your composure. “Just some problems stacking up on each other, nothing I can’t handle.”

Vox believed you could handle everything given to you with no question. Your words were as smooth as his when convincing the masses, possibly even a bit better. You were always calm and professional; he liked that about you.

But just that. Definitely. Probably.

“Get a room!” Someone who had just stepped inside the store exclaimed, making their friend nudge them, and mutter, “it’d be better if they did it right here.” 

“Oh, my fucking god you’re so right; that would be so hot.”

What the hell were they talking about? You wondered before you realized just how close you and Vox were, your bodies pressed against each other tightly. With slight heat on your cheeks, you quickly let go of him, and he hesitated to do the same. “Jesus.” You huffed out, an awkward smile adorning your face. 

“Yeah.” Vox nodded, glancing around. He cleared his throat once more, the signature charismatic smile on his screen. “Well, I must get going now; I have to calm Val’s ass again.”

You let out a short cackle before nodding, shooing Vox away. “Go, then, and good luck.” He turned his head to look at you, scoffing at your words. “You’re going to need it.”

“Bye, babe.”

“See you later, darling.”

Those call signs rolled off your tongue so easily with how many times you’d had to call Vox that over the course of now 8 months. His little nicknames for you used to get you so flustered, but now you really couldn’t care less. It was a part of your daily life now; might as well normalize it.

Dear God, he better not be a part of your daily life forever. You would hate that. Despise it, even. Right?

—

“Uhm, Ms. (Name)?” Peppermint called out from outside your door after knocking, making you look up from paperwork. “Yes, Pep? You may come in.”

He did as he was allowed to do, holding a cup of iced coffee. You smiled warmly at him, confused as you tilted your head. “I didn’t order coffee.”

“Sir Vox ordered it for you.” He informed you, placing it on your desk, far away from the papers. “Vox?” You echoed, shock clear on your face. “Did he tell you why?”

Peppermint shook his head. “No, ma’am. He only told me to give it to you, and according to him, ‘under no circumstances can she refuse’.” 

You glanced at the iced coffee, and scoffed; that sounded like Vox alright. “Thank you, Pep. And send Vox my gratitude.”

He nodded his head, and quickly left your room quietly. As soon as Peppermint closed the door, you whined, your forehead slamming onto the desk. What was Vox trying to do to your mind? 

Well, it’s not like he doesn’t give you lavish gifts all the time. But this coffee felt different, somehow. It was from your favorite cafe in Hell (it was rare to find such a beautiful and cozy place in the underworld); you weren’t sure how Vox knew you liked the place, to be honest. It had been a while since you paid it a visit. 

You gingerly held the cup, the condensation wetting your palms. He even knew your usual order there, too. You took a sip of it, immediately sighing in relief when you tasted that familiar feeling of comfort. It was quite funny to you, how expensive bracelets and dresses didn’t phase you but a singular coffee made your undead heart flutter.

Maybe you were experiencing palpitations from the coffee; it had been ages since you’ve drunk your last cup. 

“Did she take it?” Vox asked, turning to look at Peppermint. His assistant glanced quickly at the cameras behind Vox; he was watching Alastor again. “She did, sir.”

“Good.” He turned back towards the mass array of cameras that showed the events of Hell in every angle, specifically towards the Hazbin Hotel (did they really think that would work? Fucking stupid.) After a couple of beats, Vox spoke again, his voice softer this time. “How is she?” “Still doing paperwork, sir.”

“It’s been 6 hours since she locked herself in her room.” Vox mumbled, using his hand to tell Peppermint to go away. He obliged and quickly left.

Vox had noticed the way you worked yourself to the bone, and it was beginning to concern him. Why the hell were you doing so much work? Fuck, why did you even have so much work? There are people in Voxtek for that reason! You didn’t have to do everything.

—

voxypoo

wear a comfortable dress later

go to the third floor in an hour

You heard a notification ping from your phone, making you rip your eyes away from the countless amount of paperwork you had on your desk. Jesus, even in Hell you can’t escape it. 

You tapped on the screen to check who it was: Vox. He was telling you to basically dress up and meet up with him. You rolled your eyes, typing:

You

im busy

voxypoo

i dont care

see you babe

Your mouth went agape at his boldness; who the fuck does he think he is, bossing you around like this? And why were you actually going to follow him?

You stood up from your desk, wincing when your whole lower body pricked from you sitting down for too long. The paperwork can probably wait. Sure, you’d have to spend approximately another hour or two on it if you neglected it now, but you can sacrifice a bit of your time; you had all the time in the world.

Literally. You cannot die naturally since you’re already dead.

You slipped on the most comfortable dress you could find: a simple maxi dress with sleeves draped down and hugged your wrists. 

You tied the bow that acted as a belt around your waist, its color the same as the dress as a whole: a deep teal. You had it even before your whole charade with Vox, and you figured it was the best fit for this surprise occasion.

You took the elevator to the third floor, your high-heeled foot tapping on the floor of it. You had to admit, you felt like you were about to vomit at the anxiety this stupid surprise was giving you. 

With a ding, you reached your destination. The doors opened to a dimly lit room, the main focus of light being a candelabra situated in the middle of a relatively large dining table. Soft jazz played all across the room, making you feel so disgustingly fuzzy inside.

You almost laughed when you saw Vox not in his usual outfit. It was something a bit more formal, the red and black vest of his daily suit replaced by a deep blue waistcoat and a red and black tie. At least he still had his signature color palette.

“What’s all this?” You asked, skepticism thick in your voice as you walked slowly towards him, taking in the whole atmosphere. Vox rolled his eyes when he heard your doubt, putting his hand out in front of you for you to hold.

“You need to relax,” was all he told you, practically forcing you to sit down on the seat across his. Vox nodded at someone you couldn’t see, and in a snap, multiple waiters swarmed your table, one filling your glass with red wine, another placing a napkin on your lap, and one more laying down a plate of steak in front of you.

You furrowed your eyebrows in alarm and shock at the sudden actions, your eyes darting to Vox. He had such a cocky grin on his face; what would happen if you grabbed the fork that was to your left and stabbed his screen? You’ve always wanted to do so.

Vox had probably noticed the way your fingers itched towards the fork, and he showed you his hands as a way of telling you to calm down. “Relax.”

You let out a short laugh at his words, sighing in relief when the waiters left you two alone. You leaned against your chair’s backrest, tilting your head. “Why do you want me to do so so suddenly?”

Vox seemed to be at a loss of words, his brows twitching as he tried to formulate a sentence where it didn’t sound like he was in love with you. He wasn’t, and there was no reason for him to act when it was just the two of you. He only arranged this “date” to help you destress, and to not possibly blow up on random people.

“You just looked like you needed it. Now,” Vox started to slide into his steak, looking down at it before glancing at you. “Tell me about your day.”

What the fuck?? “Uhm,” you’ve never really done this before. Talked to someone about your day. You always deemed it to be just a boring way of small talk. “I had to restock the shelves again, so that was a good thing. What wasn’t a good thing, though, was the fact that one of the newer interns literally fucking made a whole shelf fall down on themselves! I made them pay for it before immediately killing them; what I did was mercy, really. They would not survive outside. And…”

Vox nodded along as you passionately talked about your day like it was word vomit. He liked hearing your voice, how sometimes when your emotions were at a high, it would do the same; it was cute— entertaining. It was entertaining.

The minutes turned into hours, and your rants turned into conversations, Vox having to gasp for breath at how hard he was laughing. Without even knowing, the two of you had finished a bottle or two of wine in a snap.

As you spoke, you slurred your words, giggling without any real reason. Vox noticed how your eyelids drooped every now and then before they snapped open, your mouth saying some nonsense.

“(Name), dear.” Vox called your attention, his voice soft and low. You blinked quickly, tilting your head a bit too much. “Hmmm? Yessss?”

Fucking hell. “I think you should go to bed now.” He grinned, standing up and walking towards you to help you. You groaned loudly, your breath smelling of wine. “I’m not tired, though!” 

Vox rolled his eyes playfully, a soft smile on his lips. “Sure. And you didn’t just go through a bottle and a half of wine.”

“I did?”

“Yes, you did. Now, let’s get you to your room.”

You smirked at him, pressing your body against his. “Oh, and what are you gonna do t’ me?” 

Vox stared at you, not even stunned by your comment. The elevator dinged and he practically dragged your ass inside. “I’m going to help you to your bedroom,”

“Yes…”

“I’ll lay you down on your bed,”

Your eyes gleamed in excitement. “Uh huh?”

“And then I’ll tuck you in; you need sleep. I haven’t seen you go inside of your room in a week.” Vox watched the numbers go up as the elevator did the same thing. He grinned when he saw you pout and whine, slightly stomping your feet. 

“Don’t raise my hopes up like that!” You gripped onto his arm for dear life. The last amount of control you had over your mind was screaming at you to not let go, otherwise you would fall down. 

Vox scoffed, his vision following the opening doors. “I’m not gonna fuck you when you’re drunk.” Not without your previous consent. 

“Why not!?” You whined, yawning afterwards.

He just laughed, shaking his head. “You are in desperate need of some rest. Did you know you haven’t stepped foot in your bedroom for around a week now? I’m concerned for you. I’ve…” Vox sighed, wrapping an arm around your waist before averting your gaze, glancing around your bedroom. “I’ve missed you.”

You stayed silent for a couple of seconds before laughing, using your pointer fingers to poke his waist. Fuck, how did you still remember the fact that he was ticklish there? “Ooooh, you missed me!” After a few bubbled laughter from you and a couple of “stop it”s from Vox, you sighed, staring into nothing that particular. “I missed you, too.” 

Vox’s smile faltered. You were just drunk; you didn’t mean that. He laughed softly, sweeping you off your feet. You yelped at his action, huffing when he threw you on the bed. 

“Rest, my dear (Name).” He told you, and you suddenly felt the need to do so. Or maybe it was just because he reminded you of your sleep-deprived schedule. 

You sighed into the pillow, nodding. “Okay…”

You closed your eyes, only realizing now just how heavy your eyelids were. Vox’s chuckle echoed in your mind as he pulled your covers over your shoulder. His hand hesitated every so slightly as you felt its warmth hovering your cheek before he cupped it, his pinky grazing over your jaw. “Good night, (Name).”

You could’ve sworn you said it back, but at that point in time your consciousness was already slipping away from you. Oh, well; it’s the thought that counts.

[winniethewife]

Isn't it lovely in theory? (Three year old!Steven Grant x F!Reader)

A/N: Based on the story I came up with on @ominoose 's Baby Steven Bot.

Warning: Character death

Prompt: Kid-fic

Words: 1452

It was another Rainy Saturday morning, the sun had barely peaked through the clouds Steven had fallen asleep in his mother’s arms the night before and as she starts to wake up she looks at his soft sleeping face in her arms.  She leans in and gives him a kiss on the forehead.

"Steven time to get up baby. We’ve got a big day ahead." She runs her fingers through his curls. Her eyes filled with motherly affection.  Steven nuzzled up against her with a sleepy yawn, leaning into their body.

"Mummy... I don’t wanna get up..." he mumbled. With a small, grumble of protest, he reached up to rub his eyes with his chubby, little hands. "Cuddles First. Pwease." Steven looked up at His mum with a pout on his face. She laughs slightly and pulls him in for a cuddle

"Of course, I'll never ever say no to cuddles with my Steven." She kisses the top of his head and snuggles him close to her. Steven was her greatest joy she was so thankful for the last three years, and for all the ones to come. Steven buried his head in her chest.

“I love you Mummy... love you more than the moon..." Steven mumbled, eyes fluttering shut. She felt the familiar prick of tears in her eyes and she held him tight

"And I love you too, more than the sun..." She nuzzles her face into his mop of curls with a soft smile on her face.

“I Love you more than all the stars!” Steven says with a smile as he opens his eyes and looks up at her.

"All the stars? That's a lot. I don't know if I can keep up with that." She smiles as she rubs his back. Kissing his forehead.

"... and you're my favorite star..." he added. “The best, brightest, most shiniest... star!"

“Alright baby boy. You ready for breakfast?" She smiles at him as she starts to get out of bed lifting him in her arms lifting him high into the air and spins him around. "Look at you! Getting so big!" Steven starts giggling like crazy as they spun around...

"I a big boy now!" Steven Exclaims in a tiny, childish, excited voice. "And big boys... eat pancakes!!!"

"Pancakes! Pancakes it is!" She says with a smile, she takes him to the kitchen and she sits him in his chair and gets to work on some microwave pancakes. After carefully cutting up some fruit and heating up a plate of pancakes he places the plate in front of him. She ruffles his curls. "Eat up baby we got a big day ahead." With an excited squeal, Steven began to dig into his plate of pancakes.

"Wha? A big day?!?" he asked between bites. "Tell me more!" Little Steven demanded.

"Okay! Okay I'll tell you...we're going to the museum today!" She announced. She knew the museum was one of Steven's favorite places to go.

"Ah! Mummy! I love the Museum, So so much!" Steven yelled excitedly as he pumped both of his fists into the air. His small hands were covered in syrup "Can we go see the mummies and Egypt stuff?" Little Steven begged and pleaded.

"Of course baby. I know that's your favorite." She says as she wiped his hands off with a wet towel. "On our way we need to visit daddy okay? Do you want to pick out the flowers this time?" She asks. She wasn't sure if Steven really understands what visiting his father’s grave means, but she always tries to take him every Saturday. Steven nodded with a sweet little smile.

"We give daddy the prettiest flowers!" He answered, Steven was still small, still innocent... He was still just a little one. "Come on, Mummy! Let's go!" he shouted, grabbing her leg eagerly.

"Alright! Alright, let's get ready and get going." Rose follows him to his room getting him ready for the day. Picking out a good outfit for the day. Helping him step into his pants and pulling a dinosaur Jumper over his head, pulling his arms through the sleeves. Humming a song as they get ready. This Saturday was like the others, like so many Saturdays before. Little Steven was too young to grasp the concept of his father's death... they stopped at the florist, and Steven picked out a lovely bunch of flowers. They walked through the cemetery Rose held Steven in her arms as they traversed the muddy pathway. As they approached the headstone she tries her best to stay strong for Steven, no tears today. Stevens’s father died just a couple months after Steven was born. If she didn't have Steven...she has no idea how she would have made it. She sets Steven down as they stood next to the headstone "Hey darling. It's Us." She said softly. Little Steven looked up at his mother tilting his head and looking at her with a sad and confused look.

"Where did Daddy go, mummy?" he asked with a quiet voice, as Rose could see the innocence and lack of understanding in his eyes. "Daddy... I miss him... where he go?" The boy's tone broke her heart... She gets on her knees and looks at Steven. Her hands taking his little ones in hers "Well baby, Daddy...Daddy died. When you were still in my tummy, daddy... daddy was really sick, and we knew that he wouldn't live very long after you were born. But he loved you…So very, very much. That I know..." She feels a tear run down her face.

"He... loved me?" Little Steven asked quietly, his lip jutted out in a small pout and tears came to his eyes. "I... Miss Daddy...Mummy do... Am I like daddy?" the small Boy had so many questions, this wasn’t unusual but this was the first time he had so many about his father. She smiles at him, more tears coming down her face.

"Yeah, you look just like your daddy. Exactly like him" she pulls him into a big hug "I miss him too. I miss him too. He would have spoiled you rotten." She chuckled slightly at the thought of it. Everything Steven's father would have done with the little boy...Steven looked up to her again, an idea in his head.

"I want... Can I see daddy?"

"I have a picture. Here." Rose pulls out her phone and pulls out a picture of her late husband, Steven's father. He had the same dark brown curls, pushed back into a neat style, and he had the same chocolate eyes, his face looked very similar to Steven's. Rose offered to let Steven hold the phone and look at his father. Little Steven's eyes lit up as he got a look at his father's picture on the phone. He used his small hands to carefully hold the phone. He looked at the phone, then back at his mum...

"I want to talk... to my daddy..."

"Of course baby....what do you want to tell him?" She pulls him into her lap as they sit in front of the headstone and the flowers that lay in front of it. "He's right here. Listening. Always baby boy" Steven stared at the picture of his father for a moment, tears rolling down his cheeks as he sniffled

"Hi daddy...Is...daddy here with us?" Little Steven asked quietly, with hope in his wavering voice... He wanted to believe that his father was right next to him. That his Father was sitting next to him... That he was talking to him now. His mother tried to hold back a sob as she nuzzles her face into his soft curls.

"He's here baby. He's always with you Steven." She lifts her head and puts her hand on his chest over his heart. "He's right here. For you, any time, always." Steven felt the warmth of her hand on his heart  as he held the phone tight, holding it to his chest, his brows furrowed in concentration as he closed his eyes, he keeping the phone close to his heart.

"Oh daddy... I love you...I will always love you. Just like you love me." He mumbled softly, hugging the phone tightly to his body as if trough the phone he could pretend he was hugging his father. She smiles and she rubs his cheeks. She kisses his forehead before standing up, Steven still in her arms as she takes a few steps over to the headstone and touches it softly. She speaks softly as Steven watched with rapped attention

"I miss you every day darling. You're still the only one for me. And our little Boy...he's everything you hoped for. I love you…Marc."

Bingo Masterlist

Tag: @moonknight-events @juneknight @spacecowboyhotch

[platinumrosetail]

Yandere Seth x fem reader. Part 2

Notice: After leaving the museum, fem reader went to her hotel room to continue investigating the myth of Seth and that goddess, finding more details. Then at night he starts having nightmares. When she was apparently murdered (which are brief flashbacks to her previous life), she begins sightseeing and goes to the museum more frequently. But every day she always runs into that red-haired boy, which makes her suspicious of him and thinks that he follows her everywhere. And at night he continues with those nightmares. What would happen? fem Reader, she begins to see images that she has never seen in many places, also apparently "something" is trying to kill her and she is so stressed that she demands the redhead (that is, Seth) to leave her alone, shouting that he already I shouldn't follow her. , even calls him a pervert in public and then runs away. He also tries to report him without success. Then he finally decides to leave, because since he arrived very strange things have happened to him. He packs his things and heads home.

What would Seth do here? I would like to see how this jealous man takes her and she tries to resist. and if they go to a very strange place for the Reader. to the place where there are individuals dressed as Egyptians, where the gods hide.

(one more thing and that's it: it could include the participation of I don't know, Isis, Horus or Anubis, even the hateful Osiris. Either because they mixed with the people, and in disguise)

(You can add more things if you want, what would happen later, it just doesn't occur to me anymore but I know you do. Thank you very much for doing this second part)

Alright! I’ll try my best 😁

Warning: noob author, female reader, yandere romantic character, and others.

Character: Seth.

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

You decide to leave after another hour had passed while staying in the museum as you had to sort your luggage in your hotel room for your stay here.

You didn’t go out as just that trip to the museum kinda tired you out so you ordered room service and watched some tv before going to bed after you god done with your food and got more tired watching tv.

While sleeping you started dreaming of horrific things happening to you or at least what you think is you and soon the dream turned into a nightmare, with the dream always replaying but with different scenarios it was always you dying in a different way in each scenario and your killer had green skin and was repeatedly saying ‘mine’ over and over again.

You couldn’t figure out why you were getting these nightmares and try to dismiss it as your brain trying to figure out what happened to the mysterious goddess but you feel like that wasn’t it entirely, so you decided to distract yourself by exploring more in the city as well as more of the Egypt museum to hopefully take your mind off of it.

While visiting some stores and shopping districts you almost always seem to see the red haired and red eyes curator which was odd as you thought he would have better places than where you visit with the money that goes to the museum and such, it feels like he’s following you but it’s kinda hard to believe that he would follow you so you try to just pin it as a coincidence and him just liking the simpler areas better than the ones rich usually goes to.

The dreams don’t end there no matter what you do and you start seeing new things which you had never seen before and haven’t been recorded at all, she also start seeing another person in her dreams that wasn’t the green skinned person, but instead of the new individual it’s someone that she met recently which was the curator, they both have the red hair and red eyes along with face shape and other features so maybe he was the root of this nightmare problem, hopefully you’re not accusing someone innocent.

You go back to the Egyptian museum to hopefully figure what’s happening since you came here and put an end to it as it’s driving you crazy and making your health deteriorate. He wasn’t there shockingly so you decided to visit where you suspiciously see him when you go out somewhere besides the museum.

You did in fact find him there and decided to confront him even if you can’t prove any evidence you just want to get rid of this so you can finally sleep peacefully and have your health back up.

You ended up calling him a pervert and walking away as he tried to drag you away to somewhere private to talk about this but that just gave you red flags all around so you decided to go to the police to hopefully help you but sadly no evidence doesn’t help you in this, so you were left no choice but to leave even if you didn’t want to and wanted to dive more into that exhibit with the mysterious goddess.

Seth figured you would do this and kidnapped you before you could leave, he tells you this is for your own good as seeing as you’re still alive and now human your more easy to kill for Osiris as he hates how you got Seth to love you and not him and now he’s not alone as he somehow convinced your past life mother who convinced your aunt, his ex wife and sister.

And so he and Horus; who even though loves Seth he also cares about you and wanted both of you to be happy as he sees this as unfair on his mother’s and father, keeps you safe from those who wants to end you once and for all, even if you resist and try to escape as this is for your safety and for your own good.

(A/n: hope you liked it! I try to include everyone in your requests so I hope what I did was ok 👍 anyway hope y’all have a wonderful day/evening/night!)

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

How the bachelorettes will play the The Sims 3:

Haley:

Will spend 2 hours to create the perfect design for her sim's clothes.

Cheat code for a huge amount of money.

The richest house, the best cars, the biggest TV, etc.

Favorite expansion packs: Late night, Showtime and Island Paradise.

Goes to expensive bars and places to get interesting moodlets. Only the best and expensive thing!

Got "heartbreaker" lifetime's wish the very first in her game.

Of course, she's a popular super star! Admittedly, she constantly has to fight back her good name when her sim is publicly reviled. Oh, that popularity!

Maxed out the photographer's and serfing skill set.

Decided to try to learn a new skills in game. Her sim died in a fire the first time she tried to make macaroni and cheese.

Penny:

Another interesting thing that helps her escape from reality (besides books).

Never uses cheat codes, trying to achieve everything herself.

Favorite expansion packs: Generation and Seasons.

Creates the perfect modest newlywed couple. One of the sims is her exact copy and the other is her dream spouse.

At first was upset that her sim had many failed attempts at cooking (too close to reality). Eventually pumped the skill to the max.

Gave her sim a career in school.

Mini heart attack every time a thief or ghost showed up at her sim's house.

Goes into the build menu just to listen to music.

Created as many children as the game allowed. Happy big family!

Emily:

She spent twice as much time designing her sim's hair and clothes as her sister.

Inspired after the game, went to my sewing machine to recreate the clothes in reality.

Love all the expansion, but her favorite is Ambition. Because a career as a Stylist! Also pets, because parrot!

Her sim knows every skill in the game bit by bit.

She'll be picking up every stray animal.

Stopped doing that when one of the stray cat ate her parrot.

Was upset that unlike cats and dogs, she can't put a grave for a parrot.

Collects various gems and collects them in the Sim's house. Gems everywhere!

Abigail:

She thought it was a boring game, but when she found out you could create a sim as a ghost! Or a vampire! Or a werewolf, or a witch? She could become an adventurer? Awesome!

Favorite expansions are World Adventures and Supernatural.

Uses the occasional $1000 dollar cheat code to buy a ticket to another country.

Sim's personal life? No time for that, she has adventures waiting for her in Egypt!

Pumping skill sports to fight with the mummy.

No money for food? Time to look for breakfast in the trash cans!

Enjoys getting interesting moodlets, no matter positive or negative.

Created the sim as a witch and practiced magic during the adventure.

Making stinky potion? Absolutely yes 😈

Often saved to watch a sim die from a trap in adventures or from other things.

Leah:

She is more interested in the architecture and design of the house than the game itself.

Uses money cheats to buy the necessary items to create the perfect cottage house.

However, she does not use cheats during the game itself. She enjoys creating the perfect house on a small budget.

Favorite expansions are Seasons, University Life, and Career.

The first expansion is for fall aesthetics 🤌 the other two are for pumping up her artist and sculptor skills.

A nemesis with a neighbor who strongly resembles her ex in personality.

Often sits in the city editor (like, almost 90% of her time), redesigning other sims' homes.

Her sim visits countries just to paint beautiful landscape and buy a bottle of "juice".

Also, the gardening skill is half developed.

Her sim was eaten by a carnivorous cow flower. And she didn't even keep the design of the town! Eh, need to start all over again...

Maru:

Doesn't spend a lot of time creating a sim.

Of course they have the Inventor character, how could they not.

Favorite expansions packs are Ambition and Into the Future.

So many ideas in the game for her new inventions... A jetpack? Why not.

Fascinated by the quest to change the future into Utopia or Dystopia.

Science, invention and robot building skills are maxed out.

Used a cheat code for 1000 dollars just once to buy junk for inventions.

Made a sim Sebastian, so that at least in the game in them were good family relationships...

Synthesized food?! Now that's interesting!

Her Sims often died from burns and electrocution.

[richardsletters]

“Dear Jodi, 

Hi thank you for the photos. They were cool. Good to hear from you again! Is that you in the pictures? Getting a job as a teacher shouldn't be too bad. When do you go back to school? Say hi to Troy for me. I did get a few letter's from him which I'll answer soon. Hope you can read my writing ok. It's 1 AM. I don't have a desk and my pen is less than stellar. I did visit some cities in Mexico. Never did go to the pyramids. Wish I had though. I wonder if you could climb the pyramids in Egypt. You think? Have you ever been to Israel or do you intend to go someday? What do you think about what is going over there? Your last name is Jewish? Thanx for telling me about the Jewish faith and whether they believe in the devil. I was kinda right then cause I had a jewish lawyer (-> They are some of the best lawyer's around) back in 85 and he told me they didn't believe in the devil. Me + him parted ways cause we couldn't get along the following year. You say that in christianity, the devil punishes the sinner, you think? Maybe there's something to that rolling stones song "Sympathy for the devil" after all. ha The part where it says "what busted you is the nature of my game". ha I alwayas thought that in religions, god was the punisher. You know when god gets pissed (according to the bible) it's bad news. ha Noah's ark, Saddam + Gomora + all that. Ah you an atheist then? I do remember (I think) you telling me this in one of your past letters. You + Troy seem to make a perfect couple. You both very smart. How did you guys meet? Whats a " Bris for the child (?)" mean? Is that like circumcision? Foreskin being cut off? Ouch. :) Yes indeed I know what you mean when you write that your different views on religion from the ones your family has can create problems. Same here. My family is catholic and I'm a satanist :) And also with all the different idologies and mind sets in the world I'm suprised the world isn't a more chaotic place. Have you been watching the news re: The catholics and protestants going at it in Ireland? I've created my own religion.:) Its called "I believe in what I want to believe in." ha I don't follow any one satanic groups preachings. I believe in God- and Satan as being a spirit. a spirit who rebelled against God and has legions of demons all over the worl. Pretty weird concept huh? ha I do know alot of Satanists don't believe in Satan as an actual being or spirit. Nope I don't remember meeting Lavey. It's possible though but I doubt it. Rumor has it he was a big fibber. ha I did meet his daughter Zeena though who had a falling out with him. I did hear about that Ed Gein movie. I doubt I'll ever see it. You gonna go check out From Hell with Johnny Depp? 13 Ghosts looks pretty good. I know Texas Chainsaw Massacre was done with Ed Gein's crimes in mind. You're seen that one? I do have pics on my wall yup here's a drawing of my cell for you. Pretty gruesome huh? ha I've been living in these cells for 16 years now. Ugh! ha Yeah the WTC attack in NY was something else. I saw it happen live on TV. Looked like something straight out of a movie. Your bible story of Ishmael and Isaac was interesting maybe that really is where the feud started eh? I can see them on that game show "The Family Feud". ha That drawing you sent me from the internet was really cool. Thanx. Now if you'll excuse me my love (hope you don't mind me calling you that :) ) I have to retire for the night. Jeeves, Bring me my glass of warm milk. :) I'll end here, hope to hear from you again soon. All my best <3 Own the day, Richard.” 

“PS Don't send polaroids”