#cl moore

[imsupposedtobestudying-whoops]

I couldn't decide which flavour of lines for her... Jirel of Joiry, warrior Queen from the 1930's - created by the great C. L. Moore.

[tromroan]

Jirel ☀️

[retrocatastrophy]

I was iffy about Jirel of Joiry at first, as I found her quite difficult to be likeable (at least to me), though I'm quite aware that she's not a goody two shoes character, she is meant by design to be in the grey territory.

So far I've read 4 out of 7 stories (yes, I'm counting the newest one, though I haven't read that either), those being The Black God's kiss, The Black God's shadow, Jirel meets magic, and The Dark lands, and my favorite has to be the Dark Lands. Moore's worldbuilding is far more interesting to me than Moorcock's, and that man was all about chaotic worlds. Jirel quite literally goes to hell in The Black God's kiss and The Black God's shadow, and I felt the dread and the alieness of it. And while those two are not among my fav stories, I still like the description of the setting.

What I also like about Jirel is that while she's a force to be reckoned with, she's still a woman with weaknesses, but with far greater mental strength than physical. People respect her for her determination, as seen in the Dark Lands, where the bad guy literally cannot force himself to force her to obey him as she loses the spark that he adores. She's also shown fear and terror, showing she's still a human who can get overwhelmed in dire situations.

While she's not among my fav characters (yet), I very much respect and admire her, despite the first two books having some major issues in her characterization.

[proceduralbob]

Immature intelligence is dangerous. A kid will skate on thin ice without making a test first.

Absalom, Henry Kuttner

As read in The Best of C.L. Moore & Henry Kuttner

[rpgsandbox]

Jirel of Joiry

Art by Saša Đurđević

[stardustandrockets]

✨️Mid-Year Book Check-ln!✨️

What book has surprised you most this year?

The first six months of the year are over, so let's have a bit of a check-in!

Best book of 2023 so far: ☆The Whispering Dark by Kelly Andrew—Unless I read something exponentially better, I foresee this being my favorite book of the year

Best sequel of 2023 so far: ☆All the Feels by Olivia Dade—I haven't stopped thinking about Alex Woodroe since I read this book in February

Favorite reread: ☆A Marvellous Light by Freya Marske

New release you haven't read yet, but want to: ☆Love, Theoretically by Ali Hazelwood

Most anticipated release for the second half of the year: ☆New Adult by Timothy Janovsky, Bishop Takes King by Ashley Poston, and The Library of Shadows by Rachel Moore

Biggest disappointment: ☆Midnight Duet by Jen Comfort—The only reason I'm putting this here is because it was way hornier than I anticipated

Biggest surprise: ☆Even Though I Knew The End by C.L. Polk—This novella reads like a sapphic Supernatural fanfic and I am here for it!

New favorite author: ☆Kelly Andrew—She only has the one book out right now, but damn did it blow me away

Newest favorite character: ☆Colton Price from The Whispering Dark

Book that made you cry: ���Under the Whispering Door by TJ Klune—As problematic as he is, I loved this book and didn't expect it to make me cry

Book that made you happy: ☆Fake Dates and Mooncakes by Sher Lee and The Princess and the Grilled Cheese by Deya Muniz—Both books were absolutely delightful and made me laugh far more than anticipated

Most beautiful book purchase: ☆The Name-Bearer by Natalia Hernandez—The Rainbow Crate edition is absolutely stunning 😍

[comatosebunny09]

— cw: adult content, cheating, shitty fiancé, self-indulgent madness, mdni — notes: i can’t sleep, and @alfredosaws got the gears turning in my head. sorry if this isn’t your jam. i was horny and needed to torture myself. — now playing: see through - amelia moore

Imagine Sylus as your real estate agent, showing you and your fiancé around a potential home.

Your fiancé doesn’t seem too interested, busy typing away on his phone or occasionally stepping out to answer phone calls. You titter nervously, explaining to Sylus with a wry smile that your fiancé is a very busy man.

Still, Sylus continues showing you the rest of the house, pointing out parts that would appeal primarily to you.

“You see here? The master bedroom contains an en-suite bathroom with enough counter space to house all your skincare products. ”

“The bathtub has jets. Perfect for when you want to unwind after a long day on your feet. You look like you shoulder the world. You deserve to take a load off with a warm, soothing bath.”

“The sunroom would be great for your plants. You look like you have quite a green thumb. You strike me as a cultivator. A nurturer. Someone who should learn to sit down from time to time.”

“The counter space in the kitchen is immaculate. Perfect for when the love of your life wants to cook breakfast or have you for dessert.”

He’s so very flattering and handsome, and you find yourself falling prey to his charms. You rein yourself in when your fiancé returns, still as detached about the house as ever. You ask him for his opinion, to which he shrugs you off and remarks that he’s happy if you’re happy. Conveniently, his phone rings again, and he walks outside to take the call.

Sylus gives you a pitying look as if he knows there’s trouble in paradise. You smile awkwardly to dispel his worries.

Sure, your fiancé isn’t always present in your relationship. And maybe you agreed to his proposal out of fear, thinking you would lose out on your white picket fence if you refused him. But, who are you kidding? You haven’t felt like yourself in years. Haven’t genuinely smiled in a very long time, and your fiancé hasn’t helped improve your self-esteem, nitpicking when you’re a little bloated or leave the house without makeup.

You’ve recently caught him entertaining other women on his socials, and he would quickly gaslight you, exclaiming that you were looking for reasons to be upset. Deep down, you know he isn’t good for you, and you deserve better, but a sick part of you believes he is your punishment for some crimes you might’ve committed in a past life.

Sylus has read you like a book, and you’ve only worked with him for two months. You feel more comfortable in his presence than the man you’re about to marry, having known him much longer.

“Come with me, sweetheart,” says Sylus, his voice a sweet, sticky dolce as he takes your hand into his larger one.

He guides you up the spiraling staircase towards the main bedroom and lures you into the massive walk-in closet. And when you’re swathed in the darkness after he shuts the door behind you, he backs you up against a wall, your breaths intermingling whilst his mouth hovers over yours.

“You poor thing,” he whispers next to your ear, the hairs scattered across your body standing on end, pleasant tingles ricocheting through your extremities. He takes your hand in his, pressing it against the cool, textured wall overhead, tenderly twining your fingers together. “That Narcissist doesn’t deserve you, now does he?” His lips graze yours, the sensation making your legs tremble like a fawn.

“I can see it in your eyes.” A weighted palm smooths over your side, a devastatingly powerful knee sliding between the fat of your thighs, pilfering the breath from your lungs. He touches you with a reverence you’ve never known. “You don’t love him, do you? Not when I can touch you like this.”

He takes possession of your jaw, breathing hot and open-mouthed against your lips, nuzzling your noses together. And you’re dizzy, the closet suddenly feeling so cramped, and the warmth of his body permeating through the layers of your clothes. “You’re so beautiful. You deserve so much more. I can give you so much more. May I kiss you, sweetling?”

Despite the voice screaming somewhere far off in your mind that this is very much wrong, you find yourself nodding sluggishly in the darkness as if he can see you slowly turning to putty in his palms. He chuckles, the vibrations of it making your tummy flutter like you’re cresting down a hill.

Wordlessly, he pans in, startling you with a gentle kiss at first. Something deft and ghostly, so soft you wouldn’t believe it happened. When you make a gentle keen of protest after he pulls way, he takes that as his cue to kiss you again, this time more firm and full-bodied, the rigid pane of his body slowly anchoring you to the wall. 

Your unoccupied hand slides over his spine, concluding its excursion at the small of his back, and he’s strong here. Sturdy as if he could lift you one-handed if he so pleases. The idea makes you whimper, and he swallows the pretty little noises he invokes, his sweltering tongue pushing into your mouth to map out every ridge and crevice. 

He slips a warm, weighted palm into the crook of your knee, drawing your thigh up to rest on his hip. And, with this new angle, he presses fully against you, the stitching of his slacks scraping pleasantly over the inner cut of your thigh. He releases your hand once moored to the wall to hoist you into his arms, one of your heels clattering to the floor. Ten shaky fingers bury themselves in his hair, sifting through tufts of soft white to draw him ever closer to deepen your lip-lock. 

Despite the spacious closet, it’s growing uncomfortably warm. Too many clothes are in the way, so you tug his shirt from his slacks. Your fingers blindly scramble over his shirt buttons, eager to feel the smooth, supple glide of his skin beneath them. He chuckles something throaty and enrapturing, kissing you velvet-soft as his desire awakens to press against your thigh.

“So eager, aren’t you?” he husks, breaking away from your lips with a sticky click to blister your jaw and carotid with languorous kisses. “Has he ever touched you like this? Kissed you like this?” 

You crane your head back, your skull lightly thudding against the wall behind you. Your lashes shutter. The feeling of his mouth dragging over your skin and his weighted body nestled between your thighs is too much and yet not enough. You cling to his back, your grip white-knuckled, mouth parted slightly with wanton pleas for more more more.

But before he can grant your request, your fiancé’s voice beckons to you through the empty, sturdy walls of the house. The spell that befell you disperses, reality careening in. You push against Sylus’ lean chest with the heel of your palm, panting and gasping, squirming to be let down. Sylus reluctantly heeds you, gently setting you onto your feet. 

He helps you slide back into your discarded heel, kissing your ankle on his way back up, and you try to ignore how your body burns like an inferno at the attention. It takes all of you not to snatch him towards you once more, to kiss him and demand he take you, right then and there, with your fiancé calling for you downstairs. But, as much as it pains you, you feel remorse for how far you already let things go. 

Fixing your clothes and hair to some semblance of neatness in the darkness, the pair of you exit the closet. You don a rehearsed smile, answering your fiancé that you’ll be right down. Searing, slender fingers encircle your wrist before you can descend the stairs. You acknowledge Sylus with a look over your shoulder. He fixes you with a feverish stare that burns like a flame, revealing a deep desire for you. And the realization shoots straight to your center as his mouth draws into an unflinching line. 

Something in your chest pinches and pulls. And for a moment, you consider what your life would be like if you’d given yourself more credit and granted yourself a little more grace. But you brush away your thoughts, fixing Sylus with an unconvincing smile before pulling away from him to descend the stairs into the arms of your loving, soon-to-be husband.  

[darknight3904]

Every Breath You Take

Chapter Eight- Rebirth

Summary: Back on the road, uncertainty befalls your group as you and Tommy discuss the past, present, and future.

Warnings for this part: Canon typical violence, themes, language, gore, and horror. . Check the Series Masterlist for expanded warnings.

Word Count 2.6K

Previous Part / Series Masterlist / The Last of Us Masterlist

August 2005, Upstate New York

Tommy is gently shaking you awake, his deep voice mumbling your name as you hazily stare up at him. You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep, all you know is that the sun is setting and Joel has turned off the main road and into a thick brush of trees. 

“Y’gotta eat something before you go back to bed,” Tommy says as the car comes to a stop with a thump. 

It’s semi-quiet as you tuck into a can of cold can of Dinty and Moore Beef Stew. Joel’s loud slurps fill the car as he quickly eats whatever he’d chosen from the bags. Your back is pressed to Tommy’s chest, leaning into him as he eats, his hands brushing your shoulders gently. 

Lara is feeding the baby a bottle, her gaze never leaving his chubby face. You keep thinking about her voice, how desperate it had sounded when you heard it for the first time ever. You had presumed she might not be able to speak, but today she proved you wrong. 

After dinner, she begins to doze with the baby, thin, freckled arms cradled around him like he’s going to disappear.

“M’ takin’ a piss.” Joel declares, “Then we’re decidin’ where to go. Can’t stay in this damn car forever.” 

The car door slams, Joel disappearing into the night, and you’re left alone with Tommy and a slumbering teen and her baby.

“Where are we going to go?” You hum 

“Dunno, Boston seems like the best bet though. We were headed there last summer anyway.” He says 

You nod, thinking back to the original plan Joel had proposed, it felt like it’d been ages since then. You don’t know what else to say, what you do know is that you’re going wherever Tommy goes. Uninterested in what else lurks in the world, you’re focused on surviving by Tommy’s side. 

“Lara spoke today.” You blurt out 

“She can talk?” Tommy asks 

“Yeah. Those men tried…taking the baby, she yelled at them. I thought I was fucking hallcinating at first.” You say 

“Shit, here I was thinking we should all learn sign language or somethin’.” Tommy says, “Was gonna start teaching you some.” 

“You know sign language?” You ask full of doubt 

“Yeah, I know some. There was this deaf kid in my high school, used to ride the bus with me before I started driving.” Tommy says, “Taught me some words.” 

“Like what?” You ask curiously 

Tommy makes a few quick gestures with his hands, you have no idea what they mean but you’re impressed. The squeaking of the car door has you jumping, you’re still on edge from those men earlier. Back in Tommy’s grasp, you’re holding tight to his forearm when Joel climbs back into the car. 

“You okay?” Tommy whispers 

“Fine.” You shiver, leaning back into him and his warmth

Joel stares at the two of you for a moment from the drivers seat, as if he can’t quite understand what to make of you both. Then, as quickly as it came, the curiosity is gone, and that scowl he’s had since Sarah died has returned. 

“We’re heading north, to Boston. Dunno how far this piece of shit will get us, it’s tires are real low and Tommy and I didn’t get a chance to change the oil before we got chased out.” Joel says to the two of you, “Also, quit teaching her curse words in sign language.” 

He reaches over, tapping Lara’s knee to wake her up, “You listening? Unless you wanna try your luck alone, you’re coming with us, you and the kid.” 

You roll your eyes at Joel’s stern tone. One look at Joel’s incessant hovering over Lara and the baby would have anyone, even a stranger, knowing he was bluffing about leaving her behind. If it really came down to it, you were sure he’d drag her kicking and screaming to Boston.

Just a few days ago, Joel had brought back a big backpack stuffed with clothes for Lara from some little home he’d stumbled across while hunting. You hadn’t missed the small smile that inched across his face when she picked through it and settled on a soft oversized hoodie before writing thank you into her notebook with a big smily face beside it. You knew he also liked the baby, always making sure he was holding the elephant Joel had made, plus you had the sneaking suspicion Joel was working on another one, you saw a hunk of wood poking out of his backpack earlier. 

“George.” She softly says staring at Joel and then looking back at you and Tommy 

“What? M’ Joel, not George.” Joel says, looking at Lara like she’s losing it, his eyes widening when her voice fills the car.

“No, Joel, she’s saying-” You start 

“My baby, his name is George.” 

The three of you look at Lara who holds the newly named George close to her body, light blonde curls stick up from his head in every which way as he sleeps, tired from a day in the car. Lara looks down at him with a fondness you’ve never seen on her face before, her thumb running gentle circles over his chubby cheeks.

“Alright, well,” Joel sighs, tiredly, “You and George, you’re coming to Boston with us. No sense in getting yourself killed out here.” 

Lara stares at you, big blue eyes glowing in the dying sun, “Okay.” 

The next day, you wake up with a terrible ache in your neck. Tommy’s arms fall off of you as you wiggle away from him, in desperate need of a good stretch and to relieve your bladder. You quietly shut the car door, trying not to wake anyone as you tiptoe over broken branches and crunchy leaves to where a decent-sized bush sits. You’re quite literally mid-stream when a branch snaps behind you, your hand flies to the gun you took from Tommy’s bag, only to find Lara standing there, the newly named George balanced on her hip, his wooden elephant in hand. 

“Can I help you cook breakfast?” She asks 

“Oh, um, yeah sure. Let me just finish peeing.” You mumble, still not entirely used to hearing her speak. 

You watch the spam sizzle over a fire in the pan you’d snatched out of the kitchen yesterday, occasionally flipping it with a stick. Lara sits a few feet away, watching you as her baby sits on her lap. 

“So, George, huh?” You ask as you sit down next to her, “Any particular reason for that name?” 

“It was my dad’s name.” Lara says softly 

You nod, staring down at George who looks up at you, offering the elephant with outstretched arms. 

“It’s a lovely name.” You compliment 

“What do you think Boston will be like?” Lara asks, “Joel said he heard that the military had some safe zone set up.” 

“I’m not sure. Tommy, Joel, and I heard about that over a year ago. I hope it’s true though, It’d be nice to not have to worry about keeping watch everynight.” You say honestly

Lara nods, a soft breeze flows through the air, pushing her long red hair off her shoulders. It was well past her shoulders, falling to her mid back.

“When we get there, maybe I can give you a hair cut. You’ve seen me do Tommy and Joel’s, I think I could definitely do yours.” You offer 

“Only if you let me cut yours.” Lara bares a small smile on her lips 

“Deal. But if you screw it up, I’m taking it personally.” You grin, nudging her 

A soft silence falls over both of you as you stare at the fire, listening to the crackling flames, they were probably done by now. 

“When we get to Boston, we’re gonna stay together, right?” Lara suddenly asks, her voice small 

You turn to her, “Of course. Not gonna leave you and the world's cutest baby to fend for yourselves in some military camp.” 

She nods, wrapping her pale hand around yours, “Thank you, for everything. You could’ve kicked me out or killed me back in the winter but you let me stay.” 

“Are you kidding me? My conscious would’ve eaten me alive if I left you out there to freeze. Besides, Joel would’ve eventually let you in anyway, I have the sneaking suspicion that he’d got a soft spot for you and George.” You explain 

“Always thought he hated me.” Lara sighs sadly 

“He’s a grump, but he cares. Just doesn’t know how to show it.” You wave her off 

The car doors open up, Joel and Tommy climb out, walking over towards you, probably woken up by the scent of food. 

“What’re you two talkin’ about?” Tommy asks as he approaches 

“Girl stuff.” You say 

“You.” Lara jokes a sly grin on her face

Well damn, you weren’t expecting her to have a sense of humor under that skittish act she had going. 

“Well shit, hope it was good stuff.” Tommy grins 

“Just sit down and eat.” Joel cuts the conversation off, his signature scowl on his face 

After breakfast, you watch Joel try to teach Lara to shoot. She’s not very good, but you don’t have the heart to tell her. If she’s lucky, she might be able to take out a slow-moving infected, but definitely not a living person. 

Tommy lounges next to you, his gaze anywhere but the shooting lesson that’s happening nearby. 

“I hope you’re thinking pure thoughts, Miller.” You sigh when you catch his eyes, raking over your figure 

“Not one, darlin’.” He hums, “M’ actually thinkin’ about that red bra you had and if you packed it before we left yesterday.” 

“You’re a total perv.” You roll your eyes, cross your arms over your chest 

“Can’t a man appreciate his lady?” Tommy gasps 

“No, not when he’s wondering what bras she packed.” You huff, you loved him but sometimes you weren’t used to his blatant obsession with you. You’d only had one boyfriend before Tommy, a guy named Liam who was more interested in his truck than you. 

“So what I’m hearing is you have it?” Tommy boyishly grins at you, leaning towards you

You push is face away from yours, your hand landing on his forehead as you do, “No, creep. It’s back at the house. I didn’t get a chance to grab it.” 

“Well, shit.” Tommy sighs dissapointed, “Don’t worry, I’ll find ya a new one. Betcha theres a mall in Boston, probably a Victoria’s Secret, some slinky shit with your name on it.” 

“What are you gonna plan your Black Friday list while we’re at it too? Get a good deal on a new cell? Maybe a new recliner as well?” You tease 

“Course’ I always wanted a big ass TV for my living room. One of those huge ones to watch football on.” Tommy says 

“So what I’m hearing is if we were together in the normal world, you’d be one of those guys shouting at the TV for four hours each Sunday?” Your nose wrinkles in disgust, thinking of how boring football was. 

“Eh, maybe.” He shrugs, “Maybe not.” 

“Yeah, okay.” You laugh, knowing he was lying through his teeth. You picture Tommy sitting on the couch, dressed in his favortie teams colors while he screams at some overpaid player to run the ball. 

“Hold up, you’d go out with me, even if the world wasn’t literally tits up?” Tommy asks, his dark brown eyes staring into yours, 

“Um, of course, I had like…a major crush on you for two years before all this.” You confess embarrassingly 

Your hands fiddle with a big leaf that sits on the forest floor. You’d already slept with him countless times, called him your boyfriend, and now you were embarrassed to admit you had a crush on him. 

“Shit, you mean if I asked you out, you would’ve seriously gone out with me?” Tommy laughs his voice airy with disbelief

“Well, that’s what I just said, so…” 

“Always thought you thought I was some old creep.” Tommy says sadly, “Never even dreamed I had a real shot.” 

“You’re like 28, that’s not that old.” You say, you’re 22 now, it wasn’t that big of a gap. Your own parents had been six years apart, of course they hadn’t met until their 30s but still. 

“Darlin’, m’ 31 right now,” Tommy says, a hand resting on your knee, rubbing circles into the fabric of your pants, “Was 26 when we met.” 

“Oh. Whoops.” You laugh, “Well, I don’t care. Besides theres bigger problems out there then you, old man.” 

“I ain’t that old.” Tommy huffs annoyed, “Sides’ if I’m old, then Joel must be ancient in that little head of yours.” 

You toss your head back and laugh, his disgruntled face has your stomach fluttering as you tease him.

“Joel’s always been old, though. He used to tell me he’d go buy me new jeans from Walmart cuz the rips in them weren’t “normal”. And then there was that time he came over to my house on Christmas and fell asleep before dessert was ready.” 

“That the year he farted in his sleep and Sarah caught it on that old video recorder?” Tommy smiles 

“Yup!” You grin 

Your smile falters as your mind replays the memory. It was the first real Christmas you and your father had since your mom died back when you were 14. You were 17 at the time, you hadn’t met Tommy yet. Normally, it’d just be TV dinners in front of a half-hassed tree and then a few presents and then bedtime.

Instead, Sarah had accidentally invited herself over one night while you were watching her. After that, you convinced your dad to put on a good show, insisting on a big ham and different side dishes. You had scrambled up the attic steps and pulled all your mom’s old Christmas stuff down, insisting your dad help put up the stockings and place hers above the fireplace, her name written in clumsy glitter glue letters from when you made it back in Kindergarten. 

You’d never get that back. The warmth of celebrating Christmas with your dad, with Joel, with Sarah, with your mom. It was gone, stolen away by cancer and a virus you still didn’t have a name for. Sarah’s body was decomposing in some ditch somewhere, and Joel was a broken man, a shell of himself that didn’t laugh, didn’t smile, and never reminded you of the man who’d fallen asleep on your couch after his third helping of mashed potatoes. 

You sniffle a bit, wiping at your eyes that have started to sting with salty tears. Your fists clench, fingernails digging into the soft skin of your hands. 

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Tommy asks concerned 

“Nothing.” You sniff, “Just thinking about the past.” 

Tommy nods, understanding immediately. He pulls you into his side, your head resting on his shoulder. 

“M’ sorry life turned out so shitty. You didn’t even get to experience the real world before it ended.” Tommy sighs sadly

“It’s alright.” You softly say, taking his hand in yours and placing it in your lap, “I got you now.” 

Tommy presses a kiss to your forehead, his words echoing yours, “You got me.”

You’re content to stay like this, your eyes fluttering shut as you bask in the late August breeze, wrapped up in Tommy as he keeps you tucked to his side like nothing bad can ever reach you. You’re not sure how long you stay like this; all you do know is that when your eyes open again, Tommy is pushing you off him, cursing loudly as he shouts Joel’s name. 

You blearily try to follow him, but the shrill sounds of screaming is throwing you off. What is happening? Your knife is strapped to your waist, and Tommy has his gun, charging off in the direction of what you presume to be Joel. 

Another loud scream bounces off the trees, birds flutter into the air as the crack of a gun goes off, followed by three more shots. It takes another shrill scream followed by the loud wails of a baby for you to realize something bad is happening. 

Lara. 

Next Part

I return to Tumblr. I passed my finals (somehow).

Comment to be added to the tag list. This tag list is not chapter by chapter; I carry the tags over to each part.

Tags:

@freythecrazyfae @rae-gar-targaryen @keseqna @eniepascal @jakecockley @aphroditesblunt @soberbabes @daisyhams

@h0neylemon @womenlover0

[youremyheaven]

The Astrology of Beauty Marks/Moles

This is really random but something I have noticed recently. In my observations natives who have Punarvasu, Mrigashira, Pushya nakshatras had beauty spots/marks that are considered iconic. A lot of Punarvasu natives tend to have facial moles, which is interesting.

L to R

Busy Phillips- Punarvasu Moon (the mole on her jaw and on her neck)

Karina Yoo- Punarvasu Moon (the mole is under her lip)

Caroline Polachek- Mrigashira Sun, Punarvasu Moon & Mercury (the mole next to her nose)

Mariah Carey- Punarvasu Moon (the mole under her lip)

L to R

Jennifer Lawrence- Mrigashira Moon (the moles are on her neck & chest)

Kate Upton- Mrigashira stellium (sun, mercury & ketu) (the mole abover her lip)

Khloe Kardashian- Mrigashira Moon (the mole under her left eye)

Maya Rudolph- Pushya Sun, Venus in Mrigashira atmakaraka & Ketu in Punarvasu (the moles on her left cheek)

Feist- Punarvasu Moon (the mole on the left corner of her lip)

Rachel McAdams- Mrigashira Moon (the mole on her chin)

Mandy Moore- Pushya Moon & Mrigashira Rising (the mole under her left eye)

Selena Gomez- Pushya Stellium (Sun, Venus & Rising) and Ketu in Mrigashira (the moles on her boob)

Eva Mendes- Pushya Moon, Saturn & Ketu in Mrigashira (the mole on her cheek)

Goldie Hawn- Mrigashira Moon, Mars in Pushya & Saturn in Punarvasu (the mole above her lip)

Angelina Jolie- Pushya Rising & Venus, Mercury in Mrigashira atmakaraka and Saturn in Punarvasu amatyakaraka (the mole above her eyebrow)

CL (Lee Chaerin)- Pushya Moon (the mole under her lip)

L to R

Natalie Portman- Mrigashira Sun (on her left cheek)

Julia Roberts- Pushya Rising (under her left eye)

Katrina Kaif- Punarvasu Sun (on her right cheek)

Dita Von Teese- Mrigashira Moon (under her right eye)

Wonyoung- Venus conjunct Saturn in Punarvasu (amatyakaraka) (under her left eye)

Devon Lee Carlson- Mrigashira Moon & Mars (atmakaraka) with Mercury in Pushya (on her left cheek and chin)

Chaeyoung- Pushya Moon (corner of her mouth)

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

That's it for now!! I wish I could provide some kind of explanation for why Mrigashira, Pushya & Punarvasu gals tend to often have moles (obviously anybody with other placements can also have moles) but I think this is a "correlation not causation" type scenario for now. Hope this was fun tho lol

[vintagegeekculture]

The Evil Little Hairy Cave People of Europe in Pulp Fiction

From the 1900s to the 1940s, there was a trendy theme in occult and horror stories that the explanation for widespread European legends of fairies, brownies, pixies, leprechauns and other malicious little people, was that they were a hereditary racial memory of the extremely small non-human, hairy stone age original inhabitants of Europe, who still survive well into modern times in caves and barrows below the earth. Envious of being displaced on the surface, these weird creatures, adapted to the darkness of living underground and unable to withstand the sun, still mean mischief and occasionally go out at night to capture someone.... usually an attractive woman....to take to their dark caves for human sacrifice.

Displaced by the arrival of Indo-European language speakers at the dawn of the Bronze Age, these original, not quite human stone age people of Europe were driven deep underground into caves and barrows below the earth, where they went mad, adapted to the darkness and acquired a fear of daylight, became extremely inbred, in some cases acquired widespread albinism. It is these strange little people who gave the descendants of Europeans a haunting racial dread of places below the earth like mines and caves, and it also is these strange, hairy troglodytes who originally built the uncanny and mysterious menhir, fairy rings, and stone age structures of England, Scotland, and Ireland that predate the coming of the Celts and Romans.

In some cases, these evil troglodytes are usually identified with the mysterious Picts, the pre-Celtic stone age inhabitants of the British Isles. In some cases, they are identified with the Basque people of Spain, best known as the inventors of Jai Alai, and the oldest people in Europe who speak a unique language unrelated to any in the world.

The original codifier of this trend was Arthur Machen, a horror writer who is less remembered than his contemporary, Henry James, but who may be the best horror writer in the generations between Poe on the one end and Lovecraft/CL Moore/Clark Ashton Smith on the other. His story, "the White People" from 1904 (a reference to their strange cave albinism) was a twisted Alice in Wonderland with a girl who is irresistibly attracted to dark pre-Roman stone age ruins and who is eventually pulled underground.

In addition to being a great horror writer, Arthur Machen was a member of the Hermetic Society of the Golden Dawn, an occult organization, and was often seen at the Isis-Urania Temple in London. Many of his works have secretive occult knowledge.

H.P. Lovecraft in particular always pointed out Arthur Machen as his single biggest inspiration, though he combined Machen's dread and occultism with Abraham Merritt's sense of fear of the cosmic unknown, seen in "Dwellers in the Mirage" and "People of the Pit."

Another and scarier example of this trend would be "No Man's Land," a story by John Buchan, a Scotsman fascinated by paganism and horror, who often wrote stories of horrific discoveries and evil rites on the Scottish moors. He is often reduced to being described as a "Scottish Ghost Story" writer, a painfully reductivist description as in his career, Buchan wrote a lot of thrillers, detective, and adventure stories as well. In later life, he was appointed Governor General of Canada, meaning he may be the first head of state to be a horror writer.

It was Buchan who first identified the cave creatures with the Picts, something that another Weird Tales writer decades later, Robert E. Howard, would roll with in the 1920s.

Howard is a very identifiable kind of modern person you often see on the internet: a guy who talks tough, but who was terrified to leave his small town. He created manly man, tough guy heroes like Conan the Barbarian, Kull, and El Borak, but he himself never left his mother's house. It's no wonder he got along well with his fellow Weird Tales writer and weird shut in, HP Lovecraft. With 1920s Weird Tales writers, despite your admiration for their incredible talent, you also can't help but laugh at them a little, a feeling you also apply to a lot of Victorians, who achieved incredible things, but who are often closet cases and cranks who died virgins ("Chinese" Gordon comes to mind, as does Immelmann).

With Howard, his obsession with the Picts and the stone age cave dwelling people of Europe started with an unpublished manuscript where at a dinner party, a man gets knocked out and regresses to his past life in the Bronze Age, where he remembers the earliest contact between modern humans and the original inhabitants of the British Isles, the evil darkskinned Picts. This is a mix of both the "little cave people" story and another cliche at the time, "the stone age past life regression novel," another turn of the century cliche.

Still with the Picts on his mind, Howard would later create Bran Mak Morn, a Pict chieftain, who predated Kull and Conan as his Celtic caveman muscle hero. Howard was of Irish descent and proudly anti-Colonial and anti-British, with his Roman Empire and Civilized Kingdoms as a stand in for the British and other Empires, which he viewed as rapacious and humbug, a view shared by his greatest inspiration, Talbot Mundy. His "Worms of the Earth" gets to the heart of why these little cave people scare us so much: they remind us that we live on land that is impossibly ancient and we don't fully understand at all.

It was another Weird Tales Writer a decade later who wrote one of the last stories about the little hairy cave people of Europe, though, Manly Wade Wellman in 1942. Wellman was mainly known for creating the blond beefcake caveman hero Hok the Mighty set in stone age times, and for his supernatural ghost stories of Silver John the Balladeer set in modern, ghostly Appalachia (like many ex-Weird Tales writers, he made a turn to being a regional author in his later career, in the same way Hugh B. Cave became a Caribbean writer), but Wellman also had a regular character known as John Thunstone, a muscular and wealthy playboy known for his moustache who used his great wealth to investigate the supernatural and the occult. Thunstone had a silver sword made by St. Dunstan, patron of Silversmiths, well known for his confrontations with the Devil.

Most John Thunstone stories featured familiar stories, like a demon possessed seance and so on, but one in particular featured a unique enemy, the Shonokins.

The Shonokins were the original rulers of North America, descendants of Neanderthal man displaced by American Indians. This fear that the land we live is ancient and unknowable and we just arrived on it and don't know any of its secrets is common to settler societies, who often hold the landscape with dread, as in Patricia Wrightson's fantasies of the Australian Outback. It was easy enough to transport the hairy cave people from the Scottish Moors to North America. I suspect that's what they are, a personification of a fear shared in the middle class, that in the back of their minds, that everything they have supposedly earned is merely an accident of history, built by rapacity and the crimes of history, and that someday a bill will come due.

A text page in the May 1942 issue of Weird Tales gives strange additional information on the Shonokins not found elsewhere:

Since then, there have been too many examples of evil cave people who predate Europeans. Philip Jose Farmer's "The All White Elf" features the last survivor of a pre-European people who live in caves. A lot of other fiction of course has featured the Picts, but according to our modern scientific understanding, which describes them as much, much less exotically, as a blue tattooed people not too different and practically indistinguishable from the Celtic tribes that surrounded them, and which they eventually blended into.

[imsupposedtobestudying-whoops]

Someone stop me of adapting all of C.L.Moore’s work into comic form ⚔️

[tromroan]

Another Jirel with gold lines, because I think it looks... quite cool.... (Jirel of Joiry is a medieval warrior queen, and fantastic original character by the great C. L. Moore - one of the pioneer women writers of sci fi and fantasy!)

[lonestarbattleship]

"Photograph taken from a Japanese plane during the torpedo attack on ships moored on both sides of Ford Island shortly after the beginning of the Pearl Harbor attack on December 7, 1941. View looks about east, with the supply depot, submarine base and fuel tank farm in the right center distance.

A torpedo has just hit USS WEST VIRGINIA (BB-48) on the far side of Ford Island (center). Other battleships moored nearby are (from left): USS NEVADA (BB-36), USS ARIZONA (BB-39), USS TENNESSEE (BB-43) (inboard of West Virginia), USS OKLAHOMA (BB-37) (torpedoed and listing) alongside USS MARYLAND (BB-46), and USS CALIFORNIA (BB-44).

On the near side of Ford Island, to the left, are light cruisers USS DETROIT (CL-8) and USS RALEIGH (CL-7), target and training ship USS UTAH (AG-16) and seaplane tender Tangier. Raleigh and Utah have been torpedoed, and Utah is listing sharply to port.

Japanese planes are visible in the right center (over Ford Island) and over the Navy Yard at right. U.S. Navy planes on the seaplane ramp are on fire.

Japanese writing in the lower right states that the photograph was reproduced by authorization of the Navy Ministry."

U.S. Naval History and Heritage Command: NH 50930

Colorized by Irootoko Jr: link

[proceduralbob]

[tsunflowers]

I would love to take a class where the textbook is "the future is female: 25 classic science fiction stories by women, from pulp pioneers to ursula k le guin" edited by lisa yaszek, and you just read a story every week and discuss it. they're arranged in chronological order from 1928 to 1969 and are obviously picked not only to demonstrate each author's style but to reflect social attitudes of the era. there would really be a lot to talk about in an academic setting. but even if I can't teach that class I recommend giving it a read if you're interested in old scifi. these were the standout stories to me but you may have different faves when you read it

"the black god's kiss" cl moore, 1934. a female knight travels through a portal to a land she considers to be hell in order to find a weapon capable of defeating the man who conquered her. this is the one I posted saying "it's just like the alien from alien." the imagery is so vivid and engrossing that i can't believe it was written 90 years ago

"all the colors of the rainbow" leigh brackett, 1957. an alien husband and wife on a diplomatic mission to earth find that sundown towns don't appreciate aliens much either. liberal use of the n word in this one bc the characters are extremely racist but I found it to be a very unique example of sf/fantasy discrimination metaphors. I'd love to discuss this one in a class bc I kind of feel like it's not a white woman's story to write but I also don't think a black woman would have gotten it published in 1957? definitely an interesting one

"pelt" carol emshwiller, 1958. a hunting dog brought by her master to an alien planet to hunt exotic furs finds that the native species can communicate with her but not her master and becomes torn. since you're in the dog's point of view you never get the full picture of what happens but it's very melancholy

"car pool" rosel george brown, 1959. it's truly just like an episode of a sitcom where a group of women who run a hovercarpool for their kids let a three armed alien kid in and things go awry. the standout is the relationship between the protagonist and a rival mom who she envies bc the rival mom can pull off wearing a real boudoir slip

"another rib" john jay wells & marion zimmer bradley, 1963. stranded male exocolonists accept an experimental procedure from an alien friend that will allow them to give birth and further the human race despite their captain's intense homophobia and transphobia. interesting in its portrayal of gender and srs bc the alien brings up the fact that humans have already accomplished gender-affirming surgeries but there's also never any implication that the men will become women. they just become men capable of giving birth. however I learned from this anthology that ms bradley enabled child sexual abuse so fuck her

"when I was miss dow" sonya dorman, 1966. a shapeshifting alien from a masculine mono-gender race is made to take the form of a human woman to learn more about human settlers and resents it at first but is fundamentally changed by the experience. made me want to cry a little

"nine lives" ursula k le guin, 1969. two guys who are getting sick and tired of each other after a long mining expedition on a faraway planet are joined by ten sexy and beautiful 20somethings who are all clones of the same guy. the clones can act in unison but also keep each other company. this could be the future of the human race... or not

[pleasereadmeok]

"You're not drinking?"

"Oh I think you're getting pissed enough for the both of us!"

Matthew Goode and Mandy Moore in 'Chasing Liberty'.

'Chasing Liberty' is now on Netflix in Canada. 💃🏼

📷 CL my edit