#just thinking about. talking. just in general

[veal-exe]

So here's what happened on Reddit:

A transmasc posted about how transmascs and trans men are often invisible, how our issues are dismissed, and how resources, especially medical ones, are almost always written with non transmascs in mind. They posted this both to r/Trans and r/lgbt.

A moderator of r/Trans responded by telling them to “stop bitching.” That’s the word they used. That’s the level of respect trans men get. Transandrophobic by the way, don't call trans men bitches.

The comment was deleted, quietly, after backlash. Then the entire post was removed. When asked why, a mod responded that the post was “playing oppression olympics,” and took the time to go through and dismiss each of the original poster’s points, including saying that trans men being sexually assaulted isn’t “unique to transmascs” and therefore not an issue, and claiming that access to testosterone isn’t any more restricted than access to estrogen, which is a straight-up lie, because T is a tightly controlled substance in most places and E is not.

The original poster was banned for three days.

Then a separate mod made a post saying, “nobody asked us our side of the story,” which is wild because people absolutely did, publicly and repeatedly. Users also started reporting that they’d had supportive comments removed or had been banned after disagreeing with the mods, some of those claims are still unconfirmed, but given the general behavior, it wouldn’t be surprising.

Then r/Trans locked down entirely. No new posts. The conversation was forcibly ended.

Some people posted about it on r/FTM, many of those posts were mass-reported, automatically removed by Reddit’s automod, or quietly buried. Meanwhile, r/lgbt also removed the original post, with no explanation.

One of the r/Trans mods eventually posted an “apology,” which was really just a soft-scrubbed PR post full of noncommittal language and distancing. They said they didn’t mean to call a trans man “a bitch,” they just used it synonymously with “complaining,” and they didn’t think about the implications until later even though the first post was about microaggressions just like the mod committed. They did not apologize for anything else, not for wrongfully banning people, not for accusing a transmasc venting like any other user of playing oppression olympics, nothing at all. They said they’re on break and can’t do anything about it. They said, and I quote, “please don’t be mad at the rest of the team.” even though the rest of the team are just as culpable for not stopping their behavior.

They also added that trans men are “a welcome part of the community” and tried to point at moderation history as proof. Because apparently we should be grateful that people occasionally get banned, every so often, for implying trans men aren't oppressed at all, wow, thanks, that is like below the bare minimum, cool.

The current state of things is: r/Trans has over 600,000 members, and trans men and transmascs were silenced, banned, and told to shut up for bringing up their own oppression. And the subreddit is locked down. There’s a mass exodus happening to the new sub, r/trans4every1, but let’s be real, the damage has already been done.

Now let’s talk about what this actually means.

This is not “just more Tumblr discourse.” This isn’t some random blog saying they don’t like transmascs. This isn’t a Twitter reply guy. This isn’t a niche zine or a spicy personal take. This is a massive trans-focused subreddit with over half a million users. It's easily one of the largest public facing trans community online, maybe even the largest, I've certainly never found a bigger one myself. And the moderation team made it crystal clear: they do not want transmascs to feel safe or welcome there.

This is what transandrophobia looks like on a slightly larger internet scale. When it’s in the hands of people who get to decide who gets heard and who gets deleted.

And for anyone who’s still stuck on “well they apologized” listen: trans men are told all the time that we’re being too loud, too angry, too entitled, too manly, too feminine, too confusing, too “binary,” too "Nonbinary", too much. We’re told that we’re “oppression olympics-ing” just for talking about our lives. And now we're getting banned and locked out of the spaces that claim to represent a huge portion of online trans people.

This isn't just online drama. This is a bellwether. And if it isn’t setting off alarms in your head, it should be.

The way transandrophobia manifests in online spaces absolutely bleeds into real life, into medical gatekeeping, into poor data collection, into the erasure of sexual violence against transmascs, into advocacy groups that write us out of the picture, into educational materials that treat us like footnotes, if they include us at all.

And if you’re sitting there thinking, “well it’s not that deep,” you’re part of the problem.

We need to start being more honest about this: Transandrophobia is real, it is widespread, and it is growing. We need to stop giving people the benefit of the doubt when they’ve shown us they don’t want us in the room.

And frankly?

We need to start making TRFs [Trans Radfems & transmasc-exclusionary feminists alike] deeply uncomfortable being open about their beliefs. We need to make them afraid to be TRFs, the way they’re trying to make us afraid to exist.

The same way we don’t coddle fascists. The same way we don’t tolerate TERFs. We need to stop tiptoeing around transandrophobia.

Because this growing wave of transandrophobia is going to kill people. Full stop.

Protect trans men. Protect transmascs. Protect your siblings; all of them!

Edit because I forgot to add it:

Another thing worth noting is that not only was r/trans deleting and banning any users and posts talking about the situation, they were deleting any posts talking about transmasc issues or transmasc positivity full stop.

Even when those posts had nothing to do with the current issue. They were being silenced. They were being actively erased, in a trans space.

[deviousdrtruffles]

HEHEHEHEH I’m a big fan of random fun facts.

Being Canadian is my nationality not my ethnicity but my classmates still call me “whitey” as a joke.

I made a Lionel Messi cardboard for a school project and charged students from other classes to take pictures with him. I don’t even like football but I do like money🤑

When I was a tiny babby, I got stuck under a chair but I didn’t make any noises so my absolutely terrified parents took 30 minutes to find me. (Dw nothing bad happened to me)

@kitkat-the-muffin @pali-and-proud @starsnowcone @sleepypanda01 @shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii @alexeatstables @akari-was-here @fangirl-overload13 @iwikpines @jthealien

We were supposed to tag ten people, right?

hey guys, if you get tagged in this share 3 random facts about yourself that people may not guess, then tag the last 10 people in your notifs

1: I'm terrified of yellow flowers

2: My favorite band is The Linda Lindas

3: I'm in a band with someone tagged here (stay guessing >:3)

@demonshauntme2 @sasgaycumfilledcondom @warden-draws-sometimes @megarattdrawsstuff @draxolot @cheeseboi101010 @nyxisclown @gothweirdo1 @harumichan12 @jocie-questions-reality

[grotesquevi]

cheers to your roommate, ellie williams. a vampire who’s into weird painplay and hating you.

‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎ ㅤ previous || 1k celebration list || music || next

cw    #     18+  as it contains smut, blood kink, threats and death wishes, academic rivals pipeline (she hates you abby level), this is a vampire universe settled in college, mentions of murder, whiny switch!ellie + masochist!ellie combo (she likes to burns herself with [redacted] and [redacted] during sex), ngl she's kinda dark in here? serious obsessive, dryhumping, fingering, some oral fixation, painplay, based on this ask for my 1k celebration! pss there's an small 2nd part of vampire!ellie here! — wc: 6k, image credits to cl6ireredfield on pinterest <3

ellie williams hates her roommate wholeheartedly.

it's a visceral feeling that settles in her stomach, similar to feed from rotten blood every time you cross her sight, living the undead life unfazed by her presence. you use her kitchen, her shower, her fucking sofa — makes her sure you're designed somehow to be everything she hates.

like a nightmare she's obligated to walk through every night, living with you in a small dormitory out of random assignation is something that never fails to get her in a bad mood: she's the best of her generation, prime hunter killer and top of the class, yet instead of receiving a congratulation basket or something similar, she only gets to have a shitty newly-turned vampire she happens to hate as a roommate.

it fills ellie with a rage she never knew before, ever so consuming and devastating that settles in her chest and blossoms like nightshade in her dead heart. you got the attention of her favorite teachers, walking around like the academy is yours, as if the elders were on your side when you were nothing but a human years before.

so yes, it's safe to say ellie’s mad. mad to the point it turns into an obsession that gets out of hand by the first couple of months, a race she knows is one-sided cause you're too busy not giving a single fuck at first. begins with having better grades, drink your blood rests in the freezer, ruin every single aspect of your life until you're truly miserable.

miserable. things would be easier if she stuck to her plans for once in her life, always failing in the process of her revengeful ideas, much sense if she wasn't so drawn to you, attracted like a polar opposite cause she wishes to be different than you — everything you're not.

hate is a powerful feeling. hate keeps the semester interesting, cause what else would ellie be doing more than spending every second salivating on the idea of making you fall off the rankings of the university once and for all? think about spitting blood on your mouth in the filthiest way possible? not really.

she can't afford these kinds of thoughts anymore, not when you insist on being a threat on a random tuesday night.

"so um, i don't know how to break this, but why do you have holy water? we can get in trouble for this if someone knows..." what the fuck did you just say? she barely talks to you during the night, so why are you talking to her? ellie's gaze travels from her awfully boring book to your pretty eyelashes that bats holding a small glass container with a metal cross in the center.

fuck.

too fast. everything's too fast when it gets out of hand: did she leave the bottle in the bathroom? how could she forget? — "what the fuck are you doing? you can't-" your words get lost in the air as she's pressing her pocket knife against your neck, lost pupils that dilate with nothing but boiling rage.

"say that again and i'll slit your throat" she spits. and by the look in her eyes, you know it's true. you hold no remnants of human blood in your system, but she could make you bleed if she wishes to. kill a vampire is as easy as feeding from a human, and to ellie, it's a threat she's willing to follow. "give me the pleasure and fucking say it big mouth. cause i'll never let them find you."

it's funny for a moment, when the knife presses against your skin ready to damage and you know deep down, she could be expelled and secluded for your death, become a clan-less vampire who'd die of despair or in hands of the hunters that now became a worldwide net if they knew the threats she's making against someone of her own kind: is it worth it?

the only threats ever made are reserved for humans and hunters, so it's clear when the adrenaline rushes to every corner of your body instead and you become aware of her hate, finally. fucking finally, you seem to realize the way she looks down at you like you were nothing, gaze inked with disgust. she would not hesitate to end your immortality with the same desperation you wish to do good and impress the elders who offered you a second life.

so the next few days, your eyes shine differently when seeing your roommate after the accident. knowing her dirty little secret and never even daring to mention it, you avoid ellie's presence more than ever now: arrive close to the sunrise and leave when the sun is about to disappear on the horizon. it's a new weight you're forced to carry in your shoulders now that you understand it.

ellie williams hates you wholeheartedly.

"can you pay attention to me for one fucking minute?" maybe shaw is right to be mad because ellie didn't go down on her today: a victim of her head as she’s been too distracted lately — "you're at a party and you're only interested in what she's doing."

the vampire brows furrow in question: what is her fling implying?

"it's not like that. you know it."

"maybe you should fuck her tonight instead of me" annoying. is she jealous? that would be new.

"please think about what you're saying." ellie would like to deny it even further, but she's stuck with the lame fact that she cannot take her eyes off you even from the other side of the room. fresh blood in your hand, you don't realize your roommate is at the same party as you are cause you're busy laughing and catching up with your pathetic, unimportant friends — "i feel nothing but repulsion for her."

"yeah," she can't blame shaw either for being tired, putting up with this attitude she's been keeping the entire semester: you're a fucking sickness for the dead, one she chooses to keep close, "you're fucking obsessed with your roommate, admit it. stop pissing me off with your lame jealousy and fucking do something about it, asshole."

the music's so loud for a moment that the bass makes ellie think she's alive for a second. how her heart must be beating as shaw leaves her behind, not really caring about whatever excuse she could make out in the moment: fucking do something.

it sits in her brain like a bad idea, marinating as she pretends to be interested in what the rest are talking about close to her. you're drunk it seems, flirting with a girl whose skirt is too high up her thighs — as if ellie’s going to ever allow you to take some random vampire who's standards are low enough to get in your sheets after one shitty party. she lives under the same roof too.

so she watches this whole interaction wishing to rip someones throat out. sipping on fresh blood from a plastic cup in a corner of the room, unable to tear away her gaze from you, an addictive sight under the throbbing lights that goes from blue to the richest pink hue as they reflect on your skin like a dream. a nightmare.

does she hate you? yes. hates the way you look, the way you feed, hates you in training when you're tacking shaw to the floor, climbing on top of her and succeeding to pin her down, leave her breathless beneath you as ellie debates herself on how deep her hate goes — could she make it aside to pin you down on her bed too? surely.

do something.

the entire night is a sick game to you — must be. you know the risks of getting involved with her, not only by her random acts of violence but because of her weird stash of holy water, the crucifixes you find the other day. it doesn't matter however, when you're staring at her even when people talk to you, pretending you don't feel the punch of ellie's gaze craving holes in your skin to demand just a tiny bit of your attention.

it's similar to haunting. you party like it's the woods and she's at the top notch animal on the top of the pyramid already lurking for some food. you're too drunk. high on rich kid blood fresh from the slaughterhouse of the academy, abusing on that heady feeling that gives you the confidence to stand in front of the vampire in a rush of adrenaline.

so it's perfect. perfect cause nobody seemed to care, nobody knows whats going on ellie's brain anyway, that hate that eats her insides but pulls her in the weirdest way closer to you. nobody's paying attention to a stupid interaction on the corner of a frat house, nobody cares about who's disappearing tonight.

"are you going to follow me around like this the rest of the year?"

"i dunno," she replies with honesty — "you gonna let me catch you in the end?"

"i'm not in the mood tonight for riddles, ellie. i'm having a good time with my friends," its an understatement cause she knows her voice is an unwelcoming sound to you after the pocket knife accident, but your lips are too red and dipped in dry blood, so tempting to lick down to give a single fuck. "m'not kidding around."

"yeah? your friends are busy hooking up, you sure you’re with them?" it's true when you've been dancing with strangers the last half hour, flirting without your usual circle around, she's been looking—. "seems to me you were ditched baby, don't lie."

"fuck off." what did she expect anyway? a good response? "i'm here just to let you know i'm asking for a room transfer tomorrow. i should get a response in no longer than a week."

"shit. and you're doing all of that hungover?" she's teasing you, testing your patience with a grin ellie cannot seem to hide: the vampire's having fun with you. "you sure it's not too much? would hate you getting burnt out for trying, leech."

"why do you care so much about what i do huh?" the consequences of drinking too much blood wash over you, dizziness settling in your brain like a new victim of your loose tongue. "last time i checked you hated me."

you're trying so hard not to stumble. it's funny for a moment when you're pushed by a much bigger vampire and ellie worries for a second you're going to fall while fighting to make her feel some sort of intimidation.

"i do hate you," she does, but that doesn't forbid her body from wanting, an act so pure and automated as feeding or breathing "but i'm a good samaritan and shit."

her words make you chuckle, a laughter that fills the air and catches ellie with a low guard when she notices the curve of your lips turning upwards and the movement of your chest as it expands and constricts filling the air with a sound she haven't heard before, enough to make her own heart jolt in her chest.

"good samaritan?" you don't really fall for it: clever girl—. "do good samaritans want to kill vampires in their sleep?"

what are you trying to do? what kind of act you pulling? fucking flirt. she threatens to slit your throat and you're giggling at her random lies? pretending you don't really notice the way her eyes keep wandering to your tits? insane.

"do you want to leave, leech?" she's so impatient sometimes, can't keep her mouth shut even if she wishes so. ellie blames it on the abuse of blood even when she's not remotely touched by it, enough to cement her mistakes that night "to our dorm- i mean."

"your girl ditched you huh? cold and fast."

"shaw is not my girl" she corrects annoyed, yet you're too busy thinking about her words: ours. — "we just fuck sometimes."

"then tell me, is this some sort of excuse, roomie?" ellie doesn't want to mention it, doesn't want to think about the way you seemed to be fixated on her too during the night, cause how else would you know about her presence on the same party? about her fling leaving? "gonna kill me in a dirty alley on the way back to our place?"

ours. that fucking word again —"yes. walking with you is the excuse i was waiting for."

"perfect. i was looking for a memorable ending for tonight."

so when you finally lose complete balance ellie's already hooking her fingers in the waistband of your jeans to keep your feet on the ground and preventing a possible accident, allowing you to rest against her body as a moment searching for support: how are you so warm when everything in their species is so cold? where does it come from? your previous humanity?

it seems you forgot about the pocket knife incident in your neck, the razor's edge sharp and ready to sink in thick skin. that would be coherent when you're walking down the campus close to randomly, ellie williams. the cold air seems similar to a slap in the face as you're much composed now, starting to wonder even why the fuck you're leaving the party with her.

what do you crave now? care from someone who only declares anger? that drug-like feeling of the touch of her fingers more intense than anything you've felt in your immortality years? feel- that's the thing, the key.

"i don't understand your behavior" you state close to her, maybe abusing substances is your way of being brave, honest: ellie can't decide. if you're asking for a transfer tomorrow, what's the worst thing that can happen? would she actually be capable of killing you during the night? you have a feeling she'll leave you alone the rest of the week—. "i don't get this need of hating and then flirting."

"flirt?" ellie asks, her hand feels mellow against your skin as the vampire let her fingers slip beneath your shirt, an invitation she grants by herself as her digits close tighter in your waist as she's helping you walk since you two leave the party—. "well, i thought we were just a couple of enemies trying to stay civil. guess i misread the fucking room huh?"

"funny," it's easy to reply and start this back and forth banter, bark and never bite. "you sure? this wouldn't have anything to do with you staring at my tits at all?"

"i thought we were fucking with each other, isn't that what enemies do?" is it funny for her? maybe that's why ellie chuckles. a coping mechanism as it becomes much intimate now when the two of you arrive to the dorm building. silence when there's no one around and it's much interesting there than anywhere else. "it's hard to hate you when you're this close leech, distracting cleavage."

it's such a pleasant surprise to witness how you get nervous under her words, how your brows reveal that nice surprise in your face at the confirmation: yes, she is flirting with you, do you need a more forward affirmation?

so the air feels electric when ellie's opening the door of the small space you've been sharing with her the entire semester, the smell of home combined with desire and blood making your brain so foggy it's a hazard, more than possibly dangerous when she's looking at you like that, when you're an unraveling mystery under her curious eyes.

"can i ask you something without you pulling on that knife of yours?" now as the door is closed your words seem to get lost in the air for a moment, real confidence you exude when it seems you're not going to get randomly killed for wanting a rational explanation even in private — "you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"i'll think about it if you're quick."

it doesn't happen often, ellie's own brain betrays her to be kinder with you, nicer — "why do you keep crosses and holy water?"

"you sure you want to know the answer to that?" you nod like you've been offered a plate of food after a long journey, information you're tired of imagining — "i don't think you're going to believe me leech, borders on the mad-shit-crazy."

"what are you doing with it?" you wouldn't know when was the exact moment on which she corners you, but the back of your knee hits the couch and you end up sitting on it, trapped between the vampire legs and the comfortable cushions— "i don't think you're killing vampires with it. too much work to hide the bodies, and there haven't been any concerning missings lately."

you seemed to be getting to the point as ellie stayed silent, almost a joke when you don't need her help to find out the true motives of her crazy belongings as your eyes widen in new awe — "oh for fucking vlad. you are using this for sex?"

the lack of response gives you the chills: your roommate, the same vampire who's threats to slit your throat, is the very same one who craves the pain of holy water burning in her skin during pleasure, the marks of a cross red on the flesh when she cums.

interesting change.

"you were dead threatening me the other day- cause you simply like to indulge some pain when fucking?" you can't help but make fun of her, of the blush that spreads on her face down to her neck. sober now and like a damn stallion, you hook your fingers in the waistband of her pants now, pulling ellie with just enough force to make her fall on top of you. "can't you just be normal for once in your life and buy some strap? be into choking and blood like the rest of us?"

vulnerable. ellie williams is now vulnerable against the one person she hates the most, unable to stop her own actions when being seated on your lap feels so good it only ignites more hatred.

"pain is good," it's the only answer she can think of — "i'm not surprised you don't know it as you're a fucking rookie, but we as vampires heal hella quick."

you're going to whine about the sudden lack of weight pulling you down, her ass pushing awfully good against you before she's coming back again with the same artifacts you saw before: the small silver cross paired out with a poison-like container full of transparent water.

it makes you flinch at the sight, unconventional weapons designed to torture your kind.

"c'mere, sit on my lap it's easier" she pats her legs as you sit on top of her—"do you trust me?"

"no, i don't."

"good. give me your palm then," it's fucking crazy to admit how much she's enjoying this, how much she likes getting you like this— "and pray to the elders you're not losing your hand tonight."

you can tell it's a joke, but it never fails to leave you breathless when she treats you like that, cold words that promise only suffering as you give her your right hand. against her own, feels like radiation sweeping through her skin right through yours when ellie's carefully opening the bottle cap of the holy water, holding your hand tightly.

"go on. do it."

she hates you, but she looks at you waiting for a simple nod before pouring a single drop of water into your hand, consent. an interesting word that makes you gasp, wince instinctively as ellie holds your hand firmly, forbidding you to pull away or make any unwanted movement that would make the water fall off.

there's a sick moment in which you can feel the smell of skin burning alive under your nose, slowly absorbing in the middle of your hand as smoke comes out the wound. hurts. makes you whine audibly. where is the fucking pleasure of it?

you're missing it until your roommate's tongue comes in contact with your palm, licking the water it soothes the pain as your flesh begins to repair on it's own. turns you on as ellie's looking up to you, wishing to bite over that spot on your wrist she know she can draw blood from — you drank so much in the party, your roommate’s sure that if she bites she'll be able to feed from the blood that still lingers in your system as if you were human, blending it with a silvery vampire essence that’s purely yours.

it doesn't stop there anyway, it could never be possibly enough when ellie’s pouring another drip, two drips cause yeah-- she's sure you can take it. once again you flinch at the pain of the sudden contact of the holy water now in your collarbone, slowly making its way down to the valley of your chest.

it stings, burns in the most delicious way as it leaves a red trail behind, even when the burnt smell settles under your nose and ellie's eagerly letting her tongue follow the way down, thick and abundant saliva glistening under a skin that now heals again due to deadly abilities leaving no trace of a wound behind.

do you have a heart? is that it? did you turn human all of a sudden? cause you're sure your heart's beating in your chest loudly even when it don't exist, when ellie's mouth follow the path of holy water down to your tits, an innocent bite, wandering tongue — it's enough to make you biased, just a taste to make you wonder more about her masochist tendencies.

"next question," she suggests. not even close to you for a fucking kiss, yet somehow closer than she’s ever been when her fingers trace an invisible pattern in your thighs: "if i found your pretty pussy already wet and soaking for me, would you push my hand away... or would you grind against my fingers like a good vampire slut?"

raw, drops like a bomb and it couldn't be clearer as a sunny day: "i don’t know. why don’t you fuck around and find out?"

hates makes her different, rougher, less funny, constantly stiff, a stark contrast now to how need makes ellie pliant, considerate and desperate now that she's able to touch you properly, a sweet melody that scratches part of her brain and makes her weak, drunk on your charms.

does it make you a sadist? as you take the glass bottle from her fingers and a single drop falls against ellie's neck and you can feel her tensing down beneath you, do you get turned on because it hurts or her moans? your tongue does the same job as she did before, stinging when you swallow and the holy water travels down your throat like a reminder of her taste, of your sworn nemesis surrounding you entirely.

again. you need to do it again cause her reaction is too delicious to let it pass now, not turn it in a primal fight for control, a need for dominance cause ellie's fucking tired of feeling you against her damn belt and not her hands as she tries to unbuckle your jeans, and you on the other hand, are way too busy pulling on her white tank top upwards until your fingers reach her ribs to have more of her skin bare and exposed to you.

touch. you need to touch her more.

"nobody can know about this, okay?" 

can ellie fight the weight of your lust? she can barely resist her own under your hands, cast in a new kind of spell when her top finally rests on the floor and instead, she's received by a gust of affliction, fire on her skin that makes ellie's back arch away from the sofa to your mouth instead, delicious pain.

her skin heals, but the sensation of your tongue drinking the holy water takes her breath away as you wail in the agony of your throat already sore, forcing yourself to soothe the sensitive skin of your roommate with the warmth of your tongue.

"i understand it now," ellie's giving up the fight by now: do whatever you want. keep fucking burning her, keep helping her to take it with your thick and dense saliva coating her skin, lips red at the contact of the water already corroding your mouth — "this whole pain thing. it's nice you know? to see you squirm around, trembling 'cause it hurts and it turns you on."

she comes to the conclusion that she's neck-deep already, this weird connection between jealousy and desire who's devastating enough to let you kiss her, drown her in you. slow and invading your tongue pushes against her own and ellie's surrendering, lowering those walls of hate to let you collect every part of her system like a trophy, as if you weren't already all she thinks about lately.

burns against her tongue in a subtle, almost inexistent throb that only pushes her further, demanding for more when she licks into your mouth, hoping to make your saliva her own — consume you until there's nothing left.

drunk in the taste of your mouth ellie’s capable still of finally unbuckle your pants, sure she'll tear them apart with her knife still resting in the pocket of her jeans as her finger pull them down tired of the fabric forbidding her to roam around like she deserves: she has endured your presence the entire semester, didn't she deserve this? play with her pretty roommates pussy?

she does. a victory she need to claim when ellie's words slur together, a mix that only proves how needy she becomes with the seconds, how lust takes over her actions, dictating her movements as she tugs the waistband of your jeans down once again with a pleading look — "please-- take them off, they only get in the way..."

pathetic. she’s fucking degrading herself, sounding like a freshly-turned vampire who knows nothing about patience. it makes her blush when you stand in front of her for a handful of seconds: pull yourself together, how is that a pretty pair of panties hypnotizing her to the point of madness?

there you are. soaked, ready for her, inviting for her fingers to finally sink into your cunt.

her hands squeeze the round gloves of your ass when you're coming back to the secured spot in her lap, slowly making you move on top of her in a gentle back and forth that's too different from the fun you're having with her, the cruel desire. all is teasing in your fingers when the silver crucifix's tip scratches against ellie's torso, burning her chest in a path that lands later on her tummy, defined wound. the vampire stiffens when the cross burns deep in the flesh, an scream leaving her lips as her fangs come out in response.

"too much," ellie lets you know against your skin — "be gentle and not a fucking monkey. i know its too much to ask, but i encourage you to try."

even in your control she's eager when messing with you, testing your patience cause she's damn good at it, the best of the campus to fucking hate you and turn you on it seems, cause she can already feel the dampness your pussy leaves behind in her jeans as you're already humping her legs as if it's her cunt the one you're scissoring with.

"fuck you." there's no real offense when saying it, between erratic moans it makes the vampire laugh as she's leaving soft kisses on the curve of your neck, biting with no real pressure.

"well, i think that's what we're doing, isn't it?" 

"finally you're intelligent, huh? cheers to carmilla."

the thin line of hate blurs to an nonexistent line cause ellie can't think of nothing else but the way you hump against leg seeking for whatever relief she could offer, amazes her when you damn multitask to get rid of her sports bra, too busy to fight with it when you're barely making an effort to rip the fabric that shatters in your fingers like it's paper, brain too clouded to even say something about it: that bra costed damn human money.

it makes her skin tingle when your lavish tongue meets her stiff nipple, the meat of her breast moulding to your hands as you lightly squeeze the flesh. a breath of the pain before you're messing around again and the holy water burns its way down to your mouth, just right over her nipple to cause enough distraction to make her crash out.

"what the hell-" ellie gasps, closing her eyes shut — "are you a professional now in this field, rookie?"

you learn fast, clearly. you'd like to remind her that but you're too busy using her, getting off her clothed knee which rubs too good against your drenched cunt, wet enough to darken the fabric of her jeans at least two shades. composed, in control until ellie's fangs graze against your skin and you can feel her willingly breathing, filling her dead lungs with your scent that goes between sweat and the perfume you sprayed before leaving to the party and ellie felt all over the living room back to her bed before you left.

"you smell so much like blood" she manages to say, choking. hands gripping your waist like it's the only constant thing in her brain that’s able to keep her grounded — "a-class-fucking-blood huh? please don't be greedy and share a little- please."

it's messy when she says it, you need to stop any further painplay when she's grounding you faster against her leg, her fangs tearing through the skin of your neck to reach the vein under her teeth who ellie’s sure beats human-like in her mouth. red drops of blood slip past her mouth when she begins to suck, staining your chest and your tight shirt only to make you moan: the pain, the smell of blood and sex in the air, her fingers digging in your waist to the point her nails leave a mark.

there's no words to describe it. it's chaotic and ellie could downright cum just by that: jeans on, the holy water, the blood in your veins and your cunt soaking down her leg to the point she can feel you in the air — it's the perfect combination.

so she feeds from you like you're human, a source of fresh blood instead of a vampire just fed, slides her hand between your legs drunk on blood and gore, on the way her fangs tear your skin and makes you moan as she sucks further. her fingers slide under your underwear and it's a far more important need to get you there, destroy your barriers and have you peaking in her lap.

are you close? seems like you are when her digits push against your tight, fluttering-hole and you kind of forget about grinding. the moment your cunt engulfs her fingers, squeezing them in welcome.

"you gonna cum?" ellie’s voice's rougher now, thickened by the blood and need, the pleasure that gathers in her stomach and will give her the most intense orgasm on her fucking jeans — "talk to me."

ellie shows no mercy when she's fucking you with her fingers, you don't either when she's covered in crosses, in a daze of blood and burnt skin that even when it heals faster, makes her thrive under your bites and sweet tortures.

no you cannot answer, the undulating movements of your hips only help your roommate to discover that spot inside that drives you insane, that makes you move faster, in erratic thrusts to try and draw her closer, help her fingers sink in deeper. tight, ellie's sure you have a pulse when you squeeze her fingers tightly enough to make her moan, a damn heart. you're close- so fucking close, you cannot let her know seconds before.

fuck she should be so into this.

time for a vampire goes different, but now it reaches a whole different level when the world seems to stop for a minute, a tear in the universe that functions in your own rules as you finally cum, when ellie's cumming too in a loud whine and you can feel it crumbling down to pieces: what ego's now left after she creamed her pants like a fucking loser?

it's hard to be mean to you when she can feel how sticky it is between her legs, when at the slightest movement her underwear seems to cause the most delicious friction in her soaked folds.

"this is a one time thing," you try to say as you take your shirt off, dried blood in your skin like a new type of candy the vampire wishes to try, the new sight of your tits — your cunt too; warm, pliant and inviting, sucking ellie's fingers deeper like a way of inviting her further in, keep you nestled and full of her digits as she kisses your neck like she's already saying: yeah sure, whatever you say. "i mean it ells-"

the nickname makes her laugh for a moment: is it a reminder for you or is it directed to her? you're the one who's calling her ells anyway, never seen before.

"yeah? i know baby. open up," she’ll give you any reassurance you need when her fingers leave your used cunt to instead push insistently against your mouth, smearing your arousal in your lower lip as a permission to have you parting her lips for her, "that's it. you're such a good vampire when you shut the fuck up."

it defies nature itself. how are you so soft? how are you always at a different temperature? it makes her burn when you’re taking her fingers in your mouth, fangs coming out to playfully push against the skin of her hand as you let her draw them deeper, knuckles past your teeth as ellie's sure you can taste it; the savory essence of death and bliss your orgasm left behind.

what’s hers.

there's no need to rest when you're dropping to your knees, right between her parted legs ellie's fingers now plunges down your throat before your hands are freeing her from a life of pain, a slightly soaked belt you're unbuckling as a secret passage to paradise.

"i can smell your cum from here," you point out, making her feel suddenly shy at the plain evidence of her needs. "creamed all over your pants and all i did was suck your tits and let you use me as a vessel — are you sure you hate me?"

you're mocking her when the vampire’s shimmying out of her pants, not saying a word. what can she possibly say when you're right? when you reduced her to a mess? there's marks on her body you made, her knee’s still wet from your cum; your kisses burn like holy water on her lips, hell, she's not even sure herself of any hate.

"i- fuck, i tried not to cum i swear it." pathetic. all her threats, all this attitude she's been pulling out of her ass now goes to the fucking bin just because you're down on your knees, looking at her like she's the best human treat to a superior vampire — "you looked so good while i finger-fucked you... i couldn't help it."

you're pressing your lips against her inner thigh, and a shiver goes down ellie's spine when you know just exactly what she needs— "tell me you know this is a one-time thing, ellie."

"it is a one-time thing, rookie." loud and clear, she'd say anything to keep you going, even when you’re already intoxicated by the smell of her orgasm and the blood that runs through her veins as she recently fed from you.

good. you're gonna make her a feast, bite that vein close to her cunt, get dizzy on her taste-

one time thing.

"i still hate you" you reply between her legs, breathing heavily cause you want to make her smell part of you, her excitement an emotion you can pick up from: you need the reminder more than she does.

"wouldn't expect less from you," voice strained, ellie's fingers thread in your hair, pushing your face closer to where it's needed — "i hate you too."

lies. vampires are so full of shit sometimes, cause she doesn't hate you at all, just as you know deep down, that this act of devotion wasn't a one time thing only.

viva hate: isn't that what vampires say? when you despise someone so much their body speaks to you in a different tongue.

it turns out you’re ellie's favorite worst nightmare. and that’s enough to prevent you from looking for a new roommate the next day.

ellie williams hates you wholeheartedly. tangled in her arms the next morning on a dirty couch full of blood: wasn’t that just right?

[isuggestforcefem]

I'm NOT the "all men think about being a woman sometimes" anon but I'll toss in that yeah, of course we do! It must be pretty cool to be desirable to your spouse! But as a straight guy that's just not possible. Most straight women simply aren't into men the way that men and lesbian women are into women. I'm just a talking head and a floating pair of hands to my partners over the years. A lot of guys think about being gay for the same reason. Wouldn't it be nice to be the subject of desire in the relationship?

Anyway, I hope more guys get the chance to try out being desirable, regardless if it comes from becoming gay or becoming a girl; it will surely be a great experience.

I should note I don't blame women for this. It's toxic masculinity doing the damage to heterosexual couples. I hope this generation can destroy it

I don’t think your experience is normal

[confusedlamp]

Your point is definitely correct, but I would like to say that we probably do come closer to sharks than you may think when we swim in the ocean. Sharks just generally don't seem interested in biting us. I mainly want to note that because I don't want people to think that increased shark populations due to conservation efforts will necessarily lead to more shark bites. (Also, this is an excuse to talk about sharks)

[Edit because the link didn't work the first time]

"New Yorkers bite more people than sharks annually" is an excellent example of how statistics can be misleading. Like yeah no shit, do you have any idea how rare it is to even encounter a shark in the wild? They're not exactly urban animals. I'm pretty damn sure that if sharks were living in big cities like pigeons, just strolling down the streets looking for food scraps, you'd see a lot more news stories about New Yorkers biting them.

[goonforgeto]

push to pass

f1 driver!nanami x perfumer!reader

SYNOPSIS — It’s your big break: a private commission from a high-profile client brings you and your small-town French perfumery to gorgeous Monaco in the middle of July, where you’ve just begun setting up your first standalone boutique. But between construction delays, holiday crowds, and the chaos of Grand Prix weekend, peace is hard to come by. And when a handsome stranger stumbles into your unfinished shop—seeking shelter from the paparazzi and asking for a chance to see you again—your careful plans start to unravel in ways you never expected.

CONTENT — mdni, age gap (nanami is 31, reader is 23), takes place in the 1950s, inaccurate f1 history/general history inaccuracies, i cannot stop talking about f1 im sorry, hotel lobby reference wink wink, loss of virginity, nanami has a HUGE dick, semi public sex, public making out, thigh riding, fingering, oral (f! receiving), cum eating, creampie, unprotected piv sex, floor sex, biting/licking, strangers to lovers, mentions of a character death, fast paced romance, angst, happy ending

a/n: this fic is for @lily-bisque’s summer bash collab! thank you sooo much guys for like over 800 notes on part 1, ive never gotten that much on something that isnt an smau and im soooo grateful for every tiny like or reblog ily guys!

push to pass | masterlist | divider | part 1

July, 1956

“Welcome, madame,” your boutique manager greets, her accent prominent, eyes bright as you drop your travel-worn bags into the back of the perfumery.

You exhale as the cool, familiar scent of rose oil and bergamot washes over you, soothing the ache of the early train ride from Grasse. 

“Thank you, Colette,” you murmur, undoing the buttons of your linen coat. “How’s the stock looking?”

“Ready. Nervous,” she adds with a little smile, “but ready.”

It’s been almost a year since you opened the Monaco boutique. Though you still spend most of your time in Grasse, where your creations come to life, the boutique on the Riviera has become something of a symbol.

And timing, especially this weekend, is everything.

Outside, the city is already humming with Grand Prix tension. You can feel it in the air, thick with heat and engine smoke, the streets narrowing with barricades and velvet ropes. It’s not even noon and there are already men in suits drinking champagne on balconies and women in silks parading down the promenade like it’s a runway. The kind of crowd that lives for spectacle. The kind of crowd that will wander into your boutique curious, and leave with something expensive in their purse.

If you play it right.

The little bell above the door jingles as Colette unlocks it for the day, the gold-painted letters on the window catching the light.

What once was a dream is now pressed into reality: scent cards, silk ribbons, etched bottles, and the signature line—the very one that started it all. The perfume you made that week last year. The one that still clings to a memory you never quite shook.

You run your fingers over the familiar bottle, the lavender still present, faint and steady.

“Do you think it’ll be as crowded as last year?” Colette asks.

You nod, distracted. “Probably more.”

“I know it’ll be busy,” Colette says as she lines up the scent blotters near the cash desk, glancing sideways at you, “but do you think I could have a little time off this Sunday?”

You lift your head from the inventory sheet. “Sunday? What for?”

She hesitates—just long enough to seem guilty. “I was hoping to get an autograph.”

You arch a brow. “From?”

“Kento Nanami,” she says quickly, like she’s been holding it in all morning. “He’s doing a signing. Just a short one near the paddock entrance. Can you believe it? He never talks to the press, never does fan events—but this weekend, he’s actually showing up.”

You blink, caught off guard, the name punching through you with more force than you’d like to admit.

“He is?” you manage, keeping your tone even.

She nods, warming to her excitement now. “It’s all over the radio. Apparently his team asked him to do more public appearances this season. And now that he’s top of the standings again, people are calling it his golden year. Everyone’s dying to see him. Especially if the rumors about him retiring are true.”

Your eyes drop back to the sheet in front of you, though the numbers have already blurred into nonsense.

“I don’t mind if it’s just a few hours,” Colette continues gently. “I’ve never seen him in person.”

A beat passes. You nod. “Go ahead. Just coordinate with Léon so someone’s on the floor.”

She smiles, grateful and a little giddy. “Thank you, madame.”

But you barely hear her.

You slip out the back door just after noon, the boutique humming with low conversation and the occasional jingle of the entry bell. Colette’s handling the front just fine, and the deliveries are all accounted for.

You figure you’ve earned ten minutes and a cigarette.

The alley behind the boutique is shaded and narrow, still damp from last night’s wash of summer rain. You lean against the wall, one foot crossed over the other, and strike a match with the easy rhythm of someone who’s done this a thousand times before.

The first drag hits slow and warm.

You’re halfway through when a sharp crash—glass on tile—rings out from inside.

Then a muffled scream.

Your heart skips. You toss the cigarette, crush it underfoot, and shove open the back door in one quick motion.

The scent hits you first—something floral and heady, familiar—mixed with the sharp, unmistakable note of spilled perfume.

Colette stands behind the counter, eyes wide, hand over her chest like she’s trying to calm a racing heart. A shattered bottle lies on the floor near the display tray.

She doesn’t look hurt. Just stunned.

“I—” she starts, breathless. “I guess I can work Sunday after all.”

You follow her gaze.

And then you see him.

Nanami stands just inside the boutique, tall frame slightly hunched like he’s aware of the space he’s taking up, one hand tucked into his coat pocket, the other holding a bouquet.

Roses, white this time, with sprigs of lilac tucked between the blooms.

Your breath catches, somewhere between disbelief and something you can’t name.

He looks the same. A little older, maybe. A little more tired around the eyes. But still—him.

Colette clears her throat and turns to busy herself in the back, clearly trying not to stare.

Nanami steps forward, expression unreadable.

“Sorry about the bottle,” he says softly, voice like gravel warmed in the sun. “I didn’t mean to startle her.”

You’re still staring.

“Can I help you?” Colette asks, her tone polite but far too curious, already sauntering over like she’s hosting a royal guest.

You step in quickly, intercepting her with a smile that doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “I got it,” you say lightly. “Go to the back and sort the new shipment.”

Colette blinks, just once, and then a slow grin creeps across her lips. She leans in close enough to whisper, “You know him!”

You lift an eyebrow. “You’ll still get your autograph, don’t worry.”

She exhales a dreamy little sigh, and disappears into the back room without further protest—though you know she’s going to eavesdrop shamelessly through the door.

The moment it clicks shut behind her, the boutique feels quieter. 

Nanami still hasn’t moved. His fingers are tight around the bouquet, knuckles paling just a little.

“I didn’t mean to drop in unannounced,” he says, eyes flicking over your face, as if checking to see whether he’s crossed a line.

You step closer, slow. “No appointment?” you tease. “You must be important.”

His smile is faint, but real. “I was hoping you’d still be here.”

You glance down at the flowers, then back at him. “It’s been a year, Kento.”

“I know.” A pause. “But I never stopped thinking about you.”

“Are you here to buy perfume?” you ask, folding your arms gently across your chest. It’s meant to sound teasing, detached—but your voice betrays you just a little.

“No,” he says simply.

Then, after a beat, “But if that’s what it takes for you to talk to me, I’ll get something.”

Your mouth twitches—almost a smile. The same steady, self-deprecating calm he’d had back then, folded neatly between his words.

“You don’t need to bribe me, Nanami.”

“I wasn’t sure,” he says, eyes earnest. “I didn’t know if I’d be welcome.”

You ignore him, ensuring he doesn’t feel too welcome. 

“We don’t really sell cologne,” you say, stepping around the counter, your fingertips grazing the edge as you move. “But we have some unisex fragrances in our signature collection. Toward the back.”

Nanami follows you, quiet as ever, the low sound of his footsteps syncing with the soft hum of the boutique. You stop at the display case—hand-cut glass, brass detailing still warm from the morning sun—and lift the lid.

He leans slightly forward, scanning the row of crystal bottles, each labeled with delicate script.

His hand hesitates over one, then closes around it gently.

You glance at the name etched in gold: Final Lap.

Your heart gives a small, almost imperceptible lurch.

He turns the bottle in his hand, brows slightly furrowed. “This one.”

It’s not a question.

You swallow. “That’s… our bestseller.”

He uncaps it, bringing it to his wrist, and breathes it in—slow and quiet, eyes closing just for a second.

“I didn’t know you kept it,” he says.

You try to laugh, but it comes out soft. “I renamed it. It didn’t feel finished until after you left.”

He meets your gaze. “You made it after that night.”

You nod. “You picked the last note, remember?”

A flicker of warmth passes through his expression, something just shy of wonder.

“It smells like you,” you add, gently. 

His smile is slow—small, but certain.

“Then I’ll take it,” he says.

“Then I’ll take it,” he says, setting the bottle down with a kind of finality that makes your heart stir.

You begin to ring him up, fingers moving automatically over the till, though your thoughts are elsewhere—on him, on the weight of a year spent wondering, on the ache that never quite settled.

“Why’re you here, Kento,” you ask quietly, not looking up.

He doesn’t hesitate. “You,” he says.

Your hands still.

“I tried to respect your wishes and leave,” he continues, voice low and even. “I thought maybe the space would help. That time would dull it. That you’d forget me, and I’d forget you.”

You glance up, meeting his eyes.

“But I didn’t,” he says. “Not for a second. There’s just something about you. About that week. About how I felt when I was near you, like maybe the rest of it didn’t matter.”

You swallow, the click of the register drawer the only sound between you.

“Do you really think this could work?” you ask, softly.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I know I want to try.”

You hand him the bottle, fingers brushing his. He holds your gaze like he’s anchoring himself to it.

“My contract expires after next season,” he says, voice quieter now, more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard it. “I’m not planning on renewing it… and I know I’ll be lonely once this is all over.”

His eyes flick away, like he can’t bear to look at you when he says the next part.

“So, please. Just give this one chance.”

You don’t answer right away. The silence stretches. The boutique feels still, suspended between past and present, between memory and something that might still be possible.

He exhales. “This is embarrassing,” he says, shaking his head faintly. “I’m sorry. You must have found someone by now. I apologize—”

“Stop,” you interrupt, your voice catching. “There’s no one else.”

He looks at you.

“There never has been,” you say, more softly now. “It’s only been you.”

The words hang in the air, bare and unguarded, like they’ve been waiting a year to be spoken.

His shoulders drop with quiet relief, the kind that feels almost like surrender.

You step around the counter slowly, like you’re not entirely sure if the moment will hold—but it does. He doesn’t move as you reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You cave all at once—like something inside you finally gives way.

Your arms wrap around his neck, the movement sudden, a little desperate. The bouquet tumbles from his hands to the floor, forgotten, petals scattering across the tile as he pulls you in by the waist, his grip firm, grounding.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, your face buried against the curve of his neck. “I was so rude to you last year. You must have felt so… used.”

“No, sweetheart,” he says, low and soft against your ear. “It’s okay.”

“It’s really not,” you breathe, pulling back just enough to look at him, your hands sliding down to rest against his chest. “I was just scared. I didn’t know you that well, and I push people away because I’m scared they’ll treat me like my father did.”

His expression doesn’t change, but his arms tighten—just a fraction.

“I spent every day over the past year regretting not saying yes to you,” you whisper. “Every single day, Kento.”

He studies you for a moment—eyes steady, jaw tight with the ache of something he’s been carrying just as long.

Then, gently, like he’s afraid you might disappear again, he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Then let’s stop wasting time,” he says. “Let me try. Just let me love you the way I’ve wanted to from the beginning.”

You take a small step back, not in retreat, not in fear, but in the kind of pause that comes when something is too big, too important, to meet without breath.

Nanami doesn’t move forward. He lets you have the space. His gaze stays steady on yours, open and unflinching.

“It’ll be hard, I know,” he says. “But I don’t want to regret this—the way I regretted not being there for Yu.”

The mention of his name lands with a quiet weight. You’ve heard it before, once, whispered over dinner when he thought you weren’t really asking. Now it sits between you, a truth he no longer hides.

“I have no intentions of hurting you,” he says, voice firmer now. “Not ever.”

You blink, the lump in your throat pressing up against your silence.

“I know I can’t promise we won’t fight. Or that it won’t be messy, or lonely sometimes,” he adds. “But I can promise I’ll show up. I’ll call. I’ll write. I’ll make the effort, even when it’s hard. You deserve that.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, overwhelmed—not by doubt, but by how simple he makes it sound. Like the love you’ve always been afraid to ask for isn’t impossible after all.

“I don’t want to be scared anymore,” you say quietly.

“Then don’t be,” he answers, stepping forward now, slow, deliberate. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

And when you let him gather you into his arms again, it feels different this time.

“Okay,” you say, the word soft but certain.

His brows lift, just slightly. “Okay?”

You nod, a faint smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. “Okay, we can give this a shot.”

For a second, he just looks at you—as if he’s making sure he heard you right, that he hasn’t imagined it. Then something unspools in his shoulders, something long-held and heavy, and his hand finds yours again like it always belonged there.

He leans in and kisses you—slowly, respectfully, like he’s savoring the moment as much as he’s asking permission all over again.

You kiss him back with no hesitation.

AUGUST 12, 1956

“NANAMI SPOTTED WITH LIPSTICK SMEARS AND A SMILE — WHO’S THE MYSTERY WOMAN?”Crowd-favorite keeps quiet after being photographed post-GP in Germany. Fans speculate romance.

OCTOBER 21, 1956

“NANAMI TAKES THE TITLE — REDEEMS LAST YEAR’S LOSS IN STUNNING FINAL LAP.” Victory at the Italian Grand Prix secured his fourth world championship title.

MARCH 5, 1957

“KENTO NANAMI BREAKS SILENCE ON BEST FRIEND’S DEATH — ‘THIS CAREER WAS NEVER JUST MINE.’” In a rare interview, the four-time champion reveals the truth behind his racing origins.

JULY 14, 1957

“THE MYSTERY WOMAN RETURNS — NANAMI’S COMPANION SPOTTED AT BRITISH GP.” Identity remains unknown, but sources confirm she traveled with the team to Silverstone.

OCTOBER 6, 1957

“‘IT’S TIME.’ — KENTO NANAMI ANNOUNCES RETIREMENT FROM FORMULA ONE.” Four-time world champion says goodbye to racing, announces plans to move to southern France.

MAY 18, 1958

“FORMER MASERATI DRIVER KENTO NANAMI MARRIED IN MONACO.” Weds longtime partner in private ceremony. Sources confirm he will join her perfumery business in Grasse.

taglist: @bluukive @callme-naomi @seellove @southrasiansandas @roresgf @bxnfire @seokjinfairy @araveticazx @mylilsodapop @nanasrambelingsons @dilfkentolover @papoiyu @hannibuttered @cherryredkissez @tqrxi @angelkiyo @caffine-exe @meikstv @crustyaintdusty @thegriffinbird @blueemochii @xombied @salmonroebonitoflakes @casssiesthings @homeslices

[martian-astro10]

Nakshatra Observations - part 1

If I say moon in swati then that observation is ONLY for MOON in swati, and not ascendant, mercury, Saturn, etc.

Moon in Dhanishtha are the ultimate givers. These people are selfless and rarely give a shit about their own needs. They learned to be responsible from a young age, and will have elder sibling energy even if the youngest in the house. They can have "controversial" opinions; ahead of their time. Will break generational cycles. Trouble in marriage is almost always seen. 2 or more marriages. Extremely stubborn, and this quality will make them end up in hot water.

Sun in Anuradha people can constantly change their place of residence. They may feel uncomfortable staying in the same place for too long. They'll have great leadership ability and can be successful entrepreneurs. Will be the most responsible one in their family. Will have this urge to become fully spiritual after 45. I've seen that these people, after a certain age, are quite literally unable to live a "modern" life.

Saturn in Ardra can be either positive or negative, depending on the ascendant. The common interpretation is that they can be very good at controlling their emotions. Will have two careers or constantly change careers. If Saturn is positive for an ascendant then both the careers will bring wealth and happiness and if Saturn is a functional malefic for an ascendant, then nothing will bring satisfaction.

Ascendant in Bharani people can be very materialistic, and a little obsessed with beautiful things and people 👀. They often feel this need to express their sexuality but it's accompanied with a feeling of guilt; it's like, they WANT to but they think they shouldn't. They're a mix of sensuality and abstinence. I actually don't know how to word it properly, but these people could start feeling shy during sex or masturbation, it's like, it starts normally and then in the middle, these feelings creep in.

Sun in punarvasu people are one of the most intelligent people that I've ever come across. Their ability to write about complex topics is truly very admirable. They can be great writers and publishers, especially in regards to politics and religion. The negative side is that they have a tendency to overwhelm themselves with too much work because they don't know when to stop.

Jupiter in Purva Phalguni people are another group that I think are very intelligent. They can be very passionate about certain social issues and you'll often see them posting about them. For ex, there are some people who don't post much about social issues because they're afraid of their opinions being seen as "controversial" but that's not the case with this placement. They have the confidence to express their opinions and stand by them.

Moon in Uttara Ashadha people and their obsession with reading and writing sad poems (sharing sad memes as well). These people also have a complicated relationship with their father, it's like, "he's a great father but a terrible husband" kinda thingy and that's why for them, completely loving their father is a little hard. These people are very kind and helpful and can have many friends as a result of that. These people can also be asexual, or it could be that sex is just not THAT important to them.

Ascendant in Uttara Bhadrapada....I feel like people really overhype this, because everyone that I've met who has this, looks like they're done with life. They're highly spiritual beings and find it difficult to engage in small talk. They have trouble understanding social cues and might not really fit in with society. They have many karmic responsibilities and life will often feel like a series of obstacles. Progression happens slowly. Enemies will have the power to destroy their reputation. Travelling will bring them the peace they desire.

Venus in Mrigashira is extremely lucky for women. Their married life is mostly smooth sailing with some large waves in between, but nothing that they can't handle. They'll have to travel a lot and may settle away from their birthplace. They can get the top position in their career very early on. The possibility of having twins is quite high. These people are usually great at networking and this quality usually takes them far in life.

Jupiter in Mula people are great at giving advice but suck at following them. This is another placement that makes a person very spiritual, but unlike Uttara Bhadrapada, they avoid their material responsibilities and focus more on the spiritual ones. People with this can be terrible parents and spouses. Their need to completely submerge themselves in spirituality is awakened after 40. It's considered to be a good placement in Vedic because of the immense focus on "spirituality" but I don't consider it as such, it brings negative consequences because the current society doesn't support things like this.

Divider by @bernardsbendystraws

© martian-astro10 All rights reserved, 2025

[centrally-unplanned]

I have lost the original link alas, but right after the 2024 election there was an article breaking down the "ecosystem" of new right-wing online influencers that are an increasingly large source of the news for younger, typically-male Americans. It was a good article - lots of cool graphics - and generally spoke about how these people were just heavily right-wing at their core, even if they talked about a wide range of non-political content, which was forming a new, closed-off ecosystem.

I had a whole piece I was writing, which I eventually scrapped, partially challenging that notion. I went in and I watched a half-dozen of the highlighted YouTubers, finding their "big moments" talking about the election, and while for sure they leaned right - sometimes heavily so - they were also much more diverse than the article was giving them credit for. Flagrant was one of the ones I was going to highlight specifically - his video on the election itself was, you know, nothing I would watch organically, but it was a legitimate conversation. He had a bunch of guests on who didn't all agree, they spoke positively about Obama, highlighted Kamala failing to focus on cost of living and distancing herself from Biden, took jabs at Trump's ethics, etc. They even cracked a classic joke about abortion, calling it "guns for women - most will never need one, but just in case they fucking want one", which is a little crass but not honestly inaccurate and the point was they were very chill with women not voting Trump because he was pro-life.

A lot of these guys just aren't the bubble you might think they are - they essentially can't be to maintain their audiences, which have a lot of diversity of thought under the hood. What they are, though, is dissident - they all unite around hating the establishment. The mainstream media, the woke agenda, the big money elites, all that stuff. In the Biden years this comes off as very right wing? In a sense it is, fair enough, but in another sense they just hate the center, whoever that is. This is the reality of thermostatic shift in US politics - and how the audience for this kind of content works. They can't maintain that audience saying "yeah, everything is fucking great now".

And so when you win on the back of this audience, and become the center, it's baked in that they will in some ways turn on you. Which is why I was very much not surprised reading a piece from Brian Beulter on influencer responses to the Epstein topic and seeing him highlighting a clip from our boy Flagrant just absolutely ripping into Trump on the whole thing. He was out here saying he is either an opportunistic liar or a pedophile, it wasn't subtle! The brand wasn't MAGA, it was "being interesting". It was also "fuck the wokes", man humor, all that stuff too - which matters. But while there is absolutely the Fox News audience for slavish cult loyalty, that just does not describe the whole world of the "right" by any means.

Which I do think is politically relevant, because I saw a lot of democratic discourse doing a combination of defeatism and "pipeline" myopia. Essentially you had the people going "the info environment is totally cooked, everyone just wants right wing propaganda" and then grasping at straws to be like how do we build our own Joe Rogan. Because going on Joe Rogan as a lib is impossible. But it isn't, right? The info environment is kinda cooked, the thermostatic swing of public opinion in the US is because people are really fucking stupid in some ways. That is the game board though, and you actually can just go on Joe Rogan as a lib, particularly once you are out of power, and if you actually adopt stances that don't completely piss these people off.

I think part of the reason people think the above is that they confuse audiences with the commentary. Something I remember from watching that original 2024 election coverage video was looking at the comments. I know, the comments of a YouTube video about politics, am I insane?? Yes, actually, and so what I noticed is that the comments were much more right wing than the video itself. Often critical, even, of the "both side-sing" of various topics:

That last one aged like fine wine, incredible. All this can make you think that, man, this audience is fucking all in on MAGA. And then you go to the latest Epstein video and:

People are ripping into both Trump and the dumbasses who voted for him! You could convince me half of these people are career libs if you tried.

The conclusion here is not that everyone changed their mind - though some did. The conclusion is that YouTube comments are absolutely fucking useless as data about anything! They are the frothing, rage-fueled tail end of the political bell curve, with a healthy dose of professional trolls, meme hustlers, and shilling bots. But political analysts of all stripes see these comments - and the same shit on twitter and the like - as the audience. They reason from a biased sample, so of course they have the wrong suggestions.

Anyway, TL;DR - after the 2024 election you saw a lot of people talking about the "new online right ecosystem" like it was an impenetrable MAGA cult and it was never that, it was actually a decently diverse field with a mix of insane priorities and actually real issues, and you can authentically try to meet these people where they are to do politics and exploit the thermostatic shift. Get your ass on Rogan and talk shit.

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Counter Measures||Clark Kent Superman x Reader

smut

Summary— Clark comes home to the sight of you standing half naked in the kitchen wearing nothing but his flannel.

Warnings: Kitchen sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), light power play, dirty talk, teasing, strength kink if you squint, possessive!Clark, flannel shirt kink, no protection, general filth.

Word count — 846

18+ MDNI

A/n this can be read for any Superman really!

I watched Superman and I loved it!

You’re halfway into a slice of leftover pie when you hear the window creak.

Soft, almost st silent but not silent enough for someone trained to listen for him.

You don’t turn around. “You know, normal people knock.”

A low chuckle fills the kitchen, deep and amused. “The window was open.”

You take another bite of pie, eyes still on the fridge light. “Still doesn’t mean you can sneak up on me like Batman.”

Clark scoffs. “Could you not talk about the Bat while you’re half-naked in my shirt?”

He’s behind you now—warm, massive, and radiating heat, the way his suit clings to his chest, cape fluttering faintly behind him.

You glance over your shoulder with a smirk. “Relax, Boy Scout. I only moan your name in bed.”

He falters for half a second. Just one.

“Wasn’t sneaking,” Clark murmurs, voice a low hum against your neck. “I was admiring the view.”

You roll your eyes. “You mean your stolen flannel shirt and my indecent lack of pants?”

He chuckles again, hands sliding over your bare thighs. “Exactly.”

Before you can sass him back, he’s lifting you onto the counter like you weigh nothing like you’re just another feather in the wind he commands. Cold marble meets your skin. Your legs fall open instinctively.

And he notices.

“No panties?” His voice is a sinful whisper now, cocky and dark. “You expecting someone?”

“Just hot,” you mutter. “Wanted to be comfortable.”

His fingers ghost over your inner thigh. “You are so full of shit.”

You glare at him. “Do you want the rest of this pie or not?”

But he’s not looking at the pie.

He’s looking at you. The hem of his shirt barely covering anything, your thighs glistening, your breath catching as his fingers move higher.

“Baby,” he says, dipping just close enough to brush over your folds, “you’ve got something way sweeter than pie.”

You gasp.

Then his mouth crashes onto yours, hungry and slow. He kisses you like he’s been thinking about it since orbit. One hand cups your jaw, the other slides between your legs, fingers slipping through slick heat.

He groans. “You’re already soaked for me.”

You pant against his mouth. “Maybe I was hoping you’d come home.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He presses two fingers inside, slow and thick. “Bet I can make you cum before the clock strikes 3am.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s—mmfuck—that’s not even a challenge—Clark—”

“Superman.” His tone darkens, lips grazing your jaw. “That’s what you call me when you fall apart.”

You hate how fast he turns you into a mess.

He sinks to his knees, shoulders nudging your thighs wider.

“Hands on the counter,” he murmurs. “Try not to break anything this time.”

You don’t even get a chance to snark back before his tongue is on you hot and slow and devastating. He licks into you like he’s starving, like every part of you is worth worshiping.

Your hands scramble behind you for leverage. The fridge door swings wide open.

You barely notice.

All you know is the slick sound of his mouth, the obscene pressure of his tongue, and the rough groan he lets out when you tangle your fingers in his hair and grind down hard.

When you cum, it’s a full-body, table-shaking tremor.

He smirks when he stands up. Wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and kisses you like he hasn’t already wrecked you.

“Still hot?” he asks.

You’re breathless. “Still hungry.”

He unzips his suit and lets it fall to his hips. His cock is flushed and hard, tip leaking, and you swear you can feel the heat radiating off him.

“You sure?” he teases, stroking himself lazily. “You’re lookin’ a little weak in the knees, sweetheart.”

“You gonna talk or fuck me?”

There’s that grin again that one.

The one that means trouble.

He slides back in easily, still warm and slick from your orgasm, and the stretch makes you moan out loud. Your legs lock around his waist. He thrusts deep, slow at first, dragging it out.

“God, you feel perfect,” he growls, voice right in your ear. “Tight little thing… fuck… this pussy was made for me.”

You whimper.

“You like being fucked in your own kitchen, huh?” he pants, slamming into you. “Like it when Superman comes home and makes a mess out of you on the damn counter?”

You lose it. Clawing at his back, eyes squeezed shut, forehead pressed to his shoulder as another orgasm builds hard and fast.

“Come on, baby,” he whispers. “Let me feel it again.”

You break with a cry, legs trembling, whole body pulsing as he fucks you through it. He follows with a groan, buried to the hilt, cumming deep and hot inside you.

The room goes still except for the soft hum of the fridge and your ragged breathing.

He kisses your temple.

“I’ll clean the counter,” he mumbles.

You glance sideways.

The pie is upside down on the floor.

“…You’re lucky you’re pretty because you wasted a perfectly good pie.”

He grins. “Next time, I’ll bring more pie.”

[starcurtain]

Aventurine Fans Eating Good

Finished the Fate/Star Rail collab last night and enjoyed it much more than I expected. I don't know much of anything about the Fate series, so I figured it would be a slog, but it was both funny and a nice breather after the main story of 3.4. Also--a surprising feast for Aventurine fans in terms of both lore and characterization. I am definitely the fan that was served.

Some of the stand out stuff:

Hope this event will finally put the nail in the coffin for those people who kept insisting that Aventurine secretly hates Jade or that she's abusing him somehow. Their first scene was very nice, giving us insight into their relationship within the IPC; we see them discussing the plan, and it's clear that although Aventurine is very smart and clued into exactly what Jade is thinking, she's also certainly got the upper-hand when it comes to strictly business sense. Watching Aventurine follow her thought process to the conclusion tells us a lot about how Jade has mentored him throughout his time with the Stonehearts.

Aventurine is also willing to discuss his personal concerns and vulnerabilities with her:

And, ridiculously important for lore and dropped completely casually into the conversation: Aventurine told Jade about his dalliance with Boothill. This pretty much confirms that Aventurine and Boothill's deal is to hunt down Oswaldo Schneider specificially, and Jade not only approves of it but is encouraging it. Oh they hate his ass, for real.

This also implies that Aventurine isn't keeping secrets from Jade; he trusts her enough to tell her even about his under-the-table dealings.

I think it's clear they have a much better relationship that most of the players were giving them credit for.

In terms of other treats from the event, look! Aventurine is comfortable sharing space with Boothill and (later) Archer:

I've written before about how the devs normally position Aventurine's character further away from others during conversations and cutscenes, but it seems that he's a little more in his comfort zone now than he was in his first visits to Penacony. It's not just anyone that Aventurine is willing to stand shoulder to shoulder with--it says a lot that he was willing to put aside the space bubble here!

(This is also funny because Boothill in particular is the opposite of Aventurine, in that he's almost always positioned RIGHT NEXT to the people he's talking to--the space bubble is kind of nonexistent--but it still looks hilariously out of place to see him standing so close to Aventurine because Aventurine doesn't normally stand with anyone lol.)

Also: Boothill making a reference to xenophobia while the two indigenous characters from colonized worlds are on the screen? Wow, one of the members of the writing team actually remembered and cared enough to make note.

In fact, I thought whoever handled the writing for this questline in general did a much better job than the HSR writers normally do with characters' pasts affecting their current behaviors. Aventurine's consistent discomfort with the Master-Servant dynamic was excellent to see.

"Dead class structures"--my goodness, the word "master" showed up and the Proletariat just jumped straight out of Aventurine. A very good note for those interested in his characterization.

And speaking of characterization, Archer and Aventurine's dynamic was a definite high-point for the collab questline. I don't even know anything about Archer but his chemistry with Aventurine was great--mostly because it was actually just Ratio/Aventurine with a stand-in because the devs are allergic to giving Dr. Ratio screentime nowadays lol.

Aventurine's type is clearly "strapping, competent, reliable men who will lightly bully me into becoming a better version of myself."

We even got the "Trust me and my plan so we can trick everyone and beat our enemy." The fact that Archer was able to catch on with just one sentence from Aventurine was great, and the fact that he was even worse than Ratio at acting was pretty funny ngl. (Well, at least he put less effort into it!)

Archer and Ratio even have the same complaints:

Ratiorine fandom, I am politely requesting 5956760 fanfics of Ratio's eye twitching at some random new man showing up and folding Aventurine's laundry without asking and then just "poof" disappearing lol. Thank youuu~~

And pointing out some other fun snippets:

Aventurine being a horror movie buff was not on my bingo card, but it's an interesting tidbit to add to his characterization. Understandably difficult to spook someone who has beaten people to death with his bare hands to survive the Hunger Games. You know he's the person who watches the gory slasher flicks and is just devouring the popcorn while everyone else is getting grossed out.

Also interesting to note that Aventurine, the "give me two of everything at the highest-end luxury shops in Penacony" guy also apparently still shops at "interstellar junk markets." You can take the community bazaar out of the nomad but you can't take the nomad out of the community bazaar, apparently.

I want to know what dev managed to get this past the censors!! 😂

And Aventurine's tininess... I know the devs writing this quest were Aventurine fans; I know it.

This moment in general:

When are we getting our Bonnie and Clyde/Aventurine-Boothill western shootout with Oswaldo Schneider, Hoyo, when?

And, despite the tone of Aventurine's text messages post-Penacony sounding very much "I want to be friends" with the Trailblazer, it seems that, canonically, Aventurine hasn't made much headway in actually becoming Trailblazer's friend. Trailblazer's reactions to Aventurine were pretty :T through the event, and Aventurine's first claim is that maybe Trailblazer wouldn't even want to come out to meet with him. This is why Jade sent you to the Penacony Daycare Holy Grail War to make better friends, Aventurine. You gotta work a little harder at it, my dude.

Finally, I really appreciated this event taking the time to acknowledge that Aventurine is actually extremely smart and adaptable, capable of keeping a cool head under pressure, figuring out the enemy's strategy, immediately developing a plan to solve the problem, and executing it flawlessly.

And even more so than just painting Aventurine as a smart cookie who can see through others' ploys, I love that the reason Aventurine was able to see the ploy wasn't because of his status as a movie buff... It was because of his interest in business.

Aventurine can be a fake idgafer about his work all he wants, but when it comes right down to it, he was so interested in Grady's marketing strategies and business acumen that he went through the entire archive of Grady's works and learned the full history and tactics of this completely no-name director from a totally foreign planet. He's being unironic when he calls himself a "fan" of Grady's--not of Grady's terrible films, but of Grady's ability to achieve success.

My boy isn't just smart, he's still building his portfolio of tricks to get ahead in life.

Repeatedly, Archer asks whether Aventurine doesn't want to be a "hero of justice" sometimes, to which Aventurine never really fully responds. Yet in the team's time of greatest need in this quest, Aventurine was the actual "hero" of the moment--not using noble tactics, but by being true to exactly who he is: the shrewd schemer whose knowledge of underhanded methods and the cutthroat world of commerce can be applied even to righteous causes.

Aventurine's character in this event was, in essence, a perfect microcosm of the IPC's role in the game's overall story. Their methods might be less than ideal, their perspectives on right and wrong might be skewed at a 90 degree angle--but when push comes to shove, you're really going to need someone who isn't worried about getting their hands a little dirty, someone with the know-how to scheme their way out of the pitfalls, so long as they--deep, deep down--(mostly) have their heart in the right place.

A++ Aventurine content, thank you Hoyo~

[netscapenavigaytor]

btw i think its sooooo important to just say and do things and be loudweird on the internet and talk forever. its bloging we are here to just prance around. you dont have to make yourself Small on your own blog it is your home to share anything in your heart you want forever

[inkskinned]

you know, you know. no gods, no masters, no kings on pedestals. everyone is fallible. death of the author. you know! you are balanced about your intake of media - you allow the wiggle room, the grace, the gratitude, the skepticism. nobody above criticism.

but still. a weird gut-punch feeling, something akin to betrayal. you read the article. surprise! an author you love is actually: a serial fucking predator.

well, shit. what now. no, you knew he was a person (all people are), but now you're wondering - what have i overlooked by accident? what messages have i internalized that are strange and cruel? and also, like, what the fuck?

his actions lay a thick glaze on top of everything. like each place is now ruined, opaque in a new way. but okay, fine, you've done this before. you knew better, right? you've been betrayed by many a cherished childhood author.

still, this stickiness. fuck. can you pick up that book again. will you read it to your children. you've recommended it to others - will you ever do that again? and of course, of course, no parasocial relationships. you were theoretically above this kind of sentiment. but the artist informs the art, right.

so it's not something as clear-cut as feeling he owed you, specifically (a stranger) better behavior - just that you kind of, in a distant and odd way... sort of trusted him to do better. it's not like a real trust or something speakable, just the faint hope that the product (good books) was a thin representation of the soul. now it feels like the product (good? books?) was a mask. in some small or insignificant way, your previous support of this person lent them power. your money and your time and your laughter.

and the thing is - you have this terrible, echoing sensation. how many times will this happen? over and over. you find out that the singer you love is actually a predator. you learn over drinks that your favorite high school english teacher is in jail for what he did to her. you listen to the news idly and suddenly discover that a woman you used to idolize has been abusing her kids for an actual eon.

what can you touch without the static melting off. you can't even really complain about it too much (you were supposed to know better, and besides, you don't want the same re-split "it's not your fault, love what you love" basic advice), but now it's here. somehow, it feels like - you let him into your life.

it's not that things need to be pure or an artist has to be like, endlessly perfect, mindful. demure. it's more just this terrible truth that has been replayed through your veins so often it feels criminally vain. power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. did you want any one person to be worth that power?

it's just that he wrote books where he seemed to understand that. he seemed to know about hierarchies and unfair systems and bigotry and privilege. you thought they were books about what it means to struggle. you thought they were about having power and still using it for good rather than for control. he spooned you a narrative of being a good guy, a kind soul. you fucking bought what that fucking monster sold.

maybe that's why they were fantasies, after all.

[faircastle]

zoë robins ACTED in that scene with moghedien. i'm generally a fan of how she manages to convey the layers of nynaeve through expression and this was a huge showing of that, i feel. she was taken over completely by the compulsion at first but when it starts to crack and she's beginning to break through, the combination of her smile and the slowly dawning horror in her eyes is just so delicious.

[dreamsy990]

drew some of my fav ody designs! wasnt originally meant to be also replicating the styles but thats sort of just how my brain works. except i didnt copy the lineart styles of anyone here so its DEFINITELY a bit uncanny for a couple of these (LOOKING AT YOU QINNY IM SO SORRY) but whatever

the designs featured here (from left to right) belong to: me, @gigizetz, @neal-illustrator, @irunaki, @bigidiotenergytm, @qinnyanimation, and @foopsie-daisy

[remcadll]

Gen obsessed with how.. *dead* your Jason's color pallete is. Like, that's corpse pale right there. Not a spec of blood left flowing in there (also father Todd's skin being full of color in comparison is a nice touch)

THANK YOU I love making him look a bit ghoulish. Guy who's not supposed to be alive but yes he is. no he isn't <3

[whatthefuckisasweep]

i was just thinking about how the concept of efficiency is extremely valued in capitalism and esp america, but the one thing people are is extremely inefficient. it feels like some of it stems from individualism and dislike of other people.

we have a lot of emotions and we make a lot of mistakes and we are generally the hard route to interact with. phone calls, customer service, ordering in the drive thru — what if we just automated all that? we see it already happening. and ofc i love it sometimes because it’a exactly what it says it is: efficient.

but the more i think about it, maybe being once in a while its nice to take the long route. its good for things to not always go your way because someone else talked to you a little too long or you need to untangle your headphones. there’s a little beauty in being inconvenienced and in the moment, and finding the good in it. like OP said, tethered to the real world instead of the future you have to run to because you’re being efficient and “productive”.

maybe i like my tech a little bit inconvenient