#sea and space parallels

[amiablesummer]

The canvases of our exploration

Interstellar - Christopher Nolan // A Ship in a Stormy Sea - Ivan Konstantinovich Aivazovsky // The ISS - NASA // Address at Rice University, 12 Sep. 1962 - John F. Kennedy // Cosmic Web and Dark Matter in Outer Space - Stephen Dalton // Rough sea, Morestil - John Russell // Rocket Man - Elton John // Olin Ivory // @eighthxjune // Space Mirror Memorial, Kennedy Space Center via reddit //OP: @smoooothbrain

[stressfulsloth]

Disco Elysium// Two Fishermen on an Aspidochelone, Unknown// Our Wives Under the Sea, Armfield// Unknown// Disco Elysium// Gallathea, Lyly// Sharks Feeding, Crossley// From Bodily Fear to Cosmic Horror (and back again), Miller// Disco Elysium// Early Verse, Marx// The Road, McCarthy// A Sacred and Terrible Air, Kurvitz (team ibex translation)// Disco Elysium// Disco Elysium// Disco Elysium Art Book// A Sacred and Terrible Air, Kurvitz// Nona the Ninth, Muir// Sunrise With Sea Monsters, Turner// Nona the Ninth, Muir// Disco Elysium// The World's One Hope, Brecht// The Old Gentleman of Raahe// Disco Elysium// Disco Elysium// Disco Elysium// Engraved Shell. Unknown// Capitalism and the Sea// Disco Elysium// Capitalism and the Sea//

[makingqueerhistory]

Spooky Queer Books

Since spooky season is starting, I thought I would share a list of my favourite queer books that are great for this time of year.

Some of these links are affiliate links.

It Came from the Closet: Queer Reflections on Horror

Joe Vallese

Horror movies hold a complicated space in the hearts of the queer community: historically misogynist, and often homo- and transphobic, the genre has also been inadvertently feminist and open to subversive readings. Common tropes--such as the circumspect and resilient "final girl," body possession, costumed villains, secret identities, and things that lurk in the closet--spark moments of eerie familiarity and affective connection. Still, viewers often remain tasked with reading themselves into beloved films, seeking out characters and set pieces that speak to, mirror, and parallel the unique ways queerness encounters the world.It Came from the Closet features twenty-five essays by writers speaking to this relationship, through connections both empowering and oppressive. From Carmen Maria Machado on Jennifer's Body, Jude Ellison S. Doyle on In My Skin, Addie Tsai on Dead Ringers, and many more, these conversations convey the rich reciprocity between queerness and horror.

Into the Drowning Deep

Mira Grant

The ocean is home to many myths, But some are deadly... Seven years ago the Atargatis set off on a voyage to the Mariana Trench to film a mockumentary bringing to life ancient sea creatures of legend. It was lost at sea with all hands. Some have called it a hoax; others have called it a tragedy. Now a new crew has been assembled. But this time they're not out to entertain. Some seek to validate their life's work. Some seek the greatest hunt of all. Some seek the truth. But for the ambitious young scientist Victoria Stewart this is a voyage to uncover the fate of the sister she lost. Whatever the truth may be, it will only be found below the waves. But the secrets of the deep come with a price.

The Devouring Gray

C. L. Herman

After her sister's death, seventeen-year-old Violet Saunders finds herself dragged to Four Paths, New York. Violet may be a newcomer, but she soon learns her mother isn't: They belong to one of the revered founding families of the town, where stone bells hang above every doorway and danger lurks in the depths of the woods. Justin Hawthorne's bloodline has protected Four Paths for generations from the Gray--a lifeless dimension that imprisons a brutal monster. After Justin fails to inherit his family's powers, his mother is determined to keep this humiliation a secret. But Justin can't let go of the future he was promised and the town he swore to protect. Ever since Harper Carlisle lost her hand to an accident that left her stranded in the Gray for days, she has vowed revenge on the person who abandoned her: Justin Hawthorne. There are ripples of dissent in Four Paths, and Harper seizes an opportunity to take down the Hawthornes and change her destiny--to what extent, even she doesn't yet know. The Gray is growing stronger every day, and its victims are piling up. When Violet accidentally unleashes the monster, all three must band together with the other Founders to unearth the dark truths behind their families' abilities...before the Gray devours them all.

Tell Me I'm Worthless

Alison Rumfitt

Three years ago, Alice spent one night in an abandoned house with her friends, Ila and Hannah. Since then, Alice's life has spiraled. She lives a haunted existence, selling videos of herself for money, going to parties she hates, drinking herself to sleep. Memories of that night torment Alice, but when Ila asks her to return to the House, to go past the KEEP OUT sign and over the sick earth where teenagers dare each other to venture, Alice knows she must go. Together, Alice and Ila must face the horrors that happened there, must pull themselves apart from the inside out, put their differences aside, and try to rescue Hannah, whom the House has chosen to make its own. Cutting, disruptive, and darkly funny, Tell Me I'm Worthless is a vital work of trans fiction that examines the devastating effects of trauma and how fascism makes us destroy ourselves and each other.

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Love and Coffee in the Mornings✨

This was a fun little writing challenge I did for @moonlight-prose and I had so much fun with the prompt “You want me to make you some coffee?” I just wrote this up this morning, so I hope you enjoy! ☕️ Comments and reblogs are always appreciated, always happy to hear your thoughts ☺️

Pairings: Joel x fem! reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only MDNI)

Tags: Oral, fingering, unprotected p in v, love making, love confessions, outbreak! Joel, soft Joel

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

You awake to specks of light peeking in through the drawn tasseled curtains and a morning dove cooing its soft tune up on the roof. You blink once, twice and rub the sleep from your tired eyes. The room is still, almost a parallel world inside these walls compared to the outside gates of Jackson.

You lay in nothing in the king sized bed, only the tossed up cotton sheets to cover you. That’s not all that covers you though. No. Joel’s massive body crowds your space and his thick arms cage you to him as he drapes them around you and holds you up against his broad chest. His thick fingers are entwined with yours, and you can’t help but feel a wave of intense emotion flow through you from the feel of it all. The feel of him. Joel. Your soft, gentle man that only shows that side of himself to you. Only you.

A smile tugs at your heartstrings and a wet tear rolls down to the pillow from the corner of your eye as you take it all in. He’s yours. Yours, yours, yours. And you belong to him. His, his, his. It’s like a love song that plays through your mind, winding around all your brain cells and making its way down to your beating heart that only beats for him. Just for him, only him.

His slow breaths are relaxed and deep behind you as he sleeps with his head rested in the crook of your neck. You can smell him, taste him as his lips kiss the side of your jawline, the scruff of his beard tickling the inside of your neck, and his tousled curls fall against your cheek, sticking to the sweat that remains from last night.

You remember last night so clearly. It was one of the best nights of your life. Every night with Joel is like that, like a dream you were sucked into, and you just can’t wrap your head around that it’s real. He’s real. Your perfect, brooding man that never goes a day without showing you how much he really loves you.

Love. The first time he ever told you was a week ago while he held you tight in his arms inside the bathtub. You remember, remember like it was just seconds ago. The way he took your hand and turned you around to face him. The way he so gently cupped your chin and stroked his calloused thumb up and down your jawline. The way he looked so intensely into your eyes with those doe eyes that were flecked with spots of sunshine that shine only for you. And the way he called you his ray of sunshine, sending your heart spiraling out of your chest from just the way he was looking at you. His soft gaze said it all. He was in love with you. And the way that the words tumbled from his mouth like it was effortless to him made tears well up in your eyes.

“My ray of sunshine. My beautiful, perfect girl,” he hummed out as he stroked your cheek and pushed back a flyaway hair behind your ear. He paused a second later, his eyes melding into yours like two hearts that beat for each other. And then he said it. He said the words. “I love you,” he whispered down at you, and that’s when the tears fell. Those happy, glistening tears that fell just for him as you said the words back to him. Slow and steady, like how your heart beats for him. Like a sea of galloping horses that run wild together on the shorelines of the ocean, free and happy.

And then there was last night. Your muscles still ached from all the love making, all the different positions he had you twisted in. And how many times did he make you cum? Three, four? You couldn’t remember. That part was a blur as he made you cum over and over again. A fresh wave of slick sticks to your thighs as you squeeze your legs tight as you remember it all.

You remember his head in between your thighs, first. How he worked you nice and slow, building that first orgasm as his rough tongue meticulously lapped circles over your clit, how he tugged and pulled you into his mouth, how his fingers curled up inside you again and again, hitting that sweet spongy spot that made you see stars. Remember the way he thrusted into you time and time again, filling you up with his seed as he rutted his hips into yours over and over again. How your legs were thrown over his shoulders as he crowded your body and showered you with gentle praises and worshipped your body over and over again.

That’s a good girl. Good fuckin’ girl. That’s it, sweetheart. Come on, baby. Look at me, show me how pretty you are when you cum for me, wanna see ya.

God, he was so… perfect. In every way. You just couldn’t get enough of him. Never wanted to get enough.

You hear him stir behind you as a low groan comes from deep within his chest and feel his arms hug you tighter as he slowly opens his eyes to the harsh sunlight. You feel his lips graze your jawline as he leaves gentle kisses all the way up to the shell of your ear which makes your heart skip a beat.

“Mornin’, baby,” he whispers in your ear as another groan leaves his chest as he turns you his way and lets his hands drop down to your waist.

“Morning, handsome,” you say with a huge grin spread taut across your lips. He smiles back at you, and those cute dimples appear on his cheeks, making you blush at the sight. You push his tousled locks back and he groans as your fingers scrape against his skull. A deep groan escapes his mouth, and then he’s pulling your right leg over his thigh, opening you up for him to have access to.

“And how are you feeling this mornin’, sore?” he asks as he slides his hand down your torso, carefully ghosting his hand over your center as you shiver in response.

“Not really,” you gasp out as he slowly runs a finger over your folds, collecting slick on his fingers and spreading it all over your sex. You moan out in response and let him continue, opening your thigh up a little more for him.

“Mmm good. Because I’m hungry, and I know exactly what I want to feast on,” he smirks. “You’re so fuckin’ wet for me already. Fuck,” he growls out as he turns you on your back and slides in between your thighs, slowly lifting your legs over his shoulders as you shutter in response. Touch me, taste me, you want to scream out. But he knows. He knows that’s what you want.

He slowly trails kisses up your thighs as he gets you all worked up. Slowly teasing and making you drip more for him as his thick beard tickles in between your thighs, as his large hands splay across your hips. He gets right to your center and stops just for a second to admire your glistening cunt.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he gawks as his eyes turn an amber color, his love swirling all around the flecks of his irises for you, and it makes your heart nearly stop at the sight.

“Yeah? You like what you see?” you ask with a shaky breath.

“Mhm, fuckin’ love it.” He takes his calloused thumb and spreads you apart, slowly caressing all the most sensitive spots of you. He gets up to your clit and circles and circles, eliciting a moan out of you.

“Fuck,” you whimper out, your hands grabbing the sheets as you bunch them around your fingers.

“You want more?” he asks in a husky breath, his broad shoulders flexing with every movement he makes.

“Mhm, please,” you beg, writhing underneath his touch.

He chuckles under his breath, and his eyes turn darker, more carnal as he stares up at you in between your open legs. He pulls you down further in the bed and gently blows down on your center, making your hips buck up in response. He pushes them back down and lowers his head to your pulsing center. His eyes never leave yours, they stay focused intently on you, just like a hawk watching its prey. And then he licks a long stripe from your dripping hole, all the way up your folds as his pupils expand into black pits. The image has you shuttering under his touch.

“Eyes on me now. That’s it. Just like that,” he commands as he drops back down on your cunt. He spreads your folds with his tongue, eagerly soaking each fold with the base of his tongue, slowly making his way to your aching clit. And when he finds it, he attacks. He circles and circles it with a steady pace, gently pulling it in his mouth and sucking, making your moans echo around the room as he works you up, builds that growing orgasm as you feel it already setting it. It’s right there in the base of your spine, the pressure building in the pit of your stomach. He’s so fucking good at this, at eating you out. You never last long. He’s just that good. The artist that can make love to you with only his tongue, and it feels so good.

He pushes two fingers inside your dripping hole and slowly works them up and down, up and down, curling till he meets that sweet spot that has you sending more slick over his fingers. His tongue doesn’t stop. He keeps working at your throbbing bundle of nerves, keeps sucking and nipping and licking until you’re a puddle underneath him. His beard is glistening with your wetness, and it’s probably the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Joellll, feels so good. I’m so close… I’m almost there-I..” your voice breaks off as he takes you into his mouth again, slowly sucking on that spot that does it for you. You squeeze against his fingers inside you, your walls fluttering as you’re about to shatter. Almost there, almost. You tangle your fingers into his tousled curls, and he groans at the sensation.

“Come on, give it to me. Let me see you cum, baby. Remember, eyes on me. Wanna see those pretty eyes focused on me when I make you cum,” he growls as he pushes up inside you more, licks up and down until he’s pulling you into his mouth again. You feel the cap break inside you, feel the hot sensation taking over as you start to lose it, start to fall apart in your intense orgasm.

“Joel, I… I’m…” you can’t finish your sentence, too fucked out at the moment.

“Let me have it, pretty girl. Give me all you got,” he growls as he sucks you into his hot mouth again. And then it’s over. You’re cumming, hard.

You moan out his name and squeeze your legs around him as your eyesight goes blurry, but you focus on him, never leaving his blown out pupils as he stares up at you like a starving wolf that wants to feast on you. You let yourself go, let your walls clench up before you release white, hot liquid all over his fingers, all over his mouth.

“That’s a good fuckin’ girl,” he praises as he groans out, licking up all your spent liquid as he slowly works his fingers inside you, curling them until he has every ounce of cum that you can give him right now. You breathe out breathy moans as he licks at your now sensitive area, cleaning you up carefully as he devours you, tastes you over and over again. And you can never get enough of this. Of him, his fingers, his tongue, his soft praises. He’s too good, too good.

When he’s finished, he crawls out between your legs and joins you at the head of the bed, wrapping his arms around your waist as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Did so good for me, baby. So good,” he praises as he traces your bottom lip with his calloused thumb and presses his lips against yours slowly, delicately, like a rose petal just blossomed at the first sight of spring. He’s so gentle, so loving, so perfect.

When he pulls apart, he traces your jawline as his eyes turn to that warm honey color you love. “You want me to make you some coffee?” he asks with a gentle curve of a smile that envelops his mouth.

“I’d love some,” you respond as you beam up at him with a deep blush on your face.

“Okay, I’ll go make you some then,” he says as he pulls away, slowly sliding off the bed.

“Joel, wait,” you say urgently as your hand shoots out to grab his wrist, preventing him from going any further out of the room.

He looks back at you with his dark eyebrow raised, questions lingering in those honeyed eyes of his. God, he looks so good standing there in nothing but a pair of black briefs that hug him close as you see the outline of his hard cock planted against them. His broad chest expands as his breathing is still rapid, his large veins cascading down his thick arms as his tousled locks stick up everywhere, like he’d just had morning sex, which he did. Mornings with him were your favorite thing in the entire world, he was your favorite.

“What is it?” he asks as he stands still, eyes meeting yours in question.

“I need something else from you. You need something from me,” you say shallowly as your eyes trail down to his hard erection under the thin material of his briefs.

“You want me to fuck you?” he asks as his eyes turn a darker shade of molasses, a color you want to drink up, let him devour you with his sweetness.

“Fuck me,” you whisper as you bite your lower lip and spread your legs for him as you show him just how wet you are again. His eyes trail down your body and end at your center as he breathes in and lets out a deep sigh, his hand dragging through his coarse scruff on his face slowly.

“Goddamn,” he groans at the sight of you. He doesn’t waste a second. He drops his briefs to the floor and climbs in between your legs, pushing them apart as he stares in wonder at your glistening sex.

You lean forward and wrap your hand around his thick cock, tracing the lines of his large vein that runs under his glistening head, all the way down his large length. The tip of him is swollen and red, and precum leaks from his slit as you work it up and down him, hearing the wet noises you make as you fist him with your palm, enjoying seeing his eyes cloud over in a fog the more you touch him.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Feels so good,” he groans as you lightly circle his tip, finding all the sensitive spots as more precum gathers over the swollen tip of him. Before you can continue working your hand over him, he pushes you down on the pillow and wraps your legs around his back as he pushes the head of his cock to your opening, barely thrusting inside before he speaks again.

“Hold on tight, love. Gonna make you feel so good,” he groans as he pushes his way inside you, stretching you to the max as he pushes deeper and deeper, until he’s bottoming out and hitting the back of your walls.

“Fuck,” you moan out as he starts to move at a steady pace. In and out, up and down as you hear the wetness of each other as he slams back into you over and over again.

His lips come down and nip at your collarbone as his hands knead over your breasts, making your nipples pebble underneath him as he rolls them under his calloused thumbs. He speeds up his tempo, angling your hips higher as he hits your spongy area time and time again, making your eyes glass over at the intense bliss you’re experiencing.

“Squeezin’ me so tight, baby. Feels so good. You’re so close, so fuckin’ close. Come on and give it to me. Show me how pretty you can cum on this cock,” he growls as he presses down on your throbbing clit, circling you until you’re screaming out his name and breathing ragged moans into his ear.

“Good girl. Come on, baby. Wanna feel it,” he groans as he thrusts into you deeper, circling your clit in the exact spot you need him to. You rake your fingers down his back and moan out as your legs squeeze the back of him. One more circle of your clit, and you’re done for. You clench up around his thick cock and release all your pent up white hot liquid on him and feel your eyes roll back at the blissful, fucked out feeling. Your body feels electric as you hear white noise spread through your ringing ears and take a minute to come back to reality. Back to your body after that blissed out high.

“That’s a good fuckin’ girl. So good,” he groans as he thrusts faster into you, his breathing hitching as his jaw flexes and his hands clamp up around your hips. “Gonna-fuckin’…cum. Ah, fuck,” he moans as he snaps his hips once more into you and releases his seed all over you, filling you up as his jaw goes slack and his eyes roll back. His breathing is heavy and ragged, slowly coming back to himself as he pulls slowly out of you, dragging his spend with him down your thighs.

He collapses next to you, and both of you just breathe as you catch your breath for the next few minutes. “That was incredible,” you gasp out as you fold into his arms, your heart rate going a thousand miles at the moment.

“Mmm, yes. Always is with you,” he groans out, a thick southern accent spilling out of him. And you love it, love his accent, love him.

After a few minutes of snuggling together, he gets up and grabs a towel from the bathroom. When he comes back, he gently cleans you off, careful not to overstimulate your sensitive areas. “There ya go, all cleaned up,” he rasps as he throws the towel on the floor next to his ruined briefs. “Now, how’s about that coffee?” he asks with a smirk as his caramel eyes dance across your body that’s wrapped up in the sheets.

“I could go for a sweet cup of coffee,” you say as you push yourself up to a sitting position, your head still swimming from the thick cloud of arousal.

Joel comes over to put a strong hand on your shoulder and lays you back down, tucking you into the sheets as his hand caresses the back of your head. “No, you stay right here. I’ll bring the coffee up to you. You just relax. I’ll start a hot bath for you when I get back,” he says gently as he pulls on a clean pair of briefs and runs his hand through his tousled curls.

God, he’s pretty.

“Oh, uhh okay,” you reply in a whisper as you’re awestruck at how gentle and loving he’s being towards you. It took a long time to get to this point, but you made it. Now he was your soft, sweet man. Always at your attention when you needed him. And you loved him. God, you loved him. So much, so very much.

“I’ll be back up in a few minutes,” he says as he turns toward the door as the hardwood floor creaks underneath his footsteps.

“Joel?” you call out, stopping him before he can make it through the wooden door.

“Hmm?” he hums as he turns back to you, brown eyes intent on you.

“I love you,” you whisper out, enough for him to hear you through the fog of tension that wraps around the room.

His face softens and a smile splays across his face, his honey eyes shining on you like they never had before. It’s absolutely beautiful how smitten he looks at you, how in love he looks. For you had opened him up, shown him what love really looked like. And when he fell for you, he fell hard. No more rough cut edges, for he was soft now. Loving, caring, beaming for you and only you. And it was the most beautiful thing you ever saw in your entire life.

“I love you, too,” he whispers back as the trace of a teardrop forms over the film of his eyes. And then there’s nothing left in the room except pure love for one another, a cloud so thick and dense that there’s no getting past it. He was yours and you were his. Clear as day. No questions about it. “Be right back, baby,” he says as he exits the room and softly closes the door.

You lean back into the cotton sheets and bury your head against the pillow as you close your eyes, envision yourself in a field full of vibrant flowers with Joel by your side, rolling around in a bed full of roses as you lose yourself in each other. And it brings you peace, fills you with a deep satisfaction. He’s yours as much as you are his. Two souls forming into one, colliding together and ignoring everything else but each other. Your peace, your comfort, your ecstasy. It was Joel, it was always Joel.

A few minutes later, he brings you a steaming cup of coffee. You see it’s drizzled with caramel and French vanilla creamer, and it looks absolutely perfect. “Well, go on and try it. Tell me how you like it,” he says as he sits on the edge of the bed and hands you the cup, slowly sliding his hand up and down your thigh as he waits for you to taste the hot liquid.

You take the cup from him and blow on it, slowly taking a sip of the hot coffee as it encases your taste buds. Drops of caramel and French vanilla slide down your throat, along with the taste of the strong coffee that follows it. It’s warm, heavenly, the perfect cup of coffee you’d ever tasted.

You turn to him and smile, looking up at those honey eyes that sink into yours. “It’s absolutely perfect,” you say as you take another sip and set it on the forest green nightstand that sits next to the bed.

“Glad ya like it,” he smiles as you wrap your arms around his neck and drag him back down to the bed with you, his left arm catching your waist and his right hand gently caressing the back of your neck. He brings you to his lips and crashes them against yours as you feel his warm breath against yours. You part your lips and invite him in as his tongue glides in and finds yours, letting the coffee taste pool all over your mouth as he devours you nice and slow, just how you always like it.

When he pulls back, his calloused fingers hover over your jawline, slowly moving to cup your chin as his thumb dances over your lower lip softly. He looks at you with endearing, loving honey eyes, and you can’t shake the feeling of how completely in love you are with him. Mine, mine, mine, you scream in your head. Mine.

“I love you so much, my little ray of sunshine,” he breathes out against your neck, his eyes telling you everything you need to know.

“And I love you, so much,” you whisper out as you drag your lips across his soft plush lips.

“You wanna go take a bath with me?” he asks as he smiles down at you, his eyes lost in a daze before you.

“There’s nothing more I’d want to do,” you answer as you leave a trail of kisses down his cheek, ending at his lips as he pulls you in again, feeding all your desire for the man of your dreams that lays next to you as he consumes you in full.

“Joel?” you ask as he rolls on his back, laying you on his chest as he hums out and looks up at you with those big brown eyes that you so dearly love.

“What is it, baby?”

“Thank you for showing me what a home looked like again. Thank you for loving me, for never giving up on me,” you choke out as you tear up and smile down at him as you lay against his broad chest.

“Oh, baby. No. Thank you for never giving up on me. I know I wasn’t always easy to deal with. I wasn’t always kind, especially when I first met you. But you evened me out, showed me what real love looks like. And I can’t thank you enough. I just… I just love you, so fuckin’ much. I love you, I love you,” he cries as he cups the back of your head and pulls you down to his level, planting his lips against yours as you fall back into him time and time again.

This is where you belong, where you always want to be. It’s with Joel, it’ll always be with Joel. Your best friend, your saviour, the love of your life. And you’ll never get enough of him. Never, ever. Your forever coffee date, your forever lover, yours.

[veilantares]

Dark Dweller

Depth dwellers unite, and swan dive in the Dark, Metal Masked Machines designed to always hit their mark.

obviously all of the cool energy tatoos carved onto the robots are so that they can be lights amidst an infinite expanse of darkness, duh. they were Made this way.

About the piece - I'm still feeling inspired by anglerfish and other deep sea creatures, I spent more time than usual adjusting the texture on this one to give the dark blue a sinking feeling, but it being this dark also means the turquoise can stand out more which I like. I didn't get the detail as intricate as I would like, but its cool that this feels like more of a full body piece than I usually do, theres a bit more posture here.

One aspect of my setting I want to get better at depicting is there being "Celestial, Skybound" robots, and "Terrestrial, Groudbound" robots - they are sisters, at once the same, and yet parallel. Sometimes I like to think of variants, like what would the Celestial variant of this Terrestrial one look like or vice-versa, and that leads to some of the more exciting designs to try.

The Celestial ones live in and explore space - their part of the Singular Empire probably looks like thousands of space stations. The Terrestrial ones live on the ground so they have more complex structures and cities, but the "ground" also has unexplored frontiers, locales and wildernesses that require specialised equipment.

I like the idea that the robots can be natural astronauts of sorts, they're robots so maybe they don't need to breathe, but maybe they might still need tools to travel and move around or interact with their environment. Recently in the limited spare time from work I've been thinking about what their tools and equipment could look like, given that setting lets me have all kinds of different explorers.

This ones "wings" are probably meant to be one such kind of equipment - maybe it's like a jetpack - the idea is in the setting that the machining (lol) and craftspersonship of tools have gotten so refined that the cyborgs can get equipment that looks "like themselves" from a competent enough smith, even if they have really ornate or unusual patterns or shapes. Maybe amusingly when theyre using something generic second hand it very obviously doesn't look "like themselves".

In the past I've drawn others with similar backpacks that have gatling guns or other equipment instead, like the wings are a storage platform or something (while still maintaining the silhouette of being wings). I've somehow lost confidence in giving them complex looking equipment in the years since then, and should find a way to get it back.

[defty-picklez]

If Scar was to win (ScarsweepScarsweepScarsweep) I think he should be the Earth. Grian and Scare are so Sun and Earth coded. The Sun and the Earth circle around each other, Sun will kill the Earth eventually but he stays. The Sun flares but he stays.

The Sun gives warmth, the Sun burns. The Earth is charismatic and beautiful, the Earth kills and consumes. Scar-Icarus parallels from 100hours fits so well too.

He has green eyes and Convex based of of vexes are blue and ofc the brown hair. It's also a funny to think that the guy who symbolizes the Earth is a capitalist. Cub can be Kepler and should be in my opinion.

Mumbo could be Black holes. No explanation.

I think Tango would be Comets, the visual of his fire hair fits and I feel like there's probably some symbolism but I don't watch Tango that much sorry.

Joel needs to be Jupiter because of his inspiration from Zeus. Bigbeans being the biggest planted is also funny.

Also, if Grian is the Sun then how about Bdubs? The next best thing I could think of is either Time or Light. Personally I think he should be Time, it's thematic. If I remember correctly, he's killed people because of clocks, the moment he gets the clock someone's death is inevitable. Time makes death inevitable.

So Etho is the Void right? Like canonically if I remember correctly? I'm not sure. So like the Void/Space? Etho and Bdubs being Space/Void and Time is cool.

Cleo is fit to be Death, no explanation too.

Bigb being Mercury would be funny because Mercury is the god of communication and he gaslights gatekeeps and girlbosses. He's also closest to the Sun so blud gets burnt like a cookie.

So like- Neptune the god is related to Jupiter the god but we're NOT PUTTING that in the symbolism here. Anyways, Lizzie could be Neptune because of her being the blue axolotl in Empires season 1 because Neptune is related to the sea.

Maybe Gem could be Pluto because she's new?

Jimmy, canary boy, he was fated to die so maybe that's his thing. Fate itself was Fated to die. Also, fortune telling by using the stars, Astromancy, is a thing so Flower Husband fans there you go.

Ight, hear, me, out. Skizz. As Venus. Because love island. Think about it.

Sorry I really don't know what for Ren and Impulse. Please tell me if you have any ideas, I would love to hear them.

[comicaurora]

Have you ever notices the weird trait that a lot of the mytic Greek monsters are decendents, or otherwise related to posiden (all sea beasts, cyclops, medusa, minotaur ect) were mostly slain by children of zeus? The rest of the mytic Greek hero's mostly slayed children of typhon and echidna.

Do you think this is somthing to do with the fact that posiden used to the ruler of mychnain pantheon, and zuse took over, so the mytology reflected this by having posiden monster children slain by the heroic children of zeus?

Have you ever noticed any similar patters in mythology involving the chainge of the dominat god?

It's hard to say! The Mycenaean pantheon is very poorly understood since we don't have anything like the corpus of literature we have from Archaic Greece, and as far as I can tell it's mostly been reconstructed from ledgers and the equivalent of receipts - this many jars of stuff to the temple of this god in this region, etc etc. And the idea that Poseidon was central - while apparently widely accepted - doesn't really tell us how Poseidon was characterized back in those days, or how (or if) things shifted to be Zeus-centric later on.

And in the broad scale, it's hard to know for sure if a pantheon's myths reflect an actual shift in what the dominant/central god being worshipped was, or if something else was going on. Mythology rarely maps one-to-one to the historical events it was running in parallel to. There are lots of mythologies with god wars or former leaders of the gods being replaced - Tyr with Odin, Nuada with Lugh, Ra getting merged with a half-dozen different gods to give them his oomph and authority at various times - and it's not clear when a god conflict reflects a real religious shift in who's being worshipped and when it's something else. For instance, classical Greek mythology has loads of themes of sons usurping fathers, starting with Kronos usurping Ouranos and followed by Zeus usurping Kronos - but it doesn't seem like Kronos was historically worshipped in the time before Zeus or anything that simple and clean. Kronos doesn't seem to pre-exist that space of mythology at all.

However, there are tidbits in Greek mythology where a god kills a monster and takes up residence in their place of power, like Apollo killing Python - a monstrous child of Gaia that seems to have potentially been actually worshipped for oracular reasons before Apollo showed up and took over, which would make it a mythical parallel to a real shift in local religious practices. Although again, that is very hard to confirm (and some of the researchers who think that seem to wanna believe it because it very conveniently lets them tie it in with the bible)

this kind of thing is why the deep-dives are my favorite kind of nightmare to subject myself to

So it's hard to say if a myth of a conflict between gods reflects a real-world conflict between religious practices, but all that said, that is a very interesting pattern to note - that Poseidon is more consistently a father of monsters, while Zeus is almost universally a father of heroes.

[ladybirdswritings]

Silken Webs & Pirouettes - Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary: Miguel comes up with a plan to make your time together much more tolerable. Ballerina!Reader & CEO!Miguel. Alternate Universe with most of the characters included as seen in "Across the Spiderverse." Many cameos ahead. Miguel is a successful business owner but personality is canon. This is a steamy reader insert, Miguel x You! Enjoy and pls leave me lots of love and comments as it keeps me motivated <333

notes: tysm for reading and i’m so srry for the delay but i hope this steamy chapter makes the wait worth it <33

chapter 10

Gold. Suffocating and blinding as it cascades upon the pale mounds and curves of your vessel. Your eyes a hue of darkness behind the shielding lids, your temples a pounding rhythm parallel to the beats you once waltzed amongst.

Your lips part, slumber’s dance with you slowly cascading into nothingness as luminous rays return to greet you. To tug your soft palms back into your reality.

Your lashes, fanned against your flushed skin now fan apart as your gaze is greeted with unavoidable radiance. The morning.

A breath leaves you, trembling as it greets the cool air. You force yourself upright and it is then that blood rushes from where it once lay dormant and pooled to spread itself evenly throughout you— enticing pins and needles from the tips of your fingers and toes.

You feel like a creature undead, following the actions as you would normally but in an imposter’s stance. Your feet drag you to the dimmer kitchen, and your temples are grateful to be secluded from the sun and its warmth.

A yawn overtakes your exhausted features as you open the russet metal of your refrigerator door. You must be dreaming still. It’s stocked with fresh fruits and produce bagged in tan wrappings. Your eyes wander over each welcoming color in the once vacant and lonesome, cold and gray space.

It’s lively now.

A burst of red peeking through behind awful greens piques your interest, and you bury your hands in the tufts of healthy emerald to pull the sweet basket filled to brim with blossomed strawberries. They are fresh and plentiful.

You truly are dreaming.

No longer do you notice the ache pounding at you. You only see red in the purest of ways. You shut the door with your foot and examine the seeded berry with hungry eyes before encasing your teeth round the plumpness of it.

It isn’t long before you part the ripe treat with pearly teeth, and you moan gratefully when you do. Juice drops from each corner of your mouth, down your chin as your lips suckle the nectar and swallow it in quick motion.

It’s the best one you’ve ever had.

Another bite, then another berry and another. You can only hear the soft chews of fresh fruit and sharp seed alongside the blood pumping in your ears.

You don’t hear the scorching water cascading to drain halt, and you don’t hear the rest until your eyes can register what your ears cannot.

As you munch upon the berries, you blink when a phantom creature turns the knob of your dilapidated washroom door and creaks the shield open. Steam rolls out into your living space like the waves of Poseidon’s great seas— but the only god to greet you beyond the mist is not one of oceans and pretty things.

It’s the evil one.

Hades.

Miguel.

A soft gasp leaves you as you swallow in the sight with dazed eyes, tufts of chocolate locks are coiled and dripping water all over your wooden floors. His suit pants are there as always, but his jacket is not present. No, not now. Only a white undershirt, tight to the body and tucked away into where a belt constricts is all he wears.

You gulp down the remainder of fruit you forgot to swallow and allow the severed berry to drop into its basket.

The man sighs, scrunching at his hair with the towel before tossing it on your couch. That would annoy you if you weren’t so baffled right here.

His eyes search the couch for you, and when he finds you vacant from your waltz with slumber— he scans the room quickly before settling on your frozen stance in the kitchen.

He locks eyes with you.

“Good morning.”

He says it with amusement, you’re certain. Laced behind his throat.

It is eerie, it is polar opposite.

He looks— calm.

Your mouth is ajar, you remind yourself to close it.

“I- what?”

He pays your confusion no mind as he approaches, weaving through your pathetic and unimportant home like he’s become comfortable with it— like he’s learned it.

He towers over all your trinkets and furniture, and the singular stool is bound to collapse under his weight. He eyes the broken thing then decides to lean forward against the counter instead.

You gulp, remnants of strawberry juice staining the newfound dryness in your throat. And the enigma of a man, he just studies you for a moment before turning over his palm. Waiting.

You gaze at it in confusion, wondering if he’s pointing out something upon you that you can’t see. Yet his eyes are on the basket.

Oh.

You pluck one from its leafy stem and shakily place it upon his calloused palm. His eyes lock back upon yours and he clears the tart berry in one bite— licking the juice from his lips with an eager tongue.

You squirm— knowing not what to do other than just slide over the basket. The silence is suffocating, reminding you of only two weeks prior when you practically begged the man before you for a place of employment alongside er— below him.

“I didn’t buy these!” You blurt out. Because you don’t know what else to say to break the quiet and because the thought only now crossed your mind. You know now. No appearance with him is any possibility of a dream.

The smell of palo santo is muted now. He smells of your floral soaps.

He indulges in another.

“I know. I did. Your fridge was pathetic.”

Oh.

Your eyes fall to the countertop, unwilling to meet his own. It’s far too tense, and far too confusing. You’re far too dazed.

“Why are you-?”

He interrupts you as if he had been expecting the question, “You were acting drunk, and stupid. I brought you home.”

You’d scowl at his description of you if you weren’t still coming to, searching the chilled air for answers you’d rather not be forced to ask of him. You knew well that you’d have to— he wouldn’t offer them any other way.

He must enjoy the torture. Inflicting it.

You narrow your eyes and the expression may seem devoid to most— but something tells you there’s more within it.

Fine, then.

Christ.

You shake your head, hearing him chew upon another berry as you greet your newly stocked fridge and steal a water from its stomach. Your back is to him as you swallow down heavy sips. You sigh after, and when the coolness has shocked you awake enough and you are satisfied- you turn.

A cool breath of air kisses your breast as result of the motion, and your eyes widen, shooting down to find a silken robe of powder pink all but you have clad on alongside your panties. It’s slipping.

Your eyes dart up to find him staring intensely at the spot where it does slip, and you twirl back away to harshly tug at it and fix it.

Your breasts are bare— your dress is gone.

Your jaw ticks and you turn again— taking quick strides toward the counter where he resides on the opposite side of.

“Did you fuck me?”

He is silent, eyes glazed over as if he’s lost in thoughts you cannot see or be apart of. He takes a moment to absorb your words, fingers twitching against the berry they clasp before he blinks and his dark orbs lock against your again.

They send an inferno against your flushed cheeks.

He hums.

You don’t know what at, but you have a strong feeling it’s at the thought.

You know, the thought of fucking you.

He stares on at you as he takes a bite of the berry, and slowly shakes his head back and forth.

It’s a no.

You sigh, but you’re not relieved.

You’re silent again, shakily taking a seat upon your creaky stool across from him. You fear if you stand for any longer under the brunt of his gaze, you’ll faint.

You bury your face in your hands, and you feel his eyes against your golden locks. The place where he stares, your scalp prickles.

Wood slides against chipped countertop.

“Eat these. You haven’t eaten.”

He seems to know a lot, right now. It makes you anxious.

And yet?

He tells you not a word of it.

It infuriates you.

This morning is odd enough, so you won’t stand for secrets. You force your head up and you’re unsurprised to find his gaze already locked upon your own.

“What happened?”

Your voice is firm, it sounds like more of a command than question and you’re certain he notes it. He studies you for a moment, and you don’t know why; but his eyes fan over your upturned lashes and the soft bridge of your nose. Down to your lips then back up to your eyes, again.

He takes his sweet, frustrating time to think his answer through. Just maybe though, your night was as rough as your morning has greeted you. Because he takes pity on you— he answers.

“You went out dancing. Made a big show at my club, drank all my good alcohol from every man willing to hand it to you, then you vanished without your things. Out my back door. Cindy came to me, and we went after you. There was a man out back. He was planning to— how did you put it? Fuck you, cariño… not me.”

You flush the color of persephone’s sweetest pomegranates— eyes wide as the images flash like some mortifying movie in your mind.

Oh my god.

“Oh my god…” you whisper in repetition of your horrified thoughts, pressing the coolness of your palms against the heat of your cheeks.

He hums again, but this time in agreement. It far from helps. You press two fingers against each temple, shaking your head as you search for suitable words.

“I don’t do this often or- at all, really. I just— I needed…”

“I know.” He cuts you off in the middle of your search for an end to your sentence, and it’s the first thing he’s done that you’re grateful for. Apart from the fridge full of food.

You remember now that you blew all your grocery money, so.

You feel ridiculous, mortified. He must think of you as some obsessed idiot who showed up at his club because you couldn’t be at his workplace.

God.

You can’t stand the thought.

Only you would chose there of all the clubs in New York.

You don’t even offer him any further explanation, you know well that it will be a mess you dig further and further. Deeper and deeper until you babble and stutter, you stay silent to avoid it.

You torture yourself in another way, reliving the night prior in quick flashes… piecing them together like a parted jigsaw. They weave in place swiftly, but there’s something missing…

You rack your brain, yet nothing comes of it in its crowded closet. You’re blank, baffled. You’re in a robe, a new robe and you’re topless underneath. Sitting across from Miguel O’Hara in your own pathetic kitchen.

Christ.

“You are a dancer.” He observes, making your head spin.

The conversation takes a left turn. Sharp, quick. Perhaps he’s not so used to seeing you this silent, perhaps he knows just the subject to get you talking again. It’s the most normal you both have ever talked, in fact.

“Was.” You correct in a shameful whisper, and you’re grateful when he doesn’t ask about it further. Your eyes drift to the framed photo he stares at behind you. It’s you, pretty as you are with one leg bent up to the heavens and the other firmly planted on tip toe into the ground. Your pale pink mesh cascaded from your hips and your golden locks were tamed into a perfected bun.

You adore that picture.

Yet as admirable as the memory is, it’s also sad. You don’t spare it another moment, your eyes fall to the surface below where it hangs. The Daily Bugle. It’s new, dewdrops of rain kissing the ink, bleeding some of it away. He must have gathered it for you.

Christ. He stayed here.

You wince at the thought, too plagued with headache to analyze his intentions— rushing forward to gather the fresh paper in your hands so you don’t have to worry about it any longer.

You’ll read the newspaper in silence or at least pretend to to avoid telling the three-headed Cerberus to leave and never return. He watches on at you, quiet and emotionless as you skim past the front page that speaks of sports nonsense. Further down, spending more time on the fashion column before reaching the golden page, the hot spot of Daily Bugle. Drama.

In all your years of consuming the horrid paper, you never leave this page unread. You feel slimey as you absorb, and yet it’s addictive. Miguel is still here, you remember. He must think even worse of you if it’s possible.

Just the girl who keeps reminding him of his dead daughter at every chance she gets. You wince, letting out a shaky breath as you smooth out the paper of the next page and finally see it.

In black and white proud, long curls cascading down a sequined number with heels higher than you’ve ever worn. Small, back flush against him. Your face is tilted to the side, captured blurred as it was in motion. Yet to you, it’s clear and recognizable. It’s a memory.

The puzzle piece, served up to you by the universe on a stupid, golden platter.

You’re on the front pages.

So is he.

You’re on the front pages, together.

CEO MIGUEL O’HARA ENJOYS A NIGHT OUT ON THE DANCE FLOOR WITH MYSTERIOUS PROCLAIMED “DANCING QUEEN”

You look— horrified, and he looks to be brushing his curled fingers against his tanned lips to stifle his amused grin. He can’t risk any other emotion than stoic, of course. Your eyes are wide as they snap up to him.

“You’re good publicity.” He offers.

His voice. It isn’t cold. It isn’t lifeless.

It’s as if something has laced itself within it. Something you don’t like.

Humor.

At the expense of you.

You’re angry. You’re confused and it makes you angry.

The puzzle is a painted picture now. The dance, the music, the heat, the grinding— god you’d just about melt if you weren’t so baffled and preoccupied right now.

You practically crush the paper in your hands. You look like a slutty girl taking her chance with the richest man readily available. How on earth will you ever work anywhere else again?

You’ll have to chop off your locks, you’ll have to—

He clears his throat as a weak attempt to conceal the amusement itching at his tongue.

You narrow your eyes at him.

“This is funny to you?”

This man. This mind fuck of a man has gone from towering over you with fury foaming at his mouth to forcing your hips to brush back against him to finding humor in your suffering in your own kitchen.

He narrows his eyes back,

“Very, cariño. Very funny to me.” His voice is dark, cold again.

You part your pink lips to curse him, but he interrupts the process before it even begins. He straightens his back, returning to the tower he is before rounding the counter till he’s right in front of you. You shrink again, your attitude melting as you remember the events of the week prior. His screaming, the ornament.

You shift, breath thinning as you turn your head away from him. He moves his head so his eyes may follow yours, when it doesn’t work— his jaw ticks.

“Mírame.”

You do, eyes snapping back to meet his gaze.

It’s soft, yet still commands your attention. You don’t have any other choice but to look on at him, you’ve noticed he has an odd thing for eye contact. You’d squirm, but your head is spinning.

No possibility to delay and procrastinate calling home now, it seems.

He sees your mind fogged with preoccupations, and you can’t keep like this any longer.

“What is going on, what are you doing?” You whisper, eyes darting to the paper then back to him. The question. It means far more than just now.

What is he doing?

Does he feel guilty? Is this how he’s apologizing?

You’re not sure, it’s impossible to know— to understand. Enigma doesn’t seem to be enough to describe him, nor does mystery.

He’s infuriating as he is simple, and maddening as he is tolerable. He’s back and he’s forth, up and he’s down and he’s killing you.

Why did he yell?

Why did he dance with you after it?

Why is he here now?

He sighs, his hands caging you up against the counter as he rests his palms on either side, grasping at the chipped marble and dipping his head to search for an answer.

It takes him a long moment, but when he’s satisfied? He lifts his head.

“I’m a good boss. A great one. I pay my girls generously, I would have done the same for you if you were capable of just following orders.”

You frown at that, he ignores it— continuing.

“You’re a shit employee.” He says it with conviction. As if his word is etched into stone at the birth of all life and creation. Your jaw nearly drops, but you allow tension to blossom like spring poppies within it instead.

“You’re an asshole.” You snap, gasping after the word leaves you. Your cheeks flush the color rose, and his expression remains cold and devoid as he tilts his head at you.

But his brows arch. Questioning.

You await for what seems like ages for him to respond, to snap, to scream— honestly you’re half expecting him to snatch the knife from the countertop and jab it into your gut to shut you up for good.

He does none of those things.

Warmth trails like caramel down a chasing tongue, rough and calloused palm sliding up the length of silken coverage from your knee and upward. Higher, higher. Your breath hitches in your throat, and his eyes burn furious holes into your face— your wide-eyed, pretty face.

The soft, small netting of nerves between your thighs jumps in excitement, and you’re certain your cheeks burn hotter than the sun. He reaches your hip, he halts— straightening his head. Almost unnoticed.

“I’m an asshole?”

A shiver overtakes you now, and you feel betrayal constrict you like that of a serpent as your pink nipples pucker themselves up for attention.

Don’t look, don’t look. You beg within the confines of your own mind.

The asshole…

His eyes flicker down immediately, as if he sensed your body calling to him.

It’s the first flash of emotion you’ve ever seen beyond anger. You can’t name it, you can’t understand it—you can’t even process it. You’re frozen here.

A noise, guttural— like that of a forest creature restraining itself from its natural instincts to slaughter a helpless lamb. It becomes him. From the very back of his throat.

You blink, tense, back straight and pushed firmly against the wall. His eyes find yours again and you’re certain then that you’ve bursted up in flames.

“You were saying?” He whispers, eyes wandering down. Past your puckered nipples and the bumps upon your skin. Down. Lower. To— there.

The action, it’s enough to shake you out of this trance. You push him back, he doesn’t protest the move and plays into it— you’re sure. You stumble from that suffocating wall and take a breath of air that feels awfully fresh even in your stuffy apartment.

His hand, where it once grazed you is a memorized motion replaying like a record shattered upon your leg.

He’s toying with you.

Getting his payment for his generosity, that must be it.

Or maybe he’s not. Maybe it was the dance…

Maybe— you don’t know which it is.

Now you’re angry.

Frustrated.

He’s put you through hell in the short amount of time he’s known you. Then suddenly, he does one good deed and takes it as a free ticket to fuck you?

You’re livid.

You turn on your heel, slamming your finger into the firmness of his chest.

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

His hand, warm as fresh laundry wraps around your wrist. He tilts his head low like a charred olive branch extending, leveling with you.

“Testing my theory.”

It’s all he offers. You narrow your eyes to cold slits, electricity still buzzing between your thighs in opposition to your anger.

“What theory?” You sound exasperated, and you are.

The tick in his jaw is back. It jumps. He’s frustrated again.

How is it possible?

A man so stoic and cold, and yet so capable of flipping through emotions like an old scrapbook buried away from years past.

He breathes slowly through his nose, and when you nudge his chest again with your finger as hopes to provoke an answer? He moves. Quick.

In a flash moment, he walks you back against the countertop— caging you again.

He must like that.

Making you feel small.

He wastes no time once you are caged there, happy to be in control again.

“It seems like the only way I can stand you is when I respond with lust, and not logic… Dios mío…” he breathes the last part. It allows a chill to creep up the base of your spine, paralyzing you.

Silence blankets you both again and he bows his head once more. You breathe, shakily but nonetheless.

Lust?

For you?

Hair unruly and unkept, frizzed and wild. Too loud for your liking and too sharp of a tongue for his.

Maybe he’s truly lost it.

Maybe it’s been there all along.

Although the thought excites you, you know it’s silly. Men of his status and power— they don’t busy themselves with pretty things like you. It’s impossible. It’s a movie, a picture made for fantasy.

But here he his.

Toying with you.

You’re certain now.

It clicks then, his game with you. Revenge sweetly. Play pretend, get you to fall but not catch you when you do. It’s cruel. It’s like him.

You’ve been at the harsh hand of a man vengeful before. You won’t do it again.

Tears sting at your eyes.

“Don’t do this to me again.” You mean it to sound like a demand, yet it floats from your petal pink lips like a weak and pathetic sound. You speak to him, and you speak to the man before him. In your eyes, now, they’re the same. All your interactions before this were so inhuman and cold, and yet here you are— feeling all the colors of the damned sky before him. Interacting like humans do. Only, he’s got a motive behind his emotion. Not you. Never you.

He hears the weakness, the falter. His head snaps up again.

You avert your eyes, playing a balance game with the swelled tears threatening to parachute onto your cheeks. He straightens his back at the sight of them, he gives you space. You relax.

His eyes, they find a map upon your face and they wander amongst it. Observing, analyzing. When he’s satisfied, after you’ve swiped away at your tears, he speaks again.

“I have a job for you.”

You’re certain he’s lost it now.

Completely thrown himself off the deep end and into the insane asylum. How can he lust you and loathe you and employ you all at the same time? All within the same hour?

You need to rest, you’re exhausted.

“No.” It’s all you offer, turning your back on him. Hoping he will take it and leave you be. Silly you. A firm palm spins you back around, right back to where you were.

“Listen to me.”

It’s not a question, it’s a command; and as much as you hate him and his arrogance… you comply.

“Fuck… there’s more to you. Something that I can find behind my frustrations with you. A hunger… Last night was an annoyance, an amusing one no less. I just can’t get rid of you no matter how hard I try… but I think sometimes that this game we’re all playing is at someone’s hand. I need morale, you’ve made the front covers now. Jameson can eat shit for all I care but for the sake of my girls— I need to fix the mess I’m in…”

He muses the last part to himself, and baffled as you are at the events that have taken place in one morning alone… you straighten your back and cross your arms over your chest. Curious. Listening.

“I’ve been here all morning because I have been thinking close to the source. Thinking about what it is about you that is so fucking infuriating. I didn’t find an answer. But what I did find was a solution. After— fuck… after Gabi…”

Oh…

Oh.

He’s talking about her, and not because of your snappy mouth.

Like a fresh petal, you unfurl.

“Jameson. He wants to slander me. He wants my girls to read his bullshit and believe it and as much as I hate to admit it, the cabrón could manage it. And fucking morale… it can’t function when my morale girl is only working hard at pissing me off.”

It’s an insult, but you’re far too glued on the edge of your seat to interrupt his train of thought. You scowl softly and let him continue,

“I don’t want you in my office, I don’t want you talking about things you don’t get to talk about. I don’t want you to anger me with your stupidity because I don’t want to yell at you like that again. I won’t. But I am glad your idiocy brought us here last night, because I can see how much of a shithole you’re in.”

You flush again at that, nervous eyes glancing around your dainty apartment and its rotted walls.

“I’m in one too, in a different way. The tabloid is a good thing. When you were dancing, I tolerated you. I enjoyed you, even. And your presence made for a good paper with a headline not involving my baby girl. I— need that. I need these people to stay distracted and fuck, sweetheart. Soy la respuesta...”

Cruel as he is, you find your heart constrict— just for a small moment. You can’t imagine it. Losing your life, your whole sun, moon and stars and being constantly reminded of it on every newsstand and broadcast because of some awfully obsessed vampire.

So much so that it leaks into your glass tower in the sky and makes it crack, each new story another stone thrown until it cracks under the pressure.

But you… you stopped it.

Just once, at least.

Even so….

It amazes you.

Makes you feel powerful.

He is watching you close, gauging your reactions. You challenge his eyes, imploring him to continue. He does.

“I want you to play pretend with me, just like you did last night. Dos desconocidos bailando por primera vez, like two strangers dancing on the floor. I wanna feed them the shit they want to be fed and keep their mouths shut and satisfied. Only for a few months until I find a way to buy out the Bugle and bankrupt the hijo de puta… We can help each other. You’ll live in my suite and do whatever the hell you want all day. You’ll get a monthly allowance on top of your big check. You’ll help me keep them quiet.”

He speaks slow. Calculated and measured. In a way one would immediately understand. But somehow, you don’t.

You don’t get it.

Beyond the words for what they are, you’re baffled.

He wants you to play pretend, and it all seems perfect and fine except?

“You hate me…” it’s meant for yourself, truly. Yet it parts from your lips nonetheless. Your brows are furrowed and soft as you search the space beside him for an invisible answer with your eyes.

He sighs.

“No. I don’t. I don’t like you, but I don’t hate you. How could I when you move the way you do? So pretty under my lights, I like her a lot. Maybe we have to get you drunk more often, hmm?”

He means it to lighten the tension, to slice it with silver blade and yet all it does s quiet you further. He sees this, and a warmth floating within his very fingertips meets your chin. He turns you to him again.

“Dime que sí, cariño. Tell me yes. Stop letting yourself think about it.”

You have a million loose and frayed ends that you cannot seem to knit together on your own. You’re certain he won’t offer you any assistance either.

There’s a plague in the air, a sickness. One that causes nothing short of pure insanity. Why? Well because of what you see now.

Money.

No more debt.

Food plentiful.

A door that actually locks. A heater that will keep you warm on harsh winter nights.

No going home.

Another chance… another opportunity to dance again.

Only for a little while will you have to bare him. Only for a little while and then all your troubles get tossed upon the burning pile. You could start again. You could fix what you ruined. You could be her, again.

Your eyes wander to the gold trimmed frame with a girl that seems so unrecognizable and unreachable now.

But what if he— this cruel and baffling creature with all the money, power and influence in all of New York City and maybe beyond could help you reach her.

All you have to do is play pretend..

That’s it, right?

You gulp.

And Christ…

You whisper it like it’s a gruesome sin on the tip of your tongue. Like it poisonous and repulsive. Sealing the deal with the devil himself before it is too late to think it over again…

“Yes…”

🏷️’s: @reirain @needybitez @migueloharastruelove @laysmt @maomaimao @daisy-artfield @poutysprouty @chorizobeets @bimb00000 @tabalittlelong @iitangerine @queenb27sblog-blog @dprmooni @neptunieesworld @cyd2301 @amelialysm @justanothers-things @heartfeltlonging @coralreefses @knightowl019 @justanothers-things

[astrojulia]

Psychic Abilities through Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto

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If you read this post you must have seen the blatant presence of the outer planets (Uranus, Neptune and Pluto) and this is why they are mainly responsible for the blessings of psychic powers. The celestial bodies Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto hold mysterious and profound influences on human consciousness, often granting individuals psychic abilities beyond the realm of the material world. To comprehend this phenomenon better, let's delve deeper into the unique qualities and gifts each planet bestows upon those connected to them.

Uranus - The Visionary Wanderer:

Uranus challenges conventional realities, transcending the limitations of the physical body. For those closely attuned to Uranus, the material world becomes a mere vessel for the soul's journey. They possess the remarkable ability of astral travel, where their spirits roam unrestricted by earthly constraints. In their daily lives, they might experience shifts of reality, glimpsing alternate dimensions and parallel universes. Their open minds embrace multiple possibilities, for they understand that existence encompasses a vast tapestry of realities.

Neptune - The Oceanic Empath:

Neptune's essence lies in the depths of the vast oceans, disconnected from the earthly domain. Those deeply connected to Neptune find solace and belonging in the realm of emotions and intuition. Just as life under the sea follows different rules, these individuals perceive the world through heightened senses, akin to breathing water rather than air. Their empathic abilities allow them to perceive the emotions and energies of others, transcending language and logic to tune into the universal language of the heart.

Pluto - The Keeper of Souls:

Pluto's realm is that of death and transformation, bridging the gap between the living and the deceased. Those with a strong affinity for Pluto possess the unique gift of connecting with the spirit world. They can see beyond the veil of mortality, perceiving the memories of their own soul and the collective history of the world. In their presence, the boundaries of time and space blur, and they walk hand-in-hand with the past, present, and future.

The Zodiac Trio: Aquarius, Pisces, and Scorpio:

Among the zodiac signs, Aquarius, Pisces, and Scorpio are intrinsically bound to Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto, respectively. These individuals are the cosmic children of the outer planets, and their connection to them is profound. Some of these individuals are fortunate to receive direct psychic gifts from their celestial patrons, while others may struggle to harness the full extent of their powers. The level of connection to the outer worlds varies among individuals. Some might effortlessly embrace the psychic realms, while others may find it challenging to detach from the influences of the old planetary rulers like Saturn, Jupiter, and Mars.

So, the psychic abilities granted by Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto are a reflection of their celestial essence. Those who resonate with these planets ,which are usually those who have these planets as dominant, traverse the boundaries of human perception, delving into the mysteries of the universe. It is a delicate dance between the material and ethereal, where the fortunate ones find themselves equipped with profound psychic gifts.

(CC) AstroJulia Some Rights Reserved

[cebwrites]

affection headcanons (Law, Zoro)

a/n: i’m revisiting this since it’s been roughly a year since i made my very first x reader post on this blog!! 🥳 i still stand by the old ones i wrote for mihawk and don’t have anything else to add for him so hawkeye’s idiot green son will have to fill in for him 💔

masc reader, they/he law word count: 1k

Law

Their affection, once earned, is quiet; Law is a lot more comfortable showing how much they care for you through their actions rather than words - making sure you’re eating right, subconsciously monitoring your wellbeing, and most of all - allowing you into their personal space

Don’t get him wrong, they still seclude themself away from the crew more than they should, seeking the comfort of being cooped away in their office for long hours of the day with only short breaks to eat or (attempt to) sleep, but these days they can’t seem to find the right rhythm unless he can hear your idle movement in the background

When they need proper alone time you acquiescence, and when you need to interact with the crew to prevent boredom, on occasion, Law will let you drag them out with you to socialize for a short while - and once they run out of batteries? You get to have his head resting on your shoulder, one hand on your captain’s thigh, or cuddle with their face buried in your chest 

Law doesn’t think themselves as a super affectionate person, and to a certain extent that’s very much true, but all it takes is a few months away from you, without your touch, without the steady thrum of your heartbeat in his ear and they’re a little worse for wear - they miss the physicality

It’s all internal, “where it should stay” they might add, but those close to Law pick up on their longing for you, the ache, how he might shy away from comfort even more to avoid any reminders of you even though that’s what they need the most

It’d be unfair to ask that you threw away your sedentary life to traverse stormy seas just so you’d be by their side though it luck would have that you were already among the Heart’s ranks, a quiet part of Law revels in that - it wants to be selfish, it wants to be possessive, that even if harm could come your way that it would be sure enough they would protect you no matter what

But of course Law would never admit to it, so they begrudgingly relent to Bepo’s “I can’t sleep alone tonight”s and Penguin and Shachi’s whining for just one more game of cards, knowing full well that this is more for themself than their beloved childhood friends and he appreciates them even more for making the effort for his stubborn ass

Or maybe they would, though only when you’ve long been swept away to the land of dreams, when Law’s insomnia gets the best of them and they’ve got nothing better to do than brush the hair out of your sleeping face and admit to every treacherous tender thought that they’ve ever had for or about you

How in the distant future, after swords have been sheathed and the call to adventure is just a faint hum in the wind, how if they were to ever build a life with someone - and prior to Dressrosa they never thought they would need to - you would be the man Law wanted to grow old with

Zoro

Contrary to popular belief and, well, how he looks (like a toxic male gum rat), Zoro has absolutely zero qualms with saying “I love you” to the people he cares about in his life, only cowards are afraid of emotion, after all

There’s no squirming or (warranted) uncertainty like with Law - just the firm, self-assured statement that he loves you and wants you to know that; frankly you’re a little taken aback and how easily he says it but maybe you shouldn’t be, considering just how affectionate his captain is with him and the rest of the crew

If you weren’t a Strawhat already well shucks, you’re an honorary one now because Zoro cares about you and Luffy loves you too!

You eat with him, you nap together, you train parallel to one another, your routines intertwine sooner than either of you realize and you both pick up habits around each other - the first thing you notice is that erratic sleeping schedule of his

It takes more time than you’d like to admit and an offhanded comment from Brook for the realization to dawn on you that Zoro stays up all night to protect his crew, his nakama; a little longer into your relationship when Zoro tells you about Kuina and the promise Wado holds, how she died in the night, you no longer tease your boyfriend about being able to fall asleep anywhere 

It’s not all bad though, having him nap during the day, you get to chat with Usopp or Franky while Zoro’s head dozes comfortably in your lap, unable to resist slumber especially when your fingers scratch through that layer of moss on his head just right and he pretty much only wakes up if there’s a loud enough explosion (on a good day with the Strawhats, there's one)

Bathing is a battle hard-won when it comes to Zoro, although with a few tips from the resident love-cook, you manage to get him in that bath at least more than once a week; nothing like the incentive of you being there too to sweeten the pot, right?

You coax him in with kisses, touches on his arm, then peel the hazardous material his clothes have become after a week on the ocean battling god knows what the seas throw at them 

From there you’re able to get him into a little bit of a routine; lure Zoro into the bathroom with promises of a “reward”, get handsy while you let him soap you down and vice versa, then soak in the tub after until Nami bangs on the door yelling at the both of you to quit using up the hot water

It’s a nice little system, and plus, hearing Zoro open up a little about his week in the same, raspy voice you get from him post-fuck in the tub with nothing between you is something you could very much get used to

[two-white-butterflies]

already broken | aem. targaryen

Description: Aemond is troubled after the loss of his family. In which, you offer your company and end up falling in love with him.

Warning: Teen

Author's Note: Totally a parallel to Thomas Shelby because I love that man. If you love this fic, feel free to visit the main fic. This fic contains spoilers for cyip. coaxed you into paradise v2.

Aemond could never forget the look on his wife's face the day that her body was discovered. Pale skin with even paler lips. Body half rotten by the sea - and eyes that would never open again. Princess Alyssa Strong was dead, and her mother cried for atonement.

"You rarely speak nowadays, my prince." you opened your mouth to speak while folding his linen coverings. You've been his handmaiden since his childhood years - a friendship was beginning to form between the both of you - that was before Alyssa.

A putrid girl with an ill face.

She inherited her mother's petulance and jealousy. She could hardly stand any young maiden around her husband - always protective of what was hers. "There's not much to speak about." he turned to look at you, seeing those doe eyes engulf his whole being.

"Mayhaps spending time with the Queen will do you good, my lord." you tried to assure, seeing nothing but sorrow behind his purple eye. Blood and Cheese may have chosen to steal his son - but Aemond was the one truly murdered. Within a single turn of the moon, his life was ruined - his reputation scorned.

He did not reply after that.

He took a sip of his tea - and went straight to bed.

The following day - while you were walking along Kingslanding's crypts. You were able to see a ghost of the One Eyed Prince. His hands were behind his back, staring at the statue - seemingly looking for his son's eyes behind them.

"My prince," you bowed seeing that he noticed your presence.

"My lady, come sit with me." he patted the empty space beside him. He rarely tolerated the presence of his own family. It was a surprise to see him welcome you with open arms.

You did not argue with him. You gathered your gowns and sat beside him - as the youngest daughter of a minor house, you were taught to obey your superiors - to give the royals what they demanded.

"It's been months since the light of Prince Aelor has shone on the red keep." you kept the conversation light, opting to praise his deceased son instead of pondering on what could've happened. "It is the price of war, my lady." he responded cordially.

The hole in his heart yet to mend.

"King Aegon will surely bring the executors to justice." your eyebrows merged into each other, fearing war. The soldiers may boast their glory but women feared war - god knows what happens to little girls in the middle of warfare. Nothing good.

Reduced to nothing but a spoil of war.

"We brought it upon ourselves. The war shouldn't have been started. Rhaenyra is the rightful Queen, but it does not matter. Aegon the Conqueror was not the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms." he breathed, and you turned to look behind you - ensuring that no one was able to listen in your conversation.

"You will let the murderers stay free?" you inquired.

"For now." he responded.

"Blood and Cheese were sent by Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen." you opened your mouth to speak. A letter was in your hands - a letter that came from Rhaena Targaryen - suing for justice over her half-sister.

Aemond could feel his entire world collapse. The same people that vowed to protect his wife and son were the ones that aided and abetted to their murders. "How does Lady Rhaena know this?" his eye narrowed, trying to understand why Rhaena (of all people) wanted to tell the absolute truth.

"She says; and I quote: the truth has been haunting me. Not even my father knows and I fear of what he'll do when he does. I heard the Queen talk a few fortnights ago, but I never believed that her target would be Alyssa." you read the letter, carefully searching for signs of disproval in his body.

Then suddenly, without any reluctance - he throws the glass of wine on his hand angrily. Allowing it to shatter into a million pieces. He mellowed in his grief - allowed himself to be weak - but now that the executioners were placed on the block, he wanted to swing his sword. Rhaenyra might've been the rightful Queen - and his brother may have usurped her - but it wouldn't save her against his fury.

"Leave me." he says in a calm tone.

Allowing his anger to grow by a thousandfold.

Aemond agreed to meet Saera in the fields of Harrenhal. Provided that none of them attack each other. "I did not expect for you to surrender, brother." her voice came out like a whisper.

Of all the times that his sister spent in the red-keep, he'd always remember her melodious voice - her soft pale skin and the red-black fabric that she'd always wear in council meetings. The sister in front of him was different. Colder - a stranger.

"I'm not here to surrender, sister." he responded in a tone that made sister sound like bitch or cunt. "Haven't you already done enough? You've taken my daughter and my grandson." her eyes narrowed, her loyal husband beside her and playing with his Dark Sister.

"I've not taken her - I only came here to tell you the truth." he scoffed, sensing that he wouldn't come out of his battle unscathed if he wasted any of their time. "What truth?" Daemon inquired.

"Of Aelor's murderer." Aemond announced in a bitter tone. This betrayal would cut deeper than any wound in Saera's body. "The Queen that you chafe your knees to, is she as innocent as she seems?" he responded vaguely, feeling Vhagar roar behind him.

"What is your proof, brother?" Saera's voice mellowed. Rhaenyra was the thickest of her blood. Both Aemma and Viserys combined. "Ask Rhaena," he turned to look at Daemon - before boarding Vhagar and leaving the sacred kingdom.

When Aemond arrived in the Dragonpit - you were the first to greet him. His only friend in Kingslanding. The handmaiden that has helped him all these years. "How did she react?" you asked, knowing that Saera could be dangerous when angry.

He ignores your question again - taking a step forward and allowing his fury to communicate words that could not be said. "Is she angry?" you added - and his pupils dilated.

He had angry eyes.

"My prince, I apologize if I overstep -"

"Draw me a bath." he commanded, before walking past you.

It was tiresome attempting to get into the good graces of Aemond Targaryen - but you reassured yourself. It was the only way that you'd stay safe in the Capital - seeing that your father aligned himself with Rhaenyra and her white hand.

Another sigh escaped your mouth; and you settle the lavender petals on the Prince's bath. Despite having rough hands, he enjoyed things that were of feminine tastes. "The bath is ready, my prince." you kept your eyes on the floor. "Stay with me." he said with reluctance.

And that was the moment that you fell into a deep - deep emotion with him. You could remember everything vividly - you leaned into his bath, combing through his matted locks - until your lips were planted on each other - mumbling curses and apologies.

"This will break you, my prince." you pulled away from his soft lips, and he gives you a smile (that best resembles a grimace, because everyone knows that he's lost the ability to smile again.)

"Already broken, my lady."

taglist: @watercolorskyy @sweetybuzz25 @newtsniffles @loveandlewis-reads @lovecleastrange @julkaamazing @schniiipsel @mirandastuckinthe80s @areaderinlove @i-yam-awesome @ladystardvsts @gracielikegrapes @sweethoneyblossom1 @issybee06 @tato0od @delaynew @thisbihreadstoomuch @plutoscosmoss @immyowndefender @marvelescvpe @batmans-love @luanasrta @tesha-i-guess @valeridarkness @apollonshootafar @jokerhorse @negar21 @seamonkie

[autisticlancemcclain]

fic rec friday 53

hello and welcome to fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.

Switching More Than Bayards by @bleusarcellewrites

“That would be a first,” Shiro jokes lightly with a grin and Commander Iverson chuckle. “Can’t say I’m surprised,” the older man says quietly, throwing a quick kind look towards Lance before he reaches out and pats him on the back. “I’m happy for you, Lance.” And Lance blinks. Because, woah? He’s happy Lance has a zit? Some people and their jealousy, jeez. [Or the one where Lance is a moron but Keith loves him anyways.]

this one is so FUNNY i love it so much bleusarcelle never ever missed fr. they're so dumb i want to punch them but like gently. that was a very pidge sentence but u get it

2. heaven only knows where you've been by @talkingtoangxls

Three years after his disappearance, life has gone on.

bro reunions make me teary as all fuck like thank god this ends happily bc i was well and truly weeping. fics from lance's family always ached so good

3. when you look to the sea by @akaeijis

July 28th is a circled date on their family calendar that sits by the kitchen window. A reminder on their phone. A day they schedule off of work. (Or, the Alvarez family takes a day of remembrance for their lost son.)

and another one bc i like to hurt myself. if i imagine losing my sibling but there was never any body and no answered questions...swallowing the lump in my throat

4. Space Potatoes by dendraica

Lance and Keith are assigned to work together in the castle galley as punishment for their reckless behavior, where Lance becomes strangely ecstatic about a familiar menial task.

no i get it. lance is so real in this one. if i was shot into space with Strangers and couldn't talk to my siblings...i would lose my entire shit all the time like i wouldn't be able to function

5. Supportive by @ardett

A little trans Lance duo

platonic vld is genuinely where it's at. pidge & lance are so literally parallels of each other watching them be parallels does something to my brain

that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!

[imagine-darksiders]

Fish out of Water - Chapter 4

Imprint.

“Figures,” you huff, grunting as the curve of a chin scrubs gently behind your knees, “Most people are followed home by a lost dog, or a stray cat, but oh no – Not me! I get whatever you two are!”

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

Helplessness is, in a word, paralysing.

There have only been two moments in your life where you've faced the unrelenting, near-crushing pressure of true helplessness - the kind that freezes a deer in the headlights of an oncoming truck, the kind that a diver must feel when he's run out of oxygen and he's still three hundred feet from the ocean's surface.

The first instance occurred not so long ago, when the doctors lifted your hospital bedsheets and showed you the empty space where your right leg should have been.

The second moment, interestingly enough, is right now, sitting stiffly astride the chest of a Lovecratian sea monster as it carries you over the sea, each immense tentacle working in tandem to push its bulk lazily up the coastline, parallel to the chalk cliffs.

The clammy skin beneath your backside offers little relief from the bone-deep chill that's settled over you like a wet blanket. You're soaked through. Even your newly-acquired, wax coat has been exposed to the sea, and now, every inch of your body is drenched to the touch.

Both of your arms are circled around your one remaining knee and you stare blankly at the space where your prosthetic used to be, eyes wide as saucers and unblinking despite the raindrops that frequently settle on your lashes.

You're frozen, literally and figuratively. The tops of your fingers and toes have gone numb, and you're too petrified to lift your head up to acknowledge the blood-red stare that's affixed to the top of your sodden hair.

The mer with a face so pale and large that it could replace the moon in the night's sky hasn't once allowed its gaze to stray from you, not even, apparently, to check where it's going. You suppose that somehow, it must be able to sense the environment around it through other means, not that you're anything like an expert in marine biology.

For the last five minutes, ever since it hauled itself from the beach with you in tow, you've been sat shivering like a bedraggled idiot on its sternum whilst it floats upside-down on its eastward journey up the coast, moving back alongside the path you'd taken earlier this morning.

Once, it had brought its colossal hands up to its chest and angled them as if it meant to cup each palm around you, but when you nearly scrambled sideways into the icy water to escape, its appendages has quickly retreated, and since then, you've been subjected to its unwavering stare instead, trapped beneath the soft glow of red that lights up the pale skin all around you.

Any ounce of control you thought you'd retained had swiftly evaporated back on that beach.

Perhaps it's the act of sitting directly over an immense, powerful heart that reminds you of how much smaller you are in comparison to the creature swimming below you.

Smaller, slower, weaker.

Prey perched upon a predator's belly.

While neither creature has actually caused you any harm - save for almost giving you numerous heart-attacks - right now, you're painfully aware that they could do whatever the hell they want to you, and you have no way of stopping them. This beast could carry you anywhere it cares to, leaving you stranded out in open water, miles from sight of land, or worse... it could drag you to the bottom of the cold, dark ocean and watch you try to struggle your way back to the surface.

Helpless.... You hate this feeling.

A loud chirp twitches your eyes to the right, out towards the water, where you immediately lock gazes with the other mer, whose fins so closely resemble the rays of a clipart sun that it'd be funny if they were sported by any smaller creature.

As soon as it notices you looking its way, the beast's mouth surfaces and it grins over at you, showing off the wide expanse of baleen that pushes its cheeks up until they're round and pronounced.

After a moment, you blink, give a wet sniffle and eventually drop your chin down to your knee once again, breathing hard as you try to resign yourself to whatever far these things might have in store for you. If you're going to die, you may as well pretend to be dignified about it.

In the corner of your vision, you see the mer's fins flop backwards against its skull and its grin falters until it collapses entirely and the beast sinks back into the waves, disappearing from view with a thick, oily 'gloop.'

Golden scales flash briefly for a second before the creature dives deeper.

You wonder if it's offended by your refusal to interact with it.

Choking on a scoff, you swipe bitterly at the rain in your eyes and try to duck down further behind the collar of your coat.

It's only seconds later that a noisy splash plucks at your attention, to the left this time.

Tossing a glance in that direction, you find yourself once again peering over at the sunny mer, who throws its mouth up into another grin when it sees you looking.

Then, in a strange display, it begins to flap the orange fins surrounding its head back and forth, flinging them upright, then laying them flat against its skull before repeating the motion in quick succession.

It's an absurd behaviour, seemingly benign, and so entirely unexpected that you don't know how else to react other than to offer the beast a half-hearted quirk of your lips, the distant relative of a smile. You can't find the energy to put any real genuineness behind the action.

Apparently however, this is more than sufficient for the mer's agenda, as its entire expression lights up like a sunflower splaying its petals, big, pale eyes pinch shut.

The creature unleashes a series of chirrups and whistles, overcome by what you can only assume is delight.

As it continues to warble over at you, you grow increasingly perturbed. Dropping your mouth into a downturned line once again, you shuffle away from its gaze, turning on your rump to stare down at your kidnapper's clavicle instead.

Over the sound of rushing waves, you catch a despondent whine.

Underneath you, a sudden rumble passes through the moon beast's chest like a seismic wave, travelling up the column of its throat until it peels its lips apart and unleashes a deep, resonant murmur that vibrates your ribcage and rattles the teeth in your skull.

Risking a glance at it, you find that it has lifted its head out of the water to peer over at its ilk.

Something must have passed between them. A word. A conversation, perhaps... because all of a sudden, the sunny behemoth barks out a response and ploughs to an abrupt halt in the surf.

Startled by the sudden displacement of several thousand gallons of ocean, you twist your head over a shoulder to gape after the mer as it spins its vast bulk around, using its arms to move great swathes of water past itself.

And just like that, with a flick of its substantial fluke, it jets off, vanishing below the waves once more, leaving behind nothing but ever-expanding ripples that mingle with those created by the falling rain.

It's headed back in the direction of the beach you've just been swiped from...

You're not even going to pretend to understand the indecipherable conversation that had just happened between those two leviathans.

Sniffing quietly, you clutch your knee to your chest, peering bleakly out in the direction the yellow mer had just disappeared, shuddering like a leaf in a hurricane.

It's only the dark shadow falling over you that snaps you from your trance.

Instinctively, you gasp and duck, throwing your hands up to cover your head as the presence of something huge and heavy looms just a few feet above your fragile skull. Heaving in a lungful of cold air, you tilt your head up gradually, your face pinched in anticipation.

You nearly pass out at the sight of the colossal, webbed palm hovering over you.

Flinching again, you screw your eyes shut and feel your body solidify like a wooden board, expecting a blow that'll crush you flat...

… Seconds pass...

The rain continues splashing against the vast expanse of flesh surrounding you, yet even through the incessant pounding of water on skin, you still register that not a single drop falls upon your head.

And neither does the sea monster's hand.

As the waves slosh and surge around your captor, it gradually starts occurring to you that you haven't yet become a red stain on its sternum.

With all the reluctance of swimming out over a black, oceanic trench, you emerge from behind your raised arms, lowering them slowly until you're once more gaping up at the underside of that enormous hand.

Each claw-tipped finger has to be longer than you are tall.

Stretched wide, the translucent webbing stitched to the side of each digit forms a better umbrella than the one you'd left behind on the beach, keeping you dry from the worst of the storm's deluge. A sudden rumble of thunder booms somewhere off in the distance, out over the open water, reminding you of the tempest's approach.

Despite the remnants of rain that trickle off your chin to get lost beneath the collar of your coat, your lips feel tremendously dry as you level your gaze down, away from the palm hovering above you until your eyes eventually land on the face of your cephalopod captor.

It, in turn, is staring back at you, eyes still wide and glowing ominously in the grey light.

The hand above you doesn't move, but the tentacles continue to propel you both along the coastline, methodically undulating beneath the deep, dark water.

You can feel their motion with every flex and twitch of the giant's abdomen.

A question bubbles at the back of your throat, yet the effort it takes to peel your lips apart is tremendous.

“What-” You immediately cut yourself off when the mer's blue sail perks up a little, hyper-attentive to the sound of your voice. Lips stuffed together, you wait, once again expecting it to make another move.

But after a long minute has passed, you realise it isn't going to. Instead, it only looks down at you, head cocked to one side, almost as if it's waiting for you to continue speaking.

Wetting your lips, you pry them apart again, tasting salt spray on your tongue.

“What.... are you guys?” you ask in a whisper, so soft that you wouldn't have thought the creature had heard you were it not for the quirk of its sail and the expansion of its pupils, each growing enough to nearly encompass the red of its irises.

Irrationally, you fear they could easily turn into a pair of black holes that might swallow you down into their depths if you peer at them for too long.

“Can you, uh... can you understand me?”

Again, the question is only a decibel away from being utterly silent.

For a long moment, the creature only stares back at you, its chin crooked forward onto its chest to keep you within its sights.

Mouth slightly agape, you wait...

And wait....

And wait...

But when no acknowledgement follows your question, you find the heart to ask another, one that's perhaps more pressing than its predecessor.

“Where are you taking me?”

This, at least, emerges from your throat as a louder sound.

It's just a shame it comes out as a sob.

Your theory that the beast can't understand you is suddenly scuppered however when, as if in direct response to your query, it tilts its head back until it's upside down, facing the direction you're headed.

Underneath you, vast muscles shift and contract, and with just a flick of its tentacles, the creature adjusts the course, turning its body effortlessly to face the towering cliffs.

Giving a gasp of alarm, you drop your leg to lay flat across its chest and plant both hands into its spongey flesh, keeping yourself steady when the movement nearly sends you toppling sideways.

Following the mer's gaze, you allow yourself a second to wonder why it's turned towards the cliffs, only to feel your heart suddenly careen forwards to smack against your ribcage as you register an all too familiar sight.

“That's-! That's the cottage!” you exclaim, briefly startled from your existential fear as the sea monster surges cleanly across the ocean on its back like an immense dreadnought cutting the waves in two. For just a moment, you forget yourself, drinking in the sight of the old fisherman's cottage that sits upon the cliff, plain as day, a beautiful splash of white shining out through the gloom of the storm.

You would have never thought that the ramshackle, little place could almost reduce you to tears of relief, but... here you are.

“I-I don't understand!” you gasp out, craning your neck back to gaze up at the cliffs looming over your head as you approach, “Why have yoU~OU-HEY!”

All at once, the familiar slickness of a gigantic tentacle slips gently, but quickly around your waist and you're pried from the mer's chest, flailing wildly for a moment before you remember that there's little to no point. Struggling hadn't helped you escape its clutches before, why should it now?

Gulping audibly, you stare down at the churning waves far below you as the creature rights itself and reaches six of its eight, writhing appendages towards the cliff face.

Powerful suckers crash into the solid rock and adhere themselves to it, and you can do nothing but hang from its grasp as the giant begins to crawl its way up towards the grassy plateau overhead.

It doesn't take much, just two immense pulls from its tentacles working in tandem and suddenly, you're being lifted over the lip of the cliff.

Bracing your hands on the slippery flesh wrapped around your waist, you watch the ground sweep by under your dangling leg as the beast hoists itself up after you, it's breaths coming in great, heaving swathes like a set of bellows intended to coax the sun to rise.

Without prompt, the mer carries you right up to the cottage, just as it had yesterday, almost to the back doorstep before it lumbers to a gradual halt, and, to your mounting confusion, it begins to lower you towards the ground.

The sole of your foot touches down on the sodden grass, yet the tentacle remains around your waist, holding you aloft where you'd likely collapse without the aid of your crutch or prosthetic, both of which are still lost to the sea by now, placing you at an even greater disadvantage than you already were. Not that it'd make a lick of difference, you suppose.

Once again, warmth and potential safety are only a few, hobbling steps away, but this time...

“You brought me back...” you murmur softly to the giant behind you, feeling the ground tremble as it settles its weight onto its arms, “Just like I asked you to...”

This time, something foreign and strangely familiar floats above the lay of fear bobbing inside your belly, something you'd almost forgotten you could feel. You hardly even recognise it for what it is at first, not until you use your arms to pull yourself around in the tentacle's loose grasp, slowly bringing yourself face to gigantic face with the mer.

You've turned towards potential danger, instead of trying to get away from it.

How could you have forgotten the tantalising lure of curiosity? Has it really been lost to you ever since the accident, only to return now, when you're standing on the precipice of something huge and unknown?

Still, the horror and disbelief attempts to force its way to the surface, howling at you to listen to your baser human instincts and continue fighting to escape. But rationality, at last, has found you. The mer is only blinking down at you, its pale chin hovering just a foot or so above the grass and its sail flickering around in the air behind its head, buffeted by the ever-strengthening gale. Behind it, the extensive tentacles stretch towards the edge of the cliff. All bar one.

You've only just realised that the tendril holding you is the same one you'd freed from the net.

Releasing a long, somber breath, you pinch your brows together and rove your gaze over the cross-hatch of pale, pink lines that have been left behind in the otherwise indigo flesh.

Your fingertips press down on the tentacle surrounding you in a quiet offer of sympathy.

The wound looks as though it'll scar, but the creature hasn't lost its limb entirely.

For that, you suppose, you can at least say you've done a good thing.

…

“Huh,” you murmur aloud, a tiny sound of surprised realisation.

When was the last time you did a good thing?

Blinking the rain off your lashes, you draw in a trembling breath and raise your eyes to meet the leviathan's stare.

It lays on its stomach, peering back at you with a curious tilt to its head, twitching the gills on its neck when you open your mouth to speak.

Before you can so much as utter a word, you're almost immediately interrupted by a loud, unexpected warble drifting up to your ears from somewhere below the cliff.

Your stomach flip-flops when you spot the sunny mer's head rising like its namesake over the edge, its fins perked towards you.

With one, almighty heave that sends sediment skittering down into the sea far below, it hauls itself up onto the plateau and starts dragging itself eagerly up towards the cottage, covering several dozen metres in the span of mere seconds.

Even with the storm dulling the landscape around you to deep, oppressive greys, somehow, the mer's golden tail manages to gleam like a solar flare bursting through the darkness of space.

With enormous effort, you drag your eyes from its undulating tail and try not to press yourself backwards into the tentacle's grasp as the second beast careens to a halt beside its counterpart, planting its massive palms in the grass and churning up the soil in its wake.

To your relief, it stops before it can bulldoze straight over you. The tremors rolling through the ground cease, and you're left gaping up into that wide, round face as it beams back at you, bending at the waist to bring itself closer, rainwater cascading off its rays and splashing against the dirt whilst it settles on its forearms in front of you, mirroring the pose of its ethereal friend.

Heart in your throat, you try to slow your breathing, warily eyeing it when its chin finally brushes the tufts of grass underneath it.

If you were to stretch out an arm, you'd wager you could touch the slippery surface just below its mouth.

Slowly, ever so slowly, those baleen teeth peel apart right in front of you, giving you the jarring impression that it might be seconds away from swallowing you whole.

Peering down that damp, cavernous gullet would have your knee collapsing out from underneath you, were it not for the tendril still keeping you aloft.

Before the panic can steal what little body heat still remains in your extremities however, you see it.

A flash of white, sitting slap-bang in the centre of the pink, fleshy tongue.

“No way,” you breathe incredulously, overcome by the disconcerting gnaw of deja-vu.

But sure enough, only a second later, the familiar, shiny plastic of your once-thought-lost prosthetic comes tumbling out from between the leviathan's jaws and lands with a dull 'splat' in the mud at your foot.

Mind reeling, you rove a daring look up the length of its body until you meet its pale stare again. “You... went back?" you croak, releasing a shuddering exhale, "For this?”

By way of its own, unusual reply, the sunny mer trills noisily, clicking its baleen together and shifting its weight until there's enough room for a colossal arm to creep forwards along the ground. Then, extending one, long finger, the beast nudges at your prosthetic, sliding it a few inches closer to you before withdrawing its hand and flicking its gaze between the lump of plastic and your face a few times, as if to silently convey a message it can't communicate through speech.

For a long moment, you can do little else but blink numbly at the limb in front of you as your brain tumbles over itself piecing together bits of information that have, until now, been nothing more than fleeting thoughts.

They brought you back. They brought your lost prosthetic back. Neither mer has caused you any real harm, barring the admittedly dicey incident where you thought you were about to be crushed under a gigantic fist for the crime of producing a blunt knife.

Even now you can feel the gentle pressure of a tentacle around your waist, just enough to keep your standing upright on the ground, yet never once does it grow tight enough to cause discomfort. You've seen the power behind those limbs. The strength they'd have to possess just to heave such a gargantuan body up over the side of a cliff. The control it must be exerting simply to keep itself from hurting you is...

Well. It's substantial, to say the least.

What monster would extend such a courtesy?

What monster would allow you to free its injured limb from a suffocating net, and return you to a place of safety?

Just what in the world have you stumbled upon?

Or perhaps, more fittingly, what in the world has just stumbled upon you?

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you drag your gaze up to their faces, each hovering so close to you now, you can feel the warmth of their combined breaths chasing away a bit of the chill in your muscles.

What you wouldn't give for a nice, hot bath right about now...

When you open your mouth, they immediately perk up, a twitch of their fins alerting you to their attention. You only hesitate to gather yourself before you manage to say anything that won't come out as a squeak.

“... Maybe I'm just going insane,” you begin, listening to the yellow mer croon at the sound of your voice, its smile stretching ever wider, “But I'm starting to think you guys aren't gonna hurt me...”

For several seconds, the only movement around you comes from the rain pelting rythmically against the wet earth.

But then, at the pace of a vast, white glacier, the moon-faced beast pushes its head along the grass until it's hovering right in front of you, so close that you can see a reflection of yourself gawking back at you from deep within its eyes.

Two slitted nostrils flare and wink shut several times near your face, blasting your hair back off your slick forehead.

Your trembling hands uncurl themselves from the fists they'd squashed themselves into.

“Maybe I really have gone insane...”

A shaking hand tentatively peels itself from your chest, and before you can think to come to your senses, you start reaching out across the meagre space separating you from the mer's head.

“Please don't bite me,” you whisper under your breath, mouthing 'please' over and over again and screwing your expression up into a tight ball until, with a soft gasp, you feel your hand make contact with the spongey skin on the creature's nose, just between its eyes.

Breathless, you open your mouth to try and draw in a trembling inhale, easing your brows apart and staring up at the sight of your fingers pressing tiny divots into the pale, malleable wall of flesh.

“Oooh~ my god,” you half sing, half whimper as the beast's eyes slip shut and it emits a contented rumble, sending quakes up your arm and into your chest, “This is crazy. This is... I mean... Shit, I don't know. But it's huge!”

Evidently taking umbrage to the fact that its friend is receiving attention and it isn't, the sunny mer warbles a loud complaint. The next thing you know, your moon friend's face has been bunted aside to make room for a grinning beast of equally epic proportions.

Taken aback, it's tentacle jerks open and you're dropped, landing on your backside in the mud with a startled yelp only to find your space thoroughly invaded by that same insistent, yellow snout.

A swift reprimand is dealt by the larger mer, who snaps its sharp teeth perilously close to the offender's orange fins, though the latter either doesn't care, or doesn't notice, too preoccupied with gazing down at you with a hopeful chirr.

“O-okay,” you hum, swallowing your heart back down into your chest and reaching up with a quivering arm, “Just... just steady, all right? You're a lot bigger than I am, remember...”

Where the first behemoth had waited for your hand to find its nose in your own time, the second seems a little more impatient, and before you know it, the warm, squidgy tip of its snout has all but shoved itself into your palm.

It takes every ounce of courage you have to spare to keep yourself from recoiling.

Instead, you force down the lump of nerves in your throat and allow your fingers to splay out across the yellow skin. At first, the mer's eyes grow wide and round at the sensation, as if it's overcome by wonder.

“There,” you utter, biting down apprehensively on your lower lip, “Happy?”

Yes, apparently.

The behemoth's immense chest expands and contracts around a sigh that nearly bowls you over onto your back with the force of it. The strong stench of fish doesn't help to keep you sitting upright either.

“Eugh,” you cough, flapping your free hand in front of your nose whilst you give the creature's flesh a steady pat, earning yourself a pleased hum in response, “Sorry I asked.”

If it's at all put out by your mild repulsion, the mer doesn't show it.

Gradually, the seconds tick over into a minute, and all the while, you keep your hand pressed against the curious nose, feeling the apprehension drain from your heart with every passing moment, and in spite of the cold, in spite of the terror you've felt over the past few days, even in spite of the twinge of your missing limb, your lips twitch up into an unmistakable, albeit tentative smile. The first, genuine smile you've plastered on your face since the accident.

The muscles in your cheeks bunch and ache a little, as if it's been just a little too long for them to remember what they're supposed to do.

There, at the very bottom of your chest, just below your thrumming heart, a tiny spark of wonder ignites.

But as soon as you notice its presence, your smile wavers, falling at the corners of your mouth.

“I don't know what you guys are or how the Hell you haven't been discovered yet but... whatever this is, it's big.” Slowly, your hand drifts away from the yellow mer, much to its apparent dismay as it opens its eyes and utters a petulant whine.

Shaking your head at it, you add, “It's too big for me...”

Perhaps if you were a marine biologist or... or an adventurer of some kind, you'd be beside yourself with excitement right now.

But as it is, you're neither of those things.

This is... They are someone else's discovery. Someone who would have half a clue of how to approach this from a sensible, level-headed point of view. This kind of thing doesn't happen to people like you.

You just want to be left alone.

“I don't know what you two want from me,” you sigh, raising a hand to scrub at the back of your neck, “Or whether you even want anything, but... but I don't think I'm... I'm not what you're looking for... Okay? I have to go home...”

Your statement doesn't seem to have much of an effect on either of them. The yellow behemoth keeps sending fleeting but pointed glances down at your hands whilst its counterpart remains still and silent, its eyelids dropping into a lazy blink.

“I have to go home,” you repeat, gesturing behind yourself at the house before pointing a finger between the two mer, “And you... you have to go to your home.” You lean sideways and indicate the ocean, prompting them to twist their heads around to follow the line of your finger.

“Do you understand?”

Apparently not, given the blank stares you're receiving.

Heaving out a sigh, you throw your hands up before leaning forwards and grabbing the prosthetic, grimacing when your fingers slide against the sticky, cooling saliva that clings to the plastic.

All of a sudden, the sky above you seem to grow darker, and at first, you assume the storm has taken a turn for the worse, but a quick glance skywards reveals that it's only your two new acquaintances looming closer, each watching with wide-eyed fascination as you begin pulling the prosthetic liner inside out and tug it over your stump, squeezing the air bubbles out of it as you go.

It'd be easier if you were standing, but with the mud still slick beneath you, you don't trust yourself not to simply slip over as soon as you attempt to get up.

Your audience continues to observe closely whilst you stick your residual limb into the socket and wriggle it around, ensuring the pin hasn't come loose in its journey from the beach back to you.

Once satisfied, you plant your feet against the ground and try to rise, but almost instantly, you realise it'll be a little more tricky than you first anticipated.

Your shoes slide jarringly across the wet grass as you try to gather purchase.

“Dammit,” you curse, making a second attempt, failing to notice the mers raising their heads to look at one another. You only realise they've moved when they both utter some kind of warbling croon, drawing your attention up to find them once again engaged in a back and forth of watery sounds that you have no hope of ever learning to decipher.

For a moment, the pace of your heart quickens slightly, wondering if, by some miracle, they understood you earlier and they're about to depart.

But that brief hope is extinguished almost a second later.

With no prior warning, the blue mer dips its head in the eerily human gesture of a nod before it returns its focus to you, shifting onto one elbow and reaching a mammoth hand out towards you.

“Woah, woah, wait! Hang on!” you blurt, waving your arms about as if you could deter it, but your efforts are all for nought.

Scrambling backwards only gets you a few inches of distance before you're promptly scooped up by smooth, cautious fingers and gently tilted sideways until you find yourself nestled safely within the cup of its palm.

Disoriented, you throw out a hand to grasp the creature's immense thumb and hold yourself steady, giving your head a rough shake to dislodge the hair plastered to your forehead.

No sooner have your regained your bearings than a soft pressure lands upon the crown of your head, pushing a yelp out of you at the jarring presence.

You instantly try to duck away from the pressure, lifting your hands to shove against cool skin, but it only follows your head down, nudging persistently into your hair.

“Hey-!” you start to complain, only to stuff your lips together and screw your face up when, of all things, the mer drags its entire, pale cheek across your nose and mouth.

Cracking open your eyes, you have to slam them shut again because the leviathan turns its head and slides its opposite cheek back across your face once more, further baffling you with the seemingly innocuous yet undeniably bizarre behaviour.

What in God's name is it doing?

Gasping out a breath, you're only slightly relieved when the mer lowers its attention and begins to nose at your chest instead, bowling you over onto your back as it rubs its chin very deliberately over the top of your leg and prosthetic.

“Gah! Stop that!” you complain, rolling over onto your stomach in an effort to escape the unwarranted attention, yet all this accomplishes is presenting your back to the mer, who wastes no time in giving this side of you the same treatment. A wheezing breath is pushed out of you as it squashes its cheek into your spine, and – to your mortification – starts to nuzzle into the fabric of your wax coat.

“Come on, man,” you whinge and reach out to grab at the webbing between its fingers, hoping to pull yourself away from the uncomfortable weight on your back, “You're gonna make me stink of fish!”

Just then, you pause, raising your head and squinting in disbelief through the mer's digits at the cottage, and the other behemoth lumbering towards it.

“What the-!? What the Hell are you doing!?”

Trapped by the face of the giant behind you, you're helpless but to watch on in disgruntled bemusement as the sunny mer flops its way right up to your grandfather's cottage and promptly drags the length of its body along the crumbling, eastern wall, not unlike a giant, slippery cat rubbing itself fondly between the ankles of its owner.

Lacking any apparent shame, it circles the cottage slowly, hauling itself along on its arms and exposing each wall to a rough scrape. You grimace when the poor, old stone creaks and groans in protest.

Struggling to raise yourself onto your hands and knees, you aim a shout at the yellow beast, trying to hear yourself think over the sudden croon of the mer nosing at the back of your neck.

“Oh, great! That's just great!” you yell, “Now the whole place is gonna reek of you guys! Do you mind!?”

Completing one, full circle of the cottage, the sun-faced giant finally peels itself from the walls and replies to you with a shake of its fins, slapping its fluke against the ground and giving you a smile that makes it look entirely too pleased with itself for your liking.

“Figures,” you huff, grunting as the curve of a chin scrubs gently behind your knees, “Most people are followed home by a lost dog, or a stray cat, but oh no – Not me! I get whatever you two are!”

As if in response to your grumbling, a slick, wet tongue laps gingerly over the seam where your prosthetic is attached to your stump, pulling a shrill squeal from your lungs.

Indignant, you whip yourself over onto your back and address the enormous face hovering over you, jabbing a shaking finger at it and hollering, “All right! Enough! Put me down this instant!”

Slitted nostrils suck the air from around your head as the mer gives you a good, long sniff before, at long last, it obliges, though you imagine this is due to mere coincidence rather than any acknowledgement of your squeaky demand.

Still, it seems this mortifying and undignified ordeal might finally be coming to an end as you're lowered to the back step of the cottage and tilted gingerly from the behemoth's palm.

Back on solid ground, you stumble away from the hand, uttering a belated, "Thank you," and letting your spine hit the doorknob.

You were right. The entire house and your clothes are now saturated with the salty stench of the sea with a rather unpleasant, fishy undertone. You can only hope this rain will wash off the worst of the smell.

The dinky, little shower at the back of the cottage is suddenly seeming more and more like a good idea, and you're reminded of just how long it's been since you had a good, long scrub.

Sighing rigidly, you aim a hesitant glare between each of the giants, fumbling with the doorknob and twisting it open, kicking the door inwards with the back of your heel. “Right... This has been...” You hesitate, trying to find an adequate word to sum up the entire experience. Eventually, you can only settle on, “Weird.”

It isn't a lie. Not entirely. Terrifying would be another word you'd use.

“Thank you for bringing me back,” you add, nodding at the blue mer before flicking a quick smile at the yellow one, “And thanks for returning my prosthetic.”

The pair of them seem to preen, either because they've earned your attention, or because they can at least comprehend a word of gratitude when they hear it.

With slow, shuffling steps, you edge backwards through the threshold of the cottage, keeping your eyes trained on the giants outside. “Now... Uh, go... go home,” you tell them, once again pointing out at the sea beyond the cliffs.

They don't follow the line of your arm this time, apparently far more interested in keeping their eyes glued on your face, so you drop your limb to your side and take another step, grabbing the edge of the door as you pass.

It's odd. You actually feel awkward closing the entrance on them, especially given that they're still staring down at you in total silence, their fins pricked to attention as if they expect you to continue engaging with them in some undisclosed way.

Swallowing thickly, you offer one last, uncertain smile that comes and goes as swiftly as a blink, and at last, you close the door, listening to the subtle 'click' of the latch sliding into place.

Spinning around, you let your back thud into the wood behind you, sagging like a deflated balloon.

Being inside, unable to see the marine giants, your brain starts trying to convince you that they hadn't even been real in the first place.

Out of sight, and all that.

But as you shuffle unsteadily to the bathroom at the back of the cottage and pass by a window on your way, you happen to glance through a gap in the curtains and catch sight of a single, enormous red eye peering in at you.

“Okay,” you mutter to yourself, reaching out a shaky hand and tugging the curtains closed, “Where the hell did granddad keep the towels...”

[makingqueerhistory]

Queer Book Recommendations

Every once in a while I like sharing some queer book recommendations on here as I read a lot and I get requests to share some of the books I love, so here we go! 

Tell Me I'm Worthless: Three years ago, Alice spent one night in an abandoned house with her friends Ila and Hannah. Since then, things have not been going well. Alice is living a haunted existence, selling videos of herself cleaning for money, going to parties she hates, drinking herself to sleep. She hasn’t spoken to Ila since they went into the House. She hasn’t seen Hannah either.

Our Wives Under The Sea: Miri thinks she has got her wife back, when Leah finally returns after a deep sea mission that ended in catastrophe. It soon becomes clear, though, that Leah may have come back wrong. Whatever happened in that vessel, whatever it was they were supposed to be studying before they were stranded on the ocean floor, Leah has carried part of it with her, onto dry land and into their home. 

You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty: Feyi Adekola wants to learn how to be alive again.It’s been five years since the accident that killed the love of her life and she’s almost a new person now—an artist with her own studio, and sharing a brownstone apartment with her ride-or-die best friend, Joy, who insists it’s time for Feyi to ease back into the dating scene. Feyi isn’t ready for anything serious, but a steamy encounter at a rooftop party cascades into a whirlwind summer she could have never imagined: a luxury trip to a tropical island, decadent meals in the glamorous home of a celebrity chef, and a major curator who wants to launch her art career.

Silver Under Nightfall: Remy Pendergast is many things: the only son of the Duke of Valenbonne (though his father might wish otherwise), an elite bounty hunter of rogue vampires, and an outcast among his fellow Reapers. His mother was the subject of gossip even before she eloped with a vampire, giving rise to the rumors that Remy is half-vampire himself. Though the kingdom of Aluria barely tolerates him, Remy’s father has been shaping him into a weapon to fight for the kingdom at any cost.

Disintegrate/Dissociate: In her powerful debut collection of poetry, Arielle Twist unravels the complexities of human relationships after death and metamorphosis. In these spare yet powerful poems, she explores, with both rage and tenderness, the parameters of grief, trauma, displacement, and identity. Weaving together a past made murky by uncertainty and a present which exists in multitudes, Arielle Twist poetically navigates through what it means to be an Indigenous trans woman, discovering the possibilities of a hopeful future and a transcendent, beautiful path to regaining softness. 

The Perks of Loving a Wallflower: As a master of disguise, Thomasina Wynchester can be a polite young lady—or a bawdy old man. She’ll do whatever it takes to solve the cases her family takes on. But when Tommy’s beautiful new client turns out to be the highborn lady she’s secretly smitten with, more than her mission is at stake . . . 

It Came from the Closet: Queer Reflections on Horror: Horror movies hold a complicated space in the hearts of the queer community: historically misogynist, and often homo- and transphobic, the genre has also been inadvertently feminist and open to subversive readings. Common tropes—such as the circumspect and resilient “final girl,” body possession, costumed villains, secret identities, and things that lurk in the closet—spark moments of eerie familiarity and affective connection. Still, viewers often remain tasked with reading themselves into beloved films, seeking out characters and set pieces that speak to, mirror, and parallel the unique ways queerness encounters the world. 

Refusing Compulsory Sexuality: A Black Asexual Lens on Our Sex-Obsessed Culture: Everything you know about sex and asexuality is (probably) wrong. The notion that everyone wants sex–and that we all have to have it–is false. It’s intertwined with our ideas about capitalism, race, gender, and queerness. And it impacts the most marginalized among us. For asexual folks, it means that ace and A-spec identity is often defined by a queerness that’s not queer enough, seen through a lens of perceived lack: lack of pleasure, connection, joy, maturity, and even humanity.

[vgperson]

Vocaloid Highlights: April 2023

No foolin', she IS the star. Highlights Archive

========== Stand-Outs ========== April Star Toe Loop Cheap Property King Queen Jack Dance Samsa Heart-Fluttering Star☆Land! Nero Misfortune All Ameri A Brief History of Us Gourami Kiss Spring Express Train Unclear Wisdom Requiem Startling Dystopia Kotonoha Dance Da-Da-Da-Dance Strobe Caster Euphobia Record of Exile Simulcaster Know Misery Rain Shelter Babel Obscured Mad Head Worm Open Eyes Lost in Void

========== Worth Your Time ========== Anomaly You-Colored Sky Non-Inevitable Greed Gazer One Day At A Time Ms. Dummy Insomnia Meaningless Music FROM A TREASURE BOX On a Night of Red Ruin Be The MUSIC! Closing the Distance to You Absolute Status Quo Keeping Imitation in the Mirror Burnit!! Plant Human MAGIC CITY NIGHT Diva In Praise of Youth Apple and Pomegranate Retro Future Being Dream Dancer Rainy Noise Words Are Longing To Get Out Happy End Konpeito and Love Horoscope Let Me See Water Space Ultramarine Let's Die Together With the Piano After It Breaks You Don't Listen To People, Huh Fleeting Eternity RED Final Correspondence Muddy Bouquet Demo Song Dream Girl I'm Home Haustier Conspiracist I Just Can't Live SUSHI-GO-ROUND Destruction Girl The Same Outcome Gerbera Lost Forever Impurity save to heart Aster Stop the HICCUP Midnight Railroad Crossing Last Order Spring Haze, Clouding in Windstorms If Life Has a Weight Happy Creator Te-Te-Te Metamorphose Lost City Girl Love and Sakura are Moments. Season's Cheeks and Wonderland Night Walk Gold Prize Rainy Raine-chan '89 Da Da Dawn Our Experiment Sound of Spring's Departure Trash Can Search Climber Wind Sprint Won't Kill Divine Possession Parallel White Clouds Lethal Pervert Waiting in the Sea Sorrow's Pocket Nothing to Sell But Kindness Light Blue Damage Fashion Poor Loser Gymnastics #1 Seriously Sick Blossom Scar PAREIDO (Parade) Anaphylaxis X-Mark Batter Your Point of View The Day I Learned Love PLUG→OUT Labyrinth Lamentin' Bein' Sick (Special Version) Reminiscence Poetry Vanity L Violet Refrain & Remind Round and Round and Under Teto-Teto-Toteto Monologue The Day's End Boiling Isol-ization (2023 ver.) Beyond Sleep, It Doesn't Rain. You said you love me

[notesbutnotfromunderground]

Bizarre Good Omens Theories without Context or Explanations

📌 I'll update this as we all go on

1. Crowley and Lucifer are twins

2. God's favourite is Crowley

3. Michael is an evil angel with a hidden agenda

4. The handle that started the engine is the only thing that can make make the star factory stop

5. The handle is a piece of a bigger mechanism outside time and space in the Good Omens AU

6. Satan was jealous of the human creations so he collects and tortures them to spite God

7. God and the Devil are playing chess and/or cards at the Alpha Centauri

8. Aziraphale is a bet between God and the Devil

9. Crowley have had it but he won't be able to leave Muriel on their own

10. God cradled Crowley on her lap

11. Aziraphale urged Judas to betray Christ as part of the big plan because Judas just couldn't really. 📌

12. Elspeth and Wee Morag's relationship is also parallel to that of Aziraphale and Crowley (Elspeth means, "chosen by God" and Morag means star of the sea/great) use this info how you want 📌

13. Crowley and Aziraphale switching sides indicates from whose memory/narrative that part of the story is being told. 📌

14. The sentence, "I forgive you," is what Crowley would have wanted to hear from God. Not getting abandoned. Not sauntering vaguely downwards. 📌

What would you add to this?