#you will fall apart; 80% is often better.

[logorrhea5mip]

I just woke up (at 9am, without an alarm) and it's quite weird that for the whole school year i had a horrible sleep schedule and now that I have no reason to not sleep until noon and stay awake until dawn, I still don't.

My sleep schedule was, roughly, 2am to 8 am on the weekdays and 2am to noon on the weekends(complimented with sleeping through a few classes each week), and even that varied by a lot. I even just didn't sleep one night and slept 14 hours the next one.

Now i sleep the recommended 8 hours, can't be (from how tired I get) awake after 1am even if I wanted to, and don't use alarms at all.

It's almost as if the large stress, amount of homework and tests, and general high expectation competitive atmosphere of my school have negative consequences to the students' mental an physical health. (not /s at all, please help me)

[angel-of-the-moons]

A Benevolent Hand

Khonshu x Fem!Moon Knight!Reader

TW/CW: NSFW, Smut, masturbation (Fem), fingering, dirty talking, degradation(?), Khonshu wants to actually fuck you but won't admit it because he's a prideful shithead

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: did I stay up until ten last 4am to spit this shit out? Enjoy whatever horny poetry my sleep deprived brain supplies you. Be free, my horny little doves *yeets y'all into a field*

Also idk why but this gif does things to me

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

It was a dull, dead night. There were no evildoers to stop, no killers to send to the sands of the Duat.

Even Badr told you to go home and rest, you deserved it after your diligent work and devotion to your god.

But, of course... "settling in" for the night wasn't something you know how to do anymore.

You've been Moon Knight for so long you weren't even sure what normal people did during quiet nights at home, anymore.

You ate, showered, exercised in the cramped space of your seedy apartment, before sitting on the couch to idly flip through channels, clicking your tongue and reminding yourself to sign up for some streaming services or pirate some stuff at the local library.

You were so bored you settled on an old corny horror film from the 80s, R-Rated and strangely enough, uncensored. But then again, adult channels were still a thing apparently, so you settled in for some cheap blood and guts, stupid busty camp counselors and a masked killer.

But of course, the sex scenes were there, as well. It didn't show anything like porn would, but the actors did a good job of "having" sex beneath the covers, their bodies flushed and sweaty as they went at it like rabbits, panting and saying things to each other in shared breaths.

They were gonna die, that's how these things went. You have sex in a horror movie, you die. The psychos from Scream got that part right about the ole cliché.

But... The way they acted with each other, playing out the part of a couple very much in love and very horny had you... bothered.

You craved that kind of intimacy. Sure, you can go out and find someone to hook up with, have a forgettable one night stand with some idiot at a bar... but it didn't have the physical closeness that was acted out on the cheap flat screen in front of you.

Being a Fist of Khonshu was often lonely life. You couldn't engage in the seeming frivolity of a relationship that was seen every day you walked down the street. No bed warmed by another body, no good morning kisses, no... love?

You shoved those melancholy feelings aside for now, deciding to focus on the throbbing heat blossoming between your legs.

You bit your lip and slid your hand down your front, slipping it beneath the waistband of your pajamas and beneath your underwear, touching the slick wetness that began to coat and soak through the fabric covering you as the movie droned on.

Your fingers slowly started circling your clit as you breathed out a hot puff of air, eyes closing momentarily as you imagined it.

You, with a man who was head over heels with you, tangled up in the sheets.

Sweaty, groping hands pawing at slick skin, tongues dancing as you kissed like you were all the two of you needed to breathe--

Your fingers began to increase their movements, gathering your sweet juices on your fingers to lubricate your clit as you circled with more need.

You dropped your head onto the back of your couch with a pathetic groan, eyes closing as you let the mental image take a better shape, using the sounds from the TV to help mold the scene for you and your faceless, imaginary lover.

You grunted and kicked off your bottoms and underwear, discarding them on the floor as you spread your legs, one foot resting on the cushion to allow better access as your other hand groped at your breast over the fabric of your threadbare tank top.

"Fuck." You cursed aloud to yourself, falling back into your fantasy as your fingers played with your wet, puffed folds.

Your lover would slowly slink down your body, his lips and tongue pressing on your skin until his mouth reached your hip bones.

He would kiss your clit before licking up your slit, his tongue teasing your entrance, tracing it before he wrapped his lips around the bundle of nerves at the top.

You let out a heady moan, your toes curling as you held back the urge to plunge your fingers inside of you; for now settling on focusing your attention on your twitching clit.

You roll your hips in time with your hand, sliding your hand beneath your top to squeeze your breasts and roll your nipple between your fingertips.

Your lover would lick, kiss, nip, and tease you. He would rut his nose against your clit as his tongue--

Your mental fantasy bubble popped when you felt a very large, very warm, and very real hand slide down your torso, leaving a blazing trail beneath your skin in its wake.

"I sometimes forget how often mortals have these urges." The deep, raspy voice that the hand belonged to sighed out, his tone dripping with... disappointment? Boredom?

You snatch your hand away from your core and instinctively try to close your legs, to conceal your shame as the ancient being crowded around you, the dry smell of sand and spices assaulting your nose as his heat threatened to overwhelm you as he leaned over the back of the couch.

"K-Khonshu--!" You sputter, almost gawking as his bare hand slides to replace yours, his large, thick fingers spreading your lips and gathering your wetness on his digits.

"A rather needy thing, aren't you?" His voice murmured, almost a humored huff coming from him as his thumb circled your clit, sending bolts of pleasure jolt up your spine.

You bite your lip to stifle the whimper that wanted to come out; shame blending in an intoxicating cocktail as your very ethereal and otherworldly benefactor began to pick up where you left off.

"You were being so loud a moment ago." He chastised, his fingers moving very quickly over your clit, his mind focused on how the little nub was swollen and twitched beneath his grasp.

"Don't bother concealing it from me, now, you needy little thing. You're like a cat in heat, right now." You could feel his voice rumble through your, your bones trembling and the deep baritone vibrating your clit as your hand gripped weakly at his forearm.

Your stubborn pride told you not to, not to give in, that this was probably one of the most shameful things a god could catch their follower doing, but...

Most gods wouldn't participate, now would they? Surely, they would chastise you, or walk away and leave you alone to tend to yourself.

When you didn't comply, he grunted and pulled his hand away, your dripping cunt lamenting the loss of his warm touch; hips chasing him for more.

The characters in the movie long moved past the intense love-making between the protagonists. One of them screamed as they found the dead body of one of their friends.

"Disobedient little runt. I will not give you what you want so easily, especially not if you defy me."

The threat was cold, and... oh, fuck it.

"I--I'm sorry." You whimpered, your head dropping back once more, this time hitting the stiff bicep of his other arm he used to brace himself on the couch.

"Good girl." He purred, his hand once more resuming his cruel, blissful torture.

You hiccuped and moaned, rolling your hips once more, this time into the touch of another as heat bloomed low in your belly; molten lava creeping through your veins like thick molasses.

Your chest heaved as his other arm curled around you, his hand taking the soft weight of your breast into his palm, kneading the mound of flesh and pulling your nipple in perfect synchronicity with his other.

"Oh, ffuuuh--" You panted, your body caged from behind as the ancient deity whose age was beyond counting helped you rub one out on your dingey, shitty couch in the dead of night.

You felt your womb throb, wanting desperately to have something inside--

"Poor thing." Khonshu tsk'd. "Could you not find someone--something--to satisfy you? Here you are, rutting against my hand like it is all you know how to do. Pathetic."

You moaned louder this time, arching your back at the words he spat at you. You weren't one for this kind of dirty talk... but having it come from him had your head spinning like you had just gotten off of the tilt-a-whirl on Coney Island--but in a sinfully delicious way.

"Perhaps I should have left you alone. You seemed quite consumed by your little fantasy." He mused, his thumb pressing so hard against your clit that it had you seeing stars behind your eyelids.

"What were you imagining, little dove?" He rasped lowly, the dry, smooth side of his beak sweeping against you, feeling almost cool to your blazing cheek as you leaned into it.

"A nobody? Playing house with you? Laying you down in bed and devouring you like a banquet, perhaps?"

Oh, little did he know how close to the truth he actually was.

Or maybe he did know, and was using it to merely drive you over that mind-numbing precipice you wanted so desperately to fling yourself off of?

You could never tell with him, not when he was playing his mind games.

"I... Uh--ah--" You whine.

Khonshu's fingers pull up enough to slap your clit, the sudden feeling making your body jerk against him as the sound of your went cunt was heard even over the volume of your forgotten movie.

"I am reciting rhetoric. I will talk, and you will listen." He growls, his hand sliding down, his palm grinding against your clit as his fingers toy with your fluttering entrance.

Oh, you were so close, so fucking close. If he would just--

"I don't understand how mortals can function when urges like these are so strong." He sighed boredly, as if he wasn't currently fucking you with his hand, teasing your needy hole but not giving what you were truly craving...

"You are destined for more than a pathetic little house with a yard and a garden. You were meant to carry out my will."

That irked you, deep down. Yes, you knew attaining that very thing was highly unlikely for you, but he didn't have to insult you for fantasizing about being normal.

"F-fuck you." You managed to spit out, eyes crossing as they rolled back into your skull, your voice lacking the conviction and venom you wanted it to.

"You seem to be doing just that, my dear." He tipped his head to the side in a jerking motion.

He gave you not a moment to ponder his words as he hooked a thick finger inside of you, curving upwards and pressing hard against that textured spot inside your spongy walls, making you cry out and lift your hips off of the couch

"...In a manner of speaking." He sighed, pumping his finger in and out, paying extra attention to that oh so delicious spot within you, mapping out your very insides with methodical precision, quickly finding the method to get the best reactions out of you as your walls clenched down around him.

"Look at you, so desperate that you are letting me do this to you." Khonshu mocked softly, a chuckle coming from him as his fingers plucked your nipple and his palm ground hard onto your clit.

"Do you like this? Your god giving you such special attention?"

You keened, panting hard as your orgasm began to swell, each pulsing wave battering down the shores of pride and resolve you had struggled to build over the years of serving out the will of this... god.

"Ah... You are close, are you not?" He teased you, "Let's see..."

He managed to slip another finger inside of you, a groan actually rumbling out of him. You never thought you'd heard a sound like that from him.

But then again, you never expected him to finger-fuck you in your own couch before, either.

"You're tight, little bird." He growled, his voice strained as he scissored his fingers in and out of you, shoving you forcefully to the edge of the shores of your oblivion.

"When was the last time you bedded anyone other than your own hand? Months? Years?" He huffed, pumping them in and out of you rapidly, now.

You were so close you could feel the waters of sybaritism that you could taste the very petals of a lotus on the tip of your tongue.

"No wonder you have been so testy as of late."

Almost.

So close.

Just a bit more!

He leaned over, holding you to him almost like a child clutching a beloved toy; only it was far from something so innocent as you ride his hand like your life depended on it.

Your mouth open, your tongue just barely peaking over your bottom lip as you finally dove into the warm waters, silently waiting for the petals of a lotus to fall onto the wet, writhing muscle; drowning in each drop as your orgasm dragged you out to tide, drowning you as your god dabbled with your most intimate parts in such hedonistic fashion.

You were so lost in your post-coital haze that you didn't even register his hand leaving you until his body retracted; leaving you bereft of his warmth.

You turned your head in time, your eyes bleary, blood-shot and faraway as you watched him turn, toying with the sticky wetness coating his skin.

"Don't fall into this trap again, little dove." The god of the moon tells you over his shoulder, before disappearing in a cloud of mist.

But most certainly not before you had taken notice of the prominent bulge beneath his bandages and robes...

[scramratz]

Rant abt your Cds I'm curious

OK HERE GOES SCRAMS 2024 CD COLLECTION TIER LIST

(Disclaimer: these are just my personal opinions and if yours differ from mine, fine. It’s not a sin to be wrong)

S TIER-

Goo-Sonic Youth: Straight bangers all the way through. Girls love it when you show them your Sonic Youth cd. Extra points cuz the pamphlet unfolds into a sick poster

Midnight Vultures-Beck: Good album to clean the house to. Every song a banger. Beck as a person sets off alarms, though 🤔

Vivadixiesubmarinetransmissionplot-Sparklehorse: Genuinely my favorite artist and album of all time. Fall asleep to Homecoming Queen often.

Siamese Dream-Smashing Pumpkins: Fire straight though. Good when you’re in a depressed 20-something mood. Better than Mellon Collie in my humble opinion.

Gorillaz-Gorillaz: The start of one of my favorite bands and objectively one of the best bands in the world don’t fight me on it I’ll kill you.

A TIER-

Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots-The Flaming Lips: Solid album. Iconic cover art. “Do You Realize??” always got me feeling feelings

Violent Femmes-Violent Femmes: Top 3 favorite band. Every song went platinum in my household. Would have been higher but reminds me of my mom too much.

Dig Me Out- Sleater-Kinney: Got it because the name sounded familiar. Ended up loving them! Doesn’t sound right if it’s not played loud, though, and considering I live in an apartment, I don’t play it often.

Fear Yourself-Daniel Johnston: Got it because I love “Hi, How Are You” but haven’t been able to find it anywhere. Was pleasantly surprised! Hits the same melancholy spot but slightly more upbeat.

Figure 8-Elliot Smith: My favorite sad boy that definitely DIDN’T kill himself. Not my favorite Elliot album but every one of his albums is A tier personally.

The Diary of Alicia Keys-Alicia Keys: WENT QUADRUPLE PLATINUM IN OUR HOUSEHOLD. Prime cleaning the house on Sunday music. Dragon Days is seriously underrated.

Garbage-Garbage: Don’t know how to say this without sounding insane but this album sounds like the color #DC007F and I like that color a lot

2-Mac Demarco: The CHOKEHOLD Mac Demarco had on us artschool bitches in 2016 OMG. Was gonna change my name to Viceroy

B TIER-

Money for Nothing- Dire Straits: Top tier dad music.

Lumine fever- The Adrenals: Got it cuz the cover looked cool. Was pleasantly surprised! They rock the adequate amount

Rocket to Russia- Ramones: They’re good but I don’t get the hype honestly. They’re the Flavor-Aid of Punk

Starfish- The Church: Only love one song on it, the only song anyone likes tbh. The rest are your standard 80s deal

Crooked Rain-Pavement: I really love Pavement but there is a thing as too much Pavement and I think I’ve reached it

Yankee Hotel Foxtrot-Wilco: Honestly should have been in A tier but all the pretentious music dudes I’ve met has soured this album for me so it goes in B outta spite. Jesus Etc my fave song tho

An Evening with Silk Sonic- Silk Sonic: Nice, short, gets me in a happy mood. Does what it needs to do!

Prolonging the Magic- Cake: John McCrea don’t really be singing, do he? He just fancy talkin

C TIER-

Gigantic, Fuel, and The Nixons: I got all 3 on sale and they all sound the same and that sound is…ok? Like it’s alright background music

Blind Melon-Blind Melon: What was with 90’s bands putting random kids as their album covers? Decent listen, though.

Summerteeth-Wilco: Good background music. I can’t remember any songs off it.

Los Angeles/Wild Gift-X: I like X but I hate that fucking album art omg it’s so hard to look at. I like their songs individually but as a cohesive album, eh.

D TIER-

Throwing Copper-Live: bought it on sale with the above 3 but liked this one substantially less. Only redeeming quality to me is the album art.

Ben Folds Five-Ben Folds Five: Misleading considering there’s only 3 of them. He sounds like my ex boyfriend from highschool before I realized I liked girls

F Tier-

The Ragetones/Fall Apart-The Ragetones: Saw them play at a shitting basement show. Everything sounds better when you can barely hear yourself think.

F Punk-Big Audio Dynamite: Found it at the thrift and rehomed it outta pity. Sounds like the 80s in a bad way.

[kairithemang0]

Disney is such an interesting company, the way it's evolved over time to what it is now. Apart of me is disappointed, another part of me feels as though the current drought of good Disney content was inevitable.

I think about right after Walt died, how the company struggled then. However, even then I think their movies were still good, Robin Hood, the Aristocats, Great Mouse Detective, they're still good movies.

That's the era my parents grew up in, sure looking back on it now you can see the flaws in some of the movies, how the animation wasn't as polished as it was before Walt's passing, but then I compare it to the movies now.

The 2020s haven't been a good decade for Disney, Raya, Strange World, Wish, they all flopped. Encanto only made waves on Disney+, which is a good thing but that's one movie out of 5 that have come out of Disney in the past 4 years

Then you have to look at the remakes, how much money they're getting from those. However, their recent ones are flopping. The public knows what they're doing now, just remaking their old movies isn't going to keep bringing in money. The Lion King, Aladdin, they made over 1 billion dollars, The Little Mermaid? Under 600 million. That's still a lot of money, but Disney is also putting in so much money into these movies just for them to fail. People are sick of the remakes, they're sick of the sequels, but their original products aren't causing any excitement.

I don't know if Disney is still dealing with lost time and profits from Covid, but it's sad to see other studios doing so well only for Disney, who reigned supreme last decade with Moana and Frozen and Wreck it Ralph, to fall behind again

Disney seems to do this a lot, actually. The 80s were bad, the 2000s weren't great, the 2020s are bad again. Maybe the 30s will bring us something good, if Disney gets their act together and figures out what people want again.

People ask for 2d, for that old disney feel to come back. An obviously evil villain. Villains don't need a tragic backstory, they don't need anything, but this twisted foulness, a catchy song, and to be memorably evil.

Scar, Ursula, Lady Tremaine. You look at them and you go "oh yeah, they're evil". Which not to say Disney can't do twist villains, but it fails more often than it succeeds. Turbo was a great twist villain, his motivation was there and he was fun. But Hans? And Yokai? It felt random, out of place, like they were lacking the motivation to be good villains.

Scar wants power, so does Ursula, and Tremaine more of enjoys torturing her adopted daughter. These three are so iconic because they're so unashamedly evil and cruel, they're these powerful figures that spark fear into people who get what they deserve in the end.

But Magnifico? He's so painfully boring, he's so underdeveloped. It's sad, disheartening the way he could've been so interesting and yet fell flat in such a pitiful way.

I sometimes think about once upon a studio, this gorgeous mix of all pieces of disney animated history, every movie in there. No pixar or marvel or star wars, just everyone who started this, who made disney disney. It's such a lovely short, and it just radiates this pure disney energy, vibrant and colorful and magical. That's what disney is missing now, maybe that's me growing up, maybe it's just not for me anymore.

but honestly, i don't think this generation is going to have that nostalgia for disney the way me or my parents did, it's lost that because it feels so manufactured, this charm that only disney could do gone.

a weird way to say this is the new intro that plays at the start of their movies, it just feels so manufactured, like all it wanted to do was slide references into it to remind you of better movies. that 2000s/2010s CGI intro? that's my shit. the basic 2d intro? it's a classic, it's memorable, but this new one just doesn't have that affect

this is one man's opinion on something he once loved, but i'd love to hear other thoughts on what disney has become

[forestgreenivy]

A southern coastal setting is often the background to many love stories I’ve watched on screen. I think about the introduction to The Notebook, the birds flying above the Black River. Forest and Jenny. The list goes on and on. Take the people out of the plot, and there’s such a natural romanticism about the Lowcountry coast. It is a ripe setting for love. For me, that love starts and ends here. To feel so deeply connected to an area, and to love it so much. It’s hard to replicate. I fall in love with it over and over again.

When I decided to leave it two years ago, a piece of me was missing and I didn’t feel whole again until I was back. The fear of familiarity and the mundane consumed me. I’ve spent many of these summer days lamenting the cool air of the mountains, missing the summer days spent in the Appalachian creeks. An exciting deviation from the normal. I love it too. The way you love the excitement of an adventure, the rush, the constant of newness. Feeding into an adventurous rush. It’s hard to miss it. But…

I was empty there. I laughed and regularly lived in the awe of seeing places I’d never seen. I lost the familiar love of my life. The beauty in pointing my camera at yet another Egret. Watching the spartina grass finally hit its peak green in August. To then watch it fade to beige again. Seeing yet another lettered olive or little whelk along the beach. I will always pick them up. Watch the sun move over the horizon throughout the seasons.

I sat in my Greenville apartment all alone and decide to watch The Notebook movie because I had nothing better to do. The second those white birds flew over the Black River, a river I’ve spent so much time on, I would cry because I missed my birds. I missed seeing the things I regularly love. I felt like I was missing out on my own life.

Watching the coastal birds fly over to roost at the state park, watching the tide roll in and out. In and out. Who knew I would feel like I was missing out on something that seemingly never ended and something I saw every single day. I ultimately couldn’t take it. I gave up the promise of new sights and adventures to spent my days capturing yet another picture of some birds. To me, yes a waterfall is more magnificent than watching something I am use to. But that’s love. I look out at the cattails and brackish water. I listen to the Blue Herons abrasively honk. Who knows how many times I’ve been out in some marsh to watch it. It truly never gets old.

This area is romantic. At least for me. But not because of memories of lovers. No. This area is full of love for what it is. Something many people here deeply understand. When you see it through that lens, and you love it so much…. You can’t depart from it. It becomes the love of your life. Something I know I will grow old with.

If I make it to 80 or 90 years old, as long as I have strength to walk, you can find me out here among the wetlands. Over and over and over again. I love it more and more every time.

[fran-in-the-deep]

Tea, a hug and a blanket - Hange x gn!Reader ~600 words Collage AU

For someone as notorious as Hange was for just throwing different things together to see what happened, the fact that their cooking skills were even half decent had come as a surprise to you. Not that you judged them over this, but the stereotype of Hange being as chaotic and unhinged as they were when it came to science had translated over to most other aspects of life. When you admitted this to Hange, a little bit ashamed, they had just laughed.

“Oh, I would totally do that, but I hate wasting food. If I had the time I would read up on the chemical components that make up the ingredients, I would do that and make some precise experiments.”

They would have continued, but the potato-vegetable stew demanded their attention. Reducing the temperature of the stove, Hange stirred the pot again, voice falling into a quiet hum of that song you’d listened together earlier.

You were just existing, wrapped in a blanket, placed on the couch and that was enough. In between the cramped shelves with either books, papers or all kinds of stuff Hange had or still intended to use for any kind of scientific investigation, you nearly disappeared in the ordered chaos. Any available surface taken up with plastic and glass containers of various sizes with strategically placed lights, to grow the different species of algae inside them. Some of them with various pieces of equipment, from surface skimmers, sponge filters, different size of pumps whose low humming was the constant backdrop to everything that happened at Hange’s tiny one room apartment.

“Just another ten minutes.”, Hange turned around from the kitchenette, checking on you, “Everything alright? I could make you another tea or something.”

One of those things they had appropriated from Levi. If someone wasn’t well, give them tea. They might not feel better, but at least they had some tea. And considering how lost Hange often felt when it came to those human interactions in general, this worked all to well to rip them out of the initial feeling of being overwhelmed.

When it came to you, the irritation was minimal, which didn’t mean those old scripts didn’t kick in. But Hange cared a lot, a whole fucking lot, about you, so it was tea and hug (many hugs before they started cooking) and a warm blanket and warm food and then finally cuddling on the couch or just co-existing. Whatever you needed.

“Dinner is ready.” Hange’s voice carried over to you, making you perk up from staring at the containers of fuzzy green algae that had taken over half the couch table. “Sorry for taking so long, I underestimated those potatoes.” They sat down on the couch next to you, fiddling around with their glasses before looking up at you again. “So… another hug?”

A nod from you was enough and you didn’t even get the chance to get out of that blanket to reciprocate the hug. Just safe and sound in Hange’s embrace.

It felt like being a caterpillar in a cocoon and you couldn’t wait to just dissolve into goo. Even though your head already felt like that. And that wouldn’t turn into a butterfly, but take in the sensation of Hange’s hair brushing against your cheek, how close they held you, that their hand moved up to the back of your head, giving you a gentle massage.

Hange’s voice was soft when they spoke. “You’re comfortable.” And in that moment, you really were.

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

A/N: This is 80% self-indulgent and there is nothing anyone can do about it. The rest twenty percent would have been written out conversation about the algae that I'd put like hours of research into, but I really just wanted to put something out there after what feels like forever. I'm aware it's not my best work, but it's the best I can do right now, and I'm trying to be proud of the fact I managed something at all. And maybe there is one other person finding some kind of comfort or equal joy in the thought of Hange talking to you about algae for hours, then I did my job.

[mariacallous]

When you think of Jewish alcohol, Manischewitz (for better or worse) probably comes to mind. But slivovitz — a liquor with a forceful flavor and formidable strength — is arguably the Hebrew hooch. 

Slivovitz, whose name is derived from the slavic word sliv for “damson plum,” is made by fermenting plums, distilling the mash to 80-100 proof alcohol, then aging the resulting liqueur for up to 10 years in oak barrels. Slivovitz is largely produced in Central and Eastern Europe, where different countries create their own variants. In the Czech Republic, for example, slivovitz (in Czech, slivovice) is considered the national drink of the region of Moravia and is served at room temperature in small shot glasses known as a panák. In Bulgaria, slivovitz holds special religious importance having been distilled for nearly seven centuries by members of Troyan Monastery. The monks’ special blend is made from Madzharkini plums, a variety that grows only in the Troyan region and is distinctive for its easily extracted pits.

Although grains are introduced during some forms of the slivovitz fermentation process, some distillers decided to forgo this step as a means of ensuring the liqueur was kosher. This gesture rendered slivovitz initially attractive to Jews during Passover, specifically Seder dinners that traditionally called for the consumption of up to four glasses of wine. Unfortunately, local wines were often made alongside other spirits under non-kosher conditions and thus were unacceptable. And because, as Dr. Glenn Dynner, professor of Jewish studies at Sarah Lawrence College, points out, imported kosher wine was often prohibitively expensive and of limited availability, Jews gravitated toward slivovitz on such celebratory occasions. 

But its kashrut status alone is an insufficient reason why slivovitz is considered particularly, or even especially, Jewish. According to University of Pittsburgh professor and slivovitz historian, Dr. Martin Votruba, “Jews would acquire this local drink after moving into European kingdoms. They would simply pick it up as part of the culture.” It seems, however, their relationship with slivovitz became more purposeful during the 1800s in what is now Poland. Because they were considered relatively temperate compared to their countrymen, Jews were charged with operating drinking halls and taverns, and thus began to monopolize the liquor business, much of which revolved around slivovitz. 

Another explanation as to why slivovitz holds a special place in the Jewish cultural imaginary is its strong anecdotal association with Jewish men of an older generation. In the 1990 film “Avalon,” which chronicles the trials and tribulations of a Polish Jewish immigrant family at the turn of the 20th century, brothers Sam and Gabriel reminisce about their father: 

“He never drank water. And oh, boy, could he drink! What was that stuff called he always used to drink?’ ‘Slivovitz. Slivovitz. He used to call it, ‘Block and fall.’ You have one drink of that, you walk one block and you fall!” 

Similarly, food writer Jordan Hoffman recalls his father describing how a swig of slivovitz (which they called ‘Shleeve-O-Wits’) by Hoffman’s grandfather signaled the breaking the Yom Kippur fast: 

“… they’d peer out of the apartment window, waiting to spot him walking back from the synagogue. He’d take his sweet time, pull off his coat and hat, open a rarely used cabinet, blow the dust off an old bottle, take a sip of something, make a face, then announce that everyone could eat.”

As evinced by both accounts, slivovitz is not for the faint of heart and for some years, the caustic, bitter spirit fell out of favor. There are signs that slivovitz is slowly becoming back en vogue: restaurants, including New York’s renowned Kafana, serve slivovitz and a handful of distillers, such as Stone Barn Brandy Works, are producing their own new-fangled versions. And fans of the enormously popular series “Homeland” will attest that it’s the drink of choice for the character of Senator Andrew Lockhart.  

Slivovitz’ nostalgic appeal combined with the introduction of new, more palatable varieties means it has some real so-old-school-it’s-cool potential. And who knows — the coming year may have us all slugging slivovitz slingers rather than espresso martinis.

[biblioflyer]

X-Men: Disproportionate Power, Disproportionate Disorder

Superheroes and Villains are already well understood to complicate traditional understandings of crime, law enforcement, and general social cohesion. When large numbers of people start manifesting powers, the problem only grows. As does the existential dread.

Previously I discussed why X-Men as a setting is fundamentally pessimistic as a necessity according to the creative choices made. It is an essay in 5 parts:

1,2,3,4,5

This is a new series analyzing how experience and social status influences Mutant outlooks on the assimilation vs separatism/supremacy question.

The last part unpacked Xavier’s relatively pampered background and how it likely made him more optimistic, but also how he’s seen more of the sharp end that he’s usually given credit for.

Mutants complicate systems of justice. Assuming the same spectrum of morality as Sapiens, Mutatis with Dark Triad personalities and high power levels, perhaps even Omega level, represent an existential threat. Unlike mortal Premieres and Presidents, someone like Apocalypse can’t easily be thwarted by a minion who simply doesn’t follow orders. Incidentally, I’d happily swap out pretty much any Federal holiday for a Vasily Arkhipov day.

X-Men is also rife with examples of Mutants with more minor abilities using them for criminal intent. Although we could of course fairly ask whether the lack of acceptance pushed them to this, we still must expect that even in a more just society, some Mutants will suffer mental health crises or otherwise simply be contrarian and problematic because it's part of the natural spectrum of Humanity.

Much of social thought is oriented around the idea that you can design a society that rewards good behavior and works around the worst instincts of humans very effectively. Debates over models and systems are functionally debates over what is the more correct understanding of human motivation and behavior and the best way to encourage “good” behavior and discourage “bad” behavior, and to a great extent by what rubrics we should judge good and bad. 

I think all told, we have done better than many historical societies: a person in the 70s/80s would be shocked at how low US rates of violent crime are. This is the era that gave us Escape from New York and Judge Dredd: the idea of entire cities as prisons. 

This is perhaps not an unfamiliar concept to those who watch closely the status and fates of stateless and displaced people now that information more widely circulates, but many people had their ideas about cities shaped by historical crime waves. Many people are also slow to update their assumptions about cities and carry those biases to the present..

I’ve seen it noted that the correlation between living in a rural area and skepticism of government and the regulation of behavior, the so-called “nanny state”, may represent a difference in experience. In the country or small towns, dumb or antisocial behavior has lighter consequences. It impacts fewer people. If you’re playing around with distilling, making homemade explosives, or just having a loud party, the distance between homes often means it's largely the problem of the people involved in doing something reckless or stupid if something goes wrong.

If you throw an all night rager in a densely packed apartment building with walls that wouldn’t pass muster as Amazon packing material, you’re likely to make a lot of enemies. Same as if you start playing around with toxic chemicals. Expectations that people will simply self-regulate, following the honor system or being wary of its dark twin: the Darwin Award, simply fall apart when there are too many people in too close of quarters. 

Eventually someone’s judgment is going to be dubious because even under the most ideal of circumstances, you probably can’t quite keep every last outlier on the Bell Curve from frakking around and finding out.

Now add superpowers into the mix. 

So we who exist outside of the narrative need to contend with this: Human fear of the consequences of Mutant powers wielded by the unscrupulous or disordered is rational.

Collective punishment and oppression of Mutants remains cruel and unjust.

Next: The precariousness of passing and the earned cynicism of those who have known only the wrong end of the boot.

[mxigo]

forever and ever, amen | part one

SERIES SYNOPSIS: you may not have spoken more than a handful of words to your neighbor, but you still listen to him play the guitar on his front porch from your window every night.

WARNINGS: talks about death, swearing

WORD COUNT: 3.4k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: an old work that's been sitting in my folder from this past summer. since tlou aired last night, now might be a good time to finally put out that first part, yeah?

MINORS & AGE-LESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. YOUR AGE MUST BE SOMEWHERE IN YOUR BIO OR YOUR BYF.

When you were little, during the darkest nights when the world was falling apart, your parents would pull out the old record player and your mom’s collection they kept hidden under the bed with a spare battery. They’d dance together in their bedroom, swaying slowly to the music, holding each other so tight you would think they were going to melt into each other. And on the nights where your mom fell asleep before the two of you, your dad would take you up into his arms, and spin you both around to the same records.

Then when the battery finally broke, your dad would pull out the dusty guitar from his closet and sing every song that he knew, just so he could see his two girls dance together. You can still remember the look they would give each other as he sang the song they played at their wedding; an old country song from the 80s about loving each other even when they’re old.

 And it’s on the quietest nights that you miss them the most.

Not too long ago, a man and his teenage daughter moved into the empty house across the street from your small, two-bedroom ranch. Tommy comes by quite often to visit them, and after listening in on conversations at the bar, you find out that he’s Tommy’s older brother, and the girl is not actually his daughter. Joel and Ellie, you find out a bit later, are their names. Since you’re not one to go out very often, and when you do, you stick to yourself, you’ve managed to steer clear of them for the time being.

You’re not very good at making friends these days.

It's a cooler summer night, and you decided to savor it by sleeping with your bedroom window open to let some fresh air in. Besides, you always sleep better when it’s cooler.

You layered up your bed with extra blankets and just got yourself snuggled into the sheets when you started hearing the familiar tune of a guitar. Faint, but just loud enough that it sends a punch to your gut when you realize what you’re hearing. The comforting sound of nickel-plated steel robs the breath straight from your lungs, leaving you frozen as you lay in bed.

It takes a second for you to regain control of your body, but when you do, you slowly make your way over to your window, hand trembling as you lift one of the slats of your blinds. You have no idea why you’re even shaking right now. Probably just terrified that you’ve finally lost it and that you’re hearing a figment of your memories. That when you look outside, there won’t be anything out there, and the sound will stop.

You finally peer outside, eyes drawn to the house across the street that has its one porch light on. Your new neighbor has a leg crossed over a knee and is strumming a guitar on his lap. The notes are low and slow, and not anything you recognize. It’s hard to see through the dark and with the dim light, but you can still make out the movement of his fingers as he picks the strings, keeping his eyes closed. He’s clearly practiced, and you wonder for a moment if this is a skill from before or after Outbreak Day.

Another sound makes its way through your window. A low, deep humming underlying the guitar, intertwining with the sound, the whispers ghosting its fingers over your skin, leaving your flesh raised in return. Tears well up in your eyes as you listen to Joel, your heart pounding so loud in your ears that it threatens to down him out.

It's not the first time you’ve heard music since your parents’ death, but it is the first that has sounded so close to how your father used to sound. You’re soon lost in the melody of the unknown song, taken back to when you were a little girl staring up at her parents from their bedroom floor, blissfully ignorant of what was going to happen to her.

You don’t notice right away when the music stops, only when Joel’s front door shuts, and the porch light flips off. You’re left standing at your window in the dark, and when you touch your face, your fingertips come back wet.

-

The next night, you’re snuggled into the comfort of your bed with a book that you managed to snag when some traders came through earlier in the day. The soft candlelight flickers from your nightstand onto the worn pages, the orange flame dancing in the dark. The book is old, and you’re surprised that something from so long before everything went to shit is still around. A story about a Christian slave girl falling in love with a Roman nobleman’s son sounded interesting, and you haven’t been disappointed so far.

It's late, likely around midnight or so. Your eyes are threatening to shut for the night when you hear it again: the sound of a guitar through your open window. Your heart damn near jumps out of your chest when the sweet sound reaches your ears again.

You waste no time throwing your covers off and stumbling over to your window, pulling the strings just a touch so you can peek outside without having to peer between the blinds. A cool breeze makes its way through the small gap, whispering over your face as you level your eyes with it.

Joel is sitting outside again, guitar in hand, strumming away without a care. He’s humming again, and something about the sound tugs a small smile from your lips. You don’t recognize the song at first, but it isn’t until he starts to sing the chorus that you realize he’s singing Future Days, and your heart skips a beat. Tears well up in your eyes as you hear one of your dad’s favorite songs for the first time in almost eight years.

Those eight years suddenly feel like forever and so short all at once.

You adjust your body so you’re leaning against the wall, still staring out your window and watching the movement of Joel’s fingers as they continue to flutter over the strings. The breeze continues to push its way through the window, sending your body into shivers, but you don’t dare to move from your spot in fear that if you move and come back, he won’t be there anymore. You’d rather sit through the temporary chill than risk missing the rest of the music.

He finishes the song with humming the last few lines but continues to play the melody for a bit longer. You catch his foot moving a bit to the beat of the song. Realizing that he’s going to continue on with the song for a bit longer, you decide to crawl back into the bed now that the candle has burned out as well. Warm sheets greet you once again, pulling a sigh from your lips as you sink into them.

Your ears echo with the memory of your dad unknowingly playing this song for you for the last time. When it was just the two of you left, facing the world together. The two of you found an empty house in a suburb in Chattanooga, with a balcony and a view of the mountains behind it. It was just like the house that your parents would talk about having “once all of this blows over.” That night as you both sat on the balcony, your dad played the same melody that Joel plays now, with you tucked into his side, and your head resting in the crook of his neck. And that same night, you woke to him fighting off a group of hunters the best that he could, screaming for you to run, and don’t look back.

And you didn’t.

Your heart aches painfully at the memory, still hearing your dad’s screams echo in your ears. It’d been a miracle that you made it away from the hunters, but there were moments that you wished they killed you along with him so you wouldn’t have to face the world alone.

It took you a few years of jumping between groups and settlements, most of them turning on each other and burning to the ground, but you eventually made it to Jackson. With your last sliver of energy, you were able to get all the way to the gate before finally collapsing in exhaustion. Tommy happened to be the one that opened the gate, carrying you into Jackson, and into a new life. You only wished your parents were here to share the love and safety that Jackson had to offer, especially the view of the mountains.

It took so long to finally feel safe and comfortable in a place that felt too good to be true, constantly waiting for the shoe to drop and for everything to blow up in your face again. But it hasn’t, and the people continued to make you feel welcome in their community, despite yourself still struggling to let anyone in.

Joel is still playing as you drift off into sleep.

-

The next evening, Joel, Tommy, and Ellie are playing cards at the kitchen table when Ellie brings up their neighbor.

“Hey, why don’t we ever see our neighbor around anywhere. I don’t even see her when she leaves the house,” she asks, laying down a card. Joel looks up from his hand, eyes landing on Tommy as he waits for an answer. To be honest, he’s curious about his ghostly neighbor too.

“That’s because she hardly ever does leave the house, Ellie,” Tommy answers, laying down a card of his own.

“Why’s that?” Tommy sighs before glancing out the window to your house.

“Well, when you’re alone for so long, it becomes a challenge to assimilate into a space that has so many people. It’s hard to learn how to trust again, especially when you’ve gone through what she has.”

“How long has she been here?”

“A little over six months when y’all got here,” Tommy answers, waiting on Joel to play a card. Joel looks back at his hand, flipping a card out.

“She talk to anyone?”

“As far as I know, I’m the only one she’ll seek out.” A look crosses Ellie’s face, one Joel knows all too well.

She doesn’t ask any more questions about you, but she already has a plan in mind.

-

There’s a knock on your door about midday the following day, scaring the shit out of you. You’re surprised when you open the door expecting Tommy, but instead find a teenage girl in your doorway instead. She looks up at you with a smile on her face, holding a deck of cards in one of her hands.

“Hi, I’m Ellie. I live across the street. Do you know how to play euchre,” she asks, leaving you speechless. Your eyes are wide, and your mind is short circuiting at the situation at hand.

“What?”

“Well, Joel and Tommy are out on patrol, and I’m bored,” she gives, still looking at you with bright eyes. Your brain is still trying to wrap around the fact that a young girl that you know nothing about is on your front porch, asking to play a card game with her. There hasn’t been anyone other than Tommy in your house, and the thought about having someone new enter your safe space makes your stomach churn.

“Won’t your dad be mad that you’re at a stranger’s house,” you try. Ellie rolls her eyes.

“He’s not my dad, we just traveled together, and what he doesn’t know won’t kill him,” she deflects. You take a breath.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, kid.”

“Why not? It’s just cards. If it’ll make you feel better, we can play out here,” she tries again, gesturing to the two chairs and side table sitting to your right.

It’s just a game of cards. It’ll be fine.

“Fine. Just one game.” Ellie’s face lights up even brighter before she walks over to the unused chairs and table. She takes her seat and starts setting up the game, leaving you to follow her. You take a precursory glance around to see if there’s anyone watching the two of you, and once you find there’s no one, you take your seat across from her.

“So, where’re you from?" she asks, wasting no time. You sigh.

“I thought we were just playing euchre.”

“Well, there’s no fun in cards if you’re not talkin’,” she quips back. There’s a pregnant pause before you answer her.

“Originally from Florida. A small town west of Jacksonville,” you answer finally, and Ellie looks up at you in just barely concealed triumph.

“Is that where you’ve got your accent from? It’s like Joel’s, but different.”

“Yeah, although I’ve lost most of it over the years.” You don’t miss that Ellie throws in something about her pseudo-dad, and you can’t help but wonder what he might sound like.

Ellie hums before laying down a card. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Do you like Jackson?”

“Sure.”

“Do you—”

“Look, I agreed to play a round of cards, not twenty-one questions,” you snap, narrowing your eyes at the teenager, who looks like she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. You sigh, setting your cards down on the table.

“Thank you for game, Ellie, but I’m done.” You push yourself up from the chair and walk back into your house, making sure to flip the lock behind you. You can’t do any prying right now, especially from someone you don’t even know.

You’re laying down in bed reading that night when you hear guitar strings again. This time though, you don’t bother getting up to peer through your blinds, opting to just lay in bed and stare at the ceiling. You feel bad about how you reacted to Ellie’s questions, but the last thing you want is to make friends with a teenager, let alone one as prying as Ellie. You just simply don’t have the energy for it anymore, or the emotional capability.

You need to protect yourself first, no matter if it’s physically, mentally, or emotionally. It’d been a hard lesson, but you’ve learned that there’s no room for any kind of relationships any more in this world. They will only serve to hurt and cripple you later. There should only be effort to keep yourself safe and survive.

The sound of a door opening brings you out of your thoughts, and Joel’s music comes to a halt. You can vaguely make out Ellie’s voice, and she must make a joke as you hear the both of them laugh over something. Your heart aches at their comfortability, yearning for the same.

But you can’t.

-

It isn’t until the following evening that there’s another knock at your door. You freeze in your kitchen, hoping that she’ll give up, but your hopes are shattered when she speaks.

“I know you’re in there, and I ain’t leaving until you come out!”

You sigh, steeling yourself for the conversation to come. The door creaks as you open it just a sliver, meeting Ellie’s green eyes. She’s holding the same deck of cards.

“Ellie—”

“I won’t ask any questions this time. I just wanna play,” she interrupts, her face hard with determination. There’s a good chance that she’ll keep her word, but you also don’t want to give her the chance of prying again if she is bluffing. But she’s still looking at you with hopeful eyes, and you can’t help but see a part of you in her, desperate for companionship.

“No questions, okay?” Ellie’s face breaks out in a grin, and she nods. You step out on to the porch, shutting the door behind you before taking your same spot from last night, Ellie already setting up the game.

True to her word, Ellie doesn’t test a single question, opting for just simple conversation about what’s going on around Jackson, which you answer with the occasional hum. As you play deeper into the game, you find that she’s actually not bad company. She’s funny, and wiser beyond her years.

But of course, that all stops when she asks a question.

“Can I ask you a question?” The hand that was about to lay a card stops, hovering over the pile. A mask falls over your face at her words, looking at the girl.

“You just did.” She rolls her eyes.

“You know what I mean,” she defends. You tilt your head in thought, looking back down at the deck of cards, weighing your options. Upon your decision, you lay down your card.

“Just one. And I can choose not to answer if I don’t want to, alright?”

“Sure. Um, do you like music?” Your eyes snap back up to Ellie, surprise written across your face at her simple but loaded question. A smile twitches to make an appearance.

“Yeah, I love music,” you finally answer. Ellie hums before laying down a card, sticking to her promise about only one question.

One game turns into two, and two into three before the sun starts to set behind the mountains. Ellie is telling you a funny story about her and Joel when the man comes walking down the street. He’s about to walk up the steps to the front door when he realizes that Ellie is sitting with you on your porch. Your heart starts to speed up as he walks towards you, panic gripping you.

“Thanks for the games, Ellie,” you say quickly before abandoning your seat to rush through your door, desperate to escape the situation that is bound to happen. A sigh of relief leaves your lips when you’re finally in the safety of your home, your heart starting to calm down.

Joel’s footsteps are muffled from the door as he makes it to Ellie.

“Joel,” Ellie whines. “I finally got her to play euchre with me, and you had to come over here and ruin it.”

“What are you doin’ here?”

“I just said I was playing cards with her.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Ellie groans.

“Whatever,” she sighs, her feet stomping down your steps towards her own home. A moment passes that you hold your breath, waiting for Joel to follow her. You have half a thought that he might knock on your door to interrogate you, but that thought is quickly squashed as he soon follows down the steps, his booted feet thudding against the wood.

When the two of them are inside of the house, Joel tries again.

“What were you doin’ at her house?”

“What did it look like, Joel? I’m trying to get her to open up,” she says, throwing her arms up. “I know it sucks not having anyone to talk to.”

“That’s not your job, Ellie. She’s a grown woman who can make her own decisions.”

“That’s not the point. C’mon, you know that sometimes it takes some nudging from someone to finally be yourself again.” Ellie’s words strike something in Joel, thrown back into the memories of how he was before her, when he couldn’t be any lower. He walks into the dining room, pulling out a chair.

“Well, what have you learned so far then,” he asks, and Ellie smirks, taking her own seat next to him

“She’s twenty-five, from a town outside of Jacksonville, so she’s got an accent like you, and she likes music.”

“Well, who doesn’t like music?”

“But she had this look on her face when she answered, like she was remembering something that made her happy,” she answers, looking at the table. Ellie can only imagine what music could mean to you. It’s quiet between them for a while before Joel speaks up again.

“I’m gonna play if you wanna sit outside with me,” he offers, and Ellie smiles.

“Sure.”

They both eventually settle in their chairs outside, Joel strumming his guitar to a Johnny Cash song.

“Well I won’t back down, no I won’t back down,” he starts, fingers gliding over the strings. After spending so much time with Joel, Cash has ended up being one of her favorites to listen to from him. His voice just melts into the music, and Tommy has told her that Joel does sound a bit like Johnny when he was younger.

There’s movement from across the street that pulls her attention from Joel, and she catches something move in your window, the blinds shaking.

She’s watching, Ellie thinks, and she smiles.

[cipheramnesia]

Stung (2024) is kind of a throwback to Spielberg horror which was going off in the 80s, every director wanted to be the next Spielberg and you couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting a movie about a weird little kid with a charmingly dysfunctional family whose encounter with a surprisingly well realized horror element first causes them to fall apart under pressure before growing more closely knit and surviving. Plus also usually some of the most deeply uncomfortable racist stereotyping you've ever seen, like even in the 80s you'd at a minimum be like "this feels weird right now" and then they age like a forgotten tupperware in the back of the fridge. You look at em and think well this is better than I expected it, then those two minutes of wildly unnecessary racism come swinging through and you recoil, tupperware open, close it up immediately and throw the whole thing away.

Which sucks because most of the time the racism part wasn't even in a part of the movie that needed to be there - like it goes unnecessarily out of the way to add a character just to make it racist. Anyway. So Stung has got a weird little girl who loves bugs, a stepfather figure trying to be a dad, mom trying to support the family and they're all in the same apartment building every 80s sequel ever took place in. Pretty much chock full of great fun with an alien spider growing at an exponential rate, killing every human and animal it can find. Plus this absolutely hair raisingly cringeworthy black character who, through the magic of in media res gets to Black Guy Dies First twice, and it feels like everything about him was written by a predictive algorithm whose only data set was the phrase "Aw hell naw!" And he could have been fully edited out which would have been better than what we got.

The thing is, there are actually plenty of movies like this which just don't have the "Why would you even write that" racism scene. And the other thing is, as I've mentioned often, at this point everyone should know better. Everyone does know better, which means enough people were lazy or hacky enough to let that slip, you can safely not bother.

[notsogreatpotoo]

emotional support drink

(Quinn belongs to friend @sardonic-the-writer)

Wade’s mask was the most expressive Quinn could say he’d ever seen. To see it this set and unmoving made him hesitate at the window of Wade’s apartment. If the merc’s body type wasn’t so distinctive, he could be convinced that it was a mannequin set up on Wade’s couch, staring silently into the distance. Letting go of his invisibility, he pushed the window open, ready to dodge something thrown his way and then be subtly fussed over.

Nothing. Huh.

He turned on his invisibility again and closed the window slightly louder than normal. No reaction. Shit. Crossing in front of Wade, he walked to the kitchen, something cold settling into his stomach.

The familiar motions of putting water on the stove to boil were soothing, and he kept an ear out, relaxing even more when he heard the springs in Wade’s couch creaking. He flickered back to visibility when he heard footsteps approaching the kitchen.

There was no enthusiastic greeting, no teasing about Logan missing him, and though it would always make his ears burn, that was much less worrying than this oppressive silence.

“Hey, Wade,” Quinn started carefully as he turned to look the guy in the face. He was rewarded with a twitch. “Wanna help?”

When his friend forced out a simple ‘yes,’ his voice was growly and rough, as if he hadn’t spoken out loud for a while. Quinn still smiled at the sound. Wade dug the mint tea he had left the last time he was over out of the back of the cupboard. After a nudge from Quinn, and a pointed look towards the speakers, quiet 80s pop filled the kitchen. He hummed along. Wade’s face began to loosen under his mask, and while this lost uncertainty wasn’t the same shit-eating-grin that Quinn loved to see, it was progress.

Every so often, Wade would falter or shake his head, and Quinn was reminded of the ‘boxes,’ or the voices that bothered his friend. He patted Wade’s arm to direct him towards getting out some cups, but when his friend leaned into the hand, he let it linger until the merc pulled away. Quinn didn’t need as much physical comfort as Wade did, but he got an idea as they waited for the tea to steep.

“I’ll be right back.” 

“Sure thing.” Shaky voice. He really was quick, grabbing what he needed from the bedroom in less than a minute, frowning at the way weapons were discarded carelessly on the bed and the desk had multiple large cracks. If only Wade’s ability to afford to take care of himself and his space extended to his actual motivation to do it.

“Catch.” The bundle nearly hit Wade in the face, but he reacted in time. Barely. The raised eyebrow he was sent made him grin wide. “Go on,” Quinn insisted, pushing Wade towards his bathroom. By the time Wade came out in a sweatshirt with the hood pulled low over his face and comfy sweatpants, the bottle of lotion for his skin in his pocket, the tea was ready. Mint couldn’t completely cover the B.O. and bloodstain smell in the apartment, but it was strong, and this was a better attempt than Wade’s tactic of bringing home as much greasy fast food as possible.

“Is there something you needed, Invisible Man?” Quinn sipped his tea obnoxiously until Wade took the hint and drank some as well.

“Company,” he finally replied as he watched some of the tension roll off of Wade, who claimed he wasn’t a tea person only slightly less often than he talked about Logan’s ass. Quinn knew that was just to fuck with him, though he would wait to call the man out on it until they were arguing later. “And I was wondering if ‘Pool was up to bother Logan with me. Maybe we could go steal his beer for once.” Wade’s face scrunched up.

“Logan’s beer tastes like shit.”

Quinn spilled his tea as he slammed it down on the table so he could stop himself from falling out of his chair. His laughter was louder than Wade’s.

But not by much.

[teamnefarious]

Maxxxine Sputters To The Finish Line

Photo Courtesy of A24

Ti West is back with his final film in a trilogy of films that started with X, and Pearl, and is now ending with Maxxxine.

Maxxxine sees the return of Mia Goth in the titular role. Goth proves she is a power house of an actress in this series. She is brilliant and truly a star.

The film takes place in the 1980's during the time of the Night Stalker's killings and this story plays out parallel to that real life story. Maxxxine's friends slowly start going missing and there is a gloved person who is stalking the main characters.

The gloved protagonist is an homage to giallo horror which often features a gloved killer.

This entry in the trilogy is one of the worst in the trilogy. Mainly for plot reasons. The movie stays slow in the beginning and takes a lot to get going but once it gets going the plot kind of turns into a mess and falls apart. It felt like there were many great ideas that just never fully fleshed out.

Maxxxine is still glamorous and the film looks great and the things they tried to do were still honestly okay. This movie wasn't horrible, but narratively it missed the mark.

It would have been really great if they leaned into the giallo aspects but there's a lot to appreciate with what we got in the end as this is an original attempt at a story and that's really cool, especially because nowadays we get unoriginal shlock.

Compared to X or Pearl, Maxxxine doesn't live up to those movies. X had the sleazy, slasher vibes I wish they kept up in this movie and Pearl just had a really amazing performance from Mia Goth, she has never been better. But with that said, there is still some to appreciate with this original piece and the ending does feel like a campy attempt to pay homage to 80's horror so that is amazing.

Check it out if you've seen the other two to make sure you can finish this trilogy!

[aerkame]

I’d like to toss my hat into the ring since that anon brought up AUS. I don’t have any favorites or enjoyment of a lot of them, So here’s a sort list I can think off;

1. A/B/O: It’s just very, very, uncomfortable.

2. Crossovers: 80 or 90% of the time when there’s crossovers, it’s just crossing over for the sake of having your fav characters meet and get up to crazy adventures. There’s no actual reason as to why there crossing over apart from that.

3. mafia: Not a fan as there’s nothing different, but there’s a Mob AU by Clownn (correct me if I spell it wrong,), they put a unique twist by having it be physiological and giving it certain traits to make their AU stand out from the usual Mafia AUs.

4: anesthesia: It’s a pretty cheap way to get characters to fall in love and kinda creepy when you think deeper about how easily bad things can go.

5. Soulmates or Marks: I don’t like the idea of a mark or something telling you who your partner is or who to be with. What if you don’t want a partner tho or not interested in falling in love? Are you allowed to be just friends instead?

I prefer if authors/creators add more unique twist or additional spin on AUs. The down side is, I have seen some pretty unique AUs but they’re not as talked about or popular since it’s not the go to ones that fanbases love.

Ah yeah, A/B/O AUs tend to romanticize toxic relationships a lot from what I usually see. Not liking it is understandable. Ironically though, the whole Alpha, Beta, and Omega stuff that was made by a researcher later discarded his own theory after further study of wolves. (In short, wolves are just large families with mom and dad in charge, the whole A/B/O stuff makes no sense.) So the whole thing is really just made up of disproved theories and is purely fiction.

The others are also understandable. Some of the AUs tend to have repeating themes or they end up being complete copies of each other. The Whole amnesia one is creepy, yeah. I have only ever read 3 fanfictions in my life that did this trope properly and it only really works if the characters knew each other beforehand or they were already in a relationship before it happened.

The soulmate one is kind of okay depending on who is writing it and how it is written. I've seen a handful of very well written soulmate AUs that actually got creative with it, but a lot of the fanfictions for AUs like that just repeat and copy each other a little too much.

To be perfectly honest, I agree that unique AUs are way better because it leaves room for even more AUs to branch off of those one and it also helps other writers get a good idea on how to handle the idea behind it.

My other favorite AU type is one I don't see often but I wish I did, and it's the self-aware ones or the ones where the reader/character ends up in the fictional world of the fandom they're in. My reason for liking those ones is because they can turn into good horror fics or have creepy vibes IF done right. It's like the 4th wall breaking rule in some video games or horror movies. Twilight Zone vibes y'know?

For my own personal Finfolk AU, I did want to add yandere vibes, but not like Wattpad anime fanfiction kind of yandere. I think yandere fics should be taken seriously and treated seriously because of the topics they deal with. I have read so many fanfictions that do it just right where it genuinely scares me and it makes for interesting dynamics between the characters. I haven't gone into full horror with the AU though simply because I'm afraid of people romanticizing what is supposed to be dangerous behavior or dark topics. The finfolk folklore itself is dark when you look into the stories/mythology. I just don't like seeing how often AUs and fanfictions with serious topics get put on a pedestal in a wrong lighting. But, I do plan on eventually trying to go full horror with it at some point. When? I'm not sure yet. Maybe when I have more experience in writing. All I know is that making the characters attractive (that is what finmen/women do regardless in folklore) but obsessive without making it romanticized is going to be difficult.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Your character profiles always blow me away. I like The part about Brighid going to therapy bc that whole family desperately needs it let’s be real. Do you think that there’s any of them that are stubborn at first and/or would downright refuse to go?

Thank you! Honestly, she and Alasdair are probably the weakest ones; that's why they went before Arthur and Rhys so I'm glad to hear it.

As for therapy: honestly, all of them! All of them were extremely paranoid and reluctant if they went at all. All nations fear institutionalization, especially as the asylum movement hit some wicked nasty highs in the 19th century. Brighid has always been very wary of authorities, especially the male anglo elite that dominated her brother's regime, but as therapy became largely feminized work in the 1990s and there were private practice options, she got a little more comfortable. And she wanted better for her people, her country and herself, which was very much reflected in her want to go to therapy, even if it's only sporadic.

For the rest of them, after Zee was born, Arthur became far more aware of the implications of her sex (insanity was a diagnosis applied nearly 3 times as often to women than men in particular times and places and modern ratios aren't tons better) he emphasized personal emotional control and privacy and closed doors. Smash all the emotions down and never let people see what they were. It hit some extremes in the 19th and 20th centuries that even Alfred's early upbringing didn't have. So none of them were going willingly. Even Zee and Alasdair, with a lot of formal education and medical background, didn't trust psychology. Freud was full of shit!

So that begs the question. How do any of them end up in therapy? Well, I think Matt landed his ass there first. He's the least effective at smashing down his emotions when in crisis. He won't verbalize, just like Arthur taught him, but he will go fucking nuts. He'll drop his humanity at the edge of the forest. Canada largely falls apart in the 70s, 80s and into the mid-90s, his ties to Britain are weak, and Alfred isn't paying any attention; he's more alone than ever. Hikers report a cryptid in the woods. Carcasses start appearing in clearings with human teeth marks and specific organs with key nutrient profiles missing. Matt hasn't had a human thought in weeks. No one is coming to get him. So he either eventually drags himself out or the forest service gets him down with a solid half dozen moose tranqs, and he ends up in the nearest ER with 6 kinds of tick bourne diseases and clinically nuts. He bails himself out without getting locked up, but when he's home, he's shaken and a little terrified. The boy has to start feeling his emotions, or he will lose any grip on humanity. Desperate and isolated, he ended up in therapy and has been there ever at least periodically ever since. And I think as his behaviour changed and therapy became less stigmatized, his family slowly joined him.

[thegrowngirlguide]

Dead Boys Detectives - A Review...Almost

May contain spoilers. If you haven't watched it, don't read it!

Or do. I am not your mother! :P

Out on the 25th of April, inspired in the creation of Neil Gaiman and Matt Wagner for DC Comics, the "Dead Boy Detectives" were my company in the past 2 days. Made solely the now usual 8 episode, this Netflix show is oddly entertaining.

Surrounded with magic, love, friendships and cats, Edwin and his unalived friend, Charles, are the investigators one should look for if you have unfinished business while you're staying in the limbo.

Edwin "The Brain" Payne and Charles "The Brawn" Rowland are ghosts and to avoid their afterlives, they help others find their peace once and for all. Using some books and finding new truths, they go and save the day...with some help.

But we'll get back to that soon!

Let me go on and tell you what I thought about these two boys.

Starting with Edwin, I thought he was going to be a sad stereotype on a tormented gay man who lives an unrequited love and falls apart. However, this stereotype is almost broken with only his behavior towards other characters. Despite his love for Charles, he isn't encapsulated by it. He shows affection to Monty, who actually falls for the detective and the most satisfying moment of the show is how he bids farewell to Cat King. A kiss on the cheek, Edwin? How cheeky of you!

However, Edwin also behaves differently towards the girls. But the reasons are quite obvious. Crystal is a possible threat towards his relationship with Charles, Niko isn't. Then again, Crystal makes his constant search for knowledge almost irrelevant in some cases, while Niko questions him, looking for answers with him and comforts him. Possibly why Niko's death affected him so much, she was a big supporter of his methods and the one who would balance the ideas of everyone.

Not to mention, Niko is a delight!

Now, Charles probably a better character than what I expected, to be honest. I never expect much from the main characters, but sometimes I am surprised. This detective has another mission at his hands besides escaping Death's grip. He wants to fix his wrongs, prove himself and the world wrong.

Charles puts on the table some themes from the 80's that have been discussed before in Pop Culture, such as the conflict between Pakistan and India. Maybe it passed from our brains but in "Bohemian Rhapsody", we see a young Farrokh Bulsara - later known as the immortal Freddie Mercury - being called a "Paki", a slur often directed to Pakistan or South Asian descendants. Once again, we see it in the "Dead Boy Detectives", Charles being hated upon for being a South Asian descendant - probably from India, if memory does not fail me. Yet, if you look for the actual Charles Rowland from the DC Comics Universe, he isn't a South Asian boy, which surprised me a little, but in a positive way. It's not every day we get South Asian representations like these in our shows and they made it pretty amazingly. I am in no place to say anything on this matter, but from a white perspective, I thought it'd be worse.

On another note, something that pained me about Charles was how he passed and his life. I mean, obviously, it's death of a delight boy, how could it not hurt? But the cruelty and the solitude and suffering almost beats Edwin's death, in a way. Whatever Edwin suffered in Hell, Charles probably lived it. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating, but you get me, right? The detective passed peacefully in his sleep, accompanied by his best friend, who stuck around until his last breath. How heartbreaking.

It truly pulled a string of my heart, but I'm sure you'll know what I mean once you watch the show.

Moving on! Crystal Palace was known for it's changing structure, that could be carried from city to city in order to hold the great exhibitions in England in the early 1800's.

Don't worry, I am not insane, because it'll make sense. Even more if I tell you that this amazing Palace burned down in London, in 1936. Which is the same city where we meet our dear psychic medium, Crystal Palace. A quirky girl at her prime, initially possessed by her demonic ex boyfriend - Ugh, always these guys - who stole her memory and left her clueless with two ghosts to deal with.

Her help became almost crucial to speed up some cases, but even I had to team up with Edwin on being skeptical on her. I mean, out of nowhere she joins and gets to help? I know you're dead, but at least get to know the girl. However, these doubts start to disappear as time goes by and we actually get to know her.

Trusting both her gut and the boys, Crystal shows us that she is more than just a medium, she is almost a diplomat who communicates and unites both the living and the dead. She is also constantly ready to find solutions and trinkets for any problem that my be ahead, which funny enough is one of Charles talents, to use his trinkets to fix problems. What a cute couple!

Delightful couple in fact! Crystal's understanding spirit is probably something that makes Charles love her more than just her "mint" body. After all, they rely on each other for support and affection from the very beginning, always trying to figure out and communicating what they are feeling, be it good or bad.

On the other hand, we learn that Crystal is more than just a medium. Her powers didn't come from David, but herself. It was almost rewarding to learn that it wasn't just a demon, but Crystal that was powerful. Plus, it was passed to her by her ancestors. So could she actually be a witch? Would she be a divine creature? We should stick around and find out. Or maybe... investigate?

_____

Goodness, I wrote so much and I only spoke about 3 characters! I'm probably going to divide this and keep going in the next post. So, maybeee, you should stick around and see what I have to say about Niko. Or Jenny. Or Esther. Or Cat King! If you guys want, you can help me pick and everything! I promise to bring you much better thoughts on them!

Until then, stay safe, drink water, eat and rest! With all my love, Yours Truly

[ethanesimp]

could you write eddie x metalhead reader hc maybe??? and like reader has that 80’s puffy hair and mean looks but is actually a sweetheart?? thanks in advance <3

Sure thing nonnie! Thank you for requesting :) I hope you like the lil headcannon, it’s my first in a while so I tried my best 

Pairing: Eddie Munson x GN! Reader (Reader is described to have long-ish hair tho)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of drugs, smoking

Masterlists & Taglist

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You’ve been dating Eddie for quite some time now. 

At this point, apart from being partners, you’ve also become best friends. You’re both so similar to each other and trust the other enough to talk about anything, any time.

Funnily enough, it wasn’t always this way. 

You moved to Hawkins when Eddie was just about to begin his second shot at senior year and shared a few classes with him here and there

And holy shit, when I tell you he was a goner from the moment he saw you, I mean it. Not only did you make a sick entrance into his life while Iron Maiden was blasting through the stereo of your car, you also had the coolest hair Eddie had ever seen.

Even Steve Harrington and Billy Hargrove would have NOTHING on your hair.

Your volumionus hair would graciously fall down your shoulders and bounce slightly as you walked, which had Eddie in a trance every time lakjdfgj. Despite being puffy, it was always styled in a way that made it look neat.

You would confidently strut around Hawkins High, returning any mean stare anyone would send your way while also keeping your distance from others.

Eddie’s witty and sarcastic persona would suddenly puff out of existence every single time you were around. It wasn’t often, but whenever you approached the Hellfire table to ask him something about class, the boy was rendered speechless and would have to put up with endless teasing as soon as you left. 

He kept telling himself time and time again that he’d talk to you the next time he had the chance, but it never happened. In all honestly, despite how ubothered and cocky Eddie seemed to be, you intimidated the fuck out of him. Even Jason Carver knew better than to disturb you or piss you off. 

While he was already completely smitten with you, his crush only grew when you defended him against a prank he was about to be the subject of. Eddie had been distracted that morning and had missed Jason’s evil smirk as he approached where Eddie was standing. What he did see, however, was when you tripped him over and he ended up on the floor, wet with cold water he was supposed to pour on Eddie.

He promised himself that this would be the ocassion where he’d approach you, even if it was just to say thanks for saving him from being wet and miserable all day. 

Much to his surprise, you beat him to it when you showed up at his spot in the woods, asking to buy some weed. He obviously offered you a discount without thinking about it twice and made an effort to keep his cool and not embarrased himself.

He was delighted to learn just how much of an amazing person you were, and even more delighted to see you smile for the very first time ever since he’d met you. It was a sight he hoped with all his heart that he’d get to see many more times in the future. 

Conversation came so easy with you that all of Eddie’s worries melted into nothing. Especially when he noticed how you’d laugh at EVERY SINGLE ONE of his jokes.

After that day, both you and Eddie would jump at any opportunity you had to hang out with each other. 

You quickly became close to each other until Eddie eventually gathered enough courage to ask you out on a date. 

Everything only went uphill after that and it wasn’t long until he dragged you along to your first Hellfire meeting. To say the reactions of the other members were funny would be an understatement. 

As much as they liked to tease Eddie about it, they were all scared of you too. So when you showed up, there was nothing but silence for a w h i l e until Gareth said something that made you laugh so hard you almost started crying. 

The guys easily adopted you into the group. It was apparent to everyone just how much you loved them all, and that if anyone dared to do as much as send a nasty glare their way, that they’d have to get through you first.