#your discrimination is NOT welcome here

[mothinabottle]

Jordan's status

A talk between two of my PC's

I just saw that randomly in tiktok and I instantly thought of Jordan lmao (Credits of the sick edit to @jesusismylove on TikTok. This is truly a gem, the peak of humanity)

[erzsebetrosztoczy]

Can I follow you if I'm non white?

Why wouldn't you bbgurl? I welcome all and any here who want to share this chaos with me! Don't be afraid I don't bite :3

[lizardsfromspace]

I do have to impress on anyone who wasn't around for it how batshit the reality boom of the 2000s could be. Especially on Fox.

Here are some 100% real 2000s reality shows:

Who's Your Daddy? A woman has to guess which of eight men is her biological father. One of them really is, and if she guesses right she wins $100,000. If one of the seven fake dads convinces her to guess them, he wins $100,000.

Black. White. A white family learns about racism by living a month in blackface, while a black family spends a month in whiteface. The black family was a real family, but the white family was just some actors hired to put on blackface to prove racism exists

Without Prejudice? Five strangers decide which of five strangers gets a cash prize based off clips and their answers to political questions. Cancelled when one of the choosers openly said he'd eliminate all black contestants

Welcome to the Neighborhood. Three conservative white families in a Austin subdivision decide which diverse family gets to move in. Unaired due to being literal housing discrimination

Seriously, Dude, I'm Gay. Two straight men try to pass themselves off as gay and whoever seems more gay gets $50,000. Unaired due to. Due to. Due to

Playing It Straight. A woman tries to find love among fourteen men, half of whom are straight and half of whom are gay, and she must eliminate two men she believes are gay each week. If she ended up picking a straight man in the end, they'd split a million dollars; if she picked a gay man, he'd win a million dollars

Boy Meets Boy. This was Playing It Straight but starring a gay man and he had to eliminate straight people

Who Wants to Marry a Multimillionaire? He wasn't a multimillionaire. He didn't even have a million dollars in liquid assets. He had a battery conviction Fox claims they didn't see. Because it was the 2000s, somehow this ended up with the woman he won being widely vilified and turned into a national punchline. How dare she complain about a massive corporation tricking her into marrying a lying abuser, good thing Matt Lauer's there to take her down a peg

The Swan. A "ugly" woman is given plastic surgery and wins a prize if she's the hottest at the end of the season. If she's not hot enough by the show's standards she's eliminated and called ugly on national TV

The Biggest Loser. Overweight people engage in competitive crash weight loss that often led to awful health complications. Studies showed basically everyone on the show regained any weight they lost once it was over and they didn't have abusive trainers demanding they take huge health risks to win a competitive weight loss competition. Like the others, this one was cancel-oh, it was a massive hit that ran for 18 seasons? Yikes!

Wife Swap and Trading Spouses. These were the same show and had a wife from one family go to another family that was different politically, racially, culturally, religiously etc. Most famous for the God Warrior

At the time people focused on the likes of Fear Factor but looking back it's wild how many of the worst shows toyed with politics. So many of these shows have a premise that's like "what if we exposed these conservatives to these people they hate?" or hyping themselves up as Important Experiments. Then they'd freak out when they got the kind of viral bigoted freakout they were trying to construct the whole time.

There were also a bunch of horrible reality shows, thankfully this time mostly unpopular, in the 2010s that based themselves around economic themes as a response to the market crash, but that's a story for another time

[happypotato48]

This Is A Gay Asian Rant About BL Comments Made By Some Queer Westerners I See Sometimes.

So you know of those gays (usually white) that made dumb tiktok dancing to list of countries that legalized same sex marriage and list of countries that discriminate against LGBTQIA+ poeple as a way to say something racist. yeah i kinda got the same vibes from some comments regard how asian BL is homophobic just cause they don't live up to queer western standard. look, i'm not saying that some BLs and their creators don't deserve criticism regard how they capitalized/exploited queerness for an easy cash grab.

But people need to understand that Asian countries despite recent progress are still very much culturally conservatives. so when people says that thai bl is homophobic and all the characters looks like bunch of straight guys, which is true for some olders thai BLs i'm not gonna denied that. but after all this time and newer BLs generally being very queer and most of creators being out queer themself and poeple still making these comments, i'm annoyed.

And don't get me start on the actors. you don't know them! why are you making assumption and calling them queerbaiter just cause they acts in bl. like maybe they're straight, maybe they're not but what they're definitely doing is making queer content for you know, queer people here. so when you made halfass comments about their sexuality what do you think that made other queer people who still in the closet feels. and when you add the nationality to that, "these thai bl pair are this and that, this korean actor is so ungrateful for his bl past", etc. when our societies are still very much still in progress regard LGBTQIA+ acceptance. it make us living here feels fucking awful like somehow we're lesser queer than people in the west just cause we don't have citibank at pride or some shit.

And the shittiest in my humbled opinion are comments regard censored chinese bls. people do know like, that the creators making these bls are risking their livelihoods for this. that these shows getting make at all are miracles. yes it sucked that they're censored but they're still very much queer shows making by queer people who want to express thier queerness despite the chinese government being the chinese government. when people dimissing these shows as not belonging in queer media, you're also dimissing their creators and audiences as not belonging in the community.

Look what i want to say is that we're trying our best over here, and maybe our best are not up to your liking. the ways we talk and express our queerness maybe still can be perceived as problematic by western queer standard. but these media are our house and you're the guests. for people aren't shitty we appreciated that you're here engaging and loving our media, this is your home too and you're welcome in it. i can speak for myself that i very much love being here on tumblr and interacting with people from all over the world who love BL. but for people who are being shitty sometimes about asian bl.

YOU'RE THE GUESTS, BEHAVE!

[diejager]

This is omegaverse related so please here me out… What about something different? What about…

A

Feral Omega?

I’m talking like, this omega isn’t your typical omega. This omega is downright dangerous, reports of Omega going feral but causes of harm to them due to some omega discrimination.

So what if, reader who is feral omega, is down right butchering enemies. And doesn’t hesitate to almost maul some alpha recruits if they want to mess with her..

Cw: omegaverse, feral!reader, violence, blood, weird pack dynamic, discrimination, protective behaviour, tell me if I missed any.

You were a ‘one-of-a-kind’ omega —spoken with utmost reverence by them. You were their strong and independent omega, whispered in crowded halls, mumbled in darkest nights, screamed in busy moments, and kissed to in warm and comfortable beds. You were anything but a strong and dedicated and reliable soldier, someone Ghost had grown to respect after a joint Op, then coaxed to rely on by the others when they saw how welcoming Ghost was and simply how skillful you were at your job. 

You were small but spry, less bulky but flexible, weaker but resourceful. You were everything they sought for in an omega. You were so much alike Soap, yet molecularly different. Though it was every alpha’s dream of finding a soft and loving mate to provide and protect for, someone smaller and more fragile than their thick muscles and broad build, there was a thrill in being reminded that they weren’t always at the top, being grounded and brought back down from their high horses. Against all of traditional mating couples, your current age and time had demanded more equal partnering, a relationship where both parties stood on the same ground. 

And Ghost and Price thrived on that, their employment demanded a level of independence from their mates and pack mates, the capability of standing on their own and manage grief and stress. That’s where Soap stood, an omega at it’s finest, strong and independent and emotionally knowledgeable, the glue to their pack, and Gaz, the stabiliser, the soft and gentle hand that reminded them of who they were. 

Then you came bulldozing through their well-built dynamic: feral and wrathful, full of hate and anger for the world who had wronged you. When the military had rejected you for both your sex and gender, you’d worked up the ranks in the CIA with your blood, sweat and tears, starting from a fresh agent - a rookie - to an experienced one. You’d gotten so far that Laswell had eventually reach out to you, acknowledged by someone so powerful and partnered with The Ghost had gotten you the acknowledgment and respect you’d dreamed of. 

It was a rough start with Ghost, but he learned to rely on you as much as you did him, you had formed a mutual understanding that only grew into fondness after meeting the rest of his pack. They were a functioning mix of weird and quirky: a leading alpha that was a big, soft bear, another alpha that was rough on the edge but caring, an overenergetic and fiery omega and a beta that represented everything you liked in one, calm, open-minded and smart. It was odd seeing you join them so often and continuously on Ops that didn’t need much of CIA intervention, but you all made it work.

You’d become a familiar face on base, a blunt and no-nonsense agent to new people, but cracked jokes and smiled with those you knew. Fiercely protective of your pack as much as they were with you. If Soap was a menace, then you were an omen, your deep frown and growling snarl, baring your teeth as a warning before you attacked. The world had taught you to bark and bite —and bite you did, a strong and dangerous one, leaving you bruised and roughed up, but your opponent gasping for life and battered.

Honestly, sometimes you were more trouble than it’s worth, but wouldn’t have it any other way.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[jar0fhoney]

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 (NSFW) - PART 4 - PART 5 (NSFW)

Your family did fine. You were more comfortable than some, but not so comfortable that you could sit idle. The crops had started to bud, and the shop was filled with all manner of pickled vegetables, fresh eggs, and flowers. You counted the coppers and silvers in the little lock box under the counter. Business was the same as usual, but your brow still furrowed.

Mother was getting tired. The decades of tilling, sowing, reaping, and harvesting had started to toll on her. Especially after your father left. The bastard. Your mother labored at home with an aching back and bad knees. Before long the crops would flourish and need tending. It was more than enough work for two, unfathomable for just you alone.

Jeering came from outside the shop. A band of orc hunters with their catches. They were a threatening bunch. Hard and strong. One orc could have the strength of two men. In the great cities they faced more discrimination, but out here someone either hunted for their meat, or payed other people to do the hunting for them. And the orcs… they were masterful at what they did. And so they were welcomed.

The rusted hinges of your shop door creaked. “Did you miss me?”

Any desire to feign positivity drained from your person. You didn’t even try to hide the sour look on your face. Milo was a repugnant leech that had been stalking your family for years. He had tried courting each one of your elder sisters, losing them each time to men better than him. And now you were the last sister on the list. Unmarried. And running out of time. The latter fact he was quite aware of.

”How is Celina?” You never liked how he called your mother by her first name. It was too familiar. You don’t bother to look up from your coin counting. “My Mother’s wellbeing is none of your concern.” Milo sauntered up to the counter, “y/n-“

You slammed your fist, sending a few coins into the air. “When will you get the idea that my family wants nothing to do with you?” You still couldn’t look him in the eye. He sighed, picking up one of the coppers from the floor, “You would rather your mother toil in the field? You would rather surrender yourself to the life of a shopkeep? It’s a waste.”

You had no answer for him. Because he was right to question your choices. Yes you truly enjoyed running the family shop, but you couldn’t possibly keep this up for long without your mother. She deserved peace and rest. But he was just… a nuisance at best. Frightening at worst. His family owned half the town, and how easy it would be for them to blacklist you and your mother from ever doing business in their marketplace again.

”Anyways…” He dropped the coin down onto your counter with a clank, “Winter will come. And will you be prepared? If your mother cannot help you work the fields…”

”Are you trying to give me an ultimatum?” You had pushed the idea of next winter out of your head the second the ice started to melt. But he was right, what would you do? He didn’t entertain your question with a response. No… it wasn’t an ultimatum. It was a threat. A threat that when winter came you would get what was coming to you. He made his way out the door, the rusty hinges screeching. “You should really fix that.” He gave a nasty grin and let the door slam behind him.

You pushed all the thoughts of worry from your head. It was something you had grown skilled at doing. Gods be damned if you let him spoil such a lovely morning. You threw the windows of the shop open, arranging bouquets from your flower garden for the street to see.

At night when you and your mother pray over dinner, you beg anyone listening for an eternal spring.

~

Two weeks pass uneventfully. You sell many bouquets of flowers to well-to-do ladies, and your mother’s special pickled red onions fly off the shelves as usual. In the early morning you sit counting your coins, listening to the soft bustling of the market just beginning to wake up.

”You know you can pickle these eggs right?”

You keep your eyes trained on the coins, trying not to lose count. There is a long pause, but you can tell the man hasn’t walked away, “We don’t sell any here.”

“You should.” You raise your head to cock an eyebrow at him. You try to stifle a gasp from your chest. An orc man with olive green skin is leaned slightly through the window of your shop. You had never had an orc approach your little shop. They always had bigger and better things to sell and buy.

”We don’t sell those here.” A more rational person would have thought twice before talking back to an orc hunter. But you were tired of men questioning you. A young lady entered the shop, eyeing the orc man still leaning on your window sill. The door squealed unpleasantly, cutting through the tension like a knife. “Fine,” The orc smirked and shrugged, exiting your window.

~

The next day, there was a basket waiting for you on your shop’s doorstep. You groan. This wouldn’t be the first time Milo left gifts for you to find. You take a peek into the bracket and… what was this? Spices? Salt? Garlic cloves? Underneath the goods were two silver coins.

You yelped at the sound of fingers rapping against the window pane. You reeled around expecting Milo. But… it was the orc man. The orc man from the day before. He pointed at the little latch holding the window closed. You were sure he could punch his way right through the window if he really wanted in. “I don’t want any trouble!” You yelled at him through the window.

Another smirk crept onto his face, “I bring no trouble with me, Miss. I just thought you might like a chance to make some more coin.”

What this lecherous orc seriously propositioning you for pay? Before he could say another thing, you hurled an egg at him. You hoped it would have just broken against the window to frighten him off. But to your horror it crashed through the glass, making a direct impact with his face. “Fuck!” You heard him fall on his ass in the street.

You rushed to the window. The orc was splayed out on the cobblestones, his forehead bleeding from the broken glass. He lay motionless, and you started to panic. Oh Gods. Oh Gods no. You just assaulted an orc. A big strong orc man who kills things for his living. Not even Milo or his family’s status could protect you from the wrath of an angry orc. You threw open the screeching rusted front door. Oh gods he was huge. He knew where you worked. He could follow you home. What if he brought his fellow huntsmen with him? What if they hurt your mother as well?

You couldn’t stop any of the thoughts racing through your head. You were worried about making it through winter… now you might not even make it through the summer. You bit down on your fist, trying to keep composure.

”Got a hell of an arm…” The orc grunted, pulling you out of your trance. He sat himself up, bringing his fingers to the drops of blood running down his temple. “Ha!” He guffawed and made his way to stand up.

”Please… please.” You weren’t sure if you were praying to a high power or pleading to him. His eyes met yours but there was no rage, or fury. There was a look of annoyance, maybe a bit of mild amusement. Rubbing his hand over the back of his neck he said, “Miss. I only meant… you should make pickled eggs. There are a lot of orc boys out here far from the motherland. They would pay a premium for a taste of home.”

You were nearly speechless, “I- I don’t know how orcs prefer their pickled eggs-

“That basket has everything you need.”

“Oh… okay. Very well. Sir.” Your voice wavered and he could see how clearly frightened you were.

The orc groaned, wiping more blood off his face. “Sorry about this. See you around.” You hoped that wasn’t a threat, but with that he jogged his way down the street.

Blasted pickled eggs.

[mcflymemes]

AS SAID BY JASON TODD/ROBIN/RED HOOD *  assorted dialogue from multiple dc universe sources, adjust as necessary

i did it once for dramatic effect and it just got to be a habit.

you can't tell, but i'm dozing off under this mask.

a whole night in paris... and i managed to not kill anyone. not bad.

you made the same mistake everyone does when it comes to me.

i want to warn them... but i know i can't.

don't know, don't care. i got my hands full.

do you remember the last time we were together?

looks like you guys could use a hand!

i'm looking for someone.

i'm afraid it's about to get much worse.

the angry, reckless vigilante bit is my thing.

i'm not good or bad. i'm just practical as hell.

you and i are more alike than you realize.

i get it. starting over is scary as hell.

i don't even need to turn around to know that's you.

thanks for thinking of me. i'm happy to help. honored, even.

i generally have several madness-inducing hallucinations before breakfast.

nothing in the real world can be as frightening as what we can imagine... right?

you don't think i understand what it's like to be abandoned? forgotten?

i'll be damed if my best friend is going to die... because he was dumb enough to trust me.

i'm sorry. i'm never going to be the hero you want me to be.

next time i see you, i'm going to kick your butt for this dying crap.

you have ten seconds to walk way. nine... oh, screw it.

there are better ways to spend your energy.

that looks like it's gotta hurt. well, i say that like i'm speculating or something. i know it hurts.

we chose to be a family.

if there's hope for us... there's hope for everyone.

you still haven't figured it out?

life's just a game... and this time, you lose.

i seem to have made myself an enemy of all the bad guys.

it's too late. you had your chance.

i'm just getting started.

hard to forget that night, huh?

in a way, this was the site of your first great failure.

ah... memories.

you can't stop crime. that's what you never understood.

you want to rule them by fear, but what do you do to those who aren't afraid?

i'm doing what you won't.

i'm taking them out.

now tell me... how does it feel?

is that what you think this is about?

i don't know what clouds your judgement worse. your guilt or your antiquated sense of morality.

i forgive you for not saving me.

he took me away from you.

i am no one's son.

what do you think this was all about?

welcome to planet earth, baby.

fear isn't the answer.

you son of a bitch.

we were friends, helping each other pick up the pieces of our lives.

it might not be a popular thought, but not everyone wants to be alive.

can you hear it?

funny, i actually escaped death.

the past keeps dragging me back.

they're not monsters. they're victims of programming, abuse, and trauma.

they can change.

fact is, they're just like us.

we became something else.

you hurt a lot of people.

we don't discriminate here.

sometimes you don't know what you want 'til you learn what you don't.

trust? you? i'll give it a try. but i'll tell you right now, i'm probably going to screw it up.

guys like us? the life we lead? we're never truly alone.

i have no idea who you people are.

you pompous ass.

before i kill you, i want the truth.

i'd like to think i'm an open-minded guy.

sure it was fun. but does that mean it was right?

sometimes i wonder if i'm just part of the problem.

i'm not doing one more damn mission with them unless you get me someone i can trust to watch my back.

knew you couldn't do it.

it's official. class is in session.

[liquid-mercury-in-alive-form]

If your space claims to be inclusive of trans women

But doesn't acknowledge that dominant system of transphobia views trans women as "men", and hence fearmongering about men affects trans women, particularly closeted trans women,

then your space isn't inclusive of trans women.

---------------------- Edit: I saw a couple thoughtful replies, and I thought I'd make a bit of edit to explain what I mean when I say "views trans women as men".

Well for straters this is a post aimed at safe spaces, so it speaks of intra-community issues. Bear this in mind when interpreting the rest of this.

Someone said "dominant system of transphobia calls trans women 'men', but does not view us, or treat us, or systematize us as men."

To which I say, yes.

Now, since this is a post aimed at spaces that label themselves inclusive, I will explain that there is actually two meanings to the phrase "calling trans women men". First, there's the general cissexism, and there's the intracommunity exclusions like terfism.

So in terms of general cissexism, it is absolutely true that trans women are not viewed, treated, or systematized as men. However, the problems arise as an intra-community issue, where since evidently out of male privilege, men are not allowed into certain spaces. So being a man is a privilege, and because of this men are not welcome in certain spaces catering to marginalized people. Let's call this man (1) and man (2).

So the issue that might sound like "pandering to men" here is really that transfems are not seen as man (1), that is they don't have male privilege - but they are seen as man (2) by safe spaces that aren't affirming enough because they don't recognize that trans woman's womanhood.

In this regard of intracommunity issue, transfems are seen as the worst of man (1) and man (2) - they don't get the societal privilege of maleness, but when they try to seek help for their discrimination, they get accused of harboring privilege that they don't have.

This is what this post is aimed at.

The mainstream society doesn't systematize us as men, that is men (1), but not-affirming spaces absolutely do systematize us as men, that is men (2).

That's exactly the problem - if we want for the rhetoric aimed at protecting transfems to not pander to men, we have to make sure to protect transfems from being excluded on the basis of perceived male privilege.

Besides, I have a few more thoughts about this that I'll outline in another post (Specifically about issues closeted transfems may face).

[harunayuuka2060]

Leal and his sister: ...

Leal's sister: Brother, will they be okay?

Leal: Yes. Master Akihiko can handle this on his own.

Leal's sister: Hm. But... Isn't he afraid that his father will try to sabotage his plan?

Leal: I'll prevent that from happening.

Leal's sister: ...

Akihiko: What do you think, father? *smiling*

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's father: The people here are welcoming.

Akihiko: *chuckles* Right?

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's father: Son, are you truly going to proceed with the plan?

Akihiko: Yes. I had planned it since I was young.

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's father: You have hidden your true feelings well.

Yuurin's father: Your mother and I believed you were okay with everything happening.

Akihiko: *chuckles* Well, what could I say?

Akihiko: I'm a man who's been taught the virtues of a woman.

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's father: *smiles* I know I have no right to say this.

Yuurin's father: But I am proud of you, son.

Akihiko: ...

Yuurin's father: Anyway, here you go. I've signed everything. *He hands him the documents regarding the transfer of wealth to Yuurin.

Akihiko: Thank you, father.

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's father: Akihiko, when your time comes, will you promise to give me one final call?

Akihiko: ...

Akihiko: *smiles* If it crosses my mind, I will.

Akihiko: Huh? You want me to get a haircut?

Yuurin: Yes. It's fair, don't you think?

Akihiko: ...

Akihiko: *chuckles* Hm. What kind of haircut do you want me to get?

Yuurin: I think any haircut will suit you.

Akihiko: Bald?

Yuurin: ...

Akihiko: *laughs*

Akihiko: I'm just kidding, bluebell.

Yuurin: *sigh* We should go together with Leona-senpai.

Akihiko: Okay~. I think we should do it on your weekend off.

Yuurin: Sounds good.

Akihiko: Alright. I'll talk to you again, bluebell.

Yuurin: Take care, Aki.

Akihiko: You too, bluebell~. *hangs up*

Leona: *sitting next to her and listening to their conversation* Why the hell would he suggest bald?

Yuurin: I'm not sure...

Leona: ...

Leona: I think Leal's a bad influence.

Yuurin: Huh?

Leona: Just think about it, did he use to have a broken sense of humor?

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin's mother: Welcome home, dear. How was your trip to Sunset Savannah?

Yuurin's father: *smiles* It was great.

Yuurin's mother: That's good to know. Oh, by the way, do you want to see my journal? I had so much fun writing on it that I failed to realize that I've written on all its pages.

Yuurin's mother: All I have to do now is pray to Goddess Mnemosyne to watch over our son Yuurin and grant my wishes.

Yuurin's father: *nods*

Yuurin's father: *has waited for his wife to sleep* *holding the journal in his hand*

The servants serving Yuurin: Master? Are you sure about this?

Yuurin's father: Yes. Light up the fire.

The servants: *do as told*

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's father: Burn everything from Yuurin's childhood. Nothing shall remain.

The servants: Yes, master.

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's father: *watches as everything that can remind his wife about Yuurin burns*

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's mother: Men who show weakness will face discrimination, while strong women will be torn down. We cannot allow such injustice to befall our children.

Yuurin's father: What do you mean by that, dear?

*Akihiko was already born around that time.*

Yuurin's mother: We will raise this child as a girl.

Yuurin's father: ...

The servants: Master, this is all.

Yuurin's father: ...

Akihiko: Destroy the journal. By the next morning, Mother will have no recollection of Yuurin.

Akihiko: She will only remember having a daughter, who is me.

Yuurin's father: *to the servants* From tomorrow onwards, no one should utter a word about your Master Yuurin, especially not to your Madame.

Yuurin's father: Do you understand?

The servants: *bows* Yes, master.

Yuurin's father: *throws the journal to the fire*

*A figure resembling smoke emerges from it, fixing its gaze directly on him.*

Yuurin's father: *bows to it respectfully*

*The figure then heads to where his wife is.*

The servants: *looks at each other; understanding the situation*

Akihiko: ...

*The figure shows itself to him.*

Akihiko: *smiles* Thank you. Thank you so much.

*The figure nods then disappears.*

Akihiko: ...

Akihiko: I hope this will bring you joy, bluebell.

Leal: ...

Leal: Master Akihiko.

Akihiko: ...

Akihiko: I can enjoy my remaining years with Yuurin now. *chuckles*

Leal: ...

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 9: Dionysus, God Of Ecstasy]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.9k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

The October surprise is a great American tradition. As the phases of the moon revolve towards Election Day, the candidates and their factions seek to ruin each other. Lies are told, truths are exposed, Tyche smiles and Achlys brews misery, poison, the fog of death that grows over men like ivy. The stars align. The wolves snap their jaws.

In 1844, an abolitionist newspaper falsely accused James K. Polk of branding his slaves like cattle. In 1880, a letter supposedly authored by James Garfield—in actuality, forged by a New York journalist—welcomed Chinese immigrants in an era when they were being lynched by xenophobic mobs in Los Angeles and San Francisco. In 1920, a rumor emerged that Warren Harding had Black ancestry, an allegation his campaign fervently denied to keep the support of the Southern states. In 1940, FDR’s press secretary assaulted a police officer outside of Madison Square Garden. In 1964, one of LBJ’s top aids was arrested for having gay sex at the Washington D.C. YMCA.

Now, in 1968, Senator Aemond Targaryen of New Jersey is realizing that he will not be the beneficiary of the October surprise he’s dreamed of: his wife’s redemptive pregnancy, a blossoming first family. There is a civil rights protest that turns into a riot in Milwaukee; this helps Nixon, the candidate of law and order. For every fire lit and window shattered, he sees a bump in the polls from businessowners and suburbanites who fear anarchy. Breaking news of the My Lai massacre—committed back in March but only now brought to light—airs on NBC, horrifying the American public and bolstering support for Aemond, the man who has vowed to begin ending the war as soon as he’s sworn into office. The two contestants are deadlocked. Election Day could be a photo finish.

Nixon is in Texas. Wallace is in Arkansas. In Florida, Aemond visits the Kennedy Space Center and pledges to fulfill JFK’s promise to put a man on the moon by 1970. He makes a speech at the Mary McLeod Bethune Home commending her work as an educator, philanthropist, and humanitarian. He greets soldiers at the Naval Air Station in Pensacola. He feeds chickens to the alligators at the Saint Augustine Alligator Farm Zoological Park.

But it is not the senator the crowds cheer loudest for. It is his wife, his future first lady, here in her home state where she staunched her husband’s hemorrhaging blood and appeared before his well-wishers still marked with crimson handprints. In Tarpon Springs, she and Aemond attend mass at the Saint Nicholas Greek Orthodox Cathedral and pray at an altar made of white marble from Athens. Then they stand on the docks as flashbulbs strobe all around them, watching sponge divers reappear from the depths, breaking through the bubbling sapphire water like Heracles ascending to Mount Olympus.

~~~~~~~~~~

You kick off your high heels, tear the pins and clips out of your hair, and flop down onto the king-sized bed in your suite at the Breakers Hotel. It’s the same place Aemond was almost assassinated five months ago. He has returned in triumph, in defiance. He cannot be killed. It is God’s will.

You are alone for these precious fleeting moments. Aemond is in Otto’s suite discussing the itinerary for tomorrow: confirmations, cancellations, reshufflings. You pick up the pink phone from the nightstand on Aemond’s side of the bed and dial the number for the main house at Asteria. It’s 9 p.m. here as well as there. Through the window you can see inky darkness and the kaleidoscopic glow of the lights of Palm Beach. The Zenith radio out in the kitchenette is playing Satisfaction by the Rolling Stones. No intercession from Eudoxia is necessary this time; Aegon answers on the second ring.

“Yeah?” he says, slow and lazy like he’s been smoking something other than Lucky Strikes.

“Hey.” And then after a pause, twirling the phone cord around your fingers as you stare up at the ceiling: “It’s me.”

“Oh, I know. Should I take off my pants, or…?” He’s only half-joking.

You smile. “That was stupid. Someone could have bugged the phone.”

“You think Nixon’s guys are wiretapping us? Give me a break. They’re goddamn buffoons. They’re too busy telling cops to beat hippies to death.” You hear him taking a drag off his joint, envision him sprawled across his futon and enshrouded in smoke. “Everything okay down there in the swamp?”

You shrug, even though Aegon can’t see you. “It’s fine.”

“Just fine?”

“My parents were there when we stopped in Tarpon Springs. They kept telling everyone how proud they are of me, and I just felt so…dishonest.”

“Of course they’re proud. If Aemond wins, the war ends and more civil rights bills get passed and this hell we’ve all been living in since 1963 goes away.”

“I miss you,” you confess.

“You’ll be back soon to enjoy me in all my professional loser glory.” He’s right: Aemond’s entourage will spend Halloween at Asteria. You’ll take the children trick-or-treating around Long Beach Island—with journalists in tow, of course—and then host a party with plentiful champagne and Greek hors d’oeuvres, one last reprieve before the momentous slog towards Election Day on November 5th, a reward for the campaign staffers and reporters who have served Aemond so well. “What are you going to dress up as?”

“Someone happy,” you say, and Aegon chuckles, low and sardonic. “Actually, nothing. Aemond and Otto have decided that it would be undignified for the future president and first lady to be photographed in costumes, so I will be wearing something festive yet not at all fun.”

“Aemond has always been somewhat confused by the concept of fun.”

“What are you going to be for Halloween?”

You can hear the grin in his voice as he exhales smoke. “A cowboy.”

“A cowboy,” you repeat, giggling. “You aren’t serious.”

“Extremely serious. I protect the cows, I comfort the cows, I breed the cows…”

“You are mentally ill. You belong in an asylum.”

“I ride the cows…”

“Cowboys do not ride cows.”

“Maybe this one does.”

“I thought you liked being ridden.”

Aegon groans with what sounds like genuine discomfort. “Don’t tease me. You know I’m celibate at the moment.”

“Miraculous. Astonishing. The Greek Orthodox Church should canonize you. What have you been doing with all of your newfound free time?”

“Taking the kids out sailing, hiding from Doxie, trying not to step on the Alopekis…and playing Battleship with Cosmo. He has a very loose understanding of the rules.”

“He does. I remember.”

“He keeps asking when you’ll be back.”

“Really?” you ask hopefully.

“Yeah, it’s cute. And he calls you Io because he heard me do it.”

“Not an appropriate myth for children, I think.”

“Cosmo’s what, seven years old?”

“Five.”

“Close enough. I think I knew about death and torment and Zeus being a slut by then.”

“And you have no resulting defects whatsoever.” You roll over onto your belly and slide open the drawer of the nightstand. Instead of the card Aegon gave you at Mount Sinai—you’ve forgotten that you’re on Aemond’s side of the bed—you find something bizarre, unexpected, just barely able to fit. “Oh my God, there’s a…there’s a Ouija board in the nightstand!”

Aegon laughs incredulously. “There’s a what?!”

“A Ouija board!” You sit upright and shimmy it out, holding the phone to your ear with one shoulder. The small wooden planchette slides off the board and clatters against the bottom of the drawer. “Why the hell would Aemond have this…?”

“He’s trying to summon the ghost of JFK to stab Nixon.”

“Oh wow, it’s heavy.” You skim your fingertips over the black numbers and letters etched into the wooden board. There’s something ominous about the Good Bye written across the bottom. You can’t beckon the dead into the land of the living without reminding them that they aren’t welcome to stay.

“Aemond is such a freak. Is it a Parker Brothers one, like for kids…?”

“No, I think it’s custom made. It feels substantial, expensive. Hold on, there’s something engraved on the back.” You flip over the Ouija board so you can see what your hands have already felt. The inscription reads in onyx cursive letters: No ghosts can harm you. The stars were never better than the day you were born. With love through all the ages, Alys.

“What’s it say?” Aegon asks from his basement at Asteria.

You’re staring down at the Ouija board, mystified. “Who’s Alys?”

Instead of an answer, Aegon gives you a deep sigh. “Oh. Yeah, she would give him something like that. Fucking creepy witch bullshit.”

“Aegon, who’s Alys?” She’s his mistress. She has to be. It fills your skull like flashbulbs, like lightning: Aemond climbing on top of another woman, conquering her, owning her, binding her up in his mythology like a spider building a web. And what you feel when the shock begins to dissolve isn’t envy or pain or betrayal but—strangely, paradoxically—hope. “She’s his girl, right?”

“Please don’t be mad at me for not telling you,” Aegon says. “There wasn’t a good time. When I hated you I didn’t care if he was fucking around, and then after what happened in New York I didn’t want to hurt you, I didn’t know how you’d take it. It’s not your fault, there’s nothing wrong with you. She was here first. He’d have kept Alys around if he married Aphrodite herself.”

“I’m not mad.” You’re distracted, that’s what you are; you’re plotting. “Where is she?”

“She lives in Washington state. I’m not sure exactly where, I think Aemond moves her a lot. He doesn’t want anyone to see him around and start noticing a pattern. Neighbors, shopkeepers, cops, whoever.”

“Washington.” Just like when Ari died. Just like when Aemond didn’t come back. “Who knows about her?”

“Just the family. Fosco and Mimi found out because when they married in, the fights were still happening. Otto and Viserys demanding he give Alys up, Aemond refusing. It’s the only thing he ever did wrong, the only line he drew. He said he needed her. She could never be his first lady, but she could be something else.”

“His mistress.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says reluctantly. “Are you…are you okay?”

“I’m okay. What’s wrong with Alys?”

“What?”

“Why couldn’t Aemond marry her?”

“I mean, she’s the type of psycho who gives people Ouija boards, first of all,” Aegon says. “And she’s…she’s not educated. Her family’s trash. She’s older than Aemond. Hell, she’s older than me. She would be an unmitigated disaster on the campaign trail. She unnerves people. But Aemond, he…”

“He loves her,” you whisper, reading the engraving on the back of the board again. “And she loves him.”

“I guess. Whatever love means to them.”

A thought occurs to you, the first one to bring you pain like a needle piercing flesh. “Does she have children?”

Again, Aegon sounds reticent to disclose this. “A boy. Aemond’s the father.”

“How old?”

“I don’t know, I think he’s around ten now.”

And that’s Aemond’s true heir. Not Ari, not any others he would have with me. That place in his heart is taken. He couldn’t mourn the loss of our son because he already has one with the woman he loves.

Out in the living room of the suite, you hear the front door open. There are footsteps, Aemond’s polished black leather shoes.

Aegon is asking: “Are you sure you’re okay? Hello? Babe? Hello? Are you still there?”

“I’m fine. I gotta go.”

“Wait, no, not yet—!”

“Bye.” You hang up the phone and wait for Aemond to discover you. You’re still clutching the Ouija board. You’re perched on the edge of the bed like something ready to pounce, to kill.

Aemond opens the bedroom door, navy blue suit, blonde hair short and slicked back, his eyepatch covering his empty left socket. He’s begun wearing his eyepatch in public more often—not for every appearance, but for some of them—and whoever finally convinced him to concede this battle wasn’t you. His right eye goes to you and then to the Ouija board in your hands. He doesn’t speak or move to take the board, only studies you warily.

“I know about her,” you tell him.

Still, Aemond says nothing.

“Alys,” you press. “She’s your mistress. You’re in love with her.”

“I did not intend to hurt you.” His words are flat, steely.

“I’m not hurt, Aemond.”

“You shouldn’t have ever known about this. I apologize for not being more discrete. It was a lapse in judgment.” But what he regrets most, you think, is that his secret is less contained, more imperiled.

“What we have is a political arrangement,” you say. The desperation quivers in your voice. “You don’t love me, you never have, and now we can be open about it. You need me to win the White House, but that’s all. Your true companion is elsewhere. I want the same thing.”

He steps closer, eye narrowing, iris glinting coldly, puzzled like he couldn’t have understood you correctly. “What?”

“I want to be permitted to have my own happiness outside of this imitation of a marriage.”

“No,” Aemond says instantly.

Your stomach sinks, dark iron disappointment. “But…but…why?”

“Because I don’t trust you to not get caught. Because I need to be sure that I am the father of the children you’ll give birth to. And because as my wife you are mine, and mine alone.”

Tears brim in your eyes; embers burn in your throat. “You’re asking for my life. My whole life, all of it, everything I’ll ever experience, everything I’ll ever feel. I get one chance on this planet and you’re stealing it away from me.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees simply.

“So where’s my consolation?” you demand. “You get Alys, so where’s mine?”

“What do you want?”

You don’t reply, but you glare at your husband with eternal rage like Hera’s, with fatal vitriol like Medusa’s.

“You think I don’t know about that little card you keep in your nightstand?” Aemond is furious, betrayed. “You used to hate him.”

“I was wrong.”

“Because he was at Mount Sinai and I wasn’t? Three days undid everything we’ve ever been to each other? Our oaths, our ambitions?!”

“No,” you say, tears slipping down the contours of your cheeks. “Because he’s real. He doesn’t try to manipulate people into loving him, he doesn’t pretend to be someone he’s not, when he’s cruel it’s because he means it and when he’s kind that’s genuine too. And he wants to know me, who I really am. Not the woman I have to act like to get you elected. Not who you’re trying to turn me into—”

Aemond has crossed the room, grabbed the front of your teal Chanel dress, and yanked you to your feet. The Ouija board jolts out of your hands and lands on the carpet unharmed. Your long hair is in disarray, your eyes wide and fearful. You try to push Aemond away, but he ignores you. You can’t sway him. You’ve never been able to. “Aegon has nothing to his name except what this family gives him,” Aemond snarls, hushed, hateful. His venom is not for his brother but for you. You have upended the natural order of things. You have dared to deny Zeus what he has been divinely granted dominion over. “You would jeopardize his wellbeing, his access to his children? You would ruin yourself? You would doom this nation? If you cost me the election, every drop of blood spilled is on your hands, every body bag flown home from Vietnam, every martyr killed by injustice here. What you ask for is worse than being a traitor and a whore. It is sacrilege.”

“Let go of me—”

“And there’s one more thing.” Aemond pulls you closer so he knows you’re paying attention. You’re sobbing now, trembling, choking on his cologne, shrinking away from his furnace-heat wrath. “Aegon isn’t capable of love. Not the kind you’re imagining. He gets infatuated, and he uses people, and then he moves on. You think he never charmed Mimi, never made her feel cherished by him? And look how she ended up. I’m trying to carve your name into legend beside mine. Aegon will take you to your grave.”

Your husband shoves you away, storms out of the bedroom, slams the door so hard the walls quake.

~~~~~~~~~~

Parading down streets like the victors of a fallen city, jack-o-lanterns keeping watch with their laceration grins of firelight. Hecate is the goddess of witchcraft, Hades rules the Underworld, Selene is the half-moon peeking through clouds in an overcast sky. The stars elude you.

The children—ghosts, pirates, princesses, witches—dash from doorstep to doorstep like soldiers in Vietnam search tunnels. They smile and pose in their outfits when the journalists prompt them, beaming and waving, showing off their Dots, Tootsie Pops, Sugar Daddies, Smarties, Razzles, and candy cigarettes before depositing them in the plastic orange pumpkins that swing from their wrists. Only Cosmo, dressed as Teddy Roosevelt with lensless glasses and a stuffed lion thrown over one shoulder, stays with the adults. He is the last one to each house, approaching the doorway reticently like it might swallow him up, inspiring fond chuckles and encouragement from the reporters. He clutches your hand and hides behind you when towering monsters lumber by: King Kong, Frankenstein, vampires with fake blood spilling from their mouths.

Aemond wears a black suit with orange accents: tie, pocket square, socks. You glimmer in a black dress dotted with white stars, clicking down the sidewalk in boots that run to your knees, silver eyeshadow, heavy liner. You almost look your own age. There are large star-shaped barrettes in your pinned-up hair, bent glinting metal. As the reporters snap photos of you and Cosmo walking together, they shout: “You’ll be such a great mother one day, Mrs. Targaryen!”

Fosco is Ettore Boiardi—better known as Chef Boyardee—an Italian immigrant who came through Ellis Island in 1914 with a dream of opening a spaghetti business. Helaena, Alicent, and Ludwika are, respectively, Alice, Wendy, and Cinderella; Ludwika clops along resentfully in her puffy sleeves and too-small clear stilettos. Criston is Peter Pan. Aegon wears a white button-up shirt, cow print vest, ripped jeans, brown leather boots, a cowboy hat that’s too big for him, and a green bandana knotted around his throat. He stays close to you and Cosmo because he can, here where the journalists expect to see him being a devoted father and active participant in the family business of mending a tattered America. Teenagers are fleeing their families to join hippie communes and draftees in Vietnam are getting their limbs blown off and junkies are shooting up on the streets of New York and Chicago and Los Angeles, but here we see a happy family, a perfect family, a holy trinity that thanks the devotees who offer them tribute. Otto, who neglected to don a disguise, glares at you murderously. You have failed to give Aemond a living child. You have dared to want things for yourself.

Back at Asteria in the main house, the children empty their plastic pumpkins on the living room floor and sort through their saccharine treasures, making trades and bargains: “I’ll do your math homework if you give me those Swedish Fish,” “I’ll let you ride my bike for a week if I can have your Mallo Cup.” While the other adults ply themselves with champagne and chain smoke away the stress of the campaign trail, Aegon gets his Caribbean blue Gibson guitar and sits on the couch playing I’m A Believer by The Monkees. The kids clap and sing along between intense confectionary negotiations. Cosmo wants to share his candy cigarettes with you; you pretend to smoke together as sugar melts on your tongue.

Now the children have been sent to bed—mollified with the promise of homemade apple pies tomorrow, another occasion to be documented by swarms of clamoring journalists—and the house becomes a haze of smoke and indistinct conversation and music from the record player. Platters of appetizers have appeared on the dining room table: pita, tzatziki, hummus, melitzanosalata, olives, horiatiki, mini spanakopitas, baklava. Women are chattering about the painstaking labor they put into costumes and men are scheming to deliver death blows to Nixon, setbacks in Vietnam, Klan meetings in Mississippi. Aemond is knocking back Old Fashioneds with Otto and Sargent Shriver. Fosco is dancing in the living room with drunk journalists. Eudoxia is muttering in Greek as she aggressively paws crumbs off of couches and tabletops. Thick red candles flicker until wax melts into a pool of blood at the base.

Through the veil of cigarette smoke and the rumbling bass of Season Of The Witch, Aegon finds you when no one is looking, and you know it’s him without having to turn around. His hand is the only one that doesn’t feel heavy when it skims around your waist. He whispers, soft grinning lips to your ear, rum and dire temptation like Orpheus looking back at Eurydice: “Let’s do some witchcraft.”

You know where Aemond keeps the Ouija board. You take it out of the top drawer of his nightstand in your bedroom with blue walls and portraits of myths in captive frames. Then you descend with Aegon into the basement, down like Persephone when summer ends, down like women crumbling under Zeus’s weight. You remember to lock the door behind you. You’re not high—you can’t smoke grass in a house full of guests who could smell it and take it upon themselves to investigate—but you feel like you are, that lightness that makes everything more bearable, the surreal tilt to the universe, awake but dreaming, truth cloaked in mirages.

Aegon has stolen three red candles from upstairs. He hands one to you, keeps a second for himself, and places the third on his end table beside a myriad of dirty cups. You glimpse at his ashtray and a folded corner of the receipt that’s still tucked beneath it, and you think: I have my card, Aegon has his receipt, Aemond has his Ouija board. I wonder what Alys likes to keep close when she sleeps. Then Aegon clicks off the lamp so the only light is from the flickering candles.

He tosses away his cowboy boots, hat, vest and is down on the green shag carpet with you, his hair messy, his white shirt half-unbuttoned. He’s taking sips of Captain Morgan straight from the glass bottle. He’s lighting a Lucky Strike with the wick of his candle and then giving it to you to puff on as he places the planchette on the board. “Wait, how do we start?”

You exhale smoke, setting your candle down on the carpet and then tugging off your own boots with some difficulty. “We have to say hello.”

“Okay.” Aegon places his fingertips on one side of the heart-shaped planchette and you rest yours lightly on the other. He begins doubtfully: “Hello…?”

“Is there anyone who would like to send us a message from the other side this evening?”

“You’ve done this before,” Aegon accuses.

“I have. In college.”

“With a guy?”

You chuckle, taking a drag as the cigarette smolders between your fingers. “No, with my friends. It’s not really a date activity.”

“I think it’s very romantic. Candles, darkness, danger, who’s gonna protect you when the ghosts start throwing things around…”

“You’d fight a ghost for me?”

“Depends on the ghost. FDR? You got it. I can take a guy in a wheelchair. Teddy? No ma’am. You’re on your own.”

“Which ghost should we summon?”

Aegon ponders this for a moment. “John F. Kennedy, are you in this basement with us right now?”

“That is wrong, that is so wrong.”

“Then why are you smiling?” Aegon says. “JFK, how do you feel about Johnson fucking up your legacy?”

“That is not the kind of question you’re supposed to ask. We’re not on 60 Minutes.”

“JFK, do you haunt the White House?” Aegon drags the planchette to the Yes on the board. “Oh no, I’m scared.”

“You are a cheater, this is a fraudulent Ouija board session.” You put your cigarette out in the ashtray and then take a swig from Aegon’s rum bottle. “JFK, are we gonna make it to the moon before 1970?”

Aegon pulls the planchette to the No. “Damn, Io, bad news. Guess the Russians win the Space Race and then eradicate capitalism across the globe. No more beach houses. No more Mr. Mistys.”

“Give me the planchette, you’re abusing your power.”

“No,” Aegon says, snickering as you try to wrestle it away from him. In his other hand he’s clutching his candle; scarlet beads of wax like blooddrops pepper your skin as you struggle, tiny infernos that burn exquisitely. Red like paint splatter appears on Aegon’s shirt. You grab the green bandana around his throat, but instead of holding him back you’re drawing him closer. The Ouija board and all the world’s ghosts are momentarily forgotten.

“You’re dripping wax on me—”

“Good, I want to get it all over you, then I want to peel it off and rip out your leg hair.”

You’re laughing hysterically as you pretend to try to shove him away. “I’m freshly shaved, you idiot.”

“Everywhere?” Aegon asks, intrigued.

You smirk playfully. “Almost.”

“Okay, let’s get you cleaned up.” Aegon sets his candle down on the carpet and strips away tacky dots of red wax: one from your forearm down by your wrist, another from your neck just below one of your silver hoop earrings, wax from your ankles and your calves and right above your knees. His fingertips are calloused from his guitar, from the ropes of his sailboat. They scratch roughly over you, chipping away who you’re supposed to be.

Then Aegon stops. You follow his gaze down. There is a smudge of wax on the inside of your thigh, extending beneath the hem of your dress, glittering black and white fabric that hides what is forbidden to him. Aegon’s eyes are on you, that troubled opaque blue, drunk and desperate and wild and afraid. With your fingers still hooked beneath his bandana, you say to him like a dare: “Now you’re going to stop?”

His palm skates up the smoothness of your thigh, and as he unpeels that last stain of red wax his other hand cradles your jaw and his lips touch yours, gently at first and then with the ravenousness of someone who’s been dying of thirst for centuries, starving since birth. You’re opening your legs wider for him, and his fingers do not stop at your thigh but climb higher until they are whisking your black lace panties away, exploring your folds and your wetness as his tongue darts between your lips, tasting something he’s been craving forever but only now stumbled into after four decades of darkness, trapped in you like Narcissus at his pool.

You are unknotting his green bandana and letting it fall to the shag carpet. You are unbuttoning the rest of his shirt so you can feel his chest, soft and warm and yielding, safe, real. The candlelight is flickering, the thumping bass of a song you can’t decipher pulsing through the floor above. Now beneath your dress Aegon’s fingers are pressing a place that makes your breath catch in your throat, makes you dizzy with need for him. He looks at you and you nod, and he reads in your face what you wanted to say months ago in this same basement: Don’t stop. Come closer.

Aegon lifts your dress over your head, nips at your throat as he unclasps your bra, and you are suddenly aware of how the cool firelit air is touching every part of you, how you are bare for him in a way you’ve never been before. You catch Aegon’s face in your hand before he can see the scar that runs down the length of your belly and say, your voice quiet and fragile: “Don’t look at me.”

Pain flashes in his eyes, furrows across his brow. “Stop,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead as you cling to him. Then he begins moving lower and you fall back onto the carpet, no blood on Aegon’s hands this time, only your sweat and lust for him, only crystalline evidence of a betrayal you’ve long ago already committed in your mind.

You’re combing your fingers through his hair and gasping as Aegon’s lips ghost down your scar, not something ruinous or shameful but a part of you, the beginning of your story together, the origin of your mythology. Then his mouth is on you—yearning, aching wetness—and you thought you knew what this felt like but it’s more powerful now, more urgent, and Aegon is glancing up to watch your face, to study you, to change what he’s doing as he follows your clues. And then there is a pang you think is too sharp to be pleasure, too close to helplessness, something that leaves you panting and shaking.

You jolt upright. “Wait…”

Aegon props himself up on his elbows. His full lips glisten with you. “What? What’d I do wrong?”

“No, it’s not you, it’s just…it’s like…” You can’t describe it. “It’s too…um…too intense or something. It’s like I couldn’t breathe.”

Aegon stares at you, his eyebrows low. After a long pause he says: “Babe, you’ve come before, right?”

I’ve what? “Yeah, of course, obviously. I mean…I think so?”

He’s stunned. He’s in disbelief. Then a grin splits across his face. “Lie back down.”

You’re nervous, but you trust him. If this costs you your life, you’ll pay it. He pushes your thighs farther apart and his tongue stays in one spot—where you touched yourself in the bathtub in Seattle, where you wanted him when he slipped his fingers into you for the first time—and suddenly the uneasy feeling is something raging and irresistible like a riptide in the Atlantic, something better than anything you knew existed, and you keep thinking it’s happened but it hasn’t yet, as you cover your face with your hands to smother your moans, as your hips roll and Aegon’s arms curl under your thighs to keep you in place so he can make you finish. It’s a release that is otherworldly, celestial, terrifying, divine. It’s something that rips the curtain between mortals and paradise.

It’s always like this for men? That’s what Aemond has been getting from me, that’s what I’ve been denied?

As you lie gasping on the carpet Aegon returns, smiling, kissing you, running his fingers through locks of hair that have escaped from your pins. “Not bad, right little Io?” he purrs, smelling like rum and minerals, earth and poison. Now he’s taking off his jeans, but before he can position himself between your legs you have pushed him onto his back and straddled him, pinning his wrists to the floor, watching the amazement ripple across his flushed face, the desire, the need. You tease Aegon, leaning in to nibble at his ear and bite gingerly at his throat, never harming him, never claiming him, grinding your hips against his and listening as his breathing turns quick and rough. Then you slip him inside you, this man you once hated, this man who was a stranger and then a curse and now a spell.

Aegon wants to be closer to you. He sits up as you ride him, hands on your face, in your hair, kissing you, inhaling you, shuddering, trying not to cry out as footsteps and laughter and thunderous basslines bleed through the ceiling. You know he’s been high on so many things—things that corrupt, things that kill—and you hope you can compare, this brief clean magic.

He can’t last; he finishes with a moan like he’s in agony, and as the motion of your hips slows, you take his jaw in your grasp and gaze down at him. “Good boy,” you say with a grin. Aegon laughs, exhausted, drenched in sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead. He embraces you so tightly you can feel the pounding of his heart, racing muscle beneath bones and skin.

He’s murmuring through your disheveled hair: “I gotta see you again, when can I see you again?”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t have an answer. You unravel yourself from Aegon and dress yourself in the red candlelight: panties, bra, dress, boots, all things that Aemond chose for you, all things he bought with his family’s money, all things he owns. Aegon has nothing to his name and neither do you. You are—like Fosco once said—pieces of the same machine.

“Where are you going?” Aegon asks, like he’s afraid of the answer.

“I have to go back upstairs to the party before someone realizes I’m missing.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am.” You kneel on the carpet to kiss him one last time, your palm on his cheek, his fingers clutching at your dress as he begs you not to leave. “I have to, I have to,” you whisper, and then you do.

You grab the Ouija board and planchette off the green shag carpet, hug them to your chest, and hurry up the steps. The first floor of the Asteria house is a maze of cigarette smoke and clinking glasses, guests who are dancing and cackling and drunk. From the record player strums Johnny Cash’s Ring Of Fire. You slip unnoticed to the staircase.

In the blue-walled bedroom you share with Aemond, you carefully place the Ouija board and planchette in the top drawer of his nightstand exactly as you found them. Then you go to your vanity to try to fix your hair. As you’re rearranging clips and pinning loose strands back into place, the door opens. Aemond is there, feeling beloved and invincible, looking for you. He crosses the room and closes his long fingers around your wrist. He wants you: under him, making children for him, possessed by him.

“Come to bed,” Aemond says.

“Not right now. I’m busy.”

“You aren’t busy anymore.”

“I told you no.”

He wrenches you from your chair. Instead of surrendering, you strike out, hitting him in the chest. You don’t harm him, you’re not strong enough, but genuine shock leaps into his scarred face.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you hiss. You can’t let Aemond undress you; he will find the evidence of your treason, he will see it, feel it, taste it. But that’s not the only reason you stop him. “Every goddamn night I give you what you want, and exactly how you want it. Tonight I’m saying no. You want to take me? You’ll have to do it properly. I’m not going to give you the illusion of consent. You remember what Zeus did to all those women, right? Go ahead. Act like the god you think you are. But I’m going to fight you. And if those people downstairs hear me screaming, you can explain to them why.”

Aemond stares at you in the silvery light of the half-moon. You glare boldly back. At last he leaves and descends the staircase into an underworld of churning smoke, returning to the party to sip his Old Fashioneds and decide what to do with you.

[stuffielover19]

intro post

hi, welcome to my blog!

this is an 18+ page – do not follow or interact if you are under 18. if you do not have an age listed on your profile, you will be blocked.

i will not be posting my face or sharing my name on here so please don’t ask. if you want a name to refer to me as, you can call me princess :)

this is a kink blog, aka this is strictly a fantasy, not reality. any actual threats, harassment, and hate will not be tolerated, and i will block you if you don’t respect that. consent is mandatory!

any form of bigotry/discrimination is not welcome on this page. racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, antisemitism, zionism, islamophobia, etc. will not be tolerated.

my dms/asks are open and i don’t have a problem with receiving nsfw messages, but please do not send any unsolicited photos/nudes. also keep in mind i won’t always answer, but don’t let that deter you from messaging me :)

main kinks include: ddlg, praise, degradation, humiliation, pet play, corruption, dumbification, bimbofication, breeding, etc.

hard nos in kink include: fauxcest, rape play, race play, kidnapping, vomit, scat, blood, knives/guns, actual pedophilia, etc.

with that being said, i hope you like my blog!

[factual-fantasy]

Here is your reminder that the Octonauts fandom is going to be PATIENT, will RESPECT your boundaries, will WAIT for your possible return to the fandom, and will NOT pressure you into anything. Any Octonauts fan that does otherwise should not count, because they clearly do not know what it means to be an Octonaut.

An Octonaut is patient, kind, helpful, and respectful, even if things don't go the way they want it specifically. They will care for the creatures(in this case, people) that come to them regardless of how they want their day to go.

Octonauts are selfless; they do not let what they WANT get in the way of what others NEED. They do not prioritize themselves over others. If you never return to the fandom again, THAT IS PERFECTLY FINE. Because that is what I'd best for YOU. It may disappoint some, but as long as you are safe, happy, and healthy, it should not matter what people WANT out of YOU and YOUR art.

If you do decide to come back to us, then we welcome you with open arms. There aren't enough of us to form an overall opinion about the fandom, and sadly bad experiences can taint the entire look of our community.

Trust me, I've had PLENTY of bad experiences myself(probably TMI, but I once had someone DM me to roleplay something where them as Captain Barnacles had insomnia, anxiety, depression, PTSD, and a crap ton of other things and I as Shellington had to comfort him and whatnot. And then Captain Barnacles got his arm ripped off and they never messaged me again. This was on WATTPAD. They have since removed DMs, and I can see why. So bad experiences can definitely ruin one's image of the fandom.)

But if you enjoy the Octonauts and that's what you want to draw, don't let idiots stop you!! Octonauts do not discriminate and any hateful person who calls themself an Octonaut never truly learned what it means to explore, rescue, and protect.

An Octonaut is meant to protect and care for their communities, and unnecessary aggression or rude comments should not be tolerated!!! Not by you or by us! Guilt tripping is not good either!

AND: Remember to drink water, eat food, get some rest, and take time for yourself! Have a lovely day/night factual :3

<XD The Octonauts fandom is a tough subject for me for a lot of reasons.. I guess now would be a decent time to finally open up about some of it..

To start, I have had more art theft/reposters, art tracers, copying/heavily adopting all my headcannon/design choices.. in the Octonauts fandom, more than every other fandom combined. Including FNAF. 70% of the time when someone shows me an account that has reposted my art? Its one of my Octonauts comics.

I'm pretty protective of my work and I like to keep things to myself, so having all of these happen so frequently in this fandom has kind'a spooked me away..

And I get it, the fandom is not that big. Chances are when someone has a different/unique/good idea, everyone is going to adopt it into their Octonauts universe. I get it.. but that doesn't stop me from feeling really uncomfortable about posting Octonauts artwork. And I also get that a lot of the people in the Octonauts fandom are really young and don't realize that reposting is theft, or that blatant tracing is theft. That doesn't stop it from being really frustrating to see and very discouraging.. especially when you say "hey, you traced my artwork, please don't do that.." they just straight up don't listen 💀

What's frustrating is that despite not having posted anything Octonauts related in a long time, I STILL deal with constant theft and art tracers. I had to block a few recently after they denied clearly tracing my art and refused to take anything down.

Not even to mention the people who have bashed me for not head cannoning Kwazii or Calico jack as trans.. I totally understand that its a widely accepted headcannon, but my Jack is just a rare male calico and Kwazii is a regular male tabby/calico mix. The constant "why dont you draw kwazii with top scars?? are you a transphobe?? stop misgendering kwazii he's trans!!" is really annoying..

Another thing that really bothers me is the constant crab comic asks. Despite explaining multiple times that I do not want to continue drawing that comic, I still get constant asks like this,👇

This was sent after a simple eye study of the Octonauts. And it said that I'm still on the fence about Octonauts. What part of that post makes you think I'm gonna go back to the crab comic?

I understand that a lot of these people are young and just don't understand that all this stuff is wrong or could be making me uncomfortable. But currently I just don't have the patience to deal with all this junk.. So until I can get my patience back or find a work around for this, Octonauts is officially back on the shelf. 😔

[jjkilll]

—-------✫ THE RECIPE | JJK ✫-------—

— pairing | dealer jk x rich girl y/n

— summary | Jungkook only loves the three W's, Women, Weed, and the Weather. Oh! and fucking you, maybe more than his ego will let him admit.

—  warning | eventual smut, drug use, and selling, angst, violence, crime

— word count | 2.5K

— song | The Recipe - Kendrick Lamar

Jungkook is a smart man, very powerful in his line of business. Being a drug lord that is. He fucked around and ended up being one of the most know dealers in the bay area. He ran a nightclub called the Cabaret. He didn't expect someone like you to be there. The club had half-naked girls, which usually brought in horny men, and girls so drunk they'd wake up the next morning promising they'd never have a night like that again.

So when you walked in, brown skin shimmering under the lights, he watched you closely. You didn't drink, you danced with your friends and politely declined all the sleazy men wanting to take you back to their apartments. Finally, you glanced in his direction scanning the booth of girls that surrounded him. Again, half-naked, covered in glitter, and high off whatever substance they'd been snorting. Putting the blunt between his lips Jungkook took a drag, tilting his head back and blowing the smoke into the air.

Your eyes finally land on him. His hair slicked back, smoke floating up from his lips. Though he wore a leather jacket, you could tell he was built. The way he sat, legs apart and back against the seat, his other hand resting on his lap.

"Who is that?" You lean over to your friend Marla at the bar. You and Marla go way back. You were in middle school together and both went to ASU for college, stayed friends ever since. Somewhere in the middle, you met Shannon.

"A whore, stay away from him." You laugh. "What? That's probably why keeps staring at me." She turns quickly to face you as Shannon, on the opposite side of you chimes in. "Look away that's how he gets you. That man is no good... Hot but dangerous, He lives life with the three W's." You furrow your brows in confusion. "Women, Weed, Weather." Marla says simply saving you from asking the question she knew would come.

Women. God Jungkook loved women. He never discriminated if you were a hot woman who piqued his interest, we wanted you. He was known to have quite the roster as well. Supermodels, actresses, singers, next he was hoping for you.

And Weed, Some would say he's addicted, He says he likes to have fun. He wouldn't be caught dead without weed on him. He could roll a blunt in the snap of a finger, and 90% of the time he's higher than a kite.

Weather. He loved California, the sun beamed like no other, He traveled a lot but California was his home. And quite frankly where the money was.

✫ -----------------------✫

It was getting late, so you, Marla, and Shannon decided to crash at your shared apartment not too far from the club. As you walk out trailing behind your friends, there he stands right at the door.

"You ladies leaving so soon? The party is just getting started." He flashes a smile sliver grills dripped in diamonds covering his bottom teeth. Fuck he was so hot, no wonder every girl in there was huddled around his section. "J-just a little laate," Shannon says slurring her words a bit. "You..." He takes a few steps closer to you. "New around here, huh?" He tilted his head taking a blunt and placing it between his lips. You nod as he lights it. "I'm JJ." He says. "Welcome to the Bay." He takes a hit from the blunt. Damn, a blunt sounds amazing right now you thought to yourself. You smile lightly take the blunt from his lips and put it between yours. You take a long drag blowing the smoke up into the air. "Y/n." You say a small smile on your face. He stares and watches as you take another hit from the blunt. You take the blunt between your fingers and place it back between his lips. You lightly blow the smoke in his face. "Thanks for the warm welcome. See you around." A smirk grows on his face as he watches you walk away. The way your hips sway has him in a trance.

"Y/n! What the hell? He's bad news, you can't fuck around with him." Marla says quickly. "I need to butter up my dealer somehow. He already thinks I'm hot. Think... free weed." You lookup. Shannon starts laughing, "Look just be careful, please. He's been to jail like four times." Marla says. "Mar, I'll be fine. I can handle myself. We're finally in the Bay, baby! It's time to have fun."

✫ -----------------------✫

Weeks pass and you find yourself home alone. Marla is out with her boyfriend and Shannon is out at a spin class. There you are relaxing and listening to music with a candle going. Suddenly a knock at your door. You rise from the couch lazily and open the door.

Jungkook. He stood alone, which from your knowledge was unlike him. "Oh, Hey." You say. He holds up a bag of weed. "Welcome to the neighborhood. Thought I'd bring a gift." You both stand there the little silence sounding so loud. "Come in."

If Marla knew you let him in here, she'd flip her lid.

He steps inside removing his shoes at the door. Dressed in a black compression shirt and grey sweat, different from the first time you met. "So, you stalking me." He chuckled. "Not particularly no. Just didn't realize we were neighbors." He points out the window the the apartment across the way. "Saw you walked in and asked the guy at the desk where I could find you." He spoke. "And he just told you?" you asked a little concerned for your safety. "Something like that." He speaks. "I have my ways, mama." He smiles.

You almost blush at the nickname, and then you remember is a criminal. A hot criminal. "So Y/n, what brings you to the Bay? The Hills not good enough for you?" You scoff. He guessed you were from the Hills, weird how he knew but you are in a tweed Celine top.

"Got bored, I guess." He hums. "Well, with me you'll have some fun." You chuckle. "Something funny?" He asks. "Nothing it's just... You're nice and I appreciate the weed, seriously, but you don't have the best rep. I've heard about you." You say surely handing him a water bottle.

"Oh yeah? What have you heard about me?" He smirks sitting back on the couch, his arms resting at the top of the cushions. "I know you sell more than weed. Coke and Pills aren't my thing. "And?" He questions. "And, you get around. You're like druglord G-Eazy."

"Ouch, G-Eazy is fucking horrible." He says putting his hand over his chest. "I'm not like that. I get a lot of women, yes, But I think you and I both know that I'm a nice guy."

"How'd you get the man at the front desk to tell you where I lived?" You smirked.

"Fine, I'm a nice guy most of the time. I like to get what I want. I'll do whatever it takes to get it." You nod and hum. "You're such a pretty girl, you know that?" He says randomly. "Thank you," you reply simply. "You should come to my party tomorrow night. Bring your friends." He says. "Maybe." You say. He stands walking over to you. You don't make eye contact as he steps closer. His hand lifts your chin so your eyes are now locked into his. He hums. "I like you, Y/n. You're a good girl. See you tomorrow." He says as you watch him as he walks to the door. "Maybe." You say. He chuckles, "See you tomorrow, baby. Welcome to the bay."

✫ -----------------------✫

"YOU WHAT?!" Marla screams. "Jesus Mar calm down, I didn't tell him where we lived he just showed up." You say following behind her to her bedroom. "That's even worse. He's stalking you. We could die." You roll your eyes. Shannon sighs, "Honestly, It's not that big a deal. I mean, she's alive. Our home is intact. I don't see the problem here."

"We're not going to die, Marla. He's a drug dealer, not a murderer."

"Close enough. I mean he's like druglord G-Eazy." She says plopping down on her bed. "I know I told him."

"Nice" Shannon high-fives you. "Look he's having a party tonight, I'm going. I could probably meet a hot guy and fuck around a bit. I don't know, I have a brand new Frolov dress in my closet calling my name."

"Shannon you're not gonna stop her? I mean he's a drug dealer." Marla protests as you leave the room. "She's grown as hell, plus it's not like she's going to fuck him." Marla sighs. "Plus, I'm going... Just to make sure she doesn't fuck him." Marla groans. "Now I have to go."

"What? No, you don't." Shannon says looking up from her phone. "Shan, if you're drunk and leave with someone's sister before Y/n even gets a drink in her system." She shrugs.

"Whatever let's get ready."

✫ -----------------------✫

You walk into the party, music blasting through the speakers. Weed smoke lingers in the room from the others taking puffs of their blunts. "Okay meet me by the pool in 20 minutes." You say to the girls, they nod and you break away.

The address that Jungkook gave was to a huge house not too far from the beach. Decorated with torches and little colorful leis around the rooms.

You and the girls always did a search of your own to check out the vibes of the party, usually to make sure there's no crazy shit going down, but for you somehow you'd hope to fun into Jungkook.

You step into the backyard scanning the area. There are people playing chicken in the pool, splashing playfully. People smoking by the fire and there he sat on the edge of the diving board. He stared into the water, seemingly looking at his reflection in the constantly rippling waves. You've only seen him twice before and somehow this is the saddest you've seen him look.

You walk on the back quietly sitting next to him. "Found you." You say quietly not wanting to startle him. "You were looking for me? Cute." He says looking at you. The reflection of water sparkled against your skin. "I'm glad you made baby." He says with a smile. He was one charming fucker. "Let me show you around, huh?" You nod. "You go first." You stand walking off the board and he follows.

"This is the living and dining room." He says a little louder than he heard over the music. He walks away and you get separated due to the large crowd. "Oh excuse me." You say but the drunken men still push you around. "HEY!" Jungkook shouts. "Watch out! You fucking blind or what? You don’t see her?" The boys move out of the way letting you by. 

He takes your hand guiding you to the kitchen. "Kitchen. I don’t cook here." He says simply. "Wanna see my room?" You nod hesitantly. He looks at you and smiles. Jesus H. Christ, what is up with his man? 

You make it to his door and he opens it swiftly. It’s cold and lacks personality. No posters or pictures of family, nothing but a bed, and two nightstands with two tall lamps on either side. 

"I thought you lived across the street from me." You state. "I do, I just own this house. Mainly use it for parties though. I don’t like people in my apartment." 

"This is the best part, baby. Look at this" He says pulling back the curtains that covered the left wall. It revealed a door to the balcony that looked out the front of the house. There was on chair and table and an ashtray. 

"Wanna smoke?" He asks holding a blunt between his fingers. "Always." You say, earning a chuckle from him. He reaches into his pocket grabs a lighter and lit the end of the blunt

You didn’t really understand, he didn’t seem as bad as Marla and Shannon made him out to be. He’s… Regular. Despite being a drug dealer, he was normal. 

He motions you over to the balcony before stepping out. You follow behind.  It stands near the rail allowing you to take a seat. The silence between you is thick, both of you wanting to speak but holding back. He looks up at the moon. "You okay?" You ask him. His eyes dart to yours. "I’m fine." He says.    You hum. He’s still looking at you. No… No, staring at you. Like he’s examining you. "What?" He asks. You shake your head tucking your bottom lip between your teeth. "You hummed." He states. "You don’t want to say anything?" He asks. 

"It’s just… I don’t know you, seriously. I don’t even know what either of the J’s in JJ even stands for but you seem… distracted."

"Jungkook Jeon." He mumbles. "What?" You questioned as he passed the blunt to you. "My name is Jungkook." He looks away from you almost as if he’s embarrassed. You stand, walking over to him. "Jungkook." You call him. "What?" He says coldly. "Look at me." He looks at you and his features soften as he gazes at you. You peck his lips softly. His phone rings and his eyes linger on you as he hears the phone continue its tune. "You’re uh…" you remind him.

"Oh." He grabs his phone out of his pocket and answers it. "What the fuck?" He responds to whatever news he is just given. He ends the call. "Someone just threw up in my sink, I’ll be back."

"Shit! Shannon." You say remembering you were supposed to meet the girls. "What?" Jungkook asks as you follow him out of the room. "It’s probably my friend. She loves getting drunk but it is like an ultralight weight." He hums. You find Marla in the kitchen. 

"Hey, why were you with him?" He asks snarling at Jungkook. "Calm your tits, he was just showing me around." She hums lightly. "Okay, whatever we have to go. Shannon threw up in the sink." You sigh. "I knew it." 

"Okay get in the car. I’ll be out soon." She leaves quickly going to collect Shannon who you could see sitting on the curb. You grab a marker from the counter and walk over to jungkook. You grab his hand and he looks over at you. You scribble your number down on his palm. "Call me?" You look up at him. "Yeah. I will." He smiles lightly. "I’m sorry about your sink." He chuckles, "You’re fine baby. Get home safe." You nod and walk away. 

You get in the car and let out a deep sigh. "Don’t fuck him, Y/n." Shannon slurs. "Yeah." You say lightly. In all honesty, you just want to get to know him. Tonight he was someone different. You wanted to know why. You were determined to know why. 

✫ -----------------------✫

You never waited on a man you weren’t dating, But you waited on Jungkook. 

You sat up in your bed phone’s brightness illuminating your face. You were waiting for him to text you. You were hoping he’d text you. Maybe kissing him was too much. 

It just got later and later. No text. Not a peep. Maybe he wasn’t feeling you how you thought. Maybe this is what Marla and Shannon were talking about. 

You clicked your phone off and turned it over. You laid down in your bed finally drifting off to sleep. 

✫ -----------------------✫

a/n: Finally back to writing some... this is part one of a little three-parter i have for you. Please enjoy, liking, reposting and requests are so very greatly appreciated.

[astro-vogue]

© Astro-Vogue 2024 all rights reserved, this article is protected by copyright norms, do not copy, repost, rewrite in any way or you'll be sued for copyright infringement.

• Hi everyone welcome here, you can address me as A. (she/her/hers) as I prefer to keep my identity as private as possible.

⎯ I'm 21, and not a native english speaker so please forgive me if I make accidental errors here and there, I'll always try my best not to...

• I'm a student from Astrology University, (I'm about to take my professional diploma) and I've been studying this subject professionally from certified astrologers since 6 full years now. [more about my astrology education here]

⎯ I have a life outside this blog as I'm a full time student and practitioner, please be patient if my answers don't arrive immediately.

• Come here anytime you'll want simple, truthful, straightforward & informative articles about western astrology.

⎯ I will never, ever, post something without proper documentation from valid sources + I will always make sure to link them in each article.

⎯ I will never, ever, sugarcoat any placement. I tell things as they are, this blog ain't for the weak.

All forms of hate and discrimination are banned from this blog.

All forms of criticism unless constructive and polite are banned.

All forms of impolite and ignorant behaviour are banned.

All people supporting Israel are banned.

Trauma Dumping and attempts to get free chart readings are banned.

People who do any of the above or generally annoy me will be blocked, I don't have time to deal with people's bullshit.

Asks can only be made in the proper ask box, not the DMs.

Do not ask for free readings unless I make a post which allows it.

Do not ask me to interpret more than 2 things about your chart.

Do not ask me about sensitive subjects (health, pregnancy, death, abuse, trauma and so on).

Do not ask personal questions about me, my chart or my life.

Asks that don't follow the rules will be deleted and people writing them will be blocked.

Anons are okay, as far as they're respectful.

If you make an ask don't expect me to answer immediately as I'm a full time student and practitioner so I need time.

• ASTROLOGY BASICS 101

⎯ the 4 elements

⎯ elemental lack

⎯ quadruplicities

⎯ polarity

⎯ the 12 zodiac signs

⎯ mutual reception

⎯ planets: part I - personal/inner planets

⎯ planets: part II - social planets

⎯ planets: part III - generational/outer planets

⎯ critical degrees

• ASTRO-OBSERVATIONS/NOTES

⎯ debunking observations, part I (anon ask)

⎯ debunking observations, part II - Composite 12H Placements/Stelliums

⎯ uranus in the 3H/11H

⎯ challenging composite placements

⎯ pluto in the 5H

⎯ moon square north node

⎯ wealth indicators in a chart

⎯ new fame degrees

• ASTEROIDS

⎯ poseidon & zeus

⎯ hermes

• RELATIONAL ASTROLOGY / FUTURE SPOUSE

⎯ multisynastry and multicomposite charts

⎯ inception charts

⎯ future spouse according to derivative houses

⎯ future spouse's home and family

• SEXTROLOGY

⎯ sexualization of placements

⎯ big d*ck indicators in a chart

⎯ manuel ferrara's chart and indicators of big d*ck

⎯ rocco siffredi's chart and indicators of big d*ck

⎯ future spouse's dick size and shape - groom PC & priapus

• POLLS & DISCUSSIONS

⎯ toxic/inaccurate observations online [n°I] [n°II] [n° IIII] [n°IV]

• CELEBS SYNASTRIES/COMPOSITE

⎯ Iman & David Bowie

⎯ Victoria & David Beckham

• OTHERS

⎯ stop being scared of pluto

⎯ small tip/advice: the 7H Persona Chart overlapped with your Birth Chart

⎯ career in astrology

[orionsangel86]

Death Appreciation Week!

With Dead Boy Detectives hitting our screens on the 25th April, and with our girl Death of the Endless making a guest appearance, it seemed only fitting that we should celebrate her in the run up to the show's release.

So I will be running a Death Appreciation Week from Thursday 18th April to Thursday 25th April which will be a celebration of all things Death of the Endless!

Participation is easy. You can go through the prompt list below, and choose to create in whichever way you feel most comfortable. I am keeping this event as flexible as possible so the prompts aren't tied to set days, you just go for whatever you feel most inspired by whenever you can make the time and ideally if you are able to complete a prompt of your choosing each day of the event well then you are a star and I love you!

Prompt List

Death and Family - Dysfunctional as they may be the Endless are a family unit, and their parents are even worse.

Death and Mortals - Some have won her favour, others have slipped through her grasp.

Death and Immortals - even the God's must meet her in the end.

Death and Relationships - Who doesn't flirt with Death on occassion?

Lessons Learned - Death's words of wit and wisdom.

Death the Fashionista - She's rocked many looks over the years, but she's always been a goth fashion icon.

A Day with Death - every 100 years she takes mortal form.

The Sound of Her Wings - lets not forget she has them!

"A Cold Stuck-Up Bitch" - It's a long endless lifetime - Death's early years and how she's changed.

Death Tarot - a symbol of transformation, of change, and even of hope?

Rules for Participation

All types of fanworks are permitted. Fanart, fanfics, gifsets, meta analysis, polls, even just sharing your fave comic panels or official artwork is fine. The goal is to celebrate this amazing character in all her forms.

For your work to qualify for submission to the event, it has to prominantly feature Death of the Endless as the primary focal point. Whilst I encourage exploring her relationships with other characters, the point is to highlight Death as the central character in the work.

the hashtag #Death Appreciation Week must be tagged in all works for the event.

Anything goes! I welcome all ships, all types of work, all themes and content. NSFW is absolutely fine if that's your jam. We don't kinkshame here either. So long as everything is clearly tagged you can literally create what you want.

The prompt list is just a guide for inspiration but literally any fanworks that focus on Death can be included. You don't have to follow prompts if you don't want to.

This is a love fest for Death - which means no hate, discrimination, exclusion, etc. Please also keep criticisms and complaints out of the event tag.

Death of the Author - this is my Neil Gaiman Keep Out sign. As much as I love the guy, this is a fan event and I do not consent to anyone tagging the author in my posts. If he somehow finds it on his own thats on him lol, but please don't tag him.

Most importantly HAVE FUN - and share this post. Signal Boost please!

If you have any questions about the event, the prompts, or anything, please send me an ask or a dm. I'm happy to answer anything and help as much as needed.

With love and thanks to @seiya-starsniper for the awesome banner, and @marlowe-zara and @tryan-a-bex for their ideas and support. <3

[k-hippie]

WELCOME TO ... CHESTNUT RIDGE K-505 TERRAIN MOD :)

Get back on your horse and ride in the distant sun because it is finally done. All of Sims4 world are k-hippied. All pixelated. Yeah, even hooves can feel the differences ( we know 'cause we asked ) :D

It's always a mess on EAxis side but we had been told they had made an effort with texturing. It is true. It was better texture-wise than any other neighborhood, still it couldn't be left untouched :)

Straw on the ground, rocks, riverbed, grass, large rocky structure ( ? ) Let the hooves have nice pixelated floors too. No discrimination here : feet, paws, hooves. All at the same level. Now you just have to worry about something else than letting your animals graze plastic ;)

THE NEXT ROADMAP is to wait for the coming World : Tomarang, and at last ... to release all the necessary updates, from base-game to horse-ranch for the k-101, k-202, k-606 ... and work backwards on the mega update of the k-707 ...

Some k-303 are coming too :)

After the Bold November, here comes the Fast December :D and we'll talk about in a few days ;) And as always, Have Fun !

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Download K-505 : Horse Ranch here

:)