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thecreaturecodex · 2 years

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Monster Art History: The Wendigo

You may be wondering why the wendigo, which has become very popular in pop culture over the last 10 years or so, is usually depicted in Western sources with a deer head. This appears nowhere in Native American traditions, despite the creature having lots of folkloric variations. The association of the wendigo with deer is 100% Western, 100% modern, and has a long, weird history.

Just in case you need a primer, the windigo or witiko is a supernatural being from the Algonquin speaking nations of the eastern American continent. It appears as an emaciated figure, sometimes giant, sometimes covered in ice, sometimes both. In many stories, they have a literal heart of ice. Windigos are manifestations of cannibalism and winter, and hunt, kill and eat people. Someone who resorts to cannibalism to survive, or otherwise abandons their community for personal gain, will become one of them. A few stories tell of someone being “cured” and turned back into a human, but usually the only cure is to kill the monster. In the last several decades, native writers have associated windigos with capitalism and deforestation as an extension of their selfishness. If you would like to know more about the properly Native windigo in context, I recommend Dangerous Spirits: The Windigo in Myth and History by Shawn Smallman.

The creature first came into horror fiction with Algernon Blackwood’s “The Wendigo”. Note the spelling, which would become the standard in horror, and generally in non-academic Western sources. In that story, it is not associated with cannibalism, but instead is a more generic “evil spirit of nature”. This wendigo stalks white people in the wilderness and turns a Native character into a new wendigo by seizing them and flying with them into the sky. This definitely better fits fears about non white people, fears about nature, and how the one is closer to the other than “civilized” people. Its description in the story is vague (the most we get is that it has burned its feet away by running into the sky). But when the story appeared in Weird Tales in the 1930s, Virgil Finlay illustrated it like this, the first antlered wendigo I know of.

This story was ripped off by August Derleth, a prominent Weird author in the 1940s and the main popularizer of HP Lovecraft. In his Cthulhu Mythos stories, he introduces Ithaqua the Wind Walker, which is an alien version of Blackwood’s monster. This fits into Derleth’s vision of the gods and monsters of HP Lovecraft falling into the four classical elements, with Ithaqua being invented to represent Air. Ithaqua is usually depicted as an icy, emaciated giant, so ironically is one of the more accurate wendigos to Indigeonous beliefs in pop culture.

Image from a recent French edition of Call of Cthulhu RPG, by Loic Muzy

In Pet Sematary, Stephen King uses a wendigo as the reason for why the titular cemetery is cursed. This is an update of the classic racist trope of the “Indian Burial Ground”, except this time what gets buried there comes back animalistic and evil. The racist implications of that are pretty apparent. This wendigo is seen briefly and has ram’s horns. It does not appear in the first film adaptation, but does in the more recent one... with deer horns instead, because those are trendy right now.

A good scholarly look at the real windigo versus the 20th century horror wendigo is “The Appropriation of the Windigo Spirit in Horror Literature” by Kallie Hunchman.

In the 1980s, a movie called Frostbiter: Wrath of the Wendigo was produced, but it wasn’t released until 1995 by Troma. From what I’ve read, it’s a pretty transparent ripoff of Evil Dead 2, with the characters being picked off in a haunted cabin with a zombie in the basement. The “twist” is that the origin of the horrors is a wendigo released by breaking a Christian demonology-style sacred circle. This wendigo is realized in stop motion animation, and has the most deer-like body yet.

A number of other independent horror movies in the 90s and 2000s used wendigos as a plot element. These follow the Blackwood/King approach of having the wendigo being something evil, ancient and Native American, reflecting white anxieties about living on stolen land more than Native anxieties about cannibalism and greed. Wendigo (2001) has the creature sicced on a white family when they hit a deer with their car. The Last Winter (2006) posits that global warming and fossil fuel extraction have unleashed the ghosts of dead animals, which are wendigo apparently, to revenge themselves on mankind. Which approaches the idea that greed is wendigo sickness, but I don’t think intentionally as a reference to modern Native literature. The “wendigo” in this movie are spectral moose and caribou.

The mainstream breakthrough of the deer-headed wendigo was in, appropriately enough for this blog, Pathfinder RPG. In “Spires of Xin-Shalast”, the last volume of Rise of the Runelords published in 2008, a wendigo is a major encounter. I suspect that either the author (Greg A. Vaughn), or one of the editorial staff had seen Frostbiter, as the setup involves a cabin haunted by dwarven cannibal ghosts who all killed and ate each other due to a wendigo’s influence. This wendigo is a hybrid of the Blackwood and Cree versions in terms of its MO: it is a cannibal ice spirit that wants to make more cannibals, and does so by abducting people and running off into the sky with them. Its design is the standard for what most Western artists depict wendigos as these days: an emaciated humanoid with the head and antlers of a deer (and the burned off feet of Algernon Blackwood, which are less common):

Image by Tyler Walpole, © Paizo Publishing

This wendigo definitely made a splash at the time; it was the first time I remember seeing a deer-headed wendigo, and art of that design started to become common. It pushed away previous wendigo depictions, which were typically werewolves (as French Canadian trappers had blended the concept with their own loup-garou, and Werewolf the Apocalypse had a whole faction of racist Native American “wendigos”) or shaggy and ape like (based more on the look of the Marvel Comics villain).

What turned wendigos from “folklore/horror monster” to “fandom blorbo” was Hannibal, which first aired in 2013. In that series, the first murder is a woman’s body impaled on a stag’s head, after which protagonist Will Graham has visions of a black stag, and a man with the antlers of a stag, representing murder, evil, and of course the cannibalistic murderer Hannibal Lecter.

Since Hannibal was super popular with the shipping fandom set, wendigo themed characters became popular in its wake, creating a wholly new way to culturally appropriate the wendigo. This was magnified by Over the Garden Wall, which came out in 2014, and its villain The Beast. The Beast is never called a wendigo, but is an antlered giant associated with winter, and so is commonly head-canoned as a wendigo and associated with them in fandom circles.

Which gets us to the modern day, where teenagers have misunderstood wendigo OCs, any character with antlers can be called a wendigo on the internet, and actual First Nations people with an actual cultural connection to the legend wish that people would just knock it off.

#and now you know #wendigo #windigo #witiko #creature design #art history #pathfinder rpg #algernon blackwood #august derleth #cthulhu mythos #stephen king #b movies #stop motion #hannibal #native american #first nations #cultural appropriation #long post

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w1ldthoughts · 7 months

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Mon amour, Mauritius

Synopsis: Jack and Zoey go on vacation together.

Warning: smut

Series Masterlist

The last hour of Zoey’s life had been spent checking the packing list that Jack sent her a few days earlier. It was so much better than racking her brain trying to guess where in the world he was taking her and how their first trip together was going to go. On the ride to the tarmac to meet him, she thought about how usually couples go on a quick road trip together or do something small, but they were literally leaving the country. And since Jack was on his big apology tour, she knew he’d be going all out so there was no room to ask questions, even after they’d been in the air for several hours. If the surf and turf dinner they had on the plane was any sign of what was to come, she was in for a very luxurious five days.

“Mr. Harlow and Ms. Mason, bienvenue. Welcome to Mauritius.” The resort manager announced, walking them through the private lot and up the elevator into the presidential suite behind the staff that was carrying their bags. “We hope that your stay at Shangri-La will be the utmost enjoyable experience. My name is Claude and I will be at your service throughout your time here. Sir, if you or your guest need anything, my number is on the desk and the line will remain open 24 hours a day so please do not hesitate to use it. I hope that you all have a fun and relaxing time.”Jack thanked the man as he and his team headed out the door.

Sometimes Zoey forgot who he was to the rest of the world, this person of global influence and reach, because at the end of the day, he was just Jack to her. And just Jack was doing it big for their first vacation.

“I cannot believe you brought me to the middle of the Indian Ocean, Jackman. All I said was that you were stressed and should be a little less hard on yourself.”

He approached her slowly, laughing a little as he pulled her into his arms. “Baby, I heard what you said. But I also think it was about time we took a little trip together. I love spending time in Louisville and in Miami but I do want to make some once in a lifetime memories with you. This trip is going to be about relaxing…and also having the time of our fucking lives.”

“Well when you put it that way…” she mused, “it doesn’t sound so bad. But I will definitely need a few naps before we take on this adventure. That 20 hour flight beat my ass.”

“Shit, mine too.” He says with a timely yawn. “Good thing I have nothing planned for us tomorrow, except for finding something to eat after we wake up from our jet-lag comas.” He jokes.

They spent the entire first day in bed, alternating between naps, cuddling, and ordering room service. Jack cherished these moments the most, just getting to be around her without a care in the world. He had spent so much time holding everything down, trying his best to put his best foot forward and not embarrass his team or his family in any way because all of these people were counting on him but with Zoey…there was none of that. She wanted to be with him for exactly who he was, on good days and bad. It made his heart swell just thinking about it. And he couldn’t wait to shower her with the love and care that she’d continuously shown him.

That was the goal for this trip. And he was hellbent on meeting that goal.

The next morning, the couple woke up refreshed and had breakfast on their patio overlooking the water. Of course Jack told her that the events of the day would be a surprise, but he tell her to wear active clothes that she wouldn’t mind getting dirty. And her swimsuit. When they got to their destination, her jaw dropped.

“We’re riding ATVs? Oh my god this is amazing Jack!” She exclaimed, hugging him tight as he pressed his lips to the side of her head.

The instructor handed them both a helmet and went over the rules. They each hopped on their respective ATV and took off after their guide. For the next three hours, they rode along Gris Gris Beach, encountering the beautiful views and unique sights through off-road terrain. Zoey joined Jack on his ATV for the last few miles of their tour, stopping at a secluded waterfall. He asked her if she wanted to go for a swim, watching her face light up with excitement. They both stripped down to their swimsuits and walked hand in hand, tiptoeing into the warm water together, allowing it to render them weightless.

“I can’t believe we’re here.” Zoey whispered after coming up for air, now fully submerged in the water. She looked at her boyfriend who was about a foot away, his eyes an even brighter electric blue that had her convinced there really was heaven on Earth. She wrapped her legs around his waist when he got close enough and ran her thumb over his lips. When she kissed him his entire body froze, he would never get tired of the feeling, chills ran down his spine as he came back to himself and secured his arms around her to deepen the kiss.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against her lips, his voice sounding hoarse, “my pretty baby.”

She tangled her fingers in his wet curls, failing terribly to mask the joy that was bursting out of her. “I think you’re pretty too. Beautiful even.”

Jack closes his eyes with a sigh, their foreheads still touching as he nods slowly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome bub, just telling the truth.” She laughs, still playing with his hair.

“Not for that. For um—for seeing me.” He sets her back on her feet and looks deep into those big brown eyes he can’t get enough of. “I used to think that I had to hide my emotions and just wait to unload all my shit with my therapist but you, you saw I was struggling and you helped me talk through what I was feeling. I’ve just never had that before and it just confirmed what I already knew.”

Zoey furrows her brows, waiting for him to explain further. “I don’t deserve you. But I’m lucky as hell that you chose me. And all I can do is love you with everything I have, for as long as I can.”

She wraps her arms around him, running her fingers along his freckled shoulders, holding him close. “You…are the greatest love I’ve ever known. And I will always be here to catch you if you fall. Always.”

He feels the tears prick the corners of his eyes and lets out a short laugh, “okay enough with this lovey dovey shit, we are in paradise. Let’s go do some more exploring. I just had to get that off my chest and here you go being all sentimental.”

She rolls her eyes and follows him on the walk back to the spot where the ATV is parked. “You started it! I just matched your energy. You’re the one that was basically crying, but I’M sentimental.”

Jack drove all the way back to their original starting point with a huge smile on his face.

When they got back to the resort, Claude let them know that their traditional dinner was booked and would be starting promptly at 8pm. They got out of their muddy clothes and showered together, to save water of course.

“Now we have 4 hours to do…whatever we want.” He mused, giving her a sly smile, putting his phone on the charger. She gave him a quick glance, a sense of warmth already brewing in her core. They quickly but delicately lost themselves in a kiss, the taste of yearning in both of their bodies. It was almost a demand, an instinct as Jack somehow ended up on top of her, trailing little pecks along her neck.

“I need,” he whispered in between kisses.

“What do you need, J?”

His gaze was intense as he settled himself between her legs with an elated look on his face at her lack of underwear. “I need to hear you tonight. Let me take care of you like you deserve…please.” All she could muster up as a response was a nod. A low moan escaped her lips when he inserted two wet fingers inside, her walls adhering to his will, welcoming his touch.

Her voice was his favorite sound and being the cause of her intense pleasure definitely boosted his ego.

“Does that feel good, baby?” He already knew the answer, feeling her legs start to shake but a little reassurance never hurt anyone.

“It’s—it’s so good,” she uttered between pants, grabbing at the sheets for support as he continued to delicately stimulate her g-spot. The calloused padding of his fingers applied just the right amount of pressure. Small circular motions around her clit went a long way, leaving her gasping for breath, losing control of her body the longer he went. He could literally her clenching and around his middle finger so he slowed his movements until her breaths became more steady.

While she continued to come down from her almost orgasm, he wrapped an arm around her waist, allowing her to hook one of her legs around him. The other was placed on his shoulder. They couldn’t get any closer if they tried. Jack could feel his heartbeat in his ears as he slid all the way in, stopping himself from cumming right then and there. He needed to keep it together and compose himself but the sight of her below him was really testing his willpower.

“Fuck, I don’t know how long imma last.” He grunts out. “You feel so fucking good.” A strained groan rolls out of his mouth, tightening his grip in her and staying in his blissful mindset.

Slow thrusts opened a floodgate of emotions. They’d gotten used to the distance, it made them stronger. They’d gotten over a few hurdles that only made them love harder and her eyes were locked on his while his hips found a steady, comfortable rhythm. There were a few tears mixed in with sweat, but it wasn’t because she was sad, everything was just all hitting her once. As a very normal girl from North Carolina she’d never expected any of this. Never seeing herself fall so hard for someone, who on paper was so different than anyone she’d ever dated, and the love she’d developed over the last several months was all-encompassing and a little overwhelming. In this world, there’s so much uncertainty and nothing is guaranteed, but one thing Zoey knew for sure was that the man holding her close, also held her heart in his hands.

So she threw her head back and gave in, unlocking another piece of herself to share with him, while reaching her climax. He finally felt free to let go, soft curses coming from his mouth, feeling his dick pulsing inside her. After he pulled out, they laid down together for a while, a silent “I love you” moved about the room as they spooned.

Miraculously, they made it to dinner on time and enjoyed the rest of their vacation making memories, emphasizing the very known fact that they lit a fire in each other that they hoped would never go out.

Taglist:

@jackharloww

@killatravtramp

@middlechild404

@harlowcomehome

@itsyagirljaz

@iknowdatsrightbih

@earthtoharlow

@heavyhitterheaux

@hoodharlow

#jack harlow #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow x oc #jack harlow smut #jackman thomas harlow #jack harlow fanfic #jack x zoey

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thegirl20 · 9 months

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Hi girl20, i saw your post and safe travels to you! I've got a few asks, hopefully one or more will resonate :) What other specific hand movements do you think Tissaia has for specific situations? Habits, (un-)learned, magical or otherwise? Talking to nobles vs students vs staff?Since Anya said she tried to incorporate more of her heritage (dance iirc), how similar do you think Yennefer and Tissaia's magic wielding is?

Anya has talked about incorporating elements of Indian dance into Yennefer's magic wielding this season, yes. Which makes it very elegant and pretty to watch.

It's hard to say, with Tissaia, since we've hardly seen her do any proper magic. My whole thing with Tissaia revolves around her control, and part of that is using her hands to keep her magic 'holstered'. I talked about that a bit in this post.

Tissaia's default position is to have her hands linked at her waist. We also see her hold onto tables, or clench her fists - all ways to keep her hands occupied and not ready to cast.

This got long, and also doesn't answer your question!! It just turned into 'let's watch Tissaia do magic'.

When we have seen her do magic, it seems effortless.

The most we see herself exert herself in season 1 is also the sexiest scene in the entire show™

But the rest of the time, she needs minimal movement or effort.

She seems not to need her hands to call a portal.

I've always said that Fringilla dosing Tissaia with dimeritium wasn't as effective as it could have been because we hadn't seen what Tissaia was capable of. Neither did we know what she planned to do at the battle. She hadn't used her powers during the battle, so we could maybe assume she was saving herself to be the last resort (which turned out to be Yennefer) but none of that is clear in the narrative of the episode. If we knew Tissaia was the 'big gun', then we'd have been more affected by her being taken out of the game. But we didn't. We just had to assume that this was a much reduced version of what Tissaia was capable of.

In season 2, despite everyone thinking that Tissaia would likely be without her magic due to severe dimeritium poisoning, we see her do more impressive magic in the first episode than we have in the whole of season 1.

On the battlefield she's reading the last memory/sight of dead soldiers - again, with no effort. (I'm led to believe this is a fairly high level spell/power/idk what we call it)

Then we see her do healing magic, which again we kind of assumed she could do because she prevented Yennefer from dying when she attempted suicide. This seems to be taking effort from Artorius, but we don't really see Tissaia strain, even though Vilgefortz feels the need to join in.

And then comes the torture scene, where Tissaia zaps (idk the technical terms) Cahir without blinking, causing searing pain.

It's not really clear whether the strain we see on her face when she actually sticks her fingers into his head is because the magic is difficult, or because she's barely restraining her rage. (I think it's the latter, personally)

Then we do see her do fancy things with her hands for magic, but it's because she's carving letters. I don't know if we can take this as an indication of her casting habits/stance because she's doing calligraphy, basically. But it's the most elegant we've seen her magic look. (And it confirms that she is not left-handed)

Just because her hesitation before she writes Yen's name kills me...

Again, when she's getting rid of the tablet (is she going to do another one?? Or is she not bothered now that Yen is back) we see an elegant use of her hands.

And then the last bit of magic we really see her do is when she blasts Stregobor away from Yen.

We see Yen do a similar thing when she gets the big monster thing and Francesca away from Ciri.

But I think that might be the only comparable thing we've seen them do?

So, to answer the question, I don't really know that we've seen Tissaia use magic in the same ways we've seen Yennefer use it (i.e. in battle, to make an escape etc) so it's hard to judge the similarities. Tissaia's magic seems effortless and utlititarian. Elegant at times, but not showy.

With Yennefer we often see strain and effort, when she's using magic, and we see her do it a lot more often.

I think we do see Yennefer start to mirror Tissaia's stance in season 2 when she's with Ciri, but more in posture and how she holds her hands than in magic.

I assume after the second half of season 3 we'll have seen Tissaia do some big magic, so maybe we can revisit this then.

(Also, if I've forgotten any bits of Tissaia doing magic, please feel free to point them out - these were off the top of my head)

#rilirili #yennefer of vengerberg #tissaia de vries #the witcher #tissaia's hands

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gowns · 6 months

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edit: putting this rant about US american myopia behind a read more

i think that a part of the myopia that US americans have (outside of the sheer amount of propaganda and bread and circuses they have been bombarded with since birth) is that they have the privilege of the US american passport (one that most US americans don't even exercise).

you can always simply "go" places. the whole world is your playground. visas, immigration, exile -- these words mean nothing to the average suburban white bread US american.

so i will see often, in comment sections about palestine -- "they should evacuate!" "they should go somewhere else!" "if they're innocent, they can just go on a trip while israel removes the terrorists--"

and ideological stupidity and ugliness aside,

it's like, no, you don't fucking understand. you don't understand the violence of the border wall. you don't understand what it means to be tied to a land. you don't understand things like, "my grandparents still remember the nabka"; you don't understand the horrors of colonial violence firsthand. your whole life has been a playground, a theme park. thanksgiving is just a day to dress up like pilgrims and indians and eat too much and watch football. and that's the closest that you get to an understanding of colonialism. that it's all a game, with smiling characters.

those who have passports go on honeymoons, backpacking across europe, jetsetting across latin america, whimsical safaris, serene resorts on islands where you can imagine the entire population as your waitstaff or entertainment

which is an experience that is so far removed from -- This is my land. There is nowhere to go. There are guards at the border. We have to move heaven and earth to perform brilliantly in school and maybe possibly be accepted into a university and maybe possibly get a visa and maybe possibly I can earn enough money to provide, to help my family, to save--

the juxtaposition is so jarring to me. this is everything that goes through my head when i see those comments -- "why don't they just go, if they're innocent?" go where? how? do you even think for two seconds? this "conflict" is like a football game to you. you can just tune in and comment on it so dismissively, like you're making fun of a fumbled pass. but it's real people's lives, and their reality is so different from yours, and you don't even stop and think why you are living in such a different lived reality.

#i'm using 'you' here as you know the royal 'you' not 'you' you #and also including myself because i can't even understand the entirety of this experience #since i was born in the US #but i can certainly try to wrap my mind around it and read history and first hand accounts #and not make such stupid comments #.

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percervall · 10 months

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I'll be your hideaway

Pairing: Kostas Tsimikas x fem!reader Words: 2324 Warnings: Mentions of teammates leaving and the dreadful 22/23 season, talk of insecurities and worries, smut, porn w/feelings, public sex, outdoor sex, oral (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, cockwarming, Google translated Greek

In which Kostas takes you on holiday to get away from the abysmal 22/23 season

---

It always takes him a few days to shake off the last dregs of a harrowing season. You don’t mind, the country he has whisked you away to is beautiful and after a gruelling six months at work, you are more than happy to let your boyfriend sort through his thoughts and emotions while you finally catch up on some reading. He spends most mornings in the gym on the resort and has met up with a few of the other Liverpool boys who are staying at the same place for some tennis. And while you’re meant to be on holiday together, you are so grateful for his friends to help him work through the tangles of grief and frustration, because slowly but surely you see the Kostas you fell in love with reemerge; you can tell by the change in his body language and the reappearance of that glimmer in his eye that your Kos, your sunshine boy, is slowly coming back to you.

Kicking off your shoes, you walk outside as Kostas heads into the lounge to phone his family. The sun has already started setting and for a moment you feel like you’re the only person on the planet as you stare out over the Indian ocean. The water calmly laps against the pillars holding up the villa. You had planned to finish your book while Kostas was on the phone, but you can’t tear your eyes away from the way the sky is now tinged with different shades of pinks and purples. A stillness washes over you as you make yourself comfortable on the large daybed on the deck and watch the sunset. Right now, in this moment, life feels so good that it almost makes you choke up. Pulling your knees up, you rest your chin on them and take a deep breath, exhaling the last bits of stress about your shared future.

This is how Kostas finds you when he joins you after his phone call. The feeling of his lips against the nape of your neck breaks you from the trance the view had put you under.

“You were miles away, agápi mou,” he murmurs against your hair as he settles behind you. You can’t help but smile at the term of endearment and lean back against him.

“Was just thinking..” you say, lacing your fingers with his as they rest on your stomach. Kostas lifts your entwined hands and kisses the back of yours.

“About what?”

You’re quiet for a moment, trying to sort through all the emotions filling your chest.

“About us. The future. How lucky we are to witness this,” you murmur, turning your face to look at him, “About how much I love you, how happy it makes me to see you smile again.”

Kostas’ eyes search your face and for the faintest of moments you see a flicker of sadness in those stunning brown eyes that always tell you exactly how he’s feeling even if he might not have the words to tell you himself. Before Kostas can apologise, you kiss him.

“No need, my love. For better or worse, you have me –all of me.”

“I know, but still… I shouldn’t take your support or your love for granted. I’ve been so in my head lately that I never stopped to think about how you must feel,” Kostas says, smiling wistfully as he brushes back a strand of your hair. You lean into his touch, kissing his wrist as he rests his hand against your cheek.

“I feel that this season has been brutal. I feel that you have every right to be upset about your teammates leaving. I feel that you will come to me when you’re ready to talk things through. I feel worried for you and your future, this limbo of uncertainty that always comes up at the end of a season is-... It’s hard seeing someone you love so much doubt their worth to a team and a city that loves them so unconditionally in return.”

The words just tumble out, but perhaps it’s this honesty –this open dialogue– that the both of you need. Kostas is quiet for a moment as he mulls over what you said. He pulls you back against his chest as he lays down on the daybed, absentmindedly rubbing circles over your shoulder as he stares out over the ocean.

“I know that I am loved by the city, and sometimes it worries me whether it’ll be enough… I knew when I signed I would never be first choice. And I just wonder if I will know, y’know? Like James, Bobby; will I know it’s time to move on or will my love for the city cloud that?” Kostas breaks the silence. You move to sit up slightly so you can look at him properly.

“I know you, my love, you will know. And I will be there every step of the way to help you make that call when the time comes.” Kostas smiles up at you, and you see flashes of the younger man you fell in love with appear in the way his eyes twinkle with adoration and an almost renewed zest for life. He pulls you on top of him, kissing you deeply.

“What did I ever do in all my past lives to deserve you?” he murmurs, more to himself really, but you can’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach and a lump in your throat.

“I wonder the same thing,” you reply and kiss him again while tears threaten to spill. You can’t even put into words really how incandescently happy he makes you, how full your heart is with love for him.

“S'agapó,” he whispers as he rolls you onto your back. Your hands slide up his arms, to his broad shoulders.

“I love you, too,” you whisper back, pulling his face down to yours and kissing him once more. Kostas hums into the kiss, you can feel him smile against your lips before his tongue seeks entrance. More than happy to oblige, you part your lips to allow him to explore your mouth, tasting the cocktails he’s had with dinner on his tongue. Kostas’ hand wanders up the flowy skirt of your dress, caressing the outside of your thigh. The kiss changes from slow and loving to urgent. A heat climbs up your spine as you feel him harden against your hip.

“Wanna show you just how much, sweetheart,” he murmurs. Kostas sits back on his haunches and pulls at the bow at your waist. The fabric gives way easily to his eager hands and hungry eyes, leaving you in a mismatched set of cotton panties and a bralette. Had you been anywhere else, you would have been worried about people seeing you like this, but the deck of the villa is shielded from any prying eyes. It feels liberating, in a sense.

You’re quick to pull the bralette over your head, dropping it next to you on the floor. Kostas slowly pulls your panties down, taking his time to kiss the skin of your hips and thighs, his lips following the path of his hands until you’re completely naked. He looks up at you from where he’s lying between your thighs, his gaze half rapture, half reverence, and it leaves you feeling so unbelievably adored, it has you choking up. Kostas presses a tender kiss to where you’re aching for him with need, his hands holding your thighs open for him. His tongue licks a stripe up your pussy before he flicks it over your clit, drawing a low moan from you. Kostas looks up at you, eyes dark and the look of equal parts love and lust in them leaves you breathless. He draws slow circles around your clit, enough to build you up but not enough to send you flying –not yet at least.

“Kostas…” you sigh, back arching as you shamelessly grind against his face. He hums against your cunt, sucking that bundle of nerves into his mouth. The sensation has your body vibrating with want. Your eyes flutter closed, lips parted, as you melt into his touch. The last coherent thoughts seem to evaporate as you give in to the feeling of Kostas’ mouth on you. An ocean breeze caresses your skin, causing your nipples to harden. Quiet moans and sighs leave your open mouth as your fingers try desperately to hold onto something while Kostas plays you like a goddamn fiddle. He reaches a hand up, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“Yes… Kos…” you all but whisper. A slow heat is dancing its way up your body, starting in the pit of your stomach and you feel like you might combust –with need, with love, with emotion; it’s all a mess, a delicious mess, swirling around in your body as Kostas flicks just the tip of his tongue over that already swollen bud in such a way that it has you crying out as your orgasm wrecks through you, leaving your body trembling with the aftershocks.

Kostas takes his time, kissing his way up your body, as you come down from your high. Your body has melted into the cushions of the daybed, eyes half-lidded, and you swallow hard. Kostas smiles this boyish grin that sends your heart into a frenzy as you take in your slick smeared across his lips and chin. He pulls off his shirt before leaning down to kiss you. Tasting yourself on his tongue makes you moan, your fingers idly tracing the tattoo on the nape of his neck. Kostas rolls the both of you onto your side and makes quick work of his shorts and underwear. He slides a hand, palm up, between your legs and wraps it around the back of your thigh to pull you closer to him. You can’t help the giggle that bubbles up as he does so. Kostas grins back at you, wrapping your leg around his hip. You can feel his cock twitch where it is trapped between your bodies and it has you clenching around nothing. The breeze hits your skin and you can feel just how wet you are for him; it has you rolling your hips against him in anticipation and desperation. Kostas brushes his lips against yours, kissing you so tenderly as he guides his cock to where you need him most. He enters you so slowly, so agonisingly slow. The stretch has you panting, eyes closed as you almost lose yourself in the feeling of him.

“So good.. Always so good..” he murmurs, forehead pressed against yours as he stills his movements. The weight of him inside of you is a familiar one, offering a closeness you’ve craved. During the season the two of you had to make do with stolen moments, but right now Kostas takes all the time in the world.

His hand follows the planes of your body, reacquainting himself with every curve and birthmark across your skin. You can’t help but gently rock your hips against him, needing something to alleviate the ache between your legs. Kostas groans, fingers digging into your hip.

“Need you.. Need you to move.. Kos..” you whisper. You feel him smile against your skin as he lavishes your neck with kisses. He slowly begins to move, setting a languid pace that allows you to feel each drag of his cock against your walls.

“Fuck…” he moans when when you squeeze around him.

“More…” you all but whimper. Kostas holds you against his body as he rolls you onto your back, hiking up the leg already around his hip. The change in position allows him to enter you even deeper, and your eyes flutter closed at the feeling. You wrap your arms around him, gasping and moaning as Kostas fucks into you with a tenderness that has you tearing up. He supports his weight with one hand, resting the other against your cheek.

“Look at me,” he whispers. You lick your lips, opening your eyes and trying to focus on his face but the pleasure you feel coiling low in your stomach makes it harder to do so. You let out a noise that’s part whimper, part moan as that coil keeps tightening.

“Kos-..”

“I know sweetheart, fuck.. Me too. I need you to cum for me,” he murmurs. You gasp at his request; it has you shuddering underneath him, coming undone in the most glorious of ways. Throwing your head back, your spine arches and your lips part with a silent scream as your orgasm hits you with such force, it knocks the air from your lungs. Kostas’ thrusts begin to falter and he stills inside of you, burying his face in your shoulder as he follows you over the edge.

Every muscle in your body has turned to jelly and you sigh contently. Kostas chuckles and gently rolls the two of you back onto your side. You can feel him soften inside of you but neither of you want to leave this bubble just yet. Kostas brushes your hair back, kissing your forehead, your cheekbones, the tip of your nose, before settling on your lips.

“I love you so much, Kos,” you mumble, snuggling into him and tucking your head against his chest.

“I love you more,” he whispers back, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You know you should probably get up, but you’re so sleepy and your Kostas is so warm. He keeps murmuring sweet nothings against your hair and you let yourself be lulled to sleep by it. In an hour or so, when you wake up, he will carry you inside and get you all cleaned up before cuddling you all night. And in the morning he will remind you just how much he loves and cherishes you. Whatever the future may hold, of this you are certain: you will face it together.

This was meant to be a flirty, sexy fic about Kostas reacquainting himself with his girl while on holiday, but apparently my brain decided to go down the heartbreak route. Why do I do this to myself?

A big thank you to @kostasstsimikass & @emilielfc for always feeding the fic brain rot and listening to me talk things through on discord, and @footballffbarbiex for being my beta reader. This fic wouldn't have seen the light of day without you three. @moneyymaseyy hope it lives up to the hype!

Please let me know what you think! Your comments mean the world to me

#football fanfic #football oneshot #kostas tsimikas fanfic #kostas tsimikas oneshot #kostas tsimikas x reader #kostas tsimikas x you #kostas tsimikas smut

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thozhar · 3 months

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Gulf migration is not just a major phenomenon in Kerala; north Indian states also see massive migration to the Gulf. Uttar Pradesh and Bihar accounted for the biggest share (30% and 15%) of all Indian workers migrating to GCC1 countries in 2016-17 (Khan 2023)—a trend which continues today. Remittances from the Gulf have brought about significant growth in Bihar’s economy (Khan 2023)—as part of a migrant’s family, I have observed a tangible shift in the quality of life, education, houses, and so on, in Siwan. In Bihar, three districts—Siwan, Gopalganj, and Chapra—send the majority of Gulf migrants from the state, mostly for manual labor (Khan 2023). Bihar also sees internal migration of daily wagers to Delhi, Bombay, and other parts of India. Gulf migration from India’s northern regions, like elsewhere in India, began after the oil boom in the 1970s. Before this time, migration was limited to a few places such as Assam, Calcutta, Bokaro, and Barauni—my own grandfather worked in the Bokaro steel factory.

Despite the role of Gulf migration and internal migration in north Indian regions, we see a representational void in popular culture. Bollywood films on migration largely use rural settings, focussing on people who work in the USA, Europe, or Canada. The narratives centre these migrants’ love for the land and use dialogue such as ‘mitti ki khusbu‘ (fragrance of homeland). Few Bollywood films, like Dor and Silvat, portray internal migration and Gulf migration. While Bollywood films frequently centre diasporic experiences such as Gujaratis in the USA and Punjabis in Canada, they fail in portraying Bihari migrants, be they indentured labourers in the diaspora, daily wagers in Bengal, or Gulf migrants. The regional Bhojpuri film industry fares no better in this regard. ‘A good chunk of the budget is spent on songs since Bhojpuri songs have an even larger viewership that goes beyond the Bhojpuri-speaking public’, notes Ahmed (2022), marking a context where there is little purchase for Gulf migration to be used as a reference to narrate human stories of longing, sacrifice, and family.

One reason for this biased representation of migration is that we see ‘migration’ as a monolith. In academic discourse, too, migration is often depicted as a commonplace phenomenon, but I believe it is crucial to make nuanced distinctions in the usage of the terms ‘migration’ and ‘migrant’. The term ‘migration’ is a broad umbrella term that may oversimplify the diverse experiences within this category. My specific concern is about Gulf migrants, as their migration often occurs under challenging circumstances. For individuals from my region, heading to the Gulf is typically a last resort. This kind of migration leads to many difficulties, especially when it distances migrants from their family for much of their lifetime. The term ‘migration’, therefore, inadequately captures the profound differences between, for instance, migrating to the USA for educational purposes and migrating to the Gulf for labour jobs. Bihar has a rich history of migration, dating back to the era of indentured labor known as girmitiya. Following the abolition of slavery in 1883, colonial powers engaged in the recruitment of laborers for their other colonies through agreements (Jha 2019). Girmitiya distinguishes itself from the migration. People who are going to the Arabian Gulf as blue-collar labourers are also called ‘Gulf migrants’—a term that erases how their conditions are very close to slavery. This is why, as a son who rarely saw his father, I prefer to call myself a ‘victim of migration’ rather than just a ‘part of migration’. It is this sense of victimhood and lack of control over one’s life that I saw missing in Bollywood and Bhojpuri cinema.

— Watching 'Malabari Films' in Bihar: Gulf Migration and Transregional Connections

#bhojpuri indentured history #malayalam cinema #bihari labour migration #gulf migrant labour #malayali labour migration #bollywood cinema #bhojpuri cinema

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 2 months

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By: Andrew Doyle

Published: Feb 13, 2024

In his novel Shalimar the Clown, Salman Rushdie traces the deterioration of Kashmir from a place where Muslims and Hindus could live together in peace and co-operation to a country ravaged by conflict. This descent is signalled early in the novel with the arrival of a character called the Iron Mullah, a blood-and-thunder preacher with “skin the colour of rusting metal”. We think his name is metaphorical, but the Iron Mullah had risen from the scrapheaps of the Indian army, the junkyards of weaponry and tanks that have been left to decay. When he arrives, he removes his turban and raps his knuckles against his own head so that the locals can hear the metallic clang. It’s Rushdie’s way of portraying the idea that it was the actions of the Indian army that gave rise to the appeal of Islamic extremism in Kashmir.

Soon after the appearance of the Iron Mullah, a local Muslim man challenges him.

“Be off with you. We don’t want any trouble, and you, standing here in the middle of our little town and yelling your head off about the punishments of hell – you look like trouble to me.” “There are big infidels,” replied the stranger calmly, “who deny God and his Prophet; and then there are little infidels like you, in whose belly the heat of faith has long since cooled, who mistake tolerance for virtue and harmony for peace.”

For the likes of the Iron Mullah, moderate peaceful Islam is just another form of heresy. He soon has a mosque built in which he preaches from a pulpit made of scrap metal, old bits of radiator and “bent fenders spearing upwards like horns”. He is a frightening and ridiculous figure, but everyone is too intimidated to laugh.

Religious intolerance is something that Rushdie has had to live with for most of his life. Whereas extremists cannot reason and therefore resort to violence, Rushdie’s power has always been in his words. He is one of the handful of living authors whose work I genuinely adore, and Shalimar the Clown is undoubtedly my favourite. His depiction of Kashmir’s degeneration from an ecumenical paradise to a sectarian warzone is heartrending. It was published in 2006, seventeen years after the fatwa issued by the Ayatollah Khomeini of Iran following the publication of Rushdie’s novel The Satanic Verses, and surely the Iron Mullah was inspired by these experiences.

That evil spectre of the Iron Mullah was resurrected in August 2022, when an Islamist fanatic attempted to murder Rushdie at an event in New York, leaving him struggling for his life in hospital with multiple stab wounds. And although there was widespread condemnation, the silence from the Royal Society of Literature was curious to say the least. This week, fellows of the RSL have come forward to criticise the charity’s leadership for not being forthcoming on condemning this atrocity. The RSL’s former president, Dame Marina Warner, has said its leadership refused to issue a statement in support of Rushdie’s right to free expression because to do so “might give offence”. Do knife-wielding maniacs really deserve all that much consideration?

The RSL’s current thinking on the subject was outlined in a piece for the Guardian by its president, Bernardine Evaristo:

“Finally, to the matter of “freedom of speech”. There’s no question that the current leadership believe in this. However, the society has a remit to be a voice for literature, not to present itself as “the voice” of its 700 fellows, surely a dangerous and untenable concept. It cannot take sides in writers’ controversies and issues, but must remain impartial.”

The best response came from Rushdie himself. “Just wondering if the Royal Society of Literature is ‘impartial’ about attempted murder? (Asking for a friend.)”

Apparently, remaining “impartial” means not issuing statements of support for authors when there are attempts to cancel them both figuratively and literally. When activists hounded the poet Kate Clanchy with spurious allegations of racism and ableism in her award-winning book Some Kids I Taught and What They Taught Me, the RSL were mute. “They would not make a stand about the attacks on Clanchy,” said Warner, or any kind of defence “for all writers facing these social media attacks”.

In recent years, we have seen attempts by activists of many stripes to conflate language and violence, to claim that offensive words can cause the equivalent of physical harm. By this kind of twisted logic, bloody repercussions against authors and artists can be deemed a form of self-defence. A survey of American students in 2017 found that 30 per cent of respondents agreed with the statement: “If someone is using hate speech or making racially charged comments, physical violence can be justified to prevent this person from espousing their hateful views”. In this regard, today’s identity-obsessed self-proclaimed “social justice activists” have something in common with the mullahs of Tiran.

[ Protesters gather outside of the Batley Grammar School in West Yorkshire ]

Consider what happened to the schoolteacher at the Batley Grammar School in West Yorkshire who, in March 2021, was suspended for displaying a caricature of the Prophet Muhammad during a lesson on free speech. The protesters that gathered outside of the school couched their objections in terms of “safety and well-being”. One read aloud a statement in which the school authorities were accused of failing in their “duty of safeguarding”, and the teacher himself was charged with “threatening and provocative” behaviour. Here we saw a sinister alliance of religious fundamentalism and “safetyism” (a term coined by journalist Pamela Paresky to denote the elevation of emotional “safety” to a sacred value). The teacher from Batley Grammar is still in hiding to this day; I would suggest that his safety ought to take priority.

When activists say “this person makes me feel unsafe”, they are effectively saying “I don’t agree with this person and I want them to be censored”. Depressingly, this tactic generally works. Event organisers, school authorities, and employers feel obliged to act because they are gulled into believing that this is an issue relating to their legal duty of care. But disagreement and causing offence are not a threat to anyone’s safety, and we need to stop pandering to anyone who claims otherwise.

Of course, the RSL is not responsible for violence against authors, but they could at least offer their vocal support to the principle of artistic freedom. Let’s not forget that there have been many commentators over the years who have tacitly blamed Rushdie for writing his book in the first place. I recall one of teachers at school making the case that Rushdie “should have known better”. How exactly? The Satanic Verses is a brilliant and thoughtful work of fiction, and I daresay my teacher hadn’t even read it.

At the time of the fatwa, there seemed to be endless debates in the media over whether or not Rushdie deserved our sympathy and police protection. A case in point is the singer Yusuf Islam, otherwise known as Cat Stevens, who appeared on the Australian television show Hypotheticals soon after the fatwa was declared. When asked what he would do were he to encounter Rushdie in public, Stevens said that he would inform the Iranian authorities of the author’s whereabouts. As a grim final flourish, he went on to imply that he would rather enjoy the prospect of watching him being burned alive.

In a civilised and free society, it shouldn’t be all that difficult to reach a consensus that violence is not an appropriate form of literary criticism. Or that one of the most important novelists of our time should be entitled to write and say whatever he pleases, just as all of us should be entitled to write and say whatever we please.

I can’t help but think that we, as a society, failed the test of upholding artistic freedom at the time of the fatwa in 1989. We failed again after the massacre at the Charlie Hebdo offices in January 2015. At first, there were widespread declarations of “je suis Charlie”, until the inevitable victim-blaming began. PEN America initially showed much-needed support with a freedom of expression award for the satirical magazine. But then thirty-five writers signed a letter protesting against the decision on the grounds that Charlie Hebdo had mocked a “section of the French population that is already marginalized, embattled and victimized”. This is to misidentify the target. The cartoonists weren’t “punching down” at the Muslim minority. The target was God, and you can’t punch much higher than that.

And if you haven’t read The Satanic Verses, I suggest that you do – not because of the controversy, but because it’s one of Rushdie’s best. It was only a subplot of the book that caused the offence, those sequences based on the founding stories of Islam. The novel is really about the immigrant experience of living in London, but with the author’s characteristic touch of magical realism. It has one of the most audacious openings of a novel I’ve ever read, with the two principal characters – Gibreel and Saladin – falling from the sky from an exploded jumbo jet, dancing and singing deliriously as they tumble towards London. The novel is exhilarating, moving, and frequently funny; I can’t help but notice how many of Rushdie’s critics seem to lack that all-important sense of humour.

Of course, this wasn’t really about people reading a book and being offended by its contents. This was about philistines who hadn’t read the book and who were offended anyway because some Iron Mullah had told them to be. And when it comes to freedom of expression, we all need to be a little braver. We need to remind those who complain about works of fiction that their offence is their own business. They don’t get to decide what other people should or should not read, which cartoons should or should not be drawn, which ideas should or should not be ridiculed or critiqued.

In his memoir Joseph Anton (the pseudonym that Rushdie adopted during his time under police protection), Rushdie includes this letter to a reader:

“Thank you for your kind words about my work. May I make the elementary point that the freedom to write is closely related to the freedom to read, and not have your reading selected, vetted and censored for you by any priesthood or Outraged Community? Since when was a work of art defined by the people who didn’t like it? The value of art lies in the love it engenders, not the hatred. It’s love that makes books last. Please keep reading.”

And that’s exactly what we should do. We need to keep reading, in spite of those Iron Mullahs of the world who would compel us to stop.

#Salman Rushdie #Andrew Doyle #freedom of speech #free speech #freedom to offend #offended #blasphemy #safetyism #blasphemy laws #censorship #islam #this is islam #islamic violence #Cat Stevens #Yusuf Islam #Charlie Hebdo #religion is a mental illness

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usaigi · 1 year

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Headcanon list for MCU Diatrice

I think it would be cute if mk system and Layla had their own Diatrice(Diya) like in the comics

Her name is Diyaa Bellatrix Spector

Layla picked "Diyaa" since it means light, star, brilliant

UPDATE: Google lied to me, Diyaa in Arabic is usually a male's name. However, Google says Diya in Hindi and Tamil is a girls name that also means light and lamp Diya is named after Layla's best friend from college who was Indian

Layla's family initially opposed it because "it's a boys name" but Layla wanted to honor her friend and likes the idea of a girl with a traditional "masculine" name

Bonus meaning, sounds like the word "Day" (Dia) in Spanish, opposite of Layla (night)

Marc picked Bellatrix, like the star "not like the Harry Potter character."

When Steven finally met her, he proposes "Diatrice" as a nickname, a combination of her two names Marc: "Diatrice isn't a real name you can't call her that" Steven: "Diatrice sounds like Beatrice and that's a real name. She's likes it and she's my daughter too, I can call her Diatrice if I want."

Jake has a variety of Spanish nicknames for her: "mi luz, mi reina, mi amorsito, etc."

Her hair is the same as Layla so it was a learning curve for the guys.

Steven is the best at it, he's gentle and massages her head and likes to add cute little bows and accessories

Her favorite way is to wear it in two little buns because they look like bear ears

Jake just puts cat hears and little tiaras on her, depending on the vibe

Marc tries but he's so bad at doing different hairstyles. There are always flyaways

Diya really wanted pink hair. Cried to Layla about it so much

There's no way in hell Layla is bleaching her baby's hair. But she can't resist her puppy hears so she compromises and gets her some pink clip-in extensions

Trying to raise her trilingual (one parent one language). Most fluent in Arabic and English but understands a lot of Spanish

Once Jake starts to front around the house more, she gets more exposure and starts to pick up better

likes Katy Perry and Olivia Rodrigo. Sings it at the top of her lungs when they're driving

On weekend mornings, likes to sneak into her parent's bed for cuddles

Marc loves this, especially after nightmares/bad sleep

Steven always reads her a bedtime story (He does the best voices)

one time (several times) she bit a kid at the playground

Steven had to scold her for that but Jake snapped at the other parents for yelling at his daughter

Diya mirrors a lot of Layla's behaviors/habits, mainly constantly reminding her dad of different things. "Papi, did you remember to beep beep? (lock the car)" "Papi, did you remember to feed the kitty?"

Just like both of her parents, she's very stubborn and bossy. Marc, Jake and Layla have to resort to bribing her with mini marshmallows.

Steven doesn't like this, worried they're giving her too much sugar. Although he's not above bribery, he just uses berries instead

Doesn't really know/understand her dad's DID. She just knows that some bad stuff happened to dad growing up and it's still scary for him sometimes

But no matter who's fronting, it's still her dad and he'll protect her so it's ok

#i might make a part two with the mk lunar sys cast but for now its just the canon guys #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #layla el faouly #diatrice alraune

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cityofdreamsrp · 9 months

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YOU ARE INVITED TO JOIN US IN THE MALDIVES FOR OUR SUMMER TRIP!

As voted on by you, the members, City of Dreams will be heading to none other than… THE MALDIVES!

The Maldives is a prime vacation destination, where guests can get lost in the beautiful crystal clear waters of the Indian Ocean. From tropical destinations to unique experiences, the Maldives provides a prime spot for guests to take a trip into peak relaxation.

Guests will be staying at the the Nautilus Maldives, a luxurious resort in the middle of the ocean that boasts private beachside homes, top of the line spas, and top of the line experiences and excursions. Upon landing in the Velana International Airport, guests will be transported via boat to the resort's private VIP lounge. Once you arrive at the resort, you will be immediately checked into your rooms and your fun in the sun can begin! Those in ships will automatically be paired together and we will also be taking roommate requests until AUGUST 11TH. If you'd like a request, just shoot us a message and let us know! Those who don't request a roommate will be randomized.

The City of Dreams summer trip is a MANDATORY event for all celebrities taking place from AUGUST 12TH - AUGUST 19TH. If your muse has children, they are more than welcome to bring them along or leave them back home with a babysitter! Daycare services will be provided throughout the entire week if needed. There will be more information to come, including the roommate list and detailed posts about the events taking place during the trip, so please keep a look out for all of that!

We can’t wait for everyone to join us and embark on a week full of relaxation and adventure! Please be sure to tag all event related posts with: #CODGOESTOMALDIVES

OFFICIAL ITINERARY:

8/12 - Guests Arrive/Truth or Dare Meme Night

8/13 - Free Day

8/14 - Game Night

8/15 - Free Day

8/16 - Cooking Contest

8/17 - Free Day

8/18 - Dinner Dance at Subsix

8/19 - Free Day/Departure of Guests

#cityofdreamsevent #codgoestomaldives

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virginiadre · 1 year

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P I S C E S

A delve into ancient scriptures over the astrological studies we're doing today. I take the time to reveal what the Greeks and the Jyotish had to say over the 12th zodiac. Curious?

We all know Pisces is a mutable, water sign ruled by Jupiter. Signifying unconditoonal love and abundant compassion, as it's the exalted domain of Venus. Yet what else could be shared about on this in-depth?

A 2nd century hellenistic astrologer, Vettius Valens, based in Alexandra, penned down his research over the dual signed constellation. "Pisces is the celestial sign which is feminine, moist, quite wet, bicorporeal, with many offspring, mossy, scaley, sinewy, humpbacked, leprous, two-formed, mute, motile, with rough skin, in conflict with itself because one Fish is northern, the other southern. It is moist, downward-trending, servile, changeable, with many offspring, bicorporeal, sociable/lewd, with some limbs missing, the cause of wandering, varied."

"Men born under this sign are unsteady, unreliable, changing from bad fortune to good, sexy, theivish, shameless, prolific, popular."

"As a whole, Pisces is cool and breezy. By parts it is as follows: the first parts are temperate, the middle moist, the last destructive and worthless. It has…stars. In the north the rest of Andromeda rises with Pisces, as well as the rest of Perseus—the parts on the right—and Triangulum in Aries. In the south the head of the Southern Fish rises. Neptune, Mars, Mercury, Venus, Jupiter. In the south Ara and the rest of Hydra set <when Pisces is rising>; in the north, nothing."

The Greeks and Romans had their own backstory for the fish constellation. Rather over what it ruled, lands and territory.

"Pisces lies toward the north wind. It also lies toward the zone of the Red Sea, having not a few islands under its control, above which lie India and the so-called Indian Ocean. In its eastern parts Pisces touches Parthia, the land of the Indies, and the Eastern Ocean; in its northern parts, Scythia. In its western parts it washes with its waves Myosormos, Orthosormos, and the surrounding cities."

"The following zones are subject to Pisces: to the front, the Euphrates and the Tigris; to the middle, Syria and the Red Sea, India, mid-Persis and the neighboring lands; to the tail, the Arabian Sea, the Red Sea, and the Borysthenes river; to the tie of the Northern Fish, Thrace; to that of the Southern Fish, Asia, Sardinia."

~ Now let's look over to India. What more could be divulged about Pisces? As they call it, Meena, sanskrit word meaning 'fish'. The BPSH narrates the primary traits of the water sign, deemed the birth sign of Goddess Lakshmi.

Meena resembles a pair of fish , one tailed with the head of the other.

This rashi is strong at night.

It is a watery Rashi and is predominant with Sattva-Guna (pure)

It denotes resoluteness and is a water-resorter.

It is footless and has a medium build.

It rules the North and rises with both head and back.

It is ruled by [Jupiter].

Another ancient text, Parashara, details piscean characteristics as follows:

They are very happy when they can spend their money to help others through charitable causes.

These persons are not steady .

They may change from one profession to another.

The married life of a Meena native is generally happy but they have a jealous nature."

#pisces #astrology observations #astro notes #vedic astrology #ancient astrology #astrology

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josilverdragon · 7 months

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There are some fics that while they are short, they are freaking masterpieces and I cannot.

Some of my favorite passages:

Bond is like some kind of tattered flag to be captured, the shadow of an ideal that has yet to be tamed.

Bond swallows Q down with barely a sound and Q rocks up into the wet heat of Bond’s mouth, hands finding purchase in the sheets as Bond tongues the underside of Q’s cock, pulling back in slow degrees before sinking back down again. It’s like dying in reverse.

England is still standing when they return, even if Q has a bit of trouble himself.

One day, Q will tell Bond his real name. Of course, Bond could probably find it out as easily as he can find the nearest Indian take-out restaurant, but some part of Q chooses to believe Bond hasn’t resorted to such just yet. In his head, Q imagines that Bond won’t treat it like the weakness that it is. Rather, Bond will hold it close, as if something precious, something to be said in the dark and into skin. Q will trust every part of himself to Bond then, from gunpowder-stained fingertips to the very walls of his heart.

#00q #00q fic rec #james bond

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hoe4hotchner · 2 years

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Chapter 18 - Epilogue

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: In an upper-class residential Virginian neighborhood, monogamous values rarely get broken. A dangerous serial killer chooses to lay into dormancy exactly there for the next five years with his latest victim. Or for as long as it takes to catch him. Two highly trained and widely different agents go undercover, posing as a married couple to scope him out and make the arrest. They’ll be nothing more than professional for months, working under the same roof.

Word count: 421

Warnings: none

A/N: For now, this is the last chapter. I have no idea if I’ll write some blurbs in the future

Masterlist

Gif credit: @fightingdragonswithreid

The waves curled over themselves as they washed against the sandy beach. The swoosh was relaxing to their ears, almost like a slow beat melody rolling through the speakers at a spa resort. And somehow, no one else was heard for miles upon miles as the newlyweds spend every single waking moment together.

Their limbs were tangled as they lay resting together between two palm trees. The hammock strung around the trunks of the massive trees swung slowly back and forth, pushed by the slight breeze from the ocean. It was almost lulling them to sleep as they enjoyed the moment. It was hot out, despite the sun setting, the only thing keeping them shaded was the palms.

Aaron’s hand was tracing loose circles on the small of her back, occasionally pressing a kiss to her temple as she hummed in pure relaxation. This was something they had both needed. The quiet of being away from the beeping machines, flipping pages, and overall noise at the BAU back in Quantico. In fact, needing to be so far away that they couldn’t get much farther before they’d be on their way back home.

Her head was nestled against his bare chest, fingers gingerly playing with the tuft of hair between his pectorals. She could feel his breathing start to even out, showing just how relaxed this trip had made him, how all they needed was to get away from it all.

“Honey, you’re falling asleep.” She murmured, adjusting her position to look up at him. With closed eyes, he just smiled at her.

“No, I’m not.” He stopped his hand on her back, pushing her closer to him as he leaned down to peck her lips. She smiled against him, thinking about everything that had led them to this moment. How without that one career day, she would’ve never thought to join the bureau. To become a profiler. She would’ve never have met Aaron. Probably never even would have seen him on the tv.

And yes, there had been bumps along the way, roadblocks even, but here they were, nestled together on a remote island in the Indian ocean, with no way for them to have any contact with their friends before they landed back in the states. They were bound to each other, for better and for worse. Their rings being a symbol of their love.

(Y/N), took his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers as they let it fall back against Aaron’s chest.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Taglist: @bitchwhytho @ashhotchner @ssahotchslover @witchybitch2 @wheelsupkels @red-red-rogue @katiehall99 @mintphoenix @slytherinprincess00 @skylar666 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @cheyxfu @hotchnerxo @rousethemouse @honeyofthegods @ssamorganhotchner @mayasreadingnook @avatarkanemi @mischiefmanaged71 @fullmoonshadowwrites @chelseagirl77 @itsmytimetoodream @isa-the-butler-simp @marvel-mars @blacksstarrynight @lethological-clara @chicken-fifi @mollyw03 @ravennaofasgard @scargarcia-magshotchner

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biganimal92 · 4 months

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update for the 4 of you reading this that care (this isn't meant to be pessimistic I just mean that very few of my friends follow me on here lol)

I feel like my art has been stagnating for a long time and it's mostly because I limit myself to fandoms and the attention I get for my fanart messes with the way I value my self-worth so a few months back I decided I wanted to start doing a lot more with my art to gain more personal fulfillment and to give myself a direction i actually wanted to take it in so that i felt like i was making progress and going somewhere with it. I was making plans to create a proper portfolio of things that weren't star wars yaoi or the dudes from fall out boy fucking, and I was planning on launching a YouTube channel where I posted speedpaints and stuff and I actually made some decent progress

I drew something I was really proud of and I knew the content in it would be pretty popular despite still technically being fanart, and I had a time-lapse recorded for it and everything, I was even halfway through the script. I also had a number of original drawings I'd done that I never posted anywhere and I felt like by this time I should have been able to properly launch this stuff and start taking appropriate steps to have my art reach a wider audience.

butttttt then my laptop died suddenly and randomly (i was literally using it just fine, i lifted it up from my lap and it shut off and wouldnt turn back on) and it's been in the repair shop for a week and they still don't know what's wrong with it. they think it's a motherboard issue and if it ends up being at least $600 to repair it I'm just getting a new laptop. I think they can transfer the data on the hard drive to an external that I have and if so that'd be wonderful because that laptop contains all the work I've been doing these last few months for this thing I wanna do with my art.

thankfully since then my roommate is letting me have one of his backup gaming pcs (he works in tech so he has plenty) and I've been able to get set up there in case I need to start my progress over, but the issue is that it's a Linux and clip studio literally doesn't work with Linux because the desktop version of the program apparently relies on either edge being installed if it's windows, or safari being installed if it's Mac. so I can't sign in or download the full version, I'm stuck with the super limited trial version, and because of this I've been trying to get comfortable with Krita. which thankfully can record time-lapses.

my mental health has only been improving since moving to Seattle despite some pretty low lows so thankfully, even though this is uh a pretty big deal all things considered, I'm handling it really well. I had one horrible encounter with a psychiatrist when trying to get treatment for my anxiety and adhd, but since my insurance here sucks since I'm poor and nothing has worked for my other issues I've been fortunate to be able to see doctors about, I've officially become a crystal mommy and I've resorted to ~alternative medicines~ and as a result I've had a considerable amount of improvement in a very short amount of time with the things I've struggled with getting help with from a professional psychiatrist. so yeah, I'm only getting better

biggest issue that still impacts me is that my attempts at befriending people irl have not borne much fruit, granted I haven't been trying super hard but with a huge covid spike coming up soon, said weak attempts are going to have to be put on hold for the time being. especially since the main thing I was literally going to do as soon as Christmas was over was join this drawing group that meets up every other Sunday, but now I don't have my laptop so it'll just have to wait regardless of what the state of things are looking like otherwise

uhhh what else. oh yeah I got into Chinese yaoi and Indian cinema and I got out of my head enough to start playing genshin impact again so basically I'm a huge faggot ama

OH SHIT I forgot to mention I got another horrible job and I'm kind of trapped into keeping it for at least a year unless something catastrophic happens because it's giving me really important experience in the field I'm trying to go into, but when I say it sucks I mean it's probably the most disorganized place I've ever worked at that wasn't a locally owned franchise. I work at an open-access low income healthcare organization that's all over Seattle so when I say it's terrible and disorganized I think you get the picture

anyway I don't know how often I'll be on here but I'm bored and lonely and scrolling through tumblr seems like a better use of my time than spending an entire shift looking at r/shittyfoodporn

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raptorfae53 · 8 months

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Monster High Reimagined.

Draculaura character bio/redesign.

Lara "Draculaura" Dracula (she/her)

The vampire child of Count Dracula (Mixed Romani-Greek)

(Unlabelled)

(transforms into a horseshoe bat)

When you think of what the child of the Dracula would be like,draculaura is probably one of the last people that'd come to your mind,an overtly emotional,empathetic and sometimes scatterbrained romantic and a vegetarian to boot. Although she's spent the last century or so attending monster high this year she's particularly excited to attend on account of it being the first time her friends and boyfriend are attending since meeting them all in the summer before term started.

Likes: Vegan and Vegetarian recipes,Lolita fashion,motorsports,cute animals and romance stories.

Dislikes: the sight of blood or raw meat,her friends fighting,sharp objects,sudden loud noises and kale.

Killer style: An avowed lover of gothic lolita fashions,there's not one part of draculauras wardrobe that isn't a shade of black and pink and decked out in frills and cute iconography,of which she often modifies to include elements of romani fashion like the sort she wore centuries ago when she was human.

Familiar: count fabulous is draculaura's Indian flying fox,although you'd never guess that considering for all intents and purposes he's basically treated as a small dog,draculauras even tried to have him registered as a service animal for her anaemia,although so far she's been unsuccessful in that endeavour…

Pet Peeve: the disproportionate lack of vegan and vegetarian options at Monster high's cafeteria,which often causes the draculaura to try and make her own food to bring to school,with…varying results.

Freaky Flaw: Draculauras scatterbrained tendencies sometimes leads her to misplace things,sometimes even forgetting her iron supplements or parasol when going out in daylight,with…predictably unfortunate circumstances for the poor vampire,although things have gotten better since she became lagoona's roommate.

Spooky Secret: Draculaura is a self-taught sorceress. However since magic is such a tightly regulated business due to it's innate destructive power, draculaura had to resort to some…less than legal means of obtaining magical prowess,namely Internet piracy. And while she often just intends on using it as a means to boost her energy throughout the day it often ends up more than she can handle.

Dream job: Whilst her family's wealth means draculaura doesn't need to enter the workforce after graduation, draculaura has plenty of hobbies and interests,as well as a burgeoning social life (and one or two things she feels she has to keep secret) to keep her on her toes.

Five Fearsome Facts:

Vampires by nature are carnivorous, and so because of her plant-based diet, draculaura is mildly anaemic. Despite taking iron supplements and doing as best she can to keep a balanced diet she often feels tired during the day (which isn't helped by her natural night-centric body clock as a vampire) and tends to nap during breaks.

Due to her acute bat-like hearing (in part amplified by the huge ears atop her head reminiscent of a hair bow) draculaura can be a little jumpy and sometimes suffers from sensory overload if her surroundings are too noisy,more so since she moved from her fathers castle in quiet,rural Romania to the student accommodation to study at monster high,although the faculty and friends help her out to the best of their abilities.

Draculaura is a big fan of racing and cars in general, with one of her prized possessions being a 1950s vintage roadster (at least it wasn't vintage when she first fell in love with it) kept at her fathers romanian estate, but despite being a deft mechanic and terrifyingly good at Mario kart she's never quite passed the drivers test needed to actually take her beloved motor out for a spin.

Sometime In the past draculaura fell in love with romance novels and with a lot of time on her hands,would sometimes try to write up her own. However after having her heart broken by another vampire she's been hesitant to read or watch much romance media since.

To satiate her desire to still write despite her soured opinion of romance media,draculaura works on the school newspaper,The Gory Gazette attempting to rebuild the students trust after it's previous writer,spectra vondergeist,turned it into a rumour mill in the year before. As a result of all these factors, draculaura's writing style,although not without its authors nigh-infectious charm, is initially a bit too matter of fact for some of the students' taste.

Hey so it's been a while...

I've been working on a bunch of these bit by bit since the frankie one in December, I'm currently planning on posting the profiles for clawdeen,lagoona or jackson/holt next since they consist of the rest of the initial main cast,with the profiles for the other eventual members of the main cast (duece,cleo,ghoulia and clawd) to follow after them,followed by the other kids in their school year and so on and so forth.

Hopefully inspiration strikes and those won't take as long as this one did.

Also as an aside bit of trivia,in this universe Vampires keep a few of the features of the specific bat species they can transform into,draculauras is this guy,a lesser horseshoe bat:

Hence why I mentioned her ears are on top of her head and look a bit like a hair bow

Anyways,hopefully I'll be back soon with another one of these.

#monster high #draculaura #monster high Reimagined

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justforbooks · 1 year

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The prolific historian and biographer Philip Ziegler, who has died of cancer aged 93, was never less than scrupulously fair – but also honest – about the shortcomings of his subjects, who included some of the most prominent men and, occasionally, women of modern British history.

Lord Mountbatten’s personal vanity, deviousness and ambition, Edward VIII’s meanness and superficiality, even Edward Heath’s charmlessness were all remorselessly revealed, even though they amounted to official biographies and are books that have shaped the men’s reputations for posterity.

“The biographer’s first responsibility is to the truth and to the reader. If he is not prepared in the last resort to hurt and offend people for whom he feels nothing except goodwill then he should not be writing a biography,” Ziegler said in 2011.

The foibles of Mountbatten, the last viceroy of India before independence, were such that Ziegler wrote a note on his desk while writing the biography in the mid-1980s stating: “Remember, in spite of everything, he was a great man.” That is not necessarily the view any longer of many British and Indian historians, though it is hard to overlook Mountbatten’s significance to the modern subcontinent and his relatives in the Royal family.

If Ziegler’s patrician, establishment status and urbane charm helped to smooth his path to selection for such monumental biographies, his industry and the punctiliousness of his research meant that they come close to definitive. He said: “Ideally the biographer should know everything about his subject and then discard 99% of his information, keeping only the essential. Of course one can never hope to discover anything approaching everything, but one can find out a great deal.”

Ziegler was born in Ringwood, in the New Forest, to Dora (nee Barnwell) and Louis Ziegler, a retired army major. He was educated at Eton college and then studied law at New College, Oxford, graduating with a first. After national service with the Royal Artillery, he entered the Foreign Office, serving as a diplomat in Laos, Paris and Pretoria.

In 1966, with his wife Sarah (nee Collins), whom he had married in 1960, and two small children, he was posted to Bogotá, Colombia, as head of chancery at the British embassy. It was there the following year that, returning home from an embassy reception, he and his wife found armed robbers rifling the house. Sarah was killed in the melee and he was badly wounded.

The tragedy persuaded him to leave the diplomatic service and take a job with Sarah’s publisher father, William Collins, then the head of one of the largest publishing houses in the country. Ziegler became editorial director in 1972 and editor-in-chief of the company seven years later. He had already published two books, a biography of the Duchess of Dino, mistress of the wily French diplomat Talleyrand, in 1962, and one of the Georgian prime minister Henry Addington (later the reactionary home secretary Viscount Sidmouth) in 1965. A book about the Black Death followed in 1969, though that was to be his only venture into pre-modern history, and one on the battle of Omdurman (1973), as well as biographies of William IV (1971) and the Victorian prime minister Lord Melbourne (1976).

In 1980, Ziegler became a full-time writer, and a regular and eclectic stream of books followed: biographies of the 1920s’ society beauty Lady Diana Cooper (1981), Harold Wilson (1993), the minor poet Osbert Sitwell (1998), the publisher Rupert Hart-Davis (2005) and the actor Laurence Olivier (2013), as well as Heath (2010), Mountbatten (1985) and Edward VIII (1990), and a short biography of George VI (2014). There were also histories of Barings Bank (1988), London during the second world war (1995), the Rhodes Trust in Oxford (2008) and Brooks’s gentlemen’s club (1991). Not forgetting, Elizabeth’s Britain 1926 to 1986 and a book of photographic portraits of the Queen (2010).

All were assiduously researched. Given access to the royal archives, Ziegler ploughed through 25,000 letters of Edward VIII, revealing the shallowness of the king who abdicated and, allegedly to her displeasure, the Queen Mother’s relentless hostility towards him. His verdict that Edward was well meaning and that no monarch could have been more anxious to relieve the sufferings of his subjects though “few can have done less to achieve their aim”, was suitably waspish.

The biography of Mountbatten, for which he was chosen by the Broadlands trustees, custodians of his legacy, was followed by three volumes of the admiral’s diaries. The biography of Heath was also both official and comprehensive, but struggled to find the man’s elusive charm.

Of the Olivier biography, he told an interviewer at the Cheltenham literary festival in 2013: “In the course of my alarmingly long biographical career I have written about an inordinate number of prime ministers, kings and the like and I suddenly decided in old age that I would indulge myself and do myself an actor.” What he found to his alarm that there was very little substance beneath the parts the great actor played.

Following the death of his first wife, Ziegler married Clare Charrington, a social worker and bereavement counsellor, in 1971. She died in 2017. He is survived by the two children of his first marriage, Sophie and Colin, and by the son of his second, Toby.

🔔 Philip Sandeman Ziegler, biographer and historian, born 24 December 1929; died 22 February 2023

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS #Philip Ziegler #in memoriam

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