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nads6969istrash · 5 years

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Special Entry - Nads6969 says “Fuck You, Poor Me” after Holocaust Debacle

This is a follow-up to this post here:

https://nads6969istrash.tumblr.com/post/188655127203/special-entry-nads6969s-oc-holocaust

After getting positively savaged by dozens of people, including her own whiteknights, about the off-color choice to name her traced Jaedite OC Holocaust, Ms. Stepputat decides that the best way to go on damage control is to pen a passive-aggressive, poor-me message to everyone who was pissed.

https://www.deviantart.com/nads6969/status-update/18979300

Let’s discuss this, shall we?

“People might hate me and think the worst of me”

They indeed do. And they have every right to do so. For the record, several people in the past have confronted Ms. Stepputat about the unauthorized use/tracing of their artwork and asked her to either credit them or take it down. Many of these people were either begrudgingly acquiesced, flat-out ignored, or blocked with their comments hidden so that Ms. Stepputat can maintain her charade of how she only traces “sometimes” and otherwise produces all of her work completely by hand. On top of this, she blatantly defies expressly given demands to not copy/trace people’s work (see all the entries involving Drachea Rannak). How then, can people have any good thoughts about someone who refuses to respect their boundaries and wishes?

“But what’s important is how I see myself”

While I certainly agree that having a good self image is important to one’s physical and mental health, there are times when the words of others are important to heed. During the Holocaust debacle, people who have blindly supported Ms. Stepputat’s years of bullshit took a step back and saw the situation for what it really was and saw Ms. Stepputat’s purposeful, spiteful, unrepentant nastiness on full display. It was culture shock for some of them. One of her longest followers even posted a heartbreaking status about how they are ending their friendship with her for good. Sometimes, it doesn’t matter how you see yourself. If you produce more disdain and contempt than joy, there is something wrong. If multiple people of different ages and backgrounds are all telling you that you need to change/stop doing something because it is hurtful, disrespectful, and damaging, there is something wrong. If you have to hide the truth about your works and behavior, there is something wrong.

“I feel like a reasonable person”

A reasonable person listens to praise just as much as they listen to critiques. A reasonable person would recognize that they made a mistake and correct it, not make the same mistake another 100 times while feigning ignorance or displaying indifference to making any correction. Furthermore, a reasonable person wouldn’t pick the name “Holocaust” just to cause trouble and offense as payback for previous, completely unrelated but nonetheless warranted critiques.

An obsessive need to receive and bask in compliments and praise is not the sign of a reasonable person. That is the sign of a desperate, insecure, and unhappy person.

“[person] that tries her best with the resources she has.”

Here we have the overt “poor me” mentality, one Ms. Stepputat is quite fond of. But she is not some besieged soul with an artist’s spirit and no outlet, living in poverty. She has a tablet, a computer, access to the internet, and a roof over her head. That is more than what a lot of people have, and yet, some artists are still able to produce fantastic works with pencils and paper only.

To present this soap opera that she is a struggling, unloved but talented creator is laughable. Bad comedy, really.

And she has plenty of “resources” at her fingertips, hence why 90% of her gallery is traced off of beautiful works from talented, passionate artists from multiple art/image-hosting platforms. There is no struggle here. There is no labor here. She may say that she spends “hours” creating images, as though she is the only artist in the world who has spent hours creating something.

But the difference, however, is that all the hard work is already done for her. Tracing over someone else’s blood, sweat, and tears is not a struggle. It is a luxury belonging to the population of uncreative sloths who sit at home all day, unemployed and seeking mediocrity over improvement.

Ms. Stepputat equates the hard work of others as her “resources.” Artists might as well be toilet paper to her, existing solely for her use while creating crap.

“Plus, I did change my bad character’s name, so bugger off.”

Getting angry at people for pointing out behavior that is in bad taste is not a sign of a reasonable person, either.

So here we have it. A single status that perfectly illustrates Ms. Stepputat’s self-centered worldview, her attitude towards people she has wronged, and her proclamation that as long as she thinks she’s a good person she couldn’t give a rat’s ass about anyone else’s opinion of her.

Could you ever support a person like this? And if you support her today, can/will you support her tomorrow?

Also, I love this comment here:

https://www.deviantart.com/comments/62/18979300/4787108349

So, by “shit” she means “being told to stop tracing/start asking permission and crediting the sources of stuff she traces.”

Because we all know you should NEVER have to say sorry for when you take things from someone when they ask you not to, then ignore them when they ask you to stop.

Even if “people are always gonna be offended,” that’s not an excuse to be purposely offensive in your daily conduct/dealings with people.

Also, THE HOLOCAUST is not a belief. It’s a thing that actually happened, hence why people were pissed.

“And it seems I can’t have mine.”

Here we go again with the victim complex, about poor Ms. Stepputat who just can’t have her way, therefore the world is a terrible place and it’s everyone else’s fault.

“I lost a friend today and I HATE LOSING FRIENDS.”

People who do bad things and refuse to stop often lose friends.

#nads6969 #artthief #holocaust #deviantart #damagecontrol #nevermyfault #nadiastepputat

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tomasorban · 5 years

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THE ZODIAC: ARIES THE RAM

Polarity: Positive, male, Quality: Cardinal, Ruling planet: Mars, Element: Fire, Body part: Head and face, Colour: Red, Gemstone: Diamond, Metal: Iron.

Aries is considered the inaugurator of the zodiac, primarily because it is associated with the vernal equinox, a time when the formative forces of Mother Nature are beginning to regenerate and Life finds its prodigious voice from in between the silent chasms of the slumbering earth. Hence we could equate this zodiacal sign to seed and flame, quite literally for the most part. On a broad, suprapersonal and cosmic level Aries represents everything that has to make do with new beginnings; it is inextricably connected to an agglomeration of potentiality from whence the seed of all life has sprouted, to raw and unharnessed willpower, to action potential, to fearless and thoughtless impulse, to the progressive and spontaneous nature of originality and creativity.

To understand the mode of being that descends from the stars of Aries one must have an intimate acquaintance with the properties of elemental fire. “I’m hot, unconscious, uncompromising, and explosive,” says Aries. “I was here first everyone! There is no other that has preceded me. When you were all going to the mill I had already bagged and sold megatons of wheat, and devised a new method for growing it too. Scorpio, you might have finally figured out how to crawl out onto land from the bottom of the sea without kicking the bucket but it was I that offered up the pivotal clue that enabled you to do so. Taurus, you might be very pretty, well-endowed, and athletic but the girls still prefer me cause I’m the original. Cancer, you might know how to walk sideways and crawl right out of sticky situations but I can steal the head atop from right under one’s nose without their ever noticing. Gemini, you’re the pits. You can’t decide from which angle you want to view life, you’re a two-faced twat and your co-dependent behaviour is pukeworthy! Virgo, you might still be a goody-two-shoes virgin but you don’t really think like one. What you all ought to know is that I spoke, moved, touched, saw, and conquered first… you can all improvise, but your way will never be as good as mine because I thought of everything first!”

Well I guess now we all know who we’re dealing with, hey? To understand the innermost fears, desires, wishes and aspirations of the Arian psyche we must at once return to a more personalized beginning, the psycho-spiritual situation of childhood. Do you remember your first steps into the world, that narcissistic, self-centred yellow flower that was blind to all other shades of yellow in the prairie? Do you remember the impudent child that was so set in its ways and getting what it wanted that it wouldn’t as much as given an inch for the wellbeing of another? Do you remember your short-attention spans, your impatience, and the inability of significant others to subject your immature, single-minded will to the wisdom of analytical evaluation and contemplation? Do you? Do you remember the days of “Me, myself, and I?” Of course you do, why shouldn’t you? Alas, living is just so much more gratifying and titillating when everyone tiptoes around the glorified vision of the world that is yours without the right to hail an insurrection against your theoretical premises. After all, you are the king of your jumping castle, and everyone else’s too.

The mythographer Ovid, was either channelling the great Arian power or writing about a real Arian man when he transcribed his version of the classical flower-myth recounting the fate of the youthful Narcissus. For anyone not familiar with the said myth, Narcissus was a gorgeous boy whose arrogant indifference towards all who expressed sexual interest in him was enigmatic. He was pursued ceaselessly by women, men, nymphs and other mythological creatures, but he would have none of them. One day he saw the simulacrum of his own self in the reflection of a pond and fell head over heels in love with it. Narcissus was at once filled with burning desire to unite with his own likeness. He lowered himself over the reflection, wishing to kiss and caress it and fell in. Given that the boy couldn’t swim, he drowned. In retrospect, one might say that the youthful Narcissus was a bit of a loner, a boy whose self-centeredness, noncommittal tendencies and intense awareness of his own strengths and weaknesses kept him detached from reality and shipyards from any lasting or worthwhile relationships. Further, his insulated approach to life probably stemmed from the unwillingness to open himself up to another for fear of being hurt and fear of facilitating the impression that he had relinquished power of his own being. In the myth we see that Narcissus conducts his affairs in accordance to his own terms; the fear of obligating himself or falling in love and giving another power over him paves a path that inevitably leads to self-destruction. This is Ares to a tee, which can more often than not raise its psychic defences so high as to be eerily unaware of the sonic boom made by the presence of all other archetypes.

Arians have a special talent for seeing in infrared, a phenomenon which can be attributed to the rulership of Mars. The formidable fiery and restless masculine energy exemplified by the red planet rules this sign; it is in constant motion, sometimes simmering subtlety and at other times violently, bubbling in the depths of the collective unconscious for some time before being ejected into those fortunate enough to be born under its stars. Just like electrochemical signals are transposed into thoughts, emotions and memories, so too is this formidable force transmuted into an unconscious and unwavering drive, vitality, willpower, desire, and determination that allows one to succeed at anything they choose to do. The immense physical drive associated with this unconscious urge, the will to break and tear things, drives Arians to war, just as it did when the qualities associated with Mars were allowed to express themselves in full during the precessional age of Aries. Naturally, the process of industrialization, and the cultural and so-called spiritual evolution that has unravelled since do well to contain the violent and bloodthirsty acts that such a primordial power harnesses, and so Arians are forced into engaging socially acceptable and conventional pastimes and activities in which it can be expressed constructively. This is good because their simple-mindedness sometimes prevents them from perceiving the difference between courage and stupidity. In any case, if contained, these tidal forces become a ticking-time bomb. Hence, Arians are more likely than not to engage some form of physical activity like jogging, weight-training, bodybuilding, long distance running, cycling, water sports, and so forth. Given their preoccupation with inner experience, their fierce independence and their self-sufficiency, it is not uncommon to see them wearing headphones or some device aimed at severing the distracting and unwanted stimuli of the outside world.

Naturally, not everything about this sign is tainted in a negative glow. Aries encompasses the fiery seed of creation and like the feminine spirit of Mother Nature herself possesses the virtue of originality and novelty. The former is a powerful, evolutionary tool of experimentation and Arians follow in her stead; an Arian man or women is likely to take risks or chances with things and will fiercely resist compartmentalization and the adherent to social norms and conventions. Aries is not likely to be the housewife that bows to the undisputed authority of her husband, or the savvy businessman who knows which ego to stroke in order to scramble along the rungs of conventional success. Aries is Herculean and more eccentric in the way it goes about its business, so it is more likely to be the Greenie that fights for the rights of our marine friends, the whales and dolphins, or the mindless, brazen thrill-seeker wishing to walk a tightrope between two precipices without a harness. The best thing about the Arian mentality is that it is as direct and blunt as a blinding torchlight in the dark, and comes completely unencumbered by psychological jargon; everything in the Arian world is black and white, simple and rudimentary, just like a lazy tortoise which never really feels the need to analyze the path it took to lay its eggs, think about how its meetings with other sea creatures have altered the course of its life, or simply philosophize about the meaning of its own existence. The labyrinthine complexities of complex critical inquiry are rightfully or wrongly not a matter of concern for an Arian. It’s likely that Aries fears challenge, and particularly the challenge of the unknown. Opening oneself up to such matters demands a surrender of some control–a looming threat of dependence–and Aries will not settle for anything other than being in total control.

There are two symbols connected to the zodiacal sign of Aries. The first, a pictorial depiction of the entire ram, usually graces illustrations of all contemporary zodiacs; the second, a shorthand version utilised by astrologers when concocting horoscopes, appropriates only the horns of the animal for its composition. The design of the glyph is not coincidental; there is an inherent meaning and understanding communicated through its fundamental shape. Horns place immense emphasis on the masculine, phallic element of the archetype; Aries is a fiery, cardinal energy, but above all else it is sexually generative, energetic, forceful, and mobilising. The sign vindicates this unspoken emphasis. Sometimes the shorthand emblem is superimposed over the human face in astrological documents to draw attention to the notion that Aries commands the face or head region of the human body.

#astrology #aries #esoteric #astrotheology #zodiac

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ohblackdiamond · 5 years

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starfucker (gene/paul, nc-17)

Yeah, I heard about your Polaroids, that’s what I call obscene...

Written for and on Paul Stanley’s 67th birthday, I’m just a day late in posting it here.

Gene’s introduction to America almost twenty years prior had been like a kid moving to Disneyland. Everything was bigger in America. Everything was better in America. Everything had that candy-coated glaze of promise, still hanging heavy and dazzling in his heart: here, you can make it; you just need the drive and the smarts and the guts. Here is a dream you can snatch up, if you want it badly enough.

He had tried to explain it once, when half the band was more maudlin than full-on drunk, but Ace and Peter both had zoned out entirely and Paul, for all he was first-generation on both sides, for all he’d been hoping for commonalities, didn’t understand either.

“You’re telling me the exact same thing my parents did.”

“They were right.”

“They wanted me to get there through college, Gene. They didn’t tell me I could do whatever the hell I wanted and succeed. It’s bullshit, man. You’re too—the American Dream stuff might’ve been true during Ellis Island and all that, but it’s not now.”

He’d looked at Paul, really looked at him, hoping to find something beyond the cynicism. He didn’t. Paul might as well have been one of his sixth graders for all he’d pay attention without the threat of penalty.

“You don’t get it. You don’t get it because you’ve never lived anywhere else.” Never lived how he had. Selling fruit in the streets with his mother. Living on government rations. Living scared. Paul’s rare, mopey accounts of his own childhood were blissful in comparison. Whatever bullying he’d received, he’d never gone hungry. Never been afraid for his life. He had no idea what a blessing that was. None.

It just confirmed what Gene had already known. They shared a faith, but not a background. Hell, Paul hadn’t even had his bar mitzvah. None of that cultural belonging tied the two of them together. Maybe not even personal belonging, either. Gene was an outsider even in his own band.

Paul just shook his head and shrugged.

“They said that, too.”

So Gene had gradually left that kind of serious talk behind over the course of the tours. It wasn’t worth it; he knew the other three weren’t intellectuals, but he was starting to think they were actually morons. Ace and Peter were busy getting drunk, stoned, or both before and after concerts—hit him at just the right time, maybe a full moon, and Paul would indulge, too—and Rush’s guys were just leading them further astray. Gene felt like trying to get Bill to get them to tour with the Carpenters next, as if that would cut down on the antics.

As for himself, well, since he couldn’t manage any stimulating conversation with his bandmates, he was settling eagerly for stimulation with his groupies. Something else that was bigger and better in America—the size of its women’s breasts. Must’ve been the fluoride in the water. He’d been in the process of chatting up two girls in Ace’s room when one of them had made the tremendous mistake of taking the communal laundry bag off Alex’s head during one of his particularly drunken comedy routines.

It was like flicking the papal mitre off the Pope’s head. Worse, it was like unmasking the Lone Ranger. Alex and Ace had, predictably, gone ballistic and chased both of the girls out of the hotel room. Gene had followed them at a distance, only to hear them mumble about “fuckin’ scary rockstars” and see them digging in their purses for payphone change to call their boyfriends. Well. That settled that.

That settled plenty, except he was still half-hard. He could hear Ace and Alex and Neil whooping from the room, and he knew that a new comedy routine from the bag was already underway. Gene grunted to himself and dug the key out of his jeans pocket and let himself back in his room.

“Paul? You still in here?”

“Hey.” Paul looked up from the T.V., frowning. His hair was wet, and he wasn’t wearing anything beyond a loosely-tied blue terrycloth bathrobe Gene could’ve sworn had been Paul’s only constant companion since they’d started touring. Like every other member of the band—every member except Gene—he lacked the innate shame to even yank on a pair of boxers at the sight of a non-groupie visitor. “What’re you doing here, Gene? Thought you were picking up those girls in Ace’s room.”

“The bag threw them out.”

“The ba—oh, yeah,” Paul said, snorting. “He’s high as shit, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried. But I am holding it against him.” Gene paused. “I thought you’d be back to your room by now, too.”

Paul shrugged and went over to turn up the volume on the T.V. An Easy Bake Oven commercial was playing, of all things, the little girl onscreen spreading frosting on the cake. So banal it was a little annoying. Looking at him, though, Gene realized Paul was just trying to catch the jingle at the end.

“I was gonna, then I took a nap and a shower.”

“No girls?”

“No girls.”

Not that much of a surprise. Paul could be indifferent, downright cold to company, which had always struck Gene as a little annoying, if not potentially disastrous. Couldn’t be merrily flamboyant onstage and then aloof as soon as he walked back to the dressing room. Bad publicity in the making. He’d be pleasant enough during what few interviews they’d scored as a band, but it was obvious he didn’t actually want to do them. Gene wondered if Paul was getting more egotistical, or if that latent shyness was just setting his nerves on edge. Paul was the only deep-down introvert in the whole band. He’d have to get over it at some point.

Besides, even if Paul wasn’t as assiduous about getting girls as he was, he still managed to have one in his bed at least half their tour nights. So if he was lonesome, that was his own fault. Paul walked over to the set to turn up the volume one more time—God, he always had it up too loud. Knowing why didn’t make it much less aggravating.

“Really not my idea of a thrilling evening.”

Paul flopped back on the bed.

“What, because of the girls? Just get a taxi and go to a nightclub. There’s gotta be one around here somewhere.” A pause, and a stifled yawn. “Where the hell are we tonight, anyway? Austin?”

“Austin was last night. Tonight’s Corpus Christi,” Gene mumbled.

“Oh, right. Good thing they remind me beforehand. Last time I fucked up the city they were almost rioting.”

“You told Pittsburgh they were a wonderful audience—”

“And it was actually Kansas City. I know, Gene.” Running his hands through his hair, looking more like a damp poodle than a human being, Paul sighed. “Could’ve been worse. Could’ve told Charleston they were Pittsburgh.”

Gene snorted and sat down next to him on the bed. Paul was splayed out on his back as if it were one of their lousier photoshoots, but he at least moved his legs to give Gene more room.

“We’d be mounted on some redneck’s wall.”

“With or without the makeup?”

“With. You think they’d dare? It’s like yanking off Batman's cowl.”

Paul laughed, shaking his head.

“Some of the girls don’t even want the makeup off. Don’t you think that’s weird? Like…” Paul was considering, or trying to. Always a bad sign, because Paul tended to trail and never get to the point, in public and in private. Gene had been taking spokesman duties during interviews and news stories out of necessity, not desire. Paul could’ve stuck to a script, sure, except they didn’t have one yet, and Peter and Ace would just bungle things with the press, Gene was positive of it. “Like, okay, if I’m gonna fuck someone, I don’t want the pretense.”

“You mean you don’t want to be Starchild for them?”

“No, not… not exactly. I mean, I don’t mind, but… you ever feel like they’re conning you? No, not… conning, but… they’re not being real, you’re not being real…”

“Paul, if you want an honest relationship, I don’t know why the hell you’re fucking groupies.”

Paul glanced at Gene then, and snorted. His hair had fallen in his eyes, and he just blew it back with a breath.

“I’m not complaining, I’m just saying I wanna be real with somebody sometime. Don’t you?”

“God, no.” Gene paused, leaning back on his arms on the bed. “You wanna be real with someone, be real with your shrink.”

From the corner of his eye, Gene saw Paul’s face fall slightly. Shit. He’d forgotten Paul had one of those. Or used to, at least. Gene opened his mouth, not to apologize, exactly, just explain, but Paul started back in, oddly unruffled, before he could manage.

“Give it five minutes and you can watch the Johnny Carson show with me.”

Gene groaned.

“You know I could’ve done that at home, right?”

“Well, yeah, but here you don’t have to pick up your own towels.” Paul paused. “Not that you do that anyway, but…”

“Move.”

“Okay, okay.” Paul shifted over again amiably as Gene scooted in. Soon enough, Ed was introducing Johnny Carson with all his usual insane vigor, as if he hadn’t been on air every single weekday for the past decade. Maybe Carson wouldn’t be such a bad avenue for KISS, if Casablanca could up their notoriety enough for him to consider it. There didn’t seem to be a method of self-promotion left they hadn’t at least tried to stoop to over the last two years. Even immolation was only barely out of bounds.

Beside him, Paul was paying more attention to Carson’s Carnac the Magnificent routine than it probably deserved that night—Carnac was already spouting off fake curses to the audience.

“What’re you pissed about?”

“I’m not pissed.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Gene heaved a sigh. Carson’s studio audience laughed loudly in the background.

“I had a big number coming up.”

“A big number?”

“Yeah.” He paused. “Tonight I was gonna bang my 200th chick.”

“You’re counting them?”

Gene gave Paul a look that was a cross between bewildered and long-suffering, a look he used to reserve for the slowest of his students when they were scrawling out one-step equations.

“Of course I’m counting them. What did you think the Polaroids were for?”

“I thought you just took pictures of the ones you liked, not every girl you banged!”

“No! It’s a record for posterity, Paul.”

“You’ve probably got twenty posterity running around already,” Paul said with a snort. “I know you don’t wrap it up half the time.”

“They’ll have the most successful dad since Charlemagne.”

“Who?”

“The fifth Beatle.”

“Oh, shut up, Gene.” Paul twisted off a couple of rings as he spoke, scrambling over Gene to set them on the nightstand. The small plinks against the plywood sounded oddly final. Paul returned to his spot on the bed immediately afterwards. “Nothing stopping you from going to a club, you know.”

Gene shook his head.

“I don’t want to deal with drunks. Maybe Ace and Peter don’t care, but I’m not running the risk of her passing out before we get to the hotel.”

“There’s always at least five sober girls at the disco. You’re just being lazy.” Paul clasped his fingers together, stretched out his arms with a groan. “You really want to hit number two hundred tonight?’

“That was the idea.”

Paul looked contemplative. Gene was always thrown off the rare times that look flitted across his face, because ever since he’d met Paul, he’d been fairly convinced the man didn’t think so much as base his life off shaky impulses. And not like Gene himself did, either, not in terms of libertine conquests. Paul was more like an anxious, gangly dog, as apt to hump a girl’s leg as turn tail and hide in a corner. He tried not to let it show, but five years of knowing him, and two years of being a door away, at best, meant Gene knew better.

Clearly, though, Paul was thinking now. Those hormone-addled synapses were firing, fully oblivious to Carson’s latest jab toward President Ford. He was even yanking his hair back and squeezing those last drops of water out onto the carpet as he turned to look Gene dead in the eye.

“Give me your room key.”

“What?”

“Give me your room key.”

It was perched next to the T.V. set. One key hanging from a small metal hoop. Gene got up and handed it over, eyebrow raised questioningly. Paul spun the keyring absently around his finger. That thoughtful look hadn’t faded from his expression yet, but his mouth twitched just slightly up.

“Now get your camera.”

“Paul, what the hell?”

“Number two hundred just volunteered.”

Gene stared.

“You’re kidding me. Tell me you’re kidding me.”

“I’m not kidding!” Paul was still spinning the key. “You want your two hundredth lay and you don’t want to leave the hotel to get it.”

“That doesn’t mean—shit, Paul, you can’t just—”

“Can’t what?”

Paul was looking at him with an expression so obnoxiously blithe and amused that Gene almost wanted to snatch back the key and tell him to stop screwing around. But that might only encourage him, at this point. Those wheels were turning to some inevitably questionable conclusion. God, they all had to stop spending so much time at those raucous parties, no matter how good they were for filling up his photo album. They were giving Paul disturbing ideas. Gene cleared his throat, tried to explain.

“That’s not something you volunteer for.”

“No?”

“Paul, c’mon, it’s pretty damn qu—”

“You’ve still got a hard-on, Gene.”

Shit. Gene’s eyes went straight to Paul’s crotch, almost accusingly, but that bathrobe was loose enough around his frame that he couldn’t tell. That was it, he couldn’t tell. It couldn’t be that Paul was shooting all this bullshit, trying to get a rise out of Gene, while he was completely soft. No. Couldn’t possibly be.

“Don’t flatter yourself, damn it, you didn’t see their tits—"

The only solution was to follow along. Keep on going, and keep on going, until Paul backed off. He would; Gene knew he would. Then they’d finish up on Johnny Carson and bitch some more about girls or about Peter and Ace or about Paul’s more recent exes (one of whom had been sleeping with Joe Namath, which seemed to bother Paul on some weird intrinsic level that Gene frankly didn’t understand) before finally calling it a night. Pass out like the lousiest excuses for rockstars he’d ever heard of.

“I’m not flattering myself. I’m just saying you’ve still got a hard-on.”

“Shut up, Paul.”

Paul didn’t shut up. Of course he didn’t. He just started humming the chorus of “Strutter” as he stretched out on the bed, ankles dangling from the edge. Gene shifted before getting up entirely and pulling his suitcase out from under the bed, taking out his camera. Plenty of shots left. He’d had way higher hopes for Corpus Christi than Paul Stanley on his bed. He gritted his teeth, willing Paul to back out, and back out now, except he could feel Paul’s eyes on him as he got back to his feet, camera in hand. Could feel the interest there, the intrigue. Paul was going to match him. At least for now, Paul was going to match him.

“How do they usually pose for it?”

“Between their tits.”

Paul frowned.

“I mean, I can try, but…” and he dropped the key on the dead center of his chest. The key looked like a forlorn found object a bird had tried to line its rather furry nest with. “No. No, that’s not gonna work.”

“God, no.”

“Maybe I should just hold it.” Paul picked the key up, frowning. “Or… do you want more of an interesting angle, should I have the edge facing the camera?”

“Paul, I’m taking a picture. This isn’t your art portfolio here.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t just hold it.”

Gene groaned.

“Okay, hang on.” Paul got up and headed for the adjoining bathroom. Gene could hear the water running almost immediately, and a few seconds later, Paul returned, bathrobe still tied closed. “All right, ready.”

“Where’s the key?”

Paul raised his tongue. The key peeked out, tarnished bronze on pink, and Gene groaned.

“You’re gonna choke on that.”

“Iy-ull be ’ine—” Paul nearly spat out the key. Gene swallowed a laugh as Paul took the key out, wiped it on the bedsheets, and shook his head. “All right, all right, I’ll just have it in my hand.”

“Okay. Then sit down.”

Paul sat down on the bed. Gene picked up the camera, zooming in carefully, as Paul held the key between his forefinger and thumb. He looked like he was about to crack up. The camera flashed, the picture ejected, and soon Paul had snatched it away, shaking it vehemently as the image started to appear.

“Wait—wait, give it here, I’ve gotta fill out your name at the bottom.” Honestly, Gene was aiming for initials. P. S. could stand for anything

“I’ll fill it out! God knows I don’t charge for autographs.” The developing image, though, was getting clearer and far more disappointing. Paul’s face wasn’t visible. Instead, Gene had taken a close-up of the key itself, leaving not more than an inch of Paul’s index finger in the shot. “Gene! Oh, fuck you!”

“It’s gonna ruin the photo album if I’ve got a hundred ninety-nine chicks in there and then you!”

“It’s gonna make it the best album ever. Take it again.”

Gene hesitated.

“C’mon, take it again.”

Gene gave him a long-suffering look. Paul started fluffing out his hair as if this were a photoshoot instead of the prelude to the most questionable conquest either had ever attempted. Raising the camera once more, Gene was sorely tempted not to warn him first before he pressed the button.

“Fine. Three, two, one—"

Paul popped the keyring right back into his mouth the second before the camera flashed. The key dangled between his lips like the sultriest provocation. He grabbed the photo before Gene could voice a protest, holding it up for both of them to see.

This time Gene had caught him. Really caught him. Paul leaning in from the picture, poised and eager, broad hands resting on the bed. There was a bit of glare from the key in his mouth, a wanting, amused look in his eyes that the slightly-out-of-focus shot didn’t hide at all. But Paul was still disappointed.

“Aw, fuck, it’s a little blurry.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“One more.”

Reluctantly, Gene picked up the camera again. Paul shifted on the bed, this time propped up on his elbows, one knee raised. The bathrobe was riding up, showing more of both thighs than Gene cared to see. But it wasn’t indecent yet. Just—

Snap.

“Safety shot,” he insisted when Paul glanced at him curiously. He raised his hand before Paul could reach for the developing photos, gathered them both up and watched the image emerge. Clear this time, perfectly crisp. Maybe Paul nerved out a bit during interviews, but in front of a camera he was golden. Absolutely golden. Dragging the attention away from everyone else in the picture, clawing it away with only a pair of pursed lips and big, dark eyes. It was annoying during KISS photoshoots, but here, with only him, only him on the bed, it was something else. Something Gene didn’t want to own up to as he stared, fascinated, from one shot to the next, finally setting them both down on the bed without a word. He barely heard the next words out of Paul’s mouth, a come-on that shouldn’t have been a come-on at all.

“Let’s keep on.”

“Keep… keep on?”

“Yeah,” and Paul laughed, turned to his side just a bit more, hand running against the edge of his robe. “You’ve got the film for it. You wanna?”

The words seemed to reverberate in his brain. You wanna. An offer. A proposition. Unbelievable. Totally unbelievable. Paul couldn’t be doing this to him, couldn’t be unraveling him—upping the ante, that was all it was, just upping the ante. Yeah. Yeah.

Gene’s fingers fidgeted before he picked up his camera again, feeling some stupid warmth spread across his face. Dimly he could hear Carson questioning the night’s special guest with all his usual slick irreverence, barely a patter in the background. Two words, too easy and casual, and all he could manage was a nod before raising the viewfinder to his eye for another shot as Paul offered up his most shameless smirk for the camera.

He kept on. God only knew why. He’d been with more photogenic girls. There was nothing alluring to him about how Paul was posing. Awkward, whiny Stanley Eisen, that douchey high school senior who always looked stoned—there was nothing sexual about him. Six years down the road, he was still that kid, no matter if he’d changed his name and curtailed his diet, no matter if he’d grown out his hair even more and stolen some slivers of confidence. No matter if he was slowly peeling open the bathrobe, revealing inch upon inch of his broad, hairy chest as Gene snapped shot after shot in a mindless rhythm. No matter if he was wearing that sex-soaked smile and tilting his head just so, languid and eager.

No matter if he reached up and trailed his long fingers down Gene’s arm. As Gene leaned over, as Gene got on the bed, the camera became the only thing left between them, the only piece of distance. The only separation. The photos were spilling out onto the bed like scattered confetti, each one revealing a little more and a little more.

By the tenth shot Paul was toying with the tie of his bathrobe, lying on his side, back arched. The robe had slid down past his shoulder, exposing his rose tattoo. There was a half-healed bite mark just beneath it and Gene couldn’t help but wonder which groupie had left it there.

By the fifteenth he’d cast the robe aside entirely. Gene’s hands were sweaty against the camera, thumb slipping on the button. He was on his knees now, Paul sprawled next to him, back against the covers, completely exposed and half-hard, hips arching up against nothing at all.

“Paul.” Gene barely recognized his own voice, the heaviness there. He was still looking at Paul through the viewfinder, still watching his head raise and his lip curl from a distance as he answered.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t pose like that.”

“Why not? Too provocative for you?”

“Not provocative enough.”

Snap. Paul bristled slightly—there’d been no countdown this time—but then he reached a hand out, sliding it against Gene’s thigh as the photo ejected, forgotten.

“Oh, yeah? You got me in a good mood, Gene, I’m open to critique—”

Gene put his hand on top of Paul’s and lowered the camera, setting it down on the edge of the bed. Looking at him full on, all barriers gone, those still-damp curls and those big brown eyes and the teasing strokes of his hand rubbing his thigh, inching over, over, to grip and fondle his hard-on through his pants. Gene sucked in a breath, fingers curling around Paul’s and pushing his hand aside, gaze never wavering from his face.

“They don’t have me in them.”

He didn’t give Paul a chance to answer. Barely a chance to open his mouth before Gene leaned in and over him, cupping his chin and crushing their lips together. Paul’s mouth tasted like the cherry tarts room service had brought down a couple hours ago, the ones he’d said he wouldn’t eat, and his lips were chapped and hot under his.

Paul was shoving his tongue in Gene’s mouth before Gene could even manage it, reaching up to yank Gene on top of him, rocking up against him desperately as his hands dug beneath Gene’s shirt. All coyness, all pretense utterly shattered. Gene laughed throatily at Paul’s freneticness, but he wasn’t any better, fingers fumbling with his own shirt, trying to peel it off while Paul’s hands roved over his back, short nails leaving light pink lines across his skin. His pants and boxers were off only moments later, Paul’s help no help at all, wriggling and rutting against him as he tried to unzip himself and toss the clothes aside.

It was a tangle of limbs, imprecise, messy. Paul nibbling at Gene’s neck, groaning as Gene’s hand went for his dick, stroking him hastily. Time seemed to collapse on itself. Gene didn’t hear the T.V. anymore or the raucousness from Ace’s room or the groans from Peter’s—all he heard was Paul gasping beneath him, all he saw was Paul flushed and willing and wanting, mumbling for him, indistinct rambles that sank somewhere deep inside him. A feeling he was chasing. A feeling that he might belong after all, only for a moment, a feeling that he might belong with him.

Gene grabbed the lube from the dresser, slicked himself up before turning Paul on his stomach, figuring that might be easier. His fingers were slippery as he started to prepare, inexpertly at best. The backdoor wasn’t his favorite with girls, honestly; too much prep for a less-exciting finish, at least for them. But Paul wasn’t going to be that way, already back to bucking up, relaxing into his touch as he eased himself inside him. Gene reached around, breaths heavy as he grasped Paul’s cock again, stroking unevenly with his own thrusts, grunting hard as every twitch and jerk of his hips drove them both closer, closer—

Paul came first with a low groan, spilling into Gene’s hand, sliding against the sheets. It wasn’t long for Gene after that, just a few more thrusts at best before orgasm coursed through him, utterly blinding. He all but collapsed against Paul after, eyes shut, panting against his sweaty skin as he pulled out, draping an arm haphazardly across Paul’s back before he fell asleep.

---

Everything was better in America. Even, Gene assumed, the morning afters.

Most of his involved asking the girl to leave before the crack of dawn. In fact, Gene had half-expected Paul to be gone by the time he woke up, slinking back to his own hotel room to clear his head of last night’s madness, but he wasn’t. Instead, Paul was leaning against the nightstand, bathrobe back on, eating a bowl of Cheerios. The usual hotel breakfast spread rested precariously on a tray on top of the T.V. “Morning, Gene.” Paul clinked the spoon against the ceramic bowl with every scoop.

“… Morning.”

Gene sat up slowly, reaching over the edge of the bed for his clothes and tugging them on, at an utter loss for words. He could feel Paul’s gaze on him, was sure it was amused and not worried. Not concerned. Had to be. He cleared his throat, finally managing to string a sentence together.

“Where’s my camera?”

“On the table. Figured one of us was gonna step on it otherwise.”

“And the pictures?”

Paul grinned and pulled open the nightstand drawer. There, beside the lube, were the photos, in order, neatly stacked.

“Right here.” He handed them over. “Oh, I couldn’t figure out which one you liked, so…”

Gene sifted through the photos, nail digging against the paper’s edge. At first, he was just looking at the images, turning one after another in his hand. His own documentary of the entire evening’s descent, up until that debauched climax.

Their climax.

But then he looked at the lettering beneath, and he stared, eyes wide. Every photo, every single photo, was signed in bold black scrawl across the bottom:

“Paul Stanley, #200.”

“Paul Stanley, #201.”

“Paul Stanley, #202.”

“Paul Stanley, #203.”

“Paul Stanley, #204….”

“Paul, what did you—”

Paul set down the bowl of cereal.

“Oh, yeah. Well, you said you couldn’t have an album with a hundred ninety-nine girls and then me. So I figured I’d just even things out.”

“Even things out.”

“Yeah.” Paul dug through Gene’s luggage, finding his teasing comb, and started to drag it through his bushy hair. “That was sixteen pictures. Number two hundred’s taken care of, so that just leaves us fifteen more.”

“Fifteen more.”

“At least.”

It took a minute to dawn on Gene. More than a minute, honestly. Paul had averted his eyes, the only sound the tugging of the comb, when Gene finally answered, slow smile spreading across his face as he reached over to yank at one of Paul’s stray curls.

“You’ve got a huge ego, anyone ever tell you that, Paul?”

Paul laughed, brushing his hand away, offering up a grin of his own.

“All the damn time.”

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #paul stanley #gene simmons #gene simmons x paul stanley #happy birthday paul!!

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sweatersexual · 6 years

Text

Hearts Keep Racing

Starting a new relationship right now can't be a good idea. But then, Ed always did have the worst timing.

Written for @edweenweek Day 5: AU

It really wasn't much of a coincidence that Winry should run into one of her clients in the Ouroboros Clinic's waiting room. It was one of the best used providers in their network, after all. And it was nice to see Ed again.

Winry had long since lost contact with her grade-school pal, only to reconnect when she’d fitted him with a new prosthetic about a year ago. They'd friended each other on Facebook since then and commented on each other's posts a few times, though Ed wasn't on Facebook all that much. Still, he was just as bold and brainy as Winry had remembered him.

Winry waved him over as he walked into the waiting room. Ed waved back with a casted right arm. Winry was sure the story behind that cast would be entertaining.

“Hey Winry,” he greeted her, with a glance to Winry's baby bump. “Wow, I guess congratulations are in order?”

At six months pregnant, Winry was starting to get tired of that being the first thing people brought up. Still, she tried to be gracious about it. “Thanks, Ed.”

“Is it weird if I touch your belly?” Ed asked as he took the seat next to her. “I mean, if it's okay with you . . .”

“Yeah, here.” She took his uncasted hand and laid it just above her belly button. “It's sweet of you to ask. Most people just grab me.”

“Ugh, people are jerks.” And then, as the baby kicked, “Wow, there's really a baby in there!”

Winry laughed. “You don't say?”

“Sorry, I'm not trying to be a complete dweeb. I just think the whole pregnancy-new-life thing is really cool. Like, there's a whole other person inside you. That you made. It's fucking incredible.”

“Aw.” Winry hadn't been expecting this behavior from Ed of all people. It was refreshing to see such a brash personality gush over the miracle of life. “You’re terrible at convincing me you're not a dweeb.”

Ed rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You got any names for this tiny fucking miracle?”

“I'm still mulling over my options.”

“You should call it something kickass, like Puma or Diesel.”

“Oh god. Promise me you'll never have children, Ed.”

“Never say never.”

“So what's with the cast?” asked Winry.

“Oh yeah. Would you believe I broke my wrist fighting a dragon?”

“What?”

“Yeah, you know those Chinese costumes with like ten people inside it? I thought my brother was hiding in there.”

“So you tried to beat up the whole dragon?”

“Nah, I tried to tackle what I thought were his legs. Which was really kind of stupid, but my impulse control sucks sometimes. So I tripped up the dragon and one of the guys fell on my arm. As far as wrist-breaking stories go, there are definitely more embarrassing ones.”

“I guess so.”

“I'd ask you to sign my cast, but I came here to get it off, so I guess there's not much point.”

It didn't look like there was any room left on the cast to sign it, covered as it was with red and black signatures, doodles, and even a few chemical equations. “Eh,” said Winry. “I already signed your leg anyway.”

“True, true,” Ed said with a laugh.

Winry's doctor was ready to see her before Ed's was to see him. When her checkup was finished, she briefly took a seat to check her email. She had just finished writing a reply to Garfiel when Ed sat next to her.

"Yech," he said. "I hate how gross your skin feels after a cast comes off." He rubbed his right arm.

"Don't pick at it," said Winry. "You'll irritate the skin."

"I'm not. I'm just trying to relax these muscles. It's so stiff."

"Your doctor showed you wrist exercises to build up your strength, right?"

"Yeah. They hurt, though."

She shrugged. "They'll hurt less the more you do them."

He snorted. "You know, for a healthcare provider, you're pretty indifferent to my pain."

"What do I get for kissing every little boo boo?" Winry asked with a smirk. She and Ed both knew that he only liked to whine about the little things. If he were really hurt, he'd pretend he was completely fine. "You're not my client right now."

"You're such a mercenary," Ed grumbled. "So how'd the checkup go?"

"Good," said Winry. "We're both healthy and hitting all the milestones. Doctor Briggs just prescribed me some folic acid."

"Nice," Ed said. "Hey, you wanna get lunch or something? I've got some time to kill before Al comes to pick me up. Doctor Knox says I'm still not good to drive for a few more days."

"You haven't been allowed to drive?" asked Winry. "You must be hating that." He was such an independent person, it had to be driving him crazy.

"You have no idea," Ed groaned. "Public transportation sucks and Al won't let me bend the rules. He hid my car keys!"

Winry laughed. "Sounds like Al."

They ended up going to the Applebee's around the corner. Winry had been eating there more since she got pregnant than she had in her entire life. She'd been craving ribs and Applebee's had a good deal on them.

"Doesn't baby daddy know how to work a grill?" asked Ed. "That's the best way to eat ribs."

Winry shook her head. "Baby daddy's not in the picture."

"Oh. Sorry. That sucks."

She shrugged. "It is what it is."

"I don't need to knock some sense into him, do I?"

"What? No! He's not around because I don't want him to be. I don't need him, and I don't need you to stick your nose where it doesn't belong."

Ed raised his palms apologetically. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to - I know you can take care of yourself, Winry. I guess I'm just projecting. You know, since my dad walked out on me."

Winry didn't know the entire situation with Ed's father, but Ed had complained about him so many times over the years that Winry could read between the lines. "Yeah, okay," she said. "Thanks for apologizing."

"Of course. I know I can shoot off my mouth sometimes. That's why I hang around people who call me out on my shit."

And then, because Winry's mind was still on the subject, and it was nice to have another listening ear, she kept talking about her baby's father. "His name's Russell. The dad. We were never serious. When I got pregnant, I figured I was in a good enough place, financially, to keep it. And I always wanted to be a mom. But I didn't want Russell to be a permanent part of my life. He probably would've stepped up if I'd told him about the baby, but I just didn't want to coparent with him. So I broke up with him. He doesn't know about the baby, and I want to keep it that way."

Ed nodded. "I guess that makes sense."

But she could tell he was holding something back. "Whatever it is you're thinking, you should say it."

"You probably don't want to hear it."

"Ed, come on."

"Fine. I'm not saying you have to do things my way, but . . . if it were me, I'd at least want him to know he had a kid."

"I get why you'd say that," said Winry. "I just think it's more trouble than it's worth."

"I guess. Hey, you want to see this picture of Al at Pet Barn?"

Winry welcomed the subject change, and the rest of their lunch passed with little incident. Ed had tried to cut his food himself, only to wince as the muscles in his right hand spasmed. She teased him as she took his knife and fork. "Guess I better get used to doing this now," she said.

"Yeah, yeah. Hey, you don't have to make the pieces that tiny. I'm not gonna choke."

It had been nice to catch up with her old friend. They'd only kept in touch peripherally since he'd become her client, and it was nice to confirm that he was still the rough-and-tumble personality she remembered. She also couldn't deny that puberty had been kind to Edward Elric. She tried not to think about that too much, though. Her second trimester was a horrible time to start a new relationship, let alone with a client.

However, they were in touch much more than peripherally now. Ed had started messaging her regularly. He liked taunting her with pictures of well-cooked ribs. She teased him back with reminders that he couldn't drive, and she quickly found more material once he was allowed behind the wheel again.

They'd been messaging for about a week and a half when Ed invited her over for dinner at his place. Winry said yes because she knew Al would be there, so it wouldn't be a date exactly, and anyway she couldn't say no to free ribs. So she knocked on Ed's door that evening with a fresh-baked apple pie in hand.

He opened the door wearing a bright red apron with his hair up in a messy bun. Winry couldn't tell if he was seriously rocking the barbecue chef look or she was just hormonal, but damn did he look good.

"Hey!" he greeted her brightly. "Um, Al had to bail. His girlfriend surprised him with concert tickets."

Double damn. This was starting to turn into an actual date. No, she couldn't read into it more than there was. They were just doing this as friends. He probably didn't find pregnant women attractive anyway. She tried to forget how much he gushed over how cool he thought pregnancy was.

Ed invited her out to the patio, where the grill was. "You should probably keep your distance though," he told her. "I don't think the fumes are good for the baby."

"It's sweet of you to worry," said Winry. She noticed how well he handled the spatula and tongs and said, "Your wrist's looking a lot better."

"Thanks," said Ed. "It still gets sore easy, but at least I can use it." He shut the grill. "Sorry, these are taking longer to cook than I thought. How hungry are you?"

Pretty hungry. Pregnancy had a way of kicking a girl's appetite into gear. "Why don't we switch it up and do dessert first?" Winry suggested, holding up her apple pie.

"You don't have to tell me twice," Ed approved. "That thing smells amazing."

They didn't even bother with plates, just split the pie down the middle and ate right out of the tin. Ed groaned when he took the first bite.

"Holy shit, Winry, that's fantastic. Why didn't you tell me you could bake like this?"

"I'm a woman of many talents," said Winry.

"I'm pretty sure pie isn't allowed to taste this good. Did you make a deal with the devil or something?"

"The only devil I've seen lately is you." The remark was out of her mouth before she could think.

His grin widened. "You think I'm the devil? You haven't even seen my naughty side yet."

Shit, shit, they were totally flirting! She had to deescalate the situation. "I don't think it gets much naughtier than the pillbug incident back in third grade."

Ed laughed. "I totally forgot about that! And you put those bugs down my shirt, too!"

"You looked like you were having a seizure," Winry said, chortling.

Their conversation after that was more friendly than flirtatious. By the time the pie had been reduced to mere crumbs, the meat was finally ready. Ed had always had a large appetite and Winry was not ashamed to match him. They both had room for a couple racks of ribs along with potato salad and coleslaw. When they were done, Winry insisted on helping with the dishes. After a few protests, Ed finally relented.

So far, doing that chore together had been the quietest part of the evening. That is, until Ed cried out and dropped the pie tin back in the sink. "Hand cramp," he explained.

"Lemme see." Winry took his hand and started massaging it. She felt along his wrist for strained muscle and rubbed it too. After a moment she started feeling Ed's eyes on her.

She looked up to see him standing closer than he had before, his flushed face closer to hers than it had ever been. Winry's heart picked up, and so did the baby's kicking. But she didn't notice that so much as she noticed his eyes on her mouth.

Ed leaned in first, and Winry closed the gap. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a kiss like this, soft yet unyielding. Ed's left hand wrapped around her back, drawing circles down her spine. Winry traced her own hand up Ed's right arm and clutched his bicep. When the kiss finished, it took Winry a minute to remember that this was not how she had wanted this dinner to turn out.

Intellectually, anyway. Physically, it was clear her libido had other priorities.

Winry shook her head. She said, "Ed, this is crazy."

Ed's fingers drummed on her back. "Is it?" he asked.

"Yes, Ed, I'm about to have a baby."

"I noticed," he said, his left hand tracing around her waist and resting on her belly.

"Ed!"

"Come on, Winry, babies are awesome. I want to get to know the baby too."

Winry supposed that was a good way to put it. It was far too early for Ed to even consider being a father to the baby. On the other hand, impending motherhood was Winry's main focus and anyone she dated would need to be on board with that. Ed had accepted that he'd be spending time with both her and the baby. But still . . . "You're my client."

"What was it you said? When you didn't care about my pain? I'm not your client right now?"

He wasn't wrong. It had been a year since she'd treated him, so it wasn't an offense she could lose her license over. Still, they were cutting it close.

"If we do this," she said, "and your leg breaks in the next year, you wouldn't be able to go to me. You'd have to go to someone else."

"You said it would last me three years, right? Don't you trust your own work?"

He was such a smart alleck. She wanted to smack him. His smirk was obnoxious and alluring at the same time. She wanted to make out with him. He had such a tender look in his eyes. She wanted to hold him tight and never let go.

Winry said, "You're going to be the death of me, Edward Elric."

Ed said, "Yeah, I get that a lot." Then he kissed her again. This one was more fervid than before. Hands wandered down backsides and lips caressed the most sensitive spots of their faces and necks. Winry was pressed close enough to Ed that she was sure he could feel the baby kicking too.

"I think the dishes just need to soak for awhile," Winry murmured in Ed's ear.

"Hell yeah," he agreed. Then he picked Winry up and carried her to the couch, where they could sink into the supportive cushions and feel as close to each other as they possibly could.

They stayed on the couch for a very long time.

#edward elric #winry rockbell #edween2018 #modern au #fluff #2500 words #fanfic #dorktp #it's not spoopy but it fits the prompt so

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euphanisms · 6 years

Text

dnp venus signs

so i was reading up on Dan & Phil’s natal charts kind of recently, specifically their Venus signs, to get a better understanding of their relationship & love languages. a lot of us who are interested in astrology have probably looked into this already, but i just wanted to compile some stuff here in case this is new to you

i added a couple of my own notes into what i’ve copypasta’d from Cafe Astrology, but i’m sure you’ll be able to see other parallels in this text as well

Dan ~ Venus in Leo

Venus in Leo men and women have high expectations, but once you know that these expectations revolve only around how much attention you are giving them, you’ll see that they are really quite big-hearted about most everything else. They are threatened by a relationship that appears to have settled too much, or one that’s lost its spark(1). They are also threatened by indifferent or impersonal behavior on your part(2).

a cool thing about Dan & Phil’s relationship is it’s always ALWAYS been fresh. it’s always been an adventure. even just meeting each other was charged with so much excitement. then they moved in together for the first time & started the radio show, & then after being constant sources of inspiration to each other for their personal channels, they started DanAndPhilGAMES. TATINOF, TABINOF. II. all of their side projects. their travels, moving houses, growing as people & becoming famous. all by each other’s sides. so it’s no wonder that Dan feels safe in his relationship with Phil: they’ve never lost that spark.

sounds like our sweet, jealous Dan

Although their needs for physical expression through sex are generally quite strong, their need for love is perhaps even stronger(1). It is hard for Venus in Leo people to separate love and sex, and even their most erotic fantasies are infused with love and affection. For this reason, few Venus in Leo folk would last long in a relationship that is mostly sexual. On the flip side, they may last longer in a love-only relationship in the absence of satisfying sex, but they are unlikely to feel very satisfied(2).

yea like. we been knew that Dan loves him some sex. but his edgy exterior isn’t quite covering the glaringly obvious softie within. this boy straight up just wants to be loved, & he’s not gonna let many people close enough to give him that (hi Phil)

is it just me or is this screaming 2012? when dnp were carefully & cautiously maintaining a very obvious distance from each other, they still stayed together. they still wanted to live together & work together. they were still so close. we can’t truly know what happened away from cameras & the internet, but we know that while their relationship may have changed, their bond did not.

Pleasing Venus in Leo involves paying loads of attention to them. If you’re willing to make only one adjustment in your ways, it should be to remind Leo how wonderful they are(1). Respect and appreciate them, always. Put up with their childlike moments and their tall tales. They want to be seen as attractive by you, so avoid (at all costs!) putting them down in this area(2). They actually lose interest when they perceive the slightest loss of interest in their partner, and you can expect that any letdown will be acted out in a dramatic fashion. Remind them, in a gentle way, that your emotions count too. If you are feeling a little jealous, let them know. Remember, to Venus in Leo, your small jealousies are affirmations that you find them attractive and expect the rest of the world to as well(3). Let them decide where to go on a date, and let them pay too. When Venus in Leo feels loved and appreciated, they reward you with loyalty, a big sense of fun, and plenty of physical expressions of their love.

yep. Dan loves attention.

to me, it always seems like Phil is genuinely happy to allow Dan his little Extra Moments™. he’s just giggling good-naturedly & looking at Dan like sunshine is coming out of his ass. & you better believe Dan is fucking Thriving off of that

@ jealous Dan 👀 u seeing this, babe? yeah, Phil’s hot. people with eyes are gonna look at him. but dw, you already got him. he fucking loves you. you can breathe.

Love is magnificent and grand to Venus in Leo people. They take pride in love and their love relationships, and they are typically generous with their money(1). This is a warmhearted, teasing, expressive, proud, and extravagant placement for Venus. Love is a bit of a game–a game that is perpetual, as Venus in Leo is forever stuck in the romance stage of a relationship(2). They feed on attention, acknowledgement, validation, and adoration. Venus in Leo loves to be adored, pampered, and admired(3). They have a strong ego investment in their love lives. The negative expression of this placement is overstating of feelings simply for the effect, as well as extravagance(4).

i know we all love the idea of sugar ddy Capita£ester, but i also bet Dan has his own little ways of spoiling Phil that would probably make us all dissolve into a pathetic pile of tears & puke if we knew 💕

immediate visual of Heart Eyes Howell

i think this is part of why Dan does so well with YouTube & liveshows & all that, despite his introversion & social anxiety: he’s got a really deep-seated need for validation & adoration.

ahem

Venus in Leo people may spend a lot on entertainment or sometimes just to show off! They generally are big tippers and give special and generous gifts. They are attracted to art, furnishings, clothing, and music that is bold and passionate, renaissance, lush or opulent, lavishly comfortable, and romantic(1).

like if that doesn’t have Dan’s name written all over it idk what does

Phil ~ Venus in Sagittarius

When Venus in Sagittarius people are in love, they need to feel they can grow and expand their horizons through their relationship. They want to learn new things, and experience everything together(1). These are idealistic lovers who want you to appreciate their beliefs, visions, and ideals. They can be a confusing mix of the lighthearted and serious(2). They are roamers and seekers, and don’t commit in their relationships as easily as others.

now who do we know who are attached at the hip & have been through every major milestone in their adult lives together? 🤔🤔 i’ll echo what i said for Dan: every success they’ve achieved, all their self-growth... they’ve attained together or by each other’s sides. i’m not crying you are

P H I L - WHAT DOES THAT SPELL

Venus in Sagittarius men and women turn others on with their big smiles and laughs, their jokes, their grand schemes, their dreams, and their friendly, flirtatious behavior(1). They pride themselves on their open minds, but you may notice they can be judgmental too. They are threatened by inhibitions on the part of their lover, dullness, and emotional overkill. They are restless, and won’t put up with lovers who dwell on any one thing. When the going gets tough in their relationship, they have an overwhelming need to run away. Usually this only means getting out and experiencing something new before they come back, but sometimes it can be for good(2). They are attracted to people in love with life. You don’t need to be refined, polished, or graceful to win their favor(3).

aka Phil’s entire channel + why we all love him to fucking death. also, the friendly, flirtatious behavior thing?? omfg, they’ve got his fuckin number there

man, i mean. again: we don’t for sure know all of what happened in 2012. but we do know that their relationship is resilient. maybe that’s in part due to the distance they placed between themselves. who knows

good news, Dan :+)

Pleasing Venus in Sagittarius involves allowing them lots of room in the relationship to grow. Avoid getting stuck in a rut, and understand their need to move on. Learn to laugh, but take their rants and raves seriously(1). Avoid criticizing their beliefs, join them in debates, and philosophize along with them. When they feel the need for more experience, join them! Learn to look past their clumsiness with you and your feelings, and avoid cornering them or forcing them to commit(2).

“So what japes do we have planned for today, Phil?” Dan asked, a fond smile playing at his lips even as his eyes flicked skyward for a half-second. yeah, we see that all the time. Dan is very good at going along with whatever silly thing Phil wants, & that is important

Phil is clumsy... he might be clumsy with feelings sometimes too. that’s pretty normal for Aquarius (his sun sign) as well

Romantic adventures, as well as a straightforward–even blunt–approach to love(1), are themes with Venus in Sagittarius. Truth and higher meaning are things that take priority with Sagittarius. There can be some inconstancy and possibly a tendency to escape or flee when love is too complex, intricate, or needy(2).

hey remember 18 year old Dan tweeting to Phil like his life depended on it until he got a response? & then remember how fucking openly flirty Phil was with him all the time after that? pepperidge farm remembers

yikes. i mean i’m js: this is likely a tough point of contention that they deal with often in their relationship. Dan is a v emotional dude. Phil might find the need to detach himself from that intensity sometimes & i guarantee that Dan is Not having it. :/

They are usually sincere, upright, and straightforward about what they want. They enjoy getting to know a lover on a philosophical level, exchanging ideas, and experiencing things together(1).

again, i really feel like this is their whole life together. they’re always bouncing ideas for content off of each other, talking about pop culture & world events, & everything they experience (say it with me) they experience together.

Venus in Sagittarius people are not always especially attached to personal possessions. They are not known to be especially frugal(1), although some of them equate money with freedom, and will gladly put money aside for travel.

all in all: these boys work stupid well together. in love, creativity, friendship, & their professional life. it’s literally written in the stars. sorry i don’t make the rules

Venus Signs - Cafe Astrology

#natalie says things #wow i said a lot of things #i hope y’all appreciate that this took me over an hour to do #but it was fun #i love astrology & their star charts are so interesting to me #dnp #dan and phil

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khalix-hyetology · 7 years

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Slices of Writing (2)

Now that I have established certain stuff I hope it gets to you in an important. If not, no matter — I have some more pointers. If you already knew the previous rules, more power to you. If not, try to incorporate them in your life in whatever customised or direct way you want and need. There is a reason I highlighted those words. Your wants and needs are important too. Though, your wants and needs also can be hierarchal. You must balance them accordingly to get a process going and get results. More on that later.

Onwards to new things that perhaps will be helping for you with writing. In the last segment I had shown you that writing is a psychosomatic, emotional and spatial skill. It interacts with other skills, with you and your environment. I have written how the word innate should not mean fast/rapid/genetic in your repertoire. People can be gifted but so can gifts be earned and attained. I am reviewing this because this is something that must be constantly reviewed. It will stick, then unstick, then stick again only to unstick once more. And again, more on that later.

Avoid/Resist Toxic People and Situations as Much as Possible — This is not a rehash of the Trolls and the Haters phenomenon. This takes that further than that. Trolls and Haters usually occupy social media. They can also be real people as well, as I cited. But, they may be distant people. So, though this may sound similar it is not necessarily identical. You may have to work with people who are unpleasant or unpleasant towards you. Usually, it can be latter than the former. If it is the former you can sometimes talk about this person with some other colleague who is a confidant. However, doing so regularly may a) jeopardise your job as no one can fully be trusted in the work space and b) cause you to create more toxicity by making your complaints a habit. Trust me. We all may have been there and we don’t want that. If it’s the latter know that you don’t have to interact with this person beyond the minimum. Keep your interactions work related and respond only when particularly referred to. If this is your boss then choose select words and let your work do the talking for you. Do not reiterate anything much or try to seem over enthusiastic because toxic people use that opportunity to shoot you down and even publicly humiliating you. Do not tone down too much either nor else they will choose to be especially unpleasant and give you poor performance reviews. If this person actively complains about you to your other bosses consult someone you can trust and change sectors or jobs if need be. Chances are that you will be happier and more productive in the new area. You have to prioritise your productivity and passions. Do not waste any of it on toxic people. Toxic people are not completely avoidable. This is just life. You will meet them in social media, in family, friends and even spouses. If it is social media you can always ignore them or blocked them. If these are reviews then set the “no review” box for a while and even “non anon.” If this is family try to gradually lessen your interactions with them so that you can well not feel guilty or allow them to guilt trip you to go back to their toxic traps. Importantly, if they are parents you can really lessen your interactions with them. If you are being Abused. CALL SOCIAL SERVICES OR THE POLICE AND GET HELP. Now, the other important parts. If toxic people are friends, you have to do what Anne Lamott said in her book Bird by Bird — your friendship needs a sabbatical. Seriously, if you feel you can’t cut them out think you are taking a sabbatical from your friendship. Sometimes toxic behaviour is also passive or indifferent behaviour. Such as not giving attention to your texts, not including you or showing any signs of elation when seeing or interacting with you. Then there is passive aggressive behaviour. Passive Aggressive behaviour is hard to stomach because it is a statement designed a joke or abstraction to still bruise you. You need to resist or stay away from these types of behaviour as much as possible. Friends are meant to enrich your life not make you feel like you are an abyss of uselessness. If your spouse does this either go to couples counseling or seriously rethink the relationship. Your spouse/partner is not meant to belittle, humiliate, berate and ambush you with guilt all the time. Gaslighting and manipulating you is AN ABUSE. So, don’t stay with these people. PLEASE GET HELP ASAP. The reasons I stated this is because toxic people like haters and trolls will debilitate and distract you from writing. If writing is your joy they will belittle it and they will try to ruin your work. Renowned novelist Buchi Emecheta had an abusive husband. When she wrote her first draft of Bride Price and gave it for her husband to read, she came back and saw him burning the manuscript. Yes, that did happen. That is how violent and toxic her ex-husband was. You don’t need partners like that. Or environments like that. They will first feed parasitically on your writing and this will effect and eventually lead to other parts of you. Your writing is not only your passion, it allows you to gain privileges and opportunities and give you work. In the book So Good They Can’t Ignore You by Cal Newport he didn’t support passion so that is why I called writing also work. His reasons are actually credible. Passion, he states, is a side effect of mastery so that ties into how innateness does not equate much in the long run. And, a spouse who doesn’t take your work seriously is not going to take seriously other avenues of your life. By work here I also mean your efforts to master talents, your needs and wants and efforts at communication, habits you try to inculcate, and also your personality and beliefs. Toxic people and environments may ultimately ruin your needs and wants to master your craft. They are sometimes more dangerous than haters and trolls because they have a certain sense of closeness and intimacy with you, which they shamelessly take advantage of. If haters and trolls are clever and lack courage the toxic people are cowardice magnified. They also take the discrimination of cleverness and mutate it to entitlement. They feel that as they are with you they are entitled to behave with you in any way they please. Don’t suffer from this garbage and take a stand for yourself to resist and avoid as much as possible. So yes the sticking and unsticking come here a bit. Toxic people and environments make you doubt yourself a lot and let you cave in to defeating pressure. Yeah, there is positive pressure. The feeling the demanding need to write and write as heartily and skillfully as one can at the moment. So for your health tied to your writing stay away from toxicity as much as possible and resist it whenever the opportunities present themselves.

Do not Wait for the Mood to Write — This is a cardinal rule that you need to repeat to yourself. I know I have to because I procrastinate on it and don’t do it but it is seriously and important rule. Even if you are depressed, take some time off for your health and then try to write one line and draft it out and redraft it out. The reason I am saying this is that writing is a muscle and that it needs development and stimulation. Now, you may be thinking if I have writer’s block how can I be stimulated? Well, do other things. Or better yet start free writing. Take out your journal or Document and just start writing/typing random things and you will sure to get ideas. These writings do not need to final products or anything perfect. They can be to do lists or 40 best songs you liked or movies or even books. Write out your feelings of toxic people, your anxieties, your triumphs, etcetera and you are sure to get something. Writing is a balance of passive and active nodes. Thinking alone about writing ideas usually don’t help. Thinking can also be passive because the mind is not stimulated enough to get somewhere. Free Writing can also be passive because it doesn’t have a necessary goal. However, both can be active too gradually. When I first started writing these writing tips I didn’t completely know how I would go about it. I still don’t know but I kept on writing and the ideas gradually came. If I stuck to only thinking and planning alone it may have taken longer. Yes, I thought out the headings and such and some of the chunks but not everything. That is why I mentioned the hierarchy of desire and wants. Writing will not always operate on those things. Writing like any habit and skills needs time, dedication, discipline, patience and reiteration. If you are a victim of your moods and always get easily seduced by them writing will believe you are a player and not interested in a relationship (yeah, I went there). You need to understand that as there is no true innate quality to writing there is no ideal hour, moment, time or whatever for writing either. Writing is paradoxical because human beings are paradoxical. Writing is sometimes born and borne out of great frustration and misery and flicks off your happy pastures world. Writing at times scowls at decay and looks for pure Nirvana. Writing is concrete in its form but relative in its act of conception. It creates its own ideals and mixes other generally thought out ones. It may sometimes strive in purity which can also be chaos and at times live in greys which can be a ordinary day in the park. Don’t think that you need a mood always to write. You don’t need a mood always to breathe? It is as Scout said in To Kill a Mocking Bird. Reading to her was breathing. And, how do you breathe. You do it continuously. Now, I am not saying burn yourself out by writing. I am just giving a loose analogy. You don’t always breathe deeply and loudly so take writing also as gradual breathing which may sometimes stay nice and stable as though you are in a dream, sometimes peak up as you are being athletic and sometimes even be “soggy” like you are in a flu. You are writing about life so writing won’t be excised from life. Like Life writing also needs other avenues than your thoughts to be feed. It needs experiential stuff, segments from classrooms, snippets in cafes and the smell of coffee and the warmth of tea, the kiss of a lover, the kiss of a stranger, the theories of betrayal and actual betrayals, the concatenation of pearls in a bracelet, the mathematical equation you learned the other day, your dissertation, your lab assignment and even the joke you told your friend. Writing stems from all of these. Writing is the nodes of you as you go through life. Writing is the anatomy of your body, the curvatures of your spirit and the oceans of your soul with the forests of your thoughts and subconscious — writing is the braille of time and the alphabets of your spine dancing in unison to some track that is in your head and the cusp in your heart. Thus writing requires discipline, effort, time and dedication. As you are analogous to your writing (if not themes or characters then certainly the process) than like you writing needs proper nourishment and nurturing. And your moods erratically firing off won’t always help. Be consistent as much as possible. And I mean a healthy consistent. Write in a day or two days. Write small quotes. Plan projects and try your best to finish them. The more respect, time and attention you give to writing (a healthy amount because you need to take yourself and do other things) the more your writing will respect you and feel like listening to you.

~ To Be Continued

#writing #write #craft #skills #discipline #wants #desires #creativity #toxic people #emotional #psychosomatic #psychology #spatial #body #studyblr #writeblr

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