Ok But I Am LIVING For Medusas Snake Tattoos

imagine if your fridge did what you do to it everyday, every half hour goes to your room opens the door and stares at you for 5 minutes then leaves

girl i saw someone on tiktok talking about the whole “christianity just stole their story from the ancient egyptian’s religion” and at one point the dude said that horus and jesus would’ve had the same birthday and ugh its so stupid cause the egyptians didn’t even have the same calendar as us, how did that even come to be?

Ohhh that old bullshit. The whole thing is bullshit as Egyptians don’t even seem to have documented birthdays, but I digress. It makes a mockery of both Egyptian religion, and Christianity, and I usually see it touted by a certain type of atheist as a ‘gotcha’. I don’t know where it came from, but it seems to have been around for a long while, much like the Ishtar/Easter thing which is equally bullshit. It usually stems from people who want to actively discredit someone’s religious beliefs by ‘oh you guys just stole everything from X religion’ so by extension you’re an idiot. None of the things listed as similarities are even true:

Virgin birth? Nope Isis and Osiris banged to get Horus. Admittedly postmortem as a bird and a reassembled dead guy, but it was definitely sex. Plus the Egyptians didn’t believe in virginity.

Same birthday? Even Jesus’ birthday isn’t December 25th. Egyptians don’t have birthdays, and gods certainly don’t. Feast days, sure. Not birthdays.

Born in a cave, heralded by a star? Nope. Horus was born and grew up amongst Papyrus reeds to hide from Seth who was trying to kill him because Seth was ‘king’

Horus was baptised? Lol no. Egyptians have no such thing

12 disciples? Nope. He did have 4 sons though

Performed miracles and exorcised demons? Well he can do miracles…he’s a god. But demons? Not really unless you deal with duat stuff. Even then it’s not exorcising them. The most documented thing he killed was a Hippo in a boat race with Seth. 

Horus referred to as a Holy Child? ahahahahaha that’s not even a phrase in the Egyptian language. Great god is, but not ‘holy child’. There is ‘divine child’ but that refers to any child of the gods, and also the pharaoh. 

Horus was crucified and resurrected? NOPE. It’s literally forbidden in Egyptian religion to talk about or portray a god dying or being dead. Even Osiris, who is a resurrected dead guy, isn’t referred to as being dead. Horus doesn’t die in any mythology, though I should note that in Egyptian religion gods *can* die. 

So y’know. It’s all bullshit. Elements and motifs of previous religions can make their way into newer religions purely due to the gradual change from old to new over the centuries. Some things just hold over. Is the ‘divine mother and child’ motif unique to either Christianity or Egyptian religion? Nope. Does that invalidate either of them? Also nope. Cultures can have similarities without them having ‘copied’ from each other. 

An editorial cartoon about the anti-vaccination movement from the 1930s

I hecking love this. Absolutely love it. The person who originally made this should write a book

When The World Crumbled

Anonymous said:I’m feeling angsty, so maybe a snippet where a hero and villain find out the others’ identity and realize they’re roommates and lovers if you’re down with that?//  Anonymous said:Hi, could you possibly write something where the hero and villan were/are lovers? Thank you so much and I love your work!

When the world crumbled, it did so with a quiet and aching intimacy. 

The hero paused with one hand on their lover’s bare chest. Over a fresh wound, similar to one they had dealt the villain the night before. It was still red. A raw, angry colour. 

It wasn’t the first time they had seen marks like this one. 

The bedroom was still, bathed in soft golden glow of dawn. 

Their lover curled against them, half asleep still, pliant and trusting. The villain curled against them, half asleep still, vulnerable and exposed. It didn’t feel like the possibility of victory - triumph had never seemed further away. 

The hero’s throat locked tight. They could barely breathe. 

In sleeping, cruelty had no place on the villain’s face. There was no coldness, just softness, familiar lips that would taste like their mint toothpaste should the hero lean in to kiss them now. Hair mussed by sleep, scented faintly of apple shampoo. Hands… hands that had caressed and adored them, that made them dinner, that held them close. Hands…hands that had hurt and attacked them, bruising, violent hands that committed monstrosities out of sight. 

They buried their face in the villain’s neck so they didn’t have to look, arms wrapped around them tight. This was where they always hid when the world and its demands got to be a little too much. 

Probably, they should leave. Confront. Make some kind of plan. They gasped at air that didn’t want to come instead. Fumbled for rage, for betrayal, for some motivating force beyond the numb and airless sorrow.  

The villain stirred in their arms, rousing at the fierce grip. Those hands slipped into their hair, fingers stroking the locks instinctively. “Alright?” They sounded concerned. “Baby?” 

“Just a nightmare,” the hero whispered. “Please, go back to sleep.”

When the world crumbled, it did so with a quiet and aching intimacy. 

The villain held the bundle of fabric in one hand. The absurdly bright costume, blood-spotted, hidden. When they inhaled the scent it was of their lover. 

Stupid moments - wasn’t that how the worst secrets were discovered? Not with a bang, but with the mundane breakage of an incoming text, an unsent note, a spritz of a stranger’s perfume. Or a hero’s costume so familiar it couldn’t be strange except for the strangeness of it being there. 

They’d been a fool not to see it before. To hear it before. 

It was the same voice; the voice that soothed and flattered them, promised them, teased them, made a life with them. The same voice that goaded them and taunted them across the battlefield, that cried out in sharp pain at every blow. 

Nausea climbed up the villain’s throat. How could they have not seen this before? The two had always seemed worlds away, like they couldn’t possibly be the same. One, their enemy. The other, their home, their safety, whatever warm remnants remained in their heart and cooled now. 

No, it didn’t cool. The villain wished their heart would cool. Wished it would freeze over entirely. It burned. It scorched them like hell might, rising sick up their gut and their gullet and hot in their eyes as the first tears fell. 

They stumbled to the toilet and threw up, fingers white-knuckled on the edge of the rim. Their knees gave out beneath them. They hated the sound that came out of them, some uncontrollable ugly keening, like a wounded animal that had been shot. 

They shoved their fist into their mouth, biting down hard enough to draw blood. They squeezed their eyes shut. 

The vomit tasted acrid in their mouth. 

They heard the scrape of keys downstairs. “Darling?” That voice. The front door clicked shut. 

It was too soon. They weren’t ready. 

They couldn’t quite get their limbs to co-operate with them. 

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, closer. 

They shoved the super-hero costume blindly into the laundry basket, out of sight. 

“Oh my god.” Their lover spotted them, by their side in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

They flinched from the touch before they could stop themselves. 

“Bad lunch,” they managed. “Must be. Ate something bad. Feels like poison.” 

That much was true - they felt poisoned, infected, their most intimate of spaces violated by some foreign attacker. 

The hero stared down at them. 

Their eyes met.

The hero knew, they didn’t they? It was right there on the face.

For a moment, now, the hero was all they could see. Their enemy towering over them as they were laid to waste, on their knees, broken. 

Their lover swallowed and touched their cheek, just once.  “I’ll get you some water.” 

When their worlds crumbled around them, there was no explosions, no bloodshed. 

The lights were off, their bedroom chilly. It was better when they couldn’t see each other’s faces, couldn’t read again the too clear hurts and the accusations. The splits and shattered cracks of everything gone wrong. 

“I should kill you,” the villain whispered as they stroked the hero’s hair. 

“I should turn you in,” the hero replied. “I walked past the station five times today. You texted me to ask if I wanted Chinese for dinner. Did you know?” 

They didn’t ask:

- Why didn’t you?

- Why haven’t you?

- What happens now?

- How could I not see this coming? 

The hero ghosted their hand over the scar on the villain’s chest, tender. 

The villain, unerringly, found one on the hero’s back. 

“I love you,” they both confessed. It sounded like goodbye.  

Not an easy decision

this blog hates donald trump

Look how many people hate him. I’m pretty damn happy about that 😁😁😁😁😁😁

The process of writing a book:

hinata really went 🥴🥴🥴

kisses… 

like if save

by ceejles

🥰🥰🥰🥰