space womb

Imagine you work in a doll shop... (Part I)

Ever since you were young, you had always dreamed of having a large family- being constantly swollen and round with children, feeling them kick and tumble around inside you. There was only one problem: you were downright terrified of the pain that came with giving birth. Just the idea of feeling yourself be stretched so much was absolutely unbearable, to the point where you always made certain that your birth control prescription was met and your husband wore a condom every time the two of you had sex. However, as time went on, it was becoming gradually more apparent that your husband was getting frustrated with your unwillingness. He sat you down and had a long talk with you about epidurals and other painless birth options, but you wouldn’t hear any of it. There was always the off chance that it would hurt regardless, and that was something you just couldn’t risk. That same night, you both slept in different rooms. The next morning, while getting ready for work, you decided to check on your husband, who was still sound asleep on the couch. Even in his sleep, it was obvious that he was unhappy- his brow holding a slight furrow, his lips tightly pursed. At the sight, you felt a sudden pang of guilt. After all, it wasn’t his fault that you were so afraid of giving birth. And you knew how badly he wanted children. Later that morning, you quietly stepped into the shop, your hands trembling ever so slightly as you eased the door shut behind you. The sight you were met with was a comfortingly familiar one; dozens of painted faces perched above plastic bodies clothed in perfectly pleated, tightly laced dresses, bright, sparkling eyes framed by delicately curled hair in a variety of shades. There was no question that these were some of the most lifelike and realistic dolls made in the area, each roughly the same size as a toddler and weighing almost as much. You knew from firsthand experience just how heavy they were, given how many times you’d had to load them into boxes to be shipped, or had to stock the countless shelves with them. Moving past the dolls, you found your boss in the workroom, busy threading hair into the scalp of an unfinished doll. Mumbling a halfhearted greeting, you stepped past him to the sewing table, where you got to work hemming the dress that the semi-hairless doll was to wear. The longer you sewed, the more you let your mind wander, and the worse you felt about the fight you’d had with your significant other. The guilt must have eventually started to show on your face, as soon, your boss piped up, quietly mentioning that you had never been very good at hiding your feelings. With that, you broke down completely, clutching your face in your hands as you tearfully explained your predicament. More than anything, you wanted to get past your phobia of pregnancy, and give your husband the family that the two of you had wanted for so long. Your boss just sat there, listening, until finally, as you took a moment to blow your nose with a tissue, he spoke. “I would like to help you with that.” Those were words that simultaneously made you afraid and exhilarated. On one hand, you had no idea how he planned to help you. On the other, you were becoming so desperate that you were willing to try just about anything. Reluctantly, you nodded, relenting to his request. With a large, friendly smile, he stood, motioning for you to come over to the workbench he was using. Curiosity slowly began to seep into you as you yourself rose, joining him next to the table cluttered with tools. Quickly, your boss began clearing a large area of the wooden surface, leaving it all too available for whatever was going to happen next. “Sir? What’re you-” Before you could so much as finish your sentence, he shoved you down, trying to force you to lay flat on the workbench. Though he was an older man, you happened to be on the small side, meaning you no match for him. Still, you struggled and fought, trying to kick at him as he bound your wrists to the legs of the table, your arms tightly secured by two brightly colored strips of cloth. As you tried to tug your hands free, he took the opportunity to yank off the jeans you were wearing, quickly followed by your flimsy panties. As the cold air brushed against your nethers, it hit you: he was going to rape you. Tears filled your eyes for the second time that day as you stopped your struggling, going limp against the wood. Parting your lips, you let out a hoarse whisper. “Please don’t do this…” “I won’t harm you, dear. Though, I can’t promise that this isn’t going to hurt.” He almost sounded apologetic as he tied your ankles to the other two legs of the table, forcing your own legs to remain spread wide, bent upwards at the knees. What was he going to do to you? Your heart was pounding so loudly in your ears that you almost didn’t catch his murmured words of reassurance as something soft began caressing your folds. With a shudder, you realized that he was teasing your sex with his fingers. A soft gasp managed to escape you as he slipped one finger inside you, followed by another, and then another. It was uncomfortable at first, but your body quickly adjusted, your opening growing wet to accommodate the intrusion. As he pressed into your clit with his thumb, you let out your first moan, your chest beginning to heave as your breaths turned shallow and strained. You almost wanted to whine as he pulled back, wiping off his fingers with a cloth. You tried to lift your head to see what he was doing, but you couldn’t see past the workbench as your boss hunched over, pulling something out from a box underneath. However, as he stood back up, you could feel the color drain from your cheeks, your hands curling into shaking fists. In his hands was another doll, this one without a painted face, hair, or clothes. Cradled gently in his arms, it almost looked like a newborn infant, the kind you so desperately craved. With a sudden rush you felt the guilt flood back into you, that all-too-familiar feeling that had eaten away at your marriage. Consumed with emotion, you barely noticed as your boss stepped back over, lowering the doll towards your open legs. Without warning, you felt a sudden pain blossom in your sex, a sharp pinching sensation that wrenched a shriek from you. Your head snapped back up, frantically trying to catch a glimpse of the source of the unwelcome feeling. The sight that met your eyes was something that you had definitely not expected to see. Pushed brutally hard against your vulva was the head of the unfinished doll, your boss’s hands trying to force it in deeper- force it into your body. Before you could stop yourself, a string of panicked words tumbled out of your mouth, gradually increasing in pitch until they bordered on nothing more than a shriek. “NO! DON’T! PLEASE, OH GOD, IT’S NOT GOING TO FIT!” You desperately yanked and pulled at the bindings on your wrists, praying that somehow you could get free and put an end to this madness. Still, he persisted, continuing to press on the doll, putting his entire weight behind the single continuous shove. The stinging pain twisted itself into a deep, unbearable ache as the doll reached your pelvis, the plastic meeting a hole that was far too small for it to pass through. You could feel the entire weight of the object, ridiculously heavy and bulky as it somehow managed to slide deeper and deeper, working its way into your canal against all odds. Despite your pleas, he still continued to put that intolerable pressure on your body, determined to slide the doll into you. You had been lying there for what must have been an hour before you finally felt the doll reach its last obstacle: your cervix. The ache that you thought couldn’t get any worse tripled as hard plastic met the unweilding muscle, stubbornly trying to force it open. Your only relief was the series of screams that tore out of your throat, one after another until you were too hoarse to continue. Fresh tears trickled down across your face as the doll suddenly thrust deeper inside of you, into what could only be your womb. As you looked down, you could see the bulge in your lower stomach, signifying that the head had entered the deepest part of you at last. “Hush, dear. It’s almost over. The head was the difficult part.” His words did little to soothe you, and you clenched your teeth, letting out a hissing, forced breath as the rest of the doll was pushed into your abused uterus. You watched with disbelief as your belly grew before your eyes, plumping out into a round, pregnant sphere that rested heavily on your tiny frame. Though there wasn’t nearly as much pain as there was during the insertion, you still felt sore, and you were so incredibly full that you were sure you were about to burst. The doll took up every last inch of space in your swollen womb, stuffing you so large that you looked to be pregnant with at least twins. You groaned in relief as you felt your boss cut through the ties on your wrists. Freed at last, your hands flew to your massive tummy, experimentally poking and prodding at it. The bulge was utterly rock-hard, no doubt due to the doll within. Wincing, you tenderly rubbed the taut flesh. There was no possible way that your situation could get any worse. That was when he spoke, his own fingertips lightly brushing the surface of your belly. “You did so well, dear. I’ll let you rest for a bit, and then we can continue.” ———————————————————————————————

Hey, guys! You can call me Absinthe. Long-time lurker of the blog, finally decided to actually post something myself. Hope you enjoyed, and there should be a part 2 coming soon!            

Call Your Power Back

Many of us struggle to speak out or to have our voices heard, so we must call our power back … Back from all the places and people we’ve given it away to, back from where it’s been taken from us, back from all the times we’ve been shushed or silenced, back from when we’ve been mansplained to, back from all the times we’ve felt less than, and all the times we’ve been worried that we’re too much.

Make a triangle with your hands by placing the tips of your thumbs together and the tips of your first fingers together. This is called a Yoni Mudra; yoni means sacred temple in Sanskrit. We place that mudra on our womb space, or lower abdomen. We stand with our feet slightly apart, bent at the knees, and then we close our eyes, place our attention at our third eye and say out loud three times: “I call back my power now.”

Between each call, visualize a bright white light coming up through the soles of your feet, through your knees and into your womb space. Let it rest there before calling in the next one.

When you’ve done this three times, hold your power there.

Then repeat three times: “It is safe for me to be powerful.”

The mudra seals in the power.

We bring our hands to our hearts and say: “So mote it be.”

The season between Samhain and Winter Solstice requires silence, patience, stillness. Betwixt and between, we’re no longer caught in death’s throes, but not yet in the pangs of birth. Not inhaling nor exhaling, neither sleeping nor awake, but at rest in the vast vault of space. Between tomb and womb, we dream and incubate. Here and now is the space-time of stillness and silence, the power of the North, the darkest face of the Goddess.
—  Karina Blackheart, from “A Witch’s Book of Silence”

looking at Phantom Pain, its early 80s bionic, mechatronic futurism – we need a -punk name for that 70s space colonies/artificial wombs/mechanical plastic prosthesis retrofuturism

It would be “solarpunk” if that wasn’t already taken, “hydropunkic” is cute but awkward. “Skylabpunk”?


Re-Reading 3B: Derek and Stiles, part 5


Today’s post looks at Derek and Stiles in DeVoid. I’m just gonna give up on predicting how many more posts there are going to be in this meta. Maybe just two. Maybe two million. Who the fuck knows. OMG.

Keep reading


A major goal I have is to enlighten folks to take their first steps towards dismantling patriarchy, white supremacy, imperialism, colonization, capitalism, gentrification and any other form of exploitation. Whether it be to start a community garden in your hood or quitting your job to going to West Papua, New Guinea to assist our brothers and sisters in the fight to liberate their people from Indonesian occupation, there is much work to be done and I believe that every person can play a major role in the liberation of Afrikan/Black people. One way I’m dismantling patriarchy is educating people on womb healing and creating spaces for people with wombs to get in touch with their divine selves. Other ways I’m playing my part is working in Afrikatown garden and at Qilombo, I’m going to start teaching vegan classes to black folks in West Oakland.

I bleed on cue every month, every 28 days like the same version of the moon returning. I commanded my womb to be in alignment with the earth that way. My breasts rise like two full moons, becoming beautifully full, heavy, and ache to be squeezed, massaged, and sucked at the most receptive pressure points by my life-love. I commanded my breasts to be that way. Because of my cultivated digestion and stress management, I don’t cramp nor experience heavy bleeding anymore.  Learning how to process life in healthier ways healed my fibroids and the accompanying heavy moon cycles and pain therein. Newsflash: You can have a pain-free moon cycle and derive pleasure from said moon cycle. <—-that probably reads like science-fiction since we learn to naturally associate pain with anything involving a womb, the most powerful source of creation. (And you don’t have to have a physical womb in order to tap into that creative energy, as you always have a psychic womb space). As I type this holy scripture, I am lightly bleeding and in full-blown arousal as my blood drips. Oh goodness, new moon, why do you have to be so divine and juicy?!

 When I’m on my moon, meaning the moon is twirling inside my body, I do experience the blues. I commanded my body to be watery that way. Blue as in the color of water of course, but also for transformation, communication, calm (flowing with ease), and nourishment (*bows in honor of Yemaya). I brilliantly receive all the accompanying information and communications from going (glowing) through these sacred initiations. Most times I let myself ride out my emotions; ‘let them blues be honeychile’ and know that they are just as valid as my happiness. Cuddling up and watching the strangest and oddly slowest moving films on Netflix while recycling the blues energy through my breath and pores had ran its course. Today I decided to gather my energy to climb Corona Heights Rock in San Fran, breath the blues out into nature through singing, and unearth the healing, transformative power of nature. Then when I was ready, resolve what I was feeling back to love!  And so I did! I love being a woman who happens to bleed and gets all hormonal—but I also love being a woman who knows how to manage her emotions and heal her organs when I’m ready to do so. I am far healthier at 39 years old than I was at 19 and I attribute that healthiness to my connection to my body and my connection to my body within nature– and my connection to my body as nature. And most importantly, the belief that all things get better with learning and time!  Mmm, Cheers!—India Ame’ye, Author “You Look Like Something Blooming”

“If you have a headache, find the deeper remedy as soon as possible. If you have cramps, find relief as soon as possible. If your heart aches, find some soothing sweetness when you are ready. Essentially you don’t want your body to get accustomed to being in pain as a normal way of existing.”–India Ame’ye

That Afternoon | Naruto

prompt: A NaruHina prompt that has been on my mind is the baby kicking in Hinata’s stomach. I know it’s not much, but I always imagined how amazed and happy Naruto would be no matter how bad his day was before. [Submitted by Anonymous]

pairing: Naruto ◊ Hinata

notes: This is so cute anon, like I can’t. I’ve always wanted to write this and it gives me a great chance to work on something the doesn’t make me angry when writing it (aka The Wish). Anyway, this was definitely enough to work off of! Thanks! Submit anything anytime!

“Oh! Did you feel that?” Blue eyes sparkled with excitement as the baby inside his wife kicked up within the confined space of her womb. 

Hinata couldn’t help but laugh at him, he was so much like a child right now. “Of course I did. he’s inside me after all.”  

He gave her a crooked smile, hands roaming around the skin of her bare belly waiting for more tiny kicks or punches. “It’s amazing." 

Keep reading

nxvvxh  asked:

Can you tell us more about the immun coeli?

The Fourth House life arena encourages self care from the root level up and describes your answers to the question: Where is my home? Who is my family? Like the sign of Cancer and the Moon, which rule the fourth house, this life arena encourages profound sensitivity. We each grew from the safe space that is the womb. It also reflects the inner family that every psychotherapist is trying to access when you have a session. Who are the private cast of characters in your psyche who will tell you who you are?  From what well, symbolically, do you drink?

The I.C or Immun Coeli is on the cusp of the fourth house and sits opposition from the Midheaven (Aquarius MC/Leo IC) The IC has primal power because it includes the memory of your birth and your mother. Though the umbilical cord was severed, ancestral memory still flows through the superhighway of the IC, shaping your approach to home and family. However you have been updating that approach sense since you drew your first breath. Every time your consciousness re-enters after sleep, you renew the private conversation with self about identity. The unconscious mind becomes conscious everyday. 

If you have no planets in the fourth house, look for your Moon. The Moon will provide information about your homing instinct. Look for many planets in the sign of Cancer. They express the energy of caring and nourishment.

If You Want to Change the World, Love a Man (2013)

If you want to change the world, love a man, really love him.
Find the one whose eyes are like blazing suns,
that make you look away the first time,
that pierce right through you,
blinding you to everything but the moment,
melting you into a puddle of soft pastel light,
even though you cringe at the color, pink.

The one who stops your thinking,
who sends your lashes fluttering
and all the blood rushing to your cheeks.
The slow-to-speak-one,
whose smile is like a flute,
who summons honey bee songs,
blossom songs and morning bird songs
with his listening.

The fallen-sky-one with the mark on his back,
where he lost his feathers from flying too close to a star.

The broken one in search of his wings,
who tells you the story of how to make fire.

If you want to change the world, love a man
beyond your fear of being burned.

Beyond unforgiveness and the walls you’ve built to protect your sovereignty and anonymity.

Love him beyond old wounds and lies
you believed to be truth,
the hole in your heart from an absent father,
the scar on your sacred flower left by thieves.

Beyond past lives and the memory
you keep like a shrine to betrayal
when you fell to your knees in the ashes of your village, and love became a field of bones.

Lift your darkened face to him who stands before you. Take his hand and let him raise you to your feet.

Trust him to hold you as you tremble and weep in his arms for all that has been lost and found in this holy instant.

If you want to change the world, love a man
Beyond your faithlessness
and your secret hatred of humanity
Beyond all your judgment and self righteous projection.

The stone on your heart is as ancient
as the thought that you had to deny His existence to know your power.

You are no less God than you ever were.
Man is no more guilty than Woman is innocent.

Love him for bearing the burden of desire in his sex so your temple could remain whole unto itself-for taking on the split aspect of mind hat seemed to abandon the oneness of heaven so that you might know the joy of Its extension.

Love the ecstatic, primal root
castrated by religion as the root of all evil-
the channel of divine creative impulse-
that sparks the seeds of life, death and birth
from the womb of space and time.

Love the humble guardian and warrior
Man has been to Woman
even as he hunts her,
even in his drive towards self gratification,
which ultimately is the portal to soul union.

Love the violator who holds the mirror
to everything you have disowned within yourself-so that all your desire, your creative impulse may be freed from the chains of separation, lack and guilt and you can finally trust your Self.

If you want to change the world, love a man
in all his instinctual animal nature,
in all his hunger and devotion to beauty.

Love him beyond your vanity and pridefulness,
your gilded possessiveness and need to special-beyond your well thought out conditions for safety and all your concepts of how a man should be in relationship.

Love him beyond your anger at not getting your way, beyond your terror of not knowing or being in control.

Love him in his relentless pursuit
to penetrate the deepest sanctuaries within you, that hold the chaos of your strongest emotions, your carefully guarded secrets of separation between light and dark, virgin and whore, man and woman, spirit and form.

Love him for opening the door to sensuality,
to your primordial self that is beyond duality,
for binding you to pleasure
even as the air closes in around you,
even as you writhe with madness,
cursing your incarnation as the enemy-
even as you contract and claw,
crying out in despair, such joy it brings.

Love him for not yielding
to your resistance to surrender-
for standing in his masculine power
even as you threaten to destroy him.

If you want to change the world, love your man for leaving you to live his purpose,
whether it’s for a day, a week, months or years.

Love him for breaking his own heart over and over-for holding the tension and balance
of polarity and intimacy, of distance and closeness.

Love his need for silence and solace-
for keeping some of his mystery to himself-
not that he has anything to hide,
but so you will always have surprises!

Love his evolutionary nature
that seeks new experiences,
that can never be satisfied-
for his boundless curiosity,
that if allowed to be free
might be your own liberation
from complacency.

Love him for shining independently
from the seat of his own majesty-
for not needing, yet choosing you
from a place of knowing his magnificence.

Love him for being your patient direction and destiny-for returning to you
your own brightness through the dark night-
for helping you to remember
the one and only relationship you’ve ever had
and tried to forget-for bringing you to that vulnerable, powerless
abiding place of surrender
you’ve been afraid of and waiting for all your life-where you can finally be consumed by Love-where you can finally be claimed by God.

~Lisa Citore

 Art by Ines Honfi

anonymous asked:

Fun speculation. Theoretically through artificial insemination: What would a Miniature horse and Shire cross look like, how big could it be, and would it be useful in some way? I'm not gonna try it but I have wondered for years about it

it’s actually hard to find pictures of a heavier breed horse crossed with a mini, the closest i could find in a quick search are vanner/mini crosses-

size wise, it depends on which side is the dad. 

The size of the fetus at birth is often determined more by the mare’s uterine capacity than by genetics, although genetics do kick in once the foal has been born.

In one bit of research at Colorado State University, a Shetland pony mare was inseminated with semen from a draft horse stallion. The pony mare delivered a small foal during a normal birth, but the foal soon outgrew its mother once it was on the ground and nursing. - The Horse

Apparently this is an outcome of someone who bred a shire mare to a welsh stallion 

the poster stated in their comment- “ B/c of the excess space in the womb the little foal did not develop in the normal folded position and was born with terribly contracted extensor tendons in the front limbs. In the photos the legs may appear lax, but I assure you, they were immovable and absolutely frozen in their hyperextended state. Again, this is NOT a case of flexor tendon laxity. This foal had painfully hyperextended legs that were pulled into that abnormal position by excessively tight common digital extensor tendons.” The foal was euthanized. 

i’m sure they are useful in some ways but it’s not worth the risk. 

anonymous asked:

Imagine Jamie and Claire had a baby boy that lived, like they thought in France

He was so, so tiny. 

He’d have been small, anyway, sharing womb space with his sister as he had, but it was too early for him to have been born. Claire counted it as a miracle and a blessing from God that even one of the babies had survived. Faith, sweet, beautiful Faith was gone. But this little boy- he had survived. Claire meant to do all she could to help him thrive; because she couldn’t lose another child. 

She sat near the window, gazing down at her sweet boy as he nursed at her breast, and she silently prayed for him, encouraging him to continue eating, to grow big and strong. To live on in his sister’s memory. The poor child had lost half of himself. Would he feel that as he grew older? Would he know, instinctively, that he was not meant to be a single child, but one of two? Claire brushed soft fingertips over the little head that was covered in fuzzy red hair.

“You’ll take after your father,” she told him in a whisper. “Grow big and braw as he is.” 

“Will he, then?” 

Claire jumped at the suddenness of Jamie’s voice in the doorway, deep and full of emotion as it cut through the quiet of the room. The baby stopped suckling and let out a wail at having been disturbed at his meal. Jamie’s face twisted into a look of regret and he pressed into the room, hurrying over to his little family and kneeling down in front of Claire to have a look at his son.

“He’s a good set of lungs,” he mused quietly, tears filling his eyes as he watched his wife murmur softly to the baby before setting him back to her breast. “Strong. A Dhia, he’s so small, Sassenach. He’ll live, won’t he?” Jamie lifted his gaze to her face, those tears in his eyes threatening to fall. He gripped her knee gently, searching for some assurance.

She’d heard that he was in prison, and she wondered now how he’d gotten out. It’d been a month since the duel, and while the baby was bigger, he was still so much smaller than any Jamie might be used to seeing. He’d still been born before he was meant to be. She wanted to be angry with Jamie, to scream and yell and hit him for what he’d done, but with one of their children in her arms, taking nourishment from her, she couldn’t help but forgive, at least a little. At least enough. Enough to move on. Claire was still healing as well, still too weak to walk far. She slept with the baby in her room and most often had food brought up. Her exercise consisted of pacing the room with the little bundle in her arms, then she’d collapse into bed with him after a bit, exhausted. She hadn’t the energy for the burning anger she’d felt in those first days.

“He’ll live,” she answered softly. “He grows bigger and stronger each day.” A trembling hand reached out to lay on Jamie’s shoulder, one finger fiddling with a strand of dirty red hair. “Clean up a bit. You can hold him after he’s eaten.” 

He nodded, but didn’t move just yet. “Have ye named him yet?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t know what you…” She swallowed hard. “He had a sister. She was named Faith. But him- I wanted you to name him.” 

Those tears finally escaped to roll down Jamie’s cheeks, and Claire was surprised to find her own cheeks wet. He murmured a soft prayer in Gaelic for their lost child. Then he looked down at his son, lifted his finger to trace along the baby’s tiny cheek. “Ian. Ian William. We’ll have him baptized tomorrow.” 

Her lips twitched and she nodded, giving his shoulder a weak squeeze. “Go on, Jamie. Ian will be finished nursing soon.” 

With a last lingering look at his son, Jamie stood. He bent and pressed a kiss to the top of Claire’s head, then turned away to order water and fresh clothes brought up for him. He was terrified of holding that tiny little bundle, so much like fine porcelain the baby seemed to be. But if Claire thought he could do it… 

He took a deep breath. It was the first step toward an entirely unknown future. He had an immense responsibility on his shoulder, with a child to care for now, but Jamie would see to it that his family was safe and well cared for. That was all he could do.