#to be typically male looking without being less of a woman

[acowardinmordor]

Fucked up thought as I do material spec: transmasc Eddie Munson who gets bullied and called a guy because of how he dresses and acts (transphobic so bad they looped back to what Eddie wants on accident) dating Steve post S2, who knows and supports him, but still has to misgender his bf in public until they can get out of Hawkins. Eddie fails again, they get in a fight about whether they should leave, and aren’t broken up, but aren’t really together as S3 starts. So when Eddie visits Scoops, Steve is so happy to see him that he calls him Eddie and he/him in public, just like the bullies, and can’t explain to Robin, who is absolutely pissed that Steve is treating her Eddie like that.

#steddie #I always love when Steve is *processing confusion* : immediate support #Eddie wants to be called Eddie? sure thing #‘what’s trans?’ Steve’s not sure #but that’s his boyfriend eddie #who he has to call his girlfriend #because his boyfriend asked him to #also don’t @ me #the shit you do to stay safe in unsafe areas is ridiculous #also there’s a weird confluence of feminism and trans experience #that predates terfs #where feminists were advocating for a woman’s right to wear pants #and have short hair and muscles #to be typically male looking without being less of a woman #so in 85 Robs first thought is probably to defend Eddie’s right to be any kind of woman

[vroomvroomwee]

Can we talk about this?

Because we seriously need to talk about it. This single scene is so so so so important. Both of them are doing something typically associated with romantic couples. He grabs her hand, kisses it, holds it close to his chest and looks directly into her eyes.

In any other piece of media that would have undoubtedly been a romantic gesture. But not these two. And that is just so fucking incredible. Personally, I didn't think I would ever see this type of platonic closeness in my lifetime. One where romantic or sexual attraction between both parties is completely thrown out the window.

That's just so goddamn important to have. And you know what makes this scene even more mind-blowing. It's that their relationship is a male-female one (I know the Doctor is non-binary, but rn he's presenting as male). AND where the woman is attracted to men and the man is attracted to women (be it allo or ace).

And there is ZERO possibility of a romantic relationship between them. How amazing is that? It's so important to have that. To show that men and women can be friends. That women are not objects or something to achieve. That men can have closeness with women without being attracted to them. That there can be love, pure deep love, between men and women, and it's no less than that between a romantic couple's one.

And it's not like that trope in movies that we so often see where the "ugly" "undesirable" "quirky" ones are single and have formed a relationship with other individuals because no one wants them. No no. Both of these people are absolutely stunning and still, there's no attraction.

Also, this will go a very very long way for the ace and aro communities. To know that the love you can give is no less powerful and not inferior to that of people who do experience romantic and sexual attraction.

These two are a fan favourite, if not THE fan favourite, duo of all Doctor Who and I just wish people will realise how wonderful and special platonic relationships can be.

#i love them #doctor who #doctorwho #dw #doctor who 60th #doctor who 60th anniversary #dw 60th #60th anniversary #60th anniversary specials #donna noble #the doctor

[altruisticalastor]

↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Readerˊˎ˗ ↴

☒ Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

☒ Summary: Your heart felt full as Alastor continued his lead. You both danced to the melodic sounds, relishing in the shared embrace. That night was one that you cherished for months to come. But on the contrary, your blossoming relationship with Alastor solidified the beginning of the end. 

☒ Warnings: fem!reader, she/her pronouns used, prequel to the first two parts, alastor and reader are human in this part, 1930's period typical misogyny (NOT from alastor), fluff, falling in love, obsessive!alastor, reader is in hell for a reason, murder, gunshot wound, major character death, one suggestive scene involving finger sucking *giggles*, domestic!alastor, reader and alastor being an absloute power couple, blood, alcohol consumption, dancing

☒ Word Count: 6,276

You often dreamt of trading places with your dear old friend, Elaine. She had it all; money, family, respect.

You, on the other hand, had none of those things.

When your parents left without notice on your eleventh birthday— you ended up homeless in a matter of weeks. Elaine’s family took you in out of pity, and they made it very known throughout your childhood that they only cared for you to make themselves out to be saints. It didn't take a fool to see that they treated their own flesh and blood better than the rubble they picked up off the streets.

Elaine was often condescending toward you, but you put up with the brunt of it. It's not like you had any other choice- and when her father offered you a typist gig at his local radio broadcasting studio- you had no other option but to accept.

Your treatment from others at the studio was no better than the one you received at home. 

If you could even call that loveless place a home.

The broadcasting biz was male-dominated, as most jobs were in your day. So, of course your counterparts looked down upon you as a woman. You were less than to them, and the constant berating about how you should be wed by now with kids to dote on ticked you off even further.

That was not on the itinerary for you. 

The plan was to save enough of the slim earnings you made being a typist to run far away from this place. To be free of these people, from this town. You dreamt about how lovely it would be not to bite your tongue and endure all the nasty things people spat at you just to have a roof over your head.

Soon, just a little bit longer. 

Grin and bear it. Don't let them know what you hide behind the façade.

"My, my! What a lovely smile!" A smooth voice pulled you from your stupor. You flinched back from your desk as the man standing before you ducked low- extending his hand.

"What's your name, little darling? I'm Alastor! It's a pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure!" You took the man's hand, shaking it slowly sharing your name, and offering the same pleasantries, before peering up to get a good look at this Alastor fellow.

Based on first impressions, you thought he was a well-put-together fellow. His crimson vest hugged his slender frame well, you noted. His white dress shirt underneath contrasted beautifully with the seamless leather gloves adorning his large hands. The black bowtie was simply the cherry on top of his polished look. His features were handsome, and that darling smile of his caused your face to grow hot. His chestnut eyes peered at you behind his round-framed glasses, gazing at you as if you hung the stars in the night sky. 

You had never been captivated by a man until this very instant. You always believed romance was a waste of time. But now... you weren't feeling as opposed.

"Say, what brings a fella like you to a place like this?" You stood from your seat as his hand released yours. His gloved fingertips lingered on your palm for a moment- but it was long enough for you to notice.

"Why a job, of course! You're looking at the new host of the biggest radio broadcast in all of Louisiana!" Alastor's grin widened as he puffed out his chest proudly, bringing his hands up to straighten out his bowtie.

"Oh, my! Congratulations, Mister. I look forward to working with you." Your voice was as lively as ever, putting in your best effort to come off as friendly. Alastor's deep chestnut eyes studied yours. It was almost intimidating. 

Almost.

"Just call me Alastor, my dear! A beauty such as yourself is more than qualified to be on a first-name basis with me." His flirtatious nature had your heart rate accelerating at an alarming gait. Plus, the wink he shot your way to emphasize his statement only added fuel to the fire.

You were at a loss for words, simply nodding in agreement at his terms. Your gaze averted from Alastor's as you rubbed at your arm nervously. You had never been this flustered before. It was... uncharacteristically exciting for you. "Excuse my fowardness darling, but would you allow me to take you dancing tonight? It is a cause for celebration, after all!"

His offer left you stammering as you clutched your arm tightly, your sweaty palm bleeding through your vermilion dress sleeve. "Are you positive you want to celebrate with a woman you only just met?" You chuckled nervously, meeting his gaze once more.

"It would be my pleasure, little darling." You swore your heart skipped a beat as those words left his lips. Alastor was an enigma of a man, and he left you needing to know more about him. "If you insist! I'm flattered, truly."

Alastor chuckled lowly at your words as he took ahold of your hand once more. This time, he turned your palm downward before pulling the back of your hand up to his lips. Alastor's eyes bored into yours as he placed a chaste kiss atop your knuckles. His lips lingered on your skin for a few beats longer until he inevitability abjured from you.

"Lovely! I'll be waiting in the lobby once the workload is finished for the day. Meet me there?" You could only nod in agreement as your heartbeat resounded in your ears. Alastor bid you farewell, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

He just asked you on a date- didn't he? 

Shit, shit- shit! A relationship was not on your to-do list.

The workday trickled on slowly. You were beside yourself— too focused on your plans with Alastor tonight.

Was your dress formal enough? It’s not like you could go home and change now— and you didn’t have the proper heels on. The pair that you usually switched into before you went dancing.

It would be fine— why were you even stressing over the little details?

More importantly… what were Alastor’s intentions with this— date?

You mulled it over the whole trip to the lobby of your workplace. You felt your nerves prickle your skin when your eyes met Alastor’s. 

He was already waiting patiently for you near the exit. Alastor had a blazer on now, you noted— and he was smiling wider than ever. “Ah, there you are! Ready to head out, dear?”

Alastor’s voice was equivalent to a smooth amaretto. Silky and delightful, with a little bit of an edge to it. Your mouth felt like it was full of cotton from the nerves— and all you could muster was a quick nod.

“Wonderful! We better get going while the night is still young— ha!” Alastor opened the door, tilting his head; gesturing toward the exit. You got the hint, wobbly legs guiding you out of the building and to the dimly lit street.

You knew a speakeasy just up the other street, so you figured that was the spot Alastor intended on taking you. As your feet led you in the direction of the bar, Alastor let out an amused hum. “My, my… am I correct to assume you know your way around these parts of town?” You giggled nervously, as you felt Alastor’s arm brush up against yours as he walked beside you.

“You’re spot on. I’ve lived here all my life, and for a brief period, I was living on these streets.” Your voice was quiet as those words left your lips. Perhaps you should have kept that detail to yourself. You kept your eyes forward as you walked along the sidewalk. But you could feel Alastor’s eyes on you— without peeking over.

“Might I ask why, darling?” You swallowed harshly, not expecting a follow-up question. You secretly hoped Alastor would have skirted past that little detail about your past. “Ah well, my parents moved out of town on my eleventh birthday. I think they forgot what day it was, truthfully. They were too hopped up on pills and booze,” You laughed bitterly at the memory before continuing. “My parents owed the bank a lot of money, you see, so the first thing those brokers collected was the house I still lived in at the time.”

You shook your head in disbelief, scoffing as you continued the recollection of your youth. “Those money-hungry sharks didn’t even give me a month to collect my things or find somewhere to shack up. When the cops arrived, I told them I’d be staying with a relative— but that was a bold-faced lie!” The speakeasy was in your sights, so you tried to get to the end of this pitiful little tail. “Long story short— I lived on the streets for a couple of weeks until my friend’s parents took me in.”

Alastor swiftly opened the bar door for you, gesturing you in. You were met by the smooth sound of jazz the moment you stepped foot in the joint. The smell of cigarettes and liquor saturated the space. Alastor interlocked your arm with his as he led you to a nearby table. You felt heat rush to your face from the unexpected touch. “I’m truly sorry you had to experience such hardships at such a young age, my dear. That must have been very difficult for you to process.” Alastor’s voice was soft as he offered his sympathy. He pulled the wooden chair out, allowing you to sit comfortably. Alastor gently pushed your seat in before taking his across from you.

“Thanks for saying so. You’re the first person to actually consider my feelings.” You chuckled, raising your hand and gesturing your fingers in a come hither motion to grab the waiter's attention. “What ever do you mean?” Alastor propped his elbows on the table, cupping his face with his hands as he leaned forward. His eyes swirled with curiosity. Alastor was genuinely curious to know you better— your heart skipped a beat from the notion.

“Well— most people just praise Elaine— that’s my friend… if you could even call her that— anyway, as I was saying! Most folks boast about how heavenly Elaine’s parents are for taking in a poor old nobody like me.” The waitress knew you well, so he kindly placed your usual atop the creaky table. One for you and one for your date. You offered the fellow a warm thanks before taking a sip.

“Praise? Those folks did the bare minimum! Tell me more about your friendship with Elaine, hm?” Alastor didn’t bother downing the liquor just yet. He was too enthralled by you and your musings. You felt nervous under his curious eyes— so you took another sip of the saccharine quencher before continuing. “You sure—? I feel like I’ve been talking an awful lot, and where are my manners? I haven’t asked you a single thing!” You shook your head in disbelief, feeling embarrassed with yourself for your rude display.

Alastor’s gloved fingers wrapped around your hand in the blink of an eye. Your eyes flickered down to where the two of you were now connected before his voice tore your gaze back to his face. “Nonsense, my dearest! Please, I insist. I’d be delighted to know more about you.” His words were so earnest, and he spoke with much confidence. All you could focus on was the feeling of his gloved fingertips caressing the back of your palm and the echo of your heartbeat resounding in your ears.

“Alright— if you insist… but if I ramble too much, just tell me to shut it, will ya?” You downed the last of your drink as a laugh escaped Alastor. “I would never silence you, darling. Don’t ever allow a single soul to treat you that way for that matter, understood? Now, carry on!” You felt your blood pressure spike from his kindness, and your hand twitched under his grasp from the giddiness you felt before you continued on. “U-Understood. Anyway, um, Elaine is an old-school buddy of mine. But we grew apart the older we got… so, by the time we reached junior high, she practically hated my guts!” You laughed at the recollection as the alcohol buzz began to kick in.

“Elaine would make up nasty rumors about me and then deny the fact that she did. Any other friend I tried to make, Elaine would somehow do or say something to make them dislike me. I couldn’t do anything about it— I had to play nice because of the living conditions. I still do!” Alastor’s eyes never left yours, and neither did his hand. He continued to rub the back of your palm soothingly as you rambled on.

“Even my job at the radio station… it wasn’t my choice. But Elaine’s father owns the company, so he offered me the typist position. Not like it was really an offer, though— I had no choice but to accept the opportunity. Otherwise, I would have been ungrateful. Christ, I really hate those folks… they look at me as if I’m—“

“—Scum?” Alastor chimed in. His voice was low as he leaned in closer. Your head was a bit fuzzy from the alcohol as you felt his breath fan across your cheeks. “Yeah… like scum.” You felt his hand tighten around yours. His smile was smaller than before, a bit more rigid, for that matter. 

“I knew you and I were the same. The moment laid eyes on you, I knew,” Alastor paused, bringing his free hand up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“You see, I was treated that same way my entire life, my dear. Until I decided I was quite the opposite of what those disrespectful wretches deemed me as.” His hand lingered by your face, daring to cup your cheek. 

Alastor's breath had a hint of coffee and spice to it— you noted— as his face inched even closer to yours. “And you are too, my dear. Those fools don’t hold a candle to your magnificence.” Your body felt light, and all you could focus on was Alastor’s chestnut eyes— every breath you took fogged up his glasses a little.

“You really think so?” You muttered, a lazy grin stretching across your face as Alastor finally allowed his gloved palm to rest against your cheek. 

"I know so, my sweet girl.” He caressed your burning face with much tenderness. Your heart was beating a mile a minute, and your thoughts were all out of sorts as you tried to articulate a proper sentence in your drunken stupor. 

“What did you mean before when you said— that you and I are one and the same?”

Alastor let out a soft chuckle, causing your eyes to flutter shut for a moment. He leaned over the table, invading your personal space. Dipping his face low— lips lingering next to your ear. “You use your smile as a tool. Hiding how you truly feel behind that pretty little mask of yours.” Your breath hitched from his words— was it that obvious? Could everyone tell that your welcoming smile was nothing but a lie? Before you could spiral further— and as if Alastor could sense your worries— he eased your mind with his words. “Worry not, my dear. Only I can see through your façade. One should recognize themselves when looking into a mirror, yes?”

Alastor slowly pulled his head back. Allowing his face to come into your line of sight. “So you… and I… are alike in that way, huh?” You mumbled out, letting an airy chuckle escape you. Alastor squeezed your hand once more before he leaned back in his chair. You watched as the man sitting before you picked up his untouched glass of liquor. He downed his drink in the blink of an eye slamming his glass against the table before standing up from his seat.

“I take pride in keeping my promises, and I have intention to dance with you tonight, my dear. So, shall we?” Alastor outstretched his hands toward you, his toothy grin cascading across his features. You took hold of him without hesitation, giggling youthfully when he pulled you to your feet with ease. “I’d be delighted!” Alastor wasted no time pulling you to the open floor. The music was as vibrant as ever now that you were closer to the live band. The vibrations of the music reverberated through your sternum; as did the butterflies when you felt Alastor’s large palm drape around the small of your back.

His other hand took ahold of yours, and instinctively, you placed your other palm flat against his shoulder. Alastor began leading you to the melody of the song. Your cheeks hurt from how wide your grin was. You couldn’t remember the last time you smiled and meant it before tonight— all thanks to this mysterious man you met today. “Alastor, I know we only just met, but I feel like I’ve known you all my life!” You shouted loud enough for only Alastor to hear beyond the music. His chestnut eyes swirled with an emotion you couldn’t quite put your finger on as his eyebrows lifted in shock.

“You took the words right out of my mouth, my dearest! The moment I saw you, I knew you would be truly magnificent.” Alastor dipped you low, his grasp on you tightening to support you. He was slow when he dragged your upper half back up, allowing your chest to slot against his own. 

“Well, did I meet your expectations?” You joked. Alastor ducked his head low, allowing his face to invade your personal space. This time, his nose brushed against yours, lips mere centimeters from colliding. 

“You exceeded them.” Alastor’s voice was quiet, but you heard him. Loud and clear. 

This moment felt too good to be true, and the longer you gazed into his captivating eyes, the more lost you became in Alastor. Your lips trembled in anticipation— and your hand at his shoulder clenched and unclenched— a small habit to help ease the nerves. 

“Would it be foolish of me to say that I… feel like I’m falling for you.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you searched for any displeasure that dared to cross his face from your confession— but you found none.

“And if I admitted to reciprocating those feelings… would that make me outlandish as well?” Alastor’s hand released yours, now opting to slide up between your bodies to cup your chin beneath his gloved fingertips. He tilted your head up just a touch more. 

Alastor finally closed the gap between your lips and his. Your eyes widened in shock from the chaste kiss he gave you. You caught Alastor’s intense stare on you while he pressed further into you before your eyelids fluttered shut. The grip you had on his shoulder tightened as his lips danced along yours. They were warm and cracked slightly from his incessant smiling. But you didn’t mind it one bit. He tasted of your favorite liquor and conviction. 

Your mind went fuzzy from the mix of alcohol running through your bloodstream and the feeling of sharing your very first kiss with a man you met only earlier today.

It’s strange. Even though you only crossed paths with Alastor this morning— he was the first person in your life to ever see you; the real you. The woman you kept hidden behind a plethora of masks and musings. You prided yourself on your foolproof façade, so when Alastor just waltzed past your guarded walls, it threw you for a loop. But this change of pace was the best thing that could have ever happened to you. For the first time in your life, you felt a sense of control over your own life— over your own freedom. Alastor believed in you, so why shouldn’t you believe in yourself?

Alastor parted his lips from yours slowly, savoring the moment with you for as long as he could. Your eyelids peeled open, taking in Alastor's pleased countenance. "Oh, my darling. There's no way I'm letting you out of my sight now."

Your heart felt full as Alastor continued his lead. You both danced to the melodic sounds, relishing in the shared embrace. That night was one that you cherished for months to come. But on the contrary, your blossoming relationship with Alastor solidified the beginning of the end. 

You could hardly stay away from Alastor after your first date. It was as if a magnetic force was pulling you to him. He walked you home from the radio station each night and met you at your doorstep each morning. He even told you one time that he memorized absloutely every part of your day so you could always have time for each other. It was the little things that made you fall even harder for him. Alastor would leave a bouquet of roses atop your desk every Friday when you took your lunch break so that when you arrived back, you would be pleasantly surprised by his gesture.

Alastor was a proper gentleman, and his kindness and care toward you almost made you forget about the rotten things in your life— almost.

Elaine grew jealous of your new beau. She noticed you were livelier than ever, and that just wouldn't cut it. Misery loves company, after all.

She had her father triple your workload, forcing you to stay after hours. It took a toll on you and made it harder to keep time for Alastor. 

But that wasn’t all— your room would be trashed by the time you came home. And somehow, your very few belongings started going missing. 

The last of your patience went out the window when you noticed the locket Alastor gifted you for your one-month anniversary was nowhere to be found. 

It didn’t take a genius to realize Elaine was behind your sudden stroke of bad luck. You put up with the torment all your life, but not anymore. You were at your wits end with Elaine and her arrogant family. 

“Christ, I hate that wicked woman!” You groaned in frustration as you barged into Alastor’s apartment. The lanky man whipped his head in your direction from where he sat at the piano. His fingers stilled against the keys, ending his song with a dull note. “What did she do this time, my dear?” You stormed over to him before slotting yourself beside Alastor on the piano bench. 

“The locket you gave me for our one-month anniversary is missing! She stole it— I just know it!” You gritted through bared teeth. Alastor wrapped an arm around your shoulder, hugging you close to his side as he cooed at you. “You know, the offer to move in with me still stands.” His voice was gentle as he placed a kiss atop your head. His large palm smoothed over your arm; in an attempt to ease your nerves. 

Heat rose to your face from the mention of his proposition. Sure, you thought about it countlessly. But you and Alastor were only approaching that six-month mark of your flourishing relationship. You always believed in the notion of waiting to live with a partner until after marriage. That’s what you conveyed Alastor. “You know we can’t… unless you are willing to get hitched tomorrow,” You joked, turning your head slightly to peer up at him. 

“Darling, you know I would marry you in a heartbeat. But one of us is not ready for marriage quite yet!” He quipped, dipping low and nuzzling his nose into yours. Your heart did a flip from his unyielding confession. 

You knew Alastor would do anything for you at this point— this man was like no other. He worshipped the ground you walked on, yet you still were on the fence about marriage. You still had your personal goals you wanted to achieve before tying the knot, and Alastor respected your wishes. But you knew deep down he was aching to put a ring on your finger and claim you as his for good. 

“Hey— don’t tease! I just… It’s becoming harder to put up with their nonsense. I wish they would all disappear! Elaine, her father, and her mother.” You let out a long sigh as your body slumped forward. You rested your head atop Alastor’s broad shoulder, smiling softly at his familiar scent. 

“Well, I could make that a reality for you, my sweet girl.” Alastor’s voice was low and dripping with mystery. You laughed at his cryptic utterance. “Yeah, by doing what? Throwing them in a ditch?” You joked, raising a brow as his hand halted against your arm. The air became thick with tension as the silence grew louder. 

“…Well yes, my dear! But the ditch part would be after all the fun.” You quickly turned to face him, your frantic eyes scanning his features for any semblance of falsehood. You found nothing of the sort. 

Alastor’s features were as relaxed as ever. As if he asked you something as mundane as 'what day was it?’

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Your voice was level as your eyes locked with his chestnut ones. You nervously anticipated his response. “Quite so! Have you noticed the lack of journalists around the radio station lately?" His question threw you for a loop. 

Now that you thought about it- yeah, there has been a lack of jerks around the office. The same fellows that undermined you just for existing. 

“Well now that you mention it— yeah, I have. What does that have to do with anything?” You tilted your head slightly, still not following where your boyfriend was going with this. Alastor’s grin sharpened as his eyes flickered to your lips. “My, dearest, you are too pure for your own good. It drives me crazy.” Alastor’s other hand drifted from the piano keys. His thumb and forefinger came up to grasp your chin. He pulled you in close as his eyes flickered back to yours. 

“Well, I took care of those nasty good-for-nothings! They are resting comfortably in a ditch deep within the preserve. So, no need to worry your pretty little head over it!” Your eyes widened from his confession— his even tone and frenzied stare proved that what he said was factual. 

“They had it coming! Speaking down to you in such a way. I could hardly stand it any longer, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.” Alastor sounded pleased with himself as he confessed to murder so casually. Your eyebrows rose in shock as he tugged you closer. Your lips ghosted over his. “You killed those men for my sake?” 

You could smell the whiskey on his breath from this proximity. Alastor’s hand— that rested on your arm— now found purchase around your waist. “Indeed, and I would do it again in a heartbeat for your sake.” You could sense his anticipation to kiss you at that moment. 

His love for you was suffocating in the best way possible. You didn’t know you were capable of drowning until you sank into his touch. “And I would take pleasure in ending Elaine and her parents’ lives. If it meant your precious mind would be at ease.” 

Your heart fluttered as you closed the gap. Your lips molded against his, moving in tandem. You turned your body toward him through your shared embrace, sliding a leg up and over the piano bench— now straddling the seat. Alastor’s grip on your waist tightened. His fingertips twitched with need as they danced further along your side. You reached out for him, desperately carding your hands through his chestnut locks. Alastor’s chest pressed tightly into yours as his lips moved against yours with a searing desire. You only dared to pull back when your lungs started burning. Alastor rested his forehead against yours as you shared the same air. 

“You really mean it?” You asked breathlessly, allowing your hands to cup his cheeks. 

“My dear, I would die for you,” Alastor paused, the pad of his thumb swiping across your bottom lip sensually. 

“I would lie for you,” His thumb pushed past your parted lips, and your tongue instinctively swirled around his deft digit. 

“I would happily follow you to hell if you asked me to.” You gave his finger a playful suck, reveling in the sight of Alastor’s deep blush. 

His chestnut gaze fixated on your mouth as you pulled off of his thumb with a wet pop. Alastor shuddered at your sultry display. His grip on your waist was firm. 

“Please, Alastor. I want to be a part of it this time. We will be unstoppable together.” 

Alastor swore he fell in love with you a thousand times over the moment those words left your lips. You couldn’t be any more perfect for him. 

Alastor wanted to tell the whole world about the colors he saw in your eyes; the colors a man out of love could never recognize. He truthfully would have married you the first day you met. It was fixation at first sight. 

He was overjoyed to commit murder alongside you— one of the many memorable first times you would come to share. Alastor saw the pieces fall into place before his very eyes the moment he witnessed you take someone’s life. 

The frenzied stare you harbored; the blood spattering over your perfect face, decorating your smile in a picturesque way. Alastor swore meeting you was his life purpose, and assisting you on your first kill solidified that sentiment for him. 

Alastor could not suppress the urge to touch you at that moment. He pulled you close, taking the lead like many times before. You danced around the dead bodies, laughter filling the barren space as the record player skipped from the other room. 

He always knew red was your color. The first time you met, you were wearing a vermillion dress. But the deep crimson blood covering you from head to toe was your best look yet— he thought. 

After you both hid the evidence and any proof of life— fabricating notes on Elaine and her parents' behalf to make it seem like they went abroad— you celebrated. 

Celebrated the past no longer having you in its clutches. 

Celebrated the freedom of never having to grin and bear it to survive; ever again. 

Celebrated the ever-growing love you held for Alastor— as he did you. 

Celebrated the new beginnings and the best that was yet to come. 

You saw life in a new light from that day forward, seizing each day with delight. 

With Elaine’s father out of the picture, Alastor became the man in charge at the radio station. He had full creative freedom to take his radio show in any direction he pleased. If folks dared to disagree, Alastor would promptly take care of them. 

Business was booming for Alastor at the radio station, and you were finally out pursuing hobbies and careers that inspired you. 

Alastor ended up popping the question a couple of months later as things began to settle down for you both. It was romantic, really. His gesture was over the top and grand in the best way possible but still entirely authentic to Alastor. You finally felt ready to take the next step in your relationship. And so, you said yes. 

Alastor was over the moon when you agreed. You could have sworn you saw a single tear roll down his cheek— but he denies it vehemently. 

You didn’t have any friends or family, and neither did Alastor— with his mom having passed years prior, so you truthfully had no need for a grand ceremony. Alastor sorted out the date for you to be wed. The anticipation only elevated your excitement by the day. And when the date finally approached, you could hardly contain your joy. 

You took on the day like any other— you made breakfast, hung the laundry on the clotheslines, participated in your favorite pastimes, and met up with Alastor in the preserve to assist him in burying his most recent victim. 

You didn’t know the dead fellow, but you were sure Alastor had a fair reason for killing him. The man probably took the last jar of special spice from the store that Alastor used to recreate his mother’s jambalaya— and in that case, the prick had it coming. 

It was dusk. The sky was a mesmerizing red and orange ombré as you walked hand in hand through the woods with Alastor. Your free hand held a shovel, and his free hand gripped the ankle of the deceased man whom he dragged from behind along the rocky path. Now and then, the dead man’s clothing would cling to a stubborn stone, making Alastor halt in his stride. You would share a chuckle before he tugged the man free, continuing down the path with you by his side. 

You were so excited to get this over with, so you could head to the courthouse with your beloved Alastor. As you recited your vows in your head, you suddenly heard a loud boom before your hearing failed you entirely. Everything was motionless after that. 

Your mind scarcely processed what had happened until you turned to face Alastor. The sight before you had your stomach in knots. Your beloved was bleeding from his forehead, and as if you were in slow motion— your arms reached up to him as his legs buckled beneath him. You knew you were screaming by the burning sensation in your throat, but your ears were still ringing in a deafening manner. The last thing your conscious mind ever saw was the grim view of all light leaving Alastor’s eyes. 

Those same eyes that grounded you. That brought you purpose and offered you nothing but love and devotion.

All of that was gone in a split second.

After that, you felt a searing pain in your head before your vision went dark. 

It was as if you were underwater. You felt lighter than air as you sunk deeper into uncharted waters. You could hear muffled voices and flashing lights shining from the surface— but it was all out of reach. You just sunk peacefully. Enjoying the enshrouding darkness. 

However, your peace was torn from you as quickly as it was obtained. 

“She’s a Jane Doe. Poor girl got caught in the crossfire. I bet she didn’t even know the guy she was walking with was a serial killer!” Your eyes burned from the bright lights and the nauseating white ceiling that took up your line of sight as the distant people continued to chatter. “I bet he tricked her into thinking he was a good guy— bet he led her out in those woods just so he could kill her like that poor fellow he was dragging out there!” 

The rhythmic beeping increased as all your focus shifted to the intense shooting pain coming from your head. “Oh— she’s awake! Miss, can you hear me?” You groaned softly as an older woman came into your line of sight. She was peering over you. You must have been lying down— you thought. 

“Loud and clear.” You mumbled, trying to sit up only to be pushed back down by the stranger. “Miss you can’t do that! You’re in the hospital. You suffered from a severe injury. Please, don’t make any sudden movements.” Her words took a moment to process through your semi-conscious mind. 

“What happened to me?” You managed to mutter as you closed your eyes. The intense lights were causing your head to ache even worse. “Miss, you were shot in the head. It was a hunting accident gone wrong,” The nurse paused, giving you a moment to digest her words before continuing. 

“Turns out the man you were out in those woods with was a wanted serial killer. That Alastor fellow was an active murderer for decades! The papers say he was good at steering clear of the cops for all these years. The hunter wasn’t even aiming for you both. His target was a nearby deer,” Your mind was struggling to piece things together as the nurse rambled along. 

“The bullet you took probably was the exact reason you’re still alive! Who knows what that maniac would have done to you? Which reminds me, do you remember your name, sweetheart? You didn’t have identification on your person. We asked around the area to see if anyone recognizes you, but we've had no luck with that.” 

You were surely dreaming, right? 

Everything this woman was saying sounded outlandish. How did you even end up in a situation like that, and more importantly— 

Wait… what is your name? 

“I… I don’t know. I can’t… remember a thing.” You shook your head, which only caused you more pain as your eyes shot open. You were still met by the sight of the noisy nurse, and the white hospital walls. 

Nope, not a dream.

The nurse looked at you with a horrified look. “Oh geez… the doctor said your injury could cause memory loss, but it was a slim chance. Let me go fetch him. This is way out of my pay grade.” The sound of her footsteps echoed through your head before they slowly dissipated. You gaped up at the blank wall. 

A clean slate, nothing to give the surface any character. 

Ironic. 

You had no clue who you were and no memories of your life before this accident. 

You were left with more questions than answers. 

The only thing you knew about yourself was that you were one of many Jane Doe's. 

Fuck.

tags; @danveration @celestial-vomit @jyoongim @stygianoir @polytheatrix @mmik3yy @littlebullofblythe @cxrsedwxrlds @lillithhearts @nogiggleonlybitter @minniemumbles @chewbrry @lbcreations-blog @nonetheartist @call-me-nyxx @zombiesnips-blog @stawberrypimpsimp @wonderlandangelsposts @villxinmiixx @persephoneblck @maxlynn17 @littledolly2345 @karolinda007-blog @falling-endlessly @greekyoghurtwithberries @bladeismine @aloraaaxcrystalzx @doctorswife221b @scaramoochiie @fairyv-ice @chirikoheina @veroneverleft @tired-of-life-86 @saccharine-nectarine @c-thegingergirl @tsunaki @geminixbunny @softangxlicss @alleystore @sirens-and-moonflowers @fairyv-ice @honey132 @alastorsaries @zenix108 @michi-keinz

#hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut #alastor smut #alastor x you #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x y/n #alastor fluff #alastor angst #hazbin hotel angst #hazbin hotel fluff

[bonesandchalamet]

isn’t you - t.chalamet

masterlist

requested: y — “timmy Is with Kylie but fall in love with co-star!Reader.”

pairing: Timothee chalamet x costar!reader

warnings: writers strike is not existent in this fic + angst

a/n: this is for my Timmy girlies 🥲 I know we are hurting out there rn…

it was a low key relationship— at least according to him, until this weeks US open and he’d hit the front covers making out with his new girlfriend.

you’d never grown close to timothee chalamet, not with his good looks and charming humor did you allow yourself to grow attached to a man who wasn’t available. sure, you could be friends, men and women are friends all the time, but there was something else about Timothee that just made it impossible to be friends with him.

“so tell me,” the reporter starts, her eyes dazzling with excitement as she scans both of your faces for the same energy, but you lack it. no amount of caffeine and self preparation could make you happy to sit beside the world renowned actor, Timothee chalamet, “have you guys gotten close throughout filming? I mean, it’s been almost year you have to be best friends by now, right?”

it’s Timothee who laughs, he does his typical adjustment in his seat, leaning forward he begins to speak, “I mean we’ve gotten close, I’ve begun to pick up the little things she does.”

the reporters eyes grow wide, she’s begging for me, “like what?” she asks, and you cock your head to the side to get a good view of his side profile.

he chews the inside of his cheek when he’s slightly nervous, you’ve noticed this before, he fidgets with his rings too, and finally he opens his mouth, “I don’t know, I can’t think of anything right now.”

“you have to have something in mind.” you finally say, a rush of blood flows to your cheeks as you and the reporter wait for what feels to be like minutes, but really is seconds, before he finally comes up with something, “how you set out coffee for me every morning. you never get it right, but it’s still a nice gesture.”

the reporter presses her hand to her heart, “y/n, do you have anything that Timothee does that helped you grow close to him?”

where do you begin? his laugh, his smile, his jokes, his voice, his charm. you could go on and on, but you can’t pick those. not without making it so obvious you were in love with him, so you’ll result to something less awkward.

“his jokes, that reeled me in for sure.”

—

the interviews are done. it’s the press conferences and red carpet debuts are all that are left. Timothee is known for always having a hand around his female co-stars waists, or even just being close to them, which will make things ten times harder to resist him.

the tiny black midi dress shows your curves and all other assists to your physical beauty. standing in front of the cameras, you smile and pose. it’s not long before you feel a hand against the small of your back and the scent of his cologne.

“you look,” he pauses for a second, moving his body in front of yours, so it’s just you two, his eyes scan you up and down slowly before finally reaching your eyes, “beautiful.” he exhales the words, it’s almost faint against his lips but you hear him.

suddenly, he’s moved back beside you exposing you back to the bright flashes of the cameras and you’re trying your best to pull away from him, but he’s like a flame and you’re the moth. he finds his way to pull you closer to him, and without even knowing it he’s falling. he’s slowly, but surely, falling deeper into a feeling he thought he’d felt for another woman, but it wasn’t until you showed up tonight.

“you’ll be the death of me.” he mutters silently to himself before moving along the carpet by himself now. he takes a quick chance to look back at you, you’re smiling and posing with another male costar who’s perfectly cozy beside you, and that’s all the reasons for him to turn around and join you on the other side. what was he jealous of? you were single for all he knew, he was the one who shouldn’t be running back to smile beside you.

“it’s hard to resist you.” he admits, he turns his body away from the cameras slightly angled towards you.

your eyes flicker up into his, beautiful big and round, your pupils are dilated at just the very look of him, “what do you mean?” your lips attempt to curve into a frown, but you force the resistance and keep them poised into a smile trying not to let the emotions get to you.

“I mean,” he pauses, his head tilts down closer to your ear. you can feel his warm minty breath run down your neck, “I can’t have you, but I want you. you make my life a living hell.”

“dido.” you reply. finally moving from his grasp, turning your body you face the cameras and walk down the carpet until you’re at the end. he’s feet away from you, chatting with another costar, but his eyes don’t leave you. you can feel them scanning every part of your body as you move around to the sound of people cheering your name.

he fights every instinct to touch you, to kiss you like he did on screen, or pull you into him. he stands beside you angry, mad at himself, for falling too soon for another woman that wasn’t you.

#timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothee fanfic #timothee x y/n #timothee x reader #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet fic #timothee chalamet imagines #timothee imagine #timothee chalamet fanfic #timothee chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet #timothée x reader #timothée fanfic #timothée imagine #timothée x you

[ickadori]

Thinking bout Naoya with a male reader who gets over his own homophobia and shit while fucking him by justifying it’s not that bad if the guy’s wearing cute girly clothes.

Down for plowing another guy but only if he promises to wear a cute skirt or smth like that. Something something about getting off on emasculating other men and it being somehow “less gay” when the dick is attatched to something wearing a frilly skirt.

Idk I’m down bad and Naoya seems like he’d be pathetic like this

cws for male reader -> feminization. naobito walks in & naoya doesn’t stop. misogyny aka typical naoya. internalized homophobia.

~

Naoya curses the Zenin name and reveres it in the same breath — he hates his family and actively roots for their defeat in battle, but he’ll argue to his last breath about how the Zenin clan is the strongest, the most elite, how they would have long surpassed the Gojo clan if it wasn’t for that freaky, six-eyes having fuck.

The perks that come with being a Zenin are great and many; money, respect, power, women (if you’re into the pathetic things), and much more, but there’s a few drawbacks as well.

The traditions.

Those old, barbaric traditions and customs that had somehow survived into this day and age. The arranged marriages, the family practices, the rituals, the ceremonies, the taboo of same-sex coupling. That last one was especially important in the Zenin clan - Naoya had seen many a Zenin get disowned for being caught with their dick slotted up against another man’s, or some woman with her head between another woman’s legs. It wasn’t accepted under any circumstances, and even if Naoya was next in line for clan head, he’d meet the same fate if he was found with another man.

Not that he would ever be careless enough to be caught fucking a man, or that he would even fuck a man, because you weren’t really a man, not like how he was a man. You weren’t strong, you weren’t tough, you couldn’t hold a sword and you damn sure couldn’t exorcise a curse. Your body was soft where his was hard, your jaw curved where his was sharp, your skin free of scars from battle while his had a few here and there.

You cleaned and cooked - dusted the shelves and scrubbed the floors of the estate, folded the laundry and neatly put it away, tidied the bedrooms and the bathrooms, prepared his meals and brought them to him on a platter, took away his empty dishes and scrubbed them clean…just like the women and servants of the clan.

You would have made the perfect woman. You were meek, but not mute, you knew that your place was always behind a real man and you didn’t hate it, unlike the other woman who cried about it all being so unfair. Your cooking was a level above decent, you knew how to properly starch his shirts, and his room never had so much of a speck of dust floating around after you were done with it.

The only downside of you was the adam’s apple in your throat and the cock and balls between your legs - but even that could be overlooked if he dressed you well enough. A kimono with all the bells and whistles, a painted face, along with a feminine hair style and you looked no different from the women his father tried to arrange for him to marry — and when he fucked you in the solitude of his room you sounded just like them, too.

If Naoya could have you prancing around the estate in nothing but women’s lingerie and short, frilly dresses without you being executed in the front gardens he would, but he has to settle for dressing you up in the privacy of his room where prying eyes can’t see.

“This thing just really ruins the look.” Naoya mutters, his gaze trained on your cock that’s straining against the fabric of your panties. It’s a lacy red pair that’s fit snug against you, the fabric cradling a pair of plump balls and soft cock. He cups you and squeezes, ignoring the way you whine and shuffle on your feet. “Turn around.” He fondles you again before allowing you to turn, and his tongue swipes out to wet his lips as he admires the way your ass practically swallows up the fabric.

With one hand on each cheek he spreads your ass apart, a low hum sounding at the sight of your puckered hole, and he moves his thumb to circle around the rim, pulling a breathy moan from your mouth. If he were to reach forward he knows that he’d find your cock leaking and hard already, and the thought makes him snicker.

“Turn.” His palm collides with your cheek, his own cock stirring in his pants as he watches the globe of flesh ripple under his hand, and then his eyes are on the matching bralette you wear. “Your tits are getting bigger.” They’re not, obviously, but he likes the way you duck your head down and how hot your skin gets when he says it.

He meanly pinches at your nipples, pulling at the buds until they’re puffy and sore and your lashes are wet, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip to muffle your noises. He soothes them with slow rubs of his thumbs, and then he’s leaning forward to suck on them through the fabric, hands moving to grope and squeeze at your ass as he tugs you further between his spread thighs.

His cock is fully hard now, a bead of pre-cum forming at the uncut tip, and one hand leaves your ass to instead stuff venture into the drawer beside his bed. His fingers close around a small tube, and he pushes it into your hand before pulling his mouth away from your chest. “Spread yourself open for me.”

Naoya leans back on his elbows on the bed as he observes, eyes lidded as he watches you coat your fingers in lube, pull your panties down to your thighs, and move your arm behind you. “Tch.“ He can’t decide if wants to see your fingers stretching your ass open, or keep looking at the way your cock twitches and dribbles pre down to your balls. Naoya had never been interested in the sight of another man’s cock, they all paled in comparison to his own, until he had seen yours. It was small, smaller than his at least, and your balls hung close to your body, high, and it fit nicely in the palm of his hand in the rare times that he actually touched it, because he didn’t need to touch it to get you to come. The sensitive thing was spurting cum as soon as he got his cock in you.

“Naoya-Sama.” You gasp, knees buckling as you stumble forward, your lips parted due to your heavy pants as you fuck yourself with your fingers. “I’m -ah- I’m ready for you.”

“Keep going.” He ignores the impatient look on your face, instead leaning forward to wrap his hand around your length. You let out a choked moan and jerk into his fist, and he holds you still by your hip, hand freely gliding up and down your shaft. His thumb mushes down against your slit and smears your pre-cum around, and then he’s moving to squeeze at your balls, his eyebrows furrowing when he comes to the realization that he likes the weight of you in his palm.

He strokes you faster, too absorbed in the wet ‘shlick shlick’ of your cock to notice the footsteps that near his room. He’s close enough to smell you, and he breathes in the scent of the perfume that he had doused you in earlier - it’s sickeningly sweet, a scent that’s been popular among women recently, and while he had scrunched his nose up when he smelt it on them, he greedily basks in it now.

A cry of his name leaves your mouth and then you’re coming, cock twitching in his hand before spurts of cum shoot up to decorate your stomach, a bit of it dribbling over the backs of his fingers. As if in a trance, he leans forward, tongue darting out to lick a stripe up your stomach and collect your cum - it’s tangy, a bit salty, but not revolting, and he licks another broad stripe, his eyes raising to lock onto yours.

With your cum gathered on his tongue, he tugs you down until you’re straddling his lap, one hand moving to grip the back of your neck as he presses your mouths together. You suck on his tongue, matching groans leaving the both of you, and he fights to free himself from his pants, the door to his room sliding open just as his cock springs free.

“Naoya.”

“Busy.” He breaks the kiss to say, just to mash his lips right back to yours, free hand grabbing a fistful of your ass and lifting your hips. Your back is to the door, effectively hiding you away, but that doesn’t stop you from tensing in his lap as you register his father’s voice.

His fingers trail down to your hole, teeth painfully nipping at your bottom lip when he feels the shit job you did at stretching yourself out.

“What did I do to deserve having you disgraceful pigs for sons? You won’t marry the women I bring to you, but you’ll defile the servants left and right.” Naobito says, and Naoya pays him no mind, too busy focused on lining his tip up with your hole.

Your eyes widen in shock as you give a small shake of your head, and he grins into the kiss as he thrusts in with a quick snap of his hips. You yelp, forehead dropping to rest on his shoulder, and Naoya gives his father a bored as he trails his nose up and down the slope of your neck.

“Are you just gonna stand there and watch me fuck her?” Your skin burns hotter under his touch, and he pulls you impossibly closer, amusement threatening to overflow when he feels your cock plump up against his hard stomach.

“If you impregnate her, you’ll marry her, and you’ll be the shame of the Zenins’ - marrying a lowly housemaid, tch. You could never hope to be head of the clan.”

“It’s a good thing she only likes it when I put it in her ass then, isn’t it?” His fingers sink into the flesh of your ass, spreading you open so the sight of your hole fluttering around his fat cock is visible, and you whine into his shirt, hands fisting the material. “Don’t worry, old man, you won’t have to worry about any bastard kids anytime soon.”

Naoya has half a mind to spin you around and show you off to his father - show him the hard-on that you’re sporting and your flat chest, but that would cause all this to end a bit too soon, and he was growing quite a liking to you.

Naobito leaves soon after, insults spewed from drunken lips as he slams the door shut behind him, and Naoya is fucking up into you as soon as the door clicks into place. “You were squeezing around me so tight - you were scared, huh?” His back lays against the sheets as the heels of his feet dig into the mattress, hands locked around your waist to bring you down to meet his thrusts halfway.

You can’t talk past the moans leaving your mouth, but you manage a jerky nod, hands braced on his chest. “You’re so pathetic,” he groans, hands moving to pull you down so he can smack his lips against yours. The kiss is messy, tongues rubbing together and forcing drool to spill from the sides of your mouth. “Just like a woman. You need a protector, hm? A real man to keep you safe? Someone like me, yeah?”

“Yes,” you sob out, and he doesn’t have to check to know that you’ve came again, your cum wetting his shirt. His teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder, and his eyes roll as he stuffs his cock in deep, balls tightening and stomach rolling as he fills you full of cum, nails biting into the fat of your ass as he grips it.

His body relaxes into the mattress a few moments later, lips ghosting over where his teeth have left a mark, and hands softly kneading at your ass. “You don’t need to worry about any of that trash,” he talks low against your ear, rearranging the both of you so you’re lying on your sides, his arms keeping you close. “No one but me is allowed to touch you.”

His fingers find your puffy hole, and he pushes the cum back in that’s began to leak out, earning a tired moan in return. “No harm will come to you as long as I’m around.”

#naoya x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut

[beastabyss666]

The new Mammon and Fizz episode has been released and I wanna put my two cents in.

The palette is oooof........ One of the most "hard to watch" HB episodes. Seriously, hasn't anyone told Vivzie that her colour choices are just utterly failed?

Mammon was simply annoying and cringe, especially considering he's one of the highest "demons". He curses every few seconds, has an Australian accent and is some kind of a rock star(because......because). Oh yeah, he's also a very bad guy, cuz he disrespects women! Also I find it funny that Vivzie said in one of her tweets that she apologizes the fans wouldn't like him, as he's "fat and ugly". In reality, he's just a typical Vivziepop-ish male character, having sharp teeth and eyes without pupils. And his "fatness" is just looking like a Christmas tree with a round body.

Overdetailed backgrounds and sloppy animation, as always. Some moments look reeeeeally stiff. Maybe Vivzie starts drawing easier backgrounds and make characters with less details so the animation was better and faster to produce? Just dreaming.......

The songs are just generic tasteless pop-stuff. Gosh, I just wish they have a better composer cuz it's tiring to hear these cheap pop tunes every time. Maybe get some real rock or something with synthesizer........ I don't know.....

The background characters in this episode look much less like some early Deviantart furry OCs or cosplay freaks, which is a real plus. Take some cuties:

Hee hee goat boy

Hee hee goat girl(kinda accurate to the demonology, love it).

I really like the left amphibia girl, she's so pretty. Also yeah, bg characters really look better than in previous episodes. Almost like they were drawn by someone who actually knows their job well and doesn't make every person look like different art style or different teenager's OC.

Fizz being tired to be a clown for entertainment, having panic attacks, dealing with crazy fans and a shitty boss was honestly a good idea but the final song was just too weak to handle it. If it was done better, it would be really good.

The sigh language kid is cute and it was interesting to see a disabled person being cheered and supported by another disabled person.

Oh wow Viv made another female characters whose entire personality is being bitchy and arrogant(even to each other, though they're sisters they're calling each other whore, bitch etc.). Can't wait for the fanbase to hate these two or lust for them in the worst way possible.

Though there were actually some beautiful and......esthetic frames.

Am I the only one who never understood why Fizzarolli is considered a sex icon in this show? Like, yeah, Mammon said that he'll exploit his "clown employee" in every way possible and it's all for money, but I still don't get the whole "having tons of sex dolls based on him" thing. Who in sanity would buy a sex doll of Fizz? He looks like a stick with limbs and painted face, which is somehow considered sexy by Vivzie or her fans? Wouldn't it be more logical for a woman to be a sex icon? Lots of real women, including teen idols, were sexualized and fetishized for media by their producers and shown as beauty icons. But I just couldn't imagine the same with males. Like, I'm sorry, but to me Fizz who's a circus performer, celebrity and a sex icon is in the same category as Angel Dust who's a porn star, stripper and prostitute at the same time.

I'm very glad there wasn't much Blitzo.

It's funny that this girl looks like a better design for Loona than Loona herself, lmao.

It's actually a progress to see that Vivzie didn't fetishize a romantic relationship between two men and actually showed them as a loving couple which doesn't talk about sex and cocks every five seconds. She actually has put some unexpected effort in it.

Oh wait she didn't—

#vivziepop critical #anti vivziepop #spindlehorse critical #helluva boss critical #anti helluva boss #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss critique #helluva boss salt

[separatist-apologist]

Lying In Between The Memories

You could call it paradise but it looks just like hell to me

Summary: Following the blood rite, Gwyneth Berdara can't shake the memories of a life long-gone.

The shadowsinger can't seem to move on after five centuries of loving the same woman.

Together, they'll have to carve a new path forward.

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1

It wasn’t every day the High Lord walked into the library. When Gwyn saw him from behind the stacks, she thought she must have hallucinated him. She wasn’t the only one—everyone stopped what they were doing to look at him, straight backed and elegant, though somehow casual. No crown, no cape, no trailing starlight to follow in his wake. Just the High Lord in a black and silver tunic and an easy smile on his face.

Gwyn didn’t hear what he asked for, ears buzzing with surprise. Clotho’s eyes found her across the room, nodding toward the High Lord.

“Me?” she whispered because surely not. Merril, perhaps. That made more sense. He’d come to talk with Merril and Gwyn was the person to take him to her. She stood utterly still as he made his way toward her, hunching ever so slightly as he approached. Cassian did the same thing, trying to make himself smaller so he seemed less imposing.

No one was scared of the High Lord, though. Awed, perhaps, but unlike Cassian and Azriel who looked like warriors, the High Lord merely looked like a slick courtier. No wings, no magic. Just a male who’d given them a home, a job, and a purpose. His protection when he could manage it and his vengeance when he could not.

Don’t think about Hybern, don’t think about Hybern—

“Gwyneth Berdara, correct?” Rhysand asked, his voice smoother than velvet. Gwyn blinked.

“Yes,” she whispered, balling her blue dress at her side.

“Can I buy you lunch?” he asked with an easy smile.

“Me?’ she squeaked, pinching herself subtly just to be sure this wasn’t all a very strange, very real dream.

“Yes, you,” Rhysand replied, his violet eyes pinned wholly on her. “We could go upstairs, if you like? Or into Velaris, if you’re agreeable.”

Choices. Gwyn liked that he was offering her a choice without any emphasis on his own preference. She couldn’t tell which he liked better, which she supposed was the point. No matter what she said, Rhysand would be delighted.

“Um,” she swallowed, thinking privacy might be best depending on what it was he was after. “Upstairs is good.”

“Lead the way,” he offered, gesturing toward the stairs. Nesta would be around somewhere, too. Gwyn hadn’t seen her in the library yet, at any rate, which was promising. Gwyn did as Rhysand asked, turning carefully toward the entrance of the library. Every eye was pinned to her, their curiosity burning against her spine. It would be all anyone wanted to speak about later and Gwyn wasn’t certain she wanted to be the center of their attention. 

Rhysand paced behind her, agile as a cat and seemingly unaware of the attention that followed him. Perhaps he was used to it, given he was the High Lord. Gwyn could imagine people were always staring at him. What was that like? 

Awful, she decided. 

That was why he was High Lord and she wasn’t. He could handle that attention while Gwyn decidedly could not. She liked being alone far too much and would have shriveled into dust if people were always looking at her like some kind of god. 

Gwyn led Rhysand up the stairs, turning when they reached the House itself, rather than continuing the trek up to the roof like she so always did. A pang of guilt flooded her when she remembered Emerie’s reproachful words. She had been avoiding them, evidenced by the fact that Gwyn couldn’t remember the last time she’d come to visit Nesta.

She opened the door to Cassian, dressed not in his usual training clothes but in a rather nice pair of black pants and well-tailored blue and silver tunic. He’d pulled half his shoulder length hair from his face and had shaved his typically stubbled face down to the skin.

Behind her, Rhysand chuckled.

“Big plans?”

“Shut it,” Cassian snapped, stepping out of the way so Gwyn could pass. “House is all yours.”

“Thanks,” Rhysand replied, smiling widely. Gwyn waited until Cassian vanished behind him, trailing the scent of cedar and pine in his wake. 

“He’s taking Nesta to the cabin,” Rhysand told Gwyn conspiratorially. She could read the subtext well enough, though she kept it to herself. It was strange enough to see the High Lord talking to her like she was a friend, let alone making a little joke at Cassian’s expense. 

She led Rhysand through the moonstone halls of the home that belonged to him, another thing that felt supremely weird. If it bothered him, he gave no indication of it. 

Rhysand dropped into a chair at the table, foregoing the head so he could seat himself across from her. He was strange—nothing like he ought to be. With a wave of his hand, Rhysand shortened the table so it would be easier to talk.

“Wine?” he asked, that tattooed hand still in the air.

“Um,” she began, wishing he’d just tell her what he wanted. “Sure.”

Another wave brought roasted chicken and bread rolls, a decanter of wine, and steaming, richly spiced vegetables. Rhysand poured two glasses, gesturing for her to help herself. 

Gwyn did, trying—and failing—to seem unbothered. Barely tasting that first bite, Gwyn waited for him to just say what he wanted. Had she done something? Was she being reprimanded, then? There was nothing she could think of, though she had been with his cousin the night before and like she always did, Gwyn had failed the obstacle course at the first row of enchanted warriors. Had Morrigan told him and he’d guessed the problem?

“So,” Rhysand began, unaware of her rising panic. “I have a job for you, if you’re interested.”

Gwyn’s fork clattered to the table, slipping from her nervous fingers. “A job?”

He smothered a smile. “Yes. Cassian suggested you might be a good fit for something I need.”

Gwyn couldn’t imagine being the first choice for any job. Not when Rhysand’s High Lady and cousin both seemed so capable. 

“Oh.”

Her inability to muster up any enthusiasm didn’t deter him. “You wouldn’t be alone. Azriel will be with you.”

Oh. What did he think of this job? Gwyn was tempted to ask and didn’t think she could stand to see that smile fade from the High Lord’s face as he assured her Azriel agreed with Cassian. Gwyn knew he hadn’t, and that was why the High Lord had come. Azriel had told Rhysand to break the news and Cassian had decided to slink off rather than get roped in. Did Nesta know, too? 

“What is the job?”

“An exchange of information,” Rhysand said slickly. “We’re building a relationship with Montessere. They’re curious about our history and some of our magic, and we’re curious about their history and their magic.”

“Why does Azriel need to be there for that?” she asked before thinking better of it. The High Lord’s gaze sharpened, his fork hovering between his plate and his mouth. 

“Would you believe me if I said he was there for your safety?”

“No,” she replied, deciding to just be honest. 

“Smart.” Rhysand took a bite, his expression thoughtful. Light bounced off his inky hair, gobbled up as though it couldn’t stand to touch him. “He has his own job.”

One the High Lord wasn’t willing to share. But Gwyn wasn’t entirely stupid and judging by the sly smile on his face, he knew it, too.

“So I’m a distraction.”

“I want whatever information you can get,” he replied, not bothering to deny her words. “And you may share things about Prythian within reason.”

“Will you provide me a list of what I can and cannot share?” she questioned, unsure if she’d accept the job. Leaving for months to the continent was almost an intolerable thought. Going with Azriel, who she could barely look at—who rarely spoke and wasn’t exactly what she’d call a friend? That seemed worse. She’d be alone, without her friends or the comfort of her routine.

“Of course,” Rhysand replied through another mouthful of food. “I’ll provide anything you need. And of course you’ll be compensated.”

As if she was concerned about that. “Can I think about it?” she asked him, her appetite gone beneath the realization that the High Lord had come to her, and she didn’t want to disappoint him. 

And she didn’t want to leave.

“You can,” Rhysand agreed, dabbing the corners of his mouth with a napkin she hadn’t seen him conjure. “It will take me some time to arrange it, so think it over. Talk with Nesta about it when she returns. I’m sure she’ll have thoughts.”

Nesta would tell Gwyn to do it, though. Of that, Gwyn had no doubt though it was clear Rhysand didn’t think so. Nesta would see it as a grand opportunity for adventure, to test out everything they’d been training for. She wasn’t even wrong—it was a chance to expand the knowledge of her court and the home she loved.

And it would be an adventure. Just…maybe not the kind she needed. And if she needed it, she didn’t think she wanted it. “It’s just…” 

Rhysand’s eyes softened as Gwyn tried to force the words from her throat.

“I’ve never left,” she finally concluded. “And my sister is here.” “We’ll keep her safe,” Rhysand told her, stretching his tattooed hand across the table. Tentatively, Gwyn accepted, surprised by the warmth of his skin. “And you, if you’d let us.”

“I’ll think about it,” she whispered, swallowing hard. Rhysand released her hand, reclining in his chair like this was a completely normal afternoon to him. Maybe it was. Maybe being High Lord included roaming his territory for people who could complete little jobs for him. 

“Let me know,” Rhysand said, rising from his chair with all the grace she’d expect from him. “Come by if you’re feeling up to it. My mate would love to meet you in person.”

The Feyre Archeron. Gwyn watched the High Lord smother a smile as though he’d guessed her thoughts. She didn’t think she had the nerve to meet the Cursebreaker in person. The High Lord was enough, at least for now. Gwyn nodded, heart thudding in her chest loud enough there was no way he couldn’t hear it. 

Assuming, of course, the stench of her fear wasn’t overwhelming him. The High Lord was too polite to ever say so and Gwyn too cowardly to ever admit what was frightening her. He didn’t seem like he’d ever been scared a day in his life.

Of course, if someone had put a sword to his sister's neck, he probably would have wiped them off the face of the map with a flick of his finger. Rhysand wouldn’t have been helpless, frozen with fear. 

Rhysand offered her a soft smile, his eyes filled with the all-too familiar pity. Gwyn flinched without meaning to. She hated that her past was so plain, a mark on her face for everyone to read. 

“I look forward to talking again,” he told her before sweeping out of the room in a trail of shadow and star-flecked night. Gwyn remained, practically plastered to her chair.

Drowning in indiscretion.

AZRIEL:

“I heard a rumor about you,” Feyre began, appearing seemingly from thin air. Azriel didn’t jump, though his High Lady had startled him. Looping her arm through his, Feyre adjusted the cloth bag of painting supplies on her shoulder until Azriel took them from her. There was a drying smudge of blue on her freckled cheek, a near match for those bright eyes of hers.

Feyre was happy, all but glowing beneath the gloomy afternoon sky. 

“Oh?” he finally asked when it was clear Feyre wasn’t going to tell him the rumor until he responded. 

“Were you out last night? With a female?”

Internally, Azriel groaned. Fucking Mor, he thought affectionately, trying—and failing—to be angry with her loose lips. Of course she’d skip right into breakfast that morning and tell her cousin and best friend his little escapades. 

“Was I?” he replied, suppressing a smile.

“Multiple, was the way I heard it. In the alley, and then a bathroom…and was there someone thrown over your shoulder?”

“No,” he replied, the thought rather amusing. “None of that happened.”

“Of course not,” Feyre teased, poking him in the rib. “But I did hear you slunk out with someone. Who was she?”

Azriel had no idea. He hadn’t asked for a name and she hadn’t provided one. That was how he preferred it, if he was honest. The point was the release, not to find someone he wanted to marry. Of course Feyre would want him to—it would make her family nice and tidy, and if there was one thing he knew about Feyre, it was her love of happy endings. And she’d never be satisfied until he was settled, too.

Even if he had a wife—and Azriel had no idea what he’d do with one—he doubted he’d ever feel settled. 

“No one,” he replied, bumping her gently with his shoulder. “Don’t concern yourself with my comings and goings.”

“Why shouldn’t I? We’re family, aren’t we?”

Azriel’s stomach went tight at the thought. He, Rhys, and Cassian were family…but even then, he often felt on the outside. Cassian and Rhys had been friends first and their friendship had always been easy and effortless. Azriel hadn’t known how to make friends back then, and sometimes now he still wondered what it was they even liked about him.

Sometimes, though he’d never admit it to his High Lady, Azriel could still hear Rhys’s fathers voice in his head, talking to him mind to mind as he’d so often done. Azriel hadn’t been allowed shields back then, not like Rhys so casually allowed now. And Azriel had never dared to tell Rhys the extent of what had gone on with his father.

Shadowsingers are valuable. My son has been hiding you…a weapon to use against me.

Azriel had vowed back then to be indispensable to the High Lord as a matter of survival. And when he’d died and Rhys ascended, he didn’t know how to stop. He merely made himself whatever Rhys needed him to be, terrified he’d wake up one day and realize Azriel wasn’t the sort of friend he wanted in the first place.

“Az?” Feyre waved her hand in front of his face. Or, she tried to. Feyre was too small to reach him, though he certainly enjoyed watching her jump up and try. All she succeeded in doing was smacking him on the cheek. 

Red faced, she gasped, “I’m sorry.”

“Unforgivable,” he replied flatly, letting her sweat it for a moment. “I’m telling your mate.”

Feyre relaxed. “I heard you’re going to Montessere,” she said, angling her jaw to look at him. No one paid them any mind as they strolled arm and arm down the street. It was a common enough occurrence, though Azriel would never get over the way people treated him.

Like a hero. A warrior god, someone they respected, that they paid deference to. It was clear, from the way Feyre angled away from those who bowed as she passed, that she felt the same. Azriel knew enough about Feyre’s humble beginnings, told to him mostly by Rhysand and Cassian. He’d never pry.

But sometimes he felt a kinship between himself and his High Lady, who only ever wanted peace and security. She, too, had made herself into a weapon, and had martyred herself upon that altar again and again.

Now she had it. Azriel would have died if it meant Feyre wore that effortless, easy smile. They all would have. She’d given them something they hadn’t had for decades—hope. Even Azriel felt it, was grateful in a way he couldn’t put into words. 

“As soon as Rhys works it out,” Azriel agreed, relaxing when they turned for the river. “Shouldn’t take too long.”

“Are you excited?”

That wasn’t the word he’d use, though he understood what Feyre meant. Are you scared? But if she asked him like that, he’d be honor bound to assure her nothing scared him. Azriel scanned the horizon, well-aware there were no threats hurtling toward them. Only the River House, glittering like a jewel even under an overcast sky. 

“Sure.”

“With a priestess?” she hedged, dancing around what she really wanted to ask. Azriel swallowed a sigh. He didn’t believe for a moment that Gwyn had agreed. At most, she’d told Rhys she’d think about it but Azriel knew full well he was going alone. “Or Lucien?”

He couldn’t help the growl. Feyre jabbed him with her elbow, her expression reproachful. “Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” he asked, well aware Feyre didn’t like dissent in her ranks. For better or worse, they were all stuck with Lucien until Elain made a decision. Which was worse, he wondered? Lucien at every holiday or knowing one of the Archeron sisters would reject a mate? Both equally made his skin crawl.

Feyre only sighed with exasperation. He was grateful when she changed the subject to her shop, telling him of the children who’d come that day and how good they were getting at drawing little faces. Azriel liked these stories. The world was slowly reacclimating after the war. When he was away, bored or hurt or miserable, he’d think of these things.

Children, safe enough to learn to paint. His High Lady smiling as she made her way back to her own son who was just learning to wobble on two legs and would be flying before they could stop him. His friends, casual at dinner, gossiping about his love life.

It made the hard times seem worth it. 

Azriel left Feyre outside the River House, making some vague, generic excuse that Feyre almost certainly didn’t believe. She let him lie, though, and that was enough. Azriel took the sky, reveling in the wind on his wings, ruffling his hair as he landed not on the roof, but the outdoor exterior hall overlooking the mountains. Cold air faded in whatever magic kept the house running, and the smell of chicken beckoned him into the dining room.

He couldn’t remember the last actual meal he’d had. Making his way down the hall, he realized he’d have the house to himself for the next several days. Cassian had taken Nesta to the cabin which they were all grateful for, though Azriel didn’t relish returning anytime soon. Cassian was messy.

And loud.

Nesta wasn’t any better, though she was at least polite about it. 

Azriel rounded the corner, surprised to see Gwyn staring toward the wall of windows, her own food untouched on her plate. She held a fork between her fingers while coppery-brown hair spilled over shoulders clad in that distinct shade of priestess blue. Gwyn, like so many of the priestesses who came to training, weren’t anything like the ones in other temples. He often wondered what made them so different from the ones like Ianthe and her ilk.

Gwyn lacked their ambition, he supposed. 

She startled when he stepped in fully, intentionally making his steps heavy so she’d realize he was around. He would have done it sooner had he realized she was here. Waving a hand, he said,

“Stay,” when she started to rise.

“Did you know?” she accused, always ready for a fight. He felt his temper flare, though he settled it in favor of sitting at the shortened table.

“Yes.”

There was no point lying to her. Not if she might be working with him—he’d need her to trust him, just as he’d need to be able to trust her, too. He didn’t like the notion of relying on another person. 

Azriel worked solo for a reason. No one could let him down or disappoint him if he was on his own. 

“Thanks for warning me,” she grumbled, pushing out of her chair like a petulant child. Maybe Rhys was right—maybe Vanserra was the better choice. They would at least ignore each other like gentlemen, speaking only when it was absolutely required. 

“I was against it,” Azriel informed her, grateful when a plate of food materialized before him. Gwyn’s outrage vanished as he closed his eyes and took a deep gulp of wine. 

“Against me going?” she asked, and right then, Azriel realized his mistake. The one thing he’d always liked about Gwyn was that competitive streak of hers. It was almost cruel at times, though she seemed better at reigning it in before anyone got hurt. He recognized it, though, because his ran just as hot, was just as vicious. 

If he’d thought his words through, he would have told her she would be a perfect fit and he was excited for her to join him. And Gwyn, contrary by nature, would have given herself permission not to go because he wanted her to.

But now she knew he didn’t think she was cut out for it. And whatever doubts she had, of which Azriel was certain she harbored, were all being shoved to the side in favor of proving him wrong. 

Fuck me.

He sighed, scrambling silently to fix his mistake. “I work better alone,” he tried to explain. But the damage was done. Those teal eyes of hers were narrowed, nostrils flared in indignation.

“What do you know about research?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What do you know about torture?” he replied. Gwyn didn’t flinch the way most people did, didn’t shrink back wide-eyed and scared. He was trying to convince her not to go and thought reminding her of his true title, torture master for the Night Court, might dissuade her. Unbidden, he thought of Elain Archeron and how her spine had curved inward when Feyre had so flippantly made a joke about his methods over breakfast one morning. She'd been casual, nonchalant even, though Azriel had once seen the discomfort in his High Lady's eyes, too. Only Nesta regarded him without any fear. 

Nesta, and now Gwyn. 

“I could figure it out from a book,” she shot back. “Can you even read?”

“Why would I need to learn to read when I’m so good with a weapon?” he replied evenly. It was tempting to pull his dagger out and twirl it about, and Gwyn was likely to challenge him to a duel—one she’d lose—in the middle of lunch. Not that it would frighten her off. Everyone was a afraid of something. Usually that something was him. But for Gwyn, the notion that he might enjoy torturing to the point it consumed all other activities he might engage in, seemed to roll off her shoulders. 

“You can’t do this job without me.”

Agree with her, dumbass.

“I could do it far easier and faster without you,” he replied, his temper getting the best of him. Azriel never could resist a challenge. 

“No you can’t,” she said, leaning back in her chair. There was no satisfaction in her expression, though. Gwyn’s doubt was a palpable thing, recognizable to Azriel who was, too often, filled with nothing but doubt. He was the wrong male to reassure her. If she wanted that, she’d have to wait for Cassian to return. 

Sighing, he said, “Gwyn—”

“Shove it,” she snapped, rising from her chair. Azriel watched her go, likely marching straight down to Rhys to tell him she’d gladly take the mission. And in truth, she’d probably be just fine. He’d lock her up in the library while he got what he needed and whisk her away before she caused any mischief. In and out in a month, tops. Rhys would be satisfied, Gwyn would go back to the library and training with Nesta and Azriel would continue on.

Just as he always had.

#gwynriel #gwyn x azriel #posting this today so i dont forget #and also i just want to

[sweet-sunshine99]

Astro notes 🌕🐚🪸

Disclaimer: Nothing said below is fact, these are simply observations. Negative observations only apply to those who have not worked on themselves as people.

🌜 One thing about scorpio men, their level of attractiveness will determine the way you view them. If you're really attracted to a scorpio man you'll think of him as hot, magnetic, powerful, self-assured. He'll be the hottest man you've laid your eyes on, you'll never forget his charm or the way he carries his being.

If you find a scorpio male especially unattractive he will be repulsive, gross, disgusting, and annoying to you. Everything he does grosses you out or gives you the ick, you probably get second hand embarrassment from him.

They will always get a strong reaction out of you, it can be especially difficult to hide what you really think and feel of them.

I've noticed something a bit similar with scorpio placement women as well.

Their beauty typically presents as dominating, powerful, seductive. Even if the woman is submissive her beauty will have this power over you, it controls you and you won't fight against it.

Other women are often envious of scorpio women, and men often feel emasculated by the power a scorpio woman holds, because of this scorpio women are more likely to be painted in a negative light. These women are more likely to be described as controlling, bossy, slutty, a pick me or someone that is "asking for it". All genders seem to project their misogynistic beliefs onto these natives, even when they are quiet, obedient, well behaved, even when they avoid cursing, even when they listen to men.

This also applies to lilith in 1H, lilith in scorpio or 8H.

🌜 Virgo mercuries. We think in a very logical and direct way so when we try to put our thoughts into words we often come across as rude and condescending because we speak the same way that we think.

🌜 People are less likely to view scorpio moon's and scorpio ic's as scorpio-like but they usually relate more to the scorpio archetype than any other scorpio placement.

🌜 Aquarius men may not always be the most attractive physically but their mindset and attitude can completely make up for it.

Aquarius men can be super attractive and sexy but their mindset and attitude can completely change that.

🌜 12H virgo moon, 12H gemini moon, and 3H or 6H pisces moons are naturally very imaginative but they try to push their imagination away because "that would never happen" "that's so stupid and unrealistic"

🌜 Solar return ascendant conjunct natal black moon lilith might step into their power and become more assertive that year.

🌜 Earth placements love to talk. They feel a need to express every thought they have. They don't care if they're talking to another person or themselves. They're definitely the type to rant to their pets.

🌜 Asteroid candy (3015) in leo/5H are amazing flirts so much to a point they give off the wrong signals without realizing. Some people will LOOK for hints and twist your words because they want you to be flirting with them.

This asteroid in virgo/6H might make a person seem clean or well-groomed.

🌜 Asteroid dick (17458) in air signs/houses hurt you by making you feel ignored, unseen, dramatic, and stupid. In order to belittle you they convince you that you're reaching or asking for too much. Their main focus is on what's important and if they don't consider what you have to say as helpful, they won't see a point in continuing the conversation any further.

This asteroid in Taurus or the 2nd house dislikes sharing. They'd much rather everyone have their own small quantity of an item than share one large quantity of an item. One upside to this is that they don't expect anything from you.

🌜 Asteroid bambi (15845) in cancer or the 4th house might be the blacksheep of the family.

🌜 Asteroid ceres (1) in taurus, cancer, 2H, 4H are so mommy. So nurturing and they make you feel safe pls date me

Content warning: NSFW observations

🌜 The leo placement men and even women in my life have really overestimated their bedroom abilities.

the type to say it shoukd be 50/50 and then give 0 for 100

🌜 Cancer placements it is time we talk about that breeding kink 😩

🌜 People love to oversexualize scorpio placement's but ironically enough I've met scorpios that struggle with sex more than they benefit from it.

for example I used to know a scorpio sun with ED and a scorpio rising on anti depressants iykwim ☹️ some scorpio placements may also struggle with accidentally being caught more often than others.

Content warning over

🌜 a while after I chose the word sunshine as an alias I found out that I have asteroid sunshine (3742) conjunct my mc.

🌜 Libra placements do not get enough credit for how mature and smart they can be. They may be a bit slow, they may not always be the wisest, but when it comes to more important matters they're not going to take much risk. They're very good at reading the room too. They know that there is a time and place for everything and all the libras i've met really value social etiquette.

🌜 Scorpio men either have red lips or lips that are a vibrant type of pink. There is always something that makes their lips unique.

🌜 Natal venus retrogrades may suppress their emotions because they feel things so intensely that they physically cannot handle it.,

🌜 Moon transit 11th house is a good and basic indicator of upcoming social events.

🌜 Leo placements could make a joke about anything, they are never serious. Wouldn't be surprised if some of ya'll laughed at funerals 🤩 calling myself out with this one

🌜 Gemini and virgo 12th housers seem most likely to use journaling as a coping mechanism.

🌜 Libra placements especially sun and moon are so understanding and open minded. They're the only person in a group that will understand what you meant when you say something that nobody else understands. They will validate you too it's so sweet ya'll deserve all the love.

🌜 Libra has got to be my favorite sign. They allow themselves to be silly and fun but somehow they are able to function in society.

I can't exaggerate this enough, libra placements are actually pretty unique and they think of things that no one else would consider. This makes already fun, unique people more fun to be around.

🌜 Pisces play the victim the most I think. Not everyone is projecting all the time sometimes you are just in the wrong.

🌜 Libra placements are very polite and friendly, a downside to this is that they may feel the need to validate the feelings of those they completely disagree with. They may even stay friends with someone they dislike because they feel bad for cutting them off.

🌜 Aquarius men have a lot of tact. They're not the type of people to just say or do ANYTHING, and women like them because of this.

🌜 Leos please put the bottle down 😩

🌜 If you have your rising sign in the same sign that rules a planet in your 12th house, you may not resonate with your 12th house placement completely. (keyword, completely)

For example:

Aries/scorpio rising + mars in 12th house instead of their aggression being hidden from others they're more likely to be seen as aggressive and intimidating.

Taurus/libra rising + venus in 12th house might be pretty confident or flirtatious, they may not romanticize love or their partners as much as others with 12H venus.

Gemini/virgo rising + mercury in 12th house might be really good with words and people may turn to them to re-word ideas for better understanding.

Cancer rising + moon in 12th house people may be able to read their body language and subtle expressions, it might be really easy to tell how these people are feeling and what they aren't saying.

Leo rising + sun in 12th house might be really confident and self-assured, they can be very popular or well known within their community.

These people could also resonate less with their rising and more with their 12H placement I think

🌜 Look at your sidereal (remember, sidereal doesn't always mean vedic) solar return chart if you want to be read like a book.

🌜 Asteroid cupido (763) in the 11th might like to date people they're already friends with, or they prefer to date people they already know more than dating around to find new people. They may even prefer the deeper connection that comes with dating a friend.

🌜 I'm not sure if this will make any sense but tropical astrology is more foggy and hazy while sidereal astrology is more clear and direct.

🌜 This isn't about anyone in specific but some people really need to put less emphasis on some of their placements. I'll see some people be like "If you have sun/moon/rising/mars/venus/mercury in aries, aries degree, 1H, or any aspect to mars it means *insert very detailed description* like yes your natal chart goes much deeper than just signs and planets. Yes aspects, degrees, and house placements can give off similar energy to planets in signs. BUT in the end they're still different placements that can't be grouped together ALL the time.

#astro observations #astrology #pick a card #astro notes #astro community #tarot #aries #gemini #spirituality #tarot reading

[mymreaderlibrary]

Male reader/ character x Natasha Romanoff

I’m a simple man, I imagine Natasha being her normal badass self while also dating the most generic “just some guy” kinda dude and I am happy.

(Note: I wrote this in the middle of the night with no spellcheck or beta-ing so I’m sure there’s lot’s of mistakes n nonsense).

I’m picturing her at a party for Stark Enterprise. It’s massive, packed full of rich people who favor their status among all else. She blends right on in and spends most of the night dealing with small talk and trying to watch out for suspicious activity (you can never be too safe).

Picture her frustration when Tony decides to hound on her with some chatter despite his awareness of her job/ purpose. He makes jokes in typical Tony fashion, pressing buttons and somehow finding a way to keep even the most boring of topics going. But then he pauses, just for a moment however long enough for Natasha to notice.

He picks up her left hand and twists it lightly to look at the silver band on her ring finger. It’s nothing extravagant, in fact it’s a little cheap, but unless she was playing the role of a random married woman she had no reason to be wearing it. Unless…

To Natasha’s dismay Tony does not let this topic go, trying to trick her with loaded questions in hopes of finding out who gave it to her. He already knew she’s not playing a role, this is supposed to be an Avengers filled Stark hosted event, why the hell would she be undercover? He also knows she’s not wearing it to deter unwanted attention from unbearably persistent men because she had never struggled to send them on their way before (either with the cocky impression that she’s just a tough nut to crack or the realization that she had murder in her eyes specifically directed at them).

So again… who gave her the ring? Is she married? Engaged? Just dating and this is an anniversary gift? Tony can’t help but feed his own ego after he gets her to accidentally admit it was from her fiancé. A man Tony, or well none of the Avengers, seemed to know.

Perhaps he was a fellow agent, secretive and well trained in hiding in the shadows and assassinating political opponents. Or maybe he was a merc for hire who was just too busy to stay in one place as he got called for jobs around the world. Or better yet the Avengers DID know him it was just that he and Natasha were able to keep their relationship completely under wraps even during chaotic missions. The way she kept dodging the answer made Tony’s imagination spiral.

However it turned out, a much less exciting answer was the truth. A basic man, a civilian who worked at a mom n pop shop and only met Natasha thanks to a pub crawl had saved up the cash he had to buy her that ring. A man with no special talents or double life. A man who’s only scrapes and cuts came from the claws of his over excitable cat. A man who she had apparently been dating for almost 2 years without anyone knowing. A man who Natasha did not offer up the name of to Tony no matter how hard he tried to coax it out.

Her fiancé, someone she clearly loved too much to involve in her dangerous life.

That thought reluctantly made Tony back off for the night, but he still insisted that he meet this guy or at the very least see a picture of him. Natasha regretted telling Tony but she couldn’t find herself regretting wearing the ring. She deserved at least that amount of autonomy in her life, the pride of a gift.

#agauurgaggagagghhgghfhfhh idk what this is #just wanted to spit out a prompt n got a lil too into it #this is doo doo dog ass and I made it at literally 4 am so spelling and ideas are… foggy #maybe ill regret posting this but oh whale #future me can deal with it #male reader #x male reader #m reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x male reader #natasha romanoff x m reader #my writing #drabble #no beta read #mw

[ashs-cardboard-box]

In sync

~ Trans masc!Arthur Morgan/Trans masc!Reader

~ Romantic

~ 1k words

CW; periods, dysphoria, time appropriate trans/homophobia/racism/misogyny, mention of lynching

Oddly really fluffy (I have cavities from just writing it)

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Being both transgender and homosexual men was as good enough a reason as any for lynching. You and Arthur were no different. As secretive as you tried to be, somehow, someway, it always managed to get out around whatever town you found yourself in. It didn’t help that the pair of you were always surrounded by other minorities like Charles, Lenny, Tilly, Abigail, Sadie, Susan or otherwise.

Ever since you had joined the gang all those years ago, surprisingly, most of them have been supportive of you. Albeit, not without questions, of course. Micah, however, was always an exception to this. He was a sour man and refused to accept anyone that wasn’t himself nor Dutch.

Despite this, you and Arthur had been largely accepted throughout the gang. Seen as nothing less than another brother in the family. Your bodies were different than a typical males, yet that didn’t stop either of you from properly completing your tasks on time.

That is, until, the dreadful month always rears its ugly head again. You had a particular disdain for those damn sanitary belts. They chafed like no other and were all in all uncomfortable. Arthur, however, powered through the discomfort. You almost envied him at times.

The two of you lie on your cot together in your tent, just in your union suits. Your chests bound with that familiar, overly tight fabric that seemed to crush the organs underneath. Not a word his shared for quite a long time. Only the occasional whimper or groan as another wave of cramps hit either of you.

Arthur’s head rests comfortably on your chest, his hand resting just above where your uterus would be. Stroking the wool of your union suit in an attempt to relieve your discomfort, despite feeling his own. Your hand combs through his hair and down the back of his skull repetitively until your hand goes numb.

“This sucks..” you grumble, complaining about it just like you do every month. Arthur chuckles in agreement, rumbling low in his chest. “Wish I were a man, y’know?” you continue with a short sigh. Your muscles tensing as a cramp constricts your inside. You’d rather get stabbed than deal with this.

“Hey.” Arthur chides, looking up towards you with his brows furrowed, causing his forehead to wrinkle. “I don’t wanna hear you talk like that.” “It’s the truth..” you try to protest, but Arthur isn’t having any of it. He lifts his head from your chest and props himself up on his elbow to look down towards you on your back.

“What? You sayin’ you actually like it?” you tease, a grin splitting across your face as he rolls his eyes. Before you can even register what he’s doing, Arthur is straddling your thighs and peering down at you, raising an eyebrow sternly. Leaning down, he begins to place several kisses across your face without a word of explanation.

“Arthur-” you start, only to get cut off by a gruff “admit it.” You were confused and starting to feel flustered. Your cheeks flushing a light tinge of pink. Your hands moving down to Arthur’s hips, your thumbs caressing over his union suit, feeling the sanitary belt underneath. Annoyingly, your cycles had synced with almost every womans’ in camp.

“Admit what?” you retort with a giggle as he continues to kiss your face. Your forehead, cheeks, bridge, nose, lips, chin..not an inch of skin is missed. Your hands move up to Arthur’s chest, placing your hands on his breasts and gently pushing on them to try and get him to quit. Knowing he’s as sensitive as you are, you don’t push hard. Trying to avoid unfastening his chest wrap.

“Admit you are one. You’re my handsome man. Most handsome man I ever met.” He murmurs against your skin, only stopping to look into your eyes. His elbows digging into the cot just above your shoulders. Both of you can feel the other’s breath hitting your faces– breathing slightly heavier due to your hearts racing.

“Sure as hell don’t feel like it..” you mumble, to which Arthur sighs in mock exasperation. Diving back down and trailing kisses across your cheeks and jawline, slowly making his way down your neck. His body tensing atop yours with a small grunt of pain as a particularly painful cramp twists in his gut. You remove one of your hands from his chest and place it on his abdomen in between your bodies, rubbing small circles like he had done for you.

As Arthur gets to a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, you squirm as a ticklish feeling overtakes you. Raising your shoulder and tilting your head to try and squeeze Arthur out of such an area. Laughing and struggling underneath him at his relentless attack.

“O-Okay! Okay! I give! I’m a man; your handsome man-” you cave in between breaths. Arthur sits back up with a satisfied smirk. Even if he hadn’t managed to rid your dysphoria completely, he sure as hell made you distracted enough to feel a bit better. “You’re a prick.” you chuckle with a shake of your head, trailing your hands down his body appreciatively and resting on his thighs.

“You know you love me.” Arthur retorts teasingly, leaning down to place one last kiss onto your forehead before he slides off of you, going back to laying next to you. He lazily lays one of his arms over your midsection, encouraging you closer.

“Unfortunately..” you groan in faux irritation, complying with his request and shifting closer to him. Laying your head on his bound chest as he wraps his arm around your back, rubbing it up and down soothingly. Your own hand returns to rub his sore abdomen, feeling the waistband of the sanitary belt underneath his red union suit. “If I’m your handsome man, then you’re mine.”

Arthur chuckles quietly and buries his nose into your hair, followed by a deep sigh. “‘M happy with that..” he mumbles. Even if it wasn’t an easy time for either of you, having each other’s support and love always made it easier to handle.

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some t4t cause I can !!! >:3

#rdr2 x male reader #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x male reader

[stillarandom-radfem]

Men, having a superiority complex is not the same thing as being actually superior, and actual hard evidence disputes that notion you have about yourselves all the goddamn time. Shall we take a good, hard look at it?

Men are statistically responsible for 99% of all violent crimes, and 98% of all sex crimes. Yes, that includes sex crimes against men.

All wars in human history were started by men.

Men did not invent everything. In fact, in many cases, a male stole credit for a woman's accomplishments when it comes to invention and ingenuity. I could probably compile a list of female inventors and their accomplishments, if anyone is interested.

Nor did men create everything of beauty or academic interest. In fact, many famous books were either ghostwritten by the authors' wives or stolen directly from their diaries, and many famous male artists copied their style directly from female artists of their time. I could probably compile a list of these women, too.

Ditto, again, with regard to scientific discoveries made by women. You guys really just have a knack for stealing our shit, don't you? What's the matter? Are your piddly little male brains just too nonfunctional to come up with anything useful on your own?

Speaking of which, there is exactly zero hard evidence that proves women's brains to be in any way deficient in comparison to men's. In fact, the whole notion of brain sex has been debunked about a million times over. So, I guess it must just be laziness and willful stupidity that explains why men can't seem to come up with anything useful on their own.

Women are better drivers than men. No, I'm serious. We get into fewer accidents. That's the whole reason why our car insurance rates are typically lower than men's are.

Women are currently getting more college degrees, and more advanced degrees, than men are. So, while brain sex may well be a myth, we certainly seem to be a lot better educated than you are on the whole.

The X chromosome is much bigger, hardier, and healthier than the Y chromosome, which means that female fetuses/babies are much hardier and more likely to survive in times of struggle, and women also live much longer than men on the whole. And, of course, vice versa: male babies are less likely to survive a stressful pregnancy, and males tend to die much younger than women do thanks to their deficient Y chromosome. In fact, according to science, the Y chromosome is slowly going extinct.

Honestly, gentlemen, the more I learn about this stuff, the more self-evident the reason becomes about why you keep making ridiculous superiority claims without offering any kind of supporting evidence. It's because such evidence does not exist. There is only hard evidence of female superiority, not male superiority. Yes, I said it. You are not superior; we are. Seethe and cope.

[ladyluscinia]

I do have to appreciate (?) how hard the haters work to ensure their definition of bigotry is Izzy-escape proof. I mean, yeah, if you are saying that it's functionally impossible for him to not be some flavor of bigoted because technically the very concept of having socially informed ideas about ways to be a man and men's behavior is intrinsically linked to homophobia and misogyny and racism, and therefore expressing any negative opinion on how a male character is behaving counts as such...? Alright then? Telling a man not to sob over a breakup (even with a hypothetical woman!) is homophobia AND misogyny if you consider the social reason that would draw attention as a behavior to criticize and our society's collective idea of masculinity. You've defeated me with your social studies thesis logic on Every Insult Under The Sun Can Be Traced To Bigotry 🤷‍♀️

But in practice I still just don't think it's worthwhile to say the antagonist with the literal raison d'etre of not being 100% supportive and approving of the protagonists in order to cause conflict is being irredeemable or violently bigoted by *checks notes* insulting men in the story about men. Just like I don't think Stede or Edward or the rest of the crew are being irredeemable bigots by also having socially informed ideas about masculinity???

Like, looking at it that way Stede is a clear misogynist (and more, but we'll stick with just the misogyny bit). I don't think he even realizes he is one, but the whole Mary sequence and just being a man in the 1700s makes it pretty obvious. He might do less misogyny in the future on account of just not interacting with women (suspect behavior tbh), but fundamentally he has not remotely addressed or deconstructed the misogynistic ideas that shape his entire perspective. Honestly, he's probably not going to at this point. They drew attention to his worst behaviors under the framing of just kinda being a self-centered ass, made him realize he fucked up and apologize to the woman he hurt over the course of about 15 minutes, and then sent them both toward happier endings.

Is this story saying that misogyny is actually fine and misogynists are admirable and likable people? Or that misogyny is just a surface level form of bigotry that doesn't really affect your attitude toward women once you stop being an ass? Or, maybe, is the story just not about misogyny???

And if it's not about misogyny despite being literally incapable of avoiding characters expressing misogyny (since in reality that's not so cleanly excised), then why on earth does it have to be about homophobia? Is it just because the leads are gay men?

Like, I'm sorry, but media for 5-year-olds has long been able to tell stories about antagonists learning that it's okay for boys to cry and be emotionally vulnerable and it's mean to make fun of them without insanely complex layers of deconstructing homophobia or intensive requirements to overcome internalized biases. I bet OFMD can teach that lesson without explicit, targeted homophobia. No one is denying in serious meta that Izzy has been an ass? Or that character development to be less of an ass is the logical next step?

I'm not disputing their assertion that Izzy is homophobic because I think the writing team accomplished the impossible and erased homophobia from the background hum of existence for this one TV show. I'm disputing it because the essential second half of said assertation is that this is a meaningfully included and emphasized part of his characterization that will typically justify his future karmic punishment for bigotry and/or require much greater redemptive effort of him to get any sort of neutral-to-happy ending on the table. That's why they care about it. The effect on the story!

If the story isn't about homophobia, then no, the antagonist doesn't usually have "homophobic" as a character trait I need to account for.

And twisting that fairly straightforward narrative interpretation into some kinda gotcha about "So you deny insulting gay men with gendered insults has shades of homophobia?!?" is - to borrow a phrase Lucius used against Stede - "kind of a bitchy question."

#our flag means death #been tossing around ways to word this for a long time #mainly because i'm fully aware this kind of slippery technicality is pretty much universally a bad faith gotcha for a hated character #but like. yeah reality is a mess of interconnected biases and bigotries that all build off one another to justify A excluding B #doesn't mean every single story developed in this intrinsically flawed society has to say something about all of it #does stede know women are people? does anyone want the next two seasons to tackle stede learning women are people? #tbh i would much rather just say he gets it via the 'don't be a self-centered ass' metaphor #ofmd meta #izzy hands ofmd #stede bonnet ofmd #sorry stede but your track record with women? not great 😔 #homophobia #ladyluscinia #no cut because nowhere made sense

[melonteee]

I think the problem many fans have with Tashigi is that they believed she would be a real rival to Zoro and then… not being that, like at all. She's way weaker than him and what I really dislike is that yes, Zoro is a misogynist (which is extremely funny in the context of his backstory), he thinks women are weak and you shouldn't fight them seriously and he is right lmao??? Tashigi IS weak. And so are so many other female characters in the show, almost none of them are anywhere near as strong as the men and get sidelined a lot. This is NOT me saying that women are only good if they're physically strong, I just find it very weird that in this world with so many different characters and insane magical power-ups, almost NONE of the women can hold a candle to the male characters in terms of strength. CP9/CP0(?), 7 Warlords, Worst Generation ALL have one woman lmao. Maybe I'm too cynical, but I see this aspect of One Piece as a part of the typical male power fantasy where men are the strongest and protect the weaker ones, which includes women. I think what frustrates me the most about Tashigi especially is that is seems that Kuina (or more like her father) was right, women can't be the strongest swordmasters in the world because they just aren't anywhere near as strong as the men in this series.

I mean we have indeed seen incredibly strong women, there just aren't as many lmao. Like we still have an emperor who is a woman until Kidd and Law knocked her out (girl loss) but I think disliking Tashigi due to the expectation of Zoro getting a rival out of her is kind of a shallow reason to dislike her. There aren't even any stereotypical rivals in One Piece, like there's no one any of them constantly run into again and again to FIGHT in that way, the closest you'll get is Zoro and Sanji and even then those two are hardly rivals in the traditional sense.

Like yeah obviously there's sexism in the portrayal of men vs women in one piece lmao, and it can indeed be a pain in the ass. But as annoying as it is, if I had to choose, I'd much rather take a well written woman than a physically strong macho one who's' a blank slate. Is it a shame there can't really be both? Yeah, but that's no reason to dislike Tashigi. In One Piece's world, a loss against a marine usually means capture or death, there was no way Tashigi could've become Zoro's rival without it becoming too serious than it needed to be. The whole point of Tashigi is she exists as her own person, even getting angry at Zoro for the fact he quite literally tells her he is freaked out by her existence because she looks like Kuina lmao.

I love Tashigi for holding her own against Zoro mentally, not physically. I love her for pursuing her own goals in her own way even if she isn't the strongest out there, and she knows that. Smoker gets beaten to a bloody pulp every time we see him, but I couldn't care less so long as I just enjoy who he is and as he's written. There's definitely a disconnect of power between men and women in One Piece's world, but the bar is so god damn low that I can at least enjoy seeing these girls - especially Tashigi - standing up for what they want and what they're doing in a well written way. And honestly, Tashigi essentially telling Zoro to go fuck himself due to disliking her existence is all I need LMAO

#ask

[desceros]

hi 👋🏼 you've probably seen me in your notes before (i check your blog, like... every day - both for updates and to see all of the wonderful fan art and stuff you reblog, like a lot of other people do, apparently). i've sent you asks on anon in the past 'cause i'm so very shy (with people in general, not just you), but lately, i've been thinking about finally being a Big Brave Boy and coming off anon, and now! i am! doing that!

i just wanted to say that i typically avoid Fem!Reader fics 'cause i am, uh, very much not a woman and it often will activate my dysphoria (no offense to people who like those terms but every time i hear "flower" or "petals" be used to describe a vagina, i die a little bit more inside). However. the way that you write the Reader character - especially in Symphony - is... how do i put this... i'm able to sort of distance myself in a way where i can still put myself in her shoes without feeling the ick i feel with most other Fem!Readers. i think you phrased it best when you described her as something along the lines of falling between an OC and the reader themselves

of course, sometimes i still do get that feeling - it's not completely inescapable, sadly - but 1. it's far more tolerable with your work and 2. i enjoy it too much to want to stop reading it

ALSO. you 🫵🏽 are to blame for turning me into a Leo Girlie™️ (gender neutral). Just a little. 🤏🏽 i'm too much of a Donnie kinnie/lover to not want to punch him 99% of the time. but you made me CONSIDER the fact that MAYBE he's hot and MAYBE i kind of want to fuck him. whatever

anyway, i said far more words than i meant to, but i know that you don't mind long asks, so i won't be apologizing for that. i love everything that you write (Euclidean Line and Electromigration are so. they're everything to me) and i'm both excited for and dreading the new Symphony update! take care of yourself, including that wrist! ♡ ～('▽^人)

rahh!!! pops a party popper welcome to the off-anon club!!! :D

there are people out there who write male readers if that's what you're looking for, but they're a lot less common for sure. it's unfortunate!

for me, i like writing female readers mostly because female eroticism to me is. hhhhh. well. i'm really into making girls come. hehe

that said! i'm glad that you find them more readable! i have a few gender-neutral fics around, which as an enby myself is something i just gotta do sometimes. girls are great, but you need a good they-slash-them on your resume. nods.

EXCELLENT on the leo girlie (gn) thing, mwahaha! truth be told, i would be leonardo hamato number one fan were it not for the fact that rise donnie was actually built in a vat specific to my taste. chin hands at both of them but a little bit harder at donnie oops

anywho, thanks for the sweet words!! always fun to talk to people C:

#ask tag

[apilgrimpassingby]

How To Identify A Porn Addict Pretending To Be A Traditional Man

(This list is verbatim from @branwenferchllyr - again, halfway between feminist and tradfem - by DM, hence the very conversational sound of the language. Thanks Branwen, and I assume it's okay to share it. My comments are in italics).

An obsession with female submission, subservience, male 'headship', men having authority over women. Sure, there are just fundamentalist/traditionalist Christians who believe those things without being porn addicts, but they don't talk about it as much as the LARPers do, and when they do they tend to have much more nuanced opinions on it. There was a study done a while ago in which it was found that people who watch a lot of porn are less likely to believe in women's rights, autonomy etc. I'd honestly really like a link to that study or details of date, results and methodology, so I can bring it up in discussion.

So porn addicts objectify women, we know this, so here's something I've picked up on on the fetishy blogs: they'll reblog pictures where you can't see women's faces, zooming in on just their body parts. Typically it'll be the very small waists of women in 1650s dresses. Women wearing aprons from the neck down. A lot of the 1950s pinup stuff in general. Again, there are people (usually women) who just like the aesthetics/the fashion etc, but usually when it's a man reblogging pictures like that it rings alarm bells to me because of how I've seen them talk about these pictures before.

Some people have their follow lists and likes visible. Take a look at who they're following and what posts they're liking. There's a guy on here I was told about, @atraditionalgent, who follows a lot of the 'female inferiority' kinksters and likes their posts, whilst masquerading as a gentleman. If you want the evidence, Branwen has the screenshots of his now-hidden follows and I assume she'll provide them if you ask her for them.

Here's another big one: they spend a lot of their time reblogging posts about what a traditional woman should do... but not what a traditional man should do.

Oh, also anything to do with domestic discipline.

Oh, also another big telltale sign, which I saw @atraditionalgent do: they will capitalise the H for Him and the M for Man, in contrast with not doing the same for women. Which, considering they claim to be Christians, is deeply sacrilegious and hubristic. At least he's not claiming to be Christian.

#traditionalism #traditional masculinity #tradblr #traditional marriage

[pistolenprinz]

RDR2 CHARACTERS AS THE MAJOR ARCANA (PT. 4 OF MANY)

I’ve been really digging tarot lately, and finding a lot of comfort/joy indulging in the universe’s energies, so I figured I would try my hand at assigning each of the main gang (with some exceptions) to one of the major arcana, as well as giving my personal interpretations of how it fits. Note: For this post, I’ve dipped into my own deck (Raven Rogue’s Tarotorial), and will be pulling the imagery-specific elements from them. I will cite things as such “Insert text here [Source Name].” Regardless, the actual applications to the plotlines and characters is my own and is my opinion. To cut down on the length of these posts, I’ve privately paired up gang members that I either think provide a good foil for one another, or those that I just think pair well in terms of discussion. This section will be copy-pasted across all the posts in this series for sake of clarity.

BILL WILLIAMSON - JUDGMENT

Judgment presents as adults and children rising from their graves to respond to an angel's trumpet call as they're ready to be judged by the universe. This card deals out absolutes. [Tarotorial; Card Imagery].

Stating the obvious first, Bill is a man who deals in absolute. There is, or there isn't. This is not an inherently bad thing, particularly in the type of environment he finds himself in among the Van der Linde gang; the preservation of the group comes first and foremost…. usually. That said, the question of good or not comes from Bill's inner motives. We see this in RDR2, we see this more in RDR. Bill's motives are, arguably, driven by a simple lack of self-awareness. A 'rules for thee and not for me' mentality, that ultimately leads to him being unable to learn his lessons, and going on to become even more of a brutal terror on his own than he was within the Van der Linde gang (where he, usually, had others to ground him and refocus his purpose). This card's imagery echoes those of Death, reminding the interpreter and viewer that everything comes to an end, damned be the consequences.

MICAH BELL - THE DEVIL

The Devil typically depicts a saytr, known as Baphomet, atop a pedestal behind the chained male and female figures to show that they're under control. The man and woman are ashamed, and becoming less human the longer they're under the Devil's control [Tarotorial; Card Imagery].

Ignoring the explicit evil imagery, the label of "evil" as a whole, and Micah's status as an antagonist within the gang, I want to instead focus on the core of his character. Of the deep-rooted greed that pushes him to become such a powerful force among the members, effectively overturning the dynamic and tipping the scales in his balance. If we look further, into the time before his gang, we see that it's a constant. All he has known is greed and violence, through his father's own outlaw nature. We can look at how vicious the falling out between himself and his brother, Amos, was, with the latter threatening to kill if he'd even considered contact with his family. The Devil itself is less about evil itself, but the intricate acts that may lead to someone being considered evil: Greed, materialism, excess, temptation. All things that Micah exhibits throughout his story, all the way from attempting to "take" Sadie for himself, to confronting Arthur at the end of it all and ensuring that he would not leave freely (with or without the money, as that choice is player determinant). On the other hand, and through the lens of characters such as Bill and Dutch, Micah is a symbol of true freedom. Of releasing one's inner desires and being prideful with them. These tenants are core to the "outlaw" life, in their eyes, just as they are core in the card's other half. There are reasons for his actions, but those actions are not "good", regardless of intent or reason.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #bill williamson #micah bell #headcanon #characters as major arcana