#and they are all equally both of these people

[gravityofsouls]

No... no honey, this is very ass-backwards.

Trans men are not exempt from toxic masculinity and the patriarchy. We all live in the same society, we all see the same shit and often emulate it. Many trans men tend to have a period when they're still green where they become really toxic in an attempt to fit in with cis men. Trans men can be as toxic and abusive as anyone because they're not special magical beans they're just people.

You're also admitting right after that women can be abusive, yet somehow speak as if being abusive is an exclusive of cis men the line before that. I'm not here trying to drag you or anything, I just want to urge people to reflect because the moment you start thinking trans men are in any way fundamentally different from any man, or person for that matter, you're already treading on the path of gendered (transphobic) stereotypes. There are many trans men who have learned from their different experience within society too, obviously, but that is not an inherent virtue of transness.

Being abusive, not abusive, more influenced by society, more critical thinking, has 0 to do with gender or being trans. Trans men are not "the way to go" because you think you're gonna have a man Lite:tm:, they are men, they are normal people. And being attracted to trans men is being attracted to men. We are not a cute convenient alternative to men, or a different breed like apartment dogs. If you pick us for our transness, that's transfetishism. That's transphobia. The idea that we somehow come factory standard with specific preferable characteristics like a new car model is fetishism. We are people each with our own story, personality and qualities.

Cis women who advertise trans men as an ‘alternative’ to dating cis men and just emotional abuse their trans man partners are going to be tortured forever in the torture pit. The cis women making posts saying shit like “trans men are like if a man was written by a woman” are going to the pit first.

[jellybeanium124]

if you'll allow me to flaunt my psych minor for a second, I'd like to talk about epigenetics. there's studies that show that if you shock a rat when you let them taste a certain flavor, they will immediately become averse to that flavor. not surprising. what is surprising is that the rat's grandchildren, who have never been shocked when given that flavor, will also be averse to it and afraid of it and avoid it. there's also correlational evidence to suggest that the descendants of people who suffered through famine are more likely to put on weight and keep it on easier, even if they have never been through a famine themself.

trauma gets passed down. the kinds of trauma your parents, grandparents, and so-on lived through is still living in you. even if your parents were the most well-off, loving, best parents in the world, their trauma is still in you.

now if you'll allow me to take a slight turn here: there's a wild rabbit inside every jew.

my dad grew up being called "jew-boy." my mother had a coworker throw pennies at her at her job in the 2010s. and that's just two examples. they both grew up being harassed for being jewish. I wasn't. I'm incredibly lucky. the amount of antisemitism I've experienced in real life has been incredibly minimal. I didn't even hear anyone make an antisemitic joke in front of me until college.

and none of us were seriously persecuted. none of my grandparents were seriously persecuted. but even though nobody's broken my windows, nobody's beaten me in the streets, and I haven't been at any of those horrible protests in person, the fear is there. this deep seated, blood-pumping fear of the ancient jewish rabbit in me telling me to run. to run for dear life, to run as far as my legs can get me, as long as my heart keeps pumping and my lungs keep breathing.

we all feel this.

everyone feels this.

I called my mother yesterday. when I brought up this feeling she paused, and the silence said everything. she told me I wasn't alone. she feels it. my dad feels it. my brother feels it. my nana and grampa feel it. every jew you know, online, in real life, hell, even the famous ones, they feel it. the rabbit is inside us all, and the rabbit knows, because its brothers who didn't flee in the past were slaughtered.

the rabbit is leaping around my chest, all of our chests, chanting run run run run run run run.

I don't know if I can explain it to gentiles. I don't know if this makes sense to you. I don't know how to get across how crystal clear and deep and primal this fear is, and how much all of us are feeling the exact same fear, despite our different lives and different histories and the fact we're different people.

part of me wishes it didn't matter. that I didn't feel like I needed to get goyim to understand my specific cultural and ethnic experiences. because I don't feel like I need to deeply understand everyone else's. I am a white passing ashkenazi american jew, and I will never fully understand what it is like to be anything else. that doesn't dissolve my responsibility to educate myself and practice empathy, but it's ok. idk, maybe other people do desperately wish they could get people not in their specific group to deeply understand what it's like to be them. I imagine that feeling is universal. I guess, it's just like, the left is unified that everyone is a person, everyone is equal, everyone is human, except the jews. nobody is left out but the jews. everyone's word is believed, but the jews. and it makes me feel like I have to beg and plead with people to understand what being jewish means, because we're not included with everyone else. we're the enemy. and I want people to see we're not the enemy.

epigenetics.

[kaminando-kon-buenos]

I don’t like making my own posts, but after waking up to the news that there was a pogrom in the Netherlands, I would just like to say this:

I am a North African Jew. Many would call me an “Arab Jew”, because I look like an Arab and I am treated like an Arab here in North America unless I’m wearing a kippah. My family was terrorized, murdered, and exiled from Libya in the 1960’s and we cannot return because they would kill us

White people may feel uncomfortable saying this, but I do not. Arab society has a problem with antisemitism that must be seen. Middle Eastern Jews have been talking about our experiences with Arab antisemitism for many decades and are constantly silenced. There is an undeniable, vitriolic, hatred of Jews that has been normalized in Arab society, and Arab extremists are now being emboldened to act on that hatred, not just in Arab countries but anywhere in the world

I don’t believe that Arabs are violent or dangerous by nature. They don’t hate Jews by default because they are Arab. This is not about individual Arab people, and individual Arab people should not be punished for problems in Arab countries or the antisemitic actions of other Arabs. This is about the antisemitism that is deeply ingrained in Arab society and culture

Individuals have the opportunity to choose whether or not they want to participate in this hatred. Yes, when you have grown up your whole life being told that Jews are your enemy and that it is good to fight them, it is much harder to make the choice to not act on this because it is all you know, but there are many who still choose peace with Jews. I have many Arab Muslim friends who have no problem being friends with a Jew. My family have many stories about Arab Muslim families trying to save Jews. I have had also many experiences with threats and intimidation and even assault by Arab Muslims because I was wearing a kippah or Magen David

My Arab friends who come to Shabbat dinner at my house and the Arab men who pushed me onto the ground and spat on me and called me a yahood are all equally Arab. The Arabs who call for peace and the Arabs who hunted down Jews in Amsterdam yesterday are all equally Arab. The difference is because my friends and the people calling for peace see Jews as human beings like them, whereas the people committing violence have allowed them to be swayed by Arab nationalist antisemitism

I always hold my tongue when I talk to white people about my experiences with Arab antisemitism or post about them because I know that many people will insist that you can’t criticize Arab extremists without being racist. YOU can’t criticize Arab extremists without being racist because you are a racist white person. I am a North African Jew with firsthand and familial experience with Arab antisemitism both in Libya and in the other places we have lived. I am tired of holding the burden of other people’s racism so I’m posting this without caring if it makes them mad. I’m not going to be responding to hateful responses. I will just block you, so don’t bother

[jane-the-geek]

You forgive Jinx but not Caitlyn? Here’s why.

If we start from the idea that Jinx and Caitlyn are very similar and that the show increasingly emphasizes this; if we assume they both have traumas and reasons to be angry and violent; if we consider that their traumas are equally significant—because all trauma is equivalent when experiences differ—a trauma is still a trauma.

So why do we forgive Jinx but not Caitlyn? (Or at least, why do people seem to hate Caitlyn more than Jinx for her actions?) Caitlyn hasn’t done anything comparable to Jinx, who has many deaths on her conscience. Is it because she might have sacrificed a child? No, she wouldn’t have missed the shot—you know it, I know it, and so does she. Blaming her for a shot she didn’t take but would have succeeded at isn’t a valid reason.

Jinx isn’t more murderous, nor is she less so than Caitlyn. She’s not stronger...

Here’s a little screenshot of Caitlyn getting the upper hand on Sevika. #SeviCait? 😆 Caitlyn is seriously badass—let’s not forget that.

She’s not stronger... or more loyal, fairer, or smarter…—she’s just more unstable.

So yes, that’s why so many people struggle to forgive Caitlyn’s actions compared to Jinx’s; it feels like Caitlyn does things with full awareness. When she strikes Vi, she’s fully present in the moment, taking her time to think before delivering the blow.

Jinx, on the other hand, hits Vi much harder and more than once. But Caitlyn’s blow hurts more because it comes not just from the heart, but from the head as well.

Do I blame her? No, of course not—she’s my favorite character. And I dare say I love her even more now.

She’ll learn to handle frustration, she’ll keep thinking things through, and she’ll realize she’s being manipulated. She’ll make the right choices, because that’s who she is.

[romanticfatale]

Love this. I love fashion and as trans man I have a particular interest in menswear both formal and alternative.

Understandably not an exhaustive from either myself nor OP by any means, but I wanted to suggest additional nuances:

Take your own measurements if you can. If you don't have measuring tape, you can use a ruler and a thread/rope, paper (standard US printer paper being 11 x 8.5 inches) and a bit of math, or other lengths of measure convenient to you.

Important ones are:

Bust: Across the chest and around your back centered to your nipples. If you wear a bra, take this measurement with a bra. To get your bra size, bend over if you can and measure across your nipples with how far they hang down.

Underbust: For bra-wearers, important to take for determining bra size. Equals band number. Subtract from the bra-less bust to equal cup size. Every inch of difference is a letter. Can be important to take if you wear an underbust corset, bra or not.

Waist size (where you prefer to have your pants hang) and natural waist size (typically across your belly slightly above on your naval)

Hips, especially if you have wide hips.

Shoulder size mostly matters if you want tailored items or have broad shoulders. I have broad shoulders, and certain places/brands make for smaller-shouldered people.

Menswear is often determined by sleeve length, neck girth, waist size, and inseam (from the crotch to the ankle). I am very short so I have to tailor everything myself anyway, so it might not matter unless you're tailoring but most menswear minimum is about 30" inseam, 30" sleeve, and 14" neck. Waist I've seen as small as 24"

Get to know your shoe sizes in various measures. US men is typically 2 sizes larger than US women's (US 8 women = US 6 men). As a USAmerican who also buys internationally, I like to know my Europoean size as well. Mens shoes in the US are difficult to find below US size 8, but not impossible.

Mens trousers are usually either pleated or flat front, meaning there are or aren't pleats in the waist. Sometimes there are multiple pleats. Pleated looks a little dressier.

"Slacks" and dress pants are the same. "Khaki" is a tannish or light brown color but "khakis" is often slang for tan colored Chinos, which are usually made of cotton. Dress pants are "dressy" as they are more formal in cut/pattern, color, and style.

Dress pants usually have buttons the same color as the fabric, and do not have rivets. Rivets on trousers, iirc, were originally a working class thing as it reinforces the pocket strength. Jeans have rivets and metal buttons. Sometimes Chinos have rivets and often metal button. Think of Chinos as "between" Jeans and Dress pants in both material and dressiness.

Remember to check your pockets in dress pants if they are sewn shut. This is typically intended to prevent dust, lint, and other things before purchase, and indicates they have not been worn.

"Trouser" and "Pants" are mostly the same thing depending on where you are. Some places in the US say trousers are dress pants whereas pants refer to any two-legged waist garment, but pants in the UK iirc are undergarments and trousers are all two-legged waist garments.

Gurkha Trousers are usually slightly higher waisted with a wider waistband and have a buckle instead of a button. They lean more formal, around the same area as Chinos.

There is a difference between a Blazer, a Sports Coat, and a Suit coat, among many other kinds of coats.

A Blazer is usually intended to be emblematic of some sort of group, such as a school or a club. The buttons usually have said emblems on them, there may be an embroidered patch around the breast, and they are usually the color of said group, often a bright or noticeable color or vivid prints, hence "blazer"

A sports coat is a suit-like cut of coat but intended to be worn with any combination of colors. A suit coat is cut from the same cloth as the rest of the suit and is intended to be worn with the full piece, and typically has buttons the same color as the fabric like dress pants. Separating a suit coat from the suit is possible, but if you don't do it well you look very silly. Mix and matching pieces like this is called Spezzato, meaning "mixed" in Italian.

Formal coats can be single or double breasted. Usually, you are not intended to button the bottom button of a formal menswear coat.

Double breasted sports coat can have various button configurations depending on how many buttons, where they're placed, and how much room you have in the waistline to move.

The lapels (the flaps around the collar) can also be stylized.

You may have noticed some lapels have a little hole in them, the lapel buttonhole. This is for a lapel pin or boutonniere. They are usually intended to showcase an emblem, such as for employees, officials, or other identification means and events (prom, religious orders, etc).

Some coat have "vents" which are the little slits in the back.

There are multiple types of waistcoats/vests as well. They can also be single or double breasted, they can also have lapels, v neck or "horse shoe" scoop-like openings. Similar to the sports coat, the bottom button should be left undone if it is single breasted. Double breasted waistcoats are usually fully buttoned, but the bottom can be left for slight more casual wear.

In the US (at least where I am) we also call south asian vests Nehru vests (and also Nehru jackets which are the same but long-sleeve). They are waistcoats with band collars (aka mandarin collars).

Shoes: Oxford, Derby, Brogues: Oxford and Derby refers to the lace style.

Brogue refers to the cut of the shoe:

Different kinds of heels (and other shoes), as well:

Menswear is often harped on for being "boring" and there's two things I have to say about that: a) a lot of anglospheric "western" menswear is very very specific. Wearing pink will get some guys slurred at. However, you are allowed to have fun with it. You can wear a deep-v brightly colored sports coat without a shirt and have a huge chunky pearl necklaces with some bell bottoms and bright colred sunglasses. You can wear a "womens" coat and "womens" shoes with a suit.

It IS frustrating that so much of what is considered menswear in really specific western anglosphere IS boring because of extreme concepts of masculinity, but if you can sew you can also alter clothes however you like. Cut off the sleeves of a sport coat and reattatched them with ribbons, cut out lace or another color of fabric in long triangles and turn dress pants into two-toned bell bottoms.

Look at haute couture menswear to get some ideas, look at favorite celebrities and bands and films (prince, motley crue, malice mizer, billy porter, david bowie, legend, romeo and juliet, the color of pomegranates, the fall, etc etc) on how to bend masculinity and have fun with fashion.

As a queer and fashion-loving trans man, it's very important to me to put on the image of masculinity while also bending it. The "feminine in a masculine way" thing where if I'm going to be called an evil satanic freak for wearing earrings and black, I'd prefer to at least be gendered correctly.

Seconding OP's comment about searching trend vs type, there Can be some good stores that are trying to advertise via style or trend but it's much better to curate your wardrobe more individually. I've had a similar discussion Here but essentially, even "normie" brands can be made alternative or more lively if you learn how to style properly.

Things like color, cut, and shape will affect how clothing looks on you.

I've always hated the idea that certain shapes, hairstyles, glasses, etc are "best" on someone. Round faces can wear round or square glasses or blunt bang bob haircuts or mullets all they want. They will each look different, yes, but it depends on what you want to look like and how to achieve that look.

For example, every now and then Macy's will have an out of season sale. 200$ clothing for 20$. It sucks that's how you have to shop for save money, but they're often well tailored and long-lasting across the brands they sell. I've beautiful dress shirts and trousers that work excellently for gothic-adjacent fashion.

Last but not least, times I think brand can matter:

Certain brands, not necessarily "big/expensive/luxury" brands but brands in general tend to have gimmicks, styles, materials, and other things they use often. If you like the way a particular set of trousers or a jacket you found either online or at the thrift store or any store feels and looks on you, look up the brand and see if they have similar items (and hope they still exist). I especially recommend this if you're a very tactile or sensory person, as finding a brand that consistently makes clothes that feel good on your body can be SO important.

Plus, more well known (but not necessarily luxury) brands and thrift will more often have better clothes than fast fashion anyway. Thrift because they're usually older clothes anyway and thus made in a time where they were already quality compared to now, and certain brands because they have an image and standard to keep.

There's quite a bit more across the entire fashion industry and it'snot something I'm much more well versed in than what I already posted or said, but this is what I have the energy to mention atm.

i dont consider myself a 'fashion guru' by any means but one thing i will say is guys you dont need to know the specific brand an item you like is - you need to know what the item is called. very rarely does a brand matter, but knowing that pair of pants is called 'cargo' vs 'boot cut' or the names of dress styles is going to help you find clothes you like WAAAYYYY faster than brand shopping

[raven0usravi0lii]

I do not like the terms canon and fanon when applied to creepypasta because. Nnnoooo. There is no canon Sorry. There's no end. It's just a bunch of stories YOU mash together. If people want to make Jeff a crybaby or something who cares. If people want to say toby loves waffles who cares. Masky is Incrrredibly off the mark? Guess what. Who cares. If people want to say oohh it's gritty and bloody and gorey who cares. That's why jeff (I only know his) and everyone else has so many different last names. Jeff Woods. Jeff Hodek. Jeff Mason. Jeff Blalock. Blackwood. Sure. The second you start hating on other peoples interpretations of Any character get OUT!!! OuT I SAY. OUT!!!! and this INCLUDES GACHA LIFE. AND THE BAD FICS. AND THE INCORRECT QUOTES. AND THE DEVIANTART COMICS. AND GRITTY SLENDERVERSE SERIES. AND THE DARKER STUFF. AND THE GOREY ART. AND THE CUTESY ART. AND THE FUN ART. AND THE STUFF THAT SAYS THE CREEPYPASTAS ARE HORRIBLE PEOPLE. AND THE ONES THAT JUST SAY THEYRE MISUNDERSTOOD. AND THE REWRITES. AND THE ONES THAT TRY TO STICK BY THE ORIGINAL MATERIAL AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE. AND THE ONES THAT SAY EVERYONE LIVES TOGETHER IN THE MANSION HAPPILY AND THE ONES THAT DON'T. ALLLL OF IT. I LIKE ALL OF IT. I THINK ALL OF IT IS BEAUTIFUL AND TRUE. AND I LIKE THAT SO MANY PEOPLE HAVE DIFFERENT IDEAS FOR HOW THESE GUYS CAME TO BE. BECAUSE THATS FLIPPING EPIC SAUCE DUDE. I DONT LIKE PEOPLE GOING "Erm that's fanon mine's better" BECAUSE IT HAPPENED TO ME LIKE A WEEK AGO. AND I'M STILL SALTY ABOUT IT. NO. WE ARE ON AN EQUAL PLAYING FIELD. WE BOTH LIKE CREEPYPASTA. WE ARE COMRADES.

[hwaightme]

03:10 AM

(masterlist)

🌃pairing: bf!seonghwa x gn!reader 🌃genre: timestamp, comfort, healing, fluff 🌃summary: 3am, a time for overthinking. is love louder than your thoughts? 🌃wordcount: 1k 🌃warnings/tags: unedited, introspection, lack of confidence, two people in love, kissing, cute sleepy seonghwa, writer is rusty 🌃taglist: at the bottom. would love to add you if interested <3 🌃a/n: oh how i wish to write again, to pour words onto pages and let my heart bleed into the ink. this timestamp is mildly inspired by maro's 'we've been loving in silence'. sorry for rustiness, and any love is so appreciated...

Everyone is deserving of love. Love in all its shapes and colours. A love that looks like a tender conversation in a tiny kitchen, a love that looks like unstoppable laughter under the starry night sky, a love that looks like unwavering dedication and adoration even when it seems impossible. Every person is worthy of a love that makes their heart feel full while being fully aware of the world and all its complexities, shadows and anguish. A love that gives one hope.

Sometimes, this complicated feeling looks like speeding down the city streets as a salvation in the time of trouble. It could even look like a distraught, disjointed embrace accompanied by a cacophony of sobs and stuttered breaths. Love can look like feeling another’s pain, living through it as if it is one’s own. Love can mean heartbreak, over and over again until there is seemingly nothing left, and yet still the ground up powder of affection would be offered as a sacrifice to this mystery.

What is love to you?

You wonder, particularly on nights like this, when a blanket of calm covers the metropolis in which you found yourself, not too dissimilar to a shell being washed up on the shore to encounter a glorious, blazing sun. A twinkling magic on the other side of the glass greets you, and you rest a finger on the coolness, tracing distant shapes of building after building, only to haphazardly wipe it down with the edge of your sleeve. How did you end up in a place where you thought you would never be, feeling what you had sworn you would be unable to feel? 

A gentle melancholy aches in your chest, etching the curves and edges of your ribcage, an incessant little bird, bubbling up that old sense of unease. What is this that you are living in? If you do not know, will it go away? The loud mind, an old friend and enemy, one which had accompanied you through all stages of your life, to find itself equally as bewildered as your heart, but a lot more terrified. Caught between bliss and a painful awareness of the unknown, you walk a tightrope blindfolded.

At least until a hand reaches out for you, warm, reassuring, and guides you across to an oasis. A beating heart, a familiar breath, palm pressed against your upper arm take you out of your spiralling musings, and beckon you to look in the direction of a soft, barely audible whisper of ‘my love’. 

You turn to meet Seonghwa’s eyes, endless pools of glistening brown sugar, enough to both extinguish and ignite, turn dark to light and wrong to right. A timeless poetry is in his face, the rhythm of his features casting a spell over you as you glance over them. These sleepy eyes, stunning nose and cheeks that bear a pinkish hue, plush lips caught in a miniscule pout, dishevelled hair that you know your boyfriend tried to tame, to no avail. You turn your body to meet him fully, and fall into his arms. They envelop you tightly, and you inhale the ghostly remnants of his cologne, a tantalising note of his, and your favourite shampoo, all intricately blended with fabric softener and cotton - put simply, you are home.

“Why aren’t you sleeping, hm?” he asks, voice still a little raspy. It must have been only minutes since he woke up to find you.

“I’m sorry… Did I wake you?”

“Mm… no. Your absence woke me up,” you could cry, not that you would say it, or rather have to say it. Seonghwa knows how his words affect you anyways, judging by the swift squeeze of his arms before he returns to slowly rocking side to side. 

“I just had a lot of thoughts. Wanted to get rid of them somehow.”

“Want to talk about them?” 

You are not sure if you would be able to summon enough courage to talk about what is plaguing you, at least now, in the semi-darkness of yours and his apartment, you feel far too fragile to look inside of the boxes you keep shuffling. Unbeknownst to yourself, you begin to bite your lower lip, trying to pick the right words. Any attempt to formulate whatever excuse you have been seeking inevitably fails as Seonghwa’s lips find yours, erasing your habit, erasing your worry. Caught off-guard, a quiet gasp escapes you, only to be rewarded by an airy chuckle.

“So… not talking, then?” you press your face into the crook of his neck, sensing heat rising on your cheeks. 

“You surprised me, is all…” you trail off, slowly guiding yourself upwards, but still being unable to meet Seonghwa’s gaze.

“I’ll happily kiss all your worries away, if that’s what it takes,” his tone is humorous, and the phrase is light-hearted. His glances into your eyes, at your lips, at the strands of hair that you know he will adjust for you like he usually does, holding promise and commitment. If you so wish, he will. If you so want, he will. If you so will, he most definitely will. 

Your hands grip onto his sleeping shirt as you mumble a thanks, inching closer until your timid smile melts into his. A pleasantly languid rhythm, a moonlit paradise, drawing a masterpiece with your bodies until you are struggling to breathe. An adorable exchange of sweet nothings as you fill your lungs with air, no distinction of space nor time while you are in this trouble-less duet. A small peck on Seonghwa’s lips prompts him to pull you in again, eyes fluttering shut as he floats, flies, soars in love with you. You swear you can see the stars while the taste of his cherry lip balm lingers.

As you follow him back to bed, sinking into the sheets with a sigh, inklings of somnolence settle over your slow-moving intertwined bodies. His breath turns steady, a comforting rise and fall against your back. Seonghwa’s hand is over yours, thumb making random patterns on your skin.

“Dream of me,” he says against your shoulder, grinning when he hears your sharp exhale.

This, this is love to you.

🌃taglist: @shakalakaboomboo @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @innsomniacshinestar @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @jaehunnyy @maddkitt @ren-junwrld @marsstarxhwa @yeonjunnie @asjkdk @northerngalxy @my-loves-my-life @http-gyu

enjoyed? i would love to hear from you, it means the universe to me. thank you.

[vidavalor]

I find it really funny that people think that Crowley and Aziraphale have to personally stop Armageddon: Round Two in The Finale and have this really long and involved plot to do so. Armageddon: Round One was stopped in about eight minutes by a quartet of eleven year olds. Crowley and Aziraphale were also there, I suppose...

Crowley and Aziraphale's entire contribution was to roll in out of nowhere with four seconds to spare and be like "You, Antichrist Kid! Your bio-dad is literally The Devil and he's coming soon so think quick!" and then cheer Adam on. They both made it to Tadfield separately on a wing and a prayer at the last possible minute and their role was basically GO TEAM!!! while The Them actually saved the day. Newt did more to stop Armageddon: Round One than Crowley and Aziraphale did.

Yeah, that could be different in The Finale but I'd still wager that it's more likely that Crowley and Aziraphale are more the motivation that inspires the supporting characters to take more direct action than that they're the ones who take out Satan and The Metatron and save the world directly themselves. Their role is inspiring the other characters to see that a different world is possible and supporting them as they do. They've actually done a lot of that work already.

S2 seemed like it was setting up for this a bit. Uriel's refusal to kill Maggie and Nina and support of Gabriel in 2.06 indicates she's on our main characters' sides now. Jim + Team vs. Satan seems likely after the suggestion in S2 that Gabriel is the only one who Satan is afraid of, since they have equal power. And you know who I bet is going be the one who deals some extreme sanctions to The Metatron? Michael. I don't think she's going to take finding out that it's all been a sham very well. Plus? She is the duty officer. 😂

There's going to be plenty of time for Crowley and Aziraphale to reunite because the story really works out in spite of--and kind of because of-- the stuff they've fucked up, not because of the stuff they do particularly well. I think this will be true in The Finale, too:

[the-prophesied-disco-gay]

My spouse and I are currently in the process of getting all the legalities squared away to be able to make each other's medical and end of life decisions so that we can divorce. Because disability is reduced if your spouse is *also getting disability* and we can't live on that amount (less than 2k a month total, combined). Disabled people can't even marry each other without losing benefits. We DO NOT have marriage equality.

Oh also we are both mixed Native but our children will never qualify for tribal membership or benefits because my spouse and I are from different tribes. This means the kids don't have a high enough percentage of either tribe to qualify. A rule put in place by white people btw. Indigenous Americans did not start that blood percentage crap.

So Native people do not have marriage equality in 2024 either btw. Not if we want to have kids. Which the government claims is the purpose of marriage.

Yay.

[weltraum-vaquero]

Swan song

Professor Viktor x TA Reader

[PART 1]｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆[PART 2] ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[PART 3] (coming soon)

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[AO3 link] ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

Summary: You’re a bright phD student who won’t shy away from a challenge. Getting the most notorious professor at the University of Piltover to hire you as his assistant is one of them.

Tags: Modern AU, SFW (for now…), DILF professor Viktor, romanticizing and eroticizing borsht, lab shenanigans, reader being filled with equal parts shame and lust

Word count: 7.8k

Notice: This fic is written with a transmasculine reader in mind, but that won’t come into play at all until the final third chapter of this mini-series.

Notes: A little something something while we await season two ;] The draft for this post deleted itself twice now. If the formatting looks wonky (especially in the texting section), NO, it doesn't. Shut up.

He didn’t lie. 

Which is all the more shocking, considering you attend his 8AM lecture on the very same day, and he seems more bright and alight than you’ve ever seen him.

When did he find the time?

Though there isn’t a daunting amount to your thesis just yet, you still want to believe you’ve written something quite substantial over the past months. 

You toss one glance around yourself before you follow him into his office after his lecture, and you find the stack of papers you’d left on his desk last night looking positively devoured, in the most… academic way possible. Scribbles and notes litter the margins, the edges of the papers are already somehow lightly worn. 

He must have read it multiple times.

“Coffee?” He offers.

“Yes, please.”

As he gropes the machine in search of its switch again, he cocks his brow at you. “And what was that for?”

You frown. “What was what for?”

“That… glance, before you followed me into my office.” The switch clicks, the light comes on. “Looking around like you were being followed.”

“Oh,” caught in the embarrassing act, you shrug. “I don’t know. Being cautious, I guess. Students have been looking at me a little funny, lately.”

“Much too late for caution, I’m afraid.” 

Uh oh. 

As he retrieves two paper cups, you’re left wondering what exactly that should mean.

“Why’s that?”

“I thought you were well aware of the fact that rumors would start, um… circulating the moment I made it public that I had hired an assistant.” Coffee trickles into the cups, a soothing little melody. Viktor leans against the wall beside the machine as he watches the cups fill.  “I’ve always been adamant about not needing one. It is natural for people to have questions — and to come up with, eh, answers — when I suddenly do.”

The notion of the answers students might have come up with swirls around in your brain. 

You wish they were right.

You’re glad they’re not.

You look at Viktor.

“Do you mind it?”

The coffee stops pouring. Viktor does that thing again, spreading long fingers apart to grasp both cups. And he’s quiet — for a beat longer than he should be.

“No. There are more important things to worry about than… gossip.” He sets the cups on the table, then takes his seat. He hesitates for a brief second, craning his neck before he fixates on you, motionless. Waiting. “Do you?”

“Trying not to.”

The answer makes him… deflate, somehow. It’s barely visible, for just a fraction of a second his chest sinks, before his tone is back to his composed cadence.

“You will get used to it,” he assures. “Now, onto more interesting matters — your work.”

Thank god. You don’t know how much more of the awkward tiptoeing you could have handled.

“Yes.” Your heart leaps into your throat. Acting normal has never been so difficult. “What did you think?”

“Very impressive.” He slides the stack of papers towards you. “I have made some… suggestions here and there, should you wish to take them into consideration. But, I think you struck gold with your hypothesis. Should you need a conversation partner, guidance, anything at all — I would gladly be at your service.”

“Thank you, Viktor. I really appreciate this.”

At the sound of his own name coming from you, something in him shifts. Shifts with an unfamiliar near bashfulness, he stifles a little smile into the rim of his paper cup, the corners of his eyes crinkle, he settles into his seat a little further.

“But you never held up your end of the bargain,” you point out. That snaps him out of it.

“Ah, yes. I did not.” He continues to hide behind his cup, before he finally seems to decide to take a metaphorical leap, as he sets it down and stares down at it. “I fear the unfortunate truth may be that when it comes to research, I either work better with a partner, or that… Cecil is right and I need to slow down. Though I’d guess the former is more likely.”

“You used to work with, uh…” you’re not sure how to approach the topic, “Talis, didn’t you?”

“The five basic principles of applied arcanism are commonly referred to as Talis’ princies, you do not have to feign uncertainty to appease me.”

So you drop the attempt to tiptoe around the subject, and ask, plainly:

“Why wasn’t your name added on?”

Viktor scoffs. “Talis-Sidorov-Sviboda has a terrible ring to it. Or so he’d said. And admittedly… I was more of a conduit than the co-author of his idea. He said we would name the next big thing we would discover after me, but… well, you know how it is. I dedicated myself to teaching, he retired to lead a quiet life in his gaudy mansion with his sports cars and his purebred German shepherds after he married some businesswoman.”

Though his story does line up, those aren’t necessarily the rumors you’d heard. There’d been talk of more than just a mild dispute of names, and… well, there had been… something between Talis and Viktor. But that’s about all you know.

Under your gaze, Viktor grows suddenly uncomfortable — both with the subject and the fact that he might be able to tell you know more. He’s quick to redirect the conversation.

“As for my research: I have been studying the laminal hexoin cascade in stabilized hexgems in various matrices. And though bold, I have been attempting to figure out the ideal matrix — something that will allow for close to a hundred percent energy renewal and render all other sources of energy obsolete.”

”That is bold,” you say. Your other thought, you keep to yourself: it also sounds impossible. You suppose stabilizing hexgems 20 years ago was also something thought impossible — and yet, Viktor hadn’t shied away. If anyone is apt for the job, it is him. “Any luck so far?”

“Partially. They have been yielding favorable results, but not enough to be viable energetic alternatives as of now.” He takes his cup again, bringing it to his lips in a rushed movement, drinking a mouthful, rather than a sip. Once Viktor sets it down, his hand remains on the table, fingers tapping on the shiny surface once, twice— “I could use a theorist to assist me with a few things.”

The implication dizzies you. Is he…?

But then he slides another one of his drawers open, and retrieves a stack of papers. Slanted handwriting, barely legible — you’re by now intimately familiar with it: his cursive. It litters the pages, in different inks and in pencil, diagrams, sketches… just looking at it makes you hungry to read it.

He smiles as if he’s read your mind, again.

“I was thinking it could be you.”

—

You’re invited to his office for lunch break the very next day too. And though he assures you there is no pressure in having to read through his notes by then, you disregard it.

It takes you a reread to be able to make sense of all his scribbles, but… it’s brilliant. He’s brilliant. 

It should stop surprising you by now — his ideas, his drive, his curiosity, his mind — but with every single time Vikror impresses you anew, he becomes something more distant.

As you’re marveling at his intricate weaving of concepts, it strikes you, unpleasantly, that this is the same man you’d wanted to devour just days ago. The man who’s made you coffee, the man whose sharp eyes fold at the corners when he smiles. 

You’d have deified him, had he been your teacher. You still do, especially now, after you’ve seen more of what his mind is made of. The mere notion of him becomes terribly out of reach, and you’re plagued with guilt for that night. Guilt for having tainted such a man with your thoughts. 

And yet, you still can’t help but think of his neck, the soft pink of his chapped lips, the hollow of his cheeks. You wonder what his mouth tastes like, and you want to slap yourself on the wrist for it. You should have, because minutes later, you wonder about worse things too. The scent of his skin, the coarseness of his body hair, how far up under his navel it might reach.

And when you finish reading his notes a second time and bring the paper to your nose to sniff it — hoping for a trace of him — you realize you have a problem. A serious one.

It torments you for the rest of the night, through the hours you spend writing up some suggestions and ideas, all the way to when you switch off the light, and hug whatever pillow’s within reach close.

When you get the urge to tilt your hips against it, you decide to get up and splash your face with water.

And you wish you could do the same thing the very next day on your lunch break, when you’re standing in the doorway of his office and he’s eating borscht. The sweet-tangy smell of vegetables, beef and beets makes your stomach growl, but your physical hunger is long lost on your otherwise preoccupied brain.

The beet red of the soup has pigmented his lips. They look kissed raw, puffy, ripe. A lavish speck of colour on his otherwise pale face, it draws your gaze and does not let it stay somewhere more respectful.

You want to taste them.

He does it for you, raspberry pink tip of his tongue darting over the plush of his lips before he swallows and finally greets you.

“Sorry,” you say, and it comes out tense, near horrified. You’ve caught him eating soup, for chrissakes, not being bent over his table. Oh, god. Why did you have to think about that? ”I’ll come back later.”

“No,” Viktor gestures to the empty seat across from him. He screws his thermos shut, and puts it away. “Please, I’ve been waiting for you. Sit.”

And you do, like the dog you feel like you are right now.

“Did you manage to find the time to read my notes?”

Oh, did you.

“I… followed your example and made some suggestions of my own. But on separate pages. Here.”

His reaction is more than what you’d hoped for. It’s more than the impressed raise of thick brows that had kept you fueled last night, it’s more than the smile you’d been hoping for. 

“You are unbelievable,” he grins, and takes what you offer, pushing his glasses up his nose before he starts reading. You selfishly use the distraction to stare at his lips again. He mutters to himself as he reads, pink mouth molding around whispered jargon, nodding. “Yes, this… this is exactly what I’d hoped for, when I’d asked for your assistance. Your fresh set of eyes is invaluable. I hadn’t thought of approaching the modification from that angle.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the page for even just a moment, flipping it surprisingly fast, and taking it with him as he leans back in his seat. 

And decides to torture you.

Viktor traces the pad of his own thumb over the curve of his bottom lip as he takes in your handwriting. The give of the flesh under his fingertip hypnotizes, the slight drag of rough skin on soft pink one, your mind is long gone.

You think of rough fingertips on his lips, on his chest, rough fingertips on the pasty white of his gaunt lower stomach, rough fingertips in coarse hair. Rough fingertips dipping between his milky thighs, rough fingertips on where he runs just as pink as he does on his lips, rough fingertips dipping, slipping on slick skin—

You need to stop.

And you most certainly need help.

“Is something the matter?”

It feels like you’ve swallowed your own brain whole when he speaks, because your skull rings hollow when you try to come up with a reply that isn’t incoherent babble.

“Wh— me? No. Why?”

And because embarrassment loves to stick around once it has made its presence known, the stars align for the next social disaster: your stomach growls. Loudly.

“Did you not have lunch?” Viktor asks.

“I… didn’t get around to it,” you admit.

“I won’t take up too much of your time, then,” he assures. If he knew just how much of your time he’s started taking up — and the fact that you wish you could give him what is left of it to him, too.  “I would like you to work alongside me on my research. But if you don’t feel like you can squeeze another project into your presumably busy schedule, I understand. I would be glad to have you merely as… a colleague to consult with, as well.”

Is that even a question? He’s offering you the opportunity of a lifetime. You would be an idiot not take it. 

And an even bigger idiot to turn down more time spent with him.

“You don’t even have to ask,” you joke. “Yes. I would be thrilled, Viktor.”

This is his first smile you witness when his pretty boyishness doesn’t shine through. It’s a gentle quirk of his lips, no teeth to be seen, just tenderness. It makes your heart leap to be the cause of it.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Thank you.”

Silence.

Just as you’re about to breach it — he does it first.

“Would you be free for lunch tomorrow as well?”

He watches you from below long, dark lashes as you give a breathless yes.

—

“I brought you something.”

It’s the last thing you expect as you step into his office at noon, upon exchanging hellos.

You’re alight. With curiosity, above all else. And with worry — why would he bring you something? What will you do to reciprocate? 

“Thank you,” you say, though you have no idea what for just yet. “What is it?”

“I saw you eyeing my borscht yesterday.” There’s a glint in his eye that suggests more, so much so you can’t decide between flirting or digging a hole for yourself in the hardwood floor of his office. 

The middle ground is standing in his office awkwardly as he unzips his backpack.

He retrieves two thermos bottles: the one you’re already familiar with, and another that looks older, more worn, and sorely lacks the sticker you’ve so come to love and fixate on and dream about. “I, eh, I made you some. In case you wouldn’t get the chance to eat before you came here.”

Your chest swells so much it hurts. 

He made you soup?

“You… Viktor, this is… thank you. You shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to. Have a seat.”

You practically jump into the seat across the table from his — a seat you’ve come to associate as yours, in spite of being well aware of the oppisite.

As he screws the bottle open and pours some steaming soup out into a paper bowl — god, he’d brought paper bowls — his eyes flick to you.

“But if you don’t care for borscht, you don’t have to—“

“I do care.”

And that rings true not just for the borscht.

It rings true for the soup he brings you the next day too, it rings true for every word that passes his lips. And it rings true for the time you start to spend in the insane coffee shop queue to surprise him with his preferred order and a slice of cake (a different one each day, until you figure out his favorite: cinnamon coffee), it rings true for the dark blue roughed up thermos he lets you take home the day you don’t finish the soup he brings you because you’re just so busy talking.

It’s November before you know it.

As the days grow colder, it’s not rare to be finding warmth by lavishing in Viktor’s attention as you ramble on about ideas — either for his research, or your thesis. All while he intently follows your thoughts with a smile, stopping just to shave another mouth-half-full’s worth off his cake of the day with his plastic spoon.

And once he savors the last bite, Viktor almost always flips it hollow side down, sliding it down the swell of his tongue within his mouth, removing it from between puckered lips. His cheeks hollow, he holds eye contact all the same, and it’s a mental image that haunts you. A mental image you project in your mind, nestled between the apex of your thighs. The thick of his tongue. The cushiony seal of his lips, the suction of his cheeks. 

It never becomes any less distracting than the first time it happens. 

You startle when Viktor speaks as he sets down the plastic spoon into the now empty packaging. 

“I would like you to accompany me to the lab sometime soon. When would you be free?”

You’ve been before — but just a handful of times. Mainly for him to demonstrate or disprove certain guesses, or test conclusions you’d reached together. 

“I’m free right now,” you suggest.

Viktor shakes his head. “I have a lecture in an hour.”

Right. 

“I mean… I think we could make it in an hour.”

“I prefer to take my time.” Viktor leans back in his seat, stares thoughtfully at the clock on his wall for a moment. “Would seven PM work for you?”

“Uh…” you mentally go through your schedule for the day, “yes. It should. I might be a little late, though. How about… seven fifteen-ish?”

“Good.” The flow of the word is syrupy, yet his next sentence comes out surprisingly peppy with excitement: “See you then.”

—

Though you’re well into the final week of November, it never stops bothering you just how quickly the sun sets. By the time you get to the lab, the air’s gone cold, dry, and the darkness is heavy and thick.

Viktor waits for you just outside the university lab, under the halo of the street light — perhaps just a hint overdressed for the cold, in your opinion. It’s certainly trench coat season, though his is surprisingly long, reaching somewhere along the middle of his shins. The hand he hasn’t tucked in his pocket holds his cane and is clad in a leather glove. Around his lengthy neck, a red knitted scarf lays in chunky, impenetrable layers, reaching almost all the way to the swell of his top lip and his ears. You can hardly see his smile from underneath when he spots you — but his eyes give him away. 

“Right on time,” Viktor’s tone has just as much pep to it as a few hours ago, perhaps even moreso. He rolls his shoulders, before he subtly nuzzles further down into his scarf, shying away from the biting cold. “Let’s get inside.”

He leads the way into the building, its warmth embracing you the moment you step in. The tip of your nose and your fingertips feel like they’re beginning to thaw, tingling just a hint. As you go to take off your coat, you notice Viktor isn’t in a rush. He rests his cane against the wall before he unwraps the thick, wide scarf from around his neck, folding it. He sets it on a nearby table, shucking off his trench coat, slender shoulders under a wool sweater. You watch closely as he then takes his scarf and stuffs it into the sleeve of his coat before he hangs it up. 

There’s something stiff, painful, about how he moves. You wonder if it’s the cold.

“What?” He watches you with appeased amusement.

Caught red-handed, you jump, still halfway clad in your coat.

“Nothing,” you reply, scraping for a way to deflect from your obvious staring. “Not a big fan of the cold?”

“Never.” He says it like it’s a very serious matter. “I still don’t know how I made it through my first eighteen winters in St. Petersburg.”

“You grew up in Russia?”

He laughs through his nose like you’ve told him a half good joke. “What gave it away? The accent? The surname?”

“No, I just thought… Svoboda is a Czech surname.”

With how his smile turns knowing, self-satisfied, you’re suddenly back in his office again, uncertain and nervous and asking for a job as his assistant. He could taunt you with the knowledge that you’ve looked up his last name, embarrass you a little, play with you.

But he isn’t that man anymore — not to you. This time, he feeds your curiosity, albeit just with crumbs.

“My mother’s,” he clarifies. “Sidorov is Russian — my father’s.”

Oh.

“It’s nice that they used both their names. I’m assuming that wasn’t… common, back then, and back there.”

“It wasn’t, and they did not.” Viktor waits for you to hang up your coat, watchful gaze making your every movement feel loaded with static that’s about to snap. “I added hers when I changed my name.”

Changed his name?

The image of the sticker on his thermos turns up fresh in your mind, and you can’t help but wonder…

“Well? I was hoping we could discuss more in the lab, but if you prefer the coat hanger…”

Goddamn it. Focus. You need to focus.

“Sorry.”

You catch up, then slowly follow Viktor down the hallway, into the small lab he has been assigned. It’s one of the less grand ones, but it has all it needs — from a pretty new hexion accelerator to a humble whiteboard. It smells sanitized, sterile, ozonic.

You assume your usual seat by the whiteboard while he sets up. It still doesn’t feel… right to let him do all of that by himself, but he insists upon it, so, you stay out of his way. Viktor tidies up the space just a little, finding his goggles among the mess. He slips them onto his head, elastic pulling back his soft hair into a fluffy grey and brown mess. His cane thumps against the linoleum with every hurried step — though he doesn’t seem to be hurrying on account of you being there as much as excitement to show you.

Once he’s done, he sits in front of the accelerator, slipping his goggles on, and nods for you to come. Which you do — you’d be at his beck and call beyond just the academic context. For a moment, you pluck the inviting tilt of his head and the quirk of his lips out of their context, and you plant it atop your own bed, him in just a loose shirt, underwear, lax with freshly received pleasure. More comfortable than he’s ever been, all because of you. Beckoning for you. Come here. Smiling at you when your knee dips into the mattress, tucking his index under your chin as you crawl to him, reeling you in for a kiss.

“Come closer.”

God help you.

You comply with a wildly beating heart, stepping forward until you’re close behind his sitting form, watching the accelerator over his shoulder. 

He smells nice. Like an indistinct, aromatic cologne, covering up the natural, gentle musk of his skin. You have to resist the urge to dip your head down and trace the tip of your nose along his spine, from where the bones of his neck show to where the scruff at the back of his head goes thicker, fuller. You wonder if he’d shiver as you let the scent of him imbue you… you wonder if he’d lean into it, if he’d tilt his head for you, let you dip your face into the slope of his shoulder, where his scent’s more potent.

The mere thought of him, vivid in your nostrils and clinging to your palate and the floor of your brain, rattles you with a shiver.

“I thought I’d rather show you than tell you,” he explains, wrapping both pale, bony hands around the handles of the accelerator. Steam hisses from the exhaust, flooding the room with more ozone, and gently, but certainly, the gem starts to spin behind the glass panel, beginning to levitate out of its socket, illuminating the room. 

God, you should have put on goggles too, it’s making your eyes hurt. It’s a welcome reminder as to why you chose to spend most your days staring down a blackboard rather than the thing itself. The screen right above it is more of a familiar sight to you: numbers, reading the rotations per minute, as well as energetic output, steadily increasing. 

It whirrs, magic static whirling up around the blue orb, electricity crackles. 

You can see the appeal of this over a blackboard. But you’d still take the chalk. Especially considering the deafening noise. 

Nevermind the damn goggles. You need to remember to bring some ear plugs.

“Watch the panel.” Viktor raises his voice over the hum of the machine, and turns to you, watching you from behind foggy lenses with a smile. You wish you could see the way his crow’s feet deepen. It rumbles harder, so much so Viktor almost has to shout the next thing he says, which is a shame, because his usually playful lilt is lost in the noise of it. “Not to… spoil the outcome of this experiment for you, but I implemented the conclusions we came to last week, and, it is safe to say…”

With a well-timed click and tug on a lever, the machine disengages, and the gem drops back into its socket under the influence of gravity. Its violating light returns to a faint, blue glow, like an artificially lit aquarium; fluctuating and undulating gently in its intensity. The potential energy indicator’s numbers climb back up, steadily, but faster than what you’ve seen before. 

Much faster.

You can’t help but grin with excitement. “It’s regenerating fast.”

Viktor smirks at you over his shoulder like you’re sharing a sacred, intimate inside joke. 

“It is.“

You await the verdict with a bated breath.

“How much?”

Viktor’s smile only grows, like he’s about to give you a present. And, all things considered, this is going to be one, in months’ or maybe even years’ time.

“A thirty-seven percent recovery after usage within an hour.” Viktor spins in the lab stool to face you with the theatrical self-satisfaction of a magician who just sawed his assistant in half and is waiting for the applause. You nearly forget to step back to give him the space for it, so much so your knees knock together. But there is no chance for you to apologize, Viktor is unbothered, sliding the goggles up his forehead enthusiastically, his show of complacency ditched in favor of pure excitement. “That is more than I’ve ever achieved thus far. Thanks to y—” 

His voice sticks in his throat, turning into a pained hiss.

His hair’s tangled in his goggles.

“Oh, wonderful,” he grits out sarcastically. 

A frustrated half-sigh half-groan rumbles in his chest as he pulls again and only makes things worse.

“Could you get me a pair of scissors? I should have some in the third drawer over there.”

“Wait. At least let me try first,” you insist. Reluctantly, you step closer, and after a moment’s hesitation, Viktor lowers his head for better access like a feral animal letting itself be pet for the first time. He sits still, the sound of both your breaths suddenly loud in the tall, quiet room as you’re forced to step even closer. “Could you…”

You nudge his ankles apart with the tip of your shoe.

He listens.

After a stuttering, fragile exhale, Viktor spreads his thighs. 

You take the space offered. And you try not to think about kneeling, about making a home for yourself between his thighs.

“Do you think you can do it?”

You wish he’d asked you that about any number of things, except for the goggles tangled in his feathery, soft hair.

But yes. You think you do.

It would have been a terrible shame to cut it — though some shorter, bluntly cut hairs that sit a little further back near the top of his head tell you his suggestion was not the product of a new idea. Carefully, you pull whatever hairs are looser from between the lens and the bridge of the goggles, though a strand remains stubborn. 

You try to ignore the warmth of his breath on your shirt, the intoxicating, soapy, yet distinctively human smell of his scalp, and the mesmerizing ratio of grey to dark brown, the subtle heat on the sides of your palms and wrists, resting on his head for stability.

As you separate another few hairs from the stuck strand and accidentally tug at them, Viktor has no reaction. Beyond swallowing thickly, and sitting through it dutifully. 

You wonder if he’d act just the same, had you bunched his hair into the spaces between your fingers and tugged — simply biting his tongue and chewing through the pain — or if he’s leaned into the force, moaning with it, and god, you’ve hurt him, and you haven’t even apologized.

“Sorry.” You sound twice as genuine — mainly because you apologize for much worse than the inflicted pain. “Almost done.”

“The scissors would have been faster,” he half-jokes.

His voice sounds different. A hint more… strained. He shifts in the seat, wipes his hands on his slacks.

“Would have been a shame, though. You have pretty hair.” The last part of the sentence positively escapes you, and once you hear it, you freeze. Your brain scrambles itself trying to add something that will fix the inherent following awkwardness, the horrifying realization you just called your boss pretty, the fact that it’s true, the fact that—

Viktor flinches with another accidental tug of his hair, and so do his thighs — jumping with the surprise, clenching together until they squeeze around yours. But they’re gone just as fast, flinching away with horrified urgency. Before you get to savor the supple flesh pressing into your own in another new perverted way, before you get to imagine his ankles locking behind you, tilting and rubbing your hips into the hug of his thighs.

You need. To get. A grip.

“Sorry.”

You continue on in silence, and thank everything above he at the very least can’t see the way your hands shake, because he’s staring at the floor like he could drill a hole into it with just his eyes. 

You should have gotten the damn scissors. As if through divine intervention, the rest of his hair comes loose not soon after.

“Okay. All done.” You smooth the slightly crinkled, but now free strand back down into the rest of his soft hair. 

Viktor’s dainty features come into view from below his face framing pieces as he tilts his chin up. His lips quirk into a gentle smile, his eyes sparkle in the faint blue glow, soft shadows under the hollow of his cheeks and the swell of his lip and the tip of his nose and the bone of his brow. You wish you could immortalize him in whatever way he’d let you — a sculpture, a painting, a poem. He looks ripe for kissing, eyes half-lidded and twice as dreamy as he peers at you.

You’re going to see him like this in your mind’s eye later tonight.

Nestled between your thighs, or kissing down your stomach, molten gold under long, dark lashes, sitting atop carved marbled bone.

“Thank you.” He says it quietly — like it would break the sudden holiness of the moment to say it any other way.

He’s so warm. 

You could kiss him. See what the ozone of the room tastes like in the slick of his mouth. You wonder if he’d let you, if he’d suckle your tongue into his mouth in a show of submission, or if he’d bite your lip, licking your teeth, pressing, pushing, make you earn the privilege to taste him. 

You wonder if he’d hold you, or if his curious hands would roam, tracing the front of your stomach, or your spine, or press to the middle of your breastbone like he wants to see where you’d split open for him down the middle like a ripe peach. You wonder if he’d let you dip a hand down the front of his slacks, you wonder if he’d tilt his hips into it like he’d been aching for it, aching for you. Scorching your hand with want, materialized in slick or straining hardness. You wonder which it’d be.

From where you’re standing, the distance between the apex of his chin and the space where his slacks stretch between his thighs is small — and your gaze takes the leap, searching. But the material dips and curves in such a way that you’re left none the wiser, and with nothing but a disgusting realization.

You’re staring at your boss’ crotch.

You step back from the heat between his thighs, painfully awake, aware. It squeezes and wriggles in your chest like you have a parasite lodged in the chambers of your heart. 

You’re disgusting.

You need to put an end to this.

“You’re welcome, professor.”

With that, you’re practically bolting from between his thighs, to stash the scissors away again.

You’re neglecting your job, you’re putting it in jeopardy. Putting yourself in jeopardy, risking all the rumors circulating becoming a shameful truth, you’re risking the first man who ever kept up with you, followed you where you wanted to go and took you further — you’re risking it all because he makes you unbelievably fucking horny. 

And it’s absurd. Embarrassing. You need to get a hold of yourself. 

“I was… thinking, actually,” you begin, and want to punch yourself over how Viktor perks back up from where you’d left him. “About some things regarding my thesis that I’d like your thoughts on.”

“Oh. Of course.” You have got to be imagining the subtle disappointment in his tone. The second you let yourself believe it’s more than just a figment of your make-believe, is the second you will be doomed. 

Viktor, with all his years and experience, would and does know better than to fall for his assistant. You know he does.

“What’s on your mind?” He prompts after your prolonged silence.

If he knew the half of it.

—

You’re late.

And it’s a direct, shameful consequence of last night’s lusting, the time you’d spent frustratedly tossing and turning and thinking of his mouth and his eyes and his scent, before you’d given in past midnight, and humped your hand into completion.

Thinking about him under you, about pressing your face into his neck, about pressing him into the mattress and rutting into him until he gushes and his tired body sings for you and his voice cracks. Until he breaks for you, until pleasure itself oils and unscrews all the biological cogs of his body and he comes out unstrung, reborn.

Viktor’s in a wheelchair. 

And he looks worse for wear than you’ve ever encountered him before, slumping in the chair and massaging his eyelids with his thumb and index, seemingly gathering his thoughts. He’s dressed even warmer than usual, in a loose but thick, dark red sweater. There’s a colorful knitted blanket folded and set over the tops of his thighs. 

Viktor doesn’t acknowledge you when you come in and sit near the whiteboard, simply resumes his lecture as he regains his mental footing. And he goes on for a while, not sparing you a single glance, as he goes through powerpoint slides today, instead of his usual writing and hand drawn diagrams. 

He’s at it for a while, not as fast as his usual pace, but undeniably concise, certain. Until…

“The energy output increases proportionately to the spin, and, with powerful enough matrices, some hexgems can create force fields of their own. This is a particularly common phenomenon in unstabilized gems as well, though with the activation of their force field, those tend to also create… eh…”

Viktor stops, sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose. He frowns, mumbling something in another language, which, judging by the heavy consonants and squeezed vowel, you’d assume it’s Russian. The word must be slipping his mind, so you decide to help out.

“A shock wave.”

Viktor’s gaze cuts. He’s looked at you with disinterest before, sure, but this… 

He doesn’t even turn his head to look at you, just eyes you from the corner of his vision like something unworthy of acknowledgment. You wish you could swallow your words back up.

“Yes,” he says. “Thank you. A shock wave.”

You don’t say anything again for the rest of the lecture. 

Once the door falls shut behind the last few students who have left the room, Viktor turns to you. You wish you could shrink; and it feels like you do, when he finally speaks.

“I appreciate your intention to help — but do not interrupt me again. I know what I’m trying to say.” He sounds utterly unlike himself, both spent and angry. “I don’t need help. Especially not in the middle of a lecture.”

“Sorry.”

That alone softens him up a hint. He looks away, rubbing his thumbs against the wheels of his chair, before he speaks again. Calmer. 

“Just… do not let it happen again.”

As he slumps in his seat, massaging at his temples, you understand that his anger… might not have been as directed at you as you’d initially thought. He’d been snippy when his back hurt — having switched to a wheelchair must mean he’s in a lot more pain now.

And you understand his frustration. He’d just gotten himself an assistant a few months back, and started a new project — looking like he requires help in front of his students is certainly not doing his reputation right now any favors. 

“But if there’s other things I can do to make your day a little easier, I’d like to do them.”

“No, thank you.” He shakes his head, before he grabs both wheels and advances to where he’d left his bag. As he starts packing his things, he stops again, quietly groaning somewhere in the back of his throat. “Where did I put my pen…”

Viktor eventually finds it right behind his water bottle on the table, tossing the both of them into his bag, shutting it tightly. You expect him to wheel himself over to the ramp that leads to the exit, but he just hangs his head, massaging at his temples again, before he looks at you.

“Actually, I’d like it if you went to my office and got me a silver tin box in the… fourth drawer on the left side of my desk. Do you have the key with you, or should I give you mine?”

“I have it. I’ll be quick.”

“Thank you.”

And you deliver on your promise. You don’t run, but you power walk there, and you’re back with (hopefully the right) tin box in the same lecture hall before his break ends.

Viktor takes it from you gladly, popping it open. It contains two foils of painkillers, one already half empty, a small ziploc bag of… gummies, and at the very bottom, some dark chocolate. 

You must have pulled a bit of a face at the contents — particularly the gummies — because Viktor cocks a brow at you, before he faintly chuckles under his breath and pops three painkillers in one go.

After depositing the foil back in the box, he fishes out the dark chocolate bar. It looks to be the expensive kind, something Belgian — Viktor breaks off a piece, putting it in his mouth, before he holds it out to you.

“Peace offering,” he clarifies when you hesitate. 

You’d be a fool to turn him down. You take some — it’s rich, buttery, and melts on your tongue. It coats your mouth with its taste, dark and aromatic and unfortunately not as sweet as you thought Viktor preferred. He’d always favored the almost disgustingly sugary cakes.

“Didn’t think you’d like something so bitter,” you say.

“I do not. It sometimes helps with my migraines,” he tells you. “Sugar makes them worse. A very… devastating discovery to make, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

You wonder if right now is the right time to be curious — and you decide it might be.

“Do the migraines also affect your leg? Or the other way around?” 

“No.” Viktor shakes his head, popping off another piece of dark chocolate. “This,” he gestures at himself, the wheelchair, “was just a very unfortunate… overlapping.”

“Oh.” You grimace in sympathy. “Fun.”

“A punishment for it, more like.” 

What’s that supposed to mean?

“Let’s hope my migraine eases up on me throughout this lecture.” He smiles at you — and for the first time you’ve known him, he looks old doing it. Exhausted. The face of a man who’s seen enough hardship for a lifetime, but has yet to cave under it. 

You wish you could hold him. You wish you could melt it away, kiss it better, love it better. Whatever he’d let you.

You surprise both him and yourself when you lay a gentle hand on his shoulder and let your thumb rub a small circle over the wool. 

Though he flinches at the first contact, once something in his brilliant mind unfurls and settles, so does he. Through the cracks, tenderness shines under the fatigue. Viktor can be soft — in spite of everything im his body and his past that protests against it. “Thank you.”

You take your hand away sooner than you’d like — but at the ideal time to keep it from being anything more than a friendly touch.

“I’m glad I could help,” you say.

—

Viktor isn’t there at all next week. 

You come in on Monday to find his office empty during lunch break, and when you attend his lecture, it’s another professor from his department teaching it. The students don’t seem all too excited about the change either — and you leave before it even starts.

Heimerdinger is none the wiser about Viktor’s situation when you talk to him — in spite of their shared history. He simply tells you he’d taken the week off and had arranged for substitutes.

You consider messaging him… and ultimately end up doing so, after some internal debate. You simply text him to get well soon and that you hope he’s getting some well-deserved rest. He replies with just a plain thank you.

Tuesday is quiet. You receive a stack of midterms you need to get through from the substitute, and you do, by Thursday morning. Which is when Heimerdinger messages you.

Dr. Prof. Cecil B Heimerdinger

Good morning! I’m well aware this is on very short notice — but the substitute professor has unfortunately suffered a minor car accident. Not to worry; they only sustained small njury. However, I am finding myself forced to task you with Viktor’s lectures today. Do you think you could take care of that? Thank you.

-Cecil B. Heimerdinger

9:32

Just the thing you needed — teaching two full lectures, entirely unprepared.

Alright. You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You just need to find out what’s even on the agenda for today. You could text Viktor, right? If he answers on time, that is… he’s sick, he might as well be asleep right now. You could call, but… he said only to do that in the case of an emergency when he gave you his phone number. 

Would this count as an emergency?

Your phone beeps.

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

There should be a black flash drive in the third drawer on the left in my desk. It has all my lectures.

9:34

Today’s topic is LHC segments naturally occurring in unstabilized gems. Feel free to use my work laptop to familiarize yourself with the presentation before the lecture.

9:35

Me

Thank you so much! 

9:35

His answer comes a few minutes later, just as you fish the flash drive out of his drawer, and plug it into his laptop.

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

Good luck 👍 

9:42

It would be a lot easier to get caught up in the desire to snoop around on his laptop if you didn’t have less than 20 minutes left until the lecture. His background is disappointingly the default image, but some of his folders look undeniably tempting — not just the scientific ones, which take up most of the space. There’s some photo albums titled with the year and location: Germany 2011, Czech Republic 2009, among many others. There’s also a photo album titled Persichka. 

Who is that? 

You almost click it. But then you check your watch again and realize you only have 15 more minutes until the lecture, and decide against it.

—

For how utterly unprepared you are, it goes surprisingly well. You stumble, once or twice, but you’re glad to see that even by the end of the lecture, you still have most students’ attention.

After you dismiss the class, you don’t expect questions. But a good handful of them, a little under ten, approach your desk, whispering among themselves, before a hastily appointed representative emerges. 

“We were just wondering,” she awkwardly begins, “if professor Sidorov-Svoboda is alright. And when he’s coming back.”

“Oh.” You hope they’re asking because they understandably prefer him, and not because you did a particularly shabby job. “He texted me just today — he’s doing alright. But I can’t give you an exact estimate for when he’s coming back just yet.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

With that, all of them turn to go. After the last student has left the room, you reach for your phone, and pray you don’t see any other day-altering messages today. 

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I did not mean for you to have to do this. 

10:11

You unlock your phone and jump straight into the chat.

Me

Don’t worry, it’s alright. I handled it :)

12:02

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I knew you could.

12:02

Thank you.

12:02

Me

Focus on resting up and getting well soon! 

12:03

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I have been. I actually feel well enough for company now. Coincidentally, I’ve gotten some ideas for your thesis and I would like it if we discussed them sometime. Would you be free this weekend?

12:05 

He wants to meet? Outside of the university? Undoubtedly for academic purposes still, but your heart squeezes and bounces and pops with the implications. 

No. You shouldn’t let yourself hope for more than just a few formal, at best friendly hours spent together.

Viktor doesn’t want you. He would never want you — he knows better. You know better.

Me

I’d like that! Saturday works for me. Where would you like to meet?

12:05

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

If you’d prefer somewhere on academy grounds like my office or the coffee shop, either would be fine.

12:06

My apartment is also an option.

12:06

The choice is obvious.

[lovingpiastri]

GOOD OLD FASHIONED LOVER BOY (op81 x female!reader)

ꪆৎ who the hell cares if it is 2024! oscar's one true mission is to show you all his love languages. even the 'outdated' ones..

warnings: tooth rotting fluff!

dating in the modern world is possibly every hopeless romantics most haunting nightmare, their bane of existence if you will. unlike enamoured couples in the fifties, people these days have lost the plot of loving one another, & displaying affection seemingly became equally as difficult as scavenging for a needle in a haystack. most loverboys adapted into heartless playboys alike to all the cliché 2000s chick flicks that the protagonist has their heart stringed tugged by.

on the other hand, oscar piastri would never resemble anything remote to those ruthless segments of crap. afterall his most favourite thing was to cherish you and he had the most unique methods of doing it in this loveless generation.

1. illegally burning cds with all your most adored melodies and harmonies of songs. perhaps the riskiest one of all but it's the thought that counts . for the longest time music has been your escapism, and it's only fair for oscar to gift relaxation for you on a silver platter. sure he could create you a lousy spotify playlist , but it's the effort that adds the cherry on top.

2. sharing a sickenly-sweet milkshake in a time capsulated 80s diner that has been stuck in a forgotten for far too long . the delightful gesture has a silent intimacy, one that's almost to difficult to spot yet it's most definitely present. especially when your foreheads clash together on accident as you both lean in for a long sip of the vanilla treat.

3. holding up a much-too-heavy boom box outside your home, alike to lloyd dobler, in attempt to serenade you using only the most romantic frank sinatra song 'love is here to stay'. all whilst swaying to the sound of the jazzy saxophone and the amorous piano instruments working in symphony. oh what a dork!

4. even remembering the tiniest details about you never fail to make you giddily kick your feet, so it was excellent that oscar didn't happen to have short term memory loss! from how you prefer your coffee down to your silly catch phrases when something unfortunate occured. he remembered them all.

5. dragging you along to a much too exhausted photo booth, a machine in desperate need of repairing yet the damage was what made the gesture all the more amorous. the old strip of film was threatening to rip apart even when brand new, so as one would (or just oscar) he stored it in his phonecase, resembling a display case in a museum which entrapped the most compellingly stunning soul: you!

©lovingpiastri

[linkspooky]

GOOD SIBLING, BAD SIBLING: THE FIRE SIBLINGS VS. STARFIRE AND BLACKFIRE

What could two siblings born in a royal family where one is scapegoated and the other treated like a golden child possibly have in common? More than you think.

This post is making the rounds again and I thought it would be fun to make a longer post going into depth why I think Starfire and Blackfire avert the common trope of good sibling bad sibling, by comparing it to something that fails to avoid that trope. If you like doomed siblings or bad victims then click the readmore.

Good Sibling, Bad Sibling

To start off with I'm going to explain what I mean when I use the words Good Sibling, Bad Sibling. It's a trope that's an extention of what I call Good Victim, Bad Victim. It's when a story compares two victims of abuse, and one victim is a more acceptable victim while the other is a bad victim because they're not perfect suffering Cinderellas.

Victims of course still have agency in their responses, they're still culpable if their actions go on to hurt someone, they don't have a right to hurt others, but I think it's also true most people are quick to judge victims for not being strong enough to endure abuse when they haven't been in the same situation.

It's easy from an outsider's perspective to be "I wouldn't do that". It comes from a pretty shallow view that villainizes abusers and renders them as inhuman monsters when the truth is all abusers are still humans and anyone can fall into patterns of abuse whether they mean to or not.

One reason I hate this trope besides like, the fact characters that aren't perfect victims are often considered "too far gone" and murdered by the narrative, it's also just really shallow. In the end it usually comes down to the victim getting love and support healing and the victim who didn't have support getting worse. Which is like, a no duh of a situation. A person without friends or a support system or love in their life tends to not get better? Who woulda guessed.

Good Sibling, Bad Sibling shows up when two siblings are raised under the same house, sometimes even in the same abusive circumstances and one is a hero and the other is a villain. Another version of this tropes is the fact that if there are twins one of them is usually going to be a good twin and the other is an evil twin.

I can understand where this trope comes from because like siblings are a naturally close relationship, so it makes it a deeply personal conflict when a character's sibling turns against them. I don't even think it's a necessarily bad trope, if both characters are humanized equally which almost never happens.

Examples of this trope: Gammorra and Nebula, Mai and Maki, Shoto and Toya, Dick Grayson and Jason Todd, Itachi and Sasuke.

And of course, Starfire and Blackfire, and Zuko and Azula.

My goal is to show by breaking the source material, New Teen Titans and the Avatar Cartoon down the former averts the trope and the latter plays it straight.

The Golden Child and the Scapegoat

A common trope used in dysfuctional families is dividing children between a golden child, and a scapegoat. The parent often projects all of their positive qualities on a golden child, along with high expectations. While the Scapegoat has all their negative qualities projected on them, and is often blamed unfairly for the dysfunction in the house. They are scapegoated so to speak, and constantly the victim of things like shifting goalposts.

It's like a more extreme version of playing favorites with an extra dollop of abuse on top. Also to be clear, this is an abusive dynamic where both sides are abused. They're not being seen as parents by their parents, and they are essentially being pitted against each other. There are plenty of parents who will be just as harsh on their perceived favorite. Being the golden child doesn't really safeguard you from abuse, even if it seems to be the more favorable position to be in.

Also in general when discussing abuse, arguing over who has it worse is kind of a pointless argument.

Also sometimes the playing favorites is intentional. By splitting up siblings and putting them against each other, the parent gets more control over each of them like a divide and conquer strategy. After all an abusers primary objective is to maintain control over someone by patterns of abusive behavior meant to wear down their sense of resistance.

With that being established, comparing the two royal families is interesting because the "hero" sibling is the golden child in one version, and the "villain" sibling is the scapegoat in another. If anything this proves that both forms of abuse can be the reason for a villain's tragic backstory.

STARFIRE AND AZULA THE PERFECT PRINCESS

Starfire might appear at first to be the total opposite of Azula. One of them is a hero who's like entire character is built around her overflowing emotions and the love she feels for people. While Azula is cold, calculating, and often treats her own friends like pawns instead of people. Starfire also doesn't repeat the cycle of abuse, while Azula does.

If you look past that there's a lot of comparisons to draw between the two of them. They are both raised in warrior, war-like cultures. The Tamaraneans may be all about that peace and love but like, an early conflict with Starfire's is that because she was raised on a planet as a warrior she doesn't understand why other heroes have a no-kill rule.

Azula is also a product of her culture. To begin with she's raised as a child soldier, of a nationalist and imperialist nation who are actively colonizing half the war. Azula also contributes significantly to the war effort, and never shows any doubt to the values of her culture.

As a brief summary of their early characters, Azula is princess of the fire nation which went to war with the world. She's the daughter of the Fire Nation's absolute ruler. She's however, the second born and not ever expected to inherit the throne. She is introduced in season one when Zuko vents to an unconscious Aang about how everything has always been easy for his sister. In Season two she becomes the main antagonist, first tasked with retrieving her brother, and then decides to try to capture the avatar on her own. I'd also be remiss to mention that Azula is the most personal antagonist the heroes face, because Ozai is more of a final boss. Starfire is an alien that was sold by her sister into slavery essentially (Blackfire is not a good person). She escaped to earth and became a member of the Teen Titans where she found a new family and worked as a hero. She's basically an immigrant to earth and there's a lot of culture shock. Starfire eventually returns home to her planet when it's in danger, and faces her sister as an antagonist.

This is another way in which they differ, Azula is the primary antagonist and negative foil to Zuko, and Blackfire is the primary antagonist and negative foil to Starfire.

While both basically have the tentative position of the favorite, while their sibling is demonized, it's made clear to them that they're not actually "safe" with their parents. Both sets of parents are awful and the origin of all abuse within the household. These characters also receive a slap in the face after being in denial for a long time that these parents will even mistreat their "favorite" child and treat them like an object.

Though, I would argue that Starfire is more in denial about her parent's abuse and will still see them as loving parents, while Azula is aware that her father could turn on her and strives for perfection to keep herself "safe".

Note Starfire is still saying this stuff after her parent's sold her into a political marriage.

Ozai: My decision is final. Azula: You ... you can't treat me like this! You can't treat me like Zuko! Ozai: Azula, silence yourself. Azula: But it was my idea to burn everything to the ground! I deserve to be by your side!

I've seen some people's unsympathetic readings of this line that Azula throws Zuko under the bus, but like... Azula doesn't want to be abused like her brother. What a monster. Let's see how you react when the father you thought was safe turns on you, I think most people would say or do anything not to get hurt.

I don't want to sound too critical of Starfire because she has her reasons (Blackfire abused her severely) but both Starfire and Azula seem to justify their parent's abuse to themselves by saying Blackfire or Zuko did something to cause the abuse. Sliding the blame from the abuser to the abuse victim. They participate in the parent's scapegoating of the the least favorite child.

I'd like to point out though that the ultimate cause of the situation is the parents themselves. The abuse started when they are children, and expecting Starfire and Azula as children to like, go out of their way to protect their abused siblings is expecting a lot out of them.

Like Azula is afraid to lose her position as the favorite because Ozai has demonstrated before that he'll horribly mutilate his children. Who would have guessed. Blackfire severely abused Starfire in their childhood, so she sees Blackfire as her enemy and not her parents who would have guessed.

In general too, expecting Starfire and Azula to be perfect siblings in an abusive household, and always protect their siblings, is once again a lot to expect from literal children who don't have fully developed brains.

However, I would say in both cases, they both try harder to connect with their sibling. This is where I get angry anons in my inbox, yes I'm going to make the argument that Azula was a better sibling than Zuko was to her. No I also don't expect Zuko to be a perfect big brother when actively being abused by Ozai. No I don't think Zuko owes Azula anything because she too prioritized her own well being over him that's what abuse victims do.

I'm just making the argument with in text examples that Azula does more things to help Zuko, and Starfire actively tried to befriend Blackfire before the sibling abuse started. In fact I think that's what makes both relationships incredibly tragic. It's not really two siblings who love each other on opposite sides of a conflict. It's that Blackfire and Zuko can't see past their own abuse, and can't love their siblings.

Once again I'm not blaming Zuko for priotizing himself, but I also think it's unfair to critcize Azula for taking care of herself and not sticking her neck out for Zuko when they were both being abused. Wow why are people extra harsh on Azula and extra forgiving on Zuko. It's almost like women are always expected to be perfect nurturers, and when they're not allowed to be complex human beings with flaws. My old enemy the Madonna Whore complex you strike again!

Anyway onto the examples. The big one is that Azula invited Zuko back after Ba Sing Se, seemed genuine about wanting to help resstore his honor. This is also a sacrifice on her part, because as I said even when he was banished Zuko didn't lose the title of crown prince. His status as the heir was never in question and like, letting Zuko stay a prisoner in Ba Sing Se would have ensured his inheritance would fall to her.

Why don't you let him decide, Uncle? [To Zuko.] I need you, Zuko. I've plotted every move of this day, [Makes a fist.] this glorious day in Fire Nation history, and the only way we win is together. At the end of this day, you will have your honor back. You will have Father's love. You will have everything you want.

Now common criticisms people use to argue that Azula has good intentions.

1) Azula needed Zuko to turn the tides in battle. While Azula was kind of in a corner in the fight where Zuko turned she also had Mai and Ty Lee and the entire Dai Li on her side so I don't think she'd really assume she needed Zuko to defeat the avatar. Also she starts getting backed into a corner long after she made the offer to Zuko so she had no way of knowing that ahead of time. Also, also, she might have just been backed into a corner for the sake of drama, making it more impactful when Zuko shows up and turns the tide.

2) Azula somehow knew she might not kill the avatar and needed Zuko to take the fall. This one doesn't make sense because Azula doesn't have any idea that Aang didn't die, until Zuko hints at it. After that point, Zuko kept it a secret from her and refused to tell her even though the truth being revealed would impact both of them. Like for Azula to know ahead of time she'd fail to kill the avatar when she made her offer to Zuko, and then bring him back to take the fall would require some 4d chess on her end.

Two more examples are Azula goes out of her way to warn Zuko that he might get in trouble for visint Iroh so often. On the Beach she's the one who comforts him and retrieves him from their old vacation house. When they're in front of the fire and Zuko is troubled she asks him what's wrong and even asks if she's the one at fault. Whereas Zuko mocks her for not having problems when Azula confesses her mother thought she was a monster he doesn't say anything in response.

In Tales of the New Teen Titans we get a closer look at Starfire and Blackfire's childhood, and we're shown Starfire tried hard at first to get along with her sister. Starfire also, in spite of being a victim of Blackfire's abuse went out of her way to save her life twice.

Something Blackfire responded with by immediately trying to kill her. Blackfire, you are a piece of work. In both cases, I'd argue Starfire and Azula try at least to have a positive relationship with their siblings. Attempts that are almost completely one-sided. I don't want to demonize Zuko too much though, because as I said when you're actively being abused it's number one easy to see the other sibling as being better off, and only natural you would prioritize yourself.

Also, Blackfire was an adult and continued the abuse later on in life when she had more agency, whereas Zuko for most of the tv show was a minor and you shouldn't hold minors to adult standards. If I judge characters for having an imperfect reaction to abuse, or not being perfect siblings I can no longer call myself a bad victim enjoyer.

Both Starefire and Azula as I said, participate in the scapegoating. In both cases it's out of a desire to maintain their spot as the golden child, because they want to assume they're safe.

Starfire actively defends her aprents all the time, while insisting that Blackfire was evil to begin with. Which is understandable again because Blackfire's abuse is just so much worse than anything Azula does to Zuko. It's expecting a little too much for Starfire to see the humanity in her abuser when she's a lifelong victim.

Like little blackfire things: Killing her sister's pet.

Phsyical abuse, actively trying to kill her even before they were on opposite sides of a war.

Selling her into Slavery (where Starfire was sexually abused).

It's extra tragic because both are essentially blaming the other for their parent's abuse. Blackfire takes out her pain on Starfire as revenge for her parent's favoritism, even though it's not her fault. Starfire demonizes Blackfire because she refuses to confront the fact that her parent's are abusive.

This is behavior Azula engages in as well. If you read into her actions, you can tell she blames Zuko for his abuse, you can't treat me like Zuko, while also believing that if she can just make Zuko act more like a prince he won't provoke his father anymore. Once again, sliding the blame on the abused rather than the abuser makes Azula feel more safe, because she also believes if she's perfect Ozai will leave her alone.

Zuko and Blackfire: The Banished Prince and the DIsowned Princess

This is another pair of seeming opposites. Blackfire is essentially Starfire's most personal arch enemy, occupying the same spot as Azula. Zuko is a villain for awhile, but honestly he's bad at it, and until the end of Season 1 he's so ineffectual he's more comic relief. Blackfire like Azula is insanely competent and causes a lot of genuine harm to the protagonists, and is far far worse than Zuko or even Azula obviously. I mean I've already listed some of the things she did above, but she also let her planet be conquered by aliens, orchestrated not one but two cues, and tried to have her parents blown up on live television.

However, both characters are effectively disowned and banished from their country for their inability to fit in. Both are banished and excessively punished.

Blackfire is the first born princess of Tamaran and she should have been heir to her family, but she was stripped of her inheritance because she was born disabled. Every Tamaranean can fly except her because of a sickness that nearly killed her when she was younger.

That's right everyone, the disabled representation you've been waiting for the sibling abuser and war-mongerer.

I think Blackfire's abuse covers a common way parent's treat their disabled children, where they don't want to make accomodations and make it clear they' don't want to take care of a disabled child and spend all their attention on their abled children instead. This trope is often called "Better dead than disabled."

Also I'd be remiss to point out that Tamaraneas have access to hover technology so Blackfire's disability doesn't inhibit her in any way. Like damn, parents will do anything but try to accomondate their disabled child.

Zuko is punished needlessly for a small offense of speaking out of turn in a meeting for not wanting to sacrifice young soldiers, and then refusing to fight back against his father in an angi kai. At which point he's banished and sent on a fool's errand of hunting the avatar.

Blackfire's reason for being banished is uhhh, because she tried to kill her sister in combat training, but also she was stripped of her inheritance just before being born disabled. She awas punished for things she couldn't control before she did anything wrong.

Both siblings also try to make up for their trauma and perceived deficiencies by constantly projecting violence. Blackfire is like, obsesed with war, Zuko's definition of honor is more focused around glory gained by combat more particularly killing the avatar in the first season. Both of them actively participated in colonization, Blackfire helped colonize her home planet, Zuko burned Kyoshi village and helped Azula with Ba Sing Se. Blackfire brought back an army to colonize her home planet, then attempts a military coup of a rather peaceful reign her parents secured not once but twice.

Both are blamed for their parent's abuse, it's Blackfire's fault because she was a violent and unlikable child she made it impossible to love her. It's Zuko's fault, he just didn't try hard enough to please his father and fit in as a prince.

While I may sound overly critical of Avatar's writing I do like how they gave Zukio a lot of chances to make mistakes and screw up, and instead of condemning him or dismissing him as too far gone they kept reinforcing that he always had a chance to better himself.

Both characters are really jealous and tend to blame the other sibling who's treated as the favorite for their abuse.

Zuko: "You're like my sister. Everything always came easy to her. She is a firebending prodigy and everyone adores her. My father says she was born lucky. He says I was lucky to be born... I don't need luck though - I don't want it. I've always had to struggle and fight and that's made me strong. It's made me who I am".

Though to give credit to Blackfire, while as a child she blamed Starfire for everything and used her as a punching bag, as an adult she seems to understand that the cause of their conflict was their parents and in fact tries to explain this to Starfire multiple times. So she's matured enough to see that Starfire is ultimately a victim too.

As I said too, Zuko is a child, he's also like still actively being victimized by Ozai while at the same time under the notion that if he does the right thing he can earn Ozai's love for 3/4ths of the show it's easy to understand why he'd blame Azula for his position as the scapegoat instead of Ozai.

Zuko never attempts to convince Azula to change sides with him, or considers that an option. When Azula is like, falling through the air about to die he doesn't tell his friends piloting the bison to try to save her. His stated goal when fighting Azula in the fignal agni kai is to put her in her place. That's literally a line he says.

Zuko, the empath when noticing she's having a total mental breakdown says "She's kind of off" and decides to take advantage of that to win the fight. When Azula finally breaks down and is screaming and crying, he just kind of sits there looking bored.

I'm not arguing that Zuko owes her anything that's a personal opinion, just that it's inconsistent with Zuko's writing. Zuko is presented to us as a character revolving around redemption, that learns that love and forgiveness are key to growth and healing and then just... doesn't apply those same lessons he learned to his sister.

That same kind of hypocrisy is present in Starfire, but it's like intentional. Starfire's inability to empathize with her sister, when her entire character revolves around empathy and love shows just how damaged her relationship with her sister is. Even then Starfire like, saves her life twice and was never able to kill her. With far more reason to not empathize with her sister, while blatantly hating her, Starfire still has that tiny bit of empathy for her. It's also like, Tamaraneans are a violent warrior people, and they're also extremely emotional and full of love, Starfire embodies both sides of that.

It's not just Blackfire either, it takes Starfire a long time to learn that she can't just kill criminals (again understandable, a cultural thing, in fact people like Dick are a little bit too harsh on her for this instead of trying to explain and understand where she's coming from). It is consistent with Starfire's writing, she is openly loving, but she's not the team mom that's Donna.

Zuko like, not even trying to redeem Azula or just like, not really caring is inconsistent with the writing that's trying to tell us that deep down Zuko is a caring person that is going to help heal the fire nation by showing them a better path forward. Zuko's double standards towards his sister, and his unfairly blaming her for his father's abuse is not written as a flaw. Blackfire unfairy blaming Starfire for her parent's abuse is a flaw. Blackfire's abuse of Starfire is her own fault, which is something she continues to do well into adulthood.

Which is why it's kind of all the more baffling, that Blackfire is way worse, is humanized a lot more by her narrative than Azula is. Now we reach the final part.

The Final Agni Kai

Now to trash on everyone's favorite scene that I absolutely despise as the end to Zuko and Azula's arc, while praising what is my favorite arc in the whole New Teen Titans manga. In the series finale of Avatar, Zuko after reuniting with Iroh is tasked with challenging Azula for the throne in the Agni Kai. They fight, and Zuko comes out on top.

In what is essentially the final fight between Starfire and Blackfire, Starfire is alerted by her brother that things are going down on her planet. She leaves earth with the Teen Titans and returns to her planet for a second time. Where she learns that she is being sold by her parents into an arranged marriage, as a part of a peace agreement with the invading force of her planet. Something that Starfire does not take well too, because she's currently in love with her longtime boyfriend Dick Grayson.

I'm going to skip over the Soap opera that is Starfire and Dick, because it's soon revealed that Blackfire too has returned in order to orchestrate a coup to overthrow her parents once more.

In the end Blackfire reveals her plan that she's set up an ion bomb to hold the whole planet hostage unless her parents abdicate and declare her ruler. At which point, Blackfire succeeds.

Both plots involve the scapegoat finally reclaiming their heritage and beating their sibling for the first time, one is the hero, the other is the villain... or are they?

There's a reason I love one arc and hate the other. It's that Blackfire is eventually allowed to be her own seperate character from Starfire, whereas Azula is ultimately just a plot object to strengthen Zuko's arc. This is shown in just, the amount of focus Zuko and his inner world are compared to Azula, how he has one of the most lovingly tailored redemption arcs shown throughout the entire show whereas Azula's mental breakdown is rushed through the entire end.

However, to further illustrate this let me show how well the New Teen Titans humanizes Koriand'r. To begin with, we see their childhood from both perspectives, to show both are biased narrators. Starfire represents her sister as being born evil, while Blackfire believes Starfire being the favorite took all her parent's love away from her.

Blackfire also gets, sympathetic motivations that demonstrate she's also capable of love and craves it deep down but suppresses it because she believes she needs to be a weapon of war. Something that is directly stated by the comics and only like implied by offhand by the avatar show.

In fact Blackfire gets to star in her own comic which tells a story where she is temporarily blinded after her first defeat to Starfire. After feeling helpess she feels like she's lost the will to fight, the will to kill, the will to rule which is how she defines herself.

Blackfire survives with one of her soldiers who doesn't abandon her, and helps teach with her rehabilitation teaching her how to fight while blind. Their relationship grows so close that Dorion feels like the first person that ever took care of Blackfire, and she breaks down and admits how much she wants to be loved. She almost seems willing to give up her conquest.

However, Blackfire misses out on the chance to be loved because her fanatically devoted soldier tricks her into killing him in order to show her that she still has the edge to kill.

This also clues us into more complex motivations for Blackfire. She is actively a patriot who believes that her father's rule is weak (she turns out to be right) and believes that conquering her planet is in effect her way of saving it. She has to put on this persona because the cause is more important than anything in her life, even love.

(This also contrasts Starfire who has no interest in being a ruler and runs away to live on earth with her love).

Also I'd be remiss to mention at the end of this particular arc Starfire doesn't forgive her sister or reconcile with her. I've never believed she owed her that. The arc just shows that Blackfire a human being (or a tamaranean I guess) who is capable of both good and evil. That her motivations are more complex than being a power hungry usurper and she actually can have good intentions. She's more of an example of the 'Well-intentioned Extremist" trope.

It's the complete opposite of Azula who's reduced to the mad queen stereotype in the end. Which is another knock against Avatar, Blackfire might not be the best disabled representation in the world but as I said parent's only treating their disabled child as a burden and that disabled child watching their parents take care of and love their abled children is a real thing that happens all the time. The comic also goes to show how competent Blackfire is in sipte of her disability.

Whereas, I can't imagine what it feels like to see yourself in Azula's mental breakdown, only to watch her last moment on the show have her offered no support, and not even a single sign that she might recover one day. Blackfire's motivations are tied to her abuse, but she's not demonized for being disabled in fact she's fantastically competent. Azula's like, readuced to an inhuman, ugly monster, and her mental illness takes all of her agency away and once again we're shown no hope for recovery.

Azula is reduced to a screaming incoherent mess. She has basically no agency in the end. Not only does Blackfire have agency, but like she has acutal points to make? The story values her point of view and gives credence to it? Myand'r is a weak ruler. She's not wrong when she says that their parents are the source of abuse for both of them. In fact, the narrative directly states the ones who started the abuse are their parents while it only implies it again with Azula and Zuko. Maybe the reason so many people deny that Azula is an abuse victim is because we only see the abuse from Zuko's perspective not Azula's. Whereas we get both conflicting accounts of Blackfire and Starfire's childhood and the narrative trusts us to judge things with nuance rather than needing it fed to us.

The planet has been invaded twice now. She's also, like, more popular with her father's weak rule?

Also like the story shows us why Blackfire will make a better ruler than Starfire. The narrative doesn't really illustrate how Zuko will be a better ruler, it just follows the "good king" trope.

I mean it's a fun little parallel that both Zuko and Blackfire are both an exiled prince and princess respectively, who return home to take back their throne. On one hand though, it feels like Zuko does it out of like, wanting to reclaim his birthright, or his feeling that the throne is his destiny. That's part of Blackfire's motivation too, but as I said, Zuko never states onscreen how he plans to improve the fire nation, Blackfire's got like actual policies.

Which is where the difference ultimately lies, Blackfire and Starfire are ultimately characterized as two sides of the same coin who need to come together to save the planet. Killing blackfire or putting her down won't fix shit or end the cycle of abuse on Tamaran. Blackfire and Starfire are much like Tamaran defined by love and war, and there's love and war in Starfire, and love and war in Blackfire and they both need to find a balance between the two.

This is in contrast to Zuko and Azula who's final conflict is just putting Azula down like a mad dog, quite literally. Blackfire is allowed to be human, with good and bad traits, and like actual points to make whereas Zuko's narrative only cares about Zuko's thoughts, and in general instead of coming together the narrative seems to think the only way that Zuko can triumph is if Azula is dragged down into the mud.

Blackfire is a character, and Azula is ultimately just a plot obstacle.

So that's my long ramble on a sibling relationship I absolutely love, and a sibling relationship I can't love no matter how much I like Zuko and Azula individually.

[ask-lala-and-lana]

Okay, after constipating if I should do this or not because I barely even started with my first comic but, anyways, I'm starting with LaLa first because Lana's gets to much love from me.

1. Pretty, obvious but, eyes

2. When i was starting out with LaLa,I could decide between Spinel from Steven Universe or Lolbit from FNAF.. I voiced claimed him as spinel, but now that I'm thinking about it.. Lolbit is better for him.

3. Indoor, LaLa absolutely hates light.

4. Doing his job of killing- i mean.. rebooting the teachers.

5. His dream job was to a famous Rockstar because he really wanted to become like his idol, and well, he is now an assistant. He still wishes to become a Rockstar!

6. The fact that he's no longer a boy. Explanation : he was killed and being held captive by his aunt and uncle, and one day his uncle accidentally experimented on him with a gender-switch-potion and made him lose his masculinity.

7. His very long hair ✨️

8. He loves action fantasy.

9. School books ;-;

10. He really loves scenecore, rock and odetari's music.

11. With umi.

12. Before dying, he was an average student that got B's and C's.

13. McDonald's.

14. He's afraid of lizards

15. Before he died, he was the popular kid who got along well with everyone but his friends were 3 guys : Darius, Taylor and André.

16. B.D (before death), he loved both of them equally, but he was more of a daddy's boy, but not in that sense. I mean it "like father, like son".

17. LaLa adore Lana because she's the only family he has left. (Lana and LaLa had 3 other siblings).

18. Any memory of his uncle and aunt.

19. Even tho he loves Lana, he loves his twin brother, Leo, more than anything.. The sad thing is he can't even remember when's the last time he saw him.

20. His first timing learning the guitar with his dad ❤️.

21. Reading books, rewatching The Owl House, chilling with her sister,.boyfriend and çøű§ïŋ.

22. All stages of grief. (Minus acceptance)

23. He's too quick to judge people as for his strengths, his insanely strong thanks to his new powers.

24. Not good, the second his mom died thanks to some drunk woman on the news. He completely trashed his room and was in an absolutely rage cause even if he loves his dad more, he still values his mom.

25. His fav is dark pink and his favorite is the souls of the DHMIS teachers as for normal food uhhhh.. steak ;)

26. Anything sweet and green.

27. Libra :)

28. Cat person, he's scared of dogs.

29. B.D, he had an ex-girlfriend, and they did kiss, but only once.

30. He doesn't think a lot about marriage so no.

OC Ask Game

Thought I’d take a crack and make one you guys can reblog and enjoy and play amongst your mutuals.

does your oc have any motifs?

describe your character's voice. do they have a voice claim?

is your character an indoor or outdoor person?

what's your character's favorite recreational activity?

what was your character's dream job as a kid? is it different than what their career ended up being?

what is the thing your oc likes the least about themselves?

what is the thing your oc likes the most about themselves?

what book genre is their favorite?

what book genre is their least favorite?

what kind of music do they enjoy?

has your OC ever fallen in love and with whom?

how well does your OC do in school?

where would your OC like to go on a honeymoon?

An embarrassing secret about your OC?

who is your OC’s best friend?

how does your OC feel about their parents?

how does your OC feel about their siblings?

a memory that still makes your OC angry?

a memory that still makes your OC sad?

a nostalgic memory from your OC’s childhood?

hobbies your OC enjoys?

what is holding your OC back to achieve their goals?

what are your OC’s biggest flaws and biggest strengths?

how does your OC handle death of someone they know?

favorite food and color for your OC?

least favorite food and color?

your OC’s zodiac sign?

is your OC a dog or cat person?

when was their first kiss?

does your OC wish to be married someday?

[magpie-come-east]

The fandom’s general disdain for Godrick is both unfortunate but really quite fitting. Godrick doesn’t have that obvious sympathetic angle most of his siblings have. And it is ‘interesting’ how his castle of dismembered bodies is regarded as more horrific inherently than, say, Caelid or Shadow Keep or the Shunning Grounds or Volcano Manor Town.

Godrick’s impact on the world is very small in the grand scope of things, but quite visceral. He was a small-time player capturing Tarnished and mutilating his underlings. Like a couple of NPCs call him a loser and he clearly revels in his bloody power; that’s the only thing that sets him apart from equally ‘vile’ but beloved fan favorites.

Godrick is a character people write off as disgusting and pathetic - the first real hate-able obstacle in your path.

But I see him, really, as the first and most obvious sign that your end goal of restoring the Order is a farce. He represents all the internal rot of the system. The disregard for human life and dignity. The shorn Omen in his castle and the Misbegotten slaves of Morne. His obsession with acquiring enough strength to be worthy of Godfrey- his ancestor that founded the Golden Order through conquest and enslavement. That he takes new strength by robbing it of others, a sort of symbolic conquest all his own on a personal level. The way that his ‘conjoining’ of various grafted parts is not a harmonious work of purity and power, but a necrotizing amalgam of disparate pieces taken by force. It could have only been accomplished by inflicting suffering- including upon himself.

Agh!! I just really like Godrick he’s so underrated!

[evilslushy]

would you be open to doing bf headcanons for hamzah? they could be sfw and nsfw or just sfw. love ur writing :). <3

BF Headcanons _♡

SFW

i’m a very opinionated person, so asking me about my hamzah headcanons is a FIELD DAY for me

I’ve always said this but I feel like hamzah (in the beginning of the relationship) is very shy? Not in the way of “ignore any possible interaction between you and him” but more of a “ignores eye contact after a kiss” or “blushes when you call him a nickname for the first time”

He acts like he hates when you baby him but behind closed doors… BIGGEST BABY EVERRRR

It took him a while to hold your hand in public, not because he's embarrassed but again because he gets too flustered when you run your thumb up and down against the back of his hand,,, or when you play with his hands in general.

I MENTIONED THIS BEFORE IN FIC BUT HAMZAH IS AN EAR BLUSHER AND HE'S SO CUTE WAA

If you get on his lap and play with his hair while talking about random stuff, and you kiss him out of nowhere HE’LL SMILE THIS BIG SMILE AND COVER HIS EARS IM CRYINGGGGG HES SO CUTE

Speaking of kissing lololol

Hamzah’s kisses are SENSUAL, he takes his time and really makes sure you feel his love

Contrary to popular belief i feel like if you’re with hamzah for long enough his love language becomes physical touch

And i dont say that and mean ONLY kisses but hes such a cuddly person. HE NEEDS THAT TLC HES A BIG BOY

BUT. Big but! He is not the type of person to show affection publicly IM SORRYYY

Holding hands and hugging is fine but i think more intimate things he’d rather do in private…

Not because hes embarrassed as i said, he gets shy at other people perceiving that version of him especially since he isn’t ‘acting’ or ‘joking’

Also he feels like only you deserve to see him like this hehehe

His love language is quality time. Like actually.

His head on your chest, playing stardew valley on his ipad. You watching TV or reading while playing with his curls.

Another form of this is that he’ll ask you to be him and martins cameraman just to have you there with him

Or he’ll ask if you want to try a new coffee shop that opened down the street

He’s a man that likes to be around you 24/7

ALSO ALSO ALSO OMG OMG

HE WOULD SO FORCE YOU TO DO BACKGROUND VOCALS FOR SOME OF HIS MUSIC LIKE THE RAPPERS HE LIKES LMFAO

I dont wanna go on too long with this but one thing is for sure

You’re his princess for REAL treats you like ROYALTY lol

If you guys get into an argument. Even if you’re wrong, he ends up apologizing

“I shouldn’t have let it boil over to this anyway.”

10/10 boyfriend. Totally recommend.

NSFW

SISTA. I HAVE NEVER EVER THOUGHT I’D HAVE THE PLATFORM TO SHARE THESE THOUGHTS BUT I HAVE TO MAKE SURE YALL UNDERSTAND ONE THING!!!!

Hamzah is NAWT a boob or ass guy. HE LIKES BOTH EQUALLY. (He is secretly is ass-leaning tho LMFAO)

This is so funny but he totally is the type to smack your ass randomly when he walks by.

Do you get mad? Yes. Do you tell him to stop it? Yes. Does he stop? No. Do you secretly think it's kinda…? WELL YESSS

TWO WORDS. Boob squeezer.

I think from what we can understand so far. is that Hamzah is the handsy man. HIS HANDS ALWAYS SOMEWHERE LOL

sex drive is for sure high. and when i say high… ITS HIGHHH

Contrary to popular belief AGAIN.

Hamzah doesn’t partake in dirty talk much… not that he doesn't like it—he just wouldn’t in my opinion? It's not that he wouldn’t talk at all, but he is more of a heavy breathing, whimpering, moaning guy—pretty much more noises than actual words

Though as i said, he would talk sometimes, especially if he’s feeling really good, or his stamina is lasting him longer than he thought… he starts getting a little cocky

On the topic of dirty talk, if he does talk, 99.9% of it would be praising, i don't see him enjoying degrading unless you ask him to.. but he’ll be a little awkward about it LMFAOOO

Something like: “fuck, baby you’re taking me so good.”

(Unironically starts actually using good girl after a while of making it a joke btw)

Someone sent a request a few days ago and said “i feel like hamzah has a breeding kink” and why was i gagged?! NEVER THOUGHT ABOUT IT BUT YES, i feel like hes more into the thought filling u with *** then the thought of impregnating you if that makes any sense

Im talking too much… digital footprint go hard.

(A/N): this isnt proofread, i kinda braindumped but i had fun doing this!! Thank u anon for the request I HOPE U LOVE THIS CUTIE MWAAAAHH

[ethereallyjade]

Pick a Pile: Where to Find Happiness RN

Choose a photo that calls to you and the cards will tell you a message. As always, this is just for fun. Do not take anything seriously or above legal or medical advice. If you're interested in personal tarot readings and want to support me, check out my Paid Readings! Masterlist

1 - 4

Images are not mine

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

ℙ𝕚𝕝𝕖 𝟙

Look for happiness in a mother, your mother, or another type of mature woman in your life. Seek your femininity, as well as beauty. Find happiness in a daydream. Find happiness through your intuition and your creative endeavors. Find happiness in caring for yourself and others, in healing and listening. Find happiness in support and loyalty. Stand your ground, remember who you are. Don't waste time looking down upon others, just be a beacon of light for those like you.

ℙ𝕚𝕝𝕖 𝟚

You will find happiness in freeing yourself of your worries. Let go of self blame/pity, anxiety, and guilt. Block negativity and learn how to overcome your fears. Get out of bed, stand up, turn the lights on, and most importantly lift your head up. Allow your tears to fall when they need to, but remember that you are strong. Stay hopeful and allow yourself to heal.

ℙ𝕚𝕝𝕖 𝟛

Stop letting another person fill your cup. In fact, anything they put in your cup, dump that sh*t out. Learn your boundaries and then speak them. Let the world know where you stand. I'm seeing you may have recently cut off a lot of people or you want to. Do it, it's gonna bring you happiness. Stop giving yourself to people who don't respect you. Both parties are unhappy here. I'm feeling a very "I'm done with this bullsh*t. I had enough," kind of energy here. Allow yourself to disconnect and put an end to what does not serve you. You will find happiness in finding balance, connection, and equality.

ℙ𝕚𝕝𝕖 𝟜

First thing I heard was 'Dethrone the King'. I already love this pile. Y'all will find happiness in calling someone out on their bullsh*t. Find happiness in calling out those who abuse their power. I'm seeing a man in particular; a man in power, a father, or parents in general. You will find happiness in being stubborn against them, rebellion, taking back control, as well as finding discipline. You will find happiness in finding your power and standing tf up, BUT also through being logical. Follow your heart, but don't abandon your head.

I'm actually geeking about your reading. You got the Emperor reversed. LIKE! Powerful old man in all red getting dethroned. We all know what's up. I'm rootin for ya'll