#conspiracy husband <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[sunflowers-and-sweetviolets]

he's so annoying i need to kiss him immediately

[sunflowers-and-sweetviolets]

Mwah

Please...show me an image of your f/o that makes you smile :]

[pettyprocrastination]

House Husband

tw: somnophilia, consensual non-consent

Thinking about something happening with KORTEC that requires Konig to go into hiding indefinitely. Like full on faking his death, changing his name and adopting an entirely new personality.

That personality namely being your new husband.

When the team reaches out to you about the notion you shoot it down immediately- your job is to help create new identities. Passports, ID's, entire backstories to be slipped into government databases as if they had been there for years- but not playing house to a 6'6 Austrian in your sleepy suburban home.

Eventually you acquiesce, making a marriage licence and a believable story for your neighbors about the sudden appearance of the man who looks over your shoulder each time you open the door.

Thinking about how he accepts this new reality almost immediately and with little to no complaint. You'll expect to clash with him daily but instead you wake up to the smell of coffee and breakfast in the morning with him already doing the dishes. The contract killer is entirely too comfortable playing husband and wife because why shouldn't he? He's spent his entirely life being a complete recluse and now he's close quarters with a beautiful woman and a wedding band on his hand for God knows how long instead of waking up as the asscrack of dawn to run drills- he'll be milking this for as long as humanly possible and as far as you'll allow him.

It's slow at first. He's tentative- trying to see where your boundaries lay with him. When a well-meaning neighbor shows up on your to ask about your wearabouts, you feel his hand slither around your waist- eyes boring into the person standing in your doorway until they leave. Days later when you leave the house for work he insists on walking you out to your car and pressing his lips to your cheek is a chaste kiss goodbye with a promise that you'll have a good day at work. That's what a good husband would do, after all!

A week later he asks to stay in your bed- the measly twin in the guest room has done nothing but aggravate old injuries and cause a twinge in his back. You feel so bad seeing this downright gargantuan man try to fold himself into such a tiny space that you allow him into your own- pleasantly surprised when you wake up to his broad chest as your pillow and firm arms wrapped around you in the dead of night as well as his insistence that he sleep on the side closest to the door, lest anybody in search of him breaks in while you sleep.

You rationalize the sensation of his tongue greedily ravaging your cunt as it pulls you from your peaceful slumber because isn't that what good husbands do? What kind of man would he be if he left you wanting? Maybe he'd notice your lingering gaze or heard your muffled moans in the shower as you tended to your own desire spurred on by this kind-hearted but still dangerous shadow that had happily clung to you for the past month.

It's all you can do in return to spread your legs wider and curl your fingers in his firey hair, meeting your husbands eyes as he groans at your taste.

[child-of-hurin]

Agape being onboard with marrying the volatile mess that is Eugenides in Queen of Attolia, and later, presumably, being just as onboard with marrying Sophos's uncle who is Sounis... Interpretations of her agency in those matches might vary, but if you assume she was only too willing to go ahead with them... Something very intimidating about how badly this woman wants a project

"(...)He was an astonishingly angry man, but he had many admirable qualities.” [the Magus] glanced up at Eddis and said, “He could be quite charming.” “Agape might have made something of him,” said Eddis.

Handing Agape problematic men like one hands a trainer problematic dogs dsbhujfdrf

[honeyed-cherries]

bee i am begging you to let me read your paper once this is done. include the jews please i'm BEGGING

perhaps 😈

[thealogie]

picture this. you're michael sheen, beloved queer-friendly welsh actor and recent twilight saga vampire. you want your favorite book to become a tv show, and you want to be the lead. so what do you do? you befriend the author. he wines and dines you, you become a confidant in the scriptwriting phase. and in the process of the GO script you decide you don't want to be crowley, actually, you want to be aziraphale. you put in the work for months to influence the author to the same conclusion. so when neil gaiman comes to you one day saying, "i know you joined on to be crowley... but how would you feel about playing aziraphale?" you say, what a novel idea! i was feeling the same way, i just didn't want to say anything! let's do it.

you're michael sheen, the lead in the adaptation of your favorite book. you meet david tennant as your leading man, a rising star (and vocal fan of yours) you've had a few vague interactions with in the past. on set you immediately find the closest friend you have ever and will ever find in your life, and you know this. the romance you have in your (yes, your) show is ambiguous, but you're michael sheen. you think that romance needs to be explicit. so what do you do? you become a nightmare on set. you get really hands-on; you make costume choices, you make story decisions, you tell your author friend at the very end of filming: aziraphale is in love with crowley and realizes it in 1941. now go do it again.

so the author goes and does it again. you get a season 2. you get 1941 part 2. you're michael sheen, and you are the lead of the adaptation of your favorite book, and the romance you littered into the character you built from the ground up has become unambiguous. everything goes according to plan. but, you see, you have a problem: the author you have baby trapped is acting a FIEND on twitter and tumblr. he's saying everything he can to imply aziraphale and crowley aren't sexually attracted to each other. he's getting a bit too bold with his character assumptions, is all i'm saying. so here's what you're going to do: you play it up with your pal david tennant. you made a show with him during lockdown. you're going to depict your lives as even more intertwined and homoerotically codependent as previously possible. you grow even closer. your wives become best friends, too, because how could they not? this has been the plan since the beginning, too. your lockdown show ends. it wasn't enough.

so you, michael sheen, of course you put in the work. if david tennant's there, you're damn sure you're there physically, spiritually, biblically, in whatever capacity you can be. it's not hard. david tennant is a big fan of yours, after all, so he MAKES SURE you're always in the conversation. you have him wrapped around your little finger, this lovely little boy, and so you know what you do next? you become neighbors. you make your directorial debut casting your best friend's wife watching her husband and male neighbor initiate sex with each other. you play into the swinging rumors (that you, michael sheen, had started). you create a narrative that you and david tennant are two homoerotic besties, and is there more going on in the background there? any deeper conspiracy? who really knows, but what you do know is that the world is talking about it.

and you, michael sheen, your entire acting career has led to this moment, your gay quips, your oscar wilde sex scene (and the interviews following), all of your queer roles, EVERYTHING has brought us to this conclusion. you have created the lab perfect conditions where season 3 must have an explicit gay sex scene. i'm sorry neil, my hands are tied! the people are clamoring for me and david tennant to have sex-- i mean aziraphale and crowley to have sex, the public decided this all on their own! i really don't think you have much choice. but of course, i would never deign to tell an author how to practice his veritable craft. i concede to whatever version of series 3 you create, and i will happy to bring this beloved character to his deserved ending.

and why do you say this? because you're michael sheen. you're just an actor who incidentally stumbled his way into leading the queer romance adaptation of your favorite book that wasn't a romance, and you just read the script the way that it was given to you. and if series 3 means an explicit sex scene between you and your best friend david tennant, then what a lovely coincidence that you had absolutely no part in making happen. because what power do you really have?

This is my favorite book I’ve read so far this year. A rare occasion where the author pulls off use of the second person pov. I really felt like I was a beloved welsh actor crossed with Machiavelli when I read this

[cosmerelists]

The Shallan and Wit Podcast Presents: Insane Conspiracy Theories of Roshar

What do you mean they don't have podcasts on Roshar?

1. Conspiracy Theory #1: Adolin was replaced by a body double after the 4 v. 1 duel

Shallan: Oh, this is a fun one! Shallan: According to some conspiracy theorists, Adolin--my husband--actually died of injuries after his four versus one duel, and after that he was replaced by a body double. Wit: A good story, Shallan, but what is their so-called evidence? Shallan: Well, apparently the time he spent in "prison" after the duel was actually the time it took for him to die of his injuries, be buried, and for them to find a suitable body double. Shallan: People also claim that the new "Adolin" is far different from his predecessor, citing things like him actually getting married--ouch--and the fact that he acted out by killing a highprince, perhaps because the body double is not totally stable. Plus, people claim that his brother Renarin has since gotten weirder, possibly because he knows the truth and it's killing him. Wit: Well, as the wife of the potential body double in question, what do you have to say to these theorists, Shallan? Shallan: How dare you--I'M the one with body doubles!

2. Conspiracy #2: There was no Assassin in White

Wit: This theory actually comes in two flavors. Wit: Some claim that there simply never was an "Assassin in White" and that King Gavilar was killed by his inner circle--perhaps even by his brother Dalinar. Shallan: Gasp! Wit: Others buy that SOME killings were done by the assassin, but claim that many other high-profile killings were simply pinned on him! Basically, that it was an assassination free-for-all where you could easily get away with murder just pinning it on Szeth! Shallan: I mean, if you wanted to get away with murder, it's not a bad play...but what do you think? Wit: Met the guy. He readily admits to doing all of it. Shallan: Puts a crimp in the theory...if you believe an assassin! Wit: Dum, dum, DUM! Wit: Anyway.

3. The Plague in the Purelake was caused by ALIENS

Shallan: So there really was a plague in the Purelake--that much is true--but some people claim that it's not a natural plague, that it was caused...by aliens! Wit: As in...visitors from another planet? Shallan: Yes! Wit: Oh, well that one's true. Shallan: ... Wit: Worldhoppers. Shallan: Oh. Wit: Yup. Shallan: Score 1 for the conspiracy theorists, I guess!

4. Conspiracy Theory #4: Gavilar and Dalinar are the same person.

Wit: It's another one about your inlaws, Shallan! Shallan: Yay? Wit: This conspiracy theory holds that Gavilar and his brother Dalinar are in fact the same person! Wit: In his guise as Gavilar, he played the wise king, but when he wanted to let loose and bring bloody vengeance, he became "Dalinar." Shallan: Again, I'm the one who is multiple people! It feels like sexism somehow that it's all the men who are assumed to be, like, body doubles and fake people. Wit: You're probably right. Shallan: Anyway, I'll be interested to hear the evidence seeing as Dalinar and his brother were, like, seen together. A lot. Wit: Eh, "body double" explains that away. As for why people think this is true--well, it is apparently because it "explains so much." Why did Sadeas and Dalinar have a falling out? Because Sadeas knew the truth and didn't want to hide it any more. Why did Sades become the Highprince of Information? To signal that he had information that others needed to know. Why was Sadeas killed? Because he knew the truth, once again. Why did Navani marry her husband's "brother"--well, because she just missed him after having to pretend he was dead! Shallan (sarcastically): Well, I'm convinced. Wit: So compelling to be sure.

5. Conspiracy #5: Super-intelligent cremlings can imitate humans!

Shallan: For the final conspiracy theory of today's podcast, let's talk about all of Roshar. Apparently, there are people everywhere who aren't people at all--they're masses of cremlings pretending to be a person! Shallan: Literally ANYONE you meet could actually be BUGS! Wit: Ridiculous! Shallan: Yeah...this one is a little bit silly. Wit: The Sleepless are made of hordelings, not cremlings, and there's just not that many of them. The odds of your average person meeting one are simply not that high. Shallan: Wait...this one is true too? Wit: I just said it wasn't (quite)! Shallan: Trying to get a conspiracy started about yourself, I see. Wit: It's of course my dream.

[kat-aa]

unfortunately for us all, the 2016 d*emon ph*ngirl still lurks within me, and she needs to be fed, so welcome to:

Kat (kinda jokingly, kinda not) Reads Into Things That Don't Need To Be Read Into (instead of doing something potentially productive with her life, such as her homework)

anyway. fair-warning. the mental connections here are gonna be nebulous at best, completely unhinged at worst. and they're light-hearted so don't be mad im joking. but here's what we're analyzing today:

arguably the cutest clip of the video, but there's a few random moments here that make me feel insane bc either i'm reading into things or they know and are phucking with us.

circumstances: so obviously tons of husband/marriage references in their recent videos, including the cursed "hide your hand they might see it" "what? the lack of wedding ring?" moment, which inevitably, leads the mind in certain directions, especially when its related to dan and phil, the two sneakiest people in the word

exhibit a: the hand grab/slap

like ok, sure, you could argue phil is just exerting "im-on-tour-energy" previously seen in tour videos, and you're probably right but i can't help but jump at the fact that that's dan's left hand AND one could say, given the aforementioned circumstances, that he's miming slapping a ring on it. AND HE MAKES DIRECT EYE CONTACT WITH THE CAMERA WHILE HE DOES IT. which may seem like a stretch until we move on to-

exhibit b: "you thought you were getting my hand, i got yours bitch"

LIKE PLEASE I CAN'T BE THE ONLY ONE GETTING HUNG UP ON THE WORDING? like it just sounds like "getting/taking your hand in marriage" still think its a stretch? on to-

exhibit c: "that's how they do it in iceland"

yes, rationally, the last question they did was iceland related. but this is not the time, nor place, for rational thinking. and we know dan and phil lurk in places they don't belong (hey guys <3) so you can reasonably assume they know about the iceland wedding conspiracy thus,

the only natural conclusion is:

phil proposed to dan before dan could propose to phil (as such, resulting further in the support of exhibit b) along with the marginal importance of *gasp* -

exhibit d: "domination"

phil has asserted his dominance by proposing first :)

thanks for listening, tune in next week for further delusions sponsored by kat's procrastination <3

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (Part 12)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie📍 Part 13 - The Release Part 14 - Someone like her smutty💦

Part 12 Eddie

Brady tried to cut some corners to bring you and Alastor down but ends up just hurting himself.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem!Reader, still not smut cuz we’re waiting for the special moment, po-po, 5-0, down at the gun club, not an accurate portrayal of 1930s New Orleans Leadership, mystery kisses, brief thoughts of violence, illiteracy, @minkdelovely」

MDNI 👮 🚓

Edward Freeman met Kenneth Brady when the younger man was partnered with him. He was bright eyed, and had a sense of justice Freeman appreciated. He was already tired of the rigamarole of police work, so the fresh energy reinvigorated his early days and long nights. It was rather pointless though, police work, given the people in charge weren’t fans of cracking down on the illegal booze business. It was making too much money under the tables and in handshakes.

The nation was still reeling from the crash of the market nearly two years prior. Any way to get ahead, to stay with your chin above the rising waters, well… what harm is there really in feeding your family? The end justifies the means, right? And Brady didn’t seem to disagree too much with that sentiment. 

So when the typically stringent, but otherwise soft spoken and relaxed, Brady began to…devolve into someone a little too myopic, Freeman wasn’t quite sure how to handle him. They’d been rather laissez-faire about the morality of things for so long. They tried to keep violence at a minimum so their fellow citizens could enjoy their city. That was the extent of it. But, Brady was becoming obsessed. 

It started normally enough. Brady bringing up a missing husband. Later on, a missing bartender. Soon he was snooping on to other’s cases, convinced something was connecting them. 

But, given the times and the character of such people, well, Freeman couldn’t quite understand Brady’s fervor. Sure. Some of them probably ended up under backyards and in the water. Hell, quite a few of them he’d have helped do away once he got the real dirt on them. A conspiracy? Or a mass killer? That seemed implausible at best. There was simply no indication of a grande scheme. 

Brady kept pushing. Walking the streets at night with ears open and eyes peeled, for any inkling of what was going on. 

He just couldn’t accept that sometimes people leave town or jobs. Very few of them were actually reported by loved ones, even the ones that had them.

Then came along the widow Dupre, watery eyed and shaking about her missing adult son. Who, from what they’d uncovered, was a real piece of work.

Freeman let Brady start his investigation, but as it became clear he was adding it to his pile of random disappearances, Freeman had to step away. He could see the obsession ruining his friend. 

At a rare dinner with the families, the stress on Brady’s wife’s face was visible for all to see. She cornered Freeman in the kitchen when he went for more coffee, asking if Brady was stepping out on her or if he truly had been working so hard on something big. 

He hardly knew what to say. Neither were true. He’d been working late, but on a wild goose chase. 

When he dragged a clean cut and confused woman into the station, Freeman knew he’d really lost the fucking plot. 

“She’s his accomplice. I know it. Her fella is the man. I’ve got him fingered.” Brady pointed at you through the closed door. You weren’t listening to their voices in the hall, the name still ringing in your head. The name you'd both sacrificed to keep secret. 

Alastor.

Freeman hissed, “You can’t arrest people for knowing a guy! A boogie man at that, Kenny. Come on.” 

“I have her confession for prostitution. It’s all clean and by the book. And, I have a witness.” Brady tapped Freeman’s arm with the back of his hand and led him down the hall to another room, “He saw her and her guy throw a body in the river.”

Well, shit.

“You found a body? The Dupre son?” Freeman considered what he’d said. The river? Why the river? Bodies didn’t always make it to the sea. It’d be a sloppy misstep for this supposed murderous mastermind.

Brady sighed, his parade a little rained on. “...No, but I have a witness right there. And, I got the name of her fella. I just need to find which station he’s at and I’m off to the races. I bet you my house this guy’s good for it.”

Ah, so. He had next to nothing. Freeman just nodded and took a calming breath. “Alright, are we starting with the woman or this guy?”

“Oh, for sure her.” Bready turned to open the door, but Freeman shot his hand out to stop him. 

“And this is the one who gave you the runaround?” Freeman had heard so much about you already, he wanted to prepare himself for whatever tricky shrew was waiting for him. He followed his partner through the door and took you in fully. Your stare was distant and glassy. You’d been crying and you seemed to be shaking slightly from the cold of the room as fall’s night air slipped in through the window. 

You could, reasonably, be his daughter. A similar age for sure, similar build, same hair color. Same penchant for the wrong kinda guy, apparently.

He recalled all of the ways Brady had spoken about you. The image in his head was a bird faced woman with sharp eagle eyes and tight lips. Someone decidedly ugly with a permanent scowl and mischief behind quick glances.

And here was a woman, vulnerable and quite nice to look at it. Hair obviously groomed well when not manhandled by cops, and a rather handsome dress which indicated a good personality by the current standards. The shoulders had flat bows that let their ribbons fall onto your bare shoulders. Feminine. Suitable. Not much skin showing. otherwise. A burlesquer seemed to the kind who didn’t wear clothes often, but he supposed everyone has a work uniform after all. Even the nude dancers. Who was he to judge you for your professional clothing requirements? You were here and modest and that’s what mattered.

He took a seat, sliding the folder Brady had set down into the space in front of him. “I hear you’re not too fond of disclosing your personal information.”

It had been several hours since you’d arrived, and now they chose to grace you with their presence? You’d been tossed into a room and left alone for so long, it seemed more like punishment than bureaucracy.

Brady’s bright blue eyes only get clearer and darker with every ounce of anger you inspired in him. An angry sea churning up violently behind his mean mug. He was practically sneering at you. 

“Can you blame me? The men in this city are certifiable. Case in point, this hound you call a cop.” You had the forethought to keep your shoulders pulled inward, gesturing with your chin.

“Detective.” Brady corrected. 

“Same thing, jackass.” Eyes rolling, you pushed back against the chair causing the front legs to lift for a second. Returning your glare to him, you honed in on the messy details. You remembered his hair well from that first meeting in front of the cafe. It clearly had become oily and weighed down from less frequent washing. The skin under his eyes was looking dark and thin. “You look like shit, by the way. Should sleep instead of bothering honest performers.”

“Ha, there you are. True colors shining through finally.”

“How was my mom? Not much of a talker.”

“Fu-,” Brady flinched forward, chair squeaking against the linoleum floor. It took a tensing of your arms to keep from openly reacting.

“Ya’ll, enough. Now, don’t be too sour with us. We’re just working off your own words,” Freeman opened the folder to find your confession. It had been typed nice and neat and labeled DOE, JANE. He turned it to you briefly, eyebrows hitching as if to ask if you remembered it. You glanced at it long enough to see the conversation and names and nodded. Yes, you’d had that conversation. Brady must have typed it mostly from memory, you thought, or he had some quick shorthand. He brought it back to face him and as his eyes roamed the sheet, his shoulders stiffened. He wasn’t seeing what he was expecting. “Could you-?,” he motioned for Brady to point out the part of your last conversation that constituted a confession. Brady tapped a line of text. 

BRADY - Tell me about the dates Tommy arranged. DOE, JANE - Apparently many of the dancers agreed, got a cut. I had no idea about it until he introduced me to a man who was very forward. I insulted him and ran off. Lost Tommy good money, apparently. BRADY - And who was that? DOE, JANE - S something. Mister Stein? I honestly wasn’t listening much after I realized what was happening. BRADY - And then he knocked you around? DOE, JANE - Yeah. Got me good. BRADY - And… the next date. Last time anyone saw Tommy. Tell me about that. DOE, JANE - Tommy said he’d kill me if I didn’t go. So I did. Promised me he’d stay with me for protection. But as soon as he got his money he left.

Freeman’s head lifted slowly from the paper to look at you over the folder, across the table. Your arms were crossed, makeup smeared and running with long dried tears. Your hair mussed. His head turned with a crawl, weighted down with a steel ball of apprehensive horror, to look at Brady. He was leaning on the table with both elbows, staring at you like you’d busted out his car window and shot his dog. 

“Can I speak to you for a moment?” He pushed back, resting his hand on Brady’s shoulder and walking out. In the small room that looked into the interrogation room where the male witness fidgeted, he set the folder and your words down. 

He motioned for Brady to close the door behind him. As soon as the latch clicked into place, he smacked the table. 

“That isn’t a confession! It’s a fucking victim statement, Kenny.” He looked through the one way glass at the man seated, “And he wrote a witness report?” He gestured with his head, the man Brady called Joseph sat quietly waiting for their return. His clothes were pulling at the seams, his fingernails crusted with dirt. 

Brady nodded, “Yeah. He came in yesterday and after he told me what he saw he wrote it down there and signed.” He was pointing to a piece of paper he’d left on the same table Kenny was now trying to use for stability. Trying was the keyword. His disbelief was dizzying. 

A small laugh, petulant and bordering annoyed, left his lips. He grabbed a pen, wrote something down, and brushed past him. Freeman marched into the witness room, Brady closely following behind.

“Sir, do me a favor and check I’ve spelt your name properly on this paperwork please.” He held it up. The man looked, found where Freeman's finger was pointing, and nodded.

Freeman looked at Brady with dead eyes, the shutdown of his feelings was an automatic attempt by his body to try and keep from grabbing Brady by the shirt in a fit rage, and turned the paper to reveal the name written to Brady. 

Josanna. Written neatly in block letters. 

Without breaking eye contact with Brady, “And just refresh my memory, sir, what was your statement in regards to again?”

Joseph cleared his throat, “I saw it happen. Down by the river.”

“Saw what happen?”

“The crime.”

“What crime?”

“The one with the guy and the girl. It’s all in there.”

Freeman shoved the written statement into Brady’s chest, “You have half a second to get to the captain’s office before I do.” 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“That man can’t even read his own name let alone write. From what I can tell he’s a random homeless you plied with confiscated booze. What is going on with you?” The gray haired man bellowed from his chair, hands resting on a large pot belly. 

“What does that matter! It’s an illegal hooch den! Naked dancers! Race mixing! She admitted she-,” Brady was pacing a small three foot by three foot square in front of the desk. Freeman had his arms crossed while seated.

“A victim told you she was assaulted. And I-,” the captain leaned back in his chair, “You know exactly how we feel about the wet spots in this city. The, uh, race thing is another issue but— Kenny, you’re one more rogue act from losing your beat. Do you not get that?”

“Rogue? I’m doing legitimate police work. I’m investigating crime! What the fuck is happening here?!” He stopped pacing long enough wave an apology to his boss for the language. 

Freeman sighed, long and heavy. A huff of breath that somehow conveyed his disappointment better than words.

“I decide what constitutes police work and this is not that.” His boss shook his chair side to side, thinking about how to get Brady in line. “It comes straight from the commissioner and the mayor above him. We aren’t to hound the bars under our purview.”

‘I’m not!” He started up pacing again, hands up and open in genuine confused frustration. 

“You’re harassing their dancers! Stalking around their establishments at night freaking people out!” He laughed in disbelief, “Her manager is outside now. Had to shut down for the night because of your little show.”

Brady put his hands on his hips and faced away from the captain. His face enough alone to have him dismissed. 

“I know she’s involved. I know her guy did it. And I know someone’s killing people. Lots of people.” He said it confidently into the corner of the office.

“Kenny. Enough.” Freeman shook his head and stood to leave. 

“One complaint about you and you’re being chained to a desk. Cut her loose, apologize, and go home. I don’t wanna see you anymore tonight. Your freaky little eyes are getting under my skin.” His captain removed his small rounded glasses and rubbed his hands down his face, exasperated his life had come to telling men to stop doing their jobs.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

While you were here anyway, and Brady shooed off Joseph, Freeman decided to speak with you again. He offered you a nod and took Brady’s seat.

It was hard to be friendly, you found. Every minute or so you had to sniffle, nose running long after the tears dried up. Your eyelashes stuck together when you blinked.

“I’m afraid I didn’t get your name, sir.” You sniffled again, hands warming your arms.

Freeman leaned over and offered you his hand, “Detective Eddie Freeman.” You shook it, keeping your hand rather limp to give the appearance of weakness.

“I just-,” he laughed as he set his hand on the table, clicking his ring twice out of habit, “I gotta ask. Did your fella kill Tommy? Are you in some kinda trouble?”

With a scoff and a shake of your head, you found yourself, “No,  but I wish he had. What’s the point of being good if people assume the worst of you anyway?” Reaching out for his hand again, you held his large one in both of your smaller ones, “At least if he’d killed him I’d be sure Tommy’s never coming back to keep his promise.”

Your mother always taught you to make yourself small. Remind the people you needed to believe you that you were not a threat. Play the part they always pigeon holed you into. It was easier than fighting the assumptions. There was power in deception. 

“Your pal is really ruining my life. Even more than Tommy.” You squeezed, 30% strength.  

When you looked up at him, he could only find you to be the image of pitiful girl, “Let me check some things and I’ll have Kenny sending you on your way, miss-?”

“Doe.”

“Right.” His ring rapped against the bright wooden door frame, two times, and your brief time knowing Freeman ended. 

The paralysis set in as soon as the door was shut. You could hear Alastor’s name echoing around in your head, the sound so sharp it made fresh tears well. Brady had heard it, of course. It was for nothing. You worked so hard, kept his name off of your tongue despite the way it always felt so good there. 

Conjured images of Alastor barging into the police station haunted you. What would he say in anger? Brady wasn’t crazy, he was smart and lucky. Nothing could be worse. Alastor could say anything while mad, and Brady could make conclusions he had no business jumping to.

And then he was there in the room with you, and you had to return to the moment and try to calibrate yourself. Who were you now? He already knew you weren’t the damsel in distress, he knew you weren’t weak and frail. Right?

Maybe you’d just be yourself, like you’d let slipped earlier. Your mouth opened and his hand flew up, “Don’t. Shut it.”

“Excu-”

“I’ve been told to apologize and send you home.”

“Oh? And are you?”

Brady smiled, and for a moment you forgot how scary that should be. “No. You’re a liar and you’re aiding a criminal. But you work in a place I’m not supposed to bother. Luckily for me, Alastor’s work surely isn’t one.” Your eyes rolled. Hearing him say the name was like hearing a dog sing opera. Unsettling and unnatural. Perhaps a little impressive from a distance. Unfortunately you were front row and center.

Time with you felt so rare, he wanted to keep you a little longer but couldn’t think of what to say or do. Briefly he entertained grabbing you and violently shaking you until you confessed. He managed to find the strength to bury that down, mouth opening instead in preparation for words he didn’t have yet. 

“Can I go home now?” Rubbing your arms to make it clear how uncomfortable you were, you cut him off like he had you. Not that he had anything to say. 

Brady motioned with his thumb down the hall and said, “Your guy isn’t here to pick you up. Funny name by the way. I got a complaint for an Alastor last week. Socked some man for no good reason. Sounds like a violent fella, kinda guy with a temper when someone speaks I’ll of his lady, or fiancée, I’m told…Anyway, dropped the case since the guy wouldn’t give any more information but maybe I should follow up.”

“Are you so sure I have one, a guy that is?” You simply couldn’t admit Alastor was yours. Never. Not for Brady. “No one’s coming for me. No one’s punched anyone for me either. Though, I’m flattered you think I’m worth the charge. Am I free to leave?” The little tug of your lips into a halfhearted grin warmed you. It was thrilling, lying to his face when you both knew the truth.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t let you take this moment from him. He’d made a massive victory in this personal war and your nonchalant attitude was making something in the back of his skull itch. Somewhere beneath his bone. A new sensation.

A brief and violent flash of knocking the smirk off your tear stained face startled him. You noticed him swallow hard, expression shifting from amused to bewildered. From the outside, all you could read was a frightened widening of his eyes.

“Brady…? If you’re waiting for some man to collect me, I’ll be here all night.” Your voice was softer now, while you couldn’t uncover what was happening in his head, you could tell he was in some kind of turmoil.

A man unable to control his face was often a man unable to control his hands.

His legs lifted his body up and dragged him over to the door.  He opened it, slowly, before leaning against the wall beside it to ensure you passed him in close quarters. He knew he couldn’t keep you there forever.

Maybe this Alastor was a real rough fellow. So cruel he wouldn’t even care if his dame was in a bind. The kind of man to abandon his closest allies when cornered. Maybe he really wasn’t coming for you. Which was fine, he told himself. He’d be seeing him soon.

Following you out, he took the walk as an opportunity to warn you again.

“This won’t end like you think it will.” He said it too loudly for how close he was to you, “It never does for the women.” He stopped at the station’s front desk and leaned into the glossy wooden counter, “Oh! I almost forgot! Congrats on the engagement.”

Turning to say a harsh good night, you caught yourself and turned back, exiting through the station doors without another word to him. No need for polite pleasantries anymore. The game was well and truly over for you. 

“Oh thank god,” Johnny was sitting on the steps of the station and jumped to his feet when you came out, a sight you weren’t expecting. You stopped, confused. He smiled seeing your brows knit and eyes wander past him in search of someone else, “I was going to bail you out but they said there wasn’t any need. Alastor is waiting for you.” 

Like a leak in the hull of your iron-sided ship, it seemed the second Ruth so sweetly dripped that name into Brady’s waiting maw the ocean was spilling in. Every time you heard it fall from another person’s mouth the breach in your metal barriers tore wider. If the Titanic could sink in calm weather what luck did Alastor and you have in the tempest of Brady’s fervor?

“Oh…,” you tried to hide the dejection. He sent Johnny? That was smart, but, why did it sting?

Perhaps it was his six sisters, or maybe he was genuinely a good man, but Johnny’s heart ached at the pitiful tone. He leapt up two steps, “He wanted to come! But I told him it was a bad idea. Tempers and all that. Don’t need any more issues for you tonight. Though admittedly he didn’t seem mad, necessarily.”

A slow nod. Johnny told Alastor what to do? Your eyes looked to the left, that was an odd mental image.

“Thanks, Johnny. I need to return to the theater first.” Your hand reached out for his arm and gave it a squeeze, “I appreciate you.”

“Dont mention it. And your bag is with Alastor.” He let his hand come to yours, “He’s kind of a mess, that one.”

You tensed, accidentally pinching his arm in a flit of panic before drawing it back, “Did he drive home like that?”

He shook his head and handed you the card, “He said,” a pause as his eyes rolled up to search for the exact words, “to tell the host you’re there for him. Called it the Golden Dish, but the card doesn’t mention anything like that…. Sorry, I didn’t think to ask more questions. Like I said, he seemed out of sorts.”

You looked down to inspect it, nervous at the sudden introduction of a paper trail. Nodding, you finally took it with both hands. The face was rather plain: an address in the corner with just the number and street, and an interlocked G and D in the center. Turning it over, you found a pink lipstick kiss stained haphazardly across the back and a small squiggle. Your thumb ran over the clipped right bottom corner. 

What was the Golden Dish? And who was kissing Alastor’s business cards?

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[dhaaruni]

If you liked Bridgerton, here are other historical romances with the same tropes:

Virgin-Meets-Rake (Season 1, Simon and Daphne):

When the Duke was Wicked by Lorraine Heath: She's a witty debutante who's the jewel of the season, he's a seasoned rake mourning the death of his wife and child with excessive hedonism, and she recruits him to teach her how to attract a husband

The Lady Gets Lucky by Joanna Shupe: She's a shy heiress and master chef who struggles to talk to men, he's an irreverent scoundrel and would-be restaurant owner she recruits to teach her lessons to catch a husband

Devil in Winter by Lisa Kleypas: The villain in It Happened One Autumn enters a marriage-of-convenience with an heiress with a stutter (whose best friend he kidnapped, whoops) and at one point he goes, "I’m Sebastian, Lord St. Vincent. I can’t be celibate. Everyone knows that," and isn't being ironic.

Nine Rules to Break when Romancing a Rake by Sarah MacLean: She's on-the-shelf and deeply bored, he's a rake who's suddenly been given custody of his irreverent and wild teenage half-sister, she recruits him to help her be rebellious

Bound by Your Touch by Meredith Duran: He's a (seemingly) silly dandy, she's impossible to charm, and he shatters her facade

Enemies-To-Lovers** (Season 2, Anthony and Kate):

Eleven Scandals to Start to Win a Duke's Heart by Sarah MacLean: She loves causing trouble, he totally hates getting her out of it, she's wild, he's starchy, and they fall madly in love

The Notorious Lord Knightly by Lorraine Heath: She's the viperous writer who's publishing explosive smut starring him, her former fiancé that jilted her at the alter, and they find each other again

The Duke Gets Even by Joanna Shupe: She's a free-spirited heiress whose reputation was ruined ages ago, he's a broke Duke looking for a wife to fill his coffers and fix his estate, they see each other for who they truly are

It Happened One Autumn (and its precursor Then Came You) by Lisa Kleypas: two iterations of the classic, "free spirited woman meets buttoned-up man who loathes her and is kind of a freak in the sheets" trope in the best way possible. Also, Alex buys Lily a bear in Then Came You, which obviously made me cry

All the Ways to Ruin a Rogue by Sophie Jordan: His best friend is her brother, and they really want to fuck but hate it

Notorious Pleasures by Elizabeth Hoyt: She's engaged to his brother, they meet when she walks in on him fucking another woman, HATES her for being perfect, she hates him for being a degenerate loser, and infidelity ensues.

** These are true enemies-to-lovers books, not that hella lame rivals-to-lovers shit that's all over contemporary romances of late

Friends-To-Lovers (Season 3, Colin and Penelope):

The Lady Hellion by Joanna Shupe: Sophia is trying to solve a mystery (and dresses up as a man in the process), and recruits her friend (and one-time kissing buddy) Lord Quint to teach her how to shoot. She's exasperating, he's charmed and there's a puppy involved.

The Countess Conspiracy by Courtney Milan: She's a genius botanist but can't share her research since she's a woman, and he's her public face but refuses to continue anymore. He's always been in love with her, she's as oblivious as they come.

My Fake Rake by Eva Leigh: She's a scientist, he's an anthropologist, they're longtime friends and she recruits him to help her make a visiting naturalist jealous but ends up falling for him herself

Ravishing the Heiress by Sherry Thomas: They're in a marriage of convenience, but end up becoming real friends in the process before they realize they're in love

The Duchess Hunt by Lorraine Heath: He's a Duke looking to get married, she's his secretary and most trusted friend, he recruits her to find him a wife and they fall madly in love in the process

Forever Your Rogue by Erin Langston: He's her brother's friend who is recruited to help her manage her estate when her husband dies. She flits around constantly in anxiety and never sits still, and he likes it.

This should get you started!

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Historians having takes on frev women that make me go 😐 compilation

Sexually frustrated in her marriage to a pompous civil servant much older than herself, [Madame Roland] may have found Danton’s celebrated masculinity rather uncomfortable. Danton (1978) by Norman Hampson, page 77.

The Robespierres sent their sister to Arras because that was their hometown, the family home, where they had relatives, uncles, aunts and friends, like Buissart who they didn’t cease to remain in correspondence with, even in the middle of the Terror. There, among them, Charlotte would not be alone; she would find advice, rest, the peace necessary to heal her nervousness and animosity. Away from Mme Ricard, who she hated, away from Mme Duplay, who she detested, she would enjoy auspicious calmness. It is Le Bon that the Robespierres will charge with escorting their sister to this neccessary and soothing exile. […] If there is a damning piece in Charlotte Robespierre's case, it is this one (her interrogation, held July 31 1794). She seems to be caught in the act of accusing this Maximilien whom she rehabilitates in her Memoirs. She is therefore indeed a hypocrite, unworthy of the great name she bears, and which she dishonors the very day after the holocaust of 10 Thermidor. Charlotte Robespierre et Guffroy (1910) in Annales Révolutionnaires, volume 3 (1910) page 322, and Charlotte Robespierre et ses mémoires (1909) page 93-94, both by Hector Fleishmann.

Elisabeth, as she was popularly called, was barely past her twelfth birthday, younger even by three years than Barere’s own mother when she was given in marriage. On the following day the guests assembled again in the little church of Saint-Martin at midnight to attend the wedding ceremony of the handsome charmer and the bewildered child. Dressed in white, clasping in her arms a yellow, satin-clad  doll that Bertrand had given her — so runs the tradition — she marched timidly to the altar, looking more like a maiden making her first communion than a woman celebrating a binding sacrament. Perhaps the  doll, if doll there was, filled her eye, but certainly she could not fail to note how handsome her husband was. Bertrand Barere; a reluctant terrorist (1962) by Leo Gershoy, page 32.

The young nun who bore the name of Hébert did not hide her fate. She did not wish to prolong a life stifled from her childhood in the cloister, branded in the world by the name she bore, fighting between horror and love for the memory of her husband, unhappy everywhere. Histoire des Girondins (1848) by Alphonse de Lamartine, volume 8, page 60.

Lucile in prison showed more calmness than Camille. Before the tribunal, she seemed to possess neither fear nor hope, she denied having taken an active role in the prison conspiracy. What did it matter to her the answer they were trying to extract from her? They said they wanted her guilty? Very well! She would be condemned and join Camille. This was what she said again when she was told that she would suffer the same fate as her husband: ”Oh, what joy, in a few hours I’m going to see Camille again!” Camille et Lucile Desmoulins: un couple dans la tourmente (1986) by Jean Paul Bertaud, page 293.

What did it matter to Lucile whether she was accused or defended? She had no longer any pretext for living in this world. She was one of those heroines of conjugal love who are more wife than mother. Besides, Horace lived, and Camille was dead. It was of the absent only that she thought. As for the child, would not Madame Duplessis act a mother's part to him? The grandmother would watch over the orphan. If Lucile had lived, she could have done nothing but weep over the cradle, thinking of Camille. Camille Desmoulins and his wife; passages from the history of the Dantonists founded upon new and hitherto unpublished documents (1876) by Jules Claretie.

Having been widowed at the age of 23 [sic] years, Élisabeth Duplay remarried a few years later to the adjutant general Le Bas, brother of her first husband, and kept the name which was her glory. She lived with dignity, and all those who have known her, still beautiful under her crown of white hair, have testified to the greatness of her sentiments and austerity of her character. She died at an old age, always loyal to the memory of the great dead she had loved and whose memory she, all the way to her final day, didn’t cease to honor and cherish. As for the lady of Thermidor, Thérézia Cabarrus, ex-marquise of Fontenay, citoyenne Tallien, then princess of Chimay, one knows the story of her three marriages, without counting the interludes. She had, as one knows, three husbands living at the same time. Now compare these two existances, these two women, and tell me which one merits more the respect and the sympathy of good men. Histoire de Robespierre et du coup d’état du 9 thermidor (1865) by Louis Ernest Hamel, volume 3, page 402.

Fel free to comment which one was your favorite! 😀

[sunflowers-and-sweetviolets]

obsessed with them in this scene, btw.

[youremyheaven]

Rahu: Obsession, Abuse & Stalking

I was doing some research and I noticed a disturbing pattern emerge among women who have been abused due to someone's obsession upon them.

The woman on the left is Canadian model and actress, Dorothy Stratten (1960-1980) she had Shatabhisha Sun, Revati Moon & Swati Rising

The woman on the right is Divya Bharti, who was an Indian actress (1974-1993) Shatabhisha Sun, Revati Moon & Swati Rising

Dorothy's birthday was on Feb 28 and Divya's was on Feb 25. They were 20 and 19 years old when they were murdered by their partners.

Dorothy was shot to death by her former husband and manager who subsequently shot himself. They were both found dead by the cops.

Divya fell from the balcony of her 5th floor apartment that she shared with her husband and filmmaker Sajid Nadiadwala. It was officially deemed an "accidental death" 🙄but numerous conspiracy theories over the years have suggested that her husband may have pushed her off. I am suspicious of people dying due to "accidental drowning/overdose/falling/anything" because 9/10 times its just a very convenient way to murder someone and have it be written off.

I find the deaths of both these women incredibly creepy due to the many similarities between them including the fact that they have the same exact big 3 placements.

Shatabhisha nakshatra's deity is Varuna, was initially the omnipotent force of the universe and the personification of divine authority but after a lot of different journeys he was banished to the bottom of the ocean by Indra and was stripped of his former status and made the God of rains and sea (he had done nothing to prevent a drought so Indra making him the God of rains and sea is a double punishment intended to make him repent and spend his time dealing with the thing he was avoiding).

The theme of having your status stripped from you and someone "punishing" you seems to be prominent in the lives of many Shatabhisha natives unfortunately.

Every pada of Shatabhisha is ruled by either Jupiter or Saturn and both these planets have a very harsh energy.

Nancy Spungen, Shatabhisha Stellium (Sun, Mercury & Rising) was the girlfriend of Sid Vicious. She was found dead in a hotel room at the age of 20 with a single stab wound. Sid died of an overdose before he could be convicted but he is alleged to have stabbed her.

They had a very violent and turbulent relationship.

Jiah Khan- Shatabhisha Sun, Revati Moon, Magha Rising

Jiah was 25 years old when she was found dead at her home which she shared with her boyfriend, Sooraj Pancholi. Her suicide note mentioned her abortion, and sexual & mental abuse by Pancholi. An independent expert confirmed that her death could not have been a suicide but Pancholi was acquitted due to a lack of evidence🙄

Revati is another nakshatra that is closely linked to abuse but is often not talked about in that context.

Revati is the sum total of all nakshatras. Hence it possesses characteristics of all nakshatras. Looking into the symbol of two fish, these fish are moving opposite to each other. Some depictions show they are moving in a circle with each one having its head near the other’s tail. The opposite moving fish indicate two opposite sides of most aspects of life. It means they represent the good and the evil, happiness and sadness, day and night, life and death; and all other such phenomena. Revati is the nakshatra that embraces these seemingly opposite extremes at the same time.

This means that while Revati often grants immense wealth and privilege, it also indicates abuse and violence.

Rihanna- Shatabhisha Sun, Revati Moon & Rising

Rihanna's abusive relationship with Chris Brown is quite infamous. News of it became public after pictures of her bruised face leaked online. Even after this, Rihanna stayed with him and hoped he would change. She only left him after she found out he was cheating on her.

In a 2009 interview after the attack, Rihanna said that Brown threatened to kill her and that their relationship was "dangerous"💀💀im so glad Riri survived and left his ugly ass in the dust

Nicole Brown Simpson- Shatabhisha Rising

unfortunately not all victims survive.

During their marriage, Simpson physically abused Brown. According to a police report of an incident that occurred on New Year's Day in 1989, Simpson shouted: "I don't want that woman [Brown] sleeping in my bed anymore! I got two women, and I don't want that woman in my bed anymore." Brown called the police multiple times to report Simpson's abuse; he was arrested once, in 1989, after which he pleaded no contest to spousal abuse.

Following the divorce, Simpson and Brown had a volatile relationship but eventually reconciled. Audio released during the murder trial of O.J. Simpson revealed that Brown called 9-1-1 on October 25, 1993, crying and saying that Simpson was "going to beat the shit out of me". When the police arrived, Brown was secretly recorded by Sgt. Craig Lally. "He gets a very animalistic look in him," Brown stated. "All his veins pop out, his eyes are black and just black, I mean cold, like an animal. I mean very, very weird. And when I see it, it just scares me."

Nicole Brown Simpson was stabbed to death by OJ who infamously acquitted 🙄🙄

Miranda Cosgrove, Shatabhisha Moon

In 2014, Cosgrove was granted a restraining order from a Los Angeles court against a stalker who had allegedly followed her, sent her unsolicited gifts and threatened suicide. The man was subsequently arrested for violating that order and sentenced to three years of probation. In 2016, a man who had been stalking Cosgrove shot at a woman in a car near Cosgrove's home before lighting himself on fire and shooting himself in Cosgrove's yard. The man was found dead at the scene. He was supposedly going to kill Cosgrove but ended up killing himself.

Shakira- Revati Rising

There is a disturbing video of Shakira's mother in law grabbing her face and asking her to shut up. It is also known that her MIL helped her partner, Gerard Pique cheat on Shakira and that Shakira used to pay her bills?? as well?? Shakira has not spoken up about any violence or abuse but given the circumstances, I wouldn't be surprised if it were true.

Duffy, Ardra Sun (Mercury & Venus), Swati Mars conjunct Saturn, Revati Moon and Punarvasu Rising

She was kidnapped in 2010 and taken to a foreign country where she was drugged and raped for 4 weeks. She has since lived under the radar before finally opening up about the ordeal in 2020.

Drew Barrymore, Shatabhisha Sun

She had a stalker who went around asking people in New York about her address? He climbed on stage during her talk show and tried to get close to her and has generally been unhinged af

Bjork, Swati Moon & Vishaka Rising

Bjork had a creepy psychopathic stalker who was obsessed with her for years

On September 12, 1996, López mailed a letter bomb rigged with sulfuric acid to Björk's residence in London, then returned home, recorded a final video diary explaining his motivations, and ended it by filming his suicide by gunshot. Hollywood police found his body and the videos four days after his death; they contacted Scotland Yard, who located the bomb in a London postal sorting office. The parcel was safely detonated, while Björk was unharmed.

This man had been videotaping himself talking about his love for Bjork for a long time and they are superrr disturbing to say the least. He had put up a canvas behind himself while he was preparing to blow his brains out because he wanted his splattered brains to be his final art piece??? the words "best of me" was written on it😨😨

for your own sake i highly suggest not googling about this guy because it is gory and DISTURBING, those videos should not be up on the internet.

George Harrison, Shatabhisha Sun, Swati Moon

Harrison was stabbed 40 times by an intruder (who hated the Beatles) who broke into his house in 1999

the intruder evaded prison time, having been cleared of attempted murder on grounds of insanity. He was placed into a secure psychiatric unit near Liverpool and was released less than three years later.

Harrison died in 2001 from cancer having survived the stabbing.

Olivia Newton John, Ardra Moon, Ketu in Swati

The mass murderer Michael Owen Perry had been obsessed with Olivia for years and stalked her relentlessly. He eventually murdered his family (5 members) and had a list of people he wanted to kill which included Olivia. He was arrested and imprisoned. I cannot find info as to whether he's still in prison or if he was ever released tho.

Kendall Jenner, Swati Sun

She has spoken about the constant issue with her stalker a few years ago on KWK. There are even episodes showing that Kendall was hiding out at her mom's house because she was so terrified.

Kendall had purchased John Krasinski and Emily Blunt's home, then the stalking incidences began. the stalker managed to find out where she was living and he trespasses on the property, her security had to chase him off numerous times, and Kendall contacted the police. Unfortunately, each time he was gone before the police arrived.

This isn't the first time. One stalker ended up being deported while the other took a naked swim at her house and she filed a five year restraining order on him.

Claire Foy- Swati Moon

Her stalker was finally got deported to the U.S. but he was sending 1000s of emails and letters to her and her agent, contacting her family, and showing up at her door and "constantly ringing the doorbell."

Taylor Swift, Ardra Moon

she has had soooo many stalkers over the years. several stalkers have broken into her building. one even slept on her bed and took a shower in her bathroom. thankfully she hasn't been hurt.

Toni Morrison- Shatabhisha Moon

She wrote extensively about child abuse, violence, murder, rape in her novels and they were major themes of her work.

Kesha- Shatabhisha Sun

Kesha sued Dr Luke, her producer for sexual harassment, misogyny, civil harassment, violation of California's laws against unfair business practices, infliction of emotional distress (both intentional and negligent), and negligent retention and supervision. She claimed that Dr. Luke "sexually, physically, verbally and emotionally" abused her since the beginning of their professional relationship. The suit alleged he drugged and raped her on two occasions, made threats against Kesha and her family, and called her derogatory names.

The suit was dropped and the two have come to a mutual agreed settlement as of 2023 because the justice system is fcked up like that

Ellen DeGeneres- Revati Moon

another example of a Revati native suffering abuse is Ellen who was sexually abused by her stepfather

Robert Downey Jr- Revati Stellium (Sun, mercury & venus)

Robert Downey Jr. was born in New York City in 1965 to underground filmmaker Robert Downey Sr. and actress Elsie Downey. At an early age, his father, who also struggled with substance abuse, introduced him to drugs, allowing him to try marijuana at a party when he was only eight years old. In an interview with People Magazine, Downey Jr. explained how doing drugs with his father became their way of bonding, and that this early exposure to drugs led Downey Jr to struggle with addiction for most of his adult life.

Clara Bow- Saturn, Ketu & Rising in Shatabhisha

Clara Bow was born into a poor family; she was sexually abused by her father and neglected by her mentally ill and often violent mother. She went to Hollywood by way of a beauty contest while still in high school. She was the first "it girl", in fact the term was invented for her.

One night in February 1922, Bow awoke with a butcher knife against her throat; when her mother hesitated, Bow fended her off and locked her up. In the morning, her mother had no recollection of the episode and was later committed to a charity hospital.

Her mental health deteriorated in the 40s and she never left the house and eventually passed away.

Gene Tierney- Shatabhisha Moon

Gene's case is another example of the "sacrifice" and "punishment" theme of Shatabhisha manifesting

Gene had a daughter who was born with severe disabilities (deaf, partially blind, severally mentally disabled) and Gene suffered from manic depression post childbirth. she sought psychiatric treatment and was admitted to Harkness Pavilion in New York. Later, she went to the Institute of Living in Hartford, Connecticut. After some 27 shock treatments, intended to alleviate severe depression, Tierney fled the facility, but was caught and returned. She later became an outspoken opponent of shock treatment therapy, claiming it had destroyed significant portions of her memory.

she lived in self imposed exile in Texas where she passed away

almost all the people ive mentioned on this list (who are living) live very private lives. being forced to be "low-key" is a major theme. Rahu is a planet that makes an individual very obsessive but also makes other veryyy obsessed with them. this can manifest in really brutal ways.

Rahuvians are often the type of people who will relentlessly stalk someone but they are also the type of people who can be victims of other people's obsession and unwanted attention. Rahu's energies are not for the faint of heart and its incredibly scary what happened to sooo many of the people I have mentioned on this list.

stay safe, be conscious of who you're interacting with and cut off weirdos<33

[neonovember]

Deceit

Mafia!au x Steve Rogers

CHAPTERS: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

summary: your escape to Brooklyn was harboured by secrets and a harrowed past, left abused and betrayed, you accepted your destiny of being swallowed by the crowd. Until the King of New York showed up in front of you and wanted a piece of you for himself.

divider by @firefly-graphics​ !

Taglist 🏷️ (send an ask to be part of my taglist for this series!)

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Bucky is quiet the ride over, dark steel greys surveying the road eagerly, like he was waiting for someone, or something to give him a reason to jump out and spill blood. 

The wheel wains in his grip, and his dark hair falls over in waves, pushed back behind his ears and smelling of pine nut and mint. There's a hint of a smile on his face, he knows you're watching him.

You avert your gaze quickly, looking towards the mountain trees on either side of the asphalt road ahead.

The relief you had thought would fill you as Bucky pulls into the potholed road of your apartment is blank, and your chest fills vacant without the heat of it. Your mind is restless, and the entire ride over had given you ample time to think over everything that had happened earlier. 

You had folded and unfolded every piece of information Bucky had told you about Steve and all it had done was make you feel like you were intruding, like you were given privy to something you had no right knowing. Like peeking through the cracks under closed doors as a child listening in on their parents.

Where your street had once been busy with loitering huddles of gaunt faced men, a quiet murmur settles over the ground floor of your apartment complex, all the way up to the hallway to your place. 

And as you pass by a few stragglers who blanch when Bucky shifts his hard gaze towards them, stuttering over their own feet and rushing back to their alleyways, you have an inclination that it was all Steves doing.

His reach was absolute.

You didn’t know what to feel, you’ve known displacement for too long. 

Separating from your betrothed, separated from the life you had been half folded into, separating from the very syllabus of your name. 

The spaces between the letters get further and further as the years go by. Until you can hardly remember if your namesake is really yours, just a frightening sound that came out of your husband's mouth.

This is different though. Until now, your instinct has always been right. And yet, when you think of Steve? When you try to find footing in your gut it comes up wobbly and unsure.

Was he something more than he let on? Did he only uncover pieces of himself for his own benefit? 

Bucky had told you he had lost his own wife, and young too. Forced to be exposed to the brutality of the world before he could even get a chance to indulge in youthful recklessness. 

You feel a sense of empathy for him, but also, also surprise. It isn’t the murder, or your own husbands doing that causes a slight slip of your heart. The truth is much more foolish instead.

There was a time Steve was ready to forsake this entire life, live forever looking over his shoulder, turn back on tradition that was as deep as marrow, all for love.

You could laugh if you had remembered what that felt like. The thought outright unnerves you. Steve? The gluttonous leader who held sanctions of New York with an iron fist? 

It drives a pit in your stomach when you think too hard about what it means. 

There’s a fiery jealousy that swarms you, you had never understood the wielding power that love carried all your life. It was a feeling, just like any other was it not? 

Yet it had men like Steve falling to his knees!

And all that swarms your mind is how it’s so unfair, that you’ve never experienced such a thing. That you may never will. Forced to succumb to the life that was only half yours, down a path so far the ground had changed beneath you.

What did it feel like to give in? To show all your misgivings with unabashed apprehension? To let yourself, all of it, to another person?

Anything close to a love like that had come from the faded memories of your father, his warmth and deep gritted protectiveness over you. And that had been stripped from you quicker that you were able to forsake it.

You suppose that wasn't meant to be dealt in your cards, which you had come to understand were drawn years ago. You lie to yourself, but during some nights the aching desire to feel something, to taste the deep gripping love that had caused even Steve to lose focus explodes deep in your gut. 

Your longing for connection was something you hid well, and god didn’t you get awfully good at hiding these years? Fit yourself in nooks and crannies that were too small, smoothed out your jagged edges to click into the puzzle pieces.

And yet, the empathy you had silently shared, the intimate conversation you had had with Steve in your mind is stamped out with swiftness as Bucky walks you to your door.

That was then, now Steve had made it perfectly clear where he stood. The cool indifference and hardening this life caused had stolen any shine or hope that Steve may have held those years ago. Everything he did now was calculated, for the betterment of broadening his kingdom. 

He might as well have died along with her.

Bucky leans against the hallway, eyes surveying the decrepit halls lit by overexerted linoleum lights. You hesitate a moment, before popping your keys into your door, twisting it this way and that to get it to open.

You flinched as the door opened wide, almost like you were expecting someone to be standing right behind it, waiting for your arrival before pouncing. You’re a child, waiting for the ghoul in the closet to jump out.

Yet all that is there is the same peeling walls of your small entryway and some shoes and a coat strewn to the side in your haste to get to the diner early those days before. 

You’d much prefer the monster.

Days, it had only been days, so why did it feel like a lifetime since you stepped foot into your home? 

You don’t know what you were expecting, for your apartment to change when you had been kept away from it unceremoniously? For someone to have cleaned out the dishes lying in the sink, and ruffle the pillows lying on your old sofa? 

You had craved mundanity for so long, craved consistently at a time where you didn’t know which face of your husband you would meet those days. 

When the monster living underneath your husband's skin would jump out.

But now, you crave something more. It simmers right under your skin, deep within your chest and its shadowy fingers flutter over every inch of you.

Your apprehension is evident by the way Bucky shifts his way towards you stuttering frame.

“Hey, I wouldn't be so keen on coming home to this place either. Those carpets don’t look that inviting" Bucky replies, there is a sight lilt in his voice as he drags his eyes across your depressing furnishing.

You cut your eyes towards him, narrowing your lids.

“Not everyone lives in an exorbitant palace you know” You gruffly reply, shuffling into your door in a way that was more spite than eagerness.

Bucky breaks out in a grin that takes up half his face, his hand stuffed into his suit pockets as he rocks on the balls of his feet.

“Talking like a woman who hasn’t done just that half her life” Bucky replies, cocking his head to the side.

Oh right, your husband's estate that took up half of the city. One that was never, and would never be in your name.

You drop your handbag onto one of the hooks attached to the hallway, turning towards Bucky with a sigh.

“That’s different” You reply evenly

“Oh yeah? How so?” Bucky murmurs, eyes shining with a smile

“I was never welcomed in that home- house. God it would never be a home no matter how many architects and designers dressed it up. You think I escaped ‘cause it was my safe haven?” You cock your head to the side and Bucky’s face evens out. The smile adorning his features morphs back into his face as a look passes through his eyes.

“You don’t have to worry about that with Steve-”

“Oh yeah? Because he is the most upfront person to talk to. Right. This place, as depressing as it looks, is solely mine. It’s the only thing I have on this goddamn earth that hasn't been mauled and changed with my husband's fingers. Or the life he leads. You might not understand it, how important that is but-”

“I do. Trust me” Bucky replies, cutting you with and he offers you a nod that was more understanding than half the world's he promised to you.

Can I? You wonder thoughtfully. Was this just a part of some elaborate plan that Rumlow had clued you on? You were everywhere all at once, topsy turvy and turned inside out. This was the life you had to live now.

“Good” You say instead, wringing your fingers as Bucky’s phone begins to buzz from his pants pocket.

You wait for him to reach for it immediately, but he doesn't, just remains quiet as he taps his foot against the hardwood floor. There seemed to be a look of understanding that passed between you when he had racked his fist against the wall adjacent to your door. 

The blues of his eyes twinkled under the sun peeking through the hallway window, and you didn’t realize it then but it was trust that shined in his eyes. Like the words he had shared with you warranted the same secrecy he held with the other men he worked with. 

You had paid in flesh and blood for your silence, what more was another pound?

The ring runs through, and the silence soon returns between you both.

“I’m not going to the mouth off to half of Brooklyn that their most influential business man likes painting” You reply with a murmur, eyes darting left and right as if neighbors were listening in. Enough of them had watched you walk to your apartment door, eyes strained on Bucky and his shoes that shine too bright. Faces that had never even said hello had craned their necks as you passed, of course. Whispers of inquisition under their breath.

“I know you won’t” Bucky replies instantly. “Just- let him explain the rest of it, yeah? ‘S only fair you hear it from him” 

“Fair?” You raise your eyebrows, “You’re talking about fairness now? Bullshit. If you were guided by some moral compass I wouldn't have been forced into this, you wouldn't even be in this life” You snark unconsciously.

Where does this all come from? You hadn't even raised an eyebrow at your husband, and now you were bad mouthing a man with a gun poking through his waistband. You look down, staring at the unusual stain in the hallway carpet you never quite knew what was. The anxiety and timidness you were used to coming back tenfold.

Bucky doesn't retaliate, just looks towards you with a feather-like smirk.

“I was wrong about you, y’know?” Bucky whispers, leaning in as if he were divulging in a secret he couldn't let be spoken in the open air.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re everything like Steve.” Bucky replies thoughtfully, a far away look taking over his dark features. 

He’s miles away, reminiscing about parts of Steve that had been left in the dark. He looks younger than, when you notice the way his eyebrows scrunch and his locks fall flat over his face. 

But it's enveloped back into Bucky in a second, a sad smile replacing his grin.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call” 

Giving you one last nod, he turns back towards the hallway entrance and it takes you a few moments before you realise.

“But I don't have your number!” You call out, leaning out your door

His brown locks shift as he turns back to you

“You sure about that?” A raise of his eyebrows at the ping of your phone, waving you with two fingers.

You don't have to pull it out to know it's him. And you can't help but let out a chuckle before turning back and shutting the door firmly.

You find yourself accompanying your time scrubbing down the floorboard and yellowed walls of your home, filling your hours since Bucky had left with meager tasks. It helps you think, concentrating on little chores around the house so you don't have to think about the thoughts that rattled loudly in your mind.

It’s still well into the morning, and as the sun filters through your drapes you lean back on your heels nodding accomplished at the glint of the shining floors. The walls were an impassive yellow, never yielding no matter what cleaning products you threw at them, but beyond the old entryway carpet the apartment was lined with pristine hardwood floors that shined with a little elbow grease.

Not that shitty huh Bucky?

Wiping the sweat that had grown increasingly uncomfortable above your brow, you make way to your small enclosed kitchenette, swiping a cup from the drying rack before you watch the water fill to its glass edge. You gulp half of it down, before your much needed break is interrupted by the faint buzzing of your phone emitted from somewhere in the living room.

You forage for it quickly, searching till you find it wedged between the cracks of your couch. You pause for a moment, considering whether it might be Bucky, or Steve calling but as you see the vibrating screen of your manager's face you slide the receiver across the screen.

You brace yourself for the inevitable screech of her voice, you haven't been to work in days, an irregular for you considering the mountain of bills that left your bank account squandered each month. You needed this job, and now Steve hand upended your life, you fear it’ll slip through your fingers.

Manager calls, you pick up, she’s very quiet and apprehensive and is all sweet in a a way you remember she never had been before. She’s almost scared to talk to you, asking about a shift you could cover and you say yea without thinking. You need a distraction. Even if Steve had made it clear you no longer needed to worry about work.

“Hello?” You reply, eyebrows furrowing at the beat of silence that fills the space usually used up by ** loud un yielding demands.

“Y/N? Hey, how are you doing” Replies carefully, as if choosing her words.

“What?” You blurt out

You can’t help the confusion that puzzles your voice, who was this person? In the months you had spent working at that dead end job not once has she ever asked how you were. Not when you had spent half your break with your head in your toilet the first few months you had escaped. A cat on edge, nerves frazzled by even the slightest heavy stamp of a dress shoe.

What had changed?

You don’t have to kid yourself, you know the answer deep down. Him, it always goddamn is.

“Sorry, uhm I’m been doing good” You reply “I apologise for kind of just disappearing on you and the Diner”

“Oh that? That’s totally fine, once your friends cleared that up” 8 gulped, the sharp exhale of breath filling the receiver at the mention of this friend of yours.

“Friend?” You reply

“Don’t worry about it, I’m glad your doing alright. Uh-, so uhm ’s sister dropped her kids off at 4am last night at hers, she cant her shift. And * got SAT prep. Can you fill in if possible it’s totally okay if you can’t, I needed to stay back a few anyway-”

“Sure” 

You needed the distraction, you felt stifled in the walls of your apartment. It wasn’t meant to be a prison, and yet the only time you felt truly free now was when you slammed the door behind you.

“-oh, Oh thank you! Thank you so much. If you could come in at 12, it’s just the afternoon shift. And if you need to leave for whatever reason it’s totally fine you don’t even have to tell me-“

“Mare?

“Yes?”

“Relax. I miss the diner and it’s crappy linoleum lights anyways”

Mare snorts into the receiver “The teams missing you too”

After passing a few more instructions on the wave of Russian tourists coming through Brooklyn this time of year you let your phone clatter onto the coffee table.

Sure, your manager could be a pain in the ass but being passive aggressive didn’t warrant a mob leader holding you at gunpoint.

You wonder what Steve had said to her to cause her to be this shaken up, she was the most stubborn woman you’ve ever met. It couldn’t have been easy to have her yield, at least not without some sort of real threat.

Especially in New York.

You rifle through your bag before grabbing your work uniform. The musty smell of old oil and grease makes you throw it haphazardly into the laundry basket before reaching for a clean shirt.

You try to look presentable, washing your face with the bathroom tap that never not juts out cold water. You avoid your reflection when you pay your face dry, which is interestingly enough, hard to do since it’s well..your face.

Drawing the wisps of coils that spring free you pull your hair back into a bun. You don’t bother with makeup, it never quite sat right on your face when you did it. Reaching for your bag and throwing your phone and the rest of your miscellaneous, you hurry down the steps of your apartment complex. 

Popping in your earphones as you step into the train carriage, you memorise the dock and pull of the train ride till you feel your stop. Your music swims through your veins, and you breathe it in before opening your eyes to the tram doors opening.

[achillesuwu]

Au where merthur have soulmate identifying mark but merlin is the only one who know they are because if Arthur knew he would find out about his magic 👀 (arthur's mark being a beautiful dragon mainly on on his back but its tall is draped on his torso, a wing stretch on his right shoulder, another end on his hip and its head rest upon his stomach. As if it were jealousy protecting him. its scale are of a blue so dark it nearly look black. It has golden eye and tread of gold on is horn, gold shimmer on its body highlighting its scale at some place.

It screams powerful sorcerer.)

And thus it doesn't change anything from the show. Merlin doesn't tell him not even at the very end (Merlin's mark is a smaller red dragon with its head on his shoulder and who is is holding itself on his shoulder)

It would be very angsty but also SO FUNNY if in a post return futur where arthur (Gwen, the knights) are very confuse and lost but luckily for them there exist multiple center for "People who got Teleported at the wrong place/Bought back from the dead? We are here to help!/ your five yo drank a weird potion? No problem! Etc" basically Magic help center.

Just imagine basic social worker sorcerers who tries to do their job at 3 am and see THE Emrys mark ™ on a random dude and they are like *gasp*.

Them : what the fuck

Arthur :???

Them :WHAT THE FUCK

the others :????

Them : we are calling your soulmate RIGHT NOW. WHAT THE FUCK should I call the government too???? I'M NOT PAY ENOUGH FOR THIS.

Arthur : my???

Them : YOU. DO NOT MOVE IF I LOSE YOU I'M DEAD. DEAD.

You can imagine arthur pendragon pacing like a 13 years old stressed before an oral presentation because even if he was afraid then thought he globally didn't really care about his soulmate. He realised that it wasn't so much that he didn't care but he thought it would simply never be so he just... Kinda forgot about it. Now he just can not put it away because is soulmate IS coming and WHERE IS MERLIN WHEN HE NEEDS HIM (he is blocking any thoughts about Merlin potential dead thank you very much)

(Gwen is currently finding the situation extremely funny because she figured out in 5x13 and she is 80 yo (in a younger body but still) . And she is waaaayyyyyy to old to see her former husband stay in his denial.

Leon is 78 years old and he is slowly recognising the dragon in question that look very much like Merlin's family crest. He is looking at his wife in a very conspiracy way.

Gwaine is currently not really giving a damn about the whole soulmate thing. What do you MEAN you can send messages to people in less that a second?!?!?

Elyan would usually not give a damn but he is very much not happy ™ to find out that his sister (first) husband had a soulmate mark who isn't dead and he is glaring at Arthur but he is also getting a hug from gwen so it doesn't look menacing at all.

Perceval (57) is right behind Gwaine but he is currently watching himself in the mirror because seeing his younger self again is weird asf

Meanwhile Lancelot is talking with the assistant (on the verge of a break down because they are going to see the GOD OF MAGIC OH MY GOD) about magical history

[i-am-a-l0st-gh0st]

Please kindly consider this Wriothesley request: You are the newest prisoner in the Fortress of Meropide; framed by your ex-husband for a crime since he wants your money to marry his new lover.

Determined to clear your name upon you served your time, you strive to be a model prisoner throughout your sentence.

Wriothesley finds himself intrigued by you, a minor Fontaine noble sentenced to his domain. Through his information network, he not only uncovers numerous holes to your case, he also finds out that your former husband is part of a conspiracy to bring disgrace to your family. Two weeks later, he summons you to his office and sets out his plan to have your former husband and his co-conspirators brought to justice.

Please also kindly take as long as you need with this request; I have no qualms in waiting. Furthermore, by no means feel obligated to prioritize this request over your other requests.

We listen to a lotta true crime- Wrio x Gn!reader

But it's alright, she'll be fine t/w- prison, Wriothesley flirts(?) with you summary- as shown above A/n- I need feedback on some of my works or this one, just moment some things I do well or need to work on. I do want to write a book one day and hopefully getting this feedback will help! thanks in advance. Also taglist as been updated! Part 2, Part 3

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The fortress of Meropide was surprisingly warmer than above ground. You thought it might be a little chilly due to being underwater. It wasn’t hard to get used to and if it was you’d have to suck it up. This was your home for the next 8 years, or maybe longer.

Walking towards the registration desk felt like a walk to your death. You were a Fontaine noble and it was rare to see someone like you in a place like this. Once your papers were signed, a strongly built man came towards you. His black hair swayed even if there was no wind, the grey streak fitting in perfectly. Scars came just above his shirt, with a loosely tied tie. He was a rather stunning man, and most would fall for him instantly.

“Ah, you must y/n. The Fontaine noble, I've been waiting for your arrival.” He flashed a smile that made your cheeks turn slightly red.

“Yes, that is me. You are?”

“Wriothesley, the duke of Meroipide.”

You tensed up at his words, you didn’t know this was the duke. His gaze was warm and made you feel like you were safe, despite being in prison. The way his eyes were soft but also pierced yours, the way his scars stood out but also blended in. He just seemed perfect. The silence continued for a while until Wriothesley spoke up.

“Y/n, may I speak to you, privately.” His face showed little emotion.

“Sure.” You tried to sound calm but felt your voice breaking.

The pair of you walked towards the duke's office. The double opened which led to a dimly lit room with a small winding staircase. Wriothesley led you up the stairs where he did his work. Four bookshelves lined the back walls and a wolf crest right in the middle of the wall. Similar to the one on his vest.

“Your case confuses me Y/n.” He began to speak. “You were a Fontaine noble, you had everything you needed but why would you try and kill your husband?”

“Sir, you have to believe me, I didn’t do it.”

“I need more evidence before I pick a side. As of now, you’re still guilty, but maybe you can tell me everything about the day of the ‘murder’.”

You began to tell him about the day of the murder. You were out all day with some friends and had alibis to prove that, once you got home the police were talking to your husband. Then arrested you. You went to court a week later and the judge ruled you as guilty and now you were here.

Wriothesley nodded along taking in all the information and occasionally writing stuff down. He did have a report on you, but from what you gave it seemed inaccurate. There were a few holes in your case such as no murder weapon and no motive. Your husband was a lot richer than you and may have used that against you.

“Its starting to get late, we can continue this tomorrow.”

“Oh alright, thank you sir.”

He walked you too your dormitory, it wasn’t small but it was decently sized, cosy enough for you.

“Don’t think just because your a noble your getting special treatment. Your just like the rest of us.”

“I didn’t think i would sir.”

“Please don’t call me sir, it makes me feel old.”

“Oh sorry.”

“You know, I’ve taken quite a liking to you y/n.” He quickly turned the other way, probably walking back to his office. He left you too stunned to speak.

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