#male rakshasa

[a-gaime]

Every time I see bull red son an angel (me) loses it's wings (gets mildly annoyed)

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Fortune Teller: Adar

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Relationship: f! reader x m! monster (Tabaxi)

[Also I am not familiar with tarot cards and palm readings so I did some research on it and hope it makes some sense.]

-

“Tarot and dreams are two dialects in the language of the soul.”

― Philippe St Genoux

-

The days were hot, days longer and lives lived longer.

Though even with the heat that swelled and radiated through the city of sand, it was known that fortune came to those who sought it.

With destiny that you thought a 'trial' awaited, you needed answers. Needed answers that would fall on false hopes and dreams; for it all to be wafted lies that anyone would have to pay double in seeking.

You did not pay for it luckily, with your parents and their pleas for you to seek 'professional help' in your dilemma, you found it in the eyes of fates, fates that lay within the flick of a card.

Adar was his name. Adar the Sahir. Adar the Seer of Fates. Yet, you had to be the judge of that.

You found his spot in the market easily: situated between the two stone walls of other buildings, his was smaller and made from sticks and heavy cloths, telling you it had been put up with haste and less in need of protection against the elements.

Off to a good start, in thinking this person and their job was real. You sulked, making your way over, ignoring the staring, and the whisperings that came from drawing your name. Many thought of you as odd, leaving you to yourself as they whispered and mocked.

When you stood a few inches from their open entrance, you gave a harsh knock to the wooden panel holding the structure together, and popping their head out was the one you sought that was known as Adar.

The palm reader was that of a Tabaxi, and though you had seen few of them in your lifetime, you had been familiar with them roaming the lands, tending to keep to warmer temperatures, though some preferred the cold.

You were familiar that many were different from one another: ones with dark fur, light fur, ones big and small, stripped or with spots. Though you had never seen one like himself. He looked like a caracal: small and lithe, standing almost an inch taller than you. He's dressed in cooling clothing: an open white blouse, with tailored purple and bold trousers, his long legs wrapped in dark linen that acted as 'shoes' to protect the soles of his paws from the heated cobbles and boiling sands.

"You must be my new customer? I am Adar, a palm and tarot card reader. You are familiar with my work?" You liked his voice immediately: velvety and pleasantly soft, mixed with a sweetened accent.

"That is correct, yes." You awkwardly spoke, he was charming, and the way he looked at you so kindly made your stomach flutter.

"Come, come, you are welcomed inside." You're shuffled inside the small hut with sweeping rugs and colour cloth that was as bright as him and his clothing. When he passed by you, you got a hint of jasmine and plum, a scent sweet that surprised you yet suited him well.

You entered his small hut, a richness of Sandalwood and Patchouli filled your nostrils, candles lit in the unlit room as you followed the Tabaxi to the table in the middle of the room. It was instead an eyesore, an controlled mess. Cards filled the table with crystals of all sorts of colours, mainly amethysts were scattered across his table of all shapes and sizes.

"Excuse the mess," Adar spoke cheerfully, "I need rearranging."

"It is quite alight. My ma is always telling me I must tidy after myself."

"You live with your parents, correct?" He shuffled around the table to sit, you following in the chair opposite him, nearly being engulfed by the plush cushions. "It is not a judgmental question," he eased, "it helps me to know you better and with the cards."

"Ah," you awkwardly laughed, trying to get comfortable. Maybe it was the ease of him, his aura, but you grew a bit more and more comforted. "Forgive me, I've never done this before."

"That is quite alright," Adar reassured smoothly, and your stomach twisted with glee. "I will go through everything with you, and what everything means." Your eyes lit up as you watched him smoothly stack the tarot cards, shuffling them as if they were nothing but leaves and he was the wind, guiding them with a sound that was a delight to anyone's ears.

"These are tarot cards, all different but will tell of your story and what will come. Look at them, and pick which ones look like they call to you. Pick three, and I shall go through them one at a time."

Seems easy enough. You thought, heart racing. They were just cards, it couldn't have been that hard. You eyed the cards, all facing down, and you carefully picked out the three. With a flick of his wrist, Adar swiped the deck away with a smooth motion, the deck stacked once again and neatly placed on the side of the table.

"The first card represents what you can do to surrender to the change in your life." He flipped the first card over, revealing the plain picture of a horned monster, sitting on a throne, above two naked and chained individuals. "The Devil is upright, which can mean shadow self, attachment, addiction or restriction."

It could mean a few things: how the way you had been completely controlled your entire life, dictated by your parents to suit their needs and please them. The ever-dutiful daughter, silent and obedient.

You didn't dare say what you had thought to the Tabaxi, instead, nodding along as the next card was flipped.

"The second card offers direction on caring for yourself during this process." It was a depiction of a knight on a pale horse, offering aid to a kneeling and begging priest, surrounded by others either begging or lying dead.

"Death." You read aloud from the card, but Adar was quick to interject. "It is not foreshadowing your demise," he laughed comfortingly. "The card can mean endings, change, transformation and change."

Oh, that seemed better than it threatening my death. You thought dryly. "So, death is giving advice?"

"Exactly." Adar grinned a toothy smile, before flipping the final card over. "This final card serves as a guide for centring yourself amid this change."

Two individuals, naked as the day they were born, in a loving embrace.

"The lovers can represent love, harmony, friendship, values, alignment and choices." He spoke before looking over to you. "Perhaps there is someone in your life you can look to for help in a situation that is troubling you."

"Perhaps," you thought, fully knowing there were only a handful of friends you could rely on, but they were rarely sighted in your hometown, instead, venturing off to seek a new life elsewhere. "There may be someone."

Adar smiled as he removed the cards away to stack with the remaining deck. "These are just speculations. I do not truly know the inner conflict that goes on inside my customers, so these cards should be of help."

You nodded, believing there was some aspect to it you could understand a bit better. "What about palm readings?"

Adar's eyes lit up with glee at the mention, "Ah, I'm glad you asked, it is after all included in my session with you today!"

After moving around things on his table, he placed his hands stretched, the claws in his paws had been retracted and not showing out. "Again, I will go through the process of how this works."

You shakily placed your left hand in his, aware that you had been sweating profusely when you were about to touch a handsome stranger, your body rigid as he took your hand into him to 'inspect'.

"You have very soft hands," he laughed to ease the tension.

"Thanks, you too." His paws were soft and warm, a contrast to the hands of humans when the fur on him was soft and short. "So how do palm readings work?"

Adar smiled at this as if the topic was a lifetime hobby of his joy from a youngling. "Think of your hands as portals- shedding invaluable insight. It is the art of analysing the physical features of the hands to interpret personality, and characteristics and to predict future happenings."

He inspected your palm closely, and you had to ignore the way it felt so comforting to hold his hand. "Your sun sign is fire, but the shape of your hand is that of an air sign." He spoke after some silence.

"And that means?"

"It means that you have a lack of nuanced insight into the complexities of your personality. You can be easily distracted, anxious or on edge."

He pressed into the bottom part of the palm below your pinky, "This mount of Luna reveals an individual's empathy, compassion, and imagination. And here," he points to the base of your middle finger. "The mount of Saturn reveals you have a hidden yet deep understanding of the ups and downs to life, hidden wisdom some would say."

"Some hidden wisdom, huh? Couldn't say I've heard that before." Your cheeks rouged.

"Meanwhile, your lifeline-"

"It doesn't determine how long of a life I live, does it?" You laughed nervously.

He smiled easily, "No, it doesn't." He squeezed your hand teasingly. "It reveals your experience, vitality and zest. Your line isn't deep, meaning you there is not have much experience. Your line is long, however, meaning you have had much influence and little independence."

How interesting. For not believing in any such thing, the cards and readings did an exceptionally good job in your predicament. It was as if Adar had been there for every aspect of your life, chipping away at your shell to find the crux of your issues.

"I hope this gave you some more insight. Is there anything else you wish to ask me before our session ends?"

"Yes, I do actually, just one thing." You braced yourself for the rejection, the hopes and dreams to be crushed. "Have you ever dealt with anything to do with curses? Or even if the cards could solve them?"

"Curses?" He queried.

Nerves wracked through you as you told him. "I've been told all my life one thing: make my family proud, and not in education but in marriage. I had to find a cordial spouse who had strong blood and good fortune. I had to be compliant, dutiful and quiet, yet the older I got, the more I was told how... undesirable I was becoming. How no husband would want me."

"And who told you this?" His long ears twitched.

"My pa."

His eyes locked onto yours, and it had felt as if he stared not into your eyes, but through the window into your soul. It was uneasy, and jarring to stare back, uncertain of what he saw staring back at him. The silence was palpable, before Adar gave a long hum, releasing your hand as he stated. "Well, there's nothing wrong with you. You're perfectly fine, not cursed I may add."

"Are you certain? I've been told this my whole life. The readings could not be picking this up."

"The cards and readings never lie, sweet thing, and nor do I." His smile was lopsided. "Maybe listening to the wise words of your pa aren't something you should consider."

You could've laughed, could've thought that all of the nineteen years of living had come to being told it was all a lie. That being told a horrible thing would stick with you for the rest of your days: a challenge to your approach to living when it had all been for intimidation.

"So, I've never been cursed?"

"Never before and never have." Adar gave a sympathetic smile. "If what you're going through has been any foresight into the cards-"

"They have, to some degree," I answered. "I want to be independent of my family, but I fear I will never be able to."

"Breaking a harsh cycle is a lot for anyone," spoke the Tabaxi softly. "But if you need anyone to talk to, you know I would be there in a heartbeat."

Your cheeks rouged, words jumbling in your throat. "Is... would I need to book another session?"

His laugh was a sweet thing: a melody so fine. "No, not for me, sweet thing. Free of charge if you wish to have someone to chat with outside of my work."

"Then, I shall be seeing you again, correct?"

"Of course."

[siimiasoi]

Rakshasa Boyfriend: Balmush (preview)

Name: Balmush

Age: 43

Height: 6’11

Looks//Personality:

* Big

* Fluffy

* Big arms with a slightly poached stomach

* Hard exterior with a soft mushy interior

* Scar across his left eye

* Sensitive

* Powerful warrior

A/N: This is my first time writing about a “monster boyfriend”. I love reading them, so I thought I’d give it a shot. I love Rakshasas🦁! They are personally one of my favorites. I really hope you enjoy this!💕 this is just a preview, if it is well reviewed I will continue (I wrote this like a year ago) This was originally 2nd person, but I swapped it to 3rd please let me know nicely if there are mistakes. Ty!!

Warning(s): Oral (male receiving), fluff, royal,

The Kingdom of Galerran was unknown to most, but some knew of the powerful Galerrans that lived on the island south of the most powerful nations in the world. The King, King Jürgen, was a jolly King who was welcoming of mostly anyone into his kingdom. Galerran housed creatures from the darkest depths of the world to the brightest. From humans to orcs, anyone was welcome. It was a very diverse kingdom. King Jürgen and his wife, Queen Elisha, had seven children. All the children were blessed with the kings curly locks as well as their mothers freckled skin. All the children were beautiful, some with their fathers paler skin some with their mothers olive skin as well as some in between.

Now each child was a blessing to the kingdom. People who knew of the beautiful children often tried to kidnap them as they visited around the kingdom. After numerous attempts the king has placed a guard with each child. The guards were to protect them as well as be there for them. Most of the children looked to their guard as the regular workers around the palace, but the middle child, (Y/N), looked to her guard as more of a friend.

She was a taller child, thin and couldn’t gain the a pound even if she wished too. Her cheeks were round and had round doe eyes to match. A red birthmark laid upon her right cheek. She really didn’t think much of herself, in fact she thought of others more than herself at times. Besides being shy, she was also anxiety ridden. And she loved her guard, Balmush.

Balmush had a very stoic persona. He was very tall, taller than the other guards as well as the door frames. He had been guarding (y/n) for nearly 2 years now, after her previous guard attempted to force himself upon her. He was the perfect gentleman in (y/n)’s eyes. He helped with anything needed and comforted her whenever he needed to. Even though, He would never admit it, he had grown close to the young Princess as well.

“Balmush how old are you?” She asked him one day.

He continued walking down the hall with her. His pace slightly faltering at her question, but he continued as if it didn’t phase him. Both were on their way to meet with the King and Queen.

“I would be a hint over fourty in human age, ma’lady.” His deep voice spoke.

(Y/n)’s round eye widened and she looked up to him amazed, “You don’t even look like you are thirty! How are you not wed!”

He smiled, “I am past my prime. I am not as young as I once was. No one wants an old cat like me.”

(Y/n) giggles at his wording, “You would be quite the catch, Balmush. You are very handsome and a gentleman. Any woman would be grateful to have you as their husband.”

Balmush smiled at the princess and opened the door to the throne room. He patted her head with his giant paw, enjoying the softness of her curls, “You are very mature for your age, ma’lady. You would be quite the catch as well.”

Her face instantly flushed. It wasn’t the first time her guard had made her cheeks turn as pink as the flowers in her favorite part of the garden. In her eyes he was very handsome and she wanted nothing more than for him to praise her like he did everyday, for the rest of her life. He made her so happy. Even though she had tried on numerous occasions to get his attention, he didn’t see her as anything but the princess he was to protect.

“Balmush! How are you, dear friend!” The king asked with his booming voice.

Balmush placed his right hand against his heart and bowed slightly, “I am wonderful, your majesty. How are you both? You look stunning today as always, my queen.”

The queen smiled, “You surely know your way with words, Balmush. You probably have women at your feet begging to be with you.”

He smiled a toothy grin, “No one wants an old fart like me, Ma’Lady.”

The Queen giggled behind her hand, “If only you knew.”

(Y/n)’s eyes widened. Hopefully her mother wouldn’t blow her cover, would she? The king cleared his throat, “Now I wish to inform you that you will be guarding my youngest child very soon, Balmush.”

(Y/n)’s eyes instantly widened at her fathers statement. She looked at him with complete shock and stepped forward, “What!? Papa why?!”

The King smiled widely, “You have an upcoming courtship! Two gentlemen have asked for your hand, so I have invited them to visit and meet you!”

The Queen sighed, she knew this was going to happen. Her daughter would never be happy about her guard leaving her and she tried to explain it to her husband without giving up that (y/n) had already had her heart and eyes set on someone. She watched as her daughter teared up, “But Papa I don’t want to meet them!”

He frowned, “Oh come on, (Y/N). I have already made the plans! You have to meet them!”

The young princess wiped her tears furiously and nodded. The king laughed happily, “Great! They shall be here in the next few days!”

All the Princess could do was nod once again and quickly turn to run from the room. The Queen sighed and hit her husbands arm, “I can’t believe you made the arrangements before even talking to her. Balmush, darling, would you run and check on her, she will probably only talk to you.”

Balmush bowed, “Yes, Ma’lady.”

Balmush left and the Queen continued to scold her husband. He quickly made his way to the princess’ room and knocked on the door.

“Ma’lady it is me.” His gruff voice spoke. He could hear the soft pats of your bare feet against the floor. She opened the door and Balmush frowned at her red eyes. He had a soft spot for her. He had watched her since she was young and never liked to see her crying face. She quickly hugged him, burying her face into his abdomen.

He sighed and softly moved towards the bed with the princess in his arms, “Your father only wants the best for you.”

She quickly shook her head disagreeing, “He just wants me to get married..but...but I have someone I already like! Like...like I’ll never have a chance at that now!”

Balmush rubbed the soft curls atop her head and let her continue. A couple hours had passed she fell sound asleep after crying to her hearts content. He smiled affectionately at the tiny snores slipping from her. He had grown to love the sight of the peaceful face she displayed when she fell asleep on a few occasions around him. He leans down and pecks her rosy tear sleeked cheek.

Achoo!

Balmush stiffened. He leaned back and the once sleeping princess was smiling a wide grin. He could feel the skin under all his fur start to warm. She giggled happily and threw her arms around his thick body, her hands resting under his arms resting on his upper back.

“My, my, Balmush making moves on the princess who was just crying over her courting. Who would have thought?”

“M-M-Ma’lady! I didn’t mean to wake you! I mean I don’t know what I was doing!” He tried to reason.

She smiled and pulled on him a little tighter, making him lean more of his weight on her. His stomach touched hers.

“I must be dreaming, who would have thought you’d be the first to make a move. I thought I would be the first.”

He blinked her words, “I don’t quite understand, Ma’lady.”

She ran her hands down his back. She could feel the muscles of his back move at her teasing fingertips. She ran her right hand around his side and decided to slip her fingertips into his trousers.

“M-Ma’lady!!” He jolted as the grazed teasingly at the sensitive flesh right below his navel. She smirked knowingly.

“Do you know how bad I hoped you’d jump me one day. I may be young, but I know exactly what I want. I am constantly flirting with you, yet you only look to me as your King’s daughter. You are just her guard and nothing more. Little did you know the princess has had her eyes set on you since she met you.” She explained as her delicate fingertips drew small circles into his fur.

He jolted at the teasing fingers, “Ma’lady this is highly inappropriate! W-What would your parents think!”

She rolled her eyes, “My mother knows of my feelings. She was trying to hint at it this afternoon, but you were completely oblivious. What, you don’t like me? You’re not exactly trying to stop me, Balmush.”

Moving her thin fingers further into his trousers, she teasingly massaged his sack. She felt the tip of his length slowly start to twitch against her arm. He didn’t stop her, he was completely confused. He didn’t know what to do, this wasn’t the princess he knew.

“Oh god, ma’lady. We could be caught!” He tried to reason.

“Then let me blow you and I’ll let you go.” She spoke looking him in the eye. He wanted to avoid her eye contact but she was too tempting. They kept eye contact as she moved her hand to his shaft and started to rub her thumb across the pointed tip. His hips betrayed him and bucked into her hand.

“Oh, your body speaks for itself. Looks like it would like me to continue? Hmm?” She asked as she quickened her pace.

“Ha, mmhm.” He moaned softly as her delicate hands rubbed him so wonderfully. He could feel himself loosing control.

“Getting close?” She asked.

He nodded. He was loosing his strength.

“If you are going to cum, it will be in my mouth Balmush.” She said looking at him. He shut his eyes tightly. Her mouth was pure, to ruin it would be against everything he pledged to the King. He was suddenly shoved onto his butt on the bed.

(Y/N) moved so she was now kneeling on the bed. She bent down to his shaft and started to pump him, Balmush tried his hardest to pull his trousers up.

“W-We can’t!” He tried, but nothing was stopping the princess. She gripped him a little tighter. He stopped and watched as she brought him to her mouth. His length slowly disappeared in her warm mouth.

“Ahhh....” A deep groan left his throat as his head leaned back. He looked down again and noticed as only about half of his length fit. The princess had tears slowly slipping down her rosy cheeks. She came back up and noticed he was watching her. She smiled and put his length back into her mouth not loosing eye contact with him. He could feel how close he was. Her hand pumping what didn’t fit in her mouth at a quick pace.

“Shit, it’s coming.” He groaned as his climax suddenly came. She stopped and let him fill her waiting mouth. It was bitter. Balmush groaned as he felt her hand pumping all she could get from him. She made sure to slowly pull away, making sure not to waste a single drop. He watched as she swallowed around the tip of his length.

“Y-You swallowed?! You could get sick!” He quickly pulled his trousers back up and wiped the corners of her mouth with his handkerchief. She rolled your eyes.

“You’re nothing like I thought you were. Not the big bad rakshasa you seem to be. You’re actually quite sensitive.” She teased.

Balmush frowned, “I can’t believe you did that. How am I going to face the King and Queen now! I’ll be banished from the kingdom!”

Balmush quickly stood up and made his way to leave. She quickly stood up, “Balmush! Wait!”

(Y/n) chased him down the hall, “Balmush please!”

He continued to ignore her and make his way down the hall. Would he quit being her guard? Or even leave the palace? A thousand thoughts ran rapid in her mind of the horrible outcome of what she has done.

“(Y/N)!” She stopped and looked behind her. There was her mother, the Queen. She looked (y/n) up and down. The princess stood there in nothing but her corset cover and petticoat, having previously stripped of everything in your crying fit. Nothing she should have been wearing running down the halls. Balmush walked towards the Queen and got on one knee. He bowed his head forward gripping the hand of your mother.

“I am sorry your majesty. I shall be punished as you see fit, for I have allowed for your daughter to force herself upon me-“

“Yah! I don’t want to hear of the evening you both had. I have no intention of punishing you, nor does my husband. I won’t allow it. I knew of my daughters feelings way before she did. Just as I have known of yours for her.” She explained, “Now I hope the distressed face of my daughters is not your doing, Balmush.”

The princess stood shocked at her mothers words. He had feelings for her? She quickly looked between her mother and Balmush. Looking to Balmush and grabbing his arm, “...is this true?”

Balmush avoided big rounded eyes. His childness caused the Queen to laugh softly. She rubbed her hand down the side of her daughters cheek.

“(Y/N). This isn’t the first time he’s asked me to ‘punish him for his awful feeling towards the princess’. These last few years he has been asking me what to do of these ‘awful urges’.”

“Ma’lady! Please!” Balmush tried to get her to quit speaking of their private conversations. He couldn’t believe it, his biggest secret being exposed. He suddenly jerked as the Princess pulled relentlessly on his arm. His gaze met hers, she had stars in her eyes. He could feel himself melt.

“Balmush! Why didn’t you tell me you liked me!” She groaned in agony. There were to many emotions she was feeling today. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her arms suddenly threw themselves around his neck.

“Balmush! Let’s go out this weekend! Just me and you! No princess and her guard, just as us. A date!” You exclaimed

[jooba]

Surya: rakshasa x reader

“Imagine entering work in the morning to find a stranger already there. Imagine someone who has broken in with nefarious intentions, someone who is taller and stronger than you. Now imagine standing behind this person, wielding a pocketknife, tears pooling in your eyes, wondering if this is where your life changes.” 

TW: knife, claws n teeth, break-in

NOTE: Surya isn’t really an average rakshasa, keep that in mind. 

wordcount: 2,451

M!rakshasa x afab!reader

By the shape of this person, you could tell they were tall, much taller than you, and built like an athlete. The shop was still dark, so the shadows hid his features from you, but the pure mass of this person was enough to scare you. It wasn’t like he was a giant, and if you saw him in a normal setting, you wouldn’t think twice. But if he noticed you lurking behind him and decided to act, you knew you wouldn’t stand a chance. So, you had to act fast and act now. The longer you stood here quivering in your shoes the more time he had to notice you. At the moment, he seemed preoccupied with looking at something on one of the shelves, motionless and quiet. 

The small knife in your hands was beginning to slip away from all the sweat buildup. You edged forward slightly. Your shoes scuffed against the ground, and you held your breath. A moment: the whole world was holding its breath alongside you, and then the intruder turned and looked at you. 

Not a human. No. This was something else entirely. 

No time was taken to stop and think, all you could do at that moment was turn around and run. An intruder was one thing. A monster was another. You vaulted over the counter and jolted for the bathroom. The doorknob shook violently but wouldn’t budge. Locked. Coldness swept over you as you realized you had made a mistake coming here instead of going outside. This was it. You were going to die in the prime of your life at your minimum wage job. 

A hand smashed into the door next to your head, sending splinters awry. The hand almost seemed normal, aside from the dangerously sharp claws and tuft of fur. The monster growled lowly, hot air rustling your hair. Tears quietly leaking, mouth open in dull shock, you traced your gaze from the clawed hand up a muscular arm, and then to a mouth full of dripping teeth. As you turned slowly, the monster growled again, and you got a full look of the beast that would turn you into puppy chow. 

Its angled eyes pierced you to your spot. Unable to move, speak, or do anything, you whimpered. You wanted to beg, cry, and plead. You wanted to scream out how this was unfair and unjust, and you were just a young adult trying to live their life. But air threatened to clog your lungs if you moved even an inch.

The beast wrinkled its large, flat nose as it drew closer to you, saliva dripping from its yellow teeth. It lowered its head to your throat, near your delicate skin and pulse point. As it opened its maw further to devour you whole, your eyes fell onto the fluffy, small, rounded ears at the crown of its head. And then to the human ears where human ears should be. And even overwhelmed with the fear of its teeth pressing into your skin as you were, you still ended up speaking.

“You have... 4 ears.” Dumb. Stupid. Your heart thudded faster in your chest. The monster leaned away from you and reached a hand up to his head. It poked at both sets of ears as if just noticing them for the first time. Its eyes shifted away, then back to you. 

“Is that weird?” Its voice was much more human than you could have expected. Too human. Almost reassuring. 

You tried to speak. Nothing came out. The monster closed its mouth (you briefly wondered how it could hide such teeth so easily) and cleared its throat. The air became awkward as the beast stared at you. The longer it did so, the more fatigued you became, and the more his face scrunched up in seeming embarrassment. Suddenly, the beast sprung away from you. It turned its back towards you, and you got a full-fledged look at his behind and long, striped tail which was curling into his legs. He spared you one more glance and then exited the store in an almost... anxious or ashamed matter. 

As soon as he was out of sight, you collapsed against the door. With a grimace, you realized you had been painfully gripping your pocketknife throughout the whole encounter. Your hand was red and sore, something that would persist to hurt for the next few days or so; a constant reminder of the horror that had visited you. 

“Look, I want to believe you, (Y/n). I really do. But the security footage just shows a normal guy. An intruder, yes... but not a monster!”

You huffed as you wiped down the registers. No one believed you, no matter what you said, no matter how much you pleaded: it all fell on deaf ears. Maybe they thought it was a call of help or a want for attention. It was infuriating and invalidating. You weren’t crazy! 

Your manager crossed her arms as she squinted at you. 

“Maybe you need to take a day or two off. Get some rest?” She offered for what felt like the 100th time that day. You shook your head. 

“Some rest won’t help me, Pam. All I need to know is what attacked me in the store that night.” The bell to the store chimed, and the both of you looked up. The customer had already disappeared into the store, the only thing visible was their reflection in the mirror in that back corner. 

Pamela sighed loudly. Looking at her face, you felt slightly guilty. The break-in was hard on her, too. The police still hadn’t found the guy, but she couldn’t afford to close the store or take any other measures, really.... It was lucky that he hadn’t stolen anything or hurt anyone. It was lucky that he hadn’t hurt you. 

The store radio switched to something more somber, reflecting both of your moods and the stony vibe of the store. You turned towards Pamela, a small smile on your face. You motioned toward the garbage can next to the door. 

“Hey, wanna bet that I can make that?” You rolled up the paper towel in your hands into a ball and faked a throw. Pamela raised an eyebrow at you and scoffed.

“Honey, you ain’t never made it in all your time here.” 

“Yeah, well. Times are a’ changing!” With that, the ball gracefully arched towards the trashcan. You held your breath and prepared yourself to cheer! But.... the ball bounced against the side and dropped to the ground pathetically. You sagged as Pamela chuckled at you.

“Now, you’d better go pick that up! You know better than to leave a mess in my store.” Always the manager. Always scolding. You made your way around the counter to do as she asked. Instead, the customer from before picked up the trash ball and turned to you, a friendly smile on his face. 

“I got it.” 

Those amber eyes. That voice. A jolt went through your body. No matter how human he looked at the moment, you knew... You recognized the monster. You opened your mouth to scream; his eyes went wide and frantic, almost like how they looked when he attacked you. 

“No, wait. It’s okay! You’re okay, I promise. I just want to talk.” With each sentence, he drew closer and closer to you, hands up in surrender. 

“Talk?! With you?!” You gasped the words out, remembering how close his sharp claws were to your skull only just a week ago; how sharp his fangs felt against your neck. 

“Of course. I feel bad for scaring you like that, and I’ve come to apologize.” 

“Oh.”

He was close enough to smell now. It was a scent akin to black pepper and smoke - you found you didn’t like it. Could you trust him? Could you allow yourself to hear him speak, give him the opportunity to hurt you again?

“(Y/n)! Get your ass into the breakroom!” A pause, and then- “Now!” Pam had decided for you. 

You backed away from the man, or the monster, or whatever he was. 

“My manager.” You felt you had to explain, even though you definitely did not. He smiled sadly at you and nodded. 

“Sure, I’ll just wait out here.” 

Oh god, you hoped not. 

Pam grabbed you tight as soon as you stepped into the breakroom. Her face hardened as she whispered to you. 

“I recognized that bastard as soon as he showed his face. Police are on the way. We just have to sit tight in here and wait.” 

Pam’s face was a blend of anger, concern, and annoyance as she pulled you further into the breakroom. She pressed something cold and hard into your hands. You looked down and gaped at the small handgun that was now in your possession. 

“Pam, where did this come from?” Pam gave you a toothy grin that didn’t feel entirely trustworthy. 

“Woman’s gotta have a bit of protection! Especially with all the monsters in the world.” 

You grimaced at her choice of words. For a moment or two, it was silent, aside from her heavy breathing and the light music that was still playing throughout the store. You gently pulled away from Pam’s tight grip on your shoulders and smiled. 

“I'm just going to... see if he is still there.” 

“Like hell you are-” But you were already too far away for her to pull you back. She seethed as you reached the door, but let you take your own actions. Taking a deep breath, you inched the door open. This felt stupid. So incredibly stupid. Everything inside of you was screaming that this was a death wish, but there was also a small part of you that was.... curious, almost. 

Glancing into the store, you quickly found the man was sitting on the counter, studying a piece of beef jerky like it was the most puzzling thing in the world. Even sitting, he was incredibly tall. Easily 7 feet. 

Maybe it was the gun in your hands that installed confidence in you, but the next thing you knew, you were leaving the safety of the breakroom and heading toward the monster disguised as a man. Pam might have shouted after you, but it was all white noise. His gaze snapped to yours, and you lifted the gun to be steady with his heart. 

“Did you really come here just to apologize?” 

His amber eyes traced the shape of the gun in your hands but expressed no emotion aside from careful curiosity. 

“Yes.” 

“And you’re... not a human, right?” You sounded breathless and unsure, and the gun wavered in your hands, but you refused to back down at this moment. His lips thinned as he thought over his answer. If he said he wasn’t a monster, you’d let the police take him, and go back to living life normally. Everything would be okay. But if he said yes, if he told you that he was a monster....

“I’m not a human, correct.” He reached a hand up and hid his eyes from you momentarily. As his hand slid away, the same, monstrously large eyes you had seen once before were revealed to you. Your grip on the gun faltered; the two of you locked in eye contact. His hand covered his eyes again, and returned back to a more familiar, human shape. 

“Okay, wow.” You murmured. His lips quirked up into a small, reassuring smile. The sound of approaching sirens startled the both of you into moving. He was suddenly standing, looking in the direction of the wails with furrowed brows. You took a step closer. 

“It’s the cops. Um... You should go. They’re coming for you.” He barely acknowledged you as you spoke. You could see the tension in his shoulders and the way his fists clenched against his side, and you decided. Pocketing the gun, you rushed to his side. You gently grabbed his bicep, trying to force him to look at you. At this point, if he really wanted to hurt you, wouldn’t he have done it already?

“(Y/n), the hell are you doing?!” 

You flinched at Pam’s indignant yell. You couldn’t find it in yourself to turn away from the man to look at her. 

“Please just trust me, Pam! Cover for me, and I’ll explain everything later.” 

“Nuh uh, no way in hell I’m letting you leave with that monster!” At those words, both you and the man looked at her. She had the barrel of a shotgun firmly pointed at the tall being next to you, looking red and angry but very sure of herself. The sirens became even louder. This all felt like too much. Pam adjusted the gun to her shoulder, and suddenly, it felt like a barrel of air had pummeled into you. Hands curled tightly around your body and lifted you into a hard chest. 

It was dark. 

You were outside! You could still hear the sirens approaching, but you were no longer bathed by the white sheen of the convenience store lights. Something tapped against your outer thigh, and you forced yourself to focus. 

“I’m sorry... She was going to shoot me and end up hitting you in the process.” 

The monster smiled down at you, a gentle pink flush on his skin that didn’t match the situation. His hands curled tighter around you, pulling you even closer to his chest. Enormous, amber eyes. Flat, dark pink nose. Round fluffy ears. Yep, once again faced with the reality that this was definitely not human. But looking at him like this, while he was calm, made him look almost entirely different then from before. He was like a... cat. Maybe not a house cat, but perhaps a tiger, especially with the orange and black hair. 

“Are you like... a were-tiger?” 

He was silent, and then a giggle escaped him. Surprisingly charming. 

“Good guess! I’m a rakshasa, actually. My name is Surya.” You felt obliged to give him your name in turn. The two of you stood together quietly for a few moments, listening as the sirens in the distance faded into nothing. 

Taking a big gulp of air, you met his eyes and spoke, “My apartment is really close to here.” 

He smiled slowly and nodded. “We’ll head there then? So I can properly apologize.”

[destielshippingnews]

Edvard's Supernatural Guide: 2x02 Everybody Loves a Clown

Supernatural’s twenty fourth episode is another one which I remembered dimly from my first watch between Christmas and New Year 2008. Dean and Sam walking along the road after ditching the car, the killer clown, and even Harvelle’s Roadhouse and the carnival were all familiar when I rejoined the show in 2015. What I did not remember, however, was how insufferable Sam is in this episode. I never cared at all for Sam even in 2008, but my indifference turned to hostility with this episode in 2015. It was only the second episode I watched as I got back into the show in London, but that was all it took for me to want to reach through the screen and slap Sam in the face with a fish. Things have only got worse in the seven years since, but beginnings are usually a prudent place to begin, ergo...

2x02 Everybody Loves a Clown begins at a carnival in Medford, Wisconsin (the same state 1x03 Dead in the Water and 1x18 Something Wicked were set in, and just across the river from Stillwater, Minnesota, where Donna lives and works. People who care about Swedish literature might also recognise Stillwater from The Emigrants series). The cold open begins with a red balloon bursting in front of the camera, and then a few shots of performers and clowns. It was not until rewatching this episode last night that I realised the very obvious reference to Stephen Kings IT which features red balloons associated with a killer clown prominently.

Of course, the ’clown’ in IT is not a clown at all, but an entity from the primordial chaos (The Prim) which existed before the universe who can adopt the disguise of a clown to lure in prey. Its true form is beyond our human capacity to perceive and understand, but its closest representative is a giant spider (almost definitely inspired by Ungoliantë and Shelob from Tolkien’s work). If we were to see its real form, we would be driven mad by it (in case you missed it, Stephen King is indeed a fan of Lovecraft. As was Tolkien, funnily enough). This is not especially relevant to this episode of Supernatural, but what is is the trauma It inflicted on the protagonists in the 1950s when they were children (I believe the years were changed in the recent remake with the Bill Skarsgård brother as Pennywise, but in the original novel from 1986 the adults are in the 1980s and the children in the 1950s).

The relevance I see IT having with this episode of Supernatural is both cosmetic but also thematic. Childhood trauma plays a significant role in IT, so much so that one of the adults dies by suicide rather than go back to Derry to face It. In the cold open of 2x02, a monster in clown form kills a child’s parents in front of her.

Not the most important or necessary reference to Stephen King we could have had, but let me repeat: a child sees her parents killed in front of her in the episode following John’s death in 2x01 In My Time of Dying. As if to drive this point home, the title card is immediately followed by John’s funeral pyre. As with the connection between Dean and Francis Dolarhyde/The Great Red Dragon I discussed in my analysis of 1x06 Skin, the show has made a connection between Dean, Sam, and the protagonists in IT who are dealing with fear and mental wounds left by experiences with monsters in childhood. I read the novel a decade ago when I could still read 1,400 pages in less than a month, but it still took me all this time to make the link.

The clown in this episode is not a clown at all, but rather a demon from India. Had Sam not told the viewer the rakshasa was Indian, I would have had no idea whatsoever because it had no Indian aesthetics at all. Even the man playing the rakshasa was white-skinned (though if American carnies are anything like their British and Irish peers, there is a chance a man looking like him had some Roma ancestry not too long ago). Episode 1x11 Scarecrow also suffered the same problem with its ’Scandinavian’ deity who had no Scandinavian aesthetics at all, but could instead have been anything from any mythos or any part of the world. Even though the townsfolk were supposed to be descendants of Scandinavian immigrants, there was not a single Dannebrog, Dalahäst, or Marius jumper to be seen. It really was to the episode’s detriment that the Indian vibes were conspicuous by their absence.

Also to the shows detriment was that it did not explore the nature of how the rakshasa lures in children in order to get to their parents. I eventually came to the conclusion that it must be enacting some variety of mind-control or subconscious suggestion on the children. When the girl is lying in bed, she is roused by a faint noise from outside which was barely audible. If we compare this to the girl in the cold open of 1x18 Something Wicked who filled her knickers with shepherd’s pie when she heard the shtriga outside at night, it appears more is going on than meets the eye. I had to come to this conclusion because no child is so stupid as to open the door to a homeless-looking clown at god knows what time of the night. Surely not.

Something Paula R. Stiles raises in her own analysis of this episode is the fact that Dean makes friends with the monster before he realises it is a monster. He will go on to do the same in 2x03 Bloodlust, and it must be alienating and deeply unsettling for him to befriend and form bonds with people who turn out to be monsters. What does that say about him? See above RE: Francis Dolarhyde.

My own view of that is Dean definitely has the potential to be a terrible person. A wish I had for the show was that Dean become the villain at some point, and by Dean I do not mean Dean posessed by an angel or Dean as a demon, but just normal Dean. People are not good because they are born good: they are good because they choose to be good. And vice versa. So what if Dean had chosen at some point to give in to the demons of his worse nature, perhaps in order to avoid dealing with his trauma and accepting that he was the victim of other people’s horrendous actions.

Dean is shown throughout the show having relationships of various kinds with monsters, demons, and ’bad’ people. This ’darkness’ is a part of him, and for years I hoped he would be allowed to release it and eventually be forced to fight against it. For those of you who have watched Buffy, this sounds a lot like Faith. Dean is both the Buffy and the Faith of Supernatural, but not for the first time and most definitely not for the last I am forced to sigh and say: Such potential, Supernatural. Such potential.

Also interesting is the fact that the rakshasa is very keen on not hitting Dean with its throwing knives, even when it has a clear shot. It also appears very keen on making sure Dean sees it gank Sam. Other than that, I have little to say about the rakshasa, but the way Dean and Sam worked together to kill it was believable and realistic. Neither of them was overpowered, but rather their coöperation in the funhouse saved the day. If their relationship were more like this, I would enjoy their brotherhood much more. They could and should have been the next Mulder and Scully (Dean was right, by the way: Sam is Scully, Dean is Mulder, though Sam could never even hold a candle to Scully).

Regarding Mulder and Scully, this episode brought to mind episode 2x20 Humbug of The X-Files, an episode directed by Kim Manners (producer and director of Supernatural) which centred on a murdered ’Alligator Man’ from a travelling circus. Like this episode of Supernatural, that episode features a final fight in a funhouse.

Perhaps more interesting is a comment made by the owner of the circus who says that his dad used to own a travelling freak show, until freak shows were made illegal and the ’freaks’ were sent to asylums. I cannot be the only person whose mind went to 1x10 Asylum and the ghosts of Dr Ellicot’s torture victims. American Horror Story – Freak Show also came to mind, as well as the fact that one or two characters seen in the freak show were also in American Horror Story – Asylum which was set a decade or two after Freak Show.

Moving swiftly on, this episode also introduced the Harvelles. I did not especially care about them when I first watched the show, nor upon rewatch in 2015 (or re-rewatch in 2015), and I have to unfortunately say I still do not care too much about them in 2022, even after watching the whole show four or five times. The biggest reason is the fact that they are not in prominent roles, and barely appear after episode 2x06 No Exit. Kripke has admitted on various occasions that he only included the Harvelles because the producers wanted the brothers to have a fixed location as a base of operations, a bit like the library in Buffy. He resented their presence on the show and could not think of anything to do with them.

This is a shame. At this point in the story, Dean and Sam are very familiar to the viewer, and other ancillary characters have been undeveloped and scarce. John is dead, Meg is exorcised, and Bobby is yet to become a recurring character. While Dean and Jensen’s acting can more than carry this show, having extra characters makes the world bigger and more vibrant, even if the characters in question are not especially important or heavily-featured.

Guinan in Star Trek: The Next Generation has very little plot relevance (at least in the episodes I have seen so far). She could be cut from the story and very little would change, but she provides wit and sage advice, a respite for the crew and audience from the main drama, and adds another voice to the story. Likewise, Lorne in Angel had very little to do with Angel Investigations for quite a while, but his presence livened up the show and made it all the richer.

My point is that the characters do not need to be essential to the plot to be included as more than a side-note. For example, Ash and Dean clearly bounce off each other in a way that begs to be explored more, and I would love to see more of Ellen. Jo is presented (unsuccessfully) as a potential love interest for Dean (as is Ash, but much more subtly), but her sisterly chemistry with the boys could be developed to great effect. If all we have is the essential plot and infrequent side notes, we have melody but no chords or embellishment.

Unfortunately, Jo was not written well as a potential love interest for Dean, and some of the female fans hated Jo with Dean. Even Jensen has referred to this in an oblique manner. At a Jus in Bello convention panel, somebody asked him whether he could see Dean settling down with somebody at any point. His response was that ’If there were ever a huntress... you would all kill her.’

One of the problems I have with Jo is that she is not introduced in a positive light. Rather, she reminds me too much of a character who is supposed to be a Bad Ass Bitch, but who is actually a douchenozzle.

She clearly does not know how to use a gun properly as Dean points out, and because she has the barrel jammed into his back

Dean’s line ’Oh, please let that be a gun’ also raised question marks, especially given the show’s subtle hints that Dean was forced into something akin to prostitution, and the likelihood he was almost date-raped at one point when very much underage. It could have been simply a joke, but it makes one wonder what else Dean has had jammed into his back against his will.

I am so happy John is burning in Hell. Burn, motherfrakker, burn!

Of course, right after Dean disarms Jo, she punches him in the face, which is not surprising considering she made the assumption he was...what, an intruder? A murderer? A rapist? I have no idea, nobody ever says why Ellen and Jo were so suspicious. Dean and Sam hardly made a secret of their being in the Harvelles’ pub, nor were they acting shifty. Was this just more manufactured drama? Probably. Anyway, Jo smacks Dean in the face hard enough to hurt him, because a tiny slip of a girl can easily punch a tall man in the face hard enough to hurt and phase him like that. At least she can take a punch, though, showing the viewer that she actually is on an equal footing with the male characters around her. She punched Dean in the face, and he punched her right back.

Oh wait, no he did not. Why? What reason is there for Dean to not hit her back afterwards, especially considering she took the gun back (how?)? Is this a chivalrry thing? Is this because Jo’s a girl and boys cannot hit girls or something? Is that what this is? Because the only other reason I can think of is that the writer did not want Dean decking his potential love interest at first meeting? If he had done that, it would have reset her brain back to factory settings, but it would also have shown the viewer that not only can Jo punch like a man, she can also take a hit like a man and keep going, just like Meg.

But of course we cannot have women being treated as men’s equals on television. Sure we can have them disarming a 6”1’ squirrel whose life has revolved around fighting, but actually having them able to take a man’s punches would just be too too damn much. They are only girls after all, we cannot expect them to be able to take that kind of treatment.

So let us take a brief look at Big Sky.

The two lead characters Jenny and Cassie are both women, and neither of them is ever treated as less competent or dangerous than the men around them. They definitely not male characters in women’s bodies, but they can absolutely fire a gun, take a punch, and put their lives in danger to save others. They never do anything stupid (unlike Jo in 2x06 No Exit), and I am completely behind them as characters. The show does sort of have a problem with almost all of the bad guys being men and almost all the victims being women. Beau’s (Jensen’s character’s) old-fashioned assumptions about women not knowing cars and Jenny getting uppity when he called her ’darlin’ was a little on-the-nose and unrealistic, but it was not too distracting.

Anyway, speaking of ’on-the-nose’, Jo offers no apology for assaulting Dean based on false assumptions, but rather proceeds to look smug as he sits with an ice pack pressed against his head. Was I supposed to laugh at the ice pack? Was I supposed to think ’haha, big muscly man got hit by a girl’? And was I also supposed to think that Jo was strong, capable, and dangerous?

If it is funny that she hit him, then it cannot be true that she is strong, otherwise what is there to laugh about? It cannot be funny that she hurt Dean, otherwise her strength is undermined.

This is one of the oxymorons and contradictions I was very aware of growing up with a penis. Girls are super and can do anything boys can do. They can do it better, in fact, because boys are stupid and you should throw rocks at them. The girl power of the 1990s was all about female chauvinism, as I discussed in my essay about Max kicking Alec in Dark Angel. But at the same time, boys should not hit girls because boys are stronger than girls, and only gays and wife-beaters hit girls. So are girls on an equal footing with boys? Or are they delicate little flowers to be shielded and protected from us? Make your choice and stick with it.

Having grown up with five sisters, one of whom set fire to the girls’ toilets at secondary school, one of whom managed to piss on the floor while sitting on the toilet, and one who sometimes did not flush the toilet after menstruating, I have no illusions about them being precious, delicate flowers.

Taking a step away from the lavotory for a moment, why was this Dean-bashing in the episode following John’s death? Jo hits Dean, the carnies have fun at Dean’s expense (with Sam letting them do it), Sam’s a douche. Tell me Dean is supposed to be the sidekick character without telling me he was supposed to be the sidekick character. About half the new characters in this episode specifically target Dean for ’jokes’ and jibes, whereas none of this is aimed at Sam. The more I write these analyses, the less I feel inclined to apologise for hyperfocusing on Dean and giving Sam short shrift: the show treated Dean like something it stepped in, and I want to redress the balance.

Jo also tries hitting on Dean (a completely tactless move given his dad has only just died), but it comes across more as a ’I am so hot and everybody wants to get in my knickers’ brag than ’Sorry I hit you in the face, would you like me to give you a massage to relieve your tension?’ She seems boastful, especially her claim that every hunter who comes through the door tries to get into her knickers with beer, pizza, and Led Zeppelin. I think I can see what the writer of this episode (and the writers in general) were trying to do with Jo, but it did not work. She seemed more like a try-hard and an amateur than a competent hunter-in-training who would be a romantic match for Dean. She is more like a sister, and even Dean realises this quite early on in this episode. He says ’wrong time, wrong place’, but his heart does not seem to be in any of his flirtations. This is most probably a mix of acting out of habit, being recently bereaved, and there being nothing between them.

Apropos Led Zeppelin, if Dean tried beer, pizza, and Zep with me, we would be upside-down and halfway to Happyland within five minutes.

Please note also, Dear Reader, that Ellen said John ’was like family once’. Whatever could that mean? Well, John has one confirmed illigitimate child named Adam: is Jo John’s daughter and Dean and Sam’s half-sister? Perhaps.

As for Ash, if you stop assuming Dean is straight unless proven 100% otherwise, the interactions between him and Ash are unmistakably flirty. They compliment each other (calling Ash a Skynyrd roadie is a big compliment from Dean), Dean gives him flirt-face, and there is even a wink involved. Ash makes a reference to ‘being all over it like Divine on dog dookie’, this being a reference to drag queen Divine who ate dog poo in the gay cult film Pink Flamingos. Why would he make this reference if he was not sure Dean would get it?

Dean enters Harvelle’s Roadhouse and has both Jo and Ash wrapped around his finger in minutes. That kind of power should be illegal.

Moving on, John’s funeral pyre scene at the beginning of the episode shows how like chalk and cheese Dean and Sam are. Sam is more obvious with his bereavement, his tears flowing freely and his grief plain to see on his face (why did we have none of this after Jess died?). Dean, however, is stony, stoic silence. He will receive a lot of bother from Sam for this ’strong, silent’ act, but even knowing what John told him and where Dean goes in the next few episodes, neither brother’s reaction here seems out of the ordinary. Crying about your dad’s death is normal, as is not crying about it. Sam’s inability to understand other people’s grief does not negate that.

Apropos Sam’s inability to understand expressions of grief that are not obvious, this is the source of the conflict between him and Dean in this episode, and it is the thing which caused my detestation-induced tumescence to reach full-mast. Sam stans, gird your loins and come at me.

Dean reticence and Sam’s mainstream, easily-digested expression of grief contrast sharply. Sam is supposed to be the general viewer’s gateway into the Winchesters’ parallel world, and he is used as a tool by the writers to give information about Dean that Dean would not reveal of his own volition, e.g. that he loved Cassie in 1x13 Route 666.

This is all well and good from a Doyle (extra-textual) perspective, but from a Watson (from inside the story) perspective, Sam’s behaviour when trying to get Dean to talk about his feelings is controlling, manipulative and downright disrespectful. That it is also self-absorbed goes without saying. I understand John Shiban who wrote this episode wanted to draw attention to the fact Dean was not talking about his feelings, but what he accomplished is creating a character who behaves as though he wants to dictate how others should process their bereavement and grief.

According to Dean, Sam had been asking him repetitively whether or not he was alright to the point of pestering him. On the one hand, Sam was grieving too and likely needed to share it with Dean, but as far as we know, he did not do this. Had he sat down near Dean while Dean fixed the car and said something along the lines of ‘Can I just sit here, maybe talk sometimes if I need to? I don’t want to be alone’, things would have been very different. Had Dean’s response been a snarky comment (which it almost certainly would not have been if he could sense Sam was serious), then Sam would be justified in being pissy.

Perhaps this happened and the viewer never saw it, but what we did see was Sam not respecting that the person he was speaking to was an adult and had no obligation to behave in a way comfortable or convenient to Sam. Dean made it clear he did not want to talk, as is his prerogative. Had Sam backed down then, I would have less of a quarrel with him. He is, after all, very young to be burdened with bereavement, especially so soon after his possibly-pregnant girlfriend died, and he is permitted an ounce of stupidity. However, rather than giving his brother space, he (in true Sam fashion) escalated the situation by turning it into a shouting match. I was considering giving him some lenience, but in the blink of an eye he was a sanctimonious fishwife. I wanted to rip my ears off and ram them down his throat. Was this in the script or was it Jared’s acting choices? Either way, I want to speak to the manager.

Their first argument in the episode is understandable, and the conflict forgivable. They are both young and suffering an immense loss. Nobody in that situation is going to act rationally, sensibly, or indeed decently all the time. In times like that, the facade that life means something falls away, as do our pretences that anything we do matters, and we are left facing the indifference of the universe. It takes its toll to skirt that close to the void, so Sam’s irritating behaviour and Dean’s prickly but reasonable withdrawal are not to be held against them. Had Sam kept his mouth shut after Dean shut it for him at the beginning of the episode, I would not have much quarrel with Sam.

But not only did he refuse to let up, he once again escalated the situation halfway through the episode by outright demanding Dean process his loss in a way Sam believes is appropriate.

For those of you who have forgotten, this happens after Dean and Sam stake out the young family’s home and hilariously blast the rakshasa through the glass door with a rock salt round. They ditch the ‘soccer mom’ minivan in some trees somewhere and walk back to the Harvelles’ (which is apparently located in Nebraska, a whole two states away from Wisconsin). Whilst walking down a dirt road, Sam gets all misty eyed and cringey about ‘doing what Dad would have wanted’. Dean does not really respond to this, instead falling silent in what anybody with more empathy that a teaspoon could tell is a declaration that he does not want to talk about it.

Sam, of course, being the small yappy-type dog he is, yips and yaps at Dean for this. ‘Don’t go all maudlin on me, man.’

I am not a violent man, but there is just something about Sam’s behaviour which brings the violence to the fore. My response to Sam’s ’maudlin’ comment involved a certain curse word which one is not allowed to say in Canada. He is a yapping chihuahua who has not learnt that yapping at a German Shepherd is a sure way to get a giant paw in your face. I wish Dean had decked Sam in the middle of the road and left him in the dirt for that. Dean’s dad just died and Sam has the audacity to call him ’maudlin’ when Dean is the one keeping himself in check and not bringing John up all the time.

Far be it from me to bring gendered behaviour into these analyses, but I think one of the big issues here is that Sam does not understand how men tend to deal with emotions. He is far from being alone in this, as contrary to popular belief, many experiences and behaviours exclusive or most common among men are not portrayed as the norm or the default. I have had to learn a lot about men and men’s psychology as an adult because I plainly did not have any exposure to it in childhood. I am cissexual, but this is something my trans friend and I share: we had to learn this for ourselves because nobody taught us it. Perhaps because I had to learn this like a second language, I can recognise a lot in Dean which is typical of men, or rather masculine people (because man =/= masculine and masculine =/=man).

Dean insists on multiple occasions in this episode that he is ‘okay’, and many people take this to be a clear lie, or a man repressing his emotions, or a man not being able to understand or process his emotions. What I hear him say, though, is ‘I’m coping’, and that is a very different thing. Of course he is not ‘alright’ if by ‘alright’ one means he is not suffering immensely after the loss of one of the most important people in his life. He is (or believes he is) managing to keep his head above water.

There is, however, an aspect of pretending to be ‘okay’ because he does not want people to pry. This is nothing unusual, but is normal behaviour for men. It is a truism that women do not want to have sex before they are ready, otherwise they feel cheapened; likewise men do not want to talk about our emotions before we are ready, otherwise we feel cheapened. Even when we do talk, most people are not listening anyway, and some are looking for things they can use as weapons against us. It takes a lot for a man to trust a person enough to talk openly to him or her (or whatever variation thereupon takes your fancy), and do let us not forget that Sam has given Dean little reason to believe he can be trusted with Dean’s vulnerability.

Not only has Sam been physically aggressive without provocation (1x08 Bugs), shot at him twice without ever offering real apology (1x10 Asylum), and belittled Dean’s bereavement at Mary’s death (1x11 Scarecrow), but he acts like an overgrown teenager. Worse, he attacked Dean after Dean refused to share his grief with Sam, a sure-fire sign that Sam does not have Dean’s best interests at heart or in mind, but rather wants something for himself. He is not able to offer Dean the surety, calmness, and reliability he would need in order to allow himself to be vulnerable and confide in his brother, any more than I would lean on my teenage nephew for emotional support whilst newly orphaned.

Something which sprang to mind when thinking of Dean’s bereavement was Men’s Sheds, an international organisation which arranges spaces for men (usually exclusively men).

The point of this is to give mainly older and elderly men whose support network of friends and family is gone due to death, divorce, or whatever else a community of other men in similar positions a time and space to get together and work on DIY projects, fix cars, or just have a cup of tea and watch football with other men. It is usually specifically for men for the same reasons women have female-specific groups: straight, gay, bi, cis, and trans men can be more comfortable and communicate easier in single-sex company because they are around people who speak the same language as them and share the same experiences. Men’s Sheds are built around the idea that men talk shoulder to shoulder, not face to face. What this means is that men form bonds with other men by working on things with them, and eventually will start talking when sufficiently comfortable.

Crying is also something which comes harder to most men than it seems to for women. Our tear ducts are longer and wider, our tear glands smaller, and our bodies do not produce as much of the hormone which induces the crying reaction. The aforementioned trans friend was shocked at how much harder it was for him to cry once he had been on testosterone for a while. Trying to cry was like trying to defecate whilst constipated. I cry, but only once or twice a year, and when I do there are usually very few tears. Emotions have to be relieved elsewise.

Anger is one of the most common ways men relieve these emotions. People are scared of anger, particularly men’s anger, but anger is neither good nor bad: it just is. Anger is the body’s way of helping you focus and on finding a solution to a problem, using physical force if necessary. A solution to dealing with these negative emotions is finding something to focus energy on, such as gardening, building a model railway, fixing the roof, or fixing a car.

Fixing the car is exactly what Dean is doing as the episode proper begins. As he himself states:

DEAN

...You got any leads on where the demon is? Making heads or tails of any of Dad's research? Because I sure ain't. But you know, if we do finally find it - oh. No, wait, like you said. The Colt's gone. But I'm sure you've figured out another way to kill it. We've got nothing, Sam. Nothing, okay? So you know the only thing I can do? Is I can work on the car.

Doing something like this can make a person feel capable, needed, and strong enough to keep going. Jordan Peterson gives the example of a young man who lost his father; Jordan’s advice to the son was to be the strongest, most reliable person at his father’s funeral. In being a support for other people, the son felt needed and had something to focus on. This helped him more than any amount of crying or chick-flick moments, and this is – generally speaking – true of men. We do not really want to talk about our emotions for talking’s sake. We want to find ways to solve the problems our emotions are telling us we are having. Or, failing that, find a way to make us feel strong enough to shoulder our burden and carry on.

This accounts for part of the silent, stoic act Sam gets angry about. Dean does not want to fall apart under the weight of his grief: he wants to keep himself and his inner workings in check so he can either find a solution to his problems or find the strength to carry on. Add to this the fact Dean cannot rely on anybody to pick him back up if he falls apart – definitely not Sam – and it is reasonable and frankly admirable that Dean manages to screw his testicles on every morning and keep going at near full capacity. I will try to emulate his strength the day I have to carry my dad’s coffin to his grave.

Dean’s way of coping is a traditionally masculine way of managing difficult emotions: keep control and keep going. Being able to do this generally helps men many orders of magnitude more than talking, because it makes us feel strong. This is, however, officially pathologised in American psychiatric circles, and ideas of ‘toxic masculinity’ have been leaking out into the mainstream for years. If people spoke instead of ‘men and women’s poisonous expectations and demands of men’, then we would suddenly be on the same page. But I see nothing ‘poisonous’ or ‘toxic’ in Dean not falling apart and weeping like a helpless damsel who just needs the right man’s penis to solve all her problems. Rather, it is a different but equally valid way of doing things.

That said, everybody needs an environment in which talking, crying, and relying on others is possible, acceptable, and encouraged if needed and wanted. I speak from experience. Dean does not have this: he cannot rely on or trust Sam. It is all well and good saying ‘you need to talk’, but to whom can Dean talk to and trust to be able to cope with what he has to say?

Nobody.

In this very episode, Sam showed Dean clearly that he does not have his back when the carnies started making fun of him in front of Sam. I was supposed to laugh at this, but after Dean had just lost his father?!?! Frak you, Show. Frak you with something hard and sand-papery.

By the way, if you want funny, this is funny!

In my opinion, Dean’s method is much healthier than Sam’s manipulative grief-policing, at least in the short term. Sam displays no sympathy or understanding of Dean, and is clearly not in control of himself. He lacks control of himself to such a degree that he tries to control other people instead. Sometimes Sam appears to genuinely love and care for Dean, but too often he treats his older brother like an embarrassing irritation he wishes he could control.

That being said, Dean is clearly not okay, but nothing about his behaviour in this episodes is untoward or unusual for a man who has just come back from the dead and whose father has just died. We will have to wait until episode 2x03 Bloodlust and 2x04 Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things to see that there is more than ‘normal’ bereavement at play, and do let us not forget 2x09 Croatoan.

The episode ends with a scene where Sam almost apologises to Dean for being a rectal irrigation implement and admitting how much he is struggling with John’s death.

Were it not for his douchey behaviour earlier in the episode, I might have been willing to give him a pass after this, but I still have his screechy fishwife act ringing in my ears. Perhaps I sound as though I am taking this personally, but I have been in a situation like Dean where I was ‘okay’ but somebody kept pestering me to talk in spite of my clearly not wanting to. Said person then got angry at me, shouted at me, and bitched about me in front of other people, all because s/he would not leave me be and could not accept not being in control of me. I recognise a lot of poisonous behaviour and attitudes in Sam which I have dealt with in my real life, and I am not here for them.

Something else I recognised was Sam’s attempt at control at the end. He said ‘I’m not okay’, which would have been all well and good, but he had to finish it with a ‘But neither are you. That much I know.’ Good for you, Captain Obvious, you are Big Smart. Unfortunately what you lack is empathy and wisdom. It is hard enough keeping oneself together and carrying on, but having other people see right through that, prying and poking, makes the whole ordeal a bigger challenge. Letting people maintain their illusion of structural integrity is sometimes the wise choice.

At the end of the episode, Dean watches Sam leave, then smashes the window of a nearby car with a hammer. Once that seal is broken, it is impossible to turn back the tide, and Dean inflicts serious damage on the car he has spent so long repairing. Why exactly he does this is uncertain, but a combination of grief and anger is obvious. The car is a lot of things to Dean: it is his prized possession, his home, and a representation of the burden John placed on him. Paula R. Stiles notes also that he focuses his attention on smashing the boot where all the hunting implements are kept, suggesting anger and a host of other emotions relating to being forced into the hunting life. She also mentioned that he stared after Sam before smashing his car up, but this could just have been him making sure his brother was out of sight and earshot.

The closing shot of the episode is of the blank death-stare Jensen is so good at doing. Forgive the cliché, but the best word I can summon to mind to describe his expression is ‘empty’: he has too many thoughts in his mind for any of them to be coherent. He has lost all hope, and the burden of becoming a fratricide when his identity has been formed around protecting and providing for others is tearing him apart. He is also likely aware as early as this that John traded his life and the colt for Dean, and Dean has already been living with survivor’s guilt since 1x12 Faith. He believes he should suffer for others, but others are suffering for him, and he believes he will have to kill those he wanted to protect. He cannot express any of this in words, not even conceptualise it. so all that remains is a blank, thousand-mile stare.

Dean’s structural integrity is compromised, and the centre cannot hold. Watch it unravel over the course of series two. But before you go and forget everything you just read, I have enough gifs remaining to share this:

Look at his wee little outfit!

[nejishadow]

Art I did in trade with N8mare for the Dracofleur design I posted about a bit back.

Both character belong to N8mare! I'm open for commissions like this, check pinned for any/all relevant details

[monster-disaster]

[lion rakshasa] Dain

lion rakshasa!Dain x human!Reader Good to know: shower smut

Summary: Dain's night continues.

The bar on the ground floor of the hotel is still lively and busy despite the late hours. Humans and monsters enjoy the slow music in the background, drinking and chatting. As you turn your head away from the tables around you, your gaze lands on the tall windows. You can see the glinting stars in the night sky above the dark silhouettes of the sand dunes. You can still barely believe you are here. You heard about the resort before, but you never thought you would ever have the reason to come here.

Your attention turns back to your best friend and her fiancé. They sit next to each other in front of you on the other side of the round table. Their gazes scan the room every now and again, pausing on someone behind you. You don't turn to see who they are watching. Their matching smiles tell you everything you need to know.

"Careful," you hum knowingly. "There will be no wedding tomorrow if you two don't show up in time." Your friend scoffs, with a giddy smile playing on her red lips. "We will be there." Her fiancé kisses the soft curve of her bare shoulder in agreement.

By now, it's just you and them at the table. Your other friends have already left for the night.

"Well, guys, I better get going too," you tell them. "Tomorrow will be a long day, and as I see, you already have other plans." "Are you mad?" Your friend tears her eyes away from the stranger behind you. Worry glints in her dark eyes. "Of course not," you smile at her reassuringly. "I will see you guys tomorrow." "Bye."

Grabbing your purse, you leave the bar and your friends behind.

The entrance hall of the hotel is calm, with dim lights and muffled sounds coming from the bar. The receptionist sits at the counter, reading a magazine with a bored expression. Her black hair hides half of her face. You are sure she is not a human, but no matter how much you stare at her, you can't see the signs of her true form.

The opening and closing of the entrance door draw your attention away from the woman to a male rakshasa only in a towel around his waist. His posture is relaxed, and his movements are lazy as he stops next to you, waiting for the elevator. You can only guess where he spent his night from his still-damp fur and the scent of lotions lingering around him. Your eyes wander all over his body without your noticing. His mane is a few shades darker than the fur on the rest of his body. The thick hair does nothing to hide his broad shoulders. His upper body is a mix of muscles and fat with a bit of a belly. Seeing the width of his arms and legs, you have no question about his strength. When your gaze runs back up to his face, the male is already watching you from the corner of his eyes. The black line of his lips pulls into a soft, lazy curve as he smiles.

"Good night?" You break the silence when it starts to become too awkward. "And it gets better," he replies, letting his eyes fall on your cleavage. The small, black cocktail dress you wear leaves nothing to the imagination. "You seem too sure," you reply, letting your lips pull into a smirk. "Am I?" He asks. The elevator softly dings next to you, but none of you move to get in. He focuses on you while you stare up at him, excited.

If your friends let themselves have a fun night before their wedding, you can enjoy some company too. Especially since you are almost sure your roommate is busy with a harpy.

The rakshasa leans closer. The soothing scent of the oils fills your nostrils. "The masseur just sucked my cock not even half an hour ago," he says, smirking. "But I'm ready for another round, sweetheart." "Are you sure it won't fall off?" You tease. "You have to find out."

Biting your bottom lip, you think about his offer. In other circumstances, you would be pissed. He is too confident and crude. Somebody just sucked him off, and he is ready to jump on you. The calm satisfaction of his post-orgasm rakes off his body.

"Where is your room?" You ask him, crossing your arms in front of your chest, waiting. Lifting his arm, he lets you into the elevator first. The metal box seems even smaller with his big figure next to yours.

Well, even though you would reject him on any other day, today, you decide otherwise. You are in the middle of a desert at a nice resort that's famous for its sexual freedom. One more night after the wedding, and you have to go home and continue your life. You will never see the male again, so you are allowed to have some fun.

The elevator stops with another ding, and the male leads you out to his room with his hand on the small of your back. "The name is Dain, by the way," he breaks the silence, turning the key in the lock. "Amy," you reply.

The moment the door of his room closes behind you, he just tugs on the towel around his waist and lets the fabric fall to the ground. Your jaw falls in surprise as you force your gaze away from his already half-hard erection.

"You are not shy, are you?" You ask him, staring at the white ceiling. "Well, you will see me anyway, no?" He asks. "Besides, if I don't wash the oil off my fur, it will be a pain in the ass tomorrow." "Okay," you nod. Understandable. "Then I will just wait here?" You start to fidget in awkwardness. Usually, you are not up for one-night stands, and this is the reason why. You don't know him. You don't know what he likes and dislikes. You are not comfortable enough around him to know what to do. The few times you let yourself go with a stranger, you were tipsy with much more confidence and carelessness. "Or you can join me?" He suggests watching you from the entrance of the bathroom. "Or if you changed your mind, I understand, you know? You don't have to do anything." Hearing his reassuring words makes your gaze drop back to him. He fills out the door frame with his broad figure. His fur shines under the light of the room. "A shower sounds good," you tell him at the end, reaching back to the zipper of your dress to get rid of your clothes. When you look back at him, naked, the smirk is back on his face. "I'm glad," he says, staring at your breasts without shame. He licks one of his sharp teeth, making your thighs clench with anticipation. "Come on, then, sweetheart."

You follow him to the bathroom and under the shower. Soon, the sound of the water coming from the showerhead fills the room, and you find yourself almost pressed against his body. "It's smaller than I thought," you state. "I don't complain," Dain grins, looking at you. The tip of his hard cock grazes your belly. It's hot and heavy on your skin. "Do you need help?" You ask him, watching him wash his front, making sure his mane stays dry the whole time. "Could you wash my back?" He asks. "Sure," you reply, soaping your hand before he turns his back to you, and you get to work on his fur. "And your mane?" "It's fine. It would take forever to dry it."

Your fingers brush through his now wet fur. You can feel the oil under your touch, and bubbles appear, following the way of your hands on his back. His posture is relaxed as he lets the warm water wash down his body.

Silence settles between you two, and slowly but surely, you calm down too. You find enjoyment in taking care of his fur. You let your hand smooth over his sides, reaching his front. Your bare chest is pressed against his back. Exploring his upper body, the water soaks you, too, cocooning you in a steamy warmth. The scent of the oil and his shampoo mix in your nostrils.

"Let me turn around," Dain says, and when you do, he pours more soap into his large hands and starts to wash your hair. He massages your scalp, curling your hair around his fingers. Your lips fall open with a sigh, and your eyes close for long seconds. "You are good at this," you hum. "I'm good at a lot of things," he replies, moving his hand down your body. He rubs your muscles, caresses your skin, and flicks your nipples. You pamper each other for a long time, not caring about his erection between your bodies. "Spread your legs," he says, and you do. His thick fingers slide over your pussy, opening you up and making sure you are wet enough before finding your entrance. Your own hold on his wide shoulders tightens as he pushes into you. "Fuck," you gasp out. "Good?" The male hums close to your ear. His breath fans over the curve of your neck. "You have a tight cunt." "You are really crude," you laugh breathlessly. "Is it bothering you?" He asks. Tease rings in his deep voice. "Should I shut up? Or do you want to hear me saying how much I want to fuck this cunt until you can't walk?" His words go straight to your pussy. Something cramps in your belly. "Answer me, Amy," he continues. "Maybe I shouldn't tell you how your pussy will soak my cock as I drive inside you, fucking you into the wall until you can think of nothing but my cock in your tight channel." "I want to hear it," you cry out when he curls his finger inside you, rubbing your walls and stretching you out. "That's what I thought," Dain grins. "I can feel it. What made you so wet? My words or my finger? Maybe the sight of my big cock?" "All of it," you reply. Your fingers pull on his fur to tug him closer. "Fuck me, Dain. I'm ready." "Then turn around and show me your ass," he orders.

Facing the wall, you brace your palms against the tiles. Your legs are still open, and your ass is pushed out. Your nipples are hard, swollen pebbles after his teasing tugs and rubs. The shampoo from your hair flows down the curve of your back.

"I want to bite this ass so much," Dain grunts, groping your ass. His fingers dig into your flesh, parting your cheeks and staring at your holes with hunger. A satisfied purr leaves his chest at the sight. You can feel the sound on the walls, in your bones, between your legs. "Later?" You ask, even though the memory of his sharp teeth awakes something inside you. Dain, without replying, steps closer until you can feel the tip of his cock nudging your folds and slapping your clit. The rakshasa takes his time, coating himself in your wetness. "Brace yourself," he warns you, adjusting himself at your entrance and slowly, but surely pushing inside you. He doesn't stop to let you get used to his size until he is fully inside. "Oh, god," you groan breathlessly. Your nails graze the wall. "You are big." "And you are tight," he tells you. "So fucking tight." His voice is breathless. Your walls hug his length, sucking him in even more. His balls jerk at the feeling. "Fuck me," you moan, pushing your hips out against him even more. The muscles in your arms tense as you brace yourself against the wall. The male rakshasa still feels big in your pussy, but the slight burn of your hole is pleasurable and drives you to want more. Much more.

Dain grabs your hips, with an almost bruising strength as he pulls you back on his cock. He starts to fuck you against the wall. He thrusts in and out of you with such a speed that leaves you breathless. The wet, slapping sound of your bodies fills the small room. One of his hands runs up on the front of your body, grabbing your breast in his vice hold. "Fuck," he groans against your shoulder. His teeth graze your skin. "You feel so good." "Don'tstopdon'tstop," you moan. "Oh my god!" He reaches every part inside you that makes you see stars on the white walls. The only things that keep you on your feet are his arms around your body. "Cum for me, Amy," he growls, snapping his hips against your ass. "Make a mess on my cock." He uses your hole to the point it's almost painful. He pushes you higher and higher until you fall over the edge with a loud scream. Your walls tighten and flutter around his cock, sucking him into you for his seed. The feel of your pussy cumming around him makes the male growl. You can feel the deep rumble on your back as his chest presses you into the wall. Your knees buckle, and Dain has to catch you at the last moment. "I'm not done with you yet," he laughs, hauling you up with his cock still inside you. "And after I paint your ass with my cum, I have a seat for you on my face."

You only hope you won't be late for your friends' wedding tomorrow.

- Masterlist Mirage Resort Masterlist Patreon

[maria-ruta]

Favorite anthropomorphic animal character(s)?

alright lets gooo

Lady Kluck from Robin Hood, the cat from Bremen's musicians, mrs Brisby and Justin from Secret of Nimph, THAT PIG from Nu Pogody

also honorable mention to Blacksad, tho I can't think of any character there that could be my favorite so...

same with The Bad Guys

Zootopia doesnt get honorable mention because imo it was pretty eh.

also, this is not a character tbh but I have to include the Rakshasa unit from Heroes of Might and Magic 5 computer game, because these kitty ladies forever altered my brain chemestry as a kid haha (fun fact, after you upgrade them - they become male lion warriors? happy transition i guess!)

oh the amount of sexy cat ladies with swords i drew after playing this game... X)

and the SUPER honirable mentions to my mutuals antropomorphic animals characters

such as @gammelgaedda , @kewpiekills and @bennizone characters

also my friends Kate's character tabaxi Mao and @tench-art 's illithid Chiviss from our underdark dnd game <3

they are my pookies <3

[naisaspalace]

PERSONAL NAKSHATRA ANALYSIS p4

Shatabhishak nakshatra p1

The Veiling Star. The Power to Heal.

nakshatras characteristics:

Translation:  A hundred healers or hundred physicians  Symbol: Empty circle, thousand flowers or stars  Animal Symbol : A female horse  (pairs with ashwini) Presiding Deity:  Lord Varuna, the God of rain  Controlling/Ruling Planet:  Rahu  Ruling Deity of the Planet:  Durga Nature : Rakshasa (demon)  Mode:  Active  Number:  24  Gender:  Neutral  Dosha: Vata  Guna:  Tamasic  Element:  Ether  Disposition:  Movable  Bird: Raven Upward Facing Direction: South Colour: Blue Green Trimurti: Shiva/Dissolution Gotra/Clan: Sage Atri.

nakshatra quick overview:

shatabhishak is the maturation of rahu, here we are going to see how this nakshatra behaves, mainly in pop culture, but this time saturn is involved as he is the ruler of aquarius.

this nakshatra is about scientific breakthroughs, fame, technology (like cyberpunk visuals), opposition to the king and kingdom (opposite to magha), outlaws and outcasts etc, and on its "healed performance" we can see amazing healers and advisers like carl jung. (not confirmed)

Pop culture manifestation:

Justin bieber ( grew up on rahu mahadasha, and have sun-saturn shatabhishak among his aquarius stellium)

although i personally see him as more of a anuradha man, because he's a first house rahu anuradha BUT he have mars on aquarius so.. i mean to each their own i suppose.

justin grew up during his rahu mahadasha with the lord conjucted his aquarius stellium (sun,saturn,mars) and today he is known as one of the biggest male stars after Michael Jackson (that have a shatabhishak lagna) (when i am saying after Michael i am not saying that justin took his legacy or anything like that what i am trying to say is that to me after mj i haven't seen anyone with this level of fame.)

he was discovered when he was a kid playing on the streets by scooter braun, his former manager (btw i just checked and scooters mars fall in his 7th, since mars is the significator of the 3rd i am assuming that they might have been brothers on the past life.. just a random guess btw because omg this man took justin and payed his bills he basically gave justin a life). after that justin gain massive fame and became one of the most famous child stars of the 00's

here rahu manifests as a troublemaker who surrendered to fame and life pleasures as justin surrender to drugs and the rich lifestyle but I don’t blame him is not like he had the choice because rahu mahadasha is a cloudy dasha.

Michael Jackson

michael was also a child star but this time he was on a band with his brothers, the jackson 5. eventually, Michael followed a solo career and became one of the most famous pop stars of the world. he used to suffer with vitiligo, which results in white patches on the skin and sensitivity to sunlight.

to me both fit in the same category of at least example of manifestation, even tho justin was way more "rahunian" ( he was arrested, was a drug-addicted, and was involved in so many scandals) both of them were harassed by the media since childhood, they were barely a child and they were working already (saturn usually makes the native suffer earlier)

the main difference is that michael embodied the humanitarian part of aquarius, and shatabhishak , per say, he was a man of the people and he was also very loved by the society… justin in the other hand despises the paparazzi and even threw a chair on the public on day..

do keep in mind I am comparing both due to placements and fame I’m not saying they are the same person okay.

both child stars with a huge legacy that had no choice but to work to be able to live and maintain their families showcasing the saturn part of shatabhishak (and justin was able to get away with a lot of mess that was rahu).

quick mention of evils presley who stole someone else’s music and became also another pop culture star with a legacy. (the famous aquarius characteristic stealing someone else’s work and gaining fame with it).

beyond the most common known traits of rahu this time we have, because of lord varuna, the deity of the nakshatra, we have natives who have a deep sense of justice and ends up behaving like a punisher of those who have sinned.

deep sense of justice with a deep harshness hidden, also due to their tamastic nature.

like che guevara who have a shatabhisha moon

and benjamin franklin who discovered the electricity and is considered one of the founding father of the us

and vladimir p**** with his d9 ketu in shatabhisha.

the shadow side of shatabhisha is the lack of control especially to keep “the order and punish the wrong ones”

for the thief example we have pablo escobar (with lagna )

now with innovation we have:

steve jobs (sun) the found of apple



we also have gianni versace with his moon

overall shatabhisha is mainly linked with pop culture trends, singers (a lot of singers) and actors (ex: miranda cosgrove icarly) , models and extremists. for this first part I wanted to clear the most known part of the constellation stereotype and I will include a more analysis on the healing part and extremism later on.

thank you for reading until the end I hope I was able to help someone please feel free to leave feedback and suggestions for next posts if you want to :)

readings are open.

contact info.

[vertigoblockbuster]

☋☋ ☋ मघा Magha Nakshatra मघा ☋ ☋☋

Past lives, ominous, traveling inward

Hughes Merle's Mary Magdalene in the Cave, 1868. The reptilian arms are not part of the original painting.

The Basics Ruling planet: Ketu Ruling deity: Pitris Yoni: Male rat Symbol: Royal throne

Rahu and Ketu We can't talk about Ketu without talking about Rahu as well. Rahu and Ketu are referred to as the lunar nodes in astrology. They aren't physical objects in space like Jupiter or Saturn. They are calculated points. However, for ease of communication, Rahu and Ketu are often referred to as planets anyways.

The lunar nodes are determined by the orbits of the sun and the moon. The intersections of the orbits of the sun and moon as apparent from Earth tell us the position of the nodes at a given time. It takes about 18 months for the nodes to journey through a single zodiac sign and about two decades for them to cycle through all twelve.

Image from Wikipedia.

Since the nodes are located where the sun and moon overlap as seen from Earth, they are associated with eclipses. Rahu (the north, or ascending node) swallows the sun during a solar eclipse and Ketu (the south, or descending node) swallows the moon during a lunar eclipse. We can further assume that the nodes are always exactly 180° apart, or opposite to, one another. If the north node is in Sagittarius, for example, the south node will always be in Gemini.

The nodes in astrology deal with karmic destiny. The nature of your south node placement shows who you were in a past life, what you have previously mastered and now know in your bones to be true. Your north node placement shows what you are working towards in this life, what you strive to accomplish, the lessons you are here to master.

Rahu and Ketu In Mythology According to Vedic mythology, Rahu and Ketu started out as one being, a demonic serpent called a rakshasa. They were separated into two beings as punishment. During a ceremony to honor the planets, Lord Visnu churned up the oceans to create a divine nectar for them to drink and become immortal. When the planets (or deities) lined up to drink, the demon snuck under Visnu's nose to drink some of the nectar for himself. Rahu/Ketu had already ingested the immortal drink before they were caught in the act - becoming accidentally undying. Furious, Visnu beheaded the demon but at that point it was too late. Rahu (the demon's head) and Ketu (the body) become two entities and were cast to opposite ends of the sky.

A depiction of a rakshasa (demon) done in Yakshagana, a traditional style of theater prominent in southern India. Image from Wikipedia.

Rahu, being the head, is arguably more responsible for the separation of the demon into two parts. As the head, Rahu is consumptive by nature. This is why one's natal Rahu placement indicates what they are after in this life. The devouring head symbolizes our insatiable desire to obtain more and become more.

Rahu's willingness to ignore boundaries to obtain the immortal nectar is telling - he has no regard for authority. He is not much of a leader himself, more so interested in mocking those holding positions of power. In this way Rahu is hypocritical because he attacks the character and methodologies of those in power yet he himself demonstrates childishness and irreverence. When he is rendered a head without a body, he is left an eternal troublemaker.

When separated from his head, bodily Ketu is doomed to forever long for his other half - reminiscent of the past being the past, something we can never go back to and simultaneously can't shake the memory of. We master our Rahu and Ketu by connecting our heads with our bodies - that is, by balancing past with future, applying ancient knowledge stored in the body to achieve future-facing objectives the head seeks to fulfill.

"Ketu's permanent longing for wholeness is a consequence of Rahu's excited refusal to respect conventional boundaries. As a result of Rahu's wildness, Ketu the Dragon-Tail Cauda Draconis is forced to gaze with eternally unsatisfied longing at His dear severed partner Rahu the Dragon-Head Caput Draconis." - Barbara Pijan Lama, Vedic astrologer based in Portland, Oregon

A makeup look done by smeyuka on Instagram. Note the grey/smokey tone of the face and red emphasis added to the eyes.

In Phaladeepika, a classical Sanskrit text on Vedic astrology, Ketu is described like this:

"Ketu is fiercly red-eyed, is venom-tongued (speaking venomously), and without a body or disembodied, he is violent (using weapons, wants to scare), and ignoble (low, fallen, no social contribution, uncultured, wild, intense), his complexion is smokey (ominous), he is a constant smoke drinker (using opium or marijuana), his body is covered in scars (not cooperative), not fatty (emaciated, thin, angular), and cruel (unforgiving)."**

** what is in paranthases are notes on different ways the text can be translated. Watch Vic Dicara's videos on Rahu and Ketu.

Artistic rendition of Ketu/Kathoo in E.A. Rodrigues's The Complete Hindoo Pantheon. Image taken from Wikipedia.

Some people think that what we experience as eclipses are actually Rahu and Ketu taking revenge for their separation. Eclipses are times of sudden change - when the sun is obscured by the moon or vice versa, the atmosphere on Earth is very different. Having witnessed the total lunar eclipse of 2017, I remember things turning a grey/yellow/brown hue, and the air taking on a kind of hazy quality (but I believe this was due to wildfires). If you have ever seen the movie Enemy with Jake Gyllenhaal, it looked like that.

Still from Enemy (2013)

Here is a description of a solar eclipse by Dr. Rick Feinberg, astronomer and science communicator (now retired):

"Measurements made at recent total eclipses put the illuminance at totality around 5 lux, comparable to civil twilight. The sky is still some shade of silvery, purply blue. In contrast, the black sky on a night of full Moon is 10 times darker still, less than 0.5 lux. Yes, bright planets –– especially Venus and Jupiter –– are obvious in twilight, but stars? I don’t like to waste valuable time during totality looking for stars; the only time I saw one was on August 21, 2017, when 1st-magnitude Regulus glimmered just to the left of the totally eclipsed Sun.

It certainly feels like it gets as dark as night during the final minute before totality, but that’s just because your eyes haven’t had time to adjust. The changes in illumination at the beginning and end of totality happen much faster and more dramatically than at dusk and dawn, respectively."

Image of the 2019 solar eclipse above the European Southern Observatory in Chile, taken by Mahdi Zamani.

Non-dualism and the Ouroboros The nodes are inseparable opposites, both two and one - like how the past and future becoming one in the present. In this way they demonstrate the concept of non-duality. Non-dualism is a philosophical concept observed in many spiritual and religious traditions, particularly ones that originated in the East such as Buddhism, Hinduism, and Taoism. The non-dual perspective holds that there is no fundamental separation - between objects, energy, people... it's all one.

“All things are permeated with God, just as all things are permeated with air.” – Hildegard of Bingen

Ketu's rulership over Magha suggests that people with heavy influence from this nakshatra in their birthchart are deeply spiritual and/or philosophical. If you think about Rahu and Ketu as being an axis - that is, talking about the same topics but having opposite opinions on them - Rahu expands outwards, forever seeking to consume and grow materially. Ketu expands internally. The expansion of Ketu looks like material poverty from the outside, but Ketu is not interested in earthly objectives. Rahu wants to grasp and Ketu wants to release. By releasing attachment to the physical, Ketu finds bliss.

Rahu's knowing is of the head. It is entirely cerebral. Ketu's knowing is bodily. That is, it is completely intuitive and feeling/sensory-based. In the world we live in, computational and logical thinking is (for better or worse) king. For this reason, if you have prominent Magha placements, I wouldn't be surprised if you feel like you either 1) don't belong in this world or 2) have been here before, perhaps many times over. Ketu, symbolizing past lives and knowledge gained from them, wanders the earth, aimless, forever drifting. He finds nothing on earth to be of substance.

While Ketu-heavy or Magha-heavy people can possess deep inner knowing that endows them with a certain type of respect, this same trait can be the source of an overly apathetic attitude when taken to an extreme. Detachment is all well and good, but unless you're truly the type to pursue a monastic or nomadic path, it's necessary to keep your feet on the ground at least a little bit to live in a well-rounded way. Ketu people are faced with a challenge to ground their intuitive knowledge and bring what they find on their travels inward out to the world around them.

One symbol that is steeped in unity and oneness is the ouroboros. Depicting a serpent or dragon devouring it's own tail, the ouroboros has appeared in ancient Egypt, Mexico, India, as well as Hermetic and Alchemical texts. The serpent chases its continually regenerating tail in an eternal circle, just as Rahu and Ketu are condemned to chase one another from opposite ends of the sky forever.

Two ouroboros symbols shown encircling a figure in An Enigmatic Book of the Underworld, funerary text and shrine discovered in King Tutankhamun's tomb. The figure has been speculated to be the mummified form of King Tut himself, while some think it is the unification of Ra and Osiris.

An Enigmatic Book of the Underworld is regarded as the place of the first appearance of the ouroboros, dating it to at least 14th century BCE. It is thought that the book illustrates the replenishing of the solar disc - the ancient Egyptians believed that the sun would use up all of it's heat and energy during the day and had to 'recharge' at night. At night, the Sun was said to pass through the same region of death where the gods were believed to reside. Their souls would follow the Sun as he cycled above and below the horizon while their bodies remained in the underworld. Time was seen as cyclical repetitions rather than a linear unfolding. The ancient Egyptian's understanding of time was based on their observations of recurring natural events like the Sun's daily journey across the sky and the annual flooding of the Nile.

An illustration of the ouroboros in an alchemical text from around 400AD.

The Alchemists believed that all physical materials on Earth originated from the same original source material and could be differentiated by their varying levels of purity. Gold was held as the most pure and 'perfect' form of matter, which is why the Alchemists sought to create it using lower quality metals such as lead - a process called chrysopoeia. The desire to create gold from crude materials that is central to Alchemy is largely metaphorical. The broader goal of the Alchemists was to evolve the human soul through deepening the understanding of one's self. The ultimate objective of alchemy was to transform personally into someone 'greater' than you were before. More knowledgeable, powerful, physically healthy or beautiful...

The Pitris The deities ruling Magha are the Pitris, spirits of the paternal ancestors of humanity - the word 'pitris' is Sanskrit for "fathers."

The word Magha can mean gift or it can mean power. As it relates to Magha nakshatra, it means gifted power - that is, inherited power. Each nakshatra has it's own associated sutra, which are kind of like condensed teachings. The translated sutra for Magha is "The forefather's gift of power needs demoralization, to ruin."

Vic Dicara explains the lesson of Magha nakshatra as illustrated in it's sutra - how to be victorious without getting wounded. The sutra for Magha is saying that the way to defeat your enemies is to prevent the battle from happening in the first place. And how do you do that? By bullying them, basically. Magha natives have the power of the forefathers (Pitris) behind them, which they brandish and threaten their potential opponents with. Before a single punch has been thrown Magha puffs out his chest, letting his opponent know that he has friends on the other side backing him up - think Dr. Facilier from the Princess and the Frog.

Magha's Yoni: the Male Rat The word "yoni" in Sanskrit refers to the vagina. The word can be used to refer literally to female genitalia, but it also has a deeper meaning relating to source material - the empty 'womb' out of which the universe materialized.

Each nakshatra has a corresponding yoni assigned to it. The yonis of the nakshatras describe their primal and sexual nature - how they behave when backed into a corner and the different ways they behave in the bedroom. In the vedic astrological system, the yonis are depicted as different types of animals - appropriate, considering the aspects of the human personality they attempt to describe and categorize.

Magha's yoni animal is a rat. Rats are inquisitive, playful and sociable by nature. They are intelligent and, as pets, trainable. They are hygienic, keeping themselves clean by grooming their tails, fur, and faces. They also do everything quickly - I've never seen a rat move in a leisurely way.

Rats are venerated at the Karni Mata temple in Deshnoke, India. Large saucers of milk are left out to keep them fed. The temple is a monument honoring the coexistence of life in every form - which is why rats are treated reverence here rather than seen as pests. Image by Paolo Bampani.

The rat signifying the primal nature of this nakshatra suggests a few things. We can easily surmise that Magha people are curious, likely quick-witted due to an above-average intelligence, and energetic. We can also guess that Magha people are adaptable - think about the poor conditions rats are able to survive in. An additional quality of rats which I think relates to Magha is their use of their whiskers to both balance themselves and maneuver around objects in their environment - they don't have the best eyesight and rely heavily on the sensitivity of their wire-y mustaches. This hearkens to Magha's bodily, ketuvian intelligence.

At first, the personality of the light-footed and friendly rat seems to clash with the ancient wisdom Magha has. When I think of someone in touch with their forefathers and past lives, I think of someone who moves slowly (literally and metaphorically), approaching and completing all tasks with patience, precision, and caution. The good-natured and hyperactive qualities of the rat combined with Magha's connection to protective (paternal) ancestors, dispersing and wandering ways of Ketu, and transforming power of the eclipse paints a particular personality profile. This is a person who has their head in the clouds and could rip you to shreds - if you provoke them first.

The Symbol of the Royal Throne Magha is considered to be an auspicious nakshatra - that is, it brings positive things to whatever planet is placed here. The rulership of the Pitris over Magha cements their innate power. It is one thing to be a powerful person because of the things you have accomplished, but when someone is powerful because of their ancestors has royalty in their blood. It can never, ever be taken from them because it is simply who they are.

Magha spans 0°00' to 13°20' Leo. Leo is the most regal and royal of all twelve zodiac signs. The most common gripe people have with Leo's is their pride and self-centered attitude. The thing is is that Leo is ruled by the Sun - the literal center of our solar system. Resenting a Leo for shining is like disliking the Sun for burning. Of course, egotism has the potential to run rampant if a Leo person has not matured very much, which is the shadow side of this sign. Oftentimes, though, you will find that the warm, glowing self-sureness of Leo's triggers the insecurities in those around them, causing them to lash out.

The Iron Throne from Game of Thrones.

The symbolism of the throne for Magha should come as no surprise. Those who sit and have sat in thrones throughout history were usually born into that role as opposed to being appointed - bringing us back to the ancestral power brought on by Magha's connection to the Pitris.

Song for Magha: You Don't Mess Around with Jim by Jim Croce And they say... You don't tug on Superman's cape You don't spit into the wind You don't pull the mask off that old Lone Ranger And you don't mess around with Jim

This song talks about a local legend who's reputation precedes him. It is known so well that you don't cross him that doing so would be as obviously foolish as spitting into the wind. While Jim, the menacing figure the song centers around, is described as being big and dumb - traits that aren't as applicable to Magha - his reputation as someone you don't want to mess with fits perfectly with the power of this nakshatra. Jim, just like Magha, has won the fight before it started because you're probably too intimidated to approach him in the first place. Maybe Jim had the Pitris backing him up, too.

-------

Check out Vic Dicara and Claire Nakti on YouTube - both influential figures in the vedic astrological community.

[quad-weave]

Woodland Envoy

Imagine my excitement when I learned males could wear the Woodland Warden's skirt lol. I'd never bought an outfit so fast!

Then, for some reason, I thought I couldn't dye the skirt part (I don't know why when I reblogged a glam earlier in the day with the dyed skirt), so I scrambled around for a top that'd fit the skirt well while also dyeing a proper green. Turns out the Lunar Envoy's aiming top was a great choice. :)

Weapon - Rakshasa Greatbow in Soot Black

Body - Augmented Lunar Envoy's Gambison of Aiming in Deepwood Green Hands - Woodland Warden's Fingerstalls Legs - Woodland Warden's Skirt Feet - Woodland Warden's Longboots

Earrings - Lunar Envoy's Earring of Aiming Ring - Immaculate Ring of Aiming

These shots were taken right outside of Fanow with a tweaked version of the Alive shader!

[thecreaturecodex]

Skelm, Soul

Image © Paizo Publishing, accessed at Archives of Nethys here

[Hey! A new monster! I am feeling a bit more rested and rejuvenated after my long hiatus. I'm still only planning on releasing one or two new monsters a week, but I feel much more motivated to write now, and think I've worked out why my block has been what it is.

The soul skelm is the last and most powerful of the skelms in PF2e's Bestiary 3, and I like that it has a similar ability to the weakest, the street skelm. I wonder if all four of them had a "X Strike" ability at some point in development. I added some more spell-like abilities to play into their "bullying the dead" flavor text.]

Skelm, Soul CR 10 LE Outsider (native) This humanoid male has translucent gray skin and a rack of antlers. His face is contorted into an expression of mock agony and terror.

Soul skelms are among the most powerful of skelm-kind, and are some sort of occult parallel to night hags. Unlike the more metaphysical connection between night hags and mortal hags, soul skelms are a further transformation, and can form from any kind of skelm. A soul skelm is one that has completely abandoned its original personality and mortality for pure hatred and ambition. Soul skelms are especially feared because their cruelty does not stop when their victims die. A soul skelm continues to bully the souls of their victims, calling them from the grave to interrogate them as to the weaknesses of their friends and loved ones, and using them to invigorate their withered flesh. Soul skelms do not have a natural lifespan; they only die through violence or misfortune, and many of their souls immediately go on to reincarnate as rakshasas, asuras or oni.

Soul skelms enjoy using the undead as tools, and often collect a region’s undead under their banner, using bribes, threats and magic if the first two fail. Soul skelms are even more isolationist and paranoid of their fellow skelms as other varieties are, and rarely associate with them except as part of a plan to get their lesser killed. Soul skelms delight in breaking apart group unity and cohesive tactics, using illusions to separate each of their victims into a solipsistic reverie before picking them off one by one. They prefer spiked chains, whips, or other ostentatious, showy weapons.

Soul Skelm CR 10 XP 9,600 LE Medium outsider (native) Init +3; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +17

Defense AC 24, touch 14, flat-footed 20 (+3 Dex, +1 dodge, +10 natural) hp 126 (12d10+60) Fort +9, Ref +11, Will +13; -2 vs. emotion effects DR 10/cold iron; Immune death effects, possession

Offense Speed 30 ft. Melee +1 spiked chain +19/+14/+9 (2d4+10/19-20), gore +13 (2d6+3 plus trip) or slam +18 (1d4+6), gore +13 (2d6+6 plus trip) Special Attacks bully the departed (7/day), isolating strike Spell Like Abilities CL 10th, concentration +17 (+21 casting defensively) At will—dimension door, ghost whip, invisibility, silence (DC 19) 3/day—call spirit (DC 22), command undead (DC 19), inflict critical wounds (DC 21) 1/day—entrap spirit (DC 22), greater oeneiric horror (DC 21), mind probe (DC 21), plane shift (self only, Material and Astral Planes only)

Statistics Str 23, Dex 17, Con 20, Int 16, Wis 20, Cha 25 Base Atk +12; CMB +18 (+20 disarm, trip); CMD 32 (34 vs. disarm, trip) Feats Alertness, Combat Casting, Combat Expertise, Dodge, Exotic Weapon Proficiency (spiked chain) (B), Improved Critical (spiked chain) (B), Improved Disarm, Improved Trip Skills Bluff +17, Climb +16, Disguise +17, Intimidate +21, Knowledge (arcana, local, nobility, religion) +10, Perception +17, Sense Motive +17, Spellcraft +13, Stealth +13 SQ change shape (Medium male humanoid, alter self), conspicuous combatant, ghostly grasp, skelm traits

Ecology Environment any land or urban Organization solitary Treasure standard (+1 spiked chain, other treasure)

Special Abilities Bully the Departed (Su) As a move action, a soul skelm can call upon the souls of his victims to invigorate himself. Until the end of his next turn, he gains regeneration 15 (force, good), and deals an extra 1d6 points of damage with all his melee attacks. During this time, his melee attacks count as evil for the purposes of overcoming damage reduction and regeneration. A soul skelm can use this ability a number of times a day equal to his Charisma modifier. Conspicuous Combatant (Ex) A soul skelm gains Exotic Weapon Proficiency and Improved Critical for one exotic weapon of his choice. Ghostly Grasp (Su) A soul skelm’s natural weapons, and any manufactured weapons he wields, are treated as being ghost touch weapons for the purposes of interacting with incorporeal creatures. Isolating Strike (Su) As a standard action, a soul skelm can exert himself to make a single powerful attack. When he does, he adds an additional damage die of the same type to the attack, and the creature struck must succeed a DC 23 Will save. If they fail, they are invisible, inaudible and otherwise completely imperceptible to their allies for the next 4 rounds, and their allies are likewise invisible, inaudible and completely imperceptible to them. Regardless of whether it succeeds or fails, that creature is immune to that soul skelm’s isolating strike for the next 24 hours. The save DC is Charisma based, and this is an illusion effect. After making this attack, the street skelm is treated as being flat footed until the beginning of its next turn. Skelm Traits (Ex) All skelms gain a +4 racial bonus to Intimidate checks, but a -2 penalty to all saving throws against emotion effects.

[rednotebooksworld]

New House, Our House

male feline rakshasa (lukas)/fem!human!reader

NSFW drabble

contains: established relationship, unprotected s*x, biting kink (blood mentioned), oral s*x female receiving), fingering, non-human genitalia

Summary: you and Lukas move in together, protective sexy times ensue

A/n: this about to be shit, I’m sorry 😭

~***~

His tongue was rough against your skin as he licked a stripe up your neck. A gentle moan slipped through you lips from pleasure. A few seconds later you gasped when Lukas bit down onto your neck when he let go your blood seeped through the bite he left. He licked the blood away as you brushed you fingers through his fur.

“Kitty~,” You whimpered out.

He took his face out the crook of your neck, his yellow-green eyes looked at you, they were full of lust and desire though full of love for you.

“I’m sorry, baby. Did I hurt you?” He asked, his voice was husky and deep, it wasn’t his usual playful and boyish sounding voice.

“A bit. I didn’t know you were going to do that. Or that you bite for that matter.” You said to him.

Lukas hummed in response, his tail flicked around it brushing your bare leg. He kissed your neck, you could here him purr as his chest rumbled as he pressed against yours. He licked your neck again, then looked back up at you.

“Then let’s try something else~.” He purred as Lukas rubbed at your clit.

You moaned as a wave of pleasure rushed over you, you felt yourself tingle from excitement that your body was feeling. Being with Lukas made you feel on top of the world. You’ve made love before but this felt different. Maybe it was the fact that the two of you are living together now and Lukas wanted to take advantage of that fact though you didn’t mind. It felt good.

“Ah~! Faster, Lu~.” You moaned.

You hear him growl as his head went between your legs removing his fingers much to your dismay until he licked a strip up your pussy, his nose bumping your clit in the process. You tugged at his fur as you moaned, vibrations going through you as Lukas hummed in pleasure from you, pulling and tugging at his fur. He rubbed the the inside of your thigh, squeezing them a bit as he did so.

As he continued to lick and suck at your pussy, his tail curled around your ankle, his barbed cock was hard as it poked your thigh. He pulled away from your pussy. Your hole clenched, missing his tongue. You whimpered.

“Don’t worry, babe,” Lukas whispered. “I’ll replace my tongue with something better~.” He purred.

He moved to line up with your entrance, he kissed you, this time it was more passionate than lust fulled. He pulled away to look at you, caressing your cheek with his fur-covered paw then he pushed into you. You cried out in pleasure as your through your head back, one hand gripping the sheets on the bed and the other gripping his shoulder.

After waiting for a bit for you to adjust to him, Lukas started thrusting in and out first at a slow pace but then he quickened his pace, pounding into your pussy, growling as he grunted from pleasure as you moaned sweetly from under him.

“Ah~! So good~! Lukas~!” He smiled hearing his name mewl lewdly from your mouth that purrs rumbled in his chest burying his face in your neck as kept his fast pace, thrusting into as he bit your shoulder. You groaned from the pain though you felt it added to the pleasure as you felt your stomach knot feeling your climax edging closer.

“Mmm~! I’m-I’m cumming~! Ah!” You exclaimed to him.

“M-Me too~.” He purred lowly.

As soon as you came, Lukas wasn’t far behind you as he pulled out and he came on your stomach and breasts as you were breathing heavily. He licked your cheek and your shoulder.

“I love you, babe.” He whispered into your ear. He smiled as his tail that uncurled itself from your ankle, swished around happily like a dog. You smiled back, reaching up to pet his cheek.

“I love you, Lu.”

[dark9896]

You know what, screw it. Time to be "horny" on main. And by horny I mean... Admitting to another bloody project. And low-key asking suggestions... Over a smut project...

Basically a 75% "hardcore" smut (or at least as hardcore as I can)/25% slice of life/comedy (I have so many memes kicking around in my head over this idea)... Centered on a massive poly ship consisting of monsters (both mainstream interpretations and DND specifically) all/mostly centered on the (fem) human reader. Basically its a set-up similar to Monster Matsune: My Life with Monster Girls, but a healthy... enough... poly ship. In a massive generational house (if you've never seen/heard of one, each floor is basically its own house with 2-4 bedrooms, 1-3 bathrooms, a kitchen, dining room, living room, and outer hallway to avoid suddenly climbing the stairs into someone's living room).

This is the current list of monsters/races (cause DND non-humans), if you have other suggestions before I start the character development please comment in some way! (Some of them can get away with non-specified gender obviously, but most will be male)

Orc

Kobold

Gnoll

Werewolf

Minotaur

Naga

Lamia

Demon

Elf

Mind Flayer

Tentacle Monster

Gold Dragon (owns the house/land and rents out the rooms)

Aarakocra

Ghost

Vampire

Cambion

Drider

Gargoyle

Harpy

Lizardfolk

Weretiger

Oni

Rakshasa

Satyr

Thri-Kreen

Troll

Yuan-Ti (breaking any semblance of "canon" with shifting between the forms)

[dailycharacteroption]

Deity Drop 7: Aksha

And we’re ending off the week with a rakshasa immortal, those rakshasas that have ascended through their cycle of reincarnation to become minor demigods in their own right... wait, no…

Rakshasa immortals are the greatest among their kind, earthbound avatars representing the greatest evils so that evil may be defined… huh?

Ah, well, it seems that at the time of writing, rakshasas are undergoing a bit of a face lift with the advent of the revisions to Second Edition with the Remastered books.

Originally, rakshasas cleaved a little closer to their D&D counterparts what with being reincarnating evils, but Pathfinder actually gave them lore as to why.

Essentially, Rakshasa represent thoroughly evil souls that, through dark ritual or absolute refusal to move on, become twisted into monsters that reincarnate by forcing a fledgling soul out of a newborn and taking over their future, awakening as a rakshasa into adulthood and transforming into whatever monstrous form their current incarnation happened to be. Such fiends are defined by an act of cruelty and theft every time they reincarnate, and depending on the events of their past life, may move up or down in power level and form.

The whole “stealing newborn bodies from the rightful soul” actually lines up with how rakshasa are described in Islam, however, in the original Hindu, rakshasa are akin to demons or fey in that they are earthbound inhuman creatures of great magic and viciousness (though good rakshasa that fight alongside the goodly gods are also mentioned).

I believe that it is the Hindu version that Pathfinder is now trying to emulate with this new lore for the monster group, but the lore for them leaves a little to be desired in depth and interest. “Born to be living examples of evil with no capacity to change or grow (and therefore, no longer able to shift positions on the hierarchy between incarnations). It’s just… lackluster. A creature born to do evil acts over and over again with no variation or free will is just an automaton, and kinda brings into question why they were necessary when so many other fiendish outsiders exist, some of them arguably even older than these new rakshasa, such as the qlippoth.

But that’s the new lore, which means that rakshasa immortals like Aksha here will probably be heavily rewritten the first chance they get.

With that in mind, I’ll detail her and other such immortals as they were originally, but also include notes on how they might be interpreted later.

And with that, I present, Aksha!

I tried looking for any figures called Aksha in mythology, but the only one was one of the male children of Ravana, who was killed in battle, and seems to have little to do with our Aksha.

In any case, Aksha of the Second Breath is a curious creature because while little is known of here in print, she is described as having been a mortal sorceress who sold her own soul to Mephistopheles himself in order to gain the ability to use hellfire as a weapon in her breath. How exactly a perpetually-reincarnating being sold their soul and somehow keeps reincarnating is a mystery to me. Perhaps she exploited a loophole, or the collection will come later. Or maybe the story is apocryphal or a deliberate deception to conceal how she managed to add hellfire to her arsenal. Hard to say.

If we assume she’ll survive the revisions, her Earthbound Evil version may paint her as a rakshasa of sorcery, deception, and theft, and a successful one as she managed to steal the fires of hell for herself. But that’s just speculation on my part.

Very little of Aksha’s appearance has been described, but she is supposedly a tiger-headed rakshasa with two mouths, one of which is a sibilant and eloquent speaker, while the other breathes hellfire.

Her realm is never given, though it can be assumed to be some fancy estate in Vudra somewhere, likely hidden in plain sight.

It can probably be assumed that Aksha is worshipped by those who seek to learn from her and her mastery of hellfire and other magic, as well as those seeking to emulate her deceptive nature. However, that same nature means that dealing with her even in the role of a supplicant is dangerous indeed.

Her relationships are not known either, but it can be assumed that she allies and schemes against other immortals as she sees fit, and ignores all other divinities until the servants of such beings get in her way.

She is likely served by multitudes of lesser rakshasa, particularly marai given their own interest in magic. Additionally, she likely also has many mortal slaves and servants under her control as well.

What is known for sure is her domains, which include Animal, Evil, Law, and Trickery, with the subdomains of Deception, Fear, Fur, and Tyranny. However, it is worth noting that all rakshasa immortals grant the same domains, reflecting their nature as tyrants, deceivers, and beasts.

No information on her has been given in Second Edition, so we don’t know what she might grant there. Probably for the best since they’re still hashing those details out.

She does grant a lesser obedience though, the one part of her divine kit unique to her. Those that mediate under a scented torch for an hour gain resistance to fiery effects. What’s more, her boons are all spells, allowing the faithful to attack with beams of heat, ward themselves with flame, and call down superheated winds on foes.

No info is given on her in Starfinder either, so it is unknown if she still exists or has been permanently killed by now. If she survives, she is likely in the upper echelons of society, having wormed her way in, and probably has easy access to some academy of arcane learning given her interests.

And that does it for this week, and we’ve almost made an entire loop of the various types of divinites in First Edition, so that’s progress! For now though, enjoy your weekend and see you next time with more character options!

[monster-disaster]

[lion rakshasa] Dain

lion rakshasa!Dain x human!Reader Good to know: smut

Summary: Dain needs a massage.

With a sigh, you open the door to let the warm breeze run through the small cabin. The scent of oils, candles, and cleaning supplies mix with the dry smell of the night. The rush of air caresses your cheeks and plays with your hair as you lean against the door jamb. You cross your arms in front of your chest. Your gaze wanders over the view of the resort.

The other cabins around you are closed. Their windows are dark. You are not surprised, though. It's already late, and you feel the tiredness in your bones and the soreness in your muscles. You almost laugh. You could kill for a massage. Rolling your shoulders, you straighten your posture. The familiar throbbing between your legs is almost painful, and you wish for nothing more but a warm bath and your comfortable bed.

Lush greens and colorful flowers bloom on the side of the road, leading to the pools on your left side. There is a small waterfall that falls from one to the other. The sound is relaxing and seems loud in the silence. The crystal-clear water sparkles under the silvery glow of the moon. Your gaze moves up to the sky, pausing on the glinting stars before dropping on the hotel nearby. Light filters through a few windows. One side of the building is covered with greenery. You can barely see the sand-colored wall underneath the leaves, waving in the rhythm of the wind.

And behind everything, there is the desert with its ever-changing form. Under the cover of the night sky and the stars' gentle glow, the endless sea of sand spreads out as far as the eyes can see. It looks like it melts into the darkness at the horizon. In the distance, grand dunes emerge from the ground with elegant edges and slopes.

"Hey!" A deep voice breaks the silence, and you almost jump from the surprise. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to frighten you. You are the masseur, right?" You smile and shake your head. "It's fine," you tell him. "You are Dain, I hope?" He nods, and you step away from the door to let him in.

The male is burly, even for a lion rakshasa. His mane is a few shades darker than the fur covering his body. He is a mix of muscles and fat. His shoulders are broad, but a slight belly is bulging under the white towel around his waist. The fabric stretches around his trunk-like thighs.

He looks good. He definitely looks good.

You close the door behind you with a soft click.

"You can take off the towel if you want to," you tell him. "And lay down on the table." The male grunts, and with a quick tug, he takes off the towel and puts it on a chair nearby. You can see the muscles of his thighs working as he moves. His tail sways to the side in a gentle rhythm. Your eyes are glued to the hard flesh of his bottom as he lies on his stomach on the massage table. "It won't break under me, right?" He asks. His voice is muffled. "No," you assure him. "You will be fine, I promise."

As you start to work, the soothing scent of the oils you use fills your nostrils. The inside of the massage cabin is covered in an orange hue from the candles. Small flames dance on top of them. The dim light makes the color of his fur darker. They are soft under your hands. His tail still sways left and right, and from time to time, you can hear a deep purr rumbling out of his chest. You can feel it in your core.

Using your body weight, with the heel of your hands, you stroke down the line of his spine until you reach his tail. You knead the hard muscles of his back, changing the motion of your hands every now and again as you watch his reactions. Dain's breathing is calm and even, and slowly but surely, you can feel him relax under you. You circle your thumbs on his shoulder blades, going up to his shoulders. Your fingers dig into him, finding every nerve and knot on your way. When you are done with his upper body, you move to his legs, using your thumb to massage and rub his muscles. "I'm sorry," he grunts when his tail curls around your arm for the second time. You let yourself laugh a little. "It's fine." Your finger slides over his tail, reaching the base. You are careful and gentle as you stroke it. He jumps at the sudden contact but doesn't move to get away. Another rumble breaks through his chest. "Is it good?" You ask him. "Yeah," he grunts. "But it starts to hurt." For a second, you panic, letting go of his tail immediately. "I'm sorry," you gasp. Dain shakes his head. "Not that," he replies, turning to the side, then onto his back. "That." "Oh."

Oh.

A lazy smirk pulls on your lips at the sight. Dain's hard cock bobs as he moves. He is thick and wet from the pre-cum that slips down his shaft. A drop follows the line of a vein on the side of his cock. His balls are heavy between his legs.

You continue your session. Moving from Dain's legs to his upper body, you work on his muscles, letting him relax and enjoy the silence. Your gaze lands on his erection every now and again, but you don't make a move yet. You tease him and massage him all over.

His eyes are closed. An amused smile plays on his lips. "You are the devil." His voice is hoarse. "Am I?" You grin, smoothing your palms down his chest. His fur shines under the dim lights with the lotion you used on him. His cock jerks when your fingers brush the base. Another drop of pre-cum drops down his shaft. "Gods, woman!" Dain groans. You laugh but decide to have mercy on him. He was still more patient than most of your guests.

Your fingers curl around the base of his shaft, squeezing the flesh softly. A low groan echoes off the walls, and you can feel him twitching under your hold. Dain is warm and soft under your palm. The lotion and his pre-cum mix as you move up. Your other hand rests on his thigh. His muscles are tense with anticipation. You feel it too. Need burns your insides as you pump his shaft lazily. You use your thumb to smear his juices even more on his cock, following the thick vein on the side up to the head. Your nail grazes the sensitive skin. The rakshasa shudders under you. His breathing is labored. "Are you sure you are not a cat?" He asks with humor in his voice. "You play with my cock like a new toy." You grin, leaning closer. The air escaping your lips is warm on Dain's erection. "But it is my new toy." His deep laugh ends in a snarl when you lick up on his length from the bottom to the top. You flick the soft skin under the head. His taste is strong on the tip of your tongue. It's salty and makes you want more. You lap up on him again, once, twice, three times. "Fuck!" He growls. The sound vibrates through the air, going straight between your legs. Glancing at him from the corner of your eyes, you force a smug grin down and take his cock into your mouth. You go inch by inch, letting your lips stretch around him. Keeping your hand on the base, pumping him slowly, you lick and suck on his crown, pressing your tongue into the tip. You can feel him snapping any second, but you are not done yet. You squeeze him, making him snarl again before his breath is taken away as you slide him down deeper into your throat. You hum around his length, letting the vibration of your throat rush up his spine. "Fuckfuckfuck!" Spurts of pre-cum fill your mouth, dripping down on his cock and balls. His hips push up against you, wanting to fuck your mouth. You hum again in agreement, hollowing your cheeks some more. Tears burn your eyes as he starts to move up and down. He thrusts into your mouth hurriedly, chasing his pleasure in your warm, wet mouth. Your tongue is flat against the underside of his cock. "You born for this," he growls. "A warm mouth for all the monsters who come here." You are slick between your legs. Your pussy throbs with desire even though you are already sore because of your previous guests. "You feel so good around my cock! Fuck!" Your free hand from his thigh slips to his balls. They are heavy in your palm as you start to play with them. His cock twitches in your mouth more often than a few seconds ago. "I'm going to cum," he warns, still pushing his hips. Your jaw and throat ache. You let him use you to reach his high. Your hand on his cock jerks him faster, and you bob your head against his thrusts. You want him to lose his mind when he comes into your mouth. The cabin is filled with his groans and moans.

"Fuck!"

He floods your mouth, and you gulp down everything he has to give you. The work of your throat squeezes his cock even more, pushing him harder and harder into his orgasm.

The male needs long minutes to come back to his senses. "Will you be there tomorrow?" He asks, still panting. His voice is hoarse, and his cock lays soft on his thick thigh.

You really want to know how it feels inside you.

"I will write you up."

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