#societal cost of driving

[domesticated-whores]

lord give me the strength to put up with a cishet man that's seemingly not been in a serious relationship for at least 5 years--

[cherrycranes]

A Proper Thank You (Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader) [+18]

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x female reader Summary: You're Tommy's younger girlfriend who he loves to spoil. Thankfully, you always know how to thank him. Word count: 2,954 Contents: (Minors DNI) Age gap (reader is in her 20's, Tommy is in his 40's), smut, daddy kink (a serious use of the word "daddy"), oral sex (male receiving), cum eating. Author's notes: Another collab with my bestie @fuckiingloser. Don't forget to give her some love too! Mandatory "english is not my first language" disclaimer. Love ya!

You were not the first young woman to be with a man in his 40's. It was still very common even if the times were changing. But there was something about this relationship that did mirror the societal shift. You were his sweet girlfriend who he paraded around town, who shamelessly sat on his lap while he worked and who shared his bed. Quite the scandal for those still stuck in Victorian times who would expect this to happen only between a married couple. Good thing the Victorian times had ended over 30 years ago. 

Tommy loved having you by his arm half of the time. The other half he loved having you under him. Or on top, he wasn't picky. He got a kick out of the variety of looks some people would give him for having a pretty, young girl as his sweetheart. But above all things, he absolutely adored the way his pretty baby looked at him whenever he spoiled her rotten.

Today, you went with him to a horse ranch near Southam. A lovely place where Tommy intended to see that beautiful look in your eyes once more. He smirked, seeing you caress a beautiful mare’s nuzzle, the animal calm and docile under your touch.

“Aye, I think she likes you.” Tommy announced with pride, already planning to buy the horse for his beautiful girlfriend.

“You think?” You turned your head to look at him and admire his poise. The cigarette kissing his lips, the fine dark suit, the piercing blue eyes. So intimidating to many, so dear to you. “She’s beautiful…” Your thoughts and eyes returned to the mare, giving her another soft pet.

“You two make a very pretty picture, baby girl.” He dropped his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out skillfully before making his way to you. His big arms wrapped around you from behind while he rested his chin on your shoulder. You smirked when a surprisingly sweet kiss was planted on the side of your head. Thomas Shelby was never sweet to anyone, not even in the dark humor jokes of those who knew him. His portrait could have easily been annexed to the definitions of “rugged”, “serious” and even “ruthless”, yet, here he was. This was what his lips that had spat out curses and threats were doing. Kissing. And very gently at that. 

Above all women, you had a special place in his soul. You had him wrapped around your finger like those expensive rings you wore. Anything you wanted, you could have it. And if tomorrow you were to ask for a heart on a silver plate, he would tear anybody’s chest open and serve it to you himself.

You leaned into him, just in time to meet his husky whisper:

“If you want her baby… She’s yours.” 

With a big, spoiled princess grin, you turned around and looked at him in complete elation.

“Thank you, daddy!” Your sweetness intoxicated him, the way you looked into his eyes killed him, and the way you called him “daddy” raised him from the dead. He absolutely loved it. 

A calloused hand came up to touch your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing over your bottom lip. He admired the joy upon your beautiful face and studied it devotedly.

“Anything for my girl.” He spoke softly, his sexy Birmingham accent made your knees feel weak and your pussy become wetter. In a heartbeat, Thomas spoke to the farm owner, purchased the mare without even caring about the cost and made the necessary arrangements so you could have your pretty horse. 

After a successful purchase, Thomas helped you into the passenger seat of his car, driving you back to town. You would have your horse tomorrow morning, right now, business called.

He drove you to the Garrison, the Shelby's family owned pub for a Peaky Blinder business meeting. Usually, women were not allowed, but you were not just a woman. You were Thomas Shelby’s woman. And the people who knew would rather chop a limb off than dare to deny you access.

With his hand on your lower back, Tommy guided you inside the rowdy bar towards the private Peaky Blinders table. Everybody was waiting for your arrival between sips of irish whiskey and puffs of smoke. Thomas took a seat and you took yours on his lap, the feeling of your weight on him as natural as the feeling of air entering his lungs. 

The men at the table did not bat an eye, your presence was the new normality. And in a way, a sign that things were good, that Thomas was relaxed and no conflicts were on the horizon. If something bad or difficult was preying upon them, you would be hidden away in some safe heaven and not happily sitting on Tommy’s lap. Perhaps, the only other emotion a few of the men could feel when looking at you was a secret, deeply buried longing. Anybody would love to have a beauty like you sitting on their lap. Not that they would allow Thomas to hear them admit that.

The meeting started around you, some usual business and many details you didn’t care for. Thomas concentrated, his thumb mindlessly rubbing back and forth on your clothed thigh. You liked the skirt you wore, the fabric was soft, and it incited Tommy to touch. It was not exactly close to the feeling of your bare skin when you fucked him, or when he would make you sit naked on his lap while he worked in his house studio, but it was pleasant. 

The more the meeting dragged on, the more you started to grow restless. And a little bored, in all honesty. Sitting on his lap sounded glamorous and sensual in theory but in practice it was a test of resilience and patience. Being a sweet arm candy girl like you required more than a pretty face and a hot body. You also had to possess the skills to tell when a meeting was dying out and calculate the exact perfect moment to lean closer to Tommy’s ear and whisper something to save you from boredom.

“You know… I never properly thanked you today for getting me my beautiful horse… I think daddy needs a proper thank you…” Thomas turned to look at you with a raised eyebrow and a little smirk.

“Is that right?” He leaned closer to you until your noses bumped together, giving your thigh a squeeze. “And just how would you thank daddy, then? Hmm?” He whispered, the meeting a mere background noise now. You leaned towards his ear again, whispering so quietly so only Tommy could hear.

“I wanna suck your cock… Or you can fuck me over your desk in the back?” You purred so innocently despite the pure filth of your words. His cock told you all you needed to know about his opinion. The twitch inside his pants impossible to miss. You pulled back to stare into his eyes and take in his tiny smirk. He knew that resistance was futile and completely incompatible with him when it came to you.

Without excusing words or explanations to the other gentlemen, Thomas scooted you two out of the booth, taking your hand and guiding you to the back. He kicked the small office door open and locked you both in. You could almost feel his piercing blues tracing the shape of your ass under that fashionable skirt you wore. 

“So...” You started, walking over to his desk and luring him to take a few steps closer to you. He towered over you, his rough hands touched your hips with interest. “How does daddy want me?” You purred innocently, looking into his eyes.

Thomas’ cock hardened even more in his dress pants. Your figure, your soft face, your pretty eyes, your voice, you. Lust took over his eyes.

 “On your knees baby… you know what daddy wants.” His voice was husky, overcome with his need for you and your pretty little mouth. You grinned, a hungry look in your eyes replicating his own. Steadily, you sunk to your knees, the fabric of your skirt your only padding on the cold floor. Tommy leaned against his desk and watched you work your magic. Your fingers undid the button of his pants with torturous care.

“You know… If you wanted to fuck me in front that whole room of men… I’d let you. I’d let you do whatever you want to me..” You were a tease, you killed him slowly. His breath hitched a bit, his possessive streak driving him to total insanity. You were right. You would let him do anything he wanted. He knew. But hearing you say that made the fire of his lower stomach ignite him whole.

“Oh, I know you would… You’d be my good little girl, wouldn’t you?” He whispered, brushing a hair out of your beautiful face. You nodded so innocently, and then lowered his pants down until they pooled around his ankles.

“I'll always be your good girl… I’ll always please you and let you use me however you need…” You whispered back, a soft sensual smile gracing your lips. Tommy couldn’t help but groan at your words, his painfully hard cock pulsing in his boxer briefs right in front of your face.

“God, you’re such a good girl… You’ll be good for daddy now won’t you?” He cooed. 

“Always.” You purred in devotion. Your hands reached up to grab the band of his boxers and, with one swift, well trained motion, pulled them down. His large throbbing cock sprung free for you to drool over. Mere inches away from your face. 

“You gonna thank your daddy properly, hmm?” He asked with a sexy smirk, heavily accented and incredibly husky. You nodded obediently, your eyes going from his beautiful irises to his hard cock. It had been over four months since you became his sweetheart and you still felt enamored at his sheer size.

“Yes daddy…” You answered softly then looked back up to his pretty blue eyes. “Gonna suck your cock and drain these perfect balls just how you like…” You made it a point to speak so innocently, stirring something in him. He could have lost himself right then and there from your words alone. It took him a second to fully take in the idea. The dirtiest promises coming from the prettiest girl he has ever seen.

“Fuck baby… You’re gonna be the death of me someday, you know that?” He asked in a playful little smirk, and you attacked. Your soft hand wrapped around his aching hard cock. He groaned softly.

“But at least you’ll die happy.” You purred, gifting him a few seconds to prepare himself before finally leaning in to swirl your tongue skillfully over the head of his dripping cock. Thomas let out a guttural moan, his hand gripping his desk behind him in an attempt to steady himself. His head fell back, the texture of your wet, warm tongue erasing each and every thought off his mind. It all became you and you only. You licking him, tasting his sensitive tip, you pleasing him.

“Fuck, baby… My perfect girl…” He managed to choke out, affected yet addicted. Your tongue swirled over him expertly, and you looked up at him. A sweet happy hum reverberated in your throat as you tasted the salt of his precum. Every drop that ran down his tip not making it far thanks to your eager licks. Your hum sent vibrations up his cock, making him feel like his knees were about to buckle under him. The only time he appreciated feeling vulnerable.

Tommy looked down at you servicing him, taking your sweet time on his sensitive tip. The fire in your eyes recognized his and burnt with it. 

“Holy-f-fuck.. my girl knows how to suck her daddy’s cock so good….” He groaned, and you took more of his lengthy cock in your mouth, working your way down and sucking it, your tongue massaging it slowly.

He tried his best to maintain his composure and control, but another swirl of your tongue made him admit to himself that he would not last long.

“F-fuck, baby girl… You keep going like that…” He groaned, gripping the edge of the wooden desk harder and urging you.

You bobbed your head on his cock in a skillful rhythm. The sounds coming from you were so filthy and obscene. Nothing could have torn his gaze away from you. It was a war between him and his throbbing cock. He wanted more, desperately needed more, but his orgasm neared closer than his next breath.

 “You’re too good to me, baby girl… You’re gonna make daddy come… And it’s gonna be right in your pretty mouth, and you’re gonna take every last drop, aren’t you?” He cooed with one hand touching the top of your head for support. You bobbed your head, up and down his shaft, with your nose bumping his pelvic area. You looked up and hummed in response. You always swallowed.

Noting his increasing pleasure, you pushed yourself to take more of his thick cock. You gagged a little and earned a loud moan from him akin to music to your ears.

“Goood girl… Good girl.” With his praise like a mantra, he watched over you, almost out of breath. “That's it. I'm gonna come for you… ‘m gonna come in this mouth and you’re gonna swallow all of it, aren’t you baby?” He repeated, unaware by now. No thoughts inside his head, only your perfect mouth that pulled back for just a second.

 “Yes, daddy.” You purred, looking up at him with innocent eyes before taking him in your mouth again, this time working faster and with much more intensity. Constantly swiping against the underside of his thick cock.

Thomas had to resist the urge of bucking into your mouth and fuck your face just the way he likes, but he found the willpower to stay calm. This was all about you pleasing him, putting that mouth of yours to work and thanking him. 

“Good girl, such a good fuckin’ girl…” He praised, his orgasm so close to hitting him and knocking him flat out. “Now, remember, baby girl… What’s my rule?” His voice almost cracked. Dominance was a hard thing to upkeep when his balls tightened this hard and your throat hummed around him. Your pussy grew wetter at the mention of the rule, one you had committed to memory.

“Before you can swallow, you have to show it to daddy... Need to see my come all over your pretty tongue, hmm?” Thomas said, barely hanging on at this point. One of his hands holding your hair back and the other gripping the desk behind him for stability.

You hummed as loud and as best as you can, his thick cock barely giving up space for sound to travel. You kept sucking him, and his resistance was hung on by a thread, ready to snap at any moment. His moans, his heavy breaths, the hot puffs of air he lets out, the way his cock throbbed in your  mouth… You wanted him done for. 

Your hand came up, gently cupping his balls and giving them a soft squeeze. His breath hitched and he cursed under his breath.

“Holy fuck, baby-” He choked out, and everything snapped inside him. “Coming..” That was the only word he managed to utter before his resolve crumbled and his orgasm hit him like a tidal wave. His hand grabbed your hair firmly, but not painfully, keeping you there, ready to take it all.

Your movements stopped in anticipation and his cock pulsed inside your mouth. A salty load of cum coated your tongue completely and his sensual low groan filled your ears. His eyelids fluttered shut for a moment and his lips stayed parted. When every last drop was unloaded, he opened his eyes back again and looked at you intently.

“Show daddy…” He murmured, his voice a little strained. You obeyed, pulling off him and sitting back on your knees. With pride, you stuck out your cum-painted tongue for his viewing pleasure.

“My good girl.” Tommy praised. You were indeed so good. So obedient. So perfect for him. “You can swallow now, baby girl.” 

His hand petted the top of your head with appreciative softness, and you, living up to his praise, did as he said. The salt taste of his cum mixing with your saliva before passing down your throat. A soft hum of approval coming from you made him smile ever so gently.

He reached down to pull up his pants, tucking his now soft, sensitive and tired cock back into his boxers and buttoning his dress pants. He reached his hands down, pulling you up from the floor easily into his arms. When you were close to his face, you gave him a cheeky little smile. His hands cupped your face and gently pulled you in for a burning hot, passionate kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth, making him taste himself on you. A pervertedly satisfied smile crept into the kiss.

Slowly, he pulled back, looking at you with half-lidded eyes.

“You know… If all it took to get you to do that for me is to buy you a horse… I think I'll buy you a horse, or anything else you want every single day for the rest of your life.” Tommy whispered in a mix of sensuality but also pure, deep love. 

Your eyes twinkled a bit and a soft smile appeared on your face. He was just as obsessed with you as you were with him. 

“Deal”.

[moonagedaydreamsofrhiannon]

Perhaps the wilderness in Yellowjackets is not just a symbol of death. Perhaps it is also—in its own way—freedom.

In the wilderness, Lottie didn’t have to hide her visions for fear of being called crazy. She was exalted as a leader and a prophet. But when she returned, they called her crazy and locked her up.

In the wilderness, Misty didn’t have to be ashamed of her intensity and eccentricity. She was helpful, she was needed, she was important. But when she returned, they called her a freak and exiled her once again.

In the wilderness, Tai didn’t have to pretend to be something she’s not. Her other self was not a weakness but a strength, it gave her power, and kept her alive. But when she returned she had to suppress her urges and hide her other self, or lose everything.

In the wilderness, Shauna didn’t have to be small, and hide the fire inside her. She was angry, and violent, and powerful. But when she returned, she was forced back into a supporting role, forced to contain her darkness and her drive in order to fit a role she never wanted to play.

In the wilderness, Travis didn’t have to put on an act to fit the societal expectations of masculinity. He was feminine, and emotional, and soft—not the man of the group, but just another Yellowjacket in the hive. But when he returned, he was forced back into the cage—back into the closet—isolated, hardened, closed off and separated from the girls once more.

In the wilderness, Natalie didn’t have to feel guilty for surviving. She was the hunter, the provider, and the gun in her hands made her a savior, and a leader, not a killer. But when she returned, she was a killer once again, haunted by guilt, and outcast by society for the things she did to stay alive.

The wilderness gave them the freedom to be their truest and most authentic selves, but the cost was the blood spilled. The cost was their old selves. The cost was a place in the world upon their return.

Maybe the wilderness did not destroy them; it simply changed them into something new, something irrevocably different, something that would never—could never—fit back inside the narrow box of their old lives, and because they could no longer fit, society called them broken.

The wilderness freed them, but it never let them go. Because once you’ve tasted flesh and blood, once you’ve stared death in the face and overcame, once you’ve been to the very brink and seen the true depth of your own capacity for violence, once all the former markers of morality and success have become meaningless, in a world where survival at all costs is the only law, how can you ever go back to a world ruled by pointless, hollow, conventions? Once you’ve shed every remnant of your humanity, once you’ve run with the wolves, and howled at the moon, and become one with the ancient wild gods, how can you ever be a human again? Once you’ve had a taste of complete freedom, how can you ever be satisfied with a fake, insignificant, half-life, made up entirely of half-truths and haunting?

[scary-grace]

Midoriya Analysis, Vol 2

Last time (five minutes ago) we talked about how Midoriya’s goal was not necessarily to save people, but to be a hero as BNHA defines heroism. The next step is to look at Midoriya’s worldview and how it matches, or doesn’t match, with the worldview the fandom assigned to him. Once again: I’m not hating on 15-year-old quirkless Midoriya for this worldview. This is more of a how it started vs how it’s going situation.

We don’t get a chance to see much of what Midoriya’s life is like pre-One For All, but given that he’s in school with Bakugou and Bakugou is allowed to do pretty much whatever he wants, we can guess that it’s not good. I’m not going to say that Bakugou’s behavior is a microcosm of how BNHA society treats the quirkless, but if his behavior is acceptable, I think it’s a signal that quirkless people, while being a minority at this point, are not a protected class. We also don’t see Midoriya having peer-group interactions with anyone but Bakugou and his cronies, so I can’t speak to whether he’s completely isolated or not, and while I could see there being a social cost to being less affluent or being raised by a single parent, I think the driving factor in Midoriya’s treatment by the rest of the world is his quirklessness. And he accepts it.

I think this is the point where our (the fandom) opinion of Midoriya diverges sharply from Midoriya’s opinion of himself. When faced with Bakugou bullying him, Midoriya seems to internalize that it’s his own fault — that he deserves this, somehow, because he’s lesser than Bakugou in some way. Where most people would probably feel justified in hating someone who bullied them for years and told them to kill themselves, Midoriya continues to try to win Bakugou’s approval and respect, even though Bakugou’s long since proven that he doesn’t deserve it. What we can take from this example is this: Midoriya believes that people who are mistreated deserve what they get, and if they’re unable to get stronger and fight back, they should just be stuck like that forever.*

Because of Midoriya’s devotion to and adoration of heroes, and his belief that “hero” is the only worthy job on the planet, he’s uniquely ill-equipped to recognize that hero society as a whole is deeply corrupt and cruel. He sees his mistreatment as his fault rather than the fault of society, and consciously or unconsciously, he projects that viewpoint onto the villains he later fights. Villains like Stain and Gentle Criminal, who adhere mostly to society’s norms with a few changes here and there, are easier for Midoriya to understand and empathize with. They’re playing by the same rules as Midoriya, for the most part, which is how you get Midoriya talking about how he “understands” Stain, even though his understanding is superficial. And Gentle Criminal wanted to be a hero too, so he and Midoriya are best buddies. /sarcasm/

But there are villains who don’t accept that they’re the problem. Who don’t see their mistreatment as their own fault, and instead point the finger at people who’ve hurt them — and try to fight back in ways that don’t align with the archetype of the stoic victim or the poor, innocent angel. Midoriya has vastly more societal privilege than the members of the League of Villains, but his experiences of ostracism and rejection in BNHA society are similar to the experiences they’ve had. Although these are the villains Midoriya should be able to empathize with, he sees them as worse than the others, to the point where they’re unworthy of life. (See: The non-reaction to Twice’s murder + “well, at least I saved his heart!” response to murdering Shigaraki.)

There’s a metaphor that comes to mind for me when thinking about the situation of Midoriya, the villains, and hero society. In discussions of abusive family dynamics, the idea of rocking the boat is introduced — a family in a boat, where one individual is shaking the boat and attempting to sink it. Although everyone knows what the problem is, it’s the person who points out that the boat is shaking who takes the blame for the situation. This is the dynamic BNHA ends in, for Midoriya. He identifies very heavily with hero society, to the point where rejection of it deeply wounds him (see: Kota), but he’s not so blind that he can’t see some of the cracks in the system; after all, he fell through them himself. The difference between Midoriya and Shigaraki, in Midoriya’s subconscious, is that Midoriya didn’t throw a fit about it. Midoriya saw that it was all for the greater good and accepted that as a person who is seen and sees himself as lesser, he’s an acceptable sacrifice in order to preserve the greater good of hero society.

So in short, while Midoriya’s experiences should suggest an ability to empathize with villains, his worldview itself presents the stumbling block. He’s unwilling or unable to see hero society for what it really is — if he did, he’d have to reckon with what was done to him, and I doubt he’d ever be ready for that.

*refers to Eri and Kota, who deserve to be saved by virtue of being cute little kids who haven’t had time to make mistakes yet. There’s also the weird element with Kota where it almost seems like Midoriya’s trying to prove to him that his feelings about heroes are wrong, which — eugh. No thank you.

[olis-inkwell-symposium]

How to Create a Flawless Villain: A Comprehensive Guide to Crafting Your Perfect Antagonist

Every great story needs a great villain. Whether you’re writing an epic fantasy or a gritty thriller, the villain is often the character readers can’t forget. They’re complex, morally grey, and create tension that drives the story forward. But how do you avoid clichés and create a villain who sticks with readers long after the book is closed? Let’s dive deep into the art of villain creation, exploring their psychological makeup, societal role, and relationships with the hero. We’ll also touch on how esoteric philosophies or occultism can shape their worldview, motivating them to chase power, forbidden knowledge, or even reshape reality itself.

Core Identity and Origins

A villain’s origin story is the root of their motivations. Were they betrayed by those they trusted? Once a noble hero, now twisted by tragedy? Crafting a rich backstory will set the stage for whom they become.

Name and Meaning: Choose a name that reflects their essence or offers an ironic twist. Consider names rooted in ancient languages, forbidden texts, or alchemical symbols if your villain is into esoteric or occult knowledge.

Defining Childhood Event: What critical moment led them to this path? A betrayal, a prophecy, or perhaps a dark inheritance? This event should haunt them, driving their desire for revenge, power, or forbidden enlightenment.

Motivations, Desires, and Philosophy

Villains aren’t evil for the sake of it. Their motivations—whether it’s control, vengeance, or the pursuit of something beyond mortality—must be clear and compelling.

Primary Goal: What is their ultimate aim? Power, control, or maybe freedom from their own pain? If they’re driven by esoteric philosophies, perhaps they seek to transcend the mortal realm or unlock the universe's hidden truths.

Inner Desires: Beyond their surface goals, what do they truly long for? To become one with a cosmic force? To destroy the current reality and rebuild it in their own image?

Occult and Esoteric Motivations: Do they crave ancient knowledge? Are they obsessed with dark gods, lost magical practices, or the mysteries of existence? These deeper motivations give your villain texture, turning them into something more than just an antagonist.

Psychological and Emotional Depth

To make your villain fully realized, dig into their mind and emotions. They’re driven by traumas, fears, and warped worldviews—making them unpredictable and dangerous.

IQ and Emotional Intelligence: Is your villain a cold mastermind or someone who operates on gut emotion, manipulating others through fear or charisma? Are they emotionally detached or frighteningly intuitive about others’ desires and fears?

Philosophical Depth: Does your villain have a worldview rooted in esoteric thought? Perhaps they believe in alchemical transformation or view themselves as a chosen agent of cosmic order (or chaos).

Fear and Trauma: What do they fear most? Losing control? Facing an entity more powerful than them? How do their traumas influence their choices?

Powers, Strengths, and Weaknesses

Your villain’s abilities should reflect their inner self. Whether they dominate through sheer strength or subtle manipulation, their powers, and weaknesses make them memorable.

Unique Powers: Can they control dark forces or warp reality? Perhaps they’ve mastered necrotic magic or gained immortality at a great cost. Their powers should align with their motivations—reflecting their esoteric pursuits or thirst for control.

Weaknesses: Every great villain has a flaw. Are they vulnerable to their own hubris, bound by cosmic forces they can’t fully control, or haunted by their mortality? This flaw should not only humanize them but also create a vulnerability in their power.

Relationships and Rivalries

Villains thrive in their relationships with others—especially with the hero. Craft dynamic relationships to give your villain emotional stakes.

Relationship with the Hero: The best villain-hero dynamics are deeply personal. Maybe the hero represents a path the villain once rejected. Perhaps they’re old allies, or twisted reflections of one another.

Esoteric Mentors or Rivals: Who taught your villain their dark arts? Did a mentor pass on forbidden knowledge, or does a rival compete for the same cosmic power?

Arc and Transformation

Villains should evolve. Show how they became who they are, whether through corruption or a gradual descent into darkness.

Origin of Villainy: Were they once idealistic, only to be warped by ambition or dark forces? What pushed them from seeking enlightenment to seeking dominance? Their fall from grace should feel inevitable, tied to their deepest desires.

Villain’s Endgame: What do they ultimately want? Is their goal to transcend mortality or reshape reality? By the end of the story, their final form should feel like the culmination of everything they’ve sacrificed.

Visual and Symbolic Representation

Villains often have visual cues that represent their power or past. Their appearance should reflect their inner darkness and esoteric connections.

Appearance: Do they bear occult symbols, alchemical tattoos, or physical scars from dark rituals? Their look should reflect their journey into darkness.

Symbolism: Consider what motifs represent your villain—death, chaos, transformation. These should be woven into their appearance, powers, and actions.

Legacy and Role in the World

Even after your villain is defeated, their influence should remain. They might leave behind followers, secret societies, or prophecies that keep their legacy alive.

Impact on Society: How does your villain shape the world? Do they leave behind grimoires, magical artifacts, or a legacy of fear? Their reign should leave scars that ripple long after they’re gone.

Villain’s Endgame: Whether they succeed or fail, what was their ultimate goal? Were they trying to unravel reality itself, merge with cosmic forces, or create a utopia in their image?

Twists, Secrets, and Moral Complexity

Villains become iconic when they are morally complex. Add twists to make them more than just evil—they might believe they’re saving the world in their own way.

Secret Past or Hidden Identity: Does your villain have a dark secret, perhaps a heroic past or a forbidden bloodline? These secrets add layers to their character, making them more unpredictable.

Moral Complexity: Does your villain believe their actions are necessary for balance? Are they more tragic than evil, motivated by a cosmic truth that others can’t see?

By incorporating esoteric philosophies and occult influences, your villain can become a driving force not just against the hero but against the very core of your world.

[beefrobeefcal]

Vicinia part 1

Summary: Confusion, pheromones, and primal nature take hold.

Joel Miller / Dave York / f!reader | Rating: 18+ MDNII | Word Count: 6,000

Content Warnings: no official smut between parties in this part but... loads of loads (cum), kissing, jerking off, multiple orgasms, lots of scents and scenting, a/b/o talk and dynamics, getting horny on work time (Dave!), confusion about who's the omega, crying, cum-soaked sheets, poor spelling on FaceBook, FaceBook (it needs its own warning), cumming in pants, distracted driving, neighbours who don't like each other for no particular reason, everyone is just horny on main... JUST PROCEED WITH CAUTION OKAY?

Author's Notes: this is dedicated to my beloved prinny @xdaddysprincessxx - without you, i wouldn't have found this absolute unit of a genre + become enraptured to an alarming degree. So much so that I made + presented a PowerPoint on the Omegaverse. thank you 💜🥩💜 Welp. I got into the omegaverse + shit got weird. This was meant to be a one shot, but at 6k, it seemed to be a part 1 of at least 2. Next part will drop soon[ish]! Thanks to @strang3lov3, @noxturnalnymph , @bitchesuntitled + @ace-turned-confused for their eyes, minds, thots + love. Thanks also to @saradika-graphics for the dividers.

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vīcīnia f (genitive vīcīniae); Latin.  - neighborhood - nearness, proximity, vicinity

Dave was never the type to hide himself. Whether you liked him or not, he made it clear he was the alpha in every room he entered, every conversation he encountered and every interaction he had. Since puberty Dave had given off such a strong alpha aura, even a mere beta knew better than to mess with him. 

He’d never taken suppressants and his disdain for those who did did not go unnoticed. Dave held no sympathy - regardless of personal issues - for those who fell in line like sheep and conformed to what ‘society’ was demanding. He was above that, never feeling the need to hide who he was in order to satisfy the puritanical cowards that thought they were in charge. He was alpha enough to control himself when he felt it necessary and that was that. 

There was never a time - that Dave would admit out loud anyway - that he ever doubted or felt insecure in his steadfast approach to being an alpha. But he knew his polarizing approach had cost him a long term companion and many, many friends. Outwardly, he proudly wore the title of ‘lone wolf’.

Joel hadn’t felt this clear headed in god knows how long. Why did he wait? He knew the answer, but it didn’t make the surge of instinct and biology - which washed away the dulled senses and lowered libido - any easier to swallow. For the first time in over 30 years, Joel Miller wasn’t on suppressants. 

He’d started them because there was a societal requirement to hide his second gender - alpha. The betas, which made up the majority of the population, were brainwashed by their leaders - religious and political - to believe that their communities were in danger from the aggressive and uncontrollable alpha nature. And given that alphas were “triggered” by omegas, both alphas and omegas were expected to suppress their natural urges in the name of safety and the greater good. 

But it wasn’t the middle ages, it was the early 1990’s, therefore culling entire pockets of the population was thankfully out of the question. The options became taking a chemical suppressant offered by the government or risk being outed and outcast by your friends and neighbors, which often led to discrimination and violence. Joel made the easy choice to take the pills and be “normal”.

So Joel suppressed his nature, knocked up his beta girlfriend, and became a single father all in one year. And now, 30-odd years later, with the changing and more accepting times (and after joining a suppressed alpha & omega support group on Facebook), he decided to go “sant-free” and enjoy who he truly was.

And who he truly was, was a lot. 

Dave and Joel had lived on the same street for close to twenty years. There was a house between them, and they had watched owners and tenants come and go throughout the almost-two decades, and kept things as pleasant as they could between them despite their animosity for one another.

It was one evening as Dave was scrolling through Facebook - something he would never admit to doing - and he came across a support group for alphas and omegas who currently were - or had been - suppressed.

He smirked. “Fuckin’ pussies.”

He clicked on the group and joined, his interest solely in solidifying his fragile ego’s belief that he was better never having been tainted by a ‘sant’ in his life. Scrolling through the page, he got a kick out of the sob stories posted about ‘trying to gain back the time lost being suppressed’ and ‘feeling like being reconnected with my ancestors for the first time at a group howling’. He rolled his eyes and chuckled like an asshole, but stopped at a post with a familiar name:

Joel Miller Anyone else feeling like there smelling better? Not my own cent, but everything and other people around me smells bigger and more smellier. 6mths sant-free.

Dave just about choked on the gasp he sucked in reading this. He had been around Joel countless times and never once scented anything but his Old Spice from him. This didn’t make any sense, but the picture on the profile he clicked on was definitely Joel. He thought Joel was a beta. According to his own alpha group, even a suppressed alpha could be scented out by others. It clicked for him then. Joel must be an omega; his scent getting better now that he was going au natural. 

“Joel fuckin’ Miller’s an omega bitch.”, Dave murmured with a chuckle. 

After his Facebook discovery, Dave thought so much less of Joel, not that he thought much of him to begin with. He made a point to throw Joel cool glares and the occasional middle finger as he passed him while pulling out of his driveway each morning to go to work. Even if Joel never saw the gesture, it was irrelevant for Dave; he just felt better doing it.

Joel knew Dave was an asshole, plain and simple. He always figured he was just overcompensating for something. He’d always gotten a bad feeling about him, and he just kept a polite distance and had advised the neighbourhood mothers to have their daughters skip his house when they sell Girl Scout cookies. It meant more for Joel anyway -  at least that’s what he hoped for.

A silent, volatile accord had existed between the men, and you were about to come along and destroy it.

You’d moved into the house between them, having just left a tumultuous relationship mired in a power struggle with a beta man. According to the opinion of your friends, he was threatened by your ‘sacred omega energy’ and wasn’t worth your time or your tears. Even if you didn’t 100% believe that, the thought of it being true did make you feel better. 

During your first viewing and the walkthrough with the home inspector, you’d noted that you had an older, sober-looking male neighbour on one side, and a clean cut man with a predatory stare on the other. 

Neither seemed to be wiser to your omega-ness, despite the fact that you were no longer suppressed as heavily. You moved here to get a clean start now that you were taking back your innate nature, and relied on a different combination of medications to help ease your heats and allow you to be in public without being potentially accosted by overly aggressive alphas.

Your boxes were about 75% unpacked and for that alone, you decided that you deserved a break. Opening the back door, you stepped out onto the porch and then down to the patio, sitting on the back steps. The breeze was cool and sweet, causing your skin to prickle in goosebumps under the warm spring sun. Closing your eyes, you breathed in and enjoyed the peace and smells of cut grass and someone’s garden blooming downwind. It was complete tranquility. 

Until it wasn’t. 

You could smell him approaching his fence. The harsh, wet-metal tint of his scent dulling every other scent around you. He didn’t smell nice. He smelled brash, aggressive, bold, proud, stubborn… like a headache that wouldn’t go away in a rusted can. He was definitely one of those alpha-male alphas.

You turned your head to see the clean shaven neighbour, learing at you from over his fence. 

“Nice day we’re having,” his voice cutting through the gentle birdsongs.

You nodded politely with a small, tight smile on your face. “Quite.”

Another scent drifted through to you, a softer, smokier scent, like that of worn leather with copper rivets. You turned your head and saw the older neighbour watching you from his porch out back, sipping a glass of some amber liquid. He was also an alpha, but far less brash, according to scent anyway, and it made your scent glands at the crux of your neck and shoulders throb. His eyes occasionally darted to the other man then back to you. 

It felt like you were in the crossfires of a long brewing feud and given that these men both smelled like alphas, you weren’t too keen on getting caught in-between them.

The older man gave you a polite nod and took another sip. The younger man grimaced a smile as his eyes darted between you and the older man, then paused, seemingly smelling the air. You watched, growing curious as he looked away, brows furrowed and mouth tightening, as if he was trying to decipher something before his face relaxed and his eyes widened in realization. His scent changed, heedier notes crawling out from under his already sharp scent, and it made your blood run cold. He’d picked up on your omega scent and his own was responding. You moved to get up and run into your house, but stopped when you took one last look at him, seeing just his eyes glaring not at you, but past you. You turned and realized his ire was directed at your other neighbour, the older man on the other side of your other fence.

You turned back to the younger man and watched as his head sunk down behind the fence again. Then you heard a door slam and whipped your head around to find your older neighbour was now gone, too. 

What the fuck?

Dave was furious. 

He had a hot neighbour that he very much would like to get to know better, but Joel was so fucking distracting! How the hell can he look so unattractively old yet smell that good??

Pacing back and forth in his kitchen, Dave debated on going back out into the yard to try and get another whiff. Maybe this time, it would repulse him. Maybe this time, he would catch Joel’s scent again, and then, because it’s Joel, he would be so turned off, Joel’s scent wouldn’t cause his cock to twitch… his scent wouldn’t smell so good… so good and warm and earthy and comforting… like an arboreal paradise after a rainfall… and cinnamon… and a winter hearth… and…

“Get your shit together, York!”, Dave barked out, clenching his eyes closed.

Willing his body to purge anything that would positively reinforce how good Joel smelled, he braced himself on the kitchen counter, head hanging between his outstretched arms, and took some deep breaths. His mind told him over and over that there was no way that fuckmook of an old man could smell that perfect, but his body - his instincts - told him otherwise. 

He tried to distract himself for the next few hours with his row machine, his bow flex, his tread climber, his stairmaster, anything to drive him to physical exhaustion, but no matter what, he could not get that smell out of his head or stop his body from reacting to the mere memory of it. Just that small whiff was enough for it to be embossed into his brain and tugged on every muscle remotely connected to his cock.

As he laid on his back on a yoga mat, sprawled out on the floor and breathing hard, he heard Joel’s deep chuckle careen through the open window. 

FUCK. 

He pushed himself up off the floor and stormed out the back door to his deck, and scowled as he whipped his head in the direction of Joel’s house, only to lock eyes with the older man as he spoke to you, the new pretty neighbour. Again, the scent wafted towards him and began to embed itself under his skin. 

Oh fuck. The scent was stronger this time. Concentrated. Oh Fuck. Joel was going into heat. Oh fuck fuck fuck! This would probably be his first, and he’d need to be cared for and guided and helped, and the neediness he would have for an alpha, and -

Dave was shocked with himself, at how quickly he was succumbing to Joel’s scent, and he was even angrier when he realized he was fully hard. The seam in the front of his pants put pressure at just the right angle on the head of his engorged cock, making him involuntarily buck his hips as he sucked in a sharp, shaky breath. 

Joel just stared at him, brows furrowed and you had turned around by that point, too. Both of you were watching Dave, and both of you were looking equally unsure and concerned.

Dave’s eyes were wide and his nostrils flared, his mouth turned down in a furious frown. His breaths came out in frantic, sharp puffs and his clenched fists did a quick one-two punch in the air as he yelled, “FUCK!”, before turning around and storming back inside his house. 

With each step, his pant’s front seam shifted just so, and by the time he was in his living room, he had cum in his pants. 

You were so confused. 

All you had done was ask your older neighbour, who you now knew was named Joel, if he could tell you where to get a cheap lawn mower. That was it. You’d been inside and then could smell him again, and you came outside and were having a nice conversation when that asshole who smelled like water-logged metal appeared on his deck looking psychotic and also sporting a massive boner. 

As you both watched him disappear into his home, you heard Joel huff, “Jesus Christ, Dave…”

It was a lot, needless to say, and watching that whole thing was enough to abruptly end your and Joel’s conversation. You felt a bit disappointed at Joel bidding you a good evening before stepping back from the fence, eyeing the yard of the guy apparently called Dave.

Dave felt like he was going insane. His cock was hard, the tip was so sensitive that just the bedsheets grazing the boxer-covered knob was enough to make him suck his breath in through his teeth as he tossed and turned. He bit his pillow and whimpered as he laid on his side jerked himself off at the memory of the omega’s scent. 

By the time morning came, he was a sweaty mess. Instead of trying to clean all the cum out of his sheets, he threw them out. Even then, his cock was still semi-hard; his drive for that omega never quite letting up the choke hold it had him in. 

His stomach muscles were sore from tensing all night and his head was cloudy with exhaustion, and yet he still got ready for work and managed to get out the door only a few minutes behind his normal time. 

Today, he wasn’t so glad to be an alpha.

Joel was sweating. Good Christ, you smelled good. Even though he was rusty and somewhat out of touch with his alpha side, he knew what you were and he knew you were getting close to your heat. Smelling like a goddammed forest in a rainstorm and the warmed stones and embers of a hearth was already catching his attention, but adding the sweet, warm honey scent of your heat made you almost irresistible. 

After going back inside once Dave had put on that performance, he frantically hustled up the stairs to his office and fired up his desktop, logged into Facebook. He needed help figuring out how to let you know he was interested as an alpha and not as a regular man. He felt completely out of his element and wasn’t sure what his instincts were screaming at him to do to you were very gentlemanly or wise. He clumsily typed his question, not caring whether his fingers were hitting the right keys or not - anonymously this time because he was too embarrassed to have his face attached to this - into his suppressed alpha & omega support group:

smelled a omaha. smelled good real gopd. how i get her attention. 

He waited, but it was late. He needed to go to bed. He logged out of his FB account and shut the computer down, then jerked off under the stream of a cold shower. Joel too barely slept a wink, but managed to hold off on checking if his questions received any answers until the first inkling of dawn crept across the sky. 

Wow! Must be a good smell to make you type that bad!😜 Hey there, bud - maybe tell her how good she smells Been there. Give her food. If she’s close to heat, she needs iron.  Yeah! Give her some meat then give her your meat! These alphas need to grow up! Just tell her you're interested. And the idea about bringing her food is sweet.  Drink some cold water and check your spelling you wild hog Can tell she’s throwing you into a rut with your spelling - be careful!  Yeah, take her some food. 

Joel read through the responses, deciding that food and talking were going to be what he needed to do, neither of which he had in great supply. Sure, he had food, but it wasn’t anything that he could use to woo anyone, and his conversation skills were lacking beyond giving instructions on how to properly install drywall.

He spent the majority of the morning worrying about what to give you and fighting with the clingwrap. He settled on a plate of protein leftovers.

You were already up, in the front room of your new home and unpacking your boxes. You watched Dave back up and the speed off, swerving to get control of the steering wheel as he did. Weirdo.

Even your heat coming on didn’t make him or his scent appealing. But Joel - now there was the one you had to be careful with. His scent and deep timber of a voice were calling out to your baser instincts. If they had their way, you’d be on the front lawn like a cat in heat, yowling and begging for him.

You tried to push the thoughts of him out of your head as you puttered away throughout the morning. It wasn’t until a familiar scent pulling at you followed by a knock at the door pulled you out of your focus that you realized it was after 12 noon.

“Oh, hey Joel.”, you greeted him sweetly upon opening the door. You tried to sound as cool and collected as possible.

He smiled back, subtly trying to take a deep inhale through his nose. “Hey - uh… Did-didn’t know if you needed anything foodwise or if you were hungry or…”

He held out a plate covered in clingwrap that seemed to be pulled and torn badly. You could see some cold, breaded chicken wings and a few cold cuts of ham. You took it from him, unsure of what it symbolized if anything at all, and offered him a small, slightly bewildered smile. 

“Thanks… it’s -”

“Protein.”, Joel nodded, hands shoved into his pockets. 

You looked at him, brows raised and nodded back. “Pr-protein. Yeah. Perfect…”

“Iron.”

You stared back at him, realizing he was silently pleading for you to like his gift. 

“Iron.”, you repeated back to him, responding with a reassuring smile. “Want to come in?”

Joel looked like he was trying not to grin so damn hard and nodded, walking in your front door. His scent had a proud glint to it. 

Dave pulled into his driveway, and sat in his car waiting for the stupidly slow garage door to lift up. He had the day from hell; nothing seemed to make sense and he couldn’t get Joel fucking Miller out of his head all day. During a meeting in which he should have been paying attention, his mind wandered to what he hoped Joel would sound like as he was in heat, begging and needy on the floor in his living room as Dave imagined himself standing over him, relishing in the scent and the power… 

The whole meeting had paused, everyone turning their attention to Dave, as he was lost in the lusty daydream, eyes closed and sucking in air loudly through his nose then releasing his breath out his mouth with a groan over and over. It wasn’t until one of his superiors cleared their throat that Dave realized what he had been doing. The only saving grace he had was that his boss and most of the men in his department were also alphas and knew what the precursors to a rut looked like. 

He spent the rest of the day holed up in his office with a headache and a semi-hard dick. 

And now, he sat in his car with the windows down, waiting for that stupid fucking door to finally open all the way. He was so close to being in the confines of his own home, able to jerk off and be mad about who he was jerking off to, when he smelled it. That sweet, tangy, musky, spicy scent of an omega begging to be bred and fucked. Dave inhaled and his whole body shuddered. His sore stomach muscles tensed up and he swore he heard faint mewls coming from the direction of Joel’s house. Just as soon as they started, the scent began to fade a bit and the sounds seemed to vanish. He put his car in drive just as Joel came out of the front door of his home, walking towards yours and Dave began to sweat badly. He bit his fist as Joel paused and looked at him, and then slammed his foot on the gas and plowed right into his garage. 

If it wasn’t for the fact that Dave had a basement, there wouldn’t have been a cement wall in the garage and he would have been parked in his kitchen.  

But he still would have cum in his pants. 

Joel’s afternoon visit was nice, albeit short. He stayed long enough to permeate your home with his scent by just standing in the front entryway. Not only that, you could see your own scent was affecting him. He stood, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet, hands jammed deep in his pockets and eyes looking anywhere but your face.

“I-uh… I hope you like… chi-chicken.”, he stuttered in a low voice.

You looked down at the plate in your hands and nodded. Finding his nervous energy bleeding into you, you felt like every nerve was hypersensitive to any changes in him. The way his breath moved in and out of his slightly parted lips, causing the slightly too long hair of his moustache to move with it. His pulse in his neck and the slight perspiration along his hairline on his forehead. Wait… this wasn’t nervous energy. Shit. 

This was your heat. Shit. Shit fuck shit. 

It was as if you both had that realization at the same time. Joel’s eyes suddenly zeroed in on yours and the depth of brown that you hadn’t noticed before robbed you of your breath briefly. 

“I…”, you started, your voice almost hoarse. 

Joel looked at you, his face taking on a sterner visage, and one hand pulled from his pocket and his right foot stepped forward like he was going to reach for you. You felt every fibre of your omega begging for his touch and your skin felt like it was on fire. But he stopped himself and pulled back. He cleared his throat.

“H-hope you like your… that.”, he nodded towards the plate in your hands and then backed up towards the door, fumbled blindly with the knob as he kept his eyes on you before finally getting it open. He stumbled back out the door and moved quickly back towards his house. 

You stared at your open front door for a moment before shoving your face into the cling wrap covered plate and inhaling deeply, trying to keep any remnants of his scent in your nose. You quickly moved forward and kicked the door closed, then ran to your bedroom. Tossing the plate on your pillow, you ripped your bedside table open and pulled out one of your silicone toys and had the bottom half of your body naked in record time. 

Laying on the bed with your head turned into the plate of now room temperature breaded chicken wings, ham slices and cling wrap, you tried to desperately quell the ache building up in your body before it got worse. It had been so long since you had a heat with an alpha in this close proximity.

Joel felt like an idiot. He knew you were in heat and yet he still got that close to you. He hadn’t been close to anything in heat, except maybe a barbeque, since going sant-free. Now that he had, he was seriously considering locking himself in the basement given the lewd and depraved thoughts he had about you. You just smelled too fucking good.

Joel was hard and he palmed himself through his jeans as he stood with his back against the inside of his front door. He opened his jeans, just in case, and plunked down on the floor. 

Would it be the worst if he jerked off to you? The way he imagined you’d be needy and whiny, your pussy puffy and wet and juicy and oh so sensitive, just begging to be fucked and knotted…

Joel’s eyes were heavy and almost crossed at the thought of knotting you. The need was so strong, it was like he was drowning and desperate for air. Knotting you, hearing that pretty voice make pretty noises, feeling you constrict around his cock, maybe even breed you-

His eyes shot open and his brows furrowed in shock at his own thought process. 

What the - no! No no no no no! Breed?? No. Nope. n-well… what if she… no. but what if?

He sat there on the floor, confused and horny and perplexed and aroused, for what felt like hours but was more like 26 minutes. His mind was brought out of that very unsettling yet tempting notion by his phone ringing. He almost jumped out of his skin and got up quickly, frantically pulling his cell phone from his pocket, answering it only to find it was a junk call. 

The only thing that call did was make Joel resolute in his need to lay claim to you before any other alpha did - though he wasn’t sure why.

He did up his pants and flung open his front door and marched down his front steps, feeling the undeserved confidence of an alpha going into a full rut. As he turned to walk towards your house, he saw Dave sitting in his driveway, looking a little worse for wear. He paused, then Dave bit his fist and drove right into and almost through his garage. 

While he was still very horny and he hated Dave, he was concerned. Joel ran over to Dave’s driveway but just as he got closer, Dave had already pressed the button to close the garage door. 

Dave was a fucking weirdo.

Even though you weren’t yet in the deep throes of your heat, this time around seemed to be exacerbated by two things: no hormonal supplements and your house was sandwiched between two alphas, both of whom had much stronger scents. Maybe there was something to the societal niceties of suppressants and creating more harmonious neighbourhoods. 

Joel’s scent had just gotten stronger and more intense. You knew without even looking out the open window when he was outside and when he arrived home. You’d quietly in your kitchen and just inhale, feeling the warmth bleed out from your core and wash over your body. Until Dave came home… 

Dave, on the other hand, did smell more intense, but it was like he was fermenting in his own pheromones. That ‘wet pennies’ and sour scent was even more overwhelming. It was everywhere and you couldn’t escape it. 

While Joel smelled like he was just waiting for an invitation, Dave smelled like he had the worst, strongest cologne you’d ever encountered, and it had gone rancid then dumped onto your carpet. 

After Joel had left you with the plate of food and you’d done everything you could with your bedside table dwelling, silicone friend and still felt like you were unable to scratch that wandering itch, you heard a loud crash! and you threw on some clothes quickly and headed out your front door. 

You looked towards Dave’s house as you came down your front steps and encountered the back of Joel and his amazingly broad shoulders as he shook his head. 

“What happened?”

Joel turned and, seemingly catching him off guard, he shrugged. “No clue. Dave was in the car in the driveway an’jus’ drove into his garage. Pretty sure he hit the foundation an’all.”

His face looked less concerned and more perplexed and suspicious.

You waited to hear more as Joel just stood in front of you, ponderous. “And?”

“And what?”, he asked, giving you a skeptical look. 

“And is he okay?”

“How in the hell should I know?? Been standin’ here almost as long as you, an-”

You scoffed, giving Joel a condescending look and walked past him quickly to check on Dave. You were just steps past him when you were jerked back against his body, colliding with him. 

You wish you were mad, oh god, do you wish you were furious at his little stunt. But the feeling of his skin on yours radiated throughout your body and dulled your mind of any sharp feelings or thoughts. 

You wanted him and that was final.

Joel wasn’t sure why you gave him such a high and mighty look and he wasn’t sure why you asked him such a stupid question. How was he supposed to know if Dave was okay? He’d only been outside about a minute or so longer than you.

But when you pushed past him, determined to make sure Dave was okay, Joel felt a disgustingly hot top-to-bottom wave of jealousy burst over him, causing his skin to redden and flush. On instinct, he shot his hand out and grabbed your arm, tugging you back to him. 

But the moment you were up against him and close enough he could count the pours on your nose and you could do the same to him, like a dog chasing its tail he had no idea what to do with you now that he caught you.

Sarah had come home when she was in sixth grade and launched into a seminar on the topic of unwanted physical contact after there was an assembly at her school about it over dinner. Both he and his brother Tommy had sat wide eyed while she spoke passionately about consent and bodily autonomy; he’d never forgotten that and every time he’s intended to touch anyone, he was reminded of that evening. The assembly’s information had probably made a bigger impact on him than it had any of the kids who had initially been required to sit through it. 

He was reminded of that moment as he stared down at you with big eyes and waited for you to shove him back or let a verbal tirade about unwanted physical touch at him. He watched your lips part and he closed his eyes and tensed up, inadvertently pulling you in tighter. Instead of feeling your hands land on him or hear the shrill side of your voice, he felt your mouth on his.

In only a nano-second, his brain went into recovery mode and the software that booted up was pure alpha instinct. His large hand came up to cradle the back of your head and the kiss was an electric moment. His emotions ignited and the world melted away. It began with a slow, lingering touch of your lips, a deep breath shared between the two of you.

But Joel’s desire took over and he deepened the kiss. His lips parted and his tongue prodded at your mouth, pressing for entrance. Once you obliged, his tongue explored yours, seeking a rhythm of pure connection. You seemed to melt into his touch and his hand fisted your hair and his other roamed down your to your lower back. He pulled you in closer from there, knowing you would feel his hardening cock press against your lower belly. His every movement was charged with longing, a silent declaration of affection, need, and raw passion.

To Joel, time ceased to exist. He could feel your heartbeat through your body in his hold  as he pressed you against him. There was no hesitation, no restraint—just the overwhelming intensity of the moment. 

In other words, Joel desperately wanted to fuck you. 

Dave didn’t know what came over him. 

Or, he did but admitting that he’d become completely at the mercy of an omega’s scent - his fucking neighbour’s scent - was humiliating. He’d been brought to his knees by just getting a whiff and he hadn’t been able to regulate himself since. Eating was a chore, so was basic personal grooming and hygiene. The only things that came easy to him were the acts of jerking off in bed and subsequently crying into his pillow. 

Dave was in a rut and he had no omega - or other person’s orifice in general - to ride it out in. 

Was that a good reason for driving into the cement wall in his garage? How was he supposed to explain to his insurance broker if there was any major damage and he needed to file a claim? That he went into a rut and hadn’t bathed, eaten a proper meal or slept a whole night in over a week because he was hornier than a 14-peckered owl and therefore it counted as an act of god? 

He let out a deep sigh and slumped into his seat in the car, rubbing his face. He did manage to back the car up enough to pull it away from the wall without subjecting himself to more humiliation by opening the garage door. The damage wasn’t extreme but it was noticeable on his car, and it was clear that something had hit the cement wall. 

He went into the house and as he came out into the open area of the living room, looked out the front window to see you and Joel attached by the face. When it dawned on him what was happening, he dropped to the floor and crawled up to the window, peeking up over the sill to watch. With his eyes trained on the two of you with your mouths interlocked, he reached up and clumsily cracked the window open, desperate to get the scent off Joel. 

What he got instead was a faceful of old leather and musky hormonal mess clouding the sweet scent of an omega. The omega that he suddenly realized wasn’t Joel. Joel wasn’t an omega. You were. 

Dave stared wide eyed and stunned, brows furrowing in deep angles, as the revelation hit him like a rogue piano that had been dropped on him from a few stories above. 

Joel wasn’t an omega in heat. He was an alpha - just like him - and Dave didn’t know how he felt about it. He’d grown accustomed to seeing Joel’s face in his mind while he came. He’d imagined how good it would be to guide Joel through his heat and be the big spoon as he cared for him. The idea of Joel needing his knot, desperately begging for it, was one of the only things keeping him tethered to reality during this rut and now that it was not going to happen, he felt a deep hole breaking open in his chest.

He didn’t know how long he laid on his living room floor, sulking in what could only be described as a biological and hormone-fueled heartbreak, but when he finally pulled himself up, it was dark outside and he was able to see his reflection in the window. His face had the texture of the carpet he’d been lying on embossed on one half of his face.

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[feminismisstillahatemovement]

I've given this a hell of a lot of thought over the years.

There are moral arguments that can be made that should apply equally to both sexes, but I think they always fall short of real-life experience because they completely miss what is actually going on under the hood of the human machine, the hardwiring below the conscious mind and whatever it's believing in any given moment.

Men and women evolved over millions of years to have different reproduction strategies: men evolved to fundamentally want to impregnate just about every healthy and fertile young female they see, and then move onto the next one, and the next one, and the next one, in order to have the best chance of their DNA continuing on after they are gone. Because men don't carry and birth the children, men can practically never be sure that the child a woman presents them with is truly their own, so the hardwired survival strategy they ended up with is to cast the seed far and wide.

Women, on the other hand, never have this dilemma: no woman who feels a baby kicking inside her has to wonder if she's pregnant, or is unsure if she has given birth or not when she sees the head emerging from between her legs.

So women evolved to prioritize and pursue other things; to look for and select the best physical quality and highest social status man they can, in order to 1) create a healthy child, and 2) feel fairly confident that man will stick around to protect and provide for her while she is increasingly incapacitated the following 9 months and then hopefully continue to help support her and the child afterwards as she nurses and nurtures it.

Women are innately more cautious about who they engage in sex with because of the much greater cost of pregnancy. This is so strong and commonly observed a drive in the female half of the species that women who don't prioritize these things, and just hop into bed with every Tom, Dick, Dick, Dick and Harry are, all across the world, perceived to be of lower-status and a very bad bet for a relationship.

For men, it's a huge leap of trust to believe that the woman they are with is not lying to them about any offspring she brings him, and so any signs that that woman is unfaithful feels a much bigger red flag.

When a woman sleeps around, it indicates to a man that she is the kind of woman who he could never be sure of if she said she was pregnant with his child. So when a woman cheats on a man, it's more likely to sever that trust forever, and she instantly becomes greatly diminished in value in his eyes.

Feminists call this a double standard and "slut-shaming", and wrongly believe it to be, like everything else, societally-created, and so should be able to be uprooted simply through the dissemination of endless angry (and, ironically, shaming) propaganda. But this ideological narrative entirely ignores and misunderstands the realities of the bodies our conscious minds arose from and inhabit, and so was always doomed to failure from day one.

But anyway, that's why men don't forgive cheating, if you really want to hear the truth.

[arrenlebanen777]

💫AQUARIUS/URANUS 💫

💫I want to say something about aquarian energy, people and more about Uranus:

♒️When there's a strong presence of Aquarius in a birth chart, Aquarius degrees(11,23) or significant aspects to Uranus, the individual tends to be an idealist. They often treat people well and build friendships with those who align with their ideals. However, when relationships no longer fit their vision, they may disconnect or "ghost" others. While they are unique, this drive for distinctiveness can sometimes reflect a deep insecurity or a compulsive desire to live in an imagined perfect world. Usually they live a lot in their heads and are pretty disconnected from reality, not from society(since society is just a mental construct/belief system). ♒️In mythology, Uranus, the god of the sky, was an idealist obsessed with perfection. He violated Gaia, the Earth, in pursuit of creating perfect offspring. However, when he saw that his children were titans, he found them monstrous and cast them into the underworld. This myth reveals Uranus' extreme nature—pursuing ideals at any cost, even the suffering of others. Until Saturn was born, then Gaia asked her son Saturn for help, so Saturn went to his father Uranus and cut off his balls so he would stop doing all his idealistic and murderous abuse. That’s why it is said among some astrologers that Saturn was the first feminist. This myth reflects the behavior of those with strong Uranian influence: the relentless pursuit of ideals, often without consideration of the emotional impact on those around them. They may act recklessly, driven by an idea, without realizing the psychological harm they cause.

♒️Aquarians are known for their intelligence and innovation, but these traits do not necessarily equate to emotional maturity or compassion. Intelligence, after all, is not synonymous with wisdom, as history has shown us. It’s important to recognize that even though Aquarians may be socially adept and blessed with expansive social circles due to Uranus' transpersonal influence, this does not inherently make them more grounded or compassionate.With maturity, Aquarians often come to realize that much of their social engagement is shaped by collective trends and the unconscious connection to societal movements. As they grow, in the best scenario, they develop a deeper sense of humility and compassion, recognizing that they are not separate from others but part of a larger whole. It is through this awareness that they begin to embody the true humanitarian and altruistic potential that their sign is capable of.

♒️Aquarius rules society and has the power to lead it, but when undeveloped, Aquarians can become rebels without a cause, sowing chaos in their desire to stand out or disrupt. This is why Saturn, the ruler of integrity, discipline, and structure, is crucial in tempering the impulsive, rebellious nature of Uranus. Without Saturn’s influence, Aquarians may focus on shock value and unnecessary rebellion, failing to understand the true consequences of their actions. Saturn provides the stability and grounded wisdom that Aquarians need to balance their vision with the real world. And sometimes this is through karma.

“This applies particularly to individuals with personal planets or Lilith positioned at 11°, 23° degrees, as well as those with strong Uranus influences or significant aspects to Uranus”

[kikyoupdates]

Tears of a Villainess ⭑˚🗡️⭑ 𝑠𝑢𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠

yandere!ocs x reader

yandere, reverse harem, isekai, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

Reincarnation isn't as great as it sounds, especially when you've been reborn as none other than the villainess. Fated to die if you stand in the heroine's way, you immediately resolve to distance yourself from the plot. As long as you have nothing to do with any of the relevant characters, surely, you'll be able to avoid an untimely death. But in a horrible turn of events, the heroine ends up wanting to get close to you. Are you really doomed to meet the villainess' tragic end? Or is there an even more sinister fate that awaits you?

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There are three possible love interests that you can pursue in the game.  

Firstly, Alistair Calderwood. Prior to meeting the heroine, he is engaged to the villainess, but holds no romantic feelings for her. Needless to say, he falls deeply in love with the heroine and ends his engagement, which drives the villainess absolutely insane. In Alistair’s route, her obsessive tendencies result in her regularly harassing the heroine. Although it starts off small, similar to playground bullying, it quickly devolves into something more vicious. On one occasion, she even succeeds in poisoning the heroine, though she survives because the dose is thankfully non-lethal. And also because of plot armor. Definitely plot armor.  

Anyways, long story short, the villainess spirals more and more due to her obsession with Alistair, and she is eventually punished for her crimes through execution—by none other than Carmine, the man standing before you.  

That’s only the first route, though.  

Carmine Mortis is the second love interest in the game. His is an admittedly clichéd story, with that whole trope of a knight falling for a noblewoman and coveting her affections, but societal norms and social status end up standing in the way of their relationship. It’s not a particularly original concept, but you’ve always had a soft spot for characters that will fight tooth and nail for their loved ones, which is why he was your favorite out of the trio.  

Eventually, Carmine and the heroine overcome all the obstacles in their way and obtain their happy ending. But this ending unsurprisingly comes at the cost of the villainess’ life. She is a recurring antagonist, regardless of whether or not you choose Alistair’s route and her engagement falls through. Yet another reason why you think she’s such a poorly written character, because her motives in this route are much less established. The premise of the game is that the heroine is from a failing noble household, and her family moves to a new kingdom after being driven from their own land. The villainess kind of just decides to pick on her when she is introduced into high society, for remarkably petty reasons.  

God. You seriously don’t know who’s writing these villainess-type characters, but it’s a literal tragedy how poorly done they are. How hard is it to create a convincing and humane antagonist that people can maybe even sympathize with at times? Even villains that are flat-out meant to be hated can still be well-written, provided you understand their motives and they have a compelling character arc.  

But you suppose it’s a bit too late for such criticism, because from now on, this isn’t just a story, and these people are no longer simply characters.  

This is your life.  

And you’re sure as hell not going to throw it away.  

Carmine purses his lips. “Is everything alright, my lady? You seem a bit disoriented. The shock of the situation must have really frightened you.”  

You blink, realizing that you’re still holding onto his hand after he helped you to your feet. You pull away as fast as you can, and while it’s true that coming face to face with your would-be executioner is jarring, to say the least, there’s no reason for you to actually panic at this stage.  

You are innocent. You have yet to commit any of the crimes the villainess did—and you don’t ever plan to. There’s no reason why Carmine would ever slice your head off with his sword. Having played the game, you know exactly how powerful he is, and how incredibly easy it would be for him to end your life, but there’s simply no situation where that would ever occur.  

As far as you’re concerned, this will be the last meeting the two of you ever have.  

“I’m fine,” you reassure. The longer you stare at him, the more you calm down. He’s still a knight, after all. A protector of the people. He only punishes criminals, and since you’re not a piece of shit (presumably), there’s no conflict to be had.  

“Why did you try to apprehend that thief all by yourself?” Carmine frowns. Rather than looking angry, he just looks confused, which seems to be how most people react to you these days. “Even if he wasn’t concealing a weapon, did you plan on restraining him on your own? He would have overpowered you with ease.”  

Well, that’s not necessarily true. You could have done… something. Probably. Maybe.  

…fine, it was a stupid, spur-of-the-moment idea. But at least your heart was in the right place.  

“I just wanted to help,” you shrug. “I couldn’t let that man get away with stealing. I wasn’t sure if anyone else would act in time, so I took my chances. Admittedly, the thought that he might have a weapon didn’t really cross my mind… but I’m sure he wasn’t actually going to hurt me.”  

From a little distance off, the thief, who has since been tied up and bound with rope, proceeds to glare at you. 

“No, I had every intention of stabbing you,” he states.  

“Oh. Well, that’s… good to know. Thank you for your candor, I guess.”  

You flash him an awkward thumbs-up, but he merely spits on the floor and curses you in response. Meanwhile, Carmine stares at you in abject horror, and Fiona looks like she wants to curl up in a ball and die.  

Carmine shakes his head. “Try to ignore him, my lady. Deplorable scum like that isn’t worth your time. I assure you, he will be punished accordingly. Not only did he steal, but he also threatened violence. It’s a good thing I was able to apprehend him before anyone actually got hurt.”  

You look back at the thief again, who is muttering under his breath, no doubt saying immensely unflattering things about you. Still, you catch him muttering something about ‘spoiled nobles’, and how ‘people like you will never understand what it’s like to go hungry’. While you certainly don’t condone his crimes, you try to remain sympathetic to the fact that there are people who are less fortunate than you, and sometimes, those people turn to drastic measures in order to survive.  

“I wish I’d at least ripped a hole in your stomach before I got arrested,” the thief snarls.  

Dude. You’re making it really hard to feel sorry for you right now.  

Carmine narrows his eyes. “On your feet, criminal. And don’t speak to her like that. Have you no concept of respect?”  

Carmine jerks the thief up by the rope binding his limbs together, and makes a big show of keeping one hand poised above the hilt of his blade. It’s a silent threat. A warning of what will happen if he doesn’t cooperate. 

“I need to have this man brought in,” Carmine says, turning towards you again. He pauses to look you over. It seems like he’s still worried you might be hurt, or perhaps shaken up, and it’s true that you were shaken up—but for a different reason entirely. 

After what feels like an eternity of silence, he smiles.  

“There’s no doubt that what you did earlier was incredibly reckless. However… I can appreciate that you have a penchant for justice. It’s very admirable that you were willing to put yourself in harm’s way to stop a criminal.”  

Oh, wow. He’s actually complimenting you? That’s awesome! This was pretty much exactly what you intended. The more favorable impressions people have of you, the better your reputation will be, and the less likely it is that you’ll find yourself on the wrong end of a pointed blade.  

It’s definitely going to take a while, but already, it looks like your villainess title is starting to be stripped away.  

“I just want to help, however I can,” you say, smiling sweetly and batting your eyes.  

Carmine chuckles. “Yes, well, your intentions are respectable, but from now on, please be more careful and avoid placing yourself in harm’s way. Us knights are always on the lookout for criminals. We’ll be sure to keep everyone safe.”  

“Will do, boss.”  

Your smile turns to a wide grin, and Carmine gives you a curious look, clearly not used to your modern-day slang. You’ve been trying to adopt the mannerisms and way of speaking of people in this setting, but it’s difficult to completely overwrite old habits. Maybe you’ll get used to it with time. Or maybe other people will get used to how much you’ve changed. Whichever comes first.  

What started off as a rather tense encounter has fortunately ended without any issues. If you avoid the heroine, there’s no reason your path should ever cross with Carmine’s again. It’s possible you might catch glimpses of him in town every now and then, but otherwise, you will both lead separate lives.  

So far, it looks like you’ve managed to distance yourself from two of the three major love interests in the game. Not bad for less than a week in your new body. Not bad at all.  

“God, I’m so epic,” you sigh. 

Fiona, however, doesn’t seem to think you’re that epic. In fact, she has rather strong opinions on the matter.  

“Lady [Name]!” she fumes, and you watch as she balls her hands into cute little fists and shakes them wildly. She’s clearly upset, but honestly, she’s just too adorable to take seriously.  

“What is it?” you chuckle.  

“How can you even ask me that? You could have gotten seriously hurt earlier! If that man’s knife had struck you, you could have died!”  

She gasps for breath after exclaiming her last point, more riled up than you’ve ever seen her. What a loud scream to be coming from such a small little maid. It’s actually rather impressive.  

“Yes, I was reckless,” you admit. You reach out, hesitating for a moment, then you grin and pat her on the head. “It’s a good thing you reacted so fast. I sure am glad I brought you with me. You saved my life, Fiona. You’re amazing.”  

Fiona bristles. “Huh? O-Oh. Well, of course! I couldn’t possibly have let my lady get hurt! B-But what you did still wasn’t safe! There’s no telling what could have happened if that knight hadn’t been passing by!”  

She puffs out her cheeks, still very much indignant, but it looks like she’s not opposed to you patting her head. It actually seems like she’s enjoying it quite a bit. 

You finally let your hand drop, then smile again. “You’re right, Fiona. That was very rash of me, and I promise it won’t happen again. I overestimated my authority and thought I could get a criminal to behave. I guess I just wanted to feel like I was doing a good deed.”  

Fiona’s eyes widen, and you can’t blame her, because based on everything she knows of the previous [Name], wanting to ‘do good’ must sound like some kind of sick joke.  

But you can see it in her expression. Slowly but surely, her doubts and reservations are melting away. Perhaps she felt your sincerity when you patted her head, or even before, when you expressed interest in remembering her name. Whatever the case, you can tell that she’s making an effort to look past all the offenses [Name] committed against her, and is choosing to believe in the you of the present.  

You’ve just gained the cutest little ally you could possibly ask for.  

“I-I understand what you were trying to accomplish, but it was still terrifying!” she insists. She presses a palm to her chest and exhales shakily. “Just… please don’t ever do that again. I’m not sure if my heart will hold out.” 

“Aw. I’m sorry for scaring you. Don’t worry. I’ve learned my lesson.”  

You wink playfully, to which she just sighs and hangs her head in resignation.   

Still, Fiona has a point.  

At this rate, it’s much more likely that you’ll die because of your own stupidity, rather than the plot of the game.  

“...holy shit, is that stall selling mini donuts?!” 

“I’m telling you, honey, our daughter might actually be a genius!”  

Your father beams proudly as he flips through the latest pages of homework he assigned you. Needless to say, you completed everything again, and with stellar marks too. Your mother watches on with obvious skepticism, peeking out from behind her frilly hand fan. She can’t quite seem to wrap her head around what’s happening. As far as she knows, you’ve always been, well… an idiot.  

“[Name] really solved all of these questions herself?” your mother asks, still not buying into the whole thing.  

“She most certainly did,” your father hums. “I even sat here and watched her do it! Isn’t that incredible? To think that we were housing such a prodigy all this time!”  

You grin cheekily, to which your mother starts fanning herself faster, mumbling something inaudible under her breath. Probably to do with the fact that she thinks you might be possessed. It’s a popular theory that still hasn’t died down, by the looks of it.  

Whatever. You’re fully aware of the fact that you’re behaving very differently than the previous [Name], but you need to do this. You need to make a massive change, otherwise, there’s no doubt that people will resent you for the heinous acts the villainess committed before. Besides, it’s not entirely unheard of for people to reinvent themselves. It’s not especially common, but it does happen every now and then.  

Also, you think it’s really funny how your parents keep acting like you’re the second coming of Einstein. You’ve always considered yourself to be decently smart, but given how straightforward your father’s math problems are… they’re definitely giving you too much credit.  

Oh, well. It’s much better to have naive, supportive parents than ones that will make your life hell.  

“It just doesn’t make any sense,” your mother frowns. “[Name], you always used to whine and avoid studying. You said you would rather die than have to do homework, and one time you threw a fit and threatened to jump out the window.”  

“...”  

I already knew the villainess was a whiny little bitch, but come on. Whatever happened to standards, sis?  

“Um.” You awkwardly clear your throat. “Yes, well, I’d rather not speak of that incident. I’m embarrassed with how I behaved. It’s true that my sudden change in demeanor might seem rather shocking, but I really am trying to become a better, more accomplished person. Once I started actually applying myself, I realized it wasn’t as difficult as I initially thought. I only wish I’d done this sooner.”  

Unlike your father, who is absolutely giddy with the newly-improved version of his daughter, your mother seems to be much more dubious of this whole situation. Perhaps it’s a mother’s intuition or something. Obviously, she would never be able to guess that you’re an entirely different person trapped inside a new body, but it’s clear that she still has her suspicions.  

She snaps her hand fan shut, then nods. “I see. Well, this is a relief. It’s good to see you taking things seriously for a change. A strong work ethic is something to be admired.”  

She pats your shoulder and smiles encouragingly, but as she’s walking away, you swear you catch her frowning at you out of the corner of her eye.  

Yeah. She’s definitely not fully on board yet. You can only hope that, with time, she’ll come to accept the change.  

At least your father’s having a field day.  

“My darling little genius,” he praises, ruffling your hair affectionately. “[Name], I want you to know that your mother and I are both very proud of you. In fact, we’re considering finding a tutor for you to work with. Clearly, someone of your intellect needs to be challenged accordingly, and with their help, you’ll learn at a much more accelerated pace.”  

A tutor, huh? Well, you’re not opposed to it. You’ve spent the past few years of your life listening to countless professors drone on during lectures, most of which didn’t teach you jack shit. The better portion of your academic career has been self-taught. A tutor should be fine, because you get to work one-on-one with them and they’ll actually listen to your questions.  

“Of course, father. I’m excited to expand my knowledge and push past my limits.”  

He outright squeals in delight, then pulls you into his arms and gives you the biggest bear hug of all time. He was initially furious when you broke off your engagement with Alistair, but it looks like he’s completely gotten over to it.  

And to think that all it took was solving a few math problems. 

“Thank you, math,” you mumble quietly, which are undoubtedly words that nobody has ever spoken before.  

Your father eventually pulls away from you, still smiling. “Keep up the good work, my dear. And remember that we’ve been invited to attend a social function tonight. I wanted to remind you in case you’d forgotten. If you continue to be diligent with your studies, I’d be more than happy to let you pick out some new dresses for future events. You mentioned before that your wardrobe has been looking rather sparse as of late.”  

You’re tempted to roll your eyes, because what the villainess considers to be sparse is easily a hundred times more clothes than you’ve ever had. 

“Thank you for your generosity, father. I would certainly appreciate some new clothes, but I’ll shelf the issue for the time being. I’d like to make sure I’ve earned my reward. It still feels like I have a long way to go.”  

Your father chuckles. “My, my. To think that you’re even exerting so much restraint! Who are you and what have you done with my daughter? Haha.”  

“Haha… ha.”  

Don’t play with me, old man.  

He grins one last time, pure adoration in his eyes, before eventually leaving. So far, it’s pretty safe to say that your father is on your side, Fiona is loyal and is slowly coming around to the fact that you’re a better person, and your mother remains to be fully convinced. But either way, you’ve successfully broken up with Alistair and haven’t had to face any consequences, which is a win in your book.  

Now, then. It’s time for the most challenging task you’ve had thus far.  

Etiquette. 

Having played the game, you’re somewhat conscious of how certain characters within the nobility were expected to behave, but putting it in practice is a different matter entirely.  

Up until now, you’ve been able to get away with your crude, modern-day way of acting, mainly because you haven’t attended any parties or notable social gatherings. You’ve stayed within the confines of your manor, and save for when you went into town that day, you haven’t made any public appearances.  

This time, however, things are different.  

Your parents can mostly excuse your erratic behavior. You are their daughter, after all, and so long as no one important is there to bear witness, they don’t seem too concerned with it. But when faced with countless members of the nobility, most of which are looking for just about any opportunity to gossip and scrutinize, your carefree attitude won’t go over that well.  

Your one saving grace is that people already have a bad impression of the villainess. They already expect you to make rude, shameless remarks and go around trying to stir up trouble. Obviously, you won’t be doing any of that, but you hope that whatever mistakes you might make tonight will be overlooked. The last thing you want is to stick out like a sore thumb.  

“Can you believe it? [Name] actually had the gall to show up.” 

“Didn’t she make one of the other ladies cry at the last party?”  

“She did. I heard that poor thing couldn't handle the abuse and ran out into the garden, then she tripped and broke her ankle.”  

You blink tiredly.  

Looks like not standing out is a hollow dream. 

“Shh! She’s coming over here,” one of the gossiping women chides. They’re all huddled up in a group, but the second they notice you passing by, they throw on practiced smiles and pretend like nothing ever happened.  

“[Name]!” the same woman coos, using a very obviously fake, superficial tone of voice. She then curtsies, most likely because you outrank her. “Oh, how lovely it is to see you! I was wondering if you’d been invited. You always have a way of… spicing the evening up.”  

The women standing behind her giggle obnoxiously. It’s obvious that this is intended to be a passive-aggressive display, as well as an attempt to humiliate you. 

But what they don’t realize is that you’re not the same person anymore—quite literally. Therefore, no matter how they try to insult you, there’s no reason for you to take it seriously. And besides, your foremost concern is ensuring that you survive. What’s a few catty bitches compared to the threat of death?  

“Hello,” you smile. “It’s nice to see all of you as well. Also, in regards to what you were whispering about earlier, I’m afraid I don’t remember. Did I make someone cry? Truly, it must have slipped my mind. Perhaps I need a reminder.”  

They stiffen up, because normally in high society, these underhanded remarks are rarely acknowledged face to face. You’re expected to play the long game and retort with passive-aggressive comments of your own, not call them out on their bullshit.  

You have to admit, pretending to be a villainess can be pretty fun at times.  

“I-I’m not sure what you’re referring to,” the woman mutters. She then gestures towards her lackeys, glaring at you before she leaves. “I believe a close friend of mine has just arrived. You’ll have to excuse us.”  

They leave without further issue, good riddance. It’s best to keep people like that at arm’s length. You do want to establish a better reputation for yourself, but if you let others walk all over you instead of holding your ground, you’ll never be taken seriously.  

Anyways, for obvious reasons, it looks like most people are avoiding you. Officially, your parents are the actual guests, but as their daughter, you’re expected to accompany them. They’ve already gone off to exchange niceties with the host of the evening, which fortunately leaves you free to do what you want.  

And right now, what you want is to have some of that expensive wine that everyone’s drinking.  

There are a few servants roaming around carrying trays stacked with alcohol, and you gingerly pick up a glass, smiling appreciatively.  

“Thank you,” you say, and the servant reacts by flinching in surprise. Being thanked by the villainess is probably just as big of a shock as being hit by a bus.  

He scurries off, and surprise, surprise—no one else has come to talk to you yet. You take a sip of the wine and let out a sigh. Well, this is fine. From what you remember, the villainess doesn’t have many actual friends, for obvious reasons. There are a few noblewomen who occasionally flock around her and help her harass the heroine, but those same noblewomen also talk shit about the villainess behind her back, so it’s hardly a genuine friendship.  

You decide to make like a wallflower for a bit and just observe. There’s a lot to be learned, after all. High society has all kinds of unwritten rules, and the more you know, the better you’ll fare.  

Okay, so… that dude is apparently having an affair. Everyone knows it, including his wife, but they’re pretending like it doesn’t exist. And that woman over there showed up wearing the same dress as someone else, which is apparently mortifying enough to quietly cry over.  

“This is all so confusing,” you mutter, taking another gulp of wine.  

“What’s confusing?”  

You squeal. You’re so startled that you nearly drop the glass of wine in the process, but fortunately, your amazing (self-proclaimed) reflexes kick in just in time.  

Some rude bastard just snuck up on you! The absolute nerve! You’re actually about to chew him out for it, since you nearly had a damn heart attack, but you stop yourself the moment you make eye contact.  

Standing before you is none other than the third and final love interest—Flynn Pearce.  

Flynn leans closer, tilting his head. “What’s so confusing? You look unusually focused. I noticed you standing over here and mumbling to yourself. You seem to be drinking much more slowly than usual too.”  

You press your lips together. The third love interest from the game, Flynn, is none other than the villainess’ close childhood friend. They basically grew up together. That’s how far back their friendship dates. This of course means that when he starts developing feelings for the heroine, someone that the villainess has decided she hates, she openly expresses her disapproval and makes efforts to keep the two of them apart.  

Flynn is an interesting character, because he’s a bit more morally gray than the other love interests. He is obviously aware of all the villainess’ flaws, but still defends her in the initial acts of his route, because of their long-standing friendship. Unlike Alistair, who is written to be charming, poised, and compassionate, or Carmine, who despises acts of injustice and can’t stand the villainess’ wrongdoings, Flynn isn’t meant to be so clear-cut. It takes a while for him to come to terms with his feelings for the heroine and realize how permissive he’s been of the villainess’ behavior over the years. His character arc leads him to realize how guilty he is by association, and after dealing with the self-loathing that comes with this realization, he eventually casts the villainess out of his life.  

This is the only ending where the villainess isn’t executed by Carmine. In an act of hateful desperation, she lunges at the heroine with a knife, fully intent on killing her.  

But the villainess obviously doesn’t succeed, and instead, she finds that same knife plunged into her chest.  

By none other than her dearest friend.  

You could argue that Flynn is the only real friend the villainess ever had, which could have potentially made her death more tragic, if not for the fact that she was horribly written and had no redeemable qualities.  

Anyways, that same friend is now standing right in front of you. Just like Carmine, if you make the wrong choices and somehow end up tangled in the plot, he too has the potential to end your life.  

It’s always fun staring death in the face.  

“Um, nothing really,” you say, doing your best not to openly grimace. “I was just thinking… that this wine is a weird choice. I’m not sure why they picked it. It’s a bit confusing, is all.”  

Flynn frowns. “I tried the wine. Didn’t you say before that it was one of your favorites?”  

“Oh. D-Did I? Well, maybe the batch is off or something. Either way, it’s not a big deal. I’ll drink it all the same.”  

To prove your point, you throw your head back and chug the rest of the wine. Come to think of it, you do recall that the villainess is a bit of a heavy drinker. You suppose you should do your best to play the part.  

You hoped that would put Flynn’s suspicions to rest, but instead, he narrows his eyes even further. 

“Not a big deal…? If the wine really wasn’t to your taste, surely you’d have more to say about it. Normally, you would have been more vocal about your complaints. I remember you once argued with the hosts for their poor choice of hors d’oeuvres.”  

You gape at him. 

Oh my god. Fuck you, shitty villainess! Why do you have to be such a massive asshole all the time? It’s impossible to meet your ridiculously trashy standards! 

“Ah, right,” you chuckle, hurrying to compose yourself. You wave your hand dismissively. “It’s true. To be honest, I have a lot of improvements in mind for tonight, but I’m rather tired. I just don’t have the energy to go and throw their mistakes in their face. Besides, incompetent people will never learn, I’m afraid. It’s just a waste of my time. Anyways. I’m off to go grab more wine! It may not be good, but it’s palatable, at the very least. I need something to keep me busy for the rest of this mind-numbing ordeal.”  

You leave without giving him another chance to comment. Shit! You weren’t expecting to run into him so soon, and you knew from the start that he’d be the most troublesome one to deal with, since he knows the villainess so well. It won’t be as easy to cut him out of your life as it was with Alistair and Carmine. You’ll need to avoid him to the best of your ability, but you just don’t know how.  

While you clumsily weave through all the people, freaking out internally, Flynn stares at you from afar, without blinking once.  

He purses his lips.  

“She’s… acting strange.”  

More chapters are available on Quotev!

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🗡️ main masterlist! ♡ character appearances

[nynyhaha]

Phantom Troupe - failed robinhoods?

As the new chapters told us,the Spiders started out as a revenge based organisation. That’s also what made them the way they are now.

But no one talks about the huge responsibility they have to carry to help their whole town.

Kurapika’s task for instance is to avenge the dead rather than changing the world to better treat the living. He doesn’t have a community whose situation he is concerned with. It’s tragic,but in a way that limits his responsibility. Leorio wants to treat people for free and actually addresses a bigger societal problem that was born out of a personal one.

The phantom troupe are very much concerned with avenging specific people,but they work on utilitarian principles. They’re ready to sacrifice themselves for the whole of Meteor City,so that no kids will be kidnapped again

For that they’re ready to throw away their own morals. Because kid Chrollo isn’t yet evil. He can’t think the same way adult Chrollo does,he’s not hat capable of committing a massacre but he already knows he will kill many people,without really understanding what that means. If you were to say something like this,would you know what it means? I wouldn’t. So in short,they’d chose to pull the lever and sacrifice one person for the five.(Unless it’s up to Paku and Chrollo is the one person)

If this wasn’t a revenge mission,what would it be?

Meteor City needs two things, protection and material goods.

Before the Troupe gained sufficient strength to have a say, the elders made a deal that exchanged people for the mafias “protection”. It seems heavily implied that the very same mafia who agreed to protect them was the one behind the kidnappings to begin with,they just exchanged children for adults.

In chapter 105 Leorio says the following:

Many years after the original deal,there was a second one, but this time the mafia offered goods. Why couldn’t they kept the “protection” deal?

Because the City no longer needed protection. Something must’ve happened for the mafia to take a step back and actually pay Meteor City rather than just not stealing their kids.

See how it’s a forced decision?

And the Troupe abolished even that.

Not only did the Spider scare off the criminals terrorising their town,they also put a stop to the mafia buying Meteor City’s loyalty.

Maybe it’s already pointed out by someone,but we need to talk about that more!

Suddenly their quest to steal makes much more sense. They’re not only scary guard dogs,but providers. It simply can’t be argued that the Troupe’s existence has no positive effects,when it changes everything for Meteor City!

Why then are they “failed” robinhoods? Because while they’re effective,they can’t change the world. They can only scare off the Mafia while they exist,should the Spider die it could all revert back. And also because they can’t help everybody. The cost of their constructive ends is destruction.

While I believe the Kurta clan massacre had other reasons,would it not be the perfect way to show the elders the Troupe is both capable of cruelty for the sake of their community and fit to provide money? “Oh you think you need the Mafia? Watch this.”

In that way they wouldn’t even need to hate the clan,it would merely be killing outsider children for the sake of Meteorian children.

It perfectly shows how trying to achieve radical change in an unfair world can drive one to insanity. “Robinhoods” seem noble. The work that the Troupe does can’t be noble. Just like Kurapika’s quest isn’t righteous,as much as he wishes it was.

Wanting safety for the kids of Meteor City is natural,but it seems unattainable.

Is the thesis here that you can’t help Meteor City without killing someone? Yes. It doesn’t mean killing the kurtas,but it means killing the Mafia. And killing the Mafia often= normalisation of killing. The more often you do it the easier it is,and the lesser justification is required. Eventually,that means killing the Kurtas.

The idea is that they couldn’t keep doing what they did without eroding their morals to the point they’re at now.

They can’t remain pure. But they have to do something.

Meteor City seems like an unsolvable tragedy. It’s sucks up all the misery and filth of the world, and while it’s supposed to represent hope and be a safe place for all the lost,that’s an unattainable ideal.

There will always be people in need is such a place. It’s like the shadow of the World, which is the actual problem. Meteor City is everything that is right and wrong with humanity.

And the saddest part? Any state of peace is fragile. ALL of the Troupe’s achievements might be lost once it’s gone.

So it really was all for nothing? And how is Chrollo supposed to keep caring about human lives back at home when he has ended countless lives himself? How can he feel any attachment to humanity when he uses bodies as bombs and sees himself as a worthless hostage?

If he doesn’t feel it tho..what’s even the point? No wonder bro is lost

[artmindlens]

Head of a Woman by Pablo Picasso (1939), Private Collection

Psychology of Fragmentation and Identity

Picasso's Head of a Woman captures a sense of fragmented identity, where the geometric shapes and disjointed lines represent the splintering of the self. The figure's abstracted face evokes an internal conflict—a psychological tension between different aspects of one’s personality that refuse to seamlessly integrate. This disconnection speaks to the unconscious struggle many leaders and professionals experience, where their public persona and private self remain at odds. In the corporate world, this could manifest as a leader who projects strength and control outwardly, while internally grappling with insecurities, doubts, or emotional divides.

For executives or professionals who resonate with this painting, the fragmentation can represent the emotional cost of leadership. The pressure to maintain authority and decision-making often forces them to compartmentalize, dividing aspects of their personality to fit into their leadership role. This splintered self creates a tension that prevents them from experiencing a true sense of wholeness, a theme powerfully conveyed by the sharp, disjointed elements of the portrait.

Ambition, Control, and Societal Pressure

The bright colors and exaggerated features highlight a dynamic between control and societal expectations. The bold reds and yellows suggest ambition and energy, but the abstract nature of the figure implies that this energy is scattered or unfocused. Much like a leader managing a vast array of responsibilities, the figure appears to be pulled in multiple directions, unable to find a singular, cohesive focus. This evokes the unconscious pressure professionals face to meet both their own ambitious goals and the external demands placed upon them by stakeholders, markets, or regulatory bodies.

In a business context, this painting might speak to the overwhelm of leadership, where the constant navigation between personal desires and societal expectations leads to a fractured approach. The geometric shapes can be interpreted as barriers—the hard edges between ambition, control, and external validation—each one creating a sharp distinction that fragments the leader’s path forward. It reveals the emotional toll that striving for success, while maintaining a public image, can take on an individual.

The Unconscious Desire for Wholeness and Authority

Despite the fragmented nature of the figure, there is an underlying desire for wholeness. The painting reflects a leader’s unconscious drive to reconcile the divided aspects of their identity—personal and professional, emotional and rational—in an attempt to achieve a sense of completion. However, the painting also suggests that this wholeness is elusive, as the abstract lines prevent the figure from fully coming together.

For a professional or executive drawn to this work, it symbolizes the constant pursuit of external validation, authority, and success, but also the inherent emotional fragmentation that results from this pursuit. The figure’s disjointed form represents the internal conflict leaders face when trying to balance their need for control with their desire for emotional connection and fulfillment. In this context, the painting becomes a metaphor for the psychological cost of leadership—the persistent drive for achievement, while sacrificing inner cohesion.

Leadership and the Tension Between Public Persona and Private Self

This painting speaks to a leader’s internal conflict, where their public image and personal emotions are constantly at odds. The figure’s geometric face could symbolize the mask of authority a leader wears in their professional life, while the abstraction represents the emotional complexity that remains hidden beneath. The sharp angles and disconnected features convey the tension of maintaining a composed, authoritative persona while experiencing emotional fragmentation internally.

For a collector or executive, this painting serves as a visual representation of the psychological pressures of leadership. It reflects the need to project strength and control, but also acknowledges the emotional sacrifices that come with such a position. The painting becomes a reminder that, while external success and validation are important, they can often come at the cost of personal emotional wholeness.

[secularprolifeconspectus]

Clementine Kearns, abortion coercion, & infanticide

Tonight I spent 3 hours on the phone with the father and mother of a baby who was brutally murdered by an abortion provider. Tommy (pictured above), her father, wept to me, and Jane (name changed for privacy), her mother, is traumatized. Jane named her daughter Clementine.

We believe that not only was Jane coerced into this procedure and her body violated by the Cherry Hill Women's Center, but also that her baby, Clementine, at 20 weeks gestation (youngest surviving baby was 21 weeks), was born alive and dissected for body parts.

Here's what we know.

Jane was suffering from "pre-partum" depression. Facing the societal pressures of an unplanned pregnancy, she fell into anxiety and rumination. She convinced herself that she was weak, that she would be a bad mother, and that she did not have the means to take care of Clementine. In March of 2024, after months of mental distress, she reached a point of crisis and became desperate to end her pregnancy.

Jane had a history of struggling with mental health and had been in therapy for years prior to her pregnancy; she wrestled with low self-esteem and self-doubt. By extension, her abortion mindset came from a place of self-harm, not self-preservation. She deserved compassion and intervention. Instead, at 5 months pregnant, the abortion industry took advantage of her.

She called the Cherry Hill Women's Center, hoping for counseling on her options and to ask questions about Clementine. She was looking for help and for answers — not for an abortion appointment. What she didn't know is that Cherry Hill uses a third-party service to schedule their appointments; so rather than a counselor, she encountered a salesman.

Jane told the scheduler that she had no money for an abortion. The scheduler quickly assured her this wasn't a problem, as they had a means to "fund" her abortion. Suddenly she was no longer making a free choice, as the only option presented was a free abortion for her freedom. At no point in time was she told that the means to make her abortion "free" was to offset the cost with Clementine's valuable body parts.

On March 12th, still in a state of crisis, Jane attempted to regulate herself with a hit of marijuana (legal in New Jersey) before driving to Cherry Hill. She vaped marijuana all the way to the facility, and struggling to cope, smoked even more in the parking lot. Needless to say, she was under the influence upon entering the facility and couldn't give consent. Her medical records state that her heartbeat was 99 beats per minute, the upper limit for an adult, indicating acute distress.

During consultation, a registered nurse asked Jane whether she had used any drugs in the past three months. Jane openly stated that she had smoked just before. The nurse reassured Jane that it was not an issue, sharing that she had smoked during her own pregnancy and prior to the scheduled procedure. The nurse then documented that Jane had smoked on the day of the procedure and signed off on the record with her signature, dated 3/12/2024.

According to her medical documents, that day the providers checked for and affirmed that there was fetal cardiac activity — in other words, they made sure Clementine was alive so her organs would be fresh for harvesting. They didn't mention the possibility of experiments or present any related consent forms; they didn't disclose to Jane that they were preparing for donation to fetal research.

Jane was under the impression that they had induced the demise of her baby, so Clementine was already dead. She was left unaware that the providers deliberately neglected to sign off on the use of a feticide injection. To assure Clementine would be a "pure" specimen, they didn't inject her with a feticide prior to the abortion procedure.

This also meant they couldn't give Jane local anesthesia prior to the insertion of dilapan. Now, Jane is under 5 feet tall and around 100 lbs. It's notable that she is so small, because the providers stuffed five dilapan into her cervix. She also was only 23 years old and had never had her cervix dilated. (As a person with a uterus, I must say — what the fuck, OW.) They didn't inform her that they were altering her procedure by giving her more dilapan than normal. They sent her away to let the dilapan expand overnight, for nearly 24 hours.

Jane came back to Cherry Hill on March 13th to complete the procedure. Her heart rate was recorded at 111 beats per minute. At 9:48am, they gave her 600mg of misoprostol and 30 units of pitocin. During the surgery, they gave her another 30 units. The average administration of these drugs for inducing childbirth is 100mg of misoprostol and 10 units of pitocin over 4-7 hours — they gave her SIX TIMES that amount total. She went into labor within the hour.

This was not a normal labor. At 9:48am, Jane told the nurse the pain from her cramps was at level 4. By 10:47am, she told the nurse her pain was 8 of 10. (In recall, she described it as "level 11".) She didn't understand that she was experiencing contractions, and she was in the worst pain of her life. She was afraid she might be dying. The providers didn't explain to her what they were doing, or that she was about to give birth. She was completely in the dark.

At 11:21am, the workers wheeled Jane back to the procedure room. She told them, "I can't move. I'm cold. I'm afraid." Just outside the door, they were stopped. A nurse presented her with a clipboard and a piece of paper, with no further explanation: the consent form for tissue donation to fetal research.

Again, Jane thought her baby was already dead, and in that moment she was fearing for her life. She had no idea what this form was, and she didn't know that she had any other choice; she had to trust the providers. The form had no line for a date, nor a date on it. Blindly, she signed.

Jane didn't know that a student of the Complex Family Planning Fellowship would be practicing a "complex" procedure on her that day. She didn't meet her, nor the abortion provider that was training her. They forced her onto the table, and she began screaming. That's when they held her down and gassed her, and she went unconscious.

The procedure began at 11:23am and ended at 11:31am. For reference, it normally takes an experienced abortionist 15-45 minutes to perform an extraction abortion, taking the baby out in pieces. This procedure, done by a trainee, took eight minutes. EIGHT minutes. Jane's medical records recorded that she lost 25 units of blood; women who received an extraction normally lose much more. They also recorded that a suction cannula and curette were not employed until the end of the procedure. The doctor signed out at 11:31am.

Between the extreme dilation, the abnormal amount of labor-inducing medication, the lack of feticide and anesthesia, the short timespan and "complex" nature of the procedure, the minimal blood loss, the timing of the use of tools, and the vagueness and errors in the documentation, this doesn't indicate that Clementine was extracted. Altogether, this indicates she was delivered whole.

Clementine was alive and born. They didn't rush her to a NICU. They didn't even give her comfort care. They harvested her organs. She was murdered on the counter.

At least, that's what Tommy and Jane think likely happened. They believe Clementine's organs were taken by Cercle Allocation Services, a fetal tissue procurement company with ties to Advanced Bioscience Resources. Tommy didn't even know Jane was getting an abortion at the time.

The next day, Tommy and Jane started calling the facility, asking for Clementine's remains. At first the workers told them that they didn't know where the remains were; a day later, that they couldn't say where the remains were. To add insult to injury, the facility blocked their numbers, and Jane has had an infection from the procedure for eight months.

Last night on the phone, Tommy and Jane told me that all they want is a funeral for Clementine. They want to recover whatever they can of her, and bury her in a garden dedicated to other victims of abortion and the people who fight for them. Tommy said to me, "I love my daughter... I want to have a place to visit her... She's all I'm living for."

We miss you, baby Clementine. I'm so sorry.

Jane did not give free and informed consent. She was taken advantage of, violated, and traumatized. Clementine suffered, was killed, and her body was desecrated. This was all done by an insidious industry that preys upon vulnerable people to make a profit.

Justice for Clementine. Justice for Clementine's mom. And justice for all victims of fetal trafficking. Fuck the abortion industry. We will end fetal research, and we will abolish abortion.

[mariacallous]

This is the WIRED article I mentioned, and I'll share it in full because...girl...

It's an opinion piece, and it's WIRED, so I'm taking it with a grain of salt. But it feels so fucking naive and projected and out of step with how things are, actually?

In the late 19th century, before the invention of cinema and radio, every piece of music, performance, oration—even a natural view like a rainbow—was a unique event. Unrepeatable. Cinema and radio changed that, enforcing a massive shift in how we consumed popular culture. Several of the world’s dominant media companies were founded in that moment by men with a relentless sense of awe for the new media. It resulted in a phenomenal lack of restraint—they didn’t think they needed it. This was the future, and it was making them rich. More was obviously better.

Film and radio would eventually be combined into television—creating an even greater detachment from the performance at its core while supplanting human connection with strategic dopamine sparks. Of course people got hooked: More excitement and no effort equaled a better future. When streaming to personal devices became ubiquitous, that future merged even greater profitability with the law of diminishing returns—crushed empathy, spiked anxiety, and social inadequacy all became core to the human experience.

This has ultimately resulted in a general societal malaise, and I think 2025 will be that moment where some facets of society will begin to methodically detach from their screen-based addictions. I predict the leaders of this change will be the Gen Z digital natives for whom the simplicity of techless exchange will hold a similar novelty to its original technological advances.

Gen Z—currently between 13 to 27 years of age—are the people most deeply affected by digital addiction. After all, they were born in the wake of the invention of the internet. Their primary methods of understanding the world have been digital from the start. Actual agency—connection with other humans—has been largely unavailable for school work, coaching, and guidance. Even the informative mundanity of navigating normal life has been relegated to apps: the screen’s dominance institutionalized with all the restrictions and none of the learned experience for surviving them.

Except their instincts. It’s Gen Z’s instincts that are starting to evolve into a dominant force for change in modern society. What things cost—a massive issue for everyone—is driving much of how Gen Z views their priorities. They’re selecting user-generated content over pricey new media. They’re looking for longer meaning from experiences above the short-term gratification of materialism. In a recent US Gallup poll, more than 50 percent of the respondents indicated they don’t trust tech companies, the government, or the justice system.

Gen Z is also embracing the underconsumption-core and de-influencing trends, questioning the values awe-reverent media brought them, and heightening demands for a life-work balance that would have terrorized the generations before them. These are all positive to crucial developments for society.

So, in 2025, I believe the next step will be for Gen Z to embrace the simplicity of techless human exchange—events without the mediation of the ever-corrupting screen. It’s the shock of the new, a novelty as elemental as film in its infancy. It’s scary, sure—unpredictable—a real change in the digital life they/we are so dominated by. But it’s human and dimensional and full of stuff we can’t get online. It’s what we humans are at our messy core, and for all those reasons I believe we’ll see the virtues of screen retraction start to be celebrated, with Gen Z leading the way.

[8hsaturn]

Hobie Brown/Spider-Punk's Possible Astrology Placements

Hi! This has been in my drafts ever since I watched ASTV, so here's what I think Hobie Brown's big 6 are :

Aquarius sun :

I think this is probably the most non-brainer of all his placements. Hobie is a punk anarchist who hates authority, structure, and consistency. He helped Miles, who was antagonized by everyone at Spider-Society and believed in him against all odds. he will not praise structure for merely existing especially if said structure thrives on sacrificing the minority for the benefit of the majority: you can't get any more aquarian than that 🤷‍♀️.

(I also think his constant clash with Miguel comes from the fact Miguel is a Scorpio with probably several other Scorpio placements squaring Hobie's.)

Sagittarius moon :

He has firm convictions (sag is the philosopher, the guru) fueled by his sun sign's drive for equality sans authority. He's also very influential and has a massive following of people who take his words as gospel without him even trying. Nevertheless, he doesn't take himself too seriously and knows how to joke around and not be too uptight. Having a Sagittarius moon could also be why he loves to keep everyone on their toes since Sagittarius despises stagnancy and predictability.

gif cr. : happy-xy

Aquarius mercury :

his inventive and crafty nature, his wittiness and slightly-too-frank humor, his understanding of deeply complicated subjects like societal structures and political power, not to forget how he was the first one to predict the downfall of Spider-Society and begin planning for it... His intelligence, inventive nature, and almost prophetic sense of futuristic vision all point to having an Aquarius mercury.

gif cr. : cost.

Aries venus :

Hobie loves spikes, piercings, and tattoos, all things sharp and edgy ruled by Mars. He's also not afraid to express his affection and liking for people he just met (like with Miles, he immediately coddled him as if they were long-term best friends). The unabashed way he expresses himself on top of being rebellious and rooting for the underdogs to speak up (showing Miles how to break from Miguel's shield) are very Aries Venus actions.

Aquarius mars :

Having a Saturn-ruled Mars explains why he was able to plan ahead for the upcoming divide of the Spider Society, likewise how he managed to remain cool-headed through all the conflict between Miguel and Miles (Saturn is a cold and calculating planet); He was able to predict the clashes to happen because he can recognize patterns early: that's his Aquarius mars conjunct mercury in action.

Aries rising :

I think this one was the hardest one to pin down... Hobie was described as tall and lean, with a prominent bone structure (Saturn influence), and his spider suit was designed with spikes all over. He was born in an autocratic society and overthrew -then killed- the despot of his universe... This has a lot of Martian themes like rebellion, leadership, fearlessness, standing up for the weak... But his ability to persevere under such circumstances, plan out things far ahead, and remain coolheaded is definitely due to his Aquarius Mars being his chart ruler.

This would be it! let me know what you think of these specific placements, and if you'd like me to do a similar run-down of a character you like just send me an ask <3 have a good day!!

[scientia-rex]

lol I just saw a comment that's probably old on my post about how dramatic weight loss is not an attainable goal for most people that said "stop normalizing obesity"

honey! I didn't make obesity more common. You know who did? The people who looked at industries that poured pollution into the world and knew it was going to hurt us and put their effort and their energy into getting away with hurting people rather than fixing their industries.

I don't believe that we all just got lazier or less moral or whatever it is you think leads to fatness. I think the world is less healthy and those changes are directly attributable to the greed of a few. Why do we drive places instead of walking or taking public transit? Why do we have so many unhealthy food options? Why is there microplastic in our blood? It's not because I'm out here eating milk jugs and credit cards!

Endocrinologically active pollutants, poorly designed cities and living spaces, this entire "fuck the poor" mentality, the greed of corporations that can sell us highly processed corn for a fraction of the price a filling salad would cost and with extraordinary profit margins--the willingness to exploit farm animals and farm workers alike--we don't exist in a vacuum. And any time you see a massive shift on a societal or worldwide scale, you need to stop saying it's an individual issue and start looking at what factors led to it.

So the question is, in an unhealthy world, how do I help myself? How do I live the best life that I, as someone who can't afford a private chef and a personal trainer and purified water and all-organic pesticide and growth-hormone-free food, can?

Eat plants, move around, and forgive myself for fatness, which was never a sin to begin with. Because eating plants and moving around may not "fix" my fatness, but I'll be happier and healthier while I'm fat. I'll be better able to live the life I want to live, and that's the goal; that's always the goal. Anything else--thinness, relationship, career, material possessions--is a bad proxy for happiness.

Prioritize your health and happiness, and forgive yourself, even for not being able to forgive yourself.