#they're less bound to one form

[moons-rising]

here's something fun: the progression of my progenitors!

my custom (konahrik) started as an obsidian/crimson/violet fire guardian, was then after many tries scattered into a 2-off xyy with orca/gold/marigold, and is now a very fancy banescale~

my random (sepredia) started as a denim/ice/coral fire fae, was then scattered into a (also!) 2-off xyy guardian with flaxen/bubblegum/pearl, and now she's also a pretty banescale :3

i love seeing what people did with their progenitors, especially when they changed a lot so feel free to show off!

[mariocki]

James Maxwell, in various stages of fake facial hair, as Joseph, part of a gang of German art thieves, in The Saint: The Art Collectors (5.18, ITC, 1967)

[outeremissary]

Although she was only played in one campaign (a 5e Greyhawk game), Carmen was originally put together for a 3.5 homebrew two years earlier. She had two radically different backstories between the iteration that only shared the concept of a knight errant with a horse named June. Depending on the iteration June's name had a few different origins:

June was a horse named after a dead girl

June was a girl polymorphed into a horse

Carmen believed June was a girl polymorphed into a horse; the real June had died

Although it never came up directly with the party either time, it was always a key point of her character that Carmen was devoted to this dead-or-alive June she had failed and had no hope of atoning to.

[jedi-starbird]

Time Travel is my favourite trope and I think we need more fics where both Obi-Wan AND Qui-Gon time travel together because no matter when they get sent it's chaos. They're saving the galaxy and being physic flash-bangs to everyone around them.

like before Bandomeer?

The entire council is baffled to watch as Qui-Gon 'never taking a padawan again' Jinn has suddenly cut off his post-Xanatos depression tour to return to the temple and beeline to the creche with a frantic energy. His wild eyes immediately single out a fluffy, red-haired initiate.

"You." he exhales with a pointed finger, slightly ominous as he towers over the child. Said child starts vibrating with delight. "Me." he agrees, launching himself at the man. Qui-Gon drops to his knees with a thud that cannot be healthy. Obi-Wan's attempts to clamber into Qui-Gon's robes and maybe onto his shoulders is thwarted by the fact that Qui-Gon's massive hands are cupping Obi-Wan's tiny squishy cheeks. He stares at the initiate for a few minutes with an intensity that is starting to worry people.

Finally, "You're so small." Qui-Gon sounds like he might cry.

'What the fuck?' Plo Koon projects at Mace.

"I'm 9! That tends to be the case!" the child chirps back.

"You're nine." Oh. Ah. Qui-Gon's eyes are distinctively misty. He squishes the boy in a hug so hard he squeaks. Mace makes a series of gestures that imply the need for a head-scan. Depa obligingly drifts off towards the halls. Qui-Gon scoops the child up onto his hip and claims him as his padawan on the spot. The assorted council members and creche-masters burst into noise. Mace tells Depa to bring some space ibuprofen as well.

after Naboo?

Anakin is a little apprehensive of his place in both the order and Obi-Wan's life, but then one day Obi-Wan wakes up and is suddenly a lot less sad in the force?? In fact, if Anakin didn't know better he'd say he was almost giddy, but he's watched Obi-Wan try to pretend his world hasn't fallen apart for the past few months so it can't be that, right? And um, Miss Bant? He knows grief is a funny thing that affects people differently but he's pretty sure 'massive mood swing' and 'having full conversations with invisible people' is not...great? and you said to tell you if Obi-Wan got really weird in any way.

Anyway after a lot of medical exams, intense consultation with the archives, and a couple exorcisms, Anakin ends up being raised by his 'real' master and his ghost master. He is far more well adjusted emotionally and far less well adjusted for what counts as normal people behavior(not talking to thin air). When questioned on this, all he ever says is that he's talking to Qui-Gon. Isn't he...dead? Well, yes. Wait, he's a ghost? Ghosts are real? ...Well this ghost is real.

This starts a great number of existential crises among non-force sensitives and incredibly heated theological arguments amongst the Jedi. Whenever Obi-Wan is questioned on this, all he ever says is some variation of "the force got to know him for 5 seconds and kicked him back out." Mace backs him up on this even though that reasoning is technically blasphemous. Qui-Gon is having the time of his un-life. He's ascended to his final form, his sheer existence is a heresy, this is truly all he has ever aspired towards.

the Clone Wars?

The minute they get dropped back Qui-Gon immediately goes and haunts the shit out of Dooku. They have a signed terms of surrender and promise of info on the Sith Lord within the year. Only half of it is because Qui-Gon's giving Dooku complexes that are only perceptible to shrimp, the other half is because they now have a ghost spy that is not bound by the laws of physics nor spacetime.

Obi-Wan only nominally pays attention to this as he immediately goes and implements his 19 step seduction plan with Cody (he had to focus on something on Tatooine to pass the time). It fails. Spectacularly. Publicly. Ah right. Tatooine was not exactly the height of his sanity. Everyone in the GAR and temple is now riveted by High General and Councilor Obi-Wan Kenobi's attempts to go on a date with his Commander, who bats him away him like a particularly annoying stray and seems one bouquet of cactus away from committing mutiny. Anakin is worrying if it means his master knows about his secret marriage and this is some sort of really weird power play. (It is, but not in the way he thinks)

The next time Dooku goes after Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon spends a good few months appearing tear-stained at the edge of Dooku's perception and only communicating in terrible wails and discordant mutterings of 'padawan. my padawan. my little one.' 24/7.

"Wait, you're annoying Dooku into surrendering?"

"Oh no Anakin, we're crushing his psyche like a bug. :)"

[sugar-grigri]

Denji no longer has access to his heart

The golden rule in Chainsaw Man is to focus on the title, since it's the key to reading the story.

Rain, Brothel, Removal seem to be three absurdly unrelated elements, and Fujimoto likes to put it that way, because the challenge for the reader is to find a way of reading that links them together.

This chapter is funny as well as disturbing, deeply sad, and in itself this collection of sensations just makes you uncomfortable, since the tone is always reversed, and the protagonist himself refuses to allow his situation to be a comic spring.

Fujimoto confirms an interpretation that is fundamental to understanding Denji: his character thinks only in terms of short-term objectives, incapable of projecting himself, just as he responds only to the satisfaction of needs without being able to verbalize and think about his unhappiness in a more abstract way.

Denji, for example, isn't thinking about whether sex is actually a solution to his problems, no, it's more concrete than that: he's thinking about whether he's masturbated recently.

Another piece of evidence is the rain. I've always thought that when it rains in Fujimoto's works, it's proof that no lies are being told.

Whether in Look Back with a silent victory, the school moment with Reze and Denji.

But that's not what we're interested in here, because there's no doubt that Denji is sincere, or at least the rain only shows us that he's sincerely desperate.

There's a subtlety....

Denji complains that he only thinks with his dick, but there's another, more philosophical and certainly less funny idea behind this: Denji only thinks through his body.

The rain, the amputation, the brothel - they're all proof that Denji only thinks with his senses.

Denji thought the brothel was the solution to his distress, it's when it started raining that he collapsed, as if the change in weather had evoked his own emotional change. Yoru's solution is amputation, another physical sensation and solution.

Amputation is a solution all the more symbolic because it's antithetical to what Denji is: a demon man capable of regeneration.

To amputate is in itself not to regenerate, and not to regenerate is in itself to be more human.

What distinguishes us from animals (although science relativizes this) is the way we think about our own emotions, something Denji is incapable of doing, or at least has great difficulty in doing.

This doesn't mean he can't verbalize it at all, but when he evokes, he evokes a sensation, a dish (a shitty hamburger, a steak, a ton of sex).

Even when he wants to be loved, Denji formulates it in the form of wanting his heart, almost organically.

No one wants Denji's heart because it's gone

And it makes sense, because Pochita has reassembled his entire body, except for Denji's heart, which has literally been left in that garbage can.

That's why, when Pochita lets Denji access his feelings, the place is symbolized by a garbage can.

When Denji asks Pochita to wake up to find Nayuta, Pochita asks him where his legs are, because Denji's only function is to be a body.

And now everything makes sense again

When Denji spoke his dream to Pochita, being Chainsaw Man, I think there was a certain feeling in every reader: what exactly does it change?

What if it changes nothing? It's normal for Denji not to be able to project himself in the long term, as he should symbolically listen to his heart.

Denji's inability to have a dream, a goal for the future, is symbolized by him and Pochita as children.

It doesn't mean that Pochita is an antagonist (although that could be cool), but that Denji and Pochita are prisoners of their own situations.

Denji doesn't have access to his heart, but Pochita is contractually bound to what Denji wants.

This is also why, when Denji reproaches himself, it's his child self who's addressing him, because the only way to reproach himself, to feel guilty, is symbolized by his old self, the Denji that Pochita may have known. Just as Denji doesn't have access to his heart, Pochita has difficulty gaining access to the person Denji has become, all of which only leads to stagnation.

Denji as a child is also the symbol of a scumbag, the remnant of a lost heart, always dressed in poor, dirty clothes, a past that Denji seeks to escape, but a past that is the only time Pochita has been able to get to know Denji.

I know it's a pretty crazy line, but it's precisely because Denji is Chainsaw Man - a being both fused and disconnected - that he thinks with his dick lol

Saving Chainsaw Man by killing Chainsaw Man has never been a truer statement

Chainsaw Man is Denji's prison but also his only hope

A cage

[meanbossart]

Do they get jealous and/or possessive over each other? I can't imagine any of them even eyeing anyone else, but surely being such a beautiful couple consisting of two beautiful creatures... Some attention of others is bound to be caught

Cheating is kind of a non-possibility in each of their minds for their own respective reasons. DU drow thinks himself and Astarion to be cosmic soulmates of some sort who won't ever need anyone else. Meanwhile, Astarion could probably only form the bond he did to another person due to the extraordinary circumstances - circumstances that are unlikely to repeat themselves. Plus, he realizes that DU drow is absolutely loyal to him, and despite all his faults has never displayed anything that led him to believe the contrary.

SO, as far as jealously goes, there isn't much to be seem. They do have a great deal of trust in one anther and don't ever think of anyone as romantic or sexual rivals.

Possessiveness is another matter though - DU drow is very weary of people's intentions all the time, and SPECIALLY when it concerns Astarion. He's pretty anxious at the thought of leaving him alone with people he doesn't know well and who may seem overly keen on the vamp. Astarion is less so; the possessiveness he does display is usually playful or affectionate, and if anything he gets off on others finding his partner desirable and being able to swoop in to announce his ownership over him. And sometimes he may get a little catty if you don't get the hint.

They're both fairly flirtatious creatures by nature, and being responsive (though not affirmatively) towards sexual attention is just a part of their behavioral repertoire. As long as it doesn't cross an obvious threshold, it's just a funny thing they do as far as the other one is concerned.

DU drow's eyes do suffer from an unexplainable magnetic pull toward big racks and plunging necklines, though. Astarion just accepts this fact about him.

[stilessflannel]

it started as little touches on your inner thigh, but you just pass it off as stiles being clingy; the brunette normally always having an arm around your shoulders or fingers intertwined with your own.

you do get a bit suspicious when his hands travel higher and higher, finally stopping him when his fingers brush against the cotton of your panties, dangerously close to your core.

"stiles!" you hiss, causing a cocky grin to form on your boyfriends face. "scott and malia are literally right there, along with half of our year group!" you say, gesturing your head to your friends that are looking through a bookshelf no less than 10 steps away.

"they're not watching. as for those two, they're looking for a book that they don’t even know the title of; they'll be ages..." his sentence trailed off as he added pressure to your clit with the pad of his forefinger, causing a whimper to spill from your lips.

stiles drew teasing lines up and down your covered slit, soft whines escaping your mouth. you keep your head down to hide your facial expressions, pathetically contorting with pleasure considering he was barely touching you, occasionally glancing back at your friends to make sure you knew where they were.

just as you got used to the feeling of his finger swiping up and down your (now damp) panties, he hooked a finger into the edge of the fabric, pulling the lace to the side. you hold back a gasp and stare directly at stiles for the first time since he started, and bite your lip when he gives you an unfaltering gaze back, adding slightly more pressure that makes you exhale a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

the thud of a pile of heavy books being dropped onto the table shakes you and stiles out of your trance, causing him to retract his hand, much to your relief - you were scared the blush that would’ve definitely heated your cheeks if he didn’t stop would be the topic of conversation.

"i mean, can you believe it mali!" scott fumed, "i need one specific book and of course, it's already been loaned out. now i have some half-assed version written by a guy i’ve never heard of" scott rambles on as malia calmly sets down her books on the table and sits next to him, seemingly content. “i’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for in here” she says, passing him a book of her own.

you roll my eyes at your friend’s antics and go back to studying your textbook, writing notes on a sheet - but the peace only lasted ten seconds.

"stiles," you whisper again, your lips near his ear this time so only he could hear- he had slipped his hand in the middle of you thighs and seemed determined to finish what he started. he kept his head down, seemingly focusing on his book, but beneath the table his long, agile fingers were gathering your slick from your weeping entrance and rubbing it around your aching nub, the action making you bite your lip to stifle back a sound that you would rather not let out in a school library.

you look back up at your book so you don’t alert your friends sitting across from you that something might be unusual, standing it up so you could read the pages better in the library's dim lighting, but dropped the leather-bound book with a bang as you feel two fingers that were teasing you before dip into your cunt. you quickly pick it back up, hiding behind the pages as the gaze of ten pairs of eyes slowly diverted. you hiss quietly as stiles' thumb started drawing figure-eights on your clit, two fingers pushing deeper into your hole until they were sheathed up to the third digit.

your head turns to look at him, trying to catch his gaze. when his amber eyes finally locked with yours, you give him a pained look that was asking what hell was he thinking. the arrogant brunette tilts his head in mock confusion, "what is it love? are you alright?" he asks, struggling to keep the grin off his face.

"why are you doing this?" you quickly ask, not wanting to speak longer than needed in case a pent-up moan accidentally escapes your mouth,. "we’re lucky the- mmm… others haven't noticed."

"i don't know what you're talking about, angel. the others are studying, as you should too" stiles gave a sugar-coated smile, sweet enough to give him toothache, before returning to his work. you glare at him, but open your book again, knowing arguing with him would get you nowhere, silently letting his fingers continue their ministrations.

before long, the familiar feeling of an approaching orgasm washed over you. ever since he started, stiles had not faltered once, the steady pace hurtling you closer to my release. he could feel you clenching around his slender fingers, and grinned at the feeling. they picked up their pace of thrusting inside me, rubbing my clit with that much extra pressure. you mewl into your palm, glancing towards the chestnut-haired boy still immersed in his books.

you could feel the bliss of release on the horizon, vision going slightly fuzzy on the edges and skimming across the brink of euphoria - but before you could get there, you suddenly feel empty. you look around, startled and confused, mind hazy, and you see him acting as if nothing had just happened- stiles was calmly packing up his books, but when he stood up you spotted the tiny smear of slick of his pants where he had wiped off his fingers.

"i got all my notes, i’ll see you guys next chemistry period. tell the others to hurry up with their notes for me angel." stiles says, nodding his head at scott and malia, and you were shocked to see how oblivious they were to what just happened. your boyfriend kisses you on the cheek, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear with a smirk, before walking out of the library. you look over to your friends, who were looking up from what they were doing to watch stiles leave, but quickly went back to their work.

you sigh and place your head on the table, still processing what just happened and how stiles had left you there on the brink.

that little shit...

repost off my old Ao3 account as a fic intended for remus lupin

[illyrianbitch]

Of Our Own Devices — Part Three

For @erisweekofficial Day 3: Betrayal

Pairing: Reader x Eris

Summary: Despite wishing he weren’t, Eris Vanserra is a creature of habit. A mask is easier to put on, easier to wear than to remove. When you confront him about a recent deception, you’re faced with that reality first hand.

Warnings: mentions of injury, abuse, and blood, fighting verbally and physically, harsh words

Word Count: 2.3k

Part Two | Part Four

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

His cabin was quieter than usual, the crackle of the fire absent.

Tonight, Eris hadn’t bothered to light it, nor had he changed out of his old clothes. The heavy green coat still hung from his shoulders, pressing heavily against his back. Beneath the coat, his shirt was stained with crimson, each wound on his back pressed uncomfortably against the material, their blood gluing the fabric to his skin.

The coat hadn’t been stained yet, but it was bound to be if didn't remove it in a few minutes. If he were less exhausted, he might have cared more—might have taken the time to clean the blood from his shirt.

But Eris was too tired, too exhausted to care much about the state of his clothes.

The distant sound of a horse made him sit up, his body tensing in anticipation, reading itself for another round of fight. A few moments later, the door burst open.

He blinked at the sight before him, his heart beginning to thud rapidly in his chest. A tight knot formed in his stomach as he let out a breath.

"Y/n."

You shut the door behind you with a decisive thud, your eyes narrowing at him, dark with an intensity that made him take another breath.

"You lied to me."

Eris remained still, calm and collected, as you took a few steps forward. Your hair was tousled and windblown, clearly the result of the rapid horseback ride you’d endured to get here. He was tempted to ask how you had managed to arrive so quickly, but the determined glint in your eyes halted him. They held a resolve he had never seen before, a redness around them that hinted at tears. His heart clenched at the thought.

He stayed silent as you continued.

"You told me the rumors weren't true. That Lucien wasn't near. But he was. Him and the Cursebreaker."

Eris opened his mouth to speak, but you raised a hand in interruption. "Your brothers have a tendency to talk when they're drinking."

His back ached from the barely healed lashes Beron had so graciously administered. In the back of his mind, he wondered how well his brothers had fared, if his father's disappointment had weighed as heavily on them for their collective failure. He settled on no; it hadn’t. If it had, they wouldn’t have been drunkenly spilling their secrets in an Autumn tavern, recklessly letting such information slip through court ears—through yours.

"Okay," Eris said finally, his voice tight. "I lied."

"You and I don't lie to each other. That is the one thing we have." A muscle feathered in your jaw. "Why start now?"

He took a moment to think. There was no use in lying, not to you. But the truth seemed lackluster, seemed almost trivial. He rolled his shoulders back, ignoring the searing pain that shot through his body with the movement.

"It was for your own good," he said, almost nonchalantly.

As soon as the words left his mouth, Eris knew they were the wrong choice. They came across as commanding, entitled—like a High Lord’s son presuming to know what was best for a common-court female. He'd always been adept with his words, skilled at navigating conversations to elicit the reactions he wanted. But that skill faltered around you, weakened as he struggled to balance what was most tactful to say with what was most honest. Even after all these years, he wasn’t sure what he truly wanted from you. Respect, perhaps.

You scoffed, running a tongue along your teeth as you shook your head in disbelief — in anger.

"That is a pathetic excuse," you said sharply. "That was not your decision to make."

Eris let out a tight sigh, feeling the reluctance in his lungs from the lingering imprint of his father’s boot. He was sure the area was bruised — a rib slightly out of place, the skin above bound to be darkening. Your eyes flickered down to his chest as a ragged breath escaped him, eyes softening as if you had heard his thoughts as they crossed his mind.

"If I had told you the truth, you would have run off into the wilderness in some reckless attempt to help him."

The words came out quicker than intended, more manic than he’d prepared for. But they seemed to distract you, pulling your heated gaze from his chest and back to his eyes. The anger in your expression simmered again, the soft crease between your brows smoothing as if the concern that had bubbled up moments before had been momentarily forgotten.

"You're godsdamned right I would've," you growled. "Because that's what you do for the ones you love."

The words hit him like a physical blow, his muscles aching under the weight of them. He couldn’t help it—the way his hands tightened at his sides. They didn't tighten into fists, no, but in slow, rigid flexes as he fought to keep his breathing even.

"You would've gotten yourself killed."

You shook your head again. "Don't pretend this was because you care about me."

"I do care about you."

"Do you?" You titled your head at him, a small scowl curling at your lips. "Or did you want to make sure I wasn't there to witness when you tracked them down like prey?"

His stomach tightened, a sinking feeling settling as he struggled to keep his composure. Every fiber of him ached to take your hand, to drop to his knees and lay himself bare. He wanted to explain that there was more than what you saw—that he lied for the first time because he wanted you safe, that he had tried his best not to hurt Lucien or Feyre. He itched to speak, to reveal the truth, but instead:

"I had orders," was all he responded.

You waited for a moment, your eyes scanning his face as if searching for more, as if willing him to confess further. If Eris had grown up with a different father, one who hadn't instilled in him the ability to withstand torture, he would have crumbled. He was sure any male in his position would have. But he was built for moments like these—whether he liked it or not. So you waited.

And nothing came.

He stayed quiet. He was going to choose his words carefully now, he decided. Very carefully.

You laughed humorlessly, but the sound caught in your throat. The corners of your eyes glistened. "Tell me you tried to fight against it. That you waited as long as you could, that you tried to protect him."

The truth was, Eris had. He'd waited it out, had attempted to slow his brothers down, but there was only so much he could do without it becoming dangerous, without losing his control. But as he stared into the anger in yours eyes, felt the desperation that clung to your voice, he realized it didn't truly matter.

"Why?" He asked.

You blinked. "Why what?"

He took a cautious step forward. You didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as move a muscle. The small act—or lack of one—was a comfort at least, telling Eris that you were not afraid of him. It was all just anger. Anger and something that tasted bittersweet, something like disappointment.

Disappointment meant you’d expected more from him. And while it made something deep in his chest glow, that sort of expectation was dangerous.

"Why do you want me to tell you that?"

"Are you seriously asking me that?"

"Is it so you don't feel as guilty about caring for me?"

You blinked again, your mouth parting slightly as you shook your head once more. This time, it was a meek gesture, almost shy, the defiance in your posture giving way to a vulnerable edge. "That's- That's not it."

"Is that so?" Eris hummed in contemplation, pursing his lips as he held your gaze. "Are you sure?"

You shifted your weight on your feet, pulling your gaze away from him momentarily to cast a glance around the cabin, as if something had caught your interest. To any casual observer, it was a simple gesture—but not to Eris. He knew you. He was right. He knew he was.

You brought your gaze back to him.

"Why are you asking me all of these questions?"

Eris shrugged. "You come storming into my cabin, demanding things of me, and yet I'm not entitled to questions myself?"

"All I'm 'demanding' for is for the truth."

He took another step forward, keeping his eyes trained on yours, amber glowing like a forest fire. When he was close enough to feel your breath, for the scent of you to fill his nose, he leaned down. The coldness spreading through him was unmistakable, the softness he usually regarded you with—the one you didn’t quite seem to notice—slowly being replaced by something more taunting. He was too exhausted to care about his clothing, yes, but he was also too exhausted to care about proving himself anymore. It didn’t matter.

"And if the truth were that I didn't resist? That I pursued them without hesitation? That I allowed my brothers to capture Lucien so I could chase the Cursebreaker myself—what then?"

He watched as something changed in your face, eyes darkening as you somewhat recoiled, taking a minuscule step back. You scowled, a deep furrow forming between your brows, and then you clenched your teeth again. Without even looking down, Eris knew your hands were in fists at your sides, your nails pressing into your palms.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" You managed through gritted teeth. Your scowl fell into something more reminiscent of a frown. "I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt and you're fighting it. Gods, I feel sorry for you."

Your voice rose as you spoke and he could taste the bittersweet flavor of your disappointment. You turned abruptly, striding towards the cabin door, your jaw clenched so tightly Eris could almost hear the grinding of your teeth. Suddenly, he felt awake, but it was a different kind of energy—one of anger, of frustration.

"We're not done talking," Eris said, stalking after you. "Don't walk away from me."

You whirled around, your voice rising in a fierce, anguished cry. "I should've walked away from you centuries ago!"

Eris blinked, feeling the weight of your words settle deeply, like a dull ache in his bones.

He took in the raw, distraught expression on your face. You took a deep breath, rapidly blinking as you ran a hand along your face. Eris wondered how you could be so beautiful in such a state of disarray — hated himself that this disarray was caused by some sort of care you held for him. Some sort of care that he didn’t understand enough to be careful of.

"I was so foolish to believe that even a few hundred years could rid you of what you were born with," you said.

He clenched his jaw, taking another deep, painful, ragged breath. "And what is that?"

You paused for a moment. Then you straightened your back, staring at him straight on. The disappointment was gone, no bittersweet aftertaste, no sense of care or anguish. It was pity that he sensed in your gaze.

"Cowardice disguised as cruelty."

He almost laughed.

Eris knew that word better than anything else. It was etched into his skin, ingrained in his lineage. He had learned early in life that cruelty was often easier than kindness. Cruelty required no second thoughts; it was swift, unyielding, and in a way, liberating. With a sharp word or a cold look, he could build walls so high and thick that no one dared to scale them. Kindness, however, was different. It was a burden. It demanded patience, understanding, and—above all—vulnerability.

He had allowed himself to be willing with you, to let his guard down slightly, to let you see past the facade he needed to survive. But even then, he had been wary. You'd wanted too much, wanted his kindness, his patience. It wasn't possible. Eris could never fully be himself until his father was dead—this he was sure of.

Until then, Eris had a role to play. A court to maneuver. And cruelty didn’t ask why or weigh consequences.

Kindness had no place in the life he was being molded to lead. Not now.

"I don't need Lucien's leftovers to tell me that I'm a good male, that I'm worthy of forgiveness. I was never asking for it. I do what’s required of someone like me. Not everyone can afford to be ordinary."

The sting of your hand wasn’t the first thing Eris felt as your palm collided with his cheek. No, it was the searing intensity of your anger that struck him first—a blazing heat that radiated from the force of it alone.

There was a long beat of silence as Eris stood still, his face turned slightly to the side, skin tingling with the impact. Slowly, he turned his face back to look at you.

And you smiled.

It was a smile that carried no warmth, only a cold, detached finality. You smoothed down your hair, the gesture almost casual, unnervingly so.

"You'll fit right on that throne, Eris Vanserra," you said, your voice steady. You held his gaze for another beat. "You're already your father."

Without another word, you turned and stormed out.

Eris stared at the door long after the echo of your horse’s departure had faded into the distance.

It wasn’t until he could breathe again, until the last traces of your scent settled into his skin, that he quietly sank onto the couch. He wished he could scream, wished he could cry or hurl his furniture around, claw at his face in anguish. But he did not. Because that wasn’t who he was.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: yeah... they need therapy baby, dare I say this is a betrayal on both ends, lying and putting her down to push her away?? Reader calling him beron… ya… good thing they have years to grow huh

eris week/of our own devices tag list 🫶🏻: @i-know-i-can @scarsandallaz

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound-blog

@melissat1254

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

[mydearlybeloathed]

── 𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐑

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: a soft day on the beach for a swordsman and mermaid. they're really not as odd a pair as they sound.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: zoro x mermaid!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.3k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: mermaid!reader, continuation of this fic, fluffy shenanigans, requested

Having a human boyfriend wasn’t as hopelessly romantic as the girls in your pod made it out to be. Sure, the idea of star-crossed love was appealing, and the physical nature of human boys was certainly something to admire. But really, you didn't care much for human men in the carnal sense—Zoro was your exception.

Usually, you were nothing but doting on him, flaws and all, and he did the same for you. The pair of you slouched together, brooded together, gossiped together, napped together. You both wore the other’s sensual markings dotting your skin with pride, flaunting them even.

But sometimes, tensions do rise.

You watched as Nami and Robin headed down from the ship to the sandy beach down below, wanting nothing more than to join them, but you would find it much more enjoyable if your swordsman joined you. But all Zoro wanted to do was sleep.

You stood over him, fangs peeking out as you bit your lip. “Everyone’s gone down to the beach.”

He grunted in reply, eyes shut contently. Narrowing your eyes, you stepped sideward and let the rays of sun you’d been blocking hit his face. Zoro contorted uncomfortably, blinking up at you. “Huh?”

“I’d like to swim with you,” you stated simply. 

“Why?”

“Because it’s fun.”

He rolled his eyes and shifted away from the sun. “Hard pass.”

The deck went dangerously silent aside from the far off sounds of the sea, so he wasn’t all too shocked to crack one eye open and find you fuming over him. “Something wrong?”

“Yes!” You huffed and crossed your arms. “My boyfriend won’t swim with me, his beautiful, amazing, awesome mermaid girlfriend.”

He gave you a single sigh, and you knew you had him hook, line, and sinker. A pleasant smile spread over your face as Zoro heaved himself to his feet, barley sparing you a glance even as he slung an arm around your shoulder. He sported a scant grin, so he wasn’t too frustrated. “Can we go on a walk after?”

“Oh, so now you’re contributing?” You nuzzled into his side and stepped onto the soft sand. “Yeah, we can go on a walk.”

Zoro’s cheeks dusted pink, chin ducked like he wasn’t a big romantic under all that muscle. But you knew the truth, even when Sanji pleaded with you to see sense and leave the mossheaded swordsman. Like you’d ever listen to the stupid cook anyway.

“Thanks,” you murmured into his skin, kissing his hand draped on your shoulder. “I could’ve gone without you, but I didn’t want to.”

Your bluntness always warmed his heart, even when your words came out less than tender as they just did. He kissed your temple briefly, Zoro’s attention caught by Luffy and Usopp splashing each other in knee deep water. A bright laugh left you and you were gone, fleeing his side to bound into the ocean. Ten seconds later, you yelped, falling head first into the lapping waves, a vibrant tail flipping up where your feet should be.

Chuckling after you, Zoro waded in to just below his knees, arms folded over his chest. Your soaked form floated through the shallows, arms gliding your way through. He watched with amusement as your ducked underwater and raced at Usopp’s legs, clamping your hands around his ankles and sending the poor guy leaping back to the beach. That’s when he bellowed out a laugh. Your eyes darted to find him in an instant, warmth spreading from fin to face as his smile consumed you whole. 

Laugh fading, Zoro’s eyes fluttered open to your hot-cold gaze. You always bit at him harshly when he said you’re an open book, but it’s the truth—Zoro loved being able to tell what you’re thinking, never having to make complex deductions like he often does with everyone else. And though it made his skin feel warm and tight, he could see now exactly the depth of what you felt for him. Something in that was immensely assuring. 

He shed his shirt in one motion, hurling it back on the sand and trudging to meet you in deeper water. Standing over you, he let slip a warmer smirk than usual. Your eyes peeked up over the water, smile warped below the surface. The water lapped at Zoro’s chest as your hands reached for his shoulders, and you dragged yourself up in his body to hang off his neck, nose inches away from his own.

“Hey, sailor,” you giggled. 

He huffed a laugh. “Hey, fish.”

You swept your tail around his legs, curling around his limbs till he nearly toppled over, your lips a stiff line. “Careful, Zoro-Mine.” 

His eyes took on a darker tone, the name you’d gifted him some months ago capturing his attention wholly. Zoro nosed at your cheek, humming softly. “Walk?”

“I’ve barely cooled off!” You snorted, pushing his face away as you slipped right through his arms, ducking underwater and darting off before his hands could catch you. You emerged at Nami’s side, scaring her out of her skin, a laugh stifled by your pruning fingertips. 

Maybe an hour rolled off your shoulders before you scanned the area for your swordsman, finding him sitting atop the powdery sand with his eyes set on the horizon. Zoro practically glared at the sky, so much so that he didn’t notice you dragging yourself up the shore till your soft grunts of effort met his ears. Jolting to attention, Zoro reached to scoop under your arms and pulled you closer, resting you between his legs. He leaned his head on your temple, your body melting into him as his warmth spread to your cold skin.

“Ready?” he mumbled. You nodded gently, and when the sun dried out your scales and made them retreat into your skin, Zoro clutched your hand to alieve that familiar sting all through your body. Your tail parted down the middle and formed two ever-awkward legs. By some ancient magic neither of you understood, your clothes sparkled to existence along your skin. 

Zoro gripped your hands and rocketed you off the ground, relishing in the little laugh you gave when you landed on your feet. You called over your shoulder absently mindedly, not entirely caring if the others heard you, eyes fixated on Zoro alone. “We’ll be back before dark!”

You faintly heard Nami’s, “Yeah right,” before you led Zoro into the forest with a slight skip.

Having a human boyfriend could be exciting at times. Zoro never frowned at your questions, always ready with a reply whether he really knew the answer or not. He could toss you over his shoulder and race you through the trees (and somehow you always win despite your fawn-like legs). 

You just broke through another low-hanging branch when Zoro caught your hand, swinging you around into his chest. Bubbling laughter, you flashed a fanged smile up at him, gaze swallowing him whole. Zoro traced your cheek with a fingertip, simply admiring your expression as it softened into one of blissful content. 

With a shake of his head and a gentle grin, Zoro slung his arm over your shoulder and started to walk back to the beach. “Let’s just walk back, yeah? I don’t have the energy to lose another race.”

You chuckled into his shoulder. “Sure. I don’t care to win anymore anyways.”

(The fact that he always let you win hung in the air, unspoken and tender on your heart).

Time slipped right through your hands, and soon enough the sun dipped below the treeline up above. You watched it disappear through the dense branches. “Nami was right. We’re gonna be late.”

Zoro’s shrug shook your body. “She’s usually right, but she doesn’t need to know that.”

“So… we should stay out all night to scare her instead?” He cast you a smile. “Read my mind.”

Having a human boyfriend could be annoying too, sure. At times their kind perplexed you, turning you around till you didn't know left from right. Yet the only ones who held you steady were on that crew--Zoro's crew.

Zoro was human, and he couldn't help it, and you found yourself caring less and less with every day that went by, till he was no longer your human boyfriend, but simply Zoro-Mine, who happened to be human.

And with every day that passed, you lost the title of mermaid girlfriend in his mind as well, and became only yourself, who happened to sprout a tail when he took you up in his arms, ran out to the moonlit ocean, and tossed you squealing back into the waves.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

@100520s @murnsondock

[cinnamonest]

Thinking about the humiliation ritual of being spread apart and gawked at. Just… looking, touching. Nothing intense or rough, even though you almost wish it was, anything other than this torment.

It's uncomfortable physically, not just mentally. Your wrists and ankles bound to the headboard, your legs pulled so far back your knees nearly touch your shoulders, spread wide open as you writhe on your back.

The lights are on. They're bright. They leave nothing obscured from view, nowhere to hide from any sense of shame.

You wish you were blindfolded, so you at least didn't have to see the scene playing out in front of you. But unfortunately, he decided your mouth was the only thing that had to be covered, leaving you unable to spew any spiteful words at him, only able to make the little sounds he enjoys with each touch.

You see how intensely he stares at you, completely exposed and vulnerable. You can trace the line of his sight, clearly distinguish each part of your body his eyes progressive fixate on, one after another. He likes how you squirm, how you're so clearly embarrassed, but so helpless to do anything about it.

It would be easier if he was doing something more. It would feel less vulnerable if he were inside you, even, the movement and heat of the moment at least creating a sort of distraction, interruption from the violation of his gaze.

Said gaze fixates on you breasts, the darker coloration, the way your nipples poke out so cutely from the chill of the exposure. You tense up and shudder when he pinches at them. Cute.

You shudder when he spreads you apart with his thumbs. Somewhere between fascination and arousal and awe. He just hasn't ever had the opportunity to see it up close, he says. To really take in the details.

Him feeling the need to comment makes it even more unbearable. The folds and the shape of it all, it's really pretty, aesthetic in a way that's difficult to articulate, he says. Feels like it's some sort of adornment, leading down to the slit — he says this as you feel his thumb slide into you, marveling at the way he can see you clench and spasm. He never realized how visible the clenching is, he's usually got his head down close to the crook of your neck when he's balls deep in you. He'll have to pay more attention from now on.

Look at how the fleshy part of your hips pokes out between his fingers when he grabs you. The way you shudder when his fingers trail over the folds — and the slick fluid that forms a trail connecting each finger as he spread them apart in front of your face. Just to make sure you get a good look at what your body is doing.

But beyond the fingers spread in front of your face, you can see that smug grin on his face, one that fills you with such rage that you can't help the tears that leak out of your eyes, can't help but snarl and jerk at the restraint, even though you know such a reaction only pleases him, encourages him.

And it does — you see the smile get wider, the soft laugh before he leans forward and kisses your forehead… and then, you jolt as you feel the awful wet sensation on the side of your face as he wipes the fingers off on your flesh, coating you with your own fluids.

You actually jerk your leg to the side hard enough to get a good heel-bash on his shoulder — but that too only makes him smile further.

What an wonderful new way to torment you, he's discovered. Your reactions only ensure that this won't be the only time.

[i-amyou]

An Empty Appearance.

You read it. Everything around you is an empty appearance, nothing more. Empty appearance, because it holds no meaning and importance. Not unless you assign it one.

It's all " " appearing in different forms, experiencing itself. That makes everything, " ". Nothing more, nothing less. And when everything is THAT, what difference is left between a castle and a hut, if not for labels.

A certain image might have popped up in your *mind* (sorry for the lack of better word) when I said castle and hut. But who decides what is what? Take away all the labels, if it's all THAT, who decides experiencing X is harder than experiencing Y?

All notions are made up. All rules are made-up. There is no right way for anything. You exist, and your existence is the absolute TRUTH. And that truth can only be experienced directly, which you are doing right now. You just need to notice.

Stop complicating this. There is no body, just an appearance of one. There is only THAT, which being formless can take any form it wants. Which being limitless, can expand in whichever way it wants, unfolding into countless experiences, with no bounds at all.

The experience is THAT. The experiencer is THAT. The experienced is THAT. It's an eternal Play with yourself, you make the rules and you break them if you will, it's as simple as it sounds.

You just need to notice it.

No form is better than other form. No form is Harder to experience than other form. They're all empty momentary appearances, equally dependent on " ", the formless. The one who gets to pick and choose. The only one that IS.

Formless, Limitless, The ultimate intelligence. That's you. If you want to impose rules on yourself, it's your choice. If you want to limit yourself, it's your choice. There's no one to dictate your experience but yourself, it's a choice. Free will. Do whatever you want with it.

That's all I have to say to you.

Ponder on this if you want. Ignore it if you want. Get off Tumblr and create a beautiful dream for yourself if you want. It's a free will and your Decision at the end of the day.

Have fun with it. Sending love🩷🙏

[astaroth1357]

Devildom "Marriage/Proposal"

Again. Probably not too Christian-coded in Hell.

Contents: Satanic themes, possessive behavior mentioned

~♡♡♡~

First off, there's a big difference between a demon bonding with another demon vs. binding to a human. There's a lot more equal ground in the former, but the power dynamics are inherently different in the latter.

Traditionally, a demon "marrying" a human is usually used as the highest form of reward to an incredibly loyal follower. It's basically a way for a demon to point them out and make it clear, "This one is my favorite!"

Demons binding themselves to humans out a genuine connection is not unheard of, of course, but it's frightfully rare. Only handful may every do this at a time and not even Solomon has managed to pull it off despite the number of pacts under his belt.

It's this rare because to reform the new pact, the demon has to give up their grimoire (the books that more or less act as substitute for a demon's heart and soul) to their partner. It's like handing away the essence of their very being to another.

When demons bind with each other, the grimoire exchange is mutual. However, since humans don't have grimoire, binding to a human is seen as an act of extreme sacrifice and humility on the demon's part. It's truly the only kind of pact they have where the risks lie mostly with them.

Possessing a demon's grimoire is like literally owning the blueprint to their bodies. All of their powers, history, thoughts, and fears are detailed out within them. Every single weakness or spell to control them hides inside as well...

Because of this, demons take this decision very, VERY seriously. If your relationship falls apart, you don't want something that important left in the hands of your ex. A vast majority of demons never even show their grimoires, much less give them away.

A demon will only ever have one grimoire to share, so they can only ever be bound to one individual at a time. A human can technically be bound to multiple demons and having a binding pact does not erase lesser pacts, but again, it would be rare.

When an individual is in possession of a demon's grimoire, they will always be able to materialize it with just a slight flick of the wrist. Having it on their person will also be enough for them to summon the owner at will, barely a whisper necessary.

A demon will already show up stronger than usual if they're summoned by their grimoire, but using any added enchantments inside will only increase their power tenfold. A good caster can turn their partner into supercharged war machine with minimal effort.

There's a certain oneness between the pair that comes from binding that goes far beyond your average pact. The demon and their partner get the heightened ability to "read" each other. It's not full on telepathy, but they gain a preternatural sense for just how the other is feeling. An entire conversation can be held in the span of seconds with merely few glances and a shrug between them.

Demons are also EXTREMELY protective of their bound partners, which kind of makes sense considering what they're carrying around. They're not very good at hiding it either. We're talking full fangs out and deep, guttural growls at even the most minor of threats.

The offer of the grimoire is technically seen as the "proposal" and acceptance commences the "marriage." It's a big deal with when high-ranking demons decide to do this, so it's often celebrated by a public wedding ceremony.

The Grimores

Lucifer's grimoire has a real gothic flare to it. The whole thing is jet black leather with blood red rubies fixed to the spine and fine layer of gold leaf pressed into the corners. No matter where it's being kept, cover will always feel a bit cold to the touch... The pages are thick and textured, with every word inside written inside done in a careful, nearly mechanical hand. Perfectly legible. Technically flawless. Though certain pages are written with some hesitation, particularly the ones that go over his past...

Mammon's grimoire is, arguably, the most beautiful of the bunch. It's snow white with brilliant gold accents on the spine and along the edges. His personal sigil, painted in shimmering light, takes up most of the front cover and mesmerizes any eye that catches its shine. It's a little on the slim side, though, due in part to how thin pages are inside. Reading it can be a bit messy because the caster can always see whatever words have been scrawled out on the back of the page...

Leviathan's grimoire looks like something straight out of a sunken treasure chest. The brownish-violet leather used to bind it feels real, and it is, though it couldn't have come from any mortal creature on land. The edges are worn down and cracking from neglect, giving the whole thing a certain fragility over the rest... The pages are yellowed and hard from water damaged, yet the words inside still survive... even if parts of them are a tad smudged.

Satan's grimoire could probably pass for 18th century notebook. It too is leather bound, but it doesn’t have the same flare as his older brothers'. If anything, it has a very DIY feel to it, where the cover has a little glue in places it shouldn't and the rough-feeling pages don't all fit quite right. It feels more like a field journal than a demonic tome, perhaps adding to the distinct aura of rebellion radiating off of it... The script inside seems to change from page to page with some part written neatly and other parts apparently scrawled out in a rage. Legibility may vary.

Asmodeus' grimoire looks more like a decorative art piece than a book at times... The wine red cover is smooth and shiny with polished gems affixed like a spider's web on the front. Asmo's grimore is unique in that it is the only one that comes with a lock on it, one that can only be lifted by a spell only he knows. The penmanship inside is naturally beautiful, though sometimes the added flare of loops and flourishes gets in the way keeping everything readable.

Beelzebub's grimoire is deceptively simple looking compared to the others. It looks like your standard leather-bound book and aside from its surprising thickness, not much stands out about it. Even the engraving of his sigil on the cover doesn't have any extra color or shadow to it. But when it's open, the most gorgeous words lie inside as if penned by a master calligrapher. Every bit of space is used appropriately and each letter is clean, clear, and fluidly handled. It's not only legible, it's breathtaking and obviously done with a lot of time and care.

Belphegor's grimoire looks like a void in the space around it. It goes beyond the jet black of Lucifer's cover to an almost true black from cover to pages. You wouldn't even know that it's made of leather unless you felt it because it reflects no light and it betrays no design. Running a hand across it, though, does reveal the ridges of Belphie's sigil craved into the front and back cover. The black pages all have words are written in a bright, silvery, and iridescent ink. Parts of the pages also look seem to contain spilled stardust ready to fly off into the air. The penmanship is a little simple, compared to the rest, but nothing that can't be skimmed at a glance if need be.

Diavolo's grimoire could kill a man from its weight alone. The book is far too big for any shelf and thick with heavily textured, papyrus-like paper. No matter who has it, it will always feel as if a supernatural force is trying to pull it from their hands... Seeing much past its burgundy, black, and gold cover is more or less impossible but what's there truly befits royalty. Every aspect of the design is flawless, with polished onyx as black as night embedded in the spine and ancient symbols peppered between golden spindle-like filigree. One can only imagine what exactly is so forbidden on the inside though...

Barbatos' (true) grimoire is an honest to god mystery... No one has ever seen it and Solomon theorizes that he keeps it in a particularly empty timeline. If asked what it looks like, Barbatos will share that it's simply "a green book," but not elaborate much farther before changing the subject... One has to assume, though, it's probably as thick as a tree trunk with all the history within those pages and for the cover...? He's had all of the time in the world to make it something truly special.

[takerfoxx]

Personally, I feel that the reason Suletta and Miorine work so well as a couple is the same reason why they didn't work for me at first: they're just such fundamentally different people, with total opposite personalities, upbringings, values, desires, needs, strengths, weaknesses, traumas, the list goes on. If it weren't for the very strange set of circumstances that forced them to form a connection, I honestly doubt that they would even be friends, so much so that for the first few episodes, I found myself feeling weirdly disconnected from their relationship, and even found myself wondering if they even liked each other.

I mean, take a look at Suletta. She's a country girl from Mercury's mining colonies who never had any friends of her own growing up. She's a clone created in part to replace her older sister, in part to usher in her mother's plan to free her sister, and in part to be a weapon of revenge, leading to an extremely bizarre relationship with her mother that is equal parts affectionate and neglectful. She loves being around people, but is so socially anxious that any sort of interactions sends her into a stuttering fit. She's terrified of confrontation, and yet is larger and stronger than most, and put her behind the controls of a mech, and she will turn you into mincemeat. She's a total klutz when it comes to dealing with other people, and yet stays cool in a crisis and isn't phased by dead bodies. She trusts with her whole heart, measures her relationships by the value she gives to other people, blames herself whenever others let her down, can and will take a life without flinching to protect those close to her, and is delighted by something so simple as having others laugh at a joke that she made.

Now, take Miorine. A rich girl from an extremely powerful family, she lost her mother, quite possibly the only person to ever show her genuine kindness when she was a child, was "raised" by her contemptuous and neglectful excuse for a father, and grew to resent everyone and everything around her. She hates being around people, but has the confidence and social knowledge to play the game. She's tiny and physically weak, but also angry and assertive. She openly loathes her father and will insult him to his face, but also desperately craves his approval. She's been used as a commodity her entire life by people who see her as a stepping stone into power, and is bound and determined to make everyone who tries damned to a living hell. She was raised in luxury in space, but dreams of running away to what is essentially a refugee camp of a planet. She wants so badly to be allowed to stand on her own two feet and be respected for her own accomplishments, but has no real idea how to do it. She views relationships as transactions, has exactly zero patience for other people's nonsense, can and will sacrifice her own happiness for the sake of the select few that she cares about, will run headlong into the most harrowing of political battles, but also fall apart completely when confronted with the reality of death.

And, like I said, for whatever reason I just didn't feel the sparks between them at first. Their whole relationship just felt like a mutually beneficial arrangement, like it was said to be.

But then we got to that magical episode, where they had that amazingly written misunderstanding in the greenhouse, followed by that incredible argument on the space station, and I realized that this was the plan all along, and Suletta and Miorine are actually perfect as a couple...once they've managed to bridge the gap between their extremely different life experiences and massive communication issues.

See, what's so great about them is that while they are extremely different, those difference are also perfectly compatible. One's strength is the other's weakness, and together they make each other better. In a way, they're less opposites and more of two halves of one complete whole. It was Miorine's confidence that allowed Suletta to start standing up for herself, to learn confidence and make real friends, to figure out what love is. And it was Suletta's bravery that inspired Miorine to find a way to make something of her own, to seek out ways to use their families' legacies to help people instead of hurt them, to bridge gaps long carved out by blood. And in the end, they were two desperately lonely girls who just wanted someone to truly, honestly, and unconditionally love them, and they found it in each other.

Granted, it was rough going for a bit. Like I said, they had such different ways of seeing the world, they didn't communicate in the same way, they didn't see relationships in the same way, and they ended up hurting each other just trying to do what they thought was best. But they also forgave one another. They strove to better understand one another. And they came to realize just how much they needed each other. And though it took even greater loss and pain in order to achieve it, they finally found their happy ending. They found each other.

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Alastor - [ DEVOTION Pt. 7 ]

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Alright, buckle up loves! This one is a rollercoaster…. I’m pretty sure there’s smut (yay, we have returned to my roots). Also, thanks for all the feedback on the story. It gave me insight into a few things and what tropes to leave out of my next series (which is coming soon).

WARNINGS: [ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ SLIGHT SMUT ] + [ ANGST ] + [ CHILDBIRTH…description?… I mean not really that much… ] + [ MENTIONS OF CANNIBALISM ]

xxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Within the hour of Alastors shadows leaving, Roise and Angelique came rushing into your home.

Their coats were thrown to the floor at the door, and both women bound up the steps, calling you and Alastors' names in evident concern.

"Al! Y/n?!" Rosie shouted as she rounded the staircase plateau, reaching the room first, and his mother followed swiftly.

"Al! Baby, what happened?' Angelique came right to his side as he lifted his head from looking down at your sweat and blood-covered face.

Rosie gasped, seeing the state you were in, the blood pooling on the sheets, your body's weak tremors worrying both women and Alastor’s disheveled demeanor, only adding to the heart-wrenching scene.

Angelique placed a hand on your forehead, feeling for a temperature, as Alastor croaked out a phrase she had never heard him utter: "Help her ma…please…."

". She's burning up," Angelique muttered in slight shock, sparing her son a solemn glance as she caressed your cheek soothingly.

He clearly was withholding his panic, reverting back to the mild-mannered nervous ticks he had as a boy to cope with stress.

His eyes twitched rapidly, watering a bit as she conversed with Rosie on the best ways to go about helping you and the babies.

"They're gonna be okay, baby. Hey, look at me, stay strong, you hear me? Keep your head on straight. They need you more than ever…" his mother reassured him with an encouraging smile, tilting his chin up as an added gesture.

"Now is not the time to be weak like your father…"

Alastor paled at her words, unconsciously steadying his mentality to avoid breaking down any longer, "I'm nothing like that pompous and demented drunk-"

"Then go clean yourself up. Straighten out that mess in the basement. And let us do what needs to be done to save Y/n and your children…"

Angelique made no effort to put her instructions gently, already rushing about the room to ready herself for the task ahead.

Rosie merely stared at him expectantly, already tending to your wounded head after wiping the visible scum from your face with a warm wet washcloth.

"Go, Al. We will take care of this."

He froze for a moment, hesitant to leave you in such a state, gazing down at your distressed form one last time before deciding to trust them with your fate.

"I'm counting on you both," he mumbled wearily, planting a sorrowful kiss on your head while peeling off the bed's edge.

"Everything going to be alright, sweetheart. I promise.."

You sobbed lowly at his words, too weak to speak and even less apt to stop him from leaving your side.

The last sight you had of Alastor that night was him lingering at your bedroom door with a somber smile that conveyed the sadness in his eyes, and then he was gone.

A memory you couldn't recall as hours of labor set in. You spent what little strength was left in your body to birth a son and a daughter.

Your screams could practically be heard throughout the whole Garden District.

Alastors' shadows shook violently upon hearing each one, but he restrained himself from racing into the room.

Instead, he busied himself as his mother instructed: cleaning the basement, locking it up before pocketing the key for better safekeeping, and resigning himself to his studies.

Hours of listening to your muffled cries mixing with the crackling of his radio filled the atmosphere with unease.

His shadows swirled in anticipation near the bedroom door, not daring to peek in until your voice was drowned out by the soft cries of two newborns.

Alastor had been on his third cigarette and fourth whiskey by then, in the middle of drowning his stress with vices he'd sworn never to take up, but they seemed appealing for the longest night of his life.

He was rather thankful when a spectator spawned beside his chair, whispering good news in his ear and clearly elated to relay it.

They've arrived—a healthy boy and girl, and she is stable as well. A job well done, monsieur…

A tender smile crept onto his lips at the information, shrill cries of life carrying through the house proving his spectator's observation true." I shouldn't keep my children waiting then," Alastor mused half-heartedly while standing upright.

His glass of whiskey was half full on his desk, his cigarette snuffed out on an ashtray next to it, and his radio left on a low volume of static as he left the room.

———— ————— —————

"Oh, Al, come look! They're just the sweetest little lambs you'll ever see!"

Rosie ushered him in the room with a genuine grin on her face, strands of her blonde hair in disarray, her dress sleeves rolled up, and a bit of sweat on her neck from the work she'd just finished.

He chuckled at her enthusiasm, assuming she was exaggerating to lift his spirits.

"Is that so?"

Rosie nodded excitedly, gliding back over to the bed where you lay, and his mother sat facing you.

"Come on. Come look at em'…" the blonde whispered while peering into Angelique's arms.

Alastor hesitated, somewhat afraid to come face to face with his offspring, but then he heard them babble quietly.

A gentle, enlightening sound he never imagined liking, but it drew him like a magnet.

The tired smile you gave him as he neared the bed helped quite a lot.

You were alive, in need of rest, but still breathing.

His mind calmed as your eyes met for a split second, a fleeting exchange of gratefulness, but it broke as two tiny giggles filled the room.

Alastor averted his attention towards them, leaving you to watch as he took them in.

Angelique shifted slightly, adjusting her expert hold on the swaddled newborns who fixated on their looming father as he stepped closer.

"Oh my…hello there, little ones. What a pleasure it is to meet you…"

Alastor fawned over them, kneeling to get a better look, and to his delight, they both smiled at his approach.

The sudden change in expression swayed him, and he had a genuine grin on his face as he took their features in.

"What wonderful gifts you are," he muttered in amazement.

His mother chuckled, amused by her son's reaction to his children, but relieved he'd composed himself again.

"Would you like to hold them, Al?" she voiced the offer gently, watching his sharp eyes soften behind the around-framed spectacle.

"I'd love to ….." he mumbled wistfully, never taking his eyes off the newborn twins.

Rosie squealed quietly in excitement as Angelique nodded, carefully handing the boy over to Alastor first.

He gently took him in his arms, admiring their similarities, "My eyes, hair, and nose. You've stolen them all…"

He paused, stuck on what to call then, but you whispered both names through a tired smile:

"Adonis Naveen Hartifelt & Antoinette Marie Hartofelt… just as we decided, yes?"

Alastor held your gaze momentarily, sensing something was off but disregarding the underlying tension to enjoy the quaint moment.

"Yes, ma chere. Very suitable names…"

You flashed a somber smile, watching as he walked about the room with Adonis before switching to hold Antoinette.

He clearly favored your daughter a bit more, smiling the longest with her near his chest and only puttering her down when she began to fuss—which took quite a while.

Angelique took her from Alastor's grasp, letting him admire her again before he left the room with Rosie and leaving you to feed them with his mother's help.

His absence left you to wonder…

It baffled you how he could be picture-perfect at times like this.

The very image of a good and gracious man.

Nothing like the monster you imagined could systematically tear apart a body the way you witnessed in the basement.

Nothing like a man who'd lie to his wife.

Nothing like the man who'd caused you so much pain in what was supposed to be your happiest time together.

————— ————— —————-

As the days rolled on, winter winds ravaged New Orleans through the holidays, but the frivolous change of season seemed a distant notion outside of the Hartifelt house.

You were first confined to bed rest by Angelique, then by a doctor's official recommendation the next day, and with their orders came directions.

No overexcerting yourself.

No stress.

A fulfilled and healthy diet couldn't be avoided.

And at least six hours of sleep per day.

The last two stipulations were hard to follow because they felt impossible, and you couldn't bring yourself to relax until Alastor made an effort to explain himself…

To explain the body in the basement and why he'd ever see the need to butcher someone in such a gruesome way.

You'd long figured out what he'd been using it for, piecing together what you witnessed with what had been conspiring in your home for months…

The mutilations on the body were precise, as if he had been harvesting certain parts, but you didn't recall seeing any limbs or organs lying around the basement.

There was no rotting flesh smell either, nothing to indicate he was keeping them as personal trophies, but the victim had clearly not been his first from the looks of their wounds.

You'd never seen him dispose of anything, never heard any clamoring noises from the basement when he was down there, and couldn't recall seeing blood on his hands besides the one time you visited his mother.

All your guesses and observations led you to one conclusion: a notion that made your stomach churn, but the only plausible answer to the question of what Alastor had been doing with…or instead using the body for.

Meat.

He had to be harvesting it.

Feeding body parts to himself and me as if it were regular livestock.

It made sense now why he'd neglected to buy meat on grocery store runs and insisted his hunts would bear better fruit than packaged goods, and the more you thought about the connection, the stupider you felt.

All this time, he'd been feeding you…feeding your children human flesh?

How could be so blind to it, so caught up in his charm, and fail to notice what he'd do behind your back.

You threw up every time the thought crossed your mind…

The season's cold chill mirrored the steady rage building in you as days turned into weeks.

Reaching its height by the time Christmas Eve rolled around.

Rosie and Angelique had decided to stay and help you and the twins until your health became stable again.

One woman was always at your side to help, allowing you to nurse Adonis and Antoinette in peace when needed.

In the first few days of your recovery, you didn't remember much of anything, falling in and out of sleep rapidly, but when you could stay awake for most of the day, you refused to have either child out of your sight for more than a second.

Alastor had tried once after their birth to hold them again in your presence, but you forbade Rosie from letting him in the room.

The evident hurt in his eyes when you viciously glared at him that day tore your heart to pieces, but you just couldn't bear to see him pretend everything was bright and dandy.

Like there wasn't a rotting body in the basement…

Angelique tried to soothe you both in one way or another, convincing Alastor to give you space and time, suggesting that he focus on his radio show rather than holing up in his study or going on impractical 'hunts' to cope with your anger towards him.

He took her advice well, putting on a mask for weeks on end as he carried on being New Orleans's most prominent radio star, and though the frequency of his hunts slowed, the few he did venture on were extremely bloody.

You weren't as easily swayed by her attempts to heal the rift between you and Alastor.

Barely eating or sleeping for quite a while, afraid to close your eyes and replay the bloody memory he'd caused, and overtly protective of the twins as a result.

However, eating and neglecting rest didn't last only a short time.

Both factors affected your productivity as a new mother and healing stage.

You eventually took Amgelique's advice, eating your meals in total, resting more, and enjoying your children's presence.

They were quite the duo.

They were generally quiet babies but incredibly active when not asleep.

You took pride in nursing them, fleeting Rosie holding one while you fed the other, both of you cooing at their gentle mannerisms.

Your mood improved drastically by Christmas Eve, the strength to walk around the house without helpfully given back to you, and the pain in your head significantly lessened.

Jovial as ever, you took slow and sure steps to leave the stuffy room, bathe and dress yourself, and be drawn out by the smell of delicious food being made downstairs.

You could hear Rosie playing with the twins, her soft laughter wafting through the house as two other voices lingered under it.

You nearly turned back to the room, recognizing Alastors voice, grimacing as he laughed at something his mother had said, but after a few calming self-reflective breaths, you continued down the winding staircase.

Rosie was the first to spot you, dressed in a simple red and green evening gown, ready to celebrate the night.

You almost envied her vitality, opting for a simple white and red dress and a large red bow to hold your hair up in an elegant pin style.

She gasped softly as you descended the last few steps, halting her hand that tenderly swayed your children's bassinet.

"You're up! Oh, how wonderful…you look lovely, my dear!"

She rushed to hug you, careful not to squeeze you too tight, as a small giggle left you:

"I'm still finding my bearings, but thanks to you and Angelique, I feel much better."

Rosie took hold of your hands in both silk-gloved ones, leading you into the warmly lit parlor.

She left you to admire how beautifully decorated it was as she sat you down next to her on the sofa.

A pine tree was tucked in the corner, standing massively next to the front bay windows, decorated with fairy lights and traditional ornaments.

Garlands were hung in the same fashion, and other festive adornments covered your home's interior as far as you could see, and your heart fluttered a bit at the sight.

You usually took on decorating for the holidays. Alastor would help, of course, but you enjoyed doing it more than he did.

You expected nothing to be set out since you'd been unwell for so long…

"How'd you manage all this, Rosie?" You glanced around in awe one last time, focusing on the babbling newborns comfortably loaded in their business before you.

They reached for your hand as it lazily slid into the bassinet, warm little palms encircling your fingers, bringing comfort to you.

Rosie watched the loving exchange like a proud sister before answering your question.

"We did nothing, dear. This was all Alastors doing…"

You stiffened, glancing at her in disbelief, "All of this? By himself?"

She nodded slowly, reaching for her glass of white wine sitting on a side table.

"Mhm. I'm sure he knew how important the holiday season is to you…"

It was true.

Alastor did know how much you cared about this time of year.

It reminded you of your mother; your few memories of her were from this season, fond quips of true joy you tried to preserve by upholding her enthusiasm for all that Christmas brings.

"A cherishable, loving, pure spirit ready to start a new. Many forget that the only gift that truly matters to another person is one of understanding. Remember that, my love…never let it go.."

Her words rang in your head as your heart twisted, flashes of your memories with Alastor plaguing you.

"How is he?" you asked tentatively, not looking away from the twins as Rosie sighed, "Not well. He wants to speak to you, dear. See the children for more than a second, too. Won't you give him a chance?.."

She placed a hand on your shoulder, her expression softening as you blinked back tears.

"Rosie…I…I want to, but if he spills another lie from his mouth, I'm afraid I might lose myself to rage…"

A beat of silence hung in the air, a single tear running down your cheek as the thought of facing Alastor made you dizzy with anxiety.

"I'm grateful for your help, for his love, but you've all left me in the dark, and now that I've grown wise to it all, I can't help but wanna hate him…"

"Y/n…we- he was just trying to protect you…"

You stifled a sob, crying quietly as you nodded, "I know… Rosie. I know god damn well what Al was trying to do, but if he'd told me from the beginning, I wouldn't drive myself mad in the first place. All that talk of being devoted to me, and he turns around and lies."

You scowled at the carpeted floor, swiftly wiping your face clean before standing from thorofare with a newfound determination:

"I won't stand for it any longer, er, and thinking about it sours my mood. If you'll excuse me, I need a stiff drink…"

—————- ——————- ——————

Angelique paused in her task as you slipped into the kitchen, not saying a word to her son.

You passed her with a small smile directed only at her and her.

She returned it, picking up a stack of dishes to place on the dining room table before silently gliding out of the room.

You frowned at the loss of her company, aware she'd left hoping that you and Alastor would talk earnestly, but you had no intention of even looking his way.

Your husband felt you whisk past him to the wine cabinet, halting his focus on the pot of gumbo he was preparing to turn your way.

"Y/n," he uttered your name, a low call that made your head spin and your chest tight.

You refused to respond, pouring yourself a moderate glass of wine before taking a long sip, and as the bittersweet alcohol dissipated on your tongue, you turned to leave the area.

Alastor tried again to gain your attention, his face stoic as he reached for you.

With a bit of force, he successfully pulled you into his side. You scowled, instinctively tugging your waist from his iron grasp, but he didn't relent his hold—not once.

"Leave me be," you spat quietly, grip hardening on your wine glass and your bright eyes darkening with unbridled rage as his hazel eyes softened on you.

"I will when you let me explain myself…"

Both of his hands found your waist, shifting your reluctant body to press up against his.

You stiffened at the familiar contact, missing his embrace momentarily and slightly distracted by the warmth he emitted.

Weeks without physical touch from him felt tortuous, and you intended to endure it for a while longer, but feeling him so close if only for a moment- made your resolve less than weak.

Alastor pressed his weight against the counter, head coming to rest on your shoulder as he inhaled the scent of your perfume.

A crisp, sweet smell he missed dearly.

It was one of the many traits about you that calmed him, kept him tethered to sanity, and going weeks without breathing you in affected him nearly the same as the lack of his touch did to you.

You twisted and squirmed in his hold, growing angrier by the second as he held you still, "Alastor Hartifelt, let me go this instant-!"

You grit your teeth, hand poised to fling the wine in your glass onto him as a well-deserved deterrent, but he's quick to hold it still.

He tugs the glass from your hand, disregarding the slight spill it causes, and you gasp softly from the use of sudden strength in a simple motion.

Alastor sets the crystal glass down, taking another deep breath before speaking to you in a tone you could only describe as hollow.

"You've seen it, haven't you, darling? What takes up my time in the basement, yes? I know it must terrify you, dear. I know, but you must realize I never meant…to hurt you. Believe me when I say I kept my deeds hidden to protect you…"

Not an ounce of regret was in his words; you hadn't expected any.

Alastor was never the type to act upon something he'd despise later.

You knew him well enough to see an act of utter violence like this made sense to him in some way.

It was never the thought of him being dangerous, the thought of him being murderous, or prone to aggression that had angered you.

He hid it like you hadn't stood by his side through the worst times.

The secret he kept wasn't horrific for its brutality but disgraceful in its relevance to your love for him.

"Protect me?.." you grimaced, looking into his eyes with burning rage, "What about trusting me. To hell with why you kill. It's a matter of you hiding such a secret from me in the first place. I am your wife, your equal, and yet you lied to me as if I were a mere child! A pet you could put in a cage and show off but never bond with…"

The anger slowly left your tone, gaze softening on his amber eyes, "I understand you don't care much for the term 'love' but whatever we have can’t exist without us fully trusting in one another. That is why I am angry with you. That is why I've distanced myself, Alastor. Nothing more. Nothing less."

You lowered your head, feeling a tad dramatic but glad to have said what was on your mind.

Alastor pursed his lips in deep thought for a moment, but soon, his deep laughter resonated around the room.

Your head snapped up at the sound, one brow lifted in pure confusion as he chuckled heartily, "And what's so funny now?" You tutted in frustration, prepared to drench him in wine again, but you thought better of it as his laughter died.

"It's just that…" he paused, staring into your curious eyes as they took in his lazy smile, "I seem to have forgotten why I fell for you in the first place, sweetheart."

Alastor's grin grew as your expression hardened, "What does that have to do with this conversation-"you began to become livid again until his large hands cupped your rounded cheeks gently.

You froze as the gentle contact warmed your skin, focus paper thin as he leaned in close enough for your noses to touch, "My darling doe, you have never betrayed me once. In all our time together, your faith in me has never wavered. I've killed for you more times than I can count, but that could never amount to the love you hold for me. Even after discovering my darkest sin, you look upon me gracefully… my wife, my angel, you are truly curious to a man."

His sentiments muddled your thoughts, every sweet word true, holding an edge of obsession.

Your heart fluttered hearing them, the sharpness in his eyes reinforcing their weight.

You gulped gently as he brushed his lips over your parted ones, teasing a kiss you weren't ready to give.

"I must've been mistaken when I belittled my love for you in the sense of devotion…."

His eyes drifted half closed as you hummed in delight, feeling his heavy breaths fan your mouth.

Whiskey and twinge of sweetness rolled off his tongue, an inviting mixture you didn't dare to forget, "Then correct yourself," you muttered in response in hopes of reliving your craving for him.

Alastor struggled to surpass his smirk as you raised your hands to rest over his, gingerly pressing your nails into his skin and shivering at the familiar roughness it had.

"How do you suggest I do that, dear. I've caused you quite a lot of trouble, and there's only so much a man can do."

His teasing stirred heat in your core, a sensation you hadn't felt in weeks and thoroughly missed.

"First, you'll swear to never…never lie to me again. No matter the circumstances."

He hummed lowly, eyeing the low-hanging ruffle sleeves of your dress as they inched downward the more you pressed into him.

"You have my word, ma chere."

The response was automatic on his part, driven by the soft whine you let out as one of his hands shifted to knead your hip.

The gesture brought your lower half closer to his, leaving no space between you, but as distracting as it was, you continued on with your demands.

"You won't ever feed me or our children human meat again…without my explicit permission."

Alastor frowned for a moment but agreed nonetheless, "Alright."

You nodded, inhaling sharply shortly after as his hand gently tugged your dress skirt.

It would be right to swat him away and restrict his touch from you a bit longer, but the instant his fingertips brushed the skin of your thigh, you couldn't help but blush and bit back a whine.

"A-and you'll never put yourself, this family, our life together…in harm's way. Promise me, you'll continue to be discreet Alastor…"

The urge to moan gripped you entirely as his touch burned your bare skin, only silenced by the immediate kiss he allowed you before muttering sincerely, "You have my word, darling…"

You shuddered at his oath, knowing he meant every word, pouring his intent to keep it through the exchange of heated kisses that ensued after.

You held onto him tight, trying to remain as quiet as possible as his tongue found yours, forcing it to obey his lead and his hands roaming your body for the same sign of submission.

You gave in effortlessly, head tilting back as he marked your neck, gently pricking your skin with his teeth, gliding his tongue over the most minor bruises he left.

A wave of shivers captured you, disorienting and intensifying with Alastor's every move.

Your hands gripped his broad shoulders, bracing yourself for him to inevitably lift you onto his waist, but the action never occurred.

The sound of Rosie's quick footsteps approaching and her distinct singing song calling of your names made you both separate.

Alastor yanked your dress down quickly, clearing his throat with a cheeky grin while you hid your face in his chest out of slight embarrassment as the blonde glided into the kitchen.

"Mrs. Hartifelt wants to know if the gumbo is ready, Al. How's it coming along, hm?" She chirped cheerfully, pretending not to notice your bright red, blushing face hidden in his embrace.

"Oh, it's just about done, my dear. Just had to give it another taste test, right chere?"

You stared up at him in awe as he brought a hand to your left cheek, gliding his thumb over your heated skin, lovingly and intently staring back at you.

"Isn't that right, chere," Alastor asked once more, enjoying the nervousness in your gaze as you nodded in jaded agreement, "That's right, Rosie.." you muttered dreamily, too focused on your husband to catch her knowing smirk before she hummed in understanding while sashaying back into the parlor.

"Mrs. Hartifelt, Al says it's coming along well!" Rosie shouts in delight as she leaves you both alone, accentuating the phrase's double meaning to the older lady tending to her new grandchildren in the warmly lit parlor room.

Both women's smirks grew wildly, hearing you giggle amid Alastor's flirtatious teasing moments later.

"Seems it is," Angelique mumbled assuredly as Rosie sat beside her, admiring the tiny humans smiling in their sleep.

Christmas Eve wouldn't be so dim after all…

xxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Whew…..you all okay after this? No? Too bad it gets better then way worse… A real Shakespearean tragedy/romance. IM TAKING MY ASS TO BED NOW GOOD NIGHT 😴

TAGS ❤️: @rapturenyx @michi-keinz @shealizxx @nissrinina @destinyisastar @bubblegumheartsy @sailorsmouth @aestheticgals-blog @rameisa @ellesette @gasiacos @marvelgirl123 @dinosaur-crime-scene

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

Did you fall more in love with him seeing this? I certainly did…Credit to creator ❤️

[youremyheaven]

The 8h in Astrology💀🦇✨

(this can apply to both tropical and vedic placement of 8th house because regardless of the system employed, the energy felt and experienced is the same :-)

The 8h is perhaps the most mysterious house in astrology and is most commonly associated with sex, death and unexpected events. Its also related to one's longevity, wealth, debts, transformation etc

It is a very misunderstood house, so I thought I'd make a post analysing it and shedding light on its nature<3

8h is connected to finances, occult, revenge, taboos and fears.

Sex, death and transformation form the core of 8h (scorpio). These are very Scorpionic themes and we must understand why. I had already explained how sex and death are interrelated and kind of go hand in hand. Sex and death are similar in the sense that they both offer release from life; the former temporarily and the latter permanently 💀 and when there's talk of sex and death, there is bound to be talk of transformation because both of these are deeply transformative activities.

It is interesting that a water house, like the 8h rules over sex because water is an element that absorbs things quickly. Sex can be best understood as a transfer of energy between two people; this is why sometimes with certain people, sex can feel very draining and post-coitus, many people describe feeling melancholic. Water is the most emotional element because, unlike other elements, it's in the nature of water to merge itself, like rivers merging with the sea; union is essential because water by design flows from itself to eventually reach the ocean.

Each water sign expresses this emotional depth differently but it is at its height in Scorpio which is generally understood as a very "intense sign".

Scorpio is known for its highly sexual nature but it's very rare to see a Scorpio enjoy casual sex (unless they have other placements that encourage it). This is because they deeply crave emotional connection and emotional intimacy.

It is why it's advised to be selective about one's sexual partners; because sex can have a profound impact on one's spiritual energy and cannot be considered a purely physical activity. it's possible for one to be disconnected from their emotions but being intimate with someone is not an un-emotional act by nature since sex is ruled by the water sign of Scorpio/8h.

In French, an orgasm is called "le petit mort" or "little death" and its safe to say that sex & death are closely associated in many cultures.

there is a reason why sex, fears, trauma, taboos are all 8h topics. if you've ever come across someone who naturally exhibits a very potent, magnetic sexual energy and aura, 8/10 times they've lived very messed up lives or come from a home that was less than ideal. this is because sexuality is inherently dark and shadow-y; someone who has a very potent sexual aura can easily intimidate others; they're bound to have a very unsettling effect on others; this is because we unconsciously pick up on the fact that they've been through things we can't imagine. they project things we fear. historically sex symbols have always come from really abusive families, have terrible relationships with their father, usually had to bear their mother's emotional burdens, they've most likely had a string of bad relationships and likely suffered abuse. why is this? whatever we project on the outside is a reflection of what goes on within us.

There is a reason why most people say Old Hollywood actresses were so much more unique and better than the current lot. Not only did they have a distinct persona but they each reflected it energetically. True raw sexuality always points to darkness lurking underneath; this is what makes us curious about them, what draws us in and what makes their presence so intense; like they suck up the air around them.

Most celebs today are beautiful on the outside and possess every feature it takes to be "sexy" but they do not have sex appeal. They lack presence.

(I went off on a tangent lmao, anywayyyyys)

8h is connected to transformation. Birth and death are two of the most fundamentally transformative experiences, not just for the people undergoing it but also for everyone in their lives. In our lives, we also experience ego deaths and spiritual re-births, so we live and die many times before we actually die. Sex too is an activity that is supercharged with transformative potential. There is a reason why sex is performed ritualistically in many occult initiation ceremonies and why Tantra is so heavily associated with sex that it is practically only known as some kind of crazy yogic sex thing. Sex opens up an energetic channel, a doorway so to speak, that allows for new energy to be invited in. There is a reason why many creatives consider their partners to be their muses (although its not necessary for a muse to be their sexual partner; i will get into this in more depth in a future post).

the 8h is connected to unexpected events because by nature we cannot predict either birth or death. we can come up with a tentative time frame but it's not possible to conclusively say someone will die/be born at this specific time. 8h governs all matters that are unexpected; positive and negative. life can turn on a dime. you can go from rags to riches over night but you can also lose your empire in minutes. 8h transits bring about crazy transformative experiences and depending on your placements and aspects, create a lot of emotional turbulence as well.

I have noticed that many 8h natives tend to be heavy sleepers whereas 12h natives often struggle with insomnia.

8h is connected to both wealth/finances as well as debts. This comes down to the fact that the 8h is connected to transformation. Our resources/money is a significator of our karma (in spirituality karma means actions) and therefore they are always undergoing change. There are certain aspects of our life we cannot change (where we are born, who we are born to etc) but our finances are up to us to change and transform. Its interesting that the 8h is linked to loans, debts etc. and not just accumulating wealth. An afflicted 8h can show someone who has a lot of debts or an inability to keep hold of money.

8h is also related to what is kept hidden or secret and finances/debts are usually the things that people are extremely private about (so are other 8h activities like sex and death).

Wherever you have your 8h, you're probably better off keeping those matters very low-key and private because its easy to attract evil eye.

the reason 8h is also associated with revenge is because it represents our shadow side, its the 8th house from the 1st house of self/ego, so it represents what we keep hidden/our shadow. The reason why we feel so triggered by certain people is because they project our shadow (in the Jungian sense of the term). If we ever hate some people for no reason, there is a HIGH chance that our 8h placements are present in their chart.

8h synastry can create some of the most toxic relationships and lead to a lot of purging and projecting on to each other. This is never good for long term relationships.

This is also why 8h is connected to fears. Our fears are usually subconscious and hidden from others and even from our conscious selves. This is again why its also connected to taboos. The 8h essentially covers all that lies underneath the surface.

"A human being is a part of the whole, called by us “Universe”, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest — a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty. Nobody is able to achieve this completely, but the striving for such achievement is in itself a part of the liberation and a foundation for inner security."- Albert Einstein (Jyeshta Moon) 8h

its very common for 8h natives to feel trapped or stuck in their circumstances. being "caged in" is a very definitive 8h experience.

In Tibetan Buddhism, the concept of "Bardo" is present. It is the intermediate, transitional or liminal state between death and re-birth. This need not refer to literal death and re-birth of course.

The experience of Bardo is transcendental, allowing an individual to experience reality in the clearest way possible but it can also be terrifying. It is an opportunity for liberation but it can also prove to be dangerous as one experiences hallucinations based on their karma.

Bardo can be experienced during times when the usual way of life is interrupted, such as during the course of illness, during meditation etc. Such times can prove fruitful for spiritual progress because external constraints diminish. However, they can also present challenges because it can also make us impulsive.

8h transits can often feel this way and having 8h placements itself can feel this way; you're capable of immense spiritual depth but also of causing so much trouble and sometimes its impossible to separate the two.

8h natives could be heavy sleepers or struggle with insomnia (this is more 12h imo)

8h transits are often connected to death 💀 and the 8h placement can provide significant clues about one's lifespan, nature of death etc

“Whoever loves becomes humble. Those who love have , so to speak pawned a part of their narcissism.”― Sigmund Freud (Moon in 8h)

8h natives experience a riptide of emotions but are unable to channel it effectively. They are not the best at expressing how they feel verbally. The reason why Moon is debilitated in Scorpio is because these natives are unable to express how they feel and unable to receive energy in the same way as Cancerian natives (Moon rules Cancer) this is not due to any other reason but that these natives have such a vast reservoir of emotions and such depth that it's almost too much for them to process and grasp emotions in a nonchalant way.

“The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them -- words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear.”― Stephen King (Jyeshta Moon/Moon in Scorpio)

8h in an earth sign could signify dying of old age, 8h aspecting neptune/uranus/pluto could signify unnatural death, 8h in fire signs could point to violence/accidents.

since the 8h is connected to the subconscious realm, its also linked to psychology, magic and secrets. magic involves tricking the mind into believing something is real when it's not, it's a very 8h activity.

the subconscious also stores our secrets which is why its connected to hate and revenge.

the natural ruling planet of 8h is Saturn and Saturn stands for discipline, justice, karma and time. in life we get what we give (this is also a sexual principle) and this explains the connection between 8h and sex, as well as 8h and saturn.

ultimately scorpio's waters represent that which we hide, be it desire, fear, traumas or taboos.

in vedic astrology, scorpio is exalted in ketu whereas rahu is exalted in taurus (the opposite sign of scorpio is taurus). the fact that ketu is the tail of the dragon with no physical form of its own and that its exalted in a water sign is very telling.

"Ketu signifies the spiritual process of the refinement of materialisation to the spirit and is considered both malefic and benefic, as it causes sorrow and loss, and yet simultaneously turns the individual to God. In other words, it causes material loss to force a more spiritual outlook in the person." (this is from wiki)

I would say Scorpio/8h can be described very similarly. experiencing loss is a big theme in the life of an 8h native. its very easy for 8h natives to give into drugs, other substances and live a very hardened life. its through experiencing loss and heartbreak that an 8h native can break through the cycle and seek spirituality because the 8h is innately connected to the spiritual realm.

these natives can veer between either extremes, i.e, they can be alcoholics/addicts, never experiencing true love/meaningful relationships but through pain, a divine channel opens up and many reform their ways for the better. because an evolved 8h native is capable of profoundly deep intimacy and are the most loyal and protective of companions/partners/friends.

its hard for these natives to find stability and most 8h natives are naturally guarded people, suspicious of others and their intentions which makes them true blue introverts.

🌹true romantics deep down, these natives desire love profoundly but feel unable to express it adequately. if your partner is an 8h native, they'll remember all your likes and dislikes, every little thing about you, pick up on your habits and preferences but they'll seldom verbally gas you up or be affectionate. they're more covert with their love.

being extremely mysterious, many 8h natives could have a not so good reputation. people perceive them in ways that are far removed from who they are. they could also have many secret admirers.

symbolised by the scorpion, a fiercely guarded creature that is intelligent, defensive, dangerous and ruthless to its enemies, 8h natives imbibe quite a few of these traits. they are so defensive because they feel like they have to protect themselves. being a water sign, they absorb things easily and this pollutes their energy.

they're the kindest people underneath it all<33

[mostlysignssomeportents]

End of the line for corporate sovereignty

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me next weekend (Mar 30/31) in ANAHEIM at WONDERCON, then in Boston with Randall "XKCD" Munroe (Apr 11), then Providence (Apr 12), and beyond!

Back in the 1950s, a new, democratically elected Iranian government nationalized foreign oil interests. The UK and the US then backed a coup, deposing the progressive government with one more hospitable to foreign corporations:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nationalization_of_the_Iranian_oil_industry

This nasty piece of geopolitical skullduggery led to the mother-of-all-blowbacks: the Anglo-American puppet regime was toppled by the Ayatollah and his cronies, who have led Iran ever since.

For the US and the UK, the lesson was clear: they needed a less kinetic way to ensure that sovereign countries around the world steered clear of policies that undermined the profits of their oil companies and other commercial giants. Thus, the "investor-state dispute settlement" (ISDS) was born.

The modern ISDS was perfected in the 1990s with the Energy Charter Treaty (ECT). The ECT was meant to foam the runway for western corporations seeking to take over ex-Soviet energy facilities, by making those new post-Glasnost governments promise to never pass laws that would undermine foreign companies' profits.

But as Nick Dearden writes for Jacobin, the western companies that pushed the east into the ECT failed to anticipate that ISDSes have their own form of blowback:

https://jacobin.com/2024/03/energy-charter-treaty-climate-change/

When the 2000s rolled around and countries like the Netherlands and Denmark started to pass rules to limit fossil fuels and promote renewables, German coal companies sued the shit out of these governments and forced them to either back off on their democratically negotiated policies, or to pay gigantic settlements to German corporations.

ISDS settlements are truly grotesque: they're not just a matter of buying out existing investments made by foreign companies and refunding them money spent on them. ISDS tribunals routinely order governments to pay foreign corporations all the profits they might have made from those investments.

For example, the UK company Rockhopper went after Italy for limiting offshore drilling in response to mass protests, and took $350m out of the Italian government. Now, Rockhopper only spent $50m on Adriatic oil exploration – the other $300m was to compensate Rockhopper for the profits it might have made if it actually got to pump oil off the Italian coast.

Governments, both left and right, grew steadily more outraged that ISDSes tied the hands of democratically elected lawmakers and subordinated their national sovereignty to corporate sovereignty. By 2023, nine EU countries were ready to pull out of the ECT.

But the ECT had another trick up its sleeve: a 20-year "sunset" clause that bound countries to go on enforcing the ECT's provisions – including ISDS rulings – for two decades after pulling out of the treaty. This prompted European governments to hit on the strategy of a simultaneous, mass withdrawal from the ECT, which would prevent companies registered in any of the ex-ECT countries from suing under the ECT.

It will not surprise you to learn that the UK did not join this pan-European coalition to wriggle out of the ECT. On the one hand, there's the Tories' commitment to markets above all else (as the Trashfuture podcast often points out, the UK government is the only neoliberal state so committed to austerity that it's actually dismantling its own police force). On the other hand, there's Rishi Sunak's planet-immolating promise to "max out North Sea oil."

But as the rest of the world transitions to renewables, different blocs in the UK – from unions to Tory MPs – are realizing that the country's membership in ECT and its fossil fuel commitment is going to make it a world leader in an increasingly irrelevant boondoggle – and so now the UK is also planning to pull out of the ECT.

As Dearden writes, the oil-loving, market-worshipping UK's departure from the ECT means that the whole idea of ISDSes is in danger. After all, some of the world's poorest countries are also fed up to the eyeballs with ISDSes and threatening to leave treaties that impose them.

One country has already pulled out: Honduras. Honduras is home to Prospera, a libertarian autonomous zone on the island of Roatan. Prospera was born after a US-backed drug kingpin named Porfirio Lobo Sosa overthrew the democratic government of Manuel Zelaya in 2009.

The Lobo Sosa regime established a system of special economic zones (known by their Spanish acronym, "ZEDEs"). Foreign investors who established a ZEDE would be exempted from Honduran law, allowing them to create "charter cities" with their own private criminal and civil code and tax system.

This was so extreme that the Honduran supreme court rejected the plan, so Lobo Sosa fired the court and replaced them with cronies who'd back his play.

A group of crypto bros capitalized on this development, using various ruses to establish a ZEDE on the island of Roatan, a largely English-speaking, Afro-Carribean island known for its marine reserve, its SCUBA diving, and its cruise ship port. This "charter city" included every bizarre idea from the long history of doomed "libertarian exit" projects, so ably recounted in Raymond Craib's excellent 2022 book Adventure Capitalism:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/14/this-way-to-the-egress/#terra-nullius

Right from the start, Prospera was ill starred. Paul Romer, the Nobel-winning economist most closely associated with the idea of charter cities, disavowed the project. Locals hated it – the tourist shops and restaurants on Roatan all may sport dusty "Bitcoin accepted here" signs, but not one of those shops takes cryptocurrency.

But the real danger to Prospera came from democracy itself. When Xiomara Castro – wife of Manuel Zelaya – was elected president in 2021, she announced an end to the ZEDE program. Prospera countered by suing Honduras under the ISDS provisions of the Central America Free Trade Agreements, seeking $10b, a third of the country's GDP.

In response, President Castro announced her country's departure from CAFTA, and the World Bank's International Centre for Settlement of Investment Disputes:

https://theintercept.com/2024/03/19/honduras-crypto-investors-world-bank-prospera/

An open letter by progressive economists in support of President Castro condemns ISDSes for costing latinamerican countries $30b in corporate compensation, triggered by laws protecting labor rights, vulnerable ecosystems and the climate:

https://progressive.international/wire/2024-03-18-economists-the-era-of-corporate-supremacy-in-the-international-trade-system-is-coming-to-an-end/en

As Ryan Grim writes for The Intercept, the ZEDE law is wildly unpopular with the Honduran people, and Merrick Garland called the Lobo Sosa regime that created it "a narco-state where violent drug traffickers were allowed to operate with virtual impunity":

https://theintercept.com/2024/03/19/honduras-crypto-investors-world-bank-prospera/

The world's worst people are furious and terrified about Honduras's withdrawal from its ISDS. After 60+ years of wrapping democracy in chains to protect corporate profits, the collapse of the corporate kangaroo courts that override democratic laws represents a serious threat to oligarchy.

As Dearden writes, "elsewhere in the world, ISDS cases have been brought specifically on the basis that governments have not done enough to suppress protest movements in the interests of foreign capital."

It's not just poor countries in the global south, either. When Australia passed a plain-packaging law for tobacco, Philip Morris relocated offshore in order to bring an ISDS case against the Australian government in a bid to remove impediments to tobacco sales:

https://isds.bilaterals.org/?philip-morris-vs-australia-isds

And in 2015, the WTO sanctioned the US government for its "dolphin-safe" tuna labeling, arguing that this eroded the profits of corporations that fished for tuna in ways that killed a lot of dolphins:

https://theintercept.com/2015/11/24/wto-ruling-on-dolphin-safe-tuna-labeling-illustrates-supremacy-of-trade-agreements/

In Canada, the Conservative hero Steven Harper entered into the Canada-China Foreign Investment Promotion and Protection Agreement, which banned Canada from passing laws that undermined the profits of Chinese corporations for 31 years (the rule expires in 2045):

https://www.vancouverobserver.com/news/harper-oks-potentially-unconstitutional-china-canada-fipa-deal-coming-force-october-1

Harper's successor, Justin Trudeau, went on to sign the Canada-EU Trade Agreement that Harper negotiated, including its ISDS provisions that let EU corporations override Canadian laws:

https://www.cbc.ca/news/politics/trudeau-eu-parliament-schulz-ceta-1.3415689

There was a time when any challenge to ISDS was a political third rail. Back in 2015, even hinting that ISDSes should be slightly modified would send corporate thinktanks into a frenzy:

https://www.techdirt.com/2015/07/20/eu-proposes-to-reform-corporate-sovereignty-slightly-us-think-tank-goes-into-panic-mode/

But over the years, there's been a growing consensus that nations can only be sovereign if corporations aren't. It's one thing to treat corporations as "persons," but another thing altogether to elevate them above personhood and subordinate entire nations to their whims.

With the world's richest countries pulling out of ISDSes alongside the world's poorest ones, it's feeling like the end of the road for this particularly nasty form of corporate corruption.

And not a moment too soon.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/27/korporate-kangaroo-kourts/#corporate-sovereignty

Image: ChrisErbach (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:UnitedNations_GeneralAssemblyChamber.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en