#fallout sorrows

[spooky-donut-ghost-house]

Thing is

Daniel is right

Joshua claims to be a man of God but he still harbors The Malpais Legate within him and would probably kill Daniel and both tribes if he didn't get his way

However Daniel is also a hypocrite and is no better than Joshua

Sure he may be a pacifist and not kill the two tribes and Joshua if he didn't get his way but he shares more in common with Joshua then either of them would care to admit

Joshua wants to create a new Legion even if he doesn't want to admit it or even if he doesn't actually know it that's what he's doing he's trying to create his own Legion starting with The Sorrows and Dead Horses

Daniel on the other hand is also trying to erase their identities and going "No, you're way of life is wrong. There are no other Gods other than The Lord. If you keep on with this path and straying from The Lord's light, you shall burn in Hell forever."

Joshua wants to create a second Legion and Daniel wants to rebuild the Christian church yes Ik Daniel isn't Christian he's Mormon but shhhh and both want to do this by manipulating tribals and erasing their identities

[bellonathedragonborn]

Listen to us when we speak about Honest Hearts.

I didn’t live on a Rez but I am Native and I can tell you this bloke took the words from my mouth.

[molochka-koshka]

oh also, courier six doodle, her name is coyote

reference used btw because the angle was h a r d

[dykedvonte]

The Khans - My Introspective

I don't like the Military and I don't support a lot of the actions the NCR does to the Mojave in New Vegas but in terms of the Khans I feel like the fandom infantilizes or diminishes the fact that they are or at least one of the most violent raider groups in the Mojave.

What happened at Bitter Springs was a tragedy, innocent lives were lost and the fact that the NCR swept it under the rug and continued to hunt down Khans that are truly trying to back down and resettle is horrendous, but there is a history to the NCR's aggression towards them.

The Khans first appear in Fallout 1, the main faction of raiders in the game besides the mentioned Vipers (who don't actually appear if I remember correctly). They came from Vault 15 along with the members that would form rival groups; The Vipers, The Jackals, and Shady Sands. They are a very large and foreboding raiding party, known for burning towns and encampments they attack and taking survivors as their slaves or slaves to sell. They are a big reason why the Jackals and Vipers are actually so small in New Vegas, they wiped them out.

Their main targets where Shady Sands and Junker town, the former of the two would be what became The New California Republic. This explains a big part of their animosity towards the Khans, only furthered by the fact the Khans kidnapped Tandi as a young girl, the girl that would go to offically found the NCR out of Shady Sands. When the dweller saved her and killed much of the Khans, this allowed the NCR to develop into what it currently is as they no longer needed to focus on fighting off constant raids.

When the Khans became the New Khans in Fallout 2, they barely resembled the Khans as they were led by Darion, Garl Death-Hand's son (former leader of the Khans). They were smaller and refortified vault 15, still planning to take down the NCR (at this time nowhere near as imperialist as they are in FNV) as mostly a revenge/power ploy. They manipulate The Squat, a group of y'know squatters, that lived in the upper levels, promising and lying about repairing the vault and offering them ransacked caravan resources if they kept the NCR away. Being their only life line The Squat had no choice. Still the chosen one got rid of them and they left New California for the untapped Mojave.

The Great Khans, the most current iteration, continued in the path as the original Khans, regrouping and gaining information from the Followers who hoped they'd use their new medical knowledge to heal themselves. They gained more members and a substantial part of Vegas territory before they were run out by the three families. They were pushed to Bitter Springs where they first and foremost continued to pick off and attack NCR settlements, most of which consisted of caravans, towns, and camps as they saw them as easy like in their old days. It was the killing of four influential Republic members (non-military) that brought on Bitter Springs.

Bitter Springs was the result of years of hatred and animosity and likely the goal to send a final message to the Khans. It does not excuse the fact that innocent men, women, and children were slaughtered with few survivors. It does not excuse the fact that the NCR has yet to make amends for this and continues to try and persecute the Khans even in moments of surrender.

This post is not to defend what happened but to give a quick rundown of the Khan's history and their history with the NCR. It's to remind people that the NCR is not just their military power but an actual group/settlement of people that were also attacked indiscriminately by the Khans. It's to point out that the Khans were not a band of indigenous people (no matter the comparisons) driven from their homes but raiders who fed into the brutal cultures of the west coast wasteland and were in turn treated to the same things.

My frustration comes from the fact that FNV has so many comparisons to indigenous struggles but the groups it chooses are not comparable at all. Their oppression hinges on not being familiar with their past, which explains why they have the reputation they do in canon. The "tribes" are often not even groups of minorities or have goals/desires out of acquisitions of power and I feel like it is important to both acknowledge that this is bad indigenous rep because it is not supposed to be. It is supposed to be a comparison of the in-game groups and how they all do the same things and justify it in their own fucked up ways, some better at it than others.

FNV of all the Fallout games (in light of it being heavily Western based) distastefully uses indigenous imagery and theming for groups that are sad mimicries of American indigenous cultures at best and outright offensive at worst.

[old-skulls]

ngl im not very well versed in fallout lore and i’m highly confused by the use of “tribe/tribals” for both the very clearly native characters in honest hearts and also like. blond white chairmen

[bennymaxxing]

I think this is how honest hearts went right

[amechyofsorts]

You know you are in a bad place mentally when you fill out one of these fucking things.

[messyyythoughts]

the sands of Zion, part 1.

fallout: new vegas Joshua Graham x female courier reader

author’s note: OBVIOUSLY WILL HAVE SPOILERS FOR FALLOUT: NEW VEGAS, HONEST HEARTS DLC! summary: you need more time to think, being the decider of the fate of the Mojave and the Strip, and what’s one way to get more time? run away! you assist a small caravan to New Canaan, and everything is going smooth, until you enter Zion. warnings: typical fallout nv violence, what did you expect? ••●••••●••••●••

being the infamous Courier of the Mojave Desert was not something you often enjoyed. it came with more challenges than rewards, and caused more mess in your life than ever before. you wished you could remember back to when you weren’t holding this stupid platinum chip, that pretty much made you the sole deciding party in the fate and future of New Vegas. it felt as if the entire Mojave Desert was holding its breath in anticipation of your decision. well, you weren’t going to make that decision, at least not yet. you weren’t ready, you didn’t think you’d ever be ready, but a small part of you was pushing you to make that final decision soon. you had told yourself that this excursion to New Canaan was the last thing you did before getting your hands truly dirty with the dust and sweat of the Mojave. even as you met with Jed and sorted out your affairs before leaving, your mind was barking at you to turn around and sort out New Vegas first. but, you persisted, and found yourself on the road with no chance at turning back until the return journey. it was a good few weeks, there had been a few close calls but you had all banded together and protected one another admirably. late night campfires and early morning hikes created an unspoken bond within the group, and you found yourself enjoying it. you didn’t enjoy many things these days, being the person you were, so it was actually nice to forget temporarily about the stress and responsibility of New Vegas. it seemed as if reaching New Canaan was going to be achieved, much to Jed’s satisfaction, as the caravan descended into a canyon of red and orange rock, and dust. you had mistaken it for sand at first, a lingering reminder of your business back in the Mojave. with a sigh, you were the last one out of the cave, and fell behind to shake numerous amounts of rocks from your well worn leather boots. just as you had comfortably slipped the boot back on, shots rang out up ahead, and you heard Jed call out. you whipped your rifle from your back, looking down the sights, and seeing what could only be described as a tribal up on the cliffs raining gunfire down on the caravan up ahead. settling behind a rock in a crouched position, you aimed, and took down at least three before they realised where you were hiding. much to your annoyance and horror, they scrambled across and down the cliffs towards you, gaining ground steadily. you took down the rest, but one had slipped your sight, and scaled down the cliff to land behind you, landing a blow to your head and sending you sprawling forwards to the dust, or sand. your rifle clattered out of reach, setting your nerves on edge, as you only had a few other weapons on your person. the tribal was shouting, and you knew that it was not a language you had encountered before. the Mojave shared its collection of people who had their own dialects and accents, but this was entirely alien to you. a struggle ensued, with you pinned to the dust, and the tribal on top, fighting to get another blow to your head. you were too stubborn to let that happen, and too angry to think straight, so your adrenaline fuelled strength overpowered that of the tribal and you slammed them into the rock. they were shocked, but you didn’t give them time to come around, you landed several perfect blows to their face and threw them back to the dust, switching to your booted foot. precise kicks landed on the tribal’s back and ribs, and eventually they went still. you snatched your rifle up, and put one well aimed bullet in between the tribal member’s eyes for good measure. you happened to have first hand experience with surviving ambushes and shots to the head, so you did another to make sure. having narrowly escaped with your life, and not much else, you surveyed the damage done by the tribespeople. every single member of the original caravan was dead, they lay in the orange dust with bullet holes, and there was no saving any of them. with a heavy heart, you dragged their bodies out of view and took what you could scavenge from them. you went to walk back through the cave, and turned to your Pip Boy, only to see that the screen was dark. you gave it a few knocks to check it hadn’t just randomly turned off, and then sank to your knees when you realised it was truly busted. you let out a steady exhale, and stood back up, walking past the bodies of your caravan members, and crossing a rickety wooden bridge. still looking at your Pip Boy in utter dismay, you failed to notice a lone tribal about to take a shot at you, but before they could, another tribal took them out. you raised your rifle, steadying the scope, but saw that the surviving tribal had their hands up in surrender. you slowly watched them approach the end of the bridge, calling out to you. your gut said it was okay to lower the rifle, so you did, slowly. “hoo! that was close, you should be more careful.” that was your introduction to Follows-Chalk, a young member of the Dead Horses tribe in Zion, and a scout. it took some talking, but he had somehow convinced you to join him at his camp, and to meet his leader. he did not speak his leader’s name, which both intrigued and terrified you, but you had to assume there was a reason behind it. you exchanged conversation with Follows-Chalk as you went, listening to his advice, and warnings, of how to survive in Zion. nothing he said, however, could have prepared you for meeting his leader. ••●••••●••••●•• after reluctantly making polite and staggered conversation with the Dead Horse members, Follows-Chalk guided you into what he called Angels Cave. he did not take you all of the way inside, instead he waved you on all on your lonesome. with your rifle over your shoulder, you cautiously walked on, keeping an ear out for anyone up ahead. only one sound found your ears. the repetitive noise of guns being loaded. as you rounded the corner and entered the cavern, not a single thing on this scorched, God forsaken hell hole of an earth could have prepared you for the sight you faced. a man covered in bandages, wearing a white shirt and an old world police SWAT vest was sat at a table, meticulously inspecting .45 automatic pistols. the individual had blue eyes, not a striking blue, but a clear blue. it then occurred to you just who this might be. you’d heard the tales, the stories, the myths. the whispered warnings of what happened if you failed the Legion had been passed around for years. the reported NCR sniper shots of this man had been in the dozens, yet they had all been false. his only failure his entire life had been Hoover Dam, and that both amazed and sickened you. it was him who spoke first, to your surprise. you hadn’t expected him to give up any words without first pressuring you into speaking a few. “we should’ve given you a better welcome on your first visit to Zion, but from what I hear the White Legs beat us to it.” that voice. you could hear it for a hundred times and it would still send shivers right through you like you were made of glass. you hadn’t expected the voice of such a feared and legendary man to be so... bedroom like? there was simply no other explanation for it. “White Legs seem to be the only visitors we have these days, and I wouldn’t have expected anyone from the Mojave to come looking for us.” finally, he took you in. “and you’re a courier, no less.” that he was right about. “not the one I was expecting, but I suppose he wouldn’t have come with a caravan.” he added, a bit more solemn. you realised with a great crushing weight that he was giving you time to talk yourself. what was the best course of action here? explain yourself, greet him casually, pretend you had no idea who he was? surely he’d have some inclination that a visitor from the Mojave would know about him, so it wasn’t smart to lie. “I am a courier, but not the one you were expecting?” you finally said, trying not to sound as unsure as you felt inside. “I was expecting someone from Caesar’s Legion, he has sent them before. but, you don’t appear to be affiliated with them. are you?” he asked the question like it was a test, and you supposed it was. “I have no interest in Caesar unless it involves expelling him from New Vegas. he’s causing a lot of problems, as it would happen.” your heart was beating faster than you liked it, your body betraying your fear response. this man could put a bullet right between your eyes from where he was sat, and that would be the end of your second life. but, something told you it would be against his best interests to suddenly shoot you. he had the air of someone who held importance here in the Dead Horses camp, and you had an idea of why. Follows-Chalk had filled you in on the recent events in Zion with the White Legs being hostile and attacking the other tribes in raider fashion, and had informed you unknowingly that Joshua Graham was their acting war chief. “I see he continues to make enemies wherever he goes.” ‘well, you got that right, Joshua.’ you thought silently. you had to fight the growing urge to outright ask about the history Joshua and Caesar shared, what had really transpired after Hoover Dam, but held your tongue. that wasn’t important, you needed a way out of here and back to New Vegas, the Mojave, as soon as humanly possible. “I hate to be this way, but I’ve got some urgent business back in New Vegas. if someone could be kind enough to show me the way back, I’d be grateful, and I can compensate them.” Joshua did not pause for a moment in his process of checking his pistols. he simply gave you a single look before his eyes went back to what his hands were doing. “Daniel, another New Canaanite, has made many maps of the region. the bad news is that we can’t help you right now, not with everything that’s going on.” your heart sank, and you waited for the explanation as to why not a single soul in this vast place could show you to an exit that would bring you back to New Vegas. “even though you made your way in, there is no easy way back. without a map, you’ll die in the wilderness.” you glanced at your dead Pip Boy and realised he was right. even chancing the long journey back with the help of your Pip Boy would see you taking longer than if you had a guide, or a proper map of the area. you let your bag drop to the cave floor, and took off your worn brown cowboy hat. Joshua’s eyes flitted back to you, you had his attention. “I’m assuming that the White Legs tribe are the ones causing you trouble here in Zion, yes?” you asked, approaching Joshua’s table as you spoke. “well, seeing as you aren’t going to outright ask for my help, I’ll offer it. I will do what you need me to do in order to resolve the situation and get some assistance in returning to New Vegas. do we have a deal?” you were on the opposite side of the table to Joshua, palms flat and resting. Joshua’s eyes were fixed on your scarred hands, which you quickly pulled off of the table. “you are a good neighbour to us.” he said, nodding in agreement to your offer. a deal had been struck, and you were about to do anything to finish your end and get the hell out of here. ••●••••●••••●•• it had been a week of pure hell. there was no other way to accurately describe it. you’d trekked all over Zion on Joshua’s orders, with the occasional company of Follows-Chalk, to retrieve this and carry that. you’d met with Daniel and the Sorrows more times than you could count, too. your home base became the Dead Horses camp, but you were also welcome to sleep at the Sorrows camp if need be. you rarely spoke to Joshua for longer than a few minutes each evening to debrief him and receive your orders for the following day. it became a very professional relationship, partly because you were still wary of him, and partly because he was unsure how to approach you. you became close with Follows-Chalk, he often showed you shortcuts and hiding places around Zion. you taught each other tricks of survival each day, and when you weren’t together, you honestly missed his company. whenever you returned to the Dead Horses camp he welcomed you with a friendly hug, and you even took off your hat to talk to him, a rare gesture on your part. you didn’t even take your hat off to talk to Joshua, which he had noticed one evening when you finally emerged from the Eastern Virgin river, carrying a bag of things he had requested that you find. Follows-Chalk walked straight on over to you, and you stuffed your hat in your hand to welcome his hug. you neatly perched the hat back on your head, and filled Follows-Chalk in on your day. Joshua came to the conclusion that he hadn’t made much of an effort in getting to know you, and that was entirely his fault. truth be told, he was thinking about you sometimes when you were out in Zion, carrying out his orders. since he’d laid eyes on you, he knew you were someone special. maybe it was the way you looked, or your presence, or even your voice. that voice could talk to him for hours and he’d never tire of it, he thought. this thought often applied when you were exchanging stories with Dead Horse members around a campfire later into the evening, using Follows-Chalk as a translator. you were doing this very thing tonight, in front of Joshua. after you had finished telling this story, and left the members in entertained amazement, Joshua found a suitable spot next to you by the campfire and opened his book. you glanced over, and then he finally heard that voice speaking to him. “not that I’m being purposefully ignorant, but what exactly is that?” you asked, resting on one elbow on your side to escape the chatter of the others. you were completely facing him, attention drawn to his book. Joshua closed the book and placed it down in front of you. it read ‘The Book of Mormon’ on the battered leather cover, and you reached out to trace the lettering, the original colour long faded from use. “but what does it say inside?” you asked, to which Joshua flipped open the first few pages until it landed on one that was well thumbed. he obviously liked this one a lot. “will you read it to me? my eyes are too tired to focus on those tiny letters.” you said this with a warm smile, and surprise went across his face, but luckily you didn’t see it. you rested your head on your arm, and waited for him to start reading it. he did, and carried on at your request. he got through several pages until the campfire light became too low to see the words properly, and you thanked him for sharing his book with you. it was something simple, but it made his chest feel different, and it wasn’t the burns this time. as you settled into your sleeping bag for the remainder of the night, he found a question lingering on his tongue, but swallowed it instead. that was too forward of him, he’d only been in your company for a week, no less. if you happened to be here longer, maybe he would ask his question then. ••●••••●••••●•• despite the first week being hell, you carried on. you set a brutal pace, working like a dog, day and night. you reported everything to Joshua and only took breaks to hydrate or sleep. not a single person complained of your work, so you took it as you were doing a good job. that was until you were ambushed with Follows-Chalk, and you felt guiltier than ever before. you’d just finished looting an old world cabin, in the middle of nowhere, but obviously Follows-Chalk knew where you were. you had a bag full of things needed for the Dead Horses and Sorrows, and you were almost home, when Follows-Chalk went still and silent. you ceased all movement and your talking, reaching to your back for your rifle. Joshua had actually inspected it recently and given it a free once over. you found that it worked very well now, even better than before. Follows-Chalk went to signal something to you when a shot rang out, and blood splattered across your face. you grabbed Follows-Chalk, throwing him beneath you behind some shrubs, and saw a clean bullet wound through the shoulder. “it’s gone through the shoulder, but don’t move. I’ll get us out of here.” you had your rifle in hand, and spotted who had shot at you. White Legs, camping up in the cliffs, waiting. they’d been getting bolder and more violent with each encounter, it felt like, and the other Dead Horses scout reports seemed to feel the same. you started picking them off, one by one, as they revealed themselves. Follows-Chalk covered you from behind, but the White Legs had positioned themselves poorly in one concentrated mass, supposedly for a large ambush once you two had walked underneath them. you were in the process of reloading when a few lone White Legs started cropping up, having scaled down the cliffs to search for you and Follows-Chalk. you crawled deeper into the bushes, covering Follows-Chalk with your body in case they started firing, but they walked straight past. you were about to whisper something to Follows-Chalk when the bushes shook and a White Legs grabbed you from behind, hauling you out of the shrubbery and into the open. there were three of them remaining, and one of you. your rifle was still in the bushes, and with Follows-Chalk’s injury he wasn’t in any state to be using a rifle accurately. knowing this, you made an effort to escape the hold of the White Legs member who had a tight hold of your hair and the back of your neck. you managed to hook one of you legs behind theirs, and sent them sprawling across the dust. in the confusion, you charged at the other two, taking one down with you and then flipping them on top of you to use them as a human shield. it worked, as the other White Legs open fired at you. blood splattered and leaked all over you from the bullet holes, and the heat making the blood run quicker. that familiar tang of metal filled your senses, and you felt that switch into fight or flight finally happen. fight was obviously the chosen mode. you kicked the body of the White Leg member away, and tackled the next one who held the gun. you wrestled for control, and you were pointing the barrel to the sky when the White Leg fired several times and ran out of bullets. you wrenched the empty gun free, threw it aside and resorted to beating the White Leg down with your fists, sending small splatters of blood across the dust, or sand (you still hadn’t decided if this stuff was dust or sand yet). you felt rough hands haul you up, and you made hard contact with the ground, facing the White Leg who had found you in the bushes. they went to bash your head in with a club, but you rolled, and they missed. on your knees, you dug your small knife from your boot and plunged it into the White Legs torso. they stumbled, dropping the club, which you grabbed and swung upwards with. it made a sickeningly loud crack upon contact, and knocked them out cold. they might’ve died on impact or they might die later from head trauma, you didn’t have time to stop and check. you retrieved your knife, and held the club steady in your other hand. blood that wasn’t yours ran down your face, sticky and hot. the remaining alive White Legs member was writhing on the ground in pain. you had knocked out several of their teeth, after all. you sheathed the knife in your boot, and raised the club, bringing it down once with a crack and watching the blood pour from the broken nose it left behind. with all three White Legs dealt with, you abandoned the club, and ran back to the bushes where Follows-Chalk was hidden. you slung your rifle over your back, and helped him up, but the blood he was losing was worrying you. he leaned on your for support at first, but by the time you had reached the entrance to the Eastern Virgin river, he had completely passed out. your heart was loud in your ears like the rush of your feet in the river that disturbed the still nighttime air. you carried him determinedly all the way, cursing the White Legs as you went. the water seemed to be fighting against you as you waded, but when you rounded the corner and saw the camp alight with campfires and burning torches, you called out. several Dead Horses members came rushing to you, and took Follows-Chalk out of your arms. there wasn’t much else you could do but stand there in the river, watching as they carried him inside the cave in a flurry of shouts and cries. you removed your hat, and before you could stop yourself, fell to your knees in utter guilt and shame. he’d been hurt because he was with you. if he was on his own, or here in camp, he might’ve lived through tonight unharmed. water was soaking your lower half, but you couldn’t find a reason to care. something that surprised you was the tears that came to your eyes, you wiped them away but they kept coming. you hadn’t cried in a... very long time. even back in the Mojave there wasn’t time to cry, not even for a moment, but out here in the expanse of Zion, there seemed to be just a few moments where you let the tears fall. you looked up at the sound of water splashing, meaning footsteps, and saw Joshua approaching. you realised with a start that you had left the bag behind! you swore internally before going to get up and return to the scene of your crime. “are you alright?” Joshua reached you in the water as you stood, and you remembered the blood. “it isn’t mine, it belongs to a group of White Legs that ambushed us.” you cupped your hands in the cold water and splashed it onto your face, knowing that it wouldn’t do anything to wash it all away. your hat was lying abandoned in the water somewhere, probably about to float downriver. your body stilled as you lost all motivation to move. if Follows-Chalk died tonight, that was on you. Joshua took a few steps closer, and then bent down to you, dipping his bandaged hands into the water. not a single word could explain the feeling of his fingertips lifting your face to the moonlight, as he scrubbed the blood away. your eyes caught for a moment before you forced yours closed, shame filling your face. neither of you spoke words, there was just the sounds of the river around you that filled the heavy silence. sometimes your breathing got heavy as the adrenaline left your system, but Joshua never commented on it. he pulled his hands away from your face once it was clean, and damp with river water to cool you down. you hadn’t moved an inch as he’d held your face, a small part of you wished you had more blood and dirt for him to scrub away so he would stay a bit longer. “are you alright?” he asked again, not letting his earlier question go unanswered. “no, I’m not.” you answered truthfully. “I want to kill them all.” you said softly, almost like it was a dark, dirty secret. but he understood you completely, and sympathised with your mindset. “I... also left the bag behind.” you added, letting out a tired sigh. “will he be okay? the bullet went through, but the blood loss was...” Joshua offered you a hand and you both stood up in the river, water sloshing around your feet. “they will do everything they can for him. the bag isn’t a concern now, you both being safe is.” you nodded, looking around for your hat, and realising that it had definitely escaped downstream. “come to the cave, be by his side.” Joshua said, before letting go of your hand from his. you hadn’t even clocked that he’d been holding it since you’d stood up. “my hat went downstream, I’ll be right back.” you gave him a smile that hid your intentions as you started wading down the river to retrieve your hat, and then find the rest of those White Legs. ••●••••●••••●••

messyyythoughts © 2022 do not translate without my permission, give credit if you repost, support always welcomed <3

[fatnutswizard]

That's just a guy. Please say psyche.

[newvegascowboy]

Can we concept a community rewrite of HH where the Sorrows and Dead Horses (especially Waking Cloud) beat the shit out of Crispy Josh and Danny

I'm not indigenous, so my first order of business would be contacting indigenous creators and asking how they would better handle the tribal aspect of HH. I believe the tribe in HH are the Dine people. As much as beating the shit out of Oily Josh and Danny would be paramount to a good rewrite of HH, that can't be appropriately done without confronting the racism present in the DLC itself.

I would have the Dead Horses and the Sorrows likely allow Joshua and Daniel sanctuary out of the kindness of their hearts, who are rapidly growing weary of being preached to and converted - perhaps also because they know it could come with a slow cultural death. AWARE of the colonial aspect of having two white, christian missionaries in their midst trying to preach to their children and their young folk.

I wouldn't shy away from the Mormon opinion of indigenous people, either. (In mormon lore, the native americans are 'lamanites' cursed by god for turning away from him. the curse was dark skin. If they converted, their skin would become 'white and delightsome.' yeah, fun religion). Really got push HOME the fact that Josh and Daniel are not there to do any good. They are causing harm.

I'd also make Joshua more overtly villainous. Something something, wrath of god - make it clear that siding with him is the bad decision. You can either kill him or not - there is the aspect of falling into the Savior trope as the player character yourself, which I don't know how to fix. Though it certainly would be a fun ending for the Sorrows and Dead Horses to band together and give Josh and Daniel his own little James Cook sendoff.

[itsskoll]

I have many thoughts on how Legion territories are run and like... the politics and ranks outside of the main military. Priestesses, merchants, stuff like that. And like, I feel like some drugs and alcohol are allowed amongst the citizenship, just not in the army itself. 

Lamenting that I lost the legionpropaganda url bc it’s attached to an account I no longer have access to

[bellonathedragonborn]

Always found it kind of funny but sad that Randall Clark wanted the Sorrows to explore the caves and learn the truth about him but he forgot to disarm the traps around the place resulting in the Sorrows getting hurt which made later generations think he punished them resulting in them never finding the truth.

[gobspeaks]

Molerat disease :(

[elizais]

arguments and make ups

when he realises he fucked up,, -dazai x gn reader warnings: nothing too specifically mentioned that you are arguing over

proper fallouts with dazai were uncommon. little bickers were bound to happen yet this had spiraled a little from something you just wanted to ask about. you were asking a genuine question over god knows what, it had been a long day for the both of you and sarcastic answer after sarcastic answer had put you both on your last straws.

stood in the kitchen, he was still joking around and it was frustrating. he's a man too smart for his own good, yet he hadn't realised that you were tired and didn't want to drag anything on. sighing, you pinched the bridge of your nose for a moment and looked at him.

"no, osamu, it's not-" you spoke, yet he only heard those 4 painful words. you don't call him that. you don't call him osamu. you call him 'samu or something sweet only he can hear. he became instantly lost in his own thoughts, staring off into space and you saw he wasn't listening to your point.

groaning, you walked into the bedroom. neither of you even remembered why or when this started. he stood there, knowing his sweet nothings wouldn't get him out of this situation. he should have just given you the answer straight up and not wind you up like he would for amusement any other day.

nobody ever called him osamu, at work he was dazai, chuuya called him an array of insults and at home he was 'samu. for someone so clever, and who always has a plan, he would have never planned to upset you. his mind began a competition of what voice inside his head could say 'no' the loudest to every possible solution he came up with.

if he was thinking rationally, he would have known you just wanted two peaceful minutes after a stressful day. he waited until he could hear you turn the shower on before quietly leaving the house after taking some leftovers out of the fridge for you to see when you come out to eat.

he wandered up and down yokohama's streets a little, feeling regretful. he knew you wouldn't hold a grudge but he wasn't going to forgive himself. you always treated him so well, never making him feel like a 'demon prodigy' or half of the 'double black' duo, and you unknowingly proved odasaku wrong. he always thought of how oda's words that claimed "there is no place in this world that can fill your loneliness" died the moment he met you.

osamu checked the time, thinking he should head back. he knew it would take more than a silly keychain of toro inoue to save his case yet he still bought one as he passed a corner shop.

arriving back home, you walked out of the bathroom door as he took off his shoes. he quickly shrugged off his coat and rushed towards you, pressing a chaste kiss to your hairline with a whisper of "give me 5 minutes, love." and hurrying to the bedroom and bathroom to get changed and have a shower - knowing it will boost his chances of getting you to cuddle with him as he apologises.

scrolling on your phone on the couch, you heard soft footsteps plodding over. a man who resembled an ashamed dog with his tail between his legs carefully sat down next to you. not looking up from your phone, you could feel his sorrow radiating off of him.

"darling, you know i-" you cut him off, "'samu, it's just been a long day." you responded calmly, looking up at him before a faint smile tugged at his lips. he could tell you were feeling better and wrapped his arms around you. falling down so that his back was laying on the couch and holding you on top of him.

"i'm sorry" he sprinkled in hundreds of times through peppered kisses on your head. giggles filled the room as he wriggled you around, smiling and forgetting about a silly frustration.

whoops!! accidentally forgot this is a blog with silly little fanfictions - consider this an apology pretty pleaseeee also: sorry for not chatting with my mutuals recently! life got in the way and shit hit the fan for a second!!

[whoyacallinyellow]

To The Fallen

Charles Smith x F! reader

Spoilers: major RDR2 events Content: 18+ mdni, m/f smut, drunk sex, angst, tension, possessive, canon typical events / violence, possible unintentional spelling mistakes Type: second pov (wc - 3693) / pc: pinterest

Summary: After the gang’s downfall, you join Charles on his endeavors. While roughing it in the woods, you convince him to share a drink with you…

“C’mon Charles, live a little.” 

You encouraged the man, sat upon a log as he tended to the small campfire you shared. He sighed at your relentless begging, gazing at you over the orange flames. Truly torn, he hated to turn you down, but your safety was more important than your idea of a good time. 

“What if something happens?— besides, someone needs to take care of you.” 

The man reasoned with your buzzed mind, gesturing towards the half empty glass you cradled on your knee. 

Your eyes followed him as he joined you, carefully studying his every step before he sat next to you, tobacco leeching off his clothes and filling the air. 

“It’ll be fine.” You reassured softly, watching him glance longingly into the flames once again. His eyes carried a certain sorrow that did not leave since Beaver Hollow. Apathy had stuck to Charles like a ball and chain, burying his friends was a pastime he did not favor, with Arthur being the final nail in the coffin. 

After the fallout of the gang, the two of you spent your time roughing it in sticks, you reckoned somewhere between Canada and northern United States. You felt as if it were the smartest move to be as far away as possible, while Charles was a man who did not like running. He was fully aware the severity of his actions came with a big price— but he was willing to compromise for you. 

Charles always seemed to know what to do, and where to go. He found refuge in your company and trust, the close bond you shared only flourished after being by your lonesome. The man wouldn’t want it any other way, sometimes pondering where he would be, or what he would be doing without you. The doubts he kept quiet and buried deep often resurfaced the moments he was reminded how sweet on you he was. 

“You could use one.” You continued, placing a small hand on his knee with the attempt to break his trance. You so desperately wished to lend him a penny for a thought, but your attempts usually went nowhere. 

The man huffed in defeat, encapsulating his hand over yours tenderly. 

“Maybe just one.” 

Charles reluctantly agreed, his words barely finished before you filled his unused glass with a much needed relaxation aid. 

You scooted closer as a Canadian breeze whipped past, which made his grasp slip politely around you. The man’s arm alone somehow carried more warmth than any blanket could give you. Or perhaps it was the security he offered with each touch.  

“Uh— to the fallen.” 

You propose awkwardly, raising your glass lazily to the man who met you with a stupid smirk. 

With your tipsy state being more than amusing to the outlaw, your words would be teased and mocked in the morning, in addition to gentle kisses as compensation— if you were lucky. 

“To good health, my girl.”  

He compromised huskily, his words presenting a much more giddy side which had been long erased with time. Charles lounged in the moment, the drink would allow a disconnect from his thoughts, unwilling to think about the gang under the grip of a bottle. 

You took his offer with a small clink, the contents of his glass sloshing and spilling into yours. 

Charles always knew you had his best interest in mind, the same he held for you. And with everything that happened in the past year, maybe he’s been too uptight and miserable. He reasoned that self reflection would come after a night of fun, maybe he did need this. 

The night seemed to slip from his grasp after that point. His incoherent banter blew through the trees and vacant wilderness, undoubtedly scaring any animal or man for miles. Charles would often lean against you for temporary support, his hand sneaking through your inner thigh, and lingering for a moment to prop himself upright before continuing his casual slurs. The bottle loosened his tongue more than you expected, allowing him to exaggerate a memory or two. 

You have not seen the man wear such a toothy grin since Sean was rescued, a celebration where he took the liberty of more than one drink. As you walked past the rowdy group by the fire, he would match Sean and Karen by pulling you onto his lap. A drunken stunt he would never dare pull sober in front of the others, denying every bit of the scandal once teased the day after. His leg would bounce effortlessly to the music beneath you, wobbling you tightly to his chest. All you could think about was the stubble of his chin digging into your shoulder, the way his fingertips treaded dangerously close to your waist—as if he was taunting you. His hard bulge you rested on would go unacknowledged by the man as he bounced his leg, but not you.

It was a sick game he played and perhaps enjoyed a little too much, testing your willpower for him every moment available.  

Charles’ one ended up being your three, his glass being long retired in favor of the bottle, swaying between his fingers as he nursed it sporadically. 

As the man went over the deep end you just spectated, you figured the least you could do was take care of him for one night, as he does for you every other. One night off was the very least he deserved. 

“S’enough now, reckon you oughta sleep.” 

Your words interrupted Charles, an unmistakable hum rattling through his chest. It hurts you how much the gang lived within the man, even while blackout drunk, Javier’s rhythms that played years ago flowed through him. 

You arose stiffly to your feet, which the man unsteadily followed, his arms swaying and outstretched to recoup some balance. 

The fire had died down along with his energy, Charles’ half-lidded eyes wandered, barely illuminating off the flame. 

Your unexpected touch at the man’s nether region triggered his reflex with a stagger as you unclasped his taut gun belt. Relieving him of today's responsibilities. 

“Oh hush,” 

You murmured, your concentration ignoring his sudden silence. 

Glancing up at the man who towered over you was now stiff as a board, arms hung by his sides as he stared back directly into your soul. 

His lips parted ever so slightly, but nothing came out besides a sigh, the bottle dulling his expression, but emphasizing fervency. 

All Charles could do was stare, his mind clouding over his better judgment— the thought of you seemed to do that often. 

He remembered a particularly sunny day at Clemons Point, a job gone not to plan. You tended to the man’s wounds as he recovered in a cot. Your eyes heavy and looming over each part of his injured body, a sense of worship you held for his temple he simply did not. White bandages decorated his torso and bicep, a familiarity with his body and scars that only you held. The sacredness and safety your touch gave him made his pride not allow anyone else to see him in such a way, not that he would ever tell you. 

You would not speak while focusing on him, not even to ask for an explanation of the wounds. But your vibrant presence would keep him company in the midst of your silence. 

The feeling would eventually leave him as you wandered off, he would watch your figure lingering in the distance, pondering while gazing off the beautiful lands camp offered you. Your apprehensive mannerisms worried the man, which he mistook as forlornness. Charles would justify the scenarios, a double edged sword he deemed to be second nature— you knew what type of man he was. 

You would bide your time against a nearby tree in eyeshot of the cot, ensuring his peace. But would return before too long, your eyes slightly uplifted in spirit. Once again presenting Charles with the same feeling he had before you left the tent. 

Perched up on the barrel level with the cot, the back of your delicate hand would linger on his forehead before caressing down his scuffed cheek, the same touches his mother would give him as a boy. 

Your silence was louder than any words you could have said, you loved him and he always knew.

—

“M’sorry.”

The man uttered after a needy kiss. Insincerity snuck upon his lips, unsure of what exactly he was apologizing for— was it to you? Or was it guilt of the broken man he’s become?— when exactly did he dismiss the morals he subscribed to? 

Now laying in the tent you shared, your lust for him kept him far from his drunken mind, his pants you had undone tempted his desires over redemption. Charles somehow held no recollection of your hands working down there.

Once again your silence was louder than words, fingertips tracing gingerly over his bulge. Subtly begging him to give into his desires, give into you. Charles always had different plans for your first time together, but the past years haven’t been kind, making the time never right— he never once considered taking you while a drunken idiot. 

But your body would soon be consumed by that very same desire, he would only leave your lips momentarily while clothes were kicked off. 

The unsuitable lighting made the man rely on his hands, touches that were a test of how well he knew your body, by now considering it an extension of himself. 

“Charles,” 

His name deliciously exhaled from your lips at the slightest feel of him. Your voice saying his name in such a manner forever burnt a mark into his mind. You molded into every touch of his, which only encouraged his high. His calloused fingertips ran from your hip bones to your breasts, touching the off guard parts of you to everyone but him. 

“Yeah?” 

Charles eventually answered, his gruff voice lowly exiting his chest with an unforeseen force. 

Stroking himself, the man positioned at your entrance, his tip preparing you extensively. Charles’ neck craned back as pleasure began to soar through him, a sharp sigh being exerted at the slightest feel of himself in you. 

“Think you can take me?”

Less of a question, the man wondered out loud through a slur. The syllables lazily slid off his tongue as he teased his head back and forth through your heat. His jaw had gone slack from a combination of ecstasy and concentration, your wetness and anticipation only grew with each of his strokes. 

He hoped to get more noise from you. So desperately wanting you to be loud for him, no camp, no one to worry about— just you. You were his one and only focus, as it should have been from the start. 

Your silence was temporary, captivated by your lover teasing you between your legs. 

“Go on then,” 

Your voice came out as a pitiful whine, a beg of yours he would not take lightly. 

The large man hummed through his amusement and pleasure, his hands covering every area of skin he could on you. Scooting you closer to his preference came with ease, his pull on your hips united your thighs to his. With how light and sweet Charles’ casual touches were, you sometimes forgot how strong the man really was. 

“Charles!”

Your frustrated moan was music to his ears, it broke through the man’s clouded brain like the sound of a gunshot. A distracted hand was still placed on the base of his cock, threading it through your lips in awe. 

“Okay— ok, sweet girl, don’t know if I’ll fit s’all.”

He contemplated out loud, his voice remained low and primal, glossed over drunken eyes lustfully staring into yours, a hint of playfulness being held within the brown wells.

It was the same look they held the day of your hunting trip for Mr. Pearson. You insisted on joining Charles, less to assist and more to loiter and encourage the man. A simple and innocent request he would never refuse. You held onto his torso as he rode Taima, to his dismay your hands would wander further, and further down, until resting prettily on either side of his groin. You would see the man headbob towards the saddle, infatuated with both your boldness and touch— needless to say, you both returned to camp empty handed that day. 

—

The wind that rippled through the tent canvas sent chills through your bones, your naked frame being consumed by goosebumps which the man took humor in. His rough fingertips wasted no time fiddling with your nipples before covering you with his body. Finally exchanging his body heat with yours that would not be needed for long. 

Now fixated on your upper body, it did not take him long to cover you in his hungry mouth, his shaft still grinding against your lips as he eagerly thrusted, barely touching your entrance with each movement. 

Taking matters into your own hands, your patience grew thin, reaching down and directing the man where you needed him. 

The abrupt contact caused spots to flood in vision, Charles’ pleasure and whiskey filling his palette in a way he did not know possible. A part of him wasn’t sure if he would be able to stop after taking you, afraid he would accidentally hurt you in his drunken stupor. His lack of control over his dire state only showed the desperateness Charles usually hid from you. 

Your fingers laced around the man’s bare chest, little nothings you would mumble as you took his length. Charles still doesn’t know what got into him, all the pent up desire for you finally being spent with a slow and powerful thrust that swooped to your core. Despite his eagerness and your moans, he somehow mustered up enough composure to allow you to get used to his size. 

“So tight for me,”

Was all the man grunted through his drunken lust, he thought you took his size so well for him, almost as if you were made for him as a lover. 

Your fingernails that dragged along his back earned you some groans and abrupt movements that were particularly passionate.  

Hearing him in such a worked up manner only made you tighter around him. It was enough to nearly make the man lightheaded as pleasure roamed throughout the tent. 

Words weren’t needed for Charles to understand that your desperation was mutual to his. Your walls continued to grow wet and clench around him with every adjustment and word of his, making a mess of the bedrolls beneath you both. 

“You should’ve took me that night— at Shady Belle.”

Your unsteady words momentarily stopped the man in his tracks. His body frozen atop of yours as he mentally mapped out just how long you’ve been wanting him this way. 

Charles remembered the look you gave him as he peeled off the layers of his bank heist clothing, gun belt falling to his ankles with a clank. He was the only man to return from Saint Denis that night. You followed him around camp like a lost dog, eyes glued to him, silently begging for an ounce of him. You always knew if any man were to return from a botched heist, it would be Charles Smith. 

Your need for him then would go unfulfilled, his large hands lingered lovingly on your waist everytime he rushed past you to assist what was left of the gang, as if he silently acknowledged your desperation. Charles always carried that sense of urgency and composure you did not— he was the last man with a lick of leadership, afterall. 

You wore a similar look now, needy and willing.  

A lazy chuckle filled the tent before he planted a sloppy kiss on your lips, feeling your breath quiver against him was a reminder to continue. 

“Should’ve said, my girl.” 

Charles rebutted simply, allowing your moans to once again fill his ears as he moved swiftly but rhythmically. 

After all this time Charles knew what kind of lover he wanted to be for you, in his mind he earned you and your desire to be with him in such a way. Which meant you deserved to experience your importance and much more. 

Sensual and with purpose—at least for the first time. Each of his actions would show how much you meant to him. Charles thought about it more than he would like to admit, the days you would patch him up only encouraged the back door thoughts of showering your body in his devotion, your lingering touch merely drove those thoughts further. 

But the whiskey consumed his prior plans of reverence, only to reveal how badly he needed this— how badly he needed you. 

Every last bit of his self-control was thrown out the tent along with your clothes, discarded in the dirt by the fire.  

His hands gripping whatever skin of yours he could, small marks of his fingertips peppered on you, further demonstrating the long overdue tension he held prior to taking you. 

Lips and tongue that traveled on your breasts occasionally came with teeth, his excitement winning and the principals he usually held washed away with the prior drinks you shared. 

These marks the man would notice in the morning, guilt and embarrassment surging through him while planting soft kisses upon the possessive marks— Did he hurt you? Was he too rough?— Was he foolish?— he doesn’t remember, his head hurts. Your words of praise would feel just as genuine as it did the night prior, reassuring the man you enjoyed him just fine.

Your touch ghosted down his chest and to his bucking hips, tracing the muscles that flexed with each thrust. Both of your thighs now sopping, Charles let out a low moan, his stomach knotting and quivering under your spell. He guided your hands back up, not wanting to reach his peak quite yet, and your excessive touch would overstimulate him to that point. 

“Easy now.” 

Charles whispered, his voice gravelly and hoarse, a vague warning which slipped from his lips as smooth as the booze went down. The man knew you were close under his control, and how malleable you were only drove him closer to the edge. 

His braided hair had gracefully come undone from the intimacy, loose strands both dangling over your bare skin and sticking to his shoulders. 

Your body quivered beneath him, sensing your climax was near with excessive moans and breaths you gave him. Hearing you moan his name fully unleashed would replay in his mind for days to come, your pretty lips trembling was a sight for sore eyes. Hoisting himself back to his knees, his bottom lip slid between his teeth, rubbing your clit while he admired how you gripped his cock. So trusting, so excited, so wet, and it was all for him? 

His thrusts became more attentive, each one pressing and lingering deep within you, his back arching to meet your pelvis, ensuring no part of his length went neglected. 

If Charles didn’t know any better, he would have lingered in you a moment longer before finishing, basking in the pleasure your high presented him with. The same high he has been subconsciously chasing since Clemons Point. But instead his shaft planted onto your stomach as he climaxed, animalistic groans exiting the man as he marked you. 

Your lover’s chest heaved, lingering momentarily as he finished. Both soaked and relieved, he weakly lowered for yet another soft kiss. His necklace and hair tickling your collarbone as he recovered from his high. 

The mind fog prevented any sort of disruption of his focus on you. Charles studied your torso as you recovered yourself, the small faded scar he stitched up for you back in Colter now glistened under his love for you, it seemed so long ago to the man. He never once thought in this lifetime the girl he saved from a seemingly fatal stomach wound would be the same stomach covered in his seed. 

“‘Look real sweet like that.” 

He hummed, pride and satisfaction littering his tone. His voice rumbled in his chest, presenting signs of sobering up after his chase. 

“Oh?” Your lips formed into an amused grin, staring at your tired lover laying beside you, his toned figure barely visible in the tent besides the glossy formations of sweat beading down his chest. His dark eyes still hooked onto the mess he created on you.  

“Real sweet.” 

The man affirmed gently, figuring he would put you out of your misery and clean you off. 

How whipped was Charles? He could not tell. Every kiss you would give him later that night threw him over the moon. Your fingertips soothingly outlined the scar on his jaw as he held you tightly, your frame curled within his, thighs that pressed against him unknowingly gave him a certain friction that begged him for another round. 

But he decided you needed the rest, as he felt there would be more where tonight came from. He would make it up to you then. 

The embers cracked in front of your tent, with the trees swaying the distance, the white noise was enough to lull you to a slumber. But the man forced himself awake just moments longer to experience you. Relishing in a feeling he never wanted to leave him. Charles wished the night lasted a little longer, as he did with most good things he was fortunate enough to have come his way. He always wondered what he did to deserve those things, especially with all the sins under his belt. 

He felt as if he were sinking, or spinning, maybe it was spinning, his fingertips tapped rhythmically down your spine in his subconscious state, gaining your attention. 

“Sleep with me.” 

You cooed against his chest, words he could barely make out from your state of delirium. 

The man kissed your forehead in response, his mind that tried running off into the night was anchored back to you. Like most things were.  

Your wish was Charles' command, and he knew it would be the beginning of many more.   

~

[punkpandapatrixk]

❤️‍🩹Finding Love ☆ Timeless Tarot Guidance

Elements/Signs in this reading are calibrated to all aenergetic placements. Feel free to read as many Elements/Signs as you feel called to at this point in your spiritual evolution♡

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

You want to see how a nation falls? First, make sure every family unit is fucked. The foundation of the beginning of a ruined society is a dysfunctional family unit. A household that is lacking warmth and affection is a breeding house for psychopaths…or sure-victims of them. How is this not obvious to everybody? Well, in our case, I guess the Boomerangs just didn’t care…enough?

An entire generation of selfish psychopaths preoccupied with order and rules, obsessed with the idea of a ‘perfect image’ even at the cost of the authenticity of their children’s Souls. Tell me if they ain’t breeding new generations of psychopaths? But…who fucked the Boomerangs in the first place? And who had fucked the generation that fucked the Boomerangs? 考えきれない。There’s no end to thinking about it. But!

Not all hope is lost. For we have us—OURSELVES! You, who are reading this, who are blessed with this peculiarly RARE thing in the world: self-awareness. That you’re curious about the roots of your sorrow; that you’re trying to be better; that you’re willing to face your own demons so you grow in character, all because you care enough not to perpetuate the cycle.

There is Hope is us. In people like you and I. For this spiritual work alone, you are going to be blessed with the utmost beautiful Love, first, by finding it inside of yourself~

☆♪°・. aenergetic companion PAC ☆♪°・.

[PAG Masterlist] [Patreon] [Paid Readings]

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Finding Love for 🐞Fire Signs - Silver Alchemist (Ramon Llull)

5 of Cups, Queen of Wands, XIX The Sun

You know, Fire Signs are passionate. So passionate they often get way too invested in whatever matters to them. That’s why when betrayal or any other kind of a fallout happens, they find it so difficult to calm down, let alone move on from. I want you to know this isn’t a failure of your character or anything like it, not necessarily, no. You care. And that’s a wonderful thing. And it genuinely, usually, takes A LOT to finally get a Fire Sign to stop caring.

That’s the one thing about you: PASSION. Within the context of this reading, could it be that you’ve been putting your passion on the wrong things, the wrong people? Because you’re not a quitter, right? Maybe you’ve had this tendency of wanting to make sure things work out; after all, you’ve invested so much into this thing, project, people, whatever. Not quitting on the wrong things will only drain you of high-vibrational, positive spiritual aenergy left in you, babe. Then…frustrations and sadness are just going to drain you of more physical energy.

Low energy also makes people irritable, unmotivated and non-optimistic, right? Let not the harshness of your connections with people dim your natural brightness. What’s really important to figure out now is how you can shift your focus on being passionate about things, places, work, and people that truly, truly, bring joy and sunshine into your Life~

'Daughter. Spend your life Loving. Not seeking Love. Ocean need not seek water.' – Dr Jaiya John

Oracle Guidance for Fire Signs🔻❤️

🐏Aries – Priestess of Fortune

🦁Leo – Priestess of Integrity

🎠Sagittarius – Priestess of Opulence

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Finding Love for 🐍Earth Signs - Silver Magus (Merlin)

XV The Devil Rx, 7 of Cups Rx, VI The Lovers Rx

I tend to think that Earth and Water Signs are the TRUE psychopaths of the zodiac LMAO Underdeveloped Taurus, Virgo and Caps are so incredibly selfish and self-centred that they make human interactions such a misery business. And due to the nature of their Earthy-ness—meaning they can be quite hard to shake—Earth Signs can be quite bigoted about certain viewpoints they hold. Within the context of this reading, Earth Signs literally make a hell out of their very own existence through their inability to connect human-to-human with other…humans.

Or is it really an inability? Is it not simply a refusal? An Earth Sign must ponder this upon itself. Maybe you’ve been in refusal to be more empathetic because it is paramount to be empirical in any situation? Perhaps you’re the type of person that values objectivity above all forms of subjectivity? But the Human experience is subjective. Approaching all types of human connection with an eye of business or with the mind of an objective researcher will only hinder your capacity for real empathy.

The Human experience is an empathetic experience. People feel things and sometimes those feelings are heavy and burdensome and they get the better of us—that’s just the reality of being alive XD If you could give yourself the grace of a more subjective point of view when viewing yourself and the many experiences you go through, then maybe it will be that much easier to notice how other people also base their decisions for forming connections through a very subjective lens—and you will see that being this way creates a more true bond between people.

Does all this sound too subversive for logical Earth Signs? XD

The Problem With Being Too Logical in Love by The School of Life

Oracle Guidance for Earth Signs🔻💚

🐂Taurus – Priestess of Luck

🧘🏻‍♀️Virgo – Priestess of Magick

🐐Capricorn – Priestess of Clarity

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Finding Love for ⛲Air Signs - Red Alchemist (John Dee)

XVII The Star, Ace of Cups, 3 of Cups Rx

The Star is associated with Aquarius, right? Whoa, the epitome of Human intelligence :D Air Signs are intelligent and very interested in people—in human relations and understanding what makes people tick. That’s why Air Signs make the best friends and confidants…as long as they don’t run their mouths hahah Now that is a matter of character. What kind of person are you in your friend group(s)? Do you play different characters in different groups? Sounds like a lot of fun XD

Air Signs do tend to have (or belong to) different groups of people depending on function. It’s very interesting. Air Signs can be the glue that connects different groups of people who, without Air Sign, would never have come into contact with one another. Gemini is the fun-loving funny member of a group. Libra is a charming diplomat who’s considerate towards everybody. Aquarius is the pioneering CEO who gets everybody working towards a goal. Ideally, well-developed Air Signs would be these things :D

You should really value this unique intelligence of yours that has the power to eradicate all crazy unreasonable differences in the world, you know. You of all people, I’m very certain, have this keen ability to get to the roots of everybody’s mental problems. After all, you are mental. Air Signs usually don’t get a lot of credits for being empathetic or whatever and that’s true for the most part. But what you do have is this INTEREST in people, and that’s good enough for starters XD It makes you a good person, you know.

Literally, you’re the type that can make friends with just about anybody. You are polite and charming—and those with Venus here are often very beautiful, too!

Oracle Guidance for Air Signs🔻💙

👯Gemini – Priestess of Healing

⚖️Libra – Priestess of Ritual

🏺Aquarius – Priestess of Abundance

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Finding Love for 🐝Water Signs - Green Astronomer (Nicolaus Copernicus)

VII The Chariot, 3 of Swords, Queen of Cups Rx

Hey, what is your Truth? What experiences and emotions have shaped the being that you are today? Do you know for sure? Have you analysed all the feelings you’ve ever struggled with, as well as those that make you realise, Life truly is worthwhile? It’s those moments you’re reminded of what’s good about your Life that you feel gratitude, isn’t it so? Alongside nostalgia and the desire to return to a much simpler time. Time when feelings were a lot easier to process, perhaps. But Life, and this world, needs to keep going on as per Universal Mandate.

What’s left in the past can still be regenerated in the future and it can get even better, too—now that you’ve grown up. Now that you’ve healed a little, or a lot. Heartbreaks with Water Signs always heal when we return to the pool of our authenticity, located deep in the core of our being. Therein lies the tears and the beauty that make you such a deeply compelling character to converse with. If Humans aren’t ready to listen to your truths, write about them; turn emotions into songs or poetry or painting; what have you. Water needs to flow somewhere. Nourishing a lot of life from there.

Water Signs, are Love. Nurturer of Life and nourisher of Human emotions. You should really appreciate the poetry of your sheer existence. So, don’t let this world convince you that there’s something wrong with you because you’re sensitive enough to care about a lot. That’s your strength. It just needs to be directed and redirected to the right things/occasions/people and places. Be generous with your Love and compassion, but take no shit from those who can’t learn to be grateful for a Love as rare and precious as yours~ Know your worth, babe. You’re worth a gazillion dimes.

Oracle Guidance for Water Signs🔻💛

🦀Cancer – Priestess of Enchantment

🦂Scorpio – Priestess of Patience

🎏Pisces – Priestess of Prosperity

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