#horoscope predictions for parents

[successfulblackparenting]

Horoscopes For Parents: Week Of June 23rd – 30th

Weekly Horoscopes For Parents 🌕 For the week of June 29 – July 6, 2024, celestial alignments create a mix of challenges and opportunities for each zodiac sign. Here’s what parents can expect: Click horoscope to enlarge From managing busy schedules to fostering emotional connections with your children, our horoscope column is designed to help parents make the most out of each week. So, sit…

[superblysubpar]

masterlist | the music

19.7k words | Sorry freaks, no smut this chapter - but the series is 18+ and so is my blog so skedaddle on out of here if you're not!

A/N: I have a really long one here - so I'll just say thank you once again and that I love you. Also, another special thank you to @sweetsweetjellybean and @loveshotzz💛💛

chapter warnings: very brief mention of religion (but not reader participating or believing in one in particular) | small mention/description of reader's maternal death and cancer symptoms | teeny tiny spoiler for the ending to the movie 'when harry met sally' | use of dialogue from the movie 'My Best Friends Wedding'

Why do we want to believe in things like fate or destiny - divine intervention? Why do some put their faith in religions with blind following? Why do we look to the stars in moments of despair, when we’re desperate for hope, when we’re lost? 

We seek out answers from something we can’t see but we want to believe in. Whether it’s a fortune cookie in your take out, a penny head’s up on the sidewalk, a community of like minded souls coming together for prayer or worship, or a horoscope you read on your morning Instagram scroll - the reasons have to be the same for choosing to believe, for the hope that starts to rise in you for the promise these things try to offer. 

We look for solutions to problems. We need reason. We need purpose. We need to feel like we’re not alone. We need confirmation that it’s all gonna work out even though nothing can really guarantee that. 

When you look up at the stars that work hard to shine through clouds and a full moon, your chest rises with air trying to fill your lungs and you wonder if they’re up there. Your eyes blink up at that indigo sky, searching. Steve sits next to you and Leigh waves, whispering their hellos. His hand rests next to yours on the plaid blanket, he clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. It’s all too stiff, too on edge, and you hate it. That attempted deep breath is unsuccessful, lungs deflating as it catches in your throat, and your thoughts wander back to the stars again. They wander to him, and them, and seek answers. 

What if they are up there, watching, like it’s one of those movies your mom was always putting on and your dad and you boo’d at from your spot playing cards. When he walked in with her with that on her finger, your mom would have gasped, she would have paused the movie, she would have yelled at you and your dad about the plot. She would have thrown popcorn at the TV and declared there’s something going on, he couldn’t, no way - there was no way. She’d have calmed herself down, rationalized there was still time left, gone to the pantry for more chocolate, kissed the top of your head and your dad’s cheek as she passed. By the end of the film, her prediction would have been right, she’d be crying and sighing at the couple who got their happy ending.

So could Steve declare his feelings for you here in a dramatic scene? Tell you it was all a big misunderstanding - that he’s sorry, that it was a rocky road but being together is worth fighting for? Could you leave here, hand in hand, as a top forty song plays and the credits roll? 

Of course not. 

Because this isn’t a rom com your mom would have loved. Life is not a movie full of soul-mates and cosmic connections. People like your parents are the exception to the rule. The couples who make it work - the ones who don’t let the trials of life take their love away like Allie and Noah, Kate and Sam, or Westley and Buttercup, are fictional characters. They’re stories to escape into when the despairing reality of yours is too much to read or write anymore. It’s exactly why you don’t like most movies or stories like theirs. Because eventually, the movies end, the credits do roll, and you have to face real life once again. Love like that doesn’t exist off the big screen, and you’re just kidding yourself when you fall into their traps. 

Knowing this simple fact of reality doesn’t stop the hope though. 

That painful, aching hope that clings to your skin like honey when you can feel the heat from his arm even through the sleeve of your sweater - like your bodies burn hotter when closer together - too close to the sun. It feeds the hope that your brain tries to squash away but your heart thuds harder for. The what if, what if, what if replacing each beat of it. Hope that makes you want to cry out ‘please let this just be a bad dream’ to the universe. Hope that tries, but can’t escape the gnawing pit in your stomach that’s growing wider, threatening to swallow you whole. Hope that makes you wonder why this can’t be a story - why can’t you just be the grandson, yelling at his grandfather that he can’t be telling it properly? Someone is getting the story wrong. He can’t be marrying her, you’re just sure of it. Screaming at him, at someone, to please, just get it right. 

You wonder if someone were watching, would they be feeling the despair you are? Is this the moment? That scene in the movies is always the gut punch - for the audience and the character. It’s meant to hurt, make you hold your breath. Made to be dramatic - yell at the screen, break your heart, make the character in the action get back up and fight. They’re moments made to ignite that hope - but really, it’s the double tap - coming right after the feeling catches flame, that’s made to shatter you completely. 

The moment that extinguishes the what if for all it’s worth. When the audience’s heart's already breaking for the grandson, only for the grandfather to ask who says life is fair? Where is that written? When the knife is entering your chest, but the mask falls and the killer turns out to be someone you thought you could trust. When you’re untethered in space only for your last moment of consciousness to be watching a friend cut the cord. The person who sucker punched you is now kicking you when you’re weak, taking it one step too far, leaving you crumpled on the mat. It’s all enough to make that fight, that urge to be angry instead of scared or hurt, disappear. It’s enough to knock you down so hard, you can’t possibly get back up - the hope is extinguished, and the story seemingly over. 

Robin squeals quietly, pulling Leigh’s hand across you to admire the ring, knocking Steve on the shoulder and saying something about the Dingus doing good. Your gaze flits down to the brown sugar and apple donuts in your lap, convinced you’re about to get sick right on top of them. Not because he’s marrying her, but because instead of being angry with him, you feel like you’ve been squashed, you’re hurt, you’re betrayed. Despite your better judgment, despite the past several years, you’ve let a man make you some pathetic, sad, heartbroken, and weak version of yourself. 

When Leigh’s hand retreats from Robin’s, lifting and curling a piece of hair behind her ear, diamond sparkling in the moonlight as she smiles over at Steve, your story’s end is written, and you need to accept it if you ever want some semblance of normalcy to return. You can’t lose him and them. But when Steve’s pinky brushes yours and you look over, his eyes resemble the broken beer bottle from the football game all those weeks ago. Shattered emerald and amber, cutting you to shreds with each shard of glass as he murmurs, “Can I tal-“

“I’ll be right back!” You whisper-shout, cutting him off and squeezing Robin’s shoulder as you get up. 

She yanks on your wrist, halting your attempt at an exit. Her eyes narrow as she interrogates, “Where are you going?”

Swallowing harshly as her blue eyes peer directly into your soul. She can probably smell the desire to run on you. Remembering your vow that Steve won’t take them away from you, a not quite a lie falls from your lips as you gesture to the concession food trucks, “You don’t have those cinnamon roasted almonds. They were my mom’s favorite and the smell is driving me crazy. Promise that’s all.”

“I swear to god, if you don’t come back, I will literally come stand outside your window on the sidewalk and scream-sing Monster Mash until someone calls the cops and I’ll drag you down with me.”

Her eyes blink, features incredibly serious despite the amusing threat. Your laugh mixes with Leigh’s and you ignore the shared moment, tugging your wrist free. “Would expect nothing less Robin.”

She motions she’s watching you, fingers to her eyes then yours, lips twitching in the corners before she turns back to the screen. 

Your feet feel heavy as they drag through the damp grass, and come to a stop to wait in line. It shouldn’t be a surprise after ordering when you hear his voice behind you. It floats through the air, soft, barely audible over the popping kettle corn, “I really didn’t know you’d be here. I wouldn’t have…” he sighs, settling on restating, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Your shoulders fall and your eyes stay focused on the truck. You’ve had time, since that night on the sidewalk, but your hurt still sits fresh under your layer of armor - tender like an open wound you need to keep protected. Your palms slide further under the sleeves of your sweater, clinging to the garment like the shield you’re willing it to be - you don’t want to fight with him anymore, no matter how hurt and angry you are. 

So the tone you respond with aches to sound indifferent, if not a tad harsh, reminding him you’re mad and pretending there isn’t any spark of hope within you still. It’s over, it has to be over, and all it ever was to him was something to kill time - fun and no strings exactly what you wanted. So your words are really just a reminder to yourself, another layer of the wall you need to keep up around him, “It’s fine Steve. Would have been nice to get a head’s up,” your shoulders shrug, “But, well, that’s probably too generous for the girl you were just fucking while waiting for the one, right?”

The people next to you clear their throats and you can’t find it in yourself to care, to be embarrassed. 

Steve moves in front of you, his face filling your vision. He shaved - no more scruff you like. His jeans are dark again, with fresh, new creases, and a light blue sweater pulls across his chest and shoulders. He’s picture perfect, his polished uniform in place.

He shakes his head, eyes bouncing between yours as he asks, “Is that really all it was?”

Your shoulders shrug again, because it’s easier. It’s easier to try to deny, to ignore the flutter the question causes in your stomach. Easier to bite back the words that try to form on your tongue. Because of course that’s not all it was, at least not to you. You wouldn’t feel the way you do right now if that were true. But what’s the point in telling him that though? What happens? Can you forgive each other for the words said, that, no matter how true, can’t be taken back? Things like this only end in heartbreak - because what happens if you tell him how you were starting to feel - does that change anything for him? And even if it did, that means a broken engagement, it means complicated truths coming out, it means attempts at forgiveness. And even after all of that, life won’t give you a guarantee. There is no promise of zero fights, of nothing bad ever happening. There is no happily ever after where the possibility of a break up, of losing everyone you’ve grown to care for deeply, doesn’t exist. 

So yes, it’s easier to not say any of that, because you know. This isn’t how life works. This isn’t a movie. No one is immune to life’s misfortunes. These sorts of open-ended questions and complicated emotions that come from his simple ask are unmeasurable and unreliable. Wondering and giving into those feelings only open you up to be used as a target for someone else’s shooting practice. You’ve known this, but you allowed yourself to forget, hating it was Steve who had to remind you. 

Which is why you look away from his eyes as you say, “I believe that is what was established a few weeks ago at that party Steve. You were there, remember? You were dressed as a pirate.” 

His head drops, hands running through his perfectly styled hair as he laughs, breath shaky, like the laugh is covering up any feeling in his voice. “So, that’s it? We’re just gonna act like none of it happened? You don’t wanna talk. You run away every time we get a chance to do so, a beer in my face and-“

Your hand rising in the air cuts him off, his mouth clamps shut as you make eye contact with him. “You deserved that and I’m not apologizing for it.”

He takes a step closer to you, his hand reaching towards you, then back into his hair, second guessing himself. “I’m not asking you to, and I’m not apologizing for what I said either.” Steve swallows, hands on his hips as he looks at the ground then back up at you, “What I said wasn’t a lie.” 

He breathes out the next words, both of you staring at each other with the weight of what he says hanging in the air between you.

“You couldn’t tell me.”

Your hands shake from the confrontation, from his request you left unanswered that night. The emotions that still want to bubble over, the time apart did nothing to cool either of you down. That what if, what if, what if that replaced your heartbeat grows louder, but your brain only shuts it down harder. If you hurt now, how will it feel if you keep feeding the flame only for him to extinguish it again?

The beat of your heart and those hopeful words thud in your ears as your head shakes and your voice tries not to, barely audible as the words leave your lips, “I don’t want to do this anymore Steve. We’re just going in circles. You’re getting married. You didn’t tell me. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you were really my friend while you were clearly getting engaged this whole time?”

Blue light flashes from the screen, catching the corner of your eye and illuminating his, their gaze bouncing over your face. Your bodies move closer like they can’t help it, like they know they won’t be this way again. Steve’s tongue darts over his bottom lip before his breath blows out, your name a whisper on it. The way he says your name with that look in his eyes, chests almost touching, it’s easy for your head to tilt with familiarity. Your breath out is his breath in, and it’s even easier to forget the last time you were this close. Sounds other than his harsh swallow and your heartbeat fade away. Time freezes, just a little, and the air pulses with a tangible possibility of hope. 

A shrill classic horror movie scream shatters the bubble. Your name is called, you blink, and take a step away. Guilt washes over you as you see your friends staring intently at the movie you’d practically forgotten you were there for. Leigh and Robin talk quietly and your eyelids flutter as you will whatever wants to escape down your cheeks away.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore Steve. I just want to go hang out with my friends. I need this to be over. Can it please be over?” You stare intently at the ground, one single tear slipping past your lashes. It feels like it rolls down your cheek for an hour before Steve finally answers. 

“Okay,” he quietly agrees. 

Your head nods once and you brush past him, barely choking out a whispered ‘by the way congratulations’ as you grab your snack. Hand swiping at the stray tear as you make your way back to the blanket slowly. 

When you sit back down, Leigh’s typing on her phone. She squeezes Robin’s hand before whispering a goodbye to everyone. She jogs over to Steve, cocking her head at him. He pushes his hands through his hair again, giving her a short smile. He runs his thumb and forefinger down the bridge of his nose, swiping under it with the back of his hand. His other extends towards her as she reaches him, fingers lacing together as they walk out. 

Robin’s shoulder nudges yours and your head turns to find her with eyebrows pinched together. She leans in and quietly asks, “Is he okay? Did he say something about leaving to you?”

Your head shakes, and you extend the bag to her with a tight smile. You will just keep lying to her. Steve and you will move on, and maybe, one day in the distant future, you’ll be able to tell her. It’ll all work out.

She mirrors your sad smile, the wrinkles in her forehead deepening as she takes a small handful and turns her attention back to the movie. Or she tries, but you watch as her eyes glance down to her phone every few minutes, until it lights up with his name and she quickly starts typing a response. 

It’ll all be fine. 

“Said ‘I’m fine’ but it wasn’t true. I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you…”

The pop song playing overhead makes your teeth grind, your skin itch, it pries at your armor. It clangs its melody like fists on the metal plates around your heart, screaming to let it in. 

Fuck Taylor Swift and her poetically relevant lyrics. 

You’re fine. 

“Mommy, why is that lady wearing pajamas?”

“Well, sometimes people, um, well maybe they’re sad or-“

“Not sad,” you call over your shoulder, but spin as you decide to face the stranger. The poor, unsuspecting stranger who is unprepared for the wrath of a person wearing blue, fuzzy pajama bottoms with ducks all over them, yellow smiley slippers, and holding several pints of Cherry Garcia in her arms. “Could just be sick. Or lazy. Could be a lot of different things, but sad is not one of them, and it’s rude to assume there’s any reason at all. I could just have wanted to stay comfy today, you don’t know!”

It’s almost laughable, if it wasn’t so humiliating or awkward. A practically audible record scratch kind of moment. Conversations of several other customers quiet then stop altogether. Eyes blink at you in concern and pity under too harsh of fluorescent lights, surrounded by neon advertisements and packaging trying to convince you the world isn’t shit as long as there’s junk food. The poppy beat overhead seems to play even louder, yet a pin could drop and people from another state would hear it. 

The mother’s hand runs through the small child’s hair next to them as she stammers an apology, “I really…I’m sorry, I just-“

“No, no, I’m so sorry. It’s fine…I…” You close your eyes and turn back around, mortified beyond a depth you ever thought possible. The pints of ice cream tumble onto the sticky counter-top, lottery tickets beneath it staring up at you and mocking ‘hey wanna test your luck even more?’. Your hand flies up into the face of the cashier as you grumble, “Not a word, Keith.”

The employee you’ve come to know on your late night and early morning snack runs snorts. His mouth closes, slurping his Mountain Dew through a straw as he rings up the ice cream. His lips leave the red plastic, squeaking it against the lid harshly, about to tell you the price you already know, when a bottle of wine is placed on the counter with a low thunk. A leather clad arm extends across your vision, a second bottle landing beside it. A deep and familiar voice from behind your shoulder calls out, “These too. But definitely not because she’s sad.”

Turning, you find Eddie just as you knew you would, his brown eyes the same as they have been since you met. Full of warmth that’s contagious, except now something darkens them, they’re colder. Reminiscent of how they looked in a bathroom that feels like you were in it ten years ago instead of a month. They’re kind, but they’re hurt, confused, and most importantly - disappointed. 

“Right,” you clear your throat and look away from them. Embarrassed, but adamant in your denial of the purchase and your appearance having any connotation with the emotion they all think you’re feeling. “These are not sad items.”

Despite the look in his eyes, Eddie’s lips twitch in a fight of a smile. He looks over your outfit and the hint of amusement disappears. His mouth turns down in a grimace. He faces Keith, hand waving across your form, “Right. Sad people don’t wear duckie pj’s to the store to buy ice cream and wine, they just don’t. People who ignore their friends though, they might…”

Honestly, the call out is nicer than what you deserve. You hadn’t dared to miss a text or call from Robin again, but all other group contact had gone unreciprocated for two weeks - convincing yourself it was easier for everyone that way. Biting the inside of your cheek, your eyes blink up at him apologetically, hopeful you can fix a small part of the mess you’ve made still. “Yeah. But if a person,” your hands wave as you speak, “Who isn’t sad,” you quickly tack on before continuing, “Did ignore their friends, it was probably for a good reason and she probably feels really bad about it and-“

“Jesus Christ, pay for your sad shit and get out,” Keith groans, snapping his fingers and then waggling them for payment. 

Eddie mashes his lips together, a genuine smile threatening to break as he hands over a bill. He salutes as he grabs the bag of items. “Keep the change, dude.”

“See you tomorrow, new shipment of Ben and Jerry’s at nine A.M!” Keith calls to your retreating forms. Eddie and you turn in tandem, flipping him off. 

“Mommy, what did that mean?”

Eddie snorts, his laugh finally bubbling out of him as you hide your eyes under one of your hands. The door swings closed behind you as the brisk November air does little to cool off your embarrassment.

His laughter trails off in a sigh and yours in a groan. When you peek at him from behind your fingers, you hold your breath as they fall to your side. Eddie’s eyes seem to poke and prod at you with their gaze, like you’re a frog laying open on a table for dissection. Like he already knows what he’s about to find, but he’s giving you an opportunity to just say it before he makes the first cut. 

Gesturing towards the bag in his hand, your eyes drop to the ground as you clear your throat. “Thank you, you didn’t have to pay. And I really am sorry for going radio silent. I’ll get better at that.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you risk a glance up. His brows are furrowed, meeting under parted bangs, brown eyes glued to your pajama pants. Eddie nods slowly, tucking his tongue into his cheek before clicking it against the roof of his mouth. Rocking back on his heels, the plastic bag swings at his side. “Sure. What are friends for?”

His eyes meet yours again finally, and as your lips part, he keeps going, his voice a little crisper than it’s been to you before. “Cause, we are friends. Right?”

Head nodding as your brows bunch together from the tone delivering the question. That and his gaze makes something under your skin itch, your feet restless against the pavement like a horse before a race. 

Hesitation heavy in your words as you respond, “Yeah, of course…listen, I have to get back but-“

“Great,” he spins on his heel, heading down the sidewalk like he was waiting for those exact words to leave your mouth, “I’ll walk with you, sad girl.”

Blinking at his abrupt interruption, hand still raised to take the bag from him, it takes you several seconds for his words to register. He’s already halfway to the corner, your apartment just around it and you have to take a quick few jogs to catch up with his long strides as you call out, “I’m not sad.”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie nods, flicking a zippo in his hand, converse scuffing against the sidewalk as he kicks a pebble, “And I’m the King of England.”

Tired of his tone and demeanor you didn’t invite or ask for - you don’t need this. Eyes rolling as you huff past him, your shoulder bumping his harshly as you do. Eddie scoffs, but falls back into step close behind you, not letting you get away. “Quite the attitude to have with the friend who just bought your sad girl treat, even threw in the wine.”

Your shoulders hunch at his words, eyebrows pulling together and face growing hot as you fiddle with the first key to the apartment building. “Well, I didn’t ask you to buy it and if you only did to just rub it in my face you’re not really my friend. And I didn’t ask you to come here.”

Eddie’s hand lands on the door above your shoulder as you push it open, arm blocking you from entering. “Quit the tough girl act, you’re not fooling anyone.”

Your skin burns at his accusation, hands balling into fists at your sides. “I’m not trying to fool anyone, Eddie, or do anything. I literally don’t know what you’re talk-“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you can keep trying to sell this shit to everyone else, but I’m not buying.” He points inside, “Let’s go.”

Face feeling hotter than when you were six and scolded in public, you stomp through the entryway, each step echoing across the old tile. As you turn to head up the stairs, if only to get away from his all seeing eyes, the realization of what your apartment looks like and how extremely not ready it is for guests has you pausing mid stride. 

When your gaze makes contact with his again, Eddie simply makes a statement. Flat, disappointed, and no question in his tone, “It’s worse than I think isn’t it.”

Before you can argue, before you can tell him to leave, the keys in your hand are snatched by swift fingers, and Eddie’s long legs are jumping up the stairs, skipping over several steps and disappearing around the landing. Chasing after him, the thundering of both of your feet is dulled by the faded and dingy carpet and the shriek of his name leaving your lips. 

Watching as he pushes the key into the lock, turning the knob, you sprint down the hallway. Your body barrels into his, but it’s too late. Eddie falters from your weight crashing into him, but he remains upright, although slightly hunched, as your body clings to his, trying to drag him down. The door swings open and he winces, and you drop to the ground, defeated. 

For the first time in a few days, you take in the state of your living space from an outside perspective. You watch as Eddie reviews it all for the first time - the take out on your counter, the empty beer bottles pushing the lid of the recycling up. The stack of Double O Seven DVDs on the coffee table. The couch covered in blankets because you’ve been sleeping there, your bed still sitting free of sheets in the other room. The bag of chips and the tub of frosting. It’s not a pretty picture. 

Eddie suddenly crouches, hands grabbing at you and you push him away shrieking, crawling into your apartment and away from him. Both of you swat at each other, hair flying in faces and grunting like you’re siblings fighting over the remote. 

 “Go-get off! What the hell is your problem! Eddie!”

He manages to grab your phone out of your sweatshirt pocket and you leap towards him, arms over his shoulders, you reach for the phone, and he holds himself up on his knees, arm extending it away from you. He manages to tilt it just right to get your face to unlock it and you growl, thumping on his bicep as he shoves you off. He presses the familiar green icon on your home screen while you accuse, “What is your deal? What the fuck are you-“

Eddie groans, holding up the screen displaying the last song you’d been listening to and getting to his feet. He points towards your bedroom. “Go put on some jeans. No more sad girl music. No more cheese out of the can. Field trip. Let’s go.”

Your hand holding a slipper that had fallen off in the scuffle points towards the open door, any neighbors paying attention getting a hell of a show. Your scowl meets his frown. “Um, you can go. Don’t basically break into my home and insult Britney and Easy Cheese in the same sentence asshole. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, they disappear under his bangs and he looks at you as if you’re the child you’re determined to act like. He sighs, voice dripping in drama as he heads into your kitchen, “I really didn’t want to do this, but you’ve left me with no other choice.” He spins the cheap metal cap off of one of the bottles of wine theatrically, flicking the cap onto the counter before turning the bottle upside down as he stares at you. “I’d get going. The ice cream is next.”

Your eyes roll as you scoff, “You’re not gonna do shit to the Ben and Jerry’s, you and I both know it.”

He starts on the second bottle, both ringed hands holding tight to each, red liquid splashing the sides of the sink. “I will literally drag you back out of here in your sad girl jammies to a very public place. I’m generously giving you the opportunity to avoid that embarrassment, but if you insist…”

Eddie sets the bottles down in the sink, stepping over to you in two strides, hands on your waist as he moves like he could toss you over his shoulder.

Your hands push at his chest. “Fucking fine! Give me a few minutes.” You start towards your room but spin sharply on your socked heel, one foot still in a slipper that skids as your finger points in his face. “Touch my ice cream and see what happens.”

He snorts, crossing his arms. “Big, tough words coming from a girl with chocolate frosting on her chest and ducks on her ass.”

You turn away from him, slamming the door on his call of, “If you ever want to see your precious Ben and Jerry’s again, you’ll be back out here in five minutes!”

When you make eye contact with the chocolate stain in the mirror, you have to suppress your groan. 

Eddie’s Jeep tires crunch over gravel before coming to a stop in a homemade parking lot. Tan dust kicked up and floating through the air partially obscures where he’s taken you. 

The entire twenty minute drive had been enveloped in stilted silence. He had managed to dump one of the pints while you changed, claiming to have thought you weren’t coming back out, and now he was on the receiving end of one of your finest silent treatments. His hand flexes on the gear, moving the car into park. As his jaw clenches while yanking the keys out of the ignition, you start to rethink your silence. There’s a part of you that wants, maybe needs, to run back to your apartment, lock the door, and never speak to him again. But there’s another part, far larger, and riddled with guilt, that made you follow him. 

Staring out the window at the dilapidated bar, your voice feels scratchy from the lack of talking as you push out, “What are we doing-” Eddie’s driver’s door slams, and the end of your question falls into the empty car, flat, as you blink at his back walking away from you, “Here.” 

As Eddie makes his way to the building, you hoist yourself out of the Jeep and begin to follow despite the cold shoulder. You’re willing to appease him and participate in whatever this field trip is if it means you can somehow get the apology you definitely owe him out - try to make things right for the mess you’ve pulled him into. 

A faint and familiar sound echoes in the quiet and practically empty parking lot. The distinct whip of a ball and the ting and harsh smack of metal meeting it, mix with the crunch of rocks under your rubber soles. Behind the tired and washed out brick building, chain link fencing rises, hinting further to what the sounds are and where they’re coming from. The large red letters above the doorway spell out “Murray’s” in distinct vintage lettering, hollowed out with unlit bulbs reminiscent of an old theater’s marquee lights. You pause beneath the sign, stealing a deep breath because something tells you Eddie has officially pinned you to the table, and the first inevitable cut of the dissection is imminent. Your fingers curl around the gray, metal door’s industrial handle and pull, and you step inside. 

Billie Holiday’s voice croons from somewhere deeper in the building. Voice and music crackling and staticky, like it’s playing off a real vinyl. The urge to find out why Eddie’s brought you to a place seemingly stuck in the past draws you deeper down the dimly lit hallway. Rich, red paint on the walls partially covered by framed photographs line the entire space. Black and white film prints of American icons, with individual golden lamps lighting up each from their spots attached to the frames. Your feet carry you past Elvis, Jackie Robinson, then Marilyn, and Michael Jackson before you enter a spacious and circular room. 

Red vinyl booths line the curve on one side, small round tables meant for two lit by glowing lamps scattered across the floor. A stage and space for what appears to be a dancefloor sit opposite of you, nestled between the booths and a bar running across the opposite curve. Speckled and worn mirrors behind the bar reflect the wide range of liquor bottles and the different glassware in a variety of shapes and colors, clearly thrifted antiques, hanging above them. Eddie leans against the bar talking to an older man, neither of whom spare a glance in your direction. 

This room’s photographs on the walls are covers of Life and Time, clippings from other renowned news outlets - all famous headlines like when man went to the moon and the JFK assassination, the Cubs winning the world series, spanning all the way to current events. As you spin, you see the vintage photo booth, much older than the one you and Steve took photographs in at Replay, and you push the memory away, focusing on the bulletin board next to it instead.

The flier for Corroded Coffin has your attention as the song crackles on it’s end notes, the next from the album playing softly. Billie’s voice sings the familiar lyrics of ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ and your heart drops into your stomach, palms sweating profusely. Why the hell are you here? Why this song? Why, why, why.

“Ouch. Who broke your heart?”

The unfamiliar voice asks the same question Eddie had asked you back in September, and this time you’re even more unprepared for it. Your head whips to the side, gaze looking over your shoulders that hunch. Your body turns to face them head on, but your arms cross in defense. The man Eddie had been chatting with now has his focus solely on you. Wire rimmed glasses frame eyes that stare intently at you as he wipes down a glass. His balding head of hair and the confidence he carries, along with the way he tosses the rag over his shoulder before leaning on the bar, has you feeling like you’ve suddenly entered a sitcom. 

Eddie continues to ignore you, one foot resting on the metal of stool as his ringed fingers crack peanuts. He avoids your gaze as you turn your frown on the man who seemed to have read your mind. You keep your voice as neutral as you can when you ask, “Excuse me?”

“Written all over your face, kid.” The nameless man, but you have a hunch the name of the establishment and him are one in the same, winces with his words. He pulls down three amber colored, short glasses, then a bottle of vodka. Before you can argue, he keeps going as he pours, “Well, maybe you’re not in love. Not yet anyway,” he muses to himself, “Or maybe he is and you don’t know how to let the poor sap down?”

His eyes lift from the glasses of alcohol to yours and he squints. Pausing before pouring the third glass, humming, “Wait, no, well…maybe.” Keeping his eyes on you as he tips back one of the generous shots before he breathes out with finality, “No.”

Eddie smirks into his own shot, as the man snaps in his face, but technically commands, “Name.”

Your mouth opens to stop this nonsense and analysis you absolutely didn’t ask for, but Eddie beats you to it. Eyebrows raised, mouth pursed as he offers up, “Steve.”

The man behind the bar hovers the liquor bottle above the now empty glass, blinking wide behind his frames. He sets the bottle down, pressing his palms to the bar top. Scoffing with an incredulous tone, “You’re kidding.”

“Excuse me!” You try to interrupt, but the man shakes his hands, ignoring your objection. 

“We’ll deal with that little slip in the simulation some other time,” pushing the third glass down the bar towards you as he continues, “So, Steve,” he laughs a little, licking his bottom lip, “Right. So he loves us, maybe, but perhaps it is us who loves Steve? Mm, tragic, because he doesn’t reciprocate? Or are we too scared to tell him how we feel?”

Your shoulders are up to your ears now, arms wrapping around yourself even tighter, trying to make whatever see-through, vulnerable shield this man can penetrate more resilient. Your gaze is harsh on the side of Eddie’s face, death stare glaring and attempting to burn his cheek with only your eyes as you ask again, “What are we doing here?”

“The cosmic question, isn’t it?” The bartender muses, pouring another glass for himself. He raises his eyebrows at Eddie in a silent question who shakes his head no. 

“I’m leaving.” You start to turn towards the door, but Eddie’s call behind you makes you freeze.

“Have fun walking back then!”

Your hands go to your pockets, searching, even though you know they’re empty. When you look at him, you see your phone in his fingers and his brown eyes that have turned to stone. “Yeah, I still have this. So either you can participate in the field trip, or you can walk all the way back home to your sad girl cave.”

“I’ll just have him call me a cab.” Gesturing to the nameless man with your solution. 

“Murray,” he offers with a toothy grin and head nod, confirming your assumption. 

Eddie laughs, cold, tossing a peanut shell on the bar, “Yeah? And pay for it how?”

You’ve been very, very, dumb, because it’s only now you realize the empty pockets would also mean you don’t have your wallet. Your eyes close in defeat. 

When you open them, Eddie is staring at you and it feels an awful lot like that scalpel is resting just over your heart, waiting for any final words. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he says, “I’ll take those quarters now.”

Murray rolls a tube across the bar to him, eyes darting back and forth between you two like he is watching a ping pong match. 

Eddie grabs the roll, storming past you and down a different hallway, out the back door of the bar. The chipping black paint flutters as the door swings closed, a slam as it meets the frame making you flinch. The final notes of ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ finish and you release a shaky breath. 

“And I suppose I’m to follow him and his mysterious quarters?”

Murray’s lips twitch and he raises his hands in surrender. Your sigh and step towards the door has him dropping his hands though, nudging the still full glass of vodka towards you. Figuring it’s his way of telling you to clean and sterilize the wound before the prodding at it begins, you take a step closer. Hesitating slightly, your finger wraps around the amber glass, a deep breath leaves you as you tip it to your lips. 

He nods his head towards you and raises his own glass, and as the liquid flows into your mouth, he toasts, “To Steve.”

The liquor sits on your tongue longer than you’d like it to as you glare at him. Swallowing it down, you blame the harsh burn in your throat for the prickle that’s forming behind your eyes.

Spinning on your heel to follow Eddie, Murray’s voice calls out quietly, making you pause.

“I’d tell him sooner, rather than later.”

Looking over your shoulder, he puts the glasses in a bin underneath the bar, not looking back at you as he quietly adds, “In my experience, there’s always space to dive deeper into the story. Things are often not what they appear to be. And well,” he chuckles to himself, “Harrington’s got a lot more going on under all that hair than meets the eye I think.” Your brows furrow as Murray looks up at you, patting his hand over his heart with a smirk on his lips, “And I’m not talking about the stuff on top of his head.”

Normally, the joke about Steve’s chest hair would have your lips twitch into a smile, a roll of your eyes, but instead, his words float through the air until they arrive in your gut, sitting heavy and dragging you down. They try to ignite that hope again, but you know it’s no use in letting it light anymore. 

Your feet push forward, stomping down the hallway without a word back. As the door swings closed behind you, your eyes blink, adjusting to the harsh sunlight you’d forgotten was shining outside. The sounds from earlier now connecting to what’s before you. Several enclosed batting cages sit just beyond a wooden and covered back patio of the bar. There’s two older men with their bags of gear sitting at their feet. Each drinking a beer at a small wooden table, rubbing their shoulders. Eddie is inside one of the cages. His leather jacket hung on the fence, a blue helmet squishing down his curls. The white cotton of his baseball tee stretches over his flexing back muscles as he swings at a ball released by the machine. 

As your feet scuff against the deck and then the gravel, you take another deep breath, mouth opening to just blurt out some sort of apology to him. Eddie stops the machine with a harsh smack to a button on the side of the cage. He comes out the door, holding the helmet and bat out to you, chest moving up and down with each ragged breath. He offers a closed lip smile as he says, “Your turn.”

“Eddie, I really don’t…” you trail off until you settle on just asking, “Why?”

“Would you just do it?” He frowns, tone annoyed as he extends his arms towards you further. 

Eyebrows raised in anticipation he nods once as you take the items with a huff and stomp into the cage. As you place the helmet onto your head, and stare down the machine, you exhale and press the button. It whirs back to life as your hands wrap around the bat and you step up to the metaphorical plate, Eddie’s voice calling from over your shoulder as you do. 

“So, wanna tell me why you’re sad? Talk about anything Murray said?”

Your fingers curl tighter around the grip, shoulders going up in defense again. Your jaw clenches before you grit out, “For the last time Eddie, I’m not sad. I’m fine.”

Eddie snorts behind you as you swing at the first ball released, missing.

Strike one. 

“Sure, figured that’d be your answer. So,” he sighs heavily and you hear the fence rattle like he’s kicking it, “Why’re you avoiding us again then?”

You knew this topic couldn’t be dodged forever. It’s true, you’d been pulling away again since Halloween, and getting the save the date was the nail in your friendship’s coffin. As the wedding looms in the not so distant future, it’s easier to pull away from him, from all of them, because you know that they were and always will be Steve’s friends first. Intentions of not letting Steve keep them from you seem futile now, when you know the history and depth of friendship you’re up against. You’re not gonna say that to Eddie though, so as the next pitch is released, you swing and stammer out a pathetic lie. 

“I-I’m not.” The ball makes contact, causing your forearms to vibrate from the bad swing. Your grip tightens so the bat doesn’t fall from your fingers as the ball pops up and behind you, rattling the fence. 

“Well that’s a load of crap. Wanna know what I think?” Eddie yells, not pausing for you to refute and sarcastically continuing, “Great, I’m overjoyed to tell you.”

Your heel digs into the gravel and your eyes narrow on the whirring machine, waiting for him to sink the scalpel into you, defenseless - trapped from running away from him, stuck in this cage with nowhere to go to avoid what he’s about to tell you. 

“I think you are sad. I think Murray was right and you don’t wanna admit it to him, to anyone, and especially not yourself. Instead of an easy fix of talking about it, you wanna sit in your pity and throw a party.” Eddie’s voice takes on a dramatic, high pitched imitation of you as the next ball is released and you swing, “I’m Y/N! Woe is me! I’m all alone! Nobody loves me!”

You miss the ball again, shoulders hunching in, desperate to make yourself smaller with each of the words that he shouts at your back. Turning to look over your shoulder, you glare at him. 

Strike two. 

Eddie leans against the fence, glaring right back at you with his eyebrows raised as you hiss, “You’re being an asshole.”

“Yeah? At least I’m an asshole who’s got friends,” he gestures towards you, “You clearly think you don’t.” You twist your toe in the gravel deeper, returning your focus to the machine and taking a deep breath as he keeps going. “I’ll have Murray pour you some more vodka and you can sit here and think about how your life is horrible. Truly tragic.”

Your eyes narrow from his bored tone, lifting your chin and elbow, adamant to ignore him. 

“You have nothing and no one.”

Another exhale, your chest rises and falls with a deep inhale and your shoulders relax. Straining to hear the hint of the ball being released instead of Eddie yelling at you. 

“Maybe you’ll get a cat one day, but ultimately you’re gonna die alone!”

SMACK.

Your bat meets the ball and it soars to the end of the cage and you spin on him. Face hot, your emotions bubbling and ready to explode. Anger mingling with adrenaline coursing through your veins from the hit, amping up how the words fall out of you in an angry cry. 

“Yeah! I am Eddie! And that’s what I want! So fucking lay off!”

“Why?” 

“Because it’s easier!” 

When he yells right back, without pausing, asking you for a reason, the excuse falls out of you easily. Your mouth closes immediately after the words tumble out in your scream, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as Eddie’s narrow. He shakes his head, volume lowering only slightly. 

“Nah, that’s just fucking running. And take it from someone who ran for a long time, it feels easy, but it’s the furthest thing from. Eventually, you are going to get tired, and your problems will be right on your heels. 

Facing the machine again so you don’t have to look into his eyes any longer, you shake your head no at him, letting a ball hit the end of your bat, popping forward limply as you try to speak with confidence. 

“I’m not running from problems Eddie, I’m just…it’s easier to be the one who does the leaving than to be the one who’s left, okay?”

The words float through the air, unable to be taken back, and their weight makes something in your chest squeeze and constrict. 

“That’s some next-level, glass half empty, pessimistic, depressing shit. And who the hell said anyone was going anywhere? You’re refusing to see that if you looked back for one second from the door you’ve been half out since you got here, that nobody else even has their shoes on.”

The squeezing in your chest only intensifies, his cut getting deeper as he searches for answers, and your bat hesitates halfway through your swing, sending a ball straight up into the air above you. You breathlessly ask, “What?”

Eddie waits until you look over your shoulder at him, emphasizing each word. “Nobody’s leaving you.”

His words hit you harder than your bat has hit any of the balls. It feels like one was pitched right into your gut, expelling all the air from your lungs and causing the tears that have been right behind your eyes to well up hard and fast. You spin to avoid his gaze again and square up for another pitch. 

Eddie doesn’t know that it’s not a promise anyone can make - life doesn’t care. 

Your head shakes, tears brimming on your lash line as you argue, “You can’t know that Eddie, not really. It’s better this way.”

SMACK.

A tear slips over your bottom lashes, trailing down your cheek as the bat makes good contact again and Eddie digs the scalpel in for his final cut. “Fine. Believe that. But you need to admit that you’re slamming the door on our faces and pretending like no one is still standing on the other side, knocking and asking to be let back in.”

The machine whirls, it wooshes with the release of a ball as another tear, and then another falls. Your vision progressively grows fuzzy, the world around you blurring as you swing again and his voice washes over you. 

“Did you know that Nancy is a freak just like you, and I’m sure she’d be happy to split some Cherry Garcia any time? God help you both for liking such a disgusting flavor.”

You let the tears fall openly, but silently, as you swing harder this time. The weight in your stomach - the knots that have been forming since the very first lie was told - twist and tug harder. 

“I know you’re not stupid enough to think I wouldn’t come have a beer with you, or take you to Target to get some new sheets or food that doesn’t have the Frito-Lay logo plastered on it.”

Another ball pops up and behind you as you clear your throat. Refusing to believe what he’s saying, you wonder if he can see the tears hitting the tan gravel beneath you and darkening it like drops of rain.

“And Robin! She’d love to watch Double O Seven with you. You should hear her Sean Connery impression. It’s terrible.” Eddie laughs a little and you twist the toe of your converse into the gravel, covering up a dark spot. 

“But no. Instead of any of that, you just gave up. You didn’t give any of us a chance. Steve Harrinngton’s dumb ass is the only thing to blame for all your loneliness, sadness, and problems. So keep ignoring the footsteps running behind you and the knocking, or open the fucking door.”

You want to believe Eddie, you really do. But what happens when you come to rely on someone, need the support to lean on, and they’re gone?

Your head shakes harder, a sob stuck in your throat as you barely murmur, “Eddie, I can’t.”

His voice is softer than it has been all day as he asks, “Can’t or won’t?”

More tears fall past your lashes. The last ball is pitched and you choke out, “I’m sorry.”

You don’t attempt to swing at this one and it hits the fence behind you. The machine whirs one final time then stops. 

“Yeah, me too.”

Heavy, suffocating, disappointment lingers in the air around you. 

It takes several minutes, even more tears falling quietly, for you to remove the helmet from your head and drop both it and the bat on the ground with a clang. When you turn around, swiping at your cheeks, Eddie isn’t there. 

Each drag of your feet inside is an active fight. Limbs heavy, heart even more so, because you know what awaits you inside before it’s confirmed. 

Murray looks up from a keg he’s tapping and simply nods to the end of the bar. Your phone and wallet sit there and you know the Jeep and Eddie will be gone when you push out the door crying. 

You’ve somehow done the leaving and were left this time. 

Strike three. 

It’s literally a symptom, or as some like to claim - stage - of grief. 

Denial. 

We lie all the time. We tell lies to spare or protect feelings, and more importantly, we lie to ourselves, instead of facing truths head on. 

Because it’s easier to lie - to avoid, to shut something down, or deny its existence when it’s too hard to look at directly. Which is interesting. Why has there not been some sort of evolutionary transformation from this reaction? And really, the longer you wait to face something, the harder the truth is going to hit you. The time you give a truth to sit untold, unacknowledged, it only grows larger. That truth takes hearty roots, and your avoidance in the form of lies, whether to yourself or others, or both, only allows it to spread more rapidly. 

Eventually, you will have to stop lying, to stop running, and that truth will have grown in strength. It has sprouted new truths or problems because your lies only fed it the fertilizer it needed to do so, and now it’s suddenly not the one thing you have to face anymore, but the multiple harder truths. 

Which may be why you’re still outside, staring up at Nancy’s brownstone, where all of your friends, or well, the people you hope are still your friends are-

“Out of the bike lane!”

You jump forward onto the sidewalk just in time for a man in bright yellow spandex to zoom past you shouting some sort of curse as you clutch the dessert in your hands tighter. 

Grateful you had a firm handle on it to begin with, it's one of the few family heirlooms you held onto along with the recipe it’s holding. Hoping to gain some sort of courage from deep within it, like your mom can offer you some through the dish, you make your way up the brick steps. 

The only reason you're here, the only reason you’re facing this day the way you’re feeling just so happens to be the one to open the door before you can even ring the bell. 

The door is flung open and her bright blue eyes fight to sparkle behind squinted eyelids that are almost shut she’s smiling so wide at you.

“Happy Friendsgiving!” Robin shouts louder than she needs to and holds her arms out in a dramatic greeting. She’s covered from fingertips to elbows in thick, orange goo, her clearly thrifted oversize old man sweater sleeves pushed up to her shoulders. You smile your first genuine smile in weeks as she goes to hug you and you both pause, rethinking it. 

“Fall in a pumpkin?” You quip as you balance the dessert in your hand to shrug off one arm of your coat. 

Robin wiggles her fingers and hands spirit and jazz style with a beam that shows off her dimple as she corrects, “Sweet potato casserole.”

“You fell in a sweet potato casserole?” Following her deeper into Nancy’s, you take in a long breath, the tight chest you’ve had since Eddie left you at Murray’s loosening with each word exchanged between you and her. But knowing you have to face him, Nancy, Steve and her, and continue to pretend nothing is wrong while around Robin, has the constricting pressure around your heart returning quickly. 

Robin rolls her eyes, turning and walking backwards and making a face at you. She huffs as she turns back around, “No. Steve is making his famous mac and cheese and apparently I was annoying him, can you believe it? So him and Nance put me on mashing duty to keep me busy like a toddler.”

“You said it, not me!” Steve calls, his wine glass stopping before his lips when he makes eye contact with you. 

Weeks of not seeing each other after the way you left things was going to be hard, you knew that. But you really weren’t prepared for how he looks today, or how it would affect you. 

He’s got a burnt orange, almost brown, thick sweater on with light wash jeans. You’re sure both are from the section of his closet you stumbled upon months ago. That part holding his clothes he doesn’t wear often for whatever reason. He looks comfortable, casual, content. Down to the tube socks on his feet and the worn brown leather of the band of his watch. Your chest aches a little as you wonder if it’s Leigh that’s gotten him to relax into this version of himself. Even his hair, longer than a few weeks ago, is different than you’ve seen from him. Far messier than usual - like it hasn’t seen products or been styled lately, and several days of facial hair evident on his jaw. He looks like a version of Steve designed to torture you - a Steve who you’ve only gotten glimpses of and you miss before you’ve even really met. 

“Hi,” he says quietly, smiling closed-lipped at you.

“Hi,” you offer with your own hesitant smile. Your fingers fiddle with the tinfoil over the edge of the dessert from your spot where you linger in the doorway.

“How are you? Do you…wine?” Steve stammers over his questions, cheeks turning pink. He spins and starts pouring you some without waiting for your answer. It gives you a small bit of relief that he’s as anxious as you are, neither of you knowing what comes next. Do you ever return to normal? And what is normal for you and Steve?

“Sure, yeah, good. You?”

Steve nods his head too quickly, spinning to face you again with the wine. “Good, yeah, thanks.”

“Good.” 

“Yeah.”

Steve blinks at you, hazel eyes bright under the soft glow of Nancy’s pendant lighting hanging above her island. As you stare at each other, unsaid words float in the air, it was silly to think it could ever just be over with him. You miss entering a room and not sharing this awkward, palpable, tension - when it was a smile or joke exchanged instead of forced greetings, a warmth and joy felt instead of dread. 

You hate that you don’t hate him. 

You hate that there’s this horrible ache in your chest, like words want to tumble out but you physically can’t say them - why can’t you both just apologize? Why can’t that save the date be ripped to shreds? Why can’t it all work out? 

“You two are acting weird.”

Robin’s voice bursts whatever bubble you were both in, and you clear your throat, looking down. Steve’s fingers adjust on the wine glass and he shakes his head. 

Steve stammers, “N-no, we’re g-”

“Good?” Robin questions, eyebrows raised, “Yeah I gathered that.”

Before either of you can say anything in response, Nancy’s voice calls from the front door, “Crisis averted! I found a bag!”

Her brown curls bounce against her cheeks as she jogs into the kitchen. Dressed up in black suede boots and flared jeans, her tan peacoat left open showing off a silky black blouse. She pauses, mid stride, bag of marshmallows held aloft and her smile faltering as her gaze darts around the room.

Feeling warm under Robin’s sudden perceptiveness, you’re grateful when Nancy springs into action, relieving the awkward tension. 

“Geez Robin, did any sweet potato end up in the dish? I left you alone with them for twenty minutes.”

Robin’s lips twitch slightly, eyes finally leaving Steve’s as she looks down at her hands, flexing her fingers, the orange goo becoming stiff and hard on her skin.  

Nancy gives you a look, her eyes narrowed in a question but smiles when Robin looks back up. She places the marshmallows on the counter and grabs her hand. “Well, Y/N, can finish up.” She directs her next words to you, head nodding to a pan on the counter, “Put those marshmallows on top and stick it in the oven. Steve, your cheese isn’t gonna grate itself. And you,” Nancy tugs Robin out of the kitchen, smiling sweetly at her, “Are gonna come get cleaned up with me.”

Robin’s entire face turns pink, freckles standing out on her skin, from the way Nancy stares at her intently, like no one else exists. You look down, hiding your smile when Robin coughs, sputtering out something that you’re sure is supposed to be a yes. She eagerly nods and Steve huffs loudly, which makes her turn to glare over her shoulder at him, but it quickly turns into a smile as you call out, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” to their retreating forms. 

Their footsteps fade and Steve reaches out with one hand, looking at the dessert as he asks, “I can grab that from you?”

As the door to her bedroom clicks closed, you breathe out an exhale, unsure of how much longer you can keep it all up. His eyes are warm as his fingers brush the dish and you pull it back from his reach a bit, whispering, “It’s really fragile.”

Steve’s eyes bounce over your face, setting the wine down, both hands reaching for the dessert as he promises, quiet and sure, “I got it.”

Your fingertips graze each other as he takes it, and the electricity of just one more touch from him is enough kindling for the hope to spark. The heat from his stare has your cheeks warming and his turning pink. Steve’s lips twitch slightly in the corners as he glances down at the dish, then back up at you. 

“So, this just from Mariano’s then?” 

Your eyes roll hard at his assumption, scoffing as you turn to rip open the bag of marshmallows and keep your back to him. “You would ask if it was from there instead of Jewel.”

Steve knocks the faucet off from washing his hands, shaking them into the sink and flinging water across the stainless steel before drying them. He sucks his teeth with a wince as he turns to the counter, his shoulder next to yours. “Yeah, okay that’s fair.”

You laugh quietly, popping a marshmallow in your mouth in between placing them haphazardly across the orange mixture. Steve sighs next to you and gestures to the dish. “See, this is why I asked. No way you baked something. Didn’t think you could do anything in the kitchen except keep your take out menus impeccably organized.”

“Impeccably huh? That your word of the day on the calendar Robin got you?” You toss another marshmallow in your mouth with a smirk. 

“Actually, no today’s word was assiduous.” 

The veins in his hands flex as he grates the cheese, and he gives you a look as he says the word with confidence and emphasis, eyebrows raised.

You stall, taking a sip of your wine and hiding your smile in the glass before asking, “What, am I supposed to be impressed or something?” 

He dumps the cheese into the pot and turns to you, cocking his head, tongue in his cheek before he frowns. “You’re not?”

Steve’s lips twitch, his facade breaking easily and you both laugh. Your shoulders relax further and so do his. Why does it have to be so easy with him, yet so hard?

“Actually, I think it will be you who’s impressed,” you start, making the marshmallows a little more purposeful and pretty for his sake. 

“Oh yeah?” 

You hum, nodding, “I made that pie from scratch.”

“No you didn’t.”

Looking up, you see him shaking his head. He makes eye contact with you and he shrugs, adamant, “Nope. No way.”

Your hands land on your hips as your tone turns indignant. “Yes I did! I made the crust from scratch, cold butter into flour and everything. Rolled it out, doctored up the filling in a pan on the stove. Brown sugar, the works.”

His hand stops on the second block of cheese, eyes narrowing at you as he questions, “Really?”

A laugh leaves you from the tone of his suspicion as you slide the pan holding Robin’s dish into the oven. “You sound like my dad when my mom made it the first time.”

Steve doesn’t say anything and your lip tugs between your teeth as you remember the moment between your parents. Maybe it’s the holiday, maybe you’re just tired, maybe it’s the few sips of alcohol that let the story fall out of you so easily. 

“She was really awful at cooking,” you laugh, taking a sip of wine and waving your hand in the air, “I mean like, awful. She could serve you a grilled cheese that was somehow burnt but the cheese was cold? She got better, but anyways, I really don’t know why she thought she’d be any better at baking…”

Steve’s eyes meet yours briefly as he takes his own sip of wine and you look away, grabbing some of the cheese and deciding to help as you keep talking. 

“I don’t remember how she decided to do this, but my dad was out of town for work, and she wanted to make him something special, and to her that was a pie, I guess? But she was adamant that it be from scratch. Made and baked with love. And so we did. We went and got all of the ingredients, and we destroyed the kitchen, but it was the most fun I’ve ever had with her. We listened to Dolly Parton and drank wine all day, totally got flour and butter everywhere, I told her about classes, and the guy I was seeing…”

Your eyes drift off the counter, remembering it was right before you knew she was sick and your chin trembles as a watery laugh leaves you, “And then my dad got home. Oh my god, his face. He, he…” you blink away tears as you start laughing harder, “He just dropped his duffle bag on the ground and shook his head looking around in shock and my mom yelled ‘We made you a pie!’ and my dad just raised his eyebrows and said ‘Sure looks like you made somethin’.”

The last words come out shaky and it isn’t until you feel a pressure on top of one of your hands that you realize you had been grating the cheese down to almost nothing, stealing it from him. Glancing up through blurry vision, tears continue to fall down your cheeks as Steve quietly asks, “But it was good?”

You snort, more tears leaving you as you shake your head no. “It was inedible,” you laugh harder, “Like raw, but somehow dry and clumpy, so bad.”

Steve squeezes your hand, eyebrows furrowing together as his confusion settles deeper in his face and he starts cautiously, “So…you…made an inedible pie for us tonight?”

Your head shakes more and you take a deep breath, laughter and tears slowing. “No, after that, she, um…” closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and push out, “She needed to keep her hands working…” 

When you open your eyes again, Steve’s staring intently at you, waiting. You wonder why he can wait patiently for this story, look at you like he’d wait an eternity for you to tell him the ending, but he couldn’t wait for you. But, would you have wanted him to? When you’re certain that the potential of losing him, all of them, completely, isn’t worth the risk. Would he have waited forever for you to change your mind?

Your voice breaks as you finish, “Her chemo…she started to get neuropathy, and making the crust and keeping her hands and brain busy helped. So she kept practicing until it was perfect. And now it’s one of the last things I have from her. The dish too, we went and searched for the right one…” Fingers of your free hand form quotation marks as you roll your eyes with a laugh, remembering her ridiculous insistence on it and the day of estate sales and thrift stores.  

It’s silent as the unsaid ending washes over you both, the importance - the weight - of the dessert and the story. The immediate need to take it all back rises up in you hard, wishing you could put the entire thing back inside yourself and rewind the last few minutes. The vulnerability leaves you cracked open and exposed to him and you’re not sure you can handle his reaction. 

“I’m sorry,” your brows furrow, “I don’t know why I just…”

Steve’s fingers wrap around yours tighter and he squeezes. Your eyes meet the moss and honey you want to avoid because you’re sure they’re looking at you with that look. The pitying one, the one that everyone gets before they tell you a sorry that doesn’t help. 

But Steve’s eyes shine with something stronger - admiration and amusement as he winces, “So, see, that story tells me that your mom practiced and practiced to make a perfect pie not you and-”

Your hand smacks at his chest lightheartedly, laughing around a protest. Steve holds his hands up in surrender, “Hey, hey, okay!” 

Both of your laughter subsides and he smiles, a genuine smile, one side of his lips twisted up as he looks at the pie then you. “I’m sure it’s great. I’m excited to try it. Thank you for telling me that…I wish I could have met…”

As he trails off, your fingers brush against his on the counter, your bodies shift closer, letting the story and laughter pull you into each other’s gravity once more. Maybe it doesn’t have to be hard - there’s a reason you can fall so easily back into each other. A reason you can offer up a story you normally keep close if he’s the one listening, a reason you can forgive. There has to be a reason your body wants to be closer to his, a reason you want to feel his lips on yours again. Maybe there are cosmic connections, unexplainable phenomena of the universe, fate and destiny and invisible strings. 

Hope flourishes inside of you, it catches on every bounce of his eyes over your face, the way his finger nudges against yours just like they did in that car ride to a lake so many weeks ago. It sparks and drifts into the air, it floats around you like embers from an actual fire as he breathes your name out and your body takes one step closer, making you chest to chest. One easy tilt of your head, one bend from his and maybe it’d all be okay again.  

The doorbell rings, making both of you jump apart. The reality of the situation hits you, like someone dumped an entire bucket of water over the hope as Steve looks toward the door and frowns. You keep letting yourself end up in this position and eventually it’s going to hurt so much you’ll never be able to come back from it. 

You’re not his, he’s not yours, and it’s too late. Another girl calls him baby, he calls her honey, and they go on and have the life you were certain you never wanted - all because you can’t let him in the way he wanted you to. This isn’t a movie, there is no rewind, there is no pause, and it’s time to move on. 

“I’ll go get that, you have cheese to…uh…” 

“Y/N, wait-”

You’re already out of the kitchen, speed walking to the front door. Dreading the girl you’re certain is on the other side, you start to pull your shoes back on. Maybe you could slip out with an excuse and leave. Your destiny isn’t Steve, it’s to always run, to always be alone. 

The door swings open and you look up from your crouched position, one shoe on. Eddie is standing in the doorway, holding a bag of Hawaiian Rolls and looking at you, eyebrows raised in wait.  

He holds open the door and gestures outside as he asks, “Should I leave this open?”

Your stomach swoops, thinking of the chance he’s giving you, the opportunity to do what you want, no questions asked. But your heartbeat thuds loudly in your ears at the opposite side of the coin - the other chance he’s giving you. 

A deep breath is exhaled as you shakily ask, “That depends…are you still knocking?”

Eddie shrugs. “Maybe. Only one way to really find out right?”

Nodding once, you stand. A limped step over to the door with one shoe on, and you close it. Your palm rests flat against the wood as you take another calming breath. The sounds of the others in the kitchen are muffled as you turn around and look up at Eddie. You kick off the shoe, take a step forward, and mime opening a door.

Letting a tear slip past your lash line, you shrug, standing in the metaphorical open doorway and hold your breath. 

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Thank god, my arm was getting really tired.”

Another watery laugh starts to escape you and you wrap your arms around him in a hug. “I’m sorry. For everything, for dragging you into all of this and for leading you on and…and…”

He extends his fingers, counting his points as he sighs, “You forgot for being stubborn, for not asking me to be the Inigo to your Buttercup, for-”

“I’m sorry.” You force every ounce of meaning behind the words as you squeeze his waist tighter and he finally meets your hug, long arms wrapping around you. 

“We’re all good sweetheart, don’t sweat it.” He pats your shoulder and takes a step back, cocking his head, “But that’s not all…” he taps his finger to your forehead, “What else is going on up there? Why were you leaving?”

“Y/N, please don’t…” Steve trails off as he comes into the entryway. You duck your head and sniff quietly, hoping there’s no evidence of your tears that escaped and break away as Steve clears his throat. “So-sorry. I thought you were…nevermind.”

Steve turns quickly on his heel, back towards the kitchen where the sounds of Robin and Nancy arguing about something echo louder down the hall. Eddie sighs, rolling his eyes at Steve’s back, and gestures for you to go before him, quietly whispering, “We’ll chat later about that.”

“Why does it smell like that? What did you put in it?” Nancy is bent down, looking at the dish you placed in the oven. Her hair is damp, curls weighed down against her cheeks, but her sleek outfit is back on, sans coat, sleeves rolled up. 

Robin’s hair has a towel twirled on top of it, though she’s otherwise back in her jeans and sweater, her hands on her hips. “I don’t know! I did exactly what you said!”

“What’s going on?” Eddie asks, tossing the bread onto the counter. 

“You don’t smell that?” Nancy shakes her head, hand held out to the air in exasperation. 

Steve’s back is to you as he dumps cooked noodles into his pot of melted cheese and Eddie shakes his head no. Your nose starts to wrinkle though the longer you sit in the space. 

Your hands raise, “I swear I just put the marshmallows on.”

It takes Nancy gagging on a bite she tries to eat of the casserole and Steve going through his spices next to his pot to realize Robin used paprika instead of cinnamon. A lot of paprika. 

She throws her hands up in the air as she storms out to the deck, where you’ve all decided it’d be better to eat, bundled up from the cold, than inside trapped with the smell. “You know what, I never asked to cook anything so eat you’ll eat your paprika sweet potatoes and like it!”

As everyone sits at the table, Eddie looks around and asks, “Shouldn’t we wait for one more?”

“What?” Steve asks him, tone a little sharp, sitting down in the seat across from you.

“Your fiance? Isn’t she coming?” Eddie prods, meeting Steve’s cold attitude with an equal sting and rolled back shoulders. 

“I’m sure she was earlier,” Robin mumbles into her wine glass, “Ow.” She glares at Steve who kicks her under the table. 

Nancy rolls her eyes as Steve shakes his head no, clearing his throat, “She’s…we haven’t…she’s with her family already.”

Robin sighs from her spot next to you and your eyes meet Steve’s before jumping down to your plate. The pressure around your heart squeezes even tighter - maybe it was only easy with him because she’s not here, and that is not always going to be the case. Your fingers itch, neck rolling from the tension. You want to get up and walk away, but Eddie’s knee nudges yours and your shoulders relax slightly. 

Nancy raises her glass, changing the subject, “Okay, before we dig in, I want to say that I’m very grateful for you all, and here’s to many more years of Friendsgiving.” She smiles at Robin when she uses the name. 

Robin beams, holding her glass up too, “Here, here! Now everyone take two scoops of the potatoes.”

Glasses clink and laughter shared, it's easy for you to believe Nancy. Easy with Steve smiling across from you and Eddie and Robin bickering about the food next to you, with her not there, to believe that you’ll be a part of their stories. Maybe - 

“So, Dingus, it’s time to spill all the details about Leigh.” Robin leans forward on the table, her eyebrows raised as Steve’s glass pauses halfway to his mouth. “We don’t know anything and you’re getting married in like five months.”

Nancy and Eddie’s bites and glasses also freeze, not so discreet looks at you from both of them. Nancy finishes swallowing and shakes her head, “Robin, we know enough! Let Steve-”

“No we don’t! I don’t know how you met, or if she’s moved in, and how he proposed and why on earth he didn’t tell his best friend! I have him cornered finally and you’re all gonna help me. Don’t act like you guys don’t want to know either!”

“Robin,” Steve starts licking his lips as he looks at her then you, “Can we not do this right now?”

“Time’s up bub,” Robin frowns, shaking her head, “I promise we like her, she’s cool. But you’ve been dodging the questions and me for weeks now. Start with the easy one, how’d you meet?”

Steve looks at you like he’s in physical pain and you look down at the liquid in your wine glass, swirling the red wine around as you wait for the story that is sure to kill you. You wish he’d just rip the band-aid off, get it over with.  

“We, uh, met through my parents.” Steve swallows a large gulp of wine. 

Your head whips up at the comment and Steve stares at you, frowning before he looks up at the sky. 

Robin’s brows furrow as she asks, “Your parents?” Equally shocked as you are. It isn’t a secret that Steve and his parents aren’t always on the same page. 

Steve rubs at his forehead, closing his eyes before he sets the wine glass down. He straightens, rolling his shoulders back, “Okay, it’s all going to come out anyways so…our parents set us up. It’s been arranged for awhile, we didn’t really date or anything, we’re getting married because that’s what we do. She’s from a good family and I’m from a good family, it makes sense. For business and life and…that’s it.”

The table is silent as Steve’s lips twist, waiting for someone to say something.

Your heartbeat isn’t loud in your ears, your stomach doesn’t swoop - it’s like all noise has left the planet. It’s like someone actually hit pause as his explanation and the last few months catch up with each other in your brain until they meet in a loud explosion. It’s an actual glass shattering sound effect. Heartbreak and hope and disbelief and anger swell inside of you like a wave ready to devour anyone who was stupid enough to enter the unpredictable ocean. 

It’s surprising to everyone, including yourself, when you’re the one to break the silence. The question leaves you so quietly, you weren’t even certain you asked it out loud until he looked at you. 

“So you’re not in love with her?”

As Steve stares at you, the table floats away, it’s just you and him. His mouth parts, but no response falls from it. You stand abruptly, chair scraping against the wood deck harshly as you push back, muttering something about needing to put the dessert into the oven. Your stomach that’s been twisted into knots for months feels like someone pulled one loose thread and it’s unraveling inside of you. A box of bouncy balls released, an unpredictable canon of confetti, trapeze artists, butterflies, boulders, and a deep ocean swallowing you. All of it, finally coming together and creating catastrophe. 

It’s like every single moment you’ve been angry with him is turned up to eleven, but so is every look and touch. Every single one feels like a lie, a slap to your face - he was just using you because he was indecisive, scared, afraid to give up his single life. Steve Harrington was just like every other man. Your entire last few months swirl around inside your brain, replaying every moment, every emotion like a favorite movie. But it’s like someone took that film and told you every single thing wrong with it. Like they pointed out how everything you loved was just covering up the real and horrible plot - bright lights and pretty sets to convince everyone they had a good time, when in reality it was cheaply made and not worth it. 

Your hands shake as you start to rip at the foil covering the pie, and his voice calls out behind you, “Please let me answer that question. Please let me explain.”

A scoff leaves you, eyes closing as you bite back, “It’s fine Steve. Clearly I was just some placeholder for you the whole time.”

“Placeholder?”

You spin, hands in the air as you search for words to make him see how much this hurts you. “Yeah, yes. Some, I don’t know. Last hurrah!”

“What?” The word comes out sharp, like he truly doesn’t understand what you’re saying. His cheeks are pink, his hair blown from the wind outside, eyes wide and blinking at you like you’re crazy.

“You heard me! I was just some fun fuck before you sealed the deal on your spoiled brat fate.”

Steve’s mouth falls open, then quickly closes, taking a step closer, hands clenched into fists as his brows furrow. His jaw tightens with each word, “I’m not a spoiled brat!”

Another scoff, a cold laugh as you wave your hand again. “Oh please Steve! You used me to bide your time and prolong the inevitable! You were just avoiding looking at the contract you signed!”

Steve stands over you, both of your chests rising and falling in time, the air inside the kitchen warmer from the oven being on all day and your words shouted at each other - the sparks leaping from your bodies and engulfing each other. 

“I didn’t use you! You offered! It was all your idea! I’m so sick of this-”

You shove at his chest and he grabs your wrists, as you mock him, voice dripping with fake pity, “Oh, poor Steve Harrington. I have to get married and say goodbye to my single life, but let me use this girl-”

“This isn’t about me, I have to make decisions that affect my whole family, I can’t just say no! And what was I supposed to do? The person I want doesn’t want me!” HIs voice cracks as he drops your hands, fire cracking and sizzling between you both. His admission, the chance to tell him he’s wrong, that you do want him, makes your heart beat turn rapid, like it’s actually trying to punch its way out of your body. 

You shake your head, pushing down the flames of hope threatening to burn you alive, pushing him away. “You saw an opportunity to postpone but not fully deny. It’s fine Steve, I get it. It was the safe option.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Grabbing the pie, you sob, “Security. Money. You couldn’t say no to them. And then when I offered to fuck you no strings attached? Man,” you scoff out another laugh around your tears, “You probably thought you won the lottery, huh?”

Steve grabs for the pie, his eyes wet as he shakes his head. Voice hoarse as he argues, “You’re so unbelievably wrong. I couldn’t fucking wait for you to maybe, hopefully, open up one day! I have to move on! And it’s not like she’s a bad person, and I don’t know why we’re arguing about this again, because clearly you’re with Eddie.”

You tug harder on the dish but Steve doesn’t release as you cry out, “Oh! No! Don’t even try that! Eddie and I aren’t together and we never were! You’re using that as an excuse! Tell me Steve. Tell me you love her, that you want to marry her.”

“I-”

“Is that what your future looks like? Huh? Ten years down the road, it’s her? That’s what you imagined and not your parents?”

“Y/N, it’s not that simple!”

“It is! What do you want, Steve?”

You need him to tell you and he needs you to tell him and neither of you will - because you’re scared, stubborn. Two suns burning too hot and close together, and it was inevitable for it to end this way. You both stood on the edge of that cliff and saw the end you’d meet and you jumped anyway. Was it worth it? 

“I can’t believe you two.” 

This is the moment. 

It wasn’t when he showed up at the football game with her. It wasn’t the party. It wasn’t the engagement.

It’s the look Robin is giving you both from her spot in the doorway. It’s the pie and the glass dish hitting the floor in shards of sapphire blue and orange peaches. It’s Steve and you both turning to her, shaking your heads no, saying her name in the same pleading way.

Her bright blue eyes turn to glass as she chokes around a tearful laugh, “I knew, I knew you both were hiding something, I just…why? Why couldn’t you just tell me?”

Nancy reaches for Robin’s wrist, “Robin, they didn’t mean to…”

Robin recoils, swiping at her cheeks. She looks at Nancy, then at Steve whose head falls, his hands in his hair. Eddie looks down too when Robin turns to him and she steps back again. “Everyone knew, huh? You all have been lying to me this entire time? Why? I don’t…” She shakes her head again and runs past you both, down the hall and slams the door. 

Steve starts to go after her when a small frame stands in front of him like she’s twice his size, hand pressing to his chest. Fury burns in Nancy’s eyes as she blocks the hallway. Her voice low and far more angry than you’ve heard it be before. “I think you’ve done enough.”

“Nance, come on, that’s not fair,” Steve steps forward again and when she stops him with two hands now, his voice turns sharper, “Don’t act like you’re the only one who cares about her.”

“Yeah, well you’ve got a funny way of showing it Steve.” Nancy looks at you, “I think you should leave. All of you.”

Eddie grabs your elbow, speaking quietly, “I can drive you home.”

Steve laughs, “Oh, I’m sure you can.”

“Steve,” you start and he interrupts you, hands running down his face. 

“No. It’s fine. It’s all my fault right? I’m the only one in the wrong?” He pushes past you, shoulder hitting Eddie’s hard and the door slamming even more so behind him. Pictures rattle against the wall, Nancy and her family's smiling faces tilted in their frame. The world turned off its axis. 

It’s Nancy’s quiet knock from down the hall, Robin’s shouted ‘leave her alone’ and Eddie’s sigh of ‘fucking, christ’. It’s that there you stand, the door closed behind him, the mess you made, literally, surrounding you. 

This, the consequences of all of your actions - is the double tap. 

You let the mess build, you let the avoided truths take deeper roots and spread lies to cover them up. All because you wanted the hope to stay - you wanted it both ways - despite telling yourself different, despite lying to yourself for months.

Now, it’s too late. You’re just a girl who isn’t in a rom com with a happy ending. You’re alone, and the hope that maybe you wouldn’t be for once isn’t just gone, it’s ripped from your fingers. 

The book is closed. The knife drips in the killer’s hand as the victim’s chest stops heaving. The spacesuit floats through a noiseless and lifeless galaxy. The body doesn’t get up from the mats and a silence falls over the crowd. 

“Fuck!”

Your hands smack the steering wheel, a sob leaving you as your forehead falls against it. 

You’ve been driving around for hours, hopeless. Your heart hasn’t stopped its erratic and hard beats since you ran out of Nancy’s. Somehow your body still courses with adrenaline, fight or flight still at war inside of yourself. Every time you think about the look Robin had on her face, every time you think about how much you hurt her, or how you may not see her again, you feel real, visceral, pain and panic. Your hands start shaking, the crying starts its cycle over from scratch, and you have to pull over until the snot sobbing stage settles into a calm, sort of silent cry. 

This is a mess, and it’s your mess. Despite wanting to put all of the blame on Steve, you simply can’t run from this truth anymore. It was you who came up with the plan. Steve was hesitant immediately, bringing Robin’s thoughts up right away. It was you who came up with the Red Hot Ranch code, who kept going. It was you who called it off and started it up again despite knowing how it would all inevitably end. It feels like you pushed Steve off the cliff and thought it was okay because you were diving after him. 

As you stare out the windshield, you know you have to stop running. Eddie’s words ring through the air.

Open the fucking door. Nobody’s leaving you.

You have to at least try, right? You have to apologize to her, to tell her it was all your fault so if she at least doesn’t forgive you, maybe you can offer a crack in the door to her forgiveness for the others. The others who simply got caught up in your lies, tripping over the tangled knot of roots they took.  

You’re certain Robin and you met how and when you did not by chance, the universe gave you each other for a reason. You’re certain that there are soul mates, they’re just not in the form you always suspect. And you’re certain that if you don’t try to make things right, you’ll be miserable and truly alone for the rest of your life.

Robin once told you that she was there, and that she would be there when you were ready and you hope the offer still stands. Maybe you can’t make everything right, you can’t rewind, but you have to at least try to make the ending bearable. 

When you turn the key in the ignition though, your car sputters. Your face twists into an expression of disbelief, only deepening when it does it again and your mouth falls open in shock when it suddenly starts to rain, mixing with snow that melts immediately on the ground. You laugh, looking out the windshield at the bleak and miserable sky, washing out the city in a dull gray. 

“Of fucking course,” you mumble under your breath. Getting out of the car, you sigh as you lock it. You shield your eyes as you stare up at the sky and laugh, “You’re real funny. Great joke.”

Maybe it was a sign from the universe that you needed to really work for it, maybe it was bad karma, maybe you really deserved it, maybe it was even supposed to be a blessing - washing away the past to clear the slate for the future. 

Regardless of reason, you don’t take the train, and you make the slow and wet walk back to where you came from. 

The buzzer for her place rings with no answer. You know that she’s home because the light is on, and you intercepted her take out. 

“Buckley I’ll keep buzzing, your egg rolls are getting cold!”

When she doesn’t answer again, you sigh, pressing your wet forehead to the cold brick and hold it down again, pulling out the big guns. “Okay, Robin, I, listen. I am so sorry. And if you want to hate me and never see me again, that’s totally fine, I understand. Because honestly, I am…I am scum for lying to you. I am pond scum. I’m lower than pond scum. I am the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”

You release the buzzer and when there still isn’t a click of her responding your chin trembles. Maybe you really did fuck it up that badly and there is no coming back from this. It was silly of you to think she’d ever forgive you, especially when she has Steve. You’re about to set the food down and buzz again to tell her you’ll leave when the front door opens. 

“You’re lower actually.” 

A sob leaves you as Robin stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her favorite Hawkins Band sweatshirt. The fuzzy lime green socks with banjos on them that you got her for her birthday on her feet.  

You nod, swiping at your tears with a free hand. “You’re right. Lower than the fungus. I’m the pus that infects the mucus that cruds up the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”

Robin’s lips twitch, but she rolls her eyes before they look at the ground. “Quoting Julia Roberts is really unfair. You know how much of a sucker I am for her. Cheap shot.”

A crack in the tightness in your chest starts to pry open as you whisper, “I almost bought roses and had this plan to blare classical music from my car but it broke down and…well, here I am anyways, asking for forgiveness and a chance to explain.”

She raises her eyebrows, waiting, and your chin trembles as your voice shakes, “Robin I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to lie to you about it all for so long. And there were so many times I wanted to tell you. I was selfish and wrong and scared I would lose you - that you’d pick his side and shut me out - but I’m here trying now…please don’t hate me forever. And don’t hate Steve. He did nothing wrong. Or Nancy, or Eddie. It was all me and I’m so, so, so, sorry, please let me explain everything and give me another chance to be even half the amazing friend that you are.”

It’s silent, for what feels like forever, until her eyes meet yours. Shining from tears and her nose wiggles as she sniffles, “You were going to Pretty Woman me?”

You nod, tears roll down your cheeks and mingle with the rain that coats them. 

Robin sighs, choking on her own tears as she laughs, “You just get me.”

She engulfs you in a hug and both of you cry into each other’s shoulders as she says, “I’m still mad you all lied. You’re not off the hook. I think giving me limitless veto power for movie nights is extremely fair and nonnegotiable.” 

Your body feels lighter than it has in months as your arm tightens around her as you agree with a teary laugh, whispering another apology while silently vowing to never let her go. It doesn’t matter what happens next, because at least you have her, and you know you always will. 

Robin trips on a heel as she emerges from her closet. Tilting your head at the dress she holds up, your nose scrunches as you shake your head no. 

She sighs, throwing it on the no pile and groans, “Ugh! This is hopeless!”

As she flops onto her bed with a huff, you laugh and swap places with her, “No, no, come on. Tell me again.”

Robin sits up, staring at her dresser with a furrow forming under her bangs. “I want to look professional, put together, but not like it’s an interview, you know? I want them to take me seriously, but I want to look like me. Ergo, I am doomed.”

Your fingers trail over her clothes, eyes searching again after they roll. “Ergo, you’ve been facetiming Dustin too much.”

A black dress catches your eyes, velvet and cinched at the waist. Pulling it from her closet you hold it up. “What about this? I’ve never seen you wear it. Is it new?”

Her head tilts, “Huh. I forgot I bought that for…” she trails off and looks at you with a sad smile. “Right. Yeah, you don’t think it’s too low cut?”

You shake your head no, taking a deep breath at her change of subject, thoughts drifting to if she bought it for the wedding or something related to it. Maybe you could ask, but you’ve sort of had a non-verbal agreement to not discuss Steve the last month and it’s been working. After explaining everything to her, including how you felt about him getting married, your complicated feelings, it just felt easier to not discuss anything relating to him. 

“Throw a nice necklace on, you’ll be perfect babe,” you make an a-okay symbol with your fingers, “The Wheeler’s aren’t gonna know what hit em.” You smile and look at the clock on her nightstand, handing the dress out to her, “Get to it though, or you’ll be late.”

Robin makes no move to get up, holding the dress in her hands and staring at it. 

She shakes her head no. “I can’t do this.”

Sitting next to her, the bed bounces lightly and you grab her hand. “You absolutely can do this. It’s just meeting the parents and siblings, all of whom you’ve met already.”

“But not as her girlfriend. When I met them she wasn’t even out. What if they hate me? What if I spill something? What if I order the wrong wine?”

Laughing, you hold her panicking face in your hands, taking a deep breath to encourage her to do so too. “Robin. Breathe.”

She does, her exhale shaky and you smile, head tilting as you let her face go, fixing a curl you smooshed. “You really love her don’t you.”

It’s not a question, but Robin answers anyway. She nods vehemently, words tumbling out of her like she can’t help it. “God so much it’s scary. But also not? I want to spend every second with her. I want to tell her about every dumb little thought that pops into my head and I want to hear what she ate for lunch every day. I want to wake up and fall asleep next to her and that’s insane! How can you love a person like that so quickly? Like everything in your body is screaming for it? It’s…it’s that kind of love I’ve only heard about before? That kind of love…” she trails off, maroon polished fingers covering her smile before she keeps going, “It’s easier than breathing. It is breathing, you know?”

As she says the words that prick at something inside of you, prodding on thoughts you’d locked away, her skin pales, looking like she’s going to be sick. “Oh my god I really can’t do this. I can’t-”

“Robin. One step at a time. Change your outfit, you can do that right?”

She laughs, head falling to your shoulder, a sing-song lilt to her voice, “We’ve been here before.”

“Yeah and look at what happened.”

Robin sits up, biting her lip, nodding once and standing. “Right.”

As she changes, you assess her jewelry box. Your eyes roam over the mirror of her vanity, smiling at the pictures. You pause at the one of her and Steve that’s new to you. He has his tongue out, her arm around him and your fingers touch the corner, an ache in your chest wondering what they were doing and what stories they’ll have from the day. 

“Have you talked to him?”

Her question startles you and your shoulders lift. Clearing your throat, you hold the necklace out to her. “No, um, I haven’t. He’s good?”

Robin starts to hook the necklace as she hums, “I think so. It’s hard to tell some days.” She hesitates, her face pinched into a familiar look to you, the one that looks like she’s physically holding words in, a true test for her. She bends down to buckle her heels as she asks, “Is it always going to be this way? Avoiding talking about each other? Seeing each other?”

“No, I don’t think so. I just need some time. I’ll be okay.” Shrugging with a smile, you grab your purse and coat. 

Robin’s blue eyes sparkle under shimmering gold eyeshadow and she tilts her head, a smile forming on her lips as she nods, confident in her words, “You will be. One step at a time.”

“Cute,” you muse, and take a step back. You twirl your fingers for her to spin and she rolls her eyes but obliges. The black velvet dress cuts off at her calves, hugging her curves in a sexy but modest way and the gold pendant on her necklace matches the blocky old-fashioned heels. You yell out, “Ow-ow!” 

Robin laughs, waving you off and grabs her phone. “Okay picture!”

“Ew, Robin no! You look so good and I am literally in my sweatshirt with the mustard stain on it.” 

She shushes you, “Tough tater tots toots.”

She pulls you in as you laugh, both of you easily falling into a goofy pose as she snaps a selfie. She nods her approval and grabs her coat, “Oh yeah, that one’s definitely going on the board.” She clicks her phone closed and you both head towards the stairwell. 

As you step out of her apartment building, Nancy is getting out of an Uber, an emerald peacoat wrapped around her and she stops, eyes only on Robin. 

“Hi,” she whispers, smiling, “Wow. You’re so beautiful.”

Robin’s face turns as red as her nails and you duck your head. “Well, I think that’s my cue to leave. Have a good night,” you squeeze Nancy’s hand, “Tell your brother and El hey from me?”

She squeezes it back, confirming she will, and holds the door open for Robin, then jogs around to the other side and you have to smile at her lack of wanting to scoot across the seat or maybe it’s just her old fashioned, secret romantic side coming out. 

As you start to walk away, you hear your name and spin back around, Robin is leaning out of the window, smiling wide as she asks, “Benny’s tomorrow? 10?”

“I expect a full report!” You cross your arms over your chest, fore and middle fingers crossed in a good luck to her that she mirrors as the car drives away. 

The walk to the train from there is short, your car still out of commission, and you pop your airpods in, debating how your evening will go. Eddie is already home for Christmas with his uncle in Indiana, Robin and Nancy together tonight, and Steve…

Before them, an evening alone like this never would have bothered you. Eating what you wanted to eat, watching what you wanted to watch - you got good at being alone, enjoying it actually. Now, there’s a funny little feeling that pulls at a thread inside of you, trying to unravel the work you’ve done. 

As you wait for the train, pulling your winter hat tighter over your ears, you watch a couple come up the stairs. They have shopping bags in their hands, dressed in warm, wool coats. Giggly, pink cheeks, gloved hands clinging to each other. They sit just down from where you stand against the railing when you get on, huddled together as they look at a map on his phone, and you wonder what their story is - where they were, where they’re going, and if they love each other. It seems like they do, and you wonder if it’s the kind of love Robin explained.

How can anyone love like that aside from fictional people in the movies? How can you love someone so deeply and intensely, without fear of it being ripped away?

But maybe people do fear it being ripped away, and they love regardless. Fear doesn’t make love disappear, it makes it stronger. Because what if that person is gone one day? What if you never told them how you felt? What if you never even got the chance to see if you could love like that? Isn’t it better to try than never know?

As you look out the train doors, the sky is turning a soft pink and purple. The sun is setting over the city in one of those perfect nights, slow, like each color being revealed is a purposeful brushstroke, hand painted. A sign. 

Sunsets. Steve. A good song. Steve. Your friends. Steve. Your family. Steve. 

Easier than breathing. 

An undeniable, unavoidable, unforgiving wave of heartbreak rolls over you. But it’s not alone, it’s hope, it’s questions and answers, it’s relief and clarity and you know what you have to do. 

You unlock your phone, a desperation and need to get all of it out now, fueling each press of your thumbs to the screen. Maybe the story is wrong, but you’re the main character, narrator, and author and you can change it if you just put in the work to do so. Tears begin to fall down your cheeks, and you let them, unashamed, finally free of the place you’ve kept them locked away. Pressing send on the message, you hold your breath, hoping she’s not already too preoccupied with Nancy. 

The train doors open and you rush down the stairs. Each step slams against the sidewalk, sending shocks up your spine, cold air filling your lungs as each stride brings you closer to him, but not fast enough. You have to try to change the story, you have to tell him.  

But when his location is just out of your reach, when you see him, you slow down. 

Steve stands beneath the gold twinkling lightbulbs of the old brick theater, the white marquee sign displaying the title ‘When Harry Met Sally’. He has a black beanie on, hair sticking out and curling slightly. A dark gray peacoat flutters against the back of his thighs in the wind, open to reveal the yellow sweater he has on and your feet come to a skidding stop. His phone is pressed to his ear as he looks up from where he was scuffing his Nike against the sidewalk and makes eye contact with you. 

Your heart beat has thoroughly been replaced again as your hands start to shake, each slow step to him stretched out and lingering, lasting for what feels like minutes instead of seconds. 

What if. What if. What if.

The phone slips, hand falling to his side. His brows furrow just under his hat and you want to reach forward and brush the worry away with your thumb. His greeting leaves him quietly, a puff of his breath and the word floating in the air just a few feet from you.

 “Hi.”

Gesturing with a trembling hand to the sign above that you can no longer see, fully under the gold lights, you blurt out, “Did you know that it came out in 89’? So technically it’s a bad 80s rom com. I was wrong.”

Steve shakes his head, the twinkle of the lights highlighting the brown in his eyes, warm and sweet and deeply confused as he starts, “What are you-”

“I was wrong about a lot of things, Steve. And I know I’m late in saying that. I know I’m late for a lot more, but I think it’s better to say it late, to say it now, than to never tell you and wonder for the rest of my life.”

Steve’s lips part, your name a whisper on them, but you take a deep inhale and prepare to get it all out fast and without fear of needing a breath akin to the way Robin speaks, just so you can leave yourself open and vulnerable despite knowing that it could, and most likely will, hurt. 

“I’m sorry if Leigh is inside or she’s gonna be here soon, but I have to tell you. I…Steve I’m sorry. I wanted to be friends with benefits because I was selfish. You were right. I wanted it both ways. At first, you were just this guy who was hot and funny and knew what he was doing and I didn’t want to lose that. But then, then I got to know you and that’s when it got complicated, because I really didn’t want to lose you then.” You swallow as Steve freezes in front of you, no longer stepping towards you and his shoulders hunch like he’s holding his breath as you keep going.

“I wanted you, but I was scared to commit, scared that if I did commit, I’d lose you all anyways. And I still am scared. Terrified,” you laugh a little as tears start to roll down your cheeks, “But I think being scared is worth it if I’m doing it with you. Because…” Inhaling, you take a step closer as Steve blinks at you, willing the words to keep coming.

“Because I think we could be something special if we gave it a real chance. And I think that we can’t know what’s going to happen, maybe it all blows up in our faces, but at least we tried and we’ll know and we won’t spend our lives wondering what if.” Tears blur your vision as you leave it all out there, words that feel like they’ve wanted to tumble out of you forever just keep coming, faster and faster, your hands gesturing wildly with each one, stepping closer and closer to him.

“And I want to try so badly Steve. I want to hold your hand in public and go on dates and tease you and make memories with you and I think we could fall in love, I think I was already starting to. Like real love. Like that undeniable, scary, kind of love, and I’m sorry you’ll have to wait for me to get there to say it, but if you give it a chance…I think we’re worth the wait. I don’t care that I’m saying all of this too late, I don’t care that you’re getting married because at least I said it and if you wanna stand up there and say I do to her in May then that’s fine, I can move on, maybe, I think, because at least I’ll know I tried and-”

“Woah, woah, woah.” 

Steve grabs your shaking hands, interrupting you. Cedar and mint hit your nose as you inhale, his cologne lingering on his scarf. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. One hand leaves yours, fingers curling under your chin as he murmurs, “I’m not getting married.”

“You’re…” you hiccup a laugh through your tears, “What?”

He tilts his head and clears his throat, repeating it as his thumb brushes a tear from your cheek, fingers squeezing your hand. “I’m not getting married.”

“You’re not getting married,” you repeat it again, quieter, letting the words sink in. 

Steve shakes his head no, the back of his knuckles brushing more tears from your cheek as he lets out a shaky breath. “I called it off the day after…after everything.”

“Oh,” you swallow, eyes blinking up at him under wet lashes as the reality of the extremely vulnerable words you practically just shouted at him sit unreciprocated still, unable to be taken back. 

Steve’s lips twitch on the right, like he’s fighting a smile, eyebrows furrowed deeper as he sighs, “Yeah. Quit my job too.”

“What? Steve, why, what-”

His fingers trace your jaw as he shakes his head again, rolling his eyes but the smile fighting on his lips wins. “This girl that drives me crazy basically quoted The Notebook scene at me and I decided I’d rather have the life I wanted, have her, or have nothing at all. But I didn’t think she felt the same way, and I wasn’t going to push her again.”

You smile, a laugh bubbling out of you as you shake your head, “You’re crazy about me?”

Steve laughs, his hat bumping yours as your foreheads touch. You drop his hand, both of yours pressing to the soft yellow material against his chest. His breath warm against your cheek as you ask, “So what happens now?”

He pulls away, forehead leaving yours and creating a small space between the two of you, you already want closed again. The lights make the green almost disappear from his eyes, golden, sunshine pulling you in and making you beg for more of it to light you up, a tether, your gravity, just like they’ve always been. 

Steve clears his throat, hands reaching up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing over the apples of them as he declares, “Well, rule number one, we tell Robin.”

“Deal,” you tilt your head, playing his game. Your hands slowly crawl up his chest, wrapping around his neck, playing with the collar of the coat as you throw out, “Pet names?”

Steve nods dramatically, pinching his eyes closed, “Oh yeah. So many.” He leans in, nose tracing up the line of yours slowly, foreheads knocking together as the tips of your shoes meet. “I’m gonna call you babe and honey loudly at the grocery store for no reason other than I can.”

“Yeah?” Your top lip hits his with the lift of your smile and question.

He nods. “Yeah.”

Steve’s hands cup the back of your head, tilting you open for him as he ducks down, mouth hovering above yours as he speaks like you’re the only two people in the world. 

“But right now? Right now I’m gonna kiss you.”

“Which bad 90s rom com you steal that one out of, Harrington?” You whisper against his lips. 

Steve smiles, gaze tracing the curve of your lips then meeting yours as he takes a deep breath. 

“You liked it.” 

And maybe the marquee lights twinkle above you a little brighter as you finally meet in a kiss. Maybe snowflakes start drifting down from the clouds lazily, covering everything in a fresh start right at the moment his hands wrap around your waist and pull you impossibly closer, your back arching from the passion of his kiss. Maybe a terrible top forty song blares out of someone’s car as it drives past, your foot popping off the pavement a little when he pulls away for a breath only to lean and kiss you deeper and slower. 

The universe can’t guarantee anything for you and Steve, but it is giving you a chance. There is nothing, not even love, that can keep away the inevitable struggle, heartbreak, or loss life will be sure to throw at you. Which is scary, but doing it together, his hand in yours, makes it less so. Yes, it won’t always be easy, but the hard work you’ll both put in when it isn’t, means it’s real. There is no one other than yourselves who can decide if your relationship could be like the movies. The two of you are the only ones that can calculate if there’s still time for a happy ending in your story. Only Steve and you can be certain that the fear of heartbreak or pain is worth taking the risk, because if you don’t, if you let the chance slip away, you’ll never know if one day you could have called it love. 

WCIL Taglist: @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @johnricharddeacy @freezaz123 @selfdeprecatingnerd @big-ope-vibes @manda-panda-monium @hellkaisersangel @yogizzz @soulmatecashton @happytimeunicorns @mandyjo8719 @lunarxeclipse @buckleylips @beckkthewreck @differentdeputyfishpaper @supardupar @micheledawn1975 @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sagelittleplace @totally-bogus-timelady @steves-babysitter @fallinginlovewithqueue @aftermidnightwriting @omgshesinsane @pootcullen @definitionwanderlust @nostalgiafool @palmtreesx3 @scoopshxrrington @live-the-fangirl-life @eddiesguitarskills @mannstarkey @keepingitlokiii @silkholland @redbarn1995

[featherandferns]

how about 16 and 27 jj x f!reader fluff?

thank you! i love your work🫶

16. Please, you know you missed me.

27. I kissed you because I wanted to. Dumbass.

Not sure if I did this incredible prompt pairing justice but here we go anyway! Hope this is okay <3 Also, the reader's from New England because...because.

Dumbass - prompt 16 and prompt 27

JJ crashes onto the floor, groaning and yelping simultaneously. A Pitbull barks in his face. Licks up his cheek and scrambles his stubby legs over JJ’s body as if he’s some human climbing frame. The moment JJ has him by the scruff of the neck, holding him back, he recognises the dog.

“Diesel,” he breathes. The dog barks happily as if knowing his own name.

JJ’s not sure why it took him so long to realise it was him – there’s no other dog that seems to have taken to JJ quite as much as Diesel. The realisation that it’s your dog lovingly ambushing him has JJ glancing around, because you can’t be far behind too.

And yes, there you are, jogging over, smiling and laughing and dazzling in the July heat. Seeing you again brings an abundance of emotions. Joy, no doubt, but sadness too. You’ve somehow gotten prettier over the months and perhaps more unattainable, if that was even possible. JJ can’t help but run his eyes along your body as you approach. They settle back on your face when you pause before him.

“Diesel, get off,” you laugh, pulling your dog away.

“I didn’t know you were back yet,” JJ tells you, still lying on the floor.

“Just got here yesterday,” you reply.

Holding Diesel by the collar, you extend out a hand and help JJ up. Damn it, did he miss you.

“And you waited until now to come say hi?”

You roll your eyes. “I was putting off the joy of your company.”

“Please, you know you missed me,” JJ winks, cocky and self-assured in a way that he rarely is around you; too self-conscious and overcome with nerves.

You tug him onto his feet. Smile turns somewhat meek. “Yeah, yeah.”

JJ joins you on the dog walk. Diesel keeps whipping his head around his chunky body, as if in disbelief that JJ’s there by your side. JJ knows the feeling. Every time you head back home, he wonders if the summer the two of you just spent together might be the last one. It’s a shitty feeling. One that comes from a fear of abandonment no doubt, as everyone who leaves in JJ’s life tends to leave for good. It’s only a matter of time before you do too. That’s why he’s never pursued you, no matter how much he knows he wants to. No girl has ever made his heart stammer the way you do; has played in his mind year-long, even when you’re miles and miles away. It’s fucking terrifying, to be so at mercy to a person, and it scares him off because you’re this impermanent thing, never fully in his orbit. Losing you would hurt too badly.  

You come every summer to stay with your grandparents who live on The Cut. JJ doesn’t know much about your homelife except that your parents suck: your dad is a serial cheater and your mum is a pushover drunk. No siblings to fall back on and a messy friendship group that you have told him several times doesn’t compare to the people on The Cut. Why you don’t just move in with your grandparents is beyond him. The two of you get into some sort of conversation about it every time you’re back in the Outer Banks.

The two of you eventually wander to the chateau. The rest of the Pogues are outside, gleeful to see you and reunite, and JJ reluctantly shares your company with them. John B’s hounding you about the waves back home and Pope is chatting away about college possibilities. Kiara is telling you how she knew you were coming today - that her horoscope predicted that an old friend would return - and Sarah (new to you but somehow already familiar) dotes on your dog. Soon enough, beers are pulled out and joints are rolled, and yourself and the gang fall into cheerful chatter. JJ takes the spot next to you.

“So, wait, wait, remind me when you met these guys again,” Sarah says to you. She’s giggly and drunk.

“Um…” Your brain seems to lag with the booze a moment. “Maybe five years ago?”

“Damn!”

“Yep, she’s been around forever,” John B says.

“When she isn’t running back up north,” Kiara drops in. You stick your tongue out at her.

“So, wait, then,” Sarah frowns and looks between yourself and JJ. He quirks a brow. For some reason, his chest begins to sink, as if something bad is on the horizon. “Wait! Is this ‘New England Girl’!?”

“Huh?” you frown, looking to JJ.

Deer caught in headlights. He washes away the shock on his face with a long swig of beer.

“What’s ‘New England Girl’?” you ask, looking back to Sarah.

The rest of the Pogues have come to an uncomfortable silence. It seems they all want to stop Sarah but aren’t quite sure how without overstepping. It’s like watching a car accident from a rooftop.

“You know, this girl that JJ met a while ago and has been pining after for, like…Well, forever, according to John B,” Sarah slurs.

JJ narrows his eyes on his now former best friend. John B bristles under the glower.

“Wha…”

You look to JJ as if waiting for him to clear up that it’s a misunderstanding. That Sarah is somehow referring to another girl from New England who had JJ’s heart in a headlock. He clears his throat and looks down at his beer, messing with the peeling label. He knows he should laugh it off and meet your gaze, but he doesn’t think he can stomach any of that right now.

“JJ?”

“I need a refill,” he promptly deflects.

Rising to his feet, JJ makes a quick bee-line to the house. The sound of footsteps crunching on the sun scorched grass behind him tells him someone’s in tow, and he would bet his board that it’s you.

“Slow down, would you?”

“For what?” JJ replies.

He opens the fridge and grabs another bottle. Shit. Now he has nothing else to do but face you.

Your arms are folded over your chest, expression somewhat bemused. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing or bad thing yet. JJ takes a gulp of the bitter beer.

“So, am I?”

He quirks a brow as if he has no idea what you’re talking about. His heart feels like it might thrum out of his chest and the weed is turning his high into paranoia and anxiety. Yikes.

“‘New England Girl’,” you clarify with the cringey nickname they’d donned you as, years ago.

JJ sighs. “Sarah’s drunk.”

“So?”

“Look, I don’t wanna make things weird, alright?”

“Why would it be weird?” you frown, taking a step nearer.

JJ has another drink. “Because. We’ve known each other for ages and you only come here for like three months max, and I don’t wanna fuck up our friendship.”

“Well, what if that wasn’t true?”

JJ frowns too. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you sigh, steeling yourself. “I mean I finally took your advice. I talked to my grandparents and stuff and they said I can do senior year here, in Kildare, with you guys.”

Is he tripping? Did JJ hit his head on the porch steps and is now hallucinating? JJ frowns deeper and clears his throat, correcting his stance. You must’ve moved closer because he can smell your perfume now. Sweet and sticky.

“You’re moving here?”

“Mhm. In September”

“Oh.”

“So, would that change things?”

“I don’t really get how.”

You pluck the bottle from JJ’s hands and take a sip. Holding his gaze, you shrug, tentatively offering it back.

“Well, it wouldn’t be a dumb summer fling or a long-distance thingy. We could just try it out, for real,” you quietly say. There’s a hesitancy as you try to maintain eye contact.

JJ swallows. His heart should’ve given out by now, with how fast it’s pumping.

“Try what out?”

With that, you impatiently roll your eyes, shove the bottle into his hold, grab his face with both hands and pull his lips to yours. It’s awkward and clumsy and confusing, but it isn’t bad. JJ’s delinquent brain finally catches on and he kisses you back, subconsciously slipping a hand to rest on your waist. And it’s good. It’s perfect. It’s a fucking daydream and—

JJ pulls away abruptly. Puts a healthy three steps between the two of you. “What’re you doing?”

Your eyebrows raise. “I mean, I was kissing you.”

“We can’t…We shouldn’t…”

As JJ stammers you approach him again. There’s a soft smile on your face. You’re gentle like a summer breeze and vibrant like a blooming flowerbed in spring.

“I don’t need you to kiss me cause you feel sorry for me,” JJ suddenly says.

With the edge to his tone, he’d expect you to stop. To roll your eyes and walk away because it isn’t worth all this fuss. It’s just a bit of fun to you. A way to discover for yourself that this isn’t what you want and to appease JJ’s crush that you now know he’s had for quite some time.

But you don’t. If anything, you laugh, quiet and subdue, like you know he’s full of shit. Which you probably do: you’ve known JJ for quite some time now.

When you slot a hand against his jaw, guiding his gaze down to you, you lean forward to speak against his lips.

“I didn’t kiss you cause I felt sorry for you, JJ,” you quietly say. “I kissed you because I wanted to. Dumbass.”

With that, when you press your lips to JJ’s for the second time that night, he doesn’t try to wriggle away. Why would he? Everything’s finally fallen into place.

[cryingpariah]

Jackie headcanons 🪶

- Song 🎵: Dreamer by Laufey

- The gap in her teeth whistles a lot. When she’s really excitedly talking or huffy and pouting you can bet an involuntary whistle will come out.

- She talks to herself a lot, too much in fact. She’s realized she has to slow it down a little not only when she kept accidentally swallowing bugs during runs but because she started to form opinions on their flavour.

- Jackie genuinely loves her work but will still take any opportunity to not run deliveries. Her hair needs a wash? No deliveries. Her horoscope in the paper predicts bad omens for her? Well she obviously she can’t go out and risk affecting the costumers! It’s just kinda chilly out? Yes she has winter gear but have you considered how much warmer being in bed is!

- Very bird like in the sense she never really sits; she perches. Sitting in a chair the way God intended? 🚫🚫 Sitting on the armrest, top of, or leaning on the chair? ✅✅

- All her pay goes straight into a secure account. If she ever needs money she’ll just walk up to Morgans and stick her hand out.

- Vacation wise there’s only two places she goes: the first is home naturally, to visit her parents graves and reacquaint herself with the townsfolk. The other is a very well kept secret, it a very hidden resort where the rooms are nestled into the side of a cliff! It’s about as remote as a person can get, great for recharging and taking time for yourself.

- Due to the nature of the job she’s had to limit her work attire to trousers and pants only. Skirts and Dresses are not conducive to zipping through the air like she does.

- Her training with Stussy is scheduled for 3 months consistently but it always manages to sneak up on her. She has definitely tried to hide from her before, it never works. Thanks to Stussy though her Haki is stellar and she even knows the Rokushiki techniques but she never really uses them.

- Her room is stuffed with books on psychology, anthropology, things of that nature. She’s just so interested in what makes people themselves. She loves being able to accurately read a person from body language alone! It makes getting along with them soooo much easier.

- She has a sharp mind and a silver tongue she gets to know some crazy things very easily, things that would make great front page stories! Things that oddly never make it to print…it almost like she’s protecting some things from Morgans feathery grasp.

- Sewing as a hobby came from her being a pretty rowdy and adventurous kid who often ripped her dresses. Her parents would always just buy her new ones but she likes the ones she already has so she learned how to fix them.

- She does technically have a last name, it was on all her official documents but when she was old enough she asked to have it removed, she had already stopped using it years ago anyway. She doesn’t believe there’s much point to a family name if there’s no family to share it with.

[astrotalk1726]

What happens when the Sun and Moon conjunction happens in the 12th house of a Sagittarius Ascendant?

For a Sagittarius Ascendant, when the Sun and Moon are conjunct in the 12th house:

Spiritual and Foreign Inclinations: There may be a strong interest in spirituality, foreign cultures, or travels, possibly leading to frequent trips abroad or living in foreign lands.

Challenges with Sleep and Mental Peace: This conjunction can lead to sleep disturbances, anxiety, or difficulty finding mental peace due to the heightened internal conflict between ego (Sun) and emotions (Moon).

Hidden or Secretive Nature: The individual might have a tendency to keep their true feelings, desires, or identity hidden, preferring privacy or secrecy.

Parental and Family Karma: There could be unresolved issues or karmic ties related to the parents, particularly involving hidden aspects of the family dynamics.

To know the better position of Sun-Moon conjunction in 12th house of Sagittarius Ascendant, you can Use Kundli Chakra Professional Software. Which can give better information. And the prediction will be based on your horoscope. You can also contact us for more information.

[subir-astrologer]

A RICH PERSON AS PER VEDIC ASTROLOGY

Question Asked : What are the factors that decide if a person has potential to become rich in his life by Vedic astrology?

My Views : Vedic astrology is such a shastra where a person can learn about almost every possible event in a person’s life from his / her Vedic horoscope.

There are many many events in a person’s life like education, higher education, career, profession, marriage, child birth etc etc etc.

Likewise, one can also learn about someone’s potential to become rich in his / her life as per their Vedic horoscope.

According to KP Vedic astrology system the 2nd, 6th and 11th cuspal sublord are the chief to make one rich.

These sublords should signify 2,4,6,7,10 and 11th house in a Vedic horoscope as per KP Vedic astrology.

As it is known that the timing of the delivery of an event is seen from the mahadasha ruling planet. So to become rich the mahadasha should also signifying the same event during their activation period AND the activation period should operate during the young age of the native i.e during one’s career time.

This is the time when a person thru his / her hard work can make huge money to be rich.

There are negative ways also to be rich and lets not discuss about it.

There are people who become rich without doing much hard work and they get huge wealth from their parent or ancestral wealth.

This is also a kind of luck which can be know from the Vedic horoscope. The 8th cuspal sublord give the clue if someone will get ancestral wealth when the 8th cuspal sublord signify 2nd , 4th, 8th and 11th house supported by the running mahadasha.

Basically the 8th house shows unearned income and that can be from rent, commission / brokerage and even lottery and gambling also.

Here in the article, I have just given an idea with the basic dictum of KP Vedic astrology for understanding. There are many other parameters that is need to study also before arriving at the predictions.

In a nutshell one can very easily learn if a person has potential to be rich as per his horoscope. How much rich cannot be quantified.

[newwayastrology]

Unless we are not close to a parent, major things that happen to them are reflected in the horoscope(s) of the child or children if there are more than one. I remember that my mother left her body during my Saturn Return. My father passed when I had SA MC=Mars exact to the day.

I had a client last summer who had been following my work and saw the transiting Pluto square his 4th House Saturn coming up this year. His father was already ill. Nothing has more of a challenging potential than when transiting or arcing Pluto makes a conjunction, square, or opposition to natal Saturn. Another word for Pluto as a predictive planet is "extremes." It can really emphasize the planet it contacts in the most extreme dimension of what that planet represents on either the pleasant or difficult side so when it comes to Pluto-Saturn, if the difficult side of Saturn is emphasized (the side of the aspected planet that is emphasized is largely based on how the life has been lived), it can be a very rough period of 12 to 18 months.

These are the measurements in Barron Trump's charge through to the end of January, 2025.

As you look at the measurements in Barron's chart, it doesn't look like a time when a parent has a major change of status, is rewarded, etc. Rather, transiting Neptune headed towards the Sun, for someone who is not Neptunian (someone involved in creativity or spirituality), is typically the mark of a time of confusion, difficulty, of wondering what is happening.

The transit of Pluto to the Sun/Moon midpoint, for someone his age, is a parental factor and this is emphasized by Saturn's transit to Mercury, ruler of the 4th House. Remember, Trump has possible prison time hanging over his head. These measurements look more like that match that reality. They don't look like, "My father just won the presidency for the second time."

[yoshy-sann]

Aspen - Broken Colors Oc

- Name: Aspen

- Color: Orange

- Age: 27 December 10, Sagittarius, Chinese Zodiac: Rat 1996

- Height: 175cm (5'7)

- Gender: Female

- Sexuality: Pansexual, Demiromantic, Poly

- Horoscope: Sagittarius

- Personality: Hopeful, Kind, Serious (when she needs to be), Naive, sometimes childish

- Ability: Sharp eyes (Can notice stuff others cannot, and helps her predict next movements in some situations)

- Likes: Music, Plushies, Animals, Sour candy

- Dislikes: Hot weather, Annoying/Rude people, Injustices, "Corny" stuff

- Work: Convenience store

- Favorite animal: Tiger

- Favorite food/drink: Sour Gummies/Chai Latte

- Kinks: Masochism, Rough treatment, Domination, Praise

BACKSTORY:

- Aspen was born into a middle-class family (Eleanor & Owen)

- She lived a normal childhood until her mom started her own company, which made her start developing narcissistic behavior. This made her parents fight more and more. Every time they finished fighting each other, her dad was the one comforting her until she fell asleep

- When she was 8, her parents divorced due to her mother's affair with her best friend's dad, but this didn't affect her friendship with her best friend (Harper)

- When she was 13, she dated Harper but broke up because it didn't work out, but they still best friends. At 15, she dated another girl (Clara) but got cheated

- When she started high school, she was seen as the happy and bubbly girl in the whole school. She even was the captain on her school's volleyball team, which lasted until she graduated

- In sophomore year, she started to gain more attention due to her fast development, which made girls and boys try to get her attention, which she accepted without hesitation

- This made her more popular and got her first boyfriend (Reo)

- Their relationship lasted until junior year, when he abused her and threatened to blackmail her with her private photos. This made her feel helpless and confronted him, which he didn't listen to anything she said and broke up with her on the spot. After this, Reo randomly "disappeared", then got another boyfriend, but he came out as gay (Dylan)

- She graduated high school with average grades

- On her early 20s, she fell into a depressive state. She didn't find any joy in what she found entertaining before. She stayed the whole day inside, she didn't hang out with Harper as much, which made Harper worry, her best friend invited her to parties but her mood didn't change

- One day, she discovered pole dancing and tried it. This surprisingly helped her through and took this as a serious hobby. She felt free every time she pole dance. This made her feel happy again and made her best friend relieved. She then got piercings and grew her hair. She felt refreshed and started this new chapter

- She moved to the current city and found a job, and so did her best friend

FACTS:

• She can dance (only because Harper taught her to)

• She started her plush collection when she was 20 (she kept the ones from her childhood) ~ count - 45 plushies and counting

• She loves her eyes

• She likes to wear tight clothes (and no because she likes to show her body, she just likes those clothes)

• She likes to watch the sunset (she does it everyday - it's like a ritual for her)

• Her favorite instrument is the Violin, Drums, and Guitar

• She wears a lot of accessories everytime she can

• Every Friday her and Harper meet and have quality time together

• Sometimes hairdressers mess up her hair

• She's more stronger than she looks, she could take you down in less than 5 seconds if you mess with her or someone she loves, also carries a knife everytime she carries a bag, if she's not carrying a bag, she has a pocket knife hidden somewhere

• She doesn't experience hangovers (there's an exception: 3 bottles of vodka, 1 of whiskey, and 4 bottles of liquor [altogether] ~ she's a heavy drinker as you can tell)

• She's a switch, but mostly dominant (she likes to be dominated sometimes, but only when she's in the mood)

• When playing any type of game, she gets competitive and starts throwing the most obscene language you can imagine (which made her had problems in school)

• She dreams of living in a beachouse by herself or significant other

• She finds men's cologne appealing (intoxicating - in a good way)

• She can't stand spicy food

• She loves Chai lattes

• She wears a necklace that was given by Harper for protection

• Her favorite flavors are: lemon, mint, strawberry, and blueberry

• She has sharp molars

• Some say that she doesn't look her age and assume she's around 19 - 22

• Sad fact - She has thought that she has a curse when it comes to love, all of her relationships lasts around 1 - 2 months before ending

• Gruesome fact - When her ex-boyfriend "disappeared" no one thought she could've been the one who killed him due to her innocent nature, also being a good liar that not even a lie detector would caught her (not even Harper knows this)

————————————————————————

So, the thing with Aspen is that the game is only a demo, which idk how things revolve around this universe. But then, after a short while, I discovered each character had a profile and backstory, and I was like "damn", so I started creating her backstory.

But like I said, I don't know how things revolve, so the part where it says that she wears a protection necklace could be wrong, but since they have different abilities, I thought it could be possible but I'm not sure. Other 2 things, about the pole dancing, I know people have different ways to cope, but the pole dancing was something that it just came up randomly, and the other thing about the alcohol tolerance, idk how that works, so I just did whatever. Adding, I guess we all know what I meant by "fast development", right? Puberty.

Ps: Don't come at me about the dead ex-boyfriend, I just thought it was fun.

So, please correct me if I'm wrong about those things, and if not, it's just a character, I just wanted to have fun and give her a lot of ANGST. 🌷🌷

[training-trio-irl]

About the fusions!

I’ve been thinking about the fusions I made, and because I can’t help myself, I compiled some random info about them I’ve come up with

Now since I’m just doing this for fun, if anyone has any suggestions, ideas, anything you would want to add to these characters, feel free to leave a comment or send an ask my way!

-Facts below the cut-

Makimaru Nikawa

Pronouns: she/they

Height: 5’ 7”

DOB: February 12th

Talent: Ultimate Teacher/Gang Leader

Background: 

Lived in an orphanage before running away at the age of 9, got taken in by a local gang (the Cult Carnations). Slowly rose in its ranks and eventually became its leader

Is actually the gangs co-leader, but is believed to be the leader as it’s real boss works from the shadows in anonymity 

Became known as the Ultimate teacher after a teacher’s assistant and helping classes of delinquents get fantastic grades (some of those delinquents being in her gang)

Personality:

Serious and generally rational

Prefers to think logically rather than emotionally, except when teaching classes where she can go either way

Acts very friendly towards their students, but can internally get quite fed up with their antics

Other Characteristics: 

Always armed in someway (steel-toed boots, bladed chain, brass knuckles, etc.)

Very serious about school and gang spirit

Heart rate problems (arrhythmia)

Relationships: 

She befriended Kagito initially out of sheer curiosity regarding his behavior and abilities, but ended up becoming quite close with him. (still wouldn’t hesitate to incapacitate him if he tried anything dangerous)

Hypothetical Quotes: 

Don’t you want to live?” -> said whenever someone is going to do something reckless/stupid

Kagito Komota

Pronouns: he/him

Height: 6’ 0”

DOB: April 20th

Talent: Ultimate Horoscope Author

Background: 

Has lived with his grandparents ever since his parents died in a plane crash

Got into astrology as something to engage in that would help distract him from the world

Started writing horoscopes for fun and shared them with his classmates in the hopes to connect with them. They initially teased him for it, but they changed their tune after his predictions started becoming eerily true. This only made people sort of scared of him

Personality:

Nihilist.

Off putting disposition.

Tries to be kind, but his honesty with his nihilistic beliefs tends to drive people away

Self-deprecating, but is working on ways to uplift others (although he could complement and encourage ultimates 24/7)

Other Characteristics:

Reveres space

Always tired looking despite having a normal sleep schedule

Prone to lung illnesses

He tries to cultivate houseplants, but they tend to wilt pretty quickly

Relationships: 

Somehow managed to become friends with Makimaru, which makes him very happy

Hypothetical Quotes: 

“Compared to the vastness of the universe, humanity is inconsequential and overall purposeless. I wish it wasn’t that way, but.. oh well….” —> Believes that humans are their existence are meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Ultimates, however, are an odd exception to this

Korehiru Shinzumi

Pronouns: they/them

Height: 5’ 9”

DOB: June 14th

Talent: Ultimate Paranormal Photographer

Background: 

Took up photography after their older sister, who was a professional photographer, passed away suddenly (they had a very normal, healthy sibling relationship I promise /gen)

They had been into the occult ever since they were little, so they ended up incorporating both of their interests into one

Personality:

Headstrong but compassionate.

Always does their best to respect others, especially the dead.

Takes their photography very seriously; refuses to doctor or photoshop any of their photos and demeans any other paranormal photographers that do

Enjoys rambling about the supernatural to whoever is willing to listen

Other Characteristics:

Travels all over the world to any supposedly haunted location they can find

Is willing to go into any environment or building, however hazardous, if it means they can capture some specters

Started wearing a mask after venturing into some unsanitary environments and eventually just got used to it. Wears it all the time (a comfort item of sorts)

Favorite type of haunted location: abandoned war zone trenches

Always comes out of each successful session with at least one photo that features something undeniably supernatural. If they don’t, then they are convinced the location isn’t really haunted and will complain about it wherever they can (usually on their blog)

Gets hired often by ghost hunting shows

Relationships: 

acquaintances with Makimaru

Ironically, Kagito, one of the spookiest guy at HPA, is terrified of them

Hypothetical Quotes: 

“One of the greatest mysteries of mankind is what comes after death, and unlike my peers, I plan on answering that question myself! How? Well through my photography of course! Trust me, one glance at the supernatural phenomenon in my shots and you’ll be convinced that I’m onto something. Keheheh- wha- where are you going?! Don’t just leave me in the dust, jeez!”

“I want to understand what exactly the afterlife is all about, truly, but… I don’t know. The fascinating mystery of it all, the allure of the unknown, its almost.. beautiful? No no that’s not the right word! Bah, whatever! You’ll hear about it more succinctly in my final essay anyway.”

[ghostycore]

hi hello!! i’m blue ( 21+, s/h ) & this is sunset's very own losergirl mu danyi! she's a recent addition to sunset, running the listening elle kiosk where she doles out questionable horoscope predictions & untrue fortunes. i’ve only got her profile up, but below the cut is a tldr on her & some plots ♡ pls like to plot or add me on dc ( pomelos. ) & i'll be there, u know it!

tldr

bgm to set the vibes while u read ♡ let's go!!

all u need to know about danyi is that she's a psychic who doesn't believe in any of it lol

her mum is an actual shaman ( like somebody / the glory, powers are as ‘real’ as u believe them to be ). she is not but the tiktok girlies are popping off so she’s making bank by using her family’s actual temple in her videos for that special touch of authenticity

she gives fake divinations & charges a whole lot. just reads the fortune slips & lets confirmation bias do the rest, sometimes good at reading people to help her out with this. her business started on tiktok but she had an in with sunset through the lamest nepo connections ever to set up a kiosk when she's really not qualified for it!

has been known to lie about what the bones say. #bonegate or something ready to go tbh

her tiktok user & kiosk are both @ listening elle, goes by elle online bc she's pretending she has overseas cred to appeal to the hoity toits but she's never stepped foot outside of korea. the kiosk in sunset runs on her time, danyi sets up whenever she finally wakes up & goes home when she wants to. boss can't catch her slacking if she's the boss!

personality wise she's a liar but a bad liar, lies as easily as she breathes, never keeps track of them so she alw gets caught. florida girl energy, occasionally w a streak of weakness ( feeling bad 4 ppl so she ends up being nicer to them than she planned. immediate regret bc she overcompensates ). loves fooling around & not being serious, would d word if she tried introspection. also loves herself too much, spills over to people she cares for too

in danyi fashion idk horoscopes but here's my attempt: she's a libra sun ( indecisive, flighty, full of shit but charming enough to hide it ) scorpio moon ( sneaky, ambitious ) aries rising ( paris hilton )

plots

outwardly the calm to her chaos, but secretly crazier than anyone expects. you think danyi could mastermind half the pranks she pulls? no she can’t!!

a jason & eleanor (tgp) type of friendship.. just two dumbasses with 12yo boy humor

cutie she hooks up with, except it's for ur working hot water & impossibly soft bed. also she might have sticky fingers so ur stuff keeps going missing </3

she scammed u / ur friend / ur mom :p with her fake fortunes i’m so sorry

or she threw out a rando prophecy at u & it turned out to be true & now ur in awe & believe in every word she says

accomplice in scamming who helps her set up extra spooky vibes around her kiosk

someone who's been skiving off by chilling at the always empty stall, it's a great place to hide from bosses B)

if u work at a food related establishment she has a suspiciously high rate of cockroach in food incidents pls don't investigate

someone's gotten into ur stash of weed / drinks / xpixel tokens, who could it be!?

she’s a luver of trash & charity she’ll sleep with anyone who looks sad & pathetic!

can’t keep a relationship to save her life so maybe she broke ur heart & has no remorse ( or maybe so much remorse she’s naruto running away if she sees u... you broke her heart )

u hire her as ur fake gf to scare ur parents for $$$ but hey, now they'll be happy to see ur future s/os that aren't danyi

[astrobaba1996]

Astrology during pregnancy is a joyful journey filled with hopes for a happy and healthy baby. However, there are some celestial influences in the Pregnancy Astrology community that could be detrimental.

Birth Delay in Chennai Due to Astrology

Inadequate planetary placements in a person’s birth chart are the main cause of putra dosha. The Dosha becomes apparent when certain planets, particularly Jupiter and the Sun, are damaged or weakened. This could delay in pregnancy astrology in Chennai.

Tips for a Healthy Pregnancy from Chennai’s Important Astrology

Learn astrology tips for pregnancy in Chennai. Discover our professional astrologers’ suggestions for a happy and secure pregnancy, including favorable planetary situations and gemstones. Make use of astrological knowledge to look after your health.

Use astrology to predict pregnancy to unlock the future in Chennai.

Make use of astrology’s mystical abilities to learn more about your next parenting endeavors. Discover how birth chart analysis and planetary alignments can help astrology to predict pregnancy in Chennai. Find out if astrology can predict whether you will become a parent.

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Can astrology predict pregnancy in Chennai? Learn about the fascinating connection between fertility and cosmic effects. Analyze the information astrology may include for calculating your chances of becoming pregnant. Consider the potential outcomes of astrology and parenting.

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Tap into when will i get pregnant astrology prediction free for a unique perspective on your fertility journey. Learn about the fortunate planetary factors directing your journey to parenthood. Receive free professional forecasts for conception. Take use of astrology’s power for a happy future with your child!”

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When will i get pregnant prediction horoscope? Choose the best time to conceive based on expert astrological analysis. With the aid of a personalized diagnosis, you can safely become ready to parent.

Unravel Your Future By birthdate, you may predict marriage and parenthood!

Explore the mystical world of astrology for Marriage and Child Prediction by date of Birth . Get unique insights depending on your birth date to reveal the mysteries of family and love. Find out what your fate is!

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Unlock the secrets of how to predict pregnancy in astrology? To predict your odds of becoming pregnant, master the technique of interpreting planetary positions, transits, and birth charts. With the knowledge of astrology, learn how to forecast pregnancy and solve its secrets.

An efficient and precise pregnancy calculator using astrology

Introducing the Astrology Pregnancy Calculator: Your resource for astrologically-based pregnancy forecasting. Find out your due date, potential conception dates, and other information. Try out our quick and precise astrology pregnancy calculator right away!

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Unleash the power of pregnancy astrology by date of birth. Discover how the alignment of celestial bodies influences fertility, conception, and the journey to motherhood. Decode the hidden messages written in the stars and uncover your pregnancy potential.

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Experience the power of pregnancy astrology free. Unlock valuable insights about conception,

fertility, and pregnancy. Access personalized guidance and remedies to enhance your chances of a blissful and healthy pregnancy. Discover the transformative possibilities of free pregnancy astrology today.

Pregnancy Before Marriage: Insights from Astrology’s Lens

Explore pregnancy before marriage astrology. Discover how planetary positions and birth charts can shed light on potential challenges and blessings. Gain clarity and guidance for navigating the unique journey of pregnancy before marriage through the wisdom of astrology.

Pregnancy Astrology Chart: Mapping the Path to Parenthood

Unlock the secrets of your pregnancy journey with a personalized pregnancy astrology chart. Navigate the celestial influences and planetary alignments that shape your path to parenthood. Harness the power of your unique chart to gain insights and make informed decisions along your pregnancy voyage.

[rosietrace]

Sarah Marigold

"Tch, these fools... If I were Vivi-chan, I'd have their head on a platter by now."

Very important note: Sarah was actually created by one of my friends, @mintychocolate04

Full Name: Sarah De Gracia Marigold

Japanese Name: サラ デ グラシア マリーゴールド

Romaji: Sara De Gurashia Marigorudo

Twisted from: The hunter's dagger/The lightning that struck the beautiful queen

V/A: Asami Seto(瀬戸麻沙美)

Age: 18

Birthday: November 1

Horoscope: Scorpio ♏

Species: Human, (alleged) Demoness

Height: 180 cm

Hair color: Ink black

Eye color: Red(normal), purple(using magic)

♝•°•══════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════•°•♝

Homeland: Shaftlands

Position in Shard clan: distant family member, house Marigold

Dormitory: Pomefiore, transferred to Ignihyde

Class: 3-D (seat no. 19)

Sexuality: Pansexual/Demisexual

Dominant hand: Ambidextrous

{ Family:

Hawthorne(Father)

Shuella Meilin Marigold(Mother)

Velveteen Belladonna Marigold(Aunt)

Ivan Marigold(Uncle)

Vivian Marigold(Aunt)

Florian Shard(Uncle)

Yona Von Monarch(Aunt)

Minami Rhys Von Monarch(Uncle)

Ludwig Von Monarch(Grandfather)

Grimhilde Shard Von Monarch(Grandmother)

Camilla Marigold(Cousin)

Aurelie Marigold(Cousin)

Mercury Von Monarch(Cousin)

Kiara Rhys(Cousin)

Victoria Shard(Cousin) }

Best class(es): Physical education

Worst class(es): Alchemy, incantations, herbology

Likes: Victoria, her cousins, her parents, sparring/training, honing her abilities, swordsmanship, spending time with her family, reading, Zen(platonically), Ignihyde's advanced technology, modifying her weaponry to her liking

Dislikes: False rumors, paparazzi, noble society, rumors surrounding her family, Malleus Draconia, Aurelie Marigold, Koral Larrane, rusted swords, blurry vision, alchemy, Camilla's singing

Hobbies: Swordsmanship, meditating, reading, walks in the forest, sparring, listening to music during class, slandering the Draconias to filth, helping Victoria with her "plans"

Talent(s): Agility, flexibility, dexterity, speed, strength, predicting attacks, swordsmanship, combat in general, ambidextrous, photographic memory

Flaw(s): Judgemental, overprotective, aggressive, (partially) manipulative, defensive, easily annoyed

♝•°•══════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════•°•♝

Personality

Making her appearance in NRC in the middle of the second semester, Sarah is what one would call…. A bit unpredictable.

She's a very complicated young woman, especially considering she transferred to Ignihyde a couple of months into her stay in Pomefiore. Even though the latter dorm had her beloved cousin as a resident.

Speaking of which, Sarah's entire mindset is family oriented. She loves and cares for most of her family, practically unconditionally, and would do anything to protect them.

Hell, she admits to being influenced by Camilla and Mercury when it came to her insistence on willingly killing for her family's sake.

She's passionate, doting, carefree, and unabashedly fun-loving with all of her cousins, excluding Aurelie.

Although that does come at the cost of Sarah being rather overprotective of her cousins. Victoria specifically, since Sarah's admired Victoria since they were children.

When family isn't involved, Sarah remains closed off and painfully blunt, often coming off as sassy at times. And for whatever reason, she seems to have a vendetta against men.

Sarah is judgemental. With little to no shame, she's always saying things she probably shouldn't be saying aloud, and it barely bothers her as much as it bothered everyone else around her.

No matter who you are, family, friend, or foe. Sarah will shamelessly speak her mind with as little care as possible.

♝•°•══════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════•°•♝

Unique magic: Thunder strikes(落雷)

Song: Thunder(Imagine dragons)

Like thunder, Sarah strikes fast, and in a flash, is able to hurt others at unspeakable levels, so it isn't a surprise that her unique magic reflects so much of her personality

This ability, though limited, allows Sarah to summon an occasional strike of thunder every time she snaps her fingers

Unfortunately, Sarah's energy will rapidly deplete the more she uses this ability, so she prefers not to use it unless the situation calls for it

As a child, Sarah would often use her unique magic to joke around with Zen and her cousins, but she decided to stop once she came to realize how much it was affecting her health

When they were children, Aurelie mocked Sarah for not being strong enough to control her abilities, which was enough motivation for the (at the time) 8-year-old to almost electrocute Aurelie into nothing but ash.

♝•°•══════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════•°•♝

Name meaning

Sarah: In Hebrew, Sarah (שָׂרָה‎) is the feminine form of the noun Sar (שַׂר), which commonly translates to "chief", "ruler" or "prince"

De Gracia: "Of grace" in Spanish

Marigold: Marigolds were often linked to the powerful strength of the sun and represent the power, strength, and light that lives inside of a person

Trivia

Sarah was homeschooled up until she managed to convince her parents to allow her to attend night raven college

She didn't have a personal reason to transfer to Ignihyde, she just personally preferred being there compared to Pomefiore (Which was enough for Crowley to let her transfer)

She won't admit it but her favorite cousin is probably Victoria

Calls Victoria "Vivi Chan" as her term of endearment

Sarah has an intense level of second hand embarrassment every time Camilla sings, it's just excruciatingly painful to listen to

One time she jokingly put on some of Mercury's corsets and realized just how fucking snatched his waist actually was

She originally took up swordsmanship in order to learn how to protect her cousins, but she eventually saw it as a hobby after a while

Due to the fact that most Marigolds had blonde hair, Sarah saw herself as a genetic defect and had a bit of trouble fitting in growing up in the Marigold side of the family

Victoria became Sarah's beacon of light because she convinced her to be more confident in herself

Absolutely hates what Aurelie did to inflict Camilla's curse, which is why she isn't as keen on protecting Aurelie compared to the rest of her cousins

Her father, Hawthorne, is a man who often smiles at all times and for whatever reason, doesn't have a last name

Sarah never questioned her father's lack of a surname, at least not out loud

Liked reading with Yona as a child and they continue to have reading sessions together whenever they find time in their schedules

One of the first people to notice signs of Grimhilde's abuse toward Victoria, but unfortunately no one believed her when she tried to tell others about it

Hates Ludwig and especially hates Grimhilde for what she did to Victoria

The only person she probably hates more than Grimhilde is Malleus Draconia, and that's saying something because Sarah proclaimed that she hated Grimhilde more than life itself

Sarah (after eventually meeting Roya) would relate to Roya's insecurities over his horns, as she also dawn's a pair of horns as well

Had to be convinced to wear a different pair of glasses when she was 15 because she was using the same pair for 6 years (Only because Victoria gave her the glasses to begin with)

Denies any protectiveness she has over her cousins especially Victoria

Treats Zen like an annoying little brother even though he's technically older than her

Chose not to participate in the swordsman solstice because she wanted to support Victoria and try to memorize the players' techniques

Accidentally exploded her family laboratory when she was 5

Mostly ties her hair up, but doesn't mind having it styled

Threatened to rip Koral's throat open but had to be restrained before that could happen

[superblysubpar]

Can wee have a sneak peak of wcil? Totally don’t want to rush you if it’s not finished 💕

You're not rushing me, I'm just slow and in my head and I don't know why and I'm very very very frustrated I can't just finish this for you guys. 💛

I appreciate the patience, and so, here's the first 2.9k of the chapter (it's basically final, but technically hasn't officially been sent over to my beta in like the final form of the chapter, so just be prepared things may be slightly different when the whole thing is posted. )

Why do we want to believe in things like fate or destiny - divine intervention? Why do some put their faith in religions with blind following? Why do we look to the stars in moments of despair, when we’re desperate for hope, when we’re lost? 

We seek out answers from something we can’t see but we want to believe in. Whether it’s a fortune cookie in your take out, a penny head’s up on the sidewalk, a community of like minded souls coming together for prayer or worship, or a horoscope you read on your morning Instagram scroll - the reasons have to be the same for choosing to believe, for the hope that starts to rise in you for the promise these things try to offer. 

We look for solutions to problems. We need reason. We need purpose. We need to feel like we’re not alone. We need confirmation that it’s all gonna work out even though nothing can really guarantee that. 

When you look up at the stars that work hard to shine through clouds and a full moon, your chest rises with air trying to fill your lungs and you wonder if they’re up there. Your eyes blink up at that indigo sky, searching. He sits next to you and Leigh waves, whispering their hellos. His hand rests next to yours on the plaid blanket, he clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. It’s all too stiff, too on edge and you hate it. That attempted deep breath is unsuccessful, lungs deflating as it catches in your throat, and your thoughts wander back to the stars again. They wander to him, and them, and seek answers. 

What if they are up there, watching, like it’s one of those movies your mom was always putting on and your dad and you boo’d at from your spot playing cards. When he walked in with her with that on her finger, your mom would have gasped, she would have paused the movie, she would have yelled at you and your dad about the plot. She would have thrown popcorn at the TV and declared there’s something going on, he couldn’t, no way - there was no way. She’d have calmed herself down, rationalized there was still time left, gone to the pantry for more chocolate, kissed the top of your head and your dad’s cheek as she passed. By the end of the film, her prediction would have been right, she’d be crying and sighing at the couple who got their happy ending.

So could Steve declare his feelings for you here in a dramatic scene? Tell you it was all a big misunderstanding - that he’s sorry, that it was a rocky road but being together is worth fighting for? Could you leave here, hand in hand, as a top forty song plays and the credits roll? 

Of course not. 

Because this isn’t a rom com your mom would have loved. Life is not a movie full of soul-mates and cosmic connections. People like your parents are the exception to the rule. The couples who make it work - the ones who don’t let the trials of life take their love away like Allie and Noah, Kate and Sam, or Westley and Buttercup, are fictional characters. They’re stories to escape into when the despairing reality of yours is too much to read or write anymore. It’s exactly why you don’t like most movies or stories like theirs. Because eventually, the movies end, the credits do roll, and you have to face real life once again. Love like that doesn’t exist off the big screen, and you’re just kidding yourself when you fall into their traps. 

Knowing this simple fact of reality doesn’t stop the hope though. 

That painful, aching hope that clings to your skin like honey when you can feel the heat from his arm even through the sleeve of your sweater - like your bodies burn hotter when close together - too close to the sun. It feeds the hope that your brain tries to squash away but your heart thuds harder for. The what if, what if, what if replacing each beat of it. Hope that makes you want to cry out ‘please let this just be a bad dream’ to the universe. Hope that tries, but can’t escape the gnawing pit in your stomach that’s growing wider, threatening to swallow you whole. Hope that makes you wonder why this can’t be a story - why can’t you just be the grandson, yelling at his grandfather that he can’t be telling it properly. Someone is getting the story wrong. He can’t be marrying her, you’re just sure of it. Screaming at him, at someone, to please, just get it right. 

You wonder if someone were watching, would they be feeling the despair you are? Is this the moment? That scene in the movies is always the gut punch - for the audience and the character. It’s meant to hurt, make you hold your breath. Made to be dramatic - yell at the screen, break your heart, make the character in the action get back up and fight. They’re moments made to ignite that hope - but really, it’s the double tap - coming right after the feeling catches flame, that’s made to shatter you completely. 

The moment that extinguishes the what if for all it’s worth. When your heart is already breaking for the grandson, only for the grandfather to ask who says life is fair? Where is that written? When the knife is entering your chest, but the mask falls and the killer turns out to be someone you thought you could trust. When you’re untethered in space only for your last moment of consciousness to be seeing a friend cutting the cord. The person who sucker punched you kicking you when you’re down, taking it one step too far, leaving you crumpled on the mat. It’s all enough to make that fight, that urge to be angry instead of scared or hurt, disappear. It’s enough to knock you down so hard, you can’t possibly get back up - the hope is extinguished, and the story seemingly over. 

Robin squeals quietly, pulling Leigh’s hand across you to admire the ring, knocking Steve on the shoulder and saying something about the Dingus doing good. Your gaze flits down to the brown sugar and apple donuts in your lap, convinced you’re about to get sick right on top of them. Not because he’s marrying her, but because instead of being angry with him, you feel like you’ve been squashed, you feel hurt, you feel betrayed. Despite your better judgment, despite the past several years, you’ve let a man make you some pathetic, sad, heartbroken, and weak version of yourself. 

When Leigh’s hand retreats from Robin’s, lifting and curling a piece of hair behind her ear, diamond sparkling in the moonlight as she smiles over at Steve, your story’s end is written, and you need to accept it if you ever want some semblance of normalcy to return. You can’t lose him and them. But when Steve’s pinky brushes yours and you look over, his eyes resemble the broken beer bottle from the football game all those weeks ago. Shattered emerald and amber, cutting you to shreds with each shard of glass as he murmurs, “Can I tal-“

“I’ll be right back!” You whisper-shout, cutting him off and squeezing Robin’s shoulder as you get up. 

She yanks on your wrist, halting your attempt at an exit. Her eyes narrow as she interrogates, “Where are you going?”

Swallowing harshly as her blue eyes peer directly into your soul. She can probably smell the desire to run on you. Remembering your vow that Steve won’t take them away from you, a not quite a lie falls from your lips as you gesture to the concession food trucks, “You don’t have those cinnamon roasted almonds. They were my mom’s favorite and the smell is driving me crazy. Promise that’s all.”

“I swear to god, if you don’t come back, I will literally come stand outside your window on the sidewalk and scream-sing Monster Mash until someone calls the cops and I’ll drag you down with me.”

Her eyes blink, features incredibly serious despite the amusing threat. Your laugh mixes with Leigh’s and you ignore the shared moment, tugging your wrist free. “Would expect nothing less Robin.”

She motions she’s watching you, fingers to her eyes then yours, lips twitching in the corners before she turns back to the screen. 

Your feet feel heavy as they drag through the damp grass, and wait in line. It shouldn’t be a surprise after ordering when you hear his voice behind you. It floats through the air, soft, barely audible over the popping kettle corn, “I really didn’t know you’d be here. I wouldn’t have…” he sighs, settling on restating, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Your shoulders fall and your eyes stay focused on the truck. You’ve had time, since that night on the sidewalk, but your hurt still sits fresh under your layer of armor - tender like an open wound you need to keep protected. Your palms slide further under the sleeves of your sweater, clinging to the garment like the shield you’re willing it to be - you don’t want to fight with him anymore, no matter how hurt and angry you are with him. 

So the tone you respond with aches to sound indifferent, if not a tad harsh, reminding him you’re mad and pretending there isn’t any spark of hope within you still. It’s over, it has to be over, and all it ever was to him was something to kill time - fun and no strings exactly what you wanted. So your words are really just a reminder to yourself, another layer of the wall you need to keep up around him, “It’s fine Steve. Would have been nice to get a head’s up,” your shoulders shrug, “But, well, that’s probably too generous for the girl you were just fucking while waiting for the one, right?”

The people next to you clear their throats and you can’t find it in yourself to care, to be embarrassed. 

Steve moves in front of you, his face filling your vision. He shaved - no more scruff you like. His jeans are dark again, with fresh, new creases, and a light blue sweater pulls across his chest and shoulders. He’s picture perfect, his polished uniform in place.

He shakes his head, eyes bouncing between yours as he asks, “Is that really all it was?”

Your shoulders shrug again, because it’s easier. It’s easier to try to deny, to ignore the flutter the question causes in your stomach. Easier to bite back the words that try to form on your tongue. Because of course that’s not all it was, at least not to you. You wouldn’t feel the way you do right now if that were true. But what’s the point in telling him that though? What happens? Can you forgive each other for the words said, that, no matter how true, can’t be taken back? Things like this only end in heartbreak - because what happens if you tell him how you were starting to feel - does that change anything for him? And even if it did, that means a broken engagement, it means complicated truths coming out, it means attempts at forgiveness. And even after all of that, life won’t give you a guarantee. There is no promise of zero fights, of nothing bad ever happening. There is no happily ever after where the possibility of a break up, of losing everyone you’ve grown to care for deeply, doesn’t exist. 

So yes, it’s easier, to not say any of that, because you know. This isn’t how life works. This isn’t a movie. No one is immune to life’s misfortunes. These sorts of open-ended questions and complicated emotions that come from his simple ask are unmeasurable and unreliable. Wondering and giving into those feelings only open you up to be used as a target for someone else’s shooting practice. You’ve known this, but you allowed yourself to forget, hating it was Steve who had to remind you. 

Which is why you look away from his eyes as you say, “I believe that is what was established a few weeks ago at that party Steve. You were there, remember? You were dressed as a pirate.” 

His head drops, hands running through his perfectly styled hair as he laughs, breath shaky, like the laugh is covering up any feeling in his voice. “So, that’s it? We’re just gonna act like none of it happened? You don’t wanna talk. You run away every time we get a chance to do so, a beer in my face and-“

Your hand rising in the air cuts him off, his mouth clamping shut as you make eye contact with him. “You deserved that and I’m not apologizing for it.”

He takes a step closer to you, his hand reaching towards you, then back into his hair like he second guesses himself. “I’m not asking you to, and I’m not apologizing for what I said either.” Steve swallows, hands on his hips as he looks at the ground then back up at you, “What I said wasn’t a lie.” 

He breathes out the next words, both of you staring at each other with the weight of what he says hanging in the air between you.

“You couldn’t tell me.”

Your hands shake from the confrontation, from his request you left unanswered that night. The emotions that still want to bubble over, the time apart did nothing to cool either of you down. That what if, what if, what if that replaced your heartbeat grows louder, but your brain only shuts it down harder. If you hurt now, how will it feel if you keep feeding the flame only for him to extinguish it again?

The beat of your heart and those hopeful words thud in your ears as your head shakes and your voice tries not to, barely audible as the words leave your lips, “I don’t want to do this anymore Steve. We’re just going in circles. You’re getting married. You didn’t tell me. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you were really my friend while you were clearly getting engaged this whole time?”

Blue light flashes from the screen, catching the corner of your eye and illuminating his, their gaze bouncing over your face. Your bodies move closer like they can’t help it, like they know they won’t be this way again. Steve’s tongue darts over his bottom lip before his breath blows out, your name a whisper on it. The way he says your name with that look in his eyes, chests almost touching, it’s easy for your head to tilt with familiarity. Your breath out is his breath in, and it’s even easier to forget the last time you were this close. Sounds other than his harsh swallow and your heartbeat fade away. Time freezes, just a little, and the air pulses with tangible possibility of hope. 

A shrill classic horror movie scream shatters the bubble. Your name is called, you blink, and take a step away. Guilt washes over you as you see your friends staring intently at the movie you’d practically forgotten you were there for. Leigh and Robin talk quietly and your eyelids flutter as you will whatever wants to escape down your cheeks away. Him showing up with Leigh and a ring on her finger wasn’t the double tap, this is. That hope was still there despite the fight against it, and it’s ripped from your fingers. The book is closed. The knife drips in the killer’s hand as the victim’s chest stops heaving. The spacesuit floats through a noiseless and lifeless galaxy. The body doesn’t get up from the mats and a silence falls over the crowd. 

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore Steve. I just want to go hang out with my friends. I need this to be over. Can it please be over?” You stare intently at the ground, one single tear slipping past your lashes. It feels like it rolls down your cheek for an hour before Steve finally answers. 

“Okay,” he quietly agrees. 

Your head nods once and you brush past him, barely choking out a whispered ‘by the way congratulations’ as you grab your snack. Hand swiping at the stray tear as you make your way back to the blanket slowly. 

When you sit back down, Leigh’s typing on her phone. She squeezes Robin’s hand before whispering a goodbye to everyone. She jogs over to Steve, cocking her head at him. He pushes his hands through his hair again, giving her a short smile. He runs his thumb and forefinger down the bridge of his nose, swiping under it with the back of his hand. His other extends towards her as she reaches him, fingers lacing together as they walk out. 

Robin’s shoulder nudges yours and your head turns to find her with eyebrows pinching together. She leans in and quietly asks, “Is he okay? Did he say something about leaving to you?”

Your head shakes, and you extend the bag to her with a tight smile. You will just keep lying to her. Steve and you will move on, and maybe, one day in the distant future, you’ll be able to tell her. It’ll all work out.

She mirrors your sad smile, the wrinkles in her forehead deepening as she takes a small handful and turns her attention back to the movie. Or she tries, but you watch as her eyes glance down to her phone every few minutes, until it lights up with his name and she quickly starts typing a response. 

It’ll all be fine. 

[triviareads]

Releases on June 13th

Summary:

Madhuri Iyer doesn't believe in astrology. So when her mom reads her horoscope for the year and it predicts failure, she decides she will create a fake relationship on her own terms to disprove not only her prophecy, but also the Iyer family curse, where Iyer women always end up with the first man they get with. The guy she selects to fake-date her? Arjun Mehta, her best friend. Except, well, Arjun's been in love with her for years but she doesn't know that.

Some background:

Listen, I'm a pretty simple South Indian gal: if I see an author by the name of Ananya Devarajan, a heroine named Madhuri Iyer, and a cover with two dark-skinned Indian characters, I'm going to read that book pretty much regardless of the content. And when I found out this was Ananya's debut novel, and our cultural backgrounds were pretty similar, I knew I had to give this book a shot.

My review:

Before we get into the meat of the review, two language-related issues I want to note:

1. I have never heard Indian people refer to their elders by their last name. The book references Indian aunties by calling them "Auntie Iyer" or "Auntie Mehta", but that's not very accurate to the diaspora. We always use their first name, and then "auntie" or "uncle". So instead of "Auntie Iyer", the more accurate way to reference her would be "Kamala Auntie".

2. The Iyers are a Tamil family so I have no idea why Madhuri's mom is calling anyone "beta", which is a Hindi term of endearment, when the Tamil "kanna" exists.

Moving onto the review, this book has three plots: There is Madhuri and Arjun's "fake"-dating saga, Madhuri's struggle to accept her Indian side and the culture, and Arjun and his mother's estrangement. All of them were good individually, but it was a little difficult for me to follow along when the plots intertwined.

First, the fake dating plot. Madhuri creates a dating "contract" of sorts (or I guess, an experimental design) called the Kismat Experiment with the intent of breaking up with Arjun at the end of the school year on her own terms. Some things worked for me throughout the span of their relationship: It had its ups and downs, there was parental involvement which was pretty funny, and I did appreciate Arjun asking for time when Madhuri confesses her love for him at last, which he had every right to do. What worked less for me was the somewhat lacking chemistry between Madhuri and Arjun. It's tough because when it comes to friends-to-lovers as a trope, you have to navigate that slippery slope between not seeing your friend a viable love interest, and then suddenly seeing him as a love interest. Writing that transition in a believable way is hard to get right. Here, the author sort of leaned in on the familiar past when it came why Madhuri and Arjun liked each other (for example, Arjun affectionately remembers Madhuri as the girl who stole his heart when she stole a jalebi from him when they were six) but I couldn't really find much to read about what exactly changed for Madhuri when it came to how she viewed Arjun now, as a teenager.

A more minor note, but I think there could have been a *little* more physicality to Madhuri and Arjun's relationship, while still being within the bounds of how far YA typically goes. I liked him helping her put on her jhumka, so maybe more moments like that? That would have been great.

Apart from the relationship plot, a significant portion of the book was devoted to Madhuri's struggles with internalized racism. It's a product of the external racism that she faces in school and in her town, and I have to say, it was difficult to read such blatant hate spewing out of teenagers in our generation's mouths in 2023. But maybe that's just me speaking from a place of privilege, because as Madhuri herself points out, it would definitely have been easier for her if she was raised in a place like "Edison, New Jersey or Fremont, California" instead of her small mostly-white California town. A lot of this plot is shown through Madhuri's struggles with having to quit Bharatanatyam after getting bullied for it, and how she starts to enjoy it again, and eventually performs.

Something I'm glad the author points out is that our culture has become more "trendy" in recent years (especially when it comes to wellness) and it would be accurate to say certain parts of the culture are fetishized (she suggests Arjun is a victim of this) and appropriated, even as the diaspora continue to face racism.

The final portion of the plot was regarding Arjun's family situation. His mother is a divorcée, and Ananya definitely spoke to the cultural taboo that divorce continues to be within the Indian community. I'm not gonna lie, this aspect of the book was very difficult for me to read, especially because of how easily his mother neglected him and left him alone for long periods of time (like, months on end). I'm glad Arjun put boundaries for himself by the end of the book.

Overall:

I think this is a solid book, and very much on the sweet end of YA. My biggest critique is that I really wanted to read more about Arjun and Madhuri's relationship, and sometimes it felt like other side-plots got in the way of that (like, for example, the hospitalization plot).

That being said, this is another step forward for South Asian rep in literature, specifically South Indian rep, so I'm glad I got to read this book.

Thank you to Inkyard Press and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for my review.

[subir-astrologer]

IS IT POSSIBLE TO PREDICT IF SOMEONE WILL HAVE A CHILD USING ASTROLOGY

YES, it possible to predict if someone will have a child using vedic astrology. To predict one need to plot a horoscope and for plotting a horoscope one need birth details like date of birth, place and time.

Only moon sign of the parents are not useful for predicting child birth.

Knowledge of vedic astrology is much needed to read a vedic horoscope.

According to vedic horoscope there are 12 bhavas / houses and each house signifies many significances / events of our life.

The 5th house of the vedic horoscope signify child birth apart from many other events of our life.

There are many parameters in vedic astrology to determine the child birth from a horoscope.

The child birth is studied from the female horoscope as it contributes 80% and the male horoscope 20%. But both the horoscopes should be studied as this is an event contributed by both the person.

According to KP vedic astrology padhatti / system the 5th cuspal sublord should signify 2,5 and 11th house for a child birth from a horoscope.

The 5th cuspal sublord should be studied very well to see that it is not placed in a barren sign in the horoscope. The barren sign are powerful to create hurdles and also to deny a child birth.

If the 5th cuspal sublord is retrograde or debilitated then there will be delay or hurdles in child birth ( other conditions are also need to be seen ).

The mahadasha shows the time of delivery of an event in life and so in child birth also the mahadasha should also signify the 2, 5 and 11th house supported by the antardasha and pratiantardasha planet for the activation of the event.

The transit plays an active role in triggering the event when mahadasha is ready to give the event.

Both the horoscopes of male and female should signify child birth in their horoscope as this event is the resultant event from the 2 horoscopes.

IS IT POSSIBLE TO PREDICT IF SOMEONE WILL HAVE A CHILD USING ASTROLOGY YES, it possible to predict if someone will have a child using vedic astrology. To predict one need to plot a horoscope and for plotting a horoscope one need birth details like date of birth, place and time.

Only moon sign of the parents are not useful for predicting child birth.

Knowledge of vedic astrology is much needed to read a vedic horoscope.

According to vedic horoscope there are 12 bhavas / houses and each house signifies many significances / events of our life.

The 5th house of the vedic horoscope signify child birth apart from many other events of our life.

There are many parameters in vedic astrology to determine the child birth from a horoscope.

The child birth is studied from the female horoscope as it contributes 80% and the male horoscope 20%. But both the horoscopes should be studied as this is an event contributed by both the person.

According to KP vedic astrology padhatti / system the 5th cuspal sublord should signify 2,5 and 11th house for a child birth from a horoscope.

The 5th cuspal sublord should be studied very well to see that it is not placed in a barren sign in the horoscope. The barren sign are powerful to create hurdles and also to deny a child birth.

If the 5th cuspal sublord is retrograde or debilitated then there will be delay or hurdles in child birth ( other conditions are also need to be seen ).

The mahadasha shows the time of delivery of an event in life and so in child birth also the mahadasha should also signify the 2, 5 and 11th house supported by the antardasha and pratiantardasha planet for the activation of the event.

The transit plays an active role in triggering the event when mahadasha is ready to give the event.

Both the horoscopes of male and female should signify child birth in their horoscope as this event is the resultant event from the 2 horoscopes.

[newwayastrology]

I was reading about Alec Baldwin being reindicted on involuntary manslaughter charges for the killing of another actor by accident on the set of the filming of a movie. I looked to see if complete birth data is available on him and it isn't so I looked to see if he has children whose birth data is available. That's when I found his daughter's data.

Why did I look for the data of a child? It's because when there is something impactful that happens to a parent, unless there is little to no relationship between child and parent, life-changing measurements usually show in the horoscope of the child. It was a good three years before my mother eventually passed when I told my wife, "when this next Saturn Return comes, my Mom will pass away. She'll be between 95 and 97 years old and we don't live forever." My Return came and she passed away a week before her 97th birthday.

Interestingly, Baldwin's daughter has the horoscope of someone with STRONG self-esteem issues related to a problematic father relationship. That aside, if her horoscope is any indication of Alec's future, it looks, well, cloudy at best due to transiting Pluto on the Ascendant, the Saturn Return, and transiting Pluto squaring the Sun. Do these measurements mean that someone's father is going to be imprisoned? Of course not. There is no such thing. What we have to do in astrology is place predictive measurements within the context of the person's life. If she had been someone suffering with a serious illness, these measurements would probably refer to a worsening or reversal of the disease. If she was working in a law firm and had been working hard to become a partner, these measurements could suggest the time when it happens. The idea is that the measurements have life-impacting potential. It's not this measurement specifically means that. They MUST be seen in the context of a person's life, not in terms of what some book says that the measurements specifically mean. Those who are newbies in astrology these days have that "this means that" mindset as if a horoscope is a crystal ball that tells you EXACTLY what will happen. I've seen things online like, "Pluto is getting ready to transit my ______." What's going to happen?" It doesn't work that way and that's why these online astrology pages on Facebook are so useless.

If Alec and his daughter have a good relationship, her measurements are not a good sign for his future. If their relationship is distant, the measurements may refer to something in her personal life.