#jupiter was supposed to be a star

[iightbringer]

everyone not adding kutner in their cutesy hatecrimes md posts makes you realise exactly why he did what he did.

[lolapath]

One day the Sun shall destroy every planet

Mercury burnt because it got to close to the Sun

Venus became lethal after surviving the apocalipse

Earth gave humans everything only to be killed

The Moon could only watch as the Earth was dying

…………………………

all photos are from pinterest | shall I make Part 2?

[charles-edwin]

Tinn & Gun in My School President episode 7.

[moranaaaaaaaa]

I owe an apology dance

[ozclxwn]

Failed Star ,,

[ghostsessioned]

come get y’alls UAP ( juice )

[bat-circus]

Demon slayer manga spoilers!

Thinking about how nakime is the phrase “Jupiter was supposed to be a star but failed”. She was so loyal and devoted to Muzan probably being the second person who he was closest to. But still never being promoted even though she hast to have one of the strongest blood demon arts. When she was promoted, it was basically only because Four of his other demons were dead. And just, just as she was promoted and finally being recognized, she was killed by the same person who she was loyal to.

[mattey-stu]

"Jupiter was supposed to be a star, but failed."

Jupiter is me.

[askthetreehouseduo]

“Maroon, it’s not even plugged in! Its fine!”

“That is a charging cord.”

“Oh.”

[vaggietheangel]

"The sun is alone, but it still shines."

"The moon is only bright because it has the sun reflecting off it."

"Venus, the planet of love, was destroyed by global warming. "

"The earth is slowly destroying itself."

"Jupiter was supposed to be a star, but it failed."

"Saturn is slowly losing its rings."

"Uranus was once close to the sun, but it drifted away."

"Pluto was considered too small to be a planet."

[loveemagicpeace]

🏹Jupiter in Gemini🏹

Jupiter will move into gemini after 12 years.

Gemini is intellectual, expressive, questioning, dual, sociable, liberal. Gemini is a mutable sign and is adaptable. Gemini is the sign of communication and words. They always express themselves through words. They symbolize states of consciousness associated with intellectualization. Diseases associated with the sign of the baby are: asthma, bronchitis, inflammation of the chest and lungs. The bones associated with the sign of Gemini are the carpals and metacarpals, the humerus, the humerus, the scapula, the clavicle and the upper ribs.

Throughout history, the twin symbolizes Eros and Anteros. The two stars that exist in this sign are Castor and Pollux. There are supposed to be flames of fire around their heads and when this happens the storm on the sea dies down. The old Kop name for twins is supposed to be "Pri Mahi" - which means completely connected, united. Vows are associated with Gemini and Mercury.

The sign of Gemini is two-bodied and double. The twins do not hold hands, they are separate souls, they move from left to right. The sign of Gemini is difficult because of its dual nature. This is a multifaceted, changeable personality. Geminis are outspoken, arrogant, hyperactive. They are bright and good speakers. They like artificial gems. They can often be impatient with people because they are very quick-tempered and don't like things to go slowly. They are also very restless individuals and cannot stay in one room for long periods of time. They spend their whole lives searching for an ideal that they cannot see because it is right in front of them.

Best qualities: diversity, willingness to change. Cons: Lack of consistency across the board. They change quickly, as if they have two inner voices: one says do and the other says leave.

Jupiter represents optimism, wisdom, growth, learning, happiness, exploration, charity, compassion, inspiration, meaning, path and faith. It includes believers, rich people, employees, big banks, judges, fortune hunters. It is associated with the liver, bile. Jupiter rules blood, veins, arteries, thighs, hips.

Jupiter can bring the following things to the signs:

Aries Rising

You might become more involved in your community, or even take it upon yourself to learn something new for fun. It can bring more thinking, education in the mental field. You can travel short distances more. More interaction with siblings, relatives.If you are going to move somewhere, you can have better neighbors who are optimistic and friendly, even foreigners. You may accidentally meet some important people or people who will change your way of thinking. This house also represents the cause of the loss of property, the cause of moving away from home, long journeys of the spouse (the partner may travel somewhere).

Taurus rising

Many things can be related to finances, money (in general, property). Jupiter can give you great luck in money and comfort. You can live more luxuriously. You can find comfort in the smallest things. Much more enjoyment and great things. Maybe your inner feelings can start to change more.You can find yourself in areas that you weren't so familiar with before. Spend more time with family friends. Things can also be related to vocational education. Long journeys related to work. If you have a partner, there are also things related to the inheritance that you get from him. If you are going to travel long distances, it is good to take care of your health.

Gemini Rising

Jupiter will bring you a personality transformation. You may change your appearance and style - start looking at yourself and your body differently. You will be more open and direct and have strong opinions. It can also bring some insight about yourself (which you haven't figured out so far). Jupiter gives a deeper and more meaningful way of doing things. It can bring you certain types from your childhood and possibly dealing with it. Connects with the money of a friend and father (you can get money from them both). You can meet someone on a trip who you fall in love with and who awakens a different kind of love in you. You can also find a different love for yourself (in a deeper way).

Cancer Rising

During this time, you will delve more deeply into yourself and your subconscious, thinking more profound things. You will focus more on hidden things. You can meet someone who helped you through things (usually Jupiter brings mentors, teachers and people from whom we can learn). We can spend more time in institutions that are more isolating than hospitals, etc. If you are going through a difficult experience or illness, this is a sign that things will turn around for the better. Since this is also the house of the most difficult battles and tasks, you can fight with yourself a lot. Things that can also be related to secret enemies, residence in a foreign country, ways of release.You may have to let something go in order to move on.

Leo Rising

You will be more popular in society and among people. It is possible that you will meet more people and start socializing more with those who inspire you. You can start putting more on the dreams and goals you have, you can get a new interest in a new thing. You will be more dedicated to yourself and form your own opinion about society and maybe start participating more actively in it. You can buy more or give money more for personal interests. Your loved ones may be traveling for a long time. It can be the affective health of the uncle and aunt on the mother's side.

Virgo Rising

More luck based on your career. Lots of career opportunities and maybe a new path that will change your life. Also something bigger and new that you didn't expect to happen. More acquaintances, especially more interaction with older and authoritative people (more masculine energy). More connection with parents and father (father can help you more or give you money). You can meet more people who are destined to get to know them and get in touch with them. Jupiter can give you lucky coincidences with the people you need. Money can come from abroad and you can start earning abroad or get an opportunity there.

Libra Rising

You can decide to take a long plane trip or a spiritual journey that will give you a new perspective. You can decide on a higher education such as: philosophy, law, religion - or continue your studies / complete your studies. You can explore and investigate new things more than usual. You can think more about what you belong to and what belonging to someone means to you (what it means to you), you can also be more lucky in many things. You can gain a lot through spiritual experiences and psychic experiences. You can come to a greater awareness of yourself and what it means to you. You can take better care of your property and you can get back something you thought was lost a long time ago. There can also be connections with a parent of the opposite sex than yourself. You can do more sports or decide to be more dedicated to it and seek pleasure with one person.

Scorpio Rising

Jupiter will bring you an emotional transformation that will rebirth you and make you a better person. You can experience a deep connection with one person and have a deeper intimate relationship with them. Things can also be related to inheritance, you can get some property or something in you to your advantage. You can gain a lot from other people, especially money from other people is at stake here. Many opportunities and things can come through others. You can also get a lot of money from others and it is also good to invest money. You can gain a lot from a partnership or marriage. If you are involved in any lawsuits now, the outcome of them will be good.

Sagittarius Rising

Jupiter will bring you things related to others it mainly relates to the relationships you have with others (any). If you are already in a relationship, you can get married or get engaged (engagement usually happens under this aspect). You meet a lot of spiritual people who can help you and show you the way or someone who is more open, open-minded, you can get along better with friends. Jupiter represents marriage more, so this can be more in the foreground than the relationship itself (depending on the aspects). During this time, you can also attract someone who suits you more on a personal level. You can get to know your other side better and also notice what really suits you and what doesn’t. A friend with whom you are close can travel for a long time, or someone with whom you are closer.

Capricorn Rising

Jupiter can bring you more opportunities and new things related to your hobbies, entertainment and spending your free time. You can go into a more special relationship or fall in love with someone. You will want to express yourself in some way, and let the world see you. You can be more sociable and if single, meet new romantic partners. You could fall in love during this transit, but if there aren't any other grounding influences. it's most likely you'll just date a lot. You can also have someone who is not from your country or someone you meet on a trip. You can be more creative and do things related to creativity and you can also be more recognizable. A good time also for gambling or any related opportunities. Your passions for what you do will show more. Income can come from real estate and property. U can publish more things. This can also be a good period to have a child/get pregnant.

Aquarius Rising

Jupiter can bring you more joy. You can easily go more outside your comfort zone. You can focus on your routine or things related to you and your things. Artists of any kind are rewarded when they boldly fuel their creations with authenticity and freely express themselves. You will get prosperity and accomplishments with your ability to win over opponents. However, it can give expansion in loan and debt-related issues because of your ignorance. During this transit period, you will realize the value of the financial management.

Pisces Rising

you can go on a trip that will be longer and last longer. Your home can be somewhere else for a while and you might even find a place where you will feel the best. You can find a place that gives you a feeling of home and warmth. It can also mean finding a dream house or making wishes come true and also remodeling your home. You can feel better at home and have a better relationship with your parents (especially with mom). You can also better see things that ended and understand why they ended. Maybe you and your family can have some kind of family tradition about what you will do this time.

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-Rebekah🧚🏼‍♀️🌊🌙

[lolapath]

I have seen young scholars, walking down the street.

I could not help but to look at the lonesome girl, following the group from behind.

I wanted to stop her, to fall on my knees and beg her forgiveness.

But it is already too late. I could not save her. Now, that they are gone.

[jgracie]

THE MONSTER’S GONE, HE’S ON THE RUN AND YOUR DADDY’S HERE

masterlist | rules

in which jason is a hero in more ways than one

pairings jason grace x fem!reader

warnings reader is afab/can get pregnant

on the radio . . . beautiful boy (darling boy) (john lennon)

an my blog has become baby fever central so naturally i had to deliver 🫡, shoutout to anya ( @puffoz ) for helping me name the eldest grace daughter <3

The night after you told Jason you were pregnant with your first child, you’d woken up to the sound of sniffles coming from a certain someone sleeping right next to you. At first, you were confused - Jason had been ecstatic a few hours ago when you broke the news to him, why was he crying now? Then it hit you.

He was scared.

Jason Grace, son of Jupiter, champion of Hera, ex-praetor of Camp Jupiter, Pontifex Maximus and so many other titles you never cared for, was scared. Tenderly, you’d coaxed him out of the ball shape he was currently in (arms wrapped around his knees, head sitting in between his legs) and asked what was wrong, even though you already had an inkling of an idea as to what the matter was.

When he didn’t answer, you didn’t ask again. Knowing Jason like the palm of your hand meant staying silent and waiting for him to be ready to tell you, as expressing and talking about his emotions has been a struggle he only recently began to deal with.

With your hand gently rubbing his back, Jason replied, his voice barely above a whisper, “do you think I’ll be a bad dad?” Only after the question left his lips did Jason make eye contact with you, his eyes glistening with the tears they once held. 

Anyone who grew up the way Jason did would naturally have their doubts about their parental abilities: how was he supposed to take care of a baby when he didn’t even know what it was like to be taken care of as a baby? However, you knew the truth.

“No,” you said. It was a simple answer, full of certainty and confidence, “no, Jason, I don’t think you’ll be a bad father. In fact, I know you’ll be a good one. You aren’t your upbringing - you’re kind, caring and hold so much love in your heart for everyone and everything around you despite the circumstances the Fates put you through. Trust me when I say you’ll be the best dad.”

You were, of course, right. Despite all the hardships that come with pregnancy, yours was a breeze thanks to Jason. Throughout the entirety of the nine months you spent carrying your child, he was nothing but supportive. He’d always buy you whatever food you were craving at whatever time (no matter how strange it was), he’d give you massages, he’d comfort you when you were feeling down and so much more.

The next time Jason cried was in the hospital when your baby had arrived. Natalia June Grace was born at 9:47AM and was everything you wished for and more. As Jason stared into her eyes, the eyes she’d inherited from him, he was filled to the brim with conviction: he was going to be the best dad he could possibly be for his precious Talia.

Despite this, Jason would be lying if he said he didn’t have his hard times. He’d be lying if he said he never woke up in the middle of the night, sweaty as he reached for his glasses and reminded himself that the nightmares aren’t real, they don’t define him, he is not Zeus, he is not Jupiter, he is Jason.

Being Jason meant being an excellent father. In Natalia's eyes, Jason hung the moon and the stars - no one could compare to her father. They had a bond like no other and were inseparable from the minute they met. Everywhere Talia went, Jason followed. Dance recital? He had front row tickets and lots of storage on his phone to film every second of it. Impromptu tea party with her barbies? Jason was there, clad in a tutu as he poured invisible tea into their cups. To you, the fact that Natalia viewed him as her hero was no surprise. Jason, however, tended to need some reminding.

“Mommy!” You heard your daughter yell as soon as she and Jason made their way inside your cozy apartment. While your husband locked the door, your daughter ran to the kitchen and gave you a bone crushing hug. Immediately, you let go of the whisk you were holding and hugged back, unable to believe it was now almost six years since she had been born. Time flies when you’re having fun!

Running your fingers through her hair, you said, “Talia, how was school today? I really missed you!” She replied with a quick ‘good’ before going to sit on the dining table, princess themed bag clutched tightly in her little hands as she yapped to you about everything that had happened at school that day. You smiled, admiring the way your daughter managed to breathe life into the most mundane things.

Just as she was beginning to tell you about her current crush, Mikey, and how he shared his KitKat with her during lunch, Jason appeared, bouquet of flowers in hand as he took your own and pressed a kiss onto the back of it.

“Hi honey, I missed you loads today. Got you these ‘cause I noticed the others started wilting,” your smile widened at this gesture: only your husband would be paying that much attention to the flowers scattered around the house. You gave him a peck on the lips before taking the bouquet from him and going to place it in a vase. While you were doing so, you could hear Jason and Natalia having a conversation.

“Do you want me to put your bag in your room, baby?” He asked.

“No thank you daddy, I wanna show you and mommy something first,” she replied. Then, turning around, she yelled, “mommy, come! I wanna show you and daddy what I did at school today!” 

You obliged, and you and Jason watched as she rummaged in her school bag before pulling out a single piece of paper and handing it to you. On it, in big bold letters, was the title, ‘My Hero’.

“Read it so daddy can know too!” She squealed, nearly jumping out of her seat in excitement. You stared at the picture of a tall, blond man and a little girl in pigtails she’d drawn to accompany the paragraph she’d written on this topic and felt your heart swell with warmth.

Glancing at Jason for a second, you read, “my hero is my daddy. He is my hero because he always plays with me and gets rid of the monsters under the bed when I go to sleep. I love my daddy very much.”

After you’d finished reading, Natalia looked up at Jason expectantly, a big smile plastered on her face as she waited to hear his reaction. However, her smile dropped when she saw tears roll down his cheeks.

Now pouting, she turned to you for answers, “why is daddy sad?” 

You smiled, delicately cupping her face in your palm, “daddy’s not sad, babes, he’s actually really happy. Sometimes, when people are super happy, they cry. Your worksheet means a lot to him, he’s very touched,” at your words, she brightened up.

Natalia then took the paper from you and gave it to Jason, “you can hang it on your wall, daddy, since you like it so much!” She proceeded to give him a peck on the cheek and ran off to her room, not fully understanding exactly how much her simple worksheet meant to Jason.

That was the third time Jason cried: when he realised he wasn’t his upbringing, or Zeus, or Jupiter, or any of the other monsters that lived under his own bed. He was Jason - a great, loving father who put his family above all and was a hero in more ways than one.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 1: Ares, God Of War]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.7k

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! 🥰💜

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let’s begin with a definition.

Disaster is a noun derived from Ancient Greek: dus, a prefix meaning “bad,” and aster, or “star.” In the time when humans worshipped Zeus and Hera, Hephaestus and Aphrodite, it was believed that tragedies resulted from the inauspicious positioning of celestial bodies: a volcano erupts because of Jupiter, a returning comet brings with it a flood. There is a certain helplessness inherent in this mythology. There is predestined suffering that lies in wait until all the jewels of the sky have malignantly aligned.

Have you ever met someone who made you ache to change the stars?

~~~~~~~~~~

Gunshots explode through the lobby of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, Florida; you feel the wind of the bullets as they clip by, fragmented metallic rage. Aemond is on the marble floor, blood pouring down his face, blood all over the white shirt beneath his navy blue suit jacket when you rip it open, tearing a button loose. He’s reaching for you through the jostling and the screams, leaving crimson handprints on your mint green dress. And you think: He just won the Florida primary. He’s not supposed to die. He’s supposed to be the president.

“What happened?” Aemond murmurs, his right eye dazed and only half-open; the left has vanished beneath a cloudburst of gore. Perhaps ten yards away, people have caught the assailant and pinned him against one of the vast Venetian windows until the police arrive. They’re roaring at him in red-faced fury, their closed fists strike his ribs and his cheekbones, their knuckles paint him scarlet and indigo.

“You’re alright, you’re alright.” You brace both palms over the maroon stain spreading rapidly across Aemond’s chest and press down as hard as you can. Your fingers are drenched in seconds, warm fading life. He’s bleeding to death. You shriek through the turmoil: “Criston?!”

“Is he okay?” Aemond asks faintly. He means the baby; you’re six months pregnant with his first child, his greatest treasure, his Atlantis, his Holy Grail. Aemond has already decided that it’s a boy. Sometimes you fear what will happen if he’s wrong.

“Yes, honey, the baby’s fine, don’t worry. Criston!”

Aegon is here instead, sweating out rum and ruin like he always is, hair too long, veins full of pills, colliding with you and pawing at his dying brother with untrustworthy hands. “Aemond?!”

You shove Aegon away, splattering him with blood. “Get back, he needs air!”

“Where’s he shot?! Let me see—”

“I told you to get back!”

“Goddammit, you don’t own him! He’s mine too!”

Criston has battled his way to you and is yanking Aegon back by the collar of his frayed olive green army jacket, stolen from Daeron when he visited home after basic training, a uniform of embittered revolution worn by a man who’s never fought for anything. “Aegon, make sure someone’s called for an ambulance, then meet the paramedics at the door and help them find us.”

“But—”

“Go!” Criston yells, and Aegon scrambles to his feet and is lost within the crowd. You can hear Otto bellowing at journalists and hotel employees to make space for the fallen senator; there are flashes of cameras and prayers shouted aloud. Above your head are crystal chandeliers and a vaulted ceiling hand-painted by 75 Italian artists in the 1920s; swimming in your skull are visions of Jackie Kennedy in the pink suit filthy with her husband’s brains. It’s just before midnight on Tuesday, May 28th. Upstairs in their oceanfront Imperial Suites, nannies will be shaking awake the absent adults of the Targaryen dynasty, who retired with the children before Aemond made his victory speech in the hotel ballroom: Alicent, Helaena, Fosco, Mimi.

Criston’s hands—larger, stronger—replace yours over the gushing wound in Aemond’s chest. What did the bullet hit? His lung, his heart? He’s not speaking anymore, his right eye is closed. His bloodied hands rest open and empty on the floor. “Criston, he’s dying,” you sob.

“No he’s not. We’re not going to let him.”

“What’s the closest hospital?”

“Good Samaritan is just across the bridge on the mainland.” It’s Criston’s job to know these things, though he had been thinking of you when he plotted his meticulous notes in his day planner: in case you eat a bad cheeseburger, or trip on the stairs, or catch the flu and start burning up with fever. Aemond worries about the baby. Aegon has five children, Helaena has three, and Aemond will feel that he has been robbed of something if he does not swiftly procure a family of his own. He needs you on the campaign trail, but still, he worries.

Across the lobby, the police have arrived to arrest the aspiring assassin. He puts up a fight when they try to handcuff him and earns a nightstick to the gut, an elbow to the nose. He is choking on his own blood. Perhaps he is drowning in it. Good, you think.

“Don’t kill him!” Otto booms at the officers. “I want him alive for trial! I want him to ride the lighting up in Raiford, you keep that son of a bitch alive!”

“Aemond?” You thread your fingers through his blood-soaked hair. What happened to his left eye? Is it somewhere underneath all that carnage, or is it gone? “Please wake up. Please stay with me. We need you. The baby and I need you.”

“He’s going to live,” Criston promises, both hands still clamped over the bullet wound to slow the hemorrhaging.

“Aemond, please…” How can he be the president with only one eye?

An old woman in a yellow striped skirt suit is lumbering close with a homemade prayer rope clenched in her fist. “A komboskini for the senator!” For his last rites. For his soul.

“He doesn’t need it!” Criston says. “He’s not dying! No one is dying tonight!”

Still, you take the komboskini from the lady, each of the 100 knots a prayer unspoken. She is a devotee of Aemond, and you must show her gratitude. “Efcharistó, aderfí. O Theós na se evlogeí.” They are some of the few Greek words you’ve mastered; you’ve used them often since Aemond announced that he was running for president. Thank you, sister. God bless you.

The paramedics arrive, splitting the crowd like a laceration, white uniforms and a stretcher to ferry Aemond away. People are wailing, cursing, swearing vengeance. Aegon has returned and is peering down at Aemond with those large, glassy, muddled eyes, afraid to ask. “Is he…is he still…?”

“He has a pulse,” Criston replies. He helps the paramedics drag Aemond onto the stretcher and strap him to it. Your husband’s shirt is now drenched in red like garnet, like cinnabar, like the poppies that commemorate the boys butchered in World War I, like the wasted blood being spilled in Vietnam, men reduced to memory. “Good Samaritan?” Criston confirms with the paramedics.

“Yes sir,” the most senior one agrees. And then to you, with great deference, with compassion that transcends what somebody can harbor for strangers: “Ma’am, there’s a place for you if you want it.”

“I do,” you say, tear-streaked face, hands bathed in blood. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

The ambulance is idling outside the main entranceway of the hotel. Criston grasps your hand to steady you as you step up into the back, and you take a seat on the red leather bench beside the stretcher. The paramedics are placing IVs, holding an oxygen mask to Aemond’s face, muttering urgently into their radio, abbreviations and code words you can’t understand, a secret language of organic calamities. High above the stars are crystalline and radiant in a clear sky. In your own chest—unshredded by metal, unpierced by rage—your intact heart is pounding.

The lead paramedic turns to you again and says: “We can fit one more person.”

It’s your decision. You are the senator’s wife; you were supposed to be the next first lady of the United States. You look through the ambulance’s open doors. Aegon stares back expectantly, his hair falling in his face, his arms thrown wide, petulant, combative, useless, drunk. “Criston.”

“Bitch!” Aegon hisses at you as Criston climbs into the vehicle. The doors slam shut, the engine rumbles, the siren squeals as the ambulance races westbound on Breakers Row towards County Road, which connects with Flagler Memorial Bridge and the mainland.

Through the rear window you watch Aegon as he stands in the white-gold hotel luminescence, becoming smaller and smaller until he vanishes, and all you can see are streetlights, and all you can smell is blood.

~~~~~~~~~~

Every story needs its cast of characters. Here are the major players in the summer of 1968.

President Lyndon Baines Johnson is in the White House watching the clocks tick towards November 5th, when his successor will be ordained. He has chosen not to seek reelection. Since his ascension upon Kennedy’s assassination in 1963, Johnson’s domestic focus has been unprecedented civil rights legislation and his War On Poverty, yet what has infected the media like blood poisoning is the war in Vietnam. On the television are napalm bombs incinerating Vietnamese peasants, caskets draped with American flags, riots being beaten down by police, college students torching draft cards and chanting “Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?” Now the president is sick in body, in spirit, in heart, and this is not a metaphor: he suffered a near-fatal cardiac arrest in 1955 and another shortly after John F. Kennedy was murdered in Dallas, Texas. He will die almost exactly four years after leaving office. Had he sought another term, he would have been unlikely to survive it. The public eye is something like a snake bite; it sinks its fangs in and you hope the venom burns clean before it can curse you with clots or hemorrhages or paralysis, before it can drown you in the dark waters of infamy.

In the void left by President Johnson’s surrender, four factions have emerged within the Democratic Party. The old guard—the same labor unions, congressmen, and local political machines who have steered the platform since the days of Franklin D. Roosvelt’s New Deal—has flocked to current Vice President Hubert Humphrey. Humphrey is competent yet uninspiring, a mid-fifties Midwesterner who flinches at the unpolished fury of antiwar protests and sedately lectures Black Power activists on the dangers of “reverse racism.” He is not a threat. He is a sheep in sheep’s clothing, and this is the time for wolves.

Senator Eugene McCarthy of Minnesota is unapologetically opposed to the Vietnam War, a moral crusader, a reluctant warrior, a man who wears his lack of taste for the presidency like a badge of honor. He feels compelled to run, but he does not crave it. He thinks this makes him a saint; but Joan of Arc was burned at the stake and Saint Lawrence was roasted alive. Like Halloween candy plunked into a child’s neon orange plastic pumpkin, McCarthy has collected his own coalition, college students and posh urbanites who believe themselves to be the future of the Democratic Party. In 2016, people will conjure McCarthy’s ghost when drawing comparisons to a controversial left-wing senator from Vermont named Bernie Sanders.

If McCarthy is the future and Humphrey is the past, then former governor of Alabama George Wallace is downright archaic. He is the candidate of choice for Southern white supremacists, averse to Republicans since Lincoln and still reverent of Depression-era New Deal programs that kept them from starving to death. Wallace is best known for his promise of “segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever,” and pledges to end the chaos that has besieged America through strict law and order. Provided he loses the Democratic primary, Wallace plans to run in the general election as an Independent, hoping to peel away enough support from the major party candidates to force the House of Representatives to declare the winner and then leverage his votes to negotiate an end to federal desegregation efforts in the South. His devoted wife Lurleen just died of uterine cancer, a diagnosis which Wallace kept hidden from her for years; doctors are in the habit of informing husbands of their wives’ ailments and giving them carte blanche control over the treatment plan, which unfortunately in Lurleen’s case was nothing. She was 41 years old.

In his short-lived castle of red corridors like the marrow rivers of bones, President Johnson hides from the hippies who jeer and spit; Humphrey frowns at them, McCarthy tries to appease them, Wallace says the only four-letter words they don’t know are “w-o-r-k” and “s-o-a-p.” But Aemond climbs down from podiums to meet them like old friends. He is young, only 36. He has a brother serving in the swamps of Vietnam. He is focused, determined, insatiable; he devours every scrap of news that is printed about him and writes his speeches by hand. As the self-admitted runt of the Targaryen family, Aemond knows what it is like to be underestimated. He wants a better America, and he wants to be the president, and he wants these things in equal, relentless measure, each fueling the other until these ambitions become inseparable. He has grown up hearing slurs against Greeks and consequently has no tolerance for discrimination, which he contends is antithetical to the American Dream. He attends civil rights marches in labyrinthian cities, antiwar protests on college campuses, union meetings in coal mining towns of West Virginia and Kentucky and Wyoming, music festivals crowded with long unwashed hair and braless women, fundraisers flush with the deep pockets of the Northeastern elite. Aemond’s coalition grows each day, bleeding away strength from his rivals like a Medieval surgeon. Their flesh turns cold and anemic, while Aemond’s heart pumps scalding torrents of blood.

If Aemond wins the Democratic primary at the convention in August, his opponent will almost certainly be the Republican frontrunner Richard Nixon of California. Nixon wants the White House just as badly, and he’s much smarter than he looks. He was Eisenhower’s vice president for eight years in the 1950s and lost to the ill-fated John F. Kennedy in 1960 by a whisker; some say he did not lose at all, but instead was cheated out of 100,000 votes by Kennedy’s mafia connections in Chicago. But with the Democrats divided and their incumbent president floundering, Nixon’s timing has never been better. He was once a poor boy with two dead brothers who earned a scholarship to Duke Law. Now he will become whoever he needs to be to win the presidency of the United States.

1968 is the year of wolves. The fangs are sharp, and the bellies ache with hunger.

~~~~~~~~~~

A local deli has opened early and sent sandwiches to Good Samaritan Medical Center for the family and friends of the senator from New Jersey: ham and Swiss, cucumber and cream cheese, tuna salad, egg salad, pimento cheese, BLTs, Cubans. The lobby is filling up with bouquets of flowers and handwritten notes. You pace and count the knots of the komboskini over and over again as you wait; Aemond has been in surgery for hours. The nurses periodically bring you Styrofoam cups of hot chocolate, scalding watered-down sweetness to distract you from the fact that some surgeon is currently rooting around inside your husband’s ribcage.

Alicent—a convert to the Greek Orthodox faith just as you are, though far more zealous, far more sincere if you dared to admit it—is pleading for God to save her son as she clasps her own prayer rope. Helaena is seated beside her, eerily calm. Helaena’s husband Fosco is wandering around boredly and inflicting small talk upon the nurses, ogling out the third-story windows, playing with his red Duncan yo-yo. Otto is making a series of calls using one of the phones at the nurses’ station. Criston is there too, leaning over the countertop and speaking with Otto in low conspiratorial whispers.

Aegon is sitting alone and glaring at you. He takes a rattling bottle of pills—prescriptions that doctors are too afraid not to write for him when he asks—out of a pocket on the front of his green army jacket, spotted like a leopard with your bloody handprints. He opens the amber-colored, cylindrical container and pours two, no, three tiny white tablets into his palm. He tosses them into his mouth and washes them down with a swallow of his own mediocre hot chocolate, still glaring. You ignore him.

“How could this have happened?” Mimi says again from where she’s slumped in her chair. Aegon’s wife has a Snow White sort of beauty, but with a perpetual ruddiness in her nose and cheeks from the gin she sips constantly. You suppose it would make anyone a drunk, being married to a man like that. Her maiden name was Marina Marceline Leroux, but everyone has always called her Mimi, even the press on the rare occasions when she makes an appearance. Her children—Orion, Spiro, Violeta, Thaddeus, and little Cosmo, only five years old—are all back at the Breakers Hotel with the nannies, the same as Helaena’s. Mimi blubbers to nobody in particular: “How…? Who…? Who would want to hurt Aemond…?”

Someone needs to sober her up. You fetch a BLT off the platter of sandwiches and offer it to her. “Here. Eat.”

“I’m not hungry. Who on earth could be hungry at a time like this? I’m absolutely nauseated, I’ll never want food again—”

“Mimi, eat the sandwich.”

“Fine, fine,” she slurs morosely, then takes an unenthusiastic bite. She listens to you, all the women do. They listen to you, and you listen to Aemond, and the circle is closed and complete.

Criston is walking over now. You turn to him, needing good news, bad news, any news. “It was a Wallace supporter,” Criston says. From his seat, Aegon is watching Criston with his slow drugged gaze, listening intently. “Some bell pepper farmer from up by Jacksonville.”

“He’s been taken to the local jail for holding?” you ask, and then add: “Alive?”

“Yeah, and he already has a record. Assault and battery. His brother-in-law is apparently a Grand Dragon in the Klan.”

“What the hell is a Grand Dragon?”

“Well, it’s higher than a Goblin, but not as illustrious as an Imperial Wizard, does that answer your question?”

“Perfectly.” You smile at Criston, a pained, wry smile. He returns it and places a palm over your belly. You are still wearing the mint green dress Aemond picked out for you this morning, before he won the Florida primary, before he was shot twice by the disciple of a political adversary and laid at death’s doorstep. You are still covered in your husband’s blood.

“You’re feeling alright?” Then Criston smirks, knowing how ridiculous he must sound. “You know. All things considered.”

“We’re both fine. The baby’s moving around, I can feel it.”

“You can feel him, you mean,” Criston teases, knowing Aemond’s preoccupation with his unborn son; but you can’t bring yourself to appreciate the joke.

Aegon says to you suddenly: “How the fuck did you let this happen?”

“What?” you answer, stunned.

Aegon stands and approaches, lurching, raging. “You always have to be right beside him, in the photographs, in the headlines, in the soundbites, but you let some psychopath run up and shoot him? Twice?!”

“I thought he just wanted to shake Aemond’s hand, or maybe get a quote for an article—”

“You didn’t notice the gun?!”

“Aegon, sit down,” Criston orders.

“It happened in seconds,” you say. “You think you would have done better? You and your Valium, and your Librium, and your Percodan? You think your reaction time would have been so superior to mine?”

“Please,” Alicent moans, mopping tears from her pink cheeks with a handkerchief. “Please, don’t fight, not now…”

“We are all friends here,” Fosco adds in his thick Italian accent, yo-yoing by a window.

“You want to be the first lady so bad but you can’t handle it!” Aegon shouts, his voice echoing through the lobby. “You’re not some prodigy, you don’t have all the answers, you’re just a girl who stitched yourself to Aemond and then you let him get shot, he’s being operated on right now, maybe he’s even dying, and you still act like you’re so fucking perfect—”

“You’re mad because you know that everybody here is thinking the same thing,” you tell Aegon, cold and cruel. “That if someone had to get killed tonight it should have been you.”

Aegon’s mouth drops open; he stares at you with that slippery, opaque, stoned woundedness, pathetic, infuriating, illogically childish. Everyone else pretends they haven’t heard you. Alicent sniffles into her handkerchief. Fosco begins humming I Want To Hold Your Hand. Mimi chews sluggishly on her BLT. From the nurses’ station, Otto says, holding the phone to his chest: “It’s George Wallace. He’s calling for Aemond’s wife.” Then he waits to see if you’ll agree to take it.

Of course you will. You have to. You are acting in your husband’s stead. You go to the nurses’ station and grab the handset when Otto passes it to you. “This is Mrs. Targaryen.”

“Ma’am, I just wanted to offer you my sincerest condolences.” He has a pronounced drawl, born and raised in what he has praised as the Great Anglo-Saxon Southland. You animal, you think. You braindead bigot. “I do hope the senator makes a hasty recovery. I sure would like to beat him at the ballot box, but I have no stomach for anarchy. An act like this is repugnant to me, as it should be to any red-blooded American.”

“It was one of yours, do you know that?” you say, dripping venom. “One of your hateful ghouls.”

“I have no such knowledge. But if the shooter does turn out to be a supporter of my campaign, I disavow him utterly. He deserves a nice long sit in Old Sparky and then to meet his maker.”

“You inspire men to commit violence, and then you renounce them when they spill blood. I’m still wearing my husband’s. It’s on my hands, it’s on my dress, and I will not absolve you of blame. You are a gardener of discord. You grow it like roses or wheat. You tend to it until it blooms.” Otto is studying you, bushy eyebrows raised. “If you’d truly like to repent, perhaps dropping out of the Democratic primary would be a good start. And then you could find something useful to do, like drowning yourself.”

From whatever office he’s currently lounging comfortably in, his shoes kicked up on the desk, Wallace chuckles. “Aemond is very fortunate to have as ardent a defender as you, my dear.”

“Yes, a devoted wife is such a treasure. It’s a shame you killed yours.”

“Ma’am, once again, I just wanted to express how terribly sorry I am for your family’s hardship. I would never wish for an incident like this—”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be emboldening white supremacists then!” You slam the phone as you hang up.

Otto looks at you. He says: “Did it go well?”

The heavy double doors leading to the operating theater swing open, and a surgeon steps through them, still drying his hands with a dark blue towel. He has changed his scrubs and washed his skin, but you notice a spot he missed: a fleck of half-dried blood up by his temple. That’s Aemond, you think. That’s a piece of him.

Everyone rushes to gather around the doctor, even Mimi; she lists like a ship taking on water as she walks, gnawing at all that remains of her BLT, just a sliver of white toast crust.

“The senator is alive,” the doctor says, and Alicent cries out in relief. Criston rests a palm on her shoulder. “But we could not save the eye.”

“He’s half-blind?” you ask. There’s never been a half-blind president. There’s never been a Greek one either. And the only reason this is stuck in your mind is because you know it will consume Aemond’s.

The doctor nods. “We had to remove it. The bullet that struck Senator Targaryen in the head, fortunately, was more of a graze. It ricocheted off his skull and didn’t cause any trauma to the brain, but his eye was…” He hesitates, trying to find a more polite word than shredded, macerated, pulverized. “Destroyed.”

“You stopped the bleeding?” Aegon says, astonished. “He’s okay? He’s really okay?”

“The second bullet pierced the thoracic cavity and was lodged less than an inch from his heart. He was very lucky. We repaired the damage to the best of our ability, and I am optimistic that the senator will make a full recovery. He’s resting comfortably now, but he should be awake soon.”

“Oh, thank God,” Alicent says, glistening dark eyes raised to heaven. The salient points gathered, Fosco wanders off again, his yo-yo dangling from its string.

Otto asks: “When can he resume campaigning?”

The doctor is caught off-guard; it takes him a moment to answer. “That will depend on the senator’s stamina as he regains his strength. If he chooses to stay in the race at all.”

Otto scoffs. “Of course he’ll stay in. This is what he lives for. You really can’t give me a ballpark figure?”

The doctor is determinately impassive. “I would estimate a month or two before he can withstand the rigors of the campaign trail again.”

“California is June 4th,” Otto recalls, counting off dates on his fingers. “Illinois is the 11th, New York is the 18th…”

“Look, there are people outside!” Fosco announces excitedly as he peers through one of the windows. “Hello! Hello everybody!”

“Fosco, you idiot, stop waving,” Otto snaps. “Go sit down.”

“But they are cheering.”

“Not for you.”

Fosco, somewhat deflated, grabs an egg salad sandwich off the platter and plops into a chair to eat it. He’s dressed in a green plaid sport coat and tight white trousers, very chic, very European. You’ve never been able to imagine Fosco and Helaena being passionately romantic with each other. They’re both a bit too doll-like for that, closer to Barbie and Ken than flesh and blood, blank stares and vague ambitions.

“Someone should talk to them,” Alicent says softly. She means the crowd that is forming in front of the hospital: journalists, cops, local politicians, mutilated veterans, college kids, farmers, fishermen, women and children, the future and the past. Everyone turns to look at you.

“I’ll do it,” you volunteer. You will, you must. Aemond could have chosen a hundred similarly suited women to be his wife, but he chose you, and when he did your vows became a blood oath.

Criston accompanies you downstairs to where the crowd has gathered just outside the front entrance of Good Samaritan Medical Center. The night air is warm and humid, the stars bright. You had thought of so many things to tell these people as you’d stood in the elevator as it descended, but now your mind is empty, fearful. There are photographers with blinding camera flashes and apostles waiting with famished eyes. From the depths of injustice and poverty and war, they have come to pay their respects to the man they believe is destined to save not just themselves but their world. What should I say? What would Aemond want me to say?

“I am very pleased to share with you all that Senator Targaryen is out of surgery and regaining his strength.”

There are cheers and applause and prayers; you are still clutching the komboskini that the old woman gave you in the lobby of the Breakers Hotel. You see more prayer ropes in this flock, and rosaries too, Bibles and dog tags, copies of The Autobiography of Malcolm X and Joanne Didion’s Slouching Towards Bethlehem.

“We would like to thank you for your heartfelt support. Aemond and I are so very grateful, and he is looking forward to being back on the campaign trail soon.”

More clapping and whistling, and then the crowd waits. You aren’t sure what they want to hear as you stand in the glow of the hospital luminance; your hands are trembling wildly, so you clasp them together as you hold the komboskini. Criston glances over at you, concerned. You settle on the truth.

“The man who tried to kill my husband tonight is a supporter of former Alabama governor George Wallace and an avowed white supremacist. Any ideology that advocates for violence and prejudice is a threat to our bodies, our nation, and our souls. We will not surrender to it, not even when our lives are in jeopardy. We will not concede that hope for a better world is lost. We will press ever onward with the knowledge that God is on our side, and that the future of this country is worth fighting for.”

You are bathed in flashbulb lightning; your ears ring with the thunder of the applause. You are shaking hands now, nodding, beaming, Criston following you like a shadow as you move through the congregation. You stop to listen to a middle-aged woman in a floral dress who wants to give you marriage advice: never get bossy, don’t become selfish, remember that you are his safe harbor in the storms of life. It is your job to gift her your momentary veneration. You have beauty, but she has wisdom; or at least, that is the bargain that has been struck, that is the presumption everyone agrees upon. She must have some advantage over you, otherwise the decades she has spent in service of her parents and husband and children have been wasted, she has carved away pieces of herself to feed hungry mouths until she vanished like the doomed nymph Echo. In return, she tries not to envy you too much, not to dismiss you as foolish or frivolous or lustful. Sometimes you think that women are filled with such vicious, relentless self-loathing that it feels good to direct it at someone else for a while, to pick apart another body, to tally up the deficits of her spirit.

“Aemond is so lucky to have you,” the woman says. You can barely hear her over the roar of the crowd.

And you smile as you dutifully reply: “I think it’s the other way around.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There is a television mounted on the wall in Aemond’s room. The news coverage, the volume turned way down low, oscillates between his own near-assassination and the stalled peace talks in Paris. Representatives of the United States and North Vietnam cannot agree, and so each day more body bags are flown home to return the bones of the nation’s sons and fathers to Missouri, Alabama, Idaho, Maine, Wisconsin, Maryland, Arizona, California, New Jersey, everywhere else. Someone has to end it. Aemond will end it.

“I dreamed I won Florida,” your husband mumbles, and that’s how you know he’s awake, here in a hospital bed and wearing IVs like strings of Christmas lights around a pine tree.

“You did,” you tell him, gently smoothing back his hair from his forehead. His left eye—where his left eye used to be—is bandaged; his words are soft and labored. “Humphrey was second. Wallace got third. But you won. And you’re going to be okay.”

“McCarthy?”

“It seems you’re devouring his coalition.”

Aemond’s lips slowly curl into a grin, triumphant. “It is God’s will.” And this is what he always says. It is God’s will that he survives, it is God’s will that he wins the presidency, it is God’s will that you give him sons.

“Yes,” you agree, lifting his right hand to kiss his knuckles. Then you press the komboskini you’re still carrying into his weak grasp. It means more to Aemond than it does to you. “Yes it is.”

Aemond sinks into unconsciousness again, morphine and dreams that blur with reality. There will be pain soon, and plenty of it, but he is free from that impending truth for now. You rise from your chair to tell the rest of the family that Aemond is beginning to wake up. Alicent and Criston will want to speak with him.

When you open the door, Aegon is standing there: an eavesdropper, a trespasser. He glares at you with his large wet ocean-blue eyes, hazy with pills, glinting with resentment. Reluctantly, you step aside to let him in. Aegon wobbles as he passes you and has to grab onto the doorframe to steady himself, scrabbling like a trapped animal.

“You’re a disaster,” you say, caustic like acid, biting, repulsed.

Aegon whirls and jabs his index finger against your chest, bloodstained mint green wool bouclé by Chanel. “You’re a vessel. You’re a cow. And one day he’ll be done with you.”

You feel something hitting you like a bullet, cracking ribs, piercing lungs, tearing muscles and ligaments. Your lips have parted, but you can’t fathom words. Aegon has said many things to you—bitter things, belittling things, things in mixed company, things when you’re alone—but never this. For the first time since you met him two years ago, he has won one of your sparring matches. He has the upper hand. He has wounded you.

Aegon can see this, certainly. But he doesn’t seem pleased with himself. He looks a little shellshocked, like he can’t quite believe he said the words, like maybe if given the chance again he wouldn’t take it. But the moment is over now, and you can’t get time back, it is a thread that unspools until every inch is gone, spent, tangled in a thousand webs.

Aegon staggers into the hospital room. You flee from it. Out in the lobby the phone at the nurses’ station is ringing again. They’ll all be calling now to give their requisite sympathies. Humphrey counsels prudence, McCarthy prays for peace, LBJ offers the empathy of someone who has felt the cold gaze of Death in his own doorway, Nixon praises Aemond’s resilience and quotes the ancient philosopher Seneca: “There is no easy way from the earth to the stars.”

[harmoonix]

Fairytale - Astro Notes

The night will hold us close

And the stars will guide us home

Your lips were soft like winter

In your passion, I was lost

✿❉ ╤╤╤╤ ✿ ╤╤╤╤ ❉✿

Mercury in Capricorn/Scorpio don't like to share all the things they do or did and rather keep it only for them in order to respect their privacy

Moon - Mars intense aspects: The native can get easily angry and can go through a rollercoaster of emotions, usually they end up having a breakdown in order to let themselves feel calm as at peace. They have an very intense nature (This can apply if you have semi-square or the other minor aspects aswell.

Scorpio Placements tend to have a very difficult time when it comes to love, they might feel that is always something to struggle with, their partners, emotions, feelings, etc... Some of them can easily end up heartbroken

Sagittarius Mars can get very scary when they are angry, this placement can indicate having a destructive side of you (kinda like a destroyer), and most times they don't think when they are angry and mostly act based on what they feel in that moment. Omg i imagine this placement as a Volcano erupting when they get angry

Neptune - Sun/Moon aspects: Radiating a very calm and peaceful aura, they can have a very calming personality and you can feel safe around them. For some reason i imagine this placement as someone who is like "Don't worry I'm here everything will be fine if we are together"😭 ( I love this)

Jupiter - Moon aspects can make the native to express their feelings more calmly and peacefully than other Planets. The native has a very powerful inner world, and very powerful intense emotions if you have conjunction between these too you can feel people's emotions without them telling you how they feel. This is also a very lucky to have, Jupiter helps the native to reach their goals and their dreams by using the power of emotions make sure to always understand your inner world

Mercury - Uranus aspects: The native can have a different accent than others while talking, they can have a very different writing style too and people always feel charmed by these natives due to their unique communication style. Also Uranus can make Mercury sometimes to talk too fast and sometimes to stutter during this

Pluto - Mercury aspects: Yes their sexy voices can rise all the hormones in your body, but these natives are very powerful at communicating and talking, knowing how to use the words at the perfect time. But omg yes another honorable mentions because of their voices!!🔥🔥🔥🔥 Men with these aspects are very attractive they can have a very deep gentle voice

Jupiter in the 8th house: Besties you know what time it is😍. It's time to become rich 💲👄💲, if you are attracted to men this placement can mean you will marry someone rich (Especially after marrying it says in the prophecy that usually these people have very successful marriages) + Abundent sex life because is the 8th house

An advice from me, for everyone with Venus - Saturn/Venus - Neptune/Venus - Pluto harsh aspects: Don't force love, love is supposed to come naturally. If the love doesn't come naturally and you have the feeling you need to force yourself for love...there was never love ❤️‍🩹

Usually people with 8th house in Water Sign (Cancer, Pisces, Scorpio) are very sensual in bed and might hold an infinity of kinks while if you have a fire sign in the 8th house (Leo. Sagittarius, Aries) you might have kinks that imply rough romantism. Omg men with Leo in the 8th house are in their natural element

Uranus - Mars harsh aspects: Breaking bed marathon, addiction to sexual activities, these natives can be pretty horny and dirty minded 😭

8th house in an Earth Sign (Virgo, Capricorn, Taurus) usually like to have ✨ Quality time ✨ so before going to sensual part they tend to spend time kissing and talking with you and when they go to action... 😍 While 8th house in an Air Sign (Gemini, Libra, Aquarius) might be into touching and communicating trough love, usually these people are very comforting during and after sensual time. I kinda feel like they are "Don't worry I'm here we do this together vibe" is so cute. I know they are good people when it comes to after care 😍✨

People with Mars - Saturn aspects: They usually have really godly bone structure, if they do gym in order to take muscles this might come in time and the result is 😍 100% good. Men with those aspects can be very strong physically

1st house ruler in the 10th house means that the native is gonna focus a lot on the career and professions about their career. They have big chances for going in high professions of our world

1st house ruler in the in the 4th house means that native main focus is their family, their are family lovers and love to spend time with their love ones

1st house ruler in the 8th house means that the native main focus is the transformation, they will evolve and transform a lot of times and going through a lot of stages in life. Rebirthing and learning through the experiences of life

1st house ruler in the 12th house means that the main focus in your life is spirituality and meditation, especially soul healing, tend to have a very powerful intuition and have a very powerful subconscious

- Hello guys 😍 is been a while since i posted my last post so here i am for another post, i love to make those fairy tale inspired aesthetics, a new post a new style kind of thing💕😊!

Love and peace to you all 😊💕 also never forget as i will always say... If you feel this doesn't reasonate with you make sure to check your vedic and sidereal charts💕!

If you need help with that 1st house ruler thing in my post I'm here to help you! 😊💕

1st house ruler in the 4th house. = What's your rising bestie? Let's say for this post that I'm an Pisces Rising (i love you all Pisces Risings so much, I'm rooting for you)

Pisces Rising = Pisces first house (Ruled by Neptune/Jupiter) now watch where Neptune and Jupiter are in your chart 😊if they are located in the 4th house this thing will be called (1st house ruler {Neptune, Jupiter} in the 4th house 😊💕! And the things goes on for the other placements!

If you are a Pisces Rising but you have Neptune in your 7th house that is called (1st house ruler in the 7th house) !💕😊

My 1st house ruler is located in the 1st house (Basically i have the ruler of the ascendant in the 1st house) in my tropical and in my sidereal is located in the 7th house, where is your 1st house located?

Maybe this can help you if you are new to astrology and want to learn about the house rulers 💋!

Harmoonix 💋

[ma1dita]

✩°｡⋆mischiefmoons' 1k celebration⋆｡°✩

i just hit 1.5k but let’s not talk about how overdue this list is lmfao—just wanted to say an absolute thank you from the bottom of my heart to this online community of friends that i’ve found in the past 6 months. you guys make me brave to post my deepest thoughts and craziest creations and the little corner i take up is overfilling with love for all the unhinged comments and chats that genuinely have made my life better during this little postgrad gap year. to many more!

i wanted to gather a list of creations by some of the most talented people i share this lovely space with, some friends, others people i idolize—please support them as well and show them the love you all have shown me!

luke castellan

poisoned mercury (series)- @wlntrsldler (camprock!au luke castellan x fem!reader)

three weeks - @too-deviant (luke castellan x apollo!reader)

spill ur guts / we’ll write sins not tragedies (series) - @kamaluhkhan (luke castellan x nemesis!reader, some mdni)

the jubilee recollection (series) - @klineinie (luke castellan x aristaeus!reader)

you don’t know me - @kestisvrse (spidey!luke castellan x reader)

freaky friday - @too-deviant (luke castellan x reader)

sleepy girl - @sovksluv (luke castellan x hypnos!reader)

rotten to the touch (series) - @supercutszns (luke castellan x reader, suggestive)

the search for glory - @sunsburns (luke castellan x ares!reader, suggestive)

other men seared into my brain

jupiter was supposed to be a star, but failed - @delicrieux (regulus black x reader)

hunger -  @perlelune (coriolanus snow x reader, mdni)

truculent (series) - @theoldsports (coriolanus snow x reader, mdni)

second son (series) - @cherryslyce (regulus black x reader)

i know it when i see it (series) - @bageldaddy (pornstar!joel miller x reader, mdni)

ever since new york (series)- @eideticmemory (college!mgg x reader, mdni)

rocks at your window (series)- @fbfh (ricky bowen x reader, some mdni)

adhd chronicles (series)- @hotchfiles (aaron hotchner x reader)

statuesque lovers - @e1dritchjackal0pe (farleigh start x reader, mdni)

american teenager (series) - @lanascinnamongirls (spencer reid x bau!reader) 

we could be love (series) - @hotchfiles (aaron hotchner x rossi!reader)

treacherous (series)  - @moonlightspencie (remus lupin x reader)

labeled these to the best of my ability and my goldfish brain of a memory but remember, you are responsible for your own consumption