#michael monroe imagine

[psych0-str1ngs]

Panic Attack- Non binary! reader x michael monroe

Authors Note: Anon, if you see this, i hope you enjoy!!

Warnings: uh, cussing? Booze (just beer), crying, angst of sorts, depression mentions

Lately, it's felt as though the whole world has been crashing around you, you spent most of your days laying in bed, or restlessly working to keep your mind busy. Today was different, it was one of your few days off and you decided to bake something for you and mike. Michael unfortunately had to work with the band today, photo shoots, interviews and what not. It was okay though, you knew he'd be home soon.

So there you were, standing in the kitchen with a Christmas apron on, reading the recipe book on the counter. Your eyes scanned over the different measurements, searching for the ingredients you needed. You smiled lightly and grabbed everything you needed and started to make the cake. You mixed in all the ingredients your arms started to get tired so you took a breather and grabbed a beer from the fridge. You went back to the batter and poured it into the pan, before opening the oven door.

"jesus," You said to yourself, feeling the heat cloud your face.

You slid the dish on to the rack, your arm lightly gazing the top rack. You quickly set the pan down and hissed. You ran your arm under cold water for a moment, before setting a timer for 25 minutes. grabbing your cigarettes, and jacket you walked outside, lighting up one of the long cancer sticks and smoking it. You looked out at the snowed up back yard, smiling lightly. Winter has always been your favorite in London. You walked back inside sitting on the counter and swinging your feet lightly. You zoned out, thinking about Michael and whatever else you were thinking about.

You were so deeply zoned out that you hadn't even heard the alarm go off on the stove, until you started to smell burning. You gasped jumping down and opening the oven, and grabbing out the scolding pan with oven mitts. You sighed, what else could go wrong?? You suddenly had an idea pop into your head, you scooped out a part of the cake, seeing that the inside wasn't burned at all. You walked to recipe book and flipped, trying to find a recipe for cake balls, your eyes glistened as you found a recipe.

You continued making the cake balls, setting them onto plates and shoving them in the fridge. A few hours later after letting them cool, you excitedly walked back into the kitchen, looking at the finished product. You wanted to try them, but decided to wait until mike got home.

A few minutes later, Michael walked into the house, you ran up to him and smiled.

"Hi my love!" You hugged him tightly.

He smiled down at you. "Hi sweetheart."

You pulled away and lead him to the kitchen, giggling. Pulling out the plate of chocolate covered cake balls, you smiled brightly. Michael's eyes glistened. With two strides he walked up to you, and grabbed one. You grabbed one as well, popping it into your mouth. Within the first bite, your face contorted.

You had used salt instead of sugar.

You immediately spat it out in the trash, Mike doing the same. Your eyes began to well up with tears.

"What's wrong my love?" He grabbed your face.

"I just wanted to have a good day," Your bottom lip quivered.

"oh baby," He pulled you into a hug.

"I'm so tired of being sad," You sobbed into his chest. "I burnt myself, I burnt the cake, I can't even make one simple thing go right."

"Hey now don't talk like that," He pulled you from his chest, grabbing your cheeks softly once again. "You make a lot of things go right, your so good at so many things love. You're great at baking, it's just one little mess up."

"I'm sorry.." You said quietly. "I don't want to stress you out"

"You aren't stressing me out baby," He kissed your tears away. "This is what I'm here for. I'll love you no matter what, through every up and down."

You smiled lightly and kissed him. Wiping away your tears, you went to throw away the cake balls before Michael stopped you.

"You know, it'd be funny if we gave those to the guys," He giggled mischievously.

You giggled and set the cake balls back in the fridge. Mike grabbed your hand and lead you to the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed and wrapped his arms around your legs, leaning his head onto your stomach.

"I love you so much y/n," He said looking up at you.

"I love you so much too Mike," You said smiling back down at him.

He pulled you to lay next to him, putting your head on his chest.

THE END, i hope you enjoy anon, sorry if this isn't the greatest!!

[depression-c0re]

current!sami yaffa x Michael Monroe’s daughter headcannons also nsfw and big age gap

(I’m sick of waiting for someone to read my other post and write this for me so ima do it even though I suck at writing also I’m writing headcannons bc it’s easier and less work)(also a few details reader is a girl obviously also in the story reader is about 23 just to let y’all know)

warnings⚠️⚠️:age gap, mentions of pedophilia, mentions of pregnancy (I think), smut, maybe some cursing

if I missed any warnings please tell me

-ok starting off you and Sami obviously have a very big age gap around a 37 years actually

-when y’all started dating and you told Michael he obviously freaked out (bc he’s our fav Barbie drama queen)

-also because it’s his daughter is dating one of his best friends who also helped raise her

-it took awhile but sooner or later he came around to it seeing how much Sami loved you and how happy he made you☺️

-now onto y’all’s relationship dynamic

-Sami’s love language is definitely physical touch I see him being to shy for words of affirmation but he’ll do it every once in a while I also feel like he loves gift giving

-he absolutely loves when you hold him and baby him it doesn’t matter how big y’all’s age gap is he still loves being babied by you(no one can change my mind on that)

-speaking of babies if y’all had a kid he would love them so much it’s not even funny

-I have a feeling he’s extremely good with kids idk why

-also he would have the best fashion advice for you like he would always help pick out outfits for you when you don’t know what to wear

-while he helps pick out what you where he also helps you out of it at the end of the night(iykyk)

-you can not tell me this man is not a sucker for tits and thighs bro

-will absolutely suck on your tits and leave hickeys on your tits and thighs

-absolutely loves being bottom his fav position is cowgirl because you can control him or he can control you

-absolutely will not force you to do anything you don’t wanna do and respects you boundaries

-but also will do anything you wanna do kink wise

-like he does not care he will literally try whatever you wanna do with him

-absolutely loves you

-has written many songs about you

-and yes sometimes they get published and Michael has to sing them💀

-when it got revealed to the public y’all were dating every one freaked out some people outa happiness and some in anger

-most people loved y’all’s relationship and their were so many cute post from y’all’s supportive fans saying how cute you and Sami are

-then there were the people posting about y’all’s age gap and how it was pedophilia and shit because he helped raise you but you didn’t care honestly you had Sami and your dad and that’s all you needed

-seeing as you grew up around Sami he knew everything you liked and how you liked it

-he could name your coffee order by heart if you asked him to

-if you had tattoos he would absolutely love them kissing touching and tracing them every time you are together

-always has an arm around you ESPECIALLY at social events that the band is at

-he is definitely overprotective of you not in like a controlling way but in a concerned trying to make sure you don’t get hurt/uncomfortable kind of way

-will absolutely let you sit on his lap(but also his face in the bedroom)

-ALWAYS and I mean always gives you a kiss before and after a concert

-adores when you wear his clothes

-you wanna know a way you can instantly turn him on wear his shirt with just panties on nothing else just his shirt and panties

-he will literally die of hornyness on the spot

-lives for when you braid his hair randomly

-braiding his hair is literally the best way to calm him down if he’s mad upset or stressed about something

ok that’s all for now I might write more later but I have no more ideas if you have any ideas tell me also, I’m sorry for any spelling mistakes. I suck at spelling.

[peetaspenguin]

josh Hutcherson edit

[izzystradlinswife]

Question about who you write for. Do you write for Hanoi Rocks??

I could, would that be something anyone else would want

[pamicakery]

˚₊‧꒰ა Why are you stuck in the same loop? + use your senses at your advantage ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Sometimes I want to slap myself because I have those epiphanies just now. Ahem, so.. You know why you are on the same loop and living the same thing over and over again?

Because you are taking consciousness of one reality.

Let me explain :

Let's say that you want to manifest.. An apparance change for... 4 years. It's been 4 years.

You haven't changed.

Why? Because with your senses you are seing the same reflection, hearing the same comments about your body, sensing your body Tight in your clothes.

And by using your senses you are :

-Going straight to the end

-experience it in the present

-embodying a state.

When my parents and my siblings were going to France without me, I was seeing them preparing the bagages, hearing them talking about their day in DisneyLand or the Eiffel tower. Smelling the new clothes they bought online etc.

I was immersed.

But what I did, I went upstairs, closed the door and asked myself :

'' What if I was part of that trip? ''

Then I saw myself with them at the airport, Eiffel tower, Disneyland. I was hearing the airport calls, my sister's talking, feeling the plane seats, the seat of the boarding area.

Again I was immersed.

And guess what?

-I was going straight to the end

-experienced it in the present

-Embodying a state.

It's litterally the SAME PROCESS!!!

With my visualisation of me in Paris :

-My ticket was paid, I traveled with them, I've already made the trip,I was there.

It was all implied because I was experiencing beyond those points.

I could have dwell on my 3d senses, because it's a '' logical '' following. If I trusted my 3d I would have stay alone at my house because the 3d was showing me that I wasn't about to go with them.

But I immersed myself in another reality with my heart 4D senses .

And you can do it with other topic :

-What if I wake up in another reality?

-What if I had my desired body?

-What if this Sp was my boyfriend?

What would it look,sound, smell, feel and taste like? (usually only sight, hearing and touch are used lol)

Btw... I manifested so much food with that.. Like '' How would it be If I could eat that? Then I imagined myself like Nom nom it tastes good)🍔🍕🥧🍰

And last point..

Marilyn Monroe asked herself '' What it would look like if I was so pretty that everyone would look at me? ''

Michael Jackson asked himself '' What it would look like if I was the best artist of this generation? ''

Neville Goddard asked himself '' What it would look like if I was in Barbados? '' or '' What it would look like if I was at Home with my wife and my daughter? ''

And then BAM they used their senses and embodied the state.

[s-b-party]

HSR’s Guns & Roses: Analysis of Boothill & Argenti

****Possible spoilers ahead, esp. Boothill’s & Argenti’s lore****

With Boothill out now, I’ve been very intrigued by the Boothill & Argenti duo which I’ve noticed so many details that are similar but also different about them, some of which many people may have already noticed but I still would like to analyze them since it’s been a hot minute since my last lore thread

The main aspects of these 2 characters that I want to talk about are their gameplay, characteristics, and lore/backstories

When we look at their gameplay, some details stand out; for example, both have the same element (physical) but opposite paths when it comes to their DPS roles (Boothill is Hunt which specializes in single target fights & Argenti is Erudition which specializes in dealing dmg to multiple enemies)

Their weapons are also opposites of each other where guns are ranged & the lance is typically used in close combat

This is more of a coincidence which I tweeted about recently but I still think it’s funny that their best-in-slot relics can be found in the same cavern of corrosion

Next we’ll look at their characteristics by which I mean their personalities & designs; off the bat we can see that Boothill has a more gruff personality & if he weren’t censored by his synesthesia beacon, he would be the sole reason for bumping HSR to a higher audience rating; this man probably would not hold back on the expletives 😂)

Meanwhile Argenti is shown to be very kind with his words, often using compliments & praises; typically he speaks with levelheadedness & grace, just like how we imagine a knight would speak

If we think about it, Boothill & Argenti are both very flamboyant characters but in different fonts; just look at their demo trailers as references since they both move like dancers (Argenti looks like he’s in a graceful ballroom dance while he’s fighting the swarm disaster; Boothill straight up MOONWALKS while dodging bullets from the IPC, we literally went from Marilyn Monroe to Michael Jackson 😂)

What accentuates their flamboyance even more is the way they both have spotlights on them at various points of their demo videos

Bonus shot of Boothill being so extra (read: fabulous) while fighting:

They also have very flamboyant designs which makes them stand out (as Boothill explains, they’re both clad in silver which definitely is one of the first things you would notice when looking at them); I don't know how much value silver has in this universe but it is considered a precious metal & valuable to us due to its many uses which is thanks to its malleable nature

Another thing to point out is that Argenti is based off the Latin word for silver argentum; fun fact, the Latin translation is the reason why the symbol for silver on the periodic table is Ag :3

I feel like their color palettes are a bit similar (silver, red, black) but they also have varying degrees for shared colors, specifically red & black; from a visual standpoint, this goes very well because Argenti having more red helps to emphasize his association to roses & Boothill having more black helps to emphasize his identity as “death” (well, for the IPC at least)

Moving onto their lore, although Argenti doesn’t have lines about Boothill, we do get lines about Argenti from Boothill himself; based on Boothill’s voicelines, we can assume that he holds some respect for Argenti as someone to whom he can relate

Their backstories are quite similar when we take a closer look at them

For example, they both have experiences where they lost their homes & the people important to them (damn, HYV really said you’re gonna suffer 💀)

Their respective factions are both noted to be groups of solitary people

Interestingly the factions have different reputations according to the data bank where the Knights of Beauty are looked down upon & the Galaxy Rangers are seen as heroes which may be a bit different from what we’re used to since knights normally have a positive connotation as people who hold chivalry as one of their most important values

Their goals are similar in the way that they both are looking for a specific person or entity: Boothill is looking for Oswaldo Schneider (who is responsible for the loss of his family & home; we might possibly meet him soon since we ended off 2.2 with the cliffhanger where Boothill confronts Aventurine to ask him where Oswaldo is) & Argenti is looking for Idrila the Beauty

They also have their critical turning points in their respective Character Story Part 3 portions

Boothill’s portion talks about his transformation into a cyborg & his adoption of the name “Boothill” which he explains is what they called gunslingers who ended up dead; it is a clear representation of his old self having died along with his loved ones & his home when the IPC destroyed everything

Argenti’s portion talks about his journey as a new Knight of Beauty & the obstacles he faced after having met the knight that was mentioned in his Part 2; here we see his transformation into a Knight of Beauty & his dedication to the path he walks

Before I had mentioned silver being an important part of their designs; here I think is where we see the importance of silver the best (since silver is a malleable material, it can change its meaning for both characters based on their situations)

To reiterate, becoming a cyborg by replacing his body w/ silver represents Boothill saying goodbye to his old self who knew of happier times & his loved ones; for Argenti, the silver that he wears is a sign of his devotion to Idrila the Beauty

What ties their differences so well in my eyes is that silver acts as a symbol of Boothill’s & Argenti’s resolve to accomplish their goals (silver may be malleable but it still can be strong metal & it’s even better since Argenti does talk about his will/faith being unbreakable)

I truly love their dynamic as complementary foils & I really hope that we’ll be able to see more interactions between them in the future since we just only have Boothill’s voicelines about Argenti but considering their goals, it probably won’t happen, at least not any time soon

Let me just say that I only cooked this idea up after listening to Boothill’s demo trailer on repeat…..a normal amount, I’m so normal about him 🙂🙂🙂🙂

Thank the YEEHAW man :3

[threewaywithdelusion]

Mrs. Harrington (A Stranger Things WIP)

Delia remembers falling in love with Richard. 

It was junior year of high school. Delia was a cheerleader, but not the best cheerleader. She was in the middle of the pyramid — too weak to be the base and too big to be a flyer. She felt unnoticeable, propping the head cheerleader, Mandee, up so she could shine. 

Mandee had been dating Richard. The perfect cheerleader, all blonde hair and blue eyes and a petite body that made her a perfect flyer. Not like Delia, whose dark hair never lay flat and whose body was heavier but without that perfect hourglass Marilyn Monroe shape. Mandee came from a good family, one with money. Delia’s family was aggressively middle class. She could never go anywhere because they only had one car and her dad drove it to work every day. The only truly nice thing Delia had was her piano, which was her most cherished possession. Delia was a cheerleader because it gave her friends — she played the piano because it gave her life. 

All that meant that Delia had never expected to catch Richard Harrington’s eyes. Then, somehow, in the middle of a cheer, Delia had looked out at the crowd and seen Richard. His eyes hadn’t been on his perfect girlfriend at the top of the pyramid. They had been on Delia. 

After that, every time they did their routine, Delia always looked for Richard in the audience. She always found him looking back at her. 

The summer before senior year, Mandee’s family had gone to visit her grandparents in Florida. She hadn’t been gone two days before Richard pulled up outside Delia’s house at twilight, rolled down his window, and gave her a roughish smile. 

She’d climbed into his car. 

That summer had been the happiest time of her life. The two of them had been young and free — Delia and Dickie, taking on the world. Dickie had taken her to the drive-in and kissed her with his mouth tasting of popcorn. He’d driven her to Indy and to Chicago, where they had spent hours exploring new music like the Elvis and the Shirelles. They went to the lake and Delia lay on the shore until Dickie picked her up and dunked her in the lake, kissing away her shrieks of surprise. 

Dickie had money and he bought Delia records and dresses and jewelry. He made it seem like the world was at their fingertips. 

They’d spent their evenings lying on the roof of Dickie’s car, watching the stars and discussing their dreams. 

“If you could be anything, what would you be?” Delia asked. 

Dickie blew out cigarette smoke with a careless air, something that always reminded Delia of James Dean. 

“An actor,” Dickie said. “One of those handsome ones who gets to kiss all the pretty girls and save the day. Like Rock Hudson.”

Delia smiled and snuggled against Dickie’s shoulder. “You do kind of look like him.”

“I know,” Dickie said cockily. He tilted his head just so, in a way that invited Delia to laugh at his overconfidence. That was part of the magic of talking to Dickie — you always felt like you were in on the joke. 

Delia teetered on the verge of shattering the moment, then committed to it. “But what about for real? In a world where you aren’t a movie star. Do you think you’ll work for your dad?”

Dickie’s face went dark. “I’ll never work for him. He’s already got his golden child, doesn’t he? Michael is apparently getting straight A’s in college. He’ll take over the company once dad retires.”

Dickie frowned at the stars for a long moment before he remembered to pretend he didn’t care. He shook off his preoccupation and gave Delia a wide smile. “Let him have the boring business job. I’ll be busy getting rich as a movie star.”

Delia laughed because that was what Dickie wanted. She couldn’t imagine why Dickie’s father wouldn’t want him as his heir. Sure, Michael was a year older and he seemed to be good at all that school stuff. But Dickie was no slouch when it came to school and he was excellent at people. The mothers who worked as cashiers in town were always giving him discounts or free treats because he knew how to flatter them. 

Dickie shone. When he smiled, you couldn’t help but look. When he talked, you couldn’t help but listen. 

No one had ever looked at Delia until this paragon of rich, insouciant youth had noticed her. He’d seen her in the middle of the pyramid and thought she was worth watching. He’d let her drag him into her embarrassingly small house and watched her play piano, sitting atop the lid, looking entranced. He’d demanded song after song. 

He’d called her extraordinary. And when Dickie said it, Delia felt like it was true. 

“What about you?” Dickie asked. “What do you want to be?”

Delia stole the cigarette from between his fingers and took a drag, placing her lips where his had just been. “Yours. I want to be yours.”

Dickie smiled and kissed the top of her head, then her forehead, then her lips. They abandoned the cigarette in the dirt and crawled into the car and made love, fogging up the windows until a cop knocked and Dickie charmed their way out of trouble with a sweet smile and a story about young love. 

The whole time he’d spoken to the cop, he’d kept one hand behind him, holding onto Delia’s. 

Delia had thought, this is love. 

***

It’s August 1986 when Delia Harrington meets Robin Buckley for the first time. 

Hawkins is an empty husk of a town, ravaged by an earthquake and a chemical leak and a string of animal attacks. Delia’s son is covered in scars and has a wild look in his eyes that reminds Delia of the veterans she met at the memorial. She wonders if Steven will ever be able to live a normal life or if he’ll be like those veterans, jumping at backfiring car, never quite sure where or when they are. 

Wherever Steve is, Robin Buckley is as well. 

Delia’s first impression of her is that she didn’t think Steve would choose this type of girl. The last one, Nancy, seemed more like Steve’s type. Well-mannered, put-together, and from a good family. Pretty and smart with a confidence that had Steve watching her in awe whenever she spoke. 

Robin isn’t eloquent or quietly powerful like Nancy was. She rambles far too much and she flails her limbs when she moves. She fumbles basic conversation and she doesn’t hold eye contact with Delia for more than three seconds at a time. 

But when she’s around Steve, the tension drops out of his shoulders. He reaches for her constantly, checking she’s there with little taps to her shoulders or brushes to her wrists. They have entire conversations in silence, punctuated only by Steve’s loud laughter. 

Delia could never have predicted Robin Buckley would be the one to catch Steve’s eye. She sees Richard frowning at the girl and she knows he’s seeing all the ways she’s a wrong fit — too loud, too wild, too shameless. Her clothes too blocky and her hair too choppy. 

Delia wonders if any part of Richard is seeing his own high school sweetheart and the way he’d loved her in spite of the more proper choice. 

She’s not sure these days, that Richard remembers the summer of Dickie and Delia at all. 

But when Delia’s not watching Richard’s frowns, she sees Steve’s smile. She watches him light up when he opens the door to find Robin outside. She sees the way the screaming from nightmares lessens on the nights when Delia turns a blind eye to Robin fumbling her way into Steve’s bedroom. She hears Steve and Robin’s laughter echoing through the hallway. 

Delia thinks, this is love. 

[librawritesstuff]

Here in America: Financial Times review

A little way into Here in America, one character is recalling the theatre technique of “affective memory”: “It’s called ‘the magic if’. What you’d do if it was you.”

Like much in David Edgar’s new play about Arthur Miller and Elia Kazan, it’s not an idle reference. What you would do if it were you is a question that rolls through so many of Miller’s plays — All My Sons, A View from the Bridge, Death of a Salesman — as the protagonists grapple with integrity and the battle between principle and personal interest. Miller’s genius was that he could show you why someone might make the wrong choice. That question also drives Edgar’s drama, which finds both Miller, and his legendary director Kazan, in a similarly agonising position. “What would you do?” they essentially ask of each other — and of the audience.

Edgar focuses on 1952 and a critical meeting between the writer and director at the latter’s home in Connecticut. Tense and twitchy, Kazan is trying to find a way to tell Miller, a man he regards almost as a brother, that he intends to name names to Senator McCarthy’s House Un-American Activities Committee. He wants Miller to understand him. (In reality, his decision caused a huge rift between the two).

Edgar uses dramatic licence to imagine the conversation. It’s easiest, naturally, to root for Miller, who refused to name names, but Edgar adds subtle moral shading. Shaun Evans’ agonised, restless Kazan asks urgently why he should ruin his career for a cause he no longer believes in; Michael Aloni’s watchful, sharp Miller, in turn, has driving clarity but also a degree of lofty superiority. Questions of loyalty and betrayal — personal, political, marital — come thick and fast.

And the real target here is the paranoid political hysteria that has forced artists into impossible decisions. As the script touches on blacklisting, on divisive public discourse and on the banning of books in libraries, it’s clear that Edgar’s wider concern is the direction of travel of present-day America.

It’s fascinating and highly pertinent, then, and James Dacre’s taut, precisely acted production makes the most of the intimate Orange Tree Theatre, with the arguments slicing the air and the two men prowling the space warily, like caged animals. Jasmine Blackborow’s fragile Marilyn Monroe floats through as a spectral, imagined presence, nagging at the men’s consciences, while Faye Castelow as Kazan’s shrewd wife Molly needles and prompts.

It’s held back somewhat by the weight of exposition it has to pack in and by its cerebral nature. Meanwhile, the interplay of memory and guilt, while aptly reflecting Miller’s technique in Salesman, is complex to pull off on stage. Even so, this feels a timely piece for our rancorous times: a reminder of the fragility and importance of artistic and intellectual freedom.

[grazi-your-rockette-queen]

Hi, I'd like to request Michael Monroe nsfw hcs <3

^prettyyy

-i think he’d be pretty experienced and know what to do so if it was your first time he’d be super calm and careful with you

-he’s a very passionate person in general so obviously that carries over to intimacy for sure

-very sweet and loving even when he gets rough

-also he’d be talkative, in the best way cuz he’d be constantly complimenting and like praising you

-definitely romantic, he puts a lot of thought into the lovemaking between the two of you

-like i’m talking rose petals and champagne pretty much every night or sum over the top shit like that

-and for special occasions he’d be even more excited and focused on making everything about you

-i could imagine him tying you up but probably only if you asked (if you did he’d be super excited and into it)

-he would be rough especially when he gets close, but as soon as you’ve both finished he’s very caring

-gives you a massage ft. lots of kisses afterwards 🥰

[evangelinesbible]

ASTRO THEORY 6

I feel like peoples main celebrity inspirations share the same Moon sign, MC, and/or have personal placements in your 1H/9H/11H

Moon sign - emotional connection and understanding of the person you look up too, especially if they’re a musician. Depending on the sign there is something specific you see in them that you see in you

MC - how they appear to the public is how you dream to be seen as well. Specifically though their fashion and mannerisms in the public eye

1H - you might see something in them that you see in you pending on the planet

9H - they really inspire you and their influence helps expand your mind to their ideals

11H - you love to watch what they do, especially online. They feel familiar to you and you could imagine being their friend.

My moon is Sagittarius and I love Naomi Campbell’s and KeKe Palmer’s attitude and humor. Also I love Jordan Peel. And I know that FKA Twigs has a sag moon and I’ve been meaning to start listening to her.

My MC is Taurus and I tend to really be inspired and intrigued by Angelina Jolie, Alexa Demie and Marylin Monroe. I just love how they carry themselves.

My Virgo rising tends to love Virgo celebrities with a passion, Mainly Beyoncé, Michael Jackson, KeKe Palmer, and Zendaya. And I tend to really be interested in Virgo moons, like Doja Cat, Dolly Parton, and Nicki Minaj

My 9th house is Aries but Taurus takes up most of the house so Aries and Taurus placement celebrities I tend to find inspiration from if I understand their ideals. Beyoncé has Taurus Chiron, Princess Diana Taurus Venus, Marylin Monroe Taurus MC, Michael Jackson Taurus Mars

My 11th house is cancer and yet again Beyonce has Cancer MC, Angelina Jolie Cancer Rising, Zendaya Cancer Venus.

Do you share similar placements to your main inspirations? 💋

- ⚜️💫⚜️

[hitchell-mope]

Middle names

Michael Edward Wheeler. After Ted.

Jane Theresa Joyce Hopper. She got to choose her middle names. When Joyce found out she got Eggo’s for every meal for a month. She’s still not sick of them.

Lucas Davis Sinclair. His father is a fan of Sammy Davis Senior.

Maxine Geraldine Mayfield. After her biological father Gerald

Dustin Carl Robert Henderson. Claudia’s a fan of the Reiner’s

Suzanne Mary Bingham. After Jesus’s mother. Not Magdalene.

William Vincent Byers. Lonnie chose Jonathan’s middle name. So Joyce insisted on choosing Will’s middle name. And Joyce likes Starry Night

Jonathan Lawrence Byers. After Lonnie.

Nancy Karen Wheeler. After Karen. The Wheeler parents are really imaginative aren’t they(?)

Joycelyn Edna Byers. After her mother.

James Montague Hopper. Rome and Juliet was his mother’s favourite play.

Argyle. He’ll never tell. BUT. He has told Jonathan that “Argyle” is a nickname made up out of his initials.

Steven John Paul George Ringo Harrington. His mother is a MASSIVE Beatles fan.

Robin Marilyn Buckley. Her mother is a fan of Marilyn Monroe.

[trickstersaint]

I saw on one of your quizzes it said to bug you here if we wanted to talk about saints. I'm not catholic (raised a different christian denomination->ive since escaped it thank fuck) and just by seeing some saint options to pick from on the quiz it raised questions abt the neighboring religion. Is Eve not a saint in catholic churches??? Like Adam and Eve??? Idk I always figured theyd be saints but I didnt see them listed and now I'm curious because I dont think ive ever seen them listed as saints anywhere at all really. Just stuff like mother Mary and angels like Michael and Gabriel/ ppl like Joan of arc etc.

Ps. also listing Marilyn Monroe and Ophelia as ppl you personally consider saints is absolutely girlboss of you and I mean that in the best way possible💜💜plz elaborate bc I am so ready to hear you out and I just know you have a good ass rant abt it I'm so curious lol

it does say to do that i love when people want to talk about saints... one of my favorite topics even...

anyway eve is NOT a saint. unfortunately in biblical terms her and adam kind of crucially fucked things up for everyone and sainthood really specifically has to go to a certain kind of person who is devout and significant and (only for modern canonization i think?) has to complete a certain number of miracles in order to be considered for canonization. eve and adam are definitely significant biblical figures but they are really just not eligible for sainthood by virtue of Not having been good believers in god. see also: trickstersaint poem "in which you are seven years old and trying to dislodge the chunk of apple in your throat".

imagining adam and eve as saints though... saints of falling for trickery... saints of caving to temptation... i think i have to sit down

ok so here's the thing. when i think of saints they are like. well. haters (other christian denominations) will say "false idols" but they are like stuffed animals within religion to me. supplementary figures. this is all irrelevant to the ophelia and marilyn monroe conversation in which the point is that they are figures that are mythical either by virtue of their origins or by the way that their stories have been mythologized and they have been adopted by people in a way that is more about the person who adopts them than about the figure themself. HOWEVER it is critical that they still maintain the thought of like. i Know this person. even as they are dehumanized. so. parasocial relationships on a societal level. which is why i included princess diana on that question as well because it's about the sheer level of fame and the way in which people adopt these figures as personal icons and idolize them especially in death. gerard way gets to be this to me because i am insane about them in a very specific way and i Do hold them in my heart for support and strength in the way that i hold saint sebastian or the virgin mary. see also: trickstersaint poem "ophelia".

[mangoshorthand]

Flesh and Blood- [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Ch2 (Hard Feelings Part 3)

SUMMARY: As Christmas approaches, everything between you and Five is perfect...until a destructive temporal anomaly gets in the way. Five is convinced another permutation of himself is to blame. Nothing's simple when you're in a relationship Five Hargreeves: could your loyalties be tested in a way unique to him?

<<Back to Chapter 1 Onto chapter 3 >>

You and Klaus take a rare authorized ride in Five's corvette.

Smut below. Proceed at your own...blah blah.

Chapter Two: Tiramisu

Preoccupied as Five was, (dividing his time between staring down the street and scribbling on your bedroom-wall dry erase), he kept looking down at you with concern. This morning’s headache was a bad one and now you're suffering from dizziness too. He blinked away and back again with water and pain relief in his hands. 

Now, he frowns down at you as you swallow the pills.

“Did you get an appointment?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, “Two-thirty.”

You'd finally admitted to yourself that this needed checking out. Ever since your stay in hospital following your encounter with Michael Monroe, you'd been resistant to put yourself back into a medical setting: all the grueling physio and tweaking of dosages. But now, you couldn't deny it any longer.

Regular headaches might be nothing but they were also the first symptom Santi's friend Alyssa had suffered before she was diagnosed with a deadly brain tumor. 

Five's frown deepened as he stared with seeming absence at his latest lines of mathematics.

“I want to drive you but I need to stay here and wait for me to turn up. Of course I’d keep me waiting.”

He tapped his foot impatiently, glancing out of the window as if hoping to see a version of himself strolling down the alley.

“It's fine," you say, "I can get a cab.”

“No. Give me a few minutes.”

***

Klaus was the only other person in the house, and Five had searched high and low before resorting to asking him to drive you. But Klaus agreed with alacrity, promising that he was sober (enough). Five had even been persuaded to give Klaus the keys to his Corvette, though with clear misgivings.

Now, you stand at the double doors of the medical center numbly. You can see Klaus waiting in the car, twenty feet away. It was a short but…productive appointment. You screw up all your fortitude to meet Klaus’s scrutiny, you worry he'll discern that something’s wrong within a minute of you getting into the car. You have to hide the diagnosis from him. It won’t be easy, especially if some ghost has been following you and screams it out to him.

And then, a clap of thunder from a cloudless winter sky.

Your body and clothing seem to ripple along with the force that passes them. Another swirling, rushing noise. A flash of bluish light and energy that flexes like perspex. Another temporal anomaly crashes into being on the other side of the parking lot.

Automatically, you flinch away and back up a few steps. You can feel the force of it, pulling at you like the sensation of water down a plughole. Klaus leaps out of the car and runs to your side, but now you don’t notice him, because you’re running at full pelt towards the portal, shouting as loud as you can.

“Five? Five, is that you? Please! We need to talk to you!”

Klaus catches up and pulls you back as the minivan nearest to you lifts off its wheels and becomes wedged in the sucking void, crushing as if in a compactor, its security alarm blaring uselessly. Cracking, smashing glass and crunching metal are all absorbed; contracting inexorably with the force of the anomaly.

“Five!”

And then it closes, swallowing the car along with it.

“Five?”

There’s nobody there, nobody behind where the void was. You run to the other end of the parking lot, but it’s empty, fenced off. If he was there, then he’s blinked away.

“You ASSHOLE!”

Klaus is at your shoulder, staring at the point the car disappeared.

"Oh my God."

And then he starts to giggle madly, helplessly:

"Can you imagine if that was the Corvette? Five would never get over it."

***

Back in your bedroom. He's pacing again, shooting out questions like a high-precision rifle.

“Did it feel the same?”

“Yeah: like a ripple or a sink emptying.”

He turns to Klaus: “And you?”

“It tickled a little but I was further away,” answers Klaus.

“And you saw nobody?”

“It was an empty parking lot, Fievel Mousekewitz.”

Five huffs.

“I must have blinked. So, what was I doing there? I gotta be following you.” 

He turns his eyes to you again, regarding you as if you were a half-phrased equation.  His hands spring to his pockets and he leans further towards you, eyes narrowing and forehead contracting. 

“Portals appear beside you…twice? It can’t be a coincidence. So what the hell am I trying to do? Am I trying to get to you and failing? But why not just get a briefcase?”

As Five begins to pace again, you turn to Klaus.

 "Do you mind if Five and I speak in private?"

He looks a question at you but your face makes him acquiesce; the little bit of telepathy you share with Klaus communicates your need succinctly. He nods and retreats without even a sarcastic comment. When you hear him heading down the attic stairs, you take a deep, steadying breath.

“If that’s what’s happening, I think I might know why.”

Five’s pacing ceases, his head tilts and all the manic energy concentrates in his eyes.

“I’m fifteen weeks pregnant.”

For a moment, he does nothing, it’s like it doesn’t register. And then, his hand flies to straighten his tie. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but words don’t come so he smooths the back of his hair instead. After mouthing for a few seconds, his eyebrows contract.

“F-fifteen weeks?” His hand now massages the back of his neck, “How?”

You refrain from the obvious answer: Well Five, when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much and their contraception failed fifteen weeks ago…

“I’ve bled like normal until this month. It's been light, but…”

He sits down on the bed, staring at the floor between his legs.

“Pregnant?”

He says it as if he’s never heard the word before. You sit down on the chair.

“The headaches and the dizziness. They were symptoms.”

His head goes into his hands and he closes his eyes. You don’t know what he’s thinking or why, you just know he’s thinking. You don’t blame him, your mind is still turning it over uncomprehendingly and you’ve known for an hour longer than he has.

He looks up at you, a hand on each of his cheeks.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Me neither.”

“We made a baby?” it’s as if he wasn’t aware of it as a possibility- as if a pie he’d put in the oven has come out as a perfectly chilled tiramisu. He breathes out shakily.

“Yeah," you say, "…if we want to see it that way.”

He mouths for a second and then stands slowly. His eyes dart to your abdomen and then back up to your face. He blinks away.

You stand up abruptly. No. He doesn’t get to do this. You can’t blink away from this so he doesn’t get to either

“FIVE HARGREEVES!” you scream, “GET YOUR ASS BACK- …oh.”

He's already blinked back, carrying a small bag.

“Sorry," he says, "Sorry. Um…” 

You can see him wanting to pace. He’s biting his lip and his forehead juts towards you. He closes his eyes and the words come rushing out in one stream, tripping over each other.

“Would you, d-do you...do you want?...because I..."

He breathes, opens his eyes and fixes them on yours. You can tell he’s trying hard for his usual collectedness, within the green are depths of vulnerability he’s fighting not to show. He takes your hand and tries again: 

“Would you want to raise a baby with me? With me?”

You grasp his meaning. A lot of unsaid things pass between you at this moment. He's harsh, faltering at times, imperfect; still evolving. Yes, he is all these things, but he listens and he learns. You rest your forehead on his.

“I think I do,” you breathe.

“This baby?” his voice falters, as his eyes flick down to your stomach. The last syllable turns out no more than a whisper.

You nod, feeling tears coming into your eyes.

He gives a single ‘ha’ of laughter or incredulity that’s all but an outward breath. He smiles and squeezes your hand, and you feel yourself laugh a little in return. He breaks contact with your forehead only to kiss it shakily before letting go of your hand. He steps back and begins to fumble in the bag, trying for an unruffled, business-like demeanor. “Good. So that makes this next part a little easier. I would have still done it but now it's…anyway, I bought this when we were shopping yesterday and- shit!” 

He drops the bag and bends to get it. He makes as if to straighten up, but then seems to think better of it. Instead, he lowers himself further to one knee.

“Five?”

He looks up, his side swept hair falling over his brow. “You once told me that you might think about getting married. Would you think about it with me?”

He reaches into the bag and pulls out a small box which he opens to show you: two pear cut rubies flank a natural pearl in a vintage setting; the band itself is plain gold. He looks down at it in his hand and then back up at you.

“I thought you wouldn’t want a diamond, so…” he trails off  before a different idea rushes from his mouth, “We could wait as long as you want. Years, if you like…if we have years left, what with…” he jerks his head at the calculation-covered walls, “And you don’t have to decide now, you can-”

“Five.”

He shuts up.

“Okay,” you smile in confirmation of the word, “Yes. Not now. Maybe not for a while-”

He cuts you off with a sudden kiss, leaping from the floor in a split second. It’s clumsy but sweet. He’s torn in several directions by a multiplicity of feeling that doesn’t allow him to be anything but sincere. Fear and joy commingle so as to make him uncontrolled. One moment, his lips smile against yours, the next, he holds you to him fiercely. 

The kiss becomes a desperate thing all its own, him unable to decide whether to keep his mouth on yours or on your body. He backs you into one of the bookcases, ignoring the heavy encyclopedia that hits him on the shoulder as it falls. He’s grinding against you, his wet, wild caresses intensifying.

At last, he comes up for air and steps back a little, allowing you to step away from the bookcase. He takes the ring out of its box and takes your left hand gently. You allow him to slip it on. He looks at it for a moment and then back at you.

“Sorry, I guess I got carried away there.”

You raise your eyebrows and lean towards him again, so that your lips skim his throat. You breathe him in- the natural scent combined with mint-camphor cologne that makes your stomach flip.

“I'm not complaining.” you whisper, huskily. 

Five lets out a breath that’s almost a moan, the vibrations of your voice against his skin are making all the hairs on his neck stand straight up.

His forward steps impel you backwards, where your legs hit the bedstead unexpectedly. He loses his balance, sending you tumbling beneath him. He manages to stop himself before he puts his whole weight on you.

“Are you ok?” he asks, putting a protective hand on your stomach.

You pull him down onto you and kiss him just as fiercely as he did you, drawing from him a little “Mmmph!” of surprise. Soon, he regains part of his composure and straddles you, taking your hand. You grin as he draws it to his lips and kisses the ring. 

When he lets you go, you use the hand to rub his chest, thumb grazing where his nipples hide under the double layer of material. He responds by stripping off his jacket, waistcoat and tie.

“Why do I wear this shit?” he mutters. 

His shaking hands wrestle with his tie knot, casting it away from him once it’s removed like it’s on fire. When it’s at last discarded and his shirt is undone, he gets off you to allow you both to undress.  

“You don’t know how much I need this,” (he’s breathing through his teeth now,) “I want to make you feel good and forget everything else. Just concentrate on you.”

When he’s stripped to his underwear, he kneels next to the bed, grabs your hips and pulls you to him. When he begins to lick you, your body melts into the bedsheets. He doesn’t often do this -his fingers are too well practiced at getting you there- but on these occasions he’s enthusiastic to a fault. His problem is he enjoys it too much.

To begin with, he tries to tease you like he does with his fingers, but by the time he’s got your clit into a nice rhythm, he’s tasted too much of you and can’t help himself. The more turned on it makes him, the clumsier he gets. It’s hot in its own way, seeing him absolutely lose himself with his face buried in your pussy, like he’s trying to drink your juices. When he moans into you, the sound's vibration gives your clit a pleasant little sting. From the movement of his arm, you can tell his right hand is gently beating himself off below the level of the bed.

“Slow down.”

You gently grab a fistful of his ever-more untidy hair and urge him upwards. He looks up at you, eyes clouded with lust, just wanting to put his face back in there.

“Control yourself down there. I want you to get me off with your tongue.”

“Yes ma’am.” he winks. Even when doing a patchy job of cunnilingus he manages to look cocky.

He parts your labia with two fingers and gives a few long, tongue-tip licks down the entire length, stopping to dip his tongue where the wetness pools at your entrance. He makes eye-contact as he moves his tongue back up. He lets the tip slip in a circle around your clit before changing the movement to a regular, pulsing flick.

“That’s it Daddy,” you breathe, raising your hips to meet his tongue, “keep going like that.”

He gives your clit a cheeky side to side wiggle before briefly surfacing.

“Might wanna lay off the ‘daddy’ stuff for a while.”

Your laugh turns into an ‘ahhh!’ as he returns his face to you, sucking gently and rhythmically at your swollen clit. As your moans intensify, so do his. In his arousal, he becomes sloppy again. “Dammit Five!”

“Then stop-" he slides his tongue inside your vagina, "-tasting-" he sucks hungrily at the come at your entrance "-this good."

He surfaces and licks his own lips, eyes heated. 

You feel like a tightly wound violin string, resonating from his contact. He smirks and returns his mouth to your clit. He's regained control and works quickly, bringing two fingers inside you to aid him.

"Come for me, darling. Cover my face in come." 

The movement of his lips as he forms the words around your swollen clit is maddening. You feel your muscles tighten more. His newly controlled suckling and tongue pulsing finally gets you there.

You come long and noisily, him valiantly keeping up with his tongue until your body relaxes. You lie there, breathing hard for a few moments, coming down from the orgasm. 

You make to sit up, but his hand on your chest pushes you back down.

“I’m not done,” he growls.

He climbs onto the bed, forces a pillow between his legs and his head back between yours. He starts to hump at the pillow as he buries his face between your labia, covering his entire face with the evidence of your orgasm. He mouths you deeply, like he's taking 'eating you out' a little too literally. More than the pillow will need a comprehensive wash after this adventure.

You watch him rock, dragging his hips over the pillow, his toned, perfectly round ass tensing and untensing. He moans into you and speeds up his hips, his knees struggling to get purchase on the bedsheets. He's desperate to come and seeing him do this, totally unabashed, is one of the hottest sights you've seen from him, (and there have been many contenders). Every so often, he turns to the side and fucks his fist for a while before returning to the pillow. 

From a forward and backwards movement, his hips wiggle side to side and then into a figure eight. The new motion excites him, and his moans become more intense, sending aching vibrations onto your clit.

Finally, when his humps become desperate and the friction not enough, he turns to the side again, grabs his cock by the base and milks himself, his come-covered face finally surfacing as he breathes jaggedly. He finishes on his abdominal muscles, his seed spilling out of him in spurting stream after stream. Now he’s covered in come from both of you, his face and abdomen glistening.

He relaxes onto his back, letting his heavy breathing return to normal. Eventually, he wipes his mouth and smooths his hair. 

“Well fuck, that felt good,” he says, matter-of-factly.

***

In the dead of night, he wakes you with a strangled screaming gasp, shielding his eyes in the crook of one arm. You're so used to this now that you barely even startle. You pull him, hyperventilating, to your breast. This routine isn't formal, but it's developed over the year you’ve shared his bed. 

"It's ok. It's just a dream. Just a nightmare."

You feel him shaking against your neck, trying to slow his breathing.

"You're safe. You're home. It's okay."

His pulse skitters under your fingers. His breathing doesn't slow. 

You rock him a little.

"Breathe with me, okay? Inhale, two, three four; hold, two, three, four; out, two, three, four, five, six."

You repeat the chant over and over. At first, he can't follow but slowly, tremulously, he does. After fifteen full cycles, his inhales get less shaky. When you reach twenty, he can do it properly. 

"You okay?"

He carries on by himself for another cycle or two before he’s ready to speak.

"Better. Thank you.” and then, vulnerable: “I love you.”

"I love you too,” you kiss his clammy forehead, holding your lips to him for a few seconds in acknowledgment of his tone.

“Was it the same dream as always?"

He nods, eyes closed.

“The fires just kept burning. Months.”

“I know.”

He repositions himself so now you’re holding each other rather than him in your arms. He buries his face in your hair and kisses where his lips touch. You think he’s asleep again until you hear him whisper out of the dark:

“I don’t know how to be a dad.”

You squeeze him tighter.

“I don’t know how to be a mom,” you mumble, "You’re a great uncle, so why wouldn’t you be a great dad?”

“Yeah, I’ll just teach the little one eugenics 101, shall I?”

“You need to stop beating yourself up. You fucked up once in Santi’s entire life and you did it trying to help him. Trust yourself.”

“How can I trust myself when there’s some version of me out there doing God-knows-what with nonsense calculations? All of this... it's a lot to take in.”

He rolls onto his back, still holding you, and staring up at the ceiling through the darkness.

“Are you having second thoughts?”

You feel him scrub at his forehead with one palm,

“No...I don't know. I always feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop: for the next danger to come. If anything happened to either of you...can I risk my kid getting wrapped up in all my shit?"

You lay your head on him. This has been nagging at you too.

"But...is that worse than no kid? Now it's actually happened? I don't think I want to stop being pregnant."

He sighs and buries his face in your hair.

"I don't want that either. I guess I'll just have to face whatever comes."

"We'll face it, Five. Together."

You feel him smile against your head. You don't have to see him to know which: it's his fond smile, the one he wears when he muses over you. Though you don't know it, it's the smile he wears when he can't quite believe his luck to have met you. 

"You're right: partners."

He kisses your head briefly before continuing:

"I guess I'm also just realizing how unprepared I am. I’ll have a lot to offer if our kid ever needs to live off cockroaches and develop a loving relationship with a mannequin, but otherwise…I got no idea.”

“You’ll learn.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “but the only Dad I ever knew wasn’t exactly the type to play ball and kiss me goodnight.”

“And my Mom's a crazy bitch. We just have to start by taking everything they did and doing the opposite.”

“So you’re saying don’t teach them how to break someone’s neck before I teach them how to ride a bike?”

“Yeah- good fathering instincts!”

 He laughs darkly. You can tell he’s still worried

“Diego does fine.”

“I’m not Diego.”

You’re not sure whether Five considers this a compliment to Diego or not.

Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed.) @dilfjohhny , @sunsunhe, @w4stedtr4sh, @nevbrooke-555, @theredvelvetbitch, @td-miley01, @five-hxrgreeves <<Back to Chapter 1 Onto chapter 3 >> Masterpost

Alternatively, join me on A03.  Here is a link to the whole series

[kala-mies]

Whenever I imagine Kian the only person that appears in my mind is Michael Monroe and to me this is just who Kian is. If there ever is a Bitb show they have to get a lookalike (or just have 61 Monroe play a 30 year old)

[pamicakery]

₊✩‧₊˚౨SPIRITUAL BURNOUT ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

It happens. For me.. A burnout is when your ego (3d self) and your inner self are conflicting.

It's when something you lost interest on something you usually love. When you have something in mind but your hand goes like '' No I don't want to work today ''.

It's really frustrating, it makes me crying, being angry and I can't express those feeling in my home because I'm in an abusive home so.. I have to suppressing my feelings. (:sad:)

Ugh.. That's why we shouldn't identify with our outer self. We feel lost, frustrated, envious, jealous, scared etc. We don't listen to ourselves. For making this post, I was searching for the meaning of a spiritual burnout and I found nothing that resonate with me.

So I asked myself..

What is a spiritual burnout?

I wanted to manifest many things, my body, my dream appartement, my job etc.

I failed. I gave myself 2 years to manifest it. 2 years. I repeat 2 YEARS. I spent my years looking through Tumblr, asking question, looking at my circonstances and doing nothing but whining every two days.

The only time I felt good about myself was when I was focusing on my well being. Not about what I wanted to manifest. Just my well being.

Having my desires.. My material desires won't make me happy. What I mean by that is.. The material desire will be a material version of my inner state.

Let me explain :

My inner self feel beauty so in my outside people will compliment me and I will have my desired body.

Because my desired body it's a reflection of my inner well being.

I thought it was the other way around. I used to wanting to manifest a model agent casting me out of nowhere and give me a huge modeling contract.

I was thinking of someone outside of me, saving me while feeling ugly and unwanted.

That's why some celebrities died in a sad way. Stars like Marilyn Monroe or Michael Jackson died alone despite the fame, the success or the beauty.

Marilyn Monroe wanted to be a mother, having someone who truly loved her.

Michael Jackson wanted to have a normal life, a happy life with his kids and live in a world of peace.

You can have money, beauty, lots of cars, people who praise you for your beauty, voice etc.. But none of that will fulfill your Inner self.

It feels good to be sad, crying and listening to sad music. Your inner self must be expressed. Let it go, cry and cry as much as you want.

What I do is that I tell myself '' I will focus on stuff that make me feel good ''. You have a burnout? Relax because to go on the rail again you will have to take care of your inner self.

If you want to visualise yourself looking at a city at night do it.

You need to make a difference between what you want and what you need.

Your Sp is just a personnification of being loved.

Your body is just a personnification of feeling healthy or beautiful.

Your bank account is just a personnification of feeling abundant.

That's why in our mind, when close our eyes it's pitch black. We have nothing. But not in a sense that we have lack, we have such a treasure inside our feeling and our imagination.

Feeling is what keep us alive. When we have a burnout, it's because it's time for us to focus on our inner self. We need to feel free, abundant, secure, loved.

Burnout is inner signal. That's the proof that everything comes from inside because when we have a burnout, we feel sad in the inside and it comes outside. The inner self must be expressed. The inner self is '' blocking '' everything with the 3d world that's why you can't do what you want and used to love.

Because it's time for you to stop identifying with the outer self who can't but with the inner self who can.

[nocompromise-noregrets]

five good things

Because I really really need one of these today. Been a Day, for no particular reason (well, I've had to go in to work today when I don't usually work Fridays, having had Monday off to compensate, and now this weekend is looking short as fuck, yes I know this is a ridiculous problem and I should stop being such a wuss but I'm thoroughly out of the habit of having to Do Things on Fridays let alone be a Grown-Up about it...) so I am grumpy and tired and in need of cheering up...

The utterly legendary Ray Zell is following me on Instagram! *flails* I found his account the other day and followed, and he followed me back, I just discovered!! (He is a cartoonist and all-round rock n' roll legend who has been drawing the extremely kick-ass Pandora Peroxide, and later her niece Pandora, for the UK metal magazine Kerrang! for nearly 40 years, and I swear to god, PP was a huge influence on me in my formative years, I ADORE her. He also used to hang around with a lot of the bands I love, including Hanoi Rocks, and still occasionally draws my absolute hero Michael Monroe, and I absolutely idolise him) I'm going to have to think of something to post, since the last time I posted was Michael Monroe's 60th birthday gig in Helsinki this time last year XD

The reason I was working today was because we were having a special open day for county councillors and council employees at job number 1 - we are the archive service for the county and for the council, and we have been keeping a low profile for years because if we made a fuss about ourselves it was highly likely the powers that be were going to notice us and start wondering why they were spending money on us, but we are in a rather better position now, and so we've had this little jamboree to invite people over to see who we are and what we do (we are across town from the main council offices so most of them have no idea we even exist). So because I and my work wife Helen have done the most work on the council's own archive over the years, we got nobbled to sort out a display of relevant documents, come in on the day we don't usually work, talk to people, etc etc etc...and it went really well! The document display went over really well (we got out all sorts of random stuff showing the breadth of things the county council does, and the breadth of things we do and what we look after) and everyone was really interested. So it was worth hauling myself out of bed this morning. XD As much as I complain about it, I do actually quite enjoy showing people what we do and why we're so incredibly awesome, so...yeah. Just...my introvert-batteries are completely drained now. :D

Last Cat Standing is still doing really well, considering his overactive thyroid. His vet has left the practice we've been taking him to since he was a baby kitten (when he developed the thyroid issue we decided to have him only see one vet because having him passed round whoever happened to be on duty at our huge practice wasn't conducive to good treatment, and it didn't work for Faerie, our very lovely girl who we lost first, at the end of 2020), and we're almost certainly going to jump ship and follow her to her new place as it's still within reach and she's absolutely lovely and understands him so well. We sent her flowers for her last day and she sent us a really lovely text to say thank you so...yeah. Can't quite imagine taking him to see anyone else so I think we'll be heading to her new place.

I am in the pub with a very nice G&T and doing a little bit of writing, mostly working on my Innumerable Stars assignment (nearly done oh god) and a prompt the lovely @scary-grace sent me yesterday :D :D :D

There is a very distinct prospect that I might be able to get my original bike, my much-beloved and in-a-million-bits Kawasaki ZXR-400, rebuilt and restored - our friend who works behind the bar at t'pub is married to a guy who a) is a mechanic and b) adores ZXR400s, having had one himself in his younger days. We've been talking about the two of them coming over one weekend and digging it all out of the garage so that her fella and my missus can sort it out while she and I sit on the sofa and drink prosecco till we pass out, and we've not managed to sort it out so far because she's always been working weekends, but hopefully we'll be able to get it done soon. I am so excited, I can't even begin to tell you, I bloody LOVE that bike. I only got a new one because he had serious engine trouble that I didn't have the money to sort out and I could get finance on a spanky-brand-new bike that wouldn't break down on me at random intervals, and that bike was all wrong for me so I was off the road for six years until I got my current bike...anyway, this little fella was absolutely my first love, and I am so very excited at the thought of getting him back! (very entertainingly I had a marketing email from Triumph earlier, suggesting I "find my one and only with the Bonneville Bobber", which made me laugh, because I did exactly that SIX YEARS AGO XDDDD )

Right. Usually I come up with more than five but I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel a bit tonight so five will have to do.

As always, if you see this and think that posting about five (or more) good things might do you good, please feel free to take the idea and run with it! The daily delight thing took off, it would be lovely if this could too.