#this is a call to try an unconventional career

[dancesingay]

They always told us to dream of what we wanted to be/what job we wanted to have growing up, as if every adult has a dream career. I think there's value in that, but I think there's also value in being opportunistic.

[literary-dolly]

communication is key

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 3.6k warnings: sexual humour, implied sexual content (non-explicit), mention of insecurities

Jason accidentally leaves a comm behind in your apartment - it would be rude not to have a listen, right?

Part II

It’s safe to say your evening is currently painfully boring.

Make no mistake, scrolling through Netflix is a treasured pastime most days. Somehow, it just wasn’t scratching the itch alone on a Friday night, disappointed and aching for the presence your boyfriend.

Jason had left for patrol roughly an hour ago. It was supposed to be your night together – both of you had made sure to make time in the calendar to go on a long overdue date. Between your work and Jason’s late-night patrols (which often left him fast asleep until at least midday), it was difficult to orchestrate time specifically for the two of you. Yes, you ate dinner together most evenings, often casually basked in each other’s company as you tinkered around your shared apartment, but it wasn’t the same as date night.

Jason had been more than a little pissed when he’d gotten a phone call from Dick asking him to help with the patrol this evening, face falling as soon as the caller ID lit up his phone. Bruce had to rush out of town, he’d claimed, and they needed the extra manpower after a recent Arkham outbreak. You’d known the moment Jason’s shoulders sagged that he would go. It was in his nature as a vigilante. Presenting him with the opportunity to save some poor, unfortunate Gothamites was like dangling a bone in front of a dog and not expecting it to bite.

You tried not to let it sting. When Jason had confessed to you about his alter-ego, you’d known that there would be certain sacrifices in your relationship most would not have to contend with. You doubted there were many people who were jealous of the amount of time their boyfriend spent with the Penguin. It was an unconventional set-up by most standards, but the two of you made it work. It was only on the odd occasion that you truly felt the impact of Jason’s ‘career path’.

The silence in the kitchen had been deafening when he’d hung up the phone. It’s not that you were angry with Jason, or Dick, or anyone for that matter. You were just disappointed. You’d kept your mouth clamped shut as best you could out of fear that if it opened, words would trickle out in the heat of the moment you’d come to regret later on. Clearly, your silence was statement enough, because Jason had only pressed a kiss into your hair with a quiet promise to make it up to you before retreating into the bedroom to get ready for the long night ahead of him. He knew better than to press the issue.

As a result, you were perched on the couch exactly where Jason had left you. The absence of any plans you’d had for the evening left you restless, unable to settle into any particular task. And fucking hell you were bored.

It's just as you go to retreat into the bedroom to try and sleep off your lingering frustrations that you hear the crackling from the bookshelf tucked away in the corner, a short static sound that cuts through the silence of the apartment. It takes a few seconds for you to spot it, the tiny earpiece shoved behind an old, tattered paperback. Jason had been working on his suit earlier in the week, and you’d overheard his curt conversation with Bruce on the phone about needing a new set after breaking his old ones.

Not so broken, clearly.

Your curiosity is piqued enough to venture over to the shelf, plucking the tiny object up carefully to avoid breaking it any further. You’d seen Jason tinker with them before, most likely to scramble the tracking features that came with most of the tech Bruce had given him in recent years. You can hear the muted mumble of conversation, not clear enough to make out any distinct words but enough to know that there was a lengthy talk being had on the line.

It’s not your proudest moment as you slot it into your ear, and definitely, most likely, a severe invasion of privacy. Guilt twangs in the pit of your stomach, but hey – if Jason’s allowed to follow you home from the bodega to make sure you don’t get mugged in the precious fifteen seconds it takes, you can listen to a few minutes of radio chatter, right? You’re just looking out for him. Want to be close to him.

Yeah, right.

It’s uncomfortable, designed to be completely moulded to Jason, and there’s a persistent hum that won’t seem to fade (definitely a little broken) but the voices come to life almost instantly.

“I’m just saying, Empire Strikes Back is by far the superior film, and I won’t hear otherwise.”

“Must you fill our ears with such incessant chatter, Drake.”

“Codenames. And I don’t know, Robin, he’s kind of cooking.”

You recognise the final voice as Dick – the only member of Jason’s family you’d had the pleasure of meeting despite your nearing year-long relationship. It hadn’t been on purpose, naturally, Dick had spotted the pair of you in the window of a coffee shop and rushed over to corner Jason before he could formulate an escape plan that didn’t involve blowing up your favourite date spot. Jason had honest-to-god hissed when he saw his brother approach, and for a split second you were certain he was going to throw his tea over him.

In spite of Jason’s grumbling, you’d taken an instant liking to the elder. He was charismatic, exuberant and kind, and quite frankly it was hard not to bask in the warmth of his presence. As soon as he’d left, however, Jason had sworn that you were never going to meet the rest of his family if he could help it – and thus far he’d kept his promise.

Still, you were aware of the players on the board from the pieces you’d gathered in time spent with your boyfriend. The second voice, you had correctly identified, was Damian – or the Demon Brat as Jason often took to calling him when he came up. You have to stifle a laugh at his bravado. Much like the picture your mind had painted, the kid definitely had an aura about him.

That just left Tim, the first voice. Jason mentioned him the least of all of his siblings, and you found that when his name came up Jason seemed to shrink into himself somewhat, sometimes fading away, seemingly lost in memories he couldn’t quite escape. You knew that Jason had a troubled relationship with most of his family members at one point or another, having been spared the specifics, but your gut told you that there was something about his relationship with Tim that cut a tad deeper than the rest.

It was strange, to finally put voices to names. You can’t help the small smile that curves on your lips.

“Right, fess up, who taught Nightwing about ‘let him cook’,” A female voice rings out.

You filter through your previous conversations with Jason as you try to figure out who it could belong to, rapidly considering the vague descriptions he’d given you of Steph, Cass and Babs. It doesn’t take you long to decide it’s most likely Stephanie.

“Hey – could I not have just, I don’t know, learned about it myself?”

“Not likely, they probably didn’t have the internet until you were, what? Forty?”

“Tough talk coming from a girl who gave The Last Jedi five stars on Letterboxd.”

“You did what?”

“I must admit, Spoiler, that is disappointing.”

“Do any of you ever shut the fuck up?”

Your body thrums at the last one, and a breath tears its way out of your throat. Jason. It throws you off balance to hear him so brusk, a fire in his words that he rarely brought to the conversations you had - in your experience, it was typically reserved for when he stubbed a toe or let the pasta boil over on the stove. His voice sounds somewhat thick, and your stomach churns at the idea that your demeanour from earlier had rattled him so deeply.

You were well acquainted with Jason’s compulsion to work; he was completely and utterly addicted to it. So much so, that you’d failed to consider just how disappointed he might feel about missing your date too.

As if on cue, Tim’s voice rings out, “Aww, Hood’s upset because he was going to wine and dine his girlfriend tonight.”

“Red Robin…”

“I was being polite the first time, now I’m telling you. Shut the fuck up.”

The statement throws you a little, hearing Jason’s family discuss your relationship as though it were a common topic. The scraps of information Jason had given you about them were so few and far in between that you could only assume he had been the same on the other side of it. Quickly, you realise, that he probably had been – you could hazard a guess coming from a family of famed detectives didn’t exactly make it easy to keep secrets.

“I refuse to believe that Red Hood has a partner,” Damian’s words are impossibly snide, “Who could possibly want to spend any more time with him than is absolutely necessary?”

You make out a few giggles after that, namely Tim and Steph, who seem to be basking in the concept of making Jason as miserable as possible. It’s Dick that steps in to shh them, chiding Damian with a measured tone that you’re sure could only have developed from years of dealing with this exact situation. The babble continues back and forth for a few minutes, and you can almost feel yourself beginning to sink into sleep as you listen to them bicker, someone occasionally slipping in some useful intel about a warehouse or rogue sighting. 

The line goes quiet when Jason lets out a harsh, “Oh, fuck!”

A pulse of lightning seems to shoot its way down your spine, and it takes more than you thought yourself capable of to not scream down the comm line.

“Hood?”

“Red Hood?”

“Hood, you okay?”

“Hood, status report, now.”

“I’m fine,” Jason bites out, a little bemused if nothing else, “My hip and knee are just stiff. Getting colder outside, ya’ know.”

The silence is deafening for a few seconds, and you can’t claim to know where everyone’s thoughts sink to, but you could guess it was to do with Jason’s sordid history.

That is, until Tim pipes up dryly, “So, what is that, like, rigor mortis?”

“Oh my god.”

“That’s so not okay, dude.”

“Holy shit.”

You wait eagerly in anticipation to hear Jason’s response. You couldn’t claim to know every detail of Jason’s past – it was something the two of you were slowly working on together. He was understandably cagey at the idea of talking about his experiences, so you never pressed, instead allowing him to offer up bits and pieces of information in his more vulnerable moments. In spite of that, you knew that Jason had died. There wasn’t another plausible explanation for the giant Y-scar that stretched its way across his chest. You’d worked for a long time on getting him to feel comfortable enough to be around you without a shirt on, comfortable enough to know you weren’t going to turn tail and run just at the sight. He hadn’t told you how or why – but the look in his eyes when he stared in the mirror for a second too long was enough to let you know it was certainly no fairytale.

Which is why it’s such a surprise when a deep, rumbling laugh filters through the earpiece, and you’re struck with the image of Jason perched on a rooftop somewhere chuckling to himself as he watches over the city. Within seconds there’s an orchestra of maniacal cackles pouring through the comms, and you’re fairly certain that the only one who isn’t laughing is Damian.

“Hood, does your partner know of your death and resurrection?”

Jeez, Damian, way to soften the blow.

Dick quickly jumps in to chastise his brother, sounding increasingly more exasperated with every word, “Robin, you can’t –”

“Yeah, she does,” Jason’s voice is surprisingly earnest, “Don’t think it bothers her, not really.”

Tim and Steph jump in almost immediately to make outrageous kissing noises, crooning Oh, Hood and I love you, Hood and other slightly more inappropriate comments. You’re certain if you looked in the mirror the colour of your cheeks wouldn’t be far off Jason’s helmet.

“Honestly, you two need to stop behaving like I don’t have your exact coordinates,” Jason huffs out, but you can hear the twinge of humour in his words. He’s not angry, not at all, if anything you’d say he was finding it funny.

“Seriously though, Hood,” Steph’s voice is somewhat strained from laughing, “When are you going to introduce us?”

“Never.”

“Come on, man.”

“Dick got to meet her!”

“I would be interested in assessing the capabilities of this civilian.”

“Yeah, well, she’s more than capable.”

Now that has a little more bite to it, and your chest swells with pride at Jason’s defensiveness. You’d always felt a tad insecure about how you compared to the rest of the people in Jason’s life – surrounded by superheroes, metahumans, and some of the most proficient individuals in the world. You were just a civilian, and in your opinion, nothing all that special. But Jason had always made sure that you felt equal, that the differences in what you did outside the walls of your apartment had no bearing on the fact his world started and ended with you.

 “So… does the mask stay on when you get freaky or –”

“Steph, don’t make me come over there, you know I will.”

“Codenames.” Honestly, you can’t help but respect Dick for his seemingly unwavering patience, although you could guess it might be due to the noticeable absence of Batman himself to rein in his children in his place. “Spoiler, we have a child with us.”

“I don’t understand Spoiler. What is getting freaky–”

“Please,” Dick’s begging now.

“Oh, B is gonna have fun with that when he gets home.”

“Pfft, you think B is going to know what getting freaky means?”

“You know that means he’s going to ask us, right?”

“Shit.”

Your brain starts to feel fried just listening to them. And the most obscene part of it all is that you can hear them fighting, subduing local criminals while simultaneously having one of the weirdest conversations you’ve ever been a party to (well, secretly a party to). You have to place the earpiece on the other side of the room and retreat into the bathroom to let out what could be a laugh or a scream – you can’t be sure.

Unsurprisingly, when you slot the earpiece back in again, the conversation has shifted.

You only catch the end of Tim’s words, but it’s enough to send your entire body into a state of shock, “– when the wedding happens.”

“When the wedding happens,” Jason bites out breathlessly, clearly in the middle of some kind of confrontation, “Your sorry ass isn’t going to be fuckin’ invited.”

And the comm line erupts.

“When the wedding happens?”

“WHAT?”

“Guys, fuckin’ hell, I didn’t mean it like –”

“I’m presuming this means you have a ring, yes, Todd?”

If you weren’t already sat, you’re certain your legs would have given way underneath you. The room is spinning, you’re overwhelmed by the feeling of the world shifting on its axis and you can feel your heart vibrating in your throat.

You and Jason had never made any point of talking about marriage. It had come up casually, as it did in the conversations of most couples – but you had never had any particularly serious discussions about the subject. You, for one, had avoided it out of fear of spooking Jason, whom you’d already spent enough time coaxing out of his shell without potentially scaring him back in again. You had no idea that it was something that he was thinking about.

Of course, you wanted to marry him. From the moment he’d asked you to be his girlfriend, you’d known that he was the only option.

“One last time,” Dick’s voice tears you from your thoughts, grating like nails on a chalkboard. It sends a chill through your entire body and for a brief second you can envision what it would be like to be confronted by Nightwing on a bad day. “Codenames. I don’t care if you don’t think anyone is listening –”

“Funny you say that. Someone is listening.”

It’s a woman’s voice. That must be Babs.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Abort. Abort. Abort. Immediately.

If you thought the comm line had exploded before, this was an atomic bomb. It’s a cacophony, instantly. Not the casual chattering over each other of minutes prior, instead it’s angered shouts, concerned whispers and vehement speculations about who it could possibly be.

The last thing you hear when you drop the earpiece into the garbage disposal with a sickening clang is Jason’s concerningly enlightened ‘Oh shit’.

You’ve been lying in bed practicing pretending to be asleep for an hour when Jason finally peels through the bedroom window. It takes everything you can muster to regulate your breathing, steady your heartbeat and lay still enough to feign unconsciousness.

The telltale rustling of Jason pulling off his costume as quietly as possible is enough to make you let out a barely-there sigh of relief. There’s a fleeting sadistic pride that burns in your chest at the thought that you’ve fooled the mighty Red Hood.

“So, where is it?”

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Maybe if you don’t answer, he’ll just lay off –

“I know you’re awake.” You nearly jump up to the ceiling because he says it directly into your ear and you didn’t even hear him move from beside the window. Fucking vigilantes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you borderline whimper, and abruptly realise if you were going to double-down you probably should have done it with a bit more authority.

“Really, sweetheart? That’s what we’re going with.”

You roll over ever so slightly, just enough to pull your face from the pillow. Jason’s eyes are practically glowing in the dark of your bedroom and his face is not even an inch from yours. He’s close enough that you can make out the ever so slight sweaty dampness of his hair, that you could trace the freckles and scars alike that are dotted across his face – you can also make out the unmistakable curve of his lips, upwards ever so slightly at the corner.

“Garbage disposal.” The words come out quicker than you thought was physically possible and could potentially be mistaken for the creaking of a door in a different context given the pitch of them. You’re not sure if you feel like a weight has been lifted off your chest or tied to your foot and subsequently flung into a river.

The silence is painful. Agonising. It’s too dark to completely make out Jason’s expression, his body completely still. You’re not even sure if he’s breathing.

And then he starts to shake, shoulders first, before the rest of his body follows. He collapses onto his side of the bed, jolting the mattress, and the vibrations are enough to confirm your suspicions. He’s laughing his fucking head off.

“You put it in the garbage disposal?” There’s disbelief lacing his words, and his own question only sets him off again. You throw a weak punch at his arm out of fear of him waking the neighbours.

“You’re not mad?” Your disbelief matches his own as you finally flip over to face him, now draped in the moonlight pouring through your bedroom window.

His laughter subdues, and he pauses contemplatively before sighing, “I probably should be. But, no, I’m not. I’d be a liar if I said I wouldn’t do the same fuckin’ thing.”

That’s the only signal you need to traverse the bed at break-neck speed, throwing yourself into Jason’s arms and burying your face into the crook of his neck. Without missing a beat, his arms come around to draw soft patterns up and down your back, and he lets out a relaxed hum of approval.

“I’m sorry about tonight, baby,” he won’t quite look you in the eye as he says it, and you can practically feel the guilt emanating off of him, “I know how much you were looking forward to it. We were looking forward to it.”

“Jay,” you sigh, raking a hand through his hair, “I love you. What you do makes you who you are, if I couldn’t accept that your aggressive vigilantism was going to have to come first sometimes, we wouldn’t be together.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your neck with a soft mumble, “I love you too. Too good f’me.”

“Shut up and go shower,” you giggle, shoving him away, “You stink, pretty boy.”

Jason feigns offense comically, drawing back with a scandalised grin and a shake of his head. You instantly feel the loss as he clambers out of bed, keeping your hands against him for as far as you can reach. There’s a quaint smile on his face as he begins to saunter over to the bathroom. God, you love this man.

“Jay?” You call, just before the bathroom door clicks shut.

“Yeah, princess?”

“I like your family. They seem nice.” You get little more than a grumble in response, and you’re not sure there were any discernible words in there to begin with as he pulls the door to again.

“Oh, and Jason?”

“Yeah?”

“You know that thing Steph said – uh, you know – about the mask?”

You can hear the echo of Jason’s forehead smacking against the doorframe through the wall.

microsoft word giving me italics is like Prometheus stealing fire and giving it to humanity - best believe its a power i'm going to abuse

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[astrogre]

Astro observations 4

Lilith in Leo and Aries can have unconventional, rebellious hairstyles that stand out and perhaps aren’t considered what most say is beautiful but they do it for themselves e.g. a buzz cut, dying hair eccentric colours, having a flamboyant big hairstyle that others consider inappropriate to society

If you’re interested in being an actor, or ever wanted to know the roles you’d play best: look at the planets in your second house. They describe the kind of character you’d play well because 2H shows the skills and traits needed for us to make money. So if you were acting you’d get paid for showing the skills of the planets in your 2H in the role you’d get cast for. I’ve noticed actors who play roles that match their 2nd house planet become known, or most successful for it.

E.g Uranus 2H: Benedict Cumberbatch- Played as Sherlock holmes (role required themes of intellect, eccentricity, thinking outside of the box to be Sherlock) same with Dr Strange (very ironic because Uranus literally represents things that are weird).

Pluto 2H: playing as villains, morally questionable characters, surgeons, morticians, taxidermy artist, piercing artist, gang member, scaring people. Johnny depp has this placement and his most profitable roles were as Jack sparrow, Edward scissor hands, sweeny Todd, all to do with slicing using a sword scissors or a knife and immoral characters

I’ve noticed the fama asteroid doesn’t really depict the ‘good’ kind of fame, if you look into famous people’s charts, Fama tends aspect or to be in the house where they were in a scandal or something shameful.

E.g Kamala Harris has Pluto and Venus conjunct fama, she’s infamously accused of sleeping her way to power because her affair was made public

Ben Shapiro has his mercury conjunction fama, and I’m sure you know his views are not taken with the most respect. He gets harassed quite often for it.

Elon Musk has fama conjunct Uranus in 3rd house while he posts 4chan content and always is being called out for saying some ‘degenerate’ or ‘erratic’ opinion on Twitter.

Justin Bieber has Jupiter at 14 degrees conjunct the Fama asteroid in his 12th house—the house of hidden meanings and secrets. The degree, 14, aligns roughly with the age when he reportedly spent 48 hours with Diddy and was generously gifted a sportscar. He also got signed by Usher at 14 (Usher was Diddys mentee). Notably, this placement is in Scorpio, the sign associated with joint resources, power dynamics, and sex organs. Even now this remains a subject of gossip and speculation, with some suggesting that the generosity and “mentorship” (themes linked to Jupiter’s higher learning and expansion) from Diddy played a pivotal role in jumpstarting Bieber’s career, particularly in relation to the music industry’s power structures. Another thing to note is that he flew abroad from Canada to USA for this to happen to him which lead to him getting famous. (Jupiter represents foreign relations)

Fama is more of a humiliating but entertaining ‘tea’ placement. And not everyone wants to become a controversial kind of famous, some people may want to become famous for their talents and their contributions to the industry they work in. People who are famous and don’t have strong fama placements can actually have a good reputation with their fame. People won’t try to make fun of you or a spectacle of your life to mock you. This is why we can see very famous adored people like princess Diana have no fama aspects yet was in the limelight of it all. Whereas Camilla has Fama conjunct ascendant. Fama is more gossipy, the kind of stuff you don’t really want to be known for. Rumours that defame your character and make you look like a bad person.

If you want to see what nasty things people say about you behind your back, and what they gossip about, look at your fama asteroid.

I have noticed that Venus in the 8th house can result in them thinking someone is interested in them when they’re not. I’ve also seen that these natives really get hurt in love like there’s some unreciprocated dynamic in their relationships if they experience pain from them. It can be people trying to use them, like becoming friends with them so they can have access to a guy the native knows, you can have your partner “stolen” from you by others

Virgo Mars love to make their partners stressed or see them stressing out/ how they handle stressful situations. They will respect you a lot if you can take stress and high expectations, multi task them like it’s nothing, or taking in the toll but managing it with order and planning

Scorpio Mars/Mars in 10th/Mars ruled MC house have the scary smile. Your smile can be seen as rather menacing, uncanny. People like this that have this placement are Joseph Stalin, Joaquin Phoenix, Khloe Kardashian, Bruce Lee, Mark Zuckerberg, Usher, Charlie Sheen. I can’t describe it but it’s a smile that’s like “ILL KILL YOU 😁”, the eyes look haywire yet locked on target, the smile is exaggerated and almost too joyful, face distorted in excitement like it’s dying to start something, it makes sense since 10H can show bone structure and mars being here can add an edge to it.

Oh and don’t forget that Mark Zuckerberg smile meme (he also has Scorpio Mars), a lot of these natives are known for their menacing smile and presence. Also you guys are villainised yet kind of respected for it. I’ve seen it prevalent in the men. E.g Joaquin Phoenix’s joker smile, Charlie Sheen + Bruce Lee + Khloe Kardashian showing anti social behaviour and becoming respected for it. If you commit crimes people might like you more 💀

This made me think of the British musician Aphex twin, who has the creepiest smile. I looked at his chart and guess what? He has a Aries MC, midheaven ruled by Mars and look at that smile:

Mars in Cancer specifically in 1st house can hold a lot of resentment towards their mother, get into nasty arguments with her, name calling or blame their mother for how they look and find their appearance annoying. On a more positive note these natives can do everything in their power for their mothers. At best natives with this placement can be feminists, in support of women in power. At worst they can despise ‘pathetic’ women and end up treating their wives with the same level of hatred too. Or just degrade women because of their own insecurities

e.g. Lord Byron, a British poet who blamed his mother for his foot deformity and would often call her names and unleash his rage on his wife, cheating on her egregiously

Sun conjunct Uranus makes someone very good with innovation, numerical values, science and maths. Your big highlight in this life may be that you invent something not thought of before. E.g people with this placement: Ada Lovelace- the creator of the first algorithm, John Von Neumann- A scientific genius who pioneered the modern computer, game theory, nuclear deterrence. He was described as so smart he made his teacher cry from doing complex calculus in his head at the age of 6 💀.

Since 1H can show how you present yourself, it can tell you the clothing you wear in your daily outfits, which made me think of how each planet in the first house may dress.

Neptune 1H can wear fantasy clothing, cosplay, fancy dress, masquerade masks, covid masks, any mask, magical accessories like iridescent tights, tiaras

Saturn 1H can incorporate historical tradition clothing like a timeless TAILORED clothing, think top hats, timeless coats, Victorian style dresses, also can have corsets as Saturn shows restrictions. It reminds me of that 1800s kind of look

Moon 1H can wear soft comforting clothes like vintage slips, nightgowns, pyjamas and loungewear, babydoll dresses, chunky knit fleece/coat

Mercury 1H can wear smart uniforms, plaid skirts, blazers, graphic t-shirts with slogans or logos, suspenders, ties, glasses, just very witty and youthful

Pluto 1H can wear intimidating darker clothes like chokers, gothic clothes, long trench coats, hoodies, all black, latex, bodycon, face coverings

Jupiter 1H can wear cultural clothing like kimonos, sarees/lenghas, bohemian styles, togas/roman inspired clothing, or like embroidered tunics

Mars 1H can wear combat military clothing, like camouflage, leather, fingerless gloves, ski masks, harnesses, military jacket, those belts or garters that can hold weapons like knives and guns

Sun 1H can wear statement clothing, designer logo branded pieces, fluffy clothes like furr , jewellery, this one’s more varied because Sun is the expression of self so they can actually wear stuff based more on the sign

Venus 1H can wear standard beauty centered clothing like corsets, brooches, lace, satin, heels, off the shoulder tops, pointed loafers and ascots for men, impractical fabrics, they’re more likely to wear things that aren’t necessarily comfortable but they come at the price of beauty.

Uranus 1H can incorporate unique futuristic, punk, techwear, platform shoes , noticed men can look disheveled almost, unique pvc reflective metallic fabrics, can have tech in their clothes, asymmetrical clothing, shoes that don’t match, they can be known for their unique choices in clothing too. The kind that makes people stop and think “what am I looking at rn”

Planets conjunct your ascendant are basically the main contributor to the method you approach your life with. For an example an Aries ascendant conjunct 12H Mercury can have a “I CAN DO IT ALL” mindset to everything in their life while actually using their mind to whip up and improvise a plan quickly out of nowhere, whereas if mercury wasn’t conjunct - they may not be as quick witted for the situations that occur in their life or be as tactical, they’d be like action with little plan, a river with no path but trusting on its flow.

Neptune in 11H might make you difficult to find online, your stalkers are seething. Maybe you don’t post, can have hidden private accounts or your page can look really magical like a Pinterest board but it’s hard to get a lot out of you solely based on your digital footprint

Also another thing, Neptune is NOT your friend lol, Neptune is a deceiver. I find it so interesting because people see Neptune as pure but it distorts reality and blurs the lines but makes it really pretty. Reminds me of Glinda from Wicked or hextech from arcane. It can be difficult for even the native because they may not realise they can deceive others as much as they do it to themselves. Wherever Neptune is in your chart can show who you deceive. Or how you’re deceived 3H siblings, 4H lying to family or about where you come from etc. You can also be lied to about missing family members or the roots of where you came from. 7H could be your clients and romantic partners can lie to you about what they want, 12H people could lie about you behind your back but you can struggle to trace where it comes from, you can also be completely oblivious to your subconscious thoughts. 10h can easily make you the scapegoat at work.

Venus 6H and their consistency in their beauty routines e.g skincare is what many aspire to. They are constantly glowing up since 6H shows our daily routines and self improvement so having Venus here can make you look prettier day by day. It’s like that “oh you keep getting prettier than the last time I saw you..”

Uranus 6H can overcome an illness that nobody would have thought they would. This is because wherever Uranus is in the chart can show where you rebel and bounce back in a way that nobody expected. With it being in 6H which also rules your health, you can surprise others by your illnesses, if you are ill you can have a rare condition or you’re the kind of person who gets sick like all the time but recovers the next day

Virgo moons feel sooo much fulfilment in being the cause of someone else’s satisfaction, it made me think of the UK onlyfans model Lily Philips, she slept with 100 random men in 24 hours in a documentary, afterwards she cried and felt horrible and used and said that she was most upset about the fact that she couldn’t make them all finish. A very sad documentary. But it really highlighted the nature of Virgo moons NEEDing to serve, to please. They say Libra are the people pleasers but honestly I’d give that one to Virgo, except usually virgos pickier with who they decide to please.

Lily Philips also has Fama conjunct Neptune, she’s famous for the sexual fantasy she portrays and the false image she shows to others, she’s so different from how she acts when making her OF content. This also proves my earlier said point about fama being scandalous as well because Lily has SOOOO much hate and gossip due to her “deceiving” image that’s the influence of Neptune for you. Might analyse her chart later.

Having both Pluto and moon in the 1H can create a silent brooding type of attractive. Adrien Brody has this placement and really embodies an edgy but comforting gaze. He is tall, has emotional melancholic eyes from moons effect yet has high contrast, intense dark features. I think it’s a really interesting mix of traits to have in the first house

Chiron in Libra can make someone be rather insecure of their appearance, usually body and face or femininity. They feel like they’re not beautiful enough. Anya Taylor joy , Maisie Williams, Kylie Jenner, Dolly Parton, Freddie Mercury, have this placement and all have publicly known insecurities based on their appearance despite them being inspirational to others for getting the limelight and praise without looking like everyone else. They pick at themselves quite a lot.

I always raise my eyebrow when I see a Pluto conjunct Lilith/Uranus in a chart. That person can be very dark, they can bring about a side of humanity that most people don’t want to discuss yet are fascinated with. They are capable of some really…. scary things. Especially if all 3 asteroids and planets are conjunct to each other. Pluto is intense it’s dark, it’s controlling but when it’s conjunct Uranus it now has chaos, rebellion, Lilith also rebels but it’s unapologetic, it may make people scared and trigger primal fears because of how messy the person is, these people can be really explosive. They’re also really intimidating, i could imagine the group anonymous that leaked classified government documents having this kind of placement. They literally go into the guttural trenches of inhumanity and bring out its findings then present it to the naive public like a cat dragging a rodents scathed body to the owner expecting a reward. It can be impressive sometimes, you often think “how did you even come up with the idea to do this?”

[ckret2]

Chapter 53 of human Bill Cipher not properly appreciating the fact that Mabel is his only friend on Earth:

Mabel has read a book about Bill's home dimension and is prepared to interrogate him all about where he comes from.

Bill is willing to do anything to avoid being interrogated.

(Featuring SEVEN illustrations, provided by 🌈 MABEL 💖)

####

Flatworld, from what Mabel had read, was probably literally the worst place to ever exist. 

The book was a hundred pages of an old-fashioned formal-sounding super boring guy rambling on about the most egregiously evil society Mabel had ever had the horror of reading about.

Society consisted of a bunch of geometric shapes—which in concept sounded half nerdy and half adorable—but they'd made a brutally oppressive government organized by quantity of sides, with infinite-sided circles at the top and three-sided triangles at the bottom, and one-sided lines—women—oppressed into near silence. Career options, educational opportunities, who you could love, were all determined by your sides. Irregular shapes—quadrilaterals that weren't squares, triangles that weren't equilateral, anyone with a side too long or too short—were presumed from birth to be criminally insane. Each generation had sons with one more side than their father—and they had to, because having higher-ranked sons was the only way families could climb out of poverty. When babies were born with too few or irregular sides, poor families abandoned them—or worse—and rich families put them through oft-fatal bone-snapping surgeries to regularize or increase their sides. Knowledge of the third dimension was considered heretical, and anybody claiming it was real was locked in an insane asylum.

There was a lot of mathy stuff in the book about a square meeting a magical sphere and going on educational adventures to the higher and lower dimensions; but most of it passed by her in a blur. When she'd finished reading last night, Mabel had lay in bed for an hour, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about dead baby shapes and fighting the urge to wake Bill up just so she could hug him; until she'd finally drifted off and woken up in her own bed.

At least, thank goodness, the bit about banning colors so lower shapes couldn't contour themselves to look like higher shapes was false. But she was sure that at least part of the story was true. And it had happened to somebody she knew. It was a lot to process.

So she processed it the way she usually did the stories that weighed on her: by creating a self-insert and pulling out her art supplies.

####

"You're drawing fan art of Flatworld?" Bill asked warily.

"I wouldn't call it fan art. I'd say it's more of a... thoughtful artistic critique. I don't think I'm a 'fan' of the second dimension," Mabel said. "No offense."

"Sure."

Mabel had designed a shapesona of herself: a pink heart with a rainbow-colored outline, a big sparkly eye, and skinny black stick limbs like Bill's. If, as Bill had said, colors weren't illegal, she didn't see any reason she couldn't be rainbow. The heart shape was maybe unconventional, but Bill hadn't said she couldn't be a heart yet, so she was sticking with it for now.

She'd honestly expected Bill to come over and interrogate her about her creation long before now. Usually, when she was doing art and he was unoccupied, he was hovering right by her, examining her work and dropping hints—some more subtle than others—that she should draw him next. But she hadn't immediately noticed when he'd silently drifted into the room, and she wasn't sure how long he'd been there before speaking up. He was still leaning on the wall, arms crossed, watching askance from halfway across the living room as Mabel worked with her crayons, as if she were playing with a chemistry set and he was trying to figure out if she was building a bomb.

"Is Flatworld really about your world?" Mabel asked. "Did you tell Edward Bishop Bishop all that stuff? With the circles and all the laws about shapes and stuff?"

Bill mulled over the question, staring into space. Mabel had never seen his face look so inexpressive before—at least, not since his first night as a captive, after he'd gotten all the screaming out and had looked too exhausted to feel. "We talked," he conceded. "I'm surprised you got your hands on it. I suppose Stanford brought it up."

Something in the back of her mind pricked up defensively—what was that supposed to mean, he was surprised she got her hands on it?—but she pushed it back down. "Yeah, he told me and Dipper about it when you guys got home yesterday," Mabel said. "But you brought it up to me first!"

"No I didn't. When?"

"A few weeks ago? You mentioned Edward Bishop Bishop."

"I don't remember that," Bill muttered. "I probably didn't think you'd make sense of it."

"Hey!"

"You didn't make sense of it! Ford had to tell you about it."

"Yeah, but—mean!" She shoved aside her drawing and started on another one, grumbling, "I could've made sense of it if I'd looked it up."

What was up with Bill today? He wasn't usually this much of a jerk. To her. Lately. Plus, she thought they'd really had a moment yesterday! But Bill had had a rough couple days. Maybe he was just tired and cranky. 

A wiser person might just leave well enough alone. But a wiser person wasn't exploding in their brain with curiosity about just how bad Bill's life had really been. There was something itching at the back of her head, had been itching since she'd woken up—something about Bill, something important, she was sure of it—but she couldn't quite put together what it was. She just needed to talk to Bill long enough to figure it out.

"So..." She glanced up from filling in a shape yellow, "were lines really executed if they didn't make noises all the time so everyone always knew where they were and they couldn't sneak up and stab anyone?"

Bill scoffed, rolling his eyes, as if the very idea was stupid. "It wasn't that extreme. Making a peace cry is like a human saying 'coming through' when they're trying to squeeze past somebody. Lines are just taught to do it in public because it's easier not to see a line, that's all."

"If they didn't, were they executed...?"

"No. They were just rude."

That was a relief. Mabel had been worried for her fellow ladies. She was plenty noisy, but she didn't think she could remember to make constant sound any time she was around other people. She turned back to coloring her newest drawing, but watched Bill out of the corner of her eye. "Is it true that rich people killed almost all of their babies by giving them surgery to break their sides?"

The corner of Bill's mouth curled in a sneer. "Do I look like a pediatric surgeon?"

"Um." Not a welcome question. She tried to backtrack to something softer. "So, in the second dimension, the outside of your body is just your outline and your guts are everything inside the outline, right?"

He gave her a wary look. "Yeah."

"So your bow tie is basically in your stomach."

Bill sucked in a deep breath; but quickly caved in to the need to be the most correct person in the room. "More like around my esophagus, but. Sure."

"So, where did you wear it when you were back in the second dimension? Was it on your side? Did you have to wear two so people could see them from both sides—"

"I didn't need a bow tie then."

Mabel stared at him. "What do you mean, you didn't 'need' it? What do you need it for now?"

Bill ignored the question. "You know, I didn't think Flatworld was an interesting enough book to deserve this much attention! Especially not from you. You like fun stories." It felt oddly like he was criticizing her for having read it.

"Well—yeah, but it's about your home! That makes it fun!"

Bill raised his brows.

"Right? Doesn't it?"

"Kid." Bill laughed condescendingly. "Don't give me that. You read an entire book. In the summer. About math. With a downer ending where the narrator goes insane and gets locked up. That's some people's idea of a fun time, but I know it's not yours."

Maybe "fun" was the wrong word—but it was still important. She was glad she'd read it. She'd cared about it. She'd cared enough to know Bill was describing it wrong. "That's not what happened. The square got locked up because he kept telling everybody the third dimension's real."

"Like I said! He went insane!"

"But he's not insane. Everyone says he is, but he's right about the third dimension! It's everyone else who's stupid!"

"So what," Bill said. "The things he knows mean he'll never be able to see the world the way other shapes do, and no matter what he does he'll never be happy with his home. If that's not insanity, what is?"

Last year, she'd heard Bill agree when Gideon called him insane. She'd always wondered. "Is that why you're insane?"

Bill shot Mabel a furious look. That was the wrong thing to say. "Shooting Star—"

(Oh no, she thought, he's using my full name.)

"—what's with the third degree." Bill crossed the room to lean on the other side of the table. He gave her the guarded glare of a guilty suspect facing down a cop in an interrogation room—and trying to figure out whether he could kill the cop before he was stopped. "What do you think you're trying to dig up?"

"I'm not trying to 'dig up' anything," Mabel said. "I just want to learn more about you!"

"Oh yeah, I'm sure you do! Who doesn't wanna know all about me! And right after I trusted you yesterday! Do you think you're the first person to start digging into my history? 'Hey, does anyone know what made Bill Cipher so crazy'?" Bill laughed bitterly. " You're not even the first Pines to try it. Not even the second."

"That's not what I'm trying to do!" said Mabel, right before it dawned on her that that was exactly what she was trying to do.

"Right. I'm sure whatever you learn will make a nice two-page spread in Journal 5. Another secret you and Fordsy can add to your Mysteries, huh? Think he'll draw the dead babies?"

She thought back to Portland—to asking Ford what had made Bill so awful. I think if anyone’s ever had a chance of finding out what made him like he is, it might be you. Mabel shook her head. No. She didn't want to be that. "I'm not Grunkle Ford's spy, I'm your friend. I just—I just want to understand you—"

"Yeah, and the 'friends' who understand you are the most dangerous kind." Bill laughed harshly. "Your uncle and brother couldn't figure me out! And Sixer's been trying for years! So what makes you think YOU can?"

He was calling her stupid. He'd been calling her stupid all day. That was why he was so surprised she'd read the book.

"You—shut up!" She wadded up her latest drawing and flung it in Bill's face. (He snatched out of midair.) "All I did was read a book I thought was important to you, you jerk! I thought you'd like that!"

She hadn't meant for that waver to enter her voice. But she was exhausted from too little sleep and worrying about dead baby shapes and worrying about Bill's fear of death and worrying about what Ford had said about not giving Bill a second chance, and now Bill was being a jerk, and maybe he was just exhausted and upset too, but he was treating her like she was stupid—and there was that pathetic little waver.

But it made Bill pause in his onslaught; for a moment, he averted his gaze. Still, he said, "Maybe if you'd thought to ask—"

"You were asleep! I was being nice! And letting you sleep! In my bed!"

"But—"

"Just go away!" She pointed at the doorway.

Bill's face hardened again. "Fine!" He flung his hands in the air and stomped from the room. "Who wants to hang out with you when you're in such a bad mood, anyway."

Mabel glared at her stupid drawings so she didn't have to watch Bill's stupid back as he left.

Why had she bothered?

When Bill was out of sight, she dropped back onto her chair, pulled her sweater over her face, crossed her arms on the table, and buried her head in them.

####

Bill didn't think to smooth out the paper Mabel had flung at him until he was out of the room.

On one side she'd drawn Bill—properly triangular—with an expression that he thought was supposed to be fear and on the other side several angry-looking shapes, pentagons and hexagons, colored gray and black, being led by a pale figure shaped like a human skull and wielding a scythe; and between them, a bright pink heart, standing in front of Bill protectively, hands on its "hips," glaring down the would-be assailants.

The corners of Bill's mouth sagged down.

####

The bell rang and the shapes began filing out of class, muttering to each other about how they thought they'd done on the test. As the triangle cheerfully left the room, the teacher caught him by the arm again to pull him over. "Just a minute," she said. "I want a word with you."

Oh, he bet she did. Breezily, he said, "Sure thing! What is it?"

"Who was the first triangular president?"

"Wh— Th—" He spluttered indignantly. "There's been like—seven of them."

"Nine. And I'm only asking about the first one."

"How should I know!"

"You knew an hour ago."

He sputtered again. "That was— That was a multiple choice test! And it was an hour closer to when I'd studied! And I can focus better in the classroom! You can't expect me to remember anything in the hallway. You're using intimidation tactics. How could anyone focus under these conditions—"

"I don't know what you're doing," the teacher said, "or how you're doing it. Maybe I never will. But..." She sighed, and the anger seemed to leak out of her, and that only made him more nervous. "But whatever you're doing—you won't be able to do it forever. What will you do when you're out in the real world and you didn't learn anything in school?"

Her pity was worse than being hated had been. At least when he was hated, he knew she only looked down on him because she had something against him. What did he do with pity? With concerned warnings about the "real world"? He'd never heard anybody use the phrase "the real world" as anything but a threat. He hoped he was never out in the real world.

"Who cares! I'll never need any of this!" He should have shut up there. He didn't: "You're just jealous that me and my family make a million times more lying to everyone than you'll ever get trying to teach them the truth!"

His teacher gasped in shock; but before she could say anything, he was halfway down the hall with no intention of slowing down.

The next day, he stayed home, and his mom visited the principal. The day after that, he had a new teacher.

####

He was stupid. He knew that. He didn't know when he'd gotten stupid—if it was because he'd started touring so much and missing classes, or if he'd always been dumb and just didn't notice it before he registered just how often he was using his all-seeing eye to pick up answers that other kids couldn't see. It had crept up on him. But there it was. He was stupid, and he was too stupid to figure out what to do about it.

There was a big difference between being able to see everything, and actually knowing anything. And he might be all-seeing, but an idiot like him would never be all-knowing.

####

A trillion years later, he still didn't remember the name of the first triangular president. And look how far he'd gotten without it.

Lunch was toast and peanut butter. The toaster was the only source of heat he could use without having to ask his captors for access; and peanut butter and bread were the most nutritious foods he could reach without asking his captors to open a cabinet or fridge. He was sick of toast and peanut butter.

He wasn't about to ask Mabel to help him get lunch.

Well. He'd succeeded. He'd known just the right thing to say to get Mabel to lay off and drop the topic. Did he feel accomplished?

He stared out the window as he ate—there were hazy gray clouds on the horizon, beyond the trees, slowly inching closer—and he tried not to look at the picture Mabel had flung at him.

####

Mabel felt dumb about being upset that Bill thought she was dumb.

Because of course he did. Sure, he liked her art and he liked dance music and games without rules; sure, he was a willing student when it came to stuff like making friendship bracelets or artistically mixing sprinkles; sure, he was a weirdo fun guy; but he was also a Smarty McSmartypants, just like Dipper or Ford. And Mabel was the Girl Dipper who brought home C's. And even a weirdo fun Smarty wouldn't want to hang out for long with someone who couldn't keep up with nerd talk. He probably just... put up with her for as long as he could stand pretending he took her seriously, but he'd finally lost his patience...

And shown his true, jerky colors again.

Maybe Ford and Dipper were right about him; maybe he couldn't really change.

Except... there was something he'd said. And right after I trusted you yesterday. When he'd cried in front of her. When he'd told her about his fear of death.

He was being a jerk because he thought she'd betrayed him. But by reading a book?! Why couldn't he ever just explain himself? Did he think whatever was bothering him was obvious, and she was stupid for not figuring it out?

Something she almost but didn't quite remember thudded like a drum inside her brain. Dum-dum-dum. Dum-dum-dome.

From the entryway, Bill called, "Hey, star girl. I—"

He stopped in the doorway. Mabel had taped 28 pieces of paper together, drawn on a door knob, written "DOOR" at the top, and taped it across the doorway into the living room. Irritably, Bill said, "It doesn't work like that. This is obviously paper."

"Bill," Mabel grumbled. "Go away."

"No. I'm gonna say something to you."

He didn't phrase that like he was giving her a choice in the matter; but all the same, she said, "I don't wanna hear it."

"You know that horror story about a bride with a velvet ribbon tied around her neck, and her head falls off and rolls down the stairs when her husband unties it?"

She did. She and Dipper had read a book of scary stories to each other on Halloween a few years ago while waiting for it to be late enough to go trick-or-treating. In spite of herself, he'd piqued her curiosity. She reluctantly turned to look at him. "Yeah? So?"

Bill was leaning in the doorway, head tilted against the doorframe so he could see Mabel around the paper door curtain. "That's why I wear a bow tie."

Mabel blinked. "Wait—if you didn't, your head would fall off? What part of you is your head? How did it come off? Were you decapitated? Did you get decapitated for knowing about the third dimension—?"

"It doesn't keep my head on; it keeps my skin on."

Mabel's nose wrinkled. "Gross! How?"

"Remember how you said my outline is my skin and all my organs are inside the outline," Bill said. "That didn't change when we left the second dimension! We had to get exoskeletons on our top and bottom sides so solids like you can't stick you fingers in our guts. My bow tie keeps it tied in place."

"Whoa." So that was why they hadn't seen Bill's organs before. "Do you ever take it off?"

"Mostly when I'm eating!" He knocked on the doorframe. "So can I come in now?"

Of course. He'd been using information to buy his way back into her good graces. (No—that was what somebody who didn't think Bill deserved a second chance would think. He was making up for earlier by answering one of her questions about him.)

She took a deep breath, turned to face Bill, and said, "You didn't talk to me like a friend earlier."

"I—" Bill grimaced, looked at the ceiling for help, and conceded, "I mean—It's how I talk to my friends, but all right, I know you're not used to that—"

"Nobody should be used to that!" Mabel said. "What would Love Bunny say?"

"Wh—?! I— Th— You—" His voice cracked as it jumped higher, "What do I care what a cartoon rabbit thinks about—"

"What. Would. She. Say."

Bill's face screwed up in agony. He crossed his arms. "Ugh."

"Biiill?"

Eyes squeezed shut, Bill said, "She'd say my breath smells like I've been eating mean beans."

"Aaand?"

"I'm not going to say it. I won't say it."

"And you need to eat your nice rice!"

Bill let out a long, slow sigh.

"Say it!"

"This is my penance," Bill muttered toward his feet. "This is my penance. This is fair." He took a breath. "And... I need to eat my nice rice."

Mabel nodded. He'd confessed his sins.

"I think we're out of nice rice," Bill said, "but I've had the peanut butter of kindness and the toast of remorse. Good enough?"

She considered it. "Yeah. You can come in."

Bill batted aside the paper door curtain and ducked into the room. 

He sat across the table from Mabel and set down the paper she'd chucked at him amongst her others. Mabel glanced at the drawing, embarrassed of it now; but Bill didn't say anything about it.

He just propped his cheek against his hand and started looking over her other art.

Mabel sat there with her hands under her legs, watching his spotlight eyes rove over the table, feeling like she was waiting for a teacher to grade a poster she'd made for class. He saw a stop sign red octagon in sunglasses that was labeled "Bill's parole officer" and snorted. She wasn't sure if it was an amused snort or a derogatory snort. His gaze stopped on her attempt to figure out how Flatworlder anatomy worked, and didn't move farther. She'd probably gotten everything wrong, hadn't she?

She couldn't stand waiting for him to pass judgment on her art. "You think they look dumb, don't you."

Bill took a moment to reply. He didn't look up from her drawings. "I don't think you're dumb, Shooting Star."

"You think I'm dumber than Dipper and Grunkle Ford."

Bill winced. "I don't." At her dubious look, Bill amended, "Only Stanford! And that barely counts, all humans are dumber than Stanford. It doesn't mean I think you're dumb-dumb"

"Could've fooled me," Mabel muttered.

"You bet! I'm good at fooling people. All I have to do is say things I don't mean that make people feel the way I want." His voice was flat and matter-of-fact. "I wanted you to feel like the conversation wasn't worth it. That's all."

She stared at him. "By letting me know you think I'm stupid?!" She chucked a crayon at his face. "You could have just told me you didn't want to talk about Flatworld!" Her voice was getting that stupid waver again. "If I'd known, I would have dropped it! I didn't want to upset you!"

"I wasn't upset, it's just a stupid thing to complain about! It's just a dumb book! It'd—it'd take a real loser to be bothered by talking about a dumb book! I'm not..." He sighed harshly. "I know you weren't trying to get on my nerves, kid. It'd mess up your sticker chart." (Mabel hadn't even realized he knew about her sticker chart.) Almost inaudibly, he added, "M'sorry."

She'd never heard him apologize before.

She let out a slow breath. "Biiill. I don't think you're a loser."

He muttered something she couldn't make out as he flipped his hood on and pulled it down over his burning face. "Forget it. Move on. It's in the past!"

"If you're so embarrassed—"

"Not embarrassed!"

She chucked another crayon at his chest. "Then why are you telling me this now?"

Bill shut his eyes; took a deep breath; and, with a look of solemn dignity, and no small amount of pain, he said, "Because. Teddy Tender says. Our friends can't help us feel better if we don't tell them why we feel bad." He almost, almost managed to say it without sounding sarcastic.

Mabel burst out laughing. Bill pulled his hood lower.

Bill didn't even like Teddy Tender—he thought he was the stick in the mud of the Color Critters—and he certainly wasn't actually trying to follow Teddy's friendship lessons. He was just... saying something he didn't mean to make Mabel feel the way he wanted. And he wanted her to feel better.

No matter what anyone else said, he could change. And he was changing.

"Apology accepted," Mabel said. "Gold star!" She peeled one off a nearby sticker sheet and held it out.

Bill eyed it, like a man so hungry he was too nauseous to eat eyeing a pizza; and then snatched it from her and stuck it in the middle of his hoodie.

Mabel said, "And... I guess I'm sorry for getting all diggy about your home world." Even if she hadn't known it was bothering him, she probably should've guessed, shouldn't she? With how crabby he'd gotten. "I just got all excited and curious and... kinda worried about you after reading that book?" She sighed. "I understand if you don't wanna talk about it. You probably hated your dimension."

"What? He lurched forward with the vehemence of his denial—"Of course I don't hate my dimension!" Mabel leaned away at the sudden rage that had flared up in his eyes; but it died just as quickly and Bill immediately reeled himself back in, sitting back, crossing his arms: "I mean, come on, kid, use your head: you read a book about a culture. We're talking about an entire dimension. Would you hold a grudge against Jupiter if an ant bit you on Earth?"

Even as casually as he played it off, Mabel was sure he hadn't meant anything as calm and measured as claiming it was technically irrational to hate an entire dimension. He meant—emphatically, with his whole heart behind it—that he didn't hate his home dimension, at all.

Then why didn't he want to talk about it? (Then why had he destroyed it? Or was not hating it just another fiction he'd made up because he'd prefer that reality? Or was the destruction itself a lie? He hadn't mentioned it once since they'd started talking about Flatworld. Or did he think she didn't know about that and didn't want her to know? Or...)

Something had been churning in her subconscious since she woke up, and now—watching Bill ball up around himself as he squirmed around the things he didn't want to say—it finally dawned on her. Two words. Another piece of the Axolotl's poem. She tried to hold the words in her head until she could write them down, repeating them over and over—Misses home. Misses home.

Quietly, she asked, "Then... don't you want to remember it?"

His face spasmed, like it was nearly cracking in two—and then smoothed out. His face was blank. He didn't answer for a moment. "The last time I told a human more than two sentences about where I'm from... he gave me the universe's most depressing geometry textbook."

Oh. Maybe Bill was following Teddy Tender's friendship advice. "That's because you were talking to a boring old-timey math teacher, duh."

He laughed wryly. "You may have a point!"

If Bill assumed anybody prying into his history was either looking for the reason something was wrong with him, or publishing a whole book about the super bad parts... No wonder he hadn't wanted to talk to her. "So you didn't dislike Flatworld? You just dislike the book?"

Bill grimaced. "Did you read Eddie's biography?"

"No?"

####

As soon as he'd buckled himself into his seat for the drive to Northwest Manor, Dipper read the summary on the back cover of Flatworld, and then the paragraph-long author biography underneath it:

Edward B. Bishop, born in 1838 in England, was an accomplished mathematician, writer, theologian, and closet occultist, as well as a professor at the esteemed University of Fancyton. He published twelve books, the last of which was Flatworld in 1884. After sentencing his square protagonist to a two-dimensional asylum for preaching of the existence of the third dimension, he himself succumbed to an ironically similar fate: three months after publication, he was committed to an asylum for insisting that two-dimensional alien invaders intended to conquer the Earth and were persecuting him for revealing their existence, a delusion he maintained until his death from sleep deprivation in 1886. His most enduring legacy is inventing the margarita glass, which he claimed came to him in a dream. 

Dipper hissed between his teeth. "Ouch."

####

"Never mind, don't worry about it," Bill said. "But no. I didn't like the book."

"You poor thing! All this time you've been homesick for the second dimension, but the only things humans talk about is the bad stuff!"

"Don't call me that."

"Do you want to talk about the non-depressy stuff instead? Like..." Mabel wracked her brain for something nice she'd read in the book. She winced. "Uh... I'm sure there's something. You could choose the topic?"

Bill didn't look directly at her. He just looked over all her drawings again. "Tell me why you want to know so badly."

It was basically the same question he'd asked earlier—what's with the third degree—but his tone was different. Mabel swallowed hard and repeated, "Because... I'm your friend. It's crazy that we've been friends for like a month and I barely know a-ny-thing about who you are or how you grew up! By now, I'd usually know about a friend's family, favorite subject, favorite animal, opinion on glitter, and biggest life dream! Plus all the stuff humans have in common—like, 'do you breathe?'"

This time, Bill didn't argue with her answer. (He could have called her a liar. A month ago, she had just been trying to find out what was wrong with him. But this version of the truth she'd made up was better.) "You already know I'm pro-glitter in all contexts and my life's work is to throw an eternal party. What else really matters?"

"Those are the two most important questions," Mabel said seriously. Tentatively, she asked, "Did you have glitter in the second dimension?" He'd already reassured her that they'd had color, but it was hard to imagine glitter in such a bleak world.

"Sure."

Mabel heaved a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness."

She looked around at the morning's art production, pulled over the first drawing she'd done of her shapesona, and grabbed a bottle of glue to draw a thin line around the heart.

Bill watched as Mabel carefully sprinkled several separate colors of glitter on the line of glue, like a master chef adding a precise amount of spice to a gourmet recipe, to create a glitter rainbow gradient; and then he slowly sat up and leaned toward the table again. "So, who's this freak?"

Mabel gave him an exasperated look. She decided he'd meant "freak" neutrally; but she'd clearly labeled the heart "ME IN FLATWORLD," she thought it was pretty obvious who this freak was.

But Bill cheerfully went on, "He's the most hideously disfigured shape I've ever seen."

"Hey!"

"I'm not joking, it hurts to look at this guy. At least he's symmetrical, but woof."

"She's not a guy! She's supposed to be me in Flatworld," Mabel insisted. "She's a powerful lady and I think she's beautiful." She paused. "Can a heart be a girl?" Lines looked boring, but Flatworld said that girls were all lines and all other shapes were boys. (Or were they? When they'd talked at the mall, Bill had been very clear that he considered himself a triangle instead of male or female, which scuttled the "all polygons are male" concept. Maybe Edward Bishop Bishop had made that part up?)

"She can be anything she wants," Bill said firmly. "I don't see any gender cops around here, do you?"

Good point. "And when there's no cops around, anything's legal."

Bill laughed. "Hey, I like that."

"Grunkle Stan says it!"

"Wise man." Bill leaned forward further across the table and tapped a finger on the deep cleft at the top of the heart. "Personally, I'm more worried about that agonizing-looking birth defect. I'm surprised she survived past infancy!"

Mabel glared at him, but she supposed she couldn't argue. A heart was a pretty irregular shape. And according to Flatworld, almost all irregular shapes were executed in childhood or else imprisoned in adulthood, since they thought irregular shapes would grow up to be depraved, imbecilic criminals—

"Wait," Mabel said. "Wait. Last year, when I called you an isosceles freak—"

Bill cut in, "It was 'monster,' but go on!"

"Was that, like..." Mabel's voice dropped to a whisper, "a slur on Flatworld?"

Bill fought to keep his face straight as he decided how to respond. He went for the funniest answer. "Yes."

Mabel clapped her hands over her mouth and squeaked, "Nooo!"

"It's actually pretty impressive a human managed to come up with it!"

"I'M SORRYYY, augh I didn't know!"

Over her anguished whines, Bill went on, "It's just a good thing you didn't say 'scalene'! I would've had to wash your mouth out with drain cleaner!"

Mabel had pulled the collar of her sweater over her face. From within Sweater Town, she asked, "Was that the first thing I ever said to you?"

Bill choked back a laugh. "Yeah, it was."

She squealed in embarrassment and slid under the table.

"Heck of a first impression, star girl!"

"i'm sorryyy."

Bill reached under the table to pat the top of her head. "Ahhh, it was funny. Get up here." 

As she climbed back into her seat, Bill added, "I'm getting back at you now, I'm not done making fun of your medical miracle yet. You know what she'd look like as a human? A headless, neckless body with an eyeball shoved six inches down her esophagus." He paused thoughtfully. "Actually... that sounds kinda cute."

"Eww, Bill."

"It is, it's cute. Like a clumsy puppy with a neurological disorder! I guess that's how the hideous Miss Heart here must look to humans!"

Mabel looked over her art again, wondering if she should change her shapesona, considering Bill's reaction to it. 

So, maybe she was creating a freak. She didn't see any shape cops around here. She kept drawing. "I'd be fine," she said. "You like weird freaks! You'd keep me safe."

A stricken look crossed his face. He was momentarily silent as he watched Mabel start another picture. And then, as though he were only considering it for the first time, he said, "Yeah. I guess I would."

His gaze drifted to the wrinkled picture of Mabel's shapesona standing protectively in front of Bill. "Freaks can't afford to tear each other down."

####

(THIS is the chapter that's been giving me hell the last few weeks. Months. Last few months. I'm so glad to finally have it out, and I hope y'all enjoyed!! This chapter probably brings up a lot more questions than it actually answers—and completely different questions based on whether or not you've read Flatland lol—so I can't wait to hear what y'all think.)

[reds-skull]

Fanfic Recommendation: Multi-Chapter (completed)

Been a while since I've made one of these! Decided it's time to get into the biggest category I have...

These don't have any shared theme beside having multiple chapters and being completed, and they're both NSFW and SFW.

As always, make sure to look at the CWs and tags before reading, and if a link doesn't work, you're welcome to reach out!

[Some of these might be by authors I already recommended, you can find that list here]

Shotgun Sunsets, Desert Stars by noxmajor - Soap keeps disappearing. Ghost gets curious.

Chasing Ghosts and Dreams by TheEdwardianOne - Soap and Ghost finally do something about their feelings in a safehouse after a mission.

Give Me Hope & Let Me Down by MechanicalBones - Soap saves his idiot Lieutenant & there's a shit tonne of hurt-comfort & smooches.

Love Is Not An Act, It's A Habit by wodnica - Ghost and Soap got separated from their team, lost and alone. Ghost must reconsider how close his relationship with Soap really is.

The Devil You Know by Artaccountant1 - In order for life in the 141 to go on, Ghost had to die. He knew Soap wouldn't take it well, but he never expected him to end up like this. That mask was only supposed to be for special occasions.

It's cracked and it's scarred (but I would give you my heart) by FetteEule - After a mission gone wrong Ghost and Soap find themselves cut off from their team and have to work together to figure out what happened, all while navigating their growing feelings for each other.

when does a man become a monster by wellyesbutactuallyno - One of Makarov's men takes Ghost. Soap gets him back.

Pieces of You by FreeToWriteForMe - Soap slowly collects pieces of Ghost through his clothes or his weapons. Eventually, Simon gets something of Johnny's.

a Moth to a Flame by theidjits - Firefighter John MacTavish was eager to start his career. What he didn't expect when he was assigned to Station 141 was to fall for the elusive Lieutenant. (firefighters 141)

Trace Them Gently by Grangers_apprentice - There are a lot of reasons Ghost wears so many layers. Layers keep you warm. They keep you safe. They keep prying eyes and wandering hands away. Ghost has more reasons than most to want to keep his skin under wraps. [Restricted]

A Steady Beat in an Unsteady Time by Grangers_apprentice - Soap has been having dreams where Ghost dies, and comes up with an unconventional way of reassuring himself that his lieutenant is fine. (part 1 of the Heartbeat Series) [Restricted]

Blossoms by felicitous - Against his better judgement, John "Soap" MacTavish was in love with Simon "Ghost" Riley. And while he knew that Ghost could never, would never, love him back, he was happy to take whatever attention the man would give him, even if it killed him. (Hanahaki AU)

Remember Me (Please) by Darkflamej - Johnny winds up with amnesia and Ghost is struggling to keep them both alive while trying to balance the fact that he’s hopelessly in love with a man who doesn’t even remember him.

The Truth Comes Out by Darkflamej - Ghost is under the influence of a truth serum and is trying his best to not confess his love for Soap.

Mission: You by TheD - Soap keeps getting distracted recently by Ghost. They do something about it, leading to an entanglement that leads to complications in their relationship.

the human condition by bilbhoebangins - Ghost shows up to an anonymous hookup and finds a naked and blindfolded Johnny waiting for him. His sergeant is completely unaware of just who he's arranged to meet, and Ghost has to make a choice, between what's right, and what he so desperately wants.

Awake At Night by CYBERGUTS - A friends to lovers fic over 4 seasons.

Prank Call by Team_141_property - A prank call goes wrong, personal walls are ripped down, people get hurt, and feelings get confessed. [read the CW on this one especially]

Yes to Heaven by Apollos_Last_Prophet - Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish is declared K.I.A during a failed recon mission in 2017. His commanding officer, Captain John Price, takes the loss personally, but has no other choice then to move on. Five years later, Price fights an assassin with a familiar face. [the one and only]

Someday The Dust Will Settle by shadow_in_the_window - Panic was starting to flood Ghost's senses. Johnny had lost a lot of blood. He cleared his mind. There was no way he'd let Johnny die on his watch. Not now. Not ever.

A Sunrise In the Dark by [orphan_account] - “Don’t say that, Johnny.” Ghost spoke, his voice quiet. “Say what?” “That you’d take a bullet.” “I would, though.”

On Begged and Borrowed Time by goforblood - Soap MacTavish is the newest member of Task Force 141. Soap could not have foreseen the enigmatic lieutenant, Ghost, who threatens to turn everything on its head. Can he keep his burgeoning crush on the masked man a secret? Or will someone call his bluff?

Midnight Snacks by MireyaRowan - Ghost is forced to share a room with Soap for a few nights, greatly increasing his anxiety about his night terrors. He hasn't let anyone in the task force know how hard being idle is for him. Soaps makes a whole deal out of it to try and keep Ghost distracted from his past.

I Woke Up Underground by WispScribbles - Soap, Ghost, Price and Gaz are on a mission to take out Hassan's allies. It goes south when explosives cause the cave system to collapse, injuring and trapping the team.

A Little Death by CaptainMJ - Ghost dragged himself out of Vernon's grave to see that Roba hadn't left. Had waited to see if he'd manage to do it. Ghost never escaped and eventually they were successful in breaking him down and making him someone else. Kinda. Kinda successful.

Spoils of War by CaptainMJ - Ghost defeats Soap's kingdom and after splitting up the spoils, he takes Soap too. Soap expects the worst, but Ghost doesn't seem keen on doing anything to him. How long is that going to last?

Target Locked by MildLimerence - Soulmate AU: In a world where having a soulmark is a rare and forgotten phenomenon, finding your other half can be more a curse than a blessing. Soap joined the military intent on escaping the stigma of the mark, adamant he'd never find his soulmate.

Fucking new guy by glaciers (Hayfever_Street) - Soap joins Task Force 141, ready to prove himself as the best of the best. On his first day, he finds himself choked in the training room by a prick in a skull mask. Now Soap must deal with his growing attraction to his lieutenant, a sarcastic and cold-hearted man named Ghost, while at the same time proving to the 141 he's worthy of being there.

ripe and ruin by ghcst - It's August 1917, the rain doesn't seem like it will ever cease, and Soap starts to wonder if this war will ever end. He also has trouble trying to decide whether or not Lieutenant Simon Riley is really human. [WW1 AU, I recommend it even if you don't like the time period!]

Got your back, you got mine by WhiteBeakedRaven - five times Ghost did Soap a favor and the one time Soap had paid him back.

He Stuck Around For The Moon by escence - He’d been avoiding Ghost, planning on continuing to do so until he could sort out his thoughts and feelings regarding the man, preferably, shifting them into something less intimate. Evidently, he’d run out of time and Ghost had found a way to pin him down, literally and metaphorically.

The fever dream by glaciers (Hayfever_Street) - Ghost and Soap are back from a mission when Soap is struck down with a fever. Ghost navigates keeping his sergeant alive while coping with Soap unabashedly hitting on him, riling him up to bursting point.

Worth the Wait by trueheirofslytherin - Soap needs a sign that Ghost is interested in him. Ghost needs a sign that Soap is interested in him. One of them needs to take the initiative.

kiss the skin that crawls from you by congee4lunch - soap gets kidnapped. ghost tears through flesh and blood to get him back. amidst the carnage of a sinner's hands and in the absence of his god, he remembers what it means to love.

solemn prayer, poppy in my hair by congee4lunch - when soap invites ghost back home to scotland for a week, ghost hadn't imagined he would wind up in a fake dating scheme to trick soap's family, of all people. it also doesn't help that he's head over heels in love with soap, of all people.

Need You Now by SammyLuka - Alternatively, time in between missions makes Ghost realize that he doesn't know what to do without Soap. Thankfully, Soap understands.

Deep In The Fog by Crispyywheat - Soap is a big ol’ cryptid!! The 141 hunts down monsters/cryptids but Soap being a little idiot but also smart(?) decides to hide amongst the 141 as human. [I believe this one is currently being rewritten, the new work is called "Oh Weary Souls"]

I Didn't Need It, It Needed Me by starryathame - Ghost was wearing his balaclava, but he could feel his true mask slipping. He was becoming more Simon with every day Soap was around, and that knowledge terrified him. He hadn’t seen Simon Riley in the mirror in over a decade; he didn’t even know if he’d recognize himself anymore.

Affirmative, Sir by Wixiany - A mission goes wrong and both Soap and Ghost are left wounded. Back home, on his sick-leave, Soap's apartment gets broken into by the very men they were supposed to capture that day.

Wrap Your Arms Around My Cortex, Dig You In, and Let You Drain by [orphan_account] - Ghost returns to home base for the first time in four months and is unequipped to handle the growing emotions he feels toward a certain sergeant.

Say Yes To Me by [orphan_account] - Ghost gets held hostage and Soap saves him + the aftermath.

Pattern Breaker by mothbeast - A canon-compliant rework and extension of MW2: Reboot.

your finger on my hairpin trigger by lostReality - after Soap makes a few comments, about the mask, about sex, Ghost can't think of much else. And when Soap offers to fuck him after calling him pretty, why would he refuse?

earl grey skies by hyacinthwine - Johnny tries not to stare, but it’s difficult to tear his eyes away from the man. Really, there’s nothing that striking, he’s just an average Manchester man starting his day, yet Johnny wants to ogle just a little more. [coffeeshop AU]

Blinking by witchofsparkles - When Soap started seeing a very specific face with a skull mask and a pair of honey-brown eyes on his mirror and some glass, he thought he lost it good. Then it talked to him. [alternate dimension AU]

drag the lake and bring me home again by amongthebooks - During a stakeout mission in a remote area, Ghost is taken by the enemy. He's bound and thrown into a lake, and Soap has to scramble to get to him in time.

leave and liquor by your_wild_simp - Ghost is forced on a mental leave after a harsh mission. He crumbles, loses himself, has panic attacks and nightmares every time he remembers. But Soap is there, always there for him. Either through the phone, or physically rooming with him, Soap is there to help.

Between the Sand and the Stardust by tey_a - The one where soulmates leave marks on each other at their first skin on skin contact but feel drawn to each other before. Soap joins the 141 hoping to find a home in the form of a team. He finds it in the form of a man instead.

Six Feet Under And Quiet by snapple714 - Everyone in Soap's life has told him he's just too much. Not in the 141 though. But that can't last forever. He's bound to mess it up soon. It seems to happen on a particular mission, when Johnny gets trapped in a grave with a corpse. When the team realizes where they've made him wait for so long, they feel nothing but regret. Particularly Ghost, who is all too familiar with spending time underground…

Stubborn born by DepressoEspresso1000 - Soaps a fucking idiot and almost kills himself just to avoid medical leave, and Ghost is just as much of an idiot but he loves Soap and is not gonna watch him not care for himself.

If You Don't Stop, I'll End up Believing You by Hochseeperle - The new guy in the 141, Soap, doesn't have a filter when it comes to flirting. Ghost has no idea how to cope with that. He can't afford to lose face in front of his peers, so he decides to just… play along.

With Colours Over All The Wasted Years by kilikinnie - everyone owns a necklace that displays your soulmate's emotions through colours and their proximity through temperature. Ghost never expected to meet his, and Soap thought his was long gone.

(every scar will build my) Throne by Sillililli - Soap, the new leader of the MacTavish family mafia, is owed a debt by a family rivel. To repay him, Soap is given Ghost.

Keep The Change by hertzdonut - Soap's been shipped out to a safehouse in the Canadian Wilderness alone, except then Ghost shows up, but maybe Soap wasn't supposed to be shipped out in the first place? And Soap's been running on zero sleep and pure angst since they left Chicago. 'Tis the season.

real people by ghost_throat - ghost is struggling with his recent discharge from military service and doesn't hold much hope for his future. his former captain secured him a job at a coffee shop with a stupid name and annoying colleages and customers. [Restricted]

The ghost lingering in your shadow by arkinh - It took only a few weeks before objects seemed to move around without Soap remembering moving them. Lights were switched on or off by themselves, or flickering as he passed by them. For the first time in his life, he doubted his beliefs. Perhaps he should have left room for the possibility that it was all real?

What's The Name? by AvaLoren - John MacTavish is late to the coffee shop he works at after a late night argument with his girlfriend the previous night. He can't shake the memory playing on a loop in his head until a voice snaps him out of it. The customer before him has him fumbling for words and smiling like crazy. [another coffeeshop AU]

The Wind Will Howl Your Name by Minimelo - After a hunt goes wrong, John finds himself in the care of Ghost. [medieval AU, so so so good]

Cave In by glaciers (Hayfever_Street) - Ghost and Soap are forced to abandon a mission after the rain washes them out. They take shelter in a cave while they wait for the storm to pass, except this storm is sitting over them and won't budge. As night falls, the cave cracks, and they find themselves trapped. It wouldn't be a problem, except Soap is panicking, and Ghost is struggling to calm him down.

Burbon Soaked Letters by FreeToWriteForMe - Soap began finding letters full of threats and extremely personal information about his family and loved ones. He desperately hides it from his team while trying to find out the identity of his stalker. [the MCD tag on this one doesn't apply to the 141]

Safety Hazard by Red_Clegane - Soap is the adoptive son of President Price, but he’s hard to contain and a security risk. He’s never had a secret service agent last more than a few weeks. So, when Special Agent Ghost and his team are brought in to babysit, he thinks it’ll be another few weeks of fun. But a traitor is lurking in the Whitehouse and while Ghost protects Soap from himself, Simon will need to protect Johnny from something far more insidious.

[sstrwbrryccke]

I SAW UR SUGAR BABY!SOOBIN FIC AND IT'S SO FUCKING HELLO ?!? could u possibly write something similar for hoon :00 (n could it be male reader :00)

HIIII thank you im glad you enjoyed it ahhsagds !!! and i have so many thoughts for sunghoon <3 i think he would be a bit more smug compared to soobin, not as obedient but playful and cute in his own way!

the ending is a little rushed because i wrote this on the airplane to shanghai 💀😭 (also not proofread so its probably really bad)

— sponsor | sub park sunghoon

tags: aspiring skater!sugarbaby!sunghoon x rich!reader, amab reader, power dynamics, praise kink, unconventional settings to have sex, soft sex, shower sex, frottage, thigh fucking, body worship

you were old money, the kind that people call 'disgustingly rich'. the type of rich family that throw galas instead of family gatherings, and that's where you met him in the first place. it was one of your many cousins' birthday, excessively wealthy and extravagant, a golden gilded hall decorated with a specially laid ice skating rink for performers. you heard your cousin had been an avid ice skating fan and wanted a live performance for his birthday.

the night had been smooth, dull as you would expect out of a bunch of old-money conservatives whose idea of humour is joking about tax evasion. but you notice just by the off-chance, a lean man clad in all black, bumping into a column, a word slips from his mouth; which you can only guess was a swear word. it was strange, he was clearly out of place. but this wasn't some wattpad story about you sweeping a mysterious man off his feet, so you shrugged and continued sipping on your champagne glass.

you only really notice him during the performance, the mass was seated in the grand hall, lights dimming as the spotlight shone; and it was seriously strange. because he wasn't even the main lead, in fact, he was one of the many backup dancers. yet you just couldn't take your eyes off him. there was something so enchanting about his elegance, you could feel his genuine dedication and passion from where he skated. when the show finished, you find yourself clapping, eyes still mesmerized as the boy leaves for the backstage.

a crowd gathers around the main leads, interested sponsorships and words of praise exchanged. while your eyes drift to the man walking off, taking a scone from the buffet stands before disappearing into the balcony. naturally, you follow after him— which in hindsight was slightly creepy because you've been practically eyeing him down. but you really wanted to spark up a conversation with this pretty boy.

when you reach the balcony, you find the backside of the man leaning on the railing. you lean next to him and he was visibly startled— so much so he dropped the scone in his hand. he does attempt to catch it— horribly, and the dessert tumbles into the void, his mouth agape. "aish..."

"ah, sorry."

"no, it's no problem! really! sir!" he quickly rectifies, aheming into his fist and waving his other hand around before looking directly in front of him. occasionally glancing at you with his eyes only. he was visibly nervous, definitely embarrassed too. he straightens his back and raises his chin, probably trying to seem professional in front of you; but you could tell with the way he clenched his jaw that he was tense. and you don't blame him, it looks like this was his first time coming to such a luxurious gala, surrounded by tons of powerful men and women who could either make or break his career.

"well, what's your name?" you offer a conversation starter, since it didn't seem like he was budging.

"i'm park sunghoon, sir!"

"nice to meet you park sunghoon, how old are you?" you ask smoothly, stretching a hand out for him to shake. he couldn't even look you in the eyes, what a shy and polite man.

he wipes his sweaty hands on his pants, before taking your hand with both of his, bowing. "nice, nice to meet you too! i'm 21 turning 22, sir."

"we're the same age, that means you don't need to call me sir."

"yes sir." he replies without much thought.

you give him a pointed look and he quickly shuts up. he was endearing in his own way though, the interaction made you smile. this man who had previously been so elegant and precise on stage was actually very timid.

"you caught my eye in the performance."

he lights up at this, turning his head to you with a small bashful smile on his lips. "thank you so much, i'm surprised you remember me."

"of course i do, couldn't keep my eyes off you in fact." you advance, tilting your head as you subtly flirt. you were into him and you wanted him to understand that. "oh." he mouthed, and it seems like he was starting to recognize the connotations of the conversation. he was still smiling, but you could see a pink tint on his pale skin.

"no, seriously. you're super talented, i want to sponsor you."

his smile drops, a shocked expression on his face instead, soon he's ecstatic. "really?"

you chuckle, "yes, really."

☆★☆

perhaps, your definition of sponsor was just sugar baby with extra steps. because soon, the two of you fall into that type of relationship. it started with a bouquet of flowers after his practice (which you went to weekly), then it became a dinner invitation, and eventually you were lavishing him with gifts and luxury items. okay, perhaps you were just courting this man in the form of presents.

you watch on the sidelines as sunghoon does his usual practice on the ice (a private ice rink you hired for him), he glances towards you with a mischievous grin before doing a silly spin. you just chuckle, shaking your head. when it was over you sling a towel over his neck like usual, handing him a water bottle. he stares at you, rather proud of himself.

"did you see the spin?"

"nah, i was looking at the wall." you joke, there was literally no one else but sunghoon to look at. "issh" he shakes his head, lightly punching your arm.

after, you treat him to a nice dinner in this expensive restaurant, he’s used to your dinner invitations, but he still can't settle his nerves coming to such a high-end restaurant. chatting with you soothed his anxiety though, and shortly he was joking and laughing like usual.

the first course was served, and you took this opportunity to slide over the blue container with the tiffany and co logo. sunghoon takes it shyly, glancing at you, you give him an encouraging look. at the beginning of this dynamic; he did try to refuse the expensive gifts, but you were insistent and sunghoon secretly enjoyed receiving the presents too.

he feels his heart thumping with excitement as he unwraps the case, a genuine surprise in his eyes when he pulls out the silver wire tiffany t bracelet. he’s been wanting it for a while now, mentioning it once casually. and you remembered! he tries it on for you; because he knows you like seeing him with your gifts. the bracelet glints in the light and he looks at you with a reserved smile.

"thank you so much... i don't know to repay you—"

"by being mine." you interrupt him, the words come out before you can even comprehend it, baffled by your impulsivity. "i'm sorry it just came out— if it makes you uncomfortable i apo—"

"yes."

you blink slowly, while he looks at you with full seriousness. and that's how sugar baby sunghoon came to be.

☆★☆

navigating the dynamic was like navigating any other romantic relationship, though sunghoon treated it like a contract at the start. unusual, but usual for sunghoon. it made you chuckle about his seriousness of the entire situation. the whole circumstance was bizarre but silly. what an endearing man. he would sit you down one day, hands clasped together.

"what are your expectations for me?"

and you snicker. he said it like it was a full-time job, which maybe it could be.

"recieve my gifts, and enjoy your best life."

he looked determined, continuing on. "is sex on the table?" he was surprisingly straightforward. it's always the quiet ones who were unexpectantly bold huh...

"if you're comfortable with that, yes." you give him a firm nod.

"i see." he pulls back, shy again.

"so, are you?" you tease, because he didn't outwardly give an answer.

he pauses, and you spot a glint in his eyes. his tongue darts out to wet his lips and his mind runs rampant. how cute.

"i am."

☆★☆

and wow was that quite literally the best decision in your entire life. everything remained the same, except now you have an extremely hot and sexy ice skater whose libido was as high as his talent. life was good. life was great.

training went as you expect, sunghoon absolutely smashed through his routine. running back to you with a proud smile, hands on his hips.

"i did pretty good, didn't i?" he always asked similar questions, pridefully, wanting to be praised.

"did you? didn't see." you would always tease him, and he would respond by playfully hitting your shoulder. the sass doesn't last long though, because the moment you two are alone in the locker room that's when you go down on him, embracing him as his lovely quiet moans seep out from your kiss.

it should be classified as an addiction at this point, the amount of unconventional places you guys had done it in. collecting locations like pokemon cards. it was tame at first, or tame for your standards anyway. the first time was in the hotel, of course, but after that, you went straight for the ice rink. its not exactly public, as you had rented the entire private rink for your beautiful ice prince, but the setting itself was scandalous. just imagining the sanction that housed many hours of his talent, being dirtied by his sweat in another sense was downright sinful. sunghoon never complained however, because as long as you praise him, he was satisfied. boy was he a sucker for praise, he keens when you whisper in his ear, almost over the moon when you compliment him on his skating. he would moan unashamedly, (normally he would block his moans or whimper) and you respond by spreading his legs in clear view of the ice rink. slam him down and feel his back arch prettily against your chest.

sunghoon was contradictorily both shy and straightforward when it came to his words and actions during sex. he's quiet and sometimes downright refuses to moan or beg. yet when he's close he would straight-up demand things from you. when you fold his flexible body in half and ram into his sensitive hole, he would spread wider for you (which you thought was physically impossible but he proves you wrong), yet bashfully hides himself when you praise him. he was a man full of contradictions, but it really drove you wild.

but it wasn't all about sex anyway, sex made up barely half of it, because it was really all about him. sunghoon just had a soul that was born to attract you. he's introverted and reserved with others, which explains why he doesn't attract sponsors or gain lead roles, but underneath it all was such a uniquely endearing man with a strong ambition for his passions.

you absolutely loved spoiling this boy and watching his reactions; him wearing the items you brought for him just gave you that extra dose of serotonin. when the two of you made it official, he was just so much more ecstatic with each gift he received from you. it wasn't even the gifts themselves that pleased him so much, it was the care you gave that really hit the mark for him. that burberry scarf he eyed for a few minutes? woke up to it on his lap. the prada bag he briefly mentioned he thought was fashionable? on the kitchen counter. you just paid so much attention to him, and he felt so loved.

you supported him in his ice skating career too, attending every competition he's been in and always making sure to watch over at least one of his daily practices a week. he had big ambitions and eventually wanted to compete in the olympics, which you had no doubts he would achieve.

gradually, you wanted to integrate him into your life too, though it was hard to explain to your parents the logistics behind taking a 'common ice skater' with you everywhere. you two managed to keep a low profile.

and by everywhere, you meant everywhere. you brought him to tennis and golf practices, he struggled with golf but had fun with tennis. and you brought him to basically every single gala and ball your family tree hosted. it was enjoyable at first, but introverts do what introverts do and he gradually voiced how he preferred quieter, more intimate meetings with you. in which you decided to only bring him to the important galas. (maybe every single one was a bit overkill) but he was so right because intimate stay-ins with him were so much better and more peaceful compared to your hectic everyday life. he was a very mindful and health-conscious person, so you often find yourself doing stretches and going to the gym with him. it was absolute zen. plus, there was the bonus of you slowly snaking your arms behind him, kissing his neck and lips as much as you want without worrying about public perception.

☆★☆

you can tell something was bothering him, with the way he fidgeted and dazed off in your shared hotel room. anyone in his position would he nervous, after all, he was competing for the olympics! through much hard-work from his side and endless support from yours, he qualified for the olympic team after winning nationals with flying colours. you knew he had it in him, you knew since the first day you met.

“hoon, you nervous?” you ask, coming up behind him to rub at his shoulders. he gives you a small smile before sighing. “a little.”

you pull him into a hug, your chest pressed towards his back. he relaxes slightly. “want to talk about it baby?” you stroke his stomach, trying to soothe him.

“it’s silly,” he gives you a half smile. you slap his thigh lightly “issh!”

“it’s not silly, tell me.” you pout, kissing his neck. he laughs as you lavish his neck with lovebites.

“i’m just worried that i’m going to lose.” he says in-between giggles. you temporarily stop your assault in his neck, lifting your head to look at him.

“you won’t lose baby, and even if you do, just being in the team is already an amazing feat. most people go their whole lives without even touching olympic level.”

he seemed a little reassured by this, but you could tell his mind was still swirling with other thoughts. you kiss his cheeks, waiting for him to open up about it himself.

“it’s just, if i lose, im wasting all your effort and money.”

you finally pause at this, giving him a look. “what? how am i wasting effort and money on you?”

he seemed a little nervous, gulping down his saliva. “i mean, you invested so much into me, the least i could do is win.” you were shocked, was he dense or stupid? maybe a little bit of both. you roll your eyes as you lift him in your arms. he lets out a startled gasp as you bring him to the bathroom. you face him towards the mirror, grasping at his chin so he looks directly into his eyes.

“do you see this? what a gorgeous, beautiful, godly man.” you whisper in his ear and you watch his cheeks blossom a scarlet red. your hands trail down to his chest, unbuttoning the top.

“wow, look at that. so pretty, so soft and perfect.” you knead his chest, flicking at his pink nipples before moving down, massaging his toned stomach. he was staring at the parts your hand were drifting to as you fondle him. you kiss the shell of his ear, making him shiver “hngh…”

your fingers trail down, you lick your lips at his delicious reactions. palming at his erection. “every part of you is so pretty. such nimble arms and thighs, no wonder you’re so good at ice skating. everything about you is just so lovable.”

he was trembling, glancing into your eyes in the mirror and you could tell he wanted you to continue. “don’t you get it already? you really think i brought all those gifts, paid all those lessons and sponsored you because it was an investment?” you whisper, he turns his face to meet with yours, taking your lips desperately.

“i love you.” he whispers breathily into the kiss, that was the first time any of you said that sentence. he freezes, anxiety filling his face.

“i love you too, hoon.” you french kiss him, your tongue darting out to lick at his bottom lip, he reciprocates gladly.

“i love you i love you i love you so so much.” he stammers, grinding his ass against your hardening cock. “i love you too baby, you have no idea how much i love you.” you grunt into his ear, sliding your dick out from your underwear. the both of you were barely clothed in the first place.

“hngh put it in already please,” he’s never been this vocal before, you felt your cock twitch just at the desperation in his voice. but you controlled yourself, he had a skating competition tomorrow after all.

“hoonie the olympics is tomorrow.” he whines and you chuckle fondly. spoiled brat.

“put your thighs together.” you give his ass a light slap, he listens and puts his thighs closely. you could see his dripping cock through the small gap. “good boy.” you praise and he rubs his thighs together.

not waiting any longer, you slip your hard cock between his thighs, groaning lowly at the sensation. god it felt so good, he clearly thinks so too because he immediately whimpers, pushing back at your dick. you let him adjust to the sensation before slowly thrusting against his thigh.

“angh... ugh… so good… love you… love you…” he whimpered, panting softly. you pull his head to the side to kiss him again, hand grasping at both of your cocks and he cries into your mouth. you thrust harder and faster, he reciprocates happily by clenching his thighs tighter. soon his stomach was squeezing and his pants became breathier.

“gonna come, can i come? please? please?” and who were you to resist your prince?

“come for me hoonie, come for me.”

his thighs stutter and he clenches his teeth as a strangled voice comes out. he came in spurts, long and thin. you wish you could taste his pretty semen as well but thats for another time. you slip your cock out from his thighs, jerking yourself off and coming all over his ass and back.

it was arousing and you could almost go again, but he needed rest so you tenderly kissed his back, cleaning him up.

“i’m going to win for you.” he says breathily while you were wiping him down, you look at him amused, chuckling.

“don’t do it for me, do it for yourself.”

“no, this seriously motivated me to win. i’m going to win the olympics and then we’re going to have the most mind-blowing sex ever.”

you guys share a look before laughing.

☆★☆

everyone could hear the thumping of their own hearts as they waited for the results to unveil. sunghoon grasps your hand and you give him a squeeze.

before you could process it, you were ecstatically cheering, turning to sunghoon. the man beside you was in genuine shock, staring at his high score as if it was an alien on earth. holy shit, he got the highest score and he’s in first place!!!

snghoon lunges for you, tumbling you out of your chair as he tightly hugs you. not like you cared about the people staring, because you shared the excitement. you hug him back just as tightly, stroking his back. you feel the crook of your neck and shoulder wet.

after a few seconds, you help him stand and he wipes his eyes with an embarrassed smile. you couldn’t stop grinning as he received his medal.

☆★☆

sunghoon was able to keep both of his promises that day. the moment you two arrived in the hotel, you had a very needy sunghoon clinging around you neck, drawing you into a deep kiss as you navigate around the room.

you manage to peel him off for a second, to undress him and yourself, stumbling into the shower. you adjust the water while sunghoon unrelentlessly grinds against your cock.

“hn, god please! ive been wanting this since yesterday, ive been so good, so good, please reward me” he whimpers quietly and you melt. you grasp his hips tightly, pulling his back flush against your chest and you grind down his ass. he groans, hands propped on the shower wall for support.

your finger plays with his rim and he whines, prodding the hole before inserting. you were careful, treating his body like porcelain as you coo into his ear. he was so desperate, willingly giving up his sweet voice for you to hear. you add another finger and he was now fully rutting against you, eyes closed as he fucked himself on your fingers. it was an endearing sight, but you pull out, slapping your cock on his ass.

“what do you want again?” you play innocent, chuckling at his offended expression. he groans, frustratedly pushing back at your cock.

“you know what i want! i want you inside me please!” he whines out and you laugh. you give him what he wants, slipping your cock into his tight hole, groaning as you feel his gummy walls enclose around you.

“you feel so good sunghoon, such a pretty boy.” you coo into his ear and he clenches his thighs tighter. you thrust into him, each one faster and harder than the previous one and he was in actual heaven. tongue lolling out as he groans with each motion, it didn’t take long until he was crying out a strangled coming.

you weren’t done with him yet though, you prop his flexible legs up, making him sink deeper into your cock as he chokes. before he could protest you start nailing into him, hitting his prostate so well and on point that he visibly crumbles, hands desperately grabbing at anything as his cock sputters out another load.

his eyes were wide as he watches his dick cry uncontrollably, while you adjust behind him, ready to piston into him all over again. oh boy was he in for a wild ride…

that’s how the night progressed, you plummeting his ass in the shower, and then at the bathroom counter, then you moved him to the hotel bed, forcing him to ride you until he couldn’t prop himself up anymore.

his body slumps over yours, exhausted and overstimulated, thighs trembling and nerves sputtering. but you still moved beneath him and he cries “can’t! can’t, hurts please it feels too good.”

you grin into his skin, jerking his cock a few times and he comes again. body limp. you pull out and the warm semen in his hole dribble out. just as you try to move to clean him up, his arms tightly wind around your waist.

“stay here.” it was a demand from your ice prince and you snicker.

“anything for the olympic winner.”

[fireside-fanfics]

A House Divided

Based on this prompt.

In the Bridgerton household, no one ever doubted Anthony Bridgerton’s sense of duty. As the eldest son, responsibility had been ingrained in him from the moment he could walk. He had watched their father, Edmund, balance the delicate line between nurturing love and authoritative discipline, and Anthony had always known that one day it would fall to him to carry on that legacy.

He’d grown used to the expectations placed upon him, even embraced them in a way. There was no room for error, and Anthony had trained himself to meet every challenge head-on. He kept a cool demeanor in the face of society's demands and acted as the pillar that held his family together. Yet, no matter how well he kept everything in line, no matter how much he controlled the inner workings of their world, there was one person who perpetually slipped through his grasp: his twin sister, Astrid.

Astrid Bridgerton had always been the wild twin, as their late father used to call her with fond exasperation. While Anthony was measured, cautious, and deliberate, Astrid was a whirlwind of energy and defiance. She had little interest in the social expectations placed on women of their station. Balls bored her; small talk irritated her. Astrid much preferred the thrill of racing across the countryside on horseback, the satisfaction of landing a perfect strike with a rapier, or the quiet joy of reading political treatises by candlelight.

It was no secret that Astrid’s unconventional ways made her stand out. Gentlemen didn’t quite know what to make of her. She was beautiful, yes, but she lacked the pliability they seemed to expect. Astrid’s sharp wit and unflinching honesty often left potential suitors stammering, and Anthony had long since grown used to watching her fend off unwanted attention with biting remarks.

That was, until Mr. Everett came along.

James Everett was a solicitor, and though his profession wasn’t one that set society aflame, there was a quiet confidence about him that Astrid found intriguing. He wasn’t intimidated by her sharp tongue or her tomboyish ways. In fact, he seemed to admire them. When Astrid corrected his stance during an impromptu fencing lesson at a garden party, he didn’t sulk or bristle as other men might. Instead, he laughed and thanked her.

Over the course of several months, Mr. Everett became a fixture at social events where the Bridgertons were present. He sought Astrid out for conversation, his dark eyes sparkling with genuine interest as they debated philosophy, literature, and politics. He didn’t flinch when Astrid shared her unorthodox opinions or when she admitted she had no intention of settling for a man who didn’t see her as his equal.

Anthony had been watching from the sidelines with growing unease.

“He seems perfectly pleasant,” Violet Bridgerton had remarked one evening as they observed Everett speaking to Astrid across the room. “She likes him.”

“Pleasant,” Anthony echoed with a frown. “But he’s a solicitor with no title, no fortune, and no connections. His interest in Astrid is suspicious at best.”

Violet had sighed, giving Anthony a knowing look. “Do try not to meddle, dear. Astrid is more than capable of deciding who is worthy of her time.”

But meddle he did.

When Everett came to call the following week, Anthony intercepted him under the guise of a cordial discussion. By the time their conversation ended, Anthony had made it abundantly clear that Everett’s attentions toward Astrid were unwelcome. He’d used every tool at his disposal—his authority as the head of the family, the weight of the Bridgerton name, and an unsubtle hint that continued pursuit would ruin Everett’s budding career. Everett had left without seeing Astrid, his expression a mixture of resignation and sorrow.

Anthony felt justified in his actions. Everett wasn’t suitable, and Astrid would understand that eventually. At least, that’s what he told himself.

But Astrid, of course, found out.

The storm broke on a rainy afternoon when Astrid burst into Anthony’s study, her boots trailing mud and her face flushed with anger.

“That wasn’t your decision to make, Anthony!” she shouted, slamming the door behind her so hard the hinges rattled.

Anthony didn’t even look up from his ledger. “Doesn’t matter who made it,” he said evenly, dipping his quill into the ink. “It was the right decision.”

Her temper flared, and she crossed the room in quick strides. “You sent Mr. Everett away.”

Anthony sighed, finally setting his quill aside and meeting her glare. “I did.”

Astrid’s hands clenched into fists. “And why, pray tell, did you think that was appropriate?”

Anthony stood, towering over her, though she didn’t so much as flinch. “Because he’s not good enough for you,” he said firmly.

Astrid stared at him, her blue eyes blazing. “Not good enough? Mr. Everett is intelligent, kind, and entirely respectable. He’s the only person I’ve ever met who doesn’t look at me like I’m some oddity. And you—you decided to ruin that without even asking me how I felt!”

Her voice cracked, and for a brief moment, Anthony’s resolve faltered. But his protectiveness quickly took over.

“You’re too blind to see it, Astrid,” he said. “Everett’s interest in you is nothing more than a means to an end. He’s an ambitious solicitor with no fortune. Don’t tell me you honestly believe he’s courting you for your personality.”

Astrid recoiled as though he’d struck her.

“For your information,” she said, her voice trembling, “I do believe it. For once in my life, someone appreciates me for who I am—not for the Bridgerton name, not for what I can bring to their station, but for me.”

Anthony softened, guilt tugging at him. But he pushed it aside, clinging to his belief that he was doing the right thing.

“I did what I thought was best,” he said quietly.

Astrid let out a bitter laugh. “No, Anthony. You did what you thought was best for you. Because the truth is, you don’t trust me to make my own decisions.”

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed out, leaving Anthony standing alone in the silent room. The days that followed were unbearably tense. Astrid had a way of making her displeasure known without uttering a single word.

At breakfast each morning, she sat at the far end of the table, barely looking in Anthony’s direction. At family gatherings, she spoke to everyone but him. When they crossed paths in the halls, she would lift her chin and walk past as though he didn’t exist.

It wasn’t just the silent treatment that weighed on Anthony. It was the absence of her usual self—her sharp humor, her lively debates, her unshakable confidence. She was quieter, more withdrawn, and though she tried to hide it, Anthony could see the sadness in her eyes.

He hated it. He hated himself for causing it, but he was too proud—or too afraid—to admit he might have been wrong.

That changed one misty evening when Anthony returned from a ride and saw Everett standing in the garden with Astrid. He started toward them, ready to intervene, but something stopped him.

He saw the way Everett looked at Astrid—not with calculation or self-interest, but with an earnest, almost reverent admiration. And he saw the way Astrid looked back, her guard lowering in a way Anthony hadn’t seen in weeks.

“I came back because I couldn’t stay away,” Everett was saying, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “I know your brother sent me away, but I had to tell you how I feel. Astrid, you’re remarkable. Stubborn and fearless and completely unlike anyone I’ve ever met. I don’t care about your family’s wealth or name. I just care about you.”

Astrid studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she smiled—a genuine, radiant smile that made Anthony’s chest ache with guilt and something else he couldn’t quite name.

For the first time, Anthony stepped back. He turned and walked away, leaving them to their moment.

That evening, Astrid found him in the library.

“Mr. Everett’s staying,” she announced, her tone cautious but firm.

Anthony looked up from his book and nodded. “If he makes you happy, that’s all I care about.”

Astrid tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. “Is that an apology?”

Anthony sighed. “It’s as close as you’ll get.”

A grin spread across Astrid’s face. “Good. Because he does make me happy, Anthony. And you’ll just have to trust me on that.”

“I do,” Anthony said, surprising them both with the honesty in his voice.

For the first time in days, the tension between them lifted. Anthony knew he would always be protective of his twin, but he also knew he had to let her live her own life. And for Astrid, having her brother’s trust made all the difference.

[anglingforlevels]

Open House (Yandere House x Reader)

When people say the housing market is a nightmare, is this what they had in mind? (The story goes out to me because I’m trying to get an apartment and it is Suffering. Please pretend this count as yandere.)

CW: not proofread, unconventional captivity, swearing, I accidentally had too much fun writing Abby and forgot the point of the story-

Minors DNI

When you proudly had reached the saving milestone to buy a small house in the countryside, you had opted to spend some of that money on a real estate agent, figuring it was a good investment, hiring a Ms. Abby Bardot – who, over the phone, had insisted heavily on being called Abby rather than Ms. Bardot – who had twenty years of experience in the field.

Quite quickly, you realized that perhaps she wasn’t the most conventional real estate agent.

Ms. Abby, you quickly noticed at your first meeting, was all hand-wringing and nervous sweating, though she seemed sweet enough, having clutched a tin of home-cooked cookies in all shades of black and almost-not-black, and had heartily insisted you’d take as many as you’d like (which was zero).

She had insisted on bringing you to an open house for what she had called a hidden gem of a house, that it would be a private tour. To you, once she mentioned it would be at 1 p.m., it was quite obvious that “private tour” meant, “no one else has or will be showing up”.

Ms. Abby had also enthusiastically shown pictures of the place, pictures she had ready-at-the-go on her phone, presumably she really needed a buyer for the house.

“Ms. Abby.” You had said, interrupted with a small interjection of, Oh please, just Abby. “Ms. Abby, that’s not quite a house and more so a small manor. I went over my budget with you when I hired you.” Ms. Abby had quickly recovered from the rejection and puffed out her chest proudly.

“Why that’s the best part, this is within your budget!”

You had sent her a dubious look at this. “Are the pictures… How do I put this delicately? Are the pictures recent and unedited?”

Ms. Abby deflated so quickly that it almost felt impressive, almost urging you to clap as if it was a circus performance. Of course, it felt mean had you clapped at her dejected look.

“It’s well-kept, I assure you. These pictures are all recent, I’ve updated them every year for almost my entire career!” She said proudly, and you almost felt pity at the fact she didn’t seem to realize her own slip-up but instead paraded it around like a badge of honor.

Though, all-in-all you were charmed, and somewhat endeared, by the honesty. But not very much by the house at all. “I think I’d like to look at other options, it’s awfully big for just one person.”

“Ah, wait!” Ms. Abby said urgently. “Please, before we continue with other options, let’s first try out the open house this Friday.”

“Is this protocol, Ms. Abby?” Ms. Abby’s lips wobbled at this and… “Are you crying?!”

“No, I’m a professional. Real Estate Agents don’t cry, I’m simply sweating, is all.” Ms. Abby sniffled, dubbing her eyes with a handkerchief, presumably you were meant to believe her eyes were suffering heat stroke on this fine autumn day.

“…Alright, I’ll go to the open house. Just give me the address.” You eventually relented, if only to avoid seeing the pitiful sight of a teary-eyed Ms. Abby.

That’s how you ended up before a grand house out in the middle of nowhere, the closest town was an hour-long drive away. Forest and fields were most of the surroundings, which was why the house was in such stark contrast, standing as a sole presence, the forests and fields shying away to make room for it, leaving a vast vacancy around it, stretching on for at least fifty meters.

It really was a pristine house, when comparing it to the pictures, it seemed to match right down to the placement of every rock and plant in sight. As if someone had consciously placed each leaf and pebble.

The plants and trees of the garden donned vibrant colors despite the season. You wondered how often Ms. Abby came by, or if she had hired a crew for maintenance, as you could not spot even the slightest hint of dirt or spiderwebs.

The only thing that looked aged was, unfortunately, the “For Sale” sign.

It felt a little unnatural, but you chalked it up to currently being a display house, and thus not lived-in either. You took notice of the way the trees beyond the reach of the garden were withered and wrinkled, and the grass yellowy, dry patches, barely hiding the dirt beneath.

“Some more forest could really do this place some good.” You mumbled. You hesitated for reasons you didn’t fully understand before stepping beyond dead plants clinging loosely to your feet and entering the garden.

You felt a prickling sensation behind your eyes the further you traveled, the door felt so far when the weight of something cloyingly attentive seemed to drag you down as if to prevent your advances.

“You’re here!” A delighted Ms. Abby yelled out before the sound of pitter-patter was interrupted by a loud thud against the door that rattled the frame. With her energy dampened, a sheepish Ms. Abby appeared behind the front door, simply saying; “It opens the other way.”

Right, something attentive could only have been the attention of the overzealous Ms. Abby.

“Come in, come in!” She invited, all but pulling you stumbling into a most decadently, lavishly decorated foyer. From distasteful stuffed animal heads to the ruby red furniture and mosaic glass tables, it felt quite uncomfortable, all sharp angles and very little homeliness to it, like an ornate display of wealth rather than a welcome into a household.

“Not very welcoming, huh?” You commented, which Ms. Abby elected not to respond to, though the small “eep” suggested she had heard the negative impression.

Looking the room over it was impossible for your eyes not to rest at the centerpiece of the foyer: A huge painting above the staircase. A solemn-looking guy stared out into the air, curly locks framing his face. Old paintings always looked miserable, yet you couldn’t help but feel there was a glint of genuine misery in his eyes. Noticing your attention had wandered, Ms. Abby followed your eyes.

“Oh, that was an owner of the house who had it commissioned back during the Renaissance, they wanted it right here, in the heart of the house.” She explained though you couldn’t say you agreed to a decadent foyer being the heart of a house, and if it was, that wasn’t boding well for Ms. Abby’s already poor sales chances.

“I’ve never understood why someone would want to pay money to look miserable in a painting, like you’re paying for it, at least make yourself smile or something.” Your jab was met with Ms. Abby’s impressive ability to carry on like you had said nothing negative at all.

“You know, the owner claimed it was a Jan van Eyck-original too.” Ms. Abby said as if letting you in on a secret, or town gossip. “Really, we’ve had it appraised.”

“And the appraiser confirmed it was a Jan van-whatever original?”

“…The owner really loved art; you’ll see plenty of paintings throughout the place.”

So that was a no. And speaking of no’s:

“Listen, Ms. Abby, I don’t exactly have the budget for a big house, as I already said. I especially don’t have the kind of budget that the kind of person who’d commission an artist to paint them for their foyer would have.”

Abby laughed nervously. “Well, you see, the value’s dropped as I mentioned. We haven’t been able to sell it for a long time, so the price just kept falling.”

“Right. But even so, it can’t have fallen that much.”

At this, Abby avoided eye contact, wringing her hands before, after a big breath, blurting it out. “The person in the painting was the last person to own the house.”

…

“Is this place built on top of an oilfield or something?”

Ms. Abby laughed a hearty if a bit shrill, laughter, before sighing and mumbling. “If only.” She clapped. “But! This is a charming house, why, let me show you the many rooms!”

“Ms. Abby, have you ever considered a field outside of sale?” You asked dryly but nonetheless followed along, eager to leave behind the painting, as you felt watched. The house consisted of many sprawling hallways, enough to almost make one dizzy, and you struggled to remember where everything was.

The house had many rooms, none of them particularly inviting, reading more like a historical display room lacking any warmth or heart (and perhaps even worse, any semblance of renovation despite old age), and all absolutely clustered with trinkets, knickknacks, and in the case of the walls, paintings – leaving very little free space.

It really did read like a historical display, as some rooms seemed older than others, suggesting partial renovation must have been done on some of the rooms. You’d like a word with whoever had been in charge of that lackluster, nonsensical effort.

Perhaps the lack of replaced furniture or renovation was why the house periodically seemed to creak and moan in odd ways, at times you almost confused it as Ms. Abby groaning or sighing, only to realize it was the sound of the house itself.

As for Ms. Abby, she remained undeterred regardless of how many snide remarks you made, which you had to commend her for, though the charm you initially had felt from it was quickly wearing off. Ms. Abby actually seemed increasingly happy, humming to herself. She didn’t think the sale was going well, did she?

“How much of the house is there left to see, Ms. Abby?” You asked, increasingly impatient and tired, having been dragged through an unreasonable number of rooms, which inexplicably, almost all were bedrooms (and yet, you had yet to see more than a single bathroom).

“Well, we’re still missing a couple rooms like the kitchen, oh! I know, how about the master bedroom since you’ll be spending every night there.” She said with a beaming smile.

“That’s awfully optimistic, Ms. Abby.” You noted, at this you received a good-hearted chuckle.

“Oh, this place is too lovely to pass up on, I think it likes you – it’s a match made in heaven. If you don’t like some of the features or decorations, it’s easy to change those, so it would be a waste not to live here.”

“I can’t imagine a house as empty as this holding much affection, and I’m not up for a big project.” All you wanted was a small but cozy house, a simple place. You felt exhausted just thinking about the amount of work you’d need to pour into a house like this to make it feel like home.

“Well, it’s perhaps not an easy house,” Ms. Abby admitted, her cheer at this point an unshakeable force, as a sense of confidence seemed to have sprouted in her. “But that’s why when that rare fit comes by one must take the leap and hold onto it.”

You’d feel insulted by the suggestion you were a good fit for this distasteful and unpleasant house, had Ms. Abby not already shown herself as incompetent but well-meaning. You simply sighed, giving up the conversation, figuring you’d find another real estate agent when you came home.

“Well, take me to the master bedroom then.”

Ms. Abby led you through the foyer again, the bedroom apparently at the other end of the house. Your eyes were drawn to the painting once more, its eyes felt more sunken in than before, shadows forming beneath, to which you tiredly sighed. “Me too, buddy. Me too.”

The master bedroom seemed to be at the stopping point to the sprawling hallways on the right. You were just aghast at the fact you had gone through another set of sprawling hallways, you wondered who had come up with the confusing layout of the place.

Ms. Abby tried to imitate a trumpet to build up suspense but trailed off after you shot her an impatient look. After a weak cough, she simply said “Tadaah” and opened the door.

You stopped up, your right foot hanging in the air, about to cross into the room. A sense of foreboding filled you; it was a bit different from the first time, however. The prickling sensation you felt and the cloying attention, it felt smothering, less like a shove away and more like… Being held in place.

Ms. Abby waited patiently inside the room, not commenting on your hesitation, though you had been snarky and displeased the entire tour, so perhaps this just seemed like more of that. You swallowed and ignored the pressure as you put your foot down and entered the room.

The air felt different here. You had hoped the odd sensation would disappear if you just carried on, like when you entered the house, to begin with, instead, it worsened. The air clung to you, terribly heavy and sticky. It took you a moment to actually focus enough to realize Ms. Abby had spoken, so when you finally snapped back to reality, Ms. Abby was standing in the hallway.

“-tively spellbound already. I’ll give you some time to look around and get acquainted together, one-on-one.” And then she closed the door in your face. The room was, oddly empty, compared to every other room. Nothing but a big, red bed, the empty walls that you could’ve sworn were further away when you entered, and that feeling of being watched, lodging into your skin like stitching.

Nothing except an almost empty room that didn’t feel empty enough.

That’s it. Ms. Abby had officially used up all her pity points, you were leaving. You opened the door, a tad more aggressively than what was perhaps called for, but Ms. Abby was nowhere to be seen in the hallway.

For how annoyed you were with her at this point, you found that you missed her company as you walked down the hallway, nothing distracting you from the odd sounds of the house that seemed to have increased. It felt as if the floor beneath your feet moved and rumbled slightly, the velvety carpets uneven and bumpy, as if walking on something breathing, something living.

You wished that Ms. Abby had given you the floor plans, as you struggled to remember how to return to the foyer through the hallways and occasional rooms you had to cross seemed to hold no real rhythm and didn’t feel as if it obeyed any rules about directions.

At one point you could have sworn you turned back, only to be in another room than where you had emerged from originally. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you found the foyer again. Even in your rush to find the door, your eyes were drawn to the painting, though you continued to rush by it. In your haste, it almost looked as if the painting’s colors were smudged.

You attempted to open the door but found it didn’t budge. It was an odd choice to lock the door, but you were certain that was the reason, it had to be. A locked door was no issue from the inside, but even after hearing the click of the lock, the door didn’t budge when you attempted to open it.

You attempted to kick, pry, tear, and even throw your body weight at the door, but with no luck.

Settling in the foyer after your final attempt at prying the front door open, you huffed, out of breath. You laid on the stairs, trying to settle your heart and pulse, when your eyes landed on the painting again.

…You rubbed your eyes and sat up, thinking what you had seen was owed to your tiredness and the upside-down angle, but no. The painting really did look smudged. Like someone had blurred colors and borders together, the hair’s vibrant color having lost its radiance.

And the mouth, it was oddly smudged between the lips, that it almost gave the impression of a mouth being pried open.

…

No, that was silly, you were being silly. The painting was smudged out, which was already creepy enough on its own, or rather, the house was already creepy enough on its own – your mind was just working overtime and was making up new things to get scared over.

“Well brain, if you like overtime, I guess I’ll have to put you to use and think of an escape. But you don’t have a union, so it’s unpaid hours for you, I’m afraid.”

If the front door was a bust, then you’d find a window. You struggled to recall any windows on the ground floor, but surely there had to be some. Or… That’s right! The kitchen, it had a glass door. You never got around to seeing the kitchen, having mainly been shown the upstairs so far, but you recalled Ms. Abby mentioning it back when she had given her pitch for why you should show up.

You hadn’t been on the left side of the house, at least not on the ground floor, so you figured that was a good direction to begin, in your search for the kitchen. You opened the door, urgency in your steps, only to find you weren’t in an unfamiliar room.

Instead, you were back in the empty master bedroom, which somehow felt much more crammed than any of the other rooms. But… That didn’t make sense. The master bedroom was upstairs, you had fought through a confusing hallway to find the foyer, so this… this didn’t make sense at all.

The air felt oppressive in the room as if your heart would be forced to a halt from the sheer weight of it, like a physical presence. This time you were sure that the walls were closer than they had been before. A bed table had been added next to the bed, and the part of you still delusional enough to hope thought maybe it meant that Ms. Abby was still around. As if this was an elaborate prank.

You tried to swallow despite how dry your mouth felt, your heart hammering painfully against your chest. This was ridiculous. You slammed the door open again, the door shaking on its hinges. Beyond the door, it revealed a hallway, but even if the hallway was confusing, you had been through it twice by now, you could do this, you could find the kitchen or a ground-floor window.

Hurrying along the hallway, it felt as if the floor and walls shifted and moved. Were you dizzy, or was this actually happening? The restrictive air of the master bedroom followed you, as you dragged yourself through.

“Huh?” you furrowed your eyebrows when you opened one of the doors. You were sure this was the one you had gone through before, but the room behind was unfamiliar. Cold dread filled you as a horrible thought crossed your mind.

No, no, no. You ran to the next door but behind it was another unfamiliar room. Were the layout… Changing? Your hand trembled as you tried to open a third door, and you felt like crying when all it revealed was the master bedroom again.

A lamp now stood on top of the bed table. Were new things going to be added each time you returned to the room? You thought back to the cramped bedrooms Ms. Abby had so cheerfully shown off. You weren’t sure what to make of it but felt sick all the same.

“I don’t have time for this.” You had to snap yourself out of it. You could spiral and panic later, but for now, you needed to get out. So, turning on your heel, you returned to the hallway. You’d go through each door that didn’t lead to the master bedroom, hoping to somehow find your way downstairs.

You almost cheered audibly when you finally saw the staircase, rushing to it. Once again, as you passed it, your eyes were drawn to the painting.

The painting no longer looked the same as before, the person it had been long erased by smudged and changing lines. You couldn’t tell what it was changing into but felt your heart race with familiarity all the same.

The mouth was a gaping hole by now, outstretched awkwardly. You thought it might have been a smile, but it looked much more like a pained grimace to you.

You only took this as further encouragement to get out of there.

When you failed to find anything of use, you realized there was one room that you seemed to always find. So, as counterintuitive as it seemed, you walked upstairs again, and as confusing as the changing layout was, it didn’t take you long to find it.

You saw the familiar bed, the bed table, the lamp, and the newly added clock on the wall (which didn’t seem to be working) and closed your eyes for a moment. You took a deep breath. And then you decisively walked in to grab the lamp, shivering a bit as you brushed against a much-too-warm wall.

If you couldn’t find the kitchen or a window on the ground floor, then fuck it, you’d find one up here. Whatever broken bones or bruises you’d get from the fall, you’d accept. Finding a window upstairs proved much more doable, as one would line the walls every now and then.

You threw the lamp against the window and braced yourself for impact.

But nothing happened.

The lamp fell to the floor with a hollow thud. When you opened your eyes, you found not a single scratch on the window. So, you tried again. And again. You tried punching the window, earning nothing but a stinging fist.

Yet you continued. At some point, it became more of a tantrum, an expression of your desperation colored in violence, than an attempt to escape. Hitting the window, kicking the wall. “Why-“ you hated this house. You hated it. Hated, hated, hated it. You just wanted to leave. Your ears rang, whether it was from your headache, or the way the house’s groans and creaks had grown in severity, you didn’t know, didn’t care, couldn’t care.

Already unsteady on your feet, your final kick caused you to lose balance entirely.

Stumbling and falling onto the floor, without realizing it, you found yourself by the stairs, and face to face with the painting. Your blood ran cold as you stared into your own lifeless eyes staring down at you from above.

 

Quiet had fallen over the house like a blanket, only the slow rumble throughout the house bellied any activity. In the heart of the house rested a painting, donning a toothy smile and a certain glint in their eyes.

A satisfied Ms. Abby removed the “For Sale” sign out front and drove away with a hum.

[lola-jo]

Lilith in the 10th or conjunct MC - When people dislike you for no reason

This is a tough placement and definitely not one for the weak. I have it in the 10th house cusp conjunct my Pisces MC. So society’s projections towards me manifest in a passive aggressive, patronising, suspicious, subconscious manner. It compares to participating in constant spiritual warfare. I am grateful that my upbringing prepared me for this because it wasn’t any different at home. We are meant to trigger insecure masculine and unhealed feminine figures.

What is it like?

You are unknowingly placed on a pedestal and will be burnt at the stake if you don’t meet people’s preconceived expectations of you. It is like being placed in ‘I’m not like other girls’ when you didn’t ‘other girl’ yourself - society did. You walk into a room and people are either burning with fury at you unprovoked, or giving you EYES 👀 like they have never seen your species before…I’m happy with my appearance but I don’t consider myself that attractive or better than anyone else. 

It is the fact that you are ‘happy’ or ‘self sufficient’ that gets under people’s skin. What they don’t understand is the journey it takes to get to that place. People with prominent Lilith placements have constantly been isolated or persecuted throughout their lives, so you have no choice but to accept yourself in your most authentic form.

Others don’t want or have the willpower to do this work on themselves. They take out their frustration when they see that you have what they lack. This could be independence, abundance, beauty, boundaries, quiet confidence, personal power, eloquence, a multifaceted nature, benevolence, grace, favour, creativity, natural gifts and abilities, and so on. What they don’t realise is that they can also tap into their unique innate characteristics, instead of trying to be someone else. 

However, the irony is that YOU will be called fake for being a human with faults, and not acting like the robot they think you are. 

You also can’t win. When you speak up you’re too domineering or a bully, and when you keep quiet you’re arrogant or sneaky LOL 😂. The main difference between this placement and Lilith in the 1st / conjunct ascendant is that asc Liliths are more aware of their nature from an early age and identify with it. I never identified or was aware of my Lilith nature until later in age. I still don’t see it as my ultimate personality but I’m aware that I subconsciously give off the Lilith essence, and have grown to embrace her using it to my advantage. This is what I believe the Midheaven or the 10th house is about, your star image, destiny, legacy or higher self. 

For example, an asc Lilith like Marilyn Monroe was probably aware of her appeal, power and the effect she had on others. However, her image doesn’t come off as that of Lilith, she was known on a societal level to be Venusian as her Taurus MC shows; sweet and sexy, not powerful mysterious rebellious or dominant (even though she probably was on a personal level). This is not to say that Lilith prominent people will not experience these themes, but the house position will indicate where. 

With Lilith in the 10th house or conjunct MC, your career or purpose will be all over the place at first. What I’ve learnt is that you need to embrace this inconsistency and divine blessings will come your way. You find opportunities through unconventional means, that is the skill Lilith in the 10th possesses. It is also another reason why people hate…because they are not able to get away with doing the same thing. Trust me, my career and instability have been a great cause of anxiety but the more I have let go of control the easier life has become. This does not mean you should live life on the complete edge but it is all about finding that balance. Sometimes using your physical senses (in your environment) to make a decision instead of being in your head all the time. 

Overall, this placement triggers shadow work in yourself and others. It can be a huge cause for transformation if accepted. Your presence is meant to affect people on a large scale in order facilitate global change. You are essentially a catalyst, and will find in time that your substance will bind with like minded individuals and separate those with dark intentions. When you understand the power you hold, it is truly a blessing and you are divinely protected. 

[astropookie]

Ascendants at different degrees 🦚🦢 pt 3

hii, hope you have a beautiful day✨🧚‍♀️ i don’t have an excuse for my delay post but ty so much for all the support AAAAAAAAA😭❤️

Alexandra Levasseur

Ascendant at Gemini degree (3°, 15° or 27°)

they’re hyperactive. They have so much to say bc their mind is a work of overthinking. they have A LOT of ideas that they want to put it into words but can be difficult for them. Every type of process takes them longer or feels longer than what others will express, bc while doing it they’re thinking and thinking, it’s a cycle. Their profession could be related to “communicate” if that’s too obvious HAKDBA. but in every manner, that’s their passion, their need. making songs, advising, doesn’t matter what’s the career, the meaning or the need is present. their purpose is to put those ideas into words and those meanings the words own, reach out to more people. As I said in another post, I have a friend that has Gemini degree at his ascendant and breaths music, but I haven’t mentioned other people Ik that doesn’t represent the conventional example: she is a psychologist, she attracts people when she talks and her charisma. But it’s obvious how they struggle to communicate or it’s not easy to make themselves understood. That’s why they prefer to analyze others or to speak up through a non conventional way. I’ve seen that since ever they have difficulties with educational system, they’re too bored and intelligent -hyperactive- to adapt. what others say and how they process it is interesting…

Ascendant at Libra degree (7° or 19°)

their face is symmetrical. they’re pretty good at giving advice, comes naturally to them. they look “put together”, that they have their things to do, their schedule. they’re not direct -with my friend that have libra degree at their ascendant, I have to ask them specific questions with the objective of reading their mind. For example, I ask if they like my outfit and they’re making rare expressions and saying “YeS” with a rare tone, so I ask them “you don’t like it?” and they don’t say something clear-. I have to interpretate more than listening to a clear answer. Taking care of their appearance it’s essential, if they don’t like it, they’ll change -appearance matters-. You’ll see them owning a lot of makeup products but they look or use a “natural” look/makeup -if they use it-. They don’t try to be too “unique” or attract attention in a way that could be seen as unconventional/rare, they follow tendencies that could be seen as basic but for them it’s more than enough. growing up they could have cared too much about what others think. They could have lived or are still living without questioning themselves what are they doing with their lives, not realizing they’re part of a system and that they’re an individual. in other words, they could have had ignored how they were living, they were “vibing” but have never stopped and asked themselves “what am I doing?”. And if they had, they conformed themselves bc they didn’t want a change, to be “accepted”.

Ascendant at Aquarius degree (11° or 23°)

they’re THE bitch. they know their worth. their passion or what calls their heart is to be someone in the society we live, to make a change. people will prejudge and have a wrong idea of them: they’re loners, they’re mean and they only think about themselves, they’re egoists. only bc they don’t try to be as everyone, only bc they’re not people pleasers and they’re true to themselves, doesn’t mean they’re egoists. In reality, all their thoughts end up on the same final: to help the fcking humanity. it sounds cliche, it’s too cringe for them to admit it ⛓️🖤 since their childhood, they have been exposed to information that showed problematics in the world. they process information logically bc their surroundings taught them to, suppressing their emotions. they search for solutions logically, they could suffer for explaining what are their needs without judging themselves. they could be bad at advising bc they’re struggling to even comfort themselves. trough all their life, they have doubts or not an stable self-esteem: god complex. ik its impossible to not mention this phrase for an Aquarius placement: they have had and have difficulties feeling part of a community, to not feel lonely -not alone bc it refers to be “physical by yourself”-. They could be feeling really lonely but they sabotage themselves remaining they don’t have to feel, like a robot. they’re complimented by their style💋 unique

Ascendant at Sagittarius degree (9° or 21°)

they’re chill, they take things as they come -or that’s how they appear-. they’re calm but calm that can take a joke that’s supposed to be offensive and they’re sarcastic about it. it’s like they’re mosquitos around and they have repellent -the best example 🤩-. STILL they’re pretty sensitive. I think they try to be as calm as they seem to not worry their mother/parental figure with all the struggles they’ve had. They tried to be their sunshine: they are but as time passes they converted these behavior on a mask, hiding how they feel really. They vibe. surprisingly, they’re not chaotic or histrionic, it’s like they’re good, like “meh” good BUT sure they have their moments. change my mind, they’re or “calm you should be afraid of it” or they don’t give a shit but in a “dog that needs to be taken for a walk way to waste that energy” -as a sag placement i recognize and reaffirm 🤓☝️ i need to be taken for a walk like the bitch I am, that’s an horrible jk god-. They remind me of a taurus ascendant but they actually don seek comfort and if they do, their whole life is about going out of their comfort zone bc of their drive of wanting to know more. they actually know, even though they’re not scorpios, they know shit and let things happen naturally. in other words, they have acknowledged that if they tell people what’s happening it’s not gonna hit them as how it’ll if they live it. and they’re loyal, they’ll tell their friends or loved ones but they won’t control the situation. their life is about experiencing things instead on basing themselves on other experiences, they want to know and the diversity of perspectives is a whole galaxy to explore for them. again, it’s not about professions, it’s about their passion. people would judge and say “they’re players and blabla” could be right but that’s not the point, they experience to grow and they’re not afraid of not being perfect -and if they’re they try and they’re brave-.

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

❀ Based on my personal experience and what I’ve analyzed in my surroundings.

❀ English is not my first language.

❀ I’m not a profesional astrologer, I just love astrology and I’m willing to learn.

Thank youu. baibaiii🫣🫶🏼💋

Do not copy. Please give me credits.

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Ain't that a lotta love - Chapter 3

A story that starts on the set of the 68 Special, with Elvis and his long-term girlfriend Dorothy Valens. Dorothy has been with Elvis for a long time for good reason - she's no pushover, and she has a habit of getting exactly what she wants. As Elvis' career starts to get back on track, their relationship fundamentally changes too.

A/N: Will Elvis be mobbed on the streets of LA? Think we already know the answer to that one... If you need to catch up, masterlist is here.

Pairing: Elvis x OC - Dorothy Valens

Word count: 3.4K

TWs: Unconventional relationships, passing mention of drug use, Joe being a bit of a creep.

The days pass, with Elvis rehearsing and Dorothy wandering around, bored. She's not used to being on set without someone else to spend time with, and much as the sneaking around was tiring and the girls were needy, she had at least never been bored. She looks out of the window onto the busy street and sighs loudly at it. 

Steve calls a break and makes his way out of the engineering room. Everyone seems a little tired and Elvis has been making a few mistakes, which isn’t like him. Steve is making his way towards the coffee when he spots Dorothy, almost leaning out of one of the windows. Immediately changing course, he walks towards her, eager to find out what amusing little anecdote she has for him today. They’ve spent a lot of the past few evenings talking and he’s loved every minute of her company. She’s quick and funny and she has endless stories about the guys that she seems to have been waiting for an outsider to tell. It’s only when he gets up close that he realises she looks sort of sad, and he idly wonders what’s wrong. 

“Hey.”

Dorothy almost jumps at the sound of Steve’s voice but she steadies herself, turning around slowly with a smile and a “hi there.” 

She's wearing a mini dress and go-go boots, with a thick woollen cardigan. It might be the middle of summer in LA outside, but the AC is turned right up in the studio and she likes being cosy. She fumbles about in the pocket of the cardigan for a cigarette, and is delighted when Steve lights it for her without her saying a word. He’s relieved to see her face light up with a proper smile again too.

“How’re you doing?”

She blows out a stream of smoke from one side of her mouth. “Bored. I usually have… more to distract me on set.”

“Like what?” He asks, innocently. 

She looks quickly around the room and then back to him. Everyone else seems to be busy, and crucially, too far away to hear their conversation. “Can I trust you?”

Her dark brown eyes scrutinise him as he considers her question. “I think you can.” He pauses, thoughtful. “Can’t think of a reason why you wouldn’t. I’m on Elvis’ side here, doing this TV show, and just Elvis’ side. I don’t want anything to do with Parker if I can help it, and all the other guys involved here…” he sighs. “I’m just not interested in all their petty politics, if I’m honest. I’m interested in getting this show recorded and it being good, really good. Good enough to show everyone that Elvis is still relevant. Well, more than relevant. One of the greatest performers who’s ever lived. So…” he pauses again to run a slightly harried hand through his hair. He hadn’t really been expecting to make a little speech about how much this show meant to him, but he’s almost all the way through it now, so he can’t really stop. “What I’m trying to say is that you can trust me, because I’ve got Elvis’ interests at heart. Not anyone else’s.”

Dorothy takes a deep drag on her cigarette. She hadn’t been expecting that, exactly. The emotion in Steve’s voice, the fact he felt the need to say all that to her, about Elvis… she tries for the second time to compose herself. She doesn’t want him to know how any of that affected her, but it’s made her determined to tell him. 

“Yeah but, this is something no-one knows. Well, not many people. Y'know, a secret.”

Steve blinks a few times, trying to process that this is her answer to everything he just said. He decides to just go with it. Maybe it’s best for both of them to pretend that he didn’t just say all that. 

“Promise I won't tell.”

She nods. She was always going to tell him, really. She’s enjoyed their little chats over the past few nights, and the devil on her shoulder likes the idea of unbalancing people. It’s probably why she’s lasted in that group of men for so long.

“Elvis and I… we've been dating other women, as a couple, for a while now.” She looks intently at him to gauge his reaction. He tries to look nonplussed, though he's anything but. 

“Okay.” He can't think of what else to say but he knows there has to be something or she'll know she shocked him. “Can I, uh, bum one of those?” Gesturing to her cigarette. 

She giggles. “Of course.” He looks unbalanced already and she can’t help enjoying herself watching it. She gets out a cigarette and hands it to him. Before he has a chance to get out his lighter, she leans close enough to light it with the end of her own. His eyes flick to hers and he realises for the first time that she has a tiny smattering of freckles on the tops of her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

She moves away again and he inhales deeply, gaining a little courage from it. “How does that work, then?”

She grins. “Well we have to keep it secret. Only Jerry knows. We pick a girl we both like…” she looks directly into Steve's eyes now, “and sometimes we play all together and sometimes it's just me and her.” Steve blushes, feeling his heart race at the description. “That's how it works. I mean, I can tell you in more detail, if you want?” She tilts her head to one side, knowing she's teasing. Knowing she certainly now has the upper hand. 

They’ve both been so engrossed in their conversation that neither notice Elvis walking towards them, and at that moment he arrives right behind Steve, his voice booming out, “What d’you think would happen if I went outside?” He’s curious about their body language and what their conversation might’ve been about, but he’s mostly fixated on the question he's been asking for the past three days. 

Steve collects himself, turning to face the other man, and answers in exactly the same way as he has the last three times he was asked. “Nothing, man.”

Elvis knew that would be the answer, and for some reason today feels like the day. He can hear his blood rushing in his ears as he says, “well then let's do it. Let's go out there now.”

“Sure,” Steve replies, evenly, stubbing out his cigarette and moving towards the elevator. “Let's go.” He’s been hoping Elvis would agree to go outside and see that he was right about it being safe, but the pressure from the guys and Parker not too had been unbelievable. So he thinks he had better take the opportunity now, before it disappears again. 

The rest of the guys rise en masse from where they'd been sitting around, waiting for something to do, and move to go with Elvis. He waves his hand. “No, no. Y'all stay here. I'll go with Steve.”

His heart beats out of his chest as he follows the shorter man into the elevator and then back out again when they reach the ground floor. As the door to outside opens the sights and sounds of the street rush towards him. It's loud and colourful and the smell of onions from hotdog vendors fills the sticky summer air. He stands there, on the sidewalk, just waiting. Waiting for the hoards of people that the Colonel had told him would tear him apart. Waiting for the screams, the tears. Waiting to be recognised. But there’s nothing. Everyone just carries on as if he's not even there - a couple even basically walk into him and he jumps, staring and expectant, but even then there's nothing. His hands ball into fists and his jaw clenches and relaxes over and over, eyes staring accusitorally at the passers-by, foot tapping, whole leg jiggling. 

“Hello! Hello? Hello?!” He shouts at pedestrians and passengers in cars as they pass. “HELLO?” People respond politely, but there isn't a single flicker of recognition. 

Looking up at the window where Dorothy and the guys are congregated, watching him, he thinks about how they’re no doubt ribbing him amongst themselves for the fact that no-one even knows who he is anymore. Steve was right - his career is in the toilet, and someone's flushed already, he's a has-been, a nobody, just some guy on the street in LA that everyone has forgotten. Fuck. 

“C'mon man, it’s getting hot,” Steve shakes his shirt collar in an attempt to get some breeze between the garment and his skin. “Let's go back inside.”

Elvis is silent on the way back. He just keeps thinking about how the Colonel made him believe he couldn't even leave the house without being mobbed. The guys all start trying to crack jokes as soon as they see him but he gives them an angry stare and grabs Dorothy’s hand, pulling her with him back into his dressing room. He collapses down onto the bed in the back room with a loud sigh. She lays her head on his chest. 

“No-one knows who the fuck I am anymore, Dodo. No-one cares about Elvis Presley.”

She runs her fingers over the silken fabric of his shirt. “They will baby, they will.”

He hums, wanting to believe her but still wrapped up in the same thoughts as before. She’d watched the scene out of the window with interest, but not quite in the way Elvis thought she did. Her mind was still full of her conversation with Steve, and how it’d been interrupted just when it was getting good. She’d watched Elvis desperately trying to get the attention of passers-by with a lump in her throat, but something about Steve’s steady presence by his side had made her feel better. She kept running that sweet little speech he’d made about her boyfriend through her mind over and over. He did have Elvis’ best interests at heart, the incident on the street had proved that. She had been right to trust him with their secret. 

“I told Steve about our girls,” she says, after a while, a little smile playing on her lips. 

The revelation jolts Elvis out of his thoughts. “Ya what?” 

She giggles. “I told him about the girls.”

“You little minx,” he chuckles, his attention suddenly just on her. 

“I said sometimes we all play together and sometimes it's just me and her.” She arches a brow as she looks at him.

“Well what did he say ta that?”

“Not much,” she smiles, thinking back at the memory. “He just blushed a lot.”

“Yer naughty, aintcha?” Her antics make his mouth curl into a smile and he forgets all about the incident on the street earlier. 

“Sorry, Daddy,” she coos in response. “You need to punish me?”

“Think I do,” he replies, his arms wrapping around her as he rolls on top. He growls into her neck and she giggles again. 

“EP! Boss!” Joe shouts from the outer room and both of them groan. 

“What?”

“You're wanted back on set!”

Elvis presses a quick kiss to her lips and rolls back off her again. “Later, baby.”

She sighs, sitting up as he leaves and Joe remains, staring at her unabashedly. 

“I better go too,” she says, in the hopes of making him leave. He's usually so stuck to Elvis’ side she wonders if he's broken or something. 

“You can always stay and I'll keep you company,” Joe suggests. 

“That's okay, doll,” she replies, with as much emphasis on the last word as possible, getting up and out of the room as quickly as she can. Damn creep. 

Joe watches her go with a little sadness. He keeps hoping eventually she'll relent and give him something more than a quick flash of her cleavage now and then. She flirts sometimes, surely that means something? He sighs and walks out of the dressing room now too, looking around quickly for Elvis. That stunt on the street earlier would have to be relayed to Parker quick-smart. He decides now is as good a time as any, seeing his boss back to intense choreography practice. He probably can't get up to anything much worth noting doing that. 

***

Rehearsals carry on for the next few days, and one evening Steve decides to volunteer to get the food for a change. Elvis’ dressing room is host to the usual jam session and people are starting to get hungry, and Steve is starting to feel the need for some fresh air, or at least some time out of the oppressive atmosphere of the room. As soon as Dorothy hears him mention Chinese food she offers to go with him. She doesn’t need to see Elvis’ face to know that he’ll want something else, and she wants to escape for a while too. She’s bored, and she’s fed up with being near Elvis but never getting any proper alone time with him. Any time they might’ve had is gone as soon as he takes his usual cocktail of pills, and she finds herself awake, watching him sleep and calling that a relationship. She probably wouldn’t have volunteered to go out though, if it wasn’t Steve who was getting the food. The conversation they hadn’t really finished is still playing on her mind, and she wants to see where it goes. 

Steve on the other hand feels like he's getting a bit too much Elvis. Ever since the sidewalk incident, Elvis has treated him like the Oracle of Delphi, asking him for his opinion on every little thing possible. It's getting exhausting. He loves the man, and it's very flattering to be taken so seriously by him, but he needs a break. And it's a bonus to have Dorothy as company. He can't think of anyone else he'd rather talk to. 

“Ugh. I am so glad to get out of there!” She declares, jumping into the front seat. 

Steve laughs. “Me too. I was looking for an excuse, really.”

“Sick of hearing the same four songs over and over?”

He shrugs. “I guess. I don’t mind that so much as hearing the same in-jokes. And…” he pauses, a little unsure of himself as he pulls out of the parking lot and onto the road. 

“And?”

“Well… they’re sycophants, aren’t they? They all suck up to him.” Steve keeps his eyes on the road while he says it, a little afraid that she might take it as a slight on Elvis that he would choose to surround himself with yes men all the time. 

“That’s why he likes you,” she replies. “You don’t suck up to him. Think he finds it refreshing.” She watches Steve’s face as he seems to be struggling with an emotion. Grinning, she decides she knows what it is. “He’s bugging you, isn’t he? You didn’t think Elvis Presley could bug you, but he’s getting on your nerves.”

Steve laughs with relief. “Yeah. He is a bit. Yeah.”

“It’s okay. He bugs me too.”

Steve sneaks a look over at her. “He does?”

“Yeah. Maybe I preferred it when we had the girls, even if they were needy. At least I had someone else to talk to when he wasn’t around.”

“How long have you been…?” He trails off, unsure of the right words to use.

“Since we moved into the dressing room. We had to ditch her. She was making it too obvious.”

It's a beat before Steve catches on. She must mean obvious to Joe, or Parker. 

“You don't want Parker knowing?”

“Fuck no. He's bad enough with me as it is.” She rolls her eyes. “If he knew we were fucking around with other girls he'd lose his goddamn mind.”

He nods, accelerating down the interstate. He thinks Parker must be upset enough that Elvis is so obviously living with a girl out of wedlock, that she’s right about the possibility of him losing his mind if he found out something entirely more hippie free-love-like was going on. 

“So d’you think you’ll wait until filming is over until you find someone else? Parker is around all the time. And Joe too.”

“Ugh. I dunno. Joe is around all the time anyway. We used to manage. I just need to find someone more subtle. You know anyone?”

He glances over at her, chin resting on her fist, expression thoroughly fed up. He looks back at the road. “Not really.”

She sighs. Just as Steve starts to steer them off the interstate a wicked idea floats to the top of her mind. For some reason she can't stop herself from saying it. 

“What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

Steve narrowly avoids just stomping on the brake with the shock of her question, feeling a rush of adrenalin at the same time as his face colours and his heart starts beating at what seems like a million beats a minute. 

“N-no, I’m not,” he stammers, trying to steady his breathing as he drives down the road a little way and then turns into the bay outside of the restaurant. 

Dorothy bites her lip. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Do you want to join us?”

Steve turns the engine off and stares at her with a slightly wild look on his face. “Are you crazy?” He asks, heart beating like a jackhammer in his chest. 

Her mouth curls into a smile again. “I don't think so. But most crazy people think they're sane, don't they?”

He shakes his head quickly, opening the car door and getting out without saying another word. His head is spinning and he decides that right now it would be best to concentrate on getting the food he’d promised. Dorothy's face falls at the lack of rejoiner, and she gets out of her side of the car and walks into the burger joint next door to the Chinese. She orders Elvis’ burger and fries and sits, waiting for it and wondering why she had to open her big mouth and say something so stupid. She’s still wondering when she sits down on a plastic chair next to Steve, swinging her legs back and forth and looking down at her feet in the patent leather sandals she'd put on this morning. But she doesn’t feel like she can take it back, either, so when she finally breaks the awkward silence they’re both sitting in, it’s to mutter, “you're not into me, then?” at the floor. 

Steve almost jumps at the intrusion into the thoughts he’d been trying very hard not to have ever since she’d popped the question in the car. He starts blushing all over again. 

“I'm into you,” he states, matter-of-fact. “I'd have to be crazy not to be into you.” He looks at her properly for the first time since she said she wasn’t crazy. “Have you seen you?”

Dorothy looks up with a genuine smile. “Yeah I have actually. I'm a stone-cold fox.”

Steve bursts out laughing and she laughs too. It’s a relief to finally break the awful tension. But he still has questions. “What about Elvis? I can't… would he want to do this?”

“Well he promised I could pick who was next.”

“Did he think you'd pick a guy when he promised that, though?”

“Probably not. Definitely not. Fuck. I dunno. I just…” she pauses, trying to work out exactly what she wants to say, how much she should tell. “I think it'd be fun, you know… to play with two guys at once. To…” she's cut off mid-flow by the announcement that the food is ready, catching both of them off-guard. They take the bags and go back to the car, and Dorothy waits until Steve has backed out of the space and is back on the interstate before carrying on. 

“So anyway…” she begins, looking at his profile as he drives. “...I uh… I think it'd be fun for me. Two guys. You know.”

Steve can feel himself getting red again. Trying not to let his mind just become one big porno. 

“Is that what you'd want, then? Sex?”

“Sure. That's the fun part, isn't it?”

He nods, his hands gripping the wheel as Dorothy in a million different positions runs through his mind. 

“And you think Elvis…?”

“Could be persuaded.”

☆☆☆

Chapter 4

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy @presleyhearted @lvrdollep @nebulamorada @iloveelvis2 @18lkpeters

[sxorpiomooon]

RAHU

paid readings

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Rāhu (राहु) is the name of an Asura (demon) whose head was cut off by Viṣṇu. When the gods produced the Amṛta by churning the ocean, he disguised himself as a god and drank some of it. But he was detected by the gods and produced before Viṣṇu who cut off his head. Sūrya and Soma (the sun and moon), when noticed him drinking it and realised what was going on immediately told Nārāyaṇa (Viṣṇu), who instantly cut off Rāhu’s head with his discus. As the head contained Amṛta it became immortal and came to represent the ascending nodes of the moon’s orbit. The body of Rāhu, according to the Puranic notion, was called Ketu, and represented the descending nodes. Rāhu is defined according to texts in dealing with śilpa (arts and crafts), known as śilpaśāstras. Rahu is spoken of as the chief of those who have possesing personality. In Buddhism, rahu is defined as a dark monster / planet who is responsible for the phases of the moon by swallowing it. Rahu is supposed to be a mighty and naughty child of maya(illusion) and thus has a lot of dualities attached to its illusory nature.All sorts of poisonous chemicals like fertilizespesticides, and disinfectants are also ruled by rahu. Wherever it sits in your chart it manifests itself exactly like that. Anything that can fool you is rahu whether it's photography or video games. The karma that you are going to create in this life in the future is rahu. The thing that everyone needs to understand about rahu and ketu is that they are both outcast planet they dont act in a certain expected way. They surprise you. Anything that is material and a short cut is rahu. Rahu always wants fame and attention. Rahu is addiction since its obsessed with things bc he has no stomach to see if it has enough. Rahu is always trying to show you the different realm whether its good or bad. Anything that shades out and protects you from the sun is rahu. Wherever rahu aspects it gives something foreign. Anything that explodes.

Rahu in our generation and day to day life

The Internet for me is the biggest rahu example in our daily life now think of something that tends to happen a lot with the internet, illusion whether it's of beauty filters or people lying and then getting caught lying. On the internet we get influenced so easily that also while knowing that things might not exactly be how they are shown. Every once in a while we see random people blowing up on the internet out of nowhere. One of the biggest examples is that the internet is often used to spread lies and misinformation regarding things which is what rahu is. The influencers or the people that get popular are unconventional in some way whether it's regarding their way of living or them just dropping out of college and choosing to take a career path(living as an influencer) that is not something that is usually done by the people in the society. Good and strong rahu placements are also seen in famous and successful politicians and businessmen and they are ALL clever people most of the time spreading lies(politicians). We also see cats being very popular or all of a sudden being loved by the internet and cats are rahu as well. We also see people that make good edits or take good photographs blowing up on the internet as this is also ruled by rahu especially when it's foreign places as that's ALSO rahu. In india, if you guys are familiar with the ancient history "baniyas" aka businessmen or traders were naturally seen by the society as people that were "unconventional" or "non traditional" because they were starting something that was unconventional to the society that's also rahu. People breaking traffic rules is also rahu. This generation is ruled by rahu, we break rules, lie, break the traditional norms, drink and smoke etc.

I hope this post helps in your understanding of what rahu is as it's a very interesting planet alongside saturn.

[cherryredlove]

☆ fair verona ☆

Modern! au Helaena Targaryen x female Reader SMUT

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• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

Spurred by your best friend Cregan, you audtion to be a brave for the role of Romeo. Learning your lines is so much easier when your Juliet is also your longtime crush.

Word Count: 2.8k

Themes: SMUT, 18+, poetic lesbian smex, oral smex, face riding, titty sucking, praise, alcohol consumption, cigarettes, nice fluff tho

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

The corridors of Blackwater University echo with the chatter of students bustling between classes. You find yourself standing at the notice board in the main hall, staring at the flyer announcing this year’s play: Romeo and Juliet. It’s tradition for the Drama Department to host an annual production, and this time, they’ve decided on Shakespeare’s timeless tragedy. You long to try out, but the fear of rejection is too strong.

“Thinking of trying out?” A familiar voice breaks your reverie. Cregan Stark, your best friend since forever and classmate in Valyrian History and Linguistics, appears beside you, flashing a teasing grin.

You shrug, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension. “I don’t know. It’s been a while since I’ve been on stage.”

“You’d be great,” he insists, nudging you encouragingly. “Besides, imagine being a brave and playing Romeo. You would wow the entire audience!”

Rolling your eyes, you chuckle at his enthusiasm. Despite your reservations, you can’t deny the allure of the stage, the thrill of applause. And there’s another reason you’re considering it—a certain someone whose presence in the hallways never fails to make your heart skip a beat.

Helaena Targaryen, the ethereal beauty with her signature silver-blonde hair and pale eyes. You’ve harboured a quiet admiration for her, watching from afar without the guts to ask her out. You watch as she signs her name on the flyer, her friends cheering.

“Well, if you think so,” you concede finally, feeling a sense of determination. “I’ll give it a shot.” Cregan knocks you with his shoulder as you write out your name before dragging you to class.

The auditions are held in the university’s grand theatre, an antique hall with velvet seats and ornate chandeliers. As you wait for your turn, you catch a glimpse of Helaena. She’s sitting a few rows ahead, surrounded by friends, yet eyes looking ahead, lost in her thoughts.

When your name is called, you step onto the stage with a flutter of nerves. The audition goes smoothly, and the moment you finish, you feel a wave of exhilaration. Whether or not you get the part, you’ve taken the plunge.

A few days later, the cast list is posted. As you scan the names, your breath catches in your throat:

Romeo: [Your Name]

Juliet: Helaena Targaryen

A mix of excitement and nervousness floods your system. Cregan is ecstatic when he hears the news, clapping you on the back with congratulations.

“You’re going to be amazing, I'm getting a front row seat,” he assures you. “And maybe this is the chance you need to finally talk to her. My best gal needs some action, I bet it's got cobwebs down there!" Cregan laughs at his own joke, and then he yowls when you punch his arm in retaliation.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

Rehearsals for Romeo and Juliet are underway before you know it. The director, Professor Harrold Westerling, is known for his passionate and somewhat unconventional methods. He often goes off on ranting tangents about his career as a thespian with the famous theatre group, the Kingsguards.

From the first rehearsal, Helaena proves to be a star. She’s a natural on stage, her performance enchanting and her characterisation of Juliet breathtaking. You can’t help but be drawn to her, and the scenes where your characters interact are charged with an undeniable chemistry.

“Romeo,” she says one afternoon, her voice just as lyrical as Shakespeare intended. “Deny thy father and refuse thy name.” You find yourself caught in her gaze. Her eyes, like amethysts, hold a challenge.

“Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I’ll no longer be a Capulet,” you respond, the words rolling off your tongue with ease.

Helaena smiles, a knowing glint in her eyes. It’s a look that suggests she sees more than you reveal, a look that makes your heart race.

Between scenes, she’s charming and playful, often catching you off guard with her flirtatious banter. “I hope you don’t mind me stealing the spotlight,” she teases one day as you stand outside smoking during a break, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and passing you her energy drink to take a sip from.

You laugh, feeling the warmth of her attention. “I think we can share it.”

Her presence is intoxicating, and each rehearsal leaves you dreaming for the next. Cregan notices your growing attachment and offers his support, often helping you rehearse lines late into the night. He insists on wearing a wig he nicked from his sister to play Juliet, much to your amusement.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

The night of the play arrives, and the theatre buzzes with excitement. Backstage, the cast is a flurry of activity, adjusting costumes and going over last-minute notes. You can feel the energy in the air, a mix of nerves and anticipation.

Helaena stands beside you, radiant in her Juliet costume. She looks every bit the part, ethereal and beautiful. “Ready for tonight?” she asks, her eyes meeting yours.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “As ready as I’ll ever be."

Her smile is reassuring, and she reaches out to hold your hand. You squeeze it tightly.

The curtain rises, and the play unfolds seamlessly. Each scene flows into the next, the audience captivated by the tragic tale of star-crossed lovers. Your chemistry with Helaena is unreal, each interaction charged with emotion and intensity.

Finally, the pivotal moment arrives—the kiss. As Romeo and Juliet, your characters share a tender, passionate kiss on stage. The audience holds its breath, and you spy Cregan sniffling into a tissue in the front row.

When your lips meet, time seems to slow. There’s a spark, an electric connection that goes beyond the script. The kiss lingers, and you sense something shift between you, an unspoken understanding.

As the performance comes to a close, the audience erupts into applause, and the theatre is filled with cheers and whistles. You take your bows, Helaena gripping your hand tightly, adrenaline coursing through your veins, the thrill of the performance still fresh in your mind.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

The Targaryen twins, Baela and Rhaena, Helaena's close friends, throw a celebratory party at their house in the centre of King's Landing. The place is alive with music and laughter, students spilling into the garden and onto the balconies.

You arrive with Cregan, who promptly disappears into the crowd to try and see his own crush Jace, leaving you to navigate the throng of partygoers.

You find Helaena in the living room, surrounded by friends yet somehow separate, her presence commanding the room. She’s out of her costume now, dressed in a blue dress and a navy cardigan that accentuates her beauty.

When she sees you, her face lights up with a genuine smile. “There’s the star of the night,” she calls out, her voice carrying over the music. She holds out a bottle of Asshai beer for you to take.

You approach, feeling a rush of warmth at her words. “I think that title belongs to you.”

She laughs. “You were incredible tonight,” she says, her gaze unwavering. She takes your elbow, leading you slightly away from her friends. “That kiss… it felt real.”

You hesitate, the memory of the moment still vivid in your mind. “It did, didn’t it?”

There’s a pause, a charged silence filled with unspoken words. Around you, the party continues, but your focus remains solely on Helaena.

“Do you want to get some air?” she suggests, gesturing towards the garden.

Nodding, you follow her outside, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the heat of the party. The garden is illuminated by strings of fairy lights, casting a warm glow over the scene.

Helaena leads you to a quiet corner, away from the noise and commotion. She takes out a pack of cigarettes, offering you one. You pull out a sparkly lighter, lighting hers and yours. She nods in gratitude. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” she admits, her voice softer now.

Your heart races. You exhale shakily. “About the play?”

She shakes her head, a playful smile on her lips. “About us.”

There it is, the moment you’ve both been dancing around for weeks. The admission hangs in the air thickly.

“I’ve liked you for a while,” she confesses, her eyes searching yours. “I’ve always thought there was something special about you.”

Her words leave you breathless, a mix of surprise and elation flooding your senses. “I’ve felt the same way,” you admit, the truth spilling forth. “Ever since I saw you in the hallways during freshers week, I knew there was something about you that drew me in.

Helaena steps closer, her hand reaching for yours, smoke drifitng into the sky from her pink parted lips.

“What do you say we make this more than just a stage romance?” she suggests, her tone sincere.

You nod quickly, lips cracking into a smile. Helaena grins as well, the pair of you standing staring at each other goofily. She ashes out her cig, and you follow.

"Cmon," Helaena tugs your hand. "Let's go back to mine."

Helaena's room is perfectly her. Fairylights everywhere, lace curtains, the rich smell of incense in the air. You see bookshelves crammed with books, crystals, and plants. The walls are covered with posters and photographs of her with her friends.

Your gaze settled on the centrepiece of the room: a large, canopied bed draped in sheer, flowing curtains. The bed was covered in a soft, plush quilt.

Helaena released your hand and moved gracefully across the room, lighting a few candles perched on her windowsill. The warm glow illuminated her face, casting shadows that accentuated her high cheekbones and the lovely quality of her violet eyes.

Helaena reached out, her fingers lightly brushing against your cheek, her touch as gentle as the brush of silk. Slowly, almost as if testing the waters, she leaned in closer, her breath mingling with yours. With a gentle touch, she closed the distance between you, her lips meeting yours in a tender kiss. Her hands slid to the nape of your neck, pulling you deeper into the embrace.

Your hands rested on her hips, pulling her body flush against yours. The softness of her lips, the warmth of her touch, and the sweet scent of her hair all combined to create a heaven of Helaena.

Finally, after what felt like both an instant and a lifetime, you pulled back slightly.

Helaena smiled, her fingers tracing gently along your jawline. "I’ve wanted to do that for a while," she confessed, a playful glint in her eyes.

You laughed softly, a sense of pure relief washing over you. "I’m glad you did."

"Do you know how long I've wanted this? Us?" she whispers, her voice barely audible over the gentle rustle of the curtains in the breeze.

Your heart races. "I think I have an idea," you reply, your voice equally hushed. Your hand finds its way to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her soft silver hair as you pull her to you once more, your lips meeting hers in a fervent kiss.

This time, there is no hesitation, no lingering questions—only a shared hunger to taste each other, to consume. Helaena's hands slide over your shoulders, her touch light but insistent as she presses herself against you. You feel her fingers tracing a path down your spine, her touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake, and you respond in kind, your hands exploring the curve of her waist, the softness of her skin beneath the fabric of her dress. Helaena gasps into your mouth, adding fuel to the fire that has been burning between your legs.

As the kiss intensifies, Helaena guides you backwards toward the bed, her movements graceful and sure. You lose yourself in her touch, her scent, the sound of her soft gasps as your hands roam her body.

The edge of the bed meets the backs of your legs, and you sit down, drawing her into your lap. She straddles you, her dress flowing around her like liquid, the fabric cool against your heated skin. The sensation of her thighs pressing against yours sends a jolt of pleasure through you.

Helaena breaks the kiss. Her lips are slightly swollen from the intensity of your kisses, and her breath comes in soft, ragged bursts.

"Is this okay?" she asks. You can feel the heat of her pussy through her panties. You shift, desperate to touch her.

You nod, unable to tear your gaze away from her. "More than okay," you murmur, your voice thick.

Her smile is a thing of beauty. "Good," she replies simply, before leaning in to capture your lips once more, her movements fluid, as if she knows exactly how to draw every ounce of pleasure from you. Helaena's hands roam over your shoulders and down your chest, her touch igniting every nerve ending.

You mirror her movements, your fingers trailing along the line of her jaw, down the delicate column of her neck, and across her collarbone. She shivers beneath your touch, moaning as you cup her breasts through her dress. You feel a surge of pride at how you also have an effect on her.

With a gentle tug, Helaena draws the straps of her dress from her shoulders, letting the fabric pool around her waist.

"You are so beautiful," you murmur, the words escaping you.

Helaena's cheeks flush pink, and she ducks her head slightly, clearly pleased by your compliment. To thank you, she places your hands upon her perked tits once more, begging you silently to touch her. She arches against you, her body pliant and eager.

Your hands move, exploring the gentle curves of her body, the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, all while she responds with a fervour that matches your own. You pull off your own dress, bearing yourself to her. Helaena's eyes speak her approval, and she pushes your shoulders down to lie on top of you.

You can feel the wetness of her pussy seep through her panties, leaving dampness on your hips. You remove the delicate lace, pulling your own off too. The both of you completely nude, Helaena begins grinding her bare pussy against yours. A moan gets caught in her throat as her clit grinds down against yours. Helaena throws her silvery head back, gasping as you lean up to flick your tongue against her tits. You suck lightly, the other one being tweaked by your hands. You feel a hot warmth begin to build in your sex, and a desperation to make Helaena cum.

Helaena gropes your own tits, moaning appreciatively.

You grab her hips, flipping her over onto her back to lie against the bed. She spreads her legs, fingers grazing between her labia to show you her soaked hole. Your eyes darken at the sight, and you lower your mouth onto her sopping pussy. Helaena releases a high keening noise as you suckle her clit, pointing your tongue and flicking against her sensitive nub. You lap up her juices, tongue sliding between her folds as your fingers press into her, gently beckoning against her sweet spot, drawing out a long orgasm from your girl.

Her hips buck wildly and she grasps the pillows tight, one hand squeezing and the other tugging your hair as you relentlessly eat her pussy through her orgasm. She creams against your tongue and your eyes roll back at the sweetness.

Helaena pants, eyes glazed but determined. She yanks your hands up, lying down fully. Her hands go to grab your hips. You raise an eyebrow as you realise what she wants.

"You sure flower?" You tease. Helaena huffs, purple eyes beseeching. She nods desperately and you lower your hips down to sit upon her face.

Her tongue instantly begins suckling your clit and you delight at the feeling. Her lips are wettened with your arousal. You can't help yourself but begin to grind against Helaena's small but expert tongue. Helaena looks to be in heaven as you ride her face, hands digging into your plush hips and ass, leaving fingernail crescents as she worships your swollen clit.

You don't last long, hands gripping the headboard as you throw your head back and cry out for Helaena, cumming right on her face. You fall back, panting, as Helaena reaches for you, drawing herself close and nestling in your arms.

As you both drift off, sleepily kissing and whispering words of promise, you thank the Gods for your beloved Juliet.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

AN: there is a severe lack of (lesbian) Helaena fics and modern au ones aswell, im here to fix this! genuinely loved writing this, i love modern flirty helaena and sassy bestie cregan. phia is such a goddess fr tho. check my masterlist for more modern aus and sexy times, luv ya!

[princesskenny1998]

MHA | Bakugou Katsuki x proHero!reader ~ Ship

As a newly debuted pro hero with a unique and rather unconventional quirk you’d quickly gained a following, along with some reputation in the field. Though your career was young, people noticed you, both for your fierce and chaotic fighting style and your public persona that fans couldn’t help but love.

However, none of that could prepare you for the strange twist in popularity that arrived one morning when you checked your phone and found countless tags linking you to none other than Dynamight himself. Social media was flooded with fan edits, speculations, and even a hashtag dedicated to the two of you as a “power couple.” And sure, Dynamight was undeniably attractive and undeniably talented, but you’d never even met him.

As you scrolled through one edit—one where someone had cut together footage of you and Dynamight side by side, looking fierce and intimidating—you couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity. The idea of you and Dynamight as a duo was amusing at best, although you had to admit it didn’t look half-bad.

By noon, your agent called.

“Hey, you’ve seen the social media storm, right?” they asked, barely containing their excitement.

“Yeah, I did,” you replied, still a bit amused. “Is this really something to be concerned about?”

“Well, here’s the thing: the higher-ups in the agency think this might actually be good for both your PR and Dynamight’s,” they said. “It’s an opportunity to build more buzz around you as a new hero. The public loves the idea of a ‘Power Couple,’ you know?”

You rolled your eyes, but the idea of meeting Dynamight did intrigue you, just a little. He was known for his relentless drive and hard-hitting quirk. People idolized him for his intensity and strength. However, his temper was also notorious, and you were almost certain that meeting him would be anything but a smooth experience.

“Alright, so what’s the plan?” you asked, giving in.

“We’re arranging for you two to meet up. You’ll both be aware of it, and the plan is to pair you up on a mission soon after. Nothing crazy, just something to get people talking.”

And just like that, you were locked in.

The day of your arranged meeting arrived, and you made your way to the agency’s assigned training facility, knowing Dynamight would already be there. A part of you felt nervous—Bakugou Katsuki, aka Dynamight, was known for his intensity, and his fanbase was as devoted as they came. You weren’t sure how this would go.

As you approached the entrance, you took a deep breath and opened the door to see him standing there, arms crossed, eyes locked on you the moment you entered.

“Hey,” you greeted, flashing a small smile. “[Hero Name]. But you probably know that already.”

Bakugou looked at you, sizing you up as if trying to assess just what kind of person his PR had paired him with. “Yeah, I know. Dynamight,” he said bluntly.

The initial interaction was stiff, almost forced. After all, you were both here because someone else thought it would be a good idea, not because you had a real connection.

However, as the training session progressed, things began to change. Your quirks were oddly complementary. Bakugou’s explosive power matched well with your abilities. You found yourself enjoying the way you could support each other’s moves, almost instinctively.

Bakugou, too, seemed to loosen up slightly, impressed by your control over your unique quirk.

“Not bad,” he admitted, a rare compliment slipping out as you finished a drill.

“Coming from you, that’s high praise,” you replied with a smirk, enjoying the way his eyebrow twitched.

He scoffed, but you could tell he was secretly amused. Maybe this team-up wouldn’t be so bad.

Over the next few weeks, you and Dynamight were scheduled for more and more joint missions, and as you spent more time together, the initial awkwardness started to melt away. Bakugou’s abrasive demeanor softened, though only slightly, and you found yourself genuinely enjoying his company. Sure, he could be intense, but there was something refreshing about his straightforwardness.

As you both walked down a dimly lit street after a particularly grueling mission, you couldn’t resist teasing him.

“So, how does it feel to be in the tabloids with a new ‘partner’?” you asked, waggling your eyebrows.

He groaned. “Don’t even get me started. All these idiots are so focused on ‘shipping’ they forget I’m here to do my job.”

“But hey, it’s not all bad,” you replied, smirking. “We make a pretty good team.”

He stopped, glancing over at you. “Yeah… you’re alright,” he said, with a small shrug. Coming from Bakugou, you knew that was a lot.

As time went on, your friendship deepened, slowly shifting into something more. You didn’t talk about it, but there were lingering glances, casual touches, and inside jokes. You were drawn to him in ways you hadn’t anticipated, and you could sense he felt the same.

One evening, after another mission, you found yourselves alone in his apartment. You were both exhausted, but there was a comfortable tension hanging in the air. You leaned against the counter, watching him as he grabbed water for you both.

“Y’know,” you said, your voice softer than usual, “I didn’t think I’d actually end up liking you."

He rolled his eyes, handing you a water bottle. “You’re not exactly a walk in the park either, you know that?”

You laughed, shaking your head, but before you knew it, he was standing closer, his gaze intense.

“Katsuki…” you whispered, the realization that you’d just used his first name hitting you both.

And then, he kissed you.

The kiss was intense, filled with unspoken feelings that had built up over weeks. It was a release of all the tension, the anticipation, and the undeniable connection that had grown between you.

When you finally pulled back, you were both a bit breathless, staring at each other in shock and awe.

“Guess the fans were right,” you murmured, smiling.

Bakugou scoffed, though there was a softness in his eyes. “Idiots got lucky,” he muttered, his fingers gently grazing your cheek.

Despite your best efforts to keep things quiet, the media eventually caught on to your relationship. You’d been careful, but somehow, a photographer managed to capture a shot of the two of you sharing a kiss after a mission. The photo spread like wildfire, turning into a front-page scandal within hours.

At first, the agency was nervous. Relationships between pro heroes were a delicate subject, and the media frenzy wasn’t helping.

But Bakugou was unbothered, almost amused by the whole thing. “Let them talk,” he said dismissively, his arm draped around your shoulders as you both watched the news from his apartment.

You laughed, leaning into him. “Guess there’s no point in hiding it anymore, huh?”

“Damn right,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your temple.

The public’s reaction was mixed. Some fans were thrilled that their “ship” had sailed, while others expressed shock and disbelief. But for you and Bakugou, the opinions of strangers didn’t matter. You were happy, and that was enough.

As the initial frenzy died down, your relationship became more accepted, and you and Bakugou continued to fight side by side, a true power couple in the pro hero world. You balanced each other perfectly, your quirks complementing each other in ways you’d never imagined.

One evening, as you both sat on the roof of his building, watching the city lights, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the unexpected turn your life had taken.

“Did you ever think it’d turn out like this?” you asked, glancing over at him.

He shook his head, a rare, genuine smile crossing his face. “Nah. But I wouldn’t change it.”

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder, feeling at peace.

[gemsofgreece]

P.O.P: A masterpost!

Given that this is a blog about Greece, I suppose it's only fair to discuss what is going on in Greece right now. We're in the mid of an interesting, maybe unusual (if not unprecedented) cultural phenomenon. And I am seeing that splinters from this explosion have even reached Tumblr.

Chapters:

Preface

The Album

The Songs

Preface

The artist that represented Greece in Eurovision this year, Marina Satti, is not exactly a newcomer. She's actually involved with the music and general artistic industry of the country pretty much in the last 15 - 18 years. However, it was only eight years ago when she decided to put her phobias and anxieties aside and claim a prominent role as a solo singer and performer of her own work. In those eight years, she had the tendency to appear suddenly, go viral with one song or one project, then disappear and repeat that cycle over and over. In 2022 she eventually released her first album YENNA (=birth), celebrated by fans and music critics, and from that point onwards she started building a more consistent career, more open to the exposure of the audience and the media alike.

In late 2023 she was announced as the representative of Greece in Eurovision. In March 2024 she released the song for the contest, Zari, which sort of shocked a large part of the population for many reasons that I do NOT ascribe to, half of which should be studied in Greek sociology. (The song has literally 0 shocking elements.) From that point onwards, an unbelievable war was unleashed against her, not only by people, but also by other celebrities and the media, all while she was trying to prepare for her Eurovision performance. Satti defended her song Zari but except for rare incidents, she mostly avoided commenting or answering back to the hate she was receiving. This mass assault persisted and continued even when she lost her father three weeks before she had to fly to Sweden for the contest.

Her days and rehearsals in Malmö, Sweden weren't exactly good either but I have analyzed what she went through in another post already. On top of everything else, in the press conference of the qualifiers for the final, she feigned disinterest towards the Israeli participation for the obvious political reasons, a move that doubled the hatred she was receiving from the Greek government, Greek national TV broadcaster, half the people and all the Israeli, Jewish people and Israel supporters who unleashed a well organized cancel campaign against her. Unlike what happened with the Belgian, the Dutch and the Irish participants, the Greek TV broadcaster did not support or protect Satti but instead forced her to revoke, in supposed fear of a diplomatic episode (for a yawn in a pop song contest, mind you).

Marina Satti and her song Zari for Greece got the eleventh place in the final, which caused confusion anew in the country, as the fans were not happy but still content with the result, while the haters wanted to blame her for missing the Top 10 but had a hard time proving themselves right for having predicted a disaster or a disqualification.

In any case, with her unconventional song and her very charismatic if a little loud persona in Eurovision, Satti managed to quickly build a small European fan community. A few days after the final, Zari started climbing the global charts (it's #16 in the Global Viral Chart as we speak, a first for a Greek lyric song).

Four days after the contest, Satti strategically released her second album, called P.O.P.

The album

P.O.P. has become single-handedly the talk of the town in Greece, in a way that I don't remember happening enough for other artists and certainly not for a woman. To be honest, I don't remember another famous woman doing what Marina did here. Part of the novelty of this album is that its main goal is not the music itself but rather expression and it is a manifesto of sorts. But the true novelty is HOW she did it. So let's analyze a bit the genius of P.O.P.:

I call it P.O.P here but the album's title is actually Π.Ο.Π in Greek. Apart from the obvious nod to the pop music genre, Π.Ο.Π. actually stands for P.D.O. (Protected designation of origin). This could be a jab at all those who hated her and questioned her ethnicity for having a Sudanese Arab father and being, ALAS!, only half-Greek, while in the meantime Marina in Sweden was vocally advocating for the support and promotion of the Greek language and Greek ethnic sounds in modern music. So, she's P.D.O., certified GreekTM and pop! This is one of the cleverest album titles I have seen.

Now, let's go to the equally clever cover of the album.

What is only seemingly a rushed design looks like a draft in microsoft paint. It looks like the colour base was black which is erased with rushed white brushes, until the white prevails over the black, leaving only a few traces of the darker paint behind (remember, she's half-Greek half-Arab and she receives hate for this). On top of it all, there are several bold brushes of Greece's trademark blue. At the center of the cover we see the title, in the likes of an instant message. P.O.P aka P.D.O. and a Greek flag emoji next to it. Protected Greek origin. Below is her name in Latin characters, with her surname in capital letters, probably a tirbute to her late father. The time of the text message, next to her surname, I wonder whether it is random, but knowing Marina, I have this morbid feeling this time is not random at all. The message is circled with more blue paint and it suspiciouly looks like something is covered under the blue paint, next to the Greek flag. Below the text message, there is an emoji of a goat. This works in three possible ways: a) the goats are a classic image of the Greek countryside, especially Crete island where Marina comes from, b) it is used as the slang G.O.A.T, which is possible given the content of the songs and c) well, it could also serve as a self-deprecating joke idk!

The back of the cover features the names of the songs with a suitable emoji each. The time remains the same, next to the last song, which is the song she dedicated to her father.

The songs

TUCUTUM

Tucutum is a song Marina had releashed as a single last year actually. The reception of this song was very interesting because before Eurovision it had almost as many dislikes as likes. You see, it was Marina's song that made Greeks remember they actually like quality music. An extremely hypocritical attitude since more young Greeks than I care to admit like trap music. And I am listening to it and I am pretty sure Marina's trap is rocket science compared to the average trap of the... uh... proper trappers. And yet the trappers get nowhere near as many dislikes. But there is an explanation even for this: Marina blends Greek, other Balkan and Romani cultural elements, she indirectly trashes the biggest political party of the 80s-90s (largely responsible for the financial crisis), she directly addresses her haters, "who do nothing but say, say, say" and states it's her time to be heard. In the music video, she is supposedly the guest singer in such a feast of mixed cultures where men drink and celebrate to a decadent degree. When Marina breaks her trapping to intersect with a beautiful melodic bridge which is the part she was practicing the most before she arrived, therefore what she truly cared to express, a short ballad expressing her dream to fly away free like a bird, only a little girl listens to her in hope, while all the men have dropped unconscious due to their decandence. In the end of the feast, women discard the unconscious men in trucks. So you see, there is cultural, political and gender commentary. Too much for a braindead type of Greek to deal with, so let's just pretend we suddenly hate trap.

2. ZARI

As already stated, Zari was the Greek song for Eurovision. The lyrics is a blend of a regular love song, her exorcising her anxiety for the contest and multiple sly references to her older songs as a treat to her fans. She did once more something amazing - the song is sort of jarring and crazy because it combines many music genres. Instead of toning it down with the music video, she went all in and created an even crazier albeit ingenious video targeting foreign viewers. This time, Marina is a lowkey insane tour guide helping an unsuspecting typical "German tourist" (fun fact: the actor is actually an American retiree in Greece!) navigate and explore what seems to be an Athens-on-drugs. This once again made "proud"(?) Greeks protest that "this is not what Greece truly is", entirely missing the point that Marina didn't even have to do a travel promo in the first place. My humble opinion is that Greece is A LOT of things and when all of these are compressed in a presentation under 3 minutes with a touch of humour, it can totally give an on-drugs vibe. In truth, Marina didn't lie about anything she showed. She was proven right again, with most foreign people loving the video and her perception of Athens, including the winner of this year's public vote, Croatia's Baby Lasagna, who praised her for having the best music video this year. Objectively, she did.

3. STIN IYIA MAS

Now we go to the new, post-Eurovision songs. This is a pure song for a feast, where the composition belongs to Marios Tsitsopoulos, an artist I don't know much about but the general vibes are bouzoukia, ethnic, folk, balkan, arabic, a bit of trap, world etc. It's an easy, cheerful song and Satti elevates it with her angelic voice. So far, so good. (NOTE: There is a lyric there, she says she is swimming in the Aegean Sea but calls for he love to take her out so she won't drown. This is not an unusual lyric trope in Greek but keep it in mind for later.)

4. LALALALA

This is a song that takes you aback with it's childlike, unreserved joyousness. It almost feels like a musical "talk to the hand while I go lalalala" to the haters. It is basically Greek island folk turned into pop and the lyrics are pure innocent happiness, perhaps also paying tribute to classic Greek movies of the 50s-60s. I don't know if Marina filmed the music video before or after the ageists went berserk against her (she's 37 and everyone acts like she's 87) but the music video for this song, intentionally or unintentionally, is the most epic fuck you to the ageists. Marina, all people in our 30s are with you!!! The music video has had more than 1 million views in under 48 hours, a huge success in our small country. She's going viral. Again.

5. EIMAI KALA!!!!!!!!

The party is officially over. Again, this album is more of an experience than purely music. In this track, which is under one minute, the album features a Greek life coach recommending some positive affirmations for happiness, love, career etc. In short, that is a jab for what Marina has to do to deal with all the changes in her life and also all the good and all the bad vibes she has received.

6. MIXTAPE

If everything else wasn't bold enough, here we are. Mixtape. The 10-minute descent into madness. Ultimately, this is what makes this album what it is more than anything else. A song that is resolutely not a song and yet everyone admits that they have been listening to it again and again, either trying to understand everything or dancing to it as if it is actually a song. The funniest comment I saw about it is someone saying: "my mom entered the room as I was listening to this and I switched it to porn because at this point it is easier to explain". XD This could serve as one of those youtube videos about "what schizophrenia feels like". There is no way Mixtape can be effectively translated into English. In short, it is her answer to all the hate (or some of it, for the full deal Mixtape should be one hour long) in a delirious way through a patch of sounds and songs. There is trap in there, a famous bouzoukia singer whose lyrics can incidentally be used as Marina's commentary for the haters, she warns and reminds of her first song TUCUTUM, saying "didn't I say back then I am ready to speak now", she says she managed to shut the haters up, there is direct address for the criticism for Zari, she's mocking the lyricist who claimed copyright violation for the lyric "ta ta ta ta" (for real), she features (surely to her ignorance) a song from the singer that called her song "cat vomit", she features other trappers making a commentary on the Balkan ways of a Greece that pretends to be West Europe, she mocks those who obsess over Bouzoukia but become music critics when it comes to her, she mentions Eurovision, I think she also makes some references to Ireland's and Malta's songs (not negative), she speaks of a man that I am not sure who is supposed to be, many more things that I haven't fully deciphered, then she has like a kid song praying to Virgin Mary for a miracle for all this madness to stop before (tw) she loses her mind and falls from a cliff, then some more stuff, then suddenly a catholic Hallelujah is heard (implying the miracle has happened) and then she returns to the kid song but her voice sounds more mature than before and she goes like: "Sike I lied to you, thanks to Virgin Mary I don't care anymore, I am off to my vacation, I don't give a fuck and BYE". I don't think this has happened before by a Greek artist, especially in such a way. And I am so delighted that it is a woman who did this. This has attracted so much interest and curiosity around her, her personality. She is THE talk right now. Hats off, honestly. We wish non-Greek speakers could really fathom what is going on here but after all, she made this for us only... and it is...an experience.

7. AH THALASSA

In another 180 degree turn, this is a very emotional ballad for the loss of her father. She ends this frankly lunatic album by allowing access to her psyche, the suffering she went through all this time and never let it show. The title means "Oh, sea", where she implores the sea to take her down and drown her (notice the contrast with the lyrics in STIN IYIA MAS, that I mentioned). The ballad is sweetly haunting, Marina sounds truly like a siren mourning. But even here we get a taste of the ever surprising gem Satti is. The last part of the song is instrumental and as the music reaches its climax, the song ends straight away, right before the highest note in a morbid metaphor that almost scares you to death. Because that's how death is, especially of a loved one. Always unexpected. (This is the only song of hers so far that her haters have steered clear from and I think this says something.)

So, this is what Greece is basically dealing with now, crazy as it is. We are losing our mind over an artist who is not new, but only recently decided to start revealing all her cards. Furthermore, Satti is about to become known globally or at least beyond Greece's borders. If eventually she doesn't, that will be because she decided against it or she miscalculated greatly. But right now, the stars are on her side and we only need to see what happens next.

[thegreatsinnamonroll]

I am immensely enjoying new people getting into HypMic (mostly on this hellsite fuck Twitter) but you poor babies. Oh my god. You have zero knowledge coming into contact with BAT and Dotsuhon. So here is, admittedly rather condensed, a lore drop and why BAT and DH are important:

Bad Ass Temple

Starting with Nagoya's fiercest, Bad Ass Temple represents courage, standing for what's right, and never backing down.

Their leader, Kuko Harai, is a Buddhist monk (in training), and despite his unconventional appearance and punk-like personality, he's devoted to his faith and friends. Before he was part of BAT, he made friends with Ichiro Yamada after an aggressive fist fight where they were evenly matched. They gained respect for each other and made a team called Naughty Busters. Kuko was eventually brainwashed into leaving Ichiro, after which he went back to school and got in trouble for fighting off bullies from a friend of his.

Jyushi Aimono is a visual kei vocalist for the band Argo Orchestra as well as chunni (like his seiyuu!). He had a deeply troubled past, his parents often ignoring him. Jyushi became extremely close to his grandmother, who made him a small toy pig he named Amanda. He took Amanda everywhere with him, even to school, but a former friend motivated by jealousy relentlessly bullied him and encouraged others to do the same. Eventually Jyushi's grandmother was killed as a result of their hazing, sending Jyushi into a massive spiral.

Hitoya Amaguni is a lawyer who's seemingly only motivated by money, however his true colors shine when he takes on bullying cases. His brother was bullied until it caused his death, and since then Hitoya has been hunting down the people who did it. He has an intense sympathy for Jyushi and Kuko, despite trying to appear as if he doesn't care. He took on Jyushi's case and landed his bullies in prison, as well as clearing Kuko of the charges put against him. Because of their connection, the three of them were able to form Bad Ass Temple under Kuko's guidance.

Dotsuitare Hompo

Dotsuitare Hompo, or Dotsuhon, is a team that always gets back up when they're knocked down, a team that keeps fighting to make their place even if the world is against them. They're fun and engaging, bringing the joys of Osaka to HypMic.

Sasara Nurude may not seem like a leader to the untrained eye, but digging deeper into the comedian's backstory reveals an odd intensity for someone who never stops smiling. Due to his parents' rocky marriage and messy divorce, young Sasara found comfort in comedy and making people laugh. That carried with him to college, where he met his then comedy partner, Rosho. The two took Japan by storm, but a nasty breakup shattered all of Sasara's dreams. He wasn't about to give up, going to Tokyo to get a new outlook, and meeting up with Samatoki Aohitsugi, who, at the time, reminded Sasara of Rosho. A second nasty breakup occurred when Sasara was brainwashed, and the comedian resurfaced later on as the leader of Dotsuhon.

Rosho Tsutsujimori both blends in and stands out. He suffers from intense gifted kid burnout from his parents pushing him in grade school, resulting in him gaining a violent streak that persists to this day. He entered comedy school and formed Dotsuitare Hompo with Sasara until his stage fright and mutual miscommunication broke them apart. Since then, Rosho found a career in not just being a teacher, but being someone who supports and nurtures young talent. Sasara returned to him to have him join the new Dotsuhon, though at first Rosho declined.

Rei is the lore holder here, being the man who developed the Hypnosis Mics and Ramuda Clones. His past is shrouded in mystery, but we know that he only works with the government because they are holding his wife hostage. He calls himself a conman, wickedly intelligent and crafty. He was able to get Dotsuhon together by scamming one of Rosho's students, provoking the teacher enough to get him and Sasara to admit they missed the other.

I tried to make this as basic as possible but feel free to ask about other tidbits, there's a LOT that goes on outside of the anime but it can be hard to find. Anyway I'm Emmet, your local lore keeper!