#why do I read horoscope

[milo-is-rambling]

It’s literally so embarrassing how I both know nothing about and totally believe astrology

[reidrum]

like i would | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

a/n: ok im gonna be honest idk how i feel about this one, i just wanted to finish it and put it out so apologies in advance if its not the best lol. this was requested with the prompt "i bet he can't fuck you like i can"! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated ! thanks for being paitent while i got this one out <3

cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, fingering, munch!spencer, jealous!spencer, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you whack it), reader's bf has a name which i hate in fics but its so hard to write this trope without a name so, afab!reader,

summary: a confession about your sex life makes it's way to the one person you'd hope wouldn't hear, and now he's determined to rectify the way you've been wronged

wc: 4.5k

_____________

you were a great asset to the bau. it was why you were personally recommended by emily to transfer out of sex crimes, the skill set you brought alongside the field training you had proved to be vital for the team’s success lately. you were also a great asset to the team. the bau was notorious for having people turnover fast, and you knew they were apprehensive with newcomers. but you managed to hit it off with every single member, one more than others.

spencer reid did not expect someone like you to join the team. not that he didn’t have faith in your talents and skills, he’s read your file and obviously knows you’re more than qualified to be here. he just did not expect someone who looked like you to join the team, someone who didn’t look beaten down by the horrors of the world and still believed in pots of gold at the end of rainbows. 

it didn’t help that you were so beautiful he literally would feel his heart ache when you walked in. like literally, would have to rub his chest to soothe the pain. and as spencer would, he would logic out his feelings with science because that’s all they are, scientific chemical reactions in the body. but what he felt in your friendship, what he felt when he was lucky enough to be in your presence, was something no textbook, theorem, or equation could explain.

so imagine the size of the fucking hammer coming down on his head when he finds out you have a boyfriend who: 1. is not him, and 2. is an actual real life bozo.

apparently you’d been seeing damon from organized crime for about a month now, that’s what he heard from penelope, and you ‘claim’ to be super happy. 

spencer doesn’t buy it.

he’s seen the way your ‘relationship’ operates, and he’s got the facts to back it up. damon never lets you get a word in when you’re in group settings, even purposefully talking over you when you’re clearly attempting to speak. majority of the time he’s condescending about your job as a profiler for the bau, saying that him and his team bring down drug rings, but you guys ‘just read their horoscope or whatever and decide the killer.’

it made spencer’s blood boil hotter than the sun. he couldn’t figure out why you put up with it, and why you continue to.

the final straw that broke the camel's back about his disapproval on your relationship choices, is what he overheard on the jet one time on the way back from a case.

the girls were talking in the back of the jet, unaware of spencer’s very awake mind despite his visibly sleeping body.

“i don’t know guys,” you had started with a sigh, “you think it’s weird right?”

“that your own boyfriend won’t go down on you? yeah hon, that’s fucking weird.” emily strikes.

“what did he say exactly?” jj asked.

“he said it increases the risk of STIs on the mouth? and doesn’t like the feeling of thighs crushing his head? and that even with all the … grooming … it’s still unnatural ?”

emily gagged while jj continued, “um…but do you like…on him?”

“yes! he literally won’t touch me unless i do!” you rage whisper.

“i am about to give him an organized crime to deal with,” emily half jokes, “what an asshole, why are you still with him?”

“i don’t know, he’s still nice to me i guess, and maybe i’m just being dramatic. or maybe i’m just not someone people go down on, who knows.” you sigh.

spencer stops listening, he can’t hear you talk so poorly of yourself. not when it’s so far from the truth yet you’ve been indoctrinated to think it’s accurate. how anyone could take advantage of you like that is beyond him, but it did light a fire inside of him and made him determined to help you realize you deserve so much better. if that happens to be him, then who is he to fight that?

—

spencer doesn’t get his chance to prove it to you for another two weeks, when you’d come over to his apartment for a movie night after getting in a fight with damon, your date night being canceled and leading you to spencer’s doorsteps, all dolled up with tears lining your eyes asking to come in.

he doesn’t even have time to be mad at your shithole boyfriend when he’s ushering you inside, offering you to sit on the couch while he goes and put a kettle on the stove for tea.

“i’m really sorry to just show up like this, spence.”

he doesn’t even blink before calling out from the kitchen, “don’t apologize, i’m always here for you. anytime and anywhere.”

you give him a soft smile before returning your gaze to the soft glow of doctor who.

he returns cradling two mugs in one hand and a pack of haribo gummies in the other. spencer doesn’t care for gummies, he’s more of a chocolate guy, but he knows it’s your favorite. so he makes sure to keep a couple bags in his apartment for you.

“my favorite!” you gush. his heart warms at your smile as he sits next to you on the couch. you naturally gravitate towards him to lean your head on his shoulder, and it’s automatic for spencer to wrap an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer.

the whirs and whooshes of the tardis fill the silence for the next hour as you visibly become calmer than when you first arrived. he decides this is a good time to ask, “do you want to talk about it?” as he turns his head to look at you.

“i don’t know,” you say quietly popping another gummy in, “i’m starting to believe it's just a me problem. like, maybe i’m just objectively not a great partner, and that’s why we keep getting in these fights. you know this time, he said i’m not worth all the effort and stress i bring him and that because of me he’s gonna bald at 29? i’m not a scientist like you or anything but even i know that, at least, can’t be my fault.” you end with a chuckle.

spencer knows he should probably comfort you in this time of honesty you’ve graced him with, squash your insecurities like a pesky bug on the windshield, and tell you how beautiful you are in as many words it’ll take for you to believe it (and he knows a lot of words).

but right now? he’s just fucking pissed.

not at you, never at you. at your situation, yes. at that sorry excuse of a partner let alone agent, immensely.

so he can’t help what escapes his mouth next, “why do you let yourself get treated like shit?”

you look up at him in surprise, at both the cursing and what he said, “what?”

“you’re constantly talking about how awful he treats you, and yet everyday you still go back to him knowing it’s going to repeat the next day. i just want to know why you don’t respect yourself enough to not let that happen to you.”

pulling away to sit far from him on the couch,  you start letting the annoyance show on your face, “spencer, that’s not fair at all. you think it’s my fault? do you really think i want to feel like this?”

“yes!” he shouts, “you seem like you do with how much you crawl back to him everytime, and everytime you let him back in.”

“okay, i think i should go,” you stand up and grab your things, “it was a mistake to come here, goodbye spencer.”

he grabs your wrist before you can get too far, “i just have to know, what is it?”

“what’s what spence, let me go.”

“what keeps you going back to him, it can’t be because you love him. it’s obviously not because you’re happy with him,” he lets out.

“you don’t know anything about me or my life, spencer!” you snatch away your arm and start heading towards the door.

“it’s definitely not because the sex is good, because i know it’s not.”

any emotion you had on your face wipes away like an etch a sketch, staring blankly at the door, hearing the man you’ve harbored a crush on since you started at the bureau years ago, telling you he knows your sex life is abysmal.

your voice comes out small, “h- how would you know that?” you don’t dare to turn around, knowing that if you did any resolve you held onto, any denial of emotions you’ve stripped from yourself would come pouring out like a broken dam.

the couch groans at a loss of weight, and the floorboards creak closer and closer to you.

“i heard you, on the jet.”

you’re especially glad he can’t see the blood draining from your face. if your heart already wasn’t at your feet, it’s most likely six feet under at this point. 

he heard you?

“when you were talking with the others about how he doesn’t reciprocate, and won’t sleep with you unless you get him off.” he continues.

the room is getting hotter by the millisecond, temperature about to be comparable to the sun’s core. it’s one thing to have just anyone hear the intimate details of your life, but spencer? the man to which you’d been using damon to get over?

the only sound that can be heard is your increasingly heavy breathing, and spencer feels like he’s caught a fish on his line and is ready to reel you in as he inches closer to you.

“you’re okay with that? not being taken care of in the way you deserve?”

his presence is merely nanometers behind you, the ghost of his fingers looking for landing on your hips. when you don’t move away, and he hears your breath hitch at the contact, he sets his hands more earnestly on your curves as he leans down to the nape of your neck.

“just don’t know,” kiss, “how anyone,” kiss, “wouldn’t want,” kiss, “to give you everything.” kiss.

your head lolls back onto his firm chest as he whispers in your ear, “cat got your tongue, sweetheart? you were so mouthy not even five minutes ago. be honest with me, has he even ever made you come?”

the whimpers escape you without warning and you find a single decibel of voice to speak, “spencer…” hoping the whine would dissuade him to let it go.

“uh uh, i asked you a question,” his arm tightens around the front of your waist to press back and fully feel him, “answer me.”

your lexicon has depleted except for the one word you know he’s desperately waiting for you to say, and the one he knows is the answer. yet you know the second it leaves your mouth, everything changes. and maybe you’re okay with that.

“no.”

spencer hums lowly, “has anyone made you come?”

“no.” you say again, softer this time.

“should we change that?”

this was not what you expected when you came to see him after your failed night out. the amount of processing you’d done in the last year to essentially not be thinking about spencer 24/7 was extensive. and you were ready to render it all useless in a matter of seconds.

so you let the strap of your bag fall down your arm and hit the ground with a thud, and finally turned around to look the good doctor in his eyes. while his voice held traces of anger and frustration, you came to see his eyes were full of reassurance and comfort, the spence you always knew to prioritize your wellbeing more than anything.

he looked down at you and slid his hand to up to cup your jaw, and he hears the smallest murmur, so delicate yet so full of want leave your lips.

“yes.”

that was all spencer needed to catch your lips in a heated kiss, moving your body to the closest wall as he places a hand behind your head to protect you from the wall’s impact while the other pins your waist to the wall.

you move your arms to wrap around his neck and keep him pinned to you with no escape, like he’d ever want to. his lips detach from yours and make a descent towards your neck again, taking deliberate effort to locate the sensitive spots.

he finds one just behind your ear and spends time sucking and bruising up the spot, relishing in the soft whimpers leaving your mouth. while you’re lost in the sensation on your neck, you don’t notice spencer move one of his hands closer to the button of your pants, effortlessly (and impressively) opening it up.

detaching from your neck with a heavy pant, he moves back to lean against your forehead with his own and look you in the eyes to ask, “is this okay? we can stop if you want, i didn’t mean to be so forw-“

“please don’t stop.”

he searches your eyes for any conflict and finds none, considering it the okay to continue his downward descent. he returns his lips to the second home they’ve made on your lips and starts to push your pants down over the curve of your ass, leaving your panties on.

the flash of purple lace underwear glares at him when he glances down, and suddenly he remembers what got him in this position in the first place.

“were you wearing this for him?” he lets out condescendingly, “you really think he deserved to see you like this?”

spencer’s fingers brush against your front, leaving your heavy breaths hitting him in the face. you can’t think of anything to say. hell, you’re not even sure if you know any words right now. all you can offer is a pathetic moan, and spencer doesn’t think that’s enough.

“come on, don’t get all shy now. what were you expecting him to even do, hm? thought you said he didn’t care about making you feel good.” he taunts as his middle finger traces the outlines of your cunt through your panties.

you shudder at the contact, leaning your head back against the wall as he refuses to break eye contact. he’s waiting for you to say something, raising his eyebrows expectantly as he’s slowed down his movements on you. taking a shallow breath you open your mouth, “h-, he didn’t care, just thought if i ke-, kept looking nice he’d wanna, fuck, do something.” you moan out.

“and did he?” he moved his hand back up to slowly slip into your panties.

his finger dips all the way down to your entrance to gather your wetness and spread it all the way back up to your clit, your mouth dropping open as you let out a whiny, “no.”

“what a shame.” he dips a finger into your hole and you let out a pornographic moan.

he drags his finger in and out slowly making sure to watch your face as it contorts in pleasure. once he feels you’ve gotten used to it he slips in a second finger, increasing the pace and moving his thumb to circle your clit again.

“oh fuck,” you cry.

“baby, you’re so tight.” he whispers. the way you clenched around his two digits made feel almost pussy drunk, and he wasn’t even inside you yet. he starts to wonder if damon was doing anything really to prioritize your pleasure, and it only just worked him up more. he felt more determined to bring you to finish, so he picks up the pace and increases the pressure on your clit.

you drop your head to his shoulder no longer being able to hold yourself up anymore, the sensation of his fingers on you taking over, loose whimpers and moans falling out of your mouth every other second.

“spencer…shit, i’m gonna come…”

“let go for me, baby.” he whispers in your ear.

the pleasure barrels through you like a wrecking ball, knocking the wind out of your mind and body. your legs turn into jelly and you almost fall before spencer holds you up. you try to regulate your breathing into his shoulder, hoping to calm down before you look up and meet his eyes again.

he makes that choice for you when he gingerly lifts your head up, his eyes silently asking if you’re okay. you don’t even bother responding before softly pressing your lips to his again, hoping he can feel your response to his silent question.

the kiss picks up in urgency, and soon his hands are back to exploring your body again. they slide down to the backs of your thighs while he murmurs a small, “jump.” and lifts you to wrap your legs around his waist. without breaking the kiss he walks you both to his bedroom and places you on his bed with care.

his fists flank you on both sides as he leans down to kiss you, and he moves further down kissing along your neck and chest. you reach down to the bottom of your top to pull it over your head, leaving you in the purple lacy bra that matches your panties.

he detaches from you and stands at full height, gazing at the sight of you spread out on his bed with your hair framing you like a halo. he can’t even help himself when he says, “you look so beautiful, angel.” the blush rises to your cheeks, and you beckon him to come back down to which he happily obliges.

spencer moves down further towards your hips, and his lips ghost over the lace band spreading along your waist. his fingers play with the fabric and he moves his face to be directly in line with your clothed cunt. your breathing gets heavy, and you anticipate what he’s about to do.

“wait, you don’t, you don’t have to do that, spence. i already came.” starting to feel a bit guilty at the man above you potentially feeling obligated to do this, as you realize that if he heard you on the jet, he heard about the one thing damon refused to do for you.

“sweetheart, i’d love to keep making you feel good as long as you let me, okay? you gonna let me make you feel good?” he breaths, pressing chaste kisses to your inner thighs.

you give a slight nod and he gently pulls your panties off your legs, marveling at the light glistening off your cunt. he kisses up the plush of your thighs before pausing right where you need him the most. you look down at him and meet his unwavering eyes full of love.

he places a long kiss to your core before licking a long stripe. you moan out languishly, the euphoric feeling taking over every sense in your body. you’re unable to comprehend how you went so long without feeling this, it almost feels criminal. and the way spencer was eating you out, felt like this was doing it for him too even though you were the one getting pleasured. 

it turned you on even more to know he was getting off on how much you were enjoying this. your head was spinning off into another realm, and the only thing tethering you to this reality was the grip of your hands in his hair. his tongue made circles and shapes all over your cunt before dipping down to thrust into your hole.

your thighs shake and threaten to clamp shut on his head, and he uses his wide hands to wrap around your thighs to hold them in place. “oh my god fuck, that feels so good…spence…please..” you’re not even sure what you’re begging for, but of course, spencer does when he adds a finger into your hole and moves his tongue to focus back on your clit. the combined sensations were enough to tip you over the edge for the second time tonight, your release glistening on his chin as he moved back up to kiss your lips again.

your heavy panting tries to bring you back down from your high, a mix of sweat and the taste of you lingering everywhere. 

spencer smooths your hair back as he moves his body to lie next to you, “i think, damon’s a fucking loser, if he doesn’t think that’s worth doing.” he says between pants.

you hum in agreement, or just in acknowledgement at whatever he said since you’re still reeling from the endorphin release. hiking your leg over his body to straddle him, you clumsily reach for his belt and attempt to undo the clasps to reach his growing member. you pull his pants down and palm him through his boxers, reveling in the broken moans falling from his mouth. you start inching downwards when spencer grabs you by the forearms and flips you over so you’re back on the bed staring up at him.

“not tonight, sweetheart. it’s about you right now, wanna make sure you know what you deserve.”

“but…” you pathetically respond.

“i don’t know what that neanderthal tells you, but sex is not transactional. i think if i ever see that guy again, i’d punch him for making you think otherwise.”

the words go straight to your core, turning you on even more. spencer takes note of how your pupils widen and your chin tilts up towards him.

“besides,” he presses his crotch to yours, “the sex wasn’t even that good with him, right?”

you moan out again, unable to find words to satisfy his question. he leans back up and off the bed to fully remove his boxers and you finally get a good look at what was underneath.

holy fuck, he was huge. you propped yourself on your forearms to get a better look at him, and watched as he lazily stroked himself while he sauntered back over to you. the image was so lewd, you hoped you could borrow some of his eidetic memory so you could hold on to this moment forever.

his face held a smug smirk at your awestruck one, and he felt his ego inflate even higher, “by the looks of your reaction, i’m guessing he’s never been much of a, challenge, for you in bed has he?”

you dumbly shake your head no, “definitely not as big as you.” you whisper, more to yourself than him.

his smirk grows wider, “don’t worry, baby, i’ll take real good care of you.” he says as he climbs over you to line himself up to your entrance.

you feel him slowly start to push in, the sensation of being split open growing bigger by the second. your brows furrow and your eyes are shut tight as you wait for the pressure to turn into pleasure.

if spencer thought you around his fingers had him pussydrunk, what he’s feeling now has to be close to pussy poisoning or something because he cannot think of anything in existence that feels as good as the walls of your cunt clenching around his cock. it’s taking everything in him to not break, to just fuck you senseless and reach his peak.

once his hips are flush with yours and he’s fully settled within you, he waits for you to give him the okay to move.

you, on the other hand, have never felt more full ever. damon was not nearly this big, nor has any other guy you’ve been with. it’s a bit of a miracle on how it fit inside you, and how it felt better than anything you could’ve imagined. the pressure and slight pain subsides, and with a slight nod spencer takes the cue to start moving.

the first thrust has you both moaning out in harmony together, and he sets the pace nice and slow so as to make sure you’re comfortable.

but it's not enough for you, you need him to fuck you.

“spence…harder.”

he stills at your word, leaning up so he’s perpendicular to you.

“whatever you say, princess.”

and he starts pounding into you, hips rutting at a pace you can’t even keep up with. the whimpers and moans gush out as the familiar coil begins to build within you. he taps your leg to lift it up over his shoulder to allow him deeper access, and he’s able to reach that one spot you’d heard about from all your friends, on reddit, in movies. you had no idea this type of feeling even existed, and spencer was hitting it with precision every single thrust over and over.

“fuck,” you whine.

“that feel good, baby?” he teases, “the way you’re squeezing my cock so tight, i doubt that fucker ever made you feel like this, huh?”

your tits bounce with every thrust, and the deepened angle has you reaching your climax fast. spencer feels it too and drops his head to whisper in your ear.

“i bet he’s never fucked you like this,” he continues his taunt, “he’d never be able to fuck you like i can, make you come three times in one night like i can.”

you whimper, “spencer,”

“say it, sweetheart. say no one’s ever fucked you like me.”

he was trying to kill you, death during intercourse would be a crazy way to go out but it’s a fate you’d be willing to accept. nonetheless, you comply.

“never ever, fuck, been fucked like you, baby.”

spencer has never felt more satisfied, “good girl, now come.” and with a final thrust he lets you reach your peak as he releases himself into you.

in the midst of groans he gingerly pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss.

the next few minutes are just filled with the sounds of yours and his heavy breathing, before spencer leans over to you, “was that too much?”

still in your daze you let out a soft giggle, “spencer, i think you’ve ruined all men for me.”

he smiles back, “i meant what i said, damon’s really stupid if he’s not willing to do all that for you.”

you intertwine your hand with his, “you know, i never really liked him anyway. i was just using him to get over you.”

“me?” he says incredulously.

you nod, “i didn’t know if you would’ve felt the same so i just tried to move on to someone else, stupid i know, but i don’t know it made sense then.”

he pulls you closer to rest in the crevice of his chest, “i have been into you since the day you walked into the bullpen, and letting you slip through my fingers is a mistake i will never make again.”

you hug him tightly before groaning out loud, “shit, i have to tell damon it’s over now don’t i.”

“i mean, i could tell him if you want.”

“spence, no. i think you might kill him.” you laugh, “i can do it, i just don’t want him to get all ‘organized crime’ on me.”

“just tell him i have a gun.”

“so does he?”

“mine’s bigger.” he smirks.

you roll your eyes, “well, yes.”

[atlaculture]

how do you think the calendar is organized in the atla universe? they have a twelve-month system like we do but what would those months each be called? do you think they have leap years?

Right off the bat, let me just say that hypothetical calendars and alternative timekeeping is one of my favorite topics to talk about so this reply is going to be lengthy.

First off, everything we know about the calendar system in Avatar comes from the planetary calendar room in Wan Shi Tong's library.

The innermost ring indicates the number of months in a year (12), the second ring indicates the number of days in a month (30), the third ring indicates the different Avatar eras (16 shown), and the outermost ring showcases all of the animals of the zodiac cycle (12). For this reply, we're only going to be focusing on the innermost and second rings.

According to the episode, the ATLAverse appears to have only 12-month years, so no leap year 13th month like the East Asian lunar calendar. There also doesn't appear to be any months with more than 30 days, judging by the number of days shown on the calendar. This means that the maximum number of possible days for an Avatar year is 360. So it's safe to say that there are probably no leap years like ours in the ATLAverse. I guess their Earth's orbit is slightly shorter and more suited for timekeeping than ours.

As for what each month would be called in the ATLAverse, there's a couple of options. One option is to simply call the months by order: First month, second month, third month, etc. This actually ties back to Avatar's Chinese influence, as that's literally how months are named in Mandarin. This is straightforward, practical, and doesn't require any complex etymology or extensive worldbuilding.

However, I also think it would be fun to weave motifs into the calendar. Since there's so much emphasis on balance and cycles, why not divide the twelve months between the four elements? I imagine these months would be referred to as:

The 1st, 2nd, & 3rd Water Month

The 1st, 2nd & 3rd Earth Month

The 1st, 2nd, & 3rd Fire Month

The 1st, 2nd, & 3rd Air Month

For example, a person might say "I was born during the first water month, in the year of the rabbit." Naturally, there would be plenty of superstitions and horoscopes related to the combination of birth month and birth year.

The show also canonically mentions weeks passing by, although they never specify the number of days in their weeks. In a previous post, I mentioned that government officials during the Qin & Han Dynasty were given a day off every five days to bathe themselves. I think this would be a good basis for a week in the ATLAverse, four days of work and one day of rest. Each working day would be named after a cardinal direction (East-day, North-day, West-day, South-day) and the resting day would be called "Center-day", paralleling a compass.

In short, an ATLA month would be comprised of 6 five-day weeks and a year would be made up of 12 thirty-day months; the days would be themed around the cardinal directions and the months would be themed around the four elements. I think this would be a good way of adding texture to the world of Avatar, without weighing the setting down with too much worldbuilding or cultural baggage.

...And that would just be the default "world" calendar that spirit libraries and travelers and international organizations would use. I think each nation would probably have their own unique calendar tailored to suit their own cultural and seasonal needs.

I might make a few posts on what each nation's calendar system might be, if anyone would like to read that.

Like what I’m doing? Tips always appreciated, never expected. ^_^

https://ko-fi.com/atlaculture

[uyuforu]

Why your Birthday is your Personal New Year

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Your Birthday's Significance

Your birthday mark the day you were born (duh), but it's more than just a day we celebrate the day you were born. It marks the day you came into this world. As we know, in Astrology, we calculate our birth chart/ natal chart based on the exact moment you were born. It will ten create a map, with planets, asteroids, placements, and houses based on a rising, and specific degrees represents the specific placements of planets the minute you came into this world, and this detail makes you very unique. In this case, your birthday isn't just a celebration, it's also your personal new year. While humanity celebrate it as a group of individual on a certain date (depending on the culture), you as an individual will celebrate it on the day you were born. You are growing one year older, with one year full of new achievements and new events coming into your life. Let's see what can help you see those!

Your Solar Return Chart

જ⁀➴ Calculate your Solar Return here.

Free Horoscopes > Horoscopes Drawings & Data > Extended Chart Selection > Chart Type: Solar Return Chart

Your Solar Return Chart (SRC) is an Astrological tool that enables you to see what will most likely happen to you during your next year. As it is said, it is your Solar Return, so your Sun's return. Based on your natal sun, on the exact degree, SRC is calculated based on when the Sun will return on the same sign with the exact same degree. You'll see in each SRC, your Sun is in the same sign and degree as your Natal Sun. Only the house will change if you have different risings in your SRC over the years.

This means that each year, on your birthday, or the day before your birthday sometimes, you'll pass through another SRC, and have a view on what will most likely happen to you. You can also use this technique to check previous SRC and understand some life events better. Checking our SRC is a way to see that every years of our life, we achieve and change, and transform, as we are meant to evolve with time.

Annual Profections

જ⁀➴ Calculate your Annual Profections here.

Annual Profections are based also on Astrology, and mostly on our ages and houses. Basically, this tool explains that depending on which age (and so birthdays) we are, we embody a certain house that year. For example, when you will turn 25, you'll embody the 2H more. It usually means you'll probably be more focus on savings, money, perhaps making more money this year, or also changing the way you manage your money, etc. Each House has a different meaning. Of course, this doesn't mean you will need to wait to be on a certain house to do something. It just means as an individual, those houses will represent your more intern focus. And it may actually go naturally, without you need to force anything. Life is most likely to put you through certain transformations based on the houses' themes.

Numerology's Personal Year

This isn't a subject I know very well, I just have some base. So if you are interested in it, I suggest checking more on Tumblr or the Internet. An account that has more knowledge is @lilithsrealm. I suggest checking their account!

Numerology is a great tool too to check on your birthday. Just as with SRC and Annual Profections, Numerology can also tell you in what phase you'll enter this "new year". You'll need to take your birth day, birth month, and the current year of your birthday, add all of those numbers together, and then get a number that will be the total of all of those, and this will be your personal year number!

Example: I was born on August 6th, so 8 / 6. And this is the year 2024. So I'll calculate 8 + 6 + 2 + 0 + 2 + 4. All together this makes 22, so it's my personal year number this year. So, specific case, but 22 is a master number, so in this case we don't really add it together again. But if you end up with any other number than 10/ 11/ 22 or 33, then you add it together. Even if mine is 22, the 4 energy will still be there, but 22 is important. I say 4 because 2+2=4 (lol).

Every year, on your birthday, your personal year number change, indicating you'll go through another cycle of your life. Each numbers mean something specific, so I suggest making more researches after finding out yours!

Destiny Matrix

જ⁀➴ Calculate your Destiny Matrix Chart here.

જ⁀➴ Destiny Matrix Romance Numbers

Destiny Matrix is an Esoteric tool that explores the 22 Arcana's of the Tarot to see a different approach of yourself and your life, as a Chart, similar to Astrology. It's a tool that also enable you to develop your full potential as an individual. Numbers and Chakras are used instead of signs, houses and degrees. Numbers on the Chart will go from 1 to 22, representing each Tarot's 22 Major Arcanas. Colored Numbers are your main energies, they are also great tools to understand your true potential and why you came into this life, but also past life, desires, and your soul's purpose. On each sides of the chart, you'll see your different ages, representing different eras of your life. And above those different ages, you'll see a number, between 1 to 22.

Different ages then represent different birthdays. And the numbers above those age represents the different energies, based on the Tarot's Major Arcanas. It will represent the energy of those specific years, and not only in a specific area, but as a whole. For example, I have 8 this year, so this can represent entering legal matters with someone, for example, a wedding, or a contract with a society. It can also mean being more mature and taking more responsible choices. It's also closing a karmic cycle, etc.

Thank you for reading!

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[stellarsagittarius]

How would you meet your future husband / wife - Based on Jupiter/Venus Persona Chart Pt. 1

[P.s. Please follow me on Instagram and Tiktok @/Stellar_Sagittarius I post even more astrology content on it and it's a business I'm trying to grow. Your presence means a lot to me ❤️.]

Masterlist: All my astrology posts at one place

(If you are looking for a man, check your Jupiter Persona Chart. If you are looking for a woman, check your Venus Persona Chart)

(Disclaimer: Don't be fixed on this reading! Always have an open mind because the Universe works the best when you have trusted and let go of expectations! Also, the chart won't tell you the exact place or time or how you would feel about something, no one can do that. What it WILL tell is the theme that can be the most prevalent during that event, and how the event can play out.)

Step 1 - Go to Astro.com -> Horoscopes drawing and data -> Extended chart selection -> Select chart type 'Persona Chart' -> Click on 'Additional Objects -> Manual entry '1585'.

Asteroid 1585 is the Union asteroid. It can show how you can "meet" or "come together" with someone.

Fun fact: I checked this Union asteroid in my composite charts with my friends, siblings, my mobile phone, colleagues, and everything fit so well like puzzle peices.

What we will look in the Jupiter/Venus Persona Chart is the Union asteroid, it's sign, house, and the placement of the ruler of it's sign.

For example, in the composite chart of my phone and I, Union is in the 7th house of Aries, and the ruler of Aries (Mars) is in the 6th house of Pisces. When I went to buy my current phone it was an impulse decision, I was with my father. We were returning from my college (he picks me up everyday, so it's our little routine (6th house)). We were driving (Mars theme) and I was with someone (7th house). He said, "Why not let's go and get you the new phone?" Very unusual of my father because he is very slow and thoughtful person. And just then we went to buy it. It was an impulse buy.

And this is just one of the many examples.

Let's get into reading the Union Asteroid in your Jupiter/Venus Persona Chart.

Union Asteroid Through The Houses

Union in the 1st House -

The first house is all about "yourself". So think of you initiating something. Perhaps you approach this person, or you are the one who initiates the conversation. You could be the center of attention, or you catch the attention of your partner, whether it's your looks or personality. "You" are the focus. This is related to a place where you would stand out or play an important role with your mindset/ideas. They could even approach you, simply because they are interested in getting to know you. If Union asteroid in your chart has a 11th or 3rd or 9th house connection, then they could come across your "profile" on social media.

Union in the 2nd house -

The second house rules our values, possessions, beliefs, our body language, resources, personal finances, etc. There are plenty of situations related to this, going for shopping, while making a purchase, at a restaurant, taking part in some workshop to improve your skills etc. This is a situation where you are focused on your resources, and your skills. This could also be at a bank or shopping centers. Maybe this person changes your beliefs in your first meeting, or perhaps you meet them because you saw their car, and you absolutely loved it so you wanted to ask what model it was. You could have made some changes to your body when you met them.

Union in the 3rd house -

3rd house rules communication, locality, processing information, short distances, siblings, it rules personal communication and also the "media" part of social media. So you could first come across them on social media, like seeing them for the first time. You can meet through siblings or in your local areas. You can meet in high school as well. Some places are news stations, broadcasting companies, daily newspaper/magazine supplier, a bookstore, stationery, elementary school, through blogging or vlogging, through writing. Perhaps they write you letters or leave you notes. Or since you met them, you both talk nonstop/sharing information 24/7.

Union in the 4th house -

Our 4th house is all about home, privacy, security, comfort, our deeper emotions, family, the part of ourselves that we don't show to just anyone, could also depict the people very close to us. So think of meeting this person "through the comfort of your home", good for introverts! This is giving social media, because you don't have to go out somewhere. They just slide into your DMs or your slide into theirs ;) . Internet is a good example because we can use it at our comfort. We can do so much by just being at our home through the internet. Other examples is meeting through your family, perhaps your mom introduces you to them. Or maybe they are a delivery person, an electrician or a service worker who comes to your house to like fix the AC or something! This meeting would feel very cozy. Perhaps getting to talk with each other takes some time!

I have this in the composite chart with one of my best friends. Union in Aries 4th House. She is extremely introverted and shy. We met through the internet, she just randomly slide in my DMs. I was at home chilling in my PJs, and received her message. She had this "other account" through which she messaged me, due to her "privacy reasons". But she just overcame her overthinking and made the first move (Aries energy). Lol I still wonder how brave of her was to text me, she is super introverted! Oh, and also, the ruler of our 4th house is Mars, in 12th house. So the account that she texted me on, was an account that didn't have my real name or picture, it was a little self care niche account. Plus her own pfp was of only her eyes. So kinda sus energy lol with the 12th house.

Union in the 5th house -

Fifth house is all about creativity, pleasure, joy, having fun doing this or that, sex, hobbies, children etc. Places associated with the 5th house are amusement parks, art schools, cinemas, theme parks, movie sets, waterparks, nightclubs as well, etc. Think of pursuing a hobby or doing something solely for the pleasure it brings you, you could meet this person through that. This is also giving collaboration, for a creative project. Shared interests and hobbies! It could also start off as a one night stand or perhaps you both are very flirty with each other from the start. Every couple flirts ofc, but yours is emphasised! So think of teasing or being very playful with each other! Could indicate meeting through children! Perhaps you met at a kindergarten, aww!

Union in the 6th house -

6th house is ✨️That Girl✨️ house. It rules, routines, organization, health, fitness, pets, work ethic, the physical self care, the material realm, getting your life in order, etc. Think of going to run errands or going to the gym and bumping into this person. Perhaps you are out taking your dog for a walk, or going for a run, and you meet this person. This house rules all the mundane, daily life stuff. Perhaps they ask you for the directions when you meet them. This also rules parking lots, roads, vehicles, hospitals, daycare, salon, the vet. This is very routined. Perhaps this is someone you see everyday while going to work, but never got the chance to say hi.

Union in the 7th house -

The 7th house is all about others. It is more one on one, than a group. So think, when you meet them, the focus will completely be on getting to know the other person. Like completely immersed in the conversation, totally focused on each other's company. Someone else can introduce you both. This is like the definition of "meeting". You met, and now you both are genuinely interested in each other. The places could be anywhere you would directly approach them, instead of seeing them here and there or having something else as a focus. Dating apps is a good example, but only if your focus is on them, rather than other people on it.

This is in the composite chart of my bestie and I. I was talking to a friend, and my bestie just approached me. And we got to know each other just like that. It was in high school, about 5 years ago. We just became friends right away!

Union in the 8th house -

8th house is about what you share with someone else, transformation, secrets, bonds, joint resources, marriage, sex (as in bonding with someone, and not necessarily pleasure), other people's stuff, etc. The places associated with the 8th house could be banks, someone else's house, private clubs/bars, private offices, VIP lounges, etc. Someone else could play a part in this meeting or you can meet through some sort of joint collaboration. This is also giving, "Oh you left your diary at that coffee table a week ago, I had to give it back to you!" Somebody or something will help you come together. You could also bond with each other pretty quickly! Wingwoman/wingman energy!

Union in the 9th house -

9th house represents travel, long distances, foreign, higher education, other cultures, languages, adventure, universities, philosophy, spirituality & religion (the philosophical/moral/practical aspect of it), etc. So meeting your s/o through travel or while you are exploring something. Perhaps while you are in college/university. Meeting them through religion or shared spiritual interests. Perhaps a course where you are learning about other cultures or languages. Classic travel meeting. Could meet on an airplane or a long distance train. The relationship itself could start out as long distance. If this has 4th house or Gemini/Cancer connections, then meeting online/at your comfort, but being long distance!

Union in the 10th house -

10th house rules our public image, our career, the part of ourselves that shines the most. It rules buildings, workplaces, companies, public parks or public places. This could also represent our public profiles online, such as for work or businesses. So yes, meeting through your work is significant. Could be a business meeting at first. If there are relations to 5th and 8th houses then it could be to collab on something creative! You could meet through your boss. And keeping the work aspect aside, if you are someone with a public profile online just because you want it so, it's also a 10th house thing. An aspect of your public image will be highlighted! Your work and career will be significant.

Union in the 11th house -

This is the classic friends to lovers placement, no matter how slow or fast it is. 11th house rules communities, friendships, social groups, hope and ideals, long term plans/visions, "social" part of social media, being an influencer or having an audience, networking, building your career, etc. This is a very social house and this meeting will have a focus on networking, becoming friends etc. Perhaps this is a meeting through friends, or meeting at a networking party. They could see you online or be intrigued at the work you do. Perhaps they want to work with you.

Union in the 12th house -

Twelfth house is the house of unconscious, mysteries, theories, conspiracies, hidden, mystical, fantasies, imagination etc. Everything to do with the mind, and not the things that are practical or "material" enough. This is the spiritual realm, the realm of unseen. This also rules isolation, mental health, heavy contemplative states. It rules prisons or hospitals (in a way that you are isolated). Meditation retreats are ruled by 12th house as well. Places that are far away and where we take the journey alone. So yes, meeting when you are alone, or even an account messaging you where the owner is hidden (not saying talk to strangers, but you get my point). This meeting could start out as a secret or won't be apparent to other people. You both could meet at a place where you both are alone, etc. You both could connect over the matters of spirituality and mysticism.

This is it!

You can book a reading with me, text me, I'll respond. I just made this blog so I'm yet to create an official post regarding booking readings!

Stay tuned for the next part!! ✈️✨️

[juicybeetz]

Here are all of the newspaper headlines in Beetlejuice Beetlejuice:

CASE WORKERS STRIKE CONTINUES: 7 Days of Strikes

Exorcism at Record High!

Workers Wrongly Assigned Suicide At Death

62% Spike in Waiting Room Complaints

Morality Police Embroiled In Unlawful Termination Suit

Davis Digs Himself a Deeper Grave

Ouija Board Curfew Implemented

Wraith Taunted By TV Crew

Ectoplasm Leak at Plant Number 10

Til’ Death Do Us Part: Or Not?

The Ghost Hell-bent on Social Justice

Renovation of The Pearly Gates Scheduled

Shape Shifting Seminars Planned

“I’m so Flattered” says Woman Hit by Truck while Accepting Award

Pest Exterminator Exterminated by Pests

Ballerina Dances With Death

New Dating Service That’s Dying To Take You Out

Ghoul Scares The Living Daylights Out of Solar Panel Salesman

The Ghost Wanted: Unauthorized Soul Swap

Bone Appetit: Former Chef Opens Restaurant

Car Crash Victim Goes on to Win Formula 666

Man Who Sold His Soul Wants It Back

Stairway To Heaven to be Repaired

Petrol Bomb Creator Enters with a Bang

Serial Killer Arrives, Comes Face to Face With His Many Victims

America’s Ghost Wanted List Updated

Dead Cert for Player of the Year

There are six headlines that I can’t read because Michael’s hand is in the way or he opens the paper too fast. I can only make out the words of one of them: “Bones” “Wreck” “Score”. Another one talks about something reaping total havoc (the Grim Reaper?) and doing something to 2 men (halving them?).

I was hoping that each of these headlines would have fully written articles, but oddly enough, all of the small text underneath each of the headlines is copy-pasted from Charles Darwin’s “The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals.” Interesting choice of placeholder text!

I’m going to make another post about the obituary section, specifically about Charles’s obituary. It looks like most of the obituaries have information under them instead of placeholder text, but the one that says “Dead Beat Dad Instant Local at Dive Bar” has the Darwin placeholder text under it.

There’s also a horoscope section (horrorscopes, heehee) of the paper as well as a personal ad section. I can barely read the horoscopes, but I might attempt to decipher some of the personal ads later. Why did they make all of the fun stuff so blurry in this movie?! 😫

Also you can buy the paper for $.25! Inflation hasn’t hit the afterlife yet! 😆

[moonchild033]

Random astro community related thoughts going on my mind 😏😑

I would request u all to read it thoroughly but yea whatever😏

Idk how many ppl are going to get offended or have controversial views to this but since it's MY BLOG, I'm gonna write things that are constantly disturbing my mind.🙂

First of all, I'm feeling truly devastated by seeing the number of astro posts circulating around Liam Payne's d*ath. Why r u hellbent on dissecting someone's d*ath? Idk what tropical astrology teaches, so I can't say anything about that, but as far as ik, traditional vedic astrologers are trained NOT to predict someone's demise or dissect a de*d person's chart, so kindly refrain from using vedic astrology and its tools such as divisional charts to do this, I find it very disrespectful. Vedic astrology can just be a science or interesting content for u, but for other ppl it's a part of their heritage and it has its respect, so don't misuse it. Also I kind of think it's literally humane to not make content out of someone's demise, be a human first then u can be a celebrity.😒

Be responsible about what u say, u might not know how much impact your words have but there are ppl who are following and reading your posts. I feel like some knowledge should've stayed in the same place, protected and safe in the right hands rather than accessible to everyone, Kali yug is definitely not the era where ppl r sensible enough to understand how to wield knowledge bcoz it is literally a POWER. 😌

The way the world of Nadi astrology is destroyed by the same means, knowledge going in the wrong hands, now it has become a whole scam, spinning tales and extorting money. Nadi is where sages like Agasthiya wrote future horoscopes and its predictions along with their past lives. Our lives have been written in palm leaves years ago, the main sanctuary of the collection is in Tamilnadu, it was passed on from generation to generation in certain family lineages, then some of them sold it, made fake ones and it got sparsely distributed and now almost vanished (Ik in specific temple some of the originals are stored even today, I'll not mention the name, I'm tired of misuse of knowledge, if u r genuinely interested Google is free). Even our accurate d*ath incident is written in there but the real nadi families back then were trained not to reveal it, so they just say 'Stay healthy and careful in that time, be cautious while driving' that's it. I know of real life incidents predicted through that, my dad's friend and my bestfriend 's mother both d*ed on the same predicted year and month by the same warned incident, my dad's friend was asked to be cautious of vehicles in that time period and he d*ed due to an accident and my friend's mom was asked to take care of health issues on a specific time period and she d*ied due to cancer. It's ur choice to believe in an age old writing of ur destiny in a palm leaf but it was an accurate tool some 20-30yrs back but today when it went into the wrong hands, that is when the knowledge got spread rather than being protected and reached ppl with wrong intentions, it all went berserk, now they just bluff nonsense. Still there are authentic family lineages with real texts and skills but it's very hard to differentiate between a whole lot of fraudsters. 🙃

So yea, overall I'm pissed off about the fact that some things are better to have left the way it is rather than showcasing it to the whole world to have it misused, like vedic astrology too, if u r learning it, respect it's ethics too, don't disrespect it's norms for the sake of ur content.😌😬

Idc if u disagree with me, this is MY opinion and I'll stand by it, BYEEE 😤😌

(But I'm angry too 😒)

[30somethingautisticteacher]

Buck and Tommy first time celebrating a birthday together

"He didn't even tell me it was almost his birthday! Who does that?" Buck asked, pacing around his sister's kitchen.

"People who don't care about celebrating their birthday?" Maddie suggested, watching Buck's agitation with amusement.

"But I want it to be special," Buck began. "He makes me feel special every day."

Maddie smiled at her brother's words. "Have you talked to him about it?"

"No, it happened pretty quickly this morning. I was reading horoscopes and I wanted to do his, so I asked his sign and he said Scorpio!" Buck's hands flew up in exasperation. "He goes 'oh yeah, I guess my birthday is next week!' Next week!"

"Buck?" Maddie said. "Just talk to him."

"Ok yeah, you're right." Buck sighed.

That night, Buck found himself sitting down to dinner with Tommy. He pushed his food around his plate, gathering his courage.

"Tommy? Why didn't you tell me about your birthday?"

Tommy set down his fork, his expression growing serious. "I knew you'd want to make a big deal about it, and I can't. Birthdays were not a happy occasion growing up, and I just need-"

"Hey, stop," Buck said softly. "We celebrate you your way, just the two of us."

"Yeah?" Tommy asked, vulnerability clear in his voice.

"Yeah," Buck assured him, squeezing his hand.

Thanks for the prompt, love! I'm not exactly sure what this is, but it's where my brain decided to go. Enjoy!

[saturnianoracle]

How to learn real astrology: what it is and is not

As above, so below, as within, so without, as the universe, so the soul.

It is VITAL that if you want to understand astrology properly, you come in with an open mind and forget everything you think you know. Especially, remove yoruself from the belief that astrology is some occultic mystical spiritual practice, and/or that it is solely some psychological tool.

I used to be quite the hater of astrology. None of it 'resonated', and it seemed like wishy washy hippie shit. In lockdown, astrology stuff kept coming onto my feed, and some of it made sense, but most still did not. I then initially wanted to debunk astrology. But when I properly stated looking into it, the deeper I went the more accurate it started to become. Equally, parts still remained highly inaccurate. But this was due to a mismatch of how 'influencers' out there synthesised and understood the traditional foundations of astrology and modern information. Thus, I committed myself to truly understanding astrology, and my life has significantly improved for it and I've only just started.

As an introductory post to what astrology really is, I have formatted it into the following sections: i. the problem with pop culture astrology, ii, the history of astrology, iii. how astrology works, and iv. where meaning in astrology comes from.

The problem with pop culture astrology

This is the type of astrology we see in newspaper horoscopes, online articles, tiktok viral posts, instagram horoscopes, etc.

This is borne out of the allure astrology holds for desperate individuals seeking an easy and quick answer to their life problems, and using it as a form of confirmation bias for hating their ex (for example). But this misuse of astrology will undoubtedly hit for most people, due to the barnum effect, but is ultimately inaccurate and those who think it true have now misleadingly correlated the pop culture reasons for why X happened to what astrology is.

The new moon in your 7th house is not a sign that your crush will leave his partner for you. Being a gemini sun does not mean you are a two faced, loyal-less individual. Having your sun sign the same as their venus sign does not mean you two are compatible. And so on and so forth.

Here are some key things to understand about astrology:

✎ Stop using co-star, and those websites which give you your astrology information like this:

-> This does not tell you anything remotely significant aside from standard archetypal and superifical meanings of having a sun in Sagittarius or whatever (which you might not even 'relate' to, because of a multitude of other factors this does not show). Your chart instead, should, at the very least look like this:

-> Even better, make a chart and add in decans, asteroids, and considers more aspects. Viewing your birth chart like this is essential for gaining a better understanding. Aspects are what brings everything in your chart together to give it more significant and individualised meaning, the houses and the angles are also explicitly identifiable this way. Also, always make sure your chart is in whole sign houses, I will make a post on this later on why, but you will have to go to settings for this as popculture astrology has made placidus the default (as well as other inaccurate takes).

✎ Sun sign is astrology is fake, no matter how much you think it resonates with you it is the wrong footing to base your understanding of astrology off of. Astrology is extremely complex, one thing might resonate for one person and not for another, because of house placements, condition of the planet, aspects to the planet, etc. Consequently, all basic and simplified delineations of a chart are unhelpful and will put you on the wrong footing for future proper readings you might wish to do. This is how astrology can be so inaccurate.

✎ Astrology is not about resonating. Although, this is a part of how we can test astrology, it is linked far too much with resonating with personality. Your birth chart is not a map of who you are specifically, we evolve all the time (as the universe, so the soul), it is a map of your entire life. It is a map of the sky and its energies the minute you were born. Some things you think you do not resonate with is because those energies have not yet played out in your life.

✎ Astrology is not a psychological tool, although it can give us insight into psychology when used and understood properly. Again, it is the blueprint of our life.

✎ Astrology is not spiritual. It is not a belief system, either. Although, one can use astrology to advance their spiritual practices.

✎ Free will exists. I will likely go into this in another post but the energies of our bith chart, solar return chart, profection year, progressed charts, transits etc, are merely indications of how things are likely to unfold. The energies are malleable within their themes' ambit, and it is up to us to decide how we choose to interpret what is/will happen and what to do with that information. A transit might indicate difficulty in a law suit, ok, how can I mitigate that then? What other charts, energies, and transits can I use? If I did not know of this then I would not know how to alter my behaviour to yield a better results, even if it might not mean a completely opposite result.

✎ Your natal chart will not show you everything. There are relocated charts, progressed charts, solar return charts, profection years, etc. All this goes into a holistic assessment. Your natal chart, however, will always remain the anchor of it all.

A brief history

Astrology is not some woo-woo, spiritual, new age, belief system. Astrology's history and use goes back to the Babylonians. It used to be intertwined with astronomy; Galielo and Kepler, for example, were simultaneously astrologers and practised it widely (even as court astrologers). People in positions of power have always consulted astrologers to time events, in the modern era many Royal families, celebrities, and politicans still consult astrologers. Carl Jung, JP Morgan, Nancy Reagan, and Roosevelt are examples of this. Of course, it might be argued that just because famous people have used/use astrology does not give it any more credit to which I say: ok please read my post below pls and ty xo.

Astrology's history has been relatively tumultuous, however. I have condensed this timeline from an article I found below:

- Astrology was a widely accepted practice but, in Europe, after the fall of the Roman empire and much of Europe, it fell into decline along with other disicplines. - The middle ages saw a renaissance of intellectualism with a particular focus on science and thus the astronomy part of it. This was largely due to the Church who viewed astrology as divination and going against free will. - However, in other parts of the world astrology was still a crucial element of daily life, and those in power would use astrologers to time events. - Astrology did re-enter the curriculum, though, in the 14th century, with a focus on being used for medical astrology in part due to the recently available Hippocratic Corpus. These texts were crucial to advancing our understanding of medicine, but Hippocrates emphasised that "a physician without knowledge of astrology has no right to call himself a physician". Astrologer still had a healthy dose of criticism back then, though. - Astrology was a major field of study in universities in Europe, well ingrained in daily life. - It died out in the 17th century, mostly due to the increasing emphasis on science being increasingly and misleadingly viewed as separate from astrology, the church, and astrologers falling into disrepute due to political involvement. - Its resurgence in the 19th century saw an oversimplified, and largely 'spiritualised' version of astrologer. This is because this period also saw an increased interest in the occult and mystic. - Since becoming conflated, astrology has become even further diluted, but this is not to say that every new discovery has been wrong; modern interpretation is crucial to informing the bigger picture of astrology and how we can utilise it. But it is vital to be critical and separate it from pop culture nonsense, aimed at lost and desperate people looking for quick answers and confirmation bias, and have some media literacy.

So, how does astrology work?

: ̗̀➛ Astrology has NOTHING to do with the physical constellations. Astrology is based on the signs on the ecliptic (the path of the sun amongst the constellations, which is the plane of the earth's orbit).

: ̗̀➛ The equator has 15 constellations, and the ecliptic has 13. So why do we have 12 zodiac signs? This is because babylonians divided the ecliptic into 12 equal segments of 30 degrees each thousands of years ago. The ecliptic was divided into SIGNS. 12 constellations were just used to identify where in the sky each sign would be, at the time for ease of astronomical mapping/calculation - it is merely symbolic. This is why Opphiuchus is not the 13th Zodiac SIGN, although it is a constellation (and has always been known).

: ̗̀➛ Another reason why they are not based off the physical constellations is because the actual size of the constellations vary massively in size. Below is a representation of this:

: ̗̀➛ As you can see, Virgo, for instance is huge, and on a literal view overlaps into the next segment because the constellations do not all equally fit a 30 degree division. Yet, we do not give scorpio like 5 days for its season, because the physical constellation does not dictate anything meaningful.

This gives us the tropical zodiac, which is to do with the earth's seasons:

: ̗̀➛ The solstices are therefore reference points for Capricorn and Cancer (tropic of capricorn and tropic of cancer), not the constellations themselves. Accordingly, the spring equinox is marked by Aries (with the sun entering the segment of Aries at 0 degrees until 29), and the autumn equinox by Libra.

: ̗̀➛ The precession of the equinoxes, are therefore irrelevant to astrology (and this is why vedic/sidereal is, in my opinion inaccurate). The slow change of the direction of the earth's axial tilt, over around 26000 years, cause a precession of the equinoxes. This means, the segment of the sky that used to be identified by the Aries constellation from the earth's position at the time, is now looking at Pisces. But as we know, astrology has nothing to do with the physical location of the constellations. Vedic astrologers use sidereal positioning, aka taking into account the precession of the equinoxes, yet they still divide the ecliptic in the same way. This causes problems, leading to many branches in vedic because few agree on where aries actually even starts. But, I will write an extension of this segment in a future post on tropical vs vedic/sidereal astrology.

Where does astrological meaning come from?

As explained above, constellations do not give us meaning, the planets in the signs do (of which the signs' names just derive from where the constellations were at the time, i.e. are merely symbolic).

Astrology operates in a heliocentric context, in that its setting is derived from the solstices (as the sun is what gives us life) and the ecliptic etc, but is geocentric in function in that the meaning comes from how the celestial bodies going through the signs affect us on earth; it is all about OUR relation to the planets, not constellations.

Returning to the quote above (as above so below...), what happens up up there reflects its energies down on us below. For thousands of millenia, astrologers have developed an accurate pattern recognition framework which aligns with the maths and astronomy. This was done using the ephemeris, which tracked the trajectory of celestial bodies against the context of worldly (mundane), or natal events. Eventually, this knowledge could be used for predictions, (to understand transits, or for electional and horary astrology), by utilising the knowledge of how the trajectories of the planets and their interactions with eachother in what sign and house affected what.

Why does it affect us? Well, all the things that happen above us radiate energies. But when I talk about energies, I do not mean it in some spiritual sense, it is quite literal. Everything has frequencies. As mentioned above, astrologers, since the Bablyonian times, have studied these patterns and created an objective framework to align with it. Physical energies or not there is direct causation. The moon for instance, affects the tides on the planet because of its gravitational pull. We are 70% water, there is little reason to deny that the moon cannot affect us either (it does). Perhaps you might understand your broken leg as because of being hit by a car. But astrology can assess the chart of the event, and transits to your own chart to provide further explanation of why you got hit by a car in the first place, and why it caused a broken leg etc. Subsequently, the energies of what happens above relate to the themes found in planets, signs, houses, aspects, asteroids etc - but these energies are not set in stone as explained above.

Ultimately, it is disappointingly small-minded to think that there is nothing 'greater' than the physical reality we tether ourselves to. We are in fact part of something bigger; and again I do not mean this in some culty spiritual hippy sense. It is literally a fact, the world and cosmos at large is so vast, mysterious, and beautiful, how could anyone deny the interconnected web we are all collectively a part of. We might never fully understand the mechanisms of the universe, but what we can do is use the information we do have to make use of it and help inform us on how to live better lives. The fact there is something 'greater' inherent in our lives, connecting everything, which is objectively difficult to truly grasp, is not a reason to reject it. A lot of people who are averse to astrology (which used to be me) are those who pride themselves on rationality and objectivity, yet are restricting themselves to a very particular interpretation of what rationality and objectivity means.

With all this said, I hope it has helped someone understand and appreciate astrology better. There is such a fascinating rich and deep history to it, spanning various cultures and eras, making it difficult to at least not enjoy learning about even if one still chooses to not practise it. I would like to reiterate, however, that to truly embrace astrology and its millenia of knowledge, evidence, and practice behind it, one must divorce its concept from pop culture astrology.

[pompadourpink]

hi ive always wanted to learn french but i dont have a lot of time and not really discipline either what is your advice? thank you, love your blog

Hello,

About the time: you don't need that much. Fifteen minutes every day is better than five hours once a year.

About the discipline: you don't need that much if you know why you're here. Make a list of small goals and try to hit one every week (read an article about fashion, translate a chapter of your favourite children's book, watch a Bluey episode, write a diary entry). Have a bigger one, like chatting with natives when you visit in Year X, get a picture of the city you're going to, frame it, put it up.

If feasible, book me! If you are a student, I take 25 euros (or US$27 or £21) an hour - and if your currency makes it hard, I'm always open to discussion! I have been blogging since 2016 so reading the blog and exploring tags will help but having someone experienced signal the right direction is very valuable to avoid learning blindly or memorising the wrong rule or pronunciation, etc.

What fifteen minutes look like:

1/ Re-read what you read yesterday, study your notes: read them out lout (la chaise - the chair), repeat them while looking away, write them down again, hide one half then the other, from top to bottom then from bottom to top. I recommend Notion for this, handwritten notes get messy.

Do an activity: the Linguno A1 crossword in level, theme and present conjugation (move up when you get bored) is great. When you get better, you can write down what you did yesterday or record yourself summarising something out.

Reading: anything you like as long as it's fun, whether it is a Reddit post, a newspaper article, your daily horoscope, or a few pages from a children's book or comic.

I understand that a lot of reading may seem like a narrow way to learn but I have been doing this job for almost four and a half years and one thing is clear: trying to simultaneously learn every aspect of another language, let along one that has very little to do with your own, is the best way to get discouraged.

Reading will get you to learn vocabulary, understand how syntax word, memorise conjugation, get you an idea of when to use what tense, which will then make your life easy when you start listening, speaking, or writing, because you know how the choreography goes, you just need a minute to put your feet down.

Hope this helps and good luck! x

[superblysubpar]

masterlist | the music

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course not. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You couldn’t tell me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” he quietly agrees. 

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

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

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

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

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

It’ll all be fine. 

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

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

Fuck Taylor Swift and her poetically relevant lyrics. 

You’re fine. 

“Mommy, why is that lady wearing pajamas?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mommy, what did that mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ouch. Who broke your heart?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have fun walking back then!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Strike one. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Strike two. 

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

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

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

“You have nothing and no one.”

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

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

SMACK.

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

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

“Why?” 

“Because it’s easier!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SMACK.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, me too.”

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

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

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

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

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

Strike three. 

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

Denial. 

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

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

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

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

“Out of the bike lane!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure, yeah, good. You?”

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

“Good.” 

“Yeah.”

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

You hate that you don’t hate him. 

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

“You two are acting weird.”

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

Steve stammers, “N-no, we’re g-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, this just from Mariano’s then?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah?” 

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

“No you didn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, wait-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you’re not in love with her?”

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

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

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

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

“Placeholder?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is that supposed to mean?”

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

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

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

“I-”

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

“Y/N, it’s not that simple!”

“It is! What do you want, Steve?”

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

“I can’t believe you two.” 

This is the moment. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve laughs, “Oh, I’m sure you can.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck!”

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

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

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

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

Open the fucking door. Nobody’s leaving you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re lower actually.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah and look at what happened.”

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

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

“Have you talked to him?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shushes you, “Tough tater tots toots.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Easier than breathing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

What if. What if. What if.

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

 “Hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Woah, woah, woah.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? Steve, why, what-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

“You liked it.” 

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

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

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

[a-d-nox]

Hi I read your post about vertex persona chart and the part you said to save it and check the astroclick travel map to see where we are meant to travel and why or where can we feel at home

So I'd like to ask how can we do that? Can you make a post of how to read the lines please? Thanks

how to convert your vertex persona to an astromap and some observations for when you read this astromap

first get the persona chart

on astro.com go to the "extended chart selection" page, for "chart type" use the "persona chart" option, click the big green "show the chart" button, the vertex is already preloaded in the options so use the drop down to select "vertex", finally click the "go!" button next to your name.

now convert the chart into a map

click the "save" button, two options will appear - click "add to 'my astro'", a pop-up message will say it is added to your collection - use the "click here" hyperlink to bring you the vertex persona's "extended chart selection" page, click on the plus button in the "horoscope for" box, two options will appear - click the "edit" button, select any gender aside from the preselected "event/other" so the astromap can be formed (because it requires a gender to become a map), click the green "continue" button, click on the three lines in the upper right corner for the side menu to appear, click the "locational astrology" section, two options will appear - click "astroclick travel", and you are there!!

on to the observations!

☆ sun/dc line can make you feel like you where bound to meet people who give you genuine attention

☆ sun/mc line can show you where you feel the most yourself and/or will help you realize who you are / who you want to be

☆ moon/ac line will show you where you want to settle down and make a house a home

☆ moon/ic line can show where you reconnect with your mother and/or make you feel vulnerable like a child

☆ moon/mc and/or the vertex persona's 4h ruler / mc line will show you where you are meant feel right at home - you are likely to adjust well to the change of scenery too

☆ when you visit a mercury line you feel like it is fate that brought you there - things might weirdly line up, you might have important conversations, and/or meet important people

☆ mars/ic lines are where you tend to make a lot of impulsive decisions that lead you towards your fate

☆ mars/mc is where you can really get to work on a passion project of yours

☆ mars zenith is where your passions can become your career - your ambition will serve you well

☆ jupiter lines tend to make you feel happy, fulfilled, and lucky

☆ uranus/asc and/or uranus/mc lines are where your fan base is majorly from and/or where you can amass a lot of followers

☆ uranus/ic lines are where you can be your most free and authentic self

☆ uranus/dc lines are where unexpected huge life changes occur

☆ neptune/dc is where your dreams can come true

☆ neptune/mc is where you will transcend this lifetime

☆ pluto/dc lines are where a lot of people are obsessed with you

like what you read? leave a tip and state what post it is for! please use my "suggest a post topic" button if you want to see a specific post or mythical asteroid next!

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© a-d-nox 2024 all rights reserved

[flowersandbirdsflyingfree]

Hiii ✨️ I have a little ask for you!

How would the Primis crew react to a fem S/O that's generally quiet and reserved, only to learn that she is a big nerd when it comes to her special interests? Maybe she info-dumps and gushes about her knowledge of her special interest, and that's how they learn that she's really smart.

I, myself, am a huge nerd when it comes to astrology. Yet not many people know that 😅

Do take your time. I love your work 🩷

-🌾

AAAAAAAAAAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

I know I have to do this one!!! As a bonus, I'll throw in my personal headcanons for their astrological signs

Reactions of Primis: Quiet Fem S/O Excitedly Info-Dumps Their Passions (Includes Personal Perspective about Astrology)

Edward Richtofen - Sagittarius

His mind is always running a mile a minute all the time. So already listening to his s/o talk about their interests helps distract from The Horrors™️. Seeing you bounce about with joy after weeks of turmoil puts the softest smile on his face... And the biggest kiss on yours!

Intellectual conversation of any kind is something he needs for a close connection. Sharing one-on-one quality time like this is exactly what helps him thrive in a relationship. Even if a topic isn't something he is knowledgeable with, it will have importance to him if it's important to you.

Richtofen is rather strict about his scientific profession and typically scoffs at any pseudosciences. This is all a façade. What he will never tell you is that he secretly practiced alchemy in the past and has occult involvement with the Illuminati. Nevertheless, he would always be gentle to his s/o. The doctor will simply stay respectful and curious about your interest with astrology. I think in the long-term he might just spill a tiny bit about his practices to you.

Tank Dempsey - Scorpio

Seeing his soft-spoken sweetheart so suddenly excited is a very pleasant surprise (and he hasn't been able to find many good surprises this whole shitshow of an expedition). The fact that you trust him enough to open up so brightly like this helps him grow closer to you. Tank is a very good listener, but please forgive his dopey smiling the whole time. Your soothing voice and happy little mannerisms are making his heart throb. It's truly a sweet thing to see.

You never fail to open his mind to new experiences and interest. You can be both sharp-minded and sweet. Those are just some of many shining reasons why he loves you so much. With that being said, please come to him the moment you need an ear to let you infodump. Tank Dempsey is best known for his loyalty and reliability, so please remember that.

He thinks the mythology behind all the constellations are really cool! Orion is his favorite one. I suggest explaining to him during a stargazing date about the various celestial events while lying down on his chest. If it gets cold at night, he'll have you burrow underneath his leather jacket to keep warm. As for astrology readings, he would like to have his horoscope read (and perhaps get a tarot reading as well with you!)

Takeo Masaki - Libra

Takeo is a strong support who's always there to listen no matter what is on his partner's mind. He’s someone who will listen and nod without interruption. He may chuckle if you start to get jittery with joy about what you’re lecturing to him. Such a vibrant soul hidden in such a timid angel!

Takeo’s presence is very patient. If by chance you feel worried about “talking too much”, he reassures you that you could never do such a thing. You deserve to be able to thrive in what makes you so happy. And for shame on whoever tried to invalidate what you had to say!

Out of everyone in the Primis Crew, Takeo is the most spiritual without a doubt. He very much believes every soul carries a fundamental purpose. Being a more introverted soul, he can often be found reflecting in solitude. He would be able to discuss the philosophy of destined fate and similar divination topics with ease. Because it can go hand in hand, I think he would be able to perform a bit of Reiki healing if you were feeling particularly stressed.

Nikolai Belinski - Aries

Nikolai is already doting on you to begin with as his quiet yet kind girlfriend. Once something inspires you to express yourself, he is taken aback by how much passion you have for your special interest. It keeps him wondering more about you. You’re just a beautiful enigma he so desperately wants to know more of!

He’s more of a listener, but his add-ons to the conversation are either genuine questions to learn more about said topic or slipped-in compliments about how brilliant you are. Nikolai also may bring up stories it reminds him of. He could spend hours learning about just about anything you tell him.

The Soviet Union repressed a lot of expression, one of them being astrology. Because of this, Nikolai is completely new to it. Typically, he is a skeptic approaching anything that he comes across. But being his beautiful little treasure, you have the gift to get him to understand that the universe wants what’s best for him. He would grow to trust the divine and the guiding light of fate itself. He says the most profound things that would touch your soul with an enlightening comfort.

[leclsrc]

Could you maybe write a blurb for Charles . Just like the trend on tiktok, that you are having a argument with your boyfriend and during the argument you are flashing him with your tits?

my own doing – cl16

genre: smuuut, 2k celebration, toxic relationship bec i listened to pnd and care package so much tn

auds here... title from this (but also listened to this while writing), also this is not funny its just smutty anon i am sorry.

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, praise/dirty talk as per auds law, angryish sex, unprotected sex too (wrap it before u tap it)

“Didn’t you used to date this guy?”

The newspaper rustles, is turned to you, and Charles Leclerc’s flushed face is in yours displaying a championship-winning smile. It takes a lot for you not to visibly react, your lips still pursed and eyebrows still furrowed when you face your friend’s curious face again.

“Huh. Used to,” you chuckle. “I haven’t heard from him in forever.”

The only thing you’re used to is lying—and not only are you accustomed to it, you’ve also grown good at it. You lie to your friends, who ask where your flights are headed; to your dates, who ask if you’re committed to anyone; your mother, who asks you if you’re involved with anyone. You gulp, watching your friend’s interest fade away as she flips the page and reads the horoscope.

“Today, you will…” She hums, searching for your zodiac sign. “Hmm. Fall into old habits.”

—

“So wet for me,” Charles murmurs behind you, fingers toying with your clit. “So good, yeah? Missed me that much? Come on, cum for me.”

“Y—yeah,” you keen desperately. “So good, fuck, I’m gonna—!”

You grind back onto his cock when you cum for the third time tonight, legs shaking with overstimulation. As always, he cleans you up, presses gentle kisses to your hair and forehead, blowing softly over your sticky face.

“Flight tomorrow?”

“First thing. I have work Monday,” you say, turning over to face him. Your lips move softly against his neck, his jaw. His hands roam over the expanse of your bare back, tracing circles on your favorite spots; the ones that feel good, aren’t too ticklish. He knows every spot. Every inch. He’s the only one that does.

“Wish you didn’t.” 

You snort. “Wish I could believe that.”

—

Charles has high tolerance to just about everything. The worst type of drunk he gets is goofy drunk, which isn’t bad at all—he dances like crazy, starts telling the worst jokes, moves around a lot, is unnecessarily noisy, but all that takes him a fuckton of alcohol. It’s jealousy he falls into easily—and when he does, it’s almost a whole different Charles.

“I saw your post with Matt, or whatever. Pensais-tu que je ne verrais pas? Why post with some guy then fly economy just to see me?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re full of it. Matt and I—just friends. Don’t act like you’re not linked with every other girl in Monaco.” The conversation you’re having seems out of place when you’re on top of him making out, but alas.

“You are mine.” He says it, doesn’t ask it, no softness to his tone. He’s not angry, but he has something to prove. He licks hungrily into your mouth, his hand unbuttoning your jeans, sneaking into them. “No one else’s.”

“Yeah?” You smile into his lips. “You sure about that?”

He grunts, irritated, taking both hands and tugging at the collar of your tank top to eventually pull it off of you. The room smells like weed and sex, two of his favorite post-race pastimes. You arch into his touch, wait for his hand to make its way to the clasp of your lace bra and pull your jeans off.

“Can anyone else fuck you this good?” He bites on your lip. “Huh?”

Your kissing grows hungry, desperate, aggressive. He thumbs at your nipples, drags the cups of your bra down to tweak them and get them hard. You whimper his name and it sounds like music. You grind onto his cock in his pants, denim to denim, awaiting more friction, more pleasure. He walks you through it, slow, easy.

“Answer me.”

“No,” you say, lip caught in between your teeth.

“I know,” he says, kissing up your neck. “I know.”

“You’re so fucking”—you claw antsily at his shirt, at the hard abs underneath—“full of yourself.” But you love it. 

“Keep whining and you’re not getting fucked.” He cups your jaw, faces you toward him so you fully grasp his instructions. You groan, the noise teasing and petulant, but you nod anyway, letting him maneuver you out of your jeans even if it takes a few moments.

“Stop it,” you insist when his eyes are stuck on you, features shy. It’s always a reward for Charles, undressing you, so he can see your matching lacy sets (most of which he’d bought for you) and inadvertently realize how bad you want him to praise you.

“You just wait in my room in your pretty underwear hoping I fuck you?” He asks wickedly, his accent extra thick, sliding in and out of vowels and syllables slowly. “You want it that bad. Even when you say you don’t care about me. Even when you’re on dates with other men, no?”

“I don’t,” you lie, gritting your teeth as he pulls your panties to the side and slides a thumb over your slit. There’s something about being practically naked and him being fully clothed, with just enough room to tug his dick out.

“Couldn’t even wait ‘til we were in the same city, yeah?” He grabs you by your hips and pulls you downward, onto him, hot and tight, letting the stretch simmer. “Flew out here in fucking economy. Needed my attention that bad.”

“Charles,” you sob, guttural. He fucks up into you slowly. His words are too honest, too hard-hitting.

“Tell me,” he demands, pounding into you. “You can tell me. I wanted this too, baby. Was just gonna cum thinking of you but I got the real thing instead. Je ne peux me lasser de toi.”

You clench around him, giving in to the words, the persuasion, the pleasure. “Yes,” you confess, overwhelmed. Fuck, he’s splitting you open. “M’gonna cum. Wanna cum, wanna cum.”

“No. Wait.” He says firmly, and you curse, nodding, needing to follow his orders.

You’re tense all over, your orgasm brewing right at your stomach, and finally he’s throwing his head back, whining, releasing inside you. You follow suit, moanin, pushing back against it, your fingers playing with the damp curls at the nape of his neck.

Your foreheads collide, breaths mingling.

“I didn’t fly economy,” you protest. “First class only.”

“If we got back together,” he argues, “it’d be a private jet.”

—

“We have to stop this,” he says. Your mental tally chalks it up to six—six iterations of this exact conversation. Sometimes he starts it, sometimes you do. Today it’s him, because last night he cheated on his fling with you in the backseat of his car.

Is it really your problem? “Fine,” you say simply. “Stop it then. Block my fucking number and everything.”

“Ah, putain.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do you really think it’s that easy?”

“Jesus. How many times are we going to fight like this?” You roll your eyes.

“Until you and I realize the sex is awf—”

But you’re fed up. You take the hem of your flimsy tank top in two hands and pull it upward, showing him your tits underneath. “This is awful?”

His eyes darken. “You’re such a brat.” But it’s the same brat he’s pinning up against the wall and fucking dumb anyway.

—

You’re greedy. You broke his heart, but you want him to yourself. And he’s stupid. He’s broken up with girls just for one fuck with you.

“They’re not even together,” you tell Pierre when a picture of a random girl is shoved in your face. “He said so himself.”

“When?” His eyes narrow.

“I meant—I meant, he never confirmed it. You know what? That’s besides the point,” you say, face warm with embarrassment at being caught in a lie. “Which is that he’s single.”

“Why do you care? You broke up with him years ago.”

“I don’t,” you say. And this time it’s the truth. The sex has been off the table for almost five months now, and both of you seem to finally be moving on from the viciously toxic cycle of fucking and crying and considering getting back together and fucking friends to get the other jealous (you don’t speak of Carlos.)

It’s healing the way you’ve both been mature enough to forgive, to grow up and stop hurting yourselves and each other. Your phone buzzes and you lower the brightness, lest Pierre attempt to take a peek.

Room 1903 baby.

Be there in 5. And hey, your lying’s gotten really good recently.

[blood-orange-juice]

Ok, Childe as a wuxia/xianxia trope. It's honestly a bit embarrassing how well this fits.

(blame @a-yarn-of-purple-prose for this post and if anyone here is a wuxia fan feel free to correct me, I'm new to the genre)

Wuxia is a Chinese martial arts fantasy genre you are all familiar with. An adjacent genre is called xianxia, "immortal heroes", it ramps all the fantasy elements up to eleven and skews tropes a bit (we'll get back to that).

A common trope is some kind of unorthodox school/sect or technique, allowing to achieve greater power without the usual decades of training. It could be straight-out evil or just revolving around chaos.

Such a martial school is usually called an evil/demonic sect (sect is more like a clan in that setting, not the modern concept of sect) and their techniques tend to drive practitioners to insanity. Either because they are inherently corrupting or because getting too much power without growing as a person is really not the best thing for your mental health. They are also often cast from hp points.

And then there's the archetype of a demonic sect heir. The best pupil or simply someone who has inherited a lost art. Proud, always greedy for more strength, often noble in some weird way.

*points to our calamity of a boy*

Common elements of such stories include:

Falling into some weird realm or meeting a weird person who teaches the hero a Forbidden Technique

Learning a technique too quickly through some sort of magic/alchemy/memory manipulation

Some people are so singular in their pursuit they become insane (走火入魔)

Ambition bad, loyalty and family good

Conflicting loyalties, generally a conflict between a chosen path and personal weaknesses/attachments (could be both ego and familal love, and this is more of a xianxia trope)

Fits like a horoscope so far but wait.

There's a very interesting case of Korean murim genre (their version of wuxia) where sects are less varied (I recommend this post for a basic introduction) and we get three paths:

Justice/Righteous/Orthodox/Light — theoretically they keep the Evil Faction at bay, and protect innocent people, but usually are corrupt to the core

Evil/Unorthodox/Dark — these try gaining as much power as possible and attempt ruling the whole world

Demonic Cult — usually dont take part in evil and justice battles, follow their own code of conduct based on their religion, value strength above all else.

(I'm sure there's a similar distinction in wuxia too, I just can't find it in the deluge of lore)

"Demonic" is closer to "pagan" or "heathen" than Christian idea of demonic here, their beliefs are often based on Zoroastrianism and worshipping a sacred flame. Do you remember all the Persian themes used for Khaenri'ah? And Surtalogi being the flame on Surtr's sword in Norse mythology. I also had the impression that Genshin gnostic references are based on the Zoroastrian-flavoured branch of Gnosticism.

In murim the trope of demonic sect heir is called "heavenly demon" (I believe, a more correct translation would be "supreme heathen"), they are utterly badass, live for the glory of battle, seem more like forces of nature and follow a very strict honour code often conflicting with normal human ethics.

(do I need to spell it out)

TvTropes also says this about Korean stories:

(do I need to spell it out pt.2)

I'm not sure why a Chinese studio would focus on the Korean version of this trope but I'm sure something like this exists in China as well or maybe there's a popular manhwa that inspired authors.

Xianxia extends the fantastic element further, focusing on Taoist concepts and practices and adding all kinds of magical realms (celestial, demonic, etc) and magical beings and making immortality achievable. I still need to read more about it but if I understand that right, demonic heir trope turns into a demon prince in this case. An actual visitor from the demon realm or a practitioner who achieved immortality through dubious means.

These are fae-coded in a way very similar to Childe and have a certain nonchalance towards things most humans would consider traumatic. They are simply not bothered by them, having a different set of morals or faring from a realm that is much worse.

Our boy isn't that (he's still very much human) but he's aesthetically coded like one, same as Scaramouche is yokai-coded, despite not being a yokai.

So. When people say Childe's arc is a reference to Journey to the West, it's not entirely untrue, JttW is the classic of xianxia genre and Childe does belong to the same genre. He, however, is not Sun Wukong but a different, darker trope.

This also explains why he has that "shonen anime protag but not quite" vibe. Shonen was heavily influenced by wuxia but this trope never quite made it to anime or maybe never became popular enough. It's not a deconstruction, it's a different story. Or perhaps a deconstruction of that different story.

[florenceafternoon]

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

Really, we shouldn’t be surprised by now but I have more amazing jily AU fics to share because the writers of this fandom are incredibly talented and I have my screen report to prove it.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries on ao3.

serendipity by desperateforsanity (on ao3)

Modern college/uni AU. Dearest Students and Staff, I am pleased to announce Hogwarts University’s fourth annual Pen Pal Program. Upperclassmen and sophomores likely remember and cherish the memories of their previous penpals and are excited to make another friend this year.

TW: for the later chapters for discussions of grief and its effects on one's mental well-being. For the most part, though this is a fun fic full of great banter!

The Frenzied Misadventures of Balcony Man and Window Woman by @clare-with-no-i

prompt: "It's 3am why are you outside my window- are you trying to rob me?"

It feels necessary to preface this entire thing with the fact that, yes, James had good reason to be dangling precariously from a third-floor balcony, and anyone who says differently is simply attempting to smear his good name.

At least, that’s the story he’s sticking to.

Hijinks & Shenanigans

mellow is the man (who knows what he's been missing) also by @/ clare-with-no-i

Earl's Court. 24th May, 1975. Led Zeppelin live in concert like you've never seen them before.

FEATURING: prolonged eye contact, deeply metaphoric descriptions of cigarette smoke, painful levels of detail about makeup, and a special one-time performance by Two Teens In Love! OR: the "we made eye contact at a Led Zeppelin concert but my friends pulled me away to mosh before I could come say hello" AU

So when I say that I saw this unfold frame by frame in my head, I mean the writing is on another level. The way that I could almost smell Earl Court ... I regret waiting so long to read it. Also, found out this is written by the same author as one of my favourite jily fics foreigner’s god so that explains it “I'm not a religious person but I do sometimes think God made you for me.” ― Sally Rooney, Normal People

but he’s a little bit too far away by @firefeufuego

Historical AU. A decade after they met as cadets for The Times, the toll of James chasing stories in war zones is starting to hit home for Lily.

Taking A Shot At You by @annabtg

Modern AU. Lily Evans, pharmacist, has to work all day and night on New Year's Eve - and ends up ringing in the new year with a bloke who just got himself a dog bite.

The Right Track by BeeDaily (on ao3)

Co-workers modern AU. When James is first handed the train ticket, his immediate reaction is to laugh openly in his father's face.

the horoscope by lirians

Modern AU. James stops momentarily to give way to a bunch of rambunctious teenagers on the pavement before he regains his step. Lily has come to a halt a bit further, waiting on him.

“Horoscopes?” he asks as they move onwards. He’s relieved that any awkwardness between them is apparently gone. “How so?”

“Marly sent me mine this week because it said I would meet someone from the past again,” she explains. “I’m still not sold on the idea of it, but isn’t this weird?”

I was inspired to read this by this art

The Falcon and The Squid by @jfleamont

There's a Lego Millennium Falcon that needs to be built. There's also a bet, a ring and a bike.

Put it all together and what do you get?

Leda's jily will always be a favourite of mine. They're idiots in love your honour

Glastonbury by elanev91 (on ao3)

Prompt: we're at a music festival and you crawled into my tent when drunk and fell asleep, now you've woken up bewildered and to be honest I should be more annoyed but you're just so good looking

One Day at Time by @sweeethinny

Single-mum-lily AU. One day at a time is the mantra Lily uses to keep peace inside her mind, but there are days when it's simply impossible and in the end all she needs is a glass of wine, a cozy hug with her boyfriend, and a serious talk with her son.

Note that you can read this as a stand-alone one shot but it's part of a series that takes place in this AU

For All My Life by aheartcalledhome & SecondJadeofLan (on ao3)

When saving the bees ends in a happy family.

pumpkins and blueberries by evotter (on ao3)

Modern soulmate AU. In which Lily Evans hates puzzles, Marlene McKinnon is a coffee-making goddess, and the stuffy manager with the unkempt hair just so happens to be Lily's soulmate. In the wise words of Mary Macdonald, nothing is scarier than a relationship. Especially if it's with your soulmate.

After Moon by lovesickjily (on ao3)

When the universe sent Lily back in time for some inexplicable reason, she didn’t realise that she’d fall for the charming, messy-haired Prince along the way, nor did she realise that she’d see him once again.

here's to never growing up by elixirsoflife (on ao3)

Chat fic where a group chat documents the lives of four highly dramatic teenage boys as they navigate their A Levels.

Or, like, die trying.

Okay, I rarely ever read chat fics, they're just not my thing. BUT this one had me wheezing on my way to school. It's crack. Just treat it like crack

Ice Baby also by elixirsoflife

Modern college/uni AU. In his defence, James never expected to meet his soulmate at thirteen minutes past eleven on a Sunday morning when he’s aiming a puck at Sirius’ balls.

Or: call me sweetheart again and I'll punch you in the throat.

Not a Clue by PotterandEvans (on ao3)

Modern college/uni Quarantine AU. Lily stood in the doorway of the flat, looking at the boy in front of her. She had spent most of the last two years keeping her distance from the annoying piece of work, staying away from his ego mostly. “Come in.” She said, stepping away from the doorway to let him into the flat that she usually shared with Remus.

"Ah, so kind." James muttered as he walked inside, his heavy bag weighing him down. This really was not the ideal situation, for either of them. But he had nowhere else to go, so staying with Lily Evans it was going to have to be.

they were zoommates (requires an ao3 account) by elanev91 (on ao3)

Modern college/uni Quarantine AU. Lily's on lockdown and, because she can't help herself, signs herself up for a whole bunch of extra (and free) work with her ad agency. Minerva, her boss, assigns a cheeky social media manager to her team to help her. Also, Marlene discovers TikTok (this is nowhere near as important to the narrative as its inclusion here suggests).

And You Heard About Me (Ooh, We’ve Got Some Big Enemies!) by @wearingaberetinparis

Fame AU. Lily Evans is a Grammy-winning singer-songwriter and global superstar, who recently broke up from her latest and long-term actor boyfriend Amos Diggory. James Potter is a professional football player who plays as a forward for Manchester United and has never been quiet about his celebrity crush: Lily Evans. When Lily Evans thus plays at Wembley Stadium - a place he is more than familiar with due to his being part of the England team - he just has to go and see her perform, embracing his inner, besotted fan boy, while the woman on stage is completely oblivious to his presence. Or is she?

The most unrealistic part was man u winning (but it's James so that explains it). Regardless, I started this fic while waiting for my final grades from last year to come through, and while they were disappointing, this sure wasn't. I was crying so hard that I fell asleep. Then I woke up and continued the fic and suddenly I was giggling along with Lilly. Anything and everything Mary writes is a masterpiece. Thank you for sharing this wonderful story.

it continues (the beginning doesn't matter) by whitesunlars (on ao3)

She is the last person he expected at his door at that exact moment, despite feeling unsure about the fact that she managed to track down his address, he agrees to go out to coffee with her. A lot could be said about James Potter, but nobody could claim that he had good self-preservation skills.

They meet in a bar. Mistakes happen. They learn to keep going.