callie house

I’m sorry, but you can’t put two teenagers of the same age who aren’t related in one house with a love/hate relationship and NOT expect them to be shipped.

I get that Callie is like the ‘main character’ and she’s locked up but can we please let Jesus Adams Foster get the MAJORITY of your sympathy. Not just because he’s in a hospital bed fighting for his life but because he really didn’t do anything wrong to get him there in the first place. 

I mean, he accidentally put a nail through his brain because he was adorably trying to cover for his depressed father so he didn’t get fired.

And then he gets violently knocked out because he was trying to protect his twin sister. 

All of that is just 

FEEL SORRY FOR HIM

gay culture is rewatching your favorite shows and thinking you should have Realized™ a lot sooner because HOOOWOW do you have a type

Callie House (1861-1928)

Born in 1861 into slaveholding Rutherford County, Callie Guy, later known as Callie House, was a pioneering African American political activist who campaigned for slave reparations in the burgeoning Jim Crow-era American South. In her youth, Callie House lived with her widowed mother, sister, and her sister’s husband, Charlie House. In 1883, she married William House, a possible relation to her sister’s husband, and together they had five children. For an occupation, House took in laundry from other African Americans and from white patrons to support her family. In the mid-1890s, possibly spurred by greater economic opportunities and wider kinship networks, Callie House moved her family to south Nashville.

In south Nashville, various pro-reparations movements, advertised in pamphlets circulated throughout the local African American community, intrigued House. Inspired, House teamed with Isaiah Dickerson to organize the National Ex-Slave Mutual Relief, Bounty, and Pension Association in 1894. Before moving to Nashville, Dickerson worked as a political activist for William Vaughan, a white newspaper editor of the Omaha, Nebraska, Daily Democrat, who sought reparations for African Americans as a way to supply the South with much needed capital. Dissatisfied with the paternalistic mission of Vaughn’s organization, Callie House and Isaiah Dickerson traveled extensively throughout southern and border states gathering support for the new organization that would provide relief and services on a local level while agitating for reparations on a national level. In 1898, Tennessee laws chartered the Ex-Slave Pension Association that House and Dickerson started. This organization, unique among other assistance organizations, was open to everyone regardless of religious affiliation, financial standing, or color, and functioned on both a local and national level.

On a local level, the National Ex-Slave Mutual Relief, Bounty, and Pension Association functioned similarly to immigrant aid societies that emerged in urban areas in the early 1900s and existed throughout African American communities following the demise of the Freedman’s Bureau. Through the efforts of Callie House and other organizing agents, local chapters were established and funded through monthly dues to provide burial expenses for members and to care for those who were sick and disabled. In addition to the local goals of the organization, the Ex-Slave Pension Association was unique because of its national structure and goals.

Nationally, the Ex-Slave Pension Association held conventions, elected national officers, and worked for the passage of congressional legislation in support of ex-slave reparations. The national organization also provided traveling expenses to reparation lobbyists and local chapter organizers. Additionally, it corresponded with local chapters, which responded by paying national dues to further the goal of a reparation bill that would provide monetary compensation of ex-slaves for their labor in the antebellum American South.

However, Callie House and her organization faced opposition from both African American leaders and government officials. The passage of segregation laws throughout the South fostered this antagonistic climate. African American leaders such as Booker T. Washington and W. E. B. Du Bois largely ignored the reparations movement, focusing their energy on promoting education and defending equal treatment for African Americans within a white supremacist culture. White southerners viewed the reparations movement with suspicion; they saw Callie House’s organizing efforts as confusing and misleading to African Americans. From the white perspective, there was no chance of Congress passing reparation legislation; so whites assumed that the organizing efforts of House and Dickerson were defrauding African Americans of their hard-earned money.

In response from supposed complaints from white constituents, the U.S. Pensions Bureau, the governmental agency that supervised the dispersion of money to Union veterans, started covert surveillance on Callie House and the association. The Comstock Act of 1873 and its later revisions gave the U.S. Post Office wide powers to deem any piece of mail fraudulent and deny the use of mail to persons engaged in fraud or perceived fraud. In 1899, Callie House received notice that the Post Office had issued a fraud order against her and her organization, ostensibly because they were, according to postal authorities, soliciting money under false pretenses.

Continued federal hostility led House to step down from her post as assistant secretary of the Ex-Slave Pension Association in 1902. She continued to organize local chapters throughout the South, but after the failure of Alabama Congressman Edmund Petus’s reparations legislation in 1903, the reparations movement in Congress lost momentum and support eroded. Facing the prospect of stalled legislation, Callie House enlisted the aid of attorney Cornelius Jones to sue the Treasury Department for $68,073,388.99 in cotton taxes traced to slave labor in Texas. In 1915, they filed the suit in district court and, although the litigation raised the profile of the slave reparations issue, the District of Columbia Court of Appeals dismissed the suit, citing governmental immunity from litigation.

In 1916 Postmaster General A. S. Burleson sought an indictment against Callie House. On May 10, 1916, Nashville District Attorney Lee Douglass filed indictments against House and other officers of the National Ex-Slave Mutual Relief, Bounty, and Pension Association charging that they had obtained money from ex-slaves by fraudulent circulars proclaiming that pensions and reparations were forthcoming.

The district attorney’s evidence was flimsy. None of the victims of the supposed fraud were named, and the literature in question stated only that the monies paid to the national organization would be used to promote the passage of legislation for slave reparations. Additionally, Callie House still resided in the same home in South Nashville that she had originally moved to from Rutherford County, undermining the allegation that Callie House personally profited from her work with the association. Although the evidence was weak, an all-male, white jury convicted Callie House on the charge of mail fraud, resulting in a sentence of a year and one day. She served her sentence in the Jefferson City, Missouri, penitentiary from November 1917 to August 1, 1918, earning early release for good behavior. Following her release from prison, she resumed her work as a laundress in her local south Nashville community.

While the national component of House’s organization dissolved with criminal charges against it, other individuals and organizations continued House’s efforts to secure reparations and assistance for African Americans throughout the twentieth century. Callie House’s grassroots organizing, in the midst of a white supremacist culture, foreshadowed the rise of other African American groups and individuals, making her a pioneer within the African American community. Callie House died on June 6, 1928, and is buried in the old Mt. Ararat cemetery in Nashville in an unidentified grave.

A very belated birthday one-shot for the wonderful @drsweetheart​. Happy 17th, Bud! ❤️


Callie and Arizona had been back together for over four months now. Callie spent the first two finishing out her contract with NewYork Presbyterian, and the last month and a half staying at The Archfield while she settled back into her role as Chief of Orthopedics at Grey-Sloan. They decided it was too soon for her to simply move back in with her ex-wife-come-girlfriend, and Callie didn’t have the heart to look at real estate without the woman she knew she’d be spending the rest of her life with. They didn’t need to rush things this time. There was no car crash, or shooting. No trip to Africa, or surprise baby on the way. They had the rest of their lives to figure all of the details out.

And yet, between working out logistics for Sofia’s schedule and reaching the point in their relationship that allowed for sleepovers, they realized that Callie had all but moved in already. So Arizona presented her with a shiny new house key while on a date at a fancy restaurant to make things official, and Callie gladly accepted. Two weeks later, they were finally settling into a routine. It really felt like home again.

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anonymous asked:

Can you tell me how is it that Brandon started everything? Callie is the one who kissed him first, and she was going to tell him about her feelings in 1x09. I just want to see it from your pov, thanks.

This will be the last time I explain this because I’m actually pretty tired trying to justify why I dislike Brandon and how he started everything, especially because it shouldn’t need to be justified.

So when Lena first introduces Callie to Brandon, she tells him how Callie will be staying for a bit. But after a while, things start to get more serious between Callie and the family so Brandon should have stayed away from the start. He should have set boundaries.

Then 1x05 happens and Brandon picks up Callie after hanging out with Wyatt and Brandon throws a tantrum saying shit like “You just had me pick you up from a date with Wyatt! This isn’t even about Wyatt. I don’t want you dating anyone”. Gross ass Brandon started that, especially because Callie shut that shit down by saying that she can’t. Guess what Brandon says? He says “Too bad”. But thankfully Callie makes it clear - even by having the conversation, she and Jude can get kicked out of the house.

Callie set up a boundary and Brandon crossed it and took emotionally advantage of a girl who was going through a hard time.

A very happy birthday to my darling @blacktofade! Here’s a little birthday present for you chocked full of all the things you enjoy most. <3 I hope you have a wonderful day, bb!

Stiles pulls up in front of the school, joining the long line of other parents waiting to pick up their kids. He’s a little early, and it’s a nice day, not hot enough to require the AC, so he rolls down the window and shuts off the car, letting the background hum of traffic surround him. He sits for a moment, gaze far away, and then he lifts his hips, pulling the piece of paper from his back pocket. He stares at it for a long moment and then reaches for his phone, swiftly dialing a well-known number.

“Hey, it’s me,” he says, after it’s rang and rang and then gone to voicemail. Stiles breathes in slowly. “I saw the doctor this afternoon. She says it’s fourteen weeks. The due date’s right around your birthday. Um.” He closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s too early to figure out the gender, but she says it looks healthy, so, uh, that’s good. I’ve got another appointment on the first. Nine AM. I don’t know when you’re getting back but, um. It’d be nice if you were there.” He pulls the phone away from his ear and his thumb hovers over the end call button for a moment before he puts the phone back to his mouth. “I miss you,” he says, and hangs up.

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This is a woman named Callie House (b. 1861 in slavery, d. 1928), the leader of the largest-ever — and possibly least-known — African-American freedom organization, the National Ex-Slave Mutual Relief, Bounty, and Pension association. A washer-woman from Nashville with five children, who received only a rudimentary education, House worked with several Primitive Baptist ministers to establish a network of 350-400,000 ex-slaves and family members of ex-slaves across the South. Their constituency was generally destitute, but their operations were totally run by membership dues, which both helped with the cost of lobbying Washington for pensions for ex-slaves and served as a mutual aid fund to cover the costs of life events like burials.

This massive network of poor black men and women was seen as a direct threat to the political powers, which worried that her agitation would turn African-Americans into “anarchists” by organizing them around a cause that could not possibly succeed. Rather than acceding to the demand of a monthly pension and a lump “bounty” for every ex-slave and legal guardian of ex-slaves, the State instead slapped the organization with faulty charges of mail fraud, imprisoning House for 10 months. The campaign for pensions did not survive her imprisonment, but individual chapters functioned as mutual aid societies until the 1950s.

The growing black middle-class and black elite mostly shunned House’s efforts, as did newspapers black and white. House died of uterine cancer, and was buried in an unmarked grave. Her story was remembered only by the descendents of her ex-slave comrades, until Mary Frances Berry published My Face Is Black Is True in 2005.

Full House Part 13

Merry Ficmas Day 5 The shock of having a door slammed in your face is unlike anything else. There’s a moment where you wonder if the person really slammed the door on you, that moment where you wonder if you’re dreaming. Then, as the shock disappears, it is replaced with tears. Hot, fresh tears, filled with grief. You feel as though by slamming the door, they’ve cut off all ties that have bounded them to you. You feel empty. Alone. Open the door. His body refused to listen to his brain, his hands frozen on the deadbolt lock and handle of the front door. He could hear her saying the same thing his own mind was telling him, along with incessantly violent knocking, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. Open the door. “You son of a bitch!” Amelia yelled, her knuckles bashing on the glass of the door, “This is MY house.” Owen stared at the slightly rusty doorknob in his hand, trying to figure out why he locked the door. And why he couldn’t open it. “Owen!” he heard her yell again, slamming her flat hand against the door to give her knuckles a rest, “Open this fucking door, right now!” “Who. Is. Yelling. Outside,” Maggie grumbled, trudging down the stairs with the baby monitor in hand, to the source of the sound. Before she could get to the front door, the monitor rang with Ellis’ crying, forcing her to go back upstairs for her. Open the door, Owen. “Is that Amelia?” Maggie queried from upstairs with a baby attached to her hip. “Open the door, Owen,” Amelia said once more, her knocking and tone of voice lessening in intensity with each passing second. Then, in a small, desperate, wavering voice that only he probably heard, she whispered, “Please.” His fingers turned on the lock and opened the door, revealing the shivering, soaked doctor. Her eyes were red from silent tears she’d cried and her bottom lip trembled ever so lightly. “I,” Owen began, not sure why he’d started speaking when he didn’t know what to say. Maybe he felt obligated to say something because of how torn up Amelia looked. “I deserve better than this,” he finally said, looking at the ground as he uttered the words, “If the only reason you’re here is to apologise and hope everything goes back to normal, then I don’t want to hear it. You’ve had your chance, too many in fact, and I’m a fool to keep taking you back, to keep loving you with all I’ve got. It hasn’t been fair on me or you and we’ve been giving each other our all and have been pushing each other away, pulling back, pushing away and then reeling one another back in when it’s convenient for us. This isn’t love, Amelia. We can’t keep going on like this. It’s not…right.“ She wanted to beg, to get down on her knees, wrap her arms around his leg and beg for him not to say the words. But instead, she nodded. "It’s done,” she said before he could say it, hoping the words would have less of a sting if she’d said them, “We’re done.” The words, although he’d planned on saying them to her only moments ago, stabbed him in his chest and left him breathless. “Yeah,” he breathed, stepping aside to let her in. Wednesday Morning Meredith and Maggie were speaking in hushed tones in the kitchen, despite being the only two awake. As soon as she’d arrived home at 7:30 this morning, Meredith felt a difference in the house’s atmosphere. Maggie, who was getting ready to leave for work, took the time to sit Meredith down and explain to her what had happened last night. After hearing Maggie’s point of view of the story, Meredith pondered for a bit. “So Amelia is home,” she sought to confirm, “for good?” “I guess so,” Maggie replied, watching as Meredith audibly exhaled a sigh of relief. Despite maintaining a stoic demeanour for the past week, she was secretly terrified that Amelia would meet the same fate that Derek had, regardless of how foolish it sounded. “Okay,” Meredith said, “one problem out of the way. On to Owen and Amelia.” “Not sure if we can fix that one,” Maggie disclosed sadly, “they both seemed pretty done with each other in their own way.” “Ignore everything you thought you saw between them,” Meredith advised her, “they both usually act the opposite of how they feel. It’s something they have in common.” “Okay,” Maggie murmured, confused as to why two people who had obvious attraction for each other would push one another away, “so then how do we fix that?” “I’m not sure, but I think I may know someone who might,” Meredith disclosed, smirking at her sister. “Hey, the future of neurosurgery is back!” Callie exclaimed, walking towards Amelia with open arms. Amelia readily accepted the bear hug, “At least someone’s happy to see me.” “What?” Callie gushed, pulling away to furrow her eyebrows at the neurosurgeon, “Who wouldn’t be happy to see you?” Just then, Owen entered the hospital, walking towards the front desk to sign in. He mumbled a good morning to the two doctors, only maintaining eye contact with Callie and avoiding Amelia completely. Putting two and two together, Callie mumbled an ‘oh’ to herself. “He’ll get over it,” she assured Amelia. “I don’t think so,” Amelia replied with a strained smile and sad eyes. Thursday Afternoon Brown labelled boxes lined the outside of Owen’s bedroom door, all filled to the brim and ready to be moved to his new apartment. She ran her hands along the boxes’ edges, reading each label as she passed them by. Clothes. Appliances. Memories. Other. There weren’t many boxes, he was a light traveller and she noticed that when he moved from the trailer to their house. It seemed like such a long time ago that he’d moved in with them and was almost like a brother to all of the sisters. She slipped into his bedroom and sat down on his bed, looking at the hole in his wall that she’d sledgehammered a few weeks ago. Simpler times, she thought before looking into a box that was still being packed. The box was packed halfway with random items like old bathroom shampoos and blue packets of hair bleach that remained unopened. The shampoo that she’d put black hair dye in was also in the box and she wondered if he planned on throwing these items away or keeping them as memories from his time in the “frat house”. There was something else in the box that had caught her eye and she was about to reach for it when she heard his voice. “Uh…?” Owen muttered, making his presence known. Amelia flew up from the bed, patting the space where her rear had been, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. I was just…” “Reminiscing on simpler times?” he leaned against the door frame and looked down at his shoes, smiling softly, “Me too.” “So you’re finally moving,” she said to fill the void of silence. “Who’d have thunk,” he joked, walking over to the bed to see what Amelia had been looking at. Inside the box was a 4x6 photo of him and the three sisters posing drunkenly in front of the pool table. They’d taken the photo the first night they got the table and although he couldn’t remember some of the night because of the tequila, he definitely remembered posing for the picture. “Maggie just stay still,” Amelia stressed, trying to hold her phone far enough so that they were all in the picture. “I can’t find my earring,” Maggie slurred, looking around and walking all over, “I can’t take the picture without my earring.” “Yes you can,” she grumbled, putting her arm around Maggie’s shoulder and dragging her to where Owen and Meredith were standing awkwardly. With Meredith standing next to Maggie and Maggie next to Amelia, Owen took his spot next to Amelia and put his arm around her waist. “Everybody ready?” Amelia asked, holding her phone up, “Say sex!” “Sex!” Maggie screamed delightfully, “Wait, what?!” Flash. Meredith was smiling, Maggie had a look of total shock on her face, Amelia was grinning widely and the picture had caught Owen staring dazedly at Amelia. It was his favourite picture. “I printed it the week after we got the pool table,” Owen euphorically said, “I thought it was too nice a picture to just keep digitally.” He handed her the photograph, “Keep it. I’ll print another.” She took it and gave it a long look before looking up at him and smiling, “Thank you.” She stepped towards him and wrapped her arms around his torso. His warmth enveloped her as his arms circled her tiny waist, returning the hug. “So this is goodbye,” she said sadly, adjusting her head on his chest to look up at him. The sad blue in his eyes confirmed it, “Yeah.” He didn’t know what made it happen, what made the change, but looking down at her face…he felt his stomach churn with anxiety. It came from inside and he could feel the muscles in his jaw tightening. Amelia stared soberly up at him, so he guessed she could feel it too. Hard and steady on the back of her head, she felt his fingers tangling in her hair, his palm print on her neck. It was a good feeling. Slowly but surely, both their faces came closer until their noses were nuzzling one another and Amelia closed her eyes in ecstasy. Their lips met briefly, their warmth melding together for a few seconds before Amelia pulled away, already breathless by him. Desire began to beat fiercely in his veins, fueled by weeks of abstinence, and Owen pulled her close, his mouth opening over hers with sudden urgency. She responded by darting her tongue into his mouth, goosebumps flooding her skin when she felt his warm one on the other side. She reached for the hem of his black jersey and pulled it upwards, signalling for him to take it off. Owen pulled away and watched her with passion-filled eyes. Beautiful and luminous, full of love and longing. He raised his arms, pulling it over his head and flinging it aside. He swallowed, as his eyes fell to her mouth and his fingers began working on the buttons of her red flannel shirt, slowly exposing the black lace and creamy flesh as his lips left a hot path from her jaw down her neck to her collarbone. Her finger entangled in his golden locks as his mouth left love bites all over her neck and chest, however they longed for more. They longed for more skin to explore. His fingers were soft, brushing over her skin and giving her shivers as he pushed the blouse down her arms and to the floor. His left hand ghosted over the lace which encaged her breasts and she closed her eyes and offered up her mouth to him as he massaged it. Her hand reached out to find the waistband of his pants, tugging on it persistently. They were buttoned shut and she worked the button and zipper flawlessly. He was still as she pushed his pants down, except for his mouth running along her jawline and then back toward her lips. His pants clattered to the floor, revealing his tightly fitted, navy blue boxer briefs. In one swift motion, he cupped his hands on the back of her thighs, lifted her into his arms and brought his mouth to hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he stepped out of his pants and walked backwards towards his bed, plopping down onto it in a tangle of arms and legs. His box of discarded hair products and memories had gotten thrown to the floor in the process but neither seemed to notice as their mouths clashed and their tongues battled against each other fervently. The bond between them was fragile just then, both of them apprehensive about the future and the wounds they inflicted on one another. They were…broken. By each other. Owen’s hand slipped behind her back and unclasped her bra. He pulled the black cloth down her shoulders and off of her, revealing herself to him. He took his time caressing her side from breast to hip and back, over and over as her heart raced wildly, before he kissed each breast tenderly. He then ran a straight line of wet kisses from her sternum to the tip of her jeans, his fingers replacing his mouth. Agonisingly slow, Owen unbuttoned and unzipped her pants before pulling it down her thighs and off of her. They were now on the same level, in terms of clothing on their body. He returned back to her lips and propped himself up on his elbows, administering enough pressure on Amelia that he could feel her breasts pressing firmly against his. His heart beat next to hers to the same frenetic rhythm as she gently explored his face with his fingers as a blind person might, as if she had never seen it before and might never again. His left hand drifted lower to the seam of her underwear and dared to slip his fingers into them. A sudden gasp escaped her lips and into his mouth as she felt a finger burrow inside of her. He could see her pupils dilating the deeper he went and his member flexed within his boxers. His thumb rubbed around her sweet spot and her eyes rolled back into her head as she arched her back in pleasure, her breathing turning to panting. His finger thrusted slowly inside of her and she tugged on her own underwear, growing tiresome of the object that was in the way. Catching on, Owen pulled her last piece of clothing off of her, taking his own off right after. When he returned back on top of her, he gazed down at her. She could tell that he was waiting for her decision, that he wanted to know if it was okay for him to proceed. She pressed her hand against the middle of his chest in confirmation, feeling his erratic heartbeat. There were many things that Amelia wasn’t sure of, but this wasn’t one of them. She wanted him, this one last time, and she was sure he wanted the same. He gently guided his shaft into her opening, making sure not to hurt her. Euphoria overwhelmed both parties as his full length delved inside of her. His eyes sparkled with bliss as he felt her tight warmth all around him. It felt so good that he’d almost gotten lost in a trance, one which Amelia pulled him out of by moving her hips up towards him. Owen smiled at her and kissed her, taking her right hand and lacing his fingers with it above her head as he began to make love to her. He steadily moved in and out of her, his breathing matching his pace. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in further as he thrusted, receiving a groan out of him. Their movements weren’t rushed, they demanded no climax although it was welcomed. His teeth grasped onto her bottom lip as his movements became faster and her hand scratched against his back, leaving bruised in its wake. “Owen,” she whispered. He could feel the gradual unwinding of her and could see a reddish tinge blossoming on the skin of her chest, running right up to her cheeks. Watching her climax was unlike anything he’d experienced and, a few seconds later, he found himself pulling out of her and finishing on his bed sheets. They looked at each other intensely as they recovered from their highs. His eyes displayed a deep sadness and regret that he tried to hide from her but she could see it regardless of his efforts to cover it. That’s when Amelia knew. This was the last time.

acheaptrickandacheesyoneline  asked:

Oliver and Felicity get into a super serious discussion...about what Hogwarts house the different members of Team Arrow would be sorted into.

This was kinda fun. I went dialogue only with it.  

***

“I don’t think this is fair argument, Oliver.”

“Why not?  I know the characters.”

“Yeah but you’ve only seen the movies.  You didn’t read the books.”

“How different can they be?  Oh, come on!  Don’t make that face!”

“I’m sorry but… just… no, Oliver.”

“Come on, it’ll pass the time while we’re waiting for that search to complete.”

“Okay… I’ll start off with an easy one then.  Since you’re handicapped already.  Diggle.”

“Hufflepuff.” 

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Anonymous asked:

Can your rising sign counts as your first house? Because I have scorpio rising and scorpio in twelfth house. BUT it says I have pluto in sagittarius, in house one… Confusing. So.. do I count as scorpio 1st and 12th house? The description goes for both, or..? Your blog is the best source for astrology IMO, thank you!

Thanks, lovely!

Houses are Interesting, because they work slightly different from the Signs and Planets

The Signs are 30º portions of the Zodiacal Belt, where everything in that space is literally “in” that Sign.

So, a Venus in Taurus literally is within the 30º of Taurus.

Houses are slightly different.

A House is “in” a Sign, when its cusp (Cusp = beginning line) falls in a Sign.

However, the Houses vary in Size due to latitude and time of the year, so they are rarely all 30º in size.

This means one house can occupy a small portion of a Sign, or expand to multiple Signs. 

(This is when Intercepted and Duplicated House occur)

Similarly, if a House’s Cusp begins in the middle of a Sign, then a Planet can be in House X, but be in the Same Sign as House Y.

Here’s an example (my chart):

The Signs are the big chunks n the middle ring, with the colored Glyphs on them.

The Outer numbered ring represents the Houses.

First, we’ll look at how a House can be in a Sign, a planet can be in that House, but in a different Sign.

If you look over to the Top-Right, you see my Venus, Sun, Lilith, Mercury, Moon, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune.

A funny thing happens here.

My Seventh House begins in Aquarius - So does the 8th House.

My Moon, Mercury, and Lilith are all in my Eighth House. They’re also all in Pisces - not Aquarius. Saturn is in Aquarius - and the Eighth House.

This is because the Cusp (beginning) of the Eighth House falls at the end of Aquarius.

Second, we’ll look at how you can have two Houses in the same Sign.

My Ascendant is in Leo, which means my First House begins. 

My Second House begins in Leo.

So, my Ascendant, 1st House, and 2nd House are all in Leo. 

If you look at my chart, you can see how small House 1 is compared to House 12 (also, House 7 compared to House 6).

Because of the small size of the First House, it’s Cusp (beginning) and the Cusp (beginning) of the Second House both fall within the same Sign.

In your Chart

It’s likely that your First House’s Cusp (beginning) and your Twelfth House’s Cusp (beginning) both fell in Scorpio. 

Your Pluto is in Sagittarius in the First House, because your First House’s Cusp (beginning) is located towards the beginning of Scorpio, and therefore extends to part of Sagittarius.

To answer your first question:

“Can your rising sign counts as your first house?”

Technically? Yes and no.

Ascendant refers to the degree of the Zodiac that appeared on the Eastern Horizon at the time calculated (Birth time is used for Natal Charts) and is used as the Cusp of the First House. This is often modernly loosely applies to the whole of the Rising Sign and First House, along with the specific degree on the horizon. 

So, your Ascendant is literally the degree of the Sign on the Horizon.

So, My Ascendant is 3º 54’ Leo.

My Ascendant Sign is Leo. My Rising Sign is Leo.

My First House is Leo.

While they First House Cusp (beginning) is the Ascendant, the Ascendant and First House have slightly different implications in regards to character. 

You can read my articles about them here:
-> http://astraltwelve.tumblr.com/houses
-> http://astraltwelve.tumblr.com/ascendant

(They’re brief now, but will be updated “soon”)

I put together a reading group with some of my fellow organizers, thinking about how we organize post-Trump. Here’s the list of books:

We are reading The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich in chunks, meeting monthly, and reading one other book besides. This is a list long enough to keep us meeting for five years, which is not the intention - but we’re randomly generating five books each month and voting on which one of those we’d like to read. 

  • Raising Expectations (and Raising Hell), Jane McAlevey
  • The Invention of the White Race, Theodore Allen
  • The Children of NAFTA: Labor Wars on the US/Mexico Border, David Bacon
  • Rise of the Warrior Cop, Radley Balko
  • My Face is Black Is True: Callie House and the Ex-Slave Pensions Movement, Mary Frances Berry
  • Doing Theology in a Revolutionary Situation, Jose Miguez Bonino
  • The Spanish Anarchists: The Heroic Years 1868-1936, Murray Bookchin 
  • Beyond Bullets: The Suppression of Dissent in the United States, Jules Boykoff
  • Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, Dee Brown
  • In Struggle: SNCC and the Black Awakening of the 1960s, Clayborne Carson
  • Capitalism and Christianity, American Style, William Connolly
  • Languages of the Unheard: Why Militant Protest is Good for Democracy, Stephen D'Arcy
  • Broken Heartland: The Rise of America’s Rural Ghetto, Osha Gray Davidson 
  • Chain of Title: How Three Ordinary Americans Uncovered Wall St’s Great Foreclosure Fraud, David Dayen
  • Local People: The Struggle for Civil Rights in Mississippi, John Dittmer
  • Losing Ground: American Environmentalism at the Close of the Twentieth Century, Mark Dowie
  • John Brown, W.E.B. Du Bois
  • Black Reconstruction, W.E.B. Du Bois
  • This Is An Uprising, Mark & Paul Engler
  • Fighting Back in Appalachia: Traditions of Resistance and Change, Stephen Fisher
  • Four Futures, Peter Frase
  • Open Veins of Latin America: Five Centuries of the Pillage of a Continent, Eduardo Galeano
  • Gods of Blood: The Pagan Revival and White Separatism, Mattias Gardell
  • Resource Rebels: Native Challenges to Mining and Oil Corporations, Al Gedick
  • The Bending Cross: A Biography of Eugene V. Debs, Ray Ginger
  • The Populist Moment: A Short History of the Agrarian Revolt in America, Lawrence Goodwyn
  • Selections from the Prison Notebooks, Antonio Gramsci
  • Migra! A History of the US Border Patrol, Kelly Hernández
  • Strangers in their Own Land: Anger and Mourning on the American Right, Arlie Hochschild
  • The Paranoid Style in American Politics, Richard Hofstadter
  • The Long Haul: An Autobiography, Myles Horton
  • How the Irish Became White, Noel Ignatiev
  • The Black Jacobins, CLR James
  • Hammer and Hoe: Alabama Communists in the Great Depression, Robin D. G. Kelley
  • Civil Rights Unionism: Tobacco Workers and the Struggle for Democracy in the Mid-Twentieth-Century South, Robert Korstad
  • The Accumulation of Capital, Rosa Luxemburg
  • Accompanying: Pathways to Social Change, Staughton Lynd
  • Active Hope: How to Change the Mess We’re In Without Going Crazy, Joanna Macy
  • Ruling the Void: The Hollowing of Western Democracy, Peter Mair
  • Fossil Capital, Andreas Malm
  • They Thought They Were Free: The Germans 1933-45, Milton Mayer
  • At the Dark End of the Street: Black Women, Rape and Resistance, Danielle McGuire
  • Carbon Democracy: Political Power in the Age of Oil, Timothy Mitchell
  • The Fall of the House of Labor, David Montgomery
  • Capitalism in the Web of Life: Ecology and the Accumulation of Capital, Jason Moore
  • The First Civil Right: How Liberals Built Prison America, Naomi Murakawa
  • Unreal City: Las Vegas, Black Mesa, and the Fate of the West, Judith Nies
  • Governing the Commons, Elinor Ostrom
  • I’ve Got the Light of Freedom: The Organizing Tradition and the Mississippi Freedom Struggle, Charles M. Payne
  • Nixonland, Rick Perlstein
  • Poor People’s Movements, Frances Fox Piven & Richard Cloward
  • Ella Baker and the Black Freedom Movement, Barbara Ransby
  • Waging Nonviolent Struggle, Gene Sharp
  • Dixie Be Damned: 300 Years of Insurrection in the American South, Neal Shirley
  • First Majority Last Minority: The Transforming of Rural Life in America, John Shover
  • Hillbilly Nationalists, Urban Race Rebels, and Black Power: Community Organizing in Radical Times, Amy Sonnie
  • Poor Workers’ Unions: Rebuilding Labor from Below, Annie Tait
  • Life During Wartime: Resisting Counterinsurgency, Kristian Williams (ed.)
  • The Gilded Rage: A Wild Ride through Donald Trump’s America, Alexander Zaitchik