“I want to have your baby,” is a particular string of words
that is only considered acceptable in a certain number of situations.
Maybe between two lovers getting lost in the moment of their
heightened feelings, and somehow the words just slip — that’s probably the most
common occurrence of the phrase. Or maybe it’s a night out, alcohol in your
system, and the words just sort of spill past your lips to the most
ridiculously attractive stranger you’ve ever seen before you can even think to
stop them. Even that, can still be considered at least borderline passable
usage of the phrase. Hell, even the instance of a teenage girl proclaiming her
love for her favorite celebrity with the heavy proclamation is still considered
normal for the most part.
These, along with a few far-fetched others, were the only
situations you could think of that allowed for the usage of those six words to
be passable, yet, here you were, uttering that exact phrase, when you were in
absolutely none of them. You weren’t getting caught up in the moment
with lust-glazed eyes, you weren’t drunk and spewing nonsense at a bar to some
guy, and you most certainly weren’t some star struck teenage girl staring up at
her celebrity crush’s poster.
No, you were none of those things.
Instead, you were sitting across from your ex-boyfriend
telling him that you wanted to have his baby… Yeah, totally passable usage of the
Andrew Hussie walks up to a shabby looking podium in front of an abandoned room, some liminal space waiting to fall out of existence in a world that no longer remembers its name or purpose
his eyes are full of sadness, with deep heavy rings about them, and a ball and chain hang from his leg. his Hella Jeff tattoo has been replaced by paint that is almost the same color as his skin, but is recognizably off. it isn’t body paint either, just regular paint, possibly containing toxic ingredients. his lips are not just huge as usual, but noticeably swollen, and his beard has gone from unshaven to full-on hermit.
he looks down at a half-broken teleprompter and mumbles, “not much else set to drop on 4/13 this…year? should be an update on game status. see you then.” You can see the clear grimace in his expression when he says “game”. he tries his best to suppress it, but it’s still there, as if suppressed memories burrowed deep in his subconscious are trying to surface.
he collapses on the stage, his fallen body slowly melting, oozing into the cracks on the stage’s stained wooden floor.
in a dark corner of the room, a horse watches from the shadows, then shakes its head and leaves. the room seems to flicker behind it, fading from reality as it does. in its place is an empty, grimy alleyway. what looks suspiciously like the remains of a pumpkin lie smashed against the side of a graffiti’d wall.
The conjunction is the only aspect possible between Sun and Mercury, so if someone has this aspect, it is likely that their voice is full of confidence, there can be a rich quality to their voice, they may speak with plenty of precision and are not ones to stumble or stammer; they come across as though they know a lot of information.
Mercury-Moon aspects could indicate that the person has a really soothing voice, full of calmness and serenity, speaking softly and femininely. They may have a type of voice that you feel like you can trust and confide in, because they are so gentle through the way they communicate.
Mercury-Venus aspects could indicate that the person has a beautiful voice, a voice that is highly appealing and sweet. They may also be talented at singing because of their lovely voice. They sound very melodic and charming.
Mercury-Mars aspects could indicate that the person has a striking voice, their tone of voice may be brash and probably sounds harsh. They might often sound angry even if they are not actually angry. These natives are also known to speak with tons of passion and intensity, and aggression.
Mercury-Jupiter aspects could indicate that the person has a pretty loud voice, and they make sure that their words are being heard, so therefore their tone of voice is prominent. People with these aspects are prone to laughing a lot, and often have long, loud laughs, which gives them an endearing quality.
Mercury-Saturn aspects could indicate that the person has a quiet, reserved, and respectful tone of voice. When they speak, they seem composed and could have a wise way of speaking. Their voice is often monotone and they usually talk dryly, at a relatively slow pace.
Mercury-Uranus aspects could indicate that the person has a unique voice; maybe their voice is quite different, or stands out among the rest. Think of Morgan Freeman: one of the main things he is recognized for is his renowned voice (he has Mercury conjunct Uranus). These natives attract interest through the way they speak because the voice is typically dissimilar from most.
Mercury-Neptune aspects could indicate that the person has a dreamy, poetic, sleepy tone of voice. They sound laid back and nonchalant, but also with an enchanting quality to the way they speak. Their voice is chilled out and mellow, and they may sound a little shy.
Mercury-Pluto aspects could indicate that the person has a powerful, dominant, and heavy/deep tone of voice. Lauren Bacall had Mercury sextile Pluto and was admired for her deep voice, which sometimes intimidated and intrigued others at the same time.
It took me a month, but I finally did it. If you haven’t read the first part, you can so here. I also want to thank @twerkit-hxrry for being my eyes and ears throughout this grueling ordeal, and for helping me write the ‘Niall bathroom scene’. Seriously, thank you.
This part is a little shorter than the one before, but there’s still more to come with these two. And with that being said, enjoy. x
Harry was fucked.
He knew it from the moment he opened Instagram to find you had gracefully accepted his follower request, and was met with what he could only describe as ‘the most strikingly beautiful selfie to ever grace the palms of the earth’ – and what didn’t help was it was the same picture you had taken on his sofa only the day before, an empty chow mien box laid discarded on the table by your side.
The caption read: ‘Chow mieny soy sauce you want?’
A heavy quake erupted deep in Harry’s throat, a sound he could only describe as an unmanly squawk, and he instantly goes to cover his agape expression as he retains the joke he had told you just the night before.
He doesn’t take a second to think before he quickly double taps the photo, only just before noticing Niall had gotten there first, and continues scrolling.
It’s only a quarter passed eleven that morning, and you’ve been gone for two hours, and the one thing keeping him calmly situated in the comfort of his sofa is your scent left lingering on the hoodie he has taken upon wearing the moment you stepped foot out of his house – the same hoodie you claimed as your own the night before when, after grumpily swinging your legs over the sofa with a deep exhale, you trudged over to his wing chair to steal the Muscle Machine hoodie he had hanging over the back.
“Were you born in the Arctic?”
After sharing your intricate meal of Chinese takeaway, it was left to his surprise when you brought up the idea to break out the wine, and it dawned on Harry quickly that the second you start to bat your eyelashes and pout your lip out, there’s no way he could ever say no to you.
Another thing he learned about you was you were, in fact, very dangerous.
As much as you wanted your brothers to stay with you in the Bunker you told them to go. Those victims and to be victims needed Hunters to take the case before anything got worse. These people were dying. You were fine…weren’t you?
Sam and Dean knew you struggled with mental health issues, which is why they were reluctant to leave you, but you promised them you’d be fine. How could you be fine?
Your breathing was deep and heavy as you reached for your phone. It didn’t take long for him to pick up: “Y/N?” Sam’s worried voice was supposed to fill you with relief, but instantly guilt washed over. “Hey Sweetheart, you okay?” He spoke much more quickly this time. “Yeah I’m fine…uh…” You tried to think of a reason to call that would convince him you were telling the truth. “I knew we shouldn’t have left you…” He sighed.
“Sammy everything’s fine.”
“Then why are you calling me? Bug, it’s okay to not be okay. I’m proud of you for calling.” His soft loving voice made you well up with tears. “I just feel so empty.” You whispered, tears trickling down your cheeks.
“Hey shh, it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay I promise.”
You nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “I miss you.” You sobbed, trying your best to hold it in, but ultimately failing. “I miss you too, love. Dean can handle the case on his own I’m coming back, okay?” “Are you sure? I’m not worth it, Sammy. There are people’s lives at stake-” “Don’t put yourself down like that Y/N. You’re just as important and I’m not gonna let you suffer. I’m coming home….Love you, sis.” “Love you too Sammy, hug De for me?” “Of course.”
You didn’t want to wake him but this was important. Creeping down the hallway, your body visibly shaking from crying, you made your way to your brothers room. You quietly closed the door behind you, your feet padding on the ground as you made your way over to him. He was asleep.
“D-Dean?” You managed, your lip trembling. Immediately he was awake -Hunters instincts. After his initial panic, he calmed down. But not for long as he noticed your state.
“Y/N?” He got up from his bed and rushed toward your sobbing figure.
“Sweetheart what’s wrong?” He knelt down so he was eye level with you. His gentle hand tucked away a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lightly resting on your cheek before he held his arms out for you. You collapsed into him, his arms enveloped you in a hug as he held you close.
“Shhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He cooed, his arm stroking your hair as you sobbed into his chest. He knew you struggled with depression, he knew you didn’t need to talk about it sometimes but just a shoulder to cry on. Dean was there for you whatever the need.
He gently led you to his bed where you sat next to him, still clutching on to him for dear life. He continued to hold you, breathing with you, reassuring you through the occasional whisper and kissing your forehead. You stayed there for quite some time, even when your sobs died down to sniffles then to nothing. You remained, your head resting on his chest, the fabric of his flannel shirt a comfort of its own.
“I’m sorry.” You finally said, looking up at him with sad eyes. “No you don’t have to be sorry, sweet.” He assured you, rubbing your back “Not ever. I’m proud of you, so so proud of you.” You nodded against him, not wanting to get up from his comfort.
“If you want to talk about anything, me and Sam are always here. Always.” “Thank you.” You managed a weak smile. “Come on, you can sleep with me tonight.” He let you go to shuffle up so there was room for you to crawl on. You did, curling back up against him and closing your sore eyes He wrapped his arms round you protectively, reassuring you he was there. Your soar eyes drooped shut as he held you close and lulled you into a deep sleep.
Going ahead with my request XD Okay, I have an ideia. Can you do one with that the reader!sister is feeling down and depressive, and Sam notice that and try to cheer her up. (Fluff, pleaase, like I’ve told you lol)
I thought I might as well do both Sam and Dean Idk I guess this blogs been too Sam-centric recently and as much as we love our Moose Squirell deserves some love haha, Hope you liked it! x
The “Just the thought of Team Cap walking all over Tony makes me want to trash my room, I just want unashamed, biased, pro-Tony quality content, is that too much to ask??” inspired ficlet I’ve been holding back for a while:
Bitterness ahead, guys. Not Team Cap friendly. Nor is it particularly deep or rational. I just wanted to get a couple of thoughts out of my head. Basically Tony is done being the team’s sugar daddy, only it comes to light in a very roundabout way.
“When are my arrows gonna be fixed anyways?” Clint grumbles, rubs a hand over his sore shoulder. The one that wouldn’t have gotten injured, had his shot hit the target it was supposed to. Which it should have, his aim had been fine. The problem were the arrows. Someone must have screwed up somewhere in the production because they weren’t perfectly balanced.
They’re sitting in the conference room at the (mostly) restored compound. Tony is tapping away on his StarkPad, not even bothering to look up. He must have felt the questioning glances and noticed the silence, but he still doesn’t react.
Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes. He doesn’t want to encourage the tension between them, things are bad enough as it is. If only Tony would put in some effort as well, instead of going out of his way to antagonise them, maybe they could make some actual progress.
“Yo, Stark!” Clint snaps, voice reaching that biting sharpness he reserves specially for the billionaire. “I’m talking to you!”
Tony shows no outward reaction, which is strange to see. Back when they first came back, he used to move at all times, sharp and erratic, never staying still. Steve shakes his head at their unnecessary power play.
Tony answers before he has the chance to reprimand them though. “How would I know?” he asks, a brief frown flittering across his face as he scribbles something down onto the tablet.
The outraged look on Clint’s face tells everyone present that this meeting won’t get back on track any time soon. It’s understandable, really. Clint has been forced to fight three battles with faulty equipment and frankly, the lack of concern Tony is showing for his team mates’ safety is nothing short of callous. Steve knows things haven’t been good between them but this is the first time he wonders if things could really be so bad, that Tony would hold necessary equipment back on purpose.
It’s a terrible thought, but try as he might, Steve isn’t able to shake it off.
At least the rising tension finally causes Tony to look up and meet Clint’s glare. He’s wearing sunglasses even though they’re inside, like he always does. Steve doesn’t like it. Makes it harder to read Tony, to tell what he’s really thinking. Absently, he admits that this is probably why Tony wears them so religiously.
“What do you mean ‘how would you know’?!” Clint snarls, enraged. “My arrows have been acting up for weeks and you still don’t know how to fix it?!”
Tony stares at Clint, the expression on his face unreadable. Then, after a long, long moment of heavy silence, the answer.
“I’m not fixing your equipment.”
For a moment, it’s deadly quiet, as Steve struggles to process the meaning of what Tony has just said.
“Tony,” Steve hastily inserts himself as soon as he finds his voice again, before Clint can throw himself across the room and deck him, “I know there are still some issues we all have to work through, but that’s not an excuse to-”
“Hold it right there, Rogers,” Tony interrupts. It’s never Cap, always Rogers these days. The pain the distinction causes still catches Steve by surprise more often than not. “I’m not sure where you get this from but I’m not your mechanic. I don’t work for you. So if Barton here has an issue with his weapons, he needs to take it up with the people in charge. Considering how often you remind me that it’s not me, you’d think you’d have figured that part out already.”
“But it’s not working!”
Tony sighs. The deep, heavy sort of sigh you usually expect from an exhausted parent after their insistent child asks, “Are we there yet?” for the 34th time. “Then take it up with the quartermaster. Or Agent Hudson. Or one of the techies. Seriously, Barton, you signed the Revision. Who’s responsible for what is right in there, section 12 to 17. Besides-” he pauses.
“What are you waiting for? Go on!” Clint demands between gritted teeth, hands curled into tight fists. Thankfully, he’s not throwing anything. Yet. “Don’t get shy with me now!”
Tony straightens in his seat. Steve inwardly sighs. That man has never been able to let a challenge go unanswered.
“Besides,” Tony continues, voice still surprisingly even, “chances are they’re working just fine.”
“You think I can’t tell when my bow isn’t fucking working the way it should?” Clint bristles.
The words actually cause Tony to lower his sunglasses for a moment, just to make sure there is no doubt about how stupid he believes Clint to be. “I’m saying you’re operating with a standard bow, Barton. The fabric and the construction limit the performance quality. Something I’m sure an experienced archer like yourself has picked up on.”
And yes, things are definitely getting ugly. That level of glacial cold in Tony’s voice is rarely achieved, even now.
“The why the fuck did you build a subpar bow?”
Tony sighs again. “You’re missing the point. Seriously, I can not believe we’re even having this conversation. I did not build that bow, Barton.”
And that’s–that’s a surprise.
Tony’s gaze trails over them all, taking in their confused, shocked expressions. “Really?” he asks, exasperation dripping from every syllable. “Did any of you even read the Revision? The Avengers’ are an official unit. Their weapons and uniforms can’t be provided by a private party, especially not one who is part of the team. Have you ever heard the term conflict of interest?”
“What about Stark Industries?” Natasha asks. From the furrow in her brows though, Steve suspects she already knows the answer–and doesn’t like it one bit.
“I’m not sure if you noticed,” and now there’s no mistaking the mocking in Tony’s tone, “but SI doesn’t sell weapons anymore. It was kind of a big thing, couple of years back.”
“But- But yours are better!” Clint splutters. It sounds plaintive and weak, even in Steve’s ears, but at the same time he knows what Clint’s struggling to say. It’s not about getting your toys taken away. It’s about their safety and efficiency in the field. On bad days, it’s about the survival of their entire planet.
“I can’t believe you would risk the teams’ lives and safety like this because of a petty argument,” Steve says, unable to keep quiet any longer, nor bothering to hide the honest disappointment.
Tony, unimpressed as always, simply snorts. “You’re an official unit, but before that you’ve been working for SHIELD for years. Did you ever have the very best equipment mankind was capable of providing at the time? No,” he answers his own question in a breeze, “you didn’t. Why? Because you’re agents, soldiers. And sure, the government wants to protect us, wants to keep us alive and make sure our missions succeed. But they have limited funding, which means everyone has to deal with the best cost-efficient option available. If you’ve got the right connections to get something more, then lucky you, but that makes you an exception, not a rule.”
“You don’t need to explain real life to me!” Clint snaps aggravated.
“Then why do you feel entitled to something better?” That question, sharp and cutting, makes the archer still, his mouth open but with no retort forthcoming. Tony is blinking at him now, head tilted sideways in child-like curiosity.
“Of course, if I, as a private citizen, decided to build something that doesn’t violate any laws and give it to a friend as a gift, that would be something else, wouldn’t it?” Tony continues after a moment, voice softer now, but no less cutting. His eyes are fixated on Clint, sunglasses pushed back, eyes dark and unmoved. “The average update would take me what, a week or two? That’s a lot of time to invest into a single project, especially when the ultimate use is so limited. How many people can possibly profit from improved protective vest versus how many people improve from an exploding arrow is a really fascinating comparison to make.”
“So you see, Barton, even if I could improve your bow, there’s no logical reason why I should waste my time like this.”
“Tony!” Steve interrupts, scandalised. “Clint’s life depend on his aim! Our lives depend on it! How can you justify not providing him with the most basic necessities.”
Tony doesn’t even try and look abashed, instead he throws his head back and laughs. “This is how you want to play it, Rogers? Because I’m rich and a genius, I owe it to you to devote my time, attention and money to bettering your lives? What about the seven billion other people on this world? Don’t they deserve the same consideration, hm? What makes you so special that I should put your needs before anything else?”
Steve opens his mouth, but Tony doesn’t give him a chance to speak.
“I tell you what this is: this is you realising I’m no longer spoiling you rotten because you are in fact not my kids and I can cut you off whenever the fuck I want. And you don’t like it. Because guess what, I may be privileged, but so are you! You’re heroes, most of the time, as far as the world is concerned. You’ve been living off my money and resources on top of that. You’ve always gotten special treatment and you like that. You’re as far detached from the ‘ordinary man on the street’ as I am, you just don’t have the self-awareness to fucking notice!”
Tony sends them a sardonic smile that does in no way take the sting out of his words. “Don’t worry,” he says, “you’ll still be special. It’s just no longer my name footing that bill. Because we’re not friends. And as a business man, I’m not at all sorry to tell you that you simply aren’t worth investing into.”
And with that he stands, all blinding press smile, sweeps around dramatically, and strides purposefully out of the room. The automatic door closes noiselessly behind him, but he might have as well slammed it shut for all the difference it would’ve made.
It’s likely not a coincidence, that on their next mission Spiderman, Vision and Miss Marvel all showcase new, incredibly features and weapons that can’t have been created by anyone else. And it’s impossible to know for sure, what with the mask on, but Steve is one hundred per cent certain that Spiderman is smirking at them.
He is not wrong.
Let me know what you think? And please excuse any mistakes, I’ll re-read this tomorrow. Also this is the last post for today. I’m tiredtiredtired now and think I’ve spread enough bitterness for the day. And spammed your dashes with enough endless posts probably…oops.