this the face of the need to own something

the real way to cast a patronus
  • Draco: Pansy! I've finally discovered the secret to casting a Patronus! Those Gryffindor bastards tried to trick us by saying you have to think of a happy memory, but REALLY you just need to think of something that makes you really really angry
  • Pansy: Oh yeah? What'd you think of then?
  • Draco: Isn't it obvious? I just thought of Potter's stupid face
  • Pansy: Oh Draco
  • Draco: Thought of him laughing with his friends
  • Pansy: Stop it this is too much–
  • Draco: Facing me down and smirking at me with that stupid mouth
  • Pansy: I'm going to cry
  • Draco: Flying on his broom like he fucking owns the whole sky, doing all those fancy tricks and making it look so easy–
  • Pansy: ALRIGHT alright. Enough. So you thought of Potter and finally cast a corporeal Patronus? What animal?
  • Draco: It was a LION Pansy. A glorious, beautiful, powerful LION
  • Pansy: A– A lion? A Gryffindo–
  • Draco: JUST A LION A FIERCE LION TO PROTECT ME FOREVER I LOVE HIM SO MUCH PANSY MY LION

wingardium-letmefuckyou  asked:

Hey, I love your gods&monsters series, could you write something about Apollo? ^Preferably something with a positive vibe, something romantic... But that's totally up to you, anything about Apollo makes me happy

Apollo has many sons.

He only ever has nine daughters.

~

He has his first when he’s young, too young to know better.

Daphne is beautiful and coy, and leads him on a merry chase. He catches her, and finally silences her laughing mouth with his own. They sleep together, and she leaves bite marks up his neck.

Her father, the river god Peneus, finds out about them. Apollo had not known it was secret. Peneus is a hard, selfish god, and he slits Daphne’s throat for her impurity. Better a dead daughter then one who does not listen.

Apollo finds out too late. He arrives to Daphne dead on the side of her father’s riverbank, stomach swollen in a way Apollo doesn’t remember it being the last time he saw her, which was – which was – it couldn’t have been that long, could it?

He cuts open her stomach, throat too tight to call for his sister’s help, heart too tight to bear anyone else looking at Daphne’s slack, bloody face.

The child is still warm.

The child is still alive.

He cannot bring himself to bury Daphne, to sentence her to an afterlife beneath the earth. Instead, he transforms her into a large laurel tree, so her beauty will remain eternal. He presses a hand against her trunk and says, “My hair will have you, my lyre will have you, my quiver will have you.” Apollo looks down at the baby, too small, tucking into the crook of his arm. “Our daughter will have you.”

He calls her Calliope. Their daughter weaves laurel leaves into her hair every day of her life.

~

When he is older, but not wiser, he gets drunk on the top of Olympus. It is not the first time, nor the last, but this time it is different.

This time Hestia, goddess of the hearth, of warmth, of family, places her delicate hand around the back of his neck and leads him to her rooms.

Months later, he lands his chariot, the sun finally set. His arms are shaking, and his legs are covered from burns when the sun grew tired and tried to consume him, but could not. Hestia stands before him, something held in her arms. “What’s wrong?” he asks roughly, throat dry and the skin of his lips cracking. Hestia rarely leaves Olympus.

“I am no mother,” she tells him, and he doesn’t understand until she places a warm, squirming bundle in his arms. He holds it to his chest automatically. “Her name is Terpsichore.”

She leaves before he has the chance to question her. He looks down, and the baby has his golden eyes and her dark hair. “Hello, little one.”

Calliope is fully grown now. Apollo leaves Terpsichore in her care, and promises to come when called.

“Yes, Father,” Calliope says, rolling her eyes as her little sister grabbing fistfuls of her curly hair. There’s an ink smudge across her face, and her home is bursting with books. He should really talk to Athena about letting Calliope use one of her libraries.

He kisses both their foreheads before leaving.

~

Apollo falls in love with a Spartan prince, graceful and strong and with a wide, pretty mouth. He falls in love with a mind that can match him, with a smile that leaves him breathless. Hyacinth captures his affections and attentions utterly, and for a few short years Apollo is enchanted, for a few short years Apollo feels a love deep in his chest that is only surpassed by the love he has for his sister.

Then Hyacinth is killed.

He shows up at his daughters’ door, and Calliope and Terpsichore take one look at him and usher him inside. He can’t bring himself to speak, but he’s covered in blood that isn’t his own, is pale and shaken and mourning.

They clean him and care for him and settle him to bed, although he cannot bring himself to sleep.

Less than a week later, there is a mortal woman there looking for him. Her eyes are red, but she stands tall and her lips are pressed into a straight line. A toddler who shares her dark coloring clutches her skirt. “I am the Princess of Sparta, and wife of Hyacinth.”

Apollo hadn’t known Hyacinth had a wife. He hadn’t asked. Surely he would have noticed – but then again, perhaps not. Love makes people stupid. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“As I am sorry for yours,” she says in return, which surprises him. “Sparta must have a prince. I am to be remarried.” She brings the little girl forward, and she can’t be more than a couple years old. “This is Urania, the child of myself and my husband. I have been ordered to kill her.”

Apollo flinches. He knows such things are done, but – she is Hyacinth’s daughter. “I will take her.”

She smiles. “I thought you might.” She kisses the girl on both cheeks, hands her to Apollo, then leaves as quickly as she’d came.

Urania watches them with big liquid eyes that she got from her mother. He stays with his daughters for a year after that, playing with Urania and watching Terpsichore dance and listening to Calliope’s beautiful poetry. Urania loves the stars. She stares up at them each night, and Apollo patiently explains the name of each one.

When she is fully grown, he begs a piece of ambrosia off Hestia and feeds it to her.

Urania is his daughter as surely as if his blood ran through her veins. He cannot bear to watch her age and die.

~

Marpessa chooses Ida over him, but it is too late. She already swells with his child, and he could use that to keep her. He could force her to stay at his side, she loves him, she said so, it would not be such a cruel thing.

But she is not wrong in her assessment. Apollo is immortal, and will not grow old with her, will not change with her, will not die with her. Ida will.

There’s fear on her face, and he thinks she deserves it, for proclaiming to love him and choosing another. But he is not interested in keeping her captive for a lifetime.

“Have the child, and give it to me,” he commands, “and I will leave you to your life.”

Ida is furious in his jealousy that Marpessa will bear a child for Apollo before she bears a child for him, so there is that comfort, at least.

Artemis delivers the child to ensure it goes smoothly. She’s beaming as she holds her niece. “What will you call her?”

“You choose,” he says, running the back of his finger over the babe’s soft cheek.

His sister considers the squalling child for a long moment before she says, “I think you should name her Thalia.”

“Thalia it is,” he says.

She’s mischievous, and reminds him of himself on his worst days. She grows, and pulls pranks on nymphs and deities. Her older sisters are constantly straining to keep her out of worse trouble.

He gets a frantic message from Calliope that Thalia has gone missing, and he eventually finds her at the edge of a scorched battlefield, the soldiers long gone but the bodies and stench remaining. He’s furious at her for going to a place so dangerous, but when he marches up to her he sees something that he hadn’t expected.

She’s hallway through a story about pranking a wood nymph that he knows is at least half lies and a quarter exaggeration. Curled up on the ground, clutching his stomach as he laughs so hard he can’t breathe, is Ares.

Apollo hasn’t seen the tormented god of war this carefree since he was a child.

Thalia finally notices him, and cuts herself off, paling. “Oh, uh. Hi Dad.”

Ares is downright giggling. “Hello Thalia,” Apollo crosses his arms and glares, “You shouldn’t go wandering away from your sisters.” She winces and nods, ducking her head to look up at him through her eyelashes, doing her best to look contrite and innocent.

It might have worked, if Apollo hadn’t taught her that look himself.

He sits down on the ground next to Ares, who doesn’t acknowledge his presence beyond shifting enough to use Apollo’s thigh as his pillow. “Well,” Apollo says, “keep going.”

Thalia lights up and launches back into the story, and when she finishes she continues into another which is mostly true and somehow even more ridiculous.

~

Because he’s an idiot with a death wish, Apollo ends up spending a month with Hecate in the underworld. He stumbles out one night when she falls asleep, because he feels if he doesn’t leave now there’s a possibility that he never will.

One of the most horrifying moments of his life is looking for the way out, and finding Hades instead. The god of death looks to him, walking around naked in his realm, to the direction he came from, and says, “That was you? Are you crazy?”

“It … it was a good time,” he says faintly.

“Obviously,” Hades shakes his head, and slices his hand down in the air in front of them, creating a doorway for Apollo out of his realm.

Apollo gives him a clumsy salute and steps through.

Roughly a year later, he’s playing his lyre when a little girl with black skin and grey hair and eyes appears in front of him. It’s terrifying enough that he accidentally snaps one of his strings.

“Lady Styx,” he says, voice higher pitched than normal. “Is there something I can help you with?”

The child snorts and reaches her hands into absolutely nothing and pulls out a baby. She holds it out to him. “Hecate says this is your problem now.”

Improbably, the babe already has a mouth full of too-sharp teeth. Her eyes shift between every color, unable to decide, and there is something a little too knowing about her face for one so young. Artemis says he too was born knowing too much.

A child of Apollo and Hecate can only be a mistake, something that will never fit quite well among others of her own kind.

He sighs and take the baby. “Very well.”

“I like the name Clio,” the child goddess says before leaving him.

Thalia tells him it’s too small and to give it back. Urania is fascinated, and takes over most of the child’s care, which is likely for the best since Calliope is neck deep into a new epic, and would be cross if she needed to pull her attention from it to rear a child.

As Clio ages, she stays just as unsettling and strange. Hephaestus shows up around the time she starts breaking into Athena’s libraries, even though stunts like that get people worse than killed. “I don’t know why she gave her to me,” Apollo says as they watch the teenager devouring a stolen tome on the history of the Persian Empire. “Hecate raised you, I don’t understand why she didn’t want to raise her actual daughter.”

“You’re a better parent than she is,” he says thoughtfully. Apollo gives him an unimpressed look, but he says, “I’m serious. Your girls are turning out to be quite lovely – all of them.”

“Of course they are,” he says, nose in the air, but grins when Hephaestus elbows him the side.

By the time she’s an adult, Clio is easily one of the most accomplished scholars to ever exist. She and Athena regularly get into academic debates that last weeks, and scare off anyone from daring to come closer.

She stays strange, and too smart, and Apollo loves her utterly.

~

Apollo is lying on the beach when a large wave overtakes him and drags him into the sea. He struggles for the surface, but can’t seem to shake the waves, and is dragged to the sea floor. He’s a god, so he won’t suffocate, but he’s terrified when the water drags him down to Poseidon’s palace and deposits him in front of his wife. “Apollo,” she says, “I can see what your daughters will become.”

He has no idea what she’s talking about. “Excuse me?”

Amphitrite grabs his jaw and pulls him closer. He doesn’t dare resist. She looks into his eyes, then smirks. “The god of prophecy doesn’t know that which he has wrought. How … ironic.”

“Is it?” he wonders. He really hopes she doesn’t kill him.

“Quite,” she smirks, and with a flick of her wrist she’s naked before him. “I wish for one of your daughters to be mine as well. Lay with me.”

“Uh,” he says eloquently, because Amphitrite has never given her husband any children, he hadn’t even known she could. If he sleeps with her, Poseidon might kill him, regardless of how many people the god of the sea sleeps with that aren’t his wife. But if he refuses her, she might kill him, and it’s not like having sex with Amphitrite is any sort of hardship. She’s as gorgeous as she is terrifying. “Okay.”

He’s deposited back on the shore the next day, feeling oddly used.

If Poseidon has any opinions on Apollo knocking up his wife, he doesn’t voice them.

Amphitrite doesn’t foist the baby upon him as soon as she’s born. Instead years pass, and one day a dark skinned, amber eyed sea god shows up at his door. There’s a teenager at his side, who has Apollo’s coloring and Amphitrite’s bone structure, and hair that shimmers golden-green in sunlight. “Glaucus,” Apollo greets warily, “and who might this be?”

“I call her Erato,” Glaucus says, “I’ve raised her since birth. It’s time for her to join her sisters.”

Erato is not as terrifying as her mother. Instead there’s a sweetness about her that she must have gotten from Glaucus. She’s shy at first, and spends many days looking out into the sea. But his daughters are persistent, and soon she’s laughing and joining them. There’s something dreamy about her, and she loves love, writes romantic ballads and beautiful poems, so much so that Aphrodite commends her talent.

Erato is also the most like him in the area of her love life, meaning she leaves behind a constant trail of heartbroken men and women.

Calliope complains about the constant wailing around their home, and Clio proves she has some of her mother’s talent with magic when she casts an unplotable spell around their home so former lovers stop following Erato home. Of course, she forgets to tell both Apollo and her sisters about this, and it’s very confusing for everyone until Clio remembers to tell them where the house is.

His daughters’ home is a place of constant music, poetry, and literature. He thinks he’s starting to suspect what Amphitrite was talking about.

~

Not all hunts are easy things.

Apollo feels the moment his sister is wounded, the arrow through her abdomen as painful for him as it is for her. He’s in his chariot, and he can’t leave it, if he leaves his chariot unattended the sun will consume it, and then consume the earth. “Calliope!” he snaps, and his eldest daughter appears by his side.

“Father?” she asks, huddling into him and away from the sun. “What’s going on?”

“Artemis is hurt, I have to help,” he says urgently, and places the reins into her hands. “You can do this.”

She pales, but steps forward, keeping a white knuckled grip on the chariot. “Go.”

He kisses his forehead, and goes to his sister. Her huntresses have set up an honor guard around her, defending and dying as cruel faced giants draws closer. “ARES!” he screams, and he doesn’t know what they’re fighting for, what this war is about, but it doesn’t matter. “WE NEED YOU!”

The god of war appears, and he’s clearly come from some other battle, covered in mud and other worse things. He throws himself into the battle, but it’s not until they gain more aid that the tides turn in their favor.

He first sees Erato on the field, water swirling around her as she slices through them all, the power of her mother making her golden eyes glow. Clio is at her back, the glittering magic Hecate passed on to her filling her hands.

Thalia has long curved knives flying from her fingers, and all who face her don’t figure out they’re dead until she’s already left them behind. Urania is letting loose arrows against the giants and though she’s not his by blood, not a goddess by birth, none would know it watching each of her arrows hit true and take down another enemy.

Terpsichore uses her honed abilities of dance differently here on the battlefield, twirling and ducking around enemies with her sword flashing as it slices through all who go against her. Celestial fire licks up the sword, and the daughter of Hestia and Apollo is laughing as she dances through the battlefield.

He wants to yell at them, to tell them to get off the battlefield, to get to safety. But it is thanks to them that the fight is being won, so he says nothing.

Ares looks around, grimaces, and catches Apollo’s eye before he disappears from the battle. They must be invoking his name. Apollo is only grateful he managed to stay as long as he did.

The giants are all dead by the time Apollo manages to make it to his sister’s side. She’s pale and covered in blood, her huntresses seated around her and trying to stop the bleeding. “What were you thinking?” Apollo demands, grabbing her hand and pushing her hair from her forehead. Terpsichore comes forward and lays her burning sword against the wound, sealing and cauterizing it at once. Both Apollo and Artemis scream

“They – took – a – child,” she pants, leaning in for his touch, for his comfort, and he has never been able to deny her anything. He pulls her up, biting back a scream at the pain that rips through them both, and props her up against his chest. “A – nymph’s child. Zeus’s child. They killed – it’s mother. That – that sort of injustice will – will not be – tolerated.” She lays her head back against his shoulder, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes, and Apollo almost wishes the battle were not over, because he wants to murder something.

“I’ll get it,” Erato says, and a moment later she returns with a toddler in her arms. She has the copper skin of Zeus, and pale blonde hair. “What do we do now? Zeus does not care for his children.”

“I think it’s time you became a big sister,” Thalia says, and Erato looks stricken. “Right Dad?”

He looks to his sister, who nods. “I can think of no better place for her. She cannot stay with me – a hunting party is not place for children.”

“Very well,” he sighs. “Does she have a name?”

The girl attempts to hide behind Erato’s hair, then says, “I am Euterpe.”

“Welcome, Euterpe,” he says.

It’s then that the sun finally sets, and Calliope stumbles into existence next to them. She’s covered in deep, bleeding burns, but it’s not as bad he feared it would be. She’s certainly faired better at her first time driving the chariot than he had. “What’s happening? Is everything all right?”

“We have a new sister,” Thalia says brightly, even as Clio rushes forward to tend to her burns.

Euterpe, thankfully, seems to inherit none of Zeus’s madness. She has a singing voice like a clear bell, and soon surpasses even Calliope’s talent with the lyre.

He knows, technically, that Euterpe is his half-sister. But it takes him no time at all to regard her as his daughter, to love her with same simple ferocity as he loves her sisters.

~

For a while, all is well, is quiet. His daughters are all fully grown, accomplished and beautiful.

Then Demeter corners him when he’s walking through quiet city and pins him against an alley wall. “If Amphitrite thinks she can one up me over this,” the goddess hisses, “she’s sorely mistaken.”

At least this time he knows what’s going on when Demeter starts pulling her dress off. “You can’t raise the child,” he says. He’s not adverse to laying with Demeter, although at this rate it looks like there will be less laying and more standing against a rough alley wall. But Demeter only knows how to love in a way that crushes all it touches. He won’t let her do that to his child.

“Fine,” she snaps, “Now get moving.”

He’s vaguely terrified the whole time, and it mostly reminds him of his month with Hecate. He’s left alone and naked in the alleyway an hour later.

Nine months later, a baby is delivered to his door by a nervous wood nymph. His daughter still has the squashed appearance of a freshly born baby. “She didn’t waste any time,” he comments, settling her into the crook of his arms. “Does she have a name?”

“Polyhymnia, my lord,” the wood nymph says, then bows before fleeing.

He brings her to the home where all his daughters live.

She grows, and she’s the spitting image of Demeter, of Persephone back when she answered to the name Kore. Her voice is lower than Euterpe’s, but just as pretty and when they sing together it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. She’s quiet, and thoughtful, her big brown eyes watching all around her with a measured stare.

Polyhymnia asks after her mother, something none of the others had done, and Apollo doesn’t know what to say. The truth is too callous, but he can’t bear to lie to her. Instead he begs an audience with Persephone, and says, “Your sister asks after the mother you share. I don’t know what to tell her.”

Persephone has no advice to offer, but she starts spending some of her time outside of the underworld with Polyhymnia. It is enough, and her questions stop, and Apollo tries not to feel guilty that he never really answered them.

~

Cassandra is unlike any woman he’s ever met, unlike any person he’s ever met, and the flames of love and passion burn inside him in a way they haven’t since his Hyacinth died.

She’s bull headed and irritating, and whenever he tries to complain about it Artemis rolls her eyes and his daughters laugh at him. He supposes he’s not doing a very good job hiding that he’s in love with her. Not even from her, because at one point she crossly asks if he’s ever planning to do anything with her, or if she should accept the offer from the butcher’s son.

They don’t leave her house for five days.

She is curious, hungry for knowledge, hungrier for it then she is of him. She wants to know impossible things, wants to be an impossible thing, and so Apollo laughs and takes her hand and says, “I will make you a bargain. I will give you the gift of prophecy, if you will grant me the gift of your hand.”

He’s never take a bride before. He hasn’t wanted to.

Cassandra is screaming and laughing, and she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him until she’s breathless. He takes it as a yes.

That’s when everything goes horribly, incredibly wrong.

It’s too much, all the horror she sees is too much, and Apollo tries to tell her to focus on the good, to see the happiness of the future. But she can’t, gets too caught up in too many wars, and she wastes away in front of his eyes even as her stomach swells.

He tries to take back the gift, tries to save her, but he can’t. It cannot be ungiven, and his headstrong, vivacious lover fades before his eyes. He only manages to alter it, to change it so no one believes the horrible things she cries to prevent the horror people feel when she looks at them and screams the way that they’ll die.

Artemis helps deliver their child, but halfway through her face goes pinched and worried, and Apollo knows that Cassandra won’t make it.

“I’m sorry,” he weeps, kissing her gaunt face, feeling the sharpness of her cheekbones under his lips, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know this would happen. I didn’t want this to happen.”

She looks at him with glassy eyes, barely reacts when Artemis places their child on her chest. There’s a growing pool of blood under her, but she can’t be saved, she will die, here, now.

Apollo wonders if she saw this coming.

She blinks, and meets his gaze with a sharpness and awareness he hasn’t seen for a long time. “She is your last daughter,” Cassandra says, “Melpomene is the last daughter you will have.”

He kisses her, his last chance to do so.

She’s dead before his lips leaves hers.

Apollo tries to flee, to run from the claws tearing apart his heart, but Artemis doesn’t let him. She yanks him back and pushes Melpomene into his arms. “You can’t leave,” she says harshly, “She needs you. Your daughter needs you. You’re not allowed to run.”

He crumples, leaning his head onto his sister’s shoulder as he sobs, and her calloused hand grasps the back of his neck. Melpomene is stuck between them, soft and warm and alive.

Time passes.

Melpomene is Thalia’s other half, her best friend, and they do everything together. Her dark hair is a mass of unruly curls just like her mother, her laughter is just like her mother’s.

She, like her sisters, is his pride and his joy.

~

Apollo has nine daughters

Calliope, who reigns over written epics.

Terpsichore, who reigns over dance.

Urania, who reigns over astronomy.

Thalia, who reigns over comedy.

Clio, who reigns over history.

Erato, who reigns over love poetry.

Euterpe, who reigns over song.

Polyhymnia, who reigns over hymns.

Melpomene, who reigns over tragedy.

They are known as the Muses.


gods and monster series, part xxi

read more of the gods and monsters series here

Late or Undiagnosed Autism Things!
  • “You don’t seem autistic”
  • (after relearning/learning how to stim) “What are you doing?  Stop that”
  • Internally: “Oh shit that wasn’t a temper tantrum, that was a meltdown because my comfort object was literally taken from my hands”
  • Obsessed with That One Thing that you can’t shut up about
  • Being deeply and personally offended by Sheldon Cooper
  • Asking your friends to tell you to shut up when they get bored because you Can’t Tell
  • I could wear these pants yesterday, but today they feel like they’re made of Sandpaper, so I Can’t
  • *cuts every tag off of every piece of clothing ever*
  • *sees self in every autistic coded character* weird
  • Watches stim videos for 4 hours like ????? why good
  • *chews on something* why
  • Literally eats the same thing for lunch for 11 years without getting bored of it
  • I Can’t find the Thing I Need so I’m Panicking Now
  • “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”
  • Bounce leg bounce leg tap pencil click pen bounce leg
  • *gets tested for ADHD*  *inconclusive results*
  • *rolls toy truck over face* nice

Feel free to add your own, also this got so much longer than I thought it would be

(bonus round: you’re AFAB)

Two words.

He was six hours away.

Dean made it in two.

Because like hell or high water, he was not going to wait another second.

“Dean, Dean!” Sam attempted to grab his attention, both hands on the handle on the ceiling in a small attempt to hold himself together at the speeds Dean was driving. “Who was that, Dean? Who was it?”

“We need to go, we need to go,” Dean only repeated instead. It was not until later that he realized he had never put his phone on speaker or that Sam had no idea why he was jolted out of sleep until they arrived at that empty alley.

There were no other souls around the alley, but the light just above the telephone pole flickered and sparked every few minutes. It was almost fitting really.

“Oh my God…” he vaguely heard Sam whisper in the background, but Dean wasn’t paying attention to that. He was paying attention to the figure standing in front of the telephone booth.

He looked the same, and yet the clothes he wore should be nothing but ashes right now. Or maybe they were slightly different. He always did like wearing a stupid trench over anything else.

When he turned, however, Dean knew. He didn’t need tests. He didn’t need blood to be drawn. He didn’t need a blade. Without realizing what he was doing, he began to close the distance. Right in that moment, that distance of a few feet felt like a few inches. He was done. So done with everything, prepared to not come back.

Dean spoke with every step. “You…”

Dean nearly tried to convince Billie before he was thrust back. “Son…”

Two feet. “ Of a…”

“Bitch” Dean collided with shoulder’s first, both arms moving to wrap around the other man’s form and hold on tightly. “You son of a bitch,” his voice finally broke.

He heard Sam’s footsteps get closer, but what made more of an impact was the other man’s arms match his own and pull Dean closer. He could practically hear the heartbeat underneath the other man’s chest.

“You son of a bitch,” he mouthed into the crook of the other man’s skin, fully aware his face was not wet because of any sweat or otherwise.

He still had yet to say something, anything. But his phone call had said it all. 

Two words, simple words he’d never thought he’d hear again in that gravely voice.

Just a few hours earlier, Dean was dead in more than a literal sense, lost. And now, his angel pulled him out. 

They both needed wins.

They had won.

I couldnt sleep last night so I thought up lance coming out to shiro (since that picture where they are together holding the lgbt sign) and it went something like this:

Lance took a deep breath and knocked on Shiro’s door before he had the time to realize how bad of an idea that was and walk away. Shiro opened up and a puzzled expression appeared on his face when he saw who was knocking.

“Lance?”

“Hi, uhm, can i talk to you?”

“Sure,” said Shiro stepping aside to let the boy enter. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I just… need to say something? I think… I need… advice?”

“Oh, uh, sure, you can tell me anything.”

“Yeah… hmmmm…. I… you know I like girls, right? Like, I reeeaally like girls.”

“Yees…? You kinda remind everyone every single day…”

“Yeah.” Lance laughed nervously, crossing his arms. “I really like girls. I like them so much. I like flirting with them and–”

“Lance”

Lance stopped and stared at his own feet, unable to make himself look at Shiro in the eyes.

“I think I know where you are going with this speech,” said Shiro, putting a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “But I won’t say it for you, so just go ahead and say it, it’s okay.”

“You know?”

“Yeah…? I mean, I get how you must be feeling…”

“Ho… you get it?” Repeated Lance, a confused line between his eyebrows. “You like boys too?”

“What?” Blurted Shiro, eyes widening, “I thought we were talking about Allura!”

“What!” Shrieked Lance, taking a step back, “You like Allura??”

“You like boys??”

Lance laughed nervously, “no way, ha ha, I was joking… jeez, you believed that…” he turned towards the door, wanting nothing more than to lock himself in his room and call himself a dumbass for the rest of the night. This had been a mistake. A huge, nefarious mistake.

“No, Lance, wait!” Shiro called after him, “that came out wrong, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Like what?” Said Lance stopping.

“Like it’s a big deal. It’s… okay. If you like boys.”

“Is it?”

“Why shouldn’t it be?”

“Because… I like girls.”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive. It’s just called being bisexual.”

Lance gasped softly. “That’s the word, quiznack,” he whispered, “I knew I heard something like that…”

Shiro smiled. “Lance, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it, okay? If you ever feel like telling the rest of the team, know that I’ll be there to help you out and support you. And thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”

“Uhm, sure, whatever. Thanks? I guess.”

Shiro covered the few feet that divided them and hugged Lance tightly.

Lance let Shiro squeeze him like an empty toothpaste tube.

“Don’t tell Allura about… you know.” Shiro whispered, without letting him go.

“Sure,” said Lance, fighting for breath, until Shiro loosened his grip, “You don’t tell Keith.”

“What?”

“Omygod.” Lance pulled away, pretending to look at the nonexistent watch on his wrist, “look at time!! I gotta go! Bye Shiro, t'was nice talking to you!” He cried darting out of the door, leaving Shiro with his arms raised and his mouth open.

“Keith?? !”

Truths of the Types: What They're Doing

INFJ - is probably on the verge of breaking down because of the realization they can’t marry their favorite fictional character and they have to pick someone from this planet

INTP - is probably wearing earphones right now to avoid face to face human interaction while they lurk the world wide web and expand their collection of saved memes

ISFJ - is probably pampering themself with beauty/health products because they can’t fix themself on the inside

ISTJ - is probably trying to fix something that doesn’t need to be fixed which frustrates everyone around them

INTJ - is probably staring into space thinking about their purpose in life & thinking of ways to extend their already-long list of achievements in their resume

INFP - is probably playing videogames right now and doing much more in their character’s life, more than their own

ISTP - is probably trying their best not to be rude but still ends up hurting people by their sharp words and still doesn’t realize it

ISFP - is probably smiling and looking sensitive and innocent but is actually patiently waiting for their best friend and girlfriend to break up so they could finally make their move on them

ESFP - is probably doing something they shouldn’t be doing but does it eitherway without giving effort of hiding it and is surprised about getting caught

ESFJ - is probably writing an article to help others but is actually just writing it so they can share another one of their life stories–which no one actually cares about

ESTJ - is probably smiling on the outside acting like they like you but deep down they know they’re better than you–and if you actually are, they’ll watch your every move

ESTP - is probably thinking of ways to surprise their current romantic partner by making them sad first, just to see their reaction and be able to make them feel better later on–but fails horribly to the point that their partner almost breaks up with them

ENTP - is probably on snapchat taking random snaps of themselves with their dog to show that they’re having more fun than they actually are

ENFP - is probably being clingy with numerous people at the same time through chat, making each of them feel special but they don’t know it’s not only them

ENFJ - is probably posting inspirational quotes online & showing people motivational tips but doesn’t actually follow their own advice

ENTJ - is probably reposting articles online about why a person who is strong and independent is hard to love but are actually the best people to love


P.S. Hoping you guys like my new segment ☺ First time I’m writing about all the types! Sorry again for the hiatus, btw! Hope this post will make it up to you guys.

On Allura and Keith.

Because not everyone notices his low self-worth.

I think we all noticed that the only person that even tried to talk to Keith in s4 and remind him of his importance to team Voltron was Allura. It then occurred to me that she was the only one on the team that suspects Keith greatly underestimates his own importance.

This is not to say that the others don’t care about Keith, but nobody else had any reason to believe that he felt this way. Shiro has paramount trust in Keith’s abilities, Lance thinks he’s got it made because he’s so talented, and Hunk and Pidge don’t even seem to know him all that well. 

But Allura was the one there with him in that pod in s2e6 when he talked about how the team needed Allura to pilot the castle ship while brushing off his own importance, and you can bet your life she noticed the stunned looked in his face when she implied the team needed him just as much. I believe it was then when she first realized that Keith’s opinion of himself is so low that he fails to see just how much she matters, even as a paladin.

From the look on Keith’s face, it was obvious that he’d never even stopped to consider it, and that’s something that the perceptive Allura didn’t miss.

She was also there later, s2ep12, when Keith volunteered himself to infiltrate the main galra ship to finish what Thace had started. You can see the shock and concern plainly on her face, especially considering how Kolivan had basically just called it a suicide mission. It affected her enough that she made the decision to approach him by the pods before he left. She took this moment not only to apologize to him for her unwarranted actions earlier but also to remind him that he was indeed cared for.

By this point, I think Allura realizes that Keith’s detachment does not stem from stoicism or lack of caring (she’s seen him care… she was the sole witness of Shiro and Keith’s hug in s2e9) but from his own lack of self-worth. This moment isn’t just about her getting over her personal issues and prejudice against the galra. It’s also about her trying to drive the point home that Keith is important to them, not just as a paladin or resource in this war, but as a person. 

And then we see this again in s4e1:

SHE IS THE ONLY ONE TO APPROACH HIM without the intention of scolding him. She probably didn’t know that Keith had almost died, but she did know that Keith lost a comrade. Just from the soft “thanks” that he manages after, you can tell that he hadn’t been expecting that kind of concern and I’m pretty sure she knew that and provided her support as best she could. 

She’s worried about the growing distance between him and the rest of the team and she tries to remind him that he’s important. The way she adds “WE cannot” at the end of her statement is deliberate. She wants him to understand that he matters to the team AS A PERSON, rather than just a resource. Sure, he’s important to the mission… but he’s more than that to them.

Keith seems to ponder over this, but the idea probably just seems too farfetched to him. The only person in his life that he thought for sure cared about him was Shiro and their relationship at this point in the series is so degraded that he just can’t fathom it. In his eyes, if Shiro doesn’t seem to care, why would anyone else? (This is not me saying Shiro doesn’t care, by the way. This is just how Keith probably sees it, especially after their last few encounters.) And of course, the distance keeps growing and Allura is the only one that seems visibly concerned and it breaks my heart.

After Keith confirms her worst suspicions.

And that’s when it fully hit her just how unworthy Keith considered himself of being the black paladin, the leader, and that HE WAS PLANNING ON LEAVING. She just looked like her heart dropped when it happened. But Keith’s made up his mind and Shiro gives him his blessing, so all she can do is support him and remind him again that they do care.

TLDR;

Allura was probably the only one aware of Keith’s low self-esteem since s2e6 and she tried her very best to make him see how far from the truth he really was, though Keith never realized this.

A side note, I think if Lotor hadn’t shown up at the end and stopped Keith from sacrificing himself for everyone else, she would have taken it the hardest because she knew exactly what would have been going on inside his head when he made his decision, and she couldn’t stop him.

Maybe, if I post every time this happens, abled people will stop thinking that this sort of thing is rare.

A while back I was sitting by the restaurant in Ikea and using my phone while I waited for Marvin to buy some things.

I was seated at one of four high-backed chairs arranged around a low coffee table. Across the table from me was a stranger, his young son sat in the chair to the right of me, and his daughter, who was about nine-years-old, sat on the floor at the coffee table. She was colouring and her brother was playing on a DS.

Their father stared at me while pretending he wasn’t. It’s pretty obvious when someone is watching you from eight feet away, though. I didn’t get angry vibes so I wasn’t concerned and just pointedly ignored him while catching Pidgey after Pidgey.

My phone had a semi-transparent, soft plastic case on it. I usually covered it with cute stickers. At that time, it had large words written in sharpie on the back that said, “It’s rude to stare”.

I was absorbed in my game when the stranger across from me laughed suddenly, loudly, and pointed me out to his daughter.

“Her phone says, ‘It’s rude to stare’,” he said.

He chuckled and looked at my face, expecting an explanation.

I stared at him.

He stared back.

I sighed.

“Oh, yeah. People stare at me a lot,” Just like you were, I thought. I waved my phone to show off the words. “So I wrote that on there. So, yeah.”

I went back to my game. Guy chuckled again.

“Really, people stare at you? Why?” He asked.

I looked up from my phone. I stared at him.

He stared back. I raised my eyebrows. He kept waiting for an answer.

I held up the butterfly-printed cane that had been leaning against my legs by way of explanation. “Sometimes I use a walker or wheelchair, too.”

“And people stare?” He pressed.

“Yep,” I said shortly.

“Wow. Well, you know, I think it’s probably because of their own personal fear.”

I seriously bristled at that. The tone was awful, really patronizing.

“Yeah. Seeing disabled people in public is a real shock. We remind people of their own mortality,” I said humourlessly, adding in some sarcastic laughter for good measure. I tried to signal my disinterest by lowering my head and leaning over my phone screen.

“Yeah-” he said, charging full speed ahead like he didn’t even need me for this conversation. He clearly had something to say all prepared.

"And you know, it’s funny. But I used to be scared of- people- people with disabilities,” he said, with a smile and lean-in, touching his fingertips together, making me want to punch his face.

I was in a bit of social shock. I just kept thinking, are you kidding me? This Ikea food court confession is happening right now, huh?

“Not physical disabilities, but mental disabilities.”

He was so smarmy, you guys. When he said that, I think my soul left my body. And I had no idea how to either respond or extricate myself reasonably. 

I hesitated, looked from this guy to his children, who were watching the exchange with awkward interest.

“Oh. Uh. Well, I’m autistic, so…” I let my words trail off. To this day I have no idea where that sentence would have gone.

“Oh. Oh! But I mean, you can’t tell,” he turned tomato red. “You’re so well-spoken and- I guess you could say that you have really overcome.”

As he was fumbling, I was giving him an exaggerated but sincerely felt grimace and an unimpressed "ehhh”.

At his pronouncement of my overcoming, I sat up straight and said, loudly and pissed enough that his children started looking worried, “Uh, yikes. No.”

Guy’s daughter looked like she would rather he did anything but continue talking, but that’s what he did. Like any allistic abled white dude worth his salt /s, he powered through, ignoring my obvious and projected displeasure.

“But, I mean. In school, it’s funny, because it ended up that most of my friends were handicapped. I guess I kind of protected them-” His voice took on an artificially soft, sticky quality. It was at this moment that I snapped.

“Okay. I’m going to cut you off there,” I said. I put my hand up. His tomato face spoiled.

“What? Why?” He seemed torn between expressing frustration and wanting to appear kind-hearted and open-minded in front of his children.

“Well. Uh. Ugh,“ I looked at his kids, wondering how harsh or how kind I should be. I hated that he put me in this spot. In that moment I hated him so much.

"Well, you’re saying a lot of stuff that non-disabled people think is nice to hear, but it’s not. It’s just- it’s just not.” I knew it was pointless to try to explain. My words were failing fast. He didn’t really care, anyway.

“I wouldn’t even be able to explain it to you,” I shrugged.

He gaped at me. Now he was angry. This wasn’t going how he had wanted it to.

“I know you’re coming from a good place. But it’s not nice. It’s just not… yeah.” I gripped the handle of my cane in one hand and my phone, Pokémon Go forgotten, in the other. I fought the urge to literally run away. I felt the surreal pressure of my behaviour being one of these kids’ formative disability-related experiences.

“Oh. Uh. Well. Okay. Sorry,” he said, embarrassed, not sorry. “And uh, thanks for saying that,” he said, trying to get me back. I looked away.

“I just-” he started. Even his children looked unhappily surprised that he was trying for that last word.

“I just want to say that you’re great.

I didn’t look at him. I smiled at his daughter, who smiled back out of habit, more confused than anything. His son looked down at his DS, secondhand embarrassment turning him red too.

“Hmm. Well, your kids seem nice,” I offered breezily.

After that, I moved away from the circle of green chairs and sat in an uncomfortably high stool in the corner. I hid there, head down, my hands shaking very slightly, feeling paranoid. Like I failed. And that my friends, is ableism. 

Cat Got Your Tongue Pt.2 (M)

Taco’s not so fluffy anymore, and you run into quite a few unexpected faces.

Word count: 7.4 k

Genre: Comedy, smut, fluff, a touch of angst, a lot of naked Tae

A/N: Hi! I’m so sorry this took forever to come out and I really hope I did it justice. Thank you everyone who was so patient with me, I really appreciate you all and your understanding means a lot to me. I hope you enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think! Special thanks to @jiminniemouse @seoulscapes & @kittae for proofreading this trash and motivating me to complete it!

Part 1 here

Keep reading

I don’t comprehend, understand, what my problem is


My mask goes on, everything gone, why deal with this


I hide behind words, smiles, plastered on fake faces


My lies so quick, so true, just going through the paces


I cry alone, unbothered, no need to trouble anyone else


My own thoughts, screams, echoes in a withered shell


I don’t want to be apart of it anymore


My sanity, myself can’t take it anymore


I need to take off the mask


My mask needs to come off

1) The issue with Kylie Jenner is that she does not realise how much influence she has on young girls and continues to deny that she had work done on her body. She just needs to own up to some things .

2) There is nothing wrong with makeup but when you constantly send messages throughout the world with your unrealistic face and body goals, something is wrong .

3) Don’t come at me with the excuse that it’s her choice and freedom. We wish the world was that simple. People are doing stupid things because it is their right? Freedom? Choice? I call that bull. Just because it’s your choice and I know it’s bad, I can’t and won’t respect it.

Edit 1: 4) Being sexualised and at such a young age is not admirable.

5) She appropriates black culture and is willingly ignorant.

P.S. At the end of the day, what girls are learning from her are superficial things. You want to deny this truth, you can.

Edit 2: P.P.S. I really wanted to add something. I know how influenced Kylie is because of her family, but sometimes I just think that you can’t make that excuse all the time because today we have so many resources that tell us what is right or wrong. Just because you are ignorant about something doesn’t give you the pass to use the “family - influenced pass”. I also understand that she felt the need to be something she isn’t, but when you have that money, can’t you choose a better lifestyle or something which doesn’t make you feel pressured? What irks me is that she complains about feeling pressured by everyone but at the same time does the thing she “realises” is not good. She is so hypocritical. I also understand that life can’t be changed that easily but I have never seen her make the effort. It all feels so shallow.

4

YOI Future!Verse ABO AU, Visual Headcanon Web Charts #01

So I always wanted to make one of these. Turns out my headcanons for the most part are WAY too wordy for these things and uh, they’re a bit of a mess >.>;; BUT I hope nonetheless that they’re somewhat fun to read even if barely legible, it was fun to make ^ ^;

1. Super basic relationship chart of the core members of the lovely poly family in this AU.

2. “Adults Think,” the color of each adult indicates their feelings towards the person to whom the arrow is pointing.

3. “Kids Think,” the color of each OC kid indicates their feelings towards the person to whom the arrow is pointing.

There’s obviously a lot more to it than what could be crammed in the lil text boxes, but a gist and pretty much the first things that immediately popped into my mind regarding their interactions. 2 and 3 also mostly show their thoughts while the kids are younger, which will change a bit as they grow up, to be covered in a future post.

*Recommended you right click view image to see full size bc the text is tiny oops

Because the text is so illegible, text only versions of charts 2 and 3 beneath cut, all elaborated quite a bit because I’m so rambly oops:

~~

IF YOU ARE NEW TO THIS AU: It’s Yuuri-centric polyamory in an ABO setting, Yuuri’s married to four mates (Victor, Yurio, Phichit, Minami) and they have OC kids.

BASICS of this AU

INTRO to how ABO works in this AU

OTHER POSTS (comics + illustrations) in the Future!Verse ABO section of my YOI Masterpost.

~~

Please keep ship bashing out of the comments/tags. Don’t like, just skip <3 Thank you.

~~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, EDIT, OR OTHERWISE USE MY ART WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT PERMISSION. More detailed rules available on my Rules & FAQ Post.

~~

Keep reading

Dean: You know, the invention of the shovel was ground-breaking.

Dean: Ground-breaking.

Dean: [laughing at his own joke]

Mary: [face palming]

Dean: … But it was the broom’s creation that really swept the nation.

Sam: [rolling his eyes]

Dean: Of course, some say it’s the wheel that really got things rolling. C’mon guys give me something here.

Castiel: [squinting]

Castiel: I should’ve left you in hell

just-a-human  asked:

Could u please give some tiles on drawing heads/faces? Just found your blog and you are AMAZING, have a great day!

Hmm, okay so first of all, I’ve always said I’m pretty bad at tutorials and explanations, so I absolutely can’t like, guarantee that any of this stuff will work for anyone, let alone everyone. Artists have different techniques that they find work best for them. 

On the other hand, I didn’t want to just say “practice!” and leave it at that. So here’s an attempt to explain how I, personally, go about drawing heads and faces. (Apologies if the images come out gigantic and make this post really long.)

First of all, I do the typical circle with two lines. I don’t necessarily use the circle as the actual head structure; I just find that this really helps me get a feel for the direction I want the person to be looking, and where the features should be placed. The main thing that helped me get a hang of faces was always keeping in mind that they’re three-dimensional, and not just a flat oval with lined features slapped on top (I started off in 2001 drawing anime so I had a lot of bad habits to break and actual anatomy to learn. Nothing against anime, it’s just not the best thing to start from because it’s SO stylized.) 

Sometimes I’ll do that little line on the side to remind me to keep the features where they should be and not let them slide too far over on the face. It’s sort of…where I differentiate between the side of the head and the front of the face, I guess.

I also like to draw the nose early on because it’s in the middle of the face and helps me know where the rest of the features will be. Sometimes I’ll do eyebrows too, which I’ll touch on later. 

Rest of the features next. Once again, keeping in mind that the eyes are sunken into the face a little, and the nose protrudes. 

Sometimes if I’m having trouble I’ll do some really crude shading ot help me figure out where exactly things should be placed, keeping in mind the structure of the skull underneath (pink being where shadows would fall).

Hairline comes next - I no longer need the circle underneath.

I like to add hair last, on top of an already-drawn head so that I don’t accidentally make the skull too big or too small. Hair probably needs its own whole tutorial or something so I’ll leave it here for now. 

Different face shapes are pretty easy if you break them down into really simple ones to start. Detail comes after, so don’t get too caught up in it in the start. Like I said before, I like to do noses, and sometimes eyebrows, because it really keeps me in line and helps me not make the rest of the features too big or too small (at least not past where I want them, stylistically) and it keeps them where they SHOULD be according to the structure of the face.

Honestly I have no idea if this is at all coherent. I never took many actual drawing classes or anything, most of this is just stuff I’ve figured out myself that works best for me. I like to look at things that artists better than myself do, figure out why I like it so much, and work at improving those areas of my own art. Personally, my own biggest problem to get past was that whole 3D thing and not drawing a human face as a flat thing with lines slapped on top of it. Knowing the underlying structure is boring, but important. 

I really hope this helped in SOME way, even if it was really small. Thanks! <3 

Stolen Sweaters

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Nothing, this is just seriously fluff galore.

Summary: You accidentally threw on the wrong sweater that morning, one you didn’t exactly have permission to have in your possession.

A/N: So today my best friend gave me my late birthday present, which was a Midtown High sweater, just like the one Peter wears in Homecoming, and it’s my new favorite article of clothing. And it inspired me to write this cheesy, sappy lil fic for you guys. I hope you all enjoy it because it honestly melted my heart to write alsksklsj :,)

Originally posted by peterbparkerr


The rain fell down hard outside, causing the train floor to be a slippery mess when you’d gotten on that morning. Luckily, you were there early enough to manage to find a seat so you didn’t have to stand up and tediously grip the railing. Honestly, you weren’t even sure that you wouldn’t slip and fall on your face if you’d been forced to stand.

It had been thundering all throughout the night, which to most people was calming, but for you, it just meant that you barely got any sleep. Something about thunderstorms always rendered your brain incapable of shutting down and resting. 

Keep reading

Through the cosmic kaleidoscope snapshot 

Aries:

Something in her nature is always preparing her for war. It could be with lovers, employers, teachers, or parents. It could be with herself and if she is staging to the world the woman she admires in herself. Her heels thunder through the hallways and she can raise her voice higher than the ceiling. When it comes to self expectation, her standards are quite high. She is not afraid of assertion, protecting her femininity, or defending herself against any force or feature. Every piece of herself that she has built has taken work. Libra may be the White Queen, and indelible charmer seemingly loved by the world. But the Red Queen in Aries is life and aliveness, choking at the excitement of everything, vivid, glorious, spirited, and… bonkers.

Taurus:

Taurus have a talent for beautifying everything they put their hands on, so you can almost imagine their paintbrushes stroking everything in tactile delight and leaving colours behind that nobody has seen before. Even her physical body is a canvas, she can be experimental with personal style, use meditation to create harmonics in her body, create gourmet cuisine and help flowers grow. It is her godly artistry, the substance of her inner world that gives rise to mosaics and masterpieces, the paintbrush hands that spindle thread into gold.

Gemini:

Gemini is rarely hesitant to hide her lack of fasciation or interest with certain people. She has a sophisticated social conduct but this deteriorates when she finds her company bland and tedious. She can abandon long term relationships and friendships without hesitation because she embraces the change of fresh perspectives. Her intellect cannot hide its need to ravage even greater thinkers, and it’s unapologetic in doing so. It’s always about ensuring the mind does not lapse into a mere moment of boredom, because this would mean that the Gemini is left with nothing but billions of thoughts, and they blow up like anxious butterflies.

Cancer:

The Mother Goddess in Cancer is a formidable figure of biological and spiritual activity, the waters that birth and cradle all life. But there is different sort of light or essence in Cancer, one that the inner child refuses to let go of. It is her intimacy with this internal child, the scarab, that gives her the anointed and sacred mother’s touch. The scarab was anciently regarded as a ‘very tiny cosmos’ as it symbolised entrance into the material universe. This ‘tiny cosmos’ is still active inside Cancer. It’s why she can believe that mermaids exist and immerse herself in make believe. It’s why she can enjoy simple pleasures like colouring in and eating cookie dough. Mother and Child divided and reunited by light itself. 

Leo:

The Leo can be so whipped by the crack of the ego that it can be absolutely impossible to accept criticism or failure. The Leo seeks out validation, because love and affection from other people act as a source of nourishment. She needs credit for playing her role with prestige, sometimes openly, and sometimes secretly. These words of acclaim liven her heart and energise her spirit. But this can be fleeting, and only for only a moment. The ego is always flocking close by, waiting to whisper its discouragement or dissatisfaction, hovering with poisonous thoughts that are sure to contaminate any sort of praise she received.

Virgo:

Nothing she ever accomplishes seems good enough for her mind, it slices through her like cutting criticism. The memory of every mistake that she’s ever made inundates her head and sounds like demons cackling. And this pursuit of perfection is ultimately altruistic, she only wants to be perfect so she can be perfect for others, so she can be recognised and praised, so she can hear something other than criticism. This relentless conditioning by her own mind causes her sensitive physical body to respond, she can become trapped in rituals and routine for which she sees no sense, it’s just like a compulsive ceremony to manage the onslaught.

Libra:

Libra is the ruler of the 7th house and the descendant as the sun sets. These shadows begin to dilute the personality, it requires all-consuming social needs and trepidation when faced with isolation. Libra is ultimately energised socially and activated in the pursuit of forming relationships, maintaining contracts, and upholding law. The Libra temperament can be quite unpredictable. They can experience sudden and confusing ruptures of energy that their airy mind is unable to interpret. This is when you see the shaky and tantrum energies of Libra rise from dissatisfied cardinal forces

Scorpio:

Deep down in the halls where Hades rules there is a throne glistening in sea and soul, the throne for the Princess who valiantly guards the threshold with ferocious winds and demons coursing through her hair. The blood of her fought battles tattooed into her skin, her eyes ablaze with the power and prestige of ruling the underworld. That’s no easy task for someone who thought she was a mere girl, the duty of taking souls on journeys and extracting lies and traumas like a psychic surgeon. She oozes magnetism and prowess, her presence is as noticeable as her absence, and in some way she is always watching, observing, and calculating. 

Sagittarius:

She safaris in tourist sites and ancient burial lands, the more I understand about the world she figures, the more I will understand about myself. She spots marks on atlases and sees her own heritage. She hears a language never spoken before but understands everything. She sees her own reflection in the Great Barrier Reef. She feels her heart rise with the sun. She adopts new cultures like her own. Change can be the Sagittarian’s only constant, and as the world spins she madly tries to keep up with it. She can be ravenous when her mind is hungry. She just wants to find her true self so it’s not so empty. 

Capricorn:

It was also Capricorn who is illustrated by the cloaked grim reaper, their melancholy is not romantic, but it carves out a wound in them that summons magnificent healing energy, an intimacy with pain and suffering that is pure wisdom at its core. For this, she has a unique rapport with death, and she hears the reminders of immortality louder than anyone. It’s this mutual understanding that she has established with death that generates her sorcerer’s knowledge, herbs, tonics, and angelic curatives, but also rituals. And this can be why the Capricorn repeatedly or compulsively carries out personal rituals, there is a calling in her being for return to the wind, trees, salt, and sun and once again become the crone.

Aquarius:

Aquarius is the sign of Blue Light Christ Consciousness, they are residents of the mental plane, the realisation of the inner light and kingdom, the awareness of truth and oneness with all beings. The jagged waves of their symbol represent light, not water, and electrical impulses that pass through one another other like telepathy. Aquarius contains this knowing in her jug of water, but she maintains physical form. Like a mermaid, she dwells in mysterious waters, but in true to her airy nature, her head remains in the clouds.

Pisces: 

She wrote a severe contract for earth before incarnating as Pisces. And God knows this, so her support system is rich and active. It’s ensured there are angels, guides, ancestors, and spiritual mentors always on call, this is why so many Pisces make natural spiritualists, healers, witches, and clairvoyants. The 6th sense is how she perceives, feels, knows, and understands the world. The ocean is vast and largely undiscovered, in a spiritual sense it symbolises everything. This is the experience for Pisces. The intensity of containing such spiritual mass is too harsh for a physical body. So the Pisces has many bodies she can swim into.

-C.

Can we talk about something? I’ve seen a lot of back and forth on whether or not Jughead regrets what happened with Toni so here’s my take on 2x06.

While it’s true Jug never vocalized how he felt about his kiss/make-out, I don’t think he needed to. Not after we see him make this face as Toni leaves the kitchen. To me this look says it all:

Regret. Sadness. 

Now let’s think about his narration here. He’s talking about masks and letting them down and having others see what you’re hiding. In this brief second his own “I’m fine” mask falls away and we get a glimpse at what’s really going on inside his head.

He then goes on to talk about the masks going back up, which leads us to the diner scene. I know this exchange between him and Toni is a thorn in the side for some, but I have a different take so hear me out…

At this point, he still thinks Betty doesn’t love him or want him. Couple that with his serious mommy abandonment issues and you understand why he isn’t exactly pushing Toni away. He’s taking what he can get, a consolation prize. But Toni sees through his mask and lets him down because she knows he’s not over Betty and whatever happened with them was just a rebound. His face goes from upbeat to a little angry at her words. He know’s she’s right - and the truth stings. He also looks a little fazed when she shuts him down. Not because he has romantic feelings for Toni per se, but rather he can’t believe he’s getting rejected again by a female, and even worse, by one that wasn’t even his first choice to begin with. He’s probably thinking “what is wrong with me and why won’t anyone love me” but instead of talking about it, he puts on his “I’m fine” mask and just goes with it.

I don’t hate what happened here. It feels realistic and relatable. I do hope think we’ll get more from him once the kiss+ comes out. Aside from Jughead not telling Betty about it, I’m okay with things as they stand. 

P.S. - let’s not forget another driving force behind the kiss and postmortem chat - establishing Toni’s bisexuality and to make it clear nothing more will happen between her and Jughead in that way moving forward.

Living Armor Boyfriend

This is part of a trade with @loverofmynight and in part inspired by this post by @francisxie 

“Now stay here,” he tells you as he pats your shoulders. “Stay still, keep your head down, and don’t say anything.” His voice and stern and cold as always, but you can hear the fear hidden inside it.

“I will,” your voice timid.

He touches your cheek and you feel no affection there, but that’s nothing new. He slips away and you hear his footsteps go back to the carriage. You listen to him leave, snapping the reins as the horse goes from cobblestone to dirt.

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