whatever voice they do

4

I LOOK FABULOUS!!

a hair extension potion made by Anna! He’ll probably lose his hair in a couple of days ahahaha

idea by @draceempressa and was drawn by me :D

On The Edge With You (Spencer Reid x Reader)

My first Reid smut! Just an idea that popped in my head. PWP. Spencer Reid x Reader smut. The reader wonders just how Spencer gained his stamina in the bedroom, he shows her just how he gained that skill.


“Spencer, can I ask you something kind of,” You hesitated, “Personal?” You were both on his couch, you lying down with your feet in his lap. It was one of his rare weekends without a case or paperwork. You both opted for a quiet night in after going out to lunch.

“Sure?” He said looking up from his book, a little concerned. “We’ve been together for months Y/N, I hope you know you can ask me anything.”

“How do you last so long in bed?” You blurted out, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks. You didn’t mean for it to sound so accusing. It was a valid question though, just the night before you came three times before Spencer even seemed close to finishing. It got you curious, and even a little worried.

Keep reading

Little schizophrenia/schizospec/psychosis things

- those weird shapes that come in different colours and you HAVE to watch them float through one side of the room to the other then disappear

- weird squiggly black lines that dance around in front of you and usually make everything around you blurry except for that black thing

- people’s voices echoing but the echo is very deep and demonic sounding so you can barely understand what people are saying

- not showering for so long because you thought you showered an hour ago but in reality you haven’t showered at all

- not eating for days on end because the food is obviously poisoned or you have ugly gustatory hallucinations from eating so food is not good

- your vision going completely blurry and black for a while and you literally cannot see properly enough to function so you’re like woah

– watching a horror movie or a movie with a monster so obviously that movie was a secret message that the person/monster is out to get you

- there’s ALWAYS someone or something going after you

- wanting to please the thing that’s after you so you don’t get hurt so you listen to the voices and do whatever they tell you because they know what will please your persecutor

- making yourself bleed because that proves you’re a real person

- making yourself bleed but this time you don’t know how, when, or why

- all of a sudden feeling like your body is floating in soft clouds or like you’re in a very warm bath and you can feel yourself losing any and all control of yourself

- saying things out loud that were meant to be in your head

- you’re a psychic because you’re right about things in the future 38% of the time

- pretending to be speaking on the phone with someone when in reality you’re just talking to yourself/the voices

- not caring enough to distinguish what’s a hallucination or not because it’s too much work

- people thinking you’re acting drunk after an anxiety or panic attack/very bad seizure-like psychotic episode but in reality it’s just really bad psychosis

- saying something and people laughing but you have no idea what you said that was funny

- hallucinating pain in your body and then having hypochondriac type delusions that you’re going to die so you prepare for death

- believing anything anyone says even if it’s completely absurd or meant as sarcasm

- doing something and then forgetting you did the thing and doing it again and again until you realize you did it several times

- sleeping but not really sleeping because it’s like you get a good ten minutes of sleep before you wake up and take at least half an hour to sleep since auditory hallucinations continue on even throughout sleep

- hallucinating being cold so you’re wearing four layers or jackets, two layers or socks, very warm pj pants, mittens, and sitting right beside the heater turned to max

- that one hallucination that’s positive and encouraging but you can’t tell if it’s mocking you or being genuine

- all inanimate objects are alive so you have to be polite always

- telling people you’re not psychotic when they say you seem extremely ill but your insight is 0

- literally having to be taken care of like a small child: being reminded to eat, shower etc. basically people making sure you’re doing mundane basic human things

- having to be reminded you’re a human that needs to do basic human functions when in reality you feel as if you had the needs of inanimate objects which is nothing really

- having so much trouble walking and keeping your balance so people literally have to hold you while walking so you don’t fall over

Slipped/binged?

go to sleep early
wake up early
start over, start fresh
push yourself
tell whatever voice in your head that’s saying “you can’t do it, you’ve ruined everything” to fuck off
get back out there
don’t stop
keep going
one bad day isn’t going to change everything
you got this

6

HORI is apparently making a Splatoon themed headset for the new Nintendo voice..integration..thing or whatever the fuck Nintendo is doing. Apparently to do voice chat and listen to in game sounds you’ll need your phone, your switch and then plug those both into a little volume box with your headphones.

On one hand, if this is basically what we’re gonna pay for when the online services become available, what the fuck is Nintendo thinking.

On the other GUYS HOLY SHIT WE CAN BE FRESH AF. These headphones are apparently going to be available in Splatoon 2 as well.

The Raid

I woke up at 5.30 and couldn’t fall back to sleep, so I fell into Sterek feels instead. Thought I’d try to make some sense of the story it looks like they’re telling (possibly a futile attempt, but…)

I’m on mobile, so no read more, sorry!

1.7k

T rating

*****

It had taken Stiles a while to get comfortable leaving his phone on silent when he was in the middle of something; the idea of being unreachable, or worse, unaware of the current threat had haunted him for months. The reality of being almost 3,000 miles away eventually sunk in and he was able to accept being temporarily out of the loop when he needed to focus. It was equal parts terrifying and freeing, a sort of nauseating relief.

So when he sees a missed call from Chris Argent after his last class before break, his heart drops immediately into his stomach. The voice-mail is maddeningly vague, but before it’s even over Stiles is shoving a few last essentials into his mostly packed duffel bag and impatiently waiting the handful of seconds for Chris to pick up his phone.

Chris has barely gotten a “Stiles” out before Stiles rushes out “What’s going on?”

Thankfully, Chris doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “There’s a rumor that there’ll be an FBI raid at a location I’ve been looking into for some possible illegal hunting. Can you see what you find out from whatever contacts you’ve made there?”

“Yeah, of course. Give me a couple hours. Do we know when it’s supposed to be happening?”

“Week from last Friday, so what, few days from now,” Stiles feels overwhelmingly sorry for Chris, the man must be pushing himself hard if he’s losing track of the days. “I’m not sure what their interest is, possibly a human trafficking angle,” Stiles’ stomach clenches at that. The idea of it so abhorrent it makes him shiver; the fact that hunters are involved, and therefore some of the people involved are likely to be werewolves adds an extra layer of disgust, a too vivid picture of Erica, Boyd,and Derek at the mercy of unhinged hunters flashes in his head and his whole body tenses. Chris confirms the thought with his next words, “but it’s not like they’ll be prepared for what they’ll find if my intel is right.”

“Right, I’ll get back to you as soon as I have something.”

“Thanks, Stiles,” Chris says sincerely, the exhaustion in his voice obvious, and Stiles has a moment of shameful relief that he’s not responsible for any of whatever is going on. It doesn’t last long. Chris inhales audibly, and Stiles instinctively prepares for a blow. “And Stiles,” he begins and pauses, reluctance and regret clear in his voice and in the short silence, “You should know that there’s a Beacon Hills connection to whatever we’re walking into.” Before Stiles can demand more, Chris adds an apologetic “I don’t know more than that right now, but I’m looking into it.”

Stiles drops onto his crappy dorm mattress, the weight of the information making his legs buckle. Stiles chokes out “I’ll call you back tonight,” and hangs up.

The call to Rafael McCall takes an eternity to connect, so when he finally answers, Stiles doesn’t wait for a greeting. “I need to know everything you know about a possible human trafficking raid happening in a few days that has a connection to Beacon Hills.”

“Hello to you, too, Stiles,” Rafael says in that condescending way he has always addressed others with, and Stiles is reminded that despite the man having put in a good word for him at the FBI, he was a first class asshole.

Stiles grits his teeth and manages a “Please,” letting his panic color his voice and hoping Mr McCall is having a day where he’s capable of basic human compassion.

He gets lucky, because Rafael responds with “I’ll see what I can find out, but no promises.”

“Fair enough, but I need it tonight.”

Rafael sighs, but agrees, and Stiles disconnects the call. Stiles spends the next two hours on the computer, finding everything he can on human trafficking, reaching out to contacts for information on hunters who’ve gone off the rails, and wishing Danny was there to help him find a backdoor into government files.

When Rafe calls back with a time and place, Stiles has a frustratingly small list of notes, but at least he has confirmation to pass along to Chris. Rafael has managed to get himself assigned to the team going on the raid, citing his “personal interest,” and Stiles manages not to scoff at the idea that the man has any real connection to Beacon Hills or its inhabitants. Still, Stiles says a sincere “Thank you,” before he tells Rafael firmly “I’m going with you.”

Rafe sighs out a resigned “I figured you’d say that. You’ll have a seat in my vehicle, otherwise I know you’ll just show up on your own.”

He’s not wrong. “Thank you,” he repeats, this time, he says goodbye befits hanging up to call Chris.

*****

Sitting in the government issue black SUV while FBI agents move with surprising stealth to prepare to storm the building is excruciating. Being told to stay in the car isn’t surprising, but it makes him feel anxious and angry and helpless all the same.

While the agents surround the building, a familiar figure approaches Stiles’ car. Stiles barely restrains himself from hugging Chris,the relief at seeing him, at seeing someone from home, from his life in Beacon Hills, from his pack of misfits, is almost staggering.

He settles for a nod of greeting and gratefully accepts Chris’ hand on his shoulder, letting the weight of it ground him.

“Stiles,” Chris says, clearly unsurprised at seeing him there, but decidedly unhappy about it. “I know you couldn’t, but damn do I wish you’d stayed away from this, kid. I’m sorry for dragging you back into this shitshow.” Stiles can see Allison’s ghost in Chris’s eyes, and it hurts in a way he knows it always will.

“I don’t think I could really stay out. Not forever,” he tries to reassure Chris. “Plus, if I could’ve helped and I didn’t, I’d never forgive myself.” Chris squeezes his shoulder, but his face draws tight.

“We’re moving in as soon as the FBI does, hoping the chaos gives us some cover. I wish they weren’t watching this place, so we could’ve moved in as soon as we found this place,” Chris says as he drops his hand to check his weapon. Before he turns to move into position, he levels Stiles with a sympathetic look. “I don’t want to tell you, but you should know, Derek is in there.”

Stiles freezes, he can’t feel his hands for a moment, but uses his thumb to count off his fingers, hoping with all he has that this is all a bad dream. There are only five fingers, and Stiles feels icy dread rushing through his veins. Chris’s voice pulls him from the edge of panic, “Whatever you do, be careful,” he says, the words heavy between them but a strange comfort nonetheless as Chris pats his shoulder again and walks away with practiced silence.

It takes Stiles less than 30 seconds to make a plan. With determination and likely ill advised bravery, honed over two plus years of fighting monsters–human and supernatural alike–he turns on the radio scanner in the SUV and assesses the unassuming old warehouse for a good entry point.

*****

When he finds Derek, he almost cries when Derek looks up from where he’s sagged against a crumbling wall, a complicated mix of emotions playing across his face. Derek chokes out “Stiles?” and despite the confusion in his voice, hearing his name from Derek’s mouth again is incredible.

Stiles takes in the room as he walks through it, a standard villain’s lair except for the heavy chains bolted to the walls, floor, and disturbingly, the ceiling. And the IVs filled with what Stiles assumes is a wolfsbane solution, considering there’s one in Derek’s arm. Anger and relief swirl around in his brain as he moves to Derek’s side, pulling the IV from his arm with disgusted satisfaction.

He’s restrained, but thankfully only by heavy leather cuffs–laced with more wolfsbane, judging by the reddened skin on Derek’s wrists. Stiles takes Derek’s hands, one at a time, removing the cuffs carefully and tossing them away.

“Hey, Der,” he says, cupping Derek’s face with one hand and resting the other on his shoulder. “Not quite the reunion we were planning, big guy, but we need to get the hell out of here, okay?”

Derek is worryingly quiet, eyes glassy from the drugs in his system, a look of shock and something like awe on his face. “Hey,” Stiles pats Derek’s cheek, not willing to slap him to awareness while he’s been so abused. “Derek, we need to go, are you with me?” His thumb traces Derek’s cheek as he pleads and tries to calculate how far he can carry Derek before he can’t anymore. “Der, c’mon, let’s go, c’mon. Please.”

Derek closes his eyes tightly for a second, and when he opens them again they’re clearer. Stiles fights the urge to sag against him in relief, but it’s a near thing.

“Yeah,” Derek says, voice raw (Stiles willfully ignores the knowledge that that means Derek’s likely been screaming for long hours, over however many days). “Yeah, I’m with you. I’m with you. Let’s go.”

Stiles breathes out heavily and gratefully, standing to help pull Derek off the floor. Derek stumbles, the wolfsbane making his movements unsteady, but Stiles catches him. He drapes Derek’s arm over his shoulder, gripping his forearm firmly and wrapping his free arm around Derek’s middle. They both hold on to each other tightly.

They make it into the hallway just as a team of FBI agents run down it in the opposite direction. Stiles is grateful for the vest Rafael had given him to wear, as not a single agent gives him a second glance.

Derek grips Stiles’ shirt as they struggle down the dim corridor, Stiles pulls him closer in response, taking more of his weight as Derek slips. He’d had to leave Derek once, and it had torn him apart; he wouldn’t be leaving him again.

They just had to get to Rafael’s car, then Stiles could get them both far away from this nightmare. Mr McCall will understand.

A road trip should give Derek time to recover, give them time to reconnect, to decide what to do next. Plus, it sounded like a much better reunion story; they deserved a kinder story.

Originally posted by dyjanobrien

lurkeymclurker  asked:

What do you think it'd be like if one of the Rogue One members had survived? How would that effect the original trilogy and how would they cope with everything?

Cassian didn’t talk, at first. There didn’t seem anything else to say.

.

Mothma came at some point. Cassian woke up and she was at his bedside, sitting ramrod-straight, so very tall and white, even moreso washed out by the lights of the medbay. (She made him think of the columns on Imenthe—natural salt deposits like spires, like teeth ringing the great and violent sea. He killed a man there, got blood on all that white, white salt. And afterward he had sat in the sand, watched the tide come in and wash it all away.

Mon Mothma always made him think of Imenthe.)

She was studying his face now, and Cassian raised his eyebrows at her. She smiled a little. “Ah, Captain. I—have spent the last half-hour trying to decide what I would say.” 

She was quiet a moment, then the smile turned rueful. “I’m still not certain whether there is anything I could say.”

Cassian snorted, shut his eyes again. After a moment, he felt a very cool hand pressed to his forehead. “Cassian,” Mothma said, and there was something almost human in her voice, a thing like kindness. “Cassian, you saved us. How will we ever repay you?”

The meddroid had been very clear, he wasn’t supposed to move unassisted. Cassian risked it to turn his head away, screwing his eyes so tightly shut that he could see those little floating stars flare to life behind his eyelids.

Mothma drew her hand away. 

He heard her stand, the chair scraping a little as she did. “Bodhi Rook was released from bacta suspension last night,” she said, and her voice was cool again, impersonal. “He is expected to make a full recovery. The technicians are still working to fully recover K-2SO’s backup, but…I believe this means you were more than just successful in your mission, Captain. You brought everyone home.

“I thought you might be interested to know,” Mothma added after a moment. Her boots made a sharp, clipped noise on the stone floor, and then she was gone. 

Cassian went back to sleep.

.

(He only vaguely remembers what happened after Scarif. The adrenaline wore away quickly after Krennic was dead, and in its place came a rising pain, pain like the firestorm that engulfed Jedha. By the time they stumbled from the lifttube, Jyn was the only thing holding him upright; Jyn was telling him, cassian cassian c’mon, just a little farther, okay? just a little—it’ll be over soon, you can rest, I’ll let you rest, just—just—

But the rest is a scattered succession of images, half-memories: the sound of a ship’s engine overhead, and Jyn shouting here, we’re here!, a heavy weight on Cassian’s chest and screams he couldn’t make out (was that him screaming?) too much pain—he thinks he passed out once or twice; someone asking for his medical history and Cassian slurring, ask kaytoo, he keeps my records, before remembering—

I can’t feel my legs, he said at one point, he remembers that. Jyn’s face swimming into his vision, the red of blood streaked across her cheek. I can’t…that’s not good, is it, if I can’t…

Flickering lights, medical jargon he couldn’t understand. Someone saying spine, and spine again. (Every time he shut his eyes he could feel himself falling again, the whip-bang of the metal landing—) His spine again. Jyn’s voice, high and tight, saying yes, okay, yes. do whatever you have to.

When he woke up in the medbay on Yavin, he was alone.)

.

Cassian’s dreams were confused, a muddled haze of dead sentients clawing at his skin and his mother’s face—out of focus, distant and cold as a moon; he barely remembered enough of her to dream it anymore—and then suddenly, a cool pressure on his mind, rippling outwards. He was standing at the edge of a vast ocean, breathing in the cold tang of salt and the water. 

It was quiet.

He exhaled, and then he was lying in the medbay, and the sound of waves beating against the shore was just the thrum of blood in his ears.

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Hatefuck C.H.

This imagine is based on this song

You can read part 2 here

Trigger Warning: it contains smut and swearing 

Word count: 2,5k+

A/N: I’m thinking about doing a second part to this. Should i? Anyway, hope you like it.  


Heartbreak.

That was the only thing I could feel in that moment. Life was slipping through my fingers and I couldn’t do anything about it. All I could seem to do was sitting on the floor, trying to stop the tears from falling.

Numbness came right after. The tears had already dried; my swollen eyes could hardly see anything. I heard the noise that came from the TV, my chest hurt. Everything was a blur, and not only because I couldn’t see anything because of the tears, but because my mind wasn’t even thinking straight. Trying to steady my breathing, I looked around my apartment. There were smashed dishes lying around the floor, a few picture frames also accompanied them.

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Be intelligent. Be fearless. Be artistic. Be humorous. Be courageous. Be whatever you want to be but whatever you choose, be loud. Use your voice and make yourself heard. Do not stop until your words echo through the crowds, until your name is synonymous with greatness. Do not hide in the shadows. You are relevant. You are important. Make them know that.
—  Be empowered.

“you know it’s been a month since we moved in together?” Even threw it out casually over their morning coffee, like it wasn’t the most incredible thing either of them could have imagined.

“A month and two days now.” Isak corrected, grinning at Even from behind his mug.

“Counting the days, are you?  Sick of me already?” Even teased, nudging Isak’s foot under the table.

“Oh yeah, I’m already looking for a replacement roomie.” Isak nodded seriously and Even tried not to laugh.

“Yeah?  How long have you been looking?”

“Hmm,” Isak sipped his coffee thoughtfully.  Since day two probably.”

“That long!” Even gasped, setting his mug down on the table in faux outrage.  “And no luck, huh?”

“No.” Isak shook his head mournfully, but Even could see the smile dancing around the corners of Isak’s lips and he couldn’t help but lean closer.

“What will you do, huh?” He murmured, searching Isak’s face still flushed with sleep.

“I guess you’ll have to stay.” Isak sighed, putting his empty mug down.

“Pity.” Even nodded, his gaze trailing down to Isak’s lips.  They were shiny with coffee and Even desperately wanted to kiss the last sweetness from them.

“A tragedy.” Isak agreed, his voice still rough and not quite awake.

“Whatever could we do to make it better for you?” Even whispered, unable to look away from Isak’s coffee damp lips.

“Hmm,” Isak pretended to think for a few seconds before he leaned forwards and pressed his lips to Even’s.  You’d think that after months of kisses (and more) that it would lose its novelty, but Even’s stomach still dropped like he was on a rollercoaster and his heart still raced in his chest and he still felt those fireworks under his skin.

They stayed like that for a few minutes: exchanging lazy coffee stained kisses over their kitchen table, too tired to take things further than that.  They didn’t have long anyway, they had to get ready for school and head out for the tram soon.

“I love you.” Isak sighed against his lips.

And hell if that wasn’t the best way to start his day.

anonymous asked:

What kind of stuff in a person's chart indicates talent in singer or just music in general?

I did quite a bit of research on this… One of my favorite topics, astrology and music. Both are gifts to our world. Both are languages to help us understand energy and what energy feels like.

The entire chart plays a significant role in someone’s ability in singing and music so I will try my best to illustrate everything as I hate leaving information out.

The information I’ve collected is from other astrologer’s opinions and charts of different types of musicians I’ve looked into.

I’ll start with the houses that have importance to this ability, the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th house.

The 1st house, I believe for the most part, dictates the style in which a musician goes for. So why would the 1st house play a role in the style of music a person goes for? Well, the ascendant is pretty much our doorway between the inner and the outer; how we present the inner to the outer. Our style would come from the 1st house directly.
Take a look at someone like Björk (Icelandic singer) and her chart. She’s got her 1st house starting in Scorpio. If you listen to her music, the style is very Scorpio inspired; it’s strange, penetrating, and unconventional. She has no problem expressing the energy a Scorpio represents in her music.
Now lets take another singer with a different ascendant, perhaps someone like Freddie Mercury from Queen or Robert Smith from The Cure; their ascendant is in Leo. Their sound is in no doubt very different from each other, but they seem to fit in that category of the dramatic Leo. Almost all of Robert Smith’s songs express the loving lion a Leo represents, its essence is of what Leo/5th house expresses. Then if you look at Freddie Mercury’s music, it is dramatic and theatrical like the Leo.
So looking at all the different ascendants, a person’s musical style (disregarding the rest of their chart) may be whatever energy that sign represents. An Aries maybe angry and raw and a Pisces may be hippie and psychedelically inspired. Maybe… This is my opinion on it, subject to change though.
I wouldn’t mind hearing other people’s opinion on the ascendant and how it demonstrates a person’s style in music. To get your minds thinking, here’s a random range of artists and their ascendant…
Rihanna - Aries
John Lennon - Aries
Mariah Carey - Taurus
Lana Del Rey - Taurus
Lady Gaga - Gemini
Billy Idol - Gemini
Tchaikovsky - Cancer
Annie Lennox - Virgo
Kurt Kobain - Virgo
Beyonce - Libra
Jared Leto - Libra
Ludwig Van Beethoven - Scorpio
Aretha Franklin - Scorpio
Prince - Scorpio
Elvis - Sagittarius
Kesha - Sagittarius
Barry White - Capricorn
Tom Jones - Capricorn
Ariana Grande - Capricorn
Taylor Swift - Capricorn
Adele - Aquarius
Nicki Minaj - Aquarius
David Bowie - Aquarius
Michael Jackson - Pisces

One last note before I move onto the 2nd house; I also noticed that almost all of my favourite singers had their ascendant in Leo which is funny because my ascendant is in Leo… We pick music that best suit our style. What are your favourite artist’s ascendants and can you relate to them?

The 2nd house rules the throat. The condition of the throat itself will impact the sound of someone’s voice. Having many beneficial planets in the 2nd house would be good for a singer, some singers even have stelliums in the 2nd house. I know some other people made some really good posts about the 2nd house and its affect on voice so I won’t go too deep into the 2nd house and what planets do what to your voice. To sum up the affects of planets in the 2nd house, it’s pretty much what you would assume; Mars in the 2nd house would give a powerful or even masculine voice whereas Venus in the 2nd house would give a soft and feminine voice. So think of the planet and what it represents to know what it does to a person’s voice.
I do however want to however talk about whatever sign is cusping the 2nd house and its impact on a person’s voice.
Lets talk about the elements itself; what might a fire voice sound like? a water voice? an earth voice? an air voice? I’ve been trying to put my finger on this exactly, semi-stumped still; don’t really know how to put it to words.
I do know for sure the air voice. These are people who have an unafflicted 2nd house in an air sign. Their voices have the potential of singing at operatic levels. Their voices are light, high note reaching, and quite literally I would describe them as airy. Just a few examples of people with an air sign as their second house; Joan Sutherland - Gemini (opera singer), Annie Lennox - Libra, Ariana Grande - Aquarius, and Mariah Carey - Gemini.
For the fire voice, this was difficult to put to words. They seem to put a lot of emphasis on the words and sounds they make. Some of them even sound like they are straining their voice or really pushing the sounds that they make. Their voices can be strange, raw, or even penetrating. Some examples of fire voices; Robert Smith from the Cure - Leo (he also has Pluto in the 2nd house) and again Bjork - Sagittarius (she has quite a few planets in the 2nd house including Mars, Venus, and Mercury). For an actual example to listen to as I am bad at explaining things, here’s Robert and here’s Bjork. Adele also has her second house in a fire sign, Aries. She is influenced quite a bit by other parts in her chart, but she definitely has the crackly fire in her voice.
For the earth voice, I think is grounding yet dynamic because each of the earth signs are very different from each other in my opinion. Freddie Mercury for example has his second house in Virgo which is the essence of dynamic earth (ignoring the fact that he has many planets that are in the second house in Libra). It’s almost as if Virgo is also influenced by air because it is so mutable and changeable. The earth voice is usually light and pure. It’s smooth and vibrato. I believe Taurus is the richest earth voice of them all as it is grounded and ruled by Venus. So the examples for the earth voice I would say are Freddie Mercury - Virgo, Elvis - Capricorn, and Louis Armstrong - Taurus.
Finally for the water voice, to put it simply their voice usually has a LOT of soul. Some examples, Lady Gaga - Cancer, Barry White - Pisces, Tom Jones - Pisces, Beyonce - Scorpio.

Moving onto the 3rd house briefly. Now the 3rd house doesn’t have much to do with how your voice will sound, it is more of the mental side of communication. So things like lyrics and composing music would come from this house. Also because the 3rd house rules the hands, it may also dictate your ability in playing music.

And onto the 4th house. The 4th house is similar to the 1st house in such a way that is dictates style again. It Is actually sort of a mixture of the 1st house (who we are) and the 3rd house (how we communicate that), but the 4th house also reveals our emotions, the songs that come from within. The 4th house will show the root and meaning of songs; the feeling. Naturally water signs/planets can easily express emotions versus the air signs who may have some difficulty, but fun fact; the best poets/musicians usually have both air and water very prominent in their chart.

And the 5th house plays just as important part as the 4th house does. It’s creative potential. So if you can express your emotions through the 4th house, you need to creatively use them in the 5th house. Some of the best musicians have the 5th house prominent in their chart.

Pulling away from houses now… I want make a quick note about the blessing of how having a good balance of all the elements in a chart really can help a musician. Fire = passion/drive, Earth = rhythm, Air = intellect/skill, and Water = emotion. Obviously not all musicians have it all, but it really helps to have a good balance of them all.

Good placements for singers/musicians

-Venus in the 2nd or 5th house
-Venus in its ruler or exalted sign
-Venus in conjunction with the ascendant or midheaven
-Venus having harmonious aspects to the ascendant or midheaven
-Venus, Moon, and/or Neptune is prominent in the chart
-Moon is not afflicted
-Moon in Libra or Taurus
-Stelliums in Libra, Taurus, 2nd House, or 5th House
-Good aspects between Sun, Moon, Venus, and Neptune.
-Good as aspects/placements in the 3rd house (will help indicate if there’s ability to play instruments)
-Quintiles and biquintiles can show hidden talent. See if there are any between Venus, Mercury, Moon, or Neptune.

Not so good placements

-Any afflictions to Venus or planets that sit in Taurus/Libra/2nd/5th can cancel out singing ability.
-Any afflictions to the Mercury or planets that sit in the 3rd house or Gemini can make learning musical instruments difficult.

Daffodils, Mugs, and Rising From the Ashes

Fandom: Avengers/Captain America

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader

Requested: Nope, I just really wanted to a fluffy Bucky Fic

Summary: You and Bucky always eat breakfast at the same time everyday, and everyday you invite him to spend time with you, and everyday he turns you down, until he doesnt. FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 4218

A/N: I have had this idea in my head for ages and I finally typed it up. I still feel like its a bit rough and doesnt flow very well but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯   as usual feedback is greatly appreciated! Feel free to reblog!! If anyone wants to draw Bucky in the gardening scene that would be great. I also suck at titles.



             “Hey Buckster,” You greet Bucky Barnes as you enter the kitchen of the Avenger’s tower one morning.

             “Hello,” He says, his signature frown on his face at your nick name for him as he looks up from the paper he was reading.

             “It supposed to be warmer today, I’m going for a walk around the park, would you like to come with me?” Going to grab your favorite mug for your coffee, you found that it was on the highest shelf. Cursing whoever emptied the dishwasher last, you attempted to stand on your tip toes to reach it, but couldn’t. “Buckster, will you do me a favor and grab my mug for me?” He nodded, moving over to you and reaching the cub with ease. “Thank you. So, what do you say about the walk.”

             “No thank you,” He said simply before returning to his breakfast and paper.

             Every morning you planned something to do, walk, attending to your flower garden on the top level of the tower, or Sundays and Wednesdays it was the farmer’s market, sometimes it was to read outside, other times a run, anything that you could invite Bucky along to. You had been doing it since about a week after he arrived, which was about three months ago, now. Every morning you ate breakfast at the same time as him, and every morning you’d ask if he wanted to do something with you, and every morning he would say ‘no, thank you.’ Then, every morning you would sit down and talk to him, well, at him, while you both ate or drank coffee.          

             “I know Clint calls me hot-head for the pun, but it just doesn’t make sense, I am a relatively calm person, I think.” You rant to a non-responsive Bucky about the nickname that Clint gave you. Being an Enhanced with the ability to summon and control fire it came the opportunity for a multitude of puns, all of which the team would take advantage of. You enjoyed the joking for the most part but sometimes it made you a bit upset because you were self-conscious about your enhancement, feeling that fire was far too destructive of an element for yourself. “Anyways, have a good day Buckster.” Hoping off the stool at the breakfast bar, you rinsed out your mug and put it in the drying rack just as Sam and Steve walked in from their morning run.

             “Goodness, it’s hot.” Sam commented, both of them with sweat stains down their shirts.

             “Don’t worry, I’m leaving.” You tease, waving as you walk out the door. You swore you heard a stifled chuckle from Bucky.


             “Good morning, Bucko,” You grin at Bucky the next day, walking into the kitchen and making your way to the cabinets as usual, “How was your yesterday?”

             “Fine.” He responded shortly, glancing up from the paper.

             “Damn it, who the hell keeps putting my mug on the tallest shelf?” You mutter as you attempt to grab your mug again on your very tip toes. Before you could turn around to grab a chair, you felt the presence of someone right behind you and saw a metal arm reach out in front of you and grab the mug for you. “Thank you,” You grinned up at him as you took it from his hand once he held it out for you. “I’m going to the farmer’s market today, I was thinking about getting some fresh flowers to brighten up the place in here and possibly some veggies, wanna come with?” With a fluttering in your stomach at how close he was standing to you, you took another shot in the dark, prepared for disappointment.

             “Sure,” Bucky nodded once.

             A look of surprise washed over your face for a moment but it was quickly replaced with a grin so bright it rivaled the sun. “Awesome! We can go after breakfast?” You ask, practically jumping with excitement. He nods, a corner of his lip quirking up in what you believe to be a smile.

             After you practically shot gun your cup of coffee you quickly change out of your pajamas and grab your bag, you meet Bucky back in the kitchen. You spend most of the walk to the park where the farmer’s market was in comfortable silence. “What is your favorite type of flower?” You ask as you near the tents and spot the flower stand.            

             “I don’t know,” Was all the answer you got, but you smiled anyways, mentally picking out the type of flower you were going to get for him.

             You hummed to yourself as you stood in front of the buckets of beautiful plants, finger held to your lip in thought as you decided which types would be best where in the tower. “Do you like these for the kitchen?” You ask, pointing to a particular type and looking to Bucky and only receiving a shrug in response, “Yeah, you’re right, they won’t work, far too flippant.” Looking around for a more appropriate bouquet you miss the smile that graces his lips at your comment. After choosing what you felt to be a sufficient number of flowers you gathered them up in your arms and paid the vendor.

             It wasn’t hard to notice the stares that you were getting, of course you would be recognized, you were part of the Avengers. But every time Bucky got noticeably uncomfortable with people’s heads turning to look at you, you redirected the conversation to take his mind off of it.

             “Would you like some help carrying those?” He asked after noticing you struggling to balance all of the floral arrangements as you picked out vegetables.

             “Oh heavens, yes please.” You sigh in relief and smile as you hand over about half of them. When your hands brush each other you see his eyes flick to look at you but you just keep your attention on the flowers, not wanting to make him think that it wasn’t okay. You realize afterward that this is the first time you’ve ever touched him.

             “Why do you like flower so much? You always talk about them when you ask me to come with you here, and your garden.” Bucky speaks up as you begin walking back to the tower.

             “Well, I suppose it has to do with what I feel fire is, which is annihilation and destruction, so I like something that’s the opposite of that. I like to surround myself with life and growth because maybe it’ll cancel out in the long run.” You try to sound nonchalant as you admit something you had never said aloud, let alone to anyone else. Bucky stays silent, but you know that in his silence there is understanding.

“I picked these out for you.” You say quickly after you return to the tower and set all the purchases down and holding out a grouping of daffodils. “Daffodils symbolize rebirth and new beginnings, just as we, The Avengers, are for you.” You left out the other specific things those flowers also meant.

             “Thank you, Y/N.” He tried his best to smile at you as he watched you carefully arranges the flowers in vases and put them in various places around the tower. He noticed he was the only person who got his own personal bouquet.


             “FRIDAY?” Asks as he lays flat on his back in his bed, unable to fall asleep.

             “Yes, Mr. Barnes?” The AI answers back.

             “Look up Daffodil flower meaning,” He stated, before quickly adding a “please” at the end. While he did have to use technology a bit in his years working for Hydra, he was still confused as to how to navigate the world-wide web, so he mostly turned to FRIDAY to answer his questions.

             “Daffodils symbolize chivalry, rebirth, and since they are the first flower to boom in spring, they are considered symbolize the end of winter.” FRIDAY answers back smoothly. Bucky smiles at this, it was perfect. He knew that Y/N knew enough about flowers to know the full meaning. His heart swelled with happiness and affection, she specifically chose ones that not only meant rebirth, as she had defined them, but ones that specifically marked the end of winter, and gave them to him. But he was drawn from these thoughts when the AI’s Irish lilt filled the silence of his room once again, “To a lesser degree they are known as the flower of unrequited love.” Bucky’s heart beat sped up at this and his head swam. Had Y/N meant it that way? If he were to think she just didn’t know, he would be contradicting his earlier thought of that she knew flowers and their meanings well. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Barnes?”

             “No, thank you.” He croaks out. He lay there for the rest of the night, thoughts running too fast to let him find peaceful sleep.


              Bucky didn’t realize he had fallen asleep until he woke up. Late, much to his dissatisfaction. It was only about half an hour later than when he normally woke up. Walking quickly down the hall he cursed to himself, he liked to be in the kitchen before you so he could see you scuffle in, wish him good morning in your far-too-chipper-for-how-early-it-was voice, and invite him to whatever it was you were doing that day, and more recently, help you grab your mug from the top shelf of the cabinets.

             As he neared the kitchen he heard the sound of glass shattering followed immediately by a loud thud and an ‘oof’. Running into the room, he finds you on the floor, seemingly haven fallen off the counter, mug broken.

             “Hey there, Buck-aroni, mind giving a girl a hand?” You groan, trying to push yourself up.

             Bucky moves to your side to help you, “You’re bleeding,” He comments when he sees that the shattered mug had left ceramic bits sticking out of the side of your arm and leg as he pulls you to your feet. So preoccupied with worry, he fails to see the blush spreading across your cheeks at the close contact.

             “Oh great,” You mutter, hissing in pain as you attempt to pull a particularly large shard from your thigh.

             “I can help, I’ll go get a first aid kit.” When Bucky returned, first aid box in hand, you were sitting on a stool and attempting to pull more pieces. “Stop that.” He ordered softly, moving your hand away so he could begin pulling them out more carefully with the tweezers.

             “That was my favorite mug.” You huff between curses as he began carefully working on cleaning you up, “I was trying to get it from the top shelf so I climbed on the counter, but it was wet and I slipped.”

             “Why didn’t you grab a chair or wait for me to get it for you?” He glances up at you, guilt settling in his stomach.

             “I was too lazy to get a chair and I didn’t want to hassle you. Plus you might have been sleeping in.” You shrug.

             “Good morning Inferno, Frosty- oh god what happened here?” Tony asks as he enters the kitchen to fill his mug. You doubt he slept, based on the caffeine-wired look and dark circles under his eyes.

             “I fell,” You say with a roll of your eyes. You hated your title, and everyone knew that. Being an enhanced, you came from Hydra, a different branch than Bucky, so you hadn’t crossed paths at all. You joined the Avengers a few months before he did, and right away you had expressed your dislike of your name.

             “Oh right, sorry about that. Say, why don’t you like Inferno again?” Tony asked, leaning against the counter.

             “An Inferno is defined as huge, out of control, fire, or simply, as Hell, because I was designed to reign hell down upon Hydra’s enemies. I don’t want to be Hell.” You replied simply, though there was an edge to your tone.

             Bucky glanced up at you, this being the first time you had ever explained your hatred of your title, and your reasoning resonated deep with him.

             “Well, how about we come up with a new one for you.” Tony shrugged, sipping his coffee.

             “What are we coming up with a new one of?” Steve asked as he entered the kitchen after his morning run with Sam. He raised a questioning eyebrow at Bucky crouched in front of you, gauze in hand.

             “I couldnt reach my mug so I stood on the counter to get it and slipped getting off and broke it, thus why I have mug shards in my arm and leg.” You answer his unspoken question, thinking it was directed at why you were hurt rather than the true meaning of as to why Bucky was the one helping you. Little did you know, when Steve and Bucky were alone, you were pretty much all Bucky could talk about. Yesterday, Steve swore the only things that came out of his best friend’s mouth were about your trip to the farmer’s market and how happy he was you gave him flowers. “But Tony suggested we come up with a new like code name for me, since I despise Inferno so much.”

             “That’s a great idea! How about Blaze? That sounds cool?” Steve offered, grabbing food from the fridge.

             You shook your head, wincing slightly as Bucky cleaned a larger cut. “That makes me sound like I’m a stoner or something.”

             “Stoner?” Steve frowns in confusion and you just shake your head to say ‘you don’t wanna know.’

             “Combustion?” Tony suggests thoughtfully, “Flaming flammable person? Magma?”

             “What about Phoenix?” Bucky asks suddenly, looking up as he wraps the final cut with a Band-Aid. “This is your new life, rising from the ashes of what Hydra made you,”

             “I love it.” You grin, nodding, “That’s perfect.”

             Bucky smiles slightly, and Steve nods in approval of it as well, all while Tony walks away muttering about three people in the Avengers now with bird-related names.

             “I was going to go work in the garden this morning but seeing as it hurts to move and I have a mission coming up and need to heal, I think I’m going to watch a movie. Want to join me, Buck-aroni?” You ask as you push yourself off the bench gingerly.

             “Yeah,” He nods once, and you smile in response before leaving to go pick out a movie in the other room.

             “Buck-aroni?” Steve asks, smirking.

             “Steve.” Bucky warns, shooting his friend a good-natured glare.

             “I think it’s cute, the nicknames,” His best friend shrugs in response, “I’m glad to see you’re finally taking her up on her offers to spend time with you.”

             “What do you mean?”

             “Every morning without fail she asks you to do something, no matter how many times you turn it down, you got to like someone to do that. We’ve all seen it, so don’t even deny it, so she obviously wants to spend time with you, and I’m glad you started doing it.” Steve shrugs, taking a bite of the toast he made.

             Before Bucky could response his attention is pulled away by you calling his name to join you in the movie room.


              “Good Morning, Buckaroo,” You wave at him before going to the cupboard to steal someone else’s mug for the day until you went to the store to get a new one.

             This morning Bucky had made sure to be there before you, a small box with a ribbon in hand.

             “I have something for you,” He avoided making eye contact and he seemed nervous, which made you frown. As he held out the box, you took it carefully.

             “Bucky, you didn’t have to get me anything.” You say as you carefully untie the ribbon and open the box. Inside was a new mug, covered in vintage style flowers. “Oh, this is wonderful, thank you!” Setting the cup down you move across the table to pull him into a tight hug. Bucky stiffens at first but then wraps his arms around your waist.

             “Am I interrupting something?” Sam says teasingly as he enters the room, Steve not far behind him.

             “Oh no, Bucky just got me a new mug because I broke mine yesterday, isn’t is pretty?” You pull away from Bucky and hold up the mug. While you admiring the details of the flowers you missed the knowing smirks that Steve and Sam shot Bucky, and the blush that rose to his cheeks in response.

             “Oh, Buckaroo, I’m working in the garden today and could use some help, want to join me?” You ask over your shoulder, pouring yourself a coffee.

             “Of course.”


              You quickly pulled out your phone to snap a picture of the moment. You and Bucky had just finished weeding and potting new plants in your garden and were gearing up to head back inside, but the picture perfect moment was too much to pass up. His hair was pulled up with a hair band, a flower tucked behind his ear from when you placed it there earlier, dirt smeared on his face, and neon pink gardening gloves on his hands. 

             “Smile!” You command with a laugh, holding up your phone. He didn’t have enough time to think of what he was doing before he flashed you a dazzling smile that made your heart flutter.

              ‘Well, I have my new wallpaper.’ You think to yourself as you grin down at your phone.


             “Steven Grant Rogers, stop putting my mug on the top shelf! Unlike you, I am a short person who can’t reach it!” You yell as you walk into the kitchen that night and find Steve emptying the dish washer.

             “I don’t put your mug on the top shelf, I always put it on the bottom.” He puts his hands up as if in surrender before pointing to your mug. And sure enough, it was on the bottom shelf of the cupboard.

             “Then how does it get to the top shelf every morning?” You frown, crossing your arms.

             “I was on a mission a few days ago and someone else emptied it, maybe they did.” He shrugs before returning to putting the dishes away.

             Opening a screen located inside the island, you try to remember the first day it was on the top shelf. “FRIDAY, pull of video of the kitchen from four nights ago, fast forward.” Steve comes and stands beside you as you watch the playback of the night sped up. “Normal speed.” You order as you watch Bucky come on screen and begin putting the dishes away, and sure enough, puts your mug on the top shelf. “What a little shit, I asked him to get it down for me the next morning and he didn’t even tell me he was the one who did it.” you mutter with a shake of you head.

             “But I was here the next day, and I put it on the bottom shelf.” Steve prompts, putting the pieces together as to what was going on.

             “FRIDAY, go to the next night, fast forward,” You say, watching intently as people whiz quickly on the screen, including Steve putting the dishes away, as he said. Leaning against the counter, you and Steve waited as the foot traffic stopped and the lights went off, “I don’t understand, how did it-“ but you were cut short when the lights turned back on around 2am, and Bucky walked in, opened the cupboard, and put your mug on the top shelf. “Pause, please.” You ask FRIDAY and the picture stops. “Why would he do that?” Frowning, you ask the question more to yourself than to Steve. “Go to 24 hours later please,” And at the same time the next night, you saw Bucky come in and move your mug yet again. “I don’t understand.”

             “Well, you said you asked him for help the first day, right?”

             “Yeah and the next day I was just going to grab a stool but he grabbed it for me before I could.” Frowning in thought, you dismiss FRIDAY and close the screen.

             “It could be because he liked helping you?” Steve offered, hoping you’d pick up on what was happening. You were smart, just oblivious sometimes. “That was the day he went to the farmer’s market with you, right? It could be that that gave him an excuse to be by you? You could ask him about it.”

             “Could be.” You nod, staring to understand what was going on. “I’ll ask him about it.”

             And by ask you meant wait until 2am and catch him in the act.

             At around 1:45 you crept softly into the kitchen, keeping the lights off so Bucky wouldn’t think anything was out of the ordinary. Waiting in the darkness, you felt your heartbeat pick up with nerves. What if Steve was wrong? But why else would Bucky move your mug every day? When you heard footsteps approaching, you panicked and scurried softly away, staying low and peaking around the corner as Bucky entered the kitchen. You knew it was weird to spy, but you didn’t have the courage to confront him. You figured, tomorrow morning, you will quickly try to get the cup yourself without him interfering, and if he does, you’ll stay up the next night and confront him for sure.


             “Good morning, Bucky!” You try to sound as normal as possible as you stroll into the kitchen.

             “No nickname this morning?” He asks, a small amused smile on his lips that makes your heart swell with happiness.

             “To be honest I’m running out of them. I thought about Buckaboo but that just sounds weird.” You laugh when he scrunches up his nose at the nickname, “See?” You tease as you open up the cupboard and prepare yourself to jump on the counter again. After making sure it was dry this time, of course. Putting your hands on the counter, you jump up, but as soon as your feet leave the ground you feel two strong hands on your waist, lifting you to reach your mug. After you clasped onto your mug tightly, he lowered you back to the ground. “Thank you,” You murmured, turning around to face him.

             “Of course,” Bucky smiled, lingering in front of you for a moment before returning to his spot at the breakfast bar. After pouring your coffee and adding the amount of sugar you like, you took your place next to him, falling into your usual routine of talking at him. Though, today, he talked back, looked up from the paper, made eye contact, added comments here and there. You didn’t think you had been happier in years.

             “I was thinking about going for a walk this morning, would you like to join me?” Bucky asks softly during a lull in conversation, turning the tables. You can tell he’s nervous by the way he’s fidgeting and avoiding eye contact, but his words are smooth, probably from rehearing it repeatedly.

             “I’d love to, Bucky.” You grin.


             You walked along the streets until you reached a small park. Collectively, you decided to sit on a bench and people watch for a bit, enjoying the nice weather.

             “Bucky,” You say after a moment and he turns to look at you, “You do know there’s a video camera in the kitchen, right?” Watching as his face goes void of color and he starts to stammer something out but you just smile softly and hold up your hand to stop him. “Just tell me why, I want to understand.”

             He takes a deep breath, looking down at his hands as he tries to formulate the right thing to say. “Every morning you always ask me to do something, anything, with you, to show, what I think and hope is, your affection. Or at least that you aren’t afraid of me, and enjoy my company. I guess I was looking for my own version of that to show you the same things.”

             Scooting over on the bench you wrap your arms around him and pull him into a tight hug, “Thank you,”

             “I looked up the full meaning of daffodils too, by the way.” He says as you pull away, and it was your turn for your face to go pale.

             “I knew you shared the same sentiment about your title as I did, so I figured a flower that marked the end of winter would be appropriate.” You quickly tried to cover your tracks, hoping that was all that came up when he searched the meaning.

             “It’s not unrequited.” He says simply, ignoring your explanation.

             “it isn’t?” You choke out, you voice small as you look at him.

             “It isn’t.” A large and genuine smile graces his lips, “Thank you for not giving up on me every time I turned you down for your morning activities.”

             “Of course,” A bashful blush rises to your cheeks as you glance between his eyes and his smile.

             “Can I kiss you?” He asks softly, and when you nod he closes the distance between you two, pressing a soft and sweet kiss to your lips.


[Extended ending]

             “What the hell is this?” Natasha throws a tabloid magazine down on the table in front of you and Bucky as you drink your morning coffee together the next day.

             You pick up the magazine and study the front page with your boyfriend. There was a picture of you two kissing in the park plastered across the front and smaller photos of your morning walks and farmer’s market visit scattered in the corners, headline reading “INFERNO AND WINTER SOLDIER COUPLE NAME: TEMPERATE?”

             “Temperate, I dig it.” You nod, tossing the magazine back at the other woman and turning to Bucky, “What do you think?”

             “I feel like Sam personally called them to give them that idea.” He chuckles with a shake of his head.

             “I meant what the hell as in why didn’t you tell me you were together!” Natasha scolded you with her hands on her hips.