#may 24: imperfect

[ghostofnuggetspast]

Comfortable

The flat contains clues to the life they share Teabags in the trash and shower-drain hair Detritus from cases Fills many spaces It may be imperfect, but they don't care

John would say home is where the heart is. Unfortunately that heart has ADHD and a penchant for unsafe science. Intro and notes on ao3!

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @weeesi @friday411 @helloliriels

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts (24) Imperfect

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 24)

Summary: Rosie meets a young man in Paris. Love is in the air but one thing gnaws on Rosie's nerves. She need to warn Timothy of her protective relatives without making him run for the hills.

Twenty-Four Years Old

When my first year in Paris was coming to an end, I went with a group from my school to a party. It was held in a big apartment that apparently belonged to some ridiculously rich aunt. The amount of red wine I’d drunk before we arrived, made sure I didn’t remember the details of the family tree.

What I do remember was the young man reading French poems with a British accent, and afterwards, the beginning of an interesting story about two men finding each other in a dream, and later apparently meeting in real life. I desperately wanted to hear more, but when I got him talking, he said that he wasn’t sure the idea was good enough to pursue.

“You wrote this?” I asked baffled. “I thought it was brilliant!”

“That’s probably the Pinot talking,” he retorted with a lopsided grin. “People normally say that it’s utter bullshit.”

I huffed at this ludicrous statement.

“So, why read it out loud, then?” I challenged him.

“Dunno. Perhaps I hoped that someone like you may turn up and like it” he quipped.

“That’s the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard,” I muttered and rolled my eyes.

***

Timothy and I were thick as thieves after that evening, and it soon evolved into more than friendship. He was studying literature and creative writing at Sorbonne Nouvelle, which was located quite close to Marguerite’s building. After our first official date, I pondered bringing him to my place, but uncle’s surveillance made me reconsider. Dad and Papa planned on visiting soon, and I knew it was futile trying to hide anything from Papa.

You’d better prepare the poor sod, before meeting the British Inquisition, I thought with a grimace.

After David, Papa wouldn’t make the same mistake of failing to observe even the tiniest flaw.

We hadn’t talked about our families at all, because there were so many other topics that were interesting, but I knew time was running out. I decided that after a good meal with some wine, it would be the perfect time to tell him about my fiercely protective family.

Rinsing and eating mussels, is a sticky and quite down-to-earth affair, and a better opportunity would be hard to find, so I plunged in with both feet so to speak.

“I…um…think it’s time to tell you about my…family,” I started.

“All of them, or just your fathers?” Timothy said while dipping a bite of bread in the creamy sauce.

I almost dropped my spoon in surprise. Had I told him that I was raised by two men and no mother? Not to my knowledge. Perhaps some of my other friends…

“Rosie?” Timothy said softly.

“Do you know who they are? Have you…”

Timothy lifted his hands, motioning me to calm down.

“Sorry, I assumed you knew,” he murmured. 

“Knew what?” I snapped. “You’re worse than…”

“I know who you are, Rosamund Watson-Holmes. A dossier, I think will suffice as a description, was delivered to me by a courier after our first coffee date. Four “letters” from each of your watchdogs. I didn’t know there were so many ways to threaten a person…”

“Damn, them!” I exclaimed. “Always, they have to meddle just because I had one bad boyfriend. Jesus, they’re incorrigible.”

“No matter how imperfect you find them, they love you dearly, or should I say fiercely,” Timothy chuckled. “After the initial shock, I must say I found it quite amusing and adorable. Four grown men, with the careers they have, your dad even an ex-military, and they’re all softies. Your police uncle was probably the scariest, come to think of it. Not that he doesn’t love you to bits, but he was the only one who stayed somewhat professional. He certainly didn’t bring any medieval torture methods or mafia tendencies into the equation if I hurt you purposefully or otherwise.”

“Oh, God,” I growled utterly devasted of my protective relatives.

Timothy chose to call them The Fab Four, which still earns him stern looks, but I know the four protectors are quite proud of themselves.

Also available on AO3

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @raina-at @helloliriels

More tags in the replies

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024, #23 and 24 apology and imperfect

Two prompts today because I could not write anything yesterday.

White Pony Tattoo - Part Four (apology and imperfect)

One and a half day later, John once again found himself in front of White Pony Tattoo. He was brimmig with anticipation.

John had been able to swap today’s shift at the clinic to follow Sherlock’s order to be here at 2 PM sharp. John had been extra careful to arrive in time, taking an early bus and then loitering the spare seventeen minutes in the vicinity, looking at shop windows that did not really interest him.

Somehow, John did not want to come across as eager as he actually was to attend his appointment with Sherlock and would not like to be seen oscillating on the pavement before the front door. Although - thinking about this - it would likely be futile anyway trying to hide something from Sherlock’s uncanny habit of x-raying people with his colour changing eyes, of seeing right into John’s brain.

John had been wondering how Sherlock had known (deduced as the mesmerizing tattooist had called it) about the cover-up he had been about to request. John also was still a bit annoyed about Sherlock calling the desired design of an army soldier in full combat gear boring. When John had served in the army, nothing had been boring and he fondly remembered his time in the RAMC whenever he looked at photographs taken at this time.

++++

“I knew you’d come back.” Sherlock stood behind the counter, waiting in a relaxed posture.

Sherlock said it in a cool voice, matter-of-factly, not in a know-it-all or haughty diction. Yet, it rankled John. Feeling transparent.

“I actually think you owe me an apology.” John blurted.

“Do you now. Interesting. What for?” Sherlock stepped around the counter.

“An army soldier in combat is not boring.” There, I’ve said it, John thought. It felt good.

Sherlock raised a quizzical eye brow that reminded John of a parent chiding their child for uttering an unreasonable wish and it irked him even more.

“I don’t deal in apologies, John. Even if there had been something I should have apologized for, I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t like unapologetic people.” Mary was anapologetic, too.

Sherlock shrugged, totally uncaring about John’s confrontational stance. “Well, it was you who returned here, apparently about to accept my offer of tattooing a rising phoenix on your arm.” Sherlock pointed his index finger at the shop’s sign where the demands no arguing and no boring designs had been written.

“You have to accept the whole package which includes me, obviously. If you can’t deal with it, you may leave any time. It’s your decision.”

Sherlock leant his back casually against the counter, crossing his arms in front of his chest which showed off today’s bespoke dress shirt he wore. Its classy dove grey colour made Sherlock’s eyes gleam like multifaceted gemstones.

Of course, John did not want to leave which Sherlock must already know and since there was no other way, John swallowed the wave of recalcitrant pride that washed over him.

“Yes, okay, I accept.” John couldn’t avoid a tiny bit of teeth-gnashing, havinf to give in like this. Fuck you he mouthed under his breath.

“No, maybe later.” Sherlock deadpanned.

John’s face turned beet-red. As so often when felt cornered and embarrassed about something avoidable he had done, John attacked.

“I didn’t say that out loud now, did I?” But I feel tempted right now, dammit, John thought, hoping that his face would not give this away, as well. If it did, Sherlock mercifully did not mention it.

“No,” Sherlock said instead, chuckling, “but I can lip-read fuck you easily enough.”

Oh great, mind-reader and lip-reader. “Is there nothing I can hide from you?”

“Little. But don’t mind, practically everybody can’t.”

“That’s not a solace at all.”

“Come on, take a seat,” Sherlock motioned to a small coffee table with two armchairs, “let’s talk about your tattoo. Can I offer you some tea?”

Sitting down with a huff, John nodded. “With pleasure.”

Sherlock vanished behind the purple curtain and returned with a tea tray, laden with an expensive-looking porcelain tea set and a small plate with fresh scones. John’s mood immediately brightened upon the delicacies.

“Oh, this looks delicious. Thank you.” John took one scone.

“You have to thank Mrs Hudson, the landlady. She prepared all of this.”

Sherlock started to pour the tea and John was struck by the realization that Sherlock had to be of upper-class origin given the way he dressed, spoke and handled the tea. Transfixed, John watched Sherlock’s hands moving, like performing a dance of their own. There was a silver ring on every finger of Sherlock’s right hand. John identified a tattoo gun, a violin and one ring was made of tiny human skulls, like beads on a string.

Odd, how such a posh boy became a tattoo artist. Even a very famous one.

Taking a bite, John stated. “You’re doing great as an artist. I saw some of your works on the internet, lots of famous people that you have inked.”

“Yes, well, I don’t care about their fame. I’m interested in creating the perfect tattoo for my clients, ones that express what they feel or care about. Who they are. An image of their inner self, captured in ink on their outer skin, forever.”

John hummed. “This is very poetic!”

“Yes, yes! Excatly, John!” Sherlock jumped up and paced the room, gesticulating wildly.

“This is what I do! My ink is art, the poetry of lines, the flowing rhymes of colour, a whole story in shades of black. Everybody who is half-way talented can learn the perfect tattooing technique. But without the right design, without the firm connection to my client’s history and personality, or if you believe in the concept of a soul, then any tattoo will always be imperfect. Do you understand?”

“Yes, indeed, I do!” John exclaimed excitedly. “When I was performing surgery, of course, it was about saving lives and limbs.  But I always strived for more. I wanted them to heal perfectly. Like you said, everyone can learn to do sutures that hold the skin together. But sutures that don’t leave scars are very difficult. The desire to achieve perfection is not alien to me.”

Sherlock had calmed down enough to sit down.

“And this is why I rejected the soldier design your wanted. I never said that a soldier in army gear is boring per se, but it would be boring on your skin because you are so much more than this. You’ve fought in the army, saved lives, you’ve survived being shot and nearly dying from the infection. Therefore, the perfect design for you is the phoenix rising from the flames. You have been reborn in the blazing heat of Ahghanistan. Or was it Iraq?”

The sudden question startled John. “Aghanistan.” He answered automatically. “But please, Sherlock, allow me one thing, one question.”

“Which is?”

“How the everlasting fuck have you know, erm, deduced all of this about me?”

Sherlock laughed, full of delight.

tagging some people @totallysilvergirl @peageetibbs @lisbeth-kk  @raina-at

tagging some more @ghostofnuggetspast @friday411 @bs2sjh @weeesi @br-nz

tagging some more again @keirgreeneyes @jrow @thegildedbee @thalialunacy @gaylilsherlock

[fraugwinska]

I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE YOUR WRITING!!!

May I pretty please request Alastor’s wifey as like a Cheshire Cat?

Perhaps in her living life she led people to their deaths, as it’s sometimes interpreted as a guide. Then later on teamed up with Al and led victims to him?

I just like the idea of an unsettling smiley couple. That and Mad Hatter by Melanie Martinez has been on loop in my brain LOL

Anonymous, you beautiful bastard. You waited so patiently, but I do think it's worth it... I couldn't stop writing this!!! I had so much fun, I cannot tell you. And I will revisit this pair soon, because I can't get over how AMAZING they are! <3 Edit 14-05-24: This will be a mini-series! :D Let's see how many parts we get out of this one!

TW: Graphic depitions of violence and murder, mention of war, gore Minors DNI - Mature content - Adults only!

"Mon amour, can we go out tonight?"

You pulled the last strand of hair from the curling iron, scanning your work for any messy imperfection. Alastor, engrossed in a book, looked up at you, matching your sinister smile with his curious one.

"Oh? Bored already, darling? We went to Mimzy's only yesterday."

"Not that, silly." You walked over to him, setting the hot curling iron on a cool section of his dresser. You sat down, straddling him. Your hands folded behind his back, leaning in.

"I was just thinking that our last game has been a while, hasn't it?"

His eyes widened a bit, smile curling a bit higher. He set the book down on the side table and wrapped his arms around you, long, sharp fingers pressing into your waist with excited anticipation. You tilted your head, looking up at him.

"Well, we have been awfully busy lately with the hotel. I suppose it's high time we should find something to reward us for all our hard work, my darling!"

You nodded, giggling, and rubbed your nose against your husband's. The two of you always got excited when your interests lined up and plans of your games became more elaborate. It was how you met, after all.

Not even two months after your fall, you were well established in the capitol of the pride ring. Quickly adapting to your feline form and with wit and a good heap of charisma you landed a job at the overlord Zestial's newspaper agency, working your way up quickly to editor. Hell wasn't a scary place for you, at all. The world you came from had been the real hell.

When the germans invaded France, you knew your little village in the Somme valley would be the first they would take, and then Paris would be next. Your brothers and father were already dead. You had heard of the horrors the german soldiers were bringing upon the women and children of the countries they captured, which made the will of protecting your sister and mother even stronger. But you had always been a fighter, and you possessed the most unusual but useful weapons a woman could possess: beauty, cleverness and ruthlessness.

They had been such easy victims - young soldiers, craving a good pussy after being away from home for so long - you seduced them with laughable ease and your signature smile and lured them into the woods, where you'd kill them, your smile never falling as your knife would hit the lifeless body again and again. Sometimes, you'd get so many killings in one night you had to burn the clothes you wore because the blood would've stained them through. They would all be thrown in the Somme, where they'd be swallowed by the waters, never to be seen again. You didn't even care what the punishment would be once the war was over. All you cared about was to avenge the lost and protect the remaining members of your family and if killing the enemy was the way, you'd do it gladly and with as much pleasure as you could. You had disposed of about 40 bodies in the river before they caught you, red handed, the knife still in your victims crotch. They had been too cowardly to shoot you then and there. Instead, they had dragged you back to the town, tied your hands behind your back and forced you to kneel in front of the town square, your mother and sister watching you along the horrified villagers, and you watched them, as they were made to witness them put a bullet straight through your heart.

"On se voit en enfer, putains de salauds."

And then, you woke up. In Hell, naked, confused, hungry, angry. But not scared. Never scared. You were still you. And your smile never faded.

A lot of people were too weirded out by the constant smile on your face, that's when you first heard of Alastor. The radio demon, rising star of hell's overlords. Everyone feared him, and his smile. You didn't, and that's what made him approach you when you saw him at a party you had been invited to by one of Zestial's acquaintances, Rosie.

He was drawn to your smile, just as much as you were drawn to his. When he spoke, your ears twitched in excitement, as if listening to the greatest song in the world. He was unbelievably interesting, charming up to a point where you couldn't help but feel drawn to him, and his voice - Oh, doux comme un ange et vif comme le diable. You didn't want to, didn't expect it at all, but your heart did a jump the moment his hand touched yours when he asked you to dance.

"Your smile never falters, darling. I can't help but wonder why?"

You giggled, a gloved hand covering your mouth as he turned you, crimson glowing eyes never leaving yours.

"I don't know, really. My papan used to tell me that it was the only thing I had going for me, and it's what made silly soliders so easy to kill."

You could feel the air around him tense and shift, his grin widening at your words as he turned you in again.

"Ah, a lady after my own heart. I can appreciate a woman who knows how to have fun."

You didn't say anything to his comment, just smiled, and he pulled you closer.

"Why don't we have a little fun of our own? I have the right mind for a little game, if you're up to it, darling?"

It took the both of you only a few more minutes to decide to leave the party. It was the night of your first game. Your first kill. And your first kiss. You loved to retell the story of how you two met to everyone who'd ask. You didn't mind, not even when they were uncomfortable. They weren't used to the idea of two people like you, the serial killers, finding love with each other that none of you sought out. It was a genuine love that was born in a way that could only happen in hell, and yet, you felt that it was the truest and best love you had ever felt. It was the first time in forever you could remember your cheeks actually hurt from smiling.

Alastor stood up, lifting you from his lap with an ease that was effortless to him, and twirled you around.

"Well, then, why don't we go paint the town red?"

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck as he lowered you, placing a kiss on your nose.

"Red looks beautiful on both of us."

Dressed in your favourite dress, you and Alastor made your way into the city. You always had to keep from giggling when you saw the face of the other residents as they realized you weren't going out for a casual stroll, but for a game night. Especially the pricesses girlfriend made you want to burst out in laughter, her face scrunched into a mask of disdain and disgust. The two of you were always a sight, though. Alastor, looking as handsome as ever, the red suit and black dress shirt underneath complimenting his dark complexion and making his red eyes glow even brighter. And yourself, always a sight for sore eyes, in a black lace dress that accentuated your figure perfectly. People always stared at you when the two of you were out, and that was only part of the fun.

Alastor's hand held yours, his long, sharp nails scratching your skin, the both of you excited for the prospects of the night.

"Why don't you set the challenge today, mon chou?", you asked, looking up at him with a curious gaze, "I'd love to see what you come up with."

Alastor chuckled, pulling you closer to his side.

"Mh... let me think."

His hand was placed on his chin, his eyes closing as he hummed a tune, deep in thought.

"How about this? I'll give you a five minute head-start. You win if you bring them to kill themselves, before I catch them. If I catch them before they're dead, it's my win. That sound fair?"

You grinned, the thought of the game already getting you excited. You weren't nearly as strong as Alastor was, but so much more agile than him and with a few tricks up your sleeve - you had a feeling that this would be your night.

"More than fair, amour. As for my reward: If you lose, I get to decide what music we are listening to until our next game."

"Well, well, greedy now, aren't we, my little minx?"

His grin widened as he chuckled, his arm tightening around your waist, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against yours.

"You know what my request is if you lose. It's a deal, then. And the stakes are high, I hope you know."

You smiled, your eyes closing as you brushed your lips against his, and purred.

"The higher the better."

***

Oh, how you loved the sound of panicked breathing. This cretin really had no stamina, only one minute in and he was panting, crawling in the alley you chased the scruffy doberman sinner after slashing his feet in the shattered glass and debris. You made yourself visible again in front of him, hidden in the shadows as just a grinning, magenta scheme.

"Aw, poor boy. What's the matter, baby?", you cooed, licking your claws as if nothing had happened. "You seem a little frightened. Don't you want to touch me anymore?"

The man didn't speak, just gasped, crawling backwards. You took a step forward, crouching down, your sharp, pearly teeth glistening in the neon light of the dim street lamp.

"No need to be scared, sweetheart, I'm a nice kitty. Come here, let me touch you."

You stretched out a claw, reaching for him as your limb elongated with bone-chilling cracks. He backed away, trying to get up. You giggled, the sound high pitched and eerie. You made yourself invisible again, shifting behind him and suppressing a giggle as he shuddered, looking frantically around him to search for your frame. Two minutes down.

"I thought you like pussy, baby?", you purred, making your voice come from his left ear. He screamed, and ran, his feet leaving blood stains on the concrete, limping, holding the wound on his leg. You laughed and let the lamps blow out one by one as he passed them, showering him with broken glass and hot metal wires. He didn't know it, but you were guiding him, right into a dead end. You heard the sounds of Alastor's microphone feedback somewhere further down the road, and grinned. You had three more minutes to play, and you knew you'd win.

You appeared before this pathetic excuse of a man, who had reached the dead end and was looking frantically around for a way out. Three minutes down, time to wrap it up.

"You're breaking my heart, sweetie. Don't you like to play with me anymore?"

"Fuck, I... p-please, don't... don't hurt m-me, I'm sorry... just let... let me go." The man was shaking, pressing his back against the wall. You licked your teeth, and took another step towards him, your hands on his shoulders, leaning in.

"Oh, I'm not gonna hurt you, baby. I'm just a drunken, helpless little kitty, remember?"

He whimpered, and you smiled, a sick, sinister smile that made him shiver even more. He slid down the wall that was blocking his way as you bent down, caressing his cheek. One minute to go.

"No, I'm not gonna kill you today. You'll do it yourself."

You reached inside your purse, taking out a small, golden pocket knife. His eyes widened as he watched you place the object next to his shaking form and you let yourself fade out of existence, except for your ever-lasting grin.

"See, if you're a good boy, you'll die fast and painless. If not..."

The man looked up at what remained of you, breathing heavily. His eyes were wide with fear, but his pupils dilated as he scanned the place, and a glimmer of hope rose inside him.

"Well, you'll find out what else in about fifteen seconds."

His trembling hand wrapped around the handle of the knife, his eyes still fixed on the spot where your figure had been. You leaned in again, whispering into his ear, the air of your breath hot on his skin.

“Tik, tok, little pup...”

With a desperate roar, the doberman whipped the knife forward, ready to stab where he supposed you were. And he would've been right. If not for...

"Too slow, darling."

The man's eyes widened, his breath stuck in his throat as his hand was stopped, the blade millimeters away from your flesh. The cold, bony grip of Alastor's claw around his wrist tightened, and the knife was slowly being pulled out of his shaking hand as you made yourself visible. He chuckled, the sound reverberating in his chest and the surrounding buildings, and stepped forward, looming over the trembling mess of a man.

"Well, well, well. Look at this sloppy attempt. What's the matter, boy? Cat got your tongue?"

Alastor's claw dug deeper into his flesh, a pool of blood forming under the hand Alastor still had in his iron grip. His other hand reached out, grabbing the man's throat and lifting him up the wall. You joined his side, watching the horrified expression on the sinners face with a tilted head as you nestled into him, a slight pout on your lips.

"Aww, you're no fun, amour. I was so close to winning, too. What a shame."

Alastor's arm snaked around your waist, pulling you closer as he chuckled, squeezing the sinners neck a bit tighter. The man was gasping for air, his face turning red and his eyes starting to roll back into his skull. "Rules are rules, darling. I believe we said five minutes. That means the game is mine."

You sighed, your head leaning against Alastor's shoulder.

"C'est dommage, I was longing to listen to a little Presley again."

"Maybe next time, my love."

He leaned over to steal a kiss from your lips and you closed your eyes, not seeing but hearing the scream and the sound of ripping skin and muscles, the gurgling splatter of blood and the buzzing of your husbands static.

Oh, comme j'aime cet homme...

Alastor dropped the shredded remains of the sinner and it slumped into the pile of meat that used to be his head. He licked his lips, his eyes glowing in the darkness, a grin plastered on his face as he took off his stained jacket and put it over your shoulders.

"I believe I have a debt to collect, darling, and I'd rather do it in the privacy of our bedroom than here, don't you agree?"

He reached his hand out, and you smiled, taking it.

"Alors dépêche-toi et ne sois pas gentil, mon cerf"

Translations: On se voit en enfer, putains de salauds - See you in hell, you fucking bastards Oh, doux comme un ange et vif comme le diable - Oh, sweet as an angel and quick as the devil Oh, comme j'aime cet homme - Oh, how I love this man Alors dépêche-toi et ne sois pas gentil, mon cerf - So hurry up and don't be gentle, my deer

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Monopoly is capitalism's gerrymander

For the rest of May, my bestselling solarpunk utopian novel THE LOST CAUSE (2023) is available as a $2.99, DRM-free ebook!

You don't have to accept the arguments of capitalism's defenders to take those arguments seriously. When Adam Smith railed against rentiers and elevated the profit motive to a means of converting the intrinsic selfishness of the wealthy into an engine of production, he had a point:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/28/cloudalists/#cloud-capital

Smith – like Marx and Engels in Chapter One of The Communist Manifesto – saw competition as a catalyst that could convert selfishness to the public good: a rich person who craves more riches still will treat their customers, suppliers and workers well, not out of the goodness of their heart, but out of fear of their defection to a rival:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/19/make-them-afraid/#fear-is-their-mind-killer

This starting point is imperfect, but it's not wrong. The pre-enshittified internet was run by the same people who later came to enshittify it. They didn't have a change of heart that caused them to wreck the thing they'd worked so hard to build: rather, as they became isolated from the consequences of their enshittificatory impulses, it was easier to yield to them.

Once Google captured its market, its regulators and its workforce, it no longer had to worry about being a good search-engine – it could sacrifice quality for profits, without consequence:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/24/naming-names/#prabhakar-raghavan

It could focus on shifting value from its suppliers, its customers and its users to its shareholders:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/15/they-trust-me-dumb-fucks/#ai-search

The thing is, all of this is well understood and predicted by traditional capitalist orthodoxy. It was only after a gnostic cult of conspiratorialists hijacked the practice of antitrust law that capitalists started to view monopolies as compatible with capitalism:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/20/we-should-not-endure-a-king/

The argument goes like this: companies that attain monopolies might be cheating, but because markets are actually pretty excellent arbiters of quality, it's far more likely that if we discover that everyone is buying the same product from the same store, that this is the best store, selling the best products. How perverse would it be to shut down the very best stores and halt the sale of the very best products merely to satisfy some doctrinal reflex against big business!

To understand the problem with this argument, we should consider another doctrinal reflex: conservatives' insistence that governments just can't do anything well or efficiently. There's a low-information version of this that goes, "Governments are where stupid people who can't get private sector jobs go. They're lazy and entitled." (There's a racial dimension to this, since the federal government has historically led the private sector in hiring and promoting Black workers and workers of color more broadly.)

But beyond that racially tinged caricature, there's a more rigorous version of the argument: government officials are unlikely to face consequences for failure. Appointees and government employees – especially in the unionized federal workforce – are insulated from such consequences by overlapping layers of labor protection and deflection of blame.

Elected officials can in theory be fired in the next election, but if they keep their cheating or incompetence below a certain threshold, most of us won't punish them at the polls. Elected officials can further improve their odds of re-election by cheating some of us and sharing the loot with others, through handouts and programs. Elections themselves have a strong incumbency bias, meaning that once a cheater gets elected, they will likely get re-elected, even if their cheating becomes well-known:

https://www.nbcnews.com/politics/congress/gold-bars-featured-bob-menendez-bribery-case-linked-2013-robbery-recor-rcna128006

What's more, electoral redistricting opens the doors to gerrymandering – designing districts to create safe seats where one party always wins. That way, the real election consists of the official choosing the voters, not the voters choosing the official:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/REDMAP

Inter-party elections – primaries and other nomination processes – have fundamental weaknesses that mean they're no substitute for well-run, democratic elections:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/30/weak-institutions/

Contrast this with the theory of competitive markets. For capitalism's "moral philosophers," the physics by which greedy desires led to altruistic outcomes was to be found in the swift retribution of markets. A capitalist, exposed to the possibility of worker and customers defecting to their rival, knows that their greed is best served by playing fair.

But just as importantly, capitalists who don't internalize this lesson are put out of business and superceded by better capitalists. The market's invisible hand can pat you on the head – but it can also choke you to death.

This is where monopoly comes in. Even if you accept the consumer welfare theory that says that monopolies are most often the result of excellence, we should still break up monopolies. Even if someone secures an advantage by being great, that greatness will soon regress to the mean. But if the monopolist can extinguish the possibility of competition, they can maintain their power even after they cease deserving it.

In other words, the monopolist is like a politician who wins power – whether through greatness or by deceit – and then gerrymanders their district so that they can do anything and gain re-election. Even the noblest politician, shorn of accountability, will be hard pressed to avoid yielding to temptation.

Capitalism's theory proceeds from the idea that we are driven by our self-interest, and that competition turns self-interest into communal sentiment. Take away the competition, and all that's left is the self-interest.

I think this is broadly true, even though it's not the main reason I oppose monopolies (I oppose monopolies because they corrupt our democracy and pauperize workers). But even if capitalism's ability to turn greed into public benefit isn't the principle that's uppermost in my mind, it's what capitalists claim to believe – and treasure.

I think that most of the right's defense of monopolies stems from cynical, bad-faith rationalizations – but there are people who've absorbed these rationalizations and find them superficially plausible. It's worth developing these critiques, for their sake.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/18/market-discipline/#too-big-to-care

[weeesi]

Imperfect - May Prompts (24)

“Erm,” John scratches the back of his neck. They’re stood outside a kebab shop a little after four in the morning. To Sherlock’s chagrin, only John had caught a glimpse of the suspect before they’d lost him. “Dark hair. About your height, maybe. Dark clothes.” 

“That’s it?”

“And…dark shoes.” 

“Brilliant.”

“Really?”

“Brilliant description of approximately 2.8 million men living in London, including me,” Sherlock snaps. They’d been working this case for a week and were no closer to catching the thief, even after two consecutive nights on stakeout. 

“More, I need more, what did he look like,” Sherlock mumbles, pacing. With a gasp, he claps his hands together and whirls round. “Draw him.”

“Excuse me?”

“Draw him.”

“How will that help?”

“Oh I dunno, perhaps you’re better with your fingers than your mouth,” Sherlock says without thinking.

They both pretend not to notice how the other blushes at that.

In short order Sherlock scrounges up some paper and a biro from the shop.

John would throw himself in front of a bus for Sherlock, least he can do is try.

Two minutes later he presents his drawing. “It’s a bit imperfect, the nose isn’t quite, well, noses are bloody impossible to draw—”

After the suspect is arrested later that morning, Sherlock learns John is actually quite good with his mouth.

+

Thank you to @calaisreno for the fun prompt series! Tags in replies. Thanks for reading! <3

[sirfrogsworth]

A few people took exception to calling my car's CD player useless.

I actually think it is great there are a few holdouts still using CDs.

CDs are truly one of the most perfect media ever created.

And I can prove that mathematically.

Some will say vinyl is superior. And as much as I love records, the audio quality is preferred, not better. People have a *preference* for how vinyl sounds, but it still leaves out audio information and has noise and artifacts caused by the mechanics of the turntable and an imperfect manufacturing process.

In fact, the lesser audio quality is exactly what people enjoy. It has a warmth and comfortably compressed dynamic range that is not fatiguing over long listening sessions. It's like choosing a nice fire over a 100% efficient space heater.

But if you want perfect audio quality that does not exceed the limits of human hearing, compact discs are where it's at.

It all has to do with Dr. Harry Nyquist and his Nyquist-Shannon Theorem. (Sometimes Shannon gets left out and it is just called the Nyquist Theorem.)

The simple version is he figured out how much something needs to be sampled in order to not lose any information. As long as you sample something at a frequency greater than or equal to twice per cycle, you will have a lossless... whatever.

In this case, a lossless audio recording.

So the range of human hearing is about 20 Hz to 20 kHz. That's the lowest and highest frequencies we can perceive. The scientists creating CD audio figured they'd do 22 kHz for some overhead and then you double that to get 44 kHz. (Technically it was 44.1 kHz.)

You can imagine the smooth curvy line as an analog recording. No gaps. No information loss.

The black squares are digital samples recorded over a period of time. You can see there are gaps between those black squares. A tiny bit of time passes between the squares where nothing is sampled. INFORMATION LOSS! NOOOOO!

Clearly the vinyl nerds are correct and digital is inferior, right? You are going to get the dreaded... STAIR STEPS!

Not so fast, bucko!

By getting enough samples over a period of time, you can use math to infer that smooth sloping line connecting those individual samples. So the digital recording also has no information lost once it is converted back to analog and played through your speakers.

This connecting of dots is called "interpolation."

You could take the curvy analog, convert it to digital, get the same black squares, and then interpolate the black squares back into analog and get the same curvy line. It goes back and forth perfectly. And this is all verifiable with an oscilloscope.

NEAT!

Then of course you need a good dynamic range--the spectrum of quiet to loud. Anything above 85 decibels will damage your hearing, so they went with a 16-bit depth which covers roughly 100 dB. Again, giving them a little overhead for death metal and overzealous trumpet players.

And the final component is data bandwidth or "bitrate" usually measured in kilobits per second. This is how much data is read every second. The 1s and 0s of it all. The bitrate of a CD is calculated by multiplying 44,100 samples per second per channel by 16 bits per sample and then multiplying by 2 channels. After all that mathing is math'd, you get a perfectly uncompressed 1,411 kbps.

So you've got all the frequencies you could ever hear combined with as much volume as your ears can stand with a bit rate that will give you no loss of data.

The *perfect* audio quality all encoded into little microscopic pits.

Now you may be asking, "Why do I see "24/96" or "24/192" advertised on fancy audio equipment and high quality streaming platforms like Tidal? Aren't 24 bits better? Isn't 96 kHz MORE than 44.1 kHz?"

Dr. Nyquist might say... this is some bullshit.

This confusion comes from the fact that recording quality and playback quality are two different animals. This misunderstanding happens with video and photo quality as well. Recording in 6K will give you a sharper picture even if your final playback quality is 4K. You can get bad pixels and noise and stray photons that do not contribute to the detail in the video. By giving yourself overhead you can ensure you hit the desired quality target.

And recording at 24 bits and 96 or 192 kHz, you get a higher resolution to edit and master with, but it is only advantageous to the computer software... not the human ear.

From a photographer's perspective, I relate to it like this...

If I have more megapixels and more colors and more dynamic range I have more leeway when editing my photos. If you try to push a low quality photo in the edit, it has this tendency to fall apart. You can get ugly color banding and harsh contrast and sharpening artifacts. By capturing more quality than you need in the finished product, you can process the photo much more dramatically before it deteriorates and loses integrity.

Audio and video are the same way.

So let's say you have a metal singer that screams at the microphone as loud as possible from 2 inches away.

At 16 bits they may surpass that 100 decibel dynamic range and distort the recording. But if you record in 24 bits, you get 144 dB to play with. Or you can even do 32 bits and get 1500 dB--a volume that no human voice could ever surpass. It guarantees a clean, distortion free recording, but 32 bits would be pointless for human listening.

The same is true with the sample rate. Having a higher resolution allows you to zoom into waveforms and adjust things to an extremely granular level. You can do precise timings, tiny pitch adjustments, apply loads of digital effects, and just have more room for audio activities without degrading the sound quality.

But outputting 192,000 of those black squares is going to interpolate the exact same smooth curvy line as 44,100 when it is played through speakers.

The oscilloscope knows what I'm talking about.

Now I am about to reveal a secret that no audiophile who has invested in a $115,000 high resolution 32 bit/3,072 kHz DAC wants to acknowledge...

The master recording is always more important than the playback quality.

If you have a high quality source it will sound great even in a highly compressed MP3. Just like the 6K video is sharper on the 4K TV. And the high megapixel photo looks better in an Instagram post.

If the source is good, the media will be good.

And since high resolution audio services often seek out the best masters available before encoding their playback files, it gives many people the illusion they are getting better sound quality due to the boosted specs.

When in reality, it was just a better copy of the original recording.

According to Nyquist, your human ears are not computers and all you need is double the frequency to hear perfect sound with no loss of information. So anything above 16 bit/44.1 kHz/1411 kbps and you are just wasting bandwidth on a server.

And I don't want to hear anything about "stair stepping."

IT'S MATH.

Your ears aren't better than math, okay?

If you don't believe in math, then you and Jack White can sit in the naughty math corner with his bespoke overpriced vinyl pressings.

I will say, there is a gap between your standard music streaming service like Spotify and your bullshit audiophile service like Tidal.

Free Spotify uses heavily compressed files. Which means the bitrate is quite low and there can be information loss. Or "lossy" compression. Modern compression is actually pretty amazing, but I'm afraid anything below 320 kbps may cause some songs to not sound as intended.

Depending on the content, some songs are more suited to compression than others. And even with premium Spotify, they cap songs at 320 kbps which still may not be enough for busier, harder-to-compress songs.

Also, I don't know if Spotify cares about getting the best quality master for a given song. Which, again, is the most important aspect of sound quality.

But services like Tidal waste bandwidth with their super specs and that isn't great for the environment. What I'd love to see is a company that makes their best effort to seek out high quality masters, and encodes their files at 16 bit/44 kHz with a lossless variable bit rate compression. Variable bit rate or "VBR" will do more compression during simpler parts of the audio and less compression during more complex parts. It's smart compression, basically. And as long as you use a high enough bitrate to achieve lossless compression, the sound quality will be the same as if there is no compression at all. So you still get smaller file sizes that use less bandwidth and have a smaller environmental impact.

That would be a streaming service I would consider paying for. Especially if they put great effort into getting high quality original recordings for their content.

In conclusion... if you are still using CDs you don't need to worry about audio quality. You're all set. There is a sort of beauty in what the audio scientists who created compact discs did. They figured out the limits of human audio perception and created a format that just slightly exceeded that. No "bigger number is better" marketing. No audiophile bullshit.

They said, "Here is what you need and nothing more."

They made a perfect thing and they should be proud of that.

[diaper-your-brat]

08 - From bossy businesswoman to diapered brat.

Some people like the idea of completely regressing their partner, 24/7 and taking away their adulthood. To each their own, but I much prefer the principle of "High-performing businesswoman in the office, diapered brat at home". If she wants to be a big girl in the workplace, go ahead and let her. Let her be in charge of her little meetings, yell at her subordinates and whatever else she wants to do. As long as she remembers one thing: once she enters home, her big-girl privileges are revoked. Instantly.

Kayla, for example, has to follow strict rules: as soon as she is home she has five minutes. Either, she has to completely undress and present herself to her daddy, so that he can inspect & diaper her. Or, if she comes home first, she has to immediately take off her business clothes and put on a diaper & a childish top by herself. Once that is done, she has a list of chores to do. Nothing mentally demanding, of course ("Your little mind is already overwhelmed from running from one silly meeting to another all day long", as her daddy likes to say). Instead, these tasks may include things like:

Clean the kitchen

Prepare dinner for daddy

Maintain her diaper stash & baby supplies

Suck her daddy's cock

Kayla isn't always happy about this. Sometimes she pouts and complains about being treated this way at home, despite being a highly-respected executive. But after a spanking or some corner time, she'll usually see reason.

And then her daddy will patiently listen to her frustrations of her busy workday. Of course, while she's diapered at home, no work phone & laptop is allowed. "Little girls shouldn't play with adult devices", her daddy often chuckles. And then he says things like:

"If only your employees could see what a little stinker their boss lady is..."

"Look at you, you kept your big girl underwear dry all day at the office today. Did you go to the bathroom all by yourself?"

"I'm gonna send you to work with a properly spanked bottom tomorrow, to make sure you don't act up at work tomorrow."

Kayla might react by whimpering and whining. But after a busy day at work, this is exactly the relief she needs, and they both know it.

(Picture generated with Stable Diffusion, text written by me. Everyone depicted is 18+ and consenting, and no real people are depicted on any of my posts.)

(The goal with this picture was to get a smooth before-after of the same character in the same setting. As we can see, the results remain imperfect, as of now. Both the character & the kitchen setting do still change a lot. Will continue experimenting with this in the future...)

[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno May Promptcation. two fills in one day wooooo that's how much i hate my job lolol]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) 24: imperfect (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

The silence that greets John as he walks up the seventeen steps, bags of groceries in hand, is perfectly ominous. He's only been gone two hours, for God's sake.

… but he's kidding himself if he thinks Rosie & Sherlock can't do a significant amount of damage in twenty minutes, let alone two hours.

He resigns himself to a huge repair bill and/or an angry Mrs Hudson, and opens the door.

Sherlock is stood in front of the sitting room table, holding a squirmy Rosie. 'Hello, John.'

'Hi Daddyyyyy.'

John raises an eyebrow. 'She's very excited about something.'

Sherlock clears his throat and looks down momentarily. 'Yes. Well. We may have had an exciting…incident.'

John sets the bags down on the kitchen table then walks back to face them. He runs his eyes over his daughter, but doesn't see any obvious damage. 'Any blood?' 

'Absolutely not,' Sherlock says immediately.

'On either of you?' John amends.

Sherlock shifts Rosie in his arms. 'Not important.'

'Alright, I'll bite. What is important, then?'

'Well, first we need to apologise, because we may have--'

'Broke bowl,' Rosie interrupts him firmly.

John shakes his head. 'We break bowls all the time, I don't--'

Sherlock moves aside, and John sees what's on the sitting room desk behind him.

'Oh,' he says shortly, his heart plummeting somewhere into his belly. On the table sits a sad pile of ceramic shards where once a handmade bowl had stood.

His eyes start to sting. John has very little left of his mum, and she'd been especially proud of that bowl. He can feel his heart rate increase as anger begins singing through him.

'I'm so sorry, John.' Sherlock's voice is low, and John's gaze snaps to him. His cool eyes are muddled with worry, and that's enough to jolt John into action.

'Need a minute, thanks,' he says, enunciating clearly, and Sherlock doesn't hesitate to nod, then reaches for a toy with which to distract Rosie.

John closes his eyes and doesn't count to ten; instead he forces air into his lungs, pictures his baby girl, and begins to count her toes and fingers. This he does, over and over and over again, until he can breathe, until he feels the anger slip and slide on its way, transforming into resignation and maybe even a glimmer of acceptance.

It is what it is.

He opens his eyes and breathes out. His body feels loose, almost depleted, but the red haze is gone. 'What happened?' he asks, throat a bit rough, as he approaches the table. Part of the bowl is actually intact, though there are a few small cracks running along it like wrinkles.

'We were playing aeroplane,' Sherlock explains, 'and her feet made an unexpected landing, one could say.'

John's lips twitch. 'And you're all right? You didn't try to heroically save the shards and end up slicing your hand open?'

Sherlock's face-- John's not sure what to make of it, exactly, but he has the feeling that as soon as they've settled in for the night he's going to have the living daylights kissed out of him. He is very much on board.

'It's just a little cut,' Sherlock says. 'And I already have a plaster on it.' He shifts Rosie and holds up the wounded finger in evidence.

It's a Sesame Street plaster, and that for some reason breaks John. He feels laughter shake through his limbs. 'Oh, Christ,' he says, wiping his eyes and looking up at Sherlock. A final chuckle escapes him, then he nods. 'You know what we're going to do?'

'What are we going to do?'

'We're going to declare that what was once a bowl is now an ashtray. In its final form, like.'

Sherlock lets out a surprised huff of laughter. 'An ashtray, you say?'

Rosie is not to be left out. 'What's ash tray?'

John and Sherlock exchange a look, but Sherlock speaks first. 'Something that will sit on our shelf, right here--' He walks over to the bookshelf by the fireplace. '--right next to the one that we s--'

John clears his throat.

'--acquired from the Palace.'

Rosie perks up, no longer interested in the ashtrays one little bit. 'Palace?'

Sherlock realises he's landed into some Prince & Princess Time a split second too late to do anything about it. 'Yes, palace,' he ad libs. 'In the sky!'

Rosie's eyes go wide, and the corner of John's mouth turns up. 'Well done.' He walks over to where they're standing and kisses them both. 'I'm going to put away the groceries and see about tea, all right?'

Sherlock leans in and kisses him again before he can move away. 'Thank you,' he says quietly while shifting Rosie to his other side. 'I know that's difficult for you.'

John nods in acknowledgement, and picks up the newly-christened ashtray one more time. 'Looks a little… rough, but should work fine.'

'It has character,' Sherlock replies.

'Personality.'

'An origin story.'

'A palace!' Rosie interjects, throwing her hands up in the air.

John's grin matches Sherlock's smirk. 'Close enough.'

[ <3 ]

And we get a little further from perfection Each year on the road / I think that's called 'character'; I think that's Just the way it goes

[inspired by 'Imperfectly' by Ani Difranco, from the album Imperfectly, which I have been listening to obsessively bc of this, and it's been a marvellous, self-indulgent time.]

[dragonsoftheeast]

A Beginner's Guide to Writing in High Valyrian

written for @hotd-bigbang Summer 24 event

High Valyrian is a head-final, pro-drop language. What does that mean? Head-final means that the "main" part of the phrase comes last. In a sentence with a verb, that means that the main verb comes last. Pro-drop means that subject pronouns- the person or thing performing said main verb- tend to be dropped. Instead, they are implied by the verb form. Pronouns can be used, but only for emphasis.

Consider "Nyke Daenerys Jelmāzmo hen Targārio Lentrot, hen Valyrio Uēpo ānogār iksan. — I am Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, of the blood of Old Valyria." Now that's emphasis. "Iksan" already means, "I am", but I am Daenerys! Otherwise, try to avoid pronouns. However, if the subject is clarified, then you use the nominative form of the noun. For example:

Onjapossa ipradas: "He is eating carrots." vs. Anne onjapossa ipradas. — The horse is eating carrots.

Now I've introduced different word forms! With nouns, this is called "declining," and with verbs, this is called "conjugation. If you've ever learned a Romance language, these terms might be familiar to you. This also means that you can be a little freer with word order, though the main verb should remain last.

Nouns have 8 cases, determining what role they take in the sentence.

Nominative (the subject of the sentence)

Accusative (the object of the sentence)

Genitive (possessives, commonly translated as "of")

Dative (the indirect object, also commonly translated as "to" or "for")

Locative (location or time, commonly translated as "in". Also used for the object of the 3 prepositions)

Instrumental (the instrument, or "by means of")

Comitative (accompaniament. In some words, the instrumental and comitative are merged, so you can translate as "with)

Vocative (Addressing someone directly)

Nouns also have 4 numbers, determining how many of the noun is being referred to:

Singular

Plural

Paucal: some, a small number (in some cases, this is treated as plural when it comes to matching adjectives or verbs)

Collective: all, a totality (in some cases, this is treated as singular when it comes to matching adjectives or verbs)

There are also 4 genders in High Valyrian. These, as well as the declension of the word, indicate how the form of the word changes when the case and number change. On the High Valyrian Dictionary, which is hosted by David J. Peterson, the creator of the language, you can click on each noun entry to get a table of how each noun looks for each case/number, like this one for ēdrurys, a 2nd declension solar noun meaning "dream". 

Adjectives that describe said nouns must match in case/number/gender, so take note of what gender your noun is before you consult the adjective table.

Verbs have 3 moods, 2 voices, and 7 tenses. Just as with the nouns, you can use the tables linked on the dictionary entries to find the correct forms for each entry.

Indicative mood means that the statement has happened. This is the standard form. The Subjunctive mood means that the statement has NOT happened (this includes negative sentences, hypotheticals, uncertain events, or wishes) The imperative mood means that it is a command. Note that this indicates that the verb is in 2nd person, and if you are ordering someone to do something, then that address should be in the Vocative form. Active Voice indicates that the subject is the one performing the action, while the passive voice indicates that the subject is the one being acted upon. Now, here are the seven tenses:

Present tense (events happening currently)

Aorist tense (statements about general truths or facts and events that usually or always occur. You may be tempted to put some declarations here, however, the aorist tense is very rare and has the sense of being very pompous)

Future (things that will occur)

Imperfect (things that were ongoing in the past. "was X-ing)

Perfect (things that were completed prior to the present)

Pluperfect (things that happened before a past moment. "Had X-ed)

Past Habitual (things that occured generally or repeatedly for some past period)

Now that you have the basics, how do you translate? Break down the sentence in English first: what are you trying to say? Here's an example: 

Azantys ohīlvoso taobe idakos! — The knight is attacking the boy with a dagger!

Azantys is in the nominative singular form. The knight is performing the action. Ohīlvoso is in the intrumental singular form. The subject is using the dagger to perform the action. Taobe is in the accusative singular form. The subject is performing the action to the boy. Idakos is in the 3rd person singular present active indicative form. The subject, who is a singular actor and neither the speaker nor the listener, is presently attacking someone. 

There we have it! A basic sentence. Please understand that High Valyrian and English are DIFFERENT LANGUAGES. You will not always be able to translate directly from English to High Valyrian. Don't be afraid to have your more literal meaning in HV, then a more poetic or complicated one in English. This even happens in official dialogue! For example:

"Avy ēdruliot ilzīlza." He will bore you senseless. (Literally: "He will put you in the dreamland.")

When using the dictionary, no need to be literal or exact. Remember that it's probably easier for you to change what's being said in English than in Valyrian. Be okay looking up synonyms to find within the entries, but make sure to read those entries carefully to get an idea of the "sense" of the word, as well as any notes on how they're used. For example, some verbs mean different things if the noun attached them is in the accusative (object), or dative (indirect object) form. 

These are the basics! You can learn more about grammar here, and there's a Discord server for High Valyrian learners here. You can run your translated sentences by other High Valyrian language learners! I also have a HV Cheat sheet here which might also help you.

[luna-naoffcial]

Criminal Love

—PART NINE

Pairing: Alastor x Fem! Reader

-----------------------------

PART ONE | PART EIGHT | PART TEN |

-----------------------------

You couldn't help but feel a little remorseful. You had just admitted to having no feelings for Paul and had kissed Alastor while still technically in a relationship with Paul. Now, Alastor's mother believes you have been secretly dating. You collapsed onto the bed with a sigh of frustration. Why was this all so complicated!

But as you recalled the kiss in the woods with Alastor, you couldn't help but smile as you ran your finger over your lips. Alastor slowly knocked on your door he had just come from one of his night-time outing as he recalled them. "Hey love, you ok?" Alastor asked after just coming out from the shower seeing him in his nightwear.

You sat up with a sigh. "I must admit that I feel a sense of guilt, given that I am still with Paul. This situation weighs heavily on my conscience. It makes me feel... slutty." Alastor's gaze narrowed slightly as he observed your word selection.

"My dear, I must gently correct you, as you are quite far from that. You are letting him know of your relationship with him tomorrow, which does not necessarily imply that you are that. It is not uncommon for couples to find themselves drawn to other people during the course of their relationship," Alastor explained, attempting to provide reassurance. You gently nodded, offering a warm smile as he took a seat beside you.

"Now that we are confessing, my dear, there is something I must share with you. I sincerely hope this... does not alter your perception of me, as it may be unsettling for someone of your sensibilities to hear." "Alastor, you kill people in the most gruesome way. How can it get worse?" You suddenly giggled. Alastor didn't respond.

His gaze meeting your eyes. "I don't just do that, darling... I... eat them." He then confessed. Your eyes suddenly widened, feeling your stomach turn slightly.

"You... ea... wha-" You were like a broken record now unable to speak. "There's something dark inside me that enjoys the pleasure of it. It's hard to explain to an innocent soul like you. But I wanted to confess that if we're gonna start something together, it was best you found out now instead of finding out yourself. Although I will add this now, love that I have never ever fed you any of my... victims. I wouldn't dare do that to you." You sat there completely speechless. You wouldn't lie. You were grossed out by it. But Alastor was trusting you with this. He wanted you to know his true intentions of his dark side. And if it was

something you would gladly accept into the relationship. You gazed into his captivating honey coloured eyes, gently reaching out to caress his cheek.

Your heart was filled with an undeniable love for him, acknowledging that everyone possesses imperfections, and he was no exception despite him eating people. But he had shown no intentions harming you in any way.

"I will accept that that is a part of you just... don't let me see any of it... raw or scattered in my home." You said calmly. "Of course, love, thank you... for understanding." He took your hand that was on his cheek and kissed your palm where the scar was. That sent a sudden tingle through the lining of it, causing you to squirm slightly. Alastor observed your reaction and glanced at your palm. "Did that cause any discomfort?" He frowned and looked back at you. "No, I merely experienced an unusual tingling sensation, that is all." You shrugged. "It startled me slightly," you confessed.

"Hmm, strange." He questioned. "Shall we head to bed?" You decided to ignore it. "I suppose." As he went to get up, you grabbed his hand.

"Together." You giggled. "Not even 24 hours, my dear, and you're already trying to get me into bed with you?" He gasped jokingly. In a lighthearted manner, you playfully rolled your eyes at that as he comfortably positioned himself beside you.

As you turned your back to him, Alastor simply drew closer, resulting in your back being pressed against his chest, with his arm securely wrapped around you. You smiled slowly, closing your eyes.

Next day

Alastor was hesitant to leave you for work, but you reassured him that you would be fine when informing Paul. You found yourself pacing back and forth, anxiously awaiting the arrival of your soon to be ex-boyfriend. A sudden knock on the door startled you, causing you to jump slightly. Taking a deep breath to compose yourself, you opened the door to find Paul

standing there with a neutral expression. "Paul," you greeted him calmly. With a sigh, he entered the room. "Why do I fell like

this conversation will not be good" Paul muttered as you closed the door. You briefly averted your gaze to the wooden floor before meeting his, your (e/c) eyes locking with his piercing ocean-blue ones. "I've given some thoughts to what you said yesterday," you began, choosing your words carefully.

Paul maintained his unwavering gaze, silently indicating his attention. "And," you continued, releasing a defeated sigh, "I must admit that you were right. My hesitation in

progressing our relationship further is because I only see you as a friend, Paul. Therefore, I believe it would be in our best interests to go back to being that instead." You confessed, your gaze shifting away from his...

"It's because of him, isn't it?" He suddenly yelled, making you flinch a little from the raised voice. Taking a moment to compose yourself, you focus your attention with determination.

"You love him, don't you? It's always been him. 3 years, and you wasted my time. Well good thing I fucked Lizzy during that." Both your eyes widened to that. "You what?" You said letting out a rather dark chuckle.

"Although I have feelings for Alastor, I never slept with him. And you had sex with our friend! Is that what she meant? You didn't save yourself? Honestly, Paul just leave. I think it's rather clear we are through at this point." You yelled. "So that's it? Wow, clearly, you are really in love with him. Don't know what you see in him, to be honest." He mumbled under his breath. "What did you say?"

You inquired, feeling a sense of protectiveness." He has a reputation for being charming and flirtatious. Have you not observed his interactions with his fans and their behaviour? I've noticed him developing a friendship with a woman at that exclusive club, and I wouldn't be surprised if he's fucking her." "You really are pissed that we're through you only go and talk crap about Alastor. He's everything you're not. So get out you cheating bastard!"A loud smack echoed the living room feeling your head snap to the side. Your eyes widened to the stinging on your cheek feeling tingly. "(Y/N)... I... I didn't mean-" "Please leave, Paul..." You whispered, not daring to look at him, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes. "(Y/N), doll please I didn't mean to-" "LEAVE!" "I LOVE YOU, OK? CANT WE... WORK THIS OUT."

You were now going back and forwards with what felt like hours, Paul not accepting the news. You were now rubbing your temples in irritation. "Paul, it's over. Just leave. I thought we could remain as friends but if it's gonna be like this, I can't... I can't have someone who will not accept the break up as mutual, you also just hit me. I... I just need you to leave, ok?" You softly spoke. "We can work something

out, if you'd like. Perhaps we could give it a try and see how you feel about it?" He exclaimed with a hint of excitement. He gently placed his hands on your shoulders and gave you a gentle shake. "Let's try it and see how we feel then, shall we?" He said, almost pleading.

"Paul I-" You were cut off feeling his lips press against yours forcefully, his hands creeping under your top. With enough strength you pulled him away. "Stop! I don't want this!" "C'mon... you know you do."

'He's crazy...'

You felt yourself being pressed against the wall, pinning your arms against the wall as he pressed himself into you bringing his lips back on to yours. You tried wiggling from his grip as he departed his lips trailing it down your neck. "Paul! Stop! I don't!" You croaked out.

"Sure you do... after all. It's not like we've made out multiple times, I only wanna explore more with you." He whispered darkly. You felt a tear roll down your cheek. "C'mon doll, don't cry. It'll be fun." He chuckled as he leaned in for a kiss.

He was unexpectedly pulled off of you as you let out a gasp like you could breath. Alastor immediately threw a punch, striking Paul in the face and causing him to fall to the ground unexpectedly. Alastor wasn't finished as he

climbed on top of the man grabbing him by his shirt and throwing punches to his face repeatedly with his other hand. After taking a brief moment to regain your composure, you swiftly rushed forward and caught his arm mid-swing, causing the radio host to pause as his gaze met yours. "Alastor, please stop. Let him go," you whispered gently. Alastor's expression softened as he listened to your pleas, and he stood back up.

Paul groaned on the floor, clutching his face in pain. His nose was likely broken. "I suggest you leave, and never EVER return back here again." Alastor sneered, straightening his jacket. As Paul made eye contact with you. Alastor pulled you closer to him as a sign. "I fail to understand the qualities you find appealing in him." He managed to say again. Paul managed to get to his feet and stumbled out of your house. As soon as you heard the door shut. You immediately walked over to the sofa, letting out a cry collapsing onto the soft cushion.

Without delay, Alastor rushed over where you were sitting on the sofa, hunched over with your hands covering your face. "Love?" Alastor whispered as he crouched down in front of you. He felt a pang of sorrow in his heart as he saw you in this state. The last time you had been so broken was when your mother passed away.

As you slowly lifted your head, Alastor's breath caught in his throat when he finally saw the mark on your cheek that he didn't even notice during his rage at Paul. A combination of anger and sadness swirled within him once more.

Noticing Alastor's internal struggle reflected in the slight flicker of his eyes, you gently took his hands in yours, effectively calming him. "For me, please don't kill him." You said knowing what he was thinking of. "I can't promise you that he shouldn't have laid a hand on you. He just tried to take advantage of you if i didn't

intervene." He said through gritted teeth. "It was a heated moment. Things were said and expressed impulsively." You attempted to provide an explanation. "There is no justification for striking and assaulting a woman," he asserted firmly.

Sensing the tension in his body, You sought comfort and understanding through an embrace. Alastor reciprocated, wrapping his arms around me. "I understand, Al. Just..

please, for me? His jealousy was directed towards you all along," you whispered discreetly. Alastor exhaled deeply before releasing the embrace. He gently brushed his thumb across the mark, causing you to wince slightly. "He is lucky. That's all I did to him," Alastor muttered, respecting your wishes. As he gazed into your (e/c) eyes, a gentle smile gradually spread across your face.

"May I have a kiss?" you inquired. Alastor responded with a soft chuckle and leaned in, bridging the gap between you. Your lips met in a passionate kiss that ignited a racing pulse and an inexplicable connection. A tingling

sensation lingered on your lips as if destiny had intertwined your souls, promising an eternal bond. As you departed, you couldn't help but let a smile grace your face. This felt more appropriate. "That smile is truly

captivating," Alastor remarked with a satisfied sigh. He then proceeded to stand up after giving you a brief kiss on the cheek. "I think we should head out. What do you say? A swim? Hmm?" He said, smiling with one eyebrow raised to lighten the mood. "I would like that very much." You replied, smiling at your now boyfriend. You were finally his.

22 years old

"Love, you do not have to get a job with what I earn." You gave Alastor a playful glare. "I know that. It just gives me something to do whilst I'm lonely." You pouted. "You can always come with me to work." He suggested finishing up the gumbo he was cooking. You were sitting on the counter with your leg crossed over the other one with your hands on either side of you leaning back. It has become a daily occurrence for Alastor to stay and prepare meals for you, even spending the night. It could be said that he has effectively moved in, but you do not object to this arrangement. "I'd get bored or annoy you. No offence." You chuckled as Alastor shook his head at that but had an amused smile on his face. "I suppose sitting around listening to me chatter away is boring, don't you think?"

"How dare you twist my word." You mocked as he grinned at that. "I know you enjoy listening to me every day. It is what makes me put on my best performance, after all." "Oh, aren't you charming." You mused. "Only for you." He cooed, pecking your cheek." Come now, my love, let's have something to eat."

Next day

*Waitresses needed*

"Hmm," you hummed, walking into the diner. The diner, which holds fond memories of time spent with Alastor during childhood and with your ex friend and ex-boyfriend during school days, is a place of both good and bad memories. Given its proximity to home,

You decided to accept the part-time job offer, as it provided an opportunity to not be stuck at home all day alone. Getting your first shift tomorrow, you waved the owner a goodbye and was off, not realizing that you were there longer than you anticipated seeing the sun was setting.

Knowing Alastor should be home by now, you did leave him a note of your whereabouts in case you were out longer. As you moved away from the city, passing the last block, you unexpectedly felt a sudden grip from behind. Your breath caught in your throat as a blade was pressed against your neck. "Give me your money." The male whispered in your ear.

You slowly dropped your purse on the floor. "Please... please don't hurt me... just take it all..." You whimpered, feeling your body shake in fear. There was a pause for a moment. You suddenly found yourself unexpectedly on the ground. A soft exclamation escaped your lips due to the discomfort caused by the gravel against your knee.

You briefly observed the unfamiliar young man as your gazes met. The male noticed and quickly grabbed you by your hair as you let out a cry, pressing the blade to your cheek.

"Say anything to the police and you're dead, got it?" He growled. "I promise." You whispered, feeling the tears stream down your face. He released his grip and ran off into the darkness of the night. What seemed like an hour was actually only five minutes before your trembling body was ready to stand up and gradually make your way home. As you reached the front door, you had difficulty opening it with your shaking hand, but you eventually managed to get a grip and open it.

You entered the room with a sense of dread, your heart racing with anxiety. The realization that your life could have ended there if the individual had acted differently filled you with fear. You became lost in these thoughts, allowing them to obscure your vision and cloud your judgment. "My dear, is something the matter?" Alastor furrowed his brow as he rose from his chair. He had been engrossed in his work at his desk when you entered the room, your body in a state of shock. "(Y/N)?"

You were covered in dirt, and your knees were scraped up from the fall and struggle. Your hair was dishevelled. A bit of blood from the nick of the blade on your neck had dried. Alastor stared at you with a worried expression, his anger seething within him at the thought of who had harmed you.

He didn't want to scare you. "My dear, you appear to be quite shaken." Your gaze was locked, bloodshot from the evident shock you were experiencing. Alastor fell silent, realizing that his words were not reaching you. "Let's clean you up," he whispered. With gentle hands, Alastor guided you towards the bathroom. As he carefully undressed you. He led you inside the shower, not bothering he had his clothes on turning the water on. "(Y/N)?" Suddenly, you felt as if you had been jolted out of a trance, blinking several times as you met the gaze of your partner's warm, honey coloured eyes fixed upon you. "Al?" You weakly choked out. "I'm here, my dear. You are safe now," he reassured in a gentle and comforting tone, his hands resting on your

shoulders. "What happened?"

He inquired again, apprehensive about the response as he started inspecting your body for any signs of marks or injuries. "I was mugged and threatened with a knife for my... my purse. I thought I was gonna die Al, as the blade was pressed against my neck, and... and..." You choked up on your words. Alastor drew you into an embrace as you clung to your partner now wet shirt. "Did he..." Alastor began. "No, thankfully." You mumbled out. "He desired my money more than anything as if it were a desperate matter. So I let him take it." "Did you... see what he looked like?" Alastor hummed. You slowly looked up to him, noticing his composed demeanour. "He was... young, Al...' you explained, still shaken. "My dear, you just came in completely shocked and terrified. I can not allow that! If he chooses to behave like a mature adult by threatening you with a knife, then he must face the consequence of his actions as an adult."

You hesitated for a moment, realizing that he would not give up. With a sigh, you gave in to his request. "Very well... I shall give you the location and description of his appearance." Alastor responded by gently caressing your cheek with his thumb pressing his lips against your forehead. After some time gazing into his captivating eyes, you came to the realization that you were standing naked in the shower with him. Your eyes widened as you felt your cheeks grow warm. Alastor observed

your reaction and raised an eyebrow. "I'm naked, aren't I?" You said not even attempting to look down. "Have you just come to this realization?" Alastor chuckled. He leaned in, almost closing the gap between you. "It's not as if I haven't seen it before, after all, Miss Lightweight," reminding you of your he whispered, actions. respectfully

"Urgh, do not-" You were interrupted as Alastor his lips against pressed yours, causing you to melt into the kiss. You felt his hands gently cup your cheeks as you let out a contented sigh. Alastor pulled away, grinning. "You were saying? Hmm?" You couldn't help but smile broadly, revealing your beautiful white teeth. "Kiss me again." "Gladly." Alastor whispered, drawing you in for another kiss. Despite the frequency of Alastor's kisses, you found yourself falling in love with him repeatedly, as if he were an irresistible addiction. The spark ignited within you, igniting a passionate response in your body.

-----------------------------

Tags: @n0tmentallystable

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[calaisreno]

Prompt for Thursday, May 30: Journey

May Prompts 2024

Our journey is reaching a close. Thank you all for travelling with me this month!

Previous Prompts:

May 1: Open

May 2: Box

May 3: Familiar

May 4: Fall

May 5: Awkward

May 6: Cold

May 7: Calm

May 8: Hobby

May 9: Intimidate

May 10: Choice

May 11: Secret

May 12: Family

May 13: Laugh

May 14: Eavesdrop

May 15: Nightmare

May 16: Experiment

May 17: Chaos

May 18: Blanket

May 19: Weather

May 20: Do-over

May 21: Fire

May 22: Night

May 23: Apology

May 24: Imperfect

May 25: Intuition

May 26: Manipulate

May 27: Jealousy

May 28: Empty

May 29: Hero

[bs2sjh]

May 24 - Imperfect

I'm still studying hard. I now dream of calculus, with integrals pirouetting through my head all night. Today's prompt may follow shortly, or it might be tomorrow. I shall see. My brain is very tired. Anyway, let's put Sherlock to bed for a night's sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Come on, you need rest." John took Sherlock's hand and led him towards the bedroom. "Bedtime for consulting detectives." Sherlock chuckled. 

"What about their bloggers?" Sherlock looked hopefully up at John from the edge of the bed. 

"I can stay. For a while, at least. Until you fall asleep." John noticed the small, sad smile on his friend's face. "Right, get ready, and I'll fetch some water and your tablets." 

He returned a few minutes later to find Sherlock sitting up in bed, eyes closed and head resting against the headboard. 

"Come on. Take these, then lie down. You look knackered."

"Having a heart attack is surprisingly hard on the body." John smiled as Sherlock took the tablets and shuffled down under the covers. John lay down next to him atop the covers. 

"Soon, I'll only have to go to the next room. You won't be alone anymore." He reached out to gently brush a curl from Sherlock's forehead. "I'm sorry for not being here when you needed me." 

"You're here now. Neither of us is perfect, John."

"No, certainly not."

"But despite our imperfections, there's no one I would rather be here than you." 

"Yeah?" Sherlock opened his eyes and nodded. "After everything? You still feel that way?" Another nod. "Me too. Now go to sleep." 

"Night, John."

"Night, Bee."

I think they might be starting to get somewhere. Finally. This is part of a multi-part fic for @calaisreno's May Prompt Challenge. All can be found here at a03!

[jrow]

May Prompts (24)

Day 23 is here. Start at the beginning here. Day 25 here.

Imperfect

The brain is an imperfect organ.

It’s not a machine that can access detailed memories at will or calculate the most probable answer at the drop of a hat. It is fallible.

They are fallible.

Right now he wants to shake John until the memories pop out in full. Because John remembers he was pushed, remembers he saw the thief’s face, but can’t remember what the perpetrator looked like.

And, he is so angry at his own stupid brain for missing the obvious. He had been so sure that the thief had jumped down those stairs that he hadn’t considered any other possibilities. He made an assumption and it was wrong. And as a result, John was left alone with a criminal that had seemingly nothing to lose.

But the anger at himself pales in comparison to the rage he feels for the thief they were chasing. The man who tried to kill John. Twice. Rage is an understatement.

He will hunt that man to the ends of the earth. He will set the world on fire if he needs to.

He wants to find and destroy the thief NOW. Rosie is the only thing stopping him. John ducked away from the table to make a few calls now that his memory has (partially) returned, leaving Sherlock to watch Rosie.

Rosie’s who’s smiling broadly, face covered in ganache. He isn’t sure any of it actually got in her mouth.

“Here, let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, dipping a napkin in his cup of water. Somehow the simple act seems to calm him a little and he can practically feel the adrenaline dissipate. He’s still angry but no longer blinded by rage.

He leans forward and reaches for Rosie’s face.

“Nooooo,” she squeals, pulling away. “I like it!!!!”

He tosses the napkin on the table and sighs. He cannot be bothered with this right now.

Luckily, it appears that John is done his calls.

“How’d it go?” he asks impatiently as John takes his seat.

“Good. Talked to your brother. Lestrade was at the yard so I pretended I was calling to invite him over tomorrow. Since you figured out a copper might be involved, I figured I better be tight lipped while he’s around others on the force, you know? I think he knew it was a ruse, which is fine.”

“Mycroft will bring him up to speed quickly.”

“And do thorough background checks on everyone at New Scotland Yard, no doubt,” John adds. His face is neutral but there’s a hint of admiration in his voice. John looks at Rosie and sighs, picking up the wet napkin and cleaning her face, ignoring her protests. “I can’t believe the damn cop managed to hide his face from four jewelry store security cameras. If he had just looked at the camera once, we’d have something to go on.” He tosses the napkin on the table. “Or if I could just remember his stupid face.”

“It will come, John,” Sherlock says, quietly, working very hard to sound genuine. He’s feeling a touch impatient but the last thing John needs is to feel guilty.

“I called Mrs. Hudson and Molly,” John says with a sigh, obviously looking to change the subject. We can drop Rosie at Baker Street and then head … well, wherever you think we should go. Molly will come by to help Mrs. Hudson after her shift.” John smiles. “She seemed genuinely thrilled she’ll get to see Rosie awake this time.” He runs a hand over his face. “God, I am so damn lucky.”

“Interesting sentiment given the events of the last week.”

John shrugs. “I survived, didn’t I?”

“You’ll need a nap soon.”

“Thanks for bringing that up, not emasculating at all.” John sighs again but it sounds almost fond. “I know you’re right but I want to try to work on the case for a couple hours. I … need to.”

God, Sherlock needs that too. Just him and John against the world, if only for a moment.

John stands up and starts stacking their empty plate, gazing out the window. “I have to do something since I can’t remember the damn guy’s face.”

And then, out of nowhere, John is coughing violently.

His heart enters his throat. “John! What’s wrong?”

John stands and turns around so he’s facing the back of the cafe, still coughing. “I recognized him. The thief. On the roof. I recognized him. We’ve worked with him before,” he says quietly between (now clearly fake) coughs. “And he’s watching us from across the street right now.”

@keirgreeneyes @raina-at @totallysilvergirl @meetinginsamarra @jolieblack @phoenix27884 @friday411 @calaisreno @lisbeth-kk @safedistancefrombeingsmart @momma2boys @helloliriels @dapetty @quimerasyutopias

[snomoscribbles]

Name: Nanui te veyim nìlung'itan •---------• •---------• •---------• Spotify Playlist

Pronouns: He/Him Clan: Metkayina Occupation: Crafstman/Weaver Ht: 10'5" Age: roughly 24 Spirit Sibling: A'nawei (female tulkun) •---------• •---------• •---------• Living Family: 1 Older sister (31), 3 Nephews (15,13,1) Love Language: Physical Touch and Gift Giving Personality: Extroverted, Excitable, empathetic, passionate, stubborn, less book smart more street smart, patient, protective, physically affectionate and tactile Likes: smoked Glider Fin, Skuka (sagittaria) Shells, imperfect colored pearls, Starbeak fins, naps, playing with the village kids, Swimming with Syringil, building and crafting Dislikes: seared hammerbrow fish (he will eat it anyway because he refuses to complain), miscommunication, loose weaving (he will start fixing it without thought), Bitter foods •---------• •---------• •---------• Quotes:

"Grand gestures are appreciated but you do not need to waste such things on me." "You are bare of soul. And someone who shines as brightly as you, should have some, yeah?" "Oh! I am redoing some beaded cords for the entrance of my sisters Marui. My nephews have torn her previous one down with their play. That I...may or may not have taken part in...." "You have so little faith in yourself! Anyone can learn in time and time is everywhere. See? You're wasting it right now. You could be stringing beads!" •---------• •---------• •---------• Character Tag Featured fics/requests: Im here to listen Rated: G Prompt ask hurt/comfort Sweet To The Taste Rated: Explicit Nanui x Gender Neutral Avatar Reader

[janesgms]

Astro Notes - 08

✨️ General Edition ✨️

I hope this makes sense but having venus overlays in the houses related to your venus sign is one of the best placements to have in a romantic relationship, even if is not a house known for being romantic. For ex: there's a boy I'm getting to know who's a gemini venus, and i am an aquarius venus, his venus falls in my 11th house and my venus falls in his 3rd. These 2 houses are known for friendships but in this case they work differently and we have a lot of chemistry and lovey feelings for each other, far from being a friendly connection!

In my experiences, having moon conjunct moon is a total hell to me. There's just a lot of "emotional" tension who gets unbearable most of the times and you can be so similar that you don't understand each other and may hate each other. I think this placement at its worst is a war of egos 24/7. Also being deeply hurt by anything the other do, you may feel much more emotional than the usual. But idk bc every placement works differently for everyone. And this can be similar to moon opposite moon, even though I still prefer moon opp moon over moon conjunct moon.

HOWEVER, having moon in the same sign but not in a conjunction is such a paradise to me, it's truly a blessing to have in any type of relationship because u understand each other in a very nurturing way, so sweet, you feel at ease with this person.

And talking about moon, the sweetest thing to have, even if cliche, is definitely moon trine moon or moon in the 4th house overlay, it's way better than conjunctions or oppositons, because these two are very intense and may never end well, even if you felt like you've found a soulmate at first, it's truly karmic, but with the moon trine moon/moon 4H overlay is so good, specially if they are in the same synastry >>>

Moon 7H overlay it's a weird feeling for me as the moon because i feel so appreciated by the house person. The house person usually sees the moon person like an inspiration, and they find the moon so but SO perfect at everything, you have no idea, sometimes i even get shy. If you're looking for someone who worships you or just really compliments you naturally then find someone who has their 7th house in your moon sign (thank me later). Also i feel like the 7th house person do not see any imperfection in the moon person and can help them to overcome their insecurities. When I'm the house person, I even get jealous at the moon person because they're treated literally like royalty. Just remembering that this also depends on other aspects and the whole synastry guys bc the 7th house can be a tricky one, so don't come at me later, but for now I'm loving it

Something interesting is that i keep attracting guys with cancer/pisces venus or mars and i literally have pisces venus and cancer mars in my mars persona chart 🤯 pls leave me alone i don't want uuuuuuu,,, jk but i think this is cause I need to deal better with this energy internally so they're necessary for my jouney 🔪🔪

Now talking about the apocaliptic 8H and 12H synastry. There was a guy I've had something with, I'm gonna call him T, so T has his venus/asc/SATURN!!!! in my 12th house and mars/uranus in my 8th house, and i have my moon/mc/juno in his 12th house and venus/chiron/neptune in his 8th house, and let me tell you this was one of the most painful things i've went through, this person left unhealable scars in me, and the worst is that it seemed like a fairytale to me most of the times. So, summing it, this synastry is hella karmic and can be dangerous to your mental health if you're not careful, but everyone needs to go through it to learn something in this life so we have to move on. But i'm not saying it is terrible all the time because it depends on both people's maturity, I just had the bad luck of sharing it with a heartless person, and I was the one hurt in the end 🖤 but anyways life goes on i still cry to this date thinking about T

Talking about karmic relationships, i believe South Node in 4H in synastry is a huge indicator of past life conections, or just a comfortable feeling generally if not this kind of connection, so that can explain why you can attract certain ascendants more than others. For ex: I always attract cancer ascendants and my south node falls in their 4th house

Another ascendant I attract a lot is sagittarius but this ain't good always because they can be so stressful when underveloped. And this can be to the fact that my sun/mercury falls in their 1st house and my moon falls in their 7th house so they feel pulled to me in a sense? But as you all must know these overlays can be super superficial at times and I don't enjoy it always as the planet person... But overall I still love my sagittarius risings most of the time <3

There's something so sweet about Taurus Mercuries when they're talking that i find it underrated, yes everyone talks about how they have sensual voices but sometimes they're just cute. There's an undeniable charm in the way they talk like i just want to hear them talk all the time (this applies to both vedic and western)

Now to be honest one of the best placements for physical enchantment in synastry is ASC in the 5H overlay, as the asc person i just feel so much attracted to the asc's appearance and aura it's crazy, but i wanna experience it as the asc person too (hey aries risings how u doin)

This one's also a cliche but all of the twins i know have at least one placement of their big 6 in gemini! also as a gemini moon i've always attracted a lot of twins in my life and i've always wanted to have twins, still a dream though. But it runs in my mom's genetics since in her family there are thousands of twins so i still have chances guys!!

Not to brag or anything because i say it basing on other sag mercuries I know *yes we apparently attract each other like moths to flames lol*, but sagittarius mercuries are so fun to talk to when they want to, and specially online, they text like the most excited person ever with a lot of emojis and all of that, also their laugh are always gonna be loud or straight funny, be it personally or virtually. But i realize we only do that to who we really like and obviously the house placements also matters!! But yes independtly of anything ALL (I really mean all of them) sagittarius mercuries always want to be right and have the last word even if they know they're obviously wrong

Aries venus in the composite chart is so hot. Like i know it's in detriment but is just really fun and fiery to experience, specially if the house is favourable. Also, a lot of sparks coming out from each other when they're together and a palpable chemistry, everyone ships you two so get together already damn

Aquarius mercuries and their diction that makes them look like they're talking a language from another planet sometimes. Also, they seem like they're always talking weird things all the time, in a good way of course, I love them my babies! Also, they always seem to know random facts about literally everything and they have such a diverse taste for music, movies, ANYTHING. But they can be very misunderstanded sometimes because they're not gonna say what people expect them to say. But anyways aquariuses and sagittariuses always seem to get each other because they have similar tastes.

7H placements are people pleasers to the point where is destructive to themselves, but they can't help it, it's in their nature to do this. They all need a hug right now I love you, please take care of youself more and learn how to impose your boundaries, it's for your own health (a self-criticism)

stay with this dancing lady right here guys bye (me in the next party)