#and this goes for mothers who work outside of the house

[lenfaz]

Normalize buying kid's costumes and props for plays and events at school.

It's more than ok if you want to do it because you like it, but you don't have to be good at crafts and do everything on your own to be a good mom.

Order it online. Buy that prop already done instead of doing it with "what you have at home". Organize with all the other moms to buy the same in bulk to save $$, time and all the kids look the same.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk

[sugoroo]

ʚɞ warnings: fem!reader, obsessive behaviour, pervy geto, stalking, penetration (p in v), doggystyle, fingering, oral (f receiving), creampie, hints of yandere, 18+ minors dni.

pervy yoga instructor!geto who notices you the moment you first attend one of his classes, immediately singling you out among the small group of his regulars laying down their mats.

he's never seen someone so young and pretty in his studio before — most of his customers were married middle-aged women old enough to be his mother. but not you.

pervy yoga instructor!geto who takes a very keen interest in you from that very first session, his sharp gaze never leaving you for long each time you come in. to his dismay, however, you always take the spot right at the back of the room, meaning he has to crane his neck around all of the gossiping older ladies to get a good look at you. hmm, that won't do.

pervy yoga instructor!geto who keeps you behind one day after a class, subtly suggesting that you move closer to the front so he can 'get a clearer look' at your progress. and if you catch on to the real reason he wants you closer, you don't say anything; so he assumes you bought the excuse. perfect.

pervy yoga instructor!geto who, once you begin working right at the front, gets more and more handsy as time goes on. what began as just a light brush of his fingers to improve your positioning turns into him fully grasping your hips to manoeuvre your body the way he wants.

pervy yoga instructor!geto who isn't oblivious to the jealous looks cast in your direction from the other women when he does this. he just pays them no mind; he's not interested in them, after all. only you.

pervy yoga instructor!geto who finds himself becoming increasingly obsessed with you after each session, talking yoga instructor!gojo's ear off about how pretty you are and how utterly delicious the arch of your back is when he gets everyone to do the downward dog stretch.

his friend laughs but reminds him that it's strictly against the rules of the yoga studio to get involved with a customer (as if he cares about such trivial things like that.)

pervy yoga instructor!geto who starts insisting on you staying behind after every single class, claiming it would be good for you to have some one-on-one sessions with him to hone your skills. when you don't protest, he thinks you must either be completely clueless or into him just as much as he is you. he really hopes it's the latter.

pervy yoga instructor!geto who uses these private classes to get you to do various risqué positions for him that definitely aren't real yoga stretches. but what you don't know can't hurt you, right?

pervy yoga instructor!geto whose mood becomes sour once you stop attending his sessions. had he gone too far? did you think he was a creep? he didn't even care if you filed a report about him for his behaviour at this point — as long as it meant he got to see you at the subsequent meeting.

pervy yoga instructor!geto who only lasts a few weeks before he's rifling through the customer files in his office, yanking out your folder and scanning the page.

once he finds your address, he's in his car and on the way there, breaking every speed limit on the way. and before he even knows it, he's outside your house, peeking in through the window.

pervy yoga instructor!geto who spots you curled up on your couch, crying softly in front of the television while spooning ice cream into your pretty mouth. and suddenly, all his previous anger is replaced with concern. he hasn't even formed an excuse to explain why he's here before he's knocking on the door.

pervy yoga instructor!geto who hurriedly tells you that "it's company policy to check on customers who haven't attended sessions for a certain amount of time", mentally patting himself on the back when you seem to buy it and let him into your apartment.

pervy yoga instructor!geto who listens intently as you spill all the details about your cheating asshole of a boyfriend. so that's why you've been absent. but don't worry — he can make you forget all about that worthless scum. after all, he didn't deserve you anyway!

suguru could treat you so much better. and he will, if you let him.

pervy yoga instructor!geto who kisses your tears away, hushing you softly and whispering in your ear about how beautiful you are and how he's had his eye on you since you first entered his studio. (he leaves out the part where he's fucked his fist to the thought of you in those tight little yoga pants countless times. he doesn't want to scare you off!)

pervy yoga instructor!geto who starts by running his hands over your perfect body he's been imagining touching just like this for so long, burying his head between your soft thighs and eating you out like it's his last meal until you're all nice and gushy.

he only stops when your tears of sadness turn into those of pleasure, until you're practically begging him to fuck you.

pervy yoga instructor!geto who starts by fucking you nice and slow on your couch in missionary, praising you over and over in that silken purr of his like you deserve. but soon enough he's flipping your body around, putting you in the yoga position that you always do the best for him; downward dog, ruthlessly rutting his fat cock into you from behind like an animal.

pervy yoga instructor!geto who has to use all of his willpower to make sure you cum on his cock first before he lets go himself, despite the fact he could've busted a nut the second he eased into your warm, tight little pussy.

pervy yoga instructor!geto who watches in silent satisfaction as his goopy cum oozes out of your abused cunt, quickly fingering it right back inside to make sure not a single drop goes to waste. "it's all for you, sweet baby." he murmurs, voice raspy and deep.

pervy yoga instructor!geto who effortlessly carries your exhausted body to your bedroom bridal style, cooing in your ear the entire way about how you're his now, and he's going to take such good care of you, his favourite girl.

© 2024 SUGOROO. please don't copy or translate any of my works without my explicit permission. all rights are reserved to me.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

NEXT PART -> pervy lifeguard!gojo

[yeyinde]

(sighs dreamily) i loooove the way you write fucked up and gross simon. the size kink and somno drabbles have been living rent free in my mind for almost two weeks now. the recent stalker piece was also so deliciously terrifying, i actually had a dream/nightmare today that was a mixture of stalker!ghost and not-dog!soap 😭

are you planning on writing any more for either of those?

ahhh thank you!!!! this had me wondering how i could maybe blend the two and this happened.

stalking. HEAVILY implied noncon somno. size difference.

Simon decides your dog, your baby, needs a man in the house. and since you like to call yourself his 'mama,’ then it’s only right that he becomes the daddy both of you need.

Your dog does not like strangers.

He's a rescue and the sort of life he lived until now, until you, is mostly a mystery. You found him on a rainy day, panting under your awning - a gnarled mess of matted fur glued to bone. Too skinny to survive another winter. You took him in right away and gained his trust. His love. But whatever he had left to spare (lots, it seems) is strictly reserved for you. Everyone else is a threat, a worry. Even the vets he's known since you found him all those years ago still get the same wary glances, the same growls then they lean in too close to whisper something in your ear.

He's just—special. The sweetest thing ever when it's just you. Your baby. People joke—slightly nervous—that he treats you like his mother. Following you closely with his big, glossy eyes tilted up to stare at you. Loving. Cuddly. Rests his big head on your lap at night with a great, big sigh. Tired from a long, hard day of protecting his house from squirrels and the stray delivery driver.

But when it comes to others—anyone, really—he’s aggressive. Territorial. All the vets and trainers say that it's his breed. That he just needs to be trained. Exposure therapy. Behavioural. And it works for all of two weeks before he's back to his stubborn self. Snapping at anyone who gets too close to you.

You post warnings on your fence. Your front door. Take precautions when you walk him. Warn anyone who gets close that he doesn't like anyone. Full stop. No exceptions. And it works. Helps ease the stress. He still goes to therapy. To training lessons. But he's smart enough to trick them into thinking he's learning.

And it's fine. People can't get too close to you. To his house. His territory.

Or so you thought.

But he's been acting strange lately.

You caught him barking at something through the fence a few months ago; spittle flying from his muzzle as his lips peeled back, snarling and vicious. If the fence wasn't reinforced, you think he would have broken it down to get at whatever was behind it.

It continued like this for a few days. Each time you went to check and see what was there, all you find is littered cigarettes. The teenage son of your neighbour, you think. He likes to hide in the dense woods so his parents can't find him. You'll talk to him about it later. Ask if he can do it a little further away from the fence so he isn’t disturbing Baby. 

As the days grow, his growls and snarls diminish before stopping outright. In the interim, your unease grows.

It's small—at first. 

He wants to be outside more. Always whining at the back door, scratching at it with his paw. When you let him out, he runs right to that spot by the fence. Sits down, and just stares. When you go out to look, there's nothing there. Just a dark, sprawling coppice. Cigarettes on the ground. But something catches his attention. Keeps it. Holds it.

He leads you to that spot sometimes, too. Nudges you with his big, furry head to your thighs. Shepherding you to the fence, and then sits back, clearly preening. Proud.

"You're mama’s silly boy, aren't you?" you coo, scratching his ears. It must be the neighbour. Maybe a stray deer wandered by. You catch a flash through the tree line. Twin puddles of black peering through the tangled weeds. Your dog perks up, looking towards it. A deer, you think. A stray buck. You huff, patting his head. "Made a new friend, huh?"

But you can't shake the feeling that something else is out there. That something is staring at you.

Nothing, you tell yourself, fighting off a shiver. It's fine. Fine. He sneaks off at night sometimes. You hear him playing in the hallway. Wandering around the house. The tack-tack-tack of his nails against the hardwood as he walks back to your bedroom lulls you back to sleep. You feel the bed dip. Something warm against your back. You sigh, melting into the sheets—

There's nothing to worry about.

He'll protect you.

But the next morning, you find him locked outside. The patio door shut. The deck is dried from the sun, but his fur is wet. It rained last night. You drifted in and out to the patter of it on your window. The soothing weight of his body curling around you—

He must have gotten out in the morning. Rolled around in the grass. But when you put him in the tub later to scrub the rainwater off of his cost, his belly is dry.

It's nothing. He was in bed with you last night. It's fine. Fine. Everything is easy to explain away as coincidence. Nothing usual. The feeling of being watched. The missing food from your fridge. The creaks of the old house at night. Things shifting around—keys missing only to turn up somewhere else. Rodents chewing through your landline. 

The panties you shed, tossing into a corner before getting into the shower going missing—

They’re just—lost in the wash. You must have thrown the leftover food away when you cleaned earlier and forgot. The lingering scent of cigarettes. Smoke in your bed. The cloying scent of loam, humus. Fresh dirt. The stains on your bed. The strange smear in the gusset of your panties when you peel them apart.

Something thick, firm between your thighs—

Fine. You tell yourself. Everything is fine. At best, it's a gas leak. At worst—well.

Baby will protect you. 

Always. 

But the next day, he brings his favourite toy to the back door, asking to be let out, and this isn't—

It's not normal.

He's possessive over his toys. Keeps them on his daybed and refuses to let anyone touch them. Only you. He doesn't bring the. Outside, either.

But when you peer outside a few minutes later, the toy is lying by that spot near the fence. He's sitting down, tail wagging. Happy. Excited. It continues like this for the next few days. He brings his toys to the fence, coming in later, licking his lips. When you brush his teeth at night, you smell something gamey on his breath. Meaty. 

Getting out of bed a few hours later and playing in the hallway. Going to sleep with you at night, but somehow getting out in the early hours of the morning, waiting for you on the patio when you remember the huff of his breath over your neck less than an hour ago—

No. You're just—

Getting the time wrong. It's fine. He'll protect you. He doesn't like anyone but you.

You hear footsteps in the hallway at night next to the click-clack of his nails. When you jump out of bed to check, it's just him. Sitting by the back door, head craned over his shoulder when he heard you coming. His favourite toy is sitting on the ground in front of him. You fight a shiver. The feeling of eyes burning into you churns your stomach.

"I'm going crazy, sweetheart," you coo, but feel the threads of your sanity begin to snap one by one. "But you'll keep me safe, right?"

His tail wags. You pretend not to notice the gap in the patio door. Opened just a crack. You shut it, forcibly telling yourself to remember to close it next time and fight the memories of locking it before settling on the couch to watch old re-runs. You drag him back to bed, burrowing your head into his fur, listening to the thud-thud-thud of his heart in your ear. 

When you dream that night, it's of a big, scarred hand making its way between your thighs. A rasping, masculine voice in your ear commanding you to be good—

You wake up with your thighs sticky, wet. Your cunt pulsing. There's an ache there; a sting. It twinges when you move, tapering into a sore throb as you swing your legs over the side of the bed, woken up by the strange dream—fingers between your thighs, a head resting on your belly, calling you a good girl—and a noise.

A low murmur comes from the living room. You wince with the first several steps, forcing yourself to ignore the uncomfortable feeling between your thighs. The wetness that drips down your leg, some of it already dried, sticking to your skin. It’s fine. You just had a—

A wet dream.

—everything is fine. Fine. Your heart lurches. Lodges in your throat. Each beat feels like a fist against your tissue trying to break down the prison of your flesh to flee. 

You slowly inch toward the hallway, the sound, making excuses for the fear that curdles in your belly. The itch in the back of your head that calls you stupid. Demands you go back to bed. To sleep. You’ll wake up in the morning to Baby slobbering over your chest, drooling as the time ticks away in a slow crawl towards his usual breakfast. 

It’s tempting. The sleep congealing in the corners of your eyes, weighing heavy—molasses-thick—over your sense of awareness: cobwebbed in that strange, uncanny realm of sleep and wakefulness; hypnagogia turning shadows on the walls into human shapes. The whisper of wind into the brassy drawl of a voice. 

Through it all, the prickle rears. Says something isn't right. Hasn't been right for a while now. It's fine. Everything is—

It doesn't make sense at first. Your brain tries to wrap around the images your eyes feed it. Untangling the dizzying sense of confusion that runs along your hindbrain like a jagged knife; grazing tissue, scraping over nerves. The picture comes together quickly. There's no misinterpreting the shapes.

A man is lounging on your couch. Legs kicked up on the coffee table, ankles crossed. The remote is held in one hand as he lazily flicks through the channels on your television screen. The picture of ease. So relaxed, so comfortable in your space, that you begin to feel a little bit like an intruder. A voyeur peering between the curtains.

This feeling is reinforced when you peel your eyes away from the horrifying mask on the man's face—a black balaclava—and find your dog lounging beside him. Resting with his head over this stranger's thick thighs. His head perks up when you approach, tail wagging, but he doesn't get up from his spot. Content to bask in the half-hearted attention the man doles, a hand buried in his fur. Dragging over his ears. Down his back. Monotonous flicks of his thick wrist, nearly the same width as the barrel of a baseball bat.

And that just trembles down your spine in the worst way.

He's the same height as you are sitting down. Takes up two cushions on the couch with his absurd bulk. Massive, you think. And then it all rushes through you. The knife slips into your cognisance.

There's a man in your house. Petting your dog,

your dog who tries to bite the same vet he's had for years. Who trusts, who likes, no one but you—

You make a noise. Something strangled in the back of your throat. Muffed, unable to escape through the clot of your heart getting there first. It tangles around your pericardium and is too late to take back. To swallow down. 

It doesn’t matter, though. 

The man has been watching from the beginning. 

Dark eyes (a dark, black flash between the leaves—) drill into you. Staring. That familiar, unease feeling is back again, creeping up your spine. It's been him the whole time, you know. The thing behind the fence. Must be. The same brand of cigarettes you found on the opposite side is sitting on your coffee table, right beside his feet.

His chest expands with his inhale. You smell stale smoke. Something wild. The scent of the forest after a summer's rain shower.

"Finally up, are you? Thought you were gonna sleep all day." His voice is deep. Brassy. The growling roll of an approaching thundercloud. You shiver. Jerk back, but—

Baby growls.

He's never done that before. Never barked. Never snarled. Never nipped.

But right now, his teeth peel back, muzzle wrinkling as he lifts his lips. And you know it's playful. Seen this look on his face when you throw the ball across the yard. It's just him being his silly self. He won't attack you. Won't maul you. 

The man lifts his hand and your dog limbers up. Shakes. He jumps off the couch and trots toward you. Nothing is threatening in the way he moves. It's the same lumbering gait, the same happy wag to his tail, but he moves himself around you. Stands between you and the only escape.

"Baby—?"

"Taught 'im a few tricks," the man drawls conversationally—like he wasn't a stranger in your house. "Got a good boy on your 'ands. Jus' needed a bit o'trainin'—”

He snaps his fingers and Baby moves. Bumps his head into the back of your thighs. Pushing you. Nudging you toward the man. It’s so horrifying familiar that you find yourself moving without a thought. Following along. 

"He jus' needed a man in the house, didn't he? A father figure—" 

You're going to be sick. Think you would have been already if your heart wasn't lodged tight in your throat, keeping everything down. 

The man lifts his hand. Curls his fingers. 

"C'mon, mommy," he taunts, voice a derisive roll. "Come sit on Daddy's lap. It's movie night tonight."

Baby pushes you forward happily, tail wagging, wagging—

Happier than you’ve ever seen him as this stranger reaches out, grabbing your waist and hauling you onto his lap. You think about fighting immediately, struggling to get out of his hold, but he moves back and the unmistakable, blunt press of a gun sends shivers rolling down your spine. You still instantly. Back drawing tight. Fear is a wet, hot pulse behind your ribs. 

“Don’t fight it, birdie—” You feel the warm, damp press of his mask against the shell of your ear. The ridges of his lips move beneath the fabric as he speaks. 

You hear him inhale, drawing in the scent of your shampoo—your fear: an oily thick miasma pooling behind your ears, against your nape—and feel tears pool against your lashline when a surge of familiarity wells up at the solid, firm weight of his chest against your spine. His thigh slips between yours, spreading them wide over the arch of his muscle. Limp, dizzy, you fall back into his chest when he pulls you in, slotting a burly arm over your ribcage. Locked in tight. A shackle. 

“Ain’t go’ nothin’ t’worry about,” he continues, hips shifting. Moving. And—

It’s a not gun. You know it isn’t. When you whimper, it throbs—

There’s the echo of a groan in his voice when he huffs, lips pursing into a kiss. “Nothin’ at all. C’mon, Baby—” 

And Baby obeys eagerly, jumping up on the couch beside him. His snout is warm, wet, when he presses it to your arm, sniffing. Please, you think, staring into his eyes as tears swell, pooling down your cheeks. Please—

But the man lifts his arm, and Baby circles the cushion before falling against his side with a deep, content sigh. Hope is snuffed out of your chest in an instant. The man’s hand falls to his head, rubbing his skull affectionately. 

“Good boy.” Baby perks. His happiness is a palpable thing that swells around you as he melts, eyes slipping closed. “Gonna be a good boy while mum an’ dad spend some time together, ain't you, boy?”

His arm tightens around your waist. Chin notches over your shoulder as he shifts back, legs kicking out to spread your thighs further apart.

"Now," he drawls, hand sliding down to the mess between your thighs. You shiver against him, toying with the idea of running, fleeing—but he must know. Senses it, maybe. He lifts his hips, pressing the gun into your spine. A threat. A warning. But with the way he swallows you up—broad chest closing in on you, trapping you on all sides—you know it's futile.

He has you.

Your submission makes him purr.

"Baby's sleepin', so now let daddy take care'o mommy—"

[nebulaafterdark]

The Blacks & The Greens

Summary: A marriage of convenience is not enough to bridge the gap between their warring houses. Y/N and Aegon pay the price for his crown. Based off this request.

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

18+ ONLY MDNI

Roughish sex, Targcest, angst, depictions of stillbirth.

Y/N and Aegon marry out of convenience. To keep peace, to mend a house broken long before they were born.

Aegon does not mind bedding her, she is pretty enough. He does not mind watching her swell with his heir, he enjoys it even, paying special attention to Y/N as she grows.

“Does it hurt?” He wonders, tracing a little hand or foot across the skin of her abdomen.

“No,” Y/N smiles, passing a hand over his hair.

Aegon kisses her bump, bidding her and his child a good night before making his way down to the pleasure house.

Their first child, a son named Laenor, is Aegon’s pride and joy. His heart swells with something close to love for his wife, the first time he sees bits of her in their son’s features.

Y/N loves Laenor, carrying him about, showing him the Red Keep and all her favorite places in it. Aegon joins them, on occasion, sharing quiet moments with his little family.

Outside of Laenor, they exchange few words. Refusing to share apartments, but Aegon sneaks into her room more often than not, after nights spent in the company of other women.

“I could never fuck you like that.” He tells his wife, words slurred from his cups.

“I would let you.” Y/N assures him.

“You make my heart ache.” Aegon admits, “I hate when you do that.”

“I do not mean to,” Y/N sighs.

Aegon rests a hand over her beating heart. “I know.”

————————————————————————

When asked for another heir, they are more than happy to provide. Exchanging sloppy kisses and sweet words, but never love, it couldn’t be love. Not with the twisted, possessive way of it.

“Beg,” Aegon demands, fucking her roughly enough that air is punched from her lungs with each snap of his hips.

“Please,” Y/N wails, clinging to him desperately.

“Please what?”

“Fill me with your heir, I wish to bear you a hundred children.”

Aegon grins, brushing sweat damp hair from her forehead. “I adore you, you know?”

Her eyes shoot open, meeting his.

“My pretty, bastard wife.”

The princess’s breath hitches, her cunt clenching around him.

“Enjoyed that, did you?”

There is no point in denying it, she likes the way he says it. The way he acknowledges it without insulting her. “Yes.”

“I do not care who sired you. You are mine now, bastard. Mine to fuck and breed. Mine to love, until we are both cold in our graves.”

Love? “Aegon?”

“You heard me well and clear.”

“I love-”

Aegon seals his mouth over hers, swallowing the words. “Don’t you dare say it.”

“Why?” Y/N asks, with big fat tears welling up in her eyes.

“You hold it inside until you burst or pour it over my cock as you milk me, but you do not say it.” Aegon sneers. He couldn’t be loved, he wouldn’t be, by her least of all.

The princess nods, allowing him to cradle her head against his shoulder. Whispering those forbidden words over and over, while she is never allowed to speak them. Her heart aches.

Like every other aspect of their marriage, this too is complicated.

————————————————————————-

Y/N’s term is nearing its end when her grandsire passes and Aegon is forced to usurp her mother’s throne. With blood running down her legs before Aegon is crowned in the dragon pit, she is rushed swiftly away to labor in her chambers.

Now that Aegon is king, he is allowed at her side without contest. Watching as their second child is brought into the world. The babe does not cry, something inside him knows….

The grand Maester is called to work on the child, a sweet little girl with silver hair.

Y/N begins pushing with the second, her tear stained face pleading for him.

Aegon goes to her, because that is all he knows how to do. He goes to her and holds her hand.

“Aegon,” she cries.

“Shhhh,” he hushes her.

“Will the babe live?”

He presses a kiss to her forehead, “I need you to calm yourself, dearest.”

“I can’t.”

“We must focus on this babe,” Aegon brushes a hand over her belly. “They need their mother to provide them safe passage into the world.”

“I want to see her.” Y/N cries, searching for her child.

“I am so sorry, sweetheart.” Aegon says, “so terribly sorry.”

Y/N bares down, sobbing as she does. The child is safe within her, the same cannot be said after it enters this cruel world. “I do not want to lose my child.”

“I will give you another,” Aegon promises, knowing that a thousand children can never make up for the one they’ve lost. “As many as you wish. Please, allow me to get you through this. You must live, our son needs you, I need you.”

“You must keep pushing my queen.”

Y/N brings her third child into the world, expecting the worst. But the little girl cries.

“Thank the gods,” Aegon lets his head fall against his wife’s chest. “Thank the gods.”

The child is laid against her.

“Healthy?”

“Kicking like a goat, my Queen.”

Aegon looks to his wife, their perfect babe in her arms. “I love you.”

Y/N nods, choking on her grief and joy and love for him.

“Say it, my heart.” Aegon feels it on the tip of her tongue, “it’s alright.”

“I love you,” Y/N laments, “I love you and I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for.”

“Our babe-”

“None of this is your fault. Please know that.”

Y/N nods, not entirely convinced.

The King and Queen spend days in that bed, mourning their loss, unaware of Rhaenyra’s similar suffering across the sea.

There is no war so hateful as a war between kin, they will all pay the price for it; the Blacks and the Greens.

[agents-are-dicks]

God what I’d give to be piled up in my aunts bed, in my strawberry shortcake nightgown, staying up way too late watching reruns of The Nanny again

Unplanned rant in tags but I’m leaving it. I’ll probably delete this tomorrow.

[illycanary]

Katara's Story Is A Tragedy and It's Not An Accident

I was a teenaged girl when Avatar: The Last Airbender aired on Nickelodeon—the group that the show’s creators unintentionally hit while they were aiming for the younger, maler demographic. Nevermind that we’re the reason the show’s popularity caught fire and has endured for two decades; we weren’t the audience Mike and Bryan wanted. And by golly, were they going to make sure we knew it. They’ve been making sure we know it with every snide comment and addendum they’ve made to the story for the last twenty years.

For many of us girls who were raised in the nineties and aughts, Katara was a breath of fresh air—a rare opportunity in a media market saturated with boys having grand adventures to see a young woman having her own adventure and expressing the same fears and frustrations we were often made to feel. 

We were told that we could be anything we wanted to be. That we were strong and smart and brimming with potential. That we were just as capable as the boys. That we were our brothers’ equals. But we were also told to wash dishes and fold laundry and tidy around the house while our brothers played outside. We were ignored when our male classmates picked teams for kickball and told to go play with the girls on the swings—the same girls we were taught to deride if we wanted to be taken seriously. We were lectured for the same immaturity that was expected of boys our age and older, and we were told to do better while also being told, “Boys will be boys.” Despite all the platitudes about equality and power, we saw our mothers straining under the weight of carrying both full-time careers and unequally divided family responsibilities. We sensed that we were being groomed for the same future. 

And we saw ourselves in Katara. 

Katara begins as a parentified teenaged girl: forced to take on responsibility for the daily care of people around her—including male figures who are capable of looking after themselves but are allowed to be immature enough to foist such labor onto her. She does thankless work for people who take her contributions for granted. She’s belittled by people who love her, but don’t understand her. She’s isolated from the world and denied opportunities to improve her talents. She's told what emotions she's allowed to feel and when to feel them. In essence, she was living our real-world fear: being trapped in someone else’s narrow, stultifying definition of femininity and motherhood. 

Then we watched Katara go through an incredible journey of self-determination and empowerment. Katara goes from being a powerless, fearful victim to being a protector, healer, advocate, and liberator to others who can’t do those things for themselves (a much truer and more fulfilling definition of nurturing and motherhood). It’s necessary in Katara’s growth cycle that she does this for others first because that is the realm she knows. She is given increasingly significant opportunities to speak up and fight on behalf of others, and that allows her to build those advocacy muscles gradually. But she still holds back her own emotional pain because everyone that she attempts to express such things to proves they either don't want to deal with it or they only want to manipulate her feelings for their own purposes. 

Katara continues to do much of the work we think of as traditionally maternal on behalf of her friends and family over the course of the story, but we do see that scale gradually shift. Sokka takes on more responsibility for managing the group’s supplies, and everyone helps around camp, but Katara continues to be the manager of everyone else’s emotions while simultaneously punching down her own. The scales finally seem to tip when Zuko joins the group. With Zuko, we see someone working alongside Katara doing the same tasks she is doing around camp for the first time. Zuko is also the only person who never expects anything of her and whose emotions she never has to manage because he’s actually more emotionally stable and mature than she is by that point. And then, Katara’s arc culminates in her finally getting the chance to fully seize her power, rewrite the story of the traumatic event that cast her into the role of parentified child, be her own protector, and freely express everything she’s kept locked away for the sake of letting everyone else feel comfortable around her. Then she fights alongside an equal partner she knows she can trust and depend on through the story's climax. And for the first time since her mother’s death, the girl who gives and gives and gives while getting nothing back watches someone sacrifice everything for her. But this time, she’s able to change the ending because her power is fully realized. The cycle was officially broken.

Katara’s character arc was catharsis at every step. If Katara could break the mold and recreate the ideas of womanhood and motherhood in her own image, so could we. We could be powerful. We could care for ourselves AND others when they need us—instead of caring for everyone all the time at our own expense. We could have balanced partnerships with give and take going both ways (“Tui and La, push and pull”), rather than the, “I give, they take,” model we were conditioned to expect. We could fight for and determine our own destiny—after all, wasn’t destiny a core theme of the story?

Yes. Destiny was the theme. But the lesson was that Katara didn’t get to determine hers. 

After Katara achieves her victory and completes her arc, the narrative steps in and smacks her back down to where she started. For reasons that are never explained or justified, Katara rewards the hero by giving into his romantic advances even though he has invalidated her emotions, violated her boundaries, lashed out at her for slights against him she never committed, idealized a false idol of her then browbeat her when she deviated from his narrative, and forced her to carry his emotions and put herself in danger when he willingly fails to control himself—even though he never apologizes, never learns his lesson, and never shows any inclination to do better. 

And do better he does not.

The more we dared to voice our own opinions on a character that was clearly meant to represent us, the more Mike and Bryan punished Katara for it.

Throughout the comics, Katara makes herself smaller and smaller and forfeits all rights to personal actualization and satisfaction in her relationship. She punches her feelings down when her partner neglects her and cries alone as he shows more affection and concern for literally every other girl’s feelings than hers. She becomes cowed by his outbursts and threats of violence. Instead of rising with the moon or resting in the warmth of the sun, she learns to stay in his shadow. She gives up her silly childish dreams of rebuilding her own dying culture’s traditions and advocating for other oppressed groups so that she can fulfill his wishes to rebuild his culture instead—by being his babymaker. Katara gave up everything she cared about and everything she fought to become for the whims of a man-child who never saw her as a person, only a possession.

Then, in her old age, we get to watch the fallout of his neglect—both toward her and her children who did not meet his expectations. By that point, the girl who would never turn her back on anyone who needed her was too far gone to even advocate for her own children in her own home. And even after he’s gone, Katara never dares to define herself again. She remains, for the next twenty-plus years of her life, nothing more than her husband's grieving widow. She was never recognized for her accomplishments, the battles she won, or the people she liberated. Even her own children and grandchildren have all but forgotten her. She ends her story exactly where it began: trapped in someone else’s narrow, stultifying definition of femininity and motherhood.

The story’s theme was destiny, remember? But this story’s target audience was little boys. Zuko gets to determine his own destiny as long as he works hard and earns it. Aang gets his destiny no matter what he does or doesn’t do to earn it. And Katara cannot change the destiny she was assigned by gender at birth, no matter how hard she fights for it or how many times over she earns it. 

Katara is Winston Smith, and the year is 1984. It doesn’t matter how hard you fight or what you accomplish, little girl. Big Brother is too big, too strong, and too powerful. You will never escape. You will never be free. Your victories are meaningless. So stay in your place, do what you’re told, and cry quietly so your tears don’t bother people who matter.

I will never get over it. Because I am Katara. And so are my friends, sisters, daughters, and nieces. But I am not content to live in Bryke's world.

I will never turn my back on people who need me. Including me.

[springtyme]

𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐧 ♡

Dad!Simon will never leave my mind, I fear 😔

Simon Riley x afab!reader || Masterlist || Ghost playlist

summary: Simon comes home to the most importent people in his world, the suns of his universe.

word count: 2.2k

note: Just Simon being the best dad and loving his family so, so, so much. Mom!reader. No use of y/n.

As he reaches the front door of your shared home, Simon feels the weight of the day bearing down on him. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows, and he pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath to shake off the fatigue that clings to him like a thick fog. 

Simon, pushes open the door and steps into the warm, familiar space, his work boots heavy on the hardwood floor. He calls out to announce his arrival as he toes off his boots, first your name, and then your daughter’s, even though she is still way too young to respond to it, but he doesn’t get a response. He first checks the living room and then the kitchen, but the house is quiet, the usual sounds of giggles and playful shrieks absent. A hint of worry pools in his stomach, which he knows is ridiculous, but he of all people should be allowed to be overprotective. 

He walks back out in the hallway, feeling a sense of relief as he hears a muffled giggle from upstairs. The sound washes over him like a balm, and he can’t help but smile, knowing that whatever mischief is brewing, it’s likely harmless. He heads up the narrow staircase, the familiar creak of the wooden steps resonates softly beneath his feet. 

As he pads down the hallway, the familiar sound of giggles floats from the nursery, and the melody of laughter pulls him closer. His heart swells with affection for the little life you’ve created together—a tiny whirlwind of joy who is now at the centre of his world. He pauses outside the door, where light filters in, softening everything it touches.

Peering through the half-open door, Simon catches sight of you sitting on the floor surrounded by soft toys. Your little baby girl, who lies on her padded play mat in front of you, has her eyes fixed on her mother, her eyes wide sparkling with wonder. The sunlight dances across her tiny features, highlighting the delicate curve of her chubby cheeks and the soft wisps of baby hair that frame her face.

His heart swells with a feeling so profound that it almost takes his breath away, a deep-rooted sense of responsibility to protect this happiness and nurture the sparkle in her eyes. Simon knows just how easily the world can dull that shine, and he is determined to shield her from it, just as you have always shielded him whenever his mind goes to darker places. 

Simon is sure that she is going to grow up to become your little mini me. She is already looking so much like you. Her smile, the colour of her hair, even her laugh, it all reminds him of you in every possible way. 

Simon is never going to forget the first time he heard her laugh—it was like music to his ears, a sweet, innocent sound that filled the room with warmth and joy. He can still recall the way her giggles floated through the air as you played with her, your gentle voice coaxing bubbles of laughter from her tiny body. 

Each time she smiles, it’s as if the sun breaks through the clouds, illuminating not only her face but the entire room, just like the way you illuminate his life. She really looks more and more like you everyday. But she has his eyes. The same shape and shade of brown. His mother’s eyes. Sometimes it is as looking into a mirror, his own eyes reflected back at him on her little precious face. 

He remembers the look on your face when you first noticed it. Your eyes were shining with happy tears, and your face was glowing like a little sun as you looked at your daughter and then up at him, exclaiming, “She has your eyes, Si,” like it was the most beautiful revelation in the world.

As Simon leans against the doorframe, he feels a rush of warmth spread through him, filling him with a mix of pride and gratitude. This is his family, the life you have built together, laughter and love echoing from every wall of your home. He takes a moment to commit the scene to memory—the way you are playfully tickling your daughter, you both lost in your own world of giggles and coos, the shared glances that speak volumes of understanding and love. 

The little girl lets out a happy shriek as she reaches out, grasping at a plush giraffe, you’re holding up in front of her, slightly shaking to make her laugh even more, her tiny fingers curling around its fabric as if it holds the secrets of the universe. He can’t help but smile softly to himself, imagining the way the world must seem to her—so big and full of wonder, yet safe and warm in the presence of her mother.

She lets out another string of laughter, her delighted squeals echoing through the room and wrapping around Simon like a warm hug. It’s a sound that feels almost ethereal, a reminder of the purest joys in life that exist in these fleeting moments. 

The little shriek your daughter let out ended in a distinct ‘mmmah’ sound. She is still so young that it most likely was nothing more than a coincidence, and Simon knows that you know that, but your face still light up with delight. “Oh, baby, are you trying to say mama?” 

The little girl just laughs in response, her innocent giggles filling the air as she clutches the toy giraffe tightly to her chest, her small body bouncing with unrestrained joy. Each squeal and laugh sends ripples of happiness through the room.

“Mmmm-a,” you coo, your voice melodic and encouraging. “Can you say that, sweet girl? Ma-ma.” 

Your voice, so nurturing and full of enthusiasm, reverberates in his heart, bringing forth a flood of emotion. It’s as if love itself is floating in the atmosphere around you. Your daughter doesn’t try to repeat the sound but you don’t seem to care, you just keep smiling and cooing down at your little bundle of joy. 

The laughter and warmth radiating from the room feels like a tangible thing, wrapping around him like a soft blanket. He wonders if you realise just how much you both illuminate the lives of those around you. There is something profoundly beautiful about the connection you share with your daughter—an effortless bond that seems to flow seamlessly between you, a dance of love that only the two of you could have choreographed together. Even though he could stay here and watch the two of you all day, utterly lost in your own little universe, a world woven from giggles, joy, and affection, the pull of his own role in that dynamic becomes too strong and he can’t hold himself back any longer.

Simon steps quietly into the room, a soft smile spreading across his face. “Hey, gorgeous,” he murmurs, and you look up at him, eyes sparkling with a joy that mirrors the laughter echoing around them. 

“Si!” you exclaim, your voice a blend of surprise and delight as you redirect your attention toward him. The little girl, sensing her father’s presence, brightens even more, her face transforming into a beaming smile that could rival the sun. 

Simon steps over to the two of you, dropping to the floor beside you both, his left knee creaking a little in protest, but it doesn’t matter in the least. The soft sound of your laughter draws his attention back to you, your face radiant with joy. The baby’s eyes light up at the sight of him, and she reaches out, her small hands waving excitedly in his direction. For a heartbeat, the world falls away, and it’s just the three of you—anchored in this moment of pure love.

He watches you, how your eyes dance with delight as you pick up your daughter, and it strikes him anew just how lucky he is to have this—this life and this love.

“Look who’s here!” you exclaim, your voice wrapping around Simon like a tender embrace. The little girl’s gaze shifts from you to Simon, her bright eyes shining with recognition. She leans forward, dropping the plush giraffe to reach for him, her tiny hands outstretched as if she knows he holds the key to an infinite source of comfort and safety. 

“Hey there, little lady!” Simon beams, his heart swelling with love as you hand her over so he can take her in his arms. She giggles, a sound that fills the room with warmth as she nestles against his shoulder, her soft hair brushing against his cheek. The scent of baby soap and a hint of something uniquely her—pure and sweet—wraps around him, grounding him in this moment.

As he holds her close, he glances up at you, your face glowing with that unmistakable maternal warmth. You watch with adoration as father and daughter share this moment—a bond that seems both ancient and brand new. Your eyes meet with a knowing smile, an unspoken language shared between the two of you, one that speaks of dreams and shared hopes for your child.

“Did you two have fun while I was gone?” Simon asks, his voice light and playful.

“We did, but we missed dada, didn’t we princess?” you reply, your voice softening as you stroke the little girl’s head. 

“I missed you too,” Simon responds, the four words don’t feel quite sufficient to express the depth of his feelings, even after only a few hours away from the two of you feels like eternity sometimes. He has not been away for longer periods of time since your daughter was born, and the day he has to go on longer deployments again is a thought he tries to push to the back of his mind. Simon wants to savour this moment, the laughter, the joy, the warmth of family, before the inevitable separations that come with his work. 

He gently shifts his gaze back to his little girl, who coos softly in his arms, her tiny hands grasping at the collar of his hoodie as if trying to pull him even closer. The innocence in her eyes captivates him, a mirror reflecting the joy and hope he feels in this precious moment. As he bounces her gently, he can’t help but marvel at the sheer beauty of her being—a blend of both of you, encapsulated in this tiny, giggling bundle.

“Look at you, all smiles and sunshine,” he says, his voice filled with warmth, as he feels the weight of her trust in the way she snuggles against him. 

Her eyes widen at the sound of his voice, and she lets out another series of delighted shrieks that echo through the room, joyful and free. As he revels in her laughter, he feels the world outside fall away, replaced by this crystalline moment of connection—a fleeting piece of eternity. 

He adjusts his grip on her so that he only needs one arm to hold her and in a way that she is cradled more comfortably against his chest, the soft fabric of his hoodie brushing against her delicate skin. 

“Come here,” he urges, reaching out for you with his free arm, beckoning you to join in on this tender embrace. You scoot over to his side, and Simon wraps his arm around you, tugging you into his side as you rest your head on his shoulder. 

Your warmth against him reinforces the sense of belonging that fills the room. The three of you, intertwined in a cocoon of laughter and love, create an unbreakable bond that feels eternal. The little girl giggles again, a sound that reverberates through Simon’s heart, as he feels the gentle rhythm of your breaths mingling with hers.

Watching you both, he marvels at the way life has unfolded, how simple moments like this felt like something he would never get to experience. “You two are my everything,” he murmurs, his voice deep but soft, wrapping around the words like a protective embrace.

Your head lifts slightly, and you share a smile—the kind that speaks volumes, filled with understanding and shared aspirations. “And you are ours,” you reply, your voice echoing the sentiment with warmth and assurance. The honesty in your gaze meets his, reaffirming the commitment you both share to nurture this little one and build a loving home.

Simon’s heart swells at the sight of you, the way you effortlessly weave joy and comfort into your daughter’s life. He brushes his thumb across her forehead, marvelling at how perfect she is, how much she represents both of you. “I can’t believe she’s growing so fast,” he says, humour lacing his tone. “Feels like just yesterday we were bringing her home.”

You nod, your eyes misty with nostalgia as you watch your little girl.

He leans down slightly, giving your daughter a gentle kiss on the top of her head before kissing your forehead as well, letting his lips linger there for a moment, savouring the connection you all share. He holds the both of you a little closer. It’s a moment suspended in time where everything feels just right. The two of you are the most important people in his world, the sun of his universe, and in this instant, he knows that no matter what lies ahead, this love will always be his anchor.

Thank you for reading! ♡ if you enjoyed this then please consider reblogging

[dark-konohagakure2]

Kakashis pent up on a mission. After stopping in a random village for supplies and to rest, he decides to fuck a cute village girl.

tw: dub/noncon, groping, manipulation, coercion, age difference, praise, power imbalance

All characters depicted are 18+

Kakashi goes outside the village for missions rather often, he might be a teacher now, but he's still the Copy Ninja, one of the Hidden Leaf Village's most feared and powerful shinobi, so it's not uncommon for him to be away from his students for long stretches of time, and it can get rather exhausting.

Kakashi needs something to take the edge off after his stressful mission, but luck isn't on his side, as the small village he's in doesn't have any nearby hotels, so he decides to find a house he can crash in for the night, preferably one belonging to a cute young thing...

It doesn't take Kakashi very long to find a naive village girl who he can sweet talk into letting him stay the night, it's not like she'd say no anyway, he's the Copy Ninja, and nobody would want to say no to him, lest they be on the receiving end of one of the thousands of jutsu he has at his disposal. Kakashi can't help but ogle at his gracious host, taking in the lovely sight of her full breasts and nice ass, now Kakashi knows that he's definitely staying the night now, in more ways than one...

It's not too hard for him to get his hands on her, his rough palms groping her ass and breast from behind as he whispers filthy things into her ear, his Sharingan letting him pick up on the way her body trembles and heartbeat quickens when he bullies her body with his big strong hands, and that turns Kakashi on like nothing else.

"Come on sweetheart, don't be like that, let me stick just the tip in there... It's the least I can do to thank you for your hospitality..."

Kakashi is lying of course, shoving all of his thick inches inside of her at once with little preparation. Feigning innocence, he'll insincerely apologize for 'accidentally' shoving his entire cock into her hot cunt, claiming that her wetness made it just slip into her all on it's own.

It's rather easy to tell just how sexually frustrated Kakashi is, his balls heavy and full, slapping against her ass while Kakashi fucks her from behind, his hands gripping her breasts tightly, using them like handles as he pounds her hole with his cock until her pussy remembers it's every vein.

Kakashi isn't a complete jerk despite what his reputation would have one believe, he'll praise her for being so good at taking him and for having both a tight hole to fuck and a lewd body to squeeze, and like the absolute gentleman he is, he'll tell her how grateful he is to finally have a wet pussy to empty his balls into.

He won't bother wearing a condom, instead opting to dump his thick load directly into her fertile womb, filling her up with his pent up seed. Kakashi isn't too worried about leaving behind evidence, no one would care if a ninja as important as him took advantage of some little nobody, not to mention she'd make a hot single mother anyway.

"Ohh~ Fuck, I needed that... I've been so busy with these damn missions that I haven't been able to cum in ages, thanks sweetie... Now what did you say your name was again..?"

Kakashi doesn't usually bother trying to remember the names of his quick fucks, but this lovely young thing is an exception, it's rare for him to bump into such cute and innocentl girls in his line of work and he's definitely going to want to bump into her again...

[sakurapandadreams]

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ ASTRO OBSERVATIONS PT 4

Please take all of these predictions with a grain of salt I'm not a professional astrologer.

Here's my masterlist

NATAL OBSERVATIONS

🌊 Capricorn moons honestly suffer alot due to their family. I have seen cases where their siblings lie to them and scam them. Cases where their family wishes ill upon them. And what's more hurting is they keep forgiving their family and still love them alot. [Same goes for vedic]

🌊 Virgo moons can have mothers who are Virgo moons or Gemini moons [doesn't apply to all]

🌊 Gemini Moon Bestie >>>>>>>>> A group of friends. [This goes for vedic too]

🌊 Many Scorpio Moons are taken advantage of by their mothers, like their mothers dominate their lives before marriage.

🌊 In relationships Scorpio Moon seems like the more dominating person as compared to their spouse to the outsiders. However, their spouse almost dictate their life after marriage.

🌊 12th house shows what you struggle at :-

For example : Cancer 12th house may struggle at showing sympathy to others as well as to yourself

Scorpio 12th house may struggle understanding their intution [may dismiss it as coincidence many atimes]

Libra 12th house may struggle to accept they are intelligent and they also LOOK GOOD.

🌊 Uranus 6th house gives the vibes of someone who carries many erasable ink pens.

🌊 Uranus 4th house people love to keep their house tech savvy, like lights in their rooms will turn on automatically if they enter the house. [If your house isn't like that I'm sure you dream of making it this way ☺️🤭]

🌊 Uranus in the 7th house make great Cyber Crime Lawyers.

🌊 Neptune 6th house may end up looking good naturally even when they put on natural makeup. Their bare face >>>>>

🌊 Many Capricorn Moons are INTPs

🌊 Sagittarius Stelliums and Sagittarius Moons have such superior facial features 😌.

🌊 Mercury opposite Jupiter makes a person overly inquisitive [their thirst for knowledge is never ending]

🌊 Venus trine Pluto people look quite mysterious, like they look unattainable which makes people go crazy over them.

VEDIC OBSERVATIONS

🌊 Mercury dominant or people with exhalted Mercury may wear very strong perfumes on the contrary people who are Venus dominant or have an exhalted Venus may wear perfumes with a more softer fragrance.

🌊 Gemini Moon women and Scorpio Moon don't get partners they deserve to get.

🌊 Cancer Moons are not only close to their mothers but quite close to their sisters even more than their mothers at times.

🌊 Mars conjunct Rahu also causes alot of arguments with siblings and it also ends up giving an illusion to both the siblings that the other one doesn't love them.

🌊 During your Shani Sade Sati you will have a hard time communicating your problems to others or asking for help, you may often times suffer in isolation. In your Shani Sade Sati Saturn is teaching you to resolve problems on your own

🌊 Many Virgo Moons are into the spiritual community of Tumblr [from tarot readers to astrologers]. I'm trying to tell you Virgo Moons that you have a good intution.

🌊 Moon in the 2nd house also gives beautiful features especially eyes another thing whatever they say sounds intelligent or sophisticated [Also depends on mood]

🌊 Many Uttara phalguni Moons end up doing well no matter what career they choose. They get good recognition for their work.

🌊 Saturn conjunction Rahu, natives with these people attract jealousy easily with their work. Rahu gives people the illusion that they can never be like these natives. Hence people also copy them alot.

🌊 Aquarius Mercuries please go and check your messages and reply to the ones you haven't since 10 months lol [same applies to natal]

🌊 Gemini Moons 🤝 Witty comebacks

🌊 Ketu in the 5th house could've witnessed toxic relationships since a young age and hence may not be into dating.

🌊 Aries Moons are also quite good at maths and calculations.

🌊 Many Magha Moons tend to behave as elders in their family like they give advice but they don't take any also don't like being corrected.

🌊 If a Moon is well placed in the 8th House you end up getting a mother in-law whose kindhearted also psychic to certain extend.

Credits for the images and dividers goes to the rightful owners

Copyright © 2024 sakurapandadreams | All rights reserved.

[lua-magic]

Eighth house and your hidden pain.

Whichever your eighth house Lord goes, there you have to face transformations, humiliation, pain and traumas.

Wherever your eighth house Lord goes or which ever planets goes in your four, eighth and twelfth you should be extremely secretive about that planet and should not disclose about it to public as eighth house is of secrets.

Eighth house Lord in first house 🏠

This is little tricky placement, because it makes person extremely secretive about his/her activities.

It could get native involved in extra marital or immoral activities or give person high sexual drive or urges which he/she can't control

Person has deep rooted traumas and pain that he/she can't express .

Person is extremely sensitive and has tendancy to pent up emotions and that makes person emotionally unstable as/she has no idea "how to release emotions in healthy way" that makes person extremely agressive when he expresses his emotions.

He has hidden personalities which he doesn't show to public for example he will be different personality to his family and then he switches his personality for his wife

However, person would be good in research and good in spirituality.

Native should not talk about himself to others he should extremely quiet about his life.

Eighth Lord in second house 🏠.

This combination gives you money, so much so that you can lead a life of dignity, nor less not more, as eighth house has tendancy to flush out things, it cannot hold, that is why eighth house represents your "excretion ".

You will face ups and downs in finances and regarding family.

In some cases family could be the reason of your pain and traumas.

In some cases person often see or sense super natural powers around him.

You should be secretive about your finances and should not disclose to others.

Eight Lord in third house 🏠.

Third house is of mental inclination and attractions.

Your own desires and mental inclination will be cause of your anxiety, stress, and depression.

Eighth Lord in third house is not good for siblings, as they will be constant cause of worry and anxiety for the native.

Third-house is also of house of courage, so eighth Lord damages your courage and you don't like to take initiatives and risks in life.

Third house also represents, subconscious mind hence, native should always work on his subconscious mind and be secretive about his/ her desire.

Eight lord in fourth house 🏡

Eighth house is of transformations and fourth house is of domestic environment.

Person will live like wanderer, and continuously change is place.

This placement give trouble to mother and gives person extreme emotions like depression and anxiety because native like to go in roots and analyse everything in so much details that he loses his emotional control.

It could also make person good counselor and psychiatric

Fourth house is of comfort, hence, person should always work or think outside comfort zone and never try to limit himself or herself.

Person should be quiet about his house and home related matters and should not disclose it in public.

Eighth lord in fifth house 🏡

Fifth house is of children, children could be the cause of stress and anxiety for the native.

Fifth house is also your concious mind, so person will be constantly being under stress or anxiety.

Fifth House is also of learning, so this placement is good for someone who wants to go in occult and Astrology.

Fifth house is of love life, due to love life native could face extream transformations in his/her life

Native should be quiet about his love life, and about his children and should not disclose it in public, especially be quiet about your pregnancy and conceive.

Eighth Lord in sixth house.

Sixth house is of debt and diseases, native could face stress and anxiety due to his diseases and debts in life.

Sixth house is also of daily routine, so native can't maintain his daily routine.

It is also good, because person would fight with his traumas and his eniemies.

Native should be quiet about his social services, charities and about his problems in life, don't announce it on public platforms or even to your family, learn to to do secret charities and be quiet about your struggles.

Eight Lord in seventh house 🏠

This is again tricky placement because it disturbs the martial life of the native and partner could be cause of stress and depression.

However, native could experience major transformations in life after marriage.

Native should marry partner who are into occult and Astrology or are Deep thinker or in research.

Native could also gain inheritance from his partner.

Native should be quiet about his married life and should not disclose much about his partner to public.

Eighth Lord in eighth house 🏡

This could give major transformations in life and also be cause of depression and anxiety, as eight house is of traumas and eighth Lord in his own house will only increase all your traumas and grief in life.

Native experiences deep pain and sadness in his/her life before your life gets better like dark night of the soul and then native transforms for ever

Sometimes you have to die in order to reborn., I am mentioning mental death.

Eighth house is of isolation and detachments, it makes person isolated and detached from every thing, once you are detached and emotionally dry, your life starts getting better.

It kills you emotionally slowly and exposes all your past life traumas and emotions that you have stored inside you to you till you work on it and transform yourself.

It is good for someone who wants to learn astrology and occult.

Person should be quiet about his pain and grief and should not disclose about his sadness and depression in public.

Eighth Lord in ninth house 🏠

Ninth house is of father, religion and teacher, native could experience major transformations in his/her life due to father or teacher. Father could be cause of stress and anxiety and depression.

Person will not be attached to his religion and has difficulty in making long term plans.

Ninth house is also of luck, so her person should not leave anything in "Luck" .

Scorpio has energy death, so person experiences major event in his life, where native hits the rock bottom, and then he/she experiences divine blessings, blessings come only in critical situation.

Native should be silent about everything in his life, and should not disclose his weaknesses especially, to his friends or even family. If you have weak spot then don't let anyone know about it.

Eighth Lord in tenth House 🏠

When eighth Lord goes in tenth House 🏠, it gives you major change or shift in your career and work, you will change your work frequently and won't be satisfied in your work life .

It won't let you settle in work or you won't be able to find work which you enjoy. You experience stress and anxiety due to work continuously..

Native could do well in occult or in Astrology..

Native should learn to do his work in silence, and not to disclose his professional life with anyone.

Eighth Lord in eleventh house 🏡

Eleventh house is house of your friends, so native should be careful about choosing his/her friends as native could experience stress and anxiety due to his friend circle.

He should make only spiritual friends and don't share his personal life with his friends.

Due to his bad friend circle native could get involved in illicit activities, friends could also try to harm or defame the native.

Native should always have healthy boundaries with his/her friends.

Eighth Lord in twelfth house 🏠

Twelfth house is of Intuition, and eighth house is of occult and Astrology, person has some occult powers or sixth sense within him.

Native could be great healer or has connections with spirits or angels that guide him/her

Twelfth house is of bed pleasure, so person could experience problems in bed pleasure and especially sleep related issues.

Twelfth house is of sleep and eighth house is mysticism, so person could experience premonition in dream and can sense events.

Eighth house is also of dead, so native could sense death before or talk to dead people as well.

Person should not disclose his occult powers in public and also about his sexual activities

If person gets into meditation then he/she can unlock his hidden super powers easily.

This placement could also give native sexual traumas, and pain and fear due to sexual activities

Scorpio 🦂 is tail, Opposite to eighth house is Taurus which represents your eyes and mouth, hence Scorpio has energy of being hidden, or which cannot be seen but, could be felt intensely.

[boysborntodie]

Details from The Outsiders you may have forgotten or missed

-Cherry doesn't appear after the hearing (her not waving Ponyboy is just a movie thing)

-Ponyboy fucking hates people with green eyes so bad and gets pissed when someone points out he also has green eyes

-Steve always combs his hair into complicated swirls

-The Greasers always play football together

-Soda is one of the only Greasers who never gets drunk

-He also doesn't smoke unless something is bothering him or he wants to look tuff

-Darry, on the other hand, never smokes because it would affect his perfect body which he is very proud of

-Darry is also proud of being smart and sensible

-Ponyboy is the heaviest smoker out of the Curtis family

-Johnny started smoking at 9 and Steve at 11

-Johnny would've run away from Tulsa if it weren't for the gang

-Soda gives killer massages

-Ponyboy's razor wasn't working while he had to dissect a frog so he just took out his knife

-Darry goes skiing with some of his old friends sometimes

-Cherry and Marcia barrel race often and are pretty good at it

-Soda used to ride in rodeos but after breaking a ligament, his dad made him quit

-Sometimes Soda and Steve let Ponyboy help them fix the cars at the DX

-Johnny is the most law-abiding of the gang, and didn't even carry a knife until the Socs jumped him

-Cherry has an older brother

-Ponyboy used to have a yeller cur dog

-Johnny's scar his from his temple to his cheekbone (it's huge and also hard to look at)

-Two-Bit is great at doing impressions

-Two-Bit often raises one eyebrow, and the gang associate the gesture with him

-Dally and the Curtis mother got along well before she died

-Ponyboy is a scarily good liar

-Ponyboy notes that while he sees Johnny as a scared puppy, he actually looks rather hardened and cold to a stranger

-Johnny's skin is lighter under his bangs

-When at the church, Johnny puts his jean jacket over Ponyboy while he went out to get groceries

-Steve, Dally and Two-Bit wouldn't have thought of buying soap at a grocery store

-Ponyboy calls himself a Pepsi addict

-Dally hardly ever cuts his hair

-Johnny loves drag races

-The Curtis Dad took the brothers out hunting often in the country

-Ponyboy has the best aim but hates shooting

-Dally heard of the old church from a cousin

-Ponyboy is the youngest person on the track team but still one of the fastest

-Darry was the closest to their dad

-Steve once called Darry 'all brawn ans no brains' which made Darry made because it reminded him of the fact he didn't go to college

-Darry will suddenly pick up a random Greasers and swings them around

-The Curtis Dad used to call Soda 'Pepsi-Cola'

-The Shepard gang and the Curtis gang have fought seriously on at least on occasion (but it's nothing compared to the rumble)

-The Curtis brothers stayed at the hospital all night for Johnny and Dally until a doctor forced them to leave

-Johnny has a clean police record

-Ponyboy chews his fingernails when nervous

-Johnny often sleeps at Two-Bit's house

-The Curtis brothers all have huge appetites

-Darry always checks Ponyboy's Math homework for mistakes

-Johnny looks like his mother; having the same black hair, dark eyes and tiny built/height

-Soda did actually try really hard to stay in school but he kept failing

-Darry and Ponyboy both enjoyed school and athletics while Soda isn't into either

-The only thing Dally did honestly was jockeying

-Johnny really good at poker (or Ponyboy is really bad)

-The only time Johnny has been confident and not scared in his life, was when rescuing the kids in the church

-Johnny actually gets hurt because he pushed Ponyboy out first of the church

-Sodapop loves attention and was good with the reporters

-Sodapop has a crazy sweet tooth

-The Curtis brothers all love chocolate

-Darry never locks the front door in case one of the gang need a place to stay

-Ponyboy once found Tim Shepard sitting on their couch reading the newspaper

-Ponyboy thinks that Two-Bit wouldn't have gone inside the church if he was there

-Two Bit wished that the one hurt was anybody but Johnny and that the gang would have still been able to get along had it been anyone else

-Darry once took an aerobatics course and taught all the Greasers everything he knew

-Soda and Two-Bit were doing aerobatics and then got arrested for disturbing the peace

-The Curtis gang are noted to be better at fighting than the Shepard gang

-Tim Shepard looked like a model from the magazines Ponyboy reads

-Ponyboy notes that sweat ran down Dally's face when Johnny died, but it was probably tears

-Cherry drives a Sting Ray

-Curly once slipped off a telephone poll and broke his arm

-Johny's a good listener and all the members of the gang often go to tell him about their day or their problems

-Johnny says in his letter that the lives of kids were worth more than his

[monsters-demons-and-ai-oh-my]

TW: Talk about mental health and sui ideation and sui attempt

I feel the need to talk more about Jayce's "attempt" again because of what I learned from his journal in the "Council Archives"

There's a fair argument to be made that Jayce was already in a very bad headspace even BEFORE the explosion in his apartment.

If you read Jayce's journals it feels like Jayce was ALREADY spiraling before he got kicked out of the academy. For a few reasons.

-----

1.Jayce was very isolated to begin with.

He was working on experiments he knew were illegal and was so paranoid about being found out he started coming up with insults to call another student who almost caught him throwing away a failed experiment.

He also seemed to only be able to cheer himself up by talking shit about other people's work and how everyone else just couldn't measure up to how important his work was and would be. And when he finally meets Viktor he talks about never really thinking he'd take to working with another scientist.

(Honestly, pre-act 1 Jayce comes off a little more like his LOL counterpart which make me believe Arcane Jayce meeting and working with Viktor as early as he did is what helped make him the version of himself he is in Arcane?)

------

2. Jayce was not really sleeping and his schoolwork and grades were going downhill.

He talks in his journal about the fact that he's not getting to sleep until sunrise a lot of nights because he was trying and failing to make the crystals work.

And as a direct consequence of not sleeping he talks about Heimerdinger (the DEAN) having to come talk to him because his grades are slipping.

Jayce literally decides to make a graph correlating his lack of sleep to his poor academic performance.

(Later he expresses concern that he might get expelled from the academy because his work is slipping that badly).

And remember all the while when he is so sleep-deprived he can't focus on coursework he is FULLY CONVINCED he can figure out Hextech. You know a whole new field of study. It doesn't work, shockingly.

------

3. Ximena was already worried about Jayce wellbeing and trying to get him to go outside and be around others.

He eats some snacks insults some people's work to himself and then goes back to doing what he was doing.

Not a lot to talk about with this one except it's no wonder she tried to get him to back off magic if she could already tell he wasn't okay especially when we consider the state he was in at that point.

You also see that both his mother and Heimerdinger were expressing valid concern for him only for him to brush it off.

-----

4. Near the end of the journal entries before we get to the ACT 1 content he says some concerning things considering his later attempt on his life.

First he starts to doubt that he's getting anywhere then he remembers something Heimdinger once said about most inventors failing a 1000 times before succeeding and he makes a self-deprecating joke about "I suppose I must be closing in...".

Then he straight up says he can't see a path forward.

And he then makes a pros and cons list of his experiments where he talks about how the work with the crystals is very dangerous and if he pushes to much it could kill him but also how he's in danger of getting expelled if he can't sort out his schoolwork.

and then he writes.

"Which is worse? Killed or expelled?"

Which is certainly a Harry Potter reference but also given his eventual attempt is very telling.

And it's closely followed by him saying his mom was worried about him, which... seems valid.

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

Also on a side note unrelated to the journal entries.

Jayce's attempt was not a choice made suddenly in a rush of emotion like Viktor's, he planned it.

Jayce not only left what was implied to be a suicide note he took the methodical time to literally WAX SEAL the note with his official house mark. And it took Viktor a long long while of talking to him to get him to back away from the ledge. He was fully committed to committing.

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

Final thoughts: I think Jayce was in a place in his mind backed into a corner.

He wasn't able to reach out for help or even trust anyone because of the nature of his work. He wasn't listening to people that were concerned about him. And the way in which Jayce was doing his work was damaging to himself and his life in general. He was spiraling.

He needed someone else there to share the weight of what he was trying to do, to be able to reach out to outside of his own head which was the person Viktor became to him.

Part of me even wonders if Jayce was already in a place where he might have ended up on that ledge without the explosion if he didn't change his ways or have a sudden breakthrough.

[loves-alibi]

changes

or: you married a butcher, not a martyr.

MDNI simon "ghost" riley x f!reader word count: 2.7k warnings: mentions of sex, mentions of torture, reader is hashtag depressed, mentions of death (assumed death), simon is a weirdo at the end <3

*****

He’s a butcher, an apprentice actually. Every Monday through Saturday, regulars flock to the shop, where Simon, the gentle giant behind the counter, takes their order with a smile. Kids love him, always excited to see the man who tells droll jokes when their mothers, who are more interested in the way he winks at them after throwing in an extra quarter of a pound of meat, aren’t listening.

Simon is the talk of the block. Every nosy soul wants to know his deal. It’s not like he came out of nowhere. Simon was born and raised on the streets of Manchester, but there’s an intrigue about the young man that was never tapped into until he took up working at that shop, chopping and slicing up people’s dinners while asking 'how's the family?’.

So it’s no surprise when one day an old lady, a regular at the establishment, asks Simon, elbow-deep in raw lamb, if he’s single.

After breaking the news that he wouldn’t like to make a habit of dating customers, she explains that her granddaughter (“She’s about your age and– you’ll see –she’s the prettiest girl in all of England.”) is in town.

Before he even thinks, the woman scribbles on her receipt for three lamb chops an address and 8pm.

Eight hours later he stands outside of her house, a bouquet of flowers in hand and the receipt folded neatly in his back pocket. Before he has the chance to ring the bell, the door flies open, bombarding Simon with the scent of roasting meat and floral perfume. Standing barely at his chest height is the woman from the shop. She calls a name, and round the corner comes her granddaughter.

Simon almost drops the bouquet in his hands. Your grandmother really didn’t lie about how lovely you are. Even as you abscond her (“You didn’t tell me he was actually coming tonight!”) Simon can’t stop staring at you.

Dinner goes by as awkwardly as you could have expected. Your grandmother sits at the head of the table, you and Simon at opposite sides, kicking each other awkwardly each time either of you crossed or uncrossed your legs. She prompts you two with conversation starters.

Darling, tell him about your job.

Simon, I hear you have a brother.

It’s like pulling teeth. The whole night Simon is kicking himself for not meeting you elsewhere, where he could make a real and good impression without watching eyes. It’s over, he thinks when you finally pull the plug on the evening, dismissing Simon with the excuse that you have to work early the next morning. It’s a shame, he really thought that, despite everything, you two had a connection. There were enough fleeting glances and shy smiles from you for Simon to really believe.

You at least have the decency to walk him to the door, thanking him for entertaining your grandmother and for being such polite company. And, with a glance over your shoulder confirming that the coast is clear, you pull Simon in by the lapels for a kiss, it’s chaste and quick, but has Simon’s chest heaving up and down.

“There’s a pub down the street, you know it?” You ask. Simon nods his head dumbly, his lips still tingling. “She goes to sleep early. Meet me there in an hour, yeah?”

He practically skips to the pub. He orders two pints and waits and why did he order you a pint? It'll be warm by the time you get here and he doesn’t even know if you like beer. This was such a bad idea, you’re probably not even going to–

Fifty-two minutes later you walk through the door, chest heaving and hair tousled. You ran. You really ran to see him.

As you down your pint, he sends a silent thank you to whoever answered his prayers because– wow –you’re here and even more beautiful than he could imagine, with a bead of beer slipping out of the corner of your mouth and dripping down your neck.

The next morning, you two wake up naked in Simon’s bed with headaches and a ring on your finger– his nan’s ring to be precise, the one she explicitly told him to give only to the girl. There’s a voice in the back of his head that says he should be mad to have given it away in a drunken stupor to some girl he just met. But then you laugh, saying, “I’m engaged.” And he laughs with you, a sinking feeling telling him that drunk Simon may have gotten it right.

Simon watches you observe the ring glitter in the morning sun. “Do you want to be?”

You scrunch your nose at the question. “Depends,” you say, dragging out the final ‘s’. Simon blanches. “What’s your last name?” You ask, scrutinizing him.

Simon loses his breath as he stares into your eyes. You’re laying naked, halfway on top of him, and yet it’s the way you look at him that makes his world tilt. He barely manages to stutter out, “R–Riley. Simon Riley.”

“Riley… Mrs. Riley.” Your features soften. “Yeah, I think I want to be.”

In three months, you’re married. It’s a real, proper wedding with both sides of the family there. Simon washes the sinew and blood from his hands and gets all dressed up. He’d pick his bloody apron over a suit any day, but the smile on your face when you see him down the aisle is enough to make getting all dolled up worth it.

Your grandmother dies a happy woman shortly after your wedding. She leaves you the house and well wishes for your future (and with the request to name her future great-grandchildren after her).

Marriage suits Simon. He leaves you for work each morning before the sun is up. You wake hours later to a cold bed yet a warm cup of coffee in the kitchen. He comes home at five o’clock on the dot with a pound of meat cut and ready to cook, which he does. It fills some caveman-basal part of him– the ability to provide for his wife, melting away his worries every time you sigh in delight at the taste of the meal he oh so lovingly set out for you.

Three days after your first anniversary, Simon comes home with a pamphlet. Her Royal Majesty's Armed Service. You laugh, tell him there’s no way he wants to enlist. He almost believes you, sounding so sure in your words. Maybe he is being ridiculous, but then he turns on the news and sees the chaos of the world and realizes that chopping meat wasn’t all he was meant for.

He sits you down again. This time you don’t laugh.

“You will not make me a widow, you understand?”

“Of course not.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, love.”

He enlists, joins the infantry, and you wonder if you made a mistake marrying that man. Then 30 weeks later, he comes back and you almost forget the heartache until he’s standing right in front of you, this time without a pound of meat and the smell of blood clinging to his skin.

He fucks you. You fuck him. It’s only natural after so long. He’s missed you. You’ve missed him. And you have plenty of frustration to get out.

It’s when you’re laying in bed, fingers trailing his abs– yes, abs, born out of the weeks of grueling work– that it strikes you how much this means for you. You squeeze what used to be the loving layer of pudge that circled his waist.

“You like it?” he asks, his smirk pressing against your head.

But the energy to lie doesn’t exist in you. You tell him no, that you miss the Simon that walked out of your door thirty weeks ago, that– sure –abs are nice but you liked the Simon with a little fat, that you didn’t want him to do this, that you didn’t want to have to waste away, alone and worrying about him.

Yelling ensues. You cry. Simon cries. You sleep in the guest room. Simon sleeps on the couch.

He’s a good soldier, you learn. Not from him of course, Simon’s too humble to brag about his achievements like that (plus, he’s afraid that his growing accolades would just remind you how you never wanted to marry a decorated soldier, you wanted to marry him). You always come to base to pick him up from deployments. Soldiers give you respectful nods and tell you how good of a sergeant your husband is.

You and Simon had a distinct separation between work and life. As soon as your car is through the base gates, not a word is spoken of his deployments. It always gets you in too much of a fit. So it was agreed upon: you didn’t have to hear about it.

Until one day, work shows up to your front door step. Simon’s on a deployment, and you’re finally unwinding after a long day of your own. As you begin to pour a glass of wine, there’s a clinical knock on the door.

Two men in uniform are on your porch. They hold their hats in their hands, as with solemn voices they try to explain it all to you. It’s strange– you don’t cry. They ask if you need anything and you simply say no. After all, what could they give you– Simon? You have a chuckle at that after you finally send the soldiers off.

You continue your normal routine: finish that second glass of wine, tidy up the house, and cook dinner. You burn your thumb on the cast iron pot. With your finger in your mouth to soothe the burn, you think to dial your grandmother’s number. If anybody needs to know about Simon, it’s her. Except, when you dial her number all you get is a robotic voice explaining that the number you are trying to reach is not available.

Oh, you realize, that’s right– nan’s dead!

You lose it on the kitchen floor. Your sobs are so loud, the neighbors come to check on you. They find you right there on the kitchen floor, dinner burning on the stove, and paperwork from the army on the counter.

People treat you like a widow after that. You don’t consider yourself one. It just doesn’t feel right. He left without a goodbye, and now you’re supposed to accept that he’s gone?

You’re a celebrity around town– poor Simon’s widow. You quit your job, the widow’s pension being enough to get you by for now. Simon’s old boss starts giving you cuts for free– not even the shitty ones. You get filet mignons from him, aged wines from neighbors, extra pastries from the bakery, and pitying stares from strangers.

In three years you went from a complete stranger to Simon Riley’s widow. Three years and that man tore your life apart. The six month mark is approaching. It’s funny, really. That’s twice the time it took for you two to get hitched.

There isn’t even a body to bury, only a plain gravestone with his name and dates. You don’t visit it. There’s no point. What’s there to mourn? Instead you dig a hole in your back garden. It isn’t very deep, and the garden’s long dead. You don’t dare touch the shovel, it had been Simon’s– used when you needed a hole dug for flowers or bushes. Instead the hole is dug with your bare hands, like a dog searching for something.

In the pathetic pit in that dead garden, you put your ring– the one Simon gave you, that his nan gave him –wrapped in his apron.

The backyard burial doesn’t make you feel better. It just puts dirt under your nails that won’t wash away no matter how hard you scrub at it.

You consider selling the house. That leads to another breakdown. You were supposed to raise your kids there– Simon’s kids. Nan wanted you and Simon to have that house. Now nan’s gone. Simon’s gone. But for some reason you’re left to wander the ruins.

Six months finally comes. People stopped giving you free shit by month three. It’s not like you ever wanted their gifts. It’d come to you with a smile and some bullshit about how we get it or we’re here for you. You laugh at the notion when you wake up on the six month anniversary of your fucking husband’s death alone and…

It’s not the anniversary. Not the real one, at least. It’s only been six months since those men showed up at your door, like the grim reaper dressed up for Queen Elizabeth. He had to have died some time before then.

You don’t even know when your husband died.

It has to be on the paperwork they gave you. Six months after however many days since your husband’s death, you tear apart your house. Every drawer is pulled out, every cabinet yanked open in the hopes that you can find the paperwork that has Simon RIley’s death date.

Not on the pension form.

Not on the letter from the crown.

Not on the invitation to the fucking widow’s club.

When the hell did he die?

You fall asleep in the wee hours of the morning, surrounded by every piece of paperwork you could locate. It’s still dark when you wake up, mind clouded with exhaustion. You almost fall back asleep right there on the floor, but when you let your head fall back down on the hardwood, you feel rhythmic vibrations travel through the wood to your cheek. Footsteps.

“Love?”

Only one man has ever called you that.

It’s like you lose the ability to speak. Any thought you could have dies on your tongue as two familiar arms wrap themselves around your waist, pulling you into a lap. He holds you on the floor, lets you cry it out until the sun comes up.

The first words to come out of your mouth: “You said you wouldn’t make me a widow.”

He holds you tighter, “And I didn’t.”

Simon doesn’t tell you what happened. All you know is that he had been taken, tortured, and somehow rescued. 

He looks different. He’s gots lots of scars now. They bother him, he covers up in long shirts and pants more often than not, no matter how much you tell him he doesn’t need to. He says that he doesn’t want to worry you with them.

It’s not the scars that worry you. Simon’s different. Whatever happened to him back there had made him needy. He doesn’t let you out of his sight. At night, you’re adhered to his side by an impossibly strong grip. He whispers in his sleep, don’t leave me, as though you could possibly escape his iron grip. Maybe needy isn’t the right word. Obsessive, more like.

He digs the ring up just like you did– all bare hands and fury. You don’t know how he found it– you never told him. You just wake up one morning to him pawing furiously at the ground. He pulls it out and presents it to you like a cat with a dead mouse. He puts the ring on your finger before even rinsing the dirt off.

In bed he consumes you. Where once sex was fun and playful, it now is a ritual, like Simon is claiming you. It’s enjoyable, yes, but overwhelming. You don’t think he blinks anymore. It’s like he’s worried you’re going to be ripped away from him, like every time is the last time.

Two months after he comes home, papers arrive for him in the mail. He’s being deployed again. You’re worried. It’s too soon. You can’t lose him again, and you tell him as much.

Simon placates your worries with a kiss on the head. As he pulls you into a hug, he utters, “Love, I crawled out of the grave for you once. You best bet I’ll do it again.”

Somehow, you don’t think he’s lying.

[skywalkerinterlude]

Having more silly thoughts about Farmer!Anakin!!

It was quiet. Too quiet. A few minutes ago before the air around you had turned silent, you heard and saw Anakin hammering against the fences outside while watching him from the little pink window of the kitchen. At first, he refused to paint it pink, but how could he deny the wishes of his wife who's also the mother of his sweet baby girl?

With a loud sigh, he turned around, looking at you inside the house. He throws the hammer back into his tool box and makes a little 'cmere' motion with his fingers. He seemed mad.

You put your baby into her crib, stroking her cheek one last time while she squeals, before quickly walking outside to your garden. Some of the lambs immediately run up to you, and with a loud giggle, you push yourself through the herd.

“Hun..you remember what you told me in the morning? Before I left for the market.” He asks strictly, holding you softly with his rough hands at your hips.

“Uhh..mhm hm! I told you l that I'll cook your favourite dinner tonight!” 

“Yeeees baby, but that's not what I mean,” he replies, trying to keep up his tough guy facade. You were just so sickly sweet; he could never stay mad at you.

With a sigh, he points towards the clothes line where your towels and some of his shirts are hanging. “You promised you'd get the clothes off and fold them together before I came back.”

"Awhhhh that, I forgot. I'm sorry..I was playing with the baby the whole time and completely forgot.” You mumbled, looking down a little.

To others, it would seem irrelevant. 'Oh, she didn't get the clothes and towel off, horribleeee’. But for you, it was bad. Anakin did everything for you. Paid the bills, worked around the house and farm, ect. Yet, you couldn't even remember to fold the clothes together.

“Sigh. It's fine, baby. I'm not mad, okay? Let's do it together, alright? We'll be faster that way.” He replied with a smile, wiping his hands with a cloth before putting it back into his pockets.

He lays a hand on the small of your back and leads you to the clothing line. When he noticed the tears in your glossy eyes he sighed. “Don't cry..I told you it's fine, alright?” He picks up the basket and starts to take the clothes and towels off the clothing line with you while folding them in the air. His muscles were just begging to get out of that tight shirt he was wearing.

“See? 's waaaay quicker this way.” He commented, following you while you carried the basket back inside your little house you called home.

While you carry it upstairs, he goes to pick up your baby out of her crib in the living room, holding her softly while kissing her all over her chubby face. She squeals and reaches out for his collar with her small fists.

“Hopefully you don't grow up to be as clueless as your mama..” 

[viperify]

Smutmas 2024 | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ x ʀᴏꜱɪᴇʀ ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

I Appreciate You.

Short summary: After some persuasion, Tom joins you for Christmas dinner. Only then he finds out your parents haven’t exactly treated you well and seizes the opportunity to show you what it means to be truly appreciated.

Warnings: nothing, just fluff (for now…)

A/N: I have entered a bad case of writing block halfway through this, so I cut it short. I AM SORRY. I’ll take a day or two off and write a pt 2☹️

wordcount: 1,6k

Tom and you have been friends for a while – or rather study accomplices, as he would call it. Though lately, you have grown closer. Oddly close, at least if you knew Riddle, who wasn’t one to interact with others unless it served a purpose. You have known that from the beginning, so it never really appeared to you why he would be different towards you exactly – but you weren’t going to complain about someone tutoring you after all – someone who was equally as smart as pretty.

“You forgot pearl dust.” he sighs in disappointment, not looking up as he fidgets with his quill. “Tom it’s been two hours, my head is a mess. Let’s take a break?”

His gaze flicks from his quill to your eyes and stares at you briefly before speaking up. “I don’t take breaks. If you want me to keep being generous enough to help you, you do it my way.”

That’s how it goes every single time. You don’t argue against it – you just do what he says. The desperation to become better at Potions is greater than your ego after all and you have also come to notice it is better not to talk back to him. The last time you did, he wouldn’t even speak to you for two weeks after.

Tom clears his throat and you return your focus to the present. “It’s been an unnecessarily long time since you have started staring at me. Focus on your textbook.”

“Right, right! Sorry.” Your cheeks heat up and you repeat the brewing process from the beginning.

After what feels like an eternity, he is satisfied – as much as he could be. Tom obviously is never fully satisfied, always has something to criticize that you didn’t do right, something he says you would need to work on the next time you two meet to study.

There was always going to be a next time.

As you two pack up, you see house elves working on the Christmas decorations just outside the library, putting up a pine tree and some red and golden ornaments. It’s the Thursday before winter break, and you would soon go home to spend the time with your family. They have told you to bring a friend, though all of them have declined so far. You would just go alone. Until – well, you think about Tom.

“Uh, I actually have one more question.” You start, turning to face him. He raises his eyebrows expectantly signalling you to continue. “Soooo, I have been wanting to ask you whether you wanted to join me for Christmas dinner at home. My parents have asked me to bring someone along.”

“We aren’t friends. Besides that, I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

That’s exactly the answer you assumed he’d give, but you weren’t going to give up that easily. Your family has been talking about him often lately, about the Gaunt family, purebloods just like you. All the things they say you don’t understand anyway. It’s been like that since you were born, they always favoured your older brother over you. You have stopped arguing against it.

“Come on, Tom! It’s just a dinner, one evening. I know you don’t usually leave Hogwarts for Christmas break, I just wanted to give you the opportunity to meet my parents. They have been talking about you.”

He contemplates for a moment then. He is aware that his family, at least his mother’s side, has caught people’s attention. Apparently also the Rosiers’. Rosier family, part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. It would only be to his benefit to get to know them personally. And he hated admitting it, but lately - he has found himself strangely intrigued by you. A smart girl, who wouldn’t normally need his tutoring, not if he didn’t tell you to come back every week for another lesson.

“I suppose I will think about it. If I decide for it, I will join you at the train station.”

Your lips curl into a bright smile. “Thank you, Tommy! You are the best.”

He sighs. “How often have I told you to stop calling me that?”

“Sorry, sorry! I am just super excited to introduce you. They have been pestering me with questions about your mother’s family.”

You swear you see a slight spark in his eyes at the mention of his mother, though his usual stern expression returns just a second later. “Have a good evening.” he replies and leaves you behind at the library without saying another word.

-

There has not been a single sign of Tom when you board the train. Secretly you have hoped he would come and join you, though as soon as you leave the station you find yourself at peace with the fact you’d be going home alone for the break. The scenery shifts as you look out of the window, a thick layer of snow covering the otherwise green Scottish Highlands. You see deer scavenging for any grass they can find, scraping at the frozen ground with their hooves, the nearby hares’ white winter fur blending in perfectly with the scenery.

There aren’t too many students in your wagon, meaning you get to have a compartment all for yourself. Just like normally, your eyes grow tired, voices around you turning into a blur, and you fall asleep.

It wasn’t long until someone clearing their throat, taking a seat next to you woke you again. “So, what’s for dinner?” he asks, and you turn to face him.

Your face lights up at the sight of the person in front of you. “Tom! I am so happy you decided to come along!”

“I suppose it’s a welcome opportunity to connect with another renowned family.” he replies, and you nod, though slightly disappointed. “Of course.”

The rest of the journey, both of you don’t speak much. It’s a weird energy between you, something you don’t quite recognize. You are glad – as glad as you could be, knowing your family awaits you just outside – when the train arrives at your station. Both of you get off, and your mother’s and father’s faces light up at the sight of, not you, but Tom. They greet him first, ask him how the journey has been.

It’s only when you arrive at home that they ask you to help prepare dinner while Tom’s being shown around the manor. Even at dinner they won’t let him be and you wonder whether it was a good decision to bring him home with you.

In a moment of silence, your mother first looks at you, then at him. A smile forms on her face, something you only rarely get to see and you wonder what may be behind it.

“We are so glad you have decided to join us. Our daughter really couldn’t have chosen a better boyfriend.”

Oh.

You feel your heart drop in your chest at her words. They must have misunderstood the situation. Your cheeks heat up and you see Tom’s face changing into one of confusion.

Trying to save the evening, you quickly try to explain. “No it’s- we are not-“

“I am pleased to hear I am meeting your expectations.”

Tom’s words cut you off, and for a moment you aren’t sure whether you have heard him correctly. You blink a few times and shoot him a confused look, and he smiles at you.

Smiles.

You nod quickly, lowering your gaze onto the plate in front of you as you feel your cheeks heat up. For the rest of the evening, you don’t say much, even when you all gather around the Christmas tree. They ask questions about your relationship, which only Tom answers. He sits next to you and as the night progresses, his hand wanders up your lower back, snaking around your waist. You visibly shiver at his touch but decide to play along.

As soon as everyone has excused themselves to bed, you move away a little, escaping his grip. “Tom, I am sorry, they must have completely misunderstood.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize.”

“No really I-“

“Sshhh.” he whispers, his face inching closer to yours then, capturing you in a tender kiss. His hand rests on the back of your head, softly pressing you against him. You inhale deeply as you break apart, your eyes trailing up from his lips to his eyes. It’s only the candles on the Christmas tree that shine a dim light on both of your forms, yet you are able to make out the changed look on his face.

“We shouldn’t.” you murmur, shaking your head.

“I see the way you look at me in the library. And you perfectly know why I want to keep meeting you. Yet both of us are too stubborn to admit it.”

Though you hate to admit it, he’s right.

“I just didn’t think you would like someone like me.”

Tom huffs. “You never acknowledge your worth, and I suspect that is what your parents have taught you. They don’t see your potential. They diminish your achievements. Why do you let them?” he asks, and you rest your head on his shoulder.

“I have stopped caring a long while ago. You know how it is.”

Tom doesn’t reply after that, though his hand continues running up and down your back soothingly. You stay like this for a while, until he slowly turns his head, facing you.

“I will show them what it means to appreciate you.”

His voice is low and controlled as his face is a mere inch away from yours, his breath warm on your skin.

“I will show you what it means to be appreciated.”

[cheeseatlantic]

yuhh one look give em whiplash!!! beat drop with a big flash korean korean korean think fast!!!!

CoD characters as parents!

price, gaz, ghost, soap, alejandro, rudy, graves, valeria, keegan, hesh, logan, ajax, kick and könig… 😞

Price would be a very nice dad, as in would be the dad that LOVES his kid’s friends, takes them as his own and if a friend comes to his house they are eating at least a snack. but a partner? quokka fluffy price is being brutally stabbed and his cold captain comes into play, silently judging your kid’s partner and you have to hit him and scold him to be nice. eventually warms up and the two go on fishing trips together.

Gaz carries around two pink sparkly backpacks for his two daughters, loves them. And those bags have all the essentials, snacks, toys, change of clothes and hand sanitizer. Doesn’t matter where you go the backpack is coming too, and he insists on carrying it too! You just watch him take over and you just relax. Probably cried on the first day he dropped his girls off at school.

Soap, this man holds his son like a dad holding a fish, funniest shit ever. Accidentally swears in front of his son, his son is like a parrot and says the swears everywhere and Johnny thinks it’s funny, until you get mad at him for teaching the kid how to swear. Definitely makes explosives with the kiddo in the backyard, keeps them safe of course but scares the shit out of you.

Ghost? GIRL DAD THROUGH AND THROUGH. Him with a teenage girl is a dangerous combo, any boy looks at her funny to Simon and he’s pulling up to pick his little girl up in full tactical gear to scare off any potential boyfriends/girlfriends. Definitely helps her with school projects, except he’e massive and somehow accidentally makes minor mistakes. Or has stickers on his face, has his nails painted occasionally or plays princess dress up and drinks his tea pinky out and legs crossed, little plastic princess heels made for a four year old on his big toes.

Alejandro would definitely encourage your kid(s) to do extracurriculars, and at events he will be the absolute loudest person cheering. With signs, and everything. Let’s use soccer as an example he would be a soccer dad, got the van and everything. Makes sure the kids respect you, if not they will get a scolding and a firm tap with the slipper, he would never hurt him.

Rudy would be the most tolerant dad ever, want to stay out late? Maybe if he knows who his kid is out with, sure. A sucker for puppy dog eyes though, one time his kid saw someone selling bunnies on the side of the road and looked at it for a second too long, few years down the line you have a rabbit the size of a small dog and Rudy absolutely adores it.

Graves is the daddest of all dad’s if that makes sense. Does the weird throat thing at ungodly hours, the hand thing when the kids have snacks in the car and carries them around on his shoulders, probably cream abuses them (aggressive lotion application)… Makes sure his kids get outside and they will have a strict screen time limit until like middle school. Caught him playing Barbies with your daughter once.

Valeria is the definition of protective mother, she would be strict but means well. If one of her men lets say scares your kid she is yelling at the man until he cries. Definitely keeps her kids out of her line of work, but never her line of sight. HELICOPTER MAMAAAAAA

Keegan would be the type of dad to stay up with your baby when their fussing at night, or as you guys call it ‘the night shift’. When the baby starts babbling he just nods along, tells you that “Look at ‘em! Planning world domination, definitely my spawn.” Would tell them to take swimming classes and all that survival shit to be safe when their older. Made the baby a tiny version of his mask and carries a rattle wherever he goes in his pocket. (mandatory)

Hesh would definitely make Riley reveal the gender with a tennis ball filled with pink or blue pigment, trained Riley to bring him clean diapers, pacifiers and everything. Him and Riley are basically teaming up to raise this kid, and you don’t really have to worry about much.

Logan would be very interesting, would give your baby a whole apple to eat if their growing their teeth in but makes them wear an apron and keeps the area extremely clean if their painting. Frames every little painting and probably does those cute little crafts with them like the pumpkin butt thingy.

Ajax is probably the funnest dad quite literally ever, installed a whole play place in your guys’ backyard just because, makes sure to make the kiddos childhood as memorable as possible which means doing stupid shit with them and occasionally ending up at the doctors for a broken arm or something. Definitely freaks out when they get sick and buys everything, just piles the medications at the store in when you ask him for medicine.

Kick is totally becoming a soccer mom, Lululemon insulated mug, the van and a cooler with snacks in the back. Probably known as the ‘cool dad’ at your kid’s school. Definitely feeds into brainrot and such to keep the cool dad status. Your kid probably turned into a partial iPad kid.

Seeing König with a baby for the first time was absolutely hilarious to you because he was so big and the kid was so small, definitely refused to breathe on the baby incase he hurt it. But once he started holding the baby he turned into a jungle gym, let’s the baby use his mask as a baby blankie, made himself a new one. Spends way too much on the baby… A concerning amount.

i really feel sigma rn guys