#people would be like “stop wasting time”

[grenadehearts]

katsuki bakugo so needy to please! ✧

warnings: 18+ k.bakugo x f.reader

authors note: ik this is so short but i could not get the idea out of my head like... katsuki would sooo be a giver (this is so self indulgent but.. tell me its not so real) master list link here ✃ m.list

Thinking about Katsuki Bakugo, who couldn't care less about his own pleasure. He hates it, actually—thinks it's stupid, a waste of time. Why would he bother with something so meaningless when he could bury his face between your thighs instead? When he could have his pretty baby trembling under him, your tight folds dripping with cum after he's made you come undone not once, not twice, but three times over with just his tongue.

Katsuki Bakugo, who would never ask you to wrap those soft, plump lips around his cock. Nah, he'd rather see them part in a breathless gasp, your voice cracking into those sweet little cries that make his blood run hot. Every sound you make feels like it's carved into his chest—especially when his tongue is lapping at your swollen clit, or when his fingers are buried deep inside you, curling just right until you're shaking apart beneath him.

Katsuki Bakugo, whose mind is completely consumed by you. He'll be sitting in the middle of some high-stakes meeting, supposed to be focused on something important, but all he can think about is the way your back arches when you're close. The way your fingers tangle in his blonde spikes and tug like you're trying to anchor yourself to him. The way you cry out his name like it's the only thing keeping you tethered to this world.

Katsuki Bakugo, who never understood sex or why people made such a big deal about swapping spit for a fleeting moment—until he had you. Until he buried his face in your desperate pussy and realized this was what they meant. That this was what he'd been missing all along.

Katsuki Bakugo, who laps up every drop of you like it's the only thing that will ever satisfy him. He doesn't stop—doesn't even think about stopping—not until your thighs are trembling and your voice is hoarse from screaming for him to grant you a moment of reprieve.

Katsuki Bakugo, a giver through and through. He doesn't care about himself—he never has. All that matters is you: your pleasure, your cries, the way you fall apart under him again and again. That's all he needs to get him to spill out in his tightened pants– without even being touched.

p.s this is sooo scary to write like i feel like u guys are gonna hate it and say he's ooc and call me delusional.. anyways! if you guys do like it reblog + comment it means sooo much + requests are open! m.list + comms are open.

[thedemoninme141]

It doesn't matter. (anon asks)

Pairings: Wednesday x Female reader.

Theme: Angst. Warnings: Discussions of suicide, depression.

Wordcount: 3.5k.

Wednesday sat on the railing of her balcony, her legs hanging over the edge, boots scraping against the cold stone.

Enid was sleeping softly in her side of the dorm. Peaceful. Oblivious. Even Thing had curled up on his little makeshift bed, unmoving, trusting that she would do nothing drastic. They thought they understood her.

They thought she was above weakness, above fragility.

Fools.

She had studied death. Pored over it. Dissected its meanings, its finality, its inevitability. She had wielded it in her hands like a sharpened blade, used it as a threat, a weapon, a fascination. But now, she wondered: was a fall from this height truly lethal? Would her bones shatter on impact? Or would she suffer, twitching on the cold stone until the void finally claimed her?

The world below seemed so far away, yet so close. A single misstep, a slight shift in weight, and she would no longer be perched between life and death, she would simply fall.

She had read about people who had jumped. Some regretted it before they hit the ground. Some had died on impact, their bodies broken beyond recognition. Some had lived, haunted by the knowledge that they had failed at escaping.

Would she regret it?

A foolish question. She didn’t believe in regret. She believed in action.

It didn’t matter.

It really didn’t matter.

She sat in the quad, her fingers curled over the spine of a book she had long since stopped reading. Her dark eyes were fixed on a single point across the courtyard.

You. It had been a year since she talked to you, that day.

She was watching you again.

Why?

She didn’t know.

She wasn’t even aware of when it started.

You were reading. Or, at least, you had been.

Now, your book was gone, ripped from your hands by a sneering group of students who thought themselves superior. She had seen this before. Watched from a distance. The same group. The same scene, playing out like a wretched cycle. A hand shoved at your shoulder, another voice laughed in your face. Your lips pressed into a thin line, your fingers curling into fists, but you did not fight back.

You never did.

You had been like this for a while now, silent, withdrawn, smaller. You never stood close to her anymore, hadn't been for the past year since that day. You never hovered near her anymore.

It wasn’t the first time she had seen this.

She had been seeing you, as you closed yourself from.. everything.

Wednesday could end it.

It would be easy. A single glare, a few well-placed words, and they would scatter like cockroaches under a harsh light. She could terrify them, send them running, make them regret every second they had spent trying to break you down.

But how could she?

How could she, when she had done the same to you?

The wind was colder now, biting at her skin as she sat motionless on the railing. Wednesday didn’t move, didn’t blink, only stared at the ground below. She understood now. Why you had chosen her. It wasn’t because you were fascinated by her, nor because you admired her, no, you did admire her but not in the way the others did.

The Hyde investigation had reached a standstill.

Wednesday gritted her teeth, Yesterday’s rain had washed away what could have been critical evidence. It was infuriating. She hated inefficiency, hated wasting time, hated failure.

And then there was you.

Trailing behind her like a shadow, quiet but persistent.

“…Maybe it’s not someone from this school at all, but an outsider?” Your voice was soft, hesitant, barely loud enough to rise above the sound of her footsteps.

Wednesday didn’t reply. Her mind was a swirling storm of deductions, dead ends, and mounting irritation.

“I mean… you’re so smart, Wednesday. I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon.”

A compliment. Empty words, spoken with sincerity, but meaningless in the grand scheme of things.

Wednesday stopped walking.

“Stop talking.”

Her voice was flat, sharp, laced with barely contained irritation.

She didn’t have time for this.

You flinched, but you didn’t leave. Instead, you simply adjusted the grip on your notebook, as if grounding yourself, as if trying to take up less space. Your footsteps became softer, your presence dimming, but still there.

Still following.

Still clinging.

By the time they reached the main hallway, the low hum of students passing through only made the irritation coil tighter inside her chest. The voices, the movement, the constant press of bodies—it was suffocating.

And then—

“…I could help if you need someone to brainstorm with…”

She still doesn't understand what was wrong in that sentence that caused her to lash out.

Wednesday stopped abruptly.

You hadn’t been expecting it. You barely had time to react before you bumped into her shoulder, the force of it barely anything, but it sent a fresh wave of irritation through her already frayed nerves.

She spun around, her hand latching onto your arm before she shoved you against the nearest wall.

“You are insufferable.”

Your back hit the cold stone, you froze, your notebook still clutched to your chest.

“Do you not understand the concept of personal space?” Her voice was rising now, sharp enough to cut. “Or basic social cues? How many more insults will it take to penetrate that thick skull of yours and make you realize I am not interested in your pathetic attempts at friendship?”

She remembers she noticed it.

The way your eyes flickered around, the way you took in the students stopping, whispering, watching.

She didn’t care back then.

“I don’t care about your feelings. I don’t care about your problems. And I certainly don’t care about your pitiful attempts to get closer to me.” Her voice was ice, unwavering, merciless. “So why don’t you do us both a favor and stay the hell away from me?”

She didn’t wait for a reaction.

Didn’t wait to see the way your fingers trembled around the edges of your notebook.

She just turned and walked away.

And now, sitting on the railing of her balcony, she understood.

You had clung to her because she was a wall, an impenetrable fortress of indifference and cruelty, and as long as you stayed near her, no one else could touch you. No one else could hurt you.

You weren’t trying to befriend her. You were trying to survive.

She had been your shield.

You had felt safe around her.

Safe.

Wednesday stood outside your dorm, the same day she had watched as they surrounded you, as they tossed your book aside like it was worthless, as you stood there and did nothing, accepted it like it was as natural as breathing.

And now she was here, because… because what? Because she felt responsible? Because she had spent a year noticing the silence you left in your absence? Because something about the way you had looked, empty, resigned—had made something inside her twist unpleasantly?

Her hand hovered for only a second before she knocked twice.

“Wednesday?” you asked, your voice quiet, indifferent.

Wednesday opened her mouth, then closed it.

She had spent the past hour deliberating over this moment, she had thought of this moment in her head, had run through different variations of how this conversation might go, but now, standing in front of you, she realized she had no idea what to say.

She expected—no, she had prepared for—the possibility of anger, of bitterness. Perhaps even avoidance, a door slammed in her face, a sharp remark thrown back at her in retaliation for last year.

But this?

This quiet, unreadable calm?

It made her skin crawl.

How can she bring this up? How could she string together words that didn’t sound weak, didn’t make her feel foolish?

You tilted your head slightly, waiting. Then, after a beat, “Do you need something?”

Wednesday finally forced herself to speak.

“I saw some students bothering you today,” she said, her voice clipped. “Why didn't you even try to fight back?"

It was a simple question. A reasonable one. And yet, the moment she said it, something in your expression shifted.

You looked… surprised.

As if the very idea of someone asking had never even crossed your mind.

Then, slowly, you smiled. A sad, small thing that barely touched your eyes. "It doesn't matter. I'm used to it."

Wednesday studied you carefully, but there was no tension, no bitterness, no frustration—just quiet acceptance, like this was simply a fact of life, an inevitability you had long since resigned yourself to.

“I’ve learned not to fight battles that don’t matter,” you added.

Wednesday narrowed her eyes. “That sounds like cowardice.”

She expected a flinch, a glare, some kind of reaction at the insult.

But you only looked at her, that same faint, almost knowing smile on your lips. "Maybe," you said. "Or maybe I’ve just realized there’s no point."

There was no weight behind the words, no emotion for her to latch onto. Nothing.

That should have pleased her. Wednesday had always hated dealing with overly emotional displays, found them exhausting, unnecessary. But this wasn’t peace. This wasn’t calm.

This was a void.

And it unsettled her more than anything else could have.

Wednesday held your gaze for a long moment. Then, before she could stop herself, before she could convince herself it wasn’t necessary, she forced the words out

“I haven’t spoken to you in a year,” Wednesday said, her voice uncharacteristically soft, though still blunt. “That day in the hallway…”

You tilted your head slightly, as if trying to recall something distant. “I don’t blame you, Wednesday. You don’t need to apologize.”

The statement caught Wednesday off guard. She hadn’t been planning to apologize, not exactly. But the fact that you brushed it off so easily, as if it didn’t matter at all, made her feel even more uneasy.

“I wasn’t going to apologize,” Wednesday said quickly, more to reassure herself than you. “I don’t apologize. I just..." she sighed, taking a deep breath.

"I just wanted to say I am not one to dwell on past mistakes, nor do I often feel the need to correct them. However…" A pause. Her fingers twitched at her sides. "I shouldn’t have said what I did. Last year."

Nothing.

No flicker of relief, no sign that this meant anything to you at all.

You simply nodded, voice as steady as ever. "It’s fine."

It wasn’t.

"It really doesn’t matter," you added.

Wednesday’s jaw tightened.

It didn’t matter.

That was what you had said.

The same way you had said it about the group who bullied you.

The same way you had said it about yourself.

It should matter.

But you spoke like someone who had already accepted things would never change. Like someone who had given up long ago.

She didn’t know why that bothered her so much. Wednesday exhaled slowly.

"If they bother you again, tell me."

Your polite, practiced smile returned.

"I’ll keep that in mind."

You wouldn't.

Wednesday was feeling tired now, she hadn't been able to sleep for the past few days. And there was the round glowing thing, up there in the sky, judging her.

So the next time Wednesday didn't hesitate. “Are you all incapable of finding something more productive to do than harass the same person every day?” she said, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.

The bullies froze, their smug expressions faltering as they turned to face her.

“Look, Addams, we’re just—” one of them began, but Wednesday raised a hand, silencing them.

“I don’t recall asking for an explanation, if you want to keep your body parts intact, I would suggest moving away now.” she said icily.

Before she could take another step toward them, you stood abruptly, placing a hand on Wednesday’s arm.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, your voice steady.

Wednesday frowned, her eyes narrowing. “It’s not okay.”

You shook your head, your gaze meeting Wednesday’s for a brief moment before dropping again. “Please. Just leave it. It doesn’t matter.”

Those three words, and here she thought she hates the other set of three words.

She was beyond frustrated. “Of course, it matters—”

But you cut her off with a faint, almost pleading smile. “Thank you, Wednesday. But I can handle it.”

Your calmness only made Wednesday angrier, but she allowed herself to be stopped. The bullies muttered something under their breath and walked away, clearly unwilling to push their luck further.

You let go of Wednesday’s arm and gathered your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. “I’ll see you later,” you said quietly, before walking away without another word.

Wednesday watched as you walked away, the ghost of that practiced smile still lingering on your lips.

It unsettled her.

She should have felt satisfied. The bullies had left. You were no longer being bothered. By all accounts, this was a resolution. Yet, as she stood there, the frustration in her veins had not lessened. It had thickened.

Because you weren’t relieved. You weren’t grateful or upset or anything at all. You were just… neutral. Indifferent. As if nothing that had just happened actually mattered.

And that was what disturbed her the most.

She hadn’t intended to seek you out again that day, but as evening settled over Nevermore, she found herself in your presence once more. It was not premeditated. At least, that was what she told herself.

You were at your usual spot in the library, tucked away in the corner where few people ventured. Your book was open, but Wednesday could tell you weren't reading, your thoughts were elsewhere.

Wednesday sat down across from you without invitation. You looked up, but instead of questioning her presence, you simply nodded in acknowledgment before returning to staring at the pages in front of you.

She waited for you to speak.

You didn’t.

“I assume you have no opinion on this novel?” she asked, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

You blinked, finally lifting your eyes to hers. There was no confusion, no curiosity—just quiet patience, as if waiting for her to get to the point. “It’s fine,” you said simply.

Fine.

Wednesday studied you for a long moment.

A year ago, you would have said more.

A year ago, you would have tilted your head, started a conversation, told her what you thought, even if you knew she might not respond.

But now?

She felt a strange, unfamiliar irritation.

Wednesday exhaled sharply. "You used to be more talkative."

You blinked, tilting your head slightly, as if this was a strange observation. "Did I?"

Wednesday's lips pressed into a thin line. "Yes."

You hummed, as if considering it, before turning the page of your book. "I guess I don’t have much to say anymore."

There was something deeply, profoundly wrong about that.

"You always had something to say before," Wednesday pointed out.

“I suppose I grew out of it.”

Wednesday didn’t believe that.

Not for a second.

But she didn’t know how to make you tell her the truth.

Wednesday had never been one to admire beauty—she found it frivolous, a distraction from the inevitable decay that awaited all things. And yet, she could not deny it.

The moon did look beautiful tonight.

And perhaps it's too late to notice this... has she always been too late to notice things?

It's alright, it doesn't matter.

Somewhere in the months that followed, she had begun to notice things.

Small things.

The way she was drawn to your presence more than she cared to admit. The way her mind wandered when you weren’t near. The way irritation clawed at her when she saw you retreat into yourself, as if part of you was slipping away, disappearing into the quiet that had settled around you for the past year.

She found herself seeking you out, not out of curiosity or obligation, but because she wanted to.

It was unnatural.

It was wrong.

But it was happening.

And she noticed that something else was happening, too.

You were changing.

At first, the silence had been suffocating. Wednesday had spent months trying to pry something—anything—out of you, trying to provoke a reaction, to hear your voice the way she used to. But it had been slow, painfully so, like pulling teeth.

Then, one day, she made a comment about Xavier's iq, and you—

You laughed.

It wasn’t much, just a quiet huff of amusement, barely even there. But it was real.

Perhaps that's what pushed her over the edge.

It started happening more often after that.

Little things.

A subtle smile when she made a dark observation about the world. A quiet response when she asked you a direct question.

You weren’t how you used to be. Not completely.

But you were less silent.

And Wednesday—who had spent her entire life preferring silence—found herself desperate to hear more.

One evening, as you sat across from her in the library, she caught herself staring.

You were focused on a book, your expression calm, lips slightly parted in thought. A stray strand of hair fell in front of your eyes, and without thinking, you reached up and tucked it behind your ear.

It was an utterly mundane action.

And yet, something inside Wednesday twisted.

She dropped her gaze immediately, pressing her nails into her palms.

This wasn’t right.

She knew what this was. She wasn’t stupid. She had read about these things, seen them infect others like a slow-spreading disease.

She was falling for you.

And it was unacceptable.

But the realization did nothing to stop it.

She still sought you out. She still lingered in your presence. She still noticed every detail about you—the way you fidgeted when deep in thought, the way your voice softened when you spoke to her, the way you had begun to meet her gaze a little more often.

She noticed how you were changing.

And she noticed that she was, too.

She had tried to fight it. Tried to ignore the way something inside her clenched whenever you smiled—really smiled, not the polite, practiced one you gave so often.

But it was pointless.

Because this had been building for months now, like a slow-burning fire that refused to be smothered.

And perhaps—

Perhaps she didn’t want to smother it anymore.

Wednesday wasn’t blind to the world. She knew what affection looked like, even if she had never experienced it herself. She had read of it, studied it, dissected it through history and literature and human observation.

And now, she was living it.

There was something deeply unsettling about the realization.

But there was something else, too. Something almost… comforting.

It wasn’t so bad, she supposed, to have someone she didn’t mind being around. To have someone who had seen the worst of her and still—still—remained.

Maybe she could allow this.

Maybe, for once, she could let herself have this.

The Raven was approaching.

Wednesday had never cared for such events—meaningless social gatherings. It was an evening of vanity, of shallow declarations and fleeting romances, none of which had ever interested her.

And yet, for the first time, she found herself anticipating it.

Because this year, it had a purpose.

This year, she would ask you.

The realization should have unsettled her, but it didn’t. Not anymore. She had spent months fighting this, dissecting it, rationalizing it, but there was no use in denying the inevitable. She had fallen for you. The thought of it no longer felt like a weakness.

Perhaps, in some ways, it was a strength.

She had spent so long trying to bring you back—trying to restore the version of you that had been buried beneath silence and indifference. And it was working, wasn’t it?

She could already picture the moment in her mind—she would find you alone, somewhere quiet, away from the noise of the others. She would state it plainly, without unnecessary theatrics or hesitations.

You would say yes.

And after the Raven—

She would tell you.

That she had fallen for you. That somewhere between your silence and your soft smiles, between the way you had once tried so hard to reach her and then stopped entirely, she had found herself tangled in something she could not escape.

She wasn’t sure what she expected to happen afterward. But she would deal with it when the time came.

For now, she just needed to ask you. She just needs to go to your dorm and ask you. She just needs to go to your room and find you.

Wednesday sat on the edge of the balcony railing, her legs dangling over the side.

In her hand, a letter trembled, one she had found beside you.

Her fingers curled tightly around the paper, the words smudged in places where she had gripped it too hard, as if by crumpling it, she could change what was written, change the reality of what had happened. But the ink did not bleed, and the words did not disappear.

They stared back at her.

"I'm sorry."

""I'm tired, Wednesday."

"It wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault."

"Don't blame yourself."

But Wednesday did.

How could she not, when she had seen the signs too late? When she had spent so long convincing herself that you were getting better, that the quiet was no longer something suffocating? When she was the reason you got away?

You were smiling more. Talking more. Responding when she reached out.

For all her investigation skills, she should have known better.

It was never real.

She had studied death all her life, dissected it, understood it in ways most people never could.

And yet, she found herself wondering—

Would a fall from this height be lethal?

It doesn't matter.

She was going to find out soon anyway.

[Author's note: This was a one-shot ask. So blame anon for the heartbreak. I can't believe I wrote all that in one sitting lmao.]

Taglist: @ognenniyvolk@mally-ka@protozoario@machyishere@freakshow2501@101rizzlrr (If you guys don't wanna be tagged in one-shot asks, inform me, I don't mind.)

[itoshiabi]

Four Goals For You

Summary: Childhood friends turned first love—Sae Itoshi challenges you in the boldest way possible: "If I score a hat trick, you're going on a date with me."

💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

The VIP lounge buzzes with quiet energy, a mix of calm and anticipation hanging in the air. Below, the stadium lights cast a brilliant glow over the field as fans fill the seats, their excited chatter building into a steady hum. Inside, the team is focused on their final pre-match preparations—some stretching, others engaged in casual conversation. The atmosphere is tense but controlled, the kind of silence that comes before something big.

And in the middle of it all, you sit, watching from the sidelines.

You're not just any guest. You're here at the personal invitation of Sae Itoshi himself!

You and Sae have known each other since childhood—family friends, to be exact. He never cared much for friendships, his ego keeping most people at arm's length, but somehow, you did manage to stay by his side. Maybe it was out of obligation, or maybe there was something more that neither of you dare to acknowledge.

But what you don't know is that Sae has been falling for you all this time. His first love—silent, unspoken, yet undeniably real.

Leaving for Spain was difficult for him. He had to leave his parents, Rin and YOU! The thought of someone else taking his place in your life haunted him, even if he never admitted it. And when he found out you're visiting Spain for the summer, he wasted no time inviting you to his game.

Now, as the final moments before kickoff tick away, Sae suddenly stands up.

The room quiets instantly. His teammates turn, curious. But Sae ignores them all, his teal eyes locked onto you. He strides forward, stopping just inches away.

Then, in front of everyone, he speaks.

"If I score a hat trick today, you're going on a date with me."

Silence.

You blink. Around you, the room suddenly erupts.

"What the hell?!" someone shouts.

"Did Sae just confess in the most Sae way possible?" another mutters.

"Wait, wait, hold on—Sae, are you serious?!"

Sae ignores them, his expression unwavering. He isn't joking. Not even a little.

Your heart pounds. "H-Huh?"

His voice is steady. "You heard me. Three goals, and you’re mine for the evening."

Heat creeps up your neck. The way he looks at you—calm, composed, yet utterly serious—is almost too much to handle. The entire team is waiting for your response.

You cross your arms, trying to steady yourself. "…And if you don't?"

"Not happening."

The room explodes again.

"THIS GUY—"

"Who knew Sae could be such a show-off?!"

"Damn, now I actually want to see him miss just to see what happens—"

Sae's sharp glare cuts them off instantly. Then, without another word, he turns and walks toward the exit. "I'll see you after the match."

And just like that, he's gone.

.............................

The match was insane.

Sae played like a man possessed. Every touch, every movement is calculated perfection. His first goal? A clinical strike. The second? A breathtaking free kick. The third? A last-minute tap-in after effortlessly weaving through the defense.

Hat trick. Game over.

And just in case you think about backing out—he scores a fourth.

The stadium erupts, but Sae barely reacts. Instead, the moment the final whistle blows, he jogs toward the VIP section as he always does but this time his eyes are scanning the crowd for someone..... Searching for you!

You're still frozen in shock when he walks up at you. Without any drama he asks in his usual straightforward time "Four goals. No excuses. When's our date?"

Your face burns as his teammates roar with laughter behind him. You fake-huff with annoyance as you look away and mumble "…I was going to say yes after the third goal. Maybe even if you scored none... I still would have agreed." You pout.

A rare chuckle escapes him after seeing your rare pout, something softer in his gaze now. "Good. Because I wasn't stopping at three, anyway."

And in that moment, Sae Itoshi realised—his biggest victory isn't the match.

It's you.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Ain't That a Kick in the Head

Pairing: Clayton Keller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Nudity but in a totally non-sexual way (you share a bath)

Summary: You watch Clayton take a puck to the face, suffice to say you are very much worried for your boyfriend at the end of the game.

Notes: Y'know someone needs to psychoanalyse why I thought it was so hot that he took a puck to the face, got 12 stitches, came out, played and still scored? Someone want to explain that one to me?

I've not written Clayton before but @wannabehockeygf has me hooked so...I hope this is okay?

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

"...that one up high caught Keller, let's hope Clayton is okay...he took that one right up in the face and he's headed to the room for some stitches I would imagine..."

"Keller's girlfriend has stood straight up from her seat, clearly not happy with what she's seen."

"Can you blame her? Keller's just taken a puck straight to the face and I imagine he's going to have more than a couple of stitches to fix that..."

It's an instinctive reaction really, to jump out of your seat at the way the puck soars into Clayton's face, the way he spins and falls to the ice. The blood that you can see pooling underneath his hand as he holds it tight to his eye and brow.

You've seen him get hurt before, seen him take hits to the boards, hits from other players, pucks to the ribs, sticks to the legs, but this...fuck, this was dangerous, this was scary. You're thankful for your seat overlooking the tunnel, thankful that you can reach a hand down as he makes his way off the ice, that even as he clutches a towel to his face to mop up the blood and try to stem the bleeding, he sees you, and reaches out briefly to touch your fingers, an attempt to reassure you that he's okay. That he'll be fine because fuck he knows you're probably freaking out about it.

Then all you can do is sit back down in your seat and wait. Waiting for him to come back out made you feel sick, stomach tied in knots, leg bouncing up and down in anxious impatience. Was he concussed? Was he in need of hospital? Or would it just be a few stitches to stop the bleeding? Had it done any serious damage to his skull? Was he actually okay? Was it just a flesh wound or something deeper?

It was taking too long, far too long, your eyes not even on the game, but on the tunnel waiting for him to reappear, watching people come and go back and forth each one not Clayton. Still you waited for that reappearance.

And reappear he did. Brow coated in blood, 12 stitches holding his face together, swollen, bruising planning it's spots as he stops at your section, looking up at you from the tunnel as you look down.

Your hand reaches out again and this time he holds it properly, fingers intertwining with yours to give your palm a tight squeeze, his ring digging into your skin slightly from how firmly he grips you. Like he needs to reassure you he's still strong, still good even as a blood drip starts to slide from the fresh stitches towards his eye.

"I'm okay, sweet girl," His voice is rough from overuse on the ice and he doesn't linger long, but it's enough to reassure you that he's at least fine, even if his face looks like he's been through the wars.

It's enough for you in that moment, enough for you to let his hand go, to watch him make his way to the bench even as that sick feeling still permeates your gut.

You spend the entirety of the second period watching him like a hawk, assessing to see if he should actually be out on the ice or not, relieved to see him skating well, stable, sturdy. Despite the physical wound he doesn't seem unwell and that is enough to settle you down a little, enough for you to start to enjoy the third period.

An enjoyment that is made 10 times better by Clay's empty net goal firmly confirming Utah's victory over the Winnipeg Jets. The moment the period is over and the players have left the ice you don't waste much time before making your way down to the locker rooms, leaning against the wall and waiting for Clayton to clean up and change.

He's out last, Kess stops to tell you he's just getting some of his stitches redone, and while you appreciate the heads up from the taller man it actually only serves to make you more anxious to see your boyfriend.

When he walks out he looks like he's been through the wars or been mugged badly or had a bad boxing match. New stitches means no quick shower, no water on them for at least a day and he still looks bloody, sweaty and definitely not okay. You can't imagine how uncomfortable he was putting his suit back on when he couldn't even have a proper wash, sweat causing his clothes to stick to his skin. Clayton's always been a stickler for cleanliness and you know he probably feels disgusting, probably hates it almost as much as the injury itself.

"Shit, Clay..." You gasp at seeing his face up close, his eye is bruising into a proper shiner, closing a little from all the swelling that's happening. The skin around starting to go a deep purple. There's an array of angry stitches holding his skin together, 12 to be exact, lined up neatly but clearly the only thing stopping more blood from falling down his face. They've clearly tried to clean as much of the old blood up as possible, but there's still enough left over that he looks rough around the edges.

"Right in the money maker, huh? It's okay if you think I'm ugly now, baby.." He's joking around as he steps into your space, trying to take that god awful look off your face. You look like you've seen a ghost, like you might be sick.

"Clay..." You reach for him as he leans over you, one arm leaning against the wall by your head, while your own hands cup his cheeks tilting his head so you can get a better look at his stitches.

"Sorry, sorry, just tryin' to get my girl to smile s'all..."

"I know..." He lets you get your fill, moving his head in whatever direction you tilt it while his free hand grips your hip. He wants you to believe he's fine but he knows you won't believe him, and in truth it fucking hurts taking a puck to the face. He's surprised he doesn't have a concussion. He feels a little sick, very gross and his face aches like nothing else.

"Clay...What do you need?" You, he thinks, just this. Just the soft way your thumbs brush his cheeks and tenderness with which you cradle his face, like he's not 170lbs of hockey player. He's not delicate and he knows that, you know that, but sometimes you treat him that way and it's nice sometimes. Nice to feel cared for.

He doesn't say any of that though, instead lets out a big sigh, "I need to go home, wash at least my body because I actually feel fucking gross..." He's still sweaty and he knows he needs help washing his hair without getting water on his stitches.

"Okay, I'm driving." You're reaching for his keys in pocket as quick as a whip, but he's quicker. Clayton's hand wrapping entirely around your wrist and stopping it from delving further into his pocket.

"You're not driving my car, baby. No." There's no amount of injury that could bring him to let you drive when that's his job and the grin he gives you is the sort you give a child who thinks they know better. It makes your eyes narrow.

"Clay, you took a puck going like 80 miles per hour to the face..."

"And I can still drive, and you are still and forever my passenger princess." It's not that he doesn't trust you to drive. You're a pretty decent driver, but that's not the dynamic you have. He drives you around. Always. If he can't then you drive yourself, but if both of you are in a car together? He's driving and you get to sit, relax and look pretty.

"You're impossible." You roll your eyes but concede defeat, pulling your hand from his pocket even as he continues to grip your wrist like now that he's got it the thought of letting go is preposterous.

"Impossibly handsome." Clay's hand moves from your wrist to slip into your own, fingers twisting together as he pulls away from the wall with you. His other hand tossing his car keys about with a jingling sound.

"Impossible hard headed."

"Ouch, that hurts, sweet girl." He finally gets a smile from you at that and that's all he wants as the two of you walk hand in hand to his car. If he's got to deal with stitches, bruising, swelling, then at least he gets to see you smile.

"Did it hurt more than the puck you took to the face tonight?"

"You're determined to not let me forget this aren't you?" He asks as he opens the passenger side door, watching you slip into the pristine seats because he'd be damned if he ever let his car fall into disarray.

You're quiet for a few moments as he leans over you to pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it into place. It's the proximity of him to you that's probably the only reason he actually hears your next whispered words as you look at your hands in your lap.

"...I was really worried, Clay..."

Clayton sighs heavily, large hand cupping your cheek until you look at him. You grip his wrist, fingers playing with the array of bracelets he always has there.

"I know, baby, but I'm okay. I promise. Got some stitches, no concussion, I'll be a little ugly for a bit but..." All Clay ever wants is for you to be happy, the worst part about getting hurt is that he knows you're stressing about. He's fine, but he knows he looks like he's gone 10 rounds with Mike Tyson and he'll probably look like that for awhile. He also knows you worry, and you'll worry over him until he looks completely back to normal.

"You could never be ugly," He smiles at the way you frown at him, like it's the worst thing he could do right now to insult himself, "You're just fishing for compliments." Your eyes soften under his smile and the frown loses some of its bite.

"You're the one biting, sweet girl."

"Shut up and drive us home."

"As you wish." Clayton presses a quick kiss to your lips, pulling out of the passenger side and closing the door on you. He's quick to make his way round to the driver's side and even quicker to get the car started so he can start driving back to the house.

You watch him the whole time, eyes fliting from the stitches in his eyebrow to the way his left eye is swelling to the point you don't know if he'll be able to see out of it in a minute if you don't get ice on it. Clayton chooses to ignore the staring, hand reaching out to rest on your thigh, rubbing warm strokes across it as he drives, like always.

When you pull up you wait, like always, in your seat because Clay complains if he can't open the door for you and unbuckle your seatbelt. So you wait and let him do it, just as you let him wrap an arm around your shoulders and led you inside as if you're the one that needs the TLC and not him.

You only briefly watch him struggle out of the suit he'd worn to the game before stepping in to help. The medical team not letting him wash had meant his shirt and trousers stuck to him from all the sweat left on his skin, and the extra pair of hands was helpful as he shrugged off the button up he'd been wearing.

He lets you lead him into the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet seat and watching as you fuss around the bath tub. You're running him a bath even though you know he prefers showers because there's no way those stitches are staying dry in the shower, not with his ridiculous need for the most intense waterfall shower on earth.

Still, Clayton watches as you try to make the bath more enticing. Copious amounts of bubble bath, the sort that's designed for sore muscles, being thrown in, water running warm, but not too hot because he doesn't like his bath water to be as hot as the fires of hell. Unlike you. But, he draws the line at you helping him into water, it's his face that hurts not his legs, shrugging your hands away with an eyeroll when you go to reach to help him.

"I can get in on my own, baby."

He doesn't let the fussing annoying him because he knows you fuss out of concern and that any amount of fussing is still your attention on him. Fussing means you love him and if you took a puck to the face he knows he'd be fussing over you too.

You watch as Clayton eases himself into the water, a sigh rippling out from him as he slides into the warmth. His chains hitting the water because he'd never wear anything that wasn't solid enough not to tarnish over time, expensive taste as always. You watch the way he closes his eyes and just relaxes for a minute, skin turning slightly flush under the warmth of the water, neck pulled taut as his head tips back.

"You want me to help wash your hair?"

"Please, baby." It's sighed out, eyes still closed and you kneel next to the tub without a second thought, urging him to move forward and lean back until his hair touches the water.

You're careful about it, slowly wetting his hair, trying to avoid getting water on his stitches and while he might not want to be fussed over, this though? This Clayton can't help but love. The way your fingers thread through his brunet strands, how you stop occasionally to scratch at his scalp, the feeling of sweat and grime falling away? This is pretty much heaven.

You huff a laugh when Clayton groans a little while you massage shampoo into his roots. The pressure you apply making him sigh and groan like you're relieving knots in his back and it's sweet, how he can relax into this, into you, when he's normally the one giving and doesn't necessarily prefer to receive the care.

"You good, Clay?"

"Mmmm...." He hums and you smile down at him, the way he leans back into your hands, how his eyes remain closed, the content little smile on his face that just slightly shows his teeth.

You take extra care as you rinse the shampoo from his hair thoroughly, avoiding his stitches and his eyes as you do so, before getting him to sit up a little so you can place some conditioner on the ends.

"Get in with me..." His eyes are heavy lidded, like he doesn't quite have the energy to open them the entire way, a wet hand reaching out to grip your fingers, tugging lightly.

"Clay, there's barely any room left." His legs take up half the tub, you're a little concerned that you plus water displacement will result in water all over the floor of the bathroom. Another injury waiting to happen when one of you inevitably slips on wet tile.

"Please, just want to hold you for a bit, no funny business, sweet girl, promise." His cheeky little smirk that shows the dimples on one side of his mouth doesn't exactly fill you with confidence in his words, but the water is still warm and there's something always enticing about Clay, he has a way of convincing you to do something even if you shouldn't.

"Mmm, sounds likely..."

"Seriously, just want to hold you...I'm an injured man..." He pulls the guilt trip card, biting on his bottom lip. Something which would have looked sexier if half his face wasn't swollen up like a balloon. Still, you've never been good at saying no to Clayton even if you probably should from time to time.

"Fine..." You sigh, pretending to be reluctant even as you strip your clothes off, ignoring the way his eyes light up like a kid in a candy store, and step into the bath water with him.

It's a little tight, the water rising to levels that are mildly concerning before the overflow drain does the job of removing the excess water. Your legs twine with Clayton's and his arms slide around your waist until he can pull you comfortably back to lay against him, your back to his chest. It's funny, how you can be completely naked and feel completely comfortable like this with someone, every little touch is comforting rather than sexual, every kiss to your shoulder an attempt to be connect to you rather than start something intimate.

"Clay?" You wince out, the sensation of metal digging into your back causing you to squirm slightly in his lap, water sloshing nearer to the sides of the tub.

"Mmm...?"

"Can...can you move your chains? They're digging into my shoulder."

"Shit, sorry, baby." He's quick to do so, the chains being thrown over his shoulder and out of the way until settling against him is more comfortable, the rise and fall of his chest meeting your back in a rhythm that helps any residual anxiety from the events of the day melt away.

"You comfy, sweet girl?" He presses a kiss to your temple and you smile into it, humming as you lean as much of your weight back into him as you can.

"Yeah, you?"

"Mmm, might have to stay here..." He's tracing circles on you tummy, a series of circles that meet in a variety of patterns that remind you of crop circles from all those conspiracy theory and unsolved mystery shows Clay likes to watch when he can't sleep. Every few seconds a kiss lands somewhere else, whether your temple, your cheek, your neck or your shoulder. Each is quick and soft, but no less delightful. It's all so soft, the world feels like its humming a little.

"The water'll get cold."

"Good thing I run warm..." He tries to argue with you, like always, a sassy little remark to entice you to stay in the moment even if neither of you can.

"Clay, we're not staying in here all night, we'll die of pneumonia or something."

"Would be worth it." He grins into your shoulder, eyes relaxing when you reach a hand back to scratch his scalp and play with his hair. He's tired, so fucking tired and his face still aches like a bitch but this is nice, this so nice.

"We should really get some ice on your face, try and take some of the swelling down."

"Do we have to?" The idea of putting ice on his face right now is anything but appealing, but he knows you're right. His face is already pretty swollen and bruised and it's only going to get worse if he doesn't look after it.

"Do you want to be able to see from your left eye in the morning?"

"Good point, just...5 more minutes, baby?"

"5 more minutes." You let him have his 5 more minutes and then some, using the time to get clean yourself and rinse conditioner from his hair before the two of you stand from the bath after the water has cooled significantly.

He's sat crossed legged on the bed in a cosy hoodie and boxers by the time you've put together a makeshift icepack, ice piled up into a ratty old tea towel you got when you first moved out.

The look he gives the icepack is nothing short of disdainful, a glare that's combined with a pout of his top lip like the icepack has personally offended him already when it hasn't even touched him. If anyone should glare it's you because your hands are getting cold.

"The only way that is touching my face is if you're sat in my lap, sweet girl." He pats his thighs like its a given, like you'll just go over and plonk yourself down without question.

"You already agreed to ice your face, Clayton John Keller." Your hands find your hips, a stance Clayton calls your mom stance and it's extra apt when you're using his full name like that. Not that that deters him from his goal of having you wrapped up on his lap because that's the only thing that might make ice to the face semi-bearable.

"Only if you sit in my lap."

"That is not the original agreement."

"Yeah, well, trade talks, deals get renegotiated all the time." He shrugs with a smirk, pulling out the dimples because he knows you struggle to be stubborn when he does that and as much as you hate it...he's fucking charming and it works. You're sighing and stomping over like you're not totally endeared by him, letting him pull you up and onto his lap without any real protest until your legs are wrapped around his waist, your butt sat perfectly in the hollow created by him sitting crisscrossed.

"You are incredibly difficult to care for, Mr Keller." You grumble as you cup his face with one hand and raise the makeshift icepack to his eye with the other.

"Can you really deny an injured man small comforts like his girlfriend in his lap?" His smirk only widens until it doesn't, a hiss leaving his lips at the way it pulls on his stitches as his eyebrow moves.

"Mmm, you're ridiculous." You're smiling when you say it and that alone lets Clayton know that you're enjoying this as much as him.

He hisses again when the cold finally touches his skin, almost jerking back but your hand on his cheek stops him from going very far. The icepack is cold, so fucking cold, and he knows you're going to force it to stay there until you're satisfied that some of the swelling has gone down. You're cruel like that.

Clayton's hands fall to your hips, fingers clenching and gripping onto you, not painfully, but firmly enough that you know he hates this, hates the sensation of ice on his skin even if there's a tea towel in between.

You try to make it as bearable as possible, pressing kisses to the right side of his face even as the left faces the terrible ordeal of icing. The kisses have Clayton humming, hands stroking from your hips to your waist and back down again in a rhythmic motion that brings back memories of every make out session you've ever had with the man, and that you wouldn't be having until you were certain his face wasn't swollen and bruised.

When you finally pull the icepack away his face is less swollen, eye still partially closed, but no less bruised, you know the purple is going to eventually fade to a horrible yellow. You throw the damp tea towel into the laundry basket from where you're sat, excellent aim that has you letting out a little cheer that gets Clayton smiling up at you.

"Thank you, sweet girl, always taking care of me..." He presses a kiss to your lips, short and sweet, only because you refuse to let him stay there too long, determined to let the man rest.

"Yeah, well, you're always taking care of me too."

[pinkyqily]

TWO HOOLIGANS INLOVE | JuJu watkins x teammate!reader

Summary: Just you and juju acting foolishly in front of the press

Warning: fluff, use of yn a few times

A/n: This isn't accurate to the actually games so don't bite me, fic is apart of my new series called hooligans inlove this isn't the first part so watch out for that, if you have any juju requests send em my way if you have any feedbacks feel free to leave them happy reading readers 🌹

Usc had just won the game against uconn. You, juju, and Ray had been called for media. After a phenomenal performance from the three of you.

coach knew it was going to be crazy having you and juju up there, but with Ray too, she could only hope y'all would be on your best behavior.

"Now, before you guys head up there, I need you to be on your best behaviors. She told all three of you, "Come on, coach me and yn are good, juju just the problem here." Ray told coach while sending diggers towards juju way

"There's no way I'm getting blamed right now." JuJu yelled, losing her so-called nonchalant chil.

"Can we get going already? No one has time for you two idoits arguing." You told the two girls as you make your way to the conference room." Bro, hold on." You didn't have to turn your head around hearing your annoying girlfriend and teammate calling you, bro.

"Who are you calling bro Judea?". You said out as you stopped in your tracks, staring at juju with your arms crossed around your chest. Ray voice Intervene swinging her arms around you and juju.

"Come on guys, let's not argue."

"If she calls me bro one more time, it gonna end up with more than an argument." You told them both. JuJu, who knew what was best for her, stopped calling you bro but couldn't wipe away the stupid smirk on her face as you guys sat down.

The press was going well Juju and Ray made a few jokes here and there when answering questions until it was your turn to answer some Juju had decided now was the perfect time to be distracting you.

Anytime you got a question she would turn her whole head and body towards you as she looked deep in your eyes not taking off contact.

"So what do you think about this win against uconn and how we're you guys able to come back from previous games?" A reporter asked directing the question to you.

"Um the win was definitely a hard fought and we definitely brought in our all I think we're able to learn from our previous game against,

them on what to do and not to do-.you stopped mid sentence to say, "ju can you stop staring at me like your life depends on it." You told the girl as you guys secretly held hands under the table.

"I'm doing no such thing." She said after looking away.

"Whatever." You told her, but this time yanking your hand away from hers under the table only for her to grab it back

"Can y'all stop wasting the people's time?" Ray spoke up with a slight teasing tone, she was stuck sitting in the middle of two drunk inlove players while it was entertaining she didn't want to be no 3rd wheel

"Um, sorry for that interruption." cough cough as you did that while side eying juju.

"One last question for juju, what did you think of yn performance today and how she contributed to the team performance wise".

"I think that her performance today was topnotch, probably one of her best, she contributed a lot by getting really involved with defense and offensive if I can say so myself she brings a lot to the team when she can".

You found yourself starring back into juju eyes as she spoke there was always something about her that made you feel all warm inside you couldn't tell if it was because you haven't let her hand go or something else.

It felt like only you two were in the room, and that's until Ray voice brought you back to earth. "I think you both got staring problems at this point." She told you as the room erupt with laughter.

Anyone in there could sense the growing tension between you and juju. From the way you both spoke about each other to the not so subtle touches, anyone could tell you're both madly in love.

You guys got up heading back to the rest of them, team.

"Ugh, I can already see the edits coming about you two so nasty." Ray told y'all as she made a gaging sound.

"Oh please, they aren't that bad". You told her

"Not bad, juju was basically undressing you with her eyes, and you sat there eating it up."

"Not my fault that my girl a baddie." JuJu said as her hand brushed against yours. It was little things like this that got you worked up, and she knew it.

"At least I've been promoted from bro to my girl." You told both girls making them laugh.

Before you knew it, clips from the press were already going viral.

Some people called juju whipped sum saying, "You we're complaining even though you were down bad for juju too, people fighting about you guys being gf while others disagree and say you're a couple."

[stellarshifter]

✨ Pst? Y'okay? I saw you have a mental breakdown in the corner (Me too, babe, me too)

Agh...shiftok ruin your vibe? Spreading bullshit? C'mere. I got ya.

✨ BREAKDOWN OF MISINFO

1. "Your script might not all happen, or be in that reality."

Like huh???

Scripting, infallible, or meaningless?

Oh babies... Scripting is infallible. Wanna know why? It's literally a GPS for your awareness to shift to the reality that all of your chaotic (and probably very fun) notes are very real in! Like, c'mon, who would even script if it meant nothing like that???? I wouldn't waste my precious time... I could be looking at vintage shops around town. Like seriously, no.

2. "You need a method to shift"

Bitch please. Do I need to astral project and beat your ass? I'll do it. Don't test me.

Look, methods are fun and all. But that's it! They're fun and can help you become aware! But that's all they are. You don't have to even to work on your subconsious. Know why? That bitch ain't catching a ride with you! You just gotta be aware. Just shift your focus.

3. "You gotta stay hydrated.." bleh bleh I don't even remember the rest.

Bullshit. Sure you should stay healthy and hydrated for you! But that's nothing to do with shifting. This vessel's priorities don't matter in terms of shifting or not!

4. "You can't age up/down that's immoral!"

...I need a minute... I dont wanna commit arson.

Who the fuck thinks they're so intilted to tell others what they can't shift to be?? You need to fucking chill. Aging up or down doesn't matter because you are literally shifting to a reality where you're that age. You will have that mentality unless you script you don't. For fucks sake, stop.

5. "You can't shift to where you're a different ethnicity/gender/sexual orientation, that's disgusting"

Again... who gave you the right? Hm? I'll wait.

Unless you're being a weird fetishist creep. Then you're good, babe. And for all of this, once again. There's infinite realities where you're all different enthcities, genders, and sexual orientations. There's nothing wrong with shifting there either!

6. "Respawning is unethical"

Okay, this started due to people misunderstanding respawning as something it is not! It is not suicide. You people need to chill on TikTok. Swear to god you fear mongers!

Respawning is just cutting ties with this reality. Which lets be honest? In its state? For the love of God, me too, honey. Me too. The only difference between respawning and permashifting is that you'll never remember this reality. There's no harm. Okay?

7. "Permashifting is not okay"

As a permashifter, fuck you. You intilted bitches spewing bullshit because you come from different circumstances.

You have no clue what people are going through, and even if they live perfect lives, you are 1000000% valid permashifting. Go home, babies. You deserve it!

8. "Shifting shouldn't be used for escapism"

Look most of us were day dreamers? Right? Right?

I was a kid with a WILD ASS imagination. I mean wild, and I come from a not so cool environment. I used shifting as escapism when I first started. And y'know what? That's okay! If you are just wanting to leave to get a break! Do it! No one can stop you. There's no shifting police.

Which..gets me to this one.

9. "The shifting police will find you"

Bitch please. Shut up. My brother in christ, what fanfic you reading?

Shifting police do NOT exist (unless you want them to. You do you)

Seriously no one. I mean no one, not even me. Not even the holiest of holiest can stop you. We live in a multiverse that does not run by morals set up by shiftokers. And no if you do something questionable the shifting police will not find you. You're safe. I promise

10. "You can get stuck in your DR!"

If we can shift to our DR we can shift again. Like what? Who let this toddler type? That doesn't even make sense.

Honey, I can assure you, you're not stuck here. You're not stuck there.

11. "You can't script relationships that's against their free will!"

Have you ever heard of infinite realities where every single thing you can ever think of exists? Yeah? Then STOOOOOP

You are shifting to a reality where those relationships exist! Where that relationship is real and mutual. Where they feel so much love for you as you do them. No forcing.

Now, if you're holding them in your basement, tying them to a chair and begging them to love you forcefully like you're in a yandere wattpad fic from 2013? Yeah, you need to rethink some things. But if not! You're good!

Whatever relationships you script are requited

12. "Your DR isn't as real as this one"

Woooo, imma throw hands. Let's go. Someone hold my hoops for me? I'm gonna beat a bitch up.

YOUR DR IS A REALITY!!!!!!

Meaning it is just as real as this one. Just as real, maybe even more real! The people are real. The places are real. The experiences are real!

13. "People shift based on genetics"

Aw yes... my new favorite reason to murder.

Anyone and their mama can shift. You can shift, I can shift, the person you randomly saw on the street can shift, fuck your pet can shift. Anyone can. Okay? We are all one. Pure awareness. That's what we all are.

None of that. We are not shifting based off anything but what we all are.

✨ That's all for today, folks. Take care, and remember, you've got this. Go shift, baby!

[cillians-sweetheart]

https://www.tumblr.com/cillians-sweetheart/772157725448847360/whos-got-fic-ideas-i-got-writers

Maybe Cills with a younger reader (25-35 ish?) and they actually decided not to have more children but she gets accidentally pregnant? But of angst but ends with fluff? Sorry very basic 😭

Not basic! Love it!! 😋 And I hope you love it too!

A Miracle Arrival - Cillian Murphy

Cillian Murphy(36) x Wife!Reader(25)

Plot: After a date night, Y/N and Cillian put the kids to bed and have some well needed alone time that ends in an unexpected surprise.

Content: kissing, slight sexual content, speak of menstruation, marriage, kids, pregnancy, emotional melt down (f), fluff

During our four years of marriage, people would expect that after a few months, our desires towards each other would just disappear and we wouldn't crave to touch each other day to day. But that wasn’t the case. In a marriage between two heavily passionate lovers meant that our love from our wedding day to today, never changed. Not even fading in the slightest.

Already at age 25, I’ve had 2 beautiful children. The perfect duo of an older daughter (Georgia), and younger son (Christian), ages three and one. Our daughter, now being able to speak full sentences, has begun to develop Cillians accent. But it wasn't surprising as she always took after him, and loved him more than me. And my son is the opposite, a mini me with his looks and attitude.

We decided after having Christian that we were done for children. Having two toddlers was difficult but also I couldn't picture myself going through labour ever again. Two was enough.

On a Friday evening, Cillians mother came by the house to watch the children for a few hours and put them to bed while he and I went out. We learned that monthly dates help keep the spark in our relationship. It wasn’t that we didn’t feel anything towards each other anymore, we just feared that someday that spark would be gone.

“So… I was thinking that after dinner, we would send mom home and just lay low in the bedroom for the night. Yeah?” Cillian offered, holding his glass of wine in his hand. .

“Yes,” I answered, reading through the menu. “I don’t really have the energy for anything fancy. Laying in bed sounds perfect.”

And that’s what we did. At first.

When we got home his mother sat in the living room reading a book, but left shortly after as we were now home. The house was silent and the kids were asleep. We didn’t waste a single moment to finally be lazy after both of our long days.

We changed into comfortable clothes, and cuddled closely beneath the warm duvet. The tv played a show we hadn’t paid attention to and the tension between us grew hotter with each passing moment. And once our single kiss became sloppy and never-ending, the tv came off. As with our clothes.

It all happened so quickly. In just seconds he was above me kissing roughly at my neck, and my legs tightly wrapped around his hips. We didn’t think about anything in the moment, nothing but wanting more from each other's bodies. The pleasure filling both of us made it almost impossible to stay quiet. I had to bite back moans, hiding in his muscular shoulder.

After the hour which felt of 20 minutes, we both fell weak side by side. I didn’t think of anything but just being ready to go to sleep in the arms of the man I loved.

A month went by and life carried on -as usual- I was ‘delightfully’ greeted by an absence of my period. Normally I wouldn’t care, but I’m a week overdue. My heart sank at the possible reason why I was like this. Why I was late, nauseated, and really hungry.

While Cillian was off at work I stopped by the drug store and to the aisle I really didn’t want to be in. With rows and rows of pregnancy tests. I looked over my shoulders and quickly scanned over the several options of tests. I picked the cheapest one to not cause suspicion on Cillian and I’s shared credit card. If it had to come to it, I’d say I bought the kids some candy.

I waited anxiously for the remainder of the day. I was terrified to take that test, but also itching to get an answer. If I were pregnant, I’d need to plan what was going to happen, and if I wasn’t I could’ve been rattled for nothing. So I took the test.

I hid myself in Cillian and I’s bathroom while he made supper for the kids. The test shook from my shaky hands as my eyes squeezed shut waiting for it to be done. And after two minutes, I flipped the little plastic stick towards me. two bright red lines.

My mind went blank. I was in shock, and felt nothing. Until a minute after the fear kicked in and I cried and puked the way I did when pregnant with Christian. All those memories of my fat, stretched skin, and agonzing contractions, came back to me like a bullet to the skull. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t afford another child, nor could my body. How would I ever tell Cillian…

It wasn’t until 5 minutes later I was able to clear my tears. Quickly, I coated my face in concealer to hide the redness to not cause worry to Cillian or our children. I put on an awkward grin and entered the kitchen to where Cillian had been spoon feeding our youngest, and Georgia putting her food everywheres it wasn't supposed to.

“Hey,” He turned his head towards me, standing straight from kneeling on the floor. “You alright?” He asked with a tilt of his head.

“Yeah I just needed to use the bathroom.” I walked past him with a napkin and wiped our daughter's messy face.

Cillian didn’t take any suspicion, and continued to feed Christian and clean the kitchen. He was always so good with them. Like he could hundreds and do perfectly fine. But there was no way I was having a third child. Because it was me that would actually birth them, not him.

After supper with the kids tucked into bed, Cillian and I sat closely on the couch in the living room watching the Tv. My legs laid over his lap and my head rested against his shoulder. His gentle hand lightly stroked my thigh. I began to remember all those feelings from earlier. The fear, the angst, the pain. Tightness grew in my chest and my face turned cold. I was frozen in my spot. Tears welding in my eyes.

My breath being held and my slight shaking caught Cillian’s attention from the Tv. Taking the remote in his hand, he turned the Tv off and turned his face down to mine.”Y/N? Baby.” He took my cheek in his hand and turned me to look at him. “What’s going on?” His voice held concern but tenderness. His thumb lightly rubbing my cheek.

“I um…” I froze up, looking down with a single tear falling from my right eye. I debated in my head with other answers besides the truth to tell him. I dreaded telling him such a thing.

“What love?” His face leaned down closer to mine with sympathy in his eyes.

“I- I’m pregnant.” My eyes fell down to my lap with shame. It became silent for a moment. An unbreakable tension grew heavy between us.

“Are you- Really?” I nodded with another tear rolling down my cheek. “Oh sweetheart.” Cillian pulled me into his chest, holding me while I broke down into the same emotional state I was when pregnant with Georgia and Christian.

Cillian lightly rubbed my belly while his other hand stroked my back.

“I don't know what to do.” I sniffled and choked on my tears. “I can’t do this… I’m already a crap mom, I- I can't have another one!” I said with irritation mostly towards myself.

“No you’re not love.” Cillian cooed, kissing the top of my head.

“But,” I mumbled. “You do so much for them… while I hide in the bathroom.”

He took my face in my hands looking seriously into my eyes. “A real mother is one who is not afraid to have her own space.”

I looked back at Cillian with adoration and nodded at his words. “I just… my body can’t go through this again.”

“Is it your body, or your mind?”

“I don’t even know anymore…”

“Well, I want you to do whatever it is that feels right. Okay?”

“Mhm,” I nodded. “But if I did somehow want to have another… would you mind?” My watery eyes glared up to his.

“Not at all love, I love our children and would love just as many more.” He grinned the same grin that made me fall in love with him for the first time. I felt the warmth and tenderness in his voice. “Do you want another?”

“Well I don’t want to get rid of this one…” I lightly rubbed my lower belly. Cillian’s hand held over top of mine.

“We don’t have to then. I’d be more than happy for another baby.” He kissed my forehead. “If there was anyway they’d turn out like our already beautiful children, then how could I say no.”

I looked up with a warm smile at him. “Oh I love you…” I said lovingly touching his cheek with my hand.

“I love you too my love.”

And nine months later with Cillian at my side, I was handed the most precious baby girl who held my every feature. My twin. She cooed lightly and her eyes twinkled open for the first time in the light. And when those little eyes fully opened, they melted with love seeing my face.

She was so perfect, an angel little girl. And everyday since the day she was born, I thanked Cillian for being the loving husband he is and teaching me to listen to my heart. Because if I hadn’t that day I wouldn’t have had this sweet girl who I later named Mila. My miracle sent from heaven.

[k0nanharv3y]

Robin Hood AU

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Tim didn't close the diner late. It was Gotham, folks, an open establishment was an invitation to burglary. Plus, he had work to do, because yes, he still stalk on people

That was also one of the reasons he opened the coffee shop, because here he heard everything from teenage romances to gang tracks on the move

The constant fear that one of the Bats would show up at the cafeteria one night had nothing to do with it, I swear

But today he had run out of time. He closed at 10:30, not so late that he would be mugged, not so early that people would complain. He would spend an hour refilling the supplies of coffee and tea and whatever else he had used, and then go upstairs to sleep until 2 o'clock, when Gotham's shadows would rise

But the coffee machine decided to break down that night and Tim was opening at 7am, he had to fix it now

The blinds were down, the closed sign was up but the lights were on. And Tim kept one ear up to listen for any movement outside the cafe

Except I only hear the bell

He jumped up, looking for anyone who had come in, holding a screwdriver in his hand

"I didn't train you to put my name on a plate" the firm voice slipped through the closed space, without threat, but not friendly either

"Shiva," Tim muttered, surprised by the woman's presence. "Master Shiva" he corrected himself. "I'd say it's nice to see you, but... what...? What are you doing here?"

"I came to see what my best student was doing. Now I realize that he is wasting my teachings on an unworthy life"

Tim slid his hand under the bar, feeling for the metal tube hidden there

"The news that The Young Detective, heir of the Devil, had killed him" Shiva walked around the tables gracefully, running his eyes over the tables with a disdainful look "I thought you were finally reaching your full potential"

Tim exhaled the air he didn't know he was holding. "What do you want?" He asked, more like a demand, raising his guard, but still not revealing the bō he was holding under the counter

"I trained you to be a warrior. This dishonors my teachings and your potential." She stopped, her eyes fixed firmly on the teenager's face

"I'm the one who decides that," he responded, with defiance in his voice, before becoming somewhat more tired. "I have spent my life fighting for others, and this is what I want to do"

Shiva frowned "You are a disgrace, to your potential, to your blood, to me. I told you not to make me regret not cutting off your head" he spat with venom

"I killed the devil, brought back Batman, destroyed the league of assassins. And opening a coffee shop makes you regret letting me live?" Tim's words were almost a claim to the woman

Shiva remained silent

Their heavy breathing filled the air

The woman crossed her arms and looked at her student disapprovingly

"Take my name off your restaurant, it's a disgrace" was the last thing she said before leaving the restaurant

And it felt like a victory for Tim, because a few seconds ago he thought Shiva would leave with his head in her hands, but now, the only thing hurt was his pride

He sighed and his posture relaxed a little, releasing the Bō from under the bar

The machine beside him creaked and began to drip thick coffee

Tim sighed again and looked at the machine with some suspicion

This is what he had chosen, and no one was going to take it away from him

Nobody was chasing him anymore

And then the bell rang again

Tim sighed exasperatedly

"If you came back to finish the job-" He turned to look at the entrance and froze

Because that was Nightwing

///

Dick was having a quiet patrol, Jason and Steph were talking about a movie review based on some book that in their words 'had ruined the Author's message', Damian was joining in to make annoying comments about the lack of silence, Barb had remained quiet about the lack of assaults and both Bruce and Cass were quietly listening to the conversation

Dick sat on the edge of a building and looked out at the street, wondering if maybe they could finish earlier today

And then I notice an elegant woman leaving a coffee shop with long, mad strides

Dick really wanted to let it go, that was just a woman coming out of a closed cafe

It didn't even look like there was a fight, just, an upset woman

And he remembered that this was the coffee shop Steph insisted on taking them to tomorrow, it was the same coffee shop his sister was frequenting at least twice a week and it was the same coffee shop people were commenting on for their names, jokes and notes about the Bats.

It didn't take more than a minute to get downstairs, stopping in front of the metal and glass door with a "Closed" sign on it. Through the glass he could see a guy leaning over a coffee pot with a screwdriver in it. He wondered if it would be disrespectful to go in

But surely he was a Fan and would be happy with Dick's arrival, right?

And he opened the door

"If you came back to finish the job-" the boy interrupted himself when he looked at Dick

And, contrary to what Dick thought, the boy didn't seem to get excited, but his whole body stiffened and he looked at the hero like a blindfolded man in the lights

"Hi" was what Dick said

"Hi..." he received back

"Is everything alright? I just saw a woman walking out of here, she looked mad"

The teenager shook his head and that seemed to bring him back to his position

"Ah, no, she... she was mad?" His face showed a confused grimace before he returned "Yeah, sure, I- I just told her we are closed"

"Oh" so Nightwing was just a gossip "Then you're okay?" He asked and walked a little closer, finally looking around

The cafeteria looked cute, cozy, and if you paid attention, there were little bats and birds clumsily tangled in the artificial plants on the ceiling. A cork board across the room with pictures of Gotham, people, some pictures of the Robins and Batman and other vigilantes. Lists with schedules and announcements for performances.

"Yes" the boy replied and finally noticed the awkward silence "Can I help you with something?"

Nightwing looked back at the boy and out of inertia glanced at the menu boards, smiling at the puns. The teen followed his gaze and seemed to grimace before composing himself with a calm smile

"You want something to drink?"

"I thought you were closed" He leaned a little on the bar

"As long as it doesn't have coffee and it's something simple, I can make an exception"

Nightwing ran his eyes over the board, discarding everything that had coffee on it and stopping on a name

"Chai-dentity Crisis(?" He asked, though it sounded more like a question, but he laughed at the name

The boy smiled and nodded, starting to move around the bar

"And... what's your name?" Dick walked away from the bar and began to wander around the tables, noticing the small details

A few seconds of silence almost made Dick's nerves rise, but the stopping of the machine that was beeping across the room calmed him because it gave him an answer

"My name is Tim" he heard

"Mine is Nightwing" He replied as if the boy didn't already know.

He stopped in front of the corkboard, looking at the photos

He recognized some from the internet, but others... others looked... real, like, like they were taken professionally and not like the absent-minded blurs of the others

"Nightwing!" Tim called out and Dick turned to look at him. "Your order." He slid a paper bag onto the counter and smiled awkwardly

Dick nodded and walked to the bar, taking the bag

"I'll be 4.50" Tim's smile was now bewildered

And Dick's broke down. Because people usually give free stuff to vigilantes, and yes, they used to leave a 50 bill all the time, but they never charged them

His face recovered and he began to feel his waist, searching for his wallet

"Ah! Yeah, sure, I just- Yeah" I take out a 50 dollar bill and hand it to him. Tim was about to open the box to take out the change but Dick stopped him "Keep the change"

The boy nodded and put the bill in his pants. "Have a good night." He smiled and said goodbye

"Thanks, have a good night too, If you need anything don't hesitate to call" He took the bag and started walking out of the establishment

///

Tim sighed as soon as the bell stopped jingling above the door, and jumped over the bar, running to the bulletin board and tearing off the Batman photos he took

Panic set in in his chest as he checked the photos for anything incriminating, ran back to the bar and stuffed them into a locked drawer. He debated whether to burn them or pretend nothing had happened

After a few anxious seconds, the alarm on his phone went off, with Bernard's voice cursing loudly as the sound

Tim turned it off and looked at the cafeteria

He wouldn't go out today to cover it up... And fuck off with the coffee maker, that was Tim 7am's problem, Tim 2am is sleepy

///

Dick a few roofs away opened the bag and carefully removed the drink, noticing something written on the glass, with permanent marker and drawings adorning the surroundings

'Everyone has a secret identity, sadly, I only know one of yours ;)'

And Dick's heart began to beat fast

[clemelntine]

Heartkillers ep 10 uncohesive stray thoughts

With screenshots cuz I take to many and I'll feel like that's wasteful if I don't at least use them for a post

God, this scene reeks of codependency. But like in a good way, yknow. In an evidence of love way. They just don't want to be apart because they care. And I guess cuz they're scared they won't see each other again.

I love Fadel and his consistent morals. He'd been silent, letting Bison get his anger and revenge, cus that is not his main thing, but as soon as he hears any word of deciet or lies, he's right on his feet getting involved.

Yeah that checks.

I have to wonder, tho, if Lilly is a poisoner, why were Fadel and Bisons' parents shot? And why would she train them with a gun instead of the weapon she know best?

That's not the unbelievable part dear. She seems very capable of all that. Look at what she made you do

Acting like some housewives worrying about their husbands away at war or some shit.

Imma be real with you. I wasn't paying attention for a bit, and I read this as "Why don't you try and top Fadel?" and I got a little hopeful for a bit.

We've got a comeback from the -two rings on one finger, no other jewelry- look from style. Love this energy.

For anyone wondering, the first time we saw this was in episode 6 when he was out drinking with Kant, so it might just be what he wears when he goes to get drunk with his buddy. Guess there aren't too many occasions for a mechanic to wear a mid finger index ring. It tends to get in the way a lot when moving (like manual labor). And if you dont wear a ring often, choosing to wear no other jewelry to make your specialty ring pop makes a lot of sense.

Sorry, I looked too deeply into that.

Lillys actress is so stunning. The discomfort and distaste on her face is so subtle but to perfect.

Oh, drama, Keen already knows about (one of) their lovers and tried to kill him. I wonder why he used a gun, tho. The only flashback/scene we saw of them pre assassin, while training, was to show that Keen was a worse shot than Bison and Fadel. Did he improve or was the reason he missed (only hitting styles arm, not killing him) because he still has bad aim.

Also, could the tattoo be Kants' work? It kinda reminds me of his spiderweb arm tatoo, but that doesn't mean its his style (he might not have done his arm one himself), so who knows, maybe they know each other, maybe they don't.

Fucking romantic loser, holy shit. He couldn't see gay people without thinking of his boyfriend

That's not something to be fucking proud of cassie

Nr. 1 god his hair looks fucking good like this

Nr. 2 Mister poetry over here, annoying piece of shit with his lovey dovey words

Ofc Style would instigate a cheer, like this is a cheersquad and not a murder operation

I really need him to stop mentioning it all the time, like he is proud of it or something

Oh, uniform kink. Interesting

Okay, I kinda feel bad for Keen now. Nobody seems to care about him (except Thanon ig, I hope nothing bad happens to him). Lilly didn't even care enough to use him.

Also, jesus Fadel, you're brothers. You've never put in even an hour of effort to ask about his day or some shit, rude. (I get that they are all just a product of Lillys creation but but this seems a lil excessive)

With the tattoos. That is quite a bold plan. There is like a 50/50 change they (rich ladies) are put off by the tattoos. Guess some might see it as an adventure and be into it. It's still a gamble.

Also like how does he know golfing, tho? Had he golfed before, or is Kant just good at improvising, because he looked quite knowledgable.

The way he has lowered himself to look up at her through his lashes, the fucking bitch. Once again using First height for storytelling. This time, Kant has lowered himself to make Lilly feel like she is above him and in control.

Idk if she is open-minded or if she could just smell the gay on him.

Ahw, he cares. Does he expect Keen to do that, tho? Like Fadel knows that he already tried to kill Style and has shot him. He doesn't seem likely to suddenly care about the wishes of his brother, who doesn't even care about him.

Not too sure what it means but i just noticed that Fadel has his whole head and neck angled up while Styles face is pointed to the front and he is just looking up with his eyes, through his eyelashes.

Maybe it's to show that Fadel is more confrontational while Style is more scared of Keen.

Oh, calling his bluff, cute. I dont remember if Fadel backed down when Bison pointed his gun at Style but if he did (i think so) that contrast shows very well how succesfull Lilly has been in driving them apart by making them all think Keen is less capable (mostly because she just didnt let him train)

Ofcourse he has to brag, has to lay out his success (he could have kept it to himself to use it for longer, but whatever, guess he expects to take him out right here, right now). Because Keen doesn't actually have any negative feelings towards Fadel (except maybe jealousy), he mostly just wants to prove himself to be capable. Even though he is holding the gun, it is Lilly who has her finger on the trigger. Without her constant critique, he would have felt the need to do all this. It's really her words that are driving Keen to do this, not Fadel (and Bisons) actions.

Yeah, and i feel like Keen should know that. Doesnt he know about her killing Fadels boyfriend, and he knows she wants Style dead as well, he has all the evidence he needs to see that Fadel and Bison dont have any more freedom or happiness than he does, just more tasks.

The continual cutting to Style while they talk about Fadels ex probably has to tell us something, but i honeslty can't read that much off his face. Is he jealous?

You're telling me Fadel couldn't figure that out himself. Even if he didn't think about it too much then (too sad or something), now with this new info he has about her, it shouldn't come as that much of a shock. She killed your parents and is trying to kill your boyfriend. It is not odd to think this patern is connected.

The desparation in both his eyes, his words, and his voice; it's fucking heartbreaking

Squished Fadel, perfection

Styles speech was a lil akward, but he got his point across and he has never really been a poet before. The honesty, although clunky, makes it seem more vulnerable and true, more like Style

Fav scenes

Fadel and Bisons emotional breakdown in the abandoned building. Omg the feelings..

Kant golfing was very cute.

Kant and Bison in the empty pool. Shit was stunning.

Fadel and Styles last scene. Maybe I just like Fadel crying and strong emotions.

For anyone wondering about my statistics, I took a total of 180 screenshots. 81 of Fadel and or Style, 58 of Kant and or Bison, 10 of Keen, 8 of Bison and Fadel together, 7 of Reurat, 5 of Lilly, 5 of more than two characters in a shot, 3 of Kant and Style together, 2 of Lilly and Keen together, and 1 of Babe

[kreoleky]

Finance Reading ✨💸💶

Pile 1

Okay Pile 1 so the messages I am receiving regarding your finances for right now are that spirit wants you to leave certain financial habits in the past. Specifically with overspending because with this 5 of Pentacles and 3 of Wands, you may have a bad habit of overindulging in things and it causes you to be at a loss. You could be in some sort of financial debt that you are trying to get out of, but what I am hearing is that you won’t be able to get out of debt if you keep unnecessarily digging a deeper hole for yourself. However with this Death card and the 3 of Wands Spirit wants you to make new moves and decisions in order to have a fresh start with your finances. For example, whenever you do get any new money, that’s an opportunity to put it towards any overdue bills instead of recklessly spending it on frivolous things. Another thing is to stop giving out money to people and things when you know you don’t have it or knowing that money could go towards something you’re dealing with at the moment or even just your savings. Learn to spend your money more wisely, because what I am hearing is that Spirit is not going to keep saving you or giving you more chances with your finances if you’re just going to keep wasting the opportunities. Especially when you choose to spend money on things that do not benefit you long term as there is just a sense of temporary happiness. In order to be more stable financially you need to start thinking about the long term effects of your actions. Some things can wait, learn to decipher your wants and your needs. There will always be another or better opportunity for that “want”. You may even end up not caring for the things that you could have impulsively bought, meaning you could have pocketed the money you spent on something impulsively. Spend money on things that are a genuine investment, put more focus on the “later” rather than the “now”. Also when making purchases get things that will last, I’m specifically getting the example of get a hairstyle that will last. You could spend $200-$300 on a hairstyle that can last you a few weeks rather than a hairstyle that will only last you a few days. Spirit also knows that you are able to make your money stretch. Even when it comes to self maintenance with hair, nails, makeup etc. There are cheaper alternatives that you can look to that will maintain the same look. Invest your time into learning how to make things work for you. Even when you do want to treat yourself pick one day out the week instead of splurging on multiple days throughout the week. I am also picking up on the fact that you need to check your transactions, you don’t realize how much things really add up. Try to Budget things out, and something that can also be helpful is every-time you spend money, put some money into your savings as well. The same money that you spend, you could spend half of that amount and put the other half in your savings. You could look into ways that your money could work for you by doing your research on different types of accounts, to where your money grows overtime just by letting it sit there. You spend a lot of time online, so you could be online looking into different resources that could help you grow financially. An emphasis on investments.

Sending your energies back with love and light 💌 .

Pile 2

okay pile 2, So, what I'm getting is that you probably have some past conflict with your finances. Whether that would be with somebody or with yourself, maybe you have some type of issues with your bank is what I'm getting or I'm also hearing something with like schooling or some type of company, because I'm not necessarily getting it has to be with the one specific person, but maybe like an establishment, but you know, like in the business world they classify you as the person or the party etc. Moving on, I think you're kind of accepting that you're gonna take your loss, because you have put up a fight, but I also feel like you're gonna be moving on from it, because I don't think the loss is a major loss. It's more so just like, I keep hearing like a lesson learnt on what to do next time.

But with this eight of wands and this nine of wands, I do feel like you're gonna be making progress towards making better money moves and just doing moves to where money can start flowing in more frequently for you. But I think you are going to be more cautious of how you do things, basically not being too lackadaisical with your money, especially when it's money that kind of has to do with something about your record with how you keep up with things Because with this ace of wands, I think you do want to take movements towards something but you also know that you have to make newer moves to get newer things and leave other things in the past. don't be so careless about things because you might have just felt comfortable with knowing how you were with your money or just comfortable in the fact that you don't feel like you would ever have to deal with issues of like, maybe that specific party or entity that you did have to deal with. But I think moving forward, you all are just gonna be cautious, not scared, but very much more alert and aware of what you’re doing and looking at your money. I do see like some of y'all may be starting some type of business. So I would definitely say look more into that because money could be flowing in from that quickly as long as you're consistent because with the five of wands, it doesn't have to mean conflict, but it could just mean putting up a fight and putting in the efforts to maintain something because I also feel like the five of wands is about putting your guard down, standing on business. I do feel like you could just be at conflict with yourself as far as making sure that you're on things instead of being so comfortable, relaxed and lackadaisical with people and with past decisions regarding your finances. I see around like spring time or summer your money's definitely gonna be coming in quickly or you're gonna be seeing the growth and the progress of whatever you decide to do financially, especially if some of you are starting a new business specifically. What I'm also hearing is be patient with yourself and don’t feel like you’re in a rush. When you slow down and think things through, that's when you get the best out of everything. don't be so impulsive about everything. things will come as they need to. You just have to trust in the divine, trust in the universe , trust in God, or whoever you believe in. I think you all would be straight wish your money just don't be lackadaisical, be on things and don't let people walk all over you either. heavy on if you need to put up a fight with certain things, do that, because I'm also hearing, maybe even Bill collectors and stuff for like a tenant, something like that, if you know that you're only supposed to pay a certain amount, don't let people try to cheat you out and make you pay more just because you have it, it doesn't mean that you have to spend it. If you're smart enough, if you're really business savvy, you can do a lot of negotiating is what I'm hearing as well. You don't always have to jump for the first option. Just sit and negotiate. I'm also hearing if any of you all with a business, when you come to contracts concerning legal documents and agreements, start reviewing those instead of just being like, I accept or I agree, because you might look over something that you could possibly negotiate to go into your favor, in the future.

Sending your energies back with love and light 💌 .

Pile 3

Okay Pile 3, I see that you all have taken a major loss financially. Maybe a few of you have lost your jobs which could have caused you all to start dipping into your savings. This has caused some of you to be constantly digging a deeper hole. For others you all are just not where you want to be financially. Some of your moods could have been affected because you all feel a little broke right now. Since you all lost so much money it’s a feeling of being uncomfortable that you all are facing, that feeling of instability. However, some of you do like to gamble, especially if you place bets on sports often. I’m hearing more so over the holiday time. This is a habit that needs to stop if you want to grow financially.

Moving forward I do see you all being able to make a major comeback with the King of Wands and King of Cups. You all will be making wiser decisions when it comes to your finances, I think you all have had a lot of time to reflect on your actions and the consequences so it serves as motivation to make better decisions in the future. Some of you had to go through this major loss in order to change your habits since you were so used to having luck whenever you did indulge in things like gambling. Now for those of you who have lost your jobs or didn’t get the position that you wanted, I do see with this Magician here that you all can make ends meet for the time being. I also see that you all will be making big business moves in the future. There are bigger and better opportunities for you.

Once you all get emotionally in tuned with yourselves and stop making irrational decisions with your money things will begin to look better. You all will be moving very carefully and calculated with your finances, where you put your money towards and more particular about who you do business with. Stop doing business with friends, it’s not in your favor if you haven’t fully grasped that idea yet. Some of you have a lot of skills. I’m picking up more of a masculine energy from this collective. Some of you all can still be women though it doesn’t matter.

You all could probably have a skill set that you all either neglected or just haven't put as much effort into, but if you all use your skills, you can literally get right back on track. I'm not going to say it's going to be easy, but if you put the work in, you’ll get there, you all will definitely be having a lot coming in because with the magician you manifest things, a magician is a jack of all traits. you can have multiple side hustles, everything but, you need to stop having multiple people in your business and start having multiple businesses is what I'm hearing. multiple skills, multiple businesses, multiple streams of income, so stop being so dependent on one thing or outsiders, literally. When you start being a bit more independent with your approach to money, things will start looking better for you. Some of you could work with your hands a lot whether that be at a warehouse or just manual labor in general like construction work. If not that I see that some of you could be nail techs, do hair, lashes, makeup, bake, cook, or even being a masseuse. Some of you are definitely entrepreneurs. Honing in on these skills that you have can help you recover from this financial loss that you have faced.

Sending your energies back with love and light 💌 .

Pile 4

Okay Pile 4, So some of you all may have been caught up with bills and managing your money however you all did get it together! The crown may tilt, but it never falls. With the Six of Swords and Two of Pentacles reversed you all were juggling a lot of responsibilities. You did get on your zoom and now you’re establishing how to handle your different financial obligations. I do see some new opportunities coming in for you like a raise or bonus at work, some networking opportunities etc. Just be careful for whenever you do receive this new opportunity, do not get tempted to irrationally spend money just because you got it. It’s always better to save for a rainy day.

Sending your energies back with love and light 💌 .

[mllemaenad]

Nope, I am caught again on the tragedy of Andraste as a dwarf and the Maker as a titan.

I mean – what would a titan ask for? What did it ask for?

Valta too: the first thing she says when she connects with her titan is "Too loud ... the song ... stop". Any encounter with a titan is defined by its song – by its desire for isatunoll.

Valta's titan is explicitly quieted by its connection to her. Harding's titan is less stable, and you must undertake an additional quest to help her achieve emotional equilibrium.

In Andraste's case, it seems very much as though her Maker was not soothed by its connection to her, or at least not enough to avoid catastrophe. It screamed for connection; for isatunoll.

How could Andraste even understand what it was asking for? A surface dwarf, or perhaps even half-dwarf, with no access to the history of the dwarven people. There wasn't even anyone to ask! The dwarven empire had recently been annihilated by the First Blight. Even if you went digging for lost secrets – good luck finding them.

Her Maker sings. It craves that song, and desires that all its children should sing with it.

So ... okay! She sings! She leads all her followers in song, some of which at least may be based on her hazy understanding of the things it told her – although this is oral history, so what exactly those things were is lost to time. And so then, maybe, her Maker could be:

But then, of course, it stops being about Andraste or the titan at all. The bit of the Chant of Light that prophecies the successful return of the Maker in response to the songs of his followers was written by Kordillus Drakon, first emperor of Orlais and one of Thedas's most infamous evil conquering bastards. It was written long after Andraste's death and has nothing to do with anything she saw or could do.

From every corner of the earth The Chant of Light echoed, And the Maker walked the land With Andraste at His right hand. And they reached the gates of Minrathous, Where once a terrible fire swept The Light of redemption from the face of the world, And there, the Lady of Restitution Drew her shining sword And plunged it into the ground at her feet, saying: "All sins are forgiven! All crimes pardoned! Let no soul harbor guilt! Let no soul hunger for justice! By the Maker's will I decree Harmony in all things. Let Balance be restored And the world given eternal life." – The Chant of Light: Canticle of Exaltations

I mean – that's some solid bullshit based on absolutely nothing, right there.

It was convenient for Drakon that the idea of collective singing is present in Andrastianism, because it gave him a mandate to conquer and convert. But while Andraste is both a singer and a warrior in legend, those two things don't seem to be directly connected. She and her followers sang together, but she seems to have been largely driven to destroy Tevinter. It was the target of her rage, as the empire that had dominated Thedas and held her in slavery – and likely in some garbled sense the target of her Maker's rage too, as the Old Gods are mouthpieces of the evanuris.

But if you're smart, and as much as I despise him Drakon seems to have been an intelligent man, then it is a logical and politically useful step to link those two things. You must conquer Thedas in order to spread the Chant of Light and ensure the Maker's return.

Thing is, though ... that was never going to work. A choir made up largely of humans and elves, singing a bunch of patchwork folk hymns and occasional bit of political propaganda, isn't going to do a damn thing. That's not what the titan meant. That is a song, but it is not the song.

All those Exalted Marches and forced conversions, the schism with Tevinter, the destruction of the Dales ... from a political perspective they achieved their aim, sure, in delivering yet more wealth and power into the hands of the already wealthy and powerful ... but from a religious perspective it was all for nothing. Complete waste of time.

The Maker likely exists. And it likely does desire a song above all else. It is the core of its being. The thing that was taken from it. The road back from Tranquility.

But I guarantee you none of these Chantry people know the words.

Ah, that's what's frustrating about Veilguard. Half of it is just ... infuriating bullshit I wish I'd never heard. But the other half of it is just ... a fascinating idea they utterly failed to develop.

Never mind the business about the elves being spirits, imagine hitting the Andrastian faithful (in either Chantry) with that one. The Maker is real, and he wants you to sing, but you don't know the words. The Chant of Light isn't the right song.

Not only do you not know the words, you probably can't know the words. You aren't a Child of the Stone. I mean: maybe you are, there are dwarves in the Chantry, but statistically you probably are not.

Oooh. But you know who does know the words, or at least a version of them? The bloody darkspawn, that's who. The darkspawn know at least a part of the song the titans sing.

And you know who was right? The Empty Ones, that's who.

The Empty Ones were a small and short-lived cult based in Nevarra and known for worshipping the blight and, by extension, the darkspawn. Some confuse the Empty Ones with followers of Tevinter's Old Gods—a reasonable mistake since Archdemons are said to be tainted Old Gods. However, it is clear from the histories that the Empty Ones did not worship Dumat and his ilk, but the blight itself. Following Andraste's death, many of her followers fell into a deep despair. They believed that the Prophet's betrayal and execution marked the beginning of the end of the world and that the Maker's wrath would soon come upon them. The most fatalistic of them all gathered together to prepare for their doom. They called themselves the Empty Ones, for they saw themselves as worthless husks, ready to be swept away by the Maker's hand. It is unknown what passed then, but over time, the Empty Ones grew to believe that the blight was to be the tool by which the Maker would end all of creation. They preached that it came from the Void, a place of nothing, and that returning to the Void was something to be celebrated because it meant an end to all pain and all suffering. Some mistakenly take this to mean that the Empty Ones worshipped evil, but that is an oversimplification. The Empty Ones believed the world to be beyond redemption, and that it was the Maker's will that it be destroyed completely. There are tales of Empty Ones scouring the Deep Roads, searching for darkspawn, whom they saw as the blight's prophets in order to assist them in bringing about the next Blight. Predictably, the beginning of the Second Blight saw the end of the Empty Ones. The entire cult made its way to the Anderfels, where they stood in the path of the encroaching darkspawn and, singing in praise of the oblivion that was to overtake them, were consumed. —From Before Andrastianism: The Forgotten Faiths, by Sister Rondwyn of Tantervale – The Empty Ones

I may never recover from how little Veilguard actually talked about the implications of any of this.

[lanaroff]

Is it too late?

Paring: WandaNat x Daughter Reader

***************************************************************

It had all started as an impulse.

Y/N had always been a good kid. Straight A’s, a solid friend group with Peter, MJ, and Ned, and a happy life with her mothers, Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff. They were her everything—Natasha, the strict and disciplined ex-Black Widow, and Wanda, the soft, nurturing stay-at-home mom. Despite their differences in parenting styles, they both loved Y/N more than anything.

But something had changed the day she found out Peter Parker was Spider-Man.

It wasn’t just the shock of realizing that one of her best friends was out there risking his life to save people. It was the realization that she, too, could do more. She had potential—potential she was wasting by just going to school, studying, and hanging out. She was the daughter of two legendary heroes, and yet, she was doing nothing while people out there needed help.

That night, she made a decision. A reckless, exhilarating decision.

She snuck into Natasha’s weapons stash, her hands trembling slightly as she carefully picked up a pair of old batons and a small knife. They felt foreign but also... right in her grip. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, a mix of fear and excitement making her breath quicken. She wasn’t planning on killing anyone—just scaring the bad guys away. And so, with adrenaline rushing through her veins, she snuck out into the city, searching for trouble.

It didn’t take long before she found it—a couple of guys trying to steal a car. With her heart pounding, she stepped forward.

“Hey!” she shouted, gripping her weapons tighter. “Step away from the car.”

The men turned, laughing when they saw her. “And what are you gonna do about it, sweetheart?” one of them sneered.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She charged, using her mother’s training that she had picked up over the years just by watching. Her movements were raw, unpolished, but effective. The fight lasted less than five minutes, and when she stood over the groaning, defeated criminals, she felt something she hadn’t before—power. The thrill, the rush of stopping them, the knowledge that she had done something good—it was intoxicating. So she kept doing it. Night after night, sneaking out, fighting crime, helping others.

But she told no one. Not Peter, not MJ, and certainly not her mothers.

At first, it was easy. She balanced school, family, and her secret life. But as the weeks passed, the exhaustion started creeping in. Her grades slipped. She became irritable, snapping at her friends and avoiding her mothers. Family time, something she had always cherished, now felt like an obligation. And her mothers noticed.

The next day, at dinner, Wanda finally spoke up. “Y/N, is something going on?” her soft eyes full of concern as she sat across from her daughter at the table. “You seem distant lately.”

Y/N barely looked up from her plate. “I’m fine, Mom. Just tired.”

Natasha, sitting beside Wanda, exchanged a glance with her wife. Her sharp instincts told her Y/N wasn’t telling the full truth. “Tired from what?” Natasha pressed, her voice calm but firm. “You’re not in any sports, and school’s never drained you like this before.”

Y/N sighed, forcing her frustration down. “MJ and I had an argument,” she lied. She could feel the weight of their stares on her, the concern in Wanda’s gentle eyes, the suspicion in Natasha’s narrowed gaze. “It’s nothing, really.”

Natasha wasn’t convinced. She had spent years detecting lies, and her daughter wasn’t as good at hiding them as she thought. One afternoon, while cleaning Y/N’s room, she found something troubling—her daughter’s latest math test, covered in red ink. Y/N was exceptional at math; there was no way she would fail a test unless something was very wrong.

That night, Natasha confronted her.

“What’s going on with you?” Natasha asked, stepping into Y/N’s room and holding up the test. Her voice was measured, but there was an undeniable sharpness to it. “Your grades are dropping, you barely talk to us anymore, and now you’re lying? This isn’t like you.”

Y/N clenched her fists. “I’m fine, Mom. I’m old enough to make my own decisions. I know what I’m doing.”

“No, you don’t,” Natasha snapped, stepping closer. “You think you do, but you don’t. And whatever is happening, it’s affecting you. We’re worried about you, Y/N.”

Wanda, who had been watching from the doorway, stepped forward, her voice softer but no less concerned. “Sweetheart, we just want to understand. Please, talk to us.”

Y/N’s frustration boiled over. “There’s nothing to understand!” she shouted. “I’m not a little kid anymore! You don’t need to control every part of my life!”

Natasha’s jaw tightened, but it was Wanda’s wounded expression that made Y/N’s anger falter for a second. Still, she couldn’t back down. She couldn’t tell them. So, instead of staying home and dealing with it, she did the only thing that made her feel better—she went out to fight.

That night, long after Y/N had gone to bed, Wanda and Natasha lay awake in their room, both lost in thought. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated Wanda’s worried expression as she turned to her wife.

“She’s not okay, Nat,” Wanda said softly, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the blanket. “I can feel it. Something’s wrong, but she won’t tell us.”

Natasha sighed, staring up at the ceiling with a deep frown. “Yeah, because she’s lying,” she muttered. “That whole thing about arguing with MJ? I don’t buy it. I saw them together yesterday, laughing like nothing happened.”

Wanda bit her lip. “Maybe she just doesn’t want to talk about it yet. She’s seventeen, Nat. Teenagers go through things.”

Natasha shook her head, sitting up slightly. “This isn’t just a phase, Wanda. Her grades are slipping, she barely looks at us at dinner, and she’s exhausted all the time. I know Y/N. She’s not like this.”

Wanda reached for Natasha’s hand, squeezing it gently. “You think she’s in trouble?”

Natasha hesitated, glancing toward the door as if expecting their daughter to suddenly appear. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I know she’s hiding something.”

Wanda sighed, leaning her head against Natasha’s shoulder. “I hate this. She used to tell us everything.”

“She used to be a kid,” Natasha murmured. “Now she’s trying to be independent. But if this keeps up, we’re going to have to push her to talk.”

Wanda nodded, her heart heavy with worry. “I just hope we’re not too late.”

However, what Wanda and Natasha missed was that Y/N was not asleep, and that she was not at their house. She wa doing the one thing she thought was good for her. And she failed torealize how reckless she was being. She didn’t notice the men she picked a fight with were more than just common thugs. She was outnumbered, outmatched. And before she could react, a sharp pain erupted in her side, followed by another blow to her head.

For the first time since she started, she realized just how dangerous this was. Just how much trouble she was in.

As she collapsed onto the cold pavement, the world around her blurred. The last thought in her mind wasn’t about winning the fight or proving herself.

It was about her mothers.

And how much she wished she had listened to them.

[delusionarytale]

The Abandoned House ...

I always look at that one abandoned house in our backyard.. it's intact but also damaged in some parts.. it's filled with cobwebs and creepers.. a no-so-familiar tree that's half dried.. it's not a sight that everybody wants to see or does it piques anyone's interest.. It's been abandoned by humanity.. but for me.. it's a sight to see.. when it rains, when it's cloudy, when it's sunny with clear blue sky, the clay tiled roof, the door that's been hanging around the door frame for it's life, the tree that's half alive, the cobwebs, the creepers that are slowly conquering the house.. everything about it is so intriguing.. sometimes I look at it holding the grills of our iron gate that leads to the backyard.. I hold these grills as if I'm a prisoner awaiting my freedom.. I hold them while looking at the house and the tree that sways ever so slightly at the touch of wind.. longing in my eyes for a place that's long abandoned.. desperation on my face for a house I didn't even have anything to do with.. it's an unexplainable feeling.. I look at it at least once a day and if left alone I would stare at it for hours.. It's so picturesque.. the house, the clay tiled roof, the half dead tree, the clear blue sky or the dark clouds, a cute street dog that plays on the roofs, birds that chirp and fly across the vast clear blue sky above the house, everything about it is picturesque.. everything about it is a type of art.. everything about it is so intimidating and intriguing to my eyes and my soul..

People might find it funny or rather weird at how an abandoned house made me feel so deep.. maybe I'm not so emotionless after all.. maybe I'm sensitive and even more sentimental than the others but my emotions might be focused on things that are always abandoned.. maybe I can feel their emotions.. maybe I'm abandoned too.. maybe the hidden emotions and tales of those that are abandoned and left to rot are much deeper than those that are running along with time, living life, and rushing life.. maybe those hidden emotions are hard to read for those who's chasing along with life.. maybe I'm stuck in a invisible realm of nothingness where I spend time blankly looking at things that are always ignored, I look at them completely indulge and ignorant of the reality and the flow of time.. ignorant of everything but the dwelling feeling and intimacy that exerts from those beings or things that are abandoned.. quite, dark, abandoned.. These things always piques my interest.. maybe I'm weird after all.. or others are just normal.. too normal to the sight of this alluring and captivating aura..

If I'm weird then I'm happily weird.. cause what a life it is to chase along with time, I don't wanna rush my life, I want to stop in a moment, see it, feel it, and make it one with me.. be it an abandoned house or a creepy graveyard.. to be able to feel deeply for things that are always ignored, that are always said to be unimportant and wasteful or unsafe, to be able to feel them and feel for them.. it's a great feeling.. to feel something and think about something that the average humankind finds intimidating.. that feels like an adventure I do inside my mind and heart.. an adventure I do without taking a single step.. an adventure I do by staying still while my mind wanders around.. and I never regret being so weird.. if it is what weirdness is, to make your every moment adventurous, to see things others can't and feel things others can't.. if it is what weirdness is.. then I'm weird.. because I'm a abandoned house in my backyard.. lonely yet peaceful.. intimidating yet affectionate...

- luna (23 july, 2024)

[puppppppppy]

horrible truth bomb dropped on my head 20 min ago

[qishylia-adelia]

Lanyan my babygirl,I wish people would treat you more than who they ship you with (when she finally release)

[middle-earth-mythopoeia]

I don't think you actually understood what I was saying. "While both armies were still fighting all around them and he had already gotten several hits in, no less." The fact that the battle is raging around them is not very relevant: no one is coming near them because they're all so afraid of the Witch-king, and no, he hasn't gotten several hits in. In the book they exchanged those lines before ever fighting each other. It's not pausing a fight to talk, it's issuing a challenge before a fight.

And if he can just "slice her to bits" then why didn't he do it in the movie? Because that's not how the character operates. He's so powerful that he doesn't see her as a threat until it's too late. "It would've undercut the seriousness of the threat he posed to just stand there while Eowyn monologued at him." Why? I don't see it that way at all. He sees her as so far beneath him that she's not even a threat, but of course she is, which is actually the whole point of the scene.

The movie dialogue could never measure up to this:

“But no living man am I! You look upon a woman. Éowyn I am, Éomund’s daughter. You stand between me and my lord and kin. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I will smite you, if you touch him.”

How could anyone cut this?! How?! How?!?!?!?! These lines are so incredibly stirring, so powerful, so moving. “I am no man” doesn’t even come close.

First of all, I like that the negative statement of “No living man am I” is followed by the positive statement of “You look upon a woman.” It’s direct and definitive. She’s been disguised as Dernhelm up until this point—another thing that was cut from the movie—but now she’s revealing who she really is.

Second, in a similar way, I like that she says, “Éowyn I am, Éomund’s daughter.” It’s like a challenge. It’s like announcing one’s identity before a duel—which is in effect what she is doing.

Third, “You stand between me and my lord and kin.” This reminds me of one of the most poignant quotes from the book: “I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.” It’s very important that Éowyn did this brave deed out of a desire to protect Théoden.

Finally, “Begone, if you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I will smite you, if you touch him.” THIS IS LITERALLY SO AMAZING! THIS IS SO COURAGEOUS! I CAN’T EVEN EXPRESS HOW THIS MAKES ME FEEL! I don’t know which part is better—the fact that she threatens him, or that she gives him the choice to forfeit and flee the battlefield.

There’s an incredible heroic resoluteness to the final line, “For living or dark undead, I will smite you, if you touch him.” This, right here, is the essence of the courage of mortals in Tolkien’s books. It’s the acceptance of death, but the desire to go down fighting—the knowledge that death is inevitable, but the one thing we have control over is how we meet it.

Éowyn is facing Sauron’s most powerful servant, who is almost a personification of death itself, and she is declaring that no matter what he is, and no matter the outcome, she WILL fight him. When she says these lines, she doesn’t know that she and Merry will vanquish him. It’s sheer determination against impossible odds, it’s extraordinary courage in the face of death—and THAT is why this scene is so powerful.