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fruitcoops · 2 months

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Hopelessly Devoted

O'Knutzy Week Prompt C2: "Hello, There". Prompts by @oknutzy-week-2024, and characters (of course) (with love) by @lumosinlove <3

TW for joking mentions of romance-novel smut

Leo had never seen someone work as hard as Finn O’Hara. He saw it in the straight line of Finn’s back and the solid set of his shoulders, even when he was calm. He saw it in everything he did—in love and, up until recently, in hockey. He was unequivocal dedication, embodied.

He was sure Finn would say the same about him; he was sweet like that, pretty face and prettier words that were always so honest they made Leo’s ribs hurt with the pounding of his heart. Finn liked to call him brave. Leo had started believing it after the last decade had proven it true in more ways than he cared to count.

And, Christ, Leo counted everything. Endless cycles of goals-assists-saves-loss-win-horror-victory that left him bolting upright at two o’clock in the morning well into his first season of retirement. Netminders kept perfect track of the game and every player coming at them. Remus’ mental playbook of every player in the NHL was only uncanny because he was out of the goal. Leo still remembered the tics and tells of most everyone he’d ever faced.

But what was there to count, now? Beautiful mornings? Those happened every day, though he hadn’t been awake for sunrise in three blessed years. Exotic vacations? He had a wonderful time on their honeymoon (all three of them), but he’d always prefer visiting one of their families.

The pan sizzled softly when he flipped the bagel with a practiced flick of the wrist. Leo smiled to himself. Maybe he should start counting Finn’s annual bacon-egg-and-cheese total. He’d probably come up with the same number if he bought a calendar and ticked the days by hand.

Finn’s commitment to his mid-morning snack was rivaled only by his unwavering passion for bodice-ripper novels, and the evidence of said passion filled their kitchen with a flurry of furious clicking while Leo slid the bagel carefully onto a plate.

See, Leo thought it was a joke, at first. A funny little prank Finn was playing on his new rookie roommate, tucking raunchy paperbacks into the bookshelf between Brontë and Dickens to make him blush. Har-dee-har-har, you got me, I’m such a prude.

Finn had not been joking.

And then it was endearing, like all the other Finn-isms of which he was so fond. It was just…such a silly hobby for an athlete—a former frat boy, no less!—to have in an environment like the NHL. It felt absurdly right that Finn, with his big smile and open heart, would unabashedly love books with oil-paint cover art of a lady fainting into the arms of a conveniently topless bodybuilder. Leo had tucked it into his heart and let it lie.

Finn retired.

Finn was utterly horrific at sitting still.

Finn started with Marie Adkins’ 1942 classic A Rogue for a Lady and ended with Eleanora Zimmerman’s yet-unpublished installment of Zoe Cross’ Cross-Continental Affairs: Volume III, officially clearing the romance collections of all three public libraries near them. His whoop of joy when Ms. Zimmerman answered his email inquiry with a PDF of her manuscript had startled Logan so bad he spilled coffee across the kitchen island and into his lap.

But reading—devouring—the books wasn’t enough. Finn’s systematic rip-through of every literary soap opera he could get his hands on came with an elaborate Goodreads account as well as a nightly debrief.

Leo fucking loved it. Listening to Finn parse out his opinions like an Ivy League lecturer quickly became the best part of his day, especially when the season wound down. It was permanence and consistency while his head whirled with thoughts of this one, just this one single last year and then I’ll really be done, this time for sure. Finn loved hockey like everything else: with no holds barred. He left it, and he was okay. More than okay—he was thriving.

But no hobby was without its faults.

So fucking stupid, Finn had muttered with a sharp shake of his head. I just can’t. It’s a disappointing plot and, worst of all, it’s poorly paced.

Leo and Logan had shared a look across their spaghetti. Finn could give no greater insult to books known for their overdramatic style than ‘poorly paced’.

Well, Logan had said, carefully, almost casually. We all know you’d write it better.

Damn right I would, was Finn’s forceful answer as he stabbed a noodle onto his fork.

Then do it.

Leo had to admit even now that he hadn’t expected that. Perhaps he should have, from Logan. There’s an issue? Solve it. His ‘no more running, no more bullshit’ oath when they were first starting latched into most things he did.

Finn had wavered about it for three days. Once (and only once) he nudged Leo awake at 7:30 in the morning, still sweaty from his run, to ask him if he thought publishing under his real name was a bad idea. He had been forced to mull that one over on his own when Leo banned him from post-shower, mid-coffee cuddles for the crime of dripping sweat onto his pillow.

Finn decided to start writing a book on a Thursday morning in the middle of March, bought a new notebook and a nice pen, and promptly didn’t write a word until his birthday in August.

I’m a failure, he had moaned into Leo’s chest, half-suffocated by the thick fabric of his hoodie. I’m so stupid.

No, baby, you’re not stupid, Leo had soothed. It was a little hard to breathe with the full weight of him splayed useless across Leo’s body, but that was nothing new.

I’ll never write a word. I’m cursed to keep reading forever and being mad about shitty romance with bad, boring characters. The 70s did it best.

Leo remembered sighing in sympathy. But they’re all straight.

But they’re all fucking straight! Finn had groaned. He didn’t move from his puddle of misery and writer’s block until Logan came home and knocked on the back of his head with a pack of pre-sharpened pencils and a cow-print composition book.

Goodreads reviews became graphite smudged on Finn’s hands and cheeks. Small spiral notebooks cropped up around the house, and eventually settled as Finn’s stalwart companions on his morning jogs. When the pencils wore down to nubs, he bought the crappiest pen Leo had ever seen in his life—when that ran dry, he bought another, and a third, and then all the notebooks grew into a teetering tower on Finn’s desk overnight.

A stapler followed, and red pens.

March rolled around again and the tapping of Finn’s laptop became a comforting ‘hello’ when Leo came home from practice. Finn didn’t talk about his book, but Leo didn’t mind. As long as Finn was happy, he could be patient, even if curiosity chewed at him day and night.

When do I get to read it? Leo had finally begged in the heat of June, turning over in bed four nights after his final NHL game. He was restless already and hardly sleeping. He needed something other than endings to occupy his mind.

Finn had smiled at him. The point of his nose pressed to Leo’s. I sent the manuscript out last week. The first copy is yours, Peanut.

Leo had kissed him for that most thoroughly.

“Hello, there.”

Leo smiled into a hidden freckle behind his ear and wrapped his arms around Finn’s chest, giving him a squeeze. “Hey.”

“This for me?”

“You sound surprised.”

“Yeah.” Finn’s head rested back on his shoulder. Leo took the weight happily. “But not really. Ugh, my eyes hurt.”

“Wear your glasses.”

“I wore them yesterday.”

“Didn’t realize they had a recharge time.”

“You know, plastic and glass can be really high-tech these days.”

Leo covered Finn’s eyes with one palm; his lashes fluttered and his chest shook with a laugh. “Glasses,” he insisted, dragging his hand up to Finn’s forehead to tilt his face all the way up and meet his gaze. “Keep this shit up and I’m not putting special sauce on your bagel sandwiches anymore.”

Finn’s soft doe eyes went bright. “What special sauce?”

Leo quirked a brow at him. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“C’mon, that’s not—”

“Glasses or I eat it and you never, ever get to try it.”

Finn gasped. “You’re starving me.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“Fucker.”

“You’re just mad yours never turn out as good as mine.”

“Poltergeist.”

“It’s because you don’t heat the pan enough.”

“I do!” Finn protested, sitting up and turning sideways in his chair to face him. “I did everything right when you showed me. It doesn’t taste right.”

Leo shrugged. “You’re cursed. Sucks to suck.”

Finn groaned and thumped his forehead against Leo’s collarbone. The hair at the back of his head was soft when Leo scratched through it; the muscles of Finn’s neck relaxed on a slow exhale.

“Same or new?”

“New,” Finn mumbled.

Leo hummed. For three weeks, he had been waiting for Finn to scatter his attention to the handful of ideas that had been left in the void. He refused to send books to his publisher until he could read them aloud to his captive audience of two without turning five shades of red and blowing a frustrated raspberry at the draft. Many had not yet passed that test. “From your list?”

“Nah.”

He nuzzled his nose into the top of Finn’s head. “ ‘S it about, then?”

“A prince.” Finn raised his head slightly. A kiss found the neckline of Leo’s shirt. “And a knight.” A second alit on his bicep, lingering long enough to feel his lips move. “And the sun.”

“That’s cheating,” Leo whispered through his smile. “You’re not supposed to write about us.”

“The New York Times bestseller list disagrees.” Finn lifted his head. His nose scrunched. Confidence rouged his cheeks, and Leo wasn’t a writer, but he’d pen poetry about that any time. “My self-imposed rules can wait. I have a good feeling about this one.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Finn raised his eyebrows and leaned close like he had a secret. The plate with his cooling sandwich chimed at a tap from his pen. “It’s funny. Something tells me they’re gonna end up together in the end.”

Leo looked at him for a long moment, then darted a kiss to the bridge of Finn's nose. "Are you putting porn in it?"

"Are you going to let me eat my bacon-egg-and-cheese with the special sauce that you made because you love me so much and you think I'm so cute and sexy?"

"Yes."

"Sunshine, I will write all the porn you want."

"Hmm." Leo let his eyes drift to the laptop screen (just a little peek, a tiny one, not even a real spoiler) but Finn's hand lowered it before he could catch more than a glimpse. He made a disgruntled noise and straightened. Foiled again. "Wear your glasses and I'll make you one tomorrow, too."

#leo knut #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #lionfish #coast to coast #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #oknutzy week 2024 #oknutzy #fluff #bagels #romance novels #post-retirement

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wannabehockeygf · 4 days

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Good Graces | Conor Garland

"With your favorite athlete, Shoot his shot every night, Want you every second, Don't need other guys."

request: "I was thinking of a fluffy fic between him and a fem!team medic who he is good friends with because of how often he ends up getting hurt, putting himself in the middle of scrums and everything. I know that's kind of just a general premise, but I wanted to leave it up to you where you want to take it from there :)" summary: two times conor wanted to kiss you, and one time you kissed him.

word count: 5.3k

pairing: conor garland x fem!reader

warnings: blood & injury

notes:

hiiii welcome & thanks for requesting. hope I fulfilled your wishes!

i don't know much about garland but I love making players divas so I inserted that here lmao :3

keep requesting new & different players guys!! i love doing it.

You signed your contract for your job with one goal in mind–don’t fall for a hockey player.

Pretty easy, right? Especially since, as a team medic, you largely dealt with them all sweaty, bloody, and generally in a state of chaos. Not attractive at all. Definitely not. Yet here you are, hovering over him again.

Conor Garland, number 8 on the ice and, in your opinion, number one in "most likely to get into a fight over nothing." You fold your arms as he limps into the med room, wearing a ridiculous grin despite the cut above his eyebrow. “That bad, huh?” he teases, his voice holding that familiar playful edge. He’s pretending to wince as he climbs onto the exam table, like it’s a whole ordeal for him.

You roll your eyes, but you’re already reaching for the gauze, your hands moving on autopilot. “You know, if you stopped fighting for five seconds, you might actually get through a game without needing stitches.”

He chuckles softly, but the sound is laced with something else. It’s subtle, but it’s there—a little too relaxed, too content, considering he just came off the ice. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You look up at him, raising an eyebrow, but the sight of him smiling, like he’s enjoying himself a little too much for someone who’s supposed to be injured, throws you off. He’s been doing this a lot lately, showing up with bruises and cuts that could’ve been avoided. You’d never say it out loud, but part of you suspects he’s getting into these scrums on purpose.

His eyes flicker to yours, just for a moment, before he quickly looks away, feigning a deep interest in the ceiling. “What?” you ask, crossing your arms again.

“Nothing,” he says, far too quickly.

Right. Sure.

You press the gauze to his eyebrow a little harder than necessary, and he winces, though you can’t tell if it’s real pain or exaggerated for your benefit. You narrow your eyes. “Stop squirming.”

He gives a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

Despite yourself, a smile tugs at your lips. There’s always this easy back-and-forth with him, like the two of you have fallen into some unspoken routine. You patch him up, and he finds new ways to annoy you, all with that same boyish grin on his face.

You finish dabbing at the cut, the soft pressure of the gauze soaking up the blood that’s already drying around the edges. As you work, the steady rhythm of your movements almost feels too comfortable, like this is the hundredth time you’ve patched him up—because, well, it probably is.

"Conor," you murmur, half to yourself, half in warning, as you reach for the antiseptic. His skin smells of sweat and ice, a mix that’s become weirdly familiar, like the scent of the rink itself but so uniquely him.

He tilts his head a little, trying to catch your eye, but you focus on the task at hand, avoiding the gaze you know is waiting for you. Your fingers brush against his temple, and for a split second, you swear you feel him tense up under your touch. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual casual grin.

“You gotta stop doing this,” you sigh, and it comes out softer than you intend. The antiseptic stings as you swipe it across the cut, and he flinches again, though not as much as he should.

“Doing what?” he asks, his voice low, almost playful. He’s watching you again, those brown eyes darkened by the fluorescent lights of the med room.

“This.” You gesture vaguely at his face, at the various bruises and cuts that seem to accumulate each time he steps onto the ice. “Getting into pointless fights. You think I don’t notice? You’re not even supposed to be a fighter, Conor. Half the time, you’re chirping at guys twice your size. Why?”

The silence between you stretches just long enough to make you uneasy. You feel the weight of his stare, the slight twitch of his mouth like he’s holding back from saying something.

He shrugs, but there’s a flicker of something else behind the movement, something unspoken. “Part of the game, right?” he offers, too nonchalant, like he’s testing the waters.

You don’t buy it, not for a second. But what are you supposed to say? Call him out directly? Admit you’ve noticed the way he lingers around the med room a little longer than necessary, how his smile stretches wider every time he manages to make you roll your eyes? It feels too much, too real, to acknowledge the way your heart stutters just a little when you hear his name over the PA system.

You sigh again, grabbing the butterfly stitches and nudging his chin up with more force than necessary. His skin is warm, too warm for someone who just came off the ice, and you have to focus hard not to notice the way his jaw clenches under your fingers.

“You’re gonna end up with a permanent scar if you keep this up,” you say, and there’s a softness in your voice now, one you can’t quite hide. The words come out before you can stop them. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, and the quiet stretches on again, filled only by the sound of your breath and the subtle scratch of fabric as he shifts on the exam table. Then, his voice cuts through the stillness, quiet but sure.

“I don’t mind it,” he says, and it takes you a second to register what he’s talking about.

You blink, pulling back slightly to look at him. He’s still smiling, but there’s something different in his expression now, something that catches you off guard. “What?”

“The scars,” he says, shrugging again, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I don’t mind them. Means I get to see you.”

Your heart does a ridiculous little flip at his words, and you curse it for betraying you so easily. You try to play it off with an eye roll, but you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. “You could just... I don’t know, say hi like a normal person instead of getting into fights?”

He chuckles, but the sound is softer now, almost fond. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You press the final stitch into place, leaning back to assess your work. His face is still bruised, still battered, but somehow, he looks completely unbothered by it all. And the worst part? You can’t help but think he looks good like this, even with the mess of bruises and dried blood.

As you’re cleaning up, you feel his eyes on you again, watching with that same stupid grin, like this is all just some kind of game to him. But there’s something else in the way he’s sitting, the way he’s still lingering on the table long after you’ve finished patching him up.

“Are you just going to sit there?” you ask, pretending to be annoyed, though you know the act isn’t fooling anyone.

“Maybe.” He leans back, propping himself up on his elbows, looking far too comfortable for someone who was limping in here five minutes ago. “Depends. You gonna kick me out?”

You roll your eyes, but your chest tightens at the implication, your heart doing that traitorous little skip again. You turn around, crossing your arms, meeting his eyes this time. He’s sitting there, propped up on his elbows, looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room that matters. And maybe that’s what’s been throwing you off lately—the way he looks at you. Like these moments mean something more to him than just routine check-ups and bandages.

“Conor,” you say, and this time, your voice has more weight to it, though you can’t bring yourself to say what you’re really thinking. Instead, you gesture toward the door, trying to salvage the situation with a teasing edge. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Not really,” he shrugs, still not moving. “Besides, where else would I go? The ice isn’t as fun as this.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling, though it’s a losing battle. He’s always had this way of disarming you with a few words, like he knows exactly how to find that crack in your armor.

“Well, you can’t stay here,” you say, but there’s no real bite to your words, and you both know it.

He swings his legs off the table, wincing slightly—more from habit than pain, you suspect—and stands up, but he doesn’t head for the door. Instead, he lingers, too close now, and you find yourself staring at the small cut above his eyebrow, the one you just stitched up. Your fingers itch to brush it gently, to make sure you did it right, but you keep your hands firmly crossed in front of you.

“I think I’m fine now,” he says, his voice quieter than before. “Thanks, doc.”

The nickname always makes you smile, even when you don’t want it to. “You’re welcome,” you reply, but there’s a softness to your tone that wasn’t there a moment ago.

He takes a step closer, and the room suddenly feels smaller, the air thicker. For a second, neither of you says anything. His eyes search yours, like he’s trying to read something in your expression, something you’re not even sure you understand yourself. But whatever he’s looking for, he doesn’t find it—at least, not yet.

“I’ll try not to get into too much trouble next game,” he says with a smirk, though there’s a warmth behind it, something genuine. “But, you know, no promises.”

You shake your head, fighting the smile tugging at your lips. “Of course not.”

He starts toward the door but pauses just before stepping out, his hand resting lightly on the frame. He turns back to you, his eyes softening in a way that makes your chest ache a little.

“Hey,” he says, and there’s no teasing in his voice this time, just something real. “Thanks for always looking out for me.”

You nod, swallowing the lump that suddenly forms in your throat. “Just… try to keep yourself in one piece, okay?”

He grins again, that easy, boyish grin that somehow makes you forget for a second that he’s a professional athlete, bruised and battered from a game most people would never survive. “I’ll do my best,” he promises, but there’s something in his tone that makes you think he’ll be back sooner rather than later.

Another game, another set of bruises.

You’re halfway through patching up another player when you feel it—his presence, the familiar, teasing energy he brings with him. Conor walks into the med room, limping just a little too dramatically to be real. He’s cradling his arm like it’s hanging by a thread, his expression an exaggerated picture of pain.

“Doc, I think this might be the one that does me in,” he says, his voice a mockery of seriousness. The guy you’re helping, one of the newer players, snorts in response, shaking his head as he slides off the table.

You shoot Conor a glance over your shoulder. “I’ll be with you in a minute, Garland.”

The younger player leaves, chuckling under his breath, and suddenly it’s just you and Conor again. You can feel the shift in the air, like it always does when it’s just the two of you. The playful banter, the teasing looks, that undercurrent of something unspoken hanging between you like a thin thread.

You turn around, and there he is, still putting on that ridiculous act. He’s cradling his arm as if it’s broken, but the glint in his eye gives him away. “Oh, I’m sure you’re in agony,” you deadpan, rolling your eyes but unable to hide the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Conor leans against the table with a dramatic sigh, giving you a pained look, as if he’s the one who should be annoyed by all this. “It’s bad, doc. Might need surgery.”

“Surgery, huh?” you quip, folding your arms as you walk over to him. Your eyes roam over his jersey, scanning for any real signs of injury, but all you see is his usual scruffy, disheveled mid-game self. “I can’t really check if you’ve got something serious going on with all that gear.”

He raises an eyebrow, still in character. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, keeping your tone casual, but there’s a hint of something else in your voice now. You tap his arm gently, feigning impatience. “Take off your jersey if you’re so hurt.”

For a split second, the playful energy between you shifts. His teasing smirk falters, his eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place, and suddenly, Conor’s posture straightens. The banter evaporates, leaving only the echo of your words hanging in the air. His hands hover near the hem of his jersey, clearly caught off guard by your request.

He stares at you like you’ve just asked him to do something much more intimate than you intended, and it takes a moment before he recovers his composure. “Uh… right. Yeah. Okay.”

You watch as he hesitates, tugging at the fabric, trying to hide the way his fingers fumble with it. And for once, he’s flustered—really flustered. It’s not the usual Conor Garland confidence or playful bravado. His face is flushed, the pink creeping up from his neck to his cheeks, and you can’t help but find the sight... oddly endearing.

You shouldn’t be enjoying this, but you are.

He finally manages to pull the jersey over his head, tossing it aside without meeting your eyes, and you catch the briefest glimpse of the toned muscles under his shoulder and chest pads, the faint sheen of sweat from the game still clinging to his skin. You swallow hard, trying not to let your mind wander too far as you force yourself to stay professional.

You step closer, eyes focused on the faint bruise blooming across his ribs, though it’s clear he’s milking the situation. “This?” you ask, pressing your fingers gently against his side. “You came in here for this?”

You stare at the bruise, your fingers resting lightly against his skin. It’s small, nothing serious—a faint discoloration, more from the impact than anything worth worrying about. But you both know this isn’t about the bruise. It never is with Conor.

You don’t pull away, and neither does he. There’s a moment of quiet, the banter fading into the background, leaving just the two of you in this strange, charged silence. You can feel the warmth of his body under your fingertips, the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. The tension in the room shifts, thickening like a storm cloud.

“You really thought this was worth all that drama?” you murmur, your voice soft now, not teasing, just… there. You trace the edge of the bruise absently, the pads of your fingers barely brushing against his skin.

Conor swallows, and you catch the movement of his throat, the way his eyes flicker down to where your hand rests on him before darting back to your face. His voice is quieter when he responds, less of that exaggerated confidence he usually carries with him. “Well, I figured… might as well get some attention while I’m at it, right?”

You don’t miss the way he says attention, how it lingers between the two of you, a little too close to the truth. Your heart skips, your pulse quickening in a way you hope he doesn’t notice.

But he’s staring at you now, the teasing smile faded, his brown eyes more serious than you’ve ever seen them. The air feels thick, almost suffocating, but in a way that’s not entirely unpleasant. Like something is about to happen, something you’ve both been tiptoeing around for too long.

Your hand is still on his side, your fingers barely moving, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body, the way he’s watching you like he’s waiting for something. Maybe you are too. The room feels impossibly small, the space between you shrinking with each breath.

“I… probably shouldn’t have made you take off your jersey,” you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them, a weak attempt to break the tension, to say something, anything, that might diffuse whatever’s building between you. But even as you say it, you don’t pull away.

He doesn’t either.

“Nah,” he replies softly, his voice lower now, the usual playfulness gone. “It’s fine.”

You’re not sure if he means the jersey or the way your fingers are still pressed against his ribs, or maybe both. Either way, the tension doesn’t break. It only tightens, drawing you both closer without either of you moving an inch.

You can feel your pulse in your throat, your breathing shallow, and for a split second, you let your gaze drop to his lips. It’s a brief, unconscious movement, but it’s enough. He notices.

Conor shifts, barely perceptibly, but you feel it—the subtle lean, the way his eyes flicker to your mouth. Your heart pounds, the room spinning around the two of you like everything else has fallen away. You’re not even sure how you ended up here, this close, this vulnerable, but the pull is undeniable.

Your hand slides down slightly, resting at his waist now, and his breath hitches. You feel the tension in his muscles, the way his body seems to react to your touch, and for a second, you think maybe this is it. Maybe this is the moment you’ve both been avoiding for so long, the moment where everything changes.

His lips part, and your breath catches. You’re so close now, close enough to feel the heat of him, to see the soft curve of his mouth, to—

The door creaks open behind you, and the spell shatters.

You both freeze, the tension shattering as one of the assistant coaches pokes his head in. "Hey, Garland, you still in here?" The coach looks between the two of you, oblivious to what he just interrupted.

Conor jerks back so quickly it’s like he’s been caught doing something illegal, while your hand falls from him. His face flushes, but not from the game—this time, it’s from almost being caught in a moment he’s not ready to explain.

"Uh, yeah," he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly flustered. "Just, uh... icing my bruise."

You bite back a laugh, feeling the heat rise to your own cheeks. The moment is gone, but the weight of it lingers in the air.

"Well, hurry it up. Coach wants to talk to you before you head out," the assistant says, already halfway out the door.

You both stand there for a second after the door shuts, the silence deafening. Conor looks at you, the tension still simmering under the surface, but neither of you speaks. It’s like the almost-kiss is still hanging between you, unfinished and waiting.

Finally, Conor clears his throat. "Guess I should... go."

"Yeah," you say, forcing a smile. "Guess so."

He hesitates, lingering in the doorway for a second longer than necessary, his eyes catching yours one last time. And then he’s gone, leaving you alone with the weight of what almost happened.

You’ve been replaying what happened in your head, the way his eyes lingered, the warmth of his skin under your touch, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you. It’s like a loop that you can’t quite break free from.

But now, that moment feels distant, swept away by the frenetic energy of another game night. Only this time, it’s different.

The door slams open.

You jump, turning on instinct, and what you see makes your heart plummet. Conor’s standing there, but he’s not limping theatrically this time. Blood runs down the side of his face, stark against his pale skin, dripping onto his jersey, which is streaked with snow and sweat. His eyes are wild, his chest heaving, and for the first time, there’s no playful glint, no teasing smirk. Just anger.

"Garland," you breathe, stepping toward him, already reaching for the gauze, but he doesn’t even seem to hear you. He’s pacing the length of the room like a caged animal, his jaw clenched so tightly you can see the muscles working beneath his skin.

"Stupid," he mutters under his breath, swiping a hand over his face, smearing the blood. "Stupid, stupid hit."

"Conor," you say softly, trying to get him to focus on you, to stop moving. He doesn’t. His eyes are unfocused, his movements erratic, as though he’s still stuck in the heat of the game, reliving whatever hit sent him flying into the boards.

You step closer, cautiously. "Hey, come on. You need to sit down. Let me look at that cut."

He finally stops pacing, but when his eyes meet yours, they’re blazing. "I don’t care about the damn cut," he snaps, though the anger in his voice isn’t directed at you. It’s frustration, bubbling just beneath the surface.

You swallow, trying to maintain your calm. "I know you don’t, but I do."

He blinks, his brows furrowing, like your words hit something in him, pulling him out of his angry haze. But then he shakes his head, as if he’s trying to brush it off. "They’re out to get me," he mutters, more to himself than to you, but you hear it.

Your chest tightens. You’ve seen him frustrated before, of course. Hockey’s a brutal game; it comes with the territory. But this… this feels different. Conor Garland is many things—annoying, playful, sometimes overly dramatic—but angry? Not like this. Not pacing the room with his hands curled into fists like he’s ready to punch the wall. You have to do something—anything—to bring him back to himself before he loses it completely.

"Conor, sit down," you say again, firmer this time. "Please."

Something in your voice must reach him because he stops, his shoulders slumping as if all the fight has gone out of him in an instant. He sits on the edge of the exam table, and you move quickly, grabbing the gauze and antiseptic. His eyes follow you, but they’re distant, like he’s not fully present.

You stand between his legs, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, and gently tilt his head back to get a better look at the cut. It’s deep, angrier than you expected, but not the worst you’ve seen. Still, the blood has matted his hair, trailing down his temple, and his breathing is shallow, labored.

"This might sting," you murmur, pressing the gauze to his forehead, dabbing at the blood. You try to stay focused, but you can feel the tension rolling off him in waves, his body coiled tight like he’s barely holding himself together. His hands grip the edge of the table, knuckles white.

"That guy…" he starts, voice low and bitter. "He didn’t have to hit me like that. It wasn’t even about the puck."

"I know," you say quietly, your fingers moving methodically as you clean the wound. "It’s not fair."

For a moment, neither of you says anything. You focus on your work, but every so often, your gaze flickers to his face, to the way his jaw is still clenched, to the way his chest still rises and falls with that uneven breath. You can feel the anger radiating off him, but there’s something else too—something vulnerable, hidden beneath all that frustration.

"Why are you letting this get to you?" you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Conor doesn’t answer right away. His gaze is fixed on some distant point over your shoulder, like he’s trying to hold it together, trying not to snap. But then his shoulders sag, and he drops his head into his hands. "I don’t know," he admits, voice muffled. "I don’t know why it’s bothering me so much."

You swallow the lump in your throat, feeling your heart ache for him. You’ve never seen him this rattled, this shaken. It’s unsettling, seeing him like this, and you don’t know what to do other than be here, right here, in this moment with him.

Gently, you reach out, resting a hand on his shoulder. His skin is warm, muscles tense beneath your fingers, but the contact seems to ground him. He lifts his head slowly, meeting your eyes for the first time since he walked in.

"It’s just… one hit," he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper now. "But I can’t shake it."

"It’s not just the hit, is it?" you ask, watching him carefully.

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. "No. It’s not."

For a moment, neither of you says anything. You finish bandaging his cut, your hands moving slowly, deliberately, trying to draw out the process because you’re not ready for this moment to end. You don’t want him to walk away like this, all pent-up frustration and unresolved tension.

He’s quiet now, his chest no longer heaving with anger, but his eyes—his eyes are still filled with something heavy, something you can’t quite place. He’s staring at you, and you can feel his gaze, warm and intent, as though he’s trying to find the right words but can’t. You’re not sure if you’re ready to hear them anyway. Your pulse thrums in your ears, loud and persistent, and for the first time, you realize how close you’re standing.

You clear your throat, suddenly aware of how his legs are framing your hips, how his knees brush your thighs every time either of you moves. His hands rest loosely on his lap now, no longer clenched into fists, but the tension hasn’t entirely dissipated. It’s just shifted into something else, something quieter but no less intense. You can feel it humming in the air between you.

"Conor," you begin, your voice coming out softer than you intended, barely more than a whisper. "You’re… it’s going to be okay." You know how inadequate the words sound, but you don’t know what else to say. You just want to fill the silence, to soothe whatever storm is still brewing inside him.

His eyes flicker, and his jaw works as though he’s chewing on something he can’t quite get out. "I’m not—" He stops himself, eyes dropping to the floor, and you watch as his shoulders slump again. "I don’t usually… I’m not like this."

You don’t respond immediately, just watch him, the way he avoids looking at you, the way his hands flex on his lap like he’s resisting the urge to reach for something. It’s strange seeing him so out of sorts, the guy who’s always cracking jokes, always looking for a way to make you laugh, now sitting here, raw and vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache.

You take a breath and move closer, letting your fingers brush against his shoulder again. "You don’t have to explain anything to me. Everyone has bad days." Your voice is soft, reassuring, but your heart is pounding harder now, louder, as if it’s trying to force its way through your ribcage.

Conor looks up then, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. His gaze isn’t wild anymore, but there’s something else in it, something that makes your breath catch. His lips part, and for a second, you’re sure he’s going to say something, something that will change everything.

But he hesitates, his throat working like the words are caught there, and suddenly you’re all too aware of the closeness, of the heat between you, of how your bodies are aligned. You don’t move, don’t dare to, because if you do, you might shatter whatever fragile balance you’ve found.

"I don’t know how to say this," he finally mutters, his voice rough and low, almost pained. His eyes flick down to your lips, just for a second, and your breath stutters.

Your heart is racing now, louder than before, and you can feel the room tilting, your pulse in your throat as the tension pulls taut. He’s so close, his face inches from yours, the scent of sweat and blood mingling in the air between you, and you realize with a jolt that this is it. This is the moment where everything shifts, where the teasing, the faked injuries, the lingering touches, all of it finally snaps into focus.

Conor shifts again, his knee pressing slightly against your thigh, and his voice drops even lower. "I’ve been trying to tell you, but I—" He stops, his eyes dark and searching, like he’s looking for something in your face. "You’re more than just… I mean, I’m always…"

You don’t let him finish. Because before you know it, you’re moving, and you’re pressing your lips to his.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if you’re both unsure. His lips are warm, and you can taste the faint tang of his blood on them, but you don’t care. For a moment, everything stills—no tension, no frustration, just him, here, with you. His hands, which had still been clenched on his lap, slide up to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss. The anger, the frustration that had been radiating off him moments before, melts away, replaced by something softer, something unspoken but understood.

When you finally pull back, your breath comes in short, uneven bursts. You meet his eyes, half-expecting him to pull away, to say something to ruin the moment, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans his forehead against yours, his fingers still gripping your waist, holding you there like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

“That’s one way to shut me up,” he mutters, his voice low, teasing, but there’s a softness there too, a warmth you haven’t heard from him before.

You can’t help but laugh softly, your heart still racing. “It worked, didn’t it?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just looks at you, his eyes darker now, softer. “You have no idea,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly against your hip, sending a shiver down your spine. His gaze flickers down to your lips, and for a moment, it feels like the world has narrowed to just the two of you, like nothing else exists outside this room.

For the first time all night, he smiles—really smiles—and it’s like the tension finally breaks. His grip on your waist tightens, pulling you even closer, and for the first time in a long time, everything feels right. The frustration, the anger, the game—it all fades away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in a moment that feels fragile but perfect, like you’ve found something you didn’t even know you were looking for.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper, and his eyes soften, the vulnerability still there, but less jagged now, smoothed by your words. “But you need to go out there and win that fuckin’ game.”

“Okay,” He says, but leans in again, pressing another soft kiss to your lips, this one slower, gentler, as though he’s savoring it. When he pulls back, his thumb brushes your cheek, and his smile lingers, the tension from earlier now a distant memory. “But, we’re doing a lot more of this–” he gestures between the two of you, “Later.”

#nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #hockey fanfiction #vancouver canucks #vancouver canucks imagine #conor garland #conor garland imagine #conor garland fic #conor garland x reader #conor garland x you #cg8 #cg8 fic #cg8 x reader #cg8 x you #vancouver canucks fic #wannabehockeygf #wannabehockeygf fics #Spotify

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recklessmark · 1 year

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You stand nervously with your back pressed against the wall as the players trickle out of the exit. The audience starts screaming and chanting the name of the team they root for.

Two teams. Two rounds. One champion.

Your heart races faster as you see two figures finally skate out from behind the corridor. A small smile tugs your lips when Jeno stops where you’re standing, but it quickly falls as you realize Mark is with him, too. He has a sly smirk plastered on his face while Jeno’s clenching his jaw so hard you think he might break his teeth. There’s this feeling that has been setting you on edge since today’s morning, and judging by the look on their faces, your intuition is true.

Jeno sets his hockey stick down, letting it lean against the wall. His helmet is hold against his hip.

“Hey, what’s wrong babe?” You ask him worriedly.

But before he could muster an answer, Mark chimes in. “Well I might have started a bet and your boyfriend is being a pussy about it.”

When your eyes fall on Mark, he’s having his stick parked across his shoulder, his other hand holding his helmet. As much as you want to deny it, Mark looks smoking hot in his hockey gear and that infuriating smirk on his face doesn’t help calming the frantic beats of your heart either.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Jeno almost growls as he suddenly swivels on his skates and gets into Mark’s face.

The older doesn’t back down, instead he even leans in further, dark eyes staring at Jeno’s. “You’re just scared you’re gonna lose.”

Your eyes widen at the sight of these two men. They’re always like this whenever they have a match against each other. But this time, it seems the thin line that separates them from setting off a shitstorm has been crossed. Thoughtlessly, you jump in between them, both of your hands gripping their biceps.

“Are you done? The game is beginning in a few minutes and you guys are here acting like goddamn kids fighting for their toys.”

Both of them stare at you for a beat on silence before you notice Jeno’s eyes focus on where you’re holding Mark’s bicep. Panicked, you jerk your hand away at the same time Jeno pulls you into his arms. Roughly, he pushes you against the wall and catches your lips with a vicious kiss. You gasp, your eyes widen in surprise. The intense gaze of Mark, which is probably magnetic, catches yours and you’re unable to look away or close your eyes. Your skin crawls, not from how roughly Jeno’s kissing you, but from the way Mark’s watching you. It’s like he’s a predator, and you’re the little targeted prey.

Only when you feel your lungs are screaming for oxygen, does Jeno release you. Your jaw mildly aches from how he was holding your face. Then he turns to Mark, licking his lips with a vicious grin.

“I’m not gonna lose, motherfucker.”

“He better not,” Mark tells you, eyes never leave yours. “Because if he does, I’ll have no choice but to ruin you for everyone else, including him.” He let loose a sinister smile. “I’m curious how sweet Jeno Lee’s girlfriend tastes.”

It then dawns on you what kind of bet they’re having and how bad their rivalry has escalated. The fact that they didn’t even include you or your opinion in their fucked-up arrangement actually makes you feel like a small toy in their hands. And you don’t exactly hate that, instead you’re glad that your heart hasn’t jumped out of your ribs from how excited you are.

“And please give an applause to our captains, Jeno Lee and Mark Lee!”

Not even bothered to put on their helmets, both of them strut onto the arena like Gods. You press a hand against your chest, unable to decide whether you want your boyfriend to win or not. If they’re crazy, you must be beyond insane.

a/n: i just can’t get those pictures out of my head 😭

#mark lee smut #mark smut #nct smut #mark scenarios #jeno smut #jeno scenarios

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goldenseresinretriever · 2 months

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You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 6

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw, blindsided by a team he trusted like family has been traded to the San Diego Dogfighters. Across the country from the place he calls home, Bradley feels lost and betrayed. Not to mention the familiar faces and ghosts from his past that he now has to face every day at work. Bradley’s caught between wanting to show his former team the mistake they made in double-crossing him and wondering if it’s time to hang up his skates after one final season. You’re living your dream as the PR representative for the Dogfighters. When Coach Maverick made a bid to bring his godson to the team, you hadn’t batted an eye. Bradley was a good teammate, and a good player. Unfortunately, the Bradley that shows up in San Diego is nothing like your research suggested. He’s moody, irritable, aggressive, and angry, throwing a wrench in all your careful planning. What’s caused such a drastic change in him? And can you figure out how to help him before he makes a mistake you can’t fix?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, dead parents, drunkenness, alcohol consumption, violence, sports violence, blood probably, angst, fluff, eventual smut, age gap (28 and 38), enemies to lovers, suggestive language, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, You Catch More Bees With Honey. It was originally posted in November-March 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

“Bradley Bradshaw apologized to you? Oh, that man is down BAD.” Your head shoots up from where you’re going over some paperwork to glare across your desk at Javy Machado where he’s casually sprawled across the armchair across from you.

“You’re disgusting, Machado.” He snorts in response as he leans over the desk to get closer to his face.

“Says the girl who’s just as down bad for him.” You feel heat rush to your cheeks at the accusation as a smirk spreads across his. “Never would have pegged you as the type of girl who likes angry guys, Zam.” He waggles his eyebrows and you scoff in his face, leaning back to put distance between the two of you before he can feel the heat radiating off your skin.

“I don’t.” You manage as you struggle to maintain your composure. You don’t have feelings for Bradley, it wouldn’t make any sense. He’s been nothing but rude and cruel to you. One dinner and apology shouldn’t have you suddenly running for his arms. You have absolutely no proof that he would even catch you, despite Javy’s theories.

“You want my advice?” You look up from your work again, fixing Javy with an exasperated look.

“Not really, no.” You clip as sweetly as you can, your saccharine smile hiding your bared teeth.

“Just fuck one of your system.” He says with a shrug and your jaw drops, fangs out.

“Javy Machado!” He grins at your expression.

“What? You know I’m right. Fuck one out and you’re done.”

“Because you’re a professional in that department.” You scowl at him and he shrugs nonchalantly.

“Call it an expert opinion.” You roll your eyes as he continues. “I don’t know about you? But that man needs to get laid. He has all that anger and nowhere to put it. Best case scenario you fuck one out, your feelings go poof and so does his anger. Worst case scenario, you get what you need, and he follows you around like a pussy-whipped puppy for the rest of the season and we can get on with things.”

“And why I should be the sacrificial lamb for that? Why don’t you guys just find him a girl, isn’t that what teammates do?” Javy raises his eyebrows.

“I thought we were supposed to be settling down, minding our reputations.” You groan and he knows he’s got you.

“Well, it’s not like you’re LISTENING.” You growl at him and he shrugs again.

“Look Zam, all I can say is that maybe I’m the only one who noticed the way you were looking at him this morning but if you keep it up, it’s not going to be just me next time.” Your cheeks flush with more heat. He stands with a stretch before leaning across your desk so you catch his whispered words. “That being said, it looks like you didn’t catch him looking at you the same way whenever you weren’t.” He turns on his heels as you grapple with the implications of his revelation.

You spent last night at Bob’s and Mickey’s house, where they demanded to know everything about your dinner with Bradley. For a pair of supposedly rough and tough hockey players, those two are insatiable when it comes to gossip. You’d managed to keep details to a minimum and distract them with other things like flowers or what Bradley’s dinner order consisted of but you knew Mickey was on to you.

Truth be told, you want to respect Bradley’s privacy. That’s your job after all and the things he’d shared at dinner last night were just that, private. He’d been real and genuine with you and you didn’t want to betray that tiny sliver of trust that he’d extended to you. You keep turning the events of dinner over and over in your mind, your thoughts snagging on stray details. Bradley’s hand on your back. The scratch of his flannel against your bare skin when he draped it around your shoulders. The woodsy scent clinging to it had enveloped you in a comforting warmth. The scent of daisies mixed with it in the confines of the Bronco.

Maybe Javy was right. Maybe you spent too long looking at him this morning during the team meeting. His walls were back up, his mask snugly back in place, and his expression was unreadable. You tell yourself that he’s just a puzzle, something you want to solve and unravel. That that’s why you’re putting in a meeting request with him. That it’s just professional responsibility that’s making you reach out to him and not the quiet yearning to see behind the curtain again, to see the Bradley that he’s only shown to you. You long to be a private audience again, watching as he becomes that man that you saw last night. Awkward and bumbling but sweet, concerned, and hurting. Hurting so fiercely that it steals the breath from your lungs because sometimes it’s like staring into a mirror.

It’s been eight years but you were just like him once, the pain so raw in your chest that you’d lashed out, pushing away every person that cared because you’d blamed yourself, blamed your ambition. If you’d just gone home for Thanksgiving maybe your mother would still be alive. You know that realistically that’s not true. Your mother’s heart attack was sudden and unexpected, unpreventable according to the doctors but there’ll always be a part of you that blames you for not being there. At the time you’d been so torn apart by grief that you’d destroyed your support system, only Mickey remaining amidst the wreckage, stubbornly holding onto you. He’d broken his lease and moved in with you, sleeping in your bed and holding you through the nightmares that would make you wake up screaming bloody murder. He brought you to his games, keeping an eye on you even as you stared at the ice like it was some kind of monster. Slowly your fear faded but you’ve still yet to set foot on a rink since your mother passed.

***

You’ve almost forgotten about the meeting when the knock at your office door startles you out of the groove you’ve fallen into. You call out absently to the knocker and finally look up to see Bradley squeezing his broad form into your little chair. You give him a sympathetic wince. “Sorry about the chair.” He just shrugs, and you can’t help but think of Javy shrugging in the same position just a few hours ago. You shake your head to clear your conversation with him out of it as you focus on Bradley.

“Did you make it home okay?” You try your best to quell the fluttering in your stomach at Bradley’s perfectly reasonable inquiry. You give your own shrug.

“I spent the night at Mickey and Bob’s place.” You don’t miss the way his shoulders tense at your words and find yourself trying to ease the tension so you add, “I stay over there all the time since Mickey and I used to room together in college. Their guest room is practically my second home.” You don’t know why you feel the need to make it clear that you’re not sleeping with Mickey or Bob, but you do. The air is thick with awkwardness as Bradley gives you a curt nod in response and you feel heat creeping up your neck. “Anyway, I wanted to let you know that tonight’s game night.” He looks at you half confused and half like you’re stupid.

“I know there’s a game today, that’s what we’ve been practicing for all morning.” He points out and you realize your error.

“Oh, not that game! It’s a board game night. Mickey and Bob host it every other Saturday at their house, it gets a pretty good turnout. You’re coming.” You debated inviting him and giving him the option but you’re almost certain that he wouldn’t show without a push so here you are, roping him into it.

“After a match?” He seems bewildered at the idea.

“Yeah, it’s a nice way to wind down, and there’s plenty of snacks and stuff. It’s a good way to bond as a team.” You emphasize this with a pointed look.

“Board games? What are we, twelve?” He’s not budging and you roll your eyes.

“Wake up, Bradshaw, there’s plenty of adult board games these days, and they're actually pretty fun. Don’t come crying to me when you lose.”

“And you’re going to be there?” Your heart flutters at the directness of his question like he’s basing his decision to attend based on your presence. You swallow down your nerves as you flash him a smile.

“Of course, and you’re my ride.” His face falls into a frown at that, but you barrel on ahead. “I don’t have my car because I spent the night at Mickey’s and they gave me a ride this morning.”

“So they could just give you a ride tonight.”

“But then how am I supposed to guarantee that you show?” He blinks in surprise as you go for the kill, eyebrow raised in question. His eyes narrow into a glare that you meet head-on. Last night Bradley promised you that he wouldn’t hurt you so you’re not scared of him now. You meet him head-on.

“I don’t have to go.”

“Actually, you do.”

“And what gives you that kind of authority?”

“Look, I’ve been tasked with getting you back on track. How I decide to do that is up to me. If you have an issue with my methods, take it up with your captain, or your coaches, or if you feel like braving the beast, go to Cyclone. I’m asking you to come because as I pointed out last night, you don’t seem to have any friends and you need to interact with your team more. Also, you could use some new hobbies that don’t involve eating or drinking alone.”

“Sometimes I eat AND drink alone.” He deadpans and it takes you a moment to realize that he’s just cracked a joke and you snort out a laugh on accident. You barely catch the way his face relaxes at the sound as you slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the unladylike noise. Collecting yourself as best as you can you manage to reply.

“Well, maybe you could eat and drink with company tonight?” The stubbornness is still in his shoulders but it’s depleted considerably. He lets out a heavy sigh before he shrugs.

“Fine, but we have to stop by my place first, I’m going to need to change.” You shrug back.

“Fine by me.”

“Fine.” Silence falls between the two of you again, not as uncomfortable as before but still awkward. Bradley’s head cocks slightly as he examines you and you feel your skin heat under his intense gaze. “Your hair’s different today.” Your cheeks are aflame as you fight the urge to reach up and touch your head self-consciously.

He’s right. You’ve abandoned your typical ponytail for a crown braid today. It was your mother’s signature look. After talking to Bradley last night you’d awoken to feeling like you could feel your mother with you so you’d let yourself wear your hair like this today. You used to wear it like this all the time back in college, proud of your resemblance to your mother. It was almost otherworldly the way you looked just like her, and when you wore your hair like this? Sometimes you caught yourself in the mirror when you passed by too fast that you could convince yourself that you’d seen her.

“Oh yeah, it’s how my mom used to wear hers. I don’t know, I just felt like doing something different today.” You watch the faintest hint of a smile ghost his lips.

“I like it, it suits you.” You feel your cheeks heat even more at the compliment. Javy’s voice is in your head again and your eyes slip to Bradley’s lips before you pull them back up to meet his whisky eyes that make you want to squirm under their intense gaze.

“Anything else I can help you with?” You curse the way your voice comes out breathy. Bradley just shakes his head and makes to stand. Your voice calls out to him as he gets ready to leave. “Bradley!” He turns and you feel your cheeks even more as he fixes you with that gaze of his again. “Good luck tonight,” you pretend you don’t hear your voice shake as the words pass your lips. He just gives you a tight-lipped smile and another of his curt nods. “And Bradley,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. “Try not to end up in the box tonight, if you can help it.” He doesn’t respond, disappearing through the door and you sigh, leaning back into your chair as you glance absently at your calendar that’s pulled up on your screen.

FUCK. You’re scheduled for a meeting with Cyclone in, you glance at the clock in the top corner of the screen, five minutes. You scramble to your feet, sliding your feet back into your heels and grabbing your clipboard before you all but sprint for the door. As you run to the elevator you sprint past Bradley who raises a single eyebrow in question but you’re running too late to answer, electing to avoid the elevator in favor of the stairs. If you were thinking straighter, you would have taken your heels off before attempting to take the stairs two at a time and as a result, you lose your balance about halfway up and come crashing down. Your yelp of pain bounces off the walls of the stairwell as you gingerly make to push yourself up onto your hands. The echoing sound of footsteps somehow doesn’t meet your ears until a sneaker appears in your peripheral vision as Bradley squats down next to you, a gentle finger pushing a tendril of hair away from your eyes.

“You okay, Honey?” Usually, the pet name is sarcastic acid on his tongue but this time it’s different. He sounds sweet like the name suggests and genuinely concerned. You’ve just had the breath knocked out of you so you can’t do much more than grunt in response. Bradley’s hand comes into your field of vision and you raise an arm to grab it and he pulls you up so effortlessly that you know you should be at least a little concerned. His brows are furrowed as his brown eyes look you over for injury, his hands remaining on your hips, holding you up. You try to steady yourself by gripping his arm as you attempt to take back control of your limbs and whimper as pain shoots through your body. You favor your right ankle instantly and hiss as pain radiates from your abdomen in response. You’re bruised for sure and you’ve definitely sprained your ankle. You glance at your watch as Bradley’s concerned eyes train in on your ankle. You’re officially late. You’re in for it now. You groan before reaching for the banister, eager to be on your way despite your body’s protests. Bradley’s hand on your arm stops you and you turn to meet his eyes, the amber in them swirling and he tightens his grip on you.

“Where do you think you’re going, Honey? You’re hurt, we’re going to Bugs.” His voice is a low rumble that dares you to disagree with him. All the same, you lift your chin defiantly as you take another shaking step up away from him but his grip anchors you, keeping you from getting any farther.

“I’m late to a meeting with Cyclone. I’m already probably getting yelled at for that so I’d rather not exacerbate that by not showing up at all.” You try to step with your sprained ankle but pain shoots up your leg and your stiff lip wobbles as a squeak gets caught in your throat. When you don’t break your determined gaze away from Bradley’s, he lets out a huff of annoyance and then he’s scooping you into his arms before you can protest. You scramble to wrap your arms around his neck as he carries you up the stairs. You know better than to argue so you sulk in silence until he deposits you at Cyclone’s office door. You mutter your thanks, taking a moment to straighten your clothes before you head in, not sparing Bradley another glance.

“You’re late.” Cyclone doesn’t look up from whatever he’s currently reading as you walk in, doing your best to hide your new limp. You know better than to show weakness in front of a man like him. You’re just about to sit down, head dipped slightly when he finally looks up. “Katarina?!” You start with surprise as you look up to see that Cyclone’s face has gone ashen like he’s seen a ghost. You’re sure yours has a similar look since he’s just called you by your mother’s name.

“Why… why did you just call me that?” Your voice is trembling as the terrible dominoes tumble into place as your eyes snag on the Yale logo embroidered on the breast of his quarter zip. The same one you’ve seen on numerous trophies and faded college t-shirts of your mother’s. Your mother’s fairytale hockey player is sitting across a desk from you.

“You look just like her, just like Katarina.” Cyclone’s still in a stupor as he answers you. You’re just as shaken so your tongue is looser than you’d ever hoped it would be in front of your boss as you bluntly reply.

“I-I should hope so. She’s my mother.” Cyclone’s eyes nearly bug out of his skull at the revelation. He’s considerably more surprised than you, but you suppose that’s because you’ve heard plenty of stories about him and he’s had no effect on your life. You can’t imagine what it’s like to see the daughter of your college girlfriend standing in your office over thirty years later.

“You’re Katarina’s daughter? You’re Katarina’s daughter.” He murmurs to himself, followed by your name, turning the words around in his mouth as you take a seat, your sprained ankle making itself known as pain starts to shoot up your leg again. You’d rather be doing literally anything else right now but here you are sitting across from your mother’s ex-boyfriend who also happens to be your boss.

You try your best to distract yourself while you wait for him to wrap his mind around the revelation. Your mind drifts back to being in Bradley’s arms. Your nose twitches at the memory of that familiar woodsy scent. It makes you feel warm and safe. Not unlike the way he carried you. He’d felt so stable and sure as he climbed the stairs with such ease as if he wasn’t carrying you. Then you remember the way he so easily pulled you to your feet with one hand. You’d been all but deadweight at the time and he’d still done it so easily. Suddenly you felt bad for the guys you saw him grind into the boards. The idea of all that strength turned against you made you suppress a shudder. You shouldn’t be surprised, you suppose. After all, even drunk he had packed quite a punch.

“How is she?” You’re wrenched from your thoughts by Cyclone’s voice and you’re met with an expression you’ve never seen on his face. His green eyes are wide, equal parts nervous and earnest. It’s so foreign that it makes you want to squirm.

“Sorry, what?” You stammer, having completely lost the question that he asked.

“Katarina, your mother,” he still stumbles over the words like he’s still coming to grips with it. “How is she?” You can hear the blood rushing in your ears as you comprehend what he’s asking. He doesn’t know. Of course, he doesn’t. They never kept in contact. That being said, you've never had to say it. Not since the week it happened. The words are stuck in your throat, threatening to tear your vocal cords apart. Suddenly you’re in the restaurant from last night again and Bradley’s sitting across from you, avoiding the word, shielding you from the pain in a way that he knows, that he understands. Bradley would never ask you to say it.

And then you’re thinking about her. You’re imagining her, looking the way you did in college, wearing those t-shirts before they faded. Standing side by side with the man across from you. You wonder if anger had its claim on him then the way it does now or if the man that your mother fell in love with was simply this. A man with eyes so green and eager that they reminded you of the first days of spring. They remind you of her. She always reminded you of a sunny day in the dead of winter. The way it’s almost too bright as the light reflects off the snow that would trap the ground below until March, cutting through the dreariness of the season. The gray sky breaking into a brilliant blue and the clouds dispersing. She was a snowdrop, delicate and yet capable of pushing through all that snow, reaching for the sun and its warmth.

“She’s dead.” The words slide free, eased in their passage by the warmth of her memory. You’ve thought more about her in the last week than you have in years. It’s not that you actively avoid it per se but you’ve never been a masochist. You avoid her the way you avoid the ice, keeping a respectful distance that leaves enough room for nostalgia but not longing, because the longing could kill you. You feel the tear splash onto your hand. You don’t remember it leaving your eye. Your vision is uncomfortably clear as you watch your words hit Cyclone. The way the brightness in his eyes gives way to something darker, more familiar. It’s like peeking under the door that houses the unending rage you’ve been on the receiving end of one too many times.

“What?” His voice is hoarse and you don’t have it in you to say the words again.

“She had a heart attack. Eight years ago, there was nothing they could do.” You try to stick to the facts, deliver them as cut and dry as you can, taking as much emotion out of them as you can. You watch the storm in his eyes pick up and you have a feeling that Cyclone grieves the way that you do, violently. Every part of you wants to run for the hills. You feel you’re the captive audience of a show that neither of you wants you to see. You’re not sure which part finds the courage to excuse yourself.

“Sir, I think we should circle back to this meeting another time.” You know when she looks at you that he’s not seeing you.

“Of course.” His voice is rough with emotion and it makes you uncomfortable as you stumble to your feet, almost forgetting your ankle, and you almost fall on your face as you make for the door, desperate to get out of there. Your hand has just curled around the door handle when Cyclone calls out to you again. You turn at the sound of your name, white-knuckling the handle. “Could we get dinner sometime, and talk about some things?” You hear yourself agree. Anything to get out of here now. He dismisses you and you all but throw yourself out the door.

You stumble into the fluorescent lighting of the hallway and as your eyes adjust to the change you make out Bradley leaning against the wall. His features twist into concern when he sees you. Absently you wonder why, but when he reaches for you, you throw yourself against his chest. “Honey, what’s going on? What happened in there?” You can tell he’s fighting to keep his voice calm as you fist the fabric of his shirt tight enough to tear.

“He knew my mom. Cyclone knew my mom.” The words feel like cement on your tongue. Bradley’s arms are around you in an instant, holding you against him while you struggle not to fall apart. “And he didn’t know,” you sob against his chest. “He didn’t know that she’s dead.” The words hurt coming out but it’s easier even if they end in a strangled sob. “Oh my god, she’s dead, Bradley. She’s dead.” Now that you’ve finally said it, it consumes you and you crumple against him, repeating the words over and over as you sob into his chest. Bradley’s silent, simply holding you as you fall apart, his hands smoothing over the back of your head in a repetitive motion that serves as a constant in the backdrop of your breakdown.

#san diego dogfighters au #San Diego dogfighters #San Diego dogfighters hockey au #you catch more bees with honey // goldenseresinretriever #ycmbwh // goldenseresinretriever #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #rooster x you #rooster x reader #no use of y/n

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jeynearrynofthevale · 1 year

Text

Just watched the Connor McDavid: Whatever it Takes documentary and my main takeaway is that he’s insane but here are a bunch of random notes and pics:

““If it was up to my mom, we probably would’ve been a skiing family”

The drive, that’s who he is, he’s always been that way, since he was probably 3 or 4, he refused to let his parents help him get dressed and he would carry his bag everywhere, the bag was bigger than he was

“He’s intense and he’s competitive”

Bobby Orr said when he was 15 that he was gonna be the greatest skater to ever play

Tracy Wilson: Olympian and skating coach “what I love about Connor is it’s all about power, doesn’t matter how it looks, it’s about getting there”

Kassian “we haven’t seen a player like that in the game in maybe forever”

McDavid “at the end of the day, you’re still playing an nhl game, but that’s not much to hang your hat on” in reference to being out of the playoffs

“Right on the post square and I just felt the pain right away, thought I’d just broken my leg into a couple pieces”

They keep replaying him going into the net at top speed and it’s fucking horrible to watch

He whispered to me “I think it’s broke”- Kassian

“I was having flashbacks to Stamkos’s energy and I know stammer really well”

Stamkos texted therapist: “did he break his tibia?”

“If I could do it all over again, you’d like to take it back”- giordano

Team physical therapist asked if he could move his leg and told him he could either try to get up or call the gurney. Connor said “no, no, no” and stood up even though he was worried and thought his leg was going to give out”

“I held it together until we got though the tunnel and then I was just a mess” it took them 10 minutes to get back to the room

He said “stop, just give me a second”

3 guys had to hold him up the way back

Lauren “it was really hard when he called me, he just said “I think I broke my leg””

Brian “he was really upset and in pain, as a parent it’s hard”

Kelly: “it’s the worst thing in the world”

“Maybe in hindsight it would’ve been better if it was broken”

Never realized the infamous scene where Leon squeezes Connor in the hallway is from this.

Grade 2 strain of his pcl

“Hey dad, just want you to know I’m going for a second opinion in Colorado Springs”

Doctor told him it was a full pcl tear where tears on bth sides of his miniscus, “tore the popliteus right of the bone”

Full reconstruction of the knee, pcl, and popliteus would require a year recovery, doctor said he needed to do it asap, within a few day

“He was distraught, very, very under described”

His mom wanted him to have the surgery

Surgical intervention is to give it stability back

Had to make decision in 48hrs about whether or not to operate.

“He was very emotional and it was very difficult for him to talk.”

3rd opinion in LA: 2nd doctor is right about the issues but thinks the surgery is risky and doesn’t believe in it, wants to try to rehab it

Had to make that decision at 22 in 24 hours

Pcl cut right in half, back of knee joint completely torn, popliteus also completely torn, lateral and medial meniscus are both torn, crack in front of tibia from where he hit the post

“Hockey is my life”

He wanted to hear that he didn’t need surgery

His rehab guy literally lived with him

7 days a week, 10 hrs a day

50% chance to get him maybe skating again by end of summer

He was in a hyperbaric chamber daily for 40 days, 2 hours at a time

Claustrophobic in a literal tube

“At one point, doctor cleared him to flex his quad muscle”

They had to keep the injury as secret as possible, didn’t tell Ken Holland how bad it was

He would call his mom right after every mri appointment

He was in the pool all the time working on his knee

While rehabbing, his core specialist was like “might as well work on everything while we’re stuck here” and they worked on his core, pelvic floor, rotational movement, spine, everything

Gymnastics coach also helped

Didn’t want him to skate till September

He went on the ice with just his dad on his doc’s recommendation before September

He was so happy to be back on the ice with his father, completely changed emotionally that day

You can really see how much he loves just skating

He was so happy to know that even if he couldn’t fully heal he could still go on with the brace and skate

He’s so smooth in these skating exercises while in an insane brace

“One thing to be out there playing the game but another to do it at the level he was capable of”

Tracy Wilson did in their own words “edging” with him for afternoons, taking him through all sorts of movements and exercises without his brace

Opening night started to look like a possibility

He wanted to be there for training camp

He decided not to participate in biosteel

He wanted to play in all 7 exhibition games even though most veterans only did 4

“Like my first game all over again”

Seeing him on opening night was incredible for his training people

Okay, seeing the canucks slashing at him and shoving him into the boards in the home opener is now making me so protective

“He willed himself back”

#Connor McDavid #97 #hockey #oilers #Edmonton oilers #McDavid #cmd #mcjesus

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qoqurt · 4 months

Text

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . AHNTOPIA .ᐟ

daisy + her relationship with her siblings .ᐟ

read about daisy here | au masterlist

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ JIHOON AHN .ᐟ

born on may 4, 1998 — making him the oldest of the ahn siblings at 25

took on a father figure role after daisy and david were born, due to the fact that their parents were oftentimes busy with work

but because of this, all the ahn siblings are incredibly close

a taekwondo instructor — has been doing it since 2018, but has been taking classes himself since he was a kid

has taught daisy most of what she knows

she looks up to him a lot, and often goes to him for advice

theres a recurring gag / bit going on in which a vast majority of daisy’s friends find jihoon attractive or have had a crush on him — which peeves her to no end (affectionately)

was most likely the one to teach daisy how to drive

he reminds daisy of tadashi hamada from big hero 6

daisy inherits the Hopeless Romantic trait from him

currently residing in toronto for work

has bought flowers for their mom, daisy and yujin for valentines since daisy was 12 and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future

will just show up at daisy’s place to visit (with david)

tunes into ahn on the air every chance he gets. oftentimes texts daisy after broadcasting with his opinions on that day’s ‘sing you to sleep’ segment

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ YUJIN AHN .ᐟ

daisy’s oldest sister! born june 19, 2001 — making her oldest after jihoon at 22 years old

lives probably the farthest out of all of her siblings, currently living in seoul

daisy stays with her when she travels there

a popular twitch streamer in korea, often plays games like valorant and league

will have daisy on stream when she does val sometimes

definitely dotes on daisy a little more than jihoon does, but it’s because daisy’s a little more reliant on yujin

formula 1 junkie — she and daisy often talk about the races together

was the one who gifted daisy her first and only guitar — which daisy lovingly named ‘jin’ after her older sister

a lot of daisy’s clothes are yujin’s handmedowns

is the more introverted of the ahn siblings

both she and jihoon were forced to become camp counsellors at the same camp david and daisy attended — much to yujin’s chagrin

most of daisy and yujin’s hangouts consist of them staying home and watching movies or cooking together — or going shopping

they’re pen pals, often writing each other cute letters despite being able to text each other

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ DOYUN ‘DAVID’ AHN .ᐟ

daisy’s twin! both february babies (february 26th, 2003)

they’re definitely the closest out of all the siblings, but that’s a given considering the fact that they’re twins

they’re 100% each other’s person

because david got into hockey, daisy was quick to follow his footsteps by taking figure skating

have only really been apart for small increments of time (ie : when daisy visits stella and the hughes family, trips to korea, etc)

dealt with their first big separation when daisy moved to michigan for university, while david hung back and went to ubc

people often describe daisy and david as “one in the same,” having similar personalities but completely different interests

text and call very often

david has been playing hockey since he was a kid — even playing against luke and jack’s team once as children

he still plays hockey in university, but only recreationally now

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ GENERAL FACTS .ᐟ

their sibling group chat is called “ahn clan 🫶🏻” — and it’s used pretty frequently. they regularly keep in touch with one another

they regularly try to be there for each others functions when it’s possible

they try to at least have one family trip together every year

huge fights are incredibly rare, but they’ll have their petty squabbles more often than not (typically it’s david and yujin)

note from mei ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ finally posted this bad boy!! i hope u like her siblings just as much as u like her 💔 they’re so dear and precious to me…

pookie tags ( ask to be added ! ) : @wintfleur @lovings4turn @iceflwers

#nhl oc #nhl au #umich x oc #ethan edwards x oc #ethan edwards imagine #luke hughes x oc #luke hughes x reader #₊˚⊹ ᰔ daisy

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hopetorun · 7 months

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i'd love to hear your beliefs about the tension in their relationship because i'm a very nosy bitch but obviously only if you feel like it!

lol well i did offer! beliefs is a strong word, tbh. more of a like ... is this stuff true? i don't know. but if i were writing a story where i wanted to have tension in that relationship, these are the places i would be inclined to introduce that tension. maybe there is tension in some of these places in real life! that's none of my beeswax.*

anyway: some places i think it is plausible that there's tension in the relationship, or at least plausible enough to play with in fiction. receipts on these where i can find them, sorry if they're paywalled but them's the breaks.

*unless they make it part of their public narrative

back in 2022 matthew was on the athletic hockey podcast and he talked about feeling "like a babysitter" when keith visits and how much keith enjoys being one of the guys. now mostly i think they probably have a pretty good time, but babysitter is a word choice there. i don't think it's a stretch to imagine that having your retired dad show up at your workplace and becoming the life of the party to relive his glory days could be ... trying.

not to beat around the bush but they're both opinionated guys! opinionated and chatty! and as a result you get: keith slamming the panthers on the radio. matthew sticking his nose into brady's contract negotiations (brady being grimace emoji about it). like, we know for a fact that the radio thing bothered matthew! and there's plenty of opportunities for one or both of them to offer unsolicited opinions that don't go over well.

to the previous point: i considered not including that because it's not as speculative as the others on the list. but it's definitely something i'd draw on if i was writing a story where their relationship is tense.

look, i'm not a man and not only am i not a man but i don't have any brothers and my dad died four and a half years ago and he never talked about his dad. so i can't claim to be an expert on the fathers-and-sons relationship dynamic. but why would i let that stop me from speculating wildly!

anyway: legacies. oldest sons. expectations. @ohtemporas touched on this briefly earlier, the way there's often an extra pressure on the oldest kid to be the same-gender-parent's legacy. do what i did. represent me well in the world. and i don't think it's even particularly weird for that to potentially lead to some conflicting feelings if all that legacy building leads to you being surpassed in some way. that's just human! especially for competitive people, and as i have said on this website before: no one becomes a professional athlete without being competitive.

here's keith being presented with matthew's 99th point puck from the 21-22 season, which his then-teammate did up with the writing for this specific purpose. chantal thinks this is SO funny. do think maybe being conflicted about being surpassed makes him not proud of matthew? no. but people can be complicated.

speaking of people being complicated: that one post-game after matthew scored 5 points on the blues. i think the tension between keith wanting his own team's success and wanting his sons' success isn't something people were making up out of whole cloth. but maybe it was especially noticeable when matthew was still in the western conference? i feel like it got dialed back after the trade. lol.

i'm mentioning it only because otherwise someone else might: i don't care about the hat thing. i think it's silly. if i was asked to throw my favorite hat onto the ice at an nhl game just because some schlub scored three goals i probably wouldn't.

a few concluding thoughts

i don't think any of this means they have a bad relationship! mostly i think that no two people have a perfect relationship where they agree on everything and never butt into each other's business uninvited and never hurt each other's feelings, because that's impossible.

i'm not making some counterpoint list of all the reasons i think they love each other. someone else can. i don't think having high expectations of someone means you hate them and i don't think anyone spends their time and money following their son's hockey team around the country on a road trip hoping to see him score his 100th point out of hatred or spite.

maybe i'm wrong about all of this and they've hated each other since 2002 and someday we'll get a tell-all story and people can come into my ask box or whatever and tell me how wrong i was. i don't care. all rpf characterization is fake. i watched keith froth at the mouth in the stands at the 2016 wjc every time someone so much as breathed on matthew, though, so i don't think i'm wrong.

#ask maggie #matthew tkachuk

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taffycandyqt · 3 months

Note

Alright I shall take my pass to resubmit my rq now lol so here we go attempt two on the platonic hcs for how the 03 turtles would be with a reader who’s a former purple dragon, reader still behaves and thinks like a member of the dragons and it’s very obvious they only started helping the turtles+left the dragons cause they gained the biggest crush on Casey

Also again I’m so sorry for not clarifying which Brooklyn boy I meant the first time I forgot there’s two 😭 (also please don’t feel too bad about the mix up tbh I’d probably do the same!!)

LOL you are so good my dude and honestly I am happy to do this again so HERE WE GO! *cracks knuckles* round two!

Ex Purple Dragon with a thing for Casey

Masterlist

Request Rules

You were a member of the Purple Dragons but ended up leaving after finally meeting the dragons myth of the hockey masked vigilante.

Warnings: none

Platonic turtles, Casey x reader implications

As a member of the purple dragons, you have always heard stories of the masked vigilante that hunted down members of your gang.

Boy was that guy popular.

at first you didn't really care.

After a while though he just began to annoy you.

He stopped important business from happening and even caused your teammates to come back bruised and bloodied.

Though to be honest most of them probably deserved it.

You respect the hustle of the guy, but you relied on your teammates to come back with the goods so you could finish things on the business side with Hun.

And he was making that very hard. The only reason you haven't been 'put to sleep' yet is because your good at talking yourself out of things.

Even though this was the case you never cared for "right" or "good", your ideals were a Purple Dragons through and through.

But then those turtle guys came into the picture.

They really tore down everything your division tries to maintain.

Usually you were good at keeping things going, even with setbacks, but these guys were making it impossible.

And just when you thought you were a gonner, they burst in and distracted Him long enough for you to escape.

Before you could though a masked figure caught you.

One that you'd only seen in pictures.

Hockey mask, baseball bat and all.

Suddenly you didn't feel like leaving.

You quickly started to fight along side them, immediately making you a target of the dragons.

After the fight was over and you escaped with the turtles, you had a pair of swords pointed at your neck.

As a reaction you started fighting but we're quickly overpowered as it was 5 to 1.

it took a while but you were finally able to communicate that you weren't trying to hurt them, but join them.

They were skeptical, but, Leo decided to give you a chance.

Casey, as you soon learned his name to be, was the most skeptical.

It didn't help that your opinions nor mannerisms changed all that much.

You didn't care about the law and constantly got in trouble and yet you claimed to be changed?

yeah he wasn't buying it.

it took him hearing about how Hun burned your cheap motel room to the ground before he even humored the idea of giving you a chance.

It took a lot of time and work but eventually, you two actually became good friends.

Casey would invite you to hockey games with him or on nights out.

you also accompany Casey on a couple of his jobs.

He enjoys having you around while he fixes electrical and you get him back on track when he's distracted.

Your not so great at dealing with clients though so he just advises you to stay quiet.

Dispute this though, Casey still admires and respects you a lot.

Even if he does have to bust you out of trouble a lot.

You ended up living with April after your run in with Hun cost you your cheap little motel room.

She tries to have girls nights with you and sometimes it works and sometimes if doesn't.

either way it's through those that she comes to understand the depths of your affections for Casey.

You'll try and play it off as just thinking he's cool but she can tell by the way that you talk, that you only left due to your FAT crush on him.

everyone is led to understand this in their own way.

Leo liked sparring with you. Your fighting was a far cry from ninjitsu.

But you were efficient and effective, and it gave him some better practice with street fighters.

He came to understand your feelings for Casey after he totally pummeled you after you got distracted by him.

Raph, surprisingly, enjoys sitting with you.

He uses you as a body double in a way while he is trying to finish a kitting project.

Sitting and doing nothing however makes you jittery so normally you'll just pace inform of him and talk about whatever's on your mind.

The only time your quiet is when Casey comes around, thats Raph got the hint.

Mikey likes to spend his time watching movies or playing videogames with you.

If neither of those things are involved then there has to be food.

Mikey knew about your feelings for Casey way before anyone trusted you.

It was pretty obvious to him but🤷‍♀️

He uses this to catch you off guard when your winning so he can beat you.

Lastly Donnie likes going scavenging with you. You don't mind getting dirty or staying out late and you were good at picking out the types of things he's looking for.

in top of that, you didn't have any particular reservations about being caught or possibly arrested.

He got suspicious of your feels though when you mentioned not wanting to smell like trash cuz your hanging out with Casey later.

Like, since when did that matter? You came to the lair smelling like dog water all the time?

Lastly Splinter is just glad you get along with everyone. (All he asks is that you don't do any substances at or around the lair, he doesn't need his sons exposed to that)

He knows you've been through a lot and will serve you tea when he can sense you feeling particularly distressed.

He was the only person that you directly told your feelings to.

He advised you to not loose yourself in your feelings.

Leaving the dragons was a HUGE change for you, even bigger was joining their biggest enemy.

On top of that, the others had been trying to get you to go clean since.

Splinter doesn't approve of your activities. But he knows they are also a part of who you are and he doesn't want to become something your not for someone else.

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

I think I'm gonna do a part two cuz this got really long really fast and I didn't really get into the romance part of it soooooo. Stay tuned for whenever(if) I do that🤷‍♀️

#leo tmnt #donnie tmnt #raph tmnt #mikey tmnt #tmnt 2003 #2003 casey jones #2003 tmnt #2003 casey jones x reader #casey x reader #casey jones #TMNT x reader #X reader #Fanfiction #tmnt fanfic #taffy fics #taffy answers

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prodbyblush · 2 years

Note

mitsuki mario aka Rao as bfie pleasee 😭💖

dating rao

ｎｏｗｌｏａｄｉｎｇ …

▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ 100%

ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

・❥・requested

an: contains spoilers for the worst cross. read with discretion.

→ fem!reader

• with his well built and muscular figure, i say good luck in escaping from his arms during cuddle sessions. • most especially when you woke up first and you want to get out of the bed. even just one lift of your muscle, rao's eyes will immediately flutter open and you're being scooped back to bed. • house husband rao!!! but that's saved for another headcanon yes. • always has an arm around your shoulders or waist, but mostly around your waist! • prior to dating, he talks to Mercy a lot about you - gushing about how pretty you looked today with a new hairstyle or how pretty you looked smiling while with friends. • takes you to the orphanage of where he grew up and fondly recalls some of the memories. • not only is he very protective around children, he's very much protective around you as well. if anything, he detests violence and doesn't want you getting mixed up with suzuran's or his factions business. • not in the mood to workout with him? it's fine! he'll use you as his weights when exercising - cling on his back or have you underneath him when doing push ups, have you stand above his head when lifting weights and all! • he loves physical dates because it allows him to show you how strong he can be. like going out for a bowling and air hockey! • given his cold nature, he gives off as intimidating to others but he's a puppy through and through with you! fights are very rare and avoids conflict at all costs! but if disagreement arises between you two, then he'll try and understand where you're coming from. • doesn't get jealous too often. he trusts you and he trusts that no one from his faction will do anything bad or funny to you. but if anyone else in suzuran were to make a move on you, you best believe that he'll grab them by the back of their head and toss them away from your sight. • i honestly cannot help but say that rao is going to become a great and proper dad figure to his kid. as someone who's been abandoned the moment he is born, he'll never let his child / children feel like they aren't loved by him. • whatever ever he does, he always asks for your opinion. it could be asking you which between going to the city or to the countryside would you prefer when going on vacation, which ice cream flavor do you like best or do you prefer bathing with cold water or hot water. it also helps him get to know you more a little deeper in a sense! • has a whole album gallery of you on his phone. doesn't let anyone in on it. • his favorite spot to kiss you? the top of your head! have i mentioned it's because given his tall stature and he can't help but find your small height as cute size? now you know! • will never let you be the big spoon. • a dom. is very gentle and makes sure to put your needs on top of his. • calls you "baby", "babe" or "bunny". • prior to dating you, he doesn't have any dating experience. but he makes it a goal to always make sure you're happy and comfortable with him. • would probably be the first to say ily!

#high&low #high and low #suzuran #misaki mario #rao #suzuran rao #rao x reader #rao headcanons #high&low headcanons #high&low x reader #high and low headcanons #high and low x reader

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theinquisitxor · 4 months

Text

May 2024 Reading Wrap Up

I read 8 books in May and fully got through all the books I wanted to read this month, which makes me happy. My enjoyment was a big up and down throughout the month, but I'm overall happy with what I finished in May. I read mostly fantasy, with 3 nonfiction. I wrapped up 1 series and read a few new releases I have been excited about.

Let's get into it!

1.The Familiar by Leigh Bardugo 4/5 stars. This was an enjoyable new historical fantasy standalone, and I'm liking her adult works quite a bit. I enjoyed the early-modern Spain setting, including all the societal upheavals that Spain was going through during this time period. This novel feels like a Leigh Bardugo book, with characters, themes, and plots that appear in her other books. In general, if you consistently like Bardugo's works, then you'll probably like this one! Adult Historical Fantasy.

2.Brave the Wild River: The Untold Story of Two Women Who Mapped the Botany of the Grand Canyon by Melissa L. Sevigny. I read this on audio, and this was an enjoyable nonfiction about the first women to raft down the Colorado River in the late 1930s. Nonfiction.

3.The Winners (Beartown 3) by Fredrik Backman, 5/5 stars. This gave me such a satisfying but emotionally devastating conclusion 😭. I knew from page 1 that things were going to hurt, but I really couldn't have asked for a better series about a small hockey town. Fiction.

4.Song of the Huntress by Lucy Holland 2/5 stars. I read Sistersong when it was released a few years ago and loved it. I was disappointed with this however, I never really connected to the plot or characters at all. I felt like our main character never went through any sort of growth, and I was bored or frustrated throughout.Shoutout for having an ace main character, but other than that I would have dnf'd this book if it wasn't for how much I deeply enjoyed Sistersong. Adult Historical fantasy

5.The Language of Trees: A Rewilding of Literature and Landscape by Katie Holton. This was a lovely collection of short essays, musings, passages, and poetry about trees and forests.

6.The Hedgewitch of Foxhall by Anna Bright, 3/5 stars. I'd been interested in this novel since the title and fantastic cover caught my attention. Young Adult is generally not my favorite genre anymore, and this definitely had a YA feel to it, a bit more than I find I enjoy anymore. The ending felt cobbled together and rushed, but I thought this novel had some good reflections and critiques on nature and society that apply well today. Young Adult Historical Fantasy

7. Desert Solitaire: A Season in the Wilderness by Edward Abbey. I can see why this is a foundational piece of North American Nature Literature, and I did enjoy my time reading it. Edward Abbey was certainly a man with opinions, and a man of this time. I thought his prose, reflections on the landscape and nature were beautiful and apt. However sometimes he will randomly spout some nonsense. I did really enjoy reading this collection of essays and he makes me want to visit this region, and to really get to know, understand, and appreciate the land. Nature Literature

8.The Witch Collector by Charissa Weaks 3/5 stars. This was my Random TBR Pick for the month of May. I'm not the biggest Fantasy Romance person, but I was willing to give this a try. This was fine. It was entertaining and I kept wanting to turn the page and find out what happens next. I didn't connect with the characters as much as I wanted to, and I did not enjoy the Insta-love that happened. The worldbuildng felt weak, but the magic system interests me. This book definitely steered in a direction I wasn't fully expecting, and I don't think I have any interested in continuing the series. It's not necessarily bad, just not my cup of tea. Adult Fantasy Romance.

that's all the books I read in May!

My June TBR:

The Magician's Daughter by HG Parry

The Essex Serpent by Sarah Perry

The Blade Itself by Joe Abercrombie

Silver in the Wood by Emily Tesh (TBR pick)

River Horse: A Voyage Across America by William Least Heat-Moon

1177 BC: The Year Civilization Collapsed by Eric H Cline

#books #May 2024 reading wrap up #the familiar #leigh bardugo #the winners #fredrik backman #song of the huntress #lucy holland #the hedgewitch of foxhall #anna bright #the witch collector #charissa weaks #bookblr #fantasy books

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blusical · 8 months

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Problematic Players and You

(PT: Problematic Players and You)

Trigger Warning: This post discusses several triggering or otherwise sensitive topics, including, but not limited to, abuse sexual assault, bigotry, and violence. Reader discretion is advised. Additional Disclaimer: This is not a post defending the actions of athletes mentioned *nor* is it an attack on said athletes (or their fans!). This is about dealing with serious events involving players as a whole.

Have you ever woke up one day and found out that your favorite race car driver said some not-so savory things? Have you ever checked the news one day and found out a hockey player you love was accused of rape? Are you a new sports fan who did research on an athlete you like only to find out they're a straight up creep? And have you ever asked yourself: “Where the hell do I go from here?” when it comes to merch you’ve already bought or the amount of gifsets you’ve made for them? Well, you’ve come to the right post! Because let’s face it, we’ve (probably) all been there, done that and got the t-shirt (Err, jersey).

First off, what defines a problematic player?

Well... there's not really a set definition. Everyone has a different idea of what's 'problematic' and what isn't. However, there are some deeds that athletes do that are... kind of ick, so any of the following could make them be considered very problematic:

-Bigotry (ex. Racism, homophobia). -Cheating (as in cheating on your spouses. Not cheating as in using PEDs even though that too is also kinda trashy). -Abuse, sexual assault, etc. -Questionable/not so great political opinions.

And then there’s athletes who’ve been involved in so many off-ice controversies and allegations that it’s reached a point where regardless of how many are true or not, and no matter how much new information is revealed, they won’t be well liked by fans (Patrick Kane, anyone?). Okay, but why do athletes do this crap in the first place?

Well... there's a couple theories on why some do these things.

Sometimes mental and environmental factors can influence an athlete’s decision making. Say, if an athlete was abused by a coach when they were young, that might factor into any actions, good or bad, a player makes in the future. In cases of bigoted opinions, athletes are raised to have such opinions.

Age can also play a factor into a player’s actions. The younger they are, the more likely they’re going to do stupid shit (Or so I've noticed, please correct me if I'm wrong lmfao). Again. The theories are limitless. However most of the time athletes do these things because... they chose to do that. And a part of that is being because sports culture. Yeah. Sports culture sucks. Who would've known?

So do problematic athletes... stay problematic forever?

Well, yes and no.

As much as our first instinct is to “cancel” said athletes and pressure them to take accountability, we should also give them a chance to grow when they do take accountability instead of pushing the issue further.

However, that also depends on if they chose to grow. Hell, it depends if they even admit to making a mistake or admitting to guilt at all (which is, unfortunately, very impressive in a society like this). If they don’t.. Well, that’s their choice. Best we can do as fans beyond that point is just spread awareness. Remember: 99% of the time celebs won't listen to their fans. Some will. But do not expect your favorite to do the right thing. You will be disappointed. Another thing to keep in mind is that even if changes to character are made, people (us included) will still probably continue to view them differently for a while. As much as we’d like to put the past behind us, that just isn’t easy. (And besides, in the long term this is probably a good thing, since as fans it’s not our place to forgive; that’s up to the people affected). Actually while we’re at it..

Help! What should I do when an athlete (including my favorite) gets into controversy?

It’s always stressful (and sad) when an athlete you’ve admired and looked up to is eventually outed as a terrible person. It’s even more stressful when you’re a newer fan to sports and you just find out about said problematic deeds.

Well, first thing's first: process your emotions, and feelings. And once you're done crying, screaming, whatever action you're doing to process your feelings, spread awareness if you feel comfortable enough doing so. When spreading awareness though: DO RESEARCH AND ONLY SHARE RELIABLE SOURCES. Unfortunately serious allegations almost always have misinformation popping out. Hell, sometimes "allegations" may just be someone causing trouble on the internet (Corey Perry situation, anyone?). If the source is from a random Twitter user (that doesn't work in journalism), or the source is from a site like Deadspin and/or TMZ or any other site that has a history of clickbait, odds are, it's best to take it with a grain of salt. Team fansites (like RMNB, a Caps site) are also not always reliable, so take caution when reading through them as well.

It's better to stick with actually known sources like ESPN, Bleacher Report or a journalist like Elliotte Friedman. Rick Westhead and Katie Strang are really good journalists when it comes to issues relating to hockey. Additionally, do not expect to know *all* the information. Do not demand all information to come out. Sometimes not everything can be shared for legal reasons. Be patient and wait for everything to come out. And even then, don't expect it to be everything that happened (because again, legal reasons). Also, don't expect other people to talk about the incident in question! Do not guilt others into discussing it, do not force others to post about it. Focus on what you can do before focusing on what others can do! After most information (if not all of it), it's up to you to come to your own conclusions. Lastly, regardless of what your decision is, whether you decide to stop supporting them or you choose to believe they did nothing wrong (for any reason), but you're stuck on what to do anyway... Well... and this is probably anticlimactic I know, what to do is... up to you!

Internet wise, your internet space is your space! Your Tumblr blog is your blog! If you wanna stop posting about that player and also delete every single mention of said player outside of spreading awareness? Great! That’s your choice! Wanna keep said posts up but tag them and/or add a disclaimer! Also great! Wanna keep posting them or writing fics about them? Completely fine! Just tag it accordingly and keep in mind why these folks may not like said players. And *please* continue to be critical of said players when they do something wrong. Your favorite is not immune to criticism.

(In other words, yes Hawks fans, you’re allowed to post your Kane gifs and 1988 fics. Just tag it accordingly. And just know that people *will* probably judge you for it).

One thing you should not do however: DO NOT CENSOR NAMES. This fucks with filters and screenreaders (More in-depth post on this here!).

And because apparently this still needs to be said, don’t wish injury or death on the players and for the love of Wayne Gretzky don’t fucking send harassment to their families (seriously why do people do this fucking garbage holy fuck).

Secondly, don’t buy their jerseys or other merchandise from official sites! They will profit off that. If you've already brought it, don't just throw it out. Instead, leave it in storage, sell it or, if you're good at tailoring, try making something new out of it! Additionally (especially in cases of rape, violence, etc), SUPPORT THE VICTIMS INVOLVED. They need it the most.

What about the folks that continue to support said athletes?

If someone continues to post an athlete that’s done not great things, it’s tempting to educate them and tell them (which, if you’re going to do so, please tell them gently and not yell at them, especially if they’re a newer or younger fan who has zero clue what’s going on) But if they already know (which odds are they probably do unless they’re a newer fan), and/or they refuse to stop posting about them after being told, the best plan of action is to just… leave them alone. Just leave them be. Do not bother them further. Do not harass them. Do not send them threats. And for goodness gracious don’t make a callout post or blocklist of every single supporter of said athlete.

(Seriously attempting to make a long blocklist never ends well, especially since half the time the users on said blocklist turn out to be literal children).

That said though, if your friends/mutuals are actively defending bigoted comments and/or making statements that borderline towards abuse apologism, it’s not a bad idea to hold them accountable in a private setting. Yes I said private setting because most drama can be avoided with a private DM. But other than that... someone still writes 1988 fic? Leave them be! Someone still makes gifsets of Alex Ovechkin? Leave them be! Hell, someone still talks about the Staals? Just leave them be! The best course of action is to… just use the block button and/or filter posts accordingly. That’s literally it lmfao.

But why do people continue to support these athletes anyway?

Well it all comes down to the following: A. They have trouble grappling with the fact that they are, in fact, problematic. B. They’re Neurodivergent (especially autistic or individuals with ADHD), or struggling IRL, and kinda rely on those people to function or get through the day.

C. Detaching yourself from a problematic figure is… really easier said than done. It is not easy at all lmfao. D. They're refuse to listen to info. E. They genuinely have no clue what's going on. Either way. Don't judge too harshly. Not everyone can just stop supporting a person/media and guess what? It's not as easy as 99% of Tumblr dot com thinks. Not everyone can just stop enjoying/liking something. And guess what? That's actually O-KAY. Last thing to know.

Lastly, you, yourself, *could* probably be supporting a problematic player right now! And you would never know until much later! At the end of the day, 99% of athletes have done problematic things one way or another. And honestly, if we tried to get rid of every problematic person... there probably wouldn't be any people left on Earth at all. Yeah, some actions are more shittier than ever, but trying to make everything "unproblematic"... is never going to work no matter how you look at it, and that is OKAY.

Remember the most important rule (stolen from someone on discord with the second edited by me!):

Now get out there and cheer for whatever player you'd like.

(Special thanks to @hard4softthings @saucerfulofsins @tapejob @youneedtolookatthis @restingbuchface @bedardconnor and a bunch of other folks for providing most of the advice/info/tips for this post!)

#hockey culture #hockeyblr #hockey #sports #nhl #pwhl #women's hockey #men's hockey #ask to tag #id in alt #was going to post this tomorrow but considering recent events i feel like it's important for folks to know this #especially since this affects a lot of people #(and as always critique/corrections welcome!)#long post #problematic athletes #sports and abuse

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kitnita · 2 months

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#listen not to get too in the weeds irt my irrational dislike of natmac but it so Fits that he's the 'do you know who we are' guy alsdkjfhg#anyway!! why is tyson jost so charming

i would genuinely LOVE to hear about your irrational dislike of nate. i don't think i've ever heard anyone have something bad to say about him so it intrigues me 👀 i have personally no opinions on him whatsoever, be they positive or negative BUT from what i've heard about him i do agree that he would be the kind of person to shout 'do you know who we are' 😭

i CANNOT stress enough how little the origin of my dislike has to do with either his on-ice play or who he is as a person outside of hockey because i largely do not care. but one time (apparently in june 2022) he was talking about cale (guy who gets compared to miro every time these two division rivals play each other) (frequently) in relation to the 2017 draft (the one thing that gets brought up as a talking point about the stars) and remembered who went first & second in the draft but not third. like come onnnnnnn this guy's Whole Thing is being obsessive about hockey & the one guy he wouldn't shout out was the guy who actually gets brought up in comparison to cale every time him being drafted fourth overall comes up??? on account of them being defensemen who play in the same division & went one after the other in the draft???? okay. okay!

part of that is definitely me hating how much people are like 'wow i bet the stars wish they could've drafted cale over miro!' whenever the draft gets brought up because like. well no! i genuinely think if they'd swapped places in the draft their reputations in the league would also be swapped. miro in the avs system would also score a ton, on account of being given space to score a ton. cale in the stars system would also have been handcuffed to ryan suter. etc etc etc.

back to nate i also generally don't like the way he plays against the stars but that's hashtag divisional rival things. like it feels like he's always Severely Hurting roope but that's star player on star player violence and a normal part of the sport that i probably wouldn't hold onto if it weren't for the grudge i hold on miro's behalf. i too enjoy chickpea pasta!

#replies #sorry for the full on essay apparently i had a lot to say 😭#him being a 'do you know who we are' guy might even be charming if i liked him but i have a grudge on miro's behalf!!!

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theemporium · 5 months

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i wanted to gatekeep but honestly a lot of hockey books suck to us hockey fans because the authors just don't get it but here's some with opinions:

vancouver storm series by stepanie archer (2 books so far) - readable, not super believable but not off putting

sidelined love by emery paige - would not recommend if you're looking for anything beside brainless filler, very surface level everything

vancouver agitators series by meghan quinn (4 books so far) - started okay but got worse, was looking forward to the 4th book so well and it ended up being so bad

jacksonville rays by emily rath (2 books, 3 novellas so far) - this series could have been so much shorter, can be summed up with "there was an attempt", i don't like saying this word but jesus there was so much cringe

playing for keeps by becka mack (3 books so far) - probably the highest rated series so far which is to say something because this wasn't a good series, so many pages yet so forgettable

mile high by liz tomforde (3 books in the series so far, only one hockey book) - solid reads but not must reads iykwim, like you probably won't regret it if you read it but the folks saying you have to are exaggerating, wait now that i think about it most hockey books are worse so yeah go for it it's good

elle kennedy (problematic author but honestly sometimes you just gotta)

off campus (5 books) - the OGs, read the first 4 books twice, their iconic-ness makes up for the flaws which there are but yolo, book 5 the legacy was a cute idea that could have been better executed

briar u (4 books) - not as good as off campus but i just checked and i rated them higher? why? eh whatever, no matter what people say you have to read this before the legacy to understand all the cameos and jokes

campus diaries (1 or 2 books so far) - a worthy continuation so far that hopefully won't disappoint because i just want more hockey books

brother puckers series by kayla grosse (2 novellas so far) - skip, skip, skip, can this even count the first one has no real hockey just a hockey agent twin brother of a player, could have been a wonderfully kinky book if it hadn't done literally everything wrong

totally pucked series by maren moore (6 books so far + 2 standalones) - they're all connected but there was no info on when the standalones fit in and overall it's just a mess and not a a fun mess just like messy all around, very heavy on calling women puckbunnies for no reason i think this author needs to talk to somebody about her biases tbh

off the ice series by bal khabra (1 book so far) - starts out eerily similiar to icebreaker but like... if it was good, very good alternative

d.c. eagles hockey series by leah brunner (2 or 3 books so far, 1 novella) - not super terrible but also just one of those books that you pick up because you can't find anything else and you don't feel anything about them afterwards like okay moving on

maple hills series by hannah grace (2 books so far) - i did not hate it, did i like it? uhm... next question

same time next year by tessa bailey - tessa bailey saw everybody on booktok thirsting over hockey players and thought "oh i can make some money with this", i don't think she googled even a singular thing for this, inaccurate as fuck

mendell hawks series by deanna grey (2 books so far) - very underrated series that deserves more love, good quick reads with likable characters and great friendships

ooooh thank you for sharing!!

#cece answers

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astrologys-the-life · 2 years

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My Astrology observations: Aries edition

Every Aries sun express themselves very differently and they don’t have as many consistent themes compared to other signs. That is because they often have very strong interests or hobbies, each individual will have different likes , hobbies or interests. Therefore, depending on what they like, those topics will be emphasized.

For example there might be an Aries who likes hockey and another Aries who enjoys cooking. The One who likes hockey will emphasize that as a part of their personality by wearing sports jerseys everyday and often going to games multiple times within a week. On the other hand the aries who enjoys cooking might enjoy partaking in cooking competitions and watching cooking shows every night. Although they are very different personalities, they both strongly show off their interests. Which is why it is harder to find consistent themes with Aries suns since each one has different interests.

Overall Aries suns are very high energy, social people who can make long lasting genuine connections. They do have a tendency to be immature or childish when they are around loved ones, they aren’t childish in a toxic way, but more in a competitive way. Meaning they might want everything their friends have, or may get jealous if they didn’t get something their siblings have. This is often because Aries wants to feel special and important, because the people in their lives mean a lot to them. They sometimes need extra validation or attention from the people they love, the people in their lives mean everything to Aries and they will always make sure to have their back. If you’re looking for loyalty, then Aries would be your perfect match.

Aries moons are one of the most common placements I’ve experienced within my lifetime as I’ve probably had more than 10+ long term friendships with Aries moons.

Aries moons have a dominating energy about them, this type of energy isn’t everyone’s cup of tea which can cause issues within their personal relationships, whether family, friend, romantic. This is something that Aries moons will get better with accepting over time. Aries moons often take a long time to mature and develop due to selfishness & immature thinking. When underdeveloped they often have bad attitudes towards the people that love them, they may also expect prince/princess treatment from loved ones leading them to have a spoiled/rotten way of seeing things. They also are extremely volatile if they do not get their way, they will stoop extremely low and expect no consequences for their actions as well. If there are consequences to their actions they often times can not handle the reciprocated energy. They may have a tendency to bully the people in their lives if it means they will get what they want, and aren’t afraid to step on others to get their way. They have a harder time with expressing sadness or deeper emotions which leads to a lot of anger being expressed especially through teenage years.

A developed Aries moon is much different than an underdeveloped Aries moon. They are the life of the party, they can make even the most mundane tasks a bunch of fun. They are risk takers who push beyond their boundaries and the boundaries of others who are capable of evolving themselves to higher levels of life, money, experiences. They also are the most honest friend you’ll ever find, they’ll make sure to tell you if your breath stinks or if your hairs a mess. They don’t mind giving a little tough love, which is such a fresh of breath air. They are very open about what their thoughts and opinions are, so you will always know where they stand. No questioning with them. They enjoy close friendships and prioritize their friends, they love going on adventures with their friends whether it’s to the beach, the pool, a party, or the park they always make sure to have a good time and love making the most out of their memories. They are reliable and creative people full of lots of love. They will always stand up for their friends, and make sure to protect them if it’s ever needed, However, since Aries moons take longer to develop they may not reach this point of healthy development until much later in their lives, usually around their late 20’s or early 30’s.

Having an Aries mars is a blessing as long as the energy is used correctly, Aries mars is such a strong placement that it needs a healthy outlet or else it can be self destructive. Aries mars needs to channel their energy into energizing activities that require physical movement that will benefit them such as weight lifting, dancing, cooking, sports, etc. they need these healthy outlets because they have large quantities of energy with good stamina that must be burned off, especially since not everyone can keep up with such high energy. If not channels in a healthy way this can lead to them being annoyed easily by others, creating unnecessary arguments, starting fights for fun, because there is so much strong energy that isn’t being used properly it will linger around and cause unnecessary harm to others. Aries mars can go very far since they don’t burn out easily, this can get them very ahead in whichever area of life that they want to put their all into. Anything is possible with this placement. As long as their hotheadedness doesn’t get in the way, if an Aries mars is ever mad it’s definitely intense but it will leave just as quickly as it came so don’t expect people with this placement to hold grudges over silly things. However, if you made a huge mistake with an Aries mars they will declare war and they won’t be backing down until they feel justified.

Aries mercuries are hard to come across, they enjoy talking with many different types of people. They are very straightforward with their thinking and mostly see things black or white. They don’t think much of the consequences of their words so don’t be surprised if they accidentally hurt your feelings. Don’t expect much of an apology either because they mean what they say. They are good conversationalist and the convos are never dry with them. Lots of fun, lots of laughs.

Anyone with an Aries Venus may struggle within their personal relationships, family, friends and romantic relationships because they always make sure to put themselves first. Although prioritizing yourself isn’t a bad thing, but when it comes to identifying other peoples wants and needs they may choose to ignore the other persons needs/wants/ expectations from the relationship since they are so focused on themselves. They may feel as if they don’t owe the other person anything, and that the other person shouldn’t expect anything from them. They have a bad tendency to prioritize themselves over their relationships/friendships. This is often due to fear of true intimacy, being intimate and close with others may be scary and uncomfortable for them so they’d rather avoid it all together by making sure to focus on themselves. Whatever relationships they choose to have with others will force them to face themselves in ways they may not want to, so the relationships may not be long lasting. They may prefer surface level relationships that don’t dive too deep. If they choose to get over these fears they make very protective loyal and loving partners who would move mountains for your happiness, however this may take quite sometime as it really depends on what level of comfortability they are within themselves.

Aries risings are very lucky people, all areas of life for them tend to be easier in various ways. They may have been born with a talent, born with wealth, born with beauty, whatever it is they can have easy lives if they choose. Depending on their character this can make them really lazy since life is easier for them, it can cause lazy tendencies. If used positively they can make quite an impact on the world and do something really big with their lives. An example of an Aries rising would be Rihanna, she made a huge impact on the makeup industry by adding diversity for various shades of makeup skintones from dark to light changing the makeup industry forever by making it more inclusive. Overall Aries risings hold quite some power!

Please keep in mind these are my observations based off of my personal experience. Everyone is different ant these may not apply to you. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my post :)

#aries #astrology #aries sun #aries moon #aries mars #aries mercury #aries venus #astrology observations #astrology side of tumblr #astrological signs #zodiac sign #zodiac #astrology signs #aries rising

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