#wow anon

[pirateprincessjess]

i followed you when you posted about Sonic but know all you do is post about Japanese stuff like K-pop demon hunters and Godzilla. Post more American things Sonic.

This

Is

America.

I’m gonna let @saintjosie handle this one

[sleepy-hyperfixations]

The San Jose Sharks were not ready for Macklin Celebrini to show up to his first NHL training camp with a whole-ass newborn baby in tow.

Not that anyone had been ready for that, not the BC or BU coaches, not Will himself, and certainly not Mack, who’d had the world watching him all through his draft year, the expectation of first overall hanging off his shoulders like chainmail. The pregnancy had been the cryptic kind: subtle weight fluctuations chalked up to stress or diet, irregular cycles explained away by the omega hormone suppressants Mack took on and off as needed. He’d been achy, emotional, constantly hungry, and queasy, but it was college at 17, and he was getting drafted; everything was crazy, and no one, not even he, thought to put the pieces together. Not until he went into labor in his dorm room.

It had been a string of strange, restless days. Mack hadn’t felt right for a while now, something coiled low in his gut, cramping and persistent, but not quite enough to stop him. Just enough to make him wince when he stood up too fast or curled forward during long bus rides home. He chalked it up to stress; school had been brutal lately, and hockey was as intense as ever. His appetite came and went. He was exhausted even when he slept a full night. He kept telling himself it was just burnout and stress, maybe even a stomach bug that refused to quit. The cramping came in waves now, not exactly pain but pressure. Deep, twisting pressure that left him sweating some mornings. Still, he hadn’t told anyone. Hadn't told Will. What would he even say? That his back hurt all the time, that his skin was more sensitive than usual, that he couldn’t remember the last time he got his heat? It wasn’t the kind of thing you brought up casually at the dinner table or during group chats with friends.

He’d brushed it all off; heat suppression pills messed with cycles all the time, and his were never regular to begin with since he'd presented. He hated bringing that up to Will, too; the suppression pills, his cycle issues – it always made Will's pine and snowy scent go acrid, more forest fire than clean.

It didn't matter in the end when it came to a head – Will had just gotten to BU after a late-night flight back from a U-Mich game; he had called Mack to let him in the dorm building. Mack had sleepily done so - his own legs were gassed from a home game against Northeastern, and he'd been dealing with the discomfort more regularly. Mack had barely made it into the bed – quiet, with Lane asleep across from Mack in his own twin – before he had gone stiff all over, muscles locking with a kind of tight, all-consuming ache that didn't let go.

Will had only just shut the door and kicked off his shoes when Mack let out a low, strangled sound—not quite a groan, not quite a word. His body folded in on itself, arms wrapped tight around his middle, legs drawn up instinctively as if to protect against whatever was clawing at him from the inside.

“Mack?” Will’s voice was low, panicked in that quiet way he got when something was really wrong. He crossed the room in seconds, crouched down by the bed, Will's hand landing hot and steady on Mack’s calf. “What’s—Jesus, baby, are you okay?”

“No,” Mack gritted out, voice thin, sweat beading at his hairline despite the late November chill leaking through the old windows. “I don’t know—I’ve been cramping for days, I thought it was just—fuck, I don’t know.”

Will’s stomach dropped, the way it only ever did during penalty shots or playoff eliminations. “Mack,” he said again, gentler now, eyes sweeping over him. The tremble in his limbs. The flush high in his cheeks. “You—you don’t think it’s heat, do you?”

“I’m not due,” Mack panted, pressing the heel of his hand into the mattress. “And I’ve been on suppressants. I was on them. I—God, it hurts—”

And then Mack’s breath hitched, his whole body seizing again, a raw gasp tearing from his throat. His other hand shot out and grabbed at Will’s hoodie, white-knuckled and unthinking. Will flinched, then grabbed him right back, grounding both of them.

“Will,” Mack bit out, voice hoarse. “Will, I’m scared.”

Will’s eyes stung. He pulled Mack into his arms, awkward and half-crushed by the angle, but it didn’t matter. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, fierce and shaking. “I’ve got you, okay? We’re gonna get help.”

Mack didn’t cry; he was too wrung out, too deep into the pain, but he pressed his forehead into Will’s shoulder and let himself be held, let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, it would be okay.

Across the room, Lane stirred in his bed, sitting up with a bleary, confused look. “What’s going on?”

Will's voice is shot, "I don't know, but something's wrong – I'm taking Mack to the ER."

After, it's a blur: Mack had screamed bloody murder in Will's car on the way to the ER. Lane was messaging their coaching staff, Aiden, but it was nearing 2:00 a.m. Lane had stayed behind; he'd offered to come, to drive them even, but Mack had said no, instincts going wild. There was blood and panic and shock, because even then they didn't know what was happening, but out of it all came the most perfect, soft, squirmy little thing either of them had ever seen. She was their daughter. She was everything.

Her name was Celeste. More old-fashioned, old money than Mack had ever considered, but it mattered to Will – more than Mack could’ve imagined in the moment. He hadn’t thought they’d get to naming her right away, not in that blur of IVs and the emergency epidural, the surreal crush of pain that had followed him from his dorm room into the sterile white of the emergency ward. But then again, nothing about this had followed a script.

He remembered the moment in sharp, dreamlike fragments: the fluorescent lights above him, the grit of tears dried on his cheeks, the weight of Will’s hand clenched in his as he bore down again, gasping through the pain. The nurse had asked if they had a name ready, trying to distract him from the pain and still not being dilated enough. Her voice was calm and practiced, and Mack, dazed, had whispered, “I - her last name is Smith.”

A pause. He’d felt it more than heard it, Will going quiet beside him. Mack turned his head, searching his face. “What?” he rasped, exhausted, already halfway gone with the next contraction building in his spine.

Will had leaned in, brushed the sweat-matted hair back from Mack’s forehead, and said, soft and reverent, “Baby, what about Celeste? Since you’re Celebrini.”

And Mack had just stared at him, winded. Celeste. It sounded like stars, like light through glass, like something impossibly lovely and far away, and it was the first thing in hours that had felt untouched by panic, untouched by pain. Mack’s throat had gone tight, and when he nodded, it was barely more than a tremble.

“Celeste Celebrini-Smith,” Will had said aloud, like he was sealing it in stone. Like it mattered. Like it meant something they could hold onto, even in the mess of it all.

And Mack had nodded – tired, overwhelmed, but clear-eyed in that moment – but then he’d turned his head, jaw tight, voice hoarse with something deeper than pain.

“She has to be Smith.”

Will had blinked, taken aback. “Mack, I–”

“No,” Mack interrupted, soft but adamant, a crack running under the words. “She’s yours. She has to have your name.”

Will’s mouth opened, closed again. His hand still gripped Mack’s, knuckles white with how hard he was holding on. “She can have both,” he offered, voice gentle, almost pleading. “Celebrini-Smith. She’s yours too.”

But Mack shook his head. “She’s Smith,” he said again, like it was law. “She’s yours, Will. Your daughter. Your pack. She needs to be claimed.” He sucked in a breath, eyes glassy but hard. “You’re her alpha. You need to accept her. She needs to know, I just...I need it, babe.”

It wasn’t logic – not really. It wasn’t about paperwork or surnames or shared custody. It was something older, something wolf-deep and impossible to uncoil from instinct. Mack felt it in his bones, in the place where heat and hormones still hummed raw under his skin. A need for her to be tethered, for her to be seen by her alpha and claimed without question. For Will to recognize her. Name her.

Will didn’t argue again.

He swallowed, throat working around emotion too big to say out loud, and leaned forward until his lips brushed Mack’s temple, then lower, until he kissed the crown of their daughter's head.

“Celeste Smith,” he whispered, and it echoed in that quiet, dim-lit hospital room like a promise. “Celeste Mackenzie Smith? Do you like that, baby? She’s mine. Ours. Always.”

And Mack let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, nodding.

She was born quiet and blinking an hour later, tiny fists curled up to her chest, with a frown already knitted into her perfect little brow. Mack had barely been able to lift his head, but Will had cried then; silent, stunned tears he hadn’t even tried to hide as they placed her on Mack’s chest. And Mack, for all his disbelief and exhaustion, had looked at her and thought: Oh. You were real this whole time.

She was impossibly small, impossibly warm. And she looked like them, like Will’s chin and sharp angles already, and Mack’s mouth, and something delicate and brand-new that neither of them could name.

Mack had never imagined himself at seventeen, swaddled in hospital sheets with a baby in his arms and Will beside him, damp-eyed and beaming. He’d never imagined holding something that felt so final, so fragile, and knowing without a doubt that his life had just split clean in two.

But when he looked down at her, he wasn’t afraid.

He whispered her name into the crown of her head, and she blinked up at him like she’d known it all along.

Celeste had been born in late April, just weeks after the Frozen Four. Mack wasn't even 18 yet, hadn't been drafted yet. And when he was, the Sharks front office had tried to keep it under wraps as long as they could, but secrets never stayed buried, and soon enough, the world knew that the 2024 first overall pick was also a brand new omega dad. To a baby whose alpha father played just across town, his rival he allegedly "hated."

There was no PR playbook for that.

But somehow, it worked.

It helped that Celeste was adorable – dimpled and fat-cheeked, wide eyes blinking up at the lights in the Sharks’ gym, babbling at anything that moved. If Will was on his back doing core work, Celeste was on his chest, kicking her tiny feet and trying to suckle through his shirt. If Mack was in the team lounge with the portable pump cups suctioned to his nipples, Will had her balanced on his arm, pacing the length of the room as he fed her a bottle. A bottle that, of course, only he was allowed to give her – because if it wasn’t directly from Mack’s chest, then it better be from Will, or Celeste would scream herself purple.

Sometimes the nanny – sweet, tiny, sixty-five-year-old Mrs. Nandina, who made the best banana bread and had raised nine grandkids –came to help during practices or stayed at the Thornton's guesthouse with her, keeping Celeste in the family suite or the quiet lounge when she needed sleep. But more often than not, Mack and Will insisted on bringing her along, slotting her car seat in the back of his blacked-out Bronco (because Macklin, despite having a whole ass baby, doesn't have his license), tucking her into her portable bassinet during video reviews, tag-teaming diaper changes in the locker room.

“She’s part of the team,” Mack would say stubbornly, adjusting his compression shirt one-handed so he could hold Celeste to his bare chest. “If I’m gonna be here, she’s gonna be here. We already miss out when we have road trips.”

Not to mention how often Macklin had to use his portable hands-free pumps between her feeds. He produced so much milk – not that it surprised Will, he had always known Mack ran heavy – he’d seen it firsthand with how much slick he could produce through a heat, how wet he could get just from being looked at the right way outside of a heat. So the milk? It tracked.

It became part of the rhythm of things, part of the background noise of life in the Sharks locker room. The guys got used to the faint hum of the pump before they got used to Macklin’s voice in postgame interviews. They didn’t even blink anymore when he’d duck into his stall, slide the flanges into place beneath his compression tee (that normally was soaked through with sweat and leaked milk by that point), and sigh out like his body was finally being listened to. Like pressure had been building all morning, and only now had the chance to ease.

It wasn’t subtle either. Sometimes, midway through pumping, the collection pumps would get so full he’d have to unclip them one at a time, careful and practiced, pour them into a larger milk collection container, carefully dated, the kept chilled in the locker room mini-fridge, and then click the bottles back in to keep going. Twenty minutes per session, like clockwork, sometimes longer if he felt like he was still too full. His body didn’t wait for convenience. It never had.

And if any of the guys found it weird at first, they got over it fast. Because Macklin didn’t apologize for it. Because it was just part of him now – omega and mother and top-line forward all in one. He did better than keep pace with the rest of them, hit harder some nights than guys twice his weight, and outshone with his game, but he still had milk to store and a baby at home whose needs came before anything else. Celeste didn’t care that her parents played pro hockey. She cared that she was fed and loved. And Macklin made sure of it, no matter where they were.

Will, of course, had never had an issue with it. If anything, he watched Mack’s body with reverence, a kind of quiet awe he didn’t even try to hide anymore. He knew what that body had done, what it still did, and he treated it like it was sacred.

So yeah – milk pumps humming in the background, Mack unbothered and routine, the guys joking about the “Macklin Milk Minute” like it was just another part of the schedule – that all became normal. It was just what came with having Mack on the team.

So yeah, the team had quickly gotten on board with little baby Celeste. Eky called her “our lucky charm.” Toff bought her a bucket hat with a tiny fin stitched on the front. The strength and conditioning coach built a mini gym mat for her with soft toys, and every so often, someone would sneak her Sharks-branded onesies in “Baby Smith” font into the gear orders. Celeste was passed around more than the puck during warm-ups – everyone wanted their turn at holding her, bouncing her, and making her giggle. Competition for “favorite uncle” was fierce.

She was happiest with her parents, though – curled up in the crook of Will’s arm, or latched to Mack’s chest, eyes half-closed in milk-drunk bliss. Sometimes Will would find Mack in the locker room showers after practice, back braced against the wall, Celeste nursing quietly while steam rose around them. It was primal, maybe. Intimate. Mack would look up and give that soft, tired smile he’d had since the day she was born.

“Hey,” he’d say. “She missed you.”

And Will would drop whatever he might be carrying, peel off his sweaty shirt, and slide in next to them. Because he missed them too.

Because they were a family, however wild and unexpected, and that’s how they were going to stay.

[ask-the-odof-choir]

Father Markus died because of you.

I-i know…just please…stop.

-Ocean

[theegh0st]

NOOO I ORDERED ALL OF THEM BUT LEGEND IS SOLD OUT :((((

I have no idea how that happened...now twilight and hyrule are sold out. He'll be there in spirit

[waywardstation]

The first impression between Ingo and the Zoroark reminds me of one time in my childhood: I was playing in my sandbox, minding my own business when a dog came barking and growling from the neighbours house. My dad had put up a ladder up to the balcony since he was fixing a few things on there and I climbed up the ladder in record time... as I was on top to turn at the dog (who indeed followed me up to the ladder) was called back and the owner (a friend of the neighbour) just called over that "he just wanted to play"

I was scared of bigger dogs after that for a few years

Now I can't unsee the mental Image of Ingo escaping onto a tree when Zisu leaves them by themselves for a few minutes (to fetch potato mochi for lunch or something)

Zisu leaves to get them both lunch, and Ingo’s on the ground, as he should be. She returns a few minutes later and now Ingo’s up on the dojo roof with her Zoroark prowling around the building, shreds of his tunic in its jaws. Zisu tells off her Zoroark, questions how on earth Ingo got up there with his bad back, and asks how he’s going to get down. Ingo asks her to just throw the mochi up to him.

[jarpadandjensens]

The hardest part of 12x11 (for me) was the fact that Dean holds all of Sam’s memories and watching his brother slip away was destroying him. He has no ties to his past except Dean, even the small time they were a happy family of 4 he only had Dean to relay those memories for him. Man this show really hurt at times!

[hindulivesmatter]

Great job with showing solidarity with jews since antisemitism has risen under critiquing Israel. ❤️

However do you know that India officially stands with Palestine? Or what vajpayee ji said more than 40 years before? https://www.livemint.com/news/india/israel-will-have-to-vacate-occupied-land-atal-bihari-vajpayees-1977-speech-in-support-of-palestine-resurfaces-11696849186569.html

Aww you're welcome! Glad your antisemitism was called out <3 maybe you should ask yourself why. Love the article, very good. Try harder next time.

[aakarshspeaks]

You seem like the guy who is good but will be willing to be a bad guy for that one girl.

what do you have to say about this?

Thanks for the good guy compliment, but no I won't be that bad guy :)

If I really like a girl alot, I'll try my best to naturally charm her, convince her but yeah I'll not go evil because it just means it's simply not meant to be...

When something's not meant to be, you should not push it only makes things worse just accept it and move on and be the good guy always...