#but as i wrote i realized i would be posting a half-finished work if i did so. it's important to compare dean's relationship to lies too

[incesthemes]

there's a somewhat subtle but notable development i've noticed in sam between seasons 1 and 2, in that he becomes much more willing to lie to the people he's trying to help—he starts finding lies a practical necessity and the truth about the supernatural as something to avoid in polite society.

in bugs, sam urges matt to tell his father about the curse, make him understand the severity, while dean instructs him to lie his ass off so his father will get the hell out of the house. this episode favors dean here: larry obviously doesn't buy the curse story, and it's proven to sam that the truth can in fact be more harmful than a lie.

then by salvation, sam seems to have integrated into himself that lying is necessary: when he proposes that they tell monica and her husband the truth, that a demon is coming for their baby, it's a joke. dean registers this joke with a sardonic grin and sam instantly agrees this is a Bad Idea. he's learned from his mistakes.

the development across season 1 is, here, that lying is necessary for them to do their job. people don't believe in supernatural phenomena, at least not insofar as it pertains to themselves, and they'd sooner get arrested than do any actual saving of the day.

case in point.

all this to say i think roadkill is an interesting episode. much of the conflict between sam and dean centers around what information to disseminate to molly, what she should know and what she shouldn't. they go back and forth trying to figure this out, often unprepared for her questions and hiding the truth in obfuscations and white lies. neither of them are so cruel as to tell her anything blatantly false, but neither of them are willing to tell her the full, unadorned truth.

sam has learned his lesson: he keeps everything he tells her in the realm of plausible deniability, refracted through layers of half-truths that don't actually tell molly anything about her situation. even though he is the one who outright proposes that they tell her the truth, he is the one who, surprisingly, ends up telling her the least.

instead dean is the one who offers up the most blatant truths throughout most of the episode. in this sequence, sam even resists the truth, still convinced that obfuscation is what will further their goals most. the truth will make people think they're crazy, it'll get in the way of doing their job. he's not wrong, either:

and until the end of the episode, he continues to bury the full truth and speaks in roundabout ways to keep it from her.

many such examples.

anyway, what i also find interesting about this is that while sam commits to this lesson he learned in season 1, dean is rather forthcoming about the truth. clearly he doesn't like the idea of telling molly what's going on, but he's still quite often the one to offer up a plain, truthful explanation over sam's much nicer obfuscations. which is a little strange, considering he is the one who typically pressures sam into lying and constantly reminds him of the value in lies. not that dean has never cut the crap and offered up the truth—there are plenty of episodes where he does just that—but since a major conflict of this episode centers around this point of contention and since dean has already expressed his unwillingness to tell molly the truth, i can't help but raise an eyebrow.

what this episode also does, however, is parallel molly and sam. similar to maggie in playthings, molly is a monster by circumstance, lonely and afraid. she functions as an allegory for sam as his destiny develops and his fears about his impending doom heighten, and when sam speaks to her he is also speaking to himself, about himself.

ultimately, i think this indicates a development on dean's part, as well. after croatoan and hunted, dean has no more secrets to keep from sam, and he's chosen him as his codependent life partner. more or less, he's "taking responsibility for himself" by abandoning his duty and devoting himself entirely to sam. and sam values the truth: he's resistant to lying to civilians about the supernatural and only reluctantly gives up after a full season of grappling with it, and when it comes to his brother one of the first demands he makes of dean in season 2 is that they no longer keep secrets from each other (it's their major point of conflict between 2x02 and 2x04, after all). it's easily deduced that this stems from his life of exclusion, and it's understandable that sam wouldn't want dean to keep secrets from him now that they've evolved their relationship into codependency. and now that dean has abandoned his duty for sam, dean can eschew the life of secrets and exclusion he's been both knowingly and unknowingly implicit in up until now.

so if molly is sam, then dean telling molly the truth seems to indicate an olive branch of sorts. it's an indication that even if he doesn't want to, dean will tell sam the truth—he's fully committed to the relationship, especially after born under a bad sign where he reasserts his commitment to sam above all else. i think it's a nice symbolic gesture to indicate his character growth. the honeymoon phase that takes place between hunted and what is and what should never be do a lot to explore how their relationship can grow in weirdly positive ways that we really don't see again until like—god, like season 10, and their only barrier to bliss for this stretch of time is sam's all-encompassing existential angst trying to pull them apart (unsuccessfully so, until all hell breaks loose).

but all that said, i think the way truths and lies are explored in roadkill are indicators not only of their own personal developments, but also their developments with each other. molly functions as the conduit through which sam is explored—both dean's relationship to sam and sam's relationship to himself. she reveals what sam fears and what sam values, and she showcases how time has passed for sam and dean and what that time has done for them. sam has learned the necessity of a lie, but he keeps his lies as close to the truth as possible, laced in obfuscation and omission. dean has learned the value of the truth, at least when it comes to his brother, and even if he knows it's dangerous and stupid to tell the truth he will put himself out there anyway, for sam's sake.

i don't know. i think it's interesting.

[haechoxo]

[6:42 pm]

"who was that guy you were with earlier?"

"can i have a minute to breathe before you start interrogating me? i'm still naked," you sighed, feeling slightly frustrated.

haechan just shrugged, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "just wondering."

"you mean you're just jealous," you playfully teased, a slight smile forming on your lips. although you and haechan were only friends, there was an unspoken connection between you two. one text, and he would show up at your place in no time, but lately, those encounters had become less frequent.

"mark is a friend from college, remember? lee minhyung? you guys were practically roommates for a semester... he recently moved back home and wanted to catch up, that's all," you reassured him, hoping to ease any concerns. he responded with a muttered "okay" before grabbing his clothes. it had become somewhat of a routine, his presence in your home dwindling. he stayed for shorter periods, making you feel somewhat unsettled.

"the guys are planning to have breakfast together this friday. you’ll be there, right?" you asked, trying to break the awkward silence that seemed to taint your recent one-on-one encounters.

"yeah, i think so. renjun will give me an earful if i don't show up for another group outing," haechan replied, chuckling lightly. maybe things weren't changing after all. satisfied with his response, you murmured a quick "good" and left it at that.

"alright, i’ll be heading out now, got shit to do," he added without any endearing nicknames—no "babe," "angel," "baby," or "honey." nothing.

"oh, okay. see you friday then," you said, offering a half-hearted smile, hesitant to lean in for a hug, let alone a kiss. but he didn't seem to share your hesitation. he simply left, hands in his pockets, giving you a solitary nod.

as you fell back onto the bed that suddenly felt much larger than it did just ten minutes ago, letting out a shaky exhale, realizing you had been holding your breath.

what is happening?

next

a/n ; first post… 😟 beginning part of an extremely old wip i wrote instead of paying attention to my lecture during my first semester of college i think,, like late 2022😹 its kind of corny and im annoyed at how short it is,, theres more but i doubt it’ll be finished let alone posted because most of my wips are usually silly little dreams based on songs and i struggle with adding substance to make my work longer blah blah blaaahh theres also lots of changes to be made because this was originally a jeonghan piece!! crazy,, anyways lmk what u think, advice is appreciated! xoxo jelly

[super-who-locked-me-in-here]

I've been seeing some articles online about how now would be the perfect time to revive NBC Hannibal because Bryan apparently has ideas and Mads wants to finish the story and also we're coming up on the 10th anniversary of The Wrath of the Lamb in 2025, but how, because of the time between seasons, they'd most likely have to do a time skip in the show.

And I just have to say that I love that idea and I think that's how season 4 could thrive if it happened. Because the fandom has had nearly 9 years to think about and create their own post-fall headcanons, and there are bound to be people who maybe made art and fics and are in love with their post-fall idea and the show wouldn't turn out the way they wrote it in their fic or drew in their art and they'll be upset.

But what about 5-10 years after the fall? I don't know about y'all but I don't see a lot of fan works about that. And I think it'd be interesting to see what the NBC Hannibal team would do with a Will and Hannibal who are fully realized as murder partners, if not murder husbands.

If I could throw out an idea for what I think would be a funny way to show us Hannibal and Will in a timeskip season 4:

~~~~~

We're getting a moving view through their house in Cuba. It's dark outside and dark in the house, too. We can hear the sounds of Will and Hannibal somewhere else in the house, grunting and breathing heavily.

Will pants out, "Move faster."

"Patience Will. I'm not as young as I used to be."

A laugh escapes Will and he grunts again, "You didn't seem to have much trouble thirty minutes ago."

"That was thirty minutes ago. This is now. Perhaps if you're so spry then you don't need my assistance finishing this." Hannibal remarks.

There's a loud thud. "Hannibal!" Will accuses, although he sounds more annoyed than angry.

The camera finally pans to a hallway in the house where we see Will carrying a dead man by his underarms and his lower half is dropped unceremoniously at Hannibal's feet.

Will sighs and looks at Hannibal. "Will you help me with the cuts? Please."

The corners of Hannibal's lips turn up. He's never been able to deny Will when he uses that word. He bends down with another quiet grunt and picks up the corpse by its feet, and the two of them move into a room at the end of the hallway and shut the door.

~~~~~

[papiliomame]

Road to 3D- Sam Manson (Part 2):

Character Modeling

Part 1: Model Sheet

Welcome to the second and final part of this project. Since people have asked how I do my models, I decided to make a write-up on how I approach these things using the example of a model of Sam Manson. The first part focused on how I make a model sheet fo a 3d model the second part focus just on the modeling. There are many more things about how to create a fully realized 3d character that I could make whole other chapters for, like UV unwrapping, texturing, shading and rigging, but I don't have enough knowledge past the fundamentals on these topics that could warrant their own seperate posts.

Additional stuff before I continue:

I use Blender for all my model

This not a beginners guide or something similar, it would be helpful to already know the general workflow of a modeling, how to use Blender and know different terminology like edgeflow, retopology etc.

If you are a beginner and want to learn more about character modeling I recommend the videoseries "Modeling for Animation" by Dikko on Youtube

Maybe I make some reference some tricks from this videoseries

That's it, let's go!

My first step is always the block-out phase. The block-out phase is what the construction lines and the first sketch in a drawing are. I align the frontview and sideview from the model sheet I made in part 1 with the z-axis (the blue line in the images above) and roughly shape out the forms with primitive forms. For this I mostly use a cube with a subdivide modifier.

Having a modelsheet without the clothes obscuring the body makes it much easier the get the form right. The block-out phase is one of the most important steps, if it looks good than I have practically half the work done. This is also a good opportunity to practice anatomy.

After this stage I continue with the head. First of all, don't forget to add the mirror modifier so I just need to model half of the model. There are different methods to approach modeling the head, like sculpt the head first, retopologize and than bake all the deatails onto the retopologized head. I actually prefer to polymodel the head especially when I have a good model sheet. I practially trace the lineart from the model sheet by extruding vertices, once from the frontview and once from the sideview. The most important points are the form of the eyes, the mouth, the form of the face and the jawline. The head block-out is used as an anchor point for the shrinkwrap modifier so that the traced forms actually look like they belong to a 3d form and not 2d lines floating space. From this point on it's just connecting everything, pull and push vertices so it looks like a 3d head and make sure the edgeflow is good. (It's also helpful to know how the planes of the head look like) After that I add the eyelashes, eyebrow, eyes and the ears, now it looks like something!

Now comes the hair. For the hair I used the "curve trick" like mentioned in the video series I recommended. Here is a tip to save time: I choose some edges from the head, duplicate and seperate it from the mesh. I convert this seperated line into a curve and choose a beziercircle as a bevel geometry. This is now the perfect foundation to model the hair further. One thing I needed a long time to notice: To get the beziercircle to a perfect square or in this case a triangle lower the Resolution U to 1 in the shape options. Now I just convert the curves into a mesh and add details and the head is done!

With the head finished I continue with the body. Remember how I wrote with a good block-out half of the work ist finished? Well, for this step I practically just use the smooth brush in sculpt mode and smooth everything out so everything looks connected. Then I retopologize the body and that's it. Well, ok there is a little bit more to it: Before smoothing things out I join the block-out part to a single mesh and remesh it with the remash modifier expept for the hands. I prefer to polymodel the hands seperatly without worrying about the rest of the body because they are difficult to model. I reattach them later. Speaking of reattaching, I make sure that the connection points have the same number of vertices while I retopologize/polymodel. To ensure that, I often use the following trick visualized with a simple example ( which is also described in the video series):

I want to reduce the amount of edges at the bottom of this plane, for this I merge 3 vertices from the middle into 1 vertice seen in the left image. After that I can select the blue marked edges from the center image and dissolve them. The result, which you can see on the right, is a nice clean edgeflow with a reduction in the number of edges.

After modeling every part I attach them together and I have a finished bodymesh the work with.

Now onto the clothes, for this I use the model sheet with clothes as reference. Having a retopologized body makes it easier to model simple stuff like e.g. Sam's shirt. On the left image the marked faces of the the bodymesh already looks like a shirt. I just need to duplicate and seperate this area, clean it up a little and the shirt is basically finished. The more complex stuff like the boots I need to polymodel around the bodymesh.

With that the modeling part is done! Now comes the things I said above: uv unwrapping, texture painting, rigging and shading. These are whole other topics I cannot go deeper because I'm still learning how to do these things but I hope my little write-up about how I appoach character modeling was enough to learn one thing or two.

Thank you for your time and thank for reading!

[sweethischier]

𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐲 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐬 - 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐧 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

word count: 7.6k (i got very carried away im sorry)

summary: after months of feeling like you've lost quinn, he ends up losing you. will the two of you find your back to each other?

warnings: angst, self-destructive tendancies, drinking, cursing, MINORS DNI - 18+ content below the cut, shower sex, fingering, oral (fem recieving), unprotected sex (use protection guys), teeny bit of a praise kink, brief breath play, please let me know if you see any mistakes. i finished this at 2 am and my vision was a little blurry at that point

note: this is part of my follower celebration! i'm so glad i finally wrote about the future captian of the vancouver canucks please guys im begging you.

Two years ago, you had met Quinn Hughes through a mutual friend, and he’s been a part of your life ever since. In the beginning, the two of you took things slow, wanting to truly get to know each other before getting into a relationship. Quinn wanted to make sure that his intense schedule that involved him being gone for long periods of time wasn’t going to overwhelm you, or make you feel alone. You wanted to make sure that, after all you had gone through, Quinn was going to remain a man of his word and make your relationship work despite the many odds that came with his job. And he did, at first.

For the first year and a half that you were with Quinn, he was texting, calling, facetiming as often as he could when he was gone. If he wasn’t doing something that related to his commitment to the hockey team, he was talking to you in some way. He would send you pictures of the places he would visit with short captions of how he wished you were there with him, and you would always smile at them and tell him that you would be, one day. Though, a few months ago, those texts started to become less frequent, and when you did get them, they sounded forced, almost like they had been rehearsed.

For a while, you tried to reason with yourself. Telling yourself that he was just getting busier, and the stress was getting to him. You tried to understand just how demanding and exhausting his job must be, so you brushed off his deteriorating communication. Instead, you tried to hold onto the hope that when he was finally back home, things were going to go back to normal. Quinn was going to walk back through the door to your shared apartment and hold you until you fell asleep. Then, that stopped happening too.

The first time you realized that Quinn was truly pulling away from you was when he didn’t come straight home after a seven day roadie. He hadn’t even told you that he was close to home yet. You only found out because Natalie had posted a snapchat story of JT holding Owen, and you were immediately dialing your boyfriend's phone number. Your heart sank when it only rang three times before cutting to his bland voicemail message.

You remember spending the rest of that night crying into your pillow, thoughts of what you could have done to make him distance himself from you clouding your brain. You knew that hockey players had an abysmal reputation, but you have never lumped Quinn into that group of men. You’ve always thought the world of him, considering yourself lucky to have the luxury of being loved by him. This had you questioning everything you thought you knew about him. When he came home later that night, he gave you a half-assed apology and explanation followed by a string of kisses that had you melting back into him.

Though even that started to dwindle, and eventually it stopped all together. When Quinn was home in Vancouver, he rarely made the effort to spend time with you, and when he did, it was almost like he wasn’t there. His face would always be buried in his phone, or he’d be playing video games with his friends and you’d simply be sitting next to him on the couch. Quinn had stopped trying to plan dates, and honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone on one with him. You could barely remember the last time the two of you had shared a kiss that was more than the obligatory chaste peck on the lips before bed. 

You tried to reassure yourself and ignore the aching in your chest, but the way he put as much distance as he possibly could between the two of you, the less you were able to do that. Eventually, you’d decided that enough was enough, and if it felt like you weren’t in a relationship, then you weren’t going to be in one. No matter how badly it hurt. 

The thought of breaking up with Quinn made you feel like someone was holding your head under water. The panic settling into your chest as you realized that you couldn’t breathe; your lungs burning the longer you went without any air. No matter how hard you tried to break the surface and gasp for air, your head was only shoved deeper and deeper into the water until you realized that the only escape was leaving him. Leaving the man you were still in love with was the only way for you to be able to breathe again. 

When he finally came home that night, he didn’t even notice you sitting at the table, his head shoved in his phone as he walked through the door. “Quinn,” Your quiet voice bounced off the walls of your home. His head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise that you were still awake at this hour, but you continued, “We need to talk.”

“Okay,” He drew out, brows knitting together in confusion as he slipped his phone into his pocket, “What’s this about?”

His eyes darted throughout the apartment, and you watched as his shoulders fell when he realized that stuff was missing from all over. Your stuff. With Quinn avoiding your home like it was, or rather you were, the plague, it gave you enough time to gather everything you’d brought over with you, and temporarily move it into a friend's apartment until you could find your own. Despite the multiple breaks you had to take because you kept breaking down, you managed to do it all in one day.

“I think you know what it’s about,” You chewed at your bottom lip, blinking rapidly to keep yourself from crying.

“Baby, I-,” He tried as he reached over the table to grab your hand, but you quickly cut him off. The chair scraped against the floor as you abruptly stood, shoving his outstretched hand away from you.

“Don’t call me that,” You spat, vision blurring from the tears, “You can’t call me that anymore.”

“What are you trying to say,” He asked, his voice breaking, and that made you angry.

How dare he act like he was hurt when all he’s been doing is hurting you? He put you in this position. He pushed you away, made you feel like he didn’t want you anymore. He did this, and he doesn’t get to act like he’s the one that’s hurting.

“I’m saying that we’re done, Quinn. I’m breaking up with you,” You asserted through the salty streams falling down your cheeks. Though the words tasted bitter as they came out, you felt a slight, very very slight, sense of relief wash over you as you said the words out loud.

Your words hung over his head as you fell into an uncomfortable silence, eyes staying trained on him as you waited for a response. He stood at the table with his palms pressed against the wood, head down as he let out a shaky breath followed by a weak question.

“What do you mean ‘Why’,” You scoffed, shooting daggers into the top of his head, “Quinn, you’ve barely said a full sentence to me in the last week. You don’t talk to me when you’re gone anymore. Hell, half the time I don’t even know you guys are back unless someone posts about it. I just- It just feels like you don’t want this anymore, and that’s okay, but what you’ve been doing isn’t.”

“No,” He breathed out, his voice small and broken as he shook his head, “No, it’s not and I’m sorry. I don’t- Fuck, Y/N, I don’t know what to say right now. I lo-“

“Please don’t,” You interrupted, tearing your gaze away from him as you choked on your own cries, “Please stop, Quinn. I can’t do it anymore. I love you so much, but it’s gotten to a point that the person I fell in love with is gone even though he’s right in front of me.”

A part of you did want him to beg you to stay, to beg you to give him another chance because he will change. He will change as long as it means he got to have you, and he couldn’t live without you. But the more logical part of you was holding the spear, and it was telling you that you were doing the best thing for you. That leaving Quinn, while it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, it was the right decision for you.

“I’ve already got all of my stuff moved out,” Your voice cut through the thick silence, “You’re not home much so it made it pretty easy.”

You couldn’t help but throw the jab in there, but it was only to cover the thinly veiled agony that was truly going on in your heart and bleeding into the rest of your body. You didn’t want Quinn to know that saying goodbye to him was like death by a thousand cuts, and so you masked the pain the only way you knew how. With anger.

“I wish you and your team the best in the rest of the season, I really do. But I think it would be better for both of us if we don’t talk after this.”

Not waiting for his response, you made a slight show to toss the key to what was now his apartment onto the table in front of him, the gentle ding of the metal hitting the wood echoing through the empty room, before walking out of the door. You’d barely made it into the elevator by the time your feelings washed over you an aggressive wave that came seemingly out of nowhere and everywhere all at once. You were thankful that the ride down to the bottom was quick and no one else joined you, and that the main lobby was only occupied by the security guard who’s more than likely seen his fair share of crying women.

That night, you went to your friend's apartment and broke down into a mess of screams, tears, and pain. She held you as you cried, held your hair as you threw up, held your hand through the shower curtain because you didn’t want to be alone. She stood by you in your most desperate time of need, and she made it her own personal goal to maim the hockey player should she ever see him again.

Quinn didn’t text or call you, but you knew that he wasn’t doing the greatest for the first few weeks after your breakup. Petey and Brock had both called to check on you once they had figured out what had their teammate in the state he was in. They asked how you were doing, and not-so-subtly mentioned that Quinn wasn’t any better off than you were. Though, they quickly learned to not mention him unless they wanted to listen to you call them obscene words before ending the call and ignoring them for a few days. You knew their intentions were good, but you didn’t want to hear about how “awful” Quinn was.

If he had acted like he cared about you half as much as his friends were telling you he did, maybe you would have made the effort to ask about him. If he loved you half as much as they said he did, but he didn’t. And he’s made that clear to you. Of course you know you told him that you thought it best if the two of you didn’t talk anymore, but you had secretly hoped he wouldn’t listen. That he would be calling you and texting you, begging you to come back. Telling you how in love he was with you, but it was complete and utter radio silence.

Eventually, you were able to pick yourself back up enough to find your own apartment. Leila had insisted that you staying with her was never going to be a problem, but you knew you couldn’t stay there forever. You needed to try and move on from him, even though you weren’t quite ready to let go of him yet. You needed to try and find yourself again, and you couldn’t do that sleeping in the guest bed of your best friend and her boyfriend's apartment.

Leila’s worried eyes were practically carved into your skull at this point, but you didn’t blame her. She’s had to pick you up, physically and emotionally, more times than she had anticipated when you initially turned up at her door with puffy cheeks and bloodshot eyes. Though she should have realized how deeply hurt you were the fourth time she held you after you had woken up thinking that your breakup was a nightmare, only to realize that it was reality that haunted your dreams.

No matter how hard you tried to forget about Quinn Hughes, the city you lived in was as riddled with memories and reminders of what once was. He was on every street you walked, in every store window you passed by. He was everywhere, and it made you feel like there was a shard of glass piercing your heart, unrelenting and unmoving. You wanted nothing more than to forget about the man who had torn your heart in two, and you were willing to do anything to do that.

The bar air that clung to your body was sticky with alcohol and sweat, but you didn’t seem to mind as you moved your hips to the beat of whatever terrible remix they were playing. The unnamed man behind you had his hands planted firmly on your waist, but you didn’t pay him any mind as you let yourself dance. The alcohol swimming through your veins aiding your ability to forget about all of the hurt you had yet to heal from.

For the last three months, you often found yourself in some sort of bar or club to drink your pain away. It was cliche, but you hadn’t stumbled upon any other outlet that allowed you to forget about the constant ache in your chest. Leila had tried to guide you towards less self-destructive ways of healing, but you didn’t listen to her. This way was guaranteed to ease your heartbreak, at least for the night and that was all you needed.

“I’m Wren,” The man yelled into your ear, an off-putting smirk slapped on his less than desirable features.

Your mouth dropped open, the blood pounding in your ears covering the music entirely. It was too close. His name was too similar, and it made the one thing you were trying to forget flood itself into your head. Images of Quinn and memories of the way his voice sounded pushed their way to the forefront mind, and suddenly you couldn’t breathe.

Without another word, you pushed the man away from you and scrambled towards the exit of the bar. Your vision turned bleary and clouded, from the tears or the alcohol, you weren’t sure. Ignoring the worried calls from strangers you shoved past, you rushed out into the crisp Vancouver air.

You stumbled over into the mostly empty alleyway, clutching at your chest as your back came in contact with the brick wall. You were aware of the many lingering eyes on you, but the feeling that was consuming you made their attention appear miniscule and irrelevant. All you could think about was Quinn and how he never even fought to be with you. How he gave you up so easily.

Leila’s boyfriend had seen you run out of the bar, and immediately darted towards the bathroom so he could grab her. With the help of a few random women, he was able to get her attention much faster, and she was rushing out of the bar and leaving him to close their tab. Leila heard you before she saw you, and that alone made her chest burn for you.

“Honey,” She delicately approached you, her voice calm and collected, “What happened?”

The words were on the tip of your tongue, but nothing was coming out but strangled breaths and mangled cries. Despite having seen you in this position more times than she could count, it broke Leila’s heart all the same. She maneuvered your body so that she could pull you into her lap, ignoring the fact that she was sitting on the ground in a dirty alley. She began rubbing soothing circles on your back and instructed you to try and follow her breathing pattern.

Once you were able to catch your breath, you let out an almost incoherent, “Why didn’t he come back?”

Leila was able to calm you down enough to get you back to your apartment nearly an hour later. She kept insisting that you just come home with her, but you already felt guilty enough for intruding so much on her personal life. You knew she didn’t mind, but you did, so you managed to convince her that you would be okay by yourself, and that you would call her if you needed her. Though, she wasn’t the person you ended up calling.

“You have reached the voicemail box of Quinn Hughes. Please leave a message after the tone.”

“I hate you, Quinn,” You started, your voice already raspy from the moments prior, “I hate you so much for making me believe that you ever loved me back the way that I loved you. I thought we were forever, you know. That’s what you told me. That we would get married and have our own family, but we saw how that turned out. It was never going to be me, was it?

“I just wished you would have had the balls to tell me that you fell out of love with me, if you ever did in the first place, or found someone else or whatever the fuck happened. It would have made it a hell of a lot easier knowing that I, or you, did something to make you not stop loving me. It’s just- The worst fucking part about all of this is, is that I’m still so in love with you that it physically hurts me to be without you, but that doesn’t matter does it?

“Fuck. I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I guess I'm just trying to give myself closure so that I can really move on from you. I don’t know that I’ll ever stop loving you, but I’m going to try.”

Hanging up the phone, you threw it onto your couch and let out a gut wrenching sob that ripped through the stillness of your apartment. You fell to your knees and let everything you had been bottling up for the last three months bleed out of you. The world spun around you, your lungs burning as you gasped for air. Your fingers grasped at anything they could possibly wrap themselves around in an attempt to keep yourself steady.

You felt as if you were back to square one, and you hated that all it took was some man having a name that too closely resembled his. It was stupid, you thought, blatantly pathetic how easily you were thrown back into the fire you had done your best to crawl out of. You had almost healed all of the cuts Quinn’s treatment of you had left in your heart, but now they were gaping open once again.

Minutes passed by, or maybe hours you weren’t sure, and you had fallen into a limp ball on the floor of your living room. You had no energy to move from the spot as silent tears escaped their previous confinement. You stared lifelessly at the ceiling above you, mind too tired to fight off the dangerous thoughts floating about inside your head. It was only when sleep finally graced you that you were able to escape the pain of what-ifs.

The following morning, you were rudely awoken by someone aggressively and relentlessly knocking on your door. The sound ricocheted across the nearly empty walls of your apartment, and worsened the already excruciating pounding in your head. Pushing your tired body off the floor, you let out a quiet groan as nausea rippled from your core.

You passed by a mirror that Leila insisted you hang, and you outwardly cringed at your appearance. Your face swollen from last night's breakdown, and your makeup was smudged all across your face. Needless to say, your unwarranted guest was not going to get a presentable version of you.

Not bothering to check the peephole, you pulled the door open and time froze all around you. Quinn stood there with his hands in his pockets, head covered by the hood of his blue Canucks hoodie. His face was decorated with overgrown facial hair and deep set bags had found places underneath his eyes. Truly, he looked awful, but the sight of him in front of you made the already growing ball of nausea burst.

Quinn watched as your eyes simultaneously widened and hardened with an undetectable emotion, but he’s sure he could guess what it was. When he had woken up that morning, the last thing he’d expected to see was a missed call from you, let alone a voicemail. He’d listened to it a dozen times before calling Petey, asking him what he should do.

After a lecture that closely resembled the one he had already gotten from his teammate months prior that was followed by words of encouragement, he set off to your apartment. He only knew your address because Brock had accidentally let it slip when they passed by it one night. Truthfully, Quinn was expecting you to not answer the door or to slam it shut in his face when you saw him. That he was prepared for, but what he did not prepare himself for was you darting to the bathroom.

He stood in the hallway, conflicting emotions battling with each other as the sound of you retching reached his ears. He wanted to follow after you and comfort you like he’d done many times before, but he also didn’t want to make you even more uncomfortable than you undoubtedly were already. He opted to step inside and wait for you in the living room, preparing himself for whatever you were going to throw at him.

You were heaving into the toilet, panic running through every nerve in your body as you tried to focus on breathing rather than throwing up. The last person you had expected to show up at your door was here now, and you left him standing in the hallway. A million thoughts ran through your mind as you flushed the toilet, pushing yourself up off the floor for the second time in the last fifteen minutes.

Why was Quinn here? How was he here? You never gave him your address. Though a brief reminder that Brock knew where you lived was enough to answer that question for you, but nothing you could come up with answered why. You remember leaving him a voicemail in your drunken meltdown, but you couldn’t wrap your head around just what had gotten him to seek you out.

You stared at yourself in the mirror for far too long, and you wondered if Quinn was still here. You’d heard the door shut, but you couldn’t figure out if the footsteps that followed were inside your apartment or in the hallway. After quickly brushing your teeth and convincing yourself that he had left, you stepped back into the living room and were proven wrong. He had settled into the spot on the couch that he chose every time if he could; closest to the kitchen. His leg was anxiously bouncing up and down, and he was biting at his fingernails. 

“What are you doing here,” You called out, nails digging into the palm of your hand as a way to keep yourself grounded.

The sound of your voice had Quinn’s head turning on a swivel before he was standing and taking a few steps towards you, but he stopped when you stepped backwards. He swallowed thickly, knowing that he was already treading through very dangerous waters by showing up at your apartment unannounced, and he didn’t want to do anything to further worsen that.

He instantly registered the tortured look in your eyes because it was the same one he’s been sporting since you left. Quinn knows he’s to blame for the downfall of your relationship. He should have fought harder. He should have fought, period, but he had his own reason for letting you go.

“You called me last night,” He started.

“I was drunk,” You firmly stated, heart beating loudly in your chest, “It didn’t mean anything.” You were lying, and he knew that, too. Quinn could always tell when you were lying.

“It meant something to me,” He rushed out, “Hearing your voice- Hearing you say that you thought I never loved you ripped me to pieces. I know I don’t deserve it, but can you please listen to my explanation? I know it won’t repair the damage I’ve done, but please. I was too scared before, but I’m not now.”

He rasped your name out like it was something sacred, like it held the entire world within its syllables. His eyes were glassy and filled with unshed tears as they bore into your own. He could tell that your heart and brain were at war with each other by the way you kept taking sharp breaths, and your eyes kept flitting away from him. 

“I don’t know, Quinn. I’m trying to move on, and hearing you out will only undo all of the work I’ve put into doing that,” You tried, turning away from him but still staying in the living room.

“I know, baby,” The nickname tumbled out before he could stop it, sending a jab to your chest, “I know, but please. I will leave you alone after, if that’s what you really want. I’ll do whatever you want.”

You weighed your options in your head before letting out a hesitant, “Okay. I’ll listen, but if I want you to leave after, you’ll go?”

Your heart had won this battle, but you’re relying on your brain to save it later if need be. The sound of his approaching footsteps made the breath catch in your throat, but the feeling of his hand sliding into your own sent a jolt of electricity through your entire body. Your head snapped to his own, your eyes full of anxiety and familiarity.

He gently pulled you over to the couch, dropping your hand so that you could sit as far away from as you wanted. The air was crawling with nerves from both parties, but the lack of anger radiating off of you brought him some sort of comfort as he gathered his thoughts. Though, in your defense, you could never be angry at Quinn, no matter how badly he hurt you.

“I know that no apology can fix the hurt I’ve caused you, but I am sorry. I am so sorry for pulling away from you instead of talking to you. I never fell out of love with you, ever. Not then, and not now. Do you want to know the best thing that’s ever happened to me? It isn't hockey. It isn’t money. It’s you, and that terrified me. I was so scared that I was going to screw everything up.”

You opened your mouth to interrupt him, but he cast you a stern glare and shook his head before continuing, “I never let that bother me until I overheard you talking to Leila about marriage and children, and I got scared. I started questioning if I was good enough for you. If I was even good for you. I’m gone so much with the team, and I’ve already missed so many of your accomplishments because I was on the road.

“I started thinking about us having kids. How many appointments would I miss? What if I missed the birth? What if I missed the baby’s first steps? I couldn’t imagine putting you through all of that by yourself, so I started pulling away. Was it a good idea? Absolutely not, but it made sense to me. I thought I was going to save you from heartbreak in the future, but all I did was cause it now instead.

“I didn’t call after you left because I thought I did the right thing. I thought I was doing what was best for you, but then I heard your voice this morning and I knew I had to fix it, if you’d let me. I couldn’t let you think that I never loved you, because I do. I love you so much, and I will do anything to prove that to you, should you give me the chance.”

You sat there in silence, digesting the words that had just been said to you as you let out quiet sobs. For nearly the last year, you had believed that Quinn didn’t love you, and now he was saying the exact opposite. He was begging for another chance, and that was what you had wanted, right? It still was, but the damage that was done wasn’t going to be easily fixable. You would have to start back at the beginning, and you’re not sure if Quinn was willing to do that.

“Baby,” He whispered, your silence lighting his skin on fire with nerves, “I don’t know what’s going through your head, but I want you to know that I meant what I said. I will do whatever it takes to fix this mess I created. Anything.”

The gears were turning in your head, trying to conjure any sort of coherent thought to tell him that you wanted this, but you were scared. You’d put so much faith and trust into Quinn, and he tore all of that down out of fear. What if he did that again?

“I want to,” You whispered, “I do, but what if you do it again? I can’t go through it all over, Quinn. I felt like I was going to die without you, and I can’t go through losing you all over again if you get scared.”

You felt his weight lift off the sofa, and before you realized what was going on, he was wedging himself in between your legs in front of you. He cupped both of your cheeks in his hands so you were looking at him, and you swear you blacked out for a second. Just because Quinn had hurt you, doesn’t mean the effect he had on you went away.

“You won’t lose me ever again, okay? My heart belongs to you. My heart beats for you. I promise to love you for the rest of my life, even if you don’t love me for the rest of yours.”

His hands were still on your cheeks as you gulped down the lump in your throat, his pleading eyes darting all across your face. Lucky for you, your heart and your brain had linked together as you let out an almost silent, “Kiss me, please.”

And he did. Quinn’s lips were on yours in an instant, hands dropping down so he could pull you into his chest. The kiss was full of desperation and months of lost time as the two of you clung to each other. He was holding your hips so tightly that you’re fairly certain they were going to bruise, but you didn’t mind. You were pulling him into you just as desperately, afraid that he was somehow going to disappear from right in front of you.

He briefly pulled away so that he could sit on the couch, pulling you into his lap not long after. He quickly reattached his lips to yours, and he kissed you with so much fervor that it had your head spinning. You could feel some of your sadness melting away, being replaced by passion and desire for the man underneath you. Almost as if a switch had flipped within you. You shifted your hips on his lap, and a throaty moan escaped his swollen lips as he slightly threw his head back.

“Be careful with that,” He let out a breathy laugh, “You know what that does to me.”

There was a teasing glint in your eye as you spoke, “I know.”

“Fuck me,” He groaned, subtly moving your hips against him.

“If you insist,” You drew out, leaning down to ghost your lips over his neck.

He threw his head back against the couch and screwed his eyes shut as your warm breath fanned across his neck. Your eyes flicked up to his face, and you couldn’t help but let a mischievous smirk form before dragging your tongue across the expanse of his neck. He let out a string of profanities as you latched your mouth onto the spot you knew would send him spiraling, but you quickly pulled away and hopped off of him.

“I need to take a shower,” You announced, a teasing tone to your voice, “I’m still gross from the bar.”

Quinn’s eyes snapped open, watching as you began to walk away. Only when he heard you ask if you were going to join did he jump off the couch and scramble after you. He shed his clothes as he followed you to the bathroom, leaving a trail of fabric in his wake. By the time he had reached your bathroom, you’d already turned the shower on and rid yourself of your own clothes.

“I do not deserve you,” He mumbled as his eyes raked over your naked body. 

He’d already memorized every dip and curve of you, but he always treated it as if he was seeing all of you for the first time. Your body captivated him in all of the best ways, and it left Quinn breathless every time you graced him with it. He considered it a privilege to be able to bear witness to the Goddess of a woman in front of him, and he worshiped it like it was.

Despite all that has happened between the two of you, you still felt comfortable enough to share this part of you with Quinn. Unlike the guys who had seen you naked before, none of them treated it the way he did. He never made you feel insecure, and he always made every other part of you feel just as loved as your body. He admired your character, and even your flaws, all the same.

“You gonna stand there or are you going to join me,” You teased as you stepped into the shower. 

The water enveloped you like a welcomed hug, and you let out a sigh of relief as the stickiness from last night was washed away. You were facing towards the shower, eyes closed and head tilted back. You heard the curtain rings slide against the rod before you felt Quinn’s chest pressed against your back. You wiggled against his hardened length, and he took your teasing as a green light.

His fingers trailed up along your hip, across your waist before dancing over your breast. He made a point to slightly lift his touch so he just barely grazed your nipple, and you let out a whine when he did. His hand briefly paused when he reached your collarbone as if he was going to change his mind, but he carefully wrapped his fingers around your neck and leaned down to brush his lips against your ear.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” He whispered before dipping his head down and attaching his lips to your neck.

While one hand tilted your neck to give him better access, his free hand trailed down your stomach and towards your center. The knot in your stomach grew the closer he got, but he was taking his time with you. Relishing in the moment he never thought he would have again.

“Quinn,” You whimpered, “Please.”

“Please what, baby? I need you to use your words for me,” He briefly broke his contact with your neck.

“I need you to touch me, please,” You were begging him, needing him to give you the release that no other man has before.

“Good girl.”

He slid one finger into you, an almost pornagraphic moan echoing off the tiles of your bathroom. You threw your head back against his shoulder, gripping at the slick shower wall for any sort of support before your knees buckled from under you. He carefully moved his digit inside of you, stretching your walls so he could add another.

“Jesus, baby. You’re so tight,” He groaned into your ear.

“‘S because no one’s touched me- Oh fuck,” You cried out as he inserted another finger, “No one’s touched me since the last time you did.”

Quinn knew he shouldn’t be as turned on by that as he was, but he couldn’t help it. Knowing that you didn’t let another man have you the way that he did only made him harder, and he didn’t think that was possible.

You were writhing against him as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, your moans filling his ears like they were his favorite song. He moved his thumb to press against your clit, and it was then that Quinn had to use his own strength to keep you standing. He worked his fingers against you, and he’s gotten you to the finish line enough times to know that you were already just about there, so he didn’t stop.

“Oh my god,” You cried out as his thumb rubbed circles and his fingers curled inside of you, “I’m almost the-Fuck.”

“I know, pretty girl. I know,” He murmured, keeping his pace steady.

Your legs are shaking and your vision becomes spotty as the knot inside you comes undone. He captures your lips with his own as you come all over his fingers, kissing you with the same amount of passion he’d had before everything happened. He was still supporting you with the hand that was previously on your neck, but you slowly regained the strength to support yourself as you came down from your high.

“You okay,” He asked, turning you around so that the water was no longer hitting your front.

“More than okay,” You gave him a sloppy smile, still slightly dazed from your orgasm.

“Good, because that was only the beginning,” He smirked, switching places with you so he could back you into the corner of your shower.

You watched as he turned and shifted the shower head so that it was spraying against the two of you as much. You pulled your brows together in confusion as you questioned him, “What about you?”

“What about me,” He feigned confusion as he slowly fell to his knees.

“You know what,” You quietly spoke, eyes wide in anticipation as his hands gripped your thighs.

“I’m getting all I need, baby. Don’t worry,” He glanced up at you, eyes sparkling with pleasure.

His fingers trailed against your thighs that were wet with a mix of water and your own juices. Goosebumps rose in wake of his touch, sending a shiver throughout your entire body. You kept glancing down at him with your lip pulled between your teeth, your heart still rapidly beating from your orgasm only minutes ago.

Quinn spread your legs with his hands before placing feathered kisses on the inside of your thighs, eliciting a few breathless moans from you. He stopped when he got against your aching core, his breath hitting it as he spared you one more glance.

With a swift movement, he was lifting your leg over his shoulder and then he was diving into you like it was his last meal. His facial hair was tickling your inner thighs, but all it did was add to the sensation flowing through your body. His hands were gripping at your legs to not only keep you steady, but to give him something to hold on to.

He was devouring you in a way that made it seem like he was enjoying it more than you were, but you highly doubted that to be true. His tongue worked against as he led you to yet another orgasm, mouth sucking and swirling in all of the right places. You tugged on his hair as you felt the familiar fire burning in your stomach, your head hitting against the tile wall.

Your second orgasm ripped through your body, rendering you temporarily blind yet again. He carefully placed your leg back beneath you, placing open mouth kisses against your stomach as he stood leaving behind a mixture of his saliva and your cum against your skin. He attacked your lips with his own in a dizzying kiss, his hands cupping and squeezing at your breasts.

“I’ve missed you so much,” He mumbled against your lips as he placed his forehead on yours.

“I missed you too. So much, Quinn,” Your eyes became misty with tears, but you tried to push them back.

“I’m not trying to ruin the moment or anything, but thank you for giving me a second chance. I definitely don’t deserve one, but I will keep my promise and do whatever it takes to win you back.”

You pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to his lips before saying, “Well, you can start by properly fucking me.”

The softness in Quinn’s eyes darkened to something full of desire and lust, but he still managed to keep the look of pure admiration and love. His hands found purchase on your hips, pulling you into his chest and meeting your lips with a hungry kiss. You could feel him pressed against your thigh, and it made the already wet pool between your legs worsen.

“Need you to hold on to me baby. Wanna look at you,” He instructed as he pulled away, gesturing for you to wrap your arms around his neck, “Good girl.”

Quinn rubbed himself between your folds, teasing your entrance and watching your face twist in desire and want. Slowly, he pushed himself inside of you and let out a mangled moan as your walls clenched around him. He paused and let you readjust to his size, doing his best to remain still and not roughly jerk his hips back.

“Move,” You whimpered, bucking your hips forward for any sort of friction, “Please move.”

With your pleading, Quinn was pulling himself nearly all the way out and slamming back in at a pace he knew you both liked. His thrusts were hard and deep, filling you in just the right way to leave you gasping for more. He grabbed one of your legs and hooked it on his hips to allow himself a better angle, and you swear you blacked out for a second. You were grateful for the strength he has from hockey or you’re certain you’d both be on the floor by now.

Your loud moans mixed with his own, surely filling the entirety of your apartment with the sound. A part of you hoped your neighbors couldn't hear, but a bigger part of you didn’t care. You finally had him back, and the both of you were making up for lost time. His hips snapped against your own as he brought his free hand back up to your neck, squeezing at the sides with the pressure he knew wouldn't hurt you.

You were clenching around him, sending him into a fit of blinding, white hot ecstasy. No matter times Quinn had imagined you when he fucked his own hand, it was absolutely nothing compared the real thing. Watching as your eyes screwed shut and his name fell from your lips in desperate whines was a sight he would never get tired of.

“Oh my god, Quinn,” You shakily cried out, your eyes rolling backwards and the top of your head hitting against the shower wall as he thrusted into you, “Jesus, fuck.”

“Such a pretty girl,” He praised as his hand dove between your bodies, his fingers coming to rub at the bundle of nerves, “You look so pretty wrapped around me, you know that? Fuck, you feel so good.”

You were gripping at his back as he split you open, your vision coming in and out as he rubbed at your overstimulated clit and repeatedly slammed into you. Your name was tumbling from his lips in grunts, only tightening the coil in your stomach as his forehead dropped to your shoulder. You could feel the heat swirling inside you as he rammed himself into you, and you knew you weren’t going to last much longer.

“Quinn, I’m going to- I’m gonna,” You stuttered as he worked himself deeper, harder.

“I know, baby. Let go,” He whispered your name like it was holy and just, “Come all over my cock, pretty girl.”

His words sent you flying over the edge, your third orgasm of the night sending you into a fit of unmistakable pleasure. Waves of contractions washed over your body as Quinn fucked you through your orgasm, his own crashing over him not too far after. His thrusts became sloppy and slow as he came inside of you, his head burying itself into the crook of your neck as he let out stifled moans against the skin.

You’re not sure how long you clung to each other with him still inside you, sounds of your heavy breathing replacing the previous moans that were probably still echoing somewhere in your apartment. However, what felt like hours but was probably not even five minutes later, Quinn pulled himself out of you, guiding your still shaking leg back down and keeping your body upright.

“Time to get cleaned up, yeah,” He teased, his thumb and forefinger coming up to grab your chin.

“Good thing we’re already in the shower,” You bantered back, eyelids slowly drooping courteous of the man in front of you. 

You lazily pulled Quinn back into your hold, meeting his lips for yet another searing kiss. Yet this time, there was no desperation. There was no hunger. There was only love, and hope. Hope that, despite the damage that has been caused, the two of you will return to the best version of yourselves and let yourselves be happy without worry or fear.

again, please let me know if you see any mistakes. and let me know what you think! xoxox

[callsignfate]

Hi I have some ideas for Valeria ( if you need something 😆)

1. Movie night with a fem reader, we know Valeria is cold and heartless but for her girlfriend...she can be a total sweetheart. Reader finally convinced Valeria to watch a cartoons with her ( I love cartoons 🙈) so they take some snacks and go watch cartoons. Unfortunately reader fall asleep after an hour and that was a moment when Valeria realized how good and safe she feels with her girlfriend

2. Valeria had a stressful day (obviously 😅) when she finished her work only thing she wanted to do was to go to sleep. She went to her bedroom but she couldn't find her girlfriend (reader) so she went to find her. Reader was in the kitchen cooking something for both of them when Valeria found her. A lot of fluff ,maybe some sexual tension who knows 😆

I have a lot if ideas and your stories are always sooo good and I think it might be interesting 😆 I hope you like it

Thank you 🖤

Reader x Valeria

TW: Possible sexual content viewer discretion is advised

Okay so, Authors note, I had taken such a long time off of writing that I had to rewatch all of the Valeria scenes to make sure I wrote the character as closely as I could get. This didn’t take long but, yea. I also went and found a laptop with a great deal so I use it just for writing and can now write whenever I want instead of having to write only on my desktop that's having some minor issues right now. I would like to apologize again for the large wait in between posts as I have a lot of things going on with my mental and physical health. I kept trying to get back into writing but every time I would I’d end up sick, at the doctor's for some reason, or just not in the mood to write. I also have been getting into other shows and games so might expand the characters and fandoms I write for. This is the 2nd prompt btw I will work on editing the first prompt draft after I post this.

Lightly edited as I wanted to post something ASAP!

She ended up taking longer than even her normal long days, finding herself up to her eyes in work and calls that had to be done soon to move her products smoothly as some unforeseen hitches had ruined her previous plans with ease. Her office was now shrouded in dark other than the two lamps she had turned on absentmindedly. Her last call was the longest and most infuriating one as luck would have it, her foul words being muttered under her breath and she slammed her phone down and left the office she found stuffy and claustrophobic after sitting in it ceaselessly.

Valeria was a busy woman, of course, often keeping her empire running wasn't a small feat. Her days weren’t the standard eight hours as most were, after your busy schedule that kept you busy for eight to nine hours of the day. After work, you often waited around for her while relaxing and walking about the endless villa she called home.

Her mind was fuzzy with stress and exhaustion as the night before was restless and short, her morning with you being cut short had made the day already negative, only making her day longer and filled with her having an even shorter fuse. She yearned for sleep, to hold you in her arms while she listened to you ramble about the simple things that kept your mind busy and happy.

The trudging steps became lighter as she got closer to your shared bedroom where she half expected you to be in bed curled up either asleep or awake pouting and waiting for her with some small comment about how long you waited for her.

Instead, when she opened the door to get ready for bed you were gone, her eyebrows pinched together and furrowed in frustration. Her thoughts were filled with endless questions and fear? She scanned the room again to see the clothes she had seen you in when you had visited her office before were thrown into the hamper hanging off of the side of it messily. With a slightly agitated huff, she began opening doors down the hall in search of you, the bathrooms were cool and the mirror wasn't fogged up meaning you weren’t there, so she headed down the stairs before a sent of warm food led her to the kitchen, her eyebrows raised as she found you wearing an oversized sweater and short thin sleeping shorts that you usually wore to bed after she bought them for you on a particularly hot day a year or so ago.

“What are you doing?” She finally spoke with a slightly playfully mocking tone, making you jump while you leaned back and forth and mouthed the lyrics of the song you were listening to in your earbuds.

“I was making us something to eat, I tried to lay down but I got snacky and bored waiting.” You said after quelling your quickened heart and letting out a small breath.

“I had calls to make and the idiots on the other side weren’t listening.” She muttered with a small hint of frustration before she moved to stand behind you, her arms wrapping around you before they moved under your hoodie so slowly that your mouth slacked and goosebumps raised on your arms and the back of your neck.

“Let's eat and head to bed.” She hummed out in your ear with a small teasing and cocky laugh.

You offered a nod and plated the food before her hand slipped into your loose shorts making you lean forward onto the counter, your stomach tensing as a gasp escaped your lips. 

The food, sat on the counter cold you realized as you watched her sleeping soundly, the subtle soft snore making your lips turn up into a small smile.

[onyourowndaisymae]

unicorn bandages - alt. version

this has been sitting in my drafts awhile. someone requested some lucifer hurt/comfort (that i haven't got around to yet) and i wrote this, only to realize this didn't exactly hit the mark when i finished. but i figured it's cute, so i might as well post it

word count: 1145

content + warnings: playful/smartass lucifer, general fluff, minor physical injury, general mentions of embarrassment

you need to learn to be more careful.

that's what you think as you walk the rest of the way home to the house of lamentation, lost in your own thoughts. the gentle searing pain of your skinned knee was enough of a punishment-- did you brain have to keep replaying the memory of you tripping in the middle of town, too? being clumsy and wearing shorts were both incompatible with your plans today, yet here you are, looking foolish and feeling exposed from your mistake.

the blood had long since dried against your skin. you felt sticky and gross, yearning now for a shower and a place to hide from your lingering embarrassment. did anyone from RAD see you eat shit outside that shop. ugh, and they way nobody helped you up, how you awkwardly stumbled to your feet and-- ahhh!! please, no more!!

the familiar creak of the front doors announced your arrival to the house of lamentation. you shuffled inside awkwardly, head hung, staring at your feet to avoid another tumble. even the book you bought on your day out couldn't console you enough to block out the invisible judgement you felt.

"what is that?"

you lifted your head to find lucifer stopped in the archway to the living room, eyes narrowed at you.

"huh?"

"what is that?" he repeated. "what happened to your knee?"

"oh. i, uh, i fell on my way home and scraped my knee. i don't-- i'm fine. it's just a scrape."

you felt the urge to shy away from his stern gaze, to hide your little scrape from his prying eyes and pretend it never happened. he looks at the wound for a few moments longer before meeting your eyes.

"will you sit down on the stairs for a moment, mc?"

"it's not that big of a deal. it just need to be wiped off, nothing special."

"then surely you'd be okay with me cleaning it for you? since it's such a minor injury."

you couldn't think of much else to argue. he gave you that smug half-smirk he saved for minor victories such as this and disappeared from sight. you shuffled to the stairs and sat, slumped in defeat, as he presumably went to fetch some first aid supplies.

the avatar of pride returned as quickly as he left, this time with a small black box in his hands. a small gesture of his hands urged you to stretch the injured leg out to give him better access. gloved hands busied themselves digging through unidentified supplies.

"what happened?" he asks, quietly, as he pulls out what looks like a cotton pad and some sort of cleaning agent.

"i was... i went out to get this book satan recommended. y'know, because he always wants to talk about what he's reading." he nodded and you continued. "so i decided to grab it while i was out. apparently there's a hole in the sidewalk out front, because as i was walking out, my foot got caught and i-- ow!"

your cry of pain was almost indignant as lucifer interrupted your story by cleaning the wound. the sharp sting of something akin to but not quite isopropyl alcohol lit your knee on fire. had the scrape really been that bad?

"the bacteria in the devildom is a bit more aggressive than in the human realm," he explained, softer look on his face than a moment ago. "we wouldn't want our favorite human getting sick from an accident like this, would we?"

as if he was trying to apologize, lucifer brought your knee closer by the back of your leg and gently blew on the wound to alleviate some of the pain of the cleanser currently working its magic. it was nice. for a moment, he was lucifer, big brother, not the avatar of pride he embodied in public. his fingers fiddled with pulling and stretching your skin to ensure each inch was properly wiped clean. there was a certain level of sincerity to his movements that made you smile.

"did you do this a lot when your brothers were growing up?"

"you have no idea."

that makes you laugh. he smiles, just a little, before continuing.

"angels are supposed to be resilient. their skin is thicker than a human being's, so they shouldn't get hurt as easily. and yet training my younger brothers was-- well, it was quite the event."

"i'm gonna guess mammon was the biggest pain?"

"definitely mammon." a fond smile. he wiped a cotton pad across your busted knee before continuing. "every time i saw him, he was always covered in bruises and scrapes. i could never quite get him to admit that he'd got them wandering off in pursuit of his younger brothers."

"that sounds a lot like him."

lucifer picked up a small tin containing the bandages. these must have been picked out by asmodeus-- instead of the usual plain design lucifer always grabbed, these were bright and colorful with unicorn designs. the avatar of pride only offered a small sigh before pulling an adequately sized one out and applying for you. in a few moments, what was a terribly embarrassing memory had been sealed from the world behind two unicorns hopping in unison over a rainbow.

"aren't you going to kiss it better?"

your sarcastic question was followed by your mischievous little smirk. maybe you shouldn't have teased him while he was in such a good mood. his eyes narrowed a bit before, to your surprise, his smirk mirrored your own.

you open your mouth to play off your joke, but lucifer's already lifting your knee to his mouth. your whole body is sliding uncomfortably off the stair step-- karma sure is efficient-- as his lips hover above your knee. lucifer's lips brush the top of your bandage. he makes an obnoxious kissing sound to honor your request before unceremoniously dropping your leg, leaving you sprawled in an odd position on the steps.

"i was kidding," you whine.

"my apologies. i just wanted to make sure you healed correctly."

"yeah, yeah, whatever you say."

the avatar of pride is quick to repack the first aid kit and rise to his feet. you reach out for his hand to help you up. in a bout of playfulness, he instead high fives your open palm, small smirk dripping with sarcasm. of course you had to catch him in a good mood. you sigh dramatically. this time, his offer to help you stand was genuine. a quick tug of your hand and lucifer had quickly pulled your fragile human body off the steps.

"careful, mc. wouldn't want you to fall again."

"i think you'd enjoy it, actually. sadist."

"... you're probably right."

"huh?!"

your cry is indignant as he begins to exit. you chase after him without hesitation. that smirk on his face meant he was joking, right?

[kingsnake101]

I had an idea for a FS/LU au a while back and wrote a little intro for it! Spoilers for Four swords adventures probably

Characters: Green, Red, Vio, Blue, Ganon

TWs: imprisonment, mind control, blood, injury

Green stared at the plain, lichen-stained bricks, counting them for what must have been the hundredth time. Anything to distract him from the sobbing boy curled up against his side. Green gave Red a half-hearted squeeze. He had given up on trying to cheer up his brother long ago. All he could offer now was a shoulder to cry on.

They had been appointed as smiths for Ganon's new kingdom. They were given two meals a day, a workshop, and two cots with megar blankets.

The second cot had barely been touched since they arrived. Although it was irrational, Green couldn't help but fear that his brother would disappear the moment they let go of each other. He knew Red felt the same.

“At least we have each other,” Green mused. Vio and Blue weren't that lucky. Neither of them had seen Blue since they were captured, and whenever Vio visited it wasn't really Vio. Thoughtful purple eyes were clouded over by an opaque red. Red still believed that Vio was in there, and maintained the hope that maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could break through the spell. Green knew better. Ganon was smart. If Vio was in there, he was buried deep. Their meager connection told him that Blue was upstairs somewhere, and absolutely furious most of the time. The times when he wasn't was when Green worried most.

Green had been mad at Link in the beginning. As time went on, however, he began to realize the futility of it all. Red didn't blame Link, because of course he wouldn't. Eventually, the anger faded and melted into the endless void of numb sorrow.

Red let out a few soft sniffles, having finally cried himself to sleep. Green sighed softly, shifting until he was able to lower Red onto the cot. He needed to finish an order of moblins spears. When he tried to stand, the hand on his arm tightened.

“D’nt leave…” Red mumbled, tears slipping down his cheeks. Green glanced to the workshop, then back to his brother. With a sigh, he lowered himself back onto the cot. Red was already back asleep by the time he brought the blanket over the both of them. Green would just have to finish the spears in the morning.

Late that night, something strange happened. A boy dressed in red shook his brother awake, pointing to a glowing portal in the middle of the workshop.

A boy in blue spat blood onto the arena sand, glaring up at his monstrous audience. Ganon only smiled cruelly, raising his hand to signal the next wave of monsters. The gate began to screech open.

The boy in blue braced himself, only to feel a rush of strange magic appear behind him. He spun to face it, snarl turning to shock when he came face to face with a divine portal. A grin split his bloody face. 

The boy wasted no time. His raised middle fingers lingered when he disappeared into the portal.

A boy in purple walked along empty halls, back straight and eyes glowing red. He carried a set of four identical swords. His eyes widened ever so slightly when the floor disappeared underneath him, and within seconds, he was gone. The portal winked out of existence after him.

Explanation: A few months after FSA (I'm basing this off the manga), Link got really lonely and depressed. In desperation, he pulled the four sword, thus releasing Ganon. Ganon kidnapped the colors and put them in the predicaments you see here. Shadow is dormant for now...

Let me know what you think! This won't become a full work, but I might post some snippets. Feel free to ask me any questions about it or write something in this universe! I think I'm going to call it Four Swords Revival AU.

[al-the-remix]

TikTok Chef!Buck AU please please please!

I didn't know I needed this :D

Okay, so I already wrote about this one a bit here and here, but I do actually have a rough draft finished for this fic as well!

Basically, Buck has a Tik Tok account like this dude that Tommy gats totally enthralled with before they meet during the Cruise Ship Incident

Tommy keeps getting notifications from ChefFirehose that he doesn’t know how to turn off, and even if he did, at this point he probably wouldn’t bother. He still watches all of Evan’s videos, albeit a little less guiltily than before–after the harbour station tour Evan had continued his peruse of Tommy’s Instagram account with what Tommy would classify as admirable shamelessness, commenting stuff like nice form :) on a gym shots from three years ago.  It still feels like Tommy’s getting away with something that he shouldn’t be when it’s as easy as opening up TikTok and clicking on Evan’s profile to get to see him half-naked and making provocative hand gestures with a cantaloupe. There’s actual porn he could be watching. Hell, he could re-download Grindr and get his rocks off in under an hour instead of drooling over the way Evan’s biceps flex and twitch as he rolls out pastry dough. It takes him back to his days of furtively jerking it to the gay porn mags hidden beneath ceiling tiles in the barracks and wedged between loose pieces of siding in the latrines during deployment, or cruising for hookups in Military M4M AOL chat rooms and Craigslist listings.  He slinks off to the bathroom to take a cold shower when he realizes he’s worked himself half-hard over some bread fondling. He can’t help it, it’s like Evan’s got an iron grip on his brainstem and won’t let go.  /// Tommy’s working in the garden in his backyard when his phone vibrates in the little spot of shade he’d left it in. Tommy eyes it sidelong. It feels like he’s quitting nicotine all over again and someone just lit up in front of him.  He wipes his slick palms on his shorts before reaching for his phone. ChefFirehose has posted again and Tommy clicks on it without thinking twice.  The new video is different from the others. For one, Evan has all his clothes on. He’s dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans, both looser than the ones he often wears for his videos that look as if they could be spray painted on.  There’s daylight softening the edges of his face and lighting his kitchen in a buttery glow when he smiles.  "I've got a special video today for you guys. We’re baking a cake for charity–and we have a guest!" The toddler he plops on the counter beside him is one Tommy recognizes. Howie’s kid, Buck’s niece. “This is Sous-chef Jee and she’s going to be helping us out today.” That's when Tommy knows he's really fucked. And not in the fun, kinky way, but in the devastatingly I'm never going to recover from these feelings kind of way.  He contemplates the tomato patch, what’s the worst that could happen if he shoots his shot? Evan seems like the kind of guy that would be flattered rather than offended if Tommy was a little wide of his mark. Hey, why don’t you invite Evan along to Trivia night? He sets his phone to the side as he waits for Eddie to reply. They still needed a third person, he thought about asking Lucy, but with the way Evan had been probing him with questions during the tour Tommy had a feeling this was something he might enjoy. It’s not like there was any harm in asking. Buck? I was going to ask him to be my babysitter :( Tommy considers just leaving it there, but he can't ignore the tugging feeling in his stomach telling him to push just a little bit harder. Do you have anyone else you can ask to look after Chris? Maybe he should have just asked Evan himself, but if Tommy was wrong and Buck wasn’t actually interested, he’d probably feel more comfortable turning Eddie down than the guy he didn’t know all that well.  Yeah, it just might involve a lot of groveling. I’ll get back to you. Tommy pockets his phone and gets back to work. It's out of his hands now.

[drivestraight]

did anything major change when you started writing ETA to when you finished?

from here

oh yeah. so many things. here’s a list:

max (v) and lando were supposed to have History. yea That sort of history (pre-2024), that max was going to hint at throughout the present narrative, and it would come out during the qatar fight, but i thought it would muddle the fic too much + wasnt necessary to bring out the tension i wanted. its an abandoned plot point for sure, and i’m glad i didnt do it

i toyed around with the thought of having max return to f1 post 2025 (ferrari moment…) but that was also a short lived plot point that i decided 1) went against the spirit of his character in this fic, and 2) was a little too self-indulgent…

a lot of the plot points were in the back half of the fic (spa, monza, las vegas) were developed about halfway through me writing the fic, so i guess you could count those as “changes”

originally i didn’t know where i would end the fic. i thought i would end it right after qatar, like leave everyone on a low, mostly bc qatar at the start was like, the last Plot point i wanted to hit/i didn’t really have any interest in writing past that, but then as i wrote the fic, things developed more + more and i realized that i had to do oscar and everyone justice and tie up loose ends. and then i was like. wouldnt it be super funny if max shows up… :)

maxcar weren’t supposed to be romantic !! i had originally intended for them to just be like max and george in winning mentality, just fwbs who grow fond of each other + get each other, but then the more i wrote and developed the idea with lia, the more i realized… yeah… this works like a romance too

overall though, i’d say that the core of the fic stayed the same — hungary + abu dhabi 24, silverstone 25, zandvoort+qatar 26, all were there from the start

ty for the ask! this was a fun one

[official212th]

ok so i just finished this book the eighth arrow and god knows nobody reads any of my posts so im just gonna put some thoughts here.

first of all: this book is so so so good yet such a fucking trip to read because it is written by a priest. and 90% of the time its a great take on greek legends and mythos and also has some truly ridiculous homoerotic subtext. but then every couple chapters you get a remind that wow. this was written by a priest. spoiler warning but odysseus legit converts to christianity at the end which is actually hilarious. and ok, the priest who wrote it works at a catholic school that is actually in the same city as i am and i will say i appreciated how he very clearly planned to use this book in either theology or english classes, because it was absolutely 100% a metaphor for redemption in catholicism and the idea of mercy and forgiveness. guys i know what im talking about i also go to catholic school. but the way he frames it as a story that's ostensibly not about christianity, but he sneaks in a few metaphors and buzzwords (the disclaimer at the beginning, in which odysseus says he actually made the whole story up, talks about how he was "judged worthy" and "redeemed" and talks about God's grace and providence. which is pretty standard fare for your average high school theology class.) specific to christianity and even catholicism (some of the beliefs regarding redemption in here are pretty unique to catholicism and i don't think some protestants would like this book very much)

second of all did i mention the homoerotic subtext? because wow. honestly it wasn't even subtext it was just text. the whole book is about odysseus and diomedes and their journey through dante's inferno. but it starts off talking about how the two of them are "imprisoned in a single flame" for 3,000 years (ok buddy not sounding too straight to me) and they kind of have a friends to enemies to friends thing happen but like the whole reason they become enemies is odysseus doesn't realize or acknowledge diomedes' love for him??? (GAY)

im going to back myself up with sources. proteus (weird old guy that's there like half the time) says to odysseus "that man really loves you. He loves you more than he loves his own father. More than he's ever loved anyone, I suspect. And that is a sacred thing, a love like that" and does the priest writing it maybe mean it in the way that God loves us? maybe but thats not how i'm interpreting it! anyways i really liked how (spoiler warning again although if you're avoiding spoilers for this book idk how you got this far) odysseus and diomedes are bffs but also fight. like really bad. like almost-killed-each-other bad. and then they have a really nice moment in which diomedes almost dies and odysseus is like "wait i love u youre my family pls dont die" and then they team up and save the day. its so sick. i love gay people.

[thecurioustale]

My New Book Is Out! | Tokens of Zeal

My new book is out!

Buy it! Buy it now!

That's right: In secret, on January 2 of this year I began writing a book of essays. Some of you may know that I have an online journal, which I created in the summer of 2003 when I was just 21 years old and have kept up with ever since. For my new book I went back to the journal and read through it, entry by entry, drawing out excerpts of interest that became conversation pieces for 81 various and sundry essays reflecting on my past life and past thoughts.

The essays are short, often very short. They are less challenging than my usual writing, I would say. My purpose was not to advance my personal frontier of philosophy and intellectual thought in 2024, or to reach a niche audience of deep thinkers, but instead to reflect sincerely on some things I've seen along the way and muse upon how my thoughts have changed and stayed the same over twenty years.

I mention this to you because I am a bit worried that anyone who reads this book might think there's not much to me as an author, and might be dissuaded from reading my works of fiction when those books eventually come out, so I'll lampshade that by adding that I wrote this book in two-and-a-half months. Make of that what you will. I told myself I wouldn't self-sabotage the book by needlessly saying negative things about it, and I am proud of it, not only the fact that I finished it at all, let alone so quickly, but of the actual contents too.

This book is "Volume 1" in a hypothetical series, as it doesn't cover the entire twenty years of the journal but only the first four months, from August to November of 2003—at which point the essays had reached "book length" (lol). So really this book is a snapshot of my life in the latter half of 2003. At that time, I was fading out of college due to financial hardship and other issues, and did not realize that I would never (as yet) return.

I have been wanting for years to go back and reread my journal, and writing a book out of it was the perfect impetus to finally do it. I think a few things stand out about the Josh of 2023:

First, my principles have remained remarkably consistent, but my awareness and understanding of the world has grown drastically, and so those same principles have led me over time to some different policy views and worldviews on some things.

Second, I was a 21-year-old arrogant block of cheese, full of hormones and self-conviction, and that definitely shows up at times in ways that I simultaneously am not proud of and yet which I admire for their sheer gall. There is something very magnetic about the old me which doesn't exist anymore.

Third, following up on that point, it was pretty inspiring and encouraging to revisit the old me, with all that native optimism and drive. I don't express those qualities anymore because life has worn me down and also because I have come to recognize that humanity's problems are a lot more stubborn and irremediable than I thought. By glimpsing into the past, I couldn't help but be cheered on by the old Josh's proud, utopian sense of human inevitability. It lifted my own spirits in the here and now!

I made the mistake of announcing the book on Patreon right after I finished writing it, i.e. back in mid-March. Then I had to wring my hands every week about how post-production was taking longer than expected. Between the irritating realities of formatting a book in software not properly equipped to format a book (never write a book in Google Docs), the complexities of my detail-oriented manner and strong vision regarding the cover design (and engaging for the first time ever with modern generative AI, and having to learn those ropes), and sustaining illnesses and other life priorities and so on, it would take me another two months in all to finally reach today, where I can now publicly declare:

The book is done! It is for sale right now. It is called:

Tokens of Zeal: Words from a Vanished Age

(Caption: Book front cover of Tokens of Zeal: Words from a Vanished Age, by Joshua Calars.)

You can buy it through Amazon in either paperback or e-book format. (I recommend the paperback version for aesthetics as it is much truer to my design vision for the book's layout and appearance, but my profit margin is actually a dollar bigger with the e-book version, so really just go with whichever version you prefer.) It is available in the US as well as in basically all the other countries that Amazon has expanded its publishing service into. If you need help finding a link to a particular version, give me a ping and I will point you there (if there is a "there" to be pointed to). This is my second published book, following Prelude to After The Hero in 2015, and the first book to be published in print.

If you do read it, first of all thank you! It's an honor that you would take the time. Second of all, I would love any feedback you care to offer. That's not a platitude either; feedback is hard to come by and I really would be interested in anything you have to say, good or bad. You can e-mail me, DM, reblog this, drop an ask, or tag me in an independent post. Whatever you like! Feedback will help me greatly when I eventually get around to writing Volume 2. And feel free to leave a review on Amazon, whether good or bad (though hopefully you enjoy the book); I am told it pleases The Algorithm. But most of all, if you enjoy the book, tell someone about it! Your word-of-mouth is currently 100 percent of my advertising budget, lol.

That's all. I wrote a book; it took four-and-a-half-months; it's done now; and it's the first time I've ever gotten to hold a book that I wrote in my hands as a physical thing, and that's pretty neat.

[hircines-hunter]

WIP Wednesday

Hi hi hi! 😊 have a preview of the thing I’ve been working on for the past 3 days. It’s now like 14k idk if I’m gonna post a long one shot or divide into chapters yet. But either way. It will be eventual Ralof/OC. But for now, it’s kind of in the air

Gonna tag : @umbracirrus @madamefluffnstuff @thequeenofthewinter @bostoniangirl21 @vivifriend

@rakaiawriter @oblivions-dawn

“Ci? Ciara?”

Who called her? It sounded like Ralof. Ciara groaned. She lurched forward. Her eyes fluttered open. Too bright. She went to shield her face, realizing her hands were bound. “Divines.” She mumbled.

“Thank the Divines. You’re finally awake, Ci.”

“Ralof?” She blinked. “What…? Where are we?” Ciara looked around. She saw the gate down the road. Helgen? She looked around the carriage. Her eyes widened when she saw Jarl Ulfric sitting next to her. Gagged, bruised, and bound. “Divines. Ralof….” She felt tears roll down her cheek.

“You're a civilian. And about to marry Hadvar. I’m sure you’ll be okay.” Ralof’s face darkened. He leaned over on his knees.

“This is…. The Empire can’t do this.” She whispered. She looked over when Ralof laughed. She bit her lip until she tasted blood.

“It’s amazing how easily that view can change. This is how they’ve always been, Ci.” Ralof looked at her. He hadn’t seen her in five years. How had she changed so much physically? “What were you doing out there?”

“Alchemy. Jazbay grapes. Canis root. Creep cluster.”

“You haven’t changed.” He smiled a bit.

Ciara looked at him. She looked over when she saw the gates open. She saw General Tullius.

“Damned Elves.” Ralof spat as he saw the Thalmor.

Ciara looked around Helgen, trying to find a familiar face. Would they even listen to her about being engaged to Hadvar?

The carriage came to a stop. She followed the Stormcloaks off the carriage. Her heart stopped when she heard a familiar voice. Her eyes instantly welled.

“Ralof of Riverwood.”

Hadvar held the list. Is there where he’d been stationed for the past month? More tears rolled down her face. Hadvar’s eyes widened when he saw her—dressed in rags. A bruise and dried blood on her temple. “Ciara? Captain, she’s not on the list!” Ciara took a few steps towards Hadvar.

“She goes to the block.” Ciara’s heart stopped. She stared at Hadvar and then the captain.

“Captain, that’s my…. She’s my fianc-” Hadvar stammered. His heart pounded in his ears. He felt sweat bead on his forehead.

The captain turned towards Hadvar. “Are you a traitor as well? If your woman is one, that makes you one as well. And I can add you to the list. Think about your next words.”

“She’s not a traitor. She’s a healer.” He tried to explain.

“She goes to the block. Don’t ask again. Or you’ll join her.”

Hadvar bit his lip. He briefly looked at Ciara and wrote her name on the list. “Ciara Finley of Riverwood. I’ll make sure your family gets your remains.”

Ciara stared in disbelief. Her jaw slackened. Her vision wavered. Her heart pounded with rage. With pain. She turned away and stood next to Ralof, leaning against him. “Fucking coward.” She clenched her jaw. She pulled on her magicka reserves—a fireball formed in her palm.

Ralof reached over and put his hands on her arm. “Save it. Wait.”

A roar pierced the skies.

Ciara looked up. As did everyone else.

“Next the Breton!”

Ciara didn’t move. She readied another fireball in her hands. She held her hands up at the soldier who approached her. She released the fireball. It exploded in the soldier’s face. He fell back, screaming and clutching his face. Ciara readied another fireball as another soldier charged at her. She ducked.

Another roar.

“What in Oblivion is that!”

A dark shadow blocked out the sun. A dragon landed on the tower. Half of the structure collapsed.

“Ci! The gods won’t give us another chance!” Ralof grabbed her arm and dragged her through the mayhem. They made it inside the keep. “Was that…?”

“A dragon.” She finished.

[ikrivi]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚 𝐚 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 - yuji itadori ☆‎‎‎‎  © vnsux

🌲 as christmas time creeps up, you and yuji decide to spend some quality time together writing up letters to santa. 0.59k [ prompt list ] [ day two ] [ day four ]

🌲 cw. childish themes, reader is gn, no pronouns used, reader calls yuji an idiot, mentions of a lethal amount of melatonin (don't take more than 10mgs guys)

with a long, dramatic, and very very loud sigh, you turn your head from the window to yuji. you were absolutely utterly bored, and this little brat was napping. it took every fiber of your being not to wake him up, because, wow, he looked so silly, you could totally use it against him. but also because he deserved it. 

it was hard to stay mad at him. but you couldn’t take this any longer.

“yuuuuuuuuujiiiiiiiiii,” you call, even louder than you sighed. still sleeping? you furrow your eyebrows. this kid was a deep sleeper. “yuji! itadori! wake up!” but he didn’t even stir. what the hell was he dreaming about?

so you resort to violence, shaking him as hard as you can, not even bothering to be gentle. megumi hits him over the head all the time, he’s grown practically immune. his eyes only squish together and he rolls over. 

“what…” you gawk, your jaw on the floor. there was no way. “did you take 3000 milligrams of melatonin? how are you still sleeping?” you didn’t even know what to do at this point. you looked back out the window, at the endless barrage of snow out your window, and scrunch up your nose. 

but suddenly, an idea rumbles in your brain when you realize it was december. christmas! you knew yuji believed in santa still. you thought it was a little childish, and megumi and nobara clowned him for it, but you also thought it was so cute. 

you rummaged through a drawer in the kitchen and pulled out two sheets of paper and some markers. you felt so dumb, but this was sure to wake him up.

“yuji! we’re making christmas lists! wake up!” and sure enough, he opened his eyes, instantly shooting up. hah. worked like a charm. if he had a tail, it would be wagging. 

“huh? christmas lists?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. “yeah, sleepy head. a letter to santa. do you know what you want?” you placed the paper on the table beckoning him over.

“ ‘course i do. been thinkin’ ‘bout it all year!” he replied enthusiastically, clumsily making his way over to you, running his hands through his hair. 

you gave him a once-over. “how do you sleep through all that.” she raised an eyebrow, pulling a seat out to start writing. he shrugged, immediately getting to it, not even bothering to sit. in only four seconds, he already had a list of at least eight things. his handwriting was messy and he wrote them down so quickly you couldn’t keep up.

“there’s no way santa can read that, yu, write neater!” you command, but he ignores you. then he flips to the back side of the paper and starts writing a letter.

“dear santa,” he narrates, sticking his tongue out in concentration. “i hope i did good this year. i tried to make everyone happy, and i really really want…” he trailed off, still writing. you tried to peek, but he shooed you away. when he seemed to finish, he tossed the pencil to the side and folded the paper in half as best he could. then he gave it to you and glared.

“you better not read that, y/n!” and you chuckle nervously. “yes sir.” you affirm.

but when he was out of sight, you read it anyway. through messy handwriting and multiple misspelled words, you read: “i really really want to get a fat turtle for y/n.” you look at the paper with a wonky smile. 

he was such a loser. and you loved him.

🌲 author's note. look at him. such a microwavable chihuahua... sorry these r getting shorter n shorter im gonna get some more done. i had three to post today though since im behind so be on the lookout for day four!! not sure where the fat turtle came from but yk hope you enjoyed <3

[freetobeeyouandme]

No new chapter of the Byler Isekai Fantasy AU today because I need way longer for edits than I thought, plus I think I just really need to overthink my posting schedule, BUT in the meantime I'd like to inform you that I already have a long, multichaptered Byler Fantasy AU complete up on Ao3. Just in case you didn't know yet and want something similar to tide you over until I get around to posting again next week.

Through A Dark Glass, Wanting

90k | Rated M | Fantasy AU, D&D inspired AU, Canon Typical Horror, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Suicidal Ideation, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Will Byers is so loved if he only accepted it, Will keeps making bad decisions bear with him

When a dark corruption spreads from the Deep Woods north of the kingdom of Roane, it falls to Will and his friends to investigate the cause. But as they close in on what seems to be the inevitable final confrontation with the Mad Wizard they have been fighting for years, Will finds his magic failing him as the darkness that scarred him during his first encounter with that very man finally overtakes him. Will stands no chance at stopping the demons that have been haunting him – after all how can he fight for a happy ending when he doesn’t believe he deserves one? - Or, Will learns to accept that his friends love him a whole lot more than he thinks they should.

I wrote this one during last year's Byler Big Bang, so it has a lot of wonderful art by the extremely talented @katimanki, and since I really enjoyed working on it I want to give it some love today (also because the next BBB is just around the corner - yay!). I'll definitely be back with the next chapter of the Isekai AU next week, but also be warned that I'm probably going to stick to a three week posting schedule for the last couple of chapters. I very much over/underestimated how long this bad boy would be and how much time I would be able to spend on it, so while I don't like it, it is now what it is.

An excerpt and my usual taglist below (since I'm assuming you might be interested in another fantasy AU as well)

Chapter 1: The Inn at the End of the World

Will spends dinner staring at the dark clouds obscuring the woods less than a days ride away from the inn. Night has already begun falling around them, but the clouds hovering over the trees almost glow a little in the dark, as if to make sure he remembers that they are there. Inside of the clouds he can see the tree tops and dark spots of creatures flying. General consensus is that the Deep Woods are a dead place, but he knows that’s not true. Whatever the shadow touches doesn’t die. It just wishes it had.

An elbow hits him in the ribs, for the second time in as many minutes. It’s only on the second time, though, that he realizes the elbow is intentional – for once this evening.

“Byers, you gonna finish that or not?” Dustin says, wiping his mouth while also eyeing the bread on Will’s plate.

Will wordlessly pushes his plate – the only plate on the table that isn’t completely blank – over to his friend.

Immediately he feels Mike’s knee knock into his, and silently curses the inn for being so packed that they had to squeeze four of them onto a bench made for three. Even with Lucas hanging half off it, leaning over to chat with Max, it’s a tight fit. Too tight. And Dustin’s elbow is nothing compared to Mike’s…well, Mike’s everything.

He can feels Mike’s hot breath on his cheek when he speaks. “Are you okay?”

Will puts on a practiced smile. “I’m fine,” he reassures his best friend. He nods at the window behind Mike’s head. “Just not really feeling hungry right now.”

Mike follows his gaze and sighs. “Just make sure to have breakfast, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. We need our strength.”

Mike returns Will’s eye roll with a tight smile.

Will grabs the half eaten chicken leg from his plate and takes a tentative bite to appease him. Mike, apparently satisfied that Will’s not gonna drop dead of starvation before they even set foot in the woods, turns back to whatever conversation he was having with El on his other side. Will drops the chicken again and grabs a napkin instead.

Dustin pushes the now more empty plate towards the middle of the table. He has eaten maybe half of what Will had left over, leaving the chicken leg and the harder parts of the bread.

He pats his stomach. “Tiamat’s Third head, I’m full.”

“That’s still not gonna catch on,” Will tells him.

Dustin gives him the finger. Then he belches.

Will decidedly turns his nose out of the path, staring instead at the crowd around them. The inn, a small affair just on the border between the Duchy of Hawkins and the impenetrable Deep Woods, is teeming with people. At first Mike had been worried they wouldn’t even get rooms, but that was the one thing The Aleful Dragon had not been short of. They could each have gotten their own, but instead they’d gone for their usual three: One double for the girls, two for the boys. Officially.

Will eyes the tankard in front of Dustin, silently hoping it will stay at that one but knowing that since this is their last proper night in civilization, it won’t. And unfortunately, unlike Mike, Dustin snored when he was drunk.

The innkeeper’s son comes to clear away their table, shyly ducking his head as he does so. In his eyes there is the recognition that had become more and more common over the past two years. This is the Prince of Hearts, Slayer of the Thessalian Hydra and Scourge of the Mad Wizard. This is no ordinary band of would-be heroes at his table.

To everyone’s surprise, it is Dustin whom he addresses when he brings them the round of beers they order as he clears the table.

“You are Dustin the Bold, right?” When Dustin nods he swallows and asks in a quiet voice: “Would you mind if I asked my mother if you could play tonight? We have our house musicians, but…”

Dustin’s grin is wolfish. “Do I ever mind that, my young friend? Tell her I will play all night if she only keeps the beer coming.”

Will doesn’t bother pointing out that the innkeeper's son seems to be a few years older than them, actually. Dustin’s flame is lit and he doesn’t think their bard will hear much tonight that doesn’t pertain to song requests.

The young man runs off happily to tell his mother the news, and sure enough she herself comes to their table to negotiate the deal. It’s a standard contract as far as the work of a bard goes: The drink will be on the house for him and his companions. The rooms they still have to pay for.

It means hell for Will’s ears, but he supposes he can always go to bed early, perhaps be deeply asleep by the time the snoring starts. Considering how long Dustin plans on playing and drinking, he might do that anyway.

Dustin gets up as the innkeeper heads back to the bar. He makes a big show of having to get out of the booth, shooing Lucas and Max into a frenzy. That still doesn’t seem fast enough because he just climbs up on the table to leave it in the end. It’s either some eerie talent or everyone else’s quick reflexes that mean he doesn’t spill any ale as he crosses.

“Sir Michael, my lute if you please?”

Mike looks up at him, rolling his eyes. “Get your dirty boots of the table, Dustin.”

Dustin lifts his chin in defiance. “My lute, I said.”

Will sees how they had been identified in this nowhere inn despite their plain clothes. Even in a simple tunic, visibly mended here and there where it had gotten ripped and torn in previous battles, Dustin strikes an imposing figure. The lute that is leaning against the wall beside their booth could be the prized possession of a simple minstrel, but the confident set of Dustin’s shoulders and the glimmer of knowledge in his eyes identify him clearly as a Bard of the Conclave. Take then his companions and even the people who had not seen Mike’s crown-and-heart shield as they carried their things upstairs were sure to know who was drinking among them.

Mike shakes his head and wordlessly hands over the richly painted instrument.

@smalltownwheeler @wheelerpilled @wrong-energy @foodiewithdahoodie @doggozzy @gardenfairie @beelikesbirds @beverlysclown @yickarus @sourdough-el @hessolivagant @hesquietoday @oldfashionedmorphine @total-serene560 @bylersrise @hawkinsunderground @generalstorecashier @snixx @camel-casing @bylersbear01 @turningsoft @casatoan @maru-chu @mid13s @goldentrunks @bunnybylerfangirl @willbyersenthusiast @letterstomichelangelo @drowninginideas @fluffyfangirl @artsyna @absolutelynotyouidiot @bymarara @unknowmiau @are-you-reddie @elherself134 @longtallglasses @kennahjune @easilyentertained99 @bylerschapter @father-imperator @bylerina

[ju-vondy]

Headcanon Gwyn scene

Guys, I just wrote this for the Chapter 11 in the Gwynriel fanfic I'm posting on Wattpad and I wanted to share with you all because yes, LOL.

This is the kind of building I hope Sarah does for Gwyn. Our girl has so much to grow! I hope you all enjoy. Please leave your thoughts!

WARNING: May contain anxiety triggers.

Count of words: 1.876

Some context before starting: Our beloved Valkyries accepted Rhysand's proposal to form a legion of female warriors (the Reborn Valkyries) and now Gwyn is about to embark on a mission with Azriel. The day is coming, a lot has been happening and, well... Let's see what happens?

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The torches cast faint light across the library, creating dancing shadows on the walls as Gwyn leaned over the ancient manuscripts. The room was silent, except for the soft rustle of parchment pages as Gwyn turned them, struggling to keep her eyes open.

Her eyes burned with exhaustion, but she refused to succumb to sleep. There was an important and lengthy translation to complete before the mission and she couldn't afford to leave anything unfinished. Several days had passed since the conversation where Azriel had suggested Gwyn stop serving as a priestess, and... She was trying to ignore that advice with all her might.

Only a week and a half remained before they departed. But as exhausting as the routine had been, she owed everything to those females, didn’t she? Even though Merrill was a bossy and authoritarian figure, Gwyn had grown so fond of her colleagues and... And singing! Singing during the services made her feel like she was floating, like she belonged to something.

Stopping her work as a priestess would surely erase a part of herself that Gwyn was not willing to let go of.

The Valkyrie yawned again. The fatigue finally caught up with her, enveloping her like a heavy blanket. Her eyes began to blink slowly, giving in to the irresistible desire to close. Then, without realizing it, Gwyn fell asleep, her head resting on the ancient scrolls.

It was Merrill's sharp voice that woke her abruptly.

Gwyn blinked, confused and dazed, as Merrill stared at her with an expression of disapproval and fury.

"What do you think you're doing, Gwyneth?" Merrill growled, her words as sharp as knives. "Sleeping in the library, as if there wasn't important work to be delivered before the journey? You have a responsibility here, and you chose to sleep instead of working?"

Gwyn tried to compose herself, shame burning in her cheeks as she quickly stood up.

"I'm sorry, Merrill, I... I didn't realize I had fallen asleep. I was just trying to finish the translation before Silphie officially takes over my duties..."

Merrill interrupted her with a brusque gesture of her hand.

"Apologies won't fix this, Gwyneth. You're here to serve as a priestess, not as an exhausted soldier who can't fulfill her responsibilities."

"The High Lord said I could..."

"I don't care what the High Lord said," Merrill crossed her arms. "He'll certainly change his mind after I have a word with him. You need to choose: do you want to be a warrior or a priestess? Because clearly you can't handle being both."

Merrill's words hit Gwyn like a blow, leaving her stunned and hurt. She couldn't find a response, her thoughts muddled and foggy with fatigue.

"Are you listening to me, Gwyneth?"

The Valkyrie growled, frustrated. How long would Merrill continue to treat her this way? A fire began to spread inside her body as she closed her notebook, the books and started to organize the manuscripta.

Enough.

She had enough.

"If you don't like my work, why didn't you dismiss my services as soon as I started training?" Gwyn exhaled, standing up. "You still haven't found anyone to replace me, have you? No one likes working for you." The Valkyrie crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes and finally letting the anger inside her overflow as she said something that had been stuck in her throat for a long time: "Because you're a demanding and authoritarian bitch."

Gwyn blinked, barely recognizing her voice as she said that ugly word. Merrill's expression twisted into a mask of rage, her eyes sparking with indignation as she stared at Gwyn.

"How dare you disrespect this sacred place with your temper?" Merrill shouted, her voice echoing through the library corridors. "Aren't you ashamed of insulting your superior like this? You aren't worthy of wearing the protective stone like all the others!"

Merrill's cutting words pierced Gwyn's heart with sharp pain. She quickly regretted thinking she could stand up to Merrill. Gwyn struggled to hold back the tears threatening to overflow from her eyes, her jaw clenched tightly as she fought against the wave of emotions consuming her body.

The few priestesses still circulating through the library watched the scene with shock and disbelief, some murmuring among themselves in tones of disapproval. Gwyn felt the weight of their gazes on her, the weight of judgment and condemnation. Her anger began to transform into a burning flame within her chest.

She lifted her chin, determined not to show weakness before Merrill and the other priestesses. She wasn't unworthy, no matter what they said. She was strong, determined, and capable. She was the rock against which the shadows break. And she would not let Merrill's cruel words bring her down.

With her jaw still tense, Gwyn swallowed hard, gathering all her courage to say: "I am no less worthy than any other priestess in this library," her voice trembled slightly, but she made sure to keep it firm and determined. "I strive every day to honor our duties and our faith."

Merrill snorted disdainfully.

"You can try to fool yourself while you play soldier, Gwyneth. But I know the truth:" Merrill pointed a finger in the redhead's face. "You are a disgrace to our order, and your presence here only brings dishonor to our sacred duties."

With one last disdainful look, Merrill turned and left the library, leaving Gwyn alone with her turbulent emotions. The anger boiled inside her, a burning flame that threatened to consume her entirely. What had started as a fire had become a dangerous explosion.

She was a Valkyrie, a fearless and courageous warrior. Nothing Merrill said was true. She was worthy, just like all the others. Wasn’t she? She was not a disgrace. Or was she?

"I am the rock against which the surf crashes..." Gwyn said as she adjusted her hood to leave the library, trying to silence the noise in her head and not let those thoughts defeat her. "Nothing can break me."

Nothing can break me, she repeated in her mind as she climbed the stairs to go to the House.

Gwyn felt an overwhelming mix of emotions inside her, a burning energy that drove her to act. She knew she needed a way to release all that accumulated tension, so she decided to go to the training ring, even though it was cold and dark outside.

It was the middle of the night, but she didn't care at all.

Entering the spacious and airy ring, Gwyn saw the punching bag hanging in the center. Without hesitation she threw off her priestess cloak, not even bothering to wrap her fingers, and advanced towards the object — her fists clenched and her eyes sparking with determination.

Starting to deliver several blows in the punching bag, Gwyn let the pain take over as she said through gritted teeth:

"Nothing." A right punch. "Can..." another, from the left. "Break." and then a solid kick. "Me." a hook followed by a determined growl.

Gradually, the frustration began to dissipate slowly, replaced by a sense of relief. Still, Gwyn continued to punch with will: each impact causing a release of all the weight and pain she carried in her heart.

As the minutes passed and the intensity of her blows increased, Gwyn barely noticed she was overdoing it. Her fingers began to throb with pain, but she ignored the sensation completely. She was so immersed in her own anguish that she barely noticed the blood dripping from her hands.

The punches were no longer just about Merrill: it was about her past, the loss of her sister, the day she was raped... Every damn thing that had ever happened to her.

It was only when her tears began to blur her vision and her lungs felt heavy as she tried to swallow her sobs that Gwyn finally realized how far she had gone. Her sobs echoed through the walls of the ring, but she didn't want to stop.

She couldn't stop.

"I am the rock..." she gasped, abruptly stopping her blows against the object. When Gwyn extended her fingers to see the extent of the injuries, her hand was trembling. She sniffled and whispered softly: "Against which the surf crashes..."

A groan of pain escaped Gwyn's lips as she let herself fall to her knees on the ground, her body trembling with the intense effort, her heart racing with her turbulent emotions.

She let out an angry scream. With her hand on her thighs, the Valkyrie focused on trying to control her breathing, without much success. All she could do was cry and cry, giving small nervous laughs in the process, mentally cursing the voices in her head who were saying she wasn't worth it.

Gwyn heard light, hurried footsteps approaching her, but she didn't bother to look in the direction behind her when she said:

"Go away."

"What happened?" the familiar voice sounded worried.

"Go. Away." Gwyn said, her voice still choked with tears. She used her wrists to dry her eyes and sobbed. "Please, Nesta. I want to be alone."

"See, Az?" Nesta continued, ignoring Gwyn's request. "She just wants to be alone. You called me for nothing."

Gwyn turned back when she heard Azriel's nickname. Nesta raised an eyebrow, curious.

"Azriel?" the redhead said, confusion in her voice. And then, as if emerging from the shadows, he appeared, silent as the night. His amber eyes were serious, and a look of concern marked his face, slightly illuminated by the moonlight and stars. "You were here the whole time?"

He nodded. Gwyn glared at him, but before she could open her mouth to protest, Nesta intervened:

"He thought it best to call me because he panics when he sees a female crying." Nesta took a step closer and Gwyn didn't tell her to go away this time.

"After Mor broke a champagne bottle over my head when I tried to comfort her during a tough time, I was traumatized." Azriel joked, just to lighten the mood.

Gwyn laughed, something sparking in her chest.

"You idiot," was all she could whisper.

Nesta crouched, taking her friend's hands. "By the Mother, Gwyn! Look at this, it's horrible."

Azriel approached them, alarmed. "Let me see."

Gwyn looked away when tje shadowsinger, with gentle and precise movements, checked the bruises and cuts.

"I hope she didn't broke a finger." Nesta murmured, trying not to show panic. The wingtips of Azriel's shadow quickly fluttered at this, but the male kept his expression calm.

"It seems to be ok. Just some cuts and bruises, we'll have to clean it and apply a few bandages."

Gwyn sighed, feeling embarrassed for losing control to the point of hurting herself that badly. She didn't want to appear weak, especially not in front of Azriel and Nesta.

"How did you do this?" Nesta asked, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity. And why? — Nesta only thought that.

Gwyn sighed again, fighting back the tears threatening to return.

"I was... discounting my frustration on the punching bag." She admitted, feeling foolish for not being more careful. "I think I got a bit too carried away."

"Let's take care of this." Azriel said with a comforting gentleness in his voice.

Together, the three headed inside the House, where a "first aid" kit awaited them, as if the House had anticipated their needs. Azriel guided Gwyn to the table. Gwyn insisted she could do it herself, but Azriel's serious look as he said "Sit down" in a low, authoritative tone made her obey without protest. Nesta offered her silent support, placing a hand tenderly on her Gwyn's shoulder.

The quietness of the house enveloped them. Slowly, Nesta felt the silence mix with the concern in her chest. She found herself reflecting for a moment: what had caused Gwyn to explode like this? They had much to discuss.

Gwyn felt her friend's gaze and asked: "Something wrong, Nesta?"

Nesta sighed, pondering how to approach the delicate subject.

"It's just... " she began, hesitant. " Are you... alright?"

" I'm trying to be" Gwyn admitted, her voice a whisper. "But it's been hard lately. Too much happening at once. It's just..." she swallowed hard and glanced at Azriel, who had finished her right hand and now began to clean the wounds on her left hand." I'd rather not talk about it now.

"Alright." Nesta agreed, but didn't leave Gwyn's side.

Gwyn turned her attention to Azriel, who skillfully tended to her injuries. His precise and delicate movements revealed a dexterity she imagined he had acquired over time. She spent a long moment watching Azriel's nimble hands, appreciating the beauty of the gesture.

Nesta did the same. She raised an eyebrow at Azriel, noticing the meticulous care he employed while treating Gwyn's injury — a gentleness that contrasted with the strength of his hands. A rare glimpse of the sensitivity hidden behind the iron facade he constantly carried.

"You're good at this" Gwyn whispered when the shadowsinger was almost finished.

"Years of practice" Azriel replied with a bitter smile, his gaze wandering to his own hands marked by scars of the past. "Don't worry, your hands won't look as horrible as mine do."

Gwyn frowned, surprised by Azriel's self-deprecation.

"I wasn't... I wasn't looking at them like that" she murmured, embarrassed as Azriel placed the final bandage on her right hand and announced he was done. Gwyn held his wrist for a moment before speaking: "Hey. Your hands aren't ugly, Azriel."

Azriel flinched from Gwyn's touch as if it burned him and stood up.

"Good to know someone still has faith in my appearance" he said with a hint of sarcasm, giving an ironic smile before stepping away. "Good night to you both. Don't forget to change the bandages tomorrow, Gwyn."

Gwyn stood up, about to call him back, but Nesta interrupted her:

"It's no use, Gwyn." Nesta sighed, taking a step closer to her friend. "He never listens."

"But..." Gwyn stammered.

"Forget it." Nesta grunted, holding back the urge to grab Azriel by the collar and slap him for treating Gwyn like that after such a calm exchange they were having. Nesta had seen the look her friend gave his hands: admiration. No disgust, no repulsion. Pure admiration. "How about some hot chocolate before bed? I can stay in your room until you fall asleep. If you want to vent, you know..."

"But Cassian..." Gwyn hesitated.

"He will understand." Nesta assured. "Come on, I'm sure the House will prepare a delicious chocolate cake as well."

Gwyn nodded, letting Nesta guide her through the halls. The comforting aroma of hot chocolate enveloped them even before they entered Gwyn's room, making her feel grateful for her friend's presence.

" Thank you, Nesta" Gwyn murmured, feeling more at ease with the warm friendship by her side.

Nesta smiled, wrapping Gwyn in a comforting embrace.

"I will always be here for you, Gwyn."

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THAT'S ALL, MY FELLAS!

I'm crying, are you crying?

This is the kind of thing I'm hoping for Gwynriel: they hate themselves but when they look to each other they say "Hey buddy you're worth it, stop hating yourself!!"

Literally "Do as I say, not as I do, dumbass!!" thing hahaha

I'm sorry but I have to tag you guys @gwynrielweeksofficial @bookish-brainrot @arcturustarlight @bookishwithathought @mycadences who maybe would like reading it :)

Xoxo. Have a good weekend!