#but once i moved to canada i lost ALL of it

[juice-boxy]

Man I miss being fluent in Español

[thegalleonsnest]

OK since I haven't seen too many people talk about this since twitter news usually strikes pretty fast over here whenever e'usk does anything ever, let me give ya'll the run down on two things that will go live on NOVEMBER 15TH and why people are mass migrating to Blue Sky once more; and provide resources to help protect your art and make the transition to Blue Sky easier if you so choose:

The Block function no longer blocks people as intended. It now basically acts as a glorified Mute button. Even when you block someone, they can still see your posts, but they can't engage in them. If your account is a Public one and not a Private one, people you blocked will see your posts.

They say because people can easily "share and hide harmful or private information about those they've blocked," they changed it this way for "greater transparency." When in reality, this is an extremely dangerous change, as the whole point of blocking is to cease interaction with people entirely for a plethora of reasons, i.e. stalking, harassment, spam, endangerment, or just plainly annoying and not wanting to see said tweets/accounts. or you know, for 18+ accounts who do not want minors interacting with them or their material at all (There is speculation saying these changes are specifically for Elon himself so he can do his own kind of stalking, and honestly, with the private likes change, it lowkey checks out in my opinion)

Also, this straight up goes against and may violate Apple and Google's app store policies and also is straight up illegal in Canada and probably other countries as well.

If this ACTUALLY goes through, twitter will only be available in select countries, probably exclusively in the US, which would collapse the site with the lost of users and stock, and probably be the last push it needs to kill the site. And if not, will be a very sad and exclusive platform made for specific kinds of people who line up with musk's line of thinking.

2. New policies regarding Grok AI and basically removing the option to opt out of Grok's information gathering to improve their software.

And anything you upload/post on the site is considered "fair game" with "royalty-free licenses" and they can do whatever they please with it. Primarily using any and all posts on twitter to train their Grok AI. A few months ago, there was a setting you can opt out of so they couldn't take anything you post to "improve" Grok, but I guess because so many people were opting out, they decided to make it mandatory as part of the policy change (This is mainly speculation from what I hear).

So this is considered the final straw for a LOT of people, especially artists who have been gripping on to twitter for as long as they can, but the AI nonsense is too much for people now, including myself. Lot's of people are moving to Blue Sky for good reason, and from personal experience, it is literally 10x better than twitter ever was, even before elon took over. There is no algorithm on there, and you can save "feeds" to your timeline to have a catered timelines to hop between if your looking for something specific like furry art or game dev stuff. It's taken them a bit to get off the ground and add much needed features, but it's genuinely so much better now

RESOURCES

Project Glaze & Cara

If you're an artist who's still on twitter or trying to ride it out for as long as you can for whatever reason you have, do yourself a favor and Glaze and/or Nightshade your work. Project Glaze is a free program designed to protect your art work from getting scrapped by AI machines. Glazing basically makes it harder to adapt and copy artwork that AI programs try to scan, while Nightshade basically "poisons" works to make AI libraries much more unstable and generate images completely off the mark. (These are layman's terms I'm using here, but follow the link to get more information)

The only problem with these programs is that they can be resource intensive for computers, and not every pc can run glaze. It's basically like rendering a frame/animation, you gotta let your pc sit there to get it glazed/nightshade, and depending on the intensity and power of your pc, this may take minutes to hours depending on how much you wanna protect your work.

HOWEVER, there are two alternatives, WebGlaze and Cara

WebGlaze is an in browser version of the program, so your pc doesn't have to do the heavy lifting. You do need to have an account with Glaze and be invited to use the program (I have not done so personally so I don't know much about the process.)

Cara is an artist focused site that doubles as both a portfolio site and a general social media platform. They've partnered with Glaze and have their own browser glazing called "Cara Glaze," and highly encourage users to post their work Glazed and are extremely anti-ai. You do get limited uses per day to glaze your work, so if you plan on doing a huge backlog uploading of your art, it may take awhile if your using just Cara Glaze.

Some twitter users have suggested glazing your art, cropping it, and overlaying it with a frame telling people to follow them elsewhere like on Bluesky. Here's a template someone provided if you wanna use this one or make your own.

Blue Sky Resources and Tips

So if your a twitter user and your about to realize the hellish task of refollowing a massive chunk of people you follow, have no fear, there's an extension called Sky Follower Bridge (Firefox & Chrome links). This is a very basic extension that makes it really easy to find people on Bluesky

It sorts them out by trying to find matching usernames, usernames in descriptions, or by screen name. It's not 100% perfect, there's a couple people I already follow on Blue Sky but the extension could not find them on twitter correctly, but I still found a huge chunk of people. Also if your worried that this extension is "iffy," they do have a github open with the source publicly available and the Blue Sky Team themselves have promoted the extension in their recent posts while welcoming new users to the platform.

FEEDS and LABELS

OK SO THE COOLEST PART ABOUT BLUESKY IS THE FEEDS SYSTEM. Basically if you've made a twitter list before, it's like that, but way more customizable and caters to specific types of posts/topics. Consolidating them into a timeline/feed that exclusively filled about those particular topics, or just people in general. There's thousands to pick and choose from!

Here's a couple of mine that I have saved and ready (down below). Some feeds I have saved so I can jump to seeing what my friends and mutuals are up to, and see their posts specifically so it doesn't get lost in reposts or other accounts, and also specialized feeds for browsing artists within the furry community.

The Furry Community feeds I have here were created by people who've built an algorithm to place any #furry or #furryart or other special tags like #Furrystreamer or #furrydev. They even have one for commissions, and yes you can say commissions on a post and not have it destroyed or shadow banned. You are safe.

If you want, and I highly recommend it to get visibility and check out a neat community, follow furryli.st to get added to their list and feeds. Once your on the list, even without a hashtag, you'll still pop up in their specialized feeds as just a member of the community there. There are plenty of other feeds out there besides this one, but I feel like a lot of people could use one like this. They even got ones for OC specific too I remember seeing somewhere.

And in terms of labels, they can be either ways to help label yourself with specific things or have user created accessibility settings to help better control your experience on Blue Sky.

And my personal favorite: Ai Imagery Labeler. Removes any AI stuff or hides it to the best of it's abilities, and it does a pretty good job, I have not seen anything AI related since subscribing to it.

Finally, HASHTAGS WORK & No need to censor yourself!

This is NOT like twitter or any other big named social media site AT ALL, so you don't have to work around words to get your stuff out there and be seen. There are literally feeds built around having commissions getting and art seen! Some people worry about bots and that has been a recent issue since a lot of people are migrating to Blue Sky, but it comes with any social media territory.

ALSO COOL PART,

you can search a hashtag on someone's profile and search exclusively on that profile as well! You can even put the hashtag in bio for easy access if you have a specialize tag like here on tumblr. OR EVEN BUILD YOUR OWN ART FEED FOR YOUR STUFF SPECIFICALLY!

So yeah, there's your quick run down about twitter's current burning building, how to protect your art, and what to do when you move to Blue Sky! Have fun!

[rowdyluv]

Say Yes - qh43

Summary: Quinn’s girlfriend attends the Hughes Bowl at Rogers Arena. She’s overtly in love with him (kind of annoying tbh) Quinn surprises her after the game.

Warnings: fluff, obsessy gf, eyes don’t leave bf, use of y/n, oc?

Word Count: 2.35k

Notes: I chose a random name for readers best friend. Ahem split second appearance of other nhler with bff. May or may not have successfully? wrote something.

In the hustling and bustling heart of Vancouver, nestled between the towering skyscrapers and the gentle caress of the Pacific sea breeze, stood the mighty Rogers Arena. Its gleaming exterior reflected the city's vibrant energy, a beacon of excitement that drew in locals and tourists alike. The chilly winter evening had descended, casting a soft glow upon the cobblestone streets, as the anticipation for the night's event grew palpable.

The Hughes Bowl also known as the Vancouver Canucks versus the New Jersey Devils

Inside the arena, the air was electric. The mouthwatering scent of popcorn and nachos mingled with the faint aroma of fresh lemonade and the mixture of alcohol in some areas. The thunderous roar of the crowd grew louder with every passing second, echoing through the vast space like a crescendo of anticipation.

Y/N and Mia, perched in the first row by the glass barrier, were surrounded by a sea of blue and green jerseys. A few red and black jerseys sprinkled in the mix. Guests in attendance dressed out were the die-hard fans, their eyes glued to the rink, where the players currently skated about in a blur of motion, warming up for the night’s showdown between the Canucks and the Devils.

When the lights had dimmed and both national anthems for Canada and the United States had a chance to play, a collective chorus of cheers fell over the stadium.

The spotlights that once bathed the ice in a soft multicolored glow lifted replaced with the bright white, and the players took their positions.

Quinn, was the center of y/n’s attention, his eyes focused and intense. He looked over at Y/N and Mia, flashing a quick smile that sent her heart racing. The puck dropped, and the game was underway.

Throughout the first period, Y/N did all she could to try and memorize every move Quinn made. An attempt to hold on to his years in the league for when they’re long over. His stick-handling was mesmerizing, a dance of precision and power that left the opposition scrambling. Whenever he checked one of his brothers, she held onto a strange mix of pride and protectiveness that swelled within her. She knew that behind the smiles and jovial rivalry, they were all fighting for the same thing: victory.

Leaning over to Mia, she whispered excitedly, "Did you see that? He totally outplayed them both! Jack and Luke!" Each time she spoke, her voice grew a little louder, the excitement spilling over like a fizzy drink. Mia, ever the supportive best friend, nodded and cheered along, even though she wasn't as versed in the nuances of the game. Y/N's eyes never left the ice when her love was on for a shift, captivated by the grace and strength of the man she loved.

Midway through the second period, Quinn scored a breathtaking goal through the goalie’s 5-hole. He spun around, stick in the air, as the crowd erupted in a cacophony of cheers. Y/N's face lit up brighter than the goal lamp as she jumped to her feet, slapping the glass in exhilaration. Quinn skated to where she was sitting behind the glass. He blew her a kiss and yelled to her, “that was for you babygirl.” She turned to Mia, her eyes sparkling with pure joy, "I knew he was just as bad as you are!" Mia giggled, pulling her best friend in to a hug, the sound of their laughter lost in the deafening applause.

The game continued, each play more intense than the last. The tension grew as the score remained close, neither team willing to concede an inch of the ice. With every check, every pass, and every shot on net, Y/N felt her heart pound harder in her chest. Her eyes never left Quinn, not even when his brothers had the puck. It was as if she could feel his every move, his every breath. Her cheers grew louder, her hands slapping the glass more vigorously, leaving behind a smudge of her palm print like a silent applause.

In the third period, the game reached a fever pitch. The crowd was on the edge of their seats, a symphony of hope and nerves. The Devils had managed to tie the game, and the Canucks were desperate to pull ahead. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and the metallic tang of fear. With minutes to go, Quinn stole the puck from his youngest brother, breaking away on a two-on-one. The arena held its collective breath as he streaked down the ice, the sound of his skates slicing through the frozen surface like a knife through butter.

Y/N's eyes were glued to him, her heart racing in her chest. The play unfolded before her in slow motion, every second stretching into an eternity. Quinn passed the puck to his teammate, who whipped it back to him with the grace of a ballet dancer. The goalie saw it coming, but it was too late. Quinn's shot was a rocket, flying straight into the top corner of the net. The arena erupted into a frenzy of cheers and the sound of thousands of hands clapping together in unison. The goal lamp flashed red, the buzzer sounded, Quinn’s media tape looped on the scoreboard. His teammates rushed him for a celebration. Y/n was watching in awe of her man. Mia was watching her best friend in happy wonder.

Mia nudged her, "Looks like you got yourself a star player!" she said, her voice barely audible over the din. Y/N nodded, her smile so wide it hurt. She felt like she was floating, the adrenaline from the goal still pulsing through her veins. The final buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the game. The score was 3-2 in favor of the Canucks. The arena echoed with the chant of "Quinn! Quinn! Quinn!" She could see the pure elation on his face as he skated over to her, the grin stretching from ear to ear. He tapped the glass, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

Quinn had the last scoring game puck in his hand. He had already wrote on it and brought it straight to her, he pointed up towards the top of the barrier and then to her, a silent message he was tossing it to her. With a flick of his wrist, he flung it over, sending it soaring through the air. Time seemed to slow as it spun, a perfect arc of twisting team logos and black against the vibrant backdrop of the cheering crowd. Y/N's hand shot up, her palm open and ready to receive it. The puck smacked into her palm with a satisfying thud, the residual ice shavings from the game still clinging to it.

The crowd's roar grew even louder as they noticed the gesture, the cameras flashing from the stands and the Jumbotron spotlighted on her, capturing her disbelief and pure happiness. She clutched the puck to her chest, feeling its coldness against her skin, a stark contrast to the warmth flooding her cheeks. The moment was surreal, a memory she knew she'd cherish forever. She mouthed a silent "thank you" to Quinn, who was already being dragged away by his teammates for an impromptu interview.

As the players filed off the ice, the tension in the arena didn't dissipate. Instead, it transformed into a buzz of excitement and congratulations. Y/N watched Quinn closely, her eyes tracing his every move as he was interviewed, his voice steady and humble despite the victory. He talked about teamwork and the importance of family, never failing to mention his brothers and their shared love for the sport. Her heart bursting with pride as she heard him speak, his words resonating with the audience.

Finally, the moment came. The Zamboni glided onto the ice, smoothing out the battleground where Quinn had just claimed victory. He skated over to the bench, his gaze seeking hers through the throngs of people. She waved, the puck still clutched in her hand, a symbol of his triumph. He pointed at her, then at the locker room, signaling for her to wait for him. The crowd began to disperse, the blue and green jerseys forming rivers of humanity that flowed through the arena's exits.

Y/N and Mia remained in their seats before heading down to wait outside of the locker room, the excitement still coursing through them like an electric current. They chatted animatedly about the game, replaying Quinn's heroics in their minds, their voices a mix of disbelief and pride. As the last of the fans trickled out, the arena staff started prepare for the post-game cleanup.

The doors to the locker room finally swung open, and the players began to emerge, their faces flushed from exertion and their eyes gleaming with the adrenaline of victory. Quinn spotted Y/N immediately, his grin growing even wider when he saw the puck in her hand. His strides to her were urgent and quick, the sound of his skates, that were hanging off the side of his bag, clanking against one another echoing through the now-quiet corridor. He was dressed back in his game day suit, no tie, but perfectly put together.

Y/N looked up at him, her confusion palpable. "Why aren't you in your comfy clothes?" she questioned, gesturing to his suit.

Quinn chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "I had to make an impression, didn't I?" He leaned down, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Besides, I had a surprise for you."

Y/N turned the puck over in her hand, her eyes widening as she read the message scrawled in black sharpie. "Best game of my life," it read, "make it better by saying yes." Her cheeks flushed, and she looked up at him, her eyes filling with unshed tears as he’s down on one knee. "Quinn, this is..."

"It’s crazy, yes but I couldn't wait. You're it for me, you're everything. And after that game, playing against my brothers, I just know this is right." His voice was earnest, his gaze unwavering as he pulled out a small velvet box. “Yes I know in front of the locker room isn’t ideal, but I just had the best game I’ve had in months, I finally beat my brothers. You’re the girl of my dreams and I can’t hold onto this any longer because I’m afraid the yahoos behind you will let it out while they’re here. So baby, please will you marry me?” Quinn asks tears of love in his eyes.

Y/N felt as if the world had stopped spinning. She looked down at the box in his hand, her heart racing like a bullet train. She assumed this was coming later on in life, but she never expected it to happen here, in the lower interior of the arena she had watched him play in so many times before. An indescribable warmth spread through her, expansive spread across her from her toes to her fingertips. She looked into his eyes, her voice shaking with raw emotion, "Yes, Quinn. Yes, I'll marry you."

The words hung in the air, suspended for a moment before reality crashed back in. The locker room doors opened wider, and his remaining teammates spilled out, cheering and clapping. They had been waiting for this moment, and now it was here. Quinn slipped the ring onto her finger, the diamond sparkling under the harsh fluorescent lights. It fit perfectly, as if it had been made just for her. She couldn't help but admire it, the way it caught the light and danced across her skin. Y/n turned to Jack and Luke to greet the brothers she was unaware were there until Quinn said something, but instead was met by Jim and Ellen.

“You’ll officially be our daughter!” Ellen saps pulling y/n into a hug.

“Can’t wait to have another female Hughesy!” Jim laughed with her, ruffling up her hair.

Y/n’s eyes are misty with happy tears. She hadn’t seen this coming like this at all, she had thought maybe it would happen in a year or two but not now.

It doesn’t matter the timing, Quinn is forever hers and she’s forever his.

“Quinn, This, here. It’s perfect.” She says, her voice full of wonder and love. “I wouldn’t want it any other way. So it is ideal. Don’t worry about what it looks like.”

Quinn broke away from Elias and Brock’s playful teasing, his smile growing as he wrapped her in a warm embrace. The cheers of his teammates and the small gathering of family erupting once more, but all Y/N could hear was the steady beat of his heart against her chest. He leaned down, cupping her face in his hands, and kissed her.

It was a kiss filled with the passion of a thousand suns, the promise of a lifetime together, and the sweetness of a love that had only grown stronger with each passing day. His lips were gentle yet firm, a declaration of his love and commitment. Hers responded eagerly, her arms snaking around his neck, the coldness of the ice forgotten in the heat of the moment.

Mia had been standing off to the side watching her best friend happily. As the couple kissed she muttered to what she thought was just herself “I’m so painfully single.”

“You and me both. Hi, name is Nico. Captain of the New Jersey Devils.”

[moonlight-prose]

PICK YOUR POISON

➻ 01. ATROPA BELLADONNA

a/n: the october season calls for me to delve into the grotesque and gothic story ideas i save up year round. so that's what this is! i love the idea of logan howlett stuck with an immortal reader. but there's a twist. our lovely reader isn't a mutant, but someone cursed to live life in the worst way possible. i hope you enjoy the small journey these two go on and happy spooky season!

summary: life as a lumberjack gives him the freedom to pretend he's human. that he hasn't lived enough lives to leave him withered and weary. ready for the grave that will never come. until he happens upon an unmarked grave in the middle of the forest and his life changes forever.

word count: 4.2k+

pairing: lumberjack!logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: NOT EXPLICIT BUT DARK THEMES AHEAD, gothic themes, horror, necrophilia (kind of!), death, graves, vomiting, tw: blood, feral reader, poison, immortal!reader, curses, witchcraft of some kind, chance encounters, they're both a little unhinged in this one.

NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

The forest is silent save for the rhythmic thump of an axe against wood. Life doesn't exist in the small sphere of dead branches and fallen leaves. No bugs, no birds. The wolves hunt elsewhere; the prey have all but abandoned a place where death permeates the air.

What was nature to do when someone so unnatural had been laid to rest?

He knew he was too far from the predetermined area. The yellow tape was marked for trees ready to be chopped down. But the sound of the men laughing about some bar they found had set his teeth on edge—a rush of anger from deep in his chest now resurfacing quicker than he liked.

Some days were better than others. Some days he could join in on the laughter, make simple conversation, and pretend to be normal.

Other days he felt the clawing urge to bite and snap and dig his claws into flesh rear in his head. Try as he might, he couldn't ignore that unhinged sensation. Even if he wanted to. On those days he preferred to be alone. Away from humanity, separate from what they wanted from him.

They saw him as a man.

Not an animal.

That should be enough to appease his restless spirit; give him some peace after so much chaos.

His teeth ground together in his clenched mouth, sweat sticking to the back of his neck despite the cold weather. The axe felt like an extension of his arms. Hacking away at the base of a tree he knew would make enough noise to draw attention once it tipped. That didn't deter him from repeating his swing. From baring his teeth and growling through it in order to dig out what calm he could.

The blade wedged itself halfway into the bark before he heard it. The stifled scream of a woman. His body went stiff, head whipping around to see if someone had followed him. The instincts from before—days spent as a soldier still burned into his nerves—began to overtake his senses as another muffled scream pierced his eardrums.

He left the axe behind, heart thumping an unsteady beat in his chest as he made for the forest. Trees blocked what little sunlight poured through dense clouds; the air a murky fog that chilled his lungs with each breath. He could taste the sap dripping off tree bark on the tip of his tongue—his mind clinging to the edge of sanity as he moved.

Twigs snapped beneath his boots, leaves cracked with the weight of his body, but Logan couldn't think about moving silently. Someone was getting hurt. He could practically smell their fear. The heady coagulated tang of blood spilled over the forest floor.

"Hello?" he called out, emerging through the thicket of branches.

A small clearing gave way to what little light remained in the afternoon. Petrichor lingered in the pockets of clear air, familiar enough to set his earlier anxieties aside. Fall in Canada shepherded rain forward with a heavy hand.

He knew the woods would be soaked come morning. Any signs of life lost to the pelting drops of rain that dragged hail right alongside it.

His feet stopped at the edge of freshly packed dirt, a shovel tossed to the side with a dent in the metal large enough to resemble the size of a skull. Sucking in air, the hair rose on the back of his neck when the shriek sounded again. Pained. Anguished. As if someone was fighting to claw their way to the surface.

"Fuck," he gasped, dropping to one knee—fingers burrowing in the moist soil and heaving it over to the side. "I'm here. I've got ya!"

Another muffled cry filtered through the layers of dirt as he dug with heaving breaths. Sweat prickled along his forehead, dripping down his temple. The brine of salt dripping onto the already muddy area. What hope he could grasp onto began to slip through his fingers; now dragged beneath the surface of an already haunted forest.

Logan stumbled back when a hand shot through the dirt, piercing the ground by his foot. He sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wide as an arm appeared, fingers grasping for leverage in the loose topsoil. He'd never experienced terror before. True fear that lingered in the bottom of his chest, echoing a solemn tune he wanted to rip from his flesh. But the sight of someone clinging to life filled his lungs with water.

You could feel it. The dirt and stones that packed themselves beneath your nails, slicing open what remained of the once pretty nail bed. It happened later this time. Took longer than you expected. Crimson blood mixed with the black soil as you vomited what stuffed itself into your lungs; the impacted earth was too heavy for your body to hold onto and thus the result remained the same.

Somehow it felt worse each time.

A cry of agony pierced the brume—splitting open the silence that could no longer exist. And with another heave, you managed to free yourself from a shitty dug grave with barely enough dirt to cover.

Sucking in a lungful of air, you collapsed to the ground. Body nude and streaked with mud. You couldn't tell which parts of you were sliced open this time around, could barely make out the color of the trees through the thick layer of fog. But the leather brown boots two feet away caught your attention instantly.

With a whimper, you lifted your head—eyes latched onto the broad man above you who looked ready to lose his breakfast, or join you on the ground. Perhaps both with the way his paled face stilled at the sight of you.

Of course, the time it took to return would fuck up your plans for solitude. Of course, you would have company at the worst possible moment.

This part was never easy.

"Hi," you meekly rasped, voice entirely gone from how many times you screamed.

Harrowing silence became the space that hung between your body and his. You curled your toes to force the blood back down through your veins. Hands holding an unsteady shake that would take a good hour to dissipate. You began to notice the color of his flannel—a deep umber with lines of brown. The scent of cedar permeating the air; sap a thick sweetness you could practically taste in the back of your throat.

Senses took a few moments to return back to their original vigor. Yet you couldn't allow yourself to slip into the you from twelve hours ago.

Not when the man still watched you, eyes overflowing with dread. You wondered if he was real. Would he flinch if you swung a fist at his shin? Or was your dilapidated mind conjuring him in a hallucinatory haze you'd eventually break free from.

Pushing yourself up on trembling limbs, you managed to contort your half paralyzed body into a sitting position. The feeling would return to your numb core; the steady drip of life slowly seeping back into your veins the longer you remained still.

Movement seemed to puncture a hole in his stupefied mind—yanking him back to reality. He dropped to one knee with a heavy exhale. "Who the fuck did this to you?"

You wanted to laugh. You nearly did laugh.

How were you meant to tell this complete stranger that you in fact...did this to yourself?

"Are you cold?" he asked as if you still held the capability to speak.

When it became clear you had no intention of offering him any sort of explanation, he promptly cussed under his breath. Hands stripping off the brown leather jacket that hung over his clearly muscled form. You tried to shake your head, hoping he'd get the hint and simply leave you alone.

The cold didn't harm your already frozen skin. Not when a rush of blood coursed through you—pumping an unhealthy amount of adrenaline back to your now racing heart.

He draped the heavy fabric over you anyways, securing it to cover what skin he could. His eyes fixed on the side of your face. What a goddamn gentleman. Hilarity of this entire situation flickered brightly in your mind, forcing a jolt through your body that had him rearing back a few inches.

He must not be used to the sight of someone coming back from the dead.

No one would be. Unless they understood your current predicament.

"Do you have someone I can call?"

Again...silence became all that lingered in your mirrored confusion. You pleasantly discovered that you liked the sound of his voice. He felt his stomach churn with the eggs he scarfed down an hour and a half ago. Oh what a hapless pair you made. Two strangers bound in this tight knit bond of befuddlement.

"Can you speak?" He pushed for you to give him something.

You nodded, trailing the curve of his jaw with your gaze. If you had to guess his profession, you'd pick lumberjack. That made the most sense as to why he found himself standing at the foot of your grave trying to help you escape it.

Although you supposed he might have just been on a stroll through the woods; seeking time to himself. An escape from the busy world above ground. You peered into his clouded hazel eyes - plucking what you could from her expressions alone. This was a man who didn't seem drastically horrified by the sight of you coming back to life. Rather lost in murky thoughts of how.

Again the aforementioned question you loathed answering left his plush lips.

"Who did this to you?"

Sighing, you felt the blood begin to rush to your legs, a tingle of awareness entering your system. You were coming back from the state of rigor mortis. Which meant that stick around here would no longer be an option. As much as you were inclined to entertain the idea of getting to know him, the reality was far too bleak for him to accept.

He was a mere human, you were something else. It would never work.

“What’s your name?”

Agitation clearly lined his nerves the longer he crouched beside you. He’d never receive the knowledge he wanted, never get to the bottom of this otherwise grueling mystery. The longer you stayed, the harder it would be to leave. Putting him out of his misery now was the only option you had.

The only one that might guarantee his safety.

“Please. Let me help you.” His sincerity struck your heart, causing it to twist until the jagged edge of pain spread through your entire body.

They always sounded this way.

Hopeful. Intrigued.

Too many people, too many broken souls.

The path of your existence was littered with unsalvageable pieces of those you allowed to wander into your life. You refused to say goodbye to someone who clutched your love too tightly. Who never understood what this meant—the horrid depth of what you were forced to endure. You’d never be able to find freedom in love, never find hope that things might one day be different.

Eventually your curse would kill them in the end. And you—the sole survivor—would be left to pick up the fragmented shards of your armored walls.

With a pained groan you stumbled to your feet—legs shaking like a fucking fawn right after birth. He shot up beside you, hands outstretched in case you collapsed. But after so many years, you’d grown used to the sensations of a body that fought against you. The sight of him made you grin; a man so large, so imposing, somehow looked small compared to your mangled body.

Oh, how you’d remember him.

Tucking his kindness into the depths of your heart—fondly looking at it more often than you’d ever admit.

Dragging the leather jacket off your shoulders—much to his dismay—you tucked it back into his grasp. For a brief moment, you traced the shape of his eyes with your gaze. Solidifying the hazel in your mind, the hints of dark umber speckled through the iris. Eyes that would haunt you for years to come.

You wanted to ask what caused him such anguish—what had he been through—to hold an unfathomable amount of grief in eyes so tender.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the unbearable scratch in your throat dissipating the longer you were alive.

“Wait–”

With surprising quickness, you walked past him, trembling with each step. Your stomach gnawed at your insides—the vacant sensation in your body determined your next course of action. Where you were heading with no need for direction.

This wasn’t unusual. Hours spent in the ground was bound to force your body to find its sustenance one way or another. Even if you weren’t technically alive. The adrenaline would wane, leaving you rattled—in a panic about the way your soul plunged into an infinite expanse of darkness. A place with no path.

Over the decades you managed to get a handle on your body;s tells. The routine it formulated to deal with the ancient magic coursing through your veins. Sparks of a past self never to be touched again; no matter how much you bargained.

Heavy footsteps trailed after you, entirely unaware that silence wasn’t his forte. He still clutched the jacket aimlessly, unaware that the temperature dropped rapidly the longer he remained outside. You’d grown used to the behaviors of men who found you. Their incessant need to follow, to see if they could get away with what they wanted.

The same fucking song and dance; a battle you learned to evade swiftly and without mercy.

You stuck to the carved pathway created by your own footsteps trekking the same ground over the span of many years. Those who worked this deep in the forest rarely stuck around to find out who dared to live this far away from humanity. Many assumed an old psychotic woman, man, or spirit, resided in the run-down cabin.

Others whispered of a witch cursed to roam in darkness for all eternity.

Though both were merely myths spread by bored townsfolk.

You often wondered what they would do if they found out that neither strayed far from the actual truth.

Each year that came and went people dared themselves to check—to see for themselves if the stories held a bit of authenticity to them. They more often than not, left scared out of their wits at the sight of a naked woman trailing dirt in across the threshold of an archaic home.

Your shadow persisted in his personal mission—five feet away, lumbering through the silent forest like a bear with no real direction. Scaring him off should have been your first priority. You knew the longer you sanctioned this behavior the harder it’d be to get him to fuck off.

Although you couldn’t deny the instantaneous attachment you felt for a man with such a tortured soul.

Perhaps some part of yourself could see the fragments that went missing harbored in his heart.

Like a fool, you continued on the familiar trail—giving yet another aimless person leeway in your life. Regret hung heavy in your heart—a promise of what would inevitably come to pass screaming in the icy air.

Your breath forms a cloud with each puff; the exertion far too much for your freshly revived body to handle. Later when you were adjusted once more, the remorse would return within each stiff joint that pleaded for an ounce of rest. Whether you wanted to partake in the act never remained up to you—rather an inescapable future that awaited you with open arms.

The cabin stood on the remnants of an old cemetery. Bits of cracked stones that once housed names were scattered around the front. Moss clung to walls built of worn in bricks that had seen better days. You liked each part of your home. The haunting beauty that kept others out, gave you the solace you needed on days like this. Here you could pretend you were a normal person, not someone stuck with the scars of wounds that never remained.

Of pain you held no proof of.

The path was lined with plants of varying species. None of them should have survived the weather in Canada, yet like you they persisted.

Just as fucking stubborn and determined to remain alive.

Kicking a loose stone over, you reached for the rusting iron key lodged into damp dirt. The man stopped speaking long before he followed you here. Probably coming to the same conclusion they all did. You were not going to listen to a single thing that came out of his mouth.

You had to hand it to him. He knew where he stood in a situation like this—given your relatively calm exterior.

The door creaked with a weathered groan as you pushed it open. A bag of grave dirt hung on a nail in the wall to your left, an old shovel stood propped against the entryway, and a trail of dried herbs were suspended from the ceiling. You inhaled the scent of home with a grin; finally at ease within the place you knew well. A line of hooks held blankets for this very situation—heavy wool lined coats beside them.

Instead of grabbing one, you reached for what was still tucked in the pocket. The thud of his boots against the front step echoed loud in your ear. That seemed to be all you needed to hear the warning bells signal in the back of your mind. Allowing him to shadow you had been fun, but the truth still glared in your direction.

You didn’t know this man—you never would.

Better safe than sorry.

Spinning your heel, you jammed the silver dagger against his throat, forcing him to stumble back. His hands clutched at your wrists, eyes wide with the shock of what just happened. You didn’t want to admit that a small part of you liked seeing him this way. Yet no fear could be found in the darkened hazel. Merely a hint of concern—pity.

That only served to piss you off. He dared to follow you home, thinking he could enter your house without permission. In such a case as this you faced him with the fire that fueled your inhumane rage. The match struck against your heart, igniting sparks that existed long before he was ever born.

“You’re not welcome here,” you spit, eyes narrowed and lips pulled into a snarl.

He held every right to look at you as if you were a feral animal he accidentally cornered. You knew you resembled one. Right down to your hackles being raised—bloodlust burning in your glare. If he wasn’t careful, he would wind up with a split open throat and you’d have one hell of a mess to clean.

“I’m not gonna hurt ya,” he murmured.

“You followed me home.”

Swallowing thickly, Logan felt an old familiar ache rise in his chest at the sight of you. He’d been where you stood once. Desperate to be left alone; angry at a world who abandoned him. The thought of you believing the worst in him left bile climbing the back of his throat, shame burning hot in his stomach.

“Just wanted to see if you were okay.”

You grinned yet a dullness remained at the center of your eyes. “I’m alive. You can go.”

“You crawled out of a grave,” he growled.

Only to be met with one of your own. “No shit.”

“You live alone.” The knife pressed down against his skin, red welling to the surface in an instant. “Who put you there?”

“That’s none of your fucking business.”

You held no reservations against cutting him open. You’d done it before and would do it again in a heartbeat. Logan could see that clear as day. This wasn’t about him attempting to help. He’d surpassed that half a mile ago when you began to walk it off like you knew what was happening. And perhaps he was stupid to keep standing there in a pathetic attempt to tame you.

But he needed to know what happened.

Simply for the sake of his own sanity.

“I won’t hurt you bub,” he echoed, releasing your wrists with a soft exhale. “That’s not why I came.”

The anger dulled like the blade of your knife at the sound of his voice. Putting your faith in someone to uphold their words wasn’t something you excelled at. In fact, you found it was easier to bite first before you even bothered to bark at them. A feral animal who held no sense of safety—who thrived in bitter chaos and would until the very end.

But for the first time…you found yourself unable to fight against someone who stood before you like a mirror from a past life. The anguish in his eyes resembled your own. A fractured window that spilled light along the darkness, even if it didn’t belong. Even if you were born to exist in the vacant nothingness they put you in.

“Help me out here,” he murmured.

Before you could silence it, you laughed. Short and stunted and still layered in the gritty rasp from earlier.

“Fuck you.”

He sighed, stepping forward—his throat opening even further. You expected him to flinch, cuss loud enough to scare the varying corvid that often perched in the trees, but all that remained was that damn sincerity. The echo of a man who you somehow understood exactly what ran through your mind even before you let him in on the secret.

Logan kept his eyes locked on yours, even when his body screamed for something else. He wasn’t a stranger to having a blade to his throat, nor to violence in general. But even with the intent of killing him clear in your gaze, he knew something else stirred beneath the surface of your mind. He latched onto the quick pace of your heart, clamoring for a deeper look behind the walls of your impenetrable armor.

“I know what it’s like.” Your eyes went wide for a brief second before you resumed your previous stance. That remained enough for Logan to feel he touched on exactly the right thing.

“You don’t know anything.”

“Believe me bub,” he retorted, lips curling into a half-hearted grin. “I know what not dying feels like. Even if you want to.”

The breath was punched from your lungs, body going still as the waves of disbelief washed over you. He grasped your wrist gently, prying the knife from his throat, and you watched his skin stitch itself back together. The only remnants of your violent act was left in a stain of red he promptly wiped off.

You had half a mind to try again. Test the proof he so blatantly showed you without an ounce of shame. He seemed to catch onto your interest quicker than you expected—his palm spreading wide beneath yours and hand forcing the blade along his skin. A gasp fell past your lips at the sight of his body healing rapidly—the cut nonexistent within seconds.

Logan felt pride pierce his chest. Unfamiliar and yet entirely welcome.

“How…”

“I’ll explain it bub,” he uttered, drawing your attention back to him. “If you tell me the truth.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

He huffed, moving close enough to feel the warmth emanate from your bare skin. “I’m pretty good at spottin’ bullshit. Someone put you in that grave.”

“Yes.” Blindly you reached for a jacket behind you, slipping it on as his eyes took in the small bits of your home he could see. “I did.”

His head snapped back to you, lips set in a firm line. “What do you mean you did?”

“It’s a long story.” You waved your hand as you tied the jacket’s belt around your waist.

“I got enough time to hear it.”

Turning back towards the entryway of your home, you didn’t bother to bite back the smile that bloomed across your face. Somewhere in the back of your mind the voices of years past shrieked in horror at the choices made in the past hour.

How could you drag another soul into the darkness? Torture them with the duress of your life—of what you were forced to endure. Was it merely to appease the growing ache of loneliness that gnawed at your heart. A constant hunger you could never satiate.

He didn’t deserve what came next.

No one did.

But you were a selfish person who had tolerated far too much—who gave up every piece of your heart to keep others safe. For years you claimed you were better off alone. Only for the sight of his ability to fracture that part of yourself in two, burying it in a shallow grave with the hopes of no resurrection.

One day you’d come to regret your choice. You always did.

Tonight however you would give yourself this. Time spent in the company of another, even if it might end in a tragic disaster.

“Would you like some dinner?” you asked over your shoulder, too afraid of what his response might be.

His lips pulled into a grin as he crossed the threshold of your home—placing his jacket on the now vacant hook. “I’d love some.”

note: i handwrote a giant portion of this & proceeded to type it on my brother's laptop. so if there's mistakes forgive that. i don't have a laptop rn and i'm working with literal scraps.

[ninii-winchester]

Timeless Love

Pairing : Dean Winchester X Reader

Word count : 3.7k

Warnings : angst, s12 ep 6 (spoilers), canon violence, mentions of demons, slight mention of john winchester, mentions of amara (slight spoiler), taylor swift reference (?), fluff. Not proofread.

Part 2 to Fleeting Love.

A/n: I don’t remember what exactly happened in that episode i just winged it.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

Leaving was the hardest thing Dean had to do other than breaking Y/n's heart. He cried himself to sleep every night after seeing her looking like a shell of herself at school. He missed her smile and he missed being the reason of her smile. How could he let himself fall for someone, when he knew he could never have that kind of life. Loving her was the best and the worst decision of his life. Best because he got to know what love actually feels like and worst because he knows he'd never find anything like that ever again. He wouldn't allow himself to love anyone else in this lifetime. She was his first and last love.

Dean had left town, and Y/n was still picking up the pieces of a shattered heart. Days turned into weeks, but the ache never dulled. Every time she walked by the places they'd shared—her favorite diner, the lakeside road where they'd stargazed—the memories rushed in like a flood. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't outrun the ghost of him.

As much as she wanted to hate him, part of her would always him. He was her first love, her first kiss and her first time. Deep down she knew it had everything to do with his father but his betrayal was still fresh in her mind. She knew her Dean wouldn't do that her but she wished he'd stood against his father. She wished he would've fought for their love. If only she knew the reason he couldn't do it.

Fifteen years had come and gone, and Y/n had built a life—one filled with new memories, a different kind of happiness. But despite the time and distance, her heart remained anchored to a love she never truly let go of. It wasn't that she was stuck in the past; she had moved on in every way that mattered. Yet, in the quiet moments, when the world fell still, it was Dean's face she saw, his voice she heard, as if time had never touched the feelings she carried for him.

Y/n let out a sigh as she waited for her flight to be announced. She was going to Canada for a wake of the man who saved her life. She vividly remembered six years ago, she was coming back from work and a huge dog like creature attacked her. She wouldn't have believed had she not seen it with her own eyes. It was a werewolf.

She dug into the supernatural, surprised by the sheer amount of lore tied to what was already known. Myths, legends, and creatures she once thought were just stories had entire histories woven into the fabric of the world she knew.

Asa Fox was the one that killed the thing and rescued her. Now he was no more. She owed it him to atleast pay her final respects to him.

Hours later she landed in Canada and made her way towards Asa's mother's house. It was late at night when she arrived. She stepped inside and noticed a small crowd gathered in the living room, while others lingered in the kitchen and a few more were out in the backyard. They were all lost in conversation, sharing memories and stories of the brave hunter they had come together to mourn. The air was heavy with both grief and respect as they honored the life he'd lived.

She'd found Asa's mother and paid her condolences to her, recounting how her son had saved her life and how she looked up to him. The older woman nodded and Y/n took it as her cue to leave her alone. She walked the hallway and bumped into someone, she quickly apologised and looked up to them and all the air seemed to leave her lungs.

"You.." she choked on her words and the other person looked at her in mild confusion and threw her an anticipatory glance. "Mary Winchester." Y/n finally spoke. The older woman tried to rack her brain if she knew the woman infront of her but her mind remained blank.

Y/n had seen photos of Dean's mother in his room also in his wallet and she adored how much he loved his mother. Her mind went haywire thinking back to when he told her his mother died in a house fire. Did he lie? Why would he though? Thousands of thoughts ran into her mind as she thought back to her relationship with the Winchester. Even after fifteen years he's still vivid in her head. Did everything he tell her was a lie? Was Dean even his real name.

Y/n could feel herself hyperventilate and she immediately wanted to put space between the supposedly dead woman and herself. She went to the kitchen to grab herself some water. There were only two people in the kitchen, a woman with a pixie cut and a man taller than anyone she had ever seen. She grabbed a water bottle chugging it down and calming her heartbeat. She took a deep breath before speaking,

"Uhm sorry to intrude but, is a Mary Winchester out there?" She questioned the couple gesturing towards the hallway she came from. The man looked at her with a unreadable look in his eyes.

"Yeah." The woman responded.

Y/n sighed, — atleast I'm not going crazy. She thought to herself. But if that's Dean's mom, what on earth is she doing here?

"You're Y/n." The man said. It wasn't a question. He knew her. She craned her neck to look up at his face and she furrowed her brows.

"I'm sorry have we met before?" She questioned taking a step forward. A sad smile appeared on his face. The woman beside him looked at him expectantly waiting for his reply.

"You seriously don't remember me?" He chuckled and she shook her head.

"I'm sorry, but I'd remember if I had met someone as big as you." She replied leaning on the counter behind her.

"I wasn't this big when we met Y/n/n." Sam spoke and the nickname made her eyes flash with recognition but it was quickly overtaken by the hurt that came with those memories.

"Sammy." It just slipped out. She didn't mean to call him by that name, but when he called her y/n/n, it came out subconsciously. Her heart started beating loudly at the thought of his brother being here. She had never thought she'd ever meet Dean Winchester ever again and she was not ready.

Sam knew whatever happened between her and his brother hurt her more than anything and he wouldn't blame her if she up and left without a word, but he'd missed her. And he missed the man his brother was when he was with Y/n. After her, he was just a shell of a man, running on his father's commands like a soldier. Someone who seemed to let go off every emotion and just waiting for his father's next order.

Sam introduced Y/n to the woman beside him as sherrif Jody Mills and she was good friend.

"How're you Y/n?" Sam asked and she looked at him remembering the small kid she used help with homework.

"Been good. How about you?" Sam scoffed at her question. If only she knew how he's been. And how his brother's been. Coming back from the dead, hell, purgatory. She'd probably throw a chair at him for making up all this bullshit.

"Good yeah." Sam nodded. Y/n could hear footsteps approaching and prayed it wasn't who she thought it was. God knew she didn't want to see him. Maybe she hadn't been a good person, and this was her punishment, because Dean Winchester walked into the kitchen, her breath caught in her lungs.

"Sammy where the he-" Dean words got caught in his mouth as his gaze landed on her.

Y/n looked at the man she had loved and hoped that after all these years, she'd have fallen out of love with him. But one look and her heart started thudding against her ribcage. He had aged, but somehow, he was even more handsome. He was muscular now, his arms toned beneath his layers, and she could see it all. She could feel her eyes water and she didn't want to create a scene at someone's wake, she pushed past Sam and left the space with a word.

Dean stood frozen, he couldn't believe he'd run into her here of all places. The sight of her brought back a flood of memories and feelings he thought he had buried long ago. Despite the years and the changes, she was just as beautiful as he remembered. But then he wondered why was she here? Is she a relative? Does she know about the supernatural? Or worse is she a hunter?

He didn't know the answer to his questions but he knew one thing, that them meeting again after fifteen years was fate. And he'd be damned if he let go off her ever again. He'd do anything in his power to win her back because God knows he's been miserable since the minute he broke up with her. Without wasting another second Dean went behind her. He could see her going to the backyard and taking in deep breaths.

"Y/n." He said approaching her.

"Go away Dean.”

“Just hear me out once.” He pleaded.

“I don't want to hear any more of your lies." Her voice cracked as she spoke and Dean knew she was on the verge of crying.

"Lies? What lies?" He asked holding her arm and turning her to look at him. She shrugged her arm out of his grip and pulled away harshly.

"Maybe you have a bad memory Dean, fifteen years isn't that long of a time to forget about it." She snapped glaring at him. "Need I remind you of your lies? My mom died when I was four! She's inside I've seen her with my own eyes." She yelled. "I love you Y/n! And the very next day after breaking up with me I see you making out with some cheerleader. You don't do that to someone you love." She cried pushing at his chest. "You're a goddamn liar so leave me the fuck alone like you did that night at the park."

Each and every word pierced through him like a needle. It was worse than spending forty years in Hell. He knew he'd hurt her and deserved everything she threw his way, but hearing her think that he didn't love her—it just broke his heart. He never lied about his love for her.

"Y/n, baby please let me explain. I swear I'll tell you everything." He said holding her hand and she pushed him again.

"Don't touch me. And I don't need your explanations." She wiped her tears. "I'm not here for you I'm here for Asa." Dean felt a pang of jealousy at the late hunter's name and he wondered if they'd had something before he died. Is that why she's here. He completely forgot it's been fifteen years and there might be a possibility that she'd moved on. 

"How do you even know him?" He couldn't but ask. His jealousy getting the better of him.

"That is none of your concern." She retorted sharply.

"Sweetheart please hear me out." Dean begged and she moved to go back inside but the doors were locked.

"What the hell?" She tried turning the doorknob but it didn't budge. The two of them were locked out. Dean tried pushing the door but to no avail.

"Hello Dean." Dean turned to see Billie standing there and she was smirking almost evilly.

"Billie what are you doing here?" He asked the reaper. And she told him she's here to do what she does. She's here to take everyone who's inside. Dean asked her what's happening inside and she tells him a demon's got them locked inside and something about vengeance. He had to save Sam, his mom and Jody. Dean tells her to open the door for him and let him go inside, she makes him a deal to never interfere in the natural order of things and he agrees as long as she lets him inside.

"Dean what the hell is going on?" Y/n was now scared. Although she was well aware of supernatural theoretically but she was in no way prepared to fight. And demons? She didn't know those were real too.

"I'll explain later." Dean replied as calmly as possible. "Billie, I need you to keep her safe, please." Dean requested and the reaper raised her brow.

"Dean, I can either keep her safe or let you inside. I'm getting one thing out of this deal, and you're getting only one too." His jaw clenched at her words and he was internally cursing her for being a bitch.

"Fine. Get us in." He begrudgingly told the reaper and she created an opening in the door. Dean turned to Y/n and cupped her face in his large hands. "We're going in, but you gotta trust me, sweetheart. Stay by my side and I'll protect you." Y/n thought he was completely out his wits asking her to go inside a place where there's a demon.

"Time's of essence Dean." Billie commented and he glared at her. He held Y/n's hand and before she knew the two of them were inside. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw Sam, Jody and his mom alive, and even the others. Sam filled him in how the demon had cut off the water supply and locked all the doors. Y/n was terrified of being locked in a house with a demon but Dean held her close to him. His hand gripping hers tightly.

They all gathered in the living room to make a devils trap to trap whoever the demon was possesing and to keep themselves safe, being inside it.

"Dean who was that outside?" Y/n questioned her voice a quiet whisper.

"That was Billie she's a reaper." Dean replied moving her into the devils trap. She looked at him wide eyed.

"A reaper? The one that takes souls?" She questioned and he nodded. "You're acquainted with a reaper? What the fuck?" Before either of them could say any further Jody accused Mary of being possessed since her was last one to come into the room.

Sam and Dean tensed at her accusation of their mom being possessed but then Mary stepped into the devil's trap and moved out proving she's not it. Then Jody started cackling evilly, saying that was clever of Mary. With a flick of her hand she wooshed the trap, then she started attacking everyone one by one taunting them. She threw the twins across the wall and then slammed Mary in the door. She moved her hand towards Y/n but Dean pushed her behind him and the demon made him fly in the wall. Y/n was left unguarded and demon closed in on her. Sam neared them but possessed Jody threw him in the cabinet.

Y/n screamed as the demon neared her she inched backwards, her body trembling with fear. Dean watched as Jody wrapped her hand around Y/n's neck, he got up on his feet and pushed Jody away from her, not too harshly to not hurt his friend's body. He wrapped his body over her, shielding her body with his' and Sam started chanting the incantation to exorcise the demon out of Jody. The twins joined them and then Mary finished it off sending the demon back to hell.

The lights flickered back on and everyone was relieved at last. Y/n clutched Dean's shirt in her hands and hid her face in his chest. "You're fine..it's gone." He rubbed her back soothingly. "Hey sweetheart, look at me." Dean made her pull away slightly and placed his fingers underneath her chin making her look at him. "You okay?" She shook her head, no.

An hour later, Y/n was wrapped up in Dean's jacket, his mind drifting off to the first time he'd lend her his jacket and how it was their new beginning. He wondered if it was a sign of their another new beginning together. She sat on the hood of the Impala and the boys stood in front of her.

"What. The. Hell. Was. That?" She looked at Sam and Dean, while Mary and Jody watched their interaction for afar. "I mean I know werewolves and Vampires but demons? Reapers?" Dean grabbed her hand and brushed his thumb over the back of her hand.

"How'd you know about Werewolves and Vampires?" Dean asked softly and she told him how she was attacked by a werewolf and Asa saved her. And she researched a bit about the supernatural and Dean nodded in understanding. He shot Sam a glance and younger understood and left them alone.

"Sweetheart, I'll explain everything and I'll tell you why I left. You see I'm a hunter, my parents were too. I've grown up in this life. My mom did die when I was four. A demon killed her. My dad wanted us to find that demon and kill him. When I met you, I forgot all about it. I wanted to be a normal boy, I did love you with everything I had." She looked up at his eyes and they were sincere, different from when he broke her heart. It wasn't like he was holding back, or hiding something. "My dad, he didn't want you to get involved or me to lose focus. He told me that I should break your heart so you can move on with you life." Dean explained.

"I did move on with my life Dean." He shut his eyes not wanting to see the look on her face when she tells him she found someone else. "But I couldn't love anyone else. You made me question my worth, because, fuck it I was in love. And fuck you Dean for I couldn't have us."

"I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to make you question your worth, hell I wanted to show you how much you mean to me, I just wanted to keep you safe, away from this life. You aren't even back in my life for less two hours and look at this mess. I don't even want to think of what harm I would've caused you if you'd been with me all those years." He looked apologetic. "As for my mom, God's sister brought her back."

"Who THE FUCK?" She looked dumbfounded.

"It's long story." Dean chuckled. "All I'm saying is I've loved you this whole time and I only broke up with you because I didn't want you be in danger and because my dad said it was for the best." He rubbed the back of his head, half ashamed.

"Where's your dad?" She asked after few minutes of silence.

"He died, a few years ago." Dean replied gloomily.

"I'm sorry." Even if the man was the reason for her heartbreak she didn't feel good about him being dead. After all he was Dean's father. Dean nodded. "What now?"

"We could try again, that is if you want to. I'm tired of not being with you. I feel meeting you again after all these years, it's fate." Dean said softly. "And I still love you so fucking much." He rested his forehead against her.

"I still love you too, Dean." She whispered. The tension between them hangs in the air, heavy and charged. Without another word, Dean cups Y/N's face, his thumb gently brushing their cheek. There's a moment of hesitation, a breath, and then he leans in, capturing their lips in a passionate kiss.

The kiss is deep, intense, filled with all the unspoken emotions they've both been holding back. Dean pulls Y/N closer, as if trying to convey everything he couldn't say in words. For that moment, it's just the two of them, lost in the heat of the kiss. When they finally pull back, both breathless, Dean's forehead rests against Y/N's, his eyes still closed.

"Being away from you was worse than going to hell."

"As if you'd know what hell’s like." She replied rolling her eyes. Dean pulled away, his eyes filled with mischief.

"Oh I do, I went to hell, i was there for forty years."

"You're lying." She gave him a look and he shook his head.

"I'm not. I went to hell and then Castiel the angel pulled me out. Who by the way is now my best friend."

"SAMMY? HE'S LYING ISN'T HE??" She yelled to the younger Winchester and Dean barked out a laugh at her reaction. Sam didn't know what she was on about so he laughed too.

"You've got a lot of catching up to do, sweetheart." Dean said while helping her down off the hood. He threw an arm over her shoulder and dragged her towards his mom. "Mom this is Y/n. My highschool sweetheart." He said pecking her temple.

“Nice to meet you Mrs. Winchester.” Y/n said extending her hand for her to shake but Mary pulled her into a hug.

“Call me Mary. And welcome to the family.” She smiled. Dean grinned, watching the exchange with a sense of pride. Mary’s embrace made Y/n feel instantly at ease. Mary pulled back slightly, her eyes twinkling with warmth. “I’ve heard so much about you, it’s wonderful to finally put a face to the name.”

“You have?” She questioned looking at Dean who looked away shyly.

“Yeah, I’m sorry I wasn’t around the first time.” Mary joked and Y/n let out an awkward laugh.

Dean stood by, his arm still around Y/n, feeling a deep sense of contentment as his worlds finally came together. He knew they still had a lot to talk about but he also knew that they were meant to be. It’s destiny. Now that he’s got her, he’s never letting her go matter what life throws at him. He’s finally home.

Tags:

@spnfamily-j2 @galway-girlatwork @deangirl96 @queensilber

@s0urw00lf @monkey-d-hoshizora98 @deans-baby-momma @fullbelieverheart

@riah1606 @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @hobby27

@starkleila @suckitands33 @m3ntally-unstable @kanekilovelove-blog @candy-coated-misery0731

@blackcherrywhiskey @ladysparkles78 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @graywrites5567

@thelittlelightinthedarkness @enamoredwithbella @winchesterwild78 @myuhh8

[letsgetrowdy43]

Behind the door—

Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Request: hiiiiiii!! can i have a 🐞 with quinn and “i would’ve married you.”

Warnings/notes: This is kinda unrealistic, but I had an idea and I just went with it!

End of summer celebration!!

Quinn's head hung as the door shut behind him, the image of all his family members staring at him in pity replayed in his mind as his back leaned up against the wood as he loosened the tie around his neck, trying to stop the slightly suffocating feeling that was the aftermath of his failed wedding.

Tears seemed to be welling in his eyes as he took a deep breath, embarrassment filling his chest as it dawned on him that his fiance, a woman he had been with for nearly five years, a girl he had grown from a fresh out of university twenty year old into a man with had left him, just a few moments before she was meant to be walking down the aisle. Her mascara smudged as she apologized profusely, her nerves getting the best of her as she pulled Quinn away from his brothers and into a broom closet to tell him she didn't think they were ready to make such a big commitment.

And if he was being really honest with himself, he wasn't quite sure why he was rushing into marriage.

Maybe it was the pressure of the leadership role he had taken on only a year prior, feeling so young in some aspects he often overcompensated for his age in growing up too fast. Still, he was so mature in almost every other aspect of his job, that it had him feigning seriousness in his personal life.

The look on the bride's face was enough to know that she wasn't ready to take that leap, and really he was a little relieved, anxiety all over her expression as Quinn agreed and pulled her in for a hug to help soothe her.

There was a little bit in him that felt like in some senses he dodged a bullet, there was always a sense of security with the girl, but there never was a lot of love, just a lot of stability, and the logical side of him was okay with that.

He stood up straight pulled off the undone tie from around his neck and rid himself of the confinements of his jacket. His eyes searched the room and in the centre sat his childhood best friend and the girl he had spent years pining after, on the edge of a hotel bed, a sad smile on her face as she watched the colour drain from the man's face.

"Jack told me where you were, I just wanted to make sure you were okay," she watched as he quietly wiped the tears away from his eyes. His face filled with even more embarrassment as he felt a sense of pity filling the room.

Quinn’s chest tightened as he looked at her, the weight of everything that had just happened pressing down on him as he watched her brows knit together like she was trying to study his expression, gauging how to comfort him. He hated that feeling, the one where people try to take care of you, the vulnerability that lingered around him.

His tie on the floor felt like a symbol of the commitment that had just slipped through his fingers. He felt hollow, the adrenaline of the moment leaving him drained and lost as he tired walked over to the bed and sat down beside her.

The two of them lay down, legs hanging off the bed as they stared at the mirror on the ceiling. There was a sadness in her gaze and a deep understanding of his pain. It seemed as though she knew the feeling of disappointment all too well.

That was the thing with Quinn and the girl lying beside him, there had never been a time for them, there were years of feelings, an entire semester followed by a summer of hooking up, and then Quinn moved to Canada to start his life And from that point on it was summers of never seeing each other, years of on-and-off communication, but never being in the same place as once.

So everything between them remained unfinished—a story with too many open chapters, too many "what ifs" hanging in the air. The unspoken emotions, the memories of fleeting moments, and the connection they had shared were all still there but buried beneath years of life taking them in different directions.

She hesitated momentarily before reaching her pointer finger out and gently brushing against his knuckles. “I’m so sorry, Quinn,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes dropping to the floor as he struggled to find words. But before he could say anything, she hooked her finger with his. Her touch was warm, a new kind of comforting, a reminder that he wasn’t completely alone in this.

“I don’t know what to say,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. She squeezed his hand, her own emotions flickering across her face as she looked up at him. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… I’m here, okay?”

Quinn nodded, his throat still too tight to speak. He felt like he was on the edge of something, teetering between holding it all together and completely falling apart.

After a long moment of silence, she took a deep breath and said something that caught him off guard. “You know,” she began, her voice trembling slightly, “I would’ve married you.”

He propped himself up on his elbows to look at her, his eyes wide with surprise. Her words hung in the air, heavy and loaded with meaning. There was a part of him that had always wondered, that had always thought about what might have been if things had gone differently between them, but to say it out loud made the thoughts very real.

She gave him a sad smile, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she put her hand on his chest and pushed him on his back so he would stop looking down at her. Their eyes met through the mirror, a look of vulnerability and understanding passing between them. The weight of her words lingered in the air, and Quinn could feel the emotions he’d tried to bury for years surfacing all at once.

“I mean it, Quinn. If things had been different… if we had stayed together, I would’ve married you.”

Quinn’s heart ached at her confession, the truth of it cutting through the fog of his emotions. For a moment, he let himself imagine it—the life they could have had together, the happiness they might have found.

But that life was just a fantasy, and the reality was standing right in front of him, her hand still holding his, offering comfort in a moment when he needed it most.

“Why didn’t we?” Quinn finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he were afraid the question might shatter whatever delicate thread still connected them. Her gaze softened, and she let out a shaky breath. “We were always just a little too late, Quinn. The timing was never on our side.”

He nodded silently, a shared feeling spread between the two of them as they just sat in the comfort of each other's presence. Quinn's mind was no longer stuck on a loop of embarrassment, now full of a little hope, maybe even a sense of clarity.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. She nodded, her thumb gently stroking the back of his hand. “You’re going to be okay, Quinn. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you will be.”

He looked into her eyes, seeing the sincerity there, the genuine care she still had for him after all these years. It was enough to make him believe, even just a little, that maybe she was right. Maybe, somehow, this closed door would open one where she sat prettily behind it.

-

-

-

[russo-woso]

Hey, I have a suggestion for Jessie (feel free to write when available and if you like it ofc)

Jessie is heartbroken when moving to Portland and American reader helps her settle, takes care of the insegurities Chelsea left and she ends up falling because she was there as well to help her with Gold Cup and She Believes Cup. Reader is the first person Jessie oppened her heart to after being fucked over by her previous club and she's scared because she's falling hard

I’m here || Jessie Fleming

Summary You help Jessie during a very vulnerable time in her life

Jessie had found the move to Portland Thorns hard.

She felt many emotions from the move but the biggest one was insecurity.

She couldn’t understand why Chelsea didn’t want her anymore.

Was it that she wasn’t good enough?

Was she ever good enough?

Why wasn’t she good enough?

The only thing keeping her excited for the move was the chance to play with you.

She’d never officially met you but she knew you well enough to like you.

During the gold cup and the she believes cup, USA had played Canada and although both times Canada lost, you were the first one over to Jessie.

The same thing would always happen. You’d shake her hand and asks if she was okay and she would say congratulations on the win.

Since them moments, Jessie developed a small crush on you but it wasn’t anything major.

Then came the introduction to each other.

On Jessie’s first day, she was introduced to the whole team, a big smile appearing on her face once she met your eyes.

“Jessie, hi. I’m so glad you decided to join us.” You told her, hugging her.

“I’m glad I moved here too.” Jessie said, a hint of sadness behind her smile.

You didn’t know why Jessie was sad. You figured it was because she’d left her best friends in London, but all you did know, was that you were going to try your hardest to make her feel welcomed.

And so in order to do that, you figured the best way to start was to show her around the city.

After a few seconds of debating with herself, Jessie agreed and it was organised that you’d show her around on Saturday.

Later on that session, Jessie let a ball loose and shook her head in anger.

“Hey, hey, everyone does it. It’s fine. The last match we played, I let a ball loose by accident and it nearly resulted in the oppositions scoring. But I learnt from that mistake, that’s what we do here at Portland thorns. You make a mistake, and we help you fix it. You’re an incredible player Jessie, believe me when I say that. We’re all lucky to have you playing with us.” You told her, tears welling in Jessie’s eyes but she pushed them to the side, desperately not wanting to show any sadness to you.

Jessie didn’t know what to do, if she had done that at Chelsea, she would have been screamed at and told to do a lap.

“Thank you.” She murmured, her voice full of emotion.

—

After a week full of training, Jessie following you round everywhere like a lost puppy, it was finally time to show her around.

“Hi, Jessie.” You greeted her as she got into your car.

“Hi, how are you?” She said, a light red pigment spreading on her cheeks.

“I’m okay, it’s been a bit of a hectic morning, aka doing the food shop, but I’m happier now I’m with you. How about you? You done anything today?” You told her, reversing out of the driveway.

“Not much. Just unboxing some stuff and filling in paperwork.” Jessie responded, shrugging her shoulders lightly.

A silence filled the car and the light hum of the music took over.

You looked over at Jessie briefly, you could see the redness on her cheeks still present and the way how she fidgeted with her hands made it clearly evident that she was nervous.

You figured the best to make her less nervous was to get rid of the silence, desperately coming up with a conversation starter.

“So, the plan for this afternoon. First things first, we’re heading into the city, I’ll show you around, show you the best parking spots and the best, and I mean best, coffee shop in town. Then we’ll head to the Willamette River, and maybe show you shops along the way and then after that, I’ll show you my favourite spot in town. Of course, if you don’t want to do any of that, it’s fine. We can do what you want to do.” You explained but panicked towards the end as the thought of Jessie not liking anvy of the plan came to mind.

“That all sounds incredible. Thank you for this.” Jessie said, a grateful smile resting on her face.

“Seriously, it’s no problem. I would’ve just been watching movies all afternoon so you’re going me a favour.”

“So, first site on the tour, on your left you can see the…”

As you continued driving, showing Jessie all the important things of the city, you couldn’t help but notice the silence from Jessie.

Yes she was talking to you, but she was limiting her words, often saying one or two words each time.

You pushed it to the side, carrying on with the ‘tour’.

—

You’d finished everything you had to show Jessie except your surprise spot.

You drove up into the mountains, pulling to the left as you reached the top, reversing your car so the boot backed onto the view of the city.

It must have been reaching eight o’clock because there was a golden haze casted upon the mountains.

“It’s gorgeous up here.” Jessie said in awe as she looked at the city.

“It is, isn’t it?” You asked, looking at her.

You opened the boot, sitting down in it, gesturing for her to do the same thing.

Silence took over once more, but it was a comfortable silence this time.

There was no pressure to say anything.

You weren’t expecting Jessie to say anything but to your surprise, she did.

Taking a breath in, Jessie looked over to you before looking ahead again.

“I never wanted to move to America. I was happy at Chelsea. Well, that’s what I thought. I thought I had achieved the very best in my career being at Chelsea and maybe I had, but looking back now, I wasn’t happy there. Yes I had my friends, yes I had my life there, but I wasn’t happy.” Jessie’s voice broke as tears fell down her cheeks. “Chelsea said I wasn’t good enough, I was letting balls loose, Emma said that when I was on the pitch, the midfield was gone. When I was there, it was like I was a ghost, I didn’t make an impact. And that hurt. Ive spent my entire life trying to be the best I can and they couldn’t appreciate that. Niamh tried to get me to stay but I couldn’t. I couldn’t because Chelsea was hurting me and I couldn’t because the club that wanted me had this incredible woman that I’ve always wanted to know. So why would I say no? Why would I give up a perfectly good opportunity?”

“Jessie… I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise what you were going through. I’m sorry that Chelsea made you think all those things but you’ve got to believe me when I say they’re not true. You’re called baby Canada for a reason. You started playing for your country when you were 15. Do you know how impressive that is? And you were able to do that because you’re incredible at soccer. Jessie, please believe me.” You begged, wanting her to know the truth.

“Thank you, Y/N. Thank you for everything.” Jessie hugged you, tears still falling from her eyes as she rested her head on your shoulder, still hugging you.

“Now, I want to know something. Who’s this girl that you’ve always wanted to know?” You smirked, having a rough idea on who it is.

“American, really good at football, the most kindest and loving person I’ve ever met. I think you might know her actually. I was lucky to spend the day with her today. She goes by Y/N, know her?” Jessie joked, a smile on her face.

“I’ve heard of her. Do you know what she told me recently. She said that there’s this woman that’s just moved here. Brown hair, brown eyes, ridiculously cute, and it just so happens that she really likes this woman. That woman goes by Jessie, know her?” You continued the joke, giggly lightly.

“Hmm, heard of her.”

You and Jessie looked at each other for a few seconds, both of you wondering what to do.

“Umm, thank you again for—” Jessie began, clearing her throat as she didn’t know what to do.

“Jessie? Just kiss me.”

Jessie didn’t need to be told twice, instantly connecting her lips with yours.

Chelsea was her old life, Portland thorns, and most importantly, you, was her new life.

[earl-grey-teacake]

What If My World Is Becoming You? - Snippet

The Loscar fic that I've been releasing snippets of finally has a title! Canada made me sad so please enjoy this snippet while I grieve what could have been double points for Williams ❤️

*******

Over the break, Logan was told to eat as much as he could due to the amount of weight he lost at the end of the season and with Alex and George stuffing him with food, Oscar inviting him out for a meal once-a-week, and Jenson making sure he ate during the Michelob Ultra filming, Logan would say he hit his goal. The most definitive sign that he hit his goal was the comments from the other drivers.

It was media day in Bahrain and Logan was chatting with Lando, Alex, and Oscar about Lando trip when Pierre joined, letting out a wolf whistle. "Logan, looking good."

Alex and Lando burst out laughing as Logan stood there like a deer in headlights, his face heating up. No one's ever gone up and told him that without being drunk before, so he was very out of his element. Oscar's head swiveled between Logan and Pierre, a cloudiness emerged in his eyes that Logan could not pinpoint.

"Uh, thank you." Logan watched as Lando and Alex catch their breath.

"The breaks been good to you, really nice ass." Pierre smirked and turned his head to look again before walking off. Logan's face heated up as he looked down, hiding a laugh.

"Are you okay?" Logan looked up. Oscar looked a bit concerned and an emotion similar to anger.

"Huh?" Logan was taken aback as Oscar moved closer to him before letting out a laugh. "Oh, yeah I'm alright. It just took me by surprise. No one's ever told me I had a nice ass before."

"I also think you have a nice ass!" Oscar blurted out. Time stood still as the drivers all froze and a blanket of silence settled on the group. Logan felt his brain blue-screened as Oscar's eyes went wide and his face heated up to a hot-iron red.

[hunnysahara]

˖⁺‧₊˚❀𝓒𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓪❀˚₊‧⁺˖

Hamzah x fem reader

Thought I'd be cool in California, I'd make you proud. To think I almost had it going but I let you down.

After a disastrous move to Los Angeles, you’re sent packing back home to Toronto trying to beat the gnawing feeling of loneliness.

WC: 4.4k

CW: cannabis usage / angst if you squint

No one really understood why you had to leave and you weren't willing to admit you would've rotted beneath the scalding Los Angeles sun if you didn't go back home. You didn't have the stomach to tell your parents they were right when they told you it wouldn't work out, that it wasn't something you could handle. 

Now you stare at the half-empty suitcase sprawled open on the floor, clothes spilling out in a heap like a discarded life. This is what it's come to- moving back into a cramped, outdated flat in Toronto with a roommate who spoke to you solely through dirty glares, a far cry from the polished, sun-soaked world of Los Angeles you thought you would never leave. The room is small, with barely enough space for you to walk around, let alone recreate any sense of the luxury you had grown used to. The walls are bare, a sterile white that mocks the vibrant, carefully curated lifestyle you had paraded on social media.

This must've been the fear that crept into your head during late nights coming to fruition. You had moved in a week ago and couldn't bring yourself to unpack, hardly leaving bed. You were living off the packs of ramen you bought from the gas station on the way from the airport.

You hadn't been happy in California, but being back home made you think that you wouldn't be happy anywhere. Everything there was too expensive, and everyone was coked out of their minds, and you had crawled out of there by the skin of your teeth like you had been dragged through hell. Your rise and fall have been documented in real-time for all of your followers to see even if you tried to play it cool, there were always internet sleuths who would speculate.

Still- you try to compose yourself the same way you would a song or a speech, what little savings you had wouldn't last forever. 

You start pulling clothes from the suitcase, one by one, the sharp scent of Los Angeles still clinging to the fabric. It's bitter, almost like a cruel joke- a reminder of everything you've lost. It's all here: the designer jackets, the sheer tops perfect for rooftop parties you won't be attending anymore. You didn't even like the clothes, you just liked the idea that someone would pay for you to wear one of their designs. 

What you hadn't accounted for when you made the split-second decision to move was just how cold Canada was in October. All you had to keep you warm were a handful of sweatshirts from high school and leggings you were gifted in a PR package months prior. 

Once you have forcefully shoved your clothes into your dresser and pushed every box to one side of the room, it looks almost intact from a certain point of view. You set up the tripod and camera with mechanical precision, your movements slow and deliberate as you adjust the angles, making sure the tiny frame of your new apartment looks somewhat presentable.

It's not much, and you know no amount of clever angles or editing will make this place look like your old life in Los Angeles, but you're determined to try. It's been too long since your last post your followers must be wondering where you've been, and why you've gone silent. If you don't get something out soon, they might stop caring altogether and with your digital footprint, you're sure you've closed out all other career options.

With a deep breath, you sit down in front of the camera, smoothing your hair and glancing at your reflection in the monitor. Your stomach twists as you catch sight of yourself—your eyes look hollow, your skin dull in the unfortunate lighting. 

"Hey, guys!" you begin, your voice sounding brittle and raspy. "I know it's been a while, and I just... wanted to give you all an update." You trail off, feeling the words crumble on your tongue. In the monitor, your smile falters, and you cringe, reaching forward to hit the stop button.

"Ugh," you groan. That was terrible. You sound fake like the voice actors in ads on Spotify. A voice like plastic, made to sell. You delete the footage and start again, clearing your throat, and shaking out your shoulders.

"Hey! So if you couldn't tell I have moved," You clench your teeth into a smile, awkwardly shifting to show the new space just slightly. "And I am in Canada once again," Around the end, your voice falls too soft, too unsure of your own words.

"Hi, everyone. It's been a crazy few weeks, and I know I owe you an explanation," you say, forcing the words out this time, willing them to sound genuine. "So, I'm back in Toronto, and I—" You stop, cringing as you watch your own awkwardness play out on the monitor. God, why do you look so stiff? You sound like you're reading from a script. Your eyes drop to the ground in frustration, biting the inside of your cheek to stop your off-putting words from mounting into a scream. 

In the two months you spent trying to pick yourself back up, it was like you forgot how to do your job entirely and simultaneously forgetting yourself. You weren't sure how you acted or how you were supposed to. The line between you and the caricature you played on camera was bleeding into itself.

Each attempt leaves you feeling more deflated, and more disgusted with yourself. The room starts to feel smaller, the walls inching closer with every failed take. You slam your finger onto the stop button one last time and bury your face in your hands, the frustration boiling over into hot, bitter tears.

"Whatever," you mutter to yourself, sniffling and wiping away whatever tears want to spill.

You grab your phone, hoping for a distraction, for anything to pull you out of this spiral of self-loathing. But as you scroll through your feed, that tightening in your stomach returns.

Your best friend from LA who had conveniently become busy the second things started folding in on you, was at a club with her new boyfriend who of course had a movie star smile and a head of thick curls. Another friend happily promotes her brand deal. You weren't even sure you were friends with them anymore, they didn't seem to take your absence to heart while theirs was so prominent to you that it felt like a presence.

Everyone you were friends with from high school was sharing their experiences with college, exams, dorms, and everything you traded for fifteen minutes of fame. Another friend in some exotic location, cocktail in hand. They're all doing something, achieving something. They're moving forward while you tripped and fell backwards.

You stare at the phone for what feels like an eternity, fingers hovering over your parents' contact. It's been months since you last spoke to them—their voices were tight with disappointment, the kind that sticks with you like peanut butter to the roof of your mouth. 

A lump forms in your throat as you scroll past their names again, hesitation gnawing at you. You know they're furious, and rightfully so. 

With a deep breath, you press "Call" before you can change your mind, holding the phone to your ear. It rings, once, twice, three times, the silence on the other end growing louder with every second. You glance out the window of your tiny apartment, the Toronto skyline nothing like the sunlit sprawl of LA. When the ringing stops, you almost wish they'd picked up, just to have the comfort of a familiar voice, even if it's charged with anger and disappointment.

Then the voicemail beeps.

"I'm back in Toronto, as you probably guessed," you say, voice cracking slightly. "The house... it's fine. It's not LA, but it's fine." You let out a shaky laugh that sounds hollow even to you. "Um, I know you're really mad at me but I would love to see you guys for lunch or maybe watch a movie or something like we used to."

You take a shaky breath, glancing at the phone like it might somehow give you the courage to continue. "I just wanted to hear your voices, I guess. I wanted to say I'm sorry. You were right and I wish that I listened to you. I just—" You stop yourself before the words start spilling out too fast, too frantic.

"LA was just a little too overwhelming for me, I missed Canada," you continue even if it isn't the full truth, your voice softer now. "You can yell at me all you want, I just want to see you guys." You huff a laugh to hide the urge to cry "Things are still going good, I'm glad I'm back. I don't think it'll be too different, maybe just a bit quieter."

There's a long pause, the silence of the room pressing in on you. You close your eyes, feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill over. "I love you both," you say, voice barely above a whisper. "So if you want to, call me back and we can set up dinner or something. I'll... I'll talk to you later, bye."

Outside, it gently begins to rain. You don't need to press your ear to the glass to hear it, each splatter is like a whisper and you're so attentive since it's the only thing that's spoken to you in weeks.

You drag yourself off the bed, eyes burning from the unshed tears you've been holding back. Sitting around won't fix anything, and won't magically make your problems disappear. You need to do something. Anything to get out of your own head, to stop that endless cycle of self-loathing. With a resigned sigh, you turn back to the mess of the apartment, clothes strewn across the floor, boxes stacked in corners, wrappers and empty water bottles piling up on the coffee table.

"Alright," you mutter to yourself, wiping the last of the tears from your cheeks. "Just... clean up. Start somewhere."

You grab a trash bag and move to the kitchen, shoving empty takeout containers and crumpled napkins into it, the stale smell lingering in the air. With each item that leaves your hands, you feel a tiny bit lighter. Cleaning, at least, gives you some semblance of control. You can't fix everything, but you can make this place feel a little less like a prison.

When the bag is full, you tie it up with more force than necessary, the plastic crinkling angrily under your fingers. You glance around the room, feeling a twinge of satisfaction at the cleaner surfaces, the space looking a little more livable. It's not much, but it's something.

You grab the trash bag and head to the front door, holding it awkwardly under one arm as you fumble to turn the knob. The rain is light enough that it leaves you just sprinkled as you awkwardly rush to the garbage can.

It's only when you turn to look back at your door that you remember it locks upon closing. Your breath catches in your throat as you frantically pat down your pockets, then scan the floor, hoping to see them lying somewhere nearby. "No, no, no, no," you mutter under your breath, the panic rising as you realize they're not on you. You can picture them clearly, sitting smugly on the kitchen counter, just out of reach.

Conveniently, this was when your roommate had picked up a late shift, leaving you locked out of the flat. 

You try the knob just in case, rattling it as if it might magically give way. It doesn't. A strangled sound escapes your throat, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Fuck!" You shout, pulling on the handle like that would do anything. 

"Are you kidding me?" you seethe, pulling away from the door and kicking it. Hard. The impact sends a jolt of pain up your foot, but you don't care. You kick it again, harder this time, the door thudding in response, refusing to budge.

As childish as you felt kicking the door, it's the final thing to tip you over and you can no longer hold back the tears that were waiting to fall. They're hot and stinging, blurring your vision as you slam your hands against the door again and again. The pain in your knuckles feels good in a way, like a release. You curse under your breath, the words tumbling out, raw and vicious. "Damn it!"

Your strength drains quickly, each hit becoming weaker until you're just slapping the door with the flat of your palms, gasping for breath, the anger dissolving into a wave of grief and exhaustion. You slump against the door, sliding down until you're sitting on the cold, hard floor, your shoulders heaving with sobs.

You pull your knees to your chest, burying your face in your arms. The street is quiet, the only sound of your broken cries echoing softly around you. It's like every emotion you've been bottling up since you got back is pouring out now, in the cold air and oncoming rain, in front of this unyielding door. You cry for the life you lost, for the mistakes you made, for the uncertain, terrifying future that stretches ahead of you.

This can't be the rest of your life, right?

Then you sense it—a presence, a pair of eyes on you. You glance up, wiping your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, and spot him: your neighbour. He's leaning against his brick doorway just a few feet away, a joint lazily balanced between his fingers, looking at you with an awkward mixture of concern and confusion from beneath the awning. 

You hadn't noticed him or the smell of pot which must've been subdued by the rain. You vaguely recognize him. Hamzah, you think his name is. Never had you known he was your neighbour but you were sure you had seen him on your feed a couple of years ago. Now, though, he's standing there, his eyes locked onto you like he's stumbled upon something he wasn't meant to see.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. He takes a drag, the tip of the joint glowing faintly in the dim hallway. You can see the smoke curl around him as he exhales, the smell reaching you a moment later. You swallow hard, feeling a fresh wave of embarrassment wash over you. Great. Not only are you locked out, but now you've got an audience to witness your breakdown.

"You, uh... you good?" he asks finally, his voice rough from the smoke. It's an awkward, tentative question as if he's not quite sure what else to say in this scenario. 

"Um," You straighten your posture, coughing to clear the bubble in your throat from sobbing "Yup."

He shifts uncomfortably, scratching at the back of his neck. "Do you... need help or something? Like... with the door?" he offers, taking another drag.

"I just locked myself out, had a bad day," You say, trying to slip in an explanation for your little show "Uh, my roommate can let me in when she gets home." 

He exhales a cloud of smoke, nodding slowly. "Yeah. I can see that." Another pause, then he adds, "You want me to call someone? Like a locksmith or something? Is there something I can do?"

You glance up at Hamzah, eyes still red from crying, and see him taking another drag. The silence between you feels heavy and awkward. Impulsively, you blurt out, "Can I have a hit of that?" You're not sure why you ask—maybe you just need something to take the edge off, something to dull the sting of reality.

Hamzah hesitates, looking you over like he's trying to gauge how serious you are. Then, with a small shrug, he steps closer and extends the joint. "Sure," he says, holding it out and gesturing for you to come closer. 

Sheepishly, you move from your spot on the stoop and scamper over to his patio. You take it from his fingers, feeling the warmth of where his hand was. It's not like you've never done this before, but it feels strange now, in this setting, stuck under an awning with a virtual stranger. You bring the joint to your lips, inhaling deeply. The smoke burns your lungs for a moment, and you cough, fighting the urge to wince as you hand it back to him.

"Thanks," you croak, blinking to clear your watery eyes. The two of you sit in silence for a beat, and you sense him watching you again, more curious now than awkward.

"So," he starts, breaking the silence. "Why are you locked out? What happened?"

"Oh, it's one of those automatic locks but it's actually not since the keypad is busted," Even as you string the words together they don't make sense to you but Hamzah slowly nods.

"Okay," His eyes are half-lidded and another silence stretches between you until he fills it "So you just moved in?" He asks to which you nod "From where?"

"California."

"Why'd you leave?"

"Coke." You answer a bit too fast "Everyone is coked up all the time and it's just kinda miserable no matter where you go." 

"Yeah that checks out," He takes a drag before offering you another hit. Hamzah's eyebrows draw in as he studies the curves of your face and the bridge of your nose, finally, he says "Sorry, you just look really familiar."

"Yeah, you do too," You feel the smoke fill your lungs, the sensation feels as rough as sandpaper.

"Yeah," he reiterates, drawing the word out, eyes still on you. "No, I do know you," Hamzah announces like he's cracked a riddle "I used to watch your videos."

"Used to," You repeat, sucking a sharp breath through your teeth "Youch."

His eyes widen slightly "No, no, not like that, I'm just busy now, like I don't have time to-

You cut him off with a laugh "I don't care, I'm just being a dick."

"Oh," He takes a breath out and his lips slowly curl into a small smile "Cool." 

Silence hangs between the two of you like two birds on a wire as you pass the joint back and forth. The eeriness is filled by the patter of rain, harsher now and splashing against the concrete, so loud it sounds like pebbles being tossed onto sheets of glass.

"Are you like- okay?" He glances at you, coughing into his fight for a moment. 

You knew the marijuana had hit you when everything felt like it was moving in frames and suddenly your body didn't feel so heavy "I dunno," You answer truthfully, tongue loosened by the pot in your system "I just don't know what to do."

"How old are you?" He asks abruptly.

"Twenty-one." When the words leave your mouth he laughs "What?"

"What do you mean you don't know what to do? Watch a movie, eat some cereal, you've got time."

You look ahead of you at the street, water dribbling it's way into drains. Oddly, it felt like exactly what you needed to hear, that jigsaw falling into place. The joint is almost finished now, just a few more puffs left. You take a slow drag, savouring the earthy, slightly sweet taste before exhaling a thin stream of smoke that mingles with the cool night air. "It doesn't feel like it." 

"Nah," He waves it off "You've got time and- " Hamzah fishes another joint out of his hoodie pocket, holding it up with a grin. "Since you're already having the worst day ever," he says, "Might as well make it a little more interesting." 

You stare at him for a moment, the remains of your previous frustration tugging at the edges of your mind. But then you shrug. What do you really have to lose at this point? A small, wry smile creeps onto your face. "Sweet."

-

Hamzah's living room is messy in a comfortable way, with gaming consoles scattered around the TV and piles of clothes thrown across the couch. "Make yourself at home," he says with a grin, already rummaging through a pile on the floor to pull out a small tripod and camera.

You collapse onto the couch, feeling the familiar thrill of preparing to film, even if this time it's more chaotic and impulsive. Hamzah sets up the tripod, the lens trained on the two of you. He fumbles for a second, trying to find the record button.

"Okay, okay," he mutters to himself, squinting at the camera. "Ready?"

You nod, suppressing a giggle as he finally gets it going. He plops down beside you, and you both stare at the red light blinking at the top of the camera.

"Hey, what's up, YouTube!" Hamzah begins, his voice loud and overly enthusiastic, making you burst into laughter. He shoots you a mock-serious glance, pointing at you. "So, this is my neighbour... my locked-out, kind of sad neighbour. We just had a major debrief."

"Major," You nod in confirmation.

Hamzah grins, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. "Right, right. She is in a bit of what I call a slump that we are getting her out of. So, what brings you to the fine streets of Toronto?"

You launch into an exaggerated tale of your move back, embellishing details to make it sound even more ridiculous. He plays along, interjecting with snarky commentary, and soon the two of you are riffing off each other like a well-rehearsed duo.

For a moment, you forget about the locked door, the mess of your life outside this room. You're just... here, laughing with this random stranger, acting like a complete goof in front of a camera.

"And that's how we ended up here," Hamzah finishes, throwing his hands up dramatically. "Two neighbours, locked out, stoned out of their minds, trying to salvage what little dignity they have left."

"I think your dignity is fine, actually," You correct him.

"Mmm, I dunno about that," he shakes his head "My digital footprint is insane."

"How insane?"

Hamzah holds a finger out before reaching into his pocket and taps around, holding his phone out to show you the screen. You watch as several clips play one after another, him saying incredulous things, taking shrooms at Comic-Con, slipping in a hot tub, and eating a comically large hotdog. 

"Ah, I see," You nod slowly.

"Can you believe I did all of that sober?"

"No, actually, maybe, I don’t know you that well."

"Well," He gestures to his phone "That's basically all you need to know."

"Really?"

"Nah," he shakes his head "What am I saying?"

The glint of a green light catches your eye and you're reminded that this entire conversation is being filmed. You nudge Hamzah's bicep, pointing at the camera "Dude, we have a video to make."

"Wait," he puts his hand out, "I think I just discovered the solution for world peace."

"Do tell." Nothing makes sense, you’re just putting together the first words that come to mind like a game of scrabble.

"Everyone gets high at the same time and then we can all resolve our issues." In the moment, it seemed genius, like there were no issues to it. In your state, your face splits into a smile and you give Hamzah a high five.

"But seriously, we gotta film because I'm going to be very irrelevant very soon."

"Right, right. We will-" his head swerves, looking around for something to hold interest, then, he goes back to his phone, opening up Garage Band "Make a song."

"What?" You furrow your eyebrows.

"Nah, just trust me, we will freestyle, it'll be good."

You blink "I can't sing."

Hamzah shrugs, tapping a button that creates a drum loop. "Who cares? It doesn't have to be good. In fact, the worse it is, the funnier it'll be. People love random off-putting stuff that doesn't make sense."

You lean forward, hands on your knees as you try to think of some lyrics. "Okay, okay," you say, catching your breath. "How about... 'I got locked out of my house, life's a mess, lost my success'?"

Hamzah snorts, nodding eagerly. "Perfect. And then, something like, 'My neighbour showed up with a joint, now we're high, nothing's going as planned...'"

You both burst out laughing at how terrible it is, but that only makes it more fun. As the best of a song comes to fruition, you start shouting out lyrics in a half-singing, half-yelling voice, each line worse than the last.

"Can't pay my rent, don't have a cent!" you cry, dramatically throwing your head back.

"Got kicked out of school, and now I'm feeling uncool!" Hamzah chimes in, wailing.

It's chaotic, utterly ridiculous, and so far from anything either of you would ever consider sharing online, but the sheer absurdity of it leaves you both gasping for breath between fits of laughter. You catch glimpses of each other between the laughter, and you realize how freeing it feels to just be silly, to do something that has absolutely no pressure to be perfect or polished. In truth, it wasn't that funny but under the influence, breathing was funny.

As the last of the laughter dies down, you hear the faint rumble of a car engine pulling up outside. You freeze, holding your breath, listening as a car door slams shut and footsteps approach. It takes you a second to register what's happening, and then your eyes widen in realization.

"Oh my god," you mutter, scrambling to your feet. You rush to Hamzah's window, peering outside. There, standing by the curb with a purse in hand, is your roommate. Relief washes over you so suddenly it nearly knocks you over.

"Is that...?" Hamzah asks, glancing out the window beside you.

"Yep," you reply, feeling a mixture of giddiness and embarrassment flood your chest. "That's Margot. I can finally get back inside!" You turn back to him, grinning ear to ear. "I should probably go but uh- thanks for the weed," you say, heading toward the door. Hamzah just nods, a lopsided smile on his face as he follows you to the doorway.

"Oh- yeah," he says, opening the door for you. 

You give him a quick wave, then jog down across the yard to catch your roommate before she heads inside. By the time you reach her, she's already at the door, fumbling with her keys.

"Hey! Thank god you're back!" you blurt out, slightly out of breath. "I locked myself out."

She gives you a skeptical look, seeing your red, glassy eyes but nods, unlocking the door. You slip inside with a sigh of relief, feeling a little steadier, a little less lost than you had a few hours ago. Before she can ask more questions, you glance back toward Hamzah's house, catching sight of him leaning casually in his doorway, waving goodbye with a lazy, knowing grin.

You wave back, shaking your head slightly. What a weird, unexpected day it's been. And yet, somehow, you don't feel quite as alone anymore. It's a weird serenity that washed over you. Toronto didn't seem as hopeless as it did initially.

A/N: Anyways, if you’ve read this far, feel free to send a request. I didn’t really know where I was going with this, just wanted to write something Hamzah.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Damage Control 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Jonathan Pine, Lloyd Hansen

Summary: you're sent to work intel on a mission with two very combative men.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You sit in the airport. One piece of luggage. Simple. Easy. You travel light but not alone. Your company has yet to arrive.

Fellow travelers rush back and forth while others wait in queue for the coffee kiosk behind you or meander in hopes of an empty seat. The dark brew isn’t very good. It’s burnt and hollow. You push the cup away and mourn the five dollars for eight ounces of tripe.

You recognise the man, not only because you’ve seen his photo, but because he stands out despite his attempt at insignificance. Tall, blond, lithe but not too slender. He approaches and you stand. He looks around, right over your head. You likely don’t look how he would expect.

“Pine,” you call to him. His blue eyes narrow at you and he redirects. He rolls his bag with him and approaches with his hand extended, “Pine like the tree. Tall as one.”

He tilts his head curiously, “you’re Magenta?”

“I didn’t choose it,” you say.

“Angela?”

“Can’t leave the wee one,” you explain as you hike yourself back up on the tall chair. You bring the cup close again and turn it as you scowl at the brew. “Don’t recommend the coffee. Don’t know about the tea.”

“Hm,” he sits across from you. “Pity. Was hoping for a good cuppa before we head over the pond.”

You look at him and your cheek twitches. You put your hand to it to still it. His blue eyes twinkle.

“You like to hike? With a name like Pine, it’d be ironic, wouldn’t it?” You suggest.

A line forms above his brow, “suppose that would be. I enjoy a run now and then, prefer the coast.”

“I hear they’ve got bears over there. Never saw one. Only rats in New York,” you remark. “I lost a slice of pizza to one. Grimy git.”

“Hm, yes, a city one would hate to be lost in,” he muses.

“You’ve been?”

“A time or two. Not my favourite place.”

“I went to Canada a couple times. I saw a moose. Actually, saw a few. Meese? Have you seen their geese? They’re bloody vicious.” Your cheek keeps twitching. You give up. Nerves.

“Ah, I’ve flown over, not been,” he says. “You nervous of flying?”

“Little. It’s only the take-off that gets me. Went parachuting once and the instructor tricked me. Said the strap on my chute broke. Threw a dummy cord out. Right mad one. Should’ve known better than do a jump for twenty quid.” You chuckle and shake your head. “Haven’t been right since.”

“Sounds especially cruel,” he comments.

“I’ve known crueler,” you grin.

“Mm, yes, as have I,” his brows lift slightly. “So, what do you know about this Hansen character?”

“I know we should keep the chatter to a minimum about him. Not here,” you glance around, catching site of the man who’s not so subtle in his staring.

“You’ve done this before?” He asks.

“I work alone more often. First for having company,” you say quietly. “Your sister, she’s going to be so happy to see you."

He hesitates but smiles anyway, "oh, she will. It's been some time, hasn't it?"

You keep your eyes on him. He doesn't flinch. You're both overtly aware of the man who's oh so convieniently moved closer to grab sugar and napkins.

You lift your arm and check your watch, "look at that, boarding soon."

"Ah, yes, darling, wouldn't want to miss it," he stands and comes around to pull out your chair. You step down and reach for your bag. He has it first. "Allow new."

You take your coffee and dump it in a bin. He rolls both bags with him as you walk in stride.

"Grab my arm. Be natural," he girds.

You obey, putting your hands on his as he clings to your suitcase. You walk with him, a dulcet expression to hide your paranoia. You get to the gate and show your passes.

He lets go of the bags and turns to yawn into his elbow. As he does, he scans the area. You join the queue for the ramp and he leans in.

"He's been rerouted by security," Pine intones.

You nod and stay facing forward. Another twitch.

"You're good," he praises.

You give a soft smile. It's a true compliment. You're not a field agent. This isn't your typical assignment but you owe Angela the favour.

“Eh, sometimes they turn out to just be creeps,” you snort. “Never know with people.”

“No, you never do,” he agrees.

“They say it's cold. November and such,” you sway as the airport attendants mill around near the doors waiting to call for boarding. “Thanksgiving soon, or whathaveyou. Pity we never got in on the fun.”

He laughs again, “never much thought of it.”

“I wouldn't mind turkey. You can get fish at any chippy, but what about nice bird.”

“Oh, I don't recommend picking up birds at a chippy,” he hurls back.

You guffaw, “clever.”

“I like to think so.”

“Mm, yes, most agents I've met tend to have that idea about themselves,” you stretch your arms behind you and scope out the line. You let out a breath. “You seem the football type, eh?”

He seems stricken by the question, “might be.”

“Eh, don't you worry, I won't judge. Not out loud.”

“Right. I'll admit, not many of Angela's friends are so chatty,” he says.

“They wouldn't be but we've ten hours ahead of us. May as well jump right in,” you say.

“May as well,” he agrees. “If you must know, I root for Chelsea.”

“Ach,” you decry. “Well, perhaps we should find a more amiable topic.”

“I see. Spoken like a true Arsenal fan.”

“I'm warning you,” you retort. “I'm much nicer about the weather. Lovely day, isn't it?”

He laughs, “oh, fine day for flying.”

[sleepymccoy]

Please choose your favourite of my (imo) niche star trek headcanons

Now that I'm writing these, I wonder if any of them are straight up canon that I've forgotten lol

I'm gonna further defend my headcanons under a readmore, but it's up to you if you want to read that or just vote on the summary 😘

Scotty's actor is Canadian. Also he's so Scottish? Like, he's called Scotty, he drinks scotch, he is Scottish, so on. Too much. I think he has Scottish heritage, maybe his mum is Scottish, so he knows the phrases and his accent work is comedic but solid. But he himself was born in like Quebec

I have a whole post on McCoy's ex wife being Vulcan, it rules, give it a read here

The way America crumbles in trek history I think opens them up to invasion. I don't think Russia is still in charge, I think they've moved on from that and country borders are less political more cultural in TOS times. But I think briefly Russia had everything and Chekhov is joking about that when he says shit like that saying is Russian. We know, Chekhov, everything was Russian once, get over it. His joke is less about things being Russian and more like someone making the same joke about how everything was Roman once

TOS writers had a little cheat sheet of characterisation rules I saw here once and one said that Sulu has many varying interests, so if you need an info dump that's not one of the other main guys things, use him. So I've taken that and gone with he isn't actually into plants, it was just a six month project to better learn how to take care of them. He spent a lot of time complaining about them to Chekhov. Basically a hyper fixation and once he figured it out he lost interest, but retained all the knowledge

Cos Rand has that trick of heating up the coffee with a phaser on low. That's resourceful with ship technology that uses batteries, not mainframe power. I think she knows what matters when a ship breaks, and food and comfort need prioritising cos she grew up on a ship that was always broken. Broken ships are easier to tolerate if the coffee is served hot

I think Chapel's fiance kinda sucks in that ep, even if it was just a robot copy, and I think she loves being in space. I think she feels both relieved and guilty about it all, it's bad

[fenrislorsrai]

The Crow Road

I did in fact read The Crow Road because of Good Omens and it was very meandering with a lot of character study. For a thing summarized as "trying to solve a mystery from papers left behind" it was very uninterested in doing so. It didn't even introduce them for first 100 pages, then didn't refer to them for another 100, then LOST THEM ON THE TRAIN. The book itself is mostly a distraction from solving actual mystery. In no way would I classify this as being Mystery, as in the genre. This is a family saga/coming of age thing. I did enjoy it, but if you're expecting a genre fiction thing, you will hate it.

ANYWAY.

Then we get to the last 20 pages or so of the book and OH MY FUCKING GOD

the rest of this is going under a cut for anyone who actually wants to read The Crow Road themself, but for everyone else, this is directly relevant to the end of season 2, episode 6 AND is NSFW

Toward end of book, MC Prentice figures out "oh, maybe I am actually in love with my best friend, Ash, I should tell here". Oh shit, she's taking a job and moving to Canada! FUCK. Well telling her now is not gonna do anything good here, I blew it.

Ash meanwhile comes to stay with him in his rented place before having to fly out in the morning. The place is tied up in an estate dispute. It has an enormous four poster bed in a room covered in naked paintings of Venus. And mirrors. Pointed at the bed.

They go out for dinner and have a conversation of who owes who for dinner and decide its neither. They walk around a little bit reminiscing about when they were in school. Prentice had once broken her nose with a snowball and thought she didn't know. She says she forgave him right away. It also turns out she knew he was using morse code to tap out rude things at their French teacher.

They get back to the house and she says she's going to turn in early. Goes to give him a kiss on cheek. WHich then turns into kissing. and grabbing ass. They head to the bedroom of Fucking to do just that.

have a couple round and then while tangled up doing effectively some cockwarming, Ash does a little rhymic squeezing via morse code to spell out I-L-U and he does some cock moving to spell out I-L-U-T she still gets up in morning to leave, tehre's that brief, but what if I convince you to stay??? and they basically both agree "no, this is a breakup for work." Ash goes off to do her work contract, Prentice is going to finish his degree and sell the Bentley he just inherited. The split is not forever.

I did not have love confession via morse code while fucking on my bingo card AT ALL.

But good god, that ending there and the kiss there at the end of season2. OH RIGHT, THEY BOTH HAVE DONE SPY STUFF!!! What the fuck are Aziraphale's hands doing? are they frenching with morse code? IF THAT IS WHAT HAPPENED AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[beelmons]

Experimental Pedagogy (18+)

cw: reader is a college student, oral fem receiving, mentions of economy concepts

A/N: I wrote this as a gift for our adorable @cassiemartzz , i hope this can get you going through the semester and i'm also very sorry i wrote it like a month before it ends lksjskf ily

The night had fallen earlier than you expected. You weren’t sure at what moment all that time had gone by, and it wasn’t the first time you had that sensation. Whenever you tried to study, specifically when it came to your international economy class, the minutes just seemed to slip through your fingers away from your grasp, and the information did the exact same thing away from your brain. The topic was so boring, not even a reward system was keeping you focused, nothing was motivation to swallow down endless concepts of useless themes. 

Spencer, being the boy genius that he was, had long figured out perhaps mental stimuli was not enough; he made it his little project to find a way you could feel yourself getting compensated for your hard work. And he tried, and tried: money, food, baked goods, objects, trips, they all worked for a limited period of time until you lost interest. He wondered if you were simply doomed to struggle with concentration, but it pained him to see you so frustrated, so tired, he couldn’t just give up. And he didn’t. After a million tries, Spencer finally found the way to keep your brain engaged. 

Physical stimuli was the answer. 

“Who’s considered the father of the modern day global economy?” he asked, his face not moving to look at you. 

He was settled in between your legs while you sat on your desk, a completely dark room barely illuminated by your computer screen. Your underwear had been gone for about an hour, and he had yet to reach your exposed core. He had gotten frustratingly close, though. 

This is how the game went: You had two hours to study as much as you could, he would read alongside you, albeit constantly finish way faster than you, and whenever you finished a paragraph he removed a piece of clothing, or caressed a specific spot, or kissed a well-liked area. Once you were ready for a test, he would kneel before your desk to press kisses to your inner thigh as he asked questions. For every right answer, you got a kiss closer to your slit, and if you were good enough, you could have his tongue. 

You only got to cum once you aced it. 

“Adam Smith.” you muttered, your tongue tracing over your lips as you watched his lips get closer to your needy cunt. 

“That’s my girl.” he grinned. 

His hands were spreading your legs open, since once you had dared to almost crush his skull and use his tongue without completing the test. He enjoyed so, very much, but academic integrity was crucial, and he was not about to let you take advantage once again. 

His lips attached to the remaining gap of skin next to your outer lips, his kiss was more of a bite, a rough suck that you were sure was going to be sore the next morning. Your back arched at the feeling, and you let out a wince. 

“Name of the international trade treaty held between the US, Canada, and Mexico.” his breath hitting your skin was driving you crazy, honestly, you had never wanted him to shut up more. 

“NAFTA.” you said with resolution. 

Spencer's head tilted to be facing your sex, and just when you thought he was going to give you what you needed, he simply blew hot air against the area of your clit. 

“That’s the old name.” he said, and you could feel absolute rage boil within you. 

“USMCA!” you yelled, anger plastered all over your tone. 

That emotion, however, dissipated in a blink once you finally felt the relief of his tongue. He wasn’t going to let you go that easy, though, so his muscle just trailed over your outer labia, not going into your slit or clit just yet. However, he thought you deserved your reward, and he purposely let his nose brush, although barely, against the sensitive nub. 

You did try to buck your hips forward, mind you, but his hands stopped you. Once he had licked enough, leaving your skin as wet as your insides were, he spoke up again. 

“This concept refers to the ability of a country to naturally produce goods for a cheaper price.” he asked against your core. 

Regardless of Spencer’s stoic demeanor as a teacher, he was just a man, and the passion he felt for teaching was often overtaken by the passion he felt for your body. While you scrambled  through your mind in an attempt to find the answer, his lips kept pressing soft kisses around the area, still not allowing his tongue to insert anywhere. 

“Come on,” he stopped his movements to raise his gaze at you “I know you know this, say it.” 

Your eyes locked with his, ever big and shiny like a puppy’s; there was a certain desperation in his eyes, and your eyebrows raised in question, after all he was supposed to be there to support you. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” he rolled his eyes lightly at your judging expression “I’m dying to taste you.” 

The praise disguised as a complaint gave you the final encouragement you needed, and it was like your brain sparkled with knowledge all of a sudden. 

“Comparative advantage.” you said. 

His face disappeared as soon as his brain fact-checked your answer; his eyes no longer locked with yours, since his tongue was entangled in your insides. You could feel him prod inside and out, taking his time to coat his tongue in your taste. Your legs threatened to close on his face again, a tight grip stopping you from it. Your hands locked on his messy hair, trying to keep him in place. 

You were already overstimulated as it was, having had him down there for over an hour, teasing and caressing like you were senseless, like he didn’t have any effect on you, even though he was well aware it was the opposite. Your back was arched against your study chair, and the only sounds in the entire place were your moans mixed by the erotic slurps of his mouth. 

“One last question.” once he felt you clench around him, dangerously close to your climax, he stopped his movements “What’s the main economic indicator of a country regarding the production of goods and services?” 

His tongue didn’t truly leave you unattended, instead, it just moved in painfully slow circles around your clit, keeping you on edge. Your breath was awfully rushed, making it unable for you to respond right away regardless of your clear knowledge of the answer. He took a long, slow lap at your core, trailing up every inch of it, all while having his big honey-like eyes fixed on your hot face. 

“GDP or Gross Domestic Product.” you answered when your eyes met hiss. 

Without breaking eye contact, his lips wrapped around your nup, and his tongue moved side to side at a rapid pace. You let out a pleasured, high-pitched noise as your climax took over you, your fluids spilling all over his face. Once you stopped trembling from the pleasure, he took his time to clean up any moisture left on your skin, sending light bolts through your veins whenever he touched an over-sensitive spot. 

“Jesus, Spencer.” you said, defeatedly laying against your seat “I still don’t understand how I can retain any information when you eat me out like that.” 

“Actually,” he began, standing up from the floor “the basis for this technique relies on unconscious rewarding instead of conscious rewarding. While you’re taking the test you will remember the sensations instead of the concepts directly, and eventually your unconscious will just make the connection between the two. Similar to how we sometimes use smells to help people remember facts about a case.” 

He moved behind you as he explained, laying his hands on your shoulders; you had only covered half the material for the final, so there was plenty left to go. You were listening intently to his ramble, and you couldn’t lie to yourself, it was a little bit so you had an excuse to not continue studying. 

“So, you’re telling me I’m going to be horny in the middle of the test if they ask me about GDP?” you asked in a half joke, however, he actually took his time to consider the possibility. 

“There’s a 30% chance that will happen. Don’t worry, though, I can be there to take care of you right after it.” from behind, he grabbed at your chin and tilted your head back to press a gentle kiss to your lips, almost spiderman-like. Immediately, he dragged a chair closer to your desk, ready to go back to studying with you “Come on, we still have two more blocks to go.”

[my2phetaliaheadcanons]

I am not exactly sure if your request are open or this account is abandoned because I don't wanna bother.. But how do 2p Prussia, 2p America, 2p Italy, 2p Canada to their darling s/o walking around, talking by themselves and running around when their alone, especially listening to music and do that.. People usually called it maladaptive daydreaming?.. And I again I'm sorry if I bother you

+ This comment: Oh if you don't know maladaptive daydreaming.. You can search it on google, maladaptive daydreaming is usually caused by mental health issue

Ah! I’ve heard of this, and I relate to a lot of the symptoms. Honestly, the process helps me with a lot of my writing, but I’ve never really had it overtake my life.

And you’re no bother hun! Also, as long as the ask box is open you can submit until your heart’s content (this goes for everyone!). Adult life sometimes makes it hard to be consistent with my writing. Even though life’s made it tough, it just takes longer than I thought. Which I am sure we all understand.

Also, if you ever want, you are welcome to ask me questions, or just check in on my status. I don’t consider them the same as a request/ask. Honestly, I’ve always wondered if I should share the menu of questions. Like the ones of lists where people request a number/shape/phrase from a menu of questions and the author answers them.

Note: (F/Br) = Favorite Brand

Anyways on to the event~

(Y/N)’s head rocked to unheard music as she moved through the house. A large basket, full of dirty clothes, was in hand as she muttered to herself. Like a plane on autopilot, her legs took the barefoot woman down the hidden, wooden stairs toward the basement.

With her mind lost to the clouds, she was unaware of the encroaching shadows. One that slunk along her walls and blended in with her home’s hidden corners.

The man’s ears were perked, eager to pick up on her muttering as he remained out of sight; but as he tried to make out each, exact word, all he could do was scrunch his face in confusion. She was uttering pure nonsense. Curiosity continued to knock at his brain, as he realized the muttering and occasional grunt sounded like someone in a fight. Part of him wondered if she hated laundry. Or was she somehow hurt, that a mere load of laundry caused her body to ache so, maybe she was complaining about that event? Perhaps, during the hours he had left her, someone said something to piss her off and to alleviate the feeling of failure she was repeating the moment but with her winning?

Brushing off the momentary flare of anger at the possibility of something going wrong, he decided to stalk closer. His presence unnoticed as he fell in line with the darkness to follow the woman further into the unfinished basement.

Remaining between the darken beams of an empty corner room, the man watched as she bounced past the laundry room. He choked down the chuckle that threatened to bubble out as she seemed to forget what chore she was doing. He watched as her quirked lips and blink of confusion reminded him of a puppy denied a bone via a simple magic trick. But after a moment she stepped backwards and moved inside to complete the chore.

For hours, he watched from the dark places of (Y/N)’s home as she continued in what he could only call her own wonderland. Little sounds and words came from her as she auto piloted her way through the evening. Each of her movements could only be described as light and spacey. 

Soon enough, (Y/N) had finished her day. Her head hitting the cold pillow and slowly giving up consciousness in return for a more vivid fantasy as she cuddled her blanket close.

As her breath settled into sleep’s pattern. The man left the shadows and stood over (Y/N). He looked down, his eyes softened by worry as he brushed away her hair.

The whole day. She had not noticed him once. Not even reacting to the feeling of his eyes tracing her form.

Oh, what to do with her.

HIS.

SWEET.

LITTLE.

OBLIVIOUS.

ALICE.

Prussia: Once again, (Y/N) moved on autopilot. Her mind lost to wonderland as she cleaned the front room windows. A dance to step as her inner adventure rose closer to its climax. Ignorant of the eyes on the outside.

 “Another day, another fantasy”. thought Wilhelm as he watched her from his dark Audi. His thumb tapped along the steering wheel as he bobbed to her beat. Waiting for her.

Waiting for the next point of her set schedule. The subconscious pattern he had identified weeks earlier. The key to bringing Maus home was a simple afternoon walk.

His cornflower orbs flitted to the car clock. The neon numbers changed to fourteen hundred. At its brief flicker, to signify the change of the hour, Wilhelm looked back to the house.

(Y/N) opened the white door, and Wilhelm felt his heart stop. Her beauty alone froze the breath within his lungs.

The summer sun reflected off her (H/C) locks and the (F/C) headphones helped create a beautiful halo. Her eyes were refreshing pools of (E/C) that offered relief from the ruthless heat. The baggy, mesh, basketball shorts and simple graphic tee made her seem like an angel failing to blend in with mortals.

To view her so openly felt like a sin. But Wilhelm couldn’t ignore the serpent’s call. Not when the house had been prepared, and the wedding planning was in the final stages.

No, he thought as she walked past his car. Not when her mental wonderings made it so easy for him to snatch her away.

He opened the car door. Following the distracted woman down the suburban running trail.

Not when he could make his own daydreams a reality.

America: Over the next few weeks, (Y/N)’s mind continued its wandering. Those mental walks felt like a summer, sun-dappled path as she made her way through the elaborate stories. After all, they prevented a dull moment and allowed her to complete her days and tasks while tranced.

It was perfect.

If only you didn’t ask Allen.

On each visit to her home, he was ignored. His presence was treated as nothing more than a fly on the wall. Allen would agree that it was nice, it allowed him to get closer. To be bolder in his actions.

Even with all he learned and all he was able to do, it wasn’t enough. The information lacked intimacy. The kind where Allen could slide into (Y/N)’s life. To build a bond that would take them from friends to a couple, and finally end with marriage.

Just him and her. Forever.

If she wasn’t so damn lost within her own mind.

The process of focusing her hazy eyes on him would take too long if he went the organic route. No, he wanted her attention.

And.

He.

Wanted.

It.

Now.

Italy: The grocery store bustled with life as (Y/N) pushed her cart forward. Her lazy stride as her upper body leaned on the cart handle. Her eyes felt that the world was so distant as she glanced along the shelves like her dedication to the dream prevented the world from coming into focus.

A sudden crash of zincified steel and a punch to the gut caused (Y/N) to choke as her lungs struggled to regain their air and her stomach to keep its contents down.

A groan mumbled its way through (Y/N)’s clenched lips as her mind caught up with reality. She had been wondering about the snack aisle for chips, but at its lack of (F/Br) and at her mental moment of failure, she decided to check the next aisle in case they were moved. Initially, there was no one at the aisle’s end that (Y/N) had seen, so she exited. But, like a teen driver with a brand-new cellphone, her glance up was not long enough.

“Non ci posso credere!”, came from the owner of the hand that was now rubbing her back. His gentle touch helped calm her body’s panic as she looked back at him.

(E/C) widened as a heavy blush warmed her cheeks.

He was handsome.

His copper hair that had the smallest hints of crimson in the highlights the shone like bloody pennies in the florescent lights. His eyes were the deepest pools of maroon that pulled at her brain like a siren’s song. A sharp nose that complimented the soft smile that crinkled the corners of his beautiful eyes.

Yet, her brain couldn’t ignore that something was off. Was it in the way he looked at her? Or the gentle, but tight grip on her arm? Either way, it made (Y/N) feel like she was viewing a shadow from above the water’s surface. That underneath lay a predator in wait, urging her to jump in. To embr-.

“Tesoro?” The man interrupted. “Are you alright?”

She ummed with a nodded as she scurried to collect her cart and stand straight. A stuttered “Yes” as she began to turn her cart away and after a silent moment of staring, an “I’m sorry” as her steps led her away from the attractive Italian.

(Y/N) should have looked back.

Because Luciano stepped forward. His voice was soft as he called for her to look back. It had enough power that only (Y/N) should have turned to look at him. To bless him with another conversation. To give him his anchor point into her life.

She should not have let her dreams dull her senses as her wondering took her around the aisle’s corner.

Because he frowned. A frown so deep that the creases pulled his lips downward. She was lost again. Not even thirty seconds after bruising her gut. Not allowing him the chance to smooth over the pain with the promise of pleasure.

Being ignored burned him. A blaze that flittered like black flames from his heart to his head with horrible ideas.

Ideas that concluded this ‘dream-walking’ could be trained out. Or at least, change them. Maybe, dreams that were filled with only him, could be a better anchor. Even if they would quickly become nightmares.  

Canada: Large shelves were covered in books. Each varied in thickness, texture, color, and quality, but with one thing in common. They were all blank.

Matt’s scuffed hand reached for a leather bound, brown journal. He turned it over in his hands before flipping through the pages. It seemed sturdy. A book that could handle a lot of pages turning, folding, and writing, but he grimaced. Its paper was rated for matte, which was the standard.

“No.” He muttered. “It’s too light.”

His boot-clad feet carried him further into the book aisle of the art store. As he approached the end, his lilac eyes were drawn downward to a small, black book on the bottom shelf.

Gently, Matt picked it up. His hands carded through the paper and looked over its binding. This one was a lot stronger than the last. Pausing at the book’s middle he noted that it’s pages were tightly bound with glue and white tread that released the smell of glue as he closed it with a small slam.

‘One final thing’, he thought as he flipped the book over for it’s specs.

Hot Pressed Watercolor

‘Finally,’ He sighed as he tucked the book under his arm. ‘Now, all I have to do is finish her studio.’

With a nearly, unnoticeable pop in his step, Matt left the store.

After all, with one more thing checked off his list.

That meant he was one item closer to bringing (Y/N) home.

One more thing closer to a happy home with children.

And after all, (Y/N)’s dreams could mean happier children. All he has to do is encourage her to record.

[notnotstarving]

Walter's Werebeaver Story

And my theories about Woodie, based on nothing but my superior mind, intuition, and some dream that I had.

WEREBEAVER_STORY = {

lines = { {duration = 3.0, line = "Did I ever tell you the tale of the Werebeaver?"},

{duration = 2.5, line = "I went looking for him myself, you know."},

{duration = 3.0, line = "They say he was once the owner of a big lumber company,"},

{duration = 2.5, line = "who gave the order to clear-cut an entire forest"},

{duration = 2.5, line = "against the wishes of the people who lived there."},

{duration = 2.5, line = "For this, they say he was cursed..."},

{duration = 2.5, line = "If he or his company cut one tree too many,"},

{duration = 2.5, line = "he would turn into a hulking, hairy beast,"},

{duration = 2.5, line = "with axe-sharp front teeth."},

{duration = 3.0, line = "He lost everything, and hid himself away in a small cabin,"},

{duration = 2.5, line = "deep in the heart of the woods."},

{duration = 2.5, line = "But it was not enough to satisfy the curse."},

{duration = 2.5, line = "People say he's still there, roaming the wilderness,"},

{duration = 2.5, line = "gnashing his long, fearsome teeth!"},

{duration = 1.5, line = "..."},

{duration = 2.5, line = "Well, that was the story I heard anyway."},

{duration = 3.0, line = "Mr. Woodie's never told me if it's actually true..."},

So first of all. This is the closest to Woodie lore we have ever gotten in YEARS and AGAIN its via Walter and not Woodie directly. Second of all, the last line implies Walter has asked Woodie directly about his curse but the man WON'T SAY ANYTHING!! I'M GONNA STRANGLE HIM!! Third of of all, LOOK AT WATER HE'S SO CUTE GOSSIPPING ABOUT HIS DAD 💕💕💕

ANYWAY. I don't actually think Woodie was some bigshot company owner, he's just so down to earth that I can't see it. I think Walter's story is just a local legend that the locals who have spotted the werebeaver came up with. Since these kinds of urban myths are spread through word of mouth like a game of telephone, they often evolve into something different than what the original source stated.

HOWEVER, as scientists we must consider all options, so let's dive in.

Theory #1 - Walter's Story

Woodie owned a big lumber company, gave the order to cut down too many trees, and was cursed to be a beaver by the locals or some kind of supernatural power protecting the locals.

The lumber company could've been a family business, which would explain why his parents named him Woodie. Walter implies he's asked Woodie if this story is true, but Woodie remains tight lipped. Woodie doesn't mention his past too much and he seems like the reserved type, but he doesn't seem like a liar, in fact he strikes me as an honest man. Even though he's a changed man, Woodie's most likely ashamed of his past, being a greedy business owner with no regard for nature. If he's ashamed, he probably doesn't want Walter knowing the truth, but also doesn't want to lie to the kid and say he was cursed a different way, so he neither confirms or denies it.

Plus this is the closest we've gotten canonically to anything relating to his curse's origin.

Theory #2 - Walter's Story (in my dream)

Woodie was hired to get lumber from a forest, cut too many trees on sacred ground and was cursed by the spirits that rest there.

Yes I dream of dst, moving on. So this is very similar to the one klei gave him (I'm a prophet), and this is the one I actually believe happend. Since this story is so similar, (he chopped too many trees and faces the consequences), his reasoning for neither confirming or denying his origins to Walter remains true for this one too.

Now we all know he controls his curse via kitschy idols, which resemble totems. According to the wiki, the word totem derives from the Algonquian word odoodem [oˈtuːtɛm] meaning "(his) kinship group". You know who else has connections to that area? Woodie.

Woodie mentions a lot of places/things from all over Canada, my guess is his lifestyle is just more nomadic than the average person. I think he took a job at Algonquin Park (logging was allowed under strict guidelines) and maybe cut into an area he wasn't supposed to. Once he realized he was cursed to be this man beaver monster, he ran off far away to hide away in a small cabin in Vancouver Island. At least, that's the island I think Walter's map most resembles.

Theory #3 - Alter

Woodie got cursed by magic relating to alter. How? Idk, there are multiple ways this could've happened but that's not the main thing I wanna focus on because at that point it's semantics. What I wanna know is why is woodie still cursed?

If the moon cycle is what causes his curse, why is he still affected in the Constant? The moon is not actually a moon there, it's Alter, some kind of deity. If the curse affects him both in the constant and the real world, I think there's more of a connection between the constant and the real world than we originally thought. It's possible that the moon in the real world is a medium for Alter's influence. Or maybe if we wanna get more bizarre with it, they're actually one in the same. Alter just can't or won't be perceived in the real world for some reason. I don't think it's too far fetched to think there's some kind of connection there. After all, we know there's shadow stuff in the real world, why not moon stuff?

Anyway, that's all the time I have for today, these are my most plausible explanations to Woodie's curse. If anyone else is actually reading all this, I'd love to hear thoughts and even different theories, maybe you have one I haven't thought of.

[ahonice]

Please Don’t Go

Please Don’t Go

Luke Hughes x Fem Reader

WC: 6.1k

Warnings: cussing, mentions of partying & underage drinking.

Luke didn’t mean for it to happen, to fall in love with his best friend, but it did and now there was nothing he could do about it. You were insanely out of his league, he knew it, you knew it, and so did everyone else who saw the two of you walking around campus or saw photos of you on social media. Those who don’t know you probably assumed that you guys were dating, with the matching swimsuits over the summer, and sharing beds all the time, you guys did couple stuff together just as best friends, not as a couple. You were kind, funny, supportive, and beautiful.

So could anyone really blame Luke for falling for you? 

Your mother and Luke’s mother were childhood friends, they played lacrosse and hockey together growing up, both played for the USA women's team together as well, they were best friends. While your parents had kids much earlier than the Hughes did, your mother had always wanted a daughter and her first four attempts had ended in boys so after seven years she decided to give it another go and finally in early 2004 her little princess was born, you. For once your mom and Ellen, Luke’s mom, had kids that were close in age so you in result did everything together. There are images all over Luke’s walls of you in joint Halloween costumes from growing up over the years, you guys at picture day for school, when you had to say goodbye when he moved to Canada, all the pictures of you guys hugging in the airport once he was back for the summer. Your walls were a bit different, you just had one photo of the two of you on display, coincidentally it was the only picture Luke hated of the two of you. Taken when you guys were 3 and 2, you were in the bath together and you had matching bubble mohawks, it was a sweet photo but Luke always found himself embarrassed when he saw it. You loved it though.

Once Luke had moved back to America right before he started high school he wasn’t in New Hampshire anymore, they had moved to Michigan, you were still apart from each other but at least you lived in the same country again, and you still spent your summers with the boy, and his brothers and friends, at the lake house. You had never really been close with the friends and teammates that were brought over during the summer, just keeping to yourself and Luke, and the both of you had no issue with it, but things changed during the summer between your freshman and sophomore year. You were filling out your swimsuits better, you got your braces off, your acne went away, and with that you had a new found self confidence. Luke had taken notice of it and so did everyone else, you were suddenly invited out more and you hung out with everyone during the day and nights doing whatever the first suggestion with it, this time Luke had an issue with how you were spending your summers. He chalked it up to just being a protective best friend, but all those around him knew what it was actually about, everyone but you. 

Everyone first noticed it when Luke’s friends from his school stayed at the lake house for a week. His one friend, Vincent, seemed to have taken a liking to you. He always sat next to you, offered to make your plate or your smores for you, and always wanted to do whatever you wanted to do, and if no one else wanted to do what you suggested the two of you would do it just the two of you. It was sweet, you found it sweet having never really had a guy flirt with you before, Luke did not. He began sitting next to Vincent, or pulling you onto his lap whenever there weren’t any spots available other than the one Vincent would save for you. Luke would make comments about Vincent making your plates wrong or make them himself claiming “I know her better than you.” and when Vincent made the mistake of putting chocolate on your smore Luke just about lost it and began yelling at Vincent about how you were allergic and you could die. When you and Vincent would go off to do your own thing Luke would tag along, always trying to one up Vincent at whatever you were doing and embarrassing himself quite a lot. 

On the last evening all of Luke’s friends were at the house, you suggested that everyone ate outside because it was very nice, unsurprisingly they didn’t want to say it was too hot out for that so you told them you would be eating outside if anyone wanted to join you. Once you were out there you understood why they didn’t want to be out there, it was nearly 8pm and still nearly 90 degrees outside, but not wanting them to have a reason to say “I told you so” you stayed outside. Deciding to strip into just your bathing suit, which you usually only wore when you were tanning because it covered the least amount of your body but it was all you had that was clean.

Soon enough you heard the backdoor open and saw Vincent approaching you with a smile and some lemonade. “It’s hot out, I don’t want you getting dehydrated.” He said as he approached you.

“Thank you.” You said while taking a sip and immediately sighing afterwards, you loved lemonade more than life itself. 

You and Vincent quickly fell into conversation about how horrible the AP Geography exam was that you both had to take. 

“I probably got a one on it if I’m being honest with you, that class was so horrible.” Vincent said, causing you to laugh.

“Oh come on, have some faith in yourself, it really couldn't've gone that badly” You said, turning when you heard the backdoor open again, smiling at the sight of your best friend.

“What couldn’t have gone that badly?” Luke asked while approaching the table, sitting at the spot next to you and across from Vincent. 

“The AP geography exam. How do you think you did on it Lukey?” You asked him, confused when he coughs to cover up his blush and shame.

“Lukey here-” You cringed at the use of Luke's nickname in a sarcastic form, “dropped the class a few months ago because he was failing it. If he had taken the exam he probably would’ve gotten an impossible zero.” Vincent laughed, you did not. You knew how insecure Luke could be about academics.

Once Vincent had finished his food he went inside, you quickly told him you would meet him there in a little bit before turning towards your best friend.

“Lukey come take a walk with me?” You already knew the answer.

As you made your way towards the docks you turned to him.

“Why didn’t you mention that you were struggling in school? You know that I’m here for you right?” You questioned him, feeling him tense next to you as you grabbed his hand.

“I didn’t want to bother you.” 

“Nothing you could do could ever bother me Luke.” You said, “-unless you start being a blanket hog again.” You added poking him in his side, pleased with yourself as you heard him giggle and saw him smile.

“Let’s go inside, the boys weren’t kidding I am sweating my balls off.” You joked, laughing at yourself.

“Ew Y/n please don’t tell me about your non-existent balls.” Luke said, groaning, which just made you laugh harder. Running ahead of him, he was finally able to see what you had on, not having a good look before. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head before he took his shirt off, yelling at her to catch and put it on. 

“Lukey, will you ever not be overprotective of me?” You asked with no malice or poor intentions hidden in your voice. 

“No I don’t think I will.” He said back, his words hidden with meaning and promise.

Vincent walked out the back door again asking if you wanted to go get ice cream together.

“Yeah I would love to, Luke I’ll see you later tonight ok?” You smiled at your best friend and left before you could hear him whisper “Y/n please don’t go”.

***

“So have you decided where you are going to college yet?” Luke asked over the phone.

You were having your weekly facetime, there were about three months left until your graduation and you didn’t know where you were planning on going. You had applied to the University of Michigan a few months back, but you hadn’t heard anything back yet so now you have to start considering some other options.

“Not yet Luke, I’m still holding out committing anywhere in hopes that I get into Michigan. I have started considering other options. What do you think about NYU? Or Ohio State?” Luke’s opinion meant the most to you, he had to have been approving of where you go to school just as much as your parents, probably even more. 

“What! You can’t go to Ohio State Y/n, you can’t be my enemy.”

“Luke, I wouldn't become your enemy just because I go to your school’s rival.”

“That is exactly what you would become. NYU is a great school, but it is too far from me.”

“Luke we have been surviving off of seeing each other only during the summer, I think we can continue doing that.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to. Y/n I want you to be at the same school as me again, even if it’s just for one year before I move out to New Jersey.”

“You do realize that if I go to NYU it would just be one year apart before we live like half an hour away from each other.” You suggested hoping that would spark some approval in him.

“Or, and hear me out on this one, you come to Michigan-”

“Ugh Luke.” You groaned, interrupting him.

“-let me finish. You come to Michigan for your first year, and then you transfer to NYU and live in New Jersey with me.”

“That is tempting, but I have to be accepted into Michigan first.” You explained.

“The second you get your letter you facetime me ok? I need to be there with you when it happens.”

You nodded before the conversation switched topics, you really wanted to get into Michigan.

***

It was finally time, you had received a letter in the mail from the University of Michigan regarding whether or not you had been accepted, and you had never been so scared. You quickly facetimed Luke, and received no answer, so you continued to call, but still you were met with a reflection of a very disappointed looking you and “facetime unavailable” shown at the top.

“Mom, I can't open it without Luke on the phone.” You told her after she asked what you were waiting for.

“We’ll film it for him, come on sweetie open it up. Your brothers are here for you, ok hun? Open it up.”

You hesitated, for a long time, your mothers patience wearing thin.

“Y/n if you don’t open it right now I will do it for you.”

“Mom let me just call him one more time, I really don't want him to miss this.” You pleaded. Your mother sighs in response. Her way of saying yes, so you quickly thanked her while walking to the washroom and called Luke again, and once again it was denied. The tears in your eyes were hard to push down, but you did it and walked out giving a sad smile to your mom,

As soon as she hit the record button on her phone you began shaking, Michigan was your dream school, you wanted to be with Luke and Luke wanted you to be with him, and Michigan would do that.

You ripped open the envelope and started reading, mumbling the words until you got to the line.

“I GOT IN! MOM I GOT IN!” you yelled, jumping up and down as your parents ran up to hug you, your brothers yelled in congratulations. Soon confetti cannons were being popped and a cake was brought in front of you.

“What would you guys have done if I didn’t get in?” You joked causing your family members to laugh.

“We knew you would sweetie, but we have one more surprise for you. You don’t have nearly enough Michigan gear so we got you some, they’re all over your bed. Go look.” Your mom patted your leg to send you off. As you stood up you didn’t notice your brother following you with a camera.

“Surprise!” Is what you heard as you opened up your bedroom door, your eyes quickly focusing on your best friend sitting on your bed with what looks like one hundred Michigan sweaters, shirts, hats, etc. 

“LUKE!” You were sure your voice would be sore tomorrow with all the yelling and screaming you’ve been doing, but you didn’t care. 

You were quick to jump onto your bed and tackle him into a hug, the two of you landing on your sweatshirt covered pillows.

“I can’t believe it. we’re finally gonna be together again.” You whispered in his ear.

“I’m so proud of you Y/n.” He whispered back, leaning back and staring at you.

That was when he knew he was fucked.

***

You just finished your first week of freshman year at the University of Michigan and of course you had to celebrate. Luke informed you about the party that the hockey team was throwing to celebrate syllabus week being over and to welcome in the school year. Luke told you he would pick you up at 9pm, saying he needed you there early for the pregame and so you could meet his teammates and friends before the party actually started.

You decided to wear a pink corset-bustier type bodysuit that made your boobs and waist look amazing with some black ripped jeans and your white air forces. You straightened your hair and applied your usual going out makeup before Luke texted you that he was outside, you did your final touches by adding the necklace with your name on it that Luke had gifted you for your 18th birthday before you walked out your dorm to the front of the building.

“Woah, you look…wow.” Luke was speechless once you entered his car, his eyes literally never leaving your chest, you giggled at his flustered state.

“Eyes up here Hughes.” You said faking anger, but he saw through it and began laughing as he drove off to the house.

***

“You have met Dylan, Mackie, Ethan, and Mark at the lakehouse, but this is Luca and Adam, brothers, Seamus, Rutger, and Johnny. They’re all freshmen like you, and there are a couple more who are gonna be arriving soon, but everyone this is Y/n.” You smiled at all the boys, giving a way. You were suddenly very aware of how much of your skin was showing by not only the breeze of the night, but also by the eyes of a few of the boys who were shamelessly staring. “Alright guys, we are gonna go up to my room. We’ll be down once the party starts.” Luke said, glaring at the boys for making you uncomfortable. 

“Wrap it before you tap it Hughes!” Dylan shouted, making everyone laugh, but Luke.

The short trip to Luke’s room was silent, neither of you speaking until his door shut.

“I’m sorry about that.” Luke was the first to break the silence.

“Oh it’s fine Lukey. The joke was funny and I’m wearing a shirt that shows off my boobs, of course people are gonna look.” You laughed, trying to ease the tension. You could tell Luke was angry, his jaw was clenched and he was gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles were turning white. 

“Lukey, seriously it’s ok…just settle down. Go lay down, I’ll join in one second.” You said patting his biceps before turning around and leaving the room.

You went downstairs to get water for yourself and Luke, but you had to figure out where they kept the cups first. 

“What the fuck, do they drink out of solo cups?” You questioned yourself.

“We actually do, we don’t like doing dishes.” A voice came from behind you. You turned around to be met with a face that you couldn’t put a name to.

“Oh that is wonderful, where do you keep the solo cups then…” You trailed off, hoping he would get the hint and introduce himself. 

“Frank. And you are?” You smiled, feeling less guilty that you were also a stranger to him.

“Y/n, I’m Luke’s friend.” He nodded, reaching forward to shake your hand, which you gladly accepted, blushing.

“Well I can guarantee that all the solo cups are out back right now, but I can bring you out there. We’re pregaming with pong, and I need a partner.” Frank’s offer made you blush more.

“Yeah that would be great, just give me a second. I’ll just meet you out there.” You told him before turning to go back up the stairs.

Once you reached Luke’s room you could hear the opening credits to your favorite movie, Luke probably put it on for you.

“Hey, I turned on The Grinch for us to watch while we wait.” Luke said as you entered the room, not shutting the door behind you.

“What are you doing? Shut the door. I don’t want the guys making fun of us for watching Christmas movies in August.” He finally turned towards you as he finished his thought.

“Lukey I’m gonna go out back and play pong with everyone to pregame for the party, you should come join.” You told him.

“Oh. Um yeah sure give me a second.” He said, a little defeated which made you feel guilty. “-are we gonna be partners again?” His question only makes you feel worse.

“Actually I’m already partnered up with Frank. I just met him, he is super cute and sweet by the way, but I think Dylan still needs a partner.” You smiled at Luke trying to hide the blush on your cheeks from talking about his cute teammate.

“You know teammates are off limits Y/n.” Luke said sternly. You just sighed in annoyance as a response, you never understood why Luke was so adamant on that rule, but you never confronted him about it and just respected his wishes.

“Well I’m going outside, so I’ll see you there.” You said coldly, not even sparing him a glance as you walked out of his room.

***

It was about 11:30pm and the party was at its all time high, you had never seen so many people in such a cramped space before. The party had moved inside after about 11:00 because the night chill was becoming a bit too much, and the neighbors had already called in a noise complaint that night. 

“There are way too many people in here, I’m shocked the floor hasn’t caved in on itself” A voice whispered in your ear, you quickly turned around to find yourself face to face with…

“Frank, hey. I haven’t seen much of you tonight.” You said smiling, your noses were just centimeters away from each other, but there were so many people in the house you couldn’t even separate from him if you wanted to, so it was a good thing you didn’t want to.

“Well I’m not a party guy at all so I have been hiding outside all night and I’m pretty sure the hairs on my arms are never gonna stop being raised.” He joked, making you laugh.

“Well I know somewhere we could go for some more privacy.” You hadn’t meant for it to come out as suggestive as it did so you quickly back tracked. “Nothing inappropriate or anything, but I could just use time away from all these people and I can see that you do too.” You offer him a shy smile, still blushing from your previous statement. 

“Well then lead the way m’lady.” 

***

You had taken Frank up to Luke’s room, Luke had told you earlier that “if you need some time to yourself or you just wanna be done for the night, go into my room.”  so you were taking him up on his offer because you were very overwhelmed with everything happening downstairs. 

“Do you wanna watch a movie or something?” Frank asked you while searching for the remote to Luke’s tv.

“Yeah that would be great, I’m gonna use the restroom quickly, just put whatever you feel like watching on.” You told him before exiting the room and walking to the bathroom down the hall.

Once you were back in Luke’s room you saw Frank on Luke’s bed and the opening credits of a movie I didn’t recognize.

“What movie did you put on?” You asked, getting situated in the spot next to him. He wrapped his arm around you before answering.

“Barbarian. It’s a horror movie that I’ve been meaning to see, but I haven’t really had the time to. Hope my choice is ok.” 

It definitely wasn’t, you could not sit through scary movies. No matter what it was about you always had nightmares after watching them, but you didn’t let Frank know. You decided it is just best to let him enjoy the movie he obviously wanted to watch so badly.

***

You were halfway through the movie, when you started to get really scared. At one specific jumpscare you let out a little yelp and hid yourself in Frank's shoulder feeling tears threatening to fall from your eyes. He was smiling at you until he heard you sniffle and felt some drop on his sleeves.

“Hey what’s wrong? Are you ok?” He asked frantically, neither of you noticing the bedroom door opening.

“What’s wrong is that you forced her to watch a horror movie, and she is obviously not ok, look at her.” Luke yelled as he registered what was going on.

“Shit Y/n I didn’t know, why didn’t you say anything? I would’ve turned something else on.” Frank said while looking into your eyes, wiping your tears as they came down.

“Get out of my room Frank, and leave Y/n alone from this point forward.” Luke said after yanking the freshman off his bed and pushing him towards the door.

“Luke, there is no need for that. He didn’t know.” You said, defending Frank. Luke had a habit of banning people from your life and it always bothered you. 

“Frank lets go, we’ll walk back to campus together.” You said before storming out, ignoring your best friend's pleas for you to stay. 

“Y/n please don’t go.”

***

Like all other times in your friendship when you and Luke got into an argument, you two just ignored the actual issue and acted like nothing had ever happened. It was just a waiting game before everything would spill over.

A couple months later you were preparing for an exam. The hockey season was starting tonight, you wanted to finish your study guide for your growth and development class before tonight because knowing the boys they were gonna force you to party with them tonight.

“Are you wearing my jersey tonight?” Luke asked the second you picked up his phone call, it’s times like these that you appreciate him not liking facetimes because you already know he would pick a fight because of you rolling your eyes. 

“Luke, I already told you I left your jersey at home by accident, I’m just gonna wear a Michigan shirt or something.” You told him, sighing because you knew what was to come.

“Why haven’t you had your mom send it out here yet? You always wear my jersey, I don’t see how you could’ve just forgotten it.” Luke told you with an annoyed attitude.

“Maybe because I’m busy Luke, getting your jersey sent to me isn’t the only thing on my mind these days. Do you not understand that I have to get good grades to stay in school? Not everyone gets a free pass because they’re an athlete.” You told him, getting ready to end the call. He hated when people brought up his athletic scholarship, you knew this because you know how touchy the subject of grades and school is for him, but you still brought it up at times to make a point, as shitty as that sounds. “I have to go Luke, I’ll see you after the game tonight. Good luck.” You hung up the phone right after, not giving Luke the chance to speak, before going back to your work.

***

“Do you wanna wear my jersey tonight? I know you don’t have one of Luke’s.” Frank asked after you had come over to his dorm to help him with his math homework.

“Yes! I probably shouldn’t sound so eager yikes, um yea that would be cool” You said immediately embarrassed by how quickly you agreed.

Contrary to Luke’s wishes you and Frank became very close, he was your closest friend at Michigan other than Luke. 

Frank got up to his closet to grab a spare jersey for you to wear tonight.

“I should probably get going, but I’ll see you tonight. Make sure to sit by the glass so when I score I can dedicate it to you.” He winked before walking the two of you out of his dorm.

***

After the game you stayed around to wait for all the guys, Frank was the first to come up to you.

“Hey, did you have a good time?” He asked, hugging you in the process.

“Yea it was great, I got to meet some of the guys’ girlfriends and they’re all super sweet. It’s nice to talk to people that aren't male hockey players sometimes.” You said laughing.

“Hey we’re not all that bad, but it’s great that you had fun. Did you see the goal I got?”

“Yea, I also saw your celly. That heart was pretty cute, who was it for?” 

“Oh, just some girl.” He laughed out

“Lucky her.” You joked poking his side.

Your conversation was cut short by your best friend grabbing your that was resting on Frank’s shoulder.

“Hey Lukey, you played great!” You told him, moving to hug him. He just smiled at you, not returning your hug, which sent an embarrassed blush to your cheeks.

“Y/n can I talk to you for a second? Alone.” He wasn’t asking, he was telling you. His last word, alone, was directed towards Frank, who just nodded awkwardly and gave you a hug goodbye, whispering to tell you to find him at the party tonight. As you let go of each other Luke grabbed your wrist and pulled you outside, away from everyone else. 

“What the fuck Y/n?” Luke yelled at you, only furthering your confusion.

“What Luke? What could I have possibly done now?”

This was becoming a common occurrence, you doing something to piss Luke off that you never meant to do or even know what you did in the first place and him getting mad at you and yelling at you before going back to pretending like nothing was wrong, you were pretty fucking sick of it. 

“Don’t play dumb, you’re literally wearing Frank’s jersey.”

“Why is that an issue Luke? I don’t have one of yours and Frank offered me one because I had nothing else to wear. He was being a good friend, unlike you have been since I got to Michigan. Do you not want me here or something Luke? Why are you being such a dick towards me?” You shouted.

“You don’t have one of my jerseys because you purposely didn’t bring one, how did you remember to bring both Quinn and Jack’s jerseys, but forget mine? It was obviously intentional.” He said, his ears turning hot as if steam was about to escape from them.

“Do you understand how insane you sound right now Luke? Are you hearing yourself?” 

“Frank only wants you to wear his jersey so he can claim you as his, don’t you see the issue there Y/n?”

“Are you not doing the same thing Luke? You always make me wear your jersey, how is this any different?” 

“Because it- it just is Y/n.”

“No I want an actual answer Luke, or just admit that it is the exact same thing. Your choice.”

There was a tense silence between you two, minutes passed with neither of you saying anything. 

“Well whenever you’re ready to have an actual conversation with me let me know, until then I don’t want to speak to you. No more pretending like nothing is wrong, I want an actual reasoning behind all of this before we can be friends again.” And with that you turned around and walked towards your car to drive back to your dorm, no longer in the mood to party.

***

Two weeks had now gone by since you last spoke with Luke, both of you too stubborn for your own good. You weren’t gonna start the conversation with him, because you weren’t the one who needed to explain themselves. 

Luke was going crazy, he had never gone longer than a few hours without at least texting you, but two weeks of radio silence was enough to drive him mad. His game was off, he was getting more penalties and less playing time then ever in his life. He was taking his anger out on others too, especially Frank. The poor freshman feared the youngest Hughes, walking on eggshells around him, afraid of what he was gonna do next. 

At the three week mark, you were getting restless. Was Luke seriously never gonna speak to you again? It didn’t help that you were going back to New Hampshire for winter break in a few days, which meant you wouldn’t even have the option to see or speak to Luke in person for over a month. 

“Mom I don’t know what to do, he won’t talk to me. I know I’m the reason this whole thing happened, but I had a reason to get so upset right? I’m not blowing the situation out of proportion?” You had called your mom for advice, the only friends you had in college were tied to the hockey team in some form and you didn’t want your personal business being on display for everyone you knew so you decided to call your mom, and then Luke’s mom, who was basically your mom as well. 

“You did nothing wrong sweetie, Luke is the one who started the argument, and apparently does it often from what you’ve told me. I say you don’t initiate the conversation, you need to hold your ground and make him understand that this behavior goes on no longer.” 

You smiled even though your mom couldn’t see it.

“Now tell me about Frank.” She said giggling.

“Mom.” You said sternly before cracking a laugh yourself. “He is really cute, like really really cute, and he is so kind and we’ve been hanging out like everyday since the beginning of the year.” You started, and continued to tell her all about Frank before you both decided to call it a night, promising to keep her updated on Luke before saying goodbye.

***

The next few days flew by and soon enough you were waiting for your uber to take you to the airport. As you stood outside your phone began ringing, your heart sped up when you read the contact calling you.

Lukey Pookey <3

You dropped your phone in surprise and scrambled to pick it up and answer it before it went to voicemail.

“Hello?” You didn’t mean for your voice to sound so weak and vulnerable, but it did, he didn’t answer for a little bit so you spoke up again. “Are you finally ready to talk about what happened? Or should I be expecting another call from you after another three weeks of the silent treatment?” You knew your words were hurtful, you meant them to be.

“Where are you? I want to talk.” He answered.

“Luke I’m about to get into an uber to take me to the airport, can we talk over the phone?”

“No, this has to happen in person. Any chance you can switch to a later flight?” Luke asked, a little hope in his voice, which quickly deflated when you answered.

“Luke I’m not changing my flight just to talk to you, do you wanna meet me at the coffee shop in the airport? That would probably work best for me.” You asked, Luke agreeing and telling you he would see you there.

Your uber arrived shortly after and you texted your mom to update her.

To: Mommy💜

Hey mom, just got in my uber and I’m on my way to the airport where Luke is meeting me to talk.

To: Mommy💜

I’ll let you know how it goes, hopefully we will still be friends afterwards.

From: Mommy💜

Alright princess, good luck with Luke. Love you sweetie.

***

You arrived at the airport and went through baggage drop off and checked into your flight before making your way to the starbucks. You saw Luke sitting in a booth already, waiting for you with your go to drink and a croissant. 

“Hey you beat me here.” You said approaching him, he looked up and gave you a very fake smile.

“Why don’t you sit down.” You quickly took a seat and waited for him to continue.

“I’ve been thinking these past couple weeks, about everything that happened and why I reacted the way I did, and um wow this is a lot harder to say out loud than I thought it would be, but I realized why I’m so protective over you, and why I want you to wear my jerseys and my jerseys only, and why I hate seeing you with Frank and why I hated seeing you with Vincent and any other guy like every.” He paused to let out a shaky breath. “It’s because I’m in love with you Y/n, you are the person I wanna be with for the rest of my life. I love everything about you, these past three weeks without you have been hell and it made me realize that I never wanna spend any time away from you ever again. I don’t want to be your best friend anymore, I wanna be your boyfriend, I wanna be with you. I love you so much Y/n.” He let out a heavy sigh once he was done talking, a weight was lifted off his shoulder as he finally looked at you smiling. His face fell when he saw your expression.

“Luke. What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to be funny or something? Because it’s not working.” You were shocked, if he was being honest then your best friend just ruined your relationship.

“No, Y/n I’m serious, I love-” You cut him off.

“Luke, stop it. Why are you doing this? Are you trying to make me feel guilty for not talking to you?”

“No Y/n I’m telling you this because I love you, so much, and I need you to know and I need to know that you feel the same way.” Tears started building up in his eyes as he looked at you .

“Well I don’t. Luke I don’t feel the same way and I think I should go.” You stood up from your seat.

“No Y/n stop please don’t go.” He begged.

“Have a great break Luke, I think it’s best if we don’t talk for a little bit, until this all blows over and we can talk about everything. I’ll miss you.” You walked out of the coffee shop, ignoring the sounds of Luke’s sobs and his heart breaking.

To: Mommy💜

Hey mom, I just finished up my talk with Luke and it didn’t go very well. I think our friendship is permanently ruined, I’ll tell you more about it when I’m home. I love you. 

note: sometimes confession fics where the guy is an asshole and then the second he confesses suddenly everything is ok and they act like nothing ever happened really piss me off. so here is this angst fic and a reality check for everyone. love ya have a great day!