#greif imagines

[aroacecaduceus]

One wish I have for the Mighty Nein series is that Caduceus does not know how to fight at all.

Like not even a little bit. Like he’s completely useless in a bar fight.

Like, I want him in the fights, don’t get me wrong. I want them to show him cancelling crits somehow, like one of the Mighty Nein is about to be fucking destroyed and vines form around them and yank them back or something. I want them to show him casting holy weapon on Beau’s hands. Maybe he creates some fun shields when things attack.

But most of the time in battle, especially at the beginning, when he’s the new guy, I want him to be the most cringe-fail fighter to ever exist. I want them to get into a fight with pirates and just get knocked unconscious in one punch. I want them to rush out and accidentally steal that boat and realize they left Caduceus behind on the dock bc he didn’t know what was happening.

My man grew up as a healer and a graveyard attendant. If this boy threw a punch he’d break his hand on the other guy’s jaw. But don’t worry because he’d never think to throw a punch anyway.

In the game, he needed to do some fighting sometimes. But in the show, I think he should just hide away for nearly every battle. He should not cause a single drop of blood. Even when he’s angry. He’s the healer. Not because of the god he worships (she’s actually a freak) but because of a personal choice.

The only time he should attack is if they show the scene with sheep Caleb.

[masterrainb0w]

I think the Peachyville horror might be the husbands that made us along the way.

[sad-leon]

When your greif becomes so overpowering that you break shit, but now you're left empty and with just as much greif as you started with, if not more.

Anyways- guess who was listening to Lost One's Weeping again :D (it was me, i am so normal over that song)

[tkwrites]

Before I Meet Your Parents... - Quinn Hughes x Sarah (ofc)

Photos from Pinterest

Title: Before I Meet Your Parents…

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah (OFC) 

Warnings: Crying, Grief, Smut (18+ only), oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving)

Summary: As Sarah prepares to meet Quinn’s parents, she’s bombarded with new feelings and situations, as well as trying to manage her own life. A very worried Quinn helps her get to the bottom of it and does everything he can to make it better. 

Word Count: 4,600

Comments: I began writing Sarah meeting Quinn’s parents and realized I was missing this crucial step. Stories like these help me process my own grief, and I hope they can be helpful for you, too, even if you’re not experiencing a big loss. Taking care of ourselves can be difficult sometimes. Please remember that self care isn’t selfish - nor is it selfish to ask for what you need. 

The holidays have been…an experience, and while I was writing, I wasn’t finding the solid chunks of time I’ve had in the past. With the busiest holidays done, I was able to finish this, and hope to write a lot more with the break from work between holidays.

Thank you for your patience and support and love for Quinn and Sarah and my writing. I hope you enjoy.

Before I Meet Your Parents…

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

The week Quinn’s parents were coming into town turned into a total clusterfuck. 

First, there were the Canucks standings. Quinn point blank refused to talk about their position, not wanting to jinx anything. “It’s bad enough that I have to talk to the media about it after every game. I'm not talking about it at home.”

Even without his commentary, Sarah knew enough from reading and following the league stats, to know the Canucks were headed to the finals, bringing playoff hockey to Vancouver for the first time in nine years. It was a huge deal, and if all went to plan, they were expected to clinch a spot in the bracket in the next two games. 

His parents wanted to be in the arena for the historic occasion when their son led his team to the Stanley Cup finals in his first year as captain.

In addition to the will-they-won't-they stress of the finals, Lexie Demko had called and left a message for her about getting WAG jackets. Sarah had to look up what they were, and the idea of showing up as an official “WAG” to any game, let alone a playoff game, was incredibly intimidating. 

She and Quinn weren’t even officially official yet. She’d been thinking of him as her boyfriend for a few weeks and had no interest in dating anyone else. Unless he was seeing someone while she was in school, she knew he wasn't seeing anyone else either, but they hadn’t formally defined anything about their relationship.

On top of all this, she was prepping for her own finals. Although they were more than three weeks away, the two tests and publication project were looming over her like an albatross. She had to get a B or better, or she would be out of her program, and back home with her education visa voided.

The prospect of the work it would take to finish her semester well, and the possibility of stepping into the world of a WAG and meeting Quinn’s parents had her discombobulated and spending long stretches of time at the aquarium with Walter, trying to wrap her mind around everything. 

As she left a couple of nights before his parents were set to arrive, Rick stopped her, “I think your man is at the front desk.” 

It felt like she had to suck her mind from a thick fog to even register his words. “Hu?”

“I’m pretty sure your man is up front,” he repeated, “they wouldn’t let him back. Are you okay?” 

She waved off his question and walked to the front of the building. Quinn was indeed there, looking distressed. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Can I give you a ride home?” 

“Sure, if you want.” Didn't he have plans with one of his teammates tonight? 

Anxious thoughts dripped into her mind. She knew she hadn't been very communicative lately. Was he breaking up with her? 

Quinn took her hand and led her to his car. 

Once tucked inside where people couldn’t overhear, he asked, “is something wrong? You haven’t come over to study the past three days, and you didn’t answer any of my texts today.” 

She looked at the bag at her feet, feeling far away. “I'm sorry. My phone’s been buried in my backpack all day,” she confessed.

“I just feel like you’re…” he stopped himself, not even wanting to voice that thought. “Is it because you’re nervous to meet my parents?” 

A heavy feeling took up residence in her stomach. “No,” she said slowly. 

It wasn’t quite the whole truth, but also wasn’t a total lie. Logically, she wasn’t that nervous to meet them, but her emotions ran themselves into dizzy, knotted up circles whenever she thought about it. Things weren’t making sense. God, she felt so… she felt so off. There was more to this mood she was in than nerves, but she couldn't put her finger on what it was. 

His hand, warm and comforting, covered her knee. “Sarah, what’s going on?” 

All at once, she was choking back tears.

“Can we go to your place?” she asked, very much not wanting to lose it in his jeep in the middle of Stanley Park, or in her bedroom where Eunice would jump to conclusions and tell her she ought to break up with Quinn if he was making her cry. 

The way her voice shook made Quinn gulp. “Yeah, of course,” he said before starting the car and going home. 

When they got there, her steps to the elevator were heavy, as if she were dragging some heavy sledge he couldn’t see. 

“Sar, what’s going on?” he asked. 

Shaking her head, she pursed her lips and willed the tears not to fall until they were in his house. 

Just as she suspected, someone joined them once they reached the lobby level. They shared a tense, silent ride for 12 floors as Sarah mentally recited the anatomy of the stingray to keep her tears from falling in front of a stranger. 

“You’re kind of scaring me,” he said gently as the door swung shut behind them. 

On top of everything else, now she was letting Quinn down. Her hands fluttered up to cover her face as her tears finally broke free. 

“What’s wrong?” he repeated, taking her arms and gently trying to pull her hands away from her face. 

“I don’t know.” 

“You…don’t know?” he repeated, a little dumbfounded. 

Her hands dropped in defeat. “I don’t know,” she repeated, finding more tears falling. What was wrong with her? 

Heart beating faster with worry, he took her backpack off, leaving it in the entryway before guiding her to the couch. 

“Are you upset with me? Did I do something?” 

“No.” 

“I don’t…” he started, then stopped. “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. He was really scared now. If he didn’t do anything, and she didn’t seem to be injured, he couldn’t understand what the problem would be. 

“Can you hold me?” 

He drew her into his arms. 

After a few comforting moments - focusing on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat  - she was able to voice something. “I’m so overwhelmed.” 

“With what?” he asked, running a hand up and down her back. At least they had a clear direction. He could work with that.

“With everything. With school and WAG jackets and…” oh, fuck. Of course this was what this was about. She should know by now. “And your parents,” she finished, breaking into more tears. 

“Are you that scared of my parents?” he asked, pulling back trying to see her face. 

He knew meeting the parents was a big, intimidating step, but she’d handled meeting Brady, and that first uncomfortable call with Luke and a very guarded Jack with so much grace, he hadn’t expected her to be nervous, let alone so upset. “I think they’ll love you. I can’t guarantee how they’ll react, but they’ve always been nice to girls they’ve met in the past.” 

Her head shook slowly. 

“I don’t - Sarah I don’t understand.” 

To add insult to injury, she had to say it out loud. 

“I’m meeting your parents,” she said, looking into his eyes before her face crumpled and she stared down at her hands, knotted in her lap, “but you won’t get to meet mine.” Her voice was a desperate kind of wailed whisper. 

Shit. He should have known. Of course that would come up with something like this. His dad once told him every major occasion was tinged with grief, knowing someone was always missing from the celebration. The fact that this would be hard for her hadn’t even crossed his mind. 

Letting herself be pulled into Quinn, Sarah wept into his shoulder. His hands were heavy, warm and grounding on her back. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said into her hair. 

He’d never seen her so distressed. Even when she’d cried the first time he’d seen her tattoo, it hadn’t been like this. Then, it was no more than a minute of soft tears hitting his shoulder. This was so much more intense. He would probably be weeping too if he was in her position.  

She pulled back suddenly, her hands braced on his shoulders, “don’t you have stuff with Brock tonight?” 

“I canceled it when I hadn’t heard from you,” he admitted. “I was worried something had happened.” 

“Oh,” she said, body relaxing. 

The impact of what he said finally hit her. “Oh, Quinn, I'm sorry.” 

He shook his head, “don't be. I can have dinner with Brock any time.” 

“But, weren't you helping him pick out a ring or something?”

“Sarah,” he said, grasping her shoulders, “it's fine. We're doing it tomorrow after practice.” 

“I'm sorry,” she said again, shaking her head.

“You don't need to apologize. When it comes to being moral support for Brock or making sure you're okay, I'd rather be with you.”

She gave him a watery smile, hoping it conveyed how sweet she thought that was.

“I’m sorry I didn’t even think about how hard this would be for you,” he said.

Shaking her head, Sarah reached up to wipe her cheeks. Her fingers came away smudged in black. “Oh, God. Now I’m a mess.” 

He laughed a little, “do you want to go wash your face? I know you don’t have your stuff, but you can use mine.” 

A shaky breath rattled through her lungs. “Could I actually take a shower?” 

“Of course.” 

“I’ve kind of been putting things off.” 

She hadn’t washed her hair in four days, and couldn’t remember if she’d showered at all that morning. 

Even though she’d talked several times with her therapist about coping strategies and patterns to look for, when she couldn’t identify what she was feeling, her first instinct was still to shut down. It was so totally different to talk about it than it was to actually do it. The time it took to realize what was wrong was getting shorter, at least. That was a good thing. 

“Do you want some of my stuff to change into?” he asked. 

“That would be really nice.” 

Her stomach gave a sudden, loud grumble.

A surprised laugh flew out of Quinns mouth.

“I’m not sure I’ve eaten today,” she confessed. 

Another part of what had her feeling so terrible. It was all interconnected, no matter how much she tried to pretend it wasn’t. 

Quinn’s eyes widened. How did someone forget to eat?

“What do you want?” he asked, jumping onto the problem he could physically solve. 

Sarah closed her eyes and tried to think. 

“Pancakes,” she said, finally, thinking about how pleasant the fluffy breakfast food would feel in her mouth. 

“I can make pancakes. I don’t have any syrup though, I don’t think.” 

“That’s okay. Do you have peanut butter?”

He nodded.

“Thank you, Quinn,” she said, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth.

He patted her hip, “let's go then. I'll cook while you're in the shower.”

The fact that he was being so sweet and nice made tears well up in her eyes as she stood. 

Leading her into the bathroom, Quinn asked if she needed anything else. When she said she didn’t, he told her he would put some clothes for her on the counter. 

The prospect of washing the day off made her breathe a sigh of relief. 

The big, walk-in shower was so bright, and opulent. Creamy white and blue tiles made a Moroccan style mosaic on the floor, and white subway tile was in the rest of the…it wouldn't be that much of a stretch to call it a room, that wasn't occupied with the thick glass sliding doors. There was even a tall, thin window right in the shower with a view of the northern skyline and the soft evening light winking off the harbor. 

Pushing worries of wasting water or draining the heater out of her mind, Sarah allowed herself to enjoy the rare luxury of a hot shower with no roommates demanding the bathroom. 

The water here got so much warmer than it did in her house. Quinn probably had his own water heater, not just access to the building boiler. 

Standing under the water, she breathed the humid air and allowed the dam to break.

It was always strange, how giving something a name made it easier to feel and let run its course. Voicing what was wrong was always half the battle. 

It had been a long time since she’d felt grief like this. Since it had been so triggered. Things with Quinn were so, so good. Far better than anything she could have ever dreamed up for herself, but being in a relationship still brought up new experiences, and new ways she hadn't yet missed her parents. 

Thinking of Quinn made the big emotion in her chest ease. A soft swell of gratitude displacing some of the sadness. She’d never dated someone like him - someone so willing to try to understand. Someone who took her where she was and wasn’t put off by how much she missed her parents. 

When Kaleo, her boyfriend in Hawaii, had confessed he didn’t understand why she brought up her dad so much, it had been a slap in the face, and made her feel so alone with someone who was supposed to be her partner. He had basically run away when her mom died, not willing to make the trip to the funeral, despite their dating for more than a year. It had been the final crack in the foundation of their relationship, and a big part of why her return to the islands lasted less than a week before she moved back home. 

Quinn was so refreshingly different - kind and compassionate, and willing to listen. The universe had been keeping track of all the sad, frustrating things in her life and finally gave her the good things she was due all poured into one person. 

Though she never heard him come in, a pair of blue sweats and a yellow Michigan shirt were waiting on the bathroom counter for her.

When she walked into the kitchen, Quinn felt his eyes go wide. Now was not the time for him to get all lustful over Sarah in his clothes, but it was impossible not to. She was braiding her wet hair, and it made her breasts, so obviously out of a bra, jostle under the Michigan logo stretched over them.

Forcing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he asked, “did you have a good shower?” 

She’d been in there a long time - nearly 45 minutes. When he dropped the clothes off, She’d been crying, so he supposed not all of that time was actually spent bathing. 

She tied off the end of the braid as she walked up to him. “I did, thank you,” she said before pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

His arm wound around her waist, and pulled her against him. “Good. I hope these are up to standard. The recipe had good reviews.” 

“I thought you said you could make pancakes?” 

“I can,” he said, gesturing to the stove where the last of them was cooking in the pan, “I just didn’t have a recipe. At home, we always make them from a mix.” 

“And you didn’t have any here?” 

A sheepish smile spread over his face, “pancakes are one of my guilty pleasure foods, so I try not to have it in the house.”

She giggled, and a sigh raced through his veins. 

A whiff of his own soap hit him, and he remembered what he’d been thinking when he first heard her walking down the stairs. 

“Hey, will you message me the kind of shampoo you like and whatever else you need? I’ll order it so you can have the stuff you like here.” 

Sarah took half a step back from him, eyes wide. 

Maybe he’d overstepped. “Not that you can’t use mine. You’ve just showered here a few times and it seems kind of silly to not have the things you like.” 

Also, he was tired of her smelling like his soap. He liked her smell so much, he’d do anything to keep it around. 

“Oh,” she said, feeling watched over and considered. “That would be really nice.”

They sat down at the bar counter with pancakes, peanut butter, butter, jam, and a tiny bottle of maple syrup Quinn remembered he had from a gift basket when he'd moved in.  

“Thank you for this,” she said, knocking her shoulder into his. 

“You're welcome.”

“It’s just been such a shit week, and you’re so…” she paused, thinking and put a peanut butter and syrup coated piece of pancake in her mouth. “You’re so good.” 

He blushed and tried to deflect the praise, “so what else are you overwhelmed with? School, and something about jackets?”

A flush flew into her cheeks. “Lexie called me about WAG jackets.” 

“Oh,” he said, not really sure what the big deal was. 

“I’m just,” she paused, setting down her fork. “Do you want me to wear one?” 

“There’s no one else I’d want to wear it.” 

“But, are you ready for that?” 

“Ready for what?” 

“For me to be so obviously… I mean, we’re not even official yet.” 

“Right.” 

“But you want me to wear a wives and girlfriends jacket?”

“We’re headed that way, aren’t we? I mean, I’m not seeing anyone else.” 

Even though she felt the same, a huge wave of relief swept through her. “I’m not either but, if I wear a Jacket to a playoff game -” 

He winced, not liking her to talk about it like it was a foregone conclusion. 

“Or any game,” she amended, “people are going to wonder. Do you know what comes up when you google NHL WAG jackets?” 

He shook his head. 

She went to dig her phone out of her backpack, finally seeing the ten texts from Quinn, along with a missed call from her brother.

She really needed a pair of airpods or a watch or something she could wear while her phone had to stay in her bag in the lab. 

Pulling up the search, she handed her phone to him before going back to her pancakes, now deliciously infused with syrup. 

“Go to the reddit listing,” she suggested. 

He scrolled down and clicked on the link, already turned gray from her previous visit. The whole page was speculation about which woman belonged to which player. 

“If I go with a jacket, and someone posts pictures, that’s going to throw our relationship into this, and I just want to make sure we’re…ready for that.” 

“Are you ready for that? Because it’s okay if you’re not.” 

She bit her lip, “I’m not sure. It makes me kind of uncomfortable. It makes it feel like I belong to you or something,” she admitted.

Quinn grimaced.  

“I can see how you got there,” he said, setting the phone face down. “You don’t have to get one and as far as I’m concerned, you never do, but I think you might want to talk to Lexie about it first.” 

“Why?” 

“The wives and girlfriends have a kind of support group. They hang out, and they help each other a lot. Lexie had a baby in October, and I know the other partners were really helping. Organizing meals and stuff like that. From what I know, the jackets are more about being part of that club than about -” he didn’t even want to say it, “belonging to someone on the team.” 

She hummed. Sarah had sat with some of the wives and girlfriends at games a few times. They were always nice and very welcoming, but she didn’t feel this kind of camaraderie. 

“Lexie asked me if you wanted one, and I didn’t know, so I gave her your number. I’m sorry, I should have warned you about it.” 

“I just didn’t know what it meant,” she confessed. “Or if you were, like, trying to say something through Lexie somehow.” 

He laughed, “no. I just didn’t want to make the decision for you. I’m sorry if it heaped more stress onto your plate.”

“It’s okay, it’s just new, you know?” 

“Yeah. It took me a while to transition. If I didn’t have Tanev, I don’t know what I would have done.” 

“Who’s Tanev?” 

“He was my defensive partner my first year. He was traded to Clagary, but he and his then fiance, Kendra, really helped me find my feet.” 

“Maybe I’ll ask Emma about it.”

“Yeah? You guys talk?” 

“Sometimes, we’re not besties or anything, but she checks in.” 

Quinn smiled, relief filling his bones. 

“Do you want me to take you home? Or would you rather stay here?” Usually, he wouldn’t have even asked but she looked so tired and comfortable, he wasn’t sure she’d want to make the trek. 

Relief swept through her. She didn’t want to overstep - but the last thing she wanted was to go home. The idea of leaving to sleep in her cold, empty bed seemed like a terrible one. 

“I’ll let Eunice know I won’t be home,” she said as an answer. The last time she’d slept over, Eunice had called three times in a row to break through Sarah’s do not disturb, worried she had been abducted in the middle of the night. 

As they settled in bed, and she scooted herself close to him, he tried to pull in some calming breaths. It didn’t really work. He’d been half hard all night seeing her in his clothes, and now that she was scooting up against him, he slid way beyond half.  

“Sorry,” he coughed. 

Sarah turned over, “for what?” 

Cheeks flaming, he wondered why he’d said anything at all. “I just…sorry,” he gestured down. “You in this shirt is a real turn on.” 

“Really?” 

She and Quinn were relatively similar sizes overall, but he was far more rectangular than she was. She felt like this shirt pulled over all of her soft bits in the most unflattering way possible, not to mention the yellow color made her look pale and washed out. 

“Yeah,” he said with an earnest nod. 

Sarah had been wondering all night how she could properly thank him. Now that the opportunity was here, she had to seize it. Capturing his mouth, she rolled on top of him. 

His hands went to her hips as a groan fell out of his mouth. 

Every time she went to pull away, he followed her, nipping her bottom lip, or stroking his tongue over the roof of her mouth; he didn’t want to let her go. 

She broke away all together and sat up, so she was straddling his hips. 

Quinn, who was already out of breath from the kissing, felt his chest hitch as she reached for the hem of her (his) shirt, and began pulling it up. She was even doing that arms crossed skin-the-cat kind of move. God, this was - she was a dream come true. 

Watching her ease the blue M over her chest, knowing his name was on her back made him dizzy and he felt his erection press more urgently against her. 

He wanted to save this vision of her stripping off his shirt into permanent, long-term memory. 

“Shit, Sarah,” he moaned into her mouth when she let the fabric fall next to her and leaned down to kiss him again. 

She smiled, happy to be getting the response she’d been going for. She didn’t want to have sex, but there were other ways she could thank him. 

“Do you want my hands or my mouth?” she asked. Even though he hadn’t come close to going down on her, she was willing to let that rule slide for now.

“God, Mouth, please,” he practically begged.

She really was a dream. She’d never gone down on him before. He figured it wasn’t something she really enjoyed. Maybe she was just saving it for a special occasion. He wasn’t entirely certain what made this evening so special, but he’d take it.

Her lips ghosted over his chin and onto his chest as her hands pushed his pajama pants down. He lifted his hips, eager to please. She didn’t push them down all the way - just enough to let his hard cock spring free. 

Taking a straight journey to where he wanted her, there was no preamble or teasing before she was wrapping her lips around him, and taking him deep. 

Her mouth was hot and soft, her tongue skilled as she traced the vein on the underside, ending with a flick at the base of the sensitive head. 

She pulled back and sucked on the tip like some kind of lollipop. A soft snick sounded through the room when she released the suction to start again. 

His left thigh began to tremble. A few more seconds and he'd be done for. 

“Oh, fuck,” he said as she took him deep again, making his eyes roll back. 

This was a dream save for one thing: her hair was braided back. He wanted nothing more than to sink his fingers into the soft tresses. He wound them in the sheets instead.

Hollowing her cheeks, she pulled back to the tip. His guttural groan had a deep sense of satisfaction curling in her belly. 

Stroking her tongue over the slit, licking up his salty precome, she smiled when he swore again. 

“I’m gonna come,” he warned. 

A small whine left his mouth when she pulled off him, but her hand kept moving, pulling his orgasm out all the same. 

When he came, she shielded herself with her other hand, managing to catch most of his release before it splattered all over her. She was too tired for another shower. 

Leaving him a panting mess, she went to wash up and wipe off the splatter that snuck past her hand. 

Once she was back in bed with his shirt back on, Quinn gathered her against him, “that was amazing, thank you.”

She hummed and scooted a little closer. 

“What do you want?”

“A good night's sleep,” she murmured. 

“You don’t want me to return the favor?” he asked, humor in his voice. One of his hands was making a slow expedition down her stomach.  

"No, you can do that," she hummed.

She felt his laugh against her skin, and his fingers snuck under the waistband of his sweats.

 The pleasure that swam into her veins was comforting. She felt so contented and supported, spooned up against him as he stroked her sensitive pearl. She reached back to grab his hip as the sparks became more intense.

He was an attentive student, learning the patterns and pressure she liked as if he needed to ace this test to pass the class. Even going so far as to work his knee between hers to give himself a little more room without making her uncomfortable.

“Quinn,” she whispered. 

God, the way she said his name made him feel like he could do anything - hike Mt. Everest, take on the whole Eastern conference, fly to the moon. He’d do anything to hear it again.

He began to kiss her neck, switching his fingers to circle clockwise. The sudden change in pattern made her clench down and a whine escaped her throat. 

“Are you close?” 

“Yes. Put your fingers inside me,” her breathy whisper made his fingers tingle with power and purpose. 

He obeyed.

After a few strokes, she adjusted his wrist so the heel of his hand pressed gently against her clit. 

Her hips moved with him, and she let out a little moan, “just like that, Quinn.” 

She began to pulse around his fingers and she felt him smile against her skin as he worked her though the orgasm. 

She slept soundly that night, curled up with Quinn, awed by the once improbable and yet very real prospect she might not have to face anything totally alone again. 

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[shit-talker]

Oh, by the way, for this AU, Jason still dies when he's 15.

I imagine the triplets do go into crime fighting, but Jason does it first. He grew up in Gotham, and he used to listen to news on Robin and, when presented with the opportunity to take on the role and help his community, he takes it instantly. Cass and Tim take a little while longer to get on the scene, both scared they'll hurt someone if they go out, but eventually, Babs offers to train Cass, the Black Bat is born. Tim, feeling a little left out in all honesty, starts going out too, but he doesn't give himself a name. The people do, and Red Robin is born from the shadow of his identical brother.

Obviously, Jason can't go looking for his birth mother here because he already knows who she is, but I imagine he does find his adoption records and realises that Catherine and Willis didn't actually adopt him until he was around four or five, and before that he was with a woman named Shelia Haywood. He goes looking for her to find out why she just left him, out of the blue, after almost half a decade of raising him.

He tries to talk to Tim and Cass about it, but they don't fully understand what the big deal is - they tell him not to shake the boat when things are finally good, but Jason just can't accept that. Tim and Cass don't get it - at least one of their parents kept them two, even if they were shitty. They both completely disregarded Jason before he was even a week old. He wants to know why so many adults in his life deemed him unacceptable.

So, he goes to Ethiopia and finds the Joker and the werehouse and the pain.

He's still revived, still taken in by Talia, but when word gets to Shiva and Cain that their third kid is running around the league, they get a little interested. Wondeirng if he can fix the 'mistakes' of Cassandra and Timothy, Cain takes Jason away from Talia, much to Talia's chargin.

Talia and Shiva are pissed, and both head to Gotham to knock some sense into Bruce, who still hasn't realised there's an empty coffin in his family graveyard.

Overall, Jason was dead and missing for almost 2 years, and when he finally comes back, he's still basically catatonic and it takes a while before he's back to himself again, but at the very least he's alive.

(See more hereee)

[skyblueartt]

I gotta draw depressed empty insane alcoholic era Henry Emily but every time I sit down to draw my guy I’m like “let’s make him happy 🤗” bro. let me draw a grieving father sobbing with his head his desk gripping a picture of Charlie with like at least 10 empty bottles of beer strewn about

[stephanievex]

I wanna be in youth group with her one more time. Share her hair brush and sleep on her floor. I want to marvel at her clutter and borrow her books. Tell me how to be a girl, I beg. This marvelous blonde has always taken pity on me. Let me be your experiment. What am I missing. She shows me how to use a hair straightener and insists it looks nice. I would die for her. Does she believe in God like I believed in her? It's okay when she doesn't have an answer.

[the-promise-has-been-made]

IT'S THIS WEEK AAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

[winters-dream]

cw: death

Villain lifted their drink up to their lips and took another slow sip of its contents. The people in the bar bustled about; ordering drinks, playing games, enjoying dates. Living their carefree, unharmed lives. Villain wished they could live as carefree as everyone else did now. Instead they sat at the corner, a metaphorical cloud of despair hovering over them. 

Today’s mission had been brutal, Villain had bitten off more they could chew. And as a result, Henchman died. It was Villain’s fault, they knew. If they had heeded Supervillain’s warning, Henchman would still be alive, sitting beside the villain ordering a drink of their own. 

But they were reckless. They wanted to prove to Supervillain they could handle more dangerous crimes. They could do it. They were so certain of themself. How dumb and wrong they were. 

They lost more than a sidekick. Henchman was their closest friend, a friend that Villain loved dearly. 

Villain sat their now empty glass on the counter and asked the bartender for another whiskey. 

“Rough day, mate?” the bartender asked. Villain simply nodded, too tired to really acknowledge their words. They just took the new glass and downed half of its contents, wanting to just drink the rest of the day away.

A sigh escaped someone's lips as they took the seat at the bar a couple spots away. Villain paid them no mind, just some civilian. Probably carrying an emotional burden of their own, judging by that sigh. Long and drawn out, taking all of their energy with it. Villain had sighed many of those tonight. 

“Scotch on the rocks, please.”

Villain’s eyes snapped to the side, their senses now on high alert. They’d recognize that voice anywhere. Knew it better than their own voice. They turned to face the source of that voice, finding Hero sitting near them and sipping on their own drink.

They looked just as horrible as Villain felt. Their hair wildly out of place from hands running through the strands, lips chapped and raw from constantly biting away the skin, tired eyes with bags underneath.  They looked like they hadn't known a day’s peace. 

The sight of Hero angered Villain. How dare they come in and act like they just finished a rough day at work. They didn’t fail a mission, they didn’t lose their best friend as a result. They didn’t watch a concrete boulder land on their henchman’s body, killing the one person who truly understood them. 

In fact, Hero’s the reason Villain doesn’t have Henchman anymore. They’re the reason this mission failed. They pushed the wrong button, detonated the bomb. Pulled Villain out of the way when they reached for Henchman. Hero stopped them from saving Henchman. 

In Villain’s eyes, Hero killed Henchman.

“Villain,” said the hero. They didn’t look up, just stared into their drink as they spoke. Their words were barely above a whisper, like they couldn’t make themself speak any louder. 

“I am so sorry about Henchman,” they said. “So incredibly sorry.”

“Bullshit,” said the villain. “You detonated the bomb. You deliberately went out of your way to stop me from saving them. I tried to pull them away from the falling boulder and you stopped me.”

Hero still didn’t look up from their drink, the bronze liquid seeming to hold all of the answers in the universe. “The bomb was an accident. And I was trying to save the both of you.”

Villain saw a tear roll down their face as the hero sniffled. “Henchman’s death hurts me, too, you know.”

“Yeah fucking right,” said Villain. “Henchman was family to me, my best friend. I just watched them die.”

“And I just watched the love of my life die,” Hero finally looked up at the villain, tears freely streaming down their face. 

Villain’s jaw clenched. “I’ve always warned Henchman about you. I’ve told them you’d end up being their downfall.”

They looked down at their hands with a sad smile. “I was really hoping you’d prove me wrong.” 

Hero was silent; they had nothing to say to Villain to make this better. Villain glanced at them and scoffed, at the tears that ran pathetically down their face. They pulled a wad of cash from their pocket and placed it on the counter, not even bothering to count out an exact amount for their drinks. 

They stormed out of the bar and continued their wallow of despair on the streets. They walked through the city, taking turns left and right with no regard of where they were actually going. They turned down an alleyway and got stopped by a hand on their shoulder. They turned around to find Hero staring back at them and scoffed for what felt like the millionth time. 

“Can’t you just leave me alone for once?” Villain shook Hero’s hands off of them. “I don’t want to see you.”

“Just listen,” said Hero. “I know it might be hard to believe right now, but I truly did love Henchman. They were never meant to die.”

Villain shook their head and backed away. “Stop it. I don’t want to hear anymore of what you have to say. All you heroes are the same. If you really loved them, why did you stop me from saving them?”

Hero stared at the villain with wide eyes, placing a tentative hand on Villain’s arm. “They were never meant to die.” 

Villain shook their head, fresh tears streaming down their face. 

“Stay away from me,” they whispered.  They backed away from Hero and disappeared into the night. 

This time Hero didn’t follow.

[saracurtis]

Betrayal: A modern AU Sodapop story

TW: cancer, death, toxic family, family betrayal, bad mental health

It started off like any other day, me and my six best friends- Dally, Johnny, Two-Bit, Steve, Darry, and Ponyboy - at my aunt’s house with my boyfriend of a month, Sodapop. We were all messing around with my cousin who was a few years younger than me when my father came home with my sister-in-law and brother along with my father's mother. I was sixteen and oblivious at the time as I hugged them until I noticed their blood-shot eyes and solemn expressions. “ What happened?” I questioned in hopes of clarification, They got greeted by the gang before we all took a seat on the couch where my father started by saying “ Sara, remember there was a slight chance your mother would perish when she was diagnosed?”

I immediately saw where that was going. My heart sank.

My mother had been diagnosed with cancer nine months ago and ever since then we have been driving to the hospital for her chemotherapies and when she was home we took care of her day and night. Even my father's mother came to help all the way from South America to help around the house and help her while I was at school and my father was working . I even stopped hanging out with the gang as much because when I wasn't studying or at school I was caring for my mother and my home.

As soon as I heard those words fall from my Father's lips I gasped, “ No” I sat back, stunned and in denial with my hand over my heart, not trusting myself to speak. I heard gasps next to me to realize it was the gang, I felt a hand on my shoulder which I recognized as my boyfriend’s as he squeezed it, I placed my hand on top of his and squeezed my eyes shut. This can't be real! It just can't! She was only 45! No, this isn't real! I felt several people wrap their arms around me in a hug, “ I am so sorry, Sara” Soda choked out in between tears. “ We know it stings, Sar” Pony sobbed, “ I am so sorry dearest, we're here, whatever you may need” my grandmother cried. We were all hugging each other , I could only imagine the pain my family was in.

My father lost the love of his life, My brother lost his mother who was the only parent he had left as his biological father abandoned him ( we do not share the same biological father), my sister-in-law barely got to know my mother, and my aunt along with my cousin and grandmother were just starting to patch up their relationship with my mother. Sodapop and the gang were devastated, they had already experienced loss with the Curtis parents; The loss of my mom was another devastating blow.

We stayed in our huddle for twenty minutes before father had to leave with his mother to schedule the funeral with my brother and sister-in-law. I stayed with the gang and my aunt and cousin as my aunt served one of my family’s comfort dishes, chicken soup with letter pasta. I thanked my aunt as she set down the bowl in front of me, attempting to find the letters to mentally spell words associated with Disney, just as I did when I was three, how my mom and I used to do. I sighed heavily and looked at my lap, Soda wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “ How long is it supposed to hurt?” I whispered to him, “ the pain never really goes away, honey, in about two weeks you should be able to feel at peace once more” he replied, planting a kiss on my temple.

Once father came back, all of us drove in different cars back home so we could all spend time together. Father and Darry allowed me and soda to sleep in my bed as they both agreed that being in the arms of the man I love most is just what I needed. Soda gladly obliged, We cuddled in my bed in comforting silence and drifted off to sleep but not before the phrase “ I love you” fell from both our lips.

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

My eyes fluttered open, A new day had begun and I was still trying to grasp onto my new reality; Half-orphaned at sixteen years of age. My eyes felt incredibly sore; I felt a chill and cuddled close to Soda, he began to play with my hair as he began to wake up.

“ Morning, Sar” He yawned,

“ Hey, Soda” I replied, as he engulfed me in one of his warm hugs. We both walked to the kitchen hand in hand and greeted our family members, we sat down to eat the eggs and toast served by my grandmother.

“Sara” My aunt sighed, “There’s something you gotta know”,

Just then, My phone rang so I ran to answer it.

“Hello?”

“ Sara, I am so sorry about what happened to your mother, dear” My mother’s mom’s voice quivered on the other end, My father looked enraged and demanded I to give him the phone, I involuntarily obliged.

“ Leave us alone, Anna, I did what I could to save her! And you know that damn well” He yelled at her

“ You terrible husband! You killed her! You're such a terrible father ” Grandma yelled through sobs.

I was left speechless, my grandmother had always been there for me and my father and I were going through a rough time but he always wanted the best for me, who do I stand by? Sodapop noticed my discomfort and pulled me close to him, I grabbed onto him for dear life. I began shaking, My breathing got heavier, and tears pooled in my eyes but I did not have the means nor the strength to allow them to fall. I was so scared and confused, that I relied on Soda at that moment. I shut my eyes and buried my face in the crook of his neck. He began to rake his hand through my hair and began to whisper, “Shhhhh Sara, I-It’s okay, we’ll clear this up, don’t worry my love” . “ I hope you are proud of yourself and your daughters, Anna” Father shouted before hanging up the phone with a slam.

He then turned to me, “ Sara, I know you're confused ; but you gotta hear me out. Come look at this” He took my hand in his and signaled for Soda to follow. We did as we were told and followed father back to the diner table, where he took his phone and showed me a screenshot of a Facebook post- a public publishing of lies spread by my mother’s sister about her death. She made preposterous claims that my mother wished to be dead, she was miserable with us and countless other hurtful lies. I could not believe my eyes! I trusted her! I believed she loved me! I'm a fool.

Tears brimmed my eyes, l stood speechless; “ People talk of love when it's an act, simply meant to throw me” (quote from Aladdin musical) I bitterly choked. Sodapop wrapped his arms around me protectively and everyone followed suit. The funeral took place a week later and when I thought I was all cried out I was proven wrong. My mother’s death took such a toll on my mental health that I got sick, Sodapop stood by me through it all, the whole time. The way that he cares for me made it clear… I want to marry him some day. Thanks to him and my family and friends, I made a full recovery and fully processed my greif, and Soda and I made it out stronger than ever.

[ohmyangelofthursdays]

Ya know what, I'm a Darla apologist. This kid clearly adores fish, but doesn't know how to care for them. And instead of teaching her the adults just keep throwing fish her way in the hopes that "maybe this one will make it"??? That's 100% on them

[where-no-suns-ever-rise]

googlie eye attached SPECIFICALLY WHERE HIS PROSTHETIC IS to communicate that's it's there lmfao

ik he's not the fandom darling or whatever but ngl i'm such a travis girlie. man's brooding game is out of this world. he's a cyborg. he serves servalan like a loyal dog but also hates her guts. their relationship is super charged but nothing sexual or romantic actually happens, unless you count that time when she turned his arm into a bomb. he's obsessed with blake and it's pathetic. he gets attached to his troops, then forces himself to discard them and acts like it's all cool and fine. they describe him as 'hard' and when prompted to add 'but fair' they're like, nah not really. he's sent to the brainwashing camp and comes out just as unhinged but now whiter. he gets sued for war crimes and his defense is that he did it. there's an episode where he wears a dumb cowboy hat. all this build up of rivalry and it ends with him getting flushed down the interdimensional toilet. wtf was his deal. we'll never know.

[nalyniavadelletargaryen]

[ HOTD - Greif-striken Aegon ]

Summary: At the Queen Dowager's request, you take on the role of Jaehaera’s primary caregiver but bear the burden of catching the King’s eye.

Warnings: canon Aegon + dubcon / noncon + mentions of death + slight angst + hurt/comfort + smut

Grief-stricken Aegon is surprised to see you playing with his daughter in the garden, temporarily distracted from his anger by a curiosity about you. Jaehaera sits on your lap as you play with her, keeping her happy and your focus solely on her. Although the King doesn’t recognize you, he hesitates before approaching you, his anger turning into interest when you smile at him. You had been warned by his mother to be cautious of him, given the grief in the castle after the loss of the young prince. Despite your reservations, you decide to be kind and give Aegon the benefit of the doubt as you respectfully acknowledge him and then return your attention to Jaehera.

Grief-stricken Aegon leaves you with his daughter, slipping back into a quiet rage as the sight of her reminds him of Jaehaerys. You cradle the young girl close as her father stalks down the stone halls. Sighing in relief, you watch his silver locks disappear around a corner, completely relaxing when Jaehrra smiles. In a month, she had grown attached to you, mistakenly calling you 'mama' once or twice, but you always managed to correct her. Although your heart fluttered at her recognition, you knew very well that her birth mother, Queen Helena, needed no more strife and that prying ears would quickly spread the rumor of her quick attachment to you. When it happened a third time, you corrected Jaehaera as always, cheeks warm with gratitude. However, your decision remained firm. Unfortunately, you were not quick enough to hush her with a gentle reprimand, and Sir Larys overheard the young princess's adoration for you as he passed by the library where you read to her before supper. He wasted little time using the new revelation to his advantage. He tells the King of Jaehera's love for you, explaining it as a harmless but vaguely dangerous trust shift. Aegon feeds into his observation with contained interest.

Grief-stricken Aegon, overcome with sorrow, sends for you the following evening, calling you to the council room after a long day of war planning. You come at his command after putting Jahera to bed and bidding the Queen goodnight. You take your time to reach him, rightfully afraid of the man you've heard raging about the castle in a constant state of vengeance. You're particularly fearful of your growing desire to feel his pain somehow. Jaehaera is the sweet and well-mannered maiden child, much like her mother, and you can only begin to imagine how lovely her brother had been. You know well that pitying their father shouldn't be your prominent state of mind, but having a tender heart makes it devastatingly hard not to. So, you heed his call, entering the council room and standing at the doors with your head held preemptively low. You greet him quietly, withholding the tremor in your tone as you try to steel yourself against his scrutinizing stare.

Grief-stricken Aegon was far from displeased by the sight of you. Since he briefly saw you in the Keep's courtyard, hed been considering many details and assets you possessed. You appeared pious, gentle, and careful in how you presented yourself. You held the traits he knew his mother had explicitly sought: modesty and fairness. Aegon assumed you were a young lady, yet how you carried yourself made him believe you had surpassed his sister's maturity. He took note of the seven-pointed star necklace you kept clasped around your neck; the gold jewelry glinted on your bare skin, bringing out the light colors of the dresses you wore. You never bared green, a minuscule detail that pleased him. The influence of his family hadn’t reached you, and it was an odd relief. You had no allegiance to an agenda, were content with your role, and were not invested in the schemes around him. In his eyes, you were perfect, pure, and identical to the maiden herself.

Greif-stricken Aegon doesn’t confess his sins to you, though. You were never bringing to light the thoughts he’s had about you. The very sound of your voice started his descent into obsession. Hearing you sing soothing lullabies to Jaehaera, seeing you cradle her close, watching you praise her most minor achievements drove his mind to places it’d refrained from going after the death of his son. Motherly. You are sound of mind and careful with the last of his children. You embodied what his dear sister's wife couldn’t: motherhood. It drove Aegon mad in the dead night, his chambers filled with the sound of his moans as he fisted his cock to the very thought of you.

Greif-stricken Aegon refrains from forcing himself on you the first night you visit him, choosing to pry into your life with direct questions and bittersweet compliments for most of the exchange. You’re relieved to experience his generally pleasant side, amused by the scathing jokes he tells between conversations, and pleased to make him smile with your witty remarks. Your walls of caution break down little by little as he invites your company, letting you recount stories of impractical adventures with his daughter and surprisingly invested in hearing them. You ramble a bit, unsure how to feel about his direct attention and nervous to speak so casually to the King himself. Aegon reassures you that your talkative nature is anything but frustrating, reaching out to lift your chin and graze the warm skin of your cheeks with his fingertips. Your dormant blush brightens when he smiles at you, leaning in to kiss your parted lips tenderly before you can stop him. You had no intention of kissing him back, utterly shocked he'd even be so bold with you, to begin with, but he refused to let you shy away from him. One kiss spiraled into several, every one messier than the last, and your head spinning as the lingering bitterness of wine on his tongue soaked into yours. Aegon pressed for more when you pulled away to breathe. It was all too much, and you rushed to excuse yourself and leave him for the night. He didn't stop you, loving the sight of fear and excitement consuming your tender exterior at his will.

Greif-stricken Aegon calls on you often after that evening. He is no longer satisfied with pleasing himself alone. Aegon is reckless with his dependence on you, not caring that you put up a fight every time, trying to reason with him as he buries his cock in your fluttering walls. You scratch, cry, and beg. Doing and saying anything for the slightest chance of mercy, but Aegon spares you none. He forces pleasure into your veins, slaving away in your cunt night after night and committed to coating your untouched womb with his seed. You feel trapped in the cycle he starts, fulfilling your duties by day and spreading your legs for him at night. It tore you to pieces that your body ached for him constantly, the very shape of cock engraved into you, the space between your thighs undeniably drenched hours before he had you entrapped in his embrace. It’s distracting. He is distracting, and it's no help that he begins to spend more time with his daughter to spend even more with you. Aegon’s hands constantly wander where they shouldn’t, tracing your curves over the binds of your dress as you tend to Jaehaera, and it takes all of your will not to run from him. He feeds on your unease, your breaths slower, eyes fixed in the distance, and the apple of your cheeks turning red. He tells you to settle down, focus on your duties, and disregard his lingering presence, and by the gods grace, you can do just that. It’s a relief that his mother, grandsire, or anyone of consequence steals him away. You say nothing to keep him at your side, missing the feeling of his hands, the sound of his voice, and the air of control he envelopes you in, but joyous to be free of him. You can focus. You can calm the heat in your core.

Greif-striken Aegon takes no issue with keeping you in his bed for hours on end, marveling at the sight of you falling apart on his cock, begging for more of it as your legs shake from another high. You’ve given up on running, on reasoning, on being moderately intelligent, enduring the deep thrusts and mind-numbing pace he sets in thinly veiled excitement. There’s no point of hiding uit any longer, no viable way of convincing him you don’t want him to take you. Its your obligation to please him, to be that perfect little mistress, to give his lonely daughter a new playmate is it not? So, you resort to embracing his attention - as unforgiving and possessive as it may be.

Grief-stricken Aegon doesn’t ask your permission to release inside of you, forcing his seed as deep as possible, holding you down in a vice grip anytime you attempt to writhe away. It’s warm, thick, and filling. You’ve only tried to bathe once after hours of him bedding you, and he was furious. From then on, Aegon denied you the choice of washing the evidence of his claim on you away and commanding you to let his seed leak from between your thighs for a minimum of a fortnight. Appalled and rightfully defiant to the idea, you first threatened to confess to his mother about your shared deeds, but Aegon taunted you. He knew you’d rather suffer his stipulation than endure the wrath of Queen Alicent’s modesty. “Tell her and see what becomes of you..” he seethes into your ear, hand tangled in your fallen hair to keep you bent over the edge of his bed, snapping his hips harder against you when a half-hearted cry falls from your lips. You won't tell her. You can't even begin to think of unburdening yourself without acknowledging the joy you took in being used for his pleasure. Even now, as your essence dripped down your inner thighs, coating his cock with every unforgiving movement he made, you simply gave in to sin. His sin.

Grief-stricken Aegon is unsurprised when he notices signs that you are carrying his child. You become emotionally and physically sensitive. You continue caring for Jaehera while trying to hide your changing demeanor, keeping it a secret. However, Aegon cannot help but stay close to you and treats you as if you're made from glass with little regard for those who notice him showing you favor, which draws the interest of his council members—especially his ever-vigilant mother. Days pass before the maester leaves tea for you. On the night Queen Alicent visits your chambers, she expresses disappointment and scolds you for being careless. You hesitate to follow the Dowager Queen's advice, refusing to drink the remedy left for you and crying the entire night after she takes her leave.

Greif-stricken Aegon hears of your pregnancy the day after, ever so gleeful to endure his mother's berating and nowhere near ashamed of what he's done to you. He tells you it won't be the last time you carry his child, sitting you on his lap in the privacy of his chambers as the day comes to an end, and you haven't the emotional strength to keep fighting him. What's done is done, and you have no heart for ridding yourself of his so-called ‘gift.’ It's sick and twisted, but you've fallen into the headspace he's wanted for so long. A willing servant, one dedicated to her role in his domain of power, and one who will bear as many children as he desires.

What more could a lovely, loyal girl like you ask for?

A/N: Why is it so hard to write smut for this man?! It's usually so easy, but now I'm struggling. It's unfair because I have a lot of great ideas…

{ BONUS CONTENT + }

Credits to the creator 💚 He owns 85% of the space in my gallery app. I'm obsessed, and it shows…

[tkwrites]

Love, even in the hard parts. - Quinn Hughes x ofc

photo from pinterest

Title: Love, even in the hard parts.  

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Pre-established: Quinn Hughes x Original female character 

Warnings: grief, mentions of a dead mother, lots of crying, hospitals 

Summary: When his mom can't make it to take Quinn to surgery, Sarah steps in inspite of her hatred of hospitals. 

Word count: 2500 

Comments: This was very much written for myself. As someone who lost both of her parents young, it's often a struggle to find people to relate to about it. A struggle to find people who look for and see pain in others the way I have learned to see it after experiencing it so deeply. I wrote this on a day when I was really missing my mom, and wishing I had another mother figure in my life to give me a warm embrace, or a romantic partner to comfort me through the pain. It's a bit unrealistic to expect someone to fulfill needs without being asked, but that's why it's a fantasy. 

These are the same characters as before, but there's not really a timeline. These are just snapshots from their life together. 

Love, Even in the Hard Parts

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

Sarah hated hospitals. Ever since waiting in one, just to learn her mom couldn’t be saved, she felt anxious and on the verge of tears anytime she was in one. 

Ellen was supposed to be here to take Quinn to and from surgery, but her flight had been delayed, so Sarah had stepped in. First, only to drop him off, but upon another text from Ellen, to stay and wait for him to wake.  

Quinn had assured her he could ask a teammate to pick him up, but she didn’t want him to be with someone he didn’t know well. Petey had already gone back to Sweden.  

She’d had her tonsils removed. It had been more than 10 years, but she still remembered waking up and feeling like she’d swallowed a sandbox. She wouldn’t want to be with anyone but someone she trusted completely.  

She had headphones on, and was listening to a romance novel, trying to distract herself from the smell. She’d even rubbed peppermint oil under her nose to try to mask it. Both the oil and the novel were helping, but her heart still thundered in her chest and tears stung behind her eyes, threatening to spill out.  

She’d missed the window to walk outside. Now she was too close to him waking up to leave.  

When Rose, the motherly looking nurse who had taken Quinn back for surgery, tapped her gently on the shoulder, Sarah jolted. Fear rocketed to her fingertips, making them tingle with misplaced energy.

She smiled kindly, “I'm sorry, hon. He’s just waking up now if you want to come back.”  

Slipping her headphones around her neck, Sarah coached herself into standing and followed the nurse into the hallway.  

They were in the VIP section, and it looked almost homey. It was still a hospital, and still smelled too sterile and disinfected, but at least it wasn’t 70 different colors of beige and green.  

“Here you go,” Rose held the door open for Sarah to step through. She’d been so caught in her own thoughts she didn’t think she could find her way back to the waiting room if she tried.  

“Quinn,” Rose said gently, “your wife is here.”  

“Girlfriend,” Sarah corrected automatically as she sat in the chair next to the bed.  

He gave her a lopsided, drunk smile. "You can be my wife for the day," he said, voice gravelly.  

She could see in his face that he was going to be sick before he began to cough. She grabbed the basin off the table next to the bed and held it under his chin, helping him tip his head forward so he wouldn’t get any vomit on himself.  

He winced as he settled back.  

“I was just about to say,” Rose said, taking the basin from Sarah’s hands, “you’ll want to avoid talking for the next day or two. It can aggravate the gag reflex.”  

She took the basin into the bathroom and came out with a fresh one. “It’s very normal to vomit quite a bit after a tonsillectomy,” she assured.  

Sarah nodded, looking around the room. It was bigger than any she’d been in in the past. And far more private. Quinn had a beautiful view of the city through a large picture window opposite his bed. Everything was painted in warm, cozy colors. But it was still a hospital, and he still had an IV in his arm that she willed her eyes to skip over every time she looked at him.  

His hand came to rest on hers, solid and comforting. When their eyes met, Quinn - even in his drugged up, addled state - could see the sadness and fear in her face. It bothered him that he couldn’t comfort her the way he wanted to.   

“Are you okay?” he whispered. No gag came. He would just have to talk quietly.  

She nodded, even though she clearly wasn’t. “How are you feeling?”  

He shrugged one shoulder up. “Thirsty.”  

“Can he have some water?” Sarah asked, thankful to have something to do.  

“Gulping can be quite hard, and he won’t be able to use a straw for a week or so, but I’ll get you some ice chips. Do you want them flavored, sweetheart?”  

He shook his head.  

Rose came back a few minutes later with a cup of soft, pellet ice.  

Sarah helped him get it into his mouth, and he sighed when the cold liquid began trailing down his sore throat.  

Thirty minutes later, Ellen came blustering into the hospital room, a suitcase wheeling behind her.  

“I’m so sorry,” she told Sarah, gathering her into a hug.  

Sarah shook her head, and pulled away before she could get too comfortable. An embrace like that would certainly bring her tears spilling over the surface.  

“How is he?” 

She pointed to the hospital bed, where Quinn was awake, but listlessly so. Sliding between resting and waking to let more ice melt in his mouth. 

She didn’t trust herself to speak. There was a certain, intense jealousy that came over her any time she saw someone else’s mother come to support them. Even if she loved them, it was still hard to see and know she would never again get that same support from her own mom.  

“Quinn? Quinn, I’m here.”  

Hearing his mom's voice brought him out of another stupor.  

“How are you feeling?” she asked, pushing his hair off of his forehead.  

“Fine,” he whispered. 

His eyes sought Sarah in the room. She had her back to them, her arms wrapped so tightly around herself, he could see a peek of her Canucks blue nail polish under each arm.  

Ellen settled in the chair next to the bed. Through the rustle of her clothing, Quinn heard Sarah sniff.  

“Mom?”  

“What, honey?” she asked, smoothing his hair again, “what can I get you?”  

“I’m fine, Mom,” he said, testing the limits of his voice. He had to pause and swallow. It hurt, like trying to swallow glass or a golf ball.  

She offered him more ice.  

He took the cup, but didn’t tip it to his mouth, “Mom, I can't right now, but Sarah really needs someone."  

Ellen’s eyes shifted to look at her son's girlfriend, standing proud and contained, looking out the window.  

As they watched, her hand swiped over her cheek. Even from there, they could see the sheen of liquid smeared over her fingers.  

Ellen squeezed Quinn’s hand and walked over to her. It was just like Quinn, to see someone else's need and find a way to fill it even if he couldn't do it himself. 

When the younger woman turned to look at her, fat tears were pooled in her eyes, and rolling down her cheeks.  

“Oh, Sarah,” Ellen whispered, and gathered her into an embrace.  

Sarah began to really cry then. She wasn’t loud, but her breath shook, and her gasps and cries were tiered, as if she were going up and down stairs.  

Ellen held her and smoothed her hair, letting her cry into her shoulder in such a maternal way, Sarah felt both relieved and sad. Her own mother was never as thin as Ellen, but Ellen’s embrace was strong, keeping her grounded the way Sarah needed.  

“I just miss her so much,” she whispered.  

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” 

A while later, she added, “I wish I could have met her.”  

That brought on a fresh wave of tears that had Sarah crying louder.  

Ellen hugged her tighter, palming the back of her head to keep her head on her shoulder. It had been so long since one of her boys had needed this kind of motherly comfort. This was dually the easiest and hardest part of motherhood. The ‘I’ll hold you while you cry and help you put the pieces back together’ kind of motherhood. At the same time, knowing you couldn’t fix all your child's hurts, or take away their pain.  

It brought tears to Ellen's eyes to think that she could stand in for Sarah’s mom in this small way. 

A few minutes later, Sarah pulled away, feeling more than a little embarrassed.  She wiped at her eyes, and forced a bit of a laugh, “I’m sorry, thank you.”  

Ellen took her by the shoulders, “Sarah, you don’t need to thank me, and you certainly don’t need to apologize.”  

“I just,” Sarah met her gaze, “thank you. Being here has been really hard.”  

“I know. Quinn told me,” she assured, her palm still traveling up and down her back in a soothing pattern. “Thank you for taking such good care of my baby while I was getting here.” 

That night, after stopping at the store for ice cream and Popsicles, and watching the game, Quinn settled into bed while Sarah puttered around fussing over him.  

“You're sure you don't need anything else?” she asked, finally stopping to look into his face.  

He shook his head. “I need you to come to bed.” He patted the space next to him.  

She nodded, toed out of her slippers and finally - finally settled next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.  

“Thank you for taking me and taking care of me today,” he said, his voice strained with emotion. 

She propped herself up with one arm to look at him.  

“I love you, Quinn,” she said as if it explained everything. “Of course I'll take care of you.” 

“I know, but I know it was hard for you today.” 

Her smile was a bit defeated. She wanted to be done with the hospital, even though she knew it was better to talk and process the emotions.  

“Thank you for telling your mom what I needed,” she said, her own voice pulled tight with the memory.  

“I wish I could have been holding you,” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to her hairline.  

A tear slipped down her cheek. Never in any kind of relationship - friendship, sibling or romantic - had someone seen a need and filled it so quickly, without her having to ask. To find support given before seeking – to find that Quinn was paying attention to her too. It made her chest tight with gratitude, and her voice wobble with emotion. This was the first relationship that didn’t feel out of balance as they so often had in the past. They cared for each other in visible, tangible ways.  

“You gave me the next best thing,” she whispered. “Thanks for sharing her with me.” 

“That’s not sharing, Sar, my mom loves you.”  

She gave a defeated little sigh, “I know, it’s just…" her voice trailed off in that thinking way of hers, "thanks for seeing me, I guess.”  

He laughed a little at the absurdity of her statement and immediately had to throw up.   

By some miracle of physics, he managed to get to the small trash can his mom had set next to the bed.  

Without complaint, Sarah got out of bed, took the bag out of the trash can and to the garage bin. When she came back, she had a bottle of water and a large cup. 

“Swish and spit,” she said, handing them over. He spit in the cup while she replaced the liner. She made him do it twice more before she dumped the contents into the ensuite sink and came back to settle next to him again.  

“Why wouldn’t I see you?” he whispered a while later, after the lights had been turned off, and what she said was still lingering in his mind. 

A sigh moved her shoulder into his chest with a little more force than before. “I just mean… I’m usually the one doing the caring, not the other way around, and it's nice - to be cared for.”  

He adjusted a little to get more of his arm around her. “I love taking care of you,” he whispered into her hair.  

Turning over, she tucked her face into the crook of his neck. He felt her tears on his skin before he heard them.  

He held her and let her cry. From everything he knew about her past relationships, she was often taken advantage of. Doing all the emotional work without getting much in return. She would be the first to tell him that her unwillingness to share her emotions was the main culprit for that. Even after therapy taught her to express herself and ask for what she needed, she always seemed surprised to find him still there when she had a hard day, as if he might run away from her pain. But nothing worth anything didn’t take a little work. It was all about intention. And he loved her and wanted to be with her, so he focused his intention on that, no matter the hurdle in their path.  

For her part, Sarah was glad Quinn came from a family that understood grief. A month before she met him, she had decided not to date anyone who hadn’t lost a parent or sibling. It was just too hard to explain the waves of grief to someone who hadn’t gone through it. Quinn had surprised her, sharing some of his father’s stories about losing his mother when she brought it up for the first time. He didn’t have that first-hand experience, but he was sympathetic, and even once told her he asked his parents for advice when they first started dating. He was all in, and she realized that meant more than anything else. 

When she lifted her head eventually, Quinn brushed her tears away with his thumb. Leaving his hand there, cupping the soft curve of her jaw, he smiled and kissed her gently. “I love you,” he whispered.  

“I love you too.”  

She settled back in again, tucked into Quinn’s side as they drifted to sleep.  

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[lovelytsunoda]

welcome to wherever you are // lance stroll

summary: weddings are supposed to be joyous occasions. but for lance's fiancee, the wedding is just another big milestone that her father never lived to see, like her first day of kindergarten, or her high school graduation.

pairing: lance stroll x hutchence!reader

warnings: depictions of greif, mentions of a parental death.

author's note: i've been on such a bender lately listening to inxs, they truly were one of the greatest bands of the 80s, and I think its a shame that things ended like they did with micheal's death in 1997. i could genuinely talk for hours about it, and about the very real daughter he left behind, but for now i'm going to let the fic speak for itself.

also i feel like i've only done smaus lately bc i've just been in a total idea rut and these are so easy to make lmao

y/n.hutchence just posted to her private story!

VOGUE Weddings: Inside the wedding between Aussie-rock darling YN Hutchence and F1 driver Lance Stroll (you might have to click on these to read them properly)

y/n.hutchence just made a post!

liked by lancestroll, kirkpengilly, officialinxs and 34,508 others.

y/n.hutchence today was a hard day, despite being the happiest of my life. like most milestones, it was bittersweet. while i spent most of my day in love, and excited for what's to come, part of me was also grieving. my dad should have been here to walk me down the aisle, to meet my husband. to give a speech at the reception. i miss you, dad. but i know that you'd be so proud of me.

to my lovely lance, thank you for choosing me, for loving me. for reminding me that its okay to feel all the emotions at once. i love you forever, my husband xx

see all comments

lancestroll i love you, my darling wife. you are so strong.

andrewfarriss michael would be so proud of you, kiddo

user the fact that she went public for the day just to speak about her grief on her wedding day . . . that's a caliber of person i could never be

sebastianvettel thank you both for including me in your special day

user she walked down the aisle to 'beautiful girl'....i'm totally not crying my goddamn eyes out

user im not crying you are

user her dad died over 20 years ago....she needs to let it go

-> user lmao imagine telling someone who never knew her father outside of how the media portrayed him after his death to 'get over it'.

mickschumacher 10/10 pasta bar, would come again. your harem of old men scared the crap out of me, though.

-> kirkpengilly old?? who are you calling OLD

-> y/n.hutchence you mean my non-biological uncles? mick, they're the biggest sweethearts

y/n.hutchence just added to her story

y/n.hutchence and lancestroll just posted!

liked by astonmartinf1, sebastianvettel, timfarriss and 29,808 others

lancestroll mr. & mrs. hutchence - stroll, march 2024, sydney australia

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y/n.hutchence i think lance hutchence sounds pretty great

-> lancestroll and i think y/n stroll sounds pretty good too

scottyjames you're taking her last name? good on you, bro

astonmartinf1 welcome to the family y/n! (or should we say 'welcome to wherever you are'? see what we did there?)

fernandoalonso did anyone else get a little teary eyed during the vows?

-> timfarriss i was right there with you mate

-> mickschumacher i saw esteban cry so hard he gave himself the hiccups

y/n.hutchence hey google, play 'never tear us apart' by inxs ( and say thanks to kirk for playing the sax almost all night)

(next part)

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @httpiastri @lorarri @cartierre @thatsdemko @sidcrosbyspuck @scuderiamh

[capitollie]

Coming back to Tumblr to give angst

Imagine your one of Ratios favorite students; your always on time to his classes, you always do excellent at the work he gives, and you are passing all of your classes with flying colours. He truly is proud, even if he won't admit it other than a simple "good work"

But then you pass away. Be it from a suicide or not, your dead. Ratios heartbroken, but doesn't attend your funeral, trying to heal himself by pushing work onto himself (and even his students)

It's all somewhat smooth until he finds one of the tests you handed in that he hadn't graded. He considers throwing it out, but curiosity led him to flip through it. He looks at the small doodles you drew in the corner of your work, and...

He breaks down. Unable to deal with the greif, he cries well into the hours of night, clutching your test in his hand. One day he even frames it, just to remember you.