#i just think things are going to get much worse before they get better (IF they get better)

[captain-huggy-bear]

Priorities

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Illness/comfort

Summary: When Quinn gets a text from you 2 hours before his game, he shows where his priorities lie when he drops it all for you.

Series: Teacher Reader series

Notes: I am not very well atm and I had to drive home dizzy from work the other day, the idea of Quinn being there to help has been stuck in my head so have some self indulgence from me.

A kind of sequel to In Sickness and in Health but you don't need to read that to read this.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

He's already at the rink getting ready for the game in the locker room when his phone goes off. You don't actually ring him, clearly doing that thing you always do where you're trying to not bother him on a game day, instead you send a quick text message. He expects the usual:

'Good luck on the game today, baby!'

Instead, the text he gets has him picking his phone up and calling you back in an instant, worry clouding his judgement and making his hands shake slightly.

'Hey, so guess who's being sent home because she's dizzy and can't breathe? I had my head between my legs for 20 minutes, definitely can't stand and teach. Have a good game x'.

You drop the good luck at the end like he's not supposed to be worried, like you've just casually told him about the weather and not that you we're struggling to breathe.

It doesn't really matter that Tocc is giving him the look, the one he reserves for when he's annoyed at the boys, or that half the locker room have stopped their own pre-game, pre-warm up routines to watch their captain frantically call you. He's pacing back and forth, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waits for you to pick up the phone.

"Quinn?" You sound so incredibly breathless its like listening to an asthmatic 80 year old who's smoked for half their life. Except you don't smoke and you're not asthmatic or 80 which makes the whole situation about 10 times worse because you shouldn't be struggling to breathe. You should be doing better today.

You've been ill, he knows this, a chest infection he forced you to get meds for on the weekend. Meds which should have started working by now, a heavy dose of antibiotics and steroids which were supposed to have helped. You'd felt well enough this morning to go in and give work another go, but he regrets letting you do that now. Clearly trying to stand up in front of teenagers and talk was not something you should have been doing, not when the school day had only started half an hour ago and you were already being sent home.

"Baby, are okay?" You're sitting on the front steps of the school with all your things when you answer the phone to Quinn's worried voice. You keep telling yourself you just need a minute, just a minute and then you won't feel so dizzy, won't feel so breathless. Just a minute and the tingles in your fingers will go and your hands will stop shaking so much. Just a minute and then you can drive home and get into bed.

"Y-yeah, I'm...I'm just breathless. I'll be okay...they're...they're covering my...my lessons and..." You stop for a minute, taking big deep breathes, you sound so laboured on the phone that Quinn can't help but clench his phone tighter in his hand, "and I'm going home now." Your breaths are wheezy, just like Saturday, in fact he's certain you sound worse.

"How are you getting home?" He knows the answer before you say it and he hates it before he even hears it. You're dizzy and breathless and there is no way you should be driving home at all, but he knows you. Self-reliant to a fault, a martyr, always pushing yourself past the point of no return because you think you're fine, because you convince yourself you're fine. Because you don't want to inconvenience anyone or cause more problems. You ask to little of people around you, expecting barely anything despite all you give.

"I'm...I'm going to...to drive."

"No. You're not. I'm going to come get you." You want to protest a lot more than you do if you're being honest. But, you're so tired and it's so hard to breathe and students wandering in late to school are staring at you like you're having a break down. So your protests are relatively lacklustre by your usual standard. That actually worries him more.

"It's...there's like 2 hours before the game...you've...you've got warm ups soon." You hate the idea of him missing warm ups or god forbid the game, all because you were too stupid to realise you shouldn't have gone into work in the first place.

"So, I'll get you, take you home and come back to the rink and play. I'll walk to the school tomorrow and collect your car so you don't have to worry about it. But, you aren't driving, baby. If you even try to get in that car I will being fucking pissed. I love you, you do not get in that car." You know he's serious in that moment, not just because he's very rarely angry at you or anyone but himself, outside of the rink, but because he's got that clipped tone he only uses when he's serious. This isn't a request, it's a direct order and you have no intention of disobeying it, not when you know he's right...not when it makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside that he's so insistent about your wellbeing.

"But, what...what if you miss warm ups?" He loves how much you support him and his hockey, he always will, but he hates that your first thought is that hockey should come first. His girlfriend can barely breathe right now and he quite honestly doesn't give a flying fuck if he misses warm ups. The team had to pull themselves together at some point and you came first. Always. If they couldn't manage warm ups without him then what was the point of paying them so much money?

"Warm ups aren't my priority, baby. You are. Do not get in the car. Do not drive. Do not move. I'm leaving right now, okay? Just sit on the steps of the school and take deep breaths." He's already grabbing his keys, not even bothering to change out of his gear other than putting some proper shoes on so that he can actually drive. He knows it'll spark some speculation and rumours, Captain of the Canucks storming out of the arena 2 hours before puck drop in full gear except his skates, but he doesn't fucking care about that right now.

"...Okay...thank you, Quinny. I love you." You say it because in that moment you have never felt so loved, to have someone drop everything, something so important, to come get you...Maybe its the meds, maybe its the breathlessness, the infection, but you feel like crying a little because of how sweet he is even when he's bossing you about.

"I'll see you soon, baby. I love you too."

He doesn't waste time once he hangs up, just turns straight to Tocc and tells him, "I'll be back."

The look he gets is a mixture of disbelief, frustration and confusion and he really can't blame Tocc for it. Not when Quinn is the captain, the player that seems to make a massive difference on the ice, and he's about to run out the doors 2 hours before the game? Yeah, he knows Tocc doesn't want to hear it.

"Quinn, where you going? We have a game in 2 hours?!" He knows he's going to be cutting it fine with Vancouver traffic and getting to your school, the apartment and back to the arena, but he's not letting you drive. He could live with missing a game, losing a game, but he couldn't live with himself if he let you drive home and something happened. His job was to look after you, if he failed at that? What was the fucking point?

"Tocc, I'll be back. I promise. But, right now my girlfriend is unable to breathe and dizzy and I'm not letting her drive home, okay? Sooner I leave, sooner I come back."

Maybe it's the insistence on Quinn's face, the reality that if he was forced to stay he wouldn't play well anyway. Maybe it's that you and Tocc get along and he can see a hint of concern in the other man's eyes or maybe Tocc just trusts him that much. But, he actually agrees to let him go. Not that Quinn could really be forced to stay. They'd have to tie him to the bench.

"Okay, I'm trusting you."

"Thanks."

Quinn ignores every single person he storms past, every employee, every fan outside, every person with a camera that starts asking him where he's going as he starts his car with one destination in mind. Maybe he seems rude, maybe he seems standoffish, but he doesn't really care because right now you are sat on the steps of a school struggling to breathe and he just wants to see you and get you home and into bed.

He doesn't even care that he knows Tocc is going to be questioned about his absence or that he can already hear his phone pinging with notifications from social media, most likely people asking where he was going and speculating.

'Just saw Quinn Hughes storm out of Rogers Arena in full gear, finally got fed up of his team?'

'Um, is anyone else panicking that Hughes just left the arena like 2 hours before puck drop?'

'Captain Lexapro has officially lost it with this team, just stormed out of the arena!!'

He tries his best not to break any traffic laws getting to you, despite the fact he has a lead foot that wants to press harder on the accelerator. But, he knows you'd hate it and you'd worry more about him getting a ticket, so he just grips the steering wheel tighter until he's turning into the school car park.

He doesn't try to park in a proper space, just pulls up as close to you as possible before hopping out. Your head is between your legs, shoulders rising and falling in laboured breaths and he feels like he's been punched in the stomach at how bad you sound.

"Oh, baby..." He's kneeling on the dirty ground within seconds and you try, through broken gasps to tell him he'll get his hockey socks dirty, but he doesn't listen to you, just reaches to pull you into a hug.

"Let's get you home, okay? Tomorrow we're going back to the doctors, okay?" You're leaning your head into his shoulder so heavily that he's worried you might actually pass out. It's like the moment his arms wrap around you, you just give up on holding yourself up. In truth, that's kind of what happens. You just want to lean into him, soak up the comfort of your boyfriend lighting petting your hair and whispering into your ear.

"Don't y-you have...practice?"

"I think I can fit the doctors in around practice, baby..." He doesn't tell you, but he'd forgo practice for you. He doesn't care about anything but how you're doing and you're not okay. Quinn can see that better than anyone.

"Alright, up you get..." He stands first, hands reaching for yours to help pull you to your feet. You sway before him like you're on a 16th century galleon in a thunderstorm, forehead plonking on his chest heavily, "Atta, girl. There we go." He just strokes your hair and back while you wait for the dizziness to pass, he knows each second will make him later to the arena but he's not going to rush you when you're struggling just to stand without fainting.

"Alright, let me get your stuff and then we'll take it one step at a time, baby, okay?"

"O..okay...one step...at a time." He tries his best not to let go of you completely as he bundles your work bag onto his shoulder. Quinn is as quick as he can be with it, before pulling you under his arm and helping you inch step by step towards the car.

It's slow going, every few steps you get a little dizzy and he waits for you to nod before he pushes you forward again. You're drained, dark circles under your eyes and skin losing some of its usual colour by the time you reach the car.

Quinn had purposefully pulled up the car with the passenger side facing you and you're thankful not to have to walk around the car as you brace yourself against the door for a moment. Quinn helps ease you into the seat, reaching over to put your seatbelt on for you and adjust the headrest so you can lean back. It eases some of the weight in your chest.

"Nearly home, okay, baby?"

You just nod, exhausted as his hands cup your cheeks tenderly, spreading a soft sort of affection through your already aching chest. He's so gentle as he looks down at you, fingers rubbing circles in your cheeks, but he looks so worried and you feel so guilty because he shouldn't have to be that worried.

"You've been so brave, baby, you're so brave...soon you'll be in bed and you can watch the game and sleep, okay?" He knows you'll want to watch the game if you're sat at home, mostly because you watch every game he plays even if its on catch up, but also because he knows it'll reassure you that he made it back in time.

You nod again, blinking up at him so tired that he can't help but frown.

"Atta, girl. My brave girl." The kiss Quinn presses to your forehead is short and sweet, not lingering but filling you with warmth and lightness even as he closes the door on you and gets into the driver's side.

You miss his comforting touch and as if he knows this, his hand reaches for your thigh at any given opportunity when it isn't in use to drive. The stability of it, the comfort of just having him there is so welcome and helps you to relax back into the seat as he drives.

It's just as hard work getting you into the apartment, thankful as ever that the elevator actually works, but once you're in, Quinn feels ten times lighter.

"Right, lets get you comfy, baby...you want one of my jerseys or a hoodie?"

"Jersey...the....the black one, please."

"Okay, sit down, there ya go, good girl.." He watches you the entire time from the corner of his eye, scared you'll lean too far forward from how you're hunched over on the edge of the bed. He tries to make the entire thing quick, reaching for his black jersey, the extra big one that he bought home because you liked how it dwarfed you and even dwarfed him.

"Arms up, baby..." He helps you out of your work blouse and your bra, slipping the jersey over the top quickly to avoid the shivers you start shaking with.

The worst part is getting you to your feet to get your bottoms off. Quinn helps you rise to your feet before kneeling in front of you, dragging your hands to his shoulders for support as he helps you inch out of the remainder of your work clothes. Your fingers grip his shoulders so tight that he's certain you might leave bruises but he doesn't really care, just happy to get you comfy and help you into bed.

You're bundled under as many blankets as he can find, plus the heated blanket you got at Christmas. A big jug of water beside the bed, snacks piled high because he is not having you try to go all the way to kitchen without supervision right now.

"You want the game set to go on?"

"Y...yes, please...wanna watch you play." He turns the television on, setting it to the NHL game set to go live in less than an hour now and he knows he's going to miss warm ups at this point. Tocc's probably blowing up his phone and he knows he's cutting it fine...but you look so small bundled up in bed and he actually hates the idea of leaving you alone. He hates not having his family near all the time as a general rule, but in that moment he hates it so much more. If his mum or dad had been near he could have asked Ellen or Jim to check in on you, instead you were going to be all alone and he hated it.

"I'll score for you, yeah? You can watch me score and maybe we'll win and then I'll come and make us dinner. That sound good, baby?"

"Perfect..." Quinn smooths your hair back from your face, tucking a strand behind your ear even as he uses it as an excuse to feel your temperature. Not unreasonably warm which reassures him a little that you're at least not feverish.

He just keeps sitting there next to you, stroking your hair and caressing your cheek to the point that as much as you're loathe to get him to stop and to leave, you have to remind him he can't stay here. He has a game he's already running late to.

"You...you have to go, Quinn...I'll be okay..."

"If you're not, you'll phone 911, right?" He smooths your hair back again, in truth he really doesn't want to leave you there like that. Even as you seem to be breathing a little better now you're lying down. He considers just not going, if they lose they lose...but he knows he can't. He's captain, he promised he'd be back...and you'd be unhappy with him. He might be your boyfriend but the Canucks were your team and you'd likely make him sleep on the couch for a week.

"I promise...just go win for me?"

"Okay, sweet girl." He presses a last lingering kiss to your forehead, before getting up to leave. But, he still lingers in the doorway for a moment until you push him to go.

Once he's out of the apartment he's rushing. Barely any time and honestly when he finally gets back to the arena and gets his skates on he's surprised he's just in time to go out on the ice for the anthem...cold, not warmed up in the slightest, not ready at all to play a game, but willing to.

Tocc stops him as he's passing the bench to get to the ice, "Cutting it fine, Hughes!" despite the gruff tone, Quinn can tell that Tocc is just relieved that Quinn's back in time. As are the guys who all look at him with varying shades of relief as if they'd been freaking out the entire time. Which they probably had.

"Told you I'd be back." Quinn says it with such confidence, even though inside he knows he nearly missed the entire game. To be honest if you hadn't forced him out the apartment then he'd probably have been late at best.

"How is she?" Tocc's voice is soft, concerned and Quinn appreciates it. He appreciates that as a coach Tocc doesn't just care about how much they cost or how well they play, he cares about them and their families too...and you're included in that, ring or not.

"Not good...but safe at home."

"You need practice off tomorrow?"

"Please, I need to get her to the doctors..."

"Done. Now go help us win the game." Tocc gives him a clap on the shoulder before pushing him out onto the ice and just like that Quinn slips into captain mode.

Locked in like he always is even if his legs don't feel as loose and his stick feels a little less familiar in his hands. Knowing you're home safe helps, he can put the thought of you to the back of his mind, knowing you're safe in the apartment, comfortable and surrounded by everything you need.

You find it hard to focus on the game, but force yourself to, determined to watch Quinn play and to see the goal he intends to score for you. Maybe it's silly, there's no guarantee he'll actually score, but you can tell from the moment he's on the ice that it's one of the few things on his mind. Shot after shot after shot, a determined series of attempts that remind you how important you are to him even as you lie wheezing in bed, eating as much chocolate as Quinn put out for you.

It's part way through the first period with one goal already to Vancouver thanks to Petey that the issue of Quinn's disappearance pre-game is raised.

"Quinn Hughes was nearly late to the game today, the captain missed warm ups but that's certainly not stopping him now!" Shortie's voice rings through the room, a familiar cadence that makes you feel comforted.

"No, it's not, Shortie, do we know why Hughes was late?" Dave responds and for a moment you can't quite comprehend that you've managed to cause this much of a ruckus.

"It hasn't been confirmed and you know I'm not much of a gossip..." You have a little giggle a Shortie even as you are the topic of conversation because it's not really much in the way of gossip and it's so silly.

"But?"

"Apparently he had a family emergency, his girlfriend is very unwell and he dropped everything to go get her."

"Well, that's just.."

"Romantic? Sweet?"

"I was going to say so unlike the Quinn Hughes we used to know, the one who only thought about hockey." You think back to Quinn when you first met, how everything had been hockey, hockey, hockey. You hadn't minded, your own love of the sport meant that you could handle it. But, it's true...Quinn had been rethinking his priorities ever since you started dating, where he might have prioritised hockey once, he'd started to prioritise you. You're not entirely sure at what point you became that important in his life, but it made you feel warm and fuzzy all over.

"I think it's a good thing, that's a sign of growth, just like Hughes' shot!" Shortie cuts himself off as you watch the camera pan to Quinn, following his agile movements across the ice as he skips past the other team's players as if it's as easy as breathing, "He's in past the defence, he lines up the shot and an unassisted goal for Quinn Hughes! Vancouver goal!"

You smile wide as you watch Quinn grin, celebrating with his team in a series of hugs before he finds a camera. There's a moment where you know he's grinning at you, for you, a cheeky little wink sent through the screen as if to say 'told you I'd score for you'.

"I suspect that one was for the girlfriend, Shortie."

You watch the entire game, trying not to nod off to sleep between periods. While you can't cheer and you certainly don't have the energy to celebrate too hard, every Canuck goal makes you feel lighter and brings a smile to your face.

The end result of a 5-2 win to the Canucks makes it easy for you to drift off as the game ends and the waiting for Quinn begins.

He's running off a high when the game ends, even more so when Boeser offers to take over press duties so Quinn can get back to you quickly.

The apartment is quiet when he comes in, "Baby?" not a sound comes back in response and he's careful to move quietly through the apartment to the bedroom doorway.

You're fast asleep, breathing heavy but nowhere near as bad as earlier in the day, you're surrounded by chocolate wrappers and he's quiet as he picks them all up and puts them in a bin, replacing them with the puck he scored with on your bedside table.

He tiptoes back to the kitchen quietly pottering around to make some dinner for you while you're still asleep, nothing fancy but protein, carbs and veg. The sort of thing that's definitely boring but also definitely what your body needs right now.

"Baby, time to wake up...I've made you dinner." He's gentle when he wakes you, soft fingers down your cheek as you stir awake, blinking up at him bleary eyed. Quinn helps you sit upright, the tray of food settling neatly in your lap.

"Where's...where's yours?"

"On the table, you want me to eat in here with you, sweetheart?"

He's moving before you finish nodding, grabbing another tray and his plate before joining you on the bed. He spends most of his dinner watching you eat, making sure you're not leaving large amounts and that you're okay.

He's happy about the win, happy about the score, but he's mostly just happy to be back with you and knowing that you're eating and you're okay, if not well.

Quinn's quick to tidy up your trays and even quicker to get back to you and get into a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, sliding under the covers with you and pulling you into his arms.

Your cheek rests against his chest, the steady thump of his heart a soothing sound that helps some of the anxiety about being off work ease off. Quinn's fingers caress circles and weird shapes across your arm and shoulder as he tucks you tight against him, legs twined together. Every so often he presses a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, the top of your hair, as if reassuring himself that you're okay and he's got you.

"You scored..." You mumble into his t-shirt, a small smile working it's way to your lips as his hand moves up to run through your hair, stopping at your scalp every now and then to scratch lightly until you feel like purring even if that purr is more of a wheezy rumble.

"Mmm, for you, baby." Quinn smiles down at you, another kiss pressed to your cheek.

"T...the wink?" His smile weakens slightly at your still stumbling breathlessness and the wheeze and crackle that accompany it.

"Just for you, sweet girl."

"I'm...I'm proud of you, y'know?" You smile up at him so sweetly that he can't help but feel certain in his choices today. Yeah, nearly missing a game was rough, and maybe the press are going to be dicks about it and maybe he would have felt guilty if he'd missed the game or they'd lost...but he knows he'd skip a million games if it meant you were being looked after, were safe.

"I know...and tomorrow you're going to show me how proud you are by letting me take you to the doctors again."

"Ugh..." You groan, hiding your face into his chest like that will stop him from dragging you to the doctors. Your stubbornness normally cute but in this moment less so.

Quinn cups the back of your head until your looking up at him, green eyes meeting yours with a pleading stare that makes your resolve tremble and shudder. "Please? I'm worried about you, baby...I was really scared when I got that text from you."

"Yeah?" You hate that you worried him...it's that worry that makes you concede that maybe you need to go back to the doctors and maybe as much as you hate it, you'll do it, for Quinn.

"Yeah. I can replace hockey, I can play another game if I miss one. But, I can't replace you. Let me take you to the doctors."

There's a beat of silence as he pleads with you, eyes soft, worried, gentle, thumb stroking soothingly across the base of your neck and you can't really deny him this. Not when you know you'd feel exactly the same if the roles were reversed, not when he nearly missed a game for you today and went in completely cold turkey to win it.

"Okay...as...as long as you keep cuddling me."

"I think I can do that, baby." You curl back into his arms like the spot was carved just for you and in that moment Quinn Hughes knows that you have fully hit the top of his priority list, no ands, ifs, buts or maybes. You could ask him to quit hockey tomorrow and he'd do it. He'd do anything for you and that should be terrifying, but it's not because he knows you'd never ask too much of him. If anything you ask too little.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Every Day That You Want

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, tooth-rotting fluff, pregnancy, pre-established relationship, marriage proposal

Summary/Warnings: You have big news for Dean. News you have to tell him, wether he likes it or not. You really hope he likes it, though.

Author's Note: Kind of a prequel to another fic of mine (Still You Want Me), but can be read alone. I just love putting big scary men in normal situations.

Word Count: 2.9k

You can do this. You’ve been to hell and back, you’ve killed angels, you’ve survived at least three apocalypses, and you’ve helped raise the Anti-Christ. This should, comparatively, be easy. 

It’s not. It’s the most daunting and terrifying thing you’ve ever done. It’s just words, but you’re going to choke on them because they could ruin your life. You’ve rehearsed in front of the mirror until your voice didn’t sound like yours anymore and nothing you said seemed real. It had been like repeating the same one word over and over again, until it’s nothing but an odd sound. Until it meant nothing.

But this has to mean something. You have to be able to say this to Dean, and you have to try and not get lost in the possibilities of how he’ll respond. He won’t leave you—Dean would never leave you—but he might tell you he doesn’t want this, and then you’ll have to make a choice. You don’t want to make a choice. You don’t want to hear Dean tell you that, with the lives you lead, this wouldn’t be a good idea. That it doesn’t matter what either of you want, because this isn’t something you get to have.

You want to have this, though. You want to have Dean and the baby. You want to have him as you’ve always had him before—strong and tired, always fighting because it’s all he knows how to do, but resting his head on your chest in the dark and humming against your lips when he kisses you—but you also want to have him in this new way. Where he’d smile for more reasons than just you and Sam and Cas. Where he’d get to direct some of that undying loyalty to someone who’d never be ungrateful, who’d would see him as a hero in a way he might finally believe. 

He’d be so good at it. Dean would spoil the kid, and teach them everything he knew, and care for them more than he’d ever care for himself. It breaks your heart sometimes, how he doesn’t kill himself for Sam, and he doesn’t drink himself to death for Cas, and he tries to get better for you, but he still doesn’t really know how to look in the mirror and not see a shadow.

And this would be the piece of him that’s never been tainted. The piece of him that crawls over you in bed just to hold you, that still watches cartoons and gets excited when he sees a cool car or hears an awesome drumline. The part of him that still cares, against all odds, and cares so much you’ve been worried it would kill him. The part of him that’s so simply made of light and love, crushed under years of his soul being bruised and beaten.

A part of him that won’t break. A part of him you love just as much as the rest of his wreckage, but that you still try to tend to, because you’ll love him the same if it vanishes, but you don’t think he deserves that. Dean deserves to only have that piece of him expand, to have it absorb all the love you throw at him, to grow until he can see it too. Until he can believe it’s there.

You know that it’s all so fucking hard. That Dean will never be all light, but you wouldn’t ever expect him to be. You know that a baby won’t fix him, not by far, but you also know it will show him he can create something. That he doesn’t poison everything he touches. 

That he made something entirely good, with you.

And if he tells you he doesn’t want this, you’ll live with that. You’ve lived with worse.

But you don’t even want to try to live with it. You’ll probably have to, but you’d like to pretend you won’t. 

The most you’re daring to pray for is that he doesn’t freak out. But angels don’t really take your calls anymore. 

So you’ll just have to hope.

You’ve set this up perfectly. There’s a pie in the oven that you will not let burn. There’s bacon and pancakes on a plate waiting for him when he finally gets his ass up. You have the whole bunker to yourself, because Sam’s off to see Eileen.

You’re not allowed to tell Dean that—Sam says he gets annoying—but you will in order to get him in a better mood. Sam’s fatal mistake was believing that you wouldn’t do anything to make Dean happy. So this is really on Sam. He’s the one that introduced you to Dean in the first place. Just because you were his friend first doesn’t mean he didn’t lose your automatic allegiance the moment he said this is my brother and his brother was the hottest man you’d ever seen. 

Sam should’ve known better. His big head should’ve understood that letting you anywhere near Dean—let enough so close that you’d be allowed to fall in love with him—would have always resulted in you using his secrets against him to make Dean happy, so you could slip in the fact that you were pregnant with Dean’s baby as easily as possible. 

Like any sane person would.

Although you have been up for hours, after only sleeping two. And you might be losing your mind. But anyone would lose their mind in a situation like this. Waiting for their dumb boyfriend to wake up so they can change his life forever. 

But Dean’s still asleep. You’re starting to get worried. He usually sleeps in late, especially after hunts, but not this late. Not past noon, long enough for you to stress eat half of his pie, then make a whole second one. Not long enough for the coffee to go cold three times.

You’re about to go check on him when he appears in the kitchen door. Bleary eyes and mussed hair, his glazed eyes focusing slightly when they land on you.

He starts to shuffle towards you, and you forget everything you’d rehearsed. He looks sleepy and adorable, and you’ve seen him like this before but you’d like to see it a million times more. You’d like Dean to always drop his head on your shoulder and wrap his arms around your torso, to always slump over you with a low hum. To always kiss the crook of your neck and let out a long breath when your hands snake around his neck and your fingers tangle in his soft hair.

You could have him like this forever. 

You just have to tell him. 

“Dean-“

“Why’re you up.” He speaks against your skin, his voice slurring slightly, tugging you a little closer. “’S early.”

“It’s 3pm, baby.” You draw back to smile at him, and he just blinks at you. “You’ve been knocked out for fourteen hours.”

He shakes his head, pouting slightly as he takes your hand in his. “Nah. Doesn’t feel it. C’mon.”

Dean starts to walk away, taking you with him, and you’re snapped out of the daze.

“Wait,” You pull on his grip, and he turns with a frown. “Where are you going?”

“We’re goin’ back to bed.”

You give him an amused look, your affection briefly overpowering your panic. “We?”

He nods, tugging your hand in his until you’re pressed right against his chest. “Only up ‘cause you weren’t there. Need to get my girl back to bed, you need sleep too-“

You do need sleep, but until you tell Dean, you might as well be injecting caffeine right into your bloodstream.

“But I made you bacon-“

“Course you did.” He grins, pressing a light kiss to your nose. “You’re awesome, baby.” 

You feel your stomach flutter, and at this stage it has to only be nerves, but that doesn’t make anything easier. “Can we please eat?”

Dean hums, scanning carefully over your face. “You eat already?”

“I had some applesauce-“

“Then we’re good.” He starts to move again, and now you’re attached to him like a magnet. You couldn’t move away if you tried. “Bed.”

You’re frayed and wired and on edge, trying so hard to find the will to insist he stay and eat, but Dean’s so warm and suddenly you’re drunk on him. He’s sturdy and soft in all the right places, herding you back to bed with hands on your shoulders and mumbled praise about being his dream girl, making him bacon for breakfast and lovin’ him more than he deserves, and you wish you had enough backbone to just shout at him that he does deserve your love. He deserves whatever you can give him, including a baby that he needs to know about now before you explode.

But he gets you back into bed, splaying his body over yours and pinning you down.

“Didn’t see Sammy,” his head is buried in your chest, his voice muffled against your skin. “Where’dhe go?”

“Eileen’s.” You sigh, running your fingers through his hair. “I’m not supposed to tell you that, though.”

Dean chuckles, his hands drawing slow circles on your hips. “You’re a little backstabber, sweetheart. I’m never tellin’ you anything again.”

“I’m backstabbing Sam for you.” You shrug, smiling at the air. “I’d never backstab you.”

“’S exactly what a backstabber would say.”

You giggle. “You’re tired, Dean. Your brain’s not working right. Maybe if we get up-“

“Not getting up.” He grunts, squeezing your body. “Not until you get your own fourteen hours.”

“I’m okay, Dean-“

“No. Sleep.”

You sigh, squirming slightly under him. “You know, it’s bad for you to sleep in. It’ll mess up your circadian rhythm-“ 

Dean tilts his head up, frowning at you. “What’s going on with you?”

“I, um-“ You swallow, your whole body suddenly far too warm. “Huh?”

“You always make me sleep extra after hunts.” His voice is a little stronger, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Why’re you suddenly trying to get me up?”

“Nothing’s going on-“

“No.” Dean’s sitting up now, rolling onto his back and pulling you over his lap, his gaze stern. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong either-“

He says your name, squeezing your waist as he rubs his jaw. “Please just tell me. If it’s a body we can hide it, but I need to know if it’s a monster body or person body-“

“Why the hell would it be a person body-“

“I dunno, but if it is you gotta tell me, so I can grab the salt.” He cups your cheek, offering you on his charming, downright boyish grins. “I’m not letting any ghosts haunt your hot ass, babygirl.”

“Thank you.” You mumble, dropping your brow to his. “But it’s not a body.”

“So there is something.”

“Yeah.” You whisper. “But I… I’m not-“

“Hey,” Dean leans back, holding your gaze as he tucks some hair behind your ear. “Whatever it is, I don’t care. I’m helping you.”

You swallow, squeezing your eyes shut. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, like it’s simple. Like this will really be that easy. “For you? Always.”

It takes deep breathes, and hands curled in Dean’s t-shirt—gripping him hard, making sure he won’t fly away or vanish into the air when you speak—but you do it. You run over your entire rehearsal one last time and let it all go, because Dean’s right here, in front of you, and you just need to-

“I’m pregnant.”

You say it, and he doesn’t vanish into nothing. Dean just stares at you, eyes wider than you’ve ever seen them, and whispers, “With a baby?”

“Yeah, Dean.” You offer him a small smile. “A baby.”

“My- my baby?” 

You open your mouth with a slight frown, and Dean’s hand flies to cover your mouth before you can speak.

“Wait, shit, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just-“ He groans, his eyes seeming to drive right into your soul as his voice because hoarse. “You’re sure? That you’re… growing one?”

You wish you could read him better right now. You’d laugh at him saying growing one.

Instead you just nod, and it’s like something flips in Dean. He grins—wide and toothy and unrestrained—and you barely have time for the relief to hit when he’s kissing you. Long and deep and passionate, until you’re dizzy and grinding down onto him, falling over his chest and clinging to his shoulders.

“Dean,” you gasp as he dives down to kiss a line over your collarbone. “Shouldn’t we, shit-“ He starts suck on a soft spot behind your ear, and all your exhaustion is starting to catch back up with you, so everything is really just a haze. “Don’t we need to talk-“

“No,” he mutters, rutting slightly up into you and chuckling against your skin when you whine. “Just need you, baby, need to- son of a bitch!”

Dean’s yanks himself up and twists to his bedside table—his hand on your hips holding you steadily against him—scrambling around the drawers as he mutters low words you can’t hear.

“Are you okay?” You ask, your hand fisting in his shirt once more. “I mean, I know you might have doubts about-“

You’re cut off as Dean surges back up to kiss you again, this one shorter and soft, but still firm. 

“No doubts, sweetheart.” He mutters against your lips. “And I’m better than okay. I’m fucking amazing.”

“Good.” You sigh, pulling back to scan over his face. “What was that, then?”

Dean smiles at you, and it’s… nervous. He’s almost never really, truly nervous, but this smile has no edge, no carefully designed charm. It’s just Dean, purely him, smiling at you like you’re holding his heart in your body.

You kind of are.

“I know I, uh, I don’t say it enough. You know I’m not good at saying it. But I do love you,” Dean says your name, and you blink at him. This sounds like a speech. “I love you so much it drives me insane. And I’d never want this, want a baby, with anyone but you. But, I, uh, I want all of this. Whole stupid, apple pie thing, just with you.” He takes a long breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “Marry me.”

You gape at him. “What?”

“Marry- shit, wait-“ Dean reaches slightly behind him, grabbing a small box, and pops it open with his thumb. There’s a diamond ring inside, and it looks like a real one. Not the ones you’d use on cases, that would give you a rash for a week after. This looks… carefully made.

Made for you.

“Dean-“

“Marry me?” Dean looks between your slack jaw and the box, his voice almost nervous. “Please?”

“I-“ This is going better than you could’ve ever even imagined. You’re not sure how to handle it. “I don’t want you to marry me just because you knocked me up-“

“Baby, I didn’t pull this ring out of my ass.” He drawls, his voice a little firmer. “I’ve been getting ready to ask you for months. I was going to kick Sammy out next week, make a picnic in the library-“

“Really?”

“Yeah, I-“ He frowns. “Why’d you think I was poking about your ring size?”

“I don’t, um, I don’t remember you doing that.”

Dean laughs, shaking his head slightly. “That’s good. I was worried I ruined it. I, um-“ he glances down at the ring, his face falling back to the nerves, and you realize you haven’t actually answered him yet. “I haven’t-“

It’s your turn to kiss Dean, and these words aren’t difficult to say at all. “Yes,” you whisper, pressing another, smaller kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll marry you.”

“Awesome.” He grins, and the ring is barely on your finger when he’s diving back into you, kissing you until you can’t ever remember anything has been difficult in your life. 

You yawn right as Dean pulls away, and he chuckles. 

“You alright, sweetheart?”

You hum, nodding. “I’m good. So good. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Dean says your name in your ear, and it’s quiet and gentle. Not like a secret, but a promise. “How’s a day in bed sound? We can try and get you pregnant again.”

“That’s not how it works, babe.” You giggle, folding a little deeper into his hold. “I’m gonna have to buy you some books.”

“I’ll read them.” Dean kisses the top of your head, and you can feel his smile on your skin. “For you.”

“Thank you.”

“Course.” He sighs, squeezing your body slightly. “We’re having a fucking baby.”

“Yeah.” You smile, and there’s that piece of him, shining on the surface. All joy and wonder for something that’s really just good. “We are.”

End Note: Dean Winchester in my head this is indeed the life you live every day. Season 15 isn't real it can't hurt me.

Title from Waste by Foster the People

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[berritart]

thinking abt phone sex with abbyyyy #plz

abby could hear your hitched breathing through the phone, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

you were a mess, and she wish she could see how you were right now. the bottom hem of your nightgown held high up by your teeth, your fingers tracing over your clit through your panties. it was definitely a sight.

"need you abby..." you whined through the phone, wanting nothing more than to have your girlfriend between your legs. it was definitely ovulation time for you. you're usually horny but you would always handle it yourself. you never got to the point where you would have to call your girlfriend to get off, especially this early in the morning. it was only 10 am.

"what do you need me to do baby?" she asked, closing her journal. she got up from her desk and got in bed. she wanted all her attention on you, deciding to cut her study session short.

"just talk to me." you slip your hand under your panties, your cold fingers causing you to whimper in your phone. your noises were fucking with abby already. she wishes she was tongue deep in your cunt right now, making her girl feel good. unfortunately the snow gotten worse overnight and the roads unsafe to drive on. the weather was keeping a barrier between you two.

"what's going on in that pretty little head of yours right now?" abby whispers, unbuttoning her jeans. she began playing with the waistband of her boxers, craving a response from you. she waited, only hearing whines full of need. "c'mon baby tell me."

"t-thinking about your fingers..." you draw circles against your clit, jolting from the contact. "how thick they a-are..." you could literally hear abby grinning on the other side of the phone, enjoying every second of your phone call.

abby felt the warmth in the pit of her stomach get worse. she was so close to becoming the state you're in but it's all about you right now. she could hold off for a bit longer but her sweet thing can't. "and what else angel?" you mewl at the pet name, plus the feeling of your finger slipping inside your pussy. it was too much to handle, your teeth basically chewing off your bottom lip. you needed your girlfriend bad.

you lean the phone against your ear, your hand now groping on your tits through the fabric. "mmm... 'n h-how they reach all the right spots..." you gasp, your pointer and thumb pinching your sensitive nipple. "s'much better than mines."

"you wanna know what i'm thinking?" abby says lowly as she palms herself through her boxers. "'m s-so close baby." you borderline wail, your movements getting sloppier and sloppier. "im thinking about having that pretty pussy rocking back and forth on my tongue." abby's hand picks up the pace, her mouth holding back a whimper. "then when she's ready, when i think she's ready, i'll fuck her nice and slow on my strap. how's that sound sweet girl?"

"s-so so good- fuckfuckfuck i'm cumming." your fingers curl in your sopping cunt before pulling out. your climax washes over you violently, your moans and abby's name being suffocated by your pillow.

"there we go...good girl." abby praises, pulling her hand from her boxers and jeans. you try and catch your breath, hard breathing traveling through to the other line. "miss you so bad abby..."

abby checks the state outside, the sun slowly but surely coming out to melt the thick inches of snow. it was definitely going to take a while for all the snow to melt but for abby? at this rate?

"don't worry baby i'll be there soon."

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

This one goes out to all the bitches who love some good Safehouse Era Horror. It's me, I'm bitches. I want Jon and Martin to be fucked up and eldritch but I want them to be fucked up and eldritch and loved

(Notes under the cut because I can't help myself. Heads up, I do go into some detail of how Jon gets injured so I can explain my thought process for how I designed his scars. All canon-typical and fairly clinical in tone.)

Here's how I picture Safehouse Jon!

He doesn't need glasses anymore by this point, so he should just be wearing empty frames, but I drew this before I settled on my glasses headcanons. This drawing looks better with the reflection anyways.

He hasn't gotten a haircut since before his promotion to Head Archivist. He doesn't love the weight of it on his neck, but he also uses it to fidget, and he really doesn't want to go through the whole process of cutting it. He's disliked haircuts since he was a kid (People: Bad. Small talk: Bad. Touching: Bad. Loud sounds: Bad. People talking all at once: Bad) and since his time with the Circus he's only grown more reluctant to go and get it done.

At this length his hair is naturally pretty curly but he is. Not taking care of it. I actually put a lot of effort into trying to make it look brittle and tangled (I have a lot of experience lol, my hair is quite thick and I've always hated taking care of it. Yes I am also projecting my feelings about going to a hairdressers onto him why do you ask.)

The various scars were a bit of a strange task, but anyone who has seen my takes on The Bad Kids knows I'm not averse to selective realism in my fiction. Easiest one was the neck, I always pictured Daisy making a vertical cut based on "through the voice box". The larynx is longer than it is wide, so I think Daisy would go for the method that dealt damage across the largest total surface area. Yes I am aware that I'm speaking the same way Martin does when he explains his corkscrew.

The worm scars were easy because I barely drew any. There are a few marks on his cheek, but they're just surface bites. I picture most of his encounter with Prentiss showing on his legs, particularly on the right side, with enough damage there that he starts using a cane after the incident to keep weight off his right leg. More research to be done on this particular detail.

Finally the burn on his hand from Jude. This was the weirdest one to figure out just because of the nature of the injury. How do you quantify the damage done to an epidermis by a living manifestation of sometimes-boiling wax that can heat and cool at will? I settled on it being a second-degree burn that healed supernaturally fast, containing the damage to the space Jude had direct contact with. He'd probably have some mobility issues there as well. I know there are ways to help with mobility and pain after a severe burn, but I don't know how much of it Jon would actually. Do. Like I said, definitely further research to be done on these last two.

Hey so I'm gonna ask you to stop and consider the horror of the watcher. The helplessness. The guilt. The inherent terror of being a spectator, a participant by proximity but not by action. The horror of not being able to look away, of being a bystander. Jon forgets to blink sometimes. But wouldn't it be so much worse if there were no eyelids at all? That's how I interpret the description of The Archivist being "All Eyes" :D

I love a good Many-Eyed Jon, so I whipped up my own interpretation here. I think the more he Becomes the more he starts to resemble the thing from the dreams. He has a lot more control of it in S5, but it still creeps up on him and he has to consciously go back to a human shape.

[artist-issues]

You don't believe in love. You believe in people SUPRESSING a part of themselves, not caring how much it ACHES for them to do so. You are objectively wrong, and you do NOT belong on Tumblr. Any arguement you try to come up with against this is pointless.

You are NOT a real Christian.

People “suppress” parts of themselves all the time—for love. If by “suppress,” you mean, “I don’t choose to identify with everything I feel.” I feel like screaming at my mom when she hurts me. But I love her, so I’m not going to say, “gotta be true to myself, gotta live what I feel.” Many people feel like alcohol is what they need and without it, who are they? Many people even feel like depression is “a part of who they are,” so they don’t give it up.

Don’t you understand? What makes something I feel fall under the category of “who I am?” Because not all feelings are good, and most of them aren’t even rooted in reality.

Your feelings lie to you all the time. Right before death after years of dementia or a terminal illness, a person can suddenly become more alert and energized than they’ve been since the start of their illness. They get up, talk, and their feelings tell them that they’re better. And the reality is they’ve never been closer to death, and they’re dead moments later. It’s called “terminal lucidity,” and it’s been happening since humanity’s earliest history. And it’s just one example of your feelings lying about what’s real.

So how can you tell if the things you feel are a part of who you are, or a cancer you need to cut out of yourself because it’s hurting the “real” you? That’s what you’re calling “suppression,” and yeah, it aches, but letting it grow and calling it “part of yourself” is worse.

Figure out what standard you measure “who I am” by.

A Christian measures it by Christ. Who He says you are, not what you feel you are. After all, He calls us to die to ourselves. What did you think that meant?

And a Christian measures everything by what Christ says. That’s how I know “the heart is deceitful and desperately wicked.” It’s how I know you’re right; I don’t belong on tumblr. I don’t belong on this corrupt planet anymore: “If you were of the world, the world would love its own; but you are not of the world, for I have chosen you out of the world; this is why the world hates you.” And it’s how I know what real love is, and it’s Him. He invented it, He gets to define it.

And that’s the point of this argument. To get it out in front of people that Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, and nobody has a restored relationship with God, nobody can be their “true-selves” unless they die to their old-corrupt self and come to God through Jesus Christ.

So thanks for giving me the opportunity to answer and get that out in front of people again.

[yeonniesblog]

Kuroo x reader x oikawa

Synopsis : After years spent by a certain setter along with a small toddler mending you heart, your life was a just like a blissful movie with a happy ending. But little did you know the person who gave you not only the worst years of your life but also the small ball of sunshine, decided to suddenly make a appearance in your fairytale when fate played a wild

reader's note : this is the last chapter, make sure to read it in order! Sorry for the angst hehe.

Part 1 : meeting you again | Part 2 : wouldn't you | Part 3 : broken promises | Part 4 : where it all went wrong | Part 5 : enough for now (current one)

“she is a fucking psycopath” kenma sighs, putting the car in reverse as he pulls up in his driveway, eyes fixated on the rear view as kuroo watches the irriated expression on his face.

“dude, chill I know you hate kizumi, but I might marry her” kuroo sips his coffee as he lets out a shallow grunt in annoyance too, what was he doing in life.

“no, just think about it, she specifically asked for the ring you bought to propose to y/n, when she knows you could afford to give her much expensive one right now, but, again I repeat. she asked specifically for that ring, only”

the black hair man groans at the explanation, he knows his friend has a point, but he is trying to gaslight himself into believing whatever kizumi explained to him. “i think she just likes it, she was the one who chose it too, all those years ago—” and before kuroo could finish his sentence, the half blonde cuts him off, swiftly taking out his phone from his pocket and muttering something to it “siri, how do you block people in real life”

“yeah, okay, this is a kuroo hate club, I get it” the man sighs, propping his head back on the headrest, closing his eyes. “honestly I know her behavior is weird, but I’m in a tight spot, my only left family is nagging me to marry her, and you know I could care less about marriage” he pauses taking a deep breath. “dad is legit emotionally blackmailing me, sitting at his stupid hospital bed probably faking his disease”

“they want you to marry, doesn't necessarily have to be her” kenma suggests, opening the seatbelt around him. “i cannot marry a stranger, kizumi is a better option, we have been dating on and off for one year” the rooster haired man replies, honestly he really wants to jump off a cliff, but he will suppress the impulsive urges.

“as a rebutal to that, one thing you said was right” kenma sighs finally looking at his friend, kuroo looks tired, or is aged that appropriate word. “her behavior is weird, it's like she has more attachment to y/n than you, she is insecure as fuck of her. you, me and her, we all know she won't ever level up to the place y/n has in your heart, so she trying to become her, its giving me chills” kenma shudders at that thought, physically gagging.

“do you think it's too late for me to get a therapist?” with that kuroo tetsuro groans one more time.

kuroo sits quietly, hands clasped, looking up with hesitant eyes as he watches you put your purse on the table, stoice face, yet so pretty.

he really meant it when he said you got more gorgeous over the years, there were few lines now adorning your face, mature and elegant glow.

even if he sometimes wonders if it would have been better if you both never met at all, if it would have been better if neither of you had to go through the heartbreak, but he knows,

if there was a spell to go back in time, to where he met you, he would do the same thing. he would make a silly chemistry joke and wait for you to laugh at it, not because it was funny, no it was because it was so bad you laughed at it, it was his fault wasn’t it?

to loose the most precious thing in his life, did you feel worse than him, it wasn't a question, nor a comparison, he wanted to know because he will never forget or forgive himself to give you so much pain over the year.

what did you name the kid? did oikawa tooru’ see how your son took the first steps, was he the one who got called father first, what's his favorite food, does he have a birth mark, does he like volleyball? is your son’ tastes similar to what is his? Just like how he saw the little kid adorning your homely baked goods, similar to what he himself used to do.

it pains him, physically pains him to know he wasn't there for anything, he wasn't there to make you food, hold your hair while you threw up during you morning sickness, not hold your hand while you went into labour, he wasn't part of any of it, six years sometimes means nothing and yet to him, now, it means everything, it means every important thing he lost.

“you don't know how much draining this is for me, to be talking to you, or as a matter of fact to talk about what happened, cause honestly you deserve nothing, not the explanation, not to meet me or ruko” you break the silence first, firmly sitting at your place.

and kuroo wishes he could repent on all the thing you said but the only thought in his mind is what you named your son “his name is ruko?”

“his name is oikawa saruko” you firmly state, a small smile tugging at you lips, you were proud your kid had a father like oikawa, cause you can't imagine anyone else being a better father than him.

tetsuro has never wanted to be in someone else's place as much as he wants to be oikawa now, he sighs at your words. “why didn't you tell me, I would get it if you wanted to get away from me, but don't you think I deserved to know the kid was mine?” his voice quivering as he asks you the question, a weird pang in his chest.

“i tried, I tried so many times” your voice quivers slightly “why do you think I asked for your opinion to have a kid?” that silents the man infront of you, his pupil dilated as he realizes how he explained it, and how it sounded like a definite ‘no” from his side.

“not to mention, even after that I was going to tell you, with my parents kuroo and you didn't show up” he relishes at how defeated he feels when you don't even call him by his first name, so the announcement when you called him was with your parents? his legs tenses up and he stops shaking them.

“i know I don't have any excuse but you know there was a storm that night—”

“yet you left me all alone in that storm, tetsuro” his heart breaks into million pieces, do you even know how much he just wants to pull you close and cry, stain your shirt with his tears of sorrow that he made a mistake and couldn't be in your presence and of joy because after years he was able to see you.

“i—y/n” he tries to put his hands over yours but you are swift to pull away, he knows a million reasons of why your reflex action was right, yet he can't help but feel his throat becoming dry “i’m sorry, I assumed you were with your parents, I had no idea, my phone was dead”

“how can you still lie to me?” your voice croaks, finally looking straight into his eyes, you really don't want to care for whatever his action was or what he did but you can't help but feel wronged.

“what do you mean lie?”

“so your phone was dead enough to not respond to my texts but it was working when you reposted on social media with your now girlfriend, her friends commenting how cute you both looked” you scoff pausing in disbelief “or should I say fiance”

“whatever are you sayi-” then it clicks, it suddenly clicks how kizumi’s friend has always shipped him with her, despite knowing he has a girlfriend, despite him saying he doesn't appreciate it, that it straight up makes him uncomfortable.

how kizumi knew, that your birthdate was his password to Instagram, he remembers her saying it was so cute, its laughable to think how dumb he has been, how could he not notice her intention. but he wishes you told him, he wishes he could have cleared off the last misunderstanding and if he could take it all back he would.

hell, he would never breath the same air as kizumi if he could go back in time and fix things. but he cannot, all he has is regret and all he can do his atone for his mistake, he was hoping you'd be kind enough to let him see his son, he hasn't been a great partner but he sure as heck wants to have some influence in your son’s life—

after all, it was a part of you and him, back then if he actually heard you were pregnant he'd probably be scared as shit, but he would still fight every odds to raise the kid you made, how could he ever resent a mini you, kuroo knows he has no right to feel wronged but all those years without the little guy or even acknowledgment of his existence makes feel burnt.

his lips shaky and he doesn't know if a explanation would even help at this point, nothing would change and even if kizumi was in wrong– so was he though. his mouth ran before he could know.

he looks up at her. “I know you don’t owe me anything, but there’s something you need to hear" your eyes held anger and he was scared of that, he wanted to scream please forgive me, over and over again in a chant but he knew he didn't deserve your forgiveness.

you crossed your arms, wary but patient. you had no idea how you still held on. but they say but they say old habits die hard, and even after six year you had the same patience for him, you wanted to laugh at yourself “Go on.”

“It was Kizumi,” he begins, voice low but firm. “She… she’s the reason things fell apart. She was jealous of you, of what we had. She deleted your texts that night—the ones you sent me about the announcement. She posted on my social media to make it look like I was with her. And she—”

"You didn't know?" your eyes widened and you had no idea how to feel after hearing that, conflicted feeling filled your lungs and the wall of resolve you have solidified getting cracks of doubt in them, but you remained firm.

“No,” Kuroo says quickly, his voice thick with regret. “I was blind, stupid, and I didn’t see what was happening. I let her control too much. I thought I could trust her. But I swear, if I’d known—” He stops, realizing that no matter what he says, it won’t erase the past.

you stare at him, your face unreadable, but there was turmoil behind your eyes “So, you’re saying it was all her fault?”

“No. No..no.” Kuroo says firmly, shaking his head. “It was my fault too. I let her into my life, I didn’t listen to you, and I didn’t fight for you when it mattered. That’s on me. I just… I need you to know that I didn’t abandon you on purpose.”

you exhale slowly, looking down at you cup, a closure huh? but what does that change ? you know oikawa is much more important to you now, nothing could change that, nothing could make you ever abandon the perfect family you have right now. “I believe you, Tetsuro. But that doesn’t change what happened. You weren’t there when I needed you, and I had to pick up the pieces alone. Oikawa was there. He’s been there for me and for Ruko.”

even if there is a shaky heartbeat you feel around your past lover you know it was not meant to be. there are so many things unsaid and there will be so many things which will be, you are a mom now and you could never be an careless one. and as much as tears were welling up in your eyes for what could have been, you won't risk anything for what it is now.

Kuroo swallows the lump in his throat. “I know. And I’m glad he’s been good to you both. I just… I missed so much, Y/N. I want to know him. I know I don’t deserve it, but I want to try.”

bonus scene

Kuroo sits on a bench, watching from a distance as you and Oikawa playing with your son, Ruko. The boy—his son, biologically—has Oikawa’s mannerisms but your smile. Kuroo’s chest tightens as he watches the little boy stumble, only for Oikawa to sweep him up, spinning him around while you laugh.

They look like a family. They are a family

Kuroo thinks to himself, maybe this could have been you both if he wasn't consumed by the thought that you both would also be horrible parents much like your families.

you notice him then, your gaze meeting his. There’s no anger in your eyes anymore, just a quiet understanding. you approach him cautiously, arms crossed. “You’re here,” you speak, trying to keep your tone neutral.

“I just wanted to see him,” Kuroo admits. “I won’t interfere much. I just… needed to see him.”

You sit beside him, keeping a respectful distance. “He’s happy, you know. Oikawa’s a good father. He loves Ruko like he’s his own.” and that breaks kuroo's heart, as much as he tries to look positively at this. He can't help but feel his heart become empty, can't help but wish to be where oikawa is right now in your life.

Kuroo nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I can see that. He’s a lucky kid.” you glance at him, your expression softening. “I know the truth now, about Kizumi. About what happened. I’m… sorry you were caught in that.”

“I’m sorry too,” Kuroo says, his voice breaking. He knows it's not enough but all he can do is regret it over and over again. “For everything. For not being there, for letting you down. I should’ve fought harder for us.” you look away, your gaze fixed on Oikawa and Ruko. “Maybe. But it’s too late now, Tetsuro. We’ve both moved on.” and he feels a bit happy, you used his first name, God he is so pathetic

“I know,” he whispers, his heart breaking all over again. “But I’ll never stop wishing I could go back and do it right.” and before you are able to say anything you notice a small figure approaching you, you feel at ease when you notice it's your son, oikawa stood a bit away, he felt protective over you both but he doesn't want to snatch away the closure you deserve, and he can't snatch away ruko from his biological dad. so he stays silent cause he knows ruko would pick him for sure, he loves the little guy to death after all.

“Ruko, this is… this is Tetsuro,” you say gently, getting up from the bench only to kneel beside your son.

The boy looks up, curious but cautious. “Hi,” he says softly, clutching his toy dinosaur.

Kuroo crouches down, his heart aching as he gets his first close look at his son. Ruko has Y/N’s eyes and his messy black hair. He smiles faintly. “Hey, buddy. That’s a cool dinosaur you’ve got there. What’s his name?”

“Cupcake,” Ruko replies, holding it up proudly.For a moment, Kuroo wants to giggle, pondering why a dinosaur would be named Cupcake, but he holds back, his lips twitching into a soft smile. “Cupcake, huh? That’s a pretty unique name. Why’d you pick it?”

Ruko beams, his small chest puffing up with excitement. “Well—it’s not weird, okay? It’s ’cause I love dinosaurs and I love Mom’s handmade cupcakes, so I mixed two favorite things at once!”

Kuroo freezes for a moment, his breath catching in his throat. Cupcakes. His gaze flickers briefly to you, you who look away, your expression unreadable. He remembers countless nights when he’d come over to your place, exhausted from work or practice, and the smell of your freshly baked cupcakes would make him feel like he was home. They were his favorite—a sweet, simple treat that reminded him of your warmth.

And now, their son shares that same love.“That’s… that’s actually genius,” Kuroo finally says, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Cupcake is the perfect name for a dinosaur. You’ve got great taste.”

Ruko grins proudly, going on to describe Cupcake’s many adventures and how he takes the toy everywhere. Kuroo listens intently, his heart clenching. There’s an ache beneath his chest—a mix of pride, love, and regret. He and Ruko have so much in common, and yet, this is the first time he’s learning it.

The realization stings, and he resents you a bit for that but it also fills him with a bittersweet joy. Ruko is bright, imaginative, and full of life. He’s a part of you and him—a reminder of what you both once had. And kuroo decides he can live with that. That's enough for now isn't it?

Finally ending this series, I get embarrassed whenever I reread it but it was my first series and it has been in my drafts for years. But here I ending, thank you for everyone who waited for this.

Here is the taglist (it's based on people who were waiting for it) : @reikashe @mikaela26sstuff @chita318 @mxrice @freddiemylovelg @glxar @amarinthe @rinsangel @captainchrisstan @gamacha @cheeseriz @pluviophilefangirl @bnha-bakusquad @asaitashi @lordmomourmomoness @missyasmim @macky-attoh @belle643 @on-crows-wings

[shadola]

꒰ა hair loss . . .

୨ৎ shadow helps comfort you through tough times and harsh changes

shadow x f. reader. angst. fluff. human shadow a.u. established relationship. reader has a chronic illness that causes hair loss. reader has curly hair, but honestly that part can be ignored. wc :: 1.8k

note from the lamb :: this is very self-indulgent,,

reaching over in search of your warmth, shadow instead found a cold, empty mattress where you had been laying before. you'd been out of bed a while, long enough for your body heat to dissipate from the spot.

this woke shadow up quickly. he groaned softly as he wiped the sleep left in his eyes away, and lifted himself off the bed. he could hear you coughing, a harsh, dry, and violent sound that reverberated down the hall. he followed the noise, scratching his lower stomach and yawning as he made his way to the bathroom.

you noticed him right away, turning your head to face him right as he entered the doorway. "oh shadow" your voice was strained, throat sore and tired from your aggressive coughing fits. "did i wake you up ?"

shadow shook his head. "no" he answered, "i woke up on my own" it was only half true, but he could see the look in your eyes. you were sore, and in pain, and he didn't want to make you feel any worse. guilt for waking him up was the last thing you needed. "are you okay ?" he asked

you didn't answer his question, turning to face the sink again. you were staring at yourself in the mirror, your look intense and almost disgusted as you looked at your reflection. your hand rose to your head, running your fingers through your hair. by the time you had gotten to the end of it, you had a sizeable amount of hair around your fingers.

shadow frowned, looking around the bathroom counter. the granite top around the sink was covered in your hair.

"it's getting worse" you said, voicing the thing both you and shadow were already thinking. "more of my hair is falling out"

shadow's eyes moved back up to you. the hair loss was becoming more obvious. but he could clearly see chunks of your hair were thinner than others, and in certain parts it was so thin he could see the skin of your scalp. "hey, it's okay" he knew it wouldn't help you feel any better.

people always said that hair was just that, hair. they always say 'it's just hair. it'll grow back'. but that was never really true. hair is such a big part of a person's identity. the color, the texture, the style. it was a way of self expression, something that connected a person to their roots, their family, their culture. it's never just hair.

and shadow knew this. he knew your hair was important to you. he knew you spent so much time taking care of it, giving your curls the best treatment possible, putting them in the best styles to protect them. he could only imagine how jarring it would be to see it all falling out.

he could come up with some idea. his hair was important to him too. he rarely cut it other than trimming off dead ends, he'd been growing it out for years. dying it, keeping it healthy. it was part of who he was, the same way your hair was a part of who you were. but he couldn't imagine what it would feel like to go through losing it, and not being able to do anything to stop it.

"here, sit down" shadow grabbed a towel from the rack hanging on the wall and laid it down on the bathroom floor. he nodded to it, waiting for you to take a seat before grabbing a hairbrush and scissors, and moving the small bathroom trash-bin near him. he sat down behind you, and as gentle and tender as he could gathered your hair, and pulled it to your back.

"what are you doing ?" you asked. but shadow didn't answer. he worked in silence, using a mix of his hands, the hairbrush and scissors to trim, and remove the dead and loose pieces of hair from your head. he did his best to not pull too much out, doing his best to only get the pieces that were already falling out.

less than a few minutes in he already had a good amount of your hair in the bin. interested, you tried turning your head to see what exactly he was doing. though you already had some idea, you were curious to see how much more you had lost.

before you could see though, you felt shadow's hands on your jaw, gently turning your head away, facing your forwards again. "don't worry about it" his voice was soft, basically a whisper, like he was preventing non-existent viewers from hearing this tender and vulnerable moment. "you don't need to see it"

it took just under five minutes before he was satisfied with his work. your hair was significantly shorter, but shadow had managed to cut it in a way that had mostly covered the bald spots, and made the thinner sections of your hair blend in practically seamlessly with the rest of your head. he was quite proud of himself, actually. "stay right there, baby"

you nodded your head, and shadow rose to his feet, grabbing the garbage bin with him. he cleared off the bathroom counter of your hair, putting it in the bin with the hair he had trimmed off. when it was all cleaned off, he unraveled a few handfuls of toilet paper from the roll, using it to cover the lost hair. he adjusted the paper, adding more until he was sure the hair was visible anymore.

"can i get up now ?" you asked, looking up at him from your spot on the bathroom floor. shadow nodded, taking your hand and helping you to your feet. once you were standing, his hands moved to your shoulders, putting you in front of the mirror again.

"what do you think ?" he asked, "does it feel any better ?"

you took a moment to look at your reflection, hand reaching up almost instinctively to run your fingers through your hair. shadow reached up to grab your hair, pulling it away from your hair. "try not to touch it too much"

you nodded, "i like it.." you finally said "it looks,, normal"

shadow hummed, nodding his head. "i think you look beautiful. you know that, right ?"

you turned to face him, though he was too busy looking at you through the mirror. "even with all my hair gone ?" you asked

"mhm" shadow hummed, nodding his head. "you're always going to be the most beautiful girl in the world to me. until the world ends"

you couldn't help but smile, though it was a little bittersweet. you didn't like to think about it, but you knew at this rate you'd be losing most, if not all of your hair in due time. it was comforting to know that it wouldn't change how shadow thought of you, even though your opinion of yourself would change greatly.

you were pulled out of your thoughts suddenly when you noticed shadow grabbing the scissors again. for a second, you thought he was going to put them away. you didn't realize what he was really doing until the blades of the scissors were already in his hair. "what are you doing ?!" your eyes widened, brows furrowing as you watched shadow begin cutting away at his hair.

his hair fell to the ground, the ends dyed deep red completely gone. by the time he was done, his hair that had just moments ago reached his mid-back, now barely brushed against his chin.

you were dumbfounded, staring at him with your eyes wide and mouth agape. "what.. why did you do that ?" you asked him

shadow shrugged his shoulders, "why not ?" he answered your question with one of his own. but it didn't really give you an answer at all.

"because your hair !" you exclaimed

"yeah. my hair" he repeated, crouching down to sweep the hair up from the ground with his hands. he dumped it in the bin with your hair and the toilet paper. "so what ?"

you could feel your eyes burning. whether it was from your tiredness or tears building up against your lash line, you didn't know. "but you love your hair"

"i love you more," he responded. he stood up again, reaching out to you and resting his hand on the small of your back. "let's go back to bed, okay ?" you nodded your head and let shadow guide you back down the hall.

climbing into bed made you realize just how exhausted you were, both physically and mentally. you weren't even sure if shadow had gotten into his side of the bed before you had fallen asleep.

it was well past noon the next day when you woke up again, warm rays of light spinning in through the blinds, leaving stripes of gold across the bedroom. shadow was missing from the bed, the sheets on his side neatly made, blanket tucked under the mattress.

you got out of bed, slowly making your way out of the room. your body was still sore, joints and muscles in a pain you had learned to live with for the most part. you made your way to the living room, where you were met by shadow. he was sitting on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table as he watched the t.v. a show that looked like an old mecha anime. probably from the 90's if you had to guess by the style of the art and animation.

his eyes were fixed to the screen, a hot cup of coffee in his hands. he was dressed for the day, dark washed denim jeans, and a baggy band t-shirt. your eyes landed on his hair, the brain fog from your sleep clearing, you remembered the events from last night.

it looked like he had gone back and fixed it up a bit. the front of his hair brushed against his cheek bones, and the underside of the back of his head was shaved down close to his head. the red dye that had been in his hair had been almost all cut off, the only remaining bits were at the very tips of his bangs. though, knowing how much shadow enjoyed the red dye, he'd probably touch it up again soon.

"mornin' baby" he greeted, pausing the t.v and turning his attention to you. "how'd you sleep ?"

"i slept well," you answered, sitting down next to him. you reached up to touch his hair, running your hand over the shaved underside. it was soft, and despite the style being something you'd never seen on him, the short hair suited him well. "i like your hair"

you didn't miss the smile that crossed his lips, even though it was only there for a second. "thanks, love" he said "and i like yours too"

[hyohaehyuk]

I think a lot of people are not understanding one thing about this show: Louis have an eating disorder caused by his rejections of being a vampire and a queer man. Eating animals and rejecting eating humans is not a normal diet for vampires and is not the same as veganism/vegetarianism like i have seen some keep saying. In the AR' vampire universe is not just the blood but also the hunt and the memories they get from the victims that get them healthy. Even the way Louis eats in present days is weird af (even tho is consumes more human blood provided by his unethically farm) bc he is forcing himself to eat human food too (the whole thing is weird af. watch it again now with the image of him having a eating disorder in mind and you will see what i am saying)

Everything Lestat was doing (especially between ep 2/3) was trying to make Louis eat properly but all his desperate attempts was just pushing Louis away. The reason he brought Antoinette to their house was to recreate their 1st time with Miss Lily (bc if it worked 1 time surely it work another🤦). I think he was hoping that Louis would feed out of Antoinette and maybe even kill her. Same reason (besides the pride and bad communication) of why he opened their relationship. He was hoping that while he was hooking-up with someone he would feed from it but instead Louis chose someone who it had story (maybe to piss Lestat. I think this will be revised in season 3 bc i remember seeing on twitter that Lestat was next to Antoinette but once he he sees Louis talking with Jonah he is in another place far from her). He was already mad that Louis eating disorder was taking a tool on their relationship (which is why he start cheating 💀) but suddenly Louis was in the mood for some sex with someone else and on top of it Lestat also had to watch him hurting dogs (which maybe we will see in season 3 that human lestat loves dogs) instead of feeding on his hook-up human being.

The saddest thing is that there is nothing Lestat could have done to help (if you watched the last season of heartstopper Nick was dealing with a similar situation with Charlie and everyone's attempting to help him was actually making it worse). Things would only start getting better if the person admit to themselves and others they have a problem and seek for professional help which unfortunately for Louis was a thing that didn't exist at the time. Thankfully Louis at the end of season 2 finally accepted himself so on season 3 we will see a completely new Louis and i don't think Lestat will be ready for that Louis 🤭. Tho I hope Louis is not automatically cured in season 3. I think he will still mess it up occasionally until he gets cured for real.

Anyway, i hope they revise this (and a few other things) in season 3 bc it seems that a lot of people still dont get it. There is a chance of them doing that bc depressed Lestat was also feeding out of rats just like Louis was and maybe they could touch on this when doing connections with Nicky depression. i think we will see a lot of connections related how Lestat dealt with Louis and Claudia bc of his relationship with Nicky and his family, particularly his mother. Since Daniel works like the public voice maybe he will be the one doing those connections especially now that Daniel is a vampire and knows more about how it works.

i do think loustat in the show are monogamous, however given the nature of the vampirism they still have to seduce their victims to feed so i can see them hooking up with the victims before killing them but that dont make them non-monogamous in my eyes bc that would involve them actually having feelings for others.

And no, i dont think Louis was in love with Armand (he was attracted at most. i will not go much in depth into their relationship bc i don't want loum*nd shippers annoying the shit out of me. the only thing i am gonna say is that their relationship was all about Lestat: it started bc of him, continued after Paris bc of him and ended bc of him) and Lestat with Antoinette (she was more like his therapist so he could vent about Louis and Claudia. if he had love her he would have told her she could had attached any human' finger to hers after he made her cut her finger. He only keep her 1st bc she was giving him the devotion Louis was refusing to, 2nd bc it still made Louis' jealous which casually he would show it and then bc he needed her to spy on Louis and Claudia. if you guys noticed Louis was quite undecided in going forward Claudia plan of killing Lestat, until he brought Antoinette. It was then (especially when petty Lestat call her "love") when he made up his mind. That was Lestat worst mistake that night bc he knew about their plan and was trying to make Louis not going through it but then does that 🤦)

louis and lestat wouldn’t even hesitate to walk out into the sun if the other ceased to exist and people think they would ever consider polyamory. it’s just not realistic. they invented monogamy and the soul being irrevocably tied to one other soul for eternity and beyond

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Wednesday

Hi everyone it's another Wednesday <3 I was tagged by the wonderful @ladytanithia @changelingsandothernonsense @lillxart @theoneandonlysemla

Tagging: @captain-of-silvenar @pocket-vvardvark @dirty-bosmer @bougainvillea-and-saltwater

@umbracirrus @firefly-factory @thequeenofthewinter @lucien-lachance @sanza-17 @hircines-hunter @scholarlyhermit @sulphuricgrin

Was hoping to post some more Vevora/Aicanatr stuff but unfortunately it just ain't working rn but! I was able to get some writing done on a wip that's been sitting around since November. Below is some of my Theomar love confession rewrite <3 Man down so bad he volunteered to go to Windhelm post-Civil War as an excuse to see her <3 <3 <3 Under cut for length, one slightly horny line, and she takes that mer drinking at the Cornerclub :P

There could not be a worse time for him to fall for her, become so entangled in wanting her that it made him desire to abandon his post. But if that were a doable feat, then the standards that made him feel that way would not be as strict as they are. Their deeply grim reality did not stop the love, admitting it to himself had been like a dam bursting; the drops of sustaining professional praise could not compete with the rapids of intimacy. Her hands on his face, letting him lie on her breasts and listen to the calming sound of her heartbeat, how her legs would pull him in closer until he was- Enough. There he went getting too far ahead and wrapped up in her yet again. The sigh heard from him sounds more of a stifled groan to which he gets a confused, yet intrigued look from the Imperial woman. He provides a quick cover up. 

“My apologies, it would seem I let myself get distracted by you again.” 

“Why Commander, you really must get better about that.” No. He had no intention of pushing her from his mind, it had already proven to be a losing battle. He prayed to be freed of her to now welcome the torment, retreating further into her. If had any power in the situation, he would absolutely not be in Windhelm right now, planning how to tell this Imperial soldier that he loved her. “I wouldn’t want you losing sight of things.”

“Oh, I think you would like it very much.” Finally, he remembers her question. “And yes, I did come all this way to see you. You ran through my mind constantly these past months, how could I not take advantage of the opportunity?” 

“I’ve missed you as well.” Controlling the elation he feels is difficult, uptick in his voice.  

“Is that so?”

“I did think about you on occasion.” When? Despite desperately wanting to know, he refrains, content to know she has noticed his absence. “It has been a few months, it is good to see you. Despite the circumstances…” Her words trail off a bit towards the end, the similar look from before only now she does see him. Staring up at him, her left eye twitched as though she would begin crying again.  

“You wouldn’t want to join me somewhere, would you?” Please he thinks. Please let me steal you from them, just a moment Theodora. Tapping her finger to her chin, she smirks at him. 

“Hmmm, I will but only if you join me somewhere first?” Oh What did she have in mind? He assumed she knew the city better than him, maybe there was somewhere else they could go…

“Tell me what do you have in mind?”

“Well, after the day I’ve had, I need a drink.” A quick glance at their surroundings before she taps his chest. “And I imagine you could use one as well.” 

“It would not hurt.” Anything you would like. That is what he wishes to say. Have his only concern making her happy and if there would be something other than mead available. But he has far more worries than that. 

“I cannot imagine the tavern will be a safe place for us.”

“No it would not be.” Confusing the Thalmor, she laughs. “Do you think so lowly of me to think I’d go there?”

“Where do you drink then, Theodora?” 

Regret is not what he feels, sitting at a table that is continuously blasted with cold air as the patrons of this Cornerclub, as it were, shuffle in and out. Offhandedly he wonders if they were passing by him purposely, seeking out more chances to lour at him in the way only Dunmer could. The scowls form the Nords, the shifted glances half outside his vision, those were all too easy to interpret: Damn elf. Uninspired. But the Dunmer, oh the Dunmer could hate with such sincerity that as the few who uttered something in addition to their glares, they did not need to say it in the common tongue. The Dunmeris meaning of the word unknown, their tone alone conveys the intent of an insult. It’s not important for him to know exactly how he is being insulted, though he could harbour a guess or two, simply saying it for their own satisfaction. It was somewhat impressive, in a peculiar way, but nonetheless, Ondolemar is slightly impressed. Perhaps he was just glad to be in the company of mer, regardless of what type of mer they are. Yet what does rouse further intrigue in him, however, is the decidedly lack of similar treatment Theodora receives. 

Ordering in their language and going relatively unnoticed as she returns to him, two strange jars that resemble nothing he had seen before, he comments on it. Not completely surprised as why would she frequent an establishment she was not welcomed in, this is still strangely welcoming. 

“You’re well liked here.” The woman places one jar in from of him before chuckling at his notion. Lovely to hear her laugh again after the pain that marked her face when they first spoke. 

“I wouldn't go that far, Commander.”

“You wouldn’t?” 

“I wouldn’t.” She opens the jar and takes a mouthful. “But speaking Dunmeris, having lived in Morrowind even if only for a few months, it does help. Still an Imperial bastard but I don’t have to pretend to be interested in mead and a poor rendition of the Dragonborn Comes at Candlehearth Hall.” Cyrodiil natives prided themselves on being cosmopolitan but Theodora was a true example of that. 

“Clearly you get along with many different kinds of people.”

“Clearly.” She rolls her eyes. He himself is the most damning evidence after all, but it is humorous her assessment of her person. 

“Well, I suppose Imperial bastard is correct in the most literal sense.”

“I prefer the term love child I’ll have you know.”

"Equally true, from what you have told me." He takes the lid off the concoction in front of him. “What would I be?”

“I suppose you could go ask, I bet Ambarys would be willing to tell you to your face.” Directing his attention to the barkeep with her eyes, the Altmer instead chooses to remain with the reason he’s here at all. Less interested in what he thought of her choice in company and more in enjoying what he came all this way for; her. 

“I believe my imagination will suffice.”

[eclipseberrycake]

Shutout (Twisted! Glisten x Reader)

An: I'm pretty sure it's the same person requesting the Glisten things, and you know what? I love that for you, marketable plush anon. I LOVE Glisten so much but not very many people seem to want him to love them back :( So you me anon, we're changing the Dandy's world x Reader tag piece by piece.

This was a request!

They asked would would've happened if Reader hadn't made it to the elevator, and that's such a fun idea?

-> Part One

Warnings: Depictions of being turned into a twisted, Ichor being used as blood, unhealthy mindsets.

Writer does not condone the relationship depicted by Twisted! Glisten. It is written as unhealthy and dependent for a reason. Take it with a grain of salt. If this is triggering to you, please Do Not Read.

☁ It wasn't you're finest moment when your foot caught the capsule, sending you to the ground, but it's even worse when you realize it has seen you and is coming right at you.

☁ The ground came at you hard and fast, too fast for you to do anything but brace yourself. It's footsteps were much closer now, which became clearer when the room stopped spinning.

☁ You scramble to get up, tears already bulbing in your eyes as you stagger, your hip crying out in pain at the sudden bruise inflicted upon it. Glancing over your shoulder, you screech at how close it now is, moving much quicker as if to make up for the precious seconds lost.

☁ It makes no difference when put up against it's speed though, and you know it.

☁ The elevator is just in reach though, and a foolish, hopeful part of your brain convinces that you could make it. Just as your foot brushes the lip of the elevator, you're quickly reminded that hope has no place down here.

☁ It's fingers curl around your scruff and yank, making you stumble back with hands outstretched, just as Brightney reached for your own hand. Your fingers brush and Goob is just the second too late when the Elevator slams shut and you're left in the desolate room with it.

☁ It acts like it had gotten some big prize. It's garbled words cheer happily as it's other hand wraps around you, it's sharp edges pricking your flesh every single move of it's head.

☁ It makes your break waver and shudder as you try not to think about what's going to happen to you. You're going to turn into a twisted. There's no question about it. But you've never heard of anyone being turned by Glisten's Twisted.

☁ Would it toy with you like Bobette's twisted did? Would it make it quick, but no less painful, like Pebbles? Maybe it would be like Scraps or Goob's twisted, that let you think they lost focus before striking from a distance.

☁ You just hoped it was quick.

☁ Your heart stops and sinks for a moment. Speaking of, Glisten. He'd be heartbroken. He was adamant on you waiting until he was healed to go on this run, but your ability was needed. You promised you'd come back.

☁ Standing here, you prayed he'd forgive you some day.

☁ On the other hand, he was ecstatic. He had you in his hands. You had tried to get away. You had put up such a fight, but he was sure it was just because you were scared!

☁ That was it! You had to be so scared of his new form! He knew it was scary himself, especially since he couldn't go find his shattered pieces right now, but you'd grow to love it in time! He knows you would!

☁ Better yet, you could join him! You and him for all of this blasted eternity. He wouldn't let you go back to his regular form.

☁ Why would he do that. That would be foolish. Not when he has something he knows the other version of him would do anything to get back.

☁ While twisted didn't understand feelings, to a degree, he knew that if nothing else, keeping you with him would hurt the other version. And that's truly what he wanted.

☁ He never wanted you to leave. You were his, his, his. And he would make sure you knew it.

☁ Clawed fingers ran up your side before digging into the flesh of your hips, making you cry out as the first drops of infected ichor drilled itself into your bloodline. You shake and cry out, elbow immediately flying back out of instinct alone.

☁ It cracks the largest remaining shard and makes it reel back, giving you the opportunity to take off. You don't have anywhere to run, not really, especially not with the elevator shut down like it is, but perhaps there were supports left laying around that your team hadn't picked up. Anything to give you the upper hand, even as you struggle to ignore the ache in your side.

☁ It lets out a screech behind you, immediately taking off in the same direction you did. You sob pathetically at it, taking a harsh turn and hiding behind a metal shelf that had toppled over. You pray to anything and everything that its enough to throw it off your trail.

☁ It works as you watch the twisted run right past you, and you have to clap a hand over your mouth to muffle the cries that threaten to break free. You have no time to cry.

☁ You need to plan. Find a way to survive until a rescue group comes to find you.

☁...They would come. You tell yourself. they had to, right?

☁ Shaking your head free of doubt, you wipe your tears and carefully begin your search, picking up tapes and ornaments as you go. They have no use for you now other than useful ammo for you to throw somewhere else and throw it off your trail.

☁ There wasn't anything much really, aside from a few gumballs you were chewing on mindlessly and a can of pop you were keeping for and emergency. It makes you huff from your hiding place under a table. It wasn't the best, but it was all you could do without making a mass amount of noises.

☁ You can still hear it's steps. It had picked up it's shattered pieces by now, but ichor tears are still dripping down it's cheeks as it wanders, groans begging for your attention.

☁ The infected ichor in your system almost yearns to go to it, just for some semblance of security.

☁ But you don't want that. You Don't.

☁ Your head leans onto your knees as your eyes nearly close every time you think you have a moment of peace. You lost track of the time long ago, the slow realization that there was no one coming for you settling in.

☁ It makes your chest ache as you try not to dwell on it. Did they tell Glisten yet? You wonder how he reacted.

☁ (Somewhere back in the lobby there's a crash with screams of anger, a slighted mirror making his war path bloody and known. He demands to go back down, regardless of his own injuries, and demands to retrieve his jewel. He demands vengence for a wrong done, even if it was by no fault of the other toons. He's livid, spitting insults to those who weren't fast enough. To the distractor who didn't ensure everyone was in the elevator. To anyone close enough to be a part of his meltdown. He's had to be stopped three times from going by himself, making the situation worse. He's hurting and angry, and making sure everyone knows it.)

☁ You only doze off for a second, you swear, when a hand claps around your ankle and pulls. You try and grab out for anything to stop this, knuckles banging against the large center leg of the table before you wrap your arms around it. You hold on for dear life, and as the claws dig into your ankle and more infected ichor sinks into your bloodstream. It burns as it does, and you can feel every single inch of your bloodstream sizzle as it happens. You cry out at both the feeling and being pulled again.

☁ Your grip slips for mere second, but that's all it takes as your suddenly assaulted by the fluorescent lights.

☁ He happily babbles at the sight of you. He had found you! He should've known you were tired! He's never been a regular toon, but he knows that they need things like food, water and sleep. You were like a pet!

☁ He hadn't gotten his claws on you long enough to fully transform you, but seeing the black veins crawling up your neck gives him hope that your close!

☁ It makes his innards churn with excitement as he catches your flailing limbs, watching as your chest heaves and your cheeks sheen with tears. You'd be so pretty on the other side. He knows it.

☁ And soon you will too. He grins, or tries too, with his claws pricking into your forearms. His own infected ichor quickly streams into the open wounds and you cry out as your body quivers and shakes.

☁ He steps back if only to bask in his own work, watching in glee as your roll onto your stomach. Your eyes bleed into a shiny crimson as Ichor drips down your cheeks, your feet trailing it as you stumble to your feet.

☁ You're a glorious sight to behold and his lack of heart positively thrums as he pulls you close again.

☁ You moan, in agony or desperation, he's unsure, but he gives you his attention nonetheless.

☁ You'd follow him from this point on, he'd ensure it.

☁ And he'd make damn sure his other half knew it too, grinning at the sounds of the elevator dinging behind him.

[wowzees]

no matter what

lando norris x reader

y/n is not used!

a/n: this is a short story from uni- i have to make a collection of them

the one i posted earlier was also one, but these have not recived feedback from my professer or have been majorly edited. enjoy!

High school felt like the longest four years of my life. Days blurred into each other, routines became a way of life, and I thought I had everything figured out. I was one of those kids who had his group of friends, the sport he played, and the classes he took, all laid out in a neat, predictable order. Nothing ever really changed.

And then, there was her.

She’d been there from the start. The girl who wasn’t just a friend,she was something more, though I never said it out loud. We’d grown up together, laughed at the same inside jokes, gotten in trouble for the same stupid things. She knew me better than anyone else, maybe even better than I knew myself. She was the one I could count on for anything. She was the one who could make me laugh on days when nothing felt right. When life got heavy, when there was uncertainty about my future, she was the one I turned to. And I thought that would never change. Or maybe I didn’t think about it at all. Why would I need to? She was always there, like a constant in my life, something I could rely on. But looking back, I see the warning signs. Small things that I chose not to notice. 

At first, it was little things— how she stopped coming to my house after school everyday. How she stopped calling me for big milestones. It’s easy to ignore changes like that. Until they hit you all at once. And then, it was too late.

Without her presence, I started hanging out with the kids from my soccer team more, and more. I told them about all my problems with her. Their solution? They wanted me to prank her. I wanted to fit in. So, I agreed.

Maybe I was too busy with soccer, or maybe I just took her for granted. But somewhere along the way, I stopped seeing her the way I always had. I saw how my actions hurt her. But, somewhere along the way i stopped seeing that. I stopped seeing how my actions hurt her.

But I didn’t think much about it at the time. After all, things had always worked themselves out between us, right? I guess I never thought I’d lose her, guess I thought that she’d always be there.

How wrong I was.

And seeing her now after graduation, getting ready to go to college and saying goodbye to friends for one last time, I can't help but remember a time when things were so much simpler.

Age, 7. Grade, 2

“Lan, wait up” she yelled, peddling her feet. I slowed my bike down and turned to face her. 

“Hurry up! You're being slow.” she peddled faster. Too fast. I watched in slow motion as she rides over a rock, flies through the air as if it’s molasses, then falls in what seems the same way a feather falls through the air. Then promptly crashes into a trashcan, scattering trash all around and on top of her. 

I quickly stopped my bike and ran to her. She was sitting there, covered in trash from the trash can, pouting. As I stood over her, and saw her covered in trash, I almost laughed. “Stop! It’s really not funny” she sniffled, though she now seemed a little happier. 

“I've bin waiting for this to happen” I joke, hoping to make her laugh.

“It's really not that funny” she snorts while giggling.

 “Yeah, well you’re still laughing” I argue. As she struggles to her feet, I realize I should probably help her. As I move to put her arm around my shoulder, she shoves me off. 

“I don't need your help, butthead” she says, crossing her arms and stares at me with her lips pursed. 

“Sorry, man, chill.” I say, not really understanding why she didn't want help. 

“I got worse when I first started playing volleyball, it's just a little scrape on my knee. It’ll heal” 

"Ok "I mumbled, feeling a little stupid.

As we walked home, we talked about silly things, like how funny she looked covered in trash, or about the people we didn't like at school. Before we parted ways, she threw her arms around me and pressed a quick, fleeting kiss that was gone as soon as it started to my cheek. “Bye Lando! I'll see you tomorrow at school!” she said over her shoulder as she ran home.

“Bye” I yell, after she had already disappeared into the house, my cheeks still red.

She had always been brave in her own way. Whether it was running into a trash can then getting back up with a skinned knee and no tears, or hiding her fears behind that stubborn smile of hers, she never changed. She was always the same, brave girl I had known since I was a kid. I wish I had known then how much that bravery would change the course of our friendship.

Age, 12  Grade 7.

The ferris wheel creaked more and more the higher up it went, carrying us higher, and higher into the night sky. Below we could see the rest of the fair, all the people enjoying themselves just like we are.

Her posture was slumped, and she was practically shaking on the little metal bench that lines the side of the carriage.

“Are you scared?” I ask. This wasn't a very normal occurrence, and I was honestly a little surprised. 

“What? Me? No! Of course not. I don't get scared” she responded, her voice shaky, and honestly not very convincing. 

“Hey, it's okay if you are scared. We all have things we are scared of; it doesn't make you weak.” I say in a soft tone, understanding when to tease and when to be comforting. 

“I'm not scared.”

“Yeah? Good, me neither. Honestly, it's really nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah. It’s really nice being up here.”

“I guess it is pretty nice.”

“It's really pretty,” I say with a sigh.

“It is,” she responds with an airy voice.

Little did I know that while I was staring at the sky, she was looking at me.

Ever since that night on the ferris wheel, I had developed a liking for stars. She learned more about stars for me, though I didn't know that then. I thought it was just a coincidence, not something carefully planned. Ever since then, we would spend nights under the stars together, gazing upwards.

Age, 15. Grade 9.

“And that one’s named Altair” she said, pointing up at the brightest star in the sky.

“How do you know this?” I ask while chuckling.

“I learned it when I was in 8th grade for my science fair project. I won.”

“I know, you’ve only told me like a million times.”

“I have not!”

“Uh, yes you have.”

“Excuse yo- wow, it's like, really cold.”

“Here,” I say, shrugging my sweatshirt off. “Take it.”

“No, it's fine really. I don't need it, I’m fine.”

“If you don't take it, I’m actually gonna go insane!”

“Fine” she huffed, sticking her tongue out at me. “Thank you.” she mumbled.

“You're welcome.”

“Lando?”

“Yeah?”

“We'll always be best friends, right?”

“Of course we will. No matter what.”

“No matter what.”

Back then, No matter what seemed like an easy promise to keep. Before our future became closer and closer, before I found out she would be going to Yale. No matter what seemed like an easy promise to keep under the soft lighting of the stars, but under the fluorescent lights in the highschool hallways, and the pressure from the guys, the promise broke apart. 

“Hey Lan!” she exclaims, coming up to me “Hey,” I respond. “Where are your glasses?” I ask. She has always loved her glasses. She always said it gave her more personality, though I disagree. She has plenty of personality already. 

“Oh, I just switched to contacts for volleyball! It's too impractical to have to play without being able to see, ya know? Do you like them?” I actually think that she looks stunning with or without glasses, but since my friends from the soccer team are with me, I just say 

“ I dunno man, it kinda makes your eyes look too close together.” I feel absolutely terrible as I practically see her deflate. Her normally radiant smile disappears, her shoulders begin to tremble, and her eyes go glassy. At first, she didn't say anything. I could practically see her brain thinking of ways to respond. She was trying to act relaxed about it, but I knew her well. She doesn't do relaxed about these types of things.

 I hear the boys snickering from behind me, making stupid comments about how “he is so right” and “how can she not see that herself?” and “why does she talk so much?”. I'm actually about to turn around and tell them to shut up, and that I am the only one allowed to tease her like that, but before I can, she says something.

“Oh. Well, uh, I should be going to class. I'll see you later, Lando,” she mumbles. Her normally confident posture seemed impossibly timid and shy. Her posture didn't say ‘see you later’.  It said ‘leave me alone’.

While she walked down the hallway, the only thing I could focus on was the fact that she didn't call me Lan .

The next few days, I tried finding her, though she kept on avoiding me. Finally, I found her sitting outside at the tables, eating her lunch alone.

“Hey” I greet softly, sitting down at the table outside. 

“What do you want?” she responded, her tone sharp. She was wearing her glasses again.

“I wanted to apologize for what I said on Tuesday.” I say, barely audible.

“If you're going to say something, say it louder.”

“I wanted to apologize for what I said.” 

“Do you? Do you really? Or is this just another sick prank you and your friends are playing on me, huh? I stood there and took it in tenth grade, when you made fun of my brother, who, by the way looks up to you, in the cafeteria. I stood there and took it in eleventh grade when you texted everyone from my phone things that I would never, ever say about someone and especially TO someone, posted things on instagram that I would NEVER post, and then humiliated me by making me think that you were seriously hurt, then jump up and say “it's a prank” after i started crying? I even stood there and took it when you told me that my eyes were too close together! The one thing you know I'm insecure about, and you make fun of it? You’ve changed Lando! You and your stupid friends have made high school horrible for me! And even though you've been rude, and you've been mean, and you've in general been a nightmare to be around, I'm still in love with you, and I have been for the last 10 years! And I'm done with this! I will not, will not sit here and let you bully me because I’m your ‘best friend’! I stayed your friend because I thought you would notice me! I thought you would realize, but you didn't! And I’m done waiting, okay? I’m done. Bye, Lando.”

By now, she was crying. Before I could respond to her and apologize, I hear laughing and jeering coming from behind me. I turn around and march over to where the boys are standing. They chuckle upon seeing me, and I absolutely lose it.

“Are you guys actually stupid? You made me lose the most important thing in my life, because you ‘thought it would be funny’? She is worth more than you guys will ever be. She was a better friend, a better athlete, but most importantly, a better person than you guys! I’m done with y’all.” 

I turn back to where she was standing, but she's not there anymore.

The next few days, I look for her. I see her a couple of times, but she always manages to avoid me. 

One night, as I’m packing for college, I hear someone knocking on the front door.

I run down the stairs, thinking it’s the pizza I ordered for me and my sister, but it’s not. It’s her.

“Uhm, I just wanted to return this.” she says, handing me my sweatshirt that i gave to her 3 years ago. “I just thought I should return it before I leave for Yale.”

“When do you leave?” I ask, fearing the answer.

“Tomorrow.” 

The second I hear that word, my world stops. I hazily thank her for bringing the sweatshirt back, then slam the door. I vaguely remember stumbling up the stairs, and sitting down on my bed, my mind running a thousand miles a minute.

 I’m going to have to live without the person who was there for me at every problem, at every bad game, at every milestone in my life, and I lost her because of my own mistakes. I lost her because I let those stupid kids influence my decisions. I lost her because I didn't know how to communicate my feelings. And now, I’ll never get her back.

I was right. I never got her back. And deep down inside, I knew I was never going to get her back. I knew this when I met Emma. I knew this when I proposed to Emma. I knew this when I invited her to our wedding. But that truly, did not prepare me for when I saw her.

“And do you, Lando Norris, take Emma Sand to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish till death do you part? ” asked the priest, his voice echoing through the church that held all of our friends and loved ones. 

“ I do.” 

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I see her, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. After years of knowing her,  I could almost hear her thinking ‘that should have been me.’

And I feel horrible and disgusting and gross thinking this on my wedding day, but I'm inclined to agree. It should have been her. And it would have been, if not for my own stupidity.

And seeing her, brought me right back to all those years ago. And made me wonder; what happened to ‘no matter what.’

[theshadowsingersraven]

Just some POV to support OP: I don't think anyone here would doubt that I love Azriel. And I absolutely did this in my own writing.

Loving a character doesn't just mean blindly wanting surface good things for them. It can also mean wanting them to face the music for their actions and becoming better for it. This is how I handled Azriel rightfully feeling shame for how he treated Lucien:

Azriel deserved that. He knew he deserved that to the point where he felt an apology creeping up his throat. But his pride snatched hold of it before the traitorous words could leave his lips.

Lucien sighed. “Perhaps one day you can view me as Solara does—a friend. Not just a cage thrust upon Elain, demanding her compliance. I've never thought badly of you until now, Azriel.”

Friend.

Azriel was purposely hurting Solara’s friend, purposely choosing each word as if it were a torture instrument. As if he were no better than the witch she'd sacrificed so much to kill. And a part of him knew that, deep down even then. How disgusted would she be when she learned of the other aspects of his work? For how Azriel was speaking to her friend? Solara would be furious, so disappointed, and—

“I…” he found himself fumbling for words he had no desire to say, but everything in him screamed that he needed to say something. Needed to remedy the harm he caused, even if it was only for the spiteful words he'd just spewed. “I couldn't do what you do. If I were in your position…it would kill me. I do not know how you are not miserable.”

“I never said I wasn't. It doesn't particularly feel good to see your mate falling for a male who gets to be around her. Who she can actually tolerate. Not that you have to worry about that with your mate. You had the privilege of knowing her, being her friend first. You knew what her laugh sounded like and how she liked her coffee before you tasted her fear and panic. I was not so lucky.”

Azriel averted his gaze, keeping his mask of indifference in place despite the tempest of emotions whirling in his chest. The shadows hung off of him instead of curling up like normal. They were probably as exhausted from this day as he was.

As their gazes finally met again, Azriel didn't say anything—couldn't, really. It's not as though Lucien was wrong.

After a pause, the russet-haired male sighed. “I'm not going to lie to her for you, Azriel. That's all I'm saying.”

“Understood,” Azriel murmured, his nostrils flaring slightly, wings tucking in tighter.

Lucien turned on his heel and made his way toward the front door. Azriel watched him close his hand around the ornately carved knob, and then he found himself taking a slight step forward. Found himself saying despite his pride's protests, “I judged you sooner than what was wise. You…You are an honorable male. More honorable than me, I think. By a large margin.”

It wasn't an apology. The Mother knew he was too prideful to apologize, but this was something, at least. And though he doubted this was what his shadows had in mind when they told him about singing the truth, they seemed to perk up a little. Azriel also knew that it was a rather lackluster comment despite the fact that it was enough to give Lucien pause. He heard the slightest sigh come from Lucien, and he looked over his shoulder back at him.

As he pulled the door open, the emissary said, “Well, I believe that is perhaps the one thing we agree on. Farewell, Azriel.”

Azriel’s hands flexed at his side. He deserved that, too, really. Deserved every word from Lucien's mouth, and deserved worse, probably. But he had to keep trying—had to do better. Be better. Even if it was just so he could stand next to his mate and not feel like he was so undeserving of her and the fire she embodied. The fire that seemed to warm and melt every frigid layer of ice he put around himself. And if Azriel wanted any of this to go well, he needed to at least feel like the male Solara would finally find underneath all those protective, icy walls was more than his scars, his anger, and his bitter jealousy. Azriel wanted the male underneath it all to be worthy, no matter what it took.

I really want Azriel to know and feel for himself the depth of the mating bond, so that he feels shame, true shame, for what he did to Lucien.

[therookerydatv]

This is a non-Veilguard post but it is a Solas post and a Varric post so buckle in.

Background: I joined a Veilguard Discord server because I'm insane, and we were discussing Cole and the whole choice to make him a Spirit or more Human, and it almost got into an argument but thankfully it figured quickly, but I was still thinking about it because something about it all rubbed me the wrong way. A lot of people lamented their choice in making Cole more Human or cheered that making Cole more Spirit was the correct choice because of Solas' own regrets and pains that came about from him gaining a mortal body.

Subjectively I have always chosen to make him more human, but I guess me choosing as a player is different from within the context of Inquisition. In DA:I every choice you make has consequences, sometimes trying to backpedal out of a choice once you're far enough in will result in you not getting your way because that's what it all is, Choices and Consequences. As much as the result of Cole's change is on you the player, it's really a Consequence of your favoring Varric or Solas' method.

Solas' entire view of Cole's predicament is colored by his own negative experience of having a body and living in the physical world, waking up to a physical world where the Veil was created just amplifies that regret in pain, every instance of him trying to help with his Wisdom becomes something worse to him personally (All that Wisdom and he can't help himself) but with Cole he actually can help! He can fix this, with not only Wisdom but experience! He's become a person, he doesn't like being a person(and then he does because of the Inquisitor, I feel this is true romance or friendship), so Solas knows that Cole can 'return'(made) more Spirit and the confliction will end.

Varrics positions, his view, I feel is colored by the people he couldn't help, the ones he couldn't help get their revenge or solve their problem in time in a way where no one could get hurt (Cole literally reminds him of Anders just in reverse) And this time, Varric knows better, he knows how to fix this, he knows how to not blow up the Chantry, he can fix it this time. (This time the love will be enough!!)

Objectively, both are answers, I don't think either of them are right, because it's one influence over the other, but a choice has to be made otherwise he'd become a demon.

Solas and Varric are having their idealogical battle(custody battle) over which direction Cole needs to go in to avoid binding or demonhood(which college to send him to). The added layer VG adds to this and every banter Solas and Varric have is also fascinating, because outwardly it's an Elf and a funny Dwarf fighting over the tall awkward Human child, but after VG??? After those regrets??? Girl...

But I feel that reducing that scene to Solavellan at times is... disingenuous, when really, it's a Solvarric scene of we're being objective.

This is THE custody battle of all time. (My weed kicked in bear with me)

Solas' version of his world doesn't exist anymore, the world with no Veil and spirits essentially pillaging the bodies of the Titans to gain bodies doesn't exist anymore, the first victims of what the Elvhen did calls him Chuckles, a demonym in true friendly jest to him, it's the first thing Varric calls him when he reaches out to talk to him at the beginning of Veilguard, up until that point he calls him Solas, the Dread Wolf, Fen'Harel.

Varric is a result of years of time happening to the version of the World Solas brought about. Its...it's like God is talking to a creation of his that has every right to hate him, to want to desire to go back before all the bad shit, and instead Varric says, okay, get the anger out, how do you feel now? Empty? That's okay too, take your time.

Solas is a weary traveler ready to end it all and Varric is the equally weary traveler who says, tell me about it, and then talks your ear off so much you start believing in the world again.

Basically, Varric's method is to embrace the history and the scars, embrace the hurt and once it's done, get something to eat. Varric forgives but doesn't forget, his plan has Cole let go of his anger in the end, but Cole will remember the hurt he felt, and inflicted and so will the people he inflicted them on.

[sunkissedliterarylightofchrist]

what do you think about using people’s preferred pronouns?

Here's what Scripture says.

There are two genders, man and woman. Period. You cannot change your sexuality. You weren’t born the wrong way. God created you exactly as He intended you to be. Rejecting that is rejecting Him. Saying He was wrong. And that’s a sin- pride. But then that pride leads to more sin of the sexual kind, which in turn leads to your entire lifestyle being sinful.

Sidenote: This kind of sin is literally no better or worse than other sin, to be clear. I really think it’s distasteful how so much of ‘Christian’ culture just slam dunks on LGBTQIA more so than other sin. Is it bad and should be called out? 100%! But that doesn’t make it worse than other sin. Having an idol is just as sinful. Being an addict to a substance is just as sinful. Having uncontrollable wrath is just as sinful. Having straight lust is just as sinful. I could go on. Basically what I’m saying here is that being queer shouldn’t be put into a separate box that gets extra hate from Christians because it’s ‘other’. Because THAT is ALSO sin. Christians who use the queer community as a punching bag and going after them with the Bible as an excuse are sinning just as much and are just as wrong about this.

So. That is all 100% Scripture. Up to this point, all Christians who believe in Gods Word should agree with this. But this next part is more of a gray area, and is now my personal conviction when it comes to this.

Whenever I'm talking to someone who identifies as queer and wants to be refered to pronouns that are not their biological ones casually, I try to use their name as much as possible. If I'm talking to someone who believes that they are a woman when they are in fact a man, if I say what they're doing is okay by calling them a girl, I think that is Not Great. Using a name feels different to me. So when talking to people as strangers or acquaintances, who I don't know very well, or at all, I'll use whatever name they call themself.

I think that some pronouns are utterly ridiculous to be blunt. I’m not going to refer to someone as an animal or fairy or other neo pronouns that are ridiculous. That is just TOTALLY wild to want to be referred to as not even human and I won’t refer to someone like that. That's where I draw the line. But also to be fair, I do not believe I have ever interacted with someone IRL who wants to be treated in that manner, so I am not as clear on that.

BUT- here's where I think some Christians might get upset with me.

At the end of the day I think it is better to use these pronouns, even if they are wrong, than to alienate these people.

Hear me out.

I know a handful of people who identify under the LGBTQIA banner- acquaintances who I interact with regularly, or even actual good personal friends who I love and respect for who they are and who love and respect me for who I am. Some are gay. Some are trans. Some are non-binary. Etc. All of them are very aware of my faith. And I am very aware of their beliefs. And in conversation with them or about them, I do sometimes refer to them by the prounouns they prefer. And because I have done this, it has directly impacted our relationship to where they respect me and like me for who I am, and because of that get to see the light of Christ in my life, rather than just looking at my faith, thinking 'She belongs to this group of people that openly that hates me and people like me' (whether or not that's true, that's what society believes about Christians unfortunately) and then not engaging with me.

Because the way they see it, their queerness is their identity. And if you directly (from their POV) hurt and disrespect and attack that by refusing to call them a 'they' rather than a 'her', then they won't listen to anything you have to say.

See, the thing about spreading the Gospel and preaching to the nations, from my experience, is that you first have to connect with someone on a personal level before you show them why they connected with you and what is different about you- Jesus. Yeah, there is street evangelism, but in my experience that only ever works if God has been working on their hearts already before someone stops them on the street to chat about Christ. It truly and utterly working to give someone a real and total conversion experience that sticks right in the moment is kinda rare. I certianly don't believe all the videos Christian influencers make on it. Otherwise its an emotional hit deal. Or it just alienates them further from Christians being so forceful on them. And so I think that if I can take the steps to connect with someone who is queer as a person first, by treating them in the way that they believe respect works, then its going to be a lot easier and nautral for me to introduce the subject of Jesus' death on the cross for our sins. They like me and respect me, so they'll listen to what I have to say when they see that it is important to me. Because that's how friendship works.

OR, this has 100% happened before multiple times, THEY have brought up the topic of sexuality and pronouns FIRST, before we've talked about anything beyond our favorite ship or the coffee we both order each time we go to this one special place. MULTIPLE TIMES, they've broached the topic of "Every Christian I have ever talked to before in my entire life has treated me with disrespect and refused to call me the way I want to be called. You are the first kind and respectful Christian to queer people I have ever met. Even though I know you disagree with what my sex is. You're still nice. Why?" And then from there I get to talk about what the Bible actually teaches and what God's rescue plan for us actually is and what it all means.

See what I'm going for here? On the one hand, affirming gender identity isn't ideal, but on the other, it is what can allow you to show them what the Gospel actually is. And that a lot of 'Christians' aren't Christian. And they are totally right that some people use it as an excuse to be hateful. 'Christian' parents who reject their gay children and cut them out of their lives are 100% wrong and sinning and WILL be condemmed for it. They are right about that. So by doing what I do, by refering to them in the way they see as respectful in certain cases, I've made connections, and planted seeds, and gotten them to understand why I believe what I believe. I've done what Christ has called me to do- preached the Gospel. Now it's up to Him and the person in question to do with that information what they will.

Now could I be wrong about this? 100%. I don’t know everything. But I have arrived at this conclusion not because it sounds good or is the easiest option, but through close examination of the Word, and through where I truly do believe that the Spirit has lead me in prayer. If someone who is spiritually mature with good moral standing who I respect wants to correct me, then by all means do so and I will listen and think about it, just like I would and have before with any other issue. But until then, this is my conviction.

[livefromthedas]

Surviving Purely Out Of Spite

By ClickClickBoom

(Also here on AAO3.)

Chapter 8: Making it Weird in Rivain and Talons in Treviso

“Lucanis, duck!” Shouted Taash.

The battlefield ran red, buzzing with a swarm of furious Deep Stalkers, but the assassin, as ever, was incredibly fast on his feet. Lucanis dropped back within seconds of an enormous chunk of granite whizzing by his right ear. It immediately lodged into the skull of another rampaging beast.

“Nice one, Taash!” Dellamorte hollered with a fierce grin.

“Pack leader on your left!” Yelled Rook over the din.

Spite’s wings erupted from Lucanis’s back and he launched skyward at an impossible speed. Within seconds he had landed on the muscle-bound beast, a dagger lodged into its skull. Even dying, the furious creature lurched and bucked, desperate to get free of its attacker. Lucanis hung on like a champ, and a second dagger to the eye sent the beast clamoring to the sand in a heap.

Rook fried a trio of the creatures in succession with bombastic bolts of lightening. They too crumpled to the sand, sizzling with smoke.

Seconds later, Taash gored the final two beasts with their gleaming golden axes, one in the head, the other splayed fully across the gut.

The battlefield had fallen silent. Rook and Lucanis both wavered where they stood, panting from exertion and sweating buckets beneath the scorching Rivaini sun. They’d been traipsing around the coast since well before sunrise, and at barely past 9, the day was already becoming a scorcher.

“How on Maferath’s left nut does anyone manage to run into a horde of deepstalkers within twenty minutes of chasing off a dragon?” Rook joked between pants. They had barely caught their breath after helping a couple of Isabela’s Lords of Fortune flush a lightning-belching Northern Hunter from one of their more frequently traversed caves when an ambush of three Deepstalkers quickly became many times the problem, “I am really starting to think one of us is cursed.”

“…Was that a demon joke?” Lucanis deadpanned, “That was a demon joke.”

Rook quirked an eyebrow and snickered, “Good? Bad?”

“Workshop it.”

“Uuugh,” Taash complained. Their Qunari friend waded through nearly two dozen bodies to retrieve a sword, “is it just me, or have these damn things gotten juicier lately?”

It was a fair question, given the state of them all. The beach was riddled with deepstalker corpses and soaked through with blood. Taash, Rook and Lucanis hadn’t faired much better - Rook was quite sure blood had soaked through every layer of clothing she had on… it was deeply unpleasant.

“It’s the numbers,” Lucanis assessed, trying and failing to wipe a dagger clean on his thigh - his pants were just as bloody as the blade, “You cut open anything in numbers greater than three, you are going to have one hell of a mess.”

“Well, it’s gross. This is gross,” Taash grumbled.

“Death is gross,” Rook noted. She squint against the sweat in her eyes, “But, I mean, aren’t dragons super bloody to kill? I’d think you’d be used to this kind of mess.”

“Yeah, but it makes sense in an animal that big,” said Taash.

Lucanis had given up on his daggers and worked to peel off sticky, sodden gloves instead, “Universal rule - Generally speaking, most bodies are the same. All are basically just bags of water and farts.”

An unseemly snort escaped Rook - a sign of success, judging by the Crow’s grin.

Taash, meanwhile, balked, “Aaugh! That’s worse! You just made it worse!”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Oh my god, seriously though?” Rook’s attention was quickly pulled to the fact that her hair - waist length and curly as it was - was also matted with blood. She could feel it sticking to her back through her clothes, “I don’t think I can make it all the way back to the Lighthouse like this.”

“See?” Taash insisted to Lucanis, jabbing a finger at Rook, “Exactly!”

The assassin looked unphased.

“In which case,” Rook pressed, “Two questions. One, is that river nearby decent freshwater?”

Taash shrugged, “Technically, they all should be. They’re all coming in from the mountains.”

“Good, then two,” Rook bumbled a bit, trying to pull a boot from her foot a sickening squelch, “Think you can handle a couple of naked human asses while we try and get some of this mess washed off?”

Taash laughed, “Yeah, whatever. Doesn’t bother me any.”

It was a surprisingly time-consuming affair. Every scrap of clothing, and every weapon (which, by Rook’s count, hit nearly 15 between Taash and Lucanis alone. So many knives!) had to be soaked or scrubbed through.

An hour later, accoutrements of all sorts were splayed across granite boulders, baking beneath the sun. Taash ducked back beneath the roaring waterfall just up the way, making sure they were free of any more errant bits of deepstalker.

Rook, meanwhile, sat chest-deep in the river’s frigid crystal waters. She leaned back, thoroughly relaxed, as Lucanis helped gingerly work the carnage from her hair.

“You nearly took an entire deepstalker home with you,” he teased.

“Can’t have that,” said Rook, cracking one eye open against the sun to watch the Crow’s endearing concentration over the task, “Between Assan, Manfred and Spite, I’m pretty sure we’re full up on chaotic tag-alongs.”

Lucanis’s eyebrows rose humorously, “No doubt… Ah,” he managed to detangle one last fleshy bit of something, before nodding, “There. About as good as we’re getting without a decent soap.”

Rook dunked back beneath the chilly currents, quick to re-emerge with a sputter, “Shit this is cold!”

Lucanis, meanwhile, float back to submerge up to his collarbone and was eyeballing her with a chuckle.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he teased.

“I’ve got that whole ‘kinda looks like a drowning rat’ thing going on, don’t I?” Rook joked knowingly.

Her curls had run straight under the water’s weight, and a usually full, bold head of hair ran lank and incredibly long. She was familiar with the effect - it always looked absurd.

The Crow threw up two hands in a mock defense, “Your words, not mine.”

“Uh-huh.”

Lucanis quickly found himself dodging splashes and trying to catch the hands that launched them his way, cracking up the whole while.

“Heeeyy,” they only calmed down when Taash’s voice sounded from closer nearby, “You two leaving enough room for the Maker over there?”

“Oh, I have not heard that one in a long while,” the assassin laughed.

“How we doing with the drying?” Rook asked.

Taash had waded over to everyone’s gear, giving their own tunic a good shake, “Eh. I think half of Lucanis’s leather’s gonna need overnight and some conditioning. The rest? Wet, but good enough.”

“Good enough means lunch soon. And I am starving,” Lucanis replied.

Rook was already making her way for their gear… smartly out of reach of the Crow before turning back to tease, “Yeah, vehnan. Come on out, let’s see just how cold that water really is.”

“Making it weird,” warned Taash.

Lucanis, meanwhile, half-scolded, half chuckled, “Ohh-ho …Rook.”

He tore after the elf, grinning after her ridiculous squeal and laughter, just as Spite chimed in, “NICE one. Rook!”

———————-

They were still tracking drops of water onto the stone floor as they arrived home through the Vi’Revas. Rook suddenly found herself shivering. After hours boiling on the coast, the Lighthouse’s cool underbelly felt frigid.

“Chioccolata Calda?” Lucanis offered at the sound of Rook’s chattering teeth.

“Oh yes please.”

Boots squelched wetly the entire way up the stairs.

“Did Rook take another surprise trip to the bottom of a lake?” Neve mused from her perch on the Library’s couch at her teammates’ soggy appearances.

Taash snickered, continuing their damp trek to the second floor.

“Oh, come on,” said Rook, “A gal falls into a lake once—“

“Thrice,” Lucanis correctly playfully, “We really do need to teach you how to swim.”

“If we could ever find the time,” Neve mused from over her quill and a fat stack of notes. She then looked up, adding seriously, “Your baby Crow is in the Dining Hall, Lucanis. Apparently, whatever news he has was too important to write down.”

Lucanis went shock-serious. He spared Rook a glance, before quickly making for the door.

———————

“Ser!”

Valentín scrambled to stand from a casual slump at the Dining Hall table the moment he realized just who, exactly, had entered the room. At just the right age where long legs and big ears hadn’t quite caught up with the rest of his growth, the teenager somehow looked even more reedy than usual. Quickly adding to that was the look of genuine nerves that seemed to have struck ramrod up his spine at being found slouching by one of the heads of his house.

“What do you have?” Lucanis bit coolly.

“Movement from the Talons,” said Valentín, “All of them. The staff… houses De Riva and Cantori… Treviso Crows only just found out this morning as they started to arrive.”

The boy blanched, looking a bit baffled as Rook walked right up to him. She had placed hands upon his cheeks and was giving him the hairy eyeball.

“Baby, you look exhausted,” she noted warmly, “How long have you been here?”

“I…” he squirmed, casting a cautious glance at Lucanis.

The senior Dellamorte sighed as he watched the little woman fuss over details that he had brushed past entirely. The knot in his brow unfurled a bit as he thought better of himself.

“Sit. There is nothing that need be said that cannot be done over food.”

Before long, a solid spread of meats, bread, cheeses and fruit sat before the boy, and he was quick to dive in. Rook beamed at the steaming mug of chocolate that Lucanis placed before her before taking a seat of his own with his coffee.

“According to Viago, the third Talon said he received an invitation weeks ago,” the boy continued unprompted, “It seems much the same for the others. And all sworn to secrecy about the meet. The Villa has been scrambling - Food, preparations. We’ve a dozen extra security from Teia and Viago alone… and for some reason, the entire staff has been forbidden from the east wing. Tia Alma has been furious.”

Lucanis managed a chuckle at that, for all of his pensiveness otherwise, and it was little wonder why. He had regaled Rook of more than a few stories of Tia Alma. The shrewd, matronly little woman had overseen the entire staff of Villa Dellamorte for as long as Lucanis could remember, and she was nothing if not incredibly skilled at ruling that particular roost when Caterina was busy with business as First Talon. She was also, apparently, an exceptional cook. The one area she and young Lucanis had bonded most over was food, and over the years she had taught the boy everything she knew on the subject.

“Illario and half truths are to be expected,” Lucanis noted, “Though I suspect Viago and Teia are less than pleased about discovering the inventions second-hand.”

“However mad Alma may be,” Valentín agreed sheepishly from past a healthy bite of ham, “They are much worse. Especially Teia.”

“Si,” Lucanis mused evenly, before cutting to the chase, “But you are burying the lead.”

“Aye, siento,” the boy winced and was quick to explain, “It’s bad, ser. Illario has everyone expected to gather in the Opera House by dusk. To discuss his succession as First Talon.”

Rook froze, mid-gulp, and watched over the lip of her mug as the color completely drained from Lucanis’s face. His temples twitched as he bit down hard, and she swore she caught a flash of violet light in his eyes. She carefully placed her cup back on the table. Valentín, meanwhile, kept his gaze fixed silently upon his food. Both Rook and the boy, it seemed, knew Lucanis quite well enough to gather when he was genuinely, deeply irate, but doing his damnedest to mask it.

“Forgive me,” he said quietly as he stood, “A moment.”

Rook and Valentín watched in silence as the senior Crow strode for the pantry and shoved his way inside.

“You’ve got a shit job, kid,” Rook whispered apologetically to the boy, a hand patting his forearm.

Valentín watched the open doorway for a moment, clearly trying to gage his own safety, before a sad little smirk crossed his face.

“Believe it or not,” he mused quietly, “I have had worse.”

Rook tittered a chuckle of her own, “From what that one has told me of his own training, I believe i—“

There was a violent flash of purple light and a plume of unctuous black smoke from the pantry door. Rook scrambled to catch Valentín by the sleeve of his coat as he leaped to his feet in a panic.

“Nonono,” Rook whispered quickly. She was glad the kid was smart enough to listen, less he make an already tense situation much worse, “Sit. You focus on your food, I’ll…” she had stood up as the teenager reclaimed his chair, still unable to tear his wide, worried eyes from the door.

“But it…”

“Eat, sweetheart,” She said, patting a hand upon a scrawny shoulder as she rounded the table, “I’ve got it.”

…She hoped. Rook strode cautiously for the open doorway, the scent of ozone and sulfur tickling her nose the closer she came to the room.

“Lucanis? Are you…?”

She blinked owlishly for a moment, trying to gauge what she was seeing upon stepping inside.

Violent streaks of char and ash streaked the walls, fanning out from center in vicious tendrils. But not just streaks - the singe of two white-hot, furious wings - at the center of which, sat huddled upon the floor, was Lucanis.

“Oh, Vehnan,” Rook whispered softly.

Lucanis sat, his knees pulled up nearly to his chest, elbows upon his knees. One hand laced into his hair, his eyes glassy with tears.

Rook doubled back, and quietly shut the door - Privacy between them and the stressed out teenager at the table.

She sat right down with him then, face to face, a gentle hand brushing his cheek. He couldn’t make eye contact at first, thoughts trapped in a painful, grief-stricken spiral. The moment he blinked tears, Rook pulled him into a tight hug, “I’m so sorry, Vehnan. There’s nothing about this that mustn’t hurt like hell.”

Wickedly tense shoulders relaxed just enough to wrap arms around her, pulling Rook as close as he could manage, anxious, furious trembling be damned. She held him quietly, breathing slow and even - breathing he struggled to ground himself to once again.

“How are we doing in there, Spite?”

“Hurts,” was all the demon could manage.

It made sense, Rook thought. She knew from experience that few emotions stole words from tongues more completely than the sting of betrayal.

Lucanis closed his eyes against fingernails that brushed softly through his hair, hot tears warming the damp fabric at her shoulder where his face had hidden away. It was only once the Crow had managed a deep, shuttering sigh that she let him go - and even then, only enough to sit back against the wall, looking deeply miserable.

“I have to be ready for this, mi amor,” he said quietly, admitting, “I do not feel it.”

“Lucanis, I don’t know how anyone could,” Rook replied. “This… this is a lot. For anybody. But I also…” she mulled carefully over words, a hand rubbing idly over where his heart thrummed a war drum in his chest, “I cannot imagine anyone more capable. Or more brave. And who will absolutely not be doing this alone.”

He caught that hand, and pulled it to his lips, leaving a kiss upon the soft, delicate underside of her wrist, before holding it warmly back over his heart.

“Then… We deal with this tonight,” he agreed. He slowly wrestled back his calm with that small scrap of composure, one breath at a time, “The three of us.”

“We absolutely do.”

[pebblesandpotatos]

Per my last post, this is how I think the LU boys approach/handle drinking.

Time: He mostly only drinks at social events or in celebration. Him and Malon will get totally hammered though on a rare occasion and Oohhh boy they are a riot to be around when that happens.

I do personally think Time had a drinking problem at some point. And while I'm not exactly sure when or for how long, let's just say it's why Lon Lon Ranch doesn't offer alcoholic milk...for the moment.

Wars: He is the most normal when it comes to drinking. He's a soldier. Of course he drinks and gets totally slammed now and again. I actually DON'T think he had a problem though. When everything was going down during the war I think he actually avoided it like the plague in case someone tried to poison him, or just because he couldn't didn't want to let his guard down that much.

It's a fun bonding thing for him so whenever the chain gets to a village he always offers to buy the older boys at least a round of drinks. It actually takes quite a bit to get him drunk but if you can it's kinda hard to tell. He's one to just get a little over dramatic about things when drunk which...isn't that far off from his normal.

Twilight: He is such a lightweight. He definitely didn't start drinking till after his adventure and the first time he got drunk was a doozy. The guy is a total mess, can't walk, and his country accent gets really heavy when drunk. Is definitely starting an arm wrestling contest and probably winning. That being said it's gotten better and he can have a few drinks now but he's not as good as Wars about knowing his limit.

Sky: Sky rarely drinks. It's not a big thing on Skylof and it's practically non existent on the surface currently. I also get the vibes that Sun would be someone very anti-drinking and therefore Sky doesn't do it and is very okay with that. When he goes out for drinks with Wars and Twilight though he somehow is not the first one to get drunk (*cough Twilight cough*) but is a total messy, love sick sap when he does.

Wild: Does. Not. Drink. At all. No amount of teasing or pleading will get him to drink alcohol. He has gotten drunk once since waking up and the experience was awful. He woke up the morning after and struggled to remember what happened and it made the poor boy panic. I also think it makes his memories/flashbacks worse. So Wild is stone cold sober and will stay that way.

Legend: Ahhh, the one that started this whole thing (as it often does cause this man is permanently on my mind). Legend is more like Time in that it's more of a social/celebratory thing for him but probably does it a bit more often. He doesn't like getting drunk though so it's rare for him to drink that much.

If you do get him drunk? Ohh boy. Oh have fun with him. Legend is basically an entirely different person when drunk. This boy is making friends with everyone. He's telling stories, cracking jokes and just being the friendly traveler he was born to be before all the trauma. He will break out into song if given the chance and try to get everyone to join him. And he will succeed. He drips charisma when drunk and its almost as intoxicating as the actual alcohol.

Hyrule: The desire to say he doesn't even know what alcohol is would be an absolute lie. Hyrule definitely drinks to the shock of the others. (Mostly Wars). Can absolutely out drink basically all of them except Wars and Time. Is the most likely to start a bar fight. Not for himself, but on behalf of his brothers. And if anyone dares try to spoil Legend's cheerful mood? Bro better start digging his own grave cause Hyrule will be out for blood.

Four: Not a big drinker. More than Sky but only barely. Each of the colors handle it differently so unless he splits it's gonna give him the worst hangover/migraine. You also never know what you're gonna get, it'll depend on which color is coming through the most. Vio turns into the biggest little shit and is probably gonna be the one getting punched for saying the wrong thing. Green is probably the one who punched him, red is passed out in the corner and blue is eating everything he can get his hands on.

Wind: Has he had drinks before? Yes, duh he is literally a pirate. Does his grandma know? No and it will stay that way if he has any say about it. However he lies through his teeth about how much he actually has/does. It's his way to make the others not look at him like the child he is. He also just loves how horrified the others are when he drinks from a flask. (It's just his grandma's soup). The only ones that have figured it out is Legend and Wild who help him keep up the facade cause they too think it's hilarious to see the others flip out