#stop fucking talking about me stop talking about my dad STOP!!!!!!!!!!!

[mickeys-been-staying-at-ians]

So Dean is fucked up after Cas is taken into the Empty obviously, all melancholy, no sleep, drinking too much, you know his gist. Sam probably tries to get him to talk about it, but he would never tell him everything Cas said, you know. So Dean is miserable, and Sam is miserable, but THEY DON'T STOP trying to get Cas back.

And they do, somehow. So Cas appears somewhere in the library or wherever they were Doing What Brought Him Back and there's a second of confused, vulnerable silence because this can't be real don't believe it's real he's gonna disappear and it's gonna suck all over again but he stays, and looks at Dean, and then Dean is hugging him, clutching him like... well, like everything that happened, happened, and they're breathing each other in. Cas hasn't had the chance to think about what it all means, yet, so he's not overthinking it. Then they break apart, and Dean has tears in his eyes and his lower lip is shaking, and while Sam hugs Cas, too, Dean's body is like, shutting down, months of exhaustion (physical and emotional) catching up to him, and he feels it coming, so when Sam gets Cas to sit down, making him drink some water, Dean's like "I'm just gonna-" and he's running into his room and he doesn't even make it inside before he starts sobbing. He's sitting against his bed, his face in his hands, all wet now, when Sam comes in. Maybe he knocked, maybe not, Dean couldn't hear him. And he tries to cover himself a little, but Sam sees anyway, and he's so tired, so he just. Doesn't care.

And Sam says, "Dean, don't hide from him" and Dean isn't sobbing anymore but he's still crying into his palms, saying "I'm so tired, Sammy" and Sam knows. He doesn't know what happened between Dean and Cas but Cas said he did something and now Dean wouldn't feel comfortable around him. So, you know. Sam can guess, a little.

So he says, "He thinks you don't want anything to do with him anymore" and "you should go talk to him" and Dean is like "I can't" and he doesn't know why, maybe because he's exhausted, or because he doesn't know what to say to him , or because Cas sacrifised himself for him again, or because he told him he loved him and turned Dean's world upside down and disappeared, or maybe because he's scared.

And Sam knows this is all happening in Dean's head and he knows some of it is whispered to him in their dad's voice, so he says, "you know nothing in the world would ever change how I think of you," and Dean's head snaps towards him, wet with bloodshot eyes, confused and terrified, but he doesn't say anything, so Sam asks, "what really happened down there?" and Dean knows Sam knows. There's a hand squeezing his heart and lungs and he can't breathe, and Sam knows, and Dean wishes he could go back to when it wasn't even an option.

"He's your best friend," Sam says, and he is, he is, he's Dean's best friend, above all else, it's not just sacrifises and battles and blood and desperate confessions, it's also movies and music and inside jokes, so Dean asks Sam to get Cas. He does, and leaves them in Dean's room alone. And Dean says "don't ever die for me again" and "you think you saved me but i was barely alive" and "next time we die together" which is maybe a little fucked up, but he's feeling so raw. He says, "you're my best friend" and looks at Cas, hoping Cas hears everything he isn't saying, how Cas is the most important person in all the universes to Dean. He's family, but he doesn't say that, doesn't want Cas to think he's family like anyone else, because Cas is more. To Dean, Cas is- something Dean won't say yet, but he is.

And they have a quiet dinner with Sam because they're all tired, and Cas showers while they turn on the TV and bring out a couple of beers, and they act like it's a normal day in their life. Dean's head keeps falling and his eyes keep closing, his temples aching, but he stays, and at some point Sam goes to sleep, and when they're alone Cas tries to get Dean to go, too, but he keeps coming up with lame excuses to stay and Cas doesn't know what to make of it until he thinks maybe Dean doesn't want to be alone, or even - maybe Dean doesn't want to leave Cas alone, maybe he's scared something will happen to him again, or maybe he wants to just - be with Cas longer. And Cas is completely out of his element, because why would Dean- But it doesn't matter. His priority has always been Dean's well-being, so if there's any chance Dean is pushing himself because of - some of that, Cas will step up.

So he asks Dean if he can sleep in Dean's room tonight because he doesn't want to be alone. And there's a blaring red light going off in Dean head, screaming he knows he knows he knows Dean wants him to... what? Dean doesn't even know. Cas is asking as if for himself, for Dean's benefit, and Dean. God. Dean loves him, doesn't he? He's always loved him, but he loves him like... like... but he doesn't think it, still. He feels too open, now, and he wants to lock himself in his room and sleep it off and drink and stop feeling so vulnerable, he thinks he must be an open book to everyone, to Cas especially, and god, could people always tell? Can Cas tell, now? But why does it matter? Cas told him- he told him-

But none of it matters, because Cas is here, and he's offereing Dean an easy way out, and Dean is a weak, weak man, and he's exhausted and all he wants is to breathe Cas' air and know he's here, and not going anywhere.

So Dean puts on an old T-shirt and gets out of his jeans like he always does before realizing Cas is here. He flushes all over, sits down on his bed because he didn't think about how this was gonna go. Cas glances at the desk as if he was gonna sit in his chair the whole night, and Dean doesn't actually know if Cas sleeps now or doesn't, which he maybe should've thought of before, but before he can say anything, Cas says, "Dean, I don't want to make you uncomfortable" and Dean, completely lost, says the first thing that comes to his mind, which is, "can you lie down with me?" which is not exactly how he was gonna tell Cas he's the opposite of uncomfortable with him, but it does the trick. He makes Cas get out of his dress pants and gives him a T-shirt to sleep in, too, and flushes even more when he realizes what Cas is wearing. Dean lies down when Cas steps towards the bed, faces the wall because he doesn't know what to do with himself. They lie in silence for an awkward moment before Cas says, "are we okay?" and Dean says, "of course we are" and Dean knows Cas is still overthinking it, and he is, too, but... Cas took the leap, and he must feel so uncertain about them, and Dean thinks he owes him something, at least. Cas told him he loved him. Nothing felt right since then, because Cas died and because Cas thought he could never have what he wanted and because Cas thought he wasn't the most important person in Dean's life with Sammy, whatever that meant, and because Dean had to come to terms with that reality, a reality where Cas loves him, has loved him, him, Dean, broken and all. A man. A man Cas thought beautiful, and loving, and- and Dean has many issues, but Cas was never one of them, and Cas deserves to feel certain about his place in Dean's life.

So Dean asks Cas to come closer, and there's a still moment before Cas does, still too far away from Dean, and Dean can't see him, can't make himself turn because his heart is beating so loud he thinks if he looks at Cas, it's gonna beat out of his chest. So he reaches behind himself, finds Cas' hand and brings it forward, keeps it between his hands and brings them to his face. Breathes Cas in. "Please don't leave again" he says, in that tone he used when he prayed to Cas. He feels Cas shift, finally, as if he lost some of the tension from his body, feels the bed dip behind him, and he doesn't know how Cas moves but then Dean's back is pressed against Cas' front, and despite his beating heart, Dean is feeling the exhaustion start to take him. "Cas, I..." he tries, but he can't think anymore, can't make sense of anything.

"You can fall asleep, Dean," Cas says, his words warm in Dean's hair and the last thing he hears before sleep takes him is "I will be here when you wake up."

So when Dean wakes up, it's to a heavy arm around his chest and slow breaths against the back of his head. There's no moment of confusion about who he's with, or why. He doesn't even get a second to consider if it was real before Cas says "good morning, Dean" and Dean wonders if Cas slept at all. If he needs to sleep, now. There's so much they need to talk about, all three of them.

"Cas," he tries again, remembereing his attempt from last night. He needs Cas to know, for sure. "Cas, I - what you said. You know I. I've never..." and Cas is like "I know, Dean" but he sounds a little confused, so Dean doensn't know what Cas thinks he knows. So he turns, takes a second to notice how close they are now, and he thinks about Cas' eyes, his lips. Thinks, soon.

"You have to know," he says, as if Cas didn't say anything. "You have to know how I - what I" and he can't get the words out, not sure if it would be easier if there were no words to get out or if there were no voices in his head screaming over them. So he breathes in, Cas' scent overtaking his senses, brings his palm to Cas' face. Closes his eyes. Thinks, soon. Thinks, now, and meets Cas halfway.

[deansbeer]

♡ a hunter's journey to fatherhood ⎯⎯ dean winchester.

📖 LIBRARY !

SYNOPSIS. dean struggles with anxiety about fatherhood, avoiding you until guidance from mildred helps him embrace love, vulnerability, and hope.

WARNING(S). slight angst | hurt comfort | f!reader | anxiety | self-doubt | dean's fear of failure as a new father | emotional vulnerability | moments of crying | mentions of childhood trauma (a big FUCK U 2 john winchester) | alcohol use (though not excessively) | avoidance | isolation | pregnancy.

kari talks ◞ i saw these gifs of dean n mildred pop up on my feed this morning so i had to write something w a lil fluffy angst <3 don't hate me bc it does have a happy ending !!! + this may sound rushed, has not much dialogue at the end, n repetitive :) my apologies !

dean winchester is an anxiety-riddled mess.

you’ve always known he’s carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, but ever since you told him you were pregnant, he’s been distant. not outright cold, but the kind of distant that eats at you—quiet moments stretched too long, averted gazes, and excuses to leave the room.

it hurts.

you knew dean had his doubts about himself; he’s never been shy about the scars his childhood left behind. but you didn’t expect him to pull away like this.

every time you thought about asking him where he stood—whether he was happy, scared, or maybe regretting it altogether—you stopped yourself. you didn’t want to burden him more than he already seemed to be.

so you busied yourself with little things, distracting yourself by cleaning the house, organizing your shared bedroom, or just sitting on the couch with a book, hoping he’d come around.

but tonight, dean isn’t home.

he’d slipped out a few hours ago, mumbling something about needing air. you didn’t push. you’d seen the tension in his jaw, the way his hands flexed and tightened at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

what you didn’t know was that dean had driven into town, parked the impala outside the local dive bar, and gone inside to drown his thoughts in whiskey.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

the bar was dimly lit and half-empty, perfect for someone who didn’t want to be noticed.

dean sat at the counter, nursing his third drink, his mind spinning.

he couldn’t stop thinking about it. about you. about the baby.

him, a dad.

he snorted bitterly into his glass. what the hell did he know about being a father? he’d barely survived his own childhood. john winchester had been a lot of things—strong, determined, relentless—but a good dad? not even close.

and what if dean turned out just like him?

the thought made his chest tighten, panic clawing at his throat.

he closed his eyes, swallowing hard. the whiskey wasn’t helping; it was only making his emotions come faster, harder.

he slammed a couple of bills on the bar top and left, walking out into the cool night air.

he sat in the impala, gripping the steering wheel as his breath hitched.

and then it hit him—hot tears stinging his eyes, rolling down his cheeks before he could stop them.

he wiped at his face angrily, cursing under his breath.

what the hell is wrong with me?

but then, through the fog of his thoughts, he remembered mildred baker.

she’d helped him and sam on a hunt years ago, and she’d been one of the few people who’d ever managed to get through to him. she was kind, wise, and had this way of making you feel like everything was going to be okay, even when it felt like the world was falling apart.

before he could second-guess himself, he started the car and drove to her place.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

mildred greeted him with the warmth he hadn’t realized he needed.

“dean winchester,” she said with a smile, stepping aside to let him in. “to what do i owe the pleasure?”

he hesitated for a moment, standing in her doorway like a lost kid.

“uh... sorry for showing up so late,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “i just... i didn’t know where else to go.”

she frowned slightly, concern flickering across her face, but she didn’t ask questions.

“come on in,” she said gently, motioning for him to sit on the couch.

once they were seated, mildred folded her hands in her lap and waited patiently.

“so,” she said after a beat, her voice soft. “what’s got you all tied up in knots?”

and that’s when it all came tumbling out.

words spilled from dean’s mouth faster than he could stop them—about you, about the baby, about how terrified he was of screwing everything up.

“i just... i don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “hell, i don’t even know if i can do this. what if i screw the kid up? what if i screw her up? she deserves better than me. they both do.”

mildred listened quietly, her expression soft but unreadable.

when he finally stopped, his chest heaving slightly from the emotional release, she reached over and placed a hand on his arm.

“dean,” she said gently, her voice steady. “you’re not your father.”

his head snapped up at that, his green eyes wide and vulnerable.

“but what if i am?” he whispered.

she smiled softly, shaking her head.

“you’re not,” she said firmly. “you’ve already proven that by coming here tonight. you care, dean. you care so much it’s eating you alive. and that’s what makes you different. john winchester loved you boys, but he didn’t know how to show it. you do. and that’s all that matters.”

dean swallowed hard, his throat tight.

“but what if i mess up?” he asked, his voice small.

“you will,” she said with a chuckle. “because that’s what parents do. we mess up. we’re human. but as long as you love that baby and love itd mama, you’ll figure it out.”

her words settled over him like a warm blanket, easing some of the tension in his chest.

“you’re gonna be a great dad, dean,” she said, her voice soft. “just follow your heart.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

later that night, after mildred helped him sober up, dean drove back home.

the house was quiet when he walked in, the only sound coming from the soft clinking of dishes in the kitchen.

he followed the sound, stopping in the doorway when he saw you standing at the sink.

you were wearing one of his old flannels, the sleeves rolled up as you washed the few remaining dishes from dinner.

he leaned against the doorframe, watching you for a moment.

god, you were beautiful.

even now, with your hair slightly messy and your focus on the task in front of you, you took his breath away.

he took a deep breath, gathering his courage, and stepped toward you.

you didn’t notice him at first, too lost in your own thoughts.

it wasn’t until he wrapped his arms around you from behind that you startled slightly, your body tensing before relaxing into his embrace.

“baby,” you said softly, your hands stilling in the soapy water.

he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in.

“where’ve you been?” you asked, your voice gentle but cautious. “are you okay?”

“yeah,” he said, his voice muffled against your skin. “i’m okay.”

you didn’t push for more, not when he mentioned he’d gone to see mildred.

instead, you leaned into him, letting his warmth settle around you like a shield.

he rubbed small circles on your stomach, his lips brushing against your neck.

and for the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of hope.

but when you opened your mouth to ask him where he stood on the baby, he didn’t let you speak.

instead, he started rambling, the words tumbling out in a rush.

he told you how scared he was, how he’d been afraid he’d ruin everything, that he’d turn out like his dad or disappoint you.

“but i want this, sweetheart,” he said finally, his voice breaking slightly. “i want you. and i want this baby. i just... i needed to figure out how to not screw it up.”

tears stung your eyes as you turned to face him, cupping his face in your hands.

“dean,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “you could never be like him. you love so much, sometimes too much. you’re going to be an amazing dad. i know it.”

he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as a single tear slid down his cheek.

“thank you, baby,” he whispered.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

after you’d finished the dishes, you drew a bath for the both of you.

you knew he’d been sore and achy from a recent hunt, and you figured the warm water would help.

he sat behind you in the tub, his arms resting on either side of the rim as you leaned back against his chest.

you brought the soapy cloth to your chest, letting the warmth soothe you before handing it to him.

he took it, running it over his own chest before reaching down to gently rub your shoulders.

the quiet intimacy of the moment was enough to ease both your minds, the tension of the past few weeks melting away.

when the water started to cool, dean helped you out of the tub, wrapping a fluffy towel around you before leaning down to kiss your stomach.

you weren’t even showing yet, but the gesture made your heart swell.

he wrapped a towel around himself, and the two of you went through your nightly routines before climbing into bed.

dean was already lying down when you joined him, his hands behind his head as he waited for you.

you turned off the lights and crawled into bed, settling on top of him with your head on his chest.

his hand rested on your lower back, the other cradling the back of your head as he pressed a soft kiss to your hair.

the two of you talked quietly about what to expect, about names and nurseries and everything in between.

and when you finally drifted off to sleep, wrapped in his arms, you knew everything was going to be okay.

because dean winchester was going to be the best damn dad in the world.

[witchyliterature]

GOOD AND PLENTY: K.B

witchy tip

➤ eating pomegranate with strong magical intentions in mind can help manifest what you want

18. difficile ad amorem

m.list

breakfast has been set and katsuki did not come to play. your dad assumed by his rush to do the breakfast that he was definitely good - but as soon as he took the first bite, he rushed to finish it.

hell, katsuki surely was husband material, he might keep this love spell just to allow himself to get some good food.

you yourself was no better, the sounds of you gobbling up the food was the only thing heard from you. your eyes had a narrow focus, which was the breakfast in front of you and only that.

“katsuki bakugou, please marry my daughter if you would like!” your dad’s muffled voice was barely registrable.

“what?! don’t go making statements like that!” you exclaimed, your voice equally as muffled as you both stuffed your mouthy to the fullest capacity.

“that’s the plan, sir” katsuki smirked, outting his hand in his sweatpant pockets.

you instantly looked at him shocked. with how awkward the morning was, you assumed that he wouldn’t even look at you as your dad made that comment. clearly, the love spell is still at work.

“anyways, let me get started on your situationship, then i can continue to eat well!” your dad chuckled as you groaned in embarrassment, your dad and you only met yet he was already as cringe as a dad could be.

“alright, sit down in front of my katsuki.” your dad asked softly, to which katsuki confusingly followed.

your dad looked into his eyes, it was a whirlpool between pink and red. his eyes flickered, would then return to normal, only to flicker again in a quick repetition.

“right, i’m going to do something first to check what the hells going on with his eyes.” your dad muttered, to which you nodded vigorously.

your dad put his hands on katsuki’s head, muttering things in latin and before you knew it, katsuki passed out with a projection of his soul coming out of his body, his resting face was a scowl so you knew this was the orginal katsuki.

“y/n l/n, i am going to fucking murder you when i get back. i swear, ill make you suffer.” katsuki’s soul seethed as he turned to face you.

“shit, katsuki, im so sorry! i really-“

“you fucking embarrassed me for weeks! everyone sees me as this stupid lover boy that’s obsessed over you.” katsuki’s seethed yelled back, his voice having a slight echo.

“oh get over yourself katsuki’s, is being seen in love with me that torturous for you?” you rolled your eyes.

“that’s not the fucking issue and you know it.” katsuki’s angrily replied.

you looked at him skeptically, was that a confession? or did he simply mean he doesn’t care that much about what other people think about you two? either way sounds to have romantic connotations.

“then what is?” you asked.

“the fact- you know what, fuck this. get me out and lemme talk to her fact to face, old man.” katsuki looked at your dad as he responded.

“old man is crazy considering im your crushes father but whatever.” you father muttered immaturely.

katsuki looked slightly flustered as he said that, turning to face you and see your reaction only to still look skeptical.

your father then sent his soul into his body and started the ritual through putting a glass charm of a heart onto katsuki’s chest and hovering his hands while a soft glow emmitted from it.

“this doesn’t usually happen you know, once you do a love spell, that’s it, it cannot be broken unless powerful mages or the person itself have the power to stop it.” your dad explained.

“then why does-“

“because, for some reason, his soul and body rejected it. i don’t know how it worked, he clearly already had feelings for you, otherwise the spell wouldn’t have worked so quickly and so powerfully, but his soul was constantly fighting the spell. his spirit was simply too strong compared to the dosage you gave him, and trust me, i can sense that it was a lot.” you dad further explained.

you looked at him and started to understand. katsuki has always been a fighter, it makes sense that his spirit too also wanted to fight.

but, this whole thing about feelings. you knew he had them for you beforehand. you’re just so confused why he never told you? why he flirted with that second year that practically started it all? why he always seemed to make you a second choice?

the sound of a crack broke you out of your thoughts, you looked and saw that heart chart was broken - indicating that the love spell was broken.

katsuki’s eyes fluttered awake, he started to wake up as small groans escaped his lips. with his true soul being dormant for a while, it felt weird finally seeing things with his own eyes rather than was felt like to be a glass mirror.

“katsuki..” you said softly, getting up to walk up to him.

“fuck, i- i need to go for a drive.” katsuki suddenly spoke, his nerves for some reason shot through the roof, and so he sped to the hallway, grabbed his keys and immediately left.

you called out for him, but he has no response, marching his way to his car and driving off quickly.

“leave him, he will come back, don’t worry.” you father advised you.

you sighed, you knew he would, katsuki never left forever. but it sucked that the first time in a while you were seeing him again, he did what he always did and ran from his emotions.

you just hoped that when he came back, a different song would play for you two.

[saphronethaleph]

Eyes Wide Shut

The demon fox’s paws crashed down on the stone, outside Konoha, and Obito’s Mangekyo spun as he prepared to place the fox under a genjutsu.

It was a necessary part of his plan. A vital part of his plan. To send the fox rampaging into Konoha to cause widespread devastation, devastation that would weaken the strongest of the villages and plant discord against the Uchiha… and, incidentally, make sure that that village wasn’t focused on trying to find a way through his potent technique to keep himself safe.

Then-

Obito’s thoughts skidded to a halt.

The fox’s eyes were closed.

“Hey!” he called. “Look over here, you dumb-”

“Not. A. Chance,” the fox replied, voice loud and booming. “I’m free for the first time in ninety years and I was paying attention, you think I’m going to look into the eye of another fucking Uchiha and let myself get caught right away?”

His tails slammed down on where Obito was, but fortunately intangibility meant that the tails didn’t actually mash him into jelly.

“Damn it!” the fox bellowed, then growled. “This is like dealing with Dad all over again… speaking of which, what the hell, humans? How grateful is it that you keep stuffing me into my distant relatives?”

Obito blinked, and barely remembered to stay incorporeal as the massive tails swept through his space again.

“I mean, seriously!” the demon shouted, in a voice which shook the Hokage monument, and ignored the explosion of a high-powered fire jutsu against his flank with a snort. “Dad stops Grandmother, preventing her from eating all the chakra in the world, leaves her body on the moon and splits her chakra into the nine of us… and what kind of thanks do we get? We get called demons! I remember when Kokuo told me, Kurama, they’re not that bad… not that bad? What do you call hunting down every single remaining Otsutsuki and shoving them into human containers?”

Apparently the fox had gone insane? Obito wasn’t even sure at this point. But it seemed as though the repeated multi-tail thrashings that… Kurama?��� was giving the space around him were serving some form of catharsis, and that Kurama was more venting than anything, giving voice to nine decades of pent-up frustration.

“And if you’re listening, humans, think about how little you would like it!” Kurama added. “Having to listen to ninety years of someone else’s banal concerns, being completely involved with everything they ever do, and you’re pinned in place unable to look away! AND you feel all the emotions that they do, or all the horrible ones anyway… I even had to pay attention during those therapy sessions the Hatake brat had for killing that teammate of his! And that’s how I find out that she had Isobu in her as some kind of bomb?”

Obito felt a sharp spike of hatred for how that must have been Rin he was talking about – then that was immediately overwhelmed by confusion.

Sheer, total confusion.

Isobu?

“I thought Isobu was sealed into that twink of a Mizukage, but maybe I missed something,” Kurama added, thoughtfully.

No.

It couldn’t be.

He couldn’t mean that Rin had had the three-tails sealed into her?

But she’d been – she’d been trying to escape from Kiri-

Kiri had been under Madara’s thumb, and now it was under his thumb, they never could have-

he had to fulfil the plan-

Rin was-

the plan-

Then Obito realized he’d forgotten to stay intangible, when a tailtip the size of an apartment block smashed him into the side of the nearest cliff.

He certainly felt like he’d lost most of his torso, but that was fixable given his unique biology. He’d just have to do with not having a heart for a few seconds, until it got regenerated.

“FINALLY!” Kurama bellowed. “All right, now I’m fucking OFF. I hope to see Konoha never.”

The ground trembled as three hundred feet of giant fox went bounding off in the vague direction of north, and Obito shook his head slightly as his torso recovered.

Then frowned.

...why the hell had he been listening to a crazy, senile old man’s plan to hypnotize the entire planet, anyway?

It somehow seemed a lot easier to ask that question now.

[tsundereho]

batfam sick fic (proofread)

818 words: my base idea posted as well, oooh fun right? tw i guess for talks of incorrect medicine use. I swear in this, so yeah be warned

@coal-or-something helped me (watched me write and go insane, occasionally helped with grammar)

Bruce powers through anything like a fucking truck Dick can power through it but chooses to be a baby about it (for the bit) Jason is much like bruce but is more noticeable, will refuse to be taken care of Tim doesn’t have a spleen he gets sick like unable to leave bed sick, refuses treatment best he can and tries to keep working Steph is stubborn and confident, can and will make her own damn soup but due to being sick it doesn't go very well Damian doesn't get sick very often but when he does he will refuse to admit it to the point of making it worse for himself Duke Thomas probably knows what to do best (other then alfred) Cass was homeless for 9 years, so used to being sick and just ignoring it. So very used to being sick and just forcing herself not to be due to her dad then her time on the streets

Different scenarios of them being sick, all, same level of sick to start, same symptoms

Bruce cannot slow down or take a break ever, and it was becoming more and more apparent as he refused to pause his typing for a coughing fit. Despite Alfreds warnings about it will only get worse. The only compromise he made was not attending a brunch and instead using that time for a nap, mainly because he didn’t have the energy to mask at all.

Dick at the first sign of his cold immediately canceled his plans, sure he was still gonna go be Nightwing but he needed the days to rest! He was sick, he needed soup and tea with extra honey to help his sore throat.

Jason refuses to let anybody near him while he's sick, he knows they’ll do something, whether it's trying to hurt him in his vulnerable state or worse, take care of him. He didn’t need extra blankets or hot drinks, he needed to stop being weak and just get through this, any guidelines on the cold meds? Ignored. He's chugging the bottle in one go. He needs to feel better. Very often nightwing can find him accidentally high and loopy since he took ten times over the recommended dose, the only reason he isn’t dead is because he is a tank of man.

Tim is doing everything he can to ward off the sickness at the first sneeze, wearing a face mask, washing everything he owns as often as he can, when he gets sick he gets sick. One of the many cons of not having a spleen. 

It does help but not by much, he still gets sick and is immediately bed ridden for his own safety, he can and will seriously hurt himself trying to work like this.

Damian since i can’t write steph very well yet

Damian is the one who got sick first, not that he would admit it to even himself, yes he is drinking more tea, but only because he likes the way Alfred makes it, nothing more nothing less, he scoffs at the idea of taking a break, he did not need a break since he was not sick, no matter what father or any of his siblings said, they were all wrong. No matter how much he overslept for school he would show up anyways.

Cass is very nervous about getting sick, it makes her weak. After nearly a decade on the street she knows how bad it is to be out of commission, being sick meant working harder just to eat as your body screamed at you just to lay down. Being sick at the Wayne Manor was very different, actual medicine, warm food, not needing to force her body to keep moving when all she wanted was to collapse. Bed rest for once isn't forced, she wants a nap and a rest.

Okay i see her as stubborn but more understanding of when she needs to give in. sure when she first started getting sick, much like the others just ignored and medicated. Once she started getting more sick? Actually takes it easy instead of brute forcing her way through it. Is she going to go on bedrest? Hell the fuck no but shes gonna make herself a nice little treat.

Duke Thomas, the only one to actually take the recommended amount of medicine and not just the entire thing, he's keeping track of what times he ate and how much, making sure to wash his hands more often and all that shit

i was gonna write more but uh, no :3

[mkultrababy]

sometimes u will get to know someone really well and fall in love and then 2 years later they'll be misgendering u and publicly talking shit abt u to egirls who pay them no mind on twitter dot com

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[zeb-z]

I just think Tallulah gets to be upset about this. “It’s not Wilbur’s fault” “He’s not a bad dad” “He loves his daughter so much” yes! These are all true! And it’s not his fault! But he’s still not there. And Tallulah has gone through so much and still hasn’t seen him, the one time he was around was the one time she wasn’t, and all she has are letters and “I’m thinking of you always” and things that used to be theirs together, but he’s still not there. She’s waited and she’s been patient and she’s loved him all the same, and he’s still not there. Like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before, from the happy milestones to the traumatic events, he’s still not there.

She knows that it’s not his fault, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s absent. That in and of itself just adds to the sorrow, because she knows why he’s gone, and she’s been told time and time again it doesn’t mean he doesn’t care, she knows this - it doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting, that it doesn’t hurt, that she doesn’t yearn for her father to be there more than anything in the world, and he’s just not there.

So yes, she gets to be upset, and be caustic, and stomp her feet and write bitter messages, and be angry and vitriolic, because she’s a little girl missing her father, who feels things with her whole heart and soul - and that means she gets to feel the ugly parts of it, too.

[way-too-obsessed-gamer]

Is it ever specified that Gideon's father was human? I know Efreet (fire genies) are often depicted with horns themselves but I always thought his dad might have been a tiefling and Gideon got his horns from him. I could, however, just be stupid as shit

[perilegs]

my sweet little baby man is no longer with us

[beeduoo]

originnssssss who remembers origins i Loved origins

[kazbrekkerfast]

A Big Ramble About Tiktok

right. as much as i think there are a lot of issues with tiktok, the US ban is genuinely terrifying in terms of how much content will be lost once the servers go down. there are so many phenomenal creators and videos on that platform who have come from the US, and it is heartbreaking to see them go. i know there are more platforms, but there is so much content that is only found in tiktok, and a distinct genre and culture of videos tog you can find there and like that will be gone for millions of people

obviously the world isn’t only the US and there will still be people posting but the chance of the US starting a chain reaction is quite high which is kinda terrifying

the communities, especially queer spaces and fandom spaces on tiktok are a safe haven for so many people i know from the US, and there are so many amazing advocates for queer rights who post there and it feels a lot like censorship that they can’t post there anymore, especially with the state of reels/youtube shorts (both places make me sick when i open comments sections)

idk i’m pretty much just rambling here but i always get sad when i see servers being shut in places and millions of videos being wiped from the internet (obviously never fully because it’s the internet but my point still stands). it’s so scary to think about what direction this could take the world, and whether more social media apps will be banned in a similar fashion but hopefully it gets overturned or somewhere new comes around but ye

social media is so important in the modern world and like as much as older people like to say how much it is ruining the world it is such an important aspect of so many things like activism and spreading awareness, as well as creating so many amazing communities and connecting people from all over the world and when governments see this as a negative thing is kind of just makes you question why they want to stop that

[sage-is-in-fact-very-tired]

✨️jazz hands✨️ wow I wish I could just I don't know, fucking finish my milk in piece without it all being linked back to me wanting to play on the computer. like yeah guys good association its definitely true for sure guys you're so fucking smart huh, not like I maybe, I dunno know, just wanted to finish my milk and also get things done on the queue. not like thats a thing I could do. nope not at all for sure you're so smart thinking you know everything going on in my brain

[blujayonthewing]

I wish I had any way of knowing whether people have gotten Weirder™ about my name in recent years or if this has been happening behind the scenes the entire time

I've been going by Jay since I was 11. At the time nobody objected to or questioned this, at least not to me; I found out many years later that Jay is supposedly a "boy's name," but nobody ever said 'you can't use that as a nickname, it's a boy's name' and it went completely uncontested by anyone when I switched. Lots of kids announced some manner of name change at the start of a new school year in middle school; it was all normal and fine. My mom and, you know, grandmas and other relatives kept calling me Jessica, which was also fine! I didn't make a big family announcement or correct any relatives on this, I just wanted to differentiate myself from the half dozen other Jessicas in school.

For twenty years!! This has gone on being perfectly normal! My Real Name™ is an increasingly obscure bit of trivia I get to spring on friends who didn't realize I had one, which is always funny (my brother in law didn't believe me and demanded to see my driver's license). My mom and grandmas have largely still called me Jess, and that's also fine! It's nice, even! There's a particular intimacy there of having a name only my mother uses-- but, crucially, I have never asked her not to, or said that I don't like it. And as FAR AS I KNOW, this has all been true and fine for TWENTY YEARS.

My own feelings about it have never changed, and feel, to me, very straightforward: if I tell you that my name is Jay, and you decide that no it isn't, that is a problem. That's the rule. That's literally it. I had a high school teacher who asked on the syllabus for us to write down if we went by something other than our full name, who was nonetheless UNIQUE among all of my teachers from 6th grade onward in always and only ever calling me Jess, even though I signed all my work Jay, all the other teachers called me Jay, he literally asked whether anyone wanted to be called something else and I answered Jay, and I had him for two semesters. I met a work friend of Justin's once who asked upon introduction whether Jay was short for something, and when I told him it was short for Jessica he took it upon himself to call me Jess instead. This isn't me having a problem with any particular iteration of my name, this is just asshole behavior! I told you what my name was and you said 'no it isn't'. The problem here does not seem complex to me?

But within the last [hand wiggle] handful of years I feel like it keeps getting weirder? Apparently my dad and grandma argued about it at my wedding rehearsal-- she, dramatically, insisting 'I don't care, her name is Jessica, I'm going to call her that ;n;' and my dad angrily defensive that no it isn't, I go by Jay, that should be respected. And I'm sitting here listening to my dad relay this in utter bewilderment like. Well dad I love the energy but I have never been bothered at all if grandma calls me Jessica. I have never even once asked her not to or complained to anyone that she does. But also this is the grandma who HAS called me Jay more often than not?? My mom's mom never picked it up, but I was astonished to hear my dad's mom was acting like this was some New Dramatic Change that she Hated and not a thing she's literally already been doing for, again, twenty entire years. Why are you suddenly making it weird! Last weekend Justin's stepmom mentioned seeing my mom at the hospital where mom works, and how she said something like 'yes I'm Jessica's mom-- wait, no, Jay, she hates it when I do that' and I just?? I literally don't, the only problem now is that people who know me won't know who the fuck you're talking about

all of this and I'm just. I am literally just sitting here. why are we inventing problems out of this two decades later. what is going on

[moteldogs]

like on some level I get that having a good relationship with my dad in the present requires both of us to pretend like most of the last 20 years didn't happen. well it's mostly me pretending, I don't think he gives a shit. and I'm okay with that! I would've traded anything in the world when I was a kid to get to have my dad be the way he is now. but also there's a little kid who lives in my chest and is gnawing at my ribs and it wants to hear my dad list out every single thing he ever did to us and apologize for all of it. which is never going to happen.

[shirleyjacksonism]

"student life" this "student life" that. girl I haven't been to a club in a year. haven't spoken to another student for longer than 10 minutes since the beginning of uni. haven't made plans with ABSOLUTELY ANYONE. everyone seems to get on well with each other and hang out together and everything and I have only spoken to 3 of my classmates in total. I'm living in my childhood home with my mom. thank you but I think I'll skip this "student life"