#this ones sad!

[quintinh43]

All My Heart | Quinn Hughes

Summary: Quinn has been off the ice for two weeks, and he isn't dealing with it well.

Pairings: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Anxiety/panic (attack?), general questioning of existence. Feelings, Angst, the whole roster basically.

Notes: yall please be careful reading this one! I did not mean for it to go the way it did but here we are. Please please please keep the warnings in mind, and if ever you need to stop reading please do. Take care of yourselves first loves. More notes at the end!

Wc: 1.6 k

---

Quinn felt like he was going insane. He'd been off the ice for two weeks due to an upper body injury, and it felt as if the restlessness had buried itself beneath his bones. He currently lay in bed, staring at the ceiling with tired eyes and a mind that wouldn't relax.

His foot shook incessantly beneath the blanket as he tried to fall asleep, but the thoughts kept whirling. He had been having trouble sleeping since he'd been benched. The constant string of anxious thoughts preventing his mind from quieting down enough for him to slip into a blissful sleep.

"Quinn." You grumble, voice laced with sleepiness. His constant foot shaking had been pulling you in and out of sleep since the two of you had settled down for the night. But you had kept quiet in the hopes that he would be able to fall asleep eventually.

"I'm sorry," Quinn whispers sheepishly, his fingers start drawing soothing circles into your waist, from where his arm is wrapped around you. "I didn't mean to wake you," he murmers, pressing his lips against your hair in a gentle kiss.

"It's alright, love. But can you please please stop shaking your foot?" You mutter, still half asleep.

"Yeah, sorry baby," he murmers sheepishly. He stills his foot, and somehow, the thoughts become ten times more intense. He's going on a full week with a total of maybe four hours of sleep. It's fucking hell. He's been getting snappy during the day. Although you mostly leave it be, because he usually apologizes right after, and you know he doesn't mean when he says it, and it's just his anxiety about not being able to play.

Deciding that there is no use in trying to sleep, he waits until your breathing evens out into a quiet snore before untangling himself from you and slipping out of the bedroom quietly. Quinn finds himself in the kitchen, with no plan on what to do. It's nearly three in the morning.

He settles onto the floor in favour of stretching. Hoping that it will help calm him at least enough so that he's no longer obscenely jittery. Unfortunately, it does nothing useful for him. His next idea is to watch a movie. Maybe something stupid and mind-numbing will put him to sleep.

He makes himself a cup of chamomile tea and sinks into the couch, turning on the first Despicable Me movie. It's perfectly stupid enough to get him no longer thinking about hockey. Except, then there's a freeze-ray. And then Vector's in-house shark aquarium is reminding him of the Canucks.

He pauses the movie and puts down his empty mug on the coffee table with such a deep sigh. It feels as though his bones are rattling. He presses his palms to his eyes in desperation, wishing oh so terribly that he could be skating and playing hockey. He feels chained, having not been allowed on the ice for so long.

His second home, his freedom. Where it feels like he's flying. Where he feels invincible, like he can do anything. Quinn springs up from the couch, and he's pacing. He paces around the living room with such fervor that he might wear a hole into the floor.

He needs to get on the ice. Now. Or he's going to rip his hair out. And then, on top of being injured, he'll also be bald. Which would be the second worst thing to ever happen to him. The first being the fact that he hasn't been allowed on the ice for two full weeks.

With no coherent plan, he creeps around the apartment, throwing his skating equipment in a spare duffle bag. He's grabbing his car keys and slipping on his shoes when the bedroom door opens with a creek.

"Quinn?" Your voice is tired and confused. You're hugging your arms around your body to protect yourself from the chill of the apartment.

Quinn looks like a deer caught in headlights. His hair is sticking up in every which direction, his eyes are red from exhaustion, and his eyebags are so so dark. He's wearing two different shoes, and for fucks sake he's not even wearing a shirt.

You amble over to him cautiously, gently tugging the duffle bag from his hand. You can see the blades of his skates sticking out of the bag. "Baby, what are you doing?" Your eyes dart over to the time on the microwave. It's 3:47 am.

"Y/n" he breathes, it's desperate and pleading, and all you want to do is wrap him in your arms and take away all his pain and worries. "I need to go- I need to get out. I'm going insane." He whispers. There's a tremor in his hands as he runs them through his hair.

"Ok, my love, we're gonna go. Let's go put on some proper clothes first." You say lacing your fingers with his and tugging him towards the bedroom. He sighs, squeezing your hand tightly. Like he needs the physical reminder that you're with him. Otherwise, you'll disappear.

You successfully coax him into a hoodie and a touqe and pull a pair of sweatpants and one of Quinn's hoodies over your (his) t-shirt. Making sure Quinn is wearing the correct set of shoes, you grab the keys off the hook, sling his duffle bag over your shoulder, and grab his hand. As soon as your hands are linked again, his grip is tight. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

You throw his bag in the back seat and slide into the driver's side while Quinn slips into the passenger seat. As soon as he can, he grabs your hand again. You hold your intertwined hands tucked under your chin while you drive.

"Talk to me, Quinn," you murmur softly, stroking your thumb over the back of his knuckles.

Quinn sighs shakily. He wants to talk to you. He really does. But he's so used to burying everything down, to not be a burden. He's the oldest. He's supposed to be the leader, the strong one. He knows in his heart that if there's anyone he can talk to, it's you. You don't push. You know he'll talk when he's ready.

His leg is bouncing, and he's running his hand through his hair nervously as he formulates his thoughts into coherent sentences. "I feel like i'm going insane," he mutters. "i need - i need to get on the ice. It's my freedom. I feel chained to existence because I haven't been able to skate for so long."

Your heart breaks for him as you squeeze his hand, letting him know that you're listening.

"I'm sorry, that doesn't make any sense," he sighs.

"No baby, it does, I get what you're saying," you say softly.

"It's like, I'm being punished for something. Am I a bad person?" His voice is cracking, and if you thought it impossible for your heart to break further, you were just proven wrong.

"No, Quinn, you aren't a bad person. Injuries are inevitable. You didn't do anything to deserve this. I promise you, my love." You kiss the back of his hand, hoping that your lips can pour all your love and reassurance into him.

"Where are we going?" Quinn asks, squinting curiously at the rapidly passing treeline. You had exited onto the highway a little bit ago, with no plan or intention.

You shrug your shoulders, "No idea, I'm just driving."

Guilt washes over Quinn like a tidal wave. He tugs his hand from yours and covers his face, with embarrassment and exasperation at himself. He sighs into his hands, and all of a sudden, the emotions are too much again.

"Quinn?" You glance at him with concern. He's breathing deeply, trying to keep the anxiety from spiking again.

"I'm so sorry, I woke you up and dragged out at such an ungodly hour. And fuck- you have work in the morning. Baby, I'm sorry, I'm sorry -" he sounds like he's on the verge of hyperventilating.

"Quinn, baby, look at me." Your voice is so gentle as you wrap your hand around his wrist and tug it away from his face, "You are the most important thing to me. Forever and always, especially especially right now. Please, please, please, don't beat yourself up about it. I would drop everything for you in a heartbeat, my love."

His breathing is still shallow. You rest his hand on your chest and take deep, slow breaths. "Copy my breathing, Quinn."

It takes a minute for his breathing to match yours, "Good job Honey" you smile, keeping his hand pressed against your chest.

"Can we go home?" He whispers, intertwining his fingers with yours.

"Of course, baby, whatever you want." You take the next exit and head in the direction of your shared apartment. The drive is mostly silent, only the sounds of deep breathing and the occasional shuddering sigh fill the car.

As soon as you're back in the apartment, Quinn is pulling off his hoodie and toque, "I need you to lay on top of me," Quinn all but begs.

"Alright, lay down wherever you want." You say, stripping if your own hoodie and sweats. He lays on the floor. The bed is too soft. He can't handle the sinking feeling. You lay directly on top of him, and he let's out a relieved sigh, his arms tightening around your waist.

"Love you so much, Y/n," he murmers into your cheek.

"I love you too, Quinn, with all my heart," you say gently, stroking his hair soothingly. He falls asleep within half an hour, and you pass out right after him.

And when the two of you wake up, if you take him skating. Well, that's no one's business but your own.

---

I know I said I probably wasn't gonna post for like a week and a half cause of school, but the inspiration hit, and I wrote this in like... an hour. So if it's really bad, well...

And just cause I haven't said it before, everything I write is purely fictional! I don't know how the hughes act in real life! I am simply writing them as characters.

I might end up taking this one down, so...

Anyways. Please take care of yourselves, yall. Leave comments! And as always, Love Soph.

[artkaninchenbau]

Crocodile finds a strange stray cat an 11-year old Nico Robin (AU where they met 13 years earlier. Robin's been on the run from the World Government for 3 years. Crocodile's 27 and has not set up base in Alabasta yet)

It seems like I have become possessed. By some sort of demon.

Bonus:

[kuuhaiyu]

i really can't emphasize how heartbreaking it is that the recent harassment campaign against @/90-ghost (among others; see: 1, 2, 3) has led to well-meaning people telling others not to listen to him. he is one of the most visible survivors of the genocide here on tumblr. his entire journey of escape is so well documented! and yet, it only took a few people confidently pointing fingers to create an entire witch hunt accusing him and other palestinians of being disreputable scammers and liars.

i can't help but feel like the reason why people were SO eager to believe those accusations, is because it was uncomfortable to see posts from palestinians every day asking for our time, attention, money, and support; so when someone presented the perfect excuse to ignore all those posts and asks while also taking the high ground, people just LEAPED onto it. they wanted to believe it, because it would be more comfortable.

honestly, i understand feeling overwhelmed by bad news, by the number of asks and messages in your inbox, and so on and so forth. i understand needing to set boundaries for yourself so you don't get burned out. i think this is really when you have to have a set of principles to fall back on, even when you're tired, uncomfortable, angry, and/or sad. so here's the one i suggest, which has been working for me best: don't make your discomfort with this situation into someone else's problem, and for god's sake don't make it a public problem.

if you hate seeing fundraiser posts or news about gaza, i can't emphasize this enough, JUST MOVE ON. KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT AND SCROLL PAST! all you have to do is absolutely nothing. which is what you were doing anyway, so it shouldn't be hard. if you don't have the heart to read, or reblog, or share, or donate, or support in other ways, at the very least, don't obstruct the efforts of people who ARE trying to make a difference. this is, quite literally, the least you can do.

[sga-owns-my-soul]

reblog to give ur mutuals a soft lil kissy on the head

[dongslinger--420]

When BoJack Horseman (2014-2020) said "you can't keep doing shitty things and then feel bad about yourself like that makes it ok. you need to be better" and "all we have are the connections we make" and "I really should've thought about the view from halfway down" and "sometimes you have to take responsibility for your own happiness" and "you do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself around, you turn yourself around, THAT'S what it's all about" and "things have to get worse before they can get better" and "in real life, the big gesture isn't enough, you need to be consistent" and "if we hadn't met each other until now, we wouldn't be the people we are now" and, my personal favourite, "every day it gets a little easier, but you gotta do it every day, that's the hard part, but it does get easier".

[happyheidi]

𝖠𝗇 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗎 𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗈𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝖻𝗈𝗋 𝖼𝖺𝗍

[hinamie]

dead man walking

[noodles-and-tea]

Twins in time au.... Would Fiddleford act as a sort of father figure to Stan? Since Filbrick obviously SUCKED to both Stan and Ford and Fidd is more than definitely missing HIS son, and of course Ford has grown to love him but they're still BROTHERS.. Maybe they could act as the father/son the other is missing?

ABSOLUTELY!!!!

[brotato-chibs]

they go flying 💨🍃

[pangur-and-grim]

I think he likes me

[arkarti]

The Fall

the final moments of angel!crowley

Twitter: X

[bigturtl]

i love lawyer game

[dingledraw]

A short comic about Crowley’s hair🐍

[raphaerolo]

Zack and Cody (2005)

[forgettable-au]

PROLOGUE

FORGETTABLE-AU (Page 1-9)

AND SO IT BEGINS!

I don't think I can fit all 20 pages of the prologue in just one post, so I'm dividing it into 4 posts! This one's the longest...

[CONTINUE]

[wojtekaneko]

That's how it went