#I think i got every version of these words in there

[zyafics-recs]

reblogging comment review from @zyafics

everytime i read this series i feel like im entering the battlefield 🚬😮‍💨my annotations below hehe ⬇️

It was unthinkable to be contemplating about gravestones. How could you sum up your family in limited words or dates, let alone choose a font for it?

ur writing has such PERSONALITY in it, i swear to god when i read this in beta, i was so in awe

Your first thought had been telling Topper, your only real family left, but he was as much Rafe’s as he was yours, and when it came down to it, he was still his best friend. Loyal to him since they were five, and jesus knows how he’d react if he found out about this. He’d most likely freak the fuck out and tell Rafe everything, thinking he was doing the right thing, or worse, letting it slip to Ruthie.

this parallels perfectly to the first chapter where topper called rafe when reader was leaving, so not only is this paragraph giving us an at-point breakdown, but it's referring evidence that topper would slip and tell rafe

It’s then you recognized how small your world was. How few people were truly yours.

their lives are so intertwined that reader doesn't know who to turn to when she needs independence 😭 oh curse rafe and his big dick

Today, it was just you, a few kids and teens dotted along the beach with oversized trash bags. It wasn’t even noon, but the sun felt like it was scorching you alive. It was laughable, really, standing under this blistering sun with a cheap trash bag and an endless stretch of sand to clean. 

this specific paragraph i wanted to highlight because i thought it was so descriptive and imaginative, but simplistic in a way that didn't feel like it was purple prose.

The kids were watching you again, with that look of curiosity. You couldn’t look them in the eye. It wasn’t their fault. They just didn’t understand that sometimes the grown-ups didn’t know what they were doing either. 

the last line EATS BITCH IT EATS

 “You should sit down.”

oh suck a dick

It was hard to believe the two of you had once burned hotter than any bonfire, two people who got under each other’s skin, in love, and in hate.

in love to hate omg

Instead, he narrowed his eyes, “You think I don’t know what fine looks like? I was there.”

THIS IS SO COLD BUT IT SHOWED HOW THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS SO WELL, HOW INTERTWINED THEY ARE WITH ONE ANOTHER

And the worst part? You could see that frustration in his eyes, the same look he used to give you when he’d reached his limit with you.You wondered if he ever got to that point with Sofia.

i would crashout

Sofia—the one who looked like she'd been ripped off from some perfect postcard, all wide-eyed sweetness and gentle smiles. She probably never challenged him, snapped back, or made him want to pull his hair out.

hm.

This was a version of you only Rafe could bring out.

they're so toxic and dynamic and i love them

Your chest hurt like you’d been run over a hundred times—it felt suffocating. “I hate you.”For the first time, you thought he might actually leave you here. 

that stopped me cold i had to write something in my diary

His fingers stopped as if your words had made an impact, his lips pressed into a thin line. Your vision blurred as he leaned in, his touch hovering as if to wipe away the tear running down your cheek, but he didn’t, instead, he closed his hand into a fist and drew back, his face just inches from yours. A faint, humorless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he clicked the seatbelt into place. He made a low humming noise, that thing he did when he was getting ready to make someone feel two inches tall.  "Yeah? Get in line."

LISTEN LISTEN LISTEN I'M LISTENING TO BAD OMENS BY 5SOS AND IT'S AT THE BEATS AND WHILE I READ THIS, IT FITTED PERFECTLY OHMYGOD

Rafe drove fast, every rev of the engine matching the churning in your stomach perfectly. You sat there, trembling, the dread building with every mile that passed. You gripped the seatbelt so hard it felt like your entire body might go numb, and stared straight ahead, breathing shallow, trying to ignore the sting in your eyes.

i wanted to highlight this specific paragraph because i adore the writing, something about it made me feel every single atom of the scene

“Would you stop?” His voice softened for the first time, as if he was trying to reach some part of you that he thought still cared. “You look like you haven’t slept in days, like you haven’t eaten anything that wasn’t out of a vending machine. I know you don’t want my help, but can you just stop for a second and—”“And what?” you interrupted.“And think! If you don’t get in there, I’ll drag you in myself.”Your heart raced, “You wouldn’t dare.”Rafe stepped closer; his jaw set in determination. “Try me.”“You’re not coming in."He blinked like the idea hadn’t even occurred to him. “What?”

HE DIDN'T EXPECT THAT SHIT NO NO

“Yeah, I got someone.”

that's right baby tell em

💌 — ugh, something about this part has been so dynamic, in the way it's constructed, the way it flows so naturally, the way the dialogues are so emotionally-charged but bounces off one another seamlessly. it was like i was watching a perfectly-curated film, where the dialogues were performed by seasoned actors. i love love their arguments. i love how intense it always gets, how they have this push-pull against each other, this hate-love, this line they can't even comprehend nor define. and i love how you written it so beautifully, that you communicate the intensity and depth of this relationship but aggression, tension, and hurt.

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - FIVE

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mention of pregnancy; abortion; lack of self-care

You’ve had to make a lot of unfortunate decisions in your life.

Choosing a place for your entire family to rest for eternity, picking the caskets, the headstones—it felt like deciding which curtains to buy for the house, except you were burying your entire close family.

After the crash, your parents were gone instantly, just like that—no goodbyes, no warning, just there one moment and gone the next.

But your sister survived. Three days. You thought maybe that was a sign, she’d live despite everything, and you wouldn’t be left alone.

Two weeks later, the doctors told you it was time, but you couldn’t accept it. You held her hand, begging her to stay, telling her every promise you could think of if she opened her eyes.

When the monitors finally went flat, you couldn’t feel anything but desperation. Rafe had to pull you out of there, his arms locked around you while you kicked and screamed, sobbing and begging your sister not to go, not to leave you here.

You fought him with everything you had left, clawing, crying, pleading for just one more second. You were screaming so loud you didn’t even recognize your voice. Everything good had been ripped away from your hands, there was nothing left of the world you’d known.

After that, you remember sitting in some stuffy funeral home office, skimming through catalogs and hardly seeing the pages through your tears. The caskets all looked the same, the types of wood made no difference to you, fabric linings, all of it felt so wrong. 

None of it was a choice you should have to make. 

It was unthinkable to be contemplating about gravestones. How could you sum up your family in limited words or dates, let alone choose a font for it?

You just picked something neutral and blank, something that didn’t require thought or emotion because, by then, you had nothing left to give. 

Now you were trapped again, caught between a rock and a hard place.

Your first thought had been telling Topper, your only real family left, but he was as much Rafe’s as he was yours, and when it came down to it, he was still his best friend. Loyal to him since they were five, and jesus knows how he’d react if he found out about this. He’d most likely freak the fuck out and tell Rafe everything, thinking he was doing the right thing, or worse, letting it slip to Ruthie.

Ruthie—no chance you’d involve her. She’d just see this as another fucked up piece of gossip she could hold over your head, another way to judge or control you. She was “friend” only in the loosest sense of the word.

Kelce was the last person you’d consider turning to for something this serious. He has always been there, but you never got close. He was too much of an instigator, always pushing Rafe to do reckless things he’d regret later, peer pressuring him in ways that made you wonder if he even knew what loyalty meant. He had this weird loyalty to Ruthie, defending her comments as if she was some misunderstood angel when really, she was just… mean.

So that left Sarah. 

It felt weird, thinking of her as the person you’d call on for something so serious, she was the only one who felt… safe. She wouldn’t judge, wouldn’t pry, she’d seen what the worst kind of family conflict could do, and she’d keep this private, just for you.

It’s then you recognized how small your world was. How few people were truly yours.

You were pretty sure no one in this town would fully understand, they’d just offer their "advice," as if they knew you, seen what you’d been through. 

The truth was, they didn’t know shit. They hadn't seen you holding your sister’s hand, begging her to stay alive. They didn’t know what it was like to bury everything that made you feel like a person, like you belonged somewhere, and have to get up the next day like nothing happened.

Nine days, you would be halfway across the country, and you needed someone. You pictured saying it out loud: “I’m pregnant", just those two words, to someone’s face, you had no idea what to say next.

Maybe you’d tell them that it wasn’t about wanting it gone out of spite or shame, but because you couldn’t bring a child into a world where you felt this alone.

Earlier that morning, you’d stared down at your phone, thumb itching to click on Sarah’s name, like just pressing "call" could fix everything. You despised how needy it made you feel—reaching out, when you’d prided yourself on surviving alone. 

You didn’t have much time to ponder about it, because you were stuck at the beach cleanup.

Just like every other summer, another "social responsibility" event that your late father’s foundation insisted you smile through. Even back then, when they were alive, your summers were a carousel of charity galas, fundraisers, endless hours of small talk, and impeccably arranged seating charts.

The board members of the foundation probably thought it would “ground” you—remind you of your privilege, of your “responsibility” to give back. As if a couple of hours and a few bags of garbage would somehow balance the scales. They never seemed to understand how much of it was all for show, this shallow idea that if you looked the part, no one would care to learn more.

But, still, you’d show up. You always did. Smile, make just enough small talk to appease the right people. 

Today, it was just you, a few kids and teens dotted along the beach with oversized trash bags. It wasn’t even noon, but the sun felt like it was scorching you alive. It was laughable, really, standing under this blistering sun with a cheap trash bag and an endless stretch of sand to clean. 

Kie, who was so genuinely invested in this whole “save the planet” thing it was almost enviable was there too with JJ, who was running around her as usual, wearing his ‘I’m just here for the ride’ expression but enjoying himself. The love between them made you miss having someone who cared in ways that weren’t just calculated moves.

She waved at you from the shoreline, her eyes moving to the trash bag you were barely half-filling.

You weren’t friends, but if Sarah liked her, you did too.

You offered a faint smile back, tired, because between all the shit you’d been thinking about, you'd forgotten to eat, to drink anything, and every time you leaned down to grab another crumpled plastic bottle or a bit of seaweed-laden garbage, you felt like your legs were about to give out on you. 

Every now and then, she would throw a quick, appraising glance your way, like she was expecting you to miraculously become invested in the beach’s ecosystem.

You didn’t have it in you to pretend this was enjoyable today. The “effortless” philanthropy your family loved was a lifestyle you’d never bought into. It didn’t matter how many smiling photos of you had ended up on some charity’s social media—you knew you’d rather be anywhere else.

You had to take a break every few minutes, leaning against a pier post, trying to get yourself together as a few of the younger kids gave you wary glances. You could have left—probably should have.

You managed a tight-lipped smile, giving a thumbs-up that said, Just doing great over here, guys!

You were in a long t-shirt, which hung over your bikini and shorts, the fabric slightly oversized, to help hide what was still a small change in your body. Paranoia was your new best friend, always worrying that someone would notice something different, even if you didn’t have a noticeable bump yet.

Bending down to grab another plastic bottle, you felt a stab of nausea hit you hard, rolling up from your stomach, thick and sour, but you ignored it. Not here. Not now.

You straightened up too fast, and your vision blurred slightly, that familiar sense of vertigo hitting you. You took a shallow breath, ignoring the burn at the back of your throat, your hands shaking slightly as you adjusted the bag slung over your shoulder.

One girl looked up at you with these wide eyes kids like to pull, “Are you okay?” 

You smiled, brushing it off as if you weren’t about two seconds away from collapsing. “Of course. Just... need a second.” 

The kids were watching you again, with that look of curiosity. You couldn’t look them in the eye. It wasn’t their fault. They just didn’t understand that sometimes the grown-ups didn’t know what they were doing either. 

Just a few more bags of trash and you’d be able to get back to your car, maybe grab some water from the cooler in the trunk, sit down, and think about it.

This used to be easy, you got a weird kind of enjoyment from these cleanups, running around with your sister, making it a competition to see who could pick up the most trash, laughing until your stomachs hurt over stupid jokes about jellyfish and sunscreen. Back then, this was just one of a thousand little family traditions, one of those things that felt effortless.

Now, sweat dripped down the back of your neck, making your skin prickle uncomfortably.

You’d long given up wiping it away, knowing that it would only come back thicker and hotter the next second. Every instinct told you to run off to the parking lot, and sit in the car with the AC blasting until your body remembered it didn’t hate you.

Leaning down for one last bottle wedged in the sand, your legs wobbled and gave way beneath you. Just like that, your vision was spotty, as if someone had turned down the brightness on the entire beach, and you pitched forward.

Just as you felt yourself going down, a hand caught your arm, pulling you back up.

"Whoa, whoa, you okay?" A teenage boy, maybe sixteen, gripped your arm firmly, keeping you upright.

How much longer could they realistically expect you to go on, plastering on that sweet, dutiful smile? How much “grounding” could one person take?

You blinked, trying to clear the haze in your eyes, "I’m fine. Just a little lightheaded, really, it’s fine,” you insisted, but then a shadow loomed beside you. 

Your vision was so foggy that it took seconds for you to register it.

You looked up slowly, feeling a familiar drop in your stomach as you realized who it was.

The last time you’d been this close to him, the two of you had been screaming insults across the room, Lily having to physically step in. She’d forced him to leave before you two killed each other. It was a miracle you hadn’t punched him then and there.

 “You should sit down.”

It felt like a sidekick to your chest.

The sound of his voice was grinding on your nerves, and just like that you were stuck back in your dream, a real memory, leaning against him, his hand playing with a strand of your hair as he laughed at something you’d said, the two of you carefree under a golden sunset. 

Except this was real.

Rafe was shirtless, with his board tucked under one arm, surf wax staining his fingers, and the sun glinting off his damp skin, like he was God’s gift to the Outer Banks. His buzzed hair was dark and wet, droplets trailing down his temples and catching along his jawline. His cheeks were flushed, a little red from the heat.

You looked away, somewhere over his shoulder, anywhere but at him, refusing to let him see you in this fragile state.

“Go away. I’m fine.”

But he didn’t move.

He’d been summoned from your absolute worst memories, catching you at your lowest when you least wanted his help. Typical. 

“No,” he refused firmly, with that stupid, stubborn look that made you want to throw something at his head. “I’ve seen you almost fall three times now.”

“Maybe if you stopped looking at me like a creep, you wouldn’t have to see me ‘almost fall.”

“I wasn’t—"

You grounded your teeth, “Just go back to surfing.”

Rafe let out a dry laugh, shaking his head as if you were the one acting crazy. “Yeah, 'cause you look perfectly stable right now.”

He'd always been a master of the passive-aggressive half-sneer, the art of making you feel like everyone else was imposing on his day, no matter the situation.

“Don’t act like you care.” you snapped, voice carrying over the sand, earning a few glances from nearby kids.

He ran a hand over his face, looking around as if he didn’t want to be there any more than you did, mouth pressed into a tight line. You wanted to scream that this was his fault too, that every choice he’d made led to you standing here alone, exhausted, and terrified.

“Water would help, y’know”, his tone just shy of patronizing “You can’t go around dehydrating yourself just to make a point.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Your fingers twitched with the urge to send him stumbling to the other side of the beach, you knew that any sudden movement would make you light-headed again, and the last thing you wanted was to give him more proof of your weakness.

The kid—still standing there, eyes wide and darting between you both—looked like he was watching a reality TV show when Kiara appeared at your side.

“Let’s not do this here,” she begged under her breath, handing you a bottle of water she’d brought over, a kindness you didn’t want but couldn’t reject. “Just sit down for a second, please?”

JJ followed, always with that air of easygoing nonchalance, but his eyes were serious as he glanced from you to Rafe.

“She’s right. Just take a second, yeah?” He looked over at Rafe, “Maybe you should leave,” he said pointedly.

“Maybe you should mind your fuckin’ business Maybank.”

“Look, uh,” the kid stammered, knowing he could get caught in the crossfire. “I’ll… I’ll go see if anyone needs help further down the beach…”

You waved him off, your focus still locked on Rafe as the kid all but bolted away, you didn’t want anyone to think they had to “rescue” you.

You tried to take a step back, but the little strength you had in you disappeared as you felt your knees wobble.

"Jesus," you heard him groan, and then his hands were on your arms, board on the sand, holding you as you stumbled. "I told you to sit down."

You shook his hands off, "Don’t tell me what to do.”

It was hard to believe the two of you had once burned hotter than any bonfire, two people who got under each other’s skin, in love, and in hate.

He let out an exasperated sigh while you took a sip from the water Kiara handed you, ignoring how your hands were still shaking around the bottle. 

She spoke again, trying to be the voice of reason, "We’re here to help the community, remember?"

JJ smirked, "Yeah, think the sea turtles are rooting for y’all to work out your issues somewhere else.”

You ignored his joke, keeping your eyes on Rafe, your pride and stubbornness refusing to let him win, “I’m fine.”

“Yeah?”

He looked you over, his gaze fixed to your warm cheeks and the dewy sheen across your temple, “You look real fine, don’t you?” He didn’t even try to cloak his sarcasm.

God, he could be so exasperating.

He couldn’t understand. How could he even think he could look at you now and know anything about who you were? Standing there, with that stupid board and that look, like he couldn’t imagine anything bothering him as much as this seemed to be bothering you.

As if he hadn’t already ruined you in so many ways that felt impossible to get over. 

“Don’t you have something better to do?” 

“Oh, believe me, I do,” he drawled, his eyes trailing from the waves back to you. 

You were tired of this game, of fighting him every time he showed up only to leave you feeling even emptier than before.

Your fists clenched, and you opened your mouth to hurl something back, but the dizziness hit you again. Before you could compose yourself, Rafe’s arm wrapped around your waist, strong and frustratingly secure, holding you upright with an ease that made your skin crawl.

He had seen you at your weakest, had been there at the hospital after the accident, keeping you together when you were certain you’d break. 

Yet, here you were, in a sick way, back in his arms, all broken apart.

“That’s it. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“I hate to say it, but he’s right,” JJ chimed in, hand shielding his eyes from the sun.

The world alone had all kinds of alarms going off in your brain. You fought back instinctively, your hands pushing at his chest, freeing your arm. 

“I told you, I’m fine.”

He let go, but he didn’t back away.

Instead, he narrowed his eyes, “You think I don’t know what fine looks like? I was there.”

He was there. And you didn’t want to be reminded of it, not in front of other people. 

He meant the exhaustion and hunger pains you’d welcomed after your family was gone, embraced even, because it meant you wouldn’t have to feel anything else.

You’d wanted to disappear, and he’d been there—dragging you back, forcing you to drink water and swallow bites of food, even when you pushed him away. He’d seen you at your absolute lowest, where you didn’t care if you made it through the day. 

The thought of the hospital, tests, questions, you fought it, but your vision was already blurring.

You couldn’t let him find out about the baby. 

Your breathing felt tighter, each shallow breath only making the spinning worse, you could sense your body giving in to the exhaustion

“Shit,” you heard him curse, sounding distant now like he was farther away. 

You felt yourself sway as if the ground was opening beneath you, there was a ringing in your ears that made his voice sound muffled but you still felt his arms catching you again, holding you upright before you fell.

Waking up in a moving vehicle was like emerging from a nightmare, except somehow, this was worse, because you were no longer at the beach. 

You blinked hard, desperate to wipe the fogginess in your eyes and when it did go away, you realized who was behind the wheel. 

Rafe. 

Your heart pounded—your desperation to keep the baby a secret, how you almost passed out at the beach, and the fact that now he was most likely driving you to the hospital.

“What the hell are you doing?” you practically screamed, your voice hoarse from the lack of water.

He didn’t spare you a glance, “You passed out, genius. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

Your whole body went rigid. “Are you insane?”

“Me?” He scoffed, as he kept his focus on the road. “You practically ate sand back there. You’re not fine.”

“Turn the car around. I’ll call my driver and be fine.” You huffed like he was too dumb to understand. “I don’t need your help.”

He let out a dry laugh, still not looking at you. 

“Yeah. You’re out of your mind if you think I’m letting you out of this car right now.”

“Rafe, I’m not kidding,” you warned, louder this time. “Stop. The. Car.”

He gave you a sideways glance, his grip on the wheel tightening.

“Not happening.”

Your heart hammered as you realized he wasn’t going to back down, you were driven by sheer desperation.

“Fine, then I’ll do it myself." you muttered, reaching for the door handle. 

Anything to get out of this suffocating car before he dragged you all the way to the ER and they found out you were pregnant—with his baby, no less.

His eyes widened, finally snapping from the road to your hand on the handle.

“Are you crazy? Get your hand off that, I’m fuckin' serious.”

You yanked at it anyway, twisting the handle and pulling with spiteful defiance, and Rafe’s expression went from annoyed to full-on rage. He swerved the car to the side of the road, tires skidding as he slammed the brakes and practically threw the car into park.

Before he could even stop fully, you flung the door open and stumbled out, sandals sinking into the gravel as you stalked away.

You didn’t get more than a few feet, he was already bolting after you.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you muttered, digging your nails into your palms. 

How the hell had it come to this? You were stuck here, pregnant with his child, and he played the reluctant hero like you needed him swooping in to save you.

Rafe reached you in two strides, his fingers were digging into his forehead, pointing at it with exasperation imprinted into every corner of his face. 

“Are you out of your fuckin' mind?” He sounded like he was talking to some unruly child.

And the worst part? You could see that frustration in his eyes, the same look he used to give you when he’d reached his limit with you.

You wondered if he ever got to that point with Sofia.

What would he do if she was the one almost fainting? Would he still look like she was some colossal burden, or would he soften, maybe even smile as he fussed over her, acting like he wanted to help?

You hated yourself for caring at all.

Sofia—the one who looked like she'd been ripped off from some perfect postcard, all wide-eyed sweetness and gentle smiles. She probably never challenged him, snapped back, or made him want to pull his hair out.

There was no way he’d look at her like she was a mess, someone he just had to “deal with.” He likely saw her as easy, perfect, all soft and sweet words, everything you weren’t.

This wasn’t who you wanted to be, and yet here you were, stumbling around half-dead and pregnant with his child.

“I’m sorry, am I bothering you?” You spat the words, watching his jaw clench tighter. 

He exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes. 

“Unbelievable. Only you could take me trying to help and turn it into this.”

You were done. You were done with the memories, with the torment of seeing him be something better for someone else. 

“Help?” You laughed bitterly, the anger engulfing you so hard it felt as if it choking you. “You think this is help? That I need you, of all people?”

He took a step back, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I'm trying to help."

You hated how calm he was, how rational he sounded.

It was maddening when all you wanted was for him to get angry, to let that icy surface crack, to give you even a glimpse of something real, something that wasn’t just irritation or sarcasm.

You wanted proof that he still was affected by you, that this was the same guy who used to be everything, who’d promised you everything.

But you swallowed it down, straightening up, because there was no way in hell, you’d let him see even a hint of weakness.

“Trust me,” you shot back, “I’ll be just fine without you.”

He raised an eyebrow, a bitter smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “Get in the car.”

“No,” you said, firm and unyielding, every inch of you screaming that you wouldn’t let him decide anything for you ever again.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

In one swift move, he reached out, his hands gripping your arms with enough pressure to pull you forward, lifting you clean off your feet. Your breath caught in a furious gasp as he practically dragged you back to the car, his fingers warm against your skin, like you were just a mild convenience. 

“Put me down!” 

You struggled against his hold, jabbing at his chest with what little strength you could muster, but he didn’t even flinch, didn’t so much as hesitate. 

“Rafe, I swear—”

He opened the passenger door with one hand, keeping a firm grip on you with the other, before finally setting you down—not gently—onto the seat. Without meaning to, tears began falling as you struggled against his hands. You could feel them wetting your cheeks, your voice was breaking, jumping to distress as you tried to twist out of his hold, feeling so small under his unrelenting strength.

He almost knelt in front of you, reaching for the seat belt with one hand, while his other remained firmly on your shoulder, holding you still. You felt trapped, impresioned as you tried to turn in every direction, hands weakly pushing him back, but he caught them effortlessly.

“Stop!” you meekly choked out, failing to shove him, the words coming out shameful.

You could feel your heart breaking all over again.

You hated that he was seeing you like this, how he dared to act like you needed him—it made your skin crawl. You hated that he could do this, like he had any right like you’d ever wanted him involved in this part of your life, let alone now.

This was a version of you only Rafe could bring out.

You glared up at him, practically shaking with rage as Rafe ignored your protests like you were nothing more than a child throwing a fit. 

“Get your hands off me.”

His jaw tightened, ignoring the flailing punches and slaps grazing him, and you couldn’t stop the sob that escaped, loud and ugly.

“I’m not letting you kill yourself out of spite.”

Your chest hurt like you’d been run over a hundred times—it felt suffocating. “I hate you.”

For the first time, you thought he might actually leave you here. 

His fingers stopped as if your words had made an impact, his lips pressed into a thin line. Your vision blurred as he leaned in, his touch hovering as if to wipe away the tear running down your cheek, but he didn’t, instead, he closed his hand into a fist and drew back, his face just inches from yours. 

A faint, humorless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he clicked the seatbelt into place. He made a low humming noise, that thing he did when he was getting ready to make someone feel two inches tall. 

 "Yeah? Get in line."

Without another word, he pulled back, slamming the door shut, and walking around to the driver’s side.

You wiped at your cheeks, furious that he’d seen you like this, that he had the power to break you down. It was humiliating, sitting here in his car, every part of your body screaming to escape. 

He got in, started the engine, neither of you spoke.

Rafe drove fast, every rev of the engine matching the churning in your stomach perfectly. You sat there, trembling, the dread building with every mile that passed. You gripped the seatbelt so hard it felt like your entire body might go numb, and stared straight ahead, breathing shallow, trying to ignore the sting in your eyes.

You bit back another wave of nausea. Weakness.

You’d already shown him too much. 

You didn’t need a lecture from some doctor on how you “should’ve taken better care of yourself", let alone with Rafe there, watching, scrutinizing, acting like this was his business when he’d made it clear long ago that it wasn’t. He was in your space in the worst way, reopening all the wounds.

You were seething. He had no right to do this.

The thought made you want to drop dead—doctor would walk in, casually drop the news about the baby, and you'd be left watching his reaction in real time.

You looked at the entrance to the ER. The vision of anyone running tests, of some well-meaning nurse, coming in and spilling everything about the baby in front of him—no way. You wouldn’t let that happen.

He wasted no time getting out, moving around to your side, while you sat rigidly, staring straight ahead. His hand was already on the door, yanking it open, looking down at you like he was ready to drag you inside if he had to.

You weren’t moving. You knew the second you stepped inside, it would be over. 

“C’mon,” Rafe pressed, his hand outstretched, hovering there like he thought he could compel you to listen. “Stop being so stubborn.”

You crossed your arms over your stomach, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I’m not going in.”

Rafe let out a sigh, nearing his limit, and knelt down to your level.

“Look, you passed out. I’m not leaving until you get checked out.”

“You’re gonna be here for a while then.”

“Would you stop?” His voice softened for the first time, as if he was trying to reach some part of you that he thought still cared. “You look like you haven’t slept in days, like you haven’t eaten anything that wasn’t out of a vending machine. I know you don’t want my help, but can you just stop for a second and—”

“And what?” you interrupted.

“And think! If you don’t get in there, I’ll drag you in myself.”

Your heart raced, “You wouldn’t dare.”

Rafe stepped closer; his jaw set in determination. “Try me.”

“You’re not coming in."

He blinked like the idea hadn’t even occurred to him. “What?”

Maybe he was seeing the protection you’d built up around yourself since he left, how there was no longer any crack left open for him to slip through.

“I don’t need you. I don’t want you in there.”

“Fine.” His tone was clipped, restrained. “But I’ll be right here.”

You slammed the door shut behind you, not letting him your legs still shaking. You’d rather collapse face-first into the concrete than give him the satisfaction of listening to him. 

“Yeah, you do that,” you replied, turning and walking toward the entrance, refusing to look back.

Stepping inside, you felt a slight tremor run through you—part relief, part panic. The lights were too bright, almost white. Your heart wobbled, replaying how he’d been such a fucking asshole to you.

You’d forgotten how mean he could be, how easily he could go from angry to something so frigid it made you want to cry yourself to sleep.

“Hi there,” The receptionist greeted, her eyes moving over you with a professional once-over, “What brings you in today?”

You forced a small smile, knowing she wouldn’t buy it.

“Just…got a little dehydrated, that’s all.”

“Okay…let’s just get some basic information.” She clicked into her computer, her fingers poised over the keyboard. “Name?”

You cleared your throat, rattling off your full name, she nodded, typing it in.

“Have you experienced any other symptoms besides dizziness?”

“Nothing serious,” you replied, dismissively. “It’s just the heat, like I said. I just need some water and I’ll be good as new.”

This had to be a fucking nightmare you got sucked in, you could sense your blood pressure spike.

She tapped her screen and glanced back at you.

“Alright, Miss Thornton, it looks like we’ll just need a few quick details here to get you all checked in. Can I start with your insurance provider?”

A chuckle almost slipped out of you. Insurance—God, you were fine with insurance. What you weren’t okay with was everything else. You answered, “Blue Cross.”

She asked for your birthdate, which you gave on autopilot, hoping she’d skip any weird or invasive questions. “Any allergies?”

You shook your head. Please, just let this be over. 

“It’s really not a big deal,” You blurted out, giving her a thin smile and forcing calm into your voice. “I just need the IV. You know, standard stuff.”

“Of course, dear. We’ll get things started, it will include routine tests, like bloodwork, just to be safe.”

Bloodwork. Perfect. You were doing everything you could to keep from falling into that spiraling panic mode. 

Please, just get me in, get me out, and don’t find anything.

“Just head down to Room 12.”

All you could think was that you wanted this to be over—before the whole town, or worse, he, found out. It made you want to scream. He was the last person who should be outside.

This was his fault. You’d never be here if he hadn’t shown up.

The next hour passed in seconds—questions, forms, an IV drip.

They’d done blood work, too, but you’d sighed in relief when they’d told you the results wouldn’t be ready immediately. As far as they knew, you’d just overdone it, and now, as you lay on a cot in a room that reeked of sick people, all they’d prescribed was rest, hydration, and food.

When the nurse asked if anyone could pick you up, the thought of calling someone, asking them to see you like this, made you delirious. You didn’t need anyone; you were perfectly fine on your own.

But you also didn’t want Rafe and his delusional ass to barge through the doors.

The nurse moved around you awkwardly, eyes still expectant, as if you were just a button away from a reliable “someone” to come running.

You looked at her, controlling the compulsion to yell. Little people ever bothered to check on you, to show up for more than just the drama or gossip.

Out of them, only one face bounced around in your head.

“Yeah, I got someone.”

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige @rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron @serrendiipty @sunny1616

@yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog @psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[meowstri]

you could wipe my mind, i'd still be stuck on you

tags: peter parker x fem!reader, tooth-rotting fluff, college/university au, lots of sarcasm, 1k words synopsis: while going out shopping to buy snacks for movie night, your bf, peter parker, tries to convince to you to let him get a new video game. chaos ensues. a/n: wow hey welcome to my first fic posted on here... sorry if this seems rushed haha. tysm @103rafes for helping me with the ending, ily man. reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated!! title is from stuck on you by grentperez

"alright, i think we've got everything!" your eyes scanned through the various assortment of junk food in the grocery cart. "movie night is gonna be awe-" You turned to face your bf only to find no one standing near you. "ugh... where is that idiot?"

walking around the store, you find your boyfriend of 1 year, peter parker, in the electronics section. of course he was. you thought, he probably even forgot what they were at the store for.

he was staring intently at the newest spider-man video game. Spider-Man 2, it had came out just last month and everyone was going crazy over it. he had a scrunched up look on his face, studying the cover of the game in the clear display case.

as you walked up to him, his senses picked up on your location and he turned his head around, quickly glancing at you before turning his head back towards the display case. "i still can't believe they make video games of me. they really captured my likeness" he let out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "i am so going to get this."

rolling your eyes, you sighed. "no we're not mister. c'mon its time to go home." you tugged on the sleeve of his sweatshirt, but Peter still didn't move an inch.

"please y/n... ned has the game! so does everyone we know!"

"why don't you just go over to ned's house and play it?" you suggested, rolling your eyes once again. "yeah, keep rolling your eyes. it'll be stuck like that soon enough." he huffed with a pout. "if you let me get it i'll let you pick the movie tonight. i know you love those cheesy hallmark movies..." peter said in a sing-songy voice. he leaned in to give you a small peck on the cheek and looked at you with his chocolate puppy-dog eyes.

"your silly antics don't work on me." you can't help but let out a giggle as buried his face into your neck and kissing every expanse of skin on it. peter wrapped his arms around your waist hugging you close. "but no. out of the both of us, you're the worst at managing your spendings and we need the money."

he hummed. "but mr. stark gave me my paycheck on monday, its more than enough to buy the game and put away some of it in our savings..."

"you mean your allowance?"

"hey! i may not be an avenger, but i still work for one of the richest people in america" he laughed, messing up your hair. "so... can i still get it?"

you hesitated for a moment, doing some calculations in your head. the two of you lived together in a dingy apartment and did extra jobs on the side to keep the both of them afloat. you knew peter worked hard a lot, trying to keep his grades up while maintaining his life as the city's spider-man so maybe he did deserve something nice for himself.

the corners of your mouth lifted in a small smile. "well..."

—

“did you see that! i beat his ass so hard.” your bf laughed. you watched intently at the screen trying to decipher what was going on but all you could see were bright flashes of colour.

“you already beat ass in real life. don’t understand why you need to buy this game just to play a virtual version of yourself.” you said jokingly while eating from the bowls of chips and candy you bought earlier that day. you grimaced as you peter took a large handful of m&ms and popcorn, shoving them into his mouth.

“true, but this is more fun.” he said between mouthfuls. “plus i don’t get hurt.” he gave you a dorky little grin.

well there was no denying that, you thought as you smiled back. as much as peter tried to argue, you insisted on paying for the game as a gift. just seeing peter smile over some silly game made you fall in love with him all over again. it was surreal, dating the spider-man. the same one that appeared on the news 24/7. the same one that made you worry for days wondering if he might come back from saving crime.

but he wasn’t just spider-man. he was just plain old peter parker. the boy from queens that you met all those years ago. the boy who was practically an academic genius and the best boyfriend you could ever ask for.

interrupting you from your thoughts, peter wrapped his arm around your shoulder and held you tightly. he had already finished playing the game but he still grasped the controller in his hand.

“what are you thinking about?” he asked quietly, playing with the strands of hair falling on your shoulders. he smelled like fresh laundry and a hint of butter from the popcorn.

“what?”

peter chuckled. “you were staring at me with that look you get when you’re thinking really hard. like your nose scrunches up a bit and you have this wide smile on your face”

“oh… i wasn’t really thinking about anything.” you locked eyes with him, staring into his big, doe brown eyes. you shimmied closer to him and rested your head on shoulder. “just thinking about how great you are.”

“thanks for feeding my ego— ow!” you punched him on the arm but there was no anger to it. “im joking, im joking. you’re great too.” the smile lines on his face deepened.

peter leaned his head against yours. “thank you for getting me that game by the way. i love you.” he pressed his lips against your temple, making a line down towards your cheeks, then ending at your lips. they were soft and warm, and he tasted like slightly like chocolate.

“mm, love you too spidey-boy. now play your game, i didn’t spend 90 dollars on that for nothing.” you giggled lightly.

unable to pull away from your face, he grumbled. “okay, okay! way to ruin a moment with my lovely girlfriend…”

“does this spider-man have a girlfriend too?” you nodded towards the screen.

“you’re better than any video game girlfriend i could have as spider-man”. you couldn’t help but let out a string of laughs as he pulled you in again, planting kisses all over your face.

fin.

[queermarzipan]

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

BEST. SURPRISE. EVER.

BTW

I LOVE YOU ASMI I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

SOOIGJLCFGOOOOO

R o b e r t d e n e i r o

R O B E R T D E N E I R O

i'm dying. i'm actually dying

Russel T. Davies

Russel T. Davies

ily asmi

i'm laughing bc this is incredibly obvious to ME but that is EXACTLY THE SAME RHYTHM so i am in fact delighted that you knew that

Yes this is true. Twelve is the lesbian and thirteen is idk pansexual or something idk. some sort of extremely niche microlabel i feel. not 'lesbian'

YOU WOULD THINK WOULDN'T YOU but no the master just really is that much of an ego-full person. he chose the name. like every time lord gets to choose their name and he called himself the master. & honestly there is also some sort of BDSM thing going on where the master REALLY LIKES the doctor using their name. and they're also both firmly in 'I Can Fix Him' territory about each other. fucking hell

MISSY MY FUCKING BELOVED ISTG I'M SO MAD THAT THE ONLY MASTER ARC THAT HAD HER BE LIKE FIXING HERSELF WAS WHILE SHE WAS A WOMAN AND THEY HAD THAT CLEAR DELINEATION THEY MADE BTW 'THE MASTER' AND 'MISSY' & I'M JUST. I LOVE HER. YOU FUCKING GOT ME. W H Y

the fucking bigeneration i was READY TO CRY & then they gave me the BEST GIFT OF ALL FUCKING TIME WHOVIANS EVERYWHERE CHEERED ISTFG

i also fucking sobbed but that's not the point the point is it fixed me

i love how little catherine knows about doctor who. every interview they do where david and catherine are together and something factual about the lore comes up david turns to catherine like "👀😇" i fucking love it

the QPR is the realest thing ever istFG it's so much stronger than stobin it really is and i'm biased towards stobin bc they're my FIRST PLANTONIC SHIP but omg they knocked it out of the park. the doctor 7 donna. forevermore. in the brains of people who have gone insane

THE FUCKING. KILLS HER. FUCK

HE KILLS HER

TO SAVE HER LIFE

BUT HE STILL KILLS HER

AND HE HAS TO CARRY THAT

FUCKING HELLLLLLLLLLL

this is what the 60th anniversary fixed in me btw. this pain. the cracks r still conveniently there & reopen when i put myself back in time within the canon

why would i do that you ask

obviously

i

must

????

pain

donna

</3.

^see. totally reasonable

the original show had shitty effects and so does the new one and everyone loves it. if u genuinely think the shitty effects of dw are something to overcome u r made aware that u r incorrect. we love our ridiculous procreate ass living bin and obviously plastic mickey. go watch avengers if u want GOOD cgi

this is profoundly accurate & also neutral which is smart bc having not watched the show u would ABSOLUTELY not be able to adequately defend your position to avoid having ppl come up to ubto ""explain" why ur wrong.

that said.

tentoo is the best ending rose tyler could have possibly had it tied in with themes in school reunion & impossible planet & family of blood & also fucking army of ghosts & doomsday & no one can ever change my mind. i fucking love it to fucking pieces u can pry the metacrisis from my cold dead hands

HE'S CALLED TENTOO BC HE'S ALSO TEN IT'S A FUCKING PUN IT'S THE BEST PUN EVER I LOVE IT

NuWho is one word & New Who is two words. Expeditiousness is the friend of all. this is the fandom that uses full-on numbers to refer to versions of a character lke the infamous "you can like 11 better than 10" post lmao u expect us to keep two words we could conpress into one??

THE TARDIS SHOULD ABSOLUTELY IMPLEMENT RIBBONS FOR SEATBELTS IF I EVER GET TO WRITE FOR THE SHOW THAT'S MY FIRST FUCKING SUGGESTION. I'M FUCKING LOVING THAT. also the tardis😍😍🩵💙🩵💙💙🩵💙🩵🩵

he does indeed. bridgerton episode

the ninth doctor is sometimes a butch lesbian and sometimes something unknowable & i think it was the unknowable version that was bobbing his head. he fucking rocks also ur absolutely right he has so little rizz. he can get it

truth. nothing more to say

very very queer. nothing more to say

david tennant and catherine tate had SO MUCH FUN during that episode istg i love them so much

the sexuest person is indeed a head. apparently he was supposed to be in a certain story arc & he'd have his head chopped off and that's why he's a head but they couldn't get him. so now we just simply have to assume that he got into a beheading predicament at some point

the Meep's pronoun is the definite article. easy mistake to make. the Meep is always "the Meep". friend shaped because evil subterfuge :,[

.....uh........ idk asmi idk lmao

WAIT OH MY GOD IT'S CASSANDRA YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT CASSANDRA I'M GOING TO EXPLODE THIS IS SO FUCKING FUNNYYYYYY

*strolls into tumblr and falls on my face pretending I haven't been missing for like a month I was out getting the milk hello maggots*

Doctor Who But I've Never Watched It 2.0

For those of you feeling deja vu YES I HAVE MADE POSTS ON DOCTOR WHO BEFORE OKAY but back then I was a young uneducated lad, just a fresh blossom unfucked by tumblr. Now I am surrounded by you lot and by god do y'all love Doctor Who. And I am Educated. My DW virginity is deflowered. All that.

SO HERE WE GO, EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS SHOW I'VE NEVER WATCHED:

The show started in 1963, and then was rebooted in 2005 and the showrunner was... Robert de Neiro? Idk all I know is he gives Pedro Pascal vibes. Like his name. His name is Robert.

There have been 15 Doctors so far. One is a lesbian and it is not Jodie Whittaker, it is actually the 12th doctor.

There's someone called the Master. I don't know what that means, or if it's some kind of BDSM thing, but he has intense sexual tension with the Doctor.

He's also emo and has bleached hair and is kinda babygirl. And is called Missy.

The Doctors all have intense trauma and the 15th Doctor kind of girlbossed it by leaving David Tennant intact when they binary-fissioned.

Donna is a person played by Catherine... Tate? Not Hepburn. And she knows less about Doctor Who than I do. And Donna is in a QPR with the David Doctors (there are two of them).

David Doctor loves Donna very much. And then he kills her. But doesn't kill her. And then they have dinner together with her husband and kid.

The original show had shitty effects. The new show does too, and everyone is happy about this.

Rose is someone the David Doctor is in love with and then she ends up with a human AU of him and he leaves and the fans are very divided and passionate about this.

The human AU is called Tentoo because y'all hate using W's. What the fuck is Tentoo. What is Nuwho. Why isn't it New and Two. Help me.

THERE IS SOMETHING CALLED THE TARDIS, IT IS BIGGER ON THE INSIDE, I HAVE HAD WEIRD DREAMS WHERE IT WAS A FUCKING AUTO-RICKSHAW WITH RIBBONS FOR SEATBELTS, AND IT IS BLUE AND NOT YELLOW BUT IT WAS YELLOW IN MY DREAM. Because of a Drarry fanfic that I misread.

The 15th doctor dances homoerotically with someone during the French Revolution.

The 9th doctor kinda vibes with like his head jiggling idk I've only seen one gif of him.

The 13th doctor keeps forgetting she's in a woman's body.

It is all very gay.

David Tennant's arms are too long.

The sexiest person is a head.

The Meep's pronouns are Meep. Meep is not friend. IF NOT FRIEND THEN WHY FRIEND SHAPED??????

A buttcheek skin talks or something yeah this is all I got.

have at it y'all @robinprinceofchaos @multidimensional-trashcan @wispedvellichor @queermarzipan thanks for the second hand brainrot

*sneaks away under the cover of night* i was never here

[akirathedramaqueen]

CBT and Exposure Therapy: Blitzø Showcase

An important (really, don't skip) disclaimer

If you are contemplating whether or not you would benefit from any kind of therapy, consider consulting with your medical provider first. While I did my best to validate all the points made using publicly available resources, I am not a medical professional. At the very least, I strongly advise that you do your own research and not take some amateur's opinion about a character from a silly demon show for granted.

"Everyone in this show needs fucking therapy STAT!"

We hear fans screaming into the void every now and then. Me too. I plead guilty and I willingly put myself in custody. But I am not taking these words back.

Especially often it is being said with Blitzø in mind, who, as hinted earlier and clearly shown in the latest episode, Ghostfuckers, is not doing okay. Not in the slightest.

Which is . . . yes. Indeed, trauma-ridden Blitzø is a major problem for both him and those around him. Yes, we see him reaching his lowest point now exactly because he left these gaping wounds untreated for so long.

But the tricky question is—how, though? What to do? Will a good talking to a confidante help? Or, maybe, some kind of shock would snap him out of the spiral?

I've been pondering on this topic for more than 4 months, and, as the Ghostfuckers came out, I finally got all the data I need to prove a point. The show did all the job for me and effectively made Blitzø go through improvised versions of two popular therapy techniques. And, before I even start, I want to say—I am so glad with what we ended up with. What they did, and, more importantly, didn't do, aligns well with how it would likely happen in real life.

So buckle up, and let's see where it gets us!

Therapy # 1. Cognitive-behavioral therapy, or CBT

This is, in essence and with some corrections, your good old talking. Here you can find more information about it, so, if you're not familiar with the topic, I recommend following the link first.

But, very shortly: CBT is an extremely common approach to be tried while you're dealing with anxiety, depression, and a number of other mental disorders. What it aims to do is to help you get past unhelpful thinking (distortions) and learn not to act on it.

Looks like it fits the bill, right? Blitzø has a lot of issues with self-fulfilling prophecies, infuriatingly stupid assumptions, poorly thought-out actions . . .

But he's not like, you know . . . w-we're not, like . . . we're not doing a . . . w-we . . . what's betw— It's a transactional fucking, you see.

If you don't feel like coming, that's OK! I'm sure I can do without it for one month. :)

Stolas only cares about having a rugged peasant raw-dog him into his matress! It's nothing, ya know . . . it's nothing else.

You . . . no longer have any obligation to see me, to touch me, to bed me . . . You are— you are free of me.

He sees things which aren't truly there.

It's not Stolas giving him space after the disaster in the 'Ozzie's.' It must be Stolas not needing him anymore, getting tired of him.

It's not Stolas caring about Blitzø. He is a royal, why would he care how an imp's day he happened to be fucking was?

It's not Stolas setting Blitzø free and putting an end to a problematic transaction they had with the hope for it to grow into something more. It's him getting rid of Blitzø.

As a result, he ends up hurting himself and the relationship he had with that one sad gay bird he happened to fall deeply for but literally trashed in his own house twice, acting on nothing more than frenetic fear of losing Stolas, but in reality, driving him away even more . . . for good.

I mean, you royal fucks think you can do this every time, like you can just play with our feelings because we're smaller and not as important!

Ha! I'm right, aren't I? You get off getting plowed by people you look down on!

And I can sorry more people, everyone but you! 'Cause I don't owe you dick! Everyone, but you . . .

So, the case's closed? Let someone—say, Millie—talk to him and tell him how wrong he was about himself and the others?

Well, here's the thing. Despite him being infinitely wrong about Stolas's intentions, we can't deny the fact that every one of his beliefs was not, in fact, a distortion. It'd led him to wrong conclusions, yes, but it was built on the information he received and legitimate experiences he had in his life. Here are only some of the facts connected to only this situation with Stolas, but there are other problematic behaviors and other reasons for him acting the way he does.

Fact # 1. The circus fire did happen, and Blitzø was the reason for it. Unintentional, and of course it wasn't his fault, but it still ruined the lives of many people—him included. Blitzø cannot act like it never occurred.

Fact # 2. Hell is divided by class and race. Their situationship with the grimoire was an embodiment of that inequality. A lot of Blitzø's outburst during the Full Moon and later in the Apology Tour was connected to it, to his beliefs that Stolas is the same as the rest of the privileged circle. Beliefs, I stress, justified by the real world. Stolas is more of an exception, and even then, his behavior is only different when it comes to Blitzø. He still acts the same toward other imps.

Fact # 3. We knew about Stolas's intentions all along, but before that fateful Full Moon, what Blitzø saw was Stolas avoiding him and not communicating the issue the Ozzie's date had raised. And before Ozzie's? Stolas did act entitled and inappropriate. He was baby-talking to Blitzø and used derogatory terms while addressing him. The dude literally called him an impish plaything in the Truth Seekers.

Fact # 4. Blitzø's heavily implied (though not officially confirmed by the show) existing conditions—ADHD*, BPD**, PTSD, and dyslexia/dyscalculia***—do affect his life, and while Hell seems to be somewhat receptive of neurodivergence, he still has to deal with it every single fucking day. He is going to be avoidant and afraid to be abandoned at the same time. He is going to hate himself. His learning disabilities are going to make his life harder. No way around it.

Note: *, **, and *** contain links to separate meta-analyses from @timkontheunsure and @tealvenetianmask about the respective conditions and how they show themselves in Blitzø's case.

And my beef with CBT here is exactly that. CBT's goal is to gaslight you into believing your distortions hold no water and suggests you just ignore them. And, as I've shown with Blitzø, these reactions and assumptions aren't baseless. They are legitimate, and, in fact, sometimes help to get by. Even though it's a crooked crutch, you can't learn to walk properly by just throwing that crutch away. You're still going to limp, and oh, will it be painful.

This is oversimplistic and dismissive. Anxiety and depression don't come out of the blue, and with mental disabilities, it's even deeper. The class/disability stigma is alive and strong, and just slapping a "you're fine" bandaid on your traumatized self isn't going to help.

Therapy # 2. Exposure therapy.

Exposure therapy is another approach commonly used while dealing with traumatic past and its aftermath—PTSD, anxiety, phobias, and such. Again, if you're not familiar, there's the link for you, but very shortly—the therapist puts the patient in a safe environment and 'exposes' them to the feared object in question for limited periods of time. The goal is to eventually get rid of the targeted fear and decrease avoidance.

And Blitzø has got some phobias for sure.

The fear of letting everyone down. Again.

And the fear of abandonment. Again.

All of it is a result of self-hatred, sitting so deeply it rules his life and his vision of how others perceive him. Said it himself. Almost.

So, where and how does the show expose Blitzø to his traumatic past?

First, the most recent, and the most obvious one—Rolando and his slideshow of all traumatic events Blitzø ever had in his life.

Second—Blitzø's drug trip in the Truth Seekers. While it does not contain the events of the past as they were, it does force him to face his fears.

Are you worried I might have enough of it one day as well? . . . You're going to die alone! . . . You're going to die alone, Blitzo!

With some stretch, the third one is Verosika's 'Blitzo sucks' party. Where Blitzø was forced to see the consequences of his avoidance and rejection.

Note: to be clear, I do think the party does not show the true extent of Blitzø's actions and how much he'd hurt people. It was exaggerated by Verosika, and here I explain why this is the case.

So, what gives? Or, rather, what gives it not?

It might sound funny now, considering I brought it up myself, but I, once again, say this is not therapeutic, just as CBT kind of 'talking.' If anything, all these three events did more harm than good.

The D.H.O.R.K.S.'s goal in the Truth Seekers was to torture the information out of Blitzø. He was not supposed to overcome it. He was supposed to crack.

The Verosika's goal was to ruin Blitzø's reputation. She was working her ass off to prove he's just a heartless freak.

The Rolando's goal was to fucking kill Blitzø.

And okay, their motivations had nothing to do with helping him, but maybe it did, in its own twisted way?

No. The writers added this to push Blitzø past the breaking point, not to heal him, and to show us more of his lore. Each time he was forced to face his past or fears or consequences, he was only spiraling more.

The only thing which did him some good was . . . well, Millie finally seeing his bravado mask falling off. But the cost of it was way too high. Not worth it.

To the therapy's defense, some points why it would never work in the way it was done in the show:

Blitzø had never given his consent and was not ready to face it. I might be very rude right now, but go and try producing some explosion-like sounds in front of war veterans without letting them know first and see what happens.

The amount of fearful experience exposed was way too overboard. He couldn't possibly digest it in a healthy way.

The environment was not safe. It was straight-up retraumatizing, an intentional one.

So there's that.

But what helped then?

We've briefly brushed over the fact Millie did talk to Blitzø. While I did imply this might be an example of CBT, here are some key deviations from the classic therapy which made all the difference.

Millie didn't sugarcoat all the shit Blitzø did. He was hurting their business. He didn't pay her. He was reduced to Bethanie. It showed her opinion can be trusted.

Millie apologized for not being there for him sooner. She admitted she relied too much on Blitzø being bulletproof, unbothered by everything. She admitted she didn't support him in a way he always did.

While proving she could never hate Blitzø, she used their common story, one he knows and can recall. She used evidence to prove him wrong, not a "it's all in your head" bandaid. And more than that, later she proved it with action—not for one second did she believe Rolando and his shittalk about what Blitzø supposedly was thinking about her. Her unwavering faith spoke more than any words ever could.

Getting back to exposure therapy . . . Metaphorically, she reminded Blitzø he can handle a beating or two. And physically beat the infestor demon out of him, which, as we can see later, didn't really affect Blitzø that much. He wasn't even battered. So, apparently, when the said exposure is done by someone who genuinely tries to make you feel better and knows your limits well, it might just work?

And finally, Millie acknowledged Blitzø's pain. She didn't brush it away. She validated him.

What all of this is about?

Like every treatment, too much of a medicine can become poisonous. So are CBT and exposure therapy.

They might help, and lots of research shows they do in certain cases. But there are limitations to what they can and cannot achieve, and they have to be adjusted to each individual story, to each trauma, and they should not be applied as a way to mend the outcome of the trauma without taking into account the story it comes with. Again, legitimate concerns and experiences cannot be brushed away or ignored.

Actualy . . . we've seen where it leads in the show too. In the beginning, Millie was quite dismissive of Blitzø's worries—all of this over a . . . breakup?

And here it comes full circle.

Only when Millie started taking Blitzø seriously, did it help them progress. And look how quickly we've switched from a complete despair to a glimmer of hope! Isn't that a beautiful closing scene?

As a closing note—we do not need to 'fix' Blitzø. After all this shit he went through, there won't be a day where he wakes up and be like, "Hey, I don't hate myself anymore! And look, I'm not afraid to be abandoned or misunderstood!"

I'm sorry to break it to you, but this is a lifelong battle. Being mentally whole, healthy, and constantly happy is no more than a myth, and everyone has their own demons and skeletons to deal with.

What Blitzø needs is some good support system to pull him back when he's down.

And boy, do I hope that one particular owl will fill in that role of unyielding pillar for Blitzø each time our lizard will fall into that pit again. Look, I love Millie, but there's only so much she can do. She can't be always present, she has her own life . . . and her own disaster of a husband to look after (affectionate <3). Here and here @lost-romantique talks about Stolas's capacity of loving, with me occasionally nodding, ha-ha. But to be short—it's fucking immense. And since he loves words, I do believe he has all the energy to tell again and again and again how awesome Blitzø is. Even if Blitzø wouldn't believe it himself.

[shygirl4991]

Faker

Im going through a hard time this month with my cats health so thought i do a random vent fic enjoy.

Summary: They fake to make it, they both are lonely losers that manage to make the best of it. Sometimes a vent fight helps them find some peace from their trauma. Tag: Trauma bonding, crush hinted, SMG34, the gays are fighting

SMG4 yawns as he gets out of bed, the morning light shines hitting the man in the eyes. He squints as he closes the curtains, for once SMG4 got to bed at a decent time. With a proud smile the guardian leaves his room to get breakfast together, that's when he notices a purple blur pass by his window. He turns and sees a depressed looking SMG3, concerned for his partner he runs to his bedroom to put on his iconic overalls before heading to Three’s coffee n bombs. As he approaches the cafe, he catches SMG3 sitting at a table outside. With a bright smile Four greets the man “Hey three! How is everything going?” Three sighs as he glares at SMG4 “What do you want SMG4?” he spat out making SMG4 take a step back. It was clear as day that Three was not having a good day, he looked around and noticed not a single customer showed up. Frowning, Four nervously points it out “Still not having luck?” Three growls getting up from his seat “WHY DO YOU CARE?” The anger and hatred that came out made Four’s eyes go wide. 

He then lets out a sigh as he keeps talking to Three with a cheerful tone “We are friends Three, of course i would worry. Is there any way I can help you?” Three rolls his eyes walking to his cafe door “Why? To show you're better than me?”  Four shakes his head “No! Come on Three, we make a great team don't we…there is no need to push me away.” Three’s grip on the door handle tightens, every night since the usb garbage incident he has been haunted by an image of SMG4. He grins down at Three calling him pathetic, that he is nothing but a faker acting tough when he is nothing but a softy at heart. His grip lightens as he wonders if that version of Four had a point, shaking his head he pulls the door open. Seeing this Four runs after him, he grabs Three’s hand in concern “Three what is going on with you?”

Three turns smacking Four’s hand away “What's wrong?  Everything I do fails! No matter how hard I try to entertain people, everyone sees my content as cringe. I make the cafe of my dreams and no one comes due to…the owner being unlikable.” Four reaches out to comfort Three only for the other man to walk away from it, Four looks down thinking before giving the man a small smile “You have done successful things, you're super smart and figured out how to out smart so many of the villains we fight! Remember zero, how you pointed out how to save Mario!” Three lets out a bitter laugh “You mean the same monster that killed Terrence, yeah i really got a victory for us there.” 

Four starts to get upset at how the guardian kept brushing aside his attempts to comfort him, Three walks behind the counter looking at Four with annoyance. SMG4 walks up to the counter giving SMG3 a desperate “Let me help you out Three,” that got SMG3 to laugh “Help me? How fake can you be, ah yes help with my trauma as you ignore yours!” Four stare’s confused at his partner, Three places a cup in front of Four “You were an asshole to your best friend on his day, you got a keyboard that almost killed us all. Oh yeah, how about using my past against me to get everyone to come to your fucking Christmas party!” SMG4 stares, mouth agape at SMG3 words, slowly he smacks the table causing the cup to jump slightly “oh yeah? YOU ALMOST SHOT ME BECAUSE YOUR OLD VILLAIN FRIEND TOLD YOU TO!” SMG3 growls climbing the counter to be taller than the other man “YOU ALMOST DROP ME FOR THE PERFECT VIDEO!” Four grabs Three’s leg throwing him to the floor causing the cup to fall, shattering, Four was done playing nice with the man that clearly just wanted to fight “YOU THINK NO ONE CAN TELL BUT WE ALL KNOW YOUR THE FAKE!” Hearing those words angered the man, Three kicked Four’s leg causing him to lose balance and join him on the floor. SMG3 pins the man down growling “FAKE! AT LEAST I DON'T PRETEND IM A NICE PERSON THAT CAN DO NOT WRONG!” 

They both stay silent staring at each other, breathing heavily after all their yelling. Three lets go of Four as his eyes water “And yet…i still think you're my best friend..” Four sits up surprised to hear Three’s words, thinking over the pair’s past he lets out a small chuckle “Guess in the end, we both suck huh?” Three wipes his eyes giving a small smile “At least you can admit you suck, been telling you for years.” Four playfully smacks Three as they both giggle feeling better after their small fight. Three grabs Four’s hand shyly looking off to the side, hiding his blush “I’m frustrated that things don't go my way, I hate being second place…so I took my anger out on you.”  Four smiles and scoots closer to his partner resting his head on the man's shoulder as their fingers intertwine “I forgive you, plus your right…I fake being okay cause it's hard to face all I have done.”  Three hums as he turns looking Four in his eyes “Yeah well…we have our ways to cope just remember im always here for you.” They both smile softly at each other forgetting that the cafe was open, Meggy giggles seeing the sight. Meggy and Tari walk away from the cafe with a big smile “I think it's best if we let those to talk out their feelings Tari.” 

[majorproblems77]

It’s your B-day weekend?!? I’m so happy for you happy birthday!!

I understand the game, but I’ll give you an option. I’ll give you two things that are names and words and you pick which one you want to do as the name and word.

They are; Twilight and Wild

Look forward to seeing what you make!

Thank you! :D

Oh a challenge! I take your challenge and go sure!

Twilight and Wild.

Sometimes he didn't understand his Cub. which was saying something considering he spent half of his time watching them from the shadows as his wolf form.

Twilight was just entering the horizon to make way for the shadow of night as he sulked his way through the brush. It was untamed, and Wild. Unattended in this part of the forest.

Wild had tasked him with one very easy task. Catch enough food for dinner for a group of nine heroes.

How hard could that be?

Very hard.

Some could only eat white meat, some only red. some didn't eat meat at all and all of them could be sick if not given the right food. And food poisoning was a large concern in a group this large. It could shut them down for several days if they weren't careful.

And so, in a world they didn't know. They would send him to find something for them all.

He had found a small deer and some berries. Now came Bird.

"How's it getting on Wolfie?" A voice from behind him caused him to turn around.

Wild.

"Hey bud, You found something?" He inspected the slate attached to the wolf. "Oh wow! This is great! I think this will work for everyone we should head back."

He gave a low huff. He didn't have anything for the skyloftian yet.

"Ohhh..." Wild paused. "It's okay I've got something he can eat!" Wild smiled. Clipping the slate to his hip. "The others are getting worried that Twilight's been gone while."

He gave a huff. but nodded his head once. Before walking in the direction that Wild had come from.

Wild probably had something in mind.

[kandicon]

Okay I need to write something abt Ivy's brain overheating n starting to cook her head bc it overworks and there's no way there's enough space in her super computer brain for an efficient cooling system combined with Tim involuntarily salivating and feeling hungry when he smells burning flesh as a hold over from eating corpses during the Moon War. This is no longer a want it is a need.

[thesoftestmess]

you give me two characters who are not quite human and are defined by their compassion and softness and then you make them be each other's sole companions for 400 years and make them co-govern a nation together and then you also reveal that they were both more or less the two only puppets in a larger-than-life play against the authority of the literal heavens and neither of them fully understood the role they were playing and then you make one turn against the other and make them watch a part of the other die and all this sacrifice and pain ends up saving a lot of people's lives, but it also ends with them away from each other for the first time in four centuries with a million things unspoken and you expect me not to ship them????

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

THE BEST OF MASS EFFECT: VIRMIRE

Featuring: Cmdr. Sophie Shepard and Cmdr. Dominik Shepard With: Lt. Kaidan Alenko, Gun. Chief Ashley Williams, Urdnot Wrex, and Tali'Zorah nar Rayya Ft. Special Guest Appearances by: Spec. Saren Arterius and Sovereign There is a realm of existence so far beyond your own, you cannot even imagine it... Mass Effect: Legendary Edition (2021)

[spotaus]

Dang, that redraw hits hard in 2024 🙏

Below are the old versions! (The left is my very very literally first drawing of Ichor! The others followed a few months/years later-)

Some design breakdowns under the cut!

Okay, okay-

^this guy!! I drew him on my janky old laptop with a tiny lil drawing pad right after my Mlp phase in middleschool. He was one of my first designs and I'll confidently say the first utmv oc who made it onto a drawing format. At the time I refused to draw hands correctly and drew claws instead- Ichor here still had his name "Ichor" and was supposed to be a combo between Reaper and Red. He had his chains because he was a fickle God of death who needed to be held back by his fellow gods lest he wreak havoc on the surface. I love this design to death, mostly because I always think back on it to see how far I've come and how Ichor's been here forever! (Note that here he doesn't have his iconic gold tooth or purple arm. His clawed hands inspired me for the purple arm though, and the one spiked white tooth eventually became his gold tooth!)

^ This is post iPad acquisition thanks to my school getting some new funding. I don't think I drew this on procreate but I can't remember the name of the app smh. This version of Ichor was similar to the old one. Less bent on destruction, more just a trickster. (This one and the other one always fell into 'Teenage' vibes). Now he has shoes, the gold tooth, and the arm! Though he still has both eyelights and the 'crack' in his socket is still a gold scar instead. This *is* where I gave him his gray pants, but the slash on his jacket... uhh... swapped directions?? Idk about that one- But fun fact! The spot on his jacket is a mark of how he'd be killed one day if that came to pass! He doesn't know, no one does, but it's true! Old prophecy locked up somewhere in the Ruins. (Actually, Toriel might be aware.) His arm here is super desaturated because I wanted to keep it a minor detail. That changes very quickly 👀

^ He's lanky af!!! I always go through a phase of drawing things too short, then too tall. Welcome to Ichor's Way Too Tall phase! I wanted him to be big and chunky but uhh. That 'silhouette' talk got to me. Here the biggest differences? The hand is out of the pocket and includes his sword! (Which is Canon still) The scarf is here too! At first the scarf was a gift from Reward, then it was from Reward being killed, then it was just a bold fashion choice?(I settled on it being a gift from Reward again, to help him cover the collar) His socket is finally empty, the crack is there too. His teeth are all straight besides the one gold tooth, and the hand is very purple this time. The lore I wanna mention in this bit is the soul! It's constantly been a pale yellow, but here it has a hole in it! This isn't something that stocks, but the idea of it does. Ichir's chains prevent him from healing with his godly magic, so he's stuck on 1 hp. The god's souls are naturally gold, abd here, Ichor's soul was wounded when he was captured, so he's slowly been fighting off death. (In the final version his soul is white with fading gold, showing how his magic is restricted)

^Honorable mention jumpscare because this is actually a sticker I made about 2 years ago? Not exactly the same pose but it was definitely inspired and it shows how certain elements have stuck around since the last doodle. (This sticker is currently on a sketchbook at my house lmao-)

^And then current! I used to be allergic to using the same colors twice, so he used to have different shades of yellow abd gold everywhere. Now the yellow/gold is all the same! His eyebags (which started in the Lanky era) are more pronounced, he's more classic-shaped than he's ever been, and as per usual I don't think I drew his purple hand right. But! He's my boy, and that's what matters! Side note: His chains aren't visible here, but that's because I've decided that he prefers to hide them. His sleeves are puffy so he can tuck them away, his scarf covers the length of the chain on his collar, etc. It just doesn't make narrative sense that he'd leave them exposed like that. He's also in his old man era finally! Been trying to draw him like this fir years!!!

[tacagen]

OKAY MY NEWFOUND AGENT BISHOP TMNT AUDIENCE. ANY THOUGHTS ON WHY THERE ARE

two of them?????

[scribblingface]

I went into bg3 fully ready to have a good time and have done so despite many ways in which the game is not good and have not worried too much over various dramas about patch changes but my chill streak has finally ended and I am wailing gnashing my teeth etc. about patch 7 (the supposedly final one with story/content changes) not adding companion reactivity for any of the durge content in act 2

[crunchycrystals]

i dont think the fall guy is the best movie ive ever seen or even my favorite. but by god is it the most meaningful to me bc it inspired me to write again after a horrible depression writing slump

[echoesofadream]

Actually what do I study if I am kind of a little bit a stem-girlie but also really definitely not. And I like psychology, religion, languages and linguistics, cultural anthropology/ethnography. Like maths (algebraic, bad at numbers), abhor statistics, like physics (but really bad at a lot of it), dislike chemistry, is okay with biology but not extremely passionate about it quite lukewarm really though medicine is my favorite aspect of it and i kind of like it. Well?

[redrobin-detective]

I was looking at my AO3 trying, once more to finish my AT mini series when I realized its been a year to the day I published where is it now, The glory and the dream? nicknamed Glory. Its a story I loved writing and have reread it multiple times and I got a bit emo thinking about that story - about that world.

I wrote a DGM fic in college over the course of a year that started as a speculative fic on past events and became an all out AU once more details came out in the manga. But I became so much more attached to my version of the characters and the story that it became hard to connect with the canon version. I feel something similar with BNHA and Road Not Taken verse. I love those characters who I took from early canon and molded and aged into essentially my own characters. I still get weepy reading rise up and writing glory kind of helped me deal with a bit of anxiety of turning 30.

This whole verse means a lot to me even though it was far from popular even when BNHA was dominating AO3 and is now so far out of vogue people aren't really reading stories much less wild AUs. But it lives close to my heart and is one of the things I think of when BNHA in any context is brought up. I will write the finale fic, it's lived in my brain fully formed since the last few chapters of TLWA. I will write it and it will hurt and I will sob and it will be one of the most satisfying stories because it will finally exit my brain and enter the page. And it will be utterly meaningless to 99.99% of the population and I will not give a damn because as much as I love sharing my stories and getting feedback, these stories are Mine. TLWA and it's sequels more than most.

[deadmegumi]

And despite it all I still havent read greywaren