#The loves of my life are coming to my country

[rothpie]

❝FIDELITY❞ |part9

MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank

Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.

Warnings: mentioning miscarriage, blood, mentioning drug and alcohol use, daddy issues

Selly's note: First of all I'm sorry. I wrote this while my heart was broken. I learned my ex left the country. He was the first person I loved. LIKE COME BACK???? We HAVE TO marry!!!!! Sorry for oversharing💗, and if there is a mistake. I didn't re-read this. Love y'all.💗💗

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Your hands trembled. Your whole body felt numb, yet the shaking tethered you to reality. There was a heavy weight on your chest, as though even breathing had become an uphill battle. A knot in your throat tightened with every passing second, making even the simple act of swallowing painful. You didn’t know what to do. The chaos of the moment was tearing your mind into pieces, your thoughts tangling into a knot so thick you couldn’t unravel it. 

You hadn’t done anything unusual. The day had started like any other. You made yourself some herbal tea, watched TV, read a book about baby development. You cleaned the house a little, then opened the packages that had arrived—items for your daughter’s room. 

Alone. 

Since the moment you arrived in this town, you’d always felt alone, but this was different. This was like falling into a deep, endless chasm, where there was nothing to grasp, no hand to reach for. You could feel your hands flailing in the void, desperately searching, yet finding nothing. 

The warm, sticky sensation spreading down your legs sent a jolt of panic through you. Your eyes flicked downward involuntarily, but you didn’t want to look. Yet it felt as if everything around you was betraying you, even the streetlamp outside, which cast its harsh glow on the spreading pool on the floor. You didn’t want to see it. You feared that seeing it would confirm your worst fears. Your eyes filled with tears, but you couldn’t cry. You wouldn’t cry. Would tears ease the crushing weight of this fear? You doubted it. 

You reached for your phone, but even your fingers trembled. Touching the screen, dialing a number, selecting a name—it all felt like an impossible task. The chaos in your mind blurred your thoughts. Everything was moving too fast and too slow all at once. Seconds stretched into eternities, yet time pressed on, dragging you deeper into helplessness. 

You hadn’t wanted this. You had left the island just for this pregnancy, determined to build a life here. And now, was it all going to be taken from you? After all the effort to adjust, after everything? 

You glanced around. The silence of the room pressed down on you like a weight. It felt as if the entire world had pulled away, leaving you stranded. You knew there were people—so many people—but none of them were close, not really. Placing your hands on your belly, you clung to the small hope that the motion could somehow quiet the storm of fear inside you. But it didn’t work. 

The voices of fear echoed in your mind: What if I’m too late? What if it’s over? What if this loneliness never ends? Each scenario was scarier than the last. You closed your eyes, but even the darkness offered no solace. The images in your head only fanned the flames of your terror. 

When you finally held the phone in your hand, you knew you had to choose someone to call. Should it be your mom? Or your dad? Maybe… someone else? But what if they couldn’t come? That thought pushed you deeper into despair. It suddenly felt as if the entire world had turned its back on you, as if every person was out of reach. The weight of isolation was crushing. 

Your hands were cold and clammy. As your fingers hovered over the screen, trying to pick a name, you felt frozen. You couldn’t move them. It was as though your brain had redirected all its attention to the fluid trickling down your legs and the stabbing pain in your abdomen. Panic consumed you, leaving you paralyzed and unsure of what to do. 

A quiet voice in your mind whispered, Everything will be okay. But it was impossible to believe. That voice was so faint, so far away, drowned out by the louder, darker thoughts. Reality felt so distant that even hope seemed like a luxury you couldn’t afford. While your mind scrambled for answers, your body refused to move. 

You tightened your grip on your belly, as though holding on harder could anchor you to something, anything. Alone in that dark, silent room, you had never felt smaller. The outside world was shut off from you, leaving only your fears, your thoughts, and the suffocating weight of solitude. 

Since moving to this town, you’d thought a lot about loneliness. But now, you truly understood its meaning. Loneliness wasn’t just sitting in silence. It wasn’t merely being by yourself. Loneliness was not having anyone to reach when you needed them most. It was feeling as though your voice couldn’t reach anyone, as though you were invisible. 

The trembling didn’t stop. Your eyes darted around, trying to focus on something, anything, but everything was blurry—not because you couldn’t see, but because you couldn’t concentrate. Nothing made sense in that moment. 

You searched for a way out. But maybe the only thing you could do was wait. That thought terrified you even more. Waiting... it made you feel so helpless, so powerless. But what else could you do? 

Tears welled up again as you struggled to breathe. But each breath felt heavier, each inhale pulling the loneliness deeper into your chest. That loneliness, like a black hole, seemed ready to devour you. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at the pool of liquid spreading on the floor. You couldn’t face it. If you didn’t look, maybe it would stay a bad dream. Maybe this was just paranoia playing tricks on your mind. 

Even though you could feel the warm liquid dripping down your legs, you clung to the hope that you’d wake up. That you’d open your eyes in bed and thank God it was just a nightmare. 

You wanted to wake up. You didn’t want to believe this was real. Not after everything you had done to adjust to this new life. Not after leaving the island to start fresh. 

You had left everything behind. Everyone. 

For a life with your baby. 

You had wanted this baby. Even with your initial doubts, you had wanted it. And for what? To have it taken from you? 

Your eyes shut tight as your hand clenched the phone and your other hand pressed harder against your belly. You wished the pain would stop, that the ache—so reminiscent of a menstrual cramp—would just go away. 

Only days ago, you’d noticed your belly start to show, a tiny swell that made you smile. You had cradled it with your hands, talked to it, even though you didn’t care if it could hear. You wanted it to know you were there. Just a few days ago, you’d been excited about buying clothes for it. 

For this? 

For it to be taken away? 

When you finally opened your eyes, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock. You wanted to block it out. You wanted the sensation in your legs to disappear. For a moment, you convinced yourself it was all in your head. But the warm trickle that followed was a harsh slap of reality. 

Your trembling eyes drifted downward. The sight of the blood pooled on the floor knocked the breath out of you. Your heart skipped, as if an elephant had perched on your chest. Your legs gave way. Falling to the floor hurt, but it was nothing compared to the pain in your chest. 

You had never seen them. They’d only been with you for five months, but the thought of that bond breaking—of losing them—felt like your heart was being ripped out. 

When you love something so deeply, does it always have to be taken away? Is that just the way life works? Had everything led to this moment? 

Had you fought with your family, with Rafe, for this? Had you left your entire life behind, moved to this town, just to lose your baby? 

Even your family had started to share your joy. They were thrilled for you, as ecstatic as you were. And now, for what? For this? 

Were you supposed to mourn?

To learn a lesson, did you really have to fall this hard? You hated it. You didn’t want to learn any more lessons. Not if they hurt this much. If growth meant falling like this, you were ready to stay exactly the same—stagnant, unchanging, and safe. 

The moment you felt a fragment of clarity, just enough to push panic aside, you called 911. You couldn’t afford to lose more time. It felt like your mind had snapped back into place, even if only temporarily. 

But you had no idea what you were saying. Your words felt foreign, disjointed, even as you tried to describe what was happening. They assured you they’d come to your home. They told you not to hang up.

Then you realized—you needed to call your family. You needed them with you. Right now, you just wanted to be back in Outer Banks, in your own house, surrounded by the people who had always been there for you. 

If you were there, you wouldn’t feel this crushing loneliness. They would be by your side. 

You didn’t even know how many times you tried. Your fingers repeatedly dialed your mom’s number, then your dad’s, over and over again. Each time, you were met with the same recorded message: unreachable. 

Still, you kept calling, clinging to that faint hope that someone, anyone, would answer. But each attempt ended the same way, the monotone voice echoing the same result. 

And then, without thinking, your fingers moved on their own. They dialed his number. In that moment, you didn’t care about shame or pride. All that mattered was that you needed help. You needed Rafe. Even if the chance was slim, even if it was just a sliver of hope, you needed him to answer. 

As the phone rang, your heart pounded so violently it felt like it would burst out of your chest. Each ring amplified the fragile hope blooming inside you. Your lips moved as if uttering a prayer: “Please pick up.” You needed someone—anyone—to be there, to tell you that everything was going to be okay. Tears streamed down your face as the call rang on, unanswered.

He wouldn’t ignore you, you told yourself. He wouldn’t turn you away. He’d come. You knew he would. He had to. You prayed he wasn’t still angry, that he didn’t hate you for not terminating the pregnancy. 

When the call ended without an answer, you didn’t stop. Your trembling hands hit redial without hesitation. Shame and pride were irrelevant now. You needed him. If he wouldn’t come, you needed him to reach your family. You were utterly alone otherwise. 

Alone. The word echoed like a hollow drumbeat in your chest. 

For a moment, time seemed to stop. The racing of your heart, the chaotic swirl of your thoughts, even your tears—all stilled in the suffocating silence of your own helplessness. But you didn’t give up. You called again. And again. Your trembling fingers barely functioned, struggling to tap the screen. But you kept trying.

Fuck pride. You needed help. You needed someone by your side, someone to hold you, someone to tell you it wasn’t the end. Your lips quivered as you let out a stifled sob. “Please…” When the call went to voicemail yet again, your shoulders shook with the weight of another unanswered prayer. 

Wasn’t this his baby too? Didn’t it matter to him? You hadn’t made this baby alone. Surely he would care. You didn’t need him to grieve with you. You just needed him here. And he would come. Rafe was a lot of things, but when it came down to it, he wouldn’t leave you stranded. 

Not you. 

You had to believe that. You clung to that hope like a lifeline, begging for it to still be true. 

Another sob tore through you, reverberating through the empty room. This time, it came from somewhere so deep inside that it left your chest heavy, crushed under the weight of despair. You prayed he’d answer.

You weren’t strong enough to endure this. 

You didn’t want to do this alone. You fought to steady your trembling lips, desperate to string together the words you’d need to say if he picked up—when he picked up. But once again, the line went dead.

This time, it felt like a door slamming in your face. But it wasn’t just rejection—it was the crumbling of a trust you hadn’t even realized you still held onto. Deep down, you had truly believed he would answer. That he’d help you. That he wouldn’t leave you to face this on your own. 

As the silence deepened, your hands fell to the cold floor, sticky with blood. You didn’t even care. You felt like everything you wanted, everything you’d dreamed of, was slipping through your fingers. Did you not deserve happiness? Had you done something so wrong to deserve this? 

You wanted to scream. To set the house on fire, to rip apart the tiny baby clothes you’d just bought. 

You nearly buried your face in your hands, but the sight of blood on your fingers stopped you. Frantically, you wiped them on your nightgown, trying to erase it. You wanted it gone—needed it gone. You wanted to forget everything that had happened today. 

The phone was still in your hand, your fingers gripping it like it held a flicker of hope. Rafe hadn’t answered. Your family hadn’t answered. Their silence only pushed you deeper into yourself. Your tears began to dry, replaced by a hollow ache gnawing at your insides. 

After your final attempt, you let the screen go dark. The reflection of your tear-streaked face stared back at you from the blackened screen, ghostly and unfamiliar. Your lips still trembled with silent cries, your voice barely audible even to yourself. 

Then, the phone buzzed. The unexpected vibration made you flinch. The screen lit up, and your heart stuttered before racing into overdrive. A message. 

When you saw the name, a fraction of the emptiness lifted. JJ. His name sat there like it belonged, as if the chaos hadn’t touched it. You opened the message, holding your breath. 

How’s it going with your new street animal buddies? Found yourself a soulmate yet?

It was stupid. Ridiculous. But somehow, in all its absurdity, that sarcastic tone cracked something open inside you. A tiny window of light broke through the storm. 

And yet, the relief was fleeting. Looking at the message, then back at the blood pooling on the floor, your emotions surged in a tangle of anger, helplessness, and unrelenting fear. 

You needed him. Right now. Without thinking, your trembling fingers scrolled back to his name.

The name on the screen made your eyes well up. JJ. So ordinary, so simple. Yet, at that moment, it felt like your only tether to life. He’d come. He would, wouldn’t he? 

With trembling hands, you pressed the call button. As you held the phone to your ear, the silence was broken only by the erratic pounding of your heart. Each ring sent a jolt of panic through you—what if he didn’t answer? “Please…” you whispered, barely audible. “Please pick up…”

It felt like you were losing your mind. Was this real? Had he really sent that message? 

“Hey, Princess. I noticed we’ve upped the calls lately. Can’t manage without me, huh—”

The distant sound of sirens reached your ears, and your lips quivered. Even JJ’s voice, with its usual cocky tone, felt like an anchor. Just hearing him talk, hearing that familiar teasing edge—it was everything. It made you feel as if you’d already done all you could. 

“I need you here.” 

The words came out shakily, and there was a pause on the other end of the line. One hand rested in your lap, the other gripping the phone, both stained with blood. 

To be honest, you were terrified. Not just about what might happen but about losing the baby. 

“What’s wrong?” His voice had lost its playful tone, replaced with a sharp seriousness. He was waiting for an answer, but you felt too drained, too scared, to put your fears into words. Saying the possibility of a miscarriage out loud felt impossible. 

How did he always know? How could he tell when you needed him the most? Was he like this with everyone, or just you? 

When he said your name, you tried to take a deep breath, but it came out broken and shallow. The sirens were getting closer. “I’m bleeding.” The weight of the words nearly crushed you as they left your lips, leaving you lightheaded—not from pain, but from the sheer gravity of it. 

You were so used to him being there. The idea of him leaving, of him not being there, was unbearable. “I called everyone, but—”

“I’m on the way. Did you call 911? Listen, I’ll be there, okay? Don’t worry. I’ll get there as fast as I can. You’ll be fine. You’re going to be fine. I’ll meet you at the hospital. Okay? I need you to say something.” His words were quick, determined, unwavering. 

You nodded instinctively, even though you knew he couldn’t see it. Even if this was your fate, you didn’t want to accept it. 

“I’m scared.” A sob escaped your lips as the sirens grew louder. They were on your street. 

“I’m coming. Everything’s going to be okay.”

—

Last night was ordinary. A night that fell short of expectations—not that Rafe knew what he was expecting anymore. He had become a ghost of himself, far from anything resembling pride. 

Had he ever been proud of himself, really? 

He couldn’t focus on the future or the present; he was stuck in the past. 

His eyes had searched for you everywhere. There wasn’t a corner of the Outer Banks he hadn’t roamed. The beach, parties, the country club—he’d scoured them all, just to catch a glimpse of you. 

He even shopped at the grocery store near your house, the one far from his own. Almost every day, he’d find himself there, grabbing a drink, some crackers, whatever he could justify, just to linger for a chance to see you. 

He missed your presence. Your scent. 

He missed the moments in bed with you—not the sex, but the times he held you in his arms, kissed you, and just existed in your warmth. He missed looking into your eyes, the overwhelming urge to tell you he loved you. 

But Rafe was a coward. He couldn’t admit that to anyone, not even himself. And you? You already knew. You didn’t need to hear it from anyone. 

He hadn’t told his father. He hadn’t told anyone—Topper, Kelce, Sarah, even Wheezie. Not that anyone else could really understand. 

You were the only one who truly knew him. And he’d lost you. Because he was a coward. 

He missed the sound of your voice. If he could go back, he’d want you to talk more in those old videos. He’d spend hours talking to you if he had the chance again. 

He couldn’t adjust to your absence. 

When he threw himself into alcohol, he didn’t think much about it. When had he ever truly sat down and thought anything through? All he knew was how to make impulsive decisions that wrecked his life. 

He couldn’t stand Topper and Kelce’s phases of chasing random girls, calling them over, laughing at nothing. Rafe’s mind, body, and soul belonged to you. He couldn’t bring himself to touch or even look at anyone else. 

Every time he closed his eyes, every time he tried to sleep, the only image in his head was your face. 

He hadn’t touched another woman. Not that he tried. He knew he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be the same. They wouldn’t be you. 

There was a time when he thrived on quick, meaningless flings. He hated attachments—blamed it on his childhood. He figured it was because he didn’t know what it meant to make love. He never let emotions into it. But with you, it was different. 

It was intoxicating—better than anything drugs had ever made him feel. It was addictive. 

He loved whispering “I love you” while he was with you. It made him feel like less of the mess he knew he was. But even then, he hadn’t said it enough—like the idiot he was. 

You had been gone from his life for almost four months, and the void was unbearable. Not even when he’d tried to quit drugs had he craved their presence the way he craved yours. 

It was like he was a teenager nursing his first heartbreak. And yet, somehow, this was the mildest punishment he thought he deserved for his cowardice. 

He’d worked so hard to get Ward’s approval, to finally be seen by his father. Ward was noticing him now, for the first time. He could see Rafe’s potential, and Rafe knew it. For once, it wasn’t Sarah he was looking at—it was him. 

For the first time, Ward saw Rafe accomplishing something for Cameron Development. For the first time, Rafe gave his father the impression that he was capable of more. After years of begging for attention, Rafe was finally getting it. 

But it had cost him you. 

He couldn’t bear the thought of losing his father’s approval. He couldn’t face that rejection again. Ward had finally placed a hand on his shoulder, and Rafe didn’t want to feel that hand pulled away. 

He hadn’t wanted to lose you, either. That was never part of the plan. It just… happened. Too fast. And he’d been too scared. 

Scared of seeing that disappointment in his father’s eyes again. 

Everyone around him noticed his spiraling depression, even Topper and Kelce. Though he never opened up to them, they could tell something was wrong. If they noticed, then everyone else must’ve, too. Not that Rafe cared. Nobody dared bring it up to him anyway. 

Under Topper and Kelce’s relentless pressure, he found himself at a party. Not to have fun. Not to let loose. But to see you. He spent the night searching for you, glancing around like you might walk in at any second. 

He looked for your old friends, the ones he’d seen you with before. He hoped you’d be there, even though he knew it was unlikely. You were pregnant. You probably wouldn’t come. But the possibility, however slim, was enough to drag him there. 

That same possibility kept him shopping near your place, day after day. 

For the chance of you. 

The more he didn’t see you, the more he drank, as if alcohol could drown out the ache. Nothing could fill the emptiness you left behind, but he still clung to his glass, hoping—maybe if he drank enough, he’d hallucinate you. 

He didn’t know how much he drank. It didn’t even feel like a party. Topper and Kelce flirted and joked with girls, but Rafe didn’t bother looking their way. He just drank and searched. 

You were the one who used to go to parties with him. You were his girl. And Rafe? He was yours. It wasn’t an open relationship; he wouldn’t have shared you with anyone. 

You used to pull him onto the dance floor. He’d groan and complain at first, but you always got your way. And once he gave in, he didn’t hate it. Not when he was touching you. He loved every moment he could hold you. 

Even now, he could hear your voice in his head, persuading him to dance. Him pretending to resist. You insisting, until he finally caved. What an idiot he’d been. He should’ve just said yes every time. Done anything you asked. 

His regrets were endless. His self-loathing, boundless. For being such a coward. For being a failure, yet again. 

You had believed in him, even when he didn’t believe in himself. Your faith in him had given him the courage to ask his father for opportunities, small as they were. And with you, he’d felt like he’d succeeded, just a little. 

Now he hated himself for choosing his father’s approval over you—and the baby. 

The thought of you moving on, raising a child without him, was unbearable. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you with your swollen belly, or playing with your child—his child. And the thought of not being there... 

He hated himself for fearing his father more than losing you. For crawling for scraps of his father’s affection like some pathetic creature. 

Which he was. 

And now, for the rest of his life, he would hate this moment—and himself—for choosing so poorly. 

Rafe thought he’d made it home thanks to Topper and Kelce. He vaguely remembered stumbling through the front door and collapsing into Wheezie’s arms. The idea that the tiny girl could hold him up was almost laughable. Somehow, he’d managed to make it to his room.

Wheezie had laid him down on his bed before leaving. You’d have to be an idiot not to notice something was wrong. She knew her brother too well. She hadn’t seen him this quiet, this withdrawn, in a long time.

You were always there with him.

When you were around, Wheezie could hear your laughter coming from Rafe’s room. Even when Rafe was being his usual insufferable self, you made him bearable. She never thought he had that side to him. Frankly, she wasn’t even sure it existed until you came along.

When Rafe opened his eyes the next morning, a sharp, pounding headache greeted him like a cruel companion. The remnants of last night’s party echoed in his skull. Sitting up in bed, hungover and disoriented, fragments of the night before started to drift back into focus—crowds, noise, laughter. The sunlight filtering through the curtains hit him square in the face, intensifying the pain. All he wanted was to throw up and stay in bed for the rest of the day.

He didn’t remember much, just that he went to the party and drank like it was his last night on Earth. Alcohol had been a more reliable friend than Topper or Kelce that night.

Rubbing his hands over his face, he tried to shake off the fog. The smell—his own and the room’s—was rancid, like a stale cocktail of sweat and regret.

He kicked off the covers, intending to get up, when his eyes landed on a single pill and a glass of water sitting on the bedside table. Without thinking, he swallowed the pill and drained the glass.

Stumbling to the window, he threw it open, letting fresh air seep in. He took a quick shower, practically praying for relief from the headache that felt like it was splitting his skull in two. The cold water shocked his system, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to crawl into a dark room and hide there for a week.

Out of the shower, he wrapped a towel around his neck and caught a glimpse of his reflection. Dark circles framed his eyes, his face bore the fatigue of a man who hadn’t truly rested in years. The weight pressing down on him wasn’t just from the alcohol; it was everything else. Everything he’d tried to suppress. “You really are a master at screwing things up,” he muttered bitterly at himself.

His gaze drifted around the room—clothes tossed haphazardly on the bed, an empty bottle lying on the floor, a lighter on the nightstand. Even the carpet under his feet made his skin crawl. He needed to pull himself together, maybe eat something, grab a coffee. But first, his phone.

It sat there on the edge of the table, an unspoken threat. Reaching for it, a wave of unease washed over him. He didn’t know who he’d talked to, what he’d said, or worse, what he’d texted. His fingers trembled as he picked it up and unlocked the screen.

Notifications flooded in—group chats, Instagram likes—and then, there they were. Three missed calls.

From you.

His breath hitched. He stared at the screen, the timestamp mocking him. Midnight. One after the other. His thumb hovered over the call log, uncertainty gripping him. Why had you called? 

And why at midnight?

It couldn’t be. Not you. Not after everything. You never made the first move, especially not in the middle of the night. 

For a moment, he considered calling you back. His thumb ghosted over your name. Should he? Maybe. Or maybe not. What if it led to the same arguments—about the baby, about why you didn’t want to stay, about why he let you go? He could still feel the weight of everything left unsaid between you, haunting him like a shadow.

He dropped the phone back onto the table, running his hands through his hair. Deep down, he knew these questions were rhetorical. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, he hadn’t stopped thinking about you—or the life you might’ve had together.

Rising from the bed, he moved to his closet, grabbing the first shirt he saw. A hollow ache settled in his chest as he debated whether to call. The courage he’d relied on last night felt a thousand miles away.

Just then, the phone buzzed. Another notification. His heart skipped. Was it you? No. Someone else. But the fleeting hope that it might’ve been you twisted something inside him.

Setting the phone down again, he took a deep breath. *Calm down,* he told himself. But calming down was impossible. The unease coiled tighter, mixing guilt and longing into a cocktail of misery.

Without thinking too much, he hit your name and let the call go through. The ringing filled the room, amplifying his heartbeat. What if you were asleep? What if he woke you? He hated the idea of disturbing you.

The line clicked off before you answered. His worry deepened. What if something had happened to you? His fingers hovered, then dialed again, this time with more urgency.

The second call rang longer. Each tone ratcheted up his anxiety. And then, finally, the line connected. 

“Hey,” Your voice was quiet, cautious.

For a moment, Rafe’s words stuck in his throat. He tried to speak, but it felt like someone had stolen his voice. Finally, he managed, “Hey… uh, you called me?”

It sounded weak, tentative. But hearing your voice, even like this, sent a pang straight through him. He missed you more than he could put into words.

A pause. The silence stretched, making him wonder if you were about to hang up. Then you answered, “I was drunk.”

The words hit him like a slap. Drunk? That was it? Just a drunk dial? The thought made his stomach twist. Was it really that meaningless?

“Are you okay?” he asked, this time more firmly, though it took everything not to press harder.

“I’m fine.” But your tone was too quick, too dismissive. He knew you better than that. He could always tell when you were lying. But he didn’t push. Maybe he didn’t want to know the truth.

“Alright,” he said, not knowing what else to say. He wanted to keep you on the line, to hear more, to find some excuse to hold onto this moment.

“Okay,” you said, your voice faltering briefly before you caught yourself. “I have to go.”

And just like that, the call ended. The short beep that followed felt like a final blow, sealing the unbearable silence around him.

Rafe stared at the phone. Drunk. The word echoed in his head. It collided with another thought, one that sent a chill through him. Did she…?

Had you gone through with it? The decision he’d pushed you toward but never truly wanted? He’d convinced himself it was the right thing to do, but now the thought made his chest tighten unbearably.

He slumped back into his chair, burying his face in his hands. He didn’t know how to feel—relief, regret, or something else entirely. But one thing was clear: he hadn’t stopped loving you. And that realization hit him harder than anything else.

He glanced at the phone one last time. Your name was still there on the screen, a painful reminder of everything he’d lost. 

He thought about texting you but stopped. No words felt right. Maybe silence was all he deserved. After all, what was left to say when you’d already walked away for good?

[shapelytimber]

Wanted to paint some of my favorite characters, nothing more nothing less

[COMMISSIONS]

Way too much yapping like an embarrassing amount, the individual portraits and the template I used below vvv

I shouldn't be allowed to talk about my favorite characters- especially to people who (presumably) don't know them xjfkdk apart from the very popular ones ofc

ILLYA KURYAKIN (The man from U.N.C.L.E)

gay ass little Russian spy I love him he is so *dramatic* and a huge nerd and a Beatles fan and into fashion design- perfect pocket size blorbo ;w; also seeing a Russian character being given a positive leading role in an American tvshow from the 60s ?? Yes he lives in New York and works for UNCLE America.... But he is still a communist ?? Incredible ! Also I really like the fact he isn't given the cliché personality traits often given to Russian characters i e anger issues drinks a lot violent ect (looking at you shitty(imo) modern remake... What did you do to my little guy ;;). In a close contest with Spock for the "gayest man from tvshow" of the 60s..... And in my heart he is winning djdkd for me the gay subtext of muncle hits so much more because it's not a scifi show- it's closer to home, Napoleon and Illya were *like that* in the present day of the 60s, they were both human, and no alien fuckery made them go to the village more than once or play house in the suburbs or get attached ass up to get pegged on a regular basis... Truly a show that feels written by an old queen and a guy with the biggest fem dom fetish jkvjjkb (don't get me wrong tho I adore star trek tos and spirk too <3)

KUROO HAZAMA and PINOKO (Black Jack)

sometimes I rewatch some of the oavs from the 90s when I'm sad :) I had a huge phase a couple years back when I read nearly all the manga (should really finish it... Or reread the whole thing frankly), watched *all* the shows (bar young black jack, hated that shit) and idk I just love this venal bitch so much- him and his daughter and his conflicted feelings for his tboy ex that he still loves kfkfkf btw I'm dying for a modern take on this like please please please I'd love to see Kei Kisaragi's story rewritten a bit (trans character in the 70s sure was progressive but oh boy-), because him and black jack's relationship makes me so *weak*.... And maybe see him a bit more than in one story- anyway ! When it comes to his daughter Pinoko, it's very hit or miss- when the writers lean on the cute father adoptive daughter relationship it's great, when they lean more on the whole "she has a crush on him" (very much like a child in most case, and he *never* reciprocate thank god) and bring up the fact she is technically 18 a lot (she was an evil tumor trapped in her sister before he created a body for her- black jack shit dw), and she gets jealous of other women.... Well it's terrible and I'm uncomfy :(

EVA KANT (Diabolik)

Look.... You just can't show me danger diabolik 1968 and not expect me to become insane djdkdkdk she is so cool ;; !!! Her and her devious eel of a man (here as a panther, because even tho I haven't read the comic yet, I'm taking an educated guess that all the panther imagery is here to represent him, the lethal twunk always in the all black gimp suit... And if it's not then fuck my entire life ig fjfkkd), the cuntiest het couple you've ever seen, such freaks I love them ! Partners in crime that will blow up the tax offices of the whole country if you try to put a bounty on them <3 they are in the guilty faves category only because I'm this invested in these characters after 1 (one) movie fkfkf watched the first two remakes and was hmmm let's say underwhelmed, could have been worse but going after the 60s one ie peak cinema was hard... I went in fully invested in these heterosexuals and they still fucked up their romance and relationship ;; (don't spoil me the third one btw haven't seen it yet ! I know it's the yaoi one- which doesn't give me much hope for Eva tbh...) I'll soon start reading the comics tho ! Managed to find all twelve volumes of "Il grande Diabolik" in french for pretty cheap so I'm excited for that :D (might scan them and upload them online because omg I tried finding scans in *any* language and only found a dubious website that sold digital copies for 7€ a volume ??? What is this)

UTA (The Void / Тургор / Turgor / Tension)

Apathy girlyyyyy she just like me for real for real nfkfk what absolutely charmed me about her is yes her design, but more importantly her chamber's design (if you've never played the void, a sister's chamber is a space that represent her. You get a sense of who she is by exploring her chamber before finding her and talking to her soul it's great). The lonely island out at sea, her laying down on a suspended steel boat in a grotto, looking passively at the moon by a crack on the ceiling.... And the moon is looking back. Incredible ! I love this game so much

KIM KITSURAGI (Disco Elysium)

Do I really have to explain this one ? When I played the game with quiji I remember I kept saying "when Kim talks, we *listen*" djkdk we did get a good grade in Kim Kitsuragi and got him to dance in the church <3 this fucking centrist cop wormed it's way into my heart and many others because of course he did. The only Kim K in my eyes. Also funny anecdote : before I played Disco Elysium, I had one concept art masterclass where a kinda famous concept artist came to give advice, make us really stressed then give us a shitty grade.... And when I tell you this man looked so much like Kim ??? Same haircut, glasses, face with a scar *exactly* where Kim's portrait has a stark shadow on his cheek and he was dressed in an orange top- truly uncanny. Anyway, Kim is so fucking cool how does he do it

DARK VADOR (La guerre des étoiles)

*sight* not surprising if you know me... and to be clear when I say Vader I don't mean Anakin Skywalker, post barbecue only zouz here. I refuse to yap about this man djdkdk I already do that way to much in ao3 comment sections

And here is the template I used ! Don't know who made it tho sorry...

PS : all these where made in 2-3 hours each :D wanted to challenge myself by painting quickly, and I mostly (looking at the Eva Kant one that gave me trouble) succeeded !

[artbymesa]

I was just gonna put this in the tags, but maybe this will help someone else to share my story if anyone else feels less alone. And it got long. I was a valedictorian in highschool. I would not recommend it.

Take it from me-- Do well in school, absolutely. Please try to do well in school. Please. But Do Not let it destroy your mental health the way I let it. I had a very unhealthy relationship with it and tied it to my self worth.

(Story time under read more if it helps anyone)

Oversharing time-- it was my priority in highschool. It was a goal I set for myself to prove I could do it, and if I didn't, I think I saw myself as a failure. This was mostly self imposed, and theres probably a psychological explanation for this I wont get into for the sake of length. But I thought if I could at least do this, I had something on paper that I could point to for myself in a sort of external self validation or worth. "I dont know what metric to gauge myself on, but at least I accomplished this". Call it a method of self soothing, I suppose.

It led to almost daily panic attacks that I could not publically control. The whole nine yards, too. It was exhausting and physically draining. If I were honest with me-- I isolated myself. More human contact, more going out with friends, more of me being the one to make the point of reaching out to other people would have made a world of a healthier difference. My focus might not have been so singular and borderline obsessive because it was the only thing i held onto. It put me in a horrible place mentally, and it has severely affected my adult life. I am still trying to unlearn the "if I mess up learning how to do this on the first try, i am a failure" when its like....just learning how to pipe icing on cupcakes or something. I tied my worth to my ability to learn, and that can become extremely unhealthy in a hurry. Especially when I already had mental health issues that were at odds with learning quickly-- like panic attacks that come on fast and wipe my memory and ability to think clearly. Its like I chose the hardest thing for my brain to do, and that was the metric I weighed my self worth on.

What I told myself at the time was some variation of "if I do this, i'll have the best chance at financial support or a full ride for college." That doing this means I will become self sufficient.

That's not how it works, and thats not how it worked.

I got a $1k grant, which was nice, but nowhere near the full ride or anything close to the "heavens of opportunity rain down upon me" sort of thing I had hoped for in my head.

Valedictorians make for good metrics for the school. Attendance records make for good records for the school. Not in any way saying kids SHOULDN'T try to do well in school (please for the love of god, we need every scrap of education we can get in this country), but please find a healthy medium too.

Doing well enough in school and not letting it destroy your mental health do not have to be mutually exclusive. A 3.5 is probably good enough. That was the cut off for one of my bigger transfer scholarships later down the road, transfering from one college to another. Nowhere did I have to continue maintaining a 4.0.

Besides. I didnt get a 4.0 by retaining functional information. I got it by gaming the system of how testing worked.

The example I use is a very dry history class in college I had. Our final exam was the culmination of all of our final tests. Same questions, same answers. I did not remember the content. I did not learn anything. What I did? I remembered the first three words of the question and the first three words of the answer, and remembered them by association. And then I forgot it all within the hour.

In the meantime, foster your friendships. Good friendships. This can create business connections in the future. Kindness and community will get the majority of people further in life than being any kind of top of your class, I promise you.

But most of all, be kind to yourself and treat yourself gently.

are you or have you ever been a straight-A student?

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Signs

They were subtle. You needed to pay close attention to see them. Most people didn’t, but that was not important. The pair that mattered, when it came to perceiving these signs, had learned to read them as others read the newspaper.

***

It started not long after they met at Barts. They walked down Baker Street from the tube station. Sherlock’s expression soured when he saw the black door.

“What is it?” John asked, already fine-tuned to his flatmate’s moods. 

They tended to have a ripple effect on how the rest of the day went.

“My brother is here,” Sherlocks said darkly.

“How do you know that?” John asked and looked up to see if anyone was standing by the window upstairs. 

Nothing.

“Look. Observe!” Sherlock demanded.

“Oh,” John said after a few seconds. “The knocker is straight.”

“Good man,” Sherlock praised. “I always keep it askew to know when he’s here. He can’t stand to see anything out of place.”

“So, he always straightens it before he comes in,” John finished with a chuckle.

“Indeed,” Sherlock beamed. “Knew you’d get there.”

***

A cup of cold tea at the table beside his chair, or on the kitchen table, was another sign. Even if Sherlock forgot he’d asked for tea or said he wanted a cuppa when John asked him, John always provided them without fail. He never complained that Sherlock forgot. 

It’s alright. I know you’re busy, but I want you to know that I’ll make as many cups as you’ll like. Because I care.

***

Hot baths when the weather was damp and cold, and they’d been out solving crimes for far too long. Without even asking, Sherlock filled the tub with scolding hot water for John.

Here, I’m proving that I’m not a sociopath. I would be lost without you. Now, let this bath heal your old wound so you’ll be fit to follow on my heels when a new adventure comes our way.

***

After a while, a sinister ploy almost forced them apart.

“Run, Sherlock! Save yourself. I’m a soldier. You’re not. Run, for Christ’s sake. Save that brilliant brain of yours!”

Eyes locked. An entire conversation took place over a span of seconds.

I’m not going anywhere. I will go to hell and back with you, John Watson.

“Told you you had a heart, Sherlock,” a sing-song voice echoed through the tiled room.

***

Frantic movements, thoughts of a loved one’s demise if you weren’t quick enough made hands tremble, heart racing, tears flowing. Finally, the parka with the bomb was torn off John and flung across the floor.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you? Answer me, John!”

Hands roaming over a body he’d barely touched before.

“Fine, Sherlock. Not hurt, just a bit shaken. Stop it! Breathe, Sherlock.”

A hug, so tight it made it hard to breathe for both of them.

“I thought I’d lost you.”

“People will talk.” 

“I don’t care!”

A tentative kiss, turning desperate.

I have loved you for so long. Please, don’t let this scare you. I need you in my life. To function. To thrive. To feel whole.

***

At a crime scene. Deciding on the next cause of action. A nod, eyes meeting, a ghost of a smile showing off a dimple.

Ready? Always. Follow me, then. Right beside you.

***

The ripple effect of their extraordinary relationship reached far and wide. Every newspaper in the country at first. They told the story of a consulting detective and his loyal blogger, his doctor, his soldier. It didn’t feel right to say one name without the other anymore. They were an item now, in every capacity of the word. 

When there was a crime unsolvable to the police, the tall and handsome detective appeared like a whirlwind. By his side, the unassuming blogger, doctor, soldier radiated calmness. But by now everyone knew that hidden behind that collected façade, was a man ready to run after the mad detective, protecting him from harm’s way, kill if necessary.

News travel fast, and before long the entire world had heard of the great Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson. A pair every criminal feared, and yet some of them always thought they could outwit them with their ingenious scheme. To date, no one has been successful in their endeavours.

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

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(Tell me if you want to be tagged or removed from the list)

[flo-zoinks]

do you think that the van der linde gang had fans in their time? Strange as it might sound? I mean the worst of killers in real life had gotten fan mail and such. Or do you think any fans and such would come after they had all passed and their story had been finished?

Heyyy good question!!!

My first thought would've been that considering the belief of outlaws as 'uncivilized, violet brutes' people would've all look at them with their noses up, and seen them as foolish men trying to think they're worth more than others and what they actually are themselves.

HOWEVER

The news article near Arthur's bed mentions at the bottom - that it's very speculated the Van Der Linde gang donated this money to those in poverty and in need. When reading this, like I imagine most people did, its quite resembling of a Robin Hood look, which was a popular folk lore since even the middle ages.

During a time full of Romance books about similar Robin Hood premises, and the handfuls of teenage / young women or perhaps men too who fantasised of this type of person in real life might've tracted some 'fans' for the gang. Especially if lots of parents warned them against it, saying they're dangerous and violent, seeing news clippings like that are very cringy bad-boy-but-actually-soft-hearted-esque.

In addition, this was during the time where anarchism and strong socialism was being perceived as a growing 'crisis' for the authoritative men of the country, so for the working / lower classes to see someone seemingly 'fighting back' against the capitalistic rich men, giving back to those who needed it might've portrayed them as their own personal 'fighter' for their people. (lots of '"s omg)

So perhaps they had some fans, majority young people with a strong hatred against capitalism and romantic teen girls, however with the newspapers being run primarily but government controlled outlets, they wouldve had a strong say in how the people were being portrayed by the media. And I doubt they did them justice. Maybe, I believe, the Penny Dreaduls which were generally aimed at the working class wouldve done them justice to try and hook and please their readers, which wouldve given them more fans. Also people talk, a lot more then the news.

Good question I love answers these thank you boo !!!

[sapphiresaphics]

Welcome to America, my friend. How many native people lived here in this country as we brutally swept through and colonized it? How many slaves were forced to work in the south for centuries? How many other countries have we invaded and brutalized and hurt? How many people are disenfranchised, rights stripped away, or had laws are passed that don’t protect them from racism and violence?

And yet at the end of the day, how many native Americans and descendants of slaves and immigrants of foreign countries still come together and fight for our country?

I dunno, I look at Piltover a lot like America. They didn’t deserve the help of Zaun. But Zaun fought anyway. And Zaun BARELY gets any credit for it.

That’s the problem though isn’t it? The fight for equality isn’t over after a single battle. It’s an ongoing lengthy process that will take centuries to fix if it ever will at all. I grew up with Civil Rights all my life. They were a given thing I expected to have. Now with Trump coming back in and GOP gunning to remove my rights, I’m realizing I’m going to have to keep fighting to protect myself against unrelenting hatred and oppression. Because despite all that garbage I still love my country and my home. And this will still be going on long after I pass away too. It will never be fixed in my lifetime.

I dunno, I just felt that was realistic. The fact that so little is done to help Zaun after everything Piltover has done to oppress them doesn’t strike me as unusual at all.

It just feels realistic.

I'm actually not really happy with how this show concluded. Maybe I'll make a more detailed post about it but to sum it up: the way they handled the Zaun / Piltover conflict cheapens this show immensely. This whole "power of friendship" bullshit after Piltover oppressed the undercity for who knows how long and in the end nothing really changed, Zaun still isn't free and Piltover acknowledged nothing of the stuff they did, just annoys me. They lost the plot so bad.

Putting Sevika on the council as the only Zaunite, as if she alone could outvote the Pilties and thinking this is a good ending for the undercity is insane. Zaun should've been free. Or at the very least have an equal amount of Zaunites and Piltover people on the council to even it out.

[a-muffin-full-of-poetry]

(Ignore the fact it's been a year)

I have several problems with OM and Nightbringer, and holy shit am I so upset right now. Now, I never played Nightbringer past lesson 20. Quite frankly, I was sick of grinding for little reward (as I am in many gacha games, *sigh*) but I have, and always will, truly believe that the potential OM had (and has) is so immense. I'm so disappointed that a game that got me through some of the worst years of my life has been carelessly pushed aside, and I'm upset that this silly boys will probably never end up with fulfilling stories, character arcs or much of anything.

Nightbringer was supposed to be... I don't know, edgier, something that truly explored the lore set up in OM. I knew deep down it wouldn't last long, I could tell OM was on it's way out when that announcement was made but holy fuck I thought I had more time with these characters before I was blocked out entirely. I highly doubt that OM will come close to doing events anywhere near where I live or even the country I'm from, and it's kind of upsetting to think that I'm probably, unintentionally, going to be iced out.

That being said, I love OM for all it's flaws. You can take the game, but you can't take these characters from my heart. Anyways, this is rambly but holy fuck I'm just upset and angry, do if this is messy and high school mean girl esq, it was unintentional.

[thegeekproblem]

okay, so there's no way i can actually write this fic, it's maybe too angsty for me? i just know i've been dissociating hard just thinking about it so let's purge the idea of my head. everyone feel free to write this fic, just tag me so i can go and read it. and who knows, maybe i will write it if i feel like i can get my ideas in order.

ANYWAY (timeline? what timeline?)

jason todd, after gotham war, with an implant in his head that makes him feel fear every time his adrenaline spikes, can't live in gotham anymore. once the criminal world in gotham find out about it he's hunted down like an animal, his normal nightmares just wake him up to more nightmares, there's no escape, no place safe. he runs from gotham, from the country. he leaves everything behind to go underground, as far away as he can manage. he returns to the all caste to hide from the world and as a way to at least be safe inside his head he erases all of his memories. everything. there's no bruce, no joker, no sheila, no catherine, no willis.

bruce notices the red hood is gone. he tries to search for him but there's no trace of him, he's just gone. damian says that talia helped him leave but he doesn't know where he is or if he'll ever come back. every once in a while bruce tries to look for him to no avail. barbara has a notification for a face scan world wide, tim has alarms in case he ever returns to gotham. still, jason is gone and life goes back to normal.

years pass and the world is under attack of the untitled and they have no idea how to save it. talia appears telling them the only way it can be saved is working with the all caste, there's a seer inside the caste that has seen what's going to happen and she needs to take them there. talia takes bruce to the chambers of all, even when all she wants to do is see gotham burn.

they arrive and ducra is waiting for them. (ducra knows who bruce is, who he is to jason but it's no longer important, she doesn't tell bruce any of this) ducra takes them to the seer but warns them that he's not completely here, that his mind has lived in the past-present-future and everything that could-would-will happen that he's kinda gone, that he paid the price with his memories so it doesn't matter. bruce doesn't care because he only wants to save the world and has no attachment to this seer.

they go to the chamber of the seer.

it's jason.

god, imagine jason, no memories, frustrated with the world and what it did to him, angry and unable to do anything about it looking at bruce and being like: i'm disappointed. i always wondered what type of person would do this to me? what did i do to make someone hate me this much? but i see you're just a normal human man.

A/N: if i ever get what the plot of this fic is actually about instead of just, you know, jus angst porn, i will write it. i love making jason suffer, but i also love bruce suffering the consequences of his own actions, and amnesia fics are just my jam, i fucking love them! i don't know where everyone else is in this fic, maybe dick and damian go with bruce to the chambers of all while tim and barbara man the fort back in gotham and dick goes all angsty-brother-filled-with-guilt at seeing seer!jason. and maybe jason is still a stubborn pice of shit, he still gets angry even if he doesn't understand why, he still holds grudges even when he no longer has memories. maybe seer!jason knows what's supposed to happen and joins them in gotham. also, imagine seer!jason sacrificing himself for people he doesn't remember because he knows that's what's supposed to happen. also, is there anyway to add jaydick to this fic??? i just love them so much.

[lets-try-some-writing]

I apologize to you lovely folks for not being super active in the writing department on here as of late. Lots of quite literally life changing things are up and coming around the corner and it has been hard to unwind for anything. I'm going to be moving back to my home country for good rather than as just a two year stint, and that will come with a lot of adaptation and shifts in lifestyle. That said, I hope to get back into the swing of things properly once the initial transition ahead of me is done and over with.

But in the event that life decides to kick me in the teeth and keep me from doing what I love here within this fantastic fandom, I fully intend to keep updating my fics and drawing as time permits. I don't know how sustainable it will be long term, but I love this fandom and giving things to it too much to vanish forever.

Stay hydrated and safe! Let's finish up the year strong!

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🍉 Books for Read Palestine Week 2024 [ Nov 29 - Dec 5 ]

✨ This guide will no doubt get hidden, given the topic, so please help me by sharing this!

❓What are you reading this week?

🍉 Educate and empathize! Here are 82 books you can read for Read Palestine Week! I've included 26 queer books for those of you who #readqueerallyear as well. Please read these books to learn more about the Palestinian experience. Shukran (thank you)!

✨ Poetry 🍉 Enemy of the Sun - (ed) Edmund Ghareeb and Naseer Aruri 🍉 A Mountainous Journey - Fadwa Tuqan 🍉 So What - Taha Muhammad Ali 🍉 Affiliation - Mira Mattar 🍉 The Butterfly's Burden - Mahmoud Darwish 🍉 Born Palestinian, Born Black & The Gaza Suite - Suheir Hammad 🍉 Breaking Poems - Suheir Hammad 🍉 In the Presence of Absence - Mahmoud Darwish 🍉 Rifqa - Mohammed el-Kurd 🍉 My Voice Sought the Wind - Susan Abulhawa 🍉 Blood Orange - Yaffa 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 To All the Yellow Flowers - Raya Tuffaha 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 Before the Next Bomb Drops - Remi Kanazi 🍉 Birthright - George Abraham 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 Tent Generations - Various 🍉 Who is Owed Springtime - Rasha Abdulhadi 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 The Twenty-Ninth Year - Hala Alyan 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 Some Things Never Leave You - Zeina Azzam 🍉 I Saw Ramallah - Mourid Barghouti 🍉 Nothing More To Lose - Najwan Darwish 🍉 The Specimen's Apology - George Abraham & Leila Abdelrazaq 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 Shell Houses - Rasha Abdulhadi 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 The Moon That Turns You Back - Hala Alyan 🍉 Things You May Find Hidden in My Ear - Mosab Abu Toha 🍉 Halal If You Hear Me - (ed) Fatimah Asghar & Safia Elhillo 🍉 Water & Salt -Lena Khalaf Tuffaha 🍉 Dear God. Dear Bones. Dear Yellow. - Noor Hindi 🏳️‍🌈

✨ Non-Fiction/Memoirs 🍉 Are You This? Or Are You This? - Madian Al Jazerah 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 This Arab is Queer - (ed) Elias Jahshan 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 Love is an Ex-Country - Randa Jarrar 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 Decolonial Queering in Palestine - Walaa Alqaisiya 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 Namesake: Reflections on A Warrior Woman - N.S. Nuseibeh 🍉 The Trinity of Fundamentals - Wisam Rafeedie 🍉 Between Banat - Mejdulene Bernard Shomali 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 Queer Palestine and the Empire of Critique - Sa'ed Atshan 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 They Called Me a Lioness: A Palestinian Girl's Fight for Freedom - Ahed Tamimi & Dena Takruri 🍉 Fashioning the Modern Middle East: Gender, Body, and Nation - Reina Lewis and Yasmine Nachabe Taan 🍉 Balcony on the Moon: Coming of Age in Palestine - Ibtisam Barakat 🍉 We Are Not Here to Be Bystanders: A Memoir of Love and Resistance - Linda Sarsour 🍉 Palestine: A Socialist Introduction - Sumaya Awad & Brian Bean 🍉 Voices of the Nakba - Diana Allan 🍉 Tracing Homelands - Linda Dittmar 🍉 Black Power & Palestine - Michael R. Fischbach 🍉 The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine - Ilan Pappé 🍉 A Day in the Life of Abed Salama - Nathan Thrall 🍉 A Land with a People - Esther Farmer, Rosalind Petchesky, & Sarah Sills 🍉 Inara by Mx. Yaffa AS 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 Mural - Mahmoud Darwish 🍉 Light in Gaza - Jehad Abusalim, Jennifer Bing, & Michael Merryman lotze 🍉 The Palestine Laboratory by Antony Loewenstein 🍉 Gaza - Norman Finkelstein

✨ Fiction 🍉 A Map of Home - Randa Jarrar 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 You Exist Too Much - Zaina Arafat 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 The Skin and Its Girl - Sarah Cypher 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 Minor Detail - Adania Shibli 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 The Philistine - Leila Marshy 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 Muneera and the Moon - Sonia Sulaiman 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 Belladonna - Anbara Salam 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 Behind You Is The Sea - Susan Muaddi Darraj 🍉 The Coin - Yasmin Zaher 🍉 Guapa - Saleem Haddad 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 The Parisian - Isabella Hammad 🍉 Salt Houses - Hala Alyan 🍉 The Ordeal of Being Known - Malia Rose 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 From Whole Cloth - Sonia Sulaiman 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 Against the Loveless World - Susan Abulhawa 🍉 The Beauty of Your Face - Sahar Mustafah 🍉 Mornings in Jenin - Susan Abulhawa 🍉 My First and Only Love - Sahar Khalifeh 🍉 They Fell Like Stars From the Sky & Other Stories - Sheikha Helawy 🍉 Enter Ghost by Isabella Hammad 🍉 Wild Thorns - Sahar Khalifeh 🍉 A Woman is No Man - Etaf Rum 🍉 Mother of Strangers - Suad Amiry 🍉 Hazardous Spirits - Anbara Salam 🏳️‍🌈 🍉 The Book of Ramallah - Maya Abu Al-Hayat

🏳️‍🌈 Graphic Novels 🍉 Mis(h)adra - Iasmin Omar Ata 🍉 Confetti Realms - Nadia Shammas 🍉 Where Black Stars Rise - Nadia Shammas & Marie Enger 🍉 Nayra and the Djinn - Iasmin Omar Ata 🍉 Squire - Nadia Shammas & Sara Alfageeh 🍉 My Mama's Magic - Amina Awad

[straightline-bow]

FUCK ben sulyamen actually.

rant about the D&I charter in regard to being lgbtq+ below the cut but I do discuss the punishments for queer people in some countries F1 races in and that has the potential to be triggering, so.

TW: mentions of the death penalty & torture

look i love that hamilton’s mission 44 was able to help with the D&I charter that the fia/fom have recently signed, but that doesn’t help the fact that there are 195 countries in the world, and of those 195, only eleven have the death penalty for being gay, and yet f1 races in THREE of them.

of ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY FIVE countries, 65 punish homosexuality explicitly, and f1 races in four of them (Qutar: death penalty, UAE: death penalty, Saudi Arabia: death penalty, Bahrain: semi-illegal). Beyond that, in Hungary, Azerbaijan and likely the USA, queer people face discrimination and in the case of Azerbaijan, imprisonment and possible torture.

jesus. it’d be so easy to race in countries that just don’t criminalise being gay, let alone give the DEATH PENALTY for it, but no, he just has to accept the money, and then greenwash the whole thing with some bullshit about renewable jet fuel and a instagram post with some pretty words.

what happened to the bullshit ‘we race as one’ little slogan they used to have plastered everywhere? vanished in 2022, with Domenicali saying they needed to change “gesture to action” to sky sports. i haven’t seen that happen. the ‘we race as one slogan’ was designed to encompass multitudes more than just lgbtq+ rights, fair enough, but they co-opted the rainbow branding for it, which is iconic enough that by itself people associated rainbows with lgbtq+ rights. for them to have used that branding to clean up their image and sell shittons of tickets and merch, to then do absolutely fucking NOTHING for lgbtq+ people within the sport is fucking disgraceful, and the worst kind of rainbow-washing.

ralf schumacher has done more for lgbtq+ people in the sport than the fia/fom ever has. by coming out whilst alive and famous, and by being a race winner, he has single-handedly given any young kid who is queer and wants to be an f1 driver a figure to look up to. he’s created a possibility for every young queer kid out there who loves f1. hell, i hate his opinions most of the time, but that doesn’t prevent me from standing behind the opinion that he’s one of my faves now, even when i disagree with him. (which is often.)

but it SHOULDN’T have to be down to individual ex-drivers. fucking hell. the fia is meant to KEEP THEM SAFE. no driver will be able to come out whilst driving at the moment, even if their team and fom/fia were fully behind them, because they wouldn’t be able to race in some countries for fear for their life. fuck that. i mean, i’d love to go into motorsports journalism, but i face the prospect that i wouldn’t be able to be open and public about my sexuality if i did make it, for fear of being imprisoned etc in what would essentially be my workplace in some countries.

it’s just so fucking frustrating. i get that a lot of people have an issue with it due to the racism still kind of baked into the institution of the sport, although i think an argument can be made toward it being more of a classism problem than specifically a racism problem (aka more white kids get opportunities because more of them are rich. not JUST because they’re white, although there is still that discrimination) but at least they aren’t in a situation where if they go to certain countries, they are risking being legally killed for their sexuality.

(yes, obviously, police brutality and racism can make it fucking risky and awful for poc to go to some countries, because they have a higher risk of being ‘accidentally’ killed. Qatar has stones people to death LEGALLY for being gay. these things are not actually the same)

and this charter does fuck all. i’m sorry, it probably will help for women and poc in motorsports, and for that i’m grateful, i truly am. it’s been long coming, and it’s fantastic that it’s here and hopefully will be used to actively help increase diversity & inclusion in those areas. that does not, however, negate the fact that NO mechanic, engineer, scrutineer, hospitality worker, driver, broadcaster, photographer, team principal, commentator etc can come out and be able to go to these countries without fear. none. THATS what the fia/fom should be fucking focussing on, eliminating fucking death threats to it’s workers.

[e-dubbc11]

for the november rain thingy I would love to request the faaabulous song by 3 doors down 'landing in london' and my fave boy billy <3

My sweet Selene, while I was listening to this song, I felt compelled to write this fic from Billy’s POV. I hope that’s ok!

Thank you my friend for sending in your asks and for being so supportive, for reading and sharing my fics and for being a great friend. ♥️

Always A Yes

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, couple of swear words, smooches

Word Count: 1.6K-ish

Summary: Told from Billy’s POV. He realizes there’s more to life than just work and doesn’t want to lose you but is he too late?

A/N: As stated above, this is based off of the song Landing in London by 3 Doors Down. I’ll link it at the end.

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

She was the first one…and only one.

The first one who understood you, who showed you any genuine affection, the one you finally let see who you really are. And she was so…accepting.

It was an instant attraction when she walked into that bookstore, shaking the plump raindrops off of her umbrella, and revealing her beautiful eyes to you from beneath the hood of her raincoat.

She was almost disappointed that she had finally reached her destination. It meant she couldn’t walk in the rain anymore which was so pure in your eyes, like a child not wanting to get out of the pool because they were having too much fun.

But you wouldn’t know anything about that. The closest you ever came to a pool as a kid was the city flushing the fire hydrants on a hot summer day but that’s what you imagined she felt like after enjoying that walk in the rain.

She caught you staring, playfully scolded you for not wearing rain boots, and the rest is history.

She never judged you for the bad things you had done. It was the first time you had told anyone other than Frankie about her or him, the first time you let anyone in, the first time you…bared your soul.

It all made sense to her now…why you always had to be in control.

Slowly, she moved her hand from her lap and held it in the air before asking you, “May I touch you, Billy? I’ll understand if you say ‘no.’”

“It’s always a ‘yes’ with you, sweet girl.” You had told her.

Her fingertips touched the side of your head, her nails tenderly scratched your scalp, and brushed the back of your neck. Those touches were what you had craved ever since you were a kid, they were loving but not in a patronizing way or in a way where she pitied you. She touched you like you deserved it and she told you so.

“You deserve to be loved, Billy.” She had said with a warm smile.

The path you had been on before she came into your life just led to pain. You had gone through life fighting so many inner demons, thinking that you didn’t deserve love, that it was just a curse, and all the pain you’ve received was warranted.

She thought differently.

That’s why you hated to be away from her but you did have a business to run which took you all over the country and even all over the world.

You always felt terrible after lashing out at her. She didn’t deserve that. All she wanted was…you. And she understood you had a job to do, it just took you away from her more often than either one of you wanted it to.

You always promised to make it up to her with whatever she wanted but again, all she wanted was you. And during those longer business trips, the thought of her waiting for you back home was the only thing that brought a smile to your face.

Frankie always called you out on your bullshit.

“You found her, Bill. Don’t fuck it up.” He scolded.

She was never afraid to push back either which was another reason you loved her so much.

“Keep pushing me away, Billy and there'll be a day where you come home and I won’t be here!” She yelled.

That’s the last thing you wanted so you couldn’t lose her. You loved her and wanted her, forever.

Normally, you were calm and in control but on the flight home from London you were nervous and extremely anxious. Your thoughts were scattered like dandelion seeds after a gust of wind. Was she still upset after this last minute trip? She said she wasn’t but she didn’t answer your text this morning which you hated and she knew you hated it when she didn’t answer. She did it to push your buttons when you were being an asshole.

She normally met you at the airport, always so happy to see you, but after you picked up your bag, you looked around and didn’t see her smiling face.

“You have a good trip, handsome?” She always asked.

It never failed. She always asked about your day, your trip, if the coffee house was busy, and always noticed when you bought a new tie. She loved you, flaws and all. She loved you.

“Shit.” You said out loud, frantically looking around for her.

Glancing at your phone, you noticed she hadn’t even read your message from this morning and it scared you to think that this could have been what pushed her away for good.

Hustling outside with your bags, you figured you’d catch an Uber and head for home. Maybe she was waiting for you there.

When you looked up from your phone, there she was, with her beautiful smile and holding a sign at her waist that read, “Mr. Russo.”

Dropping your bags at your feet, you rushed over to her and squeezed her until you heard her gasp for air.

“You’re here.” You said, trying to catch your breath.

She smiled against your chest.

“Of course I’m here, baby. How was your trip, handsome?” She asked, kissing you on the cheek.

“I don’t wanna talk about that right now. I need to tell you something.” You said.

Confused, she replied, “Oh…ok. What is it, Billy? Are you alright?”

“I won’t be if I lose you. I can’t lose you, y/n!” You said.

She saw the look in your eyes. It took you back to when you were that scared little boy, standing all alone on the steps of that fire station, wondering if she was ever coming back. And flashing forward a handful of years later in the group home, realizing that she wasn’t coming back. You never wanted to feel that way again and you finally found someone who always wanted you, good times and bad.

She grazed your beard with her thumbs as she looked into your frightened eyes and said, “Hey…hey…hey…you’re not gonna lose me, Billy. I love you.”

Reaching into your jacket pocket, you said, “I’ve been carrying this around for weeks, going over in my mind of what I wanted to say but all I could come up with is that I wanna marry you.”

Periodically, during your travels, you would reach into your pocket to make sure the black velvet box was still there. The soft fabric was comforting and after a long day of meetings or staring at a computer screen, you’d open the box, stare at the beautiful diamond ring inside and pictured her saying yes.

It scared you to even think about her saying no.

You were doing something you never thought you would do. You were making yourself vulnerable, opening up, letting someone in…in every way possible.

On one knee, not caring about if your suit pants would be ruined or not, you slowly pulled back the top to the box revealing the sparkling oval shaped diamond inside.

Although shocked, she still kept her composure and firmly said, “Then ask me, Billy.”

She smiled as tears welled up in her eyes, you knew her answer already but you did as she asked anyway. She deserved that.

“Will you marry me, sweet girl?” You asked, holding the ring in front of you and in front of a crowd of people that had gathered outside.

She kneeled down in front of you, snaked her arms around your neck, and replied, “Yes baby, I will marry you. It’s always a ‘yes’ with you, Billy.”

The people all around you clapped, whistled, and cheered as you slipped the ring onto her finger and pulled her flush to your chest. You had missed the gentle scratches on the back of your neck, her nails raking against your scalp, and when she hummed against your chest after being away from her, even if it was just for a short period of time.

Smiling against her hair, a familiar scent invaded your sense of smell. It wasn’t her normal perfume, it was your cologne which made your stomach flutter just like the first time you saw her as she came in from the rain.

“You wearing my cologne, beautiful?” You asked.

She pulled away from your chest with a sly smile on her face and replied, “It makes me feel close to you when you’re away. Is that…ok?”

She looked up at you through her long, dark lashes and bit down on her bottom lip.

Closing the gap between your bodies, you leaned in and gently pressed your lips to hers. Her lip balm tasted sweet like salted caramel, she knew that was your favorite one, and you felt her melt into your kiss.

“Always.” You said, pulling away slightly to place a soft kiss on her forehead. “I love you too.”

You don’t know how long you stayed there, on your knees in crisp early winter air. You held her in your embrace until you couldn’t feel your fingers or your toes anymore, you held her until she stopped shivering, and until everyone around you dispersed.

Old habits are hard to break. But from that moment on, you silently made a promise to her that you would try your hardest to never push her away, listen to her, and vehemently love her until you take your last breath.

Because she was the first, she was the first and only one to give you a real chance, and she was the only one to say yes…to always.

And when the night falls in around me

And I don't think I'll make it through

I'll use your light to guide the way

'Cause all I think about is you

Tag List: @wheresthesunshinesblog @idaoftheburningmind @rafaelakelley @snowkestrel @music-indie-tv @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @fictional-hooman @k-marzolf @nutmeg17 @vaguekayla @danzer8705 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @aoi-targaryen @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @rachlovesactors @qu1etwolf @sweetserendipity65

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @ittybxttykxttytxtty @jvanilly @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @mrsbillyrusso @colereads @jediwizardelf @thejanecampaign @folkloreofyennefer @milea @mysweetlittledesire

If you’d like to be added to (or removed from) my tag list for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again

[justchillandshipit]

I've Been Trying to Make Sense of Eddie's Story in My Head.

There are several intersecting points that have me thinking. In different seasons, we have heard different stories about Eddie and his feelings for Shannon. We have heard that he met her when he was a kid, and they lost touch and later reconnected. (No problem here.)

Eddie also says his relationship with Shannon was like magic. He says this to Bobby in Season Six when he is trying to get back on the dating scene.

We also hear from him that he married Shannon because she was pregnant, but he didn't regret it. (I believe this was after he said it was like magic. It contradicts the previous comment but also tracks with a gay Eddie storyline. He lived in TX in a very comphet part of the country. FYI. They still, to this day, have conversion camps in Texas. So it is plausible that by marrying her, he was conforming to the expectations of his parents and his immediate social sphere.)

We learned that Eddie had questions for Shannon that he never got to ask. Like why didn't he get a letter when she left? He describes her dying as leaving him broken, and that is just his life now. (This doesn't sound like a person who felt love in the form of friendship. He has described himself as broken a couple of times though and this does remind us of what Athena's ex Michael said about himself as he was coming out. He thought Athena could fix him. So I'm unclear if Shannon made him feel like he was normal, and with her dead, he doesn't feel like he can feel normal again. This would be consistent with gay Eddie too.)

However, when Kim asks him if Shannon was the love of his life, he says he thinks so. We can zero in on the "think" part of that comment but in this show, characters use the word "think" an excessive amount. Most commonly, when someone asks, "Are you alright?" Someone will reply, "I think so. Yeah." (It is not a direct contradiction to his previous comment because he also adds that he didn't realize it at the time, but the whole thing is just confusing, and it ignores the fact that she had asked for a divorce. It ignores the fact that she felt there was something wrong in their marriage, and she didn't necessarily think it was Eddie because she talked about learning how to be a good mother and then figuring out how to be a good wife. I thought that was odd on her part. No one learns how to be a good mother before being a wife. Being a Mom is on-the-job training, and if necessary, there is some therapy to help. It doesn't happen before learning how to be a wife.)

Bringing us to this season, Eddie is saying things like he doesn't deserve to be forgiven. (For what exactly? For dating Kim? For hurting Chris? He didn't sleep with Kim. There was an alternate scene where they kissed, but that never aired, so the only thing Chris and Marisole walked in on was them hugging. Eddie broke things off with Kim. She came to the house and pushed the situation. Even so, Chris is understandably hurt and Eddie does feel guilty. I can understand that guilt, but not to the degree that he doesn't deserve to be forgiven for it or experience joy. Not when he had broken it off.) Eddie says he doesn't deserve joy. (Again, this seems overkill for what happened with Kim when all things are considered. Guilt is understandable, but not to this degree. He grew the mustache as a mask. He was afraid of seeing a failure in the mirror. (A failure at what exactly? Being a father? Being a husband?) There is a lot of meta on this being code for gay Eddie. The problem here is that at some point if Eddie is coming out, people who can understand subtext and gay coding should not be the only people aware of this possibility. The general audience doesn't know crap about gay coding, and that is one of the reasons I don't like the way the storytelling is going at the moment. If they intend to bring Eddie out in a way that is understandable to everyone something more than coding is needed. There needs to be something solid and not subtextual, so everyone can follow along with the journey he is on. The audience needs to see or know what he is thinking even if Eddie isn't out of the closet to the people in his life. The audience should know the struggle. As it stands, the only people paying attention are us Buddie shippers. (For the general audience, his struggles appear to truly be about Shannon. If Eddie comes out, they are going to think it's out of nowhere. ) I think clarification of these contradictions would help.

[cursedfortune]

Mortem laughed lightly at the thought of his boredom leading him to harass the Heavens. She'd love to be a fly on the wall for that. Upsetting deities was a respectable hobby, in her opinion. Though, given his reputation, she was sure it would cause quite the stir.

"But I see your meaning. I've had plenty come to my home demanding the same. Or not even having the courtesy to ask - sometimes they go straight for the jugular under their own assumptions." Mortem lamented playfully. She wasn't really that bothered, it kept life semi-interesting. At least, when someone worth the interest came along. But even when it wasn't someone of interest, at least the corpses could make for good fertilizer for her gardens.

Despite the audacity the deities had, she supposed it was nice they recognized his power enough to talk first instead of trying to attack. Showed a bit of wisdom on their behalf, also meant his mountain wasn't constantly getting banged up or worse. Unlike her cabin. The enchantments she had to place upon it to cease fixing it constantly was a bit ridiculous - if not a bit sad.

His opinion of the festival was one she was amused by. It was rather quaint they upheld such a tradition, especially in an age where harvests weren't a thing mortals struggled with any longer. Still, appreciating the trials of the past was something that would always garner her respect. The importance of history, the value and relevancy it had - setting a foundation for the present, as the present set a foundation for the future... it was all of value. She worked hard to ensure history would not be forgotten, regardless of where in the world it could happen.

"If you'd like to attend a festival that celebrates a great battle that was overcome, I certainly know of a place back home. You ought to come visit at the end of spring." She invited. The capital city and high kingdom that unified all the others often held a celebration. A remembrance. It was a bittersweet event, but it possessed a reminder of their history - the value of keeping that knowledge alive was important beyond words. And hearing people speak so fondly, so admirably of the people she knew so longer ago still... It was always worth attending for that alone.

As they walked, she observed the passing people - the happy children, smelled the various foods in the air. All before she noticed his hand signaling her to pause. Curiously, the witch followed - wondering just what caught his eye.

How unexpected... an appreciation for stained glass? He'd really like the festival in her capital, then. Those from the neighboring desert always brought with them sand-blown glass. Wind chimes, vases, art of all kinds with such beautiful craftsmanship.

The chime of it was pretty, no wonder he was drawn to it. Mortem observed the way it swayed, the hum of its chimes, the way the light caught the glass.

"This would look nice upon a mountain, I'd think." She took her chin between her fingers after a moment, "I can imagine the sunlight catching the glass - the breeze making pleasant music." She considered aloud, totally encouraging and enabling him without an ounce of shame. To see such wonder and appreciation from Wukong, well, how could she not suggest such when it clearly made him so happy to see and hear?

From her pouch, she pulled out a coin that would suffice in its payment. It idly rolled across the back of her knuckles before she set it down on the counter before Wukong as a gift - unsure if her new friend had the currency for this country or not. Not wanting him to feel put on the spot to buy it or not, or possibly regarding whether he had the currency or not, the witch walked away to let him decide what he wanted to do. She opted to meander down the tables, admiring the glasswork as she flicked a bell from another wind chime along the way.

Money meant nothing to someone as old as she. What was priceless was seeing the little joys that adorned another's face. Especially the face of someone whose company she was enjoying.

The sounds of children, people talking among one another, of animals and who knows what else, Sun was starting to be glad he had the correct number of ears. He wondered, idly, how Macaque would deal with this much sound; if he’d get overwhelmed, or would simply ‘turn off’ his ears in favour of whichever company he tended to keep in this day and age. Sun knew he wouldn’t be part of said company, but he couldn’t help but to wonder about his fellow Stone Monkey during celebrations.

❝Well, you’d be happy to know that I’ve been bored lately. So perhaps the Heavens will get a visitor some time soon.❞ The Monkey had said, grinning, as if he was already scheming away; making plans and ideas to cause as much havoc as he could.

Or, perhaps, he’ll simply visit; cause them more anxiety knowing that the Monkey King was simply around and doing not a thing to disturb their holy lands. He knew that’ll cause the most trouble, to do nothing and simply grin – a prologue to the schemes he could be planning, and the anxieties that came with him.

Yes, the Heavens were nothing but peaceful; there was barely a ruckus to happen, unless one of the many Deities decided to do something. The last he heard, Nezha had a position of high respect – the kid, he remembered, being a thorn in his side when they last fought. He was glad the boy grew up into such a role, and he wondered if the Bull Demon’s son was still underneath the Goddess’ control, or if they were back together with their family. . .

. . . Although, he did piss off the Bull Demon in his later life; causing a rift in their brotherhood. It didn’t matter to Sun either way.

If the Bull Demon wanted to hate him over actions beyond his control, then so be it.

❝It’s nice, yes, to be checked up on but. . . Don’t you think most people would have more tack? Instead of coming to my home, and demanding to know what I’m up too.❞ He complained, although from his tone it was obvious it was nothing to be upset about. In fact, he seemed to miss it – a longing was in his voice, as if wishing for more intrusion from the Heavens would do him some good.

For a moment, the Monkey King wondered how it’d go if he was to have a visitor to his mountain whilst he was out; no doubt, it’ll cause a commotion in the Heavens.

Where did the Monkey King go, away from his people and mountain?

As children and people ran about – slipping by people without a second thought, still as agile as ever even with his tail wrapped around his waist – Sun couldn’t help but to hum out at the Witch’s explanation.

❝A, a festival of a bountiful harvest! How kind of them, to still celebrate such things.❞ He said, golden eyes everywhere but at the company he had besides him; falling on the booths of trinkets and novelistic goods. He was interested, certainly, but not enough to buy.

He had enough treasure and goods at home within his mountain; far more than he know what to do with, trinkets and do-da’s that even the Hells would get upset of him having. One of the most dangerous must’ve been the ink scroll he had hidden away, but hidden exactly he didn’t know. He needed to keep that protect the most, for it held. . .

❝Here I had hope this was a festival celebrating a win of sorts; although I doubt most would hold such events for such things now a days. Most ‘wins’ in the world these days tend to be celebrated at one’s home instead.❞ If this city was at war before, Sun couldn’t tell now; it’s people were cheerful, and unharmed by what war could do to a population.

There was no tired warriors walking about, longing for today to be over so they could go home to their families, nor was there a chorus of people celebrating a victory. It was as Mortem had said:

A festival of harvest.

One thing finally caught his attention for it shined in the light – catching his bright eyes with a refraction of light. He paused, bringing his hand up to tell her to pause, as he went to look. Hanging from a booth, from a vendor far too old to be handling a busy table at such a festival, was a stain glass wind chime of sorts, it gentle chime also causing the Monkey’s ears.

It was gorgeous as gorgeous could be; it’s stain glass of purples and blues and greens and teals caught the sun’s light and shined it colours about. With such child-like amazement. He was bewitched, it seemed, by it.

[just-rose-things]

Not the rose coming to Canada 🥵😮‍💨 my prayers have been answered 🙏🙏🙏

[jahdefender]

So I found this posted to reddit and I wanted to share it here because I'm sure there are some fans who haven't seen the Adventures Bible stuff. (I had not so this is just referencing myself)