#and i Did Not Need To Be. they're perfect.

[the-mad-stone]

SKILL ISSUE. LOOK. WE CAN FIX THIS

The solution is to remember what is and what is not within your control. I tortured myself with this for years because hearing [well i can't do anything about it] made me want to howl in despair even more. I thought that by giving up caring I'd be giving up my drive/duty to fix things. Doesn't being catastrophically worried mean I care? I used to have a partner who smoked and i worried myself into panic attacks over the possible risks of that. and now I see that the problem was. thinking that my lack of power there was a moral failing on my part. like. it wasn't. I had it backwards. My “caring” wasn't making me a better or worse person. All it did was make me feel certain emotions, from simmering anxiety to righteous fury - but feeling emotions/being aware isn't the same as changing the actual situation in real life. They're completely different dimensions of reality.

I think what we can do here gently untangle the following:

emotions (they're valid. if you're "catastrophically worried and miserably horrified then that sounds horrible and sucks. OP said they miss being regular sad - I miss that for them too, it really sounds overwhelming. The post is light-hearted but the emotions in it are very real and it would be okay to really let yourself feel this despair without trivialising it. At the same time, let's wait before letting our emotions dictate our actions.)

worries (OP is upset about something. What about? Something they value must be threatened. What is it? Climate, human rights? It's good to have values. It's good to care about something. It fucking sucks that it's facing problems, but for now, let's appreciate that this person cares about something instead of being consumed by apathy. Let's put a pin in that.)

actions (It's not that you can't single-handedly fix climate change - stoic texts say we actually can't control anything in this world but ourselves, hell, we can't control our own bodies and thoughts half the time. most of the time, maybe. Look at that post - "I miss being regular sad". Well, who's in charge of your head? You are. You can be regular sad about the world. It's easier said than done, but it can be done.)

We can let go of worrying about the things beyond our control - not to let ourselves off the hook, but because it makes sense in our material reality. What we can do instead is 1. feel that terror (MANDATORY STEP. DON'T DISMISS YOURSELF), 2. find out where it's coming from, 3. redirect our efforts. That's all we can do, and that's all we need to do. Is it the perfect solution? No. But that's exactly the point. Perfection is beyond our control. This isn't.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Bowser's UFO

Debut: Super Mario Galaxy

Remember Bowser's UFO? I rarely do! He has all these grand vehicles that tend to appear, do something, and then slink away forever. Remember his submarine? We all know his submarine. We get to go on it once! And then never again. Weird! Good thing his Cool Car ended up being marketable, or he would need to keep making even more!

At least, I assume the UFO is Bowser's. He uses it, and he SUMMONS it, with his Electricity Hands. Everyone loves Bowser Magic! He can discharge lighting just like King Dedede in Kirby's Pinball Land! The thing this moment confirms is that the UFO is not PILOTED by Bowser... Maybe it's a goon. Hired goon.

There could be ANYONE in that UFO! There could be anyTHING! A species the likes of which we've never seen! And an individual character, or characters, of this species. It wouldn't just be any old Alien letting some guy use its ship for evil. Perhaps even Tatanga...?

To save ourselves from disappointment, we can also choose to believe that it is simply piloted by some random Koopa. Perhaps a UFO Control Panel Bro, who throws UFO control panels and then uses them. You must admit, that would be a convenient fellow to have if you need a UFO! Just maybe have him throw it onto a mattress first to avoid damage.

I've been focusing on what could be inside of the UFO, but it's what's on the outside that counts: its three boobs. It seems it's Super Mario Galaxy tradition to have massive machines with three boobs! This is why we don't have Super Mario Galaxy 3. That's the Number of the Boob. If they can't make the perfect metal boobs for the occasion, they will make none at all, and that's fair.

I'm not even saying this to be cheeky! These just look so much like boobs! It's not like Megahammer where they're POSITIONED like boobs, but in this case the details are all there. And what does it lactate? Laser beams! Forget unsweetened vanilla oat milk, this is my new milk substitute of choice!

The UFO uses its nefarious nipples to kickstart the big conflict, allowing Peach's entire castle to be ripped out of the ground and taken away... and then it does nothing. We get to see it briefly while flying toward the final level, and it's just there. No last ditch attack, no climactic battle against it, no venturing within it. Whoever's piloting this vessel was paid for one particular job, and they did it, and now they're getting out of here! Good on them, really. Bad on them for doing some big evil ultimately leading to the destruction of the universe, but you have to respect the independent contractor grind!

[phoenixcatch7]

Deep in my ff7 rereads so here are my favourite fandom fics, hands down.

End as you mean to begin <- 130k+ of time travelling cloud parenting the remnants, seeking asylum in a war torn wutai to keep all four of them out of shinras hands while sephiroth is absolutely Going Through It in midgar. Great Genesis characterisation and cloud mothering his way to an international incident. Bonus gender hijinks, hilarious misunderstandings and zack. Unfinished.

The fear of falling stars <- 500k+ and soon to be completed. Cloud and insane!Sephiroth time travel back to their shinra days and I cannot emphasise enough how much cloud is Not Doing Well. Gorgeous wordplay and top tier banter. Utterly unhinged blood enemies to ??? to ?????? to lovers sefikura. It's E rated and probably the tensest I've ever been reading fic lol, it is not lighthearted! But it's incredibly well written and the characters are phenomenal (zack my beloved) so if you've got strong nerves (and like a quarantine pairing) I'd definitely recommend it.

Voice of the gods <- 170k+ of almost idyllic gods and avatars au. Slow, soft and full of world building, it's a lovely relaxing read of cloud getting anointed the envoy of sephiroth, god of war, and slowly growing into his role and joining the ranks of envoy. Lots of side characters take larger roles here, and sephiroth himself is a darling without losing his sharpest edges. Unfinished.

I CAN FIX HIM (series) <- possibly my favourite sephiroth characterisations ever. 130k and growing of pure shaking this man like a doll in a perfect mix of almost delirious crack and gutting angst (often both at once!). Very good writing, every single funny moment hits like a truck and keeps building until you're choking with laughter. Bonus points to ROADTRIP! for being utterly, utterly insane. I cannot emphasise enough just how GOOD every single character and their dynamics are written.

Just anything ff7 written by AimeeLouWrites, if you've been in this fandom for any length of time you'll have heard of her. Great concepts, great executions and aus for DAYS.

Five hearts to make him whole <- 130k+ of time/dimension travelling cloud getting sent to a world of soulmates - and his alternate self bagged all four soldier firsts. Alternate cloud also died violently a few years ago and boy did those soulmates (not) take it well. Our cloud, of course, was not read in on any of this. Shout out to the emotional support chocobo! Unfinished?

Shall I find rest <- another soulmate agszc (?) dimension cross but this one is 100k+ of post AC cloud and Tifa waking up and deciding to make it everyone else's problem. They're so done with all the drama. Bamf nibel duo to the end and Tifa is the mvp. Unfinished.

Advanced release <- 250k+ and it's sephiroth receiving the original game in a strange packet that appeared in his room. It spirals into a messy and painful exposure of conspiracy, lies and inevitable tragedy. Video game logic is a running gag and zack remains the only actually stable person in the whole sorry mess but he's also Having a Terrible Experience. Really well written!!! Unfinished.

On broken wings <- 160k+ of pure post AC sephiroth redemption from his pov. Him struggling to find his place in a new world and experience real human connection evolves into MOOGLE EMBASSY need I say more?? Unfinished.

With Great Power Comes Meddling Fucking Gods <- 470k+! Poly WEAPON cloud gets yoinked back to the past (feat agzs), dies for a few days and misses his family SO bad but he is determined to change the future for the better. Probably the most healthy and mature cloud ever lol. Unfortunately for him, insane!sephiroth is pulling a inner hollow and gaia herself isn't talking. If you like symbolism, whoo boy!! The dream sequences are a DOOZY (and drowning in eroticism). Wonderfully written, the divide between sane!sephiroth and his counterpart is really cool to see. E rated at times but it's absolutely DELIGHTFUL and WEAPON cloud is such a treat. And I cannot emphasise enough the symbolism. Zackkura (kinda) and slow burn! Unfinished.

A brand need not be seen <- 180k+ in a world of soulmates where the four firsts have clouds name on their wrists. Trooper cloud is tentatively, desperately hopeful. Then a smoking hot op af adult cloud appears, with no names on his wrists at all. It's a really cute flirty fic despite covering shinra politics, identity crises, huge self worth issues, lots of trauma, and finding your own place in the world. Unfinished.

Memory's struggle <- 250k+ of cascading time travel. Basically everyone goes back, which goes great XD. Everyone... Except cloud. I read this a while ago but I do remember poor cloud just getting loved and spoiled by literally everyone and freaking out about it lmao. He was so confused! Unfinished.

[chaoskirin]

Part of "providing something for these people" is allowing people to make mistakes, and not attacking them for every little thing they do wrong. This means not putting someone on blast for getting a tiny thing wrong. And if they do get put on blast, you need to see if they apologize and try to do better.

What pushes people right is that the left expects perfection. If you fuck up--and you will--you are ostracized. And where do people go for comfort? Right into the arms of people who say they love them. (Even if that's a lie.)

You all have to stop expecting perfection. I know this is a hot take, but young people get on the internet, fuck up, and then they're "held accountable" for the rest of their lives. Are you fucking surprised? Are you really surprised they look for companionship in the wrong places? Because anyone who could do any sort of good in their lives has them blocked.

I'm not even arguing this with you all anymore. It's gone too far. I still see a bunch of internet police "holding people accountable" for things they did a decade ago.

I know it's a big thing on tumblr that you never have to forgive people, but if you can't forgive, at least shut the fuck up. Seriously. If you're going to dog people and warn those they interact with about things they did a hundred years ago, you are part of the problem.

I don't even fucking care who likes me anymore or unfollows or blocks me over this take. We're all fucked now anyway. So do with it what you will.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

[korya-elana]

Your doctor isn't always right.

This'll be a long one. No tl;dr

I see a lot of rhetoric about "doctor shopping" and "your doctor is obviously right, quit trying to claim an illness that isn't yours" and other such nonsense. So I'm here to tell you why these guys suck and why they're wrong.

I'd like everyone to keep in mind that I am studying brain science, I readily admit that, due to my health issues, I could have died without my doctors. I am firmly pro-science and pro-medicine. However.

I was actually going to type up this post a few weeks back and then the universe smacked me with a relevant situation. For some context, I recently moved back to Ohio. I had lived in NY for the past few years due to traumatic circumstances and had not received any care for my disabilities at the time. Considering one of my issues is Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (my joints and connective tissue are loosey-goosey and don't work right) and EDS causes me severe pain from constant rib dislocations/subluxations, I went to go get pain management from a specialist as soon as I was back.

This "specialist" (literally the head of the relevant department) told me there was no way that I had EDS despite my relevant testing and family history, started testing me for the WRONG illness (Marfan's, which you can tell by looking at me I do not have) and then, despite his admittance he doesn't know much about EDS, proclaimed I don't have it and it wasn't worth seeking any help. And he obviously did shit for my pain. He also said this about my proven autoimmunity.

Fast forward to two weeks ago. At the ripe old age of 30 and relatively good health despite my disabilities, I had a real stroke. Not only is this highly unusual for my age and health, it was a very, very specific type of stroke that is highly indicative of a much more dangerous type of EDS than my previous specialists had ever thought. And now I need extremely expensive and hard-to-get approved genetic testing. I have therapies several times a week and in a month I see a neurologist. Specifically, a stroke specialist where I will likely be the youngest person in the waiting room by at least 20 years.

This doctor could have killed me. He could have permanently crippled me beyond repair due to his advice. I legitimately thought I was dying. I have lost parts of my life and activities vital to my sense of self that I will never get back and I am very early on a very long road to recovery. Because my doctor was wrong. And I'll sure as shit be suing him.

So if you think your doctor is wrong, I want you to ignore every single asshole tumblerite telling you that your doctor knows best and knows better than you do. Seek that second opinion. Or your third! Or your fourth! I went through five doctors before I found one that actually knew what he was talking about and could help my dysautonomia symptoms for real. There is merit to talking about diagnosis hunting and being more sure than you should be. But doctors are not perfect. Malpractice kills people. Follow your gut feeling and find someone who knows how to talk about it. Shutting up and ignoring that feeling could get you hurt.

[zhivaoverdrive]

Filling the Void Breast Expansion and Butt Expansion via Saline Expander Implants.

But you've seen the image, too late.

Each image from the poster wall is available in full on the extras gallery, some with their own small stories.

Have fun.

----- As I pushed open the door, my eyes widened in horror. Lani lay sprawled across her bed, her body resembling a collection of medicine balls that had been inflated one too many times. Her breasts hung from her chest like overfilled water balloons, threatening to burst at any moment. 

The soft light cast by the lamp on her nightstand danced across her skin, highlighting every vein and crease as if trying to accentuate the sheer magnitude of her transformation. The implants themselves seemed to be straining against Lani's skin, like four enormous balloons about to burst at any moment.

Lani's eyes snapped towards mine, wide with surprise and shame. She looked guilty, her face flushed like a person who'd just been caught cheating. Her gaze darted around the room as if searching for a way to make this situation disappear, but the evidence was undeniable. It was like trying to hide a skyscraper behind a curtain – impossible.

I took in the scene: her already-enormous frame now straining against the seams of reality; empty saline solution bottles littering the room like discarded confetti; and Lani's body... altered, distended by the relentless stream of liquid she'd forced into it. The four orbs of saline inside her seemed to be straining against their containment, as if desperate to escape were it not for Lani's stretched skin holding on with all its might.

"It's not that big of a deal," she said, her voice laced with justification. "I'm fine. Just... just this little bit more..."

I took a deep breath before speaking. "Lani, I know we agreed monthly would be the limit," I reminded her gently.  "But you know how close you came to... complications. And yet here you are again, doing it without supervision."

Lani looked at me pleadingly, her eyes welling up with tears. "Please," she whispered, the air thickening with shame and desperation.

The shame and desperation, struggled to come to terms with being caught. AGAIN.

On one hand, I was impressed by her willingness to take control of her body and push the boundaries of what society considers "OK".

But I was also worried about how far she was taking things. Like, expanders... that's some next-level stuff.

And not just that - Lani had taken her body modification game to a whole new level by having expanders in her butt as well.

I couldn't help but wonder what kind of discomfort she must be going through with those things implanted in her backside. And yet...part of me couldn't help but admire her spirit.

I get that Lani wanted to change herself, but this was just crazy. "You're not even trying to hide what you're doing," I said, shaking my head in amazement. "You're trying to turn yourself into a human balloon or something!"

But as soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I had spoken too bluntly.

"You're using expanders like they're some kind of...I don't know, saline-filled superpower or something!" I said, trying to lighten my tone.

"I just need this one more time," she said quietly, her voice filled with reverence.  "I promise I'll slow down after this. It's not like..."

She trailed off, looking down at the floor as if embarrassed by her own words. But that did not last long.

Lani gazed up at the posters on her wall. Her gaze lingered on the statuesque figures, their bodies seemingly defying gravity itself - their breasts rose up from their chests like mountains, butts jutted out far behind them.

"Look at them," Lani said quietly, her voice filled with awe and longing. "They're doing it... Just look at them - so many people adore them, that one's been on TV!"

As Lani admired these perfect forms of femininity, the competing idea inside of her believed she was still the waifish girl she'd been years ago stewed. Trapped between two conflicting realities unable to be reconciled.

"And honestly, what's another litre of saline when you're already..."

I didn't push her for more. Another unnecessary question. A different tack was in order.

"Lani, baby," I said carefully,

"You've never removed ANY saline before. I'm not even exactly sure if we can. What if this is a one-way process without going back to the doctor..."

Her eyes dropped, and she nodded slowly. "I know, but what's the worst that could happen? You'll still l-" "Ah," I interrupted her, trying to sound more reassuring than concerned. "The weight of... well, let me ask you this: how much saline are we talking about here?"

Lani looked down at her chest, a sheepish expression spreading across her face. "I've got 10 litres in each boob.."

My eyes widened in shock. Ten litres per implant? That was... that was a lot of saline. A lot more than last time.

"And?" I prompted, trying to keep my tone light despite the gravity of the situation.

Lani faltered for a moment before she spoke up again. "And... um... well, I might have also exceeded 10 litres in each butt cheek."

My jaw dropped. She couldn't be serious. Could she?

"Lani," I said softly, trying to keep my tone gentle despite the shock and concern I was feeling. "You're telling me that you've got a total of 40,000cc saline forced in your body?"

Lani nodded sheepishly, her face flushing with embarrassment.

I glanced at Lani's ass and saw the telltale signs of strain: deep creases in her skin, fine lines tracing the contours of each implant, and an eerie sheen that hinted at stretchmarks. Her veins stood out like blue highways, pulsing with effort as they struggled to deliver oxygen to her skin.

"The weight of this much saline is crushing you," I said firmly. "You've already been struggling with everyday tasks for months now. You're going to continue to struggle even more as time goes on. Your body simply can't keep up."

Lani's gaze faltered as she tried to consider the consequences of her actions.

"What does the future hold?" I continued. "Don't even get me started on trying to cook dinner or do laundry. You're being short-sighted! What happens when you can't even get out of bed in the morning?"

The silence between us grew thick with unspoken understanding – a tacit agreement that more caution was needed, but also a recognition that we were both too afraid to seek help.

She nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving mine.

"You're right," she said quietly. "I'll need you".

[inkoutsidethelines]

Hoo boy. Okay. This reply got my attention, and I'm going to do my best to answer each point you raise. Because I think this is an incredibly bad faith reading of the Jedi and the Star Wars movies in general.

The Jedi are Detached from reality as it is perceived by humans.

There is absolutely nothing in the movies that supports this claim. Nor is there anything in the movies that support your claim that the Jedi don't perceive time in a linear fashion. Yes, some Jedi get glimpses of the future, or the past, but that is in no way the same thing as fully experiencing time in a non linear fashion.

Genuinely, I don't know where you got this idea from. I can't think of a single moment from any of the movies that supports it. You have simply made up a headcanon about the Jedi and decided that it was true.

Anakin, a person who clearly suffers from borderline personality disorder which comes with symptoms such as fear of abandonment, an unstable view of the self, devaluing or overvaluing relationships to the point placing of one’s self-worth entirely in another person’s hands, and more, literally needs unconditional love and support.

Anakin does not clearly suffer from borderline personality disorder. The movies don't support that, and no interview I've ever seen from George Lucas supports that. This is, again, a headcanon that you made up and have decided it's true.

He was simultaneously considered the “chosen one” and considered a burden or a problem.

Exactly one Jedi made a big deal about Anakin being the Chosen One: Qui-Gon. That's it. The Jedi don't treat Anakin any different than any other member of their order. Heck, potentially being the Chosen One wasn't even enough to convince the Council to let him join the Order in the first place!

As for treating him like a problem/burden...well, no, not really. Not in the movies. They get frustrated when he disobeys orders, but that's a fair reaction. Obi-Wan corrects him when he's getting too emotional, but that's literally Obi-Wan's job as Anakin's Master. They're upset when Palpatine forces them to give Anakin a seat on the Council, but that has less to do with Anakin and more to do with not appreciating Palpatine trying to manage Jedi business.

And that’s not even touching on how in Phantom Menace he created strong bonds with both Qui-Gon and Padmé only to have both of the ripped away right after he’d left behind everything he knew and loved.

...I'm not sure what you expect the Jedi to do about that? Qui-Gon died, and Padme was a Queen who had to go back to her own planet.

And Anakin choose to leave Tatooine and his mother behind to try and become a Jedi. Shmi encouraged him to go! And certainly an argument can be made that a nine year old can't fully understand that decision, but Qui-Gon did his best to explain what that choice meant, and that a Jedi's way of life is hard.

Anakin made choices. So did Qui-Gon, and so did Padme. The Jedi can't help any of that.

He was NINE and being told that everything he ever learned was wrong and backwards and leads to being evil and that he needs to be perfect for anyone else to think he belonged because even the smallest mistake would just confirm their preconceived beliefs about him.

I'm going to need some references for this claim, because I don't remember ever being shown this in any of the movies.

The Jedi are shown to respect other cultures, but Jedi have their own culture and standards that one must live up to in order to be a Jedi. There's nothing wrong with that! The Jedi are allowed to have their own culture, and they're allowed to have standards about who can join them.

Anakin never would have become anything like Vader without Sidious leading him.

It's quite possible that this is true. Though he did murder a whole tribe of Tusken Raiders, women and children included, years before he became Vadar. That being said, no amount of lies and manipulation from Sidious excuses the choice Anakin made to betray the Jedi and murder younglings.

That was a choice that Anakin made. Sidious didn't force his hand. Anakin made the decision that the chance of saving Padme - from a fate he didn't know for sure she'd experience! - was worth betraying the Jedi, worth murdering younglings, worth overthrowing the Republic and turning it into an Empire.

Anakin doesn’t view Padmé as a possession, I don’t know why anyone would think that.

Well - to stick to a movie example, since you indicated you don't consider the Clone Wars show to be canon - it could be because he never bothered to consult her in his "I will murder a bunch of younglings and help Sidious start an Empire to save Padme's life" plan, to see if she was actually okay with it. And once she finds out after the fact, and she IS NOT okay with it, Anakin responds by Force choking her.

That's why I call Anakin selfish and possessive. Because ultimately, he didn't care about Padme's feelings or opinions. Even if Anakin had been right that she was definitely going to die and Sidious would save her, Padme still would not have agreed to wiping out the Jedi and destroying the Republic to save her own life. Anakin doesn't just betray the Jedi and the Republic. He betrays Padme, her beliefs and values, because he can't stand the thought of being without her.

As for the unconditional love you say he needed? Padme did love him unconditionally. She loved him after he murdered a whole tribe of Tuskan Raiders. She loved him when she knew he was lying and keeping secrets from the Jedi Order that trusted him. She loved him after he betrayed the Jedi Order and the Republic, offering to run away with him and live hiding out from the Empire with their baby. Padme loved Anakin unconditionally and it wasn't enough for him.

Because Anakin was selfish. And he wanted everything. And he couldn't have it.

"no attachments" in SW literally just means "don't be selfish and possessive". that's it. that's all there is. doesn't mean jedi can't have friends and loved ones. they can. just. don't be possessive and selfish about it. don't murder thousands of people in an effort to save one.

[randomwriteronline]

"Strange colors, this one," the female said. "Earth?"

"Sonics," the other replied proudly. "Very rare. Usually their element kills them before they can turn."

The Toa's head lolled about, quiet, his silvery Hau hung low; he did not respond when his possible buyer grasped his forehead and pulled it up to check his eyes - which he did not open.

"Blind?"

"Ah, no, no, he sees well! But we've had to knock the fighting out of him and now he's a little shy," the Stone Skakdi cackled. "Not that it was difficult. He's perfect cannon fodder, no will to complain, no thoughts of his own. Or he could make a good cabin boy for you or some other slave-like thing... Truly, you've just got to choose."

Xekul grinned sharply, her tone appreciative: "Not bad for his price."

A panicked sound arose from behind her: one of her sailors was rushing towards them, grabbing her arm, trying to pull her grip off of the near catatonic being.

"You won't fool me!" he was snarling, spine snapping like a whip, teeth bared, "Keep your cursed deals off our ship!"

She yanked herself out of his grasp with barely any effort; the smaller Skakdi tripped on his own feet as he was thrown forward, and she snarled: "What's gotten into you now?"

"He's cursed!" the male insisted, "They all are! All De-Toa, all of them!"

His eyes gleamed terribly as he set them on the being limply awaiting whatever demise the Skakdi would decide for him.

"They're harbingers of ruin - they're Mata Nui's own personal sirens, made to drag us all into the bottomless abyss," the spindly male hissed. His fingers curled tighter around his captain's arm, so tight he almost crushed her murky green armor. "He'll doom the ship the moment he gets on it! He'll guide us straight to Karzhani itself!"

"Bit unruly, this sailor of yours," the slave trader cackled nervously.

"Bit more than usual," Xekul agreed with a low growl.

The Ice Skakdi trembled harshly, gnashing his teeth together as he suddenly shrieked: "We need to kill him! It's the only way to save ourselves! We need to kill him now!"

Immediately the other male perked up, spine curving to make him seem larger as he barked: "Hey, hey! No touching the merchandise!"

"Then we'll need to kill you too!" the sailor howled back, cutlass all of a sudden in hand, the terrible strength of desperation lunging his pitiful frame forward to grasp the salesman's throat between his claws and plunge the blade right into his eye over and over and over and over and--

He gave a frightening yowl when his captain's fingers grasped skull, sunk into his sockets, and yanked him back to send him flying. His body hit the ground with a large clattering thunk and shrank into a pained curled position reminiscent of a boiled shrimp's posture.

A powerful shiver wrecked him. He clasped his head within his mangy hands as his superior's feet approached him.

"He's singing," he whined softly, sounding horribly in pain: "He's singing, singing to me, burrowing and writhing inside my brain like a worm... Captain, captain, he's singing, singing!... The siren, he's singing, singing, he'll drag us to our doom singing, singing... Captain, help me, help me, kill him, kill him! Kill him! He's singing, sing--"

Xekul crushed his head with a stomp: his body stiffened, jerked about, and finally stilled.

She kicked it into the waters.

"We'll need another cabin lad," she sneered.

The Stone trader swallowed air, claws still around his throat from the previous attempt at his life: "I think," he wheezed, "I think I could give you a discount."

The female twisted her lip in a mirthless grin: "Much appreciated."

-

They kept the Toa down, in chains, below deck.

First was the quartermaster. He accused the first mate to be whistling something shrill and malevolent in his ear on the second day; he claimed to still hear it on the fourth day; he stabbed the female in the throat on the fifth. They reduced him to molten scrap for his offense, but by the time they were done there was nothing else to do for her, and Xekul ordered both bodies thrown overboard.

Second was a powder monkey. He began claiming the ammunition buzzed loudly in his ear, telling him to blow the hull; he was struck by convulsions whenever he stepped too close to the walls, vibrating at the same tempo as the blasted humming he swore had wormed into his brain; at last he blew up a fuse (accidentally or not, it could not be cleared) and took off a chunk of the ship and several gunners with himself. Xekul ordered his remains be scrapped off and dumped as chum, to catch some of the provisions he'd cost them.

Third was a sailor promoted to boatswain. He started stalking around the deck, turning his head left and right, barking orders more and more nervously and constantly looking around with a strange sort of fear in his eyes; he told of conspiracies of mutiny to his captain, enacting death sentences and banishments and imprisonments on her behalf, until the crew was so meager than they could not waste men by leaving them to the sharks anymore, becoming more paranoid by the day ever since; in the end, foaming through his jaws, screaming about a damned sound driving him insane, he slaughtered his way through most of the remaining sailors. Xekul had to break his neck to stop his infernal howling, and had to join her fearful males in throwing the dead into the ocean, as there were barely enough to handle half the corpses by themselves.

Fourth was one of the lads in the brig. It had to be, though they did not know who. By the time they went down to free them in exchange for work, they had managed to kill one another until the only one alive below deck - by sole virtue of being kept in a different cell - was the catatonic Toa.

Mere days before the third week, he was Xekul's only company.

Her claws were clutched to the helm tight, as though she feared someone might have lurched from the fog to rip it away from her as she steered cautiously.

She'd disposed of her last maddened sailor moments earlier.

He'd been singing too loud, too close to her ear.

The singing hadn't stopped.

It went on at a good distance from her, clear as day; a Bruiser song about a tower that never ends, always in construction, never to be finished, visible from a mio away in every direction, casting a shadow so impossibly long and wide that it made night fall during the day.

Each day we add a brick, and each day we lay the spackle; each day we work to finish, but the roof is never ready.

Each day we fix a wall, and each day the floor is done; each day we work to finish, but the roof is never ready.

It was a repetitive melody, sung in a dreadful monotone.

It was driving her mad.

It was completely silent.

She whipped her head around, to watch her back, tool unsheathed, limb ready to pounce, to kill: nobody. But she would have sworn there had been someone with her, a new voice, repeating the dull lyrics in a dull voice, just right behind her, right next to her.

It was completely silent.

Xekul tightened her grip on the weapon. The song continued from the empty space before her, as flat and nauseating in its spiral structure as it had always been, sinking into her head like a slow screwdriver digging deeper, and deeper, and deeper... She stared into nothingness and awaited another move as her vision swam.

It was completely silent.

Now the voice was tearing itself in two, duplicating, cloning itself through mitosis: all of a sudden there were three, and then a small group, slowly growing louder while never increasing their individual volume. The Skakdi violently jerked away from the helm as one of them suddenly came too close to her arm, so close she could have felt the breath on her armor if it had come from a mouth.

It was completely silent.

They kept multiplying. New voices kept adding up, taking over the area all around her, pushing her back, back, back, into the wall, into the corner, into the ground, pressing against her as if the room was caving in, crushed by an outside force; once she was completely curled up their pitch rose slowly, higher and higher and higher until the words were only shrieks sinking into her like scalding needles, and she screamed to cover them until her throat ripped apart.

It was completely silent.

A hand opened the door with a click.

Xekul did not see the being, at first, because the noise had covered her field of vision with a thick layer of electric grey snow flickering at terrible speeds.

She felt fingers sit carefully over her head as she convulsed in a state of complete hysteria - fingers light and quiet, pressing barely enough to take her out of the auditory torture, to let her begin to make out the vaguest shape in the static surrounding her. From them came something... Something like a liquid extension, of the heavy consistency of syrup: it dug into her skull and thoughts, curling around them far too quickly, leaving them behind when they did not find what they wanted. She hacked and spat in an attempt to stop them, but her body did not cooperate.

Then, something inside her brain gave a loud click: and it was all over.

"Thank you, madam," a voice said, sucking the thousand screaming litanies back into itself.

Her tremors quelled slowly, her eyes reaccustomed themselves to the world that had been encased in painful white noise. Xekul opened her mouth and heaved: the tension that had kept her jaws shut so hard her teeth had almost cracked was finally gone.

Something in her head felt different. Like a piece was missing... No: like a piece had been nudged, pulled out, and then placed back in. Like someone had put a bookmark amongst her memories.

Vaguely she recognized the figure now changing course at the helm. She recognized the black armor, the gun metal... The silver mask.

Her voice snarled out of her without words.

The Toa replied to her surprised, hateful gaze with pale yellow eyes.

He hummed in tone with a Skakdi's sailor song while she remained still temporarily paralyzed, unfurling from who knows where a tube-like tool, never tearing his gaze away from hers.

He set a tempo by hitting his weapon on the floor.

"Captain, my captain, we're off to a good start!" he sang.

Then the staff struck harder against the metal; the sound pierced her head like a bullet, and Xekul blacked out.

[unsoundedcomic]

Hi again Ashley! Distractable comic anon here again - thanks for your suggestions (and those of your readers in the replies), the ambient sounds helped so much! I am nearly finished with the pages I started now. :)

I have a follow-up question - how long did it take you before you got into the groove of making a comic page? I love starting pages (the drafting), but I think another reason I struggle to finish them is because I'm always unsure if they are taking me longer than they should. They take me so much longer than a single drawing!

When did it become faster for you? Or, how do you know whether you are spending long on a page because it needs it, or whether you are spending too long on it because you are doing it incorrectly/inefficiently?

Or is this something only I can discover by repeated practice over time? By just forcing myself to bring more pages to completion, and hopefully I will learn my own process after I have enough finished pages under my belt?

Yep! You're only going to learn it over time :) My process and my time frame are not what will be your process, and your time frame. You simply have to keep doing it and discover what your workflow is. Eventually you'll develop the sense that tells you whether you're noodling a page or not. And you'll have enough pages done that you'll know how long one should take you.

I think it's really important to not be a perfectionist when you're drawing comic pages. Readers don't agonize over panels the way we imagine they do. They're not going to notice all those details we sweat over. There's one single important thing you HAVE to do when drawing comics. It's not including every brick in a brick wall, or every body in a crowd, or every strand of hair on a head. It's not redrawing every panel until it's perfect. It's not even worrying about keeping every single character perfectly on model every page.

The most iportant thing you HAVE to do, is to draw legibly. The reader needs to be able to quickly identify what's happening in every panel. Poses should be dynamic so actions parse immediately, expressions should be clear, backgrounds should quickly show where characters are in space.

That's it! Everything else you include on a page is just gravy.

[irrealisms]

#not attacking OP!! maybe US hotlines do contact police#I don’t want vulnerable people scared to text the service that exists for them#bc someone’s telling them the cops will be called on them by default (tags by @aetheros)

i'm not saying that the cops will be called by default. you can argue i implied it in my first post, but that was a "hey where's the post with more info on this" that wasn't intended to get reblogged as much as it was; my reblogs of it just talk about ones that call the police sometimes and those that don't. even in the US, only a minority of crisis line calls will end with police involvement. according to MHA, less than 3% of their calls end with police involvement! that said, i referenced the Trevor Project, and quoting from their Terms of Service (bolding mine):

Crisis Interventions. The Trevor Project cares deeply about the health and wellbeing of our community, and thus we make disclosures as needed to protect LGBTQ+ youth and others, and our policy is to alert law enforcement, state authorities, or emergency services if your communications with The Trevor Project indicate that you are at imminent risk of death or serious injury (i.e., if you have suicidal desire, a plan, access to means, and an imminent timeline).

I'll also link some sources that talk about police involvement in crisis lines; they're not perfect or anything, this is half "cursory search" and half "what I already had in my tag". If you go through the tags on this post, you can find people who had the cops called on them after calling hotlines, and I know people who have had this experience. The fact that you did not even do even a cursory amount of searching before confidently stating that hotlines do not do that does not impress me. a 3% risk of police involvement is in fact too much for a lot of people.

And, like... this post includes 6 hotline/warmline numbers. I'm not trying to scare people out of using any hotlines.

But I am unequivocally opposed to nonconsensual "active rescue" (lol i hate that fucking euphemism) and involuntary hospitalization, something that happens to many suicidal people who try to seek resources for that suicidality (including, yes, most hotlines--you yourself acknowledge that your hotline does active rescue). I realize this post is getting reblogged by a lot of different people who may have different viewpoints but... I'm a psychiatric survivor. Many of my followers are from antipsychiatry spaces. Calling paramedics is better than calling the cops, and calling only if they have a plan with a short timeline is better than calling about everyone no matter what, but it's still bad. Hospitals kill, injure, and traumatize people (check out the research and debate around restraint and seclusion). Recent research (full study should be published in the upcoming weeks!) by Pim Welle suggests that involuntary hospitalization "nearly doubles the probability of being charged with a violent crime or dying by suicide or overdose in the three months after evaluation."

Compare the Trevor Project's statement to the statement of Trans Lifeline (a resource that I recommend in this post) on the subject of active rescue (I highly recommend reading the full link, btw, which criticizes active rescue):

Trans Lifeline does not engage in non-consensual intervention because, in our community, this can place our community at increased risk for suicidality.

or BlackLine:

All calls remain private and will never be shared with law enforcement or state agencies of any kind.

not "we only do it some of the time, if we reeaaaaaally need to". never. no nonconsensual intervention, no involvement of state agencies of law enforcement. those are the resources this post is about. if someone reads this post and decides to seek help from a hotline that does active rescue, that's fine! i've called hotlines that do active rescue in the past! but i want people to be making an informed decision that's aware of the risks.

anyway, the post i was talking about in the OP is this post, which also suggests Promise Resource Network at (833) 390-7728, Project Return Peer Support Network at (888) 448-9777 English or (888) 448-4055 Spanish, Key Consumer Organization at 800-933-5397, MBRLC Peer Support Line at 877-733-7563, and this directory of warmlines. another post by the same person recommends the White Bird Clinic crisis line at 541-687-4000 / 1-800-422-7558 for the Eugene/Springfield Oregon area. somone in the notes of this post suggests Project LETS. for longer-term peer support outside of psychiatry that rejects nonconsensual "help", another person in the notes suggested the Hearing Voices Network and Alt2Su; while I don't have personal experience with Alt2Su, and obviously it all depends on the person and the group they go to, I've personally been helped by HVN.

hey where’s that post about how it’s important to be aware before recommending/calling suicide hotlines that They Will Call The Cops On You. i have it saved somewhere but i can’t find it & i want to reblog it today For No Particular Reason

[writing-till-i-am-dead]

CAN YOU PLEASE WRITE A BANNER SIBLINGS STORY (LOGAN AND ASHLYN) PLEAAAAASSEEE

Logan and Ashlyn - You’ve Always Got Us

A non-romantic oneshot

Logan was used to being home alone. There wasn’t a big deal about it. His grandparents own a business after all. Besides, back in the day, when they still had those jobs, he was home alone a lot more often than just every few days in a month.

And, in some ways, learning to take care of himself for so long gave him some seriously good benefits. Now he knows how to cook and clean and make sure that the house is secured.

There’s nothing to it. It’s just how things are. Does he wish he has someone to keep him company? Well, ya, a sibling or something of the sort is a nice idea, but he doesn’t want any other kids to get dragged into the Fields family drama.

But, today was definitely not too great. All the food that they have is expired, so he has nothing to eat. He would drive to the store, but he doesn’t have a license.

So, in short, he’s screwed. No lunch, no dinner, no breakfast… and that continues until how many more days his grandparents will be gone.

He already felt himself begin to panic. Ya, he could ask one of his friends to help. Tyler knows how to cook, Taylor is always ready to help, Aiden can’t stay out of other people’s business, Ben is a sweetheart, and Ashlyn feels responsible to take care of the others in the group. But Logan can’t bear to be a burden. He’s already been enough of an inconvenience for them.

He can go a few days without eating. Rationing. He did it a lot back in the day. It’s never fun, but he can do it.

He decides to go to the couch to watch some tv, to try and distract himself. He crosses his arms and hunches up his legs, turning his brain off for a while. Easier said than done.

He glances at his phone every now and then, tempted to text his friends, tell them about his situation. But he stopped himself. But then he immediately jumped to his phone when it buzzed.

It was a text from Ashlyn to the group.

>Ashlyn: Hey, guys. My parents said that since it’s Fall Break, y’all can come over for dinner.

>Aiden: Awww!!! Ashlyn, you’re inviting us over?!?!!?!

>Ashlyn: It wasn’t my idea.

>Taylor: I wish I could, but me and Tyler have to take our mom to the doctor today

>Ben: My sister is spending the night, I was hoping to hang out with her. I’m sorry :(

>Aiden: Ash. You know I would go if I could. But…

>Aiden: I ALSO WANTED TO HANG OUT WITH MY COUSIN 💔💔

>Ashlyn: Geez

>Ashlyn: What about you, Logan?

Logan was startled and hesitated. This was a perfect opening. But no one else was going. Would he be intruding?

>Logan: Well, I am free this evening, but I understand if you don’t want me over since no one else is 😊

>Ashlyn: I really don’t care. You can come over if you want.

He thinks about his response before slowly typing back a response.

>Logan: Ya, I can come over. But I’ll need a ride.

>Ashlyn: 👍

He fidgeted a bit, nervous. Was he being a bother? He should’ve just made an excuse. Oh, but the promise of dinner was enticing. He hated that he didn’t regret agreeing to go. He should. It’s just embarrassing. He’s being such a bother.

He gets up and puts his shoes on and waits by the front door for Ashlyn and her parents to get here to pick him up.

His phone buzzes and it was a message from Ashlyn saying she was here. He steps out and sees the Banner’s car on the driveway. He steps in and sits down.

“Hi, Mr. Banner.”

“Hey kid. Ashlyn, say hi to your friend.”

“Hi, Logan.”

Logan awkwardly laughs. “Hi, Ashlyn. Thank you for inviting me.”

“It’s no problem!” says Mr. Banner. “I’m just happy that Ashlyn actually invited her friends.”

“Dad.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

Logan laughs and awkwardly tugs his seatbelt. He shouldn't have agreed to come. This is so embarrassing and awkward. He can't think of any small talk.

"So, Logan," Mr. Banner says. "How's your grandparents?"

Logan felt a rush of relief. Thank the universe for Mr. Banner making small talk.

"They're doing fine. They're currently on a business trip."

"Oh? So you're home alone?"

"Yes sir."

"Well, that's perfect timing for you to join us for dinner!"

"Haha.. ya."

"We're making black-eyed pea soup! It's Mrs. Banner's specialty."

Logan nods. He's happy with that. That's definitely a comfort meal, and he needed comfort right now because he felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. Why. Is he. So. Damn. Anxious. ALL OF THE TIME!?

They pull into Ashlyn's house, the bus graveyard in the distance. It's always weird seeing it when they're not in the phantom world, despite the fact that they hang out there all the time.

They go inside and the house smells really good.

"Oh! You got him?" Mrs. Banner asks, walking out of the kitchen to greet them. "Heya, Logan. Thanks for joining us!"

"No problem, Mrs. Banner.."

"Why don't you 2 set the table?"

Ashlyn and him look at each other and she shrugs. "Ok."

They walk to the kitchen to get some silverware. "Your family is really nice."

Ashlyn raises an eyebrow. "Ya, well.. They like that I have friends now. So I think they're abusing it a little for get togethers like these."

"You consider us to be friends."

"Oh. Are we not?"

"No, no, no! That's not it! I just.. I thought maybe you just tolerated us.. me. Since we're all kind of.. forced to hang out... But.. you really consider us to be friends?"

Now it was Ashlyn's turn to be shy. "Um.. sure, I guess. Friends is a simpler term to describe what all of us are."

They pause. "Yknow.." Ashlyn says. "There's still some time until dinner is ready. Wanna go to my room to listen to music."

This catches Logan's attention. "Um.. sure."

They go up the stairs and to Ashlyn's room. "What kind of music do you listen to?" she asks.

"Oh.. I really like Beach Bunny.. You?"

"Ray LaMontagne," she responds. "I've never heard Beach Bunny."

He smiles a little. "Well, I've never heard Ray LaMontagne."

She pauses. "Song trade?"

He nods. "Ya, sure!"

They sit down on the floor and Ashlyn pulls out a Bluetooth speaker. Logan plays Nice Guys, and Ashlyn plays You Are The Best Thing.

“That’s exactly the kind of music that I imagine you would listen to,” Logan says with a soft chuckle.

“Oh?”

“Ya. He has a really soft voice, so not too overwhelming. I get it. Though the lyrics were surprisingly upbeat,” he jokes a little.

She smiles ever so slightly, but hides it by resting her chin on her knee. “Well, I wasn’t expecting yours.”

“Oh?”

“Ya. The song just.. I don’t know how to explain it. I always thought you’d be more of a David Bowie fan.”

Logan smiles brightly. “I love David Bowie!”

“So I was right.”

They let the music continue playing on and they both leaned back. “This is a lot less awkward than I was worried it would be,” Logan says.

“Tell me about it.”

“Nice to know I wasn’t the only one nervous..”

There was an air of understanding and solidarity between the two of them. It was nice, having someone who understands what it’s like, getting overwhelmed easily. He never thought it would be Ash, though. She’s always seemed… untouchable and far. Someone who’d never want anyone close, especially a whiny loser like himself.

“Kids! Dinner’s ready!”

The two head back downstairs and sit at the table. The soup smelled amazing and looked amazing. “Thank you so much,” he says.

“No problem, kiddo!” Mrs. Banner says, sitting at the table.

Ashlyn already started eating, but Logan waited until everyone was seated until he started eating. That’s what his grandparents taught him to do.

Once everyone got to the table, he waited until Ashlyn's parents started to eat, and then he dug in himself, napkin in his lap.

"So, Logan," Mr. Banner says. "How long until your grandparents get home?"

"Oh, I'm actually not sure. These business days can go on for a while.. Especially when the weather gets colder, since the flowers are all slowly going away."

He nods, but looks a bit concerned. "So they just left you with no idea how long? When you have no license..?"

"Oh, well, it's fine. I can take care of myself, yknow."

Mrs. Banner and Mr. Banner look at each other, a bit unsure, but don't push it. "Well, how about you spend the night?"

Both Logan and Ashlyn were startled by the offer.

"No, no, no, you really don't have to! I don't want to intrude-"

"Nonsense, we'd be happy to!" Mrs. Banner says. "Only if you want to, though. No pressure."

"I-I-I.." Ya, he's been at sleepovers, but with the rest of the group. What if Ashlyn finds it annoying that it's just him?

"It's fine," Ashlyn says to him. The two look at one another, as if they were both trying to read each other's minds.

"O...k..." he says slowly. "Thank you for.. having me..."

Mr. Banner nods. "I'll let you borrow some of my clothes, kiddo. I've got a lot of old ones I've been meaning to donate. But I'm happy to lend you some for tonight."

"Thank you.. thank you so much. This is really nice of you guys."

Mr. and Mrs. Banner clutch their hearts at Logan's sweetness. "No problem. Anything for Ashlyn's friends!"

"Let's go to my room," Ashlyn says. They begin to go back upstairs, Ashlyn already taking her earbuds out.

"Are you sure you'll be ok without those?"

"You're not like Tyler or Aiden. I'll be fine."

He smiles a little at that.

"I'll set up a cot for you." Right as she was about to go and get the stuff, he stops her.

"Thank you, Ash. Really."

"Hey, man.. it's.. fine. I can't really imagine being completely alone. My parents are.. yknow.."

"Ya.."

She nods and heads off. The Banner family is so nice. He's never felt so welcomed anywhere. Not even in his own home, where his grandparents are probably annoyed with him about something, even just a little. He doesn't doubt their love at all, it's just.. it doesn't feel like this.

A family where they all chat and tease and have fun.

She returns with blankets and a blow up air mattress. She plugs it in and turns it on after putting her earbuds back in.

"Hey, Ash?"

"Hm?"

"After this.. do you want to do another song trade..?"

She smiles. "Only if you watch ballet YouTube videos with me."

This surprises Logan. "Video trades, too? Well then. Only if I can show you mythology based videos."

She nods. "Deal."

He nods back. "Thanks, Ash."

[lurkingshan]

Every You, Every Me

Story 1

I need distractions today, so we are live blogging this soulmate fanfic show I have been told is very fun. Let's go!

RAIN SOULMATES!!! Did they watch La Pluie

La Pluie and Color Rush, apparently

Soulmate blind is an interesting term but what does it mean 👀

I like this guy working at the store, he gives big aro energy. They are definitely all fools to be running around in the rain just to find their soulmate, that can kill you in a Thai bl.

Not so soulmate blind anymore!!

I find the use of color vs black and white for these scenes a bit confusing, it doesn't seem to be following any consistent rules

Oh THAT is what soulmate blind means. Fuck this lying ex tbh!!

(He's kinda hot though)

I have heard these gentleman are Mick and Top, and because of ship naming conventions I am forced to assume the tall tsundere one is Mick. Anyway they pretty

A soulmate non believer, I like it

"Rain-Color Verse" implies the existence of other universes that they are aware of...

This little guy is very cute and I like his yellow kicks

I don't always like the short story/vignette thing, but this romance speed run is perfect for my mood today

This is quality flirting and they have good chemistry

I no longer think the ex is hot 🔪🔪🔪

They're talking about choice vs destiny and the soulmate thing mucking things up they DEFINITELY watched La Pluie my beloved

I've decided the color grading is just them being artsy and I cannot try to find consistent rules in it that way lies madness

Oh noooooooooooo not childhood trauma

My aro rep has arrived I knew it was you my guy! He's even wearing my favorite color while he says he's not interested in love 😌

He stole his mom's necklace?? What is up with this guy 😤

Mmm the actors struggled a bit in that confrontation scene but moving right along

I definitely associate the motorbike embrace primarily with Thai bl

Not the most exciting kiss but it's only ep 1, perhaps they are just warming up

I like that aro guy is happy for them and not disdainful of their romance. It's not for him but he doesn't look down on it.

I liked the first ep well enough! And I've heard it gets better as it goes, so onto the next.

[emperorsfoot]

Don't know anything about your ship but... How about the prompt: find a kitten?

This is a perfect prompt!

(and Tim Drake is the 3rd Robin, of Batman and Robin; and Kon-El is a hybrid Kryptonian made from the combined DNA of Superman and Lex Luthor. In canon they're best friends. In my heart, they're soulmates.)

"Tim stop looking at your phone." Kon pleaded.

"Hn." Was the only response he received.

"Checking your phone every five minutes isn't going to change the results." Kon reminded him.

"But it will keep me informed." Tim argued. The first full sentence he'd spoken in fifteen minutes.

Kon sighed. This was supposed to be a date. Kon thought going out and doing something fun, or hanging out and just spending time together would be a good way to distract each other from certain current events going on.

But it didn't.

While they were at Tim's condo, all Tim did sit on his laptop and constantly refresh the same window. After Kon dragged him out for some fresh air ('fresh' being relative in Gotham) and sunlight, Tim switched to doom scrolling on his phone instead.

Kon sighed. Getting Red Robin to stop obsessing over something was near impossible.

And then Kon heard something.

"This is important, Kon. The fate of democracy-"

"Shh!" The Kryptonian hissed. "Do you hear that."

Tim paused for a moment, trying to listen for whatever it was Kon was hearing. When he heard nothing he huffed. "Kon, you know I can't."

Sometimes, a boyfriend with superhearing could be annoying.

Kon turned his eyes down, x-raying the sidewalk and the sewer channels bellow.

"You stay up here and keep enjoying your low-grade panic attack." Kon said. He lifted the nearest man-hole cover and jumped down into the filthy-filthy Gotham sewers.

"Wait, Kon! What do you hear?" Within moments, Tim had stowed his phone away and followed his boyfriend into the sewers. "My costume's back at the condo." He whispered softly in the enclosed space. "What do you hear?"

Kon's eyes were closed, listening for how the sound he w3as hearing echoes off the sewer channel's curved walls.

"This way." Kon took Tim's hand and led him in the direction he thought the sound was coming from.

They trudged through sewage that came up to their ankles. It soaked their pant legs and seeped into their shoes. Tim was going to have Kon incinerate their socks with his heat vision once they got back to the condo.

As they drew closer, Tim finally started to hear the same sound Kon was following.

The shrill and desperate, but very very tiny sounding, meow.

A kitten.

Kon was looking for a kitten in this sewer.

They found the kitten tangled in a plastic six-pack ring that nobody ever cut up.

Kon picked up the kitten, and disentangled it from the six-pack holder.

Tim pulled off his hoodie to wrap the kitten in.

The kitten needed a bath and tomorrow Tim would take it to the vet to get it checked out.

Kon would want to keep it.

They weren't even out of the sewer yet, but Tim knew his boyfriend. If Tim didn't want to keep the cat at his condo, then it would end up at the Kent farm. But either way, it was Kon's cat now.

Their cat.

[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

[verycoolusername1]

Heartbreak is one thing, my ego's another

Summary: Luke meets your parents, which leads to taking a huge step in your relationship.

Luke Hughes x gn!reader

Warning! Mentions of a embarrassing childhood story(that I have made up((it isn't that bad) 😔)

A/N: I have never been more tired but man is Hotch(from criminal minds) so damn fine in the earlier seasons- I miss him more every single day.

And I gave your parents names to help me keep track of them... guys say hi to Bobby and Athena(definitely wasn't taken from a certain fox/abc show about first responders whatsoever)!!

You fixed your hair for what felt like the tenth time in the past five minutes. Luke groaned quietly besides you, wanting to do nothing more than to hold you.

Yours and Luke's relationship was fairly new, only ten months in, and you decided it was time for him to meet your parents.

"Are you done now?" Luke asked the question for the 3rd time.

You sighed. "Yes, I'm just nervous. Everything needs to be perfect."

Your parents were coming in to visit you since Luke and the team were staying home a couple of days.

"Everything is going to be perfect, no need to stress." He kissed the crown of your head.

"Well, I'm sorry for wanting my parents to like you." You joked, but it did nothing to ease your nerves.

The doorbell rings, scaring the two of you.

"Shit," you cursed. "They're here." You grabbed Luke's hand and took him to the living room but not before fixing his shirt and hair.

"My hair is fine, baby stop it." Luke swats your hand away.

"No, it's not," You continued to fix it before the doorbell rang again, and you sighed in frustration. "Don't touch it."

Luke rolls his eyes. "Aye aye captain."

You walked up to the door and were greeted by your parents.

"Oh Y/N there you are." Your mother smiled warmly at you.

"I was beginning to think we were at the wrong place." Your dad joked.

"Just had to fix stuff up is all." You said, but you didn't miss your mom's glance. "Not like that, mom!"

Your mom only chuckled in response, moving past you. "Now, where's this boy you keep talking about?"

"He has a name." You told her.

"Which is?" Your dad snickered at your mom's patience.

"Luke." He appeared from the bedroom. "Luke Hughes. It's a pleasure to meet you both, Mrs. and Mr. Y/L/N."

"Oh please, sweetie, call me Athena." Your mom looked at him warmly.

Your dad shook his hand. "Bobby is fine. No need to be formal son."

While they shook hands, your mom whispered to you. "He sure is tall."

"Yeah I know, you should see his brothers." You told her.

Your mother's eyes widened. "There's more??"

"Just two mom, both older." You answered.

"So tell me about yourself, Luke, Y/N was just telling me you had two brothers." Athena spoke.

The four of you guys recently moved to the kitchen as you got the plates.

"Uh yeah, two older brothers, Quinn and Jack. We actually live with Jack, Y/N cause I asked and me and Jack work together. He makes appearances here and there mostly to tease us."

"Yeah, siblings tend to do that." Bobby chuckles.

"You said you and Jack work together? What do you guys do?" Athena asked.

"Oh uh actually me and my brothers play hockey, professionally." He answered.

"So your other brother Quinn isn't on the same team with you two." Bobby put the pieces together.

"Yeah, don't get to see him much during the season, but during the summer, we hang out all the time." Luke adds.

You came back with plates, clearly struggling. Something that Luke had noticed.

"Hey baby, cmon, let me." He took two of the plates away from you and served your parents.

Your parents observed the scene with a silent conversation between eyes.

"I was doing fine, Luke." You sighed.

"You were totally going to drop the plates. You don't have to do things by yourself. You can always ask Jack and I to help, I tell you that all the time." Luke mumbles.

"Y/N was always known for being stubborn. It'll take them a while to finally let you help." Bobby reassuranced Luke.

"Yeah, like once when they were younger, they were so sure they were going to be a lawyer." Athena says an example. "But refused to ask for any advice from their aunt who was a district attorney, said they wanted to do it by themselves and didn't need help from anyone."

"Sounds like Y/N, alright." Luke chuckles but quickly stops when he sees your glare.

You noticed your parents seem to be welcoming Luke in with open arms, which was a shock, considering the last time you brought your ex home, they were furious. But then again, you were also a teenager. Now you're an adult.

Your dad seemed to catch the interaction between the two of you and laughed. "Don't be mean to your boyfriend Y/N." He scolds playfully.

"I wasn't being mean just warning him is all." You smiled innocently.

Now your mother started laughing. "We certainly raised them well."

"Yeah, no, we did." Bobby chuckles alongside his wife.

The four of you ate the meal with laughter and jokes till it was time for your parents to leave.

Your dad talking with Luke before pulling him into a hug, your mom pulled you to the side.

"He's good for you, Y/N." She said, you nodded.

"I know." You smiled softly.

"Don't let him slip through your fingers honey." She hugged you. "And let him help you from time to time." She winked.

You groaned. "I thought we was over that."

"Oh please we'll never get over that sweetie." She kissed you on the cheek. "We'll text you when we get back, love you."

"Love you guys, too." And with that, you shut the door.

"That went better than expected." Luke says beside you.

"If your definition of better is disaster. Just promise me one thing, baby?" You looked at him.

"Anything." He hummed.

You looked at him sternly. "Promise me you won't do anything stupid... like ever in front of me, or I will break up with you."

Luke chuckles. "Noted."

[coffeeghoulie]

the places we never should have left

or Ghostober Day #31: Aftercare

Much thanks to @kroas-adtam for putting Ghostober together, and much thanks to @askingforthesun for letting this live in your dms for a while <3

also tagging @mac-and-thefox, hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Swiss/Aeon

There's nothing more Aeon likes than the intimacy of laying together with their mate after sex.

Title from Bishops Knife Trick by Fall Out Boy

Mature, 1.7k. Mentions of ghoul mating customs, and a little tease at some lore I've been working on for a while, but other than that, just straight fluff. They/them pronouns for Aeon.

divider by @ghuleh-recs <3

When Aeon's vision returns to them, consciousness coming back to their body, the first thing they're aware of is a warm, solid weight on top of them, pressing them flat on their back into the mattress. Sweet spice fills their nose as their breathing evens out.

"Fuck," they wheeze, laughing softly as the weight on top of them shifts, pushing them further into blankets and sheets and pillows. Sharp stubble scrapes against the side of their neck, a soft huff of breath on skin as Swiss shoves his face into where Aeon's scent is strongest.

He kisses the crook of their neck. "'Fuck' is right," he agrees, taking a deep breath before pulling back, one more apologetic kiss to their skin.

Both ghouls hiss through their teeth with sensitivity as Swiss slowly pulls out.

"Aw, don't go," Aeon complains teasingly, complete with grabby hands. Swiss laughs, teeth flashing in the low lamplight from their nightstand.

"Not going anywhere, buggy," he promises, even as he whistles under his breath at the mess the two of them had made. "Might need to clean the hearth, though. Got cum and slick fucking everywhere."

Aeon blushes at the very recent memory of what he'd done to them, what Swiss had made their body do. Of how every nerve in their vessel had been lit up like neon, like fireworks, as bright as the sun. Aeon's not shy or prude, not by a long shot, but Swiss knows how to push the envelope in ways that rock their world.

Despite his observations, Swiss goes easily as Aeon pulls him back down. "Cuddles with my space heater first, clean up later. You know you don't want to get up yet."

Swiss laughs, melodic like the chapel bells. "When you inevitably fall asleep and wake up all sticky and gross, don't you dare complain to me," he smiles, maneuvering their bodies until his quint is curled up on his chest. "You're right though, sweetheart. Cuddles can't wait."

Aeon chuffs happily as Swiss drags them where he wants them, rubbing their cheek against his collarbone. "How're you doing?" they mumble softly. Their one good eye locks onto the still-healing bitemark in the crook of Swiss's neck. It's only a few weeks old, and Aeon's filled with a burst of pride to know it's healing well.

Swiss smiles, warm and fond, calloused fingers brushing a strand of sweaty, white hair from Aeon's forehead. "Doing fantastic, sweetheart," he coos, carding through their hair. "Thank you, baby. And you? I wasn't too..." he trails off, uncertainty and worry cutting through his scent. He cares so much and it makes Aeon's heart pang to know it's all for them.

"It was perfect," Aeon whispers, pushing themself a little more upright so they can meet Swiss's golden eyes. "Promise that I would have said something if I didn't like anything we did."

Swiss's lips quirk up into a smile, and he leans in, craning his neck to kiss the matching, half-healed bitemark on their throat. "I love you, Aeon," he breathes, something sacred and secret. One of the fundamental truths of the world.

The sky is blue.

The Earth orbits the sun.

Swiss loves Aeon.

And Swiss must be the luckiest bastard in the world Above or Below, because Aeon loves Swiss too.

They tell him as much, worming their arms around his neck as they settle back down on his chest. Aeon's nose nudges his jaw, taking a deep, satisfied breath of his scent. "Never want to leave this," they admit.

"You don't have to," Swiss says, barely a moment after the words left their mouth. He holds them tighter. One big hand comes up to card through sweaty dark hair. "I'm never letting you go."

Aeon settles down, a smug smile on their face as they get more comfortable in his arms. They rub their legs together like an oversized cricket. The feeling of slick and cum sticky on their inner thighs makes them cringe for just a moment, but they ignore it in favor of existing here with him.

Eventually, Swiss sits up with a groan, taking Aeon with him as he reaches for the nightstand. He grabs the bottle of water he set out there, popping the lid open. The ice inside rattles. "Take a drink, sweetheart," he says, offering it to them first.

Aeon rolls their eyes, a little disgruntled from being bodily moved without warning, but they gulp down their share of the water, eyes fluttering as they realize just how thirsty they were. Eventually they pull back with a little gasp, passing the water bottle wordlessly back to Swiss. They raise an eyebrow, and Swiss laughs at their attempt at looking stern.

Regardless, he drinks as well, Aeon leaning in to rest their forehead against his collarbone, breathing in the scent of salt and spice. "Come on, we were cuddling," Aeon whines, faux annoyed, but their tail still curls gently around Swiss's calf. "I was comfy, you didn't have to move me."

Swiss shakes his head, laughing as he swallows. The water bottle is set aside with a clunk, and Swiss buries his nose in Aeon's hair. The scent is rich with blackberries and ozone and sweat. "Oh, I'm so sorry, buggy."

Aeon huffs, and Swiss keeps laughing as they shove him back to the bed, arms tight around his middle. He cards his fingers through their hair again, and Aeon chuffs loudly as they make themself comfortable against his chest. "Yeah, yeah, water is important. I'm not moving. I'm right where I wanna be."

He grins, bright like a thousand suns, and kisses their forehead. Aeon cranes their neck and kisses him for real. "Me too," he whispers against their lips.

Swiss can't stop smiling. "Okay, we've drank, and I know you said you're not moving, but do you want something to eat?"

Something bright lights up in Aeon's eyes, and Swiss knows exactly what they're going to say before they even open their mouth. "I want that stuffed flatbread we had when we were in the Ninth."

Swiss laughs incredulously, but there's no heat behind it. "Buggy, you want me to go wake up Cee to open a portal to the Pit just so I can get you flatbread?"

"Aw, Swiss, why not?" They laugh, tail flicking behind them. "It was really good flatbread."

He chuffs into their hair. "Yeah, it was good flatbread. You've been asking for it for two months. I promise you, if we ever go back together, the first thing I'll do is get you flatbread. And we'll each get our own this time so you can have more."

"I knew I made the right choice with you. Lucifer, I fucking love you," Aeon proclaims, cupping his face in their hands and pressing a firm kiss to his lips.

When they pull back, Swiss can't take his eyes off of them. They're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, the string lights above his bed casting soft purple light over them, catching in their hair and eyes. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that Aeon's glowing.

He stares up at them, silent, long enough that a little furrow forms in their brow. "Swiss?" Aeon whispers, cocking their head like a confused puppy as they prop themself up on their elbows. Black and white hair falls over their sweaty forehead. "What's goin' on in there?"

Swiss shakes his head, reaches up to cup their cheek in one big hand. "Just thinking, bug." He smooths a thumb over their cheek, carefully avoiding the old scar running over their eye.

Their lips quirk up in a tiny smile, granting him a peek of crooked fangs that nibble at their bottom lip. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Swiss's other arm comes around the small of Aeon's back, gently pulling them back until they're flush with his chest. Aeon doesn't put up a fight, lets themself be moved. "Just, thinkin' about how much has changed in the last couple years," he says, still smoothing his thumb over their cheek. He ducks his head to nose between their horns. "How happy I am. How lucky I am that you're mine."

He lets the rest of it hang unsaid. My friend, my packmate. My bug. My love. My claimed.

Aeon, however, isn't content with things left unsaid. They nuzzle into the side of Swiss's neck, pressing a kiss to the mark they left there. "I know. Me too," they whisper, almost inaudible. "I love you. Thank you for being my mate."

The bites haven't even fully healed yet. The word still tastes novel on their tongues. They cannot wait to hear it for the rest of their lives.

Swiss kisses the taste of their words from their lips, and Aeon happily obliges. "Don't thank me," he whispers. "I wanted to be yours just as bad."

Aeon chuffs, and Swiss echoes them. "I love you," Aeon breathes. Their tail finds his, twining around each other until the spades touch. "Love you so much."

Swiss's hand comes up to cup the back of their head, and he cranes his neck to kiss over their mark. "I love you too. Til the earth starts to crumble."

Aeon's tail wags. Or at the very least, it tries to wag, still entwined with Swiss's. They both laugh brightly, a blush settling over Aeon's face.

"Alright, my mate," Swiss coos, pressing one more kiss between Aeon's eyes. "I think we've put off showering long enough. We can cuddle all we want after we've cleaned up."

Aeon huffs, but pushes up off of Swiss. When they climb out of their hearth, their knees wobble, but Swiss is quick to grab their bicep and steady them. "Allow me, buggy," he says, playfully over-dramatic, before sweeping them into his arms and carrying them to the bathroom to start the shower.

When they and the hearth are both clean and dry, they'll come back to bed and curl in on each other, jagged puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together. But for now, Aeon laughs as Swiss hip checks the bathroom door shut behind him.