#and some even longer and then i took them off and then i put them on again just recently bc of the comeback of my sherlock addiction

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

The Safest Place

Sam and Dean & little sister!reader, John Winchester & daughter!reader

Synopsis: John has to tell you (4) about monsters, and you don’t take it well

Warnings: none, it’s short and sweet

“And that’s what me and Sammy and Dean do. And that’s why we move around all the time, and why you can’t go to work with me, and…” John swallowed. “Kiddo that’s why you don’t have a mom. Demons took her.”

Dean couldn’t watch. He didn’t even want to listen. He’d wanted to keep you from the truth for so much longer, but you were so much more nosy than Sam had been. You went through John’s journal and asked about all the monster pictures you saw in it, you asked John countless questions about the guns and the newspaper clippings and…and everything. But it was more than that—you were also clingy. Clingy to the point where you’d sneak out and try to follow either John or your brothers when they went out to hunt monsters. After a close call with a vampire where you snuck into the Impala then almost got yourself killed, John decided that enough was enough. You wouldn’t last long in this life unless you had a healthy fear of the supernatural. So that’s what John had to give you.

“What if demons take you?” Your quiet whimper finally had Dean looking up. You were shaking, blinking up at your dad as if waiting for him to say that it was all a joke and monsters weren’t real.

“The demons aren’t gonna take me,” John promised. “That’s why we hunt. So they can’t take anybody else.”

You didn’t respond, so John reached down and picked you up, laying you down on his bed and tucking you in.

“Get some sleep, kiddo.”

…

John fell asleep quickly, but Dean could hear you tossing and turning even as he struggled to settle down himself. He was always the last to fall asleep, and having to share a bed with Sam since there was no pullout couch wasn’t helping.

Because of his insomnia, Dean was the first to hear your feet padding on the motel carpet as you slipped off John’s bed and tiptoed your way over to Dean’s.

“De?” Dean could tell you were crying from just the one syllable. “De, I need help.”

Dean rolled over to see you standing at the edge of his bed, your arms stretched out for him. Dean pulled you up onto the bed without comment, and once his arms were around you you refused to let him go.

“I don’t want the demons to get me, De,” you sniffled.

“Hey—“ Dean tightened his arms around you. “—I’m not gonna let any demons get you, ok?”

“Hey, what’s going on?” Sam whispered, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“Demons are scary, Sammy,” you whimpered.

“Oh honey…” Sam disentangled you from Dean’s arms and cradled you in his lap.

“How do I fight demons?” You rubbed at your eyes.

“Hey, you don’t have to worry about that,” Dean said. “I don’t ever want you thinking about it. Me and Sammy and Dad are gonna get those demons, ok? Nobody’s ever gonna hurt you.”

“Yeah, and you wanna know what the safest place is?” Sam asked. You nodded firmly. “It’s right about…” Sam laid back down, and Dean followed his lead. “Here.” Sam positioned you in between himself and Dean, tucking you under the covers and keeping one arm over you. You latched onto his arm, your tiny hands wrapping around his fingers.

“Nobody can hurt you here,” Dean promised. “Me and Sammy and Dad won’t let them.”

You reached your hand out for Dean, and he responded by putting his arm over Sam’s, so you had both of your brother’s arms protecting you.

You were asleep in minutes.

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz @johannelis2302nely @studiogrimm810

[wheredafandomat]

Home

Loki x mum! Reader

18+| contains alcohol, loss, Loki and reader share a child. I’m sorry I haven’t written anything in AGESSS

You quickly turned the radio off as the news reporter reeled off a string of recent burglaries that had happened in your neighbourhood. Grabbing your scarf, you adjusted it around your neck as you glanced at yourself in the mirror, offering a half smile as you tried not to focus on the bags colouring the skin beneath your eyes. You took a breath, your smile widening uncannily as your daughter padded towards you, half of her glove dangling off of her small hand.

“Is daddy going to be there?” She asked excitedly as you knelt down, helping her with her glove.

“No—not today” you hesitated “but one—one day he’ll be home” you rushed out, not believing your own words. The truth was, Loki hadn’t been home in almost a year. You didn’t know when he was going to come back, no one did. Unless they did and were just refusing to tell you. You took a steadying breath, cursing the fact that you no longer had the clearance to find out how the mission was going before doing what you had been doing since the day you lost communication. What you were taught. Assuming the worst. You faked a smile again, composing yourself before leaving.

Once you had come home from shopping, you unpacked before continuing the routine you had adopted since Loki had left. Making dinner, alone. Feeding your daughter, alone. Putting her to bed, alone. Showering, alone. Having a glass of whine, which was a step you had added recently, alone. Going to bed, alone and cuddling a picture of Loki. A tear began to pool in the corner of your eye as you looked at the picture, a memory of him overtaking you.

“If you ever need me, just say my name three times” he assured, squeezing your shoulder.

You closed your eyes, holding the picture against you as his name left your trembling lips. You called it three times. Hoping, praying that he’d hear, that he’d come. But alas. Silence met your awaiting ears.

“Liar” you sniffled through tears before begging sleep to overtake you.

By the time the morning came, the warmish glow of the winter sun had covered your room, waking you up before your daughter did. The morning routine was similar to the night one in the sense that it was done alone now.

“We’re going to see Santa today baby” you smiled, pressing the porcelain mug against your lips as you sipped your coffee.

“Yayyy” she exclaimed, her spoon almost flying out of her hand as she threw her arms in the air.

Two hours and another cup of coffee later, there you were in the mall, the line for Santa's grotto alarmingly long. You took a breath, looking at the workers dressed as elves as they spoke to some of the children further up in the line than you.

“Are you excited to see Santa?” One of them exclaimed, smiling widely at your daughter who answered with the same amount of enthusiasm.

You narrowed your gaze slightly the closer you got to the front of the queue, the elves beginning to look slightly more real. You were no stranger to elves. Loki had taken you on a tour of the nines when you were an agent and Alfheim was one of them. But this wasn’t Alfheim.

“Quit staring lady” one of them interrupted your suspicions as you reached the front of the queue.

“Sorry” you spoke, clearing your throat.

Sitting on Santa’s lap, your daughter began listing the things she wanted for Christmas as you took some pictures before her time was over.

“And what about you?” Santa asked, surprising you.

“What?” You answered just above a whisper.

“What is it you want this Christmas?” He smiled generously, your eyes meeting as all words escaped you.

“I-I don’t—” you began.

“You can’t lie to me” he reminded you, your gazes still connected as you lost yourself in this stare.

“Loki” you finally utter, truthfully. “I want Loki”

“Next” one of the elves called before you could even register what had happened. As if on autopilot, you picked your daughter up before heading home before performing the night routine, however this night, you felt off.

The following day rolled around and you took your daughter to her grandparents house.

“You are looking after yourself right” your mum asked, her eyes darting around your face.

“Yes mum” you huffed.

“You know you are still my baby” she reminded you.

“Yes mum” you answered in a softer tone.

“I’ll be round tomorrow with the angel” she smiled, looking at your daughter “don’t forget to stuff the turkey and preheat the oven to—”

“Yes mum” you quickly interrupted “bye mum.”

Getting home, you poured yourself a glass of wine before you began your food prep. Downing the liquid, you pourned yourself another, almost halfway through the bottle before pouring another. You began feeling what could only be described as tipsy before accidentally burning one of your fingers on the pot.

“Ouch” you yelped, running to the sink before putting it under cold water.

As you covered your finger in water, you looked down at it, unable to help the tears that escaped you, your eyes mirroring the tap. Just before you began to cry even more, you heard a crash upstairs, immediately sobering up as you turned the tap off. Suddenly the thousands you had spent on training to become an agent and the years you had spent on the frontline kicked in as you stealthily walked up the stairs. Whoever had broken in chose the wrong house you thought to yourself, remembering the burglaries. Following the noise, it led you to your bedroom as you carefully pushed open the door before gasping, your heart falling to the ground as your eyes met Loki’s dishevelled body laying in your bed. You honed in on the gash on his forehead, sprinting for gauze before you rushed to his side, clearing the blood. Disbelief shrouded you as you began to shake him awake.

“Lokiii, Lokiii” you called, half wondering how strong that wine was.

“Y/n?” You heard fondly, quietly as he stirred awake, you wrapping your arms around him.

The two of you embraced, no questions needing to be asked as your lips met. No words left either of your lips as you helped Loki into the bathroom, undressing him before turning the shower on. You didn’t leave his side, not wanting this potential mirage to fade into nothingness, not wanting Loki to leave again. As you guided him back into the bedroom, you still asked no questions, they could wait until tomorrow.

Wrapping your arms around one another, you embraced, the warmth of Loki’s arms around you, intoxicating you. Taking a deep breath, you breathed him in, your lips pressing against his exposed chest. You felt his lips on your forehead as you moved closer against one another. Home, you felt home.

Had to take a break from writing my assignment to write something Christmassy. Hope you enjoyed!! And I hope you have a wonderful Christmas if you celebrate ❤️

Tags in comments

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about how fast logans hair grows and how naturally thick and shiny it is (lucky fuck) and while it started as something small, Wade mentioning how fluffy it is when tuffed out.

"Guess you're gonna cut it then?"

But his voice is kind of hoping he doesn't. It's not hard to tell either. Wade can't hide his adoration for Logan. He's never been able too. (And probably never will)

"Mmh.. Nah." Is all his says, but the brightness in Wade's eyes is everything.

He lets Wade take care of it. He lets him completely groom him, wash him, condition it, oil it, braid it, try different looks on him, like blowouts and curls. It makes him wonder how he knows these things. I mean, he's bald.

But he wasn't always bald, right? Duh. Vanessa mentions something about him doing her hair sometimes, helping her curl it and would help put her curlers in, etc.

It makes him wonder why he doesn't have an actual set. Why doesn't he get one glued or professionally put in. Cancer patiants got fake hair all the time, so what was the problem? It's not like they didn't have enough cash to pay for an installation.

As it gets longer, Wade is obsessed, showing it off and bragging how beautiful he is. He likes to drag his fingers through it, pull on it COUGH, pet him.

And don't get me wrong, Logan doesn't mind much, but it's getting a little too long than he likes. So much so that Gabby has started joking that Laura and him look the same. This isn't his issue, though. The problem is that it's touching his back in a way that makes him feel like someone is touching him. The curls at the ends brushing against his shoulder blades and makes his body hair raise from sensory.

Logan tilts his head, laying on the couch with Wade on his chest watching some trash tv.

".. Im gonna cut my hair later."

"What?"

"It's too long for me." He says.

"Oh... okay." Who was wade to tell him what to do with his body? Esspecially when he was engaged to a stripper. It would be hypocritical.

Before Logan leaves, Wade blows him a kiss. "Bye bye beautiful."

"Heh. Thanks."

"I was talking to those lushious locks, but you too gorgeous."

Logan rolls his eyes, scoffing softly, but stops.

"Change your mind?"

".... you were jealous of other yous hair... why don't you... you know?"

Wade blinks. "...well... wolvie.. when a daddy cancer and a mommy cancer-"

"That's not what I meant. I mean.. they have hair that you can glue on, right? Or.. does this universe not have that?"

"It does. I just... feels weird. You know? Itchy. And hurts. And.."

"You don't have to explain. So.. do you like clips or something??"

"...whyy?" He asks, becoming skeptical.

"Nothing.. just curious." Logan mumbled, leaving ".. Bye."

"See ya 'just curious'."

____

When he finally does return to the apartment, his kitty ears are clean, leaving his hair a bit thicker than when they met but not long enough to surpass his ears or chin.

From the kitchen, Wade whistles. "Well, Hello, sailor! Where's my husband? Whos this hot tom cat?"

Logan blushes, embaressed. Keeping his hand behind his back as he hugged him when glomped out of excitment. It wasn't uncommon for Wade to do this. To kiss the shit out of him when he got home, but the way he pulled at his lapels made him chuckle, pulling away.

"Okay okay, wait wait. I got something for you."

"Clip ins?" He asks, gasping softly and lit up when presented with a small box. "Oooh!! Presents! Peanut you shouldn't have!"

He shrugs. "Yeah.. well.. you liked it too much to not."

Pausing, Wade stares up at him with a sparkle in his eyes. "...You..."

Logan nods. Instantly, he begins to rip open the box, smiling widely before squealing. "Oh my god! Loagie!! Is this why you took forever? I thought you got lost on the way there or something..."

"Oh, I did, but.. that's besides the point."

"How much did these even cost to make?" He asks, looking at them fondly as he checks the quality.

"Don't worry about it. They're nice aren't they? I was actually shocked I could find someone to do it so quickly."

"Yeah! Its almost as if the writer is super lazy and didnt even research the process or how long it takes to make these! Oh- but...How am I going to wear them? You have to clip them. I can't really clip them to my scalp." Wade mutters, pouting.

Immediately, Logan frowns. "Oh shit.. I..i guess I didn't think about that. I thought you.."

Wade giggles. "I'm just kidding! Ill go clip them. I got a wig that'll look perfect with this!" He smiles, giddy as he runs away.

Logan grins, watching how excited and happy he was. Sighing, he glanced at the food Wade was starting to make, picking up where he left off.

____

"Sooo.. what do you think?"

Turning around, Logan smirks, eyes softening at the pure joy on his face. They fit perfectly into his already existing wig, making it thicker and shiny, soft and the it flowed the way real hair would.

"Ta-da!" He giggles. "And watch!!" He shakes his head around, flipping his hair and posed a few times. "I tried the halo extentions before, and they flew off! But they stay!"

"Yeah?" He asks, leaning back against the counter, so lovingly looking at the pure glitters in his excited eyes.

"Yeah!! Isn't it so cute? And its so soft!"

"And water resistant." He comments. "Soooo you like'em?"

"Yes!!! Of course I love them! And I love you." He comes to logan, hoping up as he grabs him, pulling him up to kiss him agaisnt the counter. Between kisses, giggles, groans and affectious compliments, Al crossed her arms, sitting at the table.

"Really? In front of my salad??.. nasties.."

[thepenguinweeb]

Hi (^·^). I would love to request for Bucciarati x F!Reader. The reader is part of his team and is really close to him, but they’re stuck in this thin line where they’re not sure if they’re just friends or something more. There’s this unspoken tension between them that’s hard to ignore, and the others in the group definitely notice, teasing them about it. However, Bruno and the reader always brush it off and insist there’s nothing going on between them.

Feel free to have fun with how it all plays out. I trust your creativity (^。^)★彡

`` Just friends.. of course. ``

[ ♡ Bruno Bucciarati x fem!reader ]

[ ♡ You've been apart of Bruno's team for a long time, and it is undeniable that the two of you have a certain.. bond. You can't help but wonder if you're imagining things, or if he really thinks of you that way. ]

[ ♡ Requested by: @sxturncloud <3 !! ]

[ ♡ A/N: Sorry for the lack of posts recently, burnout hit hardd D: I'm trying to catch up with the requests in my inbox but it'll take a bit of time probably.. anyway, thank you for requesting, hope you enjoy! ]

Divider by @/cafekitsune <3

"No, no- you don't get it. That's the complete opposite of what you were supposed to do!"

Just another day at Libeccio with the gang. You listened as Fugo shouted at Narancia, staring daggers at the teen and his notebook, which was filled with pitifully incorrect calculations.

"Hey! It's not my fault you're this bad at explaining stuff!"

You sighed, letting your head slump. The pair's argument continued on for a bit longer, and you wished you'd packed some aspirin in your bag with each moment that passed.

It was Abbachio who eventually stepped in.

"Can you two shut up and stop arguing for five minutes? You're giving me a headache.."

Fugo and Narancia were both clearly reluctant, but it only took one look at the man to know if they didn't stop now, he would not hesitate to beat their asses. So, they settled down.

You couldn't help but let out a relieved sigh and shoot a grateful glance at Abbachio.

The door to the restaurant opened, and your lips unconciously curved into a smile. Bucciarati had finally arrived.

"I'm sorry I was late," he began once he made his way over to his team's table. Your eyes met for a split second and he gave you a smile, then took a seat next to you.

"I hope the others didn't bother you too much while I was gone," he said, leaning closer to you without even meaning to. Despite the usual strict expression he put on, he always wore a smile when he was in your presence.. must be because you were such close friends, right?

You shook your head and returned the smile. "No-" you started, then glanced at Fugo and Narancia, who were still sulking from their earlier argument. "Not too much," you said instead.

For a moment, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence. You'd gotten lost in his beautiful blue eyes - staring at him as if he was the best thing you've ever seen.. maybe he was.

No, what were you thinking? You and Bruno were strictly friends. Good friends. Nothing more.

Mista cleared his throat in an obnoxiously loud way, clearly just to get your attention. "Uh, not to interrupt your coupley activities, but.. we're still here, you know."

You snapped out of your daze and immediately shot a glare in Mista's direction at his implications. Coupley activities.. was coupley even a word?

"Mista.." Bruno sighed, rubbing his temple. "I thought we'd discussed this already. Me and Y/N are not in a relationship."

"You sure act like you are," Narancia put in. You stared at him in annoyance, half-expecting Fugo to make a comment about how inappropriate and disrespectful it was to say such a thing about his superior, but even he was quiet.

It was in that moment you had to realize that nobody disagreed with that sentiment.

"You guys are ridiculous.. we're just friends," you protested.

"Oh, come on! The only thing you are is in denial," Mista exclaimed. "Even the Pistols can see it, and they're a stand."

You went on to glare at the man in annoyance, which only intensified upon seeing Giorno give a brief nod in agreement. You crossed your arms and rolled your eyes, realizing you weren't getting any backup.

Suddenly, you felt a hand resting on your shoulder. "Don't bother with them," Bruno told you. You looked back at him with a nod, any previous irritation you had seemingly vanishing.

Mista let out another loud groan. "Aaand there they go again..."

[knifebearer]

I don't really know where to begin, just that Oxford was much like our own in this world but... a little to the left?

There weren't any cars. Most people walked on foot with their dæmons places. Bicycles were somewhat popular for longer trips across town but were only available to people with dæmons who could fit in the basket or keep up with the bike itself. Airships were the main mode of transportation across long distances, say, if you wanted to travel from England to Ireland, or something. Also only mostly available to people with medium-small sized dæmons. Travel was very difficult if you had an elephant or giraffe as the shape of your soul, to put it simply.

Dæmons really affected everything about you as a person, from jobs to transport to how people treated you. My dæmon frequently took "unsettling" forms when I was a child in order to scare off people I didn't like, and as a result I was othered frequently by the kids who lived at Oxford. I can't imagine the difficulty some people had by having unconventional dæmons. It must've been incredibly difficult.

Despite the out-dated appearances, we actually had computers and electricity. Called ordinators and anbaricity respectively. Ordinators were new – they were the size of a room and took up a lot of space. I don't remember who invented them, but they were used to study Dust at Oxford's colleges frequently. Anbaricity had been around for a hundred or so odd years before I was born, so I was used to it.

Colleges had scholastic sanctuary, and were thus exempt from the majority of the Magisterium's censorship. Things like books and other means of entertainment were subjected to censorship, though. I remember a lot of board games I played being wishy-washy and always having a moral lesson at the end of the game.

Girls wearing trousers was seen as strange. I was a tomboy before I had the big gender realization, which made me seem even weirder to the other children around me.

Dæmons were usually the opposite sex of your birth sex. I remember it being a big deal that Yarahel and I were both girls, but then I transitioned (through underground means, when I was older) and it made a lot more sense for the both of us to be opposite of one another. Your dæmon being the same sex as you usually indicated you being queer, which made everything complicated.

Cafés and resteraunts weren't really a thing yet – although there were places to eat, they were mostly street vendors who had to make sure they had a license to sell things. Quality assurance was a big deal, to prevent diseases. I'm thankful this world has more places to get a warm drink, though.

This is mostly what I remember – I like going downtown in my city because it has old buildings that remind me of Oxford, a little bit. It eases the homesickness, just slightly.

I want to hear about other worlds. Tell me something about your world, please

[aigoos]

Obikin Shrine Journey

Today, I went to work for the last time this year, and I added to my Obikin shrine some new merchs that I received a few days before. This shrine has been my project for all of 2024. What started as a few charms (or danglies, as I call them) and buttons grew into this as I spent the entire year collecting enamel pins, stickers, charms, prints, plushies, buttons, figures, magnets, and photo tiles.

I started off with a much smaller board, but then in the summer, my co-worker and I had to change offices, so I took the larger board in our office (which was good, because I had run out of space), and then even took over the refrigerator and expanded the shrine onto my desk, shelf, cabinet, and wall.

Let's just say I am grateful that my current co-worker and my former co-worker support my obsession. I've never mentioned to them about the actual ship, only stated that they are my favourite characters from Star Wars, and I did do my best to keep the shrine platonic as possible . . . until a gay colleague saw my shrine and said, "It's giving off a homoerotic vibe." LMAO. If he thinks my work shrine is homoerotic, then I wonder what he'd say if he saw the sexy shrine I have at my work home. See below on why that shrine is staying home LOL.

Anyway, I also wanted to mention that @barmadumet's collection is what heavily inspired me to start my own collection. Thanks to her, I finally personalised my workspace that I hadn't bothered to do anything to for three and a half years. This adventure has brought me many joy -- though my bank account says otherwise, ahaha! But seriously, it got me to support many small businesses and artists (50+!!!!), and it allowed me to meet many other like-minded collectors, and they also helped me get some of the pins that are no longer available. Plus, a couple of my friends and colleagues even gifted me some items for my shrine. This adventure has not only brought me happiness, but it has humbled me as so many people have helped me along the way.

Oh, and it has also taught me to just accept that I cannot put things up straight and to know when to just let the crookedness be.

That said, I've compiled a list of all the businesses/artists below with links to their shops and/or social media~ To conclude, I hope 2025 will allow me to fill up that remaining space on the board!

Amanda Baldwin Art Armstrong Outpost A Sirens Pins BBCre8 BCRCustom BlackWandaShop Cedric @cherriielle @christinechangart Designs by Gen Designs by Joe Distant Fantasy Boards EchofromtheMill @faivsz FestiProper FoldItCreations Foundling Mercantile @geekipopstudio @ginalongillustrations Ginshi Hatters Designs Holy Pins Hunter and Convor IchigoTokki Joy Addict Junction Point Workshop @kana7o KJones Crafts LaDecorEU @dinagastuff Lantern Pins Laser Brain Patch Co Liminal Pins MaxxMerch @mouyashii @mushbuzz-do-not-repost Mythmore Mythos Merchant Co @nickytess Odder Than Antiquity Osiripengin PinButlers Inc Pinculture Co Pins of Marvel and Magic PlushiShop PotatoClone RebelArt Design Roobean Art Ruzovy @saeuchelle @saltyseaturtle Shannon Burton Art SnowFoxTrading Co SuppieDoodles Sword and Whetstone These Pencil Shavings Winter Aifu Xanadu Pins

[sunnysidesevenup]

The first time Fellow ever helps Tilly.

just a little scene I cooked up, read under the cut!!

pspsps foxglove fans @jadelover69 @kirexa @lallopsyou

Fellow sighs, pulling his thin coat closer and readjusting the bag in his hands. It’s late, far, far too late to be going on a grocery run—but he and Gidel had run out of food and they needed to eat something. So, of course, he’d headed out into the cold to retrieve something for them to eat, leaving his brother at home to do… well, whatever he wanted to do. No need for the both of them to make the long, annoying trek to the grocery.

If Fellow had it his way, they would have moved somewhere a bit more convenient to get general supplies, but it’s not like they could afford that at the moment. One day.

He turns down an alleyway, having made this exact run numerous times before and knowing by now the quickest route, only to stop short. There’s humming coming from deeper in the alley, and with an air of dread, he immediately realizes who it is.

Why, genuinely, why is this guy always there to annoy him? He just wants some peace for a day or too, not to turn down one of his regular paths and get harassed.

Unfortunately, it’s late. Too late in the day for Fellow to put up with this, but also too late for him to turn and take the longer route. Hopefully he can just get by with minimal interaction, at best.

As he walks down the alley, mind made up, his prediction is instantly confirmed. There, seated on some random crates, humming to himself, is the object of his current stress dreams.

Tilly doesn’t seem to notice him till he’s passing right by, though, which Fellow was initially grateful for until he realized how odd it was. It caused him to slow down as he passed, enough time for the man to actually notice someone was there.

Green eyes immediately catch his own, and Fellow pauses. “What the hell happened to you?” He blurts out.

Tilly blinks at him, eyes a bit glassy. “Oh, it’s my favorite fox!” He says, but it comes out weirdly airy and not all there. There’s a significant lack of intensity to it, and considering the bruising covering one side of his face—and even his arms, now that Fellow gets a good look—there might be a reason for it.

“Did someone finally beat you up?” Fellow asks, unable to just move on. Tilly definitely had it coming, but it’s… weird. This whole thing is weird.

Tilly giggles, like the thought of being beaten up is a particularly funny one. “Yeah.” He responds after a bit, and then lets his head fall back onto the bricks behind him. He immediately winces, holding his head, and Fellow reevaluates his intelligence.

“Damn, I think you’ve got a concussion.” He muses, the glassy look and slightly strange (well, stranger than normal) behavior being an indicator. “Go get that looked at, or something.”

It’s not that he cares, but… this is not the Tilly he’s used to, and he doesn’t really like it, much to his confusion.

Tilly waves a hand. “It’ll… it’ll go away.” He mutters, and then laughs again. “I’ll just sleep it off, good as new…”

And then he lays down right on top of the crates, leaving Fellow staring at him, processing.

The beastman feels his eye twitch. “…The hell are ya’ doing? It’s cold, go home.”

The man’s eyes, which fluttered closed at some point, flicker back open and settle their unsteady gaze back on him. “…home?” Tilly asks, genuine confusion in his voice. He then blinks and shakes his head. “No, I’m sleeping here tonight.” He says.

“Stop being stubborn, just go to wherever you’re staying.”

“I’m staying here.”

Fellow’s scowl deepens. “Stop being difficult. Do you need help walking, or somethin’?! You’ll freeze to death if you stay out here, ya’ don’t even have a coat!”

Tilly sits back up, although it looks like it took some effort, and then stares at him unblinkingly. “It’s fine!” He says, in a weirdly reassuring voice, and then reaches out and pats Fellow’s shoulder with a drowsy smile. “I stayed here last night too, and I’m not dead, so it’s okay!”

With a sudden, startling realization, he realizes that Tilly isn’t being stubborn, but he is being incredibly, horrendously stupid. So stupid, in fact, that he feels almost personally offended by it. This is the guy who’s been giving him trouble nonstop, harassing him, ruining all his plans?

He adjusts his bag of groceries, and then reaches out and throws Tilly over his shoulder.

This course of action, surprisingly, meets zero protest from Tilly. Instead, he’s met with another round of laughter, and a soft “Am I getting kidnapped twice in one week?”

“Twice? Who the hell—“

“Hmm, the guys who beat me up!”

“Ugh, whatever, I’m not kidnapping you.” Fellow says, and tries to ignore the way Tilly has started playing with his hair. Dropping the guy would probably give him double the concussion at this point, and it’s not like Fellow really wants to be an outright murderer.

“What are you doing?” Tilly asks, and he’s really asking himself that question right now, too. What is he doing?

Maybe it’s the fact that at the end of the day, Tilly is like him, struggling to live while having nothing. Even throughout all the harassment, and the annoyance, and just whatever it is the guy thinks is funny that week, he still remembers that they’re technically in the same situation.

…or maybe not the same, considering Fellow doesn’t look beat black and blue at the moment and isn’t currently planning on sleeping in an alleyway in the middle of winter.

“…How have you survived till now?” He asks, thinking through the things Tilly had revealed to him in the past few minutes.

“Hmm, maybe I’m actually a ghost? That would make more sense… I have almost bled out a lot, y’know? I could definitely be dead.” Tilly says, the words considering.

Fellow just feels his glare sharpen, a grimace forming on his face. Okay, so this guy is actually just a walking catastrophe, huh?

“Ugh, just… Stop talking. I’m taking you to my place until you’re back to normal and not at the risk of dying.” He needs him to stop talking before he starts feeling bad for the guy. That would suck.

Tilly hums in consideration, and then laughs again. “But I’m always at the risk of dying.” He says. “Does that mean you’ll have to keep me forever?”

“If I had to keep you forever, I’d be the one to kill you.” Fellow immediately responds.

“Oh, that’s a shame.” Tilly mutters, voice getting quieter. “I personally don’t think it would be too bad.”

“Me killing you?”

“Staying with you forever.”

Fellow pauses, not quite sure how to respond to that, so he just… doesn’t. The guy has a concussion, anyways. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

[skrrtscree]

burn my dread 💀💙

[redraw of sorts of official art, the og under the cut]

[strmpt]

update: finished all of my assignments on tuesday night. forever. im actually really done with school. i graduate on saturday omggggggggg

im so fucking burnt out. it will probably be a while before im like. okay again lmfao at least as far as drawing. i miss it but wowzers. i dont have it in me.

but anyway rrraaaaaahhhhhhh graduation rraaaaahhhhhhhhh

[izzymalec]

just finished lucifer, now all shows i started watching (minus she hulk but fuck that) are finished omg #productivity

[umilily]

i'm back. (and i didn't commit murder, but it was close.)

[painted-bees]

A quick, sloppy little comic about Magritte

[OC's]

(image description under the cut)

[Image Description: It's a vertical comic strip of 14 panels arranged one under the other. The style is realistic, done with sketchy lines in a dark burgundy. It is not colored or shaded and there is no background. The comic features the interactions of a couple, Magritte (also called Margie) and Rafael (also called Raf). Magritte is a young woman, she is wearing a baggy armhole tank top with a tight fitting black top underneath, shorts and boots. She has a messy bun and a small messenger bag slung over her left shoulder. Rafael is her partner, wearing baggy pants, sneakers, fingerless gloves, V-neck t-shirt and an open button-up jacket with a hoodie and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair has short side with long top bangs and a short goatee.

 (First panel): There's only Magritte visible from the waist up. Off screen, Raf says to someone else: “Magritte has our tickets.” Magritte is excited, looking straight forward. Her left hand in on her bag's strap, her right hand rummaging inside her bag. Magritte says: "Yeah! Even made sure to put them in my wallet so that I wouldn't- uh..."

 (Second panel): She is beginning to look concerned, now with her face turned to her back, both left hand holding the lip to open the bag wider and her right hand still rummaging inside. Magritte says: "wouldn't forget.... Hang on, it's not on it's usual pocket. Haha." The last is a nervous laughter.

 (Third panel): Magritte is kneeling on the ground. Rafael is standing to the side and behind her, only his feet visible. Magritte looks frantic, searching inside her bag. Her right arm is forearm deep digging in her bag. Magritte says: "It's definitely here-! It's the one thing I never forget 'cus I never take it out of my bag!" Rafael says, firmly: "Margie, when you took it out to put the tickets in, did you put the wallet back in the bag?" The letters are bolded, with the word "back" underlined for emphasis. Magritte says: "Give me some credit, there's no way I'm that stupid." The last three words are underlined for emphasis.

 (Fourth panel):  The scene has changed and now Magritte and Rafael are in a car. We see them from the passenger's side. Rafael is driving, looking straight ahead at the road. Magritte is hunched forward, hugging herself with the left hand. Her right hand is holding her head. She is looking out the passenger window, avoiding Raf.

 (Fifth panel):  Rafael turns slightly to look at Magritte.

 (Sixth panel):  The point of view is now a side profile view from the drivers side. Rafael has his left arm leaning on the open window, his right hand on the wheel. Magritte is hunched over facing the passenger window. Rafael says: "I'm not mad at you, if that's what you're worried about." Magritte says: "I can literally feel your disappointment."

 (Seventh panel): Back to the passengers side, Rafael is looking at the road. Magritte is frustrated, no longer leaning her head against her right hand and instead her hand is palm upwards. Rafael says: "Well, yes. It is a disappointing situation, but-" Magritte interrupts: "You'd think I'd be able to do the one thing I was asked to do-! That I'd at least learn from the last billion times I forgot shit. Rafael says, quieter: “that's not where I was going with this...”

(Eighth panel):  Magritte has her right hand holding her face with the palm on her cheek, left hand placing the tips of her fingers on her left temple and eye brows. She is frustrated and angry. Magritte says: "It's not like I've got anything more important rattling around in my brain.  But, for some reason, if it's not my music, or like.... food or something, then it's just not a priority. I can't make myself care enough to make it a priority!"

(Ninth panel): She now has both hands in front of her, elbows bent, finger extended in a vague hand gesture as if there was something in front of her. Magritte says: "I'm an adult in my 20s and I still manage my responsibilities like a child. I'd be more dependable if I could just stop and think for a second, but I'd probably forget to even breathe if it weren't for the..."

 (Tenth panel): Her frustrated expression turned to confusion. Her hands are still in the air in the same position as before. Magritte says:"... why are we parked?" Her noticing this stopped her rant.

(Eleventh panel): Magritte straightens up and faces the window entirely, left hand crossed over her body to lean on the car door. Rafael, off screen: "Margie." Magritte says: "Oh." Magritte's inner thoughts are written around her. "He stopped the car to scold me. No, not ‘scold’. Don't be a child about this. He's disappointed and just needs to make sure you understand so you can do better next ti-"

 (Twelfth panel): Magritte is still looking out the window, but now with a shocked expression. Rafael reached with his right hand, and its now resting gently on her upper back. Rafael interrupts her inner monologue with "I need you to stop repeating the shit your parents and teachers and such yelled at you growing up. They were wrong, and nothing you just said makes sense."

 (Thirteenth panel):  The perspective switches back to the driver's side profile. Rafael says: "A poor memory isn't synonymous with poor priorities. Nor does it speak to a lack of maturity. The priority was there, we just have to build a better habit of checking things before we leave the apartment. Both of us. It's gonna take time. You afford everyone else a ton of patience, all the time. Can you please afford some for yourself? The situation sucks, we were both looking forward to this. But it's not the end of the world. We didn't forget things on purpose. So let's take it easy and try to end the day on a good note. Alright?" Magritte says: "Okay... c-can we um...."

 (Fourteenth panel): Magritte has turned to face Rafael and her eyes are filled with tears and they're running down her cheeks.  Rafael looks startled, lifting his arm off Magritte's back. Magritte says: "Can we get some ice cream on the way back?" Rafael says: "O-of course!" End of description.]

This description was written and provided by Hiwi.

[sacred-sketchbook]

lavender.png

shoutout to d) Ink Pen Texturized Copy for being the only brush i ever use

sources: reference / background

[dredshirtroberts]

i did the biggest and scariest of the things on my list (the last thign on my list in fact) and it took like. MAYBE 5 minutes total including login time navigation and page loading.

now i get to have fancy Oreo Poptarts because i'm a big strong boy whose knee is slightly dislocated (it's fine i just went too hard and i'll wrap it up here in a minute) and did a big scary thing and also now gets to fully devote brain power to anxiety about the (potential) hole between two of my heart chambers and the accompanying doctor's appointment tomorrow morning.

[deep-space-netwerk]

So Venus is my favorite planet in the solar system - everything about it is just so weird.

It has this extraordinarily dense atmosphere that by all accounts shouldn't exist - Venus is close enough to the sun (and therefore hot enough) that the atmosphere should have literally evaporated away, just like Mercury's. We think Earth manages to keep its atmosphere by virtue of our magnetic field, but Venus doesn't even have that going for it. While Venus is probably volcanically active, it definitely doesn't have an internal magnetic dynamo, so whatever form of volcanism it has going on is very different from ours. And, it spins backwards! For some reason!!

But, for as many mysteries as Venus has, the United States really hasn't spent much time investigating it. The Soviet Union, on the other hand, sent no less than 16 probes to Venus between 1961 and 1984 as part of the Venera program - most of them looked like this!

The Soviet Union had a very different approach to space than the United States. NASA missions are typically extremely risk averse, and the spacecraft we launch are generally very expensive one-offs that have only one chance to succeed or fail.

It's lead to some really amazing science, but to put it into perspective, the Mars Opportunity rover only had to survive on Mars for 90 days for the mission to be declared a complete success. That thing lasted 15 years. I love the Opportunity rover as much as any self-respecting NASA engineer, but how much extra time and money did we spend that we didn't technically "need" to for it to last 60x longer than required?

Anyway, all to say, the Soviet Union took a more incremental approach, where failures were far less devastating. The Venera 9 through 14 probes were designed to land on the surface of Venus, and survive long enough to take a picture with two cameras - not an easy task, but a fairly straightforward goal compared to NASA standards. They had…mixed results.

Venera 9 managed to take a picture with one camera, but the other one's lens cap didn't deploy.

Venera 10 also managed to take a picture with one camera, but again the other lens cap didn't deploy.

Venera 11 took no pictures - neither lens cap deployed this time.

Venera 12 also took no pictures - because again, neither lens cap deployed.

Lotta problems with lens caps.

For Venera 13 and 14, in addition to the cameras they sent a device to sample the Venusian "soil". Upon landing, the arm was supposed to swing down and analyze the surface it touched - it was a simple mechanism that couldn't be re-deployed or adjusted after the first go.

This time, both lens caps FINALLY ejected perfectly, and we were treated to these marvelous, eerie pictures of the Venus landscape:

However, when the Venera 14 soil sampler arm deployed, instead of sampling the Venus surface, it managed to swing down and land perfectly on….an ejected lens cap.

[itneverendshere]

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

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: none (angst) chapter two┆ chapter three ┆ chapter four

The bass from the speakers rattled the glass in your hand as you leaned against the porch railing, eyes scanning the backyard for him—Rafe.

It had been a long month.

Longer than you thought it would be. Usually, when you and Rafe had your little “breaks,” they lasted about a week, maybe two at most. It was always something stupid, a screaming match that ended with slammed doors and his truck peeling out of your driveway. But it never lasted. It couldn’t. You’d known each other too long, been through too much, and deep down, there was this unspoken truth—he’d always come back. Or, you would.

But this time was different.

This time, he wasn’t calling or showing up at your window in the middle of the night, eyes tired and sorry, pulling you into his arms. The space between you had been growing wider since his dad died. And sure, maybe it was your fault for what you said after Ward’s death—But it was the truth.

Still, you hadn’t expected him to shut you out completely. Two months. Two months of silence. And the only thing you’d heard about him since was through Ruthie, Topper’s new girlfriend, of all people. A random comment at Mase’s place—something about how Rafe had been hanging around some pogue girl named Sofia.

You’d rolled your eyes at that. Rafe? With some Pogue? Yeah, right. You’d pretended not to care when she tossed it out like it was nothing

You weren’t stupid.

You’d always known Rafe wasn’t the easiest guy to love. He was complicated, angry, reckless—but so were you. And in some messed-up way, that’s why you two worked. Or at least, why you thought you did. You were just as stubborn, just as damaged. But now, as you sipped your drink and looked around, something felt off. Your gut was tight, and that nagging feeling that’d been growing restless under your skin since the breakup only grew stronger the longer you stood there.

You pushed yourself off the railing, discarding your drink on a table before moving through the crowd, past people you knew but didn’t bother with. Your mind was set on one thing—Rafe. You were done with the break. You had your space. It’s time to get back together. It was never even really a question. It was just the way things worked with you two.

But then there was Ruthie—blocking your path, her wide smile dripping with the kind of smugness that set your teeth on edge. She looked like she was reveling in your misery and that little giggle she let out only made it worse.

"So glad you could make it!" she sang out, her voice too sweet, too bright. Her eyes flickered over you like she was sizing you up, taking stock of every inch of your perfectly put-together outfit.

You forced a smile, “Yeah, well, wouldn’t miss a party like this,” you said, keeping your tone casual.

You weren’t in the mood for whatever game she was playing.

“Oh, I just bet,” she replied, her smile growing wider. She stepped closer, her breath reeking of cheap wine, and you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. Ruthie always drank too much at these things.

What the hell was her problem? She always acted like she knew something you didn’t, like she held the keys to all the dirty little secrets in Kildare, and she loved dangling them in front of people just to watch them squirm.

“Ruthie, I swear to God—” you began, but she cut you off, her grin widening.

“Oh, honey,” she cooed, her voice dripping with fake sympathy, “don’t get mad at me. I’m just the messenger. You should really be talking to Rafe about this.” She took a step back, still smiling, and glanced over her shoulder. “He’s around, you know. You can go find him yourself. See how cozy he’s gotten with her.”

You bit your tongue, jaw, forcing yourself to stay calm. She was trying to get under your skin, like the snake she’d always been. You couldn’t believe Top was lonely and horny enough to finally fall into her claws.

“Thanks for the tip,” you gave her a tight lipped grimace, brushing past her, didn’t try and wait for her reply.

You only caught glimpses of empty rooms along the way. You hadn’t seen him since the break, and part of you didn’t want to admit how much that messed you up. How much he messed you up. Your steps slowed as you neared the hall that led to the back of the house, the sound of voices filtering through the air. You recognized some, laughed at the drunken ramblings, until one voice cut through the noise. Rafe’s.

And then you heard hers. No fucking way.

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You told yourself you just needed to see him, just talk to him, tell him this break had gone on long enough, that you were done with the games. That’s when you heard it again—her laugh. It was light, flirtatious, the kind of laugh that made your stomach turn into a million different directions because you knew exactly what it meant.

She was there, with him.

You moved forward, the hallway barely lit as you reached the half-closed bathroom door. Your breath hitched, hands trembling as you peeked through the small crack, unable to stop yourself from looking.

There they were.

She was smiling, laughing softly at something he’d said, her fingers brushing through her hair as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched his hands move, tying the knot in her bikini with such gentle precision like he’d done it a thousand times. The kind of softness he used to have with you. And then he said it, his voice teasing, amused like this was some kind of inside joke between them.

"God, this is just landing right in my lap, isn’t it?"

You froze.

He laughed quietly, his lips brushing against Sofia’s shoulder as he tied the last knot, and the way he touched her—like she was something to be savored—sent a rush of pure, burning humiliation straight through your chest.

You stumbled back, your heart pounding in your ears as Rafe’s words repeated over and over in your head. Landing right in my lap. What the fuck was this?

Your heart clenched, vision blurring as what you were seeing slammed right into you. You backed away, your hand flying to your mouth to stop the sob from escaping. But it didn’t help. Not even à little. The tears burned, and you turned quickly, practically running back through the house and out the door before anyone could see the humiliating mess you were becoming.

It was real. He moved on. In two fucking months.

That’s all it had taken for him to replace you. To be done with you. He was over you. Just like that.

After everything you’d been through together, after all the times you had to pull him out of his own darkness, after the nights spent in his arms when you thought you couldn’t breathe because your whole family was gone—after years of being his and him being yours—how the fuck could he move on when you’d been rotting away in self loathing for pushing him away?

Your head spun as you stumbled down the steps, out to the street where your car was parked. You couldn’t breathe. Your breaths were coming out too fast, too shallow, and your hands were shaking so hard you had to press them against your knees to hold yourself up.

What the hell was wrong with you? You hadn’t even had anything to drink.

But your stomach was rolling, twisting in knots so tight you could barely stand straight. You leaned against the side of your car, the cool metal grounding you to reality for a second before a wave of nausea hit, forcing you to double over and retch onto the pavement. Tears stung your eyes as you coughed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

You felt dizzy, disgusted even, everything you thought you knew, everything you thought was yours, had been ripped out from under you.

Without a single warning. Not a text, not a stupid call, just pure indifference. No respect or regard for you. None of them. Everything you’d just seen replayed in your mind—Rafe, her, the way he touched her like she meant something to him.

“Look who’s still standing!” Topper’s voice. He was laughing as he strolled over, hands shoved in his pockets, that same carefree grin on his face that he always had at parties. “Jesus, what did you have to drink? You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

Normally, you might have had something to say back, maybe a fiery insult or a roll of your eyes. But right now, everything felt like too much. You couldn’t say a word. You could barely breathe.

Your cousin stopped beside you, his grin dropping as he finally looked at you. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He leaned down, trying to catch your eyes. “You good? You look kinda—"

You cut him off, the question was heavy, like a lump lodged in your throat. “Did you know?”

He blinked, the confusion spreading across his face. “Know what?”

You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest as you forced the words out, your voice shaking. “About Rafe and Sofia.”

You hated saying her name.

Hated that you’d been forced to know it by heart. Topper’s smile dropped, his expression changing.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to, you knew him well enough to read his micro expressions. You clenched your fists, it felt like you were the only one in the island who’d been let out of the secret.

Surely, your friends, your only family would’ve told you something right? It’s not like you were on a remote island away from them. You’d spent the last month in New York, not in the fucking jungle. You visited occasionally. You were a call away.

“Did everyone fucking know?”

Topper exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, we didn’t think it was serious. You know how it is with you two—you’ve done this before. Played with other people…”

Played with other people. Like you and Rafe were just some game, a revolving door of heartbreak and hookups. It didn’t make sense. You’d always known how it worked, understood how these things went—sure, you’d had your minor flings, and he’d had his, but it was never real.

You stumbled back, feeling like you might collapse. “Oh my God, I’m going to be sick again.”

He reached out, obviously concerned since he hadn’t seen you in this desperate state in years, “Hey, hey, calm down. Look, it’s not like it means anything. Rafe’s just—he’s going through a lot with his dad dying, and he… he’s just messing around. You know how he gets.”

But the words did nothing to soothe you. They only made it worse—how everyone knew. How they’d all watched Rafe move on, while you were stuck, still reeling from the breakup, thinking he’d come back like he always did. And he was just out there, with her.

With someone else. You pressed a hand to your stomach, your head hurting. The idea of Sofia, of Rafe being with someone else in ways that only you knew—ways that had always been yours—made you feel like you were being torn apart.

Topper was still talking, still trying to rationalize it, but his words were like static now, blending into the noise of the party behind you. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he was saying. “You know how it goes. You always end up back together. He’s just doing whatever to distract himself.”

That word. Distract himself. Like your entire relationship could be boiled down to that—a series of distractions until you decided to come back to each other, to pick up the pieces and pretend everything was okay.

You could still remember the night your life changed—the phone call, the horrible, gut-wrenching moment when you learned that your family’s private plane had gone down. Your parents. Your sister. Gone. Just like that. And Rafe had been the one to pull you through it. He was the one who had held you as you cried so hard you thought you were going to die, who sat with you in silence when you couldn’t bring yourself to speak, who stayed with you every single night because you were terrified to be alone in a haunted mansion that now felt like a mausoleum.

You had been seventeen, and losing them all at once had killed something inside of you. But he was there. He wasn’t perfect—far from it—but he knew what it was like to grieve.

He knew loss. He understood. Because you’d been there for him two years earlier, when his mom lost her battle to cancer. You could still see the look in his eyes that day—fourteen years old and already drowning in so much anger and sadness, like the world had ripped something essential out of him.

The way he cried at her funeral when he thought no one was watching, and you’d found him, sat beside him in the cold, letting him cry without saying a word. You hadn’t started dating yet, hadn’t crossed that line, but something had changed between you two in those moments.

A connection, a bond forged in shared pain, in the kind of trauma that no one else really got. Maybe that was why you were so obsessed with each other. Maybe it was fucked up, but you couldn’t imagine anyone else understanding you the way Rafe did.

How could it all come down to this? To you standing here, feeling like the world was ending while he moved on, laughing and touching someone else like nothing you had ever been through mattered?

Was that it? Did that one moment, that one argument about Ward, erase everything you’d done for him?

All the times you’d been there, the way you had comforted him when he felt like his life was spiraling? You remembered exactly what you’d said a month after the funeral, when your boyfriend blamed everyone but Ward for his own death. "He wasn’t a good person, baby. I know he was your dad, but you can’t pretend like he didn’t fuck you up."

You hadn’t even said it to hurt him, not really. It was just the truth. Ward had been a terrible father, controlling and manipulative, and you’d spent years watching Rafe try to live up to some impossible standard, chasing his father’s approval like it would ever be enough. But that didn’t make it easier for him to hear. You should have known better. You should have known how raw he was after losing his dad, how complicated his feelings were.

But instead, you’d been brutal. Honest, but brutal.

And now, two months later, here you were—staring at the empty street, wondering if you’d pushed him too far. If that one moment of honesty was enough to make him forget everything else. Now you were just the ex, the crazy one who didn’t know when to keep her mouth shut.

“Fuck, why did I say that?” you whispered to yourself, voice shaking. Why couldn’t you have just let it go?

But then another clarity of anger took over you, pushing away the guilt that had been building inside. So you’d been too harsh about Ward. So you’d said what everyone else had been too scared to say. It wasn’t like you’d been wrong. Ward had messed Rafe up.

Everyone knew it. He knew it, deep down.

You gritted your teeth, staring out at the dark street, the low hum of the party still buzzing faintly behind you. You were never going to get that picture out of your head. Like they hadn’t just met, like you hadn’t spent years learning how to calm Rafe when he spiraled, how to hold him together when he couldn’t hold himself.

Your chest tightened again, a bitter taste rising in your throat.

You could still feel the weight of his head on your shoulder that night, years ago, when his mom passed. The silent sobs that shook his body, the way he’d held onto you. That was the real Rafe—the one he hid from everyone else. The one who was lost and broken underneath all the anger. And you’d seen him, really seen him in ways no one else ever could. Not Sofia. Not anyone.

"Look, you're emotional, okay? I get it. Maybe it's that time of the month or something. You know how you always get when your hormones go crazy."

The words got to you, but not in the way he probably thought they would. At first, it pissed you off, like it always did when people tried to downplay your emotions. Everyone always said you felt too much. That you were out of control.

But then…

You stopped moving, blinking rapidly as his words spiraled around in your brain. ‘Time of the month’, he'd said.

Your heart started doing summersaults, your stomach dropping as the idea settled in. You grabbed your phone, hands trembling like leaves as you opened the calendar app. You scrolled, trying to think, trying to remember when you’d last…fuck.

You hadn’t had your period in… so long.

Almost two months. No. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be some kind of fucked up joke.

You felt light-headed as you reached for your car again, your body shaking so badly you could barely stand against the door. "Shit."

How could you not have noticed?

Topper noticed the change in you instantly, his brow furrowing. "What’s wrong with you?" he asked, his tone softening a little. "You okay?"

You couldn’t even form a sentence. Your brain was too full of what-ifs. Two months late.

You hadn't even thought about it until now—everything had taken so much space in your head that you hadn't noticed the most obvious sign. This wasn’t possible. Your hand flew to your stomach, almost instinctively. You had no idea what to do with the panic creeping up your throat.

“Shit,” You hissed, this time louder, trying to push the growing dread down. But it wouldn't go away.

He was still staring at you, “What? What’s going on? You’re freaking me out.”

But you were already backing away, shaking your head, “I—I need to go,” You mumbled, barely hearing yourself.

Your cousin moved quickly to block your path as you tried to make your way toward the door. That kind of protective streak only made you want to shove past him even more.

"You’re not driving in this state." he warned you, voice firm, his hands up like he was trying to physically stop you.

You just glared at him, “Fucking watch me.”

He didn’t budge. "You get in that car and I'm calling Rafe," he said, sounding dead serious.

You couldn’t believe it. Your head was already spinning, and he was trying to guilt-trip you like this was some kind of helpful thing to do? You threw your hands up in frustration, voice rising, cracking. "He’s too busy fucking Sofia. Knock yourself out."

The words felt like venom in your mouth, the bitterness rolling off your tongue. You didn’t care how harsh they sounded. You didn’t care about anything anymore except getting away from this suffocating stupid place. Before he could say anything else, you made your move. You pushed past him with all your strength, chest hurting with the urge to feel something other than this suffocating mess of emotions and confusion.

Your hands shook as you fumbled for your keys. You managed to unlock the door, sliding into the driver’s seat, the cool leather biting into your skin.

You needed to think. But all you could think about was that one, terrifying realization: you might be pregnant.

Your breath hitched, terror swirling around your chest. The calendar app was still open on your phone, the dates staring back at you like a flashing red warning sign, daring you to confront the truth you’d been ignoring. Two months. Two months without a period. And you hadn’t even noticed. You pressed a hand to your stomach again, heart pounding as if it was trying to escape your chest. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not like this.

You weren’t thinking clearly—shit, you weren’t thinking at all, but you couldn’t stay here. Not with Topper trying to baby you, not with him out there, living his best life like you didn’t even exist.

You turned the key, the engine roaring to life, and just as you gripped the wheel, ready to peel out of the driveway, Topper bolted in front of the car, planting himself right there like some kind of human roadblock. Fucking idiot. His arms were stretched out wide, like he could somehow stop you by sheer willpower.

“You’re not doing this, I swear to God, you’re not!” he yelled, his voice frantic, echoing off the dark street. He looked panicked, pleading even, like he was convinced you’d actually go through with it.

You gritted your teeth, eyes narrowing on him through the windshield. “Top, I swear, you have three seconds before I run you over.”

“Are you serious right now?” he yelled, his voice cracking with disbelief. But he didn’t move. “You think I’m letting you drive like this? You’re out of your fuckin’ mind!”

Your fingers gripping the wheel so hard it hurt. You weren’t bluffing. You were too wound up, too out of control. The only thing keeping you from flooring him was the fact that, deep down, you knew your cousin didn’t deserve it.

You just needed to get out of here.

“Move!” you screamed, “I’m not joking’, Topper. Get the fuck out of my way!”

His face twisted with frustration as he looked over his shoulder, something catching his attention. He started waving, yelling at someone, his voice cutting through the night, “Rafe! Dude, get over here!”

Your brain stopped. It was like everything had been sucked out of you. Your hands froze on the wheel, your entire body locking up as you looked to your right and saw him—Rafe. Right there in the yard.

And she was with him. He had his arm draped around her casually, like she belonged there.

Like he belonged there, just standing in the open, so stupidly comfortable in his new life. His head turned when he heard Topper call out, and your eyes locked for a less than a second. A moment too long. A moment that broke something inside you.

While Topper was distracted, his attention on Rafe, you made your move. You slammed your foot on the gas, tires screeching as the car lurched forward, swerving just enough to dodge Topper’s stunned figure. You heard him yell after you, but his voice faded into the background noise as you sped away.

You didn’t look back. Not at Top, not at Rafe.

The only thing you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, drowning out everything else. You hated this. Hated that you were crying. Hated that you’d let yourself get to this point.

“God, what is wrong with me?” you muttered, your voice quavering as the words tumbled out. “Why the fuck am I crying over him? I shouldn’t be crying over him.” You slammed your palm against the steering wheel, angry, disgusted with yourself.

You’d told yourself you were stronger than this—that after everything you’d been through, you didn’t need him or anyone else. But here you were, falling apart like some pathetic excuse of a mess because of him. Because he had always been there, hadn’t he? After the crash, after you lost everything, he was the one constant, the one person who kept you from completely losing it. You’d relied on him so much. Too much.

“Fuck,” you hissed, tears streaming down your face. Your throat burned as the memories came flooding back, memories of all the nights you’d spent together, of him holding you while you cried yourself to sleep, of the way he’d pulled you out of the gloom when you thought you’d never get back up again. You thought he’d always be that person for you, the one who understood your broken pieces because he had his own. You’d always fit together perfectly.

You pulled into the parking lot of the nearest drugstore, your hands still shaking as you put the car in park. The tears had dried up on the drive over, replaced by a cold determination. You didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to even think about what you were about to do.

The moment you stepped out of your car and into the harsh fluorescent lighting of the drugstore, you felt completely out of place—like a stranger in your own skin. You hadn’t even thought about how ridiculous you must’ve looked until you caught your reflection in one of the store’s glass windows. Your hair, still perfect from earlier, framed your face in soft waves, and your makeup was flawless, despite the crying. The designer dress you were wearing—sleek, red, and worth more than half the shit in this store—with its sticky floors and white lights, it made you feel like an alien. Like you didn’t belong.

You caught the eyes of a couple of people loitering outside the entrance as you walked in, their stares lingering a little too long, murmuring to each other behind smirks. You knew they were talking about you. They always did, kook queen, overdressed, out of touch, bitch, whatever they wanted to call you.

The sliding doors let out a grating beep as you entered, and the air inside was stale and heavy, reeking of floor cleaner and cheap perfume. You adjusted your grip on your purse, strutting past the aisles with your head high even though everything inside you felt like it was falling apart.

You always did this—dressed to kill, head up, like armor. But there was no real glamour in buying pregnancy tests from some random pharmacy in the middle of the night. No way to mask the deep, growing hysteria in your bones.

The girl behind the register clocked you the second you stepped up to the counter, her eyes dragging over your like she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. You could almost hear her thoughts: What the hell is someone like you doing here?

You didn’t even look at her. You just wanted to pay and leave without a scene. But of course, people always found a way to make things worse. She hesitated before scanning the tests, looking like she might say something. For her own good, you prayed she didn’t.

You threw the money on the counter before she could open her mouth, two crisp hundreds on top of the total. The cash hit the counter with a sharp thwap and you gave her the bitchiest look you could muster. “Take it. Keep your fucking mouth shut.”

She swallowed hard, her hand trembling as she slid the bills into the register. You didn’t care that she was young or nervous. You weren’t here to make friends. You weren’t here for anyone’s sympathy. The extra money would make sure she didn’t talk, that was all that mattered.

You walked out, your heels clicking against the linoleum, head high, even though every nerve in your body screamed for you to disappear. You slid into your truck, slamming the door shut, the silence finally hitting you. For all the designer clothes, the makeup, the money—none of it meant shit right now. You felt so small. So scared. Terribly lonely.

You sat there for what felt like forever, staring at the stupid bag in the passenger seat like it had the power to ruin your whole life—which, to be fair, it kind of did. You didn’t know what the fuck you were going to do. Not about any of it.

Your foot tapped nervously against the floor mat, the sound too loud in the quiet car. The bag crinkled as you glanced at it again, your stomach twisting all over again. A bunch of pregnancy tests. How had it come to this?

Rafe. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself not to think about him, not to picture his face when he found out. If he found out. Shit, what the hell was he going to do? He was with Sofia now, right? So was this going to ruin his life too? Did he even deserve to know?

It was probably nothing, you told yourself. Maybe the separation anxiety had gotten to you. Maybe your body was just fucked up from all the stress. Maybe your period was just late because you’d been so all over the place lately. There could be a million reasons. You didn’t even want to think about what would happen if it wasn’t nothing.

You didn’t want to cry anymore. Not after all of this. Not over Rafe. Not over your life turning into some fucking soap opera you didn’t even want to be a part of.

The second you were inside your house, the walls closed in around you. Your perfectly decorated place—the one you’d spent so much time making into a refuge, an escape—it didn’t feel like that anymore. Every designer pillow, every carefully chosen piece of art, mocking you.

Your phone buzzed in your bag, you reached for it. Of course, it was Rafe.

“I don’t know what the fuck that was but save the fucking dramatics, okay?”

The nerve. The fucking nerve of him to act like he was the center of your universe, acting like you were some inconvenience. Months of silence and this was the first thing he decided to text you? Knowing how much you despised when people called you a drama queen? Fucking piece of shit.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, a thousand different responses running through your mind. You wanted to tell him to shove something up his ass. But you did the only thing that felt right in that moment.

You blocked him. You stared at your phone, half expecting it to buzz again, half dreading that it wouldn’t. It was done. You cut him off, at least in that tiny, virtual way. You sat there for a minute, gripping the phone, trying to remember how to breathe.

This was supposed to feel empowering, right? You told yourself it would. That cutting him out would help you get back some control. But your mind wouldn’t settle. Those damn pregnancy tests were sitting in the bag next to you.

You were tired.

Exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with how late it was or how emotionally spent you were. You kicked off your heels, letting them clatter against the hardwood floor as you sank into the plush couch. Your house felt cold and unwelcoming tonight. Like a showroom. No comfort to be found. Not here, not in the muted tones of beige and white. Not in the sleek lines of furniture that were supposed to exude elegance and sophistication.

Maybe tomorrow you’d feel differently.

Maybe you’d wake up with a clear head, ready to take the stupid tests. Maybe you’d be strong again like you’d been so many times before.

Tonight, you were just tired. You leaned back against the cushions, closing your eyes for a moment, willing the noise in your head to quiet down. Sleep. That’s what you needed. Just a few hours to clear your mind, and in the morning, you’d deal with everything.

All of this would go away.

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