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#spring 20
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JW Anderson Spring 2020 RTW
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thefashionfold · 7 months
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HARE SS2020
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disarmluna · 9 months
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Saint Laurent Spring 2024 
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midnightfox450 · 3 months
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The fact that Riz Gukgak (the boy who doesn't know how to take a break, who is deeply afraid of drifting apart from his friends, who "has a hard time connecting to his dearest friends unless he can feel useful") was the one who manifested a creature that forced The Bad Kids to work together again and robbed them of having a proper summer break is so poetic.
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shitpostingkats · 3 months
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I'm sorry I'm still not over Riz taking the High Fantasy Equivalent Of Speed except no one remembers he weighs 25 pounds soaking wet so instead of Calming The Hell Down like we all know in our heart of hearts Riz would do if he actually took properly dosed stimulants he just sprints through all 9 phases of hyperfocus and ascends to neurodivergent godhood and starts solving mysteries you've never heard of and then becomes paranoid that someone's gonna take his memories so he goes up to a pirate and asks them to tattoo his red string conspiracy board on his flesh
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bud-arts · 15 days
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what if martlet was in deltarune
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noriahmoods · 1 year
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Valentino Spring '20
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alfrsargetlam · 10 months
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Gorgug Thistlespring, gentle giant and tender soul
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pianissimoe · 2 months
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NO BUT REALLY, the bad kids are where they are purely because they set out to solve a mystery in their freshman year
that's it! that's all. aguefort fucking hates them and when he was dead for their entire first year, goldenhoard fucking hated them. there's no favoritism here! the bad kids just spent their freshman year killing people and getting arrested instead of doing dungeon crawls
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jadeinretrogrde · 1 month
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sitting in my apartment whispering "spring break I believe in you" to myself as I attempt to muster up the executive functioning required to complete a chore
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crunchchute · 4 months
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an assortment
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ramiikin · 5 months
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Shhhh…
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brimay · 7 months
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NICK AND CHARLIE + JOY (SEASON 2)
Nick is so in love with you. It's a bit unbearable to watch sometimes.
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winternymphaea · 1 year
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heaven gaia spring/summer 2o21
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lukevangelista · 2 months
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two-four: it's just us now | these michigan summers
series masterlist
a/n: very not edited and i struggled to write this so bad you guys have no idea, but i wanted to get this out for y'all :)
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SPRING '20
Sam had laughed when Libby shrugged on her winter coat.
"It's next door, kid, not a mile-long trek," he said.
She huffed. "How'd you know I was goin' next door?"
"Had a hunch."
Libby hung her winter coat in the closet by the front door, letting it join the dark collection of other outerwear again. Her fingers dug into the frayed sleeves of Quinn's sweater as she sucked in a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for the bitter, late winter air.
Curses tumbled from her lips as she hurried across the lawn, unlocking her neighbor's front door with one of many keys dangling from her keychain that displayed one half of a LEGO heart. Her skin rose with goosebumps when a blast of warm air encircled her, fending off the frosty outside weather that clung to her.
The soft rumbling of the TV drew her toward the living room, where Jim and Ellen were comfortably nestled on their plush couch, chuckling as they quietly talked to each other.
"There she is," Ellen said once her light footsteps padded into the room. "Hey, burglar. You've got quite a mouth on you."
Libby offered a smile as Ellen moved away from her husband, patting her previous spot as an invitation to join them. She plopped down between Jim and Ellen, who immediately stretched her blanket over their laps.
"D'you want anything?"
"No, thank you," said Libby, voice quiet.
Ellen spared Jim a cursory glance over Libby's head, a shared look of concern washing over their faces. She then curled her arm around Libby's shoulders, protective yet gentle, pulling her into her side. "Not even Pizza Rolls?"
The blues in Libby's eyes brightened ever so slightly. "Actually..."
Jim chuckled, ruffling Libby's hair before standing up and going to the kitchen.
"So," Ellen tapped Libby's nose, smiling at the scrunch that followed, "what's on your mind?"
Libby shook her head. "Just wanted to come over. Missed you. Needed a break from studying."
"Those last parts, I believe, but that first part?" Ellen arched an eyebrow. "That, not so much. You sound like you're one moment from crying."
She laughed pitifully, hugging herself, though she never removed her gaze from the mounted television. She was too afraid to meet Ellen's gaze head-on for fear she'd unravel completely once the duct tape holding her together snapped off, wholly unfixable. "Getting pretty tired of crying, to be honest, Mom."
Ellen pulled Libby closer, resting her chin on her head. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."
"It's okay," she mumbled, sinking further into Quinn's sweater, which had stopped smelling like him a little too long ago. The detergent her neighbors used didn't seem to do that great of a job at mimicking the way he smelled—so comforting, homely, the kind of thing that made her want to sit on the porch and let time pass without a worry in the world. "Just miss him. All of them, really."
"I know," Ellen whispered with a defeated sigh. "I miss them, too."
Libby nuzzled closer to Ellen.
"How are the comments?"
"What comments?"
Ellen pulled away slightly, shooting her a knowing look. "I have an Instagram, Libby. I know about the comments."
Libby sighed, rubbing her face. "I don't know. I don't know what I did for them to start, and I don't know how to get them to stop."
Ellen's gaze softened. She couldn't pretend like knowing how broken down and dejected Libby was didn't hurt a part of her. The loud-mouthed, couldn't-sit-still, colorful girl next door who had become the shell of that very person. To watch that girl slip away some more at the hands of a few strangers online...she wished she could be some sort of shield.
"I don't like being talked about that way," Libby admitted quietly, overcome with the feeling that she wanted to crawl out of her own skin. "I, uh—Someone DM'd me once. Said they jacked off to my posts. I blocked the guy, but it's like no matter how much or how hard I scrub away in the shower, I can't get that gross feeling to go away, you know?"
Gooseflesh rose on Ellen's skin like a bitter cold had seeped into her bones despite the heat blasting within the house. She forced herself to stay calm, to remain levelheaded in front of Libby when all she wanted to do was unleash a motherly wrath upon the sleuth of internet strangers who seemed to think those types of comments were okay for anyone to see, and kissed the top of her head. Her lips parted to say something when Libby cut her off.
"Please don't tell Quinn," she muttered.
Ellen paused. "He doesn't know?"
Libby reluctantly shook her head. "I can't tell him, Mom. I know him, and he'll get worked up about it because he already has, and it'll affect his game, and—"
"And he deserves to know when his girlfriend's being harassed."
Libby bit her lip, contemplative.
Jim returned with a plate full of steaming Pizza Rolls, handing them to Libby before returning to his previous spot, acutely aware of the tense air floating between her and his wife. He smiled when she thanked him, and as though for some grasp of normalcy, he reached for her plate, only to feel a light smack to his hand.
"Hey, I made those!"
Libby moved the plate away, snuggling further into Ellen's side. "Mine."
Jim huffed.
"Should've taken some before giving them to me."
"Already did."
The appalled expression marring Libby's face was enough to make Ellen chuckle. She squeezed Libby's bicep before they all drew their focus back to the TV that was breezing through some home renovation show.
"What time does Lu get home?" Libby asked after a few minutes.
"Soon, I'd imagine," said Jim.
"Can I take him out later?"
Ellen smiled. "Yeah, of course. You don't have to ask."
Libby placed her empty plate on the coffee table, reminding herself to clean it up later when she eventually got up. She laid her head on Ellen's shoulder, sighing as a comforting warmth draped over her, slowly luring her closer to sleep.
But just before her eyes slid shut, a familiar ringtone echoed from her phone—the sound kept special for one person only. Her face seemed to light up as she reached for her phone, answering the call to see the backdrop of the kitchen in Quinn's shared apartment with Elias as he cut up some vegetables.
"Glad to see someone put on their big boy pants and started cooking," Libby said, foregoing a greeting.
Quinn rolled his eyes, lifting his gaze from the cutting board. His expression softened when he noticed Libby nestled into his mother's side. "Hey, Libs. Hi, Mom."
"And Dad!" Jim called from the side.
Libby laughed, tilting her phone long enough for Jim to wave to his son.
"I'll actually call you back," said Quinn. "Y'know, since you're with my parents. Just wanted to see what you were up to."
"Oh, okay." She staved off a smile, failing miserably as she always did, and she could tell he knew from the way his mouth stretched wider.
"Alright, love you, bye."
"Love you," she returned. "Say hi to Petey!"
"I will." Quinn waved before he hung up, and Libby couldn't help but feel a him-sized hole festering in her heart, something the call should've filled, even if only slightly, yet only made more apparent. A feeling she wasn't quite sure how to fix on her own.
Another sigh inadvertently left her lips as she lowered her phone. There must've been something in her eyes—a distant, empty cloud in her stare haunted by dark rings hanging from her lashlines—because Ellen began combing her fingers through her hair, a soothing gesture that eventually lulled her into a light slumber that Quinn's call had prevented.
Ellen glanced down at Libby. "Do you ever wonder how different things would be if we had a daughter, Jim?"
He tore his attention from the TV, watching the way a fond gleam shone in his wife's eyes, the way Libby seemed to ease her stresses under her caring touch just like their sons did. He reached to tuck the blanket that had begun to slip off around Libby's shoulder again. "Think I have a pretty good idea of how life would be, El."
She smiled softly when Libby seemed to nuzzle closer in her sleep.
————
Luke got home almost an hour later. He dragged his things through the door, not batting an eyelash when he spotted Libby on the couch with his parents—a scene that grew increasingly frequent over the years. Perhaps the day she wasn't around was the day the universe spontaneously collapsed into itself, something he hoped remained a metaphorical impossibility.
"Hey, Libby wanted to take you out when you got home," said Ellen.
"Let her sleep," said Luke. "We'll go when she wakes up."
Ellen nodded.
It was half an hour later when Libby roused from her nap. She yawned and stretched her arms over her head, accidentally hitting Jim in the process. Her shoulders flinched when her hand came in contact with him, and she quickly apologized. He merely shook his head with a smile that brushed everything off.
"Luke's home if you still want to go out," Ellen said quietly, like she didn't want to shock her back to reality all that quickly.
Libby sat up, rubbing the exhaustion from her eyes. "Thank you," she replied, though for what seemed lost to both of them. It seemed like she always had something to be thankful for when it came to her neighbors.
"Go have some fun."
"Jimmy, keep the card in the wallet," Libby instructed dryly as she pushed away from the couch. "It's on me."
"It's always on you," he grumbled, begrudgingly putting his wallet back in his pocket, knowing it was a losing battle. He'd been losing ever since she was in high school.
Her chuckles echoed through the house as she walked up the stairs. She knocked lightly before entering Luke's room, finding him hunched over his desk, papers sprawled across the surface and laptop propped open. Her lips couldn't help but curve upward at the befuddled expression entwined on his face.
"Hey, Lu," she announced herself. "How's it goin'?"
He looked up. "Stuck on a question, but Mom said you wanted to hang out, so I'll do this later."
"No, no, finish up the question," she said, nearing him. "What's it on?"
"Stats."
Libby looked over his shoulder, perusing the worksheets. Luke slid over, making space on his chair for her to sit beside him—a little cramped, half of their bodies hanging off the edge, too, but neither complained as she talked him through solving the problems that were not unlike what she'd encountered in her own statistics class last semester.
Luke groaned once they figured out the solution, digging the heel of his palms into his eye sockets. "I hate this."
She nudged his arm. "It's not as bad when you know what the question's asking, and when in doubt, say something about the Central Limit Theorem."
He let his head hit the desk, and Libby laughed, rubbing his back.
"Can we get food?" he mumbled.
"Yeah, of course. C'mon."
They yelled their goodbyes to Jim and Ellen on their way out, running to the Calloway driveway with a desperation to feel the toasty warmth Libby's car always seemed to blast. Once they buckled in, Libby drove to Delia's and parked her car in the same spot she always seemed to.
Their orders of sundaes and burgers rolled off their tongue with years' worth of mastery, and they indulged Nancy in a small bout of conversation. Questions of how they were doing (Jack and Quinn were included in 'they'—the town's superstars that they were), what the town's latest gossip was (Diane's friend Hunter was caught cheating on Andrew Burke, a debacle Libby recalled hearing about in passing from Andrew's parents, who lived a few houses over), how Sam was dealing with the potentially last few rounds of his chemo (he was doing just fine).
Libby could feel a sense of comfort wash over her as the conversation trailed on. Everyone was intertwined to an extent, and perhaps to some, that was scary, a nightmare they tried to wake from, but to her? It bred familiarity, the kind of interactions she'd experienced since she was a baby in her small, unincorporated town down south.
Years of roots digging into the town, more extensive and sturdier as time passed, crossed over one another. Everyone knew everything—the good and the rotten—and though people held their grudges and reservations, she knew that when it truly came down to it, they'd have her back.
Because they had her back when Diane died, when she'd been beaten down by the stolen hopes and dreams of a little girl, when she was nothing more than a sluggish zombie trying to get through the day by drinking herself into a state of blissful ignorance. They had nursed her back to health, held her hand every step of the way with the patience of a marble statue until her eyes had regained that clementine glow reminiscent of the sunsets she watched as a child.
And perhaps that's what scared her about cities.
She wouldn't have the caring arms of those who'd known her since she was a child to fall back on. When she eventually went burning through the sky like a meteorite, there would be no Daisy, no Nash, no Austin, no Nancy, no Mrs. O'Donnell from down the road.
Just the prying eyes of towering buildings and the invasive honking of cars as they sped past, too ephemeral for her liking.
But for what felt like the millionth time, she told herself she'd do it for Quinn.
"You two have a good night!" Nancy called after them.
"You too!" they shouted back, the golden bell hanging by the door signaling their departure from the cozy diner that was a staple during their younger years.
They climbed back into Libby's car, the lemony glow of the dome lights casting against their faces as they began unwrapping their orders.
"Alright, update me on today," she urged, lips wrapping around the thin straw of her soda. "How was practice?"
Luke's face illuminated as he began his ramble on what had occurred—from drills to stupid antics amongst teammates that had their head coach a moment away from a meltdown, his expression something Luke had commented only made things funnier. Libby only shook her head, tucking away a reminder to get John a platter of cookies or something the next time she saw him.
Though, as the conversation drifted into stupid little stories, their stomachs cramping up from all the laughing they'd been doing, Libby couldn't help but feel a wave of sadness roll over her, and she loathed it.
She loathed how every moment of happiness was tainted with the reminder of how everything was different, loathed how she couldn't live in the moment without comparing the way life used to be, comparing who had been there and who wasn't anymore.
But most of all, she loathed this parasite of a feeling—this soul-consuming pining for the old days—that had infected her, constantly sucking away parts of her to be disposed of in a void she was struggling to navigate through, to find those lost parts and piece herself together.
And she was tired of the repetitive nature of it all.
She missed when she could enjoy a moment as it was, when she could let time pass as the laws of physics had declared without a worry in the world.
Luke bit into the last of his burger, and though Libby hadn't made it clear that her mind had drifted into its cave of snakes, the way her eyes dimmed like the light inside of her had been swallowed away by the dark night outside had given her away all the same.
Expressive without her realizing, her eyes gave her away every time.
Something about it made him wish he could fix it, even if only temporarily. He wanted to pick up the broken and jagged shards one by one and provide an endless roll of duct tape to hold the pieces together until they found a better solution—the glue that kept her from crumbling under the weight of everything.
Maybe that was a grand statement to make at sixteen, but hadn't she done the same for him when she was sixteen?
A ring ripped through their conversation, and Luke scrambled for his phone, only to see a FaceTime request from his brothers. His gaze flickered to Libby as she pulled one leg close to her chest.
"Why're you lookin' at me?" Her head canted. "I'll stay out of it, but don't leave your brothers hangin'."
"What—" Luke's eyebrows cinched together. "They're your friends, too."
"I know," she mumbled. "But they're your brothers. I can talk to them on my own time, Lu. I want you to have your own time with them."
Luke felt like he should've said something, though he proceeded to pick up the call, brushing aside questions about what took him so long to answer with some half-assed excuse. Quinn and Jack's voices filled the air with the kind of familiarity and comfort that fought off the cold winter night prowling beyond the walls of the car.
The back of Libby's head rested against the fogged-up window as she slowly made her way through her sundae, quietly observing Luke jovially catch up with his brothers, the same stories that had just wormed through her ears now reaching theirs. She smiled ever so slightly, her chest warming at the sight.
She loved seeing them all together, even if it was through a screen. She could watch them all day if she could, from far or near, in real life or in vintage pictures and homemade videos of times past.
Something about them enraptured her.
"Have you guys talked to Sissy recently?" Jack asked.
Luke's gaze jumped to Libby, who froze, a french fry dipped in ice cream hanging from her lips. He quickly brought his attention back to his phone.
"She was with Mom and Dad when I called her earlier," said Quinn. "Why, what's up?"
Jack shrugged nonchalantly, though the furrow of his eyebrows gave him away. "Gut feeling that something's up. I was calling her, and I overheard Abby offer her a blanket, and she said no. That's pretty out-of-character for her, right?"
Quinn gave his brother a blank stare. "It's a blanket, Jack."
"I know," Jack mumbled, almost embarrassed. "But it's Sissy."
Quinn's gaze lingered on the screen, analytical like he was trying to decipher a murder mystery. He sighed then, righting his posture. "I don't know. I'll ask about it, though. Lukey, turn your phone around. Sunshine, you okay?"
Luke failed to hide the stricken expression marring his face as he met Libby's stare, her slacked mouth stuffed with her sundae. She audibly gulped as Luke angled his phone, waving sheepishly.
Licking her lips, she shoved her spoon back into what was left of her sundae. "Hey, y'all," she said, unable to keep staring at the screen as she poked at the melting pool of ice cream and syrup. "I'm okay. Just been busy."
"Miss you, Sissy," said Jack, lips curved up in a smile as soft as a willow tree in the breeze. "Can't wait to see you next week."
Libby lifted her gaze. "Miss you, too, J." She caught the upward slant of Quinn's lips. "What?"
He shook his head. "Nothing."
Jack retched. "Gross, you're doing your lovesick stares again."
Libby rolled her eyes, reaching for her phone that had just buzzed in the cup holders by the center console. She read over Ellen's text before shifting in her seat and putting her car in drive.
"Was that Mom?" asked Luke.
"Yeah, tellin' me not to keep you out too late."
"Code for bring him home now," Jack snickered.
Libby hummed her assent, pulling into the main road.
The three brothers were roped into another conversation, something about a funny situation one of their cousins had gotten themselves involved with, and they'd tried to keep her reined in—to scream at her that yes, she was a part of their dynamic the way the second violinist was to a string quartet, even if she saw herself as the outsider peering in.
But they couldn't help the feeling that someone was holding the string tying them altogether taut, stiff against their flowing words.
Libby parked her car in the driveway and turned to Luke. "Need any more help with homework?"
He shook his head. "Think I get it now. Thanks, Lils, and thank you for dinner."
She smiled, bringing him close to kiss the side of his head. "Alright. Go on in. Bye, boys."
A chorus of byes filled the car before Luke climbed out.
Libby grabbed the brown paper bag once containing their orders, piling their trash in it before heading into the house. She greeted her grandparents, tossed the bag out, and did her best to sneak past the family room.
"Olivia-Reese Calloway," Dorothea scolded, her voice laced with a knowing disapproval. "I know what you're gonna do. Your mother wouldn't want this."
She paused, her chest rising and falling with each heavy breath escaping her lips. Her gaze dropped to where her hand hovered over the ornate gold doorknob, her fingers flexing and curling—an internal battle of should she or shouldn't she that seemed to haunt her.
Your mother wouldn't want this.
Dorothea had meant well, truly, but the comments were starting to boil amidst the once-tranquil waters. One after the other, it was starting to feel like her grandparents were searching for their deceased daughter in her in a way they hadn't before—doing everything in their power to keep their talons in what was left of Diane as though she would fade away at any moment.
Maybe they hadn't realized it.
The way they'd slipped into those habits.
But maybe Libby hadn't realized just how far she was straying from the very core of her being either—the part of her that was a reflection of her mother—and maybe they were trying to keep her reeled in, to remind her of the person she had been.
"Olivia-Reese?" Sam called when neither he nor Dorothea heard a response.
Her lips pursed as Charlie padded toward her, his head tilted with curiosity. His bark was laced with a cry, and Libby yanked the front door open, letting the draught waft in.
Just a moment later, the door slammed shut, preserving the familiar warmth of the house the way it always was, and Libby braved the cold with nothing but her tattered armor against the ever-changing world.
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”I trust that they’ll find me.” what a line, what a fucking line. riz never trusts anyone, it’s his whole thing, being a paranoid lil bitch. he’s the detective and he’s the one who finds clues. but while alone in Hell, he trusts that whatever happens to him his friends will find him. that’s the greatest compliment he could have given to them.
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