#I did everything I could think of but it was so miserable

[alchemistc]

Let's goooo! 15. trembling hands

I already did this prompt but I've been steeping in a pile of blankets and a heating pad and miserable cramps for hours just thinking about this so:

"I just keep thinking about the last time you kissed me," Buck says, and he hates the waver in it, hates the way he has to set the neatly packed bankers box down on his island because his hands are shaking as bad as his voice.

Tommy gives him the kind of look he'd expect to see if he rounded a dark curve late at night and his headlights caught a deer crossing the road.

Total devastation lies ahead. Neither one of them gets out of this without a scratch.

He'd had a call, years back now. Some family driving home after an evening of movies and arcades and dinner, a nice newer SUV, a nervous creature who would have had plenty of time to cross into the woods but got stuck in the beam of light hurtling towards it. Until it tried to jump the vehicle right before impact.

The dad had died quick, Buck remembers. They'd only found that out later, though, because the deer hadn't died. Not then. Not right away. Not until after they'd arrived, because they'd watch the thing, stuck in the windscreen, panicked and dying and kicking.

Animal control didn't make it on scene until after the moms chest had been caved in.

Tommy's grip on the box in his own hands looks painful.

"It was just - it was the kind of kiss I figured we'd share a few thousand more times, you know?"

Nothing special, a barely there peck, an appetizer because they had places to be and they'd lost more than one reservation getting caught up before so they'd made it a habit of the greeting kiss being... quick.

"I just wish I'd known it was gonna be the last time."

It hurts to say. It hurts to think, but this one's been spinning on a loop every time he's got idle hands and an idle mind and it feels like Tommy should at least know that he -

"I have to go," Tommy says. He'd set this up with that excuse - I have some of your things, can I drop them off before work - like he could rip the bandaid and be done and Buck had spent twenty minutes folding and refolding the same pair of Tommy's sweatpants before he found the nerve to respond with a thumbs up.

"Yeah," Buck says, and takes a moment to drink in the sight of him a final time. Tommy's eyes dart to the hand still hanging at his side, fingers tapping out a rhythm against his palm, unlike the one holding onto his kitchen island like a lifeline.

This is it.

There's - nothing left to tie them together. No excuses to see each other again outside of random happenstance. He'd debated stuffing one of Tommy's zip ups into the bottom of his laundry basket for about ten minutes after Tommy let him know he was headed over, but that's in the box with everything else.

He has to look away when he realizes his vision's gone a little blurry.

"I'll... see you," Buck manages, and convinces himself he doesn't hear the blown out breath from where Tommy's standing.

He listens to the footsteps moving away. Hears the latch click and sucks in a breath so harsh Tommy has to hear it.

He remembers trying to shield those kids in the back seat from the sight of both their parents and wishes he at least had some bruises to show for the way his own chest feels like it's caving in.

The door clicks shut, and Buck turns towards it a second before he feels his chin being angled.

It's nothing like their first kiss, or the greeting kiss. This is the kiss he'd get when he couldn't shut the hell up about something and Tommy had to do something about it. The kiss they'd share when it became clear a movie wasn't holding his attention and Tommy pressed him into the couch cushions with a grin. The kiss he'd give when he was so overwhelmed by how he felt and didn't have the words to explain it so he'd poured every ounce of - of love into his lips and his tongue and his teeth because even if he didn't know how to say it he wanted Tommy to know.

It slows and settles into something soft and breathy and Buck lets the hand he'd curled over Tommy's jaw drop to his chest when they break it. Their breathing is shaky, and the hand clenched in the back of Buck's shirt shakes before he breaks the hold. Buck keeps his eyes closed. His throat is tight.

"That's - if I'd known it was the last one, that's the one I'd have wanted it to be," Tommy says, and then he's pulling away. Leaving.

The door clicks open and shut while Buck's eyes are still closed, and he stands there in silence for a good ten minutes until he's sure he can breath again. When he licks his lips he doesn't recognize the taste of the lip balm Tommy'd left behind there.

The box of Tommy's stuff is sitting on the end table.

It takes Buck four goddamn tries to type out a coherent text, with the way it's shaking in his hand.

You forgot to take your stuff, he sends.

Tommy's the kind of old school where he keeps his phone in the center console while he's driving, so he doesn't expect anything back immediately.

He refuses to let himself read into it at all. An honest mistake after leaving them both more hurt than the first time around.

He'll ask Chim to deliver it so they don't have to see each other again.

Forty-two minutes later, he happens to glance at his phone just in time to see the bubbles.

They disappear. Reappear. Disappear.

How forgetful of me.

And that's - that's all he gets for another five minutes. He nearly tosses his phone in the air when the bubbles come back, like somehow someone will have witnessed him staring at it hard enough to burn a hole through it.

Maybe you could bring it by sometime.

MVA, two adult males, significant internal injuries.

The bubbles are still there.

Think I may have forgotten a few of your things, anyway.

Buck doesn't believe that for a fucking second. He'd had a drawer, two hangers, a spot under the sink in the bathroom. Tommy's place had always reminded Buck how well suited they were, with how meticulously everything had a place.

Doesn't seem like you, Buck shoots back, and tries not to examine how close to the line of flirty he's being.

That was a terrible last kiss, Tommy sends back, almost immediately.

Buck's hands don't shake when he sends the next message. It's a blatant lie. It probably broke top ten. We could fix that.

[chlix]

baby, it's cold outside (no seriously it's crazy out there)

bf! chan x gn! reader: your car breaks down in a snowstorm and you have to walk home. chan is there to comfort you and warm you back up

pairing: chan x reader

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

word count: 4.1k

warnings/tags: snowstorms, car trouble, sickness, a long series of unfortunate events that leave the reader miserable for most of the fic

a/n: this is a request from @caticorn61 who wanted chan being apologetic for not answering his phone after reader's car broke down. this is perhaps more than what u asked for 😅 but i hope you enjoy it anyway!

You are on a historic run of bad days.

You've never considered yourself to be particularly unlucky, but this past week has had you rethinking that orientation. Everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. On Monday your alarm didn't go off, making you late for work. Even worse, there was a meeting you'd forgotten about, so you had to slide awkwardly into the back of the room and pretend you didn't feel everyone's annoyed gazes. Tuesday was grocery shopping day, but you found out they discontinued your favorite brand of chips, and raised the price of an alternative, so you were forced to go home chip-less. Then, when you tried to take the groceries out of the car, one of the bags split open and sent your eggs, cheese, and blueberries crashing to the ground, buried in slush and snow. A total waste. Wednesday you woke up to find your heating had shut off in the night, and you were now shaking fit to break apart. Although maintenance promptly fixed your radiator, you developed an itch in your throat that only grew throughout the day and had developed into a full-blown cough by the next morning.

Which is where you are now on a subzero Thursday morning, ill and irritated and crawling your way towards the end of the week.

Your boyfriend, Chan, talks to you on the phone in soothing tones.

"I'm sorry your week has been so rough, baby," he says, and you can hear the dripping sympathy through the phone. "I know how it feels when little things pile up like that."

"I just don't know if I can take it anymore," you tell him. "It's like I've been cursed. I'm afraid if I walk outside a piano will fall on me and crush me."

You're half-joking when you say that, but Chan can hear that the other half is vaguely on hysterical.

"I don't think anyone is moving pianos in this weather," he says very reasonably. "Just stay away from luxury apartments if you're worried."

You set your bag down and put your face in your hands, taking slow, deep breaths. Your phone is on speaker, and you can hear Chan hum, trying to comfort you even though he's in his own dorm across the city.

"It'll all be okay, Y/n. And I'll see you this weekend, yeah? I'll come over Friday night and you'll have me all to yourself. Just stay strong."

You exhale, long and loud. "You promise?"

"I promise. Be strong for me, babygirl."

You blink the dampness out of your eyes and straighten up. "Okay. I can do that."

"And drink some tea. Your voice sounds kind of rough."

"Don't get me started again, please."

By the time you hang up, you don't feel understood, but you do feel seen. You fill up a thermos with tea, put on your coat, and mentally prepare yourself to leave the apartment.

It's only two more days, you remind yourself. The weekend will fix me. It'll break this curse that's been placed upon me. You force yourself to have a positive outlook. You will not have another bad day. You will be strong.

All day, you force yourself to react to every potentially meltdown-inducing incident with grace and poise. You realize you forgot your lunch and have to eat cheap candy from the vending machine for lunch? That's totally fine. Your boss adds another item to your to list, forcing you to stay later to finish everything and close up? You really don't mind. Your best friend texts you that she's been stalking her ex on Instagram again and you won't believe it but he already has a new girlfriend, y/n, can you fucking believe it, we've only been broken up for like two weeks and he's buying her fucking jewelry, and you respond what an asshole. he has a new gf and he didn't block his ex? while your eye twitches.

By the time you finish all your tasks and close up, your face hurts from holding a smile you don't feel. You're the last one out, so you make sure the building is locked and make your way across the empty parking lot to your car. The forecast predicted snow tonight, and already the ground is littered with white. The flakes are fat and sticky- they're already building up on the undisturbed portions of pavement. You have to quickly brush off your windows and mirrors before you can get into your car, slamming the door behind you.

You made it. You survived. It was a godawful Thursday but you conquered it.

"One more day," you whisper to yourself. "Just one more day."

You lock the door and put the key in the ignition. The dashboard lights up and the engine turns.....and turns....and turns.....

A rock forms in your stomach.

"No," you say. "No no no no no." You twist the key again, but the engine whirs and whirs and whirs...and does not turn over. Your car does not start.

It's not news to you that your car is a piece of shit. You and Chan discuss this almost every night- what to do about this fuckass car. You've been resistant to letting him help you pay for a new one, partially because that's a lot of money and partly because you're sentimentally attached to the old rustbucket. You inherited it from a family member as a birthday gift, and so despite it being less than reliable you're hesitant to seek solutions. It's your first car, after all. It's a part of you now.

In this moment, however, you want to throw all that sentimentally down the drain along with the keys to this absolutely useless fucking rustbucket of a vehicle.

Not to worry, you tell yourself. I'll just call Chan to come get me. We can deal with my car in the morning.

You take out your phone and call him. The call rings out.

You stare at your phone, confused. It's not like him to ignore your calls, especially not at this hour. It's pitch black with winter but it's still arguably early in the night. Chan is likely to still be awake, but it's unlikely he's doing any kind of official task. And it's so late that he would know to answer; you would never call him for something frivolous at this time of night. You call again.

No answer.

Your patience is running thin now. You consider calling your best friend, but she's out of town visiting family. Your other friend, Seohyeon, doesn't have a car, and her boyfriend's car is currently being repaired. The bus you sometimes take is about a fifteen minute walk down the street, but it'll have stopped running this far out by now, so you'd have to walk to a further bus stop and then go to the transportation terminal and connect, which would take over an hour. You could walk to the subway, you think, but you lost your subway card weeks ago and never got around to replacing it, and honestly it just seems like a whole ordeal you can't bring yourself to stomach right now. Chills go down your spine, and you can't tell if it's from the cold or from the increasing precarity of your situation.

You try the engine again. No dice.

You call Chan again. Voicemail again.

You lean your head on the steering wheel and take long, deep breaths. Outside your window, the wind is picking up, making the snow fall at a diagonal instead of straight down. It would be terrible to walk in, especially because the direction you need to go to get home would cause the snow to blow right in your face. Your throat is killing you, but your thermos of tea is long since empty. Maybe you should just go back into the work building and hunker down for the night. Maybe you should sit in the car and turn into an icicle. Your head is a foggy mess, thoughts twisting all around. You're getting hysterical again. You can feel yourself cracking to pieces.

Think, y/n. Who else can you call?

You're all out of people you know personally, but you could call an Uber. It's pricey and arguably unsafe, and you normally wouldn't, but these are extenuating circumstances. It solves the problem of being stranded, and again, you can deal with your car at a later point. And at least when Chan finally calls you back, you'll be safe at home, so he won't have to feel guilty about missing your calls three times.

You lean back in your seat and open the Uber app. Thankfully you still have it installed, and it still has all your info in it from the last time you called someone to take you home. Just as you're about to finish the transaction, your phone freezes. The screen flashes, then goes dark. You press the power button once, then again, frantically.

Your phone is dead.

Immediately, you scramble for your console, searching for a power cable to connect the phone to the car battery. Your cable is gone. You remember, horrified, that you took the cable out of your car because the one in your living room at home had started fraying. You meant to replace it but you never did. You're normally pretty good at leaving the house in the morning with it mostly charged.

But it's nighttime now, and your battery is dead. You have no charging cables, which means you can't call an Uber. You can't call anybody. And you can't even go to the subway now because your debit card is on your phone, so you can't refill your subway card.

A terrible despair fills you.

You have to walk home in a snowstorm.

As soon as the thought materializes, tears start to well in your eyes. This is too much for you to take, would be too much for you even if you'd had a perfectly good day today. This isn't fait. How can this be happening to you? Why is the universe punishing you like this? And when is it going to stop? Again you wish you could just sit in your car and turn into an icicle, let someone else defrost you in the morning. You think having a piano fall on your head would be better than this.

Eventually you manage to get yourself to calm down. Sitting in this car freezing isn't gonna do you any good. It'll only get colder by the hour. You need to walk to the far bus stop and catch another bus before they actually stop running, and you really are stranded instead of just doomed to walk forty minutes in a blizzard.

As if there's a difference, you think bitterly as you put your useless phone into your bag and bundle everything up. You put your gloves back on, and your hat. You step out of your car, slamming the door behind you, and zip up your jacket. Of course, you hadn't thought to wear a scarf today, so your face will just have to freeze. After only 30 seconds you feel your lips cracking.

"Okay," you whisper. "Okay okay okay okay."

You set off in the direction of the bus.

-/-

The journey is long and cold. It's not so much the temperature as the fact that you never have the chance to get used to it because it just keeps getting holder as the night wears on. It takes a ridiculously long time to walk to the bus stop, because you're fighting headwind every step of the way. You want to close your eyes against the snow, but if you do that you'll veer off course or fall into the road or trip on an ice slick and die, so you brave the stinging and push forward. Then you wait at the bus stop so long that your already sore feet start to scream with pain. Your phone is dead, so there's no way for you to track the bus, but you conclude you must have just missed the previous one as it takes a full thirty minutes for it to come again. By the time the bus pulls up in front of you, your feet are almost buried, and when you take your seat, every part of you squelches and slides as the snow melts, drenching your clothes.

The bus is at least warm, and so is the transport center, but the second bus drops you off another twenty-five minute walk from your apartment and you're forced to walk- you guessed it!- uphill. Your calves are screaming from the exertion, and from cold, and from keeping your balance as you trudge through the piling snow. You have a death grip on your keys- if they were to fall out somewhere between work and home you would simply lie down on the ground and let the snow bury you. It would be more than you could take. But your keys stay in your tightly clenched fists, and soon your apartment building becomes visible through the dark and haze. You want to cry tears of relief but your tear ducts are frozen shut.

By the time you traipse up the steps of your apartment, you feel more popsicle than person. You are so cold. Your hands shake so much it takes you a few tries to get the keys from your pocket and stick them in the lock. You step inside, sagging as the heat blasts you in the face. All you want to do is collapse into bed and curl under your blankets where the world can't see you, to get a little bit of sleep before your torture begins anew tomorrow. The thought of going to work on Friday strikes a physical pain in you. You've barely survived today, and yet tomorrow looms terrible just out of reach.

You go to turn on the lights only to realize that the lights are already on. Your heart skips a beat. Did someone break into your apartment? Should you turn around and flee? But you don't have a car, and you certainly aren't walking back to the bus stop. You have nowhere to go.

A figure turns the corner and you flinch back, hands half-raised in some pathetic attempt to defend yourself-

It's Chan. He turns the corner and it's your boyfriend, standing on your tile floor in sweats and a big sweater, eyes bright and twinkling with how excited he is to see you.

"Hey, sweetheart," Chan says. "You're finally back. I saw you called earlier and got worried something was wrong."

You burst into tears. You're crying before you even know it, violent sobs that shake you and make water droplets roll off your soaked hair. Salt burns your frozen tear ducts, and snow is slipping down your collar, but all these small discomforts are overshadowed by the pure and all-consuming relief that your boyfriend is here in the flesh, asking after you and taking care of you, and you can finally stop fighting to keep it together. You can rest.

Chan makes a sound of alarm and rushes forward to grab you as you start to list.

"Baby? Hey, hey, what's wrong? Christ, you look terrible. Are you sick?" He tries to put his hand against your forehead but pulls it away just as fast. "You're cold as ice, y/n."

"I w-walked home," you try to explain. Your tongue is thick in your mouth, and it's hard to get enough air to speak through your sobs. "Car broke down, phone died, b-bus was late."

"Fuck, sweetheart. I'm so fucking sorry. That sounds terrible."

His validation of your misery just makes you cry harder. Chan pulls you into a fierce hug and you bury your face in his shoulder and absolutely lose it. All the stress of the last week crashes down on you at once, your misery overwhelming you. You grab at his clothes with gloved hands, and there's about four layers of clothes between you, and it's not enough, you want to be closer. But at the same time you can't make yourself pull away from Chan's embrace. He whispers soothing words in your ear, rocks you back and forth, presses closed mouth kisses to any part of you he can reach. He doesn't shush you, or try to calm you down. He just lets you have the emotional release he knows you sorely need.

When your cries start to slow, he gives you one final squeeze to catch your attention, and whispers, "We need to get you out of these clothes, hmm? Does that sound okay?"

You swallow the last of your sobs and nod morosely.

"Okay then. Let's take your jacket off. It's soaking wet by now."

You step back from Chan, still holding on to his arm as you stumble and sway. You're so tired. Standing up for even a second longer is too big of an ask.

"Just lean on me. It's okay, I won't let you fall."

Together, you unfasten and take off your heavy winter coat, letting it fall to the floor with the slush you dragged in. Chan is the one who crouches down to untie your shoes, and you lean on him for support as you remove one foot, then the other.

"Good job," he praises, pressing a kiss to your snow-soaked hair. "Let's get you warmed up now."

He leads you to the bathroom and starts the water running in the tub. You listlessly undress, leaning on the counter for support when you need it. While the tub is filling, Chan tries to leave, but you catch him by the shoulder on his way past you, stopping him in his tracks.

"Stay?"

"Of course I'll stay," he says. "I just want to get you a change of clothes."

You hesitantly let go of him, and he flashes you a reassuring smile before he slips out. You sit down on the toilet and wait patiently for his return, watching the water fill the tub slowly and feeling your thoughts move sluggishly in your brain.

The sound of the water stopping jolts you back to the present. Chan is back, in a regular t-shirt this time, leaning over the bathtub to make sure the water is the right temperature. Deeming it good enough, he turns back to you and stretches out a hand to you.

As soon as you sit down in the warm water, you feel about ten times better. The warmth unties some of the tension that coils your muscles, and it quells the shivering that had started up as you were sitting on the toilet waiting to be told what to do. Chan urges you to slide down so you're almost submerged, making sure almost all your body is enveloped in warmth, and starts dumping warm water over your head, soaking your hair and washing out the remnants of grime and slush. He's quiet as he does it, humming a low tune, and you close your eyes and let him do as he wants. When he's done, he taps your shoulder, and you sit up, mourning the loss of warmth as your back and chest are exposed to the bathroom air.

"Do you mind?" he asks. You shake his head, uncaring of what he's referring to. You'd let him do anything to you in this state. It turns out "anything" means washing your back, so you again sit still and let him do as he pleases. The pressure of his hands and the sound of his voice, still humming, gradually soothe your mind and body. You stop shivering and tune back into your surroundings.

He's subtly watching your face, so he sees when you come back to yourself and drops his neutral expression. "Back with me?"

You nod. The floaty feelings from being cold and hysterical are gone, but that just means the exhaustion of your day is hitting you full force. You hold out your hand for the washcloth so you can clean the rest of yourself, and he hands it over, but doesn't move to leave, which you appreciate. Now that you're calmer, you think you might be a little more embarrassed asking him to stay.

"I know you said this morning you were cursed, but I didn't think you meant literally," he tries to joke.

You let out a long breath. "I didn't think I meant literally either."

"Wanna talk about it?"

You shrug as you rub the washcloth along your legs, wincing when you remove your still-freezing toes from the water. "What can I say? It was a shit day at work with a shit ending."

"You said your car broke down."

You squeeze your eyes shut. You are not in the mood for this argument. "It just wouldn't start. I don't know what's wrong with it."

"Y/n..." He doesn't say anything more. He knows as well as you do that you'll get nowhere. It's enough to set you off though, now that your exhaustion is making you irritatble.

"It wouldn't have mattered either way if you'd picked up the phone when I called you," you snap. It's unfair and you know it, but before you can begin to feel remorse, Chan's face turns to one of guilt.

"I know, I'm sorry. I still had it silenced from work and didn't realize. When I saw that you called me I tried to call back but the calls didn't go through."

"My phone died. That's why I didn't call an Uber."

Chan shakes his head. "I would call this comical if it wasn't so clearly stressing you out."

"You can still call it comical. Just not within earshot."

"Surely you think better of me than that."

"I do," you say, completely serious. "Sorry. I'm not mad you didn't answer. It's just been a shitty day."

Chan squeezes your shoulder in understanding. "It's alright. I get it."

"I'm really grateful you're here," you say, and you're getting choked up again, emotions all out of whack. "I've never been so happy to see anyone."

"You called three times. Since I couldn't get a hold of you, I hoped you'd still come home and we could talk here."

"You're too good to me."

"I'm exactly as good as you deserve." He leans down to kiss you, long and loving and warm, and the last of the chill in your bones slides away.

-/-

The next morning, Chan calls you in sick before you even wake up. He has to leave for the morning, but comes back around noon with ingredients to make you soup and tea, and rouses you for lunch with all the care and gentleness in the world.  He curls next to you in bed despite your protests that you'll get him sick, but then, it's not like you protest that hard. You're still feverish and needy, and maybe it's not the most ridiculous thing in the world to want to lie in your boyfriend's arms as you recover from what you're pretty sure is mild hypothermia mixed with the flu.

"We were gonna hang out this weekend," you say morosely. "Now I'm trapped in this bed and you're stuck taking care of me."

"Taking care of you is my favorite form of hanging out," he informs you, cleaning away the mug and bowl to bring back to the kitchen. "And hanging up the phone on your boss is my favorite passtime."

"You did not hang up on them," you gasp, hand over your mouth.

Chan shrugs, unbothered. "They seemed a little too annoyed about my request to not tow your car out of the parking lot. I made it very clear that it better be there when you get back on Monday or else."

"So selfless. You could've let them tow it and finally been victorious."

He turns from the kitchen and sits back down on the bed. "You like that car. I'm not going to keep insisting you get rid of it when it means so much to you. Even if I do blame it for the events of yesterday." You glare and he puts his hands up defensively. "If it's not my fault or your fault then I have to blame the car. Sorry not sorry."

"Blame the cursed spirit following me around," you say, sinking miserably into the blankets. "It possessed the engine of my car just to torment me."

"Even more reason to get rid of it."

You're feverish and tired, but the conversation makes you smile nonetheless. "Ask me again when my fever breaks if you still think I should keep it. Maybe it'll burn away the sentimental attachment."

"Don't get my hopes up."

You close your eyes as Chan kisses your forehead, and you slide easily into pleasant dreams.

[rqyup]

# experimental game pt 2

pairing.. sylus x non mc!reader

cw.. angst, ooc sylus(?), zayne appearance, implied suggestive scenes

a/n.. im srry guys this is so rushed 😔😔 pt 1.. (working on zayne ending!)

love and deepspace masterlist

It’s been a few months since everything ended between me and Sylus. Despite the time that’s passed, I can’t seem to forget the life we shared. Every kiss, every hug, every night tangled in each other’s arms—it’s all etched deeply in my heart.

Every waltz, every playful banter... it almost felt like we were perfect, didn’t it? That’s what I thought, at least. But then again, I was probably deluding myself. He never felt anything for me besides lust, right?

When I left Sylus, I also left behind the life of luxury that came with him. Now I’m back to paying bills, taxes, and—ironically—back to the same job I abandoned for him. Once again, I’m donning the coat of a doctor, walking the same hospital halls I thought I’d left behind forever.

I always prided myself on being a "law-abiding citizen," someone who wouldn’t bend for anything. But tell me, who could resist eyes like his? Looking back now, I realize how foolish I was. If I hadn’t wasted my time and effort chasing something so fleeting, I might have been promoted to chief doctor by now.

To cope, I’ve buried myself in work—exhausting shifts, endless patients. But even then, I couldn’t escape the emptiness, so I turned to people instead. That’s when I met Zayne, a brilliant doctor with an air of aloofness. I thought he was just a snob at first, someone too proud to speak more than a word.

But the more I got to know him, the more I saw the cracks in his façade. Like me, he carries the weight of being abandoned by someone he loved.

It’s strange, almost eerie, how our stories seem to align. The parallels are too close for comfort, yet I convince myself it’s nothing more than coincidence. After all, what are the odds?

Still, there’s something about Zayne—something that feels... steady. Safe. And I can’t help but wonder: could two broken people find solace in each other?

-

"Tell me, Dr. Zayne," you paused, your voice soft yet probing, the words carefully chosen.

He looked up from the desk, his usual composed expression wavering ever so slightly.

"Just what did your loved one do to make you feel this betrayed?" you asked, leaning forward slightly. "Even with my situation, I didn’t become that miserable. Could it be worse than mine?"

For a moment, Zayne stayed silent, his fingers lightly drumming against the armrest of his chair. Then, with a deep exhale, he began to speak.

"I gave up everything," he said, his voice laced with a bitterness that made the air feel heavier. "I sacrificed it all because I thought she was worth it. I willingly betrayed people I never thought I would betray... betrayed myself... all to be with her."

His words hung in the air, striking a nerve you didn’t expect.

"It’s ironic, isn’t it?" he continued, a faint, bitter smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You think you’re making the ultimate sacrifice for love, that it’ll mean something. But in the end, you’re left wondering if you were just a stepping stone for them to find their happiness with someone else."

You swallowed hard, his confession cutting deeper than you anticipated. It was eerily similar to your own choices, the way you left behind your career for Sylus—a man who never looked at you the way he now looked at her.

"I needn’t elaborate further," Zayne said finally, his tone distant. "I suppose it’s just... that way. Love demands, takes, and often leaves you hollow."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. His words echoed in your mind, a mirror to your own pain. You wanted to argue, to tell him that it wasn’t always like that—but deep down, you weren’t sure if you even believed it anymore..

Maybe it was just the wind, or perhaps the faint growling of your stomach, but the longer you looked at Zayne, the more you began to notice the quiet elegance about him. His green eyes, sharp yet gentle, seemed to hold an unspoken wisdom. The way he carried himself—graceful, composed, and unfalteringly poised—made you realize how truly admirable he was.

"Ah," he broke the silence, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "Did my talking bore you? Or is that your stomach making itself known?"

His voice was low, the faint laugh barely audible. But somehow, it was enough to send your heart fluttering unexpectedly.

"It's nothing, Dr. Zayne," you replied quickly, trying to mask the sudden rush of warmth to your cheeks. "I just... forgot to eat this noon."

"Forgot?" He raised an eyebrow, a trace of amusement in his expression. "Well... if that’s the case, would you care to accompany me? I tend to have my lunch a little late as well, so if you’re up for it, I wouldn’t mind the company."

You hesitated, caught off guard by the offer. Yet the thought of sharing a quiet moment with him, away from the exhausting confines of work, felt oddly comforting.

"Alright," you said, trying not to sound too eager.

As he gathered his things, you couldn’t help but steal another glance at him—the confident tilt of his head, the calmness in his every movement. He was everything Sylus wasn’t: grounded, thoughtful, and radiating a quiet strength.

And as you walked beside him down the hallway, you found yourself wondering: why didn’t you notice him before Sylus? Was it because you were too blinded by the allure of chaos? Or was it because, for the first time, you were starting to appreciate the kind of love that didn’t demand sacrifices?

Maybe, just maybe, there was something about Zayne you were beginning to see.

-

You walked alongside Zayne toward the small café at the corner of the hospital street. The air between you was light, your earlier conversations about work and shared frustrations creating an easy camaraderie. But as you entered the café, everything shifted.

There he was—Sylus. And beside him stood her, ms. hunter

Sylus’ gaze landed on you first, his smirk growing as he straightened from where he leaned against the counter. He hadn’t changed. That same magnetic confidence, the same cocky air that drew you in and tore you apart.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Sylus drawled, his tone rich with mock surprise. His eyes swept over Zayne briefly before returning to you. “I see you’ve been busy.”

Zayne, at first, didn’t react, his body rigid beside you. But then his gaze locked on the woman at Sylus’ side. His lips parted ever so slightly, his normally composed expression faltering.

MC turned to glance at you and Zayne, her polite smile freezing when she saw him. For a second, the world seemed to stop.

“Zayne?” she whispered, her voice soft but unmistakable.

Sylus raised an eyebrow, glancing between her and Zayne. “You two know each other?” he asked, his tone casual but laced with curiosity.

Zayne’s jaw tightened, his voice cold as steel. “Briefly.”

The woman shifted uncomfortably, guilt flickering across her face as her eyes darted from Zayne to you. Sylus, oblivious to the undercurrents between them, chuckled. “Ah, so you're one of those people in her old circles. Connections, am I right?”

Zayne didn’t answer, his sharp gaze fixed on her.

“You’ve been quiet,” Sylus said, looking at you now, his smirk ever-present. He gave an exaggerated grin, his arm tightening around MC. “It’s good to move on, wouldn’t you say?”

Your stomach churned. The jab was subtle but aimed with precision, as if Sylus had crafted it just to unravel you.

“Move on?” Zayne’s voice broke the tension, low but laced with restrained bitterness. He wasn’t looking at Sylus. His gaze was locked on the woman, the weight of his words aimed squarely at her. “Some of us have no choice but to.”

Her expression crumbled. “Zayne, I—”

Sylus interrupted her, oblivious to the storm building. “Well, isn’t this cozy? Small world and all. We should catch up sometime.” His smirk widened. “Doctor, was it?”

Zayne’s eyes snapped to Sylus, cold and unyielding. “Yes. Doctor Zayne,” he said, his voice clipped.

Sylus shrugged. “Ah, yes. I’ve heard about you—through some articles.”

Zayne didn’t respond, and Sylus didn’t seem to notice or care about the tension thick enough to cut with a scalpel.

“Anyway,” Sylus said, turning his attention back to MC. “We should head out. Busy day.”

She hesitated, glancing back at Zayne one last time. But he said nothing, his face betraying nothing despite the turmoil you could feel radiating off him.

As Sylus and ms. hunter left the café, Zayne turned abruptly, his back to the exit. His hands gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles white.

“Zayne…” you started, unsure of what to say.

You reached out, hesitating before placing a hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t know…”

“It doesn’t matter,” he cut you off, though his tone wasn’t harsh. Just tired. “It was a long time ago.”

But the look in his eyes told a different story, one of wounds that never fully healed.

You and Zayne bid farewell, both aware that the tension from earlier would likely cast a shadow over the rest of your time together. By the time your 12-hour shift ended, exhaustion weighed heavily on you, and you collapsed into bed, grateful for the temporary escape of sleep.

But just as you were drifting off, your phone buzzed. You reached for it, blinking at the message from Zayne: "I'm sorry for yesterday."

You smiled, your fingers quickly typing a response. "It's alright."

The small joy that the message brought you was short-lived, and as you lay in bed, you couldn't shake the lingering discomfort from earlier. It was almost like the weight of the day’s events was too much to just brush off.

So, you decided to get some fresh air, hoping the night might clear your mind. The streets were quiet, and the air was crisp, making the walk feel like a brief reprieve. Your feet carried you almost automatically toward a place that, despite yourself, you had visited before—a spot where Sylus frequently showed up, outside of the N109 zone.

It felt strange, walking there without really thinking about it. Maybe you were expecting to see him? Maybe you just needed to prove to yourself that you weren’t as affected as you felt. The thought lingered like a shadow, but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn back.

And then, as if the universe had been waiting for this moment, you heard a voice—chilling yet familiar—call out from behind you.

"Sylus."

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. It was him.

But as you turned the corner, you heard that voice—a voice you recognized all too well—calling out from the shadows.

“Well, well, if it isn’t you.”

You froze. You should’ve turned around and walked away, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Slowly, you turned to face him, your heart pounding against your chest. Sylus was standing just a few steps away, leaning against the wall with that smirk you had come to both dread and expect.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, his voice smooth as silk, every word dripping with sarcasm.

You held your ground, forcing yourself not to show how uncomfortable his presence made you. “What do you want, Sylus? " you asked, trying to keep your tone neutral.

His eyes glittered with amusement as he pushed himself off the wall and took a few steps closer. “I’m just curious, that’s all,” he said, his gaze flicking to the phone still gripped in your hand. “Zayne, huh? Tell me, what’s he like? The 'good guy' type, I’m guessing?”

You didn’t like the way his words tasted, but you refused to show it. “What’s it to you?” you shot back, trying to sound unaffected.

Sylus chuckled, his smirk widening. “Nothing, just wondering if you’ve got a thing for the boring, predictable types. Or maybe you’re just tired of the excitement, huh?”

You narrowed your eyes, taking a step back. “Excitement? Is that what you think you are, Sylus? Exciting?”

He leaned in just a little closer, his breath brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I know I’m more exciting than anything Zayne could offer.” His tone was so smooth, it made your skin crawl. “He’s all ‘serious’ and ‘responsible,’ while I’m... well, I’m anything but.”

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, a mix of anger and frustration threatening to boil over. “You don’t know anything about me,” you said through gritted teeth.

Sylus raised an eyebrow, amused by your reaction. “Oh, I think I know enough,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “You’re not the type to settle for the boring, good guy routine. You want something more, don’t you?”

Before you could reply, he took another step forward, closing the distance between you. His proximity made you tense, the air thick with tension. It was as if he was deliberately trying to push you to the edge. His dark eyes gleamed with a mixture of amusement and something darker—something you couldn’t quite place.

“I don’t think you’ve figured out what you want yet, sweetie.” he said softly, his words almost a challenge. “But maybe I could show you something... more exciting.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, and for a moment, you froze. Sylus was so close now, you could feel the heat of his body. His gaze never left yours, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t stop your breath from hitching in your throat.

"You're still the same, kitten.

The room felt heavy with the weight of what had just transpired. You lay quietly beside Sylus, the silence stretching between you both, a tension in the air that neither of you seemed to know how to break. The rawness of the night still lingered, but it was different now—softer, almost like something deeper had replaced the sharp edges of your frustration.

Sylus broke the silence first, his voice unusually low and softer than you were used to hearing from him. “I’m not proud of how things went between us.”

You turned toward him, watching as he avoided your gaze, his eyes focused on the ceiling. “You’ve never really made people feel important, have you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, tinged with the frustration you hadn’t been able to shake.

He didn’t immediately answer, letting the silence settle in once more. When he finally spoke, it was with a quiet honesty you didn’t expect. “I was selfish,” he admitted. “I wasn’t thinking about what you needed. I was too caught up in... other things.”

You closed your eyes, letting out a slow breath. “I left because I couldn’t keep being in a relationship that wasn’t real. I wasn’t getting anything I needed, Sylus.” Your voice softened. “I couldn’t keep giving when you weren’t even giving me anything in return.”

He met your gaze, his eyes full of a rawness you hadn’t seen before. “I get it. I wasn’t the man you needed me to be. But... I never got over you, kitten. Never stopped thinking about you.”

His words hit you like a punch to the chest. You didn’t know how to respond. You had tried to move on, to distance yourself from everything that happened, but now that he was here, so close, it was harder than you wanted to admit. “I tried to move on too, Sylus,” you murmured, your voice breaking. “But it’s not that simple.”

There was a pause, and you felt him shift beside you, a restless energy in his movements. He rubbed a hand through his hair, his eyes unfocused as if searching for the right words to say. Finally, his voice broke through again. “You know... I didn’t realize how much I still... felt for you until I saw you with Zayne. I couldn’t get it out of my head. The way you two were together... It drove me crazy.”

You blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

Sylus turned toward you, his eyes locking onto yours with a fierce intensity. “I felt so jealous, sweetie. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Seeing you with him... I realized that I still love you. And that’s when it hit me. How much I never really moved on. Not completely.”

Your heart stuttered, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. His words, raw and unfiltered, hung in the air between you, and you didn’t know what to say. You thought you had moved on. You thought you were past this. But hearing him say it so plainly—hearing him admit it—brought all those buried feelings rushing to the surface.

“I never thought I’d feel this way again,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “But here we are. And I can’t just walk away from it.”

You swallowed hard, fighting the emotions that welled up inside you. “Sylus, you can’t just come back into my life like this. After everything...”

He reached for your hand, his grip tight but gentle, his touch grounding you in a way you didn’t expect. “I know I can’t fix everything, kitten. But I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

You didn’t speak right away, your mind a swirling mess of conflicting thoughts. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to let him in. But you also knew the pain he had caused you before. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know where we go from here, Sylus. But... maybe we’ll figure it out.”

A softness you rarely saw crossed his face, and he gave you a small, genuine smile. “Yeah. We will.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence, but it was different this time. The weight of your conversation still hung heavy in the air, full of unspoken truths. You could feel the tension creeping back in, but this time it wasn’t the kind of tension that had torn you apart before. It was a new kind of energy—one you weren’t sure you were ready for, but couldn’t seem to resist.

As you lay there beside him, your breath caught in your throat. The distance between you was closing, and you could feel the air between you crackling with an intensity that was impossible to ignore.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin, and you couldn’t help but feel the pull. His hand brushed against your cheek, and his eyes darkened as he looked at you.

You didn’t say anything, but the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you. And for a moment, all the pain, all the distance between you, seemed to disappear.

Sylus's body was pressed against yours, his lips dangerously close to yours as his hand slid down your back, pulling you even closer. You could feel the heat between you both, the undeniable chemistry, a raw tension that neither of you could ignore.

His breath was shallow as he leaned in, his lips just grazing yours, teasing. "You still want this?" he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

You nodded, heart racing, your body responding to every inch of him. You leaned in, almost there-

"Boss!" said luke and kieran.. banging the door, unaware of what's happening inside.

"Seriously?" Sylus muttered, his voice tinged with frustration.

Reader shot him a look, equally irritated. "Of all the times... now?"

The tension hung in the air as the moment slipped through their fingers, the interruption pulling them back into reality.

But hey, atleast they're back together now. ;)

rqyup © 2024 – do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my content; dividers by me; likes and reblogs are appreciated !

[cherryswisherz]

KARMIC BALANCE ✷ CHAPTER III

✷WARNINGS cursing, pining??? idk. mention of the nd game and h*annah h*dalgo

✷NIYAH SPEAKS aye we back! this one is just paiges pob

✦✦✦✦

SENIOR YEAR

We lose to Notre Dame every year. 

Every. Fucking. Year. 

And now that I’m home in Storrs, looking at everyone as they try to mask their disappointment, I feel the loss even more. 

Which is why I’m walking around in the middle of night, the December air biting into my skin. I can’t stop thinking about everything that went wrong. Why everything went wrong. 

I honestly have no fucking clue why, but I know what went wrong. Everyone does. Our defense was lousy, our shots were horrible, we got too tired. I could go on, but that won’t fix anything. 

I find myself at Xavi and Janes house before I realize it. I tell myself that it’s because Yanna’s there, and not because of the wisdom that Xavia seems to have about every aspect of life. 

When Xavia opens the door wearing a smile and a moo moo, I ignore that bubly feeling in my chest and ask to come in. 

Once inside, I see her apartment is almost completely dark. The big lights are off, the living room being lit only by a candle and two lamps in opposite corners. 

“So, what’s up P?” Xavi asks, running her hands down the silk of her moo moo. “It’s almost midnight and you’re usually dead to the world by 9.”

Knowing that Xavia knows my bedtime makes me smile for reasons I don’t want to admit. 

When I first met her, Xavia was like a mystery. She was funny and smart and absolutely fucking beautiful. She’d apologized for making a false assumption about me. It was the first and only time anyone had ever done that and I never forgot it. 

When she and Jane started coming around more, I forced myself to swallow the want I had to learn more about her, to learn from her because I knew that if I’d gotten to the root of who she was, I’d be even more enthralled than I already was at that point. 

Eventually my heart stopped beating so fast around her. I’d stopped avoiding being within 3 feet of her and trained myself to treat her like I’d treated all my other friends. 

Because that’s what she is. My friend. 

It didn’t matter that her not worshipping ground I walked on excited me. It didn’t matter that almost every conversation we had alone rested in the back of my mind at all times. 

Xavia is my friend and that’s all she’d ever be. 

“Yeah I know. I just can’t get the ND game outta my head and I thought Yanna would be here to talk to.”

I’m lying and I know it. Whether Yanna was here or not, I would have found a way to talk to Xavi. I always did. Not because I wanted to be around her, but because she always had the answer to whatever problem that I have. Anyone would do the same if they’d stopped to pay attention when she was trying to get a word in. 

“Oh, yeah, she’s not here.” Xavi pointed a thumb to the back of her house, where Her and Jane’d bedroom’s were. Her locs swayed with the turn of her head. “Her and Jane went to Urgent Care cause she hit her shoulder on the wall and-” She waves her hands anxiously, as if she doesn’t feel like explaining a complex situation. “It was a whole thing. I’m sure you’ll hear about it tomorrow.”

I know I should be worried about my teammate who can’t seem to stay healthy. And I am. I make a mental note to check in on Yanna at some point, but right now, I’m thinking of a way I can stay and talk to Xavi without making it a thing.

“Oh…” is what I came up with. 

“You can talk to me?” Thank. God. “ If you want.”

Of course I fucking want. It’s all I’ve done for the past three years. 

I want to be a better person. 

I want to be 19 again and do everything differently. 

I want to win the championship this year. 

But all those wants are null and void for the biggest want of all. 

I want to get drafted to the WNBA.

And I’ve made  too many shitty decisions to get there to just throw it all away. So what if I’m miserable?

“Uh, yeah. That’s cool.” I play off my desperation and take a seat on her orange bean bag. 

Xavi plops down on the couch in front of me, crossing her legs and folding her hands. All her attention is on me and a part of me feels like I don’t deserve the attention of this amazing woman. But a bigger part is screaming that this is how it should be. 

Me, admiring every part of her, and her, willing and ready for anything I give her. 

Of course, in this situation all she wants is to know what’s on my mind, but I would give her whatever else she could think up. 

“So whatcha thinkin ‘bout?”  She asks sweetly. 

Her voice isn’t obnoxiously high. It’s kinda deep and mellow, just like she is.

“Um… I just can’t get over everything.” I shake my head and look at my hands. Hands that are supposed to get me everywhere I want in life.  “Like, I get why we lost. What we did wrong on the basketball front. But we were off the other day. We’d run those plays over and over again in practice. Studied film. We should have been prepared, but we were just off.  Like no matter how hard we tried, we just couldn’t get there.”

Xavia nods her head like she understands everything I’m saying. 

“Like everything was against you guys?” she questions. 

“No. I don’t think that anything was unfair. I think that our all just wasn’t enough.”

“Well, I know you can’t speak for anyone else, and I’d never ask you to. But why do you think you were off that night?”

She sounds like a therapist. The kind that isn’t just trying to fix you, but trying to understand you. The kind that hangs on to every word, but not to hold it against you.

“I don’t know. I just kept getting madder and madder and it threw me off. I did everything I was supposed to do.”

She looks confused now. “What do you mean ‘supposed to do’?”

“Like everything I thought was right. Everything I've always done.”

“Maybe that’s the issue.” 

Now I’m confused. 

“What?”

Following my routine has taken me and my team to the Final Four, and for Xavi to tell me it’s wrong stings a little. 

“Maybe doing everything you’ve always done isn’t the answer. Paige, you’re a somewhat mature adult. Do you honestly think you’re right all the time?”

What does she mean ‘somewhat’ mature? 

“...No?”

“Right.” Xavi sounds so sure of herself, leaning in and starting to talk with her hands like she does when she’s talking about her coursework or something equally as interesting to her. “It’s impossible to be right in every situation because every situation is different. When you throughout your daily life, do you treat every person the same? Do you go into every conversation with the same mindset, expecting the same outcome?”

I mean most people are the same, so what else am I supposed to do?

“Kinda, yeah.”

“Well that’s no bueno, babe.” She huffs out, pointing at me. Then, she entrances me again with her hands as she speaks. “ Every human is different. They have different pasts, and different views. Even if the difference between one person and another is miniscule, it’s there. And that difference is why it’s so important that we don’t generalize people.”

I know she’s stopped talking but I’m so caught up in her voice, and her hands and her face, and her to contribute to the conversation.

“Are you understanding?” She asks, seemingly genuinely concern with whether I’m comprehending what she’s telling me. 

And the answer is no, I’m not understanding. Whether there’s a differenc eor not, each person want the same thing and should be dealt with the same, based on what they want. 

This is the code fucking live by,a nd she’s sitting her debunking it in the most intellectual, attractive way possible.

“Not really.”

“Okay so like…” She sighs, pauses to think and then continues. “Do you remember when we first met? When I assumed you were a whore like alot of college athletes are?”

The reminder of our first interaction brings a calmness to me. I remember everything abou that night in her dorm. She wore sweats with no bra, and I’m pretty sure she was stoned.

“Yeah of course. You apologized to me that night and it kinda weirded me out.”

“Right.” Xavia snapped her fingers, bringing me out of my memory. “I apologized to you, because I generalized you and made an assumption based on one aspect of your identity. And I think it weirded you out because you’d generalized every person who’d made an assumption about you. I guess it’s rare that people apologize after being an asshole to you.”

It was rare. So rare that she’s the only person who’d ever done it.

“Okay…”

“So. Incourpurating that into basketball. Every team is different.”

I nod my head to let her know I was following. “Of course.”

“Okay and so every player on every team is different too.”

She lost me.

“No.” Now I’m the one leaning forward, talking with my hands. “They all move as a team. Yes, they have differences, but they’re all working together.”

“I see it differently.” She shrugs like she’s the master of basketball and done copious amounts of research on the psyche of an athlet.  “I feel like every player on that court moves individually. Do they play for the same team, and have the same goal? Of course. But they’re all different. They all have different thoughts and concerns and ideas. You said that girl Hannah was the head of the snake, but I think you should see it differently.”

“How so?”

“Instead of thinking of a team as one snake, think of it like… Like cheetahs!”

“Cheetahs?”

“Cheetahs.” She finalizes. “Once the mama cheetah gives birth, she trains her cubs to survive in any situation. To adapt to any surroundings. She teaches her cubs how to kill different animals, to hide, all that. Eventually, the cubs form a sibling group and go out together to execute everything their mother has taught them. Are you getting the analogy?”

When she’s explaining it in laymans terms, of course I get it. She could probably explain thermodynamics to me and I’d understand it fully. Xavia just has a way of making everything in life seem so simple. It’s wonderful, really.

“Yeah. Like the coach is the mother, the players are the cubs.”

“Right. But each cub is different. There’s a more dominant one, there’s submissives and then theirs the runts. Each one has to edit their mothers lessons to make it useful to them individually. Does that make sense?”

I’ve decided that she’s blown my mind enough for tonight, once again by being right about everything. So I just chuckle and dismiss the topic.

“How do you come up with this shit, Xavi?”

She laughs like a seductress and leans back on the couch, “I dunno. I read alot.”

You read alot? Reading alot has given you the ability to break down a sport like you’ve played it your whole life?

“Well thank you for sharing your knowledge with my dumbass, oh wise one.”

I stand up from the beanbag and make my way to the door, ready to take my exit.

“I’m not wise, I just see from a different point of view than you. Sometimes you gotta get outta your head.”

“I guess.” I sigh, then open my arms. “Thanks, Xavi.” 

She steps into me, her head just below my chest and wraps her arms around me. Her body is warm, but the silk she’s wearing cold. She doesn’t hug me tight or aggressively. Just stands there with her arms around my waist. 

It feels terrifyingly comfortable. 

“Anytime P.” she mutters, pulling away and ushering me out of her home. 

The whole walk back, my mind is on her and everything she said. 

How is it that this girl that is the exact opposite of everything I’m looking for, seems to be everything I need?

✷TAGLIST @patscorner @riyahtheballer @mattslolita @thaatdigitaldiary @janaelalfysblunt @mrsengstler @kmoneymartini @sageworld

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[kityana]

there's an interesting moment in "sinsmas" that i think far too many people misunderstood.

it's this one.

Stolas is a sucker for romantic fantasies.

we know this from pretty early on. he referred to blitzo in fantastic romantic terms like "my knight in shining armor".

he crossed blitzo's boundaries again and again because he thought their relationship was more intimate than it actually was, and he was sure blitzo was on the same page.

and he's constantly shown consuming romantic media- romance novels, telenovelas and rom-coms.

and honestly? i was constantly surprised by how much the narrative didn't punish him for it. not to say he didn't experience heartbreak. not to say some illusions weren't shattered. but at no point was the narrative ever saying stolas was wrong for having those dreams.

no, not even in sinsmas. because you know what happens five minutes after stolas gets angry at himself for doing it all for a fantasy?

this.

blitzo, slaying a literal dragon with a literal sword to save stolas. it's a scene straight out of a fairytale. and just because subtlety is for losers they even call it out.

the narrative literally tells stolas, your fantasies weren't foolish. you were right to believe in them. they came true.

it's a reoccurring theme in a lot of hellaverse characters. because you know who else is a dreamer hanging on to impossibly grand fantasies?

this guy.

sure, they aren't romantic fantasies, but blitzo's business aspirations are not all that different in the level of grandness or delusion. the theme of blitzo aggrandizing himself as a boss and the success of his business have been present since the pilot. they've been hammered home several times, with him, much like stolas, steadfastly ignoring any bit of reality that doesn't settle with his fantasy.

will blitzo ever get to be the big boss of a circus business with clowns and horses? probably not. does blitzo make plenty of mistakes about the way he runs his business? of course, so many. does he have ridiculous notions about what being a boss means that he needs to unlearn? yes, definitely!

but despite everything, he pushes through. and slowly but surely, his business becomes more successful as time goes on.

charlie from "hazbin hotel" is actually another good example of that. she also has a ridiculous dream that no one believes in. she also has ridiculous notions inspired by that dream. and the narrative also rewards her for hanging on to it when no one else would believe in it but her.

the point that seems to repeat in those stories is that those fantasies are important. that the act of believing in them is important. it can inspire you. it can help you push through when the odds are stacked against you. it can provide you with the drive you need to achieve your goals.

if stolas hadn't clung on to his ridiculous romantic fantasies, he wouldn't have believed in what he and blitzo could (and did) eventually become. he wouldn't have persistently tried to reach blitzo for as long as he did, even after he realized blitzo views their relationship so differently from him. he wouldn't have jumped so readily at the chance of what they could be, and found the courage to break free from his miserable, abusive marriage. he wouldn't have let blitzo become his light, and he wouldn't have become blitzo's heart in turn.

and it's not that stolas' is completely blind to reality. he doesn't literally wants to live in a rom-com. it's actually spelled out for us in "apology tour".

stolas doesn't want to actually be chased in the rain every day, he just wants someone to show this level of care toward him, because no one ever has.

and he finally gets it. and i'm sorry to break this to you, if you're one of the people who seem to be chomping at the bits for the narrative to slap the dreams out of stolas until he gets over them, but he wouldn't have gotten all of this without his fantasies.

[lawofangie]

have you changed your old and set gpa / grades to a new one? i guess this would be along the lines of revision

also, for big exams or whatever that most people seem to have super hard times with even with studying the best they can like the mcat (medical entrance exam basically) how would you go about that? let’s say you didn’t want to do much prep for it, can you just assume you’re top percentile with the score you get back and if there’s inspired action you can get into that, or do you actually have to put in some level of work? this may have been worded badly LOL my apologies

i did! i believe my old one was a 3.0 or something like that and i manifested it being a 4.0! i'm currently a senior in highschool and the "hardest" thing i'm taking right now is physics. if i didn't assume my grades were always high and relied on the 3d to tell me how they were, i would probably be failing miserably right now.

personally, i hate studying and i always thought to myself about how i would much rather spend my time taking care of myself and improving my life somehow. i could be spending time with friends, my sp, family or trying new hobbies, going new places, traveling.. i've honestly always found school to be a waste of my time that i could be spending doing so many other things. i used to get so anxious and scared over school and put it on this pedestal like my future depended on it, when that wasn't true at all.

i had to realize that i was doing myself a disservice my pretending that these things somehow mattered more than my input, my wellbeing, and my say in matters. acting like anything depended on "top percentiles" or approvals is a way of distracting yourself from the fact that you are the one accepting this as true. you are the one deciding "if my grades don't look like this, i won't succeed", when in reality, your grades and scores are quite literally said to be a way of being prepared.

a lot of administrators actually don't know what standards schools are choosing by because even if you have the good grades and good exam scores, there's still that chance of you not being picked. this goes back to my point on reliance and how that's your conscious decision. also, leaving things up to "chance" or "luck" (a made up concept) is honestly stupid when you really think about it. you're choosing to let things decide themselves, but somehow you can't decide?

i've noticed that people often put trust in many irrelevant things, like gods, deities, stars, cards, palm readings, psychics, mediums, other people's inputs, etc. and i've realized that nobody ever puts trust in themselves for some reason. isn't that weird? it's fine when you put trust in the things you're not even sure where they originate, the validity, that you can't even see or be sure of.. but the one thing you can be sure of (yourself), is somehow untrustworthy?

it was for this reason that i realized that i need to get more comfortable with myself and deciding i have things without relying on some external factor to tell me that i do. it just doesn't make any sense and it doesn't even work. at the end of the day, your mind is going to sway one way, either you'll believe you succeed, or you didn't.

but anyways, what i'm saying is that being the top percentile is not at all necessary to reach your goals, because at the end of the day it is up to you and the way you feel about yourself, whether you realize it or not. you are the one deciding, even if you have good grades, where you are going to make it in life. you are the one deciding EVERYTHING about your life, your self image, your relationships, yourself, everything regarding you is up to you (obviously).

but, to answer your question properly, no. you do not need to put in any level of work. the law simply states to assume ("whatever you assume to be true will be true"), not to do anything else. everything takes care of itself the moment you simply decide it is true. inspired action is usually something done unconsciously, like for example, you want to manifest money. you decide you have $100. then as you randomly decide to clean your room, you look under your pillow and find $100. (this happened to me but i found it in my drawer lol).

inspired action and trying to force something to happen are two different things, again, one is done unconsciously and the other is done with the intent of hoping something happens. and what does hoping imply? it implies that you don't have it. if i said "i hope i have $100", i obviously don't have it. if i said "i have $100", then i very clearly have $100. you have to assume it in order for it to be true. and that means, you take your own word for it regardless of what you're being shown at this very moment. you have to decide that it already happened.

i'm sorry, i know this is the part that so many of you guys hate since you like being bossed around by other people, but this is how the law works. it's the only rule you've been provided with, and yet so many of you fail to follow it. an assumption is something you believed to be true without proof. the law requires you to believe something, we (coaches, bloggers, teachers, etc) are the ones telling you to believe something *positive*. the law itself is indifferent, you're free to believe whatever you want, good, bad or indifferent. nobody has control over your mind or thoughts but you.

and yes, it has to be you. not your friends, not your parents, not your teachers or professors, not your bosses, not the random strangers on the street, not the people you only meet once, you. because this is your reality. you're experiencing life as your own person with thoughts, feelings, opinions, goals, dreams, a functioning body (hopefully?), and your own eyes. it's yours, and yet so many of you struggle to realize that.

your manifestation is something that's supposed to happen naturally, it's supposed to find a way to grow into your world comfortably, like the example i just provided. (please don't take "find a way" out of context, i simply mean the "how" is not up to you. everything else is. the law of assumption is a law. it has to materialize, and it does, this is also not to say that it will necessarily be "unexpected" or "strange", you just won't know how it will unfold.)

putting in a level of work just comes from a place of doubt (or misinformation, but let's not talk about that right now). you doubt the fact that you can truly sit back and relax and have things work for you. it's a belief that will do absolutely nothing for you and not benefit you at all, though i'm sure a lot of you believe many things that don't benefit you, and you don't really seem to care.

and how would i go about applying all of this? i would simply decide that i have passing marks or that i got accepted into whatever school i wanted regardless of my grades. there is only one rule to manifestation, you can't break it, but you can bend it however you want as long as you assume. the only rule to the law is literally to just apply the law, so do whatever works for you.

if you just wanna feel good about your grades and feel even better getting accepted into a school, go ahead. if you're coming from a place of fear and feeling like you "need to manifest this or else", please take a step back and consider the fact that this is all up to you and i just told you it doesn't work that way. remember that you only feel this way because these standards have been drilled into your mind for years by the people around you. you've basically been conditioned to care about your grades and limit yourself to or only believing in getting going to school for a job.

we as people are the ones who give things we created significance and purpose. nothing is fundamentally real, it is all manmade, and so, you shouldn't be putting it on a pedestal. you are the only one keeping these standards alive in your head and keeping the assigned significance of these standards alive in your head. none of it really matters and we all know that deep down. we are all going to die one day and we literally live on a floating rock in the middle of fucking nowhere. please don't stress yourself out over stupid shit and live your life the way you want. just decide it's yours.

hope this helps! feel free to send me another ask if you still have questions. 🩶

[theoutcastwrites]

Try Again - Il Dottore x Reader

This is a vent fic. Let's just get that out of the way. I wrote this because I needed Dottore to do The Thing™. Don't read too much into this. The feelings will pass

"You've been staring at that journal for the past fifteen minutes," said Zandik, "what's the matter?"

You weren't sure it could be put into words - all the self-doubt that tormented you as of late, the thoughts that circled your mind every waking hour. Attempts had been made, in vain, to prepare a small speech in your head in case Zandik ever caught on. That, of course, he did, but you had nothing to say; not a single eloquent monologue to convey your insecurities in a way that would provoke understanding and not bewilderment.

I feel inadequate as of late. I don't feel like I'm wanted anywhere. Nothing I do matters anymore.

All miserable words that would have been met with a stern look, a simple "you are wanted by me; thus all that you do matters to me".

You tapped your pen against the empty page of your journal. You were desperate to say something, yet whatever it was that would eventually come out of your mouth already felt lacking. Nothing was enough.

"Talk to me," he urged, "you know there is nothing in this world that can't be solved. Tell me what bothers you."

You swallowed. "I feel as if I've lost all my skills. For writing, I mean. I can't come up with anything new and whatever ideas I have feel mediocre at best; uninteresting and aimless. I don't know, I..."

I think I should just give up.

The thought had crossed your mind countless times before. Wouldn't it be so much easier to abandon your work altogether? Why continue hurting yourself with this when you could simply let it all go?

You were tempted. Still, there was something that forced you to keep trying; something strange and incomprehensible that begged you not to give up this one thing that you knew.

Zandik pulled you out of your thoughts, "as far as I can tell - from what little I've seen of your scribbles - you've been writing the same themes over and over. What about trying something new?"

"I have tried. Nothing feels fitting."

"Then take a break. If I hit a dead end in my research I find something else to occupy my mind. Surely reading someone else's works will help you view your ideas from different perspectives?"

You bit the inside of your cheek. It all sounded so simple in theory - this issue should have been so easy to solve - yet nothing had worked. You felt as though you were stuck between four brick walls with no tools to break them down; nothing but your own fingernails to scrape them in hopes that someone would hear you from the other side.

"It doesn't feel so simple," you said softly.

"Why?"

"If I take a break now, I feel as if I'll only get worse." There came the first half of your horrifyingly vulnerable confession, and with it - a lump in your throat that came to embarrass you even further. You whispered the second half with enough shame to drown an entire nation: "If I don't push something out now, I'm afraid people will stop caring about me."

Zandik didn't spare you enough time to hide the tears that already clouded your vision; for he was by your side in the blink of an eye, gently pulling the journal out of your hands and hiding it behind his back.

"Why would you let such a thought become your truth?"

He laced his fingers with yours, wiped at the stray tears on your cheeks with the other hand. His glove rubbed against your skin in a way that was more uncomfortable than soothing but you made no move to stop him. Zandik continued to soothe you in the way he knew best.

"There's no race to run, do you understand? If you keep telling yourself that you'll become spoiled lest you write now, you'll never be able to see your brilliance as I do."

Zandik's eyes softened when you weakly squeezed his hand in acknowledgement. Thank you, you wanted to say, for seeing in me everything that I do not.

"Everything comes and goes; just as dusk turns to dawn without waiting for you to keep up." Zandik placed a tender kiss on your knuckles, "so don't let one difficult moment define you, my dear."

[dihydromorphinone]

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 you are not suguru geto.

— satosugu!! gojo/geto, heavy angst no comfort, shibuya arc but there’s hidden inventory mentions, gojo’s crashing out, third person pov but it’s all satoru satoru satoru, not proofread and REAL chaotic but tbh that’s how i imagine how gojo felt but i’m not that good with reading characters because i don’t react like my peers oops

an: it’s a bit different than what i usually write so i felt a bit odd posting this but oh well i’m glad i’m trying new things :3

it’s been a long time since gojo saw him.

it’s been a while, he thinks, and gets confused; he killed him, didn’t he? so, who is this then?

no, it has to be him. he didn’t dispose of his body, he couldn’t bring himself to, right? so that might be him.

if he survived, gojo thinks he just became the happiest jujutsu sorcerer ever, and it’s common knowledge they usually lead miserable lives. but how could he survive? no; the person in front of him mustn’t be him.

along with the disturbing thoughts whether the man standing in front of him is the one he loves or perhaps an entity trying to trick him, the memories and equally obnoxious images of them two flood gojo’s mind.

they used to meet up in secret after he defected and tried to continue with their lives as if nothing happened. as if there wasn’t any scars, jabs and marks on their relationship. as if suguru didn’t kill humans, spiralled down and, most importantly for gojo, as if geto did not just leave him.

during their post-geto’s departure meetings, he couldn’t help but just.. reminisce about the good, old times; when they were both young, and most importantly - together, despite everything. there was no other person who would match satoru as well as suguru did, and both of them knew it well.

he was cocky. too arrogant. too full of himself. always the best and no one dares to even assume differently. geto understood everything; he was born and raised with the whole ‚you are the strongest’ mentality, so he wasn’t really blaming him.

and as for suguru - always so oddly polite, seeming even dishonest because of his calm, but peculiar personality; he seemed inhumane, even, and gojo knew well how does it feel to be shunned by your own kin out of fear which was just a bullshit excuse.

they mixed well together, despite all the flaws; together, they created something, perfect. beautiful, even. but can you really create something beautiful and then destroy it?

the betrayal. overwhelming sadness, that feeling as if a thousand needles just pieced him; it was the closest thing satoru could describe what he felt when suguru dropped the bomb on him. he wasn’t mad AT him, he wasn’t upset WITH him - if anything, he was pissed at himself.

he was his closest friend. the only friend. how could he ignore all the warning signs? there were dark circles under his eyes, he really lost a lot of weight, and every time he kissed suguru, he could taste a bit of blood; something he brushed off as him accidentally biting his own tongue or lip too hard, but after some time it was obvious for satoru that it was anything but accidental.

they used to be so young and so happy; riding together on one bike despite it being strictly forbidden, sharing ice cream flavours throughout the summer, using the same umbrella during the fall; even though satoru could just walk in the rain, he turned his infinity off every time suguru pulled out an umbrella.

the man in front of him is not suguru. there is no softness in his voice; the creature tries to imitate it, but fails - no one else did it like suguru. and what’s up with that forehead stitch? he didn’t cut his pretty face, so how is it here? no, that’s not geto suguru. gojo is sure of this.

the flow of cursed energy is surely his. the body may be also his, but he’s not actually there. maybe in some dark depths of his own body, lost and scared of what he’s become - but the one doing all the talking is not his suguru. satoru does not like it at all, and if there’s a god above him; he should feel insulted by all the curses said at his address by the white haired man.

he deserves it anyway, satoru thinks. he put him through hell while he was with suguru and did just the same without him. nothing but a cruel existence. gojo just sighs, trying to accept everything and take it at face value, but he winces against his will.

so how it is then, satoru? he asks himself, expecting no answer; you accepted that you killed him, accepted your tragic and romantic past, so how it is that now you feel your heart crushing, satoru? and truly, he has no explanation ready, because simply, there is none.

he probably never accepted anything wrong about suguru, because there was nothing wrong with and about him. he could apologise for ruining half of the world and gojo would brush it off as, well, something that just happened, not a big deal; and that mindset surely is a double edged sword when your beloved commits crimes against your own morals and law.

now, gojo can’t help but think if somewhere behind those oh-so-familiar eyes that were no longer his, maybe somewhere really deep inside suguru is there watching. and if he is, that’s enough for him; because despite everything, maybe all people are meant to lose the ones they love, but gojo knows he fought for suguru until the very end.

reblogs, comments and likes are very much appreciated 💟

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

Maedhros built up a high pain resistance from Angband; particularly to the burning sensation. Considering how low he thinks of himself, it’s likely he expected the Silmaril to burn him. He didn’t think he was redemptive, he thought I can take it.

Part of why Maedhros acts so viciously is because that’s how life treated him. I can take it if my brothers die. I can take it if I’m damned for eternity. I can take it if everybody thinks I’m a monster.

He’s proud, and he’s suffering. He won’t back down, he will succeed or be martyred.

[lavellane]

finished rogue trader. so mad about it i had to take a nap and then start a whole new playthru again to cope <3

[sysig]

Let me chew you out a little, since we have a couple minutes (Patreon)

[Panel 1] Prismo: *mumble* *mumble*

[Panel 2] Prismo: *mumble*

[Panel 3] Simon: Hmph. “Just because it’s in your head-”

[Panel 4] Simon: “-Doesn’t mean it’s yours,” huh?

[Panel 5] Simon: Give me all the responsibility with none of the privileges?

[Panel 6] Simon: And then you get mad at me for trying to pick up your slack? Prismo: Hey...

[Panel 7] Simon: Clearly you already expect that much from me!

[Panel 8] Prismo: Hey, hey! I did the best with what I had! I didn’t expect any of this!

[Panel 9] Simon: And yet you didn’t even consider telling me, so we could’ve avoided this?

[Panel 10] Prismo: It’s not like I could’ve just- taken it out! I was locked out!

[Panel 11] Simon: You could’ve done something!

[Panel 12] Simon: Instead you let my life spiral around this thing, kept me tethered to Ice King’s Madness-

[Panel 13] Prismo: Fionna and Cake are real thou- Simon: NOW you tell me! After I find out for myself!

[itsalwaysdark]

bedtime nowww probably ummm today qas not what i wanted it 2 be but its fine. i dont feel negative just a very very very numb day which is almost worse. but only almost 🙏

[gxlden-angels]

Hello! I apologize if this is a nosy question, but what is the silly feelings wheel app you were talking about in a previous post? My therapist and I have been working on identifying feelings but I still very much rely on a list of feeling words to have any idea what I’m feeling, so it could be a helpful resource. No worries if you don’t want to share, just thought I would ask :)

It's called How We Feel! I'm not sure if it's available on all devices yet, but it's on ios and the google play store for sure.

I've been using it for about a year. It's more of a chart than a wheel but people usually recognize the wheel better so that's what I call it. When you first start it has a 10-part tutorial about emotional acceptance and regulation, then it has suggestions for each category of emotion. You can access both at any time tho after those first 10 days.

It has a share option so you can have friends, which has been great for me cause it prompts me to check on friends and them to do the same for me. It allows you to just respond with a little emoji in like a "I'm here for you" little notification to your friend, or you can reach out to your friend on your own. Its really helped me cause I'm bad at reaching out when I need support so to me and I'm bad about taking on other's problems even when I can't handle it so being able to send a little emoji instead to make sure my friends know I'm there if they need me and them doing the same has been great

[vonkarma2]

just had a brief moment of missing taz balance and wanting to rip off its tone pacing and aesthetics its like 2019 all over again..

[medicinemane]

And maybe you'll be like "but if you don't trust businesses, how can you trust welfare?"

I fucking don't. My mom trying to get on food stamps fucked me up because a lady I never met without my permission got my SSN from my mom and started editing my files. My heart still races to this very second whenever I think about it, it kinda messed me up bad and I'll never ever ever see any kind of recourse

And I'm terrified that I'm gonna lose my medicaid just cause I inherited some money from my grandpa

And I've never even applied for disability cause it kinda doesn't matter finding out if I'd qualify or not cause of my depression, when the rules are so restrictive I don't know if I've even be allowed to keep my house

I do not fucking trust these things on a personal level. I feel like out of a lot of people I have the most to fear from them cause I'm on the edge of having things work, and that gets you punished

...but I need medicaid in order to have insurance (and when you strip out the finance side of medicaid, I love medicaid... they're honestly incredible insurance... I just... I just... dental is like 90% of why medicaid is so important to me, ever since I found out this state pays for it I've actually been able to do cleanings which is important to me cause I can't always get myself to brush)

And I think things like disability and food stamps are pretty damn important on a personal level, and honestly are also good for the economy cause they get people spending... it's practically a free cash infusion into the economy, cause these are people who need to buy stuff

There's just so much important stuff welfare does that it's worth dealing with government

No, what I want is more accountability so if someone gets my SSN from a 3rd party like my mom they're held to HIPPA styles standards where that's not ok to access my files without my permission (She changed my fucking address and tried to get medicaid to investigate me for fraud! Never even met me)

Like have some accountability there and in every situation

Secondly I want less punitive focused rules. I'd frankly prefer bezos get on disability than smack down some poor sod cause they got $2000 in the bank or cause their friend lets them live with them for free

If there's gonna be a cut off on these programs, it needs to be a solid step above the poverty line, cause... by definition I assume poverty line denotes kinda the minimum expected income people can reasonably live off of, and if you take away benefits people are gonna lose a chunk of money to covering that stuff themself, so you need a buffer before you kick people off

I don't fucking trust the government for a second, I've actively been fucked by them and on a personal level I avoid everything but medicaid and only that cause everything but the money is pleasant to deal with and I kinda need it (honestly if I was rich I'm not even kidding that I'd rather give medicaid like $400 a month than some insurance company, I sincerely like them as insurance)

But I'd trust them a lot more if they were less punitive, less out to hunt me down and gut me cause someone handed me a fiver or cause I started to get on my feet, and if government employees had concrete rules they had to follow that were actually transparent and enforced

Like 90% of my problems with welfare go away if they're held accountable and there's less "catch the welfare cheats" mentality going around

I don't trust the government in the slightest, but sadly there some jobs it kinda has to do, so I'd just rather force it to be an open book where the public can keep an eye on it and if they step out of line there's consequences (sort of like I don't trust most mega corps but happen to sometimes need stuff from them... did you know literally every cell service provider has been illegally selling shit like your location data to random people like bounty hunters, and the FCC just slapped them with a fine that's 0.02% of their yearly incomes and debated even doing that? I even can offer a source on that)

...I don't trust much of any authority cause they constantly fail me and kinda screw me. Don't trust doctors either, but I still gotta go to them, you know? ...they're just... they're real bad at listening... so many systems need systemic change

(You know who I really don't trust is the cops. I could point to so many examples. My uncle doesn't trust cops either, and he's an ex Fire and SWAT paramedic, he worked with them and we still got into a long conversation where he basically tore into them far better than I can)

(I don't trust authority that's not accountable)

[animutate]

sometimes i think about how my face could be on some pedophiles computer. but im not allowed to talk about it because last time i did is when i got taken by cps.