#but is now because someone mentioned it in the tags

[always-just-red]

Hi!

Can I request a fic where the reader starts realizing they have feelings for Sylus and gets so nervous around him that they can’t resonate anymore?

And Sylus thinks that the reader is scared/disgusted by him again so the reader is forced to confess their feelings to not create a bigger misunderstanding

Thanks!

- 🌻

The moment I got this request I was like HELLO— sunflower anon, you just get me 😌 Anyway! Am back from my break and I hope everyone’s ready for some Vulnerable Sylus™️, because I have got him hot to go!!!

A Gentle Touch

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You really can’t let Sylus into your head this time— he’s living there rent-free already.

Genre: Angst + Fluff (& some Luke and Kieran shenanigans because they were not feeling the angst)

Warnings/Additional Tags: f!reader, injury detail, mentions of possible trauma, humour, some intimacy at the end 😘, Luke and Kieran are having the time of their lives

| Word count: 3.2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

If you asked, Sylus would tell you.

You catch glimpses: dark, sharp flickers of something monstrous, maybe even infernal. Blood, everywhere— thick in your mouth and your nose. All over your hands. You feel it, too: a yearning, so intense, and you couldn’t say whom it belongs to. Then there’s death. Searing white. Bottomless black. In the middle of all of it— crimson eyes like dying stars.

Every time you resonate, it envelops you, is laid out bare before you: a nightmare you’re caught in the centre of but forced to watch from outside. An other, a spectator. It’s a show, just for you, but it isn’t quite ready yet; someone’s still rehearsing their lines.

If you asked, Sylus would let you see it. It’s a power you have over him, a constant, self-sacrificial: you want it? It’s yours. So you don’t ask. You never ask. Like words mumbled in a haze of wine or sleep, you let him hold onto it. His hands are open, yes, but you don’t have to take.  

Besides, you have your own, world-changing little secret, and he’s going to see it too.

He’s slumped in front of you, blood sheeting down from two bullet wounds just below his shoulder. He catches his breath— one, two— before he peeks over this desk you’ve overturned for cover. You should be peeking over as well: should be counting your enemies, scouting your next move.

Instead, you’re looking at him and holding back. One minute ago you had no idea where he was, how he was, and it’d been eating away at you from the moment you got separated. Now he’s with you— he found you— and the relief is desperate, gushing; it has to escape somehow. It drips: forbidden daydreams, one after the other, like…

How you want to hold his face and urge him to speak so you can just hear his voice.

How you want to press a hand to his heart and feel the beat of it beneath your palm.

How you want to kiss him, want to taste the blood on his split lip, because this is your story, isn’t it? Messy. Violent. Defiant.

He looks at you, that same blood carving a thin line through the pale of his chin. It drops down onto his silk shirt. “What are you thinking about, kitten?” he grins. His best guess: “This is a fine mess we’ve gotten ourselves into, hmm?”

It’s a fine mess he got you into. “Yeah.” You make yourself look away from him, glancing over the desk to assess how much worse the situation is getting. The answer? Significantly. 

Sylus chuckles, drawing your eyes back as he reloads his gun. “Don’t say I never treat you to anything, sweetie.” He fires a few rounds towards the encroaching danger.

Voices go up across the room. Gunshots ring out, louder. Sylus slinks back down, wincing, holding his shoulder, and his fingers turn red. He deftly undoes the first few buttons on his shirt, peeling it back so he can examine his wounds. His jaw clenches; the punctures aren’t closing over fast enough. It’s too much blood, too quick, and he’ll—

He catches you staring. There’s a sheepish sincerity in the way he smiles, as honest and vulnerable as the holes in his shoulder. He holds out his hand. “Time for an energy storm, don’t you think?”

“No,” you snap. “Save your energy. We might need it later.”

“Oh?” An eyebrow perks up in interest, and it’s just like him to spot a double entendre in the midst of all this chaos.

But you’re staring at his chest through his open shirt and you’re such a hypocrite. “Things might get worse,” you explain.

“Worse?” he repeats as bullets fly over your heads, striking the wall across from you and scattering plaster over the floor. He watches it crumble. “Paint me a picture, kitten— what would worse look like?”

Even Rafayel might struggle with that particular creative prompt.

“Come on,” Sylus insists, using the excuse of your silence to push his hand closer to you. “Now’s not the time to play coy.”

“Sylus, I really don’t—”

He grasps your hand, his fingers locking with yours and squeezing tight. Your heart jumps at the touch. It strangles the protests in your throat and stays there, strung up by anticipation and dread.

You’re feeling so much that it takes you too long to realise nothing is happening.

Sylus’s eyes are fixed on your connected palms. He’s squinting, concentrating, and when that doesn’t work— when your hand is paling in the vice of his— he loosens his grip, his thumb feathering over yours as he mumbles a quick: “forgive me.”

He doesn’t let you go. You can still feel him, all of him, imploring to just let him in.

You don’t, and his eyes meet yours, for a moment— like another bullet has bitten through his flesh. Your mouth drops in fake surprise; you’re always so innocent when you pull a trigger on him.

This time, there’s no wound you can push your hands against in a guilty effort to staunch the bleeding. You have to apologise. Have to stitch it up with every word you’ve been guarding, saving, and it isn’t supposed to be like this. “Sylus, it’s not what you think. I—”

Something metal clatters across the floor behind you, bounces like a failing, stuttering heartbeat, then explodes.

…

“Good news, boss! We figured it out!”

Sylus groans, looking up from a report he’s not really been reading as two figures crash into his room. Not good, he thinks, as Kieran flings himself into the nearest armchair. Whatever this is, it’s not good. Luke settles on its arm.

With a sigh, Sylus removes his reading glasses. They stay, hooked on a finger, as he pushes his hair back like he can feel a headache coming on. His eyes flutter closed, and when they open, the twins are both leaning forward, bristling with excitement.

“Ask us,” Luke whispers in a way that makes Sylus think he might not realise he’s speaking out loud.

Another sigh. “What did you figure out?”

Kieran whips out a tired-looking notepad from behind his back. He clears his throat— “ahem!”— then starts to read: “Reasons why Miss Hunter was not able to resonate with you. Number one...”

“How did you find out about—”

“Sshhhh,” Kieran interrupts, putting a finger to where his lips should be. Sylus’s eyes widen in indignation, and Luke comes to his twin’s rescue, silently indicating Mephisto with a few tips of his head. The crow shrinks down on his perch.

“Number one,” Kieran repeats, matter-of-factly. “Your height.”

“My… height?”

Luke nods solemnly as Kieran continues: “humanityandconquer.com/power-dynamics describes tallness as a ‘natural advantage when trying to dominate a smaller individual.’ You are very tall. Try crouching when you speak to Miss Hunter.” He glances over the top of his notepad. “If you approach her at her level, she’ll know you mean no—”

“Nope. Next,” Sylus dismisses, waving his hand in a fast-forward motion. That headache is coming on.

“Reason two,” Kieran acquiesces, gaze falling, “your eyes.”

“Oh, for gods’ sake—”

“They’re red,” the twin pushes on, “and red means danger. In fiction, red eyes are symony—” he stops, spells it out— “synonymous with the supernatural. Vampires especially. Plus, lots of bad stuff is red.” He’s going off-script. “Blood. Fire. Sunburns.”

“Sunburns are pink,” Luke muses.

“No, like, bad sunburns, y’know?”

“Oh right, yeah.” There’s a shrug of agreement.

Sylus’s will to live is hanging by a thread, and they really don’t have a care in the world, do they? It must be nice. “Thank you,” he murmurs, “for your little investigation. If that’s all, I would—”

“Reason three!” Luke chirps, wiggling the same number of fingers, and Sylus’s head lolls back against the sofa.

“Miss Hunter is struggling to separate this version of you from your first impression,” Kieran says.

Sylus looks up. “What?”

Luke is rubbing his hands together eagerly, like they’ve finally gotten to the good stuff. “Well, you remember how you and Miss Hunter met,” his twin explains.

Words won’t do it justice, apparently, because the man begins to act it out. He reaches to grip Luke by the throat and Luke pretends to choke, fingers clawing at the grasp. Then Kieran stands up— throws Luke down into the chair and pins him there with his foot before snatching up his hand.

“See what I mean?” Kieran asks over his shoulder. “I mean, it must have been pretty traumatic. You kinda tore her away from everything she knew. Forced her to use her power, et cetera, et cetera.”

Sylus has gone quiet. He’s vaguely aware that the twins are moving, saying more, but he can’t hear it. He feels sick. Then he feels something different: someone poking at his arm. A hand is waved in front of his face, but he doesn’t react.

“Oh, we so got it,” Luke whispers conspiratorially behind him.

“Hell yeah we did!” Kieran whispers back.

There’s the sound of them high-fiving, and it spurs Sylus into action. He’s up out of his seat, out of their shadows, and then the door as well— long before they can stop him. He needs to breathe. He needs the cold night air and the quiet, and his strides drive him towards it, but not fast enough.

He’s about to use his Evol. To let himself evaporate so he can be whole again somewhere else, somewhere easier, but then he stops. He’s by an open door, glancing in at a decadent living room, where you’re sprawled over a black leather couch. This isn’t easier. This hurts, and it hurts more as he forces himself to close the distance between you.

You’re still asleep. You’ve been unconscious ever since that grenade went off, and it’s for the best, really; getting out of that place was… messy. Sylus’s shoulder still aches, the blood on his shirt now crusty and dark. Some of it’s his. Some of it’s yours.

He’s not sure why he’s still wearing it.

The twins did a pretty good job of patching you up, but— looking over you— he would have done better. It was his role, after all. His duty to you, or maybe just a reason to get close to you. He couldn’t do it today. Couldn’t touch you, no matter how noble the intention. And a little part of him was glad for the excuse; his hands always shake.

A blanket is half on your legs, half on the floor, and Sylus stoops to collect the edge of it. He draws it over your shoulder, adjusting it around your arms— at rest by your face. He’s close, now, and he…

He can’t help himself. When has he ever been able to help himself? He lifts his hand slowly; he wants to kiss you. Even though your blood is still drying on his shirt and it’s all his fault.

…

Someone’s hand is on your face.

The touch draws you back into consciousness, tender, careful, then suddenly sharp. “Ah,” you hiss. “Sylus?” Always first on your mind and your lips.

“Not even close,” quips the shadow above you.

“Kieran?”

“Bingo.”  

You use your hand to block some of the room’s light as you open your eyes— a birdlike silhouette taking shape through the gaps in your fingers. “Where’s Sylus?” you ask, teeth clenching as the twin applies a thin strip of surgical tape to a cut on your cheek. “Is he ok?”

“Sheesh, relax. He’s fine,” Kieran tuts, then seems to reconsider, “well…”

“He’s brooding,” chimes a voice from behind you. “Out on the balcony.” Luke.

You rub at your eyes, still drowsy with sleep. “Why’s he brooding? What did you do?”

“Told him he traumatised you,” they speak in unison.

“What?! Why would you say something like that?”

“Because it’s true,” Kieran shrugs. “That’s why you and boss couldn’t, you know…” He twinkles his fingers.

Resonate? Ugh. You slide your feet onto the floor, sitting up straight for a solid second before you bury your face in your hands, omitting a few, pained whines. This is such a mess, and it only got worse while you were asleep. First that stupid grenade, now the twins.

A hand pats at your back. “There, there,” Luke soothes.

You turn to glare at him. His hand retreats.

Forget it; you have to find Sylus.

…

You step out onto the balcony, head full of apologies you’ve had all of a minute to prepare, and it isn’t enough. It felt fitting, in the middle of a shootout— everything was allowed to be frantic and from the heart. Here it’s calm, and if you ruin something— break anything— it’s going to be obvious. There’s no other violence to blame.

Sylus must hear you join him, but he doesn’t turn. He’s leant forwards against the rail, one arm folded upon it, the other outstretched: sporting a glass of liquor that hangs from the tips of his fingers and that he swirls gently, his gaze far away.

The twins really weren’t kidding.

“Hey,” you greet, and it’s sort of pathetic, but you don’t know what else to say.

“Hey,” Sylus returns, “are you—” he looks back at you over his shoulder— “are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you smile warmly. “I mean, the twins are giving me a headache, but that’s, like, standard.”  

He smiles back: a courtesy. You’ve seen him grin through almost every type of pain imaginable, but this one is new. Think about what Luke and Kieran said. What he must be thinking. “Sylus, I—”

“You don’t have to explain,” he stops you, turning his body towards you. “Honestly, I’d… rather you didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he chuckles, masking a deeper hurt as he lifts his glass to his lips. “You’re really going to make me say it?”

You are; you hold his gaze as he takes a deliberately slow sip of his drink. He smirks, surrenders at once and admits: “I’m really not that strong, sweetie. That’s why.”

“What if I want to explain?”

The smirk falters, and his eyes make their own, sad, silent confession. If you want to explain? He’ll let you. He’ll stand here, listening patiently while you call him a thing of nightmares. While you break him, bit by tortuous bit, by reminding him just how frightening he is.

He turns back to the view, shrugs, but none of the tension leaves his shoulders. “Go on, then.”

“Sylus?”

“Mmm?”

“You don’t scare me, you know.”

His hand tightens around his glass. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Pity me,” he grimaces. “I don’t need it. I know what I am. I’d just… forgotten what I was to you.”

Your captor. Your monster. Except that was a lifetime ago and he’s been so many more things to you since then. Tell him. “Sylus…”

“I felt it,” he snaps, because your voice is still so reluctant, and he’s going to save you the trouble. “When we tried to resonate, I felt it— your fear— just as deep as it used to be. I heard that same voice in your head, the one saying you wouldn’t let me in, couldn’t let me in, so don’t tell me I don’t scare you, sweetie.” The term of endearment tastes sour, you can tell. “I know how you feel. I know—”

“I like you, Sylus.”

“…What?”

You couldn’t take it anymore. “I like you,” you say again, and your heart is beating too quickly for eloquence, so you just have simplicity. “You don’t scare me at all, Sy. I care about you. A lot.”

Sylus stares at you, his eyes wide. There’s no confidence. No smile or drawn-out breath of relief. He sets his glass aside on the railing, gaze leaving yours for a moment, and you get the feeling he needs that moment as much as he needed the drink itself.

Then he looks at you again. Asks in a way that makes you ache: “do you mean it?”

Look at him. Your throat stings. “Of course I mean it.”

“Say it again.”

“I mean it, Sylus. I care about—”

His lips are on yours and the rest of your words are lost in his mouth. You, you say with the way you kiss him back, soft and slow, like you’re relishing something that might slip away. You, you insist— your hand finding his face, his hair, as he kisses you deeper, and you, you, you, when he doesn’t stop.

“Is this alright?” he murmurs, his fingers around your chin and his thumb tugging at your bottom lip.

“Mmm,” you confirm, equally breathless.

He laughs as he withdraws a little, still caressing your face like you’re something of a dream. “You’re not making this easy, kitten.”

“Worried you might traumatise me again?”    

It's a low blow. He scoffs. “Luke and Kieran said—”

“Luke and Kieran once bought arts-and-crafts feathers for Mephisto because they thought the colours would make him, and I quote: more aerodynamic.” You pinch his ear playfully. “I can’t believe you let them get to you.”

“I know,” he groans, lifting your hand so he can press chaste kisses along the line of your knuckles. “Not my finest moment.” He guides your palm to his cheek— leans into it as he leans into an idea. “They said you hated my eyes,” he pouts.

You can’t help giggling. He frowns. “I mean— aww, no,” you scramble, but you’re still laughing. You can’t stop. “Your eyes are… yeah. So pretty.”

“You had to think about it?”

“There were just too many adjectives, y’know? I was struggling to—”

He kisses you again, saving you: crushing your laughter with his own, lightheaded smile. His hand finds yours as his lips move against you, your fingers interlocking as you resonate— chasing an instinct, a need to be impossibly closer— and you let him see everything. Feel everything.

It’s a mad tangle of opposites. Heaven. Hell. Life. Death. You don’t know what any of it means, but it’s yours and it’s his and it doesn’t scare you half as much as it should. Sylus breaks your kiss. He pushes his forehead against your own with a sigh of contentment, and it doesn’t scare him, either.  

Savour each second. Think of some better adjectives, while you still have the time.

He’s going to earn every single one.

…

✨Epilogue✨

Inside, staring out through the floor-to-ceiling windows that separate the room from the balcony, Luke and Kieran stand, looking awfully smug.   

“Mission accomplished,” Kieran nods, flipping closed his notepad, aptly titled: 101 Ways To Get Boss Laid! (There are only, currently, fifty-two.)

Luke’s arms are folded. “We’re like, the best wingmen ever.”

Kieran is silent. He repeats carefully: “Wingmen. Wingmen.”

The beaks of the crow masks gradually turn to face one-another. There’s a mutual epiphany, and both twins almost fall over laughing.

[lale-txt]

❦ IDLE HANDS (Kuroo x f!reader)

Shameless, you think. Unsure if you mean him or yourself when you narrow the distance between you two.

a/n: little something for @husbandograveyard ♡ writing this made me a Kuroo girlie. i get it now. i really, REALLY do. also when i started writing this i was aiming for 1k or so idk what possessed me but here we are. maybe listening to bouncy while writing this wasn't the best idea (lie)

tags: f!reader, mild enemies to lovers, fluff, mutual pining, shameless flirting, food mention, bit of a slow burn, they're so in love your honor

wc: 3.7k

Kuroo Tetsuro is a heartthrob.

With his stupid messy hair and his stupid rolled up sleeves, showing off his stupid toned arms while he’s mumbling stupid sweet things to your favorite cat that’s currently coiling underneath his stupid big hand, getting the best belly rubs of her life from the looks of it. 

It’s not like you’re jealous or something, no; it’s just that you’ve been coming to this cat café for a year now and you thought you and the calico shared a special bond. Maru, who is just as her name implies, very round and very soft, has been sitting and purring by your side while you spend hours typing page after page of your next book. She’d also stretch out all over your laptop and remind you to take a break when you’ve been going at it for hours. Yes, it took you some bribery to win her heart but over the past months she really warmed up to you. Wow, she usually isn’t this friendly with people, you remember the café owner say once. 

What a blatant lie. 

Your peace has been disturbed. A slight shift in the universe when he showed up for the first time merely a week ago. It was easy to remember him, because he was sitting in your spot with your favorite cat purring in his lap, looking like he didn’t have a single worry in the world except maybe that untamed hair of his (and even this was kind of charming, you had to admit begrudgingly).

Sharing usually wasn’t a big deal for you–until it was. You come to this cat café almost every day, feeling much more inspired to write here than in the shoebox you call your apartment at the other end of town. Your landlady doesn’t allow pets, so this place has been a lifeline in the tiring times of deadlines and rejected book deals. At the end of the day there was always a cat rubbing against your legs, reminding you that not everything was bad and that no matter how severe things got, there was always a kitty waiting to be picked up.

You hold this place very dear to your heart, a secret gem you felt a need to protect. It is hidden away in a side street, far from the hectic buzz of the city. The interior is cozy, it isn’t too big and the owner, an elderly lady with candy cotton hair and knuckle tattoos, lives upstairs and treats the place like her second living room with all six of her cats. There’s never too many other guests around and in the corner seat by the window you can unravel your thoughts quietly. It feels homey, something you haven’t felt in a long time.

But now there is an intruder in a business suit and you didn’t really know how to deal with that new found irritation.

“That’s my spot.”

Balancing your laptop, notebook, a slice of carrot cake and a hot drink in one hand, all manners aside, you point at the stranger with your other. In your right mind you know it is rude to point at people, but to be fair he kinda started it by sitting where you rightfully belong. His eyes, a certain gleam in them, follow your movement down to the cat curled up on top of his thighs. With the amount of cat hair sticking to his suit pants you could only pray for him that he had a lint roller somewhere at his desk. 

He cocks his head to the side, giving you a boyish smirk that maybe would make your heart skip a beat if it wasn’t for his audacity. 

“Usually I ask someone’s name first and take them on a few dates before I let them sit in my lap, but I guess I can make an exception,” he replies and you never in your life before wanted to strangle someone so badly. If that wasn’t already worse enough, the tuxedo cat lifts its small head and slowly blinks at you before jumping down from his lap, as if it was trying to make space for you. My bad, didn’t know this seat was taken. Here, girl, you have it.

For once in your life you’re too stunned to speak. You watch the stranger check his watch and let out an almost inaudible sigh before he grabs his backpack (one that looks like he has had it since high school) and stands up to full height. He’s in your space now and you have to crank your neck slightly to meet his eyes. Mentally you’re adding stupidly tall to your list of things you hate about him. 

“Gotta get back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

True to his words he is there the next day, too. This time around you managed to secure your spot by the window, three cats idly sleeping next to you on. You’ve been stuck on a paragraph for almost an hour now when the doorbell chimes and his figure appears at the counter. The cats look up with interest but you force yourself not to pay any attention to him, which is hard when his order is literally “I’ll have whatever she is having”, followed by a nod in your direction and this cheeky smile again. 

This damn smile.

“You didn’t strike me as a dirty chai drinker,” you deadpan when he takes a seat at the table next to yours. The café is almost empty around this time of the day, which is no surprise since most of the workers in this district are having a hearty meal for lunch and not whatever sweet delicacies this place is offering. 

He peels himself out of his suit jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. The same cat as yesterday jumps into his lap immediately after he sits down, giving you a look of “if you don’t want him, I’ll take him” and you almost roll your eyes. Kuroo (you learn his name from the ID he is wearing around his neck) seems to notice and he grins at you. 

“Then what did I strike you as?” he asks, his chin resting in one hand while his other finds the soft fur of the kitty, stroking it gently. 

You look him up and down, now taking your time while stretching out the silence between you two. Only the purring of the cats and the soft music in the background could be heard. At first glance he seems like your typical office worker in the three piece suit who spends his time filling out spreadsheets and drinking cheap vending-machine coffee from the conbini next door. Everything a little rumpled, himself included, someone so used to tristesse he doesn’t even notice it anymore. 

Only at second glance do you notice the small wrinkles around his eyes, not from age but from laughter. The dimples when he smiles down at the tuxedo cat in his lap, now showing off its belly. His calloused hands, atypical for an office worker, more like you’d see them at craftsmen or athletes. Something in his eyes that radiates warmth and an air of calm confidence. None of it is unpleasant.

“If I had to guess, maybe three espresso with a pump of caramel and honey,” you say, more to yourself than to him. Kuroo looks at you in surprise before barking out a laugh. You hate how you like the sound of it.

It’s the beginning of spring and you award Kuroo Tetsuro the title of the greatest nuisance you’ve ever met.

In the midst of summer, you pity him. 

“I’m just saying that maybe you radiate a natural fragrance of catnip,” you say as you stir your iced oat milk latte. Kuroo got you that one when he popped in during his lunch break and saw that your glass must have been empty for a while. By that time you were hunched over your laptop, trying to decipher your notes from last night. You had saved him a seat at your table, but if he asked you, you’d say you just happened to put all your belongings on one chair and nothing more.

The man is swarmed by the cats of the café. They didn’t even bother to hide who their favorite is, rubbing around his legs, sitting pressed to his side or just straight up climbing his shoulders. It would’ve been enviable if he wasn’t already sweating from wearing a suit in the humid heat of the summer month alone. 

“Can you get at least one or two off me?” he asks and his tone is close to pleading. It makes you laugh as you stretch out in your light sundress, giving him a look as if you’re contemplating his question. 

“I could, but it’s really much funnier seeing you struggle like that. Serves you well,” you chime and pull out your phone, snapping a photo of this moment. You hold it up for him to see, a kitty phone charm dangling from it (they just happened to come in a pack of two and you gifted him one out of generosity, nothing more). He snatches it from your hands and makes a face.

“So you like seeing me suffer, is that how it is?” he snarls at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His slender fingers fly over the screen of your phone and you let out a small gasp.

“Don’t you dare delete it,” you huff and grab the orange tabby mercifully off his shoulders so you can lean over him better. 

“Relax. I’m only saving my contact info since you never bothered asking me for it despite being my constant for the past three months.”  

There was this cheeky smile again. You blame the flutter of your heart on the caffeine and not the way his pupils are dilating when he gazes at you. 

He loosens his tie and unbuttons his shirt slightly, just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. Suddenly you’re very aware of how close you’re leaning over at him. Kuroo gives you a little glance from the corner of his eyes and taps the now revealed side of his neck. 

“What do you say? Do I really smell like catnip?” 

Shameless, you think. Unsure if you mean him or yourself when you narrow the distance between you two. You can feel the heat radiating off him and for a brief moment you wonder what it would feel like to press open mouth kisses on his skin. Your eyes flutter shut as you engrave this moment into your heart. 

“Definitely irresistible,” you murmur once you pull back–reluctantly, as if a hidden part of you ached to be in his proximity, in the inside of his soul.  

By autumn you miss him on the days when he was gone. 

He traveled quite a lot. You didn’t know one would need to be on the road so much for something as simple as volleyball (you can imagine the look he’d give you over this). But he was passionate about it and that’s also something you liked about him. The way he talks about the sport holds so much love and you wonder what it would feel like to be loved by a man like Kuroo Tetsuro.

Gentle, you think. Honest. Treasured.

A tap against the window pulls you out of your thoughts and when you look up, you're met with a pair of honey glazed eyes. Whatever he sees when he looks at you, it’s making him grin from ear to ear before he hurries towards the entry door, eager to meet you again.

Kuroo is holding up a bag, some brand of sweets from Hokkaido he’s been texting you about, but you didn’t think he’d actually go so far and bring you some. He sounds breathless when he speaks, as if he rushed all the way to get here and when he keeps on rambling, you order him and yourself a hot matcha boba and a chocolate mousse to share. 

The cats are happy to see him back too, and you laugh when you help him take his scarf off before some kitty claws can tangle up in it. It was a precious gift after all, one you knitted for him, under the feeble excuse of “keeping my hands busy helps me come up with ideas for my writing process”. It makes you happy to see him wearing it, and the color makes you feel as if you took the red string of fate connecting you two and turned it into something to help him stay warm.

You think a lot about kissing him now. Sometimes your hands would brush against each other on the table, neither of you pulling away. He spends his lunch breaks with you and comes to pick you up from the café in the evening, walking you to your station. The two of you still bicker at each other, but underneath lies a certain kind of softness, one that feels too fickle to put it into words just yet but also too bright to ignore. The leaves of the trees are falling and so are you. 

With winter comes snow and the quiet realization that maybe, just maybe, it’s unadulterated love. 

You spend a lot of time huddled together in the corner by the window now. He looks over your shoulder when you type on your laptop, one arm resting idly on the back of your chair, fingertips brushing against your spine sometimes. You don’t think he even notices when he lets them run up and down there. Often you forget which cups on the table belong to who but it doesn’t matter since you order the same things anyway and because this could count as an indirect kiss, right? 

On some days he’d just close his eyes and laze next to you, with his head resting on his folded arms on the table and your fingers idly weaving through his hair, before he had to hurry back to work. On others he would tell you excitedly about a special match he was organizing and you can hear the pure joy in his voice. It’s contagious.You get them now, the cats. How drawn they are to him, like chasing sunbeams. 

He spells L-O-V-E on your back with his fingertips and something inside of you softens. 

Then there’s snow, more snow than you’ve ever seen in your entire life, and Kuroo comes to pick you up early, the tip of his ears bright red and his cold hands seeking yours to warm them up. 

“I’m really sorry but I’m closing the shop early today,” the café owner apologizes and puts a box of cinnamon rolls for you on your table. “You two kittens better hurry and get home, too. On the radio they said they’re gonna shut everything down soon.”

It can’t be that bad, you think. But when Kuroo and you stand in front of the closed station, it dawns on you that maybe you’ve underestimated the amount of snow a teeny tiny bit. You huddle a little closer to him for warmth and to shield yourself against the snow as you pull out your phone. 

“If there’s no more trains running, I better start looking for a place to stay. With some luck there’s still a few vacant rooms in the hotels nearby…”

Kuroo puts a hand over your screen and gives you a stern look when you open our mouth to protest. 

“You can crash at my place for the night. I live close by," he mutters and it doesn’t really leave room to decline his offer. Maybe it’s not really an offer to begin with; more of a silent pleading to stay. Not just for the duration of the snowstorm, but forever maybe. 

His place is just like you imagined it would be like. Not overly spacious but it feels like a home in every corner. There’s photos on the wall, back from when he was a kid to his high school and college years, and pinned with a magnet to the fridge is also a polaroid he took of you back in summer. In it you’re laughing about something silly he said and you’re holding up two cats at once, one strap of your sundress almost slipping down your shoulder. You still remember how he fixed it for you because you didn’t have a hand free and how his fingers lingered for longer than necessary. 

You hope one day he won’t pull his hand away anymore.

The apartment is certainly not messy but you can see he lives in this place, with some papers scattered across the coffee table and the unmade bed and the slightly concerning stock of buldak noodles in the kitchen shelves (in which you peeked out of curiosity into while he was in the shower). You imagine yourself living here, too. Maybe you’d get a cat on your own and plants for the balcony once this winter was over. 

The laundry machine rumbles quietly in the background after you step out of the bathroom, too. It wasn’t just the steamy shower that had your cheeks feel hot, it was also his clothes that he put out for you, with his scent lingering on them and engulfing you softly. Kuroo appears with two cups from the kitchen and pauses when he sees you, his mouth opening and closing again as his eyes flicker over your form. He doesn’t want to stare but also he does want to stare, wants to drink you in and memorize every detail of this moment. 

You can see his Adam's apple bop slightly when he swallows and nods over to the couch, and it’s at this moment that you know you’re not leaving this apartment again before every inch of your skin has been plastered in kisses. 

“It’s not as good as the one’s at the café but I tried my best for my special guest,” he laughs quietly when he hands you your cup, his fingers brushing against yours. The hot chocolate looks impossibly sweet, with whipped cream and sprinkles on top (they’re not ordinary sprinkles, you realize, but tiny cat shaped ones), and the first sip would’ve been enough to send you in some higher spheres if you weren’t in a state of bliss due to his proximity already. You put the cups to cool down on the coffee table and sink into the couch. 

Outside the snow is falling relentlessly, muffling the sounds of the outside world and opening up a new one, right here in these four walls.

In his arms. 

Without realizing you both settled down in your now familiar positions, only closer this time. Huddled next to each other, with one of his arms around your shoulder drawing you nearer to him. It feels natural, the way your head comes to rest against his shoulder and your legs thrown over his lap, the two of you sharing a blanket. 

He’s warm. Kuroo is so warm. 

And when he presses a fleeting kiss on top of your head it’s like everything is falling in place; the months of pining and yearning and unspoken desire. In the midst of a snowstorm both of your hearts are set ablaze, with a tenderness you haven’t experienced in this lifetime before. You sure hope he will find you in the next and the one after that as well because you never want to miss his embrace ever again. 

“That’s my spot,” you murmur and Kuroo laughs, the kind with his head tilted back and his chest rumbling. His grip around you tightens and he pulls you impossibly closer, till you’re really in his lap now, your head tucked under his chin. 

“Damn right it is.” 

You can feel his heart drum, or maybe it’s your own that’s doing somersaults–either way, it’s the same rhythm, a steady thrumming and rattling, begging to be felt. Time seems to freeze at this moment and you’re both quiet. Cat’s got your tongue. Kuroo has both arms around you now, and one of his hands settles on your waist, at the part where your sweatshirt is bunched up a little. His thumb draws small patterns against your bare skin, his touch featherlight and gentle.

You lift your head, only enough so you can catch his gaze. For the first time in your life you understand what it means to have your heart in your throat, because he takes your breath away with a simple glance. His other hand comes to rest against your cheek, cupping your face softly while his grip around your waist tightens a fraction.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he mutters and you can see his sharp teeth flash in the corner of your eyes when he laughs. 

“Like what?” “You know what.” “I think I’ll need to have it spelled out for me.”

He laughs again and this time he leans in closer till his breath is fanning over your skin and everything is happening all at once. Honey and caramel eyes asking you to drown in them. The heat of his body mingling with yours. Your fingers playing with the shaved part of hair in the back of his neck, sending small shivers down his spine.

“Oh, I’ll spell it out for you alright.”

Kuroo kisses you with all the gentleness of the world. It feels as natural as if he had done this countless times before, as if he had kissed you in every life prior to that. He hums into the kiss and smiles when your lips part for him so willingly, and then he deepens the kiss in a way that makes you forget your name for a heartbeat or two. 

Sweet, you think. Soft and saccharine. And warm. So warm. The same what loving Kuroo feels like.

[curiousorigins]

As someone who had Chronic Pain for the first like 25ish years of my life... Abled people literally do not understand the concept of a pain that never goes away.

They literally can't.

It's impossible. It even felt impossible for me because my pain was so early and so consistent that my brain literally just ignored it until one day I was doing physical therapy for a different injury... and it was just gone.

I felt it's absence and I felt the best I've felt in 20+ years.

I hadn't had a particularly good meal that day. Still had my stomach issues. Slept badly. My back hurt. Probably dehydrated. Definitely had tooth pain. But that was literally the best I can in memory, had ever felt.

The closest experience I can describe to it, is when you've got an abscessed tooth and they relieve the pressure and the pain is just gone and it's wonderful.

If there is no absence of pain... there is no relief. You can't just sleep in and feel better. You can't just drink water and feel better or get a new pillow etc. That's just your new default.

Now as someone who had previously considered myself abled who now has had an official disabled tag on me and all that... (I for the most part lucked out with a temporary disability. But know that plenty disabilities are chronic, permanent or get worse the longer you go.) I felt I was educated that I was an advocate but absolutely nothing prepared me for my body failing me so consistently. I listened to disabled folks and tried to amplify their voices.

I 100% was the person to go to bat for people who were in pain on my team. The problem is that for many people, pain is temporary. With rest, it goes away. With healing it gets better.

Most of those folks are sadly not educated. And conceptually it's a hard concept to work on despite all the empathy in the word.

The bigger the chain, the less likely that the person making the schedule can just hire another person and of course we all know companies have been understaffing on purpose for decades. This is definitely a Worker Rights issues. We've got a toxic working environment almost everywhere and the majority of the Working Class that's still working literally does not remember it being any better. You absolutely deserved better. And You definitely could use the support of an Advocate. I got in multiple fights on the behalf of co-workers all the time for these kind of issues. And when I was temporarily injured on the job, I had co-workers who fought for me too. The problem is people don't understand that we must stand together for this. For the abled folks, this is a temporary problem... just like their managers have been telling them understaffing is a temporary problem.

Look at your disabled co-workers folks and realize... one day that's going to be you. We literally all will at some point most likely be classed as disabled in some way. Sometimes permanently and sometimes not.

What you stand for TODAY is what might be left for you when it's your turn. Your managers/middle manager answer to a higher power then you and that is the greed of a very rich guy who literally sees you all as EXPENSES not VALUE.

DO NOT sacrifice YOURSELF on the Alter to Someone else's greed.

I understand the job market is tough and there are crappy work places that reveal themselves as crappy slowly. But YOU help create the CULTURE at WORK. ANYTIME I overheard management complain about such and such an employees issue with scheduling or with their ability. I ALWAYS spoke up.

I mentioned what a hard worker they were. How we'd been short on people for a long time. How we all deserved to be staffed enough that every one of us should be able to leave for 2 weeks and not have the store fall apart. I made people team lift. Reminded them that Corporate could not give them a new spine.

I trained most folks to speak up. And the more I did it, the more of use who would speak up.

And United We Bargain Divided We Beg.

The primary thing a manager is supposed to do is keep us compliant enough to work. Disgruntled rumblings are powerful when echoed.

Speak Up. Speak Up about TEMPORARY PAIN caused by WORK. TEMPORARY PAIN becomes PERMANENT PAIN if allowed to CONTINUE. PAIN is your body's FIRST attempt to get YOU to STOP doing something THAT IS HARMING YOU.

They decided that our anti-fatigue mats were a hazard. (It was actually the fact that our Stockroom was too small for the Stock they sent us and our Staff couldn't clear it with no space to work.) And tried to remove them. Every one of us had our shoes wear sooner and we all had greater back pain. I made sure to voice how weird it is that I hurt more now that we didn't have those mats. Sometimes I'd even sit down when we were unloading the truck to give my back a rest. I'd tell my other co-workers to do as well.

If a manager had the power to bring them back came in when I was sitting... I'd interrupt their telling me off for sitting that I literally hurt and what the cause was. That I'd probably be going to the doctor soon.

(Be sure to document your work pain by texting (not work but also work) other people about it. About how you hurt because blah blah at work. You might need it to prove that they should be paying to fix you if you ever need doctoring or disability pay.)

We got the mats back.

I would like to see more people talk about how jobs treat disabled employees.

I used to prep, wash dishes, and cook at mellow mushroom. I had chronic pain that wasn't NEARLY as bad as it is today, but it was still very debilitating. I told my employer "i cannot stand more than 4 to 6 hours. I CANNOT do shifts longer than this due to my illness." And even though i made my boundaries VERY clear, everyday i worked it was 8 hours at the least and 10 or 12 at the most. I would go up to my manager and say "look i really need to leave, my shift is over, my chronic pain is killing me." And he'd say "we really need to here, you HAVE to push through." And so i did, and after one, ONE month of that job my crps got incredibly worse to the point where i could no longer walk my dog around the block which was .5 miles. I quit, and that was FOUR years ago, and ever since that day I HAVE BEEN BEDRIDDEN AND HAVE TO USE A WHEELCHAIR. It is my biggest regret in life.

My best friend who has seen my whole journey has recently developed undiagnosed chronic pain, and she is in the EXACT same scenario i was 4 years ago. Busting her ass at a pizza place with extreme pain that hurts her so much she tells me "im in so much pain i don't even feel like a person." She doesn't feel LUCID. And her manager and coworkers are saying the same thing "if you don't help us you will let us down, we'll be in the shit."

That job thats hurting you isn't fucking worth it. I promise you no money is worth losing all your physical abilities and never getting them back. Your coworkers and boss do not give a shit about you, so don't you dare suffer for them. They will never understand your struggle and they will never try. They truly think being understaffed is worse than whatever pain you experience. They would rather you permanently damage yourself than inconvenience them. FUCK THEM. DON'T FUCKING DO IT!

[abbyandersnsgf]

ivy towers | abby anderson

— still surprised by the acceptance letter months prior, you begin to navigate life within the ivy league. between socializing, attending lectures, studying, and the otherwise bustling life of your college town, you find yourself caught off guard by the increasingly persistent thoughts that have clouded your mind ever since you met abby anderson

tags: strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, slow burn, college/university au, competitive flirting, banter, mutual secret pining, reader & abby are college age (18-20), reader afab, eventual smut, sexual themes implied. mentions of drugs, alcohol, and mental health matters

💌 there are no reader specific descriptions/mentions of a particular skin colour, hair colour, texture or length. any mention of skin/hair/nails etc, are vague, and non descriptive as i encourage the reader to imagine them as they see fit. this is a safe and inclusive space. if you feel something is not poc friendly, please reach out and correct me. 💌

Large, dark, aged wood doors squeak as you push your way into the lecture hall. The stadium seating was an overwhelming site, mixed with the adrenaline that was consuming your body and mind, causing physical anxiety like you'd never felt before. It was a site. The large chalkboard that stretched across the back wall, the stair-step tiered seats, and the all-consuming quiet emptiness that was held inside. The building had to be at least 200 years old you thought, as you made your way to the second to bottom row of seats, opting for the middle of the three large sections. The classroom filled with the warm smell of old pine wood, out-of-date textbooks, and classic literature that made you feel so at home and fluttery you almost felt nauseous.

A few months prior, you were sat back at home, decision letter in hand, feeling physically ill at the thought of being rejected from the school you had worked exhaustingly towards for the better part of five years. Trembling hands worked at the envelope seal as you laboriously tear the thing apart, not being able to wait another second. As you read the words "Congratulations!" you still remember audibly yelling, then collapsing, filled with pure joy, relief, excitement, and fear, you couldn't bear the task of remaining upright.

Thinking back to now, your eyes welled with tears at how proud you were of your hardworking attitude, and how far it'd brought you.

The groan of tired door hinges interrupting your thoughts, and composing yourself, you turn expecting to see a mature, middle-aged man but instead saunters a cocky, muscular blonde. She looks around your age. Her trousers and black t-shirt fitting so snugly around her muscular physique you can't help but gawk. Her long, blonde hair is messily braided down her back, with thin glasses adoring her nose. Freckles dance across the same area, stretching down and around her forehead and cheeks. Noticing the presence of someone typically not there, she glances up at you, a surprised look on her face.

You knew why, because it was the same reason you had the same expression, why was there someone else also here an entire 45 minutes early? Dread filling your body as you realize that this is probably the normal for Ivy League students, and an overachieving attitude was simply what was expected here.

"Why are you here so early?" the girl asks in a voice that's almost too feminine and soft to belong to such a intimidating presence.

Caught off guard you respond, "I could ask you the same thing, class doesn't start until 8."

The blonde takes a seat in the row in beside you, just across the isle. Both occupying the outer seats, you were maybe less than 2ft apart.

Noticing your bag, notebooks, colorful pens and highlighters, and textbook (Which she totally didn't forget to get), she clears her throat and responds, "I like getting here early. Its stressful like–rushing in and being late y'know?" nodding along, replying "Yeah, me too."

You feel her eyes burning into you, like she's trying to melt you, or set you on fire. Either way, its working. You feel flustered, and nervous. She's easily one of the most beautiful women you've ever seen, and she's sitting here, looking at you like you're some sort of Sunday crossword clue she's spent an hour trying to figure out.

"M'names Abby, this your second year?"

Smiling and introducing yourself you respond, "No, first."

Her eyebrows shoot up, "Wait, so how are you in a 200 level?" she asks, a hint of shock, possibly disbelief, in her tone. "I took the intro course in high school. Like a duel credit program thing–". Your voice cutoff by the sound of shuffling voices filing into the lecture hall, making small-talk-quiet conversation impossible. Turning in your seat, you couldn't help but feel an overwhelming nervous presence around her. Was it jealousy? Attraction? Competitiveness? You tried to place where you'd felt this emotion before, but it was coming up blank. You felt a fire ignite inside of you every time you felt her looking at you.

Over the next few weeks, the tension had grown into a living, breathing, palpable competitiveness that was noticed among even the most clueless of students. It began the first week, when you noticed her only raising your hand if you would, glancing to see if you'd noticed. At first you thought maybe she was flirting, maybe she's just teasing you–but after two more classes, the whole thing grew old and irritating, causing you to audibly huff in frustration once, eliciting a smirk and stifled laugh from the blonde sitting across from you. Ever since that first day, she's always shown up before you. Always had an answer, always knew what to say. Always had a comment, a point, a argument to make off of your answers. “Yeah, to piggyback off that–" she would start, immediately following it with a critique or insight that infuriatingly made sense. Every discussion board was met with "Constructive Criticism" as she put it, making sure to patronize you as much as the possibly could. She knew exactly how to get under your skin, to get you all worked up, and she seemed to almost...enjoy the fight. Like there's no other place she'd rather be than arguing with you during a lecture.

Legs burning and anxiety coursing through you, you rushed past the green lawns, large oaks, and students fraternizing within as ice coffee rattled around the plastic cup with every step. It was 7:30–following a late night study session which resulted in falling asleep without setting an alarm, at your desk, overtop an ethics textbook.

You fumble with your hands full, trying to open the heavy classroom door, as you see a large hand appear on the handle, pulling it open, and another large, warm hand on your lower back. Chills electrify you, the hair on the back of your neck standing straight up as you feel a warm familiar voice whisper into you, "Running late, are we? Thought I would miss having to see you get all, hot and bothered" Your voice caught inside your throat, the blonde smirks and lowers her hand towards your hips, spinning you to face her, your noses almost touching, "Y'know, I think I'd miss seeing how worked up I get you". Her voice low, sultry, and soft, she sounds seductive and you can feel yourself becoming red, the thought of Abby Anderson actually getting you worked up being enough to cause a damp spot to form in-between your legs. You decided to play along though, you know, for the hell of it. “Oh, you would like that, wouldn’t you?” you said just as sweetly, head cocked to the side, staring back into her eyes, now practically boring holes into your own. A pink tint arising on her cheeks as she shook her head and laughed. “Okay, you got me. First time for everything I guess, especially for you.” She slid between yourself and the door, your back pressed up against the back of the harsh oak, leaving you scoffing and rather flustered, again, the effect she had infuriatingly effective.

A/N: hiiiiiiii i wrote this months ago in my drafts and decided to post it bc why not!!! lmk if u want a part two🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

[loulovingho]

I 100% agree with you that that was lazy writing. What was the point of deliberately picking someone the audience (and the 118) were familiar with to be Buck's LI when they could have picked some random. What was the point in delving into Tommy's history and his feelings, what was the point of showing him head over heels for Buck in the last ep, of getting a gift for their 6 month anniversary only to say "oh well, I figured we wouldn't last, so I'm gonna get out now before you break my heart". Why let him get that involved if Tommy's ideology was to never allow himself to move forward in the relationship because ultimately he thought it wouldn't last? It's whiplash for the audience after you saw how INVESTED Tommy was in the last ep! And how exactly is this Buck getting off the hamster wheel? This relationship has ended pretty much exactly like all his others - he gets invested, they leave! They had so much potential as a couple - seeing what it's like for two fire-fighters to date knowing they're both in risky jobs, maybe Buck having to meet/deal with Tommy's homophobic father, getting to explore a "new" character's back story instead of rehashing the same story lines from the mains as well as seeing more of how Buck deals with being in a same sex relationship. All wasted.

And since they referenced Glee, if the plan is for it to echo the Kurt/Blaine relationship in that show where they broke up so they could "explore" before getting back together, by doing so they ruined that relationship so much that by the end it wasn't satisfying that they WERE endgame - they weren't the couple we fell in love with. (And also, way to reinforce the negative stereotype of "you can't ever be long term with your first". I should let my sister, my cousin and my aunt know even though they've all been married for years to their husbands - all their first.) Even if they do decide to bring Tommy back down the line, would it even be the same relationship we fell in love with? Would we even trust the writers to stick with it and treat it well? Or if they did a final episode reunion so Buck doesn't end the series alone, how is that satisfying for the audience?

I have been watching 911 since it started, and I have always been part of the general audience up until S7 where I joined the fandom because I thought Buck/Tommy were adorable. It's the first time in years I've become invested in a couple on a show. It's the first time in years that I've dipped my toes back into a fandom. Like you, this ship inspired me to write fic again. I have a bunch of wip's waiting to be posted on ao3 and I honestly don't know if I'll finish them now. And if they have broken them up for Buddie to get together I think I'll stop watching. And not just because I never saw them as a romantic couple (I only ever saw a deep friendship) but because logistically I don't see it working. Besides the fact that I think that while they work as friends, they probably wouldn't gel as a couple, two people on the same team in a relationship? That will screw up the 118 dynamic, especially as this show looooves relationship drama. If they get in a fight, or worse, break up, then what? How would that work within the 118, unless someone transfers out, but then it's bye bye the 118 we love. And not to mention, in the only 4 months I have been in this fandom I have seen some VILE crap from the buddies, and from what I understand it they've been like that for years. And the show runners know about it, so if they go with Buddie, congratulations, you've rewarded toxic behaviour and given them a license to be worse (look at them already, going in the bucktommy tags and gloating).

I told myself after Glee ended and they royally screwed everything up that I wouldn't watch another Ryan Murphy show because he has a history of doing that sort of thing. When 911 came along I was cautious, but it looked like it would be different - more grown up if you will, especially since Ryan Murphy hasn't really been involved since season 1. I should have just gone with my gut. I just hope that, knowing these last two eps were filmed weeks before they aired, the showrunners see how popular they were and realise crap, we've made a BIG mistake. (Everyone should flood instagram and especially Facebook, whoch is more GA than most social media platforms, with RESPECTFUL comments about how devastated they are, and who knows, it might make them consider bringing Tommy back sometime in 8b - I believe they're still writing the back half of the season.)

Side note, I feel really sorry for Lou. Yeah he's going back to SWAT, and I love him in that (even though his character can be a dick sometimes) but he's said in interviews how he's tired of always being cast as "the muscle" due to his size and he seemed genuinely happy to get this role, which was exactly what he was looking for - the sweet, caring, romantic love interest role where he could show some depth, and they screwed him over (sounds like he even thought Buck and Tommy were doing well and wasn't expecting the break up until the end).

(Apologies for the long rant. But what you've been saying really resonated with me and I needed to share your sentiments.)

.

[hoovesandfloorpaws]

adding the 3rd interview from that day here, the one where Harry says Louis is a good boyfriend and treats him really well.

the tag here from 2015 was "and they haven't done an interview together in the last 3 1/2 years" and now it's almost 13 years later and they have never ever been allowed to do another interview together.

clown ass Syco & Modest! behaviour

like, i need to rant for a second. my memory is awful, so i basically watched these interviews with fresh eyes. they're obviously super comfortable (dare i say: domestic) with each other. the flirting, the banter and the mirroring, and how it sounds like they already knew every single answer the other one is gonna give.. everything is so lovely. it's so obvious how how they sometimes get lost looking at each other and how freely and easily they touch each other. but watching these also got me thinking if you think about interviews where Harry actually said to Zayn, about Louis: "Don't say that.. that he's gay!" (x) "Lou, can I give you a blowjob?" (x) "Louis'.. Louis' boyfriend!" / "Can't choose boyfriend." (x) "And I'd marry you, Harry." (x) "I'd take Harry for the night." (x) (For my a dinner date I'd choose) Harry: "You, Louis." (x) "My first real crush was Louis Tomlinson." (x) "Are you and Louis dating?" Harry: *nods & blushes* (x) "She looks like Harry". Then, Louis: "Marriage. Sex, everything." (x) "Female." - Harry: "Not that important." (x) (re: sleeping with a man) Harry: "Hey, don't knock it 'till you try it!" (x) "Now kiss me, you fool!" (x) "What does Harry taste like?" - Louis: "Salt and vinegar." (x) and their million domestic tweets at and about each other (extensive tweets tag by the wonderful @skepticalarrie)

(and these are only the ones that quickly came to me off the top of me tired brain), then that decision truly baffles and angers me even more. There's like dozens and dozens more instances like the mentioned+linked ones, oftentimes where words weren't even said and they just touched or looked at each other.. and oh my god.. the FRISCO interview just a month after Paris, where Louis declared "some people genuinely think.. they GeNuiNeLy think that we're together!" and Liam says "You are, though, aren't ya!" and Harry just nods, all dazed and still wearing his cock-appointment-blush and then Zayn moves the topic towards him and Harry and curiously, nobody ever says "so it's not true!". and then the air kisses and sign language love declarations and their at least 7 matching tattoos (that we know of). the absolutely besotted way they looked at each other from day one. the way they verbally supported each other; defended each other and got obviously jealous over someone else touching either of them. and the rings Harry was gifted by Louis that he's still wearing almost 12 years later... like--

all of this still happened despite them never again being interviewed just the two of them or even getting a fucking segment just the two of them during things like 1D Day! which is so telling.

and all of this compared to how they behaved with each other during those Paris interviews -the ones that were -to Modest! obviously too much? let's be SO fr.. in my personal opinion, those interviews are very tame compared to everything else. they're rather sweet and polite and they didn't even touch each other nearly as much as they did in group interviews, because obviously that is safer, because you've got a lot more distraction for the eye with five guys instead of two. In one of the 3 interviews, Louis is even pretty quiet and calm; just seems very peaceful (or thoughtful). (which is just my personal interpretation, there could be lots of reasons for it)

And they were the same age in Paris as they were for a lot of the things they let slip in other group interviews then. sometimes when they didn't know it was being picked up by a mic or camera, but oftentimes they knew and still couldn't / didn't want to stop themselves :')

I could write a lot more about the hypocrisy of it all or how devastating it still feels and how angry it still makes me -almost 15 years later-, how swiftly and deeply they were shoved into the closet, when every other very private detail of their personal lives was being dragged into the public, twisted and turned and "marketed" to death. (and the latter was obviously fucking damaging to all of them) I shudder to imagine how much homophobia they were exposed to by the people who were supposed to nurture and guide them when their families and friends couldn't be with them. Obviously, the fact that they -so early on- were tried to be kept separated like that portrays just how desperate Clowndest! tried to do "damage control". And of course they failed, but not for lack of squeezing these two into such a sinister iron closet for so many years; piling up contracted lies upon contracted lies that added to all the pressure of two young people who were giving their love a try.. the more lies they piled up, the harder would it be for them later on.

and now look where we are now. they persisted, but at what cost?

Louis & Harry Paris Interviews

How many interviews are there of just Louis and Harry? I’m talking video interviews of L + H, sans Niall, Liam or Zayn to babysit them. There seem to only be a grand total of 2. And both took place on the same day. (February 14, 2012…Was it really on Valentine’s Day??) The Teemix interview below is broken up into 4 parts, but it’s all one interview.

This post actually took me longer than you might think because I tried so hard to find other video interviews of H + L. There aren’t any. Shocking, right?

L’Interview Paris - Fan2Fr

Highlights include: 

At 4:30 Louis reading Harry’s Hot and Dangerous on the fan-art: “Of course he’s hot” 

4:51 Harry says of Louis, “I would describe it more as funny and handsome and rugged…A bit more manly” and Louis gives the brightest most amused smile to the camera.

The looks they give each other at the end of the video with the whole ‘dangerous dave(?)’ thing. Many people hear Harry say ‘I’ll get you for that tonight’ in response. I suck at deciphering these things, but it would make sense given  Louis’ laughing reaction to it.

Teemix Interview 1 of 4

Louis’ face at 3:24 when waiting for Harry to describe Niall’s characteristics.

Louis softly pushing Harry’s hair back at 3:40 when describing him as ‘curly.’ He just..keeps..going..oh my god it’s adorable.

Teemix Interview 2 of 4

The way they finish each others’ sentences, talking about being normal lads. They seem so in sync and sound so relaxed about it.

At 0:38 – L: We still pop down to the shop every now and again– H: Bread and milk. L: Yep, the standard.

Teemix Interview 3 of 4

At 0:20 when describing their ideal girl, Harry corrects Louis’ ‘good sense of humour’ comment with ‘GREAT sense of humour’ and Louis nods ‘yeah’ with the most earnest, serious agreement I’ve ever seen from a person in a boyband answering a generic question. They’re clearly describing each other.

This entire segment is a ridiculous display of how calm and in sync these two are. Telling the story of Liam’s chat up lines, agreeing on their favourite date spots (1:35), Louis proudly suggesting ‘cook them their favourite meal’ (2:12), they’re so at ease with each other and so willing to agree on every little thing.

At 2:42 Louis tries to figure out how long he’s been with Eleanor and Harry suggests ‘a year?’. Harry’s just straight-up laughing at this point and again, clearly talking about him and Louis.

‘I would definitely say Harry is the most confident with girls’ and then he GRINS.

The way they’re smiling at each other at the end is too much. Louis tells Harry, ‘you’re on a whole new level of charm, man’ and can’t stop grinning.

Here’s a slow-mo gif of Louis’ cute head roll, when faced with having to choose his favourite love song. 

Teemix Interview 4 of 4

They cut off Louis at 1:52 here and it makes me realise I can’t even imagine what the unedited version of these L + H interviews is like…

[lovegalor333]

fresh start

part eight (chapter 22-24) previous part • next part

word count: 6.8k

content warnings: mentions of su*cide homophobia self-h*rm

Lily

Kelsey, Kayla and I had met for lunch and were sat together in the cafeteria waiting for Paige and the girls to finish their workout.

"How many follow requests do you have now?" Kelsey asks peering over my shoulder as I scroll on my phone.

"I think it's at like twelve thousand." I say as I navigate to Instagram to check, "Twelve thousand, one hundred and sixty three." I confirm.

Paige tagged me in a story for the first time this morning and after the pictures and videos of us after the game came out, of course people have been curious as to who I am. I have a private page so all people can see is my profile picture and that induces enough anxiety I know I'm not ready for them to see my whole feed just yet.

"You're going to be famous! Have you seen the TikTok edits?" My roommate asks, practically bouncing in her seat.

"Yes, but have you seen the comments?" My stomach flips at the memory of last night.

I stayed off of social media for as long as possible after the game just to avoid the initial reaction to Paige and me but as soon as I went on TikTok, I was inundated. Despite everyone telling me to not open the comments, I did and I couldn't stop scrolling once I started.

Of course there were nice comments too but the ones that stood out, the ones that have stayed in my head have been the nasty ones. A lot of people have enjoyed telling me how ugly and disgusting I am, how I don't deserve Paige and how she could do so much better.

"Girl, you have to ignore those. They're coming from literal children that are jealous. Do you know how much hate I got when I first started hanging out with the team?" Kayla chimes in.

"Does it get any better?" I half laugh, half huff hoping her answer is yes.

"Once they realise you're not going anywhere, it'll ease up. It's part and parcel of WAG life unfortunately, someones always going to want to be you." Kayla says and I'd be lying if I said the haters weren't planting seeds of doubt in my mind about whether I'm strong enough for this.

"I couldn't workout multiple times a day! I don't know how they do it." Kelsey lightens the mood as she nibbles on her cookie.

"Me either." I agree and gulped down the remainder of my water hoping it would ease the sudden headache that I had.

I got up to refill my bottle and was hit with a random wave of intense dizziness. If it wasn't 1PM on a Tuesday you'd think I was drunk.

"Your neck is kinda red Lils." Kayla says pointing towards my neck as I joined her and Kelsey again.

My hand instinctively goes to my neck and its warm to the touch and slightly itchy and that's when I realise what's happening.

"Shit!" I exclaim grabbing the empty salad box from the table in front of me and I scan the ingredients list frantically.

"What's happening?" Kayla asks leaning towards me.

"I think I'm having an allergic reaction. Actually...I know I'm having an allergic reaction." I breath out in jagged breaths as I start to panic but also because I was most likely going into anaphylaxis.

"Holy fuck!" Kelsey exclaims, standing up, "Where's your EpiPen?"

"In my bag." I tell her and I suddenly feel extremely sick and as if I'm about to faint.

My body temperature is rising and I feel disoriented and confused.

Kelsey hands me my EpiPen and I administer it they way I was taught. Removing the blue safety cap and quickly jabbing it into to my thigh, but my lightheadedness only increases and I know for sure I'm about to faint.

Paige

The doors to the gym swing open and smack into the wall causing us to all turn and see who had made such a loud entrance.

"Kelsey?" I say confused as Lilys best friend hurries in the gym, "I know I said I'd meet y'all and one o'clock but I'm not that late." I laugh glancing at the time and seeing it's only ten past the hour.

Kelsey shakes her head as she reaches me breathless, "It's not that. It's Lily, we had to call 911."

It feels as though I've been hit by a truck, my knees go weak and almost buckle beneath me and I felt vomit rise in my throat.

"What?!" I exclaim, scrambling to grab my phone from the floor to check if I'd missed anything, "What happened?"

"She had a reaction. We think she ate something containing nuts, the ambulance is on the way." Kelsey explains and I look towards my teammates almost as though I was stuck in place, unable to move.

"Go!" Nika urges throwing me the t-shirt she had over her shoulder because I was dressed in just a sports bra and shorts after our workout.

I catch the shirt and hurry after Kelsey out of the gym.

"Text me!" Azzi calls after me and I don't have time to reply, I'm just focused on getting to Lily as quickly as possible.

The usual quick walk from the gym to the cafeteria felt like it took hours even when I was running. I finally see the ambulance as Kelsey and I rounded the corner and the sight of the vehicle calmed me slightly knowing Lily was in safe hands.

"Lily?" I called out as we jogged into the cafeteria, although I don't know why, I didn't expect her to respond. From what Kelsey had said, she was in a bad way.

"Oh my god, Lily." When I see her, she's already laid on a stretcher, an oxygen mask secured over her mouth and nose, her is sleeve rolled up and there's an IV connected to her arm.

Her eyes are in an inbetween state of half opened and half closed, she looks as though she's just falling asleep or waking up.

"Is someone coming in the ambulance?" The paramedic asks looking at all of us around Lily.

"Me." I say on impulse.

"I'll follow in my car." Kayla says gathering her belongings.

I follow behind the paramedics wheeling Lily to the ambulance and pull the shirt Nika gave me over my head.

"Is she going to be OK?" I timidly ask the paramedics as they load Lily into the ambulance.

"She administered the adrenaline quickly so she'll be fine. With anaphylaxis, there can be a biphasic response, a secondary reaction, so it's best to be at the hospital in case that happens."

"Paige..." I hear Lilys low, muffled voice call out my name.

"Hey, I'm here." I say tenderly reaching for her hand as the ambulance begins to drive.

Her eyes are still heavy and hooded and if I didn't know better, I'd think she was drunk or high. She tries to pull down her oxygen mask, "Keep that on pretty girl, it's helping you." I say moving her hand away.

The journey to the hospital was quick and mostly silent apart from my words of encouragement to my girlfriend. Her eyes would flicker open every now and then and she'd squeeze my hand, communicating without words.

We were put in a room as soon as we arrived and multiple doctors and nurses bustled in and out tending to Lily.

I listen intently to each thing they said. Lily was being treated with more adrenaline, oxygen and fluids intravenously. She would make a full recovery.

"We'd like to keep you here for a few hours, Miss Kent. Just to monitor your condition and ensure there isn't a secondary reaction. Your blood pressure is increasing so you should start to feel normal again soon." The nurse says to Lily before excusing herself, leaving us alone.

"How are you feeling?" I ask walking over to Lilys bedside.

She pulls down the oxygen mask and I let her this time, "Better." She says, her voice weak and childlike.

"Good because you had me scared me for a second." I say smoothing down her hair.

"I was scared too." She tells me and she begins to silently cry, tears running down her face. "I've always had a pretty good handle on my allergy, this made me feel so...out of control."

"Oh Lily," I say wiping her tears as they fall, "accidents happen baby. You handled it exactly the way you should have. I'm proud of you." I tell her wrapping her in a hug as best I could while she was laid down and I was stood over her.

"I'm usually so careful with checking ingredients but I must have missed something." She continues and pushes herself up slightly so she's sitting.

"I know, but you're OK Lily," I reassure her, my hand cupping her cheek, "you can't blame yourself, things get missed sometimes and we can't help that, we just have to deal with it and you did."

"I don't even remember what happened clearly. I just remember my head hurting so bad and then all of a sudden I was on a stretcher with this mask on and you were there, with no shirt on." She weakly jokes raising her brows cheekily, "I think that's what brought me back to life."

I laugh, "Still got a sense of humour, I see. I worked hard on these abs, glad to know they're saving lives."

"Maybe if you flash them again, we'll get out of here quicker."

"Or maybe you're blood pressure will raise too much and we'll be here all night, so relax please."

Lily was discharged from hospital four hours later, with two new EpiPens and antihistamines that she needed to take for the next few days.

Kayla drove us all back to campus and dropped me off with Lily and Kelsey at their apartment.

"Thank you, K." Lily says as we climb out of the car.

"No worries, Lil. Get some rest." Kayla replies and waves us goodbye.

"I don't think I can even make it to the apartment, my legs feel like jello." Lily says holding onto my arm in support.

"I don't don't spend hours in the gym for nothing." I say crouching down in front of her so I could give her a piggyback ride, "Hop on."

Lily climbs on my back and I carry her into the apartment block and into the elevator. We follow Kelsey through the front door and I lower Lily onto her bed.

"What would I do without you?" She says reaching out for me.

"Don't even think about that, you've got me." I say and we lay side by side on her bed in comfortable silence.

"So how about seeing those abs." Lily says after a while, her hand trailing up under my shirt and I laugh.

"Anything for you."

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

Lily

I was finally starting to feel better after my allergic reaction a few days ago and just starting to get back to normal again after taking time off work and away from classes to recover.

I've always been extremely careful with my allergy, taking extra care when I eat out to make sure everything is safe and up until now I've managed to never have such a severe reaction so in a way I felt like I have failed. I couldn't keep myself safe. I couldn't do the one thing that really matters and it scared me. What if it happens again? And even worse, what if I'm alone when it happens? I was lucky to have my friends by my side this time. I was used to being in control and being so out of control wasn't something I wanted to experience again.

I force myself to stop thinking so negatively because that never ends well and I walk out of my bedroom and into our living room. All my roommates were out so I was home alone, not that I minded much.

Every surface was home to a beautiful bunch of flowers, gifted to me by my friends, people I worked with and of course Paige. Paiges bouquet was the most extravagant and took pride of place in the centre of our dining table. I smiled as I passed the full vases feeling very thankful for my friends and girlfriend.

I had held off calling home and telling my parents about my hospital visit because I knew it would turn into a lecture of some kind but Thanksgiving was coming up and I needed to know our plans because I'd be going back to Boston for a few days.

I settled myself into the couch, pulling a fluffy blanket over the bottom half of my body and pressed call on my moms contact. The dialling tone rang and rang and rang until I was eventually met with her answering machine. I decided to try my dad and I just as I thought he wasn't going to pick up either, at the last second he did.

"Hello, Lily." My dads voice spoke stern and serious as always through my phone.

"Hi, Dad. I tried to call Mom but I got her voicemail. Is everything OK? I wanted to talk to you both." I say.

"Your mother is here with me now."

Weird.

"Oh, why didn't she pick up?" I ask confused. If my mom wasn't busy then why had she avoided my call?

I hear my moms muffled voice through the phone but I can't quite make out what she is saying but her tone didn't sound happy.

"Dad?"

"Lily, listen. You're mother has been seeing stuff online. About you. You...and a girl. Another girl."

My entire body freezes as my dad speaks and I feel my heart rate spike.

Why did this sound like a problem?

"Right..." I say wanting my dad to continue with whatever point he was trying to make.

"You said you wanted to leave Boston for a fresh start and it seems nothing has changed." My dads words hit like knives.

"I-I left for a fresh start because I tried to kill myself. I didn't come to Connecticut for conversion therapy. I came to move on from everything that happened." I croak out as my mouth has completely dried up and it feels as though my throat is closing.

My mom continues to speak but I still can't make out her words, "You speak to her then, Jackie." My dad says as I hear my mom huff and the phone being passed over.

"If you left to move on then why are you still living the same way? With this- this Paige girl! And so publicly! It's like you want the entire world to know. The entire world does know! It's all anyone asks me about. It makes me sick." My mom shouted at me to the point of breathlessness.

I felt blindsided. I was so confused. My parents had been fine with me and my ex, they were happy for me to come to Connecticut.

"I don't understand where this has come from. You had no problem with me and Mia-"

"We didn't know about you and Mia until it was over and Mia...she's turned her life around. We thought you would have too." My mom continues her rant and all my emotions begin to blend into one, there are tears streaming down my face but I've never been angrier.

"What do you mean 'turned her life around'?" I ask although I know exactly what she meant.

"She's fixed. Whatever you had with her was just a phase and rightly so! She has a handsome boyfriend now and is very happy." My mom solidifies my assumptions and I feel sick to my stomach.

"And I'm very happy with my beautiful girlfriend." I say trying to steady my voice to not make it obvious that I was crying.

My mom lets out a ridiculous child-like cry as if I'd just died.

"Lily that's enough. You're making your mom upset." My dads voice comes through the phone again and I laugh in irony.

"I was calling about Thanksgiving plans and to tell you guys I had a bad reaction and was in the hospital." I spit, anger laced in my words.

"She's not coming back here for Thanksgiving. Everyone knows!" My moms voice rings out clear and unforgiving.

"Jackie-" My dad begins to reason but I end the call before I hear anything more.

I didn't need to hear anything more.

I sit lifeless on the couch just staring ahead so many thoughts and feelings swirling around inside of me but simultaneously feeling completely numb and void of emotion.

What had just happened?

I moved robotically back to my room, my phone still clutched in my hands as if I was waiting for my dad to call me back and apologise for what had been said but I knew all too well that that wouldn't happen. I knew my parents too well. I was stupid to believe they were OK with who I was in the first place but did they really think that coming to Connecticut would somehow change who I loved?

I stood in my bedroom contemplating what to do. That phone call had changed everything. My mom had made it clear that I wasn't welcome at home. Home. Could I even call it that anymore? Just as things were beginning to plateau, just as I was starting to genuinely feel happy again, it felt like someone was playing a sick joke on me.

I felt the overwhelming urge to cope with this in the only way I knew how to cope with anything that hurt me mentally and that was to feel it physically.

Paiges words from weeks ago played on repeat in my head as I searched my room for something to hurt myself with.

"If you ever, ever get the urge to hurt yourself again, please come to me first. You're not alone anymore, I promise you."

I began to get frustrated as my frantic search was proving pointless. I had purposely not brought anything to Connecticut that I could use because I was determined to stay clean and not relapse but that felt like an impossible task right now.

I moved my search to the kitchen, I knew there'd be something there.

"If you ever, ever get the urge to hurt yourself again, please come to me first. You're not alone anymore, I promise you."

I opened random drawers as if I hadn't lived in the apartment for months and knew exactly where everything was but my head was a mess and I couldn't think straight.

I finally found the drawer I'd set out to find, filled with utensils.

"If you ever, ever get the urge to hurt yourself again, please come to me first. You're not alone anymore, I promise you."

My vision was significantly blurred by tears now, I blinked rapidly to clear the haze and reached into the drawer. My hand shook as I picked up the small but sharp knife.

"If you ever, ever get the urge to hurt yourself again, please come to me first. You're not alone anymore, I promise you."

I knew deep down this wasn't the right thing to do. This isn't what I wanted to do, but when you're so used to doing something and so used to it being a release, it becomes addictive. A habit that becomes unbreakable.

"If you ever, ever get the urge to hurt yourself again, please come to me first. You're not alone anymore, I promise you."

I wanted to drop the knife and call Paige and ask her to come here right now and just hold me and tell me everything would be OK but my hands wouldn't release there grip and my brain was telling me Paige had better things to do.

Paige

I had almost finished studying for the evening, my eyes were tired from focusing on a screen for so long and my body ached from today's workout but I continued typing. My phone was switched to Do Not Disturb but as it rang from its place on my nightstand, I knew it was Lily because she was the only contact that could override my settings.

"Hi, pretty girl." I say and smile knowing that hearing Lilys voice would quickly diffuse any negative feeling that had built up during the day.

"Paige," Lilys voice came out hoarse and strained and my smile immediately faded, "can you come to mine...please?" She asks.

"Yes. I'm on my way." I say without a second thought, leaving my laptop open, music playing and just grabbing my keys.

"Thank you." Lily replies so quietly that I can just about make it out over the sound of my own rushed footsteps.

"What's wrong?" I ask as I leave my apartment and rush down the stairs to my car. I could tell by Lilys voice alone that something was wrong and every second of silence intensified my concern.

"Lily?" I question when she doesn't reply.

"I-I just need you." She says, her voice breaking in the process.

"OK, I'm coming baby. I'm in my car. Stay on the phone." I say as I start the engine and begin the short drive to Lilys apartment.

I try to ask questions that could at least hint at what was wrong but Lilys responses were short and didn't tell me much. I could just tell that she'd been crying or was currently crying and I stepped on the gas to get to her as quickly as possible.

"I'm outside Lily, let me in." I say once I reach the door of her apartment building. I hear her footsteps shuffle along the floor before the familiar buzz of the door being unlatched.

I take the stairs two at a time, any aches from today's workout long forgotten and once I reach Lilys floor and see she's stood in her open doorway, only then do I end the call.

I was right, Lily had been crying, her eyes were red and swollen and her cheeks were stained with tears, "What happened?" I ask, concern laced in my voice as I approach her, my arms instinctively wrapping around my girlfriend, holding her close.

Lily steps back still in my arms until we're stood in her living room and the door closes behind us.

"Lily, I'm worried."

"I-I don't know how to say it." Her voice is muffled against my chest.

"You can tell me anything." I say pulling away so I can look in her eyes as I reassure her, "You know that right? You can tell my anything."

She nods, "I thought I was doing well. I was doing well." Tears immediately fell as she began to speak.

"What happened?" I'm aware I sound like a broken record but I need to know what happened to get Lily in this state.

"I spoke to my parents. I was going to tell them about my reaction and see what our plans were for Thanksgiving but before I could do any of that...they- they attacked me over the phone. They've seen pictures of us online. They thought me being gay was a phase. They thought coming here would 'fix' me. Apparently my ex is 'fixed' and has a boyfriend now and I'm not welcome at Thanksgiving. I make them sick." She rambles out inbetween choked sobs.

At some point during that, we'd made our way to the couch and I sat beside Lily, her hand clutched in mine.

"Lily...what the fuck. I'm so sorry. You don't deserve this." I say wiping her tears as they slip down her face.

"I didn't know what to do Paige. I was thinking everything and nothing all at once. I couldn't process anything, I still can't. I-" She cuts herself off, unlinking her hand from mine and holding her head in her hands.

"You what Lily? What did you do?" I ask scooting to the edge of the couch, trying to get her to look at me again.

"I know you said to call you. To come to you but I couldn't think straight my head was a mess."

She doesn't have to say anymore for me to understand what she's getting at.

"Did you hurt yourself?" I ask tentatively.

Keeping her head in her hands, she just nods.

"Oh Lily." I say and wrap my arm around her shoulders pulling her close to me again. I press my lips to her head in comfort as she cries into my chest.

"I need you to show me baby."

"No. No way." Lily says and jumps away from me as if I'd just given her an electric shock.

"I need to make sure you're OK. I need to check incase you need to go to the ER." I say softly reaching out for her again.

It takes some persuading but Lily finally allows me to check her arm. I wince at the sight but don't make it obvious to her. I use the apartments First Aid box to clean and bandage the wound.

"There you go." I say once I'm done and Lily quickly rolls down her sleeve. Her eyes didn't once leave the wall directly in front of her and her movements were robotic.

"I'm sorry." Lily says as I return to her side after putting the First Aid box away.

"For what pretty girl?"

"For all of this mess. I'm a mess and you have to deal with it. I'm sorry for that." She says and I swear I hear my heart break.

"Never apologise to me, Lily. I love you and I'd do anything for you. You mean everything to me and I just want you to be OK."

"I don't think I'll ever be OK, Paige. Every time I try, I think I'm doing good then something happens and ruins it."

"Nothings ruined Lily. You're trying, you try everyday and I'm so proud of you. This is just a lapse and they happen and it's OK. We dust ourselves off and try again. Self-harm is an addiction and it's not easy to overcome but you're not alone. I'm glad you called me. I'm glad I'm here with you now. We can get through this together." I tell her now looking directly into her eyes, one hand stroking her face.

"I love you so much." She says leaning into me, wrapping her arms around my waist.

"I love you." I reply wrapping my arms around her too.

I take Lily to bed not long after and she lays her head on my chest and I stroke her hair rhythmically.

"I think that's it with my parents." She says after a prolonged silence.

"For real?" I ask, wanting Lily to talk more and not wanting to put words in her mouth.

"Yeah. If they can't accept me for who I am, I won't change myself to make them happy and I won't live a lie. Coming here and meeting you has been the best thing that's happened to me in a long time and I won't let nothing or nobody ruin that." She says.

"I really am sorry, Lily. I'm sorry your parents said all those things. You deserve so much more. I'll give you what you deserve. I'll give you the world."

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

Paige

The season was in full swing and it would be and understatement to say I was feeling it. After just two games, one win, one loss, I was exhausted. I worked ridiculously hard over the summer to make sure I was fully recovered to ensure I had an injury free season. What I had failed to realise is that my body forgot what it was like to be playing for almost forty minutes straight but I was living my dream, getting to play basketball at this level has been something I've strived for my whole life so I'll never complain.

We were playing Maryland today at Gampel and the team was due to meet at the venue in thirty minutes so I was picking up Lily an afternoon coffee and would drop it off to her before I had to go and warm up.

She had had a difficult few days, between the allergic reaction, horrible phone call with her parents and relapsing, I'm surprised the girl was even able to go into work today. She was strong and I admired her for it. I just wish she would open up to me more and let me be there for her in the way I want to be. I felt inexperienced in this relationship, I've never had someone close to me suffer with their mental health like Lily does so I've been talking to my friends and reading article after article so I know the right thing to do.

The common consensus is to just keep making it abundantly clear that I'm there for Lily whenever she needs me and I already do that and will continue to.

The line in the cafè wasn't long so it didn't take me long to order and recieve Lily's usual - an iced soy milk latte - and be on my way to her office.

I knocked lightly on the door, "Come in." Lilys voice came from the otherside soft and light, a huge difference to what it has been like in recent days.

I peep my head around ther door and see Lily is alone in the room, "Hi, pretty girl." I say and walk inside and her facial expression changing from one of deep concentration to a soft, sweet smile. "Hi, P." She says getting up from her seat and greeting me with a hug.

She had her glasses on and I got lost in her appearance for second. Lily rarely wore her glasses, she only needed them when she was working at a computer so she looked different but I wasn't complaining.

"I brought you coffee." I say presenting her the drink and her smile grows, "Thank you, it's definitely needed." She says taking a sip immediately and moaning at the taste, my cheeks flush at the sound but Lily's oblivious to her effect.

"I don't know how you're drinking an iced drink in the middle of November." I shake my head as lean against Lilys desk.

"Iced coffee is superior, whatever the climate." She says matter of factly and I can only smile at her little quirk.

"How are you feeling today?" I ask more seriously.

Lily nods, "I'm OK. Been better." She says.

"And you'll get there again." I tell her reaching out to take her hand and pull her closer to me.

"I know. Just weird I'm an orphan now." She tries to joke but her eyes tell a different story.

"Your parents might come round. You're their daughter above everything, I'm sure they love you. They won't want to lose you."

"Maybe," She sighs, "but I won't ever put myself around people that can't accept me for who I am and on top of that, abuse me for it. Until they apologise and are able to just support me, I don't want to see them."

"I understand. You have to put yourself first and I'll be right by your side." I reiterate what I've been telling Lily from the beginning, she's not alone.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you." She says leaning into me and I take this as my chance to wrap my arms around her and hold her close, taking in her signature floral scent.

"You deserve everything good in life Lily and if I can contribute to that, I'm happy." I say to my girlfriend.

"You better contribute to the win today. I wanna see nothing but threes." She smiles up at me, lightening the conversation.

"You ask and you shall receive." I say moving my hands to her waist and turning us in one swift movement so Lily's body is now pressed between mine and the desk behind her.

"You know," I say moving back slightly letting my eyes trail down her frame, "you look good at this desk and with these glasses on. Very professional."

"Yeah?" She smirks, her hand reaching out for the chain she bought me around my neck.

"Uh huh. Shame you're not wearing one of those little skirts you have." My hand grazes her thigh over her trousers.

"A terrible shame." She agrees, shaking her head.

"You know for next time." I tuck her hair behind her ear and press a quick kiss to her lips.

"I should get to warm ups." I say pulling away realising the time.

"Ugh P," She huffs, "you really know how to get me flustered and then just leave." She pouts, her cheeks visibly rosy.

"Just imagine how boring life would be without me." I smile and blow her a kiss from the doorway before leaving.

Lily

Watching Paige play basketball was quickly becoming my favourite thing to do. Even though I was technically working, I was enjoying getting to watch my girlfriend pace up and down the court, shooting the ball into the basket and making blocks that didn't seem possible until she executed them perfectly leaving not only me, but the entire crowd in awe.

I couldn't help myself from jumping to my feet and cheering each time the team increased their lead.

"How are these questions for post game?" Marcus asks me during halftime, angling his laptop towards me.

I skim over the typed out questions and nod my head encouragingly, "They're great! You always have the perfect mix of basketball and personal questions that get the girls talking." I compliment.

"Thank you, Lils. I try and make it as relaxed as possible."

"This is perfect to end on." I say pointing to one question in particular.

'With Thanksgiving break approaching, what's something you're thankful for?'

"The next newsletter going out is Thanksgiving themed so I thought it was a good fit." Marcus says just as the girl filter back onto the court for the next quater.

As I took pictures and videos of the third quater, I thought of Marcus' question and what Paiges answer would be. She was almost always picked to do media and with the game she was having I knew it would be a no brainer.

Knowing Paige, I was certain she would mention her family, the team and God. Paige showed immense gratitude everyday in everything she said and did and she was humble when most people in her position would be the exact opposite.

My suspicions were verified post game when it came to Paiges answer however I was also left in a state of shock when she said something I could have never guessed.

"With Thanksgiving break approaching, what's something you're thankful for?" Marcus asked as I stood next to him, my phone in my hand, recording just the audio as that's all that was required.

"The same as every year, I'm immensely thankful for my family and friends - everyone around me that pushes me to be the best version of myself. I'm thankful for my team, that I get to play with some of the best people everyday and we get to live out our dreams together. I'm especially thankful for my health this year, I'll never take that for granted again and none of that would be possible without my belief in God and his belief in me." Paige pauses and glances in my direction and I'm smiling not only at her perfectly articulated answer but because of how well I know her. "And to wrap it up, I'm thankful for the person I have by my side - my girlfriend. Her selflessness and strength inspires me everyday." Paige finishes, her eyes still locked on mine.

What did she just say?

"Thank you, Paige and again, congratulations on the win." Marcus concludes the interview and I press stop on the audio recording.

"Paige." I breathe out, lost for words.

Marcus slips away quietly, leaving us alone, "What? I couldn't list off what I'm thankful for without mentioning you." She says smoothing over her ponytail.

I'm smiling so big my face begins to ache, "You realise that's going in the newsletter? You realise what that means?" I ask insinuating the obvious but not verbalising it.

Paige had never spoken on her sexuality or relationship status publicly, ever. We post on socials openly now and don't hide our affection in public but a label has never been mentioned, we could just be close friends if you didn't know us personally.

"Yes." Paige says simply.

I was of the mindset that no one needed to 'come out'. Straight people didn't so why did anyone else but I know in Paiges world, things were a little different but maybe I was wrong for thinking Paige preferred keeping things inconspicuous and lowkey.

I also only had my previous relationship as a comparison and that was kept a secret until the very end and I was always made to feel like the world would crash and burn if anyone found out. I wasn't used to being loved so openly.

"I love you so much." I say to Paige but I wish there was a word bigger than love.

"I love you too. And I've been thinking about Thanksgiving." She says and my mood drops slightly at the mention of the holiday. I'd be spending it here on campus, probably alone.

"What about it?"

"I want you to come home to Minnesota with me." She says shocking me for the second time in mere minutes.

"Paige...Thank you, but I couldn't- I couldn't just come and impose on your family like that." I say genuinely. There's nothing more that I'd love than to spend Thanksgiving with the person I'm most thankful for but I'd feel like an intruder.

"Lily, are you joking? My family loves you. I've already spoken to them about it, you're more than welcome and actually, Drew can't wait to see you. You're not going to crush his little heart, are you?" She says dramatically.

"Paige do not use your little brother like that." I frown.

"I'm not! He for real can't wait to see you." Paige insists.

"I'll think about it." I pacify as some of the team start to exit the changing rooms, freshly showered.

"Think quick and let the answer be 'Yes Paige, I'll come to Minnesota with you'. I'm going to clean up, meet you out front in fifteen?" She says and I nod in response.

I use the time Paige takes to shower to pop back to my office and upload the last of the behind the scenes storys from todays game and send the audio recordings to myself so I can transcribe them tomorrow.

"So...Marcus told me what Paige said in media." Kayla says slipping into my office.

"Did he now?"

"Yep! You have her so smitten it's adorable." She says smiling.

"It is pretty adorable." I say relishing in the feeling.

Kayla and I chat for a few minutes before I pack up my stuff and go to meet Paige.

"So?" Paige says with her brows raised as I approach her and I smile at her eagerness.

"Yes Paige, I'll come to Minnesota with you." I repeat the words she wanted to hear and watch as her lips curve upwards and open to reveal a huge grin and she picks me up and spins us around.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

[marshalllir]

Finally, thanks for the apology! It's a pity, of course, that you didn't create your own post, but continue to write under the artist's post (and write hate words to them for their work) and don't tag anyone so that no one will even see this post in the end. But I'll do it for you, don't thank me. @frankbigfan @kr9vorebeazt @dicktat @hostik

If you want to answer, answer my post, and leave dott-fox alone in a good way.

You apologize to everyone, but you keep insulting one of us. It's disrespectful and unfair, to say the least, and it would be strange to think that after all my posts, I won't defend they.

The freedom of one person is pumped where the freedom of another person begins. Of course, you have the right to do what you like (by the way, are you going to apologize for pdf content?). You're just being asked to get away from people and stop pestering everyone with your beloved Frank. None of us hate Frank, but the way you've been trying to shove him down our throats for two years makes us all sick, and some of us really started hating Frank because of this whole situation, which wasn't the case until now.

Read more:

There are quite a lot of works on AO3 and on the ficbook where Frank is mentioned, I know artists who painted Frank, yes, it was a long time ago, but the fact remains that there is content with Frank.

Creating any kind of fandom creativity isn't a snap of the fingers. It's hours and hours of work, hard work. You wouldn't like it if people came to you in comments on your art and fucked up why you don't draw Juan, Aitor, Williams, Brooks - any other less popular characters. So you stop imposing on people. Or, learn to respect the work of other people and offer money for commissions, rather than asking for free requests that no one is obliged to draw for you.

Popular ships in fandoms are a fact. Once upon a time, there were only a couple of works about Haiden, and no one knew about them. People were united by love and interest in them. Find like-minded people. You will not be able to impose interest on people. You will only alienate people from yourself by such behavior. It's normal that a particular ship or character doesn't find popularity, and it's stupid to get mad at it. Make content yourself or pay money to other people, respecting their time and work, if you can't do it yourself.

You don't need to hide behind your problems with interacting with society. None of us hide behind diagnoses, for example, and you shouldn't try to make yourself a victim. Everything that is happening now is just the result of your actions. Accept it and stop fidgeting like you're in a frying pan.

Don't judge other people by yourself, especially their age. Absolutely all the participants in the conflict are older than you. Many are already of age, and some are well over 20 years old.

And yes, no one called you names or got personal. We didn't bully you. We only pointed out your actions and words without touching your personality in any way. So don't lie that someone told you to "fuck you bitch idiot" or attach screenshots where someone actually did it.

~~~

Наконец-то спасибо за извинения! Жаль конечно, что ты не создала свой собственный пост, а продолжаешь писать под постом художника (и писать ему слова ненависти за его творчество) и никого не тэгать так, что этого поста в итоге никто даже не увидит. Но я сделаю это за тебя, не благодари. Если хочешь отвечать, отвечай под мой пост, по-хорошему отстань от dott-fox.

Ты извиняешься перед всеми, но продолжаешь оскорблять одного из нас, это мягко говоря неуважительно и несправедливо и странно было бы считать, что после всех моих постов я не буду его защищать.

Свобода одного человека закачивается там, где начинается свобода другого человека. Конечно ты имеешь право делать то, что тебе нравится (кстати ты собираешься извиниться за пдф?). Тебя лишь просят отстать от людей и перестать приставать ко всем со своим любимым Фрэнком. Никто из нас не ненавидит Фрэнка, но от того, как настойчиво ты пытаешься два года запихнуть нам его в глотку - нас всех уже от этого тошнит, а некоторые действительно начали ненавидеть Фрэнка из-за всей этой ситуации, чего не было до этого момента.

На АО3 и на фикбуке достаточно много работ, где упоминается Фрэнк, я знаю художников, которые рисовали Фрэнка, да, это было давно, но факт остается фактом, контент с Фрэнком существует.

Создание любого фандомного творчества это не щелчок пальцев, это часы и часы работы, это труд. Тебе бы не понравилось, если бы люди приходили к тебе в комментарии к артам и доебывались, почему ты не рисуешь Хуана, Айтора, Уильямса, Брукса - да кого черт возьми угодно. Вот и ты перестань навязываться людям. Или же научись уважать труд других людей и предлагай деньги за коммишки, а не проси бесплатные реквесты, которые никто не обязан тебе рисовать.

Популярные пейринги в фандомах это факт. Когда-то и о хэйденах была всего пара работ и никто не зал о них. ��юдей объединила любовь и интерес к ним. Найди себе единомышленников. Ты не сможешь навязать людям интерес, ты только отторгнешь людей от себя таким поведением. Это нормально, что какой-то конкретный пейринг или персонаж не находит популярности, и злиться на это глупо. Делай контент сама или плати деньги другим людям, уважая их время и работу, если не можешь сделать этого сама.

Не нужно прикрываться своими проблемами с взаимодействием с обществом, никто из нас не прикрывается диагнозами, например, и тебе не следует пытаться делать из себя жертву. Все, что сейчас происходит это лишь результат твоих действий. Прими это и перестань вертеться как уж на сковородке.

Не суди других людей по себе, особенно об из возрасте. Абсолютно все участники конфликта старше тебя, многие уже совершеннолетние, а кому-то далеко за 20 лет.

И да, никто тебя не обзывал и не переходил на личности. Мы тебя не буллили, мы указывали лишь на твои действия и слова, никак не трогая твою личность. Так что не надо врать, что кто-то говорил тебе «fuck you bitch idiot» или прикрепляй скрины, где кто-то действительно это сделал.

[blazinghotfoggynights]

No one knows if Buddie will happen. It may. It may not. I think there is just as good of a chance of Buddie happening as Eddie being written as realizing he deserves good things and that good thing being Ana or Marisol or some other woman and Taylor redeeming herself and becoming Mrs. Buckley. Tim may even write a BuckTommy endgame for all I know, but that doesn't change what the story is so far. (911 does crazy things. Anything is possible.)

What that leads me to is what about Buck and Tommy indicated anything more than a convenient plot device? Buck and Tommy had zero chemistry. ZERO. There was more chemistry with Buck and Ali and that was flatlined. The whole BuckTommy relationship felt forced and created in order to push a bigger storyline. Were we all watching the same show?

Personally, I think there were great subplots that were left unexplored. We could have been given Tommy being confronted about his racism and misogyny, Buck dealing with being with someone like that, Tommy's journey to becoming an openly gay man, Hen and Chimney finally opening up about what Tommy's behavior was like for them and how it feels to now be confronted with one of their tormentors on a frequent basis, etc. (Feel free to take any of those and write fic. Can you tag me if you do? I'd love to read it!)

Every single interaction between Buck and Tommy was cold, dismissive, or about sex. There was nothing deep there. Buck was, once again, trying to force something.

Go back to 7x3. Tommy PUSHES Buck away while watching Eddie. Tommy was spending time with Eddie every spare minute they had. He never once invited Buck to hang out. When Buck visited him at the hangar, Tommy simply checked him out, then was condescending. When Eddie arrived, Tommy's whole demeanor changed. He physically stood up straighter, began smiling, and couldn't wait to get away from Buck.

Tommy going to Buck's loft was not about attraction. He was dealing with realizing he couldn't have Eddie and it wasn't because of Marisol. I could be wrong, but I don't recall Tommy ever mentioning Marisol. He complained that he could never take Buck's place. That was someone congratulating the victor. Did you not hear the tone of Tommy's voice and his phrasing? He was not complimenting Buck at any point. He was annoyed and jealous.

He kissed Buck for something other than attraction. How did the fans who figured it out know? The man had no clue Buck was attracted to him because he was paying Buck dust!

Tommy had the chance to play with a baby bi and he took it. Buck was young, hot, and ready to do anything so Tommy took the offer.

When Buck tried to open up and be vulnerable after Bobby's heart attack, Tommy turned it into sexual innuendo. I don't care how you spin it, that conversation was creepy and not something someone who cares about you would say.

When Buck was at the cemetery, he mentioned his boyfriend wouldn't touch him. Tommy didn't ask for Buck to be healed for Buck's sake. He wanted to be able to sleep with him!

You don't have to be Buddie to have seen that relationship was a mess. Buck dove in head first and was reckless and needy immediately. Tommy was distant and cold. It was all right there in the viewers' faces the whole time. If you saw a deep, committed, loving relationship between Evan Buckley and Thomas Kinard, you were missing the blatant clues.

Tommy was there for fun and knew it would burn out. Buck was the same old Buck, begging for someone to love him and jumping in with his eyes closed. Eddie? Well, we have to wait to see which direction Tim chooses, but the past was really clear about who Tommy wanted to spend his time with initially.

Tim could easily send BuckTommy and Buddie fandom both into meltdowns by putting Eddie and Tommy together. Ijs. Then no one gets what they want. You never know with him.

[abyssal-author-and-artist]

My blog is generally pretty lighthearted and I stick to reblogging art and fic and fun stuff, but you know what. I feel like I need to say this.

I am a trans teen in the US. I'm seventeen, so too young to have voted. I'm terrified for my life right now. I usually post about college but I'm actually concurrently enrolled in high school still and the kid who sits behind me in first period government is a massive Trump fanboy. I'm going to have to go to high school Monday and talk about the election. I'm going to have to hear my deadname called and hear people in my super conservative high school talk about how happy they are Trump won. Everything is terrifying. I walk outside of my house and I'm scared I'll be shot. Several months ago I promised that I'd kill myself if that bastard won.

He did and I'm still here.

I'm not thriving. I'm not living my best life. I'm barely living. But I'm surviving. I'm coping. I'm trying my goddamned best. It's hard. I want so bad to just go and take as much medication as I can and slit my wrist for good measure and pass away in my sleep. But I'm still here. And I will be here.

I am in so much pain. But I'm living on spite and determination and everything I can scrape together. I know I need support and those around me need support. So consider this a support masterpost.

Support:

First thing you should see if you're a trans person in the US.

Here's a link to the Trevor Project and here's a link to their suicide hotline page. They've already saved my life once before. Please note - they recommend calling if you need immediate support. Donate if you can, please.

This post is both a suicide hotline masterlist and a post mentioning how something feels deeply wrong here with this election.

On the topic of something being wrong, sign this petition. I'm only seventeen but I did this and it might not feel like much but if we couldn't shoot that bastard (I am not pro-gun but I am when it comes to him) then we'll do the next best thing. Here's the link to the petition itself. Make sure to check the post every once in a while - the original petition got taken down and this is important.

I follow a lot of gimmick blogs, so I got to see this post encouraging us to be loud. Because we should be. Because if we die they've won and my mom didn't smoke weed on the steps of the state capital of Colorado to legalize it just so her son could roll over and die.

Here is the Tumblr Hot Beverage Masterpost, as I've taken to calling it. My personal favorites are the London Fog in the replies, earl grey with milk, honey, and vanilla (in the tags), and some additions from me are hot chocolate with peppermint melted into it, earl grey with lavender, caramel apple tea, and really anything else you can think of. Trust me. This post works better than you think.

Read this post if you haven't seen it already. It's half poem, half Tumblr being Tumblr, all wonderful to read.

Things I just like to see:

PM Seymour and Bettina Levy both have shown their support for everyone struggling right now. It might not be much, but I still really appreciate it and seeing support can really help.

The cat with the kind and reassuring face. No other context.

Four panel comic of hope. Because you're more than enough.

Can't find the post where I found this but this is a link to a virtual toy where you can make your own galaxy.

Please. Eat something. Drink a hot beverage. Draw, write, read, knit, sew, sculpt, bake, do something that helps. Reach out to friends, even if they're online friends. Talk to someone you trust. Make vent art. Write vent fics. It doesn't matter what you do as long as it helps.

Do not roll over and die. Live. Live on spite. Live on determination. Live on shitposts and live on heartfelt stories like this one. If you have anything to add to this post please do. Add more resources. Add more love to this post. I know I'm just a guy on the internet saying shit, but I still care about everyone who sees this post.

[submasbrainrot]

. . . . . . . . .

Reshiram | Zekrom | Giratina | Arceus | Kyurem

[arttsuka]

Based on somewhat real events

I spent way too much time drawing this...

But yeah, Ford finally saying thank you

A continuation (kinda)

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

Still very wild to me when people try to gotcha Jason with the whole "if you can kill other people for being evil why can't they kill you" when jason is like. One of the most passively suicidal characters I've ever seen. What if man

[sprinklethetangerine]

Hey, I just watched Dead Poets Society for the first time ever! Now, if you guys don't mind, I'm gonna go sit in the corner of my room and scream!

[whatudottu]

In the words of someone I can't remember the blog name of; The King in SASASAP genuinely had something wrong with him :P

Anyway, say hi to Loopabelle AKA Fortune (Because Mirabelle mistakes her for being connected with the Favour Tree, she is 'good fortune' for breaking out of the loops, and 'Fortune favours the bold' etc etc), who retroactively has a design element connected to physical trauma in a similar yet differing way to actual loop :P

Yipippie!

[chimerahyperfix]

CW: Graphic depictions of violence, lots of Death and Gore, Psychological horror for like 3 lines, mentions of drowning. Please read the tags and take caution. This one's more than a little visceral.

-----

The King is here.

You walk through crowded halls of rushing Housemaidens getting into defensive positioning. It's like fighting a wave in the ocean, hard to push through the crowd. You make do anyways, curling through paths you normally wouldn't take.

It's a big deal to everyone but you, at this point. This is the big event, the big fight; to you it's simply where time loops back. Just another day, y'know? You've done it over and over, and you'll probably keep doing it anyways.

It's odd, pushing through the crowd. Everyone is going one way and you are going another. Rushing versus strolling. Your hands are in the pockets of your lab coat. You're practically whistling, for crab's sake!

You simply cannot be bothered this loop. It's a failure from the start: you crabbed up making the bomb, which means you're crabbed from the very beginning. You climbed up the Favor Tree and wedged yourself between the braches for a few hours to pass the time, because looping back would be too much of an inconvenience, and you could just wait until the tears started spawning in the house to go back. The birds had a good time at least, one starting to craft a nest next to you.

You ghosted throughout the day, and now its go time. Everyone else is prepared and ready to fight for time itself, and here you are just. Walking. Realistically you're searching for a tear to stop it all before it starts, but luck isn't on your side this loop.

You can hear it, hear it-- the horrors. All the screams of those unfortunate enough to cross the King's path and fight back. It would be easier, for them, to just bow back and let themselves be frozen-- but no one wants to be frozen, because that's having choice itself stolen from you, a cage of ice to lock yourself in forever. It's just as bad as being dead. Stagnant and eternally screaming.

So they march to their deaths.

The King does not take kindly to the Housemaidens fighting back. Some loops, the House isn't prepared for his attack. Those loops are the nice ones, the less gorey ones. Less dead and more frozen bodies, because no one was prepared to brawl with the monster. He can just... swoop on through and take the House without more than a handful of casualties. This loop is one of the bad ones, because your fellow housemaidens were all prepared. You always think your prepared, too, to see the outcome, but you never truly are.

You turn into the main hall, and freeze still.

No matter how many loops you go through, the carnage always gets to you. There's a nasty, overpowering smell of iron in the air and big dark stains painting the walls, the floors and the roof. Bits and pieces of mashed guts and viscera. There were people in this hallway, once.

Not anymore.

It makes you sick to your stomach like every other time. Just the thought of it. There were people here and now there's only parts of them left. Just ten minutes ago or so, there were people here.

There were people here.

The gore goes in a trail down the hall. Paints practically everything-- including frozen people, if you look down the hall. All frozen with shock and absolute horror on their faces. You recognize some of them.

You try not to think about it.

You push on. Try to ignore the way the blood seeps into your shoes very fabric so they become damp. Try to ignore the fact you're trailing someone's very life behind you now with bloody shoe prints.

There are still no tears.

Plan B, then. The King himself.

You hate going against the King. It always ends terribly with you in agony. But that's the only option left right now, so you chase him down on his little path carved from the blood of the innocent. You find him quickly, too- just down the hall.

He stops before you can get too close. The smell in the air is overpowering, the sharp tang of blood and the burning sensation of the sugar.

"Burning one." He says to you. You're not sure where he pulled that one from: the nickname was something different at some point, but you've long forgotten what it was. Maybe it's the smell of burnt, rotting sugar or maybe it's the potions that burnt your throat. You're not sure anymore.

He just... stands there. Turns around and looks at you. You can feel the dead expression you're pulling as you stare back. Blood glints on his armor, shining and the worst sight in the world and all the same kinda beautiful in its own way? Like the lightless gore is the night sky itself, sparkling with little dots. Makes you feel sick just thinking that.

"How have you done it?" He asks. He asks it every time the two of you face off, the same five words. How. A inquiry. Something you have done, you shouldn't have, and he knows it.

You... think you've gotten it, now. Your hypothesis: How you wished. It's not something you were supposed to do. You did something different something WRONG, and it did something to time itself, tearing a hole in the fabric of space. It's wrong. It's wrong, and you know it and so does the King.

He stares in your direction. You think? Despite his hands, blood-stained as they are, not being infront of his face, the mop of hair is still in the way. You can feel the glare still. Enraged. Daggers in your side.

"I don't know." It's the truth.

"You don't know?"

"I don't remember."

The King goes silent. It's odd, having an actual conversation with him. Even if it was a tiny exchange, it still throws you off. He's willing to talk, even if just a question. He's never really talked to you-- or anyone, to your knowledge-- before.

"Ouuuuhhhh... of course you don't." He wails. It sounds like nails on a chalkboard to you. "You shouldn't have been able too, oohhh... not at all..."

He raises a fist up. It sparkles like the night sky, dark dripping from between his fingers. There's still someone's remains painted on them. Preemptively you brace and throw your arms up in an attempt to block.

It's a different thing that hits you. A new attack. A giant open palm slams into your chest, and you go flying backwards into the wall. The world turns to slow motion as something in you SNAPS. Crunches. Your bones shatter and explode with the force and speed, shooting little shards of agony everywhere.

It hurts. It HURTS. Pain rips through your entire body, and you realise you've started to scream when your chest begins to hurt. Blood splatters onto your glasses, blotting out your vision.

You look up at the King. How'd you get on the floor? How are you breathing, with no lungs? You can see fragments of bone stuck between the metal of his armor.

"Let this be a lesson to you, Burning one."

Metal clinks, and your vision swims-- dots in the corners, figures blur. Blood drips down into your left eye and paints half of your vision a dark shade. Nothing but pain.

Make it stop. Make it stop, make it stop make it stop-- it hurts, it hurts it hurts it hurts.

You

Simply stop thinking. Just for a moment.

So your brain can catch up! Yeah, sure. That's a good enough excuse.

Just. Pain. You are pain incarnate, and that's all you will be until you die slowly and loop back.

You

Blink,, and

The King. Is gone. You can hear him leaving, loud stomping footsteps dissapearing down a bloodstained trail, and you just stare.

How lucky, HOW LUCKY of you to be left alive this time. Like this isn't a fate worse than death. You gasp for air, and realise all you have left is blood filling your lungs.

It hurts. You want it to end, now. It's hard to see, over the blood and spots dancing across your eyes, but you see them; tears, floating around you. A quick out. You reach out, and the pain in you flares alive, ripping and tearing you apart. You feel like your flesh is going to peel off.

Your fingers brush into one of the tears, and you sob as the ice rolls down your arm and consumes you. It feels a hundred times better than what you were feeling before.

You freeze in time-- and luckily theres no nightmare you have to endure, you just wake back up at your desk. You spend a good chunk of the morning curled up in the bathroom getting sick, because, wow! That's the worst one yet! It's curled into your very being, the feeling of breaking your bones like rock candy, the feeling of drowning in blood.

You just... have to do it better this time, or... something. Hope is fading away into background static. You can't... do this anymore. It hurts too much. You want it to stop. Please make it stop.