#praying for everyone else to get through this

[asteropewpew]

the more i sit on this, the more i get struck by just how much it fits to have castorice's trial and anaxa's own trial to occur so closely to one another. no wonder anaxa gave the culmination of his life's work, the philosopher's stone, to castorice for her trial.

of course. they both know what it must feel like to be eternally separated from their loved ones between life and death.

consider anaxa who lost his sister to the black tide, despite praying to the titans for salvation. then castorice, who had grown up not knowing what she had lost but suffered keenly what she had lacked apart from everyone else. and perhaps polyxia too, to an extent—she who lost her sister for the simple, damning price of having authority over death.

"Why could I not sacrifice myself in order to resurrect my nearest and dearest?"

what must it remind of polyxia thanatos of who saw anaxa's desire to seek death, yet his deepest wish had only ever been to gaze at the family that he had forever lost?

"If such a mighty power existed... I would use it without hesitation."

and so, she they gave it to him. perhaps this was the beginning of anaxa's eventual self-destruction, serving as an impossibly sharp fragment that gouged into his heart and unearthed his long-buried grief. or maybe it was the greatest acknowledgment to the depth of anaxa's love, who loved so passionately and deeply enough that he would brave the netherworld just to be able to reach his sister for one more time.

"Equivalent exchange... all I received for that price was an opportunity to see her for one final time. Nothing more."

what does it feel to anaxa then, to see his sister whole and untouched by the horrors of the black tide, to wear the peace of death with such grace in front of him who sacrificed half his sight just to see her for one more time?

so i can't help but really think that anaxa's giving of the philosopher's stone to castorice has another meaning, something a little kinder perhaps. from one grieving soul to another, in order to help feel a sense of closure to the loss that they had both felt for so long. it was through that stone, after all, that thanatos was finally able to feel relieved that castorice had lived well—despite weathering such a selfish act (of resurrecting someone long gone) born from the purest of love.

maybe thanatos had intended to give anaxa some sense of closure by seeing his sister so peacefully like this, just as anaxa had intended for thanatos to have their own closure in the shape of his student's innocent joy

[rusalka52]

Disc Discourse

Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin!Reader

Summary: An unlikely companionship between you and Sirius begins to form after you two share a cigarette at the annual pureblood Christmas party. Everything seems to be going very well until an argument over whose music taste is better arises.

cw: mention of bloodpurist attitudes, mention of drinking, smoking, Sirius and Reader are both a bit sleazy lmfao, Reader is a Beatles fan

4.5k words

A/N: this is a rewrite of a fic I wrote last year. I really liked the idea but hated how it was written so I redid it. It ended up completely different than the original one but the premise is still the same, enjoy!! 🫘

masterlist

This year’s annual pureblood Christmas party-gathering was by far one of the most boring ones you had to endure and your body was desperately aching for a cigarette. You hope that it will take the edge off and give you a much needed break from all the small talk you had to get through today.

Barty managed to convince his father, Mr Crouch Sr., to let him stay home and not drag him to this stupid party by using the excuse of needing to complete this three page essay assigned by professor Slughorn over the holidays. Or maybe Mr Crouch is a bit too embarrassed to be seen outside with his son’s pierced face and ears, messy hair and disruptive personality.

The Rosier twins, Evan and Pandora, were engaged in a “riveting” conversation with your classmate Mulciber. You would quite frankly rather sit through an entire two hour period History of Magic class, listening to professor Binns talk at length about another goblin war, than hear about Mulciber’s family trip to Venice or Paris or Mykonos or the Bahamas for the thousandth time with no escape.

That left you with your friend, and host of this year’s party, Regulus Black. Reggie was a really really good friend, trustworthy, reliable, helpful, and despite being a year younger than you he was really mature and a great conversation to have. However, regardless of all his redeeming qualities, he was so uptight! He would of course sit with you while you smoked to keep you company if you asked but that also meant having to endure the diatribe he was bound to launch into about all the health hazards of nicotine and its effects on the human body.

You essentially had no choice but to go looking for a quiet, secluded space in order to have a smoke. Your objective now is to find an empty balcony at the Black manor where you could get at least five minutes of peace. You carefully open the door of the gathering room, making sure no one sees you, and you slip out of the room into the long hallway. You scurry down the ornately decorated corridor, eyeing the various portraits suspiciously, praying that they don't decide to question why you're not with everyone else. If your mother finds out you smoke you're dead. Right before you reach the staircase you hear a familiar voice behind you.

“Where do you think you're going, young lady? The guests should be in the other room, not wandering the corridors” Mrs Walburga Black asks in a shrill voice. You turn around panicked, your eyes widening like a deer caught in headlights. You relax slightly when you see that it is in fact the portrait of her likeness speaking and not the real one.

“Good evening Mrs Black, lovely party tonight, thank you so much for inviting my family.” You reply hoping this distracts her; she stares at you with her gaunt, piercing eyes, waiting for you to continue.

“I was just, uh, looking for the bathroom. I need to touch up on my make-up you see.” You explain looking around nervously.

“Well the guest bathroom is the first door on the left of this hallway. You are not permitted upstairs.”

You are about to give up on your mission when suddenly Kreacher appears from the kitchen holding a tray of cakes.

“KREACHER,” she shrieks, “No, no, NO! How many times do we have to tell you that these cakes are served AFTER the wine, not before, stupid elf.” She turns her piercing gaze to the poor house elf, who just apologises to his Mistress and returns to the kitchen to fetch the wines instead. You almost feel bad for him. Almost because his mistake acted as the perfect distraction for you to slip away up the stairs unnoticed.

You tiptoe up the grand staircase that leads to the upper floors of 12 Grimmauld Place, grimacing at the shrunken house elf heads that were mounted on the walls. Merlin, no wonder Sirius behaves like that in school, if this is his childhood home. Sure, your parents were blood purists too but this was madness!

~

You finally reach the landing of the first floor and you look around, making sure that it’s empty. You make your way towards the door that is furthest down the long hall, admiring the intricate wallpaper decorating the walls. You stifle a laugh as your gaze lands on a framed photograph of Sirius when he was approximately five years old, crying because a lollipop got stuck in his hair. The next photo in the line is him with a shaved head and a pout on his plump toddler cheeks. Your hand lands on the snake carved door knob and you twist quietly hoping that the room is empty. Luck seems to be on your side tonight as you find the drawing room empty — what a perfect place to have a smoke. You enter the long, high-ceilinged room and take a moment to admire the dark olive green striped tapestries on the walls, the lush, expensive looking persian carpet beneath your feet, the roaring fireplace that kept the room warm despite the freezing London winter that controlled the weather outside. You approach the large windows that overlook the street below and, pushing aside the dark velvet curtains, you open the window and step outside, exposing your skin to the harsh elements. You curse at your past self for deciding to wear a short sleeved, knee-length dress because now you were absolutely freezing. At least the thick material kept your core somewhat warm but it was nearly not enough for you to feel comfortable.

You reach your hand into your handbag and pull out a nearly empty pack of Winston cigarettes along with a metal lighter. You put a cigarette between your lips and cup your hand around the lighter in order to prevent the wind from blowing out the fire but, unfortunately, to no avail — the wind was simply too strong. You turn over, facing away from the direction of the wind and looking out towards the courtyard of the Black household, effectively blocking the wind and finally lighting the cigarette, burning your hand in the process. You take a drag from the cigarette, wincing and shaking your hand in hopes it alleviates some of the pain. You look down at the Muggle cars rushing past, people either returning from or heading to various Christmas celebrations.

Your attention seems to be too focused on observing the various cars and couples stumbling down the street to notice the door to the drawing room creak open behind you and the footsteps, muffled by the soft carpet, that are steadily approaching.

“Boo!” You hear a male voice whisper directly in your ear and you jump in shock letting out a noise of surprise. You spin around to face the person that had just startled you, accidentally dropping your cigarette from the balcony. Your gaze lands on the dark grey coloured eyes of none other than Sirius Orion Black staring back at you with a teasing glint and a taunting smirk playing on his beautiful lips.

“Shouldn’t you be downstairs rubbing elbows with ministry officials? What are you doing here all by yourself?”

“Nothing.” You reply a bit too fast.

“Oh right, nothing…” he walks past you and leans over the balcony rail, “I’m assuming that the still lit cigarette below just apparated here by itself then?” He smirks, turning to gaze at you lazily, supporting himself on the rail with two elbows propped against it.

“I- uh, it’s not- look, please don’t tell anyone.” You plead, you were way too worried about someone discovering your unhealthy habit and telling on you. Sure you were no longer a kid but that didn’t mean you stopped being anxious of your parents. You chew on your lower lip nervously, waiting for his reply. Black finding out was one of the worst outcomes, besides being caught by your parents of course, he definitely could — and would — use this against you.

“And why shouldn’t I?” Sirius asks, a lazy smile plastered on his lips. “I mean, seeing as you are the one littering on private property.”

“Please don’t, my parents will be very cross with me!”

“Alright, I won’t tell anyone…” You exhale in relief, “if you give me a cigarette.” A wolfish grin spreads on his face.

“Are you blackmailing me, Black? And here I thought Gryffindors were honest and virtuous.” He chuckles in response and you dig into your handbag retrieving two more cigarettes. You really didn’t mind sharing, especially now that Sirius wasn’t being a total arse like he was in school. Being around his friends and trying to impress James really seemed to make him act out, but now that he is by himself, with no one around worth impressing and gaining the approval of, he was actually being quite tolerable, you'd even go as far as to say that he was even being slightly pleasant! Probably just trying to make the best out of a bad situation like you, and you can sympathise with that.

You take out your lighter, placing the cigarette between your lips and attempt to light it again. The wind however seems to have other plans once again. Sirius watched you, an amused expression on his face, and he snorts when you hiss in pain as you burn your thumb again.

“Shut up!” You chide, eyebrows furrowing in annoyance as you rub your thumb in pain.

“Here let me do it.” He fishes in his trousers pocket for his lighter and takes out an intricately chiseled silver lighter. You go to grab it from his hand and he brushes past your arm and brings the lighter close to your face. “Allow me.” He whispers; he was so close you could smell the lingering scent of alcohol fanning across your face, and he could no doubt sense the two glasses of wine you managed to sneak without your parents catching you.

“You have to inhale, remember?” He chuckles, teasing you. You quickly do as he says, turning around once your cigarette is lit, hoping that he didn't catch the faint blush prickling at your neck and rising to your cheeks. If he mentions anything you can just blame it on the freezing December weather.

“I know that…” You roll your eyes, mentally berating yourself for acting like such an idiot in front of a guy. You didn’t like him or anything but it still is embarrassing to make a fool of yourself like that in front of anyone, not just him!

You take a long puff of your cigarette looking around at the entrance to the Black family home. The drawing room balcony overlooked the street below and you could faintly make out a couple, tucked away and hiding behind a tree across the road, snogging. No doubt two guests that had snuck out of the party for some alone time. The atmosphere could have been slightly enjoyable had it not been for the dry, winter breeze that picked up as the minutes go by. You shiver, taking another quick drag of your cigarette and expelling the smoke. You just wanted to finish your smoke, go back inside and warm up, and maybe tell your mother that you feel unwell and that you want to return home to rest.

“No need to be so uptight, love, there’s no rush, just enjoy the smoke.” Sirius mentions off handedly from beside you; you almost forgot that he is still next to you. He is being uncharacteristically quiet tonight, especially juxtaposed to his loud, raucous attitude during school.

“I’m not being uptight.” You roll your eyes. “I’m cold and I don’t want to freeze to death on your balcony.”

“Oh, my! Well, where are my manners?” He gasps dramatically, taking off his black suit jacket with a grand, theatrical gesture.

“No- Stop, you don’t have to.” You begin to protest but he dismisses your objections, grabbing your upper arm and turning you to face him, he wraps his jacket around your shoulders.

“Now what sort of gentleman and proper host would I be if I didn’t take care of my guests, hm?” He quizzes, his grey eyes locked on yours and his arms still placed firmly on your shoulders, keeping his jacket on you. His scent engulfs your senses as you breathe in; the perfume he put on before the party started, smelling strongly of musk, leather and citrus, alongside the cigarettes he has smoked and the drinks he has drunk, is making your head spin.

“What’s wrong, love? Cat got your tongue?” He teases, his smirk deepening. You tut and pull away, turning back around to face the balcony, leaning on the railing in hopes he doesn’t notice the blush forming on your cheeks – you can’t blame this one on the cold anymore.

A comfortable silence forms around you two, the only sounds that can be heard is the muffled classical music from downstairs, people laughing and glasses clinking, the whistling of the wind and the rustling of the trees from the park across the street.

“We should go back in…” You sigh, putting out your finished cigarette, and throwing the butt in an ashtray on the balcony table nearby. You turn to go back inside the drawing room when Sirius’ arm stretches out in front of you, trapping you outside on the balcony with him.

“Wait, no! Don’t go.” Sirius exclaims, almost frantically, while putting out his cigarette, discarding it and stepping in front of you, completely blocking your exit. You cock your head in confusion.

“I just- look none of my friends are here and I’m so bored.” He slouches, relaxing his shoulders.

“Alright, can we at least go inside the drawing room, I don’t want anyone coming up here looking for us and seeing two fresh cigarette butts in the ashtray.” He grins at your acquiescence, stepping aside allowing you entry back inside the house.

“Ladies first.” He bows dramatically and, despite yourself, you giggle at his antics.

~

You both take a seat on the mahogany carved couches. It felt almost illegal to sit on such an intricately designed couch.

“You still have my jacket, you know.” Sirius mentions flippantly as you both get comfortable.

“Oh, sorry.” You make a move to take it off and return it to him but he puts his hand over yours.

“No, no, keep it, you look good like this.” He says, his eyes trailing over your body as if you’re not even there.

“Okay…” You draw out. “So what do you want to talk about?”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly planning on talking much.” He replies, his tongue sticking out to wet his lips, as he glances down to yours and back to your eyes. You catch his hint immediately and your thoughts start to race. A popular, albeit rude, attractive boy from your school wants to kiss you. Sure it won’t exactly mean anything special, but you’re not looking for that deep of a connection either. You’re both two bored, unsupervised and slightly intoxicated teenagers. Fuck it, what’s the worse than can happen?

“Oh yeah? And what were you planning on doing then?” You smirk playfully.

“Oh, I think you know.” He replies leaning in closer but you pull back, leaning on the velvet armchairs.

“Hm, I don’t believe I do, you’ll have to tell me what you want.”

Without missing a beat, and with no reservations whatsoever Sirius replies. “I want to kiss you.” His piercing gaze makes your heart beat in your ears and heat rise to your cheeks as you try to come up with a witty response, but no words come out of your mouth. You were not expecting him to be so straightforward but with such an arrogant man you should’ve known that this was the approach he would take.

“Can I?” He smiles smugly, taking note of your flustered and startled expression. Trying to outwit Sirius Black was a futile act and you should know that, especially after being in the majority of the same classes with him for the past seven years. You can only muster up a pathetic nod in response to his request.

He slithers over towards you, his one arm wraps around the back of the couch, around your shoulders, and his other rests on the arm of the sofa, cornering you.

He leans down closer to your face, your lips almost brushing and you wait for him to lean in.

“Don’t you want to kiss me too?” You hum in response.

“Use your words please, can you do that for me?” Your breath hitches. You can smell the alcohol and nicotine on his breath and it’s making you reel.

“I want to kiss you.” You reply.

“Well, go ahead then.” Without taking a moment to think about the fact that you're the one leaning in to kiss him and not the other way around, you’re already crashing your lips against his. You feel his lips form an insufferable smirk as you're kissing and you curse yourself internally for giving into his charms so easily.

His arm snakes around your waist as your hands root themselves in his raven hair, pulling him impossibly closer. You both pull away for air but your brief moment separated is quickly gone as Sirius buries his face in the crook of your neck, peppering soft, yet hungry, greedy, kisses along the exposed area of your neckline.

Your eyes glance towards the unlocked oak door of the drawing room and back down to Sirius who was busy planting kisses along your collarbone.

You give his hair a tug, pulling him back as he groans in annoyance.

“What?” He questions, rolling his eyes, his lips red and puffy from the kiss.

“Sirius,” you push the boy away, catching a glimpse of the door again, “someone might come looking for us…”

“They’re too busy downstairs to notice we’re missing, it will be fine, no one visits the upper floors anyway.” He explains, leaning back down, but you put your arm on his chest, stopping him.

“I mean guests, family members, classmates might stumble in looking for the loo, you never know. I don’t want word to spread that we’re shagging or something. You can guess how Slyherins are with rumours.” You roll your eyes.

“We can go to my room. It has a lock. Please?”

You nod in response. Seeing Sirius be so needy for you made your chest swell with pride. He takes your hand in his and leads you out of the drawing room, his jacket laying abandoned on the room’s ornate couch. You follow behind him up the stairs, past the scornful and disapproving look that the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black shoots his great-great-grandson on the second floor.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, young man!” You hear him shout from downstairs as you reach the third floor.

“Ignore him, my room is on the last floor.” He tugs your arm, pulling you upstairs quicker, heat rising to his cheeks from his being embarrassed by the portrait’s remark.

You finally reach the topmost landing and you’re faced with two doors; one leading to Sirius's room, and the other to Regulus's. The latter was marked by a sign on the massive oak door — “Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black” —what a dork, you think to yourself. The former had a Gryffindor banner hanging from the top of it and a red tie fastened to the serpent shaped doorknob. It’s painfully obvious which door leads to Sirius’ room.

As Sirius opens the door a sudden foul stench infiltrates your senses. It’s a vile concoction of spray deodorant, wet dog, body odour, unwashed bed sheets, cigarette smoke and dirty socks. You think you are going to vomit. How can boys be so disgusting?

He walks in and turns on his lamp, illuminating the high ceilinged room.

“Ta-da! Welcome to my humble abode.” Sirius says, returning next to you.

“Merlin, Black, do you ever open any windows here?” You turn to look at him, your face grimacing in revulsion.

“Do you open the windows in the Slytherin dorms?” He raises his eyebrow, pushing you inside the room and closing the door behind you, locking it.

“Touché, you know we can’t, we’re under the Black Lake.” You roll your eyes, turning to look at him. “I mean seriously, Black, do you ever clean up in here? The room is filthy!” You continue your complaining, your eyes landing on the mess on the floor. Discarded clothes everywhere and vinyls strewn about next to his shelf, at least his record player is taken care of. You’re pretty sure you can see his underwear tossed on the ground beside his desk. You don’t have enough time to make a fuss about the obnoxious posters of motorcycles and half naked women plastered on his wall when he starts to push you towards his bed –and unmade bed sheets.

“Well I sincerely apologise, your majesty, I wasn’t exactly expecting guests tonight…” He whispers pushing you down on his bed.

“Do you need to have guests in order to clean? These aren’t acceptable living conditions, you're a grown man.” You say, your hands resuming their previous position in his hair as he lays on top of you, supporting himself on his forearms.

“Look, are we going to snog or will you keep chastising me for my unkempt room?” You answer his question by pulling him down by his hair and crashing your lips onto his again. He returns the kiss almost immediately, kissing you with much more fervour and urgency than before. Your one hand is still tangled in his messy hair while the other wraps around his neck pulling him even closer. He bites your lip, making you yelp. He takes advantage of your parted lips to slide his tongue in your mouth. His mouth leaves your lips as you take a deep breath. He starts peppering kisses down your face, over your jawline towards your neck. His hungry, drunken kisses turn into light nibbling and sucking in an attempt to leave a mark.

“Fuck, love, I want you so bad.” He whimpers against your neck.

“Oh Salazar, what would Regulus think if he saw you here like this with his brother. Merlin, what would mother and father think if they saw marks all over your neck?!” Your thoughts start to race but still, you’re too caught up in the momentary pleasures you’re feeling to push Sirius away. You feel his hand trail up your thigh, hiking up your dress and at the same time you turn your neck to give him better access. Your gaze then lands on the record shelves by his bed.

You learned about the muggle contraption from one of your classmates in third year and you fell in love with it. The idea that the ridges of a vinyl, when put in that machine could produce such lovely tunes without the use of magic simply amazed you. The record player is perched on a dark oak bookcase that contains at least fifty different vinyls, all from some of the most popular bands of the past two decades. Some of the records are worn out and tattered from the years of use, probably second hand, and they’re placed either on the bottom shelves or they’re messily thrown on the carpeted floor, while others are in pristine condition and delicately placed on the upper shelves of the case, those are his favourites, you assume.

Sirius is, of course, quick to notice the lack of attention being given to him and he follows your gaze.

“What sort of music do you listen to?” You turn back to look at him and you see his hair dishevelled and a strong blush staining his otherwise pale cheeks.

“No offence, darling, but I didn’t bring you to my room to talk about music.” He whispers leaning into your ear.

“At least tell me your favourite band.”

“Fine. I guess I’ll have to go with the Rolling Stones. Can we go back to what we were doing now?” He replies exasperated.

You pause.

“…what?”

He pulls back more, laying on his forearms now, and looks at you quizzically, head cocking like a confused puppy.

“What’s wrong with the Rolling Stones?”

“I mean there’s nothing wrong with them per se but how can you say that the Rolling Stones are your favourite band when the Beatles are right there.” You scoff, pulling yourself up more so you can properly look at his face.

“Ugh don’t tell me you’re a Beatles fan…” Sirius groans, rolling his eyes. You sit up fully now.

“Yes actually, I am.” You continue. “And they’re much better than the Rolling Stones for your information. I mean Paul McCartney and John Lennon are lyrical geniuses!” You explain.

“Oh are they now?” He says, the teasing tone returning to his voice.

“Yes, they very much are!”

“You know,” you continue, “I bet you fancy yourself as another Mick Jagger or something and that’s the only reason you like his band.” You giggle, twirling a strand of his hair at the nape of his neck around your finger.

“Well of course I do, honey, I have the hair, the eyes, and most importantly the sex appeal, wouldn’t you agree?” He teases again, lightly pinching your thigh on the exposed part of your leg after he hiked up your skirt.

You hum in response.

“Go on then, enlighten me. How are the Beatles that much better than the Rolling Stones? Because last time I checked John Lennon wasn’t the one who came up with “Sticky Fingers” or “Let It Bleed”…” He asks, his voice dropping an octave .

“Well, you must be daft if you think those albums are better than ���A Hard Day’s Night”! And besides, the Beatles have albums filled with hits while the Rolling Stones have what? Maybe three good songs spread across ten albums”

“Hah, James always says the same thing!” He laughs. “Well, to me it seems that you just have shitty music taste and you hate listening to fun stuff.” He sticks his tongue out and blows a raspberry in your face. You laugh at his silly antics.

“I’m so sorry that I prefer something with a little more substance and meaning than the Rolling Stones.” You roll your eyes, smile still plastered across your face as your hands bury themselves again in his hair. You pull him back down.

“Oh finally, you’re apologising!” He exclaims in faux surprise, eyebrows raising dramatically.

You shake your head mirthfully. “It’s okay to admit that the Beatles are better than the Rolling Stones, you know? I won’t tell anyone. Promise!”

“But they’re not though.” He mumbles against your jawline, underneath your ear.

“Yes they are.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

He’s about to reply with yet another “no” when your legs wrap around his waist and a sharp tug on his hair brings his face back up to your lips, making his brain short circuit and completely forget any part of the conversation you two just shared.

[leechiourdes]

I have no idea what this is about and I'm 100% an outsider to this story, and I have no idea what's going on, but from what I understand this Anton fella is the same guy who's working on Blessed Be The Wicked/BBTW, and whatever happens to that guy, he fucking deserves it.

He's always being such a crybaby about the quality of the original stories, and yeah, they're shit, everyone knows it, but he just has to insist upon himself and how much better his versions of the stories are, when I look at them and they're borderline ocs with how disconnected some of them are from the original story.

The guy acts like he's such a good writer for rejecting these older versions that were poorly written when they were popular for a reason; not because they were "well written" but because they were fun, turn-your-brain-off horror adventures that a lot of alt kids in the early 2010s could relate to and feel seen by

Its okay to like the original versions of the stories and want to reinvent them out of passion, but I just can't feel any passion behind this project at all. It feels like it was made with hate and spite instead of love for the fandom and the characters, like he's trying to "prove" that he can write better and he is better than everyone else in his community for "taking these characters seriously" so to speak when nobody asked him. The way he describes all his """rewrites""" (read: original characters) makes it feel like he's actively trying to make you as a creepypasta fan FEEL BAD for liking the original version of the character and not his all new totally newfangled oc rewrite of it.

Not to mention the guy's is such a dick he basically tells people "if you're not good at writing, then don't write" as if people are just naturally born with writing talent and skill?? Writing is something you get good at over time, and even the best writers have shitty first projects that they had when they were younger, and that's okay because it helped them improve and get better?? It all gives off the impression that this guy 's head is just so far his own asshole that he thinks that he was just naturally gifted with this talent of being a "good writer" and everyone else who's a "bad writer" is writing bad on purpose, when no, that's just them STARTING OUT AND BEING A BEGGINNER AT SOMETHING. That's like expecting someone to just be naturally good at chess or tennis or singing or something else like that and never have any clunky or bad starts to their journeys through those, like how delusional and disconnected from reality do you have to be to think that you have a God-given gift of writing and you've never written anything bad in your whole life?

All in all, the guy is an asshole and I've always hated him. I hate a lot of being figures in this community but this guy was one of the ones I hated the most. If he's finally being exposed for being an actual asshole and a absolutely bacterial excuse of a human being, finally. I've prayed on his downfall since I found out who he was while mindlessly scrolling Tumblr one day, and I'm looking forward to the day of Judgement when we can all descend into our infernal punishment and I can finally watch him burn in Hell.

Okay, so this happened.

Am I surprised? No. Am I still fucking disappointed? Yes.

Never have I ever made comments how Leech is Anton’s and not w4iker, so I don’t know where those comments are coming from. But this also fucking confirms my suspicion that you all have been stalking my blog ever since i made my post. Because only when I decided to finally address the things I got wrong when I got the opportunity, did you answer. So thanks for that.

Also I never fucking attacked anyone? Yes, I was fed up and admittedly a bit pissed off when I made my first post about why I wasn’t supporting Blessed Be The Wicked anymore (which was the main reason on why I made the post in the first place cause I knew people were going to be confused). But ON THE TOP OF THE POST BEFORE THE CUT, I put in BOLD to not harass anyone involved. Because that's not fucking cool. I find it really interesting how suddenly IM the bad guy, when multiple people have made posts calling out Anton's behavior/shitty attitude towards the creepypasta community. Anton can make whatever kinda fucking story he wants, if he doesn't want to hear or take the criticism that he's been given, that's fine. I'm not gonna be up and arms about it. But like I said, he has to face the consequences of that. I'd also like to take the opportunity to address the, honestly, downright appalling ask that I got in my inbox, and frankly, I don't care if it was a joke or not. People with APD/cluster B/ASPD ARE PEOPLE TOO. And don't deserve to be villainized just because they struggle with feeling/understanding emotion/don't act “normal.” And anyone who thinks they're "evil" are fucking scum of the earth and will be fucking blocked. I don't care. Which, now that I'm bringing it up, is the irony of all of this. Anton claims that he wants to properly portray his disorder, yet he's only contributing to the demonization of it with his behaviour/the story that he is writing. Not to that person, but it reeks of old fandom. You wanna make me the bad guy here? Fine. But don't blame me for people not wanting anything to do with you when you show your true colors. Please do not ask who this post was by. I will not answer/will not be disclosing their username as I don't want them to be attacked.

[enement]

behold! a glade,

[redfacedpalindrome]

i just wanted to make one thing clear – if it wasn't obvious from the everything about my blog, I'm a huge, huge charles fan. I am a diehard charles fan who would give any regenerative part of my body + one kidney for a charles wdc. i'm a charles fan who tortures my mental health with ferrari's shit-ass strategy because that boy will live and die at ferrari.

i didn't mention charles as a comparison on my post about oscar because i wanted to bring him down – i mentioned him because more than anyone else on the grid right now, i believe charles deserves a wdc. thus, it is the biggest compliment i can afford oscar to say he is the same.

i'm really not trying to bring either of my faves down here – they both had horrible races for different reasons this weekend that they maximized by fighting tooth and nail to the very end. i'm proud of both of them, but being a charles fan is never going to stop me from giving another driver credit where credit is due. especially his own son???

[rosetheocto]

TODAY IS THE 4th ANNIVERSARY OF FAILTOPIA S2 RAAAAHHHHH!!!!! You guys are never gonna guess who my favorite character is :3

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

turns out poetry and fiction aren't that great when you can't feel any connection with them 90% of the time

[milesworld96]

Sorry but if I can’t have pretty deadly gay it out at wrestlemania than I think atdu should instead

[chisungie]

aAAAA I GOT IT <3 and right before getting her mission video tape at lv 40 😭 shes so cuteeee!!

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

All the stock images of the 10th Doctor are. Silly. Like geniune white-backdrop, doing some random pose or expression stock images. Like not "this is the picture png stock image that gets slapped on his wiki and other places" but like the if you Google "stock images of people" it's just that. Except him.

[insaneillusionist]

Raw hatred for mobile advertisements these days.

Earlier it used to be five seconds and then you could exit. Now you have to wait five seconds, hit a button that will take you to the App Store, go back, wait for another five seconds for a blurry screen to take you to another page, and then wait another eight seconds to finally leave. That’s thirteen extra seconds!

When I decide to actually watch an ad for rewards, I get a bunch of extra seconds that does not convince me that the game is worth anything. Why am I clicking so many buttons just to get second hand embarrassment from some guy absolutely failing and then some fake “play our game” that doesn’t let you tap anything without sending you to the App Store?

And then there’s the phenomenon where some advertisements randomly stop in an attempt to force you to watch them instead of tossing your phone aside. The only thing that will change is that instead of tossing it aside, I am going to hurl it into the wall.

And do not get me started on this one specific advertisement that refuses to let me skip. Most of the times it’s one of those forced advertisements instead of a reward, so instead of the five seconds usually pushed at me, I am getting nine times the amount. What the hell.

[lellu]

augh. this week is going to Suck

[kavehayati]

Someone take me from this rotten household

[miihho]

Can you please write type of guy headcanons for dae ho and gi hun 🥺? Thank you ❤️

THE KIND OF GUY

(squid game edition boys) nsfw

Dae ho / Player 388

— DAE HO IS THE KIND OF GUY who radiates warmth and loyalty, like a golden retriever. When Dae ho saw you effortlessly take down the two bullies harassing someone else, his eyes gleamed with admiration, captivated by your strength and resolve. As the crowd erupted in applause, he couldn’t help but feel an even deeper respect for you. In that moment, you earned not only their admiration but his as well. (His crush on you was developing gradually.)

—He's the kind of guy who blushes whenever you're near, his nerves getting the best of him as he stammers while talking to you, laughing awkwardly. It's all because you're so sweet to him—and to everyone else, too! He can't help but adore that about you.

—He’s the kind of guy who genuinely wants to get to know you better, not just the surface-level details, but the little things that make you who you are. He asks questions with true curiosity, listens intently, and cherishes every story you share. To him, understanding you isn’t just about filling in gaps—it’s about building a connection that goes beyond the ordinary.

—He’s the kind of guy who secretly gives you his food. One day, after returning from your bed, you noticed some milk on it. Curiosity piqued, you wondered who could have left it there, but hey, free milk, right? So you drank it. If he saw you enjoying it, he'd be totally happy inside, his heart warming at the thought of you drinking it. But if you didn’t, and instead gave it to someone else, he'd feel a little sad, pouting as he quietly watched from afar.

— He’s the type of guy who daydreams about you even in his sleep, a soft smile playing on his lips as he imagines taking you out on a date, giving you flowers, and writing you heartfelt letters. He’s kind and sweet, but also shy around you.

— He’s the type of guy who supports you wholeheartedly, cheering you on through every victory. He wishes and prays that you’ll make it through the next game, and when you do, his heart swells with happiness. He desperately wants to run up to you, hug you tightly, and lift you off the ground, spinning you in the air while admiring you. But his nerves hold him back. Instead, he smiles shyly from a distance, watching as others celebrate your success, his joy quietly battling with his anxiety as he longs to be the one to congratulate you.

—He’s the kind of guy who admires you from afar, his heart skipping a beat every time you smile. When you're talking with your teammates, he can't help but stare at you lovingly, a soft smile creeping onto his face. But when Jung Bae notices his smile and asks about it, he panics, nervously brushing it off as nothing. If Jung Bae catches on to who he's looking at, he’d tease him, leaving him blushing and flustered, unable to hide his feelings.

— He’s also the kind of guy who would protect you no matter the cost. One night, when it was time to sleep, he stayed watch over you, ensuring your safety. In the process, he nearly put himself in danger, but managed to take care of the threat. Just as he thought it was over, he noticed someone about to ambush you from behind. Without hesitation, he shouted your name.

“Y/n!” he called out, grabbing your attention. As you turned to face him, he ran toward you, tackling you to the ground just in time to shield you from a knife aimed at your back. He placed a protective hand on your head, his heart pounding in his chest.

After dealing with the person who tried to harm you, he was consumed with worry, his concern for you evident in every glance. His hands trembled as he checked for any injuries, his eyes scanning your body for bruises. When he finally saw you were okay, relief washed over him, and he couldn’t help but smile, saying softly, “I’m glad you’re alright, Y/n.”

— He’s the kind of guy who, when you're speaking to him, finds it hard to hear anything at all. You're simply glowing, and he's so completely lost in admiration for you, smiling without even realizing it. When a strand of your hair falls across your face, he can't help but gently tuck it behind your ear. The moment you look up at him, his heart skips a beat, and he suddenly becomes acutely aware of what he’s done. Flustered, he starts to stutter out a flurry of excuses, his nervousness betraying him. But all you do is laugh softly, calling him "cute." That single, simple word sends his heart into a frantic race, leaving him breathless and unable to shake the warmth spreading through him.

—He’s the kind of guy who would go to any length to protect you, even if it means hurting the people who’ve hurt you. He’ll keep going until his fists bleed, unable to stop because his care for you runs so deep. He doesn’t want to see you in pain, and his love for you pushes him to act without thinking of the consequences. Even when you beg him to stop, he’s torn, unable to hold back the intensity of his emotions. But deep down, you know that right? That he just cares for you more than anything.

—He’s the kind of guy who’ll do whatever it takes to cheer you up when you’re feeling down. When you're crying, he'll be right there, comforting you with soft, reassuring words like, "I’ll be here for you," and "It’s okay, everything’s going to be alright." He’ll pull you into his arms, wrapping you in a warm embrace, rubbing your back gently as he holds you close, offering a quiet strength that makes you feel safe. His presence is enough to ease the weight on your heart, as he promises to always be there for you, no matter what.

—He’s the kind of guy who, when in love, will sneakily try to get closer to you, even if it means "accidentally" bumping into people in the crowd. Just being near you makes him happy, and the slightest touch from you sends a thrill through him. If your eyes meet by accident, he’ll hold your gaze for a second, but then quickly look away, his face turning bright red with embarrassment. When he tries to glance at you again and you catch him, his heart races uncontrollably. He’s sure he even heard you chuckle, and in that moment, he can’t handle it anymore—embarrassed and flustered, he tries to hide in the shadows, wishing he could escape how you make him feel. (You have no idea how much you’re making him nervous.)

—He’s the kind of guy who would shower your face with kisses, making you giggle and laugh, completely captivated by the joy he brings. He’s also the type who’s hopeless at flirting, but he still gives it a shot, despite knowing he’s not great at it. When he catches you staring into his eyes, his confidence crumbles, and he can’t find his words, stammering as his mind goes blank. And when you laugh, a soft, teasing chuckle, it only makes him more flustered, his heart racing as he awkwardly tries to recover, unable to stop the warmth spreading across his face. (ARGEUWHRAHHH)

— When he's in a relationship with you, he's the kind of guy who'll ask for a good luck kiss before every game you play together.

—He’s the kind of guy you’ll wake up to, his comforting voice gently pulling you from your sleep. “Good morning, baby,” he’ll say, his smile already softening his features. “Morning, sunshine,” or “Good morning, sweetheart, did you sleep well?” he’ll ask, his voice warm and full of affection as he watches you slowly wake up.

—He’s the kind of guy who would tenderly kiss the places you’re most insecure about, as if to remind you of how beautiful you truly are. He’s the one who won’t stop kissing you, pulling you back every time you try to pull away, as if he can’t let go of the warmth you bring.

—He’s also the kind of guy who craves you in the purest, most innocent ways. He craves the chance to say goodnight and press a soft kiss to your forehead, to tell you how much he adores you, especially when you feel at your lowest. He doesn’t need anything more or less—just being near you, sharing quiet moments together, is all he could ever want.

—He’s the kind of guy who kisses you slowly, with so much passion that it feels like time itself has paused. To him, every moment matters, and he wants to make it last—pressing his lips softly against yours, savoring the closeness. His eyes remain closed, his hands resting firmly on your waist as he pulls you closer, as if he can’t bear to let go. When he finally pulls away, his gaze locks with yours, filled with love so deep it leaves you breathless. And just when you think it’s over, he leans in to kiss you again.

—He’s the kind of guy who would stay outside your house all night the moment you mentioned your parents weren’t home. You said it in a teasing, seductive tone, hoping he’d catch the hint—but instead, his protective instincts took over completely. Without a second thought, he made it his mission to ensure your safety. The cool breeze and late hours didn’t faze him; his only focus was making sure nothing could harm you.

—He’s the kind of guy who values your comfort above all else, always asking for your consent to ensure you’re at ease. When you overstimulate him, soft whines and gasps escape his lips, his breathing uneven as he tries to handle the intensity. He’s incredibly careful, his fear of hurting you evident in the way he constantly checks in, asking if you’re okay. If you show even the slightest discomfort, he immediately stops, gently comforting you with soothing words and touches. Only when you’re ready does he proceed, moving slowly and tenderly.

—He’s the kind of guy who would be endlessly obedient for you, hanging on your every word just to make you happy. When you call him a “good boy,” his cheeks flush a soft pink, and he can’t help but feel a swell of pride, as if earning your praise is the greatest accomplishment. The way he gets all shy and bashful in response only makes the moment sweeter.

—He’s also the kind of guy who whispers a breathless “please” when you tease him, his voice trembling with both desperation and longing. When you refuse to let him cum, he’ll keep pleading, his tone growing needier, begging you to finally let him release cum since you've been edging him for hours straight.

—He’s the kind of guy who moans a lot and would be needy for you. Like he's breathy and full of unrestrained moans as pleasure overwhelms him. His voice, low and husky, spills out between gasps as he murmurs how good you feel. For example.

In the cramped confines of a public bathroom stall, he tries desperately to not make a sound. His trembling hand rests on your head, fingers tangling in your hair. He was desperately trying to keep quiet, not wanting anyone outside the stall to discover what you were doing. But you decided to tease him, to push him just a little further. Holding his gaze, you slowly ran your tongue over the tip of his cock, maintaining eye contact that had him on the verge of losing all composure.

“Baby, please...” he begged, his tone barely audible but dripping with raw desperation. His hips bucked slightly, seeking more friction, his body betraying how badly he needed release.

You smirked, letting your lips hover over his slick, aching member, your warm breath teasing his already overstimulated skin. “Hm? What’s that?” you teased, maintaining a deliberate slowness. “You’ll have to speak up.”

His head fell back, and a quiet whine escaped him, “I can’t—please, I need it so bad baby, please let me cum... Want you. I want you so bad.” he whimpered, the faint sound of his soft, needy whines filled the stall, his breathing uneven and ragged as he clung to what little composure he had left. His head tilted back against the wall, his lips parted, and his cheeks flushed as he whimpered softly.

His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, his flushed face and sweat-dampened skin making him look utterly undone. The way he squirmed and whimpered under your control had you tempted to keep teasing him, but his broken whispers and the raw adoration in his eyes made you relent.

"hng...—oh fuck," he gasped, his breath uneven as you gave in at last. "Your mouth feels so good baby, so damn perfect, fuck keep going just like that baby." His praise spilled out uncontrollably, barely coherent as you pushed him closer and closer to the edge.

—Hes also the kind of guy who cries during sex. (Something about men crying is just hgnngjdhe)

“Baby, please stop..” he whimpered, his voice trembling with the weight of his plea. “It’s too much… please, it’s too much.” His hands weakly gripped your waist, trying to stop you, but his body trembled with each movement, and yet there was no escape from the overwhelming pleasure.

“Aww, sweetie,” you cooed, not slowing down. “Just one more round, mkay? I know You can handle it for me."

“N-no, please… it’s too much… I don’t think I can…take it,” he said, his tear-filled eyes locking with yours, his flushed face streaked with the weight of his emotions. The sight of him so vulnerable made your heart ache, and without hesitation, you gently wiped away the tears rolling down his cheeks with the pad of your thumb.

“Aww, don’t cry my love,” you whispered softly, your voice tender as you leaned in, brushing your lips against his forehead. “You’re my good boy, right? You’re doing so well for me. Just a little more, baby.”

“Fine… just one more.” he said, his voice soft and shaky. The way he melted under your touch, still willing to give more despite how overwhelmed he felt. (You made him cum multiple times 🫶🏻)

I decided to do dae ho first cuz he cute(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) HAPPY NEW YEAR

[amalashuor]

In the beginning 💢💢 I apologize to all of you for not responding to the messages you sent to check on my family, but my family and I are evacuating from east of Deir al-Balah to the seashore because all places have now become dangerous. Please pray for us. I may never be online again

Dear friends 🤍 Tears of joy mixed with feelings of gratitude to everyone who stood by me, who gave their time and effort in order to reach the campaign’s financial goal of 30k euros, but due to the circumstances that Gaza is going through and the closure of all land crossings, I was not able to achieve the main goal of the campaign, which is to leave Gaza to Safe country Thanks and gratitude are due to: 1. The friends who pinned my story at the top of their page are amazing people.🌺🤍 2. The Ansar, each by name and title, are people of goodness and giving.🌺🤍 3.For those who put forward new ideas, the idea of ​​artistic paintings, marches, and bread sales are the unknown soldiers🌺🤍 4. These amazing activists who share daily updates are like a dynamo who never stops serving those in need.🌺🤍 5. Friends who sent the campaign link to their friends and families outside this application, those who carry humanity in their hearts.🌺🤍 @littlegermanboy @appsa @floofysmallbob @feluka @90-ghost @queerstudiesnatural @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @irhabiya @intersectionalpraxis @obscenity @sayruq @decolonize-solidarity @fancysmudges @heba-20 @jezior0 @commissions4aid-international @vivisection-gf I inform you that thanks to you, I was able to support my family from your donations and campaign revenues. Before we left Rafah, I didn't have enough money to leave Thanks to your donations, I was able to leave Rafah to Khan Yunis. What it cost me is as follows: Transportation: $400/600 Buy a tent for $500/$800 Land rent: $500/600 Building a very modest bathroom costs $200/300 Some incidental expenses are $300/500 Which means that I spent approximately $3,000 of the money of the group whose goal is to get out of Gaza to a safe country on transportation from Rafah to Khan Yunis. Then, on 27may2024 💔, the occupation army threw a bomb near our tent in Khan Yunis, which led to the burning of the tent, the mattress, and everything else. We fled without taking anything with us. I told my friend @littlegermanboy 🤍about this incident and we fled to Deir al-Balah because there was no empty place. We sat in the east of Deir al-Balah.

This escape cost us more than before because of the outrageous prices we are experiencing here. This is just an example to tell you that a liter of diesel costs 100 dollars. Which means that the cost of transportation to Deir al-Balah cost me as follows: 500$ transportation 500/700$ to buy a tent to replace the one that burned in Khanios 200/300$ to buy mattresses, blankets, pillows, and clothes for me and my daughter, Maryam But in Deir al-Balah, we did not rent land. We sat on government land for free 300/200$ to build a bathroom All these expenses detract from the funds of the campaign, whose goal is to escape from Gaza to a safe country Of course, there are basic expenses, which are buying food, drinks, milk, and Cerelac for my daughter Maryam. Certainly, these are from the campaign’s money because we do not have any other income other than this campaign.

Now the Israeli occupation army has told us to leave Deir al-Balah to the west, towards the sea The place I am in now is very dangerous, and if I decide to leave, it will cost me more than before, and this is not satisfactory. I spent the campaign’s money just to escape from one place to another.If the Rafah land crossing returns to work again, this means that the money we have is not enough to exit Gaza. For this reason, we will raise the campaign goal to 50k euros

I ask you, my friends, for increased financial and psychological support, because because of you, I am able to continue despite everything that is happening to me I thank you and everyone who contributed and helped to continue my life. If it were not for you, I would not have been able to save my family from health, psychological and nutritional deterioration. I thank everyone who gave me anything because everything here helps My friends who stood by my side, I shower you with hugs and love you so much.❤️😭 Moving towards the second goal to sustain my life and the life of my little family: 50k euros

These are my friends' articles. I thank you 🤍🤍

[comatosebunny09]

drowning | sylus

— summary: sometimes, you don’t realize you’re drowning until it’s too late. he’s always there to throw you a life preserver when you need it. — cw: depression, anxiety, self-deprecating thoughts, mild angst, comfort, mild language, sylus is a big ol’ softie — notes: i felt heavy today. i needed to escape to my delusions to get through it. thanks for reading. — now playing: chaconne - enhypen

You, but refusing to get out of bed because the world’s too heavy a burden to bear right now. 

You try to encourage yourself to at least shower—you smell like depression and yesterday’s outside clothes. Sometimes, that’s enough to lift your spirits. The motivation of a warm spray unfurling the knots in your shoulders. 

You try to force yourself to get up and eat—you like to eat. Your stomach’s screaming at you. You haven’t had shit since lunch yesterday, and it feels like something’s sinking its claws into your stomach and pulling down. 

But that’s not enough to get you out of bed. It’s the safest place for you right now. It doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t doubt you, doesn’t admonish you for the one wrong thing you do against twenty other rights. And you’re bundled up like a little sulking burrito in your comforter, refusing to do more than turn over and pray for sleep to tug you under.

However, sleep’s lulling embrace never comes,

Your thoughts are too much to deal with. Everything is too much. Caving in. You know it’s best for you to be around people. To reach out, but you’ll feel even shittier for dumping your problems on your friends, no matter how much they tell you they’re more than happy to listen. No matter how much you try to solve everyone else’s problems for them. 

Besides, you don’t want to look weak. You hate it when people worry about you. You’re a pillar of strength for most everyone in your life. How are you going to take care of everyone else when you can’t even get yourself together?

Your phone buzzes by your pillow for the umpteenth time. You squint against its brightness, the jarring blue light the only source of color in your dark room. You have no sense of time. Don’t have to look at your screen to know he’s calling you again. 

You’ve been avoiding him like a sickness since you got off work yesterday—another person you don’t want to drag into your caldron of misery. 

You shove your phone under your pillow after silencing it, cocooning yourself deeper into your blanket and the turmoil of your mind. You’ll be better tomorrow, you promise. You always snap back after a day or two. Then you’re back to being the bright and obnoxious source of optimism everyone knows and loves.

You’ll talk to him later. When you’re better and not a husk of yourself, and your stomach isn’t empty while your brain is too full. 

Too bad he has no intention of waiting for you to get your shit together.

Your bedroom door creaks open. 

You turn away from it, curling up into a little hissing ball as the artificial light of your hallway spills in. Your thick, shag rug swallows the sounds of weighted footsteps. They near the edge of your bed, and you shut your eyes tight, receding further into your comforter.

A tongue clicks in disdain, a heavy presence looming over you. Your stomach lurches when the familiar drag of his voice permeates through the comforter.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.” There’s a note of humor buried deep beneath the chiding, the concern.

You stiffen in response. He takes your silence as his cue to carry on with making you feel even shittier.

“Is there a reason you’ve been more difficult to get a hold of than the President?”

You flinch as if physically struck. You hate when he talks to you like that. Like there’s a lecture churning in the clouds, rolling over the horizon.

You swallow, realizing how fucking dry your throat is. Your lips quiver, struggling to form around words, also cracked and crusted with small flecks of blood. When’s the last time you had water?

“Go away,” you meekly manage.

The room’s other occupant huffs something offended. “I came all this way to check on you, and this is how you repay me? Your ability to discard me when you no longer find me useful is…assuring.”

You release a weighted sigh. Shaky. You don’t intend to be mean. You just…don’t want him to see you like this. Especially not him. 

You spend some time in thick silence, listening to your heart thrum. And it is then you realize it’s raining outside. He came all this way in the rain? Well, fuck. 

Your mattress dips under his weight. A gentle hand falls onto your ankle, thumb smoothing over the jut of bone there through layers of goose feather. You hear him swallow. Picture him, a hulking mass of silver and intimidation, trying to approach you without exacerbating things.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” he asks, cautious like you’re a cornered animal he’s afraid to scare off. 

Your stomach pulls. Again, you despise sympathy. Making people fret over you, especially when it’s him. You’ve spent most of your life fending for yourself. Putting on this fake mask of optimism. He’s got his own things to worry about without you adding one more hardship to his life.

You remain silent, and he presses. Spindly fingers crawl beneath the comforter, seeking out the smooth glide of your skin. Your calf. He rubs soothingly. Your instincts tell you to pull away, but the warmth of his palm is grounding—an anchor in the face of a tidal wave threatening to wash you away.

“Talk to me. Please. I haven’t heard from you all night. Not a word today. I tried to give you space. But I was worried.”

And there it is. The nail driven into the coffin.

It’s not intentional, but you sink deeper regardless, that gnarling feeling twisting up your gut. A warm film of tears washes over your eyes. You tamp it down, shove away the frustration. Your voice strains.

“I’m alright, Sy. Just tired.”

You feel him turn on the bed, his knee nudging your back. His hand slides to your hip where he kneads it between careful fingers. 

“I don’t believe that.”

You scoff, the sound of it sticky. Of course, he doesn’t. You can’t fool him. He’s too smart for his own good. Sometimes knows you better than you know yourself.

Before you can think, he’s curling around you. Notches his pelvis up against your bottom, tangling your legs together, dragging you closer against the hard press of his body, into the circle of his arms. You owlishly blink as he slots his chin in the junction of your shoulder. Want to laugh because you’re a complicated mess of limbs and bedsheets. 

You smell him even through the thick layers of your comforter. He smells like petrichor, spring, and stale cologne. The warmth he exudes is dizzying. Comforting, causing your lids to grow heavy. 

He breathes deep behind you. Hums low in his throat, voice vibrating your back and playing up your spine like a xylophone. You contemplate wriggling out of his embrace. You don’t deserve his sympathy—his pity. But his embrace around your middle is possessive as if to convey, I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere. 

“You don’t have to tell me what’s on your mind,” he says, voice steeping low, gritty like sand caught between your toes after a day on the beach. He presses full lips against the slope of your jaw. 

“But know that whatever storm you’re weathering, you don’t have to endure it alone.”

That’s the dam-breaker.

Tears spring to your eyes faster than you can think. A bitter sob forces its way past your lips. Why does he have to be so fucking sweet?

He holds you tighter as your body shakes. As you let go of everything you’ve been holding in for the past few months. Strokes reassurance into your stomach with his thumbs, nuzzling further into the hollow of your shoulder. Whispers words of encouragement and it’s alright’s in between your hiccups and apologies.

He doesn’t let go even long after your tears have dried up, and the rain’s let up outside. You feel sleep nipping at your psyche, at the edges of your vision. Maybe you just needed a good cry to tire you out. Open up those floodgates of contaminated water you’ve been fighting to contain. 

But before you sink under, your boyfriend softly murmurs in your ear, “Ah ah ah. I bet you haven’t showered all day. I can smell it.”

You reach back to pinch his hip, a scowl screwing up your face as his chest shakes with affectionate laughter. You roll your eyes and wrench yourself free of his embrace. Snatch the blanket off your head—it was getting hot under there, anyway. 

Sylus moves to the edge to draw you between his legs, a disarming smile cresting over his lips as he holds you at the waist. “There’s my girl,” he croons, pressing your foreheads together. Kisses you quick, but it's enough to leave you breathless. 

You let him lead you to your bathroom to wash up. He leaves you to your own devices as the shower’s comforting spray washes over your skin. You lather up with your favorite body wash, the scent working as a soothing balm over your nerves. 

He has your favorite robe and slippers waiting for you when you get out. Sits you on top of the toilet to dry your hair off. Maybe he uses a little too much leave-in conditioner, but he’s smiling all fond as he detangles your hair the way you taught him before taking his time blowdrying your hair. 

He drags you into your kitchen for your favorite takeout. Entertains you with stories about the twins running him ragged. When you’re full and laughing and your cheeks ache from smiling so much, he holds you in your bed until your eyes grow heavy again. Hums something lucid, raspy. 

“Sy,” you say with your back to him, voice weighed with sleep.

“Hmm? Yes, sweetheart?” he replies, lazily pulling at some strands of your hair. It feels good, pushing you further under. 

“Thank you.”

You hear the smile in his voice. “Of course, sweetheart. Anything for you.”