astrabae

[astrabae]

Yeah i have a dark past (being 13). Just an absolutely horrible backstory (being 13). It would keep you up at night if i told you about it (i was 13 one time)

[astrabae]

[astrabae]

Orv thesis statement basically

[astrabae]

does anyone wanna hold hands until we feel a little braver

[astrabae]

Happy Mar10 day!!

[astrabae]

i love being a little freak on tumblr nobody can stop me

[astrabae]

[astrabae]

Okay guys

25 notes I’ll refresh my braids

55 notes I’ll try to finish my missing assignments

75 notes I’ll attempt to put on fake lashes by myself

100 notes I’ll buy Pride and Prejudice + The Three Musketeers to read

150 notes I’ll record myself doing a Kazoo version of my favorite SZA song

250 notes I’ll stop procrastinating and write my damn story

300 notes I’ll record myself reading a story

350 notes I’ll start meditating and work on my relationship with the universe

400 notes change my blog theme to a 2000’s theme

@a-chance-of-raine @the-ellia-west @sunflowerrosy @ambersky0319 @justalunaticfangirl @michellymy

[astrabae]

Love love love characters that present themselves as emotionally open social butterflies but the more you see of them the more obvious it is that they’re the most closed off fuckers in the story. Sure, they want to help you with your personal problems and messy emotions, but if you turn that shit back on them, they’ll shut down or deflect every time. Why are you sticking your nose in their business anyway? It’s not like it matters. They’re not a person, they’re just a role being played. They’re the guy who fixes things and saves people. Please ignore the man behind the mask, he’s fine. Everything’s fine.

[astrabae]

[astrabae]

There is a new 'Caleb' in town..

[astrabae]

zayne hates the way you look in a hospital bed.

the sheets are too white, the room too sterile, and the iv in your arm makes his stomach twist in ways he won’t admit. you look smaller like this.

too still, too quiet. it doesn’t suit you.

‘you should get some rest,’ he says, his voice even, professional. detached, like a doctor should be. but you know better. you always have.

‘you’re here again,’ you murmur, tilting your head just enough to meet his eyes.

he doesn’t answer. instead, he adjusts the blanket over your shoulders, making sure it covers you properly. it’s a useless gesture because the room is warm, and you’re not shivering.

but he does it anyway.

a ghost of a smile tugs at your lips. ‘you should be more careful, doctor,’ you tease, voice quiet but laced with something familiar, something warm. ‘the others might think i’m your favorite patient.’

he should roll his eyes. scoff. say something sarcastic like he always does. but this time, he doesn’t. instead, he just shakes his head, something unreadable passing through his gaze before he looks away.

for a second, you swear he almost says something. but then he pulls back, his hand leaving your blanket, his presence retreating ever so slightly.

you let it go.

it’s late when he comes back. the overhead lights are dimmed, the quiet hum of machines the only thing filling the room. you’re half-asleep when you hear the soft click of the door, but even in the haze of exhaustion, you know it’s him. you always do.

‘you should go home, zayne,’ you mumble, voice thick with sleep. ‘get some rest.’

‘i was.’ his voice is quiet, careful. ‘didn’t feel right.’

‘you care for me too much.’

‘nonsense,’ he said instead. ‘there’s only way too much or none at all.’

you force your eyes open, blinking up at him. he’s standing at the foot of your bed, hands in his pockets, his coat slightly wrinkled like he’s been running on autopilot all day.

‘zayne—’

‘you said something earlier,’ he interrupts, and there’s something in his tone—hesitation, maybe. or something heavier. ‘about being my favorite patient.’

you let out a tired huff of laughter. ‘what, did it offend you? i can take it back.’

he exhales sharply through his nose, not quite a laugh, but not quite nothing. then, after a beat, he moves closer, just enough for his voice to drop into something barely above a whisper.

‘you’re my most important patient.’

the words settle between you, sinking into the space where exhaustion lingers, where unspoken things have always gone unsaid.

you study him, taking in the way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers flex at his sides like he’s resisting the urge to reach for you.

‘yeah?’ you murmur, softer this time.

his gaze flickers to yours, steady and certain. ‘yeah.’

you don’t say anything after that. but you don’t need to.

instead, your eyes drift to the chair beside your bed. ‘you’re staying, aren’t you?’

he doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. with a quiet sigh, he lowers himself into the chair, shifting slightly to get comfortable. not that he ever will. the chair is stiff, unforgiving, and he’s been running on too little sleep for too many days.

but he doesn’t complain. he never does.

you watch him for a moment longer, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his eyes linger on you even as he leans back.

‘go to sleep,’ he murmurs, closing his eyes. ‘doctor’s orders.’

you want to argue, to tell him he should be the one sleeping somewhere comfortable, but the weight of exhaustion is already pulling you under. the last thing you see before you drift off is zayne, slouched in that uncomfortable chair, his breathing steady, his presence unwavering.

and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel alone.

because you never knew it. never realized it.

but zayne became a doctor for you.

when you were little and scraped your knee, he was the one who pressed plasters to your skin, his hands careful, his touch gentle. when you sniffled from the sting, he’d ruffle your hair and say, ‘there. all better.’

when you climbed trees too high and got stuck, it was zayne who came running, scolding you under his breath as he helped you back down. and when you fell, because you always fell, he was the one who knelt beside you, wiping the dirt from your palms before you even had the chance to cry.

when you got sick, he was the one who snuck into your house with soup he swore wasn’t that bad, sitting by your bed even when you told him to go home. he would press the back of his hand against your forehead like he had seen adults do, frowning like he could will the fever away just by staying close.

when you started training to be a hunter, he was the one who patched you up after every battle, every wound, every brush with death.

he never once told you to quit, but every time he stitched a cut or wrapped a bandage around your wrist, his hands would linger, as if memorizing every scar.

and now, when the world threatens to break you, he’s still here.

still taking care of you. still choosing to stay.

you wake up hours later, the room still cloaked in soft, early-morning silence. the first thing you notice is the warmth around your wrist.

zayne.

he’s asleep in the chair, his head tilted slightly, dark circles visible beneath his eyes. his hand is wrapped around your wrist, fingers loose but still holding on, like he fell asleep taking your pulse.

like he needed proof that you were still here.

still breathing.

you shift slightly, just enough to tighten your fingers around his. he stirs for only a second but doesn’t let go.

and neither do you.

[astrabae]

I'm cryign

[astrabae]

anyway i know we talk a lot of shit abt this site but i just wanna say that tumblr taught me to romanticize life a little. like where else am i gonna find an essay abt how hands were made to hold other hands or posts with thousands of notes abt how peeling an orange for a loved one can be the purest act of care & love? all the softest, sweetest and kindest ppl on the internet are here and i'm so grateful to be here along with y'all. i love you and please keep romanticizing the smallest things... god knows we need that now more than ever.

[astrabae]

btw every time i say 'oaaough' or some variation of that i am trying to convey this emotion

[astrabae]

I am begging the FDA to require that companies CANNOT just put "spices" as an ingredient but have to label the spices.

"Spices" can mean "this has some oregano and black pepper in it" or it can mean "this has cumin cayenne and paprika and if you eat this you will be sick in bed in pain for a week" for me.

Seriously, this is an allergy issue and a huge oversight on the part of corporations.

Require detailed labeling of spices used in packaged foods NOW.

[astrabae]

I am begging the FDA to require that companies CANNOT just put "spices" as an ingredient but have to label the spices.

"Spices" can mean "this has some oregano and black pepper in it" or it can mean "this has cumin cayenne and paprika and if you eat this you will be sick in bed in pain for a week" for me.

Seriously, this is an allergy issue and a huge oversight on the part of corporations.

Require detailed labeling of spices used in packaged foods NOW.