#I knew it was October but not the exact date

[nintooner]

By pure coincidence, I just so happened to check in on my copy of Y on X and Y's tenth anniversary 😭

Happy 10 years, X and Y 🎉🎉🎉

[simp4konig]

"You drive me crazy."

Obsessed! Nikto x Reader

Word count: 2472

Nikto's POV! Sporadic uses of "Y/N" — otherwise, reader is referred as "You".

To say that Nikto is obsessed with you would be an understatement 😵‍💫...

Nikto's psychological state gradually deteriorates as you read!

Google Translate Russian lmao 💀,, please forgive any errors! 😟

Edit: Realising that this fic is darker than my usual works. Warning my readers for darker content!

Edit 2: Added the appropriate "dark content" tags. <3

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I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to say, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it.

I've lost my mind long ago. We're losing it as we speak. I've lost myself long ago and I have not known what to do with ourselves.

Of course, not all was lost. I was cleared for service. I can approach situations without hesitation or uncertainty — but most importantly, kill methodically.

All I need are targets. Just give me targets. Nothing else matters. Nobody.

But I found you. I found you. And you found us. Although there was nothing to find, you found us.

How? It's a mystery. An enigma. An unsolvable puzzle.

My name is Igor. Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich.

Игорь. Igor. I—gor. Two syllables. Four letters, in English. A not so common name in Russia, according to the statistics: in 1991 — the year of my birth — approximately 37 baby boys born were named as such. In 2021, only 17 baby boys born were named Igor. I would assume the number declines each year — maybe less than a dozen Igors were christened this year. Or a single digit. Nine. Eight. Seven. Or even less than five.

October 13, 1991 was my exact date of birth. I was born in Novgorod, when Russia was still the Soviet Union. I had parents. A sister…

…Yet that means nothing to me.

Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich? That is foreign. That is not anyone that I know of. I am Nikto. I am no one. Nobody to know, yet somebody that I know of. Not this… Igor. I am nobody. Никто.

When the voices are quiet, that's when I can silently mourn the man that I once was.

Though, can you mourn someone whom you don't know? Can you mourn the faceless person in the casket, whose face is unrecognisable? Can you mourn at a funeral that no one attended, and hadn't taken process?

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to repeat it, yes?

I knew it. We knew it. Everyone else knew it.

But you didn't. You. You.

You… remind me of someone.

They're dead now.

They were just a target. Too bad I can't remember who they were.

But you're not. You're more than a target.

You treated me with kindness when everyone avoided me like the bubonic plague. A Black Death following the death of the former Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich and the black, black blackness lingering — a reminder. But not anything that allows us to remember, or reminds us of who we once were.

I don't remember anything. I don't remember anyone. Photographs of my family before the torture are irrelevant. Documents stamping my existence could just as easily make us inexistent. Nobody exists any more aside from Nikto.

A cacophony of voices has infiltrated my brain. Our brain. We will never be me anymore. We are who we are now.

I am a broken man. I hear the voices of many men, who won't let me sleep, won't leave me be, won't give me peace. I was one of those men. Maybe all of the men are me?

But if all of them are me, and I am all of them, then who are we? What are we?

Then again… who I am is nothing. What I are is everything. What we are — crazy.

The pieces of the puzzle aren't fully there. Surely you must have been aware, my treasure?

You were doing your due diligence to arrange the puzzle pieces, so meticulously and with dedication, devoting hours of your time and wishing for the finished product to be cohesive, but you won't find that within us. How unfortunate.

Some of the pieces are missing. Some of them don't even fit. What you're left with is an incomplete picture — one which will never be completed.

No matter. You can be the missing puzzle piece, yes?

My fellow operatives named me Никто — “Nikto”, meaning “Nobody” or “No-one” in Russian — for… what did they say? My “uncanny ability to replicate other people and hide [my] true identity”? Ironic — seeing as replicating an identity is not the same as claiming your own, and being an individual. Having an actual identity, as opposed to being forced to think that being nobody can suffice.

Funny. I was apparently religious before all of this.

Have you heard of Orthodox Christianity? It's a branch of Christianity most often practised in Eastern Europe, in case you weren't aware. Orthodox Christians believe that Jesus redeemed humanity by sacrificing himself through crucifixion — unlike Catholics, who believe that Jesus sacrificing himself through crucifixion was all in an effort to redeem humanity.

Perhaps I was an altar boy in my childhood. Or wore a cross around my neck. Maybe I was devoted, and prayed in the morning, before a meal for grace, in the night, before a mission for mercy, during a mission out of desperation, and after a mission as gratitude.

Such bullshit.

Obviously, God doesn't exist — not in the ethereal, omniscient sense.

Oh no.

The God is You. You are my God.

Just like with Orthodox Christianity, and the salvation of humanity after the sacrifice of Jesus, your presence, your mere existence, was salvation. You brought redemption unto us.

Of course, following my torture, God became an abstract concept. How could the Holy Father abandon me? How could my prayers after the tortue be so wilfully ignored? Why would he actively play a passive role in my damnation, as I'm burned, as I'm beaten, as I'm bruised, abused, cut, and mutilated?

No one was born a sinner. Not even me, this nobody. So what kind of retribution was this — a disfigured face, ruined body, and voices which infiltrated my psyche, words equivalent to the evil of the Antichrist?

But You? You made it worthwhile. Your kindness. Compassion. Charity. It was all worthwhile. Even to gaze at You from afar.

Well.

For the most part.

We have repented for our sins: stealing Your dirty laundry, Your hairbrush, Your t-shirts, and other trinkets which we deem Holy Relics; using Your lip balm without permission, You none the wiser; committing sinful acts in the comfort of your own bedroom, only for You to return, oblivious. We apologise for that nagging paranoia, demanding You to turn around, to catch a glimpse of the eyes staring at You, but You not noticing us when we were camouflaged in the shadows. For stalking You and learning Your schedule. For hacking into all of Your devices and acquiring every little piece of information available from Your digital footprints.

But, You forgive us, yes?

Don't look so horrified, dushka. We left no trace, yes? No evidence. You said You have forgiven all of our transgressions. Think of this as a confession, nothing more. Besides, we never tampered with You belongings. They're all still with us. Just like you will.

You are our oxygen. Without You, we can't breathe. Our lungs suffocate without Your natural scent to fill them, to keep us alive. Our eyes go blind with time without the sight of Your face, Your body. We can't hear anything other than Your voice — our ears tune out any frequencies and wavelengths that don't leave those pretty little lips, yet wage civil war amongst ourselves, spitting curses that cut like knives and pierce like bullets. And Your lips. And Your eyes. And Your eyebrows, hair, hands, neck, God — everything.

You won't abandon us, yes? You wouldn't abandon us, would you, мое сокровище? You are our treasure. I treasure you — all of us do: your pretty little lips, that speak in the softest of tones to us; those eyes that stare in slight fright, yet crinkle in as genuine of a smile as you can manage; those eyebrows that furrow over your bright eyes in the subtlest of frowns, in sorrow or frustration, maybe vexation — and that's just your face. What about your hair? Your hands? Your neck? Your body? What is there not to treasure?

Боже мой, Bozhe moy, my God. Oh God, it's as if an angel has descended and granted us salvation, a merciful deity absolving us of our sins and cleansing our soul. And both the angel and deity are You — working in perfect sync, so benevolent and forgiving, taking pity on a creature so pitiful, so ruined, so unfixable.

We can't remember what some of those was.

Those puzzle pieces, of course.

Zakhaev’s torture stole some of the pieces to the jigsaw, and the puzzle won't ever be solved. We ourselves interrogate, torture, eliminate, kill. Sometimes we dissociate. Other times I am completely in control. Yet all the time, we are committing sins, sins, sins.

And You forgive them. Forgive us.

Every prayer is us praying for you, to you, about you. And each one concludes with your sacred name, whispered in hushed tones as the syllables are too precious to utter out loud.

Poor, poor thing. You probably didn't even know what you were signing up for, did you? You probably intended to be charitable. Sympathetic. And you were, sweet one.

But you were naive to have assumed that we wouldn't become possessive of you like an unwanted stay mutt of its only bone. So innocent — perhaps stupid — but we like to think that you were misguided in your intentions, yet guided by some God.

An ignorant God? If You're the God to worship, then are You an ignorant one? An innocent, naive, and unconditionally loving one? Yet, one that, despite Their obliviousness, can knowingly soothe with a simple string of words? With a caress?

What an oxymoron. It suits You. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Aw. Are those tears, dushka? Let's wipe them, hmm? Kiss it better, yes? You will like our lips on you.

Don't scream. Don't hurt those vocal cords. We like the sound of your voice. We want you to talk.

There there, little one. You look beautiful when you cry, but you look most beautiful when you're smiling. Smile, hm? Do it for us. Your Nikto.

You don't have to be afraid, you know. Don't be afraid, krasotka. We love you.

Here, put your hand on our chest. Feel how our heart is beating? It beats only for you.

Our abdomen, our stomach. You feel how toned that is, yes? You feel the muscle?

What about our biceps? The strength in our forearms? They're all for you. We're all yours, yours yours yours.

Our blood looks good on you, dushka. The blood really accentuates your nails. But please, stop. Stop.

You don't have to scratch us, or scream. You know that none of that will change anything. You know that we will love you, even if you tell us you hate us. It's too late.

Get used to touching us, yes? What's left of us, anyways. Yes, our body won't be the most appealing, or the handsomest, but it's all for you. Every inch. All for you — just like how you are all ours.

You're ours, just as much as we belong to you. You could stab us with a knife and we'd smile. You could shoot us with a gun point-blank in the head and we'd thank you. What an honour it would be to live with you by your side, or die by your side. We're a dead man either way. Your dead man. Your Nikto.

You underestimated my capacity for violence. Or were perhaps too naive to understand it.

That's okay. Put your hand on my face. Just like that. See? Nothing to fear. It's just us. Your Nikto.

I can feel it shaking. Why do you shake so much, hm? Don't be afraid. There's nothing to be afraid of. You should know there's nothing to be afraid of. After all, you were fearless when it came to speaking to me, and weren't afraid to reach out to us. Surely you don't want to abandon us now?

That's too bad. You won't abandon us. We won't let you.

I'm crazy: I don't think I need to repeat it, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

So crazy.

So, so crazy.

I am already crazy yes but it is You who drives me to insanity do You know that? Why do You deny? Do not deny us this yes? Yes You do know that it is You who makes me mad beyond return of course You do You've always known it and You know it now little one You're just pretending feigning ignorance with surprise in Your eyes. Why pretend that it was all a pretense? Your kindness? Your sympathy? Your company? It was not pretense to us no it was everything. Everything we could have hoped for prayed for and lived for.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

So crazy.

So, so crazy, baby.

Craaazyyy. Crazy crazy crazy!

You have made us the craziest we have ever been from the moment we met Your eyes and will be forever driven crazier with Your around from the day You die. And that won't be anytime now, my treasure. We will treasure You, take care of You, keep You safe. You will want for nothing, we can assure You — nothing, nobody, no one. Only Nikto. Nobody will ever look at You, as their eyeballs will be gouged out for having the audacity to spare a glance at the pinnacle of perfection. And nobody will ever want You, nobody will taint that precious skin with unworthy fingers, as anyone who tries will have them broken have their bones crushed to dust their skin muscles and tendons ripped to ribbons until there is no body left.

Nobody will ever look at You. Only Nikto. Us. Forever, and ever, and ever and ever and ever we will have our eyes on You until our retinas dissolve and our pupils can no longer absorb light and we become blind and crippled, crying, crying crying crying for You, crying only for You. You crying out for us until Your voice is hoarse from moaning, until our name becomes a prayer just as much as Yours is to us.

We love You. Think of nobody. Only Nikto. Only of Nikto. Only for and against Nikto. We will live for You. We do already, do you understand? We're yours. Yours. Yours yours yours yours yours yours to have yours to hit yours to scratch with those nails yours to scream at yours yours yours yours yours. Yours. Yours! Yours!

Yours!

Y/N.

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to say, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it. You should have known it.

And if you didn't know it, then You will know it.

Because You drive me crazy.

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A/Ns

Really really really Really REALLY had doubts about posting this and thought that no one would like it. I felt inspired and happy and proud of myself when I was almost finished but it took me days to conclude the work since I was second-guessing whether or not I should post this after all. Kind of embarrassed, in all honesty, but I decided to post it in the end since I quite like it. :'>

I just wanted to highlight your, @//connorsui, lovely, lovely words when you reblogged my last Nikto post 😭😭😭💘💘💘. To receive not only some compliments, but your thoughts on my headcanons AND analysis *AND* your evaluation of my post was so, SO heartwarming to wake up to in the morning 🥹🥹🥹💓💓💓, especially when it was so long!!! Like, what?!! 😢😢😢😢😢😿😿😿😿😿😭😭😭😭😭💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💖💖💖💖💖✨✨✨✨✨

Thank you so so so SO much for your positive feedback !!! I've read it over four times by now. O really appreciated and still appreciate it. ☺️💞🫶💖✨✨💕💕

(I also want to kiss Nikto's scarred face ☹️☹️☹️ just wordless acts of intimacy where words aren't necessary and just to show the man some affection, regardless of how he looks 😟💝 need that ugly traumatised Russian man SO BAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭)

Inspiration for this gained from:

thisvvv song!!! and Chapter 7 in Metro 2035 lol,, when Artyom was drunk and disorientated I thought it was written really REALLY well and I wanted to incorporate his meaningless drivel into this.

Nikto's voicelines and his various voices/sporadic changes in character

the Fandom Wiki

my own headcanons lol 😋

From fluff this whatever the fuck this is!!!!!!!!!! Hope you enjoyed 💗💗

[bobawitch]

Romcom Cuddles M.S

a/n: this has so many spoilers for the movie 27 dresses so please watch the movie before/while reading this </3

summary: its the same as the movie night fic for chris but with matt as was requested by @noirpxrker

cw: fluff and MAJOR SPOILERS FOR 27 DRESSES

w/c: 1200

“What did you say this was called again?” Matt spoke as the scene of a pink and white wedding began to play on the computer screen sitting in front of the two of you. You and your boyfriend had been planning a movie night since the tour had begun and you knew exactly what you wanted to watch. Matt had suggested a scary movie or a thriller, something halloweeny and although you loved how enthusiastic Matt was about the spooky season, you knew you wanted to watch a rom com. So you took about 3 hours to convince Matt to trust you on your movie choice. You were both finally back in LA and at the triplets apartment where you and Matt could finally enjoy your movie night. “It’s called 27 Dresses Matt, it’s a cute little romance movie.” Matt sighed, scrolling through his phone as you watched the main character explain her love for weddings and seeing them come together. It was always a touching story to you, the doomed bridesmaid finally finding love for herself. “Booo I don’t think dresses says October movie date.” You rolled your eyes and flicked Matt’s arm. “You already agreed to it. Just watch the girly movie because you love me so much.” Matt rolled his eyes and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pressing an adoring kiss to your cheek. You smiled in a giddy glee before settling onto his chest. 

For a while Matt stayed quiet, watching the witty chaotic banter from the movie. You already knew the entire movie by heart, each witty little line, the big proclamation of love by the end of the movie, all the fun in betweens, the twists and turns, the fighting, all of it. Matt sat up suddenly as the girl began to undress in the back of a taxi. “Woah woah woah what kind of movie is this??” You brought your head up to look at your boyfriend. You quickly rolled your eyes and motioned back to the movie. There was 0 nudity and 0 sexual things happening on the screen, causing Matt to slowly calm down. “Ok ok, ignore my former question. But why is she changing into a bunch of dresses right now?” You shake your head. “It’s her job, she’s in different weddings. Now shhhhh please.” Matt sighed and kissed the top of your head. “Ok baby I’m sorry.” A few more minutes goes on and soon the sister comes into Jane’s life again. As soon as Matt sees the sister making her moves he pauses the movie. He turns to you with his mouth totally agape. “Is her sister going to marry the guy she loves!?” As you watch your boyfriend fall into total shock at the audacity within a movie he previously found very girly, you bursted into loud laughter. You slowly nodded before patting the portion of bed next to you. “It’ll be ok Matt, just watch the movie…” Matt begrudgingly laid back down, hugging you tightly as you grabbed some of the popcorn you prepared beforehand. The movie continued on, the plot slowly moving through each section. Then the bombshell dropped, sister marrying Jane’s boss who she just so happens to be in love with. Matt nearly threw the computer but you managed to calm him down to keep watching the movie. 

It stayed fairly quiet, at least mostly quiet. Matt managed to throw in some aggressive and irritated blips about how rude and selfish the sister was, how Chris and Nick would never ever pull anything like what the sister did. You tried to quiet him quickly so that he didn’t miss anything else in the movie such as the plot twist that wasn’t really a twist at all. Matt, thankfully, quieted his anger at the fictional characters when he saw the main character kiss the second guy. Y’know that romance trope where the girl meets her exact opposite except he’s actually just like her but he has to get through his own stuff, yeah that’s this movie’s trope as well. You hugged Matt’s arm tighter as the plot thickened, the first climax of the film finally coming. Matt shook his head and sighed, leaning to pause the movie. “Baby this movie is doing something to me. It’s too up and down, I need to know it’s gonna be ok.” You knew that your boyfriend was teasing you but there was a hint of genuine frustration at the movie. That he was genuinely annoyed at how the girl was going to get through everything and somehow find a happy ending. Because that’s the trick with rom coms, there’s always a happy ending. You sat up to meet your boyfriend, a smile printed against your lips. You gently cupped his cheek and pulled him into a kiss. “I wouldn’t show you a movie that you wouldn’t like Matt, just let the movie finish.” Matt pouted before pulling you closer and snuggling into the bed once more. He finally unpaused the movie and silence fell upon the room. 

Throughout the movie there were a few more exclamations from Matt, the most notable one being after the main character, Jane, exposed her sister for lying. Matt had to pause the movie so he could jump off the bed and do a small victory dance around the room. At the end of the dance he turned to you and pointed at you, “We should show this movie to Nick and Chris. I think Nick would like it, Chris might as well but I’m less sure.” He shrugged before you gave him a stern look. Earning an apology from the boy before he hopped back into bed to finish the movie. Finally getting past the most shocking ups and downs of the movie, Matt calmed and just watched the movie. There were a few moments where you managed to get some funny photos of him. He ended up being more invested in the movie than you were, which you found hilarious.

As the movie began to close up, tying each lose end up you found Matt was silent, like too silent. You turned to the boy and noticed he was so focused on the movie that he’d moved away from cuddling you to sit hunched over the computer. You laughed to yourself before scooting up to him and leaning your head against his shoulder. Upon you doing that he jolted, the two main characters confessing their love for eachother as he looked at you. You stared into his blue eyes and he smiled, grabbing your hands and pulling you off the bed. Music played as the movie came to a close with a beautiful wedding and 27 dresses. Matt let the credit music play as he pulled you close to him, swaying you around the room. After a few minutes of the two of you gently swaying together to random music you pulled away, looking up at Matt. “What was that for?” Matt smiled, “I just wanted to twirl you around and make you feel beautiful.” With that he leaned down and kissed you, a soft mumble of words escaping against your lips. “I love you.” “I love you too.”

[maplegracefour]

You - Schlatt song fic

* ˚ ✦ Song: You - dodie

Summary: A summer fling. Or was it?

Warnings: Alcohol (minor mention)

Word Count: ~1200 words

Author’s Note: This is very much a vomit on a page moment, I missed the old school 2014 ukulele music I would listen to as a teenager and this came to mind as I was listening. It’s quite choppy and maybe a bit confusing. I’m not really happy with it but enjoy it regardless if you’d like :)

I told you I was looking for some empathy

Well you fooled me

Just, a touch and a thought and I was gone

May 4th 2024, 22:46

Parties weren’t your thing. But alas, if you were going to live in LA, if only temporarily, you had to live the LA lifestyle. At least that’s what your friends said in an attempt to sell you the idea of attending. Funny how as soon as you got there, none of them were anywhere to be seen.

Working on a long-term project that had shifted your life trajectory had seemed worth it at the time, but standing on your own in the corner of some sort of ass-kissing festival seemed like hell on earth. You hadn’t even noticed a figure standing beside you until he spoke.

“You don’t look like you’re having a good time.” He murmurs, nursing a plastic cup of some mysterious liquid.

Your head turned, spinning to greet the smug smirk of JSchlatt himself. You leant back against the wall, gripping your drink a little tighter. “I’m not.” You responded, nonchalantly.

He paused, as though thinking of the exact right thing to say. “Anything I can do to change that?”

“You can answer a question.” You turned to face him, one shoulder against the wall. You two were way closer than you’d expect two people to stand and why did no one tell you that this man is so much more attractive in person? “Why does this place just feel like a massive dick measuring contest? Does anyone here have just an ounce of empathy?”

He laughed, a large belly laugh. The sound was like music to your ears, much to your dismay. 

And now someone’s gonna get to know the better you

When I was supposed to

Why did it have to be you?

September 8th 2024, 15:22

It had hurt much more to leave than you ever had expected it to. Staring out the window of the long-haul flight, your mind was preoccupied. It was hard to even look back at what happened.

How could he just say nothing? How could he pretend that nothing had happened between you? Was it really all just a bit of fun?

I guess

Now the next time there’s an opportunity

I’ll tread more carefully

My heart’s running out of cellotape

October 13th 2024, 19:24

You tried dating, you tried every single app that suggested being able to build any sort of connection. Anything to fill the void inside you that he had left there.

Even if you got on with them, it just wasn’t right. You couldn’t let yourself open up, many of them fizzled away after dry texts. The ones that you had a date with, you can’t remember a single one that called you again afterwards. But you didn’t care.

After him, no one ever made you feel the same.

You know

How is it I’ve never felt that way before?

I was so sure

It wasn’t going to be you

July 2nd 2024, 10:41am

There had been no apprehension. You two slotted in together like you had known each other for years. You spent almost all your time together. Schlatt postponed his flight, telling Ted that it was to work on the podcast, or he wanted to host a couple meeting in person. But Ted knew it was to spend more time with you. 

“Hey man, where’ve you been?” Ted asked, looking up from the couch when Schlatt walked into his apartment. Schlatt waves him off, grumbling something about needing to sleep.

“It’s the middle of the day, the fuck you been doing?” Ted continued his questioning to no avail as Schlatt ignored him and walked into the spare room.

Days of hanging out, cooking you dinner and absolutely thrashing your ass at Mariokart turned into late nights, whispering about your goals and dreams. And then those whispers became sweet nothings, heavy breathing, gasps for more.

Neither of you intended it to be this way, you had insisted that you were just friends. But, that’s not the way it was, was it?

Why do all the red flags,

Just look like so much fun?

I have a habit of

Searching for the damage

To share my love

August 19th 2024, 21:59

You had started to feel more. You couldn’t help it. How could you not?

You knew it was a bad idea, confessing. You’d be gone in a couple of weeks. You had been psyching yourself up for the past few hours whilst curled up on the couch with him, limbs tangled together and a throw blanket draped over you both.

“Jay, can we talk?” You asked, pulling yourself up from his grip to sit opposite him.

He frowned, arms reached out as if you were still in them. “Uh, yeah. What’s going on?”

“I wanted to know where we stand.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I just thought we were kinda just messin’ around.” He said, scratching the back of his head. His eyes were darting around, avoiding yours. “Nothing serious.”

“Yeah, cool.” You shook your head, a weak laugh escaping your lips.

“You sure? You seemed pretty serious for a sec there.” He said, looking you up and down.

You laughed again, a nervous habit you had as you shook your head again. “Nah, I’m okay. I just wanted to check that we were on the same page.”

I promised to be numb

But somehow you were the one

Now to unwind

Months of a good time

September 8th 2024, 14:41

You noticed the distance immediately. Schlatt went from being at your AirBnB everyday to every other day. Then it was once a week. For a couple hours a time, you would do your business and he would be out, sometimes before you had even made it out of the bed.

He didn’t even say goodbye in person when you had to fly home. 

When that flight took off, you knew that this was the end. A single summer in your life that meant everything turned into a couple months that you just wish you could forget. But he was always in the background of your mind.

People will tell me that I messed up

And it wasn’t love

And I’m secretly hoping they are right

September 16th 2024, 17:22

Confessing to your friends from home seemed like a good idea at the time but they immediately were sceptical.

Of course, it was just a classic case of a fuck-boy. It was a fling. It should have meant nothing. The next best thing will come along soon.

But something in your mind told you that it couldn’t have been. There was something more there, there had to be. You had been checking your phone almost obsessively.

Just one text. But there’s just radio silence.

Because

Whatever it was, it was wonderful

But non functional

November 22nd 2024, 02:37

Your phone was buzzing. Who the fuck would be calling you at this hour?

The screen read ‘unknown’, making you frown. It could be anyone. But you knew who you were hoping it would be. You reached over your bed, picking up the phone and clicking that little green button.

“Hello?” Your voice was raspy, throat dry.

“Did I wake you up?” Oh fuck. Oh shit fuck shit. It was him.

“Yeah.”

“Sorry.” There was silence for a moment, like he was unsure of what to say. “Could I just talk to you for a few minutes?”

I really hope I don’t love you

[watchmegetobsessed]

MIDNIGHT CRUSH

A/N: another year full of fanfics behind is!! it's crazy how fast 2022 has passed by, thank you for being here all year, thank you for reading my works, for all the messages and kind words!! hope to see many of you next year on this hell site haha!

WORD COUNT: 3.6k

SUMMARY: Harry has had a crush on Sarah's sister for a long time and this year, at the NYE party he can finally shoot his shot, because she's freshly single.

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“So, what should I bring for the party?” Harry asks as he, Sarah and Mitch enter the couple’s home following their Christmas lunch together that Harry invited them out for.

“Just yourself,” Sarah smiles.

“Booze,” Mitch says at the same time, making his friend laugh.

“Got it. And who is coming?”

The three of them walk into the kitchen as Sarah grabs a bottle of wine from the fridge to pour them all a drink. Harry climbs to a stool by the kitchen island and mumbles a thank you when she hands him his glass.

“Mostly the same people we always invite,” Mitch shrugs. “Oh, and Sarah’s sister.”

Harry almost chokes on the wine, the pair exchanging an amused look, because they expected him to react like this.

“Y-Your sister is coming? Y/N?”

“Yeah,” Sarah nods smiling. “You know, she was planning to stay home, but I can’t let her celebrate alone, not after the year she had.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Oh, you don’t know?” Sarah smirks, knowing well Harry most likely has no idea what happened to you just a few months ago. “She broke up with her boyfriend.”

“Y/N is single?” Harry’s eyes are basically popping out of his head before he tries to control his face and rephrase his reaction. “I mean, what happened with them? I thought they were doing fine.”

“The dude was an ass,” Mitch speaks up, leaning against the counter. “We don’t have proof, but I’m pretty sure he cheated on her.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t working either, so she broke up with him in… what, like October? I don’t remember,” Sarah shrugs.

“Oh, wow. They’ve been together for a long time, right?”

“Three years,” Mitch nods.

“She’s been pretty bummed, so I want to get her out of her little cave,” Sarah smiles, taking a sip from her drink.

“So she’ll be at the party,” Harry hums.

“Yeah. You two got along well, didn’t you?”

“Uh, yeah, you could… say that.”

That is an understatement and all three of them knows. To be exact, Harry fell in love with you probably the moment he laid his eyes on you at Sarah’s birthday party last year, but you were happily dating Matthew who couldn’t come to the party because of a work trip. You and Harry hit it off right away and you were inseparable the whole time, he felt like as if it wasn’t the very first time he met you, like you were good friends since forever.

Finding out that you were in a long term relationship was like a slap across his face, but he tried his best to mask his disappointment. Every time the two of you saw each other he forced himself to keep a distance, but always failed and ended up falling for you even harder. He could feel his heart breaking every time you went home to your boyfriend and he knew he should forget about you, but it was easier said than done.

But now you’re single and he’ll be seeing you again and for the first time, he won’t have to be ashamed to be pining after you.

“Just make sure you don’t drool when she arrives,” Mitch teases him, to which Harry just rolls his eyes.

He was already excited about the party, but now it feels like a second Christmas, he counts down the days until the last one of the year finally arrives. He tries to busy himself during the day and not get ready at one pm for the party that starts at seven. He watches movies, cleans the kitchen, scribble down new lyrics, but nothing keeps him occupied long enough to stop him from thinking about seeing you again.

He even stalks you online, something he never does, but this time he just cannot stop himself. Though your Instagram account doesn’t give away much. Just a handful of pictures, from the past few years, only two of them were taken exclusively of you, one at a sandy beach and another one from two Christmases away, looking cozy under the tree with all the gifts around you. There are a few with Sarah and Mitch, some photos of hills, forests and lakes, Harry remembers you told him how much you like going on hikes and exploring new places.

The last post was six months ago, four hands holding drinks meeting in the air, one single wine glass emoji as the caption.

Harry wonders if you had more posts up with your ex, photos where you kiss, where he is hugging you from behind, photos that would definitely turn him into a jealous little gremlin in an instant.

It’s past three when he finally gives up and gets ready. He takes a steamy shower, even attempts to style his hair before spending an obscene amount of time in his closet, trying to find the best outfit for the occasion.

By four he is fully clothed and ready to leave the house, even though he still has hours. He feels like a total fool, roaming around the house, pretending like his pants doesn’t feel like they are on fire.

It’s past five when his phone rings, Sarah’s smiley face appearing on the screen.

“Hey, you’re driving over, right?” she asks when he answers the call.

“Yeah. Do you need me to pick something up on my way?”

“Yes, well, not something, but someone. Y/N’s car broke down, do you think you could…”

“YES!”

“…give her a ride?” she finished chuckling at his enthusiastic response.

“Sorry,” he huffs out a laugh. “I can totally pick her up.”

“Great, you’re a lifesaver. I’ll text you her address, you think you could be there at six thirty?”

“Sure, absolutely!”

“Alright, see you two soon then.”

He fights the urge to jump around the living room like a kid. A minute later his phone chimes and as he opens the message from Sarah, he stares down at the address with never ending excitement. There’s something oddly intimate in knowing where you live, up until moments ago the two of you only existed at parties and Sarah and Mitch’s wedding with lots of people around you, but now he’ll have a glimpse of the home that’s just yours.

He has a fleeting idea of getting you flowers on his way, but that would be just way too much, this isn’t a date, though he wishes it was. He’s just picking you up to drive you to the party you both will be attending.

Parking down in front of a cozy looking townhouse he gives himself a peptalk before getting out of the car and walking up to the front door. He hears the bell ring through the house as he waits for you, a pair of high-heeled feet approaching the door in a hurry and when it flies open, Harry forgets to breathe and blink.

Because there you are, in a stunning, elegant black dress, your hair pinned up, your makeup appears natural, but he notices how glowy your skin is and you gift him with a bright smile upon seeing him on your doormat.

“Hi!” you greet him.

“Hi,” he smiles, finally putting his lungs to work.

“Let me just grab my coat and then we can leave.”

He nods as you reach to the side, taking a simple black coat off the hanger and when he sees you struggle to put it on he’s quick to help it onto your shoulders.

“Thank you, you’re such a gentleman,” you chuckle softly, grabbing your purse from the side table before stepping out and locking the door. Harry can feel himself blush, even the tip of his ears are getting hot at your simple compliment.

“You look wonderful, by the way.”

“Thank you, you cleaned up nice too,” you smile as the two of you walk back to his car. “Thank you so much for the ride, I really should buy a new car already, but it’s my first car, I’m too sentimental to get rid of it,” you sigh, buckling yourself up as Harry starts the car.

“So it’s an old friend, huh?”

“You could say that.”

The ride to Sarah and Mitch’s place is filled with comfortable small talk, catching up about what happened since the last time you saw each other, but Harry makes sure to avoid asking you about your ex. He’s not sure how you stand with that situation and the last thing he wants to do is to upset you.

Every time you laugh at something he says it feels like a victory and he just wants to hear that sound every day. He wishes his friends lived farther away so he could spend more time with you alone, but eventually you arrive to your sister’s home and the bubble pops.

“Hi sis!” you hug Sarah lovingly when you walk in, the two hosts greeting you warmly.

“So glad you’re here,” she pats your back, exchanging a knowing look.

Harry is snatched away from your side just moments after his arrival and this one time he wishes he wasn’t such a good company among his friends. But he keeps an eye on your at all times, he sees you mingling, sipping on your drink and every time you laugh at something jealousy tightens his chest.

“Dude, you promised not to drool,” Mitch teases him when he catches Harry staring at you once again.

“Fuck off,” he huffs, taking a sip from his drink.

“Just go talk to her.”

“I’m trying not to be a weirdo,” he sighs, making his friend laugh. “And I don’t want to be pushy, I don’t know if she’s over her ex already.”

“Mm, don’t be a pussy,” Mitch teases him before walking away.

Harry loses track of you for just five minutes while he uses the bathroom and when he returns you’re nowhere to be found. At first he just keeps looking, hoping you’d show up somewhere, but you never come.

“Hey, have you seen your sister?” Harry asks when he finds Sarah in the kitchen, refilling the chips bowl.

“I think I last saw her going upstairs,” she shrugs.

He lurks through the guests and makes his way upstairs, not too discreetly looking for you in every room he passes by, until he finally finds you in one of the guest bedrooms. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed your heels has been kicked off and you’re staring out the window, lost in your thoughts.

“Hey, where did you go?” he softly asks, walking over and sitting next to you.

“Ah, I just… it became a little too crowded for me,” you shrug shyly. “Wanted to have a break from the chit-chatting.”

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks, feeling like he is bothering you with his presence.

“Oh, no! That’s not what I meant,” she chuckles, her hand brushing against his knee for a second, the tiny gesture etching into his memory forever instantly. “I just lost my energy for small talk, but it’s not like that with you. I’m trying to recharge, but I wish I brought some booze with me.”

“I’ll get us something,” he offers. “I mean, if you still don’t mind having me here with you.”

“Won’t you be missed down there?” you look up at him curiously as he stands from the bed.

“They’ll survive without me,” he shrugs smiling.

“Then I would love to have your company.”

God, those words are like honey dripping from your perfect lips. He quickly makes his way down, hunting for a bottle of alcohol the two of you can share. He finds a bottle of champagne, snatches two glasses and dodges every attempt to drag him into a conversation as he returns upstairs, excitement filling his chest to have some more alone time with you.

“Oh, great!” you beam when you see him holding up the bottle and handing you a glass he pours you a drink, the fills his glass as well before the two of you settle back on the bed. “Mm, this will numb me well,” you let out a tired sigh. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

“Why? You seemed like you were having a good time.”

“I’m good at masking,” you huff out a bitter laugh. “It’s just so frustrating…”

“What is?”

“Am I so boring that all people want to talk about is my exboyfriend?” you ask, surprising Harry with bringing him up. He also can’t help a tiny frown.

“Not at all,” he shakes his head, taking a sip from his drink.

“Then why did I have to dodge questions about him like a million times the past two hours? Like… I’m a person outside of Matthew, hello!”

Harry’s unsure what to say. If you asked he would tell off every single person downstairs who made you feel like this.

You look at him with a tiny smile.

“Thanks for not bringing him up.”

“I…” he starts. I’ve had my selfish reasons, he wants to say, but swallows the words. “Just wanted you to have a good time,” he ends up saying.

The champagne bottle starts to empty out and the two of you are having a private party of your own, having a blast away from all the guests. Sprawled out on the bouncy mattress you talk and laugh and play silly little games as the clock is ticking towards midnight and the new year.

You’re definitely feeling dizzy, not drunk, but the champagne has loosened you up enough to be a giggling mess. Harry is sitting with his back against the headboard while you’re lounging across the bed, your legs tangled with his.

“Ah, I missed this,” you let out a pleased sigh.

“Missed what?”

“Having fun,” you huff out a laugh. “It’s been a bitter few months.”

“We can hang out more,” Harry suggests, his hands reaching out, gently massaging your calf. He’s been fighting the urge for a while, but he feels like you’re comfortable in your little bubble enough to allow this physical contact. You don’t move away, even let a tiny moan slip through your lips at the pressure of his touch and pride fills his chest.

“Be careful, I might end up at your doorstep every single day,” you joke.

“Feel free to do so,” he replies, fully meaning his words.

Your head rolls to the side to look at him, a soft smile stretched across your face as you blink at him lazily.

“Wouldn’t want to bother you.”

“Impossible.”

“What about when you’d want to be with a woman? Go on dates?”

“I don’t do that,” he shrugs.

“I don’t believe you,” you grin at him. “There’s no way you’re not dating supermodels and movie stars…”

“Oh, but I’m not,” he chuckles, his eyes fixated on his hands working on your calves.

“Come on! You gotta have a crush on some insanely gorgeous woman!” you tease him more, but

“It’s you,” he blurts it out, his honesty surprising the both of you. “I have a crush on you,” he then adds.

His eyes shyly move up to meet your gaze, but your face is too blank to read anything off of it as you blink back at him, lips slightly parted. A minute passes by and he starts to regret that he couldn’t hold his tongue. You then push yourself up into a sitting position, eyes still glued to his face.

“Really?” is all you say when you finally break the silence.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just blurted it out.”

“No, it’s… I just…” It’s hard to find the right words and Harry is patient with you, but a knock is heard on the door and he almost curses out whoever is on the other side.

“Hello? Are you guys in here?” Sarah’s head pops in before the rest of her body follows, taking in the sight of the two of you on the bed. “Hey, ten minutes until midnight. Are you guys joining us?”

“Yeah,” you nod, sounding breathless and Harry can feel himself deflating. The moment is gone, you know he is into you, but your reaction wasn’t quite what he was expecting.

He watches you climb off the bed and is sure you’ll just walk out with your sister, leaving him behind, but when you put your heels back on you turn to him with a warm smile.

“Come on, we can’t miss the countdown.”

He’s stunned at your friendly behavior, but he just nods and follows you, the three of you returning to the rest of the guests downstairs. The party is buzzing, everyone is excited to greet the new year, but Harry can only care about you. Both of you get a flute of champagne and standing in the corner of the room, you’re a bit awkwardly wait for the countdown to start.

Then the last ten seconds arrive and Harry’s mind is racing more than ever. Where do you stand? Did he ruin everything? You won’t even want to be friends with him? After all the pining, is this really how he had to admit his feelings to you?

He hates how quiet you are next to him, how he has no idea what you wanted to say before Sarah arrived and he would kill to read your mind.

“Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!...”

He bites the inside of his cheeks, nervously switching his weight from one leg to the other, staring ahead of him.

“Six! Five! Four!”

He can faintly hear you take a deep breath and from the corner of his eyes he can see you turn towards him. Your gazes meet and his heart is brutally hammering in his chest when your eyes flicker down to his lips for a split second.

“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”

There’s a heartbeat of hesitation in you before you splurge forward and press your lips against his, only to pull back almost immediately, afraid that you did something wrong. But Harry is quick to silence your worries when his hand grabs the back of your neck and he pulls you back in for a lot longer and more passionate kiss that the previous one.

He grins against your lips when he hears someone cheer on the two of you, judging from the voice it’s Mitch, but Harry doesn’t bother to check, he’s way too busy kissing you over and over again. He never even plans to stop, but you shriek out a laugh when he accidentally spills some of his champagne on you while trying to wrap his arms around your waist, coordinating with the flute in his hand.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” he gasps, placing the glass to the nearest surface instantly before he could pour more on you.

“It’s okay,” you chuckle, wiping the fabric with your hand on your hip.

“I got a little… carried away,” he breathes out with a smirk, but you just shake your head grinning up at him, your gaze lacing together with his once more and before you could even think about your actions, you push closer to him and kiss him. You simply can’t stop, you need to be touching and kissing him as if you could die if you took even just a step away from him.

For the rest of the evening the two of you turn into giddy teenagers. Not wanting to be rude you stay downstairs with the rest of the guest, mingling feels easies for Harry with you by his side. He keeps a hand on the small of your back at all times and every time your eyes meet, he can’t help but steal a quick kiss.

It’s past three in the morning when you leave your sister’s home and Harry drives you back home. The ride is silent, but it’s comfortable, the moments you shared tonight speak for you.

“Can I call you tomor—erm, later today?” Harry chuckles when he realizes it’s already the next day.

“Absolutely,” you smile and you both move towards each other at the same time, lips meeting over the console before you get out of his car. You wave at him from the front door, watching him drive away with the cheesiest, most lovesick smile on your face.

Though Harry is still buzzing from the events of the night when he goes to bed, it doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep. It’s been a long and memorable day, he needs to recharge before jumping into the new exciting year.

He has just put on the coffee to brew when his phone starts buzzing on the kitchen counter. He rubs his eyes before snatching it and checking the screen, an unknown number flashing on the screen.

“Hello?” he answers hesitantly.

“It’s me.” He recognizes your voice in an instant, eyes popping wide open and he didn’t even need the caffeine.

“Hi!” he breathes out, trying his best not to sound too excited, though he fails, because he hears your chuckle on the other end of the line.

“I’m glad you’re up, Sarah said you might sleep in late when I asked for your number.”

“I just woke up, actually.”

“Good. You can let me in then.”

“What…” he gapes and then hears the doorbell ring.

He drops the phone to the counter without even ending the call as he sprints to the door in his slippers, almost tripping on his way before he flings the front door open just to find you on his doormat.

“Well, I told you I would just show up at your place every day,” you chuckle. “Do you want to spend the first day of the year together?” you ask, noticeably nervous about his reaction, but he melts at your presence and he takes your hand before pulling you in.

“Wouldn’t want to spend it with anyone else.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[lex-loudestwoman]

Kaylor Swiftgron: Which Muse Inspired Which Songs on Red & 1989

On the precipice of 1989 TV's release and amidst the Kaylorification of 1989 TV's rollout, I thought it'd be a good time to figure out which muses aligned to which songs. I did my research, which includes: lyrical analysis & music video analysis, the timing of when songs were written, which producers and co-writers were credited to each song, social media posts, and where the girls were in real time. Shout out to @sophietv for her incredible work on the Kaylor timelines and evidence, and to @swiftgronmasterpost and @swiftgronmasterpost for their work to outline everything from Achele to Rivergron to Swiftgron. Round of applause to you both!!

Let's get into it!! (and if you want to just see my conclusions for which songs are about which muse, scroooolllll to the bottom)

The Red Muses

2011

Red was written in two phases. First, she worked with her producer from Speak Now & Fearless, Nathan Chapman. They wrote 25 songs together between February and October 2011. She took these songs to Scott Borchetta and he congratulated her on a finished album, but she wanted to experiment with other producers and writers to play with new sounds. So, after October 2011 she started working with a handful of other producers to write more tracks for Red. Here's a breakdown of Red songs by producer.

Nathan Chapman:

State of Grace

Red

All Too Well

I Almost Do

Stay, Stay, Stay

Sad Beautiful Tragic

Starlight

Begin Again

The Moment I Knew

Girl At Home

Martin & Shellback:

I Knew You Were Trouble

22

We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together

Message in a Bottle

Bhasker: Holy Ground

Wilson: Treacherous, Come Back...Be Here

Walker: Everything Has Changed

Lind & Bjorkland: The Very First Night

McKenna: I Bet You Think About Me

The first time we know for sure Dianna and Taylor interacted was on September 4th, 2011 at the Fairfax Flea Market, which implied that the songs Taylor wrote with Chapman weren't about Dianna.

Karlie and Taylor dated (I think) starting in the summer or early fall of 2011. I think they weren't expecting anything super serious, but it was one of those flirtations that starts out strong and feels good with them and all of the sudden you're in love and you barely believe it and feel ridiculous for knowing but you have a feeling this person is for you, maybe forever... It sounds right for Taylor who has admitted how fast & hard she tends to fall for people when she's in love.

Taylor attended the Rodarte Spring/Summer 2012 fashion show during NYFW and sat front row next to Anna Wintour on Tuesday, September 13, 2011. Karlie walked in the show (slay). This was also the day that Taylor spent with a Vogue interviewer for her iconic January 2012 Vogue Cover and Article where she is quoted as saying "I love Karlie Kloss! I want to bake cookies with her!" She said this straight after leaving the Rodarte Fashion Show.

Interestingly, Karlie was quoted in a magazine as having been introduced to Taylor Swift at the Met Gala and they joked about baking cookies together! They both attended the Met Gala in May 2011, just four months before the Rodarte Fashion Show/Vogue Interview day! So it's pretty weird that Taylor would say the exact same thing, unprompted, when she saw a photo of Karlie Kloss at a fashion designer's studio on the exact same day she sat front row for a fashion show Karlie walked in!!

I imagine that Taylor and Karlie fell into something new and beautiful and sweet by accident. The Rodarte Show was on a Tuesday, maybe they met up for coffee the next day on Wednesday, September 14th in NYC? Who's to say!

All that said, I think Begin Again is about Karlie. It was written sometime between February and October 2011, which would've been a really, really fast turnaround for it to be about Dianna. Between the music video and the lyrical connections, it's very Kaylor coded. Starlight also could plausibly be about Karlie because they attended the Met together in 2010 and 2011, and their 2011 dresses were sparkly and tbh Karlie looked hot AF.

But, let's also remember that Taylor is on tour and just got herself out of two on-again-off-again, fairly toxic relationships, and as she said herself in Begin Again that the last 8 months she's been heartbroken and scared to get hurt from love (earliest would've been June 2010-February 2011 and latest would've been February-October 2011). Plus she's not even 22 years old, so she's not necessarily good at being in relationships yet. She's in a messy place, and she falls in love like a ton of bricks.

I think that this delicate, precious new thing with Karlie didn't work out (not for malice or hurting each other, just life) and over the winter they were distant but were still in contact.

2012

On January 17, 2012 we get tweets from BOTH Karlie and Dianna about the *iconic* Vogue article. This makes me think:

1. Karlie is still interested in exploring this new relationship with Taylor

2. Dianna and Taylor have kept in touch and have a lil something something going on, a little curiosity they might want to explore

3. Taylor likes public attention, and she likes feeling wanted, and she's got two hot ass women who want her. Do you blame the girl for being messy!?!

Dianna and Taylor attend the same pre-Oscars party on February 24th, 2012, and this is where I think Swiftgron starts to take off. Dianna is all happy and heart eyes online for the next three weeks until the Speak Now Tour ends. They're spotted together frequently in March and April. The Shirley MacLaine birthday party thing happens April 25th, Dianna's circus birthday party is April 28th, and I would bet anything they started hooking up sometime these first two months. I think Holy Ground was written about Dianna's birthday party, with the note on the door with the joke we made, and that was the first day.

Taylor writes Everything Has Changed and Run on May 15th, 2012, with Ed Sheeran, and records both EHC and The Last Time on May 28th, 2012. Everything Has Changed seems Swiftgron (thanks Gaylor twt for helping me figure out that the freckles are IN Dianna's green eyes bc girl bye I was full of questions). The Last Time is almost certainly about Liz.

But Run is very Kaylor coded! The pale blue eyes, use of darling, the laugh like a child (Begin Again), locket, picture frame...

On May 31st, 2012, Dianna is bearding hard with Henry Joost to distract from her appearance with GLAAD. I have a working hypothesis that Taylor Swift hates beards and is not a fan of having to use them or be with people who have them. I just don't think it works for her with how insanely famous she is, the guys are hyperscrutinized and she's honestly not very good at being a convincing heterosexual woman. I think there's some conflict between Taylor and Dianna because of the beard.

By June 10th, 2012, Taylor has written 22, WANEGBT, and IKYWT. I am inclined to believe that WANEGBT is about Emily or Liz. Same thing with IKYWT. 22 is about her besties and living life and being carefree and embracing all of the beauty and pain of falling in and out of love and everything that is your early 20s.

We get the whole Hyannis Port x Kennedys summer week of pap walks featuring Swiftgron all over the place! But it seems like they probably break up later in July. This was a hot and cold relationship for real.

WANEGBT is released on 8/13 and Dianna tweets at Taylor (like never ever?). On September 29, 2012 Dianna and Naya Rivera are on a cheeky, lil sexy vacation in Paris. Taylor goes to Paris that same weekend to film Begin Again at the Love Lock bridge (Karlie is also in Paris but there's no evidence to show that they saw each other at all).

However, I wouldn't put it past Taylor and Karlie to have seen each other while Swiftgron was cold. Perhaps in September 2012 right around when she filmed Begin Again?

October 17, 2012 Taylor writes This Love in LA according to her diary entries. So I think This Love is about the Swiftgron reconciliation for whatever happened this summer. Things are good for a bit, they go to the Ripple of Hope gala together on December 3rd, 2012. They're pictured together on December 6th, 2012 and Dianna's all cryptic online about her secret love.

Quick Aside: Karlie and Josh have been "officially together" ever since June 2012, but they were first seen together in November 2012 when they both attended the VS Fashion Show. I'm under the impression that these gay celebrities in their early twenties only needed a beard when they were in another relationship they were distracting away from. They didn't need a beard, they could just say they were focused on friends and their career (aka 1989 era). So who was Karlie dating in mid 2012 that needed to be covered up with plausible deniability? This would've been in the works for a bit before they launched it in November 2012.

Also, super interesting that Karlie also met Taylor for the "first time" at the 2013 Victoria's Secret Fashion Show, hmm? Anywayssss.

2013

I think everything Swiftgron blew up on February 14th, 2013 with the 'I Do' episode of Glee where Dianna Agron and Naya Rivera hook up on screen. Taylor made a whole big deal about this episode containing one of her songs and encouraged her fans to watch, but her song wasn't in the show (tweet was later deleted). But picture this: Happy Valentine's Day, watch your girlfriend hook up with the girl she told you not to worry about!! And then learn that they actually did hookup when y'all were on a break, like two weeks before y'all got back together!! Oooh boy!! I'm pretty sure this was what inspired Babe (in the music video Taylor was the mistress, but IRL Taylor was the main character who got cheated on instead of the mistress!!).

Dianna is a mess on Twitter after that and there might have been about two months of back & forth, maybe some breakup sex, but I think Swiftgron died dead by the time the article about them secretly dating dropped on April 16th, 2013.

The Red tour started on March 18th, 2013 and I can't imagine that made things any easier for Swiftgron. Meanwhile... I think Karlie and Taylor re-reconnected in this time period.

The 1989 Muses

2013

Taylor wrote 1989 while on tour for Red (except for This Love, according to the diary entry it was written on 10/17/2012). I think the breakup songs are about Dianna and the love songs (excluding This Love) are allllll Karlie.

If Taylor and Karlie did reconnect in Fall 2012, then Spring 2013 would be a long six months later...

Taylor and Karlie "meet for the first time" (which we have so much proof that it's not but like, okay, fine) on November 13, 2013 at the Victoria's Secret Fashion show. We know this isn't their first meeting or flirtationship, but it certainly is their first public outing to test what people say about their friendship.

Then, I'd wager Taylor plays "cat & mouse for a month or two or three" until they officially are girlfriends on March 6, 2014. Yay!!!

Songs About Dianna:

Red: Holy Ground, Everything Has Changed, Come Back...Be Here, Better Man, Babe

1989: Clean, Wonderland, All You Had To Do Was Stay, I Wish You Would

Songs About Karlie:

Red: State of Grace, Treacherous, Stay, Stay, Stay, Starlight, Begin Again, Message in a Bottle, Run, The Very First Night

1989: Welcome to New York, Blank Space, Style, OOTW, Wildest Dreams, How You Get the Girl, I Know Places, You Are in Love, New Romantics

[lets-all-calm-down-a-bit]

Every day I have been writing a message about Palestine on the college community whiteboard. Today I wrote one that said, “Israel has been using white phosphorus and killing women and children in Palestine for years. But yeah sure, this started on October 7th 2023.”

A man walked up behind me as I was writing: a professor about my fathers age. He began asking me about the message, then it became clear as I was talking that he had only asked in order to debate me. He told me he had been in Gaza on military business years ago. That he had shot people like that [referring to women and children] before, and that it was necessary. As we talked, I was terrified. I knew this was a possibility since I was writing these messages, but it was still scary.

He said that children can be terrorists simply by standing in front of people the military is trying to kill. He said a majority of women and children in Palestine who are killed, are killed because they are willfully acting as human shields for terrorists.

In the moment, I couldn’t form a proper response. I am young, and afab, so he was intentionally asking me many bombarding me with questions he knew I could not answer in order to make me feel dumb, or incorrect. (To be clear I cannot answer questions regarding exact dates or numbers easily because of memory loss and adhd. I can remember the thing that took place, and what happened a bit before and a bit after for reference on the timeline, however I cannot tell you exactly how many people died in a specific attack, or what date a certain event happened on the dot.) Along with this, I lock up from anxiety, so when he started raising his voice and getting in my space, I lost my whole case and points.

I look back now, and realize he probably tells himself this because he scared to face the things he has done in the name of “anti-terrorism.” Because there’s no rational way someone can believe that the millions and millions of Palestinian women and children (AND INFANTS???) who have been murdered by Israel were willfully acting as human shields.

Even then though, if a child is “willfully acting as a human shield” for someone dangerous; what really is this supposed “will” based on? If a kid can’t legally consent, drive, or vote, or live on their own, why the hell have we decided they can consent to being a human shield to a terrorist??? They can’t.

And they don’t, because this whole situation is made up. Children may try to protect their fathers, brothers, and uncles who are claimed to be part of hamas. However practically everyone in Palestine is claimed to be part of hamas by israel. So when is it “a child bravely trying to protect their family” and not, “a traitor terrorist protecting another terrorist” To israel it never is.

[cornerstoreclown]

Laundry Day

Summary: This is a short one-shot (2830 words, approx.) where the Reader (Gender Neutral) has an undomesticated killer clown stopping by infrequently to use their shower and get his clothes cleaned. Some light domesticity, which is quite a feat, given this wild guy!

Trigger warnings: None this time, unless you really don’t like laundry, which is understandable. 

Author’s notes:  This was absolutely the first thing I wrote on a whim while trying to find my feel for Art. It feels very much like a toddler trying to learn to walk, so bear with me. Likes and reblogs are appreciated! It would be nice to know I’m not just filling up an empty room with no one in it. I hope to do some NSFW soon! 

------------------------------------------------------      

Art was kind of hard to pin down. For anyone to really pin down, honestly. Those that knew him feared him, except you.

You can’t remember the exact date, but it was last year in October, and it was in the final week of the month, you think. That’s when you met him–that strange black and white clown who didn’t utter a single word. He was dressed up walking around the streets with a giant black trash bag slung over his shoulder. It was hard to miss him–he was covered head to toe in gore and dirt and mud. Poor thing looked miserable, and the wet flopping sounds of his shoes as he walked sounded a little uncomfortable. 

Very clearly you can recall when he laid his eyes on you, and the way that he looked like he wanted to tear you apart, limb from limb. He approached you, and you hadn’t moved. Even when he stood a few mere inches away from you, then made the choice to jump at you to try and see if you flinched, nothing. That made him curious. Why didn’t you react? Most shrieked in horror or resorted to slinging insults. 

“I… Have a washer and dryer back at my place. You wanna use it?” You asked him. 

It was that single question that changed the trajectory of your entire life. 

 You didn’t have an ounce of self-preservation in your body that night, and to this day, you still don’t. Some things didn’t change. 

Pan over to present time, months upon months later, where you’re in the same spot as you were the night that he took you up on that offer, sitting on a tiny stool in the laundry room with some clothes you were folding to put into the basket in front of you, spacing out until you hear the sounds of someone approaching. The bare footsteps are ones that you recognize, and you’re confirmed in your suspicions when you see him wearing nothing but a cotton white towel and his standard makeup. It was a little weird seeing him out of his outfit at first, but you’re used to it by now, and so is he, at you seeing him like this. 

Evil was taking up residence in the vessel of a fleshy body that donned black and white. At first you wondered if he was human, but the longer you both spent together, you soon came to realize that he was something supernatural, and the more knowledge you had, the more questions it gave you. Why of all people, did he let YOU live? What did he see in you? 

Art could have killed you. You knew this, and he knew this. It was a mutual understanding, but where else could a notorious killer have a place to hide, rest, have laundry done, take a shower, and eat all in one place without a care? You didn’t get in his way, and while you weren’t necessarily a murderer, you were at the very least complicit by giving the stray and feral clown a sort-of-but-not-really home. 

“Hey, buddy! You look great.” You flash him a smile. “Feel better after the shower?” You’re never short of amazed at how he manages to keep his makeup so pristine. It always seemed to be in a flawless condition, even when he was looking rough. 

Art takes a few seconds, raises his hands out wide to his sides to express how refreshed and brand new he feels, then drops them, giving an enthusiastic nod, eyes closed as he shows an even wider smile. You can see the flash of his teeth that look like they haven’t been brushed for at least... a while. He then brings his hands up to the front of him and gives a gentle clap, interlacing his fingers thereafter. The clown then gives you a few hopeful blinks and an innocently pleading look with a tilt of his head, looking at you, and then the washer and dryer. 

“Oh, no,” You laugh. “It’s not ready yet. Still isn’t done with the wash cycle. You got your clothes really bloody, Art.”

And just like that, the puppydog-like eyes Art has been giving you disappear as he scoffs silently and impatiently. The clown’s arms go to fold across his chest. 

“How many people did you kill exactly to get it that messy, Art?”

He gives a shrug and a turn of his head, as if asking for you to guess. 

“Two?” 

He gives you a ‘more’ gesture, hand held out and fingers wiggling which would otherwise look like he was telling you to come closer. 

“Three?”

He’s still indicating for you to keep going. 

“Four? Five?”

He raises his hand and tells you to stop, raising his finger. 

“Five?” 

A shake of his head no. 

“Four, then.” 

He points at you. You genius, you! You got it right! He’s smiling now again, clearly proud. He even gently claps for you. 

“Yeah, that makes sense.” You answer. You’re not really feeling one way or another about it. The initial shock has kind of worn off. You stare down at the clothes in your lap briefly when you see Art staring down at the basket. 

“Yeah. I’m doing my own laundry. Folding it is a little bit of a pain, but I’m almost done.” And it’s true, you were very meticulous with folding. Normally you’d just have your clothes in the basket and unfolded, but you were trying to be a little more diligent instead of just fishing out what you washed the week before and putting it on. You’ve been struggling a little doing it, too.

The clown begins to approach you, and is rather leisurely at that. He’s relaxed and in his element here, familiar with the environment. 

Familiar with you. 

That makes your heart flutter a little, your mind in a daze that’s short lived, because Art is now close enough to you that you have to give him your full attention. Sometimes you still wonder if each time he visits will be the last time, and that one day he gives into that irresistible longing which ends with him pulling your intestines out of your lower abdomen like he were performing one of those endless magic scarf tricks. He’s thought about it, and while he hasn’t told you, you know. Maybe it’s a kind of unexplained psychic link that you swear you have with him nowadays, or maybe it’s just the simple fact that at the end of the day, he is what he is at his core–a predator. And you’re just prey. 

You tense up a little when he leans down in front of the basket of folded clothes, and you watch him come close. 

“Oh, you want to.. Help me fold clothes?” 

He doesn’t answer, instead lifting up the laundry basket in front of you, and before it fully registers in your head what he’s doing, it’s already too late.

“Hey–No, no, Art, don’t–!”

Almost thirty minutes of folding, spilling right on top of you as you were about to stand up and try to stop him. Piece after piece of clothing falls on you, around you, and all around at your feet from where you’re sitting. You even see him pretend as if it was all by accident, looking shocked, even as he tosses the laundry basket off to the side where the plastic container hits the wall and clatters to the floor. He likes to be funny sometimes, but other times, it’s like he’s testing you. 

Your heart rate immediately speeds up and your muscles tense as frustration makes your blood simmer. But it dies just as quickly as it rises, a flame snuffed out as he watches for your reaction, as if wanting to see if you’d let your anger get the best of you. As if that’d give him incentive to strangle you with one of your own sweatshirts, should things go south. 

He was a jokester at heart, and that was part of who he was. Often when he was here, he’d ruin something because he’d think it was funny, or he’d just be generally chaotic and straight up unhinged. One time a few dishes were broken, then one day he brought home a half chewed on rabbit you think he caught, a few months ago he took your entire collection of knives that you used for cooking, no doubt to stab and murder someone with. You remember that he took all your razors from your bathroom too. Another time, he took your toaster? Literally just walked out of the house with it in that Mary Poppins black trash bag of his. What was yours was also his when he came to visit, and at the end of the day, you know it was better that he fucked with the things in your house instead of you. In this instance, it was something less offensive than destruction or theft–he just foiled your attempt at trying to be a little better with your clothes. 

Instead, you just sigh, and look up at him. He’s tilted his head back, mouth open wide, eyes closed, pointing at you, silently laughing hysterically. You just know that if he had a voice, it would be bouncing off the walls right now.

Your lips thin out into a small line, lifting upwards into a faint but tired smile. Art was always a reminder to you to maybe not take things so seriously… After all, you might not wake up tomorrow. 

“Funny.” You give a soft chuckle. Art is now slapping his knees as he’s leaned forward, still pointing at you. He’s got some audacity, you think, standing there in nothing but a towel, but you just shake your head and keep your smile present. You’re not going to go back to trying to refold the clothes. So much for trying, you’re just going to shove them haphazardly in your basket and put it on your bedroom floor and keep pulling from it until there’s practically nothing left. Fuck that. You tried, and therefore no one could criticize you. 

A hand with wiggling fingers is out in front of your face suddenly, and when you glance up, Art is now looking down at you. You take his hand with no hesitation, knowing that if you only rejected him, he’d keep putting his hand in your face until you listened. When you take hold of it, his grip is tight. Tight to the point where it’s almost painful. He yanks you up to your feet out of the pile of clothes and you have no choice but to glance up at him. He’s taller than you, standing at what you guess is a little over six feet tall. Being so close to him always manages to take your breath away at some point. 

“Thanks, Art.” 

He gives you a pat on the shoulder, then grips it firmly to where it hurts a little, and gives you a few gentle shakes before letting you go. It’s a little jarring, but you’re fine with it. You still keep your expression pleasant, and had your hand rested overtop of his until he decided to let go. You give a few laughs. 

“Hey, I didn’t get the chance to ask you right away when you came in, but where is your friend? Is she okay?” 

The little girl.

Sometimes she was here, sometimes she wasn’t. She left messes of her own in your house, and they were often unsavory ones that you weren’t sure what they were, and you didn’t like dwelling on them. Liquids, mysterious chunks of sticky substance, among other things. Art however, thought she was a high class comedian, and so you went with it. She meant well in her own way, you suppose. But like all children, she had a habit of getting into things she didn’t need to be in. It was just another level of stress for you, so as much as it’s a relief that she’s not here right now, you still can’t help but worry a little. That was Art’s friend. She brought him joy. And what made Art happy was good. 

The clown’s demeanor shifts a little at that, to which he stares at you for a few seconds before once again asking for your hand, to which you give him it. This time, the grip is much tighter than the one he used to pull you up with. This is the same kind of grip that you just know was amplified even further to rip open torsos and rip faces clean off to the bone. You feel fortunate that he’s shown restraint, and that he cares enough for you to deliberately not want to hurt you. He leads you from the laundry room to the next room over–the living room. Your living room. 

The living room is pretty plain and standard, the main attraction being the couch, coffee table, and what he’s gesturing towards in front of both of those things–the flat screen. 

“Oh, the television! Yeah, of course.”

He sits you down on the couch first, before seating himself. He reaches for the remote on the table and surfs the channels until it lands on the news, displaying the show of a cleaned up scene of the crime stained with blood out on a neighborhood street from what you recognize is the next county over. 

LOVING FAMILY MAN FOUND DEAD OUTSIDE OF ESTATE, the headlines read, before going on about how a man was found outside of his home, arms chewed on and with a few pens jammed through his eyes straight into his skull. Following the details, there’s the show of a single tiny hat, one that you immediately recognize that would have a pigtail jutting out of it. 

So, that’s where she was. Did anyone actually see her? Could she only kill people that could see her? There was no sketch provided, nor is it seeming as if there's any sense of awareness as to who the hat belonged to in the news report. You knew that she was selectively visible to certain people, but what determined that? Art can’t help but silently laugh and point at the screen, going so far as to reach out over to you to show you the answer to your question, and most certainly for you to also appreciate his friend’s handiwork. You laugh out of politeness, though you’re not really feeling one way or the other about it. Your head is swirling with questions as you try to figure out the logistics of the case. Was that actually her hat? 

Just as soon as the news of the murder was on the television, it moved on. Local news tended to not dwell on topics for too long. They had a list of updates to go through and a short time to allot for it. 

“Stay tuned for the upcoming documentary on the infamous terror on the streets every October–The Miles County Clown. We suspect he’s back. More at eight.” The news reporter says. 

Art enthusiastically points at the television while looking at you, and you give him a nod of acknowledgement. 

“Glad you’re getting the attention you deserve.” You tell him, and he gives you an incline of his head and a smile, before showing how pleased he is with the chef's kiss gesture. You actually do genuinely laugh at that. His body language was always… Charming. 

Advertisements start playing and there’s just the weather and now national news up next until eight. During that time, Art reaches behind you and puts his arm on the top back part of the couch. While it’s not over your shoulder, you still feel enveloped by him all the same as you sit crisscross applesauce next to him, fiddling absentmindedly with your hair, fingernails, anything to keep you stimulated as the news prattles on. 

It was kind of nice. The intimacy and domesticity–if you could even call it that–which the two of you shared was a special one. You’ve seen him exposed like this, and he’s seen you dressed down in a similar fashion before. Neither of you thought much of it, but you at least would find your gaze wandering, and you’ve seen him do the same a few times in turn. The chemistry is undeniable. There’s something there. 

It was going to be maybe another thirty minutes until Art’s clothes are done in the wash and need to be moved over into the dryer. Just in enough time for the documentary on the Miles County Clown, who was right next to you. You start to feel a little tired, fatigue taking over you as you begin to, against your better judgment most certainly, lean against him a little to doze off briefly. 

And he lets you. 

The Miles County Clown has his hand on your back now, giving it a few gentle yet firm rubs before returning his arm on the top of the back cushion of the couch, intently watching the television. He might not be mortal, but you are, and he seems to understand that. 

Those thirty minutes of rest are going to come in handy for the level of attention you’ll need to give him when you wake up.

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Salt and Rosemary

Author: tiamatv

Artist: galakitty

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Dean/Castiel

Length: 25000

Warnings: No Major Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergent; Curses; Dark Fairy Tale Elements; Enemies to Friends to Lovers; Dark Humor; Pre-Series; SPN Season 1

Posting Date: October 24, 2023

Summary: Sure, Dean’s cursed to die—cursed to have his breath stolen from him—on his twenty-fourth birthday. Uh-huh, thanks for that, Mom. Some real Rapunzel bullshit, there. But here’s the thing: Dean’s a hunter. He’s got iron around his neck, jade on his wrists, and Latin on his tongue. Ain’t no fucking curse gonna take him and then move on to Sammy after. He doesn’t expect that his curse has a name. But what kind of name is 'Castiel,' anyway?

Excerpt: When the curse writes KILL on the motel wall in big, spiky letters, the brown of it with the drip at the bottom really suspiciously like dried blood, though. Well, that incident gives Dean pause. Not for the reasons anyone else might, though. First of all, Dean’s—for once—glad that Dad’s off on his own again, chasing down some kind of lead while Dean’s here on a salt and burn. ‘Cause if he saw that nonsense, he would lose his shit and probably drag Dean off to Pastor Jim. Or shut him in Bobby’s basement. “Wonder where that blood comes from? Huh,” Dean muses. After all, the curse is tied to him, and it’s sure as hell not his blood. But something’s ticking at the back of his mind, something… He can’t see the curse right now, with all the lights on—his shadow just looks like a shadow—but… that makes Dean think. And ‘cause Dean’s just not that smart, it’s not until he’s working off the words with a scrubby and the kind of industrial soap used by crime scene cleaners (he's pretty sure he knows what it says about their lives that they keep this stuff in the trunk of the Impala) that what’s been bothering him really comes clear. He stops, his hand poised over the first L in KILL. “Hey!” Dean exclaims, and grins, slopping the sponge onto the wall again. “Waittasec. You can write! Y’know, I knew I heard you talk that first time. You got a name? I mean, I could call you ‘hey, you, cursey!’ but that doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.” There’s no answer. He doesn’t expect there to be, ‘cause, really, Dean’s just being an asshole. He’s more surprised than he should be when the next morning, in the exact same spot, is written another word in the same red-brown. This one’s smaller, though, and the curves of it are round and full: neat, not the drippy, spiky mess of yesterday. Castiel, it says. With lowercase letters included, this time. Heh. How polite. (But maybe Castiel is kind of an asshole, too, ‘cause now Dean has to scrub off even more bloody letters.)

DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule

[spade-riddles]

Submission: Death/Dying/Mortality & The Jack-O-Lantern of it all.

The first 🎃 was sent on May 13, 2023.

#4. 🎃 “Speaking of, I love Halloween, don’t you? I’m already counting the days until October.”

#11. 🎃 “Imagine this. It is 3 am and Halloween is over"

All Saints Day, while exact origins are uncertain, was originally most commonly celebrated in May (like, a LONG time ago. ~300-600 A.D). Specifically…MAY 13. The night before All Saints Day was called “All-Hallows Eve”, which is what we now know as Halloween. (I acknowledge that is through the Christianity lens, as I know there this is a holiday with pagan roots as well). 

This is a celebration dedicated to remember the dead. I believe the use of the pumpkin/jack-o-lantern and the references to this celebration were easter eggs for the direction of TS11, before we even KNEW a new album was in the works. Furthermore, someone sent in a post identifying May 13 as the first documented date of JK & KK, which was also linked to the original spade riddles about MAY. 

Now that it has been a few days since the release of TTPD, I’m shocked to see just how many references there are to the concept of death, dying, endings, resurrection, etc. Here is an incomplete list of all of the references to this theme throughout the TTPD rollout and release:

TN easter egg

“We hereby conduct this post-mortem” - AKA….after death. This was ultimately revealed to be lyrics from “How Did It End?”

Track 4 - Down Bad

“I might just die, it would make no difference.”

Track 5 - So Long, London

“My white knuckle dying grip holding tight to your quiet resentment.”

“I died on the altar waiting for the proof.”

Track 9 - Guilty As Sin

“One slip I’m falling back into the hedge maze, but what a way to die.”

Track 10 - Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

“If you wanted me dead you should’ve just said. Nothing makes me feel more alive.”

Track 12 - loml

“Are they second hand embarrassed that I can’t get out of bed, cause something counterfeits dead?”

“And I’ll still see it until I die, You’re the loss of my life.”

Track 14 - The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

“Were you sent by someone who wanted me dead?”

“I would’ve died for your sins, Instead, I just died inside.”

Track 16 - Clara Bow

“I’m not trying to exaggerate but I think I might die if it happened, die if it happened to me”

Track 17 - The Black Dog

“Old habits die screaming.”

“Now I wanna sell my house and set fire to all my clothes, and hire a priest to come and exorcise my demons, Even if I die screaming, And I hope you hear it.”

Track 19 - The Albatross:

“She’s the death you chose”

Track 21 - How Did It End:

“We hereby conduct this post-mortem”

“Say it once again with feeling, How the death rattle breathing, Silenced as the soul was leaving, The deflation of our dreaming, Leaving me bereft and reeling. My beloved ghost and me, Sitting in a tree,D-Y-I-N-G”

Track 23 - I Hate It Here

“I dreamed about it in the dark, the night I felt like I might die”

Track 25 - I Look In People’s Windows

“I had died the tiniest death.”

And finally…resurrection (note: I am not a religious person, I’m writing about this from a literature/contextual perspective).

Track 9 - Guilty as Sin:

What if I roll the stone away? They’re gonna crucify me anyway. What if the way you hold me is actually what’s holy? If long suffering propriety is what they want from me, they don’t know how you’ve haunted me so stunningly. I choose you and me, religiously

propriety (noun) - 1: the quality or state of being proper or suitable, 2: conformity to what is socially acceptable in conduct or speech, fear or offending against conventional rules of behavior especially between the sexes.

🫚 - 2/5/2024

Frost untouched, Conformity wins fights.

This 🫚 message seems to convey the message that conforming to what what society and the media, her fans, etc expect of her and will tolerate from her, is the only way she could gain enough traction to move forward. But in Guilty as Sin, she finally asks the questions “what happens if I roll away the stone?” Rolling away the stone, in a biblical sense, would reveal an empty tomb. An empty tomb was EVIDENCE that Jesus had risen from the dead.

So my thought is, what does rolling away the stone mean for Taylor? What are the implications of her asking, “What if I just give them all the evidence revealing my truth? They are going to judge me no matter what, so I might as well. If they want me to suffer my entire life by conforming to societal standards, they don’t know how impossible of an ask that is.”In Summary, 🫚 & 🎃 have absolutely proven themselves credible in foreshadowing the themes of this album and overarching story. And I’m sure as we continue to decipher their messages, we are going to find so much more.

[imaginethathaikyuu]

literally anything with atsumu i love him and ur writing is always up to par so. i will be happy with anything. but a cute birthday themed piece could be fun perhaps

thank u so much i wrote this specifically for u and i managed to write a weirdly formatted atsumu centered fic that barely went over 1k words. we are so back

contains: fluff, mild childhood angst, a black eye, birthday cake word count: 1163 gender neutral reader x miya atsumu :p

-

October 5th, 1995 

Atsumu Miya is born. He’s gifted a bright flash of light, the sound of his own cries, and - seven minutes later - a brother. 

October 5th, 2003

There was a HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner taped to the cabinets in the kitchen. The R was ripped nearly in half, and the colors were dull. 

It was the same one as last year, and the year before that. 

Atsumu walked through the threshold with his brother right next to him. Osamu knew how to say thank you in the right way to get the best hug from their mom. 

They were presented with one singular cupcake. 

“Why can’t we ever get our own?” 

The two boys sat too close at the kitchen table, the strawberry cake sat right in front of them. 

“You have to learn how to share, Atsumu.” 

He knew how to share. There was nothing left to learn.

One candle was mashed in the frosting. Mom lit the flame and Atsumu watched wax dripping onto his half as she sang their happy birthday song, and told them to make a wish. 

Atsumu and Osamu looked at each other, then blew at the candle at the exact same time. 

The cupcake was cut in half, and Atsumu’s stomach hurt before he could finish his. Osamu took it without being asked. 

But if they had each gotten their own, Atsumu would've had more to share with his brother. 

October 5th, 2010

Atsumu was fifteen and he knew everything. He was always right - never, ever wrong, and if anyone disagreed, they’d have to take it up directly with him. 

He knew how to run his mouth. Maybe it was what he was best at. He’d never lost an argument - until his fifteenth birthday. 

He’d gotten good at taking his aggression out in healthy ways - mostly in sports. But, sometimes, the words he spit couldn’t be left on the court. 

He would say what he wanted, and he didn’t care who heard or hurt. 

He didn’t know what he had coming to him. 

The entire team had already abandoned the gym, all but Atsumu and the shitty middle blocker who played like he didn’t know his position. 

Atsumu was outside stretching when his words hit his ears. “You’re a piece of shit, Miya.” 

“Oh my god - get in line, dude, you’re about the fifth person today to let me know.” 

“That many people wanna rip your head off? I wish one of them would teach you how to shut the fuck up.” 

“And I wish someone would teach you how to block the fuckin’ ball.” 

The guy didn’t reply. He took one step in Atsumu’s direction - he remembered hearing the crunch of gravel under the guy's foot. His shoulder moved with the step, and with it, the first real punch Atsumu had ever been thrown. 

And it hit. Hard. Ten times harder than any hits from Osamu. 

The guy’s fist collided with Atsumu’s cheek and then he walked away. Atsumu didn’t even have a chance to hit back - he was frozen in place, anyway. There was no fight in him. He was too surprised. 

A black eye wasn’t on his wishlist for his birthday, but it’s what he got. A lesson learned? Not so much. 

October 5th, 2019

He was another year older - so what. 

The only part of Atsumu’s birthday that he liked was giving his brother a stupidly expensive gift, because it gave him an excuse to gloat. 

Other than that? It was a day like any other. 

Birthdays were nowhere near special to him - especially his own. But it just so happened that on that specific birthday, he had his first date with you. 

And it didn’t even come up in conversation. Neither did his twin brother, or any of his volleyball stories he’d usually tell to impress a date. 

Atsumu found out that he didn’t need to impress you, and he hardly needed to talk about himself. 

He left that date feeling like he was friends with you, and maybe that wasn’t how he should feel after a date, but he was beaming. The hours with you at that hole in the wall bar didn’t feel like enough. 

He took that feeling and ran with it, and he hoped - he prayed - you’d follow him. 

October 5th, 2022

It’d been late nights for as long as Atsumu could remember. He’d come home and you’d already be in bed - if he was lucky, you’d wake up just long enough to tell him you love him. 

That night was different from the rest. 

That night, he would be coming home to - literally - an empty home. 

Finally, you and Atsumu had moved into the house of your dreams that was yours. But, for the time being, you were living out of boxes and waiting for furniture deliveries. 

He opened the door to a dark living room and an even darker hallway, and he didn’t bother turning any on lights to get to the kitchen. 

There was a shred of light there, coming from an old bulb above the stove. He looked around the empty room and what he found was out of place. 

There you were, sat on the floor. A chair was next to you, funnily enough, but it was taken by a round white cake. A handful of candles were stuck into the top. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, the same time you spoke. 

“There’s my birthday boy,” and your voice was all sleepy smiles. “Happy birthday. Happy anniversary.” 

He sat in front of you, right on the floor, not caring when his knees popped on the way down. 

“Did you stay up just to tell me that?” 

“What’s wrong with that?” 

You picked up the cake and presented it to him like you were proud of it, and the size of his grin matched yours. 

“How mad would you be if I just tipped this up,” and he tapped the bottom of the plate, “right into your face?” 

“Atsumu.” Every time you said his name like that, he laughed. “I would kill you.”

“On my birthday?” 

He watched you pout as you sat the cake down again. “Aren’t you going to say thank you?” 

“Thank you,” he said, like he was insisting. He wrapped his hands around your legs and scooted you closer to him. “Thank you, baby, this is so nice.” 

You hummed. “You’re welcome.” And you dipped your finger in the frosting on the cake, and Atsumu immediately caught your wrist when you moved it toward his face. 

“Don’t you dare.” 

You kept pushing, and he didn’t push back fast enough - your finger and the glob of frosting smushed right into his cheek. 

And you laughed loud enough to fill the empty rooms of your house, and Atsumu didn’t know how to tell you how in love he was. 

He had birthday cake for dinner that night, and it settled into a sugary stomach ache. It was the best October 5th he'd lived through so far.

-

got a request for a drabble? send it in, i might write it :)  

[kata-sans]

Raising Stripe

Chapter 27

Craig adores his husband. He is good looking, smart, and his meals are to die for. His quirky mannerisms just add to his husband's charm. Despite this, Tweek's quirks sometimes catch him off guard.

When Craig walked into his parent's kitchen and saw his husband frantically flipping the calendar pages back and forth, he was definitely caught off guard. Tweek flipped to the previous month and loudly counted the days in the calendar. Craig could tell he was worked up as he kept messing up and starting over. It was time to step in.

“Honey, what are you doing?” Craig asked calmly.

“When did your mother call you?” Tweek asked, still focused on the calendar.

“Tuesday. Remember we rushed our packing to get here on Wednesday.” Craig answered.

“No! I mean… when she first invited us to come. The night Stripe changed!” Tweek said finally looking at Craig.

Craig was not expecting that. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his phone log. Tweek always chastised him for not calling his mother more often, but in this case it came in handy as he was able to find the exact date in question.

“October 28.” He showed Tweek his phone to confirm.

Tweek pulled the phone closer to see the date on the screen. “It's been one month.” He whispered.

Craig turned his phone to look at the current date. He was quick to catch on to Tweek's reasoning. Their baby was a month older and technically 7 months today. This was another milestone. Craig felt pride and joy swell in his chest. Knowing his husband, Craig knew Tweek felt the same.

Craig hugged and pressed a chaste kiss on Tweek's lips and said, “We need to celebrate our little guy's big day.”

Tweek giggled, “Let's have a picnic in the park. I'll go get our baby ready. You can wake up your family and inform them about our plans.”

Craig planted another kiss, “Deal.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stripe's family were acting funny. As the newest member of the family, Stripe had been spoiled with attention and cuddles. Since waking up that morning, Stripe had noticed everyone seemed to give him more attention.

His mama dressed him up in a pair of khaki overalls with a white long sleeve onesie while kissing his cheeks and calling him pet names. As soon as he was dressed up his Nana and Auntie had swooped in to take pictures. He was picked up by Grandpa and carried around on his shoulders making him giggle.

Dada finally took him from Grandpa and buckled him into his car seat.The family all loaded into the family van and drove off. Stripe whined and tugged on the seat belt wanting to be let loose. He was still not a fan of being tied down but settled as the car motion calmed him down.

Suddenly the car stopped and Stripe renewed his efforts to escape. His mama became his savior and unbuckled him from the seat. Together they stepped out of the car and Stripe took in the surroundings. His mouth hung open as he peeked around to see bright orange, red, and yellow all around. It was in the trees, and it was on the ground. He babbled and pointed to the bright colors that fell from the sky.

The adults all carried supplies to an empty park table under a colorful tree. Tweek glanced around the park looking for the playground. He was glad to see it was fairly close to the table they had chosen. He informed everyone before heading towards the playground equipment.

The playground was empty much to Tweek's relief. He was not comfortable with speaking to other parents at the moment. It also allowed Tweek to safely let Stripe crawl around on the big toys.

Stripe was thrilled by the freedom to explore as he pleased. His mama followed him around and only stepped in when he tried to look over the edge of a high drop. Mama also placed him on a chair that looked like an animal and started rocking him gently. Stripe was having the time of his life.

Craig finally joined his family on the playground after helping set up the picnic. He tapped his husband's shoulder asking for permission to take their baby. He carried him towards the swing set and placed him on the baby swing. He stood in front of Stripe and slightly pulled the swing forward and released it looking closely for Stripe's reaction.

Stripe was caught by surprise when Dada let go of his chair. Stripe was flying away from his Dada until he flew back into his hands. The action caused him to giggle and kick his feet. Dada let him go again and Stripe was sent flying again. This time his Dada gently pushed him instead of catching him.

Tweek snapped pictures of Stripe on the swing. Tweek had never been interested in photography, but since Stripe's transformation his phone's memory was quickly filling up with pictures of Stripe's firsts. He couldn't help but wonder how many more first he would experience before Stripe would be changed back to his original form. Tweek refused to let that thought dampen the mood.

After a few minutes of playing around, the parents carried Stripe back to the picnic table. Laura and Tricia had reheated leftovers from the previous night and everyone was ready to eat. Tweek fixed Stripe's plate with mashed potatoes and bits of turkey. He sat the baby on his lap in order to reach the table.

Stripe quickly finished his food and tried to reach into his Mama's half eaten plate. Craig, who was already done eating, scooped up the baby and laid down on the blanket set up on the ground. Stripe wiggled out of Craig's loose hold and crawled to the edge of the blanket. The ground was covered in bright colors!

Stripe reached out into the colorful ground and giggled at the crunchy sounds they made as he crushed them. He pulled them towards his mouth taking a big bite. Craig sat up immediately working on taking the leaves out of the baby's mouth. Stripe was not pleased but forgot about it when he was given his bottle with tasty formula.

Stripe took a nap on the blanket while the grown ups packed up the food.When they finished, they split up to do their own thing. Tweek and Craig laid down on the blanket next to their sleeping baby. Tricia began to build a pile of leaves planning to take some selfies for her Instagram. Craig's parents decided to take a walk around the park together. When Stripe awoke everyone was ready to leave.

Ch26

Ch28

[prettyoddfever]

Tumblr glitched while I was trying to answer this, but thankfully I took a screenshot of everything before refreshing because I legit cannot find that draft or question anywhere now, sorry. So here we go again...

I'll link to the post here. (btw any annoyance that might seep into my tone in my recent answers is NOT directed at the actual people asking... y'all are lovely). So that post is done in a very similar tone to the Ryden primers that the pre-split fandom posted, but I'm getting the sense that this is very very different... like that person seems to actually believe the content that they're posting is straight up facts (and even if they don't, the fact that you're referring to it as "infamous" probably implies that other people are at least treating it as real facts, so I'm still going to address it like the tone is serious). Here's an explanation of how the majority of the fandom used to view Ryden.

A lot of their pictures no longer show up, so I'm going to leave a wayback screen recording here for reference:

I'll just comment as I go through it if I have something to add:

I suppose that the tone of someone's comments is open to interpretation, so idc as much about whether those are misread or not.

That supposed AIM convo was shared as a myspace bulletin by Brent's brother Blake during the summer 2006 season when he was trying to stir up shit and was busy posting other inaccurate info too. I'm just saying to take it with a grain of salt. 

Ryan’s lj post on 9/27/05 was about the release of AFYCSO that day. He talked a lot in interviews that season about how it was weird for him to see so many fans singing his lyrics back to him.

uhh most of the pictures that this person lists "from this era" of 2004/2005 are actually from 2006. so they definitely know what they're talking about here lol.

they list one of Ryan's livejournal posts and then say "I'm not sure of the exact date, but I know it was some time in 06." It was from June 24, 2006. 

lol Audrey.

re: the Myrtle Beach theory

why is the part where Ryan called Brendon a golden god in late 2006 any different than when Brendon said this about Spencer that same season?

re: the 2006 mic-sharing & stage gay

fans would positively scream when Ryan & Brendon approached each other, especially in the last half of 2006. this moment in Munich in October 2006 seemed no different... the guys absolutely knew what they were doing.

the VMA performance just seemed like Ryan was still using Brendon as a safe space to look at so he wouldn't stare at his feet or guitar, but that is still very much something you could turn into a Ryden thing so carry on haha.

about the Rolling Stone interview

I'm laughing at the "squint a little harder" comment about finding Ryden content in 2008. That is so accurate. 

re: Dylan's myspace (yes, Keltie ran a myspace for Hobo that anyone could grab pics from).

Ryan absolutely sounds like he's saying dude... also that would be normal.

the picture of the bracelet is normal

I'm just going to link to this post since it addresses many similar inaccurate points about early 2009.

I was about to side eye them so hard for posting the Lana Jade letter as real, but at least they added that she made multiple posts explaining that it wasn't her. And yes, obviously Brendon's best friend was Shane (not Ryan).

omg Ryan's tattoos are not about Brendon. Those are Tom Waits lyrics. Ryan was good friends with Thomas Dutton. About a year before getting the tattoos, Ryan was hanging out with him on tour in the UK and later told Kerrang that “a friend of mine in Forgive Durden turned me on to Tom Waits when we were in the UK… I’ve been listening to him ever since. His voice is so rough and dark. I’d never really heard anything like that.”

the sharing beds idea was misunderstood in the Billboard interview... all 4 guys slept on bunkbeds in the same room when they were recording AFYCSO. That's what Brendon's referring to.

re: the Bishop Gorman tshirt… Ryan was hardly that size in high school. But Brent went to Bishop Gorman too (and so did Paulina, who was also friends with Brendon). Brendon did borrow some of Brent’s stuff in 2004/2005 (like money for food while they were first touring). Just saying… it's def interesting, but it’s not an automatic Ryden connection.

I didn't read Spencer's tone in that out.com interview the same way... there's some relevant bits in this post.

about the red shirt

here's my general tag for Ryden stuff

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Not Your Girl [Emily x Reader]

Photo credits: Left and Right (@sugarcoatedvein) Center (@lilacprentiss)

Prompt: When the Non-BAU!reader has something big to tell Emily, they pick the worst way to tell her. 

Pairing: Emily x nonbinary!reader. The reader is AFAB and uses they/them pronouns for most of the story. 

Category: fluff/comfort 

Word Count: 2.9K

Content Warnings: Mentions of bad gym culture, mention of fitness and exercise, a slightly fatphobic comment [directed at Penelope by a gym bro], breakups, light drinking, and swearing. If I missed any, please let me know. 

A/N: Just some fluffy reader coming out to Emily as nonbinary and them reflecting about the course of their relationship. This is another @imagining-in-the-margins post based on the fabulous January and February writing challenge. This one is from her dialog prompts: “I love every iteration of you.” I just know Emily would support you no matter what. I am glad this isn’t a novel. I love my longer work, but this was a nice change. I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you do enjoy this, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! I hope you have a great end of your week. Love Levi - ❤️

List with all stories 

_y/n_ = your name

_l/n_ = your last name

_y/f/c_ = your favorite color

_y/d/h_ = your dominant hand 

_y/j_ = your job 

_y/f/s_ = your favorite show

“Emily, I don’t think I can be your girl anymore.” The look on Prentiss’s face told _y/n_ instantly that they’d phrased that wrong. With Emily being such a chronic overthinker, it was a poor choice of phrase. _y/n_ saw the look of insecurity and maybe sadness play out on Em’s face, and before _y/n_ could say anything, Prentiss asked, “Are you breaking up with me, _y/n? I thought we were doing good/” _y/n_ shook their head no rapidly and said, “Em. I’m not saying that at all, just let me explain.” Em sat back in her kitchen chair, crossed her arms over her chest, and said, “Please do,” _y/n_ took a deep breath. They knew Emily loved them. Had loved them for nearly a year, and the reactions _y/n_ was getting made sense given Emily’s past of being dumped just when a relationship seemed to be working out. However, the defensive wall _y/n_’s partner had so easily thrown up after months of breaking them down now had _y/n_ concerned. What if Emily wouldn’t love them like this? Emily’s hyper-focus on details and consistency was rubbing off on _y/n_and made them question whether or not to share the truth. But in a second, their whole relationship up till that point flashed before _y/n_’s eyes. It had started in the gym. 

It was all thanks to Penelope, who had made a New Year's resolution to move more. Nothing more than that. No weight loss goals, no need for a summer body, just a desire to move because it felt good. Emily was happy to help Garcia out because she had made a bet with Derek in October about the upcoming FBI fitness test in March. Prentiss had overheard Morgan telling another male agent, who was overconfident and under-muscled for the claims he was making, that he was going to beat all of his personal bests in the fitness test. Emily scoffed and said, “Really Derek. You say that every year.” Morgan looked over to Em and replied with a teasing tone, “And I mean it every year. You wanna make a bet on it?” Prentiss knew this was all in good fun, and said, “You’re on. What are the terms?” Derek steepled his hands and replied, “If I don’t get personal best’s next exam, then you can set me up on a blind date. But, the same goes for you. You’ve got to beat all of your personal records, and if you don’t, then I set you up on a blind date.” Emily smiled because this was the exact kind of shenanigans they got into when she was more relaxed between cases. It gave both her and Morgan something to think about outside of work. Prentiss stuck out her, and Derek took it  while saying, “You’re on.” So, when Penelope talked about wanting to move more, Emily recommended the Zumba class she took on Saturday evenings. Penelope was hesitant at first, but when Em described it as “angry dancing,” Garcia got on board quickly. 

Emily hadn’t believed in Zumba either, that was until her pilates class got canceled one day. Zumba was the only class on offer and despite her hesitations, Prentiss went. Prentiss was so happy that she did because the class turned out to be very relaxing and a good workout at the same time. It didn’t hurt that the person next to her was very cute in their _y/f/c_ crop top and long socks. Prentiss started coming back to Zumba more and more, and the young woman was always there just vibing with the music no matter what was going on. Their positivity was infectious. When Penelope joined the class for a session a week later, Emily and the tech genius had a great time. So good a time that they agreed to go to drinks after because what was the point of working out if you couldn’t have some fun as a reward? As the duo passed by the weight room, one of the gym bros waiting for a squat rack to open up looked over at Emily and said, “Hey babe, wanna come over here and spot me? And maybe you should tell Blondie to come back sometime. She might fit in here.” Emily was so mad that the man had commented about her friend, who was happy and healthy, that she just froze. The man laughed at Penelope’s hurt face, but a voice from behind Emily and Garcia wiped the smile off his face real quick as _y/n_ said, “Hey, asshole. Let me tell you something. Muscles don’t fucking mean anything if there’s not a heart underneath all of them. So keep pumping iron, but consider getting a brain and some self-awareness before commenting on someone you don’t know and is a hell of a lot braver than you because she showed up despite having to deal with dickheads like you.” At _y/n_’s comments, both Emily and Penelope looked at _y/n_ with wide, impressed eyes. Emily knew _y/n_ immediately. It was the woman she had been secretly admiring for a month now. The woman’s beauty was amplified as she demonstrated not only energy, but didn't tolerate bad behavior, and standing up for someone she didn’t know. When the guy at the rack moved toward them, particularly toward _y/n_ with a frown on his face. Emily stepped in front of _y/n_ and said with all the authority of an FBI profiler, “Sit down.” The man hesitated. Finally, he moved back to where he was with his head down, muttering under his breath. 

While Em was using her scary dog privileges, _y/n_ pulled Penelope toward the stairs saying, “Don’t listen to that douch bag. You were great in class.” Garcia smiled and said, “Thanks. That was nice of you to say. I’m Penelope Garcia, by the way.” _y/n_ smiled and said, “I’m _y/n_, _l/n_. Nice to meet you, Penelope.” As they started talking, Emily joined them, and Garcia introduced _y/n_ to Prentiss. Pen asked _y/n_ if she wanted to join them for drinks. _y/n_ who hadn’t made many friends since moving to D.C., agreed. As _y/n_ and changed in the dressing room, _y/n_ couldn’t help but look at Emily and admire her strength. _y/n_ had been looking at Emily since she’d joined the class. Unfortunately, _y/n_ was terrible with flirting and asking people out, so the admiration had been one-sided. At least she thought it had been. At the bar, the trio’s conversation was natural and easy. More than that, Penelope could see how Emily was looking at and talking to _y/n_ like she was the most important thing there. When _y/n_ had gone to the restroom, Garcia had said, “Emily if you don’t ask her out at the end of this get-together, I’m going to scream.” Prentiss retorted, “Pen, I just know her from the gym and this meeting. Don’t you think that’s moving a little fast?” Garcia smiled, now knowing for sure that Emily liked _y/n_. The tech replied, “Emily's life is short, if she says no, then you can move your pining elsewhere.” Garcia took a long sip of her Cosmo before adding on, “ By the way _y/n_ was giving you the same big doe eyes you were giving her, so…” And that was how _y/n_ had been asked out on a date by Emily. 

The first date was at a local farmers market. _y/n_ and Emily strolled the stalls, got lemonade, and sat in the shade as a local band played in the background. They talked about their hobbies and dating preferences. That was there _y/n_ had learned that Em was mostly dating women at this point in her life. And Prentiss had learned that _y/n_ was new to dating women. They’d said, “I’m just trying to figure everything out. I hope that doesn’t sound dismissive. I just want to be honest, when it comes to dating, sometimes I don’t know what I’m doing, But if you’re willing to put up with me, I’d enjoy figuring it out with you.” Emily had agreed, and they went on a second and third date. Over time _y/n_ learned about the team and why Emily could be so serious sometimes and more relaxed when she was not on a case. 

One night at _y/n_’s house, while cooking dinner, _y/n_ admitted, “You know, I didn’t realize that dating and being interested in women was an option until way later in my life. I feel like I spent years looking for the perfect person and love at first sight, but I wasn’t ever looking in the right place.” Em nodded as she stirred the pasta in with the sauce; she replied, “I get it. Being sheltered does things to you that other people might not understand. It was such a relief to me when I figured out I could just like both. And it was more of a relief when I realized that dating doesn’t have to end in disappointment.” _y/n_ wrapped their arms around Emily’s waist and kissed the agent’s neck saying, “I’m happy too, Emily.” _y/n_ had heard Prentiss lightly reference her hesitation about dating a few times, and _y/n_ wondered if there was more to the story. _y/n_ felt that it was far enough in their relationship and asked, “Em, would you tell me what happened? Why you were so averse to dating when we met?” Prentiss turned to _y/n_ and sighed before saying, “I guess I owe you an explanation about why I seemed too hot and cold and the beginning there.” Em turned off the heat on the stove and led _y/n_ to the table. Once they sat across from each other, Emily said, “I was in a committed relationship for a year last year. I thought everything was perfect. The girl, my life, work. I thought I’d finally figured it out. I was going to propose. And then a case happened. A bad one. I got hurt. I called my then-partner, and she was hysterical. I tried to make her feel better, but she wouldn’t listen to me. She was so attached that the idea of me being hurt, of me dying on the job pushed her away. When I got home, she was gone. She took all of her stuff. It was like she never existed. I tried to call her, but she never responded. And the thing is, I get it. Anything could happen. Not everyone can deal with those odds. I don’t blame her.” _y/n_ listened and felt sorry for Emily to have been abandoned like that. _y/n_ said, “You might have understood her reasoning, but she might have told you goodbye or explained. I’m sorry you went through that, Em. Just letting you know, I don’t plan on going anywhere.” Prentiss smiled and said, “Thanks _y/n_. Do you mean that even if I can’t cook?” _y/n_ tipped her head to the side and Emily, who was facing the stove said, “Because I turned off the wrong burner and that pasta is definitely burning.” Just as _y/n_ looked back at the smoking pan on the stove, the fire alarm went off. After _y/n_ and Emily handled the situation with the crispy food, they both laughed long and hard. Em took _y/n_ out to dinner instead, and that was where they’d made their relationship official. They moved on slowly, and to _y/n_’s words, she stuck with Em through the highs and lows. And Emily did the same for _y/n_. Weathering life together, they realized, was much more enjoyable than being alone. Even in the hard times and arguments. And this reassurance made _y/n_ feel strong enough to tell Em the whole truth. 

All of the care and love that they had shared. All the late nights and early mornings. _y/n_ knew that that kind of love didn’t just go away because things changed. So _y/n_ took a deep breath and replied, “I can’t be your girl anymore because I think I’m… nonbinary.” The words hung there for a few seconds before Prentiss’s face changed from one of confusion to one of unbridled joy. Em put both of her hands across the table, and _y/n_ took them in hers. All Emily said was, “Really? For how long sweetheart?” Prentiss had noticed the subtle changes in _y/n_’s behavior and mannerisms. Of course, she had. But Emily didn’t want to read into things or press _y/n_ into talking about things she might not want to. _y/n_ took a breath and said, “Maybe a month or a little more. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but it finally clicked after we did that charity 5K with the team.” Prentiss nodded. That had been an interesting afternoon, but she didn’t realize how much it had meant to _y/n. _y/n_ looked at Emily’s face. Even though it was jubilant, _y/n_ had to make sure. Had to hear from Emily, and _y/n_ asked, “So you’re not upset? I know you prefer dating women, but I’m not that anymore I guess.” Emily pulled _y/n_’s hands to her mouth and kissed over both sets of _y/n_’s knuckles before saying, “Of course, I’m not upset, _y/n_. You’re telling me who you are. Who the real you is. That takes courage and reflection, and I love that about you. You never back down from a challenge or a hard thing. Even if that hard thing is understanding yourself.” _y/n_ wasn’t sure why Emily’s positive words were having such an effect on them, but _y/n_’s eyes teared up, and they had to pull _y/d/h_ out of Em’s to wipe them away with their shirt sleeve. _y/n_ laughed and said, “At least I’m still emotional as I’ve always been.” That had Prentiss laugh and say, “_y/n_. Just because you feel differently about your body or gender doesn’t mean you’re just going to change in an instant. If you feel like you need to make changes, then that will happen, but you’re still you. You’re still the person I love. I will always love.” Em took a breath, feeling emotional herself before she said, “I love every possible iteration of you.” _y/n_ sniffled and asked, “What did I ever do to deserve you, Em?” They were both beaming now, and Prentiss replied, “I could ask you the same thing, _y/n_. And you know we can play at compliments forever, but do you want to talk about this more? Or do you just want to be for a bit?” _y/n_ put their chin in their hand and said, “How about a bit of both? I feel like this could be a couch conversation. 

Couch conversations were when _y/n_ and Emily sat and talked about their days. Em would talk about the office drama or the latest case, while _y/n_ dove into the details of _y/j_ and what was happening there. The couch was a place for relaxed conversation with _y/f/s_ playing in the background while they talked and laughed or complained together. Big conversations happened at the table. It was an unspoken system between them. Given Emily’s hectic and stressful life, it worked for them. As _y/n_ looked at Emily’s hand and they moved to the couch, _y/n_ wondered why they’d started this conversation at the kitchen table. _y/n_ tossed this choice, the table or the couch bounced in their head like a ping-pong ball. It was a big deal. This kind of discovery was, and talking about it with Emily was even more important, but at the same time, realizing this new facet of themself just felt like them. It finally felt like them. Because _y/n_ wasn’t sure what to make of it, they asked Prentiss because _y/n_’s partner always had something understanding to say. Sometimes _y/n_ thought Emily knew them better than they knew themself. _y/n_ chalked it up to the profiling. Once they were both seated and the TV was on low, _y/n_ asked, “Did I make this too big a deal?” Emily turned her head to _y/n_ and moved her hand to _y/n_’s jaw, stroking down _y/n_’s face. Even though Em had never had the feelings _y/n_ had about their gender, she had felt unsure about her sexuality. She understood how it felt like everything and nothing at the same time. Prentiss said, “Not at all, _y/n_. It wasn’t too big or too small. It’s important to you in the big way, and in the small mundane life things, and I’m excited to explore all of those intricacies with you. The highs and the lows. I am so excited to be with you no matter what. No matter who you are.” At that moment, _y/n_ fully understood that Emily knew them. And feeling known right now made _y/n_ feel like the most real version of themself as they’d ever been.

______________________________________________________________

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[elvisabutler]

Hey, baby! Love your work!

Can I ask for a Austin x reader where he’s dating a doctor during the wrap of Elvis and she is just tending to him when he gets hospitalised?

physician heal thy boyfriend

summary: your boyfriend is austin butler, star of the hopefully soon to be smash hit elvis. your boyfriend has a habit of pushing himself too far for this role. your boyfriend finds himself in your care while being completely and utterly out of it and sick as a dog. you are- mildly not impressed, but mostly a little worried. fandom: austin butler | elvis ( 2022 ) pairing: austin butler x doctor! reader rating: t word count: 1952 warnings: hospital setting. talk of austin's hospitalization post elvis. talk of austin's injury to his head with the guitar. talk of medication and hallucinations. austin being sick as hell. reader is a doctor. mild implications of a panic attack. imagery of austin being very sick. brief mention of COVID as well. author's note: thank you for this request and the compliment, anon! it always delights me to have people enjoy my writing especially when i know it's not always everyone's cup of tea re: pairings or content. i didn't go super into detail re: the details of austin's hospitalization since- we don't know the exact exact details and i'm not a doctor myself. i hope you enjoy! and apologies for this taking a hot minute, i was trying to focus on kinktober stuff during october and things like this got opened and noticed and worked on- but not posted. also consider this a thanksgiving gift for all the americans who celebrate it. can't bring y'all food from my sil ( who will not let me cook for the family just yet ) but i can provide you fic food. and know that i'm super thankful for all of you.

It's not as if you didn't think this would be a possibility, you had gotten lucky the last time he injured himself- the time with the guitar that you still give him a good ribbing for- and you had been off and not at the hospital and thankfully stitches weren't necessarily your forte, you saved them for the surgeons. However, nothing in the universe, no amount of logic could have prepared you for seeing your boyfriend groaning on a gurney, looking at you with glassy eyes that mean he's not all there. He's physically there, yes, but his mind is either in a haze of a fever or completely given over to whatever pain is inflicting itself on him in the present moment. There's a part of your heart that stutters at the image, a part of your brain that is overwhelmed with sheer panic at seeing him like this. An actor is supposed to be a safe-ish profession, one where you don't have to worry about your significant other being hurt and showing up in an emergency room or at a hospital unexpectedly. Yet here you were, looking at him being struck down by an illness that came out of nowhere- at least- you're pretty sure it did.

Everyone downstairs had gotten him mostly stable from what you've heard and what you see in front of you. You try and not let your mind wander to what he looked like when he was brought in if this is stable, but the thought pops up nonetheless, making you stop in your tracks for just a moment as you took deep breaths. He was alright, you knew how to do your job, you could help him and stay with him. He could use his- he could use the fact that he has just wrapped Elvis- or something they'd make an exception for you just this once.

His current predicament was more your specialty than his guitar injury. Dealing with what would have been a normal case of appendicitis was easy even despite the now present extra complications. Austin- despite your strong suggestions that he maybe should take better care of himself- didn't take better care of himself, turning what could have been something simple into a much rougher infection and gave him lymph nodes you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. If you weren't so worried you're pretty sure you'd make a joke about how he really is trying to become Elvis with the hospital stay despite the fact that you know the movie has wrapped. After all you and him had both are gone to the wrap part at Baz's house. There's a part of you that wonders if that party and the sheer amount of people that were at that party might have been what led to this. But you have learned in your few years as a doctor that it's better to not necessarily speculate like that unless you want to drive yourself up the wall. Besides if that was the cause of Austin's predicament right now you're not a hundred percent sure you wouldn't be a bit peeved at Baz. As it stands, you do end up shooting off a text to him asking him what on Earth happened and if he knew Austin wasn't feeling well that morning when they had met up for breakfast.

A groan from Austin's bed knocks you out of your head and reminds you that you have a job to do and you get yourself into gear, making sure he's got the correct tests ordered, the right medication ordered and everything you can think of that will make sure he will be comfortable even as his body tries to fully rebel against him. It's a bit touch and go for the first two days and the few times you think Austin is coherent and realizes that you are there he mutters 'Cilla and Satnin and you try to not take it personally, instead reminding yourself that his medicine has a tendency to have a side effect of at least mild hallucinations and he did just get done pretending to be Elvis for the greater part of almost two years. After that second day and heading into the third, you realize he's seeming more normal, his eyes look a little clearer when you see them open and you chance a proper visit, one where you stay there until he wakes up just to actually check on him properly.

A proper visit where the exhaustion of taking care of all your other patients and him might end up catching up to you and has you passing out with your head in his lap in what is the- most comfortable chair you could use to sleep in- if you had used it normally and not pulled it up next to his bed. The first thing you're aware of as you wake up is a hand on your head and a very rough sounding southern drawl coming from above you.

"What- Y/N, what- why are ya in m'lap, baby?" The confusion is evident in his voice but as you groggily lift your head up and look into his eyes, you can see it written all over there as well.

It takes you a minute or so to wake up, your eyes adjusting to the light and to the movement of Austin shifting in the bed, trying to make himself more comfortable. When you finally do you blink at him and purse your lips. "What's the last thing you remember, Aus?"

You very rarely use that specific nickname with him, saving it only for occasions when you feel he needs to honestly pay attention to you. That alone causes him to sit up as straight as he can and just look at you with an intensity you know he couldn't have managed either of the previous days.

"I was with Baz and-" He pauses, biting his lower lip before wincing. "Pain. A lot of pain and feeling like I was on fire."

The description earns a grim smile from you before you exhale, shaking your head. "That is a pretty good description of what you looked like when I got called down to make sure you weren't going to die or be left permanently incapacitated. Now I know my boyfriend didn't specifically ignore my orders as his doctor girlfriend to actually take care of himself especially now that filming was winding down. And I know he didn't act like a teenager who when I wasn't around to maybe check or was too busy at work just took advantage of that and didn't take care of himself. Because he's a smart guy, isn't he?"

Austin looks like he's about to say the first thing that comes to mind, the first- you imagine- pretty idiotic thing that comes to mind before he sees the look on your face and realizes this is a battle he will not win. "I-" He stops and moves to grab your hand. "I might have continued to push myself because I'm a bit of an idiot who definitely was taking advantage of my long hours and your long hours to hide that. Is that what I need to admit? Or do I need to keep going?"

You can't help but laugh at the question, biting your lip to prevent a full fit of laughter from escaping. "I mean, you can keep going, I'm actually a little curious to see how big of a hole you can dig yourself into, by all means." Your eyes slide up to his IV bag and you frown, grabbing his remote to call a nurse, the alarm hasn't sounded that it's empty and due for a change but- you know how busy it's been lately and you're not in the mood to have Austin wait for too long.

Austin's quiet for a moment as he looks at you, noting how he swears you have some lines on your forehead that you didn't have before. He put those there- he made you worry so much you got new worry lines. It doesn't distract from your beauty, far from it, but still it sens a rush of guilt through him that has him placing his hand on your cheek. Before you realize what you're doing, you nuzzle your cheek against his hand, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. Letting out tension in your shoulders that haven't left since he first was brought in. "I'm- Nothing is going to change what happened, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry baby."

A shaky sort of breath leaves your body before you grab Austin's hand and move to kiss it before you touch his cheek. "I know you are. Because you scared the shit out of me. And Baz, but he wasn't the one taking care of you, who didn't know what exactly was wrong and how you could-" You shut your eyes and rub at them. "You're not allowed to do this to me again, Mr. Butler. I started dating you because you're supposed to be the safe bet, no silly injuries or COVID or sickness like this. And look at you, a guitar to the head, this, you better not make it a trifecta."

He shakes his head, moving his hand that you still have held to brush away tears you have falling. "I wouldn't dream of it." He pauses. "How long am I in here for?"

"A week." You answer quicker than you should. "Might be overkill but you've got your antibiotics via IV and while you live with me and I can change it, I also have to be at work half the time so hospital it is."

Austin flushes and you think for a moment he's going to be sick before you see how he's looking at you- it's a look you know well, one that usually leads to things in the bedroom and you just narrow your eyes as he starts to speak. "So, you're my doctor then. And I'm your patient."

You take a moment to just look up at the ceiling and purse your lips, wondering not for the first time why you ever started dating Austin when he says dumb things like that. It shouldn't be something that's funny, and it really isn't but you've been so worried about him for the past two days that hearing that stupid joke as much as it makes you roll your eyes just makes you laugh. "I am and you are. But as your doctor I cannot in good conscience condone any shenanigans of a sexual sort just yet. Maybe in a few days."

He nods solemnly as he sees a nurse entering a room. He leans over for a moment, knowing fully well you can't stop laughing and won't just yet. "Just show up in only the your coat and we'll know if I'm feeling better. You know I can't resist your sexy doctor look."

If you have to tell the nurse about changing his IV bag through broken off bits of laughter, that's his fault. If you can't help but slap his arm lightly when he tries to grab at your butt- seriously, you really should have remembered the side effects of his medicine and his inhibitions- then that's also his fault. If later on that day you find yourself curled up against him watching some Australian soap opera? Well, despite not being on duty this particular day, you are still his doctor, and a little rest and a lot of cuddles might have been your additional recommendation for the start of an optimal recovery.

And really, who was he to argue?

[pixeldistractions]

In the morning, Jordan put some aloe on his sunburn. It was time to get back to the grind.

The morning session went as well as it ever did, which was not to say he made much progress. There were no notable falls to mention, and nothing actually broke, but the sunburn made every movement torture. So he ducked out of the session a little early and went to hide.

He already had a favorite spot in the adventure park. It was a small rock ledge that was flat enough for sitting, covered by the shade of a lone tree, and had a spectacular view. He paid a hefty price tag for these classes, so he would rest when the climbing got the best of his bruised body and ego. The best part—this was the only spot in the park where he got a good cell connection.

He checked his texts. Maria had sent a picture and an emoji kiss. 😘

The emoji was sweet, but it left him wanting. Her pictures left him speechless, but also filled him with ache. He knew the real thing, and nothing less would do. Not anymore, not after six weeks apart. He wanted her real lips on his, her warm skin under his fingertips, he wanted to squeeze her supple thighs and wrap her legs around his hips.

As it turned out, they both wanted dates on the calendar.

He called her back.

“I have good news,” Maria said. “I mean, I hope you’ll think it’s good news. I can have five days off on November 5th. Steph said she’d cover some of my shifts after Justin finished his exams. Or else a weekend on October 22nd.”

“Really? That’s next weekend.”

“But the train ride is almost ten hours each way, so I’ll only get to see you for about… twenty-four hours?”

“I would absolutely pay good money to be able to touch you for twenty-four hours.”

“It would be cheaper if I can get someone to watch Johanna.”

“And more time for touching,” he said. “A better bang for my buck.”

“Hmmm,” she mused, “Why does this sound like hiring a prostitute?”

“Ha, I’m in Nevada,” he said. “It’s totally legal here.”

She giggled. “Can you afford that? The train tickets, I mean, not the prostitute.”

“Well, I mean, I could probably afford it once.”

“Once,” she said somberly.

“Or both? I’ll pick up some jobs. We can do both.”

“No, you don’t have to,” she said. “I mean, I can pay for one of them.”

“Then both?” He felt unreasonably excited. She could be here so soon, and that was more optimistic than he’d felt about anything in weeks. Just ten more days. “What do you think? Then I can see you next week… But, I guess, only for twenty-four hours.”

“Oh, God, it sounds awful when you say it like that,” she said. “Would you be okay with that? I don’t know if I can do that. Twenty-four hours together and then just, like, going home? How can we do that?”

Then, as if to torture him, the morning sun moved over the lone tree and blasted down its midday rays on his burnt skin. His favorite spot in the park now felt like the fires of hell.

“Wait, please try,” he pleaded. “Please? We’ll have so much fun, you won’t even think about it. And It’ll get easier. In December, training breaks for the winter, and I can come to Wisconsin for a bit.”

“How long is a bit?”

“Longer than five days, I promise.”

“And then? After that?” she wondered. “Weekends here and there. Twenty-four hours at a time. It’s not even really about the money. I don’t know if I can keep taking long weekends and vacations. Unless I quit my job.”

“I would never ask you to do that.”

“You wouldn’t?”

Somehow that must have been the exact wrong answer, because she went quiet in the way she did when she was trying not to cry. He knew the difference; he’d unfortunately been the reason for her crying a few times now.

“Maria? What is it?”

She was silent for seconds more, but he could hear her breathing, shaky and slow. Then she said, “It does feel like putting it back on the shelf. It’s going to feel that way every time.”

“I know,” he said. “And I’m so sorry. But are you still gonna come? You can think about it. If you want, we can just do the November week when you can stay longer. I don’t want you to be sad.”

“Well, now I’ll be sad if I don’t come, too,” she said.

“Okay, then come,” he said. “You won’t regret it, I promise.”

He knew she wouldn’t be okay with this. He knew it before they even started. But he’d been hopeful when she wanted to convince him otherwise. Now there was a growing realization of what this would feel like long-term. It wasn’t the carefree dream life he imagined.

— from “boxes and squares #4.1: first fall apart” (2/5)

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