tumblr hates me now

Dio scribbles asdfghjkljlf;sdj

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before i forget this is the reference I made for the Takubun I did 

(this is embarrassing)

I know that I promised you over a thousand times that you’ll never hear from me again

but sometimes people drink when they know that they’re not supposed too

and sometimes people lie and say that they are okay when in reality they know that they are breaking inside

and what I’m trying to say is that you hurt me, maybe by far the most hurt I have ever felt when it came down to loving someone

and I know that you don’t care because your hands are on her now but while you’re kissing her and whispering in her ear about how she’ll be the only one for you like you did with me,

i hope for a tiny fraction in that moment your heart aches and your hands shake as my laugh rings through your ears

and i hope you feel guilty,
for leaving,
for loving someone else
for promising me a future that you knew all along would never happen

and i know that i promised you over a thousand times that you’ll never hear from me again

but sometimes people leave even when they promised that they won’t

and sometimes people kiss others behind their lovers back even when they know that it’s wrong

and i hope to everything
you wake up one morning
and realize that hurting me
was your biggest regret yet.

—  A.M.// promise you won’t hear from me again
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Do you ever think about how Sebastian uses the Japanese marking system?

I think about that a lot 

This hell website made it blurry outside full view smh

4HYYH 2K FOLLOW FOREVER! (p1)

can you tell its my first time making lineart. I have 0 artistic talent in my bones I am sorry for your eyes. Hey everyone!! I’m back with another follow forever!! I finally hit another milestone! Thank you so much!!

Hopefully this wont mess up your notifications, but I love you all!! Thank you once again ❤️

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how to care until it hurts. (a nine step program)

1. find comfort in their words and home in their soul.


2. know your limitations and stride past them. reach out and discover what it is you so desperately crave.


3. allow them to reach into your stomach and hang cocoons of brilliantly colored butterflies from your ribs.


4. build your personal style around the scars that decorate your neck and drape across your shoulder blades. they’ll want to see them.


5. be reckless with your heart and careful with theirs. they will never know how much of yourself you have thrown into caring for them.


6. be more honest with them than you have ever been with yourself and try not to think too hard about why these words suddenly slip from your throat as if you ever wanted them to.


7. never tell them how much you care. never tell them the way your heart beats faster when they call you this or tell you that. never let them see how their every action seals your heart in a hard wax shell of love.


8. be in love.


9. never say love.

—  r.g. | how to care until it hurts

Nobody else seems to care about me…so why should I care about myself?

  • Strix: We have a body with us. We have a dead body with us!
  • Just letting you guys know. Our good friend is dead.
  • Paultin: Uh, where were the uh, scents of wine coming from?
  • Strix: No! You- No! No, no, no, no, no!
  • Paultin: Just like, I mean, I'm pretty dry right now so...
  • Strix: Our friend is dead Paultin!
  • Paultin: Yeah, but, I am sober. So we're all losing right now. Good lord.
  • From time frame 1: 25.00-1:30.00 of 'dice camera action' pt. 8

~TI SPP: SUPPORT~

They’re building a tree house! (Well, I mean. they’re suppposed to be building a tree house, most of them are goofing off)

Have a little angsty Lourry ficlet, because I watched Harry’s documentary and couldn’t help but thinking about Louis watching it and… yeah. I have Feelings, let me tell you them.



Louis locks himself up in his bathroom to watch it. It makes no sense, since he’s alone anyway, but he can’t help himself, can’t shake the adolescent shame at the idea of being caught doing something that feels so intensely private.

Harry looks both hauntingly young and impossibly older from one frame to the next. Jamaica shows him with more stubble than Louis’s ever seen him with, constantly disheveled in a way that feels more genuine than anything Harry has shared of himself for years. It fills Louis with yearning, with wanting to be a part of it, even though he doesn’t even really know what “it” is yet. 

Wanting to be a part of Harry’s life is an absurd emotion, something he thought he’d gotten rid of years ago. Something he should have long ago outgrown.

The hiatus made it easier to convince himself that was true.

But the documentary shows Louis’s lies for what they are, easily undone by a simple shot of Harry grinning into the camera, pink lips and shining eyes.

It’s always been so infuriatingly easy.

He’s got to pause the video when Harry talks about the band. Their band. He didn’t expect it to hurt, but it does, the ache physical, pulling at Louis’s bones from the inside. Harry sits there, pretending that the pressure wasn’t destroying them, gnawing at their souls bit by bit. Talks about never faking it, making Louis wonder how many people are going to buy into it, take him at his word, no matter how absurd such a claim is, how many times they had to fake it, fake a smile, a hug, or an entire friendship.

There was a lot of love in the band, there still is. But there’s a lot fame took away, too.

Maybe Harry really never had to fake it.

It didn’t feel that way, back then.

The documentary moves away from the band, and Louis feels himself breathe a little easier, leaning back against the bathtub where he’s sitting on the dirty bath mat, phone precariously perched on his bent knees.

Harry gets his hair cut on-screen, because of course he did, and Louis allows himself a smile as Harry grins at his mum. It’s nice, seeing him that happy. It’s bittersweet, too, because he never really looked that happy at the end, not like he does now.

The music is amazing, but not as amazing as watching Harry singing it, his entire being so clearly thrown into it, face twisting with every bend of the songs, body vibrating with it. Louis’s enthralled, letting himself stare in a way he hasn’t in years, drinking Harry in like he’s parched for it.

There used to be a time when he didn’t feel the need to pretend to anyone that he wasn’t parched for it. Certainly not to himself.

He’s got to pause the video again when Harry starts talking about his guitarist. The way Harry looks at him… the glint of adoration in his eyes… Louis’s seen it all before, a lifetime ago, seen it directed at himself, even though the face beaming up at him was softer and framed by unruly curls.

It hurts more than the band talk did. Hurts enough that Louis flips his phone shut in the middle of it, narrowly stopping himself from throwing it across the tiled floor.

Part of him wants to warn that guy, to tell him not to give into it. He can see it on his face; the sheer bewilderment at being the object of Harry’s devotion. That little shy dismissive laughter, the twitching of the lips, repressed grins when you think you still have a grip on this.

From the video, though, Louis knows it’s already too late.

He remembers, as clearly now as he did back then. The feel of Harry giggling against his shoulder, the soft touch of Harry’s fingers sliding under his t-shirt (just a touch, nothing to read into it, nothing at all). The caress of wet lips against his neck, and brushing it off with a laugh, telling himself it’s nothing, just puppy play.

Leaning into it, into him, into whatever is on offer, until suddenly you find yourself craving for more, gasping against Harry’s mouth and more fucking vulnerable than you’ve ever let yourself be in your entire life.

He wants to warn that guy, that Mitch, that if the fans don’t ruin it, then Harry will. That no matter how many times Harry gives himself to him, he’ll always slip right through Mitch’s fingers in the end, as easily as he spilled into them.

Of course, he won’t. Cannot, anyway, because Mitch clearly would have no idea who Louis really is, has probably been kept blissfully oblivious to that part of Harry’s life. Starting new, Harry had said, or something close to it.

Louis got over it, anyway. Got over it so well he’s sitting on his bathroom floor, his fingers shaking, his cheeks prickling with tears he refuses to wipe away because wiping them would mean accepting he’s cried at all, and he hasn’t.

He got over it, and that Mitch guy will get over it too, as will all the ones that will follow him.

It gets easier after that. Louis gets lost into the music, unbothered by the allusions to Harry’s hook-ups; it’s never been about that, really, always has been way more complicated than that. Louis’s always known how to deal with jealousy. What he’s never known how to deal with is the piece of his heart Harry took away and never fucking gave back, not even once he was done keeping it like a shiny trinket.

The end of the video sneaks up on him, 50 minutes of his life gone in a flash, his bum suddenly sore from sitting on the bathroom floor for so long, legs cramped from staying so still. They show Harry and Mitch cuddling on a couch, Harry belting out song lyrics while Mitch stays plastered against his armpit, and the easy familiarity of Mitch’s fingers wrapped around Harry’s wrist makes Louis feel like he’s looking at alternate versions of themselves.

It’s heartwarming in a cruel selfish way, knowing someone else will get through it all.

He shuts his phone for good after the credits end, and pretends that he’s not going to watch it again.

He’s good at pretending.

He’s got years of practice.