#Or if it is because of all the stupid stuff I see everyone I go to the tags

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hey. Hi. Hello. Today I learned about the existence of 15th century Welsh poet Gwerful Mechain and that she apparently has a surviving work of erotic poems.

Please. For Christmas. For Yule. Please tell me more because I can't read Welsh.

Heh heh. Oh, Gwerful Mechain is the absolute best.

(Quick housekeeping to keep the post manageable - I previously wrote about things like cynghanedd and cywydds and englyns and such here, so check that if you need an explanation.)

What's fun is that we don't know a ton about her, because not a lot got written down about people in her time. Her surviving work covers a 40ish year span at the end of the 1400s to just into the 1500s, but we don't know when she was born or died or anything like that. We know her parents' names? And that she was from Mechain, hence the bardic name. And that she married a guy and had a daughter, something which actually does mark out her body of work as different from her contemporaries; being a wife and mother, she couldn't do the usual bardic role of travelling the country to spread news and play at courts. This means she doesn't have any of the praise poetry that a lot of male bards produced about the lords that hosted them.

But, there's stuff we can piece together about her. For one thing, she was not just literate (not a universal skill for anyone at that point, but especially for women), but she was astonishingly well-read and had what appears to be a classical education, given her poetic references and traditional Welsh meters. For another, her work often had recurring themes of religion, sex, and women's rights, sometimes all at the same time.

At the point Gwerful was active, Welsh bardic culture heavily featured ymrysonau. An ymryson is like... well, I hesitate to say "sort of like a rap battle" after the way everyone and their dog now thinks that's what the Mari Lwyd does, but they were like a cross between a rap battle and the publication war between two rival academics. A bard would write an englyn and publish it in the local parish newsletter. Another bard would see this, and write their own englyn about how stupid the first bard's englyn was, and publish it in the same newsletter. The first bard would see this and retaliate. The second bard would retaliate to that. And on and on it would go, like a printed tennis match for all the parishioners to enjoy, until someone wrote a conclusive verse OR until someone went "Lol, you got me good there" and bowed out with dignity. Sometimes, these things were fucking vicious; but other times, they were just banter between two bards who knew each other and were enjoying the chance to keep their poetic skills in tip top condition.

Now, Gwerful was an active and enthusiastic participant in ymrysonau. We have many examples of her work from these. There are two of particular note that I'll list here, each against a different bard:

Dafydd Llwyd o Fathafarn. Mathafarn and Mechain are not so distant from one another, so no real surprise that these two locked horns a lot, but the impression I always got from their ymrysonau is that they were good mates, actually. These fell into the 'banter' category more often than not. Dafydd was a Welsh Nationalist who was hoping for a Welshman to rise up and throw off the yoke of English oppression, and most of his work is about that, but he turned up the filthy erotic shit for any ymryson with Gwerful because BOY HOWDY was that her specialty. IIRC she did occasionally poke fun at his Welsh Nash leanings, especially his obsession with Mab Darogan (OLD Welsh idea that translates to the Son of Prophesy - the Arthur-style figure that will one day drive out the English overlords), but mostly their ymrysonau were incredibly beautifully-written odes that could be summed up as "Dafydd, my man, my good friend, I mean this sincerely: suck my entire clit".

She often won.

Ieuan Dyfi. God, what a fucking asshole. This one was not banter. Gwerful played for blood with this prick.

We actually would know nothing about Ieuan Dyfi if not for Gwerful Mechain, because it was her poetic response to him that meant his only surviving poems made it to the modern day; that, and the record of him being brought before a church court where he admitted adultery with Anni Goch, a married woman. Oh, and the record of him being brought before the law courts at Liverpool, accused of domestic abuse and gambling? If I remember right?

Two things to know that set the scene for what came next:

One of Gwerful Mechain's surviving poems is an englyn considered to be possibly the oldest extant poem about domestic violence written by a woman: I’w gŵr am ei churo (To the husband who beats her)

Dager drwy goler dy galon - ar osgo I asgwrn dy ddwyfron; Dy lin a dyr, dy law’n don, A’th gleddau i’th goluddion.

There are a lot of translations for this one to try to keep its poeticness, but this one is pretty good:

Through your heart’s lining let there be pressed, slanting down, A dagger to the bone in your chest. Your knee smashed, your hand crushed, may the rest Be gutted by the sword you possessed.

She has others, too, that deal with sexual assault, and something scholars often note about Gwerful is her remarkable knowledge of the law as it pertained to women's issues. So she was not, you see, a woman with a high view of a man accused of domestic violence anyway.

But then Ieuan Dyfi wrote five poems about Anni Goch, the married woman he'd fucked, each more "Wow dude, she said no" than the last, culminating in I Anni Goch; a full cywydd of misogynistic Medieval-incel bullshit about how false and evil women are, which listed all the false and evil women of history including classical and mythological figures.

And. Well. Gwerful had some views.

Her responding cywydd - I ateb Ieuan Dyfi am gywydd Anni Goch - basically blasted the guy back into his own impact crater and disintegrated him. What she did with it, essentially, was to mirror his cywydd. Where he'd gone "Isn't it so true how great men throughout history have always been brought low by women, amirite lads? Here's examples", Gwerful went "Isn't it so true how 'great men' throughout history have behaved appallingly and fucked up through their own actions and then somehow managed to blame women, amirite lads? Here's examples." Where his examples had been historical figures, so were hers. Where his had been classical, so were hers. Where he went Biblical, so did she.

And what's so interesting about that last one is how pointed she was with it - for some reason, in his big list of evil women, Ieuan Dyfi did not go for the most obvious and low-hanging of fruit (no pun intended) - he doesn't cite Eve. In response, Gwerful also sidesteps the most obvious and low hanging of fruit - she doesn't cite Mary. In so doing, she makes it clear that she doesn't even need to.

There is no record of him responding to her. IIRC, there is a record of him doing three years in prison.

But! Outside of all of that, the big thing Gwerful was known for was her erotic poetry. You'll be unsurprised to hear that it wasn't written for shits and giggles - much like today, women of the time were told that most of their value was in their looks, and they had plentiful insecurities about their bodies. Gwerful wrote her erotic stuff to confront those insecurities and shine a light on the issue. There are so many examples of this, but far and away the most famous is definitely Cywydd y Cedor - roughly translated, 'Ode to the Vulva'. Though I have also seen it titled Cywydd y Gont - Ode to the Cunt. It's such a shame that the English language is literally, physically not capable of cynghanedd, because it means unless you learn Welsh you will never understand the beauty and the lyricism of the piece, and how it elevates and undercuts the content at the same time; but it's a joyful, masterful, irreverent work that uses the fancy language male poets were forever dedicating to the rest of a woman's body and applies it squarely to the vulva. In fact it basically opens with "Men are cowards, describe more cunts or gtfo" before launching into its main subject matter. The last line is pro-pubic hair, too, like I really must stress how much Gwerful Mechain would have to offer Tumblr if you could speak Welsh. This is probably her most widely translated piece, though, you can definitely find English versions. Although you can tell how blushing and reticent the translator is - and therefore how sanitised their translation is - by whether they've called it Ode to the Vulva/Cunt, or Ode to the Pubic Hair.

Needless to say, the original is not sanitised.

(Actually, I should also say - this one is also a response piece, probably, but in this case to a bard who lived a century earlier - Dafydd ap Gwilym, the absolutely legendary and uncontested king of Welsh romance poetry. He wrote a poem called Cywydd y Gal - Ode to the Penis. I have only just put two and two together on that.)

As a final note, I should say that my personal favourite Gwerful Mechain poem on this subject, mind, is actually I'w morwyn wrth gachu - to the maiden who is shitting. It's an englyn written in Gwerful's customary high poetic form, but it is what it says - it describes a woman taking a shit, and farting as she does. Beautiful and magical and disgusting and banal, all in one go:

Crwciodd lle dihangodd ei dŵr - ’n grychiast O grochan ei llawdwr; Ei deudwll oedd yn dadwr’, Baw a ddaeth, a bwa o ddŵr

Funnily enough, it's hard to find a good translation for this one lol.

My attempt:

She crouched where her water escaped - creased From the cauldron of her heat; Her two holes were arguing, Shit came, and a bow of water

Eh. It's so bland in English. Honestly, if you could read Welsh...

Anyway, if anyone reading this can read Welsh and wants to read some of Gwerful Mechain's stuff - including some of the pieces she was responding to in the ymrysonau - you can find a load here. Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed!

[triglycercule]

alright,,,,,is this newyears gift,,,,,, i dont no. but maybe it's late enough that i'll be able to forget that i drew this 😁😁😁😁 mttpoly doodles. whoever sees this sees this

[martian-astro10]

Arudha lagna in signs (sidereal chart, whole signs)- Part 2

- part 1 is here

AL in LIBRA - like Leo, people may see you as someone who has many secret admirers. You may also be the mediator in your friend group. People may see you as someone who is very social and charming but also clever and cunning. You guys may want to maintain a good bond with everyone and this is why your stance on a lot of things is neutral. With this, people definitely think you are beautiful. You guys can come across as really manipulative though and this may cause many people to hate you. People can perceive you as a superficial person, they might think that you care more about appearances. You may victimise yourself a lot, like, having everything that a person could ask for but still whining about little things. I have noticed that these people end up making a lot of enemies, and most of the times it's unintentional. I really don't know why though. You know those politicians who are just as bad as the others but people think they're nice because they're good looking and "sweet", (Justin Trudeau 👀) that would be you guys. If it's more positively aspected then people will see the positives of the sign in you and vice versa.

AL in SCORPIO - my mom and my mom's younger brother who stole all the inheritance, both have this placement 😭. I feel like I've seen both the best and the worst parts of this one. People definitely see you as cunning and strategic, they may think that you'll go to any lengths to be successful. Many people don't actually know what to perceive you as, they think that your personality constantly changes, depending on who you are with. You can also be seen as a great business person, despite having many failed ventures. People may want to be your close friend so they can benefit from the power that you have. You may have trouble opening up to people and that's why you come across as secretive, but I feel like you guys actually just don't know how to be expressive, it's not intentional. You guys may have a lot of broken relationships because of your trust issues and controlling nature, but also because you have such high standards which no human being can reach because nobody is perfect. I feel like men with this placement can't keep it in their pants 😭. You can also be destructive leaders. You are also extremely adventurous, more than Aries or Sagittarius, you'll do ANYTHING as long as you think that the reward is worth it. If it's more positively aspected then people will see the positives of the sign in you and vice versa.

AL in SAGITTARIUS - love these people tbh, you can be seen as the epitome of the "chill guy" meme. But you can also be serious when the situation calls for it. My mom's older brother has this, he's a Libra ascendant but has all the traits of a Sagittarius. People may love spending time with you because of how funny and playful you are. You come across as a very charming person but unlike leo and Libra, it's your personality rather than your face. You can be seen as kind of impulsive though, like, you know those guys who do stupid stuff like standing on a bike while riding it but still come out alive, that's you. Since it's ruled by Jupiter, you are very much seen as someone philosophical, the type of person who constantly acts like a preacher (can be annoying sometimes). You can be seen as someone who holds a grudge for a LOOONG time, a person might have said something to you when you were 10 and you'll still refuse to talk to them or let them know what they did whenever you see them. You also hate it when people call you out on your shit because in your mind, you're the most intelligent and only your views matter. People view you as extremely childish. If it's more positively aspected then people will see the positives of the sign in you and vice versa.

AL in CAPRICORN - (I HAVE THIS), you are seen as someone who is mature for their age. People may think that you're very disciplined, responsible and like to follow a set routine. So many of my classmates have told me that they think I'm all of the above because I live alone. You can also be seen as ambitious and hardworking. People may think that you are very much focused on materialistic things and you may come across as someone who is not good at making emotional connections. Also, i don't know if it's just me but people have told me that I look sad all the time....i remember this one time a guy said "why do you always have a rainy cloud on top of your head"...yeah. You can be intolerant of others opinions and can be overly critical of others. People may also think that you are condescending (which you are not btw, everyone around you is just stupid). I feel like you may be more into tough love, and want people to be more practical and this can make them not like you because a lot of times, all that people want is a hug. You hate slow people and want everything to be done ASAP. You look annoyed all the time. People may also think that you're intimidating. If it's more positively aspected then people will see the positives of the sign in you and vice versa.

AL in AQUARIUS - I have many friends with this and if there's one thing that I can say with complete confidence, it's that, people definitely see you as a progressive person. Everyone i know with this is so outspoken about LGBTQ, feminist, and wars and issues like these. People may think that you have a strong sense of justice and want to make this world a better place for everyone. Your actions are guided by compassion. People may love your ideas as they're always so unique and easy to implement. Similar to Capricorn, you guys can be condescending as well, and may have a "my way or the highway" attitude. It's like, you believe in things so strongly that it pisses you off when others don't do the same. You guys can be unreliable friends, you expect people to be there for you but won't do the same for others. You are also be prone to ghosting people. People may not like how overconfident you are, you think you know everything, you have certain opinions and you'll not change them no matter what happens. It's like, all your knowledge comes from books and not real life experience, so you can come across as naive, kind of like, keyboard warriors. If it's more positively aspected then people will see the positives of the sign in you and vice versa.

AL in PISCES - I know a few people with this and they all look like pushovers, I'm sorry 😭. People see them as a creative person and then they think of ways to take advantage of that creativity. You may be perceived as someone who is always "lost", you just have this aloof expression on your face. I feel like these people need a good, strong companion so that their more positive traits come out. They look like they won't be able to function alone. Unlike Aquarius, your compassion comes from real life experiences. I honestly see these people going to dangerous areas and helping people. As much as I love them, I wouldn't want to be very close to them. People may think that you're very moody and can react in a sort of dangerous way if someone rejects you, it's like when pearl says "NO! WHY ARE YOU LEAVING ME IF I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG, I DON'T UNDERSTAND, I THOUGHT YOU LIKED ME!" You may be prone to overthinking as well, and then become very clingy which turns people off. You might be bad at communication and not tell people what's wrong which again leads them to see you as closed off. If it's more positively aspected then people will see the positives of the sign in you and vice versa.

© martian-astro All rights reserved, 2024

[winnienora14]

Remus Lupin headcanons:

-He’s always dressed up but he never EVER irons anything (he just doesn’t see the point).

-He has the worst posture of all time. When he’s sitting, he’s always holding his head with his hand.

-He’s left handed. His handwriting his genuinely painful to read. It’s horrible, truly. Plus, he writes fast. The only one who can decipher what he writes his James. So, every time Remus would leave a note in Sirius’s locker, Sirius would secretly make James translate it for him.

-Even though his calligraphy is terrible, his writing is incredible. He has a knowledge and a way to play with the lexicon that is truly remarkable at his age. Probably because he reads a lot(Sorry, I don’t believe in dyslexic Remus but I do believe in dyslexic Frank Longbottom).

-He feels detached and like an outcast from people his age. Everyone really. And not just because he’s a werewolf but because of the way he thinks and experiences the world.

-He hates everything that isn’t tangible . Astrology, Philosophy, science, religion, divination, you name it, he hates it (Not the people who believe in these things though. Don’t get him wrong).

-He’s interested in other cultures and languages but he doesn’t go out of his way to learn about them. He’s already got enough stuff to worry about as it is.

-He’s always wanted to make the world at least just a little bit of a better place. That’s why he became a teacher. He wanted to give to others what Poppy gave to him.

-He’s a raging pessimist

-In contrary to popular belief, he’s not shy at all. He’s just introverted and talks only when he deems pertinent. Most people annoy him. He hates small talk.

-He has anger issues but he doesn’t have anger outbursts. He never got into a fight and he never plans on getting into one. He thinks they’re really stupid.

-He LOVES sarcasm. It’s his first language.

-He’s a creature of habits.

-He hates sports and if he had been in high school he’d have hated PE.

-He doesn’t want pets but he doesn’t dislike them either.

-His sleep schedule is nonexistent. He’ll go to sleep at 7pm one day, at 3am an other and one day he just won’t go to sleep at all.

-He lives in disorganized order. For exemple, he absolutely forbids for any clothes to be on the floor but he doesn’t mind his clothes being unfolded, wrinkled and in a big pile in his drawer.

-The hardest thing for him to say is that he can’t do something on his own, that he needs help. In contrary to Sirius, it’s not because he’s prideful but because he’s doesn’t want to bother.

-About that, he is TERRIFIED of bothering anyone. He really doesn’t want to be a nuisance. People taking care of him is actually really hard for him.

*There will be another part…I think… we’ll see.

[happylittleshrub]

I finally started playing the 2021 Guardians of the Galaxy game! It's so much fun! Rambling about Rocket below

Ok so he seems to use macabre humor to cover his pain. In the Quarantine Zone he remarks that if he hadn’t escaped we would probably be walking over bits of him right then. Like dude, that’s so morbid don’t say that 💀His past very clearly still bothers him, why wouldn’t it it was horrible, but he tries to brush it off or seem casual about it to hide his vulnerability. I did love when we first arrived and Rocket was geeking out about all the ships and weapons that were there, he’s such a little nerd ❤️❤️❤️

I liked when he told Quill to stop the fake techno babble “Don’t make up tech stuff, it’s annoying.” 🤣 He also chastised me when I went down the wrong path, but going off the beaten path is how you find collectibles, Rocket! It’s like he’s never played a videogame before smh my head. Btw as someone who grew up watching Pokemon I was simply delighted that our group was called Team Rocket lol My immediate response was TO PROTECT THE WORLD FROM DEVASTATION! And I kept making jokes to myself about how the monster we were gonna capture was Pikachu, I had way too much fun with that 😂

I love that Rocket’s the one who upgrades your weapons! It makes me so happy to go to him and get a tech upgrade, I’m always so giddy and afterwards I’m like ‘Thank you, Rocket’ ❤️🥰🥹✨💖 And when he does it he wears his goggles 🥺❤️

I’m most familiar with MCU Rocket who only gave bits of backstory when very drunk so I was surprised when Rocket in the game was more open to talking about it. I found the spinal control unit so I was able to get some further details from him, and all of them were sad :( RIP Lylla again she can never catch a break. His story about being controlled and doing things against his own will and all he could was watch like his own body was a prison was gutting. I wish there was a ‘hug Rocket’ button because man 😭

When they were debating about who would get sold to Lady Hellbender I wanted to step in to defend Rocket when he accepted being a monster the way he defended Groot but I wasn’t given that option >:( 

(I got an interaction later on between Quill and Groot where he tells Groot he thinks he’s awesome and reassures him that doesn’t see him as a monster and I did really like that! It makes me wonder if there’s a similar interaction with Rocket if you choose to sell him.) 

Also Rocket’s friendship with Groot is so cute! It’s so obvious how much he cares for him 🥺I love that he has a little Groot bead in his beard too.

Of course I stopped Drax from tossing Rocket across the ravine. I saw clips of it online and while admittedly it is kinda funny I could never do that to him 😞 It wasn’t even that hard to find an alternate way across. The worst part of the level was watching Rocket drown in jello over and over again because I kept failing the quicktime event 😭 That’s apparently a common issue though because I looked up a tutorial for it and everyone in the comments was complaining about how they ran into the same problem. I’m so sorry Rocket 😢 Once we got out of the stupid jello Groot cradled Rocket like a baby 🥺 Their friendship is the frickin’ cutest I love it so much. Speaking of Groot though his arms were free so he totally could’ve pulled us out of the jello but whatever 

Okay one more thing when Rocket is assuring Groot he’ll break him out of Lady Hellbender’s fortress and he says, “I’ll do it Rocket-style if I have to.” And he gives him a little wink! Ugh I love him so much!!! ❤️ So yeah looking forward to continuing my adventure with him (and the other Guardians too lol) I’ll make another post once I progress further in the game 🙂

[fuqnia]

VERONICA! OPEN THE DOOR

☆kyle broflovski x fem!reader

☆ A/N | hii, so recently my long fic 'most wanted' reached over 100 kudos on ao3 which is so crazy to me! thank u everyone for the support regarding my works <3 i reached out to the first commenter on the platforms i write for, and they wanted me to write a mean kyle smut... im gonna be honest, this piece is from my stan x reader x kyle self indulgent fanfic that is a 600 page google doc, and WILL NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY. .

☆ C/W | nsfw (18+) fem. afab reader, unprotected sex, hate sex, p in v, squirting, all characters are aged up!

☆ god this is so cringe, everyone is so ooc, and frankly i'm sorry </3 but kyle running and screaming after the reader while she is crying is so funny.

The warm glow of fairy lights strung across the walls softened the chaos of Red’s dorm room. Piles of clothes were scattered across the bed, a mixture of bold patterns and edgy leather pieces that screamed confidence. You sat cross-legged among the mess, a pair of black tights clutched in your lap, while Red fussed with her hair in front of the mirror.

Her signature straight red locks—bright enough to catch the light like a flame—fell in perfect sheets over her shoulders as she adjusted a strand with practiced ease. “Alright, babe,” she said, turning to assess you with a critical eye. “This party isn’t just any party. It’s Kenny’s twenty-first, which means we’re pulling out all the stops. And you’re going to look hotter than the bonfire.”

You laughed nervously, glancing down at the sleek black mini skirt and turtleneck already laid out on the bed. “I don’t think Kenny’s going to care what I look like, Red. He’ll be too busy shotgunning beers and getting Cartman to do something stupid.”

Red tilted her head, her sharp eyes narrowing as she pointed a hairbrush at you. “Correction: Kyle will care. And if Kyle cares, then it’s my duty to make sure you look so good he can’t think straight.”

The mention of Kyle made your cheeks warm. Kyle, with his steady presence and rare, quiet smiles, had been your anchor in the chaos of college life. He made you feel safe, wanted—like the world slowed down when you were with him. And yet, you couldn’t ignore the tight knot in your stomach when you thought about tonight. Not just because of Kyle, but because of Stan.

Red must have noticed your expression because she put the brush down and crossed her arms. “What’s that face? Don’t tell me you’re freaking out.”

You shook your head quickly. “I’m not. It’s just… it’s a lot. Parties, people, you know I’m not great with this stuff.”

Red softened, sitting beside you on the bed and squeezing your arm. “You don’t have to be the life of the party, babe. You just have to show up, have a drink, and let me make sure you look amazing while you do it.”

She nudged the skirt and turtleneck closer to you. “Come on, try it on. You’ll look classy, but you’ll still turn heads.”

With a resigned sigh, you grabbed the outfit and headed into the tiny bathroom. The black turtleneck was snug but comfortable, the fabric skimming your curves without clinging too tightly. The mini skirt sat perfectly at your waist, flaring just enough to feel stylish without being too much, and the tights gave it an edge that balanced the whole look. You stared at yourself in the mirror, half dreading and half anticipating Red’s reaction.

When you stepped back into the room, Red’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit,” she said, dragging out the words as she circled you like a fashion critic. “You look… incredible. Kyle is going to combust. And honestly, if he doesn’t, Stan definitely will.”

Your stomach flipped at the mention of Stan, but you forced a smile. “It’s not about Stan.”

“Sure,” Red said with a smirk, brushing past you to grab her eyeliner. “And I dye my hair this color to blend in.”

You rolled your eyes, but the teasing lilt in her voice was hard to ignore. Stan wasn’t supposed to be a factor tonight. You’d worked hard to put that one messy night with him behind you, the one that lingered like an unwelcome guest in the back of your mind. It didn’t matter now. You were with Kyle—steady, kind, Kyle—and tonight was about Kenny.

“Sit,” Red commanded, gesturing to the desk chair. “We’re doing your makeup.”

She worked with quick, practiced precision, blending shadows and lining your eyes until you barely recognized yourself in the mirror. Your cheekbones looked sharper, your eyes more dramatic, and your lips shimmered with a soft gloss. Red stepped back, tilting her head as she admired her handiwork. “You, my friend, are a walking goddess. Now grab your shoes. We’re already late.”

The drive to Stan’s ranch was filled with Red’s animated chatter. Her energy buzzed as she recounted Kenny’s most ridiculous party moments. “Last year, he got Cartman to wrestle Butters for the last slice of cake. And by wrestle, I mean Butters just let him have it because he’s Butters.”

You laughed, but your mind wandered to the ranch, to Kyle, and to Stan. It was ridiculous to feel this nervous. Kyle adored you, made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t expected. But Stan… Stan complicated everything, even when you wanted to forget.

When you pulled up to the ranch, the sprawling property was already alive with music, laughter, and the warm glow of string lights crisscrossing the yard. A massive bonfire crackled in the center, drawing groups of people closer for warmth. Red parked the car and turned to you with a grin. “Alright. Let’s go break some hearts.”

You stepped into the chaos, the sound of music and chatter enveloping you immediately. Somewhere in the crowd, Kyle was waiting, probably with a beer in hand and a bemused smile on his face. And somewhere else, Stan was here too. The thought made your stomach twist, but you shoved it down.

Red looped her arm through yours, steering you toward the bonfire. “Let’s find your man before I have to fend off everyone else.”

The crowd was thick, and you weaved through clusters of people, the heat of the fire warming your skin. Then you saw him—Kyle, standing just on the edge of the firelight, talking to Kenny. His smile lit up when he spotted you, and for a moment, all your nerves melted away.

But then, just beyond Kyle, you caught sight of black hair and a familiar profile. Stan was there, leaning casually against a fence, a drink in his hand. His blue eyes flicked toward you, widening slightly when they met yours. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything, but the brief look on his face—an unreadable mixture of surprise and something deeper—was enough to remind you of everything you were trying to leave behind.

The knot in your stomach tightened as Red tugged you forward, her arm looped through yours with unrelenting determination. You tore your gaze away from Stan, but the image of his eyes on you lingered, an unwelcome weight in the back of your mind. The warmth of the bonfire grew stronger as Red plopped you right in front of Kyle, her grin as bright as the flames behind her.

“There,” Red said, giving Kyle a pointed look. “Don’t say I never deliver.”

Kyle’s green eyes locked onto you, and for a moment, the noise and movement of the party seemed to blur into the background. He tilted his head slightly, as though he was trying to process something, but he didn’t say anything. You didn’t either. You just stared at him, your chest tightening as his gaze lingered, taking you in like he’d never seen you before.

Kyle shifted slightly, his hands sliding into his pockets as he looked at you with a casual smile. “Hey,” he said, his voice light, but the simple word carried enough warmth to pull you from your swirling thoughts.

You blinked at him, your mouth opening slightly as you tried to summon a response. Nothing came. Your chest felt tight, and all you could do was stare, your eyes wide and unblinking, like you’d forgotten how to function.

Kyle’s brows furrowed just a little, though his smile didn’t falter. He tilted his head slightly, his green eyes studying you with a mix of curiosity and concern. “You good?” he asked, the casual tone in his voice softening around the edges.

You opened your mouth again, but no words followed. Instead, you just stood there, rooted in place, feeling every second of silence stretch unbearably long. Your hands fidgeted at your sides, but your brain seemed incapable of stringing together a coherent thought.

Kyle’s expression shifted slightly, a hint of confusion flickering across his face. “Uh, Red?” he called over your shoulder, though his eyes never left yours. “Did you break her?”

“Not my fault if she short-circuits when she sees you, bro,” Red shot back, her voice light and teasing as she disappeared into the crowd. “You’re on your own!”

You could feel the heat rushing to your cheeks as Kyle gave a small, nervous chuckle. “Okay,” he said, dragging the word out as he took a half step closer. “Seriously, are you alright? You look like you just got hit by a truck or something.”

You forced yourself to nod, though it felt jerky and unconvincing. “Yeah,” you croaked finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m fine.”

Kyle raised a skeptical eyebrow, his head tilting again as he tried to make sense of your reaction. He didn’t press, though. Instead, he gave you a small, reassuring smile. “Alright, well, I’m glad you made it. I wasn’t sure Red was actually going to drag you here.”

His words were warm, and his steady presence should have been enough to ground you. But your chest felt heavier by the second, your thoughts scattering like dry leaves in the wind. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught movement, and before you could stop yourself, you glanced toward it.

There, just on the edge of the bonfire’s glow, Wendy strolled up to Stan. Her posture was relaxed, but the way her hand brushed his arm as she leaned in closer made your stomach twist. She said something to him, her voice too low to carry over the crackle of the fire, and he nodded, his blue eyes fixed on the ground.

Your gaze lingered too long. For a brief moment, Stan’s eyes flicked toward you, catching yours with an unreadable expression that made your chest tighten further. Then, just as quickly, his attention snapped back to Wendy.

Kyle shifted again, drawing your focus back to him. He was watching you closely now, his expression a little more serious. “Hey,” he said softly, the single word cutting through the noise of the party. “You sure you’re okay?”

Your lips parted again, but the lump in your throat made it impossible to speak. The warmth of the fire pressed against your back, and Kyle’s steady gaze felt like both a lifeline and an anchor you couldn’t grab hold of. “I’m fine,” you said finally, though the words felt hollow and brittle.

Kyle hesitated, his brows knitting together as he searched your face. “If you say so,” he murmured, his voice quiet and careful, like he was trying not to push too hard.

You shifted awkwardly under his gaze, desperate to break the tension. “How’s the party been so far?” you asked, your voice wobbling slightly.

Before Kyle could open his mouth, Kenny popped up at his side with the kind of timing that made you wonder if he’d been eavesdropping. “Oh, you know, it’s been a shitshow—so, the usual. Cartman’s being a fat bastard, Butters is crying because the punch is too strong, and I’m pretty sure Craig and Tweek are off somewhere trying to one-up last year’s public makeout record.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out, tension easing a fraction at Kenny’s typical over-the-top delivery. He grinned, clearly pleased with himself, and Kyle rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t pop out of his skull.

“Great summary, Kenny,” Kyle muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Really insightful.”

“Hey, I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking,” Kenny shot back, throwing an arm around Kyle’s shoulder like he didn’t notice—or didn’t care—about Kyle’s withering glare. “She’s been here for two seconds and already looks like she regrets it. You’re really putting on the charm, dude.”

Kyle shrugged Kenny’s arm off with a sigh. “Yeah, thanks for the feedback, Kenny. Always a pleasure.”

“I’m just trying to help,” Kenny said, raising his hands like a saint wronged. Then his attention shifted to you, his grin widening. “You, though. You look like you need to loosen up before the existential dread kicks in. Let’s get you a drink.”

Kyle groaned, cutting him off. “She doesn’t have to drink, you dumbass. Not everyone wants to pour shitty vodka into their system and call it a personality.”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot you’re the designated buzzkill tonight,” Kenny snapped, crossing his arms mockingly. “It’s not like I was telling her to chug Everclear and start a conga line.”

You couldn’t help but smirk at their bickering, which only seemed to fuel Kenny. He jabbed a finger in Kyle’s direction. “I’m trying to help, but you’re over here cockblocking her from a goddamn cup of punch.”

Kyle glared at him, deadpan. “I’m not cockblocking her from punch, Kenny. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Kenny ignored him entirely, turning back to you. “Look, the punch isn’t even that bad. You’ll barely taste the regret.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I don’t know. ‘Barely taste the regret’ isn’t exactly selling it.”

“It’s not,” Kyle said firmly, crossing his arms. “It’s literally just vodka and juice in a bucket. Kenny probably stuck his dick in it for flavor.”

“Okay, first of all, fuck you,” Kenny shot back. “Second, that only happened once.”

“Jesus Christ,” Kyle muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was reconsidering his life choices.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in your chest easing a little more. Kenny beamed like he’d just won a prize. “See? She gets it. I’m the fun one.”

Kyle groaned, but the faintest smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah, well, fun or not, you’re an idiot.”

Kenny clapped you on the back, ignoring Kyle entirely. “C’mon, let’s get you a drink. At least then you can say you’re embracing the full Kenny McCormick party experience.”

You glanced at Kyle, who sighed but gave a small shrug. “Your call,” he said, his tone resigned. “Just don’t let him talk you into doing shots. Or listening to anything he says. Ever.”

Kenny smirked, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Relax, she’s in good hands. Mostly.”

You let him guide you through the crowd toward the makeshift bar near the barn, the chatter and laughter of the party buzzing in the background. His energy was infectious, and for a moment, the tension in your chest began to ease.

“You know,” Kenny started, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, “you’re looking dangerously good tonight. Like, borderline criminal. Don’t tell me you did all this for me?”

You blinked, caught off guard, before letting out a giggle. “For you?”

“Obviously,” he said, his grin widening. “It’s my birthday. You’re supposed to make me feel special. And here you are, walking in, looking like that. Babe, I’m blushing.” He exaggerated the last part, pretending to wipe away a tear of pride.

“Oh, shut up,” you said, laughing now, feeling yourself relax.

Kenny nudged you playfully. “Nah, but seriously, don’t tell Kyle I said this, but if you did dress up for me, I wouldn’t blame you. I’m fucking adorable, and you know it.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “If it’ll make you happy, Kenny, sure. I’ll say it’s for you.”

“Hell yeah,” he said, pumping his fist in mock victory as you both reached the bar.

The setup was chaotic but functional—a plastic table laden with mismatched bottles of cheap liquor, stacks of red Solo cups, and a massive punch bowl that looked suspiciously sticky. Kenny grabbed a cup and started toward the punch, but before you could even decide what to drink, Wendy appeared beside you.

“Hey,” she said casually, reaching for a cup and filling it with punch. Her calm presence felt like a jolt of electricity straight to your chest.

You froze, your eyes widening as your breath hitched. She didn’t even look at you, her focus entirely on the drink in her hand, but that only made the moment worse. Images of that night with Stan—the heat, the whispered words, the sheer wrongness of it all—flashed in your mind like a car crash you couldn’t look away from.

Your stomach twisted painfully, and you quickly turned back to Kenny, trying to shake the panic clawing at your throat. “Kenny,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended, “make mine strong. Like, strong as fuck.”

Kenny blinked at you, taken aback by your tone, before a sly grin crept across his face. “Oh, shit. Someone’s on a mission tonight.”

You shot him a look, your wide eyes betraying your calm façade. “I’m serious. Just… make it so I won’t have to worry about anything I do later.”

Kenny raised an eyebrow, clearly amused but sensing the urgency in your voice. “Alright, alright. One existential-crisis punch coming right up.” He reached for the vodka, pouring a generous amount into your cup before topping it off with the sticky, overly sweet punch.

He handed it to you with a small flourish. “There you go, babe. Now drink up before you start hyperventilating or something.”

You took the cup without hesitation, downing a large sip as the mix of sweetness and burn hit the back of your throat. Kenny was still watching you, his grin softening slightly into something more genuine. “You good?”

You nodded quickly, not trusting your voice. Wendy was still there, just a few feet away, completely unaware of the storm raging inside you. You gripped your cup tighter, willing the alcohol to do its job before you completely fell apart.

Kenny patted you on the back with a grin, his touch light but grounding. “Alright, babe, I’m heading back to the bonfire. Don’t drink yourself into a coma before the fun really starts, yeah?”

You managed a weak smile, your voice barely above a murmur as you said, “Happy birthday, Kenny.”

He winked at you before disappearing back into the crowd, his energy as boundless as ever. You stood there, gripping your cup like a lifeline, trying to pretend that everything was fine. But Wendy was still there, just a few feet away, finishing her drink with a practiced ease that only made her presence more suffocating.

She caught your eye as she set her cup down, giving you a polite, almost-too-sweet smile. “You look nice,” she said, her tone light but distant, like she wasn’t entirely sure if she should say it.

You froze, managing only a nod in response, and she didn’t linger. Wendy turned and walked back into the crowd, making a direct line toward Stan, who was still leaning against the fence, his posture casual but his eyes sharp as he spotted her approach.

Your chest tightened painfully as you watched her step up to him, her hand brushing his arm as she leaned in to say something. He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable, and you looked away before you could absorb any more.

The sharp edge of panic started creeping back in, and you downed the rest of your drink in one long gulp, the burn barely registering as your mind spun. The alcohol wasn’t working fast enough, so you poured yourself another cup, filling it to the brim with the sticky punch and vodka concoction. You didn’t care how it tasted anymore; you just needed the edges of your thoughts to dull.

With the new drink clutched tightly in your hand, you stumbled away from the bar, seeking some kind of reprieve from the noise and the people. You found it against the front wall of the barn, the wooden planks cool against your back as you slid down to the ground, clutching your cup in one hand and your head in the other.

The world around you blurred, the sounds of laughter and music muffled as you tried to quiet the storm inside you. You sipped from your cup in rapid intervals, the alcohol’s heat settling in your stomach but doing little to loosen the knot in your chest. The image of Wendy walking back to Stan looped in your head, sharper than you wanted it to be.

You pressed your fingers against your temple, your head swimming, and closed your eyes. The chaos of the party felt far away now, replaced by the all-too-familiar ache of guilt and regret. Your grip on the cup tightened as you whispered under your breath, “What the hell is wrong with me?”

With a heavy sigh, you opened your eyes and glanced toward the bonfire. Kenny had made his way back to the group, slipping seamlessly into the gathering of familiar faces. From where you sat, you could just make out Kyle’s green hoodie standing out against the golden glow of the fire. He was with Cartman, Butters, Red, and Heidi, their figures illuminated by the flickering flames.

Their voices carried faintly on the breeze, and it didn’t take long to pick up on the fact that they were arguing. Well, not arguing, exactly—bickering in that way they always did, where it was hard to tell if they were genuinely pissed off or just having fun at each other’s expense.

“…because you’re the one who always ruins these parties!” Cartman’s voice rang out, as loud and grating as ever.

“Me?!” Kenny shot back, his tone dripping with mock offense. “Oh, sorry, I forgot I’m the one who drinks the punch and cries about how no one appreciates me—oh wait, that’s you, Fatass.”

“Don’t call me Fatass, you poor piece of shit!” Cartman barked, his voice carrying above the crackle of the fire.

“Guys, stop it,” Butters interjected nervously, his voice cracking slightly. “It’s Kenny’s birthday! We’re supposed to be celebratin’, not fightin’!”

“Oh, I’m celebrating,” Red chimed in, her tone sharp and amused. “I’m celebrating how much I hate both of you. It’s the real theme of the night.”

Kyle’s voice cut through the chaos, dry and unimpressed. “You all sound like assholes. Can you keep it down? Some of us are trying to not be embarrassed to exist here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Perfect,” Heidi shot back, clearly joining in on the fun. “Is our peasant-level banter beneath you? Should we hold a lecture on philosophy or something?”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up at the sound of Kyle’s groan, even though your chest still felt tight. The snippets of their argument floated over to you, loud enough to catch, and there was something strangely grounding about their familiar rhythms. It was chaos, but it was their chaos—a strange kind of comfort even from a distance.

Kenny’s voice rose again, playful and theatrical. “For the record, I am officially declaring myself the King of This Party. And as your king, I command everyone to shut the hell up and pour me a drink.”

“King of What?” Red snapped. “Being a jackass?”

Kenny’s laugh echoed across the field, followed by more laughter from the group, and for a moment, you felt your chest loosen. You took another sip of your drink, letting their banter wash over you like a balm against the storm in your head. You didn’t move from your spot by the barn, but you let yourself sink into the sounds of the party—their voices, the crackle of the fire, the hum of music in the background.

Time had slipped away in a haze, and now, after what must have been thirty minutes—or maybe an hour, you weren’t sure—you were positively drunk. The warmth of the alcohol coursed through your veins, loosening the tension in your chest but leaving a distinct heaviness in your limbs. It didn’t help that you hadn’t eaten anything before the party, and your low alcohol tolerance had ensured that the punch hit you harder and faster than you’d expected.

The barn wall felt solid and cool against your back, but it couldn’t steady the spinning in your head. You took a deep breath, swaying slightly as you pushed yourself up to stand. The world tilted for a moment, and you gripped the wall for balance before shaking your head and muttering to yourself, “Get it together.”

You couldn’t help but notice that Kyle hadn’t come to check on you, which struck you as odd—he was usually the type to hover when he thought something was wrong. But you shrugged it off, chalking it up to him being caught up in the chaos of the party. You’d probably been sitting there longer than you realized anyway, and it wasn’t like you’d told him where you’d gone.

Taking one slow, wobbling step forward, then another, you began making your way back toward the bonfire. The light grew brighter as you approached, the warmth from the flames hitting you even before you reached the edge of the group. You could hear the faint hum of their voices—laughter and banter still carrying on, the kind of noise that felt both overwhelming and strangely comforting in your current state.

You didn’t say anything as you stepped closer, your focus zeroing in on the fire. The golden-orange flames licked upward into the night, the crackling sound filling your ears as you came to a stop just on the edge of the group. Your legs felt unsteady beneath you, and you swayed slightly, planting your feet wider apart to keep your balance.

The flush on your face was unmistakable, a mix of the alcohol and the heat from the fire. Your body posture screamed drunk—your shoulders slumped, your arms hanging loosely at your sides, and your head tilting just a little too far as you stared at the flames with glassy eyes.

It didn’t take long for someone to notice. “Well, look who decided to join us,” Kenny’s voice rang out, light and teasing as always. “Damn, [Y/N], you look like you’ve been through it. How’s the punch treating you?”

You blinked at him, your mind sluggish as you tried to come up with a response. Instead, you let out a half-hearted laugh, lifting your cup slightly in a gesture that was supposed to look like confidence but ended up more like a wobbly toast. “It’s… strong,” you mumbled, your words slurring slightly.

“Strong, my ass,” Cartman chimed in, his voice carrying above the others. “She looks like she just tried to keep up with Kenny’s bullshit and failed miserably.”

“Shut up, Cartman,” Kyle’s voice cut through, sharper than you’d expected. He stood a little off to the side, his arms crossed as he watched you, his green eyes narrowing slightly. “Don’t be an asshole.”

Kyle’s gaze shifted back to you, and his expression softened, though concern was written all over his face. “You okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

You nodded a little too quickly, the motion making your head spin. “M���fine,” you said, though the way you swayed on your feet betrayed you.

Kyle sighed, stepping closer to steady you before you could stumble. His hand brushed your arm lightly, and the touch sent a small jolt through you, grounding you for a moment. “You don’t look fine,” he muttered, his tone somewhere between worried and exasperated. “Did you even eat before you started drinking?”

You didn’t answer, your focus drifting back to the fire. The flames danced in your vision, blurring slightly at the edges, and you felt the faintest pang of guilt as Kyle’s hand lingered near your arm, waiting for you to acknowledge him. But you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes.

Kyle’s hand moved from lingering near your arm to softly grabbing yours, his grip firm but careful. His fingers were warm against your clammy skin, grounding you despite the alcohol swirling through your veins. Slowly, reluctantly, you looked up at him.

His green eyes were filled with concern, his jaw tight like he was holding back a lecture. The weight of his gaze made you feel heavy, your chest tightening under the guilt bubbling up inside. You finally spoke, your voice low and slurred. “No, I didn’t eat anything,” you admitted, looking back toward the fire. “But don’t worry about me, alright?”

Kyle’s frown deepened, his lips parting like he was about to argue, but you didn’t give him the chance. You dropped his hand and let yourself fall back onto the grass with a graceless thud. The cool ground pressed against your legs, grounding you in a way that felt more effective than his touch. You leaned back on your hands, staring at the fire’s erratic glow.

Kyle hesitated for a moment, standing over you like he wasn’t sure whether to sit or say something else. Before he could decide, the atmosphere around the fire shifted as more people began crowding closer. The noise grew louder, voices rising in drunken excitement.

“Alright, you fuckers!” Kenny’s voice boomed above the chaos. You glanced over to see him perched on a log near the fire, his arms spread wide like he was addressing a crowd of idiots—and let’s be honest, he was. “It’s my birthday, and that means it’s time for some goddamn party games. None of that weak-ass, middle-school bullshit. We’re talking real games. The kind that end with someone crying, puking, or reevaluating their life.”

The crowd roared in approval, a mix of laughter and groans rippling through the group. Red, standing near the edge, smirked and crossed her arms. “Great. Because this shitshow wasn’t chaotic enough already.”

“Exactly,” Kenny shot back, pointing a finger at her like she’d just proved his point. “Chaos is the fucking point. Now shut the fuck up and listen, because we’re starting this off right.”

He paused dramatically, letting the tension build before his grin turned wicked. “Truth or dare.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Cartman barked, his voice loud enough to rival Kenny’s. “Truth or dare? Are you fucking serious, McCormick? What is this, a goddamn slumber party?”

“Shut your fat fucking mouth, Cartman,” Kenny fired back, laughing. “Nobody invited your whiny ass anyway. You don’t wanna play? Good. Go crawl into a snack bag and die.”

“I’m not fucking fat, you goddamn poor piece of shit!” Cartman shot back, his face already red. The group erupted into laughter, a mix of drunken jeers and amused groans.

“Whatever you say, Cartman,” Kenny said, rolling his eyes. “Now, for the rest of us real people who know how to have fun, the game starts now. Who’s up first?” He pointed dramatically at someone in the crowd, his grin growing as the first victim stammered something unintelligible.

You stayed where you were, seated on the grass, watching the chaos unfold. The firelight flickered in your vision, blurring slightly as the alcohol swirled through your system. Kyle finally sat down beside you, close enough that his knee brushed against yours. He didn’t say anything, just leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees, watching the unfolding chaos with a tired expression that made you smirk.

“Jesus Christ,” Kyle muttered under his breath as Cartman and Kenny continued to lob insults at each other across the fire. He glanced over at you, his brow furrowing again as his concern resurfaced. “You sure you’re alright?”

You nodded, though your head felt heavy. “Yeah,” you mumbled, staring at the fire again. “Stop worrying about me.”

The game carried on, growing louder and rowdier with each passing turn. People were getting bolder, the dares increasingly ridiculous, and the truths edging closer to outright humiliation. You stayed quiet, sipping from your cup and staring into the fire, the warmth of the flames doing little to steady the spinning in your head.

Eventually, the attention shifted to Kyle. He was sitting stiffly beside you, clearly dreading his turn, and when Kenny grinned like a predator zeroing in on his prey, you could feel Kyle tense up. “Alright, Broflovski,” Kenny said, drawing out his name like a taunt. “Truth or dare?”

Kyle sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Truth.”

“Fucking coward,” Cartman snorted from across the fire, but Kyle ignored him, his glare fixed firmly on Kenny.

Kenny’s grin widened. “Okay, here we go. If you had to date one person at this party, other than [Y/N]—” he gestured vaguely in your direction, “—who would it be?”

Laughter erupted around the bonfire, a mix of catcalls and jeering encouragement. Kyle groaned audibly, his head dropping into his hands as a flush crept up his neck. “What the fuck kind of question is that?” he muttered, his voice muffled.

“Answer the fucking question!” Kenny crowed, clearly reveling in Kyle’s misery. “And don’t say some bullshit like nobody. You have to pick.”

Kyle sat up, glaring at Kenny. “This is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s the game, dude,” Kenny shot back, shrugging like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. “Now spill.”

Kyle looked around the group, his expression somewhere between exasperation and resignation. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice low. “Wendy.”

The group burst into laughter, and you couldn’t help it—you barked out a laugh too, the sound sharp and unexpected as it slipped past your lips. Kyle turned to you with a glare, his face still red. “Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” he said dryly, but you barely heard him. Your laugh died in your throat as your gaze swept across the fire and accidentally locked onto Stan.

He was leaning back against the log he’d claimed earlier, his arms folded loosely across his chest. The firelight flickered across his features, making the shadows under his jaw and cheekbones more pronounced, but it was his eyes that stopped you cold. They were locked onto yours, sharp and unreadable, the kind of look that made your stomach twist uncomfortably. He wasn’t laughing like everyone else, wasn’t even smiling. He was just… watching.

The noise of the party dulled for a moment, everything else fading into the background as your heart hammered against your ribs. Your face burned, and you quickly broke the eye contact, focusing back on the fire as if it could swallow you whole. The warmth in your chest from the alcohol turned heavy and suffocating, and you gripped your cup tighter, your fingers trembling slightly.

Kyle didn’t seem to notice your sudden shift, his attention already drawn back to Kenny, who was busy milking the moment for all it was worth. “Wendy, huh?” Kenny teased, wagging his eyebrows. “Better hope Stan doesn’t beat your ass for that one.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Kyle snapped, his voice tinged with irritation. “It’s a stupid game.”

“Sure, sure,” Kenny said, waving Kyle off with a shit-eating grin before scanning the group like a game show host about to unveil a new contestant. “Alright, who’s next?”

The group erupted in suggestions, but it was Red who cut through the noise, pointing toward Stan with a devilish smirk. “Stan. Let’s hear it.”

Stan, who had been leaning back against a log with his drink in hand, raised an eyebrow, looking more amused than anything. “Fine,” he said lazily, sitting up and brushing some ash off his jeans. “Truth.”

Kenny’s eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store. He clapped his hands together, practically vibrating with excitement as he leaned forward. “Oh, I got a good one for you, Marsh. Same question I gave Broflovski over there.”

Stan tilted his head, his expression skeptical. “Which was?”

Kenny leaned forward, grinning like a wolf. “If you had to date one person at this party, other than Wendy,” he said, the emphasis on Wendy sharp enough to make a couple of people snicker, “who would it be?”

Laughter rippled through the group, and even Red groaned. “Jesus Christ, Kenny. Get a new bit.”

“It’s a fucking classic!” Kenny shot back, gesturing wildly. “You gotta admit, this is prime entertainment.”

Stan looked unimpressed, taking a long sip from his drink as he mulled it over. The group leaned in, anticipation crackling in the air as they waited for his answer. Finally, he lowered the cup, his blue eyes sharp and unreadable as they scanned the group.

And then they landed on you.

“[Y/N],” he said simply, his voice steady but clear enough to cut through the noise.

The laughter around the bonfire stuttered into stunned silence. You froze, your body going rigid as his words sank in, and when your gaze snapped to his, you found him watching you. His expression was calm, almost casual, but there was something in his eyes that made your stomach flip.

Your mouth fell open, and for a moment, you could only stare at him, wide-eyed and completely dumbfounded. The world around you seemed to blur, the crackling fire and the murmurs of the party fading into static as his answer replayed in your head like a broken record.

Kenny, of course, was the first to recover. He let out an exaggerated gasp, clutching his chest like he’d just heard the most scandalous confession of his life. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed, dragging out the words as he whipped around to look at you, then Stan, then back at you. “Did Stan Marsh just shoot his fucking shot? On my birthday?! This is better than anything I could’ve planned.”

Cartman cackled. “Oh my God, Wendy’s gonna kill you.”

“Seriously, Stan?” Red chimed in, her tone sharp but laced with amusement. “You could’ve picked literally anyone else, and you chose the most loaded answer possible?”

Stan just shrugged, his gaze still locked on you. “What? It’s the truth.”

Your heart was pounding, your face burning as you continued to stare at him, completely at a loss for how to respond. The weight of his words—and the way he said them so effortlessly—left you spinning. You couldn’t tell if the alcohol was making it worse or if this moment would’ve floored you regardless.

Kyle, seated beside you, had gone uncharacteristically quiet. You could feel him stiffen next to you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him—not with Stan’s gaze still pinning you in place.

The silence stretched for a beat too long, and Kenny, sensing the tension, clapped his hands together again. “Alright, that’s enough heavy shit for now! Let’s keep the game moving, huh? Who’s next?”

The group exchanged glances, but all eyes eventually turned to Wendy. She raised an eyebrow, her calm confidence practically radiating as she shrugged. “Fine. Dare.”

Kenny’s face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Oh, now we’re fucking talking. Let’s make this interesting.” He paused dramatically, rubbing his hands together as he scanned the group like a conductor preparing for a symphony of destruction. Then, with a wicked grin, he pointed at Wendy. “I dare you to kiss the person here you’d never want to kiss otherwise.”

The crowd erupted into a mix of gasps, laughter, and a few groans.

“Jesus Christ, Kenny,” Red muttered, shaking her head, though even she looked curious to see what would happen.

Wendy didn’t flinch. Instead, she rolled her eyes and stood up, brushing dirt off her jeans like this was just another Tuesday. “Fine,” she said coolly. Her eyes scanned the group with practiced ease, and for a moment, you thought she’d go for Cartman or Kenny for the joke. But then her gaze landed on you, and her smirk twisted into something sharper.

You froze as she took a step toward you, her movements slow and deliberate. Your heart pounded in your chest, the world tilting slightly from the alcohol and the sudden realization that she wasn’t backing down.

Wendy stopped in front of you, leaning down just enough to be intimidating. “Guess this makes sense,” she said, her voice low enough that only you and Kyle, sitting beside you, could hear. “Since you’ve been eyeing Stan for weeks now. Might as well make it official.”

Your stomach dropped, and before you could react, she leaned in and planted a kiss on your cheek. The crowd around you erupted into cheers and whoops, but you couldn’t hear them over the sound of your own heartbeat roaring in your ears.

The moment she pulled back, you were on your feet, your cup forgotten as your fists clenched at your sides. “What the fuck is your problem, Wendy?”

She straightened, tilting her head like she couldn’t believe you were making this a thing. “My problem? You’ve been making eyes at Stan every time we’re in the same room. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Your jaw dropped, heat rising to your face as anger bubbled in your chest. “Are you kidding me? That’s not—”

“Oh, please,” Wendy cut you off, crossing her arms. “You can’t even deny it. You’ve been waiting for something to happen, haven’t you? Poor Kyle doesn’t even see it.”

“Wendy, shut the fuck up,” Kyle snapped, standing now, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. But the damage was already done.

“Why don’t you keep Kyle’s name out of your goddamn mouth and worry about your own relationships?” you fired back, stepping closer.

Wendy let out a humorless laugh, her smirk returning. “Touchy, aren’t we? Guess I hit a nerve.”

The tension around the bonfire had reached a boiling point, the crowd silent now except for the crackling flames and the sound of your heavy breathing.

Before the situation could spiral further, Kenny shot to his feet, stepping between the two of you with his hands held up. “Alright, alright, let’s not turn my birthday into a fucking WWE cage match, okay?” He glanced at Wendy, his grin dimming slightly. “Wendy, chill the fuck out. It’s a dare, not a declaration of war.”

Wendy’s eyes flicked to Kenny, and after a long, tense moment, she let out a frustrated sigh and stepped back. “Whatever,” she muttered, turning and heading back toward her spot near the log.

Kenny turned to you next, his tone more playful as he gestured toward the punch table. “Go refill your drink, babe. You look like you need it. And maybe skip the part where you throw hands at my party.”

You hesitated, the anger still burning hot in your chest, but Kenny’s teasing smile and Kyle’s steady presence beside you finally pulled you back down. You nodded stiffly, muttering under your breath as you turned to grab another drink.

You made your way to the makeshift bar with heavy steps, your hands trembling as the adrenaline from the confrontation still buzzed through your veins. The party continued behind you, the hum of voices and laughter blending with the crackling of the bonfire. But all you could hear was Wendy’s sharp, cutting tone echoing in your mind. Her smirk, her words, the smug satisfaction in her eyes—they looped like a broken record, refusing to let you breathe.

Grabbing a cup, you poured an obscene amount of vodka into the punch, not bothering to measure or mix it properly. You downed a long sip, the liquid scorching your throat and making your eyes water, but it did nothing to dull the fire raging inside you. If anything, the alcohol only stoked it.

Wendy had no right—no fucking right—to call you out like that in front of everyone. Sure, what she said wasn’t a lie. You had slept with Stan a few weeks ago, back when he and Wendy were on a break and you weren’t dating Kyle yet. It had been messy, impulsive, and wrong, but it had happened. And now, standing at this goddamn party with her stupid smirk haunting you, you couldn’t help but wonder if she somehow knew.

That thought made your stomach churn. If Wendy had pieced it together, if she knew about that night, why hadn’t she just said it outright? Was this her way of testing you, of dangling the secret in front of you to see if you’d crack? And why the hell did she get to play the victim when she was the one who’d broken things off with Stan in the first place?

Your grip on the cup tightened as you took another long drink, the vodka hitting hard and fast. It wasn’t just guilt swirling in your chest anymore—it was anger. The nerve she had to humiliate you like that, to use the game as a platform to dig at you. Wendy Testaburger always had to act like she was above the drama, but tonight, she’d drawn first blood.

You weren’t proud of sleeping with Stan, but it wasn’t like you’d gone out of your way to hurt anyone. He’d been vulnerable; you’d been vulnerable. It had just happened. And now, weeks later, with Kyle’s steady presence pulling you out of your mess, you’d tried to move on. But Wendy wouldn’t let you.

You took another drink, the alcohol numbing the edges of your better judgment as your eyes drifted back toward the bonfire. Wendy was still there, sitting near Heidi and Bebe, her legs crossed as she casually sipped her drink. The group was still playing truth or dare, the atmosphere around the fire buzzing with drunken excitement and misplaced bravado. She looked so calm, like nothing had happened, like she hadn’t just turned your world upside down in the span of thirty seconds.

And that made you furious.

Your chest tightened as you thought about the way she’d spoken to you, the deliberate jab about your feelings for Stan. She’d laid it out for everyone to hear, exposing you in a way that made your stomach twist. But she hadn’t said everything. She hadn’t called you out on the one thing you were sure would light this party on fire. Maybe she didn’t know after all. Or maybe she was saving it for later, keeping it in her back pocket like some kind of trump card.

Either way, you weren’t going to sit back and let her win. You hadn’t wanted any of this—hadn’t wanted the feelings, the mess, the fallout—but if Wendy thought she could humiliate you without consequence, she was dead wrong. She wanted to play games? Fine. You’d give her a game to remember.

Your hands trembled as you drained the rest of your drink, the alcohol swirling through your veins and fueling the anger rising in your chest. You glanced back at the bonfire, at Wendy’s cool, composed expression, and a sharp grin tugged at your lips.

With unsteady steps, you made your way back to the bonfire, your head buzzing and your emotions teetering on the edge of control. You plopped down next to Kyle without a word, your cup dangling loosely in your hand. He gave you a concerned glance but didn’t say anything, and you didn’t acknowledge him, your focus entirely on the game as it carried on.

Time blurred as the dares grew wilder and the truths edged closer to outright humiliation. The tension in your chest built with every turn, and finally, Kenny’s mischievous grin landed on you.

“Alright, [Y/N],” he called, his tone dripping with anticipation. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” you said, your voice louder than you’d intended but steady enough to catch everyone’s attention. The alcohol had stripped away every filter you had, leaving only the raw, simmering anger you could no longer contain.

Kenny raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the shift in energy. “Ooh, big talk. Alright, let’s see—”

You stood up abruptly, cutting him off. The group fell silent as their attention snapped to you, the crackling of the bonfire the only sound breaking the stillness. With deliberate steps, you made your way toward Wendy. She looked up at you as you approached, her expression still maddeningly composed, like she couldn’t be bothered to care.

You crouched down to her level, close enough that she couldn’t ignore you, and locked your eyes on hers. When you spoke, your voice was calm—deadly calm. Each word was deliberate, sharp, and unwavering.

“You want a truth, Kenny?” you said, not breaking eye contact with Wendy. “Here’s one: I slept with Stan. A few weeks ago. While you two were on a break.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting. You didn’t flinch, didn’t waver, your calm tone making the confession hit harder than if you’d screamed it.

Wendy’s eyes widened, the composed mask she always wore cracking for the first time. For a split second, she looked stunned, her lips parting slightly as though she were struggling to find the right words. Around you, the party had gone completely silent. The laughter and chatter were gone, replaced by the soft crackle of the fire and the sound of your own heartbeat roaring in your ears.

You stood up slowly, stepping back from Wendy as her expression twisted into something you couldn’t quite name—betrayal, fury, and disbelief all swirling together. Your eyes flicked briefly to Stan, who sat frozen, his face pale and his jaw tight as he stared at you. Kyle was staring too, his green eyes wide and confused, his lips parted as if to say something, but no words came.

Without another word, you turned on your heel, your legs unsteady beneath you, and began walking away from the bonfire, heading toward Stan’s house in the distance.

You didn’t get far before Cartman’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. “Holy shit, did that actually just happen?” he barked, his tone a mix of disbelief and glee. “I mean, I knew you were messy, but this? This is next-level soap opera trash.”

You froze mid-step, your shoulders stiffening as the murmurs around the fire grew louder. Before you could respond, Kenny jumped in, his voice rising over the din. “Alright, alright, everybody calm the fuck down,” he said, his usual amusement tinged with something more serious. “This is my goddamn birthday party, and I did not sign up for a telenovela, so can we not?”

“Don’t fucking tell me to calm down,” Wendy snapped, her voice sharp as a whip. You turned just in time to see her stand, her eyes blazing as she fixed her glare on you. “You’re just gonna drop that and walk away? That’s it?”

Before you could say anything, Stan finally spoke up, his voice low and strained. “Wendy, stop.” His expression was tight, his blue eyes darting between you and Wendy with an almost desperate edge. “This isn’t the time for this.”

Wendy let out a harsh laugh, her anger bubbling over. “Not the time? Are you serious, Stan? She just admitted to sleeping with you, and you—” Her voice cracked slightly as she gestured wildly at him. “You’re just gonna sit there?”

“I didn’t think it mattered,” Stan said, his tone defensive but quieter now. “We were on a break.”

“Didn’t think it mattered?” Wendy hissed, her voice climbing. “You didn’t think it mattered to tell me that you slept with her?”

You flinched at the venom in her tone, but before you could react, another voice rang out—Kyle’s. “What the fuck is going on here?” His voice was colder than you’d ever heard it, his expression a storm of confusion and hurt as he stepped closer to the fire. “Are you fucking kidding me, Stan?”

Kyle’s words seemed to ignite something in the group, and the party dissolved into chaos. People whispered and shouted all at once, their overlapping voices rising in a cacophony of disbelief and speculation. Kenny tried to cut in again, his arms raised as if to physically halt the train wreck unfolding before him. “Hey, can we maybe not burn this party to the ground, you psychos?”

But Kyle wasn’t listening. His focus was locked on Stan as he began walking toward him, his fists clenched at his sides. “You slept with her?” he demanded, his voice cold and unyielding. “You knew I liked her, and you—” He stopped short, shaking his head as his words caught in his throat. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Stan stood up slowly, his hands raised in a placating gesture, but his face was pale, his voice strained. “Kyle, it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t planned, okay? It just—”

“Don’t fucking finish that sentence,” Kyle cut him off, his voice dangerously low now. “You didn’t ‘plan’ it? You’re supposed to be my best friend, Stan.”

Stan’s face fell, his shoulders slumping under the weight of Kyle’s words. But before he could respond, Wendy stepped forward, her voice razor-sharp and trembling with fury. “Oh, don’t even start, Stan,” she snapped, her arms crossed tight against her chest. “You didn’t ‘plan’ it? That’s your excuse? You didn’t tell me because you thought you’d get away with it. Just admit it.”

Stan’s head snapped up, his blue eyes wide with something close to panic. “That’s not what happened—”

“Isn’t it?” Wendy cut him off, stepping closer, her words growing colder with every syllable. “You didn’t even stop to think about what it would do to me—or to her. You just did what you wanted, and now you’re standing here like you’re the victim. Is that what you’re trying to do, Stan? Make yourself look innocent?”

“Okay, everyone take a fucking breath,” Kenny interjected, stepping toward the group with his hands raised like he was refereeing a match on the verge of bloodshed. “This is my goddamn birthday party, not a therapy session. Can we all just chill for five minutes?”

Wendy ignored him, her fiery glare locked on Stan, but her words were aimed at you now. “And you,” she hissed, her tone like ice. “I expected this from him. But you? What the hell were you thinking? Were you just waiting for me to be out of the way? Waiting for the perfect moment to stab me in the back?”

You flinched under her words, the venom in her tone cutting deeper than you thought possible. “It wasn’t like that,” you said, your voice trembling.

“Wasn’t it?” Wendy shot back, her voice rising. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you couldn’t wait to take your shot.”

“Seriously, guys,” Kenny interrupted again, his voice growing louder as he stepped between the two of you. “Can we just not? Take a deep fucking breath and talk this out later—not in front of fifty people.”

“Stay out of it, Kenny,” Wendy snapped, her focus still on you. “This isn’t your business.”

Kyle’s voice broke through next, louder and more desperate than anyone else’s. “How long has this been going on?” he demanded, his green eyes wide and filled with disbelief as they flicked between you and Stan. “How long have you two been lying to me?”

Your chest tightened painfully, and you opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. The guilt and shame were too heavy, pressing down on you like a weight you couldn’t escape.

Kyle turned fully toward you now, his voice breaking. “And you… why?” he asked, his tone raw and pleading. “Why didn’t you just tell me? Why let me think—” He cut himself off, shaking his head as his hands trembled at his sides. “I thought you cared about me. I thought—” His voice cracked, and he let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t even know what to think anymore.”

The tension in the air was unbearable, suffocating. Kenny waved his arms dramatically, his voice rising in a last-ditch effort to cut through the chaos. “Alright, that’s enough! Everybody shut the fuck up and drink some goddamn punch before you kill each other.”

But no one listened. The fire crackled loudly in the silence, and all you could do was stand there, your chest heaving as Kyle’s words echoed in your head. Finally, the weight became too much. Without a word, you turned and started walking toward Stan’s house, your vision blurring with tears. You couldn’t stay here—not with Wendy’s accusations and Kyle’s heartbreak clawing at you from both sides.

“Don’t walk away from me!” Kyle’s voice cracked behind you, sharp and desperate. “I’m fucking talking to you!”

You froze mid-step, your shoulders stiffening. Slowly, you turned back to him, tears streaking your face. “And what do you want me to say, Kyle?” you asked, your voice trembling. “That I’m sorry? That I made a mistake? You think I don’t already know that?”

Kyle’s expression twisted, his jaw tightening as he stepped closer. “A mistake?” he repeated, his voice laced with disbelief and anger. “That’s what you call this? You didn’t just make a mistake—you lied to me. You hid it from me. You let me think—” His voice broke, and he ran a hand through his hair, his movements frantic. “You let me think there was something real here. But you didn’t care enough to tell me the truth.”

“I do care!” you shouted, your voice cracking as the emotions you’d been holding back came spilling out. “You don’t think this is killing me too? You don’t think I know how badly I fucked up?”

Kenny groaned loudly in the background, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Cool, yeah, let’s all just scream at each other! Definitely the vibe I wanted for my birthday, you assholes.”

Tears blurred your vision as you turned away again, picking up your pace toward Stan’s house. The sound of your own heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out Kenny’s frustrated muttering and the stunned murmurs of the party. But then you heard it—Kyle’s footsteps, fast and determined, chasing after you.

“I said don’t walk away from me!” Kyle yelled, his voice raw and furious. “You don’t just get to run away from this!”

You quickened your pace, your legs moving faster as panic surged through your chest. “Just leave me alone, Kyle!” you shouted over your shoulder, but his footsteps didn’t falter.

“I’m not letting you run from this!” he shouted back, his voice breaking as he started running. “You don’t get to fucking run from me!”

The adrenaline coursing through your veins pushed you into a full sprint, the night air sharp and cold as it tore against your skin. Behind you, Kyle’s voice roared, raw and furious, cutting through the darkness like a knife. “STOP FUCKING RUNNING, [Y/N]! YOU DON’T GET TO RUN AWAY FROM THIS SHIT!”

“FUCK YOU, KYLE!” you screamed back, your breath hitching as your legs burned with each desperate step. “I’M NOT RUNNING FROM THIS—I’M RUNNING FROM YOUR ASS!”

The words flew out of you like a challenge, fueled by the anger and panic boiling inside. Every step you took felt heavier, your lungs straining to keep up, but you didn’t dare stop. Kyle was faster, taller, and his longer strides were closing the distance fast. The only thing keeping you ahead was sheer desperation and the miracle of your head start.

“FUCKING BULLSHIT!” he roared, his footsteps thundering closer. “YOU THINK THIS IS RUNNING AWAY? YOU’RE JUST TOO FUCKING SCARED TO FACE ME!”

Stan’s house loomed ahead, the porch light dimly flickering like some cruel beacon of hope. Your heart pounded harder as you pushed yourself up the steps, the voices from the party still faint in the background. You could just barely hear Wendy’s biting tone and Stan’s weak attempts at damage control, but none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was getting inside and putting anything between you and Kyle.

You hit the porch at full speed, grabbing the screen door and yanking it open with so much force you nearly ripped it off its hinges. Throwing yourself through the threshold, you spun around and slammed it shut with a deafening bang. The latch clicked weakly—it wouldn’t hold for long, and you knew it—but it was better than nothing.

Kyle’s voice exploded from just outside. “OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR, [Y/N]!” The sound of him pounding against the screen door followed, the flimsy frame shaking violently under his grip. “YOU CAN’T FUCKING HIDE FROM ME!”

You stumbled through the dimly lit living room, your chest heaving as your legs struggled to carry you further. The familiar space blurred around you as you tore toward the stairs, the sound of Kyle wrenching the screen door open sending a fresh surge of panic through your veins.

“STOP FUCKING RUNNING, GODDAMMIT!” he bellowed, his voice reverberating through the house.

Your foot hit the bottom step, and you practically launched yourself up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Your muscles burned, and your breath came in ragged gasps as you reached the landing. Behind you, Kyle’s footsteps pounded against the hardwood, the sound of his pursuit growing louder and angrier with every passing second.

Without thinking, you darted into Stan’s room, your trembling hands slamming the door shut behind you. The heavy thud echoed through the space as you fumbled with the lock. The room smelled like a mix of sweat, cologne, and weed—a painfully familiar scent that grounded you for only a split second before the panic returned.

Your eyes darted around the room, wild and desperate, until you spotted the narrow space between Stan’s bed and the wall. Without hesitation, you dove into it, curling up tightly and pressing your hand over your mouth to muffle your breathing.

The house was filled with the sound of Kyle’s wrath. “WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!” he yelled, his voice dripping with fury as he stomped through the upstairs hallway. Doors slammed open one after another, each loud bang making your heart jump into your throat.

You squeezed your eyes shut, biting down hard on your lip to keep from making a sound. Your breathing was shallow, and your chest felt like it was going to explode from the tension coiling inside of you.

Kyle’s voice came again, sharper and louder now, directly outside the door to Stan’s room. “I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE, YOU FUCKING COWARD!” The doorknob rattled violently, and then came a hard bang as he shoved against it. “YOU CAN’T FUCKING HIDE FOREVER!”

Your entire body tensed, your back pressed hard against the wall as the room fell silent except for the sound of the door shaking under his force. You clamped your hand tighter over your mouth, willing yourself to disappear as his voice rang out again, venomous and enraged.

“When I get in there, we’re finishing this,” he spat, the edge of his voice so sharp it sent shivers down your spine. “You’re not fucking running away from me again.”

Your chest heaved as you pressed further against the wall, every muscle in your body trembling. Kyle’s voice was a storm, each word crashing against the fragile barrier of the door like waves threatening to break through. The doorknob rattled again, harder this time, followed by a loud bang as his fist collided with the wood.

“You can’t keep hiding from me!” he shouted, his tone raw, his words drenched in desperation. “You think this is gonna fix anything? You think running upstairs and shutting a door is gonna make this shitstorm disappear?”

Your breath hitched as his voice grew quieter, his tone dropping into something unnervingly calm but no less intense. “I thought we had something real,” he said, his words slow and deliberate. “You—me—we were supposed to be solid. You were supposed to be mine.”

His voice cracked, the sound making your chest tighten painfully. “I fucking trusted you, [Y/N]. I trusted you with everything, and you—” He paused, his breathing heavy as his fists collided with the door again. “You didn’t just break my heart. You fucking shattered it.”

The door shuddered under his assault, and you curled further into yourself, your hand clamped over your mouth to keep your sobs silent. But Kyle wasn’t done.

“You can’t just throw me away!” he screamed, his voice breaking completely. “I don’t care how much you hate me right now. I don’t care if you’re scared. You don’t get to pretend this didn’t happen. You don’t get to fucking leave me!” His words came faster now, unhinged and desperate, each one sharper than the last.

He banged on the door again, his fists pounding with such force you thought it might crack. “I’ll make you see, [Y/N]! We can fix this—I can fix this! We’re supposed to be together. You, me—it’s us against the world, right?”

Kyle’s words grew even louder, echoing through the house. “Don’t you fucking get it? You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.” His voice softened for a moment, but the edge was still there, sharp and cutting. “You’re all I ever wanted, and you think you can just walk away? That’s not how this ends.”

The intensity of his voice reminded you of something unhinged, like a switch had flipped inside him, and now there was no going back. He slammed his fist against the door one more time, harder than before. “Fine. You want to run? You want to keep pretending I don’t matter? Guess what, [Y/N]—you do matter. To me. More than anything.”

There was a beat of silence, and for a moment, you thought he might give up. But then his voice came again, softer but laced with a chilling resolve. “I’m not going anywhere. You and me? We’re meant to be. So open the fucking door before I do it for you.”

His words echoed in your mind, their weight pressing down on you like a vise. You knew the door wouldn’t hold much longer. Each pounding strike made the hinges groan and the thin wood shake. His voice was louder now, raw and filled with something that teetered between desperation and fury.

“[Y/N], OPEN THE DOOR!” Kyle bellowed, his fists slamming against the wood so hard you flinched with every hit. “OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR, PLEASE!”

You bit your lip, tears streaking your cheeks as you tried to steady your ragged breathing. Your heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of your chest, the fear and adrenaline crashing over you like waves. But Kyle wasn’t stopping.

“DON’T MAKE ME COME IN THERE!” he yelled, his voice cracking as the force behind his pounding increased. The doorknob rattled violently under his grip, but you didn’t move from your spot behind the bed. “I SWEAR TO GOD, [Y/N], YOU’RE GOING TO MAKE ME DO THIS!”

You clamped a hand over your mouth, trying to stifle the sound of your sobs, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t listening anymore. He was consumed, his voice growing louder and more unhinged with every word. “I’M GOING TO COUNT TO THREE,” he shouted, his tone now more of a command than a plea. “ONE!”

The door groaned as his fist slammed against it again, a loud crack following the impact. Your entire body tensed as you buried your face against your knees, praying it would hold just a little longer.

“TWO!” he yelled, the sound reverberating through the house. The doorknob rattled harder now, and you could hear the wood splintering under the force of his blows.

Then there was a pause—a brief, suffocating silence that seemed to stretch for an eternity.

“THREE!” Kyle roared, and with one final, deafening crash, the doorknob gave way. The door swung open violently, slamming against the wall behind it. The sound echoed in your ears, and your stomach dropped as Kyle stormed into the room.

His chest heaved with every breath, his face red and contorted with a mix of anger, frustration, and something deeper—something broken. His green eyes scanned the room wildly, and when they landed on you, curled up behind the bed, they softened for the briefest moment. But the softness was fleeting, quickly replaced by the same burning intensity that had driven him to break the door down.

“Why the fuck are you hiding?” he demanded, his voice trembling as he took a step closer. “You think I’m going to let you run away like that? You think I’m just going to let you go?”

“Kyle, please,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your pounding heart. “Just… please stop.”

“Stop?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “You don’t get to tell me to stop, [Y/N]. Not after all of this. Not after everything you’ve done.” He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, pacing a few steps before turning back to you. “You don’t get to shut me out. Not now.”

Your tears blurred your vision as you shook your head, your back pressing harder against the wall. “I’m sorry,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry, Kyle. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“Sorry?” he said, laughing bitterly as he looked at you with wide, manic eyes. “You think sorry fixes this? You think it fixes the fact that you lied to me? That you—” He stopped, his voice cracking, and clenched his fists tightly at his sides. “That you chose him over me?”

You pushed yourself further into the corner, your body trembling as his words washed over you. There was no escape, no way to run, and the reality of that sent a fresh wave of panic crashing down on you. Kyle stood over you now, his towering frame blocking out the dim light from the hallway as his eyes bore into yours.

“We’re going to finish this,” he said, his voice calmer now but no less intense. “You’re not running. You’re not hiding. Not anymore.”

Your chest heaved, and your breathing came in sharp, uneven gasps. Tears streamed down your face, hot and unrelenting, as the weight of everything bore down on you. Words tumbled from your lips in a desperate, frantic ramble, your voice trembling with hiccups and sobs.

“I—Kyle, I didn’t—” you stammered, shaking your head as you tried to form a coherent thought. “It was before—before us. I swear, I—I didn’t mean for it to happen. We weren’t even… we weren’t together yet. I didn’t think it would matter. I didn’t think—”

Your words broke off in a sob, and you buried your face in your hands, your voice muffled but no less frantic. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I never wanted this, Kyle. It just—it just happened. He—he was there, and I wasn’t thinking, and—”

You trailed off, choking on the lump in your throat, your hands shaking as you clutched at your knees. The tears blurred your vision, making Kyle’s looming figure appear like a hazy shadow. Your entire body trembled, the adrenaline mixing with the overwhelming guilt and fear coursing through you.

“I should’ve told you,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper, your words punctuated by hiccuping sobs. “I should’ve told you, but I was scared. I didn’t know how to say it, and then we… and then we happened, and I thought—” You shook your head again, your voice rising in pitch. “I thought it didn’t matter anymore because you were the one I wanted. You’re the one I love.”

The room fell into a suffocating silence, your ragged breathing the only sound breaking the stillness. You dared to look up at him, your tear-filled eyes meeting his.

Kyle just stared at you, his chest heaving as he processed your words. His green eyes were wide, the fury in them unmistakable. But there was something else there too—something deeper, more fractured. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, his face frozen in an expression of shock and disbelief.

“Kyle,” you said softly, your voice trembling, but he didn’t respond. His jaw was tight, his hands curled into fists at his sides as if he was trying to physically hold himself together. The tension in the room was palpable, pressing down on you like a crushing weight.

His silence felt worse than any yelling could have, worse than any accusations. It was as though he couldn’t even find the words to express the magnitude of his hurt and rage. And that silence, that heavy, suffocating silence, filled the room like a living thing.

“Kyle,” you tried again, your voice cracking, but he still didn’t answer. He just stood there, staring at you with wide, furious eyes, his emotions storming just beneath the surface.

Then, suddenly, he laughed—a sharp, bitter sound that made your stomach twist. It wasn’t humor. It was anger. Pain. Madness. He ran a hand through his hair, his laugh breaking into a scoff as he shook his head.

“I really loved you, you know?” he said, his voice dripping with something raw and dangerous. “Like, actually fucking loved you. Do you have any idea what that feels like? To care about someone so much, it drives you fucking insane?” His words were fast, spilling out like a dam had burst, his green eyes wild as they locked onto yours. “To think about them every second of the day? To wonder if you’re good enough? To hope—no, to fucking pray—that maybe they’ll look at you the same way?”

“Kyle, I—”

“Don’t.” He cut you off sharply, his tone like a slap. “Don’t fucking say you loved me too. Because if you did, this?” He gestured wildly around the room, his hand trembling. “This wouldn’t have fucking happened. You wouldn’t have done this to me.”

You felt your back press harder against the wall as his voice rose, the anger bubbling up and spilling out in waves. His words hit like punches, each one sinking into your chest and leaving you gasping for air.

Slowly, shakily, you pushed yourself up from the floor, your knees trembling as you tried to steady yourself. “Kyle, I’m sorry,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I need to go. We can talk about this later, but right now, I need to—”

You started to move toward the door, but before you could reach it, Kyle stepped in front of you, his hand slamming against the wood with a deafening bang. The door rattled under the force, and you froze, your breath catching in your throat as he turned to face you, his eyes blazing.

“You’re not fucking going anywhere,” he said, his voice low and venomous. His chest heaved with every breath, his entire body tense as he blocked your path. “Not until we finish this.”

“Kyle, please,” you said, your voice trembling as you took a small step back. But before you could say anything else, his hand shot out, grabbing your arm with a grip that wasn’t painful but firm enough to make your heart race.

“Don’t ‘Kyle, please’ me,” he snapped, his voice rising again as he pushed you back. Your legs hit the edge of Stan’s bed, and you stumbled, falling onto the mattress as the breath was knocked out of you. The room spun for a moment, the adrenaline in your veins making it hard to focus as Kyle loomed over you.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?” he demanded, his voice trembling with a mix of fury and anguish. “Do you even care? Or is this all just some fucking game to you?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. Your body shook as his shadow stretched over you, the weight of his presence suffocating. The tears streaming down your face blurred your vision, but you could still see the storm of emotions in his eyes—anger, heartbreak, betrayal.

Kyle took a deep, ragged breath, his shoulders shaking as he seemed to catch himself. He stepped back slightly, running a hand through his hair again as his jaw clenched. “You don’t get to run,” he muttered, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “Not after everything. You owe me that much.”

Your chest tightened, his words pressing down on you like a weight you couldn’t bear. “I’m not running, Kyle,” you stammered, your voice trembling, tears streaming freely down your face. “I swear, I’m not. I just think—maybe we should talk about this when we’re not so—so worked up. When we can actually—”

“Shut up,” Kyle snapped, cutting you off, his voice sharp and dripping with venom. He didn’t let you finish, didn’t let you explain. Instead, he surged forward, his hands grabbing your face roughly, and his lips crushed against yours.

The kiss was harsh, desperate, and filled with everything Kyle was feeling in that moment—anger, betrayal, heartbreak. It wasn’t tender or loving; it was raw, almost punishing, like he was trying to make you feel the depth of his pain through sheer force.

For a moment, you froze, overwhelmed by the heat of his lips and the intensity of his grip. But as tears streamed down your face, you found yourself kissing him back, your hands rising hesitantly to press against his chest. Even now, even with the fear gripping your chest, you couldn’t stop yourself from responding. Because you loved him, even when he scared you, even when his touch felt like fire.

Your lips moved against his, your tears mixing with the saltiness of his skin. But his anger didn’t fade—it was there in the way his lips moved, rough and demanding, in the way his hands held your face like he was claiming something he believed was his.

When he finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged, his green eyes burning with fury. “You kissed me back,” he said, his voice low and biting. “You’re so fucking pathetic, you know that? Crying and acting scared, but you still kissed me like you think it fixes this.”

Your breath hitched at the venom in his words, and you shook your head, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “Kyle, please, I—”

“Don’t,” he snarled, his hands dropping from your face as he stepped back, looking down at you like you were something disgusting. “You don’t get to fucking beg me. You don’t get to cry and act like you’re the victim in this. You did this, [Y/N]. You. You’re the reason we’re here.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you choked out, your voice breaking as your sobs grew louder. “I never wanted—”

“You never wanted?” he cut you off, laughing bitterly as he ran a hand through his hair. “What the fuck did you think would happen, huh? That you’d sleep with Stan, and everything would magically be okay? That I wouldn’t find out? Or were you hoping I’d be so fucking in love with you that I’d just forgive you? Pretend it didn’t happen?”

His words hit you like a slap, each one sinking deep and leaving you gasping for air. “I was scared,” you whispered, barely able to speak through the lump in your throat. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Scared,” he repeated, scoffing as he glared at you. “Yeah, well, now I’m fucking terrified. Terrified of how much I hate you right now. Do you get that, [Y/N]? I fucking hate you.”

Your knees buckled slightly at his words, your hands trembling as they clutched at the edge of Stan’s bed for support. “Kyle, I—”

“No,” he snapped, his voice rising again as he pointed at you. “Don’t. Don’t you dare try to apologize. You don’t get to make this better. You don’t get to act like this is fixable. You’re just—” His voice cracked, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You’re just a fucking liar. And I’m done.”

His words cut deep, each syllable slamming into you like a blow. Tears streamed down your face as you trembled, the weight of everything pressing down on your chest. But something in his words—the venom, the finality—ignited something in you. Your sobs hitched, and your body moved before your mind caught up.

“You think you’re the only one who’s hurt?” you snapped, your voice cracking but louder now, shaking with both anger and heartbreak. “You think I wanted this? That I chose this? I hate myself for what I did, Kyle. You don’t have to keep reminding me!”

Your breathing was uneven, your tears falling freely as your voice rose. “But don’t stand there and act like you’re the only one who’s broken! You think you can just scream at me and throw all this shit at me, like I’m not already drowning in it?”

Kyle froze, his eyes narrowing as your words hit him, but you didn’t stop. You took a step forward, your hands trembling as you reached up and grabbed the collar of his hoodie. “You hate me? Fine,” you said, your voice trembling but filled with fire. “You hate me? Then hate me. Show me.”

Before he could react, you wrapped your arms around his neck and yanked him down, crashing your lips against his in a kiss that was anything but soft. It was angry, desperate, a collision of every unspoken word and unrelenting emotion between you. Your tears mingled with the heat of his skin, the salt mixing with the raw intensity of the moment.

For a second, he didn’t move, his body tense and rigid against yours. But then his hands shot up, grabbing your arms roughly, and he kissed you back with the same fire. It wasn’t tender or loving—it was harsh, bruising, filled with anger and pain. His lips moved against yours with a desperation that mirrored your own, as if he was trying to consume every part of you in the chaos.

Your fingers curled into his hair, your tears spilling faster as your emotions poured into the kiss. It was messy, frantic, and full of everything neither of you could say. You could feel the hatred in his touch, in the way his hands gripped your arms, holding you in place as if you’d disappear if he let go.

When you finally pulled back, gasping for air, your faces were inches apart, your breaths mingling in the charged silence. Kyle’s green eyes burned into yours, his chest heaving, his hands lingering on your arms like he didn’t know whether to hold you closer or push you away.

Something inside you snapped. The tears on your cheeks burned, your emotions a chaotic storm of anger, pain, and something deeper you couldn’t name. Your arms slipped from around his neck and grabbed his shoulders instead, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as you glared up at him.

“I hate you,” you hissed, your voice trembling but forceful. “I hate you so fucking much right now, Kyle. You don’t even understand.”

Kyle’s jaw tightened, his lips parting slightly, but you didn’t give him a chance to respond. “You think you can just yell at me, tear me down, like I’m the only one who fucked up? Like I didn’t already know how much I ruined everything?” Your fingers gripped his shoulders harder, your voice rising with each word. “I hate the way you look at me, like I’m nothing. Like all the good between us never even existed. I hate how much I still care about you, even when you’re tearing me apart.”

As your words spilled out, you leaned closer, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck, rough and desperate, like you were trying to anchor yourself to him even as your anger boiled over. Kyle stiffened under your touch, but he didn’t push you away.

“I hate that you have this power over me,” you whispered against his skin, your voice breaking as your lips moved to the hollow of his throat. “I hate that no matter how much you hurt me, I still love you.”

Kyle’s breath hitched, and his hands twitched where they gripped your arms, but he still didn’t speak. You pressed another kiss to his neck, harder this time, your tears wetting his skin. “I hate that I can’t let you go,” you continued, your voice trembling. “I hate that even now, when you’re looking at me like you’d rather I disappear, all I want is to be close to you.”

Your kisses grew more frantic, more desperate, as your emotions spilled out in broken, gasping words. “I hate you,” you said again, your lips brushing the edge of his jaw as your hands clung to him. “I hate you so much it hurts.”

Kyle finally moved, his hands gripping your arms tighter, his breathing ragged. “Stop,” he said, his voice low and uneven. “Just… stop.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Your lips pressed against his neck again, softer this time but no less insistent, and his hands trembled against you. His body felt like a live wire under your touch, tense and coiled with emotions that mirrored your own.

“Why should I?” you whispered, your voice breaking as fresh tears fell. “Why should I stop when you’ve already destroyed me?”

Without waiting for a response, you grabbed Kyle by the front of his hoodie and yanked him down, forcing him to sit on the edge of the bed. His body fell heavily onto the mattress, his green eyes wide with shock as you climbed onto his lap, straddling him with trembling legs. Your hands shot up to cup his face, your fingers gripping his cheeks firmly as your tears continued to stream.

“I hate you, Kyle,” you said again, your voice quieter now but no less sharp. “I hate you so much, and I hate myself even more for still wanting you.”

You stared at him, your tear-filled eyes locked onto his as a new wave of emotion surged through you. The anger and hurt bubbling in your chest broke free, spilling out in words you didn’t even know you were holding back. “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?” you spat, your voice shaking. “You’re acting like I cheated on you or stabbed you in the back when I slept with Stan before we were even dating.”

Kyle’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as you kept going, the words coming faster, sharper. “We weren’t together, Kyle! And now you’re chasing me down, banging on doors, screaming like a goddamn lunatic, and for what? To scare the shit out of me? To make me hate you even more?”

Your chest heaved as the words left you, and Kyle’s gaze flickered, his hands still gripping your wrists tightly. Then, without warning, he pushed you backward, his hands releasing you as your back hit the mattress with a soft thud. Your eyes went wide, your breath catching in your throat as his body hovered over yours, his presence overwhelming and intense.

Your heart raced as his hands planted on either side of your head, his green eyes boring into yours with a mix of fury and something deeper, something darker. For a moment, you froze, unsure of what he was going to do next. But instead of pushing him away, your hands moved on instinct, wrapping around his neck and pulling him closer.

Kyle’s breathing was heavy, his chest brushing against yours as he leaned down, his face inches from yours. “You don’t get to justify it like that,” he said, his voice low and sharp, trembling with emotion. “You don’t get to act like what you did doesn’t matter just because of timing. You broke something in me, [Y/N]. You fucking broke me.”

Tears welled in your eyes again as his words sank in, the raw emotion in his voice cutting deep. “And what about me?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Do you think I’m not broken too? Do you think I don’t hate myself for what I did to you?”

His eyes softened for a split second, but the tension between you didn’t ease. His face hovered close to yours, the heat of his breath against your skin sending shivers down your spine. You tightened your grip around his neck, pulling him even closer until your foreheads were almost touching.

“I hate you, Kyle,” you whispered again, tears spilling down your cheeks. “But I love you too, and I don’t know how to stop.”

Kyle’s eyes burned into yours for a moment, his chest heaving as if he were trying to catch his breath. Then, without warning, he pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was loud, forceful, and full of anger. It wasn’t soft or loving—it was bruising, demanding, almost punishing, as if he was pouring all of his rage and frustration into the kiss.

Your tears mixed with the heat of his lips, your mind racing as you felt the intensity of him overwhelm you. Instead of pulling away, you leaned into it, your body moving on instinct. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, and you opened your mouth to deepen the kiss, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his hoodie.

The kiss was frantic, messy, and raw, fueled by the storm of emotions that neither of you could control. His hands gripped the mattress on either side of your head, his knuckles white with tension, as though he was holding himself back even as he gave in. You could feel the heat of his frustration, the sting of his anger, but beneath it all, there was something else—something desperate, something broken.

Your hands moved up to his hair, your fingers curling into the strands as you tugged lightly, a sob catching in your throat as the kiss deepened further. You didn’t know if this was love, hate, or some twisted combination of both, but you couldn’t stop. His lips moved against yours with bruising intensity, his teeth grazing your lower lip as if he wanted to leave his mark on you.

Kyle’s grip on the mattress loosened, his hands moving to your waist, his fingers digging into your sides as if to anchor himself. His movements were rough, almost desperate, as though he was trying to make you feel every ounce of what he was feeling. And you let him, your body responding to his with the same intensity, the same fire, even as the tears continued to fall.

But then, something inside you snapped. The heat, the intensity—it all became too much. You pushed against his chest, your palms firm, and he stumbled back slightly, his green eyes wide with surprise. Without saying a word, you sat up and swung your legs off the bed, your hands moving to the laces of your shoes.

Your breathing was ragged as you yanked at the knots, your hands shaking from a mixture of anger and adrenaline. You muttered to yourself under your breath, the words barely audible over the pounding of your heart. “What am I even doing… What the fuck is this…”

Kyle stayed where he was, his chest rising and falling as he watched you, his expression clouded with confusion and frustration. “What the hell are you doing now?” he finally asked, his voice sharp but uncertain.

You ignored him at first, tugging your shoes off and tossing them to the side. Rising to your feet, you wiped the tears from your cheeks with the back of your hand, your lips curling into a sneer. “You want to know something, Kyle?” you said, your voice low but full of venom. “I bet you wish I was Wendy.”

His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as your words hit him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you spat, your hands trembling as they moved to the waistband of your tights. “Back at the bonfire, when we were playing truth or dare—remember that? When Kenny asked you who here you’d date if it wasn’t me?” Your voice cracked slightly, but you pushed through it, your anger flaring higher. “And you didn’t even hesitate. You picked Wendy.”

Kyle’s face twisted, his expression shifting to one of frustration mixed with guilt. “That didn’t mean anything,” he said quickly, his voice hard but defensive. “It was a fucking game, [Y/N]. You know that.”

“Do I?” you shot back, your voice rising as tears burned in your eyes again. “Because it didn’t feel like a game, Kyle. It felt real. And now I can’t stop thinking about it—about how you said her name like it was nothing.”

Kyle’s fists clenched at his sides, his eyes burning with anger now. “You’re being ridiculous,” he snapped. “You’re twisting this into something it’s not.”

“Am I?” you snapped, your hands shaking as you grabbed the waistband of your tights and pulled them down in one swift motion, letting them pool at your ankles before kicking them to the side. “You hate me, right? You hate me so fucking much, so why are you still here? Why are you still looking at me like that?”

His eyes flicked over you, his expression stormy and unreadable. The air between you was heavy, suffocating, as the silence stretched. His green eyes locked onto yours, a volatile mix of fury and something else—something he wouldn’t admit, something neither of you could name.

“You want to talk about Wendy?” you pressed, your voice trembling but unwavering. “Go ahead, Kyle. Tell me how much you wish I was her. Tell me how much easier all of this would be if I was Wendy fucking Testaburger.”

Kyle’s jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might snap. His chest heaved as he stared at you, his face twisted in frustration, his hands trembling at his sides. “You’re fucking insane,” he said finally, his voice low but biting, his tone matching the storm in his eyes.

You tilted your head slightly, your lips curling into a bitter smirk as the anger bubbling inside you broke free. “You’re fucking insane,” you mimicked, your voice low and mocking, throwing his words right back at him. You took a step closer, your bare legs brushing against his knees where he sat on Stan’s bed. His eyes followed you, his green gaze seething with frustration as you loomed over him.

“You want to call me insane?” you said, your voice rising as your emotions spilled out, hot and sharp. “Fine. Let’s talk about what you are, Kyle.”

You jabbed your index finger into his chest, your hand trembling as you pressed your point. “You’re a liar. A fucking hypocrite. You run after me, you bang on doors, you act like you own me—but you’re the one who said Wendy’s name without even blinking.”

His breath hitched slightly at your words, but you didn’t stop, your finger pressing harder against him. “And let me tell you something, Kyle,” you said, your voice dripping with venom. “Stan would never do this to me.”

Kyle’s eyes widened, his body stiffening as the words hit him. His chest rose and fell heavily, his jaw tightening further as his fists curled against the edge of the bed. “What the fuck did you just say?” he asked, his voice dangerously low, his tone trembling with restrained fury.

“You heard me,” you snapped, your sneer deepening as you leaned closer, your face inches from his. “Stan wouldn’t chase me down like a fucking maniac. He wouldn’t bang on doors, screaming at me like a lunatic. He wouldn’t make me feel like this.”

Kyle’s hand shot out suddenly, gripping your wrist tightly, his green eyes blazing with anger. “You don’t get to say that,” he growled, his voice shaking with emotion. “You don’t fucking get to say that after what you did.”

You yanked your wrist free, your own tears brimming again as you refused to back down. “Why not?” you shouted, your voice cracking. “Because it’s true? Because Stan was good to me, and you can’t stand the fact that you’re not?”

His hands trembled in his lap, his face twisted into an expression you couldn’t decipher. The silence between you crackled with tension, your words hanging heavy in the air like a weapon waiting to strike again.

Kyle finally looked up at you, his green eyes ablaze with anger and something darker, something sharp enough to cut. His lips curled into a sneer, and his voice dropped to a low, venomous growl. “You’re such a fucking slut,” he spat, each word landing like a slap.

You froze, blinking at him owlishly, his words ringing in your ears. The air seemed to shift around you, colder now, heavier, as his insult settled into the space between you. Your breath caught in your throat, your mind racing as you tried to process what he’d just said, tried to think of something to say back—something equally as sharp, equally as venomous.

Your jaw tightened as the weight of his words pressed down on you, and your lips parted, your voice trembling but filled with fire. “And you’re pathetic, Kyle,” you shot back, your tone low but dripping with venom. “You’re pathetic for still chasing after me, for wanting me so badly that you can’t even let me go.”

His sneer deepened, his fists curling tighter on his lap. “You think I fucking want you?” he snapped, his voice rising. “After everything you’ve done? After Stan?”

“Clearly you do!” you yelled, your voice cracking with the force of your emotion. “Or you wouldn’t be here, sitting on this bed, saying this shit to me!” You leaned closer, your hands trembling at your sides. “If I’m a slut, then what the fuck does that make you, Kyle? Huh? What does it make you?”

Kyle’s face twisted further, his jaw clenching so tightly you thought it might snap. “It makes me fucking stupid for ever thinking you were worth it,” he hissed, his voice shaking with rage.

Before you even realized what you were doing, your hand shot out and struck him across the face. The sharp crack of your palm against his cheek echoed in the tense room, reverberating like a thunderclap. Kyle’s head snapped to the side from the force, his hands frozen in his lap.

Your breath came in heavy gasps, your chest heaving as your tears spilled over, hot and unrelenting. You didn’t say anything, your body trembling as you stood there, the aftermath of your anger ringing in your ears. Kyle didn’t move. He didn’t react. He stayed completely still, his head tilted slightly, the red imprint of your hand stark against his pale cheek.

Something inside you shifted then, the weight of the moment pressing down on your shoulders like a tidal wave. You stepped closer to him, your breathing uneven as you slowly climbed onto his lap, your legs straddling him again. His body remained rigid beneath you, his fists clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles turned white.

Reaching up, your hands found his face, your fingers trembling as they brushed against the cheek you’d slapped. His skin was warm under your touch, the red mark of your anger standing out vividly. You didn’t speak. You didn’t try to explain yourself. Instead, you leaned in, pressing your lips softly against the same cheek you’d struck.

The kiss was hesitant at first, tender and uncertain, but you pressed harder, your lips lingering against his skin as your tears continued to fall. Another kiss followed, then another, your mouth moving gently over the flushed, reddened skin. It wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t meant to be. It was something else��something raw and desperate, an unspoken plea that you couldn’t put into words.

Kyle’s breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath you, but he still didn’t move. His hands remained at his sides, his fists trembling, as you kissed the anger and heat from his cheek. His jaw tightened as your lips brushed against the edge of it, but he didn’t push you away.

Tears dripped from your chin onto his shirt as you kissed him again, your hands sliding to cradle his face, your thumbs brushing against the line of his jaw. “You think I’m nothing,” you whispered softly against his cheek, your voice trembling but filled with fire. “But I don’t care what you think. I’m not afraid of you, Kyle.”

His green eyes flicked toward you, his expression still stormy, still filled with unrelenting anger. But there was something else in his gaze too—something you couldn’t name, something that made your chest ache.

“You can hate me all you want,” you murmured, your lips brushing over the edge of his cheek as you spoke. “But you don’t get to break me. Not like this.”

Before you could say anything else, Kyle turned his face sharply, and his lips crashed into yours. The kiss was frantic, uncoordinated, and filled with so much heat and anger that it left you breathless. His hands shot up, gripping your waist tightly, almost bruising, as though he was trying to ground himself—or keep you exactly where you were.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t tender. It was messy and desperate, full of everything neither of you could say aloud. Kyle’s teeth sank into your bottom lip, biting hard enough to make you gasp. The sound escaped you before you could stop it, and the moment your lips parted, his tongue slipped inside, exploring your mouth with an almost aggressive fervor.

Your hands found his shoulders, clutching him tightly as he kissed you harder, his movements rough and unrelenting. Heat bloomed in your chest and spread like wildfire, your entire body tingling with the intensity of the moment. You moaned softly against his lips, the sound muffled and involuntary, and immediately felt a flush of embarrassment spread across your face.

The heat between you became overwhelming, your bare thighs pressing against the rough denim of his jeans. His body was so hot against yours, every movement sending a jolt of sensation through you. You shifted slightly in his lap, trying to regain some semblance of control, but the motion only made things worse. The friction, the closeness—it was too much and not enough all at once.

Kyle’s grip on your waist tightened as you moved, his fingers digging into your skin as if he couldn’t bear the thought of you pulling away. His lips moved against yours with bruising intensity, his teeth grazing your lip again before pulling back just enough to murmur, “Don’t fucking stop.”

His voice was low, almost a growl, and it sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t find the words to respond. You weren’t even sure if you wanted to. Your hands slid from his shoulders to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as your lips met his again, your bodies pressing together as the tension between you boiled over, unrestrained and undeniable.

Kyle pulled away from the kiss, his lips swollen and red, a thin string of saliva connecting the two of you. His chest heaved, and as you looked at him, you noticed the flush spreading across his face, creeping up his neck and into the tips of his ears. It wasn’t just anger anymore—there was something raw and unguarded in his expression, something that sent a pang of uncertainty through your chest.

You squinted your eyes at him, your breaths still coming in short gasps. “What?” you muttered, the word sharp but shaky, your voice cracking from the whirlwind of emotions and sensations.

Kyle scoffed, his eyes narrowing as though your reaction irritated him. “Nothing,” he muttered, his tone defensive. He reached for the hem of his hoodie, yanking it up and over his head in one fluid motion. His shirt underneath rode up slightly, exposing a sliver of his stomach before he fixed it, tossing the hoodie carelessly to the floor.

Your gaze darted to the door, your mind racing. For a brief moment, you wondered if this was your chance—if you should just leave before the intensity between you spiraled even further out of control. The thought of staying, of seeing where this might go, sent both excitement and fear coursing through you. Your thighs twitched slightly against his lap as your heart pounded harder in your chest.

Kyle caught the flicker of your eyes toward the door, and his jaw tightened. “Don’t,” he warned, his voice low and commanding. His hands moved back to your waist, gripping you firmly but not harshly, like he was grounding you in place. “Don’t even fucking think about it.”

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. You couldn’t deny that part of you wanted to bolt, to escape the intensity of the moment and the mess of emotions swirling between you. But there was another part—a stronger, more desperate part—that couldn’t move, that didn’t want to move, no matter how much your mind screamed at you to go.

“What if I do?” you challenged, your voice quieter now but still defiant as your eyes met his. “What if I leave?”

Kyle’s grip on your waist tightened slightly, his green eyes burning into yours. “You won’t,” he said, his tone confident and edged with something darker, something possessive. “Because you’re still here. You’re still on my lap, aren’t you?”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and your hands, still resting on the back of his neck, flexed slightly as your breath hitched. You hated how much he was right—how much you didn’t want to leave, even as your mind screamed at you to walk out that door and never look back.

Kyle’s smirk deepened, his lips curling into something smug and infuriating. “That’s what I thought,” he said lowly, his voice a mix of arrogance and something darker, something that made your pulse quicken.

His fingers moved to the hem of your black long-sleeved turtleneck, toying with the fabric as though testing your resolve. You stayed still, your hands trembling slightly where they still rested on the back of his neck. Then, without warning, he tugged the turtleneck up and over your head, the cool air hitting your skin as the material was pulled away.

“Are you fucking serious?” you hissed, your eyes narrowing at him. “Stan could walk in here any second, and you’re—” You gestured vaguely, your voice dripping with disbelief. “You’re being a fucking weirdo.”

Kyle scoffed, tossing the turtleneck to the floor beside his hoodie. “Stan’s not coming back anytime soon,” he said, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. “And even if he did—” His eyes roamed over you, a glint of something possessive in his gaze. “Do you really think I care?”

You bristled, your cheeks heating under the intensity of his stare. “You should care, Kyle,” you snapped, your voice rising slightly. “This isn’t exactly—” You faltered, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “This isn’t normal. You’re acting like—like this is fine, like this isn’t completely insane.”

He tilted his head slightly, his smirk returning as his fingers grazed your waist, his touch light but deliberate. “I never said I was normal,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “And let’s be real—you’re not exactly running for the door, are you?”

His words hit a nerve, and you scowled, your hands tightening slightly on the back of his neck. “Because you’re a manipulative asshole,” you shot back, your voice trembling with frustration. “And I’m—”

“Still here,” Kyle interrupted, cutting you off with a knowing look. “Still on my lap. Still letting me do this.” His hands moved higher, his touch tracing along the bare skin of your sides. “Admit it, [Y/N]. You’re just as fucked up as I am.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, a fresh wave of anger and something you didn’t want to name surging through you. You opened your mouth to retort, to tell him off, but the intensity of his gaze held you in place, your words faltering as the tension between you grew thicker, more suffocating.

Unable to hold the weight of his stare, you turned your head, your eyes landing on the room around you. Stan’s bedroom. His guitar leaned against the corner, scuffed from years of use. Sports posters lined the walls, the edges curled from tape and time. And there, pinned haphazardly on the wall, a cluster of Polaroids. Your chest tightened as you scanned them—Stan with Kyle, their arms slung around each other, grinning at the camera, moments frozen in time that felt impossibly distant from the chaos you were living now.

You turned back to Kyle, your lips curling into a scowl. The sight of those Polaroids, their memories, only fueled the fire burning in your chest. Your fingers drifted to the hem of his shirt, toying with it idly as you leaned closer, your lips finding his neck. The kisses you pressed against his skin weren’t tender—they were open-mouthed, loud smacks, each one deliberate, each one meant to provoke.

Kyle’s body tensed under you, his hands pausing where they’d been gripping your waist. His breath hitched as your lips lingered near the hollow of his throat, but he didn’t pull away. Not yet.

“You want to know something, Kyle?” you murmured against his skin, your tone deceptively soft, your lips brushing the edge of his jaw. “Stan didn’t have to chase me. He didn’t have to scream or bang on doors to get me to give him what he wanted.”

His hands twitched on your waist, his grip tightening slightly, but he said nothing. You pressed another kiss to his neck, your fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt just enough to graze the bare skin beneath.

“Do you want to know where it happened?” you continued, your voice low and taunting, dripping with venom as your lips moved higher, brushing against his ear. “In the bathroom. At that shitty little performance venue. Stan leaned against the sink, and I—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Kyle growled, his voice low and dangerous, trembling with barely restrained fury.

You ignored him, your fingers digging into his sides as you pressed your lips to his jaw, your words unrelenting. “I knelt right there in front of him, and he—”

Before you could finish, Kyle shoved you back, his hands gripping your shoulders as he pushed you down onto the mattress. His green eyes burned with fury, his chest heaving as he loomed over you, his face twisted with an anger so raw it sent a shiver down your spine.

“You think this is fucking funny?” he spat, his voice sharp and venomous, trembling with rage. “You think you can just say that shit to me and get away with it?”

A bitter smile played on your lips as you looked up at him, defiant even now. “Why not?” you shot back, your voice trembling but steady enough to cut. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? Or does it hurt too much to hear?”

Kyle’s jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening where they gripped your shoulders. His green eyes burned with something unrelenting, something harsh and cruel that you hadn’t seen from him before. The silence between you stretched, thick and suffocating, before he finally broke it, his voice low and biting.

“You really think you mean anything to Stan?” he sneered, his lips curling into a bitter smirk. “You’re nothing to him. He loves Wendy—he always has, always will. You? You were just… easy. Convenient. Available.”

His words hit you like a blow, each one sinking deeper than the last. Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision, but you refused to let them fall. Your chest heaved as you struggled to keep your composure, your defiance flickering like a candle in a storm.

Kyle leaned closer, his grip tightening as he glared down at you. “You think you’re special? You’re not,” he spat, his tone laced with venom. “You were just something to pass the time, [Y/N]. You’re nothing.”

The tears pooled harder in your eyes, and your lips quivered despite your best efforts to keep steady. You opened your mouth to retaliate, to throw something—anything—back at him, but the lump in your throat made it impossible to speak.

Before you could react, Kyle’s hands moved to your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he yanked your skirt down in one swift motion. The movement was harsh, almost careless, and the fabric slipped from your body, pooling at your knees.

Your breath hitched, the tears finally spilling over as his words echoed in your mind, cutting deeper than any touch ever could. You hated him in this moment, hated the power he had over you, hated how much you cared despite everything. But most of all, you hated yourself for not stopping him, for letting his words sink in and make you feel small, even when you wanted so badly to be strong.

Kyle leaned in, his lips brushing against your chest with a deliberate slowness that felt cruel, almost taunting. His weight pressed into you now, pinning you against the mattress as his hands moved to your bra, his fingers toying with the fabric before sliding it down to your waist. His touch wasn’t tender—it was firm, almost dismissive, like he wasn’t trying to be careful with you.

Your hands found their way into his hair, your fingers clutching at the strands as tears streamed down your face. Your breath came in ragged gasps, each one shaky and uneven as your body reacted to the closeness despite the anger bubbling inside you. His lips pressed against your skin again, warm and purposeful, as if mocking your tears.

“You’re really crying right now?” he muttered against your skin, his voice cold and biting, dripping with disdain. “What did you think was going to happen? You think you can just say all that shit to me and expect me to care?”

The words cut into you like a blade, and your fingers trembled in his hair, your grip faltering. Tears blurred your vision as his hands moved, his touch rougher now, his actions filled with the same anger that laced his words.

“You don’t get to cry, [Y/N],” he continued, lifting his head to look down at you, his green eyes narrowed and blazing. “Not after everything you’ve done. Not after Stan.” His words dripped with venom, each syllable deliberately cruel, designed to hit you where it hurt most.

You tried to respond, to say something—anything—but the lump in your throat made it impossible to speak. Your tears came faster, your chest heaving as his gaze bore into you, unrelenting and cold. He scoffed, his lips curling into a sneer.

“Pathetic,” he muttered, his hands tightening on your waist. “You’re sitting here crying like you’re the victim. You’re not. You’re nothing.”

His words cut deeper than you thought possible, but you refused to let them break you entirely. As his hands left your body, you watched through blurry, tear-filled eyes as he leaned back, pulling his shirt off over his head. His movements were sharp, deliberate, and his green eyes raked over your form pressed against the mattress, lingering like he was trying to unravel you completely.

For a moment, you just stared up at him, your chest heaving as tears streaked your face. The tension between you was suffocating, the weight of his words still heavy in the air. Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, you let out the only thing you could manage.

“I hate you.”

The words trembled as they left your lips, but there was no hesitation, no doubt. Your arms moved on instinct, finding their way around his neck, pulling him back down toward you. Before he could react, your lips crashed into his, your kiss filled with anger, desperation, and something deeper that neither of you wanted to admit.

Kyle didn’t hesitate to respond. His lips met yours with bruising intensity, his hands returning to your waist, gripping you tightly as his knee pressed between your thighs, forcing them apart. The pressure was unrelenting, his weight heavy against you, grounding you in the chaos of the moment.

The kiss was messy, frantic, and filled with all the things you couldn’t say to each other. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as you kissed him harder, your tears still slipping down your cheeks. His knee shifted slightly against you, the movement deliberate, and a sharp gasp escaped your lips as you broke the kiss, your breath hitching in your throat.

Kyle’s green eyes burned into yours, his expression unreadable but no less intense. His hand moved to your jaw, his grip firm as he tilted your face up toward him, forcing you to hold his gaze. His lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm against your skin as the tension between you built to an unbearable peak.

“You hate me?” he muttered, his voice low and dangerous, his tone daring you to repeat it. His knee pressed harder against you, sending a shiver down your spine as your hands clung to him, your body trembling beneath his.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice shaky but defiant, your fingers tightening their hold on him. “I hate you.”

Kyle’s lips twitched into a smirk, his grip on your jaw tightening slightly as he leaned in, his breath brushing against your ear. “Then prove it,” he murmured, his voice a challenge, the storm between you threatening to consume you both entirely.

Your hands trembled as they moved to the waistband of his jeans, fingers deftly working to unbuckle the belt. The metallic clink of the buckle breaking free echoed in the charged silence of the room, but you didn’t falter. Your eyes stayed locked on his, your faces mere inches apart, every breath shared, heavy and heated.

Kyle’s gaze bore into yours, unrelenting, as if daring you to stop, to back down. But you didn’t. You tugged at the denim, forcing it down over his hips and thighs, the fabric bunching awkwardly until he shifted just enough to help you slide them lower. The motion was sharp and impatient, his weight shifting over you as the material slipped away.

Your breathing was uneven, your chest rising and falling rapidly as the tension crackled between you. His smirk didn’t waver, his hands returning to your waist, gripping you tightly as he studied your face. The intensity in his gaze made your stomach twist, but you refused to look away, refused to break the fragile connection that tethered you to this moment.

The discarded jeans landed in a heap on the floor, forgotten, as Kyle leaned closer again, his fingers digging into your skin with an almost bruising intensity. His lips hovered near yours, his green eyes scanning your face as though searching for something—doubt, hesitation—but finding none.

“You really think you can handle this?” he muttered, his voice low, his breath brushing against your lips. It wasn’t a question so much as a taunt, the sharp edge in his tone daring you to respond.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, your body trembling but steady enough to meet his challenge. “Why don’t you find out?” you whispered, your voice quieter but no less defiant, the weight of your words daring him right back.

Kyle’s smirk faltered for just a moment, his green eyes narrowing as his grip on your waist tightened. His breath was warm against your face, heavy and uneven, but he didn’t move. The tension between you crackled like static, unbearable in its intensity. You didn’t look away, your chest rising and falling rapidly as your fingers clutched the material of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

And then you pressed your forehead against his.

The shift was subtle, a flicker of movement that left his breath hitching. His weight bore down on you, pinning you to the mattress, but his hands loosened their hold just slightly, his eyes searching yours. Your lips parted as you closed your eyes, your mind spinning as the storm inside you raged on.

How had it come to this?

Your mind spiraled, replaying everything that had led to this moment. Not long ago, things between you and Kyle had been good—so good. His sarcastic jokes, his smirks, the way he’d touch you, so careful and light, like you were something worth holding onto. You’d never felt like that before. Like you mattered.

But the memory of the bonfire crashed into you like a tidal wave, drowning out the warmth of those moments. Kenny’s laughter, the teasing smiles, the heat of the fire. And then Kenny’s stupid question, the way the group had leaned in, waiting for Kyle’s answer.

“Who would you date here if it wasn’t [Y/N]?”

The way he hadn’t even hesitated. The way the name had rolled off his tongue like it didn’t mean anything. Like it wasn’t a dagger to your chest.

“Wendy.”

And your own confession—an open wound you’d thrown into the night, heavy and brutal.

“I slept with Stan. A few weeks ago, when he and Wendy were on a break.”

The pain in Kyle’s eyes that moment still lingered in your chest, sharp and relentless. You didn’t know why you’d said it. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the way Wendy had been looking at you all night, her gaze cutting through you like she already knew. Maybe it was the guilt that had been eating at you, clawing its way out no matter how tightly you tried to hold it back.

The weight of those moments pressed down on you now, suffocating. Your fingers gripped Kyle’s shirt tighter as your forehead stayed pressed against his, your breaths mingling in the tense silence.

“Thinking about him?” Kyle’s voice broke the stillness, low and cutting. His tone was sharp, laced with venom, as his hands shifted on your waist. “Thinking about Stan? Or maybe you’re just regretting everything.”

Your breath hitched, and you opened your eyes to meet his, the anger and frustration in his gaze burning into you. “I’m thinking about us,” you said softly, your voice trembling but steady enough to be heard. “About what we had before I ruined it.”

Kyle’s lips curled into a bitter smirk. “Before you slept with him,” he corrected coldly. “Before you decided to blow it all up.”

The words stung, his voice carrying the weight of every ounce of anger he’d bottled up since that night. But you didn’t pull away. Your hands slid from his shirt to the back of his neck, your touch trembling but resolute.

“I didn’t know we’d turn into this,” you whispered, your voice breaking under the weight of your own emotions. “I didn’t think we’d ever… be anything.”

Kyle let out a bitter laugh, his jaw clenching tightly. “Right. Because you didn’t think about it, did you?” His grip on your waist tightened, his frustration radiating off him like heat. “You didn’t think about me at all, [Y/N].”

You didn’t respond, your chest heaving as his words cut through the thick air between you. The anger, the frustration, the overwhelming tension—it all made it impossible to speak. Instead, you stared at him, your breaths coming in uneven gasps as his green eyes bore into yours, waiting for an answer you couldn’t give.

Your hands slipped from his neck, your fingers trembling slightly as they moved lower. You didn’t think about your next move; it came from somewhere deep in the storm of emotions raging inside you. Your hands found the hemline of your panties, and without breaking eye contact with him, you began to tug them down, your movements slow and deliberate.

Kyle’s gaze flickered, his green eyes following the motion as the fabric slid down your thighs, pooling at your knees. His grip on your waist tightened even further, his knuckles turning white as he sucked in a sharp breath. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out—his anger mingling with something unspoken that hung heavy in the charged air between you.

You tilted your head slightly, defiance burning in your chest as you met his gaze, daring him to say something, to stop you, to acknowledge the whirlwind of tension that neither of you could seem to escape.

The silence stretched unbearably long, the weight of your actions and his unrelenting gaze pressing down on you like a vice. Still, you didn’t waver, your expression holding firm as you refused to back down. If he wanted to challenge you, if he wanted to lash out, you weren’t going to stop him. But you weren’t going to back away either.

Kyle’s jaw tightened again, his breath coming faster now as his eyes flicked back to yours. The intensity of his gaze burned into you, and though his frustration hadn’t eased, there was something else there now, simmering beneath the surface, threatening to break through.

You stared at him, the weight of his silence pressing heavily on your chest, your breathing uneven as you tried to make sense of the moment. The emotions swirling between you—anger, regret, bitterness—felt like they would crush you both. Finally, you let out a shaky breath, your voice quiet but tinged with bitterness.

“Are you going to do something?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. They weren’t sharp or mocking, but they carried the weight of your frustration, your confusion, your hurt. “Or… are you just going to sit there?”

Kyle’s green eyes narrowed slightly, his hands still gripping your waist, the tension radiating off him like heat. He didn’t respond right away, his jaw clenching tighter as he studied you, his gaze flickering across your face like he was trying to decide what to say—or what to do.

Your fingers twitched at your sides, your body trembling under the weight of the moment. You hated how vulnerable you felt, how the silence between you seemed to magnify every unspoken word, every lingering doubt.

“I just… I don’t understand,” you murmured, your voice breaking slightly as you tried to steady yourself. “Why are you still here, Kyle? Why haven’t you just walked away?”

His scoff broke the silence, low and bitter, his grip on you tightening just slightly. “You think I haven’t thought about it?” he muttered, his tone sharp but quiet, almost like he was talking to himself. “You think I haven’t wanted to?”

Your chest ached at his words, your breath catching as the weight of everything threatened to overwhelm you again. “Then why haven’t you?” you asked softly, your voice trembling as you looked up at him, the question lingering in the heavy air between you.

Kyle didn’t respond right away, his green eyes dark and unreadable as he stared at you. The silence felt suffocating, the tension stretching between you, heavy and unbearable. You couldn’t take it anymore—the intensity of his gaze, the weight of his silence—and you shifted, scooting away from him. Turning onto your back, you let yourself sink into Stan’s pillows, your hair fanning out across the fabric as you stared up at the ceiling.

The cool fabric brushed against your skin, grounding you for a fleeting moment. Your chest rose and fell as you tried to steady your breathing, the storm inside you still raging. You couldn’t think about what the pillows smelled like, couldn’t let your mind wander there—not when the reality of Kyle loomed over you, heavy and unrelenting.

Before you could settle for even a moment, Kyle moved. His hand shot out, grabbing your ankle and pulling you sharply down the bed, away from the pillows. The sudden motion left you gasping, your hands instinctively gripping at the sheets as your heart raced.

You looked up at him, wide-eyed and uncertain, but he didn’t meet your gaze. His other hand moved with deliberate intent, tugging down his boxers in a single, sharp motion. His expression was hard, unreadable, his green eyes fixed on you as the weight of his presence bore down on you again.

Your gaze faltered, dropping briefly to his cock—his tip red and leaking—before darting back up to his face. A flush crept up your neck and bloomed across your cheeks, your body betraying the calm you were trying to hold onto. A small frown tugged at the corners of your lips, your emotions tangled in a storm of apprehension, anticipation, and the undeniable absurdity of the situation.

Your thoughts spiraled as the reality of it hit you. The two of you—tangled up in frustration, anger, and something messier—were really about to fuck. Here. On Stan’s bed. The thought made your chest tighten, your fingers curling into the fabric of the sheets beneath you as you tried to steady your racing mind.

Your lips parted, and before you could stop yourself, a soft, trembling murmur slipped out. “I hate you.”

Kyle’s eyes flickered, the faintest hint of something crossing his expression—something almost softer—before it disappeared, his jaw tightening once again. His lips twitched, curling into a faint smirk as he leaned forward, his hands bracketing your sides against the mattress.

“No, you don’t,” he said lowly, his voice steady but edged with something deeper, his green eyes boring into yours. “But you can keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better.”

He shifted his weight, positioning himself directly in front of you on the mattress. Your grip on the sheets tightened, your knuckles whitening as his hands moved with deliberate intent. His firm touch spread your legs open, the action slow and calculated, his movements charged with a confidence that sent heat rising through your body.

Kyle’s gaze lowered, trailing down your form before stopping at your embarrassingly wet heat. His lips twitched into a smirk, that infuriating, smug expression that made your stomach churn with a mix of anger and something you didn’t want to name. He leaned in slightly, his hands firm on your thighs, holding you open as his sharp green eyes flicked back up to meet yours.

With a mocking tilt of his head, his voice rose in a high-pitched, exaggerated tone. “I hate you,” he mimicked, the words dripping with derision as his smirk deepened. His tone was biting, deliberate, throwing your earlier words back at you with venomous ease.

Your face burned, the heat crawling up your neck as you struggled to keep your composure. Frustration and embarrassment clashed inside you, your chest tightening as you glared at him. “You’re such a fucking asshole,” you muttered, your voice trembling with barely restrained anger.

Kyle chuckled, his laughter low and rough as he leaned in closer, his smirk unwavering. “Maybe,” he said, his tone calm but cutting, his hands pressing firmly into your thighs, holding you in place. “But you’re still here.”

You rolled your eyes, parting your lips to say something—maybe a retort, maybe to throw his words back at him—but before any sound escaped, you felt a sudden shift in the tension. His body moved closer, the heat of him radiating against your skin, and you froze as you felt the unmistakable press of his tip against your wet folds. The smear of his precum against you made you want to claw out your skin.

A sharp breath hitched in your throat, and whatever you’d been about to say dissolved into nothing. Your hands instinctively gripped the sheets tighter, your chest heaving as you choked on your own words, unable to form a response. Your gaze snapped to his, your wide-eyed expression meeting his confident, unyielding stare.

Kyle’s smirk deepened, his green eyes glinting with satisfaction as he watched your reaction. “What’s the matter?” he murmured, his tone low and laced with mockery. “You had so much to say a second ago.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as the weight of the moment pressed down on you. You swallowed hard, your fingers trembling against the sheets, but you refused to look away from him, your breathing uneven as you tried to gather your thoughts.

Kyle shifted slightly, pushing into you more firmly as if to force a response, his movements deliberate and unyielding. The unexpected sensation of him penetrating your walls made you gasp, a small whine escaping your throat before you could stop it. Tears began to pool in your eyes, the overwhelming tension and intensity between you building to an unbearable crescendo.

Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, an attempt to ground yourself amidst the storm of emotions and sensations. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him; his smirk, his unrelenting gaze—it was too much. Instead, your eyes darted around Stan’s room, taking in the familiar details as if to distract yourself. The posters, the scattered belongings, even the faint scent of him still clinging to the air—it all felt surreal, grounding you in the absurdity of the moment.

Kyle’s hands tightened on your thighs, his grip firm and confident as he loomed over you. “Still not talking?” he murmured, his voice low and edged with mockery. “Maybe you’re finally out of things to say.”

You bit your lip, your vision blurring slightly from the tears welling in your eyes. The sound of your own uneven breathing filled the room, mixing with the tension that seemed to vibrate in the air between you. You didn’t answer him, couldn’t answer him, your thoughts too scattered as you clung to the sheets beneath you, trying to steady yourself.

But the reminder of where you were, of Stan’s bed, sent a wave of unease through you. With a shaky exhale, you loosened your grip on the sheets, your hands instead finding Kyle’s bare back. Your fingers curled into his skin, clawing lightly, desperate for something to ground you amidst the overwhelming intensity.

The movement caused Kyle to shift, just slightly, the motion unintentional but enough to draw a soft whimper from you. The sound escaped before you could stop it, heat flooding your face as embarrassment settled heavily in your chest. You hated it—hated how your body responded, hated how you couldn’t stop yourself from reacting to him. You didn’t want to feel good. Not like this. Not when every fiber of your being resisted the idea of giving in to him.

Kyle, however, didn’t move further. He stayed there, perfectly still, his weight pressing into you, his green eyes sharp and unreadable. The realization hit you slowly, frustration mounting as it dawned on you that this was deliberate. He wasn’t moving. This was some sort of punishment, some twisted game meant to make you squirm.

Tears pricked at your eyes again, your breathing uneven as you tried to steady the storm raging inside you. A flicker of defiance rose in your chest, and you leaned up slightly, pressing your lips softly to the cheek you’d slapped earlier. Your breath was hot and unsteady against his skin as you lingered there, the gesture hesitant but deliberate.

Kyle didn’t pull away, but his body tensed slightly beneath your touch, his hands tightening on your hips. You finally looked up at him, your gaze locking with his piercing green irises. He stared back at you, unrelenting, but in the stillness, you saw it—he was affected too. The tension in his jaw, the uneven rise and fall of his chest, the faint flicker of vulnerability in his eyes—it was all there, just barely hidden beneath the surface.

Your own eyes softened as they wandered over his face, taking in the details you’d seen countless times but that now felt different, sharper. His freckles dotted across his skin like constellations, standing out against the faint flush of his cheeks. His red curls were messy, disheveled from the chaos of the night, and his lips were swollen and bitten, a stark contrast to the sharpness of his expression.

He looked so different from the Kyle you knew—the Kyle you loved. The realization hit you like a tidal wave, your chest tightening painfully as tears began to stream down your face. You hated this. Hated how far you’d both fallen, how this mess of emotions and bitterness had pulled you both into something neither of you seemed able to escape.

Kyle’s gaze flickered as he noticed the tears, his grip on your hips loosening slightly. For a moment, his expression softened, his green eyes searching your face as though he wanted to say something—something kind, something that could bridge the impossible gap between you.

But then his lips curled into a humorless smirk, and his tone turned sharp, cruel in a way that felt calculated. “You always make this about you, don’t you?” he said, his voice low but cutting, like each word was meant to sting. “You think your tears are gonna fix this? Make me forget everything?”

His hands moved to your shoulders, pressing you deeper into the mattress with deliberate force. The weight of him made you gasp softly, your fingers curling into the sheets as his words cut through you.

“You act like you’re the only one who’s hurt,” he continued, leaning in closer, his voice quieter but no less biting. “But you never stop to think, do you? About what I’m feeling? About what you did to me?”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, his frustration spilling out like a dam breaking. Your breath hitched as tears continued to fall, your chest aching under the weight of his anger and your own guilt.

“Kyle,” you choked out, your voice trembling as you tried to find something, anything, that could cut through the moment. But his gaze stayed fixed on you, hard and unrelenting, daring you to challenge him, to push back against the torrent of emotions swirling between you both.

He didn’t answer, didn’t soften. His jaw tightened, his green eyes narrowing as though your voice only fueled his frustration further. The tension in the room felt like it was about to snap, his movements deliberate and unyielding as he leaned closer, his weight pressing down on you. The stillness between you broke with sudden intensity, and Kyle shifted, his actions sharp, his frustration spilling over in his hard, punishing thrusts into you.

Your legs instinctively tightened around his waist, the motion grounding you even as heat rose to your cheeks. The sound of your high-pitched moans filled the room, and in a moment of embarrassment, you moved your hands to your face, covering it, trying to stifle the sounds escaping your lips. Tears blurred your vision, your chest heaving as the tension and intensity of the moment overwhelmed you.

Kyle’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrists with a firmness that made you gasp. He pulled your hands away from your face, forcing you to look at him. His green eyes burned with something raw, sharp, and unyielding as his grip tightened just enough to hold your attention. His lips curled into a bitter smirk, his voice low and cutting. “Don’t hide now,” he muttered, his tone mocking. “What’s the point? Everyone already knows how pathetic you are.”

The words stung, sharp and biting, but you didn’t flinch. Your tears continued to fall, and as you stared back at him, your breath hitched, the storm of emotions inside you threatening to break. “I really do hate you,” you whimpered, your voice trembling and barely above a whisper, the words cracking as they left your lips.

The truth, however, sat heavy in your chest, unspoken. You didn’t hate him—not really. If anything, the emotions swirling inside you felt far more complicated, tangled in ways you couldn’t begin to unravel. And you knew, from the way Kyle’s grip faltered just slightly, that he knew it too.

The moment his grip slackened, you acted without thinking. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him so close that your bare chests pressed together, the heat of his skin igniting a spark that made your breath hitch. You tilted your face up, your lips crashing onto his with an urgency that was impossible to control.

The kiss was wild and chaotic, a clash of desperation and anger. Your lips moved against his in a rhythm that was anything but smooth, loud and uncoordinated. The sounds of it filled the room, every broken breath and muffled gasp a reminder of how far you’d both fallen.

You pulled back just slightly, your lips brushing his as you whispered, “I hate you.” The words came out shaky, almost lost in the heat of your kiss, but they weren’t enough to stop you. You repeated them, louder this time, as though trying to convince yourself.

“I fucking hate you,” you muttered, your voice cracking, but then your lips found his again, cutting off your own words as your body betrayed you. “I—” You gasped, your breath catching as a sharp sound escaped your lips. “I fucking—oh, God—hate you.”

Kyle didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. You could feel his smirk against your lips, his confidence oozing through every thrust as his hands moved to your waist, holding you firmly in place. It was maddening, the way he didn’t need to say a word to remind you how much he had you, how much control he had over this moment.

“Fuck, Kyle,” you stuttered, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly as you tried to find something, anything, to ground yourself. “You’re—shit—you’re such an asshole. I hate you, I hate you so fucking much.”

But even as the words spilled from your lips, they felt hollow, breaking apart as your voice trembled. Tears pooled in your eyes, blurring your vision as the storm of emotions consumed you. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, each one hitching as his hands dug into your waist, his movements deliberate and unrelenting.

Kyle pulled back slightly, his green eyes burning into yours, and you could see the smug satisfaction on his face, the faint curve of his lips that made you want to scream. “You sure about that?” he murmured, his tone low and taunting, his breath brushing against your skin.

You opened your mouth to respond, to throw something sharp and bitter back at him, but all that came out was a soft, broken moan as your hands fisted into his messy curls, pulling him down into another heated, desperate kiss. Each whispered “I hate you” melted into his lips, the words losing their meaning even as you tried to hold onto the anger that was slipping through your fingers.

Your body was betraying you completely now, the tension in your stomach coiling tighter and tighter until you felt like you might snap. Your breaths came out in uneven gasps, your legs instinctively tightening around Kyle’s waist as the sensation built to an intensity you couldn’t ignore. Your fingers trembled against his skin, gripping him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

Kyle’s sharp gaze locked onto yours, his eyes glinting with smugness as if he already knew. His movements were unrelenting, his hands gripping your hips like he could pull every response from you, every tremor, every sound. It was maddening—how focused he was, how much control he seemed to have over the moment while you felt like you were falling apart.

You bit your lip hard, trying to muffle the noises threatening to escape, but it didn’t stop the pressure building in your core. The sensation was overwhelming, foreign yet undeniable, and it hit you all at once. Your body trembled as heat rushed through you, a sudden wave of release leaving you gasping for breath.

And then you felt it—a surge of wetness that left your face burning. The realization hit you like a truck as you froze, your body still trembling in the aftermath. Your wide eyes darted up to Kyle, who paused for a brief moment, his expression flickering between surprise and something else—triumph, satisfaction, you couldn’t tell.

You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze for long. Your face burned with embarrassment, the heat crawling up your neck and settling in your cheeks. Before he could say a word, you buried your face in his neck, trying to hide from the reality of what had just happened. Your voice was muffled against his skin as you choked out, “Oh my God… Kyle…”

His chest rumbled with a low chuckle, his grip on your hips tightening slightly as he shifted his weight. “What’s wrong?” he muttered, his tone edged with amusement. “Didn’t think you had that in you?”

You groaned softly in embarrassment, your hands clutching at his shoulders as you pressed your face further into the crook of his neck, refusing to acknowledge his words. The dampness between you only made your cheeks burn hotter.

“Still hiding?” he muttered, his breath hot against your ear. “Come on, don’t get shy now.” His tone was laced with mockery, his green eyes gleaming as he glanced down at you. “You were loud enough a second ago.”

His words made your chest tighten, frustration bubbling up alongside the heat coursing through you. Your lips found his neck, teeth grazing his skin as you bit down softly, muffling the whimper that escaped your throat. Kyle let out a low growl at the sensation, his fingers pinching your hips, forcing you to feel every deliberate thrust

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he muttered, his voice rough and edged with sarcasm. “Bet you’d fucking lose it if Stan walked in right now, huh? You think he’d recognize you like this?”

Your face burned hotter at his words, embarrassment and anger twisting in your chest, but you couldn’t find the words to respond. Your mind was too fuzzy, too clouded, your thoughts consumed by the heat and tension radiating between you. 

Kyle’s movements grew harsher, his breath uneven as his frustration spilled into his actions. “Jesus, you’re a mess,” he hissed, his tone sharp but dripping with smug satisfaction. “You can’t even keep quiet, can you? Bet the whole fucking house can hear you.”

The sharpness of his words sent a shiver through you, leaving you clinging to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. Your voice broke through the haze as another soft whimper escaped, your lips pressing harder into his neck, desperate to muffle the noises spilling from you.

“Fuck, Kyle,” you murmured against his neck, your voice shaky and trembling, barely audible over the chaos around you. “I—”

“Yeah, I know,” he interrupted, his voice low and snide as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re just dying to tell me how much you hate me again, right?”

You whimpered, your body trembling as his movements became sharper, his breathing uneven and heavy. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his hands dug into your skin, holding you in place. He was chasing his own release now, every motion a reminder of just how tightly wound this moment was.

“You’re gonna lose it, aren’t you?” Kyle taunted, his voice rough and punctuated by a sharp intake of breath. “Go on, then. Show me just how much you fucking hate me.”

His words sent another wave of heat coursing through you, leaving you shaking beneath him. You bit your lip hard, trying to suppress the overwhelming sensations, but it was useless. Everything about him—his sharp tone, his relentless pace, his mocking words—consumed you entirely, leaving no space for control, no space to hide.

When your name slipped from his lips, low and ragged, it broke through the haze, grounding you for just a moment. Everything about this—the way he gripped you, the sound of his voice, the intensity in his movements—was maddening, unrelenting, and utterly consuming as the tension between you reached its peak.

Kyle’s movements stilled suddenly, his body shuddering against yours as his grip on your hips tightened. You froze as the unfamiliar warmth of his cum filling you up, the sensation foreign and startling. The room seemed to grow quieter in that moment, the only sounds left were the sharp inhales and exhales of your shared breathing.

Your wide eyes found his, your heart pounding in your chest as you took in the look on his face. His gaze, so often sharp and cutting, was softened now, but his lips were pulled into a small frown. His green eyes flicked downward, toward where your bodies were still connected, and he seemed lost in thought, the tension of the moment lingering between you both.

The heaviness in your chest grew, your breath uneven as you tried to process what had just happened. You bit your nails, a nervous habit you couldn’t stop, as you stared up at the ceiling, trying desperately to ignore the sensation of him still inside you, the way he had filled you completely.

Neither of you spoke, the silence deafening as it pressed down on you both. Kyle’s hands stayed on your hips, his grip lighter now but still present, as though he wasn’t ready to let go. The storm of emotions inside you threatened to bubble over, but you didn’t dare say anything, the weight of the moment too much to shatter with words.

Finally, Kyle exhaled, his shoulders dropping slightly as his gaze flicked back to yours. His frown deepened, but there was something else in his expression now—something you couldn’t quite place, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to.

Kyle’s hands shifted slightly on your hips as he pulled back, the sudden movement making you wince. You could feel his cum trickling out of you, the sensation adding to the wave of emotions crashing over you. The warmth against your skin was impossible to ignore, and when you glanced down, the sight of it on Stan’s sheets sent a fresh flush of heat up your neck.

Your breath hitched, and without thinking, you sat up abruptly. The sharp soreness between your legs made you falter for a moment, but you forced yourself to push through it, focusing on the task at hand. You couldn’t think about what had just happened, couldn’t process the weight of it. Not now.

Your eyes darted around the room, avoiding Kyle entirely as you searched for your discarded clothes. The tension between you both was palpable, the silence thick and heavy as he remained where he was, his gaze burning into you. You refused to meet his eyes, your hands trembling slightly as you searched the messy room, desperate for anything to ground yourself.

Finally, your eyes landed on your panties, crumpled in a heap near the edge of the bed. You reached for them quickly, your fingers fumbling as you pulled them back on, cringing at the discomfort of the dampness between your legs. A sharp wave of embarrassment washed over you, your face burning as you adjusted the fabric, trying to ignore the mess left behind.

Behind you, the bed creaked as Kyle got up. You felt his movements without looking, the sound of his footsteps against the floorboards making your shoulders tense. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him grabbing his boxers and jeans from where they’d been discarded. He pulled them on with practiced ease, his movements slow and deliberate, each one punctuated by the thick, suffocating silence.

Your tights were crumpled at the foot of the bed, and you grabbed them quickly, tugging them on with shaking hands. The feeling of the fabric brushing your legs made you cringe, the soreness between your thighs a sharp reminder of everything that had just happened. You moved mechanically, your focus entirely on getting dressed as quickly as possible.

Kyle let out a short, humorless laugh as he zipped his jeans. “You know, this is probably the most awkward I’ve ever seen you,” he said, his tone flat but with an edge that cut through the quiet. “Guess I should be flattered I actually managed to shut you up for once.”

The remark made your stomach twist, embarrassment mingling with frustration as you grabbed your skirt and pulled it on, your hands fumbling as you adjusted the waistband. You avoided his gaze entirely, your movements jerky and tense as you tried to block out the sound of his voice and the weight of his words.

Kyle didn’t stop. “What?” he asked, leaning back against the bedframe as he crossed his arms, his green eyes fixed on you. “You’re not gonna try to explain this one? Spin it into something neat and tidy?”

His tone was lighter than before, but the bitterness still simmered beneath the surface. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. 

Your fingers trembled as you reached behind you to clasp your bra, fumbling with the hooks for a moment before securing it in place. The silence between you and Kyle was unbearable, thick with everything unsaid, as you grabbed your long-sleeved turtleneck from where it had been discarded on the floor. You tugged it over your head, the soft fabric brushing against your skin as you smoothed it out, trying to ignore the pounding in your chest.

Behind you, Kyle threw his shirt over his head, with a sharp, irritated motion, his scoff breaking the quiet like a crack of thunder. His movements were clipped, his frustration evident as he tugged the hood over his head, his eyes flicking toward you with something unreadable before darting away again. You could feel his anger simmering, contained but palpable, like a storm waiting to break.

You opened your mouth to say something—to cut through the tension, to find words where there were none—but the sudden sound of knocking made you freeze. It was soft but firm, accompanied by a familiar voice that sent a shiver down your spine.

“[Y/N]? You in there?” Stan’s voice called through the door, hesitant and cautious but clear. The sound of your name from his lips felt like a punch to the gut, the reality of the situation crashing down on you like a tidal wave. “You’ve been in there a while… everything okay?”

You glanced at Kyle, your heart pounding as his jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, but his green eyes burned with frustration and something else—guilt, anger, maybe both. The tension in the room thickened as the knock came again, firmer this time, more insistent.

“[Y/N], come on,” Stan said, his voice quieter now but edged with worry.

The words hung in the air, heavy and final, like a verdict waiting to be delivered. The weight of the moment pressed down on you, suffocating and inescapable, as you stood frozen in place, unable to breathe, unable to move. It felt like the walls were closing in, the door itself a barrier between the chaos inside and the inevitable fallout waiting just beyond it. But you knew the truth—there was no hiding, no escape.

The knocking came again, louder this time, as Stan’s voice broke through the silence. “Just open the door, [Y/N]. Please.”

jesus christ 💀

[gutziez]

so. this is something I've wanted to say for months

im not really who i am for fucks sake half the time I don't know who I am its become way too blurred and I'm gonna share my past here and everything I've done so I have many points but one has been clawing at my from the inside like its trying to rip my throat to pieces from the inside of my esophagus Cassie and Ruby aren't dead they were never even real Cassie and Ruby are a projection of who I wish I knew who I wish I had for a friend but I got bored of them and killed them off in my mind and socially I'm very sorry faye but Cassie wasn't real she was a character she was someone I wanted to relate to I have no one but the people online even then I left Ares and Tame because I thought they'd judge me over fucking fictional characters and I was bored I wanted something to happen so I killed them I faked Ruby overdosing I faked Cassie stabbing herself its fake they aren't real they cant be dead because they never existed I'm sorry Faye I didn't want to make YOU hurt but you were just so close to me and its a sick form of entertainment at this point. Im too into the idea of human emotion and action and I hurt you with it. now for the other piece of this I'm sorry to literally everyone I've come into contact with I'm a lot of drama because I seek drama I just want some fucking emotion in my life and I create lies and more lies but those lies start to feel true I don't even know which parts of my life are real did he actually rape me did I actually get groomed for sex trafficking did he actually tell me I'd never be his son I don't know what's going on I'm losing memory and sense of self I cant do this shit ive gone through blog and blog and blog delete the old account and go to a new one I've gone by so many names Ace Star Azalea Ollie Oliver Aspen I don't even know if I can count them all I'm thinking about changing it again for fucks sake but I cant because he'll judge me and refuse to call me by my chosen name because of how fluid I feel about myself is I don't even know if Nyx or Evelyn exist anymore I cant and no please just please don't forgive me call me a piece of shit degrade me for what I've done for all of the people I've hurt by clicking the fucking delete button by lying by being a piece of living trash please Faye just call me the worse thing you can think of and move on from me I don't see a point in my life anymore and if you forgive me I'll end up hurting you more just let yourself leave. I would say I love you but I'm a fucking monster I'm horrible why would I fake someones existence and then make them die just to feel something I'm not okay not to mention the amount of other people I've put through stuff just for the sake of attention and drama

im a stupid fucking attention whore

im sorry Aster too I think I ended up faking my death or I just left silently I think I went by Ace or Ollie I don't remember it was like a year ago maybe less I'm sorry for that I wish you the best don't forgive me please I shouldn't be forgiven

i love everyone but I'm also a piece of shit Ill leave my account up for a little while so everyone can get their "kill yourself"s out I will be listening to the messages tell me to relapse and die

@f4y3w00d5 @amethyst-aster @lils-ki @tameable50

i don't remember the others ive hurt the most but you could at least show others so they can point and laugh

[gaykarstaagforever]

No I CAN'T get over the spacesuits from TOS "The Tholian Web".

Glitter paint. I would love a short story about the gay Starfleet engineer who got this design into production on the serious space exploration ships.

The chunks are either plastic or wood. It's hard to tell because the paint is so thick. My guess is its jigsaw-cut wood that they just sanded down and painted. I don't know enough about how easy it was to cast plastic props in the 1960s, and looking that up isn't a good use of my time. They could be Latex too, I guess, but they seem to be pretty solid pieces since everyone keeps touching the front orange one to talk.

The little engraved bronze name plates on the front are adorable. Yes, the suits all look identical. But you put the nameplate right under the visible face, so...no one would need it there. Why wouldn't you just make a variety of suit colors and then assign them to specific away team members? It's such a useless solution to a non-problem that they spent real time and resources making. So wonderful.

Back to these lumpy colored things with random tubes - why? What are these possibly doing? Why these colors? It is glorious and totally nonsensical. They touch the orange one to talk, but it also has a tube that goes down to one of the feet? The purple one looks like it might be a heart monitor, but has an arm and leg tube. As does the blue one, which is very specifically and awkwardly shaped. What the hell is that doing? Injecting liquids? From where? There are no visible tanks of any kind. The black one is along the helmet and also has a tube so...air? Maybe? But, again, no tanks. None of the tubes seem to go to the groin or butt, so this can't be any kind of waste-processing. Unless it's extracting waste from the blood, like a dialysis machine. But, ONCE AGAIN, no tanks. And that seems a bit extreme for what is clearly barely more than a glittery wetsuit with a stupid helmet.

A helmet that is clearly bug mesh between two struts. And the struts are on the sides. So the front and back are open, but not the sides. ...So you have no peripheral vision, and can't possibly turn your head 180º to see out the back. WHY would the back be open? So people can see the distinctive back of your head? Close that off and put the nameplate back here! Why not mount the black (maybe) air-supply blob on a solid back, and leave the sides open so people can look around?

I get that in the 60s, no one but NASA knew about spacesuits until the moon landing, and deep diving suits were still pretty archaic. But

Look at all the viewports for light. And those tubes for air and pressure were attached to the boat. Like...if you're going to copy this, understand why it looks like this and what all that stuff is doing.

Special shout-out to Tumblr for limited formatting options with images.

[yuwuta]

gojo would kill your work husband. but if he were the work husband, that's a different story

REAL!! he’s such a hypocrite because if someone mentioned you had a work husband, his entire world would stop and he wold devise the absolute worst plans to make sure that your co-worker, everyone at your job, and everyone in the next building over knew that he was happily committed to you 

but if he is the work husband, he’s very........ dutiful in his role. there’s a loose office/lawyer au in my head where satoru is your secretary, and for all intents and purposes, your personal assistant, and he’s good at his job, but mostly because he considers his job to be pleasing you. he has coffee for you when you arrive, he moves your schedule around without you asking, he has answers to questions before you can even ask them, he has fresh flowers on your desk weekly, pokes into your meetings to pretend to hand you a file that’s really just maybe a single document in a manilla folder with candy on top of it—he’s made himself your business, your partner; he’s made himself irreplaceable, and he loves to remind everybody of that fact. 

he’s also extremely loyal. sure, he could day a week’s worth of work done in about a day, but that doesn’t mean he’ll just use his talents for anybody. he’s your secretary, so he’s at your beck and call, and everyone knows it. they know he’s the best, but also that he’s off limits—not because you won’t share him, but because satoru won’t let himself be shared. 

he also extends his duties beyond work, of course. when he hands you a print out of your schedule for the day and you’re confused by the three-hour block of time you have in the middle of the day, satoru just helps you shrug your coat of your shoulders and smiles, “that’s for the lunch date you have with me, of course!” hanging up your coat in your closet for you, “i’m paying, see you soon, sweets.” and because you’re great at your job, and satoru helps you be great, nobody really questions when the two of you have time for a 13-course tasting menu at 1pm on a tuesday afternoon. and if they did, all satoru would say that you two had a lovely date 

[corpsentry]

breaking the law and outing myself on the internet because i'm showcasing my senior dance thesis on april 28 at 6:30 and 8:30 pm Eastern Standard Time and i want You to see it

we don't have a livestream link yet but we will. in the meantime look at these cool posters and this cool blurb. ok now save the date SEE YOU SOON

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

I know you dont care about pesterquest but i wanna know, did you think they wrote eridan well or bad?

bad

[dykedvonte]

I think the most baffling thing about the Tulpar as a vessel to me is the fact that the ship really did only have a one way communication system.

I know it was cheap but even the most basic of vessels regarding major transport would have some way, shape or form for outside communication. Not only that but there was absolutely no form of innate emergency signal to show they may have been offline or in trouble despite clearly having a system to dock credits if they went off course. It's another factor that really shows that bad situations are made to get worse by design. One person who is required to relay all information to the crew and make all the choices without feedback. No way to update or call for help in case of a dire situation. No way to inform of inner personal conflicts and acquire procedures accordingly.

It really is like they are all in some sort of fucked up solitary confinement. They have their own world with strict roles that are meaningless in the end, as long as the cargo makes it, it doesn't matter what happens on that ship to the company. They don't want to hear anything and will come to conclusions on what happened based on how much pay they can withhold from the workers. Even what they do send is short, sterile and corporate to the extent it was likely written and sent out with a command by some random unmanned computer in an office.

There's something to be said about how unfair it is to force absolute power and control onto one person when you as an entity could do so much more to offload it but I've said it many times before so I won't again.

[quaranmine]

unintended consequence of introducing my mom to reddit in 2019 is that 5 years later she is 10x more of a redditor than anyone i know now, and also has zero concept of the general reputation of reddit among normal people. everybody stares blankly when this woman in her 60s starts talking about this post she saw on reddit. she brings it up CONSTANTLY. like nearly every conversation. i'm like mom please. these people only know reddit as the incel site, if they know what it is at all

[maliciousalice]

Hear me out (or don't... it's fine I'm just venting and mean) yeah um I don't believe Chakotay was saved in Prod*gy s2.

[pilonciillo]

lol didn’t think someone giving money would give me anxiety

[theprincessandthepie]

replaying dragon age inquisition is just an exercise in “the rebel mages would not fucking do that”