#and then it hits you w all this existential bullshit at the same time

[ambreiiigns]

you need to understand that the line "nobody exists on purpose nobody belongs anywhere everybody's gonna die come watch tv?" makes me Break Down

[lustresky]

all i ask [peter parker x f!reader]

summary: You question your true feelings for Peter after missing out on five years of your life.

wc: 2400ish.

themes: angst(ish), fluff, happy endings, best friends to lovers trope, mention of dermatillomania, existential questionings...

a/n: this is the first x reader that i have ever written, so sorry in advance if it’s awkward:’’’) english also isn’t my first language, so please do hit me up if i make any mistakes/some things sound wrong! still, i hope that some of you out there will still like this lil thing. i just want to keep peter in my pocket gawd what a bby:’’’’’’’( p.s. title is a song by adele! just had to name this that cuz it unexpectedly came into my playlist while i was writing this and the song just fit so well that it shocked me haha

requests are open! & pls don’t forget to like and reblog, thank you! c:

THIS TAKES PLACE AFTER ENDGAME, RIGHT BEFORE FFH. IT EXCLUDES THE LOVE STORY BETWEEN LIZ & PETER IN HOMECOMING. 

available on ao3.

The rom-com flickered on the screen in front of your and Peter’s eyes, the only light illuminating the small living room.

Your legs were sprawled on top of Peter’s own, your arms becoming a bit numb from the fact that you haven’t moved them from their cramp inducing position for the past fifteen minutes. It wasn’t your fault— the small sofa could only leave you and Peter enough space to lounge about.

He had invited you over for some much needed “hang out” time. Considering the fact that both of you had missed out on five years of your life, you had suggested you both catch up on all of the movies the two of you had missed; but one thing led to another and now you were both watching late 90’s and early 2000’s films. 

You were surprised, and maybe even mildly offended, when Peter had said that he had never watched Mean Girls nor Clueless. The boy who spew out pop comic references every other second had never watched the classics for every teenage girl? The blasphemy!

You fiddled with the fluffy throw covering your legs and partially, Peter’s. Your attention wasn’t really on the movie anymore, you’d seen it multiple times. Could probably recite it by heart, you thought, if you concentrated hard enough.

Speaking of concentration, your eyes inadvertently found their spot upon Peter’s face. It was quite funny, and maybe even adorable if you wanted to go that way, how concentrated the geeky boy was over such a cliché film. You had never once thought, with all of the years that you had known him, that he would listen and take Cher Horowitz’s words to heart.

Peter didn’t notice your gaze, and so you took that as an unspoken permission to roam your eyes over his features: the small lines already appearing beside his eyes, a tell-tale sign of how much he smiled— or at least, tried to, these days. There were those chiseled cheeks and the sharp jawline that he somehow managed to maintain despite eating delivery food every other day. (You can’t blame May, she tries her best, really; but sometimes Thai or Chinese is just way more palatable.) His nose, a bit crooked, from an ”accident.“ (You still don’t really know the exact details about that one, and frankly, you think it would hurt just hearing about it.) Soft curls of his brown hair fell over his forehead, messy and barely brushed.

Truly, you could probably spend a whole hour just staring at him. It’s weird, you know, who the hell stares at their own best friend for long periods of time? Well, MJ probably does, but then again she draws people most of the time so that’s socially allowed... and well— she’s MJ. She just… does that. You suppose.

Maybe she does have a point, you mused. People-watching seemed fun, seeing the way that people processed information was interesting, but you couldn’t really imagine doing that to anyone— anyone else but Peter, at least.

You loved Peter. It wasn’t even a question. Truly, you did— he was family. However, after the Snap, you started to question how you truly felt about him.

Did you ‘love’ him? You had asked yourself that question multiple times already. Then again, he was cute, goal-oriented, stubborn, loyal, smart, geeky, strong... (not just physically, between his difficult childhood and what you both had just gone through, you think that he may just be the strongest person that you know, mentally.) He knew how to make you laugh, how to make you feel safe… God, he was your exact type. 

However, you had always put your feelings aside ever since you came back from the dead. What if it was just your mind craving for affection, afraid that you would never be able to experience the love that you had always wanted? Were you just terrified of the thought of not living your life to the fullest, that you started to ’love’ the first person to have ever given you warmth, just because the choice to do so was taken away from you? 

Did you actually love him in that way? Would you still have loved him in that way, even if that purple fucking raisin didn’t come out of the fucking sky and take you both away from reality without even asking? Were you just blindsided? Were you wearing rose-coloured glasses?

What type of love for him did you feel, exactly?

It didn’t really help that Peter was way more clingy and touchy now. Sure, you were best friends even before then, but you never really touched each other so often before. His actions only further spiraled your pondering.

His hands seemed to linger more on your shoulders, nowadays. Now, he would, absentmindedly, lay his hands on your thighs while you were talking. Now, his hugs were tighter, warmer, and always included both of his arms— unlike those casual, one armed hugs that you would give each other while saying goodbye after school, right before you both ceased existing.

While talking, his eyes seemed to stare straight into yours, which always made you falter with your words before you shook his gaze off. Once, you saw him fixating his eyes on your lips while you vented to him about a mathematical formula that gave you a hard time. 

He never really did that before— whenever you didn’t understand something, he would always just give you a small grin before shaking his head and finding a way to better explain the topic to you. At first, you thought that maybe he just had a lot on his mind, that he was just staring into space… 

Or maybe, just maybe, he loved you. In that way.

Though, now that you thought more about it, maybe he just craved affection like you did. He went through a lot. His life was never devoid of danger, and it wasn’t questionable to want comfort after all of the things that he had gone through. Did he truly feel that way about you, or did he only see you as a comfort tool? You wouldn’t be angry if he did, out of all the people that you knew that deserved more reassurance and love, he was definitely on top of the list. 

You didn’t mind. You understood.

Was he in the same boat as you? 

You startled yourself away from your thoughts when Peter suddenly retracted his body further back into the couch, as if he wanted to bury himself in it. His brows were furrowed, nose scrunched, lips curled up in disgust; though to your relief his eyes were still glued to the screen and he hadn’t just seen you checking him out. You chuckled at the unexpected reaction, “What’s gotten you so worked up?”

Peter shook his head from side to side, as if that would help him from his current situation. “I get that they aren’t really related, but it’s just— weird.” He replied. 

Intrigued, you shifted your eyes over to the screen, and was welcomed by Cher and Josh kissing. You laughed at Peter’s disgust.

“How is it weird? They’ve had— like, very evident tension for half of the movie, Pete.” You replied, eyes watching the way Josh held Cher’s face in his hands. As much as you would never admit it, your stomach fluttered at the scene. “Don’t tell me you didn’t expect it to happen.”

Peter groaned. “It’s not that I didn’t expect it to happen, it’s just— Josh is what, almost twenty or something? And Cher is our age!” He rattled off. “I’m having flashbacks to when I learned that Luke and Leia were actually related.” 

You shook your head and let out a snort. Typical Peter, always finding a way to reference Star Wars.

“It’s just a lil’ kiss scene Pete, don’t get so worked up about it.” You chuckled. You let out a dreamy sigh, your lip unknowingly curling into a small smile. Truth be told, you've always wanted something so passionate yet so soft like that to happen to you. 

You couldn’t help but let the next words tumble out of your mouth. “Isn’t it romantic though? The fact that the person that Cher has been searching and looking for so hard was actually just right there.”

“Always there…” Your voice slowly found itself becoming quieter, until it was only a ghost of a whisper. “Right by your side.”

You felt your cheeks grow hot. What the fuck was all that sudden sentimental bullshit, Y/N? You thought to yourself.

You hoped that Peter just didn’t pick up on what you had just said. The movie was loud enough to cover it, right?

With a reassuring breath, mostly to yourself, you turned your gaze back to Peter’s face.

Only to find him staring back at you.

Fuck, what were you thinking? With his enhanced senses, of course he would’ve heard what you had said.

Your breath got caught in your throat as your brain almost short circuited from the unexpected eye contact. His stare was unrelenting; from the dim light of the television, you can see his dilated irises, swimming with what you can only assume was longing… and hope.

The air suddenly seemed thick with tension. What kind it was? You weren’t really sure, but the movie and its noises were now just background noise and lighting. From the corner of your eyes, you see Peter’s Adam apple bob up and down as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Y/N…” He started, slowly, seemingly unsure of how to word his sentence. You mustered up a small bit of courage and sent him a small smile, patiently waiting for his brain to catch up with his mouth. It was one of his quirks that you adored so much, how much he struggled with the right words to say, because he knew the gravity of them; even if he did end up just spewing them out in the end.

“I— I don’t really know how to say this exactly, but,” Peter chewed on his bottom lip. “God I just— I just need to man up and say it because it’s been on my mind ever since I came back and I don’t think I can put it off any longer because I’m scared that you’ll disappear again and that I’ll never have the chance to say the truth and I—“ He stopped in his tracks, seemingly running out of words to say. His head dropped to look at his lap, as he started fidgeting with his hands and picking at his cuticles. A nervous tick that you recognized.

You straightened up from your lounging position, and slowly reached out your arms to lay your own hands on top of his, effectively gaining his attention and stopping his quite destructive habit. Bit by bit, he faced you once more; albeit now his eyes seemed to be more glassy.

“Y/N,” He took a shaky breath. “You— you mean so much to me.“ His eyes stared straight through you, and by now you felt your eyes start getting teary too.

“When it was happening I— all I could think about was how I felt about you. I— I felt so fucking selfish. I didn’t even think about Aunt May— or Ned, or MJ. All I thought about was how much I regretted not telling you how I actually felt about you sooner— that I’ll never be able to tell you how much I actually fucking loved you—“

Instinctively, you cut him off with your index placed on his lips. Now it was your turn to let out a shaky breath as your hand descended and found itself laying once more on Peter’s own.

Peter loved you. Even before the snap. Even before you disappeared.

The sight of Peter in front of you: vulnerable, hair ruffled, cheeks and nose and the tips of his ears red, his eyes watering as he poured his heart out to you was the moment that answered all of your doubts from before.

That was when you realized that you loved him, too. Truly. Without a doubt.

You loved him before everything went to hell, you still love him now, and fuck, you would still love him even if you hadn’t died. You weren’t wearing rose-coloured glasses, hell, far from it. You were seeing everything clearly. You were seeing everything just the way that they are.

You opened your lips, and a strangled but genuine giggle came out. “Pete, I love you too. I’ve loved you since— fuck, I can’t even remember when I actually started fucking loving you. You’ve been such a constant in my life that I questioned myself whether I truly loved you romantically, because I’m also a fucking idiot that thought that the type of love that I had for you was only platonic. Turns out they’re both one and the same.” You were laughing now, with a few hiccups here and there from the hot tears streaming down your cheeks.

“And shut up— you aren’t selfish,” With a new wave of courage, you lifted up one of your hands again and cradled his face. He leaned into it, impulsively, sniffling. “You’re one of the most selfless people that I know, hell, you put yourself in danger for people that you don’t even fucking know. I… I honestly think you could use more selfishness sometimes.” You laughed, softly, trying to regain a bit more composure with the tidal wave of emotions washing through you.

Peter, thankfully, found your quip funny. He snorted, shaking his head, as he lifted the sleeve of his Midtown Tech hoodie up to wipe at his tears. He wiped yours too, and you thanked him with a genuine smile.

All hearts now bared, you both just stared at each other, not really knowing what else to say nor do. From what you could tell, the movie was over now, the ending scene just slowly rolling in as it always does.

You opened your mouth, about to break the silence, when Peter beat you to it.

“Can I kiss you?”

A chuckle escaped your mouth before you could reply properly, and a huge grin overtook your face as your cheeks heated up once more. You squeezed his hands, and nodded.

Peter leaned in, and you had never felt more at peace.

[kastartss]

I really need help with my mental health condition, please take your time to read my story (if you are willing to only)

Here’s an introduction. Hey, my (not real) name is Kat. I’m 14 (yes, I know, a literal fetus) and I’m from Vietnam.

Two weeks ago, I was diagnosed with anxiety, and honestly, I was not surprised. But then the more I think about it, the more I realize that I have had it for almost my entire life, and I have only been around for 14 years. I felt my social anxiety kick in when I was about in year one in primary school. I remember how bubbly I was of a toddler, always waving and saying hi to adults in my neighborhood. But then I went to school and things changed. I got 2 close friends, let’s call them A and P. I hung out with them, but before I had those two friends, I never recall being in a place without friends. In kindergarten, as far as I could remember, I have many friends. So when I go to school for the first time, I didn’t have close friends. I was still bubbly at the time, talking to kids in my class, but in break time, I have no one to talk with. Even after I got A and P as my friends, sometimes they would gang up on me and I would have total breakdowns and sitting alone, feeling betrayed because no one likes me.

I think that's when I started being less of an exuberant child. I noticed that I have stopped waving to adults, I became more terrified of being around strangers or performing on stage (which was a thing I did all the time in kindergarten). And as time goes on, I develop the fear of trivial things, getting worried every time I go on a trip or holiday (eg. fear that the plane will crash, fear that there would be tsunami at the beach, etc.) or having existential crisis or death related worries. And then when I reach grade four, I got my first crush, I spent all night crying because wow, new emotion unlocked. He’s this sporty boy, sitting next to me in classes, and guess what? He had a crush on my then best friend. I slowly realize, when I reach secondary school, that I am less valuable than many. 

On the second week of sixth grade (secondary school), I had a mental breakdown and I stayed in the bathroom for the entire English lit lesson. The teachers found me, but I couldn’t explain why I ran away. I found it too embarrassing. I ran away because every seats next to a girl is taken and I would’ve had to sit next to this big, scary boy. I didn't know why I felt that way, why I panicked over such a small and stupid thing, but that night I went home, told my mom school’s fine, and found a knife to just end myself.

But of course I didn’t. I was afraid of getting hurt. I was afraid of seeing the life leaving my body. And I remember my mom telling me my life is the most important thing I have.

The reason I’m afraid of getting hurt is pretty damn simple: my mom hit me all the time as a kid. I’m not traumatized by it. But do I cry at night, getting upset and guilty about the things I did to deserve it? Yes, yes I did. But did I think much of it or find ways to stop getting hit? No, no I didn't. I got hit all the time for lying, for not obeying, for being lazy. But my mom really loves me, she does. She yelled at me, she slapped me, she threw books at my face, humiliated me sometimes in public, and hit me with broomsticks and clothes hangers because she said “she wanted the best for me”. She wanted me to change for the better but haha jokes on her, the more she hit me the more stubborn I get. And so update: I’m still getting hit by her for doing shits recently. I have questioned if it’s abusive or not, because I know she got anger issues and she said that herself, to not let her get angry. But in my country, getting hit by your moms is like a casual thing. It’s like depression jokes, we joke about our fucked up mental health and in my place we joke about getting hit my our moms. It's too common that I don't know if it’s abusive or not anymore, that’s one thing I need help on.

Back to the main story. So sixth grade is the time I start feeling conscious about my body. I’m gonna bluntly say this: my body is disproportionally fat. It was as a kid, and it still is now. My legs and arms are normal, not too skinny, but normal, but my body, the torso and chest area, oh boy, that's where all the fat is. If my body fat is spread out evenly, I wouldn’t have complained, it would be beautiful. But despite how much I tried, the fat would only be in that area, and I look ugly in everything. I got self conscious when we did a movie project, I got self conscious when I have to wear stage costumes, and I start acknowledging that I’m not the popular girl. I don't get why girls my age use lipstick and make up, and how they have money to buy expensive clothes. I was naïve, and I wanted to be like them: popular and valued by people. I was the wallflower, no one knows me except my few friends and I don't expect them to. I started developing a mindset that no one remembers me, and I’m insignificant. 

Grade seven, I changed school. And it’s when I found out about fandoms. I liked Harry Potter, and I wrote some fanfictions that one of my friends encourage me to post it on Wattpad, so I did. That’s when I made internet friends, and I got exploited to issues like lgbtqa+, pop culture, and mental health. One of my internet friends, let’s call her W, is queer and got depression. That’s when I started digging deep in these issues, learning about mental health and how to help people with them. And that’s when I start realizing I may have a mental health problem. W attempted suicide last year, in 2017. Fortunately, she survived. I had spent many nights texting her out of it, cheering her up, and the more I’m around her, the more I discover about myself.

This year, I’ve learnt things about myself that I would've had no idea about two years ago. I identify as bisexual, and thinking about a year ago, I still thought being gay is unfortunate. In my country, same sex marriage is legal, but is not very welcomed by the people and is considered a touchy subject. Many consider it an illness and pity people whom identify as such. Generally, no one really cares until it’s their children. My mom didn't like it. She thinks it’s a phase (classic.) and being bi would bring disadvantages to my life (she’s very wrong I daresay it’s literally 20gayteen and two women from the Bachelor Vietnam just ditched the guy for each other???) and that makes me doubt if my mom is ever right (she’s very convincing in most situations, unfortunately). 

I also learnt about my anxiety, like I noted. Two weeks ago, I seek help from the school counselor after being tempted to kill myself out of pure self hate. I have had extreme self hate for the last month but I thought it’s normal. One event that lead to me thinking this way is that one fight I had with my parents that my mom threatened to jump off the window to die and to leave the house forever, she said how terrible I am and I felt like being slapped across the face being it just hit me then: I am terrible. When I was younger I thought people don't like me because im ugly and I really wanted them to like me for my personality. But then the fight happen and I found out: im ugly both inside and outside. That’s when I started to lose hope, my grades (which was going bad before) got worse and when I got a bad result for maths finals, I got devastated and got a panic attack. I climbed to the tallest floor in my school building and lie there, falling asleep and let my mind shut down. My plan was to jump off the building and end my life but the door to outside was locked so I just curled up there and cry. I got found two hours later, and the teachers told me absolute bullshit because my country is absolutely obsolete about mental health. 

It just got worse and worse since March. My mom says I should stop being lazy, stop procrastinating, be more productive and I hate being at home, because my mom use my bedroom as her workplace and I have no privacy. I have to face my mom all day in summer, and that drove me crazy. Even when I had the chance to go to England for a month for summer camp, I still feel insignificant and lonely when I stare at the crowds being happy. My anxiety is super clear, but oh boy how funny I was. 

I thought I was faking it. I thought all of this is me wanting people to pity me, so I have to fake my anxiety and depression. Most of the times I look up for symptoms of depression and anxiety, I hope those symptoms match. Because I wanna be right, I don't wanna be an attention seeker, I want something to blame for my behaviors. 

All the tests I took for depression tell me I have severe depression. But some days I don't feel down or anything. I just felt fine, and deep down I feel guilty for not caring, because does this mean i’m faking my mental illness oh my god. I have a girlfriend. We broke up once, and now we are talking again. She’s in America and we only can text each other, but I don't feel like im ever good enough for her. All I feel is self hate and unworthiness. 

This is the thing I want you guys to help me about: Do I really have these mental illnesses? Am I making it up? Am I just paranoid and crave attention?

The thing that makes me doubting myself is the fact that around me, many kids are raised like me. Being hit my their moms, have the same education, but they’re not depressed. they don't have social anxiety. They’re doing alright. So I’m afraid this is because I got myself into this myself by going on the internet and reading about gay shits and befriend depressing people and got this myself. I’m afraid I’m making this up to be relevant. 

Please help me with this, or just reblog to help me find an answer. I’m so sorry I’m wasting your time. But please, I need to find myself. I don't want to feel suicidal again.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

talking w scully about the black suits and got to the topic of universal teenage misery and i’m always looking to spread my Teens Are Anti-Capitalist take. the whole Structure of schooling what with industrialization was to train ppl for factory work along with i guess educating them if you have to; and high school is better than middle school b/c middle school is just not cared about but hs is also ramped up where everythings abt how you’re about to be thrown to the wolves if u get ur diploma / ged and go from there or go to college which is better but still structured For capitalism rather than actual objective education or you might have to work before you graduate or might get arrested etc plus hs age teens & their increased awareness of the world around them and more complex perspective / analysis / questioning of the systems and figures around them is more than just like, teen angst/rebellion or whatever dismissive way its framed. people aren’t adults yet and don’t feel in control of their lives and are also maturing out of this childhood where they’re taught Moral Ideals that actually value human life & then are told to accept capitalism, which absolutely does not value human life, as simple reality. and teen Rebellion might just manifest as somewhat directionless useless seeming stuff like eh, garage bands, ___ phases, experimentation, sex drugs rock n roll, general unhappiness, etc, cuz nobody would let teens have a direction anyways—the horror of adult life where everything that Should Matter doesn’t is supposed to just be “the way things are” aka it can’t actually be directly rebelled against. like teens are just angry and upset and feel crushed for ~no reason~ and its supposed to be funny cuz they’re just in school, not dealing with Real Problems!! also regardless of any Causes it’s pretty bullshit that depression and existential despair and all these other big issues that teenagers are commonly assumed to deal with is just shrugged off as both an inevitability and a joke? there’s absolutely no reason for there to be a Constantly Unhappy phase in life and it’s not enough to just ignore it and say ppl will grow out of it as if the way ppl feel isn’t real for them every moment they experience it and they can just Stop Caring abt their own feelings until they hit a certain age also suburbia which is like practically part of the definition of so called Teen Angst, and surprise, suburbia is this unreality Effect of capitalism/racism (capitalism relies on racism so this is hand in hand baby) where like. it’s basically an extension of that “this is totally an unnecessary Lie that we pretend is normal reality” thing which capitalism provides with all its manifestations and results... there’s no reason for suburbs to exist and kids are trapped in this very isolating bordered-off elitist fake community-strangling hellscape of lawns and strip malls and nothing but the product of caaaapitalism which is meant to continue exactly the way that it is and its no wonder that 9-5 commuter suburban life seems repugnant to kids is because yeah of course it seems dead and hollow, cuz, relatively, it is? and you’re supposed to find the silver linings and simple pleasures and be content with that, because a fundamental rule re: capitalism is that you can’t think that things could be completely different and better and more human. mmm also saying that when teens are in the Real World they’ll HAVE to grow up and stop being so self-absorbed. like i s2g being forced by capitalism into participation isn’t entering the real world. again, its treated like its universal and timeless and impossible to change; across time and space every angsty teen has eventually been forced to go to college or get a min wage job and struggle not to die if they can’t do either. of course ppl end up HAVING to get jobs, cuz the s y s t e m basically holds your life and the lives of everyone you care abt hostage. if you have kids? of course you have to have a job so they can be sheltered and fed and have medical care and school and maybe even things to enjoy in life and shit!! of course taking care of kids demands “maturity,” but maturity has nothing to do with having no choice but to get a job. being forced to be punched in the gut daily by capitalism isn’t maturity. teens being unhappy and rebellious isn’t just cuz they want Drama or they don’t have big enough problems,,,,” just wait until you have to Fear Death Always” isn’t equal to “just wait until you mature” also the internet helps. you rebel with a scene phase or smthing because you don’t exactly encounter anticapitalism in said suburban wastelands or from your age peers who have the same pool of info you do. js. anyways and even if there wasn’t any of that shit i’m going on about—tf would this massive age-wide experience of Feeling Like Shit be like, something you’d wanna ignore or dismiss. but hey!! this is the way it is universally across time and unchangeably and there can be nothing better or more human!! no other options. this is just Reality teens are anti capitalist i s2g that’s my marble hornets theory

[saintanism-archive]

daaaamn aj, back at it again with the long as fuc headcanons !! anyway hi everyone it’s me this is saint he’s a pretentious fuck & my ( really long, sorry, feel free 2 skip them, there’s a tl;dr summary in my bulletpoints so u can just scroll past it ) headcanons and intro stuff is under the cut !

first headcanon. while most houghton parents are doctors, lawyers, and business executives, saint’s always been something of a horse of a different color. his family certainly isn’t unwealthy—he does, after all, live in one of those multi-million-dollar brownstones in beacon hill auctioned by freaking sotheby’s—but they’re certainly neo riche, which can be sort of hit or miss, depending on who you’re asking. saint is not unlike his parents in that they surround themselves with a kind of off-kilter opulence ( sure, that kind of cash value would have bought them a newly constructed sleek mansion in the suburbs, but why go for something new and modern when you could live in a brownstone with over three hundred years of history that, supposedly, one of the founding fathers lived in? besides, you just can’t beat that location—never mind that the brownstone’s been totally gutted and replaced with sleek, modern interior anyway, and definitely not anything that ben franklin or whoever would have touched ) while pretending to eschew materialism and vanity. why else would they live in boston instead of new york or la, right? anyway. saint is the only son of the one and only cordelia st. mercy ( pronounced, unlike saint’s name, the french way—san merci, which sounds hilariously close to ‘sans merci,’ meaning ‘without mercy,’ a joke that is not lost on saint ), a renowned fashion photographer and portrait artist ( think in the vein of annie liebovitz  and arthur elgort ) with a marked celebrity and high art clientele, and also the one and only son of the less elegantly named garrett wallace ( a pen name; his real name is garrett wallerstedt, but his editor and agent agreed that last names that are difficult to pronounce are harder to sell ), whose grisly but artful novels earned him a national book award in 1997, a film deal in 2001 ( the film was a critical and box office success but, in garrett’s opinion, too reductive of his book; ‘pure snuff’ ), and a professorship in the creative writing program at MIT. yes, that MIT, which yes, does have a creative writing program, and yes, it’s a very good one. SO—that’s the pedigree saint mercy-wallace was born into, and it probably explains a whole lot about him. his parents are not and were never married, so he can’t quite say he’s a child of divorce. instead, he spends the school year with his father while his mother travels all over the world, doing her work, though she comes home for holidays and saint’s birthday, and the summers he spends with his mother, dipping his feet into the world of the new york art scene. it was an unusual arrangement, but not a bad one; it was a long time before saint even understood that his family situation was out of the ordinary, but, like, at least he knew both his parents loved him or whatever. they are both pretty emotionally distant and prone to getting caught up in their own work—his father is always focused on teaching or poring over his latest book or invited to give a talk somewhere, for example—but it’s not a bad situation. they’re just more like friends than parents. as a result, saint grew up with a lot of freedom ( more than most of his houghton peers, whose helicopter parents put the weight of the world on their shoulders ) and little discipline, often left to his own devices and trusted with the ability to take care of himself.

second headcanon: ah, yes. the houghton food chain. it’s easy to say saint sits at the dead bottom. like, he’s not even the bugs that get eaten by the birds or whatever. he’s the plant that gets eaten by the bugs. or the soil nutrients that get consumed by the plants—something like that. but the easy answer isn’t necessarily the correct one, and you see, once upon a time, saint sat somewhere near the top. he was never number one, of course, but he was up there, in that little crew of self-proclaimed high school princes and princesses ( quite literally, what with calling themselves windsors and all ). and he fit quite well, all things considered. what, with his pseudo-celebrity family background and his instagram roll full of selfies with models and musicians and actors and that specifically youthful brand of devil-may-care attitude that bordered at times on cruelty—he was a perfect fit for the windsors, his five-story, oft-empty brownstone the perfect venue for their parties and his unconscious need to belong to some kind of family the perfect host for going along with anything that dante and his ilk said. that’s not to make it sound like he was manipulated into it or anything of the sort—he wasn’t. he and dante were good friends—they were all good friends—and like anyone would, saint relished in the perks that came with sitting at the king’s left hand instead of dancing for his entertainment. he was ( and still is ) always the kind of person who gave off an air of not really caring about anything at all, but that’s especially easy when you want for nothing. his life was impossibly easy. too easy, perhaps—exactly what went down that infamous day when saint fell from his high school pedestal remains a mystery. all anyone really knows is this: it was your typical rager at chateau mercy-wallace. the party was going as saint’s parties typically did, so, pretty well, until saint cut the music and ( red-rimmed and wild-eyed, or stinking of about a hundred cigarettes, or with a bloody nose from too many lines of coke, depending on who’s telling the story—it’s morphed a bit over time ) threw everyone out of his house with no explanation. just a party’s over, fuckwads, get outta my house, and some monologue about the bullshit superficiality of high school, of all of them, about how they were all talking in circles and repeating the same lines over and over, but not even their own lines, lines they’d inherited from generations and generations past. it’s equally up for debate whether saint left the windsors or was kicked out, but there’s something of a general consensus that it was in the muddy lines of both. that went down somewhere towards the middle of the end of his junior year. since then? total social pariah. he left behind the lacrosse and soccer teams, opting instead for chain-smoking under the bleachers and cutting class. he’s a mystery, that saint mercy-wallace.

third headcanon: they were friends until they weren’t. they met in middle school and hit it off pretty easily, these two sons of daedalus who feared not the dangers of flying too close to the sun. they were handsome and charming and confident and gifted and the world opened for them—it made it easy to get along. eleven-year-olds didn’t need much by way of substance to start friendships. if you were to ask saint, looking back on it, after that they remained friends out of habit—because they were in the same place at the same time, because they had similar privilege, because they both felt they could do anything and get away with it, because they had similar luxurious sensibilities. it was ( if you ask saint ) what really bonded all of the windsors together more than any other kind of commonality. but, you know. when you wake up—as saint describes it, a waking up—and you look around and you see all this shit you’ve been brainwashed into thinking matters about anything, and you call out the only flimsy common ground you’ve got. well. you’re not going to be friends anymore, are you? after that, saint didn’t harbor any particular resentment towards dante, but he made no attempts to be friendly, often making snide remarks about the absurdity that was the whole premise of the “windsors” and how maybe they all needed to get outside and look at something other than their phones once in a while. he was still fairly shocked and upset by his death—nobody wants anyone to die, old friend slash new enemy or otherwise—but not enough to make a big thing out of it. saint’s had a pretty hard time feeling much of anything these days.

OK THE TL;DR VERSION:

son of a big hotshot fashion/art/celeb photographer ( cordelia aka cordy st. mercy ) and an acclaimed writer, essayist, novelist, thinker, etc ( garrett wallace, who teaches creative writing at MIT )

lives in a big ol brownstone in boston proper, often left to his own devices

his parents are not married to each other so he usually spends the school year w dad and the summer w mom - pls advise if u want some kind of step sibling or “our parents are dating this is terrible!” connection

used to be a windsor ! he was once (in)famously a member of the elite Inner Circle(TM) until he even more infamously had a giant burnout , threw everyone out of his house during a Classic Saint Rager ( he used to be known for throwing parties ), stopped hanging out w the windsors and has been kinda.....weird ever since

i mean don’t get me wrong he was always a pretentious fuck but he used to be better at keeping it inside and like having fun and talking about silly things now he hates talking about basic high school bullshit

his instagram is full of selfies w models and artists and musicians and actors and he only listens to bands you’ve probably never heard of who are “on the up and up”

and also house music and gregorian chants and weird af shit he’s into, like, industrial noise. anyway..........

prides himself on being very fashion forward and forward thinking in general

BIG MESS

literally never says things that aren’t . ridiculous

examples:

“can’t today my existential dread is acting up”

“i only eat squid ink pasta it’s the most melancholy of pasta”

“i can barely navigate the hellish vortex between breakfast and dinner, let alone the labyrinth of the soccer field” ( said when he quit the soccer & lacrosse teams, which he used to play )

does not give a single fuck about anything ever

chainsmokes like u wouldn’t believe catch him on the bleachers during football practice wearing all black and smoking three cigarettes at once it’s disgusting ( lowkey he thinks it looks cool lol what a loser )

reads pretentious af shit like jd salinger and allen ginsburg and the other beats and thinks he’s so edgy. kill him

skips class.....all the time . . . . but has really good grades ? wild

hates everyone and everything that isn’t Elegant

acts like he’s so above all this high school hierarchy nonsense & too cool for it & blah blah but uh

he’s probably just depressed

maybe still gets invited to parties if people forget for a second that he’s a giant fucking weirdo now? but maybe not

i would Love a ferris bueller to his cameron frye but we’ll see

anyway he’s super hard to plot with but you should plot with me anyway

this has been an intro by aj thanks for coming to my ted talk

[randisnotonfire-blog]

Wrong Love Final Chapter? Pt.1/2? Eddie Kaspbrak X Reader Modern AU

Summary: Ah, finally, it’s fall and you all are finally 19 or 20. Your favorite season, is what you thought...That damn clown decides to come back because apparently you and everyone thought you killed him, but you didn’t. This all leads down to a reunion of the Losers club even though sadly Bev isn’t there to make you feel like not the only girl in the entire group. (Also sorry if this is shitty asf bc I didn’t plan for a part 4 :/ ) Bill made the stupid decision of having everyone go down to the Neibolt house for one “last” time to kill the fucking clown. Which this causes some horrible things to happen that includes your fear. Death.

Pairings: Eddie Kasprak X Reader, Richie Tozier X Reader

Warnings: Death, cursing, triggering scenes, chaos, some harm, graphic descriptions I guess, spoopy scenes, me trying to add in some humor to a sad and spoopy fic, and anything else that you would expect in this series!

Requested: Yes

Song: Afraid by The Neighborhood, and Suckerz by Blackbear

Authors Note, descriptive warning: Okay so hey there, honestly I felt so bland if you can even say that, writing this. I don’t know what it was, shit happens I guess you can say. Okay so this might be a little bit too long but whatever lol: So as you may know there will be a death part in this. It will be triggering to some people, even I had to get up and question what the hell was I writing. No I am not a psychopath for writing this, this is actually something that I have been questioning a lot lately; What happens when we die? Sorry if that just gave you a existential crisis, but I am being serious about this since it is not a funny topic to be discussing with someone. I do know that I need to get help about it but I feel better writing out what’s going on in reality, my thoughts, and my depression if that all makes sense. Me and my non online best friend were discussing this during lunch class on Friday but the topic then got quickly pushed passed to a new topic when my friend noticed how my attitude changed, thankfully, but still its serious as I said. I had cried one day just thinking that we will all die lately and this is a now VERY serious reason why I can’t even handle and talk about death now. But I am okay with telling you guys for some reason but yeah lets just get writing, okay? Trust me I am fine if you have any questions just tell me also I WILL talk to a professional about this so don’t even think about contacting someone for me. 

            This chapter contains triggering scenes/parts, so if you are sensitive to this please DO NOT read on. And if you are then you have been warned. Please do not try to recreate anything that goes on in this, thank you for listening to me.

       (gif credits to rightful owner <3)

                                              *              *             *

                         Before:

“Okay so why are we here?” Stan said after almost 3 hours of just hanging out and relaxing in the quarry. “Yeah we should hurry up and get home soon, its completely dark outside since this was pointless” Richie said, you rolled your eyes. “Stop it you guys, and I think we all know why we are here” Eddie said while you walked over to him. “I’m tired Eddie” You whispered in his ear as he grasped ahold of your hand. “I know” He mumbled. “And I still wonder how Eddie out of our group got a girlfriend” Richie said trying to make a joke but everyone was being serious. “Last night…” Eddie said then Richie shuffled his hands through his hair from being nervous just to confront everyone about what happened. Eddie motioned for him to say what he did as everyone else just looked at each other but mainly just looking at Richie, “Dude I can’t tell them” Richie said quietly but stern, “Just tell them” Stan said awkward patting Richie’s shoulder. “Wait you know!? Y/n who did you tell!?” Richie said loudly from stress. “Just Eddie, but Stan just found out” you said quietly, shuffling your feet through the grass and dirt, “Just fucking tell them Rich!” Eddie said getting a little bit pissed off from Richie’s actions. “T-this is s-stupid” Bill said pointing to the three of you, “Fine!” Richie said rather loudly. “I fucking hit Y/n, are you happy that I told you now?!” Richie said yelling at everyone. You rested your head on Eddie’s shoulder. “I wish this was just a bad dream” you whispered to Eddie, trying to hide your face from everyone. Everyone was wordless, “You are all just a bunch of assholes” Richie said before walking away from the motionless astounded group. “S-seriously? Y-y/n d-did Richie rea-really do t-that?” Bill managed to speak out. You nodded and watched as everyone said their goodbyes and goodnights and left except for Stan.

              “Sorry Y/n” Stan said as he lightly punched your shoulder lightly, “Night” he said when he walked off and waved.

                       “Come on Y/n lets leave” Eddie said as he took your hand and walked off with you to his house.

Extended:

      “Eddie honestly I don’t think I want to deal with this drama anymore...” you said softly when you both walked into your house. “W-what do you mean?” he said with nervousness flooding through the pastel voice Eddie had. “I mean that I don’t want to be around anymore! Couldn’t you tell that I have been stressed and this bullshit with all these TV stereo typical love shit like fucking Twilight is stupid. I didn’t sign up for this when I decided to hang out with your friends and I don’t even want to be around them anymore Eddie. I can’t deal with these, You and Richie are like the worst part of my life now!” You tried not to yell but instead you felt stressful tears fall down from both of you. “If that’s what you really fucking want Y/n then I’m done with your drama, you can deal with Richie on your own” He poked your chest when he said ‘You’ then left slamming the door shut. You had never felt this regretful in your entire life. 

                                      *              *             *

You peared looking out your foggy early morning window, watching a specific golden leaf fall that had caught your attention. “Y/n?” Eddie said as he walked into your room to see you sitting at one of your chairs, looking outside. “mhm?” You said softly. “Your mom said I could come in” “Okay” “are you okay?” He said as he sat on the floor next to you. “Yeah I guess...why are you even here though...” “You haven’t been answering my calls...” You opened your mouth to speak but it closed in fear of telling him the real truth: that you have been staying in your room for the entire week watching TV and browsing your social medias, avoiding him at school. And this was all because of that one night. “I’m sorry Eddie..for everything” You said as you averted your attention to him. Remembering that night after the drama filled week, when Eddie crawled back to you because he thought he had been the main source of all of this made you still heartbroken for saying those hurtful words to him. “It’s fine but your mom wants us to come downstairs” you nodded then got up from your sitting position and left the room with Eddie. 

     “Hi sweetie” Your mom said with a smile as she finished chopping up some food for dinner tonight. “Hey” “Eddie wanted to know if you both could go out, so I said only if it was okay with you” You nodded then said sure. “so do you want to leave now” “Yeah” “Okay be safe and please make smart choices, bye Eddie and tell your mom I said ‘Hi’ okay?” you rolled your eyes at your moms total obliviousness for being over-protective. “I will Mrs. L/n (last name)” You smiled then he grabbed your hand in a hurry to leave. When you guys got outside you quickly let go of his. “Where are we going and why did you do that? My mom knows about the fight and the breakup Eddie...She was at the house..during the fight..it was awkward having to explain to her..” “She knows everything?!” Eddie said as he let go of your hand too. “Yeah, she does. Now tell me where we are going before I go walk back home” You said. “Neibolt house...” you rolled your eyes thinking he had to have been lying to you. “I’m being serious Y/n..Wait don’t you have that nail bat in your garage?” “Yeah...” You said trying not to think about the last time you got dragged there, how your fear then was clowns and now it’s death. “Go get it..” You rolled your eyes yet again since he wanted you to have a weapon at least. “Fine” you muttered then ran back to get it, then ran back again back to him.

                                                  *              *            *

    “We’re here” Eddie said as he looked at Bill then at Mike. “Good” “Okay so why are we here?” You interrupted their planning time. “why else do you think we are here Y/n” Richie hissed. “Shut up, and the clown. Don’t you remember?” Stan said and smiled from seeing your presence after two years without the Losers club. “Yeah obviously” “Has she always been this bitchy?” Richie whispered loudly to Mike. “Shut up Richie” Mike hissed back, Richie shrugged his shoulders. “W-wh-we need to h-hu-hurry up” Bill stuttered out. You all nodded your heads in agreement. Eddie grasped your hand before you all walked in, giving you a small smile you gave him a smile back. You picked up your nailed bat and walked in with him. 

     Walking in you checked your phone to see what time it was, but saw that you received no signal in there gave you chills. Putting your phone back in your back pocket of your ripped jeans you looked around. “This place is even more shitty than I remember, if that’s even possible” You muttered. “Yeah...” Eddie said as he saw the dusty book shelves and the broken TV. “Ke-keep your b-bat with y-yo-you Y-y/n” Bill said quietly. Richie was walking around and ended up getting split up with the rest of the group. Stan stayed closer to you than possible, and this was only because he and Eddie were the only two people out of the group who REALLY did care about your safety. “Where did trashmouth go..?” Eddie said as he let go of your hand to try and find him. “I think he went upstairs” you spoke when you felt the softness leave your hand. Then suddenly Mike got split up from the others, then the same happened for everyone else. Stan went looking for Bill,Mike went looking for you, and Eddie went looking for Richie. Which left you alone upstairs, straight to the point you were upstairs in a locked room.

      “Get away” you screamed at the top of your lungs when you saw a man who represented your fear. Death, murders, and being forgotten. You don’t know what struct your fear for being murdered but it all just happened when your friend died in a car crash. Thinking about dying and never knowing what will happen after left you in tears from that day. You were screaming and crying whilst banging on the door in hopes it would open up. You heard yelling outside the door, it was everyone and they all sounded scared and worried as hell. Anxiety rode up on you like a jackass trying to get around your car but instead their car is so close to yours. “Somebody please help me!” You cried out. When the door finally busted open everything went black. Your last thoughts were: “I’m dead, this is the end of Y/n.” Everyone screamed when they saw blood and your body. Some were motionless but everything was too real that it made it scary. “S-so-somebody d-do s-so-something!” Bill screamed. Eddie was in tears and ran out but ended up falling just like the first time this happened. Then he screamed and Richie came running to help him. Mike just stood there motionless because this reminded him of all that happened to his family. Bill and Stan tried to wake you up but failed. “M-my mom s-said that i-if you c-check someone’s p-pulse it t-tells you if they ar-are dead” Stan said, he only stuttered when he was nervous or scared. Bill nodded and checked your pulse but received nothing “SHE IS FUCKING DEAD!!” Stan screamed at the top of his lungs. Mike was crying and everything was a full on chaotic mess. Quickly Stan yelled at Mike to help them pick you up to at least get you all outside and somewhat safe. 

                                         *                 *               *

     “Richie I said there is a fucking inhaler in the second fanny pack outside!” Eddie screamed in between breathes. “OKAY OKAY I WILL GO GET IT” Richie said running outside. “Don’t forget the fucking bat!” Mike yelled. “Pick the damn thing up then!” Stan yelled at him back, then Mike picked it up and helped them carry you downstairs. “Y/n?” Eddie said when he saw Bill and Stan trying to carry your limp and heavy body downstairs. “What the fuck!” Richie screamed then threw Eddie’s fanny pack at Eddie. He caught the fanny pack then tried his best to get his inhaler. When he found it he practically took all the air the inhaler had. “Here” Mike gave Richie the nailed bat. “Is she even breathing!?” “Can’t Eddie like give her his inhaler?” Richie said. “Nah dipshit!” Eddie yelled when he saw your limp hand move from Bill and Stan trying to move outside. Then to make everything worse that fucking demon clown appeared. This was some Stranger Things shit because that fucking clown was coming out of the wall. “What the-AHHHHHHH” Eddie screamed at the top of his lungs, he got up and bolted out of the house. Richie ended up trying to chase down Eddie to make his slow down and calm down to. Mike helped Stan and Bill get you out safely. When you were all outside Richie was still chasing Eddie to make him stop running. “EDS SLOW THE FUCK DOWN” Richie screamed at Eddie. “Is she okay, wait what do you mean she isn’t breathing?!” Mike said in a scared tone. “This is fucking stupid!” Stan said loudly then let go of your body. “I’m going home, I don’t want to touch a dead girl...” Stan said and got in car, driving off to his house. “Asshole” mike muttered then noticed your tiny body was crushing Bill. “H-help me!” Bill said while Mike went over to help up your body. “H-how are w-we g-go-going to t-tell h-he-her parents?!” Bill spazzed out. “We a-al-already l-lu-lost G-Ge-Georgie!” Bill managed to stutter out. “Calm down, we need to atleast get Richie to give us a ride to her house” “M-mu-mike HOW A-ARE WE GOING TO TELL H-HER MO-MOM!?” Bill yelled out with stress. “I got h-him” Richie said as he had Eddie following him. “He ran like a fucking mile..past 29-Neibolt street...” Richie said as his speech slowed down from running. “It’s not my fault that there was a fucking cLOWN COMING OUT OF THE WALL!” “Calm down you guys! We need a ride to Y/n’s house” Mike said then looked at the ground. “Yeah I guess you can get a ride home from me...” Richie said. “H-how are w-we going to tell Mrs. L/n (Last name)..” “We just tell her” Eddie spoke up. 

     The drive up there was awkward for the 4 boys to be in a car with a what seemed to be dead friend. “I can’t believe I’m in a fucking car with my dead fucking ex!” Eddie muttered. “This is crazy!” His last mutters turned his new words into slight yelling. “Calm down! We will get this taken care of!” “Mike seriously, I agree with Eddie. How the hell are we going to tell the fucking cops?! Or even her mom!?” Richie said. “All th-they will t-th-think is t-th-that w-we kil-killed h-her” Bill said softly and quietly. “See! Even Richie and Bill think this is crazy!” Eddie went to get his inhaler. “I’m fucking out!” He yelled and his breathing got worse. “Bill or Mike there should be a extra inhaler lying around in the back seat somewhere” (FUCKING REDDIE RIGHT THERE M8 OFC RICHIE WOULD HAVE AN EXTRA INHALER!! lmao) “Okay” 

                                        *               *              *

           Richie nearly ran over a old ladys mailbox when parking, “Slow down man!” Mike yelled. “Shush it I know how to drive!” Eddie rolled his eyes. “I don’t feel good about this...” Eddie said quietly. “You’re the one who said we do this!” Richie said as he turned off the car and turned to look at everyone else, and at your dead body...”Who votes that Eddie tells Y/n’s mom?” Richie spoke up. Everyone raised their hand and Eddie groaned. “You guys suck” (Insert Richie making another dick joke lmao) “Not as hard as I do” Richie said with a smirk.  “Toizer, are you hinting that you’re gay?” Mike said (Eddie needs his gay inhaler rn during this part lmao). He rolled his eyes then Eddie got out of the car. 

    When Eddie knocked on the door his entire heart sunk and he felt the need to cry. In Eddie’s mind he was just thinking that this was stupid, like seriously? Showing up at your ex girlfriend’s house to tell her MOTHER that she is fucking dead because of a psycho ass bitch clown? He took a deep sigh then the door swung open. It. Was. Her. Fucking. Dad. Eddie was now screaming internally. “H-hey Mr. L/n” Eddie forced himself to give out a pain-killing smile. “Hiya Eddie, where is Y/n” Your dad said. “YourdaughterisfuckingdeadtherewasafuckingclownthatkilledherandIdon’tknowwhatodopleasedontfuckingkillmeiminnocentashellunlikeRichie!” Eddie said fastly before he ran back to the car before your dad grabed his shoulder, forcing him to stop. “Did you just say Y/n is dead?” your dad said sternly but concerned. “Y/m/n (Your mom’s name)” Your dad called out loudly. “Yes?” Your mom said when she walked out. “Oh hi Eddie, where is Y/n?” Your mom smiled brightly then her smile turned into a frown. “is she really dead Eddie?” Her voice cracked with depression. Eddie nodded then Richie and everyone else got out of his dumpy car. Stan, Bill, Mike, and Richie came walking up and stood next to Eddie. “Richie Tozier are you seriously okay with my ‘dead’ daughter’s body in your car?!” Your dad’s voice raised. “Y-yes. I really am. If it was anyone else then I probably wouldn’t even be able to have him or her near my car” Richie spoke the truth which made your moms heart sink. “I wouldn’t want to ever call the ambulance or the cops on you guys, but I have to” Your mom said then went inside. “Please..Come inside” Your dad motioned for them all to come inside. 

      They all took a seat on the couch, “Bill!” your little sister yelled out as she ran into the living room with her friend. “Y/s/n! (Your sister’s name)” Bill said when he saw the little 6 year old girl, he smiled softly when she hugged his leg since she was short for her age. “Where is Y/n?” She said then sat down next to him. As if on cue your mom came walking in and picked up Y/s/n. “S-she is at the- skate factory with her other friends” Your mom forced a fake smile and Bill nodded at her. “Thank you” he mouthed to her and your mom walked into a different room. “Why is she still at the skate factory then?” Your sister’s friend asked Bill quietly. Bill tried to not cry when he remembered seeing her play around with Georgie, when Mike saw Bill’s reaction to the little girl he chimed in. “S-she is a-uh sick..She refused t-to leave” Richie then texted Mike. “Nice reply dipshit” then when Mike got the text he responded back saying: “Bite me” 

       The police and ambulence sirens got louder and the little girl ran into your sister’s room. You had been quickly taken to the hospital, everybody had to tag along but your sister’s little friend couldn’t because her mom wouldn’t allow her to. 

                                            *                 *                *

     Extended:

     Stan, Eddie, Richie, Your sister, mom, and dad were the people who decided to stay. Stan, Eddie, and Richie all had to watch your little sister in the waiting room while your mom and dad were talking to the doctors. “Richie wake up!” Your sister called out as she tugged on his shirt. It was 11pm and they were fighting to stay awake but Richie fell asleep knowing him. “What?” Richie said. Eddie was wide awake and nervously sitting in the middle of Stan and Richie. “Boys, me and Mr. L/n (your last name) are gonna watch Y/n’s little sister for a bit so you all can go check in on her, okay?”  Your mom called out. “Richie wake the fu- I mean wake up” Eddie said as he quickly got up and walked into your room with Stan and Richie. “Y/n?” they called out but received no answer. “You guys can I have some alone time...?”  Richie and Stan nodded and left.

      “Y/n...I’m sorry for everything I put you through” Eddie said breaking down when he took a seat next to you. “Even though you are my moon and my stars, doesn’t mean that its wrong for you to be my ex along with that. Even though people say its considered wrong to be best friends with your ex we proved them wrong” Eddie’s voice cracked from crying. “If I knew you were going to die then my last words to you wouldn’t have been about that stupid nailed bat...” “And we all did really care about you Y/n”  The tear drops from his heavy eyes fell onto your pale skin and the white bed sheets on the hospital bed. “I really do love you Y/n” and now I guess you can say that was the last words Eddie said to you. Now the sounds of the machine beeping that showed you had been alive now stopped. And everything was done. Forever. 

                                   *                       *                     *

[kurokoros]

Wednesdays

For @papalogia <3 Enjoy!

Romeo Conbolt is not having a good day.

Of all the days in the week, Romeo’s least favorite has to be Wednesday, for several very specific reasons. First of all, he’s never liked the letter “W.” It’s just an upside down “M” and that frustrates him. Second of all, he hates the concept of “hump day,” and thinks it’s obnoxious. Though, that could very well be attributed to Chelia, considering the other girl found the phrase to be hilarious back in high school and would continuously crack jokes about it. Third, Wednesday is also the day he goes home to visit his parents, which is, as always, delightful. Now, he loves his parents, he really does, but he could do without the invasive questions and the yelling, which make up about eighty-six percent of conversations with his mother. “When are you going to get a girlfriend, Romeo? I want grandchildren!” she says. “Did you settle on a career choice, Romeo?” she asks. “Have you thought about taking Totomaru’s offer yet?” she asks. “Did you put on clean underwear this morning?” she asks, his father laughing in the background. He doesn’t know. No. Also, no. And yes, yes he did! He’s not completely incompetent, despite what they may think. Fourth, he hates everyone’s tired, half-assed optimism about how the week is half over and there’s only two more days of classes, as if the weekend won’t be filled with studying and existential crisis’s over a two A.M. paper and five cups of coffee while you’re one source away from going batshit crazy and throwing a chair out the window.

Granted, he’s only been witness to that last one once in his life, à la Sting Eucliffe, in what they affectionately refer to as the “Battle of the B-,” in which Sting valiantly fought to keep his grade in Biology from slipping to a C, which would result in his mother and boyfriend finding out and killing him. That had been an interesting weekend, though, all things considered. He could have done without the property damage, but oh well. That, and Sting may or may not have been on a mushroom induced high at the time, which, quite frankly, explains a lot.

Romeo makes a face, nose wrinkling as he thinks about what a disaster that Saturday night was. He could have lived his entire life without knowing about the filtration process of the kidney, but he digresses. Now, Sting owes him a favor and that’s all that really matters.

It’s bittersweet, he thinks, how the week is half over, yet there’s still two more days of exams and essays to worry about, followed by a weekend of filing paperwork and studying for more exams and more essays the next week. It’s an unending cycle with no reprieve, and Wednesday just serves as a reminder of that. Wednesday is also the day of the week where he finally manages to peel his face away from his computer and realize he’s accomplished absolutely nothing all week. Delightful.

Apparently, he’s a glass half-full kind of guy; at least, that’s what Wendy tells him. Frankly, he doesn’t care if he’s being negative abut it. Wednesday is a terrible day, and there’s absolutely nothing that could make him like it.

However, this Wednesday in particular is especially horrible, for three reasons.

Reason number one: Romeo was awake until the A.M. studying for a Biochemisty test worth thirty percent of his grade, which he absolutely needed to pass in fear of his mother strangling him in his sleep. Furthermore, he’s tired, cranky, and hasn’t had the opportunity to fully enjoy his coffee yet because it’s too hot and burned his tongue. As such, he’s in a pretty bad mood already.

Reason number two: it, apparently, snowed last night, which the weatherman neglected to mention earlier in the week. So now there’s snow up to his knees, it’s freezing outside, he missed the bus that would have dropped him off on campus, and in his rush to get out the door, he forgot to grab gloves and a warmer jacket. As such, he barely managed to shove on a pair of jeans and a mildly clean sweatshirt from that time in high school he accidentally joined the debate team.

Which leads to reason number three: his alarm didn’t go off this morning and he was instead awoken twenty minutes before his exam by a frantic barrage of text messages courtesy of Chelia, who, luckily, happens to have the same class as him. So, fifteen minutes before his test from hell he scrambles out of bed and runs out the door in a panic because—not only is this test worth thirty percent of his final grade—Porlyusica is a total hardass that won’t tolerate him being late. As soon as the clock hits eight, that door is going to be locked and Porlyusica is going to be cackling in his face.

In hindsight, and eight A.M. class was an incredibly stupid idea, but it was the only timeslot available for this specific class with this specific professor. Yeah, well, next semester, Porlyusica can piss off, because Romeo is never again taking a class which requires him to be awake before ten o’clock in the morning. Despite the relatively quiet campus, the lack of sleep just isn’t worth it.

His only solace is that he managed to grab coffee before he left, because he figures stopping to buy shitty, watered down Starbucks and having to run to class is better than not buying coffee, falling asleep in the middle of an exam, and getting an earful from his mom later tonight.

So, yeah. Romeo had been having a spectacular morning. The day has been an absolute blur, and perhaps that’s how Romeo finds himself sitting in a tiny, hole in the wall coffee shop at ten-thirty at night, frantically working on an essay he completely forgot about. He kind of wants to cry, like, a lot, but the pretty blonde barista has given him two refills “on the house!” and he doesn’t want to make trouble for her.

She’s providing him with his caffeine fix for the night and letting him loiter, after all.

Though, he thinks she might be getting more out of this than he is, judging by the way he’s unintentionally allowing her to avoid her distressed coworker, the punk in his History class. And he means that entirely unironically. The dude has more piercings than Romeo has fingers, spiky pink hair, an absurd amount of ink on the visible parts of his skin, and looks like he could break a chair over Romeo’s head.

Looking at the two of them, Romeo would laugh if anyone suggested they were friends. The girl is all big eyes and pouty lips and too big sweater and too long scarf. She is, hands down, the most attractive woman he’s ever seen, and Romeo’s two best friends are subjectively attractive young ladies. And dye-job? Well, he looks intimidating and Romeo thinks he would probably piss himself if the dude glared at him.

But then Dye-job looks at her like he’s seeing the moon and stars for the first time. He looks at her like she’s something wonderful, and Romeo is thrown for a loop by the soft look in his eyes.

After blatantly staring at them for roughly ten minutes, Romeo comes to the conclusion that they’re some king of star-crossed, Romeo and Juliet type couple. You know, sans the murder and suicide.

Dye-job sighs suddenly, and Romeo glances up from his laptop to see him lean into the girl, his cheek brushing against hers, chest flush to her back. Romeo blinks, surprised at the sudden intimacy, but even more surprised when the girl leans into Dye-job’s chest. He thought she was avoiding him, or something? She hasn’t even looked at her co-worker once since he walked in, and that was over six hours ago.

“Lucy,” Dye-job murmurs, just loud enough for Romeo to hear if he concentrates, “would you just tell me what I did wrong, please?” Dye-job sounds desperate, almost-heartbroken when the girl, Lucy, shakes him off.

She returns his sigh, shoulders slumping in something like defeat, and pretends to fix a cup full of straws, fiddling with the tubes. “You didn’t do anything, Natsu,” she replies, though she doesn’t look at him. “I’m fine.” She flashes him a quick, awkward smile, then goes back to the perfect straws.

Romeo thinks he probably shouldn’t stare like he is, but people-watching is a lot more entertaining than whatever the hell he’s supposed to be writing about. He’s just going to bullshit the essay anyway, so it’s not like it matters. Besides, he deserves a break after writing—

He glances down at his screen.

—two pages and a footnote that says “wherever the fuck this came from.”

Yeah, he’s doing great.

Natsu breaks him out of his thoughts, a distressed growl coming from the older boy. “Clearly I did something,” he argues, running a frustrated hand through his hair. His green eyes look almost pained when Lucy continues to ignore him. “Please, Lucy, just look at me.” His voice cracks as he says it, and Romeo’s pretty sure he’s never seen someone look quite so heartbroken.

She does look at him, and her expression softens when she sees the stricken look on her friends face. Romeo watches in fascination as she tries to smile, leaning forward slightly to hear them better.

“Natsu, just drop it,” she tells him, but her voice is weak, wobbly, as if she’s halfway to crying her eyes out in the middle of a coffee shop on a Wednesday night (which doesn’t sound like a bad plan to Romeo, but he digresses).

Natsu ducks his head to meet her gaze, hands coming up to cup her face. He looks down at her like she’s something precious, something he needs to protect, and Romeo almost has to look away, feeling like he’s intruding on something private—he is, but it’s not his fault that they’re doing this while he’s still here.

“Talk to me,” Natsu whispers, thumbs stroking her cheeks gently. “Please.” Lucy starts to shake her head, eyes glossy, but Natsu coos at her, leaning his forehead against hers. “You’ve been upset since this morning,” he murmurs, leaving Romeo to wonder how he knows that, “what’s wrong?”

Lucy winces, but lets him cradle her jaw. “Nothing’s wrong,” she whispers back.

Romeo doesn’t believe it, and he knows Natsu doesn’t believe it, judging by the frustrated sound that pulls from the man’s throat.

Natsu’s throat bob’s with a hard swallow. “Did I say something? Do something?” It’s a loaded question, one that hangs heavy in the air and makes Romeo’s coffee taste just a little more bitter.

For a moment, he wonders if he’s read the situation wrong. Maybe he’s about to witness a break-up. Romeo cringes at the thought, hoping that’s not the case. He doesn’t know these people, but he can see that they care about each other a lot, even if things are tense at the moment. Romeo has never been through a break-up, but he can imagine how it must feel, because Dye-job is looking at the barista like she’s his entire world.

“No!” Lucy shouts suddenly, frantic gaze meeting Natsu’s. He startles at her loudness, but doesn’t release her. “No,” she says again, softer this time. One of her hands comes up to cover his, her fingertips trembling as they brush against his skin. “It was Gray,” she tells him after a long moment, gaze slipping away from Natsu’s.

Romeo doesn’t know who the hell Gray is, but he kind of wants to punch the dude in the face, and that’s saying something, considering Romeo’s something of a pacifist. However, Romeo’s offense is nothing compared to Natsu’s.

The man goes rigid, his entire body tensing and his gaze sharpening with pure rage. There’s a tick to his jaw, the muscle jumping as he clenches his teeth, and Romeo will swear up and down that the man just growled. “Gray did something?” he snarls, positively seething. “What the fuck did he do, Lucy?” Natsu asks, voice softening as she winces.

Romeo hears the unasked question: Do you want me to kill him?

“Nothing bad,” Lucy responds, placating him. Her hands slip down to his chest, fingers twisting through the dark fabric slowly. She sends him a brief, unconvincing smile. “I just—” She cuts off suddenly, gaze dropping to the floor.

Natsu leans in so that his nose bumps against Lucy’s, their breath mingling as he tilts Lucy’s chin, gaze locking with hers. “Hey,” he coos, gaze softer than his smile, “hey, you can tell me anything.”

Romeo blushes, feeling like he’s looking at something her shouldn’t, kind of like the first time he watched porn on his dad’s computer, only less arousing.

Lucy looks up at Natsu and smiles, but it’s shaky, watery, like she’s about to cry. Her voice makes an audible crack as her lips part. “I’m in love with you,” she says suddenly, wetting her lips and shifting awkwardly, but no looking away from Natsu.

Romeo nearly spits out his coffee.

Natsu inhales sharply, hands slipping away from her. He stumbles back a step, eyes impossibly wide. Lucy flinches, looking like her heart’s just been ripped out. Natsu stares back, lower lip trembling just the slightest. “H-how long?” he asks her, stumbling over his words.

Lucy looks three seconds away from crying, but manages a smile for him. “Since high school,” she says simply. “The night of the Winter Formal.”

Now, Romeo has no idea what happened at the Winter Formal, but judging by Natsu’s reaction, something big happened. Something big and very, very important.

Natsu stumbles backwards another step, backing right into the counter. “I… I have to—” He doesn’t finish his sentence, bolting into the backroom without another word.

Romeo can only watch as Lucy’s face crumples, expression absolutely shattered and heartbroken. For a moment, he considers standing up and helping her, but another, larger part of him wants to run away and pretend he didn’t see anything. This is awkward and he feels terrible for watching this, but technically they probably shouldn’t have been discussing this on the job in the first place.

But before he can tuck tail and run away like a coward, Natsu comes storming back through the doors. Lucy’s head snaps up at the bang, the doors crashing against the wall. Natsu stares at her, expression serious and positively fierce.

“You know what?” he snarls, wetting his lips. “Fuck it.” It takes two seconds for Natsu to walk over to Lucy, and Romeo chokes on his drink when the man grabs her by the waist and drags her in for a rough, messy kiss.

Romeo is pretty sure he’s blushing.

Lucy squeaks in surprise, but melts into the kiss quickly, her hands flying up to fist in Natsu’s hair. He sighs against her, kissing her harder, and Lucy’s back arches into him, removing any sense of space between them. It’s a sloppy kiss, noses bumping and hands groping, but neither appear to mind.

Suddenly, Lucy is lifted clear off the ground, Natsu’s hands grasping at her thighs as he lifts her. Her legs wind around him and then he’s placing her on the counter, his back to Romeo, who can only stare in vague horror at what’s happening.

He hears Lucy gasp and then Natsu’s hands are tugging at the hem of her shirt, fingers teasing her skin. His mouth rips away from hers with a wet sound and then his face disappears against her neck. Lucy inhales sharply, a breathy moan leaving her lips as Natsu kisses down her neck, nipping and sucking at the pale skin left bare to him.

Yeah, Romeo definitely shouldn’t be watching this. Not even a little bit. But he can’t look away, it’s like watching a strange, kind of sexy train wreck.

He takes it back, this is exactly like the time he used his dad’s computer to watch porn.

Suddenly, there’s a strange, leather on metal scrapping sound, and Romeo sees Lucy’s hands slide down Natsu’s chest, moving lower and lower until—oh God, is she taking off his belt?

Romeo must make a sound, because Lucy’s eyes snap open, her entire body going tense as Natsu continues to peruse her neck. Her eyes lock with Romeo’s, a deep blush immediately coating her cheeks and spreading down her neck.

“Natsu,” she gasps, suddenly whacking at his shoulder. “Natsu, stop!” He pulls away from her immediately, a horrible, wet sucking sound filling the air. Romeo can’t see his face, but he can imagine the concern there.

“What?” the man breathes back, panting. He twists around to follow Lucy’s gaze, face paling when he catches sight of Romeo. “Oh, shit,” he murmurs.

Awkwardly wetting his lips, Romeo pretends he doesn’t see the hickies already coloring Lucy’s neck.

They all stare for an absurd amount of time, not blinking, not moving, just staring. “I didn’t see anything,” Romeo blurts, feeling his face burn with the lie. He’s going to have to bleach his eyes later. And he’ll probably never be able to come back here without acting weird. Oh shit, he has class with Natsu tomorrow! “Keep doing what you’re doing.” He winces, wanting to smack himself for saying that, but instead he awkwardly goes back to his paper.

He spends the rest of his time working on his paper and pretending not to hear them whispering sweet nothings to each other, stealing kisses when they think he isn’t watching. Admittedly, it’s kind of adorable, and he can’t help but be happy for them, even if he does feel a tad unwelcome.

By eleven, he’s packing up to leave, halfway out the door when Lucy stops him with a shy hand on his shoulder. He looks at her, confused, but she merely smiles and hands him a paper bag that’s warm and sweet-smelling.

She’s gone before he can thank her, and it’s not until he’s almost home that he realizes it’s a scone.

Maybe Wednesdays aren’t so bad.