#he brought the suicide note to school

[mychemicalroadworkahead]

Things I figured out/just think are funny about season one and episode one of season two of 13 reasons why.

1) the song run boy run is played in season one episode two of both 13rw and the umbrella academy. It is the exact same part of the song and the time they are played in the episode is inverted with ua playing at the beginning and 13rw playing at the end

2) despite how depressing this show is it has the best/funniest sequence of lines I’ve ever heard.

“Clay, you know I’m gay, right?”

“What? No, I didn’t know that! Why didn’t you tell me?

“I thought everybody knew that.”

“I feel like there’s a lot of people who don’t know that.”

“I think there’s a lot of people that do know that.”

3) Alex Standall is a direct parallel to Kurt Cobain in the sense that they both play electric guitar, both have stomach pains caused by severe stress, and both shot themself in the head with the intention of ending their life. (Yes I am aware that cobain was probably murdered but that’s besides the point). Also, Alex has a ton of music posters in his room (including Joy Division, big slay) that are from similar time periods and genres as Nirvana.

4) Clay and Alex see the same therapist

Anyway, Alex Standall is my favorite fictional character, second favorite person (fictional or real), and he’s my precious little meow meow.

However, he is a dumbass (buddy, suicide notes aren’t something you typically bring to school on your first day back in months), so it’s worth mentioning Tony is a VERY close second for my favorite character.

But also, in all seriousness, if you are going through shit and you want to talk to someone, here’s a link for finding helplines.

Stay safe.

[caesium-55]

—seven days [ epilogue ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

warnings: mentions of death and suicide.

author's note: here's the epilogue and the end end of the seven days series. thank you everyone for showing love to this fic! i was honestly so overwhelmed by the sheer amount of all of you. also, i apologize for all the broken hearts i caused after posting chapters 4-7. stay safe yall! i'll rest my fingers for real now. my doctor wasn't very happy with me. NOT BETA READ. NOT EDITED.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1 @evie-119 @spideylovin @harianaswhore @formulaal @landorris @onecojg @leclercdream @vicurious28 @c-losur3 @spookystitchery @0710khj @strollnstroll @justab-eautifulmess @ssrcsm @seasonswinter @kravitzwhore @mycure156 i hope i didn't forget anyone

masterlist.

Julio [Name] was not an ambitious person. He didn't have dreams or concrete plans in life. But in 1985, his first dream was born. He wanted to be an F1 racer after reading about the Portuguese Grand Prix in a local newspaper where he saw a Brazilian racer even younger than him participate in it and winning it. Ayrton Senna was the racer’s name, twenty-five years old. At that time, Julio [Name] was the same age.

He immediately searched for the nearest karting track. He brought his then girlfriend, Sally Kingston, a dental student in USC, to the kart zone for their date. It was safe to say that driving was not exactly his forte. He crashed his rental kart and had to pay the damages. He was afraid that he made himself a loser in front of the Sally Kingston, the richest, prettiest, and nicest girl from L.A., and that she wouldn't wanna go out with a bumpkin like him anymore, but she had only laughed at him—her eyes turning into little crescents, showing too much teeth and gums—and from then and there, he knows he’s going to marry Sally Kingston one day. He might not have become a F1 driver, but he ended up marrying the girl of his dreams.

Him and Sally welcomed a son in 1991. They named him Damiano and he turned out to be a carbon copy of his beloved wife, not that Julio was complaining. When Damiano turned five, Julio brought him in the kart zone and let him try driving the kart. Damiano adored it so Julio signed him up for racing school. Three weekends later, Damiano got sick of driving around in circles so he stopped. Sally gave birth to a daughter in the same year—1996.

Five years later, he brings [Name], his mija, into the kart zone. He expected that you’ll be like Damiano, too, getting sick of the thing after three weekends or so. You didn't. You loved karting and going fast, almost dangerously so. You lasted five weekends so Julio signed you up for the kart zone’s junior racing school and you were their first female member. You won your first race when you were six, only seven months after you officially joined.

“She was born to race,” the team head told Julio. Julio then decided that he’d do whatever it takes so you could become a F1 driver.

Like his initial dream, his dream for you couldn't be brought to reality. When you were nine, you had to stop karting for financial reasons. Damiano was in high school, Rafael had leukemia, and Dominic had just been born. When Julio told you the news, you were sad but you understood why the decision was made so you never complained. You learned how to play billiards instead and your Abuelo was the one who taught you. It's cheaper than karting so Sally and Julio gave you their full support.

Julio [Name] was pleasantly surprised when you told him that you got accepted in USC’s engineering department years later. He half expected that you’d be like Damiano, who took an interest in dentistry, and was attending dental school. He was going to be a dentist like his mother. He was a perfect copy of Sally.

“If I can't be a racer, I’ll become a mechanical engineer,” you declared, head held high. Julio couldn't be anymore proud. You were living his dream.

If you asked Julio [Name] if he had lived a happy life despite not reaching his dreams, he would say yes without hesitation. He married the love of his life, Sally Kingston, now Sally [Last Name]. His first son, Damiano, had topped dental school and followed in his mother’s footsteps. His daughter, [Name], graduated with flying colors, a mechanical engineering degree under her belt and entered the motorsports industry, the first in the family to do so. (You even got him Fernando Alonso’s autograph! That's his second favorite driver!) Not only that, she volunteered at the LAFD during her college years and competed in a billiards tournament in Vegas, Australia, and the UK. You had the potential to be an international-level pool player but you didn't pursue the sport because you wanted to be an engineer. Rafael didn't let leukemia beat him and now, he’s finishing up his last year in CalTech, pursuing mechanical engineering like his older sister. A research team in Sweden had been eyeing him for a while now. Dominic, on the other hand, is steadily building a career for himself in volleyball. He was offered a sports scholarship in Harvard so, despite the fact that he’s going even farther than his siblings with no relatives near him like in L.A., Julio pushed him to pursue what he wanted. His children are his pride and joy. He spent every single day bragging about his children to his colleagues. The others had expressed their envy to him. Did Julio save a country in his last life to have such great children?

Furthermore, he’d been promoted to be the captain of Station 131 in Austin. Julio may not have driven an F1 car but he wouldn't even trade this family over anything in this world, not even the life of luxury and thrill of a Formula One Driver.

(What Julio didn't know was that Damiano had serious depression in dental school that he carried even after graduating, that you weren't accepted as an engineer in F1 and was stuck in a managerial position for the last five years, that Sweden found a better researcher than Rafael so he’s stuck suffering physically and mentally in a degree with his future unclear and cloudy, and Dominic was slowly losing passion in volleyball but it's the only thing putting him through college right now so he grits his teeth and put himself on court. No one told Julio. Julio got enough of his dreams broken already.)

Truthfully, despite working for Red Bull for half a decade, you never liked its taste. You were always the Monster Energy type of girl. It's the one drink that kept you functioning through all the all-nighters you pulled in engineering school. However, you kind of lost the palate for Monster Energy so now, here you are, standing outside a gas station mini mart in the middle of the dusty highway that leads to El Paso. You hold the chilled can of Red Bull against the side of your neck, satisfied with the feeling of something cool pressing against your skin. The temperature in Texas is going absolutely crazy this time of the year. In your other hand, two cigarette sticks balance in between your fingers. You crave the deadly nicotine. Desperately. But you're not stupid enough to smoke at a gas station because of your cravings.

Your phone vibrates and you pull it out of your pocket to see who messaged you. You snicker when you view the barrage of pictures from the Austin Grand Prix that Leo sent. A stolen shot of Logan, meme faces of Alex, the air show, a selfie with THE Fernando Alonso, and a Tiktok video with the other Williams mechanics.

You watched the race from the stands today and truthfully, you prefer watching the race in the garage than on the stands. It's unbelievably boring to be there. People pay thousands of dollars to sit under the excruciating heat of the sun and catch a glimpse of very fast cars for a nanosecond. You wouldn't even catch sight of if you blink. Nevertheless, you're happy that Leo is having the time of his life. You wish you share the same shoes.

leo: so so sad that u have to go

you: id be flattered if u actually mean it

leo: *rolling eyes emoji*

leo: i hope you choke on your beer

you: i hope you choke on the celebratory champagne

you: and i dont drink and drive

leo: good to know ur not stupid

leo: on a serious note make sure to drive to el paso safely

you: aight aight

leo: u know i have something to confess

you: if it's something stupid, don't bother

leo: ur stupid

you: fuck u

leo: shut up

leo: just wanna say i didn't break up with u bc u gave max too much attention

leo: i know that's what i said but i only said that bc i knew that u needed max to achieve ur dreams

leo: and idk i just thought max wouldn't give it to u not when im still dating u

you: that's stupid

you: max isn't like that

leo: hes in love with u

Your heart stutters. You ignore it.

you: liar

leo: i could tell u lil shit

leo: idk he looked like someone who’d hold a grudge

you: he does hold grudges

leo: and i cant allow myself to stand in between you and the one person who can give you your dream you know?

leo: i loved you enough to let you go to him

You choke on your saliva. You don't love Leo romantically anymore and you are sure that the feelings are mutual but his abrupt confession is enough to bring back the pain of loving him and letting him go all over again.

leo: u sure u won’t stay to see him?

leo: he’s the one who wants to see you the most

you: his ig messages makes me think otherwise

You're a fucking coward. A pussy.

leo: you didn't see the man [name]

leo: you don't know how empty he looks now

A shadow of guilt darkens your eyes. You quickly shove your phone into the pocket of your jacket. You open the Red Bull and take a large swig, almost draining the entire can. You exhale loudly after drinking, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You stare at the vast expanse of the dry earth before you, starting to understand the appeal of aimless road trips in the southern roads.

The world seems to be turning in slow motion now.

Ever since your father died, time feels like it was moving too fast. You arrived at the hospital half an hour after Julio was officially pronounced dead. At that time, you felt like the world was ending. Your knees gave out in the middle of the hospital hallway. Your mother’s wail echoed in your ears. Damiano and Dominic were trying to console her, both of whom were crying terribly. You stare at them, face empty despite the hurricane brewing within you. Rafael wrapped his arms around you and you held onto him as he cried uncontrollably.

Your mother possessed a weak heart. She’d grown weaker and weaker day by day after your father passed. Your father’s station held a ceremony for him to pay tribute to their fallen captain. You were the one who carried his helmet all throughout the ceremony because the entire station knew you were his most prized child. When you flipped the helmet, there was a photo taped on it. A photo of the entire family at your graduation ceremony in USC. You maintained that tired and empty stare during the entire procession. In the middle of the ceremony, your mother collapsed.

Your father’s death was the first domino to be tipped. Your mother’s collapse during the funeral was the second. From then on, everything turned to shit. Your mother had always been frail and prone to sickness so it didn’t surprise you when she had grown so weak in a matter of days. She couldn't sleep. She didn't want to eat. She lost her will to do anything else. You took her to the hospital after a week because you were afraid she was beginning to become malnourished. Damiano suggested moving your mother to El Paso, to your Abuelo and Abuela’s farm, so your mother could recuperate there, and you agreed. The entire family moved to El Paso quickly, leaving the house in Vista Del Pueblo empty and celebrated the New Year there.

You opened your phone for the first time since you landed in ATX on the 30th and a barrage of messages had been sent to you. From Daniel, Logan, Leo, Kendall, Julia. You freeze when you see Max’s name. Your finger hovers above it, hesitating. Your mind trailed back to the five years you spent in Red Bull, to all the memories with Max in it, to what happened inside his penthouse in Monaco, the jet, the night you spent in his sheets, the shoes and—

Fuck.

“Kelly,” you mumbled to yourself, typing her username in the search box. You began typing up a message. You're not mentally equipped to write a long message of apology. Your mental dictionary was not ready to use so you decided to half ass the entire message and hope for the best.

you: sorry about the breakup

you: i didn't know about the shoes

you: i didn't take it

you: im so sorry

you: i hope you're not too hurt

In truth, you loved Kelly for Max. You never had problems with her. At first, you were concerned about the great age gap between her and Max as she was even older than Danny but then you figured that you did not have a say because Leo was also younger than you, born in the same year as Max. Then, you saw how she was so caring to Max, so patient in dealing with his misplaced anger, so supportive. You saw how Max transformed into a better version of himself, something you are not even capable of doing, because of Penelope and Kelly. How he became the world's most massive girl dad without trying. You ignored every bitter feeling that sprouted on your chest because you saw Max was happy and his happiness always came first. And now, you’re here, apologizing to Kelly for taking Max away from her.

kelly: i think i’m the one who’s been taking him from you

kelly: take care of him for me

you: thank you for loving him

You can't imagine how hurt Kelly was. Imagine dating and preparing a man so he could be perfect for another girl.

you: but i can’t do what you're asking

you: not anymore

“Not anymore,” you whisper to yourself, as if uttering it to the wind would cement it as the truth.

Not anymore, Max. I’m sorry.

Rafael and Dominic told you that they want to drop out of college to help you out with Mama a few days after New Year’s. You quickly told them no, to finish college and that you could handle taking care of two senior citizens and your sickly mother and help out on the farm since you’re essentially jobless at the moment.

The third domino is Damiano. You were always aware he’d been clinically depressed, taking medications to help him get better. Whatever he went through in dental school, he carried it with him until he was working. You believed he was getting better. He was seeing a therapist for years now and you were checking up on him every day. Then, like Mama, he just…. became worse. Rafael found him submerged in the bathtub in his apartment, red painting his wrists. Had Rafael not been there at the right time, Damiano would have followed Papa Julio.

The fourth domino is Dominic. He ruined his hand in March. The doctor told him it was dangerous for him to continue playing volleyball competitively. It was either he learned how to set with only his non-dominant hand because his dominant hand is partially crippled or he stopped playing all together. He’d choose the second option with no hesitation as he had lost his passion for the sport but if he’s not playing for Harvard anymore, no one would be able to pay his fees until graduation. Not when Julio died, not when Sally was too sick to continue working, not when Damiano was currently unstable, not when you’re the only one who had been supporting the entire family through your entire savings account. Red Bull must have paid you a lot of money because you’ve been keeping the entire family afloat for months now.

The fifth domino is Rafael, who got his entire thesis overhauled so now, his graduation was out of the picture. It sucked. He’d always been expected to follow his older siblings’ footsteps, both of whom are academically excelling individuals and Rafael had been studying and studying and studying. So why was this happening to him? Why was this happening to his family?

The sixth domino was yet to be tipped over.

You refuse to fall.

You blink, suddenly back in reality when you hear a loud caw of a bird flying above your head. You shake your head, tossing the Red Bull in a nearby trash can and returning inside the mini mart. The amount of caffeine in a Red Bull isn’t enough. You need more. You need fucking coffee.

Gas station coffee sucks but you’re never the type who complains. El Paso is still eight hours away and you’re sure you're going to be driving your motorcycle the entire night just to reach the farm the next morning.

You walked towards the Yamaha XSR 155 parked in front of the mini-mart, a styro cup of coffee that’s as black as your soul and as bitter as your life in your hand. Hypnotizing swirls of steam rise from the cup. In each step you take, the key that is attached to your hip jingles.

It's a little past four in the afternoon but the darkness of the sky makes you think it's around six PM. You pocket your cigarettes and stand beside your motorcycle, hand on your hip while the other brings the cup of coffee to your mouth. A car suddenly arrives, coming to a screeching halt in front of you. You flinch in surprise, almost spilling your coffee in your hands. You hiss loudly, brows furrowing, a curse sitting on the tip of your tongue. You hear the sound of a car door opening and slamming shut and when you look up—

“Max.”

He’s still in his Red Bull overalls, drenched in sweat as if he ran to the gas station instead of driving. His hair is windswept, sticking out in multiple directions almost attractively so. He looks simultaneously distraught and relieved when your eyes met. The longing in his eyes. God. You unconsciously take a step back and turn around—a flight response—when he charges in your direction.

A strong pair of arms wrap around you from behind, stopping you from your tracks and causing your coffee to spill and fall down pathetically on the floor. You avoided the puddle, hands reaching behind you to guide Max away from the steaming liquid. But it’s too late. You saw the hot coffee touch his skin.

“Max!” you exclaim, eyes going wide. Your hand wraps around his forearm, pulling it but his grip on you tightens so you resort to tapping his arm in hopes that he’ll let go and you can inspect his injured hand and make a quick run for the mini mart for first-aid supplies.

“Max, let go,” you say, panicking. “Your hand—”

“Don’t leave,” his voice cracks.

“I won't go, okay? Let go and I’ll—”

“No,” the hug tightens and you suck in a breath. “You’ll leave again. I know you’ll leave again.”

“I’ll fix your hand. You can’t burn your hand—”

“I can endure it. Let me have this please,” he pleads. You pull his hand but Max remains stubborn. Resigned, you sigh. It turns out that you’re still the same, giving whatever Max wanted.

“I’m sorry for getting angry,” he begins. “I’m sorry for stopping you from going to Renault. I’m sorry for promising that I’d talk to Christian. I’m sorry that I didn't. I’m sorry that you had to break up with Leo because of me. I’m sorry that I realized that I fell in love with you while dating Kelly. I’m sorry for the shoes. I’m sorry for getting drunk. I’m sorry for being so selfish. I’m sorry for not considering you. I’m sorry for loving you. I’m so, so sorry, [Name]. For everything.”

His words come rapidly and frankly, you don't want to hear Max like this. Max rarely apologizes. You're not used to hearing him apologize.

“Max—”

“I called, [Name].”

You freeze.

“I called so many times. Not once have you answered. Not once—” a loud sob erupts from his mouth, interrupting him. “You always come when I call.”

You close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

“I sent you a message,” he continues. “To wait for me. I know I’m selfish but can I have five minutes please? Just….five?”

A pause.

“Okay,” you whisper. Max’s body trembles against yours and you stand still for a few minutes,

“Hey,” you say gently, suddenly reminded that you're standing in an open space and Max is still in his Red Bull overalls and he doesn't even have his usual cap on and this compromising situation you're both in was going to be bad for Max’s online reputation once the wrong pair of eyes manage to catch sight of you. You can already imagine what the headlines would be.

MAX VERSTAPPEN AND HIS FORMER MANAGER CAUGHT HUGGING IN A GASOLINE STATION AFTER AUSTIN GP.

MAX VERSTAPPEN AND FORMER RED BULL MANAGER IN A RELATIONSHIP?

FORMER RED BULL MANAGER POTENTIAL REASON FOR BREAKUP BETWEEN KELLY PIQUET AND MAX VERSTAPPEN?

MAX VERSTAPPEN CHEATED ON KELLY PIQUET WITH FORMER MANAGER?

MAX VERSTAPPEN, FULL-TIME WORLD TIME CHAMPION, PART-TIME CHEATING ASSHOLE.

God. You can already imagine the headache splitting the entire PR team’s skulls. The world already hates Max because of how good he was at his sport. You can’t allow people to shit on him more because of you.

“Max,” you try again, tapping his forearm so he can loosen his hold on you and you can turn around. “Max, baby, cooperate with me for a bit, yeah?”

You tug on his wrist and you can't help but sigh in relief when his arms loosen a little. He’s beginning to choke you a little bit. With his arms still around you, you pivot on your heels so you’re face-to-face with his broad chest.

When you look up to Max’s face, your heart shatters into a million pieces. His tears continue to flow and violent sobs wrack his entire body, robbing him of the ability to speak and barely allowing a breath to be drawn. He’s going to hyperventilate. Fucking dammit.

“Max,” how many times have you said his name in the last few minutes? “Hey, breathe with me.”

Your hand cradles his jaw and your eyes focused on his blue ones and fuck, they’re as insanely beautiful as you remembered.

“Breathe.”

You perform exaggerated inhales and exhales so Max can match your breaths, his hands settling on your shoulders. His palms feel heavy against your shoulders and his fingers dig deep into your skin.

“I’m here, Champ. I’m here,” you assure him. “I’m here now.”

You wait until he calms down a little and when he does, your right hand searches for his, intertwining your fingers together to assure him that you’re not going anywhere just yet. Your other hand comes up to hold the area below his neck and you slowly guide him back to his car. It’s a little difficult, Max obviously has no intention to let you go, but you know how to make things work.

Max sits on the driver's seat with you standing outside of the car. He's still clinging onto your hand and you use the other hand to hold the roof of the car for support. Max stopped crying now, staring blankly at you with a sad pout on his face. His tears are now dry, staining his cheeks.

“You okay now, Champ?” you ask, never failing to sound gentle. That's what Max needs now. Gentleness. God forbid you pull a Jos Verstappen.

Max shakes his hand, making you sigh deeply. Your eyes trail to the hands, the pale skin now an angry red.

“Max,” you call his attention. He looks up at you and you have to avoid his gaze because if you look at his face, your heart hurts. “I’ll get something from the mini-mart for your burn, aight?”

He shakes his head and his grip on your hand impossibly tightens. If he keeps this up, he’s going to break your bones.

“No.”

If you were the same person that you were in 2023, you would have let Max do what he wanted. What Max wanted, what Max shall get—that’s the philosophy you lived by. But things are different now. Leo told you that you’re allowing Max to take too much from you and Max needs to learn to actually listen to you.

You’ve been taught to treat even the most minor of burns as if it’s a major burn. That's what you are planning to do right now.

“Max,” you say, a little firmer now. “Gonna grab somethin’ in the mart real quick, you stay here, aight?”

“No—”

“Not askin’, Champ,” you interrupt him. “I'm not leavin’ yet, not goin’ anywhere until I make sure you’re okay. So stay here and wait.”

You swiftly remove the key attached to your belt and force it into his palm, “Here are my keys. I’m not goin’ to drive off and leave you here, aight? Do you trust me?”

You have a feeling that this anxiety of his might have stemmed from that one incident in his childhood where Jos left him at a gas station. Fucking son of a bitch that man was.

Hesitantly, Max says, “I do.”

“Good,” you ruffle his hair, dampening your palm.

You can see he does not like what you're doing now but he does not have any choice so he sits in the car, looking as pitiful as ever. You jog up to the mini-mart, immediately going to the beverage section to grab a bottle of water and passing by the hygiene shelf to snatch a handkerchief. You go to the counter and the middle aged guy manning the register obviously does not look impressed that you’re in his shop for the third time in the same hour, which is stupid because he should be glad that he has a customer. You put everything on the counter, pulling out some bills from your back pocket.

“You happen to have neosporin?” you ask.

“Do we look like a drug store?” he retorts. You roll your eyes, toss the bills to the cashier, and grab your items without even waiting for the guy to wrap them all up in a paper bag. You jog back to Max’s car.

“Excuse me,” you lean inside the car, opening the compartment to search for a burn cream you left inside there last year. Your eyes land on his keys, stiffening when you notice that Max kept every single gift you gave him. The bead keychain from 2020, the bottle opener keychain from 2021, the clay figure keychain from 2022, and the bracelet from 2023 sway slightly, staring back at you. You shake your head and resume doing your original mission. You find the burn cream and you immediately search for the expiration date. January 2025; it’s still good to use.

You straighten, take hold of Max’s wrist gently, and roll up his long sleeves up to his elbows. You open the water bottle and tug Max’s hand towards you so he won't get water on his car as you pour water on his burn. Once the bottle is nearly empty, you apply the cream on the reddened area of his skin. Then, you use the handkerchief, which you dampen using the leftover water, to dress it.

Max is silent the entire ordeal, watching you work your way meticulously and carefully around his hand. The same meticulousness one can expect from a former firefighter paramedic volunteer.

You step back to inspect your work, but Max’s hand stretches out towards you, grabbing the hem of your jacket.

“Sorry,” he says and yet you see his knuckles slowly turning white, which makes you unsure if he truly is apologetic or not. “Just…yeah, sorry. Can you stay for a while please?”

“Have to leave soon,” you say. “El Paso’s still hours away. I have to be there by morning.”

He nods, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, “Okay.”

“Thirty minutes, Max,” you decide. “Thirty minutes.”

You pull out your phone from your pocket to check the time and see the multiple notification bars. You type the password and direct to the message app to see the flurry of messages Max sent earlier. You have not noticed them.

max: i heard you came

max: where are you

max: please

max: can you give me ten minutes

max: just

max: please

max: wait for me

max: i’m not angry anymore

max: im begging you

max: or five minutes [name] im okay with just five

max: or even less

max: i just need to see you

“Who told you I was here?” you question, brows knitting together. There are currently two names in your head. They both start with the letter L and they both work at Williams.

“Leo called me and told me you were here.”

“Of course he did,” you roll your eyes. Logan will never dare betray you like this. You made Leo promise not to tell Max where you were in El Paso and the bitch told him where you were the moment you stepped out of El Paso. He didn't break his promise technically, but it's still a very bitch move for him to pull. You're going to have a lengthy conversation with him later.

“So you’ve been in El Paso?” he asks.

You nod.

“My grandparents’ place.”

He nods.

“Sorry about Julio, by the way.”

You sigh. God, you want to cry.

It's truly unfair how God decided to take away Julio [Last Name]. Death should happen to assholes and shitty people. To people who abuse their children every day. To people who waste years of their lifespan on nicotine and alcohol. To people who kill people. Death shouldn't happen to heroes, who risk every single day of their lives to save other people. Death shouldn't happen to Julio [Last Name], a firefighter who died saving a kid in a burning building. At least, not this early. Not until you fulfilled his dream for him.

(His last words: I don't regret doing what I did. I have kids, too. I want someone to save them the same way I did that kid if they ever get stuck in a situation like this.)

“Did Leo tell you that, too?” you hope that he didn't notice that your voice slightly wobbled.

“No,” Max shakes his head. “We—Logan and I came to Vista Del Pueblo in December. Your neighbor told us that…”

He doesn't need to finish his sentence for you to know what he’s trying to say.

You nod, “So that's why there was an article that day…”

You remember Damiano showing you the news article in his phone—AN UNLIKELY FRIENDSHIP: MAX VERSTAPPEN OF RED BULL RACING AND LOGAN SARGEANT OF WILLIAMS RACING SPOTTED DRIVING AROUND AUSTIN. You shrugged it off at that time.

“How are you?”

You turn to Max, raising a brow at his question.

“How am I?” you echo, sounding a little bewildered.

You see, Max has never asked this question. You're used to “Are you okay?” but not this. Not this question. You can easily lie to an are-you-okay. You can say yes even if you’re not, and you won't give yourself away because you only uttered one word. But with how-are-you, it’s different. It's not a question that is not answerable by yes or no. You actually have to explain how you feel. That's why Papa Julio only asked, “How are you, mija?” rather than “Are you okay, mija?” Papa Julio wants to know how your day went even if you're okay or not.

Yeah. You're definitely going to cry at this rate.

“How have you been after Julio?”

“You really wanna know?”

“I wanted to be there for you at that time,” Max confesses. “When I learned that Julio was gone, I wanted to go to you. But Leo stopped me. He said I was not what you needed at that time and I agree. I was too angry at you for leaving me. I’m glad he didn't tell me where you are, despite how painful it was. I was selfish and immature that I cared about my grief and forgot to consider yours. I reflected on my actions a lot. I am not sure how different I am now from that version of me but I think I changed a bit. So yes, [Name], I want to know, because I want to know how you felt and help you in any way I can.”

You stand there, stunned at what Max has said. And perhaps it was his sincerity or the way his determined blue eyes stare into your soul that caused the sixth domino to tip. You break into tears, a raw cry escaping your mouth. You are so fucking tired of carrying everything on your shoulders.

Max is quick to engulf you in a hug and you don't hesitate to pull him into you, pressing your face against his shoulders as you let everything out. You claw his back as if you're trying to mold himself into you. Your nose turns red, snot drips out of your nose. You sob too loud and too heavily that you can hardly draw a breath. You don't cry pretty and this is the first time you allowed yourself to cry with another person bearing witness to your fragility.

When you calmed down, you found yourself sitting beside Max, shoulder to shoulder, in the backseat of his car, playing with the drawstrings of your jacket.

“Sorry.”

“Don't be.”

“Sorry, I was just so tired,” you tip your head upwards. You can feel Max’s eyes on you. “Things have been hard since Papa died.”

“Do you want to talk? I’ll listen.”

You chuckle humorlessly.

Jesus, what did Leo feed this guy?

It feels like the roles are reversed now.

“Everybody's been takin’ it pretty hard so I'm trynna to be strong for them, you know? But I’m not that strong,” you begin. “I’m just as lost as everyone else and it's hard pretendin’ like I’m not. I’m not really sure what will happen with my life now so I wander around and do car repairs for a few folks in El Paso.”

“What happened to your dream? The job?”

“Well, it's gone,” you say, making Max’s eyes widen. “Not my time yet, I suppose. Or rather, I’m never supposed to have time. I guess I’m just not meant to be an engineer.”

“No,” Max turns to you, clasping your hands in desperation. “No, no, no. You always wanted to become an engineer. You can't just—I’ll think of something. I’ll ask Christian. I’ll ask the other teams. Renault isn't in Formula One right now but I can—”

“Max,” you smile sadly. “Let it go.”

“But—”

“Do you know what my Papa’s dream was?” you interrupt. “It’s to be a Formula One racer.”

You smile, remembering all the times you’ve seen your father watch the races on the television since you were younger. He’d wake up even in the ass crack of dawn just to watch them live. He’d be so tired after a 24-hour shift at the fire station but he’d refuse to even catch a wink of sleep until the Grand Prix broadcast is done. He always received a beating from your Mama because of it.

“He saw Senna in the newspaper and decided that he wanted to be like him, too. Sadly, Papa never vibed with a steering wheel so there was no future in that industry. He's always so disappointed in himself, sayin’ he can do the most unhinge shit at work but can't even drive a car. When Damiano and I turned five, he brought us karting. I could tell he was disappointed that Damiano didn't share his love for racing and I hated seein’ him sad so I learned to love karting. He signed me up and I did my best to win. I think I was good. Good enough to make him proud of me. Papa looked so happy when I won my first trophy. He cleaned it every week.”

You smile fondly at the memory.

“Then, shit happened and I have to stop. Papa looked even more disappointed than me that I had to stop. It hurts. Disappointment from your parents, I mean, even if I know that it's somethin’ beyond my control. I figured that if I can't be a racer, I’ll work in a pit stop. That's close enough. When I told him that I got accepted into USC and how I wanted to be an engineer, it was the proudest I have ever seen him since I won my trophy. I was livin’ his dream. I applied for Red Bull and Renault because those are Papa’s favorite teams and the rest is history.”

You pause.

“He’s never got to see me become an engineer,” you choke out, wiping the stray tear that fell from your eye with the back of your hand. “It was his dream. He always had his dreams broken and I was gonna reach his dreams for him but he’s gone before I can do so. Now, I’m so lost because I realized that I was shapin’ myself to become an extension of Papa and now that he's gone, I am an extension of no one. I was reaching for dreams that I don't own. I’m so tired and I’m so lost, Max.”

Max stares at you sadly.

“I should have talked to Christian sooner. Fuck, I hate myself for not talking to Christian. Fuck, why was I so selfish?” he presses the ball of his palms against his eyes in frustration. You chuckle, shaking your head.

“That’s okay,” you say. “I’ll find my way.”

You look at the scenery outside of the window. Night has fallen. You should have left for El Paso by now.

“I need to go,” you say, heart heavy.

“So soon?”

Max is panicking again.

“Jesus, Champ, calm down,” you pat his shoulders.

“Will I see you again?” Desperation laces his question.

“Dunno really,” you shrug.

“Can you wait for me?”

Your brows furrow.

“I’ll retire by 2028. No, that's still long. 2027. Ah no—2026? Can you wait for me? I—” Max’s hand trembles. “I love you. I love you, [Name]. I—I love you even before Kelly. I can’t. I can't lose you.”

The world stops.

“I am stupid, I am selfish, and I think I’m asking too much. If you can just wait for me, I’ll—I can even retire next year if you think it's too long—”

“Hold up right there, Champ,” you stop him. “You're not retirin’ early.”

“If you want me to, I will.”

You sigh in exasperation.

“Max,” your voice is low. “That’s your career. I’m not gonna—Jesus, Max don’t retire, okay? Not even for me. Retire only when you want to.”

This man is just…

You don't know if you want to choke him or kiss him.

“I want you to have me, [Name]. I… I want to be with you, to love you, and if retiring is the only way I can do that then I will,” he says. “I love you.”

You purse your lips.

“I love you, too, Max,” you confess and now, your chest feels lighter now that you've said it out loud. “But not now, I can't love you like this. I’m too… I can't pursue a relationship with you right now. Not when…”

“It's not our time,” Max nods. “I understand.”

He really did change.

“I want to find my way through life first," you tell him.

Max smiles and he pulls you again in a hug. He has tears in his eyes again and he sniffles, chuckling at himself for crying again. He pulls away from the hug slowly and hands you your keys.

“See you around?"

“See you around.”

You exit the car and you notice that your heart feels lighter now compared to the time you left Monaco even though you are doing the same exact thing—leaving Max to go home.

At the end of 2023, you grace the paddock with your presence—your signature YSL heels is back on the tracks. You wear pants now, instead of the corporate pencil skirts, matched with a Prema Racing polo shirt. The label at the back indicates: AERODYNAMIC ENGINEER. By the end of 2024, you are promoted to the strategy team. By 2025, you become a race engineer of an up-and-coming racing superstar and you kept the job position until now.

The world didn't end just because your Dad died. It took you a while to realize that your Papa didn't own your dreams. It was always yours to begin with. He just played a part in inspiring them.

Max Verstappen became the 2024, 2025, 2026, 2027, and 2028 WDC, marking history as an eight-time consecutive champion. He retired after the 2028 season and disappeared from the face of the Earth. He had stopped going home to his penthouse in Monaco, had put his private jet on sale, and had cut ties to his father, Jos, who was very disappointed that his son had retired too early in the sport. Max retired willingly—he had achieved more awards than most of his seniors and it's time to give room to the younger ones. Rumors say that he had established a racing program somewhere in Belgium. Charles Leclerc, Max's friend, refuses to update the media regarding Max's whereabouts and only says: "He's happy. Don't worry."

Years later, a thirteen-almost-fourteen year-old girl named Emiliana Julia Verstappen, racing under the American flag, become the youngest driver in history to join the ranks of the F1 academy and later, she becomes the youngest driver to ever drive a Formula One car, racing for Scuderia Ferrari as second driver, at only seventeen and a hundred and fifty days old, overthrowing Max Emilian Verstappen, retired eight-time F1 WDC, whom the world has not seen since his retirement, from the list.

[shadowcanine]

NATALIE “SAMANTHA” RUPNOW, AND WHAT WE KNOW.

This post is for informational / educational purposes only, I do not condone her actions. What she did is horrific, but we must learn from it in order to stop it from happening again. If we forget history, it will repeat itself.

Natalie “Samantha” Rupnow is the 15-year old assailant behind the December 16th attack on Abundant Life Christian School in Madison, WI, which left 3 dead (including herself) and 6 injured- 2 of whom are facing life-threatening injuries, but as of today (12/17) seem to be, at the very least, in stable condition.

At 11AM EST, Samantha brought a handgun (believe it was a .9mm) into a mixed grade study hall, and opened fire.

The deceased include a teacher at ALCS, a student, and Samantha herself- though the victims have not been identified yet. In a press conference, the mayor was asked to identify them, and replied with “Why do you really want to know? Leave them be.”

The school, ALCS, has been described by students, locals, and alumni as “extreme.” It’s a Christian school that teaches that evolution isn’t real, and local politicians are hand-picked by God himself. According to current students at the school, bullying is an issue, but it’s not very severe. I recently spoke to one individual who said “Samantha wasn’t bullied. She was quiet, and didn’t fit into any of the friend-groups here, but she wasn’t bullied.” I have proof this individual attends ALCS, but I have no way of actually confirming these specific claims, so take them with a grain of salt.

Samantha was a part of the TCC, even owning a replica of Eric Harris’ “HELL YEAH KMFDM” shirt- the one that he wears in the cafeteria video. Samantha clearly drew inspiration from Columbine, but Sandy Hook may have also been a factor- this year, the anniversary of SH fell on a Saturday. Samantha committed her act the next possible school day.

Her manifesto was posted onto her X, @postalbrained, but it was done on Google Drive- and Samantha did not make the document public. Her account has since been made private by a friend, but Samantha’s boyfriend has released the full 6 page manifesto to an influencer- it can be found on the X account @slatzism . I will not post it here for sake of not wanting to lose my account.

I have very little to say regarding her manifesto- this post isn’t one for my opinions, so I’m trying to keep it factual. Despite reading and re-reading, I cannot figure out a clear motive. She did state that suicide without taking anyone with her would be “a waste”- which may be a reference to the Zero Day (2003) scene, in which Calvin Gabriel says.. basically the same thing. This isn’t confirmed, but it would make sense, as she liked a lot of Zero Day content on Tumblr.

As far as her family goes, Samantha claims she didn’t have a good relationship with either parent, describing her father as “verbally abusive” and sharing a memory in her manifesto in which her mother ignored Samantha’s crying, because her mother would rather “spend time with her boyfriend.”

A lot isn’t known, so this post isn’t very long- and I will be updating it as I discover more, but while I have your attention, I’d like to clear up some misinformation:

- Samantha Rupnow, 15, and her boyfriend, 17- are both cisgender. Samantha is not trans, and never was- anybody who tells you differently is trying to push an agenda.

- Samantha was not a misandrist or radfem. This comes from an alleged “segment of her manifesto” that was leaked, but the photo has been proven to have zero correlation to Samantha. If anything, she was incredibly misogynistic, dedicating an entire section of her manifesto to slut shame women.

Here are all confirmed photos of Samantha Rupnow:

* note that the first photo includes her edited photo (left) as well as the original photo (right)

[urbestestwindgod]

why?

How did you become the god(dess) of wind?

Did you just pop out the womb with clouds for hair?

Were you given your domain?

Did you just ask Zeus for a job one day?

hi ml <3 i missed you :3 and yea i did pop out with blue skin and cloud hair and whenever i cried the winds picked up and when i was calmed down they would calm and they continued to reflect my emotions until i learned to control them, i got full control of the winds around 22 which is why im perma 22, and thats why zeus liked me so much bc we were both weather gods and he cares for everyone but his children :D

[runningfrom2am]

requiem // prologue

summary: according to coriolanus snow, his best friend had the most beautiful voice in all of panem. she had been training her whole life constantly to get where she was; being up for a residency at the most elite opera house in all of panem. singing was her passion. her true love; and when that got stripped from her in a second, his world became a whole lot quieter. he loathed every minute of it.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 0.8k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: opera singer!mentor!reader (blink and you'll miss it), she's kind of a prodigy!! p cool imo, mute!reader, bestfriend!coryo, friends to lovers trope ooo, mentions of graphic violence early on (particularly the prologue) but after that it's pretty safe, depictions of ptsd/trauma, mental illness and minor suicidal ideation but at least she's not entirely alone, descriptions of minor medical treatments and use of medication.

a/n: hi! welcome to the prologue for requiem!! just a taste to set things up :) sorry !!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist // pinterest board

'Are you coming to the zoo after class?' The note Coryo slid in front of you asks. You look up at him and nod, before taking your pen and scribbling underneath his penwork on the same page, sliding it back as your teacher went on and on about things you had already studied and knew by heart.

'Walk together?'

Now it's his turn to nod, meeting your gaze with a smile.

You hadn't had the chance to meet your tribute yet, but Coryo's idea to go and greet his tribute was very smart. You admired it- he was brave to do that, but something deep in the back of your chest made you uneasy about it. Regardless, you and several of your classmates would make the trip after school to go greet them, bring them food, and get to know them as much as you could. You part ways with him once you arrive, planning to walk home together later.

"Valkyrie?" You call out, scanning the tributes trapped in the cage to try and pinpoint her. You see her when her head turns at the name and you smile, waving her over. "My name is Y/N. I'll be your mentor."

She doesn't say anything as she stops in front of you, giving you a death glare that could give you chills. She looked strong. It was good, she'll do well in the games. "It's nice to meet you," you continue. "My job is to help you however I can. So anything you need or want, I'm your girl. Just say the word."

Her cold stare doesn't falter, but you try not to let your discomfort show. You need her to trust you, that was Coryo's best advice, so you would do all you could to take it. "Are you hungry? You must be. I brought you some food." You don't wait for a response that you know isn't coming, digging in your bag already.

"It's my favorite, but I do hope you like it." You hum, pulling out a container with some crackers and honey, and a lemon to cut up and put in your water bottles. "Care to sit?" You offer, already sitting down yourself, kneeling in front of the bars. You smile when she obliges, matching your posture across from you.

"I'm a singer, and honey is really good for the throat." You explain, hoping that she'll begin to trust you if she knows you a little better. "It's a nice bonus that it tastes good, too. I'm not supposed to have sugar, but I think honey is the next best thing." You open the container, trying not to expose the shakiness in your hands as you grab the small bowl of honey and a knife to spread it, but this fails drastically when you accidentally drop it and it falls past the bars just out of your reach.

"Oh, gosh- I'm just so clumsy, would you mind passing that to me?" You ask, trying to reach for it anyway. You grin when she reaches out for it, picking it up by the handle. "Thank you..." You tell her, leaning closer to grab it from her hand. Something in her eyes shifts so fast you have no chance to really pick up on it before she grabs your hair with her other hand and pulls you back into the bars.

You scream, adrenaline pumping through your veins in an instant as you try and pull yourself away but it's too late and your screams are silenced by the blade of the knife against your throat.

Your eyes go wide as she lets you go, hands coming up to your neck out of instinct and when you pull one away it's warm and covered in red. Blood. Your own blood. You're choking, trying to breathe but the air feels sticky as you fall back. "Y/N! Y/N? Hey, look at me. Look at me!" Your best friend cries out, suddenly in front of you with his arms at your sides, lowering you carefully to the ground.

You stare up at him, hands still clasped over your neck which he matches with his own, doing his best to try and stop the bleeding. "Help! Somebody, help!" He shouts, turning and hoping help is coming as your heartbeat drums behind your ears.

Several gunshots ring out, echoing in the back of your head as you stare up at the sky and Coryo drops down on top of you, likely trying to dodge the bullets. You don't know where they were going- and you don't care.

You try and speak but no sound is coming out, just the sickening gurgle of your own blood replacing the smoothness of your voice. You know it's really not good when your vision starts to blur, the last thing you see being Coryo's panicked expression as he looks over you, desperately yelling at you to stay awake and for someone to please, please help.

no taglist this time around!! my fics usually get over a hundred requests to be added to the taglist so instead i made a library! follow me over on @runningfrom2am-library and turn on notifs to get updates when i post new parts!!

[listofwhyyouloveher]

Can you do the greasers dating an Italian girl? (Separate)

Summary: The gang x Italian reader

Warnigs: none

Author's Note: idk much abt being Italian, sorry if this is offensive, I mean no disrespect

PONYBOY is immediately attracted to your accent. He thinks it makes you sound so classy, and it's so perfectly you. He absolutely adores your culture and your style. Hel'll always try to take you out to Italian restaurants when he's saved up enough money. At first he was really intimidated by you, you're obviously not someone to mess with. And even though you two are dating he's always making sure he's keeping you happy!

He absolutely loves your family, he's loves how close knit they are and your boy cousins/brothers remind him of his brithers. Hes hoping one day he can be seen as one of the family.

JOHNNY was also super intimidated by you. You were so elegant and smartly dressed that he was starting to think you were taking, "if looks could kill," seriously. He tries to avoid you, but he always seems to be doing something involved with you. Once, he took you out on a date as a 2 man for Dallas. He could tell that you didn't really want to be there either, so he tried to appease you by talking to you. You were quite delighted about his conversation and how interested he was about your culture.

Johnny later went on to take you out multiple times. He also tells you that he really wants to learn some Italian or learn more about the culture.

Sodapop is head over heels in love the moment he saw you. He's like Dominic palazzolo from The Virgin Suicides. It's very much a puppy love crush and he doesn't expect you to interact with him at all. Until your father brought you in with him to get his car fixed and then left to run some errands. You were stuck there with Soda so you talked to pass tome. You asked him about what he was doing and Soda told you, he liked how interested you were in his line of work and asked you do in your spare time.

You both totally bonded over your hobbies, but your rich accent and the classy way made Soda realize how much he liked mature ladies.

Steve's always hearing the craziest gossip about you. Granted, it's all stereotypical gossip that you were in the "mafia" or something. Thankfully, it gave you a bit of an "untouchable" reputation. Steve was obviously scared of you but when he saw you and he was expecting some scary mafia girl he just saw..you. you weren't innocent looking, you exuded control even when doing something simple. He was drawn to your aura and found that you made a really good girlfriend too.

As much as he hates to admit it, you scare away a lot of the socs, not Steve. He's a little ashamed that he's not as tuff as his girl but whatever gets the socs off his back!

Two Bit is probably one of the people spreading the gossip about you. Not in a mean and purposeful way, but when he gets drunk, he just tends to talk about whatever he can string together. So he's very scared when he runs into you, you pause and assess him and he thinks you're going to beat him up for talking about you but you just smile at him and walk away. He's so entranced by your smile and really happy that you didn't choose to like kick him in the shins or something. He asked you out in a date while at a party, he wanted to make the best impression so he had his mom help him cook something you'd like, like a classic dessert or dish.

He made such a good first impression on your family who watched him pick you up. They talked about him for days until you brought him around.

DARRY has always liked mature girls. Well, now that he wasn't in high school and needed someone he could actually rely on, that is. He finds that girls his age aren't really ready for something serious, but you did. He loved how fond you were of cooking and how you'd always help him prepare meals. He also loved meeting your family, they really liked him because of how he was literally the embodiment of the perfect American man (ily Darry pls give me a chance). He also was never dumb enough to fall for the "mafia" gossip, he always knew you were very sweet at heart because he has a good eye for reading people.

He'll always try to bake something traditional for you. He's always wanted to be able to bake treats and now he has your mother's recipes to copy and that makes him so happy.

DALLAS would definitely be the type to ask you if you were part of the mafia to your face. He has no shame and he's brash, but something about him attracted you and I guess you're dating now. He really likes the "crime mob boss aesthetic" because he thinks it's tuff so he's always trying to get involved with your father even though you tell him that none of that relates to you. One good thing though is that he wouldn't let any soc pick on you because you're Italian, his mindset is that no one can make fun of you but him. He stomps out every soc that dares mess with you.

He loves gifting you his jewlery, some of it is like really good quality real Italian designer jewlerry that he swiped from vintage stores. He'll give it to you but he makes you promise to return it when he needs it.

[1-800reki]

stop imagine packing a lunch for ranpo. putting a cute sticky note like ‘good luck my little genius ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ’ and he probably says something snarky like “the #1 detective doesn’t need luck… but thank you, i appreciate it nonetheless” cause he’s a little shit head who doesn’t know how to react to your love and affection. you just know he shows off like that one kid in elementary school who’s mom packed him mc donald’s or something. “look at what i get for being the smartest detective in the world” and it’s just like a bento with snacks and a candy or two. showing his shit off like he doesn’t even care that he’s flexing on an orphan. okay maybe he feels a little bad about atsushi but he loves when dazai pouts about how he wishes he had a lover who would pack him food with little notes although the moment dazai even suggests you make one for him too, ranpo shuts it down immediately. especially if that suggestion leads to anything remotely close to a double suicide request.

I love this so much so I'm turning it into a oneshot!

Thank you for the skibidi idea random person!

❝Lunch Notes!❞

summary: Oneshot with Ranpo!

Pairings: Ranpo Edogawa x GN Reader!

a/n: I saw this in my inbox and I loved it so much ❤

Whenever Ranpo goes to work you always pack him a lunch with notes! For example 'Good luck my little genius ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ'! Though whenever he reads them at work he acts like the notes are nothing but he cherishes every single one of them! They make his lunch taste a bit better than they already do! Whenever he goes home and you ask him if he liked that note he would say 'I don't need those notes... but it was okay I guess..'

On somedays you give him a little candy or two in the lunch. Whenever he sees them he proudly shows it off. "Look what I got for being the smartest detective!" He would say showing the agency. He loves it when Dazai whines about not having a lover like his. "I wish I had a partner who makes me lunches!" Dazai whined. Ranpo only snickered and said "Well my partner is the best! They even got me a lollipop!"

Today you visited Ranpo because he forgot his lunch. When you got there he went and greeted you immediately. "What are you doing here?" Ranpo asked you with a tilt of his head. "You forgot your lunch so I brought it!" You answer with a smile. He grinned before coughing into his fist. "You didn't need to do that... but thanks I guess.." He spluttered with flushed cheeks.

Dazai was near and took this as his chance! "Y/n-Chan! I've heard from Ranpo-Kun over here that you make him lunches and notes! Would you be able to do that for me too!" Dazai asked happily with a smile on his face and a sparkle in his eyes. Before you could say anything Ranpo spoke up. "No way! They're my partner not yours! Get your own Dazai!" Ranpo retorted back to Dazai's suggestion.

He knew that it would end up in him asking you for a double suicide and he would not let that happen. You laugh and pat Ranpo's head. "I'll be on my way now. Be sure to eat your lunch. Bye!" You say handing him his bento before leaving the agency. Ranpo smiled and hummed happily to himself walking over to his desk. Dazai sulked over being 'rejected' once again.

Despite what Ranpo says he loves the lunch notes you give him. His lunch notes.

[arkhamsrevenge]

PS5 Harry Osborn x Reader requested by @seele-opal - how abt something with harry and the symbiote before he went full venom? maybe something abt how it'll react to its hosts' romantic partner

Trigger Warning! This story contains violence and talks about abuse, suicide  and death!

You went to high school with Peter Parker, Mary Jane Watson and Harry Osborn. They were always nice to you but often left you to your own devices. A couple times you had scared off Flash and his buddies due to your wit and unwavering hate for the school bullies. When you heard Harry’s mother had died, you secretly started to make copies of your school work and put his name on them to lessen the load for him when he returned to school. You had kept your secret hidden well for a while until you ran into Peter Parker in the school library. Well more like he ran into you, papers scattered everywhere and as Peter helped you pick them up he saw doubles of each paper you were working on. 

“So you’re the one passing Harry in Honors Lit and Economics.” He whispered. You shrugged. 

“He’s going through it. Thought I’d lighten the load.” After that, Peter and MJ started eating lunch at your table. They never forced you to take your headphones out when you wanted to eat while listening to music or if you didn’t say anything at all. In fact, you were starting to like their company. Harry eventually came back to school and was surprised to know he wasn’t missing many assignments. Peter of course brought him up to speed and later that day you received a note in your locker. It was from Harry, a thank you note for helping him out. You smiled and tucked it into your bag then someone cleared their voice behind you. You turned to see Harry himself holding a small bunch of violets. 

“I know they aren’t much and I picked them outside the school but I wanted to get you something and MJ said you keep drawing violets on your paper when you're bored.” You blink not knowing just how closely those two had paid attention to you. You swallowed roughly and a small smile appeared on your face. 

“Thanks. That was really nice of you.” Harry laughed. 

“You…I’m the one that should be on my knees thanking you. I’m still going to graduate on time because of you.” You shook your head. 

“It was nothing really. It’s tough to go through…a loss. It sucks. Feels like you’ve been gutted and your chest feels like someone keeps putting weight on it. It’s hard to even get up and walk most days.” You chose your words carefully. 

“Sounds like you’re familiar with this.” Harry’s eyes dropped down, tears starting to well up in his eyes. Your heart started to break. No one had been there to hold you together when your sister died by suicide. You had to hold everyone together because they were falling apart and looking to you, the oldest sibling, to fill in the cracks. It was so hard but you got through it. Now you go to therapy once a week to correct all the damage done to your mind. 

“I am.” You say stepping closer. “If…uh…I’m a good listener. You know, whenever.” Harry met your eyes and a small smile appeared on his face. 

“Thanks. I gotta go meet up with Pete for a project but catch you later?” You nodded and laughed as Harry waved goodbye. A couple weeks later Harry took you out on a date and you guys were a thing, not really a couple officially but a thing. MJ and Peter had the same thing going on. You even had your first kiss together in Pete’s backyard when you guys hung out for a movie night. Pete and MJ had gone into get more snacks and silence fell between you and Harry. You turned to him to ask him something when he kissed you. It wasn’t a perfect kiss by any means but you both kissed each other and then DIDN'T SPEAK OF IT AGAIN. Awkward as both were, kisses were still stolen in private. Graduation came and went but all of you kept in touch until Harry just disappeared one day to go to Europe. Eventually Peter and MJ found out what had happened to him, he wasn’t in Europe. He was sick and dying, he had been diagnosed with the same disease his mother died from. Shock would be an understatement as MJ was telling you this over the phone. 

“Shit that's..awful. Where are you now?” You ask when you hear a honking noise from outside your apartment complex. “Outside. Come on.” MJ answers. You laugh and grab your bag and head out the door to run into…Harry Osborn? After not seeing him in months you expected from him to be sickly, dying but he looked just like you remembered him. 

“Woah. Sorry. Uh…” He said steadying himself with his cane. You held him, got his footing and waited. “I had this whole image of me learning on the wall over here all cool while you came outside but got too excited I guess.” He even sounded the same. He had the same bright tone in his voice and he didn’t sound out of breath or anything. The look in his eyes confused you. You couldn't understand what it was but he was looking at you like he was fighting something back. But still you huff out a laugh. 

“How bout you get more of your strength back then you can try to put the moves on me, OK?” Harry laughed and pulled you into a hug. You wrapped your arms around him and let him hug you for as long as he wanted. 

“Thought I’d never see you again.” He whispered. You held on tighter and Harry let you go. “I’m sorry. I was being treated here in the city and didn't want you to worry about me. I’m OK though. I’m in remission.” Your jaw dropped. 

“That’s great. I’m glad to hear it.” Then another honk came from behind Harry. Peter was honking Harry’s car. 

“COME ON! I’D LIKE TO GET TO CONEY ISLAND TODAY!” You laughed and rolled your eyes. Harry offered you his arm and you both laughed as you carefully assented down the stairs. MJ opened the car door for you and held out a hand as you climbed in. Harry got into the driver's seat and drove to the docks where you guys caught a boat to Coney Island. Once there, all four of you went on all your favorite rides. It was just like back in high school except trouble struck. The villain known as Tombstone was captured by other bad guys? You weren’t sure because all you could do was look for your friends as you all had been separated. Tombstone looked so scared. You felt bad for him, just seconds ago he was telling you where to get the best caramel apples on Coney Island and even said thank you for talking to him. Well these people were trying to take him so as SpiderMonkey was fighting most of them off you went to try and help Tombstone. A net had been thrown on him so you started to cut it with your pocket knife, trying to free him. 

“Get outta here kid! It aint gonna cut it!” He shouted at you but you were determined to help him until you were thrown to the side landing rough. You look up to see a man standing over you with a knife. You kick him in the shin and take off only to have a sharp pain run up your thigh. The bastard had thrown his knife and it sliced through your thigh. You fell and held your hand to you leg hoping to stop the bleeding. As you hid around a corner Spider-man ran off to save the people on the busted roller coaster. You started to get light headed, wanting to call out to the hero but didn’t want the people on the roller coaster to die. 

“OH MY GOD!” You feel someone jerk you which makes you yell out in pain. You look to see MJ’s scared eyes. “Ohmygodohmygod oh no nonononono. Just stay with me alright? I’m gonna…I’m getting you help just keep putting-HARRY!” MJ screamed. Your eyes started to get heavy. You're losing too much blood. “HEY HEY HEY! DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT! LOOK AT ME!” Hands grab your face and shake slightly. Your eyes try to focus knowing the voice belongs to Harry who was desperately trying to keep you awake. 

“We gotta stop the bleeding! Keep putting pressure on the leg. I'll go get a paramedic!.” MJ says as Harry carefully puts his arm behind you and his other under your legs. He pulls you closer to him and whispers

“Just say with me. OK? I’m not losing you a second time. We barely got a chance to- '' You suddenly feel something crawling up your leg, you don't have the strength to move it but you do have enough to open your eyes. Black goo like tentacles were creeping up your leg, stopping at the gash in your thigh, the goo covers it and the pain slowly fades. Are you imagining this? “Holy shit.” Harry. Harry’s still here? The goo continues to cover your body until everything fades to black. 

You gasp for air look around frantically, your still at Coney Island but on a roof top and someone was still holding you. You look up to see Harry, sitting with you curled up against him. 

“Hey.” He breathes sounding relieved that you woke up. 

“Hi? What happened?” You ask. 

“Well…we need to talk.” You turn to see Peter in a Spider-man suit. “Now I know this might be shocking but-” “Oh please.” You croak. “I’ve known for years.” You say starting to move trying to stand. 

“Woah. Not so fast OK? You lost a lot of blood.” Harry says holding you tighter. “Your body temp is still a little low so just…for now just stay.” 

“I should be dead.” You whisper. “How is it I’m not?” Harry looks to Pete who looks right back at him. 

“I…think I healed you.” Harry says. You blink thinking he’s lost his marbles. 

“Huh.” Then tentacles start peaking out of Harry's back. So you weren’t hallucinating. “Harry what?” 

“It’s my treatment. This exoskeleton suit is healing me but…it healed you leg and then like wrapped around your entire body until you were healed enough. I have no idea who it works but I’m glad it did.” Your jaw is still on the floor not knowing what to say. “Pete and I are going to run some tests and you're gonna come. I’m not letting you out of my sight until you see Dr. Connors.” Harry says picking you up with ease. He wasn’t able to do that before. 

“Harry, how-” “The suit. It really did heal me more than I could have hoped for.” 

[thecoleopterawithana]

Suicide

If when she tries to run away / And he calls her back, she comes / If there's a next time, he's okay / Cause she's under both his thumbs She'll limp along to his side / Singing a song of ruin, I'd / Bet he says nothin' doin' / I'd, I'd call it suicide

This is likely one of the first songs Paul ever wrote. It predates Rock 'n Roll washing up onto the Mersey shores and the tingles that started going up and down Paul's spine. Not yet acquainted with his "confidante", Paul's earliest compositions were done instead on his home piano.

This particular tune seems to have come about around Paul's fourteenth birthday, in mid-1956. It is not known how this song sounded at its genesis: did it already have the lyrics, or was it like the contemporaneous "When I'm Sixty-Four", for which he originally had only the tune?

We hear "Suicide" for the first time in the Get Back sessions, with complete lyrics and John joining in right from the first verse. From Paul's comments on the song, it does seem like he had the lyrics in mind from the get-go:

That was a song I’d had forever, since I was about 16. I had my Dad’s old piano at home, that I used to tinker about on when there was no-one in the house. And my feelings were, then, that if you were ever going to be a songwriter, the height of it all was Sinatra. That would be the greatest stuff that you could do, really a little bit before rock ‘n’ roll, so you were thinking of standards and things. So around that time I wrote “When I’m 64” and this other thing. I thought it would be a bit of a Rat Pack, smoochy, with words like “When she tries to, run away, uh-huh…” Boom! And stabs from the band, you know.

— Paul McCartney, in the McCartney - Archive Collection (2011) liner notes.

I'm curious about the timing because, in usual McCartney fashion, we have quite dark lyrics being camouflaged by a jaunty little tune (à la "Maxwell Silver Hammer", "Another Day", etc.) And they are made even darker if they were written by a fourteen-year-old boy.

When I first heard of this song, I assumed, based on the title, that it'd been written after Mary's death. So I was quite surprised when I saw its origin dated to potentially even earlier than that (although I don't really know what information these estimations are based on).

Regardless of the exact date of origin, this song had been on my mind since I heard it brought up in @anotherkindofmindpod's Fine Tuning: Ep 2 Shoulder to Shoulder. Together with Ep 4 Shells & Barriers and the wonderful analyses that emerged from it, I've been wondering about what influenced teenage Paul to write a song about a woman trying (and failing) to escape an abusive marriage. From @bidisasterhawkeye's contribution to the aforementioned post:

For those unaware, Paul's mother had a quite tragic background. The second of four children, her younger sister Agnes died at age two (cause unknown) when Mary was around eight years old. When Mary was ten, her mother died giving birth to another baby girl (who also died). At that point, Mary's older brother left their home in Liverpool to join the army and Mary's father took Mary and her toddler brother, Bill, back to his home country of Ireland. In Ireland, they apparently lived in extreme poverty as Mary's father tried and failed to become a farmer. Ten year old Mary was apparently not enrolled in school there because she was given the role of homemaker and mother to her baby brother. When Mary was around 13, her father went to Liverpool and acquired a second wife with children of her own, and this new stepmother was apparently "cruel" enough that Mary ran away at age 14 (as did Bill later).

I might have seen it mentioned somewhere around here recently (please let me know if you know where!), but it's curious that Paul wrote about women running away in "Suicide" and "She's Leaving Home", when his own teenage mother went through the same. The latter song seems to apply better to Mary's situation at fourteen. Whose story is Paul telling in "Suicide"?

Maybe it's not that deep, and "Suicide" is indeed only a joke song. Paul certainly seems to want us to believe that:

It was a real early song of mine, and I used to do it as a joke, really. […] So I never did anything with it but around the time of McCartney, I was just goofing around on piano and at the end of one of the takes there was a little bit of tape left, so I just did it and didn’t think to use it because it was Rat Pack, tongue in cheek. But I used that little fragment at the end of one of the tracks, ‘Glasses’.

Haha, good ol' Paul, goofing around with a meaningless little tune called "Suicide" right around the same time stuff like this was happening:

I was going through a bad time, what I suspect was almost a nervous breakdown. I remember lying awake at night shaking, which has not happened to me since. One night I'd been asleep and awoke and I couldn't lift my head off the pillow. My head was down in the pillow, I thought, Jesus, if I don't do this I'll suffocate. I remember hardly having the energy to pull myself up, but with a great struggle I pulled my head up and lay on my back and thought, That was a bit near! I just couldn't do anything. I had so much in me that I couldn't express and it was just very nervy times, very very difficult.

— Paul McCartney, in Barry Miles' Many Years From Now (1997).

I'll leave further ruminations on the emotional implications of "Suicide" to your discretion. Or we can take a page out of Lewisohn's book and simply conclude:

But though the words wanted work (and didn’t get it), ["Suicide"] was a charming little tune, a dance-band piece with a dash of modernity, light, engaging and original … quite exceptional for a first attempt by a boy on the cusp of 14.

[gyll-yee-haw]

This can either be Jake or Donnie, but can you write something where they help the reader through a depression episode?

Yes, baby <3

I went with Donnie, because we're having an overdose of him here :)

I know this is a very very sensitive topic, but that's why we have to talk about it. And I'm here for it, as a survivor. But please, extra attention to the warnings on this one!

Warnings: depression, mention of suicidal thoughts, bad description of what I remember from therapy lol, bad parents, Donnie being a sweet perfect bf.

Like 1.2k words.

---

Donnie stroked your hair as you rested your head on his lap, tears staining his jeans. He hated this. Hated seeing you like this. You were so sweet and caring and you didn't deserve this. If he could, he would take your place at any minute.

But he couldn't. And he searched his mind for anything he could possibly do to help. That's when the idea came to his mind.

---

Sitting in front of his therapist, he had the most determined face she had ever seen. There was something different about him that day.

"I need to help someone, but I don't know how." He started, very seriously.

"Someone?" She asked curiously.

"It's my girlfriend." He explained. He didn't want to waste time with those details. He just had to know what to do. "She's been going through a lot..."

"I see." She sat comfortably on her chair. "And how do you think you could help?"

"I don't know." He sighed, playing anxiously with his fingers.

He told her about the way you've been acting and the things you had been saying about yourself. About how hopeless you were, how you just couldn't get out of bed these last days, not going to school or doing the things you liked... the things that made you you.

She paid attention to everything, taking notes when he said something that reminded her of him. It was intriguing how he chased your cure more than he ever seemed to care about his own.

"It's very nice that you want to help her, Donnie. She will need help of everyone she loves." The therapist told him. "But looks like a very serious case. One that may require professional help."

"I know, but her parents just won't pay for it." He explained, annoyed at that thought. "They think she's overreacting, they don't believe her."

"I see." She sighed. Donnie didn't always believe in the effectiveness of therapy as well. But the fact that he was asking for her help, meant he was starting to trust it a bit more. Maybe helping his girlfriend would help him more than he knew. "Remember when we talked about the waves?"

"The feelings are like waves." He repeated it from memory. "The good and the bad ones. They always pass... they reach their peak and then they fade, even when it doesn't look like they will."

"That's very good, Donnie." She smiled. "You should tell her that."

"I will!" He nodded. "What else should I say?"

___

He couldn't get to your house fast enough after he left the therapist's office. And when he did, he found you laying in bed, curled in a ball. Didn't look like you had cried recently, but didn't look like you had gotten any sleep either. You were just holding on.

"Hi, baby." He greeted you sweetly.

"Hey." You spoke weakly, not having used your voice since the last time he was there. "How was therapy?"

"It was nice." He told you, removing his shoes and laying down beside you on the bed. "We actually... talked about you today."

"Me?" You frowned. Oh no. You knew the state you were in was upsetting him, you just didn't know you had become a problem he needed to solve at therapy.

"Yeah." He brought you close, wrapping his arms around you and placing a kiss on the top of your head.

"I'm sorry. I know it sucks being around me right now." You answered. He could feel you were tense, didn't melt in his embrace like you usually did. That's how he knew you misunderstood him.

"It doesn't. It never will." He reassured you. "It's not about me, baby. What I did today was ask for ways to help you."

"You can't help me." You shook your head. "No one can."

"I will. I will help you, no matter what I have to do." He held you just a little tighter, emphasizing his words. There was a moment of silence before he admitted: "I'm fucking terrified of losing you."

Your heart stopped. The fact that Donnie knew what you were thinking without you saying a word was a mixed blessing. It helped when you couldn't physically speak, like these last days. But at the same time, you couldn't hide anything from him. Those thoughts weren't frequent... but you couldn't deny that sometimes you wished you could just disappear. You didn't want to die, you just didn't want to be there sometimes. And those ideas terrified you way too much to be said out loud.

"Promise you'll let me try." He begged.

"Okay." Was all you could say. You didn't feel strong enough to do this, but you wouldn't forgive yourself for breaking his heart.

"Right." There was a little sparkle of hope in his voice. "There's one thing we could try, okay? Not now, but... when the time comes."

He felt you finally relax in his arms, and took that as a sign to continue. "Whenever you feel like saying something bad about yourself... or even think about it... you have to know that it's not true, it's your brain making it up, because it's sick."

"Donnie..." you sighed.

"I know, I know." He interrupted you. "How can you know if your brain is lying? There's this technique... called, hm... best friend technique? Fuck it, I don't remember. You can just use me. It's called Donnie technique now. When you have a bad thought, imagine it's me saying that about myself. Think about how you'd act... if you'd let me say that about me. If the answer is no, then you shouldn't be saying it about you either."

"Donnie technique." You chuckled.

"That's right." His heart filled with joy after hearing you chuckle. "Promise me you will try?"

"I promise." You snuggled closer to his chest. "I'm not sure if it will work, but I'll try."

"That's my girl. My brave girl." He stroked your hair, both of you feeling so peaceful. "There are many things we can try. And we will try them all if we have to. I'll be here with you, okay?"

"Thank you, Don." You rested your forehead against his heartbeat. You felt so safe. The hope he felt earlier was starting to spread towards you. "I love you so much."

"I love you too. You don't have to thank me, you just have to try, okay?"

Your promise was made and you intended to keep it.

[alexablissmark]

detention (part 1) [hook x female reader]

you get a detention and your least favorite person decides to join you. female reader.

warnings: angst, bullying, gossip, middle school trauma, shootings, manipulation, nudes, swearing, suicide, intimidation, bad puns, revoked privilege

this is slightly based on personal experiences and my own schools stupid attendance policy ♡

For the third time this week, you left the house too late. For the second time this week, your car wouldn't start. And for the first time this week, you received a detention.

What a stupid policy.

You'd think school would be the one place where being late is forgiven. People would be kind and empathetic towards you and understand that there are millions of factors going into being in class before 8AM, most of which are out of your control. Right?

Wrong.

Well, surely you'd only have to make up the five minutes of class that'd you have missed? It's not a big deal.

Also, wrong.

Fifty minutes for every tardy after the two "freebies" as they had called it. So there you were, sitting in detention. Detention started at 3:35. If you were late, they sent you home, and you had to serve a second one. You made sure you were there by 3:33, at the latest. There were a few people already there. You sat a table by yourself. Two to a table, please. There came in a few more kids after you. It was a busy day for detention.

"Julia?" The teacher, Mr. Regal, called.

"Here," she said.

"Brittany?"

"Here,"

"Adam?"

"Here,"

"Max?"

"Here,"

"Tyler?"

"Here,"

"Y/N?"

"Here,"

That's when you stopped listening to roll-call.

The aforementioned Tyler sat next to you. Not because he wanted to, but because it was the last open seat available, and he walked in last. Tyler was basically the embodiment of everything a dad wanted his son to be. Young, handsome, athletic, seemingly well-mannered. But to you, he was everything but well-mannered. He was nothing except a cold-hearted devil.

Even though you've been going to the same school your entire life, it'd been hard to make friends. The closed off community you had been forced to surround yourself with was filled with nothing but elitists.

(a/n: see what i did there? imso funny hahaha please laugh)

Your first run-in with Tyler was in first grade. He sat at your table. He took scissors to your hair. When the teacher came over, it looked like you were the one who did it. He never said sorry and was mean to you for the rest of the year. You got your scissor privileges taken away. His friends joined in on teasing you sometime during second grade.

After fourth grade, they stopped being mean to you in your face and spread rumors instead. It earned you a visit to the principals office with police officers waiting for you. A list had been found by a "concerned student" and was brought to the schools attention. The student said he believed it to be you. Except, the handwriting looked nothing like yours. It was messy and gross. Kindergartener-like. You thanked Ms. Aubrey for bringing it up during your visit. You were let go.

Eventually, the teasing and school shooter rumors turned into notes in lockers. Notes with lines of daring you to kill yourself and condemning you to hell. You never reported them. You didn't bother. You had other things to worry about, anyway. Better things, like the spelling bee. You won the spelling bee in 6th grade. Tyler was the other finalist. It felt really, really good. You smiled at him when you won. He just squinted his eyes at you, trying to intimadate you. But nothing could intimidate a world-class champion, such as yourself.

He didn't start bothering you again until the end of 8th grade. He asked you for pictures. You told him no. He still told everybody you sent them to him anyway. You were deemed "too slutty" for anyone to want to be friends with you after that. That was the consensus all the way up until now. Junior year.

Now you were sitting across from the one person who had made your life a living hell for the past 10 years. You didn't even know why. You've never done anything to him. Did he resent you for something? Or was he just trying to entertain himself with the shy kid with a different sense of style? Maybe it was none of the above.

Thoughts like this crossed your mind as you pretended to read a book. You looked at the clock. It was only 3:45. You looked at Tyler. He was already looking at you. You gave him a weird look and went back to fake reading. He slid you a note.

"why u reading that?" it said.

You quietly opened your pencil pouch so as not to draw attention to the highly punishable note-passing. Mr. Regal enforced rules by the book, and you did not want to spend another day here wasting your time. You could hear a pen drop in that room. Any sort of noise would mean certain death.

"i found it in the library," you wrote back.

Tyler was writing some sort of response until a hand snatched the paper away. You looked up with a hint of fear in your eyes.

"Passing notes?" Mr. Regal exclaimed. "You two know better. Especially as juniors. That's another detention for you both!"

If looks could kill, Mr. Regal would be dead on the floor. You had incredibly important napping plans for tomorrow. Tyler probably had lacrosse practice or something sporty like that. You and Tyler looked at each other, but you quickly went back to pretend reading. It was only 3:50 at that point. Could time go by any slower?

You actually started to find yourself interested in the book you were reading, and you quickly got lost in its world. But that was cut short when Mr. Regal said everyone could go. It was 4:25 by then.

You were walking to your car when you heard a voice call behind you.

"Hey!" it said.

You looked behind you.

Here we go.

"What, Tyler?"

"I just wanted to say that's my favorite book you were reading," he said with a slight smirk.

You rolled your eyes.

"Whatever," you said.

You began to continue your walk to the back of the parking lot. You didn't like to park next to others.

He followed you to your car. You checked your phone and the time read 4:32.

"What?" you said, annoyed.

Your back was to your driver-side door. He put his hands on either side of you.

"I just think it's impressive someone like you could read such profound literature," he said sarcastically.

"Shut the fuck up, Tyler. It's literally your fault we have to go back to detention tomorrow," you said.

"You didn't have to answer back," he said.

"You didn't have to talk to me in the first place," you snapped back.

"I wanted to talk to you," he answered.

"I didn't," you said while crossing your arms.

"I think you're a liar," he whispered.

"I think you should eat a dick, bitch," you said aggressively.

The tension was ever-rising between the two of you. Years and years of hate between you both had finally come to its peak. All the while, he had you pinned beneath him, and you had nowhere to go. Your faces were only inches apart. His eyes locked into yours. After a few seconds, you looked away. You'd die if anyone saw you like that with Tyler of all people. Luckily, no one did. He didn't seem to really care. He sighed and walked away.

You got into your car and went home.

The time was 4:56 when you got to your room.

You took a nap, which you didn't wake up from until 6:45 the next morning.

School went by really fast that day. And when you got to the detention room, luckily it wasn't Mr. Regal. It was the principal, Mr. Khan. He was nice and understanding, but a lot of times, he let things fly under the radar. He seemed to only punish people for small things - like being late and note passing.

Unluckily, it was just you and Tyler that day. He sat across from you again.

this got too long so part 2 will b out soon ♡

[assortedseaglass]

The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Twenty Three

Tom Bennett x Bess Vaughn (OFC)

[Masterlist]

Warnings: Strong Language, Angst, Smut, Violence, Depictions of War, Mentions of Death, Depictions of PTSD, Injury Detail, Era typical Sexism, Era typical Homophobia, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Mentions of Domestic Abuse (very brief), Depictions of Reproductive Health, Suicidal Thoughts, World on Fire Spoilers.

Notes: Been a while, hasn’t it? Here's 7K for ya. I’m writing this for me and the few people that are still engaging with it. If you enjoy it, and you know who guys you are, then I’m happy!

There are probably mistakes, but I'm ill. Soz.

“Morning, pet. Brought you a cuppa. Poor thing,” A soft hand ran over Tom’s forehead, as though testing his temperature, and brushed the hair from his eyes. “You know you’re always welcome here.”

Tom’s head was pounding. Rubbing bleary eyes, he took the tea from the person above him. Perfectly manicured nails, ringlets, red lipstick and the overpowering smell of lavender.

“Cheers, Queenie.”

“Anytime, love. Here,” she draped his threadbare jacket over the bedframe. “Tried to get the mud out as best I could.”

“Mud?”

“Yeah,” Queenie chuckled. “You fell over by the park. Our Frank was worried he’d have to carry you the rest of the way. Listen, I’ve got bacon and eggs on the stove, pop down when you’re dressed.” With small, high-heeled steps, she tottered from the room.

Fuck.

Tom rose tentatively from the bed, his head pounding. When he felt he could stand without vomiting, he made his way to the small wash basin in the corner of the room and caught sight of himself in the old mirror.

If it wasn’t for the pulsing of his head, Tom would have suspected he’d died and was looking at his own ghostly reflection. Purple circles rimmed his usually bright eyes, which were dull and tired. His skin clung to his face- he could do with twelve plates of Queenie’s bacon and eggs by the looks of him -and the shadow of his stubble was darkening his chin. Despite his age, he looked old. As though someone had tried to draw youth after only having it described to them. A thousand lives had been lived behind his eyes, some of them he wouldn’t wish on anyone.

“Breakfast, Tom!” Queenie called up the stairs. Tom splashed his face with water and, looking at his reflection once more, had to fight the urge to spit at it. Pathetic.

Downstairs, Queenie was fussing around the kitchen table at which sat two distinctly different figures. Frank Smith was reading a newspaper, a steaming cup of tea beside him. Upon seeing Tom, he muttered a quiet “good morning”, and hid behind the paper. Opposite him was perhaps the oldest lady Tom had ever seen. Wrapped in moth eaten shawls and gawdy jewellery, she wore a permanent smile, though even from where Tom stood he could see that nothing much was going on behind her eyes.

“Have a seat, Tom.” Queenie passed him a plate of breakfast. The only seat available was by Frank, and the man shuffled awkwardly as Tom sat beside him, memories of Tom screaming at him in the school corridor swirling in his mind. The old lady opposite looked slowly up at Tom and gave him a gummy smile. She gargled a little.

“Hello, m’am,” Tom nodded his head and went about adding sugar and milk to his tea.

“This is Tom, Nanna.” Queenie bent low and shouted in the woman’s ear. “Tom. Bennett. Poor old thing doesn’t know today from tomorrow but she seems happy enough,” she directed at Tom, who nodded wearily and shovelled eggs into his mouth.

“Beautiful boy,” the old woman said. Her gummy smile was a little off putting but the kindness, even if she said this kind of thing to everyone, was just what Tom needed in his hungover shame. He placed his hand over hers. “Beautiful boy,” she cooed as though looking at a newborn. Tom supposed, compared to her great age, he was.

“She’ll be one hundred and two in March, won’t you Nanna?” Queenie shouted.

“Don’t look a day over twenty-one,” Tom said.

Nanna Warren let out a hearty heh heh and allowed Queenie to spoon porridge into her mouth. They all ate in silence, apart from Nanna Warren’s little murmurs and mutterings, and when they were done, Queenie took their plates to the sink. “Frank, love, take Nanna into the front room.”

Frank set his paper down resignedly and lead the old woman into the hallway. “Beautiful boy, beautiful!” 

“Got plans for the day, Tom?” Queenie turned from the sink and fixed him with a watchful but friendly gaze.

“Find m’self a bed to sleep in and a shower. Reckon I’ve got a few apologies to make an’ all.”

“Mmm,” War had matured Queenie Warren too. She was still girlish and flirtatious, but she seemed to have realised her words had meaning and was making amends for her off-handed comments of old. “Bess is some woman-”

Tom laughed fondly. “Yeah,”

“- I could never put up with you.”

Perhaps not. “I’ll be off Queenie, thanks for letting me stay. Say ta-ra to Frank for me.”

“I won’t, I know you two don’t see eye to eye. Take care of yourself, give Bess a kiss from me.”

Tom shrugged on his jacket, pulled up the collar and made his way into the cold day. Apologies. Where to bloody start.

Each of the Vaughn girls was looking at their father with disgust.

He had come downstairs that morning reeking of ale and grease from the dockyard, sat in his armchair, let out an almighty belch and promptly dozed off. When Cora kicked him and shoved a plate of eggs under his nose, he took them with a scowl and ate in silence.

“Just one more bloody man to worry about,” Bess huffed from the kitchen table.

“Bugger off back to Carver Mills then,” Fergal snapped.

“Don’t you two start,” Cora slammed a fresh loaf of bread onto the table. “I’ve heard enough bloody bickering these last twelve hours to last a lifetime.”

“Watch your language-”

“Be quiet!” All three girls shouted at their father and he fixed them with an annoyed stare.

Breakfast was a solemn affair with Fergal fighting through his hangover, the girls’ lack of sleep and Bess’ additional worry over Tom. In truth, some of it had waned in the hours since she woke up. After hearing Tom’s idea of a woman’s purpose in this world, her worry had dwindled to a mild apprehension. When Dot came in from collecting the milk and told her the Mrs Mason’s eldest had seen Tom entering Queenie Warren’s Cringle Park home late last night, her mild apprehension became a fully borne rage.

Bess liked to think she trusted Tom to stay loyal to her. But something in his astoundingly arrogant display at the Palais gnawed at her confidence.  

“Got any towels, Cora?”

“Dot, for God’s sake, wash your own.”

“Bess?”

“One, in my handbag.”

Dot kissed her sister’s cheek and began rummaging through her bag. “I’ll wash it and give it back.”

“Keep it, I won’t want it back-”

“I don’t need to be hearing about your filthy woman talk-”

“Be quiet!” Each of the girls shouted again at their father. Bess watched as Dot disappeared upstairs. She had been carrying a towel with her everywhere, just in case. She always did of course, in the event of her monthlies, but her monthlies were now three weeks late and she had an appointment with Sister Murphy in a week’s time.

A knock at the front door made each Vaughn jump.

“That’ll be Dennis with the post,” Cora was already rounding the kitchen table, pulling her apron off as she did so. Bess was in no mood to see rat-faced Dennis Warley and the contemptuous looks he saved especially for her and her tailored slacks. She stood from the table, gave Fergal a wide berth and went upstairs to dress.

Stuff Dennis Warley and his shit taste. Bess pulled out a dark dress from the draw she still kept in her sisters’ room, covered it in a dark jumper and pulled on some thick woollen socks. Her hair, still curled from last night, she tied off her face with a scarf, the frizzy strands settling on her shoulders.

Lying back on the bed, she cradled her stomach. It was a little plump, thinner now because of rationing, but still soft and doughy. Bess rubbed circles over it, wondering what it would be like to feel it grow. In her need for him, and his for her, Bess and Tom had been reckless. But surely, it would have happened by now? When he found his way back to her after his months on the run in Europe, she was so certain in her need for him, her love for him, that a sheath didn’t matter. When he had returned this time, so hungry for her after discovering his father gone, hadn’t she welcomed him openly? Given herself over to him completely because that was what he needed? Perhaps this time, she had given too much. She’d seem him with Vera, and Jan, and not worried about the consequences. After last night, however, she was scared.

Downstairs, Cora and Dot’s voices raised in pitch and volume, and Bess looked up at the ceiling. A new crack had formed there. Trust Dennis to say something stupid.

Only it wasn’t Dennis Warley at all. Downstairs, Cora Vaughn was locked in a battle with none other than Tom Bennett.

“I wondered when you’d show up,”

“Cora, I-”

“Roger’s not here, so don’t worry-”

“I’m not worri-”

“You looked worried last night when he dumped you on the pavement.”

“Give over, Cora. Posh knob wouldn’t get his hands dirty. S’why he’s off flying planes and leaving us lot in the muck-”

“Don’t you start on Cora!” Dot pushed past her sister and jabbed a finger into Tom’s chest.

“He tried last night, Dot.”

“Oh he did, did he?” Fergal Vaughn stood from his chair by the hearth and made his slow way to the front door. “Give him a piece of your mind did you, my girl?”

“I did, Dadda.” Cora’s eyes were still set on Tom. Indeed, so were Fergal and Dot’s. “And Dot gave him a smack.”

“Save your energy next time, Dot. You could beat Tom Bennett into next year and he’d still come up with some sorry excuse-”

“Is Bess in?” Tom pinched his nose.

“Care about Bess now?”

“Shut up, Dot.”

Fergal lunged at him. Tom’s arms instinctively reached outwards. The two men stumbled into the cobbled street, each gripping the other’s collar. They grappled for a while, Fergal’s size and Tom’s athleticism preventing either from felling each other.

Hearing the commotion from upstairs, Bess hurried down the narrow stairs and into the street.

“WHAT IS GOING ON?”

The bundle of bodies stopped moving at once. Dot slid off Tom’s back. Fergal dropped his arms from Tom’s collar and Cora stumbled backwards from her attempt to restrain her father.

“Bess, love-”

“Look at yourselves.” Bess folded her arms. “A disgrace to mam’s memory. And Marie’s.” She pointed at Tom. “Get inside. The lot of you.”

Like a troupe of naughty children, Fergal, Cora, Dot and Tom filed into the house. No sooner had Bess slammed the door was she grabbing Tom’s wrist and pulling him into the yard. “I’ll deal with you lot later,” she said to her family, each stood sheepishly in the kitchen.

The autumn air was crisp outside. Dadda’s chickens were scraping at the earth and scurried forward when Bess turned over a bucket to perch upon. Seeing she had nothing to give them, they went about their business.

Tom watched Bess as she lit a cigarette and stared ahead. God, she was gorgeous. Sat there in the morning light, hair aflame, all haughty and tight-lipped. She was just as he always imagined her. When she turned her head ever so minutely to look at him from the corner of her, he winked.

“Don’t flirt with me.��

Tom raised his chin and straightened his back. He knew Bess loved his neck, and from her low position she would be able to see the perfect angle of his jaw. “It’s working then.”

By way of a reply, Bess blew smoke into his face. With a small smile, Tom crouched before her and took her empty hand in his.

“I’m sorry,”

Bess watched him, taking another drag of her cigarette.

“I-,oh fuck,” Tom stood up again and paced the small yard. Apologies. How the fuck do you apologise? Not as a way to wriggle out of trouble, but to truly make amends? Before he could start, Bess spoke first.

“I heard you and Dadda had a little chat.”

“Yeah-”

“And then you insulted Bobby. And my suit,”

“You looked gorgeous-”

Bess hmphed. “Then you made a scene-”

“Dot smacked me!”

“Not hard enough!” They glared at each other. “And after that, you had the bare-faced cheek to insult Cora and Roger. On their special night!”

“I know,” Tom deflated visibly in front of her and Bess’ heart melted a little. A little. “I’m sorry, I really am.”

“What for?”

Christ, Bess was breaking his balls. He sighed. “For fighting with your father, for ruining Cora’s night and for the awful things I said to you and Bobby.”

“And?”

“And what?” He was getting annoyed now.

“Didn’t think you liked Frank Smith.”

“I don’t. He’s a prick.”

“But you spent the rest of last night with him? Was Walter Watson there too? Bragging about how you got into my knickers? Or planning how the three of you could next embarrass me, as a joint effort?”

“No,”

“Anything else to add?”

“No?”

“Then think.”

Tom looked up, wracking his brains. Cora, Dot and Fergal were peering out of the window, transfixed by the goings on in the yard. Cora and Dot hastily withdrew from the window. Fergal continued to stare at Tom and Bess.

“Erm-”

“Where did you stay, last night? Only, I said you could come to ours but-” She let the sentence trail off.

Fuck.

Bess’ eyes had turned dark. She leant forward on her knees and casually flicked the ash from her cigarette. She was waiting. Had thrown down her gauntlet. The challenge? Daring Tom to make up an excuse, as he always did. Well, enough people had tried to outsmart him before. There was a reason he was so good at stealing car parts and had managed to wrangle his way out of jail. It wasn’t this, though, that made his blood boil. No, it was Bess’ lack of trust.

“Stayed at Queenie’s.” It was blunt. Tom wanted to embarrass her for trying to trip him up. It didn’t work.

“She finally got you in her bed then.”

“Yes, she did.” At Tom’s words, Bess blanched. A few tears pin-pricked her eyes and she looked like a child. Tom softened immediately. “She slept in the other room, with Frank. They’re courting, remember?”

“Yes.”

“Or had you conveniently forgotten so you could have a reason to be angry at me?”

“You managed that yourself.”

Silence.

Once more, Tom crouched in front of Bess. She had nowhere to look but at his sandy hair, that silly old jacket, those extraordinarily blue eyes. “I know I behaved like a fucking prick, but I’d never do that.” It was too horrible an idea to even voice. “Please, please, of all people, please trust me.”

Bess looked at him. The little crease between his brows. The world-weary, tired eyes. His lips, pursed with tension. She reached out and stroked his cheek. From the window, a small squeal sounded. Dot.

“I do. God help me, I do.”

The door opened abruptly. There was Cora, a crying Vera in her arms. She shoved the baby at Tom. “Make yourself useful.”

Tom scooped his niece into his arms, confusion evident on his face. “Why do you have her?” He began bobbing on the spot to soothe the crying babe and Bess felt he stomach clench. Her stomach, and something farther south.

“You haven’t told him?” Cora scowled at Bess and Tom looked between the sisters. As though she could sense him doing this, Bess turned from her sister to Tom.

“It’s fine,” she stood up and approached Tom and Vera, running a soothing hand over the baby’s brow. “She’s fine, Connie popped over with the baby this morning.” She took Tom’s hand. “Lois was injured in last night’s raid.”

“Oh fuck,” Tom’s legs wobbled and Bess made to cradled Vera. He found his footing, but fear was etched across his face. Day by day, his family was growing smaller.

“She’s ok, Tom, she’s ok. Hit her head but she’s at home. Well,” Bess swallowed awkwardly. Where was the Bennett home now? “She’s at Connie’s.”

“You best get over there, boy.”

“Cora,” Bess said warningly. With folded arms and a small tut, Cora turned on her heel and stalked back into the house. Bess rapped a knuckle on the window. Dot and Fergal hurried away from the glass.

“Take Vera,” Bess gripped Tom’s jacket and pulled it around the wee thing. “Go and see Lois and maybe, if I’m not still angry at you, I’ll see you at the flat?”

Tom looked down his nose at her, taking a step closer. Vera, nestled between the two, settled and was content to make small gurgles as she watched two of the people she loved most above her.

“You won’t be angry for long,” Tom’s lips were dangerously close to Bess’. Thank God Fergal wasn’t still at the window.

“Is that so?” Bess whispered, bringing her face close to his. Thank God the baby was between them. From here she could smell yesterday’s cologne, the slightest whiff of lager and his Marlboro’s. It was intoxicating. Damn Tom Bennett.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me, Bess Vaughn.” Tom gripped the front of Bess’ jumper and pulled her close. “The way you’ve always looked at me.”

Both were remembering the day Bess returned from the central Manchester, clad in white and turning heads everywhere she walked. Remembering the way she watched Tom as he stretched to fetch her a glass of wine.

Just as Tom made to kiss Bess’ plump lips, she pulled away. “I need to go. Meeting Kasia at Southport.”

Tom looked at her with mock bemusement. “Southport? This time of year?”

“Aye,” Bess kissed Vera’s mop of soft hair and straightened. “She needs a friend and I’ve decided to be that friend. It’s nice, she tells me all about how disappointing Harry is-” she looked Tom squarely in the eye. “- and I do the same about you.”

“Nothing disappointing about me, love.” Again, he winked and Bess felt herself blush.

“Get away with you. Go to Lois.”

“Yes, captain.” With Vera tucked against his chest, Tom made his way to the gate into the ginnel. He saluted to Dot and Cora, who were once more watching from the kitchen, and opened the latch. A small hand wrapped around his wrist, and before he could fully turn around, Bess’ warm lips met is.

“I love you.”

“I know,” she smacked his arm. “I love you.”

Bess closed the gate behind him and listened as made his way down the ginnel, cooing to Vera all the way. When she turned around, the back-room curtain rustled. No doubt Cora and Dot would have plenty to say.

Vera was asleep by the time Tom made it to Connie’s small flat. He knocked on the door and was welcomed by the one-legged young man he had met just a few days before.

“She yours?” He used his walking stick to point at Vera.

“No. She’s Lois’. From upstairs?”

“Oh right. Yeah. Heard your sister took a knock in the raid last night.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m here.”

“Lucky really. Or unlucky, depending on how you look at it.”

“Unlucky, how?” Tom’s anger prickled.

“You’re in the war, mate. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen men blown to pieces somehow still clinging on to life-” He knocked is fake leg with his cane. “Better sometimes that the war finish us off, rather than making us linger in this living hell.”

“Can I see Lois, mate?”

The strange man shuffled aside and, cradling Vera close to his chest, Tom ran up the stairs to Connie’s flat two steps at a time. The door was open when he got there. Connie sat at the small table, making notes on some sheet music. She looked up at hearing the floorboards creak as Tom approached, and silently waved him in.

“She’s in my room,” she whispered. “Been sleeping most of the day but I heard her get up not long ago.”

“Cheers, Con,” Tom made towards the bedroom door but Connie stepped in front of him.

“Give Vera here,” she held out her hands and Tom tentatively let his niece go.

“Won’t Lois won’t to-”

“Best if it’s just you, I think, love. Will be alright, won’t we?” Connie cooed at Vera as she babbled happily.

The small room that Lois shared with Connie was dark. The dirty curtains were drawn and piles of baby clothes littered the cupboard. Fresh and folded, but left out of the drawer. The bed creaked and from beneath the tattered blanket, Tom’s sister appeared.

Her head was wrapped in a large bandage, the kind that Tom would give her when they played hospital as children. Her curly hair poked awkwardly from the bottom and did little to hide the black bruises beneath her eyes.

“What the fuck happened?” Tom perched on the end of the bed.

“You got any cigarettes?” Her voice was hoarse.

“Always,” he grabbed the packet from his trousers, lit one and passed it to his sister. “Since when do you smoke?”

“Since this morning.” Lois coughed through the smoke and relaxed against the iron headboard.

“So,” Tom nudged her leg gently but spoke firmly. Despite their argument, he was still her brother. “What happened?”

“Was getting an old fella from a house last night, it had been hit in the raids.” She shuffled uncomfortably. “And yeah, the ceiling came down on my head.”

“Only ‘cause you went back in to get his bloody teeth!” Connie walked past the door with Vera on her lap.

“Dad’s spirit is living on then,” Tom whispered under his breath.

“Oh for God’s sake, Tom!” Lois tried to get up from the bed but Tom was still sat on the covers. “I’m really not in the mood to be shouted at about dad. Again-”

Tom swore under his breath. “Lois! I know you think I’m a wind up but I meant it as a fucking compliment. Going back in to make sure that old lad was comfortable is exactly what Dad would have done.”

They sat there awkwardly for a moment and watched the cigarette dwindle into nothingness. When it was done, Lois covered Tom’s hand with hers.

“Thanks for coming,” she whispered quietly.

“I’d be a twat not to. Wish you’d called.”

“Where would I call?”

Tom huffed a sad laugh. There was no happiness to it at all. “The Vaughns?”

“From what I hear, you’re not very popular in their house.”

“Jesus Christ,”

“Connie told me after she dropped Vera off this morning.”

“I’ve already been round. Apologised.”

“Ooh, I suddenly got a chill,” Lois huddled under the covers. “It seems hell has frozen over.” Tom smacked her leg. “Don’t hurt me, I’m ill!”

“Doesn’t count when it’s self-induced.”

“How did it go? Your apology? Charm your way out through the back door?”

“I see you’ve still got no faith in me,”

It was Lois that nudged Tom this time. “Don’t be daft.” Tom didn’t reply, simply stared at the watch on his wrist. The battery had stopped, its hands pointing to 6.04. “Be more like dad.”

“You what?” Tom glanced at her. She looked ridiculous with that enormous bandage wrapped round her head, and in his eyes she seemed just as tired as he was, but her annoying I-know-something-you-don’t attitude remained.

“Actions, not words. That’s the best way to say sorry. To really say sorry. Something Harry could never manage…” Lois’ voiced trailed off but, when Tom laughed, she looked at him sharply.

“Bess is off to see Kasia this afternoon. Said something about slagging me an’ Harry off.”

“I could give them some fodder!”

Tom laughed, without bitterness, for what felt like the first time in years. “You should join them.”

“Can’t,” Lois sighed resignedly and looked around the tatty room. “Too much to do.” Dirty napkins and baby toys were scattered around the place. The laundry basket was overflowing. A plate of half-eaten toast was forgotten by the bed. With hands on his knees and head bent, Tom pushed himself from the bed and began sorting the clothes.

“What you doing?” Lois was standing now, wrapping herself in a dressing gown and making her way towards the small room where Connie was singing to Vera.

Tom looked over his shoulder at his sister and winked. “Actions, not words.”

An old gentleman and the woman tucked into his side scowled at Kasia and Bess as they ran past.

The young women’s shrieks took flight in the sky and carried across the flat beach. The tide was way out, a few algaed rocks just showing beneath the lapping waves. In the miniature tidal pools, Bess and Kasia stomped, kicked salty water at each other and ran away from the waves. It had been so long since Bess felt this carefree. For Kasia, even longer.

“Robina will kill me,” Kasia gasped between giggles as she wiped sand from her grey skirt.

“The sooner I get those trousers finished the better.” Bess huffed as she slung her arm around Kasia’s neck, and together they walked the long stretch back up the beach. In the distance, the old couple kept glancing back at them as they made their way to the promenade. Ahead of them, a solitary figure was making its way towards the water. Probably one of the clam fishers, thought Bess.

“Do you know,” Kasia said, looping her arm through Bess’. “I don’t think I ever saw Harry laugh like that. Not really.”

“Me neither. Saw him grin once when his private school lads beat the St Thomas’ team at cricket.”

Kasia exaggerated a frown and pouted her lips. “So. Serious.”

Bess laughed. “Our Tom doesn’t have a serious bone in his body. Perhaps we should swap!”

At this, Kasia fell about. “Poor Vera wouldn’t know who is who.” The pair cackled and cackled until Bess could do naught but gulp for air.

“I like to think Tom’s changed,” Bess laughed. “But I know he’d swap with Harry just to wind up Mrs Chase.”

“Brought you girls some dinner.” Over Kasia’s renewed giggles, Bess almost missed the voice behind her. She span around quickly and lost her footing in the wet sand. As quickly as she did, Tom heaved the paper bundles under one arm and gripped Bess’ with his free hand.

He’d washed since Bess saw him that morning, though he was still pale and tired looking. Over the top of his blue jacket, he wore a woollen coat of Albie’s, and Bess smiled sadly as she ran her hand over the lapels.

“Thanks, love.” She kissed his cheek. Behind her, Kasia was tucking her hair behind her ears and smoothing her clothes.

“Alright, Kasia?” Tom nodded at her and held out one of the paper bundles. As it passed Bess, she caught the delicious whiff of vinegar. Fish and chips.

“Yes, thank you.” Kasia smiled and took the food from him.

“Bess.” Tom handed his girlfriend her portion before turning back to Kasia and clearing his throat. “How are your brothers?” Bess saw him puff out his chest, an attempt at nonchalance. His eyes were worried though, downcast, as he tucked into his chips.

“They’re well, thank you. Jan is missing his play friend though.”

Tom smiled. “Well, anytime he wants to play footie just let us know.” He faltered and Bess held on gently to the sleeve of Albie’s coat, to remind him she was there. “And Grzegorz?”

“He’s managing. Vernon and Roger got him a job at the RAF base.”

“Was a good man, Vernon.” Tom said, and the three fell into a solemn silence, punctuated by the call of gulls and rustling of newspaper.

When they had each finished their food, Kasia collected the scraps and bid goodbye to Bess with a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you soon?”

“Stay a while longer, there’s no need to leave ‘cause of Tom.”

“That’s alright,” Kasia smiled at Tom, who looked a little stung. “It’s a lovely evening. You two enjoy your walk.”

Not leaving Bess to reply, Kasia left for the promenade. Tom made for the other direction, towards the sea. Bess watched Kasia go before trotting after Tom. His hands were tucked into his pockets and she looped her arm through his. He let go, instead bringing his arm about her shoulders so that she was tucked into his side.

He smelled of cigarettes and that laundry detergent that always reminded Bess of Douglas. There was something of Albie too that lingered on the coat. That cheap cologne he used to wear when they went out dancing. Bess chuckled and Tom looked down at her.

“Thinking of Albie,” she said simply. “And your dad.”

“Mmm,” Tom pushed Bess near the waves as they approached the water and she shrieked. He laughed and grabbed her around the waist. “Had to do it. ‘S what Albie would have done if he was here.”

“Yeah. Remember all the family trips we used to have down here when mam and dad wanted to wear us down?”

Tom rested his head atop Bess’ and they watched the water turn orange as the sun lowered behind them. They didn’t talk awhile, content in each other’s company and thinking of the past, but something in Tom silence told Bess he wasn’t happy. He was almost rigid behind her, his usual relaxed swagger gone. Tentatively, she inquired about the afternoon.

“How’s Lois?”

Tom almost jumped at her voice. “Fine, yeah, fine. Was rescuing some old man’s teeth when the house came down.”

“Douglas’ll never be gone.”

“That’s what I said.” He said nothing else.

Bess turned in his arms and looked up at him. “Where are you, mister?” She ran a hand through his hair. It needed a cut before he went back, surely it was too long for navy regulations now.

“What do you mean?”

“What are you thinking about?” He finally took his eyes off the ocean and looked down at her. Bess shivered. His eyes were stony and distant. The wind ruffled his hair and for a moment he looked like Gary Cooper or Spencer Tracy. “You’re so handsome.”

Tom ignored her. “’I’d like to think Tom’s changed.’”

Bess’ cheeks prickled with embarrassment. “Pardon?”

“’I’d like to think Tom’s changed, but I know he’d swap with Harry just to wind up Mrs Chase.’” He quoted again.

“We were only mucking around-”

“I know you said you and Kasia would have a giggle at me an’ Harry’s expense,” Tom was looking back at the water and not Bess. “But I thought at least you’d have a higher opinion of me.”

Bess’ lip trembled and she ran her hand through Tom’s hair again. “You know I think the world of you-”

“I saw the way you looked at me last night. The way your father looked at me. You all still think I’m exactly the same as before, don’t you? Just a petty criminal with nothing to give.”

“Where the hell has this come from?” Bess sadness was making way for anger now.

“Bess, I’ve come back to find my dad dead, my home gone and what do I get? Bloody,” he waved his hands angrily, struggling for the word. “judgement and dirty looks.”

“No-one’s judging you-”

“’I’d like to think Tom’s changed’,” Tom began to quote Bess once more but she cut him off.

“Well, I’d like to think you have changed but your behaviour last night proves my point. Getting drunk, fighting, staying at Queenie’s-”

“Jesus Christ. NOTHING HAPPENED!”

They stared at each other.

“Why do we keep arguing?” Bess said sadly.

Tom kicked a shell and made his slow way along the tide line. “I don’t know,” he sighed, rubbing his face.

Walking beside him, Bess thought that, in truth, she did know. They were opposites. Where her grief was quiet and slow-burning, Tom’s was sudden and raging and, as it shrouded them both, neither knew how to help the other.

“Did you and Lois chat much about your dad?” She didn’t know what else to say, and maybe talking of Douglas would ease Tom’s grief.

“Not really.” Never mind.

“Please Tom,” Bess clutched his arm stopped him in his tracks. “You can’t just shut down and never talk about it.”

“It’s what you would do.”

She stared at him. Fine. If he wanted to be difficult, she could do it too. “You’re not the only one who misses him, Tom. He was my friend-”

“He was my dad!” Tom bellowed. “I suppose you wouldn’t have minded a swap with him either. Harry, my dad, anyone’s better than me-”

“Oh stop being so fucking put down upon. You’re using this as some stupid excuse not to confront your grief. The war. If you don’t want to talk to me about it, fine, I can’t know what it’s like out there. But I’ve lost people too, and, and-” Bess stomped her foot like a child. “And I love you. I want to help.”

“How could you possibly help?” Tom sounded resigned rather than angry, but nonetheless, it felt as though he had struck her.

“I-I-I’m trying to do my bit, for you. For the war effo-”

“Patching up cuts and scratches? Fixing holes in soldiers’ socks?”

“I was under the impression,” Bess snapped and wiped a tear from her face. “That that is exactly what you think I should be doing.”

Tom shook his head. Actually shook his head in confusion. “What the hell do you mean, woman?”

“Woman! Exactly! Heard all about your argument with Lois,”

“Fucking Dot-”

“Yes. Dot. Connie told her that you blamed her for your dad’s death-”

“I apologised-”

“-that her job was being at home looking after him and the baby. Is that what you think? That that’s all we’re good for?” “This is all you’re good for, Bess Vaughn.” “You know that’s what Walter Watson said to me? That night? Do you agree with him?”

“No-” Tom took a step forward but Bess stepped back.

“Well?”

“WELL WHAT?”

Bess held her stomach. Tom didn’t notice. “Do you think our role s just that? Give you children and then while away our lives at home, mothering you all?”

“It’d be a damn sight more peaceful than whatever the fuck this is!”

Neither of them was listening to the other, just shouting over the top of whatever they had said last.

“Cos you know, you’ve barely said one word to me that isn’t “bend over” or “come here” since you got back-”

“Now I know why no-one would come near you-”

Bess stopped shouting. So did Tom.

“Fuck you.” Bess turned on her heel and marched towards the promenade.

“Where are you going?” With his long legs, it was easy for Tom to catch up, even if he was so tired.

“Home.” Tom still walked beside her and she found his very presence so close angered her. “Go away.”  

“Unfortunately for you, love, we live in the same place.”

They walked in stony silence towards the run-down bus stop, Tom a few steps behind to give Bess space. They perched at opposite ends of the bench and, when the bus arrived, were dismayed to see it full. Squeezed together on the leather seats as the bus rattled back to Manchester, Bess stared out of the window. Tom did too, glancing down occasionally to look at her. The exposed line of her neck. Her lips set into an angry pout. The place at which their shoulders touched burned and he wanted nothing more than to be even closer to her. He leant his head down, and light as baby’s breath, kissed her below her ear.

The skin of Bess’ neck rippled with goosebumps and Tom smiled a satisfied smile. When she turned her head to him, she didn’t meet his eyes, nor speak. She simply brushed her nose against his cheek, her lips grazing the morning’s stubble, and turned back to the window. It was as if to say, I’m still angry at you, but I love you, and at that very moment in time, that was enough for Tom.

The sun had set by the time the bus rumbled into Manchester. Air-raid wardens were already out on shift, their small torches replacing the streetlamps that would give the city away to enemy airplanes.

Bess made in the direction of Carver Mills when she stepped off the bus, but faltered when she realised Tom wasn’t beside her. Instead, he was stood at the bus stop, hands in his pockets.

“Gonna check on Lois. And the baby,” he said, answering her questioning gaze.

“And then?” Bess didn’t need to elaborate. They both knew she was alluding to his new found homelessness. Tom shrugged. “Dadda will still have you. You’re a bloody pair, the both of you, but he won’t have you on the street. And if,” she took a step closer and pulled Tom’s coat lapels around his neck to keep him warm. “-if Dadda won’t have you, I suppose I’ll have to.” She stretched up to peck his lips.

“Yes, captain.”

BANG

Bess shot up in bed and flicked on the lamp. A pair of study nurse’s shoes were forever positioned by her bed, and a jumper and coat were slung over the bedframe in case of this very moment. The bombs.

“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry.” Tom was stumbling through Bess’ bedroom window, his back leg caught on the frame. “Forgot about the blackouts.” He hastily replaced them in the window with a lopsided grin. No sooner were they in place was he peeling off his jumper and slacks.

Bess rubbed her eyes. Despite her sleep-filled haze and her lingering annoyance at the man before her, she could still appreciate the lean muscle of his pale torso that had only strengthened in his days in the navy. A light sheen of sweat clung to his smattering of chest hair, and his breath was laboured.

“Did you-” Bess budged up in the bed so that he could climb in beside her. “Did you climb up the building?”

“Why so shocked-” Tom nestled beside her.

“Your feet are freezing,”

“Used to climb through your bedroom window all the time,”

“Yes, but it wasn’t on the fifth floor.”

“Ah,” Tom said nonchalantly, leaning back against the bedframe. “Anything for you love, and a place to lay my head.”

Bess hmphed but curled her body against Tom’s. One large hand came to her waist and rubbed lazy circles there. It was a while before either of them spoke. It was in these moments over the last year that both Bess and Tom had learnt to enjoy their simplicity. Tom may not return from his next posting. A bomb could land on the roof at any moment. To lay there, with someone you loved so completely, really was the simplest and most divine miracle.

“’M off to the docks tomorrow,” Tom whispered into Bess’ hair. “To collect my papers.”

“So soon?” Bess pushed herself to sit and face him, her voice wobbling as it betrayed her worry.

“I can’t stay,” Tom pulled her back to his chest. “As much as I want hide here with you. You said it earlier, I need to stop running from everyone. From everything.” He rubbed his eyes and sighed. From her bedside table, Bess pulled a packet of cigarettes and lit one, placing it between Tom’s lips when she’d taken her first drag. Tom winked at her. “’S like sitting on the front step again.” He paused. “No. I think the only way for me to work out what I’m doing, who I am, is to get back out there. The open sea, the purpose. You an’ dad were right. The navy is the making of me.”

“Take me with you,” Bess gripped his small waist all the tighter and buried her face in his chest.

“No chance. Not letting you loose with a load of sailors.”

“I can look after myself-”

“Exactly. It’s them I worry about.” Tom pinched Bess’ plump hips and she squealed. The sound, so unlike any Bess would ever usually make delighted Tom, and he did it again, tickling every bare patch of skin he could reach until Bess was on her back, writhing to get away from him as he penned her in with his arms.

She was panting when he finished, and her giggles took a while to subside. Red blotched her cheeks and her dark eyes were bright with laughter. The mess of her hair was unrulier than ever, tangled on the pillow. Below his hips, her nightdress had ridden up her thighs, the curve of her breasts just visible through the thin fabric.

Tom shut his eyes, committing her image to memory. “I’m sorry about earlier. About everything,” he whispered.

“I know,” Bess ran a hand through his hair and he stooped to kiss her.

“I’m sorry,” he kissed the juncture of her neck. “I’m sorry,” Nipped at the underside of her jaw. “I’m sorry,” his tongue ran languidly over her lips. A throaty moan left Bess and Tom lowered his hips between the spread of her legs. “I’m sorry,” he kissed his way over her chest. “I’m sorry,” lightly bit each pert nipple through the fabric.

“Tom, please-”

“I love you,” Tom kissed her stomach.

A jolt of fear gripped her. What if? “Tom, please-” It was said with hesitation then, but it died in her throat when his head dipped lower. Warm hands slid around the underside of her thighs and gripped her hips.

“I’m sorry,” his warm breath fanned across her core. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice muted as he brought his mouth to her centre. “I’m sorry.”

Notes: I’m sorry it’s been ages. Life, ya know? This will have a happy ending!!

Tags: @aemonds-wifey @multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234 @babyblue711 @heimtathurs @exitpursuedbyavulcan @myfandomprompts @allthefandomtherapy @reblogedworks @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol @beiigegalx @adragonprinceswhore @notasockpuppetaccount @houseofdupree @marysucks-blog @chattylurker @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @nolongereviliwantlove @just-emmaaaa @mefools @aquakaris @its-actually-minicika @whoknows333 @arcielee @honeymaltgelato @girlwith-thepearlearring @fangirlninja67 @evita-shelby @cherievictoria @schmexie @ewanmitchellcrumbs @blairfox04 @theoneeyedprince @targaryenrealnessdarling @cherievictore

[swxrxgini]

Childhood friends to lovers troupe with Aditya is living in my head rent free, perhaps, you could offer some hcs for it please 🥹

Brain empty, only Aditya

| : Aamras and friends

Receiver.... Author's note: "Dear, Thank you so much for requesting this!! I loved it so much and it's honestly so damn cute!!"

Receiver.... Synopsis: "Aditya and you, friends since young, fall in love. HCs about being childhood friends and falling in love with Aditya Kashyap!!"

Receiver.... Warnings: "nothing really? Fluff, childhood shenanigans? Might not be correct to the movie cause I watched it very long ago, forgive my mistakes!! Geet and Aditya are only friends here! Mentions of Maths. Mentions of suicide, Geet gets with your brother (i made him up)"

◊ Oh my god!! Imagine you and Aditya as friends and sitting in the sun eating raw mangoes?? So cute! You both probably met due to your parents being friends or you both were close in school and you got your parents to be friends as well! Or maybe you were neighbors who went to same school?

◊ You and him grew up so close, slacking off in computer lab as you both watched stupid shit, passing notes in class, trying to help each other memorize the multiplication table up until 30, then memorize square and square roots until 30 and cube and the cube roots until 25. You both got close thanks to torturing Maths.

◊ But that was until the marriage affair of his parents, where he took the deal a bit too hard to his heart. And then his father's death happened after you both grew up, his business going in the dumps.

◊ After the years, he slowly started to become more and more reclusive and depressed, contemplating. One day while after a meeting, you both meet up, but he seemed out of it and you both climbed a train despite the reluctance, meeting a very bubbly girl, Geet Dhillon. You three talked a bit, and you and Geet managed to shake him out of his suicidal thoughts.

◊ In the middle of the night, Aditya gets off, ans you follow him, since you felt weird leaving the boy alone, Geet followed you both asking you both to get on the train, but she herself missed the train...She gets Aditya and you to drive her to the next station, but ends up missing it again...

◊ Geet then demanded to have you both take her home and you both agreed. You grinned as you and her quickly bonded, but Aditya took a bit of time, but it was fine since they became friends. two girlies with a boy tired of the girlies's bullshit. :)

◊ She opened up to you both about her boyfriend whom she wanted to marry, but couldn't because of her parents and the religious differences. While Aditya spoke of how his then girlfriend (whom you were a bit suspicious of) left him to marry someone else, and you hummed nodding how you broke up with your toxic ex boyfriend who was mentally ruining you.

◊ You and Geet were basically besties at that point, with Aditya being both of your guardians probably. You and her tried your best to bring Aditya back to his old fun self, with the power of self-love, friendship and what not.

◊ You, Geet and Aditya became a trio for a while, doing stupid shit together while Aditya simply tried to stop you both from getting in trouble, you three got close. Geet but noticed the chemistry between you two, the longing stare of yours towards him and him staring at you as if you were diamond and gold.

◊ She actually helped Aditya ask you out, asking you if you wanted to go to a restaurant, bu bailed last minute, not only that it's her Aditya goes to for dating advice. You three were closest and it became the friendship of "third wheeling friend becomes baby of the couple in the group", so there's that.

◊ She even tells you both about her plans to run away to be with Anshuman, because she was upset she wasn't gonna be able to marry him.

◊ Her relatives were very happy, you brought her back and had you both stay. And then while they were planning her marriage date, she came to you both, telling you both that she was eloping and was bidding farewell to you two, you both argued with her for a while, before you three were caught mid act by her sister and had to eventually run away..

◊ As she convinced you both to run away with her leaving her family, leaving her family with the idea of Geet being attracted to both boys and girls which was slightly embarrassing for both of you. You both and her had to eventually part ways since she wanted to leave to her boyfriend in Manali, Himachal Pradesh..

◊ You and him let her go her way to her so called boyfriend while you both also became slightly distanced, but stayed close nonetheless. You helped him take breaks, though rarely, you both spent time out in restaurants, mostly spending time at street food vendours or chowpatis.

◊ He started to be less depressed and more the same Aditya you knew before as a child, all the more while you both fell in love, you both missed Geet but didn't get into any type of contact with her afterwards.

◊ He would happily take you shopping whenever you want, whenever you wanted, he was always happy to spoil with his business growing good. He definitely took some lessons from you and Geet aabout sunshine and bright outlook on life which helped him a bit.

◊ Thought a bit reluctant, as you encouraged him, he also bonded with his mother who eloped with another man in the affair or something. It was awkward, but fine, whatever Aditya wanted, you were fine with it.

◊ You and him would often go to shops to drink aamras, mango joosh. Because it's a delicacy and why not? And also childhood snacks, it's so great!!

◊ Around nine months later, Geet's family saw an ad on Adtiya's business launch event and they confronted you both in his office while you were there, demanding you both bring Geet back because she never came home and gave you both two days..

◊ You and Aditya eventually went back to Manali to learn that Geet did come there to meet her boyfriend, but Anshuman rejected her because he didn't want to marry her, you had to be held back a bit before you punched the dude..

◊ You and Aditya trace her back to Shimla and go there to look for Geet, finding her live a reclusive life, working as a teacher in her old school, you were a bit disappointed, but you and Aditya tried to help her receive the sunshine outlook on life yet again.

◊ But Anshuman wanted to start a new, while uncertain of him, you four head back to Bathinda back. Her family was still under the impression she eloped with you and Aditya and it was very weird and awkward for a bit, while Geet tried to explain her side, but was unable to do so. You felt bad and tried to get her to talk to Anshuman tomorrow morning, while Aditya and you laid in bed together, explaining how you both were leaving the next day as you nodded.

◊ As you and Aditya were leaving tomorrow while Geet talked, she didn't want to be with Anshuman longer and ran and followed you both, cause she seemed happier with you two beside her as friends, leaving Anshuman behind heartbroken while Aditya tried to stop you shove a middle finger up his face and kick or punch him for hurting such a sweet girl as Geet.

◊ Overall, very cute relationship but you share your life experiences with Geet as well as she teases you both, visiting with her husband and your brother to your two daughters, telling them about experiences, all while you and Aditya tried not to cringe out of embarrassment at the embarrassing things she told your girls.. <333

© This writing work belongs to me, swxrxgini, Aurelia, Rosilabeth, Cerine, kiara. Reblogging is appreciated, but plagiarizing or copying my works is forbidden, thank you for reading this and if you like this check out my blog!

[avalon-of-babylon]

Batman: The Capped Crusader literally introduced my 4 favorite batkids in the same episode and made them all literally adoptable.

Realistically, I know in the next season, Bruce isn't gonna pop down to the orphanage and grab himself a Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Carrie Kelley AND Stephanie Brown (just two of them at the same time would fucking kill him) but also now I want a batman to have to contend with his 4 most feral children. And they are the most feral of them all.

Also before I begin can I just say I fucking love Jason and Carrie being the sameish age. For years, I have been convinced that if Carrie was in a mainstream universe, she should be Jason's age and that the two of them would be so close they'd basically be twins and this right here is so close it almost feels like vindication.

Now for why these 4 are the most feral batkids and why Bruce having to put up will all of them as Robin at the same time would fucking kill the man.

Richard "Dick" Grayson:

The man may be a genuine himbo but he is also the son of circus performers, so for as much light as there is in his soul there is also a gay wolf telling him to do backflips when he's bored, make puns at every opportunity, touch everything and generally be the most adorable menace you've ever met. Also, Discowing definitely counts as feral behavior.

Jason Peter Todd:

In this universe, Jason was probably put into the system after his stepmom ODed so chances are this isn't a steal-the-wheels-off-the-batmobile kinda Jason but could definitely still be a sneaks-out-of-the-house-to-hang-out-with-Catwoman-and-co or is babysat by prostitutes kind of Jason. (I know for a fact that last one literally happened at least once) Even if you take out the violence and crime, you can not convince me that this Jason is not the kind of kid who wouldn't constantly be getting into trouble because he's always trying to prove himself and eventually have a tragic dead at the hands of the Joker that when he's brought back leaves him jaded, angry and the beautiful problem child we all know and thirst after. Also, he's the only member of the family Alfred allows into the kitchen, so jot that down while you're at it.

Carrie Kelley:

My girl was created by the living curse that is Frank Miller that alone makes her feral. But if you don't know my girl Carrie in the Millerverse got saved from a mugger by batman and imitately decided "fuck pants and my drug addict hippie parents it's time to fight crime in green booty short with a fucking slingshot", was almost imitately begrudgingly taken in by batman, probably dropped out of school, fought a Joker who had suicide bomber child-sized android baby dolls and helped lead a literal underground war on crime with a pseudo-cult of batman themed vigilantes called the Sons of Batman formed by former gang members who became obsessed with the guy after he beat up their former leader a no-neck nipple studded punk humanculous who looks even worse than I'm describing. Every iteration of Carrie Kelley is forged from the mold of a girl who almost reached Logan living with wolves levels of feral behavior, she is insane and I love her.

Stephanie Brown:

Her father is literally bargain bin Riddler because he lost his job as a game show host and she got fucking refrigeratored by Black Mask only 2 months into being robin, she deserves to be a little feral. Every iteration of Steph is one with a right to live life to the fullest weither that means giving Bruce shit over his terrible parenting, memeing on c-list villians like kiteman or just hanging around being a menace this girl is feral. Good for her, good for her.

In summary, Batman: The Caped Crusader should end with Bruce's kids literally killing him off with stress, lmao. Also, the setting is perfect for making Dick Discowing, so DC take notes.

[44-mr-midnight-44]

So I thought of a new CCCC idea, based on my Lost at Sea canon (where Heart and Mind look mostly canon-accurate, live on an isolated "mindscape" island, Soul is a depressed, emotionally distant parental-esque figure, etc.)

Basically, here's the general summary (WARNING FOR: suicide/overdosage, mild NSFW, child abuse, brief mention of pregnancy + child birth, brief CPS mention, alcohol, birth deficiencies, and drugs):

There's this dude named Cyrus. An Australian immigrant to New York that lives alone in an apartment paid partially by his parents and partially by whatever money he can get his hands on; primarily through music commissions or random work around the neighbourhood, such as repairing a smoke alarm or some yard work.

Cyrus is very lonely, and very depressed. The only company he has in his life is his pet pigeon, the various cityfolk whom have grown used to his company, the occasional phone call from one of his parents, and one woman who didn't leave him, at least not yet, Cyrus seems to think.

Cyrus was rarely in his apartment for longer than a few days at a time. He lived for the thrill of going on small adventures around the city; waking up on the couch of someone's apartment, arguing with a taxi driver about the justification of raising the local bagel shop's bagel prices, witness the oncoming divorce of the couple running the couple's hair salon… it was the only thing that brought his life meaning.

Cyrus slept around a lot. It was one of the only things that could bring that false sense of companionship to him. He ended up having a night with a woman, believing it to be the end of that until around five years later Cyrus gets a call that the woman had gotten pregnant, many years back, and give birth to two twins; both of which were now in the middle of a custody dispute after their mother was arrested for hard drugs.

Cyrus wasn't a terrible man. He understood these two kids almost definitely went into this world roughly, being born either in the back of an Uber or a basement, and he wasn't about to have them end up in foster care after how blatantly obvious it was that their life was bad already.

He didn't know what to call the two as they had no official birth certificates; he just tended to call them "[thing one]" and "(thing two)" to humour them, but they didn't seem like very giggly kids. Mostly shy, reserved, didn't even smirk at the same things most kids would cackle at.

They called his pigeon a "([city chicken])" and called his guitar a "([sound broom])", so he could only figure how sheltered they must've been. They flinched at the sound of a pill bottle rattling and snapped their head in the direction of a can opening. Poor things.

Cyrus wasn't the best father himself. Most of the time, he'd leave them to their whims, often times leaving the apartment for lengthy periods with a note saying where the food was, how to use the microwave, what channels they were allowed on the television, his laptop's password if they wanted to play on it, etc. He wasn't very responsible and absolutely emotionally distant, but he still made a vague attempt. A marvel CPS was never called, in the short time they went to school. The kids were more like young friends to him than actual children of his own.

Well, all… mediocre things must come to an end. Remember that woman I mentioned earlier? Well, Cyrus and her had been getting along great. They saw a few concerts, shared a few coffees, cuddled a bit under the stars… She got along well with the pigeon, and the kids, he thought she might be the patch to the hole in his soul.

Cyrus had wanted to confess; deeply, deeply badly. But he feared rejection, even deeper. He didn't want to mess this up; he'd confessed before and ruined everything. He can't ruin this also.

Then, he got news the next day. Tearful words from her mother saying gooey pills lined her cheek after she took her own life; she felt unloved, lonely, like she had no connections to make a life out of.

Cyrus… broke.

Bad.

His consciousness was essentially shattered; and to reshapen, it needed bits of himself to work off of.

It bled into a fabric of reality and created the Mindscape; a secondary, small world higher than the Sun where his sleeping soul would lie in when his waking body wouldn't wake.

It took the closest things to him, the remaining genetics he had left, you know. The kids. And repurposed their souls in attempt to rebuild itself; converting them into two, very important niches.

The Logical Side. The Thoughts, the Reason.

And the Emotional Side. The Love, the Hate.

They were now designated the Heart, the Mind, and the Soul.

Parts of their identity still remained; Heart had retained his physical weakness and disability, of which his mother's substance abuse during his development prompting his muscles to be underdeveloped, as well as taking on an "(angelic)" form from his mother's name for him, Angelica ("Angel", for short.). Mind had grown a dependency on a voice modulator to speak, of which he posed a similar issue in his previous form due to being choked by his mother repeatedly and thus having a weak, hushed voice; his form as a robot stems from his name as a human, Bishop. Named after the Android character from the Aliens series.

Heart and Mind have very, very blurry memories from when they were human. It doesn't help that they were so young when it happened, now being ageless (albeit pretty much adults, but erm… not doing anything weird). Soul is locked in a frenetic state; terrified of what he's become, believing he needs to be the sum of his parts to become normal again.

When Whole is asleep, he's conscious as Soul; a cacophonous, hateful beast, shapen by ire and self-loathing that believes he will never be normal again. When Soul is asleep, he's conscious as Whole; believing he is locked in a mundane, helpless life, where he remains trapped in his own misery, having lost everything near and dear to him. Both of these two believe one another are merely distant dreams, despite being two sides of the coin of the same person.

Also, Soul's pigeon is in the Mindscape too now. He is now a chicken. Because Heart and Mind thought he was a chicken when they met him. Yes, his name is Darrell.

…Is it obvious that I absolutely love insane canon-divergence and trauma response psychology/symbolism.

If any of this is disrespectful I am so so so so sorry 🙏 it is NOT my intent, I really love portraying real world harsh subjects through a more fantastical, supernatural lens and exploring how they can affect someone, or multiple people. Please please if you are going to tell me this is not cool be gentle, I am very very very very VERY sensitive!!!

Also DO NOT REBLOG THIS WITH ANYTHING SHIPPY OR ANY KIND OF ROMANTIC/SUGGESTIVE INTENTION THIS IS NOT MEANT TO BE A HAPPY STORY!!!!!! NO ONE WINS IN THIS STORY UNTIL I FIGURE OUT A SAPPY HAPPY ENDING LIKE I DO WITH ALL OF MY STORIES!!!!!!!

[gojonish]

ＨＡＬＡＺＩＡ || ˢᵃᵗᵒʳᵘ ᵍᵒʲᵒ

𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨

pairing: satoru gojo x fem!reader

content: suicidal thoughts, deep emotions, angst+fluff, not proofread

note: this is based on the song halazia by ateez. definitely recommend giving a listen cause it's so so good.

People in your clan used to say you were a blessing.

Keywords: used to

You were the ace of your clan, with your incredible smarts and astonishing physical capabilities at such a young age, you were seen to be a promising sorcerer for society. You brought a great deal of honor to your family‘s name and because of this, you were viewed at a higher rank than most girls your age. Your family couldn’t be more proud of you.

Until that night- the night you got cursed.

When you were three months away from attending Tokyo Jujustu High, you had eaten a cursed object in order to gain strength to save a close friend of yours from a powerful curse.

Your friend still ended up dying and you were left with a special grade curse inside of you.

Instead of your family members helping you, they sold you to the Jujutsu World, forgetting all the previous achievements you brought and officially exiling you. You were placed in the hands of the higher-ups, where they locked you in a cramped cell as you awaited to be executed.

Well, supposed to be executed.

It wasn't until a teacher at Tokyo Jujutsu High, Yaga Masamichi was his name, convinced the higher-ups that he'll take care of you and the curse inside of you. He proposed that if he didn't get you under control in three months, then he'll allow the execution to proceed.

Spoiler alert: You were allowed to live since he helped you control your curse. It wasn’t easy, but you had worked hard.

However, that still didn't dismiss the fact that you still had a curse inside of you and were seen as abnormal by your family and clan. No, an abnormal to everyone in the Jujutsu World.

You hated it. You hated everyone. You hated yourself.

If you hadn't eaten that special-grade object, if you had been selfish and let your friend die anyway, then you wouldn't be in this predicament. You wouldn’t have to attend Tokyo Jujutsu High being viewed as a ticking time bomb, waiting to be exploded. You wouldn’t be sitting by yourself in the back of the classroom or having to stay after school once a week to get your curse checked.

However, halfway through the year, you were moved to the second-year class, since Yaga was the one teaching that one. It turns out the first-year teacher was too scared to be in the same room as you. It was fine though, you were smart and Yaga didn’t think it was a huge problem to move you.

You knew these kids were going to treat you the same. They were going to detach themselves from you and make you feel worthless. You wanted to die. You should’ve gotten executed. You had nothing to live for anymo-

“Hey there!”

You looked up from your desk to see a boy around your age, looming down from where you were sitting.

He looked kind yet not put together. His white hair had obviously not been brushed and his sunglasses were tilted on his perfect nose.

He was hot.

“Hey, Suguru! We got a new girl in our class and she looks better than Shoko!” The boy spoke to the front of the classroom, where you had just noticed another boy was present there as well.

“I heard that, you asshole!” The voice you guessed was Shoko yelled outside the classroom.

“Don’t mind her, she doesn’t know any better,” The boy took a seat next to you, taking off his round glasses to reveal his bright blue eyes, “How does it feel to be in the same class as ‘The Gojo Satoru.’”

You had heard about him from others. The boy who was born with the power of infinity and his six eyes. He was an enigma to the Jujutsu Would, hell he was someone you had wanted to meet for a long time.

You saw him eyeing you and said, “Hmm, you got a curse inside of you?”

That snapped you out of your train of thought when he asked that so casually.

“Uh, yeah…” You looked down, playing with your fingers nervously.

“Hmm,” He grabbed your face with one hand, smushing your cheeks together, “Interesting.”

You swatted his hands away from your face, “What the-“

“Alright, it’s settled! You’re a part of our group now!”

You stared at the boy, no, no he’s an idiot now.

You stared at the idiot in front of you, his wide smile flashing back at you. You could feel your eye twitching.

“Why me?” You asked.

“Because you seem cool. C’mon, don’t you wanna have a little fun in life?” He winked at you and you could feel your heart skip a beat.

“Uh, I mean-“

“Come on,” He grabbed your arm gently but still hard enough to drag you out of the classroom. “I’ll be back guys, I gotta show the new girl our hangout spot!”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “Don’t we have class soon?”

“Oh, Mr. Yaga can wait a bit,” He stuck his tongue out at you and winked again.

You should probably let go of his hand, and you probably should go back to class before Yaga gives you a scolding. However, you felt entranced by the way Gojo’s fluffy hair would bounce as you two ran through the halls and how his pale skin slightly turned red as you both entered the cold outdoors.

“We’re almost there,” he said, pointing to a tree in the distance, “It’s that way.”

You nodded and after a few minutes, you were in front of the tree you saw earlier. It would obviously die soon, the brown branches holding for its dear life and the absence of flowers on the tree.

“It’s a cherry blossom. It’s cliche, I know,” Gojo stated. “They don’t bloom until March, so sorry you don’t get to see our hideout at its full glory.”

“It’s not really a hideout if it’s fifty feet from the school.” You pointed to a window that was probably your classroom, “They could most likely see us from here.”

“Hey!” He scolded, “Let me have my imagination! It’s an amazing and secret hideout where we chill.”

You only deadpanned at him and glanced at the dead tree in front of you again, noticing the bark slowly chipping away, “It’s not going to bloom this year.”

“Huh? Yes it is.”

“No, it’s not. It’s actually going to die this year.”

"How are you so sure?"

"Do you see the state it's in?"

"And do you not know how trees work?"

You rolled your eyes at this pointless bickering, "The branches are frail, the wood is weakening, and probably in the next storm, it'll fall down. The point is, it's going to die."

Instead of hearing another refute from the boy, he only chuckled. He patted the tree's wood and smiled, "This tree has been around for a while. It always gets like this in the winter." He walked up to you, "However, with the right nutrients and care, this tree grows to be a wonderful sight. It may look crappy now, but it'll look really pretty once the sun comes out more often."

You only blinked at his somewhat inspirational message and thought about what he had said. The sun will make this tree look better, huh? You eyed it nervously and then looked back at Gojo.

"I know what you're thinking," He started, "You're scared to start over in this class. You think we're going to be against you and isolate you."

Your eyes widened as he basically read your mind, "How did you-"

"I may have six eyes but I can also study people pretty well," He winked. "I'll have you know that I'm not scared of the curse inside of you. I'm Gojo Satoru! I'm not scared of anything."

He patted your head and bent down to your level to reach your eyes, "So, don't worry. I don't care if some random underclassmen are scared of you, if the teachers don't like you, or if the higher-ups want to kill you. If the whole world is against you, I'll be the one by your side."

You could feel your face heating up as you processed his words. He was the first student- the first person besides Yaga that actually believed in you. That didn't care you had a curse inside of you. Before you could stop it, tears started falling down your face.

"Whoa! Did I say something wrong?" You could see him panicking and then you laughed.

"No, no, you said the right thing. Thank you," You smiled at him. Your heart hadn't felt this warm in ages.

As you wiped the tears from your eyes, Gojo was still thinking about that smile you flashed him after you thanked him. He talked to you at first cause he thought you were interesting- someone with a curse that he could tease in his free time. However, now that he really looked at you and your gorgeous face, he realized that he wanted to keep you around, as a best friend. He gave you a smile back and rubbed your shoulder.

After you put yourself together, you cleared your throat, "Well, I'll be watching to see if the tree looks as good as you say it will in the spring."

He winked, "Trust me, it'll bloom so beautifully this year that you'll never want to leave. I promise."

And months later, when the weather began to warm up and the animals awoke from their deep slumber, the tree in all its glory, bloomed bright pink flowers. As you stood in front of it and saw the sun beaming down on it, you couldn't help but smile.

"What'd I tell you?" A smirking Satoru teased next to you.

"Yeah, yeah you were right," You rolled your eyes and smiled at the boy next to you. "Thank you, Gojo."

"Pshhh, I barely took care of this tree. It was all nature's doing."

You wanted to tell him that you were thanking him for bringing you out of the darkness, but you decided to keep that to yourself.

Because for once in your life, after receiving your curse, you felt like you had something to live for. Your sun.