#it will hit us one day probably but no one will be here anymore lol

[c2-eh]

what made me happy ♡

day 31: I JUST CAME BACK FROM THE OBSERVATORY WHERE WE WATCHED STARS 🥹 i learned a lotttt and it was so beautiful 🫶🏻

[rooniearts]

Pitayaverse Asks............ TWO!

I once again have a good handful of asks regarding Pitayaverse, so here goes another post! :'D This time around there's about 29 asks I'll be answering! Enjoy <3

Silver's fine! His fur is just darkening with age :] Think of it like how a Siamese cat's fur works - he starts out looking almost fully white, but his limbs and face slowly darkens over time.

REAL,,, petition to let Tails hit his brother with hammers

@dahliacloud

Oh yes, he resents him deeply. He had no part in any of this, but still slowly but surely ended up with all of Sonic's responsibilities. But by far the worst part for him is seeing how much it all affects this tiny little baby girl. THAT is what truly infuriates him.

It's come to my attention that this ask is probably about his Archie backstory, which I unfortunately don't know much about and so isn't canon to the AU ;v; I'm going with the vague idea that they don't have parents for whatever reason and had to grow up alone together

But in that case, I still like to think it has a part to play, yeah. Tails knows how hard it is to grow up without a parent, and he knows Sonic does too, so he can't comprehend why he isn't trying harder to give this kid that love and stability.

@lowkeuu

LMAOOO idek how that would work with a fox! Maybe his fur thins? Idk :'D but he absolutely does start growing grey hairs pretty young

Oh, yeah. Having the Kind Patient Sweet one of the group snap and pop the fuck off on someone is scary every time it happens. All of them, Shadow included, would definitely be taken aback at the very least.

If I do end up giving them a kid, then this is absolutely the way I'd go with it. I can't let my boy go through even more turmoil in this AU, he's had more than enough :')

AWW LOL, see I like this take on it. That's very cute and I think he would just actually volunteer to take them in at that point too :D

[Referring to this post]

She does, but calling them that is a habit she picked up from Tails. Sonic and Knuckles just only referred to themselves and eachother as "dad," so when she'd talk to Tails about them he'd ask her to specify whether she meant "Sonic-dad" or "Knuckles-dad." Eventually she just started using those terms every time she spoke to or about them!

As Pitaya grows up, Knuckles graduates from "Knuckles-dad" to just "dad", but she eventually just starts calling Sonic by his name. Sonic doesn't really mind this, except for the few times that Knuckles gets to hold it over his head

HEHEHE loving all this Pitaya hype from y'all!! Thank you and yes, she deserves the world <3

YESSS! It's so important to me that she grows up to be happy. Maybe not well adjusted, but she's got endless determination and is not afraid to speak her mind!

[Referring to this post]

I mean, it's part of why. His actions didn't exactly do much to alleviate her doubts, either.

@your-local-cattus-enjoyer

The master post is right here! There may be a few stray asks that aren't listed, but they should still be under the tag

The basic gist of it is that he was just really neglectful. He was barely there, and when he was, it was often only a matter of time before he and Knuckles started fighting. As an adult, she's also really upset that he let Tails take over all the heavy lifting for him when he was still just a kid too.

Once in a while! Usually whenever both Knuckles and Tails are preoccupied for whatever reason. All their stories of clever sleuthing and high-stakes tussles is what made her want to be a detective one day :]

And yes, actually, she did! Her and Echo, and occasionally Psi and Alloy, end up forming their own New Chaotix Detectives group! They just aren't nearly as active as Vector, Espio and Charmy were :')

LOL, for sure! She loooves her cool uncles Vector, Espio and Charmy. She knows they've always got her back <3

Mighty USED to be in the cool uncle camp, but absolutely not anymore. That went out the window the second he got with Sonic. She does love Knuckles, but she's had her ups and downs with him. Ray she just doesn't really know at all, he just goes in the resentment bin by association :'D

That's so true actually,,,, my obvious Chaotix bias is showing :'D

But hmm, that's a good question. If they were to end up together, I think they probably wouldn't have kids, no. I like to imagine they'd be the type of couple who live seperately and just visit eachother frequently, and not like married with kids.

@inkmaams

Their go-to babysitter list is very short because Silver gets very very paranoid over them :'D It consists of Blaze&Amy and Vector ONLY. And it took Espio AGES to convince Silver to let Vector take care of them in the first place

[Referring to this post]

Yup :') He was probably not gonna tell them about any of that, but alas he and Espio spawned Little Mr. Thought Police so now he has no choice but to explain himself </3

@i-only-created-this-to-read

Maybe not robots, but in theory, I guess he probably could read aliens' minds. I was mostly referring to humans/mobians, but there's no reason he couldn't try on other sentient organic beings. However, I feel like they may end up being incomprehensible noise to him because of how differently an alien's brain would work to his own

As for when he's in meltdown mode and can hear everyone all at once, no, he can't hear everyone in the universe, just those that are within a certain radius. Think of it as like whatever a normal hearing range would be, just not obstructed by walls.

Yes! Espio and Silver are married and besides one or two blow-ups, they happily stay that way. And Sonic and Mighty are at the very least life partners, whether they get married or not (I haven't yet decided lol)

Besides them, Blaze and Amy are also married! And Knuckles and Rouge too eventually :]

LMAO, Sonic WISHES. But nay, Mighty had to go and be a spoilsport and put a rule against backwards names. Rude of him tbh.

bro just can't stop spawning babies, what can I say🥀

@scribble0rat

LOL yeah the poor guy only had a vague idea of what he was signing up for. He had met Pitaya once in a while when she was young, and he knew Sonic had struggled with being there for her and that something happened between him and his friend group, but he didn't realize just how angry not only Pitaya was, but also Tails. He's using all those years of anger management to their fullest to tank this situation, I fear :'D

AND YESSS my boy needs more love <3 Us Mighty girlies have to stick together💪

AWWW that's actually such a cute thought experiment!!!!

It's hard to say, but I think they'd be relatively close. Maybe not joined at the hip, but they'd appreciate one another. They're both very similar in personality, it's just mostly that Echo is an introvert and Silver is a HUGE extrovert. The only conflict I can think of is that Echo is very much a copycat, and I think Silver might get annoyed with that pretty quick.

@marinette-sky

No, Shadow is Echo's only parent via cloning shenanigans. Sonic has nothing to do with her, thank goodness :'D

And thank you!! Much appreciated!!! <3

[lemonsdietcoke]

Parting Gift - Player 230

Dark!Thanos/Choi Su-bong x Fem!Reader

This is part 2 of my mini series love ridden (you don’t have to read part 1 but it helps you get a deeper understanding of their relationship)

Warnings: Toxic relationship,Emotional manipulation and gaslighting, DUBCON/implied sexual misconduct, power imbalances and coercion,mentions of substance abuse,threats of self-harm, mentions of bruising, vomiting, unreliable memory

Summary: “It ended bad, but I love what we started.” A night out, was supposed to be a distraction, a step to moving on. Instead it leaves you questioning everything. Loosely inspired by Parting gift-Fiona apple

MINORS DNI!

A/n: ahhhh here it is! This is very much a wild ride so be prepared and get comfortable lol. Lmk if yall fw. I love feedback. Lmk what you think!!

……………………..

“Two years.”

It echoes in your head as you stare at your phone. The screen blinks, illuminating the dark, quiet apartment, and your reflection stares back at you. Hollow eyes. Lifeless skin.

You don’t even recognize yourself anymore.

Two years of late nights.

Two years of broken promises.

Two years of fights that always ended the same way — with you apologizing for things you hadn’t even done.

Two years of Su-bong.

The notifications keep coming.

Messages. Missed calls. Voicemails.

You blocked him a week ago. You had to.

Before that, you let the calls go unanswered. You left his texts on read. But after that voicemail, you couldn’t take it anymore.

It wasn’t just the things he said.

It was the way he sounded.

Drunk. High out of his mind. Slurring his words like he could barely get them out.

You’d heard him like that before, of course. Countless times. But this was different.

The shaking breath at the beginning of the message.

The muffled sound of a bottle cap hitting the floor.

The distinct rattle of a pill bottle.

And then his voice —

Low. Rough. Desperate.

“You know, if you don’t fucking answer me…”

There was a pause. You could hear him breathing.

“Maybe I should just end it all.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

The sound of pills being shaken in his hand.

“It’s in your hands now.”

You remember sitting on the floor of your new apartment, the phone clutched in your hands, shaking so hard you thought you might drop it.

That was the breaking point.

You blocked him.

It was hard. Very hard.

What if he was serious?!

What if he did it and it was your fault?!

But it didn’t stop the nightmares.

It’s been a month since the breakup, and you haven’t left your apartment in days.

The dishes are piled up in the sink. Your laundry is overflowing.

You haven’t brushed your hair in three days.

The weight of it all feels suffocating.

You thought leaving him would make you feel free.

Instead, you feel empty.

When your phone buzzes again, you ignore it.

It’s probably Ji-hye.

She’s been trying to get you to go out for weeks.

“You need to live a little,” she said last time you saw her.

But you don’t feel like living.

Still, when your phone buzzes again, you pick it up.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗ (9:17 PM): Come out with us tonight. Please?

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗ (9:18 PM): There’s a new club opening in Itaewon. It’ll be fun.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗ (9:19 PM): I’m not taking no for an answer.

You stare at the messages for a long time.

The thought of going to a club makes your stomach turn.

You haven’t been out in two years.

You haven’t been you in two years.

But the apartment feels too small.

Too quiet.

Too empty.

Fuck it.

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

The shower burns your skin.

You scrub until you feel raw, as if you can wash away the last two years.

But no amount of scrubbing erases the bruises —

The ones he left on your heart.

When you step out, you wipe the fogged mirror and stare at your reflection.

Your hair is a tangled mess.

Your eyes are rimmed with dark circles.

You look like someone who’s been barely holding it together.

This isn’t who I am, you tell yourself.

You plug in your hair straightener. You do your makeup.

By the time you’re done, you almost feel like yourself again.

You rifle through your closet, pulling out a black dress you haven’t worn in years. It still fits — snug and short, hugging your body in a way that feels foreign after months of oversized hoodies and leggings.

When you step into your heels, you wobble for a second.

It’s been so long since you’ve worn anything but sneakers.

But when you look in the mirror again —

You see her.

The girl you used to be.

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

Ji-hye and her friends are already tipsy when you meet them outside the club.

She squeals when she sees you.

“Look at you! You look amazing!”

You try to smile, but it feels forced.

The club is packed.

Neon lights pulse to the beat of the music.

Bodies move together on the dance floor.

Ji-hye hands you a shot as soon as you walk in.

“Drink up!”

You down it quickly, the burn making you wince.

“Another?”

Why not?

By the time you lose count, you’ve had at least six shots.

Maybe more.

You stopped counting after the first round of tequila.

The room spins slightly, but you feel good.

Better than you’ve felt in weeks.

You laugh with Ji-hye.

You dance with strangers.

For the first time in a long time, you feel free.

And then you see him.

At first, you think your eyes are playing tricks on you.

But when you blink, he’s still there.

Su-bong.

He’s standing near the bar, his eyes locked on you.

His hair is messy, his shirt unbuttoned at the top.

He looks the same as he always does —

Rough around the edges, disheveled in that careless way that made you fall for him in the first place.

But there’s something in his eyes —

Something dark.

Your stomach twists.

The room feels too hot.

You grab Ji-hye’s arm.

“Ji-hye. Is he…?”

Her eyes widen.

“Oh shit.”

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

She bites her lip, looking guilty.

“I didn’t know. I swear. But he’s friends with Seung-ho.”

She nods toward one of the guys in their group — a guy you don’t know well.

Of course.

Of fucking course.

Your heart pounds in your chest, a wild, frantic beat.

You down another shot, your hands shaking slightly.

Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll go away.

But he doesn’t.

When you look up again, he’s moving toward you.

You see him before he speaks.

The way he weaves through the crowd, his gaze locked on you like he’s on a mission.

You look away.

You try to pretend you didn’t see him.

But it’s too late.

He’s right there.

“Hey.”

His voice cuts through the noise, low and rough.

You don’t turn around.

You keep your eyes on your drink, your knuckles white as you grip the glass.

“I didn’t know you came here.”

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

Your whole body goes stiff.

“Fuck off, Su-bong.”

Your voice is steady, but your heart is pounding.

He doesn’t move.

Instead, he slides into the seat next to you.

Like he belongs there.

Like nothing happened.

“Come on,” he says, his tone light, almost teasing. “You’re really not even going to say hi?”

You turn to him, your eyes flashing.

“Why would I?”

He shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Because you missed me.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“Missed you?”

You set your drink down, leaning closer.

“You left me voicemails threatening to fucking kill yourself. Do you know how fucked up that is?”

His expression doesn’t change.

He doesn’t flinch.

Instead, he tilts his head, studying you.

“Did it scare you?”

Your blood runs cold.

“What?”

“Did it scare you?” he repeats, his voice soft.

“Did you think I was going to do it?”

You stare at him, horrified.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

His lips twitch into something that might be a smile — but there’s no warmth in it.

“I just wanted to talk to you,” he says, his tone almost casual.

“And you wouldn’t answer. You wouldn’t talk to me.”

“So you thought threatening to kill yourself was the way to get my attention?”

Your voice is shaking now, anger and fear mixing in your chest.

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he reaches for your hand.

And you’re too stunned to pull away.

“I missed you,” he says softly.

“I don’t know what to do without you.”

You rip your hand away, standing up so fast your chair scrapes against the floor.

“Don’t fucking do that.”

Your voice is loud now, cutting through the music.

“Don’t pretend you’re some fucking victim.”

His expression hardens.

“I’m not pretending.”

“You are.”

You step closer, your chest heaving.

“You always do this. You always make it about you. Like your fucking pain is the only thing that matters.”

He stands up slowly, towering over you.

“I’m in pain because of you.”

You scoff, shaking your head.

“That’s bullshit.”

“Don’t lie to yourself.”

His voice is low now. Dangerous.

“You love me.”

Your hands tremble at your sides.

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

He steps closer.

“I know you do. You wouldn’t be this angry if you didn’t.”

You hate how he gets in your head.

How he twists your words.

“I don’t love you,” you say again, but it sounds weaker this time.

He leans in, his breath brushing against your cheek.

“Then why haven’t you moved on?”

The question hits you like a punch to the gut.

And you don’t have an answer.

“Let’s go outside,” he says.

His voice is softer now, coaxing.

“It’s too loud in here.”

You hesitate.

“Please.”

He reaches for your hand again, and this time, you don’t pull away.

“Just talk to me.”

Your heart is pounding.

Your mind is spinning.

And against your better judgment —

You follow him.

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

The alleyway outside the club smells like cigarette smoke and spilled beer.

You cross your arms over your chest, shivering slightly. The night air feels too cold against your skin, cutting through the warmth of the alcohol.

Su-bong lights a cigarette, his hands shaking slightly as he brings it to his lips.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

Then —

“What do you want from me?”

Your voice cuts through the quiet, sharp and strained.

He exhales a cloud of smoke, his gaze steady on you.

“I just want you.”

You laugh, bitter and harsh.

“Do you even hear yourself? You had me, Su-bong. You had me for two fucking years, and you—”

Your voice cracks.

“You fucking broke me.”

His jaw tightens.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

Your chest heaves, your breath fogging in the cold air.

“Over and over again.”

“I know.”

He takes a step closer.

“And I’m sorry.”

It’s the softness in his voice that undoes you.

That fucking softness.

Because for a split second —

You almost believe him.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

His words hang in the air between you, soft and deliberate, like he’s trying to carve them into your skin. And you hate how much they make your chest ache.

You hate that it’s him standing here, saying these things. Again.

“You say that like it fucking matters.” Your voice comes out steadier than you feel. “Like it changes anything.”

He exhales smoke, eyes never leaving yours. “It does matter.”

“No, it doesn’t.” You shake your head, your arms tightening around yourself like it’s the only thing holding you together. “You’ve hurt me too many times for it to matter.”

A pause.

A flicker of something in his eyes.

And then, softly —

“I couldn’t stop.”

The words hit you harder than you want them to.

Your chest tightens, your mind flashing back to the nights he stumbled through the door, high and out of it, mumbling half-assed apologies through the haze.

“I don’t know how to stop,” he continues, his voice quiet. “Not without you.”

You close your eyes, willing the tears to stay put.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you whisper. “You can’t keep blaming me for your fucking choices.”

“I’m not.”

“Then what the fuck is this?” You gesture between the two of you, your voice rising. “What do you think you’re doing right now?”

“I’m trying to fix it.”

Your laugh is sharp, bitter. “Fix it? You can’t fix this, Su-bong. You can’t.”

He flinches at the way your voice cracks.

But he doesn’t back down.

“I can try.”

You shake your head, the weight of it all pressing down on you. The months of pain, the sleepless nights, the voicemail that still echoes in your mind.

“You’re fucking selfish.”

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t deny it.

“You don’t love me,” you say, and it feels like you’re ripping your own heart out. “You love what I do for you. You love having someone to pick up the pieces when you fall apart. Someone to save you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” Your chest heaves. “You only ever show up when you’re desperate. When you need something. And I’m fucking done being that person for you.”

He takes a step closer, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers, burning down to the filter.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

You hate the way your heart twists.

“I want you.”

You shake your head again, but it’s weaker this time.

“I love you.”

And there it is.

Those three fucking words.

The words that used to make your heart explode. The words that used to make you believe in him, in a future that never existed.

“I can’t do this without you,” he says, and his voice breaks, just a little. “I’ve tried, Y/N. I’ve tried to be better, but I’m fucking lost without you.”

Your hands tremble at your sides.

“You’re only lost because you never tried to find yourself,” you whisper. “You’ve always expected me to do it for you.”

His eyes soften, that familiar vulnerability creeping in.

“I’m trying now.”

“No, you’re not.” You take a step back. “You’re trying to pull me back in. That’s all you ever do.”

A beat of silence.

Then —

“I miss you.”

The words cut through the night, soft and raw.

And you feel yourself wavering.

Fuck.

You press your palms to your face, trying to breathe, trying to steady yourself.

“You don’t get it,” you whisper. “You don’t get what you did to me.”

He takes another step closer, so close now that you can feel the heat of his body.

“I never stopped loving you.”

Your chest heaves, your heart pounding.

“I don’t want to hear that.”

“You need to.”

“No, I fucking don’t.” Your voice cracks, tears burning at the edges of your eyes. “What I need is to move on.”

His hand reaches out, tentative, trembling.

But when his fingers brush against your arm-

You flinch.

It’s instinctive.

A reaction you couldn’t stop if you tried.

And the look on his face?

It’s devastating.

He pulls his hand back slowly, like he’s been burned.

“I’m not him anymore.”

The words are quiet, almost desperate.

“I’m not the guy who fucked up. I’m not the guy who hurt you.”

“You are.” Your voice is soft, but firm. “You’ll always be that guy, Su-bong.”

His gaze drops to the ground, and for a moment, you think he’s going to give up.

But then he looks up again.

“I just want to talk,” he says. “Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

You hesitate.

The rational part of you — the part that’s spent the last month piecing yourself back together — is screaming at you to walk away.

But your heart?

Your heart is still caught in the web he’s spun around you.

“ we’re already talking…” you slightly slur your words, the alcohol taking full effect.

“Five minutes,” he says again, softer this time. “At my place. Please.”

And against your better judgment —

You nod.

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

You wake to the sensation of weight.

Heavy. Suffocating.

An arm draped over your waist. A body pressed too close, warm breath against the back of your neck.

And for one blissful second, you’re still half asleep. Still caught in that hazy space between dreams and reality, your mind fogged over with sleep, soft and pliant.

But then your eyes open.

And everything sharpens.

The bedroom is dark — curtains drawn, faint slivers of morning light sneaking through the cracks. The air is stale, tinged with cigarette smoke and something faintly metallic. It smells familiar.

And the weight around your waist?

It’s Su-bong.

Your stomach lurches.

No. No, no, no.

You squeeze your eyes shut, your heart pounding in your chest, the dull ache between your temples throbbing harder with each beat. Your mind scrambles to piece together how the fuck you ended up here. The last thing you remember clearly is the club — Ji-hye pulling you onto the dance floor, shots of tequila burning your throat, the neon lights swirling around you.

And then —

His voice.

His hands.

And now you’re here. In his bed.

You hold your breath, every muscle in your body going rigid. His arm is still heavy across your waist, his hand curled loosely against your hip, fingers twitching like he’s dreaming.

Carefully — so carefully — you think maybe you can slip out from under him.

Carefully, you reach for his wrist, your fingers trembling as you try to lift his arm off you. The sheet rustles softly, the sound too loud in the suffocating silence. You freeze, your breath hitching.

He stirs.

A small, unconscious noise slips from his throat, his fingers curling slightly against your hip.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

Please don’t wake up.

You stay frozen, your body stiff, your breath shallow. His arm feels impossibly heavy against your waist, like it’s anchoring you to the mattress. Slowly — so slowly — you ease it off you, inch by inch, until it finally falls to the bed.

He murmurs something in his sleep, low and unintelligible.

You freeze again, your pulse roaring in your ears.

He doesn’t wake.

You let out a shaky breath, the sound barely audible, and sit up as quietly as you can. The room tilts slightly as you do, your head pounding with a dull, persistent ache. You press a hand to your temple, blinking against the dizziness.

The sheets are tangled around your legs, the fabric twisted and damp with sweat. You untangle yourself carefully, your fingers trembling, your movements slow and deliberate.

His body shifts slightly behind you, his breathing deepening for a moment before settling back into a steady rhythm.

Move.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the floor cold against your bare feet. The hem of your dress rides up as you stand, the fabric wrinkled and twisted, clinging to your skin.

You glance back at him, your chest tight.

He’s still asleep.

But his face is turned toward you now, his hair falling into his eyes, his lips parted slightly. He looks softer like this, his usual sharp edges dulled by sleep.

It makes your stomach turn.

Focus.

You force your gaze away, scanning the room for your things.

Your phone.

Your purse.

Where the fuck are they?

The panic sets in slowly, creeping up your spine like cold water, inch by inch. You scan the room, searching for your things, but the room looks almost exactly the same as when you left a month ago.

Cluttered. Messy. The ashtray on the nightstand is overflowing. Empty bottles litter the floor. The same crumpled blankets. The same cigarette burns in the carpet.

Like time stood still.

Like he hasn’t moved on.

Your stomach twists painfully, nausea creeping in at the edges. You stand, your legs unsteady, your head pounding. The ache in your body — between your thighs, in the muscles of your legs — is impossible to ignore.

You take a step toward the bathroom, your hands trembling as you reach for the door handle. You need a moment to breathe. To think.

To figure out what the fuck happened.

The bathroom is as grim as you remember. The light flickers when you turn it on, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow. The mirror is streaked with water stains, the sink cluttered with half-used toiletries.

You close the door behind you, locking it with a shaky hand.

And then you catch your reflection.

Your lipstick is barely there anymore, smudged at the edges. Your mascara streaked under your eyes. Your hair is a tangled mess, the carefully straightened strands now knotted and frizzy.

But it’s the rest of you that makes your breath catch.

The dress you wore last night is twisted around your waist, the hem wrinkled and pulled too high. Your thighs are bare. You pull at the fabric, tugging it down, but your hands freeze when you see the faint bruises.

Finger-shaped bruises.

They’re light, barely there, but you know what they are.

Your stomach drops.

You lift the hem of your dress higher, revealing more bruises along your inner thighs. Some small, faint smudges of blue and purple. Some darker.

You press your fingers to them, your skin flinching under your own touch.

Did I fall?

Did I—

Your mind races, scrambling for an explanation, for anything that makes sense.

And then your eyes flicker lower.

Your underwear is backward.

You stare for a long moment, your brain struggling to catch up with what you’re seeing. The waistband digs awkwardly into your hips, the tag twisted around to the front.

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

Your stomach churns violently.

You lift the toilet lid, falling to your knees as you retch. There’s nothing in your stomach but bile, burning its way up your throat.

When you’re done, you sit back on your heels, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. The bathroom spins around you, your head pounding, your chest heaving with shallow breaths.

You reach for the sink, pulling yourself up slowly, your hands gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles turn white.

Your eyes flicker back to your reflection.

The bruises.

The backward underwear.

The ache between your legs.

Did we—

No.

No, no, no.

You grip the sink harder, your nails digging into the porcelain.

‘I don’t remember.’

That’s the worst part.

You don’t remember anything.

You remember seeing him at the club. You remember yelling at him, calling him out for the voicemail. You remember him pulling you outside, the alley reeking of cigarette smoke and beer.

And then it’s all a blur.

Flashes of his voice. His hand on your arm. The way he looked at you — dark, desperate.

But nothing else.

Your chest tightens painfully.

You want to leave.

You need to leave.

You unlock the bathroom door with shaking hands, your heart pounding in your chest as you step back into the bedroom.

But when you step inside —

He’s awake.

Su-bong is sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers tangled in his hair. He looks up when he hears you, his gaze locking on yours.

And the first thing you notice?

He’s sober.

There’s no haze in his eyes. No slurred speech. No unsteady hands.

He’s completely sober.

Your stomach twists painfully.

“Morning.”

His voice is soft, tentative.

Like he’s testing the waters.

You don’t say anything.

You take a step toward the nightstand, searching for your phone. Your purse. Anything.

But he stands up slowly, blocking your path.

“Hey.”

His voice is softer now, coaxing.

“You don’t have to run.”

Your hands tremble at your sides.

“I don’t remember anything,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I don’t—”

“I know.” His eyes soften, his brows pulling together in that familiar expression of concern. “You were really drunk.”

Your heart sinks.

“What happened?”

He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “You saw me at the club. You… you wanted to come back here.”

You shake your head, your stomach churning.

“I don’t remember that.”

You must’ve been really drunk because from what you remember you weren’t exactly happy too see him. How did you go from fighting with him to begging to be back at his apartment?

“You were drunk,” he says again, like it’s the answer to everything. “It’s okay. I took care of you.”

Your chest tightens painfully.

The bruises.

The backward underwear.

The ache.

“What do you mean, you took care of me?”

His gaze flickers away for a moment, his jaw tightening.

“You wanted to come back,” he says softly. “You told me you missed me. That you wanted to… you know. Talk. Figure things out.”

Your mind spins, scrambling to fill in the blanks.

“I don’t remember,” you whisper again, your voice shaking.

“I know.” He steps closer, his voice low, soothing. “It’s okay. I missed you too.”

He reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing yours.

You flinch.

But he doesn’t pull back.

“I missed you,” he says again, his voice softening. “I love you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. They only hurt so bad because he was saying them now. After everything.

And for a moment —

You don’t know what to believe.

“You were wasted, Y/N.”

His words come soft, careful, like he’s tiptoeing around something fragile. His body language matches it — slouched shoulders, a furrowed brow, the faintest slump in his posture like he’s weighed down by concern.

Your stomach churns.

“I… I wasn’t that drunk.” The words feel hollow as they leave your mouth. A lie to yourself, as much as to him. You’d lost count at six shots. At least six. Maybe more.

His lips press into a thin line, a faint shake of his head following. “You could barely stand.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, knuckles trembling.

“I don’t remember…” You force the words out, hating how small they sound, how they let the power tip toward him.

He exhales slowly, running a hand down his face.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. You were crying. Saying you missed me. That you needed me.” He pauses, eyes meeting yours, steady and unwavering. “What was I supposed to do, huh? Just leave you there?”

The breath punches out of you. Crying? Saying you missed him? Needed him?

That couldn’t be true. That can’t be true.

But your mind betrays you. A flash of his hands steadying you on the dance floor. His voice coaxing you into the alley. The warmth of his hand brushing yours.

Pieces fall together, but the picture is fractured, missing the crucial moments. And that’s what he’s counting on.

“I don’t…” Your voice cracks, a fresh wave of panic rolling through you. “I wouldn’t—”

“You did,” he says firmly. Not loud, but firm enough that it cuts through your protest. “You were falling apart, Y/N. I couldn’t just—” He stops, dragging his hand through his hair like he’s trying to collect himself. “I had to help you.”

Help you.

The bruises on your thighs burn like a brand.

“By bringing me here?” you snap, your voice rising. “By—by—” You stop yourself before the question comes tumbling out: Did you touch me?

His face hardens just slightly, enough to send a shiver skittering down your spine. “I wasn’t going to let you go home alone. Not like that. You don’t even know what could’ve happened.”

“What do you mean what could’ve happened?” Your voice cracks, pitching higher, panic seeping in. “What did happen?”

He holds your gaze, and for a moment, his expression softens again. “Nothing happened.”

The words should feel like a relief. They don’t.

“Nothing?” Your voice is small, but there’s a sharp edge to it.

“Nothing,” he repeats, stepping closer. Too close. “You needed me, Y/N. And I was there for you. Like I always have been.”

Always.

Your mind spirals, reaching for anything concrete, any moment from last night that you can grab onto. But it’s all a haze, smothered by the tequila and the smoke and him.

“I don’t…” You press a hand to your temple, the ache blooming there sharp and relentless. “I don’t remember asking to come back here.”

His hand reaches out, brushing against your arm, and you flinch without meaning to.

His eyes darken at that. “You’re scared of me now?”

You want to say yes. But the word lodges itself in your throat, too big to swallow, too dangerous to spit out.

“I’m not scared of you,” you lie.

“Then why are you acting like this?” His voice is soft, low, almost tender. “I didn’t do anything wrong, Y/N. I just—” He stops, his jaw clenching. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And now you’re looking at me like I’m a fucking monster.”

He steps closer. You step back. The space between you feels like it’s shrinking, suffocating.

“Why am I here, Su-bong?” Your voice is stronger now, the edge of panic sharpening it. “Why the fuck was I in your bed?”

He tilts his head slightly, his brows knitting together like you’ve just said something unreasonable. “You wanted to be here.”

“No.” You shake your head, your chest tightening. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t—” Your voice cracks, the words tangling in your throat. “I don’t even remember coming back with you.”

His expression doesn’t shift. “You were drunk,” he says simply. “You don’t have to make this a big deal.”

You laugh — bitter, sharp. “Not a big deal?” The words tumble out before you can stop them. “Not a big fucking deal? I don’t even know what happened, Su-bong. I don’t—” Your breath hitches, your stomach twisting violently. The next words catch in your throat, almost too heavy to force out. “Did we—”

You can’t say it. You can barely think it.

“Did we have sex?”

He doesn’t react right away. Not outwardly. But you catch it — the faint flicker of tension in his jaw, the way his gaze shifts to the side before finding yours again.

“Why would you ask me that?” His voice is steady, but there’s something too measured about it, like he’s rehearsed this answer in his head a thousand times.

“Because I don’t fucking know,” you snap, your hands trembling. They curl into fists at your sides, shaking with every ragged breath. “My underwear’s on backwards, Su-bong. I have bruises. And you’re acting—” You stop yourself, your throat tightening painfully. “You’re acting like you did something.”

His jaw tightens again, and this time his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. He exhales slowly, dragging his hand through his hair.

“I didn’t do anything you didn’t want,” he says finally, his tone low but clipped.

It’s not an answer.

It’s not a fucking answer.

“What does that mean?” Your voice rises, panic flaring again. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means you wanted to come back with me,” he says, sharper now, a flash of frustration cutting through the veneer of calm. “You were all over me at the club, Y/N. I told you we shouldn’t—” He cuts himself off abruptly, his fingers raking through his hair again, the strands spiking in every direction. “But you wouldn’t let it go.”

Your stomach twists painfully, the nausea creeping back in full force.

“I wouldn’t let it go?” Your voice cracks, disbelief bleeding into every syllable. “You’re blaming me? You’re saying I—”

“I’m not blaming you.” He exhales sharply, his voice softening just slightly, like he’s trying to rein himself back in. “I’m saying you wanted this. You made that clear.”

“I don’t even remember!” Your voice breaks now, raw and jagged, splintering through the room. “How can I want something I can’t fucking remember?”

He steps closer, and this time you’re too stunned, too frozen, to move.

“Y/N.” His voice drops lower, almost pleading, his hand twitching at his side like he wants to reach for you. “You were drunk, yeah. But you weren’t—” He hesitates, his gaze flickering over your face. “You weren’t out of it. You knew what you were doing.”

The words settle over you like a lead weight, pressing down on your chest until it feels impossible to breathe. Your mind scrambles to piece together the night before, to fill in the blanks, but it’s all fog. Hazy flashes of neon lights and pounding music and his hand on your arm.

“I don’t—” Your voice falters, cracking under the weight in your chest. “I don’t know what to believe.”

His expression softens slightly, his shoulders lowering as he steps closer again, closing the gap between you.

“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” he says, his voice coaxing, soothing. He reaches for your hand, brushing his fingers against yours.

You flinch.

The motion is small, instinctive. But he catches it, his gaze darkening for a fraction of a second before he carefully, deliberately pulls his hand back.

“I don’t know what else to say to you,” he murmurs, his tone taking on a faint edge of frustration again. “I tried to do the right thing, Y/N. I could’ve left you at the club. I could’ve let you go home alone. But I didn’t.”

He looks at you, his eyes steady and unwavering, and you hate how much they make your stomach twist.

“I stayed.” He takes another step forward, close enough now that you can smell the faint trace of his cologne, mingling with the smoke and stale alcohol lingering in the room. “Because you needed me.”

You press your back against the wall, your hands gripping the hem of your dress so tightly it crumples in your fists.

“I don’t remember needing you,” you say, your voice small but sharp, each word cutting through the thick tension in the room.

His gaze drops to the floor for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. When he looks up again, there’s something different in his eyes. Something dark.

“Then maybe you should ask yourself why you’re here.”

The question hits like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

And in the silence that follows, he steps back, his expression shifting to something softer, more familiar.

“I missed you,” he says, his voice low, almost tender. “And I know you missed me too.”

“Just… stay.”

The word hangs in the air between you, heavy and suffocating.

Stay.

You want to run. You want to grab your things and get out of this apartment, out of this nightmare, and never look back. But your legs won’t move. Your feet feel glued to the floor, weighed down by doubt and fear and something else—something softer, something that aches when he looks at you like this.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” you whisper.

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides. But when he speaks, his voice is soft. Vulnerable.

“I know.” His gaze drops to the floor for a moment, then back to you. “I don’t blame you for feeling that way. But I’m not the guy I was before, Y/N. I’m trying. I’m trying to be better.”

You hate how much those words hurt. How much you want to believe them.

“You shouldn’t have brought me here,” you say, your voice trembling. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“You did,” he says firmly. “Maybe you don’t remember, but you did.”

The words cut through you like a blade, sharp and cold. You don’t believe him. You don’t want to believe him.

But the tequila haze clouds everything, blurring the edges of the truth.

“Just give me a chance,” he says, stepping closer again. “Let me prove it to you. Let me—” He stops himself, his voice catching. “Let me fix this.”

Your throat tightens, the weight of his words pressing down on you, crushing.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you whisper.

He reaches for your hand again, and this time, you don’t pull away. His fingers are warm, steady, wrapping around yours like they belong there. Like they always have.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he says again. His voice is so soft, so careful. “Just stay. Please.”

Your chest heaves, your breath shallow and uneven.

And then—

Your phone buzzes.

The sound cuts through the tension like a knife, sharp and jarring. You jerk your hand away from his, your heart leaping into your throat as you spin toward the nightstand.

Your phone is lying there, screen glowing faintly in the dim light. Ji-hye’s name flashes across the screen.

Your stomach twists violently.

Su-bong doesn’t move. He stands frozen in place, his gaze fixed on you. You don’t look at him. You don’t want to see whatever’s written on his face.

You grab the phone, your fingers trembling as you swipe to open the message.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗(9:04 AM): You good? Please tell me you didn’t go home with him.

Your breath catches, your chest tightening painfully.

“Who is it?” Su-bong’s voice cuts through the silence, low and steady, but there’s an edge to it now.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Instead, you take a shaky step back, clutching the phone like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

“Y/N.” His voice is softer now, coaxing, but there’s a sharpness beneath it, something dark and unyielding. “Who was it?”

“Ji-hye.” The name barely makes it out of your mouth, your voice cracking on the second syllable.

He hums, low and quiet. “What did she say?”

You glance down at the screen again, the words burning into your retinas. You good? Please tell me you didn’t go home with him.

You don’t know what to say.

What can you say?

“Y/N,” he says again, stepping closer. His voice drops lower, quieter, like he’s trying to keep you from bolting. “Talk to me.”

Your chest heaves, your breath coming faster now. “I need to go.”

The words feel weak, hollow, and you hate how they tremble as they leave your lips.

“Go where?” His question is quiet, but there’s a weight to it that makes your stomach turn.

��Away from here.”

The second the words are out, his expression shifts. The softness in his gaze hardens, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“If you walk out that door…” He trails off, his voice cutting off like he’s biting down on the rest of the sentence.

Your heart races, panic rising in your chest. “What?”

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck tightening. “If you walk out that door, you’ll never see me again.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from your lungs.

There’s a finality to them, an edge that cuts too deep. You don’t know what he means — if he’s talking about leaving your life or leaving altogether — but it doesn’t matter.

It scares you.

And he knows it.

His gaze stays locked on yours, unflinching, unwavering. “I’m serious, Y/N.”

Your phone buzzes again in your hand, the sound startling you. You glance down at the screen.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗(9:06 AM): If you’re with him, just leave. I’ll come get you.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you.

Su-bong takes another step closer. “You don’t have to leave.” His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. “We can talk. We can figure this out. But if you walk away now…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. The threat lingers in the air between you, heavy and suffocating.

Your fingers tighten around your phone, Ji-hye’s message flashing like a lifeline in your palm.

“Y/N.” His voice is softer now, pleading. “Stay.”

You look up at him, your chest heaving, your mind spinning.

And in that moment, you don’t know what scares you more; the thought of staying, or the thought of leaving.

[sydneymykah]

BEYONCE THE MESSENGER?

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ Astrology & Numerology ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐋𝐔𝐁𝐌𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝟐𝟗𝐭𝐡?

ACT I: Renaissance - July 29th

ACT II: Cowboy Carter - March 29th

Act III: ____ - ____ 29th?

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

★ Beyonce is a spiritual woman. She makes it very apparent in her lyrics and her visuals. She’s a believer in astrology, religion, the occult and spirituality. Beyonce is also an intentional woman. So I find it to be no coincidence that those reasons are behind why she decided to release her three act projects all on the 29th of specific months. Both on Fridays.

“Cuz I’m a clever girl” - Beyoncé

𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲 - 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲

★ 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 on Friday is nothing new in the modern days of music. In fact Beyonce pioneered it and made it an industry standard when she dropped her self titled album with little to no announcement. With visuals to back it. Making Friday, the day of Venus, the day she drops albums feels alined. Especially with these three act projects. She could’ve easily picked any day as we’ve seen with artists like Tyler the creator who dropped his recent album on a Monday morning despite the new norm.

★ 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲 is ruled by Venus which coincidentally so is Beyonce. Venus rules many things involving beauty, love and the arts. Her choice to release what will probably be her most studied albums next to lemonade on the day of Venus feels like beautiful poetry. Since self titled Beyonce has put artistry over hits. (Although 4 laid the foundation) Artistic vision over charts. Visuals and story telling over gimmicks. In 2013 she said in her documentary life is but a dream, “People don’t make albums anymore”. Ever since then she’s been putting all her passion and love into these projects. Choosing Friday to release her albums and then that choice becoming the norm can show not only her impact but how shes become all about the art.

★ 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 the goddess, who Beyonce has also channeled, was worshiped for her beauty and eroticism but also for victory when she brought victory to the Romans. Beyonce invokes victory when she uses her platform and status to get what she wants. Specifically as an artist she wants people to pay more attention to black music history and the importance of black artists. To many, whether in the industry or not, Beyonce is seen like a hero. Especially to black woman. Her victories feel like ours. Beyonce credits black artists who were/are overlooked and uplifts the new upcoming ones. When she wins awards and breaks records with these songs/projects we too win with her.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝟐𝟗𝐭𝐡

𝐈𝐧 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲 𝟐𝟗 𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟏.

11 in numerology:

★ 𝟏𝟏 in numerology can be perceived like yin and yang. The masculine and feminine, the active and passive. Both exist next to each other. One and One. Balance. Which can be representative of what Beyonce wants out of these albums. To set things right. “We’ll be the ones to purify our father’s sins”. 11 can be referred to as the physic master. Jesus being the example for his name adds up to 11. Being the messenger of god. Beyonce is a religious woman so it’s no stretch to think she believes she should be a messenger of god as well. She sees the future she wants with these albums. She has even referred to herself as “Beysus” just saying lol. 11 being the numerology behind the day she releases these specific projects her message is to educate the masses on the black history of certain genres of music. These albums existing being the message she wants to put out.

★ 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 with 2 and 9 being what makes 11 here it’s stated that 2 is peace and fluent speaker. 9 being humanity and brotherly love. This three act project is meant to represent all of these things. Beyoncés using her voice and other peoples voices to send a personal message. Beyoncés own personal journey of finding peace. Humanity being talked about specifically racism, discrimination, and misogyny. Brotherly love being exuded in these projects through collaboration and the merging of genres.

Numerology pdf ;)

11 in tarot:

The Justice Card

★ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 Justice card. Being the symbol of truth and representing justice, fairness, and showing us the outcome of certain actions. The time of judgement. Beyoncé’s Act one and two share a similarity. The reclaiming of a genre(s) that originated with Black/African Americans. Renaissance being house music and Cowboy Carter being country. It feels extremely intentional that this date, the 29th, was chosen for this exact reason. Beyonce is, if you will, bringing justice to the black voices that were snubbed and silenced out of their own genres. She’s placing judgment on the music industry who has upheld ostracizing, discriminating, and casting aside black artists in these said genres.

11 in astrology:

★ 𝐀𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 is the 11th sign in the Zodiac. Ruled by Uranus this air sign is known to be UNIQUE. Futuristic, ahead of its time, innovative, a bit more free thinking than others and carries humanitarian traits. Aquarius tends to care a lot about the environment around them especially their community. This is why the 11H is the house of friendship, networking, and social groups. The topics of the first two acts aim to show the possibilities of being a genreless artist, finding community and giving back to communities. Uranus is a planet that rules the future. The interesting thing about this to me is the best way to predict the future is to know the past and to be aware of the present. When it comes to Beyoncés 3 ACT project they all aim to be innovative. (We don’t have act three yet but that’s a clear pattern) Not just sonically but lyrically as well. Knowing the past of these genres, how they’re being treated in the present and shining a light on them, hoping for a better(more just) future. It’s crazy to see how quickly these predictions/observations have come true. We hear Beyonce say lines like “Wildfire burnt his house down, insurance ain’t gon pay no Fannie Mae,” and we’ve seen the fires in LA and how insurance companies have treated the victims. Beyond this Beyoncé’s purpose of these albums in my opinion is to show the potential future of music, specifically music that black people have been shut out of. With the hopes more black artists feel the freedom and liberation to be in any genre they want to participate in. I mentioned Aquarius being a bit more free thinking than others. At the Renaissance tour the interlude right before I’m that Girl had a line that is looped repeatedly: “Be free”. And quotes like, “whoever controls the media controls the mind”, and “Imagination is more important than knowledge”. Using symbolism like hive mind, the news and robots to show her audience to free themselves of the box society puts them in. The box society and the music industry has tried to put her in.

Overall:

★ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 definitely a clear pattern as to why Friday the 29th was chosen to be the date these albums are being released. The artistic integrity, the feeling of victory when a new album is released and the unsung voices of the past get the chance to be seen and heard. Beyonce places herself as the messenger, the mastermind, the judge. The one with the sword and the one with the light. Passing judgment to the music industry who has treated her and other black artists of the past with blatant disregard after years of being discredited. She does this whilst also uplifting the new artists, the artists of the future. To be innovate, think outside the box, and to be free.

There’s more to add here considering the specific months these albums were released and the astrology behind the number 29 more. So stayed tuned, there might be a Pt. 2

xoxo

- Sydney Mykah ✫彡

[thenyoukeepliving]

Stress Relief

Jax x Reader 

sorry for the long intro

Summary: Caine organises a roast session for the circus members, with Jax being the first target. He plays it cool at first, but when the jokes hit a little too close to home, Y/N finds him struggling with the aftermath.

A/N: This idea came to me in a ₊‧⁺˖vision˖⁺‧₊, inspired by that episode in the Office where everyone roasts Micheal and he acts tough in front of them but gets really emotional and cries about it at the end. I feel that’s extremely Jax coded. Originally, I imagined this as just a bunch of random HCs, but then I wanted to write an actual story around it – so I decided to do both.

You’ll see an intermission in the middle where I just made the roasts into bullet points, mostly because I came up with too many for each character and had no idea how to structure them. So I just got lazy with it. Hope you don’t mind lol. Imagine it like a fun montage!

Quick backstory:

1.) This happens on the next day of ‘A Slithering Adventure’, also written by yours truly, so if you haven’t read that one yet, number one, how dare you, and second, you don’t necessarily have to read it, but it’s nice for the context. Not suggesting anything… but, y’know. Glance glance, wink wink.

2.) I mentioned in that post that I’m in the middle of writing a long and tedious TADC AU kind of thing for myself with my OC in mind, who has a mysterious backstory that the circus members don’t know about. This oneshot is also a part of that story. There’s a brief scene touching on that here, but nothing you can’t handle. 

CW: underlying themes of emotional damage / emotional vulnerability - from both Y/N and Jax | Jax gets bullied <3 | Y/N has hair, Kinger has brows and Caine has a grin?? i dunno man

Word count: 3044 | Masterlist

You woke up feeling like sleep had chewed you up and spat you back out. Maybe it was yesterday’s adventure – running from a giant serpent, getting lost in the woods, and, most amusingly, watching Jax try (and fail) to act like he wasn’t absolutely losing his mind.

On the surface, it had been hilarious. Seeing him crumble in fear, fumbling through excuses, pretending he was totally fine? Priceless. But now, lying here, staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the back of your mind.

You almost felt bad for him. Almost.

You stretched, your joints making an odd rubbery squeak – just another reminder that your body wasn’t really your body anymore. Sitting up, you replayed yesterday’s events in your mind.

Jax had tried so hard to keep his usual smug composure, but the moment that snake slithered too close, he practically levitated off the ground. His ears had shot straight up, his pupils shrunk to tiny squares, and, oh, the best part, his voice cracked when he snapped at you to “move faster, dammit!”

You snorted to yourself. Yeah, real smooth, Jax.

Still… the way he had reacted – it wasn’t just some overblown freak-out. There was real fear in his eyes. Not the dramatic, over-the-top kind he faked for attention, but something raw, something instinctive. And that’s what stuck with you.

You weren’t used to seeing Jax vulnerable. Hell, you weren’t sure if he was used to it.

With a sigh, you got up. Not my problem, you told yourself. He’ll be fine.

Probably.

You shook off the lingering thoughts and made your way out of your room. The hallway stretched ahead, bathed in that usual, eerie vibes – no windows, no real sense of time passing, just the same endless loop of artificial existence.

As you got lost in your thoughts, you nearly bumped into someone.

“Kinger?”

The old chess piece flinched like you’d just jolted him out of a deep trance. His eyes darted around before settling on you, blinking a few times as if trying to place who you were.

“Oh! Oh, yes, you’re… you’re…” he paused, rubbing his gloved hands together. “Wait, what was I–? Oh dear, I was– hm.”

Kinger always seemed lost in his own world, but today, there was something… different about it. 

“You alright there, buddy?” you asked, tilting your head with a half-smile.

He let out a nervous chuckle, then leaned in slightly. “I had a thought just now,” he muttered, his voice filled with confusion. “But it slipped away. Isn’t that strange? Happens all the time, but this one felt important.”

Your stomach suddenly twisted. You had a hunch of what this was about. He’s remembering. Not clearly, not yet – but it was only a matter of time.

Before you could respond, he straightened up. “Ah, well! Off to breakfast, are we? Yes, yes, me too! Or – was I going somewhere else?”

You forced a grin. “Nah, you’re doing just fine, Kinger.”

His eyes twitched. “Huh?”

You just patted his shoulder, ignoring how he flinched. “C’mon, let’s get going.”

Kinger hesitated but eventually shuffled along beside you. He kept glancing your way, brow furrowed like he was trying to piece together a puzzle with missing pieces. You pretended not to notice.

As you two entered the main room, the others were already gathered, the air thick with anticipation. Your eyes immediately met Jax’s, who was already slouched on the couch, arms folded behind his head as if he owned the place. 

You tried to ignore the faint hint of amusement flickering across your face as you sat down next to him, your thoughts still lingering on the adventure with the serpent. You could still hear Jax’s high-pitched yelp in your head and the way he had tried – and spectacularly failed – to act calm. Not that you’d rub it in… too much.

"You still recovering from yesterday or have the nerves settled down already?”

Jax shot you a quick glance as he leaned back with a cocky grin. "Nerves? What nerves? I’m good as new, Y/N."

“Uh-huh,” you said, not buying it for a second. You crossed your arms, keeping your expression neutral, but you couldn’t help the small, teasing smile that tugged at your lips.

"Hey, I’m just saying, I’m extremely calm under pressure. One of my many talents," Jax continued, grinning wider. "You can admit it – you were impressed."

You snorted at his response. “Right, sure. Whatever you say, bunny boy.”

Before Jax could reply, Caine’s voice boomed across the room, cutting through the casual chatter like a knife. "Alright, alright! Settle down, everyone! Your favorite ringmaster has finally arrived!"

You could practically feel the collective groan ripple through the room.

Caine twirled in mid-air, his voice filling the entire room. "Ah, welcome, my fabulous team! Welcome, my precious superstars, my beloved troupe of dazzling individuals who make this circus the magnificent spectacle it is!" His eyes shined with excitement as he continued, his hands sweeping grandly toward the group. "Now, my lovely cast of unique and talented beings, it’s time for a very special event, one that will unite us all in ways you cannot yet fathom!"

He paused for dramatic effect, letting the silence hang in the air before delivering his next words with grand flair. "Today, we’re embarking on a marvelous journey of togetherness! The bond of a team is forged in the most delightful of fires. And what better way to nurture that bond than... a team-building exercise, of course!"

The room fell into a hushed stillness. You tilted your head in confusion, not entirely sure where this was going.

Caine’s grin widened as he spun in a slow circle. "This will not be some trivial, run-of-the-mill bonding experience, no! No, no, no... This, my dear friends, will be a roast! A chance for each of you to lovingly tear each other apart, but with words, of course! Nothing brings people closer than a little well-meaning verbal destruction, am I right?"

There was a beat of silence.

Then–

"Wait, what?" Jax sat up, grinning. "You’re saying we just get to insult each other? In front of everyone?"

"Precisely!" Caine exclaimed, beaming like he’d just announced the greatest prize. "Let’s see who can come up with the sharpest wit, the cleverest insult, and of course, the most playful jabs. All in good fun, of course!"

You could see Gangle and Pomni getting uncomfortable, probably being a bit concerned about what’s about to go down. Zooble let out a sigh, already regretting coming out of their room today.

Caine clapped his hands dramatically, bringing the attention back to him. "Alright! Let the games begin! I expect nothing short of absolute brilliance from each of you. And remember, we’re a team. A family! Just... with a little extra spice today."

"Alright, let’s get started," Jax cracked his knuckles. "This might be the best day of my life."

The others exchanged uneasy glances, half-expecting Jax to unleash all of his inner demons. Caine spun in the air. "Since Jax is clearly so excited, why don’t we start with him?"

Jax froze.

"Wait–"

But it was too late. The damage had been done.

The room fell silent for a moment. Then Ragatha leaned forward, a smile spreading across her face. "Oh, this should be fun."

___________________________

POMNI

#1: 

Pomni: Visibly sweating. “Uh… Jax… you, um… you’re really mean. Like, aggressively mean. If I had a dollar for every time you insulted me, I’d – well, I don’t know what I’d do, because there’s no money here, but I’d be rich in theoretical dollars.” Pauses, then mutters. “Wait, that sounded dumb. Can I start over?”

Jax: “Nah, keep going, this is hilarious.”

#2: 

“Uh… Jax. You, um… you’re really good at making people feel bad. Which is… impressive? In a terrible way? Anyway, I don’t think you have emotions, and I think if you did, you’d bully them too.”

#3:

“If you disappeared, I wouldn’t even question it…”

GANGLE

#1: 

Gangle: “Jax, every time you walk into a room, I have to mentally prepare myself. You’re like a jump scare, but instead of a scary monster, it’s just… pure emotional damage.”

Jax: “Aww, thanks, ribbons.”

Gangle: “That wasn’t a compliment...”

Jax: Grinning. “Sounded like one.”

#2:

“I-I-I just think it’s really funny how you call everyone else pathetic, but you literally have nothing going for you. You don’t even wear shoes."

#3:

“I tried drawing Jax once, but the paper crumpled itself out of self-respect.”

KINGER

#1:

“Jax reminds me of this guy I used to know in the war. Always running his mouth. We left him in a ditch.”

#2:

“You remind me of a mosquito. Annoying, persistent, and somehow always there when I don’t want you to be.”

#3:

“You know, Jax, I think I used to have a friend like you… Oh, wait, never mind… I wouldn’t do that to myself.”

Y/N

#1:

"Jax, I have to ask – do you actually do anything around here, or do you just exist to be a professional pain in the ass?"

#2:

"You’re like a kid who just learned what sarcasm is and decided to make it his whole personality."

#3:

"I think the real mystery of this place is how you’re somehow both the most annoying and the most avoidant person here."

RAGATHA

#1: 

“Jax, you act like you’re too cool to care about anything, but I’ve seen you spend fifteen minutes trying to get your reflection to wink back at you the ‘right’ way. So. Yeah.”

#2: 

Ragatha: “Jax, I’ve seen you laugh at your own jokes for a solid five minutes while everyone else just stands there in silence. You are your own biggest fan, and honestly? Even you deserve better.”

Jax: “That was almost clever. I’m proud of you.”

Ragatha: “Don’t patronize me. Also, I know for a fact you talk to yourself in the mirror.”

Jax: “Who told you that?”

Ragatha: “You did. Out loud. In the middle of this room.”

#3:

“If we haven’t already got a suggestion box, I’d make one with a ‘things that need to be removed’ label and slip a piece of paper in with your name.”

ZOOBLE

#1:

“Jax, you’re like a vending machine that only gives out insults and expired chips. Just once, I’d like to press a button and get, I don’t know, basic human decency. But no, it’s always ‘ha ha, Zooble looks like modern art that got hit by a bus.’”

#2:

Zooble: “Jax, you act like you’re too cool to care about anything, but let’s be real – you’re the kind of guy who’d fake not knowing what a hug is just so no one tries to give you one.”

Jax: “Oh, please. Like anyone here would want to hug me.”

Zooble: “You’d be surprised. Some people love a good ‘fixing a broken man’ project.”

Jax: No way that’s a thing.

Zooble: “Oh, absolutely. You’re the perfect candidate.”

#3:

Deadpan. “Jax is proof that some things just keep going, even when nobody wants them to.”

CAINE

#1:

“Jax, my boy! I’d roast you, but honestly, I think the universe already did that when it made you HAHAHA!”

#2:

Caine: “Jax, Jax, Jax… My favorite little nuisance! You know, if I had a nickel for every time you caused chaos, I’d – wait! I don’t need nickels! I’m already infinitely powerful HAHAHAHAHA! But if I did need them, I’d be filthy rich!”

Jax: “Wow, Caine. That was… whatever that was.”

Caine: “Well, you can’t roast perfection! Now back to you, champ! You may be an insult machine, but hey! At least you’re consistent! Consistently terrible HAHAHAHAHA!”

#3:

“Jax! My favorite little chaos gremlin! If I could actually feel regret, you’d be the reason why!”

BUBBLE

“Jax. You’re a #&@$! ×@% $#=?+% #$&@Đ÷ €$?¤#@! @ $÷!# that %&ß$#! %@&#ע! *?!&#@!+$ß×&Đ.”

___________________________

Caine’s voice boomed through the room, as energised as ever. “Well, wasn’t that simply spectacular? What a brilliant display of camaraderie! Look at you all, bonded through the magic of playful verbal annihilation! Why, I’d say this was the best team-building exercise yet!”

The room was buzzing with laughter and lingering amusement, the cast still fired up from the roasts. Even Ragatha, who had initially looked sceptical of the idea, was grinning ear to ear. Zooble leaned back with a smirk, Gangle wiped away what might have been tears of either joy or secondhand pain.

Jax was smiling too. The same lazy, smug grin he always wore. It was convincing enough that no one seemed to question it. But you had been watching him closely.

His smile wasn’t quite right.

Not enough teeth.

And his eyes – normally playful, always scanning for the next opportunity to push someone’s buttons – looked... distant. Unfocused.

The way he leaned back on the couch, his fingers tapping against his arm, his slight pull on his gloves, and his ears twitched every so often, like he was catching a sound no one else could hear.

No one else noticed.

But you did.

You knew what it looked like when someone acted like nothing was wrong, just to keep everyone else from seeing the cracks.

Caine, oblivious as ever, twirled in the air. “Alright, my wonderful wacky weirdos! This exercise is officially OVER! I expect nothing but besties for the resties energy from now on! Dismissed!”

The moment those words left Caine’s mouth, Jax stood up. Not too fast, not too slow – just natural enough to avoid suspicion. He stretched his arms over his head with a yawn, flashing his usual easygoing smirk. "Welp, that was fun. You guys almost made me feel something."

No one batted an eye as he wandered off.

You saw his hand clenching into a fist the second he turned away. The way his ears pinned back just slightly. The way his steps, while casual, had a certain... urgency to them.

You hesitated. For a second, you considered letting it go. He’d clearly rather be alone. But there was something about Jax that nagged at you. So, instead, you followed.

Jax moved with purpose, leaving the tent, weaving through the grounds, past the main attractions, past the places where the others usually went outside when needed “fresh air”. It wasn’t obvious at first, but after a few turns, you realised where he was going.

Your stomach twisted.

No way.

Jax slipped past a curtain of glitchy vines, making his way up a small hill behind the water park, where an old, gnarled tree stood. You had been here countless times before – it was your secret spot. The place you went when you needed to clear your head, when the circus became too much.

You hadn’t thought anyone else knew about it.

And yet, there he was.

Jax sat against the tree, his back pressed to the trunk, his arms loosely hugging his knees. His usual smug expression was gone, replaced by something emptier. He stared ahead at nothing, the glow of his eyes dimmer than you’ve ever seen it.

For a long moment, you just stood there.

Jax didn’t acknowledge you, but you could tell he knew you were there. His ear flicked slightly at the sound of your footsteps.

Still, he didn’t move. 

Didn’t say anything. 

Didn’t crack a joke or roll his eyes or tell you to scram.

That alone said a lot.

You approached slowly, stopping just a few feet away.

“…Do you wanna talk about it?”

Jax’s ears twitched. A beat of silence. 

“No.”

It wasn’t sharp or defensive. Just flat. Dismissive.

You exhaled through your nose, tilting your head slightly. “You’re getting dangerously close to a full-on therapy session, y’know.”

Jax let out something that was almost a chuckle – but it was faint. Weak. His lips barely twitched, but he still didn’t look at you.

You shifted your weight, rocking back on your heels, studying him. You didn’t know what to make of this.

Jax wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be an annoying little shit. The guy who found amusement in messing with people, who took nothing seriously, who never let anyone in.

You recognised this.

The way he sat, curled in on himself just enough to seem smaller. The way his usual sharp edges had dulled. The way he was pretending to be fine even when he so clearly wasn’t.

It was familiar.

And you didn’t like that.

Because it meant you understood him more than you wanted to.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair before dropping down to sit beside him. You rested your arms on your knees, staring ahead at nothing, mirroring him.

You didn’t say anything else. You figured, if he did want to talk, he would. And if he didn’t? Well.

You could at least sit with him in the silence.

Minutes passed. It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly. Just… heavy. Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. The kind of quiet that wasn’t empty, but full of things that were left unsaid.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, but it gave you time to think about all the similarities you shared with Jax. Hiding everything behind jokes. Pushing people away before they could get too close. Pretending you didn’t need anyone when, deep down, you did. Maybe you were just as bad at being alone as he was.

Then, finally, Jax shifted. Just a little. His legs stretched out in front of him, arms still loosely draped over his knees. It wasn’t much. But it was something. Like he was letting a little crack appear in the wall he’d built around himself.

That small shift told you everything. You weren’t sure if he even noticed, but you could feel the weight of it. The way he was letting himself be… here. Not perfect. Not completely okay. But here. And that was enough.

"…You’re not alone," you murmured, barely above a whisper. It wasn’t meant to fix anything. Just a reminder.

He didn’t respond. But you didn’t need him to.

You both sat there, in the quiet, for as long as it took.

[worldly-fluster]

Imma post something, only cause my cat put her paw on my phone screen while I was reading about Sylus and she hit the little blue circle in the corner. She the love of my life ❤️

Anyway...time to write some ANGST angst.

Like... WARNING THIS MIGHT TRIGGER SOMEONE.

LADS boys when...they find your 'Diary'

--Sylus-- Part 1 of 4

(I don't have the mental energy to put all of them on one lol I'll try getting Xavier's out tonight-no promises)

Yeah um, going off some personal stuff here so it's probably gonna be a mess. MC has an emotionally abusive family. It's 'Diary' but I call mine a different name.

You have been warned btw.

Sylus-

•He knew your life wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, even living in Linkon he knew there were shadows everywhere. Hell, when he met you, you would flinch at everything and hardly spoke so he knew something had happened to you at some point.

•He just didn't expect it to be...this bad.

•You both were having a normal day, you were smiling and laughing. Finally feeling safe enough around him to open up more. He was so excited to have seen your eyes light up that nothing else mattered in this moment.

•When it happened.

•Your eyes, still bright and happy, looked around the Mall you both were in when they fell on two people staring from across the walkway.

•He saw you freeze and your eyes glaze over slightly making his eyes snap to whatever was making you react like this.

•He saw an older couple, almost glaring in your direction.

•He acted fast as he moved to block yours and their view. He stood in front of you, gently lifting your chin to look at him.

•Your eyes were still glazed over with an unknown emotion to him.

•He gave you a soft worried smile and took your hand and led you away.

•But not before hearing some words from the couple as you walked.

•"I see she's whoring herself out." "I wonder if she has a kid yet?" "She'd make for a useless mother if so." "She's probably living under a bridge in a tent she can't afford while sleeping with crack heads." "I bet that's her pimp with her now."

•Sylus' eye shined red as he heard the exchange, his blood boiling in red hot anger.

•Who were these people to talk about you like that?? Especially while he was in earshot.

•The rest of the day he spent just trying, trying his hardest, to make you feel better. To bring you back to laughing and smiling again.

•But all you said was, "Can I go home please?" In the small voice you used to talk in.

•He obliged, not wanting to overwhelm or overstep.

•When he dropped you off at your apartment, he... didn't want to leave you alone.

•He didn't worry about finding the couple from earlier, he already had Mephisto on them the moment they left the Mall. He was more worried about the look in your eyes.

•And more than pissed that those people made you shut yourself away from life- from him- again. After he worked so hard to get you to feel safe.

•You barely registered his presence in your apartment before you locked yourself in your bedroom, wanting to be alone.

•He understood and sat in your living room to wait for you to feel at least a little better.

•In his waiting he saw your book shelf and decided to read something of yours.

•The Book Thief...no, The Hobbit series...no, oh what's this? A notebook?

•He opened the book in curiosity only to be met with pages and pages of words, emotions, and... things he wishes weren't true. He thought this was a diary of some sort, he felt he shouldn't be reading this but something inside him wanted answers to why you act the way you do.

•The more he read the more an uncomfortable weight started settling in his chest. How have you been through so much...

•He put it together that those people might be your Mother and Stepdad. He could feel the red hot coals of anger towards them as he read what they did.

•He flipped through the notebook to the front and saw the title you gave it. 'My Death Book'.

•...

•Before he can think about it anymore, he takes quick, long strides towards your closed bedroom door.

•He knocked on the door softly, not waiting for an answer as he opened the door slightly to peek in.

•You were laying, curled up in the bed asleep.

•He walked over to check on you, to make sure the words in that book weren't going to come true. Ever.

•He wants to make sure you have a chance to forget, and never be reminded of any of it.

•He was going to make sure that you would never have to write something like that again, that you'll never feel like that again.

•One way to make sure you never ran into them again...was to take care of the problem at the cause.

•He texted Luke and Kieran a few details, just a screenshot of Mephisto's surveillance of the older couple and an order to 'take care of it.'

•He immediately got replies, '🫡' 'On it boss!'

•They didn't even question it, used to how he works by now.

•Now with that taken care of he sat down on the end of your bed. He reached over to play with a strand of your hair, a soft, protective look in his eyes.

•He just wants to lay with you, cuddle you, shower you in his love and kisses, but you aren't that close yet. He doesn't want to overstep more than he already does.

•He just wishes that he could have been there from the beginning, to make sure you kept your adorable shine.

•No one messes with his Sweetie and gets away with it.

**IT HAS BEEN UPDATED lol just a few things here and there to pull it together and make some things make more sense. Sorry lol**

[lalalychee-x]

"Sugar Pills— I think I'm okay"

Angst! Rodrick Heffley x reader pt 2

"Tell me you're more than a sick fascination..." romantic. + platonic

♡ Ayyeee, I'm back with part 2, this will NOT MAKE SENSE WITHOUT PART 1, SO DO MAKE SURE TO READ THAT! So welcome to part 2 of "Think I'm okay!" CW: self harm (sh), weed/drug use, smoking, domestic-abuse, scars, healing scars, implied sexual assault (sa) worries, obssessive disorders, classic crude teenage humour, locker situation, good girl gone bad LOL, suicide attempts, suicide jokes, cannon Diary of a Wimpy Kid lore + characters in this part word count: 5945 masterlist of all parts song4this: "Sugar Pills" by I DON'T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

-------story starts here-------

Regardless of what he thought as you left his bathroom that night, Rodrick doesn't really look at you in the corridors.

Not like he used to, anyway.

He kind of... glances, the way you look at a candle you got too close to once. Like you're gonna burn him if he stares too long. Like if you even catch his eye, the memory of you kneeling on his bathroom floor with bloody towels and shaking hands will hit him like a freight train.

So he plays it cool even if he's playing to no one; aside like 4 friends half of which are horribly stoned. Acts like he doesn't see you pass with your shiny hair and perfect uniform, those glossy lips in a soft pout, always holding folders to your chest like you're in a teen drama. The kind of girl whose dad drops her off at the front gates in a white car. The kind of girl who definitely wasn't meant to see him half-naked and bleeding, crying like a kid in a bathtub. Then proceed to strip and jump in the bathtub too. He curses himself for not staring longer because frankly, you were attractive; even if he feels like a pervert to admit that to himself.

You don't talk anymore. Just these... moments. Your eyes flick to each other, fast, like you didn't mean to look. Like you're pretending it didn't happen. But its always his eyes that meet yours; you barely even notice because you can't face him after what you did.

But Rodrick thinks about it. He thinks about you. Way too much for someone who tried to pretend that night didn't matter. And he tells himself that if he were you, he wouldn't talk to him either.

You're in different worlds. Yours smells like perfume and straight A's. His smells like weed, rust, and sweat.

So yeah—he doesn't LOOK at you in the corridors.

But he sees you. Every time.

And apparently too much because he notices you at the end of the day and he stares with furrowed eyebrows. 

You should've been gone by now.

Everyone else is. The school's emptied out and the sky's bruising like a storm's about to bust wide open and it's already pouring it down. You check your phone for the hundredth time—no texts, no calls. And the clouds are getting darker.

Of course today's the day your dad forgets you. Probably stuck at work. You'd rolled your eyes when he offered to pick you up, claiming you'd walk if he ever bailed. But now you're here, standing under the tiny overhang by the front office, staring out at a sky that looks like it's about to drown the whole town.

Your bag's heavy, and you're wearing your nicer shoes today—white ones, of course—and there's absolutely no way in hell you're stepping into that parking lot and ruining them for a twenty-minute walk home. And your umbrella? In your locker before the school shut. Useless.

You exhale sharply through your nose. This. Is. Hell.

Then you hear it—the unmistakable sputtering engine of a shitty old van. You don't even have to look. You know it's him. The crusty Loded Diper van, coughing like a dying animal as it turns into the side parking lot. Well, he's definitely got a cold. 

The worst part is... it makes you feel something. That little swoop in your stomach like you're twelve and about to do something bad. Not that you did anything bad at twelve of course; your parents would kill you.

You glance over your shoulder and yep. There he is.

Rodrick Heffley, hanging out the driver's window, hair wet and clinging to his forehead, that stupid, smug smirk already forming.

"You waiting for your prince charming or just standing there hoping to get electrocuted?"

You glare at him. "Fuck off."

He raises his eyebrows, grinning wider. "Oooh. She's mad. Bet you'd kill for a ride right about now."

"I'd rather get trench foot."

Rodrick cackles. "Your funeral, princess."

You go back to fuming, but the rain starts really coming down now—like aggressively. Wind whipping, drops slamming into the pavement like nails. The overhang does nothing. Your skirt's starting to cling to your legs. Your hair is frizzing.

Your teeth are grinding.

And he's still sitting there, engine running, arms folded across the window like he's waiting. Watching.

You glance at your phone again—2%.

You sigh so hard your soul leaves your body and you swear you're dehydrated.

Then you stomp toward him.

Rodrick watches you approach like he's seeing a miracle. "Wow. I didn't think I'd see the day."

"Shut up. My shoes are gonna get ruined." You make sure to step only on your tiptoes because at least you can scrub the tips of the shoes later.

"You care more about your shoes than your lungs?"

"You drive a van with blood stains on the dashboard AND you smoke," you snap, yanking the passenger door open. "Don't talk to me about lungs."

He bursts out laughing. Like actual laughing, head thrown back, teeth showing.

You don't smile. But you don't not smile either and let your eyes flicker up feverently

Once you open the door, you're instantly hit with the smell of stale Red Bull, old band stickers, and maybe a little weed. He watches you squirm and refuse to actually go inside, standing with the passenger door open.

"You're gonna survive, drama queen."

"Oh my god, kill me."

He stares down at how tired you look. Not dishevelled because god forbid you don't look perfect. But just like you haven't eaten and definitely don't think you will. Then he says it.

"Hey alright if you won't get in... wanna break into the school instead?"

You blink. "What?"

"I mean, might as well. It's dry in there, and the vending machine owes me a Snickers." His mouth goes dry; was he too obvious?

"You idiot."

"What?"

"That's illegal."

He shrugs. "So is sneaking out after curfew and trying to drown in your bathtub, but hey—who's counting?"

Your jaw drops. "Are you seriously joking about that?!"

He pauses. His smile flickers—just for a second. Then it's back.

"C'mon. Better than sitting here with wet socks and... what the fuck are those shoes?"

"You're disgusting." You scowl, then straighten, looking offended, "Mary Janes! They're lovely and expensive."

"...Who the fuck is Mary? And what does she have to do with Jane? Mary the mother of fucking Jesus..." He narrows his eyes, letting out a huff of disbelief before quickly adding, "But you're curious, admit it." 

You deadpan. Why are you trying to explain shoes to him?

But...You hate that he's right. You hate that you're climbing out of the van and following him to the back entrance because you're not expecting dinner on the table when you get home. And a bag of crisps sounds like heaven. You hate that he has a key; well, no, it's a piece of trash-bin plastic that's been sanded down until it fits in the hole.

"What?" He notices you staring, your bag over your head as the rain chucks down. "I'm not completely stupid."

"Where did you even get that?"

He just smiles, slamming his fist down on the handle until the screws rattle.

You hate that it works. And you hate that he just KNOWS how to jiggle the door the right way like some delinquent raccoon. Like the type in kids cartoons and the hero would probably be a mouse or something...

But most of all, you hate that the school feels peaceful when it's empty. Too quiet. Like it's holding its breath.

And you don't say anything when the door clicks shut behind you.

Like, stupidly quiet.

No screaming 9th graders. No squeaking shoes. Just the hum of the emergency exit sign and the echo of your own hesitant footsteps on the varnished gym floor. It's the kind of quiet that makes you hold your breath without realizing, like the air itself is too heavy to disturb.

Rodrick's a few steps ahead, already swaggering like he owns the place.

You follow slower, not because you're scared, but because you're... processing. The gym always smelled like cheap deodorant, sweat and failure during the day, but now? Now it smells clean. Cold. Not the kind that stung the back of your throat when you had a cold.

But like rain on brick walls and dust trapped under benches. It's nice, actually. And your heels make little taps that bounce off the walls and ceilings, each one sounding louder than the last.

You pause in the middle of the gym, spinning slowly, letting your fingers skim the hem of your skirt as you glance around. Empty bleachers. A lone basketball abandoned in the corner. It feels like you're in a dream. Or a memory that you didn't have because you're always running to catch up with something.

Rodrick whistles low. "Damn. Kinda spooky in here, huh?"

You glance at him. "I like it."

He blinks at you. That smirk he was wearing on the way in falters just a little. You swear he's about to say something real. Something serious.

But then—

"You like spooky shit 'cause you're a freak. Knew it."

You roll your eyes so hard it physically hurts. "Right. Because wanting five seconds of peace means I'm a freak. Go sniff more glue."

He gasps dramatically. "I haven't sniffed glue since, like... 10th grade, okay?"

"Congrats on the character development."

Rodrick grins wide again, nudging you with his elbow as you walk side by side. "You are freaky though— like Ananbelle. Y'know, the haunted doll and all. I could not survive in your world, by the way. All those neat rows, those skirts and tucked-in shirts? Nah. I'd rather get hit by a bus."

You snort. "I figured. You don't even survive in your world."

It hangs in the air. The words. Like you both noticed it, even if neither of you says anything.

Rodrick scratches the back of his neck, eyes darting up to the ceiling. "Yeah, well... buses are probably cleaner than my house, so."

He says it with a laugh. You don't laugh back.

You walk a little ahead of him now, the vending machines in the hallway just past the gym entrance coming into view. The kind of hallway that echoes even more—every step ricocheting off the lockers and tile like a goddamn ghost train.

You hug your arms, more from the weird tension than the cold.

Rodrick jogs ahead, slapping the side of the vending machine like it owes him money. "Alright, let's see if this bitch still eats coins for fun."

You lean against the wall, watching him fumble for change in his ripped jeans. "You know this is dumb, right?"

"Yeah, but so is the concept of school, and yet here we are."

You almost smile. You almost say something—ask him if he's okay, if he's been okay since that night. If he really meant it when he said he didn't want to wake up. If he ever thinks about you sitting there, wiping his wrists and not saying anything because you didn't know what to say.

But instead, you say, "You're shaking the machine like a divorced dad."

You watch him, punching the hell out of the machine but to no avail.

Rodrick pauses. Looks at you. Then deadpans, "I am a divorced dad. I wish my dad was divorced, on that note."

You stare at each other. For a second too long.

Then you both look away at the same time.

The silence stretches again. Comfortable and awkward all at once.

You don't mention the blood.

He doesn't mention the sobbing.

You both just... exist there. In the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant rattle of rain against the windows. And Rodrick's desperate banging against the vending machine.

Like that night never happened.

But you both know it did. And you can't take your eyes off him.

"Oh, move, I'll do it." You finally unfold your arms, pushing off wall and stomping over in your dolly-shoes.

"What—"

Rodrick's still shaking the vending machine, just one last time, like a caveman discovering technology. Coins rattle inside uselessly. Nothing moves.

He finally scoffs, stepping back with both hands up like go off, princess. "Damn, alright. Be my guest."

You square your stance in front of the machine, eyeing the stuck can of Sprite like it personally insulted you. Then, without hesitation, you rear your fist back and punch the side of it where the vent is so its a bit weaker to strike.

CLUNK.

The can drops.

Rodrick blinks. "...okay, what the f—"

But you're not done.

You latch onto the top edge of the machine, gripping it with both hands. Rodrick instinctively takes a half-step forward like you might actually flip the whole thing onto yourself.

"What are you—?"

BANG! A bag of crisps slips forward in its spiral.

Still not satisfied, you knee the glass panel. Hard. Once. Twice. A third time.

And finally, thunk—the crisps fall.

Rodrick just stares at you like you grew devil horns in real time.

"What the actual fuck?" he breathes, half-laughing, half-disturbed.

You pant a little, brushing your skirt back down like it didn't just ride up during your miniature war crime. "What?"

He's still staring. Mouth a little open. 

"...Are you okay?" he asks, slowly.

"No? I guess?"

"You just physically assaulted a vending machine like it owes you child support."

You shrug, bending down to grab the can and the crisps like it's totally normal. "This is America, Rodrick."

He scoffs like he's got any more political literacy than you do.

You drop to a crouch, snatching the crisps off the floor like a rat in a Prada jacket. Rodrick grabs the Sprite, cracking it open with a hiss and that classic clink of aluminum. You sit right there on the cold tile and start picking at the edge of the bag, tearing it open like you haven't eaten in hours—and honestly, you haven't. Not real food. Not anything warm. Not anything that didn't come out of your locker or from your planner's "emergency stash."

Rodrick watches you for a second. Just...watches. The way you hold that bag. The way you chew slower than usual. Like this shitty, half-smashed bag of crisps means something more. Like it's not just junk food, but a tiny act of survival.

He swallows thickly, lowering himself beside you.

You don't look at him. Noting him with nothing more than an hitched breath.

"Well," you mutter between bites, "wasn't expecting food on the table tonight, so... shoutout to my new favourite dinner date."

Rodrick snorts. "You're welcome, poor starving rich girl."

You nudge his shoulder, "We would still be punching the machine if it wasn't for me."

"I could've done it," he argues half-heartedly. "You just wanted to live out your WWE fantasy."

You finally look at him, eyes sharp, voice deadpan: "If I go to jail for this, you're visiting me every Sunday."

He raises his Sprite like a toast. "Only if you smuggle in Hot Cheetos. Because what makes you think I'm outrunning the police? I smell of weed and I still don't know where the blood stains on my van came from."

You both sit there, huddled under the dull blue glow of the exit sign light, sipping warm soda and sharing salt and sarcasm. Not mentioning that night. Not mentioning the bathroom. Not mentioning anything real.

Because you're teenagers. And teenagers don't talk about feelings. They beat up vending machines instead.

CLACK.

Footsteps. Echoing hard now. Closer.

Rodrick stiffens like a dog that just heard the front door.

"Shit."

You freeze mid-crunch.

He grabs your wrist—gentler than expected—and yanks you up like he's got a plan. "Come on."

"What? What the hell, where—?!"

"Shhh—" He's already dragging you, all limbs and denim jacket, toward the nearest door.

And just like that, you're sprinting behind him down the hallway, salt still on your fingertips and laughter threatening to spill. 

Rodrick slams the door shut behind you with a click just as heavy boots thump past the corridor outside. You don't dare breathe. The janitor mutters something—probably about damn kids and their sticky fingers—but keeps walking, keys jangling like a death sentence.

It's pitch black.

And cramped.

Like, stupidly cramped.

You're backed against the shelving unit full of mothball-smelling uniforms and forgotten art supplies, and Rodrick's chest is damn near pressed to yours—his jacket damp from the rain, strands of his hair dripping onto your cheek.

He's right there.

You can feel his breath fan across your face, his knee bumping between your thighs as he shifts to keep the door closed with his shoulder. The air's thick and humid, and he smells like weed, sweat, and that lemony school soap they force everyone to use.

You whisper, barely moving your lips, "Why the fuck would you pull me in here?!"

"I panicked!" he hisses back, wide-eyed in the dark. "Janitor came outta nowhere!"

"You dragged me like a horror movie man who's about to get us both killed."

He snorts under his breath. "Nah. I'd definitely trip over something first and make you go check it out."

Your arms are wedged between the wall and Rodrick's body, and you can't even shrug without bumping his stomach. "Move your elbow, it's digging into my ribs."

"Well, YOUR knee's in my crotch, so... even trade."

You both go dead silent.

A beat.

Then another.

Then—

You both break.

Snickering in your noses, hiding your mouths in your shoulders, but it's no use. The laughter escapes, muffled and breathless.

"Shut up, we're gonna get caught," you whisper-scream, tears stinging your eyes from trying to stay quiet. You think your mascara is running too.

Rodrick shushes you with the dumbest smirk—his lips are right there, you could literally tilt your chin and—

But no. Nope.

This is not the time. And definitely not the person?! Because fuck, does he even brush his teeth?

Still... the tension shifts. Something about the heat. The proximity. The fact that you're in the dark, dripping wet, pressed so close it's hard to tell where you end and he begins.

You swear you feel him shift again, more carefully this time, his fingers brushing your waist like he didn't mean to. Or maybe he did. You don't even know anymore.

He mutters under his breath, "This is the dumbest shit I've ever done."

You glance up, breath hitching. "Courtney said you've jumped off your garage roof with a trash bag as a parachute."

He grins. "Still more dignity than this." He pulls a face, like he's trying to remember something. "Isn't Courtney the one with the sparkly shoes... and those weird pants? Don't tell her I said it looks like she put spray paint on her legs."

You snort. "Don't tell her I laughed at that."

He chuckles.

But then it's quiet again.

And not the funny kind of quiet.

The kind where your heart beats louder than anything else.

You both stay like that for a moment too long. Tension simmering. Breath shared. Eyes adjusting to the dark—and it's like really seeing each other for the first time. Rain-slicked hair, flushed cheeks, Rodrick's mouth parted slightly like he wants to say something but doesn't know what.

You don't either.

So you just...don't.

You shift your weight. Your knee presses higher, barely brushing where his jeans cling to him. His breath hitches. He stiffens.

Like you're both waiting for something, anything to—

The door slams somewhere down the corridor—far off, echoing like thunder—and both of you freeze like deer in headlights.

You wait. Listen.

Nothing but the humming lights and the muffled sound of water dripping from the gutters outside.

Rodrick leans back a inch. "Coast is clear."

He pushes the door open and the closet light flickers back on as you step out. The hallway's empty again, that sterile school smell lingering in the air—ink, dust, and damp tile. You avoid looking at him, brushing past while wiping your palms on your skirt like that'll somehow erase the clammy aftermath of being pressed against him in the dark.

Neither of you say anything.

Not about the way your bodies touched.

Not about how quiet you both got once the laughing stopped.

And especially not about the way your heartbeat didn't even start to settle until he stopped looking at your mouth like that.

Rodrick scratches the back of his neck, feeling a bit guilty, keys jingling. "Wanna ride or whatever?"

You arch a brow. "What, in that disease trap?"

He rolls his eyes and starts walking. "Suit yourself. Hope you like catching pneumonia."

You follow him out of sheer spite—definitely not because the rain's still pouring or because your shoes are already soaked through or because you're lowkey exhausted and hungry and don't want to be alone.

Definitely not that.

The parking lot's a shining sheet of black, street lamps glowing yellow in puddles as Rodrick unlocks the infamous Löded Diper van. It coughs awake like a chain smoker the second he turns the key, backfiring with a 'bang!'.

"Did it just explode?!" You yelp.

"No, it's just excited to see you," he says, grinning as he pulls the door open.

You brace yourself as you climb in and immediately regret it.

It's rank.

The whole van smells like sweaty t-shirts, old fries, and maybe weed. There's a crushed Monster can rolling around under the passenger seat and what you hope is a sock clinging to the dashboard. A drumstick (not the food kind) rests precariously on the dash like a trophy.

The back is a battlefield—crumpled band flyers, half a guitar case, fast food wrappers, some girl's bra?!

You don't even ask, or want to push further when he says "That is not mine, I promise it's Mackie's."

You narrow your eyes though.

"Do you...like... have a license?" you ask, warily pulling the seatbelt across your chest and already second-guessing your choices.

Rodrick shrugs. "Define 'license.'"

You stare at him.

He stares back.

"I passed the test. Technically."

"Technically?" you repeat.

He revs the engine like he's in a race car. "You in or not?"

You mutter under your breath, "I better not die in a fucking van named after diarrhea."

He grins.

You buckle up.

The rain smears across the windshield, and the van groans as he pulls out of the lot, the silence between you hanging heavy, hot, and unspoken.

You both pretend none of it mattered amongst the silence. A silence that gets annoying after a while

Rodrick taps the grimy aux button, and static crackles through the busted speakers before the van fills with screaming guitars and throat-shredding vocals.

It's loud.

Like shake-the-door-handles loud. Like "do the brakes even work?" loud.

You wince instinctively. "Seriously?"

He just smirks, drumming on the steering wheel with his fingers like he's doing a live concert. "Best part's coming up."

You cross your arms. "Shut up."

His hands still. "Okay, damn..."

He doesn't say anything else.

Just hums along under his breath, barely audible over the chaos, like he's used to people telling him to shut up. Like maybe, for once, he was hoping you'd say you liked it. Maybe so you can both bond over something that isn't your tendency to try and kill yourselves.

You don't admit that you kinda do like it. That the drums make your chest feel less empty, that the screaming empties your head. That maybe... maybe it feels good.

But you don't say that. Obviously.

You just sit there and let the noise fill the space.

Until the van rolls up to your street and your chest locks up.

"Wait. Shit—stop the car. Just—stop like here."

Rodrick slows the van, confused. "What? This ain't your house."

"I know. Just—don't pull up to the driveway. My parents might be home."

His brow furrows, expression shifting ever so slightly. "You act like I'm gonna sell you meth on the porch."

You glance at your perfect little lawn in the distance, porch lights glowing like search beams. "They'd probably assume worse."

He doesn't respond right away. He looks at you and starts to understand your reasoning. You're in a short skirt, in a white van, with a guy... and he starts to realise why your legs were shaking the whole way here. He feels a little sick. 

Eventually, he yields and puts the van in park. Hands still on the wheel. Staring ahead.

You undo your seatbelt like it's a bomb timer and gather your things. "Thanks for the ride," you mutter quickly, grabbing the handle.

Rodrick nods. "Yep."

You step out, slamming the van door harder than necessary. The rain's still a soft drizzle now, but your heart's thudding as you tiptoe across the wet grass in your school shoes, trying not to be seen through the blinds.

Rodrick's headlights blink off behind you.

But he doesn't pull away right away.

He watches you sneak to your house like you're part of someone else's world. Some world that doesn't have room for a guy like him.

Then he sighs, mutters something to himself, and finally shifts into drive. 

You did look back—just slightly because you can't help but think of him. But you can't see that obnoxious van anymore.

Gone, like he was never there. He shouldn't have been there in the first place.

You manage to slip through the front door like a shadow, already kicking off your shoes and trying to shake the rain off your jacket without tracking mud.

For a second, you think maybe you got lucky.

The house is too quiet.

No clinking plates. No murmured TV. No laughter from your mother watching her dramas.

Just silence.

Until—

"Where the hell were you?"

Your dad's voice slams into you from the hallway. He's standing there in his office shirt, sleeves rolled up and veins pulsing at his temple like he's been waiting just for this moment.

You freeze. "I—I had to walk. It rained, and then I—"

He steps forward. "Don't lie to me. I saw the van. You think I don't know who Rodrick Heffley is? You think I'm stupid?"

You flinch at the name. Not because you're ashamed of Rodrick, but because of the way your dad says it. Like filth.

"I didn't—he just gave me a ride. That's all. It wasn't—"

Your mom appears in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed, face unreadable.

"You weren't answering your phone," she says. Her voice is calm, but cold. "We were worried."

That's a lie. She didn't call. Neither of them did.

You stand there dripping in the hallway, heart pounding like a guilty thief. "The rain ruined it. My phone's dead."

Your dad's jaw clenches. "You're dressed like a slut, sneaking out of some loser's van—"

"I wasn't—!"

And then the world gets smaller.

His hand slams down on the coffee table. Not on you. It's never on you but you wish it was sometimes — just so you'd have a reason to be angry. But the bang makes you flinch like it did. Like it always does.

You shrink into yourself.

"I've told you." he hisses. "I will not have a daughter who ends up like—like that family. Frank Heffley's a joke, oh please, have you seen what happened at that house a few months ago? The cops had to come after his son pulled that party. Remember, honey?"

You swallow hard, biting down your tongue as your mother nods in agreement from the kitchen, slightly softer, "Sweetie, just stay away from him, alright?"

Your father doesn't let your reply. Not immediately and cutting you off with a, "Sweetie, you're a pretty girl, what wouldn't tempt...a boy like him?"

You feel sick and hungry at the same time.

Dinner isn't even on the table. Did they forget or was that on purpose? 

They waited for you—but not to eat or ask if you were okay. To catch you. To scare you because they're the only ones capable of that.

Did they know? Know how scared you felt when your phone was dying, it was raining and you stood there waiting for almost an hour? Did they know you had to steal from a vending machine because you knew they would have dinner without you? Did they know your last resort was a loser's van and you did consider the worst the whole ride, tugging your skirt down as far as it would go as you sat in the passenger seat, no matter how much you felt you could trust Rodrick?

You nod slowly. "Okay," you whisper. "I'm sorry."

Your dad exhales, but his expression softens in a way that makes you remember that you do love them, "I'm just worried, okay? Wash up, the rain must have gotten to you."

You stare at your mother who's filling a hot-water bottle for you like they didn't just almost bash your head in.

You're up the stairs before he can say anything else.

You lock the door.

And sit on the floor.

Back pressed against the wood. It takes everything in you to CRAWL pathetically across your room into your bathroom and shut the door

The room feels cold and you honestly prefer the bathroom where you were half naked in a literal blood bath.

Rodrick's van smelled like sweat, chips and teen boys and you kinda smell like that too.

But you'd take that over this house any day because no amount of fruit-scented soap is going to give you the same kind of comfort, no matter how much you scrub.

And yeah, you were scrubbing like you were trying to peel off some invisible grime, sitting naked in your shower, rubbing at your legs too hard on purpose. But on purpose didn't mean you were aware.

You scrubbed old scars and new scars alike, until you weren't even trying to clean yourself anymore.

You stand in the shower, the spray pounding down in a steady rhythm that barely touches the noise in your head. The soap slips through your fingers as you lather it across your arms, your stomach, your thighs—just scrubbing. At first, it's mechanical. Just skin. Just routine. But your hands don't stop. They press harder, movements erratic, like you're trying to erase something beneath the surface. Red blooms under your fingers and you don't notice—not really—until the sting hits.

The soap seeps into every cut—sharp, chemical, angry. You hiss, blinking down at the pale lines on your thighs, a few reopened like they've been waiting for this. The soap burns where it creeped in, like punishment. You curse under your breath, louder than you mean to, fumble for the tap and twist it cold. The shock of freezing water makes you gasp. You sit, holding the shower head over your legs like it'll undo the damage, let the cold wash it away until it numbs.

It makes you think about Rodrick and you hate it.

But for Rodrick?

The second Rodrick steps into the house, the familiar wave of stale coffee, baby wipes, and whatever Greg left in the microwave last night hits him.

He barely gets a boot off before his dad's voice cuts through the hallway.

"You know, I check the gas mileage on that van."

Rodrick rolls his eyes before Frank even appears.

"Cool. You want a cookie?" he mutters, half-kicking off his other boot, soaked and heavy with rain.

Frank Heffley storms into the foyer, arms crossed over his polo shirt, reading glasses sliding halfway down his nose like he's been waiting for this argument all day. "Don't get smart with me, Rodrick. Where were you this time?"

Rodrick shrugs off his jacket with a wet slap to the floor. "Just driving."

"Driving," Frank repeats with venom. "Wasting gas I paid for to go who-knows-where doing God-knows-what. Did you attend last semester's grading exam?"

Rodrick licks his back teeth. "Didn't want to"

"You think life's just gonna hand you success? You think being in a band gives you a future?" Frank's voice is rising. "You're not getting through highschool, Rodrick. You're going to leave with a GED and an attitude! Nothing else."

"And a van," Rodrick mutters.

Frank steps forward. "You think this is funny?"

"No," Rodrick says, voice flat. "But you yelling at me like I'm a dog? Real inspiring."

Susan wanders in with Manny on her hip. The toddler's grinning, smashing a cracker into his mouth with slobbery fingers.

"Frank," she says quietly, rocking Manny, "maybe this isn't the—"

Frank throws a hand up. "No. He needs to hear this. All he does is sleep in, drive around with god knows who, and mope in the garage pretending he's gonna be a rockstar."

Rodrick clenches his jaw. "Better than pretending I ever gave a shit what you think."

Greg pokes his head out of the living room. "Whoa. Round three already? It's not even eight."

Rodrick shoots him a glare. "Go back to your little diary, Greg."

Greg holds his hands up in surrender, vanishing before Frank can redirect the storm onto him.

"I work sixty hours a week," Frank's still going, "to keep this roof over your head. I didn't raise a loser, Rodrick. You think I hit you when you were younger because I liked it? I was trying to make a man out of you."

Rodrick thinks about the time he thought he was going to die at the hands of his angry father in the changing rooms at like 12 years old when Mr. Hitch kicked him off the soccer team.

Rodrick's face twists. "No, you did it because you were pissed. That's it."

For a moment, Frank's jaw tightens, like he's deciding whether to throw something or throw words sharper than fists.

But Rodrick doesn't give him the chance.

He walks past him.

Up the stairs.

Two at a time.

Frank doesn't follow.

Susan just sighs and coos to Manny, swaying like this isn't the hundredth time this has happened.

Rodrick's door slams shut behind him. The posters on his walls rattle.

The room smells like socks, spilled Monster, and stale weed from god knows when.

He flops down on the bed and stares at the ceiling.

The silence rings in his ears.

He thinks of you.

Your voice echoing in the gym and that little twirl you did in pure awe at the silence.

The way you punched that vending machine like you were trying to knock your own anger loose. The half-smirk you gave him when the food finally dropped. Like you wanted to laugh but were too tired to.

You looked at that bag of chips like it was more than just junk food. Like it was survival.

And god, that look in your eyes when the janitor came. The heat of your body pressed against his in that cramped-ass closet.

But its not all sunshine and rainbows—not when he saw how your legs shook in his passenger seat and he hates how he's NOT stupid enough to not understand why. 

You didn't run from him, though. Okay, yeah you did look at him like he was nothing. But hey, he'll let that slide.

He grabs the pillow behind his head and presses it over his face to distract the fact he's staring at his bedside dresser, where his razors and blunts are.

Maybe you'll never talk to him again.

Maybe tonight was a glitch in the system.

But he'd rather be caught dead in a storm with you again than ever sit through another dinner where he's just a punchline in his own family.

click for part 1 click for part 2 click for part 3 click for part 4 click for part 5 click for part 6 click for part 7 click for part 8 click for part 9 click for part 10 click for part 11 click for part 12

♡ Please do not modify, steal, plagarise or post on other platforms without asking. Thank you! Please do leave requests!

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

I know that you don't take request right now but I just had to submit this one before I forget it lol. I'm hoping that you'll write it when your requests are open again?

So anyway, reader is ridoc's twin/sister (he's hilarious) and she walks in on someone trying to kill bodhi so she helps bodhi fight him and later takes care of his injury and he falls for her. The following days someone keeps leaving little gifts for her (protective ridoc lol) and reader approaches bodhi to ask what he's doing and he confesses that he likes her

Not exactly like the request but close by and way longer than I thought it would be. So many of you bad missed Bodhi so here we are.

Angel eyes

It truly was luck. Luck and nothing more. You had separated from the girls after your nightly walk. A way you bunch decompressed after a long day of training. It felt better like that. Easier. With no one able to walk in on you chatting. You had stayed out longer after swearing to be careful, simply because the night was warm and you enjoyed nothing more than being able to watch the stars. They reminded you of home. All the people you had left behind.

You had rounded the staircase not longer than an hour later when you heard muffled sounds. Not a lot of cadets followed the curfew hours so at first you brushed it off to someone sneaking around the same way you were. Just the higher you climbed the more it didn’t sound like innocent chatter. No. It sounded as if someone was struggling. The scraping against the rock walls. The pained growls. You pulled the blade from your boot, one that your brother had kindly gifted you. Testing the weight of it in your palm before letting your senses guide you to the noise. It probably wasn’t all that smart to approach something like that alone but something from deep within urged you to.

And there there they were. Two males held Bodhi’s hands while the third one sent punches into his stomach. The sight made you stumble for a moment. Bodhi was a great fighter. You had the honor of being assigned him as a partner on the mats. This felt wrong. They have had to drug him. Used something to weaken his link with Cuir. Blood that soaked the gag now had been the thing that sent you into action.

Using the shadows to your advantage. You crept closer. Sending your brother’s dagger flying. Not stopping to look if it landed the target because you knew that it did. And there was no time to admire your handy work. The less time they had to realize that they weren’t alone anymore the better. Right as the dagger met the guy who’s been punching Bodhi neck, your hands were already around the second male's neck twisting it with a painful crack.

It’s the third guy who instantly backs away from Bodhi, sending his body crumpling to the ground. He’s the one to meet your black eyes. You can feel that he wants to run. That he’s panicking. That he’s petrified because he can’t move. Your power is too deep in his system. “Lucky for you, I need someone to speak about this to”, you step closer to him, “And you will voluntarily do it, won’t you?”, he barely nods, shallow breaths barely hitting his lungs. You smile up at him watching as he tries to do the same but your power seizes his muscles. Making him hit the floor too as he wriggles in soundless spasms.

You turn back to Bodhi, who had crawled to rest against the wall. Hand draped over his middle. You cross the distance in a couple of smooth strides, dropping to your knees. Bodhi instantly flinched trying to pull back. You two weren’t necessarily strangers but you weren’t friends. He was in the ranks up above the group of people you hang out with. But you saw him around, trained at times.

“Let me help”, you muttered, “Can I pull your shirt up?” You caught his gaze, right as he pulled the blood rag from his mouth. His nod was subtle. Easy to miss but you caught it nodding alongside him. Gently pull up the material.

“Shit”, you hissed. The skin was already turned black and blue. They sure didn’t hold back, “You need to… We need to get you to the healers”. A slight panic flickered in your chest. His friends were on patrol tonight too. Meaning you quite literally had no help to call out to. But Bodhi didn’t even nod as he watched you.

“Bodhi, you need to show me that you can hear me, okay?”, you muttered, cupping his cheek with your palm. “I will get you some help”, you nodded at him, looking into the eyes of someone who seemed to look past you now. Cursing beneath your breath you turned around looking at the corridors that stretched out, hoping to find any sort of movement. “Pretty”, the sound was groggy and tired. You halted. “So… pretty”, he breathed out. “What?”, you muttered, your eyes catching his one last time before his body slumped down.

Bodhi felt like his whole body was on fire. At times he was sure that he had died and it was the flames of the underworld liking at his skin. But in flashes of consciousness, there were voices. Muffed ones and unrecognizable. But most importantly there was a girl. One that constantly leaned over him, brushing at his hair. Her cold fingers felt heavenly against Bodhi’s burning skin. And those eyes. Those gorgeous eyes looked down at him. So pretty. So unbelievably pretty.

Quite frankly Bodhi was convinced that whoever his angel was he had dreamed. Hallucinated. Until he had finally been able to get to the main floors. Both Xaden and Garrick were on either side of him. Even if they said that they weren’t worried they had been mother hens to him ever since.

But only a couple of steps in Bodhi halted. A full-body shiver ran through him. It felt like a fever dream all over again. “What is it?”, Garrick gripped Bodhi’s upper arm but he didn’t know. He couldn’t seem to get his words out. “I told you that you should have still stayed in bed, Bodhi, damn”, Xaden stepped in front of his cousin. Bodhi shook his head, pulling at Xaden’s shoulder, “Her”, he breathed.

Both males turned to where Bodhi was pointing, before sharing a look. They had interrogated the one suspect who had been neatly delivered all tied up. But no one knew who had done the handy job because Bodhi’s stories had been well… rather delirious. “What about her?”, Garrick asked, look at the way Bodhi glanced at you as if you had carried the moon and sun. “That’s Ridoc’s sister, Bodhi. Violet’s friend”, Xaden muttered.

Bodhi pulled at their grip, rushing through the crowd. He knew he had seen you before but this. You looked like an angel in his head and now you were here. “You”, he breathed, making you turn your head at the new voice. “Durran, good to see you on your feet”, you shot him a smile. You didn’t want to make a big fuss. No one knew what had happened that night and you preferred it that way. “You were there. I saw you”, he muttered. Your brother raised his eyebrow shooting you a strange look. So much for a secret.

“Come”, you pulled at his hand, wanting to get away from the crowd of people. “Look, I did what I had to”, you breathed as you two rounded the corner of a more secluded area, “If your friend needs help with solving…” but you didn’t get to finish the sentence as two strong arms warped around your shoulder. Your body stiffened for a second. He was hugging you… You slowly raised your arms as well, careful to not hurt him. The bruises on his body still vivid in your head.

“Thank you”, Bodhi breathed, “I thought I had imagined you”. You chuckled, “Most would say that’s quite a nightmare”. Budhi shook his head as he slowly pulled away, “I thought quite the opposite”, he admitted, swallowing thickly, “I thought you were an angel. Your eyes…”, he muttered moving to cup your cheek. You felt your face burning crimson, fighting the urge to look down. “So pretty”, he breathed out.

“Is that what you were referring to back in the corridor when I…”, you frowned. Surely, not. He wouldn’t have noticed that. “Yeah…”, Bodhi breathed, his face growing red as he pulled back, clearing his throat, “Sorry, that’s stupid”. But you caught his wrist, “No, it’s sweet. No had ever thought that they were… well… pretty”. Your eyes locked and for a moment you two just stood in silence. “Can we meet up sometime?”, Bodhi breathed after a moment. You chuckled, “Sure, if you’re not scared that my brother will kill you with a fork”, you nodded towards the table where Ridoc had unfortunately seen you two talk. So much for a secluded spot. Bodhi huffed, “I think, I can handle a fork”.

[searchforahero]

Hi!! I just came across your competitive swimming DickTim thoughts and I adore the world you’re building there!! The image of Tim wearing Dick’s chlorine and mildew parka because Dick said he should is In My Brain. Firmly.

Do you have any other thoughts you’d like to share for that universe?

Either way, thank you so much for sharing and have a lovely day!

omg i'm so glad you asked this is like my fav AU! (here and here)

i do indeed have a lot of thoughts!!! competitive swimming AUs are my all time favorites to make.

for general AU stuff (dicktim thoughts are below this if you're just here for those o7):

bruce used to be a competitive swimmer when he was a kid, so was martha so she put him in it

when they died he stopped swimming and withdrew into himself. the gotham swim club eventually became very run down and eventually closed

when bruce takes in dick he invests in re-opening the swim club and renovating the pool so dick will have a way to burn off energy and they'll hopefully have a way to connect with each other

the club is soon restored to it's former glory and dick is absolutely their star athlete

bruce isn't qualified to be the head coach or anything, so he doesn't coach dick anymore, but he coaches some of the newer and younger kids until they move up through the groups

helena is still a teacher but she also coaches swimming after work, she mostly works with kids of intermediate level who have been with the club for a while but aren't quite ready to be with the fastest training group. she still trains masters too and is a high level athlete in the region

her and bruce frequently clash regarding the best way to train the swimmers and the structure of the club (bruce has a fair bit of control in this regard as the primary investor for the club)

catherine doesn't die in this AU because. i want her and jason to have good things.

catherine used to pay for memberships each summer at the community pool and jason loved swimming, but then the great recession hit and they had to stop (because this is set in the 2000s-2010s dont worry about it lol)

however, she found out about a program WE was doing to make it possible for more kids to join the gotham swim club and was able to sign him up

jason adores racing, and he's good at it too

he doesn't really connect with any of his teammates super well so he usually ends up sitting by the coaches table and writing down splits for bruce during meets or talking to bruce

he is absolutely 100% bruce's favorite kid he coaches but he doesn't let people Know that

eventually when jasons old enough he gets a job assistant coaching for the younger groups

tim joins the swim club. this has nothing to do with an article in the paper about gotham's rising star swimmer who just happens to be the same boy he met at the circus when he was a little kid or anything. nope

dick is tim's coach for his first two years with the club, but he improves so quickly that soon he's training alongside jason and dick in the fastest training group. he's one of the younger athletes in the group but he has dick watching his back so he gets on with everyone pretty well

steph's been in water polo since she was a little kid and sometimes she had to hang around at the pool before or after practice since her mom was at work. she spent a lot of that time watching the other swimmers and chatting with the coaches. as a result her and jason are friends

she hit tim in the face with a water polo ball by accident while training in the deep pool, smushing his goggles into his face and leaving a nasty red mark. this is how they first met

bruce adopts cass and brings her to the pool with him when he has practice, expecting that she'll probably want to join the swim club, but she sees the synchro team practising in the deep pool and is immediately enamoured

she likes to pop under the lane rope to race with the swimmers. her breath control is insane, even among other synchro swimmers and she loves using this to just go back and forth underwater and pop up behind her friends

league of assassins is a private swim club now. because i said so. damian is their best athlete even for his age and it's almost guaranteed he'll be going to the olympics once he's old enough

he has to move in with bruce when he's about 10-12, dick ends up doing a lot of training with him 1-1 so he wont fall behind while not training with talia

not sure what i want to do with duke and babs (my two favs... how did this happen...) yet for this AU but i will post about them as soon as i know...

Best Races:

bruce: 100m freestyle dick: 100m butterfly helena: 400m IM jason: 200m backstroke tim: 200m butterfly steph: no specific race but breaststroke cass: 200m butterfly, she also doesn't race but her breath control makes her cracked at this damian: 200 IM

(200m butterfly over-representation means nothing and says nothing about me)

More Dicktim:

tim became a butterflyer because he watched dick do the 100m butterfly on TV and was immediately obsessed. he is actually naturally better at breaststroke

dick and tim will get in the pool after practice and just do laps chatting and kicking or treading water side by side

when tim first travelled for a competition dick was determined to make it an Experience and so they ended up hitting a lot of landmarks after the race was over also and tim has an entire photo album dedicated to that weekend because he took so many pictures

once they're adults tim lives closer to the pool than dick so dick frequently crashes at his place the night before early training or a competition so "he doesn't have to commute as far" (so he can hang out with tim)

this has resulted in many an early morning of them getting ready together in exhausted silence

they lead a training camp abroad together and share a room for the entire week long trip it is a whole Thing (i should write a fic about this actually... hrmm...)

[everything-is-as-it-was]

My TIT Berlin experience!

Here's all the things that happened during the show that stood out to me as probably things that don't always happen/ were specific to our show:

They came out wearing shorts because it was a super hot day in Berlin, Dan said they had performed in the same venue for ii as well and distinctly remembers rivulets of sweat cascading down his arms

They made the dolls 69 :(

During the Phil Doctor bit, people shouted "scheiße" for the first one, and the typer write it as "scheisse." Dan asked "do we not have the B thing?!" and the person then proceeded to write "scheisseBBBB" on the screen. We had the same answer for the NEXT two questions and they were written: "scheiBBBBe" and then simply "BBBBB"

Phil seemed to forget a line and laughed after Dan looked at him pointedly at the beginning of the game show bit

Dan had to repeat the fact that they put Vegas pages in Tabinof twice in order for them to actually put it on the screen

Someone shouted cat whiskers when Dan asked what their legacy would be

The wrestling went as expected (notable instances include but are not limited to: Phil shoving the pompoms of a hat while standing over Dan. Dan trying to hit Phil with a metal chair. Phil slamming Dan's head into said metal chair. Dan biting Phil. Dan holding Phil hostage, prompting Phil to ram his ass into his crotch. Three times.)

Dan was very very sweaty after the wrestling (lol)

After Dan's little monologue once the wrestling was over, Phil came out and there was a super awkward pause where I think someone forgot their lines (I remember there being a pause and Phi saying "......what are you talking to them about?"

The confessions bit:

Someone pegged a cop that was their ex's friend

Two ppl got engaged

Person's friend cancelled on them so they sold their ticket to buy merch (this was also stated on a card in the phlit during the pre show)

During the dance bit Phil was very obviously looking at Dan. Dan was very into it but Phil is so me in that he looked quite honestly lost lmao

After the show we stood by the stage door and Dan and Phil came out in a big black van with tinted windows. It was very difficult to see inside lol. Then about 15 minutes later one of the members of their staff (british ginger guy with a beard) came out and said "they" (dnp ig) texted him and wanted to make sure people weren't waiting at the door anymore since they were gone, so he just wanted to let us know they'd already left in case we didn't know.

[stumped-on-bennington]

You and Me (and Me and You)

Smut!

Pairing: Pete wentz x masc!reader

Summary: Your friend, Patrick, invites you over to meet the rest of his band, particularly his bass player.

Warnings!: unprotected sex, P in A sex, male on male, slightly public(?) sex, drinking and drug use

Word count: 1,750+

Author note: I know i said i wouldn't write smut, but I just need to get this out of me lol

It had already been a long night when Y/N got a text from his friend, Patrick.

Y/N opened his phone and read the message.

Patrick: hey, man. Me and the band are hanging out at our bass player's house. Wanna come and hang for a bit?

Y/N sighed. He had already been up early that day for work, lifeguarding at one of Chicago's indoor pools. Y/N looked at the time in the corner of his phone. 9:34PM.

Y/N: idk, man. I've been up since like 5am. Maybe next time?

Y/N hit send and within a second Patrick had sent a follow up.

Patrick: come on, man! It'll be fun! The guys want to meet you. I told them how you're a wiz with lyrics and stuff and our bass player, pete, wants to pick your brain

Y/N sighed again before begrudgingly agreeing

Y/N: ok, but I'm not going to stay all night and drink too much. I'm exhausted.

Famous last words.

~~~

When Y/N got to the address that Patrick had sent, they saw it was a massive house. Too big and in too nice of a neighborhood to be owned by his bandmate. Probably his parents' house. Y/N thought.

When Y/N got to the door, Patrick opened it and greeted him, bringing him down to the basement.

Introductions were quick, Patrick pointing to the 3 other men in the large room. There was Andy, the one covered from his neck down in tattoos, Joe, the curly haired one who was taller than the rest of them, but not as tall as Y/N, and then there was Pete.

Y/N instantly took note of him. His hair, the emo style of clothing he wore, and the smudge eyeliner on his bottom lid.

Quickly, a beer was handed to Y/N. The 5 men sat on the couch and chairs in the basement as Andy and Joe played some game on the PS2. Patrick began the conversation, talking about how Y/N had helped him write some lyrics for his old bands and solo stuff. Y/N tried to downplay his writing, saying it was just some random poems and stuff he had previously posted on livejournal.

Pete lit up, leaning forward, his arms resting on his knees as he talked to Y/N.

“I write poems on livejournal too! It's actually where Patrick pulls a lot of other lyrics for our songs. I guess old habits die hard, huh?” Pete said, chuckling a little at the end.

~~~

The night went on, and beers had turned into vodka, which turned into weed. Andy and Joe had already headed out, but Patrick kept insisting “just one more” about 20 times. Y/N looked at his phone and saw it was already 3:56AM and he was too wasted to go home.

“Is it alright if I stay the night? I really can't be trying to drive home like this’” Y/N said.

Pete swayed over, throwing his arm around Y/N. “For sure! Any friend of Patrick's is a friend of mine! Plus you're pretty cool, so you're free to crash here any time, man!” Pete slurred over his words before standing up and walking up stairs to go grab some blankets and pillows.

Once Pete left the room, Patrick leaned over to Y/N.

“So, what do you think?” He asked Y/N, a wide smile on his face.

“I think your bandmates are pretty cool.” Y/N said.

Patrick rolled his eyes, “No, like I mean about Pete. I think you and him would make a great pair. AND he's bi! So it would totally work out!”

Y/N leaned back on the couch and put his hands on his face as he began to blush a bit. “Christ, Trick. Is that what this was all about? Dude, I said I was a little bi-curious once and you go and try to set me up with your bass player?”

“Come on, Y/N. He's a cool dude and I think he's into you too!” Patrick said.

Before Y/N could protest anymore, they heard Pete's footsteps coming back down the stairs, in his arms were several blankets.

“Alright! I'll set up the couch mattress and then someone can sleep on the recliner.” Pete said as he put the blankets down on a chair.

“I'll sleep on the recliner!” Patrick said before Y/N could even open his mouth.

~~~

In a few minutes, everything was set up. The couch bed was sloppily made and Pete was putting a DVD on.

“I sleep better with background noise, is that ok?” He asked Y/N.

Y/N nodded, crawling under the blanket on the bed. Pete turned off the lights and crawled into the other side of the bed.

As the movie barely began to play, Patrick was already snoring. Y/N laid in the bed, only slightly paying attention to the movie as he tried to just fall asleep, but before his mind could fade, Pete turned on his side to face Y/N.

“So, Patrick says you're a lifeguard, right? That's pretty cool.” He says, his voice just above a whisper.

Y/N turned towards him and nodded, “Oh, yeah. I guess. I mean, most days I just end up watching old people swim and get hit on by everybody.”

Pete watched Y/N talk as he held his head up on his arm, his elbow pressing down into the thin mattress.

“You know, I always had this fantasy. Where I'd be drowning in a pool and get saved by this super hot lifeguard, and after he pulls me out and makes sure I'm OK, I ask how I can replay him, and he just takes me into a changing room and fucks me right then and there.”

Y/N froze as Pete inched closer to him, his free hand slowly running down Y/N's chest, stopping to palm his crotch through his pants. Y/N's hips buck involuntary into Pete's hand, his member stiffening.

“I know we're not at a pool, but I do think you could still be rewarded for your service.” Pete says before moving his hand again, plunging it down into Y/N's pants, his fingers wrapping around Y/N’s now hard cock.

A shaky breath leaves Y/N's throat and he arches his back, wanting more of Pete's touch. Pete takes the opportunity to kiss Y/N, his tongue instantly moving around his mouth. Y/N melts and quickly grabs onto Pete, wanting to deepen the kiss. Y/N bucks his hips in time with Pete's pumps as he chases his release, but before Y/N can even get close, Pete removes his hand.

Y/N lets out a slight moan of disappointment, but before he can ask why Pete stopped, Pete is already moving the blanket off of Y/N and pulling down his jeans.

As Y/N's cock springs from his boxers, a devilish grin spreads on Pete's face before he licks the tip. Y/N bites his lip as he tries to hold back a moan, desperate not to wake Patrick, who was only a few feet away.

Pete began to bob his head up and down Y/N's length, his eyes now looking up at Y/N, barely illuminated by the glow of the TV. Y/N threaded his fingers through Pete's hair, messing up his emo fringe as he forced Pete to take even more of his cock into his throat. Pete moaned around Y/N's cock, sending a vibration through Y/N's body. But once again, before Y/N could reach his peak, Pete removed his cock from his mouth.

Y/N watched as Pete sat up, quickly taking off his jeans and boxers, exposing his own hard dick. Pete leaned down and spit on Y/N's cock before positioning himself above him. Pete gave Y/N a few strokes before moving down and pressing the tip of Y/N dick at his entrance and slowly moving further down before it slid in.

Both Pete and Y/N let out a sigh and sat still just for a moment, adjusting to the new feeling. After a few seconds, Pete began to bounce, letting Y/N cock almost all the way out before sliding back down to the base.

Y/N fought back moans as Pete bounced up and down, fucking himself on Y/N's cock.

“Don't worry,” Pete said, “ Patrick is a heavy sleeper. Besides,” Pete leaned down, his lips brushing against Y/N's ear, “I really want to hear you say my name.”

Y/N's eyes widened, lust taking over his body as his hands flew to Pete's hips, pulling his body down as his hips bucked up. Pete gasped in surprise as Y/N took control of him.

Y/N gave Pete a devilish smile as he watched him go submissive.

“Is this what you wanted? The big strong lifeguard to pound your ass as your friend sleeps next to you? I bet you want to cum all over me, don't you, Pete?” Y/N spoke just loud enough for Pete to hear him over the sound of the movie and their skin slapping.

Pete moaned as he quickly nodded his head. Y/N moved one hand from pete’s hips to his cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts.

“I'm so close, Y/N!” Pete moaned.

“cum with me, Pete. I want you to coat me with your cum as I fill your ass with mine.” Y/N said as his grip tightened on Pete’s cock and his pace quickened.

Pete leaned back, his head falling back as he let out a guttural moan, hot ropes of cum shooting from his dick, landing all over Y/N’s stomach and chest.

“Fuck, Pete!” Y/N shouted as he held Pete down, forcing his cum to shoot deep inside Pete. The two stilled for a moment, panting as they came down from their high. Eventually, Pete gets up, Y/N’s now soft member slipping free from Pete’s entrance. Before Y/N can move, Pete is licking his own cum off of Y/N’s stomach and chest.

“Oh, fuuuckk.” Y/N says as his head falls back.

“Sorry about the mess, I'm not really known as the cleanest person.” Pete says with a wicked smile.

Oh, Christ. Y/N thought, this guy is going to be the death of me.

[dandeleon]

BONUS POST ABT MY ADIPOCERE & URAPOCERE AMVS BC I FEEL LIKE YAPPING 😋 HASHTAG AUTISM

-

hiiii first of all tysm for all the nice tags & comments on both of these it genuinely means the world 2 me ^_^🩷🩷🩷🩷yay

(theres some specific tags i talk abt & look at further at the bottom of this post ^_^)

-

ok first if u read the tags on my adipocere animation u remember i said ive had the idea 4 them since august Which is true

so heres some stuff ive made b4 i realized i could make my own amvs

-

this picture uve probably seen i drew it back in like october?? I think?????

i dont like this as much anymore i wanna redraw it someday maybe

BUT

did u know i made another one with urapocere ford 2 parallel that one

it was gonna be in the same post as the other one but i didn't like how it turned out sooo it got scrapped

-

theres also this i made in early december

i think i planned on posting this but i forgor lol

feel free 2 read it all bc it still stands & is like the basis for my animations lol

-

theres also this

which i made in ms like a day or 2 before starting my animation & ended up re-using it 2 make this part:

also heres some early parts of the adipocere one:

^ this one i was planning on using which is why its coloured and animated but then i realized it looked like ass so i redid it👍

^ early ver of the beginning (threres an extra frame in the walk cycle here i think? i dont think i kept the 7th one in lol)

^early ver of uras beginning

-

heres some specific frames i like too ^_^

i think the expressions in these turned out rlly good :) esp the ford one.. my only goal for that one was to make him look like he was having the absolute worst time of his life & i think i did pretty good on that front lol

i have more but i hit the image limit LOL

anyways to finish my yap sesh off heres the last part of both animations side by side bc they parallel eachother & i think its neat :)

(hi its leon from the future, i lied here ur only halfway through this post sorry)

actually im gonna come back to this on my laptop & add more stuff maybe

if the post ends here its either bc i forgot to remove this text or tumblr decided to post this for me while trying save as draft

-

heyyy im on my laptop now ^_^ and also wondering why i didnt do it on here on the first place bc this is where all my images for this are anyways lmao

anyways!

heres more frames n stuff that i like

(most of these r from the urapocere one because that one ended up being a lot more polished)

^ frame by frame of that one part towards the end

my favs of these 4 are first & last one esp the last one i really like how that one came out ough.. the hand ended up looking rlly good imo (im a sucker for nicely drawn hands)

some particular frames from the final part i like :]

some i like bc i think they came out nice some i like cause they look goofy w/o context

an adi one!!!!

this is just that one part w/o the bg & harsh lighting

OTHER ONES!!!!!!

1: bord from the begining clip i like (theres another one i like from the same clip ill see if i can find it in my sea of folders l8r)

2: from the part near the end. i think it ended up looking cute (which was unintentional but i still like it)

3: blizzard ford (blizzardless edition)

4: fidds! i like this one :) im also running out of things to say

ALMOST FORGOR 2 PUT THIS ONE from adi

this ones probably my fav part from the whole adi amv tbh i think it turned out nice

moar fiddleford

heres that other bord one i mentioned ^_^ idky i just like how this one ended up looking lol

-

EXTRA SECTION BC THIS TAG MADE ME POG SO HARD

I DIDNT EVEN THINK OF THAT BUT IT FITS SO WELL AUGHHHHH

thank u person who added this tag ur going unamed bc i dont wanna put u on blast but ur tags on both posts made me smiles so big like. u get it🤝 u get what i was going for 🤝🤝🙏🙏🙏

i have more tags from these posts i wanted 2 add but apparently i hit the image limit :( sad

so im just gonna like vaguely mention them since i cant add images

another thing ppl tagged in the ura one was the yellow text changing the meaning to bill & i NEED u to know that was semi-unintentional. i literally just made the text yellow at the end so people didnt misinterpret that as ford saying it being like "thank GOD fiddlefart died i couldnt stand his ass lmao😂🙏" but thank you for making it look like i had a cool meaning behind it LOL. i think the concept of like it being something ford DID say about fiddleford when he quit the project & bill is repeating it back to him after finding fiddleford dead to torment him is a really cool idea actually waow.....

hold on im gonna be really normal abt that bc i think thats such a interesting way to interpret the lyrics.... like fiddleford left & ford was like "WHATEVER im finally free now without HIM around. hes gonna be looking at me enviously when IM the one with MY name and MY name ALONE on the nobel prize!!!!" & bill repeating those statements back when fiddleford is dead like "this is what u wanted!!! u wanted this!! ur free now!!!!" UGHH THATS SO COOL AND OR FUCKED UP ACTUALLY thank u to the ppl who tagged that im taking this interpretation & running with it i genuinely think its so cool omgggg

like i said in the tags of the urapocere post the lyrics were originally meant to fit fords warped view of fiddleford right after he quit the project but the mv leaves it kinda up to interpretation of whos saying what to who. my personal interpretation while making it was its kind of a mix of ford to fiddleford, ford to bill & bill to fiddleford and/or ford & literally any combination of those work i think tbh. choose ur own adventure who was the biggest hater there

also some tags on the adi one were interpreting where fidds was dragging ford to & i wanna say my personal vision of it was fiddleford kinda just finds fords body lying in the snow in the woods maybe (dont ask why fiddleford would be there.. idk cult things maybe..) and fiddlefords feels obligated to bring him back to the lab so he doesnt freeze to death (he wouldve just erased him & fords memory of it anyways) which is a bit ironic cuz fiddleford is the one who froze to death LMAO (and maybe ford did too idk... you decide)

another thing this goes back to that image towards the top of this post where i yapped abt the songs n how well they fit with fiddauthor & i wanna specifically talk abt the line talking abt icarus because??? oh my god????? literally i think that line alone is like half the reason i associate this song w/ fiddauthor so heavily bc its literally them??? fiddleford literally compares ford 2 icarus in j3 like... its too perfect..

that line alone is also the reason i added english captions to both of them i just wanted ppl to see the icarus line LMAO

another line i also mentioned in that pic was the one telling the other person to forget it all even their face & i think its pretty obvious why that one fits LOL

(feel free to add more thoughts abt them w/ these songs if u have any ^_^)

-

anyways. adipocere is my fav song ever & for the past few months ive been doing that thing where u imagine an amv in ur head to a song u like & im very happy i can like. actually look at them now. making these were alot of fun :]

i do have a LOT of personal nitpicks with these (ESP the first one) but that also might just be cause im the guy who had to make it frame by frame LOL

(one minor one is fords skintone in urapocere ended up a bit more grey than i wanted but also he is like. in the middle of being possessed & tortured by a whole ass demon soo. it works i suppose LOL [makes him look zombie-ish])

also i thought making these amvs would make me less insane abt associating these songs w/ fiddauthor but tbh i think i just strengthened it LMAO

Sorry if literally nothing in this post makes any sense im just typing shit 😭🙏

i was gonna add more in tags but it wont let me add anymore so i think that might be a sign to stfu now LMAO

[jinxsleftmiddlefinger]

timebomb highschool au

(part 7)

(pt1) (pt2) (pt3) (pt4) (pt5) (pt6) (read on ao3)

description: timebomb highschool au pretty much sums it up lol. there’s also canon storylines (vander death, vi conflict etc.) but translated into a modern context

Saturday morning. The big day. Sister reunion attempt 2.

Jinx was so nervous she thought she was going to throw up.

It’s just Vi. She tried to remind herself, but she didn’t even know Vi anymore. Her sister had become a stranger, an outsider, a rich kid bootlicker.

Before Vi had reached out to reconcile, before that disastrous meeting at the mall, Jinx used to tell herself she did not miss her sister. Her sister abandoned her, betrayed her, and why would Jinx love someone who did that? She used to say she never wanted to see her sister again, even when she would lay awake at night and feel the pain in her chest, a big sister sized hole in her stupid heart.

Only now did she admit to herself that she missed Vi. She misses the old Vi at least, just like Vi misses Powder.

And both are gone for good.

Jinx didn’t know how this meeting today would go. She could only hope for something good, and that the stupid piltie girlfriend would not be here this time. She was a little afraid of what’d she do if she saw Caitlyn again.

The voices were loud today. They weren’t always there, but when they were, it was like her mind was at war. People she used to know, the people who knew Powder, would haunt her. Jinx liked to pretend them away, to pretend she was completely normal and totally not insane.

Through the clamour in her mind, she hears Vi’s car pull into the drive way. She fiddles with her fingers, waiting for her sister to knock.

The phrase ‘It’s just Vi’ sounded less reassuring and more threatening as each second ticked by.

Even though she expected the knock at the door, she still jumps at the sound. Her hand reaches tentatively towards the knob, still contemplating backing out of whatever she had agreed to. But she knew she couldn’t do that to her sister, who probably meant well. Probably.

The creaky door opened, revealing a girl with short pink hair, a wide eyed expression, and her hands in her pockets.

“Hi,” She says.

Jinx opens the door wider. “Come in. Don’t worry, Silco and Sevika are out.” She hopes her sister can’t hear the tremor in her voice.

Vi walks into the house, looking around with curiosity at the room around her. Jinx feels the need to hide her home, almost, like it was something too private for her estranged sister to see.

“Go, sit.” Jinx gestures towards the kitchen counter, at one of the stools surrounding it. 

Vi sat down slowly, careful of her surroundings.

“Do you want, uh, something to drink?” Jinx asked, picking at her blue and pink painted fingers.

Vi looks down at the table, crossing her arms over the countertop. “Just water, please.”

As she reaches up to take a glass from the shelf, she hears Vi take a deep breath behind her, like she’s preparing for some kind of speech. 

Oh no.

“I’m sorry, Jinx.” She starts. “When I was trying to make up for being a shitty sister, I ended up still doing something shitty. I shouldn’t have brought her, I know how you feel about…pilties.”

The word sounded unnatural in her mouth, like her tongue didn’t quite know how to form the insult.

“But I want to be in your life. I want to stay, Jinx. To be a good sister.” 

Jinx’s hand freezes on the glass she was taking down from the cupboard. Her breath catches in her throat. Those words suddenly hit her like a train, running around and around in her mind.

I want to stay. I want to be in your life. I want to be a good sister.

And at the same time, she hears laughter. Not from the real world, but from the one in her mind; the one that was messy and full of scribbles and people that she needed to remember weren’t real.

‘She doesn’t mean that’, They whisper to her. She fights the urge to throw the glass against the wall, to run, to attack something. She was in control.

And Vi wouldn’t lie to her, not again.

“Really?” Jinx says. “You mean it?” She despises the hope I’m her voice, that childish, naive, sound of hope when she asks the question.

“Yes. Yes, of course, Pow- Jinx. Of course I mean it.”

Jinx shuts her eyes tight, imagining shooting a gun at all the voices in her head that just won’t shut up. And then, miraculously, they do.

She runs toward her sister, throwing her arms around her, the glass of water forgotten on the counter. “I want you to stay too, Vi.”

She isn’t lying this time, she really means it, Jinx knows that. She still struggles to banish the image of Caitlyn from her mind.

Jinx releases herself from her sister’s arms, remembering something she definitely should have mentioned before. “Silco will be home soon,” She says urgently. “You have to go, Vi, I’m sorry.”

“Wait-“ Vi stands up. “When can we meet up again?”

Jinx bites her lip. She didn’t know how smart it was to have Vi over at her house;  they were bound to get caught at some point, and Silco wouldn’t be very happy about it. He didn’t ban her from seeing her sister again, but he clearly didn’t approve of it.

“I-I don’t know. Is somewhere else we could go, somewhere where…” She trails off, the end of that sentence obvious, at least to her: Somewhere Caitlyn won’t be.

“There’s this college party I’m going to tomorrow. Just by myself, Caitlyn doesn’t like parties, so…Maybe you could keep me company?” Vi smiled ever so slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, sure sis.” Jinx led her to the door. “Text me the address.”

“I will.” Vi looked reluctant to leave, her facial expression revealing she really had much more to say to her sister. 

An idea popped into Jinx’s head as she opened the door for her sister. Her light smile turned into a smirk, holding the door,open to ask her sister one last question.

“Do you mind if I bring a friend, Vi?”

“Of course. No problem. Bring whoever you like.”

They hugged one last time, and Jinx felt three words on the tip of her tongue as she watched her big sister eat to her car. She wished she could say it; ‘I love you’, but she didn’t think she could do it if Vi didn’t first. The voices came back, her mind blurring and shrieking, screaming at her that Vi could never love Jinx, Vi only loved Powder.

She silenced those voices by bringing out her phone and opening her messages, clicking on a contact without a picture and only a few texts. Ekko’s contact.

Jinx: do u want to go to a party? (:

[toomuchracket]

PLS PLS PLS GIVE US POLLY KICKING D WORD MATTY IN THE SHIN LORE AHHHHHHHHHHH *that’s me screaming at the top of my lungs omg*

buckle up, babies, it's lore time.

basically, on tour, when there's no show on a sunday (or even if there is, you'll do this before or after), you and the girls (polly and gabi, and if charli and mrs mac and carly are around they'll join in) congregate in someone's room to drink wine and eat snacks and gossip and watch a movie. sunday sesh. and you all agree to make a point of continuing it after tour each week or every couple of weeks, just for a catch up, alternating whose house you're all meeting at. the first sunday after tour ends, it's your flat at 6pm. cute, nice, fun.

unfortunately for you, quite literally as soon as the plane landed back in london, you and matty sped back to yours and have been holed up in the flat doing nothing but fucking (catching up on all the sex that was impossible to have on a packed tour bus), so fervently that to be completely honest neither of you have any idea what day it is anymore. so, yes, as you can imagine, sunday comes around, and you're practically none the wiser.

anyway, you and your boyfriend order a takeaway for dinner. the intercom buzzes, and nobody speaks, so you figure it's the food. matty - shirtless, literally wearing grey sweatpants and nothing else - says "babe, you get the plates, i'll go to the door for the food", and you - wearing underwear and one of his t-shirts - agree.

the door goes. matty opens it and goes into a coughing fit. because, as you've probably guessed by now, it's not the food at all, it's the girls. all of them. and they look HORRIFIED. carly nearly drops the literal box of wine bottles in her arms in shock, but gabi grabs them before they hit the ground.

nobody really seems to know what to say, until matty decides to awkwardly lean against the doorframe in an attempt to be casual and asks "so... what are you doing here?" - charli folds her arms and says "you answer that question first, healy", and he's like "um. hanging out". polly squints at him (she doesn't have her glasses on) and says "is your face wet? why?", and matty literally cannot resist smirking and saying "you're really asking me that? they could revoke your lesbian card for that, mate"; she scoffs and kicks him in the shin like "don't be such a twat" (but she does it harder than she means to and he's genuinely like "ow! pol!"), while the rest of the girls start groaning in exasperation at him being crude like "oh my god, i can't believe she's fucking you" and "give me strength" and "well, the slut uniform makes sense now" lmao.

meanwhile, you're back in the flat wondering why matty's taking so long, so you pad into the hallway like "baby? everything alright?", and when you hear what is unmistakably mrs mac screech "baby? what the fuck?" you blanch as you realise what day it is and run to the door to save your boyfriend from the wrath of the girls. like, you stand in front of him protectively (he puts his arms around your waist it's very cute) and muster up a smile like "hi girls. forgot it was sunday. soz. how are things with you all?", and mrs mac is like "don't deflect, sweetheart - explain. now", and you sigh like "you'd better come in. matty, babe, could you wait for the food while i talk to them for a second?", and he says "of course, darling", and kisses your nose to further noises of disgust (and an "awww!" from carly lol) as the girls make a beeline for the living room.

anyway, you're like "can i have two seconds to make myself presentable?", and charli's like "absolutely not. spill" - you take a deep breath, and you tell them everything. i mean, not the d word stuff, but the rest of it; you're like "first of all, just to preface, because i know you all worry about me - it's serious. very. we're in love, guys", and despite themselves everyone smiles. gabi's like "how long have you been, y'know, a thing?", and when you're tell them that it's been like 7 months "but we wanted to wait until tour was over to say, so nobody thought it was like, i don't know, just a fling while we were away together, or that he was taking advantage of me" they're all like "jesus. alright".

matty comes back into the room just as polly says "you've seemed a lot happier on this leg of tour, to be honest. so has he, actually", and he giggles when you quip "yeah, well, it's nice having someone to fall asleep with in hotel rooms. and the other stuff that happens in there". mrs mac takes a long drink of wine and winces as matty snuggles in beside you and digs into idk chow mein or whatever, and she's like "the realisation that all of your sex stories were about matty... i feel a bit ill. i should not have asked for details about the hot tub. or the time i caught you having phone sex on the bus. or the time i heard you through the wall and you told me it was the best sex you'd ever had. christ"; matty's like "best sex you've ever had? aww, babe", and you roll your eyes while he kisses your head but you smile and kiss his hand. carly giggles like "you guys are actually really cute, you know. adam thinks so too" - matty sits up straight like "carly you did not tell the boys please tell me you didn't", and charli's like "of course we did. had it in the chat before your girlfriend even appeared. also they're on their way over, squizz and john and all, so i'd put some clothes on unless you want them to rip the piss out of you even more than they're already going to". you giggle while matty groans and trudges off to get a shirt and some leggings for you, and on his way back mrs mac corners him in the hallway and says "you know i love you, and i'm actually really glad you're happy and you're dating someone who's not a dick. but i love her just as much as i love you, and i promise you that if you ever hurt her, healy, i WILL castrate you with a pair of nail scissors. got it?"; he's like "jesus alright. but i won't hurt her, mate. she's it for me, really. gonna marry her one day. m'serious", and she beams like "oh, that's lovely. still. i'm keeping nail scissors in my bag from now on. just in case" lol. but yeah! that's how everyone finds out about you and matty lmao

[surrogate-fawn]

End of Term (NYC College AU)

Part 1 of 2

(Link to Part 2 will appear here when posted)

Summary: Fawn is a small-town girl from West Virginia trying to find her future in the Big Apple. She's left everything from her past behind her . . . or so she thinks. During her final exams, Fawn is completely unaware that she's been pregnant since before the semester began -- and her labor has started. As her discomfort grows more intense throughout the day, Fawn gets a little closer to discovering the cause of it. Hopefully, it doesn't take her too long to figure it out.

((This story features Newt, who belongs to @mittysins.))

TW: Cryptic pregnancy, graphic bodily descriptions, implications of past abuse, emotionally traumatic birth experience.

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

I still wasn't used to the subway trains. Sitting on one was like riding an elevator sideways during an earthquake. The g-force of every start and stop made my stomach lurch, and I still almost flew outta my seat every time. I could expect to be a little queasy by the time Newt and I reached our last stop -- and that was when I didn't wake up sick.

"Bleh. I blame YOU for this!" I text messaged Newt, despite the fact he was sitting a few seats over. He was sitting in our usual spot, but that morning I needed to sit in the back corner, where I could curl up and rest against the wall.

I saw Newt check his phone from the corner of my eye, and seconds later I got his reply: "How is indigestion MY fault?"

"I didn't even want takeout until YOU asked for it." I was sure to put a goofy emoji at the end of the message to show I was being sarcastic.

"Sorry. Cravings." Newt replied. A second later he sent a gif of a cartoon cat shrugging.

I leaned over and met his eyes with a deliberately exaggerated frown. There were several strangers sitting between us, and I probably looked crazy -- but what else was new in this city? I hit 'send', and watched Newt check his phone. I delighted in his held back snicker when he saw the giant picture of a middle finger on his screen.

That morning marked the start of our first finals week as freshman at Queens College. Newt and I had stayed up as late as possible, doing some last-minute study cramming at my apartment. Now that Newt was entering his second trimester, he was trading in his morning sickness for late-night cravings of Chinese food -- specifically steamed dumplings with fried rice (but it had to be plain rice, he'd cried when I'd accidentally ordered the pork rice).

"You're a bad influence on me, lol. I need to stop joining in on your craving binges." I hugged my backpack tighter to my stomach as my guts cramped again.

"I'm not the one who ordered two boxes of sesame chicken and three extra egg rolls." Newt retorted. A second later: "Not to mention the lo mein."

"The lo mein was supposed to be for lunch today! >:("

"Ye right. ;)"

Fine, yeah, I'd overdone it last night. I could barely contain myself around food anymore. Ever since I'd arrived in New York City that past summer, I'd been overeating. I guess I was eating my emotions. The stress had been piling up all fuckin' semester!

Moving from the suburbs of West Virginia to such a huge city had my nerves fried by the time I settled into my teeny-tiny apartment that was more expensive than a house back home. Stacked on that was the anxiety of starting school. Stacked on that was the fact my roommate, Makayla, refused to do her share of chores. Stacked on that was homesickness. Stacked on that was studying enough to not lose my scholarship. Then stacked on all of that, my one and only friend in this city was dealing with an unplanned pregnancy.

If my next-door neighbor hadn't been Newt, I'd still be floundering. Without a doubt. We clicked at first sight, as if we'd known each other in a past life. He was my lifeline. Newt had lived in Manhattan all his life, but Queens College was the only local school within his budget and that's how we'd ended up in the same off-campus student housing. He was the one that taught me street-smarts -- which roads to avoid at night, where the best Mom-and-Pop restaurants were, how to hail a cab, and how to read the hieroglyphics that were the subway maps. Although we'd only been friends for barely a month when he knocked on my door with a positive pregnancy test and tears in his eyes, I'd never thought twice about being his shoulder to cry on and his hand to hold.

I didn't care if worrying over him added to the stress of my new life here, it was a worry I gladly carried.

But it seemed all that stress was finally catching up to me.

As the train came to another screaming halt, I was twisting myself into a pretzel. My stomach was cramping again, straining hard to move along the mountain of food I'd eaten twelve hours earlier. The doors slid open, and several passengers I recognized as fellow students stood up. Newt joined them, slinging his bookbag over his shoulder and plucking the air pods out of his ears. I knew I needed to get up, but my legs needed a few extra seconds of convincing.

"You good?" Newt asked as he watched me lift myself off the seat in segments.

"I'm fine," I said, walking with him onto the platform. "I just hope that Pepto kicks in soon."

"How many exams you got today?"

"Three," I groaned, my head falling back on my shoulders. "Chemistry, biology, and that stupid-ass remedial algebra class."

"Ha! I've only got two," Newt gloated, pausing to zip up his oversized red jacket.

"Uh-huh, but don't you have to wait eight hours between them?"

"Gives me plenty of time to study," he said as we continued up the station stairs. The sonofabitch was talking like he hadn't been complaining all week about his morning class and evening class having the same exam day.

"Please," I smirked, rolling my eyes, "I know you're just gonna play The Sims 4 on your laptop."

We both shivered as we walked out of the muggy underground and into the biting cold winds coming off the harbor. I pulled my hood over my head and pulled the drawstrings tighter around my neck.

"You can't prove anything," Newt grinned, his breath coming out as a soft cloud.

I gave him a comedically unamused look. "You're pregnant, so I'm not gonna hit you."

Newt chuckled and placed his hand over the small, four-month bump that was hiding under his jacket. "Thanks for the save, kiddo."

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

The walk to campus was only two blocks, but it felt like I was forcing myself to trudge through mud. I regretted ordering so much food. Clearly, I hadn't learned my lesson, yet.

My overeating the last few months had me in a constant state of bloat. It always felt like a giant water balloon was sitting right on my guts. I was peeing every few minutes, my kidneys working overtime to get rid of the extra fluid I was holding. Gas bubbles were always rolling through me, too. They were mostly just annoying blips of movement but recently they'd gotten painful.

The worst were the large pockets of air that got trapped under my ribs. They would stay there for hours sometimes, making it excruciating to breathe. Nothing in the world could help me when I got like that; I just had to go about my day in agony and wait until the pressure spreading my ribs apart decided to move along.

By now, I was kinda used to functioning while my intestines were trying to kill me; but, God, they were trying extra hard that day.

My stomachache flared up right outside the library, the shortcut I took to get to chemistry class. I sat down on a bench, gripping the edge of the seat and trying not to double over. My sides ached, and a deep stabbing pain plunged deep inside my abdomen. The invisible knife twisted, and I realized I was holding my breath.

"Fawn?"

I looked up at Newt, who had doubled back to check on me. His first class was on the other side of campus, and the library was where our daily routes split for most of the day.

"I'll be fine," I said, waving him away. "I'll buy a soda at lunch. That usually helps."

Newt glanced over his shoulder, down the path he was supposed to take, and then stepped a little closer. "I won't be out of here until five. Don't wait up for me, okay? When you're done with exams, just go home."

"Yeah, I will," I nodded. "That sounds good."

Newt nodded back, looking a lot more at ease. "Is it okay if I come over with some soup later? I found a new recipe online and it looks really good!"

"That's fine," I said, stretching my arms over my head to loosen up my torso. "Just use your key. I'll see 'ya then, bud."

"See you then." He gave me a two-fingered salute and continued on his way.

I checked the time on my phone and sighed. I had to get moving again, or else I'd have half my final exam score deducted for being late. My chemistry professor was a real stickler for being on-time.

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

I'd moved to New York City to finally get my degree in Botany & Plant Science. It'd been my dream for a while to become a researcher and study the pharmaceutical use of plants. Having a pair of old hippies as parents will inspire that interest in 'ya. Queens College was the best scholarship I could get out-of-state, and I had to be out-of-state. I just had to be.

I already had trouble fitting in with my classmates as a "mature" undergrad student. Since when was twenty-nine considered too "mature" for college?! All of my subjects were basic introductory courses, and that meant I was surrounded by fresh-faced teenagers less than a year out of high school. Even Newt wasn't that young. He'd taken a few years off before college, but apparently twenty-four was still young enough to fit in with the crowd.

At least not having any classroom friends meant I was left alone that morning. I sat in my assigned seat and watched the rest of the students file in from the hallway. The desk allowed me to hunch down when my stomach clenched again, the muscles in my abs pinching hard. I crossed my legs and bounced my foot, trying to distract myself from the storm brewing inside me as the professor laid out the rules of the exam period.

I was in pain for that entire hour. It was hard to keep up with the time limit. I had to pause on several multiple-choice questions -- sometimes because they were challenging, other times because the stabbing, twisting pain was flaring up. I began fantasizing about how good I'd feel after I was able to get my hands on a soda, and that daydream carried me through.

Shockingly, I was one of the first students to stand up -- and I'd finished with barely eleven minutes to spare. My professor nodded at me as I placed my exam packet on his desk, and he quietly wished me a good winter break as I shuffled out the door.

Freedom at last! There were about two hours to kill before my biology exam, so I was sure with a light snack and some rest I'd be feeling better by then.

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

I'd worked hard to build up enough of a nest egg to live off in New York. I'd squirreled money away for three years in a secret bank account, and lied to Alexander about how much my hourly pay was. My scholarship covered only part of my housing costs, and I knew living off savings couldn't last all four years of school. However, I was not going to stress over buying a three-dollar root beer when it felt like I was being wrung like a washcloth.

The dining hall at Queens was a glorified cafeteria: fold-out tables, plastic chairs, too much noise and not enough space. I really wasn't hungry, but I knew if I skipped out on lunch I would regret it later. So, I stopped by the Nathan's stand to grab a hotdog and bag of plain potato chips to go with my large cup of carbonated medicine.

I made do with sitting at the empty end of a crowded table, where the huddle of dudes at the other end were playing Magic: the Gathering. That stuff was more Newt's scene than mine, so I put my earbuds in and pulled up the YouTube app on my phone.

The Peanuts Christmas special played on my screen as I nibbled on chips and washed the salt away with long swigs of root beer. I was hoping to summon a little Christmas spirit to help me not feel so dead inside. It was two weeks away, and it was the little candy-red cherry atop my mountain of things to worry about. Between hesitant bites of hotdog, I wondered how I could pry some gift ideas out of Newt last-minute. I'd already gotten him an Amazon gift card, but I wanted to get him something a little more per-.

I sucked a sharp breath through my nostrils, choking on half-chewed bread as my stomach cramped again. It didn't feel the same as the hundreds of other cramps I'd been having. This one was bad. It was really. Fucking. Bad! I curled up in the seat, my hands dipping inside my hoodie pocket to press against my stomach. Even through three layers of clothing, I could feel my muscles clenching.

And it just wouldn't stop. Most of them would fade after a few seconds, but this one just kept going. I doubled over, pressing on my belly and praying the pain would stop.

And then it stopped.

I sat up straight and looked around. No one nearby was paying any attention, but my freckles turned pink anyway as I quickly rose and tossed what was left of my food in the trash. I chugged the rest of the soda.

There were still two exams to go, but I was already checked out for the day. I knew there was a bottle of cupcake vodka leftover from Makayla's birthday party last month. Mixed in a milkshake, that stuff had been sweet enough to give me both a sugar high and a buzz. Maybe if the soda didn't do the trick I'd go home and try soothing my stomach with one of those. I deserved one already, and it wasn't even noon.

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

It hurt to be upright.

My biology exam was half lab work and half a written test. The class was split into two groups: one to do the lab first, and one to do the written exam first. Guess which one I was in.

I was white-knuckling that clipboard as I quietly shuffled from one specimen sample to the next. Identify this bone. Identify that leaf. Is this a rock or a fossil? I was rocking my weight from side-to-side as subtly as I could. The cramping hadn't eased up since lunch. I was feeling this one down to the soles of my feet and keeping 'em moving was the only way I could stay standing.

At the apex of the cramp, I grit my teeth as a new pain bloomed deep inside my hips. I leaned my weight over the table, disguising the motion as trying to get a better look at a specimen. A knife-like stab hit my cervix and the ache radiated between my legs.

Ah, okay. I knew that kind of pain, even if it'd been a while.

No wonder the indigestion was so bad. I always got an upset stomach the day my period was due to start. 'Course, I could never tell when I was due. I tried tracking them, but ever since puberty they'd been on a schedule of their own. My cycles had been mild spotting for most of that year, so I figured there was a mighty buildup of Mother Nature in there that was trying to come out. No wonder I was already cramping so hard.

Oh, boy . . . and from my experience, I could tell I was in for a world of hurt once I actually started bleedin'.

I made it through the written half of the exam free of carnage. The pain was somehow easier to deal with when I knew it was all just hormones. At the water fountain down the hall, I popped a few ibuprofen out of my purse and downed them. There, now I knew I'd be feeling better once those puppies kicked in.

Another two hours, and I'd be free to go home.

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

I was relaxing on a sofa in the library when I suddenly felt a pouring wetness in the crotch of my pants. Ah, fuck. Fuck!

I left my backpack behind in a panic and speed-walked to the nearest restroom. I subtly pulled my hoodie as far over my hips as possible, hoping to hide anything that leaked through my sweatpants as I shuffled past other quietly studying students. I cussed myself out in my head for not thinking to put on a pad as soon as I started cramping.

Once I was hidden away in a stall, I inspected the damage. My underwear was damp with a watery pink discharge as well as several dark red clots. Yes, some of it had seeped through my pants, but not enough to be noticeable. I could still feel it dripping down into the toilet as I tried to clean everything up.

All it took was that first drop of blood for the cramps to reach their full strength. That was always the case when I missed a few periods. I pressed my lips together to stop a groan from escaping as I doubled over and hugged my midsection. My entire torso throbbed and clenched inward. My toes curled inside my sneakers as the pain once again trickled down to the soles of my feet. My jaw locked up as I grit my teeth against the pain, and I felt a charlie horse starting in the back of my neck.

Everything. Fucking. HURT.

The cramp left me feeling slightly weak. It didn't just disappear, it just . . . settled back into my muscles as a soft, constant ache. I held a wad of toilet paper between my legs for a few seconds, and in that short amount of time it was soaked in pastel pink. The floodgates had opened, and it wasn't going to stop. This pink discharge was no doubt going to become a full red tide by the time I got home.

I returned to the couch wearing a cheap cotton pad from the restroom vending machine. Although it wasn't smart, I swallowed two more ibuprofen dry. I sat curled up in the corner of the sofa, killing the last forty minutes before my exam watching videos on my phone.

The cramps just kept coming. I kept feeling blood gushing out of me and into the pad. My labia were constantly throbbing, and not in the good way. Every time I cramped, it felt like I was being turned inside out.

I seriously considered blowing off my algebra exam. I would fail the class, but I could just re-take it next semester, right? Maybe I could re-schedule the final if I brought in a doctor's note? Well, fuck . . . no, I couldn't do that. My health insurance wouldn't fully cover an emergency room visit and I doubted a doctor's note from three days after the final would be able to save my sorry ass.

Besides, I hated remedial algebra so much I felt nauseous at the thought of doing it again. I was just gonna have to suck it up and get through it like everyone else. Then, I wouldn't have to think about anything else until tomorrow.

God, why me?! Why today of all days to start the worst period in the history of mankind?!

I wondered if there was some cosmic deity out there who was taking joy in my suffering. If so, at least this pain was good for something in the grand scheme of things.

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

Despite the biting December air, I felt sweat dripping down my back as I trudged across campus to attend my last exam. It hurt to walk. It hurt to stand. Hell, it just hurt to exist. I made myself keep a steady pace, although my body was demanding I stop with every cramp. When that telltale stabbing would start in my lower back, all I wanted to do was lay on the floor and cry; but I was a grown-up, and I had grown -up stuff to do.

When I sat at my desk, my hips jolted up as if the hard plastic seat had burned me. I let out an involuntary gasp of pain, and my face burned in embarrassment as everyone turned to look at me. I started a chesty cough to disguise the sound.

I hadn't noticed it when sitting on the plush couch, but my labia were ungodly swollen and sore. This was not something that usually happened during my period. I knew my hormones were way out of whack this time around, so . . . maybe it was some weird hormonal reaction?

Whatever it was, it wasn't making the exam any easier.

My whole weight was sitting square on my pelvis in that uncomfortable classroom desk, and it was torture. I tried sitting as far back as I could to take the pressure off, but that just made my tailbone hurt, too.

My pencil slipped in my wet palm as I desperately tried to fill the bubbles in on my scantron sheet. I wriggled my hips, trying in vain to find a way to sit that didn't hurt like hell. Sweat began to drip from under my sports bra beneath my layers of clothing. It was taking everything in my power not to beg my professor to let me take the exam while lying on the floor. Fuck, I'd even do it standing on my head -- anything to get the pressure off my poor vagina.

Ten minutes in I decided to leave my final grade up to fate. I was in so much pain, I no longer cared if I failed the class. I chose my answers based on educated guesses, skipping the solving process entirely.

I was staggering to my feet within twenty minutes, and my professor gave me a scowl when he saw my worksheet hardly had any equations written on it. He leaned in as I placed my scantron on his desk.

"I hope you know you've wasted your time," he whispered, glowering at me from under his bi-focals. "You may as well have not showed up."

The only answer I could offer was a nod. I hurried into the hallway, tears blurring my vision.

I knew I'd wasted my time. I knew I'd fucked myself over. The further I walked down the hall, the more I regretted not trying harder.

I threw the test after ten fuckin' minutes, just so I could go home and be lazy. I wasn't sick, I was just on my period! What sorry excuse was that for wasting tuition money? There were probably dozens of other students in the same amount of pain I was in, but they weren't throwing away their grades over it. God, I was pathetic. I was so determined to pass this stupid remedial class at the start of the semester, even if it was with a 'C', but in ten minutes I'd given up.

Maybe Alex was right. Maybe I was just too damn stupid to be here.

By the time I stepped outside, I was crying. I pulled up my hood to hide the tears and kept my head down as I began the long walk off campus.

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

The noon train wasn't as packed as the seven o'clock train, but it was still too full for my liking. That was what I hated about the city; you couldn't go anywhere without brushing shoulders with a stranger.

There were available seats, but I couldn't sit down. My lower lips were throbbing with my heartbeat. I had my arm wrapped around a standing bar, clinging for dear life against the g-forces of the train. My stance had to be wider than natural, or else my thighs would pinch and cause a hot, pulsating pain through my stomach. I knew I probably looked like a drunk trying to hold themselves up against gravity, but I reminded myself that New Yorkers see things like that on the trains all the time. No one would say anything as long as I kept to myself. My hood was still up to hide the leaks in my eyes, the flow of tears I couldn't fully control.

I clung tighter to the bar as I cramped again, and a warm gush soaked into the pad between my legs. My eyes dripped as they stared off into nothing, my mind going blank from the pain. A sudden "buzz-buzz" from the phone in my pocket brought me back from the void. I blinked my vision clear and checked the text message. It was from Newt, replying to a text I'd sent earlier:

"Sorry ur feeling so shit :( You going home?"

I rested my temple against the smudged chrome pole and typed my reply:

"On the train now."

Three grey dots appeared below my message.

Buzz-buzz.

"Still want me to come over??"

I replied: "Yeah. Makayla's with her boyfriend for the week and I need distraction."

Grey dots. Buzz-buzz.

"Awww poor bb. A whole apartment all to yourself. Glad I'm not THAT unlucky. /s "

I grinned and dried half my face on my shoulder. Newt had never fit in with his roommate's group of frat boy sports fans. Just like I had never gelled with Makayla's crowd of hardcore party girls. They weren't "bad" people, they were just . . . not "our" people.

"We need new roommates," I typed.

Dots. Buzz-buzz.

"Ye."

I felt another huge gush, and my thighs pressed together in response. My inner cheek bled as my teeth chopped through it. Fuck. Forgot to not do that.

That cheap pad didn't feel like it was gonna hold up much longer. The last thing I needed was to reenact the elevator scene from The Shining in front of two dozen strangers on the subway. I pulled my hoodie further over my hips, just in case.

"Fair warning," I typed, "my apartment might be a bloodbath by the time you get there."

Dots. Buzz-buzz.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!!"

"Omfg."

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

"Ohhh my fucking god."

I angled my lower back into the stream of hot water, pressing my hands into the glass wall of the shower. I hung my head as my body gradually clamped down on itself like a vice, tighter . . . tighter . . . tighter. Now that I was safely inside the privacy of my apartment, I could finally deal with the pain how I wanted: whining like a 'lil bitch.

"Ohhh my fucking god," I repeated, the sentence crawling out of my mouth as a slurred moan.

The water splashed pink at my feet. A few dime-sized globs of red fell onto the shower mat and were washed away. My pad had been soaked through with that thin pink discharge, but hardly any real blood. My body must've been trying to break my uterus open like a piggy bank to get out what it needed, because I felt like I was dying.

"God," I dragged the word out for a solid minute in a deep, angry groan as I sank to my knees. I ran out of breath, but the pain kept going. I wrapped my arms around my stomach and pitched forward, eyelids pinched shut and teeth open in a gaping snarl. The muscles in my torso vibrated with tension. It was hard to breathe, my ribs too tight to get a full breath. The air I managed to suck in came back out as another drawn-out groan: "Fuck."

I'd been trying for hours to ease the cramping and indigestion that were teaming up to kill me. I'd taken enough ibuprofen to drop a horse. I'd taken Pepto-Bismol like shots of tequila. Heating pads had helped, but not for long. I'd put an ice pack between my legs to bring down the swelling, but the ice stung. I'd turned the temperature as high as I could tolerate and was now face-down on the shower floor, letting the water hit anywhere it could reach. My skin was scalded red, but the iota of relief I got was worth it.

Knock, knock, knock. Three solid knocks on the bathroom door.

I knelt there with my cheek in a puddle of water, too engulfed in pain to react.

"Soup delivery!" A cheery tenor voice on the other side, somewhat drowned by the water rolling over my ears.

Newt? What was he doing here? He didn't leave school until five. Shit, what time was it? How long had I been home?

I lifted myself onto my elbows, blowing out a long breath as I waited for the pain to fade. As soon as it did, I called loud enough for Newt to hear me over the roar of the shower:

"I'll be out in a sec. Just put everything in the kitchen."

"M'kay."

I didn't hear Newt walk away, but I heard his heavy crockpot being set on the counter -- the kitchen shared a wall with the bathroom. God, that apartment was tiny.

Ugh. I had to get up. I'd been in there too long. The water was turning cold. My hands and feet were pruney. I had to get up. I had to get up.

I climbed up the slick glass wall, leaving smeared handprints in the condensation. The higher I stood on my feet, the worse I felt; but if you'd asked me to describe how, I wouldn't have known what to say. I steadied myself, turned the water off, and opened the shower door.

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

There was a fresh bowl waiting for me on the counter as I stepped into the kitchen, but I didn't have an appetite.

"Don't like it?" Newt asked, serving himself a helping of soup from the crockpot.

My hair was hanging limp around my face and shoulders, dripping water like the branches of a weeping willow; but the droplets rolling down my neck weren't water. A sticky layer of sweat was coating my back and my legs beneath my plush winter pajamas. The bowl of homemade French onion soup sat untouched and steaming in front of me.

"No, it looks good," I said. "I just don't really feel like eat--ugh!" Another cramp started and this time I didn't hold back a moan of pain. "Augh!"

Newt set his bowl on the stove and took a few soft-footed steps towards me. "Does your period usually hurt like this?" he asked, rubbing his hand over my back.

I shook my head and braced my hands against the counter, unable to answer him with words. I tried to speak, but my mouth would only allow a series of small moans and gasps as the pain went on and on and on and -- fuck, this wasn't right! It had been almost a year since my last full bleed, but there was no way in hell this level of pain was normal!

I leaned over the counter, rocking my hips in a fruitless bid to shake away the twisting, stabbing, squeezing pain. As I struggled to fill my lungs with air, my mind scrambled for answers. Was this what endometriosis felt like? A cyst rupturing? A fibroid? Oh my god, what if it was a tumor?!

I felt more fluid dripping in globs onto my pad, and I let out a sob. "It feels so bad!" I whimpered to my friend, tears coming to my eyes. "I just . . . just want it to stop!" My lower back suddenly felt like it was going to break, and I let out another sob as my knees began to give out under me.

Newt saw me falling and he acted quick. His arms hooked under my shoulders, and he arched his back to try and keep me standing.

"Woah, hey!" he cried as he caught me in a low crouch, just before I'd hit the ground. "What's wrong?!"

My first thought was to tell him to put me down. He shouldn't be straining himself like that, and I worried about him even through the blinding pain. I opened my mouth to scold him, but that's when it happened. I will never forget the moment it happened.

A huge weight began to sit on my lower bowels, and I swear to god I thought my guts were going to fall out. A tsunami wave of nausea rolled up from that horrible sinking pressure and hit my stomach like a geyser. I dry heaved and sank lower to the floor as my mind was overtaken by one silent demand:

Push!

"Newt-!" was all I managed to gasp.

And then I was bearing down with all my strength.

I'd never felt anything more intense in my life. It was an unholy demon pressing down on me, and I had no choice but to submit.

A scream -- a full, honest-to-god scream -- ripped itself free of my throat. I rested just long enough to inhale, and then I was pushing again, my chin pressed to my chest. I felt a shift deep inside, pressing against my lower spine. Something was prying me open. Something was slipping its way down.

I screamed again as the realization finally dawned on me: Something was coming out!

"Fawn?!" I heard his frantic voice, but my vision was haloed in black. "Fawn, talk to me!"

I held onto Newt as my lifeline, until I ran out of the strength to push anymore. "Help me!" I panted, hugging him closer. "God, please help me!"

"What is it?!"

"I'm fucking turning inside out!" I cried, growling as I pushed the object lower into my pelvis.

At first, I was convinced my colon or something was about to pop out like a fucked up horror movie; but I felt the object heading to a different area of my body. I could feel my swollen labia pushing out into my pad.

"Augh, I think it's my uterus!" I sobbed as I strained -- unable to stop myself in both regards. "That's what's falling out!"

"What the fuck?!" Newt cried. "That can happen?!"

"Yes!"

"Oh, shit!" Newt jumped up and began circling the kitchen. "Where the hell is my phone?! I'm calling 9-1-1!"

"Please fucking do!" I yelled, dropping to all fours as Newt hurried to look for his phone in the living room.

Forbidding myself to push was like forbidding myself to breathe. It simply had to happen. Tears flowed from my eyes as I was forced to push out one of my own internal organs. Not just any organ, the one that would end my dream of having a family once it was gone.

This was hell. I was in hell.

My hips tried to jerk away from the pain as the object began to force itself though my vagina. I felt the object pressing against my pad as I pushed, and I wondered if it would be enough to hold it in. Maybe if I could somehow keep it inside me, the doctors would be able to pull it back in.

The next push told me I had no other choice but it let it out. What was happening was happening fast. Too fast. Too fast! Oh, fuck! I felt my skin yawn open and pull tight, creating a hellish burn that made me scream myself hoarse.

I hiked my pants down and craned my neck to see between my legs. The first thing I saw was a long strand of pink-red mucous clinging to my bulging lips for a few seconds, before dripping down onto the pad at my knees.

I saw a hint of something beginning to breech out of me. It was fleshy and covered in blood. It was somewhat blue colored and wrinkled, and I was terrified. My inside-out uterus was coming out of me, and I couldn't bear the sight.

I shut my eyes tight and screamed through another huge push. I had a flash of the thought: "Since when was my uterus this big? Isn't it supposed to be small?" But it was gone before I could dwell on it.

Newt's footsteps ran back into the kitchen.

"Okay, I found-."

Both his voice and his footsteps came to a screeching halt as they entered the room. I heard something drop to the ground, and it sounded like the heavy-duty casing Newt kept on his cellphone.

"Holy fucking shit . . . !" Newt's voice was muffled, as if he was pressing his hand to his mouth.

"If it's really bad, don't tell me," I begged through gritted teeth, a small sob jolting my shoulders.

Newt didn't say anything, but I heard him drop to his knees in front of me. I opened my eyes and saw him spreading a hand towel from the sink over his lap.

"It's not that bad," he said, taking my arms and adjusting them so I was holding onto his shoulders. His voice was uncanny -- it was obvious he was pretending to be calm.

Newt draped the towel over his hands and my heart dropped.

"W-what are you doing?" I asked.

"Don't worry. I've got you covered," he said. "Just push."

"Newt?" I asked, turning my face towards his. My heart was starting to pound behind my eyes. "What's happening to me?"

I didn't see him smile, but his tone remained steady. "It'll be okay, Fawn. I promise."

I gripped his arms tighter as another pain started. "Oh god, I'm dying, aren't I?" I groaned. I wasn't even scared at the thought -- at this point, death felt like the only end to this pain. I'd all but accepted it.

"You're not dying, Fawn," Newt said, brushing his cheek against mine. His fledging facial hair tickled. "You're fine, you just need to push."

Sighing, I lowered my forehead to his shoulder and followed my body's demands. The stretch continued, grew worse by the second, until something round and squishy slipped out and dangled between my thighs.

God, it was finally over.

All we had to do was call an ambulance and they could take me to surgery. However this happened, there was still a chance my uterus could be saved. My dream didn't have to be - !

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck, I was still pushing!

I screamed into Newt's body as my burning lips spread further over something wide for a few white-hot seconds. There was a disgusting splash that gushed over my inner thighs, followed by the softest little 'plop'.

I was empty. I felt hollow and numb. My body buzzed, but it felt dead. I was left gasping in deep breaths to steady my racing heart, staring off into nothing over Newt's shoulder. My eyes burned from sweat pouring down my brow.

"Fawn," Newt said -- his voice sounded miles away, "look."

"I don't wanna look at it," I sighed, wiping my face on my sleeve.

That's when she cried for the first time.

A warbled little mewl flew up to meet my ears.

I looked down, in the space between Newt and I . . . and I screamed.

A blue cord of flesh was hanging between my legs, coated in blood. It trailed down in a soft arch to the towel sitting on Newt's lap, where I saw the answer to every question I'd had that day.

Laying there between Newt's hands, squirming and screaming and blue, was a wrinkly newborn baby.

She was a girl.

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

End of Part 1 of 2

Author's Note: Thank you for reading Part 1! This is by far the longest fic I've written thus far. It's so long that I had to split it into two chapters! Part 2 will be available very soon. This story will be available on my AO3 page, just like all of my other fics! Feel free to follow me or any of my stories there under the same name.

[unformula1]

i won’t ever leave (LS2 x OP81)

Everyone seems to keep leaving, all but one. w/c: 606 day 36 of loscar posts until we get a loscar podium (series masterlist) masterlist

People change as soon as the winds blow, one second they’re sweet and the next they’re horrible. 

Logan can’t trust anyone, not anymore.

------

Logan and Oscar sat on a bench near the track, it wasn’t too far but not too close either. 

“I wouldn’t necessarily say I’m ‘emotionless’, it’s more like I won’t show it unless purely needed.” Oscar explained, rather teacher-ly.

Logan just smiled in response, giving Oscar a slight chuckle as well.

“Well for you that would be different!” Oscar cheered, “Because you’re like my best, best friend.”

Logan could feel his heart flutter and his cheeks burn, his smile growing wider as well. Oscar was completely oblivious to this, too busy focusing on the sunset before them and comparing it to Logan.

Oscar stared far into the horizon while Logan stared far into Oscar’s eyes. They were definitely something worth staring at, they were gorgeous. They were absolutely beautiful. 

“Yea, you are a lot more expressive around me.” Logan said.

“I know, it’s intentional.” Oscar replied, clapping his hands gently.

-----

“Logs!” Oscar shouted from up top. Logan, who was walking along the track, shot his head up and saw Oscar, flashing his typical polite cat smile.

Logan smiled back, waving at him.

“Hello Osc.” Logan replied and Oscar waved back.

“Are you coming to the party with me?” Oscar shouted down.

Logan nodded, “Yep!” 

Everyone gave them stares, laughs or glares but Logan could care less, this was him and Oscar’s way of communicating. They had this special chemistry that you couldn’t find anywhere, it was unique and one-of-a-kind.

Oscar flashed his polite cat smile one more time and skipped off. Logan felt joyous, internally doing some sort of victory dance as his heart skipped a few beats.

Oscar had something Logan never knew he needed until he met Oscar, some sort of comforting voice or touch. Oscar was… calming.

------

Logan sits down next to Oscar on the bench, the awkwardness is tangible. Everything has changed since they last sat down.

Oscar became a sprint winner. People started loving Oscar Piastri.

Logan crashed in just about every race. People started doubting Logan Sargeant.

How times have changed. How people have changed. Everything has changed.

“Tough season?” Oscar asks, his voice slightly soft.

Logan can only force out a self-deprecating laugh, “You think?”

Oscar nods, “Talk to me if you need.”

Logan turns to Oscar and smiles, like they used to, when everything was simpler.

Oscar’s polite cat smile stays on for a while.

“I’ll still be here, right here for you.” Oscar says while patting the bench, his voice giving Logan some odd form of encouragement.

“You will?” Logan says with partial disbelief, since pretty much everyone left Logan on his own the moment failure hit.

“Right. Here.” Oscar says, placing heavy emphasis on him patting his spot on the bench. 

“Thank… thanks.” Logan smiles again. This is probably the most times Logan has smiled in 2 minutes.

Oscar chuckles, his voice laced with happiness “Your smile never changed.” 

In a solid attempt to cheer Logan up, Oscar continues, “I’ve missed seeing your smile.”

Logan can feel it all coming back, the positive emotions Oscar made him feel back then, the positive emotions Oscar makes him feel now.

Logan lowers his head in between his knees, hiding his awfully red blush from Oscar.

Oscar shifts himself to be closer to Logan, his hand firmly on Logan’s shoulder.

“I won’t ever leave.” 

Logan’s face is hidden but Oscar knows he’s crying.

Everyone either left, or changed. Everyone but Oscar. Oscar hasn’t changed, Oscar hasn’t left.

Oscar’s here to stay, and Logan can trust him

-------------- a/n: sorry for not posting lol. i'm BACK!!