#because...it's already a song i know and like?

[itneverendshere]

I love bartender!reader!!!!!! She seems so sweet and collected...but I was wondering if she's got a little fire in her? Maybe they're at a party together and she gets jealous......which is new because she's usually the calm one out of her and rafe. Hope you're doing great <3

loved writing this bc you're so right!!! it's just so not like her to lose her temper over trivial things but oh🫣 hope you're doing just a great as well💖

i'm usually so unproblematic - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) warnings: allusions to smut but no actual smut.

You’re sitting in Rafe’s truck, staring out at the huge house in front of you, stomach in knots. It’s a mansion, more like.

Kook house. Kook party. Rich people everywhere. You can already hear the distant thrum of music, even from inside the car, bass-heavy, vibrating through the seats.

You chew your bottom lip and glance over at Rafe. He’s calm, casually messing with the radio, probably about to put on those trashy songs he loves that you absolutely hate but pretend to like because you love him.

It's insane how easy it is for him to just... be cool about this. But you?

You’re not so sure.

"This was a bad idea," you mumble, half-joking but also half-serious.

Rafe turns to you, one eyebrow raised, lips pulling into a crooked smile. “Nervous?”

You give him a look. “Obviously. I’m not...I don’t do these things. I don’t know these people.”

You’ve been with Rafe for almost a year now, give or take. Said your I love yous, met each other’s families. Hell, you’ve spent more time at Tannyhill than at your own place lately, and you’ve grown used to Rafe’s kook side. His friends, though? These parties? A whole other beast.

“I already met Topper. Isn’t that enough?”

He laughs under his breath, reaching over to take your hand. “You’ll be fine. It’s Kelce, and a few other people. No big deal.”

No big deal, you think. Easy for him to say when he’s been around these people his whole life. For you, being a pogue, working extra shifts at the country club just to pay rent… yeah, this is a little different.

“I know, I know. I’ll be fine. It’s just— I’m out of my element.”

He squeezes your hand. “Hey. You’re with me. That’s all that matters.” 

You’re with Rafe. The Rafe who loves you, who can’t keep his hands off you even when you’re just watching movies. The Rafe who gets jealous over dumb things, like if you laugh too hard at one of JJ’s jokes, even though he’s just your seventeen-year-old neighbor. The Rafe who texts you goodnight, even when you’re in the same room, because he’s a sap and you secretly love it.

“Alright, let’s go,” you agree, trying to hype yourself up.

Rafe smiles, and then he’s out of the truck, jogging over to your side to open the door for you, like a perfect gentleman. You roll your eyes but step out, the night air brushing your bare shoulders. You weren’t sure how to dress for this party, so you chose to wear something…safe. A pretty red top you only used on special occasions and your best demim skirt. It wasn’t exactly kook material but at least you weren’t in your worn-out shorts and usual crop top or in your work uniform.

The moment you walk inside, though, it’s like stepping into a different world. The house is packed. People everywhere, laughing, drinking, hanging by the pool. Everything’s pristine and polished, and you feel their eyes on you the second you walk in.

Rafe wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “Want a drink?” he asks, leaning down so you can hear him over the music.

You nod, trying not to let the fact that people are definitely staring at you freak you out. You’re not a Kook. You’re his girl, though, and you know how much that pisses some of them off.

A few minutes later, you’ve got a drink in hand, and Kelce’s talking your ear off about something you don’t really understand. Golf. You smile and nod along, doing your best to keep up, but the truth is, you’re not listening. You’re too busy watching the crowd, still feeling like you don’t fit in. Like you never really will.

That’s when you notice her. Tall. Pretty, in that rich, polished way that’s almost too perfect. And she’s glaring. Right. At. You.

Your stomach drops, and you tear your eyes away, sipping your drink to cover the dread that suddenly hits you. You don’t know who she is, but she’s been staring at you since you walked in, and it’s starting to mess with your head. Was there something on your face? Had you met before at the club? Maybe she didn't like your drinks.

“Baby, you okay?” Rafe’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, his hand resting on the small of your back.

“Yeah, fine,” you lie, forcing a smile. He frowns slightly but doesn’t push it. Kelce’s still talking, oblivious.

You try to ignore it, but as the night goes on, she keeps popping up. Always staring. Always with that look crazied in her eyes. Like she could kill you. You’ve had a couple drinks by now, and your nerves are turning into a kind of irritation.

Finally, you excuse yourself to the bathroom, needing a break from the overwhelming feeling of being watched. You lock the door behind you, exhaling slowly as you stare at your reflection. Were you seeing things? Overreacting? Surely, Rafe or Kelce would’ve noticed as well, right? Or maybe they were used to this. 

I’m just overthinking it, you tell yourself. I’m fine. She’s just..

But when you open the door to leave, she’s there. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, staring at you with that same stupid look, like you personally offended her by daring to exist. 

“Can I help you?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even flinch. Just tilts her head, giving you the most disgusted once-over you’ve ever seen in your life. “You’re Rafe’s new thing, huh?”

What? You’ve had just enough to drink that your filter is basically nonexistent now. You blink, confusion killing the buzz in your head. “Sorry, do I know you?”

“No,” she says, her voice dripping with disdain. “But I know you.”

You laugh awkwardly, nothing about this is funny. “Okay? So what’s your problem?”

Her eyes narrow, lips tinted pink curling. Oh, she’s mad now. She steps up closer to you, practically chest-to-chest. “My problem is that I don’t get why someone like you is with Rafe. He used to have a certain standard.”

Oh.

You almost laugh again because...wow. Really? That’s what this is about? “Okay, Regina George,” you mutter under your breath. You’re not in the mood for this. You tilt your head, giving her your best innocent smile.  “And who are you?”

“Sophie. I dated Rafe for two years, before you, obviously,” she says, like that’s supposed to mean something. You didn’t know him back then, you hadn’t even spoken a word to him. "Guess he didn’t mention me."

His ex. Of course. Of course she’s his ex. 

You snort before you can stop yourself. "Nope, pretty sure he forgot to bring you up.”

You feel a little sting of jealousy in your chest, but you try to swallow it down. You’re not about to let this girl get under your skin. You’re better than that. You didn’t know him, it’s fine.

 “I’m not really interested in whatever this is.” You move to step around her, but she blocks your path.

“Just a word of advice,” she grits out, like you’ve personally offended her, “He’s not the kind of guy who sticks around for long. Especially not with girls like you.”

That does it. The alcohol, the nerves, the whole night—you’re seconds away from losing it. “What the hell is your problem?” you snap, your hands curling into fists at your sides.

“Dirty pogues who think—”

"Okay. I’m not gonna play whatever this is with you," you interrupt her, gesturing between the two of you, stepping forward so you’re toe-to-toe with her now. "If he wanted to be with a walking Vineyard Vines ad, he would be. But he’s not. He’s with me."

“You really think you’re different?” she spits, voice laced with venom. "Like you're special?"

Your laugh comes out sharp, more of a bark. “If you were so special, you wouldn’t be here, playing guard dog outside the bathroom. Move."

“Or what?” she challenges, her lips curling in that same superior smirk that makes your blood boil. “What are you gonna do, pogue?”

That’s it. You feel the fire flare up in your chest. Screw this girl. Your hands ball into fists, and you’re half a second from knocking that smug look right off her face when Topper steps in.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, let’s not turn this into Jerry Springer, alright?" He holds up his hands like he’s breaking up a fight at a middle school dance. You’re staring daggers at Sophie, and she’s glaring right back, but his hands are still up, a peacekeeper grin plastered across his face as he looks between the two of you. “Let’s not do this,” his eyes landing on Sophie. “C’mon, Soph, no need for the drama, yeah?”

She scoffs, crossing her arms and stepping back with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Whatever, Topper.

He watches her go before turning back to you, eyebrows raised. “You good?”

You nod, still fuming, but grateful he stepped in when he did. "Yeah. Thanks."

You let him take you away because if he doesn’t, you're going to follow her and throw a drink in her face or do something worse. You feel like you could punch her right in her perfect, stuck-up face. 

He leads you back to where Rafe is, and you’re too upset to even look at him. His hands are on you the second you’re close, pulling you to him like he can tell something’s off. "Baby," his lips brush against your temple. "What’s wrong? You look like you’re ready to kill someone."

You don’t answer. You can’t. Not without completely blowing up.

Rafe’s brow furrows, his eyes darting between you and Topper. “What the hell happened?” he asks again, more forceful this time.

Topper gives him a look but doesn’t say anything, just shrugs. “Nothing, man. Just some girl drama. Don’t worry about it.”

Girl drama your ass.

He turns to you, and suddenly, he’s all over you, his hands on your waist, the other settling on the back of your head, “Baby, talk to me. What’s going on?”

You pull away, shaking your head, still too mad to speak.

He follows, his hands reaching for yours. “Hey, c’mon.”

Finally, you look at him. Really look at him. And the second you see his face, that stupid, worried puppy-dog expression, the anger starts to melt away.

“I’m mad,” you admit, “I got jealous. Your ex’s a bitch.”

Rafe blinks, and then, to your surprise, he laughs. A real, genuine laugh. You glare at him. “It’s not funny!”

“No, no, it’s not,” he says, quickly sobering, though there’s still a stupid smirk at his lips. “I just, I’ve never seen you jealous before.”

You cross your arms, still pouting. “I’m serious, Rafe. She was awful.”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. “I don’t care about her. At all. I care about you.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is softening. “She said you wouldn’t stick around.”

Rafe’s smile fades, and he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. “That’s bullshit. You know that, right?”

"She’s a psycho.”

Rafe’s expression changes, his frown deepening. "Sophie?"

"Yeah," you snap, because you hate the sound of her name coming out of his lips, "Sophie. Called me a dirty pogue, which—real original.”

“She what?” Rafe’s jaw tightens, and for a second, you see a flash of that old Rafe—the one who’d get into fights at the drop of a hat. "I’ll handle it.”

You’ve seen it before—his protective streak, the one that could turn dangerous if he wasn’t careful. Part of you loves it, the way he’d go to war for you without even blinking. But another part of you hates that you have so much power over him.

But right now, you’re still too mad to care about him handling anything. You push past him, heading for the exit, needing air, needing space. Everything inside you is on fire, and all you can think is that you need to get out. Anything but this house full of people who make you feel like you’re just dirt. People like her. You can’t stop hearing her nasal voice in your head, those snide comments digging into you like little needles, bringing up that same old insecurity.

“Baby, hold on,” His voice is behind you, and his hand is instantly catching yours, tugging you back before you can make it to the door.

You spin around, already ready to snap, but then you see his face—eyes wide, brow furrowed like he’s genuinely freaked out that you’re upset. “Don’t listen to her, she’s full of shit.”

You stare at him, your chest tight and aching, because yeah, you know she’s full of it, but it still got to you. It still hurt. “It just…” You swallow hard, trying to find the right words, even though everything feels like a mess. “It got in my head, Rafe. Like, I hate that she said that. I’m so sick of people looking at me like I don’t belong just because I’m not—”

He cuts you off, stepping closer, and before you can even finish the thought, he's dragging you into him. “You belong with me. That’s all that matters.”

You let out a breath, but you’re still worked up, “But it’s like—I don’t need some stuck-up kook girl who thinks she’s better than me telling me I don’t fit in. I know I’m not like them, but she said it like I wasn’t good enough for you. Like I’m just some—”

Rafe’s lips are on yours before you can finish. He only pecks you, but it’s enough to shut you up, to make your brain go silent for a second. “Stop,” his voice is almost pleading. “Stop thinking like that. I love you, okay? I don’t care what anyone else says.”

You blink up at him, you want to stay mad, but also want to let it go because he’s right here, so close, and he’s got that look on his face that makes your heart flip. “You don’t get it.”

He pulls you closer, hands gripping your hips like he can’t stand to have any space between you. “Then tell me,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to your lips. “Tell me why you’re letting her get in your head.”

You huff, but the fight in you is starting to die out. “Because she made me feel like I’m less.”

He tilts your head back just enough to look at you, “That’s bullshit,” his fingers are gentle as they trail up your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You feel a little stupid for letting that girl get to you in the first place. But damn it, you’ve heard it before—from other people, from yourself—that nagging voice that says you’re not enough.

“I know.” you mumble though you’re still a little embarrassed.

Rafe smiles then, that sweet smile he only ever gives you, and he presses his lips to your forehead. “Good,” he says, tugging you even closer, like he’s trying to wrap himself around you. “Because I’m obsessed with you, and I don’t care what her or anyone else says.”

You let out a shaky laugh, finally letting yourself relax in his arms. “You’re obsessed with me?” you tease, tilting your head to meet his eyes.

“Hell yeah,” he grins, his hands sliding up your back, one hand slipping down to squeeze your ass, his thumb sliding just under the hem of your skirt. “I can’t keep my hands off you. You know that. It’s becoming a real problem.”

You roll your eyes, trying to play it cool, but you don’t stop the giggle from bubbling out. The way he’s looking at you right now, like he can’t even think straight because you’re standing in front of him—it drives you up the walls. Then he leans down and kisses you again, and this time it’s not...casual. His lips move against yours like he’s trying to take every thought in your head, and it’s working. Your hands slide up, wrapping around his neck as his tongue brushes against yours. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to this. 

He grips you harder, lips moving to brush against your ear, “You’re mine, baby and I’m not fucking going anywhere.”

That hits you, hard, like a truth he always reassures you off but still feels brand new when he does say it. Everything that pissed you off, all the crap Sophie said, it doesn’t matter anymore. 

“Stop making me horny,” You whine out, tugging at his shirt and pulling him closer. You can feel his grin against your skin as he leans in, biting your lip playfully before kissing you again, you know he’s enjoying teasing you. His hand slides down to grab a handful of your ass again, making you gasp against his mouth, and you feel him smirk.

“I like you horny.”

You’re in the middle of this stupid party, surrounded by people who probably hate you for breathing, but all you can think about is how much you want him right now. His lips move over yours like he’s trying to claim you, and you’re more than happy to let him. It’s messy, all tongues and spit, but you don’t care. You love how rough and needy he is, how he groans into your mouth like he’s been dying to kiss you all night. It’s the kind of kiss that leaves you dizzy, the room spinning, and you’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or him—or both.

You tug at his shirt, frustrated with how much fabric is in the way, and he chuckles against your mouth, biting down on your bottom lip just hard enough to make you gasp. His hands slide down up to your neck, tightening just enough around your throat, and you let out a soft whimper into his mouth, making him grin.

“You're just so—” his lips brush over your cheek, then down to your bottom lip, kissing and biting just hard enough to make you squirm, "Beautiful, aren't you?"

You’re normally not one for pda, not at all. The idea of people watching, of eyes on you while you're with someone, always made your skin crawl. But when Rafe kisses you like this? When he’s got his hands on you? God, your brain just goes dumb, and every ounce of self-consciousness fizzes out. It's embarrassing, almost. All you can think about is the way he’s making you feel, the way he’s holding you against him, leaving you breathless and wanting more. You’re so not this person, not the girl who makes out with her boyfriend in the middle of a crowded room.

But with Rafe? You can’t even think straight. 

His hands slide under your skirt for the millionth time, blunt fingernails gripping your plushy thighs, and you nearly whine, “Rafe,” you breathe, trying to pull away long enough to think properly, but he just kisses you harder, more insistent. “Baby, stop,” you manage to whisper, though you don’t mean it at all.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes all dark, his breath hot against your lips. “You want me to stop?” he teases, his hands still tight on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin in a way that makes your knees go weak.

You shake your head, biting your lip, and his grin widens. “Didn’t think so,” he murmurs before leaning in to kiss you again, like he can’t help himself, and honestly? Neither can you. You’re so turned on, it’s ridiculous. 

“I—fuck,” you pant, trying to get the words out between kisses, but he’s relentless, pressing you back against a wall, his lips latching on to your neck, sucking a bruise into your skin “Baby, please—”

He groans against your neck, one hand sliding up under your top, fingers brushing the bare skin of your waist, and you swear you’re about to lose it. “Please what, hmm?”

You bite your lip, trying to stay composed, but you’re way past that now. All you can think about is how much you need him. Right now. Anywhere but here.

“Take me to the truck,” you nearly beg him, just loud enough for him to hear, but you know he catches it because he pulls back just enough to look at you, pupils blown wide.

He smirks, running his thumb over your bottom lip, teasing. “Yeah? You need me that bad?”

You nod, not even caring how desperate you sound. “Please.” Your voice cracks a little on the last word, but you don’t care anymore.

You need him, and you need him now.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀

Forty minute later, the air inside the truck reeks of sex.

You’re breathless, flushed all over, and your legs feel like jelly. Rafe’s next to you, grinning like an idiot already fixing his jeans like he’s not still catching his breath. It’s written all over you—the tousled hair, the smudged lipstick, the way your top is barely hanging on properly as you try to straighten it out, the stickiness you can still feel between your legs, on your panties.

You feel filthy.

You bite back a smile as you adjust your skirt, your body still recovering from the way he had your face pressed against the seat.  

“Shit,” you breathe out, trying to get it together, your fingers fumbling to fix your bra strap, “I feel like my makeup’s a mess.”

He just chuckles, leaning back in his seat with that cocky look that made you want to jump him in the first place, “You look perfect,” he says, eyeing you up and down like he’s ready to go another round.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the heat that rises to your cheeks. “Yeah, well, you look like you just ran a marathon.”

He laughs, reaching over to pull you close, his lips pecking your hair, “Worth it.”

You’re just about to leave the truck when the door opens, and as you both step out, you catch sight of Sophie and her friends walking past. Perfect timing. Of course.

She’s glaring—hard—and her friends are snickering, whispering to each other like they’ve just seen something they shouldn't. Sophie’s nose wrinkles as her gaze flicks between you and Rafe, her expression twisting into disgust like you’re both some kind of wild animals who just rolled around in the mud.

But you? You feel smug.

You meet her stare for a second too long, the corner of your mouth lifting in the tiniest, most satisfied smirk. You know she knows exactly what just happened in that truck, and it’s killing her. She’s practically seething, her friends muttering furiously under their breath as they walk by, noses in the air.

Rafe doesn’t even glances their way—his fingers hook into one of the belt loops of your skirt, tugging you back to him with just enough force to make you stumble slightly into his built chest, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And it is.

“Thirty more minutes,” he murmurs against your cheek, planting a kiss there, casual but so possessive, his lips lingering just long enough to make your stomach shake with butterflies again, "And I'm taking you home."

And that’s what makes it even sweeter.

[alwaysmicado]

Callisto I

10.2k | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 9

Series Masterlist | Joel Masterlist | previous | AO3

Warnings: no outbreak AU, implied age gap, emotional hurt/comfort, weed, mention of domestic violence, toxic dynamic, graphic vomiting, emotional rollercoaster, fluff Summary: Your car ride home from the beach is...eventful. Joel does something special for you to express his feelings. A/N: This part was going to be much too long, so I split it in two. It was important for me to post part I of Callisto before my birthday, and I’m so excited that I finally get to share it with you. Happy reading & please let me know your thoughts if you’re up for it. Thank you for your continued support, guys! ♡ Dividers by @/cafekitsune. Songs: Backburner by NIKI & My Exes by Snake City

“Why do you keep coming back?”

You bring the joint to your lips, your fingers brushing lightly against his as he passes it over. You take a deep drag, letting the familiar burn of the weed settle into your lungs before you exhale, slowly, the smoke curling into the night air. It’s a slow haze, softening your anger, making it easier to breathe even if only for a little while. 

The pressure in your chest doesn’t lift—it never does, not really—but the weed at least dulls the edges.

For now, anyway.

The streetlight casts long shadows on the chipped concrete, bathing you both in a murky orange hue. You sit side by side on the curb, the shared joint passing lazily between you, the quiet of the night only disturbed by a dog barking further down the road.

Simon leans back, his shoulders slumped, the hood of his jacket pulled up, obscuring most of his face. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, tracing the outline of his jaw, the way his lips curl around the joint. You hate how he still looks good to you, even after his latest stunt. 

“Why do you keep coming back?” he asks again, his voice low and gravelly, as if he already knows the answer but wants to hear you say it. “If all we do is hurt each other?”

You shrug, looking up at the stars, or what little of them you can see through the haze of city smog. You know the answer, but it feels too pathetic to admit out loud. The truth? It’s not that simple. It never has been.

“Maybe because the pain is addicting,” you whisper, your voice barely cutting through the stillness. “It’s like…a twisted dance, and we can’t stop stepping on each other’s toes.”

Simon smirks, and you catch the briefest glimpse of that crooked smile that makes your heart race. “You always were poetic,” he mutters, his tone tinged with both affection and scorn. He passes you the joint again, and this time, when your fingers brush, it sends a jolt through you—familiar, electric, dangerous.

You take a drag, letting the smoke cloud your thoughts, dull the ache. “I mean it, Simon,” you say, the words coming out slower now, heavy from both the high and the weight of them. “We know how to hurt each other in all the right ways. It’s almost like…we’re better at hurting than loving.”

He chuckles, but it’s empty, hollow. “Maybe we were never supposed to love in the first place,” he says, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Maybe all we’re good at is fucking things up.”

There’s no denying the truth in his words. You’ve been here before, countless times, caught in this cycle of destruction, breaking each other apart piece by piece, only to come back together, craving the chaos more than the calm. Simon would get restless after a while, he’d cheat and lie, you’d find out, you’d scream, cry, threaten to leave, and then—somehow—you’d end up in his arms again.

It was exhausting, suffocating, but it was also magnetic. You didn’t know how to leave. And neither did he.

You sigh, flicking the ashes of the joint onto the ground, your hand trembling slightly. “It’s fucked up, isn’t it?” you say, more to yourself than to him. “The way I can’t seem to let you go, even though I know you’re bad for me.”

He tilts his head, a smirk tugging at his lips as he studies your face for a moment. “Have you ever considered that you’d be a lot happier if you just admitted to yourself that you like it?”

He reaches for the joint, his fingers brushing yours for longer this time, deliberate. “You can keep telling yourself I’m the bad guy all you want, babe,” he says, his voice low, “but we both know you ain’t innocent in this either. You like it. The fighting, the drama, the sex. You like what we have.”

Your stomach tightens at his words, because there’s a part of you that knows he’s right. 

You’ve said things, done things, you’re not proud of. Screamed in his face, hurled insults meant to wound, thrown plates that shattered like the fragile remains of your relationship. And then, when the storm passed, you’d pull him into bed, your anger melting into a desperate kind of need. It was all you knew—this toxic spiral that twisted love and pain together until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

“Maybe,” you admit softly, feeling the weight of your own guilt settle on your shoulders. “Maybe I do.”

Simon turns to you then, his gaze locking with yours, and for a moment, you can see the cracks in his armor, the vulnerability he never lets anyone else see. “So, what are we doing here?” he asks, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “We’re just gonna keep doing this? Over and over?”

You swallow hard, the question hanging between you like a knife. You know the answer, even if you don’t want to admit it. You’re stuck in this loop, and neither of you knows how to break free.

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice barely audible. “I don’t know how to stop.”

Simon leans in closer, his breath warm against your cheek, and for a second, your heart races with that familiar, dangerous anticipation. “We don’t have to stop,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “We can keep this going; keep fucking up, keep hurting, keep loving. It’s what we do.”

You let out a small, tired laugh, and shake your head. “Yeah, Simon, great plan,” you say, your tone light, almost condescending, though there’s no real bite behind it. “Let’s just keep breaking each other into pieces. That’s gonna end well.”

You don’t even have the energy to fight properly. It’s all too much, and you’re too tired. Tired of the fights, the back-and-forth, the constant cycling through pain and passion like it’s the only way you know how to exist together.

He watches you closely, his gaze unwavering, as if he’s trying to figure out what you’re thinking, waiting for you to snap at him, to tell him off. But you don’t. You can’t. You feel the exhaustion settle in your bones, making it impossible to muster up any anger.

Why is it so difficult?

What the hell is wrong with you that it’s so difficult for him to love you? To not hurt you? You wonder if it’s something about you, something broken deep inside, something that makes you impossible to love. 

You’ve tried, haven’t you? You’ve bent yourself to fit the version of you he seems to want, the version that’s easier, less complicated, less demanding. But no matter how much you bend, no matter how much you give, it’s never enough.

What is it about you that’s so unlovable?

“I’m sorry, you know,” Simon murmurs, taking a long drag from the joint.

You blink, your head feeling light, detached, like you’re floating just above the surface of yourself. The words come slower now, softer, like you have to pull them from some faraway place.

“For what?”

You hear yourself ask the question, but it feels distant, like it’s not really you speaking. The world around you is muffled, like you’re wrapped in cotton, the sounds, the lights, all muted. Simon’s face swims in your vision, and for a moment, you focus on the way his lips curve as he exhales, the smoke curling lazily from his mouth. You watch it drift up, swirling in the air between you, and it’s almost beautiful, the way it moves, weightless and free.

Simon glances at you, his eyes half-lidded, bloodshot, but there’s something in his gaze—something that makes you feel a tug of recognition, though your mind is too foggy to grasp what it is. He takes another drag, slower this time, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft.

“You know what.” He hands you back the joint and you take it, and you inhale deeply, the burn in your lungs calming your nerves.

“Then why’d you do it?” 

He hadn’t even tried to hide it this time. You heard the story from someone else first, a smug, offhand comment meant as a joke. Simon, with his arm slung over your shoulder, laughing along like it was nothing, like you weren’t standing right there, feeling the ground crumble beneath your feet.

“I was drunk as fuck ‘cause they kept bringing shots after shots after shots, and she took advantage of that like you wouldn’t believe. That’s what those girls do, and shit, I wasn’t the only one they got like that—Ben, Jake, Alex, Teddy too, I think.”

All of them in relationships, one to be married in two weeks, one with a baby on the way. 

Disgusting.

“It’s so easy for you, isn’t it?” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Simon furrows his brow, turning to you, confusion flashing across his face. “What do you mean?”

You shake your head, unable to look at him directly, your gaze fixed on the joint between your fingers. “Going through life, knowing nothing is ever your fault,” you murmur. There’s no anger in your tone, just a tired sort of resignation, like you’re saying something you’ve known all along.

“What are you talking about?” he scoffs. “Nothing’s ever been easy for me. I fucked up royally, yeah, I get that, but it wasn’t my fucking fault. I didn’t even wanna go to the damn club, but Alex wouldn’t stop begging, so I gave in.”

“You see?” you say, your voice quiet, but firm. “You’re fine as long as Alex was the one who made you cheat. It’s all good ‘cause the stripper took advantage of you, right?” You can hear the bitterness in your own voice.

“You don’t need to change or grow, ‘cause, what’s the point, your parents fucked you up anyway. It’s your boss’s fault your coworkers complain about you, it’s the cops’ fault that you got a DUI, and it’s my fault that you resent me.”

You watch Simon’s face as the words sink in, the flicker of defensiveness in his eyes, the way his jaw tightens.

“And I know that deep down you really do believe all that.” You pause, staring at him through the thick fog clouding your mind, your body sinking deeper into the concrete. “So, I guess my question is…why even bother with me anymore?”

“Baby…”

“No, I’m serious,” you say, cutting him off, but there’s no fire in your voice, just a dull weariness that matches the slow pulse of your heartbeat. “Why? Why keep me around when you could be happy, doing what you wanna do, without me holding you back?”

Simon sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping. “I wouldn’t be happy without you.”

“But I’m not enough for you,” you whisper, tears inadvertently filling your eyes. “I’ve never been enough. Despite trying everything in my power. I’m not enough for you.”

Simon doesn’t answer right away. He takes the joint from your hand, inhaling deeply, staring at some distant point in the darkened parking lot. The quiet stretches, thick and uncomfortable, and for a moment, you think he’s not going to answer at all. But then he finally sighs, rubbing a hand over his face like he’s trying to buy himself more time.

“What do you want me to say?” he mutters. “You know I’m not always good with words or expressing feelings and all that shit…but you’re wrong. You’re everything to me.”

He hands you the joint and you shake your head, a mirthless laugh bubbling to the surface. “Yeah, that’s why you fucked a stripper and had unprotected sex with me right after. Do you hear yourself?”

He exhales exasperatedly as he leans back, palms pressed against the cool concrete. “It’s not– it didn’t mean anything,” he says, his voice defensive. “It’s not like I’m looking for someone better than you.”

“Then why?” you press, your voice shaking now. “If I’m so important to you, why do you keep lying and sneaking around? What’s the point?”

He sighs again, louder this time, like he’s tired of this conversation before it’s even really begun. “I don’t know, okay? I get restless sometimes. I’m not…thinking when I do it.” His thumb brushes over the back of your hand, a small, almost absent-minded gesture that makes your heart clench. “It’s not like I’m trying to hurt you. I’m really not, baby. And It doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

His hand tightens around yours, grounding you in the moment, and for a second, you almost feel comforted.

Almost.

But then, like a flash, the memory hits you—sharp, vivid, paralyzing.

The pain shoots through your wrist all over again, that awful, sickening crunch echoing in your ears. You’re back in the ER, the blinding white lights overhead making your eyes burn, your head pounding as you sit there, staring at the sterile walls. You’d made up some story, but the nurse looked right through you, her eyes filled with pity.

You remember how you sat there, waiting, your body aching but your mind empty, not even able to cry a single tear. Just numb. Completely detached from yourself, like you were watching it all from the outside.

You remember the young doctor, the one who stitched you up. His voice was light, conversational, doing his best to distract you from the deep gash in your wrist. He told you about how his daughter had just started kindergarten that day. How proud and terrified he and his wife were, how they’d taken a hundred pictures of her in her little backpack. How she was such a happy, bright girl, full of curiosity and excitement.

You could barely listen, but you remember the way his voice softened when he said, “I just hope she always knows how loved she is.”

That was the part that stuck with you.

The way his voice cracked just slightly when he said it, like he was imagining all the ways the world could break her. How someone could end up hurting her like someone hurt you. And as you sat there, the needle pulling your skin back together, all you could think about was how far away that feeling was—how you had no idea what it felt like to be that loved, that safe.

You swallow hard, looking down at your intertwined hands. “You’ve said that before, you know. When you drove me home from the hospital.” Your voice is soft, almost too quiet, but the accusation is there.

Simon stiffens. His grip loosens slightly, and you can see the flicker of guilt in his eyes, but it’s the kind of guilt that runs shallow, just skimming the surface. His jaw clenches, and he pulls his hand away.

“I thought you were over that,” he mutters. 

You stare at him for a moment, then let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Yeah, sure,” you say with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You hold out your hand to him, the small scar visible on your wrist, faded but undeniable. “Totally over it. Look, it’s almost like it never happened.”

Simon’s face falters as he hesitates, then takes your hand gently, his thumb brushing over the scar as though trying to erase it with that simple touch.

“I wasn’t right that night,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on your hand before you pull away. “You know I’m not…I wasn’t right.”

You chuckle and take the joint from him. “Yeah, I know.”

He’s silent beside you, his fingers twitching like he wants to reach for you again but doesn’t know how. You can feel his eyes on you, heavy with unspoken words, but you don’t look at him. Instead, you take a slow drag from the joint, letting the smoke fill your lungs.

“I’m not doing that anymore,” Simon says quietly.

You don’t respond. You don’t even look at him. You smoke in silence, absentmindedly rubbing over a faded bruise on your leg.

“The past few months were nice, weren’t they?” Simon’s voice cuts through the silence, tentative, like he’s testing the waters. “I mean, we were fine, right? You were happy?”

You nod, exhaling slowly as the smoke leaves your lips. “I was happy, yeah.”

“Then let’s go back to that. I don’t wanna fall asleep without you in my arms again.” He moves closer, his hand reaching for your chin, gripping it gently, so you’ll look at him. His eyes are wide, pleading, the same look he always gives you when he’s trying to pull you back in. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Which time?

“Hey, I mean it.” He turns your head back, his grip tighter now. “I’m trying to be better for you, I really am. Just…tell me what you want me to do to make it right and I’ll do it. Anything.” 

“You know, I never wanted you to become a better person for me, Simon,” you say softly, removing his hand from your chin, and letting it fall to his side. “I wanted you to look in the mirror, and realize that you’re a fucking asshole, and change for yourself. I wanted you to realize you’re turning into the very man you always told me you’d rather die than become.”

He stares at you for a moment, then shakes his head as the mask he so carefully wears is slipping. “You love doing this, don’t you?” he mutters. “Pushing, prodding, trying to make me feel like shit.”

You curl your arms around your legs, pulling them close to your chest, your voice calm. “If the shoe fits…”

“Oh, really?” he scoffs, his voice dripping with venom. “You think you’re so much fucking better than me, don’t you? Well, let me tell you this, princess. You’re not as fucking perfect as you think you are, and if you think other people can’t see that, you’re hallucinating.”

“I don’t think I’m perfect, Simon. I wouldn’t be here if I did.” Your voice is softer than you intend, like the weed is suppressing your strength to yell. “I wouldn’t be here if I did.”

“Then why the fuck are you here if you hate me so much?”

“‘Cause I’m an idiot.” You bring the joint to your lips and inhale deeply. “I’m an idiot who can’t let go. ‘Cause I still think you could be better if you just tried. If you stopped listening to your friends, if you stopped drinking, if you stopped blaming me for every shitty thing that’s happened to you in the last five years.”

He’s shaking his head before you even finish. “I don’t do that.”

“Yes, you do.”

“And your solution is to just up and leave without telling me where you are? Very mature.”

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “I can’t talk to you, Simon. Every time I try, it’s like I’m talking to a wall.”

“You could talk to me if you actually wanted to,” he snaps back. “But it fits your narrative better when you can storm out, make your big scene, and go enjoy your little power trip. That’s what you do, right? It’s easier than actually being a grown-up and talking things out with me.”

“You’re delusional,” you mutter, brow furrowed.

“I’m delusional?” Simon’s laugh is hollow, his eyes flashing. “Yeah, right. I think you’re the one who’s lost it.”

You feel the words leaving his mouth before he even says them, the familiar sting of what’s next, and it’s like watching a car crash in slow motion. “Like you’re any better than me. Look who the fuck’s talking. Her mother’s daughter.”

There it is. The blow he always lands when he’s desperate to hit you where it hurts.

It’s his ace, the easiest way to throw you off-balance, to bring you down to the level where you feel vulnerable and he can control the conversation again.

You feel an old pain rising to the surface, but instead of letting it show, you smile. It’s not a real smile, but a small, knowing curve of your lips, the kind that hides everything you refuse to let him see. You’re not taking the bait this time.

“She had to go to the hospital again,” you murmur, your eyes on the joint as you bring it to your lips for one last drag. Then, you stub it out on the curb, watching the ember fade. “Thanks for asking.”

Simon’s face falls, the sharp edge of his anger crumbling away. “Shit, babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to–”

“Oh, you know,” you cut him off with a casual shrug. “It is what it is.”

“Why didn’t you–”

“‘Cause you were balls deep in a goddamn stripper, Simon,” you interrupt, your voice cold and flat. “I can’t rely on you.”

His face twists in frustration, but his eyes soften, and if you weren’t as high as you are, you’d see the little lines of guilt written all over his face. He reaches out to touch your shoulder, his hand hovering for a second before he gently rests it there.

“Baby, you know you can rely on me,” he says softly. “We have our problems, sure, but I always have your back.”

You roll your eyes, but he presses on, his voice earnest. “Look me in the eye and tell me it’s not true.”

Your eyes meet his. You know exactly what he’s referring to.

That one thing he holds onto as proof, as his trump card, the one time he truly came through for you when it mattered most. The time you thought you’d lose everything. If it’s not your histrionic mother he uses against you, it’s this.

“You can’t hold that over my head for the rest of my life,” you say, your voice steady but sharp. “You don’t get to help me when I need you most and then throw it in my face every time things get hard. That’s not how this works.”

His hand falls from your shoulder. He knows you’re right, but he doesn’t want to admit it. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I’m agitated. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

He shifts uncomfortably beside you, his fingers twitching in his lap as he glances away. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, hesitant. “Is she gonna be alright?”

You nod, but there’s no relief in it. “Mhm.” 

There’s a long pause, heavy and suffocating, like an unseen barrier between you two. The night air is crisp, and your bare legs peeking out beneath your skirt are starting to get cold. Simon breaks the silence first.

“Baby, look at me. Please.” 

You blink slowly, your eyes struggling to focus as everything around you starts to blur. The edges of Simon’s face seem to dissolve into the night, his features soft and indistinct, almost like he’s not really there. But you find him again, his eyes, his nose, his lips, his disheveled hair. He looks…lost. It’s rare to see him this vulnerable, this unsure.

How beautiful.

“Can we go home?”

You don’t hear him, not really. All you hear is the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor echoing in your ears. It’s distant but persistent, a steady pulse that reminds you of things you’d rather forget. Then, a disembodied voice, calmly announcing that, “This could have been prevented. This is your fault.”

The words float through your mind, circling, wrapping tighter and tighter around you.

“Baby?”

You try to focus on Simon’s face again, but it’s hard to think, hard to find the words. Everything feels slow, muffled, like you’re moving underwater.

“I have to go,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, like the words are slipping away from you even as you say them.

He tenses up immediately, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean, ‘go’?”

“It means I’m tired, Simon. It means I can’t do this anymore.”

The silence that follows is deafening, like the world has suddenly come to a standstill, waiting for the inevitable fallout. You can practically feel Simon’s frustration pulsing off him.

But as you tilt your head, your gaze wandering over his face, the familiar lines of anger are there, yes. But beneath that, hidden in the set of his shoulders, in the way his hands rest uncertainly in his lap, you can sense something different. Fear. Real fear that this time, you might actually mean it. That this time, you might actually leave.

He doesn’t say anything as you stand up, your legs trembling beneath you, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst out of your chest. The world spins around you, dizzying, your vision blurred, and you stumble. Instinctively, Simon reaches out, steadying you with his hand.

But you shove him away immediately, your skin burning where his fingers brushed yours. You can’t let him touch you right now. If he touches you, you know you’ll crumble. You know you’ll fall back into his orbit like you always do.

And you may just be unable to afford that anymore.

But then, like a shadow moving through the haze of your high, Simon is suddenly in front of you—close, too close. His presence is disorienting, his words pouring over you before you can even process the distance he’s just closed.

“You don’t mean it,” he says, low and sure, like a statement of fact, as if he’s already decided this for you. His eyes lock onto yours, and it feels like you’re sinking into them, the pull of him as strong as ever, like gravity. He knows how to make you feel small, like your words hold no weight next to his certainty.

“I love you,” he whispers, and the tenderness in his voice makes you shiver, even though your mind screams for you to stay strong. His words wrap around you, weaving through the cracks in your resolve. His face is so close now, his breath warm against your skin, and you can’t tell if it’s the weed or the way he’s looking at you, but everything feels…slower. Softer. Like you’re slipping into a warm, dangerous comfort.

“You know how much I love you, don’t you? Yeah, I messed up, I know I did. But don’t let this ruin us. We’re too good together for that.” His voice is so gentle, hypnotic…irresistible.

“Simon…”

He steps even closer, the space between you disappearing as his hands find yours. His touch is warm, grounding, and despite the cold night air biting at your skin, his presence feels like shelter. He squeezes your hands softly, and your heart stumbles over itself.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he whispers, pleading. “Don’t walk away from us. We’re not perfect, but we belong together. You’re my family, baby. You’re all I have in this godforsaken world. You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like I matter…like I deserve love.”

It’s incredible, really, how easily he can break you down, how he can strip away all your defenses with just a few words. He knows exactly which buttons to push, how to weave his need for you into something that feels like love, something that feels like safety—even though you should know better.

He sees it, too. He sees the way your resolve falters, the way your eyes flicker with that familiar softness, and a satisfied smile curls on his lips. He knows he’s got you. He always knows when he’s won.

“C’mere,” he says gently, his hands sliding up your arms, pulling you toward him, and despite every instinct telling you to run, you let him. You let him hold you, let him wrap his arms around you like a protective shield against the world.

Your body sinks into his, your cheek resting against his chest, and you can hear the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear. Each beat is a rhythm you’ve known for years, one that’s soothed you through your darkest moments, even as it’s caused some of them. His scent wraps around you, familiar and intoxicating, like the remnants of a home you’re desperate to return to. You let yourself drown in the warmth of him, in his steady presence that has helped you through so much. His hand strokes the back of your head, his touch soft, soothing.

It’s messed up how right it feels.

How comforting it is to be here in his arms, even when your heart is breaking inside.

“I love you,” Simon whispers again, his breath warm against your temple. “I’m so sorry for everything. I’m so fucking sorry. But you’re all I have, babe. I need you.”

You close your eyes, biting back the sob that threatens to escape. His words seep into your skin, and you want so desperately to believe him. 

You love him. God, do you love him. Even when it hurts. Even when it breaks you. And right now, with his arms around you, you miss him so deeply it feels like a hollow ache in your chest. You don’t want to be without him. He’s the only thing that’s ever felt like family to you. The only person who knows all your scars, all your flaws, and still pulls you close.

“I need you too,” you whisper, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. It’s the truth, as ugly as it is.

Simon holds you tighter, his arms enveloping you, and for now, you let yourself sink into the comfort of it. Into the warmth of his embrace, into the way his hand rubs slow circles on your back like he’s trying to erase all the hurt, all the broken pieces between you.

You let him tell you he loves you, let him soothe you with his words, let him promise you the world, even though deep down, you know you’ll both end up in the same place again.

And before you know it, you’re slipping into the passenger seat, the door closing behind you with a soft, final click.

“You okay, darlin’?”

Joel’s voice pulls you back, the deep rumble of his question cutting through the fog of memories clouding your mind.

You blink, taking in the familiar interior of his car, the hum of the road beneath the tires, the soft glow of the dashboard lights illuminating his profile. The past feels too close, too heavy, pressing on your chest like you’re still stuck in it. But Joel is here, real and solid next to you, grounding you in the present.

“Yeah,” you answer quietly, your voice a little rougher than you mean for it to be. “Just tired.”

You see him glance over at you, concern evident in his eyes, but he doesn’t push. Not this time. He’s trying his hardest not to pry, not when he knows you need space. He just nods and keeps his eyes on the road, his hand resting on the gearshift, close but not touching.

“We’re almost there,” he says after a beat, his voice gentle, steady—so different from the frantic beat of your heart.

You nod, staring out the window at the darkened streets passing by. It’s quiet this late at night, and the drive back to your place feels longer than it should. The weight of the past few days lingers like a shadow, gnawing at the edges of your mind, making it hard to breathe. 

You can still see Laura’s hand on her bump, the way her sad eyes looked at you like you were in the wrong. You can feel Simon’s arms around you, the way he pulled you in even when you should’ve pushed him away. The way you couldn’t help but let him.

But you’re not that person anymore. This is different. Joel’s different.

Your stomach churns, a wave of nausea rising so suddenly it feels like the world tilts. You grip your bandaged hand tighter, shift in your seat, trying to breathe through it, but the sensation intensifies. You can taste the bitterness of the meds in your mouth, the stress squeezing your chest like a vice as cold sweat starts spreading on your skin. The movement of the car only makes it worse, and you know what’s coming.

“Joel…” you manage, your voice strained, barely above a whisper. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Huh?” His head snaps toward you, eyes widening with concern as he sees how uncomfortable you are. “Shit. Hang on.”

Without hesitation, he tightens his grip on the steering wheel and scans the street for a place to pull over. It’s late, but the road is still lined with parked cars, neon signs glowing from nearby buildings. Finally, he spots a small gap along the curb. He turns on his blinker and slows down, smoothly guiding you toward the side of the street.

You fumble desperately with the seatbelt, your fingers trembling and uncoordinated as nausea hits you like a wave. Before you can manage it yourself, Joel leans over, his hands quick but gentle as he clicks the seat belt free. “Here,” he murmurs, and the moment the belt retracts, you’re already reaching for the door handle.

The second the door is open, you lurch out onto the sidewalk, the city air thick with petrichor from the short downpour that made you leave the beach earlier. The nausea hits hard, and you bend over, retching violently onto the pavement. It’s mostly bile, bitter and burning in your throat, and each wave of sickness feels like it’s tearing through your body. You grip the door for support, your hands shaking, your body trembling from the sheer force of it.

You hate this. The vulnerability, the pain, the utter helplessness of it all.

Joel moves quietly, reaching into the glove compartment for tissues. He doesn’t crowd you, just watches carefully, his expression tight with worry. He’s there, but giving you the space you need. After grabbing the tissues, he steps out of the car, making his way around to the back. You can hear him rummaging in the trunk, though your focus remains on trying not to accidentally cough up your lungs. 

“Goddamnit,” you choke out, your voice strained as another wave of nausea forces the last of the bile from your body. It burns, raw and painful, your whole frame trembling as you lean over. Joel is next to you, hovering, trying to be there, but keeping his distance. 

“I hate this,” you whine dramatically, your head pounding as you try catching your breath. 

Once you feel like the worst is over and your stomach is settling, you straighten up and look at Joel through watery eyes. He’s smiling at you sympathetically, taking a step closer to wipe your mouth and chin with a couple of tissues.

You’re about to tell him not to touch you, but the concentrated look on his face and the deft but gentle motion of his fingers put you in a trance. He’s cleaned your mouth and wiped away your tears before you could even say anything.  

“Do you remember how hot I looked in that short red dress?” you murmur, furrowing your brow at the unexpected pain coming from your sore throat. 

“Yeah, how could I not?” Joel chuckles as he opens and hands you the water bottle he had waiting for you in his back pocket.

“Good,” you nod before swishing a mouthful of water, and spitting it out onto the concrete away from you. You take another sip, letting it cool your throat before you cap the bottle and look into Joel’s eyes. “I want you to think of that really hard and forget everything you just saw, okay?”

He just smiles at you, touching your shoulder with his warm hand. “Sweetheart, you’re vastly underestimating my attraction to you. You think a little puke’s gonna deter me? If you weren’t in pain, I’d kiss you no problem.” The way his eyebrow automatically twitches makes you roll your eyes. But it also warms your heart. 

“You’re disgusting,” you say, trying your hardest not to smile. 

“Says the girl who wiped snot off my face and kissed me while I was sweaty and gross after rolling around in bed with a fever. Guess we’re both disgusting, then.” 

“Hm,” is all you manage to get out, a tiny smirk on your face, but it falters just as quickly as you suddenly feel like you’re going to throw up again. 

“No, no, no, please, no,” you murmur, terrified, clutching the open car door for dear life. Your body tenses up, desperate to avoid another wave of sickness. You can’t do this again.

“I’m right here,” Joel whispers softly, his hand coming to rest on your back. He begins rubbing slow, soothing circles, his touch gentle and steady. There's a hint of helplessness in his voice, as if he wishes he could do more, but knows this is all he can offer right now. “It’s okay, just breathe.”

You focus on his hand, the warmth of it cutting through the cold sweat covering your skin. The nausea grips you, but Joel’s steady touch draws you back, grounding you. Your breath steadies, and when the sickness passes, you focus on the warmth of his hand, his touch comforting in a way you didn’t expect.

You’re usually not one for people being around, let alone touching you, when you’re vulnerable like this. The only time you’d allow anyone to get this close is during sex. But that’s different. Especially with Joel.

No one else gets to do the things he does with you. Not that you’ve ever admitted that to him.

He’s seen you at your most unguarded—tied up with your ankles behind your ears, covered in sweat, drooling, crying, bruised from his hands, begging for release, and confessing all the depraved things you’d let him do to you if he’d just finally let you come. He’s seen you laid bare, stripped down to nothing but raw desire and submission. And in those moments, there’s nothing but trust and desire between you two.

It’s freeing. Being able to let go of your body and mind so completely.

But this?

The idea of Joel witnessing you vomiting bile on the side of a dingy city street while your hand is bandaged, your face contorted, and your body shaking like you’ve been dragged through hell…

Not good. Especially after what happened.

You don’t know how to navigate this new territory with him, and the last thing you want is for him to see you weak like this. Not when you’re already feeling fragile.

You’re embarrassed, your cheeks burning from the humiliation of it all. You know this moment will haunt you on sleepless nights when your mind drags up every cringe-worthy memory. But right now, there’s an unexpected comfort in knowing he’s here.

“I think it’s over,” you say quietly, almost afraid to voice it, half-expecting your body to betray you again just because you dared to say it out loud. But it doesn’t. The nausea ebbs away, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. It’s over.

“Okay,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. “Just take your time. Don’t rush it.”

You inhale deeply, drawing in the cool night air. The city smells faintly of petrichor and there’s a soft hum from the distant traffic, cars rolling by on the nearby streets. It all feels surreal, like the world is far away from the small bubble you and Joel are in.

The steady circles he traces on your back continue, grounding you further. You let your eyes close for a moment, soaking in the calm of the moment.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, not looking at him.

He shakes his head, his brow furrowed in worry. “You got nothing to be sorry for. Do you think you’re okay to go on now?”

You nod and swallow hard, the sting in your throat making you wince. You manage a weak, half-hearted smile, though the world still feels off-kilter. “Yeah, I think so. But if I start dry-heaving again, just do us both a favor and push me out of the moving car, okay?”

He smirks, his lips curling in that familiar, teasing way. “As if I could ever deny you something,” he says softly, his humor not quite hiding the concern in his eyes. “Let’s get you home, darlin’.”

He pauses, like he wants to say more, his mouth opening slightly as if searching for the right words, but he holds back. Instead, he just watches you carefully as you make your way back into the passenger seat, waiting until you’re settled before gently closing the door behind you.

You lean your head back against the seat, eyes half-lidded, the weight of everything pressing down on you like a heavy blanket as you continue your way home.

The words are there, inside you, loud, persistent, trying to break free; but you can’t. Where would you even start? What’s the point in revealing more of yourself? What good could come from it?

Nothing. That’s what.

Nothing.

You watch the city lights blur outside the window, your thoughts darker than the night. Your life feels like it’s crumbling, piece by piece, slipping through your fingers no matter how hard you try to hold on. And once again, you know—deep down—it’s your own doing. It always is. No matter how many times you try to make things right, it always ends up the same way.

When Joel finally parks in front of your apartment building, the car idles quietly, and he takes a moment to gather his thoughts. You can feel him looking at you, trying to find the right words. You don’t move, your mind still preoccupied with your own self-doubt.

“We’re here,” Joel says, a soft smile on his lips. He’s trying, you can tell, but you’re too far gone, too lost in your own spiral. When you don’t respond, his smile falters, but he presses on, determined to lift the weight between you.

“I was thinking…” he begins, his voice light. “I could cook for you tomorrow if you’re up for it? I remember I owe you a nice dinner, and no, it’s not just frozen pizza this time. It’s a frozen pizza with a side salad.”

He grins, hoping to coax a smile out of you, some kind of response. But you don’t laugh. You don’t even crack a smile.

Joel clears his throat and shifts slightly in his seat, his fingers drumming anxiously on the steering wheel. He’s trying to pull you out of whatever hole you’ve fallen into, but you can’t meet him halfway. You don’t have the strength.

He looks at you, his heart sinking as he takes in your sad, distant eyes. It’s like you’re not really here, like you’ve drifted somewhere far away, unreachable. How he wishes he could climb inside your mind and pull out whatever it is that’s weighing so heavily on you, take the burden for himself.

“Darlin’?” he repeats softly.

You blink, refocusing, but the smile you give him doesn’t reach your eyes. “Hm?”

“Can I cook for you tomorrow? You could come over to mine after work, or I can come here. Whatever you prefer.” There’s a hopeful smile on his face, a softness in his gaze, and the way he looks at you, almost like a puppy waiting for a treat, makes your stomach twist painfully.

You remember the dinner with Tommy and Maria, cursing yourself silently for agreeing to go. It’s not that you don’t love them—you do—but the thought of sitting through that dinner, of having that conversation with Tommy, feels like a nightmare.

“I can’t tomorrow.”

Joel’s smile falters the slightest bit, but he remains undeterred. “How about Saturday? I’ll plan something nice for us. Something I know you’ll love.”

Oh no.

You want to say it so badly it physically hurts.

You’ve been better, haven’t you? Over the past year or so. You’ve tried—really tried—to keep your cool, to express your feelings in a healthy way, or at least something close to it. You’ve worked hard to stop falling into that old mentality where uncomfortable emotions make you feel cornered and you end up lashing out. You’ve made progress. 

You’re not the same person you used to be. He’s not Simon. You don’t act like this anymore. You’ve outgrown this. Don’t do it. Don’t say–

“You’re free on a Saturday?” 

Joel blinks, the confusion clear on his face. “Yeah, like always when I’m not working,” he says, unsure where this is coming from.

“Oh,” you murmur. “Would’ve thought you already had plans with your, uh…with Jan.”

How subtle.

“I’m not planning on seeing her again,” Joel says simply.

You glance at him. “You should probably tell her that. Didn’t really seem like she knew when she was fondling you under the table.”

Joel exhales deeply and shifts slightly, turning his body toward you, trying to make sure you hear him. “I did tell her, and she does know,” he says firmly. His gaze softens as he looks at you, his voice gentler now. “Sweetheart…I’m not gonna pursue anything with her. And I wouldn’t have agreed to the date if I’d known it would hurt you.”

You shake your head, not wanting to let the conversation go where it’s headed, your thumb rubbing over your wrist brace. “Can we please not talk about this right now?” you murmur, your voice tight, barely holding it together. “I’m sorry for bringing it up. Thank you for driving me home, I’ll see you– “

“I didn’t sleep with her,” Joel interrupts, his voice firm. “We had a good time, but that’s it.”

You blink, furrowing your brow and tilting your head slightly as his words begin to sink in. He watches you, waiting for your response, but when it doesn’t come, he shifts again, trying to close the distance.

“Hey,” Joel says softly, reaching for your left hand, his fingers gently wrapping around yours. He rubs your skin with his thumb, more to soothe himself than you. “I didn’t sleep with her.”

He searches your face, waiting for a reaction, any reaction. But you just sit there, unmoved, your expression frozen in place. There’s no relief, no anger, no hint of anything. Just…nothing.

The silence stretches, and Joel’s heart sinks. He doesn’t know exactly what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Maybe he thought you’d smile, maybe he even hoped you’d fall into his arms, that this would be the moment things would start to feel okay again. But you’re distant, your face unreadable.

His eyes scan yours, searching desperately for something to hold on to, and what he finds hits him like a punch to the gut.

“You don’t believe me.”

You meet his eyes for just a second longer, a sad smile tugging at the corners of your lips before you nervously look away and whisper, “Look, I’m, uh– I’m extremely tired right now and this close to crying, so I’m gonna go upstairs and call it a night, okay?”

But Joel doesn’t let go of your hand. His grip tightens, just a little, his voice strained. “You really don’t believe me. You think I’m lying to you.”

“I don’t– Can we please do this another time?”

“I’d love to, but I feel like it’s important that we–” 

“Joel.”

“–get this sorted out, so you don’t–”

“Joel, please.”

“–keep on thinking I’m a liar. I didn’t know you thought that ab–”

“Jesus Christ,” you snap, your voice trembling with frustration, “don’t you hear what I’m saying?” Without waiting for a response, you push open the car door and step out, the cool air hitting your skin. “I can’t fucking do this right now.”

The door slams shut behind you with a hard thud, cutting through the quiet of the parking lot.

Joel watches you for a moment, taken aback, then quickly follows, stepping out of the car. His eyes are full of concern, his brow furrowed as he watches you pace, but his voice is calm, steady, trying to reach you.

“Darlin’, I do hear you,” he says, taking a cautious step closer. “And I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about it right now, I just…”

You spin around, exasperated. “You just what?”

“I just wanna know that you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Joel,” you say, rubbing your temples. “Why in the world wouldn’t I be?”

He opens his mouth, trying to form a response, but before he can say anything, you cut him off, the words spilling out like a dam breaking.

“But it doesn’t even matter, okay? It doesn’t matter if I’m fine or not. I don’t have time to think about it.” Your voice cracks slightly, your throat constricting as you try to keep control. “Because now I gotta get to bed, so I can go to the office early tomorrow, ‘cause afterwards I’ll be sitting at a table with Tommy, who probably fucking hates me now. Do you have any idea how much that fucking sucks?”

Your voice lowers, the vulnerability creeping in despite your efforts to hold it back. “What if he…doesn’t want me in his life anymore?”

Joel shakes his head, vehemently. “Darlin’, that’s nonsense. He’s not mad at you. If anything, he’s mad at me. And I’m sorry for not asking you first, but you gotta understand that I was worried about you and thought this was the best solution.”

“Oh sure, yeah,” you scoff, bitterness lacing your words. “You know so much fucking better than I do. That’s it, right? Yeah, of course. Don’t you get how fucking weird this all is? It’s exactly what I was afraid of. You all talking about me behind my back, pitying me, judging me, and figuring out that you’re better off without me. That I’m not who you thought I was. That I’m not able to give you what you want.”

Joel hears the panic in your voice like he did yesterday, the way it’s rising, how your words are becoming more frantic. He gets the sense you’re not hearing him anymore, not really. You’re caught up in your own head, lost in the whirlwind of your fears. His mind flashes back to Tommy’s words. He can see it now, the way your frustration, your hurt is morphing into something darker, more overwhelming.

God, how he wishes he could just pull you into his arms right now. Hold you, protect you from the weight of everything that’s crushing you. But he knows, deep down, that he’s part of that weight. 

No matter how good his intentions might have been. 

“That’s not what happened at all,” Joel says, his voice calm, measured, even though his heart is racing. “We didn’t talk about you like that. I just needed Tommy to help me figure out where you might be, and I’m so glad he did. It was nice…sitting with you, holding your hand…”

You shake your head. “Good night, Joel.”

“Look, I– I know you’re going through something right now that makes you think I’m insincere,” he blurts out, “but I need you to know that I’m really just trying to help you.”

Your body stiffens, his words hitting a nerve. “I don’t need you to help me,” you snap. “I don’t wanna be your little damsel in distress, that’s not who I am.”

Joel flinches at the bite in your words, but he doesn’t back down. “I know that. And that’s not how I see you. I know you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself.” He pauses, his eyes searching yours, desperate for you to understand.

“But allowing help from the people who love us isn’t about being weak or incapable. You may not see it right now, but I’m on your side. And if anyone’s weak it’s me, ‘cause I can’t stand seeing you in pain like this.”

You sigh deeply and murmur, “I’m gonna go now,” your voice flat as you turn toward your apartment.

Joel steps forward cautiously, not wanting to push too hard, but he can’t just let you walk away without saying more. “I get it, it’s all too much. But please, just…don’t shut me out, okay? Call me if you need anything. Doesn’t matter if it’s the middle of the night. I’ll be here.”

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his promise, but you’re too drained to respond. All you can do is nod.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he says softly, his voice full of regret. “I wish I could take some of this off you, make it easier somehow. But I’m not leaving, alright? Not now, not ever. ”

You nod again, your throat too tight to speak, and turn away, walking toward your apartment. Joel watches you go with his hands falling uselessly to his sides, his heart heavy, knowing there’s so much left unsaid, but hoping—praying—you’ll let him know when you’re ready.

Wow, well done.

Sitting on your sofa, you stare blankly at the black TV as the silence of your apartment settles around you, your mind already starting its cruel commentary.

That’s for sure going to make him think you’re a mentally stable person. No, seriously, why wouldn’t he want to be with you?

The thought twists inside you like a knife, but you can’t help it. The voice in your head is relentless, mocking your every move, dissecting your behavior from earlier.

You think you’re slick, don’t you? Pushing him away so you don’t have to face your feelings. Aren’t we way past that?

You sigh deeply as if that would quiet the storm inside you, but it doesn’t. Your self-reproach lingers, heavy and biting.

Still, you drag yourself to the kitchen, forcing yourself to eat a few bites of the leftover pasta sitting in your fridge. It’s tasteless, going down like sandpaper, but you know you need something in your stomach before you can take the painkillers. Your body aches, every muscle tensing under the weight of the unresolved strain still coiled within you.

You wash the food and the pills down with iced tea, grateful for the cold sweetness, because water turns your stomach right now. The pasta, the tea, they’re just fuel—a necessary evil before you can move on and hopefully find some peace in your sleep.

After you’ve eaten, you strip off your clothes and step into the shower, letting the hot water rush over you. You stand there for a while, eyes closed, trying to wash away everything. Joel’s concerned face, the hurt, the frustration, the embarrassment of how you acted. You let the water pound against your skin, hoping it’ll somehow cleanse more than just the sweat and grime from the day.

When you finally step out, you feel a little more like yourself, a little more human. Still shaky, but better. 

By the time you crawl into bed, exhaustion drags you down like an anchor. You pull the blankets tight around you, hoping to find some comfort even though the dread of the day ahead lingers. Your phone is already in your hand, and you pull up Netflix, choosing something mindless to drown out the sound of your own thoughts. The chatter of the show hums in the background, but your mind barely registers it.

Your eyes grow heavier with each passing minute, and the warmth of your bed starts to pull you toward sleep. Everything starts to blur as the fatigue takes over.

But then, just as you’re about to drift off, your propped up phone vibrates loudly against the bedside lamp. The screen lights up, a small notification appearing at the top.

Joel Miller.

Your heart skips a beat, a strange mix of relief and anxiety rising in your chest. You blink away the sleep and swipe the notification open.

It’s a voice message, and the length—four minutes—makes your heart sink. You’re not sure you can handle whatever it is he has to say right now. It feels too heavy, too soon.

Your finger hovers over the play button, your mind running wild with possibilities.

What if something happened to him? What if he’s telling you he doesn’t want to see you anymore? What if you scared him off for good? Why else would the message be so long?

Before you can spiral further, another notification pops up.

Joel: Sleep well, baby 😘 

You blink, staring at his message, and you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. He’s being sweet. Maybe this isn’t what you’re bracing for.

You take a deep breath, your heart still beating a little too fast, and press play.

At first, there’s a small pause, like he’s gathering his thoughts. Then you hear his voice coming through the speaker, soft and gentle, the familiar rasp of it cutting through the quiet of your bedroom.

“Hi darlin’. It’s me, Joel…Miller…obviously.” 

Your smile widens. He’s such a dork.

“I know it’s late…and you’re probably already in bed. But I, uh…I wanted to say something. I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I didn’t want you to go to sleep without hearing this.”

He sounds like he always does, calm, collected, but he’s being careful with his words. You shift under the covers, feeling more awake now, your body attuned to every note in his voice.

“I know you’ve been going through a lot on your own, and I don’t wanna make it worse by pushing or prying where I shouldn’t. But I just want you to know…I’m here. I’m here for you, no matter what. You don’t have to handle it alone, okay?”

There’s a small pause, and you hear him exhale, like he’s letting go of something he’s been holding in for too long.

“I don’t know if I always say the right things, and God knows I’ve messed up plenty…but you mean a lot to me. More than I can put into words right now. And I, uh, don’t expect you to have all the answers. Hell, I don’t even know if I do. But I wanna be there with you, figure it out together…if you’ll let me.”

Another deep breath.

“You’re never not on my mind, sweetheart, and I just…wish you could see yourself the way I see you. I felt it the first time I saw you, you know? You stood there, the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. And then you looked into my eyes. You looked into my eyes and that was it for me.”

Joel’s voice softens even more, almost like he’s afraid you’ll drift off before he’s finished. “I was thinking about Saturday, too. I got something in mind that I think’ll be good for both of us. Nothing big, just…I think you’ll like it.”

There’s a brief silence on the line as if he’s gathering himself, and then you hear it—the faint strum of a guitar. Your breath catches in your throat.

He’s playing for you.

His voice, low and gentle, hums the opening notes of a country tune you’ve never heard before. The sound drifts over you, warm and comforting, like being wrapped in a blanket of soft clouds and something that feels like home.

You close your eyes, letting the music take you, and as Joel begins to sing, his voice carries a depth of emotion that reaches deep inside you. The lyrics flow, full of a quiet tenderness, and you sink into the sound, letting it wash away your troubles:

“I’m just a lonesome traveler, Drifting down this road, But darlin’, when I’m near you, I know I’m not alone.”

You just listen, your heart swelling with the softness of it, with the fact that Joel is doing this for you. Never in a million years did you see this coming. 

The song continues, the melody sweet and simple, his voice lulling you further into a sense of calm. It feels like everything else fades away—the weight of your past, the uncertainty of the future—and all that’s left is this moment, this gentle connection between you and him.

As he reaches the end of the song, his voice drops to an almost-whisper:

“But darlin’, when I hold you, I know I’ve found my home.”

The final note lingers in the air of your bedroom, and for a moment, you just lie there, your heart full, your body completely relaxed. You can barely keep your eyes open now, the edges of sleep tugging at you.

Still, you gather all of your remaining energy to text him back. You need to.

You: I’ll bring snacks on Saturday

You: Ever thought about switching careers btw? Cowboy boots, a hat and you’d make a fortune. Groupies, fame, rich old ladies letting you run wild with their credit cards…

You’ve barely pressed send when Joel responds. 

Joel: Groupies, huh?

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice. Another buzz.

Joel: Nah, sweetheart. My music comes from the heart. It’s only for the people I love. Not for anyone else.

Thank you for reading! previous | Series Masterlist | AO3 | next

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[cityofmeliora]

Secondo lied about being able to speak Swedish, and Terzo lied about *not* being able to speak Swedish

this is honestly one of the funniest things i've noticed in the Ghost lore 😂

when Secondo performed live in Sweden, he would speak some broken / mispronounced Swedish words and phrases on stage.

at Terzo's very first concert, he called out Secondo for lying. Secondo couldn't actually speak Swedish. he was just trolling, and Terzo thought that was a stupid prank. unlike his brother, Terzo admitted he did not speak Swedish, and he asserted he would not troll the audience by attempting to speak Swedish on stage. he re-iterated this several times at concerts in Sweden.

PAPA EMERITUS III: My imbecile brother has somehow fooled you into thinking he can speak some fucking Swedish– pidgin Swedish. No more of that! I do not speak Swedish, OK? Linköping, Sweden (June 3, 2015) via Youtube and Instagram

PAPA EMERITUS III: How are you doing? It's nice to see so many of you here. What has it been, a little over a year? My brother told me about you. And you do know that I'm not gonna trick you with any fucking pidgin Swedish, huh? I know he fooled you into believing he could talk. He sounded like a fucking asshole. Stockholm, Sweden (November 13, 2015)

... except Terzo was also totally lying because later in the same concert in Stockholm, Terzo yells at the audience in fluent Swedish.

PAPA EMERITUS III: FATTA DET HÄR FÖR HELVETE! Stockholm, Sweden (November 13, 2015)

"FATTA DET HÄR FÖR HELVETE!" translates to something like "UNDERSTAND THIS, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

Terzo was so bad at maintaining this lie about not speaking Swedish. he continually insisted that he could not speak Swedish, but he also kept demonstrating that not only was he a fluent Swedish speaker, he was very familiar with the culture.

PAPA EMERITUS III: Good evening. How do you do? Alright, let me get this straight to you now: Despite the band being a Swedish band, I don’t speak Swedish, OK? But I can try. You wanna hear me try? You know, we got some awards which we are very thankful for, obviously. So I can say, “Jag är kåt, glad, och tacksam.” And I can say, “Plopp.” “Kexchoklad.” Bandit Rock Awards 2016 (January 19, 2016)

“Jag är kåt, glad, och tacksam.” means "I am horny, glad, and thankful."

"Plopp" and "Kexchoklad" are the names of two Swedish chocolate candies.

PAPA EMERITUS III: I know for a fact that here in Skåne you like your potatoes, huh? Spettekaka. How fitting, because this song we’re gonna do right now does have a culinary theme that you might like. Malmö, Sweden (February 25, 2016)

Skåne is the county of Sweden where this concert was performed.

Spettekaka is a Swedish dessert.

unless they're already very familiar with Swedish, an English speaker wouldn't know how to pronounce most of these words correctly, and Terzo does.

obviously, this is all because TF is Swedish and had trouble staying in character. but the lore implications are hilarious for Terzo HAHAHA. he loves to lie and he's so bad at it.

(BTW i actually don't speak Swedish! if you are a fluent speaker, feel free to correct my translations!)

[rosemariiaa]

~In this Unsaid~

pairing: Paige x Azzi

a/n: yea.. we’re here again and not at part 6 of my other fic, i procrastinate too much but i will start writing the chapter tomorrow 💌 also a tag for my baby ke @thaatdigitaldiary because she’s a lot of help and loves listening to me yap 💌

Song: Welcome and Goodbye- Dream, Ivory

theme- angst

Enjoy!!!

The gym echoes with the laughter of teammates, but all Paige could hear was the pounding of her heart. She sat on the bleachers and glared, watching Azzi joke and laugh with the others. It was maddening how easily they seemed to connect while she felt the weight of many unsaid words pressing down.

After practice, as the group began to go their separate ways, Paige found Azzi leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a mask of indifference hiding the storm underneath. Taking a breath that felt heavy in her chest, Paige finally approached the brunette.

“Why do you keep pretending everything’s fine?” The words slipped out, sharper than she intended.

Azzi didn’t look up. She couldn’t. Her gaze was fixed on the floor. “I’m not pretending. Just… tired, I guess.”

“Tired of what? Me? Us?” Paige stepped closer, frustration bubbling. “Because I can’t keep doing this back-and-forth. It’s exhausting Az.” Finally, Azzi met her gaze, anger flaring. “You think I want to feel like this? You think I enjoy watching you pull away?”

“Then why don’t you say something? Anything. I just want to know how you feel.”

“What do you want me to say?” Azzi’s voice trembled. “That I can’t stop thinking about you? That every time I see you, it hurts because I know it’s not enough?”

Paige’s heart dropped at the confession. “It’s not enough for me either. I keep wishing we could just… figure it out.”

“But we never do!” Azzi exclaimed, her voice cracking. “We keep circling around this, and it’s killing me. I’m scared of losing you completely.”

Paige felt tears prick her eyes. “You won’t lose me. I don’t want to lose you, but I can’t keep waiting for you to decide what you want.”

Azzi swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe I already know, but I don’t know how to say it.”

Oh.

The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken truths. Paige took a step closer, the distance between them feeling both tantalizingly close and impossibly far. She could feel the heat radiating off Azzi, tension crackling like static.

Before the moment could dissolve, the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of practice. The spell broke, leaving only the echoes of their conversation hanging in the air.

———-

Days blurred as Paige prepared to leave for a tournament. The night before her departure, she lays in bed, staring at the ceiling, thoughts of Azzi flooding her mind like a tide pulling her under. They’d both been avoiding each other since that confrontation, and the silence felt like a chasm between them.

The next morning, at the airport, she felt her heart in her throat as she spotted Azzi across the terminal, standing like a beacon in the chaos. Paige’s breath hitched, a mix of longing and dread washing over her.

Azzi walked over, her expression a careful mask. “You came,” she said softly.

“I had to,” Paige replied, voice trembling. “I didn’t want to leave things like this.”

They stood there, surrounded by bustling travelers, but it was just them in that moment. The noise faded into the background as they locked eyes.

“This doesn’t feel real,” Paige said, struggling to hold back tears. “Like, I’m really leaving, and we’re just… here.”

Azzi’s eyes glimmered with unshed tears. “I hate this. I hate that it always ends like this.”

“I thought things would change. That we’d find a way to make it work,” Paige’s voice was thick with emotion.

“And what if we don’t? What if this is just… it? Another goodbye?” Azzi’s voice cracked, the vulnerability tearing at Paige’s heart.

“I don’t want it to be. I wish I could take you with me, but…” Paige’s words faltered, a sob threatening to escape.

“But you can’t. I can’t. It’s never been that easy for us,” Azzi replied, her tone heavy with resignation. Paige stepped closer, desperation in her gaze. “I’ll always care about you. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, but caring isn’t enough.” Azzi’s voice broke as tears slipped down her cheeks.

As Paige stepped back, silence enveloped them, thick with everything left unspoken. She turned to leave but paused, glancing back one last time. Their eyes met, filled with unvoiced feelings, aching and raw.

“Maybe next time we’ll finally say what we mean,” Paige whispered.

“And what if next time never comes?” Azzi’s voice was barely a breath, filled with dread.

With that, Paige turned and walked away, each step feeling like a piece of her heart was left behind. The weight of goodbye settled in, a haunting melody that would follow her long after she left.

The air felt colder without Azzi’s presence. As Paige walked towards her gate, the echo of their unfinished story lingered in her mind—a welcome and a goodbye, forever intertwined, lost in the spaces they could never seem to bridge.

[accio-victuuri]

THE MOON REPRESENTS MY HEART 🌙 + Friday Madness

i just think that me freaking about gg singing this song and leaving after that is not right. this song deserves it’s own post and the importance of the Moon’s symbolism between them should be repeated. personally, i was surprised cause i cpn’d about a possible interpretation of showing off moon photos when they do it, then i thought of this song. now you have gege performing it. the universe has clowned me once again. and you have him as performer #8. Bo. are you kidding me? yes, this is a CCP signed-off event. the song must have been an approved piece to perform live but that doesn’t mean GG did not have a say in picking this track. as for him being the 8th one, a coincidence. destiny can’t help but relate them to each other. lol.

you can say that it’s perfect for the theme of mid-autumn festival and it’s a well loved song — yes, that’s right. but we’re all cpfs here who have a long history with 🌖 and GG finally singing it now seems like a “sign”.

this song’s relevance started with a fake rumor:

I would like to add that the moon should be the one that Wang laoshi watched a video of. After watching it, he said, "Do you believe me, I can also dance this for you?" The background music was "The Moon Represents My Heart" I think it should be posted by Xiao laoshi, but this happened a long time ago on the stage, but it should be related. I don’t know about choreography. I was busy with other things at that time. This is what I know.

THIS HITS DIFFERENT NOW. imagine yibo dancing to this. i will lose it. ���🤯🤯

and it doesn’t help that xz had a teaser video released by BRTV today:

send the moon to you // "I want to take a picture of the moon for you but it never comes out”

this is why we love fake rumors, one way or another, the similarities come up or parts of it come true.

then the matching photoshoot prop. also their studios posting 5 minutes apart. yes it makes sense for them to post in the same time span cause the content released around the same time too. but xzs is 20:40. 8:40. 8= Bo and 40 on the clock points to 8.

Seriously, XZ. come here. i just wanna talk. you are being so loud today sir. 🤡🤡🤡🤡

AS FOR THE PERFORMANCE ITSELF.

Outstanding. As expected of GG. 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

There is something so soft and shy in the way he performed it. As if he is confessing to the person he loves how much he feels. This person knows — but not this way. Not this deep. This is him finally saying what his love is like.

He is also happy. This love makes him whole. It’s so nice to see him this way!

@rainbowsky already mentioned the way we are excited and crying because of it’s connection to Leslie Cheung which is the main thing in conversations. is this xz’s way of dedicating the song to the love of his life in public?

and the lyrics need no further interpretation, it’s such a sweet and simple song about one’s devotion.

so it’s not just xz singing this love song and us clowning. it’s years of clues and references — which now feels like a lead up to this “confession”. 💕

P.S: my main boxiao and moon post is obviously not updated for some time. so just search for “moon” on this blog for other references but y’all know tumblr will still not show everything.

P.P.S: i wanna bring back the moon landing watch. one of the strongest moon cpn out there that honestly feels like an urban legend now the way we never saw it again. lol. it was too loud they probably decided that wyb shouldn’t wear it again in public 😅😅😅😅

END.

[hellodragonkit]

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice Opinions and Points.

SPOILERS... obviously.

Ok I watched the movie, and ... some things that are my own personal thoughts and possible points I noticed. And some things I have seen others point out to where this is just my over all opinion and its kinda long.

The backstory lets not forget beetle is a unreliable narrator as proven by the first movie as Julliard and Harvard did not exist while he was alive, and unless he was possessing someone when they graduated its unlikely he said the truth. - so I don't think he gave us the full backstory. Maybe yes he did marry her, but given he never dies on screen and previously stated point. I just find it hard to believe that he drank a poison then had enough strength to chop her up as much as she was, if it was actually effecting him. i find it far more possible he had already been poisoned so often he was immune at that point. and was just pissed his new wife tried to do him in. Also in first movie it was suggested with the red mark he hung himself... maybe he tried to take over the death cult and had to do himself in for a quicker death?

the Newspapper. Yes it did say people were falsely accused of offing themselves at death, I think this was to help clear up the plot hole that would have been with Astrid's dad. And maybe be a red haring for Beetle. Next few points are BeetleBabes related so if you don't like the ship, please move on.

He gave her autonomy in his power. During the therapist scene when he "sewn" her mouth shut, it was less truly sewn and more duct taped. She had the ability to remove it, yeah he had it stick long enough for a gag, but not much more. He didn't force her.

The Contract and Nullification of it. Beetle wrote the contract, and he worked as a dead con man for years, he knew the handbook inside and out. He wrote up the contract for Lydia to sign and save her daughter, knowing there was a Massive Loop hole. even blowing a hole in the "back door" of the Neither to insure the loop hole was as big as it could be the second he had her sign, obviously with a bit of theatrics for both signing and explosions. But would we expect anything else from him?

Delia calling him: when Delia died, she called him asking to go to Lyd's wedding. He did so no questions no strings. Any other deal he always asked for something in return but for Lyd's step mom he didn't charge a dime, possibly because he felt Lyds would be upset if she missed it, and didn't get to say good bye.

Rory Beetle obviously didn't like him, could tell he was scamming Lyds, and yeah he probably could have sent him off but instead had to prove to Lydia why that guy was bad, hence why he used truth serum. He need to make sure she wouldn't go back to that guy once he was gone again. It was even hinted he heard her talking in the graveyard rushing to the church that she was not ready to marry.

He planed to go away. His song at the end, was not one of love and togetherness. MacArthur Park is more of loss and remorse. He was saying Goodbye to Lydia! Not permanently anyway

He set up sending away Deloris and helped the contract become Null When Deloris burst in through the door, the wind didn't effect Lydia, or Beetle, or Delia but the book slid to Astrid as easily as it had moved away, He moved it to her, conveniently on the page to summon sand-worms and how to brake the contract.

He stalled for the cops I find it funny how in the first movie he summoned a Man of the cloth and the guests. But this time he had both, and unlike the first time he wasn't rushing... he took his time to sing a whole song and to let the Neither cops show up, possibly also baiting Deloris to take care of her but I'm still not sure on that bit. ether way He had won, he had Lydia, the pastor, and guests. But instead he did a song and dance, a song that I already pointed out was one more of goodbye.

He let Lydia send him away. Beetle loves to make a entrance, he also may love to make a exit. he has also shown he can silence someone for just saying his name once. But instead of silencing her or taking over her voice as he had before. He started a dramatic plea, showing her he was getting sent away, showing her he was going to let her send him off.

The ending given the fact he may have over heard about Rory, And all the other notes, he could probably see Lydia wasn't wanting marriage at that time. But I also feel... he just likes the chase. What fun would it be if the Coyote already caught the road runner? he didn't mind her sending him away, because it means he could keep trying to get her to call him willingly. Over all this is just my ramblings that I don't have any friends irl who may appreciate them or be able to properly counter lol And if you made it this far thank you. And I hope you liked the movie as much as I did.

[angelliicc]

don't call me again

“to be honest, i don’t care anything about you

baby it’s true, we’re already done”

masterlist

a/n its 11:30 as i type this lmao. guys i used to hate this song 😓 don’t come for me. anyways ENJOY

warnings not proofread, ex-gf!ellie

ellie was your dream girl ever since you laid her eyes on her. you thought you’d be the luckiest person in the world to date her, unfortunately it wasn’t the case. your relationship with ellie was rocky. constant arguments over stupid shit, not responding or talking to each other for days and so much more. when you attempted to strike up a conversation, all she’d do was scroll on her phone and say “mhm” without eye contact. you couldn’t keep up with this, so you called it quits. she had no reaction and honestly could care less when you told her, which led you devastated.

it was 3 am. you couldn’t sleep because you had to finish homework. “ugh, why didn’t i skip conditioning today.” you said with regret. your phone rang as it said ellie williams. “didn’t i block her? how did she get my number?”

you answered. “hello?”

e: “missin u like crazy. need u.”

e: “ hello? you’re not gonna fucking answer?you still mad at me? get over that shit and lets restart. i still love u.”

your face turned bright red with embarrassment, r: “sorry, you were cutting out, im here.”

you thought of two things. 1: play with her feelings for a bit or 2: text her and block her. you decided to have a little bit of fun before you wanted to block her. ellie after a certain time was a different person.

r: “missing me that bad you had to call me?”

e: “yeahh”

r: “how bad do u fr miss me, be honest.”

e: “you all im thinking about all day at any time. i miss you so much baby.”

r: “how’d you even get my number?”

e: “i have my ways.”

r: “i bet you do.”

e: “the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

you smiled over the phone, “don’t worry about it.”

silence filled the call for a few seconds that felt like hours.

r: “don’t you have a girl?”

e: “yeah, but she don’t need to know about this. let this be our little secret.”

r: “should i take you back?”

e: “please.”

r: “nah, ive moved on. don’t call me again.”

you hung up and hit block quickly before she called you again. damn, that bitch was a home wrecker. and you didn’t want to be the cause of something. you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. you really fucking hated ellie williams.

“oh, there was a lot of talk and a lot of trouble

your story and mine are really over now”

[struwberrii]

semi headcanons ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

here are some random general headcanons for semi eita my underrated king :3 (also pls it’s actually so hard to read this guys personality BEAR WITH ME!!)

look at this man and tell me he doesn’t play guitar

his notes app is literally filled with random lyrics and guitar riffs

also i can imagine him having a mac book and his photo booth app is just vids of him covering songs and playing guitar

it’s canon that tendou thinks his style kinda sucks so i imagine him just owning some of the most horrendous graphic t-shirts

likes taking walks in wooded areas and just listening to music and getting lost in thought

i feel like he would be the type of guy to make every conversation with someone he doesn’t rlly know too well super awkward

like the type of guy to say “you too!” when a server say enjoy your food

he gives me middle child vibes and i feel like he’d have an older brother who introduced him to cool bands and guitar

probably the type of guy to randomly get super philosophical

i feel like he’d be super gullible on certain topics too, like he probably believed a lot of those dumb internet shams for an absurd amount of time

would def judge your music taste silently then try to put you onto his favs

always in a bad mood/irritated but the second someone compliments him or is nice to him he’s wagging his tail

movie fanatic, he has seen every movie on the planet

i also feel like he’s 2011 older brother core, ykwim?

failing in school and knows he’s gonna have a hard time if he doesn’t get it together but has no motivation

beat up doc marten boots wearer

i honestly feel like he’d be kinda rude unintentionally and then be confused as to why people are calling him mean

also it’s canon that he’s in the lowest class at shiratorizawa so you already KNOW he’s a scholarship boy because no way he got in for those grades 😭😭😭

probably goes to the gym like twice a week because he forgets

spends literally 3 hours to do the simplest homework because every little thing distracts him

always smells like musky apples or rotten fruit for some reason

genuinely a chill person to be around if you understand his humor

pretends to play drums with his pencils on his desk

will stop talking mid conversation if he thinks of a good song lyric to write down

i feel like he would think he’s really deep and wise but he’s actually just kind of clueless 😭

mario kart champ

definitely the type of guy to get easily talked into doing stupid things like ufo hunting at 2 am on a school day

i actually imagine him to have a really deep and smooth singing voice (i could actually write a whole drabble abt band au semi)

probably has the worst diet ever, bro is eating leftover pizza for breakfast lunch dinner AND snacks

always thinking about his future but never doing anything to better his situation

has the comfiest sweaters but you’ll have to ignore the holes and questionable stains in weird places

type of guy to ruin your concert videos because his singing is so bad and off key

i also feel like his room would be really weirdly decorated, like he’d have a stolen stop sign up as decoration and then like holes punched in his walls and missing light bulbs

always has a lighter on him for some reason

also always has a headache

i feel like he’d also have a lot of instagram followers for some reason, like a couple thousand and he doesn’t even really post anything

the type of guy to constantly be thinking about how he could be doing better/more when his friends share good news and accomplishments with him

i feel like he’d have a pet lizard or frog yk :]

[son1c]

part 2 of my sonic x dungeon meshi crossover is finally here!! read part 1 if you haven't already and please enjoy 🐉

Something was wrong. Even with his eyes closed, Sonic knew that. It felt like something was poking around inside of his head, its ghastly claws sinking into his delicate brain-meat, and it hurt! In fact, the relentless jabbing was more than just painful; it unnerved him, its apparent wrongness causing his stomach to twist and turn as if to say, Get out!

So, Sonic scrunched up his nose and did something. 

What did he do? How did he do it? These questions weren’t important to Sonic. All that mattered to him was that it worked. As soon as he gathered his strength, the intruder retreated. It took Sonic’s soon-to-be migraine headache along with it, leaving Sonic to exhale in relief. 

Good riddance, he thought.

Then, Sonic opened his eyes.

Surrounding him were the rolling fields of Green Hill. The grass swayed in a gentle breeze and the sky was a perfect blue. Sonic looked around, but there didn’t seem to be any Flickies nearby, because he couldn’t hear their telltale song. In fact, other than the wind, it was completely silent, almost like the whole world had just two occupants: him and the creature laying across his legs.

"Well, then," the creature--a winged lion--mused, its voice pleasant. "How did you do that, I wonder?"

Sonic blinked. He realized he couldn't feel his legs and tried to move out from under the lion, but couldn't. Frustrated, he asked, "Mind gettin' off me?"

The lion sighed. "I'm afraid I can't." Sonic opened his mouth to protest, but the lion continued, "A powerful spell has bound us together. But enough about that. I'm much more curious about you."

"Me?"

"Oh, yes. You."

Sonic didn't like the look in the lion's eyes. They sparkled, not unkindly, but not in a way he found particularly trustworthy, either. "First," Sonic said slowly, "you tell me something."

The lion smiled. "Of course," it replied. "Anything."

"What were you doin' in my head?"

The lion's eyes grew wide. "Ah, so the cat’s out of the bag, is it?" When Sonic frowned, the lion went on to say, "I was looking for something. I'm surprised you were able to tell--usually, no one notices." Tilting its head, the lion asked, bemused, "But you're not of the usual sort, are you?"

Sonic's eyes narrowed. Looking for something? He didn't like the sound of that! "Not cool, dude," he said, ignoring the lion's comment about him being weird. "You have a mouth, right? If there's something you wanna know, use it and ask!"

"Fair enough," the lion conceded. Then, it set its large head down on Sonic's chest. "For what it's worth, your mind shut me out quickly. A passing glance is all I managed to capture before you overwhelmed me." The lion paused. "Yes, you're truly unusual."

Sonic bristled. He was liking this guy less and less by the minute. "What, you thought I'd roll over and let you take whatever you wanted? Not a chance!" He tried to shove the lion's head off him and sit up, but couldn't. The lion's skull was like a cinder block that'd been bolted to his rib cage and it refused to budge.

Irritated (and beginning to feel a little claustrophobic), Sonic spat, "Just who are you?"

The lion's smile returned. "Me?" Its yellow eyes flashed. "Hmm. Right now, I suppose I'm you."

The grass stilled as the breeze died. But Sonic wasn't afraid.

"So much for a lion!" Sonic sneered. "You're more like a copycat. All roar, no bite, I'll bet!"

"An imitation has no appeal to me," the lion replied smoothly. "What I'm really after is happiness. Now, it's my turn. So, please, tell me: what do you desire?"

Sonic gritted his teeth. The wall he'd unknowingly constructed to keep the lion out of his mind grew stronger with his determination. Then, with both hands, he grabbed the lion's head and lifted it off of his chest. Finally, he was able to sit up, although his legs still felt tingly.

"Such willpower!" the lion said, delighted.

Sonic furrowed his brow. After a moment, he let go of the lion's head and muttered, "What's with you? First you wanna know about my desires, then you're happy when I fight back?" He shook his head in disbelief. "I don't get you at all."

Chuckling, the lion replied, "The chase sweetens the prize."

Sonic snorted. "If all you want is to make me happy, that's easy. Just get off me!"

Instead, the lion curled up on Sonic's legs and closed its eyes. "I like you," it said, almost absentmindedly. "You're interesting. Indeed, anyone else would've folded to my vast consciousness. But there you are, still here."

Sonic didn't really understand what the lion was saying, but it made him angry anyway. "I'll never fold to you!"

A lazy grin played on the lion's lips. "Then we'll have to share. After all, you won't be going anywhere without my legs." Cracking an eye open, the lion added, "Although, you may find your heart has shifted once you wake. The Lord of the Dungeon's blood flows through it now..."

Sonic squeezed his eyes shut in exasperation. This whole conversation was so confusing!

Suddenly, Green Hill began to fade. Literally--the world around them was melting away into nothing. Before it disappeared completely, the lion said, "Good luck, Sonic."

//

Thistle inspected the gauntlet Sonic had surrendered to him with an impatient sort of fervor. He looked at each finger, the thumb, and the palm, but still didn’t find what he was looking for. So much of his focus was devoted to searching for the inscription he knew to be there–somewhere–that he didn’t notice the lion chimera peering over his shoulder until their faces were practically touching. 

Thistle jumped. “Stay back!” he snapped, a bead of sweat rolling down his neck.

Sonic blinked, surprised by the mage’s outburst. But then he huffed and did as he was told.

"You hurt his feelings," Merlina told Thistle.

"It doesn't have feelings," Thistle replied automatically. Once he was sure Sonic wasn’t going to sneak up on him again, he began prying a screw loose from the gauntlet with his fingernails. Maybe the inscription was hidden underneath the plating?

Merlina put her hands on her hips. "Oh, certainly not the demon. But what of the hedgehog?"

Thistle didn't look up. "What of him?"

Merlina bit her lip. She didn't like how dismissive Thistle was, but it would be suspicious for her to care about Sonic like a friend, when they were supposed to be strangers. Still, when she looked over at the lion chimera, she couldn't help the ache in her chest, because it was her summoning spell that had brought him here in the first place. Though, her plan had gone awry.

In the end, Merlina simply turned away from Sonic and said to Thistle, "Nothing. Have you found the inscription yet?"

Thistle ignored her. But if he’d responded, it probably would've been something along the lines of, No. Or, No, obviously. Or maybe even, No, and you're not helping, so be quiet!

In response to his silence, Merlina turned up her nose. If he was going to be rude, then so be it, but as a member of the King's Court, she was above such petulant behavior! For that reason, Merlina chose to return his silence in kind. 

Truly, the irony was palpable… 

If Sonic had been listening to their conversation, he would’ve rolled his eyes. But he wasn’t listening, because he was more focused on his paws–all four of them. 

Leaning over, Sonic stared down at his two front paws with wide eyes. A strange feeling filled his chest as he watched the moonlight shine through his gray fur. He knew without touching it that his fur was rough, like a nice winter coat, and that his dark claws could tear through even the toughest armor.

He tapped one of his toes. The sensation of his claw scraping against the dirt confirmed that what he was seeing was real, but it didn’t make the strange feeling in his chest any less strange. Like a boulder, or maybe a whole mountain’s worth of cascading rocks, it weighed heavily on Sonic’s chest. And it only grew stronger as he continued to look down at the feet that didn’t feel like his own.

Finally, Sonic looked away from his paws. He couldn't bear to see them anymore, since they were making his head hurt. Was he angry? Was he happy? The strange, seemingly contradictory feelings pounded against his skull like a jackhammer, threatening to split his head in two.

That’s not me, he thought. That can’t be me.

In desperation, Sonic looked this way and that, trying to find something--anything--to ease the pain. But everything he saw only made it worse. The feathers covering his chest and arms, the dragon with a human head, the she-mage Merlina. They all served to further his confusion until eventually, he turned his attention toward the only thing he had left to turn to: Thistle.

Instantly, a wave of calm rushed in. It washed away all other feelings and rid the lion chimera of his headache. He blinked slowly. His strange body didn’t bother him so much now. No, it didn’t bother him at all. His quills relaxed and his feathers laid flat, all because of that wicked glass vial, containing none other than a drop of the mad mage’s blood.

The winged lion had been right about Sonic’s heart. 

Now, Sonic cared only for the Lord of the Dungeon.

“There you are,” Thistle hissed. He’d finally pried the plating off Sonic’s gauntlet. Between his thumb and forefinger, he held up a single iron strip to examine under the light of the moon. The glyphs glinted with an unmistakable power, their carving as masterful as he’d expected, each stroke etched perfectly into the metal. “I knew the Great Wizard Merlin’s work hadn’t been lost. With this, I’ll finally be able to…”

“There are still more fragments to be found,” Merlina interrupted, looking uncomfortable. “Or have you forgotten?”

Scowling, Thistle pocketed the iron strip before discarding the rest of Sonic’s gauntlet. It fell to the grass with a muted thunk.

Sonic cocked his head and gave the gauntlet a brief glance, but quickly lost interest. He felt nothing at the sight of its mangled corpse and forgot about it as soon as he looked away. Yawning, the lion chimera closed his eyes and began to think about blueberries…

It was then that the dragon chimera approached. Her heavy footsteps caused the earth itself to tremble as if in warning while her long tail swished behind her, slow and steady. She peered down at Sonic, her bright yellow eyes standing out against the shadows of her face, her expression unreadable.

Sonic cracked one eye open to look at her. Her size failed to intimidate him, and her pinprick pupils drew another yawn from Sonic. If she thought he would be impressed by her Studio Trigger shading, she had another thing coming! But right as Sonic was about to go back to daydreaming, he caught sight of the red splatter on her huge dragon hand, and his nose twitched.

Heedless to the danger, Sonic got close enough to her hand to touch the splatter. It was dry and cracking but still smelled familiar, although something about it wasn’t quite right, like a latte with the wrong kind of milk, or a chili dog without the chili.

Just when Sonic was about to take a step back, he found himself being picked up by the human hands of the dragon chimera. At first, he squirmed, his wings flapping uselessly in an attempt to get away. But then he looked up at the dragon chimera’s face and stopped.

She no longer looked like she belonged in a suspect lineup for the critically acclaimed 2023 game, The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog. Instead, her features had softened to a more natural state, and Sonic couldn’t help but think that she looked too kind to be a dragon. 

“You’re,” Falin started to say, her voice strained, “just a… child…?”

Sonic wanted to fire back with a witty retort, but when he opened his mouth, he found it hard to say anything. It was like there was a weight pushing against his throat that hadn’t been there before, making even simple sounds difficult. Clearing his throat didn’t solve the problem, which irritated him, but he wasn’t a quitter, so he forced the words out anyway.

“Nnnothin’... ‘just’... about it!”

Then, with his back paws, Sonic pushed off against the dragon chimera’s feathery abdomen and flipped out of her grasp. He landed on the ground with Olympic grace, rubbing his nose with his thumb as he grinned up at her. But his throat was shredded from just those four words, so he let his actions speak for themselves. 

The dragon chimera, in all her mid-20s wisdom, knew that Sonic was trying to look cool. So, she clapped her hands together and smiled at him, because who was she to deny him of that? She’d already killed him once. Instead of sulking about what had been, unbeknownst to her at the time, a cold-blooded child murder, she found it much more productive to be supportive.

Now that Sonic smelled like the Lord of the Dungeon, there was no need for Falin to commit double child homicide, anyway.

Hurray!

“Dragon,” Thistle said, commanding both her and Sonic’s attention. “The next artifact awaits. Quickly, now. We mustn’t keep Delgal waiting.”

As the dragon chimera shuffled over to Thistle, Sonic’s keen eyes noticed something. Inside Thistle’s chest, another blueberry had formed, and it sat, radiating warmth right next to the mad mage’s heart. Sonic remembered the irresistible taste of the first blueberry he’d eaten and before he knew it, he was moving, running past the dragon chimera and straight at Thistle.

In turn, Thistle held up one of his hands and demanded, “Stop!”

Sonic skidded to a halt. He barely managed to avoid plowing into Thistle, his nose mere inches away from the mad mage’s outstretched palm. Impatiently, Sonic ruffled his wings. The delicious blueberry was so close now. It was making his mouth water.

“You’re more useful to me in this form than as a book,” Thistle said. “But if you start acting as you did before, it won’t matter. I’ll return you to the pages. Understand?”

Sonic didn’t understand. He had no idea what Thistle was talking about. Still, he really wanted that blueberry. So, he flashed Thistle a thumbs up and gave the mad mage a toothy grin. 

At this, Thistle wrinkled his nose. “Perhaps your other head was best,” he muttered. Then, he straightened his face and put his hands on his hips. “I want to gather all the artifacts before two week’s time. The next one isn’t far, but we shall need to…”

To be honest, Sonic stopped listening after Thistle said “I want.” Because when those two words were uttered, the blueberry in the mad mage’s chest grew a little bigger, and with it, the flavor grew a little stronger. In that moment, Sonic figured out how he’d be able to eat that blueberry, as well as every other blueberry that sprouted from Thistle’s heart. 

He’d make sure Thistle got everything he wanted. 

And in exchange, Sonic would eat the blueberries. 

//

Tails wasn’t worried about Sonic. He knew Sonic. Sonic was the coolest guy he’d ever met and stronger than most people could ever dream of. So, when Sonic was nowhere to be seen after Tails and the knights had finished off the last of the monsters, Tails figured he must still be fighting the dragon.

It was a big dragon, Tails reasoned. In fact, it was huge! And things only got that big if they had several hundred health points, right? By that logic, it made perfect sense that Sonic wasn’t back yet; it could take him all night to fell an enemy as ginormous as the red dragon! 

In the meantime, Tails focused on helping people who’d been hurt from the monster invasion. He pulled up his socks, spun his twin tails, and got to work surveying the area. He’d make sure no one was left alone in the rubble… which there was a lot of.

Tails shook his head. Restoration plans could wait. 

Sonic was counting on him to help these people right now!

It was a little hard to see through the haze of destroyed architecture, but not even the darkness of night could keep Tails from hearing the cries of two kids trapped under a broken food cart. With Percival’s help, Tails was able to pull the kids out from the wreckage and get them standing again. Then, he sent them off toward the castle where the rest of the townsfolk had gathered.

Lancelot wasn’t as content as Tails to simply let Sonic be, however. As Tails and the other knights helped the injured, Lancelot kept looking off toward the horizon until finally he said, “I’m going after him.”

Gawain scowled under his helmet. “You’re needed here, Sir Lancelot. Stay and help the people whose lives you’ve sworn to protect.”

Lancelot bristled. “Their safety is assured,” he said, his voice hard. “Unless I’m wrong to entrust them to your care?”

Gawain rose to his full height, but before he could draw his weapon, Percival moved in between him and Lancelot. “Now’s no time for a quarrel,” she interjected. “There’s much to do.” She spoke confidently, but the echo of her voice through the empty, damaged streets gave her words a more solemn gravitas. “With Prince Tails, that makes four of us. If we each tend to something, we can assure the continued safety of our kingdom and its people. As is our sworn duty.”

Gawain grumbled, knowing she was right.

Tails, meanwhile, blushed at the title Percival had unceremoniously bestowed upon him. If Sonic was uncomfortable being called a king, then Tails was embarrassed to be called a prince! 

“I’m going,” Lancelot said, looking directly at Gawain. “When I return, it will be with the king.”

“Wait,” Tails suddenly said, having regained his composure. “Sha–... um… Sir Lancelot, don’t go. I know you’re worried, but Sonic’ll be fine. He’s beat bigger bad guys than this before! Really.”

Lancelot’s intense stare caused Tails to fidget with his tails. But he had faith in his big bro, so he didn’t back down. “It’s just… Don’t you think we could use your help around here? Those monsters broke a lot of stuff, including the wall! What if more monsters get in? I really think we should fix it first. Before anyone goes anywhere, I mean.”

“The fox is right,” Gawain said. 

Lancelot turned away from Tails and the other two knights. It was impossible to see his face under the visor, but if Tails had to guess based on the hard line of his mouth, he probably didn’t look very happy right now.

“I want to see King Sonic’s return too,” Percival told Lancelot. “And we shall. After securing his people.”

The tension in the square was so thick, it could be sliced with a sword. But as the dust settled, so too did Lancelot’s frustration, and before long, he turned back toward the three of them. Curtly, he said, “One hour. That’s all I can spare.”

True to his word, Lancelot stayed to help Gawain, Percival, and Tails rescue the remaining townsfolk from precarious situations. (One of them had even gotten stuck inside a chimney somehow! After being freed, the man explained that he’d been trying to hide from the monsters, but didn’t realize how narrow a hiding spot he’d chosen until it was too late.) 

By the time half an hour had passed, every last person had been sent to the castle. That left just one thing: fixing the town’s outer wall.

The part of the wall where the red dragon had broken through was nothing more than piles of broken stone. The wall had crumbled completely, leaving a distinctly dragon-shaped hole behind, and creating an unwelcome window out into the dark forest on the other side.

If Tails had more time, he could’ve invented a contraption to fix the wall for them. Maybe some sort of brick flinger? Or a cement spitter? Unfortunately, he was in the Middle Ages, and he had no idea where to find the materials he’d need to build those things. So, that meant Plan B…

“Stand aside,” Lancelot suddenly said, startling Tails out of his reverie. 

Tails looked up at Lancelot, but the knight didn’t seem to be angry. In fact, he seemed determined, and so Tails did as he was asked. Though, his ears were perked in curiosity. The fox didn’t know much about Shadow, so he was interested to see what his doppelganger could do.

As it turned out, “what Lancelot could do” was fix the wall. Not only that, but he fixed the wall without lifting a single cinder block! He just drew a small, detailed circle into the dirt at the foot of the wall, and then burned it into the ground with the bottom of one of his jet shoes. Once the circle was aflame, it sent the stones in motion, seeming to reverse time until they all tumbled back into place, just like they’d been before the dragon had knocked them down.

Gawain rolled his eyes. “Show off,” he grumbled.

“Wow!” Tails said, his eyes sparkling. “That was amazing! How’d you do that?”

Lancelot didn’t look at Tails when he replied tersely, “I learned it from my mother.”

Tails raised an eyebrow, but before he could comment, Percival set a hand on Lancelot’s shoulder. “Thank you for your help, Sir Lancelot,” she said. “Now, I believe you have somewhere else to be. Sir Gawain and I will await your return with King Sonic.”

Gawain looked like he wanted to protest, but thought better of it when Percival shot him a glare so withering, its heat could be felt even through her visor. 

Hmph. Well, he didn’t want to be around Lancelot for any longer than he had to be, anyway.

So, Gawain and Percival left for the castle. Lancelot’s shoes began to spark as they powered up, signaling his impending departure, his body already leaning the same direction he’d seen Sonic and the red dragon disappear into.

“I’m coming too,” Tails said.

Lancelot didn’t want to waste more time arguing. Would he have preferred to go alone? Yes, of course. But he’d kept his king waiting long enough, and wasn’t willing to make him wait any longer, so instead of fighting, he gave Tails a sharp nod.

The dragon’s tracks were large and noticeable, even in the relative darkness of night. Tails and Lancelot followed them out into the forest, taking note of the crushed bramble and torn bark along the way, until they reached the wicked spike field, where they suddenly stopped. 

Tails looked around. The spikes were as plentiful as they were jagged, and he could see a blue quill lodged into one of them. That by itself wasn’t a bad sign–Sonic lost quills during fights all the time–but it was the silence that began to unnerve Tails.

Sonic was loud. If he was around, Tails and Lancelot would’ve already caught one of his quips on the wind. But they hadn’t. Instead, the only sounds in the forest were the quiet rustling of the leaves and an ominous dripping from one of the spikes.

Tails looked at that spike. He saw it, broken in half, the sharp tip hanging horizontally over the ground. There were claw marks at the base from the dragon, so it was clear she had broken it. And there was another blue quill stuck to the side of it, too. But that wasn’t all.

The dripping was forming a puddle on the ground. A very large puddle that made Tails sick to his stomach. It smelled like iron. It was red like Sonic’s shoes. And it was dripping from the tip of the spike.

Lancelot stood beside Tails. He looked at the puddle of blood too.

Tails’ mind was racing. There was no way that blood could belong to Sonic. It must be the dragon’s blood. But if it was the dragon’s blood, then where was the dragon? And, more importantly, where was Sonic?

The puddle of blood stared back at Tails in response to his question.

The silence pressed in on Tails like an omen. It was suffocating, but he couldn’t let himself choke on it. Sure, this looked bad. Really bad. But Sonic had been through worse and made it out. He must’ve made it out of this too. All they needed to do was keep looking, and they’d find him.

Because Sonic wouldn’t die. He wouldn’t leave Tails alone. 

He just wouldn’t do those things.

“Sir Lancelot,” Tails said, his voice small, “let’s–”

Lancelot stopped Tails with a harsh, Shh!

Tails strained his ears. He heard branches cracking as they shifted in the wind. He heard distant voles chattering nervously. And then, far away, he heard the sound of heavy footsteps–heavy enough to belong to the red dragon.

No words were said. Tails and Lancelot simply took off, careful to avoid the pool of blood, in the direction of the sound. Eventually, it led them to the lake where this story began. But Sonic and the dragon weren’t there. As if by magic, everyone who’d been at the lakeside had disappeared. However, they’d left behind three crucial clues: Sonic’s gauntlet, a pair of tattered, bloody white gloves, and a single strand of long red hair.

Tails was horrified at the state of the gloves, but Lancelot was more focused on the hair, because he knew who it belonged to. 

“She was here,” he said, his voice low and filled with barely contained rage. “Merlina the Wizard.”

[80rosequartz08]

Vivziepop Can't Write POC

TW/CW: Racism, S/A mention

Surprisingly Vivziepop's work actually has more POC characters than I first realized. And all of them are...less then splendid.

Valkyrie

Valkyrie...poor, poor Valkyrie...

Forever cursed to sit in the back, shut up, and only stand up and contribute when her white savior girlfriend either royally screws things up or needs moral support.

I've spoken about my strong feelings on Valkyrie many times before in previous posts so I'll only really give one new shred of criticism I've realized: Making your main POC female cast member a former genocidal murderer who spent supposed years killing her girlfriend's kind is...a choice.

Emily and Sera

My biggest issue with Emily and Sera (especially Emily) is that you can hardly even tell that they're meant to be Black. Their skin is a weird dark grayish brown, their features are stock and bland (both of them lacking proper noses), and their hair is some puzzling mix of straight and poofy.

And the writing of them both is also unimpressive. Emily is a carbon-copy, stock "Bubbly young girl" archetype who never really does much other than sing and move around. She acts more like a piece on a chessboard than a character, simply moving and doing what the scene needs her to do. Sera on the other hand, is a personality-less stick figure who just kind of does things because...the plot requires it. Also, great move Vivzie! Making one of the main villains a Black woman who endorses genocide and has to act like a babysitter/manager to the loud, obnoxious, hate-spewing white guy. How progressive!

Velvette (Kind of?)

I...actually have no real words to say about Velvette. Which sounded like a positive until I realized the reason I had nothing to say about her is because she does nothing. Like, ever.

She just kind of stands around being annoying and ignoring her fellow Vee's whining fits and sex crimes. Jeez, uh...that argument between her and Carmilla was stupid, I guess?

Velvette: She sure is one of the characters of all time!

Valentino

Not even worth mentioning, you already know he's terrible.

Alastor/Husk

Oh dear god, Alastor...

Words fail me at how much of an insane fail both of these characters are. One is a offensive caricature of Voodou that would make Dr. Facilier roll in his grave, who's also somehow whiter than snow despite being half Creloe. And the other is a constantly complaining douche and a hopeless alcoholic, who has a whole song devoted to calling a sex worker a loser for being abused/not having a proper coping mechanism. Oh, AND he's enslaved by the other "Black" guy! HOW PROGRESSIVE 😀

Oh and Carmilla is there too, but I've been awake for too long and also have nothing to say about her :/

[imwetforyourmom]

FADING AS THE SONG GOES.

CW: Angst, unresolved angst?, breaking up, crying, drugs and shit, hanging around the wrong crowd, !!!!DO NOT DO DRUGS!!!! very bad drugs

SUMMARY: Of course chris noticed when you werent okay, he was your boyfriend afterall.

A/N: I have no idea how drugs work, so bear w me here

·˚ ༘

“Its okay, to not be okay, my love.”

The secret was out before it was even whispered to your own mind. It was no secret why you came home with bloodshot eyes, rasped voice, drug smelling breath, the scent too strong, even when you chewed mint gum eight times before coming home, it was still there. Everyone knew what you were doing.

You never received the adrenaline pumping through your blood from keeping such a ‘thrilling’ secret. And, as much as you told yourself, the adrenaline that was once hoped for, wasn’t why you started. It was never even a thought to begin with, that was just what you told people when they curiously asked, and not for the fake bullshit, the real reason why. But why would you tell them the truth? You didnt owe them that.

On the other hand, you owed your boyfriend the truth. You owed him the spilling of your guts, the reeling truth of why you’d begun. But, the guilt swimming down your lungs, stealing your choice of freed breathing, choking you, was why you chose not to. The silent cries, pleas and begs from the little voices inside your head did little to convince you to stop, but they didnt do nothing either. Thats why you’d shoved them into the crevices of your mind, mangled within the rest of your innocence. You knew Chris’ begging voice would do everything to tell you to stop, another reason you never told him. You didnt want to stop.

The radioactive chemicals that filled your body was too addicting to quit, the pure high you felt was strong enough to hold you in its grasp, shove you around and control you. You, too delirious with how good it felt to have the drug pumping through you, to even try and claw your way out. To even try and think about stopping, because when even the slight thought of quitting sent not shivers down your spine, but the crackling of each bone in the drugs grasp went down your spine.

Not even the warmth seeping from Chris’ body when he held you was as good as the high you experienced. Chris would never amount to the drugs, (he controls the guilt). As much as you loved the boy, you loved the intoxicating taste of drugs more. The more you came home late, the more your body ached with the need to feed it more, to give it that beautiful, delicious, ‘at peace’ moments. The more your eyes sunk in, the more your laughter escaped your body, hanging with your ‘friends’. Little did you know, you would’ve actually despised these people if you werent high off your ass everytime you hung out with them. Your little buddies were never people you’d even think about hanging out with, they’d bring that sick feeling of nausea in your stomach when sober. But you weren’t sober. The more you lost yourself, the more Chris was left sat on the bed, watching as the door shut, the peek of little light falling from his lane of vision as it closed comepletely. Why were you leaving him in the dark, there to slouch his shoulders, rest his head in his hands as his thoughts became too heavy?

Gosh, why couldn’t you just fucking stop. What was wrong with you? What was so fucking messed up in your already fucked up head that you chose drugs over your own boyfriend?

In the otherwise silent room, the brush of a foot pushed against the creaky floorboards, you didnt look up. Too ashamed to meet the eye of what you’d hoped, Chris’ hopeful gaze.

“Y/n?” Chris’ voice interrupted the sudden crowding of your own mind, the thoughts all swarming like a crowd of people at a concert, no other reason except to move.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Answer him you asshole!

Your voice tangled within the confines of your closing throat, making it harder for you to speak. Your eyes moved quickly to Chris’, despite the slow bobbing of your head falling backwards.

With a strained effort to speak, you answered. “Yes?” Your eyes looked up to meet his, the almost pitch black room normally lit up with only his pure presense, but it didnt. It only saddened the tension mingling in the air.

His face was sympathetic. Fuck. All the guilt rushed up to the surface, filling your body and taking it whole, that your eyes begged to release the guilt. It began to become harder to hold the tears back, even with only two words uttered, shoved into the atmosphere.

His adams apple bopped downwards as he swallowed, his hands coming to his lower abdomen as they connected, fidgeting nervously like a child in trouble. The eye contact he held began faltering, his lips twitching to speak.

“A- Are you okay?” His hands dropped, his chest rising with a sudden quick inhale, maybe the air was thick with confidence, for him, at least. You felt as if the air was so thick with awkward tension you couldn’t breathe.

The swarming crowds in your mind disappeared, vanishing into the dusty air of your mind. Leaving you to sit, rocking back and forth, holding your head in your hands, too occupied with thinking of a reply to his question to actually answer his question, either the truth, or a lie. He knows the truth either way, you knew that. But you didn’t feel comfortable enough to admit that you werent okay, it itched your throat with nausea.

Chris’ eyebrows creased in remorse. His lips slipping to a frown as the air around them began swishing, sloshing with each movement made. He swallowed his previous longing for an answer to everything, instead, he moved his feet, the thick air begrudgingly moving along with him as he sat down, side by side with you.

His arm slid to your shoulder, pulling you close to him as he breathed in and out, slouched and sitting there, holding you against him as he prepared himself for the conversation he was intending to have with you.

“Its okay, to not be okay, my love.” He whispered, his head staring ahead, eyes glued to the monotone green and red carpet coating the floor. His hand rubbed your arm, maybe subconciously, who knows.

“I’m your boyfriend, you dont need to keep secrets from me, you dont need to hide in fear of shame. Thats not what i’m here for.” His voice remained the same, a tired lacing, with a rasp beginning to rip the seams.

“I’m here to be by your side, hold you as mine, let your tears soak my shoulder, share laughter with you, to share arguments together, even. But I cant do that, if you choose-“ his voice faltered, a sharp inhale interrupting his trail of words, as a seemingly brace for himself. “If you choose drugs over me, my love. You need to choose me. And I know, I know its going to be hard, but I want you to want to give them up, I want you to need the freedom.”

You stayed silent, your head resting onto his shoulder, listening to his words as he spoke. If only, if only, you could seep them in. Let them change you, but the drugs felt stronger, grabbing your wrist and tugging, like a helpless child.

Your voice cracked with emotion as you began, “I can’t, Chris,” a near sob escaped your throat. “I want to, I really do, but I just— I cant.” You gave up, your voice trailing off. Your eyes closed, tears beginning to flow down your cheeks, the painful lump in your throat serving as a warning for the sobs begging to rack through your body.

He nods, closing his eyes. A small, seemingly shattered exhale leaves his lips. His hand doesnt stop its comforting and assuring rubs onto your shoulder, only now, his thumb sweeps over your skin every few seconds.

He rests his head ontop of yours. The previous awkward silence seeps to the ground through the cracks of the wood floor. Acceptance is what takes its place. Acceptance that you couldnt let go, acceptance that Chris couldnt do anything to help, unless you let go. Acceptance, that it just wasnt going to work out, no matter how desperate of a longing ache filled inside Chris’ body. It wasnt his choice.

You were just, fading as the song goes.

1,329 words

TAGS

@luverboychris @chrissturniolosfavoritesexdoll @meg-sturniolo @junnniiieee07 @ssilentzom @b2cute @graysturns @wh0resstuff @sturn-bugz @sunsetsturniolos @strniolo @sturnssmuts @simply-a-simper @stunza @meerkatzthings @joemamaaa42069 @sturniluvr @cindylcuwho @wurlibydominicfike @watercolorskyy @aaliyahsturniolo1 @alyrasturnz @colorthecosmos444 @sturnobsessedwh0re

@lovesturni0l0s @maryx2xx @mattsmad @dollyspsychoxo @riasturns

@starsturni @britishamerican11 @mattspinkshirt

@chrissturniolosworld @ariqolyx

@mels222lunchbox

@elas3

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

Nash Hawthorne & Libby Grambs Headcannons:

(bc my babies are far too underrated and they need some love)

tag list: @bewitchingkisses @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @sweetlikeanangel @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket

- they decorate cowboy hats for all occasions and match

- it’s actually one of their favourite things to do on a date

- sometimes they do things like swap every ten minutes/try and design the perfect hat for the other/ choose a theme and design off of that

- nash 100% writes songs about libby and plays them too her on his guitar as well as singing

- nash has such a good singing voice and libby finds it really soothing

- sometimes libby will ask nash to give her two random flavours that she has to somehow incorporate into a cupcake

- nash learns how to dye libby’s hair when she wants to change it so he can do it for her

- similarly he also gets libby to teach him how to do different hairstyles (like braiding etc)

- he’s awful at it but libby thinks it’s so cute

- they are defos the biggest animal lovers, so they’d have a cat and a dog bc they couldn’t decide between the two

- I really feel like they’d have a horse as well (or maybe a few horses?? who knows??)

- and tell me they wouldn’t go horse riding into the sunset together wearing their matching cowboy hats

- they’d go in late night drives and blast Taylor Swift in the car

- libby is a passenger princess but nash loves that

- when Taylor released new albums they’d literally be the first in the store to buy it and then know all of the songs by the next day

- libby is a sucker for romance movies and always begs nash to watch them with her, he always complains but secretly he loves them too

- nash ALWAYS cries at the end of notebook and titanic

- libby finds this absolutely adorable

- nan loves libby and constantly tells her that she’s too good for nash

- once libby suggested they play strip bowling and nash literally blushed so hard

- nash tells libby so many crazy stories about him and his brothers and now she has so much to blackmail them all with (but she never will because she’s a literal ray of sunshine)

- libby has this notebook and when nash really likes a cupcake flavour she’ll secretly write it down so she can remember what he really loves and then surprises him with it a few weeks later

- every month the two of them aim to read a book together to talk about it

- nash sometimes uses cake-inspired nicknames when talking to libby, for example ‘sprinkle’, ‘cupcake’ and ‘jellybean’

- his brothers mock him for it but they shut up when nash glares at them

- nash is petrified of spiders but libby refuses to let them be killed, so whenever there’s one in the house libby has to pick it up and take it outside, whilst nash hides in a corner

- libby is the deepest sleeper. EVER. like this girl could sleep through three earthquakes whereas nash is a really light sleeper

- libby snores and nash thinks it’s really cute but he will never tell her

- nash loves painting her nails

- they rant about what they’re passionate about to the other and the other will literally just stare at them lovingly for however long

- they rarely ever fight and when they do they both absolutely hate it and end up just apologising and cuddling

- nash would literally do ANYTHING for this woman… like she wants random sour gummies at 3am? he is out the door. she needs an extra bag of flour mid cake-off? he’s the man on the job. she doesn’t want to go out? he already has a list of excuses and a second list of things they can do instead of going out…

- nash absolutely loves to have libby in his arms

- though she never really admits it, when libby sees nash take his helmet off after a motorbike ride she blushes so freaking hard

- she turns into an adorable little tomato

- libby hates being in any sort of limelight, interviews and paparazzi make her really uncomfortable so nash makes sure she doesn’t have to deal with it

- she never does any interviews and he’s very protective of her when approached by paparazzi, putting an arm around her and shielding her face in his chest, walking away quickly as he requests the paparazzi to stop

- it is also important to both libby and nash that when they have kids they don’t grow up with all the pressure of the media. they don’t show their kids faces or reveal that much about them, until they’re old enough to do it for themselves and consent

- nash is actually a really good cook but a horrible baker

- libby tried to teach him how to make a cupcake once and he managed to mess it up

- and don’t even get me started on when he tried to ice a cupcake… that was an abomination

- but they often plan nights where nash cooks the meal and libby bakes desert and the two of them enjoy it together

- nash really cares deeply that libby always feels safe and happy and loved in the relationship because of her last relationship

- he checks with her every once in a while

- libby finds this so sweet and is so touched that someone cares this much about her

- they’re not massive on PDA, nash likes to have his arm around her usually

- that said, they’re not afraid to kiss or show affection if people are around, they just tend not to

- nash gives the BEST massages, they’re to die for and libby adores them

- no one makes libby laugh harder than nash does

- and he loves the sound of her laugh

- like grayson, libby is also REALLY ticklish so nash often starts tickle wars with her

- one of their daughter’s first words is ‘yee-haw’ (CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE!!!)

- nash is such a natural dad because he had so much experience literally raising his brothers

- when libby sees this it makes her really emotional and she thinks she’s a bad mom

- but nash reassures her that she is literally the best mom in the world and that their twins are so lucky to have her

a/n: I just found these headcannons at the bottom of my drafts so I’m posting them?! I don’t even know how long ago they were written but I hope you enjoy anyways. I’ve decided they’re in honour of the libby and nash cards coming out (omg I’m obsessed)

also let me know if you don’t want to be tagged in headcannons in the future, I just tagged everyone I normally would but if you don’t want to don’t be shy to let me know <333

TIG masterlist

[ddolbyong]

playlist. homesick - wave to earth, flower of life - the novembers, to us - apro(ft. wave to earth & wavy), plastic flowers - idlework, all i need to hear - the 1975

MAY 22ND

hey yn, its haechan. i know this is stupid... uh i just... i really miss you. um... i don't know what to say... i don't even know why i called... oh! um i heard this song recently, uh homesick...? by wave to earth. i know how much you love this band and i have to admit your taste might even be better than mine haha. uh. you know... listening to this song reminded me of you. yn, i... i feel so lost without you by my side. i miss having you around. i miss your warmth, i miss your comfort... i just miss you. you're... you're my home and i'm homesick.

MAY 25TH

hi yn. its haechan. again. uh jaemin recommended this song to me recently... um its called... flowers? no uh... flower of life. by the novembers. i... i think. my memory hasn't been very good recently haha... sorry. uh the song is about the uncertainty and curiosity of the future, as well as... the um desire to live life to the fullest. you always used to tell me how you were unsure on where the future would take us. well um i... i just want you to know that whereever it takes us, i just want to be by your side. i want to live life to the fullest with you. i miss you.

MAY 29TH

hey, its haechan. um doyoung played this song yesterday... he uh said it reminded him of you. i guess... everyone misses you too huh. uh... um.. what was i talking about? oh! right. the song. i think its called.. to us by uh.. apro. wave to earth also features in it so you would definitely enjoy it heh... anyways, the song is about embracing life's challenges and finding contentment in the present! doyoung said it reminded him of you because you always knew just how to handle your problems and not let them affect your life. i totally agree with him. you always carried gratitude and appreciation for the present... it makes me admire you more than i already do.

JUNE 1ST

its haechan. i miss you. i heard plastic flowers by idlework yesterday. made me think of you. i uh.. i can't think of anyone else who can connect with me as well as you did. everything feels so empty without you. it hurts. i um... do you remember? when we uh just laid in silence, scrolling through our phones for the entire day. haha.. i...  i don't know if i can do that with anyone else without it feeling awkward. it only feels familiar with you.

JUNE 6TH

hey. its my birthday today. i've just been in my room listening to the 1975's all i need to hear. this was our favourite song, remember? um.. i... i miss you so much yn. i wish you were here, with me. telling me everything i need to hear.

notes: this was inspired by @00127am 's mark voicemail fic!!! i also orginally wrote this for anton but i just miss haechan too much... i hope you enjoy and feedback, likes, reblogs n replies are appreciated!

[fushizhuo]

Synopsis: You're the youngest member of SKZ and the younger brother of Bang Chan. However, you're sick. And your parents sent you to the US to get treatment. But, they couldn't treat your disease. No matter how hard they tried. So as a final goodbye, you sang a song for your hyungs and your fans.

Genre — Angst.

Warnings — Death

Pairing — M! Reader x SKZ (platonic)

AN note — Transferring my wattpad works over to Tumblr, I made this when I was 12 don't judge 🤞🏻

WC — 4.8k

The arena hums with quiet anticipation, the energy heavy with sadness. Stray Kids are on stage, but the usual vibrant atmosphere is missing. Eight members stand in a row, their faces somber. The space next to them is empty—the place where you always stood.

Chan steps forward, his hands gripping the microphone tightly, his voice trembling as he addresses the crowd. “STAYs, tonight is… different,” he starts, his eyes flicking back to the members, all barely holding back their emotions. “Our member, y/n, couldn’t be with us tonight. But he left us something. A message for all of you.”

The crowd stirs, sensing the gravity of the moment. Then, the massive screen behind the group flickers on, and there you are, sitting in a chair, pale but smiling gently at the camera. You look weaker than ever, but you’re trying to be strong, for them, for the fans.

“Hello, STAYs,” you begin, your voice soft, yet steady. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there tonight with my brothers. The truth is… I’m sick. Really sick.”

The arena falls into a deafening silence. Even though rumors had been swirling for weeks, hearing you confirm it feels like a punch to the gut for everyone present.

“I’ve been fighting this for a while,” you continue, a sad smile tugging at your lips, “but it’s gotten worse. And… I don’t think I’m going to survive this.”

The weight of your words sinks deep into the hearts of the fans, many of whom have already started to cry. The members on stage are barely holding it together. Felix wipes at his eyes, his face twisted in sorrow, tears falling down uncontrollably with I.N comforting him, while Hyunjin clenches his fists, his shoulders trembling.

You pause for a moment, as if gathering the strength to go on. “I’m sorry I couldn’t sing live with you tonight. But I wanted to say goodbye properly, the only way I know how—through a song. This is my final song, and I want to dedicate it to all of you.”

The camera zooms in slightly as you take a deep breath. “STAYs, thank you. You made me braver than I’ve ever been. Every moment on stage, every song, every smile—I did it because of you.”

You look down for a second, composing yourself, before looking back up at the camera, your eyes brimming with tears. “To my hyungs, thank you for taking care of me. You’re my family, and you’ll always be my home.”

With that, you reach for your guitar and start strumming the familiar opening chords of Castle on the Hill. The stadium quiets, listening intently, as your voice fills the arena.

"When I was six years old, I broke my leg,

I was running from my brother and his friends."

The soft, nostalgic melody washes over the crowd, each note filled with bittersweet memories. The camera flashes between you, playing your final song, and old clips of Stray Kids—the early days when you were all just starting out, moments in the dorms, behind-the-scenes laughter.

"And I miss the way

You make me feel,

And it’s real."

Your voice trembles slightly, but you keep going, pouring everything you have left into this performance. The members on stage are frozen in place, their eyes locked on the screen as you sing about the good times, about the innocence of youth, and about home.

"When we watched the sunset

Over the castle on the hill…"

The song continues, each lyric hitting harder than the last, and the fans can barely contain their sobs. You sing not just for them, but for your hyungs too, for the family you’re leaving behind.

"One friend left to sell clothes,

One works down by the coast,

One had two kids but lives alone,

One’s brother overdosed,

One’s already on his second wife,

One’s just barely getting by."

As you sing these lines, the camera flashes again to moments from the members’ lives—Chan struggling as a leader, Lee Know dancing through exhaustion, Han and Changbin composing until the early morning, Seungmin’s late-night vocal practices, Hyunjin’s quiet moments of self-reflection, Felix’s smile breaking even through the toughest days.

"But these people raised me,

And I can't wait to go home."

Your voice catches on the word home, and it’s clear that you’re thinking of the members—your brothers who stood by you through it all. The camera shows clips of all eight of you together, laughing, crying, working, living.

"And I'm on my way,

I still remember these old country lanes,

When we did not know the answers."

The music swells, and the arena is filled with your voice, with memories, with everything you’ve been through together. The fans, the members, everyone is united in the sadness of your goodbye.

"And I miss the way

You make me feel,

And it’s real,

When we watched the sunset over the castle on the hill,

Over the castle on the hill,

Over the castle on the hill."

As the final chorus fades, the screen cuts back to you. Your guitar falls silent, and you look into the camera one last time, tears filling your eyes but a soft smile still on your lips.

“Thank you, STAYs. You made me feel alive. You made me brave. I love you all so much.”

Your final words are barely above a whisper. “I’ll be home soon.”

The screen goes dark. For a few moments, the arena is completely still. No one moves. No one speaks. It’s as though the world itself is holding its breath, not wanting to acknowledge what just happened.

Then, the sobs start—quiet at first, then louder, until the entire stadium is filled with the sound of heartbreak. The members on stage are in tears, clutching onto each other for support. Chan tries to speak, but no words come out. He steps forward, wiping his face, and finally manages to say, “Thank you, y/n. We love you.”

The concert ends not with an encore, not with cheers, but with the weight of your goodbye hanging in the air. STAYs leave the arena with heavy hearts, each one carrying a piece of you with them, your voice still echoing in their minds, the final notes of Castle on the Hill playing over and over.

You never made it back. But in that final moment, you felt at home.

[youzicha]

Simulacra, Simulation, and Girls' Generation

That take that "anime girls don’t correspond to anything" reminded me of one of my own pet theories, which is that the same is true about Kpop groups.

Groups like Girls' Generation are like the opposite of American singer-songwriters. The singer-songwriter's core value is authenticity. Their songs are taken to be autobiographical, and to be valuable because they are a true description of the emotions that the songwriter felt. The singer-writer must be a single person so we can be sure that nobody has tampered with the depiction before it reaches us. This is Baudrillard's "first order" image, we in the audience should believe that the song is "the reflection of a profound reality".

With the kpop groups, what we enjoy is that the song does not represent any underlying reality. Each music video is the impersonal product of songwriters, producers, choreographers, stylists, video directors, etc. Rather than a spontaneous expression, you can see the moves being developed in the behind-the-scenes dance practice videos. The online discourse emphasizes the role of the entertainment agency (e.g. SM Entertainment): the group members themselves do not have "agency" so we can be confident that their own emotions didn't make it into the love songs they sing.

Let’s look at the music video for Oh! (2010) to see how this plays out. It's like a game of dress-up, showing off two different cheerleader uniforms. Argumate once wrote that Girls' Generation perform "a detailed sequence of dance moves that are very 'sexy', i.e. strongly coded as suggesting sexiness without necessarily being sexy-without-quotes", and I think we can say something similar about cheerleader outfits. They are not there to convey a message or story (and as if to stress the arbitrariness, the last few seconds of the video show the girls dressed in a completely different "strong woman" style, to tease the upcoming next look). Rather, the "sexy cheerleader" is itself a stylized, free-floating signifier to be quoted. "The whole system becomes weightless … an uninterrupted circuit without reference or circumference." (Although I believe it is still possible to overcome the ironic stance.)

So far everything is straightforward, but now consider the lyrics:

Oppa please see me, please look at me It's the first time I talk like this (ha!) I did my hair and I did my makeup too But why is it only you who doesn't know? […] Don't think of me just like a little sister You might regret that after a year

I claim that this also works in the opposite direction to the normal mode of storytelling. When creating a movie or play, the auteur-director starts with an idea or a story, and then casts actors to best represent his vision. Or, if that is not what it in fact took place, it is still the convention the viewer is supposed to apply to interpret the work. But with an idol music video, the starting point is the singer, who already has a fanbase. "Please see me, please look at me"—well, we already were. (This is not the only Girls' Generation song about looking at the idol, by the way, compare e.g. The Boys, which begins "I can tell you're looking at me / I know what you see".)

Given the opposite starting point, the representational function of the lyrics changes correspondingly. Rather than focusing on the new fictional person who emerges ex nihilo, the fan's attention is still on the singer, and the "little sister" character is yet another stock signifier for them to bring out and put on, much like the uniform. The function of the story is erasure: there was in fact a hairdresser and a makeup artist who styled Yuri, but instead we're invited to project a different fantasy over her. The effect is to further stress the unreality of all the symbols involved.

With this in mind, I think one Girls' Generation song has a really interesting concept for the lyrics. In Paparazzi (2012) the idol looks out across the crowds, spots a photographer who is trying to be discreet, and speaks directly to him: "shall I give you a better photo? let's be friendly, after all aren't we allies?"

It re-establishes the inauthenticity and unreality of the idol! As time goes by, pesky reality intrudes. People will follow the individual group members devotedly, and there are paparazzi images of them. Members will capitalize on their fame through individual brand endorsement deals. There is the perennial problem of girl group girls getting boyfriends, jarringly peeking out as an actual human being from behind the illusion. Or in the extreme case they can even use their new independent existence to leave the group.

In Paparazzi, those candid photos are re-imagined as performance. And furthermore, just like in Oh! we are invited to imagine a fictional character speaking directly to us. But in this case the character is superimposed not just over the image from the music video, but also over all the already existing photos. The actual person of the idol is crowded out by the fantasy…

[silverzoomies]

hello !!! i was just wondering if you think there are any other bands peter would like besides nirvana, pink floyd, and rush ?? he gives me classic rock (& just rock in general) vibes tbh !!

anon you just opened up a can of worms !!

i once did extensive research into this. way more than anyone should for a character way past his relevance. and i'm still discovering new tunes i think he'd be into all the time !! i'll try not make this long winded (it will be). but for now...

🎶👾 peter maximoff's (potential) favorite tunes 👾🎶

we already know pink floyd, rush, and nirvana are included. they're shown through the shirts he wears !!

rush is a major one. because unlike the other two, apocalypse era peter has rush all around him !! the rush posters in his basement. the leg cast with "i luv rush." it's safe to say he's kind of a rush fanboy (and he's so real for that because rush is rad as hell).

i have a list of bands/artists i can confirm he canonically likes, as they've been referenced before. whether it be through background clues (posters, background music, etc), or because they were explicitly mentioned by people involved in making the films.

🎶 yardbirds 🎶 the doors 🎶 led zeppelin 🎶 buffalo springfield 🎶 alice cooper 🎶 jim croce 🎶 neil diamond

and while we know he listens to eurythmics (sweet dreams), i don't necessarily include them as a band. just because i personally feel this has less to do with the artist, and more about whatever was mainstream in 1983 (but you can choose to include them if you want !! after all, people mostly listened to whole albums back then).

peter definitely enjoys rock overall. but he doesn't seem averse to mainstream pop either. so we can probably assume he'll listen to anything, as long as it's catchy !!

here's some bands/artists we can assume he likes based on what we already know:

🎶 jimi hendrix 🎶 cream 🎶 the beatles 🎶 fleetwood mac 🎶 queen 🎶 david bowie 🎶 tom petty 🎶 ac/dc 🎶 bon jovi 🎶 journey 🎶 guns n roses 🎶 the eagles 🎶 joan jett & the blackhearts 🎶 deff leppard 🎶 tears for fears 🎶 michael jackson

and if there's some other classics i missed (from the 60's/70's/80's) you think he might like - please feel free to drop me an ask !! i'd love to add more to the list !!

lastly, i'm gonna drop some bands/artists i personally like to think he might listen to. mostly because it's fun to imagine so:

🎶 iggy pop 🎶 bee gees 🎶 thin lizzy 🎶 toto 🎶 a flock of seagulls 🎶 elton john 🎶 u2 🎶 redbone 🎶 madonna (i 100% believe it, you can't convince me otherwise) 🎶 pearl jam 🎶 radiohead 🎶 red hot chili peppers 🎶 green day 🎶 my chemical romance 🎶 beastie boys 🎶 smash mouth 🎶 nickelback (fight me, i dare you)

if you're looking for any specific songs, there's a really awesome playlist i listen to religiously. chai_vibes's "songs peter maximoff would unironically listen to" is so peak !! and i'll go ahead and drop my own peter maximoff playlist too, just because i worked really hard on it !! lol

happy listening !! thanks for hearin' me out !!