#i spent them debating whether i should just delete this thing

[fungal-wasted]

Canyon - WoH chapter 9

In which some past sins start crawling on their back but they ignore them.

Summary: Two travelers climb the steep caverns of Fog Canyon. There are unsettling thoughts making their way through the surface, which the wanderer will try to make sense of.

Words: 2.2K

Start from the beginning here

(full chapter under the cut)

.

“Rough shift?”

You nod, taking a sip of warm tea, struggling to restrain the shiver running through your hands. You don't wanna go into details.

“We lost another one. A fly.” You lost a couple of bugs too.

You ask if you have to write to the family.

“No, don’t worry about it. This one has no relatives on our records.”

You nod again, eyes on the tiled floor. 

“Look, none of the standard methods are working so far. We can try keeping them stable for some time but it’s always the same end result. I heard many of the people in the research department are quitting. They don’t wanna raise an alarm, but they can't find anything of use.”

You ask about the bug’s feelings on the current state of things. You can’t remember this insect as clearly as you wish. There is some familiarity. Colleague.

“I don’t know. We really chose the best time to train to become healers. huh?” The sarcasm in those words makes you uneasy. So does the colleagues’ nonchalance. “I don’t think I’m quitting, though. Recently, I was listening to my supervisor. She was talking about an incident with a particularly violent patient. I didn’t hear most of it, but they say they made a… discovery.”

Your digits drum on your cup, faster in pace. You are hesitant to reply or voice an opinion, so you nod to let the other elaborate.

“This man, head of the magic department, has been studying the properties of bugs as they pass away. He believes the cure to this plague is in the power of Soul…”

.

.

You wake up before that sentence ends.

Being honest with yourself, you had feared what would happen when you fell asleep. You find that instinctively, you seek darkness now, as if light threatened to burn you from the inside. In that regard, sleeping should be helpful, but it makes you vulnerable to dreams. Dreams were supposed to be inspiring, blissful, sometimes confusing, but the thought of them now simply causes an instinctive rejection. Thinking about it too much felt as if a swarm of lumaflies flew towards you, threatening to poke at the deepest edges of your memories. What you just experienced wasn’t as bad, so you reassure yourself that there is nothing real to fear.

(But why did you wake up so soon? Why do you feel so nauseous?)

Dreaming doesn’t burn now, but it certainly brings back unpleasant images. Nobody was exempt from such things, you thought as you turned over yourself, pressing your side on the cold floor. Asking about your experiences during the first wave of the plague was similar to asking someone about the weather, as if the breeze in the caverns and the new body count were comparable. But you doubted everyone had seen the same things as you did. 

The truth they painted is not a good one. You feel your insides twist, making you shiver at the implications of your dream.

You could not manage to sleep again, so you sat up, pacing around in hopes that the images would assemble into a coherent story that let you fill in the blanks (that you knew the answer to but didn’t dare to actually think about), and flopped on the nearest seat once it became clear it would take more than merely rotating the same things in your mind to make any progress (admission).

Some time later, you took out the maps you had picked up recently. You were examining the possible routes in Fog Canyon’s map as your companion awoke, and after exchanging a few words and watching them leave, you pick another piece of paper, a new idea on your mind. It is time to do some self examination.

You take a quill, an incomplete map of the Crossroads and write down what you have cleared so far.

And this is where your thoughts go blank for a moment, as you reach the “present” events.

First you write your full name, which you then erase and just leave the first name in there. It feels less formal. Something about your first name still stings, but you dismiss the unease.

Then you write down your age. You are not a young bug just out of the nest, but you are not as experienced as older bugs either.     You were old enough to have a job, but you weren’t quite stable back then. 

You see a spot at the bottom right corner of the map, which seems unfinished. You wonder if the cartographer just never finished to chart down there, or if the place is inaccessible now. The map of the Crossroads seems to focus on the main corridors, where trading took place. You scribble a few homes in there. Your drawings aren’t as good, but you understand the general concept.

That’s Blueshore. The town behind the Blue Lake. 

That… was your hometown. 

(Not anymore.)

You had moved to an apartment in the City, back when your application for a scholarship was accepted.

Scholarship! That rings a bell (one that you’re willing to hear, at least). You can remember the tablet you received on your doorstep: its weight as heavy as the significance of the words in it. Clay is not a common writing material anymore, but prizes of such relevance needed a firmer constitution, for those that wished to preserve it. Your family wanted to hang it on your front door, as a sign of pride. You didn’t let them, embarrassed at the idea, but you still thanked their compliments.

Maybe you should have hung it, just for their sake.

You write that down. That is a reason for being in the City instead of Blueshore, working at home. You were a student. (A healer?) But you also worked. Students like you were doing their internships earlier to account for the demand of healers.

You write down the place you frequented during your internship. You then add a cross next to it, disgusted. You left, you remember that. You will never associate with that place again, and you hope that it's fallen to ruin like everything else. Nothing of value is left in there, and the best it can do is fade into oblivion. (But that doesn’t change the fact you knew of it, and what already happened.)

You close the map and fold it carelessly. It’s started to wrinkle. You don’t mind.

The Archives also come to mind now as you fix your eyes on the bubbles growing from the walls. The trips there bring happier memories. You studied regularly in… the City, but on occasion, bugs like you would visit the canyon’s building. You would hang out by the Queen’s Station and make your way up to the Teacher’s facility along with your fellow classmates. 

The thought cheers you up somewhat, serving as a nice distraction from the previous current, just by the time your friend returns from their walk around the station. They grab your arm and their bag as they talk about their findings.You nod along, feeling a rush of energy in anticipation.

You know exactly where to take them.

The foggy caverns west of the station are as bright as you remember them. The wind blows colder and faster in there, but it is nothing you are not used to. The trihorned bug next to you has their eyes fixed on a group of lumaflies that float around one of the metal signs. There is an improvised drawing of Geo in it, clearly covering a different symbol. After a moment, they speak:

“This looks so much like a scam, look at that paint,” they rub the tip of their nail against it, watching the paint crack beneath. 

“Was that supposed to lead somewhere?” You ask, not finding anything that remotely looked like a bank. You don’t recall there being any building of the sort.

“A dark alley, I guess. You gotta be naive to fall for it though.” They laughed, a memory resurfacing. “One of my brothers, uh, Big Guy, once brought one of these signs home. I’ve no idea how he got it. I bet he stole it though.”

“How did he manage to get away with it?” You ask, puzzled.

“Eh, I think he just found it while partying, he or a friend broke it and took it. Almost everyone was asleep at that time of the cycle so nobody caught him with it on the street. Thing is, I wake up the next day and the fucking Golden Scarab Avenue sign is hanging right next to my head.” 

“Did it startle you?”

“Nah.” They shrug. “I thought it was awesome of him. He was great, it’s why my siblings and I called him ‘Big guy’.” Their pride is palpable in their words. Then, they walk towards the broken sign. ”I kind of…. wanna take this one with me, for old time’s sake.”

You ask them if there is anything that stops them. 

“You’re right, I can just take it. Would it fit in my bag? Maybe not… but I can carry it on my arm. It makes for a shield too.”

“I don’t think anything here will try to attack you.” 

“I just wanna play it safe, pal.” They wave, dismissing the topic and taking the closest staircase. Rigid vines and bubble tree roots have overtaken the walls and some of the tiles on the floor stick out. The taller bug is careful not to trip on their way up. “Hey so, you know where we’re going, right?”

“I do, yes. We are on the right path, even if some aspects have changed.” You touch one of the once smooth stone walls, now covered in branches. “Did you know that the Canyon used to be a part of Greenpath?”

“I think I heard about that once?” They shrug, standing on a stop, waiting for you to arrive. “What do you know?”

“Oh, well, the Archives were a common visit for students and others interested in innovation. Sometimes bugs would take the stag from the storerooms to the Queen’s Station, but I personally liked walking if I had the time.”

“Did you study there? I heard they had some of the best technicians in Hallownest.” 

“I actually just took a class or two there”, you fidgeted with the handle of your nail. “I was not a technician, but I can confirm their expertise. The lumaflies native to this area are used all over the kingdom, and they provide a quick source of energy. That is why a lot of technology was made here.”

“Do they hurt to touch?” They ask, as a swarm gets closer and sparks come out of them. 

“Only if they charge like that. I think there are some ways to lure them but don’t quote me on that.” 

You reach a higher passage, clinging to the thin branches for support where the railings are lacking. The canyon was known for being the nest of the few creatures that could withstand the acidic water in its lakes. Oomas, strange, floating creatures made their home in it. They were a common sight in smaller, less crowded caves, but they had proliferated in the absence of bugs to keep them out of the way. It was no surprise that the most resilient organisms were the ones to thrive in spite of the harshness of nature. Though passive, the oomas made use of the wind and acid for their benefit. 

Even if thousands of bugs wandered into these caverns in a constant stream of travelers, its inhabitants would adapt and regrow. Thin, yet strong branches fed from soil that would kill most other plants and fungi. Those are the often called bubble trees. You think there is some lesson you can get out of their resilience, but you’re sure that many others before you have already done that in the past, likely through more creative and eloquent ways. There is nothing new you can add to the discussion. (And frankly, it feels almost insulting that you, knowing yourself and what you did, should have a say in regrowth of any k—)

“Watch out!”

The trihorn bug tackles you, as an ooma core speeds through, hitting solid rock behind you. The shock causes both of you to trip, their weight turning you over your side. The core collides on a corner, exploding into an orange mass. You hold to your weapon for support as you get up. 

You hear hissing, horror flowing through your veins as you realize the explosion has caused a chain reaction on another ooma, this time closer to you both. 

“Hide in here!” They say, holding the street sign as a shield.

But you don’t have enough time.

You stretch one of your limbs, close your eyes, and focus on yourself, knowing it’s over.

The explosion does not occur where you expect it to, you’re unharmed.

The core has exploded in the middle of the air. Far enough from anything that could potentially perpetuate the chain reaction of explosions.

You sigh in relief.

“How did you do that?!”

Do… what?

“Is that some kind of magic? That was like a fireball!”

“I don’t know.” You reply.

(But you do know, and they know you do, too.)

[williamswifey]

PLS A PART TWO TO THE BELLA YOU JUST POSTED. IT IS SO GORGEOUS. OH MY GOD

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒 - 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐒𝐄𝐘

part one ; the exit

masterlist

pairing ; bella ramsey x fem!reader

summary ; your ex bella had texted you after months of no contact. you knew what you were getting yourself back into as soon as you replied.

content warnings ; slightly toxic dynamic, angst with a happy ending, bella is still sort of an asshole but working on it

a/n ; hi lovelies <3 im absolutely honored at how much love part one got, i knew i had to get a part 2 up asap 😩 i hope this ending is satisfactory !!

‘hey.’

your face paled as you read the text on your screen. was this some kind of joke? was your phone company fucking with you?

your heart rate soared as you looked at the words on the screen. should you respond? should you leave them waiting? you didn’t know how to react, and your palms were growing sweaty as you felt your chest tighten.

“what’s wrong?” heather’s voice rang out cautiously, “you’ve got this…look on your face.”

“bella just texted me.” you replied, voice void of emotion.

“oh, shit.” came her softened reply.

oh shit was right.

you spent the entire afternoon staring at the text. you were tempted to reply immediately, but you didn’t want to seem desperate.

you were barely able to get any work done, you were thankful that it had been a slow day with barely any customers. you didn’t have it in you too deal with anyone else today, as you stressed and stressed over the text message.

a part of you—the smarter part, knew the best idea would be to not reply at all. you didn’t like that idea very much.

you took a deep breath, and opening the text.

‘hi :)’ you typed out, before deleting. too flirty, not enough anger.

‘what the fuck do you want?’ you typed out seconds later, before deleting the text entirely. definitely don’t send that.

‘hey.’ you message parroted theirs, but you deleted it again. what if it was too boring and they didn’t reply?

‘who’s this?’ you wanted to send out of spite.

you weren’t above being petty, but that just felt plain mean.

a part of you wanted to call them, to hear their voice again. your missed the sound of their voice, even if you only heard it for a few seconds before your call disconnected.

that idea was the worst of all.

you sighed as you flopped against your sheets, a deep sigh rumbling out from your chest.

anxieties began to rush in your mind. what if bella texted the wrong person? what if they were drunk? what if it was a prank?

you stilled your shaking hands, sending a simply ‘hi.’ as you threw your phone across the room.

you didn’t expect your phone to buzz seconds later, the sound amplifying from the pile of clothes it had fallen into when you tossed it aside.

you walked over to your phone, unlocking it.

“it’s been a while. how are you?”

jesus. so it wasn’t the wrong person, nor was it a drunken text.

‘fine. u?’

you tried to keep your text brief, debating whether or not to continue the conversation. you knew that being in touch with bella again would only lead to more heartache, but you couldn’t ignore the thrill you felt in your stomach at the chime of their texts.

‘do u still live near our old apt?”

bella’s text made you furrow your eyebrows, as you quickly sent a reply. the term ‘our apartment’ made you feel sick to your stomach.

‘i live about two hours away. why?’

your heart raced as bella’s text bubbles appeared.

‘i’m in the area for a press conference. was wondering if you wanted to grab lunch.’

fuck.

your heart raced as you read the message over and over. what did they want? were they just looking for closure, or did they want you back?

for the next few hours, you struggled with your emotions. you couldn’t decide whether it was a good idea to meet them or to leave things as they were. in the end, bella was your weakness—they always had been.

‘sure. when?’

bella was quick with their response, even though you had left them on read for a solid three hours and forty-five minutes.

‘tomorrow afternoon. come to our spot, my treat.’

your heart raced. ‘our spot.’ you and bella had found a small italian restaurant a few years back, with food that was to die for. it wasn’t well known, and it was your secret.

‘okay.’

***

you had barely slept all night. you were awake just past 9am, you had a two hour drive to make to get to the restaurant.

you showered and changed, putting on a light floral dress, your hair natural and flowy. you would pretend you didn’t put extra time into your appearance, but you knew it was a lie.

when you approached the restaurant, your heart felt like it was about to beat out of your chest. you were a few minutes late—due to traffic, and while you should’ve felt apologetic, you felt bella deserved it for being an asshole.

you walked into the restaurant, fiddling with your necklace. bella spotted you immediately, flagging you down as they called your name.

“over here,” they called, as you nearly knocked yourself to the ground from how fast you spun around.

bella was sitting in a booth, smiling at you as they gestured for you to sit across from them.

bella looked…different. a little taller, much more confident. their style had changed, and you hated to admit how good they looked.

you wanted to run out of the restaurant, your intuition told you this was a bad idea. but the heart wants what it wants.

you sauntered over to them, plastering on a smile that you hoped didn’t look too painful as you slid into the booth across from bella.

“you look stunning as always,” bella commented, a small smile on their face.

you had to remember they were just being polite as you fought back the blush on your cheeks. you thanked them, drinking a large gulp of your water, feeling the cool liquid trickle down your throat.

it was soothing, and it took your mind off bella, who was staring thoughtfully at you from the other side of the booth.

neither of you wanted to start the conversation you knew had to take place, so instead, it was silent.

you noticed they tried not to be on their phone, eyes darting all around the restaurant. you wondered if nostalgia was hitting them the way it was hitting you.

you remembered going here with bella at least once a week when you were dating, making a night out of it. it was your favorite day of the week.

now, the restaurant seemed to have lost its magic. it didn’t feel like home, not like it used to. you wondered if it had been simply being with bella that made the place so magical all those months ago.

“so, how are you?” bella asked, picking at their nails.

“i’m okay,” you replied, voice a little breathy. your heart hadn’t stopped its somersaults in your chest since you arrived, “and yourself?”

bella began to update you on their life. it was painful, seeing how much they had accomplished without you. your heart ached at the twinkle in their eyes, the excitement in their tone. the way they made you feel hadn’t changed.

it was easy to talk to bella, you forgot how much they made you feel like you belonged. it was like old friends catching up, not missing a beat. it felt like nothing had changed…but deep down you knew that everything was different.

bella was like an addicting drug. so easy to go back to…so hard to let go of. you remembered why you put up with their bullshit for so long—because they were bella and you were you.

when the waiter came, bella listed off both of your orders without a second thought, like second nature.

perhaps they noticed you slight glare as the waiter walked away, causing them to speak up.

“oh, sorry,” they said, “is that not your order anymore?”

you sighed, shaking your head.

“it’s not that, bella,” you began. their brown eyes glanced your way, and you felt suffocated under their dreamy gaze.

“it’s just—what are we doing here? i mean, you’ve been doing your own thing and i’ve been doing mine. why all the sudden did you decide to reach out?”

bella was quiet for a moment, fiddling with their rings as they cleared their throat.

“i’m sorry,” they said, catching you off guard, “for what i did. i was a selfish asshole, and i know i hurt you.”

you wanted to say it was okay, but you’d be lying.

“thank you for the apology, i appreciate it,” you decided to reply instead.

you hated how it was between you two. it should’ve been easy—it was easy…when you two were pretending that nothing had changed. the two of you had always fit together, like two pieces of a puzzle.

now that you were tackling what had gone wrong, the atmosphere didn’t feel quite as comfortable.

“i don’t want things to be like this anymore. i miss you.” bella said.

six months ago, it was everything you wanted to hear. but now, the words that rolled off their tongue settled bitterly in your stomach.

“did you think all you had to do was say you’re sorry and i’d come running back?” you spat, “plus, don’t you have a girlfriend?” you asked.

bella looked at you with furrowed eyebrows. they opened your mouth to reply, then shut it again after a few seconds out of pure confusion.

“no?”

bella looked at you as they tilted your head. what about everything you saw?

“you don’t?” you asked in confusion.

“last i checked, i’ve been single single we broke up,” bella now seemed just as confused.

“but, your instagram and the news headlines—”

“you’ve been stalking my instagram?” bella asked, a slight teasing tone in their voice as your face went red.

“i—” you tried to defend yourself, but the words died in your throat.

“i’m just messing with you,” bella said, the atmosphere balancing on the line of tense and airy, “if you’re talking about amara…she’s just a co-star. news and headlines just like to gossip.”

“oh.” you felt stupid for bringing it up. you hated how bella could manipulate your emotions so easily, for better or for worse.

they knew it too, it’s not like they were that stupid.

you felt bella’s hand brush against yours, bringing your attention back to them.

“i’ve had a lot of time to think. no one compares to you.” bella spoke, and you didn’t know how to react.

you wanted to slap them, kiss them, scream at them, and cry, all at the same time.

“you put me through hell, you know?” you said sadly, fiddling with your necklace yet again, “i was there for you. before your career took off, when you needed a shoulder to cry on.“

“i’ve beat myself up everyday for what i did. there’s no excuse. i was new to all the fame—all the interviews. i wanted to leave my old life behind—so that’s exactly what i did. i was shitty. i owe an apology for everyone i’ve wronged, but especially you.”

bella looked down guiltily.

“i can’t take back what i did,” they said slowly, “but i’d like to try.”

you licked your lips, noticing the sincerity in their voice.

their eyes were doe-eyed, lips puffy from biting down on them.

you knew you should walk away, prevent the inevitable hurt you’d go through again when bella got bored. but for now, you picked your poison. you’d take the happiness for now, a fair exchange for the pain you’d feel later.

you tried to shush the voice of insecurity in the back of your mind. for now, bella was yours, and you were theirs. they looked at you the same way they did when you first started dating, all giddy and love struck.

you laced your hands with bella’s, a smile growing on your face.

“yeah,” you agreed, as bella shifted in their seat hopefully.

“i’d like that.”

[mikalara-dracula]

💚 For Reiji plssss

What it's like to text Reiji

Warning: 18+ content below; don't read if you're a minor or aren't comfortable with slight NSFW. This is a fictional work and should not be taken seriously.

Hi there!

Sure thing! Thank you so much for requesting! Hope you enjoy reading it. Feel free to request again anytime! :)

@liannelara-dracula - bruh, the memes in this tho xDD

Omg, to even be a contact in Reiji’s phone is a privilege, let alone an honor since he isn’t going to keep just anyone in his contact list.

And depending on who he’s texting, his formality either elevates or drops.

However, not to the degree that he uses text language like ‘wyd’ or ‘btw’.

He just doesn’t like it, he feels like he’s losing his class by using abbreviations for phrases and such.

He absolutely hates the term ‘lol’--he simply can’t wrap his head around it.

“Honestly, humans spent centuries developing their language and then they cut it down into atrocious phrases like this.”

Now onto how his texting style varying based on who he’s texting.

So, if he’s texting a stranger, such as someone he got assigned to be partners with from class for a project and he’s genuinely okay with them, he’s very formal.

Like, too formal. If he has to start a conversation over text, he’ll begin it with, ‘I hope this message finds you well…’.

Which is just… odd… considering the world’s in the modern age now.

His brothers tease him about getting with the times, especially Ayato and Laito. They’re constantly on his case about this, but he brushes them off and tells them they’re wrong and that only ‘classy’ people like him text this way.

“What would imbeciles like them understand? It’s patently offensive to text with no effort.” He’d say, pushing up the bridge of his glasses.

Reiji is usually pretty fast at getting back to people and never tries to lag because he finds it ‘imperfect’ and ‘lazy’.

“That good for nothing keeps his contacts on read for days. How does he go on that way?” He’d comment towards a familiar, lazy vampire we all know.

Reiji also likes to keep the convo short with someone he barely knows, mostly because he doesn't know what to talk about considering he doesn't really know them and vice versa. He keeps it pretty polite and straight to the point in all honesty.

However, if he gets paired up with someone he doesn’t like and that he finds to be annoying, he’ll take his formality up a notch and even use words most people don’t know just to throw the other person off and show that he’s ‘more educated’ and ‘better’ than them.

Reiji isn’t the type to ghost, mostly because he doesn’t know how. So, if he’s texting someone he doesn’t like and they get into an argument of some sort, he’s not afraid to tell them what he thinks and just blocks them as a result.

“Good riddance.”

If he gets along with the person he had to do a project with, he debates on whether or not he’s going to still keep them as a contact after the project is over.

Mostly because he only wants to keep people that are up to his standards as his contacts--minus his brothers of course.

So, through talking to his class partner enough by working together on the project they were assigned, he tries to get to know them in order to decide if he wants to keep them in his phone.

After the project is over, if he sees that it isn't relevant to keep them in his contact list, he just deletes their contact.

Just know though, if Reiji does decide to keep someone as a contact in his phone, there’s something about them that he admires or that he finds interesting. If he gets along with the person and they’re up to his standards, he finds no harm in being friends with them.

It takes a lot to be considered his best friend. They seriously have to pass all his tests and prove him wrong. Yes, Reiji isn't the easiest person to deal with.

He'd prefer if the person is a vampire like him cuz they would understand each other better due to having the same nature. He wouldn't be too keen on being friends with a human, but then again, if they impress him enough, he doesn’t mind it.

If the new contact is a girl, he may have a crush on her, but he of course wouldn't admit that. It takes him a lot to come to that conclusion.

If he ends up becoming friends with his class partner, he’ll quit being very formal as he was before and be pretty casual, just no text language though.

Make no mistake though, he won't let them in too much--mostly because his life is pretty classified considering he’s Karlheinz’s son.

Now, if Reiji’s texting his best friend, things are a lot different.

He’s obviously been friends with them for ages and they very much understand each other. They’re probably a lover of science just like him.

He’ll usually text nerdy things like science memes--his favorites are probably all the Einstein ones xDD.

For example--(1), (2), (3), (4).

Okay, I’m literally laughing my ass off at these xDD.

Or they’ll even talk about science theories and joke about them over text if they were disproven at some point, or even a new experiment he’s working on.

It’s mostly lots of nerd talk really with his best friend. He might even send them a picture of a new china set he bought, but he of course makes it very aesthetically pleasing because he can’t stand raw light in photos lol.

Now when it comes to texting his brothers, it honestly depends on who it is, but he drops his formality with them and is pretty casual about conversation.

Has a group chat with them on his phone, but only uses it when he has to tell all of them something important.

He wants to block Shu so badly since Shu decides to be an ass and text him about things that annoy him, which includes him teasing Reiji about his crush if he has one.

Shu: ‘So… have you asked her?’

Reiji: ‘Asked her what?’

Shu: ‘Y’know... ;)’

With Reiji being confused, he’d just respond with: ‘...’

Shu also teases him about being boring and single and tells him he’s looking for too much. Will also send him memes about things like this too, along with ones about ghosts.

For example--(1), (2), (3), (4), (5).

Or Shu will be bold to say: *sends photo* ‘She’ll be in your room at midnight.’

And of course Reiji doesn’t hold back and tells him he’s a good-for-nothing and sends back memes about laziness or fire.

For example--(1), (2), (3).

And in response to Shu sending Reiji a picture of a ghost woman, he’d respond: *sends photo* ‘What your room will look like after midnight.’

It’s a never-ending battle in all honesty, and it gets so out of control that Reiji ends up cursing at Shu via text since he provokes him that much. It honestly makes Shu’s day knowing he’s able to make him pissed off this much.

Ah, the love between bros lmao xDD.

Luckily, this only happens from time to time.

But make no mistake, sometimes Reiji initiates these snappy virtual arguments with Shu too--it’s usually when Shu’s pissed him off in some way or Reiji needs someone to take his anger out on over something he’s upset about personally.

But other than this, they don’t text normally unless it involves something their father wants.

Even though he wants to block Shu, he knows he can't because they sometimes have to talk about things regarding family matters. So, it's utterly pointless.

Although, Reiji will periodically block the triplets because he grows tired of them and the trouble they cause him… but he ends up unblocking them later on. And the cycle only repeats from there.

Subaru doesn't really cause him trouble so Reiji doesn't care since they don't really talk. If Reiji ever asks him to do something it's not that much of a hassle.

Now, when it comes to texting his s/o, things are a lot different in comparison to his brothers.

It's honestly 50/50 on who starts the conversation, and he texts them pretty much every day.

He’ll talk about pretty much anything with his s/o, but bear in mind that he will be sharing what experiments he’s working on along with sending his s/o a picture of something he ordered in the mail.

Reiji even finds setting up dates via texting to be the easiest thing ever. He swears it’s better than the times where people had to plan rendezvous in person.

If his s/o sends him scandalous photos in hopes to get a reaction out of him, he leaves them on read because he doesn't know how to respond xDD.

Let me be frank and say that Reiji will never, and I mean NEVER, send nudes.

He finds them inappropriate, and he’d prefer to show his body to his s/o when getting intimate.

Reiji never uses emojis—he finds them to be juvenile and believes his words are enough to get his emotions and point across.

[servicetopkaradanvers]

I'm not sure if this is exactly the right place to say this, but I don't know if there is. And you're a smart person and critical thinker who has talked about this before. If this is totally weird, you can just delete it ofc. I've never properly watched Supergirl but I started reading fanfic around the time my mental health got real bad so it was a comfort thing I didn't bring too much thought to. I really identify with Lena and in the past, part of me has understood her actions-

and I know that they're wrong. The anti-alien rhetoric is obviously an allegory for racism or homophobia. She's violated people's basic human rights. And I'm scared that I'm a bad person because sometimes, I kind of get it. Which is insane because i'm a lesbian enby of color, i mean i get targeted by most of the -ist/ism actions. And I'm also too tired to think about things critically all the time. Supercorp was my comfort fic, content thing-

I knew it was problematic (the whole James thing makes me sick to my stomach, scared and sad) but I didn't know that Lena as a character was written that way. The metaphors never really clicked in my head because I never thought about it, but now I feel absolutely horrible about myself because I like and identify with Lena. I'm not really sure how to move on from here- I'm just tired. I wish there could be just one thing, one piece of media that wasn't prejudiced (granted sg is not the place to go if you want decent rep and the like) and all of those things I said earlier. Its just me somehow trying to justify how I felt and empathized with something I shouldn't have. So yeah, sorry that was really long. I hope you have a lovely day- sorry for the spam

FIRST of all, you’re fine, babe! Both in sending me this and in enjoying The Bad Media. That’s my thesis here: You’re fine. With this in mind, let’s unpack this big ol suitcase:

We’re living in a fandom moment where more than ever before, we’re thinking about the ideas we consume in fiction and how they may or may not affect us. This is a net positive! Fiction is not reality, but it undeniably impacts it, so for this and many other reasons, we should always think critically about what resonates with us and why. Does this mean dissecting every facet of something to find all the ways it might fall in line with oppressive power structures? Absolutely not.

You, as an individual, do not owe anyone an explanation for why you enjoy anything. Period. How you relate to a given character or why you like them is nobody's business but your own.

Supergirl, as a piece of media, is singularly awful in its lackluster lipservice to progressivism while simultaneously refusing to deliver any progressive themes. Socially and politically, it is a useless liberal wet dream. Kara is an immigrant from a dead culture working as the muscle for a secret FBI offshoot with zero accountability for all of the other aliens in diaspora she has rounded up and dumped into a cell without trial. Alex is allegedly a lesbian, but the key points of her endgame relationship are constantly deemed not important enough to get screen time, which is made even more absurd when examined from the angle that this series is marketed directly toward LGBT people. An embarrassing percentage of villains on this show are women of color, which is particularly loud when there are only 2 women in the main cast who aren't white. And "main" is extremely generous, given that Kelly is just there to Give Advice Good and everything M'gann says and does is as dry as toast.

My point here is that the whole show is rotted to its roots, and whatever quietly libertarian or even fascism-enabling bullshit they push onto Lena in a given week is par for the crusty, shitty course. Kara deciding that she's ok with the alien detection device because "there are bad aliens" is a lovely (read: awful) microcosm of why this show sucks so fucking hard. "People are entitled to their opinions" is for debates on whether pineapple goes on pizza, not for whether we should casually out, endanger, and disenfranchise our [insert minority metaphor here] because some of them are mean.

But what I would love for this fandom to wrap its head around, and what I hope you understand, anon, is that just because it happens on the show, doesn't mean we have to give a rat's ass about it. What the hell is The Canon, anyway? Especially in the case for Supergirl, which can't even get its own continuity right. Especially for an IP that has been rebooted dozens of times before and will be rebooted again in the future. We can just decide that Lena realized the horrible injustices she enabled through her position of power. We can even decide that they just didn't happen at all! This is all fake. It's not set in stone. Who came up with it, anyway? A network with a list of buzzwords they want included and a couple of D-tier showrunners cranking down caffeine to meet an absurdly tight deadline. It's not special. I can guarantee that you care about it infinitely more than they do, and you haven't even watched the damn show.

On a more personal level, people who are hurt, depressed, or traumatized have always and will always look for themselves in fiction. Myself included! And despite what lofty platitudes there may be on the matter, suffering does not make us kind. It does not make us better. Sometimes it's just suffering. Often it pulls us further from who we are meant to be. Often it just makes us "worse."

Trauma has made Lena emotionally brittle. A lifetime of manipulation and abuse has taught her to compartmentalize herself and lock her feelings behind a maze of doors. When she does let love in, she accepts it so wild and vulnerable that she can't see the red flags behind the rosy lenses. She latches so hard onto people she deems virtuous that she holds them to a standard none could fulfill. Her pain has to go somewhere, so it oozes out of her, into Non Nocere, into the post-reveal rift. She's a powder keg, and Kara spent 4 years shoveling more gunpowder onto the pile while holding the match between her teeth.

And despite these fatal flaws that make perfect sense through the eyes of Lena's trauma, she is so full of love. Like Kara, her suffering did not make her kind. She is kind in spite of her suffering. These are the characters we are drawn to when we're hurting. Lena’s trauma is an inextricable part of her, but it is not all of her, and neither are her mistakes.

There truly is not and never will be a piece of media that is absolutely innocent of the harmful structures thrust upon us by society, because we ourselves also participate in that society whether we are critical of it or not, whether we strive to change it or not. I'm flawed. You're flawed. Bettering ourselves is not a journey toward an ultimate destination of perfection. It is a garden we nurture in an endless labor of love because the joy that comes from seeing it flourish and change vastly outweighs the work we put into it and the weeds popping up around its unkempt edges. This is a lesson Lena herself could probably stand to internalize. Probably with lots and lots of therapy. Lots. And lots.

So, to circle back to the start of this? You're fine. You recognized the logic in a traumatized character's mistakes because our own gravest errors more often than not stem from the ways we have been harmed in the past. It's what makes Lena (or, at the very least, the many adaptations of Lena that exist in this fandom) a good character. She is, to her core, characterized proof that a crumbling foundation and poisonous soil do not define us. Which is why watching her heal and grow and learn a healthier kind of love is so, so wonderful.

In closing, I think it's worth mentioning that being critical of media does not mean that we stop enjoying the parts of it we like. There is a lot of gold to be pulled from the steaming pile of shit that is CW Supergirl, and that's why we're all here in the first place. So I really hope you can continue to enjoy it in whatever way makes you smile <3

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 9

Masterlist

As always thank you to my beautiful bestie @acollectionofficsandshit you can also thank her for all the Max content in this chapter. Its a long one, enjoy!

Word Count: 9.6k

Recommended song: “Hate the way” by G-Easy and blackbear

The one thing that never failed to lift your spirits was your dad's homemade blueberry chocolate chip pancakes. Whenever you were upset as a kid, whether it be your team losing a sporting event, your high-school boyfriend dumping you for the head cheerleader, or getting rejected from an ivy league college you never expected to get into in the first place, his pancakes had been there to cushion the fall. Clever as he was, he always messed them up in some insignificant way like leaving off the whipped cream and hiding the container so you were forced to talk to him in order to remedy it. Then he would crack some stupid joke or cheesy pun that would just barely have the ghost of a smile curling your lips.

Blueberry chocolate chip pancakes were no match for the heartbreak of losing your best friend.

The morning after, you only trudge to the kitchen when your stomach's demands to be fed become too loud to ignore. A steaming pile of fluffy pancakes sits at your usual spot, no syrup in sight. You don't have the energy to find your dad and ask where he's hidden it, instead picking at them. You knew the flavor should be fruity and sweet but every bite tastes like ash. One pancake is all you can manage before nausea roils, threatening to make your meager brunch resurface. 

"Some is better than none," Ben murmurs behind you and you drop your chin in the barest of nods. "We can save the rest and you can warm them up later."

"Thanks," you mumble when he takes your plate. You pull your blanket tight around your shoulders as your gaze turns to the window while your brother washes your dishes, wishing for all the world that you could make your uncooperative limbs move and help him but the mental effort it requires is too taxing. Instead you stay curled up on the chair, the noises of the house waking up around you a dull buzz in your ears. At some point your mother kisses your head and hustles out the door to work, her husband close behind. Ben is the last to leave and is reluctant to do so.

"Promise you'll text me if you need me," he says. "Mom already gave me permission to cut class after trigonometry."

"Sure." You both know it's a lie and a bad one at that. Your voice is dull and flat, completely void of emotion. 

"Mom said she's coming home early anyway,” he tries. “Something about overstaffing at the greenhouse."

"Okay."

The mechanical spooling of the garage door tells you he's finally gone. Your elbows slide forward until your head rests on the table, unable to hold it up any longer.

Every fiber of your being yearns for him, to hear the distinct r's and flowery lilt of his accent as he comforts you through the heartbreak, always knowing exactly what to say. It was second nature to call one another when either of you had had a bad day or a good day or just a normal day - you'd talked so often that last year you had convinced your parents to add international minutes to your phone plan. 

Your fingers itch to dial the number you had long since memorized, knowing it would ring no more than twice before he picked up. He never let it go to voicemail unless he absolutely couldn't avoid it and you had a hunch he was waiting for your call.

Despite knowing better, you scroll through the messages on your phone. Love was evident in each witty remark and wish goodnight, pulling at your heartstrings. Your finger hovers over the delete conversation button, and after a minute of debate, you can't bring yourself to do it. You would allow yourself one reprieve to look back on and remember the good.

It would be so much easier if he had given you a reason to hate him. If he'd cheated or intentionally led the media to your house, hating him would be easy. You wouldn't have to admit that you still loved him because his betrayal would have yanked out the newly blooming bud of love you nurtured and crushed the fragile petals. Instead, you were left knowing that it had been your choice to inflict damage in him. You had no right to seek comfort in his arms or even ask how he was doing. You deserved to be miserable for causing him to feel the same way. 

Yuki is the first to check in on you. You don’t know what he expects; you lie through your teeth when you tell him you were fine.

The press is asking me for my thoughts. No idea why. I told them not to stick their noses where they don't belong.

At least someone had the guts to stand up to those bloodsuckers. Yuki was the last person you'd suspect to do so, but the scrappy twenty-something continued to surprise you.

Thanks, you type back. How is he?

You hesitate. You didn't really want to know the answer. Pierre was devastated and just as broken as you are. You delete the last part and opt to refrain from subjecting yourself to biting off more than you could chew.

I'm here if you need me, is Yuki's reply.

Charles, Daniel, and his newly promoted girlfriend were the next ones to text you, all offering varying degrees of support. Daniel's friend was the one that offered to sucker punch anyone that came near you without your permission, and actually dragged a single huff of laughter from your aching lungs.

I'm good thanks. But if I need a bodyguard you'll be first on the list.

Just because Daniel can lift me with one arm doesn't mean I'm not punchy!

I believe you.

Spent, you set your phone down and retreat under the down comforter. The bright pink clashed with your earthy decor, but at least the old blanket didn't smell like Pierre. Your mother had taken it upon herself to erase all trace of him from your room when she had managed to coax you into a shower, and the half hour you had spent letting the scalding water run over your skin had given her plenty of time to do so. The absence of him hurts almost as much as the trace of cedar you know you're imagining when you breathe deep.

It has to be impossible for so much agony to be contained in your body. No matter how much you try, the tears won't stop flowing because Pierre's crushed expression had taken up residence at the forefront of your consciousness. 

It didn't help that so many of your recent memories were touched by his presence. Getting into university served to remind you of the ecstatic call you'd gotten after his race that Sunday, voice strained with a mix of excitement for you and the disappointment of his race ending crash on the opening lap. Even something as simple as staring at the saggy bean bag chair in the corner brought back the memory of the countless times he had lounged there, sprawled out like he owned it.

Max's text brings you briefly back to reality.

You doing okay? Dan told me what happened.

No, was all you say back. Within a minute, Max's face occupies your screen. You sigh but accept the call, laying the phone on the pillow.

"I don't feel like talking, Max."

"That bad huh?" He asks, concern lacing his usually chipper voice.

"Yeah. That bad." As if that summed up getting your heart torn to shreds.

He's uncharacteristically quiet for a beat. "Wanna hear about Vic's day? She had some crazy clients at her salon- it'll take your mind off it."

"I guess," you say, utterly nonplussed. You could care less if he kept talking or not, you wouldn't be paying attention. He prattles on for a few minutes, seemingly unaffected by your silence as his words pass through one ear and out the other.

"Told you it was crazy," he says finally, your cue to respond. You hum noncommittally and Max just sighs.

"Look, I don't know how I can help you unless you come here. I know you have a flight booked- do you still wanna come to the gala? My date's been stolen so I'm in need of one."

"Who stole your-"

The realization hits you before you can finish. Pierre. Pierre stole Max's sister and left him without a date. Something about his willingness to replace you so quickly rubs you the wrong way. It shouldn't have been so easy for him to find someone new; he should be hurting just as much as you. Fundamentally, you knew nothing would happen between Pierre and Victoria. She wouldn't go for him out of respect for both of you and you were thankful in the knowledge that it was completely platonic. Still, it was like rubbing salt in a wound. 

"You know what? I'll go." It was the most you'd said all day, your throat scratchy with disuse. Max whoops on the other line and you could almost see him punching the air in victory.

"Great! When's your flight get in? I'll bring the Acura and pick you up." 

You put him on speaker and login to the airlines website to punch in the flight number. Last night you'd debated canceling the flight that Pierre had paid for, determined to stay home and be miserable. Looking back you were glad you'd trusted your gut and left the reservation untouched. If he could find someone else to attend the gala with, so could you. "I land in Nice at noon on Friday. It'll be a short flight, I can text you when we take off."

"Sounds good. I'll set up the spare room for you. Victoria is staying here too, I'm sure she would love to help you get ready and do whatever it is girls do before fancy events."

"Hey, Max?"

"Whats up?"

You trace patterns through the condensation left by the glass on your nightstand. "Thank you. For understanding."

"That's what friends are for," he assures you. "Is there anything you wanna talk about now? Or are you planning to wait until you're here?"

"Ben's been keeping an eye on me. I'm okay for now." Better now that you had something to look forward to.

"All you have to do is call," he promises. "I'll listen, I don't have anything going on this week besides streaming."

You latch on to the small redirection and run with it. "You and the twitch quartet?"

"They've been kind enough to allow me to join them on the sim this week, yeah."

"I'll try to catch a race. No promises though." 

"See you Friday. Try to contain your excitement."

Your lips twitch upward. "Bye Max."

**********

The rest of the week was more of the same. You stayed home and your family dealt with the swarms of people that still gathered on the lawn each morning not so patiently waiting for you to tell your side of the story. You had decided that the best course of action was to keep your mouth shut and let them figure out for themselves that there was no longer a story to report thanks to the wedge they had driven in your relationship.

By the time Ben drives you to the airport Friday the buzz has died down. You hug your brother tight before checking in for the flight and texting Max. His response is immediate, letting you know he's excited to see you.

You wish you could return the sentiment. You wanted to see your friend, sure, but you were beginning to dread the upcoming gala. Max would be your crutch and you knew he was okay with that, but it still felt wrong. 

Unlike your brother, Max was waiting at the curb when you arrived in Nice. A nondescript cap was perched on his head, the oversized sunglasses he wore hiding his eyes from passersby. His gleaming orange peel of a car attracted more attention than he did for once, people stopping to ogle the Acura as they came and went.

"Hey you," Max greets, a broad grin causing his trademark dimple to appear as he wraps you in a rare hug. You cling to him, throat going tight at the intimacy of it. Max wasn't a physical person by any stretch; if he was hugging you this tightly it meant he knew how broken you were.

He waited for you to break contact first, giving you all the time you need. You sniff and wipe the single tear that had somehow escaped and laugh lightly.

"Hey," you say, voice scratchy. "Thanks for picking me up." 

He waves a hand, brushing it off. "Vic wanted to come but she changed her mind when I told her I was driving."

"Probably a smart choice," you observe, letting him pop the trunk- which was in the front of the car, since the Acura NSX was a mid-engined beast of a Japanese supercar- "and considering your choice of car, she wouldn't have fit anyway."

"This is true." He starts the engine, the roar of which makes a poor old woman a few yards away drop her purse.

The drive back is near silent, broken only by Max's occasional quips about a landmark or an observation about someone's driving. It was impossible for any driver to turn off the analytical part of their brain, their Formula 1 habits crossing into their daily lives. 

When Max parks at the curb outside his apartment, you move to open the door but he hits the lock button. You glance over your shoulder at him and quirk a brow.

"Am I your prisoner?"

"Are you gonna talk about what happened?"

Sighing, you sink back into the seat. The way the bolstering hugs your sides almost makes you believe you could fade into it if you try hard enough. "I wasn't really planning on it."

It had only been a handful of days since you had broken it off, the wound still leaking fresh blood when you poked at it. It refused to scab over or give you any kind of reprieve from the torture.

"You know you'll have to face him tomorrow at some point. He'll want to talk to you."

"That's why I'm going with you. You won't have a problem telling him to leave me alone."

Max sighs. "Yeah, I suppose. If that's what you think is best."

The trudge up the stairs and subsequent silent elevator ride allows your thoughts to wander to Victoria. It wasn't her fault that Pierre had asked her to come with him after you'd canceled, after all she was already planning on going and the late notice meant it was likely no one else could make it, but it didn't stop the pang of jealousy that rocketed through you each time you ruminate on it.

It didn't help when she wrapped you in a hug the moment she saw you and whispered an apology in your ear, like she knew she'd done something wrong. Tears spring to your eyes again and Victoria shoots Max a leave us alone look.

"Uh, I'm gonna hop on the sim. Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge if you're hungry."

"Thanks Max." Your eyes are pinned to a smudge of dirt on the wood floor, safely out of range of anything triggering. Keeping it together was more of a struggle than you'd expected.

"I hope you don't hate me," Victoria starts genuine concern lacing the words. "It was just easiest-"

"I know," you cut in. "And I don't." Your smile is tight, not quite hitting home as she returns it.

"Well then. Let's figure out how we're gonna do your hair tomorrow, shall we?"

**********

The dress was a single, simple piece of fabric, spun of sunset orange and free of any bells or whistles. The feather light chiffon hugged every supple curve through your hips until flaring out slightly at the bottom just enough to allow you range of motion. The deep vee of the neckline prominently displayed your cleavage, toeing the line between attention grabbing and scandal starting and leaving little to the imagination. The back dropped low, leaving the elegant curve of your spine free to be kissed by the salty Mediterranean breeze.

The dress is nothing special compared to the thousand dollar pieces that the other boy's dates would be wearing, but you didn't have the money- or the will- to find something new. It by no means broke the bank when you picked it up from the second hand store last year, but it looked the part. It had been a showstopper at the spring formal you'd originally worn it to and judging by Max's reaction, it still was.

He let out a low whistle when you stepped into the living room. "I'm sorry, did you pick that out with me in mind?" He laughs and despite yourself, heat rises to your cheeks. You hated being the center of attention, even among friends. "It's the perfect shade of orange to match my tie. I swear I didn't plan it that way!"

"I know you didn't." You give him a forced smile, praying he doesn't call you out on it. The dress you wore hadn't been your first choice. The one you originally planned to wear still sat in your closet at home collecting dust. It had been the perfect shade of blue to compliment Pierre's sky eyes, but it didn't match Max's deeper ocean blue. So at home it had stayed, and you had chosen the orange one because it made the necklace at your throat pop.

Your fingers engulf the stone before you can stop yourself, as they always do when your thoughts wander to him. Him, because you could scarcely think his name before your heart wretches at the reminder of what you'd lost. Flashes of bright smiles and soft kisses filter through your mind, making you lock up. You swear you can feel the ghost of plush lips to your throat and the scrape of callouses over the curve of your spine. Your eyes fall shut, desperate to get lost in the idea of him like you used to.

"You good?"

Max's quiet words startle you back into the present. No, you were in no way shape or form good, but you had no choice to fall back on the familiar mask of humor to cover up your inner turmoil.

"The real question is are you?" You smirk and look him over. The Red Bull navy suit strains over his broad shoulders, suggesting he had put on muscle since the last time he'd been forced into it. "You look stiff as a board in that tux."

"I feel so awkward." He straightens the suit coat and absentmindedly lifts a hand to tousle his hair. You grab his wrist just in time to keep him from ruining his sister's hard work and shoot him a chiding look. He grins sheepishly and lowers his hand.

"Vic would kill me if you got to the gala looking like you got run over." 

"That's a good point." He offers you his arm and you accept the lifeline he unwittingly offers you. "But I refuse to leave the windows up on this beautiful night, so we'll test how well it'll hold."

You quirk an eyebrow at him. "You're driving us there?"

"Well duh. I always drive when I'm at home."

You glance sidelong at the glaringly orange Acura parked at the curb a few floors below. Your dress would blend right in with the paint, but perhaps that was a good thing. It would provide that much more of a shock factor when you arrived and stepped out.

"Just don't crash out on the hairpin," you tease half heartedly. 

He rolls his eyes. "At least it's just the two of us so I don't have to call an uber. Vic's getting picked up by-'' Max cuts himself off and gives you an apologetic smile.

"You can say his name," you whisper, eyes trained on the tile of the hallway as you walk. "It's not like he's gone."

"Getting picked up by... Pierre," Max tries, carefully monitoring his neutral tone. God, you thought you could handle it but you can't, stumbling over your own feet with only Max's grip on your arm to catch you.

He'd dance with Vic tonight, and probably countless other women, his hands drifting over their bodies like they'd done on yours only days ago. You'd be forced to watch from the sidelines and make small talk that no one would remember come morning, utterly unable to do anything about it. At least Daniel’s girlfriend would be there to be the voice of reason, if you could peel her away from Daniel long enough to speak with her for any length of time.

Max was uncharacteristically quiet on the ride to the venue, leaving you to study the city as he drove. Few yachts were left in the harbor as the sun was swallowed by the sea, the owners undoubtedly set sail for a weekend getaway. Your gaze involuntarily searched for the slip that held Charles' Ferrari red speedboat that you'd visited countless times with Pierre. The eyesore was hard to miss when surrounded by its monotone brethren, memories flooding back in droves at the sight of it.

Sighing, you turn away to glimpse what you can of the city through the ridiculously tiny sliver of windshield. How anyone could confidently drive the Acura while having so little field of vision was beyond you. It was probably second nature to Max, who weaves through the narrow streets with practiced ease and barely lets off the gas through the corners. 

The city of Monaco rarely slept, and tonight was no different. Soft yellow fluorescent glow seeps from high rise balconies, the occupants soaking up the last dregs of sunlight before heading out to the casinos and clubs. People spilled out of cafes onto the sidewalks, their laughter lingering on the breeze as you speed past.

The list of people you trust enough to get in the car with and let them drive with such intensity is short: Max and Pierre. Not even Daniel made the final cut, not when his then not-girlfriend had recounted the tale of him losing the rear of his McLaren 570s at a track day and nearly sending them into the wall. According to her, he'd been too busy ogling her to keep his full attention on the road, but it was enough for you to question his judgement at times.

If you close your eyes, you could pretend it was someone else next to you, cutting through the gears like a hot knife through butter and coaxing every inch of performance out of the car that he could with the light traffic. You draw a surf-scented breath deep, lungs aching with the effort. 

Max joins the queue of cars waiting to park outside the venue, your attention trained on the guests stepping out of cars and climbing the wide set of marble steps leading to the sleek glass building. The modern structure is slightly out of place among the Roman-esque buildings surrounding it but the air of importance it exudes overrules any who dare say it doesn't belong.

"I can't tell you how glad I am that there's an open bar," Max remarks, hanging his head out the window to wave at someone. "It makes these events so much easier."

"You're telling me," you mumble, searching involuntarily for a familiar head of dusty blond hair in the droves of people arriving. Instead of sight, it's the unforgettable rumble of his Civic Type R's exhaust that alerts you to his arrival. Your head whips around, eyes eating up the pearl white paint of Pierre's favored car as it slides in behind you. You silently thank whatever deity is listening that his windshield is tinted, protecting you from seeing the smirk you are certain is playing on his lips.

Once upon a time, the cockpit of that car had been your favorite place in the world. You'd spent countless hours inside it eating shitty gas station cuisine and singing along to the radio at the top of your lungs as Pierre drove you to whatever adventure he had planned for the day. 

Max waves at your- his friend, you remind yourself sharply- and revs his Acura in response. He leaves the keys with the valet, picking up on the tension in your shoulders as the white car parks behind you. Max tugs your arm in attempt to turn you away, but your feet are rooted to the spot. 

“I see you found another date-” The flash of a grin on Pierre's face as he steps out is immediately dashed when he notices you on Max's arm.

If looks could kill, Max would keel over then and there. A muscle in Pierre's jaw flutters as he takes in the sight of the two of you together, your hand on the Dutchman's forearm and your matching attire looking for all the world as if it was purposefully coordinated. 

Max lifts his chin, spine going straight under Pierre's threatening glare. “Her airfare was already paid for and she already had the dress. Someone had to take her.”

Your stomach sinks; the last thing you wanted to do was become a point of contention between the two boys, but you refused to apologize for at least attempting to enjoy yourself. 

Pierre doesn't speak again, only nods to Max and pointedly avoids your stare. He tosses the keys to the smart-dressed kid serving as his valet, coming around to open Victoria's door. With his back turned to you, you take a moment to study the crisp white suit he's chosen for tonight. You had always told him black wasn't his color and he seemed to have taken it to heart. White was what you loved seeing him in, and the tight cut brought back memories of a different type of suit in an entirely different city only a few weeks ago. You'd peeled him out of that Alpha Tauri race suit the moment he made it to the trailer, eager to worship him after his podium. You'd be lying if you said it hasn't been the best sex of your life.

"Come on," Max urges, placing a chaste hand on your upper back and turning you around. He leads you up the stairs, his comforting touch never leaving your skin for a moment. The callouses were all wrong, the fingers too broad to be who you wanted it to be, and yet you couldn't help but imagine it was Pierre leading you up, stopping to smile for the few cameras scattered around.

Flashes spot your vision as you pull your face into an expression of excitement. Max murmurs something in your ear that you think is encouragement but the din of reporters is too deafening to be sure.

"How come you aren't with Pierre?"

The shouted question comes from an unknown assailant but it strikes you like a physical blow. You freeze, mouth going dry as you search for a suitable excuse. Max grants you the space of a single heartbeat to respond before he does so on your behalf.

"How about you mind your own damn business and worry about your cheating wife?"

The man who had bombarded you goes slack jawed, Max's wild guess clearly somehow hitting him just as hard as he had hit you.

"Keep walking," he urges you, leading you through the blinding sea of flashing lights. When you hear the same question directed at Pierre, his flippant laugh grates on your nerves.  

You don't have it in you to appreciate the grand architecture of the entrance hall, too busy trying to keep your breathing in check. Max steers you off to the side and places his hands on your shoulders.

"Look at me," he demands, and you drag your eyes up to his face. "Breathe. He's hurting just as bad as you, only difference is he's better at hiding it. Just enjoy the night okay? I'll grab you a drink and we can find Daniel and his friend and you two can catch up."

You nod, placing a hand on your throat. The delicate chain of the necklace is a vice around your neck, the reminder of him pulling it tight. Your pulse hammers beneath your fingers and you focus on it until it slows. "Get me whatever you're having."

Max disappears in the crowd, and you take a seat at the bench tucked in the corner. No one pays you any heed as they walk past, entranced by the elegant decor and fragrant florals. Your head falls forward to rest in your hands and you struggle to take deep, calming breaths.

Pierre was here. Inhale.

He looked happy. Exhale.

He was getting by. Inhale.

You could get by, too. Exhale.

Renewed, you glance up in time to find Max standing before you with a drink of dark liquid adorned with maraschino cherries in each hand. He extends one glass to you and you don't bother to question what it is before swallowing half in one go. "Better?"

"Much." You stand and brush out the wrinkles in your dress. "Where are we sitting?"

"Er, about that," Max starts, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "They put two teams at each table. We're at the Red Bull Alpha Tauri table."

"I see." You take another deep, steadying breath, letting the anxiety ebbing in your veins fade out with the exhale. It was times like this that you channeled Daniel a bit. It sounded silly and you would never admit it, but the slogans on his helmets worked if you focused on them hard enough. All good, all ways.

If Pierre could get through tonight, so could you.

“I can try to see if I can switch tables-”

"It's fine," you say and down the rest of the drink. “I can handle it.”

Max shifts on his feet, his discomfort something you rarely see from him. He usually excelled at keeping a straight face in uncomfortable situations but it seems that your unease rubbed off on him. “We should get going then, dinner will be served any minute.”

You once again take the arm he offers you, the liquor in your veins already granting you false courage. “We would have time to mingle if you hadn’t taken the scenic route.”

“It was nice out,” he protests, and pulls you to a halt when he spots Daniel across the hall. His girlfriend waves at you with a sad smile. She gestures between the two of you to indicate that you’ll talk later before Daniel pulls her towards the McLaren table. That boy was punctual to a fault and would be caught dead before he was late to anything.

Thankfully, the two of you arrive before Victoria and her date and are able to secure seats that ensure there’s a buffer between you. By some small miracle Christian Horner and his wife were absent and instead a few engineers and their significant others sat at the packed table. Max greets Gianpiero while you take your seat, happy to observe.

“Hey!”

You twist in time to see Yuki’s short frame emerge from the crowd and point to the empty seat to your right. “This one taken?”

You shake your head, standing to give him a quick hug. “How are you doing? Where’s your date?”

“Ah, she couldn’t make it. Had some family stuff to take care of. You look great, by the way.”

You dip your chin in thanks, unsure how else to respond. He was in a white suit that you were sure would wind up stained five minutes into dinner. “Did they mandate that you wear white?”

He shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Honestly, it’s the only one I own. I haven't been to enough events to build up my closet yet."

"Well I think it's…"

You spot Pierre before he sees you. His brow is slightly creased as he hunts for the correct table using the same focused determination as when driving his Alpha. For a split second, he meets your gaze. The cacophony of the event fades to background noise and suddenly it's just the two of you and you damn near lift your hand in a wave. You're positive he can see your heart beating out of your chest like in an old cartoon as you curl your fingers into a fist in your lap. Your restraint proves fatal, the floor falling out from beneath your feet when he drops your stare. This was your new normal, you remind yourself. Stolen glances were all you would get.

"I can move," Yuki says, starting to rise. You grip his wrist, holding him in place.

"Please don't." The only other open seats were across the table, and at least then you didn't have to worry about brushing elbows with him all night long.

Yuki nods, slowly settling back in. Max finally takes his seat after giving your shoulder a supportive squeeze.

"You don't have to say anything to him," he reminds you, barely audible over the scrape of chairs and various chatter.

You find anywhere else to look as Pierre pulls out Vic's chair for her and makes his rounds to greet everyone. Daniel and his girlfriend are seated a few tables away and you distract yourself by attempting to read their lips. You manage a few minutes of tenuous peace, catching snippets of Daniel's cheesy jokes and her disapproving, yet flirty, responses.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You squeeze your eyes shut at the sound of home. His words are honey and you lap them up like you'd never tasted anything sweeter. They weren't even directed at you and yet somehow you twist them to fit your narrative.

Pierre stands at the bottom of the stairs like a chaste high school prom date patiently waiting for your grand entrance. He checks his watch and rakes a hand through his messy hair. You stifle your laugh with a hand, amused by his unnecessary nervous energy.

Taking mercy on him, you clear your throat. His gaze snaps up to you, mouth falling open. You take your time gathering the orange fabric of your dress and descending the stairs, savoring the way he eats you up. He was resplendent in his crisp white tuxedo and you had half a mind to make him late for the gala and strip him out of it then and there and devour him.

Your heels clack on the marble floor of his entirely too fancy apartment and you pause to do a little spin for him, earning you an appreciative whistle for your trouble. A laugh bubbles out of you and you place your hands on his shoulders. His own settle on your waist to pull you flush against him, his body heat soaking through the thin fabric of your dress to warm your core.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You start when knuckles graze the back of your bare neck. The touch is there and gone but you know immediately that it's Pierre. It's slight enough to be brushed off as accidental to anyone else, but nothing was accidental with Pierre. The barely there contact conveys more than any words ever could. 

He still loved you. You looked stunning. He wishes you were still his so he could prove it to you. All this and so much more contained in a half second brush of his skin to yours.

It all comes back to you in a rush, the emotion you'd so carefully tucked away in a locked box in the back of your mind finally set free. His touch ignites any other thought in your mind that isn't him, burning it away until it's ashes on the wind. 

Despite your better judgement, you lean into him, giving him permission to unravel you. This time you sigh when his fingers ghost over your skin, electricity sparking in their wake. You didn't care who might be watching; the tiny touches were slowly repairing your shattered heart. Your traitorous mind replaces his fingers with the brush of his lips to your nape, imagining the heat as he slides the strap of your dress off your shoulder, lips moving to follow.

You bite your lip to stifle a groan when his heat is withdrawn, leaving you feeling inexplicably naked. You open your eyes to find Victoria's pitying stare paired with an apologetic smile. Max nudges you with his elbow, and you realize someone has addressed you.

"Um, what?"

"I said I like how you guys coordinated outfits," Pierre repeats and openly prods your shoulder. "Obviously Max chose the color."

His tone is playful, but his words are clipped in a way only you understand. Craning your neck, you twist to look up at him. His eyes are cloudy and his smile doesn't reach them, more for show than anything else. "It was an accident."

"Doesn't look that way."

Your retort is ready on your tongue but he doesn't give you a chance to reply before retreating to his seat. His ability to act as if nothing has changed astounds you, as your head is still reeling from the pinpricks of his skin on yours. Instead of being rendered speechless, he strikes up a conversation with Yuki about the Alpha's performance, leaving out the confidential details but giving enough away that it surprises you.

The sheer fact that he can so easily switch off whatever feelings he harbors is unfair. The sensation of his fingers on your neck still lingers and it's all you can do to keep from stepping around the table and slotting yourself between his legs like you had in that bar in London. Your nails bite into your palms, listening in if only for his voice to wash over you and calm your racing heart.

When he mentions the rake angle, you know it's just to mislead anyone who might be eavesdropping. He'd told you the exact angle in the past, and it certainly was not one degree, and it did not cause the level of understeer he was describing.

"The understeer comes from improper tire selection," you blurt. "And driver error."

All eyes turn to you and you straighten. You knew enough about the construction of a Formula 1 car to be positive your assessment was correct. You were almost as certain that he'd said it to force you into speaking to him whether you liked it or not.

"What was that?"

If Pierre could torment you with his subtle touches, you could do the same and call him out when he was wrong.

"Driver error caused the rear end to slide out around that turn in Japan, not the rake angle. That's got nothing to do with it. Your tires were blistered because of you taking an imperfect racing line and they were old. You miscalculated the level of traction they'd give you."

Why no one else had pointed it out was beyond you.

"So you're an engineer now?" Pierre challenges, crossing his arms. Something about the arrogance radiating from him rubbed you the wrong way. You let all the emotion of the past few days surface and add fuel to the fire.

"No, but I've learned enough to see through the bullshit drivers spin to mislead other teams."

Max murmurs your name in warning but your frustration is boiling over. He replaced you tonight, didn't even pause to consider going alone and instead choosing to take Victoria. Sure, it had been your fault that he was dateless, but that didn't give him the right to hurt you too. He knew it would destroy you to see him with anyone else even if it was completely platonic, but he did it anyway.

"Why don't you tell me where I should brake on turn ten since you're an expert all of a sudden?" Victoria lays a hand on his arm but he yanks it out of her grip. "What crack in the pavement? Or is it a mark on the barrier? Drive one lap in my car and then you can tell me how to drive."

It wasn't your analysis that had upset him. You'd done so plenty of times and he had always taken your criticism with an open mind, using it to tweak his driving style to improve his lap time or turn it into a teaching experience so you could learn. No, judging by the way his eyes are lined with silver that he fights to blink away, it's your betrayal that upsets him and rightfully so. You glance around the table but no one is willing to meet your eyes save for Max, who angles his head as if to say fight for it.

But you can't. It's monumentally easier to let Pierre win and sweep it under the rug than to address the deeper issue. "I was trying to help," you say lamely, picking at the salad in front of you.

"You don't get to do that anymore."

The venomous words hit like knives, knocking the breath out of you. Your mouth hangs open like a fish gasping for air but any reply you think up dies on your tongue.

As the music fades out and a man climbs up onto the stage, Pierre gets up and leaves. You track his progress as he weaves through tables, noting Daniel reaching for him as he passes. You flinch when the balcony door slams behind him, an astonished murmur rocking through the crowd.

"You should probably talk to him," Max whispers.

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. You had no idea what you would say. 'Sorry' was insignificant and 'I love you' would be cruel when the barest of thought regarding how the media treated you made your stomach churn. 

Max pulls his phone out under the table and you think you see Charles' name on the screen. Good; someone had to make sure Pierre didn't do anything he would regret in the morning and if it wasn't you, Charles was the next best chaperone. A minute later, the Ferrari driver leaves his seat too, exiting the same way as Pierre. 

Focusing on what's said on stage proves fruitless. Try as you might, your attention is trained on the side door Pierre had disappeared through, praying he returns despite knowing it would mean more barbed words hurled at you. Neither he nor Charles return at any point during the presentation. His absence was quickly becoming a gaping black hole, swallowing up any semblance of sanity you had managed to gather in preparation for tonight.

"Try to have some fun," Max says, nudging you with an elbow. "As soon as this guy shuts up I’ll get us some more drinks and then we can eat and get out on the dance floor and forget about everything, yeah?"

You nod. You already feel the buzz of the first drink, and one or two more would push you thoroughly over the edge into blissful forgetfulness. "I don't wanna be sad anymore."

**********

He didn't know where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get away from you before he said something that would tear whatever hope he held of repairing what was between you to ribbons. He registers Daniel's low, "Gas, you good?" as he breezes past, but doesn't pause to answer. His sights are locked on the wide, carved oak doors that lead to fresh air.

The breath whooshes out of him when he flings open the balcony doors. They slam behind him and he winces. Chalk that up as something else for Helmut to pick him apart for on Monday.

Pierre rakes a trembling hand through his hair and rests his elbows on the railing, sucking in lungfuls of air like he'd just surfaced from a dive in the harbor. 

When you'd agreed to come to the gala with him, he had been overjoyed. You hadn't made it to the winter gala earlier this year due to a last minute exam and he had sulked the entire night. He still had the place card embossed with your name in the fishbowl by his door, the sizable container nearly overflowing with memories of you. Everything from forgotten earrings to plastic hotel key cards filled the bowl and it was a bright reminder of your adventures together. His plan had been to add another place card to the mix after tonight but after what he'd just said to you, he'd rather forget today ever happened. 

He fucking hurt. Everything just hurt, from the shirt collar scratching at his neck to the bone deep ache that had started when he laid eyes on you on those steps, arm locked with Max's. You'd stolen the words from his mouth, the jab he'd planned to toss at Max dying at the sight of you. 

He hadn't expected you to come tonight. Despite anyone's objections, he'd been fully prepared to get completely shit faced to the point that the ghost of your skin no longer haunted his fingertips and your voice no longer sang in his head. But seeing your damned face had shattered the false reality he had constructed, the one where you never broke him and left him scrambling to piece himself back together.

The universe had dealt him another low blow when he discovered Red Bull and Alpha Tauri would be at the same table and he'd be forced to endure your presence at arms length, close enough to touch but absolutely not allowed to do so. It was his own personal hell, constructed solely to punish him for whatever transgressions he'd made in his life.

And that fucking dress. 

The orange painted the aquamarine charm at the hollow of your throat in sharp relief, showing it off like he somehow still owned you. If you had arrived with him, he would have already led you back to the Civic and bunched that damned dress up past your hips to drag his favorite sounds from you with his tongue. If he could just get you alone, he's sure it wouldn't take more than a single touch to have you crashing into him and begging for more.

Seeing you with Max tonight paints an entirely different picture.

It's Max he sees tearing off the dress at the end of the night when you get back to his apartment. Max's hands slide over your hips and you laugh, walking back so you can keep your lips on his as he slams the door shut behind you. You dip your head back when he presses you to the wall, Max unfaltering as his lips and teeth trace the curve of your exposed throat and he slips the straps of the matching dress of your shoulders to let it pool at your feet. Max's name breezes past your lips on a shaky exhale as you become putty beneath his fingers.

No matter how loud Pierre calls your name, you don't hear him, instead cupping the back of the Dutchman's head and pulling him in for a heated kiss. When you do finally notice him observing from afar, agony wracking his body, all you do is grin. It feels real, even though Pierre is certain it's a crazed fever dream, his mind spinning his worst fear to life: you seeking comfort in the company of someone that wasn't him.

Pierre starts when the door squeaks open, the nightmare thankfully dissolving. Charles steps out clad head to toe in blazing Ferrari red and instantly he knows who sent him. The thought alone stokes rage in his chest, the image of your lips on Max's still fresh.

"Not as easy as you expected it to be, is it?" He asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Fuck off," Pierre growls and immediately regrets it. Beyond you, Charles was his closest friend. They had known each other for ages. It wasn’t a friendship he was willing to sacrifice just because he felt like shit. Pierre sighs and throws him an apologetic glance. "No it's not."

"Why don't you talk to her?"

"She doesn't want to fucking talk, Charles. Take one look at her, she's hanging on Max like she can't get enough of him." Pierre hangs his head in his hands, emotions shifting faster than he did on race day. "I can't go back in there and watch her choose him over me."

"You don't really believe that bullshit, do you?" Charles asks, joining him at the railing.

Not entirely, but he still struggled to understand your thought process. He thought he knew you, but you being here tonight when he had been certain you wouldn't be proved he didn't. 

"I don't know what to believe anymore. I thought it would be forever, that I'd finally found someone who didn't mind my lifestyle and accepted it for what it was, who loved me unconditionally. I thought she was my forever."

"You think she's done with you just because some assholes invaded her privacy?" Charles shakes his head. "She's loved you for a long time, years even. You haven't seen the looks she gives you, but the rest of us have. You hung the moon in her sky, Pierre. That kind of thing doesn't just get swept away by the breeze."

His shoulders curl inward in an attempt to hide the frustrated tear that escapes him. "What am I supposed to do?"

Charles shrugs. "I don't think there's a right answer to that. Try giving her some space. She didn't grow up in the spotlight like we did. It's not an easy adjustment for some people, mate. And blowing up on her when she tries to make conversation doesn't help anything," he says gently. "Let her figure it out and come to you when she's ready."

The concept of letting you go even temporarily was terrifying to him. Waiting on you to make the first move was even worse because he was setting his fate in your hands. 

"I miss her," he murmurs, turning his face to his friend.

"I know." Charles throws an arm around the taller man's shoulders and follows his gaze out over the tiered streets of Monaco's city center. "My suggestion is to throw yourself into the season. Show her you know how to fight, y'know?"

Pierre nods. He could do that. It was how he normally handled his problems anyway; let the track wick away whatever was on his mind and force him to hone in on the details surrounding him in each moment. 

"You ready to head inside?" Charles asks.

"I don't think I can go back just yet."

"Want me to hang out here with you?"

"No. I'll be back eventually."

Charles' hand falls from his shoulder after a short squeeze, the sound of a tinny voice over the speakers temporarily flooding the balcony as Charles returns to the banquet. Pierre allows himself a few more moments of reprieve before slipping back inside just as the applause starts. Rather than returning to the delicately portioned meal that sat cooling before his empty chair, he orders a drink. Whiskey on the rocks, his go to in times of crisis. He takes one sip before the reminder of you ordering it for him in London makes holding the glass of caramel liquid unbearable and he downs it in a single swallow, going back to order a beer instead.

He nurses the green bottle of Heineken as he leans against the wall until the meal is finished and the chit chat starts. You stand with Max, practically pressed against him as you snatch a flute of champagne from a passing server. You search the crowd, brows drawing together when you don't locate your quarry. Pierre had made sure that he was tucked out of the low lighting, unsure if he could survive you stealing worried glances at him all night. 

Charles winds his way over to pass off a roll he snagged from dinner, practically forcing the Frenchman to eat it before returning to his date. He nibbles at it absentmindedly, entirely too focused on you to divert an ounce of focus elsewhere.

Your dress is a glowing sun in a sea of earth tone garments, drawing his eye as you pull Max out onto the wood platform serving as the dance floor before the tables are fully cleared. The flush in your cheeks tells him you're deeper in your cups than you should be; Max didn't know your limit as well as he did. Three drinks was all you could manage before you got tipsy, five if you wanted to be completely blitzed. 

The lights dim and his hiding spot is no longer quite as good as the party lights sweep over him from time to time. Max places one hand on your hip and you place one on his shoulder and grin up at him. Judging by the fit of giggles that requires you to lean into Max for support, you were teetering dangerously on the edge of being wholly drunk. You throw your head back and laugh at whatever Max says in response to your fit, Pierre straining to hear the musical sound over the band. 

"Hey," Victoria says, breaking his concentration. "You wanna get out there?"

Pierre grimaces. He had managed to completely forget about her, too stuck in his own head. "Sorry, Vic. I don't think I'd be a very good partner tonight."

"No worries," she says, a soft, understanding smile on her lips. "I can keep myself busy."

Pierre nods his thanks, his attention immediately returning to the dance floor. Daniel and his girlfriend steal the show, both laughing as he dips and twirls her across the floor. 

Being together was so fucking easy for them, effortless in a way it wasn't for you and Pierre. They never once paid any heed to the photographers that swarmed them or the headlines printed about them, they just laughed the rumors off and carried on. No one could question their love for each other because they were vocal about it- sometimes annoyingly so- and Daniel was rarely seen in public without her at his side. They were always touching, holding hands or stealing kisses or even the near scandal of his hand blatantly on her ass at the podium a few races back, and neither of them cared.

Their love was all that mattered. They didn't care who knew it.

But you and Pierre were far too private to be like that, at least not when you were still trying to figure things out yourself. The first sign of outside pressure had you cracking, and he wouldn't stand for knowing he was the source of your pain.

He tries and fails to convince himself he isn't jealous of the way Dan's hand so easily glides under the navy blue silk of her dress to caress her back without a second thought, wishing he could do the same to you. If he's being honest, he's living vicariously through Daniel for the next few songs, pretending he was someone else observing you and himself on the dance floor instead. It almost works; the way she shudders when his lips graze her ear is strikingly similar to how you'd react. The smile she flashes up at him is agonizingly close to your own wicked grin.

When her mouth finds his, Pierre gathers his wits and turns away. Their blatant public affection flipped a switch inside him, disgust rocking through him for a split second before he pushed it away.

He was happy for them. He knew what a long, rocky road it had been for them to become lovers instead of friends, had firsthand knowledge of the stress they'd gone through before they'd finally admitted their feelings to each other, put their pride aside and got together. Pierre had been the one to offer her advice on a night not much different than this one months ago, helping repair the damage Daniel's idiotic, thoughtless words had caused. 

But Pierre had since become the person who was sickened at the sight of others in love. It reminded him that part of himself was missing and he hated it.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering back to you. You still occasionally scan the room as Max struggles to lead you through a dance. By some stroke of bad luck your gaze snags on him just as a spotlight illuminates his face and he grimaces. A slow blink is the only surprise you let show before laying your head on Max's shoulder. Jealousy spikes through him like wildfire, igniting his blood and tinging his vision with red.

He wants to march over and rip you off Max. He wants you tucked safely against him as his thumb rubs circles on the bare skin of the small of your back. He wants, more than anything, to take you to his apartment and half carry you up the stairs, having to shush you because you're giggling loud enough to wake the dead, and lay you down in his bed. He wants to help you out of that stunning dress and into a pair of his sweats and curl up against you, letting you sleep off your hangover until noon.

He'd fucked up that chance though, hadn't he? He had slipped up and driven you straight into your friend's arms, who he trusted not to make a move on you but not enough to negate the jealousy coursing through him.

In that moment, he hates you. He hates the hold you have on him, the way a simple gesture between half-drunk friends could send him into a spiral so steep he didn't recognize himself. He hates that he can't keep his eyes off you, your gravity too strong for him to resist.

Most of all, he hates that he doesn’t know how to quit you.

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max​ @sunshinesewis​ @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval 

[tsukkiboii]

hi bby! i said i was gonna leave an ask and i meant that. can i ask for a tsukki, kenma or kuroo? maybe they about an argument and then they make-up? maybe they fought about fans flirting with them or video games or whatever! ill let you decide! love you ❤❤❤❤❤

my first request sjhjshshsj🥺🥺

bea bb thank you i love n appreciate you so much <3 i decided to go with kenma and arguing over a video game bc i vibed with it the most hehe, i hope you like it!! this fic is so much longer than i had intended it to be im sorry-

and i apologize that this took so long :( life has been really messy and all over the place :((

fights, tears, and make-ups

pairing: kenma kozume x reader

word count: 1.4k

genre: angst (but i honestly can’t tell if it’s super ansty-), fluff, hurt/comfort

synopsis: kenma shouldn’t have taken you for granted, but he did. 

“Kenma, you need to eat dinner.”

“In a sec,” you heard the blond-haired boy reply from his gaming room, undoubtedly with his eyes still glued to the screen.

“Kenma. You haven’t eaten all day. You need to eat.”

Seconds pass with no response. With a sigh, you grabbed the bowl beside you and walked towards his room. Sliding open his door, you find him completely focused on the game. He’s pale, dark circles under his eyes drooping and anyone walking in would see he’s exhausted, needing rest, but he can’t. The only thing on his mind is that he has to pass this level.

Walking over gently, you place the bowl onto his table. Kenma jumps at the noise, not having known you were there, the motion making his screen character go a little too far left and being crushed by a falling rock.

He throws his console onto the desk and gives you a stare burning through your skin. “I was about to pass that level. I’ve been stuck on it for a day and you just had to enter right then.”

“Kenma, you haven’t eaten a single thing today-”

“Oh, shut up.”

You tense up under his harsh words, about to speak when you’re cut off by more of his rambling.

“Kenma this, Kenma that. It’s annoying. Quit acting like I can’t take care of myself. Things were so much quieter and calmer without you anyways.”

His tone is barely above a whisper, almost as if he thought it was too much of a bother to talk to you. Taken aback by his words, you take a moment to fully absorb what he had said, every word cutting a slash into your heart. 

“I hope your life goes back to calm and quiet” were the last words you left him before you left the apartment with tears streaming down your face. 

Kenma’s eyes linger on you for a moment before going back onto his screen. He instantly regrets what he said, but doesn’t go after you. Instead, he restarts his game and his character dies again, at the exact same place.

The bowl of food on his table goes cold. 

The first day with you gone passes fine for Kenma. As usual, he goes to sleep at way too late and gets up at noon-ish and scrambles together some food to prepare for his stream. His viewers tell him he doesn’t seem as energetic, and isn’t smiling as much. He says that he’s a little tired and didn’t sleep too well last night, which was only half the truth. He feels a little empty, mind often tracing back to your smile and then immediately to your tear-stained face. He eats two bites of bread for dinner and decides to go to sleep.

“I’ll be fine,” he thinks, “I don’t need y/n to live.”

The days only spiral downhill from there. Snack wrappers thrown all over the apartment and laundry piled up into stacks. He hasn’t eaten something actually cooked in days. Having no energy to do anything, he calls off streams for a whole week. Most of his time is spent lying on the sofa with his face towards the ceiling, replaying his last conversation with you in his head over and over and over again. 

“Things were much quieter and calmer without you anyways.”

I’m sorry. Please come back.

He contemplates so many times on whether or not to call you, to text you, to try and get in touch with you. But he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was the one who hurt you, told you you were annoying when he didn’t realize how much you matter to him. 

Kuroo checks in on Kenma every single day. By the fourth day, he’s determined to make him talk to you.

“Kenma, you can’t keep living like this.”

Tired eyes glued to his screen, the pudding-head boy grumbles in response, Not enough energy in him to do anything else.

Sighing, Kuroo unplugs his entire monitor and forces his chair to spin towards him so that he’s staring Kenma right in the eyes. 

“Kenma, I’m serious. You need to talk to her.”

“And then what?”

Kuroo staggers a little, taken aback from the question.

“And then what, Kuroo? I hurt her. She deserves so much better anyways.”

The rooster-haired boy takes his phone and throws it onto his lap.

“You need to call her sooner or later. I don’t know when, but you need to.”

Kenma gently holds his phone with two hands with his thumbs hovering over the screen, constantly switching between the keyboard and the delete button. He debates himself for fifteen seconds before giving up and pressing the call button.

The phone has rung seven times and you have yet to pick up. He’s certain that you won’t pick up at all. Yet on the eighth ring, you pick up.

“Kenma?” He hears from the other side.

His voice hitches in his throat. A thousand thoughts are crossing his mind and his breath is suddenly stggered. He tries to say “I’m sorry”, “Where are you”, and “Please come back” at the same time, but none of them seem to be coming out. 

“Kenma, you there?”

“Yn.”

His voice is so empty, dull, tiring and you almost drop your phone out of shock.

“Where are you?”

Coming back to reality, you swallow and reply, “Friend’s house. Why?”

“Can we, uhm, can we talk?”

Your side of the line goes silent for three whole seconds before you take a deep breath and reply, “Sure. Give me a time and place.”

“If you don’t mind, can you just come home?”

HIs voice quivered at the word home, like it wasn’t really home to him anymore. Not without you. You couldn’t help but tell him you’ll be back in a bit.

As you reach closer to your building, the more your heart threatens to jump out of your throat. There’s a knot in your stomach that you just can’t get rid of, and even though you know this was all his fault, your mind can’t stop racing. None of this was your fault, was it?

Before realizing, your hand was on the door handle and without thinking too much, you push the door open.

To say you were shocked from the state of the apartment is an understatement. Yes, Kenma wasn’t the tidiest person in the world, but you knew he’d never let the apartment get this messy. The moment you walked in you knew he would be in a bad state too, which confused you. But he didn’t want you here, did he?

Suddenly, you hear footsteps coming towards you. Frozen in place, you wonder if this was a bad idea. If you should just leave and tell him you couldn’t make it, but it’s too late. By the time your head has gotten back into reality, he was standing in front of you, eyes full of guilt and regret. 

“Hey,” you try to say, which turns out to be nothing more than a whisper. 

Hesitating for a second, he stumbles towards you and falls into your arms, leaning into your touch, burying his face into your neck and mumbling “I’m sorry” and “please forgive me” again and again. 

“I was stupid. It’s all my fault. I was frustrated and took it out on you. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. Everything is so much better with you and I was being dumb. I’m so sorry please don’t leave.” His eyes were brimmed with tears, threatening to spill out any second. He’s rambling, words that he had meant to say to you over the past days all spilling out. He can’t seem to be able to stop. You’ve never seen him so scared, so vulerable. 

Holding him tight, you take a deep breath, swallowing the many things you wanted to say to him, to blame him, to yell at him, to tell him it’s all his fault. 

Instead, you hold him tight against you. 

“Shh, Kenma. I’m here now. I won’t leave, okay? I’ve got you, we can talk this out.”

He grabs onto you even tighter. “Thank you. Thank you thank you.”

You were going to have a lot to talk about, you both knew that for sure. And maybe things aren’t going to go back to how they were for a long time. But right now he was in your arms and you were in his, and he was never more determined to fix what he broke. 

[rosyandraw]

Your writing is a breath of fresh air in this fandom. Your characters are so real and your so talented. This fandom is getting stale with all the "popular" authors and how they seem to just want to out-do each other in who can have the hottest take that makes 0 sense and its shit. their characters are OC's at this point. NMFY made me realize how fun it is to read a fic that feels genuine and exciting again. I'm so exhausted of this fandom but your fic is my ray of light right now so thank u 💖

So I've been staring at this since Saturday when you sent it to me not knowing what to do with it.

Truthfully I wasn't going to answer. And I've spent a long time debating whether I should just delete it. But I feel obligated to respond.

It's not that I don't appreciate the sentiment behind what I believe you were trying to say about my writing because I do. And I'm glad you can find something enjoyable in it.

However the sentiment is soured by the middle part of your ask so it's impossible to truly take any of it as a compliment. And that is the part I need you to understand.

It makes me very uncomfortable that you felt the need to say it at all, let alone in the middle of what was otherwise a really lovely message. It's not very nice to get a compliment that is also an insult directed at someone else. The implication is that you think I might agree with you or at the very least that I would somehow be delighted to hear it or receptive to it. Which I am not; neither delighted nor receptive. At all.

The thing is I don't write to measure myself against anyone else. Neither do I believe you should measure any separate fan-works against each other, when all of it is free and delivered with love, and excitement, as an ode to something we all collectively enjoy.

I especially cannot get behind this sentiment when the mass majority of people in any fandom are women, or those who have sexualities or gender identities that differ from "cis-het", and I refuse to actively be part of a culture -IRL or online- that feels the need to put one of us down in order to raise another up. I'm tired of that attitude. It's "stale."

My words mean something to you. You were impacted enough by something I'd written to come here and tell me so. Your words have weight too. They can make an impact.

They've impacted me.

Saying something anonymously and not mentioning specific names doesn't absolve you from the accountability of using words that have the power to explicitly, or implicitly, hurt someone.

You should have a little more care with your words, and you should be a little more grateful that there are so many amazing people in this fandom willing to create exceptional things for you without asking for anything in return. You don't have to like everything, I know I don't, but then no one does. That's the beauty of fandom. There is something for everyone and if you come across something you don't like then you can simply say I am not the intended audience here and move along.

It takes far less energy to accept that people have different opinions to you and to ignore or block what you don't like, than it does to actively direct your time and emotions at things that make you miserable.

Those "popular" authors work very hard and put a lot of time, effort, and love into what they do whether you like them or not. You don't have to like them or what they create, but the truth is you wouldn't have a fandom to be part of without them, or certainly not one that is as engaging or rich in content. And if you truly feel as strongly about the people you are talking about then don't interact, or block what you don't like seeing. It's that simple. The only person responsible for what you see online is you. Those authors aren't beholden to anyone and you’re not entitled to tell them what to write. Just as their opinions don't need to matter to you.

So whilst I thank you for your kind words about my writing, I would ask that you refrain from making these kinds of comments to me -or anyone- in future. It makes me very uncomfortable and I won’t be part of any conversation that purposefully directs ire or scorn at undeserving people. I have no interest in that my love, you’ve got the wrong girl.

I'm too old for that game. I stay in my lane, liking what I like and ignoring everything I don't, minding my own business. I can barely be arsed with the things I do like let alone anything else.

All that said, I'm sorry you're clearly not in a good fandom headspace right now. Taking a step back or a break might help. Because in the end it's really not that deep. Or at least, it doesn't have to be. It's your choice.

[narrators-journal]

Working late

Previous: Here

For the rest of the time Ango had off, he spent with you. It was a nice time, and it made him happier than he had been in a long while to have someone to talk to that wasn't Tsujimura. It also helped that he could talk about something other than his job with you, as well as have something to think about aside from said job. So, in the end, he didn't regret trying out that dating app, even though he'd been so skittish to build a connection with someone. You, meanwhile, didn't seem to care about all of the flaws he brought up on your dates. You were fine with him not having much time to do much, and seemed to accept that this long stretch of time off wasn't his usual schedule. Thankfully, you didn't pry into why he'd suddenly gotten a month off if it wasn't normal.              "I'm not looking for a constant partner. I can deal with taking things slow and being long distance," You assured on the second to last day of his break, wrapping an arm around him in a small hug, "My only demand is that I'm allowed to send you stuff and keep in contact as much as possible. Please just don't ghost me." He nodded, and with that, you seemed pretty content with that, letting him leave to return to work after his month off. Sadly, his happiness was swiftly squished under the weight of the work Taneada gave him upon his return. Of course, it wasn't a surprise to him, his boss had always been keen on shoving piles of work at him whenever he could get away with it. So, he just dug in and focused on catching up for the month of work he'd missed. So, another week passed uneventfully. Ango hadn't gone home more than two or three times, instead opting to crash on one of the decorative office couches for small naps when he got too exhausted to continue to work at times. He was swiftly exhausted, struggling to keep awake and to avoid completely crashing and sleeping for most of the day during his little naps. Though, it wasn't all bad. He tried his best to reach out to you when he could, and you were one of the few bright spots he had on the days where he was too busy to go home. (y/n): You doing alright? Wishing for another vacation yet lol.Ango: Very much so, but the paperwork is pretty standard, so it's nothing too taxing. (y/n): Ew, that sounds so boring. Ango: It is. That's why I didn't go into detail about my job, other than some of it being classified. (y/n): Yeah, kinda would've ruined dinner if I fell asleep to your paperwork chat lol. Ango: Lol. He smiled as he read your casual messages while he laid in the dark office long after even Tsujimura and Taneada had gone home, leaving him with the night security guards and little else in the way of coworkers. Usually, Ango just went to sleep as quickly as possible, having honed the skill of falling asleep on command pretty much, but when you'd checked in on him, he was fine with staying up to talk to you and unwind that way, and when his phone vibrated to notify him of another of your messages, he was further encouraged to stay awake out of pure curiosity. (y/n): Hey, Ango, I might know a way for you to destress. Ango: What is it? Yoga?(y/n): Nope! With that message, you sent a photo attachment, and he turned quite red before he'd even opened the file. Oh god, please don't be up for sexting. I'm much too rusty at that. He quickly plead internally, than, after swallowing the anxious lump in his throat, he opened the picture. Sure enough, it was a risque photo of yourself, nothing nude, but he got a healthy hint of what you looked like beneath your clothing. It brought a bright red color to his pale cheeks, but he didn't dislike the image, in fact, it honestly sent a bolt of excitement straight to his pants. Though, he was then faced with the predicament of responding. Fuck, do I comment on their body? Their underwear? He mulled over his options for a long moment and tried to formulate a good response that didn't sound too rude, but in the end he still struggled. Ango: Why the sexual image? Ango: You look nice, Ango:Your undergarments are rather cute. (y/n): Lol, take your time, dear. Ango let his phone fall to his chest after that and just scrubbed at his face with both of his hands, being mindful of his round glasses, then wiped his sweaty palms on the couch before finally sending a response he didn't delete. Ango: I'm sorry if I seem rude, I'm not used to being sent photos. You are very attractive. (y/n): Awww, thank you~ Have you really not been sent risque pictures before? Ango: Not really, haven't had many partners before to try. (y/n): Lolol, well dear, it's usually good etiquette to send a pic in return if you want😉 That sent another hot bolt of thrill to his groin, but he wasn't super sure on whether he should give into that lascivious voice in his head. Is it really smart to do this? They could use any compromising pictures against you. The anxious voice in his head whispered, but, after a moment or two of debating, the glasses-wearing man took a deep breath and let it out slowly, I guess it wouldn't hurt, as long as I don't show my face it shouldn't be that bad, even if they does use it against me. Besides, I can't exactly sleep comfortably after this, might as well take a photo while I'm at it. He told himself, using a bit of reasoning to curb how anxious he felt on his way to the men's room, the one rare place where there wasn't any security cameras. Once safely hidden in a stall with his phone, out of the view of any of the night guards or security cameras, Ango took a moment to relax so his hands didn't shake too badly, then, pulled his pants down just enough to let his semi-erect member free. He then took a moment to figure out how to take a passable picture and sent it off, his cheeks now as red as a rose and his gut was in a maelstrom of nerves, excitement, and arousal while waiting the painfully slow minute it took for you to reply to his picture. When you did, it was with a second image, (y/n): I appreciate your bravery~ Here, a final little picture for ya before I go to bed. Good night, Ango~ Your humor helped to relax him after such a nerve-wracking adventure into such a new territory. Not to say Ango wasn't a puritan, he'd had sex more than once, and he was pretty flexible with what he did in bed, but sending lewd photos from work was a new, anxiety-filled experience. Although, his stiffened member didn't seem to care about that paranoia. Fuelled by your second, slightly more risque image, his member now demanded to be dealt with before he even thought of sleep.He let out a little sigh and ran a hand through his dark hair, taking his glasses off and setting them carefully on the back of the toilet before shutting his dark green eyes and began to slowly stroke himself. The friction his hand gave, paired with the images now in his mind was the perfect mix to form fantasies starring you. Thoughts of you taking his long-neglected member into your mouth, or maybe riding him, so many thoughts that made his erection twitch filled his mind, trickling in as he finally fed his long neglected sexual needs ever so slightly. He hadn't done so in so long that he forgot just how addictive it could be to chase that delicious boost of happy chemicals masturbation could give him, but he was highly enjoying rediscovering the pleasure of the friction from his hands when paired with the fantasy of you being the one to stroke his twitching member until the pleasure reached its peek and a groan was yanked from his throat and quickly muffled as his body tensed and his brain was filled with static for a few moments. When he'd come down from that high, his euphoria was quickly replaced by immense shame, so he was swift to put his softening dick away and scrub up the evidence of his alone time. He put his glasses back on, straightened his clothes, and took a few deep breaths to slow his pounding heart and lessen the stain to his cheeks before he left the bathroom and returned to the couch. This time, he just went to sleep.

[taetaespeaches]

“I’m scared of becoming too attached to you.”

jimin x reader (or oc) genre: fluff; angst word count: 3K

a/n: Hi lovelies! This drabble takes place during Jimin and Dear’s friendship. In this one, Dear gets back with her ex and that causes a fight between Jimin and Dear- this is the aftermath. Features a bit of Tae and Peaches again. I hope you all enjoy and thank you for reading! :))

GROANING against your pillow, you mindlessly searched for your phone to try to stop the noise that was currently interrupting your sleep and disturbing the quietness of your apartment. Squinting at the screen, you huffed, rejecting the call.

When the ringing started again, you repeated the rejection and switched the phone on vibrate, burying your head underneath the pillow. Attempting to will yourself back to sleep, you knew it was hopeless as your mind started wandering over the previous night’s event, and really the last week’s events, your phone vibrating next to your body on the bed.

“Jimin,” you spoke sharply into the phone upon answering. “Leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry, just hear me out, please,” he begged desperately.

“I don’t want to hear you out, and you don’t get to ask me to do that right now,” you told him, Jimin sighing into the phone.

“Ok, I know that, but,” he paused, you rolling onto your back, looking up at the ceiling as you anticipated his next words. “I’m outside your apartment right now.”

Scoffing, you sat up in your bed. “Of course you are.”

“Will you let me in?” He asked nervously.

Despite being angry at him, the last thing you wanted to do was turn him away. “You have a key,” you told him.

“I don’t want to use the key, I want you to let me in because you want to talk,” he explained, you rolling your eyes.

“I wanted to talk last night, you obviously didn’t,” you reminded him.

“I did want to talk, I’ve wanted to talk, Dear, just-” he groaned in frustration.

“You should have been here,” you told him pitifully, staring at the comforter as you picked at it.

“I didn’t know you still wanted me there until I listened to your voicemail,” he told you, the words taking you by surprise. Sure, you had fought recently, but of course you wanted him there for your birthday. He was your best friend. “Will you just let me in so I can explain everything,” he pleaded hopelessly. “Please.”

Sighing into the phone, you ended the call without another word. Reluctantly, you dragged yourself out of bed, making your way through your apartment to the front door. Bed hair and swollen eyes on full display, you unlocked the door quickly and flung it open, walking away before you could even set eyes on Jimin, his greeting being ignored as he guiltily stepped inside your place.

Hiding out in your bedroom, you looked down at your phone as the speakerphone rang and rang with yet again, no answer. At the end of the voicemail greeting, you chewed on your lip, internally debating yourself on whether you should leave a message this time.

“Hey, Chim, I uh,” you sighed, trying to find the words after making a split decision to say something. “I know you’re probably mad at me but tonight doesn’t feel right without you,” you paused, your lips pouted. “I miss-” just as you were telling his voicemail you’d been missing him, your friend stepped into the room, giving you a small wave. Clicking end on the call, you looked to her with wide eyes.

“Are you ok?” The girl asked you. It was amazing really, you had only known Jimin and the girl for a little under a year each, meeting them on the same night at a club, but they had easily become two of your favorite people, along with the group’s fourth partner in crime, Taehyung.

Shaking your head, she pouted at you. “I know he’s upset with my choices but I really thought he’d be here tonight,” you said pitifully, your friend walking inside the room and gently closing the door behind her.

“Tae said he was asking about the party a lot. Maybe he just doesn’t think he’s welcome,” she suggested, you staring at her.

“Well that’s stupid, of course he’s welcome,” you said, the girl giving you a small humorless laugh. “What?”

Shaking her head, she made her way to your bed, sitting on the edge of it next to you. “I’m not saying that Jimin is in the right or anything, but, bubs, you got back with your ex,” she reminded you. “The same ex who treated you like shit for what? Two years?”

“Jimin doesn’t get a say in that though, and quite frankly, neither do you,” you told her, immediately regretting it at the glare she shot you.

“Maybe we don’t have a say in it, but we’re entitled to our feelings on the matter. We want the best for you, and I’m sorry, but he’s not it,” she told you bluntly, though you knew deep down she was right. “I mean, he’s also not here tonight,” she trailed off, you shooting her a knowing look.

“And your point?” you asked tauntingly, your friend raising her eyebrows at you.  

“I have two points, do you want them both?” She asked, you shrugging.

“You’re being blunt as hell anyway, might as well say it,” you told her, the girl smirking a bit, you rolling your eyes.

“One, Mr. Douchebag is a dick and you deserve better, you’ve only been back together for a little over a week and he’s already missing things like your birthday. Cut him out of your life for good,” she ranted, you staring at her stone faced. “Second, Mr. Douchebag and Jimin are both no-shows tonight, but you’re really only upset about one,” she pointed out, your heart racing at the truth of the statement. “I’m just saying,” she shrugged.

“Maybe so,” you said simply, the girl laughing lightly.

“Look, Jimin should be here, absolutely. But you guys fought a week ago and haven’t spoken since,” she reminded you, you rolling your eyes. “He wants to be here, I just think he’s confused,” she explained, you reluctantly understanding her point.

Reaching for your hand, she curled her fingers around yours and gently squeezed. “But he should be here, and I’m sorry he’s not,” she told you before bringing your hand to her lips, leaving a small kiss to the top of it. “But I’m not letting you sit in here all night, so send one last text or call him one more time and say everything you want to say and then get your ass out to your party, ok?” She said as she stood up.

“Ok,” you told her, watching as she made her way to your bedroom door.

“I’ll be wait-” she cut herself off with her own startled yell, Taehyung bursting through the door with wide eyes.

“Peaches, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he told you, your friend clutching her heart from the scare.

“Jesus Tae,” she breathed out. “I was just collecting the birthday girl, chill.”

Peering around her shoulder, Tae shot you a look of concern. “You ok?” He asked, you nodding. “He wanted to be here,” he told you.

Forcing a smile, you shrugged. “Well, he’s not.”

The man gave you a sad look, and one that even may have expressed some disappointment in his best friend. Out of the three of your closest friends, Taehyung had been the most understanding of you making your own choices, even if he didn’t agree with them. Which he obviously didn’t.

The girl pushed Taehyung outside, closing the door behind her to leave you to gather yourself and join them. As soon as the latched clicked into place, you were unlocking your phone to send Jimin a text rather than calling again. The last message in your conversation was from a week ago, Jimin telling you, “I only want what’s best for you.”

As you began typing a text about missing him and wishing he was there, his own three dots popped up, you pausing your own message as you watched them on the screen. However, when the text finally came through, it was not what you were hoping for.

Chim: You’ve been pissed at me for a week, now you won’t stop calling me? Just go enjoy your birthday without me, that’s the way you wanted it anyway.

Scoffing at the message, you deleted your draft and locked the phone, throwing it onto the bed and exited the room, stubbornly avoiding your best friend on the other side of the screen.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin called out to you as he closed the door before following you into your kitchen You nodded as you opened the refrigerator, pulling out a container of juice. “I really am, I should have been here, I know that.”

Rolling your eyes with your back turned to him as you reached for a glass, you scoffed. “You can keep saying that but it doesn’t change the fact that my best friend ditched me on my fucking birthday,” you told him angrily.

“You were mad at me,” he reminded you, “I didn’t know you wanted me here, and I spent the whole night in the dance studio so I wouldn’t be desperately checking my phone every two minutes,” he explained. “I didn’t know that you would call and when I saw you did, I just, I don’t know,” he cut himself off.

Silence overtook the room, making you look over your shoulder to find him staring at you intently, his mind in turmoil as he tried to figure out what to say or how to make it up to you. Taking in your cute sleepy disarrayed appearance, he also cursed himself for making you be so mad at him because all he wanted to do was tell you how adorable you were.

“Why weren’t you here?” You asked, breaking him out of his chaotic thoughts, your tone sadder than you meant it to be.

Blinking a few times, he shifted on his feet. “You want one hundred percent honesty?” He asked, you nodding. “You’re back with him.” Though you were still upset by his lack of appearance the night before at your birthday party, you felt his pain in his response to you getting back together with your ex.

“I’m sorry,” you found yourself apologizing before you could even process the words.

“God, no, Dear, I’m not asking for your apology, I just-” He started, his eyes wide and his face full of concern.

“The last thing I want to do is hurt you though,” you told him, Jimin cocking his head to the side as he frowned at you.

“I know that,” he assured you. “I mean, of course I’m jealous, but that’s not even my issue,” he explained, you pulling your eyebrows together in confusion. “Dear, I just want you to be happy, and he’s not going to do anything but hinder that. I’ve watched you grow into this happy woman and you’ve been finding yourself over these past months, I don’t want to see him take that away from you.”

The confession stole the air from your lungs, tears forming in your eyes at the realization of just how much the man in front of you cared for you. The truth was, before Jimin entered your life, you were quite lost, hanging around people who didn’t really care for your own well-being. It wasn’t until Jimin came along with his crazy friends that you found out how pure and unconditional relationships could be.

You spent a lot of time trying to fit into groups, or into people’s ideas of who you were, but with your new friends, they just accepted you as you were and loved you all the more for it. And the man standing in front of you really did love you unconditionally. But that’s why you had to be careful with him.

Seeing yourself with Jimin in a less platonic way was something you could absolutely envision, and did often, but you had to keep some sense of distance as to not to attach yourself to him. You couldn’t lose yourself in him, and he didn’t want you to.  

However, as things progressed with you and Jimin, maybe you felt the need to retract and go back to old habits, or people, as a means to not become too dependent on the one person who actually mattered. You didn’t want Jimin around because you felt you needed him, you wanted him around because simply that- you wanted him.

“He didn’t show up last night,” you told Jimin, anger immediately taking over his features. As he opened his mouth to speak, you held your hand up to him. “Chim, I didn’t even care,” you let out a light laugh. “Like at all,” you added, your best friend’s eyes widening in surprise. “I only cared that you weren’t there.”

The man let out a sigh, looking from you to the countertop. “I’m sorry I wasn’t,” he apologized, you shaking your head.

“It was just miscommunication and bad timing and whatever,” you excused it, no longer upset about his absence with him standing in your kitchen showing you how much he cared for you. “I’m obviously going to break things off with him,” you told him. “For good.”

“You are?” Jimin asked in relief, you giggling as you nodded. Flashing you a stunning smile, his shoulders visibly relaxed, the tension leaving his frame. “Good.”

Staring at each other for a moment, you smirked, Jimin stepping toward you so he was within arm’s length. Reaching for his hand that was hanging by his thigh, you slipped your own inside his hold, the man instantly tugging you against his chest. “I’m still sorry,” he apologized again, you sighing against his body. “God, I hate that he and I both missed your party, that puts me on his level,” he complained.

Pulling away from him enough to shoot him a glare, you shook your head. “It really doesn’t,” you told him. “You could never be compared to him,” you assured the man, placing a hand against the side of his face. “You’re too good. Almost like an angel,” you teased, calling back to the first words you ever muttered to the man, are you an angel or something?

Smiling shyly, he diverted his gaze to the floor, you giggling at his bashfulness. However, when he looked up, he had a flirty glint in his warm brown eyes. Cocking your head, you prepared for his next words.

“What if I had shown up?” He asked you, you watching him carefully as his lips quirked at the sides. “And he didn’t,” he added. You could tell there were words left on the tip of his tongue that he didn’t dare speak, no matter how much he wanted to. With a subtle but intentional glance to your lips, lingering for a moment, perhaps he was thinking of asking if you would have kissed him in front of all your friends.

“I probably would have told you to go fuck yourself,” you spoke through a teasing smirk, Jimin tossing his head back in laughter, you gigging as you settled yourself against his chest again. “I think I would have been so happy to see you I would have wanted to kiss you, Chim,” you admitted seriously, even though maybe you shouldn’t have. “But I can’t yet.”

“I understand,” he told you sincerely.

“I’m scared of becoming too attached to you,” you admitted suddenly, Jimin’s hands running up and down your back soothingly as he scrutinized your words.

“Because you think I’ll hurt you?” He asked.

“Because I think I’ll hurt you,” you corrected him.

He held you in silence, his relaxing touch never ceasing as your breathing slowed against his chest. Sometimes, the feelings of abandonment that lingered from your fatherless childhood prevented you from opening up. But Jimin had already succeeded in helping you to let him in. However, old habits die hard, and even though you wanted Jimin forever, you didn’t trust yourself to not pull away still and leave him heartbroken and regretful.

Interrupting your thoughts, Jimin sighed, leaving a sweet kiss to top of your head. “Dear,” he started, kissing the spot once more. “I trust you.” Before you could negate his surety in you, he added, “one day, I hope you can trust yourself.”

Wrapping your arms around him even tighter, you breathed out deeply against his body. There would be a day you would be with Jimin the way you wanted to, but for now, his friendship was enough. You were happy. And you were sure that with his support, you’d keep growing into the person you knew you could be.

“Your place is kind of a mess,” he suddenly spoke as he looked around at the remnants from last night’s party that you were too lazy to clean up before heading to bed. There were dishes to do, some trash to throw out, and lots of surfaces to wipe down.  

“I know,” you chuckled. “Thank god you’re here to help me clean it,” you teased, pulling away to lightly pat his cheek with your hand.

Jimin opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it again. “Ok, yeah, I deserve this,” he agreed, you giggling as he released you from his hold, stepping to your sink to pull out some cleaning supplies from underneath it.  

“See if you miss my birthday ever again,” you sassed, Jimin giggling beside you.

“I learned my lesson,” he joked just as your front door opened, two loud voices echoing through the apartment.

“The cleanup crew has arrived,” your best friend yelled out as she rounded the corner, Taehyung following behind her with a sleepy expression, his hair still slightly messy from slumber. He was wearing one of the girl’s oversized t-shirts and a pair of joggers that probably neither of them knew was originally his or hers.

“Ah, Jimin,” Taehyung called out, “decided to show up, huh?”

“Are you two good?” your friend asked, you both nodding as you looked at each other.

“All good,” you said, Jimin smiling as he draped an arm around your shoulders.

And you were good. Better than good, really. And once again, with his arm wrapped around you comfortingly, you could see yourself as his girlfriend. As soon as you were ready, you’d be more than happy to make the leap.

[bokutosworld]

love’s sorrow | iwaizumi hajime

pairing: iwaizumi hajime x reader

wc: 1.7k words of angst, heartbreak, pain.

inspired by the prompts:  “look, i know we agreed to be friends and everything but that’s what everyone says when they break up. i can’t take you asking me for advice on how to ask out the new person you’re interested in, okay? it’s killing me” AU +  “it’s midnight, what do you want?”

--

ringggggg! ringggggg! RIIIINNNNG!

you slowly turned to the bedside table, extending an arm to grab your phone and check who was blowing up your messages and calls. the harsh light emitted by the small device stings your eyes for a minute before you could make out the contact name - iwaizumi.

what was he doing disturbing your deep and peaceful slumber at 12:51 am? you think for five seconds but decided to ignore him, putting the phone face down on the nightstand. you roll over to the other side, tugging your blanket closer to your body, when the ringer blasted again.

'ugh, what the hell,' groaning, you throw the duvet away and snatch your phone, accepting his call with much annoyance. you almost screamed into the receiver, 'it's midnight, what do you want, iwa?'

'can you come down for a bit?' you do not miss the sharp intake of his breath as he finally answers. you slowly rubbed your temples, contemplating whether to indulge him in his request and see him in your pajamas in the middle of the cold night. absentmindedly nodding, you agreed, 'alright. wait for me in the lobby.'

you put on a jacket and wore a cap to hide your messy bedhead before going down to meet with iwaizumi. on the elevator, your mind wandered to the possible reasons that he called you. was he in trouble? did he need money? or was he....

the doors to the elevator opened before you could even finish your thought. you took a breath and stepped into the lobby. your eyes quickly scanned the empty floor, looking for the male and you spot him seated in one of the couches, his head cradled between his hands. it was obvious that something was bothering him.

you took careful steps as you headed to where he was sitting. hearing your footsteps approaching, iwaizumi lifted his head and followed you as you walked across the lobby, stopping in front of him to meet his somber gaze. in all the years you've known him, you've come to terms that it wasn't uncommon for him to have a resting poker face. he was always one that was difficult to read.

after what seemed like an eternity of assessing the situation and staring into each other's soul, iwaizumi broke through the tension and smiled, 'well, don't just stand there.' he patted the spot next to him, 'sit here first.' you narrowed your eyes at him, guards up and suspicious towards his unusual behavior.

as you settled down, you released the breath that you didn't know you were holding and made yourself comfortable in the sofa. 'so, what's up,' you finally inquired. iwaizumi also slumped into the couch before bringing up a topic you have always dreaded, 'i met this girl.'

ah, there it was. your eyes instinctively shut, already feeling as if your heart was slowly being carved out of your chest and you mentally prepared yourself for his next words. he continued cautiously, 'she's in my class, we were partners for a project,' his gaze landed on you, noticing you taking slow deep breaths and he debated whether he should reach and comfort you. 'she's really great and smart. we are really getting along so well. i think i'll miss her when this term ends and we're not classmates anymore. so, i've been thinking, i want to ask her out.'

a cloud of silence enveloped the two of you in the lobby. the only sounds audible were the ambient music - a classical piece which you made out to be kreisler's liebesleid - and the occasional chatter by the guard and the receptionist by the desk. neither of you spoke up for minutes, letting what he just said sink in to your system. your mind was blank, you didn't know how to react, to reply.

finally, you asked, 'why are you telling me this?' turning to your side, you saw that he was already looking at you, his eyes worried but hopeful. his hands were on his lap, restless as he wanted to touch you, to make sure if you were okay. but his eyes were encouraging you to continue, 'i know we agreed to be friends and that it has been a year since we broke up. but don't you think this is too insensitive, too cold-hearted even for you?' you choked a laugh, shaking your head as you brought your glance to the apartment doors.

'i just thought you wanted to know,' iwa claimed. 'i figured you might appreciate hearing the news come from me rather than from others.'

you take back what you said earlier about him insensitive. as he uttered those words, you were reminded of how caring and gentle he always was. you were reminded of the many times those kind compliments and praises were once about you, how those longing words were once said towards you. you were reminded of the memories you shared with him, the five years you spent together with him, all of which came burning down in just one night.

sure, the break up was mutual and that you and iwaizumi agreed to stay friends after everything. he argued, 'just because we're not together anymore doesn't mean we should throw away our friendship!' you remembered how he casually threw his arms around you, bringing you close as he offered his friendship to you once more. 

and now, you were wishing that someone could have stopped you from agreeing to his proposal. you were thinking back to the warnings you constantly received from your friends, telling you that it was toxic and unreasonable to stay in contact with him. you wished you didn't ignore them and listened because here you were now, hoping for some hole to swallow you and take you away from him. to be far from him as possible so you could finally move on.

'you don't need my permission to date, iwa,' you whispered.

'i'm not really asking -,' iwa insisted but you cut him off.

'then what? you're asking me for advice how to ask her out? how to make her swoon over you,' you scoffed, looking at him and for the first time in the night, he saw through your cap how heartbroken you looked. 'come on, you're iwaizumi hajime. you've got game, you're a gentleman. it would be her loss not to be with you.'

you couldn't take it anymore, you didn't need him to see you break down in the middle of the night, wearing pajamas in the dimly-lit lobby. you stood up, heading for the elevators, when you heard him follow you.

'y/n, wait. it's not like that,' he caught up to you, reaching for your wrists before you could get away further. but you sharply swatted his hand away the minute you felt his warm touch.

'don't,' your back was still faced to him, he saw you were slightly shaking and he swears he heard silent whimpers coming from your lips. he wanted so badly to comfort you but stopped when you continued, 'i'm trying hard, iwa.'

you turned to face him, your glare sending goosebumps to his skin and piercing through his soul. 'i'm trying hard, iwa. i know it's been a year, but it is taking all that i have to act as if we are just friends again. every night, i lay awake trying to forget what we had. you don't know how many times i wished i had a reset button so that we can go back to the way we were before we got together.'

it was breaking iwaizumi's heart to hear your confession. he didn't know you were still hurting. he was unaware of your struggles and he had only realized how selfish it was to come to you about his newfound love. he wanted to speak but you didn't let him.

'but each day, i know that i am missing you less. i don't see you anymore in the things that used to remind me of you. i don't look at photos of you anymore, our videos, i am slowly deleting them one by one. the coffee cup you had in my apartment,' you chuckled. 'i only recently got to hiding it in a box. it's slow but i am making progress. i'm getting better. so please, just drop this.'

the tears were now freely falling down your face and you couldn't care less. through your sobs, you still managed to give him a smile, 'if you like her, go for it. do this for yourself. don't think about my feelings anymore. that day, we both wished each other our happiness.'

you reached an arm out to pat his shoulder, 'i may be still searching for mine, but you already found yours. don't let it slip away.'

iwaizumi put your hand down, only to pull you close in an embrace. he was silently weeping, you felt his hot tears on your shoulder and you rubbed your hands on his back, 'we'll be fine.'

you pulled away and decided to tease him, 'i can't believe you called me down here for this. this could have been a conversation in the morning you know. we wouldn't have gotten sappy like this!' he laughed along with you, not leaving your side as you waited for the elevator.

as soon as the elevator arrived, you entered through the doors. for some reason, you were already feeling a little bit better, free, and relieved from crying out your last bit of feelings.

a chiming sound vibrated through the walls, signaling that the doors were about to close. you look at iwa, memorizing his face, his features, as if this was the last time you would see him.

'good bye, hajime.'

'good bye, y/n,' he said, giving you one last smile.

the doors shutting close felt as if the drawing of the curtains in a performance. it was as if you've reached the final page of a book and you had to put it back in the shelf. you hoped for better days ahead, you wish, 'i will get better.'

[writingblackpink]

If You Leave Now, You Lose Everything (pt. 3)

Read pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 4

genre: you guessed it: angst

word count: 2k

pairing: jennie x reader

You and Jennie have been together for two years now. While the relationship has been rocky as of recently, will you find a way to make it work before it’s too late?

A/N: Basically this is Jennie’s pov of what happened after the breakup. One more part after this. I really enjoyed writing this part, so please let me know what you think :)

- 

Jennie was a mess.

As soon as she stepped out of your apartment, the tears flowed freely. She sunk down against the door for a few moments to collect herself but soon got to her feet, adjusted her mask, sunglasses and cap so as to stay incognito in the New York streets, and walked to her waiting car in the street. 

She thought that giving the situation some space would help her think everything through, but the only thing on her mind was how she thought she might’ve made the worst decision of her life. The 14 hour flight didn’t help either, and when she landed back home, she couldn’t even bring herself to dial your number and let you know she made it home, instead opting for a “made it home” text free of any emotion, written more so out of courtesy than anything else. 

Jennie knew you were trying to call her. She heard the voicemail left after the first call and almost called you back, but she figured there would be no way to get over you if she did that, so she deleted the call from the log. The second time you called, Jennie stared at her ringing phone in her hand and debated on whether or not to answer the call, going through everything that might be said if she did answer. As soon as she pressed her finger to the answer button, the call screen disappeared, signaling you had ended the call. The third time, the call came through in the middle of the night. Jennie was startled awake by the vibration on the nightstand and without thinking ended the call only to realize in the morning that it was you that had called. She almost wondered if there was some emergency that would explain why you were calling with no regard to time zones, but she was supposed to be ridding you from her life, so she pushed that thought to the back of her mind. After that, the calls ceased. 

Jennie spent some time off after returning from the States. For the first few days, she sulked around in her apartment, her group mates only coming by to bring food and make sure she was still doing well. On the inside, she really wasn’t, but she put on a smile so they wouldn’t worry as much. 

Midway through the week, she figured she needed to do some cleaning. As she did so, she tossed every single thing that belonged to you in a box that she labeled, “Y/N’s THINGS” in thick black ink and placed it in the corner of her room, having every intention to ship it back to you in the next few days. A few more days passed before she realized that not being able to see your things didn’t really help with getting rid of thoughts of you like she thought it would. 

In the following few weeks, she threw herself into work, thinking that maybe if she had something to occupy her time with, she wouldn’t think of you as much. Or how you’re doing. Or what you’re doing. Or if you’re thinking about her as much as she’s thinking about you. Jennie went out with friends and drank to try to wash the memory of you away, but it never seemed to work. It only left her with a headache the following day, and embarrassing stories from her friends about how she wouldn’t shut up about you. Again.

“How are you doing, Jennie?” Jisoo asked sincerely while walking out of a particularly difficult dance practice. Jennie assumed she had been asking about that when she replied. 

“Pretty good. A little tired. These practices have really been kicking my ass.” She stopped when she noticed Jisoo had stopped walking and turned to face her. 

“You know that’s not what I mean.” Jisoo said accusingly. 

Jennie took a deep breath before plastering a smile across her face and lying. 

“I’m doing ok. I’m figuring it out day by day.” It wasn’t a total lie, she was figuring it out, but she didn’t know how “ok” she really was. 

Jisoo squinted at her. “I don’t really believe you,” she paused, picking her step back up and moving past Jennie, “but if you do need anyone to talk to about it, I’m here.” And it was really nice, Jennie thought, to have friends that cared so deeply for her, but the wound was still so fresh that even bringing up the situation made her feel like salt had been thrown directly on it. She didn’t want to talk about you or how she felt about the situation because she didn’t wish to be faced with the harsh reality that she did miss you because there was nothing she, or anyone else, could do about it. You guys were over.

Another week passed before she received a phone call from an old friend from New Zealand saying, surprise, she was going to be visiting in a few days for the first time in a few years and staying with Jennie for a few weeks. The timing was perfect. Jennie had a pretty open schedule for the next few weeks and she was grateful to have someone else around to fill her time and hopefully this would be the kind of therapeutic presence she needed to start getting over you. 

Jennie was ecstatic, nearly floating through the airport and scooping her friend up in a long hug as soon as they reached each other. 

“Oh my god, babe! I missed you so much!” Her friend exclaimed rather loudly in the bustling airport. 

“I missed you too! It’s been too long!”

For the first few days, everything was going good. Jennie found herself wrapped up in everything her and her friend were doing together. She genuinely smiled for the first time in what felt like weeks. She thought maybe time actually could heal. 

Everything was going good until she started asking hard questions. 

“Is everything okay?” She asked on an afternoon coffee date. Jennie had been zoned out for a few minutes, staring out the window. Jennie shifted her gaze to her friend who continued, “You’ve been a bit distant today,” her brows furrowing in concern. 

Jennie didn’t know if she could tell her friend that the reason she was distant was because she had ordered what you usually ordered, and Jennie couldn’t stop thinking of all of the sweet coffee dates you two had been on in the past two years. 

Without thinking, she spoke up. 

“I broke up with Y/N.” She said flatly, looking directly into her friend’s eyes. 

“Sheesh,” her friend replied, clearly taken aback by the news, “I mean, I wasn’t going to ask, but you usually only talk about her so I was kind of wondering….” Her voice trailed off. 

Jennie peered into her cup of steaming tea, waiting for her friend to continue. 

“Jennie, what happened? From what you told me, it really seemed like she was the one?”

Jennie looked up again before replying, “distance” and leaving it at that. 

A silence sat between the two friends and Jennie was almost glad that her friend didn’t ask her anything else. She was fine with that for a while until she felt the words bubbling up her chest, threatening to escape. 

“I still love her.” Jennie said. Her own eyes widened as she heard each word leave her mouth. Well, it was out there now. 

Her friend looked sympathetic for a beat before responding, “Have you tried reaching out yet? Maybe you both should just talk it out?”

“No, we haven’t. You’re right. Maybe I should.” Jennie said, emotionless. Yeah, she had opened this line of conversation, but now she wanted to close it and she hoped her friend would catch on. Thankfully, she did, and soon both of them were heading back home. 

Jennie sat up in bed that night, kept awake by the thought of you and the box she seemingly had forgotten to ship in the corner or her room staring back at her in the moonlight. She didn’t know what to do at this point. She wanted you back, but it had almost been a month. What if you moved on? What if you were already over her and thriving in the U.S.? Her brain was flooded with scenarios of what would happen if she were to talk to you again, and all she really wished for before she closed her eyes to sleep, was a sign. 

The following evening, Jennie and her friend decided to cook dinner at home. Jennie appreciated the night in. 

“Hey! I don’t know if it’s even possible, but please don’t burn the pasta. If my memory serves correct, you were no Gordon Ramsey back in the day.” Jennie said teasingly. 

She loved being able to talk to someone with no pretenses. Her friend didn’t ask her questions about you and it made Jennie feel so free. 

“Har, Har, Jennie! If MY memory serves ME correct, you did burn the bacon this morning so you have no room to talk.” 

Jennie laughed out loud. She couldn’t remember the last time she laughed so freely. Probably with you, she thinks, and then swipes the memory away. 

Just then, she heard a knock on her door, looking toward the door and trying to think if she had invited anyone else over. 

“Let me get that,” She said while moving to unlatch the door, throwing one last thing over her shoulder before making eye contact with whoever was on the other side.

“And if you do burn this, you’re sooo buying brunch tomorrow.” Jennie giggled, turning to face her guest. 

Immediately meeting your eyes, Jennie squinted, trying to make sure what she was seeing was actually reality and not a hallucination. She couldn’t believe it at first, blinking a few times to make sure she hadn’t manifested this very situation with all of her thinking about you. 

She realized she had been lost in her thoughts for too long when she heard a weak “surprise” leave your lips. All she could think was you and all she could see were your eyes staring back at her, pleading. Yet, she felt paralyzed in her spot, not able to move, not able to speak. 

Jennie felt her friend walk up behind her and say something, but it sounded so far away that she couldn’t decipher what it was. So, she kept standing, frozen in her place. 

And, now what are you doing? Are you crying? Jennie couldn’t figure out for the life of her what was going on but then she heard you speak again. 

“um...this was a bad idea, I’ll just be going. Sorry.” 

Jennie heard you clearly, thoughts running wild at the thought of you leaving again. Jennie had asked for a sign and this was a pretty fucking big sign. No, no, Y/N, wait! She was saying the words but nothing was coming out. Her throat burned with the words that ached to be said.

You turned and headed to leave and Jennie could hear her friend asking her something, but again she couldn’t make out what it was. All she could think about was how she couldn’t just let you leave this time.

“Y/N! Come back!” Her voice strained out. You didn’t turn back around and Jennie grew even more confused. Did you not want her after all? She pushed those thoughts aside and turned to run back into the apartment, grabbing her car keys and a jacket and turning to leave again. She didn’t make it past the door before her friend grabbed her arm. 

“Jennie, what’s going on?” she asked, voice laced with concern. 

A single tear fell down Jennie’s cheek as she looked back at her friend. 

“That was Y/N.” They stared at each other until her friend connected the dots. 

“THAT was Y/N?” She instantly released Jennie’s arm from her hold. “Jennie, what are you waiting for? Go get your girl!” 

And with that, Jennie turned and bolted to the door at the end of the hallway, sprinting down the stairs to the parking lot and hoped she wasn’t too late.

[iampikachuhearmeroar]

sometime in this last week, or this week coming, my blog has turned/turns 10. god. a decade old. a whole ass chunk of my life i’ve spent on this hellsite. when i began on here, i was a kid. a lost, lonely, depressed and anxious 15/16 year old kid. a kid scared of her future. a kid confused about her future. what to do for uni. to change schools or not??? to do drama/acting at uni or english/philosophy or to move 8hrs away to another regional uni to “escape” her “washed up, dead end hometown” that was so typical of all the pop-punk music that she was listening to at the time.

she was a tad overdramatic, loud, “funny” (as described by her school friends) and terribly forgetful in regards to homework and school assignments. she was angry at the world, most especially the catholic school she was fucking sick and tired of attending. but she was convinced that since she was the so-called “funny girl”, that she simply couldn’t be depressed or anxious. she believed herself unloveable because she didn’t look like a weird mixture of hayley williams and emo-pop queen lights. but now, i no longer believe that i have to look like the women that i looked up to in the ~emo scene~. fuck beauty standards. i am loveable.

in the years since joining tumblr, i’ve managed to get through business college, my undergrad degree and, well, failed out of postgrad due to obvious burnout and health issues amongst other things. although i’ve lost many friends irl and many followers/mutuals online on here. for those who’ve stuck around to see me get through all of this, thank you. to all the friends/casual mutuals that have since deactivated or only followed me for a short time then unfollowed; thank you.

like obviously i was never/have never been a massive popular blog on here, like thebootydiaries or vampireapologist (who has since deactivated a couple of months ago) with tens of thousands of followers. my follower count is still close to the 8,000 range at 7,892. obviously that’s still a lot of people (and of course, porn bots lmao and many, many non-active blogs), enough like one super old post from like 2012 tumblr pointed out, enough for a small to medium sized city or town, or something like that. i don’t know how many people i’ve really reached. i really don’t know how i actually amassed this small army of people.

i am aware though, that on other platforms like snapchat (lmao does anyone even use it anymore in 2021???)/instagram/youtube/tiktok etc, i’d PROBABLY be considered as some type of ~micro influencer (🤮🤮)~. hell, i actually had a bot slide into my notes about being one on here on this hellsite back in 2019. i don’t know if i’ve ever actually ~influenced~ anyone on here with my shitposts (when i started making some) or my personal posts. i don’t know my reach. even though, now, i do occasionally get featured on buzzfeed listicles (although pay me buzzfeed along with the OPs of those original embedded posts), i still don’t know how many people i’ve reached… and even with my very occasional checks of google analytics lmao. on top of this, grappling with the loss of followers at times is much, much easier than it was when i began on here and the first few years following that. i know that my follower count doesn’t determine my worth and stuff.

but over these 10 years, i have grown. i turn 26 this year. back in 2011, 15/16yo me never thought she’d be here. she was partially down the suicidal thoughts hole, with things about ~picturing her funeral and wondering who’d bother to turn up. if only she could pretend to be dead for a day to see who’d give a fuck~ and 16-18yo me was defs down it with her HSC hellscape thoughts in 2012/2013. that 3rd floor tafe/tech women’s bathroom window drop and the thought of scarring her class for life (and that cool dude from catholic school that she crushed on who ended up at tafe with her) with jumping out of it onto the concrete below. instead, she just posted on fb about ~being a failure~ etc which ultimately did lose her a bunch of facebook friends lmao. it was practically the same thing. her mental breakdown after the end of her hsc, where she let her earrings go green and get infected in her ears because “fuck self care, bc what the fuck is it??? i’ll never get better! let me fucking wallow in my self loathing bc it’s the only thing that i’m fucking good at!!!” so i no longer have my ears pierced. oh! it was just all too fucking much!!

i am happier today. i no longer have those semi-suicidal thoughts. hell, i almost died in 2020 from a fucking bowel aneurysm, after my stomach tumour excision surgery. that forced me to put things into perspective. i appreciate the little things . i appreciate the very few friends that i actually have. yes. i’m still depressed and anxious. some days are still shitty and hard. but nowhere as hard and shitty as they were back when i began on here 10 years ago.

how the fuck last 10 years have gone past, with my ass on here; clearing out my blog and caring more about doing that than my uni work (lmao whoops); having made some lifelong friends both internationally (from the US) and long distance domestically in australia, it’s been a long ride; i honestly have no fucking idea. obviously over these past 10 years, i’ve debated with myself over and over and over again whether i should delete/deactivate this account or not. would it make me healthier??? more than likely. but then when i have meltdowns or just inner ramblings i have to get out somewhere, where else to post??? on fb?? obvs not. it’s “attention seeking” or the like on there. no one will read them. no one will resonate. but on here??? even if i got/get one “like” in the notes or one “yo i feel this” response in the tags or replies, it feels like i’ve reached someone??? okay yeah. i know this place IS NOT therapy and i’m not using my followers as amateur (or probs even actual professional) armchair psychologists…. which is a thing i think people need to stop doing internet-wide: but that’s a whole other post that i reblogged a few days ago lmao. i really need to get another therapist, actually lmao.

but it’s the community i’ve found hard to leave. i have what feel like friends, when i’ve never been employed (still as of yet); and when all of my irl friends/acquaintances are working and doing the whole ~adulting~ and ~grown up life~ thing right. it’s also the frenzied rabidness of spite with hating staff’s godawful ideas. the memes. oh the memes. and also the RaWrInG 20s XD emo scene reemergence on here that’s kept me here. the messy petty drama from time to time of big blogs fighting it out.

this place really is bizarre and fun sometimes. and also the fact that i can still hide behind the ridiculous “roaring pikachu” URL that i made all those years ago. i am anonymous. it’s freeing. but on fb it’s all like “WHY WONT YOU ADD A BANNER IMAGE AND TELL US 20 FUN FACTS ABOUT YOU!!!!!???? LET PEOPLE WHO HAVENT SPOKEN TO YOU IN 10 YEARS KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU BECAUSE WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE!!!” and the same goes for Corporate Hellscape Facebook™️ (linkedin) but in the professional sense instead. y’all know fuck all about me really. besides my posts. and i love that and live for that. okay yeah. y’all know more about my mental health than my fb feed obvs… which is probably a terribly unfortunate thing. but still.

over the last 10 years then, my superiority complex for being ~so original and intelligent~ or whatever the fuck i had in high school, has all but ebbed away. i’m not that smart just because i went to uni. hell, i literally did NONE of my in-class work and none of my philosophy readings in uni….. so i have fuck all idea of how i got through undergrad like that lmao. i’m not original when so many people can articulate the same thoughts that i have, but like, sometimes better, on a post (even though sometimes/most of the time the Tumblr User Hot Takes Tuesday™️ takes on here are fucking awful lmao). but still. originality is not something i really have anymore. or really had in the first place lmao.

so will i deactivate after these 10 years, like i’ve been saying for so, so long??? i honestly have no idea. but just know. thanks guise. have a nice gpoy selfie day XD. grab your wands. your tardises. grab your war paint. grab your whatever the fuck other fandom specific stuff that was one that hella cringe post from 2011 til 2015 random tumblr. that relic is as old as time itself. just as this mysterious roaring pikachu is for someone whose too loyal to leave this W E B B E D H E L L S I T E that’s just as much of a train wreck as she is. lmao.

[hockeylvr59]

It Started with a DM || Jake Debrusk

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: Just another little something that demanded to be written. I was honestly debating on whether or not to write it and then JD went live today and obviously it was a sign.

Warnings: features quarantine as a setting, some cursing. 

Word Count: 3,828

~~~~~~~~~

Being quarantined alone was well, to put it simply, lonely. As a freelance photographer, you were for the most part out of work. You didn’t have a significant other to keep you company, there wasn’t space at your parents’ for you to go home, and your apartment didn’t allow pets. On top of all of that, sports were canceled. Specifically hockey. 

The combination of all of this left an empty hole in your heart and lots of time on your hands. Missing hockey was the whole reason you started watching twitch streams. If you couldn’t have hockey at least you could have hockey players playing video games. You’d started with Zach Hyman and Mitch Marner because Toronto was on a shortlist of teams you were fairly indifferent about. But after a week or so you found yourself watching David Pastrnak because he was on almost daily around dinnertime and it gave you something to listen to while you cooked. Watching Pasta’s streams had led to your introduction to Jake Debrusk and it was silly how the sound of his voice and his laugh brought a smile to your face. It was even sillier because you were absolutely not a Boston fan. Especially not after they knocked your Hurricanes out of the playoffs last season. 

Still, each time that your phone received a notification that Jake had come online you immediately stopped whatever you were doing to watch. You weren’t part of the group that regularly played with him and Pasta, nor did you even really participate in the chats, you just watched. And for a couple hours each time, you felt a little less alone. For weeks this continued, with you only popping in to chat to wish Jake’s sister a happy birthday when he let her take over his stream for a little bit. To be honest you were just grateful for something to do. Never did you expect to log on one day to find a whisper sitting in your inbox. 

Jdebrusk: Hey. Saw you’ve watched quite a few of my streams. Just wanted to reach out and say thanks. 

You weren’t shocked by the fact that he could see a list of viewers, you kind of expected that. What shocked you was the fact that he actually cared enough to reach out to some stranger who he had never actually interacted with before. You weren’t sure what had pushed you to respond, maybe it was the Southern friendliness or maybe it was something else but after typing and deleting a response multiple times you finally pressed send and then immediately closed your browser in a failed attempt to not freak out. 

Yourusername: Pretty sure I should be thanking you for sharing your time with us and making things a little easier. 

____

With no one you followed coming online to stream for a few days, you didn’t even check the site to see if Jake had responded. But when you next logged on and saw a message notification once again you found yourself getting nervous for no reason as you opened it. 

Jdebrusk: Well you’re welcome. Feel free to join in the chat anytime. Streaming has helped keep my family from driving me insane.  

Yourusername: I’m more of a lurker. It’s just easier. And family can be a lot but be grateful you aren’t just staring at 4 walls every day. 

Stepping away from your computer you grabbed your camera and attempted to go for a walk to take some aesthetic shots. As you slipped your memory card into the computer a while later, you noticed another notification. 

Jdebrusk:  Fair enough. You quarantining alone? 

Yourusername: yep. But I guess it could be worse. I could live where it’s snowing in May. 

Jdebrusk: Can I ask where you’re at?

For a split second you debated giving up this information but it didn’t seem like giving away your state could hurt. 

Yourusername: North Carolina. 

Jdebrusk: Nice! Cool state. Been there a few times. 

Yourusername: I’m aware. No need to rub in sweeping my team, Debrusk. 

Jdebrusk: And she’s got a sense of humor ladies and gentlemen. Well, or he...I guess I don’t even know that. AWKWARD. 

Yourusername: She works. 

Jdebrusk: Cool cool. So a hurricanes fan huh? 

Yourusername: Yeah. My family would probably disown me if they knew I was talking to a Bruin. 

Jdebrusk: Yowza. 

Yourusername: So if anyone asks I’m only here for Rocky appearances. ;)

Jdebrusk: She’s only here for my cat. Got it. 

You couldn’t explain why talking with Jake felt so easy but it did. When he came on to stream next you chirped him through whispers the entire time and seeing his reaction in real-time as he read them had you giggling uncontrollably. By the time he got off, you were just waiting for his comments to come streaming your way. Instead of some long-winded rant brushing off all your jabs you just got a single comment in response. 

Jdebrusk: It’s not fair that you can chirp me and I don’t know anything about you. 

Yourusername: What do you want to know? 

Jdebrusk: I mean your name would be a good start. Age might also be important...you’re not like 12 right? 

Yourusername: Would I be quarantining alone if I was 12? I’m 24. Y/N. 

Jdebrusk: right. Right. Y/N from Carolina. Who likes cats. Got it. Are you a student or…?

Yourusername: Freelance Photographer. 

Jdebrusk:  Alright. Nice. Do you do like weddings or nature stuff or what?

Yourusername: A little bit of everything. @wildflowerphotography is my company name if you want to go on insta and see some of my work. 

No reply followed and you tried not to dwell on it. Instead you poured a glass of wine, lit a few candles, and settled into your bathtub, trying to relax for bed. Still nagging thoughts lingered in your brain. Was sharing your company page too much? He probably wasn’t asking for you to promote yourself, he was just being polite right? Though you hated yourself for letting it bother you, you were the type of person who overthought everything...which thinking about it was probably why you were still single. 

Your anxious thoughts lingered and you tossed and turned all night before finally pulling yourself out of bed the next morning. It was only as you dug through your company dms, responding to a few potential clients that wanted you to take socially distant photos for them that you stumbled upon a familiar username. 

Jdebrusk: You took all of those? Holy shit that’s talent. 

The timestamp showed the message was sent only twenty minutes after you gave him the username and you sighed to yourself before chuckling at the fact that Jake was too lazy to switch back to twitch to respond. 

Wildflowerphotography: Thanks. I’m really proud of them all. 

It was still early in the morning so there was no way he was awake with the two hour time difference so after making yourself some breakfast you took another short walk, trying anything to get your mind off of the loneliness that felt worse today than most days. Your mood had definitely been a rollercoaster recently with higher peaks and lower lows than normal. It was something you were trying to manage the best you could but sometimes it was just hard. 

With the rest of your afternoon spent binging a random tv show you didn’t even look at your phone until dinner time, but waiting for you was another dm from the Canadian hockey player. 

Jdebrusk: You should be. 

Jdebrusk: So listen...this is probably weird but can I get your number so I can stop wading through a bunch of dms and whispers I don’t care about and just talk to you? 

It was a fair question but to be blunt, today was probably the worst day for him to ask because your anxiety-riddled brain kept wanting to know why he even cared about talking to you. You didn’t know what he was looking for from all of this but your mind immediately assumed the worst. So instead of just being open with him, you blew him off, completely ignoring his message. And when he logged onto twitch next, though you wanted to watch, you forced yourself to avoid that as well. 

Three days passed before another message appeared. 

Jdebrusk: You okay? You didn’t watch the last stream. I’m sorry if I fucked up. I’ll back off if you want...I just want to know that you’re okay. 

The concern he was expressing was honestly something you didn’t expect and you found yourself crying as you read it over and over. Jake was nothing but a joyous person and the last thing you wanted was to bring him down with the mess of your own mind. 

Wildflowerphotography: you didn’t fuck up. I just...this is all on me okay. 

With your phone left open to your message string with him you watched as little dots appeared before vanishing repeatedly. Eventually a new message appeared simply containing a string of numbers composing a phone number. Jake was putting the ball in your court and a few minutes later the part of you that was aching to hear his voice won the mental war and you found yourself dialing the number. 

“Y/N?” Jake questioned the second he answered and a shaky sob slipped from your throat at the sound of him speaking your name for the first time. “What’s going on?” He murmured and by his tone you could tell he was both confused and concerned. You wanted to speak, wanted to pretend everything was fine but you’d already gone over the edge and it was too late for that now. Another sob spilled through your body and you faintly heard Jake mumble a curse. “Do you want me to just talk to you? I’ll just keep talking okay and you can hang up if you want.” He offered. And talk he did, you weren’t even sure what he was telling you, you were more focused on the grounding sound of his voice itself rather than the content of the words he was speaking. Eventually your breathing steadied out and the elephant sitting on your chest lessened allowing you to murmur his name. 

The second he heard your voice he paused mid-story.

“Thank you.” You whispered into the phone. 

“Are you okay?” He inquired, his voice tentative like he was worried anything he said would push you back over the edge. 

“Better.” You admitted. “Not great but better.” 

“I’ll take better.” He insisted. “It’s nice to actually hear your voice.” He added, causing your cheeks to flame up unconsciously. You opened your mouth to apologize again for your breakdown only to be stopped as he insisted you not do so. “But really...are you okay?” He repeated his question and you sighed. 

“It’s been a rough few days mentally for me.” You admitted. “But I will be okay.” You added. 

“Okay enough to stop ignoring me?” He teased and when you let out another shaky breath he backtracked. “It’s okay, I get it. I was just worried. You don’t have to talk to me ever again if you don’t want to.” 

“I do want to.” You breathed. “Talk to you that is.” As if he sensed you had more to say, Jake remained quiet, only the sound of his breathing coming through the phone. 

“I guess...you should probably know that I tend to overthink things. I want to talk to you. Hearing your voice makes my entire day. I just...I guess I’m just confused on why you want to talk to me. What your intentions are, etc. And you...you don’t have to answer that just...that’s where my head is at.” 

Jake was silent for a minute before his voice reached back through the phone. 

“I’ll be honest, I don’t know what this is either. But I’m intrigued by you and I guess my intention is just to get to know you better if you’ll let me.” Jake’s honesty was refreshing and you nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “And if I can make your day just by talking...well that’s a pretty sweet bonus.” 

______

Quarantine continued to drag on, paused only by some carefully planned photo sessions with your distance lenses getting extra abuse. You continued talking to Jake, mostly through text but with the occasional phone call. He’d whine about the crap he was getting from his sister when he’d disappear to talk to you but he’d insist that it was worth it in the next breath. Between the streams, the phone calls, the texts and the memes he’d send you, suddenly you felt a lot less alone, at least emotionally. 

A month since your first phone call had passed before Jake sent you a text that made your heart stop. 

JD:  So how come I send you pictures all the time and yet I still don’t know what you look like? 

For weeks he had been sending you photos of him snuggling with Rocky or hanging with Jordyn and there had even been a shirtless workout pic or two which had left you debating whether a cold shower was appropriate. At the same time, you hadn’t worked up the courage to send him any photos in return other than ones you took of nature on your walks or snippets from photoshoots you’d done. Trying to downplay it all you sent back a teasing response. 

YN: What can I say I’m a behind the lens person. 

JD: Y/N...c’mon I just wanna see how beautiful you are. 

Leaving him on ‘read’ you sighed and bit your lip not sure how to respond. You were afraid if he knew what you looked like that he wouldn’t want to talk to you anymore and you weren’t sure what you’d do if you lost something that had sort of become a saving grace in this crazy time. 

JD: Is this one of those insecurity things? Is that why I haven’t seen you yet? 

It was starting to amaze you how well Jake could read you. It had been a long time since anyone was able to see through the walls you put up, see behind the camera that you hid behind, but it had only been a month or so and already Jake was starting to read the silences between the words. 

JD: Do you want me to get Jordyn to pump you up? A picture isn’t going to change what I think of you…

YN: You don’t know that. 

JD: C’mon YN give me a little more credit than that. You know I’m not that shallow. I like you okay. I like the woman that chirps me. I like the woman that listens to me and always knows what to say. I like the woman that sees me as Jake and not Boston Bruin Jake Debrusk. And since none of that is based on your physical appearance I’m going to like you no matter what you look like. 

YN: Promise? 

JD: Yeah Y/N, I promise. 

Scrolling through your camera roll you attempted to decide on which of the few photos of yourself made you look at least somewhat pretty before biting the bullet and attaching it to the text conversation. The moment you hit send you winced and your anxiety didn’t ebb until your phone rang in your hand. 

“You’re stunning.” Jake’s voice breathed lowly the second the line connected. “Just as beautiful outside as you are inside which I wasn’t sure was even possible.” By now you knew when Jake was trying to play something up versus when he was being genuine and his voice now was 100% the latter. But taking compliments about your body was never something you’d been good at so you didn’t know what to say in response. 

“I hope you believe me.” He added. “I knew you wouldn’t believe a text even if I sent it 100 times so I hope you can believe me, hearing me say it.” 

“I...thanks Jake.” You finally mumbled. You did believe that he was being honest, he had no reason not to be with you living thousands of miles apart, but at the same time, you still felt uneasy about it for reasons you’d never fully be able to explain. 

___

Tearing down the last barrier of anonymity seemed to open up a new world between you and Jake. If it was even possible you communicated more frequently, adding facetime calls to your usual methods. Seeing the way he looked at you while you talked sent heat flooding through your body and you quickly came to the realization that you were falling hard for him. 

That knowledge was terrifying and once again you wanted to pull away, protect yourself from getting hurt. But then Jordyn stole her brother’s phone and called you, raving about how when all of this was over you had to agree to meet her brother in person because she had never seen him like this over anyone. Talking with Jordyn reminded you that Jake didn’t have to go to all of this work, didn’t have to deal with your crazy emotions if he didn’t think you were worth the time and effort. It may be a pandemic but surely there were women in Edmonton willing to break social distancing rules if it meant scoring someone as wonderful as Jake. But yet each and every night he was on the phone with you, taking the time to get to know all of the things that make you tick, your likes and dislikes, your hopes and dreams. 

And it wasn’t just Jordyn that knew about you. You’d been on the phone with Jake when both of his parents came outside and when he’d asked them to come back in a minute because he was talking to you, they just called out your name in greeting and waved. 

“Your parents know my name?” You’d asked and Jake ducked his head shyly before replying. “I mean yeah…” He stated. “My mom can’t wait to meet you.” You were sure from Jake’s point of view that it was probably comical how wide your eyes went at his statement. 

“Jake what...what is this...are we just friends or…?” It wasn’t a question that you ever anticipated asking but it was out there now. From the other side of the screen, you watched Jake adjust his ball cap over his overly long hair. 

“Fuck...Y/N…” Jake started and you opened your mouth to assure him that friends was fine, that it was what you wanted too because if you didn’t put your heart out there than you couldn’t get hurt. Before you could speak though Jake continued. “No...we’re not just friends. I think you know that as well as I do.” He admitted. “I don’t know exactly what we are. I...I was hoping to meet you in person when I asked if you wanted to be my girlfriend. I know...I know that none of this is ideal because even when this is over there’s going to be the whole long-distance thing but...I can’t deny that I have feelings for you y/n. I don’t want to deny it.” 

“I don’t want to deny it either.” You said softly, fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean...if you’re willing to put up with my emotional baggage…” You shrugged. 

“You have feelings for me too?” Jake questioned, his normal confidence suppressed. “I have no problems supporting you through dealing with your baggage if you’re willing to do the same with mine. I know I’ve fucked up in the past as a boyfriend and I don’t want to do that to you.” 

“I think I’m kinda sorta falling for you.” You stated anxiously, unable to meet Jake’s gaze through the screen until he breathed your name. 

“So can we agree we’re something more than friends and that we’ll figure out the details as part of returning to the new normal?” 

“Yeah...we can agree to that.” You nodded. 

_______

The new normal had finally arrived and that meant that you were going to see Jake in person for the first time. The two of you had been “more than friends” for what felt like forever now but had realistically been a few months but with each passing day you knew you wanted more. You still didn’t know how it would all work with him playing in Boston and you owning a company in North Carolina but you were ready to figure it out together if it meant that you could finally have him for real. 

Jake’s plane was scheduled to land in ten minutes and you were running so far behind. Your senior picture photoshoot had run over and traffic was a mess. You’d texted Jake apologizing but upon getting your text he’d quickly waved your concerns off declaring that he’d just get an uber and meet you at your apartment. It would be a better first meeting anyway because you wouldn’t be time-restricted by parking or pick up zone rules. 

When you finally pulled into your parking lot you checked your phone to see if Jake had arrived yet. It wasn’t until you reached the front steps of your building that you noticed someone sitting there, bags beside them. He looked up at the same time that your brain processed that it was him and he was really there and tears instantly prickled in your eyes. As you rushed to close the distance, Jake stood to catch you as you threw yourself at him. 

No words needed to be said as you tugged his mouth down to your own, kissing him for the very first time. It was nothing like you had expected but at the same time it was everything and at that moment you knew that this was it, you were in love. It had been such a long wait, but the feeling of his arms wrapped around you, his lips against yours was well worth it. It was cheesy but you knew that the physical chemistry was only this strong because you already knew each other inside and out and now that he was here, now that he was finally yours, things could only get better. 

Being with Jake despite the distance wouldn’t be easy but now that you knew the way he felt, the way he tasted, the scent of his cologne, you were willing to do whatever it took to make it. If you could fall in love during a global pandemic, you could do anything and it would make a great story to tell the grandkids one day about how they only came to exist because of a direct message on a streaming site while the world was quarantined. 

[chaotically-cas]

Could you repost your seven deadly sins post? Pls?

I got you anon!! I deleted it cause I didn’t know if I vibes with it, but I got you :)

Words: 1.9k ish

Some dark/mature themes

Aka I try & explore Jally through the 7 deadly sins

-

Pride.

Dallas Winston had an issue with pride. He was too proud. Too proud of his rap sheet and most definitely too proud of his reputation. Like it was practically the only thing he valued, the only thing that mattered to him. His pride in everyone he hurt or stepped over. Every minute he spent in the slammer or every time someone flinched or went all white at his name. Everyone but Johnny Cade. That was probably their biggest difference. The fact that Johnny was proud of nothing, not even the clothes on his back, and Dallas too proud of everything. Proud of the way he lived his life to the point he was a walking dead man. Spitting at cops shoes and keying at random Soc’s cars. His pride was dangerous.

It’s what got him in the most trouble. With his friends and the law. Like the night Johnny got jumped, Dallas was supposed to be with him. Walk him home and keep him safe from whatever harm his parents had inflicted on him that day. But he was too busy protecting a reputation with an empty revolver and a ten inch blade. Building up his pride while Johnny’s got torn down and he was torn a new one. Again and again and again. So he didn’t know how to answer the question when Darry asked him why he hadn’t been with him that night. Johnny spoke up instead. Said Dal had business to attend to, life or death, something way more important than just walking him home a few blocks. Life and death. Pride and shame.

Envy.

Johnny Cade envied the way Dallas carried himself. How he drove fear into the hearts of those who even knew of his name. How he was able to command the response and respect of every lousy person he came across. Johnny thought he would be the most jealous of Ponyboy Curtis, at first. How he had a nice family with nice brothers and a real nice brain that got his every report card hung on the refrigerator. While Johnny’s parents could only take their best guess to what grade he was in. He supposed he could be jealous of Two Bit Matthews, too. How he had the closest thing to a perfect family that someone in their part of town that you could get. He figured he should be jealous of them, he tried to be jealous of them, but it could never really compare.

Compare to the way his heart clenched and his mind ached whenever he saw Dallas. He hated the fact that he couldn’t help himself but to antagonize over the fact that he wanted nothing more than to be like him. Because then, maybe, if he was more like him, he wouldn’t get his ass handed to him on a silver platter every single day. He wanted to live like Dallas. On his own, without his parents, doing well enough for himself that at least he was alive. And that seemed to be the only thing that matters. Because he felt like he wasn’t living. And all Dallas was doing was living. Sure, it was a lousy way to live your life. In and out of jail for crimes your ego is too big to commit. Crime and punishment. Envy and ego.

Sloth.

Dallas Winston was as lazy as you can get when it comes to… well. Just life. He dropped out of school at fourteen and never looked back. Never got a job. Never moved on. Never did shit. Got thrown in the slammer for the first time at an age so young it was commonly debated by everyone in town. Twelve. Ten. Even seven years old. The only thing about him that wasn’t the most utterly lazy, was his taste for trouble. Or as he liked to call it, adventure. Whether it was riding at the rodeo, drag racing down town, or just robbing small businesses so blind they’d probably never see again. Or maybe that was the most lazy thing about him. The fact that he would do anything to avoid any sort of responsibility.

Darry forced him to get a job once, he showed up three days in a row until he stole everything in the register and skipped town for two weeks. Even his methods of ‘work’ were lazy. Although if you asked Johnny, he would say the exact opposite. He would say that Dallas worked harder than anyone else he knew for everything he had. He would say that Dallas never really had a chance, growing up in New York and being surrounded by nothing but malice deeds his whole life. That it wasn’t his fault, that he wasn’t lazy for following suit. But he was braver and better than anyone else he knew. That it took guts to live the life he did. Guts and strength. Hard work and slouth.

Greed.

Johnny Cade never wanted anything more in his life other than to just life it. But Dallas wanted everything there was. If there was a dollar on the street, Dallas believed he was entitled to it. He believed he was entitled to anything that was in his way or that he forced to be. But Johnny wasn’t like that, he didn’t want anything. Dallas didn't understand that with the way he was raised and the way he was treated, how he didn’t want more. To Dallas, Johnny should want everything in the world. He should be more greedy than only wanting consistent meals and a good education. And even then he doesn’t feel like he deserves that, he must be crazy, according to Dallas. He has to be. He has to want more.

Dallas got everything he wanted once he decided that’s what he needed to happen. He asked for it as nicely as he could with whatever blade and heater he had, and then he got everything he asked for. He was selfish, and everyone knew it, but no one bothered to question it or his greed would have your ribs wrapped in ace bandages too. He stole and lied. Johnny only lied to himself. Dallas lied to everyone that’s ever met him. His whole facade was a lie. His whole personality was a lie. Nothing but a greedy lie mixed with an attitude that made him undesirable for anyone to be around. Anyone but Johnny. Undesirable and filthy. Greedy and indifferent.

Wrath.

Dallas Winston was the angriest person there was. Maybe even in the entire world. If there was a single thing Dallas couldn’t find to be pissed at, that would be the day. He would get mad at a tiger for having stripes. Johnny thought he had every reason to be mad. And in some ways, he did. He had every right in the world to be as mad as possible for his innocence being stolen, even if in a way, he sold it. He sold it for a bottle of Jack Daniels and a ghost of a name. For long nights with strange girls and odd bets with dangerous men. Everything fueled his rage. Everything and everyone. Especially Tim Shepard and the cozy house of the Curtis’s. Everyone in the world but Johnny. Johnny made him mad for different reasons.

Johnny made him mad for every time he didn’t get the hell out of his house or seemingly let himself take every punch and every foul word. He didn’t understand how Johnny could be so patient and not get as mad as he did. Or even if he did get mad, he sure had a funny way of showing it. Or hiding it. He tried to ask Johnny one day how the hell could always stay looking up and looking forward. How he didn’t want revenge on the entire world and everything else that had fucked him up. But in a calm voice, calm as ever, Johnny explained that there was no point in getting back at a world that doesn’t even want you in it. Pointless and dumb. Revenge and wrath.

Lust.

Dallas Winston had a lust for life. Johnny Cade did not. Dallas could go out and live, get any girl he wanted to, start whatever fight he felt like it, and win over anyone who gave him a dirty look. And it wasn’t like Johnny wasn’t capable of that, he was just as capable as anyone else, especially Dallas. But he didn’t have the lust to live in the same way. Not at all. He didn’t want to fight, he didn’t need to. He didn’t need to pick up any girl he saw, he didn’t want to. You could say that Johnny really only lusted after one thing. Only wanted one experience. Only needed one person. And that was Dallas.

But Dallas’ lust was unmatched. When you want something bad (sex, drugs, alcohol, blood), it clouds your judgment. However most of the time it is only a light fog, a brief passing mist. Not for Dallas. For Dallas it was so thick that the air wouldn’t clear no matter what Johnny tried, what anyone tried. The smoke from his cigarettes only adding to it. But if you asked him, even Johnny, if he desired anything from life; they would both say no. Because he never wished for anything, everything just seemed to. Happen. It was difficult. Desire and will. Lust and life.

Gluttony.

Johnny Cade couldn’t define the word if he read it straight from the dictionary. He had never experienced it once in his life, that’s what he would tell you. That’s what anyone who knew him would tell you as well. But truthfully, the only time Johnny ever had a reason or a time to be gluton was when he was with Dally. Not only because he made sure he was fed, that he was warm, and he had anything he needed for the basic pillars of life; but that it was the only thing he took in excessively. Johnny wasn’t someone who things belonged to. Who claimed things as his own and took them in access. He wasn’t like that at all. Only with Dallas.

Dallas wouldn't agree. He would say that Johnny wouldn't let himself indulge in any sort of behaviors that didn’t revolve around the fact that he had always wanted others to be more than he saw them as. Or maybe that he had seen them for who they wanted to be, who they were at heart. That’s what he saw in Dallas. So to him, he was the furthest thing from wanted or needing or having of any sort of gluton. That was Dallas’ responsibility. To stuff himself full with any sort of anger and selfish want he could gather. For every bit that Johnny didn’t have, Dallas had it all. Or maybe that’s just how he saw it. Wants and needs. Gluttony and moderation.

[leonstamatis]

so jaz and i are doing a thing lately where we send each other songs/inspo and then we have an hour or two to just. write a fic based on whatever we want. we did this last night. jaz wrote a beautiful piece about breadmaking and other things! i wrote a missing scene from the lenny fic, from chorby’s POV. it is not necessarily influenced by “joshua tree” by cautious clay, except that i was boyfriend-mandated to listen to it at the time.

--

Chorby has opened and closed her text messages so many times she’s debating whether she should just delete the app, if that’s even an option. She’s tired of it; there’s never anything good in opening it up and scrolling down to the thread she wants, never the update she’s hoping to see. All it does is disappoint her.

She’s already spent way too long in bed. She should get up. She has to get up, and she knows that. Instead, Chorby opens Twittler and scrolls for a few minutes. And then she opens her text messages again, out of impulse and habit. Nothing.

“Ugh,” she groans, tossing her phone onto the nightstand. “What is it going to take?”

The knock at her door is unsurprising, but it makes her jump all the same. She’s already stayed in bed past team breakfast, so practice is going to start soon.

“Chorby?” Yeong-Ho calls out, pushing the bedroom door open just slightly to poke their head inside. “Are you feeling all right?”

“She stole my shirt,” Chorby whines. It’s petulant and childish and not at all the point, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. “She stole my shirt, and she left, and she doesn’t even have the guts to text me first.”

Maybe that’s a sign of something. Maybe now that they aren’t in the Shadows anymore, and Chorby is in Yellowstone and Lenny is playing for the Garages – maybe whatever it was she thought they had before was something born of convenience, not sincerity.

Even the thought makes Chorby want to cry. She rubs at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

“Oh, boy,” Yeong-Ho mutters, stepping into the room and closing the door behind them. “Young love. Who’s the girl?”

Where to even start. Lenny is a lot of things; describing her as someone in the Shadows is discreet enough and would keep the gossip from spreading. But it isn’t exactly accurate, considering. Well. Just considering.

“Musician,” Chorby mumbles into her hand. It’s still not enough, so she tacks a little more on. “An old friend.”

Yeong-Ho moves to perch on the edge of Chorby’s desk, resting their feet in her chair. “Why don’t you reach out to her? I’m sure she’d be happy to hear from you, Chorby, you’re wonderful.”

Chorby doesn’t feel wonderful. She feels awful, like her heart will never stop pounding in her ears and her eyes will never be dry again. Even if she did go to practice, she’s not sure she’d be able to see well enough to bat.

She snatches her phone off the table and unlocks it, scrolling once again through her text messages. It’s been so long; she doesn’t know how she forgot, how she could ever forget. Looking at Lenny’s name brings a wave of sadness all over again, and she knows that’s not a logical response; Lenny left her behind forever ago. It’s just that she didn’t remember it until Lenny was pulled out from the Shadows and everything came rushing back all at once.

 len <3: ooookay, all good to go on gas AND snacks. i’ll be there in no time at all.

chorby: save some chleetos for me!! i haven’t been able to find any of the good ones out here

chorby: and do NOT SPEED, eleanor!!!!

len <3: sorry, can’t hear you over the CRAZY ENGINE NOISE

len <3: can’t wait to blow past EVERY single stoplight!!!!

chorby: lenny!!! not funny :(

len <3: worth it if it gets me to yellowstone sooner

chorby: ugh fine but be careful please

 That was months ago. Months ago since Lenny drove out to see her, months since she left her earrings and the smell of her stupid cologne all over everything Chorby owns. And now it’s been two whole days and she can’t even be bothered to text? Not even a simple “hey, hope you’re alive, we should hang out sometime” or anything?

“Chorby,” Yeong-Ho says, and she realizes, too late, that they’ve been saying her name for probably the past five minutes. “Maybe you should put the phone down. Maybe she’s just busy, and you’ll find out she messaged you after practice. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Yeong-Ho doesn’t know the whole story. The time spent going to movies together, or the movies, going to every coffee shop in Seattle and splitting a large latte instead of shelling out for two smalls. Lenny had cared once. Chorby knows that. She just doesn’t know when or why it stopped.

“I’m going to become a frog forever,” Chorby mutters, “and run away to a lake in the parkpark, and never talk to anyone ever again.”

“No, you’re not,” Yeong-Ho corrects. They stand up from the desk and walk over, one hand coming to pet Chorby’s hair gently. “You’re going to get up and come to practice. If it helps, you can pretend the ball is her face and take out some of your frustrations.”

Chorby doesn’t want to do that. For some reason, even now, curled up under her bedspread with the curtains drawn and an oncoming headache from the crying, she doesn’t want to hurt Lenny. She just wants to see her again. She just wants to ask why.

“I don’t want to,” she says, pulling her knees up to her chest.

Yeong-Ho sighs. “Fine, then pretend it’s my face and think about how mean I am for pulling you out of bed, instead. We’ll figure out everything else afterward.”

It’s a chore to get up, but Chorby knows she has to. She lets Yeong-Ho pull her out of bed and over to the closet to pick out clothes for practice, lets them usher her off to the bathroom for a shower before practice actually starts.

Chorby doesn’t actually know how she does at practice. Everything feels a little far away, like she can’t quite bring herself to focus on what’s happening around her. She does what she’s asked, goes where she’s directed, and overall probably does the worst she’s done since being brought out of the Shadows.

When she makes it back into her bedroom a few hours later, bone-tired in every single way, she drops onto the bed face-first and almost manages not to look at her phone at all.

Almost.

It wouldn’t have mattered if she did or not, in the end. She unlocks it and opens her text messages to the exact same conversation that’s been sitting there for months. So much for that.

[mystic-lodi]

A Tinder Date Amongst Friends - Chapter 1 (Yoosung)

Ship: YoosungxMC

Word Count: 2,414

Rating: T for Language

ao3 link

...

Tinder. The hellhole of an app that leads users to download it to their phone for approximately eight days, delete the app, and then proceed to redownload it a few days later because certainly it’s not as bad as you remember. I knew all this, and yet here I was, once again downloading Tinder after a long session of crying in the shower and convincing myself that this time would be different. This time, I wouldn’t receive any unsolicited dick pics. This time, I wouldn’t have to endure bland conversations about my favorite color or try to figure out how to respond to various almost nonsensical pick up lines. This time, I would meet someone who would let me forget about Yoosung.

Try as I might, nothing for the past year has been able to get me over this adorable blonde haired boy. While preparing for my first RFA party, I thought we had a mutual attraction but he wasn’t reciprocating my advances, so I backed off and decided to swallow my feelings. I assumed things would get better and we would become close friends. That’s what happened, but not quite in the way I expected. Spending more time with him only sparked more feelings, leading me down a rabbit hole of late nights over thinking my texts to him and debating whether or not I should just suck it up and tell him already. We’d spent countless hours just chatting into the night over the phone, gossiping about the other RFA members or discussing plans to go to conventions, but never once could I bring myself to tell him. Weeks, months, and now a year of this, I finally decided that I needed to be more proactive in moving on, which led me to this horrible app.

The first time I downloaded it, it wasn’t too bad. Just a creep or two, but nothing significant. I got bored and deleted it. A few weeks later, I downloaded it again, and that’s when the creeps started pouring in. Now on my fifth attempt, I started to ask what was wrong with me. Why did I keep doing this? Was I hoping for some Prince Charming to sweep me off my feet? 

“Well, there’s no harm in trying,” I mumbled to myself as I typed in my phone number and created a new account. The app loaded my selected photos, the calm before the storm. I waited patiently and it made a soft ding. Let the swiping frenzy begin.

Shirtless in the first pic. Swipe left.

Vaping through his nose. Swipe left.

Kinda cute hair cut. I stopped and decided to click to his next photo. His dog kissing him open mouth. Quick swipe left.

Cute smile. Look at those-

My heart skipped a beat.

“Yoosung?!”

I paused for a moment, letting it sink in. I didn’t know what to do. Should I swipe left? That could be weird though. What if my profile shows up for him? Would he swipe right on me for shits and giggles but think it’s odd I didn’t also swipe right for shits and giggles? Before I could go further down that road, my thumb ignored my brain and listened to what my heart was screaming, I swiped right. I held my breath. And then a window popped up. 

You and Yoosung matched! Send a message below and say hi!

Shit. Was this a good thing or a bad thing? What do I say? Should I wait for him to send something first? Man, what the hell am I doing…

> “Hey lol fancy seeing you here 😂”

Okay, sent. That should be fine. Not flirty, but not rude. I shut off my phone before anyone else’s profile could show up. I let out a big sigh of relief, so incredibly glad that was over.

Ding!

Dammit. Hesitantly, I tipped my phone up to check what notification I had received. It felt like my throat was closing up as I spotted the little flame shaped Tinder icon. Quicker than I’d like to admit, I unlocked my phone and immediately went to my messages. It was from Yoosung.

> “Ikr! I never thought of you as one to have a tinder lol”

Now what does that mean? Was that a good thing? Does he mean that I seem too innocent to have an account, or does he mean that I seem like someone who’d be above all that? Or did he think I was dating someone, and that’s why he never returned my advances…? I shook my head vigorously. He’d known me for a year and I constantly complained about my singlehood. He definitely knew I wasn’t seeing anyone. 

> “What, do I seem too innocent for one?”

I read it over a few times and then deleted the draft. It seemed too accusatory.

> “I’m less innocent than I look, Yoosung ;)”

I immediately deleted that one. It was way too flirty.

> “What about you? I never expected to see you here either!”

That was the best I was gonna be able to muster in my current frenzied state of mind, so I sent it. The three little dots signifying Yoosung responding popped up quicker than expected, causing me to stare with rather intense anticipation while I waited for his response.

Ding!

> “I thought it was about time for me to try a bit harder to get a girlfriend, apparently me flirting in person doesn’t come across very well ^^;”

Flirting in person? Had he been flirting with someone before, and I never knew? I felt a little pang in my heart.

> “Well, how’s it been going so far?”

I didn’t really want to know the answer to that.

> “I’m ngl, not that great,, Man, tinder is a weird place lol”

Oh, that was a better response than I was expecting. Of course I wanted him to be happy. Nothing in the world would put a smile on my face faster than seeing him happy. I wasn’t over him in the least at this point, though. There was no harm in slightly jealous thoughts as long as I didn’t share them out loud, right?

> “What about you?”

He wanted to know how my Tinder escapades were going? That’s kind of odd. No, he was definitely just asking because I asked him first.

> “About the same for me too lol”

That wasn’t wrong. Well, not until he showed up.

> “I have a fun idea!”

I smiled softly to myself, imagining his wide grin as he sent the message.

> “Lemme hear it!”

The three little dots showed up and then disappeared. Showed up again, disappeared again… What in the world was he typing?

> “We should go out for a fancy dinner date!”

I nearly choked on my own saliva. A date?! Did he just ask me out on a date? The dots showed up again. My heart started racing.

> “If neither of us are meeting anyone on here, I thought it’d be fun if we pretended we’re on a date, got all dressed up, and went out to eat! :D”

Damn this boy. This sweet, adorable, dumb boy. My heart started to calm down a bit, anxiety replaced by a mix of calmed and disappointed. My racing thoughts began to slow and one in particular stood out.

> “That sounds kinda fun actually, let’s do it!”

I smiled at the thought of Yoosung all dressed up. Sitting through a dinner while trying my best to not reach across the table and hold his hand or brush his hair out of his eyes would be worth it if I meant I could get to see him and talk to him and just feel his presence near me.

> “Perfect! I can pick you up tmrw night around 7, does that work?”

Of course that worked. Any time worked. If I had something to do, I would happily rearrange my schedule to be able to meet up with him.

> “Definitely, I’ll see you then!”

> “Can’t wait! :D”

That last comment made me giddy. Maybe it wasn’t romantic, but it still made me so excited to know that he couldn’t wait to see me. Finally prying myself off the couch I had been lazily perched in for who knows how long, I quickly went up to my bedroom to rifle through my closet and find what I would be wearing tomorrow night. It couldn’t be anything too revealing, it wasn’t a romantic date. But it had to be something classy, since wherever Yoosung was going to get reservations was most likely going to be a classy place, seeing as he did call it a “fancy dinner date.” I froze in my tracks, one hand gripping the now open closet door and the other between hangers. This was going to be my one and only chance to go on a date with him. Realizing this, I felt a new, sudden wave of confidence run through me. I was gonna go all out, strut my stuff, even if it killed me. What did I have to lose?

…

Ding! Ding! Ding!

I groaned and rolled over, my arm flopping out to grab my phone and turn off my alarm. My eyes were squinting tightly to try and block out the late afternoon sun streaming through my window. My phone lockscreen read 6:15pm. A grin broke out on my face. A day and a half of waiting, napping to fill in the time, and now I only had forty five more minutes until our “date.” I groggily and slowly pulled myself up from under my covers and made my way over to my closet. On the back of the door, I had hung up a short, black, off the shoulders high-low dress that came down to mid thigh in the front and just below the knees in the back. On the floor I had placed a pair of matching black heels and a silver handbag. I gave myself a mental pat on the back for having picked this out in the dead of night, half asleep the night before. 

I slipped out of my t-shirt and shorts and into a bathrobe, making my way over to the bathroom to put on some makeup. I leaned over my sink and, with my face far too close to the mirror, I applied soft brown and red eyeshadows, a gentle eyeliner wing, and some fantastically red lipstick that popped in the best way. I leaned back and admired my handywork, earning myself another mental pat on the back. I brushed out my hair, deciding to keep it natural with its soft waves, before I made my way back to my bedroom. I carefully, slowly slid my dress on. I then moved over to my bed, sitting on the edge of it to put on my heels.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

I sighed and turned off another phone alarm, this one signifying it was 6:45, giving me fifteen more minutes to mentally prep. I leisurely strapped on my heels as I let my mind wander. Why did I agree to this? I mean, obviously it’s because I wanted to go out on a date with Yoosung, but this wasn’t even going to be a date. Was I gonna try and seduce him or something? Is that why I was getting so dressed up for this? No, that wasn’t part of the plan. If he didn’t have the same feelings for me that I did for him, I wasn’t going to force myself onto him. I just want him to be happy, whether that’s with me or without me. 

Suddenly, a harsh clunking sounded from downstairs and I jumped slightly, the sound pulling me from my thoughts. I stood up, taking a few careful steps to test out my heels and I was ready, moving quickly to go investigate the sound. The sound returned, this time a bit quieter, but I finally recognized the sound as knocking. 

“Coming!” I shouted. I rushed over to the door, quickly swung it open, and I froze in blissful shock. I smiled ear to ear when I saw Yoosung in front of me. He stood at my doorstep with a nervous smile on his face and a single long stemmed pink peony in his hands, dressed to the nines in dark blue suit, a long soft yellow tie pairing nicely with a lighter blue dress shirt, and of course his adorable two brown hair clips pinning back his hair.

“Yoosung, you…you look amazing…” I couldn’t help staring as I pushed my door open further to let him step in for a moment. A blush crept up on his cheeks and he stared at me for a moment. He shook his head lightly, as if to bring himself back into focus, and followed me inside. He made a soft noise that slightly resembled a gasp as he stretched his arm out to offer me the flower he held.

“This is for you!” His nervous smile grew wider and I giggled. Why was he so nervous? It’s not a real date, what did he have to be afraid of? It might be rude to ask that… He just looks so damn cute when he’s nervous!

“You’re too sweet, thank you so much! You didn’t have to…” I trailed off and became a bit nervous myself. His jittery energy ended up being rather infectious.

“Let me go put this away and we can get going,” I practically skipped over to my kitchen, straight to one of the higher cabinets. I stretched my arms up as high as they’d go to pull down a tall thin vase from a shelf that was almost too tall. I managed to pull it down without dropping it and I filled it with water. I slid the beautiful flower into it and placed the vase on my dining table.

“A-ah, you’re gonna display it…?” Yoosung stuttered and anxiously rubbed the back of his neck, causing me to giggle once more. 

“Of course! I want everyone to know what a wonderfully sweet friend I have!” Calling him my “friend,” I felt a little pang in my heart. If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn I saw a bit of hurt in his eyes at this statement. I mustered up all the courage I could and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

“C’mon, I don’t wanna be late,” I smiled back at him as I walked through the door.