Sex, Drugs, Etc.

Sex, Drugs, Etc.

Pt.4

Warnings: Talk of drugs/Drug use. A lot of plot. EXTREME Canon divergence. Before Maddies time. Set in 2022. Long Flash Back. Rehab. Mention of Overdose. Blood. Hearing Voices. Disassociation. Vomit. Dead Body. This is NOT meant to romanticize addiction or mental illness.

3k words

Pt.3

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The ticking of the clock and the tapping of your knee was all you could hear as you waited for the nurses to arrive. It was a small empty waiting room, the smell of disinfectant filled your senses. It felt familiar, almost like you belonged here. It wasn’t the first time you’d been in a room like this, same reason, different intentions. 

A young nurse with a bright smile walked into the room, it was forced, you could tell by the bags under her eyes she was just as exhausted as you were. I mean who could blame her? Working all night, hearing the same stories just in different fonts, smelling coffee breath from all her colleagues, sounds like hell. “Okay, so I'm gonna have to take a picture of you for our records then I'm gonna get you situated in a room. How does that sound?” She talked all bubbly but there was an edge hidden beneath it. 

“Perfect” You didn’t bother trying to make your voice sound happy to match her fake energy. Your hands were in the pockets of your burgundy hoodie, the strings already took out. You sifted back and forth, swinging your elbows nervously.  It was 5 in the morning, the EMT’s had to come from the district you were being placed in so it took them 4 hours to get there then 4 hours to transfer you. You sat in that hospital bed for 4 days just to end up in another hospital, except this one was worse, you had to actually talk to people and pretend like it was making you better. 

“Great, I just need you to stand still for me.” You didn’t protest, you made sure you were standing right in front of her as she lifted her camera and clicked the button on the top. There was a flash that burned your eyes slightly but you kept a straight face, just wanting to curl up in a bed, even if it wasn't your own. The smile on her face didn’t falter as she let the camera rest by the strap hanging on the back of her neck. “This is just gonna be used to identify you, mainly so we can keep track of your medicine.” What she really meant was that it was so you couldn’t lie about your name at the medicine counter and get someone else's. 

“So you gonna pat me down or something?” The memory of that little 12 year old you used to be getting stripped down to her underwear as a lady with a thick African accent counted the cuts that adored her arms and thighs with a judgmental look makes you want to curl in on yourself. 

“I am gonna have to have you strip down to your underwear, I’ll try to make it quick. I know it's not exactly fun.”  That stupid fucking bright smile still present, but something lies underneath it, almost like sympathy. 

“Great” The frustration was evident in your voice. The woman's smile grows more apologetic as she turners to close the door to the small waiting room. 

“I'm just gonna have you slide off your hoodie, shirt, and pants. I’ll just need to search the pockets and see if you have any cuts or bruises.” You don’t wait for further instructions, wanting to get it over with,you unzip your hoodie, placing it in the chair you were sitting in before the nurse walked in. Next was your black cropped t-shirt, you repeated the same process before sliding off your black plain slides, leaving your exposed mismatched socks to be seen fully. While you were sliding your blue nickelodeon pajama pants she reached over, checking the pockets of your discarded hoodie. You put your pants with the rest of your clothes once she was finished checking your hoodie. 

“The pants don’t have pockets.” You gave her an awkward smile, arms crossed over your chest attempting to cover your exposed cleavage, your breast only being covered by a gray sports bra. 

“I'm gonna take your word for it.” She was looking at your eyes, clearly trying to make you feel more comfortable. “Do you have any cuts or bruises that you’re aware of?” 

“Just scars.” All the damage you used to put on yourself became internal over the years. 

“Okay, I’m just gonna need you to pull your bra and shake it.” You let out a sigh but didn’t protest, your arms unfolding and grabbing the bottom of your bra, giving it a shake before letting it go with a snap. She gave another apologetic smile, sympathy dripping from her. “Alright, you can get dressed then I'll take you to your room.” You gave her a nod before you grabbed your clothes, slipping them back on. Once your hoodie was zipped back up you crossed your arms over your chest once again. Thinking it would  somehow make the exposure you felt moments ago disappear. 

“So, um, when am I gonna get my stuff back?” When you first walked in they took the bag your dad had brought to the hospital when he found out they were sending you away, claiming they needed to make sure there was nothing dangerous in it. 

“You should get them back by tomorrow morning, if not then you'll have them by lunch.” She spoke as she opened the door, walking out with you following behind her. There was nothing special, just a hallway, then you reached an entertainment room with a front desk. “We do vitals at 4 but you missed them so we're just gonna go off of what the hospital in SplitRiver gave us. We do them twice a day, one at 4 and then one at 12 right after lunch.” She began walking you down a hallway. “This is where all the girls sleep, we do two to a room so you already have a roommate.” She stopped in front of a room, the door fully opened. It was dark but you could see two beds, the one on the far end, next to the window, already being occupied. “This is gonna be your room. There is a bathroom and a shelving unit for you to put all your stuff. Your bed should already be made and ready for you.” The smile still on her face but faded, possibly from exhaustion, the same exhaustion you felt. “We’ll wake you up in a few hours for breakfast then you’ll go about your day with the rest of the girls. The morning shift should take it from there but I think it's about time you get some sleep.” 

“That sounds great.” You couldn't force yourself to smile, your brain fuzzy and numb. Every noise around you being silenced by the ringing in your ears. You couldn't tell if it was from the remaining withdrawal or the fact that you haven't slept in days. The sound of the woman standing beside you's voice drew you back into reality. 

“You all set?” That fucking smile started to feel taunting. Why the fuck was she still smiling? 

“Yup.” You didn’t want to walk into your new room for the next- well you didn’t know how long yet, but the idea of walking into it felt like signing yourself off, surrendering to your fate. 

“Perfect” Yeah you're definitely not imagining it, her smile seems less friendly now. She gestured with her hands for you to walk into your room, but she didn’t understand, she got to go home at the end of the day to her own bed in her own home. You’re stuck, and that STUPID FUCKING SMILE IS STILL THERE! God how could she not see that she's expecting you to walk into your own prison cell, what a selfish bitc- “Are you okay?” That anger must have been present on your face based on the look she was giving you.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” But you weren't, you weren't fine. You were put in a place of impending safety with no escape. A place with fake smiles and exhausted faces, a place where you had to force yourself to be fine. But you couldn’t tell her that so you just stepped into your room, knowing that now you were just another number, that your free trial was over and you’re just another patient to deal with. She gave you one last polite smile, probably to comfort you, but it didn’t work, if anything it made you want to scream till your vocal cords snapped and your throat filled with blood. 

You could feel the tears forming in your eyes but you choked them down, not wanting to break just yet. Walking to your bed, ignoring the sleeping girl in the other one, you touched the thin blanket that laid on top of the mattress. Though you weren't sure you could call it a mattress, more like a yoga mat, regardless you climbed into bed, pulling the blanket on top of you as you laid your head on your pillow that had a weird plastic material protecting the soft cushioning that was hidden inside it. You let your eyes drift closed knowing no sleep would come, despite being exhausted your brain was still too wired to sleep. So you just laid there, imagining you were at home, playing Rocket League with your brother while he chewed pizza way too loudly. The closest thing to a happy place your brain could muster up. 

(“1 fish, 2 fish, this flashbacks been too long bitch” - My Brother, 2024) 

It felt like a million tiny needles were stabbing you in the lungs. Your surroundings are blurred and there's a heavy pounding in your head that makes you want to rip your brain out and throw it against a wall. You couldn’t make out where you were, your senses being fried as a state of confusion took over. 

“What the fuck?” Your voice was groggy and broken from being waterboarded. The wateriness in your eyes began to clear as you sat up, wincing as a pain shot through your whole body. The room looked familiar, no not just familiar you’d been here before. The same worn down walls, cracking ceiling, and water damaged floor. The same place you took your last breath 4 days ago, or at least you think it was 4. The days had already blurred together. 

It looked the same as it did when Charley had guided you out, telling you about how the rest of your existence is gonna be spent on the school grounds. The only difference was that there was now a smell, a disgusting rotting smell. It wasn’t too strong but definitely noticeable and you knew it could only be one thing. No one had found your body yet, the last bit of you that clung to the living world was stuck, slowly rotting right next to you. 

You debated looking over, not needing to see what you looked like with all the life sucked away from you again, the image was already burned into the back of your brain. The memory of it made your stomach turn, vial pooling but you knew it wouldn’t come up. You spent 30 minutes dry heaving the first time you saw yourself, still warm, vomit and blood covering your chin, only it wasn't yours, it was the lifeless body’s you once belonged to. 

You didn’t want to stay there any longer so you tried to stand up, eyes averted from the sickening sight but as you tried to stand your body went limp, another pain shooting through you. You felt almost like you were in shock, something you were used to by now after several near death experiences and well… dying.  

Nothing really felt real. Your therapist used to call it disassociation, something you’d do when a situation was too stressful. It felt like the right word to describe this. You weren't in your body, literally and figuratively. Like you were watching your movements from above, desperate not to look at what lies beside you, a reminder of where you were, what you’d become, and worst of all a reminder that no one knew you were gone. They just let you rot, but could you blame them? I mean look at you, a fucking mess. You can't even stand up. Just get up, GET THE FUCK UP!

That's when the tears fell, sucking you back into reality with a dreadful pit in your stomach. Why were you crying so much? You never cry. Why can’t you just be stronger? Be the girl you used to be, before death, before drugs, the girl who stayed up late comforting her dad when he was drunk and confused, the girl who convinced herself she could win in a fight against a bear, the girl who prided herself on being the bullies bully. You needed that girl right now, but she had died a long time ago, long before the girl you became had. So all there was left to do was cry. Cry and sit in self pity for allowing yourself to become this, for not being stronger, for not being someone that young girl would be proud of. Why the fuck did you do this to yourself? And why the fuck are you just sitting there? Get up and do something. 

What could you do? You were alone, something you used to love but this was different. You were never really alone, there was always someone you could run to when it became too much. Now it was just you, you were the only person who knew where it all started, why you’re the way you are, alone. The familiar stabbing pain comes back, your organs feel like they are gonna rip out of your body as you bleed out, leaving another body with the one you had already abandoned. 

Get up, get up you have no reason to cry. You did this to yourself, get the fuck up you selfish bitch. “I'M TRYING!” Oh god it felt good, it felt good to scream and cry. To silence the voices with your own noise, why should they be the only ones that get a say? It’s your brain that they constantly control and the only bit of sanity that you had already slipped away with your life. So why weren’t you allowed to cry? 

That's when you heard footsteps and giggling. Your dazed state not being able to process the sight of people, alive people. Sadly they weren't able to process the sight in front of them either, and that's when it happened, two high pitched girlish screams that fully snapped you out of it. They’d found you, the cold, lifeless, smelly version of you.  

It all felt too real, like you were being saved. Though you knew that wasn't true, you were still trapped but some part of you could finally escape this hell hole even if that meant leaving the only conscious bit of you behind. Closer I guess you could call it, finally knowing that someone knew you were gone. In some selfish way you wanted to be missed, see if anything changed now that they knew, they knew you weren't coming back. 

The girls stood there, shocked, staring at the horror. Part of you felt bad for them, they didn’t deserve this, but it was better than someone you know having to find you. That guilt alone would have haunted you for the rest of your existence. You wanted to reach out, tell them you were okay even though you weren't, but you couldn't, so you were forced to watch as these innocent girls ran out the door. You got up, chasing after them, ignoring the remaining pain in your limbs. One of the girls, she had short blond hair, doubled over, was vomiting onto the pavement as the other one, with curly brown hair, dry heaved. 

The sight alone made you want to do the same but you knew it would do no good. You had learned that seeing a dead body in fucked up movies you spent way to much time on and seeing a dead body in person were two different things. No movement, no breathing, just cold dead eyes that stare into your soul, daring you to look straight into them. 

You could hear the sound of frantic footsteps drawing close, probably someone who had heard the girls scream. You look over to see a boy with short brown hair and big brown tired but panicked eyes. He looked familiar, and maybe a year younger than you. He ran to the blond girl, concern filling his eyes. 

“Maddie, are you okay?” Maddie? So that was the blonde girl's name. She looked up at him, whipping puke off her chin as the other girl looks over. 

“Go get Mr.Mandela.” Her voice sounded harsh and scared. 

“What? Why? What's going on?” Poor boy was lost and concerned. There was a slight look of disgust on his face as he took an inhale of breath. “And what's that smell?” 

“Don’t worry about it, just go.” The brown haired girl spoke up.  

“Okay, okay, fine.” You watched as the boy ran off, you knew what was gonna happen next and didn’t want to be around to witness it. Reluctantly you left the two girls, thought it didn’t feel right. You wanted to apologize, their minds forever scarred by you. Even if you didn’t want to admit it, it’s you. This is your fault. 

You walked to the school, even if you didn’t really know anybody being around people would help you keep whatever bit of consciousness you had left in you. You directly avoided going near the principal's office, knowing that's where the boy would be, frantically trying to explain what was going on even though he had no idea what the girls actually saw. Hopefully he never would. 

The halls were filled, most likely kids heading to the first class of the day. Ducking and weaving through kids, making it your life mission to never know what happens when you come in direct contact with the living, you walked to the gym. It's the only place you could think of. You weren't exactly an expert on where the dead hang out. You pushed the door open and heard the sound of sneakers squeaking, only it didn’t sound like a group of people, just one. Just your luck, it's the boy you blew off. 

(evil cliffhanger with wally making his 2 second appearance)

Pt.5

Not that anyone asked but writings gonna be a little slow. I was supposed to be getting a lot of writing done over spring break but that just ended and honestly I think I have writers block. Its not that I don't have any ideas, I'm working on 2 requests and pt.10 of Sex, Drugs, Ect. and I'm always thinking of things I can write but the thought of turning thoughts into words makes me want to rip my brain out. But yeah this is my little rant and announcement that I'm struggling a bit right now. Love y'all and I hope to get those requests done asap without hating myself.

Rafah? As in the "Evacuate here, it's a safe spot while we bomb the rest of Palestine" Rafah? The Rafah that most of the remaining Palestinians have been forcibly packed into as a supposed safe zone? That Rafah?

How people can still deny a genocide is beyond me

Hopes And Fears - Part Four. (Wally Clark x Reader)

Summary: Y/N’s death was traumatic. So traumatic in fact she can’t even look at Wally without reliving her death.

Word Count: 2.8k

Gif Not Mine. Requests Are Open!

Warnings: Mature Language, Themes Of Rape/Sexual Assault

“That was kind of harsh Rhonda.”

Charlie’s voice breaks the uncomfortable silence that has fallen upon the group. Each face holding a different expression. Rhonda full of hatred, Charlie consumed by guilt for not stepping in, Wally a mixture of surprise and discomfort.

“Do you think maybe somebody should go after her?” Dawn questions, speaking for the first time since the group session began.

Rhonda huffs, slumping down into her chair as she realises that nobody is taking sides, and if they are, they’re not taking her’s.

“Off you go then Wally, run after your precious little angel.” The girl spits, lips set in a firm scowl, eyes shooting daggers towards him.

“Rhonda!” Mr Martin snaps, though the teens aren’t listening. After all, despite being a teacher, he holds no position of authority over them in death.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Wally asks quietly, shaking his head as he does so.

“Maybe I’ve just had enough. Sixty years I’ve been here Wally! Yet nobody seems to care about how that makes me feel, all of you are just pandering to the new girl.” She shouts, slamming her hands down on the edge of her chair as she does so. Taking everyone by surprise.

“Rhonda, of course we care but you’re being really mean.” Charlie speaks softly, gazing sympathetically at the brunette girl.

“Mean? I don’t think I’ve been mean enough. I mean seriously is nobody questioning why she’s being so secretive? What doesn’t she want us to know?” Rhonda continues to push her argument in an attempt to gain a rise out of the other students. Hoping to get them to question themselves and where they stand in regards to the situation. “If you ask me, I reckon the bitch killed herself and she’s too much of a wuss to tell us.”

“That’s bang out of order Rhonda and you know it!” Wally bellows, leaping out of his chair and stomping straight over to her, hands placed on either side of her legs, caging her between himself and the back of the chair. “Don’t you ever speak about her like that again. Don’t you dare so much as look at her. Or I will make the rest of your eternity a living hell, do you understand me?”

Rhonda has no time to respond, though the frightened look on her face tells Wally all he needs to know. Without a second glance, he’s barging out the room. Launching one of the empty chairs across the gym as he does so, resulting in a large clatter though nobody really notices. All eyes fixed on the loveable jock, dumbfounded at the rage he is exhibiting. This being entirely out of character, never once in the years they had no Wally had he exploded in such a way.

Whilst each of the ghosts sits silently, all contemplating their next move in order to avoid another argument, Charlie is the first to make a move. Giving Rhonda a nervous glance, he slowly exits the gym. Asserting that his decision as to who’s side he is on has been made.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Ducking under the police tape, I’m thankful that no officers are around. Granted, I know they can’t see me, I just find it awkward to be stumbling between the living. I’ve come to realise just how much people lack spacial and self awareness.

The room is exactly as it was left, blood stains splattered on the tiled walls and floors. A glistening red in contrast with the mucky white tiles. In fact, the only change within the room is the numbered notes, I can only assume for any evidence the officers may have gathered.

I find myself perched on the end of the splintered wooden bench, lost in thought as I fixate on the scene. I’m amazed at how much blood I truly lost, assuming it would have only been small flecks. When in reality, it is everywhere. Stains from how it pooled mark the floor as well as splashes coating the walls.

My mind flashes back to that moment. Their hands on my body. The beatings I endured as I tried my best to resist. Sharp pain as I tried my hardest to close my legs. Squeals of agony escaping my mouth only to be met with a calloused hand gripping my face tightly prevent anymore noise.

It’s only when I feel a tear drip from my chin to the back of my hand that I realise I’m crying. Nothing to be heard other than my soft sniffles. Despite the memories plaguing my mind, I can’t help but feel proud at myself for returning here. It’s such a small accomplishment and yet for me, it feels as though I’ve taken a huge step forwards into fully processing what I went through. It’s a step closer to healing.

“God, I can’t believe they haven’t cleaned this up yet. I’d have thought they would want to scrub it straight away.”

Charlie’s voice takes me aback and my head spins towards the door. Noticing him shyly stood just outside of the room, almost like he doesn’t actually want to enter. An overwhelming sense of deja vu hits me and I’m reminded of our first interaction right outside.

“I don’t think they’re legally allowed to clean up. Otherwise I’m sure they’d have torn the entire building down by now.”

Shuffling over on the bench slightly, Charlie takes this as an invitation and perches beside me. The two of us staring at the crime scene.

“So I take it you were murdered.” He questions apprehensively, knowing full well what the answer is.

“I’m sorry I haven’t spoke about it yet.” I speak softly, almost afraid of what his reaction could be. I don’t want him to lose his temper like Rhonda, though I get the feeling that he doesn’t have an angry bone in his body. “Charlie, I want to talk. I do. It’s so recent though, I haven’t even been dead a month. I get that it’s shitty but I’m not ready to go into the details of it all.”

“You would think out of all of us that Rhonda would be the most understanding. She’s always been very open about her murder though.” Charlie tells me, seemingly unfazed by my lack of wanting to talk. “I get it though Y/N, you don’t owe us anything. Don’t tell Rhonda this because she’ll think I’m a complete bitch but she was strangled to death, and no offence but judging by the state of this room, your murder was a lot more brutal.”

“Let’s not turn this into a competition of who had a worse death.” I joke, feeling more relaxed due to his words. “But seriously thank you. It means a lot that you’re being so nice.”

“Of course.” The boy smiles brightly, which seems to be contagious because I can’t hold back the beam on my face either. “On a completely separate note, you should probably go and find Wally. He completely lost his shit with Rhonda after you left. Like he went full psycho, I’ve never seen him lose it like that before.”

“Fuck.” I whisper, running a hand through my hair, a habit of mine when I’m under stress. “Thanks again Charlie, I really appreciate it.”

Charlie only nods gently, watching me scurry out the room. Clearly sensing that I’m in a rush to find the footballer. Wandering around the halls of Split River, it’s only then that I realise I have no idea where Wally could be. Worry begins to seep through my pores, knowing there is endless possibilities as to where he could be. If only the school could be ten times smaller. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so challenging.

Thinking back to our previous conversations, I try to remember any hangout spots that Wally may have mentioned. Though these rarely seem to come up in conversation. We spent most of the time sprawled out in the gardens and yet there was no sign of him when I searched back there.

Huffing out of annoyance, I’m fully prepared to give up my hunt for him. At least I was. Out of the corner of my eye I become aware of the sign directing students towards the pool. Wally’s words ring in my head from earlier this morning.

“So I was thinking we could have a pool day.”

With crossed fingers and countless prayers being whispered under my breath, I stride towards the pool. Confidence boosted as I hope that my intuition is right and that he went away with his pool day solo.

My suspicions are confirmed as my eyes lay upon the handsome boy. Lost in his own thoughts as he drifts about on a pool floaty, arms tucked beneath his head and sunglasses on to block out the rest of the world. Loitering at the edge of the pool, I remain silent. Just for a moment. In order to truly appreciate this man’s beauty. He’s the most exposed I’ve ever seen him. Granted he’s only shirtless, but still I can’t help the flutter I feel in my heart (and possibly between my legs). With defined abs and toned body, he reminds me of a Greek statue, carved out of stone.

“Y/N, I’m not really in the mood to talk right now.” Wally states, as my eyes drag up his body, I’m aware that his sunglasses are now placed on his forehead and he most likely just caught me gazing at his physique.

“I know, neither am I.” I admit, sitting down at the edge of the pool, pulling my shoes off and throwing them behind me so that I can dip my feel it in the lukewarm water. “But I do owe you an apology.”

This catches his attention and I see his eyebrows raise, eyes darting over to me. Wally looks sad. There’s no other way for me to describe it. I’ve seen him sulk and upset before. However, he looks worse than I’ve ever seen.

“Rhonda’s words really hit me. I never meant to make you feel like you’d done anything wrong. I’m so sorry for making you feel that way. You don’t need to try to make me feel less threatened. I know you don’t have a cruel heart.” I admit, voice shaky as I genuinely have no idea as to how he will react. “It’s no excuse, but I was struggling a lot those first couple of days and I guess I took it out of you and you didn’t deserve that. So I really hope you’ll forgive me. I also thought I should probably mention that you don’t have to stop wearing your football stuff because of me. You love it, I don’t want you to feel as though you can’t wear it because I’m going to have a breakdown.”

Swinging my feet in the water slowly, I keep myself focused on this rather than Wally who floats a few feet away. His silence scares me slightly and I know that if I even look at him, I may burst into tears. I never meant to hurt him. I really didn’t.

“Rhonda’s full of bullshit.”

I’m shocked when he speaks, purely because I thought he was mad at me. I’m even more shocked when I understand what he’s said. Never once hearing Wally say a bad thing about someone and here he is calling out one of the ghosts he’s known the longest.

“What?” I’m completely puzzled by what he just said, not knowing what he means by it and whether he means that what Rhonda said wasn’t true. My tone reflects this and when I go to look up at him, he’s already slipping off the floaty and swimming towards me.

“I said Rhonda’s full of bullshit.” He’s pretty much beside me now, arms crossed as they rest against the edge of the pool next to me. It’s the closest we’ve ever been to one another and I can’t deny the way my heart races right now. Not even one ounce of fear resides within me despite our close proximity. Maybe I am doing better now? “I like spending time with you Y/N. I wasn’t trying to make you feel less threatened. Yeah, I wanted you to feel welcome and to know I mean no harm but that was it. All the time I’ve spent with you is because I wanted to, I enjoy it.”

“So you’re not mad at me?”

He laughs faintly. “No, I’m not mad at you. Thank you for the apology but you really didn’t have to say anything.”

I cannot even begin to describe how relieved I am that the ghost isn’t mad at me. For a moment back there, I was prepared to spend eternity alone, thinking everybody had turned their backs on me. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case and I potentially let myself overthink without speaking to anybody under less tense circumstances.

Grateful to have resolved things with Charlie and Wally, the only person left is Rhonda. However, something tells me that she might need some time. I doubt seeking her out is the best course of action right now and she probably needs space to cool off. So, for now, I’m happy to sit here and bask in the peace once more.

“So, a pool day for one isn’t exactly the most exciting and fun time.” Wally mentions, splashing a small amount of water at me.

“No I can’t imagine it is.” I reply, he swims backwards, a silent request for me to join him in the water. Which I’m happy to oblige.

Stripping off my clothes, I dump them on one of the seats. Out of the way of the pool edge in the hopes that they remain dry. Left only in my underwear, a lacy red bralette with matching thong, I thank my lucky stars that the day I died was one of the days I wore a decent set.

A shaky breath leaves my mouth as I turn around to face Wally. It’s the most vulnerable I’ve felt since getting here and I am anxious. Afraid of any judgement from Wally and afraid of being so exposed. All of these thoughts vanish instantly when Wally’s eyes begin to trail my body. Flashing with desire. He doesn’t think I’ve noticed, though I don’t miss the barely there whistle that escapes under his breath.

“Are you gonna move out of the way or what?” I ask, hands on my hips as I wait for him to move to one side.

He does so with no complaint and I sprint forward, diving straight beneath the water and surfacing with a gasp for air. Pulling my hair out of my face, I find myself only a few inches away from Wally and take the opportunity to splash the water in his direction. After all, it’s only fair that I take my revenge.

“Oh this is war.” Wally yelps after being pelted in the face again by another large splash.

We’re both rocked against the waves that the battle has created. Huge splashes attacking each other alternatively, repeatedly in hopes of taking the other person down. I’m completely unaware that the force of the water is slowly bringing us closer together and before I know it we’re face to face. Noses practically touching one another.

“I think I win.” He whispers, sopping wet hair pushed back off his forehead, small curls beginning to form.

“Never.”

He’s focused on me, chestnut brown eyes piercing into my soul. I daren’t think too much, scared he can read my mind with the force of his gaze. A sudden surge of bravery must overcome him as he gently reaches out, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. His touch is soft, as light as a feather. Like he’s scared I’ll pull away. It’s the first time we’ve ever made physical contact and though the act is so sweet and innocent, my heart flutters at the intimacy of it.

His hand is delicate as it moves from my hair, gliding down my cheek to hold it lovingly. It’s then that I notice his eyes flickering down to my lips, silently asking for permission. As much as my heart desires his touch and his affection, something in my mind can’t let go. It won’t allow me to take that step further and so I reluctantly pull away. The move quick as I break out of his gentle hold.

“I’m gonna go dry off in the sun.” The words spill out of my mouth, faster than I intended. Wally tries his best to hide it but I spot the disappointment clear on his face. Obviously hoping that this could have gone further.

If only I was able to articulate to him just how much I wanted to take things further as well. For now though, we’ll stay friends.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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I'm drunk life is fun

No Safety or Surprise

Wally Clark x Reader

Following a double death at Split River High, two souls acclimate with their new reality and the fellow ghosts that inhabit the school's grounds.

Word Count: 3k

Tags: Aftermath of sexual assault, no flashbacks to SA, mention of SA, reader's death is overlooked but Wally 's isn't, angst, comfort

Characters: Wally Clark, Reader, Dalton (OC, mentioned), Mr. Martin, Rhonda (brief), Janet (brief), Jasmine (OC, brief), William (OC, brief), David (OC, brief)

Read it on AO3!

Taglist: @xocellyy, @maggiecc, @pancake-flipper, @littlestxli, @trinitybaby6666, @somethingsomethingcranberries, @sst4r-ddu5t, @ghostlyaccurate

Want to join (or leave) the taglist? Click here!

A/N: The Doors title. Sequel to 'The End', which has gotten so much love that I don't even know what to say! Super thank you to everyone who wanted to be tagged, ya'll might make me cry. Thank you for clicking/reading my story, and I hope that you enjoy this one! This is my first time writing a sequel to a story, as I'm more partial to one-shots writing-wise. Unbeta'd, please heed the tags, and enjoy!

Part 1 | Part 2

Wally Clark Masterlist | School Spirits Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

You left Wally without saying a word, climbing to the top of the bleachers and curling in on yourself. You wanted to spit in his face and tell him that Dalton wasn’t the perfect teammate, average-grade goofball he played himself to be, that he had taken your life, soul, and body in one fell swoop. Instead, you left him more confused than before, still clutching at the stolen jacket draped on your shoulders.

Your non-beating heart ached for the first time since you found yourself on the locker room floor. For every second you spent with your legs up to your chest, heaving, a deeper hole was burying its way through your chest.

Your death went twenty-three minutes unnoticed, and when you were finally found, it was only because the football team was told to change after the game stopped.

You didn’t know how long you were up on the bleachers, finally praying for the first time in your life before someone approached you. You assumed it was Wally, hoping that he had finally realized what had happened to you, but you turned your head to see an older man dressed in a tweed jacket and glasses walking up to you.

“Y/N?” the stranger asked, sitting a level below you to meet you at eye level, “is that your name?”

He was skinnier than most teachers you knew, and his suit outdid anything they would be wearing.

He’s dead too.

Nodding your head, you brought yourself to sit on the bleacher level above him, scooting down to make distance between him and you. He didn’t move, instead placing his hands in his lap and sighing gently.

“My name is Mr. Martin. As I assume you’re already aware, you’ve passed away.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.

“I’ve been a local of Split River since the 50’s, and-”

“Are you some kind of grim reaper or something? You finally get off your ass to bring me to whatever’s supposed to happen after I die?” You interrupted harshly, glaring at your reflection in his square glasses. His slight trans-atlantic accent in his voice ticked you off on top of how you already felt.

“-Unfortunately, I’m not here to take you to the great hereafter,” he said, his voice a touch softer, “I am, however, here to offer you support if you are willing to take it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You asked.

“I know what happened to you, Y/N.” He said matter-of-factly, adjusting the way he was sitting as if he was uncomfortable with the statement he’d made.

Chills crept up your spine. “What?”

“I was there when the paramedics brought your body out from the locker room,” he rubbed above his lip tensely, “I’m here to let you know that there are others here that can help you get through this, a support group for the ghosts of Split River High.”

Scoffing, you move to get up and away from him and his proposal of an afterlife anonymous meeting. He didn’t follow you, instead raising his voice so you were able to hear him.

“If you change your mind, we meet in the gym every afternoon. Nothing formal, but it seems to have helped others in similar situations to yours.”

People speculated if you and Wally’s deaths were connected in some way- a jealous ex that found out the two of you had been together, a suicide pact; someone even started to say you poisoned him and then yourself because you were hopelessly in love with him.

No matter what people said, somehow, the blame always landed on you and never Wally.

It took three days for you to work up the courage to go back inside the school. Every time you approached a door, your feet wouldn’t move. When you finally got the courage to go inside, it was because the rain pouring outside pelted against the metal of the bleachers, and the sound was going to deafen you if you heard it any longer. It didn’t register that you were in the building until you saw the back of a familiar football player, no longer wearing the gear he died in.

“Wally?” You called out to him, making him spin around to face you.

The air of confusion he’d carried the night you two died was gone, instead replaced by a brightened smile and somewhat brighter eyes.

“Y/N, hey,” he walked towards you, mirroring posters plastered to the wall mourning him, “I was worried you weren’t going to come in any time soon.”

You knit your eyebrows, shifting at his open display of friendliness after not talking to you for the twelve years you were in school together. You knew of him— it was impossible not to, and the two of you had been in a few classes as you’d grown up.

He stood before you, hands tucked in his pocket, as you turned to look at the posters on the wall.

Rest in Peace - Wally Clark.

Son, student, friend to all.

Memorial - September 31st, 4:30 PM, Gym

Poster after poster, taped to every few lockers and pinned twice or three times to every corkboard. His graduation picture lined the halls and mocked you every step of the way. Wally’s death rocked the school like a thunderclap, and any whispers of your tragedy were drowned out by an outpouring of grief for the star athlete.

No memorial. No justice. Not for you.

Hundreds of posters, his locker transformed into a shrine, and there were even some candles lit despite the fire code of the school. All the while, your locker remained untouched—just another metal door collecting dust.

A hand gently touched your shoulder, causing you to spin on your heel and jerk your attention to Wally once more.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, taking a step back, his hands raised in surrender. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

The phantom beating of your heart thudded dully in response. You hadn’t been touched in days, not since your body was hauled out of the locker room like a broken piece of equipment.

“What do you want, Wally?” you asked, sharper than you intended. His brow furrowed, but his smile didn’t waver.

“I wanted to check on you,” he said simply. “Mr. Martin said he talked to you, but you didn’t come to the gym. Thought I’d see if you were okay.”

You let out a harsh laugh, glancing back at the posters. “Do I look okay? I’m dead, Wally. Just like you.”

And yet, it seems no one gives a shit that I died.

He tilted his head, studying you like you were an unsolved puzzle. “Yeah, but… you don’t have to do this alone.”

“And you’re suddenly the expert on post-death coping mechanisms?” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Why do you care anyway? You didn’t even know me.”

Wally flinched, his smile faltering for the first time. “That’s not fair,” he said quietly. “We were in different worlds, yeah, but I knew who you were— who you are. And I know what the living are saying about us. None of it’s true.”

“Which part? The suicide pact? Or the one where I poisoned you because I was obsessed with you?” You spat the words like venom, your eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“The part where they act like you’re the villain,” he said, his voice steady. “Like you’re not worth mourning.”

That stopped you cold. You stared at him, waiting for the sarcasm, for the punchline. But his eyes held nothing but sincerity, and it made your stomach twist.

“You don’t owe me anything, Y/N,” he continued, stepping closer. “But I’ve been to that group a few times. It’s weird, and Mr. Martin talks like he’s out of some old self-help movie, but it’s… not awful. And it’s better than being alone.”

You wanted to snap at him, to tell him to back off, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you swallowed hard and looked away, your eyes falling to the scuffed floor.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and unyielding. Wally shifted, the rubber soles of his sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor. His patience grated on you, not because it annoyed you, but because it chipped away at the courage you’d been building up for the past two weeks.

“What’s the point, Wally?” you muttered, your voice cracking. “What’s the point of sitting in a room with other dead people, pretending like it makes any of this better?”

He exhaled sharply, almost like he’d been holding his breath. “It doesn’t fix anything,” he admitted. “But it’s not about fixing it. It’s about… not letting it bury you. We don’t have to be forgotten, Y/N.”

Your throat tightened at his words. The posters, the memorial, the tears shed for Wally Clark—they felt like they came from a different world. A world where your name didn’t matter, where your death was just a footnote. But his voice, steady and sure, pierced through the bitterness threatening to consume you.

“Fine,” you whispered, the word barely audible. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, the bright sincerity in his eyes almost painful. “I’ll go. Once. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Wally’s grin returned, slow and genuine. “That’s all I’m asking.”

The gym was plain, almost too small for the group of souls that had gathered. Mr. Martin, with his stiff posture and small accent, sat in the corner, his hands folded neatly in his lap. The group was sparse, and each person’s presence piled more and more nerves as you swept your gaze over them.

You felt the tug of skepticism as you sat in an empty chair. The group didn’t move to acknowledge you, a few eyes lifting from their spots, but no one spoke. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but the lack of judgment felt almost alien.

Wally had sat next to you without a word, his presence oddly comforting as he simply offered a silent companionship. His clothes matched yours, save for his jacket, which you still had yet to remove. Some of the ghosts looked your way, but one’s gaze lingered between the two of you. She sat next to Mr. Martin, dressed in a short, colorful, and rectangular dress similar to things your older cousins would wear to events.

Mr. Martin cleared his throat gently, breaking the silence.

“Hello, everyone. I want to again thank you if you’re a returning member and welcome you,” he shot his eyes at you, “if you’re a new member. Since there are newer faces here, why don’t we go around the circle and just say our names.” He smiled, something uncanny lingering on his mouth as he turned to the girl staring between you and Wally.

“I’m Janet.” She said simply. Her voice was soft and concise, crossing her legs as the rest of the ghosts in the group introduced themselves.

“Hi, David,” said a man dressed in construction clothes, who was noticeably older than others in the group.

A boy not much younger than you piped up, a tie peaking past a Letterman jacket he was wearing, “I’m William.”

“Rhonda,” said one girl dressed like your estranged beatnik aunt, who had a seemingly never-ending supply of blow pops.

“And I’m Jasmine.”

The group wraparound had landed on you. You looked between everyone, searching out the chance they’d just let you past the introductions. Rhonda shot you a look of Come on, we’re waiting, and your lips were moving.

“I’m Y/N.” You hated how much your voice shook after you died, but the calm washing over you as Wally prepared his introduction was enough to make you forget it.

“I’m Wally.” He said, the sound of his golden smile ever-present in his words.

“Well, since we have a newbie,” Mr. Martin began, his voice soft but carrying pressure that you found hard to ignore, “Y/N, why don’t you start by telling us what brought you here today?”

All eyes turned to you, and the overwhelming need to jump from a top-story window returned a shock to your senses. The group waited once more for you to speak, some members exchanging glances that you’d catch in social settings when you were alive. Before you knew it, your lips were parting again and spurting words you were regretting the second you said them.

“I didn’t want to be here,” you started, your voice unsteady but not cracking. “I didn’t want to be dead, either. But what does it matter? It’s not like anyone cares about why I’m gone. They’re all too busy mourning him.”

You slung a hand towards Wally, not looking up, unable to see the faces in the room as you continued. “Wally gets all the posters, all the memorials. He was the star. The one everyone is giving a damn about. And I— I don’t even get a proper goodbye.”

Wally shifted beside you, but you didn’t want to hear him. You leaned your elbows on your knees and played with your fingers as you let the silence around you linger. You didn’t want to hear the words he or any of the other ghosts were going to say, and yet you prayed for the silence to end with something.

Mr. Martin, for once, didn’t jump in. Everyone around you was dead silent— pun not intended— and before you knew it, you were moving out of the gym and to a bench in the hall outside, tucking your knees under your chin.

You had no idea how long you sat there, your legs curled up underneath you, eyes fixed on the dirty hallway doors. Your chest felt hollow, and the anger had boiled down into exhaustion so deep you didn’t know if you could ever feel whole again.

The silence in the gym had crushed you. It wasn’t the kind of silence that made you feel at peace; it was the kind that forced you to confront all the things you hated about yourself, about how little people turned their heads at your murder. You’d never felt more alone, even when you were alive with your family as your only friends. Here, stuck behind glass to witness the aftermath of your death, you couldn’t do anything but watch as you were forgotten to time.

But you weren’t truly alone for long.

Wally’s presence, soft but steady, came through the gym doors, and you didn’t need to look up to know it was him. You felt his gaze on you before you saw it. His footsteps came slowly, as if he wasn’t sure how to approach you this time.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice unsure, though his usual easygoing nature had managed to bleed through.

You didn’t answer at first. The weight of everything was still crushing you.

You didn’t know what to say to him. All of it—every question, every unspoken feeling—was stuck in your throat.

“I just…” you began, the words coming out in a rush, “I don’t get it, Wally. How come it’s all about you? We both died, and yet there aren’t any memorials held in my honor or any remembrance of me being alive in the first place.”

Wally sat beside you, quiet for a moment. He didn’t touch you, didn’t speak right away. But you could tell he was thinking, his mind racing for something to say that wouldn’t make everything worse.

“Dalton surely isn’t going to forget you, I’m sure he’s already planning something in your honor— something, something better.”

Your resolve cracked suddenly, shattering in one fell move as you bowed your head and cried for the umpteenth time. Wally was silent but tried to offer a comforting hand on your back that you scooted away from instantly.

His presence was steady, but you could feel the tension radiating off him. You didn’t look up to see if he needed confirmation as to what your body was telling him.

“He… he was a monster. They’re letting him get away with it, I know they are, and it’s like no one cared that I was left for dead. People didn’t call me an ambulance or even see my body when it was still warm. Heleft me to rot in that locker room, and now he’s just strutting around like he’s lost something great, and I’m-” you hiccupped as you smeared tears away from your eyes, “I’m starting to feel like I’m going crazy because no one’s going to ever believe it happened. Even when the cops check out me, I just don’t think they’ll believe he’d do that kind of thing.”

Wally remained silent as you turned to look at him, his face pale and mouth slightly agape. Part of you wanted to know what he was thinking, what he wanted to say, and the other part wanted to burst up from your seat, run through the side doors, and condemn yourself to an eternity of sitting on the bleachers.

“I believe you.”

Out of everything you thought he was going to say, that didn’t even reach your mind. You turned to him, face beating to the rhythm of your heart, probably soaked from your tears and red from your crying.

“What?” You asked.

“You’re not crazy, Y/N. If anything, I think you’re braver than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“What?” You asked again, a small smile turning the slightest curve in your lips.

Wally laughed softly, slowly raising his hand to your face and thumbing the tears off your cheeks.

“You heard me,” he brought his hand to rest against your face, and you could feel the suffocating heat starting to leave you.

“What’s bravery have to do with any of this?” You questioned heat flooding in from where his palm remained against your cheek.

“It’s got to do with you sitting here, telling me,” he brought his other hand to lightly skim over the top of yours, “it’s got to do with you coming in and standing in these halls and bearing witness to the aftermath. I know you think the rest of the world is going to forget you, but, Y/N, I’m going to give my damnedest so you’ll never feel like that, ever again.”

Masterlist

Sex, Drugs, Etc.

Warnings: Talk of drugs/Drug use. Possible smut in the future. SH. A lot of plot. EXTREME Canon divergence. Before Maddies time. Set in 2022 - early 2023. Sleep Paralysis. Panic attack. Blood. Hearing voices. Disassociation. Suicide. Drowning. Rehab. Overdose. Vomit. Dead Body. Death. Self Depreciation. Angst. Relapse. Self Hate. Huffing Chemicals. Reader is Bipolar Coded Though Its Not Explicitly Stated. This is NOT meant to romanticize addiction or mental illness.

(The trigger warnings will grow as the story goes on. This story is dark and has a lot of mature topics. There will be specific warnings before every chapter. Please read responsibly. If you have any questions feel free to ask. :)

Title: Sex, Drugs, Ect.

Status: Ongoing

Parts: 9

Words: 18,192

Paring: Wally Clark x Fem!Reader (No use of Y/N)

You can also find this fic on Wattpad or AO3

{ Part one } { Part two } { Part three } { Part four } { Part five } { Part six } { Part seven } { Part eight } { Part nine }

-

School Spirits Masterlist

General Masterlist

Me a supposed writer that has never written anything public in my life when I can't find a fanfic thats pacific to the random scenario I thought of at 3:00am: Am I- am I just supposed to wright it myself??? 🤨🤨🤨

I remember taking French and being confused the whole time I don't think I learned a single thing I didn't already know

✨ GET TO KNOW YOUR MUTUALS ✨

tagged by the greatest writer I know @whoopsyeahokay

What's the origin of your blog title?

I technically don't have a blog title. It's just Patrick which isn't my real name I just really love spongebob and think Patrick is the realest character out there.

My user name patrickispinky is also because of spongebob. I was originally gonna go with patrickstar but it was already taken and so was patrickispink so I just added a y at the end.

OTP(s) + shipname:

okay I'm ngl I had no clue what opt meant so I had to look it up and Google said it means 'one true paring' Honesty I'm not too big on ships but if I had to pick one I would go with Nick and Charlie from heartstopper. Idk there ship name so like niclie or charlick.

Favorite color:

Right now my favorite color is lilac but I also really love earthy greens.

Song stuck in your head:

A pearl - mitski

Weirdest habit/trait:

Okay this is gonna sound really weird but I have a jar full of sequins that I pulled off of different things. I had a pillow covered in them that I just ripped them off of and put in a jar, same with this stuffed animal I had. I can't explain why I just had the urge one day and did it. Now anytime I have anything with sequins on it I just rip them off.

Hobbies:

Reading, writing, crying for no reason, listening to true crime podcasts, and arts and crafts.

If you work, what's your profession?

Right now I work part time at a local coffee shop but I'm in college studying in the medical field to hopefully one day be a nurse.

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be?

If you asked me I would just say a nurse but on a deeper level I'd say an actress and a poet. I love the idea of just being able to play out a character with passion and I've always written poetry to help me in dark times.

Something you're good at:

I thought about this question for longer than i'd like to admit and the only answer I can come up with is working. I'm a hard worker and when I don't have school work or work work I don't feel right.

Something you collect:

Jewelry, books, candles, and sequins apparently.

Something you forget:

I have to have alarms on my phone to remind me to drink water or I'd just live off of coffee and red bull.

What's your love language:

Gift giving and physical affection but only physical affection from certain people. Sometimes when the wrong person touches me it makes my skin crawl for no reason I can't explain it.

Favorite movie/show:

Right now it's School spirits 100% but my comfort shows/movies are criminal minds, the umbrella academy, spongebob, heartstopper, and family guy.

Favorite food:

Boiling hot potato soup and buttery bread.

Favorite animal:

capybaras, they are adorable.

What were you like as a child:

I think I was pretty quiet and shy but when it came to the right people I was fucking weird as shit.

Favorite subject at school:

English literature and art.

Least favorite subject:

Anything math related.

What's your best character trait?

I think I'm pretty fast thinking.

What's your worst character trait?

I don't exactly like people which sounds odd because I'm literally studying to be someone who helps people but sometimes they repulse me.

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be?

I'd choose to live somewhere with free healthcare. Them bitches cut me off 🥲

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet?

Jeffrey Dahmer, before you say anything I'm just curious. I'd want to have a one on one conversation about why. I've always wondered what could go through a person's head to make them think they can just eat people.

no pressure tag: @gabbyygoo (Honestly that's it I don't have any more mutuals other than whoopsy who's already tagged at the top)