My Thoughts Taint Your Look [ a regretevator partybeetle au ] [SMUTFIC]

Diary

( TW for self harm, suicide, black mail, and unhealthy coping mechanisms )

Quiet. Cold. Dark. That's how you would describe the subway. In the location lies a familiar insect, Pest. He was leaning next to the subway's vending machine, puffing out some smoke from a cigarette in his hand. It had been a while since he was in this particular location. He honestly forgot what the subway was like. It wasn't like he was going to board on a subway though. He was waiting for the infamous regretevator to arrive, an elevator that he didn't go to for months. He looked at the calendar on his phone as he waited. Today was an ordinary day for most people. But today was different for Pest. It'd been a year since Poob invited him to that party. That stupid party. He remembered Wallter's words very well. He was right. Just that one party changed his views on Poob. It was so gut wrenching. He didn't really know how to react.

Mostly because of Poob's suicide.

He couldn't remember how it went at first. The memories were too painful and blurry to process. Everything had to piece together over memory gaps and nightmares he would have since then. He remembered how panicked he was to get to Poob's apartment. He remembered running in and trying to search for the noob. He remembered spotting Poob sitting on a window sill, running up to them to try to grab them, even if it was a piece of clothing. But it was too late. He was too slow. He remembered the disturbing sound of Poob hitting the ground, the sound that would keep him awake at night. Everything was blurry since, but he could remember bits of himself screaming for Poob, the tears that flowed, the sound of him hitting their apartment floor in disbelief, and the breakdown of his that followed. Next thing he knew, he was at a hospital. He remembered texting Split and Infected about what happened, a doctor coming to him to tell him something related to Poob, and then nothing.

Things only went downhill from there. Regular regretevator users, all having some sort of connection to Poob, started to get weird messages from an unknown number. A lot of them opened up what the number sent them in confusion, only to see disturbing and explicit images of Poob. It was so shocking, but even more shocking when the same people heard about what happened to Poob hours or even days later. Pest was one of the people who received them, knowing full well who was behind it. The rage he had was violent and vengeful. He needed to find those monsters that drove Poob to end themselves. He needed to see them dead. He needed to see them beg for forgiveness only to die slowly and painfully. He went to every single party he could think of for weeks, searching for the people that Poob trusted as friends. Only all he could find was...nothing. Nobody in the parties would know where they were. He tried so hard to find them, even dragging Bive to use some of her detective knowledge on the case. But they could never be found. They all just disappeared off the face of the earth after that. He was devastated to know that they would never receive justice. Most likely they were off to find a new victim, someone to treat just like Poob.

After his vengeful plans failed, he stopped going out of his den. He isolated himself from the world, only going out to buy essentials. He wouldn't respond to anyone, not even Poob's closest friends. He missed everything that they invited him to go to. He never got to say Poob his final goodbye, or see them get buried. He never went to help Split and Infected make a memorial for Poob in their apartment. And he never once went out to pay his respects. He just didn't want to see anyone after what happened. He started to go back to his old coping mechanisms. There were nights where all he could do was make himself bleed over the guilt of not saving Poob. He thought about what he could've done. He should've gone with Poob at that party. He should've noticed they were gone from day one. And He should've ran a little faster to grab Poob just in time. Every slice of a blade punished him further, reminding him that he could've done something. Eventually, cutting wasn't enough. He started to regularly drink and smoke, keeping himself influenced on something just so the guilt could be numbed out. There were times where he even thought of joining Poob. It was too painful to live without them, he needed to see them again.