#and that my pride can't stand the fact I might be looked differently by my friends even tho the image they have of me is already quite silly

[recreationalfanfics]

Can I get a GOD! Reader with Poseidon, Thor, buddha, Loki

Were reader has a lover and one day war breaks out between the gods. And reader's lover is one of the gods that lost their life and the one who killed them is (Poseidon, Thor, Loki).

(My request is based on zhongli and guizhong story)

This wasn't implied to be yandere or not but there is def gonna be some Yandere in Loki's for sure because it's Loki. I'm also not really adding Buddha in this, sorry, but I have a three character limit!

They had always been jealous of your lover, that much was certain. If it wasn't for the war, it could even be labeled as a crime of blind passion (or obsession depending on the god).

"This wasn't what I wanted."

- All Thor wanted...all he could have dreamed of was to be with you, but as he watch your lover turn to dust, as does that dream he had held on too so tightly.

- It probably didn't help that he looked so emotionless and stoic, he couldn't help it. That was how his face was. He felt remorse immediately, wishing he could undo what he had just done instead of having to hear you cry and mourn.

- He can't remember much of the moment but he knew his feelings got the best of him when your lover was the God who challenged him. He had already won your love, won your hand, and Thor simply couldn't let him win that little fight. Not after he had taken all of you and left Thor with nothing but the memories of what could've been.

- That's all they'll be now, memories. You hit him but don't do much damage, he still allows himself to stand there and take it. Take it because he deserves it for putting you through so much pain. Your lover may have been gone but so were his chances with you.

- When you suddenly sob and weakly fall against his chest, he holds you and whispers an apology. He knows it won't fix this but it was the only comfort that he could give you. Truly, he wishes things would have turned out differently.

"What's been done can not be undone."

- He was cruel enough to say that you almost deserved it for not choosing him from the start. Poseidon is a prideful person, despite the fact that he truly held you near and dear to his heart; he wouldn't bother apologizing.

- It won't fix anything, it won't bring your lover back, and he can tell from your eyes that your heart was now filled with hatred and loathing. If you had any feelings for the god of the seas, they were gone now.

- You will not see him beg for forgiveness because he knows it will never be enough. If you loved your partner as passionately and as deeply as he loves you, he also would forever be mad.

- He would still have the audacity to try and convince you to be with him, you know, after killing your lover.

- Even if you don't choose him, at least he knows you won't choose anyone else because as much as it sickened him to say it, your lover was your world. So even if his chances to have you fall in love with him end up zero, it brings him a cold comfort to know that at least you'll feel the same

"He took you from me first!"

- Loki can't even claim he felt a single amount of remorse, not when the moment he saw your lover was open, he took that moment to strike them down. He was brutal and he was quick and they didn't even have time to react.

- It was just payback in Loki's mind. He longed and yearned for you for the longest time and YOUR STUPID LOVER SAW THAT AND TOOK YOU. It was their own fault that they died, if they had just realized you were HIS then they'd be alive.

- Might even laugh at you as your grieving for them. After all, they died so easily at his hand. However he soon gets annoyed because you distance yourself from him, he expected you to at least shout and try to kill him but you just...sulked. And that wasn't any fun.

- He'll try to egg you on to at least get mad at him but you knew it was what he wanted, that it'd only add to his satisfaction, and you were too tired to be angry at him anyways. Your heart still heavy with grief. Loki becomes even more moodier because even after they're dead, they're still stealing you away from him!

- This god feels like he'll die without your attention. Look at him, scream at him, hate him, love him. As long as it's from you, he'll want it all. So when you don't even acknowledge his existence, he will act out like a child. He's too angry to care and you're too heartbroken.

[theflyindutchwoman]

Grey gave me a rock-star review. Yeah, well, he should. You're amazing. I'm excited. I'm excited. Let's go to dinner tonight and celebrate. T-- Tonight, I can't. I'm sorry. I really, really want to, but I can't. I promised my friend that I would help him with something. Tomorrow night. Okay. Do you need any help? No, no. It's something I got to do on my own. But tomorrow night, it is a date. We are gonna celebrate you. Congratulations. They're really lucky to have you. Thank you.

| ANATOMY OF A SCENE - CHENFORD EDITION 5.13 - Daddy Cop

The joy these two exude every time they see each other, even if it's just in passing, is so pure… And the way neither of them can contain their excitement in this scene makes it that much more beautiful. Especially with how it parallels another moment, where Grey offered Tim a promotion. His reaction was so muted then, despite his obvious pride at his score, which served to highlight Lucy's enthusiasm. But now, he's just as ecstatic, like he's about to burst. This is so different, almost unTim like… And yet, it feels natural. Lucy is the only here, so he can fully be himself. There's no longer a need for pretense or walls. More than that : he knows that she will be just as happy and proud, so he doesn't have to hide his feelings.

I love how he doesn't immediately give her the news though, making her walk through the process instead… Which is so ironic, since she knows all about it. But in that moment, this was all about him for her. About his achievement. There's this second where her face falls a bit, after he corrects himself and explains that technically, there was an opening in Metro. It's something that tends to be overlooked but this is a good reminder that, while she may have orchestrated this five-player trade, she had no idea if it was going to work out, that he would be considered or offered the spot. That was completely out of her hands. She created an opening but he still had to get the job on merits. She was making a gamble with her career with no guarantee that it would pay off. That's how much she loves him. Of course Tim is unaware of her turmoil, all too happy to tell her the good news. And look at her being so enthusiastic, hitting him in the process - seriously, these two are making 'playful physical violence' a love language. It is so funny to see her suddenly remember where they are and check around her before dialling it down a notch, like she did in Follow-up Day, after catching Grey's and Tim's looks. And now, he is the one bouncing on the balls of his feet, almost bouncing. How the tables have turned!

And her words of affirmation, with the most loving look… the way the lighting is hitting her eyes, making them shinier… You can feel all the love. No words are needed here. And Tim being so over the moon… I don't think we have ever seen him that ecstatic before. The way he whispers the first 'I'm excited', just for them… They are in their own bubble, even though they are standing in the middle of the bull pen, with their colleagues in the vicinity. For two persons who used to avoid PDAs with their previous partners, it's quite telling.

The fact that he wants to take her out and celebrate this with her… this is a complete contrast from his prior reactions, including when he became a Sergeant. Lucy might be bummed that she can't celebrate with him that night, but Tim is not missing a beat. It doesn't matter when it happens. His big grin when she insists that they're going to celebrate him… The lower, and quite suggestive, tone of her voice… And again, those heart eyes and her words of affirmation… I love seeing this side of Lucy. Her choice of words are so significant as well : both in Follow-up Day and here, she makes sure to emphasise how 'lucky' the department is to have him. It really feels like a full-circle moment : back then, Tim gave up his promotion to finish her training and here, she played a part in securing him a new one. They're standing so close to each other, almost as if Tim is grabbing her belt to bring her closer to him… It even looks like they were about to kiss before Lucy catches herself and moves away, laughing. With a final lovetap on his shoulder. His big grin… The twinkles in his eyes… And his little nod at the end, as if he can't believe that this is truly his life… And you know what? I can't believe this is canon either.

[shujisprettybabe]

Nicolas Brown, Worick x Fem! reader

tw: implied nfsw towards the end…that’s about it.

A/n: I am so sorry about the person who requested this?? Like a freakin month ago?? I went on deployment🇺🇸🦅???💀 But I hope you enjoy it!! And sorry if they seem a little bit ooc!! If you want something different or better please let me know!!

Worick was no foreigner when it came to Lingerie. In fact, he prided himself on knowing the difference between them and what looked best on not only himself but his clients, although it never stayed on for long.

 But on you? Consider him a new man. Consider him never having seen lingerie a day in his life. Because you. Because you??

He’s flabbergasted. His jaw is dropped and he can't help the way his eyes rake your body, taking in the way the clothing compliments your breast  and completes your figure. He’s like one of those cartoon dog’s, you swear you could see the hearts in his eyes. 

The funny thing is, this is not the first time he’s seen you wear Lingerie. Throughout the few years you’ve been married and even through the years y’all have dated, he’d act a damn fool when you decided to surprise him with the lacy,silk clothing. He’s your biggest supporter and hypeman, can’t help but to feel like the most beautiful woman.

He whistles, a giant smile covering his face while he rises from the bed. His hands reach around your waist and pull you close. “Is it my birthday or is this a reward for good behavior?” He says with a smile that you can't help but match.

“Hmm? Oh this little ole thing? I’m wearing this for me.” You laugh out loud. “ ‘m just changing up my nightgown.” The faux innocence in your eyes has him chuckling. His hands slide down your form slowly before gripping your ass and pulling you even closer.

“Then I approve this new changeup. I’d like to indulge myself in this new change, if you don't mind.” And with that he picks you up. You can’t help the screech that leaves your mouth as he does with such ease. He places you down on the bed before kissing your breath away.

“So I’m guessing that means you like it?” you laugh.

“Oh my pretty wife, more than you’ll ever know.”

Unlike Worick, Nicolas Brown was a silent appreciator. The first time you walked into his room, he was already seated in a chair, his eyes closed and arms crossed. He had just gotten back from one of his job calls and was patiently awaiting the next one.

He noticed someone was in the room but waited till he felt the tap on his shoulder to open his eyes and the sight behold him had his eyes as wide as saucers . 

Not many things could surprise him or at least indicate it on his face.

But goddamn you looked like a goddess standing in front with a timid tilt to your smile. He swallows the lump in his throat and beckons you closer.

Instantly wrapping his hands around your waist and stroking the silky material. You wait patiently for him to finish.

And finally, he looks up. A soft smile decorates his lips and you let out a breath you weren't even aware you were holding as you replicate the same smile on your face.

He lets go of you to sign quickly before placing them back around your waist.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Nothing, just wanted to surprise you. You seemed a little stressed out from work and…I thought this might help.”

He lays his hand on your stomach and lets out a soft hum of appreciation before he’s suddenly up and softly pushing you away.

All for good reason of course. Nicolas Brown was very aware of his handsy and T-shirt stealing (although they both steal other’s clothes) roommate. And because of that, he’s also very aware that Worick does not have the concept of privacy when it comes to barging into other people’s rooms.

So like any sane man, he closes and locks the door before returning back to your beautiful figure.

Nicolas grabs you gently, treating you like you were made of glass before placing soft kisses on your forehead, cheeks, nose and lastly your lips. You both slowly melt into each other’s embrace, his hand slowly gliding up and down your back.

And you finally take a breath of air, his head  on your forehead. He pulls you back to sit on his lap as he signs. “You’re perfect. Thank you, love.””

You can’t help the smug grin that sets place on your face, feeling him underneath you.

“Let’s see how long this actually stays on.”His smirk matches your as he begins to remove his belt.

[dopscratch]

Spydad Excerpt

so a while ago i was just idk going wild over spydad and dadgineer and my tf2 headcanons and wrote this

idk if i will ever finish it but it doesn't seem right for it to just rot away in my docs

and yes i do have a LOT of headcanons for engie's family which i may share at a later date if the interest arises haha

i still absolutely love spydad and also extremely love dadgineer so this is certainly not the end

without further ado:

The Engineer prided himself on being able to solve practical problems, very efficiently with a copious amount of gun. He had a feeling this one would take a little more nuance.

---

Down in the dusty badlands of New Mexico, a Texan with a hard hat and oil-stained overalls offered his help to a rather taken aback Frenchman in a prohibitively expensive suit. It all started when a new man joined the team of mercenaries warring in the gravel pits two exorbitantly rich brothers were feuding over. Really, the new Scout was a kid, in his early twenties physically and even younger mentally. He adapted quickly to the job and his new coworkers. It certainly wasn't his first time he had worked as a trained killer, judging by the practiced ease he handled his weapons. The amount of gloating he did while slaughtering the enemy helped too. He fit right in with the rest of the questionably sane men, sharing that marked disregard for human life. However, the resident Engineer noticed something strange going on between the newcomer and the Spy. Usually, the masked infiltrator was distant and unseen on the battlefield, his only impact being the convenient disappearance of some enemy forces and the strategic destruction of a few buildings. Ever since the Scout joined, he seemed to be much more present and daring, stabbing backs in the frontlines much more frequently. In the Engineer's opinion, Spy had blocked far too many bullets cloaked in front of the young mercenary for it to be coincidental. The implications were so clear to him. Some might have called it an instinct, others may have chalked it up to excellent reasoning skills. Regardless, the assumption had planted itself deep in the Engineer's mind, and at a certain point just became fact.

"Say, son, how does it feel to work with someone you personally know?" The Engineer asked the Scout one day as they were getting ready to enter the battlefield.

"Eh? Whaddya on about, egghead?" The pure confusion from the Bostonian would have marked an embarrassing miscalculation on Engie's part if it weren't for the Spy, standing a couple feet behind the Scout, dropping his precious cigarette. Though he quickly wiped the look off of his face, it was enough. The kid didn't know.

"Ah, never mind. Musta spaced out for a second, mistook ya for someone else. Guess I'm gettin' old, huh?" The Engineer laughed good-naturedly and headed off for the gates, leaving the baffled Scout behind.

---

The Engineer was not done with this. Perhaps it was the sudden separation from his own kids, still a fresh wound even after months. In retrospect, he had no business in meddling with the two. Interpersonal relations strayed dangerously far from his area of expertise. In the moment though, he was not about to deny the kid the presence of a father who clearly still cared for him. So, he approached the Spy on that hot, dusty afternoon.

"Spy, I know we've got our differences, but I can't just stand here and watch that sad display you got goin' there between you and your son. If there's anythin' I can do, just say the word."

"What." Was all the normally eloquent Frenchman could muster in response. 

"Well, I'm a father myself, so I suppose I could give ya some pointers-"

"I don't think I need help from a man who was banned from seeing his own children," the Spy snapped back coldly.

"How didja know about that?" Even as the Engineer asked the question, he already knew the answer. Still, it was strange hearing it from someone else when he had put so much effort into separating his personal and work life.

"I am the Spy. It is my job. However, you are the Engineer. Your job is to make little toys to aid us in battle. So tell me, tinkerer, how did you know about me?" 

"Well..." He started, lifting a hand to adjust his helmet. "I noticed y'all been hangin' around a touch more ever since the kid joined..." The Spy raised an eyebrow.

"So you guessed. It was pure luck. Fascinating." The observation was nearly more sarcasm than accent, and Spy had a pretty heavy accent.

"I wouldn't say that," Engie quickly interjected, unwilling to take that blow to his ego. "I’d call it more of a... educated guess. A hypothesis, ya might say.”

---

and unfortunately that's all i've got, but hope you enjoyed :)

[wint3r-h3art]

Do you have any thoughts/canons on how Attuma would react to one (or a few 👀) of his underlings having a crush on his girl?

Personally I'm quite conflicted about what his reaction would be, given that he can be quite complex regarding emotions. Like, on one hand, he's a man of few words, stand-offish, and cocky even. So he might find it amusing to see his underlings gazing at reader since they are no match to him, could be proud even by the fact that he is courting such a fine woman, whose beauty and power make heads turn. So, in that sense, I think his underlings' pathetic attempts might only inflate his ego and drive him to woo reader even harder?

On the other hand tho, Attuma is incredibly possessive and territorial. He is a primal dom and once he decides reader is his, oh she is his. So the sight of his underlings looking at her and even trying to get her attention would just infuriate him. Not because he feels threatened but because reader is his and the underlings are forgetting their place. He's their fucking General/War Chief after all. I can already picture him catching one trainee getting distracted as reader walks by during training, and trying to impress her with some battle moves or flexing some muscles. Attuma's face would just be disfigured in a mix between disbelief and rage before he lands a clean kick to the underling's chest or a blow with his spear, to remind him of his place and who tf he's looking at.

I'm pretty sure he would just kill all of them either way. Like Namor and Namora walking into the training room and being like WTF HAPPENED TO ALL OF THE TRAINEES??!! lmaoo jk

Anyway, would love to read your ideas on this!

OOOH OK! This is a good one, and I like where you're going with this. It's good to recognize realistic emotions. As a person, we are complex creatures, and we react differently.

Disclaimer that this is my interpretation of the character, and if you do disagree with it, I don't know what to tell you, aside from that this is the vibe I got, and I'm running with it.

I headcanon his personality to be self-assured, and confident to the point of arrogant/cocky. He knows that he's good at what he's doing, and he has the skills to do it--very alpha male mentality tbh. Despite me joking around about him being a himbo, I don't necessarily think he is one. He's clever than that, and also very self-righteous as well. The whole stand-offish thing definitely is just him being prideful. He knows that he can get you if he wants to, and he knows that no one can beat him if he were to challenge. It's just a matter of him wanting to do the courting or not. Obviously, his pride may get in his way just because he doesn't want to be just among your number of admirers.

So I definitely agree that he would definitely laugh it off when his underlings are trying to hit on you. I just don't think he makes it too obvious about it though--again, he's so proud of who he is. It wouldn't look good for him to be among the men that court you.

If he does do it on his term though, the courtship would be something grand, and perhaps lavish. Something that would show how much you meant to him as well as his status among his peers as well. As a war chief, it is probably expected for him to go all out--the grander and the more ostentatious, the better. It would obviously kick everyone off as his competition.

As for his possessiveness, I would say yes and no.

Yes, he will be possessive of you, but only when you are his. He can get all frustrated and angry all he wants, but if you haven't agreed to be his yet, you don't belong to him, and he can't do a damn thing about it, except to win your affection. He can try to scare off other men all he wants, but at the end of the day, you are not his yet.

Doing all those stuff may ruin your chance with you, and I honestly don't think he would unless he wants to try your patience. I think he's clever than that. The battle doesn't always have to be something physical. He can easily manipulate his way to you if he tries hard enough.

I still think he's gonna punish them regardless of what they're doing, just that maybe he's punishing the ones that specifically hit on you more than the rest because #pettyking 🤣🤣🤣

[slythereen]

Hey, here I am with my 2 cents once again.

I saw your answer about why RBR would want to go with two number one drivers in the future, and I agree with everything. I just have one more point to add:

RBR were undoubtedly the fastest car on track this year. To the point that none of the other cars came even close. To the point that Checo with all his incompetence, bad qualis, lost battles, 30 seconds difference behind Max, Crashes, DNFs, ill stop myself here... still managed to not only get number 2 in the standings but also lock it 3 races before the end, ahead of a 7 times champion. They were DOMINANT. It does not get better than this. In fact it can only get worse. RBR can't assume that the situation will stay this way for the coming 2 3 years. And they especially can't assume that it will stay this way in 2026 with the new regulations and Audi joining. And seeing Checos performance this year, Red Bull might need to look for a more competent driver in the future in order to keep the dominance, to keep winning the constructors, to keep breaking records. They can not (and will not) assume that Checo will be enough next year. Because what if Mercedes or Ferrari closes the gap and Checo keeps making the same mistakes? Sure, maybe they'll still win but they pride themselves on the dominance, on breaking records, they want to be a top team. In that case they NEED someone like Charles. If the others teams get better they need 2 great drivers to fight that, not one. And I think Red Bull are very aware of that. On top of all the other stuff you mentioned obviously.

I do think Red Bull and Christian are thinking of everything and have all grounds covered for the future. And I think that so does Charles. Which is why I believe there is a pre contract between the 2 sides. It's too perfect for both of them. Both at this moment (with Charles using it to negotiate with ferrari) and Red Bull using it as a "if it's needed" thing for the future. And if you think Charles wouldn't be available to Red bull just like that if they need him remember Helmut and his Aston Martin love child promised and delivered by Christian. If there is one thing this man can do is turn you over to his side.

Thank you for listening and have a nice Sunday evening 💖

‼️‼️‼️

i have nothing else to add to this scholarship because it’s very on point. very much doubling down on charles knows what he is doing and i have faith in his plan because i have faith in him

[artemis32]

I saw that you created a master list of manager kim, so as I like manwhas + yandere= my obsession. So, can you make a platonical yandere of the main character? Where we are the youngest daughter and not ashamed of our father. The rest is up to you

Platonic Yandere Manager Kim I

****

I absolutely love Manager Kim, he terrifies me

****

Manager Kim Masterlist

****

****

Manager Kim is such an amazing father, that much is obvious. He goes above and beyond what is expected of a parent, and he would truly sacrifice his life for his children.

Even without being a yandere, it's clear that he is incredibly protective.

Now, your father loved you even before he met you. Some might say he was obsessed with the idea of having a daughter more than actually loving you, but he knew the truth.

He loved you - no matter how you looked, acted, thought, no matter what kind of a person you would one day become - he loved you regardless of any of that.

When he held you in his arms for the first time, he felt his world halt for a moment. You were so small, and he held you so awkwardly in his arms - terrified to move even a few centimetres, terrified he may accidentally drop you.

I'll be writing under the assumption that you were born from a one night stand - that being said, he didn't care a whole lot about your mother.

It sounds pretty heartless, cruel even, but really, he was only there for you. And your mother understood that.

She signed away all of her rights as soon as you were born, content to continue with her life and leave you with your father. At least she had the decency to leave you with him. She could have done far worse - put you up for adoption, or abandon you in some forgotten alleyway.

He scrambled to get to you once he found out about your birth. He was a bit pissed off - after all, your mother had been pregnant for nine months - more than enough time to let him know about the biggest blessing in his life.

All his anger and annoyance were washed away, forgotten as he stared down at you for the first time.

He had already decided that you were the most important thing in his life, but that moment solidified his resolve.

For you, he would gladly put himself second.

From that moment onwards, you came first in every aspect of life.

****

You were very different from your older sister.

She seemed to despise your father. She scoffed at him when he tried to reach out to her, she threw all his sacrifice for her back in his face.

And he never said a word.

He knew that Minji was ashamed of him. He knew that she thought he had no backbone, no pride.

But he didn't care. Not when he did it for her. For both of you really.

It was better than the alternative. Better than fighting, arguing, getting into disputes that couldn't end well.

He sucked up his pride, bit his tongue, and allowed others to treat him badly so that his daughters would have a good life. He provided as best he could.

Clearly Minji didn't think his best was good enough.

But you.

You loved your father.

Minji was older than you by a year and a half. She often acted like it was far more.

She couldn't understand why you were so accepting of your father, of his borderline cowardice. How could you not be ashamed of someone like that?

Your answer was simple. You saw and understood everything that he did for you, and you appreciated him far too much to be ashamed of him.

****

Your father didn't like you going out by yourself. If possible, he tried to go with you whenever he could. And when he couldn't be there, Minji went with you.

Minji may be embarrassed by her father, but she does love him.

And she loves you too. Almost as much as your father loves you.

So she doesn't mind accompanying you on shopping trips or the occasional girl's day out. In fact, these outings are some of her best memories.

It works out very conveniently when your father approaches her and asks her to watch over you when he can't.

If your father notices how happy she is about it, he doesn't mention it.

As a family, you all tend to keep to yourselves a lot. Minji is the most outgoing of the three of you.

You're a home body, something that both pleases and worries your father. He's pleased because he loves the fact that you like to stay at home, where he knows you're safe and comfortable, and he loves knowing that you enjoy his company. On the other hand, he's worried that he's setting you up for failure later on in life - after all, social skills are important, and you need to learn to get along with people your own age.

He knows a lot more about what's going on in your life than with Minji. A part of him knows that he's being unfair, both as a person and as a parent, but some inexplicable part of him feels more concern, more love, more emotion for you than for Minji.

The guilt tends to chew at him, but he knows that Minji feels the same.

Yes she loves her father, but she definitely loves you more. Her dear younger sister, the one she feels the need to protect and guide.

****

When you were younger - a small child, bright eyed and eager to start school, you had been extremely clumsy.

Always coming home with wrinkled clothing, random scratches and bruises, often covered in dirt.

Your father had assumed that you'd been playing around like any normal child would, and that you had a quirky habit of bumping into things.

The truth, he discovered, was quite different.

He didn't understand how anyone could dislike you. You were too adorable, too achingly sweet to hate.

But there were people that didn't like you. Small children in your class that would push and shove you, steal your lunch, tear up your work, take your things.

And the teachers were no better. Some - most - of them were completely oblivious. They assumed that it was nothing more than a few children playing as children do.

There was one teacher, your teacher, who knew the truth. She knew and she did nothing.

Your father was sure to take care of her when the time came.

He found out when he stopped by one day to drop off your coat that you'd forgotten at home, and he'd seen you shoved to the ground by a boy slightly taller than you.

The rage had left him shaking as he'd grabbed you away and found the teacher.

What had followed was a long, drawn out argument that had led nowhere in the end.

At that moment, he had decided to take matters into his own hands.

Of course he wouldn't hurt the child directly. As much as it pained him, he refused to hurt the source of your suffering, not when it was a child.

Instead he paid a visit to the child's family.

Needless to say, the entire family had packed up and left not long after that. And the neglectful teacher had miraculously found another job far, far away.

That had been the last incident you'd faced for a while, it was something your father had made sure of.

****

Your father wants you to have friends, he knows that you deserve it. But he doesn't truly like it when you go out.

And maybe you've picked up on that. Maybe that's why you so rarely leave the house.

The only people you're really friends with are your sister and father.

Of course, you have one other friend, one you occasionally see.

Taehoon Seong.

When you and your sister were younger, your father taught the both of you the bare basics of self defense.

He wanted you to be able to protect yourselves when he wasn't around.

Your sister never really took a liking to it, she said it was too violent for her tastes. But you enjoyed it.

The discipline, the structure of it, it gave you a sense of peace. And your father saw that.

So he took you to his old friend, and you started lessons in what quickly became your favourite sport.

Taekwondo.

Your father was happy to see you interacting with someone near your own age, and Taehoon also had a strange sense of care for you.

His somewhat protective nature over you set your father at ease, so you were allowed to befriend him.

****

One thing your father dreaded thinking about was the prospect of boys.

He shuddered when he thought about it and prayed that the day would never come.

And if it did - well, he had a few tests this boy (or girl) would need to pass on order to get to you.

Sometimes he thought about how negatively your lack of friends would affect you, but he preferred to push those thoughts aside.

Of course, you had more than enough interaction with others when you went to school. And sometimes, if he felt it was safe enough, he'd bring you with him to work.

Especially when he started at the White Tiger Job Centre.

He'd been heavily against it. It was a violent job and you could easily get hurt.

But he could never say no to you, not when you begged him, eager to spend time with him and see what his new job was all about.

It would be a very funny coincidence if you happened to run into the crew members of Workers.

And perhaps you take a strange liking to the two people your father is supposed to get rid of - Daniel Park and Warren Chae.

After all, they're so kind, and you so desperately want new friends.

Your father treasures you, and he would gladly spare the two, and their friends, if it would make you happy.

[zhongyeet-me-to-the-moon]

Till we meet again part 4

Previous chapter here

Till we meet again Masterlist.

Pairing: childe/foul legacy x reader

Type: story, slow burn rekindling

Warnings: Mentnions of child s*lf h*rming near the end but nothing too graphic

There were a few things different from the foul legacy you saw before, albeit few as they were.

The most noticeable was his lack of speech, degrading to nothing more than a few clicks and squawks similar to a raven or a crow.

The second was the single eye on his mask blinked, maybe it did it before but you never noticed it till now.

The last was the cape, now turned to a pair of wings akin to a moth, still just as deep navy blue, with seemingly the stars shimmering in it when it hit light.

If it was anyone else you would almost call it beautiful. Though it was him, and it wasn't by choice, so it wouldn't be much of a compliment even if you did say it out loud.

The first couple days were horribly awkward, part of your contract was you had to sit and eat with him not just bring his food up. You tried asking what he'd like to eat, but he was still giving you the silent treatment so you just bought what you wanted in double portions.

The conversation wasn't much better with him practically being mute selectively or not. You talked about the few things you did for the parlor, going on "ride alongs" as it were with Hu Tao meeting clients. "To learn the business" was the excuse but truthfully you weren't paying much attention. Part of you saw it invasive since you weren't actually working there.

"I heard about what you did here as well, that you were the one that killed Rex Lapis, summoned osail, no wonder the fatui are on Liyues watch list now." You chuckled at the thought, Childe felt a bit of pride enter him again, but then he recalled the fight with the traveler that left him in this state and it all came back to him his situation.

This fucking sucked.

"Oh the replacement books should be coming in tonight as well. They must've paid a lot for that amount to come so quickly. It must suck not having much to do in the mean time. Zhongli had new ones from the ones you had come in so I hope you weren't in the middle of reading one." He didn't answer again, you sighed in frustration. "Look I know were not exactly on the best terms but I'm trying here ok? Can you at leat do the same?" He let out a squawk in your direction, you rolled your eyes. "Gee thanks."

Giving up you grab the plates and folded the table up, placing it next to night stand as it was really the only place it would fit.

"I'll be back for dinner, try not cause a ruckus while i'm out."

You walked downstairs with a sigh, putting the plates in the small kitchen that the parlor had.

"Hey mopey, how's the patient upstairs?"

You're still not used to how quiet Hu Tao appears. "Going about as well as you think it might." You add.

"Well at least there hasnt been any banging! Must mean they like you." Oof, you scoffed at that.

"Doubt that. He's barely said a word to me since I arrived."

"So it is a he. Interesting."

"Yes and before you try snooping anymore, I'm under contract not to go into details about it."

"I know I know, it's just so frustrating to have such an important secret like this be right under my nose! I can't even talk to Zhongli about what funeral rights to perform if it goes unwell!" She sighs dramatically and goes to sit on the counter your washing the dishes near. "To have a secret wane on the heart so small, let secrets lie till death do call." She laments. You roll your eyes at the poetry. Strange to hear such an eccentric person speak so elegantly, though you've now seen times where she takes her job very seriously with the customers that come in. She's grown on you that's for sure. Partially due to the fact she's the only other person you've talked to since arriving.

"Well he's not going to die any time soon, so get that thought out of your head Missy. I just wish he'd try a little to get along with me."

"Yes Zhongli did mention that this guest wasn't fond of many people, maybe try doing something with him instead of just meals?"

"That's easier said than done Hu Tao, he's under house arrest."

"Oh there's lots of things to do indoors! Board games, play music, painting, maybe buying a kamera and taking pictures outside will help the cabin fever."

"Or remind him of the situation he's in."

"Well it never hurts to try, you haven't seen much of Liyue yourself since being here. Unfortunate since there's so many nice place here. How about you buy some of the things I mentioned before to start!" She takes out a notepad and pencil that she had in her pocket, writing down a list of locations to get the items. "I know this must be difficult for both of you, but you seem nice enough to put a smile on anyone's face. I certainly don't regret meeting you. I'm sure it's only a matter of time before you are on good terms with him like he is with Zhongli." You smiled at the reassurance and dried your hands to pick up the list.

"You're sweet Hu Tao thank you. You sure you won't need me in the mean time?"

"I can handle things just fine here. Go out and enjoy yourself for a bit ok?"

You gave Hu Tao a hug goodbye, finishing putting the dishes away before grabbing a basket to put the items in. At some point you got a bunch of copies of papers with Hut Tao and Zhonglis signature so you can give the the vendors to put it on the Funeral Parlors tab. Though you did pay for some of it out of your own pocket, didn't seem right to put it all on them when it's your personal stuff.

It was sunny today, so you planned on having a snack near the docks before it came time to bring Childe his lunch.

Maybe cooking something from the mother country will help lift his spirits a bit.

You bought the items listed, a few board games, some canvases and oils along with a couple sketch books and carol. ( buying the thicker set ones as his current state left his hands not being able to hold much). Everyone was very accommodating for the most part. Though tension did rise a bit when you brought up being from Sneznhneya. You even bought a lute for the heck of it, you had no idea if he played, never did when you were together in 3 years, but you know he does like music. When it came time to go back you had seen a fair share of the Harbour, and walked the top bridges of the buildings to get a better view. It truly was a beautiful city, even if in the distance ships could be seen still picking up debree from the Jade Chamber, shame you couldn't see it when it was high in the air. You always heard it was Liyues prize possession. Maybe when it gets rebuilt you can visit some time.

The last items you bought were the ingredients for Shchi, a cabbage soup you often had when you were sick as a kid. A fond memory. You bought all the ingredients, taking care they were packaged well and the greens won't be squished before making your way back, the sun just beginning to set when you did.

Hu Tao talked while you cooked, you made sure to have enough portions for her to enjoy some as well as the lady at the front desk (who you learned only went by her title ferrylady. Macabe but at least you had something call her i guess?) . You were bombarded with questions about the food from home, for a while your job in that building was all forgotten, it was just two friends getting to know each other. You ladled the soup in two containers and put the basket of the items you bought around your arm and made your way up. You took note of the large packages of presumably books that laid waiting outside the door.

You knocked lightly on the door to let him know you were entering before maneuvering yourself as not to spill anything.

Coming in though, he was sleeping. You set the items down on the bedside table.

You haven't seen him sleep yet in this form, it was peaceful, there was no pensive look in his single eye or frustration. You truly do feel bad with the situation he's in. Out of curiosity you reached to pet the main of hair he had, it was soft like fur, thick and ruley due to lack of care. Does he even have a brush? You never entered the bathroom he had. Eventually though you worried the soup would grow cold so you began to shake him awake. "Childe? I brought dinner, can you wake up for me?" It took a bit more shaking till he grumbled awake, he flinched a bit upon realizing you're touching him, which you removed your hand promptly. "Sorry. The soup would get cold if I had you sleep any longer though."

You stand up, beginning the routine of taking out the folding table and placing the soup and sides on the table. At this point a smaller table that could fit in his bed was brought in since he didn't want to eat at the table with you, so the routine for setting that up also began as he rubbed the sleep out of his...eye, and groggily watched you in silence. Then he saw the soup you prepared and all the sneznhneyan sides along with it. He chirped in confusion.

"Nice right? I thought eating foreign food for so long must not be great for the palette. So I made the simplest recipes I could remember." You put the soup and sides down on his table along with the silverware. He hesitated for second till you stopped watching him and ate yourself.

Archons it was so good. He thought. Memories flooding back of being home with his sibling fighting over who got to help cook and helping wash the dishes with his parents after. He missed home. He didn't think he'd be here this long, he was meant to leave back to Sneznhneya 2 weeks ago. He refused to acknowledge the memories of eating dinner with you so many times before this.

"I bought some board and card games and paints to help pass the time. The books came in as well I just need to bring them in, but Hu Tao thought it might be nice to do something other than reading." You spoke, bringing him out of his daze. He chirped a bit in confirmation that he was listening.

That's process at least right? You still don't really know what he's saying but at least he's saying something.

You both ate in relative silence after that, but it wasn't as uncomfortable as it has been the last couple days now. You picked everything up and and set the items you bought and books on the shelf before bidding him a goodnight.

When you left he just stared at the door for couple minutes, then realized a couple minutes later he was crying. He tried to stop it, putting his hands to his face to rub them away, only to get mad at the reminder he only has one fucking eye now. He scratched at the scabs forming around his mask that he hoped the fur covered, recalling the night before all but taking something to try and cut the damn mask off.

He layed down on the bed, staring up at the new fabric that covered the canopy. He didn't know how much longer he could handle this, the weight of all of this finally settling in now that Zhongli wasn't visiting to give update on his progress to finding a cure. And archons did you being near make everything worse.

He never had regrets for his actions before. But if he just said yes to you buying a house with you, to taking less jobs for the fatui and refused to come to Liyue in the first place, then none of this would've happened. At the moment he wasn't regretting leaving you it was mostly just taking this job, getting so deep that he summoned a God and everything. He laughed a bit how earlier in the day he felt pride. Pride? Fuck. He laughed again, as he always did to try and soothe himself.

Zhongli better come back with an update soon.

.....

[dank-meme-legend]

I can grow and improve in many areas, but some things stay the same

I might always hate starchy denim from specific brands

I might always be fixated on the same handful of things

These are not things I can outgrow

I wish people could understand that

I wish people could accept that

There's such a terrible sense of guilt when I can't try on jeans like anyone else can

A sense of failure, of defeat

That I have to sit in the dressing room and tell myself over and over again, "Have an open mind, these looked good on the rack. They look soft enough."

I feel pride when something fits or is comfortable

That is a success

But when something fits too tight, itches, or the seams dig into my skin

That is a failure

And I'm nine years old again

Newly conscious of just how pathetic, lame, [redacted] weird I really am

And no one understands

I go to school and the too-tight jeans and incredibly soft shirts mom dresses me in are a nightmare

I can't even think because it feels like fire ants or sandpaper strapped to my legs all day long

And the shirts are soft and safe

And that contrast is Hell

And I'm miserable and on the verge of tears

No one understands

I grow up with these issues and its expected of me to outgrow them

Because if I outgrow them

That is a success

If I act normal

That is a success

Do you see why I take so much pride in being autistic?

Despite all the walls and hurdles constantly put in front of me?

It's hard to be proud when I've been told to be normal my whole life

But I have never been normal

I was two years old, talking about Elmo non-stop to anyone who'd listen

I was three or four, playing the same songs over and over again, and never talking to little kids my own age

I was six years old, rocking in my chair when I got anxious and not knowing how to make friends

I was eight, watching all the girls in my class play with their Monster High dolls and wanting to join it, but all I could do is awkwardly stand near them and give them fun facts (and be excluded when talks of birthday parties came up, never invited once)

I have grown up very clearly different

I have learned to adapt and make my life more comfortable

But sometimes

Sometimes

I will still have problems

Problems from childhood

And that's okay

That is not a failure

It is a fact

Of life

[kitkatwinchester]

F*CK!

I HATE THAT!!!

I HATE THAT F*CKING MANIPULATIVE SOCIOPATHIC B*TCH!

GROOMING!!!

LITERALLY GROOMING!!!

STOP THAT'S DISGUSTING I HATE YOU GO THE F*CK AWAY!

...anyways.

Prior to that terribleness, I was loving EVERY moment, and I think the show did officially get me on one thing.

I think I ship Sterek now. XD

Like, I was kind of digging it previously, but I wouldn't necessarily have considered myself a Sterek shipper.

That entire sequence with Scott's dad totally changed my mind. XD

Like, maybe I needed de-aged Derek and Stiles interactions to solidify that in my brain.

Which sounds bad, but hear me out.

I understand that Derek isn't actually that much older than Stiles is, so it's not an age difference thing so much as a maturity thing. Like, Derek has just been through SO much, and he started as a somewhat mentor figure to Scott, so I think it was hard for me to see early Stiles and Derek (Seasons 1 and 2) as a thing because I felt like there was too much of a mental disparity between them at the time.

But now Stiles has been through a lot, and Derek has softened more and opened up a lot, and I think I was getting more open to the idea of it in Season 3, so now, to see a de-aged Derek with slightly less trauma and a normal Stiles with slightly more trauma, they feel more like they're on the same level than they ever have, and now I TOTALLY see it.

So...yeah. That's my way over analysis of Sterek, but the point is, now I will happily ship it, because I get what you all mean now in how well their personalities match when they can actually see each other on the same or similar levels lol.

REGARDLESS, however, all of that with Scott's dad was pure gold. The fact that Stiles called Derek his cousin Miguel AGAIN (we love some good Season 1 parallels) and the fact that, despite Stiles trying desperately to get Derek to take the hint, he was refusing and going against Stiles literally just to be a little sh*t, was literally so good.

And the absolute panic in Stiles's face and voice when Rafael started talking in Spanish, followed by the absolute bafflement when Derek responded, and Derek's utter smugness and pride when he bonded with Rafael, much to Stiles's dismay, just SENT me.

And then Stiles made up "Juarez Cinqua Tiago" on the spot and Derek just glared at him, but then he looked at Stiles sooo sassily and pointedly when Rafael asked how you spell that and Stiles responded with "phonetically".

And THEN, because of COURSE he did, Stiles literally pulled the "I didn't lie! I just omitted certain truths." when Derek questioned him because of COURSE he would. Plus, Stiles's "don't move" and then pop back in and genuine surprise at the fact that Derek did not, in fact, move, was just so adorable and I just CAN'T with him.

And I'm sorry, I know it's really bad that Kate has Derek now, and I had my hand over my mouth when she first stepped out into the bedroom, but then I laughed SO hard at the comedic timing with Stiles.

"So if you actually think that Kate's coming to find him--" *sees that Kate has come to find him* "You might be right." *cringes*

Oh Stiles. You will always make everything better. As much as I loved Season 3b, it's nice to have my baby back to his old self. <3

Also as a very quick aside, I know we don't REALLY trust Peter, and I stand by that, but d*mn if he isn't funny as h*ll. And everything about him finally realizing what Scott and Malia were getting at (also, gotta appreciate the fact that he picked up on Malia's lack of knowledge about their relationship and chose not to out it right then and there) was just really great and that was a really cool sequence and I kind of love him despite everything he's put us through and will probably continue to put us through.

ANYWAYS.

Trying to pull Derek away from Kate when he trusts her more than us right now is gonna suck, but if anyone can bring a pack member back, it's the McCall pack!

(Yeah okay you got me. I ship it now. XD <3 <3 <3 )

[celestemagnoliathewriter]

I can't tell if you like the Marauders or Snape more. Which one do you like?

I like and dislike them both for different reasons. I'm not really anti any of them, nor am I pro any of them (except older Remus!). They all have their pros and cons, which I'll very briefly list here:

James: we know so little about him from canon, other than the fact that he bullied/pranked others, eventually won Lily over, fought in the war, and died in an attempt to give Lily time to run off with Harry. I actually think of James as a "woke" Draco Malfoy, in that he's got all the pampering and swagger, fighting for the "little guys," but not super aware of the broader societal problems. He's a teenager, to give him some credit, but his worldview is rather distorted. As a character, I'd give him a 5.5/10. He's okay.

Peter: we know more about him, thankfully. He was the tag-along friend. In one of my fics I tried exploring how and why he gave into Voldemort, and my conclusion is that his friends grew up and moved on but he didn't. Remus was off with werewolves, Sirius was doing who knows what, and James had a family. We know Sirius & James were the closest, so it's safe to assume that after school, their little group fell apart a little. Peter got left behind and when faced with defending his old friends or joining what looked like a stronger cause, it makes sense. Not to say Peter's betrayal is on his friends - he still had full agency - but my head canon is that Peter felt left out and took his anger out in a really misguided way. As a character, I'd give him a 4/10. Meh.

Sirius: we know a lot more about him! Adult Sirius and teen Sirius are almost two different people to me. So we'll start with teen Sirius. Teen SB is a little shit. He, like James, is a product of his upbringing. Yes, he wants to rebel and fight for the good guys. Yes, he wants to fight against prejudice. However, in doing so, he forgets about others' feelings or how his actions affect others. His temper and pride get the best of him - he thinks he's better than others because he, too, is "woke." As an adult, he's better, in some ways, because he does recognize mistakes and he's more than punished for it. He eats rats for Harry to stay closer to him. He improves with time, like a good wine. 7/10.

Remus: just like Sirius, I need to differentiate between adult Remus and teen Remus, but he's got similar issues either way. Remus is a coward at all ages. He wants so desperately to be liked (understandable, given his condition) that he doesn't call out what's going wrong. He is loyal to a fault. He hides behind excuses over his wrongdoing or his inaction. He's not challenged very much - none of the Marauders are - in terms of personal growth, until he's older. This is why I ship Remadora and not Wolfstar. Tonks challenges Remus to be better; Sirius is literally in arrested development after the age of 22. But, this paragraph is about Remus. By the end of DH, he's happier and has shown tremendous personal growth. 10/10. Chef's kiss.

In a brief scenario to show what I mean, imagine the four Marauders dealing with aggressive racists:

Sirius and James: start beating them up after a heated argument because "that's what they deserve"

Peter: joins in the beating up because Sirius and James went in first and are clearly winning

Remus: doesn't think solving violence with violence is the right thing to do, but stands to the side and says nothing.

Now, for Snape:

Snape: again, teen Snape vs. adult Snape, two different people. We'll start with teen Snape. He is understandably bitter. Like the others, he's looking for a place to belong. He might have creepy little friends and a desire to "out" Remus as a werewolf, but none of these things deserve death or torture. As for his friendship with Lily: they are both immature. Lily probably doesn't understand the enmity and implications of the relationships among wizards in the houses or by blood status. What Snape said to her - calling her a Mudblood - was not unforgivable, IMO, especially considering the trauma that led up to it. However, Lily's a teen girl in this scene and she's got her own friends who likely haven't helped. Snape loses Lily, and at that point he's really got nothing left to lose.

OK, now for the big things. Snape trying to save Lily while not bothering with Harry or James. I definitely think he didn't care if James lived or died. I think Harry, in Snape's eyes, was a lost cause. Voldemort was set on killing the kid, and Snape had probably seen enough that he knew it was a lost cause. That being said, if Lily had survived, I doubt the friendship could be salvaged. Was it selfish of him to want to save Lily only? I think so. But, like many people (realistically) he wanted to save his own priorities.

Now adult Snape - no excuses for the way he treated the children, even if he was covering as a Death Eater torturing Gryffindors. Yes, all the teachers at Hogwarts had their issues (and this is a red herring logical fallacy, btw, to compare Snape to others), and Snape was particularly cruel.

That being said, he was committed to defeating Voldemort, even if his reason was very personal. He was committed to helping Harry stay alive, again, even if it might've just been revenge on the man who killed Lily. He's neither the first nor the last person/character to go into a battle with a single cause. He could've said screw it, I'm out, but didn't. Yes, he was a dick to children and yes he was cruel, but he was committed, till the end, to helping Harry, Dumbledore, and the Order to defeat Voldemort.

I give Snape a 7/10 for similar reasons as I gave Sirius a 7/10. He made some major mistakes - and continued to do so - but where it mattered most, he helped.

In the example above of Marauders dealing with racists, this is a bit how I see it if Snape had been involved:

Snape: does nothing immediately. Plans a long, slow burn to destroy the racists' cause, lives, and credibility. Changes nothing about his life otherwise.

So...to answer the question...took a little time to get there, whoops...Marauders = meh. Teen Snape = meh. Adult Sirius = better. Adult Remus = give me more of that man. Adult Snape = better.

[shinuiiwrites]

I Fucking Love You 00

prologue.

Senior High Graduation Day...

"With High Honors, Benitez, Tokyo Cassandra M.!" A smile made its way to her face when she heard what the MC said. All of the years she dedicated to her high school studies didn't go to waste. In the end, she'd say goodbye to her school with smile and pride.

Tokyo walked up to the stage after her classmate and shook the hands of the school executives before claiming her diploma. She wore a big smile as she faced the people before the stage including her mother who was busy taking photos of her.

Once done, she walked back down and went back to her seat. When she settled down, she heard her classmate talk beside her. "You might be our Salutatorian this year."

Tokyo turned to her and smiled. "I don't think so, my average is just 95.6. I barely got to the second tier."

After their strand ABM, it was time for the next, STEM. She was anticipating for them because one of the students under that strand is Frost Hidalgo, her long-time crush.

Ever since their elementary years, she was classmates with him. But when their Senior High year came, they were separated because they chose different strands.

She chose ABM because she liked it but it was mainly because of her parents pushing her to pursue the course. Meanwhile, Frost chose STEM because he'll pursue a doctorate specializing in pediatrics when he gets to college.

"With Honors, Hidalgo, Frost C.!

She was cut off her trance when she heard the MC's voice announce his name. When she saw him walk up to the stage with the same expressionless face he wore throughout the years, she eagerly clapped along with other students.

Her smile widened when he faced them to take pictures.

She was then stunned when he suddenly made eye contact with her while facing them. She gave him two thumbs up but his expression didn't change at all.

'Well, at least he saw me.' Tokyo thought once he walked down the stage and returned to his seat.

After the ceremony, Naomi walked towards her and congratulated her.

"Congratulations to us on graduating High School!" Naomi then clung to her as they walked out of the building to greet their parents outside.

When they got out, many students and parents were scattered around taking pictures and chatting with each other.

"Tokyo, Naomi!" Both of them turned their heads to look for the source of the sound. And once they found it, they saw Valkyrie with their parents smiling at them.

With quick strides, they went to where they were standing and hugged them. "Congratulations girls!"

After smiling for a long time, Valkyrie broke down and cried. She'd be alone in their school now since she still needs to finish one more year before going to college.

Naomi and Tokyo smiled at this and quickly pulled her into their embrace. When Tokyo heard her sobs, she can't stop but cry too. "Why are you crying too?" Naomi chortled.

"I realized I won't be able to see Frost anymore once we graduate." She said between her sobs earning a light smack on the head by her brother.

"You already graduated yet you're still thinking about him." Kyoto scoffed.

"Mom, he's bullying me again!" She whined as she glared at him, completely forgetting the fact that she was crying earlier.

"Stop it you two, we should get going now. I'm sure all of us are hungry already." Their mother said as she lectured her children. She then hooked arms with Naomi's mom before walking with their husbands and children following them behind.

"Let's go!"

[cinnamonest]

Thanks for ruining my fantasies with Yan Kaeya with that post about their weird habits💀. At least there wasn't one with Zhongli so yayyy. But seriously tho, your writing had to be so good for me to get utterly turned off from them and id rather get fucked by a lawachurl than experience that for more than 5 minutes, Anyways i really really love your writing lmaooo maybe a smige more of zhongli content🥺? ajsjoaiofieao your zhongli content is that good :D

So based on me mentioning Morax in a few posts I have been... Strongly pondering the concept of a war-era Morax who is much harsher and firmer than the somewhat more mellow man he would later become.

Not that he's heartless... not at all. In fact, it was by his generosity and mercy that you're even alive to begin with. You, a goddess of something or another, a lesser deity, would be dead if not for him sparing you. It was foolish to ever think you stood a chance in combat against him. It was laughable... as much as it was irksome. Yes, it made a pit of disgust and irritation swell up in his stomach, seeing you stand against him and pose to attack, so arrogantly, so fearlessly. To even look him in the eye as you did, give a smirk that set his anger on fire -- you had to be dealt with.

But seeing you in defeat -- not that it took very long, only a few moments to disarm you and throw you to the ground -- softened his heart a bit. Once you had the polearm tip pressed against your throat, all that arrogance seemed to disappear. Your eyes filled with tears and your voice became shaky and suddenly, you were no longer hurling haughty insults, but begging to be allowed to live. Apologizing, sniffling, trembling. It was rather satisfying. It felt like everything put in its place.

And how, then, could he reject that request? Look at you, you poor, pitiful little thing. Stripped of your power and pride alike, no different from a powerless human. Pathetic... so pathetic it's perhaps endearing. It appeals to whatever sense of mercy he has. He might even feel some guilt, were he to run you through right then and there. And besides, it would be so wasteful for you to die without ever having done anything of any real worth or use... a lacking he can certainly solve.

Morax's policy is that you are to spend the remainder of your existence -- your joint existence together -- being reminded of your mistake. In the same way a few rash actions taken in the course of seconds can land one a prison sentence lasting the rest of their life, so you, too, will spend the rest of your days in punishment for your defiance and ignorance. A glowing, golden emblem that resembles that of the element of his power rests over your womb, clearly marked on your flesh, and he ensures that even when you are permitted to cover yourself, that must remain visible. It's symbolic of defeat and ownership alike. You haven't asked whether or not it's even possible for it to ever fade or be taken off. You know the reason why you can't bring yourself to ask is because you fear the answer.

You are to be grateful for the life you are provided, allowed to merely exist, a war trophy of sorts. You stay dressed in the things he gives you, if any at all, you sit on his lap, you stay silent and still, poised and obedient, to look nice for anyone there visiting. It's a rather simple job, you can do that much, can't you? It's how you can show how grateful you are.

See, if it weren't for him, you would have merely been defeated by another deity -- who would have undoubtedly slaughtered you without another thought. Aren't you grateful, then, for his grace and mercy? He asks you frequently. You know it serves no other purpose than his own satisfaction, and drilling it further into your own head. The tone of his voice is always so teasing, you can feel the smirk on his face without having to turn your head -- not that you won't, seeing as he demands it. It's sort of a thing with him, as you quickly find out, that he hates how your eyes dart around, how you look at the ground, how you squeeze your eyes shut. Look at me when you speak to me. It's said softly, but firmly, the same as many of his commands, but as with everything else, his voice will grow firmer if you make him have to repeat himself.

There's many little warnings like that. He's a patient master. He can narrow his eyes, give your arm or hand a firm squeeze, lower his voice to a warning tone. You get one warning and one warning only, for any behavior that is not in line with what he expects from you. If he needs more than that for you to behave, what that means is that he's slipped up in some way -- perhaps he's been too soft, and you don't fear him as you should.

He is patient, yes, but not nearly as much so as he might become one day many years later. For now, with you, you know when you've upset him the moment you do -- his eyes narrow, any smile he had drops. He has an angry habit of grabbing you by the jaw, holding you head in place, speaking down to you with a tone of disgust and frustration. He lacks quite the same... gentle nudging of his later self as well, no soft now let's be nice... or anything like that. No, it's far more direct. Care to say that again? He clenches his teeth at he speaks, tilting your head up with his grip on your jaw. Not that he ever bothers to hear you out or let you defend yourself, merely releasing you harshly with a mutter about you being such an ungrateful little brat. Perhaps a day or so chained to the bed, without so much as acknowledgement, will bring you back to being a bit more appreciative. If not, he's perfectly capable of more direct and corporeal punishments.

Part of your daily routine is appropriate shows of gratitude through service -- you're trained like a servant, or a pet. You, no matter how much it infuriates you, with time, will learn to come when you are commanded, be it by word of mouth or a simply tongue-click and come-hither motion with his finger. Your bouncing on his cocks, or bobbing your head up and down on your knees before him provides great stimulation while he ponders more important matters, looks over his maps and plans. You know which command is which, too, by his motions -- a finger pointing downward indicates for you to work him with your mouth, another come-hither motion means to get on his cocks and ride.

And on that matter, there is no excuse as to why you can't have both in you at once. It's one of the first aspects of your training. All dragon and qilin have that reptilian feature... sure, he could get rid of them and combine them into one with human shapeshifting... but he will not. Ah, then, how would he get to see the way your eyes prick with tears, hear those strained little cries from your throat... it's delectable. You can hear the rumbling vibrating of his chest with his chuckles as you suffer. No, your body can fit him inside you easily. You have just as many holes in your lower half as he has cocks, and if stuffing your ass is as bad as you claim, then you can take both of them in your tight little cunt instead, no?

It's the least you can do to show your gratitude. You, who he so graciously spared, why should you deny him pleasure for your own comfort? You should be willing without hesitation to... no, you should be eager, grateful, to prove your devotion to him by taking the stretch and strain that comes with keeping him satisfied. You should be grateful for any pain, any pleasure, that you obtain from him. Anything he has to give you, you will show your thankfulness for, one way or another. Besides, soon, you'll be used to it. Your body will learn him, your body will adjust, you will be able to take him more and more easily as you're molded into something that is completely and entirely his, his to a point that even your body is marked as his own.

And you should be very grateful you're being allowed the opportunity to take him at a pace and firmness you have some control over... should you refuse -- or, what you get each night come sundown anyway -- you find that when he's in control of those things, brutality is his only choice. He uses your body like a toy, keeping you face down, ass up, slamming into you over and over, hard and fast, and no amount of begging will get him to slow down until he can breed you full.

Not that he's apathetic to your own pleasure... quite the opposite. Forcing each orgasm out of your body is in and of itself a reminder of your place, that you're not something of your own existence, but a dependent existence. He's spoiled you, truly. What with the way he holds you down and works you to climax over and over, until you sob and squirm and try so desperately to get away... he's ruined you for himself. Now that your body is used to such intensity, do you really think you'll ever be able to reach that with anyone else, or even by yourself? No, you need him for that.

Not that he'd let you find out if you ever could yourself... he makes sure to keep a close eye on you and punish any such behavior, should he find you attempting to masturbate yourself in any way. It's an important rule, established early on. Orgasms are a form of control, they are rewards when you are good, and you are denied them when you're bad. He's careful to leave your hands tied whenever he needs to leave you alone for a moment, either way. So while you aren't allowed orgasms on your own, you're denied being given them, too, when you've misbehaved... so miserable. It only makes sense that, when you think you see the slightest window of opportunity, you'd take it.

Which is how he walks in on you, having shuffled your way over to the bed so that the bedpost was between your legs, humping and grinding into it, it's been so long since he let you cum... you freeze up as the door creaks open. You thought you'd be able to hear him coming, but you must have been too lost in the heat of the moment... it only takes him a second to put it together. You feared he'd be angry, but somehow, watching a smile slowly grow on his face somehow feels even more frightening.

He stoops down, grabs you by the arm, pulls you close... you poor, pathetic little thing. Don't worry, in a way, this is a good thing. You've improved in one aspect, at least... shamelessness. Do you really think the goddess you once were would ever give up your dignity and pride like this? No, the you before would have stubbornly done nothing.

Your willpower and your arrogance alike have eroded, leaving you nothing but a desperate, needy little slut... so say it. Repeat what he told you. Say that you are no goddess, as you sometimes continue to so stubbornly insist, as you often squeal at him when you want to be defiant... but just a needy whore who craves cock so badly you can't go a few minutes alone without trying to get off. Say it. Good. Aren't things so much easier when we're honest with ourselves? Still, he can't just let you continue, of course. You'll get to cum when he already told you you could, a few more days. Until then... you got slick all over the bedpost, you know. Be sure to clean that up with your tongue first. Then you can move on to actual corporeal punishment for intentional disobedience.

And throughout that, once again, he's sure to repetitively remind you of how far you sank... such a haughty, arrogant little thing you were. And look at you now, whimpering and shedding tears so easily. It's beautiful, truly. If the mark on your skin wasn't enough to keep you reminded of your place, then sessions like this will have to do instead.

[vanderlustwords]

What if Steve leaves and she finds out she’s pregnant? I really love your alternate ending where he leaves for Peggy and wondering if you could write more about it. Doesn’t have to be him leaving a child behind that was just a question that popped into my head

Pairing: (past) Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader

Please do not repost/translate anywhere. Reblogs/Comments are much welcomed ♥

Continuation of: This Dress is Karma || Alternate Ending

Warnings: unbeta'd. Angst ending for Steeb.

Note: I don't know how you roped me into writing a 2.3k continuation but here I am LOL

Count: ~2.3k

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You shut the door with a soft click, waiting until you hear the quiet footsteps fade away. The lump in your throat gets harder to swallow as you turn around, leaning back against the door and let out a shaky sigh.

You can't help but think those were some brave words you said to Steve. You desperately wanted them to be true. You did want to be so happy that it would physically pain Steve if he were to ever witness it.

You wanted it to be true that you were never going to see him again because he had hurt you so much, and he needed to stay away from you.

But when you lift your trembling hand to your stomach, you wonder if everything you said had been nothing more than a brave front.

"You alright?"

You immediately look up and see Bucky stepping out of the guest room, fully dressed with towel-dried hair.

You swallow and force a smile as you drop your hand.

"Yeah, you ready to head out?" You ask him as you stand up straight.

Bucky nods with a grumble before he grabs a strand of his hair. "I need a haircut first, though. Do you think we could find a barber first?"

"Sure," you say, turning around and opening the door with Bucky following you behind.

"You sure everything is okay?" Bucky asks you again.

The way your throat feels raw, the hysterical words that want to escape your mouth make you feel dizzy. You want to put your hand against your stomach again as if to see if you could suddenly feel a bump.

But you refrain because Bucky would get suspicious. Well, he'd probably think you had a stomachache first, but if you didn't stop acting strange, he would pry.

"Everything's fine," you mumble.

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As the weeks pass, more and more things begin to slip from you.

There is a layer of never-ending panic that sits right beneath your skin, crawling and setting your nerves on fire.

When you began to get morning sickness and threw up into the toilet, you began to shake.

The reality of your situation began to hit you.

You were pregnant.

With Steve's child.

Steve, who had abandoned you and was grey and old and probably would pass away soon.

The notion of it all had you throwing up in the toilet again.

You were alone, and you were scared.

What were you going to do? You couldn't rely on Steve anymore.

You looked down at your relatively flat stomach still, placing your hand against it.

There was a life growing inside you. What were you going to do?

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It was harder to hide when Bucky came over almost every other day, even though he didn't live with you. He had stayed for a week after the confrontation with Steve but quickly found his own place.

Initially, that had made you feel more alone, like everyone couldn't wait to escape from you. But it had worked out when you needed alone time.

Bucky was currently in your kitchen, cooking up steaks for lunch for the two of you.

The smell of it made you deathly pale.

"What's going on with you?" Bucky asked with a frown as he set the steaks aside to rest.

You had to swallow hard before you could answer. "Nothing," you said weakly. "I'm—I'm sorry. I know you came all the way here to cook but I'm not really hungry."

"You've been saying that for days now, doll," Bucky pursed his lip. "I feel like I haven't seen you eat a proper meal lately. What's going on? I know things have been...hard. Especially since you last saw Steve, but this isn't okay. I need you to eat something in front of me that isn't pretzels, bananas, or bread."

The idea of sliding a piece of steak basted in butter had your stomach knot itself painfully.

You shook your head, but when Bucky insisted, slicing the steak and you watched the juices run, you couldn't hold it in anymore.

You took off to the bathroom in haste.

"Hey—" Bucky called out and took off after you, but you were quick to shut the door before you fell to your knees over the toilet and hurled.

"What's wrong?" Bucky yelled through the door, trying to jiggle it open but found you had locked it. "Open the door, doll. I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine," you said shakily as you grabbed some toilet paper and wiped your mouth, eyes hot with tears. "I just—I just haven't been feeling well."

The silence on the other side of the door only lingered for a moment before Bucky used his metal arm to turn the doorknob so hard, it broke open.

He found you sitting on the floor, over the toilets, eyes rimmed red and your face pale.

Bucky carefully walks in and kneels slowly before you.

He thinks back the couple of weeks and how you've been going to the bathroom a lot more, and how you don't like going to restaurants to eat. You've been eating at home and the strangest things and wearing more flowy shirts.

He looks at your face, and the way you're trying to hold back your tears makes Bucky feel dread.

"Doll..." he calls you softly. "Are you—Are you pregnant?"

You let out a choked sob in response, face dropping as you close your eyes.

Bucky's quick to hold you in his arms as he strokes your back, his heart dropping.

There was only one person who could've gotten you pregnant.

There had been some dumb shit Steve's done the entire time Bucky's known him. Always getting into scraps he couldn't finish, always prideful when Bucky wanted to help him.

But it had been the first time Bucky's ever been so fucking pissed at Steve. It was the first time Bucky couldn't defend or make an excuse for his friend.

"Bucky, what am I going to do?" You trembled in his arms. "I can't—Steve isn't—I want to keep it but I'm alone."

Bucky swallowed so hard it was painful.

There was no fucking way he was ready to be a dad or step up in any kind of way—that is, if you even let him.

Fuck, you two didn't even have feelings for each other or anything. There was something, maybe, Bucky thought for the future. But now?

"You're not alone," Bucky reassured, keeping his voice still for your sake. "I'm here. I'm here all the way and I'm not gonna leave you, doll. Ever."

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You manage to keep the fact that you're pregnant under the wraps easily. It helps that since saving the world, no one really meets up anymore. A part of you worries because you can't find Wanda anywhere, but you know she can find you if she wanted to.

Sam might be the only other person who knows, and Bucky was begrudging when accepting his help.

Months pass, and you're surprised how dedicated Bucky is. You're pretty sure you're on the verge of a mental breakdown constantly. A part of you worries Steve will show up, but Bucky reassures you that there's nothing Steve could do even if he did show up.

"Fuck..." you swore as Bucky was in the middle of figuring out how to build the crib the two of you got from Ikea. He looks up at you alarmingly. "I think my water just broke."

"Oh, shit, okay, okay!" Bucky jumps up right away and starts running around to grab the prepared bag as he helps you out into the car. "Don't panic!"

"Bucky, I'm literally about to push a baby out of my body. I'm going to fucking panic if I want to," you snap, and Bucky bites his lip to refrain from speaking as he zips through traffic.

"Oh, god," you say under your breath. You were having a baby. You were actually going to have a baby.

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"Bucky, you can't just carry her everywhere," you grumbled as you pushed the stroller through the park. "You're spoiling her."

"Yes, I can. She wants me to carry her and whatever my princess wants, she gets." Bucky declared indignantly at you while sticking his tongue out.

You sighed with a smile.

You couldn't believe a year has passed. Despite the time passing, you never really felt fully prepared as a mother. You were scared you were fucking it up all the time if you're honest.

Bucky holds your hand, and you give him a shy smile. That was new too. Slow and steady, as Bucky has always been, and you think you were falling for him because of that.

When you look up, your heart stops.

"Oh," Steve blinked.

Another year has passed, but you find Steve doesn't look too different. A little more tired perhaps, but still...Steve.

You feel panic creep up in your chest that threatens to become a panic attack before Bucky squeezes your hand.

"Breathe, doll," he whispers encouragingly to you, but it's loud enough for Steve to catch.

You do as he says, taking a few calming breaths. You want to keep walking, but it seems Steve can't stop staring at the child in Bucky's arms.

"Why don't you take Hazel to the pond? She really likes looking at the ducks," you tell Bucky, and he nods, warily looking at you and Steve. He sends Steve a curt nod before he takes the stroller with him and walks off.

Steve's eyes trail after Bucky.

You know then that he knows. It's not hard after all. Hazel looks like a spitting image of Steve, something that had been hard for you to deal with at first. Her blonde hair and blue eyes—the blue eyes were easier since Bucky's eyes were blue too, even if a darker shade.

But Hazel was so lovely; you loved her so easily.

"When did you know?" Steve asked.

You shrugged. "The day before we all saved the world."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Steve's voice was pained and betrayed, and you cocked your brow at him.

"Why? So you would stay?"

"Yes, I would have!" Steve insisted.

The sheer stupidity of the situation had you give a humourless laugh.

"The last thing I want is for you to stay because of a baby, Steve. You wanted to leave, despite everything, you chose to leave. We would only hate each other in the long run."

"That's not true," Steve denied. "When I made that choice, it wasn't because I didn't love you anymore."

"No, you just didn't love me enough."

The words rang clear, almost throwing Steve off-kilter.

The silence fell, and the two of you could hear Hazel laughing with Bucky in the distance as she shrieked.

"Don't you think I deserved to know about her?" Steve asked with his lips pursed.

"No," you answered honestly. "What do you, a 90 something-year-old man, have to offer her? You certainly can't step up and be her father. Your time keeps running out and the last thing I need is for Hazel to have instability. Did you want to be her grandfather? She's already met mine, so do you want to pretend to be Bucky's?"

"So, you're just gonna lie to her and let her think Bucky is her dad?"

Your eyes flash angrily.

"Bucky is her dad. He's the only dad that counts in every way. Do you know how hard it was for me? I was scared shitless, Steve. You can delude yourself into thinking otherwise, but you're unreliable. I couldn't come to you for help," you snap at him. "Do you know who was there every time I was puking my guts out, crying or screaming, or wanted pickles with peanut butter at 2AM? Who do you think was there for every appointment. Who bought fifty parenting and baby books to study religiously? It was Bucky. Even though I knew he was scared too, he was there. So, don't fucking try to make me and Bucky look like the bad guy. You have NOTHING to offer to Hazel."

Steve stood there wide-eyed, guilt crowding over his eyes. Steve doesn't want to say he regrets going back because that would mean a lifetime of regrets he can't get back.

"You're right," Steve said slowly, trying to appease your anger. "I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. It's not my place to say anything."

Even though Steve says it, he looks over to the little girl squealing in Bucky's arms. He looks at her blonde hair that she clearly got from him and your nose.

He and Peggy had children—children he loved more than anything.

But...the idea of his child with you...that was another reality he missed.

It seems to be that way always for him, Steve thought somberly. He was always missing something. Maybe you had been right about him.

Steve listens as you take a deep breath in and exhale.

"Do you want to meet her?" You offer, and Steve can tell it's difficult for you to say those words.

"If you're okay with it," Steve said slowly.

You nod stiffly. "It's fine as long as you respect my wishes and refrain from telling her you're her bio dad. I want to save that conversation for when she's older and able to understand it more."

You don't say it, but Steve is already thinking how he'll most likely be gone by then.

The two of you begin to walk towards Bucky and Hazel.

"What will you tell her?" Steve asked.

"The truth," you shrug. "That you were the world's greatest hero and you loved her and would've loved to get to know her if you stayed, but you didn't and it wasn't her fault."

"Right, it was mine," Steve felt a sting in the back of his throat.

"I don't think it was anyone's fault," you tell him. "It's just karma, Steve. I wasn't enough for you and now you're not enough for Hazel."

Right, Steve thought somberly as he looked at you in your summer dress. It was different from the sexy red one that used to drive him insane.

It was a calm peace, a show of your motherhood and graceful maturity.

This dress is karma, too.

[s-brant]

Pirates and Princesses (8/8)

(gif: @beccs) (PART SEVEN) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: JJ must confront his childhood trauma when returning home for the first time since his dad went to jail and prevent it from sabotaging his new relationship. Meanwhile, something sinister happens at the Chateau that brings Y/N face to face with her grief over John B’s death.

Word Count: 13.4k

Warnings: Angst, implied sexual content, strong language, parent/child abuse, mental illness, post-traumatic stress disorder, grief, and fluff.

A/N: Welcome to the final chapter of Tokens! This one has a little bit of everything in it, but it also has detailed scenes about JJ and his dad, so proceed with caution if you’re easily triggered by that topic. The love you guys show this fic warms my heart so much, so thanks to anyone who stuck with this story until this chapter. Hope you enjoy it!

Now that she has been sentenced to both punishments, one as a consequence of the fight with Kacey and the other as a consequence of the stunt she pulled with JJ to break out of ISS, Y/N can confidently say that out of school suspension is superior to in-school suspension by a long shot. Instead of sitting in a humid room with Alec for the duration of multiple school days, she's allowed to stay home, go out surfing, and do whatever she wants in lieu of doing classwork.

She promised herself not to make it a habit, promising the invisible presence of John B that she likes to pretend follows her around that she will never get herself into trouble again, but she sees no problem in enjoying her suspension while it lasts.

For the first few days of her suspension, JJ skipped school to spend it with her. Their memories of the conversation they had at three in the morning on Sunday were fuzzy, but not missing entirely. She noticed a difference in his behavior for the first few hours after they woke up under the tree together for the second time in one week. It wasn't a difference in their relationship or how he treated her, it was a difference in him.

He was quieter than usual as they cleaned up cans of beer and tossed them into the recycling, sending pictures to Kie while she was in class after she made them promise not to throw them in the trash. Rather than cracking jokes or making casual conversation with her, JJ made his way around the yard with the recycling bin in his hands and his head in the clouds. It disappeared as the day progressed, but for a little while, he wasn't completely there.

Today, he went into school instead of ditching to spend extra time with her in between shifts at work and time spent with their friends. Since they can't exceed three consecutive absences without a doctor’s note and he doesn't own a printer or laptop to forage the header from a doctor's office, he had no choice but to part from her this morning.

He bites his lip to contain his smug facial expression at the recollection of her wake up call for him. The hand holding his locker door open for him to lean on in the midst of his not-so-wholesome thoughts of her squeezes the metal hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

The curtains weren't shut all the way when they fell asleep before midnight last night, allowing a shaft of sunlight to shine in and land on his face. But that wasn't what woke him up from the dream he was having. In fact, the reality he opened his eyes to was a hell of a lot better than any dream he remembered.

Most of his memory of those moments spent suspended between consciousness and unconsciousness consisted of feeling her pressing a kiss to his shoulder, then her hands rubbing up and down his waist to slip lower and lower until they settled on the waistband of his underwear. It was then that he woke to find her looking up at him for permission from where she peppered kisses along his chest.

Their eyes met right as she kissed the edge of his nipple with this pleading, needy look that he took pride in causing without actively attempting to. She woke up on the brink of coming undone from a pleasant—to put it tamely—dream about him. With a glimpse at the time displayed on the alarm clock, it didn't take much for her to roll over to wake him up.

It ended with her beneath the sheet, finishing what she started Friday afternoon until he was clutching the pillow beneath his head in the midst of his orgasm. It happened so fast, a fault of how hot he found it to wake up to her wanting him so badly, but it felt slower than it truly was in the early morning haze of exhaustion they felt.

The memory as he relives it is as heady as it felt the first time around. He sees it in fractions; her eyes looking up at his, warm palms finding the familiar planes of his muscular body with the exploratory touch of someone who's never traveled it before, and the intense sensations he felt at the end...It's easy for him to stand here and lose himself in it. Despite the class he has to go to, he bargains with himself for one more second spent in the paradise of his memories before he has to come back to reality.

Reality, as his shitty luck would have it, comes in the form of a familiar feminine voice chirping from behind his back as he replays his morning bliss.

"It's good to see you're alive and well, Maybank."

He decides, based on who he knows he'll see when he turns around, that he might invest in a sharpie to write "Bang head here" on the inside of his locker door for instances like these where he'd rather suffer brain damage than speak to someone he can't stomach the presence of.

When he turns to see Kacey with one arm still stretched to hold his locker open, he doesn't bother concealing the genuine reaction from his face for the sake of her feelings. Any care he had for her and her feelings was thrown to the wind as soon as she decided she could steal from and put her hands on his girl last week. However, after a second of thought, a condescending smirk finds its way to his face.

He says, jerking his chin to vaguely gesture at her bruised up face, "Purple really suits your complexion. It makes your eyes pop, don't you think?"

Though the swelling of her black eye has deflated in the days since the fight that’ll soon tally up to a week, the verbal jab hits right where it intended to if the light leaving her eyes tells him anything. She bounces back after a second, though, ever the relentless pest they've come to see her as.

She offers a sickeningly sweet, yet fake smile to mirror the one gracing his striking features and spins so her back meets the locker beside his, allowing herself to invade his space further.

A collection of Y/N's stickers decorates the inside of his locker door that he briefly entertained the idea of designating as a place to bang his head against. They range from girly, glittery ones to those he willingly picked when she gave him the choice. Whenever they're at his locker together, she sticks one on the inside, and the evidence of the habit catches Kacey's wandering eyes.

Her fingertips brush against the surface of the sticker-covered metal while she ignores his protest of, "Can you not touch my stuff?" to inspect them. Since one of the Pogues in particular is famous for her endless supply of stickers, her expression sours at the thought of the girl responsible for them.

She spares him a quick glance out of the corner of her eye as she continues to analyze the sticker collection against his instructions not to, asking, "Why weren't you at the bonfire?" A failed attempt at a seductive look in his direction makes him fight not to roll his eyes. "After how last year's ended, I thought you wouldn't miss it for the world."

JJ doesn't bother to take a second to think things through before he reaches to slam the door closed with her hand still outstretched inside of it. Watching her pull it away just in time to avoid jamming it in the locker probably pleases him more than it should, but he can't help it. His hand catches on the edge of the door, halting it in place right before it closes where her hand previously rested.

She doesn't look too happy with him when he opens the door with no harm done except for the drop of her stomach when he initially pretended to swing it shut on her bruised knuckles. She didn't get many shots in on Y/N when they fought, but apparently it was enough.

He doesn't bother with the fake niceties she's giving him after the disrespect she showed him, his friends, and, most importantly, his girlfriend. The fact that she thinks she has any right to breathe in his direction, let alone flirt with him, after she stole JB's bandana is criminal. 'Cause not only did she mess with Y/N, she messed with John B on multiple levels, and his loyalty to his best friend hasn't disappeared with death. Kie and Y/N told him everything she said about their departed friend in the locker room last Thursday.

But he's smart enough to know what'll hurt her more, so he doesn't go for the general scolding he imagined giving her in his head. Since he was told everything about the encounter in the locker room, he knows she's still holding their history together near and dear to her heart.

"We stayed home," he says, casual and cool as always, with added emphasis on the first word, "You know how it is, my girl doesn't like parties. Especially not ones with kooks."

Hook, line, and sinker.

She scoffs, "Your girl?"

Looking at her now, he wonders if she was always this stupid, or if this is a new development she's had in the year since he last spent more than a minute or two at a time with her. It’s easier to trick her than it was with Kie and Y/N a few days ago, and those poor girls flew into that trap like moths to a flame.

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

The ire is visible in the way her face tenses up in places, her lips pressing together a little more firmly and her forehead creasing between the brows.

"Doesn't your, um, history bother her?" she asks, and he's gotta give her credit for being a sneaky little shit when given the chance. The girl takes every possible opening she can to strike for a potential weakness. "No offense, but you kinda get around."

He shrugs this time, deciding to drop his casual act and aim straight for the jugular.

"She likes having someone who knows how to fuck her right, actually, but I really appreciate the concern."

Much like Kie's reaction to their matching tattoos in the hot tub the other night, her jaw is unhinged to meet the unswept hallway floor they stand on. It makes him wish Y/N weren't suspended in order for her to see the gobsmacked reaction Kacey has to the harsh dismissal. Though he wouldn't want to incite an extra round of the Kacey vs Y/N WWE showdown by having her watch another girl flirt with him and essentially call him a slut upon rejection, he knows she'd get a kick out of it.

This one's for you, baby, he thinks with a quiet laugh to himself and turns his focus to the sticker collection she so lovingly crafted.

There are plenty of summer themed ones left over from the same pack he gifted her for her birthday with the surfboard sticker she used to tease him, as well as a newer genre of Valentine's Day stickers she started using the closer they grew since first getting together. They're mostly different colored candy hearts with corny phrases ranging from "U SXY THING" to the classic "BE MINE" and one printed with "ANGEL" on it—his favorite by far.

However, others are random ones from her endless stash built up over the years from birthdays and holidays deemed worthy enough by her dad to stop by Dollar Tree for a new pack, so the one he sets his attention on is likely meant for teachers or coaches to give to their students. The opportunity appears too good to be true to him when it clicks, but it isn't.

He peels the sticker off of the locker door, careful not to disturb the ones around it, and leans in closer to her to place it on the front of her tank top.

"Leave us alone or I won't stop her next time," JJ says lowly, past the point of civility, then backs away to slam his locker shut for real this time as his voice raises back to a normal volume, "And keep John B's name out of your mouth, got it?"

All she can do is look down at the sticker placed on her shirt with squinted eyes to try and read it while he walks off in the direction of his next class. It tears away from the fabric with a soft noise, and when she finally reads it, she rolls her eyes.

“Good Try!”

​​Walking out of school to see the Twinkie parked in the usual spot Y/N takes when she isn't suspended is a delightful treat he didn't know to expect after a rough day in class and his run in with Kacey. His head was hung low on his way to Kie's car to hitch a ride to his house before going home to the Chateau, since he had some things to pick up with his dad out of the picture for the near future, but then he heard her greet them.

JJ's body melts into hers upon contact, and he nearly pushes her up against the closed passenger side door of the van with how hard he hugs her. Though he doesn't want to acknowledge it, his dad has been living in his thoughts more than usual today. Ever since he texted him goodbye, he's been withdrawn inside of his head more and more, and after today's inconveniences, the rising anxiety of his plan to visit home has him two seconds from losing his mind.

Her eyes widen at his zeal, meeting Kie's concerned gaze from over the shoulder she rests her chin on. She stands with her keys swinging around her finger as she watches the couple embrace one another. In an answer to the silent question Y/N asks her in their stare, her lips mouth the words, "His dad," to her.

Deep down, Y/N had a feeling.

It began with his impromptu request to run away with her a few days ago and extended into his uncharacteristically reserved attitude the next morning that receded somewhat, but has yet to fully disappear. There is a part of her that's upset that he hasn't come to her to talk about it, to communicate the way they swore they would, yet she also knows it isn't that simple.

She has to remind herself that she knew what she was getting herself into with him. That's not to say that dating her must be a walk in the park for him, it isn't.

She knows based on the amount of times he had to hold her as she cried, or the time he curtailed her panic attack in this very parking lot, that she hasn't made it easy for him in the aftermath of John B's death. But it's because she knows how it feels that she has such patience with his communication issues.

It's not a conscious choice most times, it's an involuntary blockage preventing the words from being spoken no matter how desperately they long to be. They may have made a promise, but she won't chastise him for succumbing to the same pitfalls as her. It’d be hypocritical.

"Bad day?" she asks.

Her voice is tender with him, prodding gently for a clue as to why he pounced on her on sight. He sinks further into her arms at the sound and lets the sanctity of her touch sway him into submission. Everything about her sets him at ease, if only for a second. Her hand lifts the beat-up red hat from his head to allow the other to brush through his hair.

There's a hum of agreement that she feels vibrating through the center of his chest into hers, and her arms pull tighter around his shoulders in response. This time, when she looks up to see Kie there, she's waving a quick goodbye and setting off toward her car, clearly giving JJ the space he needs.

"We can go to the beach," she says softly, "I have a towel in the back of the van, we can just lay there and talk about it if you want."

The idea of her kind offer to him should add to the comfort he finds in her embrace. It should make him nod and whisper his gratitude to her for being the one person that knows him better than anyone, but it brings him back to the gloomy headspace he was in before seeing her.

It started as a minor distraction when he first arrived at school after carpooling with Kie. It followed him in the quieter moments, only making appearances when he wasn't distracted with more pressing matters. It began as that and built the closer the day came to ending. The sooner his inevitable visit back to his childhood home came, the more he lost himself in his fear, reverting back to a state of helplessness he now occupies with no small amount of shame.

His bottom lip trembles with the urge to cry.

"Can we stop somewhere on the way home first?"

The last place she expected him to drive the Twinkie is here.

As they made their way down each street, taking each turn necessary to bring them closer to the house he seldom let her go to over the course of their lifelong friendship, she felt her heart begin to race. And now, as the van rolls to a stop in the yard in front of his house, she has swallow back the lump in her throat at the sight of it.

She has only been here a few times.

The first time, she was seven years old.

It was a sweltering summer morning in the Outer Banks for her and John B as they set off to retrieve their friend after he missed their plans to meet up at the Chateau for a day of having fun, riding bikes, and playing on the boat. Pirates and Princesses was her favorite game to play with them because JJ would switch roles with her halfway through when she grew tired of being the damsel John B had to rescue from the most cruel and vicious Captain Jesse James Maybank.

The HMS Pogue would rock beneath his feet as he marched across the deck of the boat and took her place as the kidnapped Princess Routledge. He handed off his "sword" to her, a stick he found in the yard, and stood at the edge of the boat with his hands behind his back as though he were a tied up damsel in distress for her to hold captive. The sun setting behind them laid a picturesque backdrop that made the scene all the more vivid to their imaginative young minds.

The boat floated in the afternoon current as John B approached the pair with his best pretend face of worry for the fair Princess Maybank, who had the sharp sword of the pirate queen pressing into his throat with the threat of death should he have tried to escape.

Sometimes, she'd let John B advance on them and tie make believe rope around her wrists and ankles while he and Princess Maybank claimed their victory. Other times, they'd get backed up until the heels of her sneakers hung off the edge of the slippery deck. One move from her brother would have her yell something along the lines of not taking either of them alive, then she'd let her and JJ fall back into the marsh together with gleeful laughs infiltrating the humid air upon their return to the surface.

On the day he didn't show up, none of that happened. She and John B rode their bikes together along sidewalks until they pulled into a driveway marked with the address number he remembered from the other time he sought him out to play before.

Y/N didn't understand what they were hearing when they pushed their kickstands down and called out for their friend, but John B's little face blanched at the sound flooding out of the opened windows of the dilapidated yellow house. It was a combination of banging against the walls, glass shattering, and childlike shouts of frustration and pain. Her big brother placed himself in front of her protectively when the front door opened and smacked against the side of the house, but it wasn't his dad storming out of the house, it was JJ.

His eyes widened at the sight of the siblings standing there, and his heart dropped to his stomach at the realization that they heard it. Maybe not all of it, but based on how the girl peeking out around John B's shoulder looked at him, they heard some.

The van is parked in the exact same place their bikes once were, the exact place she and John B stood years ago when they were first confronted with the harsh reality about their best friend's home life, and he looks like he has fully backpedaled into the state of mind his childhood self inhabited. Even when he turns the key in the ignition and lets the rumbling engine sputter down in silence, he sits in the driver's seat with his lip drawn between his teeth in thought.

Yet as soon as she summons the courage to say something, he takes a deep breath and opens the door without a warning or the typical instruction for her to stay in the car. He doesn't tell her to follow him in, nor does he order her to stay out as he used to when his dad still lived inside. He gives her the choice to make on her own, and, when faced with the opportunity to support him or stay outside like the confused little girl she once was, she chooses the first option.

Her swift steps kick dirt up from the earth onto her ankles as she follows him out of the van to the front steps of the house. She tries not to make her concern for him as evident as it'd be without her intervention on her way up the porch, but it's impossible to erase every sign of it from her face.

It isn't a particularly special or scary house. It's a normal home that'd likely look more inviting if JJ were still living here to mow the lawn and tend to the household upkeep his father saddled him with since he was old enough to be put to work. But she knows better than to trust the street appeal. As he takes her hand to lead them through the threshold of the haunted structure, she is overcome with a sense of creeping trepidation that she can't shake.

"You're sure he isn't here?" she asks.

The entryway is crowded with stacks of mail his father wasn’t bothered to open, as well as empty cardboard boxes that once held cans of beer that are scattered, empty, in various places around the house. Her question is answered by the state of the rooms they breeze past in the direction of his bedroom, but she needed something to say to fill the silence. With them, they usually don’t feel uncomfortable not speaking to each other, but this feels different.

The way he stares out in front of him with his hand squeezing hers hard enough to cut off circulation unnerves her more than the tainted energy of the house itself. He isn't himself. He's a shell of the JJ they know and love, the JJ who is most comfortable tucked away in the safe walls of the Chateau with their friends, not here. If anything, how he is while he's here is the antithesis of his behavior while living with her.

Ever since John B died, he's practically moved in with her. When they're hidden away in her house without the reminders of his home life in sight, he's usually the caretaker of the relationship. It comes naturally to their dynamic, both with him being slightly older and his promise to take care of her, but everything is flipped here. It's an alternate reality for him, or, perhaps, actual reality smacking him in the face after a carefully constructed two months in utopia with her.

They come to a stop in front of his closed bedroom door.

"He's gone," he says, not even sparing a glance at her for reasons she can't decipher, "He texted me a few days ago to say goodbye."

With that, he turns the doorknob and lets the door swing open to reveal the bedroom she only saw one other time.

The second time, she was thirteen years old.

It was a Friday.

Since his dad was supposed to be at work, they stopped at his house on their way home from school exactly like they did today so he could share with their friends what he got from his cousin the night before. Being the good girl she was, she didn't even know what he was showing her when he dug it out of the backpack in the bottom of his closet.

Her brows furrowed at the ziploc bag, more specifically the contents inside of it. She was knelt down on the floor in front of the opened closet door with her shoulder pressed up against his to inspect it. The dried green cluster of a plant didn't look like anything she'd seen before, and she couldn't help but ask him what the hell it was rather than react the way he knew the others would.

"What is it? It looks like dried up moss."

JJ laughed and pulled another bag with rolling papers and a grinder stowed inside.

"It's weed. My cousin Ricky gave me a discount since—"

He halted mid-sentence abruptly enough to startle her, his head turning in the direction of where he heard a trunk pulling up to the front of the house. Her stare was still set on where he was holding the plastic bags in his hands, and she noticed, after he stopped speaking in reaction to his dad coming home, that his hands began trembling. It was so minimal, she almost didn't catch it until she saw the bag wavering under the light coming in from his window.

Before she could open her mouth to say anything more, she felt his hands on her shoulders shoving her into the closet. He followed in closely behind her and crawled in until they were both crammed into the confined space together. With the closet doors shut in front of them, he clamped a hand over her mouth, whispering in her ear for her to be quiet.

She stands with her arms crossed over herself in the center of his room, and though nothing has yet to be said or done to convince her anything is wrong, that's the exact reason why she feels so unnerved by the entire experience of coming here.

He's silent.

The closet doors are wide open as he stuffs the rest of the clothes he had yet to bring to the Chateau into the biggest bag he could find. He rips through his belongings in a fit of melancholy driven anger. His thoughts are swirling with similar memories to the ones she conjures from being here again, but his are tinged with a darkness hers don't have, even with hearing him crying in pain as a child and hiding in the closet with his hand smothering her mouth to evade his dad.

JJ visibly grimaces at the memories he's forced to relive in flashes with every glimpse he gets of the room he spent so much time hiding in. It used to be more tolerable to be here, or at least easier to suffer through. At least he was used to it before, but he got so accustomed to life somewhere else that the second he was confronted with coming back, he started to fall apart.

Whatever he can't live without, he finds space for it in the bag and prepares to leave the rest behind. But every object he touches and step he takes around the room brings him back to the person who he spent his adolescence simultaneously fleeing and wanting more from. More notably, it brings him back to the train of thought that has been nagging him ever since he texted him over the weekend.

The third and final time she came here was over the summer.

It happened right before Hurricane Agatha waged war on the island, when none of the Pogues heard from JJ for two days after he said he had to go home to help his dad with something. She didn't want to track him down to his house after they went over twenty-four hours without a single message. She didn't want to have to go back to the house that gave her chills to think about, let alone go to again after they hid in his closet when they were younger, but he gave her no other choice.

What was she supposed to do except go check on him where he last said he'd be? After all, if she lived in the hazardous environment he did, he'd do the exact same for her. If their friends were involved in her thoughts at the time, they would've gone out on a limb to say he would've gone beyond what she did to protect her if the situation were flipped. If he knew someone was hurting her, he would've come in swinging first and asked questions later, but, in her defense, he strictly told her to never come back to his house. By walking over in the first place, she was breaking one of the fundamental rules of their friendship.

Nevertheless, she found herself crouching around the side of his house to find his bedroom window and check if he was in there. Kie and Pope weren't aware of what was happening with his dad yet, but she and John B accidentally found out years ago, so she wasn't wondering why he wasn't answering them, she was wondering if he was alive.

Part of her truly thought underneath it all that Luke might've killed him. He might've been too drunk or high and went too far when beating him, too far to the point where he didn't want to risk going to jail to take him to the hospital for help. She couldn't live with herself if she didn't check, and if he got pissed at her for showing up against his wishes and didn't want to speak to her ever again, she could live with that.

She knocked on his window in a cadenced beat loud enough for it to heard through the room but not any further. After the first series of knocks, no one came to the window. It ripped her heart to pieces to wonder if she'd see him again as she continued to knock and allowed the sound to increase in volume in hopes that maybe he was asleep, but it didn't bring anyone to the window.

It wasn't until she turned back around to go to the front of the house again that she bumped right into the solid wall of his chest and was pushed back up against the house. The question of what she was doing there was on the tip of his tongue, but she said something that stopped him from asking it.

Her arms were thrown around his shoulders in a desperate bear hug.

"Oh God, JJ, you scared me half to death!" she cried into the front of his shirt, "I thought he killed you!"

He can't help but think of it as he packs his belongings away for a final time to bid his hellish childhood home goodbye: What kind of life are they going to have together if they can't get off this island? Running away may have been an idealistic drunken fantasy for him to entertain after his conversation with Pope got him to admit his true feelings for her, but they both know his consistency can't be trusted.

One moment, he's planning to tell her. The next, a day like today comes along, sweeps his legs out from beneath his body, and he's questioning whether it's worth it to force her to put up with his fickle commitment to her. It isn't fair to her, is it?

Right now is just about when he'd normally start to hyperventilate with an oncoming wave of panic, and he does, but he can't let it fully sweep into him with her here. He fights the urge to smack his head with the heel of his palm, as if that'd forcibly remove the poisonous thoughts infiltrating his mind and ruining the careful work they've done together to remedy their issues with communicating their feelings.

Just like you ruin everything, a thought whispers in the corner of his mind. What made you think this would be any different?

His actions around the room have turned somewhat aimless and distracted, which she notices as soon as he starts to disintegrate into a mess of heavy breaths and self-sabotaging thoughts. She picks up on the shift in his energy as soon as the anxiety starts to wash over him, and she'll be damned if she continues to stand here quietly to let it happen.

It's one thing if he's being silent because being here upsets him, or if he simply doesn't know what to say, but she refuses to let him tailspin into a mental breakdown without doing something to stop it. Whether he knows it or not, after what they went through with him trying to push her away last week, she knows what's occurring within his mind right now.

He flinches at the feeling of her hand grabbing his shoulder to turn him to face her at first, and when she reaches again with her other hand to try to hold his hand as he cries, he shrugs off her touch.

"JJ..." she lets the solemn sound of her own voice murmuring his name trail off, "it's just me."

His head shakes at her consoling words. Everything else inside of his mind is so earth-shatteringly loud, he can't drown it out with logic or reason to bring himself away from the memories of his dad. Those intrusive thoughts keep attacking him with doubled, then tripled force the harder he tries to resist them, and he's so exhausted from it. All of it—the memories, his dad going to jail, and his inability to accept her love to its fullest extent without convincing himself she'll abandon him—is exhausting.

This time, when she rests her hand on his shoulder, he swats it away as the frustration of today crushing him with the force of an avalanche. Not to hurt or scare her, but to get her hands off of him before he bursts out of his skin with the sickness it stirs in his stomach. So detached from himself, he anticipates pain from every touch she gives him, and he knows it hurts her.

JJ hardly recognizes his own voice as he backs away from her a step and says, "Don't."

He can tell it hurts her based on how she looks at him immediately after, but he can't handle being touched right now. How did this happen so quickly? It was overwhelming when they first parked outside, but as soon as he stepped foot inside, it was as if a switch was flipped inside of him and all of the buried feelings he kept hidden over the past two weeks exploded into this.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"You need to leave. I just-I can't breathe and"—He still refuses to look up from the ground or see her face as he paces around the room with no real intent in mind—"You can't see me like this."

That is what breaks her out of her soft spoken, timid attitude to handle the situation the way it needs to be handled. Their natural dynamic worked best for him to take charge when she had her panic attack because JJ acts first and thinks later. He saw that she was in distress and jumped in to help her before things got worse rather than allowing her to keep him at an arms length where he couldn't do anything about it.

Taking a page from his rule book, she takes action.

The room surrounding them is in a state of disarray from him searching through it for the items of clothing and objects now stashed in his duffel bag. There are multiple obstacles in her way as she steps between them like navigating a minefield to reach him after he backed away in instinctual fear, but they don't stop her from reaching him. Nothing could.

Y/N walks right up to him and reaches to grasp his face between her hands, forcing him to stop pacing around and actually look at her for the first time since they arrived her so he hears what she says. To say the least, the way he looks right now is enough to make her cry. There are tears welled up to the brims of his blue eyes, his lips are downturned with his sobs, and he's staring at her like she's about to strike him.

She says it as slowly and clearly as she needs to get it through his head, "He's not here," and before he manages to squeeze out another word of doubt between his rapid inhalations, she cuts in, "Take deep breaths."

He isn't listening to her.

The movement of his chest that hits hers from how close they stand to each other has yet to settle into the familiar pace she remembers from nights of falling asleep with the rhythm of his breaths beneath her head.

Her eyes search his face frantically, from left to right and top to bottom, for any sign of the person she's known for years, but she doesn't see him. Instead, she sees the same panicked child her and John B saw the first time they visited this house. It's uncanny how similar the expression in his face is. It feels to her as if she's been hurled back in time to the moment itself, and when she tries to think about what would've worked with him back then, she doesn't know what else to do except help him escape.

So, with the helplessness of having to watch him turn into a sobbing, incoherent mess, she decides to step into the darkness with him and do what seven year old Y/N would've done. Just like their games of make believe, of pirates and princesses, she assumes the role John B would have and rescues him from what holds him captive. It’s his own mind in this case, but, in the physical sense, it's the house.

She drops her hands from his face and takes his hand in hers to drag him out of the room. The packed bag sits on the floor in their wake as she pulls him back through the bedroom door and into the living room, not caring about what they came here to do.

It doesn't matter anymore.

The various rooms of his dad's house pass by them in a blur as she leads him down the hallway to the front door with one sole objective in mind: get him out of here. If he wants his stuff to bring back to the Chateau, she'll go back inside and get whatever he needs her to, but she isn't letting him inside of this house again. Not under her watch.

Thankfully, since he is undeniably stronger than her and she wouldn't have stood a chance, he doesn't fight it. He stumbles after her guiding hand the same way he always has, just like how he followed her back to the Chateau after she and John B saw him that day when they were kids. She led the way as he sat on the handlebars of her brother's bike, and he watched her hair flutter in the wind with the momentum of their bicycle spokes until the tears dried up.

He watches her drag him out of the home until they've reached the safety of the yard at the bottom of the porch steps, and as soon as the soles of her shoes meet the dirt, she feels his hand slipping out of hers.

"JJ?"

She turns around to see him clutching his chest, rubbing his hand along the front of his shirt over his heart as though it'll loosen up the tightened muscles preventing him from catching his breath. His body weight is leaned onto the railing of the porch steps for support. He's partially slumped on it, looking at her desperately, like she somehow knows the answer to every question screamed inside of his head, and she has never felt as useless.

"You're gonna leave," JJ says through the gasps and cries that leave his cheeks stained with tears.

When she reaches out again to help him remain upright without leaning over the railing, he doesn't shove her hands away as he did inside of his bedroom. It's a small battle won, but she takes it as a win nonetheless.

"What are you saying? I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere—"

"You're gonna leave! Everybody does! My mom, John B, my dad, and you"—his head falls to look at the ground instead of her, and she watches him work through it in his head—"I mean, look at me. You don't want this."

"Don't tell me what I want," she says.

Her voice remains as steady and calm as she can force it to be amidst the turbulent situation, but the way he said it...It takes her right back to sitting in the back of the Twinkie with him at the Cherry Bowl, except it's ten times worse. That felt like a break up, but based on what he's saying, this is one. She hasn't prepared herself for the heartache she feels in response to it.

"You don't want me, you just think you do 'cause I was there after John B died, but you don't. You're gonna go off, find some perfect guy that isn't as fucked up as me, and have a great life somewhere else, but it ain't here," JJ says, his breathing evening out with the distraction of the argument to keep him tethered tor reality, "And it won't be with me."

He can see it every time he's looked at her and debated saying those three titular words that have been floating around in his head since he first met her.

How could she want someone who can't walk into his childhood bedroom without breaking down, or someone who still has years-old scars from cigarette burns on his skin when she touches him? Her bright future contrasted with his pre-designated fate on the Cut, her personality better matched with someone more similar to her, her life continuing on whether he's there or not—it's his worst nightmare, but he's prepared to see it through.

What he doesn't expect is for her to hold her ground.

"You honestly think I'm buying into that bullshit?" she asks.

"What?"

She doesn't put it softly, she states facts with as much harshness as his cruel fantasy had, "You're trying to push me away and I won't let you."

Her typically sweet, soft features have hardened into a bitter expression he's sure he mirrors. The arms holding his waist to keep him upright move to climb up his chest and cup his face between her hands with all of the gentleness her face and voice don't have right now.

She sees right through him.

When he tries to look away again, to avert his eyes to make what he's trying to do easier on himself by not having to look at her when he does it, her grasp on his face holds firm. Her hands guide his chin back up so they're face to face, and he realizes what a mistake everyone makes in assuming her this dainty, broken girl whose only source of strength came from the brother she lost. She's a forest fire.

"You're not hearing what I'm saying—"

Y/N interjects, "I am hearing what you're saying, I'm just saying it's bullshit."

She refuses to let him off the hook, and though it frustrates him on the surface, deep down, it makes him fall in love with her all over again. Her insistence against his speech about her leaving him proves him wrong more than anything else could, 'cause he gave her the perfect chance to dip and she shot it down instantly.

The house looms behind them as a menacing presence that threatens to take control of him again, but she doesn't let it. She keeps his eyes on her no matter how many times he tries to look away and doesn't let anything get in the way of what she says next.

"You think that if you push me away and get me to leave you right now, it'll hurt less than it would if I did it later, and I don't accept that. I won't take the bait and let you torture yourself anymore, okay? I can't speak for anyone else, but I know I'll never leave you. Not willingly, anyway."

She looks into his eyes, and this time its softer, more loving, and he's never felt as understood as he does when she continues to speak.

"I'm in love with you. Whether it scares you or not, it's the truth, and I'll never stop saying it. If you think that your issues with your dad are gonna change that for me, you've officially lost your mind." Their noses brush as she leans in to ghost a kiss over his mouth and pulls away a second later to whisper, her forehead pressed to his, "I love you, JJ. Stop being so stubborn and just let me."

His next breath in trembles as he lets her words sink in, and he's stuck at a crossroads inside of himself without a clue of what to do.

The breeze blows her hair away from her face, the afternoon sunshine painting her golden, and when he sees her hair flutter in the air like it did so many years ago, he can't help but feel as calm as he did during their bike ride home. The further away he got from his dad and the house where it all happened, the calmer he grew, and it hits him at this moment that he's so taken aback by her confession to him, he forgot why he was so upset.

It's sobering. The intoxication of his panic hurtled him back in time to the frightened, childlike state of mind his dad's violent abuse often sent him to, but it was hearing her say those words he's feared for weeks that brought him back. Like the jolt of a defibrillator, he's roused back to life with more clarity than before.

She loves him, but, perhaps more importantly, she said she'd never leave him, and that is what he needed to hear more than anything. That is the statement worth more to him than the four letter word he has agonized over endlessly. No one else every attached the promise of "I love you" with the stipulation of it lasting forever. They said the empty words and contradicted it with their actions, but she hasn't done that. Her actions spoke the words long before her mouth did.

He sighs.

It's a deep, yearning sigh that sends him melting into her with the acceptance of what he's denied for too long. He savors the hands cradling his head, as well as the body pressed up against his that he has memorized down to every beauty mark and imperfection, and makes the right choice.

It isn't like it was the night at the Cherry Bowl, or the night he spoke to Pope about it. It still takes more bravery than he possesses to form the words, but there isn't a physical incapability stopping him anymore. It's just him against the trauma beckoning him into its trap again, and he won't let it lure him back into that house.

"Alright," JJ says to her through a sniffle in acceptance to her command, as if he were agreeing on afternoon surfing plans rather than something as monumental as allowing someone to love him, then continues onto with a timid tone, "I love you too."

Before he can watch for her reaction, she's surging forward through the few inches of space left between them to connect their lips in a kiss.

It's vastly different to the kiss they shared in the hallway at school last Friday. In contrast to that one, the reigning emotion within him that drives the kiss after the hesitant beginning doesn't lead them into increased intensity, it gets gentler. It doesn't explode into chaos and passion, it's a tired kiss that he never wants to retreat from. It's the physical manifestation of his feelings for her underneath the guarded exterior he uses to protect himself: gentle and yielding, yet undeniably powerful.

He feels her smiling through her tears against his mouth. In the face of everything that happened this afternoon, he doesn't feel like he should be smiling back at her, but he does. He smiles while kissing her with tears streaming down his face, still reeling from his traumatic response to coming home for the final time, and wonders how a person can feel such contradicting emotions all at once.

Y/N is the one who starts to pull away first, though it's only to check in on him. If she had it her way, she could stay here with him until the sun sets, but he did just come back from the brink of a full-blown panic attack, so she can't in good conscience ignore his well-being for the momentary bliss of their love confessions.

Her thumb brushes over his bottom lip, her smile drooping with worry as she asks, "Wanna spend the rest of the day on the boat? You always say being on the water makes you feel better. Maybe it'll make it easier to talk about it."

His Adam's apple bobs with how he swallows the lump in his throat.

"Can we maybe take baby steps for now? I don't think I can handle telling you all that shit yet."

It was already enough to allow her to follow him into the house, watch him break down into a fit of panic no one else has seen him in, and tell her he loved her, but it'd cross the line into uncharted territory to talk about everything between him and his dad so openly. Between the minor annoyance of dealing with Kacey to this hellish visit home, he thinks he's reached his quota on feeling uncomfortable today.

She nods in agreement.

"Baby steps."

Drawn back to each other by a force stronger than gravity, they collide again, but it isn't a kiss this time. It's a hug charged with all of the previously unspoken emotions they've buried inside of themselves for years, the same hug she gave him the last time she came to this house with the fear of his potential death lingering in her thoughts.

She throws herself at him with the same desperation she did that day and relishes the feeling of his muscular arms returning the embrace until their bodies are tangled together. She'd usually never refer to something as inherently affectionate as an embrace as violent, but it's the closest she can come to capturing how it feels as their bodies meet. It makes her lose her footing on the bottom step they stand on together, teetering on the edge she'd surely slip off of with the force if not for him keeping her steady.

He's about to say something, a thank you to her for calling him out on his bullshit and not letting him go that easily, when the grating sound of her ringtone blares from the back pocket of her denim shorts.

The contact popping up on the screen along with a series of frantic messages when she pulls away from him to answer shows Pope's name.

Pope You and JJ need to get back to the Chateau ASAP!!

The van doors slam shut behind Y/N and JJ as soon as it rolls to a stop in front of the Chateau.

Under the assumption that something dire happened, as in injury or death or catastrophic damage to the house itself, they bolted off of that porch faster than they knew they could move. She only turned back when she remembered the packed back of JJ's things they abandoned on his bedroom floor and, not wanting him to reenter the house, she brought it back to the Twinkie in record time.

They're preparing to trample up the porch into the house like a stampede of animals when they hear Kie calling them over to the backyard and change direction.

"No one's hurt!" she shouts, knowing that was likely where their minds went after everything they went through during the summer, "You have to see this though, I don't know who did it!"

Sticks and fallen leaves crunch beneath her feet on her way around the side of the house. Her mind races with the possibility of what could've happened that didn't hurt their friends but necessitated a series of texts and calls as frantic as the ones she received at JJ's house. She drove over here in defiance of the speed limit, something she rarely does, and prayed nothing terrible was happening.

It gave her flashbacks to when she found out John B and Sarah died in the storm. The pedal beneath her foot brought the van to an uncomfortably swift speed, then she remembered the sound of Shoupe's voice when he gave them the news. JJ warned her to slow down, then she remembered how it took multiple people to help her restrain him from attacking the new sheriff for letting his men drive their friends into their deaths.

At first, she doesn't realize what's wrong.

Kiara and Pope are standing and waiting for them across the grass near the large tree that sits as a centerpiece to their yard. Based on the body language screaming their frustration and the tears in their eyes, she can tell something bad did happen, but it's not clear what it is until she looks past them to the tree. More specifically, until she looks at what's on the tree.

"Oh my god," she whispers to herself.

Her hand is already up to cover her mouth and conceal the instantaneous frown besmirching her previously relaxed face. They both are stopped in their tracks halfway to where their friends are standing, and she can’t hear JJ's reaction over the rising volume of her hysterical thoughts.

Spray painted in red on top of their memorial for John B are the words "COP KILLER" in bold letters that conceal what they burned into the tree trunk for his gravestone. It sticks out from the beauty of the greens, browns, blues, and swathes of other earthy tones composing the scenery around the Chateau like a thorn amongst flowers, so much so that she wonders how she didn't instantly see it when they rounded the corner to come back here.

Yet that isn't the only thing amiss in the peaceful sanctuary they call home, there are random things strewn around the ground around the tree. An old t-shirt spray painted with the word "murderer" on the front, four ripped up envelopes, and a gorgeous mahogany jewelry box...broken on the grass.

The freshly turned dirt they had the contents of the box buried beneath is scattered around the trashed area as well. It clicks with her a few seconds late that whoever came here to do this must have seen the pinwheel she put in the ground to mark the "grave" and dug it up to add insult to injury.

She moves forward without consciously realizing it and stumbles until she reaches the first object of the debris field. Before this, she was doing a masterful job of holding in her cries, but as soon as she crouches down to pick up the pieces of the jewelry box, the lid snapped clean off the hinges to separate it from the bottom section, it comes rushing out of her against her will. The first unrestrained keen is the first thing to snap JJ out of his shell shocked trance.

He walks after her as fast as his legs will take him without breaking into a run, but she isn't letting him get close before she puts the box back down and shuffles forward to collect the torn letter remains. She doesn't want them to get blown away by the wind anymore than they already might have been, so she scrambles to gather the pieces until they're cupped in her hands to protect them.

"Why?" she asks and looks up at Kie and Pope with tears dripping down her face, "Why would anyone do this? Who would do this?"

Pope says, "My guess is as good as yours. We didn't see anyone leaving when we got here, so it must've happened before school ended. This is all we saw before we called you guys."

For a second or two, JJ is grasping at straws for why this happened and who did it like the rest of them are, but then something Pope said makes it click into place. It sets off a domino effect in his mind as he brings back the memory of a certain offspring of satan being absent from gym this afternoon despite being at school earlier, since his encounter with her before Physics made him, unfortunately, aware of her existence again.

His face is set in anger, jaw clenching with the tension of him grinding his teeth together, and he takes his hat off to fidget with it between his hands for a second. Their friends are too focused on her crying to see him contemplating it, but as soon as he speaks, they look up to see him setting his hat back onto his head in preparation to leave and track Kacey down.

Y/N's head snaps up from the torn letters in her hands to the sight of him storming off across the yard with his only goodbye being the words, "I'm gonna kill that bitch."

Her and Pope stare after him in shock, unable to put the pieces together about who that "bitch" is, but Kie doesn't miss a single beat. While Y/N is crumpled over on the ground in tears, she's rushing after JJ before he can approach the bike parked in front of the house. He doesn't even make it five steps before he feels her hands latching onto his wrist to stop him.

She asks, "Who the hell are you talking about? And why would they do this?"

His eyes narrow at her. His unreleased frustration for the situation in general and having to watch Y/N cry after an emotional afternoon together comes rushing out when he snaps at her.

"Kacey. She talked shit at school and I put her in her place. Now, if you don't mind, I'm gonna pay her a little visit."

He yanks his arm sharply towards himself to free it from her grip, but she's a step ahead of him. Quicker than he can think to stop her, Kie swipes the keys hanging out of his back pocket away and throws them to Pope, who, bless his heart, can't catch to save his life. The key ring jingles with its contact at the dead center of his chest, and she mouths an apology to him before turning back to face JJ.

"What the fuck, Kie?"

He makes to stomp past her and retrieve the keys from Pope only to be stopped by her hands reaching out to grab his shoulders.

"Listen to me, you can't go anywhere. Look at her," she whispers lowly enough to keep Y/N from hearing, pointing behind her to where she sits on the ground with Pope knelt beside her, "I wouldn't put it past Kacey to pull a stunt like this. I'm just as mad as you, but revenge can wait and you know it. She needs you."

The fury visible in his expression is subdued by looking past Kie's shoulder to see Y/N crying softly to Pope about the vandalized memorial.

The last time he saw her so distraught over something, it was the day they made the memorial and buried the box in the first place. She sits on her knees with her mom's broken jewelry box between them, shuddering with the sobs she has no control over, and pours the torn paper into the empty bottom half of the box. Exhausted to the core, she looks more like a sullen, kicked puppy than she does herself.

It makes his anger-fueled instincts that urge him to hunt Kacey down and do something, anything he can to make her feel the pain they do right now bubble down into sorrow. It's visible in his eyes when he looks at her.

Kie knows she's gotten under his skin when he sighs, sparing a parting glance to the bike in the driveway, and nods once at her before setting off back to where they're sitting in the grass.

Meanwhile, Y/N is stuck staring down at the disarray of her backyard with nothing but pain aching through her to the bone.

Her brother did wrong things sometimes as a consequence of being human, but never this, never something worthy of having his name dragged through the mud and being branded a murderer after his death. He stole scuba gear from Ward and broke dozens of laws in their hunt for the gold, but he never crossed that line into moral bankruptcy. Rafe did, and it kills JJ to see someone like Kacey do this to his best friend while hanging off of Rafe and his friends like a leech.

The fabric of his worn t-shirt is tarnished by the dried paint clinging to the front of it to the spell the lie written there, and her vision blurs with tears for what feels like the millionth time in the span of an hour. First, it was JJ. Now, it's John B, and she can't help but wonder if the heartache will ever end. It began to feel better over the course of the week, her grief for him slowly beginning to slip from her mind until now. Until the storm clouds converged again to batter her with another wave of it.

Through the deafening volume of her mind racing with thoughts and feelings to process what's happened, she hears Pope shuffling around to stand on his feet. Then, another person sits down in his place and scoots closer until their bodies are touching, and she knows it's him. She doesn't have to wait to hear his voice or look to see his face, she can tell based on the feeling of his touch and the smell of him she's so intimately familiar with, yet couldn't describe it aloud if she tried.

He doesn't smother her. He sits close enough to touch her and doesn't push it any further.

The background of the pale, cloudless sky frames him in the foreground like the subject of a painting—a living, breathing painting that she could study endlessly. The other trees planted in the yard's leaves flutter distantly behind him and try to draw her gaze away, but she keeps her eyes on him.

Maybe that's how it is, she thinks.

Maybe it'll get better and worse in a dance that'll only stop when they're no longer here to agonize over it. Maybe this is what moving on from John B will always be like. It'll feel like they've made strides in the right direction, then something will come along to shatter it to sharp pieces that'll reopen their stitched up wounds. If that's the case, at least the four of them have each other to lean on when it gets worse again.

JJ sits with her and lets her crawl onto his lap, resting her head on his shoulder, until the sun sinks below the horizon.

The gentle bobbing of the HMS Pogue at the surface of the water steadies her amidst her eddying thoughts. It keeps her present to the moment the way the ropes tying the boat to the dock keeps it from floating adrift into the marsh. It's a motion engrained in her from the start of her life until now from countless days spent on the water. Whether it be for fishing, swimming, or playing make believe with her boys all those years ago, it's as much a part of her as her personality or body itself.

JJ was right about one thing: being out on the water makes it easier to think.

He hasn't followed her out since she woke up before sunrise and snuck out of bed to come here. Despite her efforts not to wake him, he woke up when she disentangled her body from his, silently cursing the fact that they always cuddle so closely, and he tried to pull her back to him with a whine of displeasure in his groggy, half-asleep state. Sleep finally found them after hours of staying up together to talk about what Kacey did, unable to relax from the chaos of yesterday, so he wasn't prepared to wake up that soon.

"Go back to sleep, angel," she whispered as she hovered over him, brushing a chaste kiss to his lips that he was too tired to return.

That was the last time she saw him since this morning, and now that the sun has risen to its peak in the sky without her moving an inch from her perch atop the bow of the boat, she's begun to wonder if he's awake yet. It isn't uncommon for them to sleep in for half of the day when there isn't school or work, so it isn't surprising to her that he's just now waking up when she hears the back door to the Chateau opening and closing.

Unbeknownst to her, JJ has been awake the entire morning since she left bed.

They were so attached to each other yesterday night, he didn't have the time to put it together without her seeing and ruining the surprise, but once he heard the door to the porch close to signify her leaving, he kicked the blankets off of himself and got to work. He wasn't originally planning on starting so early, since they stayed up late into the night together, but once he woke up to the feeling of her sneaking out of his arms, he was too awake to fall back asleep.

The sound of his footsteps on the dock warns her of his approach, but she doesn't raise her head from where she rests it in her palms to stare out at the water.

"I was wondering when you'd finally wake up," she says.

There's another few steps, then the boat jostles with his weight stepping onto it.

He doesn't say anything to her in response. The only clue she gets as to what he's doing are the footsteps on the deck that lead closer to her until she feels him sitting down on the bow next to where she is. And she's about to open her mouth to ask if he's okay when he sets something down in front of her.

It's a shoe box.

Y/N turns to see him, eyes flickering over his tired face, and looks back at the box with furrowed brows.

"What is this?"

His hair is messy, exactly how it was when she left him in bed this morning, and if she weren't more focused on the mysterious box he plopped down in front of her, she'd be combing through it with her fingers. He's gotten used to those casual displays of affection from her; how she runs her hands through his hair on mornings before school when he forgets to brush it, or when she fixes a button on his flannel that he missed.

JJ's lips are tipped in a smile, and she can't help but blush with how he looks at her. She never used to see it, but he has always looked at her like this. Like he's hopelessly, utterly in love with her. Even before they lost John B, back when he'd expend all of his romantic and sexual attention on girls he hardly knew, he still looked at her this way.

He gestures at it and says, "Open it."

The lid of the box is coated in a freshly dried layer of blue paint to match the shade of the sky overhead. She knows instantly that he must have dug through the arts and crafts box she specifically labeled with a warning for him and John B to stay out. It's painted with aimlessly sloppy brushstrokes and stickers placed at every corner of the cardboard box, all of which she recognizes from the stash she kept under her bed alongside the India ink he borrowed last Friday.

As she gives him a skeptical look and reaches to lift the lid off of the shoe box, she makes a mental note to rewrite the label on the arts and crafts box without the warning for him to keep out. Since John B isn't here to steal anything from it and JJ never follows that rule anyway, it's redundant at this point.

Any skepticism is washed away from her face as soon as she flips the lid open to reveal what's inside. It leaves her speechless as she looks down at it all.

"JJ..." she murmurs in awe.

Sitting at the bottom of it is a folded up t-shirt she saw JJ wear multiple times, but never again since John B died. He refused to glance at the shirt his best friend gave him the year before they never saw him again, let alone dig it out of the corner of her closet where he keeps his things...until now.

But that's a scratch on the surface of all of the things about his gift that stuns her to silence. The next thing to catch her immediate attention is a picture she hasn't seen in years.

It's one that Big John took of the three of them together right where she and JJ are sitting. She was much younger in it, flashing a toothy grin with her arms thrown over both boys' shoulders. To her left, John B was leaning his head on her shoulder. To her right, JJ was wearing an eyepatch they crafted out of an old black shirt he stole from his dad. It was cut with the kitchen scissors and tied around the back of his head in a knot.

She brushes her thumb over John B's face, then sets the crinkled photograph back down atop the folded shirt and moves her attention to the last surprise.

Letters.

Torn up pieces of paper painstakingly taped back together sit one on top of the other, some missing pieces here or there, and it makes her mouth part in shock. Her hands shuffle the letters apart to see each one and recognize the handwriting: Kie's bubbly, swirling letters, Pope's neat cursive, hers, and JJ's chicken scratch writing that she's able to decipher from years of proofreading his essays.

She pictures him at her desk all morning while she was sitting out here, ripping tape off of the roll and arranging the puzzle pieces of the ripped letters until he was sure he got it right. It made him want to rip the hair from his scalp, but he sat there and pushed through the frustration to make it as perfect as he could for her. The missing pieces were primarily from Kie's letter, which fluttered away on a balmy breeze when Kacey tore it up and threw it to the ground, but the one he wanted her to have the most wasn't missing more than a single piece.

Y/N looks up from the letters held like a precious treasure in her hands to see him watching her with that same classic JJ smile on his face, but he doesn't let her get a word in yet.

"Go on," he says, leaning closer to pull his letter to John B out and place it on top of the pile for her to read, "I want you to read it."

"You didn't let me read it when I asked before though, are you sure you—"

He interrupts her before she can worry herself over it, "Dude, just read it. I promise I'm fine with it. I want you to."

The letters crinkle under her touch as she looks back down and smooths them out on the deck enough to read through the clear tape. With one last confirming glance to him for permission, she takes a deep breath and reads the first line.

Dear John B,

You really know how to keep a guy on his toes, don't you? You really outdid yourself on this one. I was so sure we were gonna make it, but I guess you had to go all Romeo and Juliet on us, huh? As long as you and Sarah are happy macking on each other in heaven, it's okay.

In all seriousness, I fucking miss you, bro. I miss you more than I realized a person could miss another person. Whenever I need to talk to you again, I don't know what to do. I guess that's why it's good that Y/N made me write this.

Also, I'm really sorry for—

"What does it say there? There's a whole chunk missing," she murmurs.

He scoots close enough to her that she can feel his body warmth radiating onto her through the shoulder of his flannel. Sunlight reflects on the silver rings decorating his fingers as he holds one side of the paper to tilt it enough for him to squint at.

"Macking, I think. It's supposed to say "I'm sorry for macking on your sister."

—macking on your sister. You can totally kick my ass for it, but before you come back from the grave to murder me, let me defend myself, okay? She isn't just another girl for me, John B.

I think you knew it before I did.

Last summer, you asked me straight up if we were hooking up behind your back after I kissed her in front of you on the porch. I laughed in your face, but you were right.

You saw everything before me, man. You knew I loved her since we were kids and waited for us to come to you about it, so that's gotta mean something, right? I hope it means you wouldn't be mad at me for this.

I swear I won't fuck it up with her, but you already know that. That's why you asked me to take care of her,. I didn't know why at the time but I do now. I won't let you down.

I'm keeping my promise.

- JJ

P.S. Don't miss me too much. We'll be shotgunning beers together up there before you know it.

There are tears blooming in her eyes when she lifts her gaze from the tattered paper to look at him again, but they aren't sad. For once, the tears slipping down her cheeks are happy tears, not born from grief, sadness, and pain, but bittersweet happiness.

They're caught staring at each other for a second before he asks her shyly, "It isn't too sappy or anything, is it? 'Cause I thought it—"

"C'mere," is the only thing she can get out before she's tugging him forward by the front of his shirt to kiss him.

JJ stumbles a little with the unexpected force of her pulling him to her, but he takes it in stride. He steadies himself and lets his hands shoot out to grapple for purchase on her waist, keeping her pressed up against him tightly as he kisses her back.

And it doesn't get much better than this, does it? This is it for him. He meant what he wrote to John B, he won't fuck it up with her, especially not because of his trauma with his dad getting inside his head and sabotaging his relationship with her. This is what makes everything worth it.

It brings happy tears to his eyes too.

She can taste the salt of them where their lips meet in the middle. It makes her smile, wrapping her arms around his neck and clenching the letters he mended for her in her fist to keep them from blowing away in the wind, and they both start to laugh into each other's mouths at the poignant feeling they both share but can't quite place.

They pull away from each other to catch their breath after another moment of it, and she can't help but stare. How could she not when she feels like this? It’s less like he’s her boyfriend and more like a piece of her soul has attached itself to his with no hope of letting go in the near future.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," she whispers to him.

Plain and simple. No room for disagreement or a bashful rejection of the compliment. She's pulled back from him enough to hold his gaze and make sure he sees her seriousness, and there isn't anything he can do to refute her statement.

He brushes his nose against hers affectionately, dipping down to kiss her again, but when he leans back to see her face, he can't help himself.

"Ditto."

The rest of the day after their moment on the boat, locked away in their own little world where none of the monsters chasing them could sneak through and ruin it, melts away peacefully. After another half hour spent looking through the box together, of her thanking him over and over again, he hops off of the HMS Pogue onto the dock and extends his hand to her in the most gentlemanly manner possible.

His lips are curved into a smirk as he kneels down on one knee as though she's a revered royal and bows his head in subservience, "Princess Routledge."

Her hand fits in his warm, calloused palm as a perfect match, and she steps off of the boat onto the dock beside him with an expression to match his.

"Captain Maybank," she says in her most regal royalty voice.

Her stellar performance breaks into a laugh they share as he stands and throws his arm around over her shoulder to walk back to the yard. The cardboard box is tucked beneath one of her arms while the other slips around his side to hold him back, and her heart feels full with both the presence of JJ and John B alongside her.

They bury it together.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, and @krisphann

Also, now that it’s over, let me know what your favorite part was in the comments or tags if you’d like to :) I’m curious.

[vatrocvet]

ive been wanting to ask, in the context of the way you characterize Norma, what do you think her relationship / first interactions with frazie are like? your thought process on these things are super interesting (:>

I've spent an... amount of time thinking about how these two could grow and improve alongside eachother. In my mind they are as different as they are similar. I hope most of all that this makes some sense and that it's at least comprehensive.

Let's start it off with a Frazie angst section, woo!

For Frazie, her family is her highest priority, and she places it above herself. From how I see it, it's very likely Frazie's upbringing was solely centered on her special family and it's unconventional ways. Her entire personhood was molded by her assigned role(s) in the family: The Older Sister, The Example and The Performer. As the older sister in a family like her's, she was probably raised to be capable and independent, tasked with many responsibilities and chores, whilst being someone for the younger ones to look up to and someone her parents can rely on to perform well (in more ways than one) at all times. It's likely she's been pushed to mature fast, expected to forfeit a carefree childhood in favor of helping her family. Seeing how the Aquatos are, she's probably been actively participating in the circus since she was a toddler. Their home is a traveling caravan, always changing locations. Her only consistent influence and relationship is the one with her family. To Frazie, family is everything. She lives alongside them, she performs alongside them, she sees their lows behind the curtain and their peaks on the stage. But when your family is your whole world, these behaviors begin to bleed into eachother. Frazie seems to live in a state of conscious denial, caused by a frustrating, stubborn unwillingness to accept herself and face up to the facts: she is a psychic. She can come up with reasons, excuses or explanations, but it's obvious she has a certain amount of self-hatred ingrained within herself. Her whole life she's been told the same thing: all psychics are bad, and her family hates psychics. But... she's a psychic. What's she to do? What a proud Aquato knows best. Perform. Act like she's been thought, act like she belongs even though, inside, she feels as if she doesn't. The pressure of keeping up the neverending act is a constant weight on her. She knows none but the stage, and this crooked one is barely held up by a self-shaming, cowardly rhetoric. She must live up to her family's expectations, even if the cost is bottling up her emotions and hiding her true self. Her family is everything she's got. The circus might be small compared to everything outside, but to her, it's the only thing she knows. And as she walks the tightrope above, immersed in this routine she's known all her life, she knows not to look below, willingly ignorant to the raging flood, swaying violently, threatening to drown her. She desperately clings to her role and continues to perform it, because she can't afford to fall. The spotlight shines upon her as a glorious calling, not to be reflected by tears of doubt and regret! But each time it's radiant glow trails off of her, and a few silent tears roll down her freckled face, these bitter drops enrage the silenced storm. And even when the merciless waves (as a representation of her repressed emotions, because i'm addicted to allegories) tear trough the cloth and rope of her little tent, she remains rooted in her solemn ring. Even if the raging storm threatens to swallows her whole, she will continue to dance inside her small circle, stubbornly refusing to admit defeat. It's the Aquato way. Keep your shame behind the curtain and stand with pride. Frazie is proud of being an Aquato, but Frazie isn't proud of being herself.

And now I self indulgently ramble about Norma!

Norma is a difficult person. There's no denying she's a proactive worker, and a rather intelligent young lady, but she's such a busybody! She's generally unpleasant and rather nosy, looking out for any imperfections as a tool to use in offense. She's like the private investigator nobody hired. Her pursuits are often demeaning, and she finds herself in a witch hunt of one. I wonder, why does she get like this? Why does she feel the need to spend her time frantically over analyzing people's actions and being invasive? I'd say it's because she's paranoid, insecure and jealous. She doesn't see a change of place or new people as refreshing or potentially enjoyable, she sees it all as yet another relentless competition where she has to come out on top, desperate to stand above the rest, gazing pridefully at the shining reflection of a spotless reputation against the lenses of her glasses. Norma acts as if she's on top of it all, like she's above these trivial feelings, like she's stable and mature. But it's an act, a cover for the fears she experiences, threatened by an unfamiliar environment. Everything is a test, a competition, and they're all out to get her. She only feels secure and in control if she's dug up dirt on them, because if they try to bring her down, they're getting buried alongside her. She's terrified of vulnerability and she's terrified of being knocked off of her high horse. Deep inside, she wants to belong somewhere, maybe more than anything, but anything good ends up in her self-sabotaging. She's only ever been thought to please and obey authority figures, and most of her social capabilites circle around manipulation and coercion because she does what she feels she has to do to reach her goals. It's not that she doesn't want to trust and have genuine friends, but how could she possibly allow herself such a foolish blindspot! They'll tear her down the second she shows genuine emotion, they will hurt her the second she's open. They all hate her, they're all ready to bring her down because she's such a horrible, wicked priss! It's a neverending cycle of self sabotage and self fulfilling prophecies of her own making. She trips up every possibility of happiness with an awful routine she's pushed herself into and clings to these learnt behaviors because of her general distrust for everyone around her. She's cruel first because she sees the worst in people as a both a defense mechanism and justification for her shortcomings and inability to be good. All her skill and dedication goes to the wrong thing. Norma's observant, hardworking and strives to be logical, but she's stubborn in her conformation bias and ends up connecting all those dots wrong because of her skewed thinking, quick to assume and have prejudice. Because she fancies herself judge, jury and executioner. Sure, everybody knows what Norma's like, but nobody knows Norma. How could they? She's built walls around herself, and the coal black remains of burnt bridges serve as a warning. Self-preservation comes first, even if the cost is all potential happiness. It's not like anyone would care to know Norma. Why would you waste your time with someone like her?

The section that actually answers the question, I think?

I feel they'd ignite curiosity within eachother. Someone like Norma would be puzzled by someone like Frazie, and vice versa. Frazie has been raised in a rather unconventional manner, and I feel her general way of being is quite curious to the normal (she wishes) Norma. And Frazie, being how she is, doesn't really understand how teenage social circles work. She's likely never been to school or stuck around in a place long enough to be aware of how things work around there, so the things Norma is so bothered with seem trivial to her. There's various ways they could meet and hang around eachother. I feel Norma isn't as atrocious company as you would think. Sure, she's a huge gossip and rarely has a nice thing to say, but her presence can turn... silent when she's working or stuck in thought. She has a tendency to brood and overthink, stress over unexpected consequences and plan things in advance. She likes to learn people and their patterns to calm down her need to be in constant control, she will write mental scripts for various people, she preys for behavioral patterns because she needs to know what to expect. "Of course, that makes sense, no surprises!". Each scenario she can imagine has some form of preparation for it. Now, how could these two meet? I greatly enjoyed many of the ideas other people came up with, like Norma being Frazie's mentor. I think this one has strong potential because it forces these two to stick together long enough to give eachother a chance. Norma is just so rude, and Frazie doesn't have the tolerance for someone that unnecessarily mean. Norma doesn't respect her, Norma acts so high and mighty, Norma is so quick to judge with a stuck up attitude and her nose in the clouds. But Norma also speaks in such a smart way, Norma is such a prudent, dedicated teacher, Norma is different than anyone she ever knew and Norma is... profoundly lonely. Norma is so quaint!

It would take a long time for their relationship to blossom, but once it does, it would help both of them greatly. They both have expectations placed upon them, they both feel they're must excel in their respective departments, and they both hide their true feelings from the world, repressing and bottling up all negativity. They're both girls full of pride, but feel outcast and strained by what they perceive they should be, instead of being true to themselves. Norma has to find herself and everything she's lost to this cycle of hatred and cowardice, whilst Frazie needs to accept herself fully and live her life to it's complete potential. Take eachother by the hand, give a bow to this imaginary audience with a prideful grin they so love to wear, and as they step behind the curtain, they fall to pieces and cry in the comfort of eachother's embrace, free from these perceived ideas of who they should be. Isn't that just ideal? If only it was so easy. But something like that, difficult and full of thorns, takes much time, until you can feel peace surrounded by the gentle petals of a rosebud which opens with love, and the catharsis has been reached. Frazie would push Norma to be a better person because Norma would finally find someone she values and cares about enough to be impacted by them in Frazie, while Norma would push Frazie to be herself by helping her hone her psychic gifts and experiencing an accepting surrounding, while both admiring and hurting for Norma, slowly forming a stubborn desire to build a bridge and climb the walls to her heart. It would probably take them both too damn long to figure out they're in love with eachother, because they couldn't admit it to themselves. But all those gentle moments when they let their guard down, when Norma finds herself counting the freckles on Frazie's face (to explain why she's been staring at her longingly for a good minute), when Frazie just doesn't get Norma's "personal space" and places her head on her shoulder out of the blue, when the silence between them isn't something they wish to break, but rather something they enjoy compared to loud world around them. And every time Norma goes too far with some cruel, insensitive remark, and every time Frazie stubbornly refuses to cooperate, and every time it all escalates into some stupid fight ignited by the sparks of their egos, there's this somber, regretful emptiness afterwards, leading them back to eachother. They connect in a manner neither of them have ever felt before. And it's beautiful in a way that knows how to hurt like the bitter venom from a snake's fang, and caress like the warmth of a gentle flame. And so, it burns.