#just be grateful and think about these things that's all

[favefandomimagines]

loml (r.c)

SEASON 4 PART 2 SPOILERS!!!!

Request: @motherlanaenthusiast “So what if we do a Rafe x Maybank!reader where like maybe she was in morocco but she wasn’t with JJ when he died cuz she was doing smthn else so like they all have to break the news and that happens and then when like after when they’re back at Kildare Rafe like gets deja vu from s1&2 him because he sees reader going kinda crazy”

Summary: Rafe is the only person to save Y/N from a downward spiral.

AN: I will NEVER forgive the writers for this lol I went on a tangent with this one

The sun was blistering and casting a golden hue over the winding alleyways in Morocco. Rafe Cameron and Y/N Maybank moved through the maze of alleyways, their steps quick and purposeful, yet filled with a tension that spoke of something much deeper than their immediate surroundings.

Y/N was JJ Maybank’s twin sister, a spitfire with a wild heart who had once been the center of Rafe’s secret world. The two had shared a tumultuous fling, a secret affair that had started four years ago under the cover of darkness and ended just as abruptly. It was a relationship neither had ever fully acknowledged. Rafe was a Kook, while Y/N, like her brother JJ, was a Pogue, tale as old as time.

The shop was quiet, the group off to Charleston to follow the next clue. Y/N stayed behind to wait for her brother after he had wandered off “running errands.” The bell above the door jingled, and the soft sound broke through the silence.

Y/N was leaning against the counter, staring at her phone screen, scrolling through all the unread text messages to her brother.

"How can I help you?" she asked absently, not looking up from her phone.

She looked up and her breath got caught in her throat, the smile on Rafe Cameron's face grating against the air. He stood at the entrance, hands tucked casually in his pockets, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, keeping her tone even, though the familiar tension in her chest began to build. She’d never been able to shake the feeling of unease around him. Not since everything went down with Pope, the fight that ended whatever it was they had.

"Can't I just stop by and visit my local surf and bait shop?" Rafe said, taking a step inside, his eyes glinting mischievously.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You looking for Sarah?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Actually, yeah. I'm looking for Sarah."

She shook her head, setting the phone down with a soft click. "She doesn’t want to talk to you."

Rafe raised an eyebrow, the smirk still in place. "I think I can have a chat with my sister whenever I want."

"Not if she doesn't want to talk to you." Her words were firm, but there was a slight quiver in her voice that betrayed her more complicated feelings.

Rafe’s smirk didn’t falter as he took a few more steps forward, closing the distance between them. He placed his elbows on the counter, leaning in closer, the sudden proximity catching her off guard.

"I'm sorry about the drama at the beach the other day," he said, his voice lowering in an almost sincere tone. "With Ruthie and the turtles."

She didn’t respond right away, trying to keep her emotions in check. She could feel the weight of his words, but it didn’t change anything. Rafe was sorry—sorry for the mess he had created, maybe, but never for the things that had truly mattered.

"Don’t act like you care, Rafe," she replied, her voice steady despite the knot tightening in her stomach. "You only care about how things affect you. And I guess now Sofia."

He stared at her for a long moment, his gaze growing intense. The years of tension between them seemed to hang in the air, unresolved and unspoken. Then he said, his tone soft but firm, "We used to be so close, Y/N. What happened?"

She sucked in a breath, trying to push down the anger, the hurt, the past. "The drugs happened," she said slowly, her voice low. "Ward happened. Your anger happened."

His eyes darkened for a second, his jaw tightening. He opened his mouth to say something, but he closed it just as quickly. After a long, weighted silence, he took a half step back, his expression softening, just a little.

"I’m on your side, you know," he said quietly, the words almost a whisper, as though they were too important to rush. "I always have been."

The words hung between them, charged and heavy with meaning. She didn’t know what to say to that. She hadn’t known what to say to Rafe since the day he’d walked away, leaving everything torn apart in his wake.

Before she could respond, Rafe straightened, brushing his hand across his forehead as if clearing his thoughts. He turned toward the door, his back to her now. "I’ll be seeing you around," he muttered over his shoulder, the door swinging open as he left without another word.

Now, as they weaved through the ancient Moroccan city, they were older, scarred by the years of treasure hunts, betrayals, and broken friendships.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Y/N said, stopping suddenly, her dark eyes scanning the shadowed alleyways. She had always been the one with the sixth sense, the one who could feel trouble like a storm on the horizon.

Rafe turned to her, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

But before she could answer, they heard Kiara’s voice, shrill and desperate, cutting through the noise of the bustling market.

“Y/N! John B! Pope!”

Y/N’s heart seized in her chest, and without another word, she took off in the direction of Kiara's cries, Rafe hot on her heels. They rounded a corner and found Kiara kneeling on the cobblestones, her face pale and streaked with tears. And lying there, motionless, was JJ.

“No, no, no,” Y/N whispered, her voice breaking as she fell to her knees beside her brother. Her hands trembled as she reached out to touch JJ’s face, his skin already growing cold under her fingertips.

“JJ, please,” she begged, her voice cracking, tears streaming down her face. “You can’t leave me. You promised.” She cried.

But there was no response, no flicker of life in those familiar blue eyes. It felt like the world had been ripped out from under her, like the ground had opened up to swallow her whole. Rafe stood behind her, his face pale, his fists clenched at his sides.

The group stood stunned, no one wanting to be the one to move. But they were in a busy, bustling city with a dead body. People would ask questions. “W-We have to get him out of here.” John B stammered. He moved to reach for Y/N, attempting to pry her off of her brother’s body.

Y/N fought against him, muttering things like ‘I’m not leaving him’ or ‘he can’t be alone.’ Rafe takes over for John B and has to use his strength to pull her up to her feet. He held her in his arms, close to his chest to avoid having to see her two best friends moving her brother.

At that moment, all he could really do was hold her.

||

Months had passed since that horrible day in Morocco, but for Y/N, time had ceased to exist. She was back in Kildare, but it was as if she was still stuck in that dark alleyway, kneeling beside her brother’s lifeless body.

Sarah Cameron was heavily pregnant, as she prepared for the birth of her first child with John B. It was supposed to be a time of joy and new beginnings, but the shadow of JJ’s death loomed over them all.

Y/N had fallen into a downward spiral, her grief consuming her. She drank herself into oblivion every night, stumbling through the streets of Kildare like a ghost. She would disappear for days, only to be found passed out on the beach or in the hammock outside her house. The Pogues tried to help her, but she pushed them all away, lost in her own pain.

Sarah had told Rafe about Y/N, how she was drowning in guilt for not being there when JJ had died. The words had hit Rafe like a punch to the gut, reminding him of his own spiral years ago, before his father had dragged him into the hunt for the Royal Merchant’s gold.

He couldn’t let that happen to Y/N. He wouldn’t. He loved her even if he couldn’t admit it.

So he found himself standing on the porch of the Maybank house, staring at the peeling paint on the front door. John B’s van was parked out front, and Rafe assumed he was there trying to talk some sense into Y/N.

A part of him thought ‘oh John B is here, I can come back later.’ But he couldn’t walk away, not this time.He’s walked away from her too many times.

He knocked, the sound echoing in the stillness of the early afternoon. John B opened the door, his face drawn and tired. “Sarah’s not here.” He told Rafe. “I’m not here for Sarah. I’m here for Y/N.” Rafe answered.

“She’s not doing well, man,” John B said, his voice low. “We don’t know what else to do. I think... I think she feels guilty for not being with JJ when it happened.”

Rafe nodded, his jaw tightening. “Let me talk to her.”

John B hesitated but finally stepped aside, letting Rafe through. The house was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos that had always surrounded JJ.

Rafe walked down the hall to Y/N’s bedroom, the same room he used to sneak into all those years ago. All of the memories came flooding back as he stopped in front of the door. Nights that ended tangled up in her sheets. Other nights where she just wanted to be held after a fight with her dad.

Rafe pushed the door open to find her cocooned under the comforter, a bottle of vodka sitting on her nightstand.

“JB, please go away,” she mumbled, her voice raw and hoarse. Rafe assumed from a mixture of alcohol and crying.

“Not John B,” Rafe said softly.

Y/N stiffened, slowly emerging from under the covers, moving to sit up against her headboard. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face pale and gaunt. She looked like a shadow of the girl he once knew.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“I’m worried about you,” Rafe said, moving to sit on the edge of the mattress.

“Apparently everyone is,” she muttered, her eyes flicking away from him.

There was a heavy silence, the kind that was filled with all the things they had left unsaid for so many years. Rafe took a deep breath, trying to find the right words.

“Y/N... I know what it’s like to lose yourself,” he began, his voice steady. “I know what it’s like to drown. I was there once, you know that. Hell, I’m still trying to crawl my way out.”

She looked at him, her eyes filling with tears. “He was always afraid to be alone, and I left him alone,” she choked out. “I should have been there. I should have protected him.”

Rafe’s heart broke at the raw pain in her voice. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened, Y/N. JJ wouldn’t want that.”

“How would you know?” she snapped, her voice rising. “You never cared about him. About me.”

The words were like a slap in the face, but Rafe took it, knowing she was lashing out from a place of deep hurt. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “I didn’t care about JJ, and I pushed everyone away. But I always cared about you. And I don’t want to lose you to this, Y/N. I can’t.”

“I’m not your responsibility, Rafe.” Y/N muttered. “No but you’re the person I love.” Rafe replied. “You can’t say things like that.” She practically snapped. “Why not? You used to beg me to tell you how I felt and I finally am. I’m sorry it came so late and it’s happening because of this but I’ll be damned if another person I love gets hurt because I didn’t do anything to stop it.” Rafe told her.

She stared at him, the anger draining from her eyes, leaving only exhaustion. “I don’t know how to come back from this,” she whispered.

“Let me help you,” Rafe said, his voice breaking. “Please. Let me be there for you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

There was a long pause, and then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded. It was a small gesture, but it was enough.

“I’ll try,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’ll try to get better.”

“And I’ll be here,” Rafe promised, reaching out to take her hand. “Through it all. I’m not going anywhere.”

||

A year had passed since that day in Morocco. The sun was shining over the Outer Banks, the salty breeze carrying the sound of laughter and the distant crash of waves. The Pogues had gathered for a special occasion, a day of celebration and new beginnings.

Sarah and John B’s son, Jackson, was turning one today, and they were throwing a beach party in his honor. Y/N stood on the edge of the gathering, watching as Sarah bounced her son on her hip, his tiny hands reaching for the birthday cake.

Y/N was sober, clear-eyed, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like she could breathe again. She had fought her way out of the darkness with Rafe by her side, and though the pain of losing her brother would never fully fade, she was learning to live with it.

Rafe approached her, a soft smile on his lips. “You doing okay?” he asked, his voice gentle.

She nodded, turning to look at him. “Yeah, I think I am.”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “I’m proud of you,” he whispered. “For everything.”

She leaned into him, letting the warmth of his embrace chase away the lingering shadows. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For not giving up on me.”

Rafe smiled down at her before she moved up on her toes and kissed him sweetly. “I love you, Rafe.” She spoke quietly. “I love you too.” He replied.

They stood there together, watching as their friends celebrated a new chapter of their lives, a chapter filled with hope and healing.

For the first time in a long time, Y/N believed that maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.

[6up-5oh-copout-procon]

this!!!! i myself, from a REALLY conservative and religious family, was also very bigoted when i was a kid. it was a taboo subject and I'd feel disgusted by queerness thinking of what i heard my parents say about it. and then i met a few queer kids who were willing to call me out when i went too far, but at the same time were patient with me and explained to me every point, and i ended up SO much better and more self aware than i could have been.

i don't think they owed me that patience, and i now think it'd have been understandable if they simply didn't want to stay friends, no one owes anyone an explanation of why they deserve human rights. but I'm still grateful, since that patience did more for me and for queerness than any alternative answer/reaction they could have given me.

Most conservative ideas are what they're named, conserved. They're old ideas passed down from generation to generation. Look around most right wing people, and you'll see their parents and grandparents usually say the same stuff they say, hell even religion is passed down in most cases. Unfortunately I'm in a conservative, dangerous for queers and religious country, but I don't hate any of the people around me for this stuff. They're all multi-faced, the same person who'll say queers deserve to be beaten up will walk and feed a stray cat around the corner.

When you grow up forced to think and believe certain things, and punished if you don't, it doesn't make you a bad person that you ended up actually thinking and believing those things, it just makes you someone who grew up controlled. I was one of them, so now i look at them with compassion and understanding, and if they're safe enough to discuss with without being outed, i usually will try to put in that effort, because i know I'm grateful that effort was put in for me.

posts about the alt-right pipeline being compassionate towards young men while radical leftists shun and shame them are not fucking saying "the men are becoming violent because feminists are too mean!" and if that is your takeaway you need to get off tumblr until you've better honed your critical thinking skills.

those posts are talking about how effective the language and approach you take in your activism can be. this is literally cult deprogramming 101. if someone is being taken in by a violent or dangerous group, that violent or dangerous group is usually offering them compassion and solace while working hard to convince them everyone else in the world is their enemy. you are under no obligation to coddle or act compassionate toward these men and their violent ideologies, but if you have the means to try, it is something that you can do to make a tangible difference.

radicalized people are often only one loving friend or family member or external voice away from being de-radicalized. of course that is not always the case, but it very often is. a lot of y'all rightfully understand that you do not carry the burden of being that voice, but a lot of y'all also have a lot of internalized ideas about morals and punitive justice and have simply written off these people as deserving of only the worst and not worth saving.

ten years ago, my grandmother was a fox news watching republican who voted red in every election and very well could have fallen down the qanon rabbit hole if not for me and her daughter challenging her compassionately, walking her through hypotheticals that validated her feelings & proving why they were false, & being patient with her despite our extreme division in political ideology. it was frustrating fucking work! but i decided i wanted to do it, because i could see the horizon and i could see me making a difference!

"misogynists have been saying feminists are too mean for years, get new material" that is not the fucking POINT. the point is that you, feminist, can be the compassionate voice that guides your brother, your father, your cousin, your grandfather away from fucking becoming or staying a nazi. you can show them compassion and companionship. you can be the woman they think of when their alt-right bros try to convince them that women are the enemy. and you can choose to crystallize that image of yourself so wholly in their mind's eye as worth protecting that they may very well choose to reject those harmful ideas.

it's not saying you HAVE to do it! it's saying you CAN do it! don't you 'firebomb a walmart' people all love taking change into your own hands? where the fuck is that energy right now, huh?

[creamflix]

toji fushiguro x female reader; heavy, heart-crushing angst, not a lot of comfort. reader is toji's second wife, megumi's step-mom. concept inspired by @/yunymphs nsfw fic, off your shoulders — masterlist here ☆

marriage is supposed to be a blessing, a bond that seals two lives into one, a promise of belonging.

you’d always dreamed of it.

sharing every first moment with someone — the first kiss as newlyweds, the first lazy morning dance in the kitchen, the first time lying side by side, tangled in each other. you’d imagined a life full of firsts, a life that would feel like you’re writing a story together, each page a piece of both of you.

but with toji, the man you love and who loves you, it feels like stepping into the middle of a book already written.

he’s had his firsts, some so precious that traces of them linger like shadows in your home. and you try — god, you try — to let that be enough, to love him and his son, megumi, with all the warmth and devotion you can muster. yet some days, you feel like you’re just outside their world, looking in.

it’s in the everyday moments, these small interactions that remind you of everything they had before you came along. moments like this morning, when you’re up early making breakfast, hoping to surprise toji with something special. you’re chopping vegetables, humming softly to yourself, trying to imagine the look on his face when he comes in, maybe pulls you close and says you don’t have to go through the trouble. you’ve seen couples do that — little gestures to remind each other they’re together.

you want that, too.

but as you start to crack an egg into the pan, you hear megumi calling from down the hall. “dad, where are my soccer cleats?”

your heart clenches. before you can even move to help, toji’s already calling back, voice easy, like it’s a scene they’ve played out a hundred times. “try under the stairs, where your mom used to keep ‘em.”

his mom. megumi’s mom.

the woman who came before you, whose shoes you will never be able to fill.

the words hang in the air, chilling. you place the egg down and pause, the silence settling heavy on your shoulders. you don’t hate her, not in the slightest — you’ve only ever heard lovely things about her. if anything, you’re grateful to her for the habits, routines, the sense of belonging she built with them, for raising megumi to be as kind as he is.

but still, there’s a sting every time she’s mentioned, a reminder that no matter how much you love toji, a part of him will always belong to her.

maybe that’s normal, you tell yourself, shaking off the thought. you grab the spatula, focusing on the way the eggs sizzle in the pan, trying to calm the knot that’s forming in your stomach.

“i’m… making breakfast, by the way,” you call out, trying to keep your voice light. maybe this will be the moment toji notices, realizes you’re trying to make him smile in your own way.

“yeah, thanks, babe,” he says from the hall. he’s already moved on, ruffling megumi’s hair as they laugh about something you can’t quite hear.

right, you think, fighting the wave of hurt that sweeps over you.

maybe that’s just the way it is.

you stare down at the breakfast you prepared, feeling a pang of something deeper than you’d care to admit. you’re doing your best to fit in, to add to the life he’s built, but sometimes, it feels like nothing more than an afterthought. it’s silly, really — you know they care about you, know toji chose you because he loves you.

but love doesn’t always erase what came before.

and it’s not his fault that his past is so deeply woven into their present, into your present.

by the time they wander into the kitchen, you’ve already set out the plates, adding a smile to mask the ache twisting inside you. megumi gives you a small nod, a muttered “thanks,” while toji walks over, planting a quick kiss on your cheek. “looks good,” he says with that lazy smirk, and you feel the flutter of warmth, the one that always ignites when he shows even the smallest affection. but it quickly fades as he moves back to his son, launching into an old joke that you don’t understand.

you sit down across from them, feeling the laughter spill around you, each chuckle a reminder of the bond they share. you know it’s unreasonable to feel left out; after all, you’ve only been a part of their lives for a fraction of the time.

and they are good to you. they include you in most things, make an effort to make you feel like part of the family.

but there are these subtle moments, these glances, these familiar gestures, that you can never quite touch.

you watch as toji reaches over, ruffling megumi’s hair, that same fond smile lighting his face. and it’s like watching them dance to a song you can’t hear. a piece of you aches to ask, where do i fit into this?

“you two are adorable,” you say, almost to yourself, hoping they hear the love in your voice despite the sadness resting there.

you can’t say the words that sit heavy in your chest, the longing to belong to them in a way that feels real and whole. instead, you keep your gaze on your plate, focusing on the small bite of eggs you’ve managed to lift to your lips, the only sound in your head the quiet plea that maybe one day, this feeling will pass.

maybe one day, watching them from afar will stop hurting so much.

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[taojjang]

riize in an argument

pairing: bf!riize x reader, genre: angst, warnings: cussing, jealousy, medication, lovebombing, (light) forced affection pink text > reader blue text > riize

♡⸝⸝ getting into petty arguments with your boyfriend

shotaro . . . can't understand why you don't trust him.

the two of you had just gotten home from a dinner date, which shotaro thought had gone well but apparently not. shotaro was confused as to why you were suddenly silent during the drive home. "are you tired, honey? you're not talking much." he figured you were just sleepy since you didn't respond, only quietly resting your head against the window.

after the two of you changed from your date clothes and unwound for the night, shotaro grew concerned. he could tell you were upset about something, but he couldn't tell what. he kept poking at you, reaching to pry at your silence. "did i upset you honey? did i say something wrong?" you took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the bed, finally deciding to come out of your silence. "i don't like how you were talking to the waitress." shotaro tilted his head and stepped closer to you. "what do you mean?" "you know what i mean, shotaro. you saw how she was looking at you. you were even giving in.. you flirted back." shotaro slightly furrowed his eyebrows and lightly held your hand. "what flirting, honey? i was only being nice to her." you began growing frustrated by how innocent he was acting. "you're just so oblivious sometimes, taro. you think i couldn't see the looks you were exchanging with her? she was all over you, you should've known her intentions." shotaro scoffed and let go of your hand. he felt quite hurt that he spent so much effort taking you out for a nice dinner just for you to accuse him of dedicating his time to another woman. "she was just being nice and i was returning her energy. you're just overanalyzing like you always do."

as soon as those words left shotaro's lips, your heart began to sting. taro's eyes softened as he realized what he'd said to you. you nodded and grabbed your pillow, standing up to leave. you kept silent knowing the ache in your throat would soon turn to tears. taro held your hand and tried pleading with you; "i didn't mean it like that honey, i just-" "no, it's fine." you pulled your wrist out of his weak grip and muttered a defeated "goodnight" before leaving to spend the night on the couch. once the door shut behind you, taro sat down on the bed and let out a shaky breath as he realized how much he'd just hurt you.

eunseok . . . can't tolerate your disobedience.

he was cleaning the bathroom when he saw your pill case sitting on the counter. he sighed and snatched the full case off of the counter, walking to the living room to confront you.

you sat confused as your boyfriend held the box of pills in your face. "hm..?" "darling, how many times do i have to tell you to take your medicine?" he sighed and looked down at the 3 days worth of forgotten pills in the tin. "i'm not your doctor, i can't keep reminding you. it's getting tiring." you sighed and threw your head back in frustration. this was a common thing for eunseok to bring up every so often, but it was getting exhausting. "then you don't have to keep reminding me, seok. i'm also tired of it." eunseok scoffed and bit his lip. "tired of what? me looking out for you?" you wanted to roll your eyes at his condescending tone. you always hated how arrogant he gets, thinking he's so much smarter than you and telling you off like you're a misbehaving toddler. "no, seok. i'm just tired of taking these stupid pills all the time. i'll live without them for a few days. i don't like it when you're bossy like this." eunseok bit his lip at your ungrateful tone grating at his ears. he looked down at you with a stern glare, squinting in annoyance. "making sure you're healthy is being bossy? you're being a brat, y/n. i wouldn't have to be 'bossy' if you listened to me and at least tried to get better. you're just lazy." you felt your blood boil as you poked your tongue through your cheek. you were far more than angry at this point. you looked up at him and huffed, "i'm not lazy for being sick of taking pills every day. all i want is for you to chill out and stop shoving pills in my face all the time. i'll be fine." eunseok sighed and nodded, tossing the case on the table in front of you. "alright, then. i'll stop caring so much. fuck, i can't stand you sometimes."

it's not rare for the two of you to get mean during arguments, but it is rare for eunseok to say something that hurts you this much. you didn't expect to feel your heart aching after simply choosing not to take your medication. despite wanting to snap back at him, all you could do was nod, snatching the pills off the counter and swallowing them in one go. even after saying something so blunt, eunseok couldn't help but worry about your sudden silence and compliance. you stood up and put the pill case into the pocket of your hoodie. you swallow back a mixture of frustrated insults and hurt tears as you look up at him with glossy eyes. "i'll leave you alone since you can't stand me so badly." you coldly walk past him to the front door, slamming it behind you. eunseok sighed and walked back to the bathroom, hoping to distract himself from the idea that he'd just crossed the line.

sungchan . . . can't tolerate your mood swings.

as much as he hates to admit it, you're hard to handle. no matter how well he treats you or how much he spoils you, you'll still come home and find a reason to be sad. but he can't understand that sometimes you just need time alone. you had a long day at work and simply wanted to come home and recharge, looking forward to lying down and maybe watching your comfort show. but sungchan had other plans for you. as much as you love him, it gets tiring to be suffocated with cuddles when you just need time alone. today, you couldn't suppress your discomfort. you just didn't expect sungchan to get so angry.

"my fault for wanting to comfort you when you're upset." sungchan let go of your waist and moved to the opposite side of your bed. you sighed and sat up, turning to him. "thank you, sungchan. i'm really not mad at you, i just need time alone sometimes." you tried reassuring him once you heard his pained tone, but to no avail. "you ever think i need comfort, too? i had a horrible day and you can't even hug me for a few minutes?" for a second, you thought he was joking. but once you saw the angered expression on his face, your smile dropped. "baby, are you serious? i had a shitty day, too. all i need is some time alone. why are you taking it so personally?" "because it feels personal, y/n. you're pushing me away when i was just trying to make you feel better." you felt almost sickened by how ridiculous he sounded. you've already had a terrible day and you certainly weren't in the mood to argue. "that's not what i mean, sungchan, and you know it. all i'm asking is to be alone." sungchan seemingly felt the same way, leaving one last message before avoiding the conflict. "fine, didn't know i bothered you so much. don't bother coming to me later."

sungchan stormed out of the room. soon, the echo of his bedroom door slamming shut rang through the house. though you got what you wanted, your bed began feeling empty. you wanted to sleep it off, but the guilt now felt heavier than your fatigue.

wonbin . . . can't fathom the idea of losing.

wonbin is so adorably whiny. so adorable that you like to tease him just to hear him cry "stop it!" you admit to being a little too harsh sometimes when he gets frustrated with you, but you can't help yourself. wonbin is just too cute :( when the two of you play games, he's always whining about losing. if he's winning, he'll be giggling and having the time of his life— but god forbid it's the opposite.

"ah, this is getting annoying!" wonbin whined, moving farther from the table. you laughed and gestured at the pile of cards in front of you. "your turn! come on, at least try to beat me!" wonbin sighed and tossed another card on the table. before he knew it, your cards were almost used up and you were this close to winning the game. "this isn't fun anymore." wonbin groaned, leaning back with a pout on his face. you sighed and joked, "baby, you're always complaining. such a sore loser!" but something about your teasing ticked wonbin off. his sulky demeanor soon turned bitter and he gave you a resentful glare. "i wouldn't have to complain if you didn't get all cocky every time you won. you never give me a chance." wonbin's whiny complaints were beginning to get to you. you felt as if he was blaming you for his losses. "i'm just playing the game. it's not my fault i'm good at it." you immediately regretted your defense when the deck of cards were slammed onto the table in front of you. "gosh, i fucking get it y/n." wonbin stood up and stormed off, mumbling "this is why i can't do anything with you."

you felt your heart tear at his empty-hearted words. with the slam of his bedroom door, your tears began falling down your face. you never thought a simple card game would drive wonbin to this level of annoyance. you stood up and put the cards back into the box while considering whether to apologize or leave him be. you stand in front of his bedroom door, hesitantly muttering through your shaky breath, "i'm gonna go home now." you stood there like an idiot waiting for a reply, but you heard nothing other than the tapping of your tears dripping onto the hardwood floor.

seunghan . . . can't understand why his affection hurts you.

it's rare for the two of you to argue since seunghan travels extra lengths to make sure you're happy. after all, you're his entire world and he'd give up anything to keep you satisfied. but that's why so many problems go unanswered. whenever there's an issue between the two of you, seunghan just tugs you into a hug and tries to take your mind off of your frustration while the problem sits in the dust.

"it's called love bombing," you explain to seunghan, who was staring at you with confused yet hurt eyes. "i know you're just trying to make me happy, but it's bringing up so many more problems than we need, love." seunghan looked down at your hands and furrowed his eyebrows. "well, how? does my affection not fix anything? wouldn't you rather cuddle than argue all night?" you sighed and bit your lip in frustration. seunghan had expected you to agree, but his heart began hurting once you shook your head. "that's the problem, seunghan. making up without resolving anything is only making things worse for us. you need to talk to me, love. i can't keep kissing you to forget how hurt i am." seunghan felt all of his efforts go to waste. he'd truly hoped his affection could mend every rift between you two, but he was mistaken. seunghan picked up his phone from the bed and stood up. "i'm sorry, y/n. i just thought maybe my love would be enough to fix things."

seunghan turned around and made his way to the bedroom door, utilizing every ounce of strength in him to refrain from kissing you goodnight. "i promise i'll work on communicating, just... not yet. i don't know if i can speak to you right now. goodnight." seunghan left feeling shattered and simply exhausted from the confrontation. though you'd finally been able to address a longstanding issue, you felt everything but relief. now, both you and your crushed boyfriend wouldn't sleep a wink.

sohee . . . can't understand the concept of distance.

these past few days, sohee's noticed how different you've been acting. you've been coming to his house less and when he'd visit you, your attention was never completely his. worried, sohee brought up his concern to you, you brushing it off and telling him it's exam season, you've just been super drained from school. it all started to make sense, but that didn't solve any of his concerns. if anything, he was even more worried for your wellbeing, wondering how you could care for yourself if you don't even have the time to sit and talk with him for more than 10 minutes. so he began coming over more often to take care of you and keep your house tidy while you worked hard on your laptop. all of this hard work, yet you wouldn't let him sleep over.

"what..? why can't i?" sohee asked, hand frozen reaching for the pajamas he'd brought. "i'm just so exhausted, baby, i'm sorry. maybe you could sleep over when my exams are all finished..?" sohee was confused. he started to believe you weren't tired of the exams, but him. you noticed the sullen look forming on his face. you place your hand on his cheek and sent him a reassuring yet weak smile. "it's nothing personal, alright? i'm just tired." you'd expected sohee to understand, but his eyes shot up to you with an unfamiliar dark glint in them. "but you're making it personal, y/n. you can't even look at me when i'm beside you, not even for a second. are you tired of your work or me?" your heart rate began rapidly rising as sohee grew more and more frantic. "what makes you think i'm tired of you? i told you, i'm just tired. i want to rest alone, is that so terrible? i'm only-" "you don't have to keep making up excuses. i'll leave if you want me to but i'm not gonna let you lie to my face. stop sugarcoating it and tell me, y/n, you're just tired of me, aren't you?" you wanted to tell him he was wrong; he was the only escape you had from your excruciatingly repetitive schedule, yet he only believed you wanted to get rid of him. you tried to explain your feelings, yet all you could manage to do was scream, "you're not listening to me!" sohee scoffed at your sudden yelling. he bit his lip and picked up his bags, muttering, "there's nothing to listen to. there's no excuse you can make for not wanting anything to do with me."

you panicked as sohee left the room. you wanted to explain to him that he was completely mistaken and he was all you needed, but he wouldn't let you speak. you sighed as the front door slammed shut, the cold air leaking inside and stinging your tear-stained cheeks.

anton . . . can't let go of even the smallest slip-ups.

don't get me wrong— anton is the most forgiving boyfriend in the world. he could still smile and give you a goodnight kiss even if you ate the leftovers he'd been saving for dinner. but small things you do can lead him to make drastic assumptions about your relationship. last night, you were so exhausted that you'd forgotten to say your nightly "i love you" before hanging up on him. of course, you love him to death, but you were simply so tired after the horrible day you'd had that it'd slipped your mind since all you could think about was your bed. while you were knocked out cold, anton was sitting with his knees pressed against his chest, wondering if he'd done something wrong to not deserve an i-love-you. your poor baby is just a chronic overthinker.

"do you still love me..?" anton asked, sitting beside you on your bed while gently holding your hand. you let out a sleepy giggle, slowly nodding. "of course i do, silly. what makes you ask?" anton swallowed back his uncertainty and explained, "i don't know... you just didn't say 'i love you' last night before you hung up. i thought maybe i did something wrong." you let out a long sigh and stroked the back of his hand with your thumb. "that means nothing, dummy. i was just so tired, i'm sorry. i love you, okay?" things should've ended here, but anton just could not brush off his insecurity. "but you didn't say it..! it's such a normal thing now, how could you forget to say it? do you really not love me anymore?" anton was deeply hurt that you forgot such a crucial part of your regular routine with him, but you didn't realize how important this was to him. it only hurt to know all of your efforts to make him happy were blown away by this minuscule mistake. you'd been so busy and stressed with how packed your schedule was. nevertheless, you still tried your hardest to make time for your boyfriend. yet this one mistake lead him to believe you had no love for him. you were beyond frustrated. "i've been trying so hard to make sure you feel loved, anton. i keep in contact with you all day no matter how occupied i am and i still find time to cook dinner for you while i still have shitloads of homework waiting for me. how do i not love you?" anton was taken aback by the intimidating change in tone. your sudden anger only worsened his anxious overthinking. but of course, he remained avoidant. anton let go of your hand and nodded, looking down at his hand. "i'm really sorry, y/n. i didn't mean to make you angry. goodnight, love you."

you didn't realize your anger had scared him off until he left your room with tears in his eyes. regret pooled in your stomach and you began feeling sick. nothing hurt more than seeing that inconsolable look on your baby's face. tears made their way to your eyes as your mind traced the idea that you were the worst girlfriend you could possibly be.

—

(a/n: my first time writing angst..! i hope this was okay... it hurts so much writing angst without a happy ending :( if you're like me and need closure after every angst you read, there's a part two coming! do not fret my sensitive sisters 🙂‍↕️)

[goblin-jr]

And then i go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like i love you. 

Part 7 of 12

Synopsis: Kissing butt and moving forward

Pairing: unrequited JJ x Reader, Eventual Rafe x Reader

Warnings: sleazy old men being creepy, mild mentions of SA

Before you start this chapter, please listen to this song, this is pivotal to understanding y/n’s thoughts during the last scene. https://open.spotify.com/track/4zXuYQNDmw3dlauyc8q3Kd?si=646c78b4897948b6 

masterlist

—------

The country club was alive with the usual hum of polished interactions: the soft clinking of glasses, the shuffle of wait staff in black and white uniforms, and the low murmur of conversation filling the grand, gilded ballroom. Y/N moved through the space, her tray steady in her hands as she refilled water glasses and delivered drinks with practiced ease. Her eyes darted from task to task, trying to stay focused, but something gnawed at her.

She could feel the weight of JJ’s breath on her lips, the sting of his casual response when she’d told him how she felt. The memory of his pity-kiss made her stomach turn even now. It was hard to escape the feeling that something had irrevocably shifted between them. She didn’t want to think about it—not today. Today, she wanted answers, or at least a sign that things hadn’t fallen apart entirely.

She caught sight of him across the room, missing the usual smirk as he wiped down a table, leaning over to clear away dirty glasses. She walked toward him with a steadiness she didn’t feel. A few steps from his table, she hesitated, unsure what to say, but the chance to confront him felt too important to waste. Her heart was already racing before she even spoke his name.

"JJ."

He looked up, his blue eyes meeting hers for the briefest moment, but something in his expression shifted immediately. There was no warmth, no recognition of the awkwardness between them. He glanced over her shoulder, then back at her. “Not now, Y/N. I’m busy.”

The dismissal was swift, practiced. He didn’t even try to hide the way his gaze flitted away, settling on the next table with a customer’s request. As if she wasn’t there at all.

Y/N stood still for a moment, her breath caught in her throat. His back was already turned before she could say anything more. She swallowed hard, forcing her feet to move, the space between them suddenly feeling vast.

Before she could retreat further into herself, her manager appeared in her line of sight, his face set in the familiar, detached mask he wore when he had work for her.

“Y/N,” he called sharply, already holding out a clipboard. “You’re on for the private event tonight. Bikini server.”

The words hit her like a punch in the gut. She didn’t need to hear anything else. She knew exactly what that meant. A private party—one of those parties. The kind that everyone whispered about in the break room, and which most staff avoided at all costs. But there was no avoiding it when it was assigned.

Her stomach sank, and her mouth went dry as she reached for the clipboard without a word.

“Get dressed and head to the back. The event’s starting soon.”

She nodded mechanically, but inside, her pulse was already hammering. She had never done this before, however she heard about it from the other servers. the uncomfortable leers, the condescending smiles, the silent assessment of her in a bikini by a room full of men who didn’t care who she was as long as she was serving drinks. It was part of the job. She didn’t have a choice.

As the manager walked away, a memory crept into her mind. The last time she’d been assigned to a private event like this, JJ had intervened. She remembered him, laughing loudly and knocking over a tray of glasses in a clumsy but deliberate mess. His excuse to their boss had been thin, but it had worked—he’d saved her from being part of that atmosphere.

“If it ever happens again, just call me,” his words echoed in her mind. “I’ll have your back.”

She was grateful then. Grateful for the distraction, the sudden sense of safety, the way he’d made sure she didn’t have to endure the sleazy men and their eyes. But now, as she stood in the hallway, her phone gripped tightly in her hand, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was on her own this time.

Y/N’s fingers trembled as she pulled out her phone and unlocked it. She scrolled through her contacts until JJ’s name appeared. The hope that maybe—just maybe—he would come through for her again flashed in her chest. He promised she thought, swallowing hard.

She hit the call button, and the phone rang once. Then again.

With every passing second, her heart beat harder against her chest. The ringing seemed to stretch on forever, her breath quickening as the screen flashed with each new ring.

"Come on, JJ," she whispered, tapping the phone to her ear again.

The voicemail kicked in before she could brace herself. The robotic voice was the final blow.

She let out a shaky breath, her thumb hovering over the screen. Then, without thinking, she recorded a message, her voice quieter than she meant it to be.

“Hey, JJ… it’s Y/N. I, uh, I just wanted to remind you of what you said last time. You know, if something like this happens again, you’d have my back? Well, I’m going to that party tonight. And I could really use you here. But, you know, whatever. If you’re busy...”

Her voice cracked as she tried to finish, but the words stopped. She felt ridiculous, desperate. It wasn’t supposed to sound like this.

She cleared her throat and ended the message, but the silence afterward felt deafening. She hit “send” and stared at the screen, willing him to call her back.

When it went to voicemail, she just stood there for a moment, her heart sinking deeper. Her thumb hovered over the phone, but she didn’t press anything.

He's not coming.

She shoved the phone back into her pocket, the weight of it dragging her down. A last, fleeting sense of hope ebbed away, and she squared her shoulders. She wasn’t going to let it stop her. She couldn’t.

Her mind whirled, her thoughts a whirlwind of frustration and disappointment. She stuffed the phone into her pocket, straightened her shoulders, and forced her feet to move.

She passed by the staff locker rooms, the faint chatter of colleagues filtering out as they prepped for their own assignments. She moved past them with her head down, barely noticing the stares, her mind consumed by the scene ahead.

The ballroom loomed before her, its golden chandeliers gleaming in the dim light, the sound of clinking glasses and muted conversations pressing against her. She could already feel it—the weight of the men’s eyes, the way they would look at her like she was nothing more than the drinks she was about to serve.

But she kept walking, one foot in front of the other. It was just another job. She had to do this.

She could almost feel the eyes on her as she entered the ballroom. The air felt thick, heavy with expectation. She could already imagine the looks she would get, the comments they would make, the way her stomach would twist every time a man would glance at her with that knowing look.

Just get through it, she told herself. Just get through it.

–

The sound of clinking glasses and low conversation buzzed around Y/N as she awkwardly navigated through the crowd of older men in dark suits, her tray trembling slightly in her hands. She hated the smell of expensive cologne mixing with the stale air of the country club’s ballroom, and even more, she hated the way they looked at her—like she was nothing more than a decoration in a bikini, a piece of scenery for their business deals.

Y/N had been coerced into working this private event by her boss, who couldn’t care less that she was underage and shouldn't be serving drinks to these men. It was a way to make quick cash, and as usual, she had little choice. The job wasn’t worth the pit in her stomach, though. She could feel the eyes on her, too many stares lingering longer than they should. The glances from the men made her skin crawl.

Then, a hand gripped her wrist.

Y/N’s head snapped around to see a man, probably in his sixties, staring at her with a smug grin. The warmth of his hand made her skin crawl as he tugged her closer. 

"Hey, sweetheart," he slurred, his breath smelling of whiskey. "Can I get another drink over here?" His eyes lingered too long, the leer obvious.

She tried to pull away, her heart racing. "Please, let go," she said firmly, but he didn’t budge. 

The man’s grip tightened as his eyes roved over her body. "You don’t need to be shy, darling."

Without warning, he slapped her hard—his hand making a sickening smack as it landed on her bare skin. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as the shock rippled through her, and she stumbled back, barely managing to steady herself. A sting bloomed across her backside, where his hand had landed.

She couldn’t stop the hot wave of humiliation that flooded over her. Her mind screamed for escape, and she bolted, running away from the man and the crowd of leering faces. 

Y/N didn’t even know where she was going until she found herself outside, standing in the dark, hands shaking. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she wiped them away quickly. She needed to get out. 

"Hey!" A voice called out from behind her, and she turned, startled.

Rafe Cameron stood in the doorway, looking out of place in his designer clothes amidst the worn-out, sea-washed buildings of the country club’s back lot. He must’ve been checking out his yacht nearby. His eyes softened when they landed on her, and it was the first time she noticed how different he looked, how much the usually cocky and aloof guy seemed almost… concerned.

"What happened?" Rafe asked, his voice low and serious, and it took her a moment to realize he wasn’t mocking her.

Y/N’s heart pounded. "I’m fine. Just—just go back inside." She tried to sound confident, but it came out more like a plea.

Rafe stepped closer, his gaze flicking over her. "Don’t bullshit me. You’re not fine." His eyes flickered to her side, where the imprint of the slap was already beginning to show a bruise that would likely darken by morning.

Without thinking, Rafe reached out, his thumb brushing over the mark. His touch was gentle, almost tender, and the contrast between his usual arrogant demeanor and this softness caught her off guard. He leaned down slowly, pressing a kiss to the bruise—just the slightest brush of his lips against her skin.

It wasn’t anything like what the men had done. It was nothing like the way they touched her.

Y/N froze. It wasn’t just the kiss. It was the kindness, the way he seemed to care, the way he wasn’t treating her like an object. For the first time in forever, she felt like someone actually saw her.

Rafe pulled back, his eyes searching hers. There was a moment of silence where neither of them knew quite what to say. His eyes softened, but then, Y/N’s voice cracked the tension in the air.

“You kissed my butt.” Y/N blinked, her brows knitting in confusion as she looked at him.

“I—I kissed your bruise. Not your—your butt!” Rafe stammered, his face flushing an almost comical shade of red. “Look, it was an accident, okay? I just saw the bruise, and I wanted to… you know, I don’t know… make it better?”

She fought a smile as she crossed her arms, feeling a mix of disbelief and amusement. “You kissed my butt.”

“No! I—well, I didn’t—okay, I did, but it wasn’t like that,” Rafe blurted out, his hands flying up in a panic as if he could somehow reverse the ridiculousness of the situation. “It was just a reflex, alright? You looked like you were in pain, and I—ugh, God, this is coming out so wrong.”

Y/N couldn’t help it. A laugh bubbled up, escaping before she could even stop it. The sheer awkwardness of the moment was too much, and she felt the tension break in a way she hadn’t expected.

“You kissed my butt,” she said again, this time with a grin that reached her eyes.

Rafe groaned, his hands rubbing his face in frustration. “Please, don’t tell anyone about this. I swear, I’ve never been this embarrassed in my life.”

But Y/N wasn’t listening to his rambling. She was still laughing, and somehow, it made her feel lighter, like the weight of the world inside her chest wasn’t so suffocating anymore.

Rafe stood there, frozen and awkward, clearly unsure if he should laugh along or hide from the humiliation. But as the moment stretched on, his gaze softened. He stepped closer, his fingers brushing against hers.

"You’re not alone, Y/N," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, his usual bravado gone for a second. “I’ve got you.”

Y/N looked at him, really looked at him. She didn’t feel like a piece of the scenery anymore, didn’t feel like she was something to be discarded or objectified. Rafe had done something stupid, sure, but it was more than that. He hadn’t treated her like a thing; he’d treated her like a person. And despite the chaos, despite the awkward kiss on her backside, for the first time in a long while, she felt seen.

And in that quiet, vulnerable moment, she didn’t hold back. Her heart thumped in her chest as she reached up, pulling him toward her and pressing her lips to his. It was desperate and unguarded, the kind of kiss that said everything they hadn’t said yet.

Rafe’s hands found her waist instantly, his grip firm but gentle, pulling her closer. It wasn’t about the kiss anymore. It wasn’t about the confusion or the embarrassment. For once, Y/N didn’t feel like she was something to be pitied or tolerated. She felt wanted. She felt enough.

When they finally pulled apart, the world felt different, as if everything had shifted on its axis.

Rafe was still watching her, his gaze full of something she couldn’t quite place. But there was one thing she knew for sure now.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered again, his voice soft but sure.

And in that moment, she knew she wasn’t alone anymore.

---

Bonus

---

A week passed, and life seemed to go back to normal—sort of. Y/N tried to bury the memory of the country club party, but it lingered in the back of her mind, along with Rafe’s unexpected tenderness. The days since have been nothing but amazing. It wasn’t just the kiss—it was everything he’d done. It was like he saw her, really saw her, for the first time.

She was walking to the market when she passed by the country club, feeling the familiar weight of the place she had hoped to forget. Her steps faltered when she saw the manager standing outside, suitcase in hand, looking disgraced.

She blinked, then did a double take. The manager was leaving. Wasn’t he supposed to be working tonight? And wasn’t it just a few days ago that she’d overheard him muttering about having another event to handle?

Curiosity gnawed at her. She approached one of the other servers, trying to sound casual. "Hey, what happened to the manager? He looks... well, he looks like he’s not coming back."

The server looked around nervously before shrugging. “You didn’t hear? He got fired, like, out of nowhere. No one knows why. They said it’s something to do with his behavior at the last event. Real bad stuff.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She felt the adrenaline start to pump through her veins as the pieces began to click together.

---

That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and Rafe showed up at her house unannounced, she felt the need to ask. They were sitting on the porch, sharing a silence that felt strangely comfortable, the air still warm from the day’s heat.

She finally broke the quiet. “Rafe… about the manager at the country club.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into that cocky grin that always made her stomach flip. “Yeah?”

Y/N hesitated, watching him closely. “Did you have anything to do with him getting fired?”

Rafe didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look at her, just took a slow sip of his drink, exhaling with a lazy grin, fully relaxed. “What, you think I got him fired?”

Y/N studied him, her pulse quickening. She could read him well enough now—he was hiding something, but whether it was guilt or pride, she couldn’t tell. “Did you?”

Rafe's eyes locked onto hers, the usual playful spark in his gaze replaced with something deeper. He shrugged like he was too cool to care, but there was a quiet intensity in his gaze. “Maybe. Maybe not. Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Y/N’s stomach did a flip. There was no regret in his voice—just that casual, confident air that made her feel both at ease and a little... nervous. But it wasn’t just the words; it was the way he said them. Rafe didn’t do things by half-measures, especially not when it came to her.

“I don’t want to be your charity case, Rafe,” she said, her voice steady despite the tightening in her chest. “I don’t want you doing things like that for me.”

Rafe leaned back in his chair, the air around him thick with the kind of confidence that made everything else fade into the background. His eyes never left hers. “You’re not a charity case, Y/N.” He set his drink down slowly, his voice dropping an octave, and she felt it in her bones. “I’m not doing anything for you that I wouldn’t do for anyone I care about. But if you think this is me doing you some big favor, you’ve got it all wrong, it's just how I handle things.”

He let the words hang there for a moment, like he was giving her space to process, but the message was clear. He wasn’t some guy looking for recognition, and he wasn’t going to apologize for taking care of things in his own way.

“You’re not weak,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, more serious. “You don’t need anyone to fix things for you, but that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna sit back and let people treat you like shit.”

His gaze softened, his tone just a little more intense, and Y/N felt a rush of something—relief? Gratitude? Maybe a little something else she wasn’t ready to admit.

Rafe wasn’t looking for credit. He wasn’t trying to be her knight in shining armor. He was just doing what came naturally to him: protecting the people he cared about, even if it meant taking down someone who’d crossed the line.

He didn’t say more, but the quiet confidence in his words was enough to make Y/N realize that he had her back—whether she liked it or not. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

-----

Next up: happy times

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Taglist:

@hockeybabe87 , @idiotussupremus , @certifiedhaters , @oatmealisweird, @sluggmuffin , @maybankslover , @ren-ni, @wh0reforbucknasty

-----

a/n :)

[mind-intheclouds342]

A new ladder - Reader x Curly

Previous - Part 2 - Next

"Those were the words of the former captain of the Tulpar ship, owned by Pony Express, Grant Curly, who miraculously was the only survivor even in his condition after going through a series of murders on the ship, completely vulnerable, by the same person who caused the crash, his co-pilot Jimmy-"

You turned off the television while they were broadcasting Curly's testimony on all channels.

"I'll go buy a few things" you mentioned, getting up from your seat and putting on a jacket to go out. "Wanna come with me?"

Curly turned to look at you curiously, thinking you were going to leave him there on his own until you returned, or that you would take him without asking to keep him close.

Curly: "Please"

He sighed and you took his chair to start pushing him to the store.

They could notice the looks of the people passing by, all recognizing the man, but none able to approach him to ask a question.

"Do you like peas? Lin told me that you could eat without any problem as long as your pieces are small." 

Curly: "I have no problem with the food... I just don't like sweets."

"Okay"

You nodded, adding things to the cart, checking the prices, and thinking about what you could cook.

He stood gazing into the distance at the chocolate aisle, remembering the boxes of chocolates he used to buy for Linda, sighing at the thought that those days were in the past.

He found it strange to think that she was already over 50, while he remained at the age of 34, now being cared for by the younger sister of the woman who had once been his fiancée, who must now be around 32.

Curly: "Your birthday... It was a few months ago, right? I remember Linda used to say that she liked spring because it was when you were born."

"...No, my birthday hasn't happened yet, there's still some time left. But I don't really celebrate it, I just treat myself and that's it."

You shrugged even while looking at the products on the shelves.

Having everything you needed, you went to the cash registers to pay. The woman had seen Curly on television and gave him a discount as if he were some kind of veteran or senior.

That didn't please the man very much.

You stopped halfway back to his home, the streets were no longer so busy, after all, you had left a bit late after all.

"Would you like to feel something different?"

You asked him while firmly holding the wheelchair, there was a slight slope on that street, the man immediately turned to look at you, you looked excited to do something, like a child about to pull a prank.

Curly: "Sure?..." he said without being very convinced

And he let out a scream when you climbed onto the chair's wheel tubes and let the slope of the street make you go down, he could only hear a mix of his screams and your laughter as you went down.

He feared crashing into something or flying off, he didn't want to experience more pain, but the chair kept moving even after the descent was over. Curly was grateful for the good quality of the chair, and that it didn't fall apart when you got on it too. He was able to breathe easy when they stopped after a few seconds.

"And we arrived! Much faster, right?"

You patted his shoulder, ready to get off and push him inside the house, the man could feel the rapid beating of his heart at that moment.

Curly: "Do you do things like this often?" he asked, trying to have a conversation to calm down.

"Didn't you feel more alive?"

He fell silent as he thought about your question, while they descended, the only thing he could feel was his heart racing, the wind on his face, and he heard your laughter close to him, but at no moment was there sadness, remorse, or any of those emotions he constantly felt.

Just adrenaline.

Curly: "You could say that... yes..."

You put the groceries in their place and left out only what you were going to use, you ended up making some fried rice with chicken, egg, onion, and peas.

You could see how the man struggled to use his prosthesis to hold his utensils and eat, everything falling onto the table several times.

You moved your chair closer to him, making him look at you.

"Do you want to keep trying or would you prefer that I help you?"

Curly: "I give up for today..." was his only response, sighing.

You took food on your fork and brought it to his face, he opened his mouth and finally managed to take a bite, enjoying the taste of that simple food, he had missed homemade meals after so much time eating the provisions on the ship and then the bland hospital food.

"And? How is it?"

Curly: "Delicious," he replied, opening his mouth, hoping you would give him more.

You couldn't help but compare it to a baby bird begging for food, but you held back your laughter to keep feeding it.

Curly: "Mm.. So, when is your birthday?"

It was a very bad idea to talk to his implant while eating, causing him to start coughing as he choked on the food. 

"Well... It's exactly in 5 weeks," you smiled, making him raise his arms and you patted his back.

He was surprised at how quickly he was able to stop coughing when you did that, you immediately handed him a glass of water.

"I'll be right back, I'm going to get a cloth to clean the food scraps off the table."

You mentioned standing up to go to the kitchen.

While you were away, he kept trying to eat on his own, managing to get a small amount of rice on his fork and being able to eat that.

While he chewed, he kept watching out the window; that orange and reddish color appearing in the trees was tinting the whole place.

Her birthday... It's in autumn...

[fairsexynasty]

ˏ🔪ˋ°•*⁀➷･ DEEP BREATH

.｡🗡️*⋆⍋*🃏*｡ spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: the bau has a new foe: mr. scratch. he's been attacking those near and dear to the team, and now? he's in your home. but you have a morbid trick up your sleeve.

warnings: angst, hopeful ending, no fluff, anxiety, portrayal of an overdose and suicide, mentions of spencer's addiction, opioids, holding breath

a/n: yes this is inspired by pll AND doctor who what about it. also this might be part of a series if i don't finish the other one i was planning for october but never finished

word count: 750

She’d perfected this stunt when she was twelve years old.

Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, cautioning her to always stay a step ahead, to keep her wits sharp. Perhaps it was the universe’s grim way of keeping her alive. But the threat was real: Scratch was in her apartment. Her safe place, the home where her daughter slept, where they all ate, laughed, and breathed. Maybe he’d been looking for Spencer, but if he were thorough—and he always was—he’d find her here. Then, with whatever that gas was, he’d kill her, or worse: he’d twist her mind, make her believe Spencer was hurting her, drive her to the edge of reason, or haunt her with a vision of her late father.

Y/N’s gaze landed on the bathroom vanity, its soft light pooling across the floor. The faint glow leaked under the door, a telltale sign. Think, she urged herself, a silent chant. Think for Clem. Think for Spencer. Think for yourself.

Another look at the vanity showed the medicine cabinet hanging slightly open, left ajar when she’d reached for ibuprofen that morning. Tucked far back in the shadows was an old prescription bottle of hydrocodone, a remnant of a long-past injury she’d meant to discard. If she’d remembered, she would have tossed it long ago, kept it hidden from Spencer’s careful eyes. But there it sat, tucked away, waiting.

Act now.

With trembling fingers, she reached into the cabinet, pulling the bottle out slowly, careful not to make a sound. The cabinet stayed silent, no creaks to betray her. She twisted the cap, dumping the pills into her hand and scattering them out the cracked window above the sink, letting the wind carry them away. Then, without another second to think, she climbed into the bathtub, slumping back against the cold porcelain.

Footsteps sounded in the hall, a calculated, deliberate rhythm as Scratch approached. Her heart pounded against her ribs, but she kept her breaths shallow, her body limp, one hand resting over the edge of the tub, the empty bottle lying loose in her palm.

The bathroom door creaked open.

A low, satisfied chuckle drifted through the room, followed by silence as he took in the scene before him. She stilled, her lungs aching from the strain of barely drawing in air, forcing herself to go completely still, to become the very picture of lifelessness. She focused on the chill of the tub beneath her, on anything that kept her mind from the terror of moving too soon, of him realizing she was faking.

She felt him drawing closer, a menacing shadow towering above her. His breath, sharp and cold, brushed her face as he leaned in. And in that moment, her thoughts raced: grateful for the broken heater that kept the room cold, for every freezing second that helped her mask her pulse. Thoughts of Spencer flashed before her and Clem. Would Spencer be the one to come home and find her here, broken and empty because she’d failed the only thing she’d ever known how to do? Or worse, would he have to tell Clem?

Then, just as suddenly, the air shifted. Scratch’s footsteps receded, and he muttered, almost dismissively, “Lousy way out.”

The front door clicked shut.

Her whole body shuddered as she gasped, air rushing into her burning lungs. She climbed from the tub, her legs shaking as she fumbled to throw the empty bottle out the window, watching it disappear into the alley below. Only then did she reach for her phone, dialing Spencer’s number with hands that wouldn’t quite steady.

“Honey, hi!” he answered on the first ring, cheer in his voice.

“He was here,” she whispered, the words tumbling out. “Scratch. He was in here!”

“What? Where? Are you okay?” Spencer’s tone sharpened, and she could practically see him standing, ready to bolt out the door.

“I’m home. I—I got home early to check if they fixed the heater, and… he came in, maybe ten minutes ago, but he just left.” Her voice trembled, the relief and terror colliding.

“Shit.” He breathed out, voice lowering as he regained control. “We’re coming right now. How did he not find you?”

“I’ll tell you everything when you’re here. Can you—can you send someone to check on Clem?”

“Morgan’s already on his way to pick her up from school. She’ll be safe, I promise.”

The knot in her chest eased a little. “Okay. I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

“I love you too. Just hold on—we’ll be there soon.”

[njm63522]

Sevika fluff alphabet

word count: 2027

________________________________________

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

- personally, I think she'd often indulge in taking you to the last drop. She often has you propped up on her lap while she laughes at the men gambling away their life savings (she likes to call you her lucky charm)

- honestly, she'd be willing to take you anywhere though. Just as long as everyone knows you're hers. She'll keep a hand in your back pocket as you guys walk around the city and she'll give nasty looks to whatever man decides to even glance your way.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

- SHE LOVES YOUUUUU omg.

-she literally admires every part of your body. She would rather choke and die then have to pick a favorite.

- and she LOVESS to pick you up. You think you're too heavy? Don't flatter yourself. Not for her you're not.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

- I Hate to be that guy, but I don't think she would be the best at comforting. With words atleast.

-she'll probably give you a nice hug or a pat on the back. But if you start crying, she'll literally freeze and give you an awkward "you alright..?"

-it's not that she doesn't care, she's just bad at showing how much she does care.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

- living in a place like Zaun, where the future is so unpredictable and anyone could die at any moment. She just wants keep things in the present and not think about the future.

-If it were up to her, she would take you far away from all they chaos and just grow old together

-but that may never happen. so for now, she just wants to see you alive in the future.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

- she's definitely more on the dominant side, she's the one wrapping a hand around your waist in public and mean mugging everyone who dares look at you the wrong way

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

-if you guys end up fighting, it'd most likely be about her work

-weather it's how long she's gone during the day, or how she always comes back with curs and bruises. You guys always find a way back to eachother

If you're the one who apologizes:

She gives you a stupid ass grin, she knew she was right. She definitely wouldn't rub it in your face or anything. But she will be a bit smug about it

If she's the one to apologize:

-She'll be extremely sheepish, it's almost laughable how she's reduced to a stuttering mess when she's the one apologizing.

-I really dont think she'd be the best with words, so she'd just trap you in a tight hug and mutter an apology into your ear.

-if you don't accept her apology— worse, reject her hug. She'll be so confused and lost, giving you big ol' puppy eyes while she uses her words to express how sorry she is.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

-once again, SHE LOVES YOUUUU

-i don't think there's enough words to explain how happy she is to have you.

-sometimes, when the sun is just beginning to rise and she's dreading the long workday ahead of her. shell spend just a little while longer in bed admiring your sleeping frame. shed never admit it, but on mornings like those, she thanks her lucky stars to have you sleeping next to her.

-she was never a religious person, but she thanks god that she has you next to her every night.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

-she wouldn't hide anything from you, she believes that the only way to have a good relationship is to be fully open and transparent, even if that leads to you a tad bit oversharing.

-there are some details she may not be able to share because of her work. but 9/10 times, shell tell you anyways because she loves you or whatever

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

-she would NEVER admit it, but you changed her for the better.

-she's definitely gotten soft ever since you guys started dating. getting in less fights with strangers, going out to gamble less.

-just overall spending more time with you, and not in the chaos of Zaun.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

-she gets jealous so easily omg. she wont even hesitate to beat up strangers on the street just for looking at you the wrong way.

-god forbid a man tries to FLIRT with you?

-youd have to ask her to stop before she literally killed the poor guy.

-ever since that incident, everyone at the bar knows to stay far away from you.

K iss - Are they a good kisser?

-shes definitely an experienced kisser. she's been with many women before getting with the love of her life (you)

-her kisses are rough, almost always leaving you breathless and desprate for more.

-shell tangle one hand in your hair, and use the other one to pull you closer by the waist URGG

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

-like i said previously, she's not the best with her words, so shed probably just approach you in the bar after watching (and lokwey stalking) you for a few months and say something like "you and me, this Friday. 5 pm. don't be late" before walking away.

-you'd show up and find her sitting alone at a table with a messy bouquet of flowers in her hand (she picked them herself)

-shed give you the flowers and spend the rest of the night trying to make conversation with a deep blush on her face. (she's such a cutie oml)

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

-this ones a bit complicated...

-shed love to take you away from that city and propose to you in a gorgeous flower field that goes on for miles.

-but something like that isn't achievable in the current state of the world

-so instead, she stares at you from across the room, dreaming about giving you everything you deserve.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

-her lucky charm (like i said before)

-baby

-i don't think shell use a lot of nicknames.. once again, not good with words.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

-im telling you right now

-she literally looks like she wants to murder you when shes crushing on you.

-remember when i mentioned her watching you from across the bar? yeah, you spent that time thinking she hated you because of the way she stared at you.

-you literally thought she was going to assault you when she came up to ask you out.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

-be prepared to have her constantly brag about you.

-if youre not sitting on her, youre sitting directly next to her with her arm around you.

-shes weird in a way that she wont tell you directly how much she loves you, but she wont shut up about it to everyone else.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

-this isnt really an ability, just more of a thing she does

-but i think shed be willing to eat ANYTHING

-its amazing the stuff her stomach can handle.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

-she loves to make you happy, but shes so SO nervous.

-she would show up to your house at 2 am with a boquet of flowers in her hand and ask if you want to hang out with her.

-shed take you shopping in topside and if you even look at something twice, shell buy it for you.

-shes lowkey useless when it comes to buying clothes because she thinks everything looks so pretty on you

"should i get the red, or the white one?"

"get both"

"but which one looks better?"

"... both?"

-shes so useless, but shes trying her best.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

-i feel like it depends on what kind of goal it is, if its something unrealistic, she would try to gently coax you into something more achievable because shed hate to see you get hurt.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

-in the chaos that is her life. you're the only thing that can remain the same. so I think shed prefer to keep routine with you. however, she wouldn't be mad if things changed from time to time, she's happy if you're happy.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

-she knows you so well. everything you've mentioned or talked about. even in passing. she's taken a mental note of.

-you could breifly mention how youre into a peice of jewerly or an article of clothing.

-and you'd find it on your bed, tied up with a little bow the next day.

-she wouldn't bring up the gift unless you say something first though, she's js nonchalant like that

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

-this woman would lay down her life for you.

-she loves you SOOOOO much

-there's not much more i can say, you're the beginning and end of her life

-and she loves you

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

hear me out. (slight s2 spoilers)

-no matter how much she pretends to hate jinx, shed bring up adopting her and isha.

-it might sound ridiculous, but shed love to be a mother one day and she basically raised jinx so why not?

-she tried to brush away the idea from her mind

-but the moment she sees you placing bowls of soup Infront of the kids (jinx and isha) reminding them to wait for it to cool down

-she finds herself thinking that she could get used to this.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

-shes such a cuddlebig omg

-the moment you guys start cuddling, she wont let go for HOURSSS

-sometimes, shell randomly lay on top of you, full starfish, and fall asleep.

-you have to accept your fate, i fear.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

-long answer short?

-she doesnt.

-whenever she leaves for a long time, shell bring a shirt of yours just to smell it and remember it.

-it lowkey sounds creepy, but shes so lonely without you :(

the very moment she gets back, shell pratically jump on you and attack you with cuddles and kisses

-did i mention she loves you?

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

-SHELL DO ANYTHING FOR YOUUUU

-she loves you (can you tell i ran out of ideas?)

__________________________________

i finished this in one sitting, im so proud :3

requests open

[billysgirllol]

“my bad, it felt like seven when i first woke up.” grumpily retorting, deciding to jab him in his side with her pointer finger as they mosey on through the lobby, “no proof anyway.” on how many she downed. catching a few of the heavy stares weighing down on them, the songstress stares back and gives strangers a big friendly smile. something they probably didn’t expect. but like her mama always said, don’t meet people with weird stares back— surprise ‘em and you might just make their day smiling back. something most people in this world have forgotten to do. “that’s interestin’. my mama’s a chatterbox too, so maybe they’ll become friends from that.” a soft laugh sounds from her, pinky still clinging to his. “alright, i’ll show you some more pictures later.” when they wrap up their dinner… that’s currently making her empty belly growl even hungrier now that her mind thinks about all the food she’s getting ready to be able to choose from. “well, you can’t always be in control of that no matter how good you are at it, billy. it’s just— those things are more dangerous than bein’ on a horse, in a car, in a plane. maybe don’t ride it very often.” she still worries, hating the idea of it— feeling scared something bad could happen to him when she’s seen too many motorcycle fatalities. “alrighty, then. i don’t mind waffle house or even a gas station— but i’m excited to try out a fancy meal with you. thanks for comin’ up with this idea and invitin’ me to it.” a happy grin has her face coming alive like a ball of sun, feeling grateful she is getting to be cordial with him again. thinking of how the scenario could be different, he could still be that person who doesn’t talk to her. it just annoys herself because she begins to wonder if there’s ulterior motives — like him just being lonely because him and his girlfriend isn’t working out. before she can sour her own mood with her worries, she counts down the floor numbers instead of dwelling. eyes occasionally flickering up on his rosy cheeks, then back on the numbers, stifling a laugh at why in the world he’s shying up. finally a ding! the doors open up and she steps out first… eager to see this place from way up high like he said. the windows are everywhere so immediately she sees parts of the city before they’ve even reached the host and guest check in. “wow, look at all that… that’s an amazin’ sight to see,” doe eyes lighting up, in awe and completely wowed, “and it’s all like a hidden gem. a secret hang out.”

“course.” figuring she could be harsh if she wanted to, act out on all those years she held against him for not doing better with joe, but thinking that’s not contributing to anything besides a split family staying split apart so she decides completely against it. “mmm, i’m thinkin’ it was more like seven. you’re lyin’.” tapping her chin in thought, denying it. “what do you mean handsy? why am i handsy?” laughing a little in embarrassment, this one she’s genuinely unaware about. “my mama will be excited to ask her all about the details on how she wants her quilt for her nursery, so that works out great.” the brunette grins, sending a link of her mom’s social media page to billy through text so he can send it to his friend when he wants. “starlit? starlight? starla? sunbeam?” adding to the celestial names, smiling amusingly. the horse’s mom is moon because she’s an all white horse with a few spots on her coat that look like craters. “mhm, cause like i said— it’s the other driver’s who’ll run over you or injury you.” and people get hurt on them everyday of every second, he’s more likely to than she get hurt by a horse. holding his pinky is comforting, like she’ll somehow protect him from motorcycles now by holding onto his pinky. “where’s this leadin’ us to?” she wonders as curiosity begins to itch at her once noticing this is the marriott when they enter through the doors. “bambi doll… well, i like it.” a smile begins to play on her lips, enjoying the nickname a lot and wondering how he came up with it.

[tarotbyjam24]

PICK A PILE : WHAT YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU

Choose a pile which you feel most drawn to , if reading doesn't resonate there was no messages for you through this reading

Every like and reblog is very very much appreciated:D

Pile 1. Pile 2.

Pile 1 .

Your parents think you're backbone of others or you're usually supportive in nature ,you're always ready to lend a hand whenever needed . They think you've very business oriented mindset maybe you're about give and take relationship,you have success oriented mindset,they also think you're not afraid of ending things you're always welcoming new things\beginnings in your life . But sometimes you may lack confidence in yourself when things aren't going your way usually you're confident,using everything you have around you to create something Outta it . You're also someone who's not afraid of whatever comes on your way you just handle it all so effortlessly ✨ your parents are saying honey love yourself 😭💋

Initials for pile 1 : O,T,A,E,G

your moodboard :

Pile 2 . Your parents think you're not afraid for asking help when it's needed which is good from my pov because in modern world most of us are afraid of getting judged by people , you're always open to learn things from everyone be it older person or a child .you're very peace loving person in general,maybe you love being alone too , you're also advised to write by your parents maybe you can try some prompts from pinterest. Maybe you're not in right mental state rn maybe you're depressed regarding something,maybe you feel like someone's controlling you and you don't wanna be controlled anymore your parents think you tend to overshare things , may overgive\over pour too , can't hide things or can't keep secrets ,talkative,always have so much to say. Your parents are saying give me some more time ,give yourself some more time 🫂🩵

Initials for pile 2 : E,M,I,N

your moodboard :

Thankyou so much for letting me read for you 💗

I'm grateful if you read the reading , did you enjoy it ? Wishing you all the best in your life , thank you so much for everything 🌷,bless you all ⛄

Take the reading lightly as nothing's set in stone until you believe so , reading may or may not resonate with you !

[revelboo]

Your Thundercracker snippets are giving me life! Looking forward for a possible continuation of the story ♡

Better Open The Door Pt 6

IDW Thundercracker x Reader

• Walking back to his quarters, he keeps thinking about his interaction with Star. Hating that he’d hurt Starscream, but his brother had shocked him, too. Had mass displaced to interface with a human, that possibility now twisting through him. That humans and Cybertronians are not only compatible that way, but that Star cares that much. That he’s changing for the better. Running a hand over his helm, he vents softly as he lets himself into his quarters and there you are, looking up from rearranging the things he’s given you. “Hi,” you say, straightening and wrapping your arms around yourself. Making an effort for him when you smile weakly. Knows you’re still unhappy with him for taking you, that you don’t understand what’s coming, what he can’t say. That he’s protecting you from the war on the horizon, because he doesn’t want to lose you. “You were gone a while this time.”

• “Miss me?” He asks, his tone almost teasing despite the serious slant of his mouth that he almost immediately hides with a smile. Eyes narrowing suspiciously, you waggle a hand in the air in a maybe gesture. “I missed you,” he protests, reaching out a servo to slide along the inside of your arm and lift your hand and you play along, pressing your palm to the tip of his servo because it pleases him. It hasn’t taken long to figure out the rules to dealing with him. Don’t bring up wanting to go home being the biggest one, because it puts him in a depressed funk that actually manages to make you feel bad.

• “I missed how warm you are,” you say, nose scrunching at him. “It’s freezing in here.” Huffing a soft laugh, he curls his servos around you and carries you to his berth to lounge with you against his chassis. Feeling you relax into him with a grateful sigh. “I swear you keep it an icebox in here just so you can be grabby.” Running his servos along your spine, he grimaces. Because he could raise the temperature, but then you wouldn’t have a reason to tolerate his touch. He likes the warmth of you against him, the faint feel of your heart beating against him, a constant reassurance that he’s not alone.

• Hating that you need his warmth, but savoring it all the same as it spills through you to ease your tension, you lay your cheek against him. Feeling that low thrum that he’d explained was his spark humming under you. Wishing, too, you didn’t enjoy the slow slide of a servo from the back of your neck down your spine. Or the sound of his laughter rumbling through you. “Grabby?”

• Blowing out a breath, you hide your face in your palms. “Yes, grabby. Like I’m your personal teddy bear,” you mutter and he lets his head fall back. Is that what you think you are to him? A toy to cling to only to comfort himself? You really think you mean so little to him? Again, he thinks about Starscream and his human, about having things he didn’t even know he could have. Your warmth and companionship are what he’d kept coming back for, but now that he knows he can have everything? Venting softly, he drapes his servos over you. He won’t push for more, not while you don’t understand what you mean to him. Not until he can show you that you rescued him at his lowest, his loneliest. You’d kept reaching out, smiling for him, getting excited to share your movies with him even though it was just you he’d kept coming back for. Someone to talk to, someone who has the time for him, that doesn’t treat him like a burden because he’s lonely. How can you not see that you’re the most precious thing he has?

Previous

[leupagus]

On Taash

I think one reason people keep pretending that Taash's character is badly-written is because they remind them of what they were like as a young adult: blunt, convinced that they were always right (and everyone else was stupid), and flailing around for an identity that didn't hurt. That often makes for an unpleasant person to be around, and someone who at times is even unlikable. But we never see the beam in our own eye while discussing the splinter in someone else's, so I think there's a certain degree of "well I certainly wouldn't yell at my mom like that!" (You would, honey. You would.)

IMO, Taash is one of the best-written companions in Veilguard precisely because they are thoughtless and callous and blow up at people for no reason at times. They're trying to figure their shit out! They got voluntold to work with the Veilguard without any warning, under a leader who's a complete stranger and alongside people she's never met and often has fundamental conflicts with. They've got an extraordinarily complicated relationship with their mom, who gave up her entire life and culture and place in the world out of love for them, but who withholds approval in a way that so many of us can relate to. They're confronting the wrongness of their old gender expression (woman), then embracing a new one (nonbinary) almost as soon as they learn about it—which is how a LOT of identity works, remember? Remember learning the term "trans" or "bisexual" or "genderfluid" and thinking oh shit that's me? It's relatable, but it's still uncomfortable as hell. Considering all that Taash has on their plate, including hiding a fundamental aspect of who they are (their dragonbreath), it's a wonder they're as stable as they are.

As for the conversations about their identity that people are claiming are "cringe" or "unrealistic"—my babies, I have listened to more people talk through their gender and sexuality journeys than you've had hot dinners, and let me tell you they often sound a LOT like Taash. That's not a bad thing! But it's like learning a new language—or heck, joining a new fandom—where you use the unfamiliar terms in clumsy ways and want to talk about it all the time, even to people who aren't fluent. (Taash talks about other shit too; yes, a lot of their quests touch on their gender, but a lot of them don't and frankly expecting someone who's only just figured themselves out to not talk about it is...kind of cruel. Of course Taash isn't a real person, but man I hope you people complaining about how often you have to "deal with" Taash's gender conversations don't have any friends who have trusted you with those conversations.)

Taash is extraordinary in so many ways—the way they talk to Spite directly like a kid who needs firm boundaries; the possible romance they have with [spoiler]; the nuanced and emotional way they talk about dragons; the way they care for birds and refugees and anyone else in their orbit, if they're allowed to. They are one of my favorite companions (although right now it's kind of a seven-way race between all of them), and I have snort-laughed at more of their lines than any other companion by a country mile.

It's just a shame that so many people saw a reflection of the more grating parts of their own personality and so decided that Taash is badly-written, instead of considering the possibility that they are simply badly-heard.

[dreamerdrop]

Oh God, yeah. During the war, Julian is basically going full into survival mode. He's pulling away from people, he's keeping his mouth shut, he's basically letting himself turn into a hollow shell that just looks like him because everything is so exhausting and he doesn't really... have it in him to be himself anymore.

I feel like I personally give kind of a pass to most of the characters on DS9 being jerks about Julian being obviously autistic for the sole reason that... one of the things I like about DS9 is that they're all pretty messed up in one way or another. Miles is allergic to voicing emotions and sentiments out loud (despite Keiko's best efforts, but she's also not great at it herself), Jadzia is shown constantly to have a REALLY inappropriate and poorly timed sense of humour, Kira is... Kira, and her issues mean that Julian's issues basically rub against each other like sandpaper.

Garak is interesting in how his dynamic intersects with Julian being autistic though. Garak seems to delight in Julian doing things like being blunt, infodumping, etc. Garak is someone who would drive ME a little nuts IRL because his specific brand of enigmatic behaviour would wreak hell on my lack of self esteem and inability to trust my judgement...

But for Julian, it seems to be a huge part of the draw. I think, in part, it's because Garak does seem to recognise when he's pushed too far and then, in his own weird way, often... relents a little.

Like in Cardassians, on the shuttlecraft. Julian basically says, very bluntly, "Garak stop talking in riddles this is serious and I don't want to play games anymore" and Garak immediately goes "alright fine here I'll talk as plainly as I am comfortable with".

Or, in an odd way, the scene on the Defiant during... season 6? Where Garak is basically insulting Julian over his augmented status. That scene is a little rough, even with the knowledge that this is effectively flirting for Garak, but. There's something in it that actually stands out to me as Garak trying to relent a little.

Specifically, his comment about Julian being a Vulcan. Julian is sensitive about his augmented status. Garak knows this. Garak insults him over it, and then towards the end of that little spat, saying "you're not genetically engineered, you're a vulcan", it kind of... reads as like, Garak trying to steer the conversation back to something playful, something that isn't actually attacking Julian.

(And there's obviously a lot to be said for how Julian is somewhat smiling to himself at the end of that scene.)

I think there's something similar to that in his dynamic with the others. I don't think any of them really have particularly good social skills, honestly. Jadzia comes closest but her levels of extroversion and enthusiasm mean she's often putting her foot in her mouth too. (... oh that's why she and Julian make good friends, they both have the party autism.)

Thing is, I think if Julian ever actually said to any of them "hey that actually kind of upsets me could we not" and they realized he meant it, they would apologize and mean it, but because everyone on that station is messed up and lacking in social skills, they all kind of constantly end up battering against each other with poorly timed jokes and insensitive remarks and dismissal of trauma and none of them ever figure out how to address any of it.

Narratively, though, Julian's trauma gets brushed over more than almost anyone else's, and that DOES piss me off about the writing. Even before we get to the augmentation aspect (which is taken seriously as traumatic for exactly ONE episode), a lot of the time Julian's issues just... get kind of tossed to one side.

Character wise, I think Julian is the type to focus on other people's issues so he doesn't have to acknowledge his own, but the way the show itself often ignores those issues does REALLY grate on me.

Julian Bashir walks a very fine, maddening line between “self-loathing imposter syndrome who knows almost everyone who speaks to him for more than a minute finds him insufferable” and “incredibly self assured and annoyingly arrogant to the point of a minor god complex”.

He knows he’s attractive, he thinks he’s charming as all hell, he knows he’s the smartest person in the room (while also being acutely aware he’s going to put his foot in his mouth any second now), and he just swings wildly between “I don’t deserve anything I have, none of this is mine, my life is not my own, I am a monster” and “HELL YEAH LOOK HOW COOL AND SMART I AM GUYS ARE YOU LOOKING ARE YOU LOOKING”.

And then there’s episodes that reveal that underneath that annoying arrogance, at the very core of who he is, he really, really just wants to help people, and if he fucks that up he WILL take it personally and hold himself responsible even if there’s no way he could have known and like. Can you imagine what his first patient death was like for him. Can you imagine what a fucking nightmare his brain must be 24/7.

He is somehow as inherently self assured as he is in need of constant validation for his ego because you can SEE him break a little when that ego fails him, even a little, and it’s just.

He’s very fun to write. I hate him. (I love him so much, but oh my god.)

[seat-safety-switch]

"The '70s are coming back," explained the very patient sales lady at the Hudson Bay furniture department the other day. I was inquiring about a weird-looking brown sofa that some unscrupulous garbage-picker had clearly dumped in the middle of their showroom. Imagine my surprise when, rather than being grateful to see me haul it away and put it into my living room (I need new things to stack carburetors on,) she asked me for eight thousand dollars instead.

This is exactly why I don't shop at the downtown Bay very often. Too bougie, with all those lawyers, attorneys, barristers, and legal practitioners coming in there on their lunch breaks and buying seven sets of brand new underwear for the coming week. On the way home, though, I had plenty of time in the mandatory traffic jam (behind two Maybachs and an Aston) to think about what she had said. Could it possibly be true that my smoking, heaving, late-70s piece of shit Plymouth Volare, the very same vehicle that was mostly under my feet at this exact moment, be worth more than I paid for it?

To answer this question, I found an appraiser in the phone book. When I was a kid, I thought an "appraiser" was like the weird little dude who follows behind the bully in teen comedies, backing up everything they say. In actual fact, that is called a "hype man," and I recommend you not hire one of those to appraise your car. Appraiser Dave (or David, if you're friends) told me that he could do an appraisal of my car in his driveway in just minutes. At last, I would know what kind of asset base I had been flinging into corners and onto golf courses at reckless land speeds this whole time.

"Is this some kind of joke?" he spat, and demanded the payment immediately. Luckily for me, at that exact moment, a squirrel shook out of its home in the air cleaner and ran up his shirt sleeve. I think it was Ted, but it might have been his common-law wife, Tedina.

His or her tragic sacrifice was not made in vain, as in the ensuing distraction I was able to escape the neighbourhood without Appraiser Dave seeing my license plate. It helps that I couldn't shut the engine off, because it diesels really bad when you do that, and it eats batteries whenever it sits for more than ten minutes. Cheaper to just let it run 24/7 and top up the gas every morning. I need to count every penny: I'm saving up for a couch.

[t3a-tan]

Silent But Friendly

A what-if story about what would happen if Oliver met borrower James wayyyy before they actually did

---

They are in silence; though not the uncomfortable stuffy kind, rather a very peaceful quietness that surrounded the dinner table. His uncle worked late most weekends, and so that left Oliver and his aunt to eat alone on that Saturday afternoon.

It was macaroni and cheese tonight— one of Oliver's favourites. He even helped in the kitchen to chop the tomatoes and grate the cheese; aunt Charlie was 7 months pregnant after all and he wanted to do his best to help out.

As he finished his portion he placed his knife and fork together on the table before making eye contact with his aunt. She was eating slowly, mostly picking at the food. Her appetite seemed all over the place during the pregnancy; sometimes Oliver saw her eating lots of snacks, and other times he saw her throwing up from the tiniest bite.

He could see in her face that she was full, though she looked determined to finish the remaining bites. Catching his eye contact, she looked up and smiled tiredly. It was a warm and kind smile; like drinking a hot chocolate in front of the fireplace in the winter. Oliver soaked in that warmth whenever it was available, and right now was no different.

“Thanks for your help in the kitchen, love. It tastes brilliant.” She praised, before sighing as she finally set her fork down. She offered a sheepish grin in his direction. “I don't think I can fit any more... D’ja think you could go put the plates in the kitchen, poppet?”

A simple task really. Oliver didn't mind doing any of his chores or extra for his aunt and uncle— not after they had taken him in and been so kind to him. And sure, he missed his parents sometimes, but it felt much more gratifying to complete a task and receive praise rather than constantly fearing punishment as he had before.

Even if he looked at his mum wrong…he could just remember the look on her eyes. It was cold and distant; like being stranded out in a snowstorm, alone and lost. Resentful.

No…he much preferred living with his aunt and uncle, no matter how many times he woke up clutching his pillow and missing the way things used to be.

Oliver nodded silently, standing up and moving all the cutlery onto her plate before stacking her plate onto his own and lifting them both. He brought them closer to his centre so they'd be easier to carry and began walking towards the kitchen only to pause as his aunt spoke up again.

“Oh— and love? Just while you're up, d’ja think you could grab me a drink of water too?”

He turned back towards her, scanning her expression for a moment and seeing that once again there was nothing but geniality in her gaze. He offered a small smile in return and nodded again. She beamed, leaning on her hand as she looked up at him.

“You are a little sweetheart, you know that?” She praised once more. Oliver averted his eyes, though internally he was very pleased by the praise. He once again only nodded in return before entering the kitchen to go put the plates by the sink.

Next, he grabbed a glass from out of the cabinet and opened the tap, first testing it with his finger to make sure it was cold before holding the glass underneath. Once it was sufficiently full he turned the tap off and returned to the table, setting the glass down in front of his aunt.

She watched him enter with a fond gaze.

“Thanks, love.”

Picking up the glass she raised it to her lips and took a few sips before coughing. Oliver's expression turned to one of worry, his lips mouthing the question he wanted to ask although no sound came out. His hands moved too, signing alongside him.

‘Are you okay?’

She saw the gesture and waved a hand dismissively, nodding a few times, though she looked a bit pale still.

“I'm fine… I'm just gonna head to the bathroom, you stay down here, okay?” She stood up slowly, and Oliver could tell just by the slight winced in her expression that she was having a bout of nausea. He shuffled closer to help her up but she gently waved off his help.

“I'm okay, I promise. Why don't you get your comfies on and I'll come in to you later to read the next chapter of Magic Tree House, hm?”

Although more hesitantly than before, Oliver nodded slowly and watched as his aunt walked up the stairs. Once she had disappeared from view he glanced back towards the kitchen.

I don't think she'll be well enough to wash up… I can do it. I'll just leave things to dry since I can't reach the cupboards.

With that thought in mind he re-entered the kitchen and approached the sink, putting some dish liquid in the washing up bowl and starting to fill it up with warm water only to jolt when a sound caught his attention.

It was faint, he hardly heard it thanks to the sound of water on water, but he still heard it. A cry. Oliver turned the tap back off, glancing around and listening for it again.

Nothing.

As he looked around for any sign of what could have made the noise— or god knows it would bother him for the entire evening— he then noticed that the cylindrical tub of oats that sat beside the other cereal was…open. The lid wasn't off all the way, laying balanced and slightly ajar.

Oliver watched it silently for a few moments, wondering how exactly it had ended up that way. He had used the oats last when he ate porridge earlier in the week, so he knew that he had closed it once he was done using it. He even remembered looking at it this morning and never noticed anything off about the lid.

Unable to come up with a plausible theory, he sought to find answers as he approached the countertop the tub of oats was on, tilting his head ever so slightly.

Is it…a mouse..? Unafraid and full of curiosity his hands gripped the base of the tub and he tilted it towards himself to peer in through the opening, the lid clattering onto the counter as he did so. He expected just…oats. Maybe a mouse or a rat.

What he didn't expect was a pair of brown eyes staring up at him through a mop of messy long black hair. There, sprawled out and covered in oat dust, was a tiny boy.

Oliver stared silently— even if he wanted to speak he was at a loss for words, simply gazing down at the boy through his glasses, his mind blanching. He tilted the tub down more just so he could get a better look, listening to the little yelp that escaped the boy as more oats rolled over him.

The walls are much too high…he must have fallen in. He could be hurt.

With that in mind, Oliver smiled reassuringly, holding one of his hands out placatingly as a gesture of goodwill before using that same hand to reach into the tub, his vision now obscured as he blindly grabbed around for the tiny boy. He had held mice before— he imagined it was the same.

His fingers closed around a squirming form and he couldn't help but wince as they did— it was a weird feeling, to hold something so small that was undoubtedly alive. Once he was sure he was holding the boy securely he lifted his hand out of the tub and let it sit upright again as he brought the squirming rescuee to his eye level.

He realised that he had carried some oats with him and saw that the raven haired boy was still struggling away, kicking and fighting and losing energy by the second. Oliver noticed that one of his legs wasn't kicking very well, but it wasn't bleeding. He opened his mouth to ask, only for the words to catch in his throat again.

He knew he could speak, but he didn't like it. Whenever he did speak it was forced and he hated the way his voice made his head and ears feel. His aunt and uncle had promised him that he didn't need to force himself to speak and were teaching him British Sign Language…but he highly doubted this random boy knew it.

None of the kids at school did. None of the teachers. They all got frustrated with him and now Oliver made sure to keep to himself, as much as he wanted to raise his hand more.

Oliver lowered his hand slightly, offering another reassuring smile that was half a grimace at the same time. He waved slowly with his free hand, trying to get the boy to stop panicking so he could attempt communication.

As his other hand raised he caught how the tiny boy's gaze immediately focused on it, going stiff and staring up at him like he was a monster. Oliver didn't let that phase him; so long as he was able to communicate his intentions, he was sure they would calm down.

He kept a gentle smile on his face, moving slowly once he noticed how easily startled they were by his movements. He mouthed his question alongside his gestures, pointing at their leg and then tilting his head as he mouthed ‘is your leg hurt'?

They continued to stare owlishly up at him, trembling. Oliver's smile faltered slightly, concern in his eyes as he repeated the movements and mouthed his question again more emphatically.

“W-why aren't you talking..?”

The tiny boy's voice definitely held fear, but it was also slightly accusatory. Oliver was used to that second part— where people thought he was weird or creepy for not speaking. He was so used to it by now that it wasn't really upsetting, though it was hard to explain without words.

Oliver shrugged and mouthed ‘I don't like talking’. The boy squinted up at him, seemingly trying to figure out what he was trying to communicate.

“You…don't like talking? O-okay…” Oliver was surprised they didn't laugh or call him weird or just ignore him as many others did. That made him smile again as he repeated his previous gestures, still trying to ask about their leg.

“O-oh…my leg..? It's fine..! So…so you can just put me down and I'll go home, yeah?” Oliver heard the hint of uncertainty in their voice and he couldn't help but frown at the thought that they didn't think he would do that in the first place. He quickly realised that his frown could be taken the wrong way though and opted for a more neutral expression.

He lowered his hand again, this time so that it was flat against the counter, nodding his head in one direction as if he was shooing the boy off of his hand with his head alone. ‘Go on. I won't keep you’. He offered another smile for good measure.

The boy didn't move for a few moments, looking around at his fingers warily as if they would snap closed on him like a bear trap. Oliver simply held still, patiently waiting, despite his many questions.

Slowly they began to scoot towards the edge of his palm, and Oliver tried his best not to react to the ticklish sensation. He watched as they fully climbed off his hand and stood up before meeting his gaze again with trepidation.

“You…you're actually letting me go..?”

Oliver nodded, smiling again as he slowly moved his hand away and turned it back over so the palm was facing downwards. He placed his free hand over his heart to indicate sincerity.

They seemed to hesitate still, but took a cautious step back. As they put weight onto one of their ankles though they let out a hiss of pain, losing their balance as they suddenly pulled their weight off of that leg. Instinctively, Oliver's hand reached towards them, cupping as he caught them, looking down at them with concern.

‘You are hurt…’ He mouthed, although it was unreadable due to the way he was practically mumbling. Regardless, the boy wasn't looking at his mouth, instead they had wide eyes and were swivelling their head around to focus on Oliver's hand. He frowned worriedly, not wanting to scare them more than they clearly already were, but also not wanting to ignore someone who was injured.

He raised his other hand from the counter again and held out his palm, splaying his fingers out in a placating gesture and biting his lip when the boy flinched away from his hand’s shadow. He repeated the gesture again, trying to show that he meant no harm. All the while, his left hand remained cupped behind them, although it wasn't caging them in.

It took about five or six times of Oliver calmly repeating the same motion for the boy to calm down and notice that his fingers weren't closing in, and his right hand wasn't moving any closer. They looked up at Oliver, looking so small and vulnerable from this vantage point… I just want to help.

‘Your leg…’ He slowly pointed to the tiny leg again, then pointed towards himself, his hand instinctively flattening to sign help, only to remember his leading hand was currently cupped behind the boy. He rested his hand on the counter again instead.

‘I can help you.’ He mouthed. When the boy didn't seem to read his lips, Oliver simply repeated the most important word. ‘Help. I can help.’

There was a hint of understanding in the boy's gaze, but he was still clearly very frightened. Oliver tried to imagine seeing the world from his perspective, but it was hard to imagine…regardless, he thought he would be more curious when coming face to face with a giant unless he had reason to believe they meant him harm.

His green gaze danced around the counter in search of something else he could offer as a sign of good will. His gaze landed on the macaroni and cheese his aunt had left— and although it wasn't super hot anymore he could warm it up. Most of it was untouched after all, and he found the boy in the oats, so he was probably looking for food or something similar.

‘Wait.’ He held his hand out again, slowly moving his hand from behind the boy so that he was no longer supporting his weight. He then picked up his aunt's plate and walked to the microwave, covering it with a lid and putting it in for thirty seconds. He watched the timer go down, intending to stop it just before it would start beeping.

At one second he opened it, turning off the timer and pulling out the plate before carrying it back over to where he had left the boy. He was pleasantly surprised to see that they were still there, watching him with wariness…but also a hint of curiosity as Oliver set the plate down nearby.

Sliding it in the boy's direction he smiled, gesturing towards the plate.

“For…for me?” They asked, shocked by the offering of food. Oliver nodded. He watched as they limped closer to the plate and very nearly toppled over whilst climbing onto it. They crawled closer then sniffed at the food, before finally taking a piece of the warm macaroni into their hands.

Oliver winced at the mess but made no moves to stop the tiny boy, simply leaning on his hand as he watched the display.

They ate ravenously, making it clear how hungry they were as they only paused to announce how good it tasted; expressing shock over the fact that the food was warm. Eventually the boy grew full and he looked up at Oliver again, cheese covering his hands and face. Oliver couldn't help but let out a breathy chuckle, hushed and soft but no less amused.

The boy frowned up at him, little eyebrows contorted in frustration.

“H-hey! Nothing funny to see here..!” He protested. Oliver covered his mouth with his hand to stifle the laughter, cutting it off with a small cough as he was worried he might actually upset the tiny boy. That would be bad…he was trying to help him after all.

They continued to stare up at him, looking him up and down with a scrutinising chocolate brown gaze, seemingly debating something internally. Oliver was silent as usual, removing his hand that was covering his mouth and making his expression neutral again— though he couldn't hide the curious spark in his eyes.

“My name is James…” The boy murmured, but Oliver heard it.

He perked up, his hands already moving to spell his own name, mouthing ‘Oliver’ alongside it. His aunt and uncle just used the sign of an acorn as a nickname for him, but he didn't really introduce himself like that.

“Oliver…yeah I know.” James responded as if it was obvious, but Oliver tilted his head questioningly nonetheless.

‘You did?’

James hadn't read his lips but seemed to understand that he had let something slip he shouldn't have as he began to backtrack immediately, fear visible in his expression.

“I-I mean…it's not— I-I'm sorry…” He was back to trembling, shoulders hunched and posture stiff. Oliver's expression saddened and he leaned down slightly so he was more at eye level, offering a small reassuring smile and shaking his head lightly, hands gesturing alongside his lips moving.

‘It’s okay. It's okay. I'm not angry.’ He shook his head again to emphasise that fact. ‘You don't have to answer if you don't want to. I'll ask something else… like…’ He thought for a few moments before levelling with James again. ‘How old are you?’

There were a few beats of silence as the tiny boy continued to stay silent, but Oliver remained patient. Eventually he spoke up, albeit shakily.

“I-I'm um…I'm thirteen.” He answered, averting eye contact every now and then. Oliver knew that he was prone to staring or giving way too much eye contact so he looked away again for a moment, only looking back when he responded back.

‘I’m ten.’ He held up his hands, palms facing himself and fingers close together with his thumbs sticking out, before turning them around and splaying his fingers out. People usually understood the second gesture much more when Oliver tried to sign numbers.

“Ten?” The tiny boy clarified, and he nodded in turn. That seemed to make James perk up a bit himself, as if age was a matter of pride. “So…I-I'm older than you? You're just…so big. It’s weird…”

It's weird. Not I'm weird.

Oliver smiled.

‘I am big.’ He agreed, his hands continuing to sign as much as he knew his constant hand movements probably only confused James. Wanting to focus on more important matters again, Oliver pointed towards his leg. ‘Can I help fix your leg? It's hurt.’

“Oh, right… u-um… nothing is broken, I think I just landed weird. The pain is starting to go away a bit… But I can't stay out here— my dad’ll kill me if he catches me talking to you..!” He exclaimed, glancing around as if his dad might pop up from anywhere. Oliver couldn't help but glance around too, worry etching across his features.

‘Your dad would really do that? Is he mean to you?’ He signed quickly, his mind instantly flashing back to the many threats he had heard when he was younger from his own parents. Mostly his mother, but his father never stopped her.

James didn't seem able to read his lips that time thanks to how sporadic it was, but he could tell that Oliver was worried.

“N-not actually! I just…I'm exaggerating. He.. he will be worried about me, is all. He and my mum…” He corrected, confusion in his gaze as he looked up at him. Oliver let out a small sigh of relief and relaxed, calming down little by little.

An exaggeration. Right.

He nodded to show he understood, although he couldn't help the jittery feelings that remained buzzing under the surface, his hands withdrawing closer to his chest as he looked down at the tiny boy. ‘Okay… Do you want to clean yourself before you go, then?’

He reached over the counter and picked up a napkin before offering it forwards for James to use. The boy's face lit up in realisation and he glanced down at his cheese covered hands sheepishly before nodding and reaching out to take a corner.

“Thanks…” He spoke out as he wiped off his hands. He let go of the napkin and gave Oliver a confused look when he didn't withdraw. Letting out an amused exhale from his nose Oliver pointed at James then gestured to his face.

‘Your face is messy too.’

The boy's face went red with embarrassment and he took a clean part of the napkin to wipe the cheese from his face too. Once finished he let go again and held out his hands as if to say ta da, then shakily pushed himself to a stand.

At first it seemed like he might fall again, and Oliver's fingers twitched in anticipation…but it seemed the boy had been telling the truth that the injury was nothing serious and the pain was fading, as he was able to put more weight on it than before. Satisfied, he put the napkin in the bin before looking down at James again.

‘It was nice to meet you, James.’ He smiled, waving down at them. He waved back up at him, climbing off of the plate and walking backwards towards the…wall..? Oliver watched with confusion and interest, then awe as the tiny boy opened a hidden doorway into the wall. His eyes sparkled with wonder, although he only watched.

“I-it was nice to meet you too, surprisingly. Thanks again for not um..for not killing me.” The secret door then closed and left Oliver alone in the kitchen once more. He tilted his head, brows furrowing.

What an odd thing to say… Oh well. I hope his parents don't get angry at him because of me.

With that in mind, he stood up straight again and turned the tap back on to resume his washing up, playing the interaction in his head over and over again.

I hope we can be friends.

[writingmeraki]

enemy!rafe cameron hcs !

ft. older!maybank!sibling

★ prng. rafe cameron x older!maybank!sibling, e2l ★ gnr. angst, fluff, unresolved feelings ★ wrngs. cussing, jealousy, alcohol, violence, age gap ( reader is older ), mentions of parental issues ( for the sake of this, jj and reader don't have parents. ) w.c 3.7k ( yeah so um....) | a/n at the end.

older!maybank!sibling who finally graduated and is headed home.

After all the years of hardwork and the distance from home, you're headed back to where it all began for you.

It's been a while. You've changed. A lot. Not just physically but also as a person. When you'd gone out of the town you'd grown up in, you didn't think you'd be able to make it out in the ‘real’ world. Considering how your brother and you basically had to fend for yourselves due to not having your parents, you really didn't know what would happen to you outside.

Outside of your home and if you'd survive. But you still took the leap, four years back, and you can't say you regret it. You were grateful for having John B’s father promise to take care of JJ, and you think leaving him was the hardest part. He understood you though, in fact was the one who supported you the most to get out of the town.

Yet no matter what the little island still seems the only thing unchanged, with its weather to the sand on the beach. The familiar houses, the roads, the sounds, everything was all the same. 

But who changed was your brother and his friends. 

older!maybank!sibling is immediately thrown into a hug the moment JJ spots them.

You couldn't stop the tears and the shock that ran through you once you saw him. He looked…different. In a way as though he matured over the years. His look, his height, his hair, his eyes, everything seemed different. Of course you maintained contact with him in the years, but you never went back for any of the holidays. Due to the fact, you were sure you'd not head back to your college. And your brother knew that, he made sure you didn't feel alone. 

His friends, you remembered all of them, were just as surprised to see you as you were them. They all definitely looked much more mature than when you remember them as the scrawny kids you'd last seen. 

John B, Kiara, Pope, and someone you'd never met before Sarah. Sarah Cameron. You were familiar with her family but not enough as you liked to stay out of places you knew you weren't welcome. And yes, you didn't forget the ‘hierarchies’ that were there.

You still did find them stupid. Though, she was a huge surprise. She didn't seem like the arrogant assholes you remembered how the other side of the island were stereotyped as. 

In fact, it seemed she knew you for years from the way you got along as if you'd also known her the way you knew his other friends. She told you how JJ never once stopped talking about you, how you'd think, what you'd be doing at the moment and all the other stories he has of you. You would endlessly tease to him how much he missed you.

older!maybank!sibling who's crowded at the first bonfire party they ever attend in the years.

You saw many familiar faces, very few new ones. But all in all, the night was mostly just you being caught up on what you'd miss. Which was really, not much. You were told how most days, the Pogues, all they did was their adventures and you were told of what they'd done in the past years.

Some stories made you very concerned, some made you proud while in all, there was a part of you that wished was also there. While they had stories, you had the same to give.

Stories of college party nights, your group of friends you'd managed to make after so much trial and error, which you also did inform them of all, but now you were sure that you found the ones who you'd also likely be attending their weddings. ( Lifelong college friendships >> ).

You promised them that you would make them all meet each other. You also showed the new piercings and tattoos you'd gotten. It was on your bucket list before you left and you finally got it fulfilled. 

Along with you coming back, also came your overprotective older sibling persona, which made you heavily judge JJ for overconsuming so much alcohol. You had to snatch away the glass as he threw himself on you and whined about how he was just very happy to finally see you. You shook your head with a smile as you looked at him fondly, caressing his hair. You replied, “I know, Jaybird, I know.” 

And his eyes lit up from the nickname you gave him since you were a kid, it was something between you two only and only fate knows how much he missed someone (you) calling him that even though he hated it as a kid. 

older!maybank!sibling done for the day and heading to call it a night as the crowd filters out slowly.

You weren't aware of the new people who joined in later, considering you'd gone to take a call from your friend wondering if you'd reached home. The conversation took a while which meant you didn't realize what had happened. 

You gasped when you went back to JJ, seeing the big bruise on his cheek as he sat down with a face of rage and annoyance. “What the fuck?!” You wondered how you didn't even realize what had happened until you heard another voice. Spinning around, you came face to face with him. 

It took you a minute to recognise the guy standing in front of you. 

Rafe Cameron. 

From what you recalled, he was a kid who always stuck to his father. You rarely ever saw him and were surprised to remember him too but you think his very blue eyes made you recall him. He…he definitely had a change. A glow up, but you won't admit it.

His height has grown, making him almost a head taller than you, his face got much sharper, and the scowl on his lips shouldn't look that…attractive. His hair ruffled, strands of it laying perfectly on his forehead like he was some sort of perfect mess. 

And that's when it clicked again, he was Sarah’s brother too. 

Him though. He was just as, maybe even more surprised to see you. It took him a minute and a bit of internal questioning about how someone like you was talking to someone like Maybank. 

Then, he remembered. His older sibling. You were Maybank’s older sibling. 

He was a bit, no actually he was completely baffled by you. He heard around how you'd left, often even used you to spew insults at JJ. But he didn't expect you to look like that. He gulped when he realized he might have been staring for too long before directing his stare at JJ. Right, his initial target. 

Your eyes darted between your brother and back to Rafe. You raised an eyebrow as you saw him holding his hand. Injured hand. And that's when it hit you. 

With a menacing scowl, you spat at him. “You did this?” You pointed at his bruised cheek.  

JJ flinched at your tone, not used to it being so harsh. While Rafe seemed to go speechless as his mouth opened to respond but couldn't due to his tongue feeling weirdly heavy. It was so fucking stupid of him. Normally, he'd have jumped at the chance to mock, but it seemed he couldn't at the moment.

The next thing you knew, before you could even comprehend, you just took a deep breath, your eyes darting back to JJ’s who might have been getting an idea of what you were about to do as his own widened and he shook his head. With a scoff, you turned back to Rafe and stepped closer. 

And before he could even think, he felt his face being whipped to the left sharply. You might not have had the same strength or force in your slap, but you were sure it would leave a mark. You weren't even the violent type, but for your brother, you'd kill anyone who dared to even harm him. 

“Next time, don't even think about hurting him. Because I can do worse, got it…Rafe?” 

Rafe didn't even know how to respond. Everything was so quick, and all he really felt was the sharp sting in his cheek. The way you said his name, the way you fucking remembered who he was. It was too much at once. He didn't even realize he might have just nodded and how he just remained frozen in the spot. It wasn't like he was not used to being hurt, especially when confronting JJ, a little violence was always there, but he was taken aback by you, your entire presence that he couldn't even say something. 

Glaring at him with as much hatred you could, you moved back to your brother and his friends. Annoyed that now your hand stung and you carefully took your brother back to John B’s.  

It was chaos between the rest of his friends. All wondering, how you'd even manage to go unscathed but you just shrugged and scowled that he got what he deserved but probably also deserved much more. Even worse. 

older!maybank!sibling realizing they may have just started something they were never ready for.

After the little incident, it hit Rafe just how humiliated you also made him. His ego, which was his one firm thing in his life, was hurt. And after this thinking, mostly Topper just made him question why he just stood there like an idiot and let some…some pogue slap him like that. Now following this realization, he made sure to worsen his supposed ‘reign’ over the rest of the Pogues. 

Yet. If you were present with them, it was as though you had him in a trance. He couldn't do anything, say, or let alone look at you without feeling…nervous. And this made him even more mad at himself because it wasn't the ‘scared’ nervousness that ran through him, it was more so how there seemed to be a fucking zoo in his entire chest near you. He felt his stomach drop too sometimes. 

Now that you were updated about what exactly Rafe Cameron was upto and continued to do, which was to be a pain in the ass to the Pogues, your impression of him went down the drain.

Not that it was much anyways considering he did harm your baby brother. But now all you felt when you spotted him was pure hatred. 

This resulted in you biting back at him and his words when he decided to have a go at the others. Your words, never ones you knew you could even say, were laced with rage and venom and your eyes shone the same. 

Your medium of communication with him was insults and bickering, but it seemed he seized the physical violence after that day. 

older!maybank!sibling getting to their wits end during one of the ‘regular’ confrontations with Rafe.

It was another party, something you came to knew was a very regular thing now. It was the usual insults spat at each other, until you finally just walked away. You didn't even know why you engaged in the argument. Didn't even understand, why in God's name you continued to maintain these fights when you were someone who was calm. Being a violent teenager was what you left in the past, it wasn't like you. 

Deciding you'd had enough, you went for a drink. There you met, one of the guys, who you became friends with when you came back, Mark.

Mark was pretty sweet, meeting him during one of these parties too a while back, and you'd even exchanged numbers that day, remembering it so clearly due to the fact that Rafe Cameron wasn't even there then. You'd been level headed that day, and spoken to others around and clicked with Mark instantly. 

Mark had gone for some time out of town for his work, but he was back. You even recalled him messaging you how he'd be joining the bonfire tonight. It was surely a delight to see him again. 

He hugged you shortly after you said hi and you were happy to return the gesture. You continued to talk to him as he gave you your drink. Your conversation felt light, not something that would make you want to rip your hair out the way most of your conversations with Rafe went. And you wondered why in God's name were you thinking of him. 

Seeing you so close to a guy he didn't even know, Rafe to say the least, was pissed. Annoyed and pissed.

He scoffed at the way you leaned in closer to him. You had that stupid look on your face where your eyes twinkled and your smile was so bright, it made his heart leap in annoyance. He couldn't stand it. 

Next thing, he knew, he walked up to you both and greeted you sarcastically. Looking at the guy, he noticed that he was taller, which made him feel a slight sense of accomplishment as he stood straight. And Rafe wasn't someone who felt unattractive.

He knew he was hot and he acted like it too. So as he did get a closer look at the guy, he did know he was much better looking.

“Finally, did someone manage to tame you Maybank?” 

Your eyes were already narrowed in suspicion the moment you caught him walking towards you, and you scowled at his words.  You questioned about why he was even bothering you again, when he began to laugh humorlessly at your questioning. 

“Why I'm just concerned, ‘couldn't find guys there who could stand you there so you're targeting the innocent ones here?” 

Before you could even lunge at him, Mark gently held your arm and your gaze shifted back to him. 

Oh this did not go unnoticed by Rafe. It made him even more pissed.

He laughed even more, out of spite, ‘So I was right huh, you are tamed now.” 

You'd had enough.

Pulling away from Mark, you sized up to Rafe and looked him dead in the eye, poking your index finger to his chest.

“Listen to me Rafe. You're a piece of shit who thinks he owns everyone and their lives because you think you're the fucking king of the world or something when in reality, you're a stupid little kid who's projecting his daddy issues onto others. Who the fuck even are you without your last name huh? You're always seeking your daddy’s approval to do shit and think you own the world because of that. Well you're wrong, you're nothing, without your name, without him, you're just a sore fucking loser who doesn't even know an ounce of how life works.” 

It was all your frustration, all the anger and the annoyance caused by him that led up to your explosion. You knew everything about him, and this was when you finally exploded about what you really thought of him. 

But. Instead of him immediately answering you. He stood there frozen. 

You felt the worst fucking dread beginning to build up in your stomach when you saw the emotions in his eyes.  

…Hurt. Sadness. As if it wasn't expected of you to say that. And it wasn't. He knew he got on your nerves but it was so fucking idiotic of him to think you thought of him otherwise. 

And the worst part was….you were right. 

Stepping back, you took a deep breath and scanned his face. It was still the same, no remarks, nothing, now his entire expression went blank too. You shouldn't feel the guilt building up in you as you went over what you said. It was too much, maybe you crossed a line too. 

Without another word, he simply flickered his gaze to the floor and looked back up at you. Nothing, he showed no emotion as he turned around and walked away from you.

older!maybank!sibling wondering how the hell did they end up at a point where now they felt guilty for Rafe Cameron out of all people? 

It took many sleepless nights to make you think over your words. You knew Rafe’s issues with his…father. Sarah had told you so and at that time, a part of you did feel terrible for him. And now you'd ended up using those same issues as insults to his face. This wasn't like you.

You weren't someone, no matter what, who would use these types of things as insults. But you tried justifying your actions with how he'd been treating you the past weeks, how he hit your brother too. It was of no use, you still felt like…you stooped far too low. 

With this too, Rafe stopped. He completely stopped his insults, bickering and petty fights not only with you but the rest of the Pogues. It was as if he'd chosen to just ignore your entire existence whenever you'd accidentally stumbled into him anywhere. 

You felt a bit sick when your brother happily told you how Rafe stopped bothering everyone, even his own sister, because of what you'd done. You obviously told them of what happened but…maybe not the entire truth. You didn't mention what exactly you'd told him. 

You feared they'd all somehow judge you. You hated it. And most importantly, you hated how much you were actively looking for Rafe. 

For what? He stopped bothering you which was what you wanted but…but it was weird. 

Weird how you needed to just…talk to him. Probably…apologize too.

older!maybank!sibling who gets the chance.

It was after weeks, you'd see Rafe again. It had been weeks of peace for sure, but it was weirdly quiet. Sometimes, you get used to all the chaos and crave peace but when you finally have it, you oddly in a fucked up way, miss the chaos. It was stupid. 

You'd been walking alongside the ocean, clearing your mind because the past weeks felt tiring. The sand sunk beneath your steps as you mindlessly walked with your gaze down. When you spotted a figure in the distance, you wondered if it was someone like you who also was seeking comfort from the sea.

You paused when you got closer and realised who it was. 

Rafe.

The one who was the cause of your own haywire. 

It seemed at first he didn't notice you. Which gave you the time to think whether or not this was the moment to finally do what you'd been wanting since a while. 

Going against your better judgment which screamed at you that you got rid of the annoyance in your life and now you were heading right back at him, you moved ahead.

He was startled when he heard soft footsteps and froze when he turned his gaze and saw you.

You the one who'd made him contemplate so much about his life with just some stupid words. You who made him question his feelings because no matter how clear he could hate on others, it seemed he couldn't find it in him to do the same with you. 

‘Hey.’ You began softly, and pointed beside him, ‘Do you uh…mind? 

He didn't even think before he nodded.

After a beat of silence where you let the waves fill in, you spoke up “Look. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I said. And I do regret bringing up your…life like that but honestly it is the truth.” 

You can't say you didn't expect the scoff that followed after your words, and it made you realize just how much you…you sorta missed seeing him, his face. Rafe Cameron was an oddity to you and your feelings. 

“How about this? You don't need to accept my apology but truce?” 

He didn't speak up when he processed your words, or didn't care enough to because his gaze darted towards your stuck out hand. 

“I…I really didn't mean it. That's what you should know.” 

He seemed to be in thought for a moment, your guilt filled eyes consuming his mind for the moment and making him gulp at the way they twinkled under the moonlight. You…you really still manage to steal his breath away without ever trying. 

“Fine. But you still need to make up for it.” He made his mind and took your hand in his. Shaking it. His hand engulfed yours fully and you can't say you hated the way it contrasted your coldness. It was warm and like…like it was a perfect fit. 

At his words, you laughed in disbelief, “Me? Make up for it? You were the one who kept pushing me!” 

“Is that giving up I hear? I thought we called a truce, Maybank?” Rolling your eyes, you stood up, feeling already a tad bit better than before. 

“Ugh whatever Cameron, of course you'd only agree to something if you could find a way to get your own benefit.” 

You didn't want to admit it but there was definitely less venom to your tone, in fact it seemed you were now…joking with him. 

He stood up, running his hand over his hair and shook his head, and it was the first in a while you saw his lips turn up, the small gesture making you freeze, and you hoped he didn't notice.

“You know me so well.” 

His words shouldn't have affected you the way they did, but you gulped as he stared right into your eyes when he did say them. It was intense. A lot, all at once.

And so you looked away, pretending to roll your eyes as you calmed your heartbeat. Shaking your head, you turned around when his voice stopped you in your tracks.

“What no goodbye, new friend?” 

You turned your head towards him, in more disbelief at the word, and blinked at him. It was like he enjoyed baffling you because he chuckled like the idiot he was, “Well I'll say it then, Night Maybank, looking forward to being friends then.” 

With that he turned around and went the opposite way as you continued to stare at where he had been standing. Rafe Cameron just joked around with you…like a normal human being…? 

Maybe you did end up passing out of something and this was all a weird ass dream. Pinching yourself, you felt the pain and winced, realizing this was the actual reality. 

Well then, you guess you should look forward to how exactly you were now going to deal with your new friend. And the weird flutters that never seemed to seize as you recalled the way his genuine laugh seemed to sleep right into your bones and make you melt. 

You were fucked. 

a/n : something new, enjoy. ( new format 🙏) lowkey made this cause i dont have time to write a fic rn :"))) also yes no parents bcoz it would be more...heavy if I included that so just enjoy the beef b/w reader and rafe :D also yes i ended it there bcoz i will see if this is liked by the audience ( you ) and decide to invest more time to write this duo....i do have some ideas planned but do let me know what you think!!! sibling bcoz i write gn mostly if you're new here :D

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.

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