#and nostalgia is not a good enough reason to make things really hard

[torturedtypewritersdept]

proclivity - part one - scott street

✯ pairing:

ex!bff!rafe cameron x diabetic!kook!fem!reader

✯ summary:

at one point in time rafe was your best friend. can summer romance erase all the damage he's done?

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, heartbreak, diabetes lingo, injury, ghosting, fluff and fear, domestic violence (not rafe), mean!ex!jj etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity and i have rewritten + reshared it here :) trying out a new format with this post, hope you like it!

Your feet hit the floor with a loud grunt as you pull yourself from your satin pink sheets, they feel heavenly and quite frankly, the discipline your parents are bestowing upon you as they do their best to make it a point that your pogue ex-boyfriend is an ex for a reason is mind-numbingly stupid. You’re aware of this fact — you are so hyper aware that it causes you physical pain. So much more than your broken wrist, which is also his fault as much as everything else. You groan loudly as you hear your mother call your name again. The “Don’t make me ask again, y/n” voice  she’s using is also mind-numbingly annoying, though you know that she is very serious and that she will probably send your father in to chop you into a million pieces and sell your corpse on the black market if you don’t listen to her. So, you scream back. 

“I’m up!” 

You screech. You are usually perfectly obedient and poised, but the one thing that JJ has taught you is absolute attitude from the pits of hell. Your parents had realized this new attribute early on into your relationship with him and from the way you picked up his habits so quickly, they knew he was bad news. It should’ve been your first sign that something – the relationship, him – it was all wrong. You should’ve known when your parents started talking in Rafe’s language – in pogue versus kook, because they weren’t those kinds of people, the kind to pass judgment on people that they didn’t know and you never had been either. You feel like you’re at a disadvantage because of this now, because really you should’ve listened to Rafe’s warnings in early childhood about pogues being bad news. You never expected them to be true, for your perfect pogue to make you question who you are, to wind you up in jail. Jail – a word so far from being associated with you that it makes you cringe just thinking about it. Just thinking about the way it's dirty, pogue-ridden walls were trying to infect you with its virus, to hold you captive for all the days of your life. When your father had picked you up, he was livid – fuming, ready to murder every person that had touched his precious baby daughter. You’d been without insulin for hours and were on the verge of being too sick to recover when he picked you up. That seemed to be the only real thing on your side as he stormed into the Kildare police station and carted you off to the hospital. Good thing he did, because your arm was broken as well as your diabetes royally fucking you like it always did. He demanded answers and you easily gave him the right one — that Taylor Swift’s Getaway Car hadn’t prepared you for this, for JJ’s abandonment either. You assumed he took pity on you then in the way that only a girl dad knows how to. That doesn’t really matter though, because you’re still getting punished. They are making you take a summer job at The Island Club in order to pay for your transgressions, the price of bail but more importantly worrying them and getting yourself hurt. You get it truly, but that doesn’t make it suck any less. You wish you could call Rafe in times like these, though you know those days have been over for a very long time. 

—

You’re behind the bar when they walk in, getting orientated by none other that a pogue named Summer from your class. She’s nice enough and very pretty, saving for college because without a job, there’s no way she will be able to go. You appreciate her kindness as she shows you how to make a Mai Tai for the fourth time. You notice the three stooges as they walk through the door from a fresh round of golf, still smelling of freshly cut grass and the stench of perspiration. You mentally berate yourself for your brain’s inability to use their real names after all this time. Rafe, Topper, and Kelce approach the bar dripping wet with sweat. You haven’t seen them exert this much physical activity since the beginning of last year’s football season so the sight is a little funny. It’s hot in the obx this year though, more so than years past. So, you’re guessing it hasn’t taken much to make them glisten. Your eyes are locked on your former friends, but Rafe particularly – since he’s really the only one stuck in the former category. The other two still love you very much, despite your very poor taste in men. He’s handsome – you note, more so than the last time you saw him. He’s grown about a foot, everything is bigger about him really and you can’t help but wonder if that part is bigger too – MOVING ON. He’s smiling, talking to Summer and for a moment you find yourself staring, wondering if he’s ever going to smile at you like that again one day. Stupid girl, you think. The answer is no and you know that. 

“Y/n, When did you start working here?” 

Topper asked, puzzledly. You can feel Rafe’s brow etch in confusion as he stares intently at your cheeks that are freckled brown from the summer sun. 

“I got in trouble, remember? This is my punishment.” 

You are doing your best not to have to explain your situation to the entirety of the club. So, you laugh in comradery with your friend, clenching your teeth and sporting a forced smile, though you feel ashamed about it and probably will punish yourself for it later. 

“Three Mai Tai’s, pretty please.” 

Rafe spoke, breaking your attention away from Topper, giving Summer his best puppy dog eyes. You smile softly at his tactics, noting that nothing has changed in that regard.  

“We can’t do that, can we?” 

You whisper in Summer’s ear. She looks at you and smiles. 

“Good girl! You’re picking up fast, just like I said you would.” 

You beam at her praise as she redirects her attention to the boys.

“Come on, boys. You know I can’t serve you alcohol, you’re underage.” 

She said, rolling her eyes. Topper laid his fake ID down on the flat mahogany surface of the bar, sliding it over. 

“This clearly states that I’m 23.” 

He retorted and you rolled your eyes in feigned annoyance. 

“Come on, y/n! Really? What is it? You only give alcohol to Maybank or something?” 

Rafe jokingly questioned with a sneer, his distaste for anything Pogue related always everpresent. Your face fell and your breath caught in your throat, the moment the last name of your ex-boyfriend left his lips. You think only of the Rafe that used to be your best friend and then to the moment that all changed during freshman year. How he left you in the dust of appearances and fancy parties, how he turned into a major dick who made it his newfound purpose in life to cut you down every chance he got. You remembered the embarrassingly drunk voicemail you left him last year, crying into the phone about how he was everything to you and he left you behind after the first time JJ had touched you in a violent way. You never told him that though. You had been civil and joked back and forth, but had no real conversations or interactions since then. That was mostly because you were embarrassed about it, you knew that he probably showed it to Kelce and Topper and laughed about it for ages, making fun of how pathetic you were. Your fears seem to be true now as he cuts you down with his sneer and hate-filled blue eyes. You still don’t know what you did, what you did to put the butterfly effect into motion; how you and Rafe got so far off the beaten path. The tears rimmed your eyes, being reminded of your now ex-boyfriend wasn’t how you planned on spending your afternoon. No one knew how you’d followed his every whim all summer, how it had landed you in jail, gotten you a broken wrist, almost killed you when you hadn’t paid attention to your sugar for hours. He’d left you there and no one knew and you wanted so badly to tell Rafe about all of it. But, you couldn't – not anymore. Because you were right where he left you, like an abandoned toy in the toy box he no longer wanted to play with. As if all of that wasn’t enough to embarrass you and make you want to die, JJ had cheated with one of your close friends, Kiara, too and all the Pogues knew about it – sending you into a spiral of grieving all your friends at once. You had virtually no one. Rafe didn’t know and how could he, you stopped getting to tell him the ins and outs of your life a long time ago. So, while the joke seemed harmless to him, it broke something inside of you. You looked up, meeting his eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. But, he knew you, he knew that look, he knew those glossed over eyes – he knew he had fucked up. 

“Woah, what’s wrong? I’m just kidding around. Can’t you take a joke, Y/N?” 

The bitterness left his tongue as quick as his feigned concern, almost like he couldn’t turn either off.  

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I’ve been wiping my own tears for a long time now.” 

You bit out, not meaning to spill your guts the way you did, but he deserved it. He couldn’t help but feel your words so deeply. He often felt guilty for the way he left you, with no reason why. There was a time when he would’ve talked you out of being with a loser like JJ Maybank, a time when he would dry your tears and hug you tightly, a time when he would’ve protected you. You slowly but surely made the boys their drinks, a tear slipping out of your eye. No one noticed but Topper and he gave you a sad, knowing look. You headed to the kitchen, hoping no one would be in the locker room that was right off to the side of it, so you could cry in peace. 

“What did I say?”

Rafe questioned the boys, confusedly. 

“You’re a fucking idiot. Have you not heard that Maybank cheated on her and all the Pogues knew about it? He got her in trouble, Rafe and she got hurt. She’s lost everybody important to her, and you just have to be an asshole to her, when we all know how you really feel about her. Grow up, man.” 

Kelce spoke up with distaste on his tongue. 

“Shit.”

He whispered out, deciding then, he’d make it his mission to get into your good graces again, if that was even possible. It’d been long enough without you in his life and he had only wanted a break to protect you from his own faults. 

After you had made it to the locker room, you leaned against the lockers, your head falling back in defeat. It’s been two weeks since JJ broke your heart and it felt like the last year with you had meant nothing to him. He didn’t even say he was sorry. You stayed like that for a moment, cringing thinking about the fact that you had to work with him tonight. Summer had warned you in advance as she orientated you and you gave her the smaller version of events. You wished so badly that you could rewind time and not let Rafe drift away from you, all you wanted in this moment was one of his hugs – feeling his strong, muscular arms wrap around you. It had been two years since you’d had a hug like that. You pushed the thoughts down once more, drying your eyes and making your way back out to the bar. The boys were still sitting there. Rafe took in your form, the way the blanched redness of your face stood out. He could tell you had been crying, really hard, and that made his chest tight. It had always made his fucking chest hurt. He wanted to kill JJ Maybank for what he had done to you. You made your way behind the bar and locked eyes with Topper. 

“Can I get you boys anything else?”

You asked – voice shaky. 

“We’re fine, Y/N.”

Topper spoke with a softness and an ease to his voice. Topper and Kelce had stayed friend’s with you even after Rafe decided not to and Topper was the first phone call you made after your dad had brought you home from the hospital; filling him in on all the gorey details. He came over with pizza and wine and made you laugh about how much of an idiot JJ was. That made you feel better for a while, but you cried yourself to sleep that night, mostly sad that you couldn’t call Rafe out of embarrassment or fear of leaving another voicemail he’d never return. You often wondered if you were ever important to him at all. 

“Hey, sweet cheeks!”

You were brought out of your thoughts by JJ’s boisterous yet sinister laugh as he called you by a nickname you no longer welcomed. Rafe watched as your body became completely stiff. It made his skin crawl that you were so uncomfortable and as he saw your eyes gloss over he knew this was about to be bad. 

“What, Y/N, you too good to talk to me now?”

JJ questioned, annoyed that you were ignoring him. You wanted to speak to him, but you couldn’t find the words to say and you definitely didn’t want to do it in front of Rafe. Before you could even muster up a response, Topper and Rafe were behind the bar, standing in front of JJ, blocking him from getting close to you. Summer was thankful because she had never liked JJ and couldn’t do much on her own to protect you. 

“Maybank, I suggest you back up. You have no right to talk to her after what you’ve done!” 

Rafe growled. 

“Oh and you do? You tore her heart out of her chest, hollywood.” 

He laughs in response. 

“What are you even talking about?” 

Rafe questioned confusedly. 

“Oh, you know, when you stopped talking to her out of the blue freshman year. What you thought I didn’t know about that? You don’t think everyone knows about that?” 

JJ’s laugh has become incredulous at this point. Rafe looked in your direction, with apologetic eyes. 

“What would you know about that? You don’t know anything that went on between us.” 

Rafe snarled. 

“I know she cried all the time. I know about that embarrassing voicemail she left you. I know she never got over it. I mean I can’t say I blame you for ghosting her like that, she’s boring and what would the king kook want with her-”

The sound of Rafe’s fist meeting JJ’s jaw was enough to send a chill down your spine. Topper quickly pulled you away from the scene, not wanting you to be caught in the crossfire of an angry Rafe, especially when it involved defending you – he knew he had no self control in that regard. 

“Y/N, look at me. Are you okay?” 

He questioned softly. 

“I-I, no, top. W-why d-did he do this t-to me?” 

You asked through stifled sobs and his soft eyes traced over your figure. Unbeknownst to you and Topper, Rafe had run out to find you after he mopped the floor with JJ, his knuckles bloody for you. But, as he made his way through the club, he heard stifled sobs on the other side of a wooden door and he stopped to listen.

“I don’t know, sweet girl. People cheat and I don’t think there’s ever a reason-”

Topper continued, but was quickly cut off by you as you clarified who exactly you were referring to. 

“No, why did Rafe do this to me? I loved him so much and I-I don’t know maybe JJ’s right. Maybe I just wasn’t good enough to be his friend anymore. Maybe he saw what a piece of shit I was.” 

You mumbled. 

“No, listen, it’s deeper than all that. When Rafe’s ready to tell you what happened, he will. But don’t beat yourself up, Y/N. There’s nothing wrong with you.” 

He replied, stroking your hair. 

Rafe couldn’t believe what he was hearing, he really had broken your heart and you really thought you were the one that wasn't good enough for him. 

as always, if you'd like to be added to the taglist, please let me know <3

taglist:

@maybankslover @inthelibrarybtw @luvrcndy @silkylovey

[oh-no-its-bird]

Look all I'm saying is that if I were going to make a minecraft movie.

Well, first off I'd put down the first person to even reccomend we do it in cgi. Not just because it looks objectively terrible and half of the magic and nostalgia factor of minecraft is in its texture but holy shit budget much??? You are literally looking at a situation where the cheaper option is also objectively the better option. What the fuck are you doing

But I mean, after that.

Second off, all my writers must watch popular smps and minecraft roleplays/let's plays to understand the "magic" of the game. That's how we're studying for this, not the game books or whatever. Those guys are clearly doing smthn right, and as the executive/writer who knows very little about mineraft that I am in this hypothetical scenario, I need to do my best to make money. And that means learning what people like about the game and community.

Maybe even bring on some popular (non controversial please god) smp writers for consulting. They literally make minecraft movies as their fucking job, they are the expert u need to consult

Story wise, you NEED to choose if you wanna play this straight or silly. I'm so sick of movies trying to be all emotional and "ohh this world is so beautiful,, if u could only understand,, woaa" with their epic sound track and dramatic lighting, but then the dialogue being ripped out of a stupid marvel knockoff trying too hard to be witty

Anyways. Give me a generic "kid has a hard life and uses [thing] to escape it but then their parent trashes [thing] to teach them a "lesson"" movie.

The thing is minecraft and this kid is totally in love with letsplays and smps and has a server with their online friends (get a sponsorship from discord for that good good film sponsorship money, have them play while in call)

The mom or dad or maybe both trash the kids computer for some reason (bad grades maybe or one of those shitty "you need to talk to us more!!! That computer is killing ur brain!!! You don't love us as much as you should and it's that damn games fault!!!" But like it's actually just a kid being a normal fucking kid and having normal fucking kid hobbies things and the parents are dicks)

They delete the minecraft world rip

Them boom, kid somehow gets stuck in the game

Switch to NON CGI FILMING IN MINECRAFT. If you really need to add your stupid shitty fucking cgi then at least make it look like an ACTUAL MINECRAFT ANIMATION holy shit

It'll save us so much money too

So main plot is this kid, being trapped in minecraft, actually falling through different minecraft servers.

We can have different cameos from popular smps and youtubers, get some old youtubers and gameplay in here too. Get fucking dantdm and the diamond minecarts og series with the lab thing, it'll make the old fans lose their fucking MINDS.

The youtubers themselves don't even have to show up, just shove the kid into settings that are clear references to smps and letsplays. Have them wander through Aphmau's OG minecraft diaries sets or Sundee's lucky block series

The best part is that as backdrops, you don't even have to fully commit to "you'll only get this/find this interesting if you know these guys" bc if your writing is good enough you can still make people care by just. Introducing it correctly. Don't present it as "Aphmau's old minecraft diaries series world" go "oh wow look st this cool village,, woah I wonder who built this ,," And have them interact with NPCs organically

Meanwhile the parents go into the game after the kid to bring them back and we do this whole world hopping adventure where the parents learn that,, minecraft can be fun? Actually?

They find the kid and the kid is like "nooo I'm having too much fun the real world SUCKS!!!" but then we do that "it's cool to have fun and indulge but you still need to be present in the real world and do real people things too in order to have that fun responsibly" where somehow the kid realizes that moderation is good for u.

Maybe they almost die in game fr fr? Every world they enter has its difficulty upped a little bit till they enter *gasp* a hardcore world (oh no)

So like the kid learns that you can't just lock yourself in the room and wish the world goes away while you play minecraft for 12 hours straight, and the parents learn that minecraft is cool and fun and can be a good outlet and outlets are important for adults and children alike. And also that they totally pulled a dick move and they need to try to understand their kid instead of just demanding the kid understands them

Somewhere along the way, the kid ends up in their friends server and the friends help to pull them out of the game w the parents

We end the movie with the kid making an effort to be more present with the parents, and the parents also making an effort to interact with the kid in ways that they know the kid will enjoy and respond well to— shown a family dinner scene where the kid very eagerly eats their food while talking about school, then they all go to play minecraft together

The end <3

Oh right and if you seriously want Jack Black there so fucking bad then make him either the dad or like. School computer teacher who helps the kid use Minecraft EU to learn science (shows off that some schools use minecraft for education purposes) who also helps the kids friends pull them and the parents out of the game

Overall, lots of themes not just about how the game is cool and can let you do cool shit, but also about how the community is cool, and how it's provided so many kids and adults outlets to express themselves and have fun together

That's how you do a game movie

Anyways yeah, minecraft movie looks shit. Hire me instead next time

[cowgurrrl]

I Don't Smoke

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader

Author's note: this hatched as an idea for @tightjeansjavi 's june writing challenge but it doesn't end as I thought it would necessarily but I kinda lurv it so (ps thank you @egcdeath for your help 🫶)

Summary: "Most things will be okay eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes you'll put up a good fight and lose. Sometimes you'll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go. Acceptance is a small quiet room." aka Javi makes a reappearance in your life [8.6k (she’s a whopper)]

Warnings: canonical type shit

It's a random Friday in April 1998 when you're walking down the hallway of FBI headquarters and hear a familiar voice call your name. Not just any voice but a voice you came to know as well as you would know your own. A voice you loved. A voice you haven't heard in four years. You freeze in your tracks and take two breaths before you actually turn around to see him.

He smiles big as he approaches you, and you struggle to find the same response. His hair is shorter and styled nicely, and he's wearing a bureaucratic suit, which you know he hates or used to hate. He's broader than you remember and seemingly more confident. You're still tense, but once he's close enough, muscle memory takes over, and you hug him.

His cologne is different. For some reason, that tugs at your heart.

"Hey, honey," he says into your hair, squeezing you a little harder. You hold him for another second before remembering you're at work and let him go. "Wasn't expectin' such a warm welcome."

"Well, that's what happens when you see an old friend for the first time in a long time." You say and Javi smirks, scratching at the stubble on his jaw.

"'Old friend.' Is that what they're calling it these days?"

"It is when I'm at work and have a reputation to uphold."

"Right," he says and puts his hands up in defense. "Didn't mean to insult Ms. FBI."

"What are you doing here? Last I heard, you resigned." You redirect, making him laugh even though you just gave away that you kept up with him even after you broke up.

"Stoddard asked me to teach a few classes to incoming DEA agents. Figured it was a good enough reason to get out of Texas," he says. You step to the side to let somebody go by in the hallway, and that ever-wandering eye falls down your body. "You look great."

"You too," you adjust some files against your chest, suddenly all too aware of how heavy his gaze is, and glance around. "How long are you in town for?"

"A week. We should get drinks or something. Catch up." He says, and you laugh at the absurdity of it all. You're talking like you went to college together, and you're gonna reminisce about the good ole days over a few drinks. You take a deep breath and nod.

"Sure, Javi. When are you free?"

"For you? Any time," he says so easily your heart squeezes. "But, I'm around tonight. I can meet you at the bar across from the Hill after work?"

"That works for me."

"Alright, then. I'll see you tonight." He smiles and looks you over again before swaggering down the hallway and into one of the classrooms like he used to walk to your desk or into your apartment. Nostalgia and something bigger bubbles in your throat, and you swallow it down.

You've often wondered about what it'd be like if you ever saw Javi again.

You never expected it would sting as much as it does.

You force yourself down the hallway into your office and let out a big sigh as you bury your head in your hands. Your engagement is cold against your skin.

You should be planning a wedding. You should be debating which version of white the napkins should be— eggshell or cream— or fighting with vendors on the phone. You should be doing a lot of things in the two months leading up to your wedding. Getting drinks with your ex is not one of them.

You worked at the United States Embassy in Bogotá during the hunt for Pablo Escobar in the early nineties. You were a fresh graduate from the DEA academy and got shipped off the day after you passed all your exams. They needed bodies in chairs and on the ground doing work to end the drug war, and you just happened to have a pulse and the qualification. Javier Peña happened to have those same things. Now, he's known as one of the men who took down the most dangerous crime syndicates in Latin America, but, at the time, he was just Javi.

He was a little older, a little more experienced, and, by all accounts, a little bit of a slut. He had a wandering eye and a bad habit of sleeping with newly minted Embassy employees who didn't know better. You were warned about Javi and his brown eyes and swagger, but you couldn't avoid him. He was your coworker, for Christ's sake. So all you could do was remind yourself you were there for a job and try to ignore him when possible. What they don't tell you about being thousands of miles away from home and dealing with nightmare-inducing horrors every single day is that you start looking for comfort wherever you can find it.

You made bad decisions like smoking cigarette after cigarette, sneaking just a little bit of whiskey in your coffee, or letting Javi bend you over his desk and leave bruises on your skin as he buried himself inside you. One time, you told yourself. You'll do this one time to get it out of your system, and then you'll both move on. As long as it didn't interfere with work, you thought it was okay to fuck him once, but either convenience or care kept you reaching for each other for the rest of your time in Colombia.

You spent most nights at his apartment because it was a little nicer and it felt like it would be too real if he entered your space. For all his sarcasm and hard edges, he was sweet with you. He'd make you breakfast and drive you to work under the guise of carpooling. Over time, you started to learn all his little quirks and tells, and you looked for him first when the smoke cleared and the gunfire ceased. He started stealing files off your pile of paperwork so you'd have less work to do, cook your favorite meals, and was ready with open arms when things got to be too much.

The love was like everything else that happened between you: quiet yet all-consuming.

As the months stretched on and you only grew to love him more and more, you started to imagine a life with him. You were naive and had too much faith in the world, but you couldn't stop yourself. The daydreams of a house with a big backyard, a dog, and maybe a few kids to fill it kept you alive when it felt like not even the weapon attached to your hip could. You wanted it so bad. You told him how much you wanted it, and he agreed despite how fucking crazy it sounded out loud. Love allows you to be delusional to avoid the possibility of rejection.

And you loved him so much that you let yourself believe once Escobar was dead or in prison that, you could go home together and live a somewhat normal life. That he could give it all up. That you could make it work.

So you threw yourself into the hunt. You didn't sleep. You barely ate. You went from smoking a few cigarettes a day to a pack as you got closer and closer. Javi wasn't much better off, and you definitely enabled each other's behavior, but you believed so hard in this future that you thought it would be worth it in the end.

He got snappy, and you argued a lot. You both shut down so much that it's a miracle you could find your way back to normalcy. He didn't even tell you when he got sent to D.C. for questioning. He just disappeared. When you and Steve stood over Escobar's body on a rooftop in Medellín, you couldn't focus on anything but the blood splatter on the shoes Javi got you as an early Christmas gift. At the end of the day, your only thought was, "It's over. We can go home. We can start over. We can make something of this."

Escobar wasn't even cold when Javi accepted a new position in Cali.

Everything he'd seen and done, the things you counseled each other through, the faces that kept him up at night didn't matter as much as that job. He broke the news to you as you were packing up your apartment. "There's an opportunity out there for you, too," he said, looking at you with those big eyes. You almost folded, drowning in affection for him, until you remembered how many times he'd almost died or disappeared without a word or struggled so much he buried his memories between your legs or at the bottom of a bottle.

How could he want to return to that? How could he want you to return to that?

That's when you broke.

You don't remember exactly what was said during the argument, but you know it was bad. There was a lot of yelling and tears. You said things you didn't mean, and he returned the favor. It went on for what seemed like hours, back and forth back and forth, until you were exhausted and done negotiating. You gave him an ultimatum: come to D.C. with you and start your lives, or go to Cali. He chose Cali. You chose D.C., and that was it.

That had to be it.

You didn't talk much in those final days, but you did a lot of crying. The horrors he helped keep at bay threatened to suffocate you. You were a shell of a person, but you couldn't reach for him again, knowing he didn't love you enough to stay with you. You had the tiniest shred of self-respect.

So, the day you left, you gave his stuff back, and he drove you to the airport in complete silence, even walking you all the way to the terminal without saying a word. His final act of care even when you'd told him you hated him forty-eight hours earlier. You waited until the very last second to get on the plane, hoping he'd change his mind or you'd change yours. You were both too stubborn and too broken, so you wished him luck and left. You didn't even hug him because you were so scared you'd never leave his arms if you did.

Things happened fast once you were stateside again. Within a week, you found a nice apartment in D.C., transferred to the FBI, adopted a cat named Astro, and swore off dating. With all your experience in Colombia, you got your pick of jobs and workload. You avoided field work for a while and got stuck pushing papers around at your desk, but you got bored three months in and asked to go back out. Your first case back in the field had you dealing with a serial arsonist who may or may not have had ties to a terrorist group. You were examining the rubble of yet another building when one of the firefighters called your name.

Harry was tall and charming and trying to explain something about accelerants, but all you could do was watch his scarred hands as they pointed. You remember thinking he was going to be a problem. It took three more fires for you to catch your guy, and Harry would later say it took those fires to build up the courage to ask you out. "You were much scarier than any fire," he told you. He had soot on his cheeks, and the flashing lights made his eyes sparkle. There was something about that stupid New York accent that just made you melt.

You thought one date couldn't hurt. You thought it would help you adjust to your new life. When he showed up in a nice shirt with a bouquet of flowers to pick you up for your first date, you knew you were fucked.

You went on a second date. And a third. And a fourth. He was patient with you as you struggled to open up to him about your time in the DEA and never pressured you to tell him anything you weren't ready to. That Christmas, you went home to New York with him and met his parents and all three of his sisters. By the next spring, you, Harry, and Astro moved into an apartment halfway between each of your jobs.

You got into the habit of bringing him cookies when he worked overnights at the station and smelling his shirt when he got home because, more often than not, it'd still smell like smoke. He'd surprise you with coffee or flowers at work "just because" and drag you away from your desk when you've been staring at the same words for however long. When a bullet grazed you in the middle of a chase, he made one of his EMT friends drive him to the hospital you were at in the ambulance with the lights on so he could get there as fast as possible. He made it in seven minutes and started crying the moment he saw you lying in the hospital bed, even though you were completely fine.

For something as unexpected as this relationship, you guys work really well. He cooks dinner, and you wash the dishes at the end of the night. He looks at big houses in nice neighborhoods and humors you even though there's no way you can afford it with two civil servant paychecks. But, when you see him playing with your nieces and nephews, something so deep inside you aches that you think the life-long debt would be worth it if it meant he got to be a dad. You take time off to visit his family, and even though he thinks it's the most badass thing about you, he doesn't say anything about your involvement with Escobar until you accidentally let something slip during a barbecue. When work gets too much, you hold each other, cry, and make promises to stay alive.

He proposes to you on the fourth anniversary of your first date. You knew he would because you'd looked at rings together, but you blub like a baby anyway and almost tackle him to the ground in Rock Creek Park. You're deliriously happy as you celebrate your engagement and even as you start to plan the wedding. It's like you blinked, and suddenly, it'd been four years since you left Colombia, and you're living the life you dreamt about, just with a new person. A person you love so fucking much, you still get butterflies when he walks in the room. The ring on your finger and the way he casually drops "my wife" into conversation when he means "fiancée" only adds to the giddiness.

You can't wait to spend the rest of your life with him. So, why the fuck did you agree to get drinks with Javi?

You pick your head up and dial the firehouse number before your brain can fully devolve into panic mode. They might be out dealing with a fire, but you figure it's worth a shot. On the second ring, Jack answers with his gruff "D.C. Fire Station 19."

"Hey, Jack."

"Oh, hey, darlin'! How're you doin'?" He asks, and you swear you can hear him smiling. Jack is one of Harry's best friends and groomsmen, and he absolutely adores you.

"I'm good. How're you?" You ask, already feeling the weight come off your shoulders just from talking to someone.

"You know, I can't complain. I mean, I could, but I won't," he says, and you laugh. "You callin' for your lover boy?"

"If he's not busy, yes."

"Nah, you're all good. Well, listen, it was nice talkin' to you, sweetheart. I'll get him now." He says before yelling Harry's name through the station so loud you wonder if the neighbors could hear him. There's some shuffling and a quick "'S your wife" as the phone changes hands. The identifier makes you laugh and it's the first thing Harry hears when he presses the phone to his ear.

"Oh, you have no idea how much I needed to hear that." He swoons, and you make a sympathetic noise.

"Rough day?"

"No, I just miss you."

"You're so cheesy," you say. "I miss you too. A lot."

"You okay? You sound off." He asks, and you chuckle. Of course, he caught the tiniest change in your voice.

"I'm okay. I bumped into somebody I worked with in Colombia today, so I just… feel weird," you say, rubbing your forehead. You hear him shuffle like he's trying to move to a more private place, but the cord on the phone isn't letting him get very far.

"Good weird or bad weird?"

"I don't know. Just weird. We're gonna get some drinks tonight and catch up."

"Maybe that'll help," he chirps. "I mean, as much as I like listening to your stories, it might make you feel better to talk to someone who was there. Maybe get some closure."

"Maybe." You say. It goes quiet on the line, but you know he's there because you can hear him breathing and hear the distant sounds of the firehouse. You don't feel pressured to say anything; just knowing he's there breaks up the tension in your chest. "Chief is gonna have your ass if he finds out you're running up the phone bill." You tease, and he laughs.

"I'll just tell him I'm talking to my wife, and if he doesn't want me on the phone, then he should stop making me work overnights."

"Which I'm sure he'll take well."

"You're his favorite. I'm almost positive he'd install a whole phone just for you," he says. It's true, but hearing it still makes you smile. It goes quiet again.

You watch people mill around the bullpen from your office window and chew the inside of your cheek. You should tell him it's Javi. He wouldn't discourage you from getting drinks with him, but he knows your history with him. He should be in the loop. He's going to be your husband, for God's sake. But you also don't need him worrying about this while in a burning building or doing CPR.

"You know I'm not technically your wife for another two months, right?" You change the subject, and he hums.

"Yeah, but it has a nice ring to it. My wife." Even the way he says it over the phone makes you giddy.

"I can't argue with that." You say. He takes a deep breath, and you copy him.

"You're gonna be okay. Go get drinks with your friend and try to have some fun. Maybe invite them to the wedding if you get drunk enough and decide it's a good idea," he suggests, and you laugh at the idea of Javi at your wedding. "I'll be home tomorrow afternoon, and we can talk about it or not talk about it if that's what you want, okay?"

"Okay." You resolve and twirl the phone cord in your fingers.

"I love you."

"I love you, too. Have a good day. Don't be a hero."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He says. You wait another second to have him nearby before hanging up and looking out over the bullpen again.

You could not show up. You could go home, cuddle with Astro, and put on Sex and the City or something else to take your mind off the day. You could go to bed early and take Harry breakfast in the morning. You know his hair will be messy and a little darker than normal, but he'll still smile and pull you into his lap even though the guys tease him all the time about your PDA.

But you're also too interested in what Javi could have to say to do that. You owe it to yourself to get closure or answers or whatever the fuck he has left to offer you.

And then you'll never think about him again.

Easy.

It's a slow day filled with paperwork and pencil-pushing at the FBI. No bombs or killers or threats. Just meetings and emails and the dread about meeting with Javi all day. You linger around the office a little longer than you need to until you're almost late, and only then do you start walking to the Hill.

It's bustling with tourists dying for a peek at the cherry blossoms scattered around D.C. and the Suits you usually see trying to get home. The April sun feels good on your skin, especially after being inside all day, and you take a moment to watch the sun dip lower and lower in the sky.

All things considered, if Javi was going to visit D.C., this would be the time to do it. Spring is in full bloom, and the last dredges of winter only show up at night or early in the morning when it's still cold. People are constantly out walking their dogs or taking their kids to the playgrounds. It feels like the city has come alive again after such a long winter. You come up with a list of recommendations of things for Javi to do while he's here, even though he probably won't do any of them. The least you could do is give him something to distract himself from work.

By the time you get to the bar, the sun has nearly set, and traffic is a waking nightmare. You push your anxiety away and duck into the bar, searching for Javi's familiar eyes amongst the exhausted interns and law students. He's in the corner, scanning the space just like you thought he would, and there's a glass waiting for you at the table. His eyes light up when he sees you, and your chest aches.

He gets up to greet you with a hug and pulls your chair out for you like a gentleman. "Don't know if your order's changed, but I figured I'd make a guess." He says, gesturing to your drink as you settle across from each other. You smile and hang your jacket on the back of your chair.

"Thank you. Next round is on me," you say as you raise your glass to his and take a sip. "How was teaching?"

"It was fine. Although I wish they'd actually listen instead of just staring at me like I have a second head." He says, and you laugh.

"You're a living legend to them. Escobar and the Godfathers of Cali? You might be the most experienced person they've come across."

"I think I'm the person professors warn students not to be in the field."

"There are much worse things to be than a Javier Peña or a Steve Murphy," you say. "Besides, I think the DEA has bigger problems than a few rogue agents."

He shrugs and glances up when the bell above the door chimes, checking out whoever just walked in. He did the same thing when you sat in bars in Colombia like he was always waiting for a fight. You used to tease him about it, but the fact that he still does it makes you smile.

"Steve sends his love, by the way." He says.

"How is he? How old is Olivia now?"

"She's gonna be five soon, and they're about to have another baby. A boy," he beams. "They're all doing good. Steve runs training courses for FBI agents now and sometimes goes back to Colombia to liaise with their government. Connie works at a hospital, and Olivia's in Pre-K."

"Sounds like you guys talk a lot." You're pleasantly surprised. They were good partners, but they could barely stand to look at each other when things got tense. Not to mention Steve leaving the DEA at the same time you did.

"Well, when Olivia started calling me Uncle Javi, it was pretty hard to ignore him," he says, and you 'aw' at the idea of her little hands reaching for him. Uncle Javi suits him. "She's a good kid."

He fills you in on his work in Texas and asks about your transfer. You tell him what you can about your job and the annoying bureaucrats you hate working with. He seems lighter than you've seen before, not just because of the drink in his hand. His shoulders are relaxed, and even though he still has the instincts of someone working in the field, he doesn't get trapped in them like he used to. It's a nice change.

You're almost done with your first drink when he digs a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offers you one. God, when was the last time you even bought a pack of cigarettes? It had to have been right after Harry came home from a particularly bad fire resulting from a stray cigarette. Three people died. After that, you couldn't pick up a cigarette without thinking about the seventeen-year-old who got stuck in the apartment. That must've been three years ago now.

"I quit," you say, and he raises his eyebrows at you.

"That's new." He says like your hair turned blue before his eyes, but pops one into his mouth anyway. You shrug.

"Sorry to disappoint."

"No, no, 'm not disappointed. Just surprised."

"Yeah, well," you sigh. "American cigarettes aren't as good as the Colombian ones."

"I guess that's true," he says as he flicks his lighter open and inhales until the end glows. Just as always, he politely blows smoke away from your face. "Alright, so you got a new job, a new apartment, a cat, and you quit smoking. What else has changed since I saw you last?" He asks, and your thumb immediately presses into the band of your engagement ring.

Well, it's now or never.

"I, uh... I'm getting married," you say, and his eyes fall to your ring. "In two months." He takes a big sip.

"Congratulations," he says. It might be the most unenthusiastic thing you've ever heard somebody say. "Who's the lucky guy?"

"His name is Harry. We've been together for a few years now."

"What's he do?" He asks in his interrogator's voice, and you give him a look.

"We don't have to do this." You say. Javi takes another drag of his cigarette and grinds his teeth.

"Do what?" He asks. "It shouldn't be hard to talk about if you love him."

"I do."

"Then, why don't you want to tell me about him?"

"Is that a serious question?" You scoff, and he shrugs. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"I already asked you," he says. "What does he do for work?"

"He's a firefighter." You know it's a cliche: a cop and a firefighter, but you don't really care.

"How'd you meet?"

"First field case I had was an arsonist. He was one of the guys on site when I got there."

"Romantic," Javi muses, and you hum. You wait for him to continue bombarding you with questions, but the air gets thick, and suddenly, all you can do is take big gulps of your drink. You signal to the bartender for another, and Javi finishes his cigarette in silence. "Well, I'm happy for you," he says softly. He doesn't seem like he is, but you know better than to press him, so you just nod.

"Thank you," you say. The bartender drops two more drinks off at your table, and Javi raises his glass to you.

"Here's to you and Terry-"

"Harry," you correct, and he laughs, breaking up the tension that's settled. He took the news much better than you expected, but you're still waiting for the other shoe to drop. There always seems to be one waiting when Javi's around.

"To you and Harry and a lifetime of happiness." He says, tapping his glass against yours and taking a drink. "Now, tell me what you've been doing with the fuckin' FBI."

"Oh, you're gonna need to buy me a few more drinks before I start spilling government secrets, Peña." The name rolls off your tongue before you can stop it, and it brings you back to hot Colombian days and red yarn on a corkboard and his apartment. He raises his eyebrows like it's a challenge and smirks.

"Don't tempt me with a good time."

It's late and you're drunk. Drunker than you've been in a while. You didn't mean to. You just kept talking and drinking, and it felt so good talking to him after so long. Once you got through with the elephant in the room, it was so easy to fall back into the groove with him. You talked about Colombia and your lives outside of work. You even tell him the story of accidentally letting it slip that you used to work for the DEA after smoking a little bit of weed with Harry's sister, Caitlin.

You laughed together until last call and then argued over who would pay the tab. "Consider it my weddin' gift," he half-slurred, and you rolled your eyes and let him pay.

Now, you're strolling the empty National Mall, working off your buzz and elongating the time you have with him. You didn't realize how much you missed him until tonight. Despite everything that happened, you did have good days with him. Days filled with music and chain smoking and laughter. You'd like to get those back. You'd like that version of him back.

As you walk, you point out monuments to him and messily retell the stories the tour guide told you when Harry thought a walking tour of D.C. was a good second-date idea. You switch presidents and periods too much to make sense, but Javi listens anyway. Every so often, his warm hand will brush against yours, barely touching your skin but enough for you to notice when he does it. Neither of you say anything about it or break the flow of your conversation. Maybe it's for old-time's sake. Maybe it's because you don't know what there is to say. The night is clear and eerily quiet. The only sound besides your laughter and drunken stories is the chilly wind blowing through the trees and the clacking of heels from an exhausted-looking White House intern as she walks by.

Or, at least, it was until you stumbled across a busker by the Lincoln Memorial. The empty space echoes with the sound of his saxophone, and you smile as you get closer. There are a few other people milling around, and a few take turns throwing coins in his case. You've seen him playing here before, but you've never had the time to actually stop and listen. He's good. You wish you'd stopped sooner.

"You wanna dance?" Javi whispers in your ear, his breath fanning across your neck, and you furrow your eyebrows.

"Here?" You ask, and he shrugs.

"Why not?"

"Because nobody else is."

"C'mon," he tuts. "Live a little." He doesn't wait for you to say anything else. He just grabs your hand and pulls you a little closer to the musician. You sigh but let Javi hold one of your hands and rest the other on his shoulder. He smirks and you roll your eyes to hide the fact that you're shocked he wants to dance. With you. In public.

Sure, you had little moments where you danced in the kitchen, but never in public. Even then, it wouldn't have ever been his idea to dance. He's like a whole new person. You don't know how to feel about it.

What the fuck happened to him in Cali?

He spins you under his arm, and you do your best to follow his lead. You have two left feet as it is, something Harry has helped get out of your system, but the alcohol makes it even worse. You almost trip yourself but land against Javi's chest before you can hit the ground. He makes an oomph sound but doesn't do anything to push you away. You don't do anything to pull away.

The saxophonist continues playing, and the cicadas chirp nearby. If you listen hard enough, you can hear Javi's heartbeat. You think you'd know the sound anywhere. You memorized the rise and fall of his chest when you woke up from nightmares, and he was the one to calm you down. You used to count the contractions of the muscles in his heart until you fell back to sleep. It was often the first thing you heard when you woke up if bombs weren't going off somewhere in the city or your phone wasn't blaring with an emergency message from the Embassy.

And now, here it is again, unexpectedly thumping against you after four years, following the rhythm of the music surrounding you. Javi's warm as he tentatively rests his head against yours, and you feel his fingers flex around your hip. A mixture of his cologne and cigarettes invades your senses, and you can do nothing but ride the nostalgia wave until the song ends.

You pry yourself from Javi to turn and applaud the saxophonist, and he gives a gracious bow. Javi looks a little disappointed that the song is over but drops a ten-dollar bill in the saxophone case anyway.

"Didn't take you for a dancer." You say as you walk away from the Lincoln Memorial, and he shrugs.

"'M full of secrets now."

"I guess so," you say. You start walking toward your apartment, suddenly too cold and tired now that you're a little more sober. Javi follows, putting himself between you and the street and grazing your lower back whenever you cross the road. He's always been protective of you, even before you started dating. It makes sense he would still be, right? You're trying to make sense of the muddled mess in your head when Javi pulls his cigarettes out of his jacket, and you eye them. You must not be as discrete as you thought you were because he laughs at you.

"For someone who quit smoking, you look like you want a cigarette." He says, offering the pack to you, and you sigh. You take one from the middle and put it between your lips. Javi is quick with his lighter, and you lean into him just a little as you inhale. He watches your every movement like he's watching a miracle unfold before him.

You hate to admit how good the smoke feels in your lungs. After three years of not even looking at a cigarette, all it took was an offer and a quick puff, and you're back to the beginning. You'll start again tomorrow.

"Don't tell Harry." You say as you blow smoke away from him, and Javi laughs.

"What? He doesn't like you smoking?" He asks, looking for a reason not to like Harry, and you chuckle.

"It's not that. I've just heard one too many horror stories about a stray cigarette starting a fire." You say, and he hums.

"Is that why you quit?"

"Kinda. I also…" you start but then shake your head. "Never mind."

"What? Now you have to say it."

"You're not gonna like it."

"Try me." He says, and you inhale deeply, blowing smoke out of your nose. You think about telling him to leave it alone, but the alcohol and the pain in your chest tells you to say fuck it.

"I quit because it reminded me of you." You admit. He gets quiet. He takes a long drag of his cigarette and looks up at the stars as you silently spiral. You feel like you need two more cigarettes and a shot of tequila.

Javi has always had a special talent for making all your worst habits bubble to the surface.

"You're right, I don't like that." He says softly, and you nod. You walk a few blocks in silence. The only sounds are your shoes clicking against the pavement and the tiny crackling of your cigarette as you smoke. A siren blares somewhere in the city, and your stomach drops. It always does, but especially now.

Your fiancé is out there, putting his life on the line to save others because that's how good of a man he is, and you're getting drunk and slow-dancing with the man who broke your heart? You didn't even tell him it was Javi. What if something happens to him tonight, and you're out? What if you miss the phone call? Guilt gnaws at your throat like an angry dog, and you feel like throwing up. You swallow hard and stomp out your cigarette before it can get to the filter.

"I'm glad we did this," you say, trying to get things back on track. Javi gives you a weak smile. "I missed you."

"I missed you too."

"You know, Harry said there's a place for you at the wedding if you want it. I know you'll be back in Texas, but it could be fun. We'd love to have you," you say, and he shakes his head.

"I don't think that's a good idea." He says. You knew he'd say no, but it still stings.

"Just thought I'd ask." You say, and he nods. You're about two blocks away from your apartment, and you start fishing for your keys out of your purse when Javi stops. You keep walking, thinking he's going to finish his cigarette and pull out another one.

"Don't marry him." He says, just loud enough for you to hear, and ice floods your veins. Whatever alcohol left in your system seems to vanish, and you freeze.

"What?" You ask as you slowly turn around. Javi chews on his bottom lip and stares at you.

"Don't marry him," he says again. Something behind his eyes is familiar, and suddenly, you're the girl he couldn't leave Colombia for again. Tears prick in your eyes, and you shake your head. "You'll get bored in a few years, and you'll be stuck if you marry him."

"I love him."

"I love you."

"Stop," you mumble. He takes a step forward and cradles your face in his hands, tilting you up to look at him, and your jaw tightens. You wonder if he can feel it. "You don't love me."

"I do. I always have. I fucked up, and I'm so sorry for hurting you, but I'm here now. We can start over. I'll move to D.C.. I'll do whatever." He says in one breath like he's afraid he'll lose the courage to say the words out loud.

"It's too late." You say, and he shakes his head.

"No, it's not. We can go tonight. Anywhere you want. I-"

"You let me leave," you cut him off, years of frustration and heartbreak coming back up to the surface as you take his hands off your face. "I was drowning and you let me get on the fucking plane."

"I thought that's what you wanted."

"I wanted you to reject the position in Cali and come with me because I really thought you could at least try to love me more than your job."

"I couldn't just give the Cali position up." He says and you scoff and take a few steps away from him.

"But you could give me up," you say, throwing your arms up in defeat. "That's not love, Javi. That's having someone around to play with and throwing them out when you get bored."

"It wasn't like that."

"Enlighten me, then."

"Do you remember when Carillo died?" He asks and you take a deep breath before nodding.

Most of your memories of Colombia are muddled, but not that day. You were pissed Messina wouldn't let you go, but you were fine to let the Colombian police make the raid. Javi and Steve were anxious. You remember watching them stand next to the radio like guards and trying to guess what was going on in their heads. Javi's gaze lingered on you a few too many times to be an accident, and he smiled fondly at you. You joked about them paying for the drinks you'd have later to celebrate. Things felt stable enough for you to sit down next to Messina. You were halfway through a cigarette when the gunfire chattered over the radios.

It wasn't an ambush.

It was a fucking massacre.

They never stood a chance. The scene was horrendous. Hearing Messina call Mrs. Carillo to tell her what happened was worse. Steve, somehow, was able to go with Carillo, so he wasn't alone in transport back to Bogotá. You and Javi were the cowards who went back and drank until you stopped seeing the pile of bodies you felt responsible for.

Javi put his fist through the wall of his apartment when he got home that night. You wanted to cry but knew that if you started, you'd never stop and who were you to be crying? People had just lost their sons, husbands, brothers, and fathers on your orders. You didn't deserve to cry. It was the beginning of the end for you and Javi, but you clung to your idea of the future so hard, it had claw marks on it when you finally let it go and got on the plane.

So, yeah, you remember. You remember it all.

"I couldn't let that happen to you or anyone else ever again. It would kill me," he says. You're about to tell him it's not his fault, and it never was. It was shitty intel. It was a trap. It was a lot of things, but it wasn't his fault. That might be the only thing you can say for sure about that tragedy. "So, I put everything that wasn't work out of my mind and made bad decisions, and that's on me, but I never stopped loving you or believing in our future."

"Then, why didn't you fight for us?"

"I didn't know how. You were so…" He searches for the right word. "Sure. You knew you didn't want to go to Cali, and I couldn't make you stay."

"I would've if you said the word," you say. "Even though I was miserable in Colombia, I would've come back if you asked me to because that's how much I loved you. Even if you'd just called me after I got here, we probably could've worked something out, but I'm marrying the love of my life in less than sixty days. And I've never had to beg him to stay with me or give him an ultimatum and question if he loves me because he wakes up every day and shows me how much he wants to be with me. I can't walk away from that."

"Does he know what you did down there?"

"Of course, he does." You say, annoyance buzzing in your molars, and you cross your arms over your chest.

"Does he know everything?"

"You mean, does he know I've killed people?" You ask. "Yeah, it was super fun trying to explain that to him. You want to hear about how I hyperventilated through the whole thing, or do you want to ask me another question to try to undermine my relationship?" He purses his lips and shakes his head.

"No," he says. "I just don't think you know what you're getting yourself into."

"Fuck you, Javier." You spit. You don't know the last time you used his full name like that. Something about it feels wrong and makes your skin crawl. "You left one girl at the altar over a decade ago, and you think you know about marriage?"

"That's not fair."

"No, what's not fair is you coming here and making me feel like the bad guy for moving on. I deserve to be happy. I've worked, and I've cried, and I've fucking killed for it, and the second I feel like things are going my way, you do this!" You yell.

"I love you." He says again, like it'll change anything. The pressure behind your eyes returns, and you turn away from him, but he catches your wrist before you can. "Listen to me. I love you. I love you. I love you." He repeats over and over again, but all you hear is, "I love you, but I can't come with you." "I love you, but I need this." "I love you. Isn't that enough?"

You rip out of his grasp and punch at his chest with tears slipping down your face. He takes it, still saying that he loves you, and for some reason that hurts more. You push him hard and watch him stumble back, his brown eyes tracking the tears down your face.

"If you really love me-"

"I do." He cuts you off and you take a stuttering breath.

"Then, let me be happy," you beg. "Let me go. Please. If you love me, you'll do that for me."

You feel pathetic, standing there crying like he shattered your heart all over again as he just stares at you and thinks. You want to go home. You want this to end. You want to never see him again.

Maybe in twenty years, you could stand to face him again. You'll be happily married, and you hope he'll be, too. You'll have a few kids, and you'll tell stories about them and Harry will pull pictures of them out of his wallet. You won't hurt anymore. Maybe when your daughter goes through her first heartbreak, you'll find the courage to tell her about Javi. Maybe all this grief will be worth something someday. You want it to.

But right now, you're just the girl he didn't love enough to leave Colombia for, and he's not the man you love enough to marry.

He clears his throat, his own tears glistening in his waterline, and nods.

"Okay," he mumbles. "I'll tell Stoddard I had a family emergency or something back home. Get the first flight back." Your eyes flutter shut at his words, and you try to keep yourself from crying more.

"Thank you." You say.

"I love you." He says again, and you open your eyes. He's grinding his teeth again, and his hands are in his pockets as if he's forcing himself not to reach for you. You give him a small smile and nod.

"I know," you say. "I'm sorry."

Just as you did at the airport all those years ago, you stand awkwardly far apart, unsure of what to do now. He waits for you to change your mind. You won't. He'll get on the plane, and that'll be it.

He nods to himself one more time before turning to walk away.

"You do deserve to be happy. I've never doubted that. I wish I could've given that to you." He says like he's trying to convince you he's a good person. You sniffle and spin your ring around your finger.

"You did for a while. It's just Harry's turn to do that now," you say. "Goodbye, Javi." He opens his mouth like he's going to say goodbye or something else, but you turn your back to him and start walking toward your apartment before he can.

You figure, after everything, it's only fair that you get the last word.

You didn't sleep. You knew you wouldn't. Astro seems to sense your anxiety and cuddles into your chest, purring loudly to try and drown out your thoughts. You reassure her you're okay and kiss her head as the inky blue sky is replaced by a stunning pink and purple morning.

A good omen, you hope.

You force yourself to get up and get ready for the day. It's Saturday and a fire station breakfast day. It's never anything fancy: donuts picked up from a nearby cafe, greasy fast food breakfast, sometimes cold pizza. Today, you walk to a nearby bodega and pick up his favorite breakfast sandwich with two steaming cups of coffee before walking to the fire station.

It's cold, and D.C. hasn't quite woken up yet. It'll be a few hours before life returns as people sleep off hangovers or long weeks. That's okay. This morning is just for you.

The garage door is wide open when you get to the station, and Harry is perched on the back bumper with the firehouse dog, Maisie, whispering things to her. He looks tired. You don't think you look any better, but he still lights up when he sees you, and Maisie even starts wagging her tail.

"Hey there, stranger," you greet him as he pulls you closer and smirks up at you. "You have a good night?"

"No, but it doesn't matter now that you're here." He says. You would normally roll your eyes at his cheesiness but your chest fills with warmth instead. You lean down and kiss him. He smells like smoke but tastes like the chapstick you make him wear because of the heat. Maisie sniffs at the bag in your hand, and you laugh against his lips when she licks your arm.

"I think she's jealous." You say, and he sucks his teeth as he looks at Maisie.

"You have breakfast, you little terrorist." He reminds her but he immediately folds when she gives him that innocent look. "She can have one piece of bacon, but that's it. We need you trim to get up in the trucks, right?"

You pull a piece of bacon off one of the breakfast sandwiches and make her sit and shake before you give it to her. She crunches on it happily, knowing she's absolutely spoiled rotten. She makes space for you to sit next to Harry on the truck and you rest your head on his shoulder. "You okay?" He asks as he kisses your hairline, and you nod.

"Just missed you," you say. "I couldn't sleep last night." He makes a sympathetic noise and wraps an arm around your shoulder to tuck you further into his side.

"Were you thinking about Colombia?" He asks and you hum. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not right now."

"Okay. You wanna hear about why our kids will never be allowed to buy candles ever? No matter how old they get or how much smarter they think they are than us?" He changes the subject easily, and you laugh despite the pain still radiating in your body. You know he'll be there when you're ready to tell him about last night, no matter how long it takes you, and you will tell him. Eventually.  

"Hit me with it." You say as you unpack your breakfast sandwiches and pass him his coffee. Maisie wags her tail as you alternate between sneaking her treats and listening to Harry's story. He knows you're giving her extra snacks but won't ever stop you.

You sit there on the back of that dirty firetruck, talking and watching the sunrise together and debating on which version of white the napkins at your wedding should be— eggshell or cream— and know you'd do everything all over again if it meant this was the outcome. You love him with everything that you are and ever could be.

And as you eat your breakfast and soak up each other's presence, you find yourself hoping Javi could love someone like this someday. You believe he has it in him. You've seen it. Whoever ends up being the one to tie Javier Peña down will be lucky and loved.

It just wasn't meant to be you.

[seobstarr]

Eternal Sunshine

pairing!: Non idol!Sunghoon x fem reader

genre!: angst, a little nostalgia, and a pinch of fluff that you’d have to use a magnifying glass to see it.

trope!: second chance

prompt!: After a bad argument that resulted in sunghoon angrily racing out of your apartment, he begins to worry about you when you don’t respond to any of his messages the following days after the fallout. When he figures out that you’ve decided to erase him from your mind forever, he makes it his mission to get to you before it’s too late.

warnings!: profanity, arugements, breakups, crying, descriptive writing panic attacks, mentions of disassociation

songs!: eternal sunshine- ariana grande, imperfect for you- ariana grande, talk- beabadoobee, saturn- SZA

Sunghoon hadn’t known how they had gotten to where they were.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows in the living room. The couple both stood on opposite sides of the room, their faces flushed with frustration and anger and the remnants of their latest argument hung in the air casting a palpable tension between them.

"This isn't working, Sunghoon!" Y/N exclaimed, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation, her heart aching with words unsaid; unable to say under the daunting cold stare of her longtime boyfriend

"We can't keep doing this. We can't keep hurting each other like this."

Sunghoon ran a hand through his brown hair, his eyes darkened with frustration. "And whose fault is that, Y/N? You're the one who always picks fights over every little thing. You’re insufferable!" Y/N knew that Sunghoon was sometimes like this. After a year of dating, of intimate moments and arguments like this she had known what Sunghoon had up his sleeve and in his books.

Sometimes unreasonable, like a rampaging ape, he would make no room for explanation or justice. Y/N flinched at his words, her eyes widening in hurt and discomfort. "Insufferable? Is that really what you think of me?"

Sunghoon threw his hands up in exasperation. "You never listen! Every time we have a problem, you just keep pushing and pushing until I can’t take it anymore. It's like you enjoy making things difficult. Like you get some sick pleasure out of seeing me frust"

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears, her voice breaking up at the sound of sunghoons words. Her heart had filled itself with somewhat of a burning esaperated ache, sending signals to the waterline of her eyeballs "I push because I care, Sunghoon. I push because I want us to work, because I want us to be better. I push because I know you won’t and I know you’ll return to loving me like you didn’t do something that hurt me. But it feels like you’ve given up."

Sunghoon shook his head, his voice softer but no less intense. "I haven’t given up, Y/N. But I’m exhausted. I’m tired of feeling like nothing I do is ever enough for you." The words hung between them, the weight of them sinking in. Everything sunghoon did was enough for her. All the times he had cared for her, had sat beside her in silence; just for company reasons, the sick days they had spent together. Everything that Sunghoon does, even if it’s just standing in the middle of a room, was more than y/n couldve asked for.

After a long stale silence Y/N took a step back, crossing her arms as if to protect herself from the sting of his words. "So what are you saying? That you don't love me anymore?" Sunghoon's face softened, a flicker of regret in his eyes. "I do love you, Y/N. But sometimes, love isn't enough. Sometimes, we just aren’t good for each other." Y/N felt a tear slide down her cheek, her heart breaking at the realization of his words. "So this is it, then? This is how it ends?" Again there was a silence, the cars outside the open window on the busy street seemed to echo in the darkened apartment.

Sunghoon's shoulders slumped, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. After a breath to calm him down he began to speak "Y/N—”

Y/N swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. "Maybe you're right. Maybe... maybe we need to let go."

The silence that followed was deafening, both of them absorbing the finality of their choice as Y/N spoke with a firm halted voice; the lump of sobs in her throat beckoning to come out. Y/N felt a hollow ache in her chest, the pain of losing someone she once believed was her forever. Loosing someone who she had thought would be the last person she’d see when the light had left her eyes. Sunghoon took a step towards the door, hesitating for a moment. His hand laid on the handle and without saying another word he walked out unable to make sense of the situation. Y/N nodded to herself as she watched as Sunghoon leave, the door closing behind him with a quiet click that echoed throughout the empty room.

The sobs that had been threatening her came out distant, almost as if it had escaped her throat without permission. The weight of the moment hung heavy in the air, pressing down on her chest like a boulder, making it hard to breathe.

A numbness creeped into her limbs, spreading slowly, paralyzing her. Her mind raced, replaying every word of their conversation, every painful syllable that had led to this moment. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, the cool wood pressing against her skin through the thin fabric of her pants. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold in the pieces that felt like they were falling apart, trying to desperately hold the remaining lingering touches he left on her in the previous days.

Her heart pounded erratically, each beat a painful reminder of what she had lost. She had never known that a heart could physically ache, but now as it did, she understood every clichéd song, every poem, every tear-stained line about heartbreak. She squeezed her eyes shut, but that only made the tears spill over, hot and relentless, carving paths down her cheeks. She tried to wipe them away, but they just kept coming, an endless stream of sorrow that she couldn’t stop. Her mind flitted back to the good times, the laughter, the shared secrets, the warmth of his touch, the whisperings of sweet nothings as they laid beneath the sunday morning sun. She remembered the way his eyes would light up when he saw her, the way his arms felt like home. Now, every happy moment seemed like a cruel joke, a setup for the devastating situation she was presented with.

The hours passed in a blur of tears and pain, the world outside moving on while hers stood still. Every sound seemed too loud, every shadow too dark, every breath too hard. She dragged herself to bed, curling up under the blankets that still smelled like him. and his softly fragrant cologne. She buried her face in his pillow and had shared her tears with the white satin cover. Her silent sobs continued until her body was exhausted and as she drifted into a restless sleep, the playful memories of Sunghoon and her faded in and out of her head.

Sunghoon had hated this distance. In the three weeks they had been apart, his body seemed to ache for her. His restless sleep seemed to take the form of the dark bags under his eyes and every night was a struggle, his mind replaying their last argument, the hurt in her eyes, the choked down shaker voice that she presented to him and the words he wished he could take back. The words he wished she had taken back. He had been stubborn, prideful, and now he was paying the price for it.

He wandered through his apartment, each corner filled with memories of her. The couch where they had spent countless evenings watching movies, her head resting on his shoulder. The kitchen, where they had danced to old songs while cooking dinner, laughing when they inevitably messed up the recipe. The bed they had shared, where they whispered secrets and dreams to each other in the quiet moments before sleep.

Sunghoon picked up his phone, scrolling through their old messages, his heart clenching with each sweet word and shared joke. He remembered their first date, the nervous excitement as they sat across from each other at a small café, sipping on coffee and talking for hours. He had been captivated by her smile, the way she lit up when she talked about her passions. They had walked along the river afterward, hands brushing until he finally gathered the courage to hold hers. It had felt like the beginning of something magical.

He closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him. The weekend getaway to the mountains, where they hiked during the day and cuddled by the fire at night. The spontaneous road trip to the beach, where they played in the waves and collected seashells. Every moment had been perfect, every experience richer because she was by his side.

Sunghoon’s chest tightened as he thought about the night of their argument. He had been so frustrated, the stress from work boiling over into their conversation. He had said things he didn’t mean, his anger masking his love for her. He had seen the hurt in her eyes, the way she had tried to hold back tears. He wanted to reach out, to pull her into his arms and apologize, but his pride had held him back. Instead, he had walked away cowardly, the silence between them heavy and oppressive.

Now, he regretted every word, every moment of stubborn silence. He missed her laugh, the way her eyes sparkled when she was excited, the feeling of her hand in his. He missed the way she understood him, sometimes better than he understood himself. Without her, everything felt dull and lifeless. The world seemed less vibrant, the colors muted.

Sunghoon sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew he had to make things right. He couldn’t bear this distance any longer, couldn’t stand the thought of living without her. He grabbed his jacket and headed out the door. He knew she wouldn't dare be at her own apartment, that wasn’t like his lover he knew. He knew she had to be out, maybe working extra hours at the local library or even at the mall to distract her from the feelings that ached her at night. He would need to go talk to her two friends if he wanted an exact location.

As he walked, he thought about all the things he would say. He would tell her how much he missed her, how every moment without her felt like an eternity when he did find her.

The streets were quiet, the evening air cool against his skin. Sunghoon’s heart pounded in his chest, a mix of fear and hope. When he finally reached the rented building of her friends, he paused, taking a deep breath before knocking.

Jake answered, his expression immediately turning wary when he saw Sunghoon. “Sunghoon?”

“I need to talk to you guys about Y/N,” Sunghoon said, trying to keep his voice steady. Jake stepped aside reluctantly, allowing Sunghoon to enter. Isa was sitting on the couch, and she looked up with a frown as he walked in.

“Sunghoon, this isn’t a good time,” Isa said, her voice tinged with frustration.

“I know you’re not happy to see me,” Sunghoon began, “but I need to find her. It’s important.”

Jake crossed his arms, standing protectively by Isa. “She doesn’t want to see you, Sunghoon. You need to respect that.”

“I get that I messed up,” Sunghoon said, his frustration bubbling up. “But I need to talk to her, to make things right. Please, just tell me where she is.” Isa and Jake exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them then finally, Isa sighed and looked back at Sunghoon, her eyes filled with a mix of pity and anger.

“She’s trying to move on, Sunghoon,” Isa said firmly. “You need to let her go.” Sunghoon had saw the worried stare they had held between eachother and a strong uneasy feeling washed over him, his patience wearing thin. “You’re hiding something, i see it. I’m not here to play mind games, i’m here to figure out where my girlfriend is” He urged. Isa and Jake sighed before Isa had opened the little cabinet below the coffee table, pulling out an envelope and handing it to the taller in front of her.

“we got this in the mail yesterday," Jake said, breaking the awkward silence as Sunghoon examined the envelope. Sunghoon sat in disbelief as he stared at the envelope his friends had just handed him. It was plain and unassuming, yet Sunghoon had a sinking feeling that whatever was inside would change everything.

"What is this?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He was frozen from fear, and the feeling of impending doom that washed over him, His hands tremble over the open slit that was already made by the two who sat in front of him. “I…I can’t open it.” It was getting harder to breathe. The tension in the room grew thicker. Isa’s face softened with sadness, and she looked away, unable to meet his eyes. Jake stepped forward, his expression grim.

“She’s…she’s erasing you, Sunghoon,” Jake said quietly. The words hit Sunghoon like a punch to the gut. “What do you mean, erasing me?” disbelief painted his mouth thickly, like oil paint. “She went to a clinic,” Jake explained, his voice heavy. “They specialize in erasing memories of someone the client wants gone. She’s trying to forget you, Sunghoon.” He finished and Sunghoons stomach twisted inward, his throat holding back the nausea he’d experience.

In almost a second his eyes dart down to the document that explained the procedure and the precautions necessary to find the shipping address below the signature “Sunghoon…” Isa tried to explain, maneuvering the blanket that covered her lap to stand up. But Sunghoon wasn’t listening, her words like fuzz bled into his ears. The surrounding areas around him had became almost uncannily non-existent and the envelope in his hand had became moist from the sweat his palms had produced. A piercing continuous beep had replaced the muffled voices of jake and isa and the tv that sat in front of the three for background noise, all he could think about was her.

About the procedure, about the feelings her would forget when it was said and done. Jakes hand had snapped him out of the reeling disassociation his mind had made him experience “Are you alright?” Jake had asked worryingly, but Sunghoon just replied in a cough and without another word, he bolted out of the apartment, his heart racing. He had to reach her before it was too late.

Sunghoon stood outside the clinic, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He had run the entire way, his mind racing with disbelief and desperation.

The clinic loomed in front of him, its sterile facade a stark contrast to the chaos inside his heart. He pushed through the double doors, his eyes scanning the waiting room frantically, barely taking in his surroundings as he made his way to the reception desk. “I’m looking for Y/N L/N” he said breathlessly. “Please, I need to see her.”

The receptionist looked up, her expression professional but slightly wary. Her hesitation became greatly known to Sunghoon fast. He knew he looked crazy, almost insane by the way the older womens eyes dialated with fear. His hair had been disheveled and the cold crisp air of winter had painted his nose a bright Rudolph red from all the running he did “I’m sorry, sir, but—”

“Please,” Sunghoon interrupted, his voice cracking. Something in his desperation must have reached her, because she nodded slowly. “She’s in Room 3” Sunghoon sprinted down the hall, his footsteps echoing loudly. He reached the first floor to where “room 3” was plastered in bold font on a hanging sleek sign and took another 4 big strides before throwing the door open, his eyes landing on Y/N, who was lying on a reclined chair, electrodes attached to her temples.

“Stop!” he shouted, rushing to her side. The technician operating the machine paused, startled by the sudden intrusion “You cannot be back here!” Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, confusion and sadness swirling in them as she looked at him. “Sunghoon?” He closed the distance between them without a second thought and in a few strides his chest was heaving. "I know what you're about to do. Please, don't go through with this."

Y/N’s gaze hardened, a protective shell forming around her vulnerability. "Why do you care, Sunghoon? You said it yourself—sometimes love isn’t enough." Sunghoon’s face contorts with regret. "I know what I said, and I was wrong. I was angry and frustrated, but that doesn’t mean i should’ve treated you like that. Please, let’s talk about this."

Y/N shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes. "Talking isn’t going to fix this. We’re broken, Sunghoon. We hurt each other too much."

He reached out, his hand trembling as it cupped Y/N’s cheek. "We can try to fix it. We can learn from our mistakes. But erasing me, erasing us—it won’t solve anything. It’ll just leave us emptier than before."

Y/N closes her eyes, leaning into his touch despite the almost burning frustration she felt from doing so. "I can’t keep living with this pain. Every memory, every moment we shared, it’s like a sword had punctured my lung."

Sunghoon’s voice cracked, desperation seeping into his words. "If you do this, we’ll lose everything. The good memories, the laughter, the love. Please, Y/N, don’t let go of us this way." She took a deep breath, her voice trembling. "What if it’s too late? What if we can’t fix this? What if you can’t forgive me for doing this?"

Sunghoon shook his head, his grip on her hand tightening. "I would never hold this against you, you’re vulnerable Y/N, I would never take advantage of you like this. It’s never too late. We can start over, we can rebuild. But we need to do it together. Don’t, Y/N. Please.” Y/N looked between Sunghoon and the panicked doctor who was on the phone with security, wastefully debating between the comfort of forgetting and the pain of holding on.

Sunghoon's footsteps echoed softly on the deserted platform, the early morning mist curling around his ankles in a cooling breeze. He adjusted his scarf, trying to fend off the biting chill of the ghostly morning, and scanned the horizon for the first hint of dawn. He loved these quiet moments, when the world still asleep, it coddled him in a warm sense of possibilities. But today, an uneasy feeling gnawed at his usually calm demeanor, something the train platform rarely gave him.

Y/N stood at the other end of the platform, her breath forming small clouds in the frosty air as she tried to find comfort in the cold crisp air. She shoved her hands deeper into her coat pockets, seeking warmth and comfort. The train station felt like a ghost town, a stark contrast to the noisy chaos that usually accompanied her mornings.

Both of their eyes met across the platform, and for a split second, time seemed to freeze. There was something eerily familiar in Sunghoon's impatient colding gaze, something that tugged at the edges of Y/N's memory. But before she could dwell on it, the loudspeaker crackled to life, announcing the arrival of the next train.

Sunghoon hesitated, then took a step toward Y/N, meeting her in the middle of the trains inside "Hey," he said, his voice sounding strangely loud in the quiet almost empty train. "Do I know you?"

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. "I... I don't think so," she replied, though uncertainty laced her words. "But you seem familiar. Have we met before?"

Sunghoon frowned, searching his mind for any recollection but no memories had seemed to reenter his consciousness. "I don't think so. But... I have this weird feeling that we have. Maybe in another life or something."

Y/N chuckled, a soft, wistful sound. "Yeah, maybe. Or maybe we're just two strangers on the same train." She joked, earning a small laugh from the taller.

footnotes!.

keb notes!: HEYYYY SO LIKEE…I do not like this piece at all lolz 😆. I feel like it was rushed even though i spent 2 months on it, the formatting is off and most of all, i honestly just feel like i did an ASS job at writing this whole thing but i love ariana grande so i had to put this out there..also…MY ASS DID NOT GRAMMAR CHECK THIS SSORRRYYY😭😭

if you couldn’t tell this us based off of the 2004 movie “Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind” it’s honestly one of my favorite movies and when one of my favorite artists made a song referencing the movie in her music video i knew i had to write something ab it lol😭

This is also my first ever enhypen fic on tumblr!! I’ll be posting a jake fluff to compensate for this fic tho…

[vicsbasement]

From what we’ve seen so far it almost looks like Carlos has been trying to make it easier for Charles? Take the chili plushie clip, Carlos is clearly teary eyed but he still tries to make Charles laugh. He is the one who’s hurting but he puts his own hurt aside because he notices that Charles is sad too and he has to make him laugh, because if there’s something else I’ve noticed in the past years is that Carlos loves seeing Charles happy

Anon! Firstly, are you the same anon from the other day? Let me kiss your brain, because I love talking about these boys so so so much and for some reason people really enjoyed the conversation we had. Anyway!!!! Let's talk about this for a second. Carlos is definitely having a hard time. If we're going blindly on the timeline, we have to assume Carlos knows about his exit from Ferrari ever since before the Dakar finale, (this is just especulation, though, because we don't know for certain) and he sort of, kind of, blew off Ferrari and the Maranello trials to go celebrate with his dad. Pretty sure he wouldn't have done this if he didn't have enough leverage on Ferrari because the trials at Maranello are SUPER important, but first, his dad just won Dakar at his age, and then he's like: well, I mean, I'm getting kicked out of the team anyway and I won't be active during the development of the next car, so, whatever, let's just do this,-- and he went and did it. That's my idea. He needed to be with his father because they all knew. I'm pretty sure they even knew during the training camp at Madrid / Portugal because he's surrounded by friends and already doing the absolute most to get in an amazing shape because he needs to be his best version this year. But-- then when he meets up with Charles again, Charles even feels blindsided. Because like I said previously, Lewis is Lewis. And he comes with sponsors and 7 world titles and his experience and all of a sudden Charles isn't really Ferrari's most important figure inside the team. So they're both trying to soothe each other. Because for the first time ever, Charles doesn't feel like the golden boy, he probably even feels like Ferrari did him dirty (that's what I would've thought, anyway) because who pays two or three times your salary to your second driver? Not any team, that's for certain. Carlos was stability for Charles and it's like his world was thrown off its axis. They were equals, similar in status, genuinely a good team. Charles feels bad and Carlos sees it, because he's lost his teammate, they were supposed to beat Ferrari's record of the teammates that lasted longer and now, well.

And Carlos knows this, and sees Charles handling it just as bad as himself and goes: well. If I don't have to think about this, and make him laugh, then neither of us need to focus on this, right? And the first challenge rolls around and he's tired but Charles is doing his best so why not sing until Charles' annoyed so he doesn't have to see how bone-tired Carlos is? He's sort of protecting Charles' heart by protecting his own. And then there's the little chili and I can simply see Carlos' thought process: this is the last first race of the year with Ferrari, and someone gifted him a chili. And he's chili and he's smooth operator and he's supposed to be fine, but his throat closes up and his eyes fill with tears and he doesn't want Charles to see him like this but it's so much. So he tries to laugh it off. And when he sees that Charles is also thinking the same thing he says, well. At least we're in this together. So he makes Charles laugh by saying he was a chili, too. We don't know what he means, but Charles is so fond and so filled with nostalgia that he laughs, anyway, even though his throat is dry and his eyes are filled with tears. And he gets to keep the chili plushie after Carlos reminded him they're supposed to part ways.

Remember Monza 2022? When Carlos completely ignored the woman who was guiding him to the back of the track so he could follow protocol? And he broke protocol to ask Charles if he was okay? Yeah, that's Carlos, to me. And I no longer feel like he's the only one capable of doing that for Charles, I really have seen Charles fight british and italian press and tell them to respect Carlos' last year in Ferrari, and I see Charles perfectly capable to soothe Carlos as much as Carlos has tried to soothe him. Because he's mourning in front of all of us, basically. And Carlos did go to Jeddah not only to help Ollie, but for Charles' sake, too. Did you see the smile Charles had on his face when they asked him about Carlos and he said that he'd called Senior and he'd told him that it was all okay and that he might've been going to the track later that day? He's doing that in front of all of us, showing us how much Carlos means to him. This is the best and worst time for Charlos fans right now and we have to deal with these two behaving like that for the rest of the year. I don't know how we're going to cope. Again, thank you for sending me these, because I just love to type until I don't make any sense.

[the-s1lly-corner]

I was rewatching the Mulan films to get that childhood nostalgia, and I remembered how much I love Mushu...

So I thought "what would the cast of TADC x reader be like, who is practically a copy of Mushu's personality", I imagine that in appearance he would be a Chinese dragon humanoid but with his personality

TADC cast x mushu type! reader !

im finally back on my computer, woohoo! ill probably answer a few requests, since i wanna draw stuff today </3 i dont really like leaving my wips unfinished for more than a few days TToTT side note i gotta rewatch mulan, used to be one of my favorite movies as a kid (though i barely watched movies back then so uh uh its not like there were many contenders </3) relying on the good ol character wiki to help me through this because its been so long since ive watched the movie

CAINE:

i think caine would actually really enjoy you, a lot! in a weird way caine gives off similar energy, with the confidence and such you know? so you two probably bounce right off each other and build one another up... though sometimes this leads to more insane IHAs because you insist to caine that youre more capable than you actually are... as mean as that sounds... the only reason that things dont get too too chaotic is because caine, in my opinion, does hold some significant level of care for the circus members (at least as it stands for the pilot)

like would he die for them? probably not.. but he cares enough to keep the circus (mostly) safe and bothers with keeping them mentally stimulated and entertained; he doesnt even watch the IHAs himself so its likely that its not for his own entertainment

ponders

im getting off topic, though, point is i think you two would be friends !

POMNI:

honestly i struggle a lot with writing pomni, but i think the two of you would be friendly with one another ! i think she might be a little taken aback by your confidence, but hey, its not like its to anyones detriment, right? well... IHAs can get interesting, with you either insisting to run in, leroy jenkins style, into the conflict; or trying to push someone else to do (oftentimes ragatha, who i feel would be the most likely to do the most in IHAs if theres nothing pulling her away from it (cough cough checking on kaufmo cough cough)

honestly my brains a little fuzzy trying to remember mulan, but i feel like you and pomni would have a similar dynamic to mulan and mushu as well

JAX:

i think jax would try to push you more than he does the others since oftentimes your reactions are more... out there, youre so desperate to prove yourself as this big strong individual that you kind of make an ass out of yourself. and jax revels in your humiliation everytime someone manages to humble you.. in terms of the other stuff, i think he would tease and make fun of any abilities you have.. assuming you also have (some) fire abilities like mushu, jax would just call you names like "matchstick" and "lighter boy", making fun of your weak fire powers

RAGATHA:

as mentioned in pomnis part, you and ragatha have... an interesting dynamic... but i can also see you two having a similar dynamic to mushu and cri-kee . with you being bold and ragatha keeping you grounded. often you two end up together during IHAs with either ragatha seeking you out or someone pushing you to her

not much to be said, i think ! very similar dynamic, ragatha keeps you in check, though i think she would occasionally scold you if you did something particularly reckless

KINGER:

ooo this ones a hard one, but i think it would be similar to my personal take on what his and caines dynamic would be but with you as a fellow circus member rather than the ring master... has respect for you (though i think kinger would have respect for just about everyone who has come and gone to the circus, he doesnt strike me as the type to just diss others unless theres a reason he doesnt like the person... and even then he would mind his own business, i think) which... honestly, i can see this either making your ego more intense or actually mean something to have someone actually respect you.. ponders... character degradation(?) or character growth.. both are fun routes, i think! ill leave this one up to you...

slides my favorite kinger thing

you guys tell each other stories about your adventures, both of you hyping them up way more than they need to be

ZOOBLE:

writing zoobles part first because i think that they may be the hardest, but in the kindest way possible i dont think they would be able to stand your personality... maybe youre a little loud and out there, or maybe they just dont like your humor or often times self centered nature... i think they would tolerate you just enough to get through IHA but forming a friendship with zooble is going to be tough... though, they do find it amusing when you and jax butt heads

GANGLE:

very similar to pomnis part, i think... but like, gangle is shy whereas pomni is nervous so things are a little different... i think gangle would just along with most stuff you decide to do, that you rope her into, because she doesnt have a backbone to say no or suggest something else.. well she doesnt have bones in general but... you know? honestly she kind of envies you in a weird way, she wishes she had the confidence you have so sometimes she probably approaches you for advice.. how this ends up is up to you !

[iepurasdepraf]

Hhhhhi~ Um... this was supposed to be short, but uh...it's not. Part 2 soon. I hope you like it! Feed back is appreciated. I will likely rewrite this before part 2 or before it goes up on a03. Anyway! Here you go.

Acrid smoke stung your eyes until the oscillating fan made another pass giving you respite until the cigarette between your teeth burned down a little more. You needed it. That hit of nicotine to keep your eyes open even if it made it hard to at the same time. You were at the tail end of an eight hour shift, tired. Bone tired. It was day four of five and you had to come back tomorrow at 7pm. It was 4:47am. You just wanted to go home.To sleep. Thirteen more minutes and you were free. Just thirteen more. Thinking about it made your arms feel heavier, even counting your tips felt like a chore at this point. “Hey! You got a guy!” 

You were too tired to groan. You ripped the cigarette out of your mouth and asked as nicely as you could manage “Table or VIP?” “I dunno,” The other girl said, waddling past you with one of her heels off already. “Just asked for you on my way back and I said I’d get you for him.” You snuff your smoke out a little too aggressively, but she doesn’t notice. You weren’t mad at her and didn’t want her to think that so you take a deep breath and check yourself. Whatever this guy wanted would end with a big fat tip for your efforts. Not a bad way to end the night and so you pop a stick of peppermint gum in your mouth out of the tray on the table and put on your best smile while shuffling your money and zipping it up in your bag to take home. 

“Wish me luck.” You say tossing your bag back in your locker and shrugging on your ripped up black tank top on over your bra. It was enough. You weren’t going to pull out all the stops this early in the morning and you were wearing most of your layers anyway. “Good luck!” She called after you. You nearly jump out of your skin when you straight up run into the guy making him take a few staggered steps back after opening the door. He’d been waiting so close to it you were shocked you didn’t hit him right in schnoz. At least you knew who’d asked for you right away.

“Well hey there, handsome!” He was, in fact, not handsome. He was- God, he was really sweaty. Why was he so sweaty? You’d barely touched him and you felt like someone hit you with a toad straight out of a parking lot puddle.

“Hh-ih-hhh-hi.” Oh no, he was a weird one. Like really weird. He stood there in all his buck toothed glory wringing his hands, out of his element entirely in a dorky little suit with a terrible comb over and glasses that magnified his eyes to the point of comedy. Shaking. Trembling. In absolute shambles and for no reason you could see. Existing was this creature’s enemy.

Those big brown eyes blinked up at you and he said…absolutely nothing. He only got out that squeaky hi. He’d been hard to hear over the music, but you weren’t worried about Mr. Mumbles. You’d be back in the VIP soon enough by your estimation and be able to hear him just fine. You put that winning smile back on and his shivering intensified. You didn’t think his eyes could get bigger, but he responded like you’d taken your top off in front of him for the second time tonight. 

He was just your type. Those sweet old nerds that never peaked fell head over heels for you and the 80’s goth aesthetic you so carefully cultivated for work. You triggered that nostalgia for that youth they missed out on, the prime they could have had. The hot girl in their comp-sci class they could never work up the courage to even wave at in the hall and for a couple of thin easily earned, for them at least, measly dollars you could be theirs for just a few minutes. To look at and, for the right price, you’d touch them and they could pretend they hadn’t been such losers.

“What can the Banshee do for you?” “Mmm…” You glanced at the clock then back at him. There was no such thing as overtime here, little man. You couldn’t say that, but you certainly thought it at least twice before he said “I-I-I was hoping wh-” He had some kind of a tic. It looked like he flinched. Maybe he had. It made your shaved eyebrow arch.

 4’10, mousey brown hair. Greasy. Eyes watery and dark. The job came with it’s hazards and it looked like this guy might be one of them. You memorized his features, there weren’t any identifying marks you could see, just in case. Just like your boss had taught you. “I was hoping for a private, uh, show?” Oh, he was English. Now that he was actually managing some words you could hear the accent. That was weird. This wasn’t exactly a tourist destination. He must work in the city? “Yeah?” You say sounding more interested in it than you actually were. 

Your faux enthusiasm made him perk up. “I-I-I brought money! A lot of money!” He reached into his coat and pulled out the biggest wad of cash you’d ever seen with both hands, it had to be at least ten thousand dollars. You grabbed his hands and held them down between the two of you so no one else could see. “Woah! Easy there, killer!” Was he insane?! This was Oldtown Gotham! He’d have jumped for a couple of fives down here if they knew he had them. 

All he did in response was gasp when you touched him then stare down at where your hands had met his sweaty actively vibrating ones. “Let’s take this to the back, alright? You gotta be more careful.” He didn’t move at all until you moved him. Taking that huge brick of cash in one hand and his wrist in the other, you marched him to the first empty VIP lounge like he was a downright naughty boy being taken to his room.

Once the door was locked you turned to him “You could have been killed for this if anyone saw you with it.” You chastised bringing his hand up to set the cash in it. He didn’t answer, still staring at your hand on his wrist so you let him go. To his credit, he seemed to function better in the back. Maybe it had been the lights and loud music that had put him over the edge on top of whatever else he was dealing with? You didn’t know, but after a long quiet reboot he looked a little more human and a lot less like a rat that had touched the third rail. At least he was speaking up now or in the quiet room you could at least hear him better. You couldn’t tell. “I didn’t…think about it, I apologize.” He said in an awfully shrill voice making you question why was he apologizing to you? “I, ah… Well,” He held the money up again “I didn’t know how much to bring, you see, so I…well, I brought what seemed reasonable?” He poised it as a question more than an answer. Like he was asking if it was reasonable rather than explaining that it was. You squinted at him. THAT was a reasonable amount of money to him? How disconnected from reality was he? 

“VIP packages start at three fifty.” You informed with good humor after crossing your arms and he gasped like this was breaking news he couldn’t have googled before coming at all. “Well,” The man counted out a few of the hundreds then fidgeted “What’s the biggest package?” He was nearly cute. “Do you have friends waiting outside or something?” “No! Why no! No, mam, just me!” You felt your hand touch your cheek as you stared at the little weirdo in absolute awed confusion. What on earth? 

“You don’t need the biggest package then, sweetheart.” You were too nice. You should have just taken the money. He wanted to spend it and here you were talking him down like an idiot. “But I want the most time!” He said a little too loudly. God, he was desperate. Your manicured finger tapped against your cheek “We can work that out, but…what do you want?” Please don’t say sex. You weren’t even sure if security was even still in the building. “I-I need to give a presentation.” 

What?

The look you must have given him prompted him to explain “I need to give a presentation! At work! A w-work presentation and, well, I-” He melted into nervous giggles before he finished, but managed to suppress them enough to finish after a moment “I need to practice. An audience so to speak and-” Oh, he looked miserable suddenly. “I don’t…” His voice lowered to a whisper “have any friends.” Your heart felt a little pang for him. Same, man. Well, sort of. You had work friends, but it wasn’t hard to believe this guy had no one at all. “Truly, I do need this!” He added quickly “My research depends on this! I promise I don’t mean to insult you or waste your time! I could lose funding and and and-” “I’m happy to work something out with you, but let's get you a drink first, alright?” “Alright.” He parroted back while taking quick half breaths on the verge of hyperventilating. 

With peace and love, he didn’t look like a man who could hold his liquor. Nor did he seem like the type that would handle it well if he managed to so. He needed to relax. You were the complete package, you knew how to make more than a quick few cocktails. It was a part of the image. Thumbing through the Rolodex of recipes in your head you stopped on the first one that wouldn’t kill him on impact. A Friar Tuck, of course. Chocolate milk for big boys. You glanced back at him on your way to the fully stocked minibar. Big enough boys. Hazelnut liqueur, dark crème de cacao, and frangelico with, in this case, some nice cold half n’ half shaken with ice then strained in a glass.

“Sip.” You say handing the glass to… hang on a second. “Now,” You sat him down in a chair with some gentle ushering “Let’s try this again. Hello, handsome.” He giggled nervously at you and smiled a sort of odd suppressed smile over being called handsome. You realized he was trying to hide his teeth now that he as thinking about it. There was no hiding those buck teeth. “What’s your name?” 

“Jervis. Jervis Tetch.”

[reztoru]

──── All Good Things

彡 gojo missing you late at night

tw / cw : angst — no comfort, implied death of reader

pairing : gojo x reader

gender not specified, no physical descriptions of reader

w/c : 982

The sun had long since set, and the world felt silent. The tall, ocean-eyed man hummed along to the quiet waves of a melody emanating from a distant memory. His body shook gently, clutching onto the image of you. As if you were going to fade away into the night. Becoming nothing more than a star dancing in the sky too many light years away.

He felt like a man right now. Not a god, but a humbled man who held the answers to the entire galaxy. And here you were, the answer to all the 'what ifs?' He could feel the puzzle pieces fall into place with you. The discomfort that bubbled up after a harsh day melted away into your sweet smile. The uncertainty of ‘who’s next?’ never lingered long enough to mourn when he walked in the door to see you huddled in the kitchen. You’d make the world fizzle down to a halt, dusting away that uncertainty, and leaving it at the door for another day.

He thinks back to when it first happened, when he first fell in love with you, that is. When he first felt the sickly sweet butterflies in his stomach, he’d tell himself it was only a silly little crush. But it only grew the more time you spent together, over the short years you had. Every moment together made those feelings blossom and swirl. You were so engraved into his daily life back then; it was hard not to fall.

Maybe there wasn’t a specific moment when it all happened, now that he thinks of it. It was almost like the feeling seemed to have always been there. Something akin to soulmates — though before you, he’d never even given that thought the time of day. Soulmates aren’t what you get in the line of sorcery, especially being the strongest. Luxuries like pure love aren’t what linger around for generations to come. Foolishly, for a moment, he must’ve forgotten that love was sick and twisted — the worst curse of them all.

Even so, you’d whisper,

– I’m with you.

You’d say it after every disagreement, after every argument. You’d say it every missed date. Every late night when he couldn’t find the words, when they’d get caught in his throat and all he could muster up was a broken smile. Your hand would slide his blindfold off, giving him a melancholy nod.

Satoru’s crystalline eyes looked out the window, gazing up at the heavy blue sky. And if there was an afterlife in the misty veil up above, that’s where you’d be. Yeah, he saw you up there. He saw you up there as the clouds moved to make way for your heavenly ascend. Of course they’d move for you, of course. How could they not when the world’s axis already obeys your command.

And perhaps he’d always known this is how things would end. Our reality is that things won't last forever. We have a limited time on this earth, and the people who come into our lives are only there temporarily — no matter how permanent they may seem. They appear with no rhyme or reason, and slip away from your grasp just as quick.

Really, it’s cruel the way things work, and Satoru Gojo was a fool for thinking things would last. So, he’ll wallow in this poisoned nostalgia, sitting in the room that he used to share with you. A place that felt warm even on the coldest nights. And he’ll let this façade fall for a moment, wrap his arms around his body and whisper your soft words to himself. He’ll let himself fall into the delusion that this warmth was yours, that these arms that engulf him are yours.

Those faint touches linger on his body as he softly reminisces on sweet memories. Your fingers treading through his frosty hair, teasingly grazing his ears, and mapping out his body. You and your soothing scent dominated those nights. He had found a safe space in you to nuzzle into. A haven that allowed him to be a broken man.

And oh, he felt like he had the world in his hands when he lost himself in your arms. No — you were more than the world. With the way you navigated in the mortal realms, it seemed like you were the creator, like you were life itself. Like you were the honey bees that kissed the flowers, the trees that danced air into the lungs, or the sun that granted warmth to its beggars.

You were his, and he thought that he’d have you forever.

But life as a sorcerer proved again that nothing is eternal, and what does last is only for a brief moment. A brief moment that Satoru will look back on and feel the impact of weigh heavy on him every time. Being the strongest doesn’t mean much when you can’t save the people you love. It doesn’t mean much if they fade away in your arms, watching as the sparks fall from their eyes. The glossy tears engulfing them — or maybe his. Hearing the last I love you stumble from your lips, broken and choked.

Alas, you are nothing more than a bittersweet memory, a ghostly touch on his hands and a faint smell within the confines of his room — one that he finds is fading away. And they, like all things, must come to an end. The honey bees eventually die, the wind stops, the trees still and the sun says goodbye.

Tonight was just a craving in the moonlight’s teasing gaze, a chink in his armor. Tonight, he’ll beg silently for your warmth once more, just once more. And when the morning comes, he’ll clutch your words to his chest, and put a smile on his face.

Poor Satoru, don’t you know? All good things must come to an end, and that you did.

[ducktracy]

I’m grateful there are people like you working on SpongeBob ❤️ the show got a little rough there after season 3, but it’s fun seeing the classic cartoon inspiration in the newer seasons

AWWWWW THIS IS SO SWEET 🥹🥹🥹 THANK YOU!! this really made me smile!! i’m glad too. i’m definitely not the only superfan working on the show!! it really is hard to overstate the amount of care and love that goes into the show. i know that’s something everyone says about every show they work on (and for good reason!), but i really can’t stress it enough! i’ll never forget how impressed i was coming onto the show at just how conscientious every decision felt and how much consideration there is for the characters and their acting decisions

i have a lot of nostalgia for the post-movie episodes and especially working on the show, learning more stories and getting acquainted with the folks who made those episodes possible, i’ve really learned to appreciate them all over again with the same eyes i had for them when the episodes came out as a kid.

but, at least in my own experience, there’s definitely been an active attempt to lean back into the principles and charms of the first three seasons WHILE making a point to innovate and do something new and keep things fresh at the same time. like, actually having conversations about our favorite moments from those first three seasons, why we like them, what makes them work, etc. season 1 will always be my favorite season and always has been, so i’ve especially enjoyed getting to talk about that and lean into that and sometimes even reference it… if you’ve seen the screenshot of the Patrick Show SpongeBob and Patrick designs in the s1 designs, those are my drawings wink wink nudge nudge

BUT YEAH! this is sweet and makes me happy to hear :) a lot of love goes into this show and i’m incredibly lucky to experience it firsthand. to the point where i’m at a loss of words! but thank you so much!!

[fantasygerard2000]

So, one of the lousy criticisms Wish gets is its use of too many references to movies that are better than it. This critique just feels heavily biased if i'm being honest. As much as I am fond of some of the older Disnsy movies, which are the reasons why I like Wish, I would exactly call them good. Youtuber Veridis Joe made a video discussing about how just because it's the first, doesn't mean that it's good.

Let's use an obvious example, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Wish takes heavy inspiration from Snow White as it makes sense for their 100th movie to revisit their roots. The saying that Snow White is better than Wish is a lie because, is Snow White really better story and character wise?

That's the kicker with some of these older Disney movies. Just because they're "classics" doesn't mean they're free from criticisms. Hell, people are criticizing that Snow White and Aurora despite the being title characters don't get to do crap and are overshadowed by their own villains and sidekicks. Just because Snow White was the first doesn't mean it holds up. It aged like milk and the reason why people like it is because it invented the classical tropes we associate Disney, people like it because it's "traditionally animated". They care more about the decorations than the foundation.

That's the thing with nostalgia and why at some times, it's not good. People grew up with the old movies and that's why they heavily favored them over reboots and live action remakes. Disregarding the things that are improved because their automatic response to things that are different is to antagonize them. And this is especially problematic when some people actually misremembered the thing they are nostalgic for. The insistence the crybabies on Tiktok insist that Rapunzel should be played by a blonde white actress even though Rapunzel's natural hair color is brown, they they be acting stupid by forgetting wigs and special effecfs exists simply because of a fan casting.

Back on the topic of easter eggs. While some can be groan inducing, most of them are harmless and something that Disney fans can go find. That says something that some of these critics don't watch the movie and pay attention to what it wants to convey and rather list down the things they wanna be mad about, like the songs, the quirky main character, the goat's voice, the scrapped draft and the villain.

Speaking of which.

While Magnifico is the highlight of the movie after years of lacking antagonists and underwhelming twist villains, people are still complaining over him not being a complete villain because of his motivation.

The main gripe people have about him is that be seemed reasonable and that his switch from villain is "sudden", saying that the book is just there as lazy excuse to make him evil and redeemable. This, is media illiteracy. As much as I don't like to bill this to takes I don't like, it's an accurate description.

Magnifico's villainy is applicable to influencers and social media personalities. And considering the age where some of these "celebrities" are outed for being and doing shady things, it fits to a T. You don't know a person is toxic until you found out. And like with Amaya, you don't know if your spouse/partner really loves and cares for you you until you see what they can do to you once they have enough power and influence.

Going back to the topic of previous Disney movies being "superior" to Wish, there's one movie I like to bring up. Princess and the Frog.

Princess and the Frog has many similarities to Wish. After a period of several experimental 3D animated movies that were passable but forgettable, sorry Bolt and Robinsons fans, PatF returns to the old formula of 2D animated, musicals, villains and romance.

Tiana is a great character and her story about working hard to achieve her dreams is in line with Wish's themes. Facilier and Magnifico are even comparable as both men "cheat" their way to get to the top by using magic that isn't theres and suffering the consequences for it.

And like I said above about how classics aren't free from any criticism, PatF has its own problems, mostly about Disney's first black princess being a frog for most of its runtime, and the convoluted plot revolving around technicalities to break the spell. What holds PatF back are these issues and some people dismiss them because they are too focused on the 2D animation, romance, villains, which aren't bad tropes, aren't enough to save your movie. Same way how even if Wish was 2D animated and had a love interest, people will still crap on it because it's Disney in 2023/2024.

Oh contraire, if any of the classical and renaissance films are made and released today as they are, they wouldn't be praised today as they were back then.

[evilhasnever]

Funky xiyao prompt: Modern reincarnation au— the Lans remember but no one else does. JGY is stressed and upset because LXC's family hates him with no apparent reason.

Thank you, this is such a juicy prompt!! I got inspired for some reincarnation shenanigans today, I hope you enjoy.

(no CWs except perceived classism)

xiyao - modern reincarnation AU

When Lan Huan invites him to their “grand occasions” date spot, Meng Yao knows what to expect. This was their first date restaurant, a place expensive enough that Meng Yao had been on pins and needles the whole time - yet casual enough that Lan Huan had worn just jeans, a T-shirt and a fancy leather wrap bracelet, distracting enough in itself to get Meng Yao through dinner without panicking. 

It has been seven months since then and they’ve been going steady, but Meng Yao knew it in his bones that it couldn’t last. Experience tells him all good things come to an end, and this has been the best thing to happen to him yet, so it stands to reason that Lan Huan took him here for one last bout of nostalgia. One last expensive dinner bestowed on the food stamps kid, before he likely tells him they simply aren’t going to work out. The thought infuriates him, even though he knows Lan Huan likely sees it as a kindness. No text breakups for Lan Huan, he is too pleasant and tactful for that level of disrespect.

Meng Yao isn’t being paranoid. He has irrefutable evidence that the Lan family, as a whole, detests him. He has met Lan Huan’s uncle and guardian exactly once, and the man obstinately refused to even look at him. Lan Huan’s brother is worse, somehow, because he stares at him intensely every time they cross paths and couldn’t even muster paltry pleasantries when Lan Huan introduced them.

It is hard not to draw a logical connection between their different lots in life and the Lan family's stubborn cold shoulder towards Meng Yao. It is entirely unsurprising that old money elite like the Lans would turn up their nose when Meng Yao started skulking around their heir - who wouldn’t be suspicious? Except it had been Lan Huan who sought him out, Lan Huan who asked him out, Lan Huan who seemed trepidant that he would be turned down, absurdly.

So even though his family obviously disapproves, Meng Yao had to conclude that Lan Huan himself genuinely liked him. He doesn’t think himself particularly lovable, but he can tell Huan-ge is not the type to fuck someone he does not genuinely care for. Small mercies.

It had been nice while it lasted, but the signs are now clear - halfway through the date Lan Huan started minutely fidgeting with his watch, looking down at his lap rather than holding prolonged eye contact as he usually does. Meng Yao eats his fancy dinner in bitter silence.

“A-Yao…” Lan Huan finally says over the organic tiramisu they’ve been picking at. “You have probably already guessed I have something to say.”

Meng Yao takes a deep breath and holds it in his lungs, a buoy to keep himself afloat. “Go on, Huan-ge.”

Lan Huan shakes his head for a moment, then takes out a little box and slides it gently across the table. Meng Yao stares at it blankly. 

“I had a speech,” Lan Huan begins, “but I don’t really think it was good enough for this. So I will just come out and say it. A-Yao, would you… consider marrying me?”

Meng Yao can count on one hand the times in his life he’d been utterly poleaxed, and this one firmly tops them.

“You… want to get married?” he blurts out, forgetting all about composure. “There is absolutely no way your uncle will approve.”

Lan Huan’s brow crumples elegantly and he looks down, his fingers tracing the little velvet box almost stubbornly. “It’s 2023, A-Yao. I do not need anyone’s permission to get married.” 

“But… but your family hates me,” Meng Yao stammers, brain trying to recalibrate itself too quickly. He’d been steeling himself to smile in the face of a breakup, and the face-turn is making his head spin.

“Why would you think so?” Lan Huan asks, in his gentle but diplomatic voice that means Meng Yao is right on the money.

“Huan-ge,” Meng Yao huffs. “Your uncle pretends I do not exist and your brother looks cross every time he is reminded that I do. I am pretty sure he had someone run a background check. It is very obvious that they have something against me.”

Lan Huan’s handsome face twists into a rare expression of discomfort. It would be fascinating, if it weren’t for the fact that Meng Yao hates to make Huan-ge unhappy for any reason.

“Is there… something you think they should hold against you?” Lan Huan finally asks, delicately but intently. He lets the question hang for much longer than it would normally be polite, looking half hopeful and half terrified.

Meng Yao can't help a frown. Other than being born poor, what crime has he ever committed? In another situation he’d pout to get Huan-ge to fuss over him, but this time his confusion is entirely genuine. ”Well. I didn’t go to Harvard, for one,” he tries to joke. “I assume your uncle wanted you to date among peers.”

“A-Yao’s academic and professional results speak for themselves. But,” Lan Huan sighs thoughtfully, “I am aware that people will often look at labels and no further. I promise you, Uncle is not such a person. He will come around once he realizes how much you have achieved on your strength alone. Don’t let anyone’s expectations get in the way of your ambition.”

Sometimes Lan Huan seems wise beyond his years - Meng Yao initially wrote it off as a by-product of his being obscenely educated, but on occasion his observations hit too close to home in a very personal way. It is almost unnerving. 

“If you know my ambitions, you know that I do not want to marry rich,” Meng Yao murmurs, reaching out for the velvet case. He does not dare open it.

“I know,” Lan Huan promptly replies. “My proposal is entirely selfish. I would be the one with the most to gain if you said yes.”

Meng Yao chuckles sadly. “You are such a charmer, Huan-ge. There is no need to flirt at this point.”

“It’s no flirting, A-Yao,” Lan Huan says, staring at him with that deep-water gaze that occasionally seems to see beyond Meng Yao. “I am certain that I do not wish to live a life without you. If… If you also want me.”

Meng Yao has goosebumps, and he is not certain if it is because of Lan Huan’s unusual intensity or the enormity of the commitment he is considering. But that glimmer of uncertainty on his boyfriend’s gentle features is unacceptable, so he has to reach across the table to peck a kiss on his lips. 

When he sits back down he opens the little box, almost fearful of finding a diamond too big to wear in public. He needn't have worried - Lan Huan, while a romantic, is never a show off. His sentiment is shown through care rather than big displays. The engagement ring sitting in the little velvet case is a gold band with a bluish-green inlay, rather masculine and simple in design. 

“Jade?”

“Jade,” Lan Huan smiles, though Meng Yao has never seen him so nervous. “Do you like it?”

The ring fits perfectly, of course. Magically so. “Yes.”

He’d say he must have done something right in his past life to get a man like this if he believed in that stuff. But the point remains that Lan Huan is offering his heart in a little velvet case, and he simply cannot imagine not taking it. The thought of anyone else ever making Lan Huan squirm like this, care like this, plead like this, fills Meng Yao with turbid jealousy, immediately replaced with the taste of triumph. His answer was a rather foregone conclusion, he supposes.

“Alright.”

“Is that a…”

“Yes.”

His fiance rises to hug him tight, making him sputter through laughter as a glass is upturned in the process. He hugs back, and squeezes his eyes shut. His vision is swimming, for some reason.

When he finally releases him, Lan Huan’s eyes are red but he is grinning widely, nearly looking half his age from sheer joy. “Go on,” he says, “call your mother. I’ll go get the check so you can tell her about how I almost utterly fumbled this.”

Meng Yao pretends to be scandalized for a moment, then waves him off with a laugh and takes a picture of his ring finger to text to his mama. 

After dinner they have excellent celebratory sex at Meng Yao’s apartment - it gets so enthusiastic that Lan Huan even forgets that weird foreplay of his, the “kissing-Meng-Yao’s-heart-until-it tickles” thing. Meng Yao enjoys his oddities, truth be told, but today he’s too well fucked to notice that Lan Huan forgot about his routine until the third round. Perhaps engagement sex just hits differently. 

“Need to buy a desk and an easel,” Lan Huan murmurs against his nape in the sleepy, sweaty afterglow. 

“What?” Meng Yao garbles back, ready to drop off at a moment’s notice.

“For me. Moving in. I assume A-Yao doesn’t want to move into the Lan’s family home with uncle.”

Meng Yao giggles hysterically, then reaches back to stroke Lan Huan’s hair approvingly. “Tomorrow, then.”

Irrational, caliginous thoughts crowd his half-asleep self, even as he drifts off into warmth. Sometimes he wonders if Lan Huan knows him better than he knows himself. Foresight is the only explanation for these occasional strokes of genius that manage to put even him on the backfoot. 

But that can’t be right… if he did, he’d know better.

He tries to reason with his unconscious, but the darkest part of his dormant mind worries that Lan Huan wouldn’t have approached him all those months ago if he truly, truly knew him. 

If he truly knew all about him, Er-ge would know to stay away.

It’s a good thing Huan-ge doesn't know, then.

[isopod-lesbian]

In 2015, I played Life is Strange; I was 17 years old, and hadn't quite realized I was a trans woman yet. For me back then, LiS was a fantasy more than anything; not because I wished I had Max's powers, but because I got to play as a young woman falling in love with her best friend. Even before I could articulate why, I felt this deep ache of longing for what could have been. By the end of that year, I had come out to myself and my friends, and I still credit LiS for helping me figure things out that way.

When I first played LiS, I felt like the "Bay" ending was the most appropriate for Max's story. If LiS is a game about growing up, then sacrificing Chloe is a hard but necessary choice to make, and I believed it was the right one. I never questioned the idea that good people will sacrifice their own happiness for the good of society, or for the people they love. So, when I began adulthood, I did so with purpose, but without passion. I did all the things I needed to do to survive and make it out into the world on my own, and I was miserable for most of the time.

When I came back to the LiS fandom in the past couple of years, I got a chance to re-examine my favorite game with a new perspective. I immersed myself in fanfic, I indulged my nostalgia, and I began to reinterpret this work that shaped me years before. I looked at the "Bae" ending especially with fresh eyes; I started seeing it not as a selfish decision, but an unselfish one, a choice made out of love for a girl who was let down by everyone who was supposed to care for her before. How cruel it was to imagine Chloe's story ending with her bleeding out in a bathroom, still thinking that nobody cared for her.

Now, I'm 25. I'm an adult in every sense of the word, and despite everything, it seems like my life is...kind of working out. I'm almost a year into HRT, I have a job that lets me live a reasonably nice life, and I'm planning on moving in with my girlfriend. When I started True Colors, I tried to temper my expectations, and hoped that my nostalgia for the past wouldn't inhibit my enjoyment of a new entry in the series. So, 6 years after the first, I played a Life is Strange game; and, for the second time, it showed me exactly what I needed to see.

If Life is Stange is a game about growing up, True Colors is a game about what happens after. It's a game about starting over, about finding a place to call home and people to call family. Where Max's powers let her find the perfect way to get what she wanted or say the right thing, Alex's powers ask her to understand the people around her. Where LiS holds the threat of the Storm over Max's head, Gabe's death in True Colors is just a tragedy that Alex has to process. LiS' central mystery comes down to an evil man doing evil things; True Colors' is the result of an entrenched capitalist machine that operates not out of malice, but out of sheer self-interest.

When I finished True Colors, I was confronted with a choice that felt like the polar opposite of LiS' ending. After all the excitement and emotion, the question posed to Alex first felt almost incidental. Nobody's life hung in the balance, neither choice carried any real emotional consequences, and there was no way of knowing what the ultimate results might be. But as I considered Gabe's vision for Alex, I was struck by how real it felt. How it felt like the choices I was already making in life, and the choices I know are yet to come in my future. I think 17-year-old me would have jumped at the idea of a life of adventure, traveling the country with the girl I love. But now, I can't help but think of how many chances we really get to find a home. I doubt it's a high number. So I chose to stay. And I can only hope that, whenever I'm given that choice in my life, I am brave enough to take a chance on whatever place I've found for myself.

[theresattrpgforthat]

THEME: Studio Ghibli

Studio Ghibli films have captured our imagination ever since they’ve reached our screens, and for good reason. The lovingly designed landscapes, the dedication to complicated (but relatable) characters, and the gentle balance of fantasy and everyday life have enchanted many of creator, including those of the games below!

Hearts and Ravens, by Martian Machinery.

Flying towers cross the land at the whim of wizards who prey on the souls of the wayward or uncareful. The King Underground trades in the mortal lives of the wished-away and the unwanted. A stolen prince daydreams of faraway. All the while there are apprenticeships to fulfill, hats to make, carpets to weave, and the thousand things that prevent an adventure from taking place. Until one day, luck or a dream or magic intervenes and nothing is ever the same again.

You'll go on an adventure. You'll be confronted with challenges and fears. You'll come face-to-face with magic and magical creatures. You'll make difficult decisions. And if you're lucky, and if you look hard enough, you might find yourself.

This is a game about people escaping their mundane lives and becoming adventurers and wizards in a fantasy world. This is a world where contracts are binding and magic is powerful and personal. We create characters with obligations and play to find out how they discover the world, fight against adversity, and explore truths about themselves.

Hearts & Ravens combines the mechanics of PbtA games with the storytelling tools of Good Society. It draws inspiration specifically from Spirited Away and Howl’s Moving Castle, as well as media such as the 1985 Labyrinth, so expect to meet characters who have to keep themselves hidden, fairytale magic, and obligations that you can’t simply run away from. I’m very excited about this game!

Singles & Returns, by Groundhoggoth.

Singles & Returns is a way to tell stories that mix nostalgia and fairytale, centred around the passengers on a bus that serves anyone who can pay the fare, and even several who can’t. You’ll meet some fascinating people onboard, talk to them and then get off again. Inspired by the works of Studio Ghibli, there’s no pressure or urgency in this game, no great threat to overcome, just simple, everyday, minor panics: will she like me? Will I get the job? Will I be late? As the bus takes them each toward their destination, they have time to share what’s on their mind, listen and give advice, and maybe lend a helping hand on the way.

This game reminds me of the train Chihiro takes to visit Zeniba in Spirited Away, as well as the Cat Bus in My Neighbour Totoro. The Bus is there to take you from one place to another, and it guarantees to get you there on time. It takes no responsibility for epiphanies, changes of heart, or a meeting of fate (which is one of my favourite little additions in the book!) 

There’s very little rolling other than determining who you are and where you’re going, so this game is probably more suitable for players who really like diving into role-play and conversation. A single session can be over pretty quick, so there’s also suggestions about ways to extend the game, or change it up for future play-throughs.

Spirit Line, by Floofi.

“All Aboard the Spirit Line! An inter-dimensional train that travels through the different realms and realities. You are a conductor of the Spirit Line and you must solve the various Troubles that the train will go through! Work with your fellow Conductors to keep the Spirit Line safe and maintain it’s five star status! Good luck Conductors!”   

Spirit Line is a TTRPG that focuses on you fixing problems around the Spirit Line through the power of friendship and cooperation! To play this game you will need 2-5 players, a d12, a deck of cards, and a few pieces of paper to keep track of your Conductor! You will not need a GM for this and all you need to do is read the instruction and you will be good to go!

This is a quick, fast-paced game of Train Conductors doing their best to keep their train running as easily as possible: it could also easily be re-skinned to fit a different genre or slotted into a larger game such as Hearts & Ravens or Spiritbound to make travel interesting for the players. There’s both a win and a fail state for this game - the Conductors could have Troubles pile up until they're at risk of losing their jobs, or they could fix all of the problems before they hit the end of the line. This is a small, easy-to-learn game with a plentitude of possibilities!

Spirited Cafe, by A Couple of Drakes.

Take on the exciting role of part of a family indentured to the witch Baba, bound by ineffable obligation to run her restaurant in the Crossroads until you can repay your family’s debts. It exists at the eternal nexus where the Human World and the Spirit World overlap. Your job is to protect the Human World by satisfying any guest that arrives from the Spirit World to this strange little place in space and time. If these spirits are fed and contented, they will return home with the sunrise. If they are not, then there is no telling what strange aims they will pursue among the Human World.

You're all that stands between the Human World and all manner of things from outside. On your side, you've got a finnicky stove, a creepy cookbook, and a little bit of magic. Ghosts, goblins, trolls, and tengu file into your little cafe, hungry for mischief. You and your family better cook for your lives! 

This game takes heavy inspiration from both Spirited Away and the video game Overcooked. Using the fast-paced, ticking-clock mechanics of Forged in the Dark, you’ll work together to create a family and a restaurant while the GM will design hungry (and impatient) customers to demand more and more from your little family business. When your customers are magical, the stakes are much higher! This is great for fans of Studio Ghibli who still like to experience a challenge. 

Golden Sky Stories, by Star Line Publishing.

Golden Sky Stories is a heartwarming, non-violent role-playing game from Japan, by Ryo Kamiya. In this game, players take on the role of henge, animals that have just a little bit of magical power, including the ability to temporarily take on human form. You can be a fox, raccoon dog, cat, dog, rabbit, or bird, and each kind has their own special magical powers. Players will then attempt to solve problems around a small enchanted town with ingenuity, co-operation and friendship.

Golden Sky Stories requires one Narrator, 2-4 players, pencils and paper, and tokens to keep track of Dreams. Your characters have powers and vulnerabilities that operate off of a token economy, with the goal of helping out people in a nearby town. You’ll be rolling dice alongside the mechanic of token expenditure, with different tokens and stats assigned for different kinds of things - the process of operating a telephone or fixing a flashlight is going to be different from sneaking along fences or reading a person’s emotions. 

This is an all-ages kind of game, with peaceful art and a big emphasis on the kinds of stories common in Studio Ghibli movies. If you want to add more character options and some scenarios to get you started, you can also check out Twilight Tales, a supplement for Golden Sky Stories.

Cloud Empress, by Watts.

"The battle between rampaging forest gods and humanity cannot end well; there can be no happy ending. Yet, even amid the hatred and slaughter, there are things worthy of life." -- Hayao Miyazaki

Cloud Empress is an ecological science fantasy setting for the science horror tabletop roleplaying game Mothership. Cloud Empress in the land of ten thousand cicadas will be a full-color zine and PDF and is currently in development. In Cloud Empress: in the land of ten thousand cicadas, players will explore a land governed by the patterns of giant psychic cicadas. When deadly soldiers from royal lands high above the clouds threaten the balance, the Breadbasket's wheat fields will burn without the players' help.

This game involves a world that has changed dramatically, similar to the strange world of Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind. It’s a game about learning to live and survive in a world that is full of the trash and poison of the people who left the world behind; a post apocalypse in a world ruined by others, and by our ancestors. If you like the idea of speculative futures with world-building that is intended to be quickly picked up and understood by the players, this is absolutely worth checking out.

The link above is a playtest for a game that will have a full version for sale down the road, now that their Kickstarter campaign has finished up. 

Games I’ve Recommended in the Past

Spiritbound, by Marc Strocks.

Yazeba’s Bed & Breakfast, by Jay Dragon. 

Questlandia, by Turtlebun,

[angelp-official]

New Detlarun + PJSK crack theory alert!! (SPOILERS FOR JPSEKAI I THINK)

Paperus Deltaballs MIGHT be connected to tbis new unit

(Note: In case if you didn't know at this point, this is not supposed to be serious at all, so please don't come after me, I'm just joking and having fun around here-)

Here we habe 3 poeple here!! HOEVER!! Only 3 people her e? WHERE THE FUCK IS THE 4TH PERSOM and no I'm not counting the person in the mirror cuz if so I'll count the 5th person as well

SO YEAH

HOWEVER, THESE PEOPLE HERE LOOK AWFULLY LIKE FRICK AND CHARA!! So these persons MIGHT be them!!! (Source: Trust me bro)

Frisk and 3rd person side by side

Chara and 2nd person side by side

Idfk who the guy is but you could say it's Asriel?? Idk not the point

The point is that it's fucking weird that there's no 4th person!!

These 2 people might be Frisk and Charmander from Undertall

SO LETS GO BACK TO THE WEIRD EGG CARD I mean the Luka card where she discovers abandoned Sekai

LOOK. EGGS, HM? SOUNDS FAMILLIAR??

"It would be safe to assume that each egg represents something they were trying to make..." HMMMMMMM "...Petrified one, I wonder what you were supposed to become?" HHMMMMMMMMMM THE KNIGHT PAPYRUS AND EGGMAN PAPYRUS THEORIES ARE LOOKING GOOD AS HELL RN

What ARE the eggs supposed to represent? Well, I say that these eggs are supposed to represent the dark worlds the knight, in this case, Papyrus, has made!!

(PS: Tumblr hates the number 11 so I'll post the YT link here)

OR MAYBE ITS PAPYURS DETLARUND, MISS LUKA LUKA NIGHT FEVER (/j)

SO LETS LOOK AT POSSIBLY PAPYRUS'S MIKU

So she looks emo as fuck

But you notice that her outfit is more suitible for winter? And WHO'S THE UTDR CHARACTER THAG'S ASSOCIATED WITH WINTER?

"Noelle?" ❌️

"Dess?" ❌️

"Sans?" ❌️

"Papyrus?" ✅️

HELL YEAH IT FUCKING IS, AND SHE LOOKS LKKE SHE HAS A TAG AND WHO HAS A TAG LOOKING THING ON HIS ARMOR? PAPYRUS UNDERTLE!!! Maybe she has a jacket looking dress because Papyrus is familliar with a person who has a jacket (his brother)?? Idfk

HOWEVER, She has black crosses all on her, so what is that supposed to mean??

I say: MAYBE THOSE WERE SUPPOSED TO BE SNOWFLAKES BUt they distorted to X marks overtime bexause Papyrus abandonded his SEKAI and possibly the other s too!!

But why is she emo??

I say: Because Papyrus Deltarune is emo himself!! Maybe because of the same reason Mafuyu is emo? Because Sans Undertale threw away his stuf?? Or is it his and the others' emotioms combinded??? Idk

NOW LETS LOOK AT THE MIKU COLORFES CARD

"I did as I was told, and followed him into the alley. Right at that moment, I closed my eyes without thinking. The sun was setting. Its blazing hue painted the alley in vermillion..."

And there's an unfinished animal illustration and a manga there too??

So uh idk wtaf these are so lets put these aside for now

(PS: These are all actually multiple people's stuff! So maybe the novel thing was Chara's stuff and the drawings are Asriel or Fisk's?)

And the music sheets. Maybe the reason why they sound so painful is because it represents the problems the 4 members face through?

There's also an MP3 player where a boy was practicing. Maybe that was Papyrus? "I bet this boy is a hard worker." "I can hear his frustration and impatience from the way he sings..." Hm? Maybe Papyrus was really putting his emotions into this recording, but it doesn't seem enough. Despite the hard work, he always messes up, and he always has to try again, and again, and again. But still, somehow, he never gives up. Until he finally did.

And the wooden box, oh boy. Maybe it was the 4 members' emotions put into one? Papyrus's shallow hopefulness, Asriel's sad nostalgia, Frisk's unsure creativity, and Chara's pure paranoia, all in one box?

All these feelings hidden away because they all feel too stressed of choosing their own future?

"It's so hard to find a place that makes you feel needed or welcomes you to try in a way that works best for you..." Okay now that's definitely Papyruscore

"Was it because you didn't want anyone to know? Was it because you couldn't tell anyone about it? Or... Was it so painful that you couldn't take it anymore and had to give up?" Maybe it meant Papyrus either didn't want Sans or the others to know, he couldn't tell anyone about it, or he had to give up at that point (And that could explain the others too)... Or was it because he was weighed down by someone? Who knows

And at that point, the SEKAI is now erased. Maybe Papyrus and the others... Really didn't want to remember those terrible memories that they built together. Maybe they finally let go of their... "Mistake", or as they would call it.

Maybe that was in the past? Maybe... All of that was resonated into the Empty SEKAI, the one that belongs to Mafuyu?

Maybe that explains why the SEKAI has one to no emotion put to it at all!! Maybe because Asriel misses his place at home, Frisk and Chara wanted to do their own things on their own, and maybe Papyrus is the only one who truly cared about the SEKAI, but is too weighed down to admit it?

Okay this is getting too serious for a crack theory iGNORE THESE PARTS LETS JUST JUMP INTO COLCUSSY NOW + I DONT THINK THESE GUYS WOULD GIVE UP AND BE THAT EMOTIONAL SO QUICKLY BUT SHUT UP

So in conclusion:

The abandonded SEKAI MIGHT'VE belonged to Papyrus Detlarunn

So thank you for coming to my ted talk, cyaaaa 🤩🤩

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Well that Champion of Champions episode was great. Ridiculously funny from start to finish, and all the tasks were top quality (maybe apart from the studio task, but even that wasn’t bad). I thought every contestant had at least a few really memorable moments.

I love the way the COC episodes get to be celebrations of Taskmaster as a whole. They can’t really do that in the regular episodes, because they’re playing to a studio audience that hasn’t seen the previous episodes from that season, so they try not to call back to too much stuff they haven’t seen. And they’re trying to appeal to casual TV viewers who might not have seen previous seasons, so there aren’t too many references to that either. But I guess they figure that anyone watching Champion of Champions has seen the preceding stuff, and they make it full of references.

I loved bringing back the bandstand from the early seasons, and this was the perfect time for it. I wouldn’t want them to do that in any of the regular episodes, for the same reason why I think Alex is right to say they won’t reuse old tasks – too easy to slip down the road to capitalizing on nostalgia and stop being original. Seeing the new, increasingly elaborate task location is a fun part of all the new seasons, I wouldn’t want to give that up. But bringing back the site of some of the greatest, establishing early Taskmaster moments for a one-off special was perfect.

And then they got in lots of ways to bring back old seasons. Kiell referencing the banana task. Dara’s outfit being a tribute to all of season 14. Ramsey’s name coming up on Sophie Duker’s signs. The comment about proposing to Alex Horne like in season 12. And obviously the constant mentions of Mae Martin. I like how they did that. That they didn’t try to be slick TV and pretend that everything had gone exactly according to plan and this is how the lineup was meant to be; roasting Kiell for an entire episode was much more fun than that.

I think I also agree with what Ed Gamble said on the podcast, that this may be the first time there’s been a Champion of Champions that makes total sense. Let’s be honest, Josh Widdicombe was quite good at Taskmaster but not the best player out of all 25 from the first five seasons (I think that might have been Noel Fielding, but then he chose to mess around and stop being competitive in COC1). And I also agree with Ed Gamble’s assessment that Richard Herring was competent in only one episode of Taskmaster, and it was COC2. That’s what happens when you only have one episode instead of taking the winner from an aggregate. And when you add a Golden Snitch studio task to it. But Dara O’Brien might be the most competent person to play in seasons 11-15, so that’s nice to see him as a Champion of Champions.

So there was a lot to enjoy about the episode for its place in the larger Taskmaster lore, but it was also just enormous fun as a one-off. That’s the other thing that’s fun about the COC episodes – it is cool to see an episode where everyone’s actually trying and no one’s particularly bad at it and everyone brings something interesting to the table.

Alex immediately going way too hard and way too personal when Sophie asked him to insult her. Sarah Kendall clapping for like half the episode and not realizing she was wearing a watch. Dara completing an entire task without even standing up by popping elastics off his head. Morgana remembering that season 12 task where she popped all those ice cubes in her offer and roundly outdoing herself with paint. Dragging the Greg statue across the ground. Sarah Kendall just being furious for the entire episode. Kiell not even bothering to try to find Alex. Kiell getting roasted all episode for the embarrassing flaw of not being Mae Martin. Sophie calling out Greg. Dara's wig montage. Sarah Kendall being absolutely furious. Did I mention that enough? God, I’d missed Sarah Kendall being furious.

Do Something Stupid was a brilliant task concept. I’m glad that stealing things from other versions is a loophole in Alex’s stance against reusing tasks, and I’m glad they found a way to make it broadcastable (though of course we all salute Guy and Urzilla for the lost task that the NZ producers are too cowardly to show us).

Hats off to the new champion. Hats, and wigs off to the new champion.

[practically-an-x-man]

Whatever Keeps You Around (Rick Flag x Eris)

Summary: Based on this prompt, Eris runs into an immortal surprise in a very mundane place. (Title from First Time by Hozier)

Word Count: 2.1k

Tags: Mild jealousy, mild possessive themes, some mentions of violence.

____

"Go see if they have any bread you like, hon."

Eris nodded, ducking past him and half-jogging up to the shelf of artisanal bread in the corner of the store. This was why he'd picked this store, even though it was small and pricey and overly-organic: Eris claimed it was the only place in New Orleans that made bread the right way, whatever they in their mind deemed the right way.

All Rick knew was that it cost about eight dollars a pop and was loaded with spices he couldn't identify, and that Eris could go through three loaves a week if he let them. Usually he did. The one perk to working for Amanda Waller was the paycheck, and that allowed him at least enough wiggle room to buy the right kind of bread.

She jogged back up to him, two loaves wrapped in paper in her arms, just as Rick had finished thanking the deli clerk for his cold cuts and cheeses. Eris tucked the bread into the shopping cart almost delicately and promptly plucked the deli bags from his hands to inspect his selections.

"Oven-roasted turkey? Not the herb kind?"

"Outta stock. I've got thyme and stuff back at the house if it really bothers you," Rick replied, "What kind of bread did you pick out?"

"Honey-rosemary and something they call rustic medley," Eris muttered, "I'll be the judge of that."

"Sounds pretty good," he agreed, "Maybe we can make butter to go with it."

Eris tilted his head, something Rick stupidly misinterpreted as a lack of understanding.

"I saw it online, you just put heavy cream and a little salt in a mason jar, shake it u-"

"I'd be willing to bet I'm more familiar with making butter than you are, Flag." Eris cut him off, sharp as always, "But why?"

"I dunno. Seems like fun."

"You have a real strange idea of fun. And this is coming from someone who lived through tapestry being the popular hobby." they jeered, but tossed a carton of heavy cream into the cart as they passed the dairy case. Rick tried to hide his smile. If anyone was the definition of 'actions speak louder than words', it was Eris.

He stayed close to Rick's side as they wandered the store, occasionally tossing things into the cart on what looked like pure whim. Cans of tomato soup, the ones Rick remembered mentioning were his favorite because they reminded him of his childhood, made their way in alongside pretzels and peanut butter and bars of high-cacao baking chocolate. It was far too bitter for his tastes, at least in anything other than baked goods, but Eris could snack on it like a Hershey bar. She liked it for the same reason she liked the artisanal bread, he thought. Nostalgia, or the closest thing to nostalgia they could find.

"Lasagna tonight? Or should we just find something to stick in the oven?" Rick asked, frowning at the prices of the pasta boxes on the shelves. Eris was back at his side in a moment, moving so quickly and silently that he would have jumped if he wasn't used to it.

"Hm. Neither. Make your pot pie." he decided, and Rick felt him lean in against his side, "I have a taste for it."

His mother's recipe, the one he'd tried so hard to get right after her death, now lived on as a favorite in the mind of a centuries-old metahuman.

That one made him feel good.

He knew Eris wasn't one for public affection, but he still couldn't resist wrapping his arm around their shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of their head. He pulled back quickly, before Eris could wriggle away or complain about looking soft, and waved a hand at the produce aisle they'd left in their wake.

"Go grab me a bag of baby carrots and some green beans, then," he said, then paused and corrected, "In a bag. Not just loose green beans."

"I know that, smartass." Eris huffed, rolling her eyes at him as she walked away. Rick suppressed a chuckle.

There was someone else in the produce aisle, apparently trying to decide between a starfruit and a cherimoya. They were half a head taller than Eris, with wavy brown hair halfway down their back and a flowing blue sundress swishing around their knees.

Rick didn't pay them much mind, and was about to turn and grab a can of biscuits when Eris froze in his tracks.

"Julius?"

The taller figure whipped around so fast it must have given them whiplash, and their eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Rick could see, even from afar, that their features had the same strangely archaic look as Eris' own, though perhaps a continent and a few centuries apart.

"Oh my- Eris?" they stammered, then gestured vaguely at themself, "And it's- er, Wisteria now. Wisty."

"Wisty." Eris repeated, as if testing out the name, "You're... very not dead, for someone three hundred years old."

"Made a deal with a witch a while back. And you're... very tame for how I remember you."

That made a grin flash across Eris' face, quick and sharp and promising only dark things.

"Try me."

But Wisty didn't flinch. She just smiled right back, though this one was nostalgic, almost soft.

The thought struck Rick like a bolt of lightning.

Eris had a type.

Underneath the flowing fabric of her dress, Wisty had to be at least as tall as Rick himself was, and just as stacked with muscle. Old scars littered what bare skin was visible around her clothing, like she'd been a fighter in a past life- or perhaps still was. And she knew not to flinch at those shark-smiles Eris threw at her. Just like Rick did.

The thought made something strange bubble up inside him. He wasn't sure he liked it. As strange and twisted as Eris' affections could be, he'd never before had competition for those affections. It was actually one of the best things about being with them, knowing they'd always drift back to him at the end of all the chaos.

It wasn't Wisteria's arrival alone that had him so tense. What really got him was the set of Eris' posture as he spoke to her: leaned back slightly on his heels, shoulders loose, head tilted ever-so-slightly in curiosity. Casual. Relaxed. The only time he'd ever seen Eris truly relaxed was when they were alone with him.

"We should catch back up." Wisty decided, a smile slowly growing on her face, "Go... spar like the old times or something. I'm a lot tougher than I used to be."

"I don't doubt it." Eris said, their spine automatically straightening at the promise of a good challenge.

He deserved this, Rick thought. This was some sort of cosmic payback for those two years he spent pushing her aside in favor of June, for snapping at all the times they suggested making him into a metahuman like them - it was all to keep him safe, to keep him around.

Well, here was someone who'd stuck around. Who'd played the long game, the centuries-long game, the way Rick was always so afraid to commit to. Who could hold their own against Eris, when she still had to pull her punches against him.

"What do you think? My lance and your spear, or hand-to-hand?" Wisty asked, playfully throwing up her fists with a broad grin. Eris returned the gesture, bouncing on his toes a little.

It was like he'd forgotten Rick was there, just ten feet back. And even as much as he wanted to call out, to remind them... he couldn't move. All he could do was watch it all unravel before him, the can of biscuits still held tight in one hand. Suddenly his mom's old recipe didn't seem to matter much.

"It'll be like before. You and me," Wisty said, "The old war god and the king's footsoldier."

Then there was a different kind of tension in Eris' posture. The shift was sudden, her chin lifted and her shoulders drawn back, all joviality transformed into something more guarded.

"I'm with someone." he said, each word crisply spaced, and brushed past Wisty with smooth, disciplined steps. They grabbed a plastic bag and shoved a handful of green beans into it, pausing only to pluck a few wrinkled and undesirable vegetables from the lot and toss them back. Wisteria turned, fixing them with a tilted expression.

"You told me you wouldn't love another. You told me love was too painful. You told me... that I was the last one."

Eris snatched a bag of baby carrots, holding them tight in her hand as she turned.

"I was wrong." they said, chin set and eyes blazing, "And if you do a damn thing to him, if you hurt him thinking that'll bring me back to you, I'll kill you where you stand. And I will feel no remorse."

With that, he stormed his way back to Rick and tossed the vegetables into the shopping cart.

"You were staring." they muttered, taking the can of biscuits from his hand and dropping it into the cart alongside the rest of the groceries. Then, to his surprise, they folded their fingers into his own. For Eris, that was the equivalent of a public strip tease. Rick gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"Yeah, I know. Couldn't help it." he admitted, knowing better than to try and duck around it, "First time I've ever seen one of your old friends. Didn't realize there was anyone else... like me."

"She wasn't like you." Eris huffed, ducking around his arm to give the cart a brisk shove, "Nobody's like you."

"It's alright if she was." Rick argued, "I know I'm not the only person you've loved, doll. That's okay."

Eris opened his mouth to respond, then reconsidered and shook his head. It must've been a lot to explain, or something they couldn't bear to speak in such public company. Their posture was still tense, shoulders stony, and they didn't spare so much as a single glance back at the produce aisle.

"Nobody's like you." she just repeated, even more set and sullen. Rick decided there were two ways he could take that: a sign that this love was real, or a sign that the pattern would end up repeating itself in a few years. He decided to take it as the former. The latter, true as it might be, felt far too pessimistic.

"Rome!" a voice called from behind them, and finally Eris turned. Wisteria had caught up, and fire a glance between the two of them. Rick met her eyes calmly, and found something strange swimming there. She returned her gaze to Eris, unflinching. "A hundred years. Rome. Then we'll have our fight."

Rick could hear the other half of her words: because he won't be around by then. Maybe he should have been offended by the implications. He didn't bother. He'd always known there would be someone after him. He didn't expect to meet that someone, but... this was life with Eris. He'd learned to get used to things like this.

"Fine." Eris agreed, though the firm look never left her eyes, "I will meet you on the steps of the Colosseum in one hundred years exactly. We will have our fight."

Their grip tightened on his hand unexpectedly, right on the verge of being painful. Wisteria's eyes fell straight to it, and she frowned a little. Eris must not have been any more affectionate in their prior life.

"But you will get no love from me then." they concluded, "They will bury my heart when they bury him."

Rick saw hurt bloom across Wisty's face, a shocked and helpless sort of pain, but Eris just spun and gave the cart another brutal shove towards the checkout lanes. Rick found himself pausing an extra moment, looking into Wisty's shockingly crestfallen eyes and debating an apology.

In the end, he just shut his mouth and trailed after Eris, leaving Wisty where she stood. He had a sense that speaking to her would only make things worse. It was better just for him to be, in her mind, some speechless nameless thing at Eris' heels. It was probably safer for the both of them.

He caught up to Eris just shy of the checkout lanes, right as they set a rotisserie chicken in the front basket of the cart. She glanced up at him as he approached and offered him something like a smile. It was a little pointed, a little irritated, but he didn't mind that too much.

"You're mine." she muttered, possessive like a wolf to its mate, "Until they put you in the ground, you're mine."

"I love you too, wartime."