#i struggle to imagine how people hated this album when it came out

[geneticallyengineeredloser]

the back half of Folie is so fucking delectable like 27 -> tiffany blews -> w.a.m.s -> 20 dollar nosebleed -> west coast smoker is a five course meal and I devour it every single time. goddamn.

[nukenai]

Well it’s 1am but I absolutely have to finally write one of these posts, don’t read if you don’t wanna be teleported to a sad 1am post of mine from 5 years ago or be consumed by gigacringe (this post is not sad but cw for some as-expected negative mental health stuff/actions I’ll be mentioning, from my past.)

I really don’t think I can even begin to articulate how important Super Mario RPG is to me. When I was a kid - like I’m talking 2006-ish - my Thing(tm) was Earthbound. We didn’t say “fandom” back then. Besides Pokemon and Zelda, it became my THING and I fell so in love with it. A weird part of internet Earthbound culture back then was that you were mad at Super Mario RPG for making Earthbound sell poorly. I know, it’s insane, I was 15 cut me a fucking break.

So yeah that was all intrinsically linked with Smash, obviously. I was online during the pre-release of Brawl days, browsing places like /v/, and there was all this talk of this guy Geno. I didn’t know who Geno was! One time I did a Deviantart Journal “quiz” thing, and one question was, “Who is a video game character you hate?” My response was “I dunno, that Geno guy”. A friend of mine at the time was like “??? Like SMRPG Geno? How could you hate him?” and me being a teenager, I was like well, I’m annoyed that everyone talks about him.

Stuff got weird pretty quickly. An artist I had a goofy little crush on drew Geno. And I went, huh. Okay.

Then Brawl came out. I won’t even get into all of that because this is about SMRPG, but people ripped data off the disks and found unused stuff. Like unused music. I was mad about the unused Earthbound music, and the Ballad of the Wind Fish. Boo!

But then someone made a fun little album, called “Brawl - The Lost Tracks”. They got together “as official as possible” versions of the songs that had gone unused and only existed as text files on the disk. This included Beware the Forest’s Mushrooms (I’ve made angry posts before about how wrong the Cutting Room Floor page is about this track NOT being BTFM - ask me about it sometime and I’ll start screaming)

So one day I downloaded this little album. And I remember exactly where I was sitting, I listened to a couple of the EB songs like yeah, alright. Then there was a nice remix of the ballad of the wind fish. Then I saw beware the forest’s mushrooms and I thought, well. Why not. It’s a song. I like music.

It was the official arrange from the arrangement album. Until Memoria it was 100% the most beautiful rendition of the song to ever exist. And I lost my goddamn mind. I had never heard a song so gorgeous and I was instantly so upset with myself for being such a stubborn dork about SMRPG for so long (imagine that, me, stubborn!!)

So it all kinda hit me like a truck. I remember the day I first saved a piece of Geno fanart, like a day after I heard the song, and I was GOT. I thought oh, maybe he’s kinda cute, and it all just spiraled into hell. When I was a kid I was all into people drawing him as a Cool Anime Bishounen, but now I’m extremely cool and am like “Doll only, please!” unless it’s the goofy cute human design I have for him. But really I prefer doll. ANYWAYS.

During my high school years my life was... uh, rough. I was dealing with domestic violence in my home and we were more than once kicked out of our house and had to scramble to find a place to stay temporarily. While I was still just going to classes. I wound up failing my 11th grade English class because I often didn’t have access to a computer with internet or a printer and couldn’t do my assignments. My teacher didn’t ask why I was suddenly not finishing assignments, she just failed me. I went to summer school and it wound up being one of the best experiences of my life though. So, you know.

Throughout all this bullshit I like, had Geno. I had a reason to look up at the starry sky and make wishes and track meteor showers. It was something to like, keep my going again. Unsurprisingly I was DEEPLY struggling with my mental health. I was self-harming, and was just in general doing Very Fucking Not Great and felt like I had nowhere to turn. To this day my family like, doesn’t let me talk about this situation, and I received no help or support from any of them during this. Things are better now, but holy fuck, man. It was just my mom and I dealing with domestic violence and homelessness and no one was helping us.

But I had him. I had the “will he be in Smash someday?” shit. I had the Smash speculation community. I had SMRPG fans who were all like-minded cool people who loved how much I loved Geno, because they loved him too! He was like a fucking life raft for me in one of the worst periods of my whole existence and always felt like an anchor when things were spiraling out of control.

And it feels so corny to talk about it, because oh Nuke, you’re always dramatic about characters. But damn, did it fucking hurt when “friends” were just straight up fucking mean to me about Smash stuff for years on end. Damn did it hurt when I tried to express how important this shit was to me, and it was written off as me being ridiculous about a Video Game, you know? Would therapy have been good? Maybe. I tried it as an adult after being pressured into it by my ex and it was an actual nightmare because the only therapist in my area with hours compatible with my job who took my insurance was like 24 years old and told me straight to my face she didn’t want to talk about things I liked because she didn’t understand them. So maybe not! But I had this something, something so important to me, and it felt like everyone around me was so fucking Tired of me caring so much about something. It felt like everyone was tired of ME. And I was tiring of myself too, and it fucking sucked! It really did.

A couple years ago I finally let go of all the rage and sorrow in my heart and I’ve been doing so, so well. I found myself so suddenly surrounded by people who fucking care about me, and who are like “Oh, I don’t know that character, tell me about them! You love them so much!”, and people who invite me over to their house to just sit and watch Transformers or build model kits. People tell me to my face “I don’t think you’re annoying” when I compare myself to Rodimus, and I get actively invited to things. Wow! It’s been so fucking NICE. It sucks to have such nightmares in my past to compare this all to, but man, the difference is insane.

So it’s like. I wanted this to happen years ago. I wanted them to announce a SMRPG remake, or something, a few years ago when I was at my worst, when people were treating me like shit, when friends of my SO were being huge assholes to me only for my SO to say “hmm I think you’re making that up because you’re dramatic”.

But it didn’t. And I got through everything with my own strength. And now I’m at my absolute best, and I get this now. I get it once I’ve moved past all those miserable negative people who treated me like garbage. I don’t have to rub it in their faces and be like “Look, I got this far, I’ve made it and I won over all the SHIT”. Because none of them are here anymore and they don’t matter to me.

I got so many messages across all my social medias, even from people who I haven’t actually spoken to in some time (but still exist in internet circles with, you know how online friendships are), so many people saying oh my god, Nuke, I’m so happy for you, holy shit congratulations, this is amazing I can’t believe it.

I love you all so fucking much, I love Super Mario RPG so fucking much, all of you and this game are so important to me I don’t even know if 4k more words of rambling nonsense can express it. I am at such a good place in my life now, I want to spread that positivity and do my best to be good to people and to the world that has been so good to me these past few years. Despite how this year started, it hasn’t felt like a negative shroud over me. Just another challenge to overcome, and I’ve overcome literally everything put in front of me so far. Nothing is phasing me anymore and I’m doing so GREAT.

I’m so happy the remake is happening at a time when I’m at my best. I didn’t need anyone to save me before, and now this will just lift me higher. And I can truly enjoy it, as a joyful gift, as opposed to hoping it will be a life raft getting me out of a flood. I can truly enjoy it for what it is and what it’s meant to be.

A beautiful, delightful, very funny little video game, about Mario and all his weird little friends.

I don’t think I’ll even mind having to say goodbye to Geno at the end, again. Because I know now, there’s nothing stopping him from coming back.

And hey, SMRPG’s not a very long game. I can always replay it. And Geno will always be there.

Always.

[walker-290]

How fucking dare you fangirl over Jensen’s concert when you said he wanted Jared to die? FUCK YOU. I hope you have a horrible rest of your life.

1. I never explicitly said Jensen wanted Jared to die. I raised a question about his intentions and motivation of saying Never Keep Fighting a few minutes after he himself said Jared was lucky to be alive. Always Keep Fighting are the three words I tell myself everyday and to hear never keep fighting from the mouth of someone I used to look up to hurt me in a way I can never explain to you or anyone else.

But for a minute, forget all about it. Before I made that post questioning Jensen's mindset, I read at least 15 posts from AAs and hellers claiming the exact same thing, more explicitly than me, but they were celebrating it, they were applauding Jensen for it, did you wish for their horrible future too?

Am I the problem because I asked if Jensen was happy about Jared's accident? Or am I the problem because I hated Jensen for it rather than applauding him for it?

2. How dare I enjoy the concert. Hmm, I should have boycotted Jensen altogether. Because truly, honestly I don't like the person I see in Jensen Ackles anymore. I really don't see the guy I used to admire anymore, not even in the panels with Jared, not even when he is telling Jared "I love you too" or when he is calling Jared "an idiot". I think he is putting up a front. I don't feel like his smile reaches his eyes anymore. Or anything he is saying is genuine, and not something he is saying what he thinks people want to hear.

Having said that, for 4 years I admired him. I loved his music even before he released his first album. I have listened to all of his songs from both albums and each SNS a million times. When his albums came out, I kept my Spotify open 24/7 for a week and played the songs over and over again to help it make the top one on the chart. I didn't shut my laptop literally for a week.

If you go to my twitter or Tumblr, before prequel-gate and Walker, you'll see how many Jensen's SNS GIFs, Jensen contents I have posted Vs Jared or anyone else combined.

You just don't stop liking everything a person does just because their behaviour turned shitty. No matter how asshole your ex was, do you never miss the good things he used to do or something?

I have seen people who love Jensen and don't like or care about his music much because the type of music he does is not their cup of tea. For me, I love the type of music he writes with Steve. I still think, in the last 2 years, the most genuine smile I have seen on his face is when he was singing.

Again, I do not like the person Jensen is right now. And I still would never want him to have a horrible life. I wish him the best and if he is at his best when he is doing music, I hope he gets to do it more and on a bigger platform. The only bad thing I want to happen in his life is TW getting cancelled.

I am a random person on the internet who asked a bad question about a celebrity you like, and you are that much hurt about it to curse my whole life in an anonymous ask. So, try to imagine loving and admiring someone above everyone else for years and hearing mockery from their mouth about something that helps you be alive everyday...

Even if you don't believe me, whoever you are, I am genuinely sorry that my posts, takes or questions hurt you. I never meant to hurt anyone. But I am also deeply hurt and I know in my head that he is just a random celebrity I should totally avoid and let go, but it's still something I am struggling to recover from.

[sambinnie]

1. Solstice again. Creeping from the still house into cool air, then a run to smooth waters where even the dogs and their walkers haven’t yet rambled. We swim in almost-silence for a while, like steady kayaks, with a chiffchaff serenading us and the last of the willow fluff dusting the surface of the water, fish occasionally glopping upwards to grab a passing insect.

Home to pick a posy for the table. I must not fall asleep as soon as I sit down. I fall asleep instantly.

2. This spring has been wonderful. Besides the puffs from the willows along the river, the chestnut trees drip sap onto the pavements so our shoes click with every pace, and the ducklings, goslings and cygnets gather around their beady-eyed parents. Dragonflies and damselflies drone over the river. Huge poppies have grown in the chaos of the garden, I assume where I threw the seeds from pavement poppies last summer, and bees roll around among the stamens like playing puppies. I drive past the supermarket and see several people tending to a horse in the neighbouring scrubland.  

3. Have you finished Succession yet? This final series has been my favourite yet, for possibly obvious reasons — my stress levels were lower than my enjoyment levels for the very first time, so I could fully savour exactly how brilliant every single aspect is. Cast, crew, production, script — everything is perfect, and yet how hard to communicate why a programme about the world’s worst people is not just watchable but probably the best TV this year. This Vanity Fair clip with the director of the scene on Connor’s wedding boat is excellent and describes so well how TV like this is a kind of alchemy.

4. A brief sojourn to a foreign city, where the cathedral left me chilled but a record store was so exactly like the ones from my teens that I welled up and had to be pulled away. How do smells cut through all barriers and transform us so completely to our previous selves? I wanted to stay for hours and flick through every single album, and end up buying four, two I’d love immediately and two I’d hate, but would stick with because albums are never cheap, and the two that were harder work would become my favourites and stick deep in my brain forever. I thought myself too cool to be a Feeder fan at the time, but watching this video now I want to weep at how normal we all looked then, how clunky and average and awkward, how anyone who grew up in the 90s would recognise those bedrooms, that wallpaper, those lampshades, and how humans are so dumb to grieve things we didn’t even want at the time. 

But sometimes, for brief moments, like when you are standing at the stove making lemon and courgette risotto and listening to Head Like a Hole at full volume, your teen self and the adult self you thought you might be meld perfectly and all is well with the world. 

5. We read this book in bookclub recently, and I was struck at how we all struggled to verbalise our feelings about it. Was it good? Bad? Confusing? Funny? Unsettling? It was all and none, the live example of imagining a colour you’d never seen before. I was reminded of these two videos the algorithms had fed me, on Outsider Music and how audiences misunderstood the film of American Psycho when it first came out. Weirdness is so challenging, so aching and unsettling and new to brains which generally thrive on conformity and predictability. In the latter video, the film’s director Mary Herron says, ‘I have to always remind myself, sometimes I don’t get it, you know, when I first see something… particularly if it’s unfamiliar, it can be quite… there’s something uncomfortable or disturbing or it seems boring or like it does’t work, and it’s also because you’re just not attuned to it yet and it’s just sometimes you take time.’ Like those albums as a teen, the best, weirdest, most brain-engaging stuff often takes much longer to chew, but it’s almost always worth it.

6. (We also watched Mustang, which I recommend to literally everyone, although it does nothing to disprove my theory that all good woman- and girl-based films are secretly also horror films. But it’s brilliant, so please watch it if you haven’t already.)

7. I intend to make this tonight for the Solstice feast’s dessert. Happy summer, pals.

[pinkliquorstyles]

Depravity.

Warnings: dirty talk, a sprinkle of smut, alcohol use, angst, and a whole lot of teasing.

A/n: oh, how I’ve missed writing. 

Harry craved control.

He always had some sort of power over everything in his life, onstage and off, Harry was always in control. He had a plan for every situation and a solution to every problem. He hated to be caught off guard, and it was only when he lacked that authority over his life when you could sense him falter.

So, you could imagine how Harry felt when he heard about a last-minute, extravagant party, made to celebrate his achievements and mass success from his second album.

Don’t get it twisted, although the event seemed formal on paper, it turned out to be anything but. The guest list seemed to be never-ending, as both Y/n and Harry struggled to identify who everyone was, especially, under the dim lighting.

To make matters worse, the liquor flowed through the venue like it was water. Harry could practically count on a person stumbling out of the place every two minutes as they reach their limits.

It seemed like a vision of pure depravity.

Y/n was the complete opposite of Harry, her spontaneous nature, and desire for chaos in order to keep life interesting was one of the reasons why people either loved, or completely despised her. No one could anticipate her taunting movements, and frankly, she preferred it that way.

The sound of loud chatter was drowned out by the rhythmic hums of music that loudly projected from the speakers. Harry could hear the multiple voices that attempted to catch his attention, but it seemed his focus was fixated on something else. His gaze lingered on Y/n, his eyes trailed down her body as her hips swayed in sync with the music that resounded throughout the room.

It was known by the people closest to him that Harry was possessive, especially when it came to Y/n. Whilst some people scolded him for it, he simply couldn’t help it, once Harry gets what he wants, he will do everything in his power to keep it safe.

In a short distance, away from all the chaos, Y/n saw a decorated table filled to the brim with assorted fruits and an almost mouth-watering chocolate fountain placed right in the centre of the display.

Y/n’s sweet tooth ached whilst her eyes watched the treat trickle down the machine. She made her way towards the table, softly pushing past the guests as dizziness made itself apparent on the way, presumably, from the liquor that vibrated all throughout her body.

The area she entered seemed quiet compared to the one she was previously in, with only small groups hovering around the room in their own little worlds as they talked among themselves.

Once she reached the table, she carefully went over her options, each fruit was skewered with a small toothpick. She decided on the strawberries, taking one in her hands before dipping it into a glass filled with dark chocolate. She laughed lightly to herself, as she remembered reading about how both of these foods together, created an aphrodisiac effect.

As she was about to reach for more fruit, she felt a familiar pair of strong hands grip her waist from behind. Her body erupted in goosebumps as a low voice spoke close to her ear. "You’re a dreadful tease.” A familiar deep voice broke Y/n out of her trance as she froze in his hold.

Her body relaxed as she realised who was behind her, turning around with a small smile that teased her lips. She sensed the jealousy that dripped from Harry’s voice. "I don’t know what you’re talking about, m’just dancing.” She said innocently, placing a strawberry against her lips before taking a bite.

Harry scoffed, at her almost pathetic attempt to be oblivious to her actions. “Mhm, you’re putting on quite the show aren’t you.” He hummed with slight annoyance in his tone.

Y/n glanced at the people around her, some dancing to their heart’s content while the others attempted to engage in conversation. “It’s not my problem if guys can’t keep it in their pants.” She said with a small shrug.

"You leave nothing to the imagination do you love?”

"Jealous?” Y/n quipped in a taunting tone, though, her features remained innocent. “Besides, I didn’t know it was such a crime to have fun. If so, then arrest me baby, I’m guilty as charged.”

"Fun?.” He mocked, "So you’re telling me that this performance you’ve put on wasn’t just for me to see?” His tone seemed offended, yet his teasing expression told a different story.

She playfully shook her head and attempted to hide the smile that fought to escape her lips.

"And what about this tight little number you’ve got on, is that not for me either?” He taunted curiously, his hand trailed against the small strap that held up her dress.

Her gaze followed his cold touch as his fingers travelled across her shoulder, towards her neck. A small shiver crawled up her spine as his rings pressed lightly against her skin, before grazing across her jawline.

Her head lifted slightly. Her almost pleading eyes instantly connecting with his as if it was a reflex. "You remember what happens when you play games with me princess, it never ends well for you” his thumb lightly tugging on her strawberry-stained lips.

Her pulse quickened as her mind raced with thoughts of lust. “I guess you’re going to have to remind me.” She chose her words carefully “My mind seems to be a little foggy.”

Y/n felt Harry’s demeanour change instantly at her words, it was like a switch, his playful aura was quickly replaced with one of desire, similar to the aura of this entire event.

Little did Harry know, Y/n had him right where she wanted him. Harry craved the control that he lost over their exchange, whilst Y/n craved the thrill of the unknown. The unknown of how far Harry was willing to go to win back his control over her.

A short and antagonising laugh fell from Harry’s lips. “You want to know what I’m thinking princess?” He questioned. Y/n hummed in response, her mocking tone only pushing Harry further. “I think you’re purposely trying to wind me up.” He states clearly.

“But you know what happens to princesses who misbehave?.” He murmured.

A teasing light danced in Y/n’s eyes, she shrugged lightly and attempted to turn around to get another strawberry. She was shortly cut off as Harry swiftly, and gently tugged on her wrist. He pulled her closer towards him, their faces mere inches away from each other in order to fully grab Y/n’s attention.

“Nothing.”

Harry dropped his hands from Y/n’s body, deciding to use the table beside them to support his body instead. Y/n’s expression turned into confusion at his words. This wasn’t how she planned the rest of their conversation going.

“What’s wrong princess? You’ve gone quiet.” He pointed out, a small pout evident on his lips. “Did you expect me to whisk you away to one of the rooms upstairs... punish you f’being a little brat?”

Every time she teased Harry before, he would simply delve deeper into his own desires, playing with Y/n how he saw fit as punishment.

It was a routine that Y/n loved, so why was tonight any different.

Unless...

He perked up with a boyish smile at her confused reaction, knowing her mind was scrambling for a snarky retort. “Tell y’what, I’ll give you what you want on one condition.”

She looked at him curiously, interested in what he was proposing. “And what’s that?”

“M’going to need you to beg for me.” The thought of those three, simple little words sent Harry’s mind into a tangent of his own, the flame of control flickering in his eyes as he watched her expression.

His words took a second to process in Y/n’s mind, but once they did, she realised what he was doing. Harry was using her own tactics against her, the teasing, the mischievous look in his eye and most importantly, the element of surprise.

Although it worked for a small moment, Y/n was determined, she wasn’t about to let Harry beat her at her own game.

“Beg for you?” Y/n echoed, pondering the thought over a chocolate-covered strawberry before throwing away the rest in the waste bin.

It wasn’t long before someone interrupted their conversation. They were at a party after all. An unrecognisable figure walked up behind Harry, wrapping their arms around him before placing a shot glass full of clear liquid in his hand.

“What’re you hiding out here for Harry, you’re missing out on all the fun!” The man exclaimed with excitement, clinking his own shot glass with Harry’s before downing the drink. Y/n quickly pinched the drink out of Harry’s hand, and in one swift movement, downed the liquor similarly to the man slinging himself around Harry.

A snicker escaped Harry’s lips at the sight of Y/n’s disgusted face as she examined the shot glass “Straight vodka, m’assuming.” He remarks. Y/n nods in acknowledgment, placing the glass on the table next to them before the unknown man pipes up again.

“Sorry to interrupt miss, m’sure whatever you two were talking about was truly exhilarating but Harry here, is a busy man.” He slurs, tapping Harry on the shoulder. “People to meet, drinks to... drink? Anyways, you understand.”

Y/n eyed Harry curiously, he simply shrugged as they both realised that the mystery man next to them had no clue about their relationship and simply assumed that Y/n was just a random girl Harry was swooning over.

She chuckled lightly, “Don’t let me get in your way, go have fun.” She reached out, softly squeezing Harry’s arm as reassurance. The man already started to make his way back to the dance floor, expecting Harry to be following behind him.” What are you waiting for-?”

Before Y/n was able to let go of Harry he gently pulled her closer towards him, closing the small gap between them as her body collided with his. “I was going to say, I wouldn’t waste another moment thinking about it princess...” He trailed off, his rings roughly digging into the thin material of her dress as he held her in place.

“We both know you’re just going to end up begging for me to fuck you.” Harry’s hold hastily dropped from her hips, before walking away. A small smirk was evident on his lips as he sensed the state of shock he left Y/n in.

She watched in pure disbelief as he wandered back into the loud venue, but despite of it all, she couldn’t deny the feeling of adrenaline that coursed through her body at his words.

With an annoyed sigh, Y/n focused her attention back on the many strawberries in front of her, snatching one from the plate. "If that’s how he wants to play it...” She murmured before taking a bite out of the sweet fruit before carelessly discarding the rest.

“Then let the games begin.”

———

The night progressed as Y/n and Harry went their separate ways, mingling and causing mischief with the other guests.

Although they seemed to be in their own little worlds, they were both aware of each others presence. Whether that was through the overwhelming exhilaration that emanated from the both of them, or their teasing gazes as their eyes met at random times throughout the night.

After what felt like hours to Y/n of endless dancing, she decided that it was time to spice things up, feeling bored of waiting for Harry to make a move.

Her eyes scanned the room, eventually falling to the bar that didn’t seem too far away from her. She slowly made her way past the people in front of her, before reaching the busy service, waving down the bartender in the process.

“What a coincidence! We’ve found each other once again miss!” The familiar slurred voice spoke at a high volume from beside her, causing Y/n to flinch at the sudden noise "Seems like fate is trying t’tell us something.”

Y/n turned towards the man, her mind taking a second to process his features. ‘Oh it’s the guy from before... did I ever get his name?’ She pondered to herself

Noticing the evident confusion on her face, he piped up with a chuckle “I guess I didn’t properly introduce m’self did I? M’names Kai.”

She hummed in acknowledgment “So you’re the one that tried to poison Harry with that dreadful drink.”

“I guess that’s one way to be remembered.” He remarked in an attempt to be charming. “You two seem close though.”

You don’t know the half of it. She thought to herself, before speaking up with a smile, “I guess you could say that, my name’s Y/n by the way.”

———

Harry wasn’t much of a dancer. The only exception is for when he performs. Which caused him to spend most of the night in the booth that he reside in from the beginning of the event. The small space seemed to be full of his friends and co-workers as they chat up a storm, a continuous supply of drinks being served to the group.

The elevated booth allowed him to view the guests dance the night away. Which is how he was able to spot Y/n in the crowded dance-floor.

He watched as the man Harry was introduced to as ‘Kai’ stood dangerously close to Y/n as they swayed to the music and continued with their small talk.

Harry didn’t mind at first, not taking much note of the whole interaction. He loved seeing Y/n have fun. It was only once he noticed that she leaned closer towards Kai, whispering in his ear, a sultry “Please.” as she requested for one last drink, that their interaction caught his attention.

She moved back, re-gaining the small space between the two of them. Of course, she was hyper-aware of the fact that Harry knew about the whole exchange, flickering her eyes to his with a taunting smile.

Kai followed her gaze before spotting Harry, a boyish grin fell onto his lips as he sent Harry a cheeky thumbs-up. It was as if he had scored the best take of the night whilst somehow still being oblivious to the fact that Harry was utterly in love with the woman he was swooning over.

Harry shook his head, purely baffled by the whole exchange. “Dickhead.” He muttered under his breath. The rings that were wrapped around his fingers hit the glass with a small ‘clink’ as he took ahold of his drink, downing it all in one go.

———

"Tell you what, sit your pretty self down while I go flag down that bartender over there.” Kai motioned towards one of the seats with a smile before making his way to the other end of the bar.

Y/n nodded, letting out a tired sigh as he walked away. She felt herself getting worn out by the lack of attention she was getting from Harry, but, as annoyed as she was, she was determined to win this little game that Harry’s made up for the both of them.

“If he wasn’t so stubborn then maybe-.” Y/n muttered, getting ready to take a seat at the bar before being cut off by the feeling of a sudden grip around her wrist. With a small tug, she was twirled around to face the person that held her captive in their hold.

A small giggle fell from her lips as her body smoothly fell into the familiar figure’s build.

“Having fun princess?”

His voice caused a shiver to course through her body, small goosebumps forming on her skin at the harshness of his tone.

Y/n lazily wrapped her arms around Harry, unintentionally using him to support her own intoxicated body “Took you long enough. I was starting to think you forgot about me.”

"Never.” He boyishly grinned, feeling smitten knowing that Y/n had him on her mind as much as he did for her all night.

Although the music still resounded around the room, the tune that played was much slower. So much so that Harry and Y/n noticed the tipsy guests begin coupling up as an attempt to dance with one another.

Y/n softly rested her head against Harry’s shoulder as his hands rested on her waist. Her eyes fluttering close as she felt herself get lost in the song “Mind telling what that whole charade was about ?” Harry hummed closely, possessiveness laced in his voice.

Y/n quickly picked up that he was talking about Kai. She playfully scoffed, lifting her head from his shoulder to look at him. “I was getting bored and you weren’t paying me any attention. Besides, I knew your jealousy would get the better of you eventually.”

Harry let out a small laugh at her seemingly meticulous plans. "You know all you had to do was come find me.” He affirmed.

Feelings of guilt were getting the better of Y/n as she pondered whether or not she took all of this too far. "Are you upset with me?” She said with a small pout.

“Of course not princess, m’not upset with you.” He comfortingly squeezed her waist for a small moment, both of them swaying to the soft beat of the song.

I just wanted to you to tell me how needy you were f’me.” He murmured lowly, making sure that the people dancing around them didn’t hear.

All the feelings of concern were immediately washed away from Y/n, quickly being replaced with a mixture of relief and playfulness.

“You know I’m not going to break that easy, you’re going to have t’try harder than that if you want me to say such a thing.” She huffed.

“Is that so?” Harry mocked, making a mental note of her words. "What about if I...” He trailed off. His head dipped down as he peppered wet kisses all the way to her exposed shoulder, making sure to lightly suck on the delicate skin as if he wanted to leave his mark on her.

Y/n gave into the taunting feeling for a small moment, her eyes closing as Harry had his way with her. “You shouldn’t be doing this.” She remarked.

He pulled away, a boyish chuckle escaping his lips. “Are y’scared your little friend over there will see.” He motioned towards Kai, who seemed to have been caught up on his path to the bar. Another girl danced with him as he held two drinks in his hand with seemingly, not a care in the world “I wouldn’t worry about him.”

"That’s not what I meant, silly.” She clarified, referring to the small love bites that she felt forming across her pulsating skin.

His fingers lightly grazed over her neck. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve left a pretty little mark on you princess.” He noted, admiring his work. His voice alone was enough to send Y/n into a spiral of lust. Her mind was in scrambles as she fought the tempting urge to give into Harry’s desires.

Although the slow song finished, another bass-heavy one played in its place. Y/n could tell the night was coming to a close as people slowly made their way to the exit, or, were celebrating their last round of drinks. This meant Y/n only had about an hour or so to decide whether or not she would continue to be stubborn, proving to Harry that she’s not as submissive as he makes her out to be.

"You’re thinking about it aren’t you?” Harry glanced at a distracted Y/n, a teasing curiosity evident in his features. “A few words princess, that’s all it takes.” 

Y/n snapped out of her trance, realising she was slowly succumbing to Harry. She took a deep breath, and in an attempt to regain her control, gently wrapped her hands around the back of Harry’s neck, making their way up to his messy curls. Her fingers wrapped around the strands of hair, giving it a small tug as the both of them continued to sway to the music.  “Let’s say I was thinking about it, what would you do about that?” 

Harry hummed lowly at the pleasurable feeling of her soft touch on his skin. In that moment, he decided not to waste another second of his attention on anyone other than Y/n. "Then, I would bring you upstairs... play with you until you’re nothing but a whimpering mess.

His hands tightening around her waist. His rings slightly dug into her skin, the cold metal seeping through the thin material of her dress causing a wave of goosebumps to wash over her. “You’re already aching for me. Imagine how you’ll feel with your legs wrapped around me.”

Harry left small kisses across her jawline, returning to his sweet yet torturous assault from before. “You would plead for your release as I bring you right to the edge, telling you all about how much of a good girl you’ve been, all submissive and needy, just how I like.” Y/n could feel herself growing hot from his taunting movements as she unintentionally began to bite at her lip, suppressing any moans that threatened to escape.

“But you haven’t really been a good girl have you, princess? I would say you’ve been quite the brat all night.” His kisses edged closer and closer before finally, his lips firmly pressed against hers. A small moment was needed, but it wasn’t long before Y/n moved in sync with his own movements, a new sense of lust overpowering her senses as she deepened the kiss, a mix of alcohol and peppermint lingering on their tongues. 

Harry noticed her newfound pushiness, the roughness of the kiss causing a gruff and low groan to escape from the back of his throat. “Do you remember what I said about little brats that don’t listen?” His gaze on Y/n as he begrudgingly pulled away from her, his lips merely hovering above her own.

Y/n let out a frustrated whimper at the sudden loss of contact, her eyes fluttering open with confusion.

"You would plead for your release...” Harry repeated. A taunting fire danced his eyes, a confident smirk creeping onto his lips. “Only for me to pull away right at the last moment.”

Y/n wanted to smack the smug grin right off of his face, but she just seemed defeated, her expression changed to one of frustration as her hands fell from Harry. 

"Don’t look at me like that, you brought this on yourself princess.” He teased, giving her one last chaste kiss. “Y’know you could still-”

He was shortly cut off by the sound of Y/n’s annoyed voice. "Fine!” she snapped, just at a low enough volume so people wouldn’t hear, while she attempted to catch her unsteady breath. “...fine.”

Even though Harry knew exactly what she was going to say, he still tilted his head with a pout, curiosity written on his face as he waited for Y/n to continue her thought. 

"You win.” She murmured, refusing to look Harry in the eye as she admitted her defeat.

Harry shook his head, admiring her features. He gently pushed the strands of hair that covered her face, placing it back behind her shoulders. "Not good enough, use your words princess. ‘Want to hear you beg for me.” His voice remained low, his warm breath causing a shiver down her spine.

Y/n let out a small and exaggerated sigh, as a smile teased her lips. She knew she was going to succumb to Harry eventually. In fact, she knew the moment he swept her into his arms that the game was over, but, she loved the chaos too much to ever admit that to him.

She gave him one small kiss before pulling him closer towards her. Their eyes met, both clearly filled with desire and lust, only difference was the dominating aura from Harry’s features, and the submissiveness that radiated from Y/n.

"I need you, m’so needy for your touch... Please baby...”

That, was a true vision of pure depravity.

[nejibaby]

Afterglow

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x Y/N

Summary: Without Ace, your nights are back to being long, dark, and empty. But when you finally reunite, Ace refuses to just be your Daylight.

Daylight - Part 1 | Afterglow - Part 2

Word Count: 4.3k (my hands slipped, I’m so sorry)

Loosely based on: Taylor Swift’s Lover album (but mostly about the songs Daylight and Afterglow)

A/N: I really think Whitebeard is a great father, yk? So I see him as someone who you can always seek and rely on. He looks tough (and he’s actually tough), but he’s soft too! And Ace too, in that respect is similar to WB. I really believe he’ll be such a good boyfriend 🥺 Anyway, I really enjoyed writing this so much! Thank you to everyone who read this, I love yall 🥰

<Teach doesn’t exist to me, I hate him, so I guess this is noncanon? Also, there’s this tiny spoiler, just a warning.>

Sailing by yourself in a boat for one reminds you how vast the sea actually is. With the rowdy Whitebeard pirates, sometimes the sea, no, the world, seems a lot smaller, a lot more manageable, but alone, it feels so massive it’s almost frightening.

It’s easy to get lost, except there’s no such concept like that for someone like you who doesn’t have a destination to go to in mind. Quite simply, you’re wandering, but not lost.

You drift from one island to another. Your initial intention is to get as far away as possible from the crew. Now that that’s achieved, you’re unsure of what to do next.

You allow yourself to observe and to experience some sort of normalcy at the islands you dock at. It’s a good thing that you don’t really stand out so no one suspects you’re a wanted pirate.

Walking down the streets of random towns, you’re reminded of how lonely being a Celestial Dragon was. No one wants to interact with a World Noble, afraid of the consequences if they’re angered. Things changed drastically when you became a pirate though. People don’t shy away that much with pirates in certain places. They interact with you, albeit hesitantly sometimes. Nevertheless, you felt so free and happy.

Now, you’re still a pirate, as marked by Whitebeard’s infamous tattoo. But with the unsuspecting townspeople and the lack of the presence of a crew, you don’t feel like one. Somehow it makes you feel empty.

The void is immeasurable. Despite it being unbounded, you’re sure that a single person can fill that emptiness: Portgas D. Ace.

But there are oceans separating you from Ace— a distance that you put. With the space between you, there’s silence in your voyage, however, it’s quite mystifying how every island you reach seems to scream his name.

There’s an island where you’ve docked at that’s snowing all year long. It brought back memories of when you were fairly new to the Whitebeard Pirates and had landed on a similar island. Back then you’ve worn a coat as you disembarked Moby Dick, however, the cold continued to seep through your layers of clothing. You couldn’t handle extreme temperatures that well but you didn’t want to make a big deal out of it so you continued to walk alongside the crew to scout the area. The thing was you may have been terrible at hiding it because Ace noticed the way your body was shivering and your teeth chattering. You were only acquaintances back then but he went to your side and striked a conversation with you. You didn’t understand why you became comfortable when he approached you all of a sudden, but then later that night you realized that he used his devil fruit abilities to warm you up.

At one island with a bustling town, there’s this restaurant that serves a variety of meat. You’re reminded of Ace and his bottomless pit of a stomach, and of his narcoleptic episodes while eating. He has a tendency of eating and then running, and the first few times he did it with you had you reeling. When you’ve finally realized that he’s never going to change, you start to keep a pouch of gold coins with you, reserved for paying for the food he eats. You leave it on the table just as Ace pulls you to run, and he has no idea about it. Owners or servers at the restaurants would still follow you out, but not to berate the both of you for not paying but to return the extra gold coins because you pay too much. Like usual though, Ace pretends not to hear them and they never got to catch up with you and Ace.

On another island, there’s a huge wild boar thrice the size of a human. It reminded you of the time you got so excited to explore an island that you speedily ran towards the forest alone, only to be met by a wild boar. The size of the boar stunned you and its glare kept you frozen in fear. A loud scream escaped your lips when it lunged at you, except the impact never came. When you’ve gathered your bearings, the wild boar was dead and… cooked, courtesy of Ace’s devil fruit abilities. He saved you, but he played it off as if he had his eyes on the wild boar since the beginning “to hunt it down.”

The current island you’re at is in famine. As soon as you docked at their port, a group of men has drawn their swords at you. For a moment, you thought they were bounty hunters so you grabbed your daggers and took a defensive stance. However, from the way they keep looking back and forth to you and your boat, and from hearing the faint sound of their stomach grumbling, you can tell they aren’t. Behind some trees, you can see the heads of some children peeking with worried yet hopeful looks on their faces.

Slowly, you raise your hands up in surrender, dropping your daggers in the process. You can’t turn your back on them — figuratively and literally — so you walk backwards towards your boat. The men look at you curiously but they don’t ever lower their swords.

In a quick motion, you grab a bag containing all of your food supply and throw it at them. One of the men catches it. “You can have them. It isn’t much, but that’s all I have.”

The man who was able to catch the bag carefully opens it and sees food. He almost cries at the sight of it. The rest of the men lowers the sword after you offer no sign of aggression. They start calling the other citizens of the area afterwards.

The children are the first to come running towards the men — all of them conveying excitement. You couldn’t tell how long they haven’t eaten but judging from how thin they are, it has got to be quite some time.

A small girl stumbles and falls near you and you quickly come to her aid. There isn’t much damage, just a scraped knee so you carefully patched her up.

“Thank you,” she gives you a toothy smile and then starts heading to the men who are distributing the food.

She comes back a moment later, arms outstretched to hand an apple to you. “For you,” she says.

Something blossoms in your heart because of her sweetness. “Thank you, but it’s fine, you can have it,”

She doesn’t object but then she hugs you tightly. “Thank you so much.”

Surprisingly, even on an island like this, you’re reminded of Ace. You remember his story about coming to Wano and meeting a child named “Tama” who seemed to be as charming as the child you helped and is under the same fortune.

Now that your mind has drifted to thoughts of Ace, you didn’t want to think of anything else. Even as the people gather around you to offer their thanks, and even as they usher you to a bonfire to celebrate for the food to eat, the thoughts of him linger in your head.

And just like in all the previous islands you came to, you wish he’s here with you too.

There’s longing in your heart, but there’s also something else— something pleasant that you can’t quite describe— and you attribute it to the gratitude of the people.

The mother of the child you helped, Sito, offers their spare room for you to take and you graciously accept. Soft snores almost immediately fill your ears after a few minutes of them bidding you good night.

The longer you stay awake, however, the pleasant feeling you felt a while ago starts to leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

You’ve always criticized yourself for not being able to do more when you were still a Celestial Dragon but now that you did something good, you start to feel selfish for doing it because it makes you feel better about yourself.

It’s at times like this that you seek Pops. There’s a sudden urge to hear his voice and his thoughts. So you grab your Den Den Mushi, but you hesitate.

You’ve lost track of the days since you left Moby Dick. And in that time frame, you never once called Pops. Although you didn’t really promise to call, maybe he was expecting you to, especially since you know he wouldn’t do it first.

You sigh. Maybe this call is long overdue after all.

You step outside the house and start to contact Pops using the Den Den Mushi. It only rings once and then it’s answered, almost as if Pops was waiting by the Den Den Mushi. The thought brings a smile to your face. “Pops—”

“Why on earth are you only calling now?!” His angry tone welcomes you.

“I’m so—”

“Is that Y/N?!” Marco interrupts. Ah, how could you have forgotten? It’s at this time that Marco reports to Pops. “We’re so worried about you -yoi!”

You can hear sounds of struggling on the line and then there’s a loud smack followed by an even louder crash. There’s a moment of silence which makes you wonder what’s going on in the ship.

“Why didn’t you call earlier?!” Pops’ voice booms. “If you’re going to leave a Den Den Mushi, I’m going to expect your reports but I received none of that.”

“I’m sorry Pops. I have no excuse,” you sheepishly say.

“Everyone’s worried about you,” he pauses but then his voice rings louder once again, “Some are even outside my room trying to listen in on our conversation. But if they know better, they should leave us alone.” The sound of rushing footsteps could be heard in the background as Pops finishes his sentence.

You chuckle, imagining the crew eavesdropping. “How are you Pops?”

“I’m doing fine.”

“How’s everyone? How’s… uhm… Ace?”

“Everyone’s just missing you. You didn’t say goodbye after all,” he says. “I put Ace on a mission because he won’t stop pestering me about you. He won’t come back in a couple of days.”

“Oh.”

“He misses you a lot,” he sighs. “He strides to me everyday to demand your whereabouts. Each time I wouldn’t tell him but he never learns. Vista says he’s on his 56th attempt the other day.”

The brief image of Ace that your mind comes up with brings a small smile to your face.

“When are you coming back?” Whitebeard breaks your reverie.

“Ah, I’m not sure yet… It might take a while.”

He hums. “So how are you? Have you been eating well?”

“I’m doing fine, Pops. No one’s been coming after me yet so everything’s going well,” you respond. “But… Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“There’s this island with people who haven’t eaten in so long so I gave them everything I have.” There’s a loud growl coming from Pops so you immediately continue your speech before he could scold you for doing such a thing. “I feel really good about what I did as they thanked me. But then the longer I thought about it, I started feeling ashamed because... wasn’t it selfish since I did it to make me feel better about myself? Then I started to wonder if it was wrong to do good things just because I wanted to be absolved of my parents’ sins. Was I wrong in doing this, Pops?”

“No, you did the right thing.”

“Really?”

“Yes, you’re not an inherently bad person for getting paid in gratitude.”

“But…”

“Making yourself happy by making other people happy is how it’s meant to work. If one of your key motives to doing good things is to feel good, then you’re still doing something good and there’s nothing shameful about that.”

Hearing his words puts you at ease. You’re glad you called him. “Thank you, Pops. I’m sorry for worrying everyone there and for disrupting Marco’s report. I promise I’ll call more often from now on.”

“It’s fine. Just don’t forget to take care of yourself too. Where will you be headed next?”

“I’m not sure. I’m just going where the sea leads me.”

“Be careful.”

“You too, Pops,” and with that, you bid your goodbye and hang up.

By morning, you start preparing your things to leave. You didn’t want to stay for too long because you didn’t want to consume even a portion of the small amount of food they have.

Sito offers you to stay another night, worried that it would be uncomfortable to sleep on a boat. “You can stay one more day. There’s still enough food for us to share.”

“Oh no, I don’t want to impose,” you decline. “But do you mind if I ask what happened here?”

There’s sadness in her eyes, it was easy to tell the memory pained her, but she tells you everything anyway. “This island is one of the few lawless areas in the world, hence, it’s a place where pirates would dock at. A group of men once docked here and kidnapped the leaders of our town. They were sold off to be slaves, because apparently the Nobles like to enslave people of power…” Her words start to fade on you upon the mention of the World Nobles.

Anger flares up in your system immediately. How low can the Celestial Dragons go? It’s sickening to think that you share the same blood as them. It’s because of this revelation that something becomes clear in your mind.

Ever since leaving Moby Dick, you’re just wandering aimlessly. But after hearing Sito talk about this island, you’re finally sure of what your destination should be.

Sabaody Archipelago.

Specifically, the Human Auctioning House.

From the sudden fury that overwhelms you, not even the fear of being within arm’s reach of the Marines, and possibly dying, could stop you from going there.

It’s reckless and foolish, but isn’t this the reason you left Moby Dick that night— to face your nightmares instead of running away from them?

You listen politely as Sito explains everything else but her words enter and leave your ears without you having to comprehend them. Fortunately, she doesn’t notice your inattentiveness, probably because she wants to pour her frustrations out to a stranger.

You offer your sympathies to her and promise her you’d come back with your crew and help them some more. It’s a simple promise yet for someone who hasn’t been offered help for so long, it means a lot, enough to even bring tears to her eyes. And just like that, you leave.

There are two more islands to stop at before you reach Sabaody Archipelago. You gather provisions on one island and buy explosives on the other.

The only thing you’re sure you can actually do alone is to blow up the Human Auctioning House. Facing the World Nobles is for another time, unfortunately. As for the Marines, well… You’d worry about that if they indeed come. You know you’d be able to handle them as long as they don’t send an Admiral after you.

The thing that worries you the most, however, is Pops’ reaction once you let him know of your plan. While you can always just not tell him, it feels wrong, and you promised you’d report to him, after all. And it’s hard for you to admit, but you secretly want to be saved in case your plan goes askew. That, and well, you still want to make up with Ace, may it be just strictly as friends, but preferably as lovers.

You decide to call once you’re about to set sail towards Sabaody Archipelago. You’re sitting in the middle of your boat, still anchored at the port when you told Pops your plan. And as expected, he’s mad.

He demands you to go back to the crew immediately. “Captain’s orders,” he says. But after a few moments, he retracts his words and says, “Your father’s orders.” You feel the weight of his words when he said that and you almost concede. But the faces of the slaves your family had flashes into your mind and it solidifies your decision.

Interestingly, despite the weeks you have spent away from the crew, their ship is nearer to you than anticipated. As confirmed by Pops himself when he angrily said, “Enough! I’m sending Ace to get you! Two or three days is enough for him to catch up with you.”

But quite frankly, that’s also enough time to execute your plan. And if the odds are in your favor, then Ace might just come in time for your escape.

Arriving at Sabaody Archipelago, you keep your face hidden underneath the hood of your cloak. It’s normal for pirates to walk around the place without having to hide their identities, but it’s a luxury you can’t afford. If someone catches wind that you’re here and reports it, the Cipher Pol just might come and capture you before you can even execute your plan. That just won’t do. So on the first day of your arrival, you only scout the area of the Human Auctioning House and retreat back to the inn you stay at.

You carry out your plan on the next day. You place a bomb where the side of the stage is supposed to be. It’s a distraction so people inside would leave the premises. The plan is to find the keys and free the slaves while the people are panicking from the explosion. Then eliminate the head of the place, Mr. Disco, and finally blow the place apart. It sounds simple but with you having to do all the work, you know it isn’t.

Now that you’re here, your nerves are spiking up. Arriving at the entrance of the building, you take a deep breath, your hand automatically reaching for the bracelet that Ace made you. It instantly calms you down.

It baffles you how fate works because on the very day you decide to free the slaves that are being sold off at the Human Auctioning House, Ace’s brother, Luffy — along with his crew — is at the same place to rescue their friend who was kidnapped.

Somehow even on a dangerous mission like this, there’s still something or someone who’d remind you of Ace. It makes you wonder: has he really embedded himself too deep into your life that there’s no escaping the thoughts of him? Not that you mind; the thoughts of him bring you peace, after all. But still, it’s fascinating that even in both mundane and dangerous settings, he makes himself known to you.

Upon entering the Human Auctioning House, everything happens so fast and unexpected. And quite frankly, a lot happened that wasn’t part of the plan.

Aside from finding the Straw Hat Pirates, you got yourself injured when you used your body to shield their fish man friend, Hatchi, from Saint Charlos’ gunshot. Then you confronted Saint Shalria personally despite you not planning to get involved with the Celestial Dragons. As for the slaves, it was the Dark King, Silvers Rayleigh, who actually freed them. The only things that you personally executed from your plan were Mr. Disco’s elimination and the bombing of the Human Auctioning House.

Escape is easy once the building starts to explode because the Marines would have to lessen the forces who're chasing after the pirates in order for them to successfully put out the fire. Without any Admiral on the scene yet, it’s not hard to slip away from them and/or fight them.

Even with the gunshot wound on your arm, you’re able to take down each and every one of the Marines who are chasing you. But halfway through your journey back to the grove where you left your boat at, you lose your adrenaline.

You start to feel the sharp and stinging sensation on your arm once again, yet, you couldn’t help but smile. You have gotten out alive. The slaves have been freed. With both Mr. Disco and the building gone, the Human Auctioning House will no longer be operational, or at least not yet until someone steps up. But that won’t be after a long time.

It’s a wonderful day.

You look up at the afterglow of the sunset with a serene smile. You have a feeling your nights are going to feel shorter now and less frightening than they were before.

Your peaceful moment is cut off by someone rather abruptly. You jump in surprise as someone wraps their arms around you from behind all of a sudden. “I finally caught up with you.”

Your breath hitches at the sound of the voice. “Ace? What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer your question, but he mumbles, “I’m sorry if I only came now. Pops wouldn’t tell me where you were, but I came as soon as I could.” Then he tightens his hug. “I was so scared, I thought I’d lose you…”

“Ace, I’m sorry about—”

“Hey, it’s on me, okay?” He interrupts. “I blew things out of proportion, and now you’re blue.”

You pull away from his hug to face him.

“Y-your arm! You’re bl-bleeding,” he stutters after seeing your injury.

But you pay no mind to that. “Ace… I’m really sorry about us—”

“Ssshhh, baby…” he rubs his hand on your back.

He looks at your figure carefully, focused on looking for any more bruises or wounds. When he doesn’t find anything more, he gently holds you by your waist. “Don’t blame yourself, I’m the one who burned us down, but… it’s not what I meant.

“It was all in my head, okay? It’s just that the Celestial Dragons are all grouped in my head as scums and that they’re inexcusable because… my brother was killed by a Celestial Dragon.”

A wave of guilt flows through your body, enough to weaken your knees. Before you could fall, however, Ace catches you and brings you to his chest. But this doesn’t stop you from sobbing on his chest. “I didn’t know, Ace. I’m so sorry.”

“No, that’s the thing, baby. It isn’t your fault. It wasn’t you who pulled the trigger. And… I have to admit I failed to see that at first,” he says as he hugs you tighter. “I shouldn’t have stood there frozen after you told me your story. I’m supposed to be the one who understands you...

“I’m not trying to make excuses and I’m not trying to make this about me but it’s just that… for so long I thought that I inherited the bad blood of my father, and I spent my lifetime failing to see that his sins aren’t my sins,” his voice cracks as he cries. “So when I found out about you… My mind automatically held you liable for the sins of the Nobles…

“But I talked to Pops and he straightened me up. I understand now. Our parents’ sins aren’t ours. It never was ours to begin with. So I’m sorry for blaming you for something you didn’t do…”

Ace stares at your crying form. He cups your face and sincerely says, “It’s so excruciating to see you low,” as he wipes the tears on your eyes. “I’m sorry if I hurt you…”

“It’s fine Ace, I forgive you. But…” You look directly into his eyes. “I’m at fault too,” you confess. “I was the one who left... I was so used to living like an island and isolating myself that it didn’t occur to me that I was punishing you with silence… I should’ve waited patiently for you but I ran away…”

Ace rubs your back gently and presses his forehead against yours, “I forgive you too.”

You smile in relief.

After a couple of minutes in silence, Ace tilts his head. “Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“Remember when you said that you saw daylight after sleeping in a long, dark night?”

You give him a curious look but nodded anyway.

“Beside wishing that I was there for you sooner, it had me thinking...”

“What?”

“Uhm… The world is terrible and cruel, and no one can ever really stop the dark nights from coming.”

You frown. You don’t really understand what Ace is trying to say.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is,” he rubs his neck while his cheeks starts to blush, “if you ever have to go through those dark nights, I wouldn’t want you to wait for daylight.

“I want to be there with you on those nights until they’re over. I don’t want to leave you when things get rough and only show up when you’re better. I know you see me as your daylight but I don’t want to be just that.”

His words warm your heart, and makes it skip a beat. “You know, Ace, there are remnants of light that linger in the sky even when the sun has long gone down and the night starts. It’s the afterglow,” you mumble.

“Yeah, but that goes away too after a while,” he frowns.

“Well, lucky for you the moon reflects the sun’s light during the night, huh?”

He grins. “Yeah, yeah. I like that. I want to be your source of light, may it be the daylight, moonlight, or the afterglow.”

A moment of silence engulfs the both of you. Under the soft afterglow of the sunset with your arms wrapped around each other, you feel at peace.

Once upon a time, you used to believe love is black and white— that it’s straightforward. It was either you love Ace or you don’t, there were no gray areas. No matter what he feels, says, or does, your love for him never ceases.

But then some other days you believed that love is burning red— that it’s full of passion, lust, and romance, much like the nights you spent entangled in the sheets with Ace.

However, right now in Ace’s arms, all you could ever think about is that love is golden. It was warmth and comfort, like what daylight brings. It was contentment and serenity too, much like the feeling of lightness one gets when seeing the afterglow of the sunset. Either way, it’s Ace who makes you feel those.

No matter what color love actually is though, for you it’s always embodied by Ace.

[blu-joons]

When The Two Of You Reminisce About The Past ~ Super Junior Reaction

Leeteuk:

Your eyes studied Jeongsu closely as he carefully began to flick through the old photo album that his mother had gifted to him. “I can’t believe there’s fifteen years of memories kept in here.”

“It’s amazing,” you whispered, offering him a smile.

His head nodded in agreement with you, “I never imagined that I’d still be going after all of this time, who even goes for this long?”

“A group with an incredible leader,” you complimented, hearing a soft chuckle escape from him. “I mean it, the boys are always telling people how incredible you are.”

A hum came from him as he looked across the group’s debut picture, admiring all of the members stood around him. “I guess I’ve not done too bad of a job as leader.”

You nudged his arm gently, “you’ve done an incredible job as leader.”

“I’m sure none of the others would ever admit that I’ve done a good job.”

“They would,” you assured him, “even if they try and play it off, I can tell that they’re all thankful for you, just in the way they speak to you, it obvious that you’re their angel.”

“Can you believe that I even used to introduce myself like that?”

Heechul:

The feeling of your figure sitting beside him caused Heechul to jump, smiling weakly when he found your eyes staring across at him. “I’m fine, you don’t need to ask me if something is wrong.”

“Saying that makes me think something is wrong,” you stated.

His head shook, looking down to the floor, “I still wish sometimes that I was able to do more and be up on stage with them.”

“You do everything that you can,” you quickly assured him, resting your hand against the top of his leg, “unfortunately life didn’t completely go as you planned out.”

His eyes fluttered shut as Heechul let go of a shaky breath. “I loved the early years, when I could dance and not be in any pain, now look at me, even walking is a struggle sometimes.”

Your hand pinched gently at his leg, “you can’t dwell on what might have been.”

“It’s hard not to when I’m constantly looking on from the side lines.”

“I’m sure that the boys would think otherwise,” you argued back at him, “you’re an equal member of the group as they are, they don’t think any differently of you.”

“I know, that’s why they’re the reason that I’ve stuck around.”

Yesung:

The moment you read over the comment that Junghoon had found on the screen, you felt your heart sink. “Do I really look that different to how I looked all those years ago?”

“No,” you smiled, “you still look the same.”

His head shook back at you, “I know that I’m a lot skinnier than I used to be, but I’ve got to be careful, especially as I get older.”

“You’re healthy,” you reasoned with him, taking his phone out of his hand, “and all of those commenters are jealous of how successful you all have been.”

His eyes rolled as you placed his phone down on the coffee table, “it’s been fifteen years and people still feel the need to hate on all of us, and me.”

You smiled weakly at him, “that’s what jealousy does to be people.”

“But why do people have to be jealous of me? I’m nobody.”

“Fifteen years at the top of the charts would suggest otherwise,” you reminded him, “and now you’re doing incredibly well on your own too, people are bound to be jealous.”

“I guess you’re right, many people would want to walk in my shoes.”

Shindong:

Your hands covered your eyes as you watched over old tapes of Donghee from when the group first debuted. “I only wanted to be an entertainer then, singing was of next to no interest.”

“It’s so weird,” you whispered, “you look so strange.”

His hand nudged you jokingly, “I know the hair is pretty wild, but they were convinced it would appeal to young kids.”

“Appeal in their nightmares?” You teased, watching his eyes go wide, “I’m just glad that your hair isn’t big and curly like that anymore, it’s much better these days.”

His hands instinctively ran through his hair, “do you mean to say you wouldn’t date me now if I still had hair as big and as crazy as that? I used to attract all the fans.”

Your head nodded, “that hairstyle can stay back in 2005 I think, not now.”

“Don’t worry, I much prefer my hair now, and thankfully I prefer singing too.”

“I couldn’t imagine you ever not singing,” you admitted in reply, “but I guess I didn’t know the part of you who only ever dreamt of being an entertainer.”

“Once the group took off, I knew there was only one place for me.”

Eunhyuk:

As hard as you tried to stifle your laughter as Hyukjae showed you his debut photo, you just couldn’t hold it back. “Go on, let it out, everyone else loved to laugh at me back then too.”

“I’m sorry,” you replied, “but it just looks so bizarre.”

His head nodded in agreement, “now do you see why I tell you how everyone used to refer to me as the ugly one back when we debuted.”

“You weren’t ugly,” you tried to sympathise, unable to look away from the photo, “you just had a bit more of a unique style about you, not many people could pull that hair off.”

His body shuddered as he looked at his hair, “I don’t think even I pulled that hairstyle off; I don’t know who thought designing me like that would be a good idea.”

A gentle laugh came from you, “at least the only way was up from there, right?”

“I was the ugly one for many years after that, I probably still am now.”

“No way,” you quickly protested, turning your attention to look at Hyukjae, “you’re not ugly in my eyes, or anyone else’s, you’ve turned into a very handsome and attractive guy.”

“You have to say that as my partner, but thank you, I appreciate it.”

Siwon:

The smile on Siwon’s face brought a smile to your own as you watched him turn the pages of the photo album before you both. “I’m so proud of how far we’ve come, we’re not babies anymore.”

“I can’t imagine you back then,” you confessed.

His head nodded as he looked between several photos, “I was very different back then, we all were. It’s the rookie energy.”

“And now your seniors,” you teased, pushing lightly against his arm, “idols are debuting now who were born after you guys debuted, doesn’t that make you feel old.”

His eyes widened in disbelief back at you, “I feel old enough as it is these days without you making me feel even older, that’s a fact that I didn’t really need to know.”

You continued to laugh back at him, “I think it’s quite an interesting one.”

“I’m just lucky I’ve got a couple of years before I’m forty, unlike some.”

“None of you look a day over twenty-five,” you lied, determined to make him feel better, “you’ve still all got that rookie blood, that’s what keeps you young, right?”

“I wish, but my body is knackered any time I’m up on stage nowadays.”

Donghae:

Your eyes looked to Donghae in disbelief as he handed you an old photo, he’d found of the two of you many years ago. “Jeongsu seems to think it’s dated from 2009, before Sorry Sorry.”

“There’s no way that’s us,” you chuckled, shaking your head.

Donghae quickly sat down beside you, “that’s what I said when he first gave it to me, we look so young, and so in love too.”

“I remember taking that photo like it was yesterday too,” you whispered, studying it closely, “it was at the end of your last show of the tour, do you remember?”

His head nodded back at you, “Junghoon came in with loads of photos this morning and Jeongsu went through them, I couldn’t believe it when he said he had one of us.”

Your head continued to shake, “I can’t believe how much has changed since this time.”

“Me too, but it’s been an incredible decade of a rollercoaster since then.”

“Maybe we should recreate this when you’re back on the road,” you suggested, “we can compare just how different we are right now to who we were back then.”

“That’s a great idea, we should definitely recreate it somewhere.”

Ryeowook:

Your eyes widened as Ryeowook showed you his debut photo, glancing between the image and him as you tried to draw a comparison. “I look different, right? I’m hardly the same guy.”

“You can tell you had no budget then,” you chuckled.

A laugh came from him too as he studied the photo, “we were just a project group back then, no one put any money into us.”

“And now you’ve all got millions to your name,” you reminded him, “did you ever expect to be as successful and rich as you are when you debuted all those years ago?”

Instantly, Ryeowook’s head shook, “we were lucky if we had a year or two together, I never expected that to end up being fifteen years altogether.”

Your head nodded, “it’s unheard of for most groups to last as long as you.”

“Most groups are just professionals, but we’re actually all friends, that’s the difference.”

“That’s true,” you hummed, taking the photo out of his hand, “I wish Ryeowook back then could see the Ryeowook that you are now, I think he’d be pretty impressed.”

“He’d be very proud, and very disbelieving that this was his life too.”

Kyuhyun:

Soft sniggers came from Kyuhyun as you sat with the rest of the boys, looking over a timeline of their careers. “The group only began to do well once I joined, I was the missing puzzle piece.”

“Kyu, the group were great from the start,” you argued.

His head shook back at you with a smug smile, “it was only when I came around, we got our first win, I must have appealed to the audiences.”

“You won because U was a great song,” you continued to try and reason against him, “if I remember correctly many people were sceptical of you joining the group.”

Once again, his head shook, remaining firm, “you must be mistaking me for someone else, everyone loved me from the start, they couldn’t get enough of me and my singing.”

Your eyes rolled, “is that what you used to tell yourself to sleep at night?”

“Maybe, but it was much nicer than the reality actually was for me back then.”

“It’s a good job everyone loves you now then,” you smiled, pushing gently against his arm, “these days people definitely cannot get enough of you, although I don’t know why.”

“Yes, you do, that’s why you find me so utterly irresistible the most.”

---

Masterlist

[brockadoodles]

evermore - b. boeser

AN: Uh, UH, guess it’s been too long since I’ve hit you all with my true brand, angst about my fave blonde boy. So here you go. This is my evermore album fic. Please feel free to yell at me after. 

Word Count: 2206

Warnings: Angst. 

You sat idly in the front seat of your car, parked outside of an unfamiliar building in the most familiar city. Coming back to Vancouver had opened a wound in your chest that you had spent more time than you cared to admit to patch. Each thread you pulled through your heart, hoping to somehow tie it back together just enough to stop thinking about your own biggest regret. 

Regret was a feeling you spent your entire life trying to escape from. You often told people as you grew up that you didn’t have regrets, instead, each decision would lead you down a path. One path would be the right one, and others would be a lesson that you had to learn, no matter how painful it was. It was ignorant of you to miscalculate the meaning of the word because when you dropped Brock’s had and subsequently his heart, it took approximately an hour for the feeling to sink into your chest and build a home there. 

You sighed deeply as you worked up the energy to get out of your car. You knew that you were back in Vancouver to stay, you knew that it was long past time to return back home where you belonged. But stepping out of your car and unloading the bags into your new place cemented it as reality. It meant you had to face everything you ran away from. It meant you had to live in the same city as Brock again and the thought was like a hand on your shoulder that was holding you underneath the water, with just enough air to survive but not enough to escape. 

You left Vancouver, the place that you had spent your entire life because you thought the opportunity was better. It wasn’t until you came back to the same hometown that you left, a broken heart stitched onto the sleeve of your sweater that you realized. You were ready to tell him you were wrong, that you realized home would never be home again without him, even if his presence was still all over the city. His face quite literally littered the city and you could pick out his apartment building every time you looked at the skyline. But you never felt further from him than you did now because in that apartment was where he started a new life, where he was building a home with someone else.

You spent the next week settling in. You took your time because all of it felt overwhelming. Each day you woke up with an attempt to tell yourself that it would get better but each night as you fell asleep, your mind was invaded with dreams of him. Dreams of life that your heart was telling you that you should have had. 

The dreams were supposed to go away, they weren’t supposed to invade your soul as you watched the broken relationship fade further and further away. It had been too long to hold onto this feeling of hope that maybe, somewhere deep down he was still who you were supposed to be with. It felt like you were trapped above the trees and watching as he built an entire life without you. Brock moved on, and you were still there trying to grasp onto willow trees whose leaves slipped out of your grasp each time your fingers touched them. 

It was the dictionary definition of torture, having every dream riddled with Brock. Every time you dropped your head to a pillow and your eyes fluttered shut you saw the entire scene where it all fell apart. Only in this version, when he got down on one knee you didn’t grab his arm and stop him. You didn’t start crying because you had to say no, without the explanation that he deserved. In the dreams, your champagne problems didn’t blow up the only love you had ever known. But the dreams weren’t real, and each time you woke up with that painful reminder that the ring was now on someone else’s hand, because you had left instead of fighting the mess of your own mind for him. 

It took less than two weeks to run into him again. You had assumed it would happen at some point. For a city that had almost 2.6 million people living there, it was small when you knew your way around. Life had a way of fucking you just hard enough that it wasn’t even unexpected you would run into him in the most mundane of places, a park. You knew Brock had dogs and you knew that the very place you were walking through was in fact, a dog park. You also knew he still lived in the same apartment, the one that you once spent your days in. You had to swallow hard to stop yourself from thinking about the person that now occupied that space with him because part of you selfishly thought maybe everything you had heard from mutual friends wasn’t true, maybe he hadn’t moved on. 

Brock walked up to you slowly and sat down on the bench next to you. The mere feet of space between you felt taunting. He was right there. His hair was a bit longer than it was the last time you saw him, and the scruff on his face made him look older. He was a shadow of the Brock you knew yet he still felt as familiar as someone could. You made no move to speak, instead, you thought about how if the strangers passing by could sense that you once spent nights tangled together only to have the two feet between you feel like the distance between the sun and the stars. 

“I heard you were back,” Brock mumbled. He turned slightly to look at you, a half-smile adorning his features as you blinked back the onslaught of tears you could feel behind your eyes. 

“Yeah, two weeks ago about.” You replied. Brock just nodded in response and took a sip of the coffee he had in his hands. Likely the same order he always had, a medium drip with just a splash of cream. You hated that you remembered. Brock fumbled in his coat pocket, pulling out a small envelope and resting it in his hands. Your name was written in handwriting that you didn’t recognize. 

“I actually, uh, knew you were here.” He spoke, handing you the small envelope. You took it from his hand. When you opened it you saw an invitation. An invitation that was for his wedding. You ran your fingers over the words, the embossed lettering was beautiful. The location, the botanical garden, was the exact type of place you would expect Brock to get married. 

“It would mean a lot to me to have you there. Regardless of how we ended, you were one of my best friends, and I don’t blame you for any of it.” Brock’s voice filled the silence as you struggled to find the words. 

“I’ll be there, Brock.” You whispered, a sad expression in your eye that he noticed. There was so much more you wanted to say, there was always more that you wanted to say when it came to him. Each time he came home you hoped that would be the time you’d finally admit it, you’d admit to him that you weren’t over what happened. You weren’t over him. Each time the words were almost there, bottled up in your chest just needing to travel into the air for him to hear. But you never found quite the right thing to say and consequently, you never got to know that for a time, it would have been everything that he wanted to hear. Instead, you were left to the images in your dreams, the ones where you did tell him you loved him and you were sorry, where it all worked out and he wasn’t marrying someone else. 

That wedding invitation haunted you. It sat on your desk, untouched as you carried moved through the next few months. You had started a new job that you were excited about, and each day things were getting easier. The dreams that once felt like they were never going to leave had slowly started vanishing. You were, for the first time in what felt like years, waking up feeling more at ease. It wasn’t until the night before the wedding that the dreams resurfaced, one last hazy cloud that you hoped would dissipate in the morning forevermore. 

It felt like a new beginning with him, new roots in an entirely new world that was only crafted carefully inside your dreams. A dark forest where you ran through it, hand in hand, in the rain, and he kissed you in front of the cottage covered in green ivy. The plant spiraling up the building like your heart spiraled out of control. The kind of love that you feel deep beneath your skin, a steady rhythm that followed the beat of your own heart. The kiss entirely complicated everything, and it felt fucking good to be complicated for once, to be the person who got to experience the love that people only wrote about in sonnets. But the dreamland wasn’t real, it wasn’t crafted by anything other than your own imagination. As the scene fizzled into dust in your hands, you felt your eyes well up with tears, because he wasn’t yours. He would never be yours again.  

The sharpness of her voice shattered the haze that you were looking through. Her hard words echoing in your mind with each breath as you shot up from bed with a hand to your chest.

“I think he did it.” And he did. In your dreams, he did it every time, and her voice breaking as she said it in your dreams made you sick to your stomach at the thought. Because love at the betrayal of another isn’t an honest or true love at all, and you wanted no part in it. Even if it was just your subconscious dreaming about it. 

You did your best to push your thoughts down as you got out of bed. You took your time making your coffee, stopping to take a moment to sit in front of your window. Your small orange cat, Nora, was curled up in your lap, purring steadily as you took the last few moments to relax before what was going to be an emotionally exhausting day. You took your time getting ready, locking the door to your apartment, and arriving at the botanical garden with just enough time to slip in without running into anyone you knew. 

The problem with this being Brock’s wedding was that you knew so many of the people here. His friends that you once shared together, his parents who once thought that this would be you and their son. You didn’t want any of them to realize that you were there. You were there because it meant something to Brock. It was the last thing you could give him to hopefully make up for the hurt you caused him. The same hurt that he had found a way to move on from, leaving you right where you left him, dust in your hair, and the same solemn expression on your face. 

You sat by yourself in the back of the garden, the space around you was decorated in dusty pink peonies and clouded with baby’s breath. It was beautiful, tragically beautiful watching her walk down the aisle. You had seen it so many times in your own dreams, the evermore sense of dread in your heart as this day approached gathering up into your throat, threatening to send tears down your cheeks. In another life that would be you. In a dream world, that would be you. But this wasn’t a dream, and you had to let him go. 

The closure was something you never searched for. To you, Brock was always who you thought you would have it all with. You thought it would be you standing there in front of all of your family and friends, you thought it would be you with the home and the family with him. You were so deep in the own hurt you caused when you left that you told yourself over and over again that it would still happen, he was still your forever because even if right then wasn’t the right time for you, the right time was coming. It wasn’t until you saw him smile at her as she walked down the aisle that you knew, Brock had moved on. He was happy, and that was the closure that you didn’t know you needed. 

You didn’t stay, you couldn’t. So you stood up and smoothed your pale blue dress out, slipping out the back with a soft click of your heels that wasn’t audible over the symphony echoing in between the stained glass windows. It hurt, more than anything you ever thought could hurt, but as you stepped out into the rain and flailed down a cab, you took one last look at the church and let Brock go. You never turned back. 

[imkylotrash]

Returning Home

Pairing: Saul Silva x reader

Request: Can you please do an imagine where Saul is married to someone younger than him who's a fairy who grew up on earth and when Andreas comes back they find out that he was an ex from a couple of years ago who went by a different name cause he was supposedly dead. Anonymous

Tagging: @grey-girl​ @intoanothermind​ @artsyle​ @baueoud​ @glowingatdawn​ @anreeixcobra​ @kingunder221b​ @lflores2008​ @alexiapayne12​ @quuenofblacks​ @quarterback-5​ @estelmei @bitchwhytho​ @music-of-melody​ 

“I’ve never told anyone this before,” he whispers having just admitted to his deepest secret. The one thing that could completely ruin him. You gently stroke his cheek to let him know that you understand. How he managed to keep this a secret for 16 years is something you can’t wrap your head around though. If it were you, you’d need to tell someone. 

“Are you going to tell Sky?” you ask trying to see his facial expression despite lying in the dark. It’s midnight meaning you should be sleeping but you’ve never been good at just sleeping. Two years into the marriage and you still stay up until the AM’s just talking and enjoying each other. You never expected for him to admit to killing Andreas though. You feel bad for Sky but you understand why Saul did what he did even if it didn’t change anything in the end. 

“I think I have to,” he replies inching closer placing a hand on your lower back. It’s taking a lot for Saul to talk about this but you think it’s good for him. For far too long, he’s been the soldier never letting anything get to him and always staying neutral despite his own beliefs. It sounds to you as if he’s never really fully forgiven himself for what happened that day. 

“He’ll forgive you eventually. You didn’t take the decision lightly,” you say praying that you’re telling the truth. You know how much it’ll hurt Saul to lose Sky after having raised him as his own. And in the end, it’ll hurt Sky too. He’s already lost so much, he doesn’t deserve to lose more. 

“One can only hope.” You don’t tell him that hope normally leads to disappointment because no good will come from that. But you can’t help but worry if Sky will be able to understand. It’s a lot to ask of a teenager. Hell, it’s a lot to ask of anyone. Logic never seems to make an appearance when it comes to family. You don’t sleep much that night instead lying awake thinking about what Saul had disclosed. You didn’t blame him for what happened but it made you feel a little queasy still. You couldn’t imagine killing your best friend even if it were for the greater good. 

“Have you slept at all?” Saul asks when he wakes up. You’ve just gotten out the shower grabbing some clean clothes. As much as you try to keep up the next few days passes in a blur as you’re nearing exams and the students are getting worried. The situation with the Burned Ones also worsens making it stressful on you and Saul too. You’re the most experienced hunters when it comes to Burned Ones but it also means that you live each day wondering if you’ll see each other again. The soldier in you tells you that this is normal doing what you do but your heart hates it. Your heart hates it so much that sometimes you wonder if it’ll be able to bear it. The school attack scares you because the barrier was supposed to always be there and now it isn’t. When you hear that the woman Rosalind is back from Farah, you get a very bad feeling in your stomach. All the drama is enough to convince you and Saul that you need a vacation once the school is safe and it’s time for summer vacation. You decide to head to Earth where you have a few priorities after having lived there for most of your childhood and teenage years. Your parents had been very much against the politic aspect of being a fairy so they had migrated to Earth instead opting for completely normal lives. 

“Explain to me again why it’s good business to invest in 3 different houses?” he asks always wanting the explanation but never actually understanding it. In the Otherworld you have one plot of land and you don’t go buying a vacation home. When you return to school, you’re shocked to learn that Rosalind has taken over. You know Farah would never step down voluntarily and you fear for what has happened to her. But the man standing next to Rosalind is the face that draws your attention. 

“John?” you exclaim. Your voice lures him in as he looks for the source. When he locks eyes with you, pure terror settles in your bones. Saul is still holding your hand completely in shock. 

“Andreas?” Confusion takes over when you hear Saul call him Andreas. And you know you’re not mistaken. 

“I hope you’re ready for another year of teaching,” Rosalind smiles satisfactory making you ponder just how quickly you could choke her with water. A flick of the wrist and you could manipulate the dewy drops on the grass to fill her throat and keep her from ever breathing again. But you’re outnumbered. Even if you managed to, there’s still be Beatrix and John who you still have no clue why Saul called Andreas. That’s definitely not Andreas. 

“Of course,” Saul says gripping onto your hand tightly. It’s time to play games if you want to survive. 

“We most definitely are, headmaster.” You give her a little nod which she returns. It’s a struggle to keep your mind empty but too much is going on for you to risk Rosalind taking a peak. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d love a good shower. We’ve been travelling for quite some time now.” Rosalind nods already distracted by something behind you. It gives you a moment to look over at Saul who’s white as a sheet. He doesn’t seem to be present and while you don’t know what has caused this reaction, you do know that you need to get him inside and away from prying eyes. So, you do just that. Behind you the Winx girls are arriving laughing and joking. That’s what caught Rosalind’s attention. 

“Y/N?” You look up to find John’s eyes transfixed on you. Then he smiles giving you the creeps. 

“It’s good to see you.” You ignore him dragging Saul with you. He’s slowly returning to the present making it much easier to walk. 

“I thought I killed him,” he whispers not paying much attention to you. 

“What are you talking about? How do you even know John?” you ask locking the door to your room to make sure no one enters without the two of you being prepared. 

“John? I’m talking about Andreas.” You’re really trying to put two and two together but right now it adds up to 5 and you have no idea how. 

“The man next to Rosalind is John. I used to know him when I lived on Earth,” You don’t use the word date but your blushing cheeks give it away for you. 

“His name is Andreas and he’s Sky’s father.” You bolt over to the dresser searching for any photo album. It’s never occurred to you that you haven’t seen a photo of Andreas. It doesn’t take too long to find a picture of him and Saul together laughing. Andreas is John, John is Andreas. 

“He must’ve used an alias to keep people from finding out he was alive,” you say staring at the photo suddenly feeling sick. You’d always wondered why he just disappeared all of a sudden back when you were dating. One day you came home to find a goodbye note and you never heard from him again. But it made sense now. Maybe his identity had been compromised, maybe he left to prepare for whatever was going on now. So many things about him made sense now; the always looking over his shoulder, never giving too many details about himself, not wanting his photo taken. He wanted to prevent prove of your life together. 

“We have to find out what they want. We have to talk to Sky.” You both hurry out to find Sky but it’s too late. He’s already talking to Andreas. The chance of the little boy not siding with his returned father is minimal meaning you and Saul will have to figure this out on your own. 

“I’m not sure what he’s doing here especially with Rosalind, but it can’t be good, Y/N.” You agree knowing that it’ll be up to you and Saul to figure out this mess. You can only hope that it won’t get messy but it seems pointless to hope something won’t happen when you already know this won’t be pretty. 

[johns-prince]

“I’ve seen religion from Jesus to Paul” I always thought that line wasn’t about John worshipping Paul, but about other people worshipping Paul. I mean, John is criticising religion in this song, he’s criticising worship. He didn’t believe in Jesus, so “from Jesus to Paul” doesn’t seem like it’s supposed to be about himself and his religions imo. I always thought it was about beatlemania and how people worship Paul like a god when in reality he’s just as flawed as any of us. It’d fit with John being mad at Paul.

I might be wrong of course! I never thought about it as John saying he worshipped Paul, so my point of view isn’t really well thought out or anything. It’s just what goes through my head when I listen to the song. I hope you don’t think I disagree with you or anything 🥺 I just love discussing mclennon

No, I think you’re right, but I also believe it’s more complicated than that.

I found something, and I find it really interesting:

“In this angry and bitter song Lennon attacks a number of falsehoods such as the idolatry of the Beatles and how he is the focus for many of those involved in the peace movement.” [x]

It’s incredibly curious how John went with using only Paul’s name, if that’s what this song is supposed to be about. If it’s supposed to be about the whole band itself, why only use Paul’s name in it? Why be so direct as that? We know why—

“The lyrics are some of Lennon’s most vitriolic, taking shots at religion, his parents, drugs, and even his former songwriting partner (“I seen religion from Jesus to Paul”). It presents a clear perspective on the past, a theme he would revisit on the Imagine album’s ‘Oh My Love’ the following year.” [x]

Now that make’s better sense, since I don’t believe this was taking a shot directly at The Beatles and the period of idolatry (Beatlemania), but taking direct shots at Paul. 

It’s hypocritical for him to basically claim people were worshipping Paul like some God or religion, when John was being no better in basically being quite obsessive about the man. The opposite of love isn’t hate, but indifference.

And again, if this song is supposed to be about criticizing the worship and idolatry of The Beatles, why is he only directly referencing Paul McCartney? 

Doesn’t add up. 

To me this song is not only for John to “air out” his supposed grievances, and emotions/feelings towards Paul, but to be petty, and lash out at his ex-partner.  

This song screams scorned lover to me, someone who’s clearly hurt, deeply hurt, and is lashing out and using music to convey how he feels. I don’t agree that it presents a clear perspective on the past, because it’s John in the 70s and we all must acknowledge that 70s John is not at all a reliable narrator, and often contradicted himself in interviews and double backed on what he’d say about the past, and what he had to say or feel about Paul. It’s his perspective, that’s true, but more-so a skewed perspective on not only the past, but of his feelings at the time and heat of the moment, towards Paul.

John was probably not only envious (To John, Paul is stable, he’s put together, and John recognized and acknowledged that Paul was extraordinarily talented and could very well succeed without him), but hurt that Paul, it seemed, didn’t need him to get along. A fear that most likely rooted and became a nagging insecurity, after Paul unleashed Yesterday in 1965, and then came the questions of whether Paul would leave The Beatles (John) and start a solo career. 

It’s obvious that the band broke up because of what was going on between John and Paul, their falling out due to John’s growing lack of involvement due to his use of heroin, which made him unapproachable and testy, his unhealthy escapism into Yoko and her influence/presence. In the end, it’s no real surprise that Paul left. John resented it, even if it was his fault, his doing and behavior that left Paul with no other choice then to abandon ship. 

So, Paul left him, and was planning on going solo, and launching his own band in the next year.

Now let me point something out put on your tinfoil hats let’s see if I don’t lose any of you here lol—

Now that I showed you what I been through Don't take nobody's word what you can do There ain't no Jesus gonna come from the sky Now that I found out I know I can cry I, I found out I, I found out

Okay, so I’m reading the two lyrics “There ain’t no Jesus gonna come from the sky,” and “Now that I found out I know I can cry,” as connected. While yes John didn’t seem to believe in Jesus, he was still spiritual. Now, take those two lyrics, of some messiah not going to come and how the realization of it, of the fact this religion or ‘God’ isn’t going to come down and save you— and finding this out, of course you’re going to cry. 

What you believed was going to somehow save you, save you from the miseries of life and save you from yourself, wasn’t actually going to come, or happen, that can really break person who was relying on such faith. 

I seen through junkies, I been through it all I've seen religion from Jesus to Paul Don't let them fool you with dope and cocaine No one harm you feel your own pain I, I found out I, I found this out I, I found out

Now, I do agree that John is knocking religion and idolatry worship, but also taking shots at Paul. 

But I just think John’s outing himself here, because, okay look. John’s seen through junkies— John was a junkie when writing this, let’s be real. He can say he isn’t fooled by them, but he clearly is— he was fooling himself. 

So let’s just go with John is apparently attacking The Beatles here— we all know John loved The Beatles, and had just as much faith and passion for it as Paul did. He put all his eggs in that theoretical basket. 

And throughout the height of The Beatles, who were the two always together? Who had plans about sticking together and growing old together still making music? Who two had ideas to write a musical together, one day? 

John and Paul were John and Paul, and both believed it was always going to be that way. They’d mentioned running off to Scotland to escape a potential draft, Paul had said that after The Beatles he and John would still continue making music together, that as they got older they’d even make music for other, younger musicians to play. It was ALWAYS John and Paul, like, always. 

So imagine you have all this faith in someone, all this love, you see them as a stable structure in your life, someone who rarely let’s you down, who’s ALWAYS going to be there for you, who has shared so many intimate experiences with, who knows you and has seen you without your armor on, seen the good the  bad and the ugly and still wants to be with you, who you’ve shared similar, vivid dreams with, who would experience misery and fear with you (the LSD trip), who seemingly shares a secret and unspoken language with you— only for all of it, to fall flat, for it to go horribly wrong, for them to (unintentionally) reject you, to hurt you and leave you feeling abandoned and alone. That perhaps they don’t love you in the way you’d come to the realization that you wanted them too. 

For you to realize, or feel, like they can’t save you, that they can’t fix you. Because, like you said, Paul isn’t perfect, he doesn’t always have it together, he wasn’t as stable as John believed him to be naturally— Paul’s just as flawed as any of us. He was struggling too, and simply couldn’t always meet John’s sometimes unrealistic expectations and desires.

I think in some way, The Beatles, and thus Paul, were somewhat of a religion to John. He believed in them unlike anything else. Even if partially satirical, the comment of them becoming Bigger than Jesus, I think that in itself is worship (even if that’s unintentional, or perhaps a Freudian slip) of what they all created together— what John and Paul created together. That they could become more popular than Jesus Christ himself, and the religions he’s attached too. 

So I honestly believe John was just telling on himself throughout this song. How John wrote his songs, they were personal, they had something to do with him, how he felt and perceived things, his desires and fears— even when attacking or criticizing someone, or something else. 

Cor I could be 100% completely wrong in my interpretation and analysis, and I’m just a biased McLennoner who needs to shaddup.

Now a side tangent real quick because I found this and I have something to say:

“This song includes the line: "The freaks on the phone won't leave me alone, so don't give me that brother, brother." Lennon explained the lyric to the January edition of Rolling Stone. He said: "I'm sick of all these aggressive hippies or whatever they are, the "Now Generation," being very up-tight with me. Either on the street or anywhere, or on the phone, demanding my attention, as if I owed them something."  [x]

In 1969 he and Yoko did that performative, elitist Bed In For Peace for two whole bloody weeks. Not to mention spreading all that “War is over if you want it to be,” sloganeering. Of course they (the hippie Now Generation) expected something from him, he’d been playing political activist with Yoko for attention, and he got it. So for him to be bitching about suddenly being looked too as some leading figure for these movements, I think is pretty telling. 

Like how it mentioned up there, that John had an issue being part of the main focus for those in the ‘Peace movement’, I think it’s funny, or at most annoying, how people claim John was some hippie or commie when, I think it was clear, he didn’t want anything to do with those individuals or whatever they were selling (I mean John was materialistic and a capitalist, all the boys were) John wasn’t political, he wasn’t very interested in all that, and like with most things, his fascination and interest in it faded quickly and he became bored and disillusioned by the ideologies and political figures, and dropped them.

I’m not saying John didn’t care, like anyone he had opinions and thoughts, feelings on subjects— he wasn’t seriously into politics. He wasn’t a political leader, he didn’t want to become a political figure or martyr, he wasn’t a radical of any sorts, and had admitted later on about being embarrassed about who he was during the Imagine period of his life, and regretted a lot of what he’d said or done. 

Anyway... I know this was supposed to be about dissecting the lyrical and personal(mclennon) meaning too “I’ve seen religion from Jesus to Paul,” but it really is all over the place. Sorry about that. 

[fanfic-requests]

The Angel Next Door - Chapter 2

8:15 am…

“Good morning. Sleep well?” My mom is way too chipper in the morning.

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Wow. Very detailed answer.”

“What? Do you want me to tell you how I drooled on my pillow and rolled off the bed twice?”

“Actually, kinda.”

“You’re weird.”

“What’s up slugger?” Dave walks in.

“Nothin’.”

“Wow babe, you’re kid’s quite the wordsmith.” I’m about to respond in a not-so-nice way, but I hold it back.

“When’s the pool gonna be ready?”

“It’ll be a few weeks.” My mom hands me a glass of orange juice.

“Thanks.” I start walking away.

“Hey! No food or drinks upstairs.” I turn to face Dave, really tempted to throw the OJ in his face.

“So no water? What about vitamins? Technically they’re food.”

“Haha, smart aleck.” He turns away from me and I flip him off.

My mom gives me a look that says “stop it!” and I just turn away, leaving my OJ on the nearest table.

When I get to my room I am very tempted to slam the door, but somehow manage to not do so. I open my window and just step out onto the deck to get some fresh air for the moment. And yet again there’s Asher. He seems to be playing some video games. So I reach into my room, grab a sock, ball it up, and throw it at his window. And he doesn’t notice. Son of a bitch. So I grab a pen and throw it. This time he notices and walks over to his window.

“What you doing?”

“Just playing some Madden.”

“Sounds fun.” I stand up, run across the roof, and jump across the gap between our roofs, landing directly in front of him.

“Shit! Dude!” He looks freaked out and I just start laughing.

“It’s all good. Now, are you gonna let me in and get destroyed in Madden? Or are we gonna just stand here like some weirdos from a 90s rom-com?”

“You’re crazy.” He steps back to let me in.

“I take that as a compliment.”

“You shouldn’t.”

I sit on his bed while he grabs another controller.

“I can’t believe you’re even awake right now. Did you even sleep?”

“I don’t sleep much.”

“So you’re super athletic and don’t sleep. Are you sure you’re not Spiderman?”

“Nope. Just a retired gymnast.”

“Gymnast?”

“What? You didn’t get gymnast off me?”

“Not at all.”

“Good.”

“How are you already retired?”

“Well I guess retired isn’t the right word. Just the one my mom uses.” I spot a photo on Asher’s desk and walk over. “It’s more that I got sick of it and left.” The photo is of him and what I’m assuming are his mom, dad, and younger brother and sister. “This your fam?”

“Yeah. From our trip to the Bahamas last summer.”

“Looks fun.”

“You’re parents seem nice. Saw them unpacking yesterday.”

“Dave’s not my dad.” I make sure to emphasize that.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“No problem. Most people assume that.” I sit back down next to him. “My dad’s out of the picture now. Dave’s the evil stepfather.”

“Sorry.”

“He’s just the stereotypical evil step-parent. It’s actually his fault that we moved here. Some business opportunity or whatever.”

“That sucks. I’m sorry about that.”

“You say sorry a lot.”

“Sor… Oops.” We both laugh.

“Now can we just play or are you scared of losing?”

“What? You’re the one that started talking about Dave.”

“Oh shut up!” I shove him and he shoves me back as we laugh.

“That was just dumb luck.” I stand up, throwing the controller on the bed.

“Dumb luck? 12 times in a row?”

“Oh fuck you.” Asher laughs. “Let’s do something else. Go out or something.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Out.”

“You sound like my mom.”

“I haven’t met her, but I’m assuming she’s amazing.”

“Eww.”

“Let’s go.”

“Wait. Let me at least tell my parents.”

“Fine. Come on.” I open his bedroom door and standing right there is his mom.

She smiles at me, looking very confused.

“Hi. I’m Spencer.”

“Hey.” She looks very confused, but luckily Asher comes walking up.

“He’s the new neighbor.”

“Oh! Really good to meet you. I was planning on dropping by to say hi to your parents later.”

“Oh, they’d love that.”

“I didn’t even hear you come in earlier.”

“Oh… yeah… I’m very quiet.” Asher and I share a funny look.

“Well, Spencer and I were just about to go out. Can I borrow the car?”

“Sure. Where are you guys going?”

“Oh… um…” Asher is nervous and part of me doesn’t want to save him.

“He’s going to show me around town.”

“That’s nice. You guys have fun.”

Asher and I run out to the car.

“Do you need to go and get shoes? Maybe tell your mom and Dave that you’re going out?”

I look to the house for a second.

“Nah.” I jump into the car and I just see Asher smirk at that.

“Is he really that bad?” He asks as he drives out of the driveway.

“Worse. But everyone loves him. He’s only awful to me, and never in public.”

“Like… is he…”

“No. He’s not physical. He wouldn’t even dare. I would knock him out with one hit and he knows it.”

“Damn.”

“Let’s move on to something else.”

“Like what?”

“Tell me a summary of your life… in 60 seconds.”

“Oh…”

“Begin!”

“Shit! My name is Asher Angel…”

“Angel?”

“Shh. Since I was a kid I’ve been very into acting and singing. Got my first big gig at the age of six. From there on I’ve done a lot of plays and then a few small gigs before getting a major role on Disney Channel’s Andi Mack. I’ve released multiple albums. Then I got the role as Billy Batson in Shazam.”

“Five seconds.”

“Oh, and I love Top Golf, basketball, and my sibling’s names are Avi and London.” I just look over at him, unable to speak. “You good?”

“Um… describe good.” We both laugh. “Well, now I feel ridiculous. How did I not recognize you? I’ve seen Shazam!”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I liked it a lot too.” Asher can’t help but laugh. “Well, now I’m embarrassed.”

“Don’t be.”

“And now my life story feels pathetic.”

“I doubt it. No way your life could be boring. The first time I saw you you were sneaking off your roof.”

“ It’s fine. Let’s move on.”

“Come on. I won’t judge.”

“Wait! Stop here!” I point to our left.

“What? The playground?”

“What? It’s empty.” He pulls over and I quickly get out of the car.

I rush over to the bars. I jump on them and just start swinging around.

“You’re crazy.”

“Come on. Who says a playground is just for kids?”

“Everyone.”

“Well, kids can’t do this.”

I know this isn’t the safest, but at this point, I don’t care. So I push with all my force and spin around the pole. I spin a few more times before letting go and doing a simple under swing dismount.

“Shit!” Asher starts clapping.

“Thank you. Thank you.” I bow to him.

“I think it’s so cool that you can do that.”

“It is pretty cool, isn’t it? Bars aren’t really my thing though. I’m more of a floor guy.”

“Floor guy? That sounds a bit gross.” We both laugh.

“Eww.” I step back and quick front handspring.

“Shit. Can you do the splits?”

“Of course. But not in these pants.”

“So why’d you quit? You’re so good.”

“Swings!” I run to the swings.

“You’re really good at avoiding things. You know that, right?” Asher sits on the swing next to me.

“I know. You got a girlfriend?”

“Wow. What a transition there!”

“And?”

“No. I don’t have a girlfriend. Well, I did, but we broke up a few months ago.”

“Bummer.”

“And you? You leave a girl behind?”

“Oh god no. But I’ve had a few boyfriends. Not a recent one though.”

“Oh... “ I love seeing people’s faces when they realize I’m gay. “Sorry I assumed.”

“It’s fine. Most people do.”

“So you’re out?”

“Yeah. For two years now.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, are your parents fine with it?”

I sit there for a second and just stare forward. Part of me just wants to run, but I’m honestly just too tired to keep running.

“Well, my mom was fine with it. She told me she knew for a long time.” I feel my heart racing, thinking about all of this. “As for my dad…” I literally begin feeling my chest moving at a dangerous speed.

“You okay?”

“Not really.” I find my eyes tearing up, but then I just laugh.

“You sure.”

“Not really.” I laugh again. “When I was six my parents divorced. And I was given the choice of who I wanted to live with. I choose my dad.”

“Oh…” I can tell he’s intrigued like it’s a telenovela… and it is.

“So I lived with him. But I still saw my mom every weekend. We were close. But I was much closer with my dad.”

“That’s nice.” I can’t help but laugh at that and he just looks at me confused.

“Two years ago I came out to my parents. My dad couldn’t handle it. He kicked me out. I didn’t even get to pack. My mom picked me up and she had to pack all my stuff.”

“Damn. I’m sorry.” It is a struggle to not let my tears out right now.

“It’s all good.”

“Have you talked to him at all?”

“Nope. Haven’t heard a single word from him for two years now.”

“I can’t imagine that.”

“It’s fine. I’ve moved on.”

“There’s no moving on from that.” And then I snap, tears slowly falling down my face.

“God I wish I had my flask right now.” Asher and I both laugh a little. “Ugh, I hate this.” I wipe my tears.

“It’s not a bad thing to cry.”

“I know…”

“Really. Emotions aren’t a bad thing. If you ever need to talk about anything just jump on over.”

“Thanks…” I look at him. “Are you sure you’re straight?” I laugh, but I notice he doesn’t.

“Wanna go get some ice cream?”

“Look who’s avoiding things now?” We both laugh. “Come on. Ice cream sounds perfect.”

[fanmoose12]

Partners

Characters: Petra Ral, Levi, Hanji Zoe x Levi Genre: Action / Mystery / Romance Rating: T

Detective!au

Summary: when Petra was promoted to a detective and partnered up with legendary Levi Ackerman, she felt like the happiest person in the world.

But, as she soon found out, detective Ackerman she used to admire so much was actually a far cry from the ideal policeman Petra thought he was. He was rude, harsh and easily annoyed. And, in addition, he still hadn’t moved on from the death of his previous partner - detective Hange Zoe.

Chapter 7/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Сhapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

It was a recurring dream of hers.

She was sitting behind the desk in a room she couldn’t recognize. There were three other desks there, a big shelf, filled with documents and a black, leather coach. On a desk in front of her, there was a computer, a dozen of folders, pens and used coffee cups scattered around, and on the edge stood a plate. For some reason, Hange was sure that her name was written on it. There was another plate, which was propped up on a desk that was set beside hers. Hange took it in her hands numerous times, trying to see what name was written there. The letters were always too blurry for her to understand.

Evidently, she was inside an office of some sort. The place seemed familiar, extremely so. Hange knew that there was a small crack in the window behind her desk, she knew that her chair creaked whenever she shifted her sitting position, she knew that the best tea was kept on a lower shelf.

And despite all the evidence that she knew this place, she couldn’t remember if she had ever been here. Or who she shared this office with.

In her hands she held a photo album and her fingers slowly traced one picture after another. Each page showed different groups of people – there were a lot of them, but there were only two men, who appeared at each photo. One was tall and blonde, the other one – short and dark-haired. Hange was hugging them in each picture, her face shining with happiness.

The men, however, had no faces.

Out of the dozen people who stood next to Hange on these photos, no one had a face. They were just silhouettes, blurry and hazy.

Same as Hange’s memory of them.

She knew they were important, knew that she loved them, dearly so, but she couldn’t remember them. She didn’t know who they were, she forgot their names and faces, couldn’t recall how their voices sounded like or how they took their coffee. Her mind was like a book that once was filled with memories. But now all the pages were torn out, leaving just the title and the beginnings of first chapter.

It pissed Hange off, it left her frustrated and confused. Who were these people? Were they colleagues? Friends? Family? If they were so close to her, where were they now? Why weren’t they still by her side? Had they left her? Why was she left behind?

These questions tormented Hange. Every time she woke up after that dream, she couldn’t help but ponder upon it, desperately searching for an answer. That’s why she hated this dream so much, it wasn’t as bad as the others ones - the ones about fire and child’s screams and— no, these were the worst, always making Hange wake up in the middle of the night with a hoarse scream on her lips. Dreams about her forgotten life weren’t much better, though. They made her feel so uneasy because—

Because she missed them. She didn’t know these people, had no clear memory of them, but still her heart ached to see them. There was a longing inside her so severe she felt like there was a huge hole in her chest. She had so many feelings, so much love to give—

But there was no one she could share that love with.

Usually, after a dream like that, Hange was reluctant to leave her bed. She could spend literal hours, chewing on her thumb and trying to regain what was lost. Sometimes she could almost see it, the beginning of a memory, a flash of something familiar, but it always ended there, never reaching anything conclusive. Didn’t stop her from trying, though.

This morning, however, was vastly different. This morning, the time for pondering was cut off abruptly, when someone had woken Hange up by roughly kicking the leg of her bed.

She woke up immediately. For a second she was confused, and then— then she got angry. She opened her eyes and put on her glasses, preparing the deadliest of glares for whoever had deigned to disturb her sleep.

Of course. It was stupid Floch. Hange threw a pillow at him, aiming right at his idiotic face. It hit him right in the center of his ugly forehead. If she wasn’t so pissed off, Hange would have laughed at his perplexed expression.

“The fuck are you doing here?” she asked furiously. “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re not allowed inside my apartment?”

Well, calling the place, where Hange lived, an apartment was quite possibly a huge exaggeration. Her home consisted of one room, a bathroom and a balcony so small she alone could hardly fit there. Zeke claimed that she started living there years before the accident that caused her amnesia had occurred. But, as with everything Zeke had told her, Hange found it hard to believe him – the apartment, when she returned from the hospital, was barren and lifeless. She couldn’t quite imagine living in such pristine place, especially considering the amount of clutter she had accumulated just after a week of living there.

But why would Zeke lie to her? She asked herself that exact question more times than she could count.

“Zeke wants to see you,” Floch told her, bringing Hange back to present.

“Cool,” she stood up and pushed past Floch, heading to the part of her apartment she proudly called the kitchen. In truth, it was just a tiny corner of her room, where a refrigerator and narrow countertop stood.

Yawning, she started the coffee machine and opened the small cabinet, searching for a clean mug. She needed to do the dishes, Hange noted to herself.

“Your place is like a junkyard, four-eyes. You’re living in a dumpster like a fucking raccoon.”

Hange softly chuckled. As with her strange dreams, it wasn’t the first time she had heard this voice. It often appeared inside her head, commenting on situations she had found herself in. Sometimes it gave her valid advice too. She didn’t know if this voice was a sign of her declining mental health, something that should definitely alarm her, or just a repressed memory of sorts. She tried not to think about it too hard. That voice brought her some comfort, and she was always happy to hear it. She couldn’t remember the name of its owner, of course, and since it was sarcastic and often quite rude, she nicknamed it simply ‘the grumpy one’.

“What are you laughing at?” Floch seethed, following after Hange. “And didn’t you hear me? Zeke wants to see you. What the fuck are you doing?”

“Making coffee,” Hange shrugged. “I’d offer a cup to you too, but, unfortunately, I have no poison to go with it. Don’t take it personally,” she smiled, baring her teeth.

“It’s urgent,” Floch pressed, glaring at her.  

Poor thing, Hange thought, as she was filling her mug with steaming coffee, he was probably thinking that he looked fearsome. In truth, Floch reminded Hange of an angry cat, who could do nothing, but hiss.

“If that was actually urgent,” Hange murmured, taking the first sip from the mug. “He wouldn’t have sent you.”

For a moment, Floch was silent. Hange’s smile grew bigger, as she waited for him to catch on. He wasn’t the sharpest tool in shed after all.

“What are you implying?” he asked slowly. He clutched his hands into fists, his chest moved up and down, as he struggled to keep his breathing under control. Hange barely kept herself from laughing. It would have ruined the effect.

“I’m implying, my dear Floch,” she lifted a hand, reaching out to his cheek to pat it with a condescending smile. Floch recoiled from her in disgust. “That you’re not the man Zeke trusts the most. I don’t think he trusts you at all,” she added with an infuriating smirk.

Floch growled, taking a step closer to her.

Hange watched him with giddy trepidation. Was he going to punch her? God, she wanted him to punch her so badly. It’d give her an excuse to punch him back.

“Try to be more civil, Hange, I know that he’s a jerk, but you both are a part of one team.”

That was another one of her voices. This Hange named ‘the serious one’. It was always spoiling all of the fun, but she couldn’t deny it – nine times out of ten, that voice was right in denying Hange her amusement. It was the closest thing she had to an impulse control.

This time, she decided to listen to it too, even though she wanted to have fun so, so much.

“I need to go and take a shower,” she announced, putting her mug with unfinished coffee back on the counter. “And if you, Floch, do not wish to join, then get the fuck out of my apartment.”

“Ugh,” Floch cringed at her suggestion. “Not in a million years. But hurry up. You don’t want to anger Zeke, do you?” curving his lips into a smug grin of his own, he gestured to Hange’s face. “I’m sure you remember what happens when you misbehave.”

The house, engulfed in a bright fire, a child, begging for help, the black smoke and hot flames, the weight of a small body in her arms, the sharp edge of a knife that punished her for saving an innocent life, the pain in her left eye—

Hange shook her head, pushing these memories to the back of her mind. It was enough that they haunted her at nights, she wouldn’t let them torment her during daytime as well.

“Just go already,” Hange sighed, walking past him. “Tell Zeke I’ll come to see him soon.”

 ***

Hange’s ‘soon’ came almost an hour later. Whatever Zeke needed from her, it definitely wasn’t urgent. If it was, he’d sent anyone else, but Floch. On bad days, that guy couldn’t be trusted even with tying his own shoelaces.

She closed the door to her apartment and walked up the stairs to get to the third floor. The previous headquarters of their criminal organization was blown up - damaged weaponry was to blame, or so Zeke said. And ever since, they’ve been hiding in one of the abandoned buildings at the outskirts of a city. The first floor was designed to hold the higher ranked members of a gang, the second was for storage, and the third floor was what Zeke called his briefing room.

The whole floor was used for that exact purpose, in a center there was a long oak table and all around it were plastic, uncomfortable chairs. On the wall behind, Zeke put up the writing boards, although Hange had never seen someone actually use them. They probably were there to simply create an entourage and not serve as something truly useful. Even man as efficient and cruel as Zeke wasn’t immune to bursts of theatrics, it seemed.

When Hange entered the briefing room, there was no one but Zeke and Pieck inside. Hange grinned instantly, waving to Pieck with a clear glee, reflecting in her glasses.

Hange liked Pieck. A lot. Pieck was overly sarcastic and in all the time they knew each other, Hange honestly didn’t remember if they had at least one friendly exchange, but Pieck was funny. And trustworthy too. When Zeke had punished her for saving a child of his enemy, Pieck was the one, who helped her treat the wound.

However, if there was no one there, but Pieck, it meant that Floch was right. Zeke wanted to tell her something important. Something he wanted to keep a secret.

“And here you are!” he spread his arms in welcoming gesture. “We’ve been waiting for you for quite a while.”

“Then let’s get it over with quick,” Hange trudged up to one of the chairs and plopped down on it heavily.

“Your desire is my command,” Zeke put on a pleasant and obviously fake smile. Hange didn’t smile back.

“There is someone I need you to meet with,” Zeke began, lighting up a cigarette. Hange cringed in disgust, she hated cigarette smoke. And Zeke knew it.

“Who is it?”

“A past associate of mine. We’ve… drifted apart after the accident. I need you to go and see if we can rekindle our love.”

“And…” Hange tilted her head, observing Zeke carefully. “Why does it have to be me?”

Zeke shrugged. “You’re smart, Hange. And, unfortunately, the same can’t be said about all of my employees.”

“You’re the only one I can trust with this, Hange. I know you can do it.”

Hange had to blink a few times, because this time… it wasn’t just a voice. No, she could also see piercing blue eyes and strong jaw. She could see them as clearly as she saw Zeke and Pieck in front of her. Zeke’s eyes were blue too, but nothing like that vivid, bright color Hange had just seen. What was it? A memory? A vision? Was she truly losing her mind?

“…Oi, you weirdo, hey— goddamn it, Hange, do you hear us?”

She instantly snapped back to reality.

“Yes?” her lips curved into a lazy smile, as she turned to face Pieck. “Do you need something, dear Pieck?”

Pieck didn’t roll her eyes or even scoff. Instead, she continued to carefully survey Hange, chewing on her lip worriedly.

“What the fuck was that?” she asked after a moment, her eyes still following Hange’s every move. “It looked like you just blacked out or something. Were my concerns about your sanity actually correct?”

Good question, Hange mused internally.

Externally, she waved Pieck off, putting her arms behind her head and sitting back in a chair. She relaxed in her seat and willed all of her troubling thoughts away.

“Everything’s awesome, dear Pieck. So,” she looked back at Zeke. “Who do I have to meet?”

“His name is Djel Sannes,” Zeke answered, looking at Hange just as intently as Pieck did moments ago. “He’ll be waiting for you this evening in an underground parking lot of the local police department.”

“Police department?!” Hange frowned, taken aback. “Are you insane?”

“What?” Zeke smiled innocently at her. “Is there going to be a problem?”

“Duh,” Hange threw her hands in the air. “It’s a police department, Zeke!”

“Yeah,” he took a drag of his cigarette and then slowly released a white, fat ring of smoke. “And what of it?”

“Have you forgotten,” Hange gritted through teeth. “That we’re members of a fucking gang?”

“We’re a part of a criminal organization,” Zeke corrected, his face contorting in disgust. Of course, how Hange could forget. Calling themselves a gang was too unsophisticated for his snobby ass. “And don’t you worry,” Zeke sent her another smile. “That’s why you’re meeting in a parking lot. No one will know that you’ve even been there. Besides, you’re not going alone.”

Hange lightened up. “Pieck is coming with me?”

“No,” Zeke’s tapped his fingers on a table’s surface, and Hange had a sinking feeling that told her she would really hate his next words. “Floch is going to go with you.”

“Fuck, no,” Hange answered immediately. “I won’t go with that jerk, no fucking way.”

“Don’t be like that, Floch can be annoying, I know, but there is a lot he can learn from you.”

God, just the thought of spending time with that idiot made her skin crawl.

“He’ll be a good boy, I promise,” Zeke added sweetly.

Hange sighed, getting up to her feet. “If he so much as opens his mouth at inappropriate time, I’ll punch him so hard he forgets his name.”

“That’s a deal,” Zeke nodded. “And Hange?” he called when she was almost at the door. “Do you think you can handle going to the police department?”

Hange narrowed her eyes. “If no one will notice us, then what’s the problem?”

“You sure?” he asked again, giving her a weird look. Hange stared back, not sure what the fuck was going on. Was it some kind of a test? If so, then what was its purpose?

“Of course,” she mumbled and left the room.

She wasn’t in a mood for Zeke’s mind games today. She had Floch to deal with, and he already was annoying enough to cause her a headache.

  ***

“I want to make something clear,” Hange fixed Floch with a hard look. “In this car, the driver always chooses the music. Blink if you understand.”

Floch glared back, but as he saw that this wasn’t working on Hange, he sighed and nodded. “I understand.”

“Great!” Hange smiled and clasped his shoulder so hard, Floch cringed. “Then let’s go! An exciting trip is ahead of us!” she started the car and turned on the music. The first notes of “Let it go” began to play and Floch groaned. Hange’s smile widened.

“Your music taste is as shit as ever,” the grumpy one in her head said. “At least it’s not me who is suffering this time.”

  ***

"You have to turn left," Floch fumed exasperatingly.

"Shut up,” Hange snapped, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

"The GPS says we have to turn left," Floch lifted his hand, trying to reach out to Hange and take the wheel under his control. She harshly slapped his hand away.

"The GPS is wrong then," Hange blew a stray hair away from her face. "My route is shorter."

"And how do you know that?" Floch demanded.

"I just do," she sighed, trying very hard not to focus on that question. She just did know that this route was shorter. Just like she knew that there was a food court nearby that sold delicious hotdogs. And that on weekdays, the traffic was terrible, especially in the afternoon. She just— she just knew. It was  S a mystery, same as her confusing dreams and weird voices inside her head.

One crossroad later, their car stopped in front of the precinct's parking lot.

"There," Hange announced proudly. "We arrived."

Floch frowned. "The ETA said we would be driving for another five minutes."

"The shorter route," Hange reminded him with a grin. "Now go!" she gave Floch a rough shove, pushing him out of the car.

"What the fuck?" he complained. "I was supposed to go with you!"

"And you will," Hange explained with a roll of her eyes. "But I need you to check if the parking lot is really empty. We can't be seen, remember?"

"Riight," Floch reluctantly agreed. "So I just have to go in there? Make sure that it’s deserted?"

"I take my words back, Floch," Hange looked at him impressively, pressing a hand to her chest. "You're not a complete idiot after all."

"Fuck you," he growled.

"Love you too!" Hange waved her hand, watching Floch get out of the car with a smile on her face.

As soon as he closed the door, Hange exhaled and looked up at the sky. The grey, heavy clouds were gathering up above. The streets became darker and the city around her looked ominous, as though signaling every citizen about the upcoming disaster. Hange instantly admonished herself, she was being ridiculous. The cloudy weather could mean only one thing - that it was going to rain. And a little rain hardly ever hurt anyone.

"Makes everything look so messy, though."

Hange hummed, drumming her fingers on a steering wheel. She was a mess. She wondered if the grumpy one would like her.

  ***

"The coast is clear," Floch announced once he was back inside the car.

"Any sign of our guy?" Hange asked, starting the car.

"Not yet," Floch shook his head.

"Someone is not a fan of punctuality," she tsked in mock disappointment. "Luckily, we're not in a hurry."

Hange drove the car inside the parking lot. Just as Floch had said, it was blessedly empty. She stopped near the center, so they would have a better vantage point. Then Hange turned off the engine and opened the door, walking out and stretching her limbs.

Now all they had to do was wait.

"Do you know what he looks like?" Floch stood next to Hange.

"I do. Zeke showed me a photo."

The man was probably working closely with them before. Hange felt like she knew him. But she wasn’t sure that sending her to meet with the man was a good idea. Sannes’s photo evoked a strong a sense of annoyance inside her. Hange wondered what kind of relationship they used to have before.

It wasn't long before she got her chance to find out. After several minutes of waiting, Sannes walked onto the parking lot. He wasn't alone, though. No, next to him was a short, dark-haired guy. There was... something about him. Even though, his back was facing her, Hange couldn't look away. Her breath quickened and she watched him, unblinkingly, waiting for the man to show his face.

And then he did.

He turned around, for just a second, but it was enough for Hange to catch a glimpse of his face. Her knees almost gave up under her, as a short gasp escaped her lips.

It was— it was Levi.

Hange's head began to spin as memories from her old life came rushing back to her. She staggered backwards, falling to her knees, as all of it nearly overwhelmed her. It felt like her skull was going to combust from all the information. She remembered now, remembered almost everything.

Her days at the academy, meeting Levi and Erwin and then befriending them both, her first case and hundreds that followed after it, the sleepless nights, spent in the precinct with Levi by her side, the morning coffees she shared with Erwin, the jokes she told to Moblit and his team during lunches, the bar where they went to drink at after work. She remembered Erwin’s smile and Levi’s scowl, remembered the soapy smell of his hair and the warmth of his hand on her shoulder. Remembered how tightly he pressed herself against his side whenever she had too much to drink at the bar. Remembered the concern that appeared inside his usually emotionless eyes whenever she got hurt or wounded. There was so much she was missing, there was so much that was taken from her.

Hange seethed as she thought of what Zeke had done to her and everyone she cared about. Before she succumbed to the anger completely, though, rough hands grabbed her shoulders, grounding her in reality. She looked up, blinking a few times.

Floch was crouched in front of her.

"What the fuck?" he looked at her with a mix of annoyance and panic. "Have you finally lost it?"

Having your life turn upside will do that to you, Hange mentally scoffed.

But now she needed to focus. She couldn’t let Floch know that her memories came back.

So she put her feelings to the back of her mind, shutting them off, and forced a smile. "No need to worry," she patted Floch’s shoulder and rose to her feet. "Just feeling a little bit dizzy. Shouldn’t have skipped the breakfast."

Floch narrowed his eyes in suspicion, watching Hange for another second. But then he rolled his eyes and stood up too. Good, he seemed to have bought her lie. "You're such a freak."

"I'm simply unique," Hange grinned. "Now, hurry up and get to work."

"Huh?"

"Our guy, Floch," she pointed behind herself. "He's leaving. Go and talk to him."

"Didn't Zeke tell you to do that?"

"He did, but things changed. See that shorty next to him?" the nickname rolled easily off her tongue. How could she forget her favorite clean freak, Hange wondered absentmindedly. She must have hit her head pretty badly. Levi always said she was too scatterbrained for her own good. "We need to distract him. I'll do that and you talk with our target. Alright?"

"Alright," Floch agreed.

As soon as Floch left, Hange sighed in relief. One less thing to worry about. For a second, she watched as Floch maneuvered between the cars in the shadows. Then she turned back to Levi. He was already finished with tearing Sannes a new one, and was now walking right in Hange’s direction. He was probably heading to his car, she tried to calm herself. She was well hidden in a shadow and she stood behind a car. He wouldn’t be able to see her. There was nothing to panic about. Still, Hange’s heart was beating so loudly, she was sure Levi could hear it too.

She wanted to go to him. Every part of her screamed with need to see Levi. To look at his scowling face, to hear his raspy voice. It took all of Hange’s willpower to tear her gaze away from him. She couldn’t do it, not right now. She was a mess, a clatter of old memories and dozen contrasting emotions. She needed to keep it together, to sort it all out.

Yes, that was what she was going to do. Fuck Floch and Sannes, she couldn’t deal with them right now. What she needed was to clear her head. With that in mind, Hange decided to get back inside the car. She looked back for a second, checking on Floch. He was already by Sannes’s side, leading him out of the parking lot. Then she glanced at Levi. He was standing on the other side of a parking lot, a distance away from Hange. He was next to his car, and Hange couldn’t keep a smile off her face, as she realized that he was wiping off a stain from his rear window. God, what a clean freak, she thought, feeling her chest fill with affection.

It wasn’t the time to stare or reminisce, though. She needed to move, to get out of here before her resolve crumbles. Hange took a step in the direction of her car. She did it slowly, not taking her eye off Levi even for a second. He was still fumbling with a stain, so she took another step. She was almost close enough to open the door. Hange lifted her leg and then—

And then her shoe squeaked.

Levi snapped his head around instantly, looking up in alarm. Hange put a hand over her mouth and sank to her knees. She froze in that position, watching Levi with wide, panicked eye.

“Who is there?” he asked, narrowing his eyes and taking a step closer. A car separated them, and Hange prayed that Levi wouldn’t check behind it.

He stood there for what felt like hours. Sweat began to drip down Hange’s forehead, as she tried to predict Levi’s next move. She heard him take another step and then put his hand on a hood of a car.

“Is anyone here?” Levi repeated his question.

Hange closed her eye, pressing hands tighter to her lips. If she so much as peeps right now, she was doomed.

Levi glanced between the cars and then sighed, turning around.

“I really need to sleep,” he muttered, raising a hand to ruffle his hair. He looked around the parking lot once again, and then started heading back to his car.

Hange waited for him to get inside, and only then allowed herself to relax.

“Fuck,” she breathed out, watching as Levi drove away. As soon as he left, Hange jumped up and hurried to her own car. She hopped in and started the engine, eager to leave this place behind as quickly as possible.

There was a lot she needed to think about.

  ***

Someone was looking after it.

There were fresh flowers – peonies, her favorite. All weeds had been taken out.

On a bright, white stone there was an epitaph engraved.

A brilliant mind. The kindest of hearts. A loyal, dear friend. Without your shining presence, the world had lost some of its light. Staring down at her own grave was... a weird experience. Hange wasn't yet sure how she felt about it.

Normal people would probably be weirded out by this. Some would start contemplating their own mortality and the impact they leave on the world. Most would be afraid to even look at it. Hange felt nothing but burning, seething rage.

Zeke would pay for this. No matter what it takes, be it her own life, but Hange would bring him to justice. She would do anything to ruin his life. Just as he had ruined hers.

She didn't know for how long she was standing there motionlessly, lost to her swirling thoughts. The rain had started - a cold, heavy downpour - but Hange paid no mind to it. She was so far gone she didn't even hear the approaching footsteps. Or a quiet, shocked gasp.

She felt a trembling hand on her elbow, though. She whirled around and saw those piercing blue eyes.

Tears started to well up in her own eye, as she stared up at him.

"Hange?" Erwin whispered softly, quietly as though he was afraid that his loud voice would shutter the feeble illusion. That Hange would disappear like smoke in the wind. "Is that really you?"

"I guess?" she chuckled. The tears were now freely streaming down her face.

"Hange, oh god," Erwin threw away his umbrella and quickly shortened the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her.

Hange buried her face into his jacket, sobbing loudly.

"I missed you, Erwin. T-there is so much I need to tell you."

"And I'll gladly listen to you," Hange could hear a smile in his voice, and she felt her own lips curve upwards too. "But as for now," Erwin leaned in and gently kissed the crown of her head. "Welcome back, Hange."

[mellowasinyellow]

100daysofwriting - Day 1

So I thought for the first day I might just briefly outline all of the WIPs I have actually made a start on and that might help me to decide where I want to focus some energy. I have some for Katniss/Peeta in THG fandom and some for Natasha/Clint in the MCU.

Everlark

folklore series - so I started this series of fics inspired by songs from Taylor Swift's album folklore because honestly those songs just immediately bring to mind so many scenarios that made me think of Katniss and Peeta. I made a start on chapters based on peace, my tears ricochet, invisible string, this is me trying, and mad woman. I also have a bit of an outline for continuing the story that was started in 'the 1'.

I've had this one WIP ongoing since about 2015(?) which is a bit of a monster that has grown beyond me but basically it involves Katniss and Gale being raised in the Capitol in relative poverty after their fathers are conscripted into the peacekeepers because of traitorous activity. Mrs Everdeen is still from 12 but was moved to the Captiol to be married (this part is sketchy) and she still had a little childhood romance with Mr Mellark. Peeta gets reaped and Mrs Everdeen reacts to this as he looks like his father. Katniss gets a crush on him as she watches him prepare for the games. She hates herself for it but finds herself checking up on how he is doing even during non-mandatory viewing.

Arranged Marriage - I feel like this is such a cliche for thg fandom, but I just imagined my own way that the pairings happen but I'm so bad at writing slow burn so this will probably never materialise, but if you want a semi-decent thought out pairing/arranged marriage system I would be happy to lend you mine.

Miscarriage fic - I will never post this, but it's in my WIP folder. It's full of nasty feelings that feel a little better when they are written about.

Modern AU Pandemic Quarantine! - ofc, this is essential. Katniss and Peeta end up as the only people not to move home from their dorm for the quarantine. Slow burn that I can't fucking write should ensue.

Canon Pandemic Quarantine AU - pandemic a few years after the end of the war forces Katniss to admit she wants Peeta as more than a friend with whom she hunts, bakes, rebuilds the district. Cue sexy pandemic times and a resentful Haymitch that keeps accidentally breaking the rules.

Divorced but co-parenting Everlark - obviously finding their way back together

Another classic of their children being reaped and dying - I don't know why I write things this depressing. They just tend to come out in one big rush and then I never address them again.

Real weird teen pregnancy modern day AU - don't know where it's going or why...

Modern day AU dead Prim - Peeta and Katniss just met each other through mutual friends and are kind of flirting. Peeta is a bit infatuated. Katniss stops going to mutual friend parties and he finds out it's because her sister died. Instead of staying away he gets tangled up in her grief and does all sorts of practical things while Katniss wallows. Also it's E rated but not that much fun... can't entirely explain where this one came from either...

Single Parent AU where Finnick and Annie play match maker. Probably my fave Everlark in the works but it's another one that has grown so big for the 20 minutes I can dedicate to it each week.

Clintasha

Red Room Take Down - Nat and Clint are retired and living a quiet family life with their child. SHIELD appears asking for Nat's help in taking down the red room and dealing with the fall out, specifically what to do with the girls that they get out. Nat is torn but chooses to go. Chaos ensues with the 'rescued' girls. I need to actually develop some OCs a little if I ever want this to be good but tbh the pending Black Widow movie is kind of holding me back on this one too because I hope we find out more about the red room.

So I have a weird habit of writing from Lila Barton's POV. I can't explain it. I have AoU and like to pretend it never happened but anyway I have a WIP about Lila detailing the collapse of her parents' marriage after Clint retires and he and Laura actually have to spend time together without Natasha. She then goes on to describe the custody settlement and her utter joy that Auntie Nat sleepovers with them at her dad's place. She feels utterly betrayed when she finds out they are getting engaged.

Fluffy AU - Clint and Natasha in an established relationship with a son born between infinity war and endgame. Natasha still sacrifices on Vormir, but Steve gets her back no bother and it's so nice and happy and fluffy and Clint and Natasha are together and they have a son who has both parents back and Steve gets to make all this happen and he is so happy too and they have a barbecue and go swimming in a lake and clint/natasha have private time, and their kid wants to be captain america, and did I mention how HAPPY everyone is?

Another fic similar to the above just about everyone being so HAPPY. Endgame reverses the snap and instead of weird farm family coming back Clint and Natasha get their daughter back and it's just a cute moment about her reappearance and their race back to the spot she disintegrated from. (Steve/Bucky go to Vormir and Steve is sacrificed, but that fucker CHOSE to leave).

This is another one that has just grown bigger than my brain. it's based off the idea that Natasha helped with coordinating fosterings during the blip time. Clint loses his mind when he loses his family and crashes in BedStuy but finds a neighbour girl (Kate Bishop) who is fending for herself in post-apocalyptic Brooklyn. He helps her out and tries to get children's services involved but it has collapsed. Finds out Natasha is the one getting everything in order. He gets in touch. She's at the end of her tether and asks why he can't keep looking after her. In the end he does and she ends up getting involved and all three get overly attached to each other. I haven't got as far as the events of endgame and idk what's going to happen. It might be tragic.

Pregnant Natasha but nobody knows what is wrong with her because they don't even suspect her being pregnant is possible. Just a real vivid description of the early unpleasant pregnancy symptoms.

Another absolute monster - Sort of canon compliant to begin with aside from before the farm family disappear. Clint and Laura are in the middle of separating and tensions are running quite high at the farm. Snap happens. Nat and Clint accidentally run into each other while both a bit low during the blip and get drunk and share home truths. Begin working together from HQ and both get a little less sad. He convinces her she doesn't have to be responsible for the world's fate every moment of every day. Clint has a break down at Morgan's 1st birthday and realises that things will have to change. Nat has this realisation later. They begin sleeping together. Accidental pregnancy. More feelings come out between them. They enter a more conventional relationship and have baby. Baby is really hard work (colic) and they struggle with comparisons and feelings of inadequacy. Pepper helps them to identify the colic and improves everything greatly. Happy times with baby while also running the avengers. Opportunity to reverse snap. Some good scenes between Nat and Tony. A big conversation between Nat and Clint about what it will mean. Steve and Nat end up going to Vormir together. Nat is obviously about to commit suicide. Steve over powers her and gives her a pep talk about the situation she is running away from and how to deal with it. He self-sacrifices. Clint goes back to farm fam and Natasha goes back to BedStuy with baby. Clint has to tell Laura and then the kids about the last 5 years and their new siblings. Nate is super into it. Cooper is a bit aloof and cynical. Lila is confused. Laura is quietly seething. Clint helps put the farm back together about 5 years of neglect and the kids meet baby. Family gets happier. Laura and Nat eventually meet again and it's civil/friendly.

My own version of what happened in Budapest.

The Call - inspired by a post here on tumblr. Nat calls Clint as she bleeds out. Just needs a beta reader and then I would consider publishing.

AoU reimagined but with Clintasha - I'm not sure where this one is going it's like a massive spider web right now with lots of ideas shooting off, but basically it is inspired by this post and just involves a lot of hoodwinking the other avengers.

Accidental Baby Acquisition - Natasha becomes Yelena's child's legal guardian after Yelena gets taken out. Natasha and Yelena are estranged at this point and Natasha things the whole thing is a trap and brings Clint along. He is surprisingly good with the baby so she ropes him in to teach her. The three of them end up bonding.

5 times there's only 1 bed + 1 time they choose to sleep in the same bed.

non-superhero AU Clint and Nat both think they have adopted a stay cat but actually the cat has owners and just likes strokes and eats a lot so has many 'families'. They get into an argument over which of them the cat belongs to only to find out the cat has owners and they are moving away. They decide to adopt a cat between them as both are not hope that much and the shelter refused them as single people. Slow burn ensues, which I am shit at writing.

[wyofabdoms]

Undercover I Do - Chapter 5

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: While on an undercover assignment posing as a married couple, you are attacked and nearly assaulted. Upon waking, all you remember about Javier Peña is what you remembering seeing from two photographs of the two of you posing as the happily married couple. As you struggle to regain your memories, Javi struggles with his own feelings for you.

Rating: Mature (Eventual smut)

Warnings: fake/pretend relationship, married and undercover trope, temporary amnesia, hospitalization, blood and injury, swearing, awkward Javi, unrequited feels, mentions of sex toys, feelings, pining, 

Word Count: 3132

Notes: You're released from the hospital, and Javi sets up house. While doing so, he stumbles across a couple of things that make him feel all kinds of ways!

Read on Ao3

You were released from the hospital two days later under the stipulation that you were to rest and were not to return to any kind of active field duty until fully cleared by the doctor and his medical team.  Over the course of those two days, some of your memories had seeped back in, like figures appearing through thick fog and slowly taking form and shape.  But, it seemed to you, not any of the really important ones were returning.  You remembered now some specific events from the last two years of your time as an agent: big busts you had made, critical incidents that had ended badly for your agency, colleagues that had been lost in the line of duty.  You had been able to recall many details of your work against the worst of the drug cartels in Colombia from the last two years and even further back...but most memories of things from the past three or four weeks were still a grey void with nothing in them, not even shadows to hint at memories waiting there in the fog.

You were rarely alone at the hospital: if Dixon was not sitting at your bedside, then Javi was there in her place. Between the two of them, you had managed to scrape together some large pieces that were missing about your relationships: you had worked with Dixon earlier in your career in San Diego and when she had risen in ranks and earned a seat down here in the thick of things, she had brought you along with her.  You had the feeling that she viewed you as a bit of a protege and you felt confident that the memories you had of her support and backing of you were true.  Memories about your relationship with Javi proved to be a bit more difficult to get confirmation on.  While both Dixon and Javi were very willing to discuss and confirm anything you asked about your mentor, when you inquired or asked for clarification on your history with your husband, both agents seemed to hesitate for a moment before answering you.  Dixon was more guarded than Javi and the older woman would often change the subject as quickly as she could when you asked her about your husband.  You got a distinct sense that she did not approve of your marriage to the man you had been partnered with during your time here.

You remembered that was how you had met Javi; you had been assigned as his partner.  You remembered the earliest days of working with him: how he had flirted with you and you had rebuffed him, how there had been moments when your partnership had skated the line of something more.  But it was only the older memories that seemed to come clearly to you...the closer to present day you came, the emptier your memories became.  You had tried to remember when exactly your relationship with Javi had made the jump from work partner to life partner.  When and how had the two of you told each other how you felt?  And you had zero memories of a proposal, a wedding....no memories at all of how it felt to touch and be touched by the handsome man who spent hours sitting in comfortable silence next to your bed. You couldn’t bring yourself to ask him questions about those things...not yet.

Surprisingly, Dixon was the one who escorted you when you were released.  After the older woman saw you carefully buckled into the passenger seat of the car, you inquired as to why Javi wasn’t the one driving you home.  Dixon’s eye flickered behind her dark sunglasses, and she mumbled something about him getting your apartment ready for you. She assured you that he would be waiting at your home when you got there.

Your home.  For a moment, your stomach sank, thinking about how you would be going back to a place that was foreign to you but was supposed to be a safe haven, a refuge, the home you shared with a husband you were supposed to be in love with.  Would you remember any of it?  Would anything that you found there help jog anything loose in your memory?

You could only hope.

***

“Fuck!”

Javi growled as he struggled to keep a box from teetering off the pile of other boxes that it was precariously stacked on.  His hands were full of his clothes on hangers, halfway between the box he had just removed them from and the clothing pole in the closet.  He had been struggling most of the morning with lugging half of his possessions down the two flights of stairs of their shared apartment building and trying to make it appear as though he had lived in this apartment for longer than a few hours.  Both he and Dixon had agreed it would be best for her to return to familiar surroundings...but they still needed to keep up the premise that the two of you shared a life together.

Javi had never given much thought to domesticity.  The closest he had ever come was Lorraine...and the brief moment of introspection he had had when he had seen her those several years ago at that wedding.  Thoughts had crossed his mind then: what would it be like to have a wife, to wear a ring on his finger, to have promised himself to someone forever?  To have a future that was shared with another person?  To make important decisions with another person and not just on your own?  To have 2.5 kids and a house?  But he hadn’t spent too much time dwelling on it simply because none of that was really who Javi was, was completely unimaginable to him.  He had never once really thought that sort of life would ever be one he would want, much less be able to live.  And, quite honestly, he wasn’t all that sure that that kind of life was one that he deserved.

Now, it seemed, life was playing a little gag on him: turns out maybe there WAS a way for him to see if married life was for him...although he did hate the fact that his partner had had to be injured in the process.  

One thing he was certain of at the moment, though: if getting married and divvying up and combining possessions was as big a pain in the ass for real as it was for this farce?...Well, that was a strike against matrimony in his opinion.

At first he had merely grabbed a small duffle bag full of items; things he thought he might leave at a woman’s house if he was spending the night or a weekend: a change of clothes, toiletries, firearm.  But when he had let himself into her apartment two floors below his in their building, it had struck him that that wasn’t going to be good enough. 

Her apartment was lived in.  Unlike his own, which he realized now seemed a little sterile and cold, her’s was warm and (though not a word he often used in his vocabulary) cozy.  She had artwork on the walls, shelves full of books from all different genres...even a few board games and some well-worn records on the record player stand. He spotted a rolled up yoga mat under a bench beneath the window and a couple of handwritten recipes and smiling photos tucked under bright magnets on the refrigerator. Her bedroom smelled of lavender and soft vanilla; the bed was neatly made (again, unlike his own) and dirty clothes resided in a hamper rather than tossed carelessly into a corner. The spare room that served as an office housed neatly organized work related content and photo albums of people from home, holiday decorations stashed under the guest bed; her closet had her clothes neatly organized (by color, who knew!?). He had quickly come to the conclusion that he might need to put a bit more effort into this charade.

So he had proceeded to spend the next several hours being swept into a whirlwind of imagining what a shared space would look like if the two of them were actually married.  He had started with the few books he had in his own apartment; a few biographies, some car magazines and a ratty copy of “The Art of War” and “The Hobbit”.  He had jammed them onto the neat bookshelves in her living room before returning quickly with some of his own records: some Cumbia records and an Eagles album, which he shuffled in with her own Steely Dan, Creedence Clearwater and Three Dog Night. 

He didn’t have much to contribute to the kitchen besides a few bottles of whiskey and a bottle of tequila next to her own bottles of red wine.  He had pulled a photo taken when he graduated from high school from his wallet and placed it on the fridge next to one of her with her huge family.  He paused a moment to assess the contrast in the two pictures: her in the midst of her five older brothers and parents, all wearing matching Christmas sweaters...him standing bashfully and stiffly next to his dad, who grinned proudly at the camera, one arm awkwardly slung over a teenage Javi’s shoulder.  The bathroom didn’t take long, either.  He added his razor, a bottle of Old Spice, and his toothbrush and comb; he glanced into the medicine cabinet as he placed his deodorant there and eyed what looked suspiciously like a package of prescription birth control...his mind started to wander and he slammed the cabinet door shut, heading back upstairs to his apartment for another load.  

He had strong-armed his clothes still on the hangers into some file boxes to make them easier to carry down the stairs, then had hauled shoes, underthings, suits, jeans, and (what he had not really realized until this moment) a ridiculous amount of the same style shirt in different colors downstairs and was now trying to wedge them into one half of her closet, trying to make it look like they had been there for a while and doing his best to not become buried by the haphazardly stacked boxes.  Once the last set of shoes was stuffed into the closet next to a pair of sky high red heels he had never seen her wear before, (he was CERTAIN he would have remembered those) he opened the dresser to shove his socks and underwear into a drawer and gulped. Staring back at him was a drawer full of his partner’s bras and panties.  

For a moment he felt like a creep pawing through her underwear drawer, but he steeled himself and carefully nudged the sensible pieces of cotton material to one side of the drawer.  As the material shifted, he spotted a brief flash of red lace and something that could be black and leather, but he refused to investigate any further; he could feel his face flushing and his heart pounding harder.  He dumped his own underwear into the drawer and shoved it closed, sighing with relief and opening the next one; socks wouldn’t cause his mind to wander into dangerous territory nearly as badly!  He carefully shoved the rolls of clothing to the side to make room for his own once again and felt his hand hit something.  His breath hitched as he uncovered what was very obviously a vibrator.  Next to it was a tube of lube and a small box about the size of a deck of cards.  Try as he might, he could not stop himself from carefully tilting open the lid of the box...Javi was quite educated when it came to knowing his way around a woman, but he was clueless as to the purpose or use of the two small colored balls nestled into the velvet inside of the box...although he was pretty sure he at least knew where they were supposed to go.  

His mind clouded with images of his partner stretched out on the bed behind him, bringing herself to orgasm using these items and he felt himself harden in his jeans.  He let out a puff of air and carefully nudged the items to the other side of the drawer, reburying them beneath the socks as they had been before.  He piled in his own footwear, then shakily closed the drawer, still trying to blink away the images playing out in his mind.  He wondered what her face would look like as she came apart.  What did she sound like?  Did she cry out when she reached her peak?  What would his name sound like tumbling from her lips in the middle of her climax, what would she taste like…?

He stormed out of the bedroom, furious at himself for going down that path.  He felt like a pervert, getting so turned on after snooping through her personal effects.  He was angry at Dixon for insisting that they do this; but he was frustrated at himself, more.  He shouldn’t be going through her things like this.  He splashed some cold water on his face from the kitchen sink and trudged back up to his own apartment, pacing for a while once he got there, trying to both ease his erection as well as determine what else he should bring with him back to her apartment.  His eyes settled on the shoulder case that had been retrieved from the house that had been used in the undercover operation.  He pulled out the two framed photographs that had been next to “their” bed; the photos that she had referenced when she had first woken up.  He stared at them, thinking that if he hadn’t been present at the time they had been taken, he would have believed they were real, too...that they were actual photographs of two people madly in love with each other.  

Maybe…

No.  He stuck both pictures under his arms, grabbed another box filled with work files, tossed his favorite ashtray and lighter in the box along with one or two small tchotkes, a couple of coasters and a small plastic plant from the window sill, and made one more trip down the stairs.  He dispersed the items randomly throughout her apartment, thinking to himself that it at least gave a more unified image of two different people existing within the same space.  

He hauled the box of paperwork into her second bedroom converted into an office space and plopped it down on the desk, taking one or two folders and strewing them about the top of the desk, again in stark contrast to her own organized, neat piles.  It started to reflect their separate desks at work now, which he found convincing.  He sat in the desk chair for a minute and quickly shuffled through the small desk drawers, double checking for anything glaring that might be difficult to explain.  As he opened the bottom drawer, his eye caught a blue leather bound notebook.  Flipping through it, he saw pages and pages of writing in his partner’s familiar handwriting.  As he thumbed through, he was startled to spot his name on one page.  He carefully flipped back, scanning the writing and was surprised to find that it actually appeared quite often.  He turned a page and began reading from the beginning:

“Everything sometimes feels so incredibly heavy here.  The job, the humidity, the pressure of being a woman in this man’s arena.  I hate it!  I hate that I have to be strong all the damn time.  I hate that it feels like I can’t seek the same comforts as other women...even if I have insisted that it be this way.  I’m so grateful and proud of myself...most of the time...like 95.5% of the time.  The other times, I just wish I could let myself cry when something heartbreaking happens.  When someone says something scathing that hurts my feelings at work.  When I watch Javi go off to sleep with yet another woman.

Javi.  That feels so heavy all of the time, too.  I can’t seem to ever level myself out when it comes to him.  Some days he drives me absolutely insane and I want nothing more than to bash his face in with a paperweight.  Other days, I just want him to put his arms around me and hold me.  Not do anything or say anything, just hold me tight…because he is, truthfully, the only single person that I trust.  

And yet, am I fooling myself in saying that...in saying that I trust him?  Because do I really?  If I really trusted him, why don’t I just go to him?  He only lives two floors up.  Why can’t I knock on his door and fling myself into his arms and kiss him and feel what it’s like to press my body against his?  Why can’t I bring myself to do that?  Well...probably because I don’t really ACTUALLY trust him...not with that part of myself.  Javi is the man I want having my back in a shootout...but is he the man I want to be next to me every night when I fall asleep and every morning when I wake up?  I dream about him sometimes...about him being in my bed with me, but we’re usually not sleeping...we’re doing everything but.  I dream about it and then I wake up feeling empty because he’s not there, because it wasn’t real.  The emptiness is heavy, too...”

Javi clapped the journal shut, feeling his stomach churn.  He shouldn’t have read that and guilt thrummed through him.  These were her private thoughts; never meant for anyone else but her to read.  Once again he felt like an intruder and he loathed himself...Dixon...that asshole Ortiz...for putting both of them in this situation.  He dragged a hand over his face, growling low in his throat.  He looked down at the box at his feet, still open with a few files and the two photographs staring back up at him.  He reached in and took out one framed picture, sitting it upright on the desk: the “engagement” photo.  He took the “wedding” picture out and then tossed the journal into the box, carrying both items from the home office.  He carefully set up the photo on a bookshelf in the living room, then put the lid back on the box and headed back up the stairs to drop the box off in his apartment and lock up.  Before he left, though, he made sure to slip the freshly cleaned gold band onto his left ring finger.

His wife would be coming home any minute now.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8,  Chapter 9, Chapter 10,  Chapter 11,  Chapter 12,  Chapter 13

[speechlessxx]

All I Have Left (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Summary: In which you struggle to cope two years after the snap.  

Warnings: Post-Infinity War/Snap, this wasn’t the original idea I was going for but I changed it on a whim oops, mentions of depression & survivor’s guilt, Prosopagnosia (face blindness)

No idea why I wrote this wtf.

Word Count: 1.5k

No one could’ve imagined Thanos being this unstoppable.

His gauntlet glowed with the power of the five Infinity Stones. Your mission was to stop him from getting to Vision – from taking the final stone and destroying life as you know it.

But one by one, your friends were defeated. You were thrown out of his way, landing into the dirt with a thud – your head smacking against a rock, rendering you unconscious. Steve had been able to catch his gloved hand only to meet the Titan’s free fist. Wanda had been successful at destroying the Mind Stone and her lover with it, but with the Time Stone, Thanos was able to bring Vision back and steal the stone, ripping it from the android’s skull.

When hope was lost, it was Thor who came out the skies, lodging his axe into Thanos’s chest. He taunted Thanos, who took the life of his brother just when they were finally getting along. But in Thor’s blind vengeance, he didn’t account for Thanos to say, “you should’ve gone for the head,” and snap.

Your friends started to disappear. Bucky, T’Challa, Groot, Wanda, then Sam along with half the universe. They all disintegrated and left dust in their wake.

In your blurry haze due to the head injury, you stood up on wobbly legs. “Steve?” You called out for your husband. Your vision was unfocused. “Steve!”

He was in front of you immediately. Your hands grasped his tightly, afraid he’d disappear, too. His hold on you was just as tight with the same fear. “I’m here,” Steve muttered. “I’m here.” The both of you crashed down to the floor next to Vision’s colorless, lifeless body. “Oh, god.”

That was two years ago and you hated to admit, but life moved on.

You initially planned to stick by Natasha’s side. She had opted to stay at the compound and be the head of operations for the heroes that stationed themselves in various areas of the galaxy. But you couldn’t do it. You didn’t think you deserved to be on the Avengers – or what was left of it – after losing a battle that killed trillions.

So, you and Steve opted for the quiet life in the city. He led a support group while you volunteered your time in foodbanks and shelters. You were both lucky to still have each other. You had the luxury of coming home to someone who loved you.

But you were plagued by the memories. In your dreams, you could still hear Wanda’s laugh or Sam and Bucky bicker. However, because of the traumatic head injury you endured while fighting Thanos, you couldn’t picture their faces. You couldn’t remember what they looked like.

-=+=-

In the shelter you volunteered in, a new face appeared. A young boy was brought in. He must’ve been 4 or 5. Any time a volunteer came up to talk to him, his arm would tighten around the teddy bear in his hands and refuse to talk. One of the volunteers, Melissa, came up to you and asked for your help.

“Hi there, pal,” you smiled at him as you crouched down to his height. “What’s your name?” He didn’t respond. He refused to return your gaze, keeping his eyes on his feet as he picked at the fur of his teddy. “My name is (Y/N) Rogers.”

“Like Steve Rogers?” He muttered. “Like… Captain America?”

“Yeah,” you nodded.

“Are you related?” He frowned, still looking at his shoes.

“Oh, no… he’s my husband,” you laughed a little and flashed the ring on your finger.

“Wow!” He said, finally looking at you. His voice rose an octave in excitement. “I love Captain America! He’s my favorite Avenger!”

“Really? He’s mine, too!” You beamed. “What’s this guy’s name?” You asked, gesturing to the bear in his hands.

“His name is Bucky like Captain America’s best friend… he’s my best friend, too.” Your chest tightened at his name. The blurry faced image of your husband’s best friend raced through your mind. The only thing you could clearly make out was the titanium arm.

“What’s your name, then, buddy?” You managed to say.

“Daniel.” He said. “Named after my dad.”

“That’s a lovely name, Daniel… Where’s your daddy, now?” The excitement in his eyes slowly faded with his smile as your face fell in realization. “Oh…” You whispered with a frown and slowly nodded, regretting that you asked. Tears pricked in your eyes, but you couldn’t cry. Not in front of the child who lost his father. “Well, sweetheart, let’s get some food in ya.”

-=+=-

When Steve came home that night, he found you in the living room with various photo albums scattered around you. He bit his lip as he approached you, knowing exactly what you were doing.

“Hon?” he said, softly, taking a seat on the floor with you. The heavy aroma of his cologne filled the room the closer he got to you and you looked up at him, recognizing the scent, knowing it was Steve, the one face you recognized the most.

“I hate this,” you whimpered. You were helpless as you stared at the photos.

“It’s not your fault,” Steve said.

“That’s you,” you pointed. “Tony. Nat. Rhodey. Pepper.” You stopped. Steve tilted his head to look at the face you were desperately trying to remember.

“Sam.” He answered for you.

“I can’t even remember my friends.” You frowned, closing the album and tossing it aside.

“It’s not your fault.” He repeated. He looked over your face. There was a faint scar from your injury two years ago. It had healed, but you didn’t. “Hon…”

“Why did we survive?” You frowned. “Why did this bastard think the world would allow their loved ones to disappear?” Your face contorted to show your disgust – your hatred – for the titan you could no longer picture.

“We’re still standing.” Steve muttered. “We owe it to those we lost to keep living – to move on.”

“I’m not one of the people in your support group, Steve.” You snapped. “I know better than anyone else that you don’t believe the words you preach.” He took a deep breath and decided to remain silent. You were angry. You were hurt. You were lashing out. He knew you weren’t angry at him. You were angry at the situation. It was understandable. “I met a boy who lost his father today and I swear… I swear if I could take my life just to bring back someone’s parent, I would… I really would.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“This happened for a reason.”

You scoffed. “You don’t believe that, do you?” He just stared at you. “So, you don’t think about our friends who died? So, you don’t wake up in the middle night because you dreamt of when Bucky got dusted right in front of you?”

No… Steve thought. I dream that it’s my wife that disappears and that terrifies me.

“I meant that … I meant that there’s a reason that we both didn’t get dusted – like how Tony and Pepper didn’t disappear, either.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that kids in the world – and throughout the universe – lost their parents. People lost the love of their life… And those who are left behind remember who they lost. I can’t. I can’t remember if what Wanda looked like. I can’t remember what Sam’s smile looks like or if Bucky had blue or green, or were they mixed. So, yeah, if I could, die to bring back one person to bring comfort for someone who needs it.”

“Then what about me?” Steve asked. His tone dropped as he became frustrated. “I’m nobody, right? Just your husband of five years. It’s not like I get comfort from waking up next to my wife. Not like I’m not comforted from the idea that I was lucky enough to have her wake up next to me.”

You sighed. He was right. You were lucky. You both were.

“I can’t bring back the memories. I can’t bring back the faces. I’m sorry. If I could, I’d share my brain with you so that you could remember, but I can’t and I’m sorry.” Steve voice broke. He put up a good front in front of the men and women in his group – in front of Natasha who was barely hanging onto hope. But he was just as broken and helpless, too. “But please don’t say that you’d happily die and leave me to help someone else. I’m sorry if that’s selfish, but I can’t lose you. I love you too much.”

“I’m sorry for saying that,” you whispered. You shuffled over and laid yourself on his lap. His arms wrapped around your waist. “I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.”

Steve buried his face into your hair, pulling you closer to him as if he were afraid that a second wave would hit and you’d disappear in seconds. “I can’t lose you, too, (Y/N). You’re all I have left.”

[peralta-guaranteed]

Romantic epiphanies are dope

At what point, though, had she decided that it was Jake of all people who would disrupt her calendar so completely, while also fulfilling the dreams she didn’t dare write down on it?

After all, if 11-year-old Amy had been asked to create a binder on her future husband - Jake would have not even been mentioned in the footnotes. If she could’ve wished for a partner back then, she definitely wouldn’t have specified that he had to be dorky and clumsy, constantly making bad jokes, living on a diet that would send any other person to the hospital for malnutrition, obsessed with action movies and cop heroics, spending his free time and money on the most useless things anyone could think of, and pranking and bothering her to his heart’s content.

-*-*-*-

On the evening of their engagement, Amy wonders about her own romantic epiphanies and what made her decide that Jake was the person she was going to spend the rest of her life with.

Read it on AO3

“What about you?”

The scene at Shaw’s bar had settled down a bit after the united ring of the squad had broken down into their own little groups as they always did. Gina was busy admiring Terry’s biceps from a corner booth, phone in hand as always, while he played a game of darts with Jake, who was shooting glances over to Amy every few seconds as if they had been apart for months again instead of just a few minutes. Charles was extolling the virtues of some new restaurant to Captain Holt, who definitely looked like he was preparing to leave ever since he’d stepped foot into the bar. Hitchcock and Scully were… well, somewhere, either asleep or eating, probably.

And Rosa was sliding onto the barstool next to Amy, a cocktail glass - Moscow Mule, her favourite, Amy had learned after literally a year of sleuthing - in her hand and a curious glint in her eye that didn’t quite fit the usually stoic face.

“Hmm~?” Amy gave her a quizzical look - she was not yet anywhere on her scale of drunkenness, still holding the beer she’d used to cheer during today’s round of toasts. She didn’t  want to get drunk tonight - she wanted to remember it all, forever. The little diamonds of her wonderful new ring were shining just perfectly against the dark brown bottle.

“What about you, Santiago. When was your romantic epiphany? Knowing that you’ll say yes if he asks?” Rosa raised an eyebrow and schooled a more appropriate, serious look on her face. “Because let’s be honest, as sweet as Jake is, his’ was pretty lame. You do cross word puzzles like, every night.”

“Oh, I see.” Amy gave the label on her beer a good scratching, peeling off the edges slightly. “I guess-” she started, but nothing else came.

While Rosa usually enjoyed drinking in silence far more than anything, right now she was on the level of inebriated where she would actually let loose enough to, ugh,  chat . And she wanted to chat with Amy, of all people. Well, she supposed, maybe that wasn’t quite so strange, considering she was one of her best friends. Actually, her best friend. Girl-wise, next to Jake. It was still a struggle to admit to herself that these two absolute dorks were far more than just co-workers to her, sometimes even more than just simple friends.

But Amy was still silent, staring at her drink as if it held the answer to everything (which it definitely didn’t if it turned her into Spacey Amy on drink 1).

“It’s fine if you don't have one, you know. S’not always like the movies.”

“No no, it’s just- it’s kinda-” The beer’s label was peeling some more, and the bottle was almost empty after another sip.

It was just kinda… the fact that Amy had always been split down two very different sides concerning marriage.

On the one hand, it had never really occurred to her. Her life plan, hanging proudly over her bed while she was living alone, now replaced by a movie poster of Jake’s that was luckily not Die Hard and the plan relegated to her little office corner, made no mention of it. She had plans for her career - many of them - and actually a few goals for her private life as well, to maintain a healthy work-life-balance as one should. But marriage? There had never been a date set on her wall for that. It was too risky, she’d reasoned even as a teen while drawing up her first plan. Unpredictable, since it involved a whole other person, and relationships couldn’t be planned and dated down to the day, which she hated to think about, and she wouldn’t have much time to date anyway if she was gearing up to be the youngest female Captain in NYPD history. And, if she was completely honest, it was sometimes too scary to think about as well - she knew she was a difficult person to be around, in some ways. Definitely difficult to handle as a romantic partner. What if she couldn't find a man willing to put in that work? And then see the dates on her calendar pass by, alone, or crying from heartbreak? No, marriage was not on her life plan at all, she’d decided at the ripe age of eleven in her pink and off-white bedroom while writing down all the big moments of her life to come.

On the other hand, it had always been an obvious yes. Having a husband,  having a family - she could imagine nothing else, growing up with all her siblings, with her parents still being obviously in love with each other after all these years, with her tias and tios and abuelas and abuelos all around her. What would life even be like without that kind of family? Without people over at her place every holiday, without someone trusted by her side tag-teaming all the tasks and duties of everyday life, without that little group of people that she knew would always be there, would always be loving and caring for her the way she loved and cared for them. It was unimaginable. She’d seen the endlessly romantic scenes in films and read about them in her books, and while she was not easily impressed or swayed even as a teenager, she was definitely... expecting some of that in her own life. She wanted the romantic moments, the flashbacks to tell her children and grandchildren about, the beautiful proposal, the perfectly-planned wedding, the photo album of years and years together, of all the milestones a couple could have. Yes, marriage was definitely on her life plan, tucked into the back of her mind and ever present.

At what point, though, had she decided that it was  Jake  of all people who would disrupt her calendar so completely, while also fulfilling the dreams she didn’t dare write down on it?

After all, if 11-year-old Amy had been asked to create a binder on her future husband - Jake would have not even been mentioned in the footnotes. If she could’ve wished for a partner back then, she definitely wouldn’t have specified that he had to be dorky and clumsy, constantly making bad jokes, living on a diet that would send any other person to the hospital for malnutrition, obsessed with action movies and cop heroics, spending his free time and money on the most useless things anyone could think of, and pranking and bothering her to his heart’s content.

Then again, that wasn’t Jake anymore - maybe it had been during their first few years as only co-workers, but he was constantly changing, growing up step by step, maybe a bit later than others, but definitely growing. He was always willing to learn, as much as he’d moan about it all. He was willing to get better, spurned on by competition, maybe, or by the desire to be the best -anything- he could be, not just best detective, but he was willing no matter the reason.

And then again, that wasn’t all that Jake had really been, ever - maybe on the outside, to the unknown onlooker, but not to those who really spent time with him. As careless as he was with his own health, he was always caring for everyone else in his own subtle and not so subtle ways. As ridiculous as his jokes and pranks were, he also knew exactly when they were not appropriate anymore, and he could lend a hand or a sympathetic shoulder just as seriously as he could stand guard for you if you needed a moment alone in the evidence lock-up. As much as he would boast about himself and throw jabs at everyone else, he would also turn into the ultimate hype-man for everyone on the squad at the mere mention of one of them failing or stumbling.

And if Amy had been given the chance to write a wishlist for the man she wanted to spend her life with at any point of her planning - that kindness, compassion and support would’ve definitely been on the top of it.

She realised she still hadn’t answered Rosa. Luckily, Diaz was exactly the kind of person who knew how to hold onto a weighted silence and give her all the time she needed without interrupting her. She simply sipped her heavy-on-the-vodka-please drink and waited.

“I don’t think I-” Amy started up again, realising that her beer bottle was now completely label-less, a small heap of paper on the bar counter next to her. “I don’t think it was one big moment, to be honest. I think it was a lot of little ones.”

“Like what, buying folders together to get his desk straightened out? The moment when he actually used a five-syllable-word right? The day he finally stopped mixing gummy bears with red vines and calling it ‘sugar bolognese’?”

“I know you’re making fun of it, but those were all milestones in their own way, okay?” Amy shot Rosa a little glare, which proved to be extremely ineffective against the other Latina’s taunting grin.

“But they weren’t the moments?” Rosa continued to poke her, turning her voice several octaves higher for the last words. “Where Jake turned into the knight in shining armour baby-Amy definitely used to draw into her diary?”

No, they weren’t. Sure, Amy was proud of Jake for all of them. But they weren’t the moments where she’d realised that this was it, that this person was  her person. That there would never be anyone who loved her the way he did, and that she could never feel for anyone else what she felt for him.

She tried to think of something romantic, something big to throw back into Rosa’s face, make her stop the jokes and understand. Make her see that it wasn’t about the grand gestures or the perfect match that made Jake her one and only, as cheesy as that sounded.

They’d had many big moments, that was for sure.

When he went in front of the whole precinct here at Shaw’s to cryptically talk about how much just six days with her meant to him. When she knocked on his door to say  screw light and breezy and his eyes lit up as if she’d just taken the weight of the world off of his shoulders. When he sat at the back of an ambulance, a bullet wound from her in his leg and the memory of Figgis’ gun still on his temple, and none of that seemed to matter because they were back in sync and he’d get to finally go back home with her. When he forfeited a bet, lost a collar and gave up his entire apartment for her happiness. When she was knee-deep in files at the precinct long after her working hours and her phone rang, an unknown number on the screen, and when she picked it up she heard his voice so far away and metallic and realised that he must’ve broken several rules and put himself into danger just to get a phone into prison to talk to her. When he spun an entire Halloween heist around today to get her to win it, all so he could give her that soft scared smile as she turned and saw him down on one knee.

Rosa knew about all of these. She’d witnessed them, or heard her drunkenly ramble about them during their weekly get-togethers. And they were all big moments, good moments, special moments she would re-tell to everyone who wanted to hear about her and Jake and their story.

But they weren’t all of it. They were the big plot points in their shared book of life, that was for sure. But they weren’t the kind of quotes she’d underline, the ones she’d write little notes into the margins for. The ones that made her love this book more than any other story she’d ever read.

Yet when she thought about those definitely underlined quotes that came up in her mind now, they all seemed so… trivial, compared to what you’d expect about romantic epiphanies.

Like the time she picked him up at the airport coming back from prison, when he leant back in his seat and took a deep, almost inappropriate sniff of her stupid little pinetree air freshener, telling her how unreal it seemed that someone could miss a smell like that, but that he’d longed for it for weeks now. That it wasn’t pinetree to him anymore, it was the comfort of Amy’s car, and their morning drive to the precinct when he was too tired to get into his Mustang, and Amy picking him up after a few hours too long working on a case, all wrapped up in one scent that he never realised he could miss. He was sniffing an air freshener, with his uneven beard scratching all over it, red eyes from an early flight and maybe a few tears they’d shed at the pick up area, and Amy was sure her heart could never ache as much for anyone else as it did for the tired man sitting in her passenger seat.

Or the time she’d come home from work on his first day off after they’d moved in together, expecting to see her prim and proper apartment turned into a slouchfest the way his old place had been. Only to realise that nothing had changed - safe for the take out containers next to the sink, which had enough left in it that they could share it for dinner. Only to realise that he had actually done all of the laundry,  and  folded all her socks and underwear exactly right,  and  even folded the fitted sheets properly,  and put it all into the closet in the system she’d developed but never actually written down, because it came to her like second nature. Only to realise that meant that he’d watched her, every time she’d done it, to learn it all perfectly so he could do it for her. And she looked at him as he jumped up from the couch to heat the take out for her as she changed out of her work clothes, and realised that she never wanted to share her home with anyone else.

Or the time he’d first been invited to the big Santiago summer get together, and she’d stressed over it just as much he did, making information binders on her family and their quirks and their habits and what he could say and what he should absolutely not say. But when the party finally came, and he’d squeezed her hand so nervously stepping into the living room, he managed to remember every single brother’s, sister-in-law’s, niece’s and nephew’s name, made extra time for her abuela Claudia’s stories and waited for her tia Maria to translate everything someone yelled in Spanish for him, sat down at exactly the place on the table that would’ve secretly been reserved for him as a test, and slipped into dinner conversations and children’s games down at the lake as if he’d always been there, always been a part of her family. She watched him running from her nephews’ water guns and secretly rolling his eyes at her while talking to her brother David and offering his arm to her abuela Sofia on a walk the way he would usually offer it to her, and she realised that it fit so well because he should have always been there, that this spot in her family had always waited for him.

Or the time she’d started her period while staying over at his place for the first time ever, waking up to stained sheets and cramps and the rushing feeling of pure embarrassment, telling him she was so, so sorry and would buy him new sheets and probably better get home so she could deal with this and not bother him for the rest of the weekend despite the plans they’d made. And he’d simply gotten out of bed, rummaged through a cabinet in his bathroom and returned with painkillers, a hot water bottle, and a box of pads and tampons he’d bought after an awkward day at the academy when Rosa had lectured him about always being prepared for anything his fellow detectives could need. And he’d parked her on the sofa after she’d changed into one of his boxers, and the washing machine was already cleaning the sheets and her underwear, and he said  be right back and returned from the bodega on the corner with ice cream and salt & vinegar chips and her favourite chocolate. And she looked at him as he sat down on the other side of the couch, remote already in hand to see what they could binge-watch this weekend, acting as if nothing was wrong and she hadn’t just completely inconvenienced him and weirded him out with her problems, and she realised that she hadn’t. That they’d been together barely a month and a half, and he was already so comfortable having her around that he was prepared for anything. That she could lay it all on him, without the fear of being embarrassed or rebuked as she had been with any other man in her life before him.

Or the time she cancelled what was meant to be their second date ever (after that awkward, chaotic, yet happy-ending first one) because she’d gotten sick. When he showed up that evening at her door, she’d been worried he hadn’t gotten her text (she was too stuffed up to speak properly on the phone, she’d realised when calling in sick to work). But he was wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants instead of a date outfit, and carried a grocery store bag and a drug store bag, and then he made her take a bath with one of those cold-remedy bath salt sachets he’d found, and cooked her his mom’s sickly-soup (with store-bought matzoh balls, he had to admit, he never quite got those right), and let her pick any movie she wanted to watch while they ate their soup wrapped up under one blanket so she could steal all of his body heat. He’d been to her place as her boyfriend only twice before, but she realised as she snuggled into his arms under the blanket and blew her nose into one of the extra-soft tissues he’d bought that she’d felt so wrong being sick and alone at her home, that she’d subconsciously hoped he could be there to rub the vapo-rub on her back before she went to sleep that night, and that nothing felt more right than him already whistling in the kitchen when she woke up feeling slightly better the next morning.

They were all these little moments, these facets of life that barely even mattered to outsiders, that happened and re-happened several times a year. But they did matter, and they came into her mind every time her mom warned her on the phone not to be ‘too hasty’, every time her non-work friends asked her if she was really sure she was talking about ‘Peralta, the guy you used to moan about so much’, every time someone made a joke to Jake and her about her being ‘above his pay-grade’ or them being ‘an odd couple if they ever saw one’. It was these little moments that mattered so much more to her than any grand romantic gesture could, and that manifested in her mind that Jake was it, and always had been.

The bottle of beer in her hand was still label-less, but she noticed that it was also empty. She didn’t know when she’d transitioned into Spacey Amy, but looking up at Rosa’s face, seeing Gina next to her who’d apparently walked up at some point, she realised that she’d been talking, not thinking all of this.

“Daaaamn, girl.” Gina replied, but her voice was quiet, not even close to the usual mocking tone she’d take on for Amy. Rosa next to her was silent, blinking hard, and if she didn’t know her any better Amy would’ve almost believed she was fighting back a few tears. Which was ridiculous, because this was Rosa, and she’d only had six drinks, which brought her barely close to the emotional level she needed to even think about crying. Rosa’s drunk-scale started a lot later than Amy’s did.

Amy swept away a little tear from her own cheek while grinning awkwardly down at her bottle.

“Good thing that was one drink Spacey Amy and not two drink Loud Amy, huh?” She tried to joke, but Rosa only shook her head.

“Santiago, shit like that, you should shout from the fucking rooftops. Or at least into your fiancé’s stupid grinning face. Damn, I’m genuinely so happy for you two dorks, you’re so perfect. Don’t ever quote me on that, though.” Rosa had at least reached the swearing stage of drunkenness, the one where she’d wrap genuine emotion in as many rude words as possible to make it seem like she still didn’t care as much as she did.

Amy looked over at Jake and caught him looking away just as quickly. He’d been watching her again. He often did when he thought she wouldn’t notice, she’d realised that early on in their relationship. They’d be watching a movie, or hunched over case files, or simply hanging out at her kitchen counter nibbling on take away leftovers and discussing their day, and she’d look up and notice him almost flinching away. On the rare occasions that she woke up after him - once in a blue moon, when the night had been far longer than she’d planned, like tomorrow, probably - she would roll to the side and meet with his eyes, half-closed and shining and definitely, completely focussed on nothing but her.

It was almost unsettling to be the centre of someone’s attention like that, but in a good way. In a way that made her heart skip a beat, because she’d never expected to be anyone’s point of focus like this, ever.

Maybe, besides all the little moments and epiphanies, that had actually been the point of no return for her, love-wise - when she realised just what she was to Jake. Everything, he’d told her not just once during his more romantic moments, whispering in her ear and pressing a kiss to her temple.  You’re everything to me, Ames, and sometimes I think you’re even a bit more than that.  

“Hey.” She heard his voice next to her as he walked up from the long-forgotten dart board, where Gina was quick to jump in and challenge Terry to another round to see him flex his shoulders.

“Hey yourself.” She grinned back, one drink Amy still on the clock.

“Thought I should come over here to tell you something really important.”

“Oh, sure.” The serious tone in his voice made her steel herself almost as a reflex. “What is it?”

“I realised I’m absolutely, crazy in love with you. Is that okay?”

And there was this grin, this stupid wide grin she knew so well, that always looked a bit different when it was directed towards her than anyone else. Amy couldn’t help but laugh as she softly punched his arm.

“Yeah, you know.” She looked at the ring on her finger as she stroked over the space she’d only just hit. “I think that’s pretty okay.”

He leant down for a kiss, and they could both hear a gagging sound from the side.

“Knock it off, Diaz.” Jake shot Rosa a fake-angry look. “You’re not allowed to make fun of us today.”

“Alright, alright. I don’t need to watch it, though.” Rosa stood up from her bar stool, only to punch Jake into the other arm, definitely stronger than Amy just had. He grinned at her nonetheless, knowing full well that was as close and emotional as a tight hug would be from his old friend.

“Better take your fiancée home before she turns into two drink Amy, though. Think you’ve got some stuff to say that shouldn’t be heard from the whole bar.” She grinned again before walking off to beat both Gina and Terry at darts.

Jake followed her with his eyes before smiling back at Amy.

“My fiancée.” He repeated, and she could see how strange the word still felt in his mouth, strange and new and absolutely joyful.

“Your future wife.” She smiled back, and it didn’t sound strange at all. It sounded perfectly right. Because it had always, always been.