#she feels it the worst with amy for obvious reasons

[themetallicnemesis]

My girl is so friendly and normal <3

[lavendertales]

Sweet lies: Chapter 11

pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

summary: you break things down to Rose, while Frankie seeks some understanding at Santiago.

word count: 3.3k

Comments & reblogs are always appreciated 💕

gif: @pedro-pscal

series masterlist | AO3

Anxiety seeps through your every pore as you approach the apartment. There is no reason for you to feel this nervous about opening up to your best friend, and yet there you are, gulping with each step you take.

With one final sharp breath to be drawn in, you ring the doorbell and wait. There’s some music that’s distinguishable from where you stand. Amy Winehouse’s “You Know That I’m No Good”, to your surprise. You raise your brows, waiting still.

“Hi!”

The sight of a shirtless Santiago, wearing only a silver chain around his neck and some shorts isn’t what you expected, and clearly he’s just as taken aback by your presence as much as you are by his, but it only makes the moment more comical for you.

“Good morning,” you greet him cheekily.

He clears his throat. “Morning.”

“What’re you guys doing?”

Santiago purses his lips, avoiding the answer like the plague, though it is painfully obvious. You decide to spare him of the additional pain.

“Relax, I’m just fucking with you,” you smile at him. “I’m glad things are going so well for the two of you.”

“We weren’t—I mean, not right now, but—“

You chuckle, eased to see Rose’s face appear from behind Santiago. She greets you with a big smile, welcoming you in.

“Aren’t you cold? It’s a bit chilly outside,” you ask Santiago, who faintly blushes.

“Uh… it’s kinda warm in here. It’s fine.”

Rose raises her brows suggestively at you, to which you frown and chuckle some more.

“Would you mind if I spoke alone with Rose?” you check with Santiago. “It’s very important.”

“Not at all. In fact, I should get going too. I got a meeting with Fish.”

Your face instantly drops, and you swear you detect something more on Santiago’s face. Despite that, neither of you mentions anything of the sort.

“Yeah, he’s supposed to help me with some stuff at the shop,” he adds, trying to ease your conscience.

You nod. “If you get to talking…”

“Yeah.”

There seems to be some sort of mutual understanding between the two of you, one that Rose does not understand. She watches patiently as Santiago rushes to get dressed, but not before kissing her cheek.

“Coffee?” she offers you.

“Sure, thanks.”

“So what’s up? Pretty early for a visit. Not that I’m complaining! You know I’m always up for you.”

“And for Santi too, by the looks of it.”

Rose’s cheeks get flushed instantly while she tends to the coffee in the kitchen. You sit at the table, fumbling with your fingers, trying to figure out how you’re going to break all this down for her. You know she’s the most understanding person in the world, but such news would shock her without a doubt, and truthfully, you could use some of her fire to bring you down to earth.

Once Santiago bids you both goodbye and you have the apartment to yourselves, you breathe in one more time.

“I did something terrible,” you say, your voice ominous.

Rose’s face shows concern within the next second as she sits down in front of you, two mugs of coffee in your hands.

“It began in February.”

“What did?”

The more you look at her, the wetter your eyes get, but you force yourself to not break down, not right now.

“I turned into one of my worst nightmares,” you say darkly. “I’m—I’m the other woman. Or I was. I won’t even know for sure till today.”

“What are you talking about? You’re not making much sense.”

You close your eyes as you exhale, wearing your most serious face as you whisper, “I’ve slept with someone who’s engaged. Was. Still is. I don’t know.”

Rose frowns, trying to piece together the information you’re nervously spewing at her.

“Engaged? What are you—“

And then, her whole face drops. Mouth ajar and eyes wide, Rose simply stares at you for seconds on end as realization hits her.

“No. No way. Seriously?!”

“Yes.”

“Are you serious right now?!”

“Why the hell would I joke about this?!”

Rose leans back on the chair, staring back at you with blank eyes. She’s clearly processing the situation, but she doesn’t seem mad like you would’ve expected.

“Before you say anything, trust me, I feel beyond shitty,” you tell her. “I can’t sleep properly, I can’t focus… I keep seeing Andrea’s face and the one word that’s always on my mind is ‘traitor’. Others too, but this one is recurring.”

“Oh sweetie… what—I don’t even know where to begin, what to say.”

You huff, reminiscing of that cold Valentine’s Day on the porch when Frankie kissed you for the very first time, how it felt and how it triggered so many other emotions for the both of you.

“All the conversations and the bickering and the feelings that were still there…” you start, visibly distraught. “One night it just happened, and then… we both swore that was it. And then it happened again. And again. And now—now I’m a horrible person, especially because I like Andrea and I think she’s going through some shit of her own that makes her anxious and even if I suspect that she doesn’t really want this wedding to happen either for various reasons, it still doesn’t seem fair and I just—“

Rose reaches for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze to ground you.

“Breathe,” she tells you. “In and out, slowly.”

You follow her instruction, and soon you do feel your heart race a little less.

“What does Frankie think about all of this?” she proceeds to ask.

“He’s as messed up as I am, if not more. I told him to tell Andrea and… make a choice. And he said…”

“What?”

The memory of that brief conversation in the closet at the bowling alley, where Frankie told you how much you meant to him all that time and how you’re both his dream and his nightmare, it’s conspiring against you. It weakens your whole body just to think about it, let alone reminisce the hasty way he kissed you, the way it deepened so easily and speedily and how you were both chasing the same high, the same rush that you only felt with each other.

“What did he say?” Rose asks.

You gulp. “He said… there’s no choice to make. He said it’s always been me.”

Rose’s face lights up, and you wish you could display that same reaction as easily as she does. You won’t allow yourself to be this happy at the words you’ve always longed to hear. You fear that if you do, it’ll all get ruined. You fear that if you allow yourself to feel anything other than misery, guilt and shame, Frankie will tell you that he is getting married after all, and that would make you feel like the most horrible human being on the face of the earth.

“Andrea’s flying back home today,” you continue. “They’re gonna talk and whatever they decide, tonight everything will be settled. It will be over, one way or the other.”

“Oh, they are so not getting married.”

Now that surprises you.

“What makes you say that?” you ask. “Andrea’s been calling and texting him a lot, apparently insisting that they gotta make things work no matter what.”

“That’s a bit suspicious, to be honest.”

“Even if it is, Frankie is a loyal, devoted man. Leaving aside what happened between me and him, he’s been with Andrea for years. He might still choose her.”

Rose shakes her head delicately, sipping from her coffee.

“Mark my words, they are not staying together,” she insists. “And I am not only saying this because I want the best for you. Andrea’s perfectly nice and lovely, but she and Frankie are pretty much done.”

“You sound so sure.”

Rose sucks in a sharp breath as well, as if trying to organize her thoughts into coherent words that might make you understand better.

“Well honey, it’s always been you and him,” she coos sweetly. “The love you have for each other, the care, the laughter… come on! We all see it, we all know it. Everyone was just trying to make Andrea to feel as integrated and as welcome as possible in the group, but you and Frankie go way back, and the feelings you have for each other run too deep to be severed by time or distance. It’s been ten years, and you still think of him as the love of your life. We all know what you mean to each other. So much so that everyone hid the full history between you two when Andrea came into picture. She never knew just what you meant to each other, how much. You’re that intimidating shadow that neither of them can get rid of.”

“But I don’t want that! I just want—“

“What do you want?”

You suddenly recall asking Frankie the same question the night you last met before going away at Cambridge, and a painful knot appears in your stomach.

What? C’mon, just tell me. What do you want, Francisco?

You finally got your answer to that question. He wants you. Frankie wants you.

And what do you want, after all this time, after all the trouble and the heartache?

“I want… I want something good for myself. For once,” your voice shakes the answer. “I want him. I want to be with him. And I know it’s selfish and cruel and painful to say, even shitty, I know that. I fucking know that. But life is not fair, and it certainly hasn’t been fair to me, and I just want… for once, for just once, to have what I want. Just once.”

“I know, sweetie. And you absolutely deserve it.”

“It’s always been him. You know, I used to say that I would’ve killed and cheated and lied, I would’ve done whatever if that would’ve meant that I could be with him. Isn’t that funny? How the universe is mocking me?”

You’re half laughing, half crying by this point, and Rose stands up, taking a seat closer to you and hugging you from the side.

“If wanting something good for myself makes me horrible, then so fucking be it,” you cry.

“It doesn’t make you horrible. It makes you human.”

She caresses your hair, simply holding you for a while. You’re surprised she didn’t tear into you after hearing what you did.

“You can snap at me, you know?” you say.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because this is—this is wrong, Rose. I hooked up with someone who’s engaged! It’s… it’s icky and—“

“Frankie and Andrea have been separated for quite some time. I understand all this happened during their break, or?”

“Yeah, but—“

“Did anything happen before?”

“Just the kiss.”

Rose pauses, inspecting your face up close.

“Frankie left immediately after it happened, went to tell Andrea what happened… and she said she wants a break. That’s what I know.”

“Okay, for that I can snap at you a little if you want.”

You actually break into a smile. “That would be nice.”

“You kissed someone who was engaged?! How could you do that?! Are you insane!”

You chuckle, holding her hand.

“Feel better now?” Rose checks.

“A bit. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I did partially mean it.”

“I know, which is why I asked you to do it. For the record, he initiated the kiss.”

“Oh, shit!”

“But I reciprocated, so I’m equally guilty.”

“Hey, listen. Maybe this story isn’t even about Frankie and Andrea and why they got together in the first place if they have issues or doubts or whatever. You’re not the side character.”

“In their story, I am.”

Rose makes an unimpressed face like she’s judging you, and you try not to smile.

“I think this story is about you and him. Like I said before, it’s always been you and Frankie. Maybe this story is about finally getting your happiness. And maybe it’s about Andrea getting her real happiness, too.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

There’s a moment of silence, a moment which you relish into.

“Did you say you suspect she has other reasons for wanting the break?” Rose asks you.

“I told her what’s been going on with me and Frankie—more or less—and she was super calm about it. Super understanding and nice. And it was… okay, but also—“

“Suspicious.”

“A little.”

Rose frowns, staring into the distance. “What if she has the same moral dilemma as you guys?”

You return her gaze, quite surprised at her suggestion. Though you can’t say the thought hadn’t crossed your mind, either.

“You think there’s someone else for her, too?” you mutter.

Rose shrugs. “Could be. It would explain why she seemed to understanding when you told her.”

“She said she did think something might happen with me and him.”

“Huh. See, even if you do suspect it, when confronted with the situation, you’re still gonna be angry or pissed, something. Who knows what she has on her plate?”

You think back on the conversation you had with Andrea; you recall the speech she told you about her family and the huge pressure lingering on her to this day, and chills run down your spine.

“I’d say she has a lot to deal with,” you answer.

Frankie is more than thankful that Santiago had asked him to give a hand at the hardware store. It’s not too spacious, which means decluttering is a real pain in the ass. Moving tools and supplies around seems like a good distraction, but Frankie knows he can’t keep all of this bottled up, not anymore.

Besides, Santiago already suspects something. Hiding the truth from his best friend for too long seems like a stupid idea.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Santiago’s question does take him aback; Frankie quickly realizes he’s been mindlessly misplacing several screws in the drawers for the past half hour, only Santiago was too nice to mention it earlier. He shakes his head, desperate to have a clearer mind, but he knows that won’t happen unless he actually talks.

“Seriously, you good, man?”

Frankie stares long at him, gulping and clearing his throat, putting down all the items in his hands.

“Remember that morning when you barged into my apartment, asking me what was going on with—“

Santiago raises his brows, looking around briefly.

“You mean the morning I don’t know anything about?” he retorts.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“No more of that bullshit. I mean it.”

Santiago follows his example and puts down the cloth with which he was cleaning the counters, and grabs two of the little chairs in the back, offering one to Frankie.

“Okay,” Santiago starts. “What about that morning?”

“What you saw… it was right. You were right.”

Santiago stares at him with a blank expression, which only makes Frankie more restless in return.

“Well color me intrigued and shocked,” he replies, to which Frankie rolls his eyes.

“You know me. You guys know me. I’m not a cheater. It’s not who I am, it’s not what I do. It’s not what I would ever do. I am not the kind of man who hurts those he loves. I just—I couldn’t help it. And I know that’s weak and pathetic and a fucking cliché but I—from the second the stood before me, that fucking moment in the restaurant when I saw her again, I knew it was a sign. Maybe a dark omen, I don’t—I don’t fucking know. I knew it was something.”

“Does Andrea know about any of this?”

“I don’t know exactly what she knows. I know that the two of them spoke about this, and apparently Andrea was very calm and understanding about this, which only makes me doubt things even more.”

“What are you doubting?”

“Everything! Every single fucking thing! Andrea’s been acting a bit weird with this break and I just can’t shake the feeling that something’s up, but I can’t really say anything, now can I? How the fuck can I when… look at what I did.”

Frankie lowers his head into the ground, leaving his friend to contemplate and glare at his figure. He hasn’t seen Frankie so down in years, and it’s clear he’s struggling with a lot of things, but he also needs to at least try to have a clear mind.

“Were you two together when this happened?” Santiago asks, and Frankie immediately shakes his head in denial. “Well listen, if you were separated when this went down, I wouldn’t call it cheating. She’s the one who decided she needed time away from you and your relationship.”

“I still feel… dirty.”

Santiago searches for his eyes, and when he finds them, they’re teary and gray, possibly from the lack of proper rest.

“Fish,” he calls out to him in a grave voice. “Do you love her?”

This isn’t about Andrea, Frankie realizes. That’s not the “she” he’s being asked about, and it’s not the “she” he had in mind, anyway.

“I’ve always been in love with her,” he confesses. “I never stopped. All that I felt for her… it never stopped. When I met Andrea, I did like her. I’ve grown to like her, I’ve learned to love her, how to fall in love with her, but it just… it wasn’t the same.”

“Okay, so you’re not just messing around.”

“No, fuck no! I love her. I love her so much it actually hurts. It physically hurts. Like my heart’s not even my own anymore. It’s hers. It belongs to her. And I know she loves me, too.”

“You gotta clean this up then.”

“I know. And I want to, I will. I’m picking up Andrea tonight, and I’m gonna tell her.”

“What are you gonna tell her, exactly?”

Frankie freezes, realizing he doesn’t actually have a speech prepared or anything of the sort. Truth be told, he’s too nervous to lay things down logically. All he knows is that he has to get his feelings out and be honest.

“I’m gonna be honest with her,” Frankie says. “She’s been calling and texting like crazy, said she wants us to work no matter what, and it’s just making things worse. I can’t keep doing this.”

Santiago pats him on his shoulder.

“I’m gonna tell her… we can’t go through with the wedding,” Frankie continues absentmindedly. “And that she was right to have doubts, because there are things between us we never even talked about. Her parents basically shoved us together, didn’t give us much say in the matter. I think she’s still feeling intimidated by them, like she still has to earn their approval for everything, including a marriage.”

“That’s just messed up.”

“I know.”

“Why propose in the first place then?”

“Because! Because I was convinced it was the right thing to do, the smart choice. I care about her, so I thought sure, why not? It’ll do her good to be with someone with an apparently good reputation, and it’ll be great for me too.”

“Fish…”

“Andrea is nice and warm and safe and… I do love her in a way. Theoretically she’s good for me. It’s just—“

“But it’s not the same.”

Frankie shakes his head slowly. “It’s not the same. I mean I love her because of and in spite of that.”

“Dangerous territory to be on.”

“Tell me about it.”

“But hey, you’re gonna tell her tonight, and things will be better after that.”

“I hope so.”

“Just stop fucking around with the mistress till then.”

Frankie throws him an ugly glare. “We’re not fucking around. And don’t ever call her that.”

While Santiago nods in approval and resumes his work, Frankie still contemplates. Just a few more hours, and he’ll be a free man. He’ll set himself and Andrea free, as well as you.

Just a few more hours.

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[atotalpitch]

Ohhh I have a headcanon question (...again, lol). If the Bellas were to read fanfiction, what would be their go-to tag be?? (eg. found family, enemies to lovers, hurt/no comfort etc)

ooo i like this one! ty for asking (once again /pos) . this basically turned into a list of every au to exist but. whatever. they like aus okay.

Beca: tbh i feel like she would intentionally find the worst (i, by no means, intend to offend anyone with that) smut fics and laugh at them. on the other hand, her inner teen angst would probably take over and she'd read awfully angsty stuff. like Whump / dd:dne level shit. but also found family fluff?? depends on the day. her top tags are probably Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Enemies to Lovers (even though she'd never admit to any of them willingly)

Chloe: Fake Dating AU (with no further explanation, sorry). mostly she doesn't necessarily search for specific tags, just scrolls through an entire fandom/ship/character tag and reads whatever's interesting enough. deep deep down she does have a thing for Vampire AUs. lord knows why. also maybe kinda Slowburn?? she absolutely will sit down and read fifty chapters of insanely gut wrenching heart break and then sob over it for days even if it has a happy ending. Aubrey: Canon Divergent AU. or just AUs in general (childhood friends, soulmates.. yk whatever there is) i think. she likes to see authors put their own twists into what actually happened. also maybe because her favourite ships and characters always get ruined by whoever's behind the actual media,,, but that's like. totally unrelated. Stacie: High School AU. do you guys see the vision here?? because i don't know how to explain it in coherent words. but she's all for the teen drama. (later in life) on very random occasions she also reads Family Fluff because it reminds her of Bella and she loves Bella. Amy: she finds the most disturbing, explicit tags known to mankind. Improper Use Of Eyesocket? Creating a New Hole? Watersports? yeah. those. and worse. nobody knows how she's even able to read them. Emily: Found Family, Fluff, Light Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort (which she often mistakes for hurt/no comfort and regrets it for months after). she LOVES fluff and all the mushy gushy stuff. but also kinda similarly to Chloe, she can get lost in an intense Slowburn for a while. and cry about it after she finishes. Flo: she absolutely reads Smut. dirty mf. if not smut then probably Found Family as well (seems to be a common theme with them all). Firefighter AUs are also high up on her list for some reason?? i mean i don't blame her Cynthia Rose: i feel like if i went with how her character is (sadly) portrayed in the movies, then Lesbian Sex would be the obvious answer. but i feel like she'd be more of a Marriage / Wedding kinda girl. she's in love with the idea of making a huge deal out of it to show everyone how much you care about someone and spending your life with them. Lilly: can she read?? does she know the concept of fanfiction??? questions that will forever go unanswered. no, but seriously though she'd read the most odd-yet-normal shit (eg. Fluff with a side of Murder) Ashley: Childhood Friends to Lovers, i don't know how to elaborate further. she just gives off that vibe. if we go deeper into her search history though there are some very intense Hurt/Comfort fics from her early to late teens Jessica: she's absolutely one of those crazy readers who will love the most desperate Whump fics ever on one day, then completely flip to Tooth Rotting Fluff on the other. it very much depends on her mood, mental wellbeing and whether she's angry at the world or not. most of the time not. so she just reads Fluff like 24/7, not that she'd tell anyone. (except Ashley, but that doesn't even count) this was kind of a difficult one because i blacked out the second i tried to think about what tags are out there, but i hope it was up to expectations 🫡

[thepariahcontinuum]

Alright I got a question for you. Which character from Worm/Ward would handle losing their powers the BEST. There’s probably a never-ending pit for who would take it the worst which is why I’m not asking that.

I mean the obvious answer feels like some of the Case 53s, Sveta is definitely someone who'd be okay with it.

Honestly there's an argument to be made that Amy would feel a sense of relief if she had her powers taken away.

Oddly enough and for reasons I can't fully articulate....I think Ward Aisha would be fine without her powers as well.

[tornrose24]

I feel like it’d be accurate that Sonic movie 3 would go for how Amy Rose is usually depicted in the Sonic games if she were in the film. But I kind of prefer how her personality was in the Sonic Boom material and I would like to see that instead because 1. Her speech to Shadow would still line up with that personality and 2. The crazy fan girl persona isn’t a favorite of everyone and it would be nice if they tone it down a bit so that movie!Sonic doesn’t have to be traumatized.

Also, I had this ‘amusing, but not likely to happen’ idea of some Mobians–including Amy–being on the Ark as a way to explain a few things. (Because, how the heck did Shadow come about in the movie continuity if both Earth and Mobius exist in the same universe?) And then she also ended up frozen for 50 years but came out early. She got to see both the best and worst of Earth, but chose to value the good in it.

…..And I admit, part of the reason I had that idea was so that she grew up on those girl group singer music from the 60s. Then when she sees Sonic and he’s just beating up bad guys, ‘One Fine Day’ by The Ronnettes is just randomly playing at that point to show how smitten she becomes for him. (I would give that song a listen because THAT is the song I associate Amy with when it comes to her feelings towards Sonic).

That or it'd just be amusing if movie!Amy was ironically more mature than Sonic, but still gets to keep her crush on him without making it too obvious.

[sallysellsseashellssundays]

Disclaimer: This post is going to be Anti Moffat for anyone who’s reading and is a fan you’ve been warned.  

“The Wedding of River Song” is the thirteenth episode and aside from being a boring episode it was, unfortunately, also my least favorite season finale.

The Good: I haven’t watched Classic Who, but I do know the Brigadier is a very important person in the Doctor’s life and I saw his character in one of the episodes of The Sarah Jane Adventures. Having his death in the show to reflect that of the actor’s was incredibly beautiful, and I liked that it seemed to be the moment the Doctor realized it was his time reminding me a lot of Ten and Wilf. The different settings where time is happening all at once looked really cool, and there were some funny jokes especially with Emperor Churchill.

The Bad: I think the reason I feel like I don’t know Amy and Rory that well is b/c instead of developing them as characters for two seasons now we keep getting fake/different versions of them, there’s always a plot twist of “oh actually that wasn’t the real version of them” and frankly it’s tiring. This finale felt like a rehashed poorly done version of previous concepts. All the “voices” saying they’ll help reminded me of everyone thinking of the Doctor at the end of S3, and the different realities reminded me of the end of S5. The Doctor leaving Dorium’s head again in that place was horrible, why not take him to his home or at least some fancy hotel? 

The River storyline being the absolute worst:  That comment about how River spends her days in prison and her nights with him was disgusting, if she didn’t really kill him why on earth is the Doctor making sure she’s serving time?? The fact that we’ve seen her slip in and out of prison easily so many times leads to the horrifying implication that the Doctor just takes her out whenever he pleases like she’s some sort of...idk but that was awful. I genuinely did go into Moffat’s era trying to keep an open mind when it came to her character b/c I was under the impression it was going to be an interesting love story with their timelines not matching. But this has fallen apart in the most horrible ways with everything regarding River seemingly being tacked on w/o any actual thought. How in the world did River convince Ten to trust her in the library? He said that she knew his name, but here he didn’t actually tell her his name...unless later he tells her to fulfill that paradox. But even then I really thought that he would grow to love her in his own way, but the way he treated her here was awful “I don’t want to marry you” and “you embarrass me”. The fact that she loves him when he acts like that with her is probably my least favorite thing Moffat could have ever done. On that same note River saying no one loves the Doctor more than her would feel far more impactful if we actually saw them interacting more in a healthy way, instead we’re just constantly told that they are going on trips and we’re to assume they enjoy spending time with each other when on screen I’ve never once gotten the sense that he actually cares for her. She wanted to rewrite time itself instead of killing him which I suppose I could understand her doing if they’d had a more believable love story, but her relationship with him seems more obsessive and toxic than anything. She knew them touching would cause time to move forward and fix itself, but she wouldn’t allow it until he married her essentially blackmailing him. And Eleven only marrying her to whisper his escape plan seemed horribly manipulative as well, it’s obvious it matters far more to her than him and for him to play into that obsession seems really dark. And I’m not even sure if that counts as their wedding if he didn’t tell her his name? I don’t know enough about the lore, but I was under the impression from the library episode that it was a requirement. 

The Unresolved: Apparently there’s a bigger story to tell with the Trenzalore stuff.

Overall I feel disappointed, I have now watched six series of DW and my biggest concern is that I was so unbelievably bored during this episode and several others in this series. The Doctor telling Churchill how everything played out felt like someone was reading the script out to me instead of me watching things play out on screen. I had a really rough time getting through these episodes, but I’m still staying optimistic that it was a dud and next series is better. I think the thing I feel the saddest about is that I don’t find myself loving the characters as much as I used to in the past, Amy has really grown on me, but even then I don’t feel the same attachment I do to the other companions I’ve seen.  

[silkchiffon]

cali. pt. 2 anniversary tonight so of course i am thinking about the breakup... specifically from the perspective of amy...

like we know the obvious given how the rest of the show plays out. she turned down the proposal because it reminded her of how she rushed things with adam, she got trapped in a marriage for years because of it, she finally had a opportunity offered to her that would get her out of the rut she got stuck in for that same amount of time. but something i personally think factored into her decision is not actually anything directly from her but from, weirdly enough, jonah.

“when we first met, you told me that... all your days felt the same, and you felt trapped, and i don’t want to be the reason that you feel like that again.”

it’s an easy surface level reason to say amy was scared to take such a big step with jonah because it put her in the very position she was in so long ago. pregnant with emma, taking stock of a life that was now rapidly changing around her, going from four years of college to seventeen years at cloud 9 in the blink of an eye. that was absolutely at the forefront of her mind, and we know this because she admitted it herself, getting the worst of her suspicions confirmed the second he pulled that ring out of his pocket.

but i’m thinking about what’s left unsaid here, which is that technically speaking, when paralleled to her relationship with adam, amy isn’t amy in the situation. it’s jonah. she may be the one being proposed to again, but he’s the one having the decisions made for him. he’s the one moving to california on her behalf. he’s the one uprooting his whole life to commit to that.

that could’ve been a small part of it for amy. the reason why she couldn’t say yes. because she didn’t want him making a choice he might regret, feeling trapped not only in a marriage but by a move as well, in a state he literally said he hadn’t ever seen himself living in until then. he said he didn’t want her to feel the way she did before, hopeless and cynical working in a big box store, but maybe she didn’t want him to feel that way either. maybe she didn’t want what she’d gone through for him.

[amjustagirl]

Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi's heart has always pointed north. He wonders if it's broken when it starts to point inexorably towards her. 

Set in the aftermath of The Astrophile, in the same universe as Storm Chaser.

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi / f! reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, romance 

Wordcount: 7.8k 

Masterlist link here

A/N: Dedicated first and foremost to Ami @softsakusa, one of the first people to convince that my writing isn’t shit and that I should keep creating fics. 

This fic is also for all the readers who wanted a happy ending for the reader in The Astrophile (which sets out the backstory of the reader, Iwaizumi and Oikawa), and also follows the events of Storm Chaser (which follows the turbulent relationship of Miya Atsumu and now wife - I named her Kaiyo in this fic to avoid confusion!). 

Hope you like it - reblogs and comments are always dearly appreciated <3

It must be the worst meet cute of all time. 

That is – if he’s using that phrase correctly. It keeps appearing in the god-awful English movies Bokuto and Miya keep playing during team movie nights that makes him want to tear his hair out. 

But yes, he meets her at Miya Shino’s seventh birthday party, the birthday girl the apple of Miya Atsumu’s eye, the princess of his castle, the most perfect angel in the entire heavens - the list of pet names growing longer and longer the more the obnoxious setter prattles on about his daughter. 

And apparently Miya Shino is a chip off the old block, and is as obsessed with volleyball as her father. Which means that he, one Sakusa Kiyoomi, is forced to turn up on a Saturday afternoon for a birthday party to teach a group of children roughly about the same height as his kneecaps how to play volleyball. 

There are plenty of other MSBY players that Miya Atsumu could have rounded up to fritter away a Saturday afternoon. Hinata, for instance - the sunny, fiery headed opposite hitter a perennial favourite with young fans. Or Inunaki - the liberio has an amiable personality that he certainly wouldn’t mind snot nosed children hanging off his arms like a walking, talking monkey bar. But no, Hinata is apparently busy on a weekend meditation retreat, and Inunaki is at his sister’s wedding party, so both of them managed to escape this travesty of a birthday party. 

That leaves him with Bokuto who’s practically a child himself, beaming, bumping balls at screaming children with one hand, the other hand lifting another child above his head. Meian’s here too but his own kid is somewhere in this gaggle of monsters anyway, so he’s here to carry out his parental duties – hopefully his presence might balance the sheer chaos he’s sure he’s about to face.   

‘Omi-omi you made it!’ Atsumu greets him with a slap to the back. 

Sakusa resists the urge to bare his teeth. Is this what hell is? Screeching gremlins underfoot, the nauseating smell of fried food permeating the air. 

And it’s probably because he’s still in a horrified daze at the situation he’s put himself in (which Atsumu is either too dense to pick up on or already immune due to the series of similar expressions he pulls at him on a daily basis), Atsumu manages to snap a party hat on his head, before he prances off in victory. 

Sakusa snarls, ripping off the red paper hat off his head. 

Why on earth did he agree to this again? 

‘Sakusa-san! Thank you so much for coming!’ 

His glare softens by a fraction. 

Miya Kaiyo, Atsumu’s long suffering wife approaches him, careful not to touch him, waving at him instead. He appreciates her thoughtfulness, so he thaws a little, giving her a slight nod in greeting. 

Right, she’s the reason why he’s here. 

He’s always been fond of her - competent, patient, intelligent, far too good for her idiot of a husband. Approximately a year ago, he sought her professional help with his accounts. He graduated with a business degree from Chuo University, so he can tell there is obviously something fishy that his manager is pulling with his finances, but the accounting courses he took weren’t in depth to pinpoint the problem. Miya Kaiyo, on the other hand, a trained forensic accountant with a nose like a bloodhound for fraudulent accounts, nailed down the problem within a week. So when she asked him after a game whether he’d be free to attend her daughter's birthday party, he hadn’t been able to turn her down. 

‘It was no problem’, he says stiffly, already itching to spray the whole place down with disinfectant. ‘I’m glad to be here.’ 

Kaiyo laughs at his obvious lie, tugging at his sleeve to seat him in a corner. ‘You don’t have to go play with the kids if you didn’t want to! I invited you so we could catch up, and besides, I did want to introduce you to someone.’ 

‘Hm.’ 

He doesn’t try to mask his reluctance this time. Kaiyo means well, he knows, but between her and his mother, he’s tired of having to fend off match making attempts. It’s not like he can’t get a date – he can and he has, it’s just difficult to find someone willing to put up with his prickly personality and busy schedule.

‘Well she’s not here yet, so you’ll have to wait. And while we’re waiting, tell me how’ve things been, Sakusa-san?’ 

Grateful that he’s not going to be forced into shepherding children into playing anything remotely resembling an actual volleyball match (he suspects he might have more luck teaching cats how to do the conga), he settles into his seat, mouth stretching into something resembling a smile. He lets her chatter about work, and they’re deep in a discussion about his plans post-volleyball (because he can feel the countdown on his career in his creaking bones, his aching sinews)  when Atsumu swoops in on him again, like a vulture seeking easy prey. 

‘What’cha doin’ with my wife, Omi-omi’, he slips a hand around Kaiyo’s waist mock possessively. 

She swats at him. He ducks, raising his hands in surrender. 

‘I enjoy talking to an actual adult sometimes, ‘Tsumu!’ 

‘Oh come on, I already have to share you with ‘Samu most of the time, now you’re leaving me for Omi-kun?!’

‘Dramatic ass.’ 

‘Please, you chose to marry me.’ He crows, flipping his hair. He looks ridiculous, he always does. Kaiyo seems to agree - 

‘And I wonder why sometimes.’ She retorts, Atsumu squawking indignantly at her response, hair ruffling like an offended chick. But Kaiyo ruins the effect of her words by laughing, leaning over to affectionately peck her husband on the cheek. 

Sakusa should be annoyed by this display of childishness, but for some inexplicable reason, a frisson of longing bubbles in his chest instead. It’s strange. Marriage or even serious relationships have never been something he’s actively sought. After all, it always seemed horrendously illogical to put all your eggs in one basket and hope nothing trips up – but his heart pays his mind no mind, and the strange sensation continues to trickle down his throat into his chest. 

He makes up an excuse to slip to the bathroom for a tactical retreat from this madness. 

Then he takes a breath. 

Rinse. Lather hands with soap. Rinse. Repeat again .

Familiar motions, bred out of a desire to do things right, transformed into an unbreakable habit. Cold water, washing away soap bubbles.

Right. Now he’s ready for another plunge off the deep end . 

He’s a foot past the threshold of the community hall where the party is being held when Miya Shino darts towards him. She’s very clearly her father’s daughter with his penchant for mischief because she dives between his legs, making him stumble in confusion. Then Meian Shugo’s eldest son Makoto barrels towards him, intent on reaching the ball held aloft in Shino’s hands. 

Athletic reflexes be damned in the face of a pair of hell-spawn. 

‘Shino!’. Kaiyo shouts. 

‘Makoto!’ Meian thunders. 

Sakusa flails, decidedly without grace, and in his attempt at not squashing the two little devils, he manages to do something even  worse . 

Much, much worse. 

He manages to trip over his feet and bump right into the woman Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to (this, he finds out later). It’s a lost cause – he’s six foot two of pure muscle, dwarfing her by a mile, and she’s carrying a huge box in her hand. 

He ends up face planting directly into her chest. 

His brain short circuits at the feeling of plush softness and vanilla and – , 

‘Woah - Omi-omi, never thought I’d have to defend the honour of my cousin in law’, Atsumu laughs.  

The sudden flare of irritation at Atsumu’s words kickstarts his brain back into gear. Rearing back in alarm, he promptly topples over onto his butt. 

‘Uncle ‘kusa, I’m sorry’ Shino screeches, distraught. Makoto merely snivels. Kaiyo is evidently the only one with working brain cells, because she rushes over to help them up.  

The-woman-with-the-mysterious-box makes Kaiyo take the box first. It holds precious cargo - Shino’s birthday cake, he later finds out, but because she manages to cling on to it with admirable tenacity, it emerges more or less intact. Then she turns to him, still sprawled on the floor. He scoots away, still dazed. 

She offers him a steady hand. ‘Hello’, she says. ‘It seems we’ve gotten off to rather a bad start.’

There is a hint of mirth in her voice, but her eyes are kind.  

He takes her hand with a rare smile. 

Miya Kaiyo grins behind the cake box. It turns out her daughter is a better matchmaker than either her or (heaven forbid) her husband. 

It turns out that Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to her cousin, newly moved to Osaka from Tokyo. She’s a sports journalist, used to cover volleyball even, but for some reason their paths never crossed. She too, is tired of her cousin’s well intentioned meddling, but asks him if he’d like to meet her for dinner one day ‘if only to get Kaiyo off her back, because she’s persistent’, and funnily enough, he agrees. 

He doesn’t mind making a new friend, he reasons. She seems decent enough. 

They go out for dinner on a Tuesday night. She doesn’t complain when he tells her that due to his diet planned by MSBY’s nutritionist, most restaurants are off limits. Instead, she asks intelligent questions about whether the sources of protein and fibre he’s relying on are varied enough, even suggesting alternatives like tempeh, a Southeast Asian soy product. 

He appreciates that. 

She doesn’t also fawn over the fact that he’s a professional athlete. That makes sense, considering she’s probably interviewed dozens, if not hundreds of individuals who are just like him. It’s nice - he’s tired of groupies who start dates off by staring at him starry eyed, but ending it with disappointment in their eyes when they discover that he’s just a guy who practices hitting balls enough to do it for a living. And best of all, she doesn’t mind that their conversation sometimes wanes into silence. She doesn’t seem to feel the need to fill empty spaces with inane drivel, nor expect him to entertain her like a circus animal. 

He likes that. 

So when the night ends, he asks her whether she’d like to have dinner with him again. ‘Just as friends’, he’s quick to clarify. 

‘Sure’, she nods, and they bid each other goodnight.  

They start having dinner every Tuesday night, subject to their erratic schedules. 

He enjoys her company. She’s thoughtful, bringing him home made baked goods like zucchini cake (low sugar, of course), sneaking him chocolate scones for his cheat days after she discovers his hidden sweet tooth. She’s considerate too, never blinking an eye at his compulsive need to make sure everything is just in order, even if the waitress stands behind them aghast when he insists on using disinfectant to wipe down their table. She doesn’t even call him paranoid when he passes her a bottle of sanitizer. 

Slowly, he finds himself confiding in her about things he’d maybe only tell his cousin, Motoya. Or at least, the things he would tell Motoya if the guy would only pick up his calls. 

‘Sorry’, Motoya texts back after a couple of missed calls. ‘ Practice has been brutal recently. 

In a remarkable display of restraint, Sakusa does not point out that EJP Raijin is below MSBY in this season’s rankings. 

So he tells her instead about how he’s contemplating retirement, how he’s trying to chart out his next steps career wise. She surprises him by listening to him gravely, pointing out that he can lean on his business degree to possibly land an office job in event management or with sports associations, putting him in touch with one overly excited Kuroo Tetsuro. He tucks her suggestions away carefully at the back of his mind.   

It’s nice to have a friend, he tells himself, his lips quirking ever so slightly when her hand grazes his as they walk down the street together. 

He invites her to the monthly gatherings that the MSBY players take turns to host for their family and friends, making the excuse that he needs a human shield in any event hosted by Miya Atsumu. She agrees easily, perking up at the chance to spend a Sunday afternoon with her cousin and niece - ‘ and Kaiyo’ll need help, especially since she’s pregnant’, bringing far too many cupcakes topped with the lightest, fluffiest cream cheese frosting he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. Even Miya Osamu gives her a nod of respect after stuffing his face full of her cupcakes.  He, unlike his twin, has good taste.

Her brow furls into a concerned frown when he quietly sneaks himself a second cupcake. ‘You don’t have to force yourself to eat it just to be polite! I made it, so  I  know it has so much sugar and butter it would make your nutritionist weep. If you want, I snuck some zucchini cake in my handbag for you instead.’ 

He stubbornly shovels a large bite into his mouth. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’ 

She bursts into laughter, leaning forward to wipe away the smudge of frosting on the tip of his nose with her thumb. 

Miya Kaiyo shoots him a knowing look across the room, waggling her eyebrows in an eerie imitation of her husband. He fights to keep his face blank, refusing to feed her satisfaction, but fails, a hot flush rising in his cheeks. 

‘Traitor’ he mouths at her. Her smirk only deepens.

Fortunately, the gathering ends with no further mishaps, either to his physical well-being or his dignity. Makoto is packed off with Meian, the little boy whining for more time to play with Shino. Hinata and Bokuto prance off for some ridiculous buffet on the other side of town.

As for himself, he hangs back with her to help the Miyas put their house back in order, expelling an amused puff of a laugh from his nose when she forces the very pregnant Kaiyo to ‘stay still, for goodness sake!’  on the couch, dancing around the house with a mop, Shino trailing after her waving a feather duster with gusto. He refrains from telling the little girl that she’s more likely to spread  the dust than to actually clear it – at least she’s not causing more havoc this way. 

‘I can’t believe I could’ve ever taken this for granted, y’know’, Atsumu comments from behind him, mouth wide in a tender smile. ‘It’s the best feeling in the world to have a wife and kid who loves ya to the moon and back, welcoming ya home after a long day at work. They make everything worth it.’

He’s thrown for a loop at this rare display of emotional vulnerability from the usually obnoxious setter and for once, does not resort to hostility, choosing instead to acknowledge the blonde setter’s words with a tacticum nod. 

The Miyas’ apartment is far too chaotic for his tastes, with colourful toys scattered on the floor, mismatched picture frames of the little family on the walls, but laughter hangs in the air, and light spills from the windows, illuminating the warmth and love and fondness in every look and word the Miyas gift each other. 

His father gave him a compass when he was a child, as a present to celebrate his first match. His mother clucked her tongue because it’s a strange gift for a child - delicate, fiddly, its gold exterior tarnished with age. But his father chuckled and told him that he’s old enough to appreciate that the compass is his father’s, and his father’s father before that, an heirloom to remind their sons to work hard at everything they do, and to keep their hearts on course, pointing north. 

And Sakusa thinks he’s done that. He’s worked and worked and worked at perfecting his skills in his chosen sport. He’s accepted his solo course, so laser focused on carving out a career in professional sports leaves little time or space for intimate relationships. Not to mention the fact that watching the disaster of Atsumu’s early years of marriage from the sidelines, made him swear off similar heartbreak for himself. 

But there are times when he can’t help but feel a little lonely - when he has to struggle to find a date for MSBY events, when he has no one to celebrate the holidays with, when he goes home every day to his neat, cold apartment with space for only one occupant. 

The compass in his heart creaks. It starts to turn a few degrees just off-course. 

‘Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to get married?’ he asks her as he’s walking her home that night. 

‘I did, once upon a time’, she shrugs carelessly. He misses the sudden strain in her smile. ‘Why do you ask?’ 

He stays silent for a while, the length of the quiet street giving him time to properly ferment his response. He considers the effects of adding splashes of colour to his dull life, weighs it against his long cultivated instinct to avoid the potential chaos of any emotional entanglements. He finds himself suddenly craving the sweetness of cream cheese frosting, and wonders how it’d be like to come home to light, fluffy cakes baked by her hands. 

When they reach her apartment block, she tilts her head at him curiously, obviously awaiting his answer. He tugs his words together, strings his swirling thoughts into a decipherable sentence. 

‘Because Atsumu and Kaiyo seem happy together. And I wondered if we’d be happy together too.’ 

He watches her puzzle over his words, her brow furling into a confused frown. ‘And I wasn’t proposing, by the way’, he feels the need to clarify. 

She snorts. ‘I didn’t think so.’ With a directness that he very much appreciates, she looks at him squarely and asks - ‘Are you asking me out, Sakusa Kiyoomi?’ 

He meets her gaze. ‘Yes, I am. We’ve known each other for a decently long time for me to conclude our personalities are well matched, and we’re both mature adults who respect each other’s work schedules and commitments. And if you don’t mind that I can be overly blunt and quiet sometimes - ‘ 

‘ - which I don’t’, she interjects, with a chuckle. 

‘I think we might be happy together’, he concludes, with a small smile that’s becoming more common in her presence.

He allows her the space to turn his proposition over in her mind. 

‘Alright’, she finally says. ‘I guess we can give it a go’. 

So much for Atsumu accusing him of having a heart made out of tin. Flesh and muscle works overtime to pump blood into his cheeks as she slots her fingers between his and gives his hand a squeeze. 

Being in a relationship isn’t too different from what they had before. 

They still keep to their standing date to meet every Tuesday (schedules permitting, of course). But now he doesn’t have to make up excuses to ask her out on outings that aren’t food related. At first he tries his best to adhere to dating norms, arranging for romantic dates at candlelit restaurants, buying her massive bouquets that make her sneeze. 

‘It’s fine, Omi’, she tells him gently after they spend another uncomfortable evening in a dimly lit restaurant eating off plates too large for the laughably tiny food portions. ‘I’m happy just hanging out with you. You don’t have to go out of your way to impress me, I’m not holding on to any ridiculous expectations of you’. He stops after that, glad he doesn’t have to suffer another night trying to decipher which utensil to be used at which course, or having to put on starched formal wear to yet another stuffy restaurant. 

She’s noticeably happier when they accompany each other on trips to the supermarket, each holding a stack of coupons to take advantage of the latest deals. She shields him from any overly zealous obaa-sans with gusto, throwing elbows and using her grocery basket as a makeshift battering ram before they crowd close enough to him to trigger his anxiety. He helps her reach for things on the top shelf ‘to prevent her from scaling the grocery shelves like an overgrown teenager’ , he snarks. He’s worried his attempt at teasing lands wrong, but she snorts and thanks him good naturedly anyways. 

On the weekends, they develop a habit of meal prepping for the rest of the week at her apartment. His kitchen lacks the fancy mixers and blenders that she has, and in all honesty, his dark, spartan apartment lacks the sunlight and warmth that spills into her apartment from the windows, so it’s only logical that they should spend the bulk of their time there. It’s an oasis of calm for him, chopping vegetables and chicken into small cubes, sautéing them for the week ahead, while she bustles around whipping eggs and flour and milk together to form another delectable cake that they always end up sharing at the end of the day. 

He starts to dread matches away from home a little more than he used to. While hotel rooms are as spartan as his own apartment, he doesn’t have the option of heading over to her apartment to bask in her quiet warmth. His meals come in styrofoam boxes instead of the glass tupperware she stacks on her kitchen counter, and he turns up his nose at store bought cakes that his teammates offer him, only craving for those baked in her oven. He even starts looking up to the stands for a glimpse of her, only to remember that she can’t be there to cheer the team on. 

‘Cheer up, Omi-omi! We’ll have a home match next week’, Atsumu tells him jovially. 

‘It doesn’t matter either way to me’, he mutters resentfully, but the setter only grins.

‘Trust me, it matters a great deal to have the girl ya love cheering ya on, y’know?’ 

He stalks off to the changing room, ignoring the peals of laughter from the blonde annoyance he leaves in his wake.  

The tight coil of loneliness only loosens when he sees her waiting for him at the station when he returns. She ignores his protests to snag his suitcase away from him, the case looking comically large against her small frame, but she uses it effectively as a tank to force a path through the crowd, and drag him back to her apartment in no time. 

‘You need a home cooked dinner to make up for all those industrially prepared food you must’ve been eating this entire week’, she tells him, bustling around the kitchen, only stilling when he takes her shoulders in his hands. 

‘Are you happy?’ he asks, when he cups her face to carefully brush the dusting of flour on her cheek away.  

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ She laughs, the sound fond.

‘Just checking in’, he tells her, closing his eyes as she pulls him down towards her for a kiss. 

All in all, it’s a happy, uncomplicated relationship. He likes it that way.

If his heart were a compass, he’d suspect it’s broken because instead of pointing north, it starts to inch inexorably towards her. 

But there are strange quirks he notices about her that niggles at his brain. 

She refuses point blank to check out the planetarium when she attends an event held at the adjacent Art Museum as his date, professing to have an irrational dislike for stars. 

‘They’re just balls of burning gas and light ’ , he points out. ‘What could you possibly have against them?’ 

There’s a flicker of irritation in her eyes that he does not miss. ‘I know it’s stupid but just humour me, ok?’ Her tone verges on a snarl, before she storms away, ostensibly to the bathroom to freshen herself up. 

She returns later with an apology for her behaviour. Though he’s confused, he respects her privacy and does not push for an answer. 

He’s at her apartment preparing meals for the week ahead when the doorbell rings and an enormous bouquet of white lilies are deposited into her arms. She stares dumbly at the flowers, their sickly sweet scent permeating the air. 

His brow furls. ‘Today isn’t your birthday, is it?’

His words jolt her out of her trance. ‘No’, she answers, before inexplicably storming to the living room and dumping the bouquet with a vengeance on the coffee table. Pollen flutters to the floor, delicate white petals crushed in her hands. 

‘It’s nothing’, she tells him as he shoots her a questioning look. 

When she disappears to the washroom, he peeks at the card. There’s no name on it, just a simple message - ‘consider it, please?’

He doesn’t question her about it when she returns to the kitchen. She doesn’t offer him any answers either. 

He finds himself wondering about them. 

It was refreshing at first to have a relationship free of any expectations. She never asks for more than he’s willing to give, seems happy enough to slot herself into the pockets of time he offers, only attends his games when he gives her tickets, doesn’t get upset with him when he inevitably forgets to text. 

But therein lies the issue, doesn’t it?  

If she truly likes him, wants to pursue a relationship seriously with him, shouldn’t she be demanding more than the crumbs of affection and attention he shows her? They’re both past the age of thirty, shouldn’t she be looking to get married and settle down, maybe spawn a demon child or two? 

He’s tried raising it with her once, but she responded with confusion. 

‘I don’t have any expectations of you, Omi’, she’d replied. ‘We both have busy lives, so whatever you’re willing to give, I’m happy to take’. 

There’s technically nothing wrong about her answer. It’s wholly considerate and kind - very much her.  

Still, it makes him wonder - if her heart were a compass, would it point towards him? 

He manages to hold his tongue until she gets another delivery of flowers. 

This time he opens the door when the doorbell rings, assaulted by the heady scent of lillies, pollen smeared on his sleeves. This time, there’s a name on the card. 

Oikawa Tooru . 

It takes a couple of seconds for him to realise why the name is so familiar. It’s the same name Hinata and Kageyama used to buzz about every Olympics - the famous Argentinian setter who started his career as a schoolboy from Miyagi, a prodigious setter who never made it to Nationals in high school, refused to give up and forged his way to success in a whole new land, continents away.

‘How do you know Oikawa’? He asks her. ‘And why does he keep sending your flowers?’ 

‘He’s just an old acquaintance,’ she admits. ‘He’s just sending the flowers to persuade me to attend his wedding.’

His forehead crinkles in confusion, and he tries his best not to leap to conclusions, but since she doesn’t seem to be forthcoming with further clarification, he presses her further. 

‘And why won’t you attend his wedding?’ 

Her shoulders slouch in obvious reluctance as she turns away, focusing her attention on the mixing bowl. But Kiyoomi isn’t easily deterred, so he firmly takes the mixing bowl from her and sets it on the countertop. He raises an eyebrow at her, clearly seeking an answer. 

She huffs a sigh through her nose. ‘Because he’s getting married to my ex-boyfriend, ok?’   

He blinks. That was unexpected. 

‘It happened half a decade ago. Ancient history. I’m over it.’ She mutters to the floor. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me about it?’ 

‘Because it’s none of your business’, she snaps, grabbing the mixing bowl again, beating the batter with a vengeance. 

‘You’re going to ruin the texture if you whisk it too hard’, he tugs the bowl away from her again. She refuses to relinquish her grip.

‘Leave me alone!’ she snarls, yanking the bowl back. Confused by her sudden fury, he lets go of the bowl, only for her to stumble back, eyes wide as she loses her balance, knocking her head against the countertop.

He drops down onto his knees, not even noticing the batter soaking into his pants, combing through her hair, scouring the back of her neck for any sign of injury. It’s only when he’s satisfied that her fall has resulted in nothing more than a bruise that should go away by tomorrow that he notices her tears soaking the front of his shirt. 

‘Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’ he asks, wiping her tears away with a batter splattered thumb. 

She hangs her head, body still shaking from her sobs. ‘I’ve already made such a mess of things – don’t want you to have to listen to my nonsense – am just bein’ stupid, that’s all - ’. 

He patiently waits until her sobs dissolves into mere sniffles before speaking. ‘I want you to tell me what’s wrong. If you’re up to it.’ 

So through more broken sobs and hiccups, he listens to the tale of Iwaizumi Hajime, a boy who was her world, who only realised he was always in love with Oikawa Tooru, a fortnight before she and he were to wed. Her voice wavers as she tells him the full story of the white lilies, explains that her irrational dislike for stars stems from the reminder that she chose to give her world up to a boy-king burning brighter than the stars in the night sky combined. 

He waits until her words run out, and she’s leaning against him, broken and pliant in a way that makes his heart ache. 

‘I wish you told me about it earlier’, he tells her, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear. ‘That you would trust me enough to tell me about the things that hurt you in the past. And I wonder about the state of our relationship if you don’t even trust me enough for that’. 

‘That’s unfair. You never asked - ‘ 

‘How could I ask about something I didn’t even know about?’ He takes hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Hurt and anger and shock simmer in her eyes, each swirl of emotion fighting for dominance. 

‘I didn’t want to expect anything more from this relationship than you were willing to give’, she admits after a pause. 

She’s scared of being hurt again. He doesn’t miss the subtext.  

‘Shall I tell you what I want from you then? I have a list, if you’re willing to hear me out’ he asks, with a smile that’s growing more common the more time he spends around her. 

She nods, but keeps her gaze stubbornly on the ground. 

He takes his time to choose his words. He’s never been verbose - not like Atsumu or Bokuto or even easygoing Motoya, choosing to only say what is strictly necessary, using the precise amount of words, nothing more, nothing less. But this is a situation that requires more emotion rather than precision, so he inhales a shaky breath, letting it fuel the sentiment in his heart as he exhales. 

‘First. I want you to trust that I’ll never hurt you like he did’, he says, and with a self-deprecating smile he adds - ‘I don’t have any childhood friends to be secretly in love with besides Motoya, and I’m hardly going to be pining after my flake of a cousin’. 

That triggers the corners of her lips to tilt upwards, and encouraged, he carries on.    

‘Second. I want you to be open with me about what you want - your dreams, your expectations of me. I want to hear them all because  you’re important to me.’

That makes her flush pink, and she sneaks a glance up towards him. 

‘Third. I want to wake up each morning with you by my side and come home to you every night. I want to watch you fight cranky old ladies in the supermarket in my honour, be the first person to taste test all your baking experiments - even the failed ones that are only fit to feed Atsumu. I want us to be happy together. Forever, if possible.’

He lifts her bodily into his lap, brushes his nose against her cheek. ‘Now that I’ve told you what I’m willing to give, is that too much for you to take?’ he murmurs against her lips. 

Her blush blossoms into a deep scarlet, but her eyes are iridescent pools of startled delight. She doesn’t speak, sealing her answer instead with her lips. 

His heart’s compass is irretrievably broken, the needle melted into place. It doesn’t point north any longer, no  – it’s always going to point towards her. 

They move in together after that. 

He gives up his apartment, professing to prefer the warmth and light of hers. The Miyas help him move in even when he tries to refuse their help, Atsumu helping him to lug cardboard boxes up the stairs, Kaiyo helping him sort out his belongings, sorting them into his allocated cupboards. 

When they’re done, they order pizza and she bakes a cake to celebrate. ‘An impromptu housewarming’ she says, toasting Miya Kaiyo with a slice of pepperoni pizza with a laugh.

Kiyoomi shares a slice of chocolate cake with Atsumu in complete defiance of their nutritionist’s advice, jostling forks over the very last bite. She and Kaiyo scold them teasingly, telling them to behave like they’re actually thirty and not teenagers on the cusp of adulthood. Atsumu pulls at Kaiyo’s ponytail in retaliation. He refuses to engage in similar tomfoolery, reddening instead when she reaches over to ruffle his curls.

‘This is nice’, he remarks to Atsumu later, when their significant others are out of earshot, gossiping and giggling about something or other.  

‘It is, isn’t it’, Atsumu replies, a dopey smile on his face as he stares at his wife. 

It truly is , Kiyoomi thinks, staring at her.  

He takes over most of the cleaning, it clears his mind, he tells her. So to split the chores evenly, she insists on doing their laundry and cooking, and he doesn’t even nag her too much when she forgets to split the white and coloured clothes and stains some of his shirts once in a while. 

Wedding invites printed on expensive cream paper and bouquets of white lilies start to litter their doorstep every day. He tries his best to dispose of them before they reach her sight, but every so often, he comes home too late, catches her wilt as she brushes white petals from their doorstep. 

‘I don’t blame either of them’, she tells him, after he asks if she’d like him to call Iwaizumi and tell him to drown himself in a vat of batter, thank you very much. 

‘You’re too kind to both of them’ he says plainly, as they share a pot of tea, his head pillowed in her lap. ‘I would’ve just set them both on fire and left them to rot.’

‘Hajime loved Tooru for almost all his life - I just wanted to see him happy in the end. Argh  - I sound so stupid and sentimental like an old grandma, just laugh at me already’ she complains, hiding her burning cheeks in her hands.  

‘You aren’t stupid for being kind.’ He hums, quiet and low. ‘It’s why I love you so.’ 

He relishes the soft light dawning in her eyes, captures her whispered affection with careful fingers, spins them into gold. 

He has to turn off the stove to answer the door when some rude lout bangs on their front door far too early on a Sunday morning. 

With his coldest sneer and thinking resentfully about his breakfast, Kiyoomi swings the door open, fully intent on looming over the disturbance with his full height, but takes a step back instead when he finds one Iwaizumi Hajime hanging off the door knob. 

‘Hello’, Iwaizumi looks up at him confusedly. 

‘Hi’, he nods a greeting back at his old Olympic team trainer. They stare at each other. 

‘Eh - I think I’ve got the wrong house’, Iwaizumi scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. ‘Sorry about that, Sakusa-san.’

He’s about to close the door in Iwaizumi’s face when her voice chimes in, clear as a bell. 

‘Who’s at the door, Omi?’ 

The shorter man shoots him a look of barely contained rage as he uses his bulk to push his way through the doorway towards her. Kiyoomi tries to stop him, protesting that he can’t barge into someone’s private property without an invitation like that, but it’s as futile an endeavour as trying to block the path of a raging storm.

Iwaizumi reaches her first, raising a hand as if to cup her face by instinct, before letting it fall back limply by his side. ‘You weren’t answering any of my messages or calls’, he says. ‘I was worried about you.’

She stares at him blankly for a moment. Then fire sparks in her eyes. 

‘Well, as you can see, I’m completely fine’, she replies, jaw and fists clenched. ‘You don’t need to do a welfare check on me, we’re not involved anymore.’

The scorching pain in Iwaizumi’s eyes is evident, even from a distance away. ‘Yeah. Well. I thought we were friends. You didn’t even tell me you were dating again’. He shoves his hands in his pockets, tossing another heated glance in Kiyoomi’s way. 

‘I didn’t think I needed to update my ex-fiance about my love life, especially not when he’s trying to drag me to attend his wedding that I already said I’m not going to attend’, she bites back. 

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, then closes it with a resounding snap. ‘I’m sorry’, he says, with heartbreaking honesty. ‘I told Tooru that you probably didn’t want to hear from us, but he insisted and I got worried when I didn’t hear from you for months’. 

Kiyoomi can see her glare soften into molten sympathy. The tension in the air crackles with electricity. He’s neither blind nor stupid – he can sense the years of longing and love not quite lost between them. 

He thinks she loves him, Sakusa Kiyoomi – weird habits, cold disposition and all, but the doubt clogging up his arteries and veins is enough to make his heart seize – and if she’s going to break his heart, he’d much rather she not do it in front of Iwaizumi.  

‘Hajime - ‘ she begins to say, and at this point he jumps in - 

‘I’ll excuse myself so you both have the chance to catch up’, he says, waving aside her protests as he slips on his shoes. Even in his haste to leave the house, he clicks his tongue at the mess Iwaizumi left behind at their  genkan , kneeling down to arrange their shoes, only standing up when he’s satisfied they’re neatly arranged back in place. 

‘Omi, you don’t have to leave’, she says, holding the door open. 

He shrugs his shoulders at her, nose and mouth already obscured by his usual face mask. ‘Let me know when you’d like me to come back’. 

If she’d like him to come back. She doesn’t chase after him, after all.  

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning, but the golden sunshine feels more like a taunt rather than a balm to his mood. His stomach growls, making him long for the scrambled eggs he was in the middle of frying before he was so rudely interrupted, but his growing sense of nausea keeps him from seeking out an alternative meal. 

Instead, he makes his way to the park, sits on a relatively clean bench. There are couples a-plenty, strolling around hand in hand, families picnicking merrily around him, compounding the growing chasm of loneliness in his chest. He tries to count the seconds by his breaths, tries not to let the minutes expand the insecurities crawling, inch by inch up his throat. 

He sits alone. Poised, yet short of breath. 

He wonders if Iwaizumi Hajime has finally figured out that stars, for all their brilliance, cannot compensate for their lack of human kindness. And if so, he wonders which direction her heart would point towards if it were a compass - whether it’s as broken as his, and whether it points towards Iwaizumi or him.   

He waits. 

Then his phone buzzes. 

Ah. 

She’s asking him to come home. He does not dare to overthink the meaning of that single word. But he does not hide that his steps back  home are lighter than when he left, though the key in his hand shakes so hard it takes him three tries to fit it into the keyhole. He does not try to suffocate the seed of hope budding in the soft earth of his heart when he realises Iwaizumi’s shoes have vanished without a trace.  

“Omi?” 

She’s waiting for him, slipping warm arms around his waist, tangling her fingers in his curls, ignoring his complaints about letting himself wash his hands first. 

‘Am I silly for missing you, even though it’s only been an hour?’

He refuses to be distracted by the affection in her voice.

‘But what about Iwaizumi?’ he frowns, hesitation still poisoning the well of thoughts in his mind. 

Perhaps it’s a testament to how well they’ve grown to know each other that she doesn’t need to read the silent subtext of his statement. She smiles, bringing his palm flat against her chest, does not answer until his pulse matches the steady beat of her heart.  

‘I love you , Omi’, she tells him. Her heartbeat does not quicken, her smile does not waver. ‘You told me not to long ago to always be upfront with you about what  I  want so I’m going to be honest with you now - Iwaizumi is only ever going to be my past, and I want you from now on’. 

If her heart were a compass, the steady beat of her heart tells him, it would point only towards him.  

‘That is – if you’ll have me’, she adds, a shadow of doubt suddenly appearing on her face. 

‘Don’t be ridiculous’, he scoffs, burying his nose to breathe in the familiar scent of vanilla in her hair. ‘Who else would I rather have than you?’ 

Who else would he be lucky enough to call his home – a woman with a heart large enough to fit a whole ocean within its depths, with kindness in her eyes and mirth in her smiles. 

She laughs in spite of the salt in her throat and water in her eyes, leaning on her toes in a vain attempt to reach his face. He lifts her into her arms, laughs when she squeals indignantly as her feet only find air, toppling them both onto the couch where he can seat her between his legs, press kisses to her cheeks.  

She’ll tell him later that Iwaizumi came looking for her because he’s never outgrown his overprotective streak, and he’s truly happy for her - for them, because they’ve both moved on with their separate lives. And she ended up agreeing to attend his and Oikawa’s wedding on one condition – that an invitation is extended to him, Sakusa Kiyoomi, to attend with her as his date. 

He’ll tell her later that he’s happy to attend the wedding with her, just not to expect him to smile in any wedding pictures. And more importantly, he’ll tell her in his plain way that the list of expectations he has of their relationship has expanded yet again. 

He’ll lay out his dreams of a pair of matching golden rings to bind them to lifelong companionship, of hellspawn of their own and a dog, maybe two. 

He’ll ask her if it’s too much for him to ask of her.  

She’ll tell him that she’s willing to give him everything he asks for and more. 

It’s Miya Shino’s ninth birthday party. 

He’s retired from volleyball proper, and is thankful he insisted on getting a business degree from Chuo University before going pro, because it comes in handy working alongside Kuroo Tetsuro at the volleyball association. 

Miya Atsumu insists on inviting him to the party, though he supposes he’s invited not by virtue of being a former teammate, but because he’s also Shino’s uncle by marriage now. The thought that he’s related to Miya Atsumu, however distant and most definitely not by blood, still fills him with dread. 

The birthday girl is a little less imbued with her father’s chaotic energy this time, though she still squeals when her birthday cake is unveiled – though to be fair it’s less a cake, more a tower of cupcakes with cream cheese frosting spelling out her name. 

‘Thank you Auntie!’ Shino cries, flinging her arms around her. Kiyoomi flinches at the sight of anyone, even his nine year old niece, coming in close contact with his extremely pregnant wife, but a sharp glare from her subdues any complaint he dares to make. 

He fusses over her the minute he has the chance to corral her away from the clutches of Miya Shino. ‘Are your feet hurting? What about your back? I don’t know why you insist on walking so much when you know the doctor said you should be on bed rest soon’. 

‘Stop fussing, Omi! The baby and I will be fine’, she replies, exasperated. ‘This is the last social event scheduled before I pop and I’m determined to enjoy it while I can.’ Then she scuttles off faster than he imagines her frame allows, leaving him floundering in her wake. 

‘Just let her be’, Miya Atsumu laughs, slapping his back. Kiyoomi is on the verge of pointing out -  pot, meet kettle, reminding Atsumu that the last time Kaiyo was pregnant, Atsumu didn’t stop fretting until she went into labour and delivered a healthy baby boy. But then he remembers the grief etched into Atsumu’s face when Kaiyo miscarried in the stands during a game, so he holds his tongue and rolls his eyes instead. 

‘I’m just worried she’s pushing herself too hard’, he admits in a rare bout of vulnerability. 

Atsumu smiles, genuine for once. ‘Those crazy women, eh? They’re always gonna drive us up the wall, but they’re worth every minute of it.’ 

He looks at her, belly swollen with their first child, peach blossoms blooming in her cheeks. His past self would never imagine that he’d find this much joy and contentment in being a husband and a father, but then again his past self was satisfied coming home alone day after day to a cold apartment. He knows better now - life is so better when he has her, sharing stories of their day of over steaming mugs of tea at their kitchen countertop, listening to her hum as she bakes treats for the weekend, warmth and laughter and love abound in their cosy apartment for two, soon to be three.   

So feeling vaguely drunk though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in the months since she whispered during their anniversary dinner that they were expecting, Kiyoomi laughs aloud. 

Atsumu lifts his eyebrows in surprise.

‘She really, really is’, Kiyoomi says, breaking into an unguarded smile.  

If you wanna know more about the backstory of the reader - check out The Astrophile, and if you wanna know more about Miya Atsumu’s relationship with his wife, check out Storm Chaser. 

As always, reblogs and/or comments are so very appreciated <3

Taglist: 

@snoozless @softsakusa @moondaius​ (yeon i’ll be shameless and tag you cos I know you’re an Omi stan!)

[tenebraevesper]

Sonic the Hedgehog Analyzer, Issue #26: All or Nothing (Part 1)

In the last Issue, we had set up all the pieces on the chessboard. This time, we shall see the heroes’ plan unfold, summarized by the amazingly drawn Cover B. Let’s start the last part of the journey!

We start out with Eggman and Tails finally completing the multi-portal generator, the Warp Topaz in the middle of it, with Tails mentioning they should focus on not making it implode. Cue the next panel of Knuckles frantically looking from and to Tails and Eggman, asking whether imploding was a possibility.

I kind of feel sorry for Knuckles here. He just wanted some peace and quiet and now he has to deal with the Metal Virus and the Zeti situation. On the other hand, his expression is hilarious.

Sonic arrives, glad to hear that Tails and Eggman managed to build the generator and he’s close to collapsing. Amy wants to help him, but Sonic stops her, for obvious reasons, then moves on with the plan:

Tails and Amy will take care of Zomom. He’s as dumb as a brick, so they shouldn’t have any trouble outwitting him.

Espio and Knuckles will take care of Zazz. Since the latter is a berserker, having the best trained fighters sent against him should allow them to overcome his brute strength.

Knuckles replies with a simple “Nope”.

When asked why, Knuckles points out how the Master Emerald will be left with Eggman and Metal Sonic and, as the Guardian, he cannot allow that. If the two try anything with the Master Emerald, Sonic won’t be able to fight them off since he’s too exhausted from the constant running and lack of sleep.

Eggman then questions Sonic whether he truly believes he’ll double-cross everyone, with Sonic then agreeing with Knuckles that this is indeed a “Nope”; with Eggman glaring at him in response.

Espio adds that he’ll be fine on his own and that if Charmy and Vector were able to deal with the Zombots, then he should do whatever he can. I’m proud of you Espio.

Next are Whisper and Silver against Zor. Since he’s the weirdo, Sonic feels that their best chance is to attack him from a distance. Whisper agrees, while Silver is stoked to work with her again.

Next, Sonic tells Gemerl to deal with Zeena. Since she thinks highly of herself, she will underestimate him. Considering how Gemerl is a robot, this also makes things risky, but Sonic feels Gemerl might have an advantage. Cream wants to fight too, but Gemerl tells her how she has already proven her bravery and that he won’t lose her too.

Moving on, Sonic tells the Babylon Rogues to take on Master Zik. He may be crafty, but Jet feels confident that they will be able to handle the “Grandpa” of the bunch.

Lastly, Eggman adds how they’re gonna rely on Rouge to steal the last two Chaos Emeralds from Zavok. Then, they can use them to transform Sonic into Super Sonic and finally save the day.

That is, unless Sonic succumbs to the Metal Virus first. Sonic points out that Eggman’s life is on the line too, with Eggman agreeing and calling Tails to build Sonic a treadmill, as he doesn’t want Sonic to collapse somewhere on the island and wake up as a Zombot, since the virus is getting immune to Sonic’s speed.

Amy quickly calls in Rouge to check on her, with Rouge notifying her how Zavok has been asking questions regarding to where Eggman escaped. They will have to make their move as soon as possible.

Meanwhile, Knuckles observes the survivors as they set up camp on Angel Island, confused that this is everyone. Espio notes how this is everyone they saved and there are probably more people down below, with the Zeti hunting them down. He’s afraid of failing, but Knuckles assures him that he won’t and that he will look after the survivors if in the worst case scenario.

Honestly, it is amazing to see Knuckles’ character development here. I’m sure that the old Knuckles would’ve thrown anyone off his island, but this time, he allows people to stay for their own safety, willing not only to protect the Master Emerald, but the survivors as well.

Eggman is working on the generator, with Metal Sonic and Sonic observing him, the latter running on a treadmill. Sonic is kind of pissed off, glaring at Metal Sonic, noting how Eggman didn’t really get a chance to stay reformed due to Starline, but why the hell did Metal Sonic have to return. Instead of being like Gemerl or Omega, he had to be a one-note jerk.

Now, before I continue, I will stop here for a second to address something. We see here that Sonic actually doesn’t consider Metal Sonic to be just another Badnik or robotic Eggman creation. He sees Metal Sonic as an individual, as a person, similar to Gemerl and Omega. They may be rivals and bitter enemies, but Sonic holds some genuine respect for Metal Sonic, hoping that he would be able to turn away from Eggman and live his own life. He gave him a chance, and even if Metal Sonic doesn’t want to be all buddy-buddy with him, he at least hoped he would choose a life that wouldn’t be a destructive one. Honestly, I respect Sonic’s desire here.

Eggman wonders if Sonic really thought that neutralizing Metal Sonic would make him less of a threat, with Sonic noting how Metal had nothing to fight for nor weapons to fight with, so yeah. Eggman proceeds to reveal that, even though he neutralized Metal’s hardware, but his software still demands conquest and battle. In short, his sole desire from that point on is to become dangerous again.

Sonic replies how nobody knew that Metal Sonic would be restored, with Eggman pretty much agreeing - again, they had no idea about Starline. The fact that they didn’t know about Starline is what led to Eggman’s return.

Again, how the hell can one blame this whole thing on Sonic when he had no clue that Starline even existed?! Seriously!

Sonic then responds with how Eggman lived happily as Mr. Tinker, bringing joy to others. It is indeed a waste, isn’t it? Eggman looks quite annoyed that Sonic isn’t letting go of that one, with Sonic noting that he won’t until Eggman comes around.

We once again see Sonic’s philosophy here - if he sees an inkling of goodness (even if the person needs to lose all of their memories to become good), he will fight for them to allow them turn a new leaf for real; even Eggman.

Eggman points out how Sonic has no right to speak so high-and-mighty, as he helped in spreading the Metal Virus. Sonic turns around, running backwards, noting how he wasn’t the one who was dropping gallons of the stuff on people. Eggman agrees that this is true, pointing out how Sonic had been fighting the infection for quite a while, and how it had probably mutated. Now, think about the times he hit the Zombots with the mutated virus, spreading it further.

Sonic figures out Eggman’s trying to get into his head, but notes how that won’t work. Eggman replies how he already infected Sonic with something worse - doubt - and how this is his parting gift.

As Eggman and Metal Sonic leave, Sonic yells how they’ll go back to fighting each other right once the whole Metal Virus fiasco is over, but Eggman gets the last word in, saying how they never stopped the fight. Helping Sonic is just convenient for him. That’s all.

Honestly, I really love Sonic and Eggman’s back and forth here. I don’t think we see much of them having a more philosophical conversation, trying to get under each other’s skin. They have fought for so long that they know which buttons to push to make the other react and it is glorious to read.

We briefly check on Zavok, who is talking to Orbot and Cubot as they’re searching for Eggman’s possible location. Zavok is furious at the thought of Eggman hiding in his castle on Lost Hex, telling Orbot to bring up all the bases, only to find one on Angel Island. Orbot tries to distract him, with Cubot then telling Zavok how they got an alarm on the machine that produces the Metal Virus, so Zavok leaves to make sure Sonic isn’t sabotaging it.

Rouge appears, asking Orbot and Cubot for the location of the other Zeti, adding how Orbot and Cubot need to play along a little longer until she figures out how to deal with Zavok. The two robots aren’t too happy.

Back on Angel Island, everyone prepares to leave after they got the coordinates from Rouge.

Gemerl and Cream hug and say goodbye, only for Cream to run right into the portal, wanting to support Gemerl against Zeena. He flies after her, with Cream yelling at Zeena for being mean and to give them the Chaos Emerald. Zeena responds by controlling Gemerl, noting how Cream is alone.

Tails and Amy are dealing with Zomom, lying how Zavok sent them to pick up the Chaos Emerald and how they’ll bring it to him, so Zomom doesn’t have to stop eating. Zomom replies how he has the Zombots to bring him the food and is enraged they interrupted his snack, deciding to squash them.

Zazz is just flying around on the Moon Mech, annoyed by the lack of damage in the Zombots as he sends them tearing into each other, and complains how anyone he sent into the battle arena lasted only a few minutes tops. It isn’t fun. We then spot Espio hiding beneath the Moon Mech, crawling up and trying to grab the Chaos Emerald, but is found by Zazz and dropped into the Zombot crowd.

Silver and Whisper are observing Zor, with Silver flying up to him while Whisper covers Silver. Silver demands that Zor gives him the Chaos Emerald so he can save the future. Zor, upon realizing that this future would be one of misery, refuses and fights back.

Meanwhile, Master Zik commands the Zombot troops to spread more of the infection when the Babylon Rogues arrive.

Master Zik just takes control of their Extreme Gear and jumps on Jet’s airboard. Like, damn, Grandpa got moves.

Jet is, naturally, pissed off that Zik is on his Extreme Gear, ignoring the fact that he, Wave and Storm are getting surrounded by Zombots. He confronts Zik, asking him whether he’s afraid to fight his own battles, with Zik replying how he retired from the battlefield, but is still willing to teach them a few lessons.

Honestly, there is something hilarious about the Babylon Rogues going against Zik.

Jet rallies Storm and Wave to fight back, but Zik hits the two with their own Extreme Gear.

Jet, however, manages to knock down Zik with his Bashōsen (palm fans), getting on his Extreme Gear. He’s confident that he’ll win, but Zik points out how he got his friends.

We then see the last panel - one of Wave and Storm being surrounded by Zombots.

Links:

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#Sonic the Hedgehog Analyzer (Masterlist)

[peralta-guaranteed]

(inspired by this ask the lovely @fourdrinkamy got!)

“Oh!” The Sergeant smiles widely at her phone before looking up, surveying the little group that’s gathered around her. “Do you guys mind if my husband joins us for a minute? He’s just gotten off his shift.”

There’s the typical rushed murmur of agreement and “of course not!” before Amy begins writing something on her phone.

“Who’s her husband?” One of the rookies asks in a hushed tone at the other end of the bar where the new team members had sort of congregated - they’d been a bit too timid to sit closer with the rest of the uniformed officers that Amy had invited out for drinks at Shaw’s after a particularly tough week for them.

“Detective Peralta from the first floor.” One of the less rookie-ish rookies (god they really need a better labeling system for that) answers, much to the first askers surprise.

“The... uh... the goofball?”

Gary a few seats beside them grins. That was probably the nicest descriptor the poor woman could’ve thought of when being reminded of the chaos-made-human that sometimes descended from the first floor unto theirs, bringing with him stories of crazy heists or trying to rope some of them into his convoluted plans during bigger meetings of the precinct.

“Yeah. He’s a bit odd.” Rookie Level 5 (hm, maybe that’s not a good labeling plan either) nods. “Sometimes I wonder what the Sarge sees in him, but she married him, so...” He shrugs.

“Hard to imagine someone as professional and high-strung as Sergeant Santiago going for that kind of crazy.”

“Well, you never know.” Rookie Level 5 (now marked down as bit of a creep he should keep an eye on after that wink and laugh, Gary thinks) answers.

And they really don’t know, he thinks. He doesn’t fault them for that - it took quite a while for him to figure it out too, only presented with the Santiago-Peralta team in ‘professional’ settings that Jake always tried to make as unprofessional as possible while Amy next to him huffed and tried to keep them both in the lane.

They’ll probably understand faster than him, though, given the current setting. The soft shock on all their faces when the sergeant turned up for this casual get-together in a flowery, dark-coloured dress instead of the well-pressed suit they all expected from her even out of uniform had already unsettled their pre-conceived imagie of her a little bit.

Gary’s musings are quickly interrupted by a very loud, very boisterous voice.

“Eyoh! Look at New York’s Finest drinking some of New York’s worst!”

Amy rolls her eyes at him with a fond smile while Jake makes his way through the group, greeting most of them with another joke that only half of them understand, but most laugh at out of politeness, until he settles down next to her. There’s a moment of hesitation in his movements before he leans over to kiss her cheek, as if he’s afraid she might actually pull away in this setting - he’s definitely not afraid to kiss her hello when he visits her at her desk downstairs, but it’s a different feeling to this, all eyes of her squad on them, so he quickly leans back again to grin at them all and make another quip about drink recommendations in this place if they really want to get to know each other, winkwink.

Rookie Level 1 (yeah, it really doesn’t work) scoffs and shoots Rookie Level 5 (damn, it’s kind of stuck though) a look that he repeats with a nod. Peralta is really making sure to cement their image of him for the next few minutes - immediately pulling the situation to him as the class clown that he is, entertaining the closer row of officers near him with some new story from upstairs that only half sounds over-exaggerated. He’s all swinging arms and loud noises and wide grins, and Gary wonders if any of the others are able to make out the little details that belie his persona or if he’s just too aware of them now himself.

The way he’ll turn towards Amy at the end of every story with his grin, as if waiting for her reaction first and foremost, and only continuing when he sees her smile even as she shakes her head. The fact that he remembered all of their names in his comical greetings, and even tries to pull in the rookie group at the end of the bar into the conversation. The slightest hint of a serious face inbetween his rambling, his eyes doing a quick once-over of the whole bar and their group as if to make sure everyone’s still okay - a detective skill he clearly can never turn off.

It’s not much - it’d give away the game if it was any more obvious - but it’s enough for Gary to remember that underneath all the bravado and jokester behaviour, he’s still Sergeant Amy Santiago’s husband, and for a reason.

-*-

That reason shows itself about twenty minutes later, when his first beer is finished and the conversations of the group have broken back into their own areas, talking about their week or about upcoming assignments, sharing academy anecdotes or first-arrest-stories. Gary is sure detective Peralta would happily jump into these talks as well if he only heard them, but there’s no way he’s listening to anything but Amy next to him, a tad too noisy after her second beer as she tells him about something that happened at work today.

Gary tries his best to catch Rookie Level 1′s attention, and diverts it towards the pair with an eyebrow raise and a soft side-nod of the head.

“Oh.” Level 1 (her name is Lisa, he thinks? He needs to check the rooster.) says, quietly, and he nods again. She sees. (She’s a quick one, he really needs an eye on her for future assignments.)

And what she sees is proof enough of what the Sarge sees in her goofball husband, too.

They’ve seem to have gone into their own little bubble after the main attention drifted away from them, talking in hushed tones about their son and how someone had just texted them an update on the babysitting evening. And within that bubble, it almost seems like someone had cut the strings of the muppet-like actions of the Peralta they all know.

His whole body language seems to shift - his shoulders are hanging low as he leans closer and closer to Amy next to him, his face in his hand as he hooks his arm over the backrest behind her, his eyes stuck on her and whatever story she’s telling him about right now. There’s the softest smile on his face, and a shine to his eyes as she animatedly - almost as animated as he usually is - talks between hiccups from the beer she’s drinking a little bit too fast.

The air has gone out of him, but not in a bad way - he’s far more settled than usual, like someone dialed down his usual speed. He still grins and nods and raises his eyebrows high in reactions to what Amy is saying, but he also absent-mindedly reaches over and tucks a stray piece of her hair behind her ear, his hand trailing down her neck for a second after it. Gary’s sure that as it drops down underneath the table, it definitely reaches for hers to hold.

“Yeah”, Lisa (it’s definitely Lisa, he remembers her introducing herself to him a few weeks ago more clearly now) nods towards him, quietly and with a smile. “Yeah, I get it.” as Peralta leans even closer to Amy, whispers something soft into her ear that makes her giggle, and giggle a little more when he presses a little kiss right beside her ear.

He stands up, out of the bubble, and withing seconds the persona is back as he grins at them all.

“Welp, I better take my wife home before I have to carry her home.” He extolls, before - of course - looking down again with a smile. “Just joking, babe, I know you can hold your own when it comes to New York’s Worst at Shaw’s.”

The Sergeant rolls her eyes again, but she also takes his offered arm as she stands up, tells them all to have a good rest of the night and enjoy their weekend off properly, and they could catch the slightest of winks into Jake’s direction from her if they only looked close enough.

He loops an arm around her waist as he says his goodbyes as well, and uses it to both support her and steer her as they leave, Amy clearly a bit less sure on her feet than she usually is. He wraps her scarf around her neck at the clothesrack at the front of the bar, tugs her jacket down after she’s slipped into it with waving arms and buttons the last few buttons for her that her fingers fumble at, and Lisa smiles at Gary as Amy stumbles for the door and is immediately held at bay again by her husband’s soft grip on her arm.

“Yeah, I can see it.” She says, and Gary nods.

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Infatuation P11

Joe Goldberg x Reader x Love Quinn

Warnings: Violent scene description, death.

Notes: Wow, this seems really out of nowhere to post. Anyway 🤪 I don’t want this sitting in my drafts anymore so I’m going to let you all know if I edit it before the next update. Just... take it.

I spent the better half of the day looking over my shoulder as I worked. Candace’s sudden reappearance isn’t going to be swept under the rug just like that... she’s a dead girl walking and I’ve never been a fan of the zombie genre.

By the time I was counting the money from the cash register, Love seemed to have grown a smile. Though, I could still see the sleep deprivation in her eyes.

“Will,” She leaned forward on the counter, perching her head up on her hand. “could we do something tonight?”

At that moment, I really wish I could’ve said yes. But... I couldn’t afford to get distracted.

“Maybe another night? I’m...” I thought quickly, placing coins down and counting.

“We need to talk.” She leans forward to catch my sight. About what exactly, I want to ask but before I can even get a word out, Forty walks in with his mouth open.

“Will, would you be a doll and help me with something.”

I don’t say anything, only thinking to myself: why here and now? Forty has some of the worst timing... and then I spot Candace. Right behind Forty, with a white smile I hated to see.

“Oh, Will. This is Amy.” Love gestures toward Candace and my stomach turns and probably does some flips while it’s at it. If I wasn’t so used to staring into the face of death, I would of probably thrown up by now.

But, there’s no way.

“She’s Y/N’s friend.” Forty finishes. I bite the inside of my cheek. No fucking way she’s here unprompted. I’ve been so incredibly meticulous about everything including my online presence.

I look to Love’s face and she seems to spot something.

“Are you okay? You look kind of pale.” What? She’s not going to ask if I’ve seen a ghost?

“Yeah— no, yeah. I’m alright.” I smile wide, wiping my brow as I do. “It’s just—“ I turn to ‘Amy’. “Is Y/N still in town?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m here.” She looks me in the eye. For a moment, I feel myself crack under the pressure.

Hold me back, I might just kill her now.

“What do you mean?” Love looks to her.

“I was supposed to pick her up the other day, but she hasn’t responded to my messages since.” Candace looks at me with those dead soulless eyes of hers.

So, she’s the mysterious driver. When did she start driving that type of car? Since she’s decided to pursue a career in stealthily ruining my life?

What the fuck am I going to do about her and what the hell am I going to do about you?

“Will,” Love suddenly says, bringing the conversation back and snapping me out of my thoughts. “didn’t you see Y/N?”

“Y— no. No, I know it was late by the time I got there, but I passed a bus on my way.” I remember the way your soft face felt in my hand. “Could she have taken public transport? Maybe a cab?”

“I highly doubt it.” Candace replies immediately. I’m sweating, but I’m trying not to lose my cool.

I finally finish sorting through the change, no doubt making some mistakes. But with that done and out of my way, I need an excuse to slip through the cracks.

“Listen, I’m sure she’s just disappearing again. You’ve told me she’s done it before, I don’t see why she wouldn’t do it again.”

Love shifts around, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. “I’m calling Lucy.”

And there she goes. Love leaves the room after her statement, and I know she’s feeling worse. Why did you even bother coming back? You’ve literally disrupted everything in our lives... it’s going to be difficult to fix, Y/N. There’s no simple way around this, we just have to make it through alive.

~

Love remained in another room at Anavrin until it closed and the street lights turned on. She quietly spoke into her phone, observing the floor pathetically.

She spoke with Lucy openly, though she avoided the topic of your sudden disappearance.

The conversation eventually dies down, and she says her goodbyes.

“I need to show you something.”

Love sets down her phone and looks to Amy. She hadn’t noticed her enter the room.

“You surprised me. What is it?”

She continues once Love’s attention is on her. “I know we don’t know each other that well, but do you mind if we discuss it in the car?”

~

And just as expected, Forty’s one-off comment about needing help wasn’t easily forgotten by himself. I was dragged out of Anavrin rather quickly. Though, in a way, I appreciated the easy excuse to get away from such a venemous snake as Candace.

Forty never let up, no matter how obvious I made my lack of care, he remained just as motivated and just as annoying.

“Listen, this is probably my most prestigious and ambitious project to date.” Forty’s arm swings itself over my shoulder, bringing me in as he repeats the same garbage he always does. I’m glad to see that spirit remains.

“They’re wanting to make it into a movie, can you believe that?” Forty’s arm lifts itself, only to fall down on my shoulder like a pat on the back.

“I’d love it if you could... you know... help me out. A genius writer isn’t a genius without their ghost writers!”

That’s... not what that is, but I get his point.

When I looked at him, his eyes were wide and his bottom lip stuck out comically. He was pouting? No, it’s more of a puppy dog look. The lazy man’s pretty please.

I should have time for this, even if I’d rather stop by the nearest gas station and get you dinner.

“Earth to Will, I need you focused!”

~

Love wraps her arms around herself, feeling very out of place.

Amy continues to fumble with the lock, until she hears a click. She perks up and gives Love a nod.

The storage lockers were easy to access, surprisingly so. But none of this felt right.

“Wait.” Love says suddenly, halting all movement. “I don’t want to do this.”

“But you’re just a door away. Please, Love, you’ll want to see this side of him.” Amy pleas.

What side of him? The side that owns this locker she so happened to know about?

“No, I don’t. And I don’t care for it either.” Love says, though she looks unsure of herself as she fiddles with her bag. Perhaps a part of her would rather be unaware of something as vile as Any had dared describe in the car.

“Do you hear yourself? You sound ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous? Thats coming from someone with bold claims.” Love retorts. She catches herself for a moment, seeing a glimpse of someone she repressed long ago. She’s not that person anymore, she swore to herself she never would be.

Despite Love’s reluctance, Amy lifts the door up and pockets her bobby pin.

Hearing the doors roll up, you had expected Joe to step in. But he was nowhere in sight. Instead, you jumped at the image of Love and Amy, pinching yourself to truly believe they were really standing there.

You wanted to speak, to shout, to cry out... but your voice was far too gone. Your throat was hoarse and bone-dry.

“Oh my god.” Amy hurried, observing you inside the glass box. “You’re still alive— she’s still alive!”

Love remained silent, her jaw hung open in utter disbelief. Will... Will had told her you left.

He lied? Or Amy isn’t who she says she is.

But why would he? It... it must’ve been for a good reason, right? Will isn’t this kind of person, right? Maybe— maybe he got himself into something. Love clutched her keys between her fingers, her knuckles turning white as she focused her burning stare into the back of Amy’s head.

“Y/N. Can you hear me?” She says, hitting the glass.

You’re barely responsive, a mixture of dehydration and lack of nutrition hitting you all at once. The sheer excitement from seeing them took a lot out of you.

“We’ll get you out of there.” Amy states, turning her head to face Love.

Love jumps at her sudden movement, grip shaking as she stares into Amy’s eyes.

“Help me, would you?”

Love slashed her keys in Amy’s direction and she tumbles back. Without a second thought, Love does it again, this time catching her straight in the neck.

For a moment, Love realizes what she’s done. With the way you began to pound on the glass and the look of complete and utter fear Amy is giving her, it’s kind of hard not to. Love stares at her keys, stuck inside the side of Amy’s neck as a thick stream of blood flows downward. She grips her own neck, holding tightly as her mouth puckers like a fish out of water.

Amy doesn’t want her to pull them out—the keys- and Love notices that. But she does. She yanks the keys toward herself and watches Amy slap her hands down around her own throat.

She’s silent, surprisingly silent despite the gurgling.

Love watches Amy hit the ground and crawl toward her feet, all the while a pool of blood forms beneath herself.

When Love looks toward you, you’re curled up in the corner of your glass cage, arms covering your eyes as sobs shake you violently. She didn’t want you to witness this side of her, truly. But even more so, she had never wanted it to come out again.

However, Amy was a threat to the three of you. Love knew you were locked up somewhere, how could she not? She knew that Will— Joe- had done this in the past, but it could be different now— it could be better. A private detective isn’t just for show. But Amy didn’t have to get involved— didn’t have to go sniffing around and finding your location before she could.

When she notices you peek past your elbows, she feels her gut clench at the sight of the way you cower at the sight displayed by her feet. Watching someone bleed out is hardly a pretty sight and Love understands.

Knowing full well that she can’t turn back, Love wipes her keys and drops the rolled up door.

[amyscascadingtabs]

don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you [chapter 1]

“Actually, I want to add one more rule.” “Yeah?” Jake leans back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head and flexing his biceps through the green shirt with a smug grin. “You’re not allowed to fall in love with me.” "Won't be a problem."

Amy Santiago doesn't date cops. Jake Peralta's sworn never to date a lawyer again. When a couple of drinks and the returning of a borrowed shirt ends with the two of them in bed together, Amy decides to take control of the situation the best way she knows how: a comprehensive set of rules. There's just one little thing she hadn't anticipated – Jake Peralta is full of surprises.

Written for the B99 Summer 2021 Fic Exchange.

AO3 link // playlist

My contribution to this year’s fic exchange, for @fezzle​! @b99fandomevents​​ 💛

1. i never saw you coming (and i’ll never be the same)

 He gets out of the car, and before Amy can gather the courage to shout after him, he’s disappeared from her sight.

She leans her forehead against the steering wheel, squeezing her fist and punching it in frustration. It doesn’t feel better, just makes her hand hurt. Amy pretends that’s what’s making her eyes tear up, and not the thought that she just screwed up her chances of ever seeing Jake Peralta again.

 five months earlier.

 The cop is five minutes late entering the courtroom, and Amy vows to dislike him from that point onward.

 What's worse is that he doesn't seem ashamed. He simply gives Judge Stewart an apologetic grin, runs a hand through his already messy hair, and sits down on the bench next to the sergeant Amy recognizes as Terry Jeffords. Amy gives him a polite faked smile to tell him she's noted this presence and she's going to win this case, but the cop doesn't seem to notice the toxicity in her facial expression, because she gets another wide grin back. Judging from the colorful marks on his teeth, it looks like he had candy for breakfast – could it be gummy bears? Either way, Amy's respect for the man sinks even lower.

 At least she won't have to worry about him, she tells herself. She already knows this case is about to be a win.

 That is until it turns out this man has a reply for everything. She’d been certain the evidence against her client was circumstantial at best, nowhere near enough to get him convicted on, and the notes she’d gone through from the initial police questioning had lacked significant information. It had been nothing short of sloppy, and she’d entered the courthouse this morning filled with glowing confidence. That same confidence is now seeping away, dripping onto the polished floors of the courtroom in exchange for heated frustration as it turns out the detective – Jake Peralta, she learns – was present at the scene earlier than Amy had gathered, and from the vantage point he had, saw her client running from the corner store at full speed.

“Would you say it’s possible my client was running for a different reason?” She asks, staring coldly into the detective’s eyes as she speaks. “Such as exercising, perhaps?”

“Well, he was carrying a huge green backpack, identical to the one he was wearing when my partner Charles caught him ten minutes later. So, no,” he says, meeting her look with a smug smile of his own. “I would say that’s unlikely.”

“But not impossible?”

“Considering we also found the stolen goods in that same backpack, I’d say the chance is pretty solid it was him.”

“The bags couldn’t have been switched? Or, as my client claims, the goods couldn’t have been dropped in there by someone who wanted to get rid of them?”

“With all due respect,” says Jake Peralta, and the self-assuredness in his voice is enough for her to know the case is lost. “The streets were more crowded than a Taylor Swift concert, your honor. Someone would have seen something.”

 ~

 It’s late Friday afternoon by the time Amy returns to the office of Newsom & Associates, but there’s still plenty of her coworkers left to watch as she throws her briefcase on top of the chair before closing the door to her office and digging out her pack of shame cigarettes from the bottom drawer of her desk. The only window in the room opens out to a back alley with trash cans and forgotten bikes, which is a drab view most of the time but comes in handy for secret shame-smoking. She closes her eyes and leans back against the wall, trying to savor the first inhale. She hates the habit and always tells herself she’s going to quit soon, but at times when work stresses her out like this, there’s no better fix. It’s all Jake Peralta’s fault, anyway. He’d waved at her when they’d left the courtroom, looking genuinely pleased to see her, and that had only worsened her frustration. It’s one thing being defeated – it’s worse when the winner acts like it wasn’t even a big deal.

 “You should stop that.” The sound of Rosa’s voice appearing in the doorway to Amy’s office causes her to inhale too much smoke, coughing and tearing up as she hurries to extinguish the cigarette butt on the windowsill. “It’s gross.”

“I needed it,” Amy coughs again before drying her eyes with the sleeve of her blazer. “You should’ve been there. That fucking detective ruined my defense.”

“So? It happens. Doesn’t make you a bad lawyer. Stop pitying yourself.”

“You’re just saying that because you win nearly all your cases,” Amy mumbles. “And everyone’s terrified of you.”

Rosa does a little shrug, but Amy thinks she can spot the hint of a smile on her lips. She can’t be certain, though. Rosa almost never smiles, but that’s not nearly the most terrifying thing about her. She also rides her motorcycle to court and wears leather jackets and skin-tight black jeans to trials, and somehow no one's ever dared to police her on it. Amy once asked her out of curiosity if putting on a blazer would really hurt that much, and the stare she got back told her she’d be a fool to make that mistake again.

“Either way, it's not that. It was that cop who ruined everything. I mean, he showed up late, for god’s sake, with candy in his teeth and a wrinkled suit! But he somehow had an answer and explanation for everything,” Amy snorts. “And he smiled the whole time like he’d already won. And he referenced Taylor Swift! During the trial! Who does that?”

Rosa lets out a laugh. “You're a Swift hater? God, please don't tell me you took Kanye’s side too.”

“I didn't – that's beside the point!”

“Which is?”

“That he has zero respect for the sacred rules of a courtroom, and gets away with it all because of that super-charm smile.”

“Yeah, you mentioned the smile. Twice.”

“It was just so…” She clenches her fist until her red nails press into her palm to the point of pain, then releases it. “It's fine. I’ll win my next case, and there are lots of cops in New York. I probably won't ever see him again.”

 ~

 Amy can barely hide her frustration in court the next week when she hears the doors open and looks up from the papers she was sorting, only to see Jake Peralta for the second time in her life. He’s on time today, which she supposes is progress, but there are stains on his shirt that seem to be coming from the can of orange soda he’s holding in his hand. She wonders if it's his breakfast. If that's his diet, he looks surprisingly fit in a grey suit for it.

 He grins again when he sees her, raising his hand in a lazy wave. Amy gives him a forced smile, then returns to her papers. She’ll have to make sure to win this time.

 But despite her confidence and very best efforts, she loses to Jake Peralta yet another time.

And another.

And another.

 It's not that she's suddenly magically unlucky, because she still manages to win several other cases, but every time Jake Peralta shows up to testify, without fault, Amy loses.

It infuriates her.

 The worst part is that Jake seems oblivious to her anger. He smiles at her every time they leave the courtroom, even though she returns them with little to no genuineness at all. She once spots him doing a childish victory gesture outside the courthouse, but he never once takes the opportunity to brag about his win to her face.

 Aside from his surprisingly good manners when it comes to bragging, though, he's a mess. There's always some kind of stain on his shirt or his cheek that he seems unaware of, his ways of describing things involve one too many pop culture references for Amy’s liking, and she starts preparing to meet him every time a detective is five minutes late. She wonders if no one's ever told him how one is supposed to behave in a courtroom, but he’s usually accompanied by the precinct’s sergeant, so that seems unlikely. The more likely option, Amy figures, is that he just doesn't seem to find it that important; especially considering he seems to get away with it every single time.

 She swears it's all because of that stupid infectious smile.

 ~

 It pleases Amy to no end when she learns that Jake Peralta is going to be the witness in one of the strongest cases she’s had in a long while. The client was clearly acting in self-defense, she has a witness of her own who can testify to that, and although she knows that nothing is for certain until the verdict falls, she’s got a good feeling about this one. Finally, the day has come for Jake Peralta to watch her win.

 At first, the state attorney’s case seems solid. Jake is assisted by a short, round-faced man with dark brown hair and an expression that looks like he’s seconds away from apologizing for taking up everyone’s time, but his suit is matched and perfectly straight and he gets right to the point without any odd references, so Amy still earns a fair amount of respect for detective Charles Boyle. He and Jake had entered the subway car after hearing about a fight taking place, and stepped on just in time to watch her client aim a closed-fist punch at the face of the man on top of him. It’s clear and convincing, but Amy knows that after the recess, it will be her time to shine. She loves these moments, when it’s obvious the other side thinks they have it in the bag but she knows something they don’t, and they have no idea what’s coming. She knows trials are about justice and not personal victories – but she’s only human. Winning is always a thrill.

 She’s thinking about how she’s going to be celebrating her win later this evening when Jake Peralta bumps into her at the coffee shop neighboring the courthouse. As in, literally bumps into her, with his elbow when he hurries forward to grab a plastic cup with whipped cream and so much caramel syrup on top of the coffee that Amy pities his dentist.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry… wait, it's you!” He shines up as if he’d just seen a past good friend, and Amy’s once more taken aback by how polite he is. A lot of cops she meets during trials either tend to make fun of her profession or glare bitterly at her from a distance, but Jake's doing neither. He even reaches out his free hand to shake hers, so she accepts. “Jake Peralta – wow, you have a very firm handshake.”

“I took a seminar. Amy Santiago.”

“Where?” He asks, but she ignores him and moves forward in line to order her coffee with milk.

“Nothing for your client? Wow. I’d expected you to have better manners than that, Santiago.”

“I offered, but he wanted to spend recess with his partner for moral support. See?” She raises a brow at him. “I do have manners.”

There's that smile again, up close this time, and Amy's relieved when the barista hands her the coffee so she can hide the involuntary blush in her cheeks. She never noticed he had dimples before.

“So, how are you feeling about the rest of the trial, then? Ready to go defend the guilty guy?”

“Innocent until proven guilty, Peralta. Famously one of the most sacred principles in the American justice system. And I was born ready.”

“And lose. The whole question was, are you ready to go defend the guilty guy and lose, and you said you were born that way.” Jake grins in a way that makes him look like an overgrown mischievous school kid. Maybe not that far off, Amy thinks.

“Twist my words all you want, I am winning this case.” She hesitates for a moment, noticing Jake's detective partner looking at the two of them from a table in the corner of the room. Not normally something she'd be that creeped out by, if it hadn't been for the fact that the man isn’t tearing his eyes away from them, and he looks weirdly overjoyed. “Uhm, is detective Boyle okay? He's staring at us pretty intensely.”

“Huh? Oh yeah, he has… an eye condition.” Jake turns around and mouths something that looks to be BOYLE, and the man rolls his eyes before stalking away. “Ignore him. Anyway… so what do you think about the judge?”

 Amy's about to launch into a description of her good experience with judge Myers when someone brushes past her with their iced coffee in a hurry, losing control of the plastic cup. The unsecured lid wobbles, and before Amy realizes what’s about to happen, cold coffee splashes onto her earlier pristine white blouse. “Fuck!” She reaches for a bunch of paper napkins and tries to dab the worst away with them, but the milky coffee is already seeping through the fabric and leaving an obvious stain that her blazer can’t hide.

“What a jerk,” Jake mutters, glaring in the direction of where the stranger disappeared.

“Never mind that! I don’t have another shirt! I can’t go into a courtroom looking like this! Unlike you, I actually care about whether my clothes have giant stains on them!”

“First of all, rude, and second of all, they’re not giant.”

“I don’t care. I’m screwed. Fuck, I don’t have time to run back home before the trial starts – I guess I could call Rosa –”

“Hey, hey.” Jake holds up his hands as if trying to calm her down, which only makes Amy more frustrated. “I know this is kind of crazy, but, I have a shirt in my car that I was planning to return to my ex. But emphasis on ex, so…” He shrugs. “You could borrow it?”

 Amy considers her options. On the one hand, she figures there’s about an eighty percent chance that whatever Jake has in his car also has some kind of mysterious stain on it, but on the other hand, she took the subway today and there's no way she’ll make it to her apartment and back before the court is back in session. Asking for a longer recess is an option, but making everyone wait simply because she needs a change of clothes makes her too uncomfortable to even consider.

“Fine,” she relents. “Where's your car?”

 Jake's car turns out to be an old Mustang, which Amy can tell even from her strictly limited car-knowledge is pretty impressive, but she doesn't understand how he can find anything in there. The backseat is a mess of empty orange soda bottles, a couple of frisbees, candy wrappers, what looks to be cartoons and old CDs, and the cup holders have shaving foam next to another can of orange soda. She's equally surprised and impressed when he pulls out a clean, dark blue charmeuse blouse. Whoever Jake's ex-girlfriend was, she seems to have both taste and money.

“You're totally saving my day today,” she says as he gives it to her. “You really didn't have to.”

“Prove that cops aren't all bad?” Amy rolls her eyes, and Jake laughs. “Just kidding. You have to give it back, though.”

“As soon as I’ve washed it. Wait, we have to be able to get in touch.” She digs in the inside pocket of her briefcase and pulls out two of her business cards. “I’m assuming you don't have any, so write your number on the back of that one.”

“Rude, but correct.” He scribbles down something on one of the cards before giving it back. “I’ll see you up there, then… Amy Santiago.”

Something about the way he says her name, slowly and with perfect pronunciation, makes her want to hear it again. She hurries back into the building and toward the bathrooms, hopefully before he can tell that she's blushing.

 “The defense may call the next witness.”

“The defense calls Elinor Simons.” Amy can feel everyone's eyes on her as well as the witness as a young girl, no more than eighteen, walks up to the stand. She's pale, but she looks determined, and Amy gives her a comforting smile as she swears the oath.

 Elinor’s voice trembles at her first words, but Amy keeps steady eye contact with her, and soon she’s speaking louder and less hesitant. She had been on her way to her friend’s house when she entered the same subway car as the two young men, and had overheard the two of them fighting over something. Sitting only a few seats away from them in the near-empty car, she’d noticed the defendant looking scared, and out of curiosity, had turned off her music. She’d heard the man who’d later gotten attacked – Mr. Lorentz – scream that the defendant was an asshole, and then she’d seen him push him to the floor, much unlike the way the prosecution had described a course of events in which both men had slipped. It had scared her, so she’d gotten up to walk away, but before she could move she’d seen Mr. Lorentz leaning down.

“It looked like he was about to hit the defendant,” she says without wavering, and Amy can see a few of the jury members nodding in understanding. “And even if they were about the same size, Mr. Lorentz looked really strong. The defendant tried, but it seemed to me like he was unable to get up. I remember thinking this wasn’t going to end well, so I headed for the end of the car before they noticed me.”

“And you’re sure of what you saw?”

“Completely sure. I only found out later that the defendant was a cousin of my sister’s boyfriend, which is how I learned about the trial.”

Amy nods and clasps her hands together, trying to assume a confident stance as she keeps her eyes focused on the witness stand. “Elinor, in the position he was in, do you believe that the defendant would have been scared?”

“I think anyone would have been.”

“So the punch witnesses watched the defendant throw, could it have been in self-defense?”

“Yes. Yes, I think so.”

Amy smiles. “Thank you. No further questions.”

 The prosecution’s closing arguments are short and precise, sticking entirely to the part of the events that took part after the police walked in. The district attorney, a balding man in his fifties, as good as overlooks Elinor’s testimony in favor of focusing in on detailed descriptions of the headaches Mr. Lorentz had experienced after the event, and that alone is enough to make Amy’s blood boil; but instead she just sits there, waiting with a polite smile on her lips.

 Finally, the other attorney sits down, and the judge nods at Amy to stand up. During her very first trials, this moment used to freak her out – everyone’s eyes on her and waiting expectantly – but with time she’s come to love this. It reminds her of the thrill of getting the last word in a heated fight with her siblings when she was younger, only now, she doesn’t have to shout to be heard. Everyone’s already listening.

 “Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury: it’s correct that the defendant hit Mr. Lorentz on that train. He admits to doing so himself.” Amy nods to the young man sitting next to her, fidgeting nervously with the cuffs on his shirt. “But there is one key aspect which the prosecution has so conveniently chosen to ignore, and that is the events which led up to Mr. Petersen’s actions. A background which he not only has explained clearly himself, but which is also backed up by Ms. Simmons’ testimony.” She gestures with her hand to Elinor.

“You see, Mr. Petersen wasn’t acting unprovoked. When the incident happened, he had been pushed to the floor, and like both my client and the witness described, he was unable to get up. Mr. Lorentz himself admits to practicing weightlifting; he’s not a weak man, and in the moment, he was clearly upset with the defendant. As Ms. Simmons put it… “ She takes a break to gather the attention of everyone in the room. “Anyone in that position would have been terrified.”

“Under New York Law, Penal Law paragraph thirty-five point fifteen, a person is justified in using physical force against another, when that person is under the reasonable belief that the physical force is necessary to defend the person from what they reasonably believe to be the illegal imminent use of force or the illegal use of force. Mr. Petersen was stuck, and under the reasonable belief that Mr. Lorentz could hurt him unless he managed to free himself. He acted in self-defense, which I remind you that the prosecution has not been able to disprove. In fact, the case against Mr. Petersen cannot be proved against reasonable doubt, which means that you must find him… not guilty.”

 From the other side of the room, she swears she can feel Jake’s eyes on her. When she looks up, she sees him mouthing nice job.

 ~

 “What did you say he looked like, now again? Except for crazy hot and adorable?” Kylie takes another sip of her mojito, spying over the crowded bar.

“Okay, I said neither of those things.”

Kylie shrugs. “Didn’t have to.”

“Ugh. Whatever. Brown hair, brown eyes, medium height, I guess kind of a bigger nose… and I don’t know what he wears outside of court, but there was a leather jacket in the front seat of his car, so maybe that?” She strains her neck to try and see through the Friday night crowd. She’s never been to this particular Brooklyn bar before, but Jake had suggested it when Amy asked about a good place to give him back the shirt, and she’d figured after a long week, she might as well treat herself to a couple of after-work drinks with a friend. After being asked about the so-called mystery hottie five times, though, she’s starting to regret bringing Kylie along.

“Mm, that’s like, all the guys in here… oh, wait, that one’s waving to you!” Kylie points to a figure near the door, elbowing Amy in the side and causing her to nearly choke on her wine. She’s still coughing when Jake walks up to them, trying to offer him a smile while drying her eyes. Jake looks politely confused, but shakes Kylie’s hand in the meantime.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” she says with a meaning wink to Amy before sliding off the leather barstool, leaving it for Jake. “Have a good night!”

“Ignore her.” Amy sighs. “Sorry, I…”

“No, no worries,” Jake says, and the honest care in his expression makes her feel oddly warm. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry.” She waves a dismissive hand and picks up the dry-cleaning bag hanging on the back of her chair. “Well, here’s the shirt. Thank you for the loan. Or thank your ex, I suppose.”

“Dry-cleaned, really? You truly are type A.”

“What about it?”

“Nothing, it makes sense.” He nods to the glass in her hand. “Celebrating Tuesday’s win?”

“Something like that. It was Monday, though,” she can’t stop herself from correcting him. “I don’t get a lot of time off. Gotta make the best out of it.”

“Yeah, me neither. Do you mind if I join you for another drink? Or maybe you should do water, in case you choke again?”

Something about the way he poses it like a challenge makes her take the glass, put it to her lips, and swallow the rest of the wine in one gulp. “I think I can handle it.”

 They pay for their own drinks, because whatever this meeting is, it’s definitely not a date, and it makes Amy relieved that Jake doesn’t seem to think so either.

“A toast,” he suggests. “To your win this week. I gotta give it to you, those closing statements were solid.”

“To justice,” Amy says, and they raise their beer bottles in unison. “And my win. Finally.”

“Yeah, what has it been, like, five wins for me?”

“Four, but dream on, Peralta.”

Jake laughs. The dimples in his cheeks become even more prominent when he laughs, Amy notes. “Have you always been this intense about winning cases, then? Or is it something that comes with law school? Like there’s a class in being petty about this stuff?”

You’re intense too, she thinks, but doesn’t say it out loud. “Maybe. I have seven brothers, and I was the only girl. I got pretty good at winning fights using other things than physical strength when I was a kid. Actually, sometimes physical strength, too.”

“I feel like you could beat someone up if you wanted to. You could surprise them.”

“Oh, I could most definitely beat someone up if I wanted to. But I stuck to arguing. I got good at it. And I always had good grades, so I ended up at Columbia, and I’ve never really regretted it.” She takes a swig of her beer. “Not even when cops call me the devil.”

“I wouldn’t call you the devil,” Jake says. “I mean, do I think you lack a bit of a moral compass? Probably. But each to their own.”

She leans her head a little bit to the side, eyeing him closely. “Why do you think that?”

“Well, you have to defend people that you know did awful things, right? Doesn’t that make you feel sick sometimes?”

“I don’t have to defend their actions. Most times, it’s not even about that. It’s about making sure the trial is fair, the evidence is sufficient and their rights are respected, so that if there’s a conviction, it’s actually beyond any reasonable doubt. I like to believe most people are better than their worst moments. I see it as my job to make sure they’re treated that way.”

“Huh.” Jake nods slowly. “Guess I never thought of it that way.”

“Plus,” she winks, “someone’s gotta hold you guys accountable, right?”

“Fine.” He shakes his head. “Hey, did you say you went to Columbia? My captain’s husband teaches law there. Did you ever have a Kevin Cozner?”

“No way! Your captain is Raymond Holt?” She’s speaking way too loudly, she can tell from the way other people are glancing at her, but Jake looks entertained. “Sorry, it’s just – Professor Cozner was my favorite constitutional law teacher. I still send him and Raymond Christmas cards every year!”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.” Jake grins. “But, how weird is that? Almost like the universe is bringing us together or something.”

Amy thinks that it’s not that weird, since Kevin must teach hundreds of students every year that g on to become lawyers, but she kind of wants to keep seeing that smile on Jake’s face forever, so she nods. “So weird.”

 They order another drink, plus some chips and nuts when Jake realizes he forgot to eat dinner, and move to another table in the back of the room. Amy’s surprised how comfortable she feels in his presence. It’s like she can’t wipe the smile off her face but doesn’t want to, and with time and a little more alcohol, jokes that she barely would have noticed on any other day become laugh-out-loud funny. It feels natural, even though she’s not sure how, and she tries not to glance at the clock on the wall when he doesn’t either. She’s got work to do tomorrow and she can’t stay out forever, but she doesn’t want to be reminded that this evening has to end at some point.

 “So what made you become a cop, then?” She asks when she realizes she’s the only one who’s shared her origin story tonight. “Childhood superhero dreams?”

Jake shines up like he’s been waiting for the question all night. “Oh, that’s easy. Die Hard.”

“Really?”

“For sure. Actually, my mom said I was always good at protecting people, so I ended up doing it for a job. But I think that’s bullshit. It was definitely Die Hard.”

“I’ve never seen it,” Amy confesses, and Jake stares at her like she just insulted his entire being. “But if you want a cop movie, my top three’s Training Day, Lethal Weapon, and Fargo.”

“Wrong, wrong, and wrong! How can you not have seen Die Hard? It’s classic, man!”

“I just never did! How many lawyer movies have you seen, then?”

“Uhm…” Jake squints. “Charles made me watch Legally Blonde once? It was pretty good, honestly.”

“Well, duh, that movie is a cinematic masterpiece and a feminist work of art. How feminist is Die Hard, from a scale of one to ten?”

“Hey! Holly Gennaro does plenty of cool stuff throughout the movies! You’re just going to have to watch them yourself.”

“I can almost guarantee you I won’t.”

“Fine, but you’re missing out.” He grabs a couple of peanuts from the jar between them, throwing them in the air and catching them in his mouth. “Cool trick, right?”

Amy raises an eyebrow. “Is this what you do at work all day?”

“I did teach myself that during stakeouts, but no. Whatever. Throw me another one.” She does, and he catches it again, this time almost sliding off the barstool in the process. She laughs a bubbling laugh as he does it another time. “Now you.”

“Fine. Try me.” The peanut flies through the air between them, and she tries to dive for it, but it just ends up landing at her feet. “Okay, another one.” She misses that one too. “Okay, there must be something wrong with these nuts.”

“Title of your sextape.”

“Title of my what?”

“Nevermind.” Jake laughs. “You just need some practice. Maybe at work? It could liven up a trial.”

“Nuh-uh, don’t need practice. Just need a better tactic.” Without thinking, she grabs a handful of them this time, throwing them in the air. This time, she catches a few of them in her mouth, while the rest end up spread over the couch and floor. “The key is volume!”

“Yeah, and the bartender is looking at you like he wants to kill you, so maybe don’t do it again or we’ll get thrown out.”

“It’s fine, I’m a lawyer.”

“That phrase works well to get out of trouble?”

“If you know what you’re doing. We could order more drinks to keep him happy?”

“Shots?”

“I’m down if you’re down.”

 Jake orders a Kamikaze shot for each of them, and as she reaches forward to take the second glass, her hand brushes against the top of his for a moment longer than necessary, resting there. It’s warm, and it feels calloused but somehow soft at the same time. They look at each other, his light brown eyes staring into hers, and she feels instantly hyper-aware that they’re around far, far, too many people.

She lets go of his hand, taking the shot and swallowing it before anyone can notice what’s happening. It smells like sour hand sanitizer and burns going down, and she laughs at Jake’s grimace when he drinks his.

“God, every time.” He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “Hey, I know this is crazy, but… do you maybe want to get out of here? We could have another drink at my place… watch Die Hard… whatever.”

“Mm, yeah. Maybe I should check that the shirt gets back to your place properly?”

“Shirt? What shirt? Oh, right, fuck, the shirt!” Jake spins in place, rushing back to the table where they were just sat. “Shit, I probably spilled beer on it, Sophia’s going to be pissed now...”

“It’s still in the bag, smartass.” Amy shows him. “Ta-da. Shirt’s still clean. Comes in handy being type A sometimes, huh?”

Jake sighs. “I know you're making fun of me, but I could seriously kiss you right now.”

 Maybe it’s the four drinks, maybe it’s the thrill that comes with how rarely she does this, or maybe it’s just sheer and wild impulse, but Amy finds herself whispering,

“Maybe we should get out of here, then.”

 ~

 Amy learns a lot of things that night.

 She learns that Jake Peralta is a seriously good kisser, tasting faintly of orange soda beneath the alcohol and salt, and that being pressed against his front door with his hands protecting her head strikes the perfect balance between feeling adventurous and safe. She learns that he’s never really quiet, soft moans and sighs filling the room in the breaks between their kisses, but that the sound only makes her want more.

 She learns that he wears even more layers than her. Beneath the leather jacket and hoodie is a checkered blue flannel that has way too many buttons for her liking right now, and she curses her slight tipsiness while working at them one by one. When she's finally done, Jake pulls the grey t-shirt over his head, and she barely has time to pause to admire how he somehow can look fit despite that catastrophic diet, or the curls on his chest that are begging for her to run her fingers through them, before he's asking “my turn?”. She learns that Jake Peralta is impatient, that his hands work fast on the buttons of her cerise shirt, and that he gets adorably confused when he can't find the button on her suit pants.

“It's on the side,” she tells him and shows him the zipper, and then they're both giggling until she kisses him like that and it's back on again.

 She learns that his hands feel good, sliding slowly up the sides of her stomach and back and rubbing against her shoulder blades. She unclasps the white t-shirt bra for him, smiling to herself as he swallows quickly.

“God, you’re hot,” he whispers, and the soft bites he trails down her chest and stomach make her feel that way, too.

 They move to his bed, leaving a trail of clothes behind them, and then she’s underneath him and breathing hard as his mouth moves lower, closer. The anticipation of it all is driving her mad, but then he looks up at her and asks “okay?” with the most sincere and caring expression, and Amy’s had very, very few one-night-stands in her life, but she’s certainly never had one like this.

“Okay,” she nods, and there’s that familiar grin again, but this time it makes her feel warm in a very specific place.

 She learns that Jake Peralta can do a whole lot more with his mouth than talking people’s ears off. His breath ghosts over her through her underwear at first, warming her up even though it’s barely even necessary, and then he’s finally pulling down the black material and helping her kick them off. His tongue is careful at first, just tasting her as if to gauge her expression, but then she nods at him to continue and the next second, her head is thrown back as she lets out a gasp.

 She learns that he likes it when she pulls his hair. At first, her hands are just lightly tangling in it for practicality, but then she holds on tighter as a means of control when her legs begin to tense up and the familiar pressure is starting to rise. She’s raising her hips slightly only to lower them again, helping him get her there, and the curls of his hair are just begging to be pulled.

“Do that again,” he pauses to say, so she tugs his hair harder and he straight-up moans.

 She learns that he can make her scream, which she wasn’t expecting, and she rocks through the euphoric waves and pants and practically melts into the bed as she comes down from it.

“That good?” He winks, and she wants to roll her eyes, but he did just make her come harder than she remembers doing in a long time, so she kisses the smile off of him instead, tasting her arousal on his lips.

She learns that he's respectful and a gentleman, telling her that they can stop this here if she'd rather, but she doesn’t want to, and they don’t. He has to rifle through the drawer in his bedside table for a while before he finds a condom – maybe he doesn’t do this as often as she’d thought, maybe it’s another sign of his poor organization skills, but he finds one soon enough so she’s not sure she cares – and then it’s a little bit of a blur, but she rolls it on him with precise strokes and lowers herself on top of him and oh my god.

 She learns that when he looks at her, when he touches her, it makes her feel powerful and special all at once. He plays with her boobs as she sets the pace, his thumbs rolling against her nipples in a way she didn’t realize she liked, and she picks up her rhythm, clenching around him and leaning back on his raised thighs.

 She learns just how enjoyable it is to watch him fall apart underneath her. His pace stutters and he curses, groaning a confession of how close he is, and she could almost come again from watching him alone but she brings two fingers to her clit and touches herself anyway. He finishes before her, spilling out inside the condom with a moan that she can only imitate, collapsing against his chest as she brings herself to orgasm again right after him.

 When they're done learning, they collapse together in his bed. For a moment, Amy considers turning around and calling a cab home, because that would be the most responsible thing to do, but then Jake throws an arm around her to pull her closer, and after all, she's still a little tipsy.

What harm could it possibly do, anyway?

 ~

 Sharp, unforgiving morning light wakes Amy up before her alarm the next morning. She must have forgotten to close the blinds last night, she thinks, and rolls over on the other side so the light doesn't hurt her eyes. She expects the usual greeting of a sea of pillows, and has to stop herself from letting out a yelp of surprise when instead, she's hit with a wall of Jake sleeping with his back to her. A vague memory of them falling asleep like this hits her. He’d wanted to be the little spoon, she remembers.

 At first, knowing that intimate fact about him makes her feel proud. Then it makes her panic.

 She jumps out of bed, throwing off her part of the comforter in search of her clothes. She finds her underwear and bra together with her shirt, trying to dress as quietly as possible, quick before Jake wakes up and discovers that she's half-naked in his apartment and they have to have a very, very awkward talk –

“Amy? What are you doing?”

Too late.

 She freezes on the spot, chewing on her lip as she fumbles for an explanation. Jake’s eyes rake over her with curiosity, which somehow feels a lot more exposing today than it did last night, and it's making her lose track of her words. His bed head curls and disoriented smile is decidedly not helping her focus.

“We slept together last night,” she manages.

Jake’s smile grows wider and prouder as he sits up fully in bed. Amy blushes as she notices the shadow of two hickeys way too close to his neck to be professional.

“Yeah, I was there.”

“Very funny.” She sees her pants thrown across the back of a massage chair and quickly reaches for them. “But this… You know this can’t be a thing, right? Just so we're on the same page about it.”

Jake frowns. “What do you mean with a thing?”

“This – us – we can't date, Jake. I know that. You know that.”

He’s silent for a moment before he fakes a shudder. “Yeah, yeah, no. I’ve dated lawyers before. Never ends well.”

“You have?” The reveal surprises her. “It doesn't matter. This can’t happen.”

“I know.”

“Good,” she exhales. “I’m just going to find my clothes, then, and then I’m going to leave.”

“Hey, wait.” He twists his hands together, bringing them to his chin with a smile. “This is going to sound weird, but… even if nothing can happen between us, I’m still glad we had sex last night.”

 The confession takes her by surprise, and Amy wonders again if she just doesn't know anything about one-night-stands. Sleep together, have fun, sneak out in the morning before anything can go deeper – isn't that how it's supposed to go? If so, she's majorly failing, because she can't stop herself from giving him another shy smile in return.

“Me too. Just because, we were like… really good at it.”

“Stupid good!” Jake exclaims. “It makes no sense!”

“We still can't date, though,” she reminds him. “So how do we work this out?”

“Well, it sort of looked like you were planning to just leave, and I’m not going to stop you if that's your choice, but… there is one more option.”

“What are you thinking?”

“We could be friends with benefits,” he shrugs. “None of the commitment, none of the weird incompatibilities between a cop and a lawyer, just us and some stupid good sex.”

“Friends with benefits? Do the kids really say that, still?”

“I’m saying you could consider it.”

 Amy's first instinct is to protest, to say absolutely not and leave on the spot. Her relationship history may not contain that many names, but at least they’ve all been fairly straightforward and conventional. She's never done something like this before, and the mere idea of jumping into something so unknown with someone like Jake scares her shitless.

 Then again, she's also never been with someone like Jake. Yesterday hadn't been a date, but it had still been better than all the awkward dinners and half-hearted walks she's been at since she broke up with Teddy a year ago. And the sex – well, she'd be lying if she said she wasn't already thinking of doing that again.

 “There would need to be rules,” she says.

“Sure, we can come up with some.”

“I’ll write a contract.”

“We need a contract?”

“Yeah,” she decides. “If this is going to work, we need a comprehensive set of rules, and they need to be written down, because I don't trust you not to adjust them in your head last minute.”

“How am I attracted to you? But, fine.”

Amy shakes her head, closing the last button on the shirt that had been left unbuttoned until now. “So… I’ll put together a draft and bring it over tonight? Your place?”

Jake gapes at her for a moment like he can't believe what he hears, but then he nods. “I’m free.”

“Cool. I’ll see you tonight, then.” With that, she pulls on her socks and shoes, leaving before she can freak out again.

“Cool, cool,” she hears just before closing the door. “Friends with benefits. Cool, cool, cool, cool… cool.”

 ~

[shadamyheadcanons]

Amy rose!

Ah, my favorite character. <3

1: sexuality headcanon

Pansexual. Made a headcanon about this recently. How could the embodiment of romantic love only like one gender?

2: otp

Shadamy. Accept no substitutes.

3: brotp

Cream's her bestie, but I feel weird assigning "bro" to someone like her. Knuckles fits the label better.

4: notp

(Not counting any huge age gap ships for obvious reasons)

I really like almost every Amy ship IF it's one-sided because I have a headcanon that pretty much everyone gets a crush on Amy at some point, but she never notices because she's so preoccupied with her one-and-only. There's already evidence to support this imo:

Pictured above: adorable munchkin Tails admiring someone other than Sonic for a change; Super Serious Boi on a mission to Save the World gets roadblocked and flustered because a cute girl hugged him and held his hand; and Blaze...holding hands with someone and smiling...? That's out of character...or is it? They have a super cute winning animation in the Olympics, too.

If I had to nail down my least favorite, it'd probably be her and Metal Sonic simply because I draw the line at a history of kidnapping, but it doesn't upset me to see it or anything. It's not like she's never reformed a robot.

5: first headcanon that pops into my head

Me, think of a headcanon?! Impossible!

/s

Amy prides herself on being a delicate lady, but she's pretty clumsy growing up and doesn't know her own strength. Her heavy footsteps can spoil her invisibility, and she sometimes slams doors or breaks things without meaning to because she gained so much strength so quickly. This worsened as she entered her teenage years, as she'd hit her head and longer limbs on things, too.

She eventually blossomed into the graceful, composed lady she fancied herself to be, but she was well into adulthood by then.

6: one way in which I relate to this character

I'm a lot like Amy, actually. I'm very positive, optimistic, and passionate about things I care about.

*looks at pink blog with over 230 fluffy headcanons*

As you can probably tell.

7: thing that gives me second hand embarrassment about this character

Her outfit :( It's not 100% bad. The design and color scheme are great in theory. I especially love how the boots are red with a white stripe like Sonic's classic shoes, but the direction is up and down to show her own twist on it. But... I really, really hate that I can't feel comfortable playing as my favorite character because she flashes the player every time she jumps. Come on, Sega, she's 12!

8: cinnamon roll or problematic fave?

Just a cinnamon roll with some growing up to do as far as I'm concerned, unless we're going with her worst iterations. Free Riders, I'm looking at you.

[squishmallow36]

Keeper of the Lost Prepositions - Twenty-nine

Word count: 2.8k

Tw: unnamed homophobic human

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @stellar-lune @gaslight-gaetkeep-gayboss @kamikothe1and0lny @nyxpixels @florida-floppy-frog @poppinspop @crystallinewalker @uni-seahorse-572 @solreefs @books-over-boys @rusted-phone-calls @when-wax-wings-melt @cotyledon-tomentosa @good-old-fashioned-lover-boy7 @dexter-dizzknees

On Ao3 or below the cut!

    “Lovise,” I call, even though I know she can easily hear me if I speak normally. Or whisper. I tested it one day. 

    “Yeah?” she asks, poking her head in the door.

    “How would you feel about going to the Forbidden Cities?”

    Cue the longest sigh in recorded history.

    “What now?” she asks tiredly. 

    “I’ve got to go talk to Amy about something I sent her. Yes, I know I could just keep messaging her, and you know how I’m not exactly the biggest fan of hails.” 

    “Is it about Keefe?”

    “Actually, it is not. I sent her the Tinker thing just because I knew she wouldn’t have any preconceived opinions because they’ve never met, so she wouldn’t have any bias in her analysis.”

    “You could have asked me before you did that,” Lovise argues. 

    “I didn’t realize I needed permission to text my friends.”

    Her mouth formed several words before settling on, “I think you and I both know that you’re going to go with or without me, so just please make sure you do whatever techy things you can to avoid any issues. And by issues I mean the Neverseen. It’s been almost three weeks since Sophie burned down their wearhouse, and there haven’t been any obvious counter moves.”

    “I wouldn’t go without you. You remember how hard it was to get away when I first met with Tinker. And I already have a program to loop my registry pendant to make it look like I’m staying in my room. It’ll only hold up for as long as I can plausibly go without food, though. Or if the mods notice, but I doubt they’ll look that closely.”

    “And what if they do?”

    “Absolute worst case scenario, they’re undercover Neverseen agents, figure out where we are, and then ambush us. But that’s exactly why you’re stuck dealing with me, no?”  

    “Just try to keep it short. If you can manage to not go off on a tangent about anything, it would be greatly appreciated,” Lovise concedes. 

    “You know I’m going to go off on a tangent. The tangent will probably be more of the conversation than the actual reason for the conversation in the first place.”

    “I know. Just try.”

    “Do or do not, there is no try.”

    She clearly recognizes my Star Wars reference— which makes me very proud of myself. Giving me an unamused look, she says, “Then do.” 

    With that, she heads back outside my room, leaving me to my thoughts again. 

    Yeah, I don’t vibe with that right now. 

    I distract myself until I get tired by playing more Portal for a little while, followed by some Minecraft. 

    The next morning is nothing special, well, at least in reference to other mornings when I get woken up at way-too-freaking-early o’clock. 

    I spend the beginning of the day watching the first two movies in the MCU by order of release, Iron Man, and The Incredible Hulk.

     After I’ve successfully wasted most of the day, I realise that it makes my registry pendant loop more believable, so I have been productive today. 

    I also tracked down Amy’s coordinates so that I can make a temporary leaping crystal so I can actually get there. 

     That’s just a little helpful.

    I get dust all over my bed in the process, but at this point there’s so many crumbs it doesn’t even matter. 

    Every now and then I even find what I think is sand from the Shores of Solace. I went outside, like, once! And there’s still sand!

     After triple checking the time conversions, I give Amy a few minutes to get home before leaping there.

    I immediately message, Let me know when and where you want to meet.

    Im still at school so if ur willing to wander over here we could tell my parents that were working on some school project…again

     What’s its name? I need to plug it into Google Maps, I reply.

    I give Lovise my Obscurer—which is definitely not one of the ones I’ve messed with recently—and Amy answers, Allen At Steinbeck. 

   I reply, Thanks!, and type it into Google Maps, and, thankfully, it’s only a couple of blocks away.

    When I get close, I tell Amy, I made it over here. Where are you?

    Hold on ill find u whats around u

    I think I’m near the front door. I’m pretty sure that I can see a sign with the school’s name on it. Just know I could still be in the Obscurer’s field, so I may or may not be visible. 

    Whyd u bring it then

    Goblins. Specifically Lovise. 

    Makes sense

    I watch what I’ve decided to call the front door, and there’s a decent amount of kids still walking out even though it’s nearly twenty minutes after school ended. 

    When Amy comes out, I start walking towards her, still looking at my Imparter to help deter potential other humans from talking to me. I perfected this method at Foxfire, and it’s nice to know that it works for more than one species.

     “Hey. Found you.” Amy says, once I’m within normal speaking range. 

     “Hi,” I reply, putting my Imparter back in my pocket. 

    “Can you give me a sec? I have to ask my parents if I can go to Starbucks with some friends.”

    “Yep. Do you maybe want to pull over? Texting in the middle of the sidewalk doesn’t seem like a good idea.”

    “Nah. I do this all the time. Haven’t died yet.”

    She puts her phone away after a few seconds and asks, “So you’ve you been? What’d you break since we last saw each other?”

    “It’s actually a pretty extensive list.”

    “Why is that not surprising?”

    “Because Sophie is very good at breaking things.”

    “Pretty sure all of you elves are good at breaking things.”

    “Aren’t you worried about someone hearing you?”

    “About what? I doubt they’re listening and even if they aren’t they’ll think we’re a little crazy. It’s not the weirdest thing I’ve heard while walking down a street.”

    At some point we started walking in the same direction I already was today.

    “This would have been easier if you had just told me to go here.”

    “Yes, I’d love to have to navigate you through a mall,” she replies sarcastically. “Relax. There won’t be too many people there. We can talk about your conspiracy theory.”

    “But what about Lovise? The Obscurer won’t work very well in an enclosed space.”

    “I’ll run in and get something to cover our story and also because I’m hungry, and we can talk outside. Does that work?”

    It takes less than five minutes to get over there, and I claim a table while Amy heads in to get something. I pull out my Imparter again, and before I realize, she’s back with some sort of coffee if I had to guess and two muffins. 

    “They’re just blueberry, so you’re probably going to be disappointed. Once you try Mallowmelt, nothing else measures up.”

    “Well, I have to argue with that. Fitz did make these cinnamon Ripplefluffs, and I would kill for them.”

    “Just knowing that they’re Elvin, I would too.”

    She takes a sip from her coffee, and I say, “I promised Lovise I wouldn’t go off on too many tangents, so, if you’re willing, it’s conspiracy time.”

    “I’m always ready for conspiracy time. What did you put together from the stuff you sent me?”

    “I don’t know how accurate any of this is, but I’m fairly convinced that Tinker is part of the Neverseen.”

    “Yeah. But that’s not the fun part.”

    “By the fun part are you referring to the Lesbian flag on one of the pages? Wait, did I even add that page of the notebook? Whatever.”

    “You recognized that? Three weeks ago you totally silently nerded out because I came out.”

    “I’ve been doing some research. Too much, most would say. People have been coming out ever since you did. I can think of five and probably another two, not even including you or your girlfriend, without trying. Three weeks ago, that number was exactly zero.”

    Her eyes widen. 

    “I don’t want to make anything weird with people, so I’m not going to list them.”

    “Makes sense. Are you thinking Tinker’s trans or that other file, the non-pyro one, you sent me was just a cover like one of the Fork man’s disguises?”

    “I actually hadn’t thought about the latter option. I just knew that they mostly go by Tinker, to the point that Mr. Forkle doesn’t know her real identity. I was thinking that it had some parallels with the idea of a chosen name, but mostly I just thought the picture looked similar.”

    “Do you happen to have a picture of Tinker?”

    “That would be helpful,” I reply, beginning the long search through my camera roll. I haven’t taken a direct picture, but I’m hoping that they’re in the background at least once.

    I smile when I find them, so I show it to Amy, saying, “Sorry it’s a little blurry. And far away. And not facing forward. I can try to find another one—.”

    “It’s good enough. You know her better than I do, so if you think the two look similar enough, then it might be a possibility.”

    “I guess so. But something still feels off. I guess we probably shouldn’t be digging into their files like this. On the other hand, the Neverseen thing is kinda important.”

    “Yeah, the subtext in the journal definitely felt more like an ‘I can’t escape an evil organization’ than what I’ve heard about the Black Swan. But I agree with your other point too. It feels like we’ve accidentally uncovered something we probably shouldn’t’ve.”

    “It’s just difficult because I showed this to Fitz yesterday and he needed an explanation of ‘LGBTQ’, so this is all one tangled mess.”

    “Fun. I don’t think it’s all a black and white issue, so just because she might be part of a terrorist organization, it doesn’t mean she’s a terrible person.”

    “Of course it’s not black and white. We left that behind when everyone started coming out of the closet.”

    She laughs. “That’s great.” 

    Last night I made the decision to come out to Amy, and I know that’s the best segway into that kind of conversation I’m going to get organically. It’s just getting the nerve to do it before this conversation takes a different turn. 

    Hands probably shaking, but too preoccupied to check, I take a shuddering breath.

    “Speaking of coming out of the closet...”

    I stop, trying to find the right words. 

    “I don’t know exactly what’s going on in my brain, but I know for a fact that I’m not straight.”

    “I knew it.”

    I’m not sure whether to be relieved or extra worried. 

    “What?”

    “Oh please. Like I believed you were straight for half a second. That whole energy of the crush on your cousin was not straight if you ask me. And like, you definitely have the vibe of gay best friend, whether you like it or not. ”

    “First of all, I’m not totally convinced that my crush on Sophie was just my brain’s pathetic attempt at liking a girl, and, second of all, how dare you know I’m not straight before I did!”

    “Am I allowed to know who your gay awakening is? Hot elf boy or other hot elf boy or is there another other hot elf boy that I don’t know?”

    “I don’t know which one is which so I don’t know how to answer that.”

    “The blond one, the teal-eyed one, or neither of the above?”

    “I feel like you’re going to blackmail me if I answer that,” I reply.

    “So that means it’s down to my two given options,” notes Amy.

    I blush, and I know that’s all she needs to confirm her hypothesis. 

    “Please? I won’t tell anyone that you know. It’s contained in the unwritten gay-lesbian solidarity rules.” 

    Amy’s gaze focuses on something behind me, and I turn around to see what she’s seeing. 

    “Give me a minute.” Amy stands up and stalks toward a man that has a very similar build to an ogre. 

    “What did you just say?” she demands. 

    He snorts. “I knew you queers were sensitive, but, by God, you’re a bunch of special snowflakes.”

    “When, exactly, did ‘special snowflake’ become synonymous with ‘standing up for yourself because some jerk just walked past you and your friend and muttered about how we’re going to hell’?” she argues. 

    “Just stating a fact. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to actually do things with my life, unlike you abominations.” 

   Amy seems to realize that he’s not worth her time, or maybe that murder is illegal, and sits back down at our table, teeth still clenched. 

    “I’ve had enough of people like him for a lifetime.” Taking a calming breath, she asks, “You elves don’t have prejudices like the humans do. When can I live there? I don’t want to deal with this anymore.”

    “Uh, funny story. Thanks to the Matchmaking system, nobody even knows there’s anything beyond straight relationships,” I gave an awkward double thumbs up that did nothing but make everything even cringier. 

    “That sounds…very bad. At least a good chunk of people here are either accepting or indifferent. And, from what I’ve heard, elves aren’t good with the unexpected.”

    “That’s an understatement,” I reply, barely containing a snort. 

    “On the other hand, there are still a few countries here where being gay results in capital punishment.”

    “That’s…” I can’t form words. I’ve gotten acquainted with the idea that humans can be violent creatures, but that is steps too far. And by steps I mean we left what might be considered okay a few miles back. 

    How dare they punish someone for existing? I can’t help it that I have a crush on Wonderboy, it just kind of happened.

    “And a whole bunch more that result in imprisonment,” Amy adds cheerfully. “Maybe you should get to work on your Elvin gay rights campaign sooner than later. You’re even more stubborn than we are.”

    Oh stars I can see the council taking that route. 

    “Great.” It takes every effort I have to not swear.

    “Exactly.”

    “That’s the kind of wonderful information that I’d rather not know.”

    “Welcome to the land of the LGBTQ. It’s a fun place, if you can’t tell.”

    “Sounds like it.” 

    “It’s not all horrible. Sometimes it is pretty damn fun arguing with homophobic donkeys. Especially during pride month.”

    “Is it sad that I’m proud of myself for knowing what that is?”

    “Very,” she replies, smiling. 

    Amy takes a sip from her coffee, mostly sucking air through her straw. 

    She says, “You probably have some elfy thing you’ve gotta do today, so I just want to leave you with one final thing, lovingly cultivated from way too much time spent on the internet. No matter how many times you change your label, no matter how long you’ve spent with a certain label, no matter what your labels are, you are valid. Remember that. I’m almost certain that someone, at some point, especially in the near future while you’re still questioning, will make you doubt that. And feel free to text me whenever you want. I’ll respond as soon as I see it…which may be a few days if my phone gets taken away again.”

    “Back at you. If you have anything you need to ask me for some reason, I’ll respond at the same rate. Although it’ll either be immediate or a few hours because I was actually focused on something.”

    Somehow, as we start walking back to Amy’s house, the conversation turns to Disney movies. I think there was something about gay Disney princes in there. 

    I know her parents will ask a whole bunch of questions about why she was walking home with some random kid they’ve never met, so we say our goodbyes a little more than a block away from her house. 

    Once she’s out of earshot, I turn around and ask, “Lovise? Where are you?”

    She comes to me because trying to answer would be just a little difficult without using sight or sound. 

    When I’m within the range of the Obscurer, she lectures, “You really shouldn’t have let Amy walk up to that guy. It could have very easily gone badly, and I might have had to step in.”

    “I think she could have handled herself, but I see your point. I doubt I could have stopped her though. She seemed ready to tear his head off and I’d rather not stand in the way of that.”

    “Fair point. Getting your charge seriously injured is a big bodyguarding no-no.”

   “You’ve spent too much time with Ro.”

   “You’ve spent too much time with Keefe to be healthy, so…”

    That’s not going to be easily argued against, so I cut my losses and leap us back home. 

[crusherthedoctor]

Can you list anything you unironically like in the games (and cartoons and comics) that you don't like?

I won't bother mentioning music, since that goes without saying and is to be expected for a Sonic game... unless you're Chronicles.

Sonic Adventure 2 (mixed gameplay-wise, annoying story-wise) - While I prefer Sonic's SA1 levels for a number of reasons, I still think his and Shadow's gameplay in SA2 is fun on its own merit. I also don't mind the treasure hunting gameplay returning or how big the levels are this time around, since Knuckles and Rouge are still fast and not '06 levels of slow. It's mainly the gimped radar that creates the unfortunate domino effect of making them a problem.

- Introduced Rouge, one of my favourite characters for how playful she is and how she's a lot more nuanced and intelligent than you'd expect.

- Some genuinely good scenes, like Eggman's trap on the A.R.K and Sonic escaping from the G.U.N. helicopter.

- Had some good ideas going for it, like the Pyramid Base and the Biolizard as a scientific monster instead of an ancient one.

- Despite my thoughts on the backstory itself (or rather, its execution), Shadow has enough depth and subtle qualities and occasional unintended hilarity to stand out from the typical dark rival characters you see in media.

- The Last Scene's music in particular is one of my favourite cutscene tracks in the series.

Sonic Heroes (mixed gameplay-wise, loathed story-wise) - The gameplay is fun when you're not being screwed over by repetitive combat, overly long levels and/or ice physics.

- Boasts some of the most consistently Genesis-worthy environments in the 3D games, up there with SA1's and Colours'.

- The in-game dialogue that isn't the same tutorial drivel repeated ad nauseam can be interesting, funny, etc.

- Reintroduced the Chaotix, which provided me with another character I quite like in the form of Vector.

- Bringing Metal Sonic back in full force and front and center in the plot after a long absence (not counting cameos and the like) is a perfectly fine idea. Just... not like this.

Sonic Battle (decent yet repetitive gameplay, mixed story-wise) - Emerl's arc is compelling, and it earns the emotional weight of having to put him down at the end.

- While some characters are iffy (read: Amy), other characters are extremely well-handled. Shadow is probably the prime example.

- Gamma's belly dance healing animation is fucking hilarious.

- When I was young, and the game was first announced, I was really excited about being able to play as Chaos. This proved to be my downfall when it turned out he was arguably one of the worst characters in the game due to being slower than me during the writing process, but I still recall that excitement fondly.

Shadow the Hedgehog (comedy classic) - The sheer amount of legendary stupidity this game has going for it makes it practically impossible to actually hate. It helps that it's not quite as white-knighted on the same level as '06... usually. You know you're in for a unique experience when you hear a gunshot every time you click something in the menu.

- By extension, Black Doom never gained an unironic fanbase like Mephiles/Scourge/Eggman Nega did, which means I'm a lot more willing to take Doom's dumbass brand of villainy in stride. He even has a unique design... a terrible one that rips off Wizeman granted, but alas, even that is a step-up from Fridge Shadow and Bumblebee Eggman.

- Despite being... well, Shadow the Hedgehog, some of the environments would fit right in with any other Sonic game, like with Circus Park, Lava Shelter, and Digital Circuit. Even the Black Comet levels look pretty cool.

- This game understands amnesia better than IDW does.

Sonic '06 (what do you think?) - The obvious one: Shadow's character was handled pretty well, even if it came at the cost of everyone else being a dummy and being forced to interact with Mephiles.

- Like SA2, there are some good moments, like the Last Story ending sequence with Sonic and Elise.

- In the greatest form of irony ever, I like Solaris as a concept and design(s), and its backstory has potential to serve as a parallel with Chaos without being a complete ripoff. Iblis sucks, Mephiles sucks, but I'm fine with Solaris.

- Introduced legendary characters like Sonic Man, Pele the Beloved Dog, Hatsun the Pigeon, and Pacha from The Emperor's New Groove.

The Rivals duology (apathetic outside of Nega-related grumbling) - There were some cool zone ideas in both games that were sadly let down by the restrictive and limiting gameplay. I particularly like Colosseum Highway for thus far being the only full-on Roman level in the series instead of merely having a couple minor hints of Roman, and Meteor Base for the unique scenario of the space station being built into an asteroid. These level concepts and others deserve a second chance IMO. (At least Frontier Canyon got a second chance in the form of Mirage Saloon, amirite?)

- Ifrit has a better design than Iblis. Not saying it's amazing, but the Firebird motif it has going on is a lot more interesting for a fire monster than the Not-Chaos schtick they had with Iblis.

Sonic and the Secret Rings (a very frustrating gaming experience) - Erazor Djinn, A.K.A. Qui-Gon Djinn, A.K.A. Dr. N. Djinn, A.K.A. I'll Take It On The Djinn, A.K.A. Not From The Hairs On My Djinny Djinn Djinn, is one of the best villains not associated with Eggman in the series. He's a Mephiles-type character done right, and there's actual weight and reason to his actions, however sinister or petty.

- I don't have strong opinions either way on Shahra as a character, but the Sonic/Shahra friendship is sweet and well-handled.

- The ending is one of Sonic's greatest moments. The sheer contrast between how ruthlessly he deals with Erazor and how comforting he is towards Shahra speaks volumes... Still gonna make fun of the mountain of handkerchiefs though. (Before anyone lectures me, I understand the significance of it and can even appreciate it from that angle... doesn't mean I'm not allowed to poke fun at it. :P)

- Another game with some redeeming environments. I love the aesthetic of Night Palace, and Sand Oasis looks gorgeous too.

Sonic Chronicles (my personal least favourite game in the series) - Uh...

- Um...

- Er...

- I like Shade's design?

Sonic Unleashed (overrated game and story IMO) - The obvious two: the opening sequence and the Egg Dragoon fight deserve all the praise they get.

- Seeing Eggmanland come to life was an impressive moment to be sure. While part of me does feel it didn't quite measure up to what I had in mind (ironically, the Interstellar Amusement Park ended up being closer to what I had in mind), it still looks badass and works well for what it is. I also don't mind the idea of it being a one-level gauntlet... key word being idea.

- Obviously, the game looks great. Not a fan of the real world focus (real world inspiration is fine, but copy-pasting the real world and shoving loops in it is just unimaginative), but it can't be denied that the environments look good.

- This game pulled off dialogue options a lot better than Chronicles did, since they didn't rely on making Sonic OoC.

Sonic and the Black Knight (just kind of boring all around) - Despite my gripes with the story (Merlina wasn't nearly as fleshed out as her unique anti-villain status deserved, which ends up severely undermining the ambition of the plot in more ways than one, and the other characters go from being useless yes men for King Arthur to being useless yes men for Sonic), I will admit it provides interesting insight into Sonic's character.

- Like '06 and Secret Rings, the ending is very nice... well, aside from Amy being an unreasonable bitch ala Sonic X at the very end.

Sonic the Hedgehog 4 (apathetic) - The admittedly few new concepts sprinkled within had promise. They may not have been as fleshed out as they could have been, but level concepts like Sylvania Castle and White Park, bosses like Egg Serpentleaf and the Egg Heart, and story beats like the Death Egg mk.II being powered by Little Planet, all could have been brilliant had they been better executed.

SatAM (apathetic outside of SatAM Robotnik-related grumbling) - I'm not a fan of the environments on the whole due to them looking too bland or samey, but there are some exceptions that look pleasant or interesting, like the Void.

Sonic Underground (apathetic) - The character designs make me feel better about myself.

- Does "large quantities of unintentional meme material" count as a positive?

Sonic X (mostly apathetic outside of Eggman's handling) - Helen was a better human character and audience surrogate in her one focus episode than Chris was throughout his entire runtime.

- Actually, most of the human characters not named Chris were legitimately likable. Including everyone in Chris' own family not named Chris. Hilarious.

- Despite arguably having the most Chris in it, I actually don't mind the first season that much, partly due to slight nostalgia from seeing it on TV when it was new, but mostly because Eggman actually acted like a villain for the most part, and certain other characters weren't quite as flanderized yet. It's season 2 and onwards where things started going off the rails IMO. (Incidentally, Helen's episode was part of season 1...)

The Boom franchise (apathetic) - Along with Chronicles, the games provide yet more proof that just because someone isn't SEGA/Sonic Team, that doesn't mean they're automatically more qualified to handle the series.

- The show had some good episodes here and there, and Tails' characterization was probably the most consistently on-point out of the cast.

- Despite not exactly being favourite portrayals for either character, even I'll admit that many of Knuckles and Eggman's lines in the show on their own were genuinely funny.

Archie Sonic (pre-reboot is mostly terrible, post-reboot is mostly... bland) - Whenever I doubt myself as a writer, I think back to Ken Penders, and suddenly I'm filled with a lot more confidence.

Sonic the Comic (apathetic) - Fleetway isn't a comic I tend to recall much of aside from how much of a loathesome cunt Sonic is, but IIRC, Robotnik's portrayal is pretty good. Different, but good.

IDW Sonic (stop pissing me off, comic) - Putting their handling aside (and being too obviously "inspired" by MGS in the latter's case), Tangle and Whisper are good characters IMO.

- Same goes for Starline, before he was killed off-screen and replaced with Toothpaste Snively.

- Execution aside (noticing a pattern?), the zombot virus was a fine concept on its own and an interesting new scheme for Eggman.

- I get to remind myself that I've never drawn scat edits and posted them publicly on Twitter.

[travllingbunny]

Thank you for the tag, @ryder616!

This tag game has unexpectedly led to an interesting discussion about what exactly an “Endgame Ship” means... which seems to be largely open to interpretation. I’m still not sure how I see that term, but for the purposes of this post, but to narrow it down and not mention way too many ships, I’ll take Endgame in two different meanings: for “Favorite Ship(s) That’s Endgame”, I’ll take it to mean pairings that were together and in a happy relationship at the end of the story. But for “Ship(s) You Wish Had Been Endgame”, I will take “Not Endgame” to mean that the ship was not treated as these characters’ main romance at the end of the show, or at least there was a lot of ambiguity and/or a rival ship for one or both characters was instead the current one at the end of the story. (A lot of my favorite ships have the tendency to end up unhappily in spite of being portrayed as the main romance of the story..)

Warning: this post contains spoilers for Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Agents of SHIELD, The Hunger Games, The Leftovers, The Americans and The 100 (though if you’ve spent any time on my blog, you’ve certainly already been spoiled for the ending of The 100) and .

1. First Ship - When I was about 4 or 5, I was obsessed with Lady and the Tramp (I had a book version with a few pictures and it fell apart from how much I was reading it - it may have been my first book that wasn’t mostly a picture book), so I guess my first ship was two dogs (which is really appropriate, since I love dogs). If we’re talking TV, again going back to my childhood, before puberty and before I even knew what “shipping” was, I remember being pleasantly surprised when Raquel first appeared on Only Fools and Horses as a love interest for Del Boy - the show was an episodic comedy where the two brothers, in the early years, usually didn’t have a serious love interest. I thought “oh, he really is in love with her! And she feels the same, and they are so cute together.” I hoped she’d come back and wouldn’t just be a one episode character but a long-term LI. And then I was so happy when that very much did happen. I guess this can be considered the start of my TV shipping (and also an early sign of my love for contuinity and longer arcs on TV).

2. First OTP - Ignoring pre-puberty: at the age of 12, I was really obsessed with Wuthering Heights and Heathcliff and Cathy and read the book who knows how mny times. Regarding TV, I’ve shipped over the years, but I guess the first TV ship I would really call my OTP was in This Life, a 1990s UK drama about a bunch of 20-somethings in London, which I watched on TV in 2001. which now sadly seems almost forgotten. Anna and Miles had an on-off, love-hate relationship throughout - they were sexy, snarky, and it was painfully obvious that they were in love, but these idiots had trouble admitting it to themselves and even more to each other. If it had been a romcom, they would’ve been certain to end up together, but it was a realistic drama.

3. Current Favorite Ship - Bellarke - oh, what an OTP of all OTPs that was before it was stupidly destroyed out of spite. Over the last couple of years, Dark (season 3 mostly) made me really love Jonas and Martha (the first pairing I’ve made gifsets about), and most recently (last month!), I binged Halt and Catch Fire and fell in love with the show and with Joe and Cameron’s relationship (which, I just realized now, shows that my taste in OTPs hasn’t changed in 20 years).

If we’re talking current as in, in current shows rather than finished ones, then  Kanej (Shadow and Bone), Harlivy (Harley Quinn), Gereon and Charlotte (Babylon Berlin) and  Roy and Keeley (Ted Lasso).

4. Your ship since the first minute - I really rarely ship anything from the first minute (unless we’re talking Morticia and Gomez, who are of course already a perfect couple and nothing ever changes there). It usually takes time for me to fall for a ship. A rare exception is Roy and Keeley - their first one-on-one scene in S1 already had huge OTP vibes. 

5. Ship(s) You Wish Had Been Endgame - Do I even have to say it? BELLARKE. A hundred times Bellarke, who were portrayed as endgame before the showrunner decided to retcon and ruin them together with the show overall.

Others: Jessica and Luke in Netfix Narvel shows, May and Andrew on AoS, Willow and Oz; or, depending on how you interpret Endgame, Willow/Tara (some argue that it is Endgame as Tara is definitely portrayed as the love of Willow’s life regardless of everything else). Spuffy (again, there are different opinions as to its status as both the show and the comics ended ambiguously and tried not to have a clear Endgame pairing for Buffy’s character), Xander/Anya (if you take comics into account).

6. Ship You Wish Was Canon - Some would say Bellarke, again, but I tend to consider it canon. It’s debatable, for sure (if you only consider making out/sex and/or “I love you” as markers of canon, it is not canon; if it is enough for the show to make it so blatant in the first 6 seasons that you have to actively search for ways to deny it to make it sound platonic, and for actors to confirm it was portrayed as romantic- than it is.)

So my answer would be: Kastle (Netflix Marvel shows), QuakeRider (AoS), and Octavia and Diyoza (The 100) and maybe Faith and Buffy (mostly in the sense that canon could have explored the nature of Faith’s feelings for Buffy a bit more and a bit more openly).

7. Ship that Most of the Fandom Hates, but You Love - Angel and Darla, May and Andrew, Coulson and Rosalind (hated how it ended though). Miller and Bryan (because they were more interesting than Mackson, and Bryan had a personality), Though “ships that most of the fandom ignores” would be a more apt term. The one that most of the fandom does hate and I like it is Octavia/Ilian - I liked it for what it was, two damaged people finding comfort together in what could have grown into something more - instead of the “we’re ve just met and talked to each other once and we’re already IN LOVE!” trope that the writers of The 100 were so fond of.

8. You Don’t Even Watch the Show, but You Ship It - Why would I ship something from a show I don’t watch?

9. Ship That You Wish Had A Different Storyline -  BELLARKE (duh - the ending). Veronica and Logan (the ending, again). Coulson/Rosalind - they had such an interesting and fun dynamic that could have been explored much more; instead, the writers opted for one of the worst tropes there are, and I hated that entire plotline for so many reasons. Tyrol and Boomer on Battlestar Galactica - what they did with Boomer was crap. Baltar and Caprica - all the bad writing in season 4. This is a weird example of a ship that I shipped so hard for 3 seasons and that was given Endgame in every sense of the word, but, by that point, I barely cared anymore, because the writers forgot about their relationship throughout the final season and made it seem like they didn’t even remember each other, and then slapped a last minute happy ending. Plus they retconed/explained their connection in such a stupid and anticlimactic way that ruined it retroactively.

10. Favorite Ship(s) That’s Endgame - Everlark, Nora and Kevin (The Leftovers), Philip and Elizabeth (The Americans), and Josh and Della on Night and Day (a really obscure early 2000s UK show that was watched by maybe 100 people.) Some others worth mentioning: FitzSimmons, Niles and Daphne, Tim and Dawn (original UK The Office), Jake and Amy, Memori (the only bright spot in a rubbish ending). And of course, there’s Morticia and Gomez, though they are less Endgame and more AlwaysGame.

Tagging: @jeanie205 @kizo2703 @poppykru @sheigarche @weareagentsofnothing @sometimesrosy @misskittyspuffy @otp-armada @carrieeve @sexy-zeitreise-detektiv @jonaskanwalds @immortalpramheda @ladyofthefrostfangs @tennyo-elf @fandomkru @natassakar @hadrianvonpaulus @sillier-things @angearia @thekawaiislartibartfast @foolishnymeria @erikiara80 @heartbellamy and anyone else who sees this - sorry I didn’t tag you and please consider yourself tagged. :)