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pandawriterstuff · 3 years ago

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Pinehallow Summary & Character List

This is my main WIP, if I'm complaining about characters doing whatever they want, this is them.

Pinehallow Summary-Monty, an eleven year old boy who has spent most of his life traveling from place to place with his in-demand lawyer mother, Irene, is sent to live at his uncle's horse ranch because she thinks he needs roots. Used to nearly everyone but his mother not being around long enough to get to know, Monty is more than a bit uncertain about this. But in scrambling to find his place in a town different to anything he's ever known, he finds friends, both human and animal, makes discoveries, and even manages to foil a plot against Pinehallow Ranch itself.

Character List

Monty (Montgomery) Cade Waller- Main character, 11, white. Monty is curious, bright, and more than a little awkward. He has a tendency to state the obvious, which can be endearing or annoying depending on your perspective. Big vocabulary and grown-up way of speaking because he’s spent more time around grown-ups than other kids. He’s quietly stubborn, particularly when it comes to being told he’s wrong when he knows he’s right. Insecure about socializing and friendships because of constant moving and traveling. Can’t hold a grudge for the life of him, even when he likely should. He likes bugs, birds and turtles, would rather read nonfiction than a story. Fills lonely afternoons with sketching, nature sketching on the ranch.

Irene Waller- Monty’s mother, 36, white. Irene is a powerful corporate lawyer, either full of energy or exhausted, never in between. She loves using words to sway minds and deciphering documents to find exactly what the opposition doesn’t want her to find. Sometimes Irene wishes she was using her skills in more meaningful ways, but also really likes the money, the traveling, and the competition. Has an almost encyclopedic knowledge of show tunes from musicals. She has a hard time letting people get close. Would stab someone for her baby, but knows it’s better to teach him to stab for himself. Only partially joking. Dolly Parton is her hero, and as much as she loves her music, it’s Dolly the business woman and Dolly the philanthropist that she strives to emulate.

Keith Waller- Monty’s uncle, 34, white. Horse Rancher. Keith loves working hard and getting dirty, and if he’s not exhausted at the end of the day he’ll be looking for something else to push him there. Otherwise he gets antsy. Loves animals and absolutely will not tolerate anyone mistreating any of the animals on his ranch-ordinarily he’s very careful of his size and strength, in that situation, all bets are off. Times that by about ten for any of the ‘barn rats’ that help around the ranch for riding lessons/time. Loves romantic comedies and telanovas and doesn’t care who knows it. Keith doesn’t read a lot, it never came easy to him, but if he’s taking a long trip he’ll always check an audio book or two out of the library instead of just relying on the radio.

Juniper - Keith’s goddaughter, 15, white. She has a calm, confident personality with a smile for most everyone she meets. If she doesn’t have a smile for you and it isn’t because her head is in the clouds over a girl, you’ve probably earned her scorn and will be ignored as much as possible. Juniper raises rabbits and it’s taught her patience, and a lot about unfairness when a kit doesn’t make it. She helps out with riding lessons at the ranch in exchange for riding time of her own, and has become a fixture, spending more time there than she does at home, and when she can get away with it, school. Loves sunflowers and her sunflower comforter is probably her most prized possession.

Nell - Caretaker/cook for the ranch house(would cooking lunch for the workers still be a thing on a modern ranch?). 38, white(?). Not about to put up with nonsense. Will make you cookies if she doesn’t have to put up with nonsense. Please. At one point she wanted to be a chef and has a year of culinary school under her belt, but quickly decided the super fast paced and competitive environment wasn’t for her. Anything that was making her hate one of her favorite things that fast could not be good for a person. She intends to live a long, long life and that kind of stress can just walk right out of the door. Loves to go on long walks, often into the hills (BLM land) behind the ranch. (maybe she was taught/took a class on foraging, and teaches Monty to find wild onions and stuff? But this would mean *I* have to learn about foraging in Idaho.) This leads to a contented, if often silent, companionship between her and Monty, who desperately wants to explore/record/sketch everything about the natural world of his new home, particularly the parts that are off limits to him without an adult along.

Ray- Family Friend/Co-Owner of R & M General (designed to feel vintage, but shiny. Bit of a tourist stop now, they decided to lean into it.), 50, Black. He uses his background in chemistry to make amazing looking candies and chocolates, using that to deal with a time he used it in less pleasant ways when he was in the military. He never expected anybody outside of his small town, or maybe the folks at the county fair to make so much fuss over them. This might embarrass him, if he weren’t so delighted. A cheerful man with a dreamer’s heart, a magazine once referred to him as a small town Willy Wonka. He dotes on his wife, often making and gifting her small surprises. An amputee in honor of my Grandpa (missing left leg at the knee, possibly missing one arm as well, but I’m not sure how that would affect candy making.). Has certain parts of his past he just doesn’t talk about.

Mavis- Co-Owner of ____ with Ray, 48, Black. Fierce and kind in equal measures, Mavis believes in protecting what’s hers, and as far as she’s concerned the entire town of (oh my god, it needs a name) is included in that. Mavis is very selective about the battles she fights, but when she chooses one she throws herself in whole-heartedly. On several committees around town, she’d be on more, but then she wouldn’t have enough time to really get into the work of the ones she loves. She knits in her limited free time, often while listening to the news, but sometimes opera. Has started knitting stuffies in the shapes of the more unusual candies Ray makes, it’s silly, but fun, and tourists and the local kids love it. Still head over heels for Ray, even though his often dreaming about things for ages instead of just doing them is also still baffling to her.

Leanna - Juniper’s sort-of girlfriend, 15, Vietnamese. Quiet, a little cynical, but very empathetic. She avoids the news because it’s that or be mad and want to cry all the time-until she hears about something she can’t not research, and goes on a 24 hour google search and learns far more than is probably good for her about a species going extinct due to logging in prohibited areas, or genocide being covered up by claims of violent uprisings. She loves manga and comics. Leanna sometimes tries for a cottagecore* type aesthetic, but mostly thinks it's too much work. She’s starting to worry about what she’s going to do with her future, and people telling her that she’s only 15 and doesn’t have to worry about it yet is NOT HELPING.

*even though cottagecore isn’t a thing in the early-mid 2000s this is maybe/vaguely set in. Shh, let me have this. Anne of Green Gablesesque maybe?

Winnie - Leanna’s mom, 45, Vietnamese. Widow? A little ditzy, but a lot loving. Everyone in town is convinced she’s the stoner type of hippy, but no one minds as she’s someone who truly wants to know how you’re doing when she asks and strangely almost always has very spot on advice. She’s rarely on time anywhere, but that’s because she’ll have stopped to talk, and often to help, whoever she’s run into. Leanna and her bicker over this when she’s late picking her up. Always wears bright colors. Loves Agatha Christie books. Calls everyone, even people 50 years older than her, hon.

Logan - Juniper’s stepdad, 40, white. Kind of a jerk, but most of the jerky things he says are actually jokes that fall flat or have simply gotten old. Tries really hard, like *really* hard, but has a tendency to get annoyed if people don’t appreciate his efforts right away-more in his personal life than professional, possibly because of his profession. A contractor, hard worker, loyal, has worked for the same company since he was twenty even though they don’t often treat him right. Sometimes tries to buy people’s affections. Wants to have better communication with Juniper, but it’s gotten really hard the last few years and he’s never quite sure why.

Candice - Juniper’s Mom, 39, white, works at a nursery that sells seedlings and baby fruit trees, has a cheerful, calm personality, but a lot softer and more lowkey than Juniper’s version. Very house proud, but has a ‘maximalist’ approach to decorating-everything is in its place, but there are places for lots of things. Loves spending time outdoors, but would rather spend it tending her garden than hiking or riding, preferably with a cup of tea by her side. On the weekends, a fruity beer or wine instead. Wants to go on one of those train rides where you get to drink wine, eat canapes and try to solve a mystery, thinks Winnie might be a good candidate for someone to go with her.

Ura - a ‘barn rat’, 12 and a half, white(maybe a Czech immigrant? 2nd generation?) . A cheerful, rough and tumble boy who is always climbing things, and often being told to stop when he gets too high for other people's comfort. Ura is fearless when it comes to physical feats, but has a fear of ‘slimy’ things like worms and frogs. He has a thick layer of pudge and a big appetite, but is athletic and strong enough that anyone bullying him over it would be doing it at their own peril. Not that he’s the type to start fights, or even finish them most of the time. Doesn’t feel he quite fits in with his family, who are all more serious, reserved people. Redwood is his favorite of the horses, and Keith has all but given up on telling him that sitting on the floor of Red’s stall to talk to the horse isn’t exactly safe.

Elliot - Ray and Mavis’s son, Black, 19 and a college student-maybe/probably at U of I. Lives on campus, but comes home at least a couple weekends a month. Has an older car that he and Ray fixed up together, that is his pride and joy. Quiet, with an irreverent sense of humor that he unleashes somewhat at random. Interested in robotics, engines and mechanics and generally has some project he’s working on, a piece of which may or may not be in his pocket. Often has oil, grease, or ink on his hands, either from working on or designing a new project. A bit of an overachiever, he can spread himself thin trying to live up to all his responsibilities at once. He’s best friends with Randy, a friendship his parents want to disapprove of, because the few times Elliot’s gotten into trouble not only was Randy there, but 99% of the time whatever it was is Randy’s idea, but never quite manage too.

Randy - Handyman at the ranch, mixed race Hispanic and white, 21. Technically head handyman, because the old head retired six months ago, and is a little young/inexperienced for the job, but he’s not the type to back away from a challenge and has risen to the occasion beautifully. Loves rock and metal music, and spends a lot of his free weekends at concerts, the ones crammed into little venues and bars where people are practically on top of each other and the beat is so loud and solid it throbs through you, connecting you to everyone even before you hit the mosh pit, are his preference. He’s been working at the ranch since he was 16, and feels like he has a claim on it, not afraid to speak up if he thinks a decision Keith is making isn’t right or that he isn’t taking something important into consideration. Can be a bit wild when he’s not being the responsible one, definitely doesn’t always think before he acts.

Alma - Local artist/worker at R & M’s, Hispanic, 25. Alma is a painter and poet, a confident young woman who’s figured out that half of surviving as an artist is being your own agent/a salesperson as well, and in addition to several shelves at the R & M that hold postcard prints of many of her pieces, both the coffee shop and cafe have some of her larger paintings displayed, and she always has a booth at the Saturday market, though the majority of her sales come from her website. Alma is cheerful, and likes to tease, and growing up the middle child of four brothers, is very able to hold her own in verbal sparring. She’s close with her family, still living with her parents, and while at first her father was dismayed at her choice of career, he now hands out her business card to basically everyone he talks to.

Miriam - Nell’s Mom, white, 71, a little deaf, speaks loudly, partially because of the deafness, partially because she spent too long letting other people push her around and when she hit about 50 decided she was going to be the one talking over people now. She’s earned it. Age has made her more delicate than she likes, bruising and scraping easily, but she’s determined to do most things for herself. Those that are beyond her she has no problem loudly ordering someone else to take care of. Volunteers a lot, often fosters kittens for the local animal shelter. Used to chain smoke, quit when Nell was a teenager because she kept leaving pictures of diseased lungs everywhere. Still uses the candy ones as a substitute.

Places

Unnamed Town- Somewhere in Latah County, Idaho, where there is not already a town in the way. Around 200 years old and has grown and shrunk and grown again, and currently has a population of about 12,000. Having grown out from a traditional mainstreet, _______ no longer has the western style boardwalk seen in old pictures, but it does have a large cluster of local businesses and ‘hot spots’ still along that old main street, a coffee shop, a diner, a combination bookshop and independent library, a hardware store, a bar, a few places I haven’t thought of yet, and of course R & M General. There is a historical barn half a mile or so away from mainstreet that has been converted into a theater/meeting hall/dance hall, and a community center was added onto it in the early 90’s. During the summer there is a farmer’s market on the property every Saturday. The elementary school and junior high are all on one property, several miles out of town, because the majority of families live on farms, ranches or small rural properties rather than in one of the neighborhood clusters in the town itself. The junior high is 7th, 8th and 9th graders, in a newer two story building, and the elementary school is divided into lower and upper elementary with the bracket shaped building basically being cut in half, K-3 on one side and 4-6 on the other. The high school is outside of town on the other side by several miles, and actually serves kids from another town(s) as well. There is also a trailer park with about forty units, not exactly sure where it is yet, but Miriam(Nell’s Mom) lives there. There is also an animal shelter, a vet’s office, a cemetery, and a couple churches, and I’m sure more things to come.

R & M General (working title?)- Ray and Mavis’s store, a general store with a candy focused twist. A vintage Pepsi sign, neon still bright, and a charming green glass juke-box filled with hits from the 1940’s onward grace the front porch of the R & M, along with a long bench that locals are encouraged to use for a spell or to listen to a couple songs, provided they can behave themselves (teenagers arguing over who their favorite member of the rat pack is might be amusing, considering they were already ‘mom and dad’, or at least older brother and sister, music by the time Mavis and Ray were teenagers, but when they get loud it also gets annoying.). The store itself still has the original wooden counter up front and built-in shelves along the walls, but all refinished and polished to a high shine. A mixture of display types going down the middle of the store, barrels and baskets filled with skeins of colorful yarn and cloth or Mavis’s knitted stuffies(and during winter sometimes socks and mittens), other sewing and craft supplies, display racks with local arts, postcards and carvings, sometimes wind up toys made by Elliot, and of course many, many displays of candies and chocolates. They also have a lot of dry goods, and some of the simpler candy types have little instruction booklets and the ingredients it takes to try out making them yourself stocked in the same display, drink coolers, and sometimes have local produce available. Basically, they have a bit of everything, except for building equipment/home repair supplies, and that’s because of the hardware store across the street.

Pinehallow Ranch-A sprawling 100 acre ranch in Latah County, Idaho where the Waller family has been doing something or other with horses for four generations now. Originally it was a horse breeding ranch, but Keith and Irene’s grandfather felt the money was in training horses, and offered boarding as well, and Keith has continued to build that up, offering lessons for a variety of styles, ages, and skill levels. Butting up against BLM land that allows additional grazing and trail riding, the ranch has four pastures, a large corral, a medium sized indoor arena and two horse barns, one for boarded horses and one for the ranch's own stock, and an equipment barn, an old bunkhouse that is mostly used to store feed-though Randy has slept there when in between places, mostly unbeknownst to Keith-and some smaller equipment sheds, placed where they’re needed. The main house is an L-shaped ranch house with a porch that goes around the entire long front of the house with a large herb/kitchen and rock garden arranged around that. There are treed pockets scattered here and there, left alone as the rest of the ranch was developed, but the creek Monty and Juniper sometimes hang out at is on BLM land, as is most of the forested area around the ranch.

Pinehallow Taglist @sleepysera @enchanted-lightning-aes @odysseywritings @thegreatobsesso @writing-is-a-martial-art and @hiitsolivia If anyone else wants to be added just interact with the post :) (My more advanced tumblr knowledge has led me to believe this is better than asking people to reblog/comment to be added, but if I'm wrong just let me know.)

#character list #oc list #someday I'll do a proper series introduction #and an introduction for me #but today is not that day #pinehallow ranch #original writing #I tend to build my world around the characters #backwards I know

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letsperaltiago · 4 years ago

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even in a crowded room, it's just me and you

Summary: Jake and Amy spend their date night staking out a nightclub in Brooklyn. It's safe to say that it doesn't go exactly as planned.

Rating: T-M ish (for now 😌)

Words: 10.3 k (welp)

Read on AO3 here

Pink, blue, green, yellow, purple. Every color imaginable cuts through the dark venue like a knife, quick strokes of light appearing only to disappear just as fast, to the beat of loud techno music that definitely doesn’t strike a chord with the two young detectives, Jake Peralta and Amy Santiago.

See, they’re not exactly here to party - there are so many other places, places that aren’t Club Enzo, they’d much rather pay a visit on a Friday night - but rather to work. They’re here to stake out the location and hopefully gather evidence that can put their perp, Axel Manson, in jail for handling and dealing a new drug called ‘Kandy’ - yes, with a ‘k’. Very creative.

It isn’t exactly the date night they’d planned but Holt really needed their help and at least they’re spending time together - plus, there was no way Amy would ever deny their captain her help. The second the captain’s name flashed up on her phone screen, Jake knew date night was about to take a turn.

Having just arrived at the nightclub and watching Amy shrug off her coat to give it to the cloakroom staff, thus introducing him to her undercover outfit, he doesn’t mind the sudden change of plans. Not one bit. Sure, the instant he’d met her outside the club and could see her bare legs, he knew she wasn’t exactly wearing a pantsuit or her usual jeans. Although her coat was hiding everything down to her knee and he didn’t know what to expect. It’s safe to say that he in no way, shape or form expected this.

A dress, not too short but without a doubt short enough to make him do a double-take, clings to her body molding all the right places (which is everywhere, if you ask him) and, to top it off, it’s red. A deep, burgundy red that has him biting his lip to keep his jaw from falling to the sticky floor. Being the talented detective that she is (plus, Jake is shamefully bad at hiding his excitement) Amy notices the response, and in the darkness of the street, there’s no hiding the blood that immediately rushes to the apples of cheeks.

“Looking much, Peralta?” Even if he’s the one to make her blush, he’s still the one who’s dropped his jaw on the cold pavement and there’s no way she’s letting him off the hook. A few months ago she would’ve swept gazes or subtle compliments under the carpet, rationalizing by telling herself that he was dozing off, not minding what he was doing, or simply being friendly. Although things have since then changed. Now Amy knows for sure that he likes her, thus doesn’t have to shrug his actions off with stupid excuses to protect her hopes and feelings, and can allow herself to act on his advances. A dynamic that’s been there since the day they met but has blossomed into honest to good flirting. Butterflies take over her belly every time she catches him looking at her, but She collects herself and her cloakroom number.

“Was I that obvious?” He grins much like a kid getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar but is quick to recover because this is good - they are good - and he doesn’t have to worry about loving the way his girlfriend looks. Especially when she’s got her back turned and grants him a view that has him questioning his professionalism.

“Yes.” In the meantime, she’s turned on her high heels and it all happens so fast, so smoothly and Bond-like. It offers Jake no chance of keeping up with her which means it’s safe to say he’s surprised, very pleasantly so, when she closes the gap between the two of them to help him unbutton his coat. His nice coat, she notices, compliments a sleek, navy blue button-up shirt that comes into view once enough coat buttons have been popped open by her nimble fingers. Having already dropped his jaw in the street outside and never fully recovered, there’s no way he can allow himself to do it again. Although a small hitch in his breathing does make an appearance and outs him. The sight of his girlfriend focusing on opening his coat for him as if it were part of their mission will do that to him. She’s too good, he thinks.

Finally, she gets to the last button without her eyes straying, not once. Looking into his eyes as she pushes the coat - the first layer of more to come, later, he hopes - off of him, another hitch, one that travels through his entire body, shakes him to the core. Brown eyes and lipstick coated lips smirk at him, up through her dark lashes, because she knows he’s obsessed and she’s about to leave him hanging in that moment, all by himself. “You good?”

“Uh- uhuh.” Jake swallows loudly, unable to speak. Five seconds later he’s proven right: she spins on her heels, away from him to hand his coat to the cloakroom staff, and creates yet another torturous distance between them.

Jake is equally frustrated and thankful - frustrated because she should never be allowed to look at him like that and then turn away as if nothing happened; thankful because it gives him the time to reassemble himself.

Amy stoves their cloakroom tickets away into her little clutch and then, for the first time, gets a good look at her boyfriend’s full attire. God, she loves it when he’s cleaned and dressed up nicely. He’s freshly shaved, hair is washed and as wavy as the length will allow, and has it paired with his nicest button-up shirt and black trousers. There’s no doubt, in her or anyone else in that club’s mind: Jake Peralta cleans up more than just nicely (when he wants to).

“This is giving me mad James Bond and Maxi Pads-vibes.” He’s the first to break the momentary silence between them, thumping bass in the background, and it’s as if it brings them back in the zone. Not a very sexy remark but definitely funny and, work-wise, probably pretty smart.

“Shut up,” she chuckles immediately getting the reference, remembering Jake in his fancy three buttoned-tux and them tiptoeing around an abandoned building (and their feelings for each other) in an attempt to catch her nemesis, Minsk. As she hooks her arm with his, slightly leaning into him as they walk further into the club, lights, and loud noise, she wonders why she back then backed out of her initial plan to ask him to dance and used Gina’s grandmother as an out instead. Luckily, that’s in the past, and tonight, she has nothing to be afraid of or back out of. It’s them, him and her, against the world - or this loud club and Axel Manson, at the very least.

They walk into the dancing crowd, a sea of drunks, Amy comments making Jake laugh. After being bumped into multiple times, never being apologized to, they arrive at the bar where they’ll have to order anything but a tempting and delicious-looking cocktail. They should go out for cocktails someday, when they’re off the clock, Jake notes to himself as the woman next to him walks away with two enormous drinks while he on his part is left ordering sodas. Orange for him, a coke for Amy.

“Thanks.” As silly as it might seem the butterflies in Amy’s belly make a reappearance at the thought of Jake knowing exactly what to get her, without even asking her, and it reminds her, bittersweetly, of the past boyfriends who’ve thought they got her what she wanted only to end up serving her what they thought she wanted. In more mays than one, Jake constantly reminds her of exactly why she’s with him.

“I would’ve gotten you Orangina but this club has the decency of not serving poison to their guests.” Jake hides a smirk by taking a sip, knowing she won’t punch or shove him, risking his nice outfit being ruined. When it comes to joking and messing around, something they’ve been from day one and won’t ever change. they’re just kids, both of them, It’s an eternal dynamic that can’t be changed.

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.” She sips on her coke, leaving Jake hanging with a first-row experience of her lips perfectly enclosing the edge of the glass. “Anyways, what is the plan?”

Can’t she just tell him what the plan is? Sure, he could think of something but she’s already one step ahead of him, she always is, and has probably already thought of something brilliant - also she’s just that much hotter when she’s telling him what to do.

“I’m thinking…”

Thank God - his prayers have been heard. She picks up right where she left off.

“... We play it cool, act like regular guests. Then we can split up, hope that either Mason himself or one of his men seek one of us out to sell us drugs. That would be proof enough for us to take him down. Although, objectively speaking, there’s a higher chance of them approaching me since I’m-”

“Super hot?” Wow, he certainly hasn’t gotten any better at holding back his first thoughts, has he? Proud of it or not, the words are out in the open and have earned him an amused look in return. Amy featuring a crinkled nose, grinning lips, and, all in all looking, cute as ever. Cute and hot at the same time ’cause his girlfriend has range.

“I was gonna say “Since I’m a woman” but good to know where your head is at, Peralta. Very professional.”

There’s that voice again, the sultry one he can’t act casual around; the one that gets him all hot and bothered even during times like these where it’s rather inappropriate and not very HR-friendly. Clearly, she’s joking around, messing with him on purpose, and normally he’s okay with that but not tonight - not when she’s looking like this and talking to him like that. On a night like this, there’s an extra-fine and fragile line between professional or personal.

The shape of a smirk on her glowing face paired with the insanely gorgeous dress and her let-down hair? She must know what she’s doing to him, right? And while it isn’t her responsibility whether or not he can control himself, the evening has just barely begun and he’s already miserable. There won’t be a lot of solving crime on his part if this moment sets the tone for the night. Damn his smart, incredible, gorgeous girlfriend.

“If either of us makes contact with Manson, the goal is to lure him outside while the other calls for backup. If Manson is here then the rest of his gang surely must be here too, and the club will need to be ransacked. Sellers and buyers must be arrested. Our priority is to arrest Manson though. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Drink in hand, plan agreed upon, they dance their way into the big crowd. Even sober, trying to keep up with the rhythm of the music whilst balancing liquids isn’t nearly as easy as everyone around them makes it look. A few songs later, having gotten used to the crowd’s unpredictable swaying and their cups gradually being emptied, Jake and Amy get into it. They feel themselves being a part of the sea of drunks and, even sober, it’s pretty fun. It’s been a while since they’ve gone out just the two of them, and despite the fact that this isn’t their usual spot and they’re on the clock, the sentiment remains the same.

Amy has her own, very unique, dancing style, and Jake is very much aware of this. It’s safe to say he’s grown to love her dancing, finding it adorkable (Amy told him that it’s not a real word but he doesn’t care) and another good reason to think of her as the coolest human being alive. Amy is a pro at getting caught up in people’s opinions but when she’s dancing? She forgets everything around her and simply has fun. Tonight is no exception: Amy’s limbs are kicked, punched, thrown right and left to the beat, accidentally hitting a couple of guests who, luckily, are too drunk to care. It’s her very own form of art and Jake is her biggest fan.

“Dance with me!” She yells over the loud music, smile as wide as the Joker’s. She knows there’ll be missteps, she’ll fall out of the rhythm and eventually step on him. That hasn’t changed and probably never will. Although what has changed is the fact that now she doesn’t care. Now she’s confident in Jake’s feelings about her, knows that he finds her small missteps adorable, never annoying, and nothing she can do will push him away.

“Is that a work tactic of yours?” He speaks into her ear once he’s finally closed the gap between them and they’re moving in somewhat synchronization to the beat of a remix of a song that was better off in its original format.

“Sure.” A giggle fights its way through the obnoxiously heavy bass and Jake is very thankful. Every sound she makes equals a spectacular symphony. One that he doesn’t want to miss. “Makes us look more legit. Will keep out cover intact.”

“Wow, look at you throwing around slang, Santiago. So legit.”

His teasing grin deserves a playful punch to fight off his smartypants comments.

“But do you think Manson will approach us if we come off as a couple?”

“Who says we’re a couple?” She grins devilishly, leaning in close so that their noses a pressed together. “We’re drunk. We don’t know what we’re doing. We might as well be strangers.”

This time around she can’t hear it over the loud booming but his breath gets caught in his throat at the thought of Amy Santiago being his scandalous one-night stand. Of course, one night with Amy would never be enough for him but there’s something about this specific roleplay, undercover role, and the way she’s looking at him with luring dark eyes that has him fumbling into unprofessional land. Focus, Jake. He counts down from ten and Amy, oblivious to her boyfriend’s internal fight, pulls back, offering him a chance to collect himself. The bright lights illuminate her as she moves with a confidence that completely erases the dorkiness and leaves her looking like a goddess clad in red. Red as wine and all he wants to do is get drunk on her.

The couple falls into a comfortable rhythm of moving about the floor, somewhat dancing, as they keep an eye on the constantly switching crowd. In the back of their minds, they have a picture of Axel Manson keeping them alert. Hopefully, it’s enough for them to be able to recognize the criminal if he were to show himself.

“I wish we worked cases like this more often!” Jake yells, trying to make himself heard over the music. Even basically pressed up against Amy, hands on her waist, focused, she can’t make out what he says.

“What?” She yells back, leaning in further to listen as she tries to keep up the dancing, letting Jake’s hands lead her around the floor.

“I wish we worked cases like this more often!”

“Why?”

“You look really hot in that dress.” He emphasizes his point by stroking her hip, getting a good feel of the red fabric hugging her beautiful curves. Curves that under more intimate circumstances would have him explicitly worshipping her.

“Shut up, Peralta.” She rolls her eyes and tries to shake off his compliment, because, in reality, it does something dangerous to her. Dangerous and unsuitable under the given circumstances.

“You do! In anything you wear but tonight is like... Wow, my mind is extra blown, babe.”

She quickly pecks his lips in thanks, the light in her eyes enough for Jake to know that she appreciates his flirting - even when she tries to shrug it off.

To allow herself some space, she takes a step back and thus the dancing recommences. Her very own moves are throw up, do, left and right while Jake stands back and admires the goofiness unraveling before him. Fortunately, everyone around them is too hammered to care and he’s got the view all to himself. He sticks to doing the bare minimum to look like he’s dancing. Shufflin on the spot at best. This way he can surveil the club (and Amy).

“Incredible,” he cheers on, meaning it even though this kind of incredible isn’t for everyone. Although her moves indeed are questionable, Amy herself deserves every positive adjective in the dictionary. Wow, did he just make a grammar-based compliment? The Santiago-gene has really rubbed off on him, huh?

Everything is easy, like fun and games, or at least it is right up until some drunk idiot, tall and handsome, Jake will admit, accidentally stumbles into Amy. She’s a trooper though: shakes it off and keeps dancing as if nothing had happened. Instead of apologizing, said man apparently sees this as an opening, a prompt for him to act on, and smoothly allows his hand to travel across the sleek fabric hugging Amy’s hips which, upon noticing the touch, abruptly stops moving.

“Why’d’ya stop dancing, babe? You looked so good.” The strange’s voice is as sleazy as his rapprochement. Overall representing the kind of person no one deserves to be approached by. Drunk or not, Jake doesn’t care the least: this kind of behavior can’t be excused. No woman, or just person in general, should have to put up with this. Admittedly, the fact that the subject of this stranger’s idiocy is his girlfriend doesn’t make matters any better. From the feeling of his fists clenching, he can tell it makes it much worse.

“Excuse me?” Amy challenges the stranger, takes a step back, not even caring that she bumps into someone else in the process of doing so. Her priority is to make sure that the unwelcomed hands let go of her.

Then they both see it, both Jake and Amy, and like lightning coming from a clear sky, it takes them by surprise. It takes everything within them to not flinch or freeze in a way that’ll come off as suspicious, because this? This is without a doubt Axel Manson.

“No need to be prissy, babe. Take it as a compliment.”

Amy’s got her arms crossed in front of her chest and it’s clear as day, at least to Jake, that she’s in a standby position - a position where she isn’t fully sure of what her next move should be. On one hand, the perp’s moves are extremely inappropriate, especially with Jake around (even though he knows it’s a part of the job); on the other hand, she can’t act out and risk scaring Manson away. Now that he’s fallen right into their lap they need to figure out how to go about this in the smoothest way possible.

If they weren’t currently undercover, working a case that very much relies on being discreet and staying unnoticed, Jake would tell the prick to get lost. Instead, he has to take on a different role that he definitely hasn’t prepared for: the role of the random bystander that won’t intervene.

Amy still has her back turned to Jake, facing their perp, and unfolds her arms to instead put one behind her back. Firstly, it makes her look less defensive and closed off; secondly, it allows her to send Jake a signal with her fingers: a thumbs up. Jake notices and even though he wants nothing more than rid his girlfriend of this creep, Amy is now his partner and not his girlfriend. Now is not the time to act on emotions, instead, he has to go along with whatever she leads him into. He trusts that she’s thought of a playbook to follow and knows what she’s doing.

“Sorry, I was just... surprised, I guess,” she laughs off the momentary tension, at the very least tries to, praying that Manson won’t see right through this innocent, flirty act she’s about to put on for him.

“That’s alright, baby. I can take it - especially when you’re as beautiful as you are.”

Right amid people dancing and pushing their way through the crowd around them, Jake makes sure to stay at safe distance, hopefully staying out of the scene Amy and Manson have proceeded into. On his part, Manson has reached over to grab the hand of his newest catch and gives it a gallant kiss. Charming but not at all representative of his overall behavior, Amy thinks, meanwhile she acts as if the move truly impresses her. If it wasn’t for the fact that she had to stay in character for the sake of the bust, she would’ve told him off the second he bumped into her. Jake, feeling rather exclude but know it’s how it has to be, discreetly stays behind and watches the scene unfold. Sipping on orange, shuffling on the spot, acting as if some creep isn’t making a move on his girlfriend and colleague. An unpleasant feeling boils in his gut, but it’s not exactly jealousy - or so he tells himself because it’s his least favorite emotion and, more than anything else, he trusts Amy. There’s no reason for him to feel jealous. Amy is just doing her job and so she should.

… Although he does feel unquestionable mistrust towards the other man and the urge to push him off of her is even stronger. Scum like him don’t deserve even a second of attention from a woman as lovely as Amy - undercover persona or not.

“Wow, thank you. I sure don’t mind my view either.”

From a time preceding their current relationship and up till now, Jake has witnessed a bit of everything in terms of Amy’s flirting skills. Not that his own are any better but Amy’s can sometimes be… awkward and questionable. In reality, Amy Santiago is a natural but as soon as she’s consciously flirting, she gets all weird and fidgety about it. Her game is much stronger when she’s doing it unconsciously, going with the flow, like with him. As if they only know how to flirt with one another.

Yet here she is, completely nailing this coquettish act, and even though it should bother him Jake also feels… captivated. This bold and cutthroat side of Amy that usually only appears when it’s just the two of them, within the intimacy of their bedroom, is suddenly out in the open and luring in a stranger with so much ease. Amy Santiago is without a doubt the best detective slash genius.

Mason takes a step closer, smooth to a point where it’s embarrassingly obvious that he’s done this a lot, and puts a hand on her hip. It isn’t until he can taste fresh blood that Jake realizes he’s been biting his lip. Focus, Jake, he tells himself and joins the random group of dancing people next to him, hoping this will keep his cover intact while he can keep an eye on the situation. Hopefully, he hasn’t noticed him and Amy dancing together before bumping into them. Amy knows what she’s doing, he keeps repeating to himself, completely drowning out erratic beats, people singing off-key to some pop song, and other distracting sounds.

“What’s your name, gorgeous? And even more importantly, are you here with someone?” Manson’s dark eyes drill into hers with great, sleazy purpose. In all honesty, it throws her off a bit to be looked at like that by someone who’s not Jake, even worse a criminal. Concentration is key and Amy falls right back into the game with ease. On the outside nothing unusual is to be noted; on the inside, she fights to ignore the stranger’s strong fingers digging into the flesh of her hips as if she were his property.

“Cassidy, and no. I’m just here to… explore my options.” Amy gives him her best flirty smirk, personally hating the reaction it earns her but, professionally, happy to see him fall right into her sensuous trap.

“Well, Cassidy, I’m Axel and that sounds right about perfect to me. I also love to… explore.” He emphasizes his ulterior motive so obviously that it falls right under the category of an explicit plan.

It’s funny to see someone who couldn’t be leading a more different life from her own think they have something in common, Amy thinks. It sure helps the fake smile she currently has plastered on her face, even when Manson strokes her hip and causes the soft fabric to bunch up around her thigh, revealing more of her golden skin. That’s her cue - it’s go time. No more fooling around. With the hand behind her back she signals towards the club’s exit and prays that, in that very second, Jake happens to be looking her way right. Get him outside echoes in her mind and she hopes it does in Jake’s too.

What Amy doesn’t know is that Jake hasn’t left her out of sight for even a second. On the contrary, he’s quick to notice the signal and knows exactly what it means: things are about to start moving. His galloping pulse confirms it and he’s ready to follow them wherever they go.

“How lucky for both of us, Axel. Should we, you know, get out of here then?”

Amy feels like she’s in a movie, coming up with one smooth line followed by the next. Dropping line after line, spontaneous and mysterious, to a point where she almost can’t recognize herself. Although she can’t wait to bust this guy and be back with Jake, she does have to admit that it is very satisfying to see just how easy and indiscreet criminals are. It’s a fine line to walk.

“Nothing would make me happier, doll.” Axel promptly places an arm around Amy’s waist, a bit lower than expected and the move is as smug as Axel’s grin. A grin that only grows from the satisfaction of having his arm around a beautiful woman who, he thinks, will get him laid.

In the momentum of the turn they do, directing themselves towards the exit, Amy catches a glimpse of her boyfriend’s stare. There’s no begrudging his displeased demeanor, Amy thinks imagining if it were her in his place. There’s a lot of trust between the two, never any reason to feel jealous, but this kind of situation is different and (luckily) not circumstances any regular couple would ever encounter. There’s no room for jealousy - this is a matter of doing your job properly whilst also keeping your partner safe and unharmed. A partner which you more than just care for. Jake certainly has begun to entertain himself with the thought of love and this only enhances the pondering about his feelings for his co-detective.

They share a look of mutual understanding, brief but it’s there, and it puts Amy at ease to know that he’s got her back in these most trying times of their operation. Manson’s hand keeps sliding further and further down her waist, obviously and shamelessly yearning for her hip and ass as if it were his right, and if it wasn’t for the fact that it was a matter of making the bust or not, Amy would’ve smacked his hand. Alas, she lets it slide, plays the role of the infatuated prey, and doesn’t flinch under the foreign palm taking a handful hold of her dress and the flesh beneath it.

“Sarge?” Jake speaks into his phone, never letting Amy and Axel out of his sight. He can physically taste the disgust he’s feeling upon seeing his girlfriend be felt up but he’s putting his anger to good use. “Amy and I have found Manson. We’re currently luring him outside. Send back up and catch them the-”

Jake feels himself flinch at the sight of this criminal having his hands all over Amy while feeling more than just delighted by this conquest. Jake knows Manson has set himself up for great disappointment, but still, he can’t help it when the sight of Axel being a major creep has his word’s caught up in his throat.

“I- uh, yes, sorry. Just keeping an eye out for Amy. They’ll walk out onto Fulton Street. Meet us there with backup ASAP. Not sure if he’s armed or not so be careful. He’s got Amy with him.”

He hangs up the second he sees Axel and Amy make their way to the cloakroom. Needing to be sure of what to make her next move, without Axel noticing, Amy runs her hand up the perp’s strong arm, wardrobe number in between her index finger and middle finger.

“Just need to stop by the lady’s room and... “ She bites her bottom lip into a natural pause. “... get ready for whatever you and I are gonna do once we leave this place.”

She bats her long eyelashes at him. Past experiences with Jake have her trusting the simple but sultry move and its effect. It should work wonders. “Grab my coat for me, please? And perhaps I’m even lucky enough to find some candy in my pocket when I come back?” Cocked eyebrows suggest Manson read between the lines.

“What’d’ya mean, princess?”

During the course of her career, Amy’s seen a lot of perp bluff which means Mansons already steps behind her. Even with a hand on her hip and trying to play it off as confused, the detective doesn’t fall out of character. She needs proof.

“Oh please, Axel…” Amy grins before leaning in, lips almost grazing his ear. Lucky for her their perp can’t see how her legs are trembling from the adrenaline. “I know what you do around here. Share your candy with me and I’ll share mine with you. No one will know.” Her vixenish whisper echoes in her ears while her lips tease to touch the sensitive spot. Amy cocks an eyebrow playfully and there’s no way Axel can say no to that.

“Of course, babe. I’ll be right here waiting. Don’t be too long though.” Axel’s warm, alcohol-drenched breath hits her face when he pulls back and it takes every fiber in Amy’s body to not pull back from where the man is leaning in close, smirking like he’s got her figured out. “I’m getting impatient.”

“I’ll be quick.” She promises.

Even from a safe distance away, Jake’s glowering gaze certainly doesn’t miss how Amy seals the deal their perp and how he runs starving eyes up and down her body as she walks off. While Jake would prefer that it was him she was torturing like that, he also feels confident about this operation. It’s going to work, he’s sure. Then he’s going to need a lot of making up for how little he’s gotten to enjoy her company tonight.

Purposely brushing past Jake, discreetly bumping his shoulder, Amy makes her way to the bathroom.

One… Two… Three… Four… Five… Jake spins around on his heels and follows her into the bathroom, making sure to do so unnoticed by Axel.

“We’re in the clear,” Amy informs him when she sees Jake peep his head into the room.

“You’re brilliant, Ames!” Jake beams, stepping up to her and instantly earns himself a proud smile in return. Amy can’t help but notice how right it feels when he places his hands on her lower arms, almost as to make sure she’s safe and really there with him. Her warms skin feels so good in his hold and it hits him how much he needs her to be okay and… his. “You okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay. And I think he’s buying it, Jake! I tried to lure him into giving me some drugs. I will let you know if he does… Did you call Terry?”

Jake can tell she’s proud of herself and can do nothing but nod in agreement. So she should be. “Yes, backup should be here within a couple of minutes, ready to take him down when you exit the club. Also of course he’s buying it! That act you’re putting up? Impossible to resist.”

“You been thinking about that a lot, babe?”

They’re on the clock, Jake is aware, but she sends him a teasing wink (oh, she knows), and before he can even wrap his mind around just how turned on he is, she’s moved on as if nothing had happened. Moved on to apply lipstick in the reflection of the dirty bathroom mirror as if he wasn’t even there. The red tip of her lipstick traces her full lips oh so slowly, taunting him with every inch and curve, and it has very unprofessional, untasteful per se, scenarios flash before his eyes. The muffled sound of the bass is momentarily replaced by the remembrance filthy sounds. It all crowds his mind so fast, making remaining focused almost impossible, and if they hadn’t had a major drug lord waiting for them then he’d definitely taken advantage of how Amy was currently leaning against the sink, back turned to him, in an attempt to apply the lipstick as precisely as possible.

“Oh, Ames…” Though he really shouldn’t, he allows his hand to wander onto her hips, the ones he’d hated Axel so much for touching… Besides hating him for the obvious stuff, like being a criminal and whatnot. “You’re all I ever think about.”

Even with her hair let down, falling in raven waves and covering some of her exposed shoulder, neck, and arms, there’s little left to the imagination. As animalistic and primitive it might sound, Jake internally thanks Amy for her pick of dress, a spaghetti strap dress that shows off her strong upper body. Handling perps might just be the best workout. He does realize that he’s only making it worse, more agonizing, for himself to wait out their mission however he simply can’t help himself, and before he can bring himself to cease, his lips are attached to her shoulder blade… then back nape of her neck… then the other shoulder. Her skin tastes like a mixture of her vanilla body wash and the smoke-filled air of the club.

Their eyes meet in the reflection of the mirror, both smirking knowingly; they’re both fighting the urge to throw professionalism out the window and tear each other apart - right here, right now. How wonderful it would be to simply unhinge, give in to the vicious atmosphere of the club. Take each other home like a spontaneous hookup on a night out. Alas, right now is not the time for adulterated play pretend. Right now, even with his hands feeling dangerously good on her, closing in on the zipper running along her spine, their duty and urgent matter at hand is somehow stronger. With one last kiss to the skin of her neck and a shared look in the mirror, they wordlessly promise each other: later…

He offers her hip a squeeze and clears his throat. Smiling to show support.

“Let’s go get him.”

“Y-Yes. Let’s.”

After checking herself in the mirror one last time, she spins on her heels. Their eyes meet, outside of the mirror this time, and Amy feels confident walking out - Jake is right there behind her. Like always, he’s got her back.

“You look great!”

Having already exited the bathroom, Amy knows not to turn around, risking looking suspicious, but she can still smile to herself, and oh does she. Blush, a lot of it, as well. Luckily said blush simmers down and impossible to detect by the time she’s back with Axel. From the dance floor, Jake keeps an eye on their every move and it’s with great delight he notices Axel’s wallet falling from his pocket when the man shrugs on his coat. Having already put on her coat, Amy checks to see if her flirting worked and to her happy surprise, it did. In the depth of her pocket, her fingers come across a tiny, sealed plastic back containing a couple of tiny heart-shaped pills object: kandy.

Amy smiles to herself and Jake is quick to notice: she’s got the drugs and all the proof they need to take Manson down.

To the detective’s advantage, the pumping music drowns out the wallet’s fall and Amy is quick to latch onto Axel’s strong arm thus prompting him to lead her outside, into her trap. Coats hanging off of their frames, walking side by side, they make their way through the front door. Amy’s lungs hitch for the fresh air outside, nervously so, internally praying that reinforcement is waiting for them outside as to not be left alone with the shady criminal for longer than needed. One thing is being told they’ll be there: another thing is actually seeing the familiarly blue-clad reinforcement there waiting for you.

Click clack.

Her black heels hit the pavement, they have officially left the safety of the crowded club, and this fact, along with the absence of the blinking red and blue lights, triggers a certain nervousness in Amy. An uneasiness screaming that everything is at stake right now - the case as well as her own life - and that there’s no room for indiscretion.

It’s a well-known fact: Amy Santiago always brings her A-game. Although this specific mission demands even more detail-oriented and throughout thought decision-making on her part. One little misstep can cause a domino effect of danger and chaos, and she’s not about to topple over the first piece.

“Terry!”

On his part, Jake feels just as uneasy, if not even more, about the lack of backup. There’s a limit for how close he can stick to Amy and their perp; walking too close will only raise suspicion meanwhile walking too far behind could compromise the mission and, more importantly, Amy’s safety.

“Where are you guys? Amy and Manson have left the club. They’re making their way south on Fulton Street, and I don’t know for how long I can trail behind them before Mason grows suspicious.”

There’s an irritated undertone to Jake’s voice he simply can’t bite back - it’s not as if he’s trying to hide it - but his girlfriend is currently charming a dangerous criminal and no one but Manson himself knows where he’s taking her. If they get into a car this entire case will turn into a chase and ticking clock situation.

At this point, if Manson as much as hails a cab, Jake will have to do something. Step in, one way or the other, to free Amy from the situation or at least stall. There’s no way Jake is allowing a criminal to drag his girlfriend along as bait for a wild-goose chase. Alonge the thought is a hard pill to swallow. He always worries when she’s working a case; the second she’s out of sight a thousand horrible scenarios flash before his eyes because he can’t imagine a world without her. Amy is very much capable, he knows, and she doesn’t rely on him for anything, nor should she, but if he can keep her safe then he sure as hell will.

Then it happens. What he dreaded the most. Mason waves over a cab which immediately pulls over to park next to the couple.

A hundred feet or so keep Jake, and Manson and Amy apart. Step by step he gains speed, gains in on them, with fiery eyes glued to his girlfriend in hopes of some kind of signal from her. Manson gallantly opens the door to the cab for her. Polite for a criminal, Jake thinks to himself as his fists turn white from clenching.

Dutiful as ever, Amy she gets into the car. He catches a glimpse of her face and certainly isn’t met with what he had imagined; Amy’s shaking her head no at him, frowning and warning him with a harsh stare. Does she just expect him to keep his cool and step back from the situation? It feels very much like a punch to his gut. Can’t she see she’s in danger?

His feet never cease, on the contrary, they pick up the pace, completely disregarding Amy’s deterring signals. The car door smacks shut capturing Amy inside the cab but even then, through the dirty cab window, she’s very clearly telling him off. Her expression only becomes clearer with every step he takes.

Manson, still very much oblivious to the situation that’s about to be called into existence, makes his way around the cab and gets into the back with Amy. The sound of his door shutting behind him affects Jake the exact same way the sound of a gun going off would: adrenaline overrules his clear thinking and protocol for the given kind of situation is off the table. Protocol means nothing when a dangerous drug lord is about to drive away with your partner - partner slash girlfriend, that is. It doesn’t matter that she’s the NYPD’s best detective. All Jake sees is red and the following words come flying out without warning.

“Sir!”

He waves his arms in the air to hopefully catch Manson, or at least the cab driver’s, attention. Perfectly synchronized with Jake’s outburst, Amy’s eyes send him daggers but there’s nothing she can say or do… It’’ll blow their cover. So instead she sits back, acts as if she doesn’t know the lunatic who’s calling out for her date, and waits for the horror that is Jake Peralta’s improv skills.

“You forgot your wallet back at the club. They’re holding onto it for you. They uh- told me to run after you and let you know.” He’s out of breath from running up to the cab and leans against it as he tries to catch it. Jake has to admit that he deserves the prize for the worst cover story in the history of cover stories. All he can do is pray that their perp will believe it - even if it’s with an inch of mistrust.

“What?” Manson spits, halfway out the cab and sure as hell looking pissed - pissed like a man who’s getting momentarily cockblocked by a random stranger.

“Your wallet. Someone’s found it and I was sent to tell you.” Jake stutters from his position on the sidewalk. He can feel Amy glaring at him from her spot behind the window, begging him to look at her so she can let him know exactly what she’s thinking: idiot!

“You couldn’t have brought it with ya, ya moron?”

All night they’ve seen him in nothing but a good mood so it sure does intimidate Jake, just a tiny bit, to experience Manson growling and scowling like an agitated beast.

“I- uh, sorry. I’m just… super hammered. My brain is probably broken from all the vodkas and… orange drank and whatnot.”

Jake doesn’t even have to look at Amy to know that she’s rolling her eyes at him.

“Whatever.” Manson peeks into the cab. “I’ll be right back, darling.”

Amy smiles without saying a word, but the second Manson is out of sight she’s practically kicking down the cab door.

“What the hell, Jake?! What are you doing?”

During their few months of being together, he’s never seen her this mad. Not at him, not at anyone. Even the mattress incident has nothing on the pure acrimony she’s currently displaying. The red color of her dress suddenly carries a whole new symbolism.

“What do you mean? Ames, he was going to drive you off to God knows where!”

Why is she so angry when he’s just trying to protect her? His expression slowly starts to match hers and he doesn’t like this color on him - not one bit.

“Don’t Ames me! And I have my tracker and gun on me, plus backup is just around the corner!” She refuses to step down from her case and it’s as if they forget that Axel Mason will be back before long.

“You don’t know how far away backup is. Also, a tracker and gun won’t keep you safe against a man like Manson!”

It takes a clenching of his jaw to contain himself. Heavy breaths have him feel like an enraged bull, provoked by her red dress (even though technically bulls can’t see color - Amy told him so) and matching stubbornness - an attribute of hers he usually admires. Right now it’s hard to admire though. Even if he knows his girlfriend is very much capable of doing whatever she puts his mind to, he also knows he’d never forgive himself if she was to be harmed in any way, shape, or form; even worse if he’d done nothing to stop it. He’s read through Manson’s criminal record and knows what the man is capable of.

“So what? You’re running interference because you, the great Jake Peralta, need to keep me safe and be the one to save the day?”

She’s taken a few steps away from the cab to join Jake on the sidewalk. It’s not for the sake of keeping him company though. Oh no, her arms are very much crossed, body language very clearly cutting him off completely, and if it weren’t for the fact that they’re in the midst of quite a fight, Jake’s eyes would comment on how the crossing of her arms enhances her chest.

“It’s not like that, Amy. It’s not about being the best or saving the day.”

“Then what?” She barks and all at once everything around them seems to go silent. It definitely doesn’t ease the weight on the young man’s shoulder, the feeling he seems to be holding back for reasons unknown. How does he explain that he cares deeply for her, perhaps more than he’s ever cared about anyone before, without saying the three magic words? That would be too soon and most definitely the wrong time.

Still, with Amy Santiago looking at him like she currently is, eyes begging to understand but also filled with fury, he knows that he’s in the wrong and she, as so often, is right. He had no right to interfere. She had it under control and he let his personal fears overrule his professional rationality.

“I’m-” the words get stuck in his throat and he has to clear it to continue.

“I’m afraid of not doing enough. I know that you’re a total badass but it’s so hard for me to stand by and act like it’s all out of my hands, when my mind is telling me that I can do more and that I’d never be able to forgive myself if something were to happen to you. It’s hard to stay out of your way when I feel the way that I do about you - even if I know you’re fully capable.”

His nervous shuffling on the spot and adverting gaze cuts right through his previous angry demeanor, a much more insecure side of Jake shining through at perhaps the most inconvenient time. Amy wants to listen and discuss this with him, she truly does, because no matter how much she pisses her off, she also really likes him too.

Timing is damned, not on their side, and Manson is now once more walking out of the club as he lights a cigarette. Jake, back turned to the club, remains perfectly oblivious to the incoming confrontation.

On her part, Amy has a perfect view of her undercover admirer. “Shit.” It’s unclear and mumbled under her breath, enough for Jake to notice but without being able to see Manson, the detective remains confused. “We need to stall.” Manson makes his way towards them and an oh so familiar situation presents itself: they’ve got to think fast.

“Kiss me,” Amy commands through her teeth.

“What?”

“He’s back! We need to stall till the 99 gets here so I need you to shut up and kiss me. Now!”

To an uninformed Jake, this very sudden order profoundly confuses him. The very specific kind of confusion and disorientation reminds him a lot of that time Johnny and Dora staked out the park - he can almost feel the tree pressing up against his back and Amy’s lips on his - and the similarity of the situation will soon catch up with him.

Usually warm and kind but now burning and stressing brown irises glower at him and Jake knows: he needs to act now; trust her and whatever process her brain has mapped out. So he acts.

Like a whirlwind, he pulls her in by her dress’ soft fabric and shoves her up against the side of the cab, so hard that a thump can be heard. It’s a kiss that, in more than one way, takes her breath away. It’s warm, passionate, and quick but still deep enough to make her toes curl. In a perfect scenario, she would let Jake go on, deepen the kiss and take them where she wants to be, but an entire case is relying on her self-control.

“What are you doing, you perv?!”

She pushes him off of her, as dramatically as physically possible, and the anger in her eyes makes an encore.

Jake has never heard her scream with such high pitch and power, and it’s an understatement to say that it takes him a second to recollect himself - both because of the insanely hot kiss and the sudden scream fit.

“Hey! What is going on!?” Manson’s cigarette is long gone, adding itself to the collection of cigarette buds in the streets of Brooklyn. Too focused on hurrying back to the cab where his sidepiece of the evening seems to be in trouble, he fails to notice the exchange glances between the two detectives. Glances that confirm that this is is - their new plan. Like an actor walking onto her stage, Amy quickly switches from Amy to Cassidy.

“I wanted to smoke a cigarette while you were getting your wallet, but this freak forced himself onto me!” She makes sure to spew out the word freak, hoping it’ll cover up her true feelings for her partner.

Amy Santiago is unrecognizable, fully merged with her role as club girl Cassidy, and Jake can’t do anything but play along as they both embark on the craziness that is a very serious game of play pretend. Hopefully backup will make their way to them before Manson has the chance of reducing him to a pile of blood and bones.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you little shit?!” Their perp forces himself in-between the two, punching Jake in the shoulder, hard enough to have the smaller man trip backward. Only by a thread does Jake manage to stay on his feet.

A threatening that has Jake backing up against, so much that he eventually hits the wall behind him. Now he’s really begging for backup to arrive.

Yes, he does have his badge on him, hidden under his shirt, but flashing it could cause further hostility and threat to him and, of greater importance to him, Amy. Jake stares straight into the eyes of an enraged Alex Manson, scared but also mildly annoyed by the fact that this macho idiot feels such strong entitlement when it comes to Amy – a woman whom he’s known for approximately thirty minutes.

Not that there’s ever a good time to feel entitled to decide over a woman.

“We were just talking.” Hopelessly so, but still, Jake tries to reason with his opponent. Mason obviously caught them with their lips locked. All according to Amy this is the plan that will get them out of this disaster, safely and successfully, and, more than ever before, Jake really hopes she’s right.

“Talking? Do you think I’m blind!? I saw you making out against the cab, feeling her up with your filthy hands and lips!”

At this point Manson has a strong hand on Jake’s chest, keeping him captive against the wall with what feels like a promise to not only threaten but also hurt. A million thoughts race through Jake’s mind.

He’s not dying, not today, not when an idiot like Axel Manson thinks he can get away with miscellaneous criminal activity and treating women like garbage. Over his dead body, only metaphorically, of course, he thinks and bites the inside of his cheek.

Over Manson’s notably broad shoulder he manages to get a hold of Amy’s eyes. For the first time since he, to Amy’s great dismay, chose to confront Mason, Amy’s death stare is directed at their perp rather than him. Discreetly, making sure to not make any sudden moves and draw attention to herself, Amy reaches down for the hem of her dress skirt. Her eyes never drop from Manson’s figure, even as she gently lifts the skirt a bit, revealing the handgun she’s been carrying around - Mr. and Mrs. Smith-stylez.

By all means, even with his life is at stake, Jake takes a millisecond to notice just how fucking hot that is. If this is the last thing he sees before he goes then he won’t complain. If he does survive, then he’ll have to suggest that they buy her a nice garter for them to mess around with. He’s quickly snapped out of his fantasy when Manson pushes him harder into the wall.

“Did you hear what I said? Do you think I’m blind!?”

Jake’s floundering.

“It was- uh- an accident.”

The weight on Jake’s chest instantly increases even further, threatening to crush his bones (or so it feels). Then he sees Manson’s free arms being lifted from his side and prepared to throw what Jake guesses is the first punch.

“Don’t fuck with me, shithead. Me and a couple of friends from the club are in search of a new punchbag and right now you look like the perfect candidate…”

Jake knows he should be fearing for his life but all he pays attention to is the fact that their perp has practically just admitted to his gang being inside the club. Just as he’s about to flash a self-satisfied grin, the first punch collides with Jake’s chin.

Amy hears Jake groan out in pain, the gun ready to go, out of the corner of her eye, she sees a familiar blink of blue and red lights around the corner. Backup - she can safely reveal herself and help Jake.

“NYPD! Let go of him and put your hands in the air!”

In one swift motion, well-practiced and with ease, Amy has her gun pulled from her thigh holster and pressed into Manson’s back. The criminal freezes on the spot just as he’s about to throw another punch and allows Jake to free himself as three cop cars pull up to the scene and surround them. Amy doesn’t budge, continuously holding Manson at gunpoint. Her arms tremble from the rush. Still, she doesn’t cease until the sarge tells her to and two of her colleagues have Manson handcuffed.

“We’ve got him, Santiago.”

A heavy breath, one she’s held since Manson forced Jake up against the wall, is set free from her lungs. Newfound calmness and satisfaction rush through her veins.

After carefully securing her gun and putting it back in its holster, slowly coming down from the adrenaline-driven high, the thought of Jake and the punch he just took floods her mind. Adrenaline and anger fully clouded her mind but now that she can think somewhat clearly again, worry takes possession of her entire body. It’s as if her legs, without her brain having to order them to, instinctually take her to where Jake is being taken care of by Terry and a first aid kit.

“Jake! Are you okay?”

He barely has the time to turn around. Amid his turn, she throws herself at him, arms around his neck and if Terry hadn’t been right there, holding the bloody cloth that’s been drying Jake’s bloody nose, she would’ve kissed him to the moon and back,

“Uhmpf-“

Her hug punches the air out of him, and he should care (with being punched and crushed and whatnot) but he doesn’t, because it’s her and all he wants is for her to be okay. He recovers from the hug attack right away and naturally his arms come to wrap her up. The pounding ache in his lower face, nose, and lips, swollen and slightly bloody, somehow melts away under her touch. Technically, that doesn’t make sense but that’s what he does to her. A loud pounding reappears, this time coming from his heart rather than his head and he knows he’s alive and back with his favorite person - the most badass person he knows, too.

“I’m okay, Ames.” A pleasant mixture of her lavender shampoo and the feeling of her soft skin (she always brags about moisturizing) lets him know he’s back in his safe house and for a second he closes his eyes, lets himself slip into a momentary trance where no one or nothing can touch him. Neither of them knows for how long they stand there, simply holding each other in silence but eventually, the sarge clears his throat, obviously feeling like the odd one out during this happy reunion.

“Amy, you and I will head back to the 99 with Manson for your debriefing. Jake, I’ll have officer Wilson drive you to the hospital for a checkup and debrief you there.”

The couple quickly pulls apart, brutally pulled back to earth, and realizes that there are other people, notably their boss, around.

The night is far from over. More than anything else, Amy wants to be the one to take Jake to the hospital, hold his hand while they wait for the final verdict, but she also knows better than to make professional demands based on personal needs. She opts for a simple “Of course, sarge.” Jake as well.

To the couple’s relief, Terry sees right through them, smiles, and nods approvingly. Terry loves respecting HR-guidelines but, more than anything, Terry loves love.

“I’ll give you five.” He gives them both a pat on the shoulder, then he walks off to help with Manson who’s currently painting the dark Brooklyn night with a quite colorful chain of curses.

The blue and red light flash across Jake’s side profile, enhancing his bruised lip, as his eyes follow the Sarge. Amy watches him watch the scene unfold, and while she would’ve preferred no punches and bruises at all, it definitely doesn’t make undercover, dressed-up Jake look any less hot. She might even go as far as thinking it’s… extremely sexy.

“You’re an idiot.”

Her voice instantly catches his attention and him looking right at her only gives her a better view of the slightly split lip. So much for a solid plan, she thinks and cups his cheek in her hand as to inspect him.

He winces a bit but never refrains.

“I know.” The sigh is one of defeat.

Amy is quick to catch on a runs her thumb across his cheek in a soothing pattern. “But at least we got him,” she comforts.

“Yeah, but you were right. I was being reckless and impatient. I should’ve stayed back and let you handle it... Like I know you can. I’m sorry if it came off as me not trusting you or whatever. It wasn’t my intention to compromise you or the mission.”

“I know…” Carefully to not hurt him her hand slides off his face to instead grabs his hands. “But I do appreciate you apologizing.”

“Of course. I was wrong and you were right. The Jake and Amy story.”

A warm, familiar chuckle is shared between the two, somehow resynchronizing them, because this really does feel like Jake and Amy – whatever story they’re currently writing.

“But there’s one thing I’m going to need you to apologize for, detective Santiago.”

A charming grin is enough to let Amy know he’s about to hit her with something for her to roll her beautiful brown eyes at. And he, on his part, can’t wait.

“Oh, and that is?”

“I’m going to need you to apologize for looking so fucking hot tonight.”

“Jake…” Blush instantly replace her normal skin tone. Even months into their relationship he still manages to do things to her that she can’t control. Especially looking like this, all dressed up, tussled hair and bruised face working in contrast.

“Like, even with Manson all up in my face, all I could think about was you in that red dress…” He runs his hand along the fabric hugging her hip. “And don’t even get me started on the thigh holster. I was so afraid that I’d die tonight and never get to peel it off of you.”

“Jake!” She skips forward and shuts him up by planting her hand across his mouth. “The officers or the sarge could hear us!”

“Ouch!”

“Oh my God, your lip! I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine.” He winces once her hands fly off of him and free his sore lip. “I really should head to the hospital, huh?”

“Yeah, you really should. Are you going to be okay?”

“Totally.” Jake confirms, nodding his head yes. “See you at your place later? I’m sure the hospital will let me go home tonight.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She nods, trailing off but then the opportunity for a clever comment presents itself and she can’t resist. “If you can you stick to it this time?”

A teasing glimmer in her eyes and cocky smile lets him know just how proud she is of her own comeback.

“You got me, babe. But yes, promise I will stick to the plan this time. I’ve learned from my mistakes.”

“Good...” Without further prompting his girlfriend leans in close, close enough for her breath to tickle her ear, and drops a bomb that’s been threatening to explode since they first walked into the club.

“... And if you can’t then I’ll have to teach you a lesson, detective Peralta.”

Oh, how the hospital better let him go home tonight.

#idk how i feel about the final result but *throws bone* here ya go #club fic #i literally dont know how undercover cases work so dont be too hard on me #jake and amy #peraltiago #jake x amy #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #jake peralta #amy santiago #undercover #fluff

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well-shit-im-a-morosexual-now · 4 years ago

Note

"Recipe for Disaster" sounds like a perfect title for MC and Mammon lmao

Human cooking channel youtuber AU! Hear me out!

Mammon's a model who made a YouTube channel to come across as more relatable and get more fans (earn more money). During his first ever video he makes a stew for lunch out of anything and everything he finds in the fridge while talking about what it's like to be a model etc. (Time is money and he's all about efficiency and that includes multitasking). And the concoction he creates is so bizarre that 90% of the comments are talking about his food rather than his actual modeling career.

Mammon has a nose for sniffing out the newest schemes business ideas if nothing else so his whole channel becomes dedicated to making bizarre food out of whatever ingredients he has at hand and feeding them to his less than willing brothers. His channel grows in popularity (it helps that not only do all his brothers look like super models they're also some of the weirdest people anyone has ever seen. Half his viewers are convinced they're all just characters that these guys are playing. Some of them have theories that all the brothers are based off a sin, kinda like that one spongebob theory. One of his subscribers swears that one of the brother's- Stan maybe? actual name is Satan and everyone else has just been hearing it wrong)

MC has a much smaller channel, at first they use it to talk about tips for photography (HC that MC is a photographer and all those professional pics of the brothers on Devilgram that could only have been taken by someone else was actually taken by MC) and then it pretty much becomes a vlog where they rant about one of their roommates (Solomon) and how he set the kitchen on fire three times during the last 5 days but still happily ate the burnt food (charcoal. It was charcoal at that point). It eventually evolves into a channel of them fixing Solomon's nightmare fuel food and making it something actually edible and this actually makes their channel grow somewhat. (And no it's not just people coming in to catch the occasional glimpse of their other roommate's shoulders)

Eventually Mammon gets a comment saying MC should fix Mammon's food.

He goes on a full rant about how there's nothing to fix and his food is good so what if it's so spicy one of his victims brothers passed out that one time that's just cause they have no taste.

He ends up watching MC's latest video then and ends up binge watching them all through the next few days and getting a stupid crush

Someone links MC to his rant video, and they make a video on how all his recipes seem really unique and how they'd never have thought of that by themself and they don't actually look hazardous to humanity as a whole like Solomon's food is but here's how you fix it so that it's actually edible and won't make you meet God

He sees this and isn't sure if he should be giddy because they praised him or pissed off because they tried to fix his creation. He obviously chooses the latter and rants about them while making something that looks suspiciously radioactive

MC replies with a video complimenting all the ingredients he chose and explaining them while simultaneously calling him an idiot for dipping his bare hand in boiling water to take out potatoes and ending it with a suggestion to get pot holders to drain the water and take the potatoes out after they cool

He replies with a video about how he's not gonna waste money on pot holders when his hand works just fine before he makes chocolate sauce and black licorice mashed potatoes and uses his bare hand to fish out the potatoes just to spite them.

MC replies with a video on how to fix the dish so the flavours won't clash while still keeping the essential ingredients but doesn't mention his hands

He gets a set of bright yellow pot holders and (to be on the safe side) oven mitts with little crows on them ("because your hair looks like a crow's nest") in his P.O. box.He uses them in his next video to make a batch of ketchup and peanut butter cookies

MC fixes another one of Solomon's messes that ended with something with the same consistency of glue stuck to their ceiling while happily snacking on ketchup and peanut butter cookies

This back and forth goes on for a bit, Mammon refuses to change his recipes but they still silently exchange gifts

Obviously their (now shared) viewers notice and start calling out for a collab

MC agrees immediately but Mammon refuses (he's shy fuck he couldn't imagine meeting them face to face) but the draw of money (not their puppy dog eyes in the last video!) makes him agree. They discuss the details over email and agree to do it at his house because he's got the bigger kitchen

They meet at his house and it's awkward at first because he's red af and can't meet their eyes and all his brothers are crowding the doorway to the kitchen and giggling but once the filming starts they fall into an easy routine. They riff off each other and move around the kitchen comfortably as if they've been working together for years. That doesn't mean they don't still argue though, but there's no hostility in it. Mammon gives out the idea of his latest recipe and MC plans out the specifics so that they can execute it. Since it's their first video they make something small and work together easily. Their spicy mayonnaise cupcakes turn out perfectly and are actually good considering none of the brothers are rushing out of the frame.

They are asked for more collabs and they do because they had fun in the first one. The viewers now have to watch two obviously pinning idiots being disasters in a kitchen together. (Just because MC can fix recipes doesn't mean they aren't a mess). They have to watch Mammon go from blushing and stuttering to casually offering MC his finger to lick when he gets icing on it. They have to watch MC going from lowkey flirting to pulling out brightly coloured clips and pinning back Mammon's bangs while his hands are kneading dough. They have to watch the brothers slowly warm up to MC until they're being treated like they've been part of the family from the very beginning (yes this includes viewers catching the first few seconds of an hours long lecture that MC gets from Lucifer). They still have their own channels but they also start up a new channel called 'Recipe for Disaster'. This channel also has vlogs of them randomly buying ingredients for their next cooking video.

Of course there are the rumours and speculation of whether or not they are actually dating, people shipping them, Levi comes up with a ship name, others saying how weird it is to ship real people. MC and Mammon neither confirm it or deny it. During the early days before they had a joint channel Mammon would loudly protest to any such claims while MC just fondly smiled in the background. And sure now he refers to MC as his partner a lot but he could easily mean partner in crime against the food pyramid.

Their viewers finally get their answer when MC one day walks out into one of Mammon's videos in sweatpants and one of his shirts, sleepily kisses him on the cheek and he doesn't even twitch as he says "Mornin' Babe" and continues with his monologue while they grab the milk and walk off frame. They don't even stop to think about whether they should edit it out because they've been dating for one and a half years now. But obviously everyone freaks out and just - Mammon reading the comments with MC looking over his shoulder:

"Heeeeey? Did people just not know we were, ya know, datin'?"

" ...that's weird."

"Wasn't our first video on Recipe for Disaster me tellin' them you were my partner?"

"Yeah weird...the Internet's full of freaks. Remember that time they all thought you were a demon and started mailing holy water?"

"Yeah, what the fuck was that 'bout? Stan got fuckin' pissed!"

I'm tired af & I'll do the rest later! Pls let me know what you think tho❤

#asks #answers #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #mammon x mc #mammon x reader #obey me!#shall we date? obey me!#swd obey me #swd mammon #om! mammon #ask meme #ask game

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krisdreaming · 4 years ago

Text

PART 3 | A PREDICAMENT

｢ Masterlist ｣

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x gn!reader

Summary: Somehow, you ended up agreeing to bring your non-existent boyfriend to the family Christmas gathering at your grandparents’. Your chem lab partner and fast friend, Kuroo Tetsurou, agrees to play the part. Your developing feelings for him won’t cause any problems, right?

WC: 2.6k

A/N: I won’t be posting for this fic next Saturday, so the next part (part 4) will post on December 26!

A smol guide to reader’s cousins (all ocs who aren’t really developed at all aside from their names which I stole from other anime hkdljf), listed from oldest to youngest, though I don’t really have exact ages in mind:

Mikoto Kyoka <Reader is here in my head> Setsuna (Mikoto’s younger sister) Takashi (the twins older brother) twins - tbh i didn’t name them bc they’re the youngest and not really relevant lmao i’ll probably just refer to them as “the twins” (they’re boys btw)

Basically I needed to name them bc it was getting confusing... sorry if it’s weird!

The entire drive to your grandparents’ house, you find your eyes drifting to your rear view mirror and Kuroo’s headlights reflected in it. You’d left school in the late afternoon, and by now the sun has begun to sink below the horizon and dusk is beginning to fall. You have fond memories of arriving at their house for Christmas after darkness has fallen, seeing the warm glow of the lights in their windows drawing closer and being ushered inside from the cold winter darkness to their bright, sweet-smelling home.

This year is a little different - Kuroo will be with you, experiencing those familiar sights and sounds and smells for the first time. Your gut is absolutely twisting, and you grip the steering wheel a little tighter. Now is not the time to have second thoughts or wonder if it’s too late to call the whole thing off. For now, your focus has to be on making sure your family believes Kuroo is actually your boyfriend. If you seem happy, they’ll be happy. You glance once more in your rear view mirror. Convincing them of that may not be as difficult as you think.

By the time you pull into the driveway, you’ve managed to push most of the doubts from your mind. The cold air that hits your face as you step out of your warm car is a welcome distraction, and you fill your lungs with it. Next to you, Kuroo’s car door opens and he steps out, reaching into the backseat for his duffle bag.

“Here we are!” You chirp, spreading your arms in a flourish as he closes the car door. He looks at the house, then turns to smile at you.

“Looks really nice,” He nods as you pop the trunk, reaching for your suitcase. “Let me get it,” He reaches around you and grabs it. You’re startled for a few moments, but all it takes is a quirk of his eyebrow for everything to fall into place. It would be weird if you didn’t let your boyfriend carry your bag for you.

“If one of us is going to blow this, it’s going to be me,” You breathe with a nervous chuckle, and he shakes his head.

“Won’t let that happen,” He assures you, gesturing for you to lead the way. He follows you up the walk, and the moment you reach for the door knob, it swings open on its own. Behind it, your grandmother is waiting to greet you, hands clasped in front of herself with a giant smile on her face. For a split second, you almost feel guilty that none of this is real.

“Merry Christmas!” She pulls you into a tight hug, and you breathe in the familiar scents of rose and sugar cookies. “Come in, come in.” She releases you and is immediately locked on Kuroo, who has a sheepish smile on his face.

“Oh my,” She looks up at him with the huge grin still on her face, “Aren’t you quite the handsome young man! Just look at how tall he is!” Behind her, your parents appear as she’s gathering him into a hug. You try to hold in a snicker as he drops the bags beside him, folding himself awkwardly to return the hug.

“Thank you for having me, ma’am,” He says as he’s released from her grip, prompting a pleased hum.

“Grandma,” You finally break in to say, “Mom and Dad,” You turn to your parents who are both eyeing Kuroo curiously. Your father, especially, seems to be sizing him up. “This is Kuroo Tetsurou,” He lifts his hand in greeting, “My boyfriend,” You add, feeling your cheeks grow hot at saying the words out loud. Your mother meets your gaze with a small smile.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Your father reaches out and catches Kuroo’s hand in a firm handshake.

“It’s great to meet you too, sir.” Your father must approve of the handshake, because he gives Kuroo a nod and a smile. “And it’s nice to meet you, L/N-san,” He reaches for your mother’s hand next. Your grandmother wraps her arm around your middle and squeezes you into her side.

“Oh, what a polite young man,” She whispers in your ear loudly enough for the others to hear, “It looks like you’ve found a good one.”

You watch Kuroo greet your grandfather who’s finally wandered into the room. “I think so,” You agree, sharing a smile with your grandmother. It comes out more easily than you expect.

“Alright,” She brings her hands together in front of her, interrupting the chatter. “Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes, so let me show these two to their room so they can get rid of their bags.” She waves you and Kuroo along, and you follow her up the stairs.

Every year, you stay in your mom’s old room. You’ve always loved envisioning your mother spending time there when she was a little girl. This year, an added bonus of the room is the extra futon that’s always folded up in the corner. When your grandmother opens the door, your eyes immediately go to that corner and find it empty. A quick glance around the room reveals that the futon is nowhere to be seen.

“I got it all ready for you,” Your grandma says brusquely, bustling inside and fluffing the pillows on the bed as she talks, “I think you two will be very cozy in here.”

“Where’s the futon?” You blurt out, and she chuckles with a wave of her hand.

“I had to put it in the basement. Now that the twins are older, they won’t share one anymore. Not to worry,” She pats your shoulder, “I know you’re all grown up now. Is everything alright for you two?” She looks expectantly between the two of you, and you swallow back your panic before pasting on a smile. A glance at Kuroo reveals that he’s remarkably unphased, at least outwardly. It sets you just a bit more at ease. You’ll figure this out.

“Looks great, Grandma. Thanks.” You let your bag drop to the floor, and she takes it as her cue to leave.

“Dinner is ready any minute, so get your things situated and come down,” She says over her shoulder as she heads out of the room, pulling the door against the latch behind her. You look over to Kuroo, who’s glancing around the room.

“I swear there’s usually a futon in here,” You say quickly, and he shrugs.

“I’ll sleep on the floor. I don’t mind.” You open your mouth, then close it, because you aren’t quite sure what to say. “I’m used to it,” He assures you. You aren’t quite convinced, but you don’t know how to refuse without making whatever this is even weirder.

You finally decide on, “We’ll figure something out at bedtime,” and reach for the door. “Ready to eat?”

“Since we left school,” He laughs, following you out of the room and down the stairs. “Bring it on.”

The meal is nothing too fancy. On the first evening, when everyone is still arriving and getting settled in, there’s normally just a spread of quick bites and snacks. When your plates are filled, you find seats at the table set up for all of your cousins. They aren’t shy about introducing themselves to Kuroo, and it shouldn’t surprise you how easily he slips into conversation with them. You’re all talking and laughing in no time, and it feels almost natural.

“Say Y/N, how did you manage to land someone like him, anyway?” Your oldest cousin Mikoto laughs from beside you with a jab of his elbow in your ribs. You rub at the spot and stick your tongue out at him, buying time while his girlfriend reprimands him.

“Would you believe he’s my Chem lab partner?” You jab him back with a smirk.

He snorts, “I find it hard to believe you wowed him with your brains.” That earns a burst of laughter from the group. “Was there bribery involved?”

“Actually, I think it was probably my brains,” Kuroo says smugly, his chin hovering over your shoulder. You resist the urge to smack the grin off his face and settle for swatting his arm. “I’m pretty much carrying this one’s grade, y’know,” He jerks his thumb in your direction.

“Please,” You roll your eyes, falling easily into the banter with him, “One look at our last test scores will tell you it’s the other way around.” He shrugs.

“I’ll let you think whatever you want,” He says primly, lifting a chip to his mouth as he dodges a second swat. This, at least, feels very familiar. As the laughter around you dies down, the conversation shifts again, and you’re content to sit and soak in the chatter.

When the meal is over, the cousins all migrate to the living room. Every year for as long as you can remember, on your first night together for Christmas, you’ve watched Elf. It’s one of your favorite traditions.

“Where’s the DVD?”

“I think Grandpa hid the remote again.”

“I know we literally just ate but could anyone else eat popcorn?”

It’s a little loud and a little disorganized, but you’re happy just to be here with them again. Every year the group grows a little bigger with significant others added to the mix, and this year Kuroo is the only new face. You lean in close to him and murmur, “Doing alright?” He’s been quiet, just taking everything in.

“Yeah, great,” He replies in a low voice, offering you a lopsided smile. “I don’t think I can remember anyone’s names though.”

“You’ll get there,” You assure him, giving his shoulder a pat.

“Lights! Someone turn out the lights!” There’s a scramble, and soon the only light in the room is the glow of the tree and the flickering TV screen.

“Psst! Y/N, sit down!” Someone hisses. You roll your eyes and plop down in front of the couch, leaning back against it. Setsuna nudges your shoulder with her foot, then grins at you when you turn to stick out your tongue at her. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see her brother and his girlfriend tucked into the corner of the couch. She’s pressed in against his side, and he has his arm around her. Kyoka and her girlfriend are squished almost comically onto the recliner, but they don’t seem to mind the tangle of legs.

Suddenly, you’re all too aware of Kuroo next to you. His arm is pressed against yours, and you try not to sit too stiffly. No one seems to be paying much attention to you as the movie begins, but you still can’t help but wonder if this is convincing anyone.

As if he’d read your mind, you feel Kuroo’s hand inch closer to yours. With a glance your way, he loops his fingers loosely over yours, slipping his pinkie alongside yours in a gesture similar to his pinkie promise last week. You lean in just a little closer.

As the movie plays, you feel the busyness of the day catching up to you. The familiar scenes on screen are lulling you into a drowsy state of half-sleep, and you hardly think about it before you let your head come to rest on his shoulder. He stills for a few moments, but then he rests his cheek on top of your head. You don’t move until the credits start rolling and everyone around you starts to stir.

“Aww,” You hear someone coo behind you as your cousins slowly start to stand up and disperse. When the lights turn on, you sit up straight and squint into the sudden brightness, blinking blearily at Kuroo who winks at you so quickly you think you might have imagined it. He stands to his feet with a groan and extends his hand, grabbing yours and pulling you to your feet.

Around you, there’s a chorus of good-nights as everyone heads off to get ready for bed. You turn to Kuroo and brace yourself for what’s coming. “You ready for bed?” Even as you ask, he’s stifling a yawn behind his fingers.

“Yeah,” He nods with a chuckle, “That movie really conked me out. Didn’t realize I was so tired.” He follows you up the stairs, and the two of you gather your things for bed in silence. By the time you’ve taken turns using the bathroom down the hall, he has a makeshift bed made up on the floor. He has comforters and pillows piled up, but you still can’t help but think how uncomfortable it looks.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay? I can see if there’s an air mattress or something.” You would feel awful if you didn’t at least offer.

“How suspicious would that be?” He laughs. “I told you, I’m fine. I used to sleep on the floor at Kenma’s all the time. It’s no big deal.”

“Alright,” You say slowly, crawling under the covers. Up until now, things have felt fairly normal, but something about seeing him lying there on the floor next to you reminds you how strange this whole situation really is. “Regret this yet?” You ask softly, propping yourself up on your elbow so you can see his expression.

“Nah,” He says with a wave of his hand. “I’m having a good time. Honestly. Your cousins are a riot.” You shake your head with a smile, but you can’t deny it. “I’m actually thinking of offering this as a service,” You feel your smile falter as a strange twinge fills your middle. You know it’s just another one of his jokes, but something about it makes you prickle. “Don’t worry, yours is the trial, so there’s no charge.”

You laugh to appease him more than anything. “Sounds like an easy way to earn some cash,” You say lightly, hoping he can’t sense anything off about you. “Ready to turn the light off?”

“Yup,” He nods, and you reach over to flick the lamp off. “Night.”

You echo him, then turn onto your back, staring up at the ceiling with the few leftover glow-in-the-dark stars that haven’t peeled off. You really had been sleepy during the movie, but now that you’re in bed, you feel wide awake. You can’t help but mull over Kuroo’s comment. Sometimes he’s impossible to read. You know this is more than just a joke to him – he’s proven that much already. He’s a good friend, and that’s not something you want to lose over something like this. With a sigh, you turn on your side.

“Hey, Kuroo,” You whisper, “You asleep?”

“Yes,” His teasing response is immediate.

“You can’t tell me that you’re comfortable down there,” You say softly. “So just come lay in the bed.”

He’s silent for so long that you start to wonder if he really is asleep. Just when you’re about to roll over, he speaks up again. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, dummy.” You say, huffing out a soft chuckle. You hear him gather up his pillows and blanket and make his way around the bed. You can feel it dip beside you, but he’s careful to leave nearly a foot of space between you.

“Thanks,” He hums under his breath. You don’t reply, but you smile into the darkness. Even though you aren’t touching, you can just feel his warmth next to you. It isn’t long before your eyes slide shut.

#Haikyuu #Haikyuu imagines #Haikyuu fluff #Kuroo fluff #Kuroo x reader #Kuroo Tetsurou x reader #Kuroo Tetsurou #Haikyuu x reader #hqd fluffmas #queued

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octo-cutie · 4 years ago

Text

Red Strings and Things

Prompt: You and your soulmate are connected by a red string on your pinkies which appears once you meet each other.

Summary: Tooru is concerned about the increasing number of his peers that have found their other half. After a brief meltdown, Tooru realizes that his string has become visible. Now the only question is who? And once he finds her, is it really his other half?

Pairing: POV Oikawa Tooru x f!Reader Genre: Fluff, little bit of angst, a little toddler violence Warnings: Deliberate misspellings in the beginning because Oikawa and Iwaizumi where 6. Neither of them knew proper grammar and Iwaizumi had just lost his front tooth. Violence from Iwaizumi (Pushing, hitting, throwing things at Oikawa)

Side Note: I’ll be referring to Oikawa as Tooru because I’ll be referencing his mom and his sister a lot.

This is my contribution to the Soulmate AU Collab for Celestial Archives! I love love love this AU with all my heart and I secretly believe in the red string theory anyways....

It was his sister who had explained to him why the vermillion string was tied snugly around his left pinky finger. He hadn’t been older than 6 when she pulled him into her lap as she played with his hair one Sunday afternoon in the summer. There was a calming breeze in the air and the temperature that day was just right for blue popsicles in the sun.

“Everyone has one of these strings tied around their pinky finger that connects them to their soulmate.” She had said picking up his hand and holding it up against her own. Tooru looked at their hands (his were signifigantly stickier than hers) as his older sister held them together and saw the cotton fibers of his vermillion string slightly blowing and bending in the wind.

“Wahs a solmat?” He asked as popsicle dribbled down his chin. His sister was quick to wipe it up with a napkin as she explained it in a way only a 6 year old could understand.

“A soulmate Tooru, is the person who shares the other half of their popsicle with you. Except you’ll share a lot more than just a popsicle you silly goose.” She said giving him a sisterly squeeze.

“But we shared a pohsisle” He said with a pout. “Are you my solmat?”

“No Tooru I’m your sister. We shared a popsicle because there was only one left.” She said as she picked him up. Tooru curved his mouth into a large smile.

“Is it Iwa-chan?!”

“I don’t think so goose. If he was than you wouldn’t see your string anymore.”

“Oh.”

That night while everyone else was asleep, Tooru climbed out of his bed and made his way towards his school bookbag and dug out his crayons and paper. In his short span of 6 years he knew plenty of people and according to his sister this string wouldn’t disappear until he met his soulmate. So it wouldn’t hurt to make a list of people he knew.

It wasn’t his parents, or his sister, and it wasn’t Iwa-chan. It couldn’t be anyone in his class either or his teachers. But it was very difficult to count all the people he knew with only ten fingers. At his little desk he sat working in his notebook until his parents found him asleep with the glitter glue in his hair, and a marker surrounded by a puddle of drool.

Later that week Tooru and his best friend Iwaizumi Hajime were in the living room watching a kids television show. It was far too wet to go out and explore like they had originally wanted to but this show about trucks was incredibly captivating. As soon as the commercial break aired, two pairs of little feet flew down the hall towards the bathroom to relieve themselves after inhaling large glasses of lemonade.

“Hurry up dumb face! The thows gunna thart thoon!” Iwaizumi said through his lisp caused by his recently lost front tooth. Tooru blew a raspberry back at him as he washed his hands in the sink. Reaching over to turn the faucet off, Tooru noticed the vermillion string that was darker due to the water that had run through its fibers.

He carefully jumped off the stepstool and opened the door to a grumbling Iwaizumi who promptly dragged Tooru by the arm back to the pillow fort they had spanning the contents of the living room.

“Iwa-chan! Wait I have a question!” Tooru exclaimed as they climbed through the tunnel they had set up to make it seem more like the train station they watched on television.

“What ith it thoopid-head?”

“Don’t call me stupid! I have a question about your solmat string!” Tooru said with tears in his eyes. Iwaizumi was always his hot headed best friend but words hurt ok?

“What about it?” Iwaizumi asked situating himself on his stomach and munching on some of the crackers they had taken from the kitchen. Tooru began to fiddle with the knot at the base of his finger as he asked is question.

“Is it still there?”

“Of couthe it ith. Itths thill bright pink!” Iwaizumi said holding his pudgy toddler fist in the air as he stuffed his face with more crackers. Tooru couldn’t see it but then again only the individual or their soulmate could see it.

The conversation ended there as the colorful ads where now replaced with the post-commercial jingle which brought their eyes back to the screen. It was distracting from the difficult world of soulmates which continued to plague his mind.

It continued to bother him into the next couple months now that he was in first grade. He was part of the big kid group at school because he could tie his shoelaces and he knew how to read short chapter books. His handwriting, according to his teachers, was so similar to a girls that they had accidentally begun to call him Oikawa-chan like they had with his sister.

Iwaizumi had laughed at his predicament one to many times before Tooru pushed him out of his seat with a loud huff. The only thing it did was earn Tooru a spot in the corner during recess while Iwaizumi got to go play outside.

Instead of crying like he usually would, Tooru used this chance to think about the girls in his class. He knew most of them (if not by name then by some other part. Like cookie girl who gave everyone cookies when she had them) and he couldn’t recall seeing their strings. He’d gotten in trouble the other day when he swore on his Alien pajama set that he’d seen Izuna’s string and had tackled her to the ground only to realize that she had colored her nails red with a sharpie.

He’d spent a lot of time in the corner that day.

It was frustrating to Tooru that he couldn’t find his soulmate when it seemed like everyone else had. Though in reality his teacher had already explained to him multiple times that most soulmates don’t find each other right away.

“It just takes time. I still haven’t found mine and I’m 24.” She said with a bright smile. Tooru’s eyes bugged out of his head and he started to wail about how he’d never find them.

First grade was interesting in that aspect....

As the years progressed, Tooru slowly became less and less concerned with his soulmate and his string due to the increasing popularity that was coming his way. Once he’d entered middle school, he and the rest of his male counterparts had started to notice their female classmates as more than just friends. He’d even started up a relationship towards the end of his 3nd year in Junior High with a lovely girl named Sora who shared his love of volleyball.

His first love had been short and sweet. They had bonded together over volleyball, and spent their lunch times and weekends playing together or watching volleyball tournaments much to Iwaizumi’s chagrin. It wasn’t until the last week of school that Sora had come to him with large tears welled up in her eyes.

The tell tale sign of her now visible burgundy string only told Tooru what he’d known from the start. They weren’t soulmates.

Tooru had congratulated her with a large fake smile and given her his best as he headed off to practice. But he couldn’t help but feel the annoyance itching at his skin. It wasn’t fair! How had nearly two-thirds of his classmates already found their other half?!

Iwaizumi noticed the attitude that Tooru was throwing around the court that day. His warm up serves were more aggressive, he’d snapped at both the coaches and had been forced to sit out for an entire practice game due to his attitude. As he watched one of the first years, Kageyama, replace him as the setter for the last game his mood only worsened.

“If you hadn’t lost your shitty temper with the coaches you wouldn’t have had to sit out.” Iwaizumi grumbled as the two of them picked up the stray balls that had wandered away during practice in the now mostly empty gym. Tooru merely grunted and bent over to grab a ball at his feet.

Unfortunately another hand reached downwards too...

“Oikawa do you maybe think you could help me with my sets sometime?” An eager Kageyama asked as he wrung his fingers together. Tooru looked up from the ground with a darkened look in his eyes before lunging at the poor unsuspecting kid as a growl ripped through his throat.

“YOU GET OUT OF MY FACE! I WILL NOT BE REPLACED BY A-”

A terrified Kageyama was rescued from the hands of an angry Tooru by means of Iwaizumi who barreled the two of them into the wall. Kageyama took this chance to run off before he was attacked once more.

“SHITTYKAWA GET A GRIP ON YOURSELF!” Iwaizumi hollered into his friends face as he gripped Tooru’s shirt. Angry tears welled up in Tooru’s eyes as he pushed Iwaizumi away from him and buried his head in his arms as choked sobs left his body.

“I’m one of the only people who hasn’t found their soulmate.” Tooru choked out much to the chagrin of Iwaizumi who scoffed.

“Really?! This is what’s made you so shitty today?! Dammit I thought you had a real issue.” Iwaizumi growled as he threw more volleyballs into the carrier. Tooru wiped his eyes and looked at his bug loving friend.

“It is though Iwa-chan! It’s a real issue! Even you’ve met yours!” Tooru snapped pointing at Iwaizumi’s bubblegum pink strand that had appeared a little less than a month ago.

As much as Iwaizumi wanted to berate him for having unnecessary tears over something that everyone experienced in life, he sighed and found himself comforting his idiot friend instead.

“It takes time shit-head. You’ll find them eventually.” was all he mustered before pulling the setter up from his crouched position and pulling him towards the gym storage room.

Iwaizumi pulled and pushed Tooru through the school and back towards their homes while the boy moped towards the sky. Iwaizumi pushed him up the steps and knocked on the door. A few moments later, Tooru’s mother opened the door.

“Oh hello- Tooru what’s the matter with you?” She asked pulling her son and Iwaizumi into the house. With a quick apology for intruding, both boys began to remove their shoes and Iwaizumi explained what had happened.

“Tooru you know well and true that finding your soulmate is more than a matter of waiting for them to show up. It also takes the maturity of the heart and the maturity of the mind. This is a perfect example of why you haven’t seen your string.” His mother scolded. Iwaizumi nodded along with every word that left his “auntie’s” mouth.

Tooru merely trudged upstairs and into his room with a huff and a harsh closing of his door.

His room was still dark from turning the light off before he left for school and his bed unmade from running out of time. Letting his backpack fall off his shoulder her slumped onto his bed and stared absentmindedly at his pinky finger.

He could see the vermillion strands bounce slightly with the pulse of his heartbeat underneath his skin.

His mother was right though, he thought as he drifted off to sleep. Someone with his emotional maturity skills was bound to wait a long time for their string to appear.

Tooru’s mindset completely changed once they entered high school a few months later. His looks and his charming personality were a massive take with most of his peers and he quickly developed a fanbase that followed him everywhere. They packed the stands at the volleyball games and inflated his ego tenfold.

“With all these lovely fans of mine why bother with a soulmate?” Tooru announced at a study session with Iwaizumi and two other boys they’d met on the volleyball team, Hanamaki Takahiro and Matsukawa Issei.

“Fuck you and your fanbase.” Iwaizumi grunted as he kicked Tooru gently in the ribs while texting his girlfriend.

“Leave me alone Iwa-chan!” Tooru said with his dramatic ass laying on the ground. Matsukawa threw a piece of popcorn at his head.

“No he’s right. Your fanbase is obnoxious.”

“Not you too Mattsun!”

But Matsukawa was right in the sense that the obnoxiousness of

Tooru periodically began to date members of his fanbase here and there not really caring when they broke up with him due to him neglecting them for volleyball.

It wasn’t until his third year when his current girlfriend shrieked and smacked him in the arm that he realized his life had changed.

“You didn’t fucking tell me you found your soulmate already you jerk!” She snapped before running off in tears. Tooru blinked in complete confusion before looking down at his string. It still sat there visible to him but...

Wait-

“IWA-CHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!!” Tooru shrieked as he sprinted across campus to find his best friend. The thudding of his heart beneath his ribcage only heightened with the belief that his string truly had been revealed and he was closer to finding his soulmate.

Unfortunately for Iwaizumi who had been having a rather romantic moment with his girlfriend, found himself groaning out of annoyance at Tooru’s loud and heavily breathy interruption.

“What the fuck do you want Shittykawa?! I’m kind of in the middle of something!” He called out not facing the trembling, hyperventilating figure of his friend. With a kiss to his girlfriend’s cheek he sent her off with a gentle love-tap on her forehead and a promise to see her later before dragging a babbling Tooru off.

“Ow ow! Let me go Iwa-chan! It’s important!!”

“It better fucking be you fucking cockblock.”

“Can you see my string?” Tooru blurted as he shoved his pinky finger into his friends face. Iwaizumi blinked before looking at his friends newly visible string.

“I- I can see it. This is what was so fucking important?!” Iwaizumi growled as he gripped Tooru’s wrist and crossed his arms. Tooru gaze burned with a fire that Iwaizumi only ever saw on the court when they were a singular point away from the winning one.

“It means I found them! I found them!” Tooru cried out in happiness cradling his hand and walking off with a lovelorn look on his face.

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and texted his girlfriend to meet up with him again before lunch was over.

Tooru couldn’t concentrate the entire rest of the day. He stared absentmindedly at the string on his finger and spent the rest of his class doodling what he thought his soulmate looked like or what they should do for their first date.

His instagram now showed off to his friends and fans that he was infact on his way to finding his love and the texts bewteen his mother and sister about it only fueled his excitement. For his fanbase however, the sight of the string caused many girls and even some boys to hate the color of their own strings that now were clearly not a match to the vibrant vermillion color.

But the question everyone wanted to know was who had triggered the appearance of his string? And why had it taken them so long to find him?

Unfortunately for Tooru it seemed that although the universe had finally thrown him a bone, his search for his other half continued to plague his days in high school. His peers who had their strings exposed matched each other but not to his. For three years he focused solely on Volleyball and finding the other half of the red vermillion string that now dangled freely from his pinky finger.

“I don’t even know when it showed up! Kimi-chan just smacked me across the arm and I ran off to find Iwa!” Tooru exclaimed when yet another person asked him if he knew who it was.

No he didn’t. Yes he’d asked around. No he didn’t have any positive leads. The same three answers to the now most commonly asked questions that he heard aside from questions about volleyball.

The search only grew colder and colder as the end of the year grew closer and closer. With the loss to Karasuno at the Inter-high semi-finals eating at the strings of his heart, he threw himself into his studies and watched the match between Karasuno and Shiratorizawa with anger and resentment towards his former teammate and his rival Ushijima.

The loss of Shiratorizawa to Karasuno nearly made him smile after years of ridicule by the universe. To watch the miniscule look of despair cross through Ushijima’s usually stoic face alleviated some of the pain that he felt of not being on the court.

As he and Iwaizumi cleared out of the stadium he felt a sharp pain in his pinky finger, almost as if the string around his finger was tightening. Using his height to his advantage he whipped his head around to see a head of h/c hair walking away from him pulling at her right pinky finger....

That bore a familiar vermillion string.

“Excuse me! Please I need to get through!” He called out shoving people out of the way trying to reach the angel who had seemingly evaded him for years and years and years.

‘She’s here. She’s here. Just one more step. Faster! Get to her! Please!’ His brain screamed at him as he reached out for the elbow hidden beneath the Orange and Black of Karasuno Highschool. The contact of his hand with her elbow cause both of them to jolt with an extreme burst of energy causing her to turn around with her large e/c eyes looking at him with extreme awe. Swallowing slowly the girl looked at Tooru with stars in her eyes.

“Are you...”

“I think I am...”

Tooru moved his hand from her elbow to connect their hands finally joining the dangling parts of their strings together for the first time in a beautiful heart shaped knot. The vermillion color that had once nauseated him now amazed him as he tentatively wrapped his arms around the frame of his better half for the first time. Tears welled up in both sets of their eyes as they held each other tightly.

“I thought everyone was humoring me about my string.” She whispered as she inhaled through teary eyes. Tooru stroked his hand through her hair inhaling the slightly peachy scent mixed with a hint of cream.

“But you’re here now... I’ve found you after all these years. My name is Oikawa Tooru. I’m a third year at Aoba Johsai.”

“I’m L/N Y/N. I’m a second year at Karasuno High School.”

They finally separated and looked at each other with bright beaming smiles. Joining their hands together, Tooru led the girl out of the stadium with the premise of their first date of many to make up for the years they’d spent separated.

To Tooru, Y/N was truly his other half. Her personality complimented his in every aspect. He’d learned that her hobbies included watching volleyball, charcoal art, and babysitting her new baby brother. She’s allergic to pine nuts, and wanted to visit the Amazon Rainforest to sketch exotic animals before going to University for Primary School Education. She had tried out for the volleyball team but had to quit during her first year because her brother had been born.

He told her of his dreams to play volleyball on the professional level and about his nephew Takeru. He shared his fears and insecurities about the Karasuno volleyball team specifically Kageyama. He couldn’t stop himself from spilling information that even his closest friends didn’t know. It was like she already knew everything about him and like he knew everything about her.

As Tooru walked her to the bus station, Y/N asked for a photo together.

“I don’t want to wake up and find out it was a dream.” She confessed shyly as they exchanged numbers and waited for the bus. Tooru’s already fluttering heart increased as he held her warm hands in his.

“It’s not a dream. We’ve finally found each other and I will always be at the other end of this string. We may be separated now but we have our whole lives ahead of us. One day I’ll be playing professionally and I’ll have you by my side every step of the way.” He explained, “Of course if you’ll have me.”

“I will Tooru.” and with those words, she placed a lingering kiss on the swell of his cheekbone. It was natural for her and his response was a flavorful kiss on the forehead.

“A kiss on the lips is what we’ll get when we meet again.” Tooru murmured into her hairline. The sounds of the bus approaching pulled them apart and they separated once again, the knot coming undone.

The string had never felt so heavy on his finger now that they had left each other, Tooru thought as he walked home with a content smile on his face and his hands in his pocket.

A few years passed and the correspondence between the two was still flourishing as though they had only just met. Quick texts turned into hour long conversations and phone calls turned into falling asleep on facetime. When he was offered a position on the San Juan Men’s Volleyball team in Argentina he immediately went to visit a jewelry shop.

Tooru called Y/N and arranged for the two of them to meet at a fancy restaurant. The weight of the end of their strings lifted as they knotted together once more and Tooru announced the news that he was heading to San Juan.

“Before I go however, there is one thing I need to do. I want to marry you Y/N. We’ve only just found each other after years of being separated and it’s like I’ve finally been given a drink of the coldest water to soothe my aching body. You’re my other half. The better part of me. And I can’t let you go again.” Tooru confessed on one knee with the black padded ring box opened to show a perfectly carved ring with a tiny ruby heart.

A squeal and a thump confirmed his answer as those around in the restaurant watched the newly engaged couple hold each other tightly.

The wedding was set for later that winter before Tooru had to leave for Argentina. As they joined hands for the first time as a newly wedded couple, Tooru watched as the vermillion string turned bright gold.

As he danced with his new wife and held her close he whispered a tentative ‘I love you’ and forgave the universe for all the hardships he’d gone through.

After all, there’s always more to life than red strings and things...

________________________________________________________________

So I know that my contribution was added much later but I had experienced some personal issues and this laid dormant in my drafts for a while. Thank you to @elixhirs for the beautiful banner and to @toorusushijima for hosting the collab by @celestialarchiveshq

#cute octopus writing #soulmates #collab piece #tooru oikawa #iwaizumi hajime #matsukawa issei #hanamaki takahiro #fluff #light angst #waiting for love #red string theory #haikyuu!!#tooru oikawa x f!reader #oikawa x y/n #love

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jennibeultimate · 4 years ago

Note

I don’t know a whole lot about the technical side of figure skating, usually I choose favorite skaters just on whose performances I enjoy the most, but I’m curious since a lot of people seem to really dislike her: what do you think of Evgenia Medvedeva? since you seem to know a lot and be very invested in the figure skating world, I’m interested to know your opinion

Oh wow. I am very honored to have someone want my opinion 👀

First of all I am by no means an expert on the technical sides of figure skating - still learning - but I give it a try and your observation is correct that I am very invested in this sport and I know how (shitty) the fandom can be. And to warn you you're in for a long read. 😅

I will give my opinion on both, the aspects of her skating and the person Evgenia Medvedeva. And on why I think ppl may dislike her/hate on her.

1. About Evgenia Medvedeva - the skater

I hope you understand at least the basic terms of the technical aspects in figure skating as I will refer to them a lot in this part.

Jumps - Zhenya is a better edge than toe jumper. Her 3Loop and her 3Salchow are one of the best in the field and imo extremely pretty. Her 2Axel is usually her biggest problem, she muscles the jump. Her toe jumps have issues too. Zhenya has a wrong edge on the Lutz, called a "Flutz", she is working on it but it's still the wrong edge. She mostly didn't get an edge call on it though by the judges. The other aspect ppl often talk about is the "prerotation" in her toe jumps, especially the Flip. She does prerotate more than some other skaters. She is often criticized for it. But to make it short imo the rules about prerotation are a bit blurry (at what point is prerotation normal and when is it excessive prerotation?) and in fact judges doesn't seem to penalize prerotation at all. Some fans like to nitpick on this matter a lot. For some it's almost some sort of crime. Let's just say it's not easy to fix it and I think Zhenya improved on this matter with time. I think Zhenya definitely has some issues on her toe jumps and Axel, but I don't think just because someone has a flawed technique the person is a bad skater. So there are things you can rightfully criticize but also things to love in her jumps like not only are Salchow and Loop beautiful, but also her leg extension on landing is good and she usually has good flow in her jumps. The Tanos (one arm over the head while jumping) aren't my cup of tea but they have a positive influence the GOEs.

Her Salchow:

Her Loop:

Spins - I think she has beautiful spins, but they are not the fastest. And I think her spins were better in the early senior years. The back that is bothering her is making the Bielmann spin not doable for her anymore, which is a shame.

Programs and performance - I think Zhenya does portray characters exceptionally well. Yes some ppl don't like the excessive pantomime in her earlier programs and I also think less is more, but she always captures the audience with her charm and personality on ice and her programs always have a concept she can bring across (even sometimes with questionable theme). She has some very beautiful programs, I recommend her "Anna Karenina" 2017-2018 program and her "Memoirs of a Geisha" 2019-2020 program. What stands out of Zhenya and also has been a reason she has earned high PCS - especially in her first senior years - is that her programs are full of difficult transitions between the elements. I don't want to pick all of the PCS categories apart, just that I think she is selling her skating exceptionally well. (She doesn't have thousands of fans for no reason. 😉)

Scoring - I think this is actually the main point why some skating fans didn't like her in the first place. She emerged to a scene with extremely high scores for being a first year senior, scores that matched past heroes of skating like Yuna Kim and Mao Asada. Even though Zhenya never skated against Yuna and shared only few competitions with Mao, ppl always referred to the old scores of them. (which were former world records) Zhenya's consistency made her get world record after world record and flaws in jumps have often been overlooked like not calling the Flutz and her PCS seemed super high in comparison to other skaters of the same level. Even though the scoring is hardly her fault, she got the flack for it and tbh the way she was scored was also turning me off for a while but Zhenya captured me with her performance. Her high scores also have some justification. Zhenya had the most difficulty in her programs in 2015-2017. She was the skater to start the trend to backload the jumps to the 2nd half to get the bonus points (rules have been changed after 2018 because of this). Her PCS being high can also be justified to some extent, like she does have a lot of transitions and her skating is clear (turns and steps are recognizable and mostly of high quality) etc. I still do think especially after her coaching change to Brian Orser that her scores have been worth a discussion and I think that in comparison her scores were too high, but I don't think there is any doubt that she deserved the world titles she got. (Just look at those comps and tell me who was better?) Also her consistency between 2015 and 2017 is unmatched and is admirable. I think Zhenya has been overscored in her career a lot, but not to the extent that made her "unrightfully" claiming the titles and again that's hardly her fault.

I actually like Zhenya's skating a lot. I wasn’t a fan the first time I saw her but she grew on me a lot, especially in the last two years. She can create magic. 😊

If you want to know more about Zhenya and the technical aspects of her skating you can go through the Evgenia Medvedeva tag on @the-real-xmonster (the blog is not active anymore but has tons of technical explanations)

About the person Evgenia Medvedeva

I personally admire Zhenya for her guts to keep competing in a country where a lot of ppl think she is "too old" for the sport. I also admired her for the coaching change to Brian to go a different way (I hate how she had to return to Eteri because of the pandemic). I like that she is speaking up towards online bullying she and others received. She keeps on sharing on Instagram though she has been harassed there a lot. I think in her interviews she is thoughtful (she is speaking her mind, which I like), but she can also be goofy and funny and her love for anime and being an "Otaku" is making her relatable.

Her Sailor Moon exhibition is such a fun program I can recommend to everyone.

(GIF by @the-real-xmonster)

About the "hate" towards Zhenya:

Some of the criticism Zhenya is receiving is understandable in my opinion. For example lately traveling during a pandemic to another country is something worth talking about or her mother letting a fan into TCC or some of the statements towards media can be criticised. But some "critic" is not criticism but hate for example when she changed to Brian Orser, calling her a traitor, badmouthing her for being ungrateful or being an attention seeker or making assumptions about her relationships with other skaters to the extent she deleted all the pictures with Yuzuru Hanyu from her Instagram etc. (especially when Eteribots or some Fanyus are involved things can turn ugly in the fandom) I also don't think ppl should put all some media is reporting as truth and stalking her Instagram backgrounds to see if she violated her quarantine is crossing personal boundaries. I think these are things that are not ok at all. (and to hate someone for their scores is really stupid imo)

However I think part of the problem why ppl dislike/hate her is her popularity (She has 700k followers on Instagram) . If she would be a no name skater her actions or scores wouldn't be discussed across the fandom. But actually most of the time you can follow the hate back to a few accounts...

Just to be clear it's totally fine to not get into Zhenya's skating, to point out flaws in scoring and in her technique, to not like some of her actions or criticize them, but I don't think it's fair to hate on her or make fun of her injuries or bad performances, she is human and deserves respect. The tone is important. Be kind and respectful! We don't know any of those skaters personally, so what does it cost to be a bit kind? Figure skating is a small fandom and believe me skaters see what ppl write. And it can hurt an actual human being. So please be considerate.

I am not sure if this is the kind of answer you were looking for anon, but here are some of my opinions on Zhenya 😊 You're welcome to ask more if something is unclear or you want to know something about another skater.

Anyone who read 'til the end should have a cookie! Have a good day! Thanks for reading!

Let's end this long read with a happy Zhenya!

#evgenia medvedeva #figure skating #anon #replies #i can't do short answers sorry #the reason i hate Twitter i can't keep it short 😅

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zootopiathingz · 4 years ago

Text

Into the Wilde

Meet (Not So) Cute

There are many steps of a hustle. The first one being that you have to have the confidence to actually do it. Not a lot of mammals I know have the guts to try. But when you're like me and you've been doing it since you learned how to talk, it basically becomes your whole personality. My lifeline is based on tricking other animals to get what I need so I can sell my product and earn some money. At first I wasn't proud of this, but now I've gotten used to it after 20 years.

Today's just another day of work for me. I'm going to meet up with my business partner, Finnick, at an elephant ice cream parlor to scam our way into getting a giant popsicle. Then we're going to resell it as our own branded "pawpsicles", and to earn some extra cash we'll sell the leftover sticks to some construction workers, maybe some rodents. It sounds convoluted but it's worked so far. I don't see why today should be any different.

Right about at noon, I make my towards the ice cream parlor known as Jumbeaux's Café. Sure, the place is meant for bigger animals, but that's the point. We need the biggest popsicle we can get so we can melt it down to smaller sized treats. And so no one suspects us, we have the perfect story that's sure to fool the owner.

As I cross the street, a Fresh Doe truck drives right past me, nearly running me over. I look back at the ram driving it, and he shouts at me to watch where I'm going. What an asshole. Eh, I expected him to blame me for it. Everyone in Zootopia's always blaming the fox. That's just how it is.

Moving on, I walk in front of the café, but I have to make sure no one's watching me. You can never be too careful with this kind of stuff. Once the coast is clear, I follow an elephant lady inside, and now begins the plan. I see Finnick waiting for me by the door, wearing an elephant onesie costume.

Finnick and I go way back. I've known him since I started doing this type of business. He showed me the ropes and was the first to suggest that we do this together. At first I didn't want to, since I was dead set on becoming independent. But after a few years I decided to accept his offer, since we could make twice as much money working together than by ourselves. Besides, what was the harm in having a friend? Well, we never exactly referred to each other like that, but that's pretty much what he is.

He walks past me to get in line, murmuring, "Let's get this over with." I follow him quickly and we make our way towards the front of the line, and since we're smaller than the elephants, no one notices that we cut.

The owner (I think his name is Jerry, so I'll call him that) turns around to take another order. He almost doesn't even see Finnick and me, so I have to call out to him to get his attention. He looks down at us, and I see in his face that he's not happy. I don't need to guess why.

"Can I help you?" He asks, eyeing me up and down. I get why it would be weird for a fox to buy something from a shop for elephants, but damn, he hasn't even heard me say anything and just assumes I'm up to no good.

"Yes sir, I'd like to buy a jumbo pop, please." I say politely.

Apparently I wasn't polite enough, since he just glares at me. I can tell he's observing my behavior very closely, so I try to stand still in the least suspicious way possible.

"Listen, I don't know what you're doing skulking around during daylight hours, but I don't want any trouble in here." He says. "So hit the road!"

Geez, if this is how he treats customers, then it's a mystery why this place has a four-star rating. But I want to avoid arguing with him, at least not aggressively. That would get me nowhere. I have to keep up an act. "I'm not looking for any trouble either, sir." I say in my own defense, "I simply wanna buy a jumbo pop," I gesture down to Finnick, who trots to my side. "for my little boy."

Yeah, the plan is to pretend we were a father and son. Acting cute and pulling on heartstrings is the best way to hustle, so that was our usual routine. I bend down to ask Finnick, "You want the red or the blue, pal?"

He walks up to the glass displaying the three jumbo pops. As expected, he points toward the red one. We always got red, it was just how we liked it and it always sold the best.

Jerry, however, just shoos him away with his trunk. "Okay, come on, kid. Back up." He looks down at me, "Listen buddy, what? There aren't any fox ice cream joints in your part of town?"

"Uh, no, no. There are, there are. It's just, my boy," I pat Finnick on the head. "this goofy little stinker, he loves all things elephant, wants to be one when he grows up."

Finnick pulls up the hood of his costume, which has the ears and the trunk of an elephant. It even has its own trumpet, which he uses now to emphasize my point. "Is that adorable?" I ask as he leans against my leg. "Who the heck am I to crush his little dreams, huh? Right?"

But Jerry isn't impressed. Honestly, he could not care less, it seems. "Look, you probably can't read, fox," He takes a sign and points at it with his trunk, "But the sign says 'we reserve the right to refuse service to anyone'! So beat it!"

Refusing service to someone because they want a jumbo pop seems extreme to me, but hey, I'm not a café owner. Still, we can't give up yet. We need that jumbo pop, and we have to get it one way or another.

"You're holding up the line." An elephant lady says as she pushes me from behind.

Finnick trumpets sadly and I rub the top of his head 'sympathetically'. We have to appear as cute and as sad as possible now, so maybe we can be pitied by Jerry or another one of the workers. But these elephants have no mercy. Great. Now how are we supposed to sell today? There aren't any other ice cream parlors that sell big enough popsicles that we can get in time.

Suddenly, I hear a voice from beside me. "Hello? Excuse me?"

I turn around to see a bunny speaking to the owner. She's wearing a hat and an orange mesh vest, so I guess she does parking duty. Why she's even here is beyond me, but I get the sneaking feeling it has something to do with me and Finnick.

"Hey, you're gonna have to wait your turn just like everyone else, meter maid." Jerry says to her.

"Actually, I'm an officer." She says, pulling back her vest strap to show off her badge. Huh, that's weird. I didn't think they let bunnies on the police force. Then again if she's doing parking duty, she must be new. Makes sense. Police work isn't meant for animals like her.

"Just had a quick question," She goes on, speaking a little louder. "Are your costumers aware they're getting snot and mucus with their cookies 'n cream?"

A couple elephants sitting nearby hear this, one even spits out his ice cream all over the other's face. I have to hold in a laugh.

Jerry looks down at her confused, "What are you talkin' about?"

"Well, I don't wanna cause you any trouble, but I believe scooping ice cream with an ungloved trunk is a class-three health code violation." The bunny says, "Which is kind of a big deal."

Wait, is she trying to help me? She might also be trying to help out the customers by not getting snot in their ice cream. But still, she just randomly shows up while I'm trying to buy a jumbo pop for my 'son'. It can't be a coincidence, right?

Jerry glares at her for a moment before she continues, "Of course I can let you off with a warning if you were to glove those trunks and, I don't know," She gestures for me to step forward, in which I oblige. "Finish selling this nice dad and his son a...what was it?" She whispers to me.

"A jumbo pop." I say, smiling up at the owner. "Please."

"A jumbo pop." The bunny repeats.

Wow, I honestly did not expect anyone to actually help us. I was starting to think our little ruse wasn't going to fool anyone. I almost feel bad that we're having to trick her, too.

Jerry sighs in defeat, deciding to give in. And I don't blame him. "15 dollars."

"Thank you so much." I say, then nod at the bunny. "Thank you."

But as I reach into my pocket, I'm surprised to feel nothing there. Or so, that's how it looks to the others. Of course I have my wallet with me, I'm not an idiot. It's just all part of the ploy. "Oh no, are you kidding me? I don't have my wallet!" I chuckle nervously, pretending to be frustrated with myself. "I'd lose my head if it weren't attached to my neck. That's the truth. Oh boy," I sigh and kneel down to Finnick, "I'm sorry, pal. Gotta be about the worst birthday ever."

I might have improvised that part, only to further guilt the animals around us. Hey, a fox has to have a little fun.

"Please don't be mad at me." I say, cupping Finnick's face in my paws, kissing his head. I know he hates that, but I have to do whatever it takes. I stand back up and take his paw. "Thanks anyway." I say sadly to the bunny before walking out of the line. I can feel Finnick trying to reach out to the jumbo pop, probably pouting like a child.

Before I can even walk out the door, I hear someone slam something onto the counter. Not to my surprise, the bunny pays for the jumbo pop for us. I'm surprised she actually fell for our little fib. She really is a rookie.

After we're given the red jumbo pop, the three of us walk outside the café. Finnick holds the bunny's paw while I carry the jumbo pop over my shoulder, surprisingly it's easy to lift. Just a few pounds heavier than myself.

"Officer, I can't thank you enough. So kind, really." I say to her, "Can I pay you back?"

As I get a better look at her, I catch a glimpse of something in her belt. It looks red, maybe pink-ish. But just from that one glance, I can already tell exactly what it is. I've seen it many times in my life. Hell, I'm used to seeing it almost everyday. Fox repellent.

Of course a bunny would be carrying that around. They were all afraid of us. But then why did she help me when she obviously isn't fond of foxes? I guess she's just trying to make herself feel better. Now I feel less guilty about tricking her.

"Oh no, my treat." She answers, releasing Finnick's paw. "It just— you know, it burns me up to see folks with such backward attitudes toward foxes."

Really? Then explain that fox repellent, two-faced meter maid.

"I just wanna say you're a great dad and just a..." She pauses to find the right words. "A real articulate fella."

"Well, that is high praise." I put a paw to my chest, deciding to play along. "It's rare that I find someone so non-patronizing. Officer...?" I ask, hinting that I want to know her name.

"Hopps." She tips her hat. Of course she has a last name like that. "Mr...?"

"Wilde. Nick Wilde." I hold out my paw, and she gladly shakes it.

I probably should've used a fake name so this can't be traced back to me. But I'm not worried. It's not like she's a real cop, anyway. And I'm not doing anything illegal, so it doesn't matter.

She bends down to look at Finnick, smiling widely. "And you, little guy, you wanna be an elephant when you grow up? You be an elephant. Because this is Zootopia." She pulls out a sticker from her pocket and places it on his chest. "Anyone can be anything."

Now I know she's not from around here. Anyone who actually grew up in Zootopia would know that that stupid saying doesn't mean jack shit. You can't just be whatever you want. God, someone needs to open her eyes and introduce her to the real world. Oh well, she'll figure that out soon enough.

"Ah, boy. I tell him that all the time." I say, then hand the jumbo pop down for Finnick to hold. "Alright, here ya go. Two paws!" He holds up the jumbo pop easily, probably better than me since he's actually stronger despite his size. "Oh yeah, look at that smile! That's a happy birthday smile! All right, give her a little bye-bye toot-toot!"

Finnick toots twice, and the bunny mimicks the sound with a small laugh.

"Bye now!" I say as I turn around, walking along the sidewalk with Finnick.

"Goodbye!" She says, but I don't bother to turn around to see if she waves. I honestly don't care less.

Well, that was a painfully long five minutes. But it worked. Now it's time to move into phase two of our popsicle procedure.

#zootopia #nick wilde #judy hopps #finnick zootopia #wildehopps #zootropolis #zootopia fanfiction #fanfic

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scullydubois · 4 years ago

Text

Only the Light Ch. 14

As the new year beckons Scully to put her life back together, she and Mulder share a Valentine's 'anti-date' on the Hoover Building rooftop.

TW for brief discussion of disordered eating.

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The new year struck Scully with a particular melancholy. 1994 was, to put it plainly, one of the worst--if not the worst--year of her life. Even without her disappearance, it would earn that title. Her father’s untimely passing and the brief but brutal closure of the X-Files wrenched the few good things left from her fingers. Factor in the four weeks in late summer that she has no memory nor knowledge of, and you’ll understand why Scully has taken to calling it her year on the dark side of the moon.

Of course, the aftershocks of her abduction are still felt every day. Flipping the calendar does nothing to remedy that. At her last appointment, Dr. Zapolsky noticed that Scully’s weight had decreased rather sharply from previous visits and made the point that “rapid weight loss can stop ovulation,” which Scully interpreted as kicking her while she was down. That’s not exactly fair, after all. Technically, her period stopped well before she decided to restrict herself.

It’s odd how it happened. Her weight was fine before her abduction; slender but within the healthy range for her height. Even when she was returned, it had only dropped a couple pounds, as if they fed her...as if they cared. She found that hard to believe. In the months afterward, she sought a physical representation of her mental anguish, and since she and food were never on the best terms to begin with, the choice was simple.

The other day, she had to punch an extra hole in all her belts to hold them steady on her hips. She knows the consequences of this; she’ll live them and accept it.

There has been some beneficial progress. Dr. Zapolsky started Scully on low-dose birth control around Thanksgiving, hoping that it would balance her hormones and regulate her periods. It has, in fact, brought back her cycle, something that Scully did not expect. She gave Melissa her leftover tampons in October. Now Melissa buys enough for the two of them and insists that Scully doesn’t owe her a dime. Scully is too grateful for this to speak about it.

Her downward spiral reached a snag when she realized that smoking would make her birth control ineffective, shortly after her and Mulder’s Christmas Eve smoke break. She ditched the cigarettes, mad at herself for taking a month to read the disclaimer (she’s a doctor for god’s sake, she should know better!), yet glad to have an out. Smoking was a habit she exercised because she could. It won’t hurt her anytime soon, and millions of others do it, so where’s the harm? That was her thinking. As soon as she had a reason to stop, she did, and it felt a bit like jumping from a runaway train just before it skids off the tracks.

So she is better, and she is worse. Which really means she is the same as she was. That is the conclusion she carries into 1995’s frosts and thaws.

There is one thing she is certain of, something that she hadn’t given much thought to until the one year anniversary of her father’s death. She needs her faith back. She’s always practiced in a cyclical pattern, her devoutness orbiting in and out like the moon around the Earth. Sometimes closer and brighter, sometimes farther away, sometimes nowhere to be found.

She has to believe it will come back; it always does. She was made in God’s image, and her father’s. This is both a blessing and a curse.

But no one can be God, and she can’t be her father either. His faith never wavered. If hers was the moon--fickle and subject to doubt--his was the sun, steady and warming everything around it. This was a quality she was envious of, and then guilty in her blasphemy. She has never managed to feel completely content inside the bounds of piety like he could. She’s constantly shaking the devil off her back, then repenting for it, then wondering if it were all worth it. What if...what if...what if...she isn’t fully persuaded in her beliefs, and she knows that this is the worst sin of all. Like Mulder though, she wants to believe, and shouldn’t that count for something?

Imperfection is allowed. Understood, even. Doubt is not as permissible. “He who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind,” the Bible says. Sometimes Scully takes that to mean she should walk into the ocean. Then she realizes that would be blasphemous too.

Some people believe without trying. Her father was one of those. Mulder too, in a different way. She used to think that she was too. Now she’s not so sure. “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” How many times has she read that line? Has she ever lived up to it? She’s seen and still not believed. Certainly that means she’s going to Hell.

Or is she already there?...She wonders that sometimes. Maybe she didn’t make it back from the other side. Maybe the devil just wanted her to believe that she had, and so he’d constructed some kind of diorama of Scully’s life that would go wrong bit by bit, boiling her like a gradually heated bathtub. No resting in peace for the unbeliever.

She can’t imagine a worse punishment than all the potentially good things in her life getting dismantled beyond her control. She’d rather never experience them at all than know their joy then watch them fall apart. Missy would kill her if she heard this, but you can’t please everybody.

It is at this point that Scully embarks on her chosen method of religious self-flagellation: going through the Ten Commandments and determining whether she’s violated them. Count up your sins and God won’t have to; practically the tagline of the Catholic faith.

She thinks she does okay with the first few. She has no idols, she honors her mother and father, and Mulder knows not to call her on Sunday mornings. Of course, the part about not taking the Lord’s name in vain can be tricky, but she’s working on it.

Number five is where it gets dicey. Thou shalt not kill. She imagines that she wouldn’t, not on purpose, but the circumstances of her job worry her. God makes no exceptions for self-defense. And what if she were ever to be a true doctor? If she couldn’t save a patient, does that mean she killed them?

Her father was in the Navy. He never killed anyone.

Number six...well, she doesn’t mention that often. Few people know about Daniel. Missy is one. Scully harbors a genuine shame regarding that time in her life, not so much because of Daniel, but because she was complicit in hurting his wife and daughter. It was a young, foolish mistake that she never wants to make again.

She feels pretty good about number seven. The only thing she has ever stolen is one of Charlie’s matchbox cars when they were kids. She was uninterested in Missy’s hand-me-down Barbies and Raggedy Ann dolls. The boys’ toys were much cooler. She trusted the Lord enough to know that He wouldn’t hold something she did when she was seven against her. Besides, she gave it back when Charlie figured out it was missing. She just wishes he had let her play with him after that.

Number eight: thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor. She considers honesty one of her best qualities. She sure hopes God does too. She’s not the most open person, but that’s different from lying…

Nine is a lost cause, considering six had been broken. This was her least favorite part of her family’s religion: the power it had to cause her shame about her own body, her own desires. She had her first crisis of faith over this at age 14. Missy comforted her with something she has never forgotten: “The original sin was the serpent’s deception, not Eve’s desire. Even God pins it on the woman.” She knew her sister could only say that because she didn’t truly believe and wasn’t trying to, but it had stuck with Scully through many moments when she needed it.

And finally, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s goods. She supposes she did this with the matchbox cars when she was seven, but in literal terms that’s about it. Metaphorically, she does this all the time and struggles with why she feels so inadequate. Her sister’s confidence, Mulder’s tenacity, her father’s faith...The ideal Dana Scully would have all of these. The real one is a work in progress.

--------------------

So it goes that she finds herself prepping a case in the office on Valentine’s Day. Mulder’s scheduled to fly to Florida the next morning to investigate attacks in a community of circus performers. He’s convinced it’s the Fiji Mermaid, she’s convinced he needs to get his head checked; the usual. This is one comfort Scully can always rely on. No matter how utterly twisted her life gets, she will always think Mulder is crazy, and he will always go along with it.

The occasion of the day goes unmentioned until what Mulder lovingly refers to as “closing time,” which is not a specific time but rather the point that he finally gives up for the day, usually hastened by his partner’s prodding. Scully has learned the signs of his dwindling tenacity by now. She glances at the clock as he pulls his glasses off his head and tosses a sunflower seed in the wastebasket, pleasantly surprised that it reads only 5:15. He catches her checking, his eyes--amber today--meeting hers.

His lips curl in amusement. “You got a date or something?”

“No,” she blinks, feeling like a child caught taking a cookie from the jar. Her cheeks grow hot, threatening to make a scene. “I figured you did, since you’re finishing up so early.”

Mulder straightens his stack of papers, clinking them against the desk obnoxiously. “Think again, buckaroo.”

He’s taken to calling her that lately. Neither one of them is sure why, it just popped into his mind one day and stuck. It makes her feel like a heroine in some 70s Western shoot-out flick who wrangles all the bad guys and locks’em in the county jail. She’s thankful that someone can see her for what she could be rather than what she is. It helps her see that too.

He stuffs his papers in a manila folder, then rises from behind the desk and stoops toward the backpack he prefers to a briefcase. (She called him a kindergartener once because of it and he remarked that he’d ‘rather be a kindergartener than an adult.’ She couldn’t argue with that.) “Valentine’s Day isn’t really observed under the Fox Mulder calendar,” he says, unzipping the bag and putting the folder in. “Halloween and Thanksgiving, those are my holy days.”

“You worship at the shrine of the food pyramid,” Scully smirks.

“Yes indeed. Wait--” Scully’s gaze flicks to him, genuinely concerned. He dissolves her uncertainty with a boyish grin. “--does the food pyramid include candy?”

She rolls her eyes, but it’s not deeply felt. She misses these flat-lining comedic routines of his, usually at their best when they’re putzing through some tumble-weed town where the bathroom stalls at the gas station don’t lock. He loves being the funniest person in a ten-mile radius, and that’s not a satisfaction he can have in DC. She wonders if he tells these lame jokes to strangers now, or if they were just for her.

“Speaking of food,” he says, brushing a hand through his hair, “you wanna grab dinner?”

Scully’s forehead creases. “Like, in a restaurant?”

“I mean, I wasn’t gonna be that forward, but I guess we could take it to yours or mine...”

Scully laughs lightly, wrapping her arms around herself, fingers caressing her bony elbows. “We’ve already covered what day it is,” she demures. “Everyone having dinner is going to be on a date.”

“You’re right...the restaurant probably won’t let us in unless we make out in front of the hostess,” he deadpans.

“Not to mention that we don’t have any reservations…”

“Well, making out might remedy that, depending on the hostess.”

She gives him her ‘last straw’ look--crossed arms, arched eyebrow, stinging glare--and he raises his hands in surrender. “I’ll stick to slipping a twenty, then.”

Scully uncrosses her arms and slinks toward her purse rather languishly. “No restaurants, Mulder. It’s too much trouble on a holiday.”

“I sure hope you didn’t mistake my suggestion as an invitation to Mulder’s Downhome Country Kitchen, cause that place is not Michelin star rated.”

“I’m well aware. I’ve seen the menu.”

“Is Chateau de Scully open tonight?” he asks with an eyebrow raise that his partner couldn’t have missed if she tried--and she did.

“Well, the chef is celebrating Valentine’s Day with her girlfriend in Oregon, so you’d be waiting awhile for your meal.”

“There’s no back-up chef? I don’t know, someone who may need to feed herself while the chef is away?”

“Yes, but she doesn’t serve the public.”

“Ouch.”

He plucks their respective coats off the rack, folding his own over his arm and throwing his partner’s over her shoulders. She jumps just the tiniest bit--she probably thinks he didn’t notice, so he’ll pretend he didn’t--then slips her arms in the sleeves and pulls it on properly.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, avoiding eye contact.

After he’s put his own jacket on, he hoists up his backpack, fielding off his partner’s near swerve into laughter. She’s barely maintaining a straight face, and even if it’s at his expense, he loves it because unadulterated joy is something she deserves so much.

“You know what, I’ve got just the solution,” he says as he strolls out the doorway, flipping the light switch as he goes, leaving Scully scrambling in the dark.

“Hey!”

He hears her petulant voice, followed quickly by the laugh he was looking for. When she turns to him after locking the office door, her eyes are still shining from the momentary euphoria. He is so happy to know her.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this place is the Smithsonian of vending machines.”

“Mm-hm.”

“And I know a door to the rooftop that never gets locked.” He flashes her a sly look, his intentions pure despite himself.

“It’s 40 degrees outside,” she counters before he can even voice his proposal.

“Sure, but we can make some fresh coffee, and there’s gotta be blankets in that storage closet of ours.” Ours. Very few things are theirs. She wishes he would say it again.

As much as her instinct is to protest, she can’t quite muster the resolve to. I mean, it checks all the boxes. It’s not a restaurant, she’d only have to eat a snack from the vending machine, and she wouldn’t have to spend Valentine’s night alone, which is a sneaky sadness that had been pressing at the back of her mind.

“Fine,” she bluffs, as if it were a great inconvenience to her. She enjoys the cat-and-mouse game, what can she say? “You find the blankets, I’ll get the coffee.”

Mulder smiles, his lips edging over his teeth in an aesthetically pleasing way that makes Scully feel like he missed his calling as a male model. Of course, this smile isn’t posed. The constant in his life is his partner’s unpredictability. Everyone thinks she’s a stone-cold skeptic, but he knows she’s an uncertain believer, and there’s no one harder to pin down than that. Her yes to his Valentine plans may as well be an admission that Bigfoot exists.

“Let’s meet by the sixth floor stairwell, okay?” he prompts, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

Flashes of Christmas Eve sabotage her thoughts--her mother’s kitchen, her untidy tipsiness, Mulder just trying to iron things out. He’d touched her, and she’d lashed out at him. Reaction formation, that was the term for the defense mechanism she’d used. He knew it, probably studied it extensively. Concealing an impulse by acting out its opposite.

Instead of mentioning this, she looks him in the eyes and says, “Okay, I’ll use the coffee machine on the sixth floor then,” as if his touch hadn’t brought forth both memory and desire.

“Great. See you there.” He pulls finger guns, and she thinks that maybe this is already her best Valentine’s Day yet.

----------------------

Five stories of stairs is a long way to go with two hot mugs of coffee. Scully had hoped there would be some styrofoam cups--something she could put a lid on--but the Bureau is stingy, so she had to go all the way back to the basement, grab their coffee mugs, take the elevator back to the sixth floor, brew some dark roast (to Mulder’s probable discontent), then hope that by some miracle, they could make it to the roof.

Ever the idealist, Mulder takes the challenge in stride. Though his arms are already bundled with some comforters he found tucked away in storage (he shudders to think how old they must be), he takes the handle of his mug, squeezing the blankets snug against his chest.

“Are you sure about this?” his partner asks with her usual uneven tone. “What if we get all the way up there and the door is locked?”

“We knock and get the snipers to open the door for us,” he answers matter-of-factly.

Scully’s eyebrows shoot up. “Snipers?”

“Oh yeah, did I forget to mention? There’s a longstanding rumor about snipers on the roof that I’d like to get to the bottom of.”

His demeanor is just loose enough to make Scully question whether he is in fact kidding. A conversational casualness permeates all of his sensational soliloquies because to him, the phenomena he’s discussing should be regarded as a fact of the world. If he ever launched into an indifferent lecture on the subject, she’d know he was bluffing.

Having never heard the rumor herself, she decides this is simply a figment of his overactive imagination. She’ll play along. “Well, if it’s anything like the talk of you being spooky, then it doesn’t look good for us…” she teases, her own smirk eliciting an identical one from her partner.

Masking his impatience by embodying the role of the gentleman, Mulder uses his free hand to prop open the stairwell door, ushering his partner through. The landing of each story has one stray light bulb, there for show more than anything. Most of them are either flickering or burned out, the agents discover as they inch their way up, one slowly taken step at a time. Step, pause for the coffee to settle, hope it doesn’t breach its container, step: that’s the process they adopt for approximately 100 steps in the cold Hoover stairwell. There are many ways to show love; Mulder bets that you wouldn’t find this in any lame self-help book.

“Do you think Romeo would have done this for Juliet?” he muses.

“Depends on what he was expecting once they made it to the top,” Scully quips, the edges of her lips turning up slightly.

Mulder nods, perpetually amused by her (too) infrequent jaunts into suggestive territory. “My man really got ahead of himself with the whole ‘dying for her’ schtick.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Mulder eyes her. “Actually, I think it was you who was going to die for me.”

“Not for you, because of you.” Her statement is neither packed with malice nor free of blame. “There’s a difference.”

She may as well have shot him at point blank range; then at least she could see the bleeding. She didn’t mean to be so blunt, but he gave her the perfect setup. Mulder cauterizes his own wound, disguising his pain as a joke. “Damn, I was finally moving past that!”

“At least one of us was,” she says, her voice fluttering, and he knows she’s just teasing, but god, what if she’s cauterizing her own hidden wounds?

They reach the door labelled ‘roof,’ and Mulder can’t decipher what happens first, him putting his hand on the door handle or her placing a chilly hand on his cheek. Playing it back in his head later on he won’t even be able to figure it out-- it cut time loose from its axes in such a way.

“Are you okay, Scully?” He’s not sure why this is the first question out of his mouth, but it is.

“I need a hand warmer,” she murmurs. “The coffee’s already cooling off.”

All the while, Mulder is acutely aware that her hand’s still on his cheek and she’s got him propped against the door, and what does she want him to do with that information?

Her thumb grazes his mole, and it becomes clear to him that there are two ways this scenario could go, and if she doesn’t want the second one it’s imperative that she stop rubbing rhythmic circles into his skin.

He clears his throat. “Do you want to...do you want me to check for snipers?” Her touch continues, uninterrupted.

“Is the door unlocked?” Her voice sounds airy and far away. She probably didn’t even hear his question.

He pushes on the handle, confirming their freedom. “Yes ma’am,” he answers, fear of a sort edging him into total politeness. He is twelve tiptoeing through the too empty halls of his house, again.

“Let’s have a picnic,” she says, still light and airy, as if that weren’t the plan the entire time. Then, she breaks into sudden laughter, pulling her hand away from Mulder’s cheek in her fit. “We forgot the food!”

She is back to normal now, his steadfast Scully with a side of joy.

Half of him mourning for the otherworldly Scully and the moment that could have been, he laughs too. “There may have been some lapses in planning.”

“We can make do, can’t we?” There’s a glimmer in her eyes that suggests the moment is not as far gone as he believed.

“Cold coffee sounds like an enduring Valentine’s tradition,” he affirms.

They choose not to dwell on words like “enduring” and “tradition,” entering the chill of the Hoover Building rooftop on Valentine’s night.

------------------

They’re not that far above the city really--the Hoover’s no NYC skyscraper--but their heads are in the clouds, that’s for sure. It’s not the typical dinner date complete with melted candles and overpriced dessert and overly attentive waiters, but as it turns out, they would both hate that. After all, this is not a date, it’s a casual hangout between two coworkers who don’t have dates on Valentine’s Day. If anything, it’s an anti-date. That’s what they tell themselves.

February’s unrelenting chill swirls around them, catching Scully’s hair in playful tantrums and turning the two of them into life-size paperweights atop the blankets. More sensible people may call the night a bust, but not the Prince of Halloweentown and his esteemed guest. This unconventional adventure is exactly what they bargained for.

Scully looks to Mulder, who’s holding his coffee like it’s a beer. She smiles. That is so him.

She exhales, and her breath spells itself out on the air. She tilts her face to the sky, as if the sun might suddenly rise and bask her in its heat. Mulder notices and fixes his attention there too, happy to have an excuse to look skyward. It’s his outlet, like hers is the sea her father dedicated his life to. His preferred escape method is to fly away; hers is to drift off.

He forces himself back into the moment, here, with her, and the expanse of the sky. “I once spent fifty bucks on one of those ‘name a star’ certificates, and I can’t even see it because of the goddamn light pollution.”

“I think that’s really more about the gesture than anything else,” Scully replies, trying to soothe him as if this were actually a pressing problem. “Unless you bought it for yourself...?”

Mulder chuckles. “No, no. It was for an old girlfriend.”

Scully raises her eyebrows in amusement. “Did you name it after her?”

“No, we named it the Rhine star.”

A puzzled look passes between them. It gives him a twinge of joy that his partner is not the encyclopedia she seems to be.

“After Joseph Banks Rhine, the founder of parapsychology,” he clarifies. “We were both fascinated by the field.”

“Oh.” She turns her face back toward the sky with the feeling of a kid who missed the winning word of the spelling bee. There are times when she is grateful she does not know everything, and times when she is not. Somehow, this is both.

“I’ve thought about buying another one and naming it after Samantha,” Mulder continues, “but it feels too much like a grave marker.”

“I’d consider it a lovely tribute,” Scully counters, used to doing so. “But I’m thirty and I own my own gravestone, so take that with a grain of salt.”

It’s true--once Dana was returned, her mother couldn’t bear to look at the gravestone she’d had engraved in memory of her missing daughter, so she gave it to Mulder, who saw no logical place for it to go except the woman whose name it bore. Margaret hadn’t wanted her to know that it existed, that they’d gotten so far as considering her gone. While it brought Mulder no joy to present it to his partner, it served as a reminder of the miracle her survival was, and in such bleak times, they had both needed that.

“It doesn’t scare me--the thought of dying,” Scully says to the stars. Mulder wonders if she meant for him to hear it. He wishes he hadn’t, but he’s met with the realization that she is trying to start a conversation when her eyes look into his.

He doesn’t know where to go with this, so he toes the line between deep and sarcastic. “I thought Catholics were all about that heaven and hell stuff.”

“Yes, but…” where is the line between truth and blasphemy, she wonders? Settling herself, she starts over. “I’ve lived both on Earth, so what have I got to fear?” She turns her glance to the blanket, as if shrinking out of the Lord’s sight. “Besides, sometimes I think I’m already there.”

“Heaven?”

“No, Hell.”

He should have known. He grips the edge of his blanket, wondering why his parents had prioritized the sex talk but never explained what to do in a situation like this. He has a psychology degree, sure, but he’s as much a psychologist as she’s a physicist.

“There are periods of life, I think, where everyone feels like that,” he says in the most earnest voice he can conjure. “It’s just that nobody ever talks about it.”

“Did you feel like that with Samantha?”

Leave it to Scully to turn a personal conversation back on him.

He bites his lip. “Yeah, yeah, I did. Still do, if I think about it too long.”

“How did you...move past it?” The lights of nearby buildings reflect off her blue eyes, galaxies to his black holes. He’d give anything to sluice the pain right from her heart.

He’ll rely on his words instead, despite knowing there are depths they cannot touch. “I, uh, I didn’t really move past it, I just moved. Kept moving, I guess. I found a place where I could make progress out of my pain. Here--the X-Files.”

Scully swallows hard, knocking back tears. "That’s the issue. I feel stuck. Just completely unable to go forward. There’s a current in my brain that keeps pushing me backward.”

Mulder lets out a deep breath, trying to take both their pain with it. “Have you considered seeing a therapist?” he asks delicately. “It sounds like you may have PTSD.”

“Over what?” she practically snaps. “I don’t remember a thing.”

“That doesn’t mean you have no memories. Regression hypnosis could help recover repressed or unconscious memories, so you could understand exactly what’s bothering you.”

“You think I haven’t heard this spiel from Melissa?”

“I bet Melissa doesn’t have first-hand experience with it.”

“No, she doesn’t,” she murmurs in the tone of an apology. She knew that he had it, she had listened to the tapes. How could she let it slip her mind? It is uncouth of her to look down on his chosen method of healing.

Mulder isn’t bothered. He continues, “It helped me. Both in recalling the details of the experience, and in having a recorded recollection of it. It helped me feel less...insane.”

“Mmm.” If he were just a bit closer, she’d reach out and touch his hand.

“If anything, I wish I did it earlier.”

Scully’s understanding of him sharpens, like an ophthalmologist flipping the lens, making her vision clearer. Her gaze probes him, mutual souls recognizing mutual pain.

“Hey.” He uses his extended wingspan to touch her shoulder with the care an older sibling would show holding their baby brother for the first time. She turns her head, their faces mere inches away from each other. His eyes are a dopey brown, his breath scented with coffee.

“Yes?” she says with a coquettish flitting of her eyelashes.

“You should come back out on the road. I could use someone to shoot down all my wild whims.”

She can’t help but smile, though she keeps her mouth closed. “Tired of telling jokes to strangers who don’t laugh, are you?”

He smirks. “Well, yeah, that too.” He leans back a bit, putting enough distance between them to keep the sparks in check. “Of course, if you’re not ready, there’s no pressure. I just think you could use the change of scenery and--you know--companionship.”

She nods, looks out into the night. He’s got the pulse of her problems and the salve that could soothe them. “You’re right.” How often does he get to hear those beautiful words come out of her mouth? “I need to get out of my cocoon, and I think I’m okay enough to do that now.”

“Yeah?” There’s a twinkle in his eyes, something like hope.

She laughs--catharsis manifest--and it’s like a sheen of light coming through a crack in her jagged surface. “Yeah, Mulder. I’ll make the arrangements with Skinner.”

He pumps his fists in the air. “Hallelujah!”

She hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her. Any stray thoughts she had of him being lonely she chalked up to her own delusions.

“Florida is probably a lost cause,” she notes, “but after that…”

He nods, pats her shoulder. “After that.”

To have her back meant something like freedom. The X-Files had never been anything without her. He had never been anything without her.

#oh to share a morbid conversation with your partner on a rooftop on valentines day #i struggled with this part but im quite happy with how it came out <3 #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #the x-files #txf #txf fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #mine #thank you as always for reading and supporting

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caranfindel · 4 years ago

Text

Initial reaction 15.14: Last Holiday

Well, friends, here we go. Are you ready?

(I'm not. But here we go anyway.)

THEN: Cuthbert Sinclair. (Really? That's a deep cut.) Abbadon. Larry Ganem. (And S8 Sam, who is fucking gorgeous.) Oh, and God and Jack and all that stuff, in case you forgot.

NOW: Sam's in the library, doing research, and is distracted by some ominous noises. Ominous in a machinery-breaking-down kind of way, not in a monstery kind of way. Enter Dean, wearing an apron. "What's with the apron," asks Sam, "because it's only protecting your jeans, not the Red Shirt of Bad Decisions." At least that's how it sounded in my head. I mean, who only gets dirty from the waist down when they're cooking? (Well, that lends itself to all kinds of double entendres, doesn't it?) Or maybe Sam doesn't say that because he hopes the RSoBD will be destroyed in a tragic burger accident.

Seriously, Dean, that shirt is precious and you need to protect it, no matter what Sam thinks.

Dean complains that the pilot light keeps going out, and the hot water is unsatisfactory (and we know how he feels about his showers), and Sam reminds him that if the bunker was ever state-of-the-art, it was in the 50s. They exposition for us that Jack is hiding in his room. "Can you blame him?" Sam says. "His soul is back. Everything is hitting him. Everything he's done..." And Sam continues, but I'm sorry, I'm stuck here, thinking about re-souled Sam with everything hitting him. {sob} However, neither of the Winchesters seem to be thinking about this, so. Carry on.

The guys remind us that if Jack kills God, he'll have to kill Amara as well. Which I assume means Amara isn't going to get killed? Just saying. As much as I talk about foreshadowing (too much, please stop!) this show teases us with anti-foreshadowing with equal fervor. And Cas is apparently looking for Amara? What does he hope to accomplish? "Excuse me, but we're killing your brother, so you have to die too. Condolences. But if we follow canon - not that there's any reason to assume we will - you have to die at about the same time. So I need you to come with me while we figure out where he is and how to kill him."

There's another ominous noise, and Dean says "Oh, come on. Now the air?" I hope he means the air conditioning, and not the air purifying/exchange/whatever that Ketch shut off when he locked them in the bunker back in... whatever the BMoL season was. Hey, remember when the guys were locked in the bunker and they were running out of air and they wore single layers and goggles and got all sweaty and depressed? Because I've kind of never gotten over it. But I digress.

Sam is surprised that Dean expects them to fix it. "We've fought the devil," Dean says. "I've killed Hitler. I think we can handle a few old pipes." Surely this isn't the first time they've had to do some repairs around the place.

Deep within the bowels of the bunker, Sam reads some ancient instructions and complains that they can't just call a plumber. Dean refers to the bunker as the most "secretive, secure supernatural hideout in the world," which makes me laugh, because remember when Larry Ganem told Sam it was secure against all manner of evil? What a joke. Is there anything or anyone evil who hasn't been able to get into the bunker? My house is more secure against evil than the bunker, and all I have for protection is a circle of termite bait and a couple of ancient dogs.

They locate the "bunker grid control center thing thingy" (oh Sam, I adore you), complete with reset and standby buttons. Standby is glowing. Dean hypothesizes that it will work just like his computer, which needs to be shut down when it gets too many popups (I suspect you need some virus protection, dear boy), and slams down the reset button before Sam can stop him. Everything goes dark, but then starts up again, so Dean considers it a success. He calls himself "Meat Man" again and heads upstairs to finish cooking his burgers.

Time jump. Dean goes into his room, carrying a burger and a beer, and is astonished to find a middle-aged woman there. She's wearing a plaid wool skirt I owned in the 80s and is folding his underwear. "Oh, hello dear!" she says cheerfully. Dean yells for Sam.

Gosh, Dean, it's like this place isn't secretive or secure at all.

The horrified Shaggy and Scooby boxers are ~chef's kiss.~ Well done, someone.

Title card!

Library. The woman tuts at dust and wonders how they've lived in "this filth," which reminds me of an awesome Tumblr post which theorizes that faeries actually keep the bunker clean, and only first-born son Dean can see them. "Lady, who the hell are you," Dean demands, and is chastized for his language. He calls for Sam again, and gives him the story of how he walked into his room and found her "folding my underthings."

She explains that her actual name is indecipherable in "your tongue," but "Mr. Ganem called me _Mrs. Butters."_She's a wood nymph. And she's not in the woods, nymphing (thank you Dean) because she has more important things to do - she lives in the bunker and takes care of the Men of Letters. I.e., "my boys. My family."

Dean invites her to leave, but this is her home, and she's been here since "before the war." And she thinks it's 1958. "Well, I hate to tell you," Dean says, "but it's 2020." YES, DEAN, WE ALL FEEL THAT WAY ABOUT 2020. Mrs. Butters is horrified to learn all her boys are dead. And for some reason Dean tells her they were murdered by a demon instead of saying old age, or they went to a farm upstate, or whatever. She spots a photo of the last group of MoL, which we've never noticed before, and realizes that this is why they never came back from that last ceremony. When they didn't return, she decided to put the bunker - and herself - in standby mode.

But she also realizes that if these boys are like those boys, it's been a while since they had a home-cooked meal or celebrated a holiday. Or washed their clothes, as she makes a face. That's uncalled for, lady. We all know that Sam Winchester smells like rosemary and mint no matter how long it's been since he did laundry. Sam explains that they're not really "holiday people," which rings true coming from the guy who didn't want to celebrate Christmas and hates Halloween. (And only had one real Thanksgiving in his life and his brother still holds that against him but NO I'M NOT BITTER.)

Dean is more interested in what "standby mode" is. Mrs. Butters says the MoL used her magic to give the bunker "extra oomph," and snaps her fingers. Voila, extra oomph! There's some humming noises, the telescope alcove lights up (!), and an alarm sounds. Because the map table is actually a monster radar, and it indicates a nest of vampires 50 miles away. And gives the address. WELL.

{Sidebar: Why didn't the BMoL know the AMoL had this capability? Why was their focus on "you're not as good as us" instead of "you used to be as good as us; what happened?" Discuss.}

Do I care? No. Because look at these precious perplexed faces.

Dean's ready to go (and it earns him another stern warning about his language), but Sam wonders if they can trust her. "Look at her," Dean says. And I agree. She's a dumpy middle aged woman in a brown plaid wool skirt. She's basically me. And who could be more trustworthy, more concerned with the Winchesters' health and safety, than me?

Um. Anyway.

Not to change the subject or anything, but the pretty is strong tonight, y'all.

Dean suggests they give her the benefit of the doubt, and if it turns out she's not what she says she is, "then we deal with it." The music turns ominous. "What about Jack?" Sam asks.

Oh, Jack is actually in this episode? I thought maybe they were explaining his absence earlier, like they always do with Cas. (Because I always cover the guest star credits on first watch. Spoilers.) But it turns out Jack is actually with us tonight. Sitting on his bed, looking depressed. Dean knocks on his door and tells him they're going out, and there's a "probably harmless" guest making snickerdoodles. This sparks Jack's interest. It would work on me, too. I love snickerdoodles.

Impala. Sam's not sure it's a good idea to keep Mrs. Butters around, even if she is legit. He's concerned about Jack, but Dean brushes him off.

He'll be fine. I mean, I've been through worse and look at me. I'm the picture of health.

Ignoring your trauma doesn't make you healthy.

Sure it does.

Oh, Sam. Just listen to yourself. No, I mean, please. Listen to yourself.

Sam feels like Jack is hiding something, and I wish there were someone around who had also done awful things while un-souled, and remembered what it felt like to deal with that afterward. Someone sympathetic and empathetic. With soft puppy dog eyes and beautiful hair. Oh well. I guess Jack will just have to go unburden himself onto whoever he comes across.

Bunker. Mrs. Butters brings Jack a sandwich. He doesn't open the door, but she leaves it for him.

Vampire nest. A couple of vampires are watching Dark Shadows (so meta!) and drinking blood stolen from a blood bank. So, are these, like, maybe not bad vampires? Maybe they don't kill people? We'll never know, because Sam and Dean walk in and cut off their heads. And come home to... Christmas. Lights are strung all over, jazzy Christmas music is playing, there's a huge decorated tree and gifts, and Mrs. Butters has a tray of homemade cookies. "We are so keeping her," Dean says. Sam looks unsure.

Kitchen. Mrs. Butters tells Sam that since he and Dean have been so busy killing monsters, they haven't had a chance to celebrate anything. But I can barely pay attention to a single word that comes out of the woman's mouth because LOOK AT SAM IN THIS T-SHIRT. LOOK AT IT.

Single-layer Sam is something to celebrate.

She insists that Sam "enjoy the world you're fighting for" (which is never gonna happen, lady) and excitedly talks about all the holidays she wants to make up for. Then Jack enters, and her mood changes instantly. Even Jack's adorable little dorky wave doesn't melt her. "What are you?" she asks coldly.

Enter Dean, wearing a real-life version of the purple "sleeping robe" and nightcap he wore in "Scoobynatural." OH MY GAWD. I really hope this was a surprise for the rest of the cast.

And I also hope he's not really going commando underneath... or do I?

Mrs. Butters is distracted enough to decide that if the boys vouch for Jack, he must be okay. She hands Jack a smoothie but tells Dean he must have tomato juice due to his cholesterol. And she pronounces it the Patrick Stewart way, not the Mark Hammil way.

Before Dean can drink his to-mah-toh juice, the monster radar alarm goes off, and the guys rush off to prepare for a hunt. For future reference, when you leave the kitchen, Sam's room is to the right and Dean's is to the left. We next see the guys fully dressed, receiving sack lunches from Mrs. Butters. Dean's sandwich has the crusts cut off. {Sidebar: Sam never had someone to cut the crusts off his sandwich. Hold me. And also, how many reminders am I going to have of "Dark Side of the Moon" tonight?} She tells Sam the monster is a lamia, the blessed knives are in the trunk, and she just waxed the car so Dean needs to take it easy.

As the guys rush off, she turns to Jack and his smoothie mustache. "Well. What shall we do with you?"

NOTHING GOOD, I'M SURE.

As Jack helps wash dishes, he fills her in. Lucifer was his father, Mary was his family and his friend but he killed her. Mrs. Butters is very supportive, telling him "life gives us second chances and it's our obligation to hold onto them." And she presents him with another smoothie.

Montage! Thanksgiving dinner. More hunts. More sack lunches. Halloween (and even Sam seems to enjoy it). Fourth of July. (Yet another "Dark Side of the Moon" shoutout). A hunt requiring the grenade launcher and Thor's hammer from that episode whose title I can't remember! Sam's birthday! By the way, none of these holiday celebrations include Cas.

Mmmm. So worthy.

Time jump. Jack catches Mrs. Butters looking at something in a file cabinet and being very sneaky about it. He requests another smoothie to get her out of the room, and then finds what she was looking at. It's her MoL file, including a reel of film. The film shows Cuthbert Sinclar talking about File 5150 (aw, RIP Eddie Van Halen). The subject was actually recovered from the Thule (aw, "Everybody Hates Hitler") and we learn that wood nymphs "react violently when home or family are threatened." Sinclair says he "conducted a series of experiments designed to show this strange and magical being of our mission" and convinced her to join the MoL family. Huh. Wonder how he did that. Then Mrs. Butters demonstrates her devotion by literally ripping the head off a Thule. "Son of a bitch," says Jack, because he's been spending a lot of time with Dean.

Jack runs into the war room looking for Sam (and yes, I'm petty enough to love that he looks to Sam first), who is off getting ready for a "big date." Huh. Okay. Mrs. Butters offers him soup, but then Sam walks in, giving off some pretty strong Hot Professor Sam vibes (hello again, "Everybody Hates Hitler") with a sweater vest and tie, and I am thrilled with this development.

Thrilled, I tell you.

Mrs. Butters tells him he looks wonderful but offers to trim his hair (back off, lady, I will cut you) and Dean enters in time to make a weak Abercrombie and Bitch joke. Sam tells him Eileen's in town, and he's taking her out to dinner and "some privacy, something."

"Heavy on the something," Dean says, and we're going to talk about that later, I promise. But for now, Mrs. Butters tells Sam to take one of the old cars from the garage. Finally. Can we just make this permanent? Can Sam have his own fucking car, please? She produces a bouquet of roses from nowhere and sends him on his adorably anxious way. Then she tells Dean she found a broken TV in one of the rooms and fixed it. "The Dean Cave?" Dean is off like a shot. I wonder if that's the TV he smashed with a hammer, and if so, how did she fix it? (Also, hello again, "Scoobynatural.")

Jack is still unsettled. He follows her into the dungeon and tells her he saw the film. {Sidebar: The film showed her killing one of their enemies because she's protective of the MoL. Is it really that awful? Discuss.} "And how did that make you feel?" she asks. "You relished his pain, didn't you, Jack?" Oh, turns out that was a setup - she wanted Jack to see the video, so she could confirm that he was a bloodthirsty little monster. And do the Winchesters know how powerful he has become?

They should be scared of you!

I would never hurt them.

You have before, haven't you? Have you ever thought that Sam and Dean keep you in here, closed in, secure, because they're scared you'll do to someone else what you did to their mother?

Well, I mean. Now he has. She flings Jack into the wall. He tries to use the glowy eyes on her, but he finds himself powerless. She snaps the magic handcuffs on him. "You didn't think those smoothies were for your health, did you? Oh, I've learned a few things while I was doing the dusting around here. A little yarrow root, some ground jawbone for texture, and voila! You are as weak as a puppy."

Wait. That's all it took? To power down a nephilim, who is canonically more powerful than his archangel parent? So when the Winchesters were trying to take down Lucifer and AU Michael, all they needed was some yarrow root and ground jawbone? And the answers were all right here in the bunker?

(Sigh. Don't think about it. That way lies madness.)

(Also, canon! Ha ha ha ha.)

She tells Jack she's making the bunker safe again and getting rid of all the monsters. Like you, sweetness. Aw. Sad Jack.

Kitchen. Dean comes in looking for a snack and is immediately presented with some kind of grilled sandwich. She tells him to eat it, because he'll need his strength when they go kill Jack. Aw, that's the sound of a heart breaking.

Dean is disappointed that their good thing has gone "full Nurse Ratchet," and glances longingly at the sandwich he has to leave behind. He takes Mrs. B's knife and suggests they let Jack go and pretend this never happened. The only logical conclusion is that Dean is under Jack's spell, so he gets tossed into the dungeon too. Oh, cool. Does that mean Sam gets to be the hero and save them?

Spoiler alert: Ha ha ha ha no.

Hello, Demon Dean. That's the only other time we've seen this expression, isn't it? {Or is it simply the only one branded onto my brain? Discuss.)

Map table room. Sam comes in and is met by Mrs. B. "Bit past your curfew, Samuel," she says curtly. He's no longer wearing his tie. Hmm. So, let's talk about the Eileen situation. Isn't it weird that (1) Dean didn't know she was in town, and (b) she's not spending the night at the bunker? Wouldn't you think she'd be a house guest? I mean, she's not "in town" for the heck of it. The only thing that would bring her to Lebanon would be Sam. So why isn't she here seeing Sam? Is she just driving through on her way somewhere else? She can't even spend one night in the bunker? And the tie? If Sam removed his tie, doesn't that strongly suggest Dean was right about the "something" going on? Did they do it in the back of the old car? At a hotel? I have questions, friends.

Anyway. Sam asks where Jack and Dean are, since it's late and they should be sitting around the map table waiting for him to come home and not, like, in bed or anything. "Well, I have some good news, and some bad news."

HERE IS SOME GOOD NEWS INDEED.

Honestly, I like this look better without the tie.

Time jump.

So, Jack has taken over Dean's mind. And they're both downstairs, right now, ready to be killed by us.

You were always the smart one, yes.

Sam, who is the smart one, says he's going to go to his room and get his gun, and he'll meet her in the dungeon. "And we can... get to the killing." I LOVE HIM. {Sidebar: I have watched his fake relieved sigh several times and it makes me smile every time.} Once he’s safe in his room, Sam calls Dean and starts to tell him about Mrs. Butters.

Went psycho, we know.

Why didn't you call me?

Well, I mean I, you know, I figured you were "practicing your sign language."

And that's more important than coming to save you?

...

Dean?

It's been a while for you, man, you know?

Aw. Always the supportive big brother. {Sidebar: As long as Sam is doing something Dean thinks Sam should be doing. But I digress.}

{Sidebar: I love Dean, y'all know I do. Warts and all. He'd be boring if he were perfect.}

Dean suggests Sam shoot her, although they don't know if a gun will kill her because neither of them got around to researching it because they were distracted by Christmas and Thanksgiving and breakfast on Boxing Day. That's how you get killed, guys. {Sidebar: How much do I love that Sam calls it Boxing Day? For my Brit friends, that's not really a thing in the U.S., although it's gradually starting to become one. And I love it.}

Dean then suggests that putting the bunker in standby mode might put Mrs. B in suspended animation again. Meanwhile, Jack and Dean are stuck in the dungeon. Jack suggests using his power to remove the cuffs, but Dean points out that the power surge would catch Chuck's attention. But what power surge? Jack already tried to use his power against Mrs. B and it turned out he didn't have any.

Jack suspects there are other reasons Dean doesn't want him to use his power, and suddenly decides it's time for a deep conversation.

Do you still think I'm a monster? Okay, I'm just gonna say this, okay? Just get it out there. Jack, I'm trying, okay? I really am. But what you did, that's not easy to forget. Now, I was angry with you. For a while. And maybe I still am a little bit, okay? But I'm not gonna let some evil Mary Poppins take you out. You understand?

Okay. Good talk.

Sam shows up in the library looking for Mrs. B, and trying to hide his gun, as if he hadn't told her he was going to his room specifically to retrieve said gun. But Mrs. B realizes he's trying to kill her, and freezes him. She's not mad, she's just disappointed. She tosses him into a chair and keeps him there with the power of her mind, not with rope or anything, in case you were wondering. {Oh, hello, "Funeralia" and "The Trap."} She tells him that when the MoL first found her, she didn't realize how important they were. But Mr. Cuthbert explained it to her. And since Sam is her favorite, she's not going to give up on him. Yet. She's going help Sam the same way Mr. Cuthbert helped her understand. Well, that doesn't sound ominous at all.

He's my favorite too! And I also think he needs to be hurt! See, she's basically me!

Dungeon. Dean is going to try to chop Jack's handcuffs off.

You're sure this is gonna work?

Let's say yes.

Aw. That was a perfect opportunity to bring back "maybe 90% sure." And it doesn't work - Jack is sent flying into a glassed-in cabinet that I've never seen in the dungeon before. Dean says "dang it" before remembering that he can use his big boy words, which is adorable. And then he gets an idea.

Upstairs. Mrs. B tries to convince Sam that Jack is a monster because he's Lucifer's son. Sam, of course, takes the opposite side of this debate. "Now, Mr. Cuthbert taught me that pain can be a wonderful teacher. Let's see if it can't correct your ways."

I SWEAR, Y'ALL, SHE IS ME.

Sam could sneer at her and say "I've been tortured by the devil himself; what can you do to me?" but we don't have that version of Sam any more. Mrs. B, without tools, yanks off one of his fingernails. {Oh, hello "A Very Supernatural Christmas!"}

Meanwhile, downstairs, Dean has a different theory on pain. It's just "weakness leaving the body," he tells Jack. We get a little "on three" bit, where he actually does the thing on one. And the thing is that he tries to cut Jack's handcuffs again, but this time Jack is strategically placed in front of the dungeon door. So when he's thrown back by the blast, he ends up breaking the door down.

Upstairs. Sam's been relieved of even more fingernails.

Downstairs. Dean takes a hammer (!) and smashes the reset button. Why doesn't he just push it with his hand? I mean, sure, we get the hammer, and the red lights and warning klaxon, and all of that turns me into Pavlov's dog {Hello, "Soul Survivor"}. But still. Seems unnecessary.

Upstairs. Mrs. B seems to be gone, and Dean bends over like he's untying Sam's wrist. But Sam's wrists aren't tied to anything, so. I got nothin'.

Downstairs. The runes that seem to hold Mrs. B in stasis light up, but do not stay lit. Well, that can't be good. And then the bunker grid control center thing thingy starts shaking and springs a leak. Ooops. Here she comes, complete with glowy green eyes.

Upstairs. Dean finishes untying Sam from the chair he wasn't tied to, and remarks on how gross his tortured hand is. Mrs. B shows up, yells that they've all been very bad, and flings them across the room. She's sure Sam will thank her someday for killing Jack, because it's so important to kill monsters and keep the MoL safe. It's why she couldn't go back to her forest. Sam explains to her that Mr. Cuthbert tortured her and used her, and Dean tells her Jack is going to save the world. Oh, okay then. The regular lights turn back on and Mrs. B tearfully says she misses the MoL so much.

Aftermath. Mrs. B heals Sam's hand and apologizes and all is immediately forgotten and once again, Sam gets to forgive his torturer and turn the other cheek. Yay! Sam, what was it you said earlier?

Gif stolen from @michaeldean

The guys send Mrs. B back to the woods, but first they have this conversation:

Sadly, without my magic, the bunker will revert to standby mode, so. Ah well, things were getting too easy anyway, you know? Who needs a monster radar? Or whatever that telescope thing is? It's an interdimensional geoscope. It's a what? I looked in it earlier; I didn't see anything. Oh. Well that's not good.

Holy crap, you guys. Interdimensional. It let the MoL look at the alternate worlds. And now you can't see anything because all of the alternate worlds have been destroyed. Gotta admit, this is an excellent little twist.

Jack presents Mrs. B with the photo of the MoL. "Oh look," she says. "The man who tortured me and kept me from my home, right here, front and center." Well, no, she doesn't. But I do.

Mrs. Butters gives them some last instruction. "Dean, eat your vegetables. And Sam, cut your hair. And Jack, go save the world." Well, I'm in favor of one or two of those things.

Try to tell me I'm wrong. Just try.

After-aftermath. Jack tells Sam that he doesn't know if he can kill God, since he was sidelined by a wood nymph "because I was stupid." He asks if Sam thinks he can do it.

"Jack, you're the only who can." No pressure.

Dean shows up with a truly awful-looking birthday cake for Jack. "I made it myself. Obviously." But Jack is thrilled because it's from Dean, and it means Dean loves him and has forgiven him, until the plot requires otherwise. He makes a wish and blows out his single candle. Fade to black.

So! There were parts of this that were simply marvelous. There were parts that were kind of dumb. There were parts that would have made me very angry if I weren't so tired and jaded. But the good parts were darn good, and the pretty was dialed up to 11, and we all know I'm a sucker for a pretty episode. And there was NO B PLOT. AT ALL. Thank you baby Jesus.

And let’s just refuse to consider the possibility that these were, in fact, their last holidays. Thanks.

Now I get to see what you thought about it. And, as always, please help me stay unspoiled for future episodes, including episode titles and casting info. {smooches}

#spn #15.14 #initial reaction #recap #tv recaps #spoilers

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rairaidango · 4 years ago

Text

SEEDS THAT GROW - Tobisaku, Madasaku, Ita(masaku)

CHAPTER 2 - BEST FRIENDS

First chapter garnered more attention than I had expected it to ngl! But it felt nice to know ppl like wtv im trying out here. Here is chapter 2! Just a reminder I’m not a creative writer (nor do I write well at all lol). This is just fun for me and allows me to focus on something new during quarantine :) It’s pr slowburn but focuses on a lot of Sakura’s thoughts and feelings. (and her amazing friendship with Ino)

TW : mentions of depression, anxiety, self-loathing, etc

“Yeah I’ve definitely seen you at the club before!” Itama pointed at her, mouth wide open in a boyish smile.

There was no way this Itama boy was that boy. Was there?

Sakura’s eyes were eagle wide but she quickly shook it off with an awkward laugh. She really couldn’t be sure if it was him, but maybe it was? There really was a possibility.

“Ah, you know maybe! I can’t recall if I have seen you on a night out though.” she tried to calm her nerves down with even more awkward laughter, but she caught Itachi’s eyes. He could see she was a little uncomfortable.

“Maybe you were like really drunk or something but I’ve definitely seen you-”

“Itama, you’ve seen everyone at the club.” Itachi rescued her. She gave Itachi a silent look of thanks. He only nodded in reply. “And you know, you talk too much man.” He slapped the Itama boy on the back.

“Was just trying to be friendly!”

“More like annoying. Why are we friends again?” Shisui tapped his finger on his chin comedically before laughing and receiving punches.

The boys were strangers to her, with maybe the exception of Itachi, but she barely ever spoke to anyone outside of her girl group. She never allowed herself to talk to guys casually, and there was a reason for that as stupid as some people felt about it- but it made sense to her at the time and she feared getting close to people.

So this, this, this was nice. And this was a good thing, a casual conversation with friendly guys. She smiled at the thought, because she missed the times when she had close male friends.

“Alright, everyone’s here according to the attendance list.” Madara announced whilst shuffling the papers in his hand. He pointed to the board making sure to point out the layout of the plans for tomorrow. “The introductory session is tomorrow and we’ve all assigned you to specific roles. We have a large group of eager college students who want to learn more about the wondrous world of medicine and medical practices. If you look at the board you’ll see about 5 groups, each group having 10 students. And two of you will essentially be leading each group and bring them around our campus, then the facilities in our building. This tour will all happen after the presentation that I and Izuna will prepare. Lecture hall 2 alright. You should ALL be there before students arrive. Is that clear?”

The many student volunteers nodded.

“Do we have to do anything before the talk?” Itama raised his hand and spoke.

“Usher in and organise the students coming into the hall. Just make sure everything’s done in an orderly fashion. Knowing you Itama...please do this and work with Itachi.”

Madara knew Itama? Sakura quirked her brow glancing ever so slightly at the boy with the badly done highlights. She wondered what relationship they had for Madara to speak so casually of him.

“Will this be sent to us through email?”

“Of course, you’ll receive the plans, groups, layout and even the presentation when you leave the union. We professors aren’t stupid enough to think any of you, or one of you, could remember this stuff.” A playful smirk plastered on Madara’s face was all it took for Sakura to understand that he was probably only referring to Itama. “Alright 3.30pm tomorrow. Go home and get some rest.”

Who were they to each other?

“You know, I get why nii-san finds your uncle annoying and doesn’t like him very much.” Itama grumbled.

“Eh well to be honest, I get your brother.” Shisui shrugged in response. “Madara likes Itachi though, because he’s a ‘prodigy’.” Itachi only smiled at the mention of his name.“He’s your professor right uh-sorry what’s your name?”

“Ah yeah he is.” a pause. “Uh my name is Sakura. And he’s really a good teacher though.” She got up from her seat and caught sight of the mentioned professor turning off the projector.

And then she realised he was looking right back at her with a piercing red gaze. Embarrassment rose in her and her cheeks felt hot; she looked away as quickly as she noticed his gaze and covered her face from him.

What was that reaction?

“Sakura? I bet you hear how fitting that is.” Shisui snorted. She noticed Itachi was giving her some sort of look, but she couldn’t really figure it out.

Ah shit, he knows.

“Yeah, but you don’t have him constantly picking on you in class and after class and outside of university.”

“Outside of university?” Sakura questioned.

“Yeah, he’s just close to my family. Don’t really understand how or why.” Itama says hands stretched up in the air.

“Don’t know why we’re close to you.” Itachi teased coolly, earning him an annoyed look from Itama.

“Yo, anyone wants some bubble tea. Kokoro Kafe?” Shisui and Itachi grabbed their bags and headed towards the door. “I could do with some milk tea.”

“My sweet tooth and I agree. Sakura?” Sakura looked at the boys in front her. Were they really inviting her to go out and eat? Her?

It was a good thing, they were nice people, and where was the harm in getting to know them?

But Sakura couldn't accept this.

“It’s alright, thank you though. I really do appreciate the invite. I’m just going to go back home and eat.” She smiled, eyes closed. “It was really nice meeting you three though.” She waved, and the boys all waved back and left the union.

She sighed.

Outside, it was getting dark. The blue paint of the sky was darkening to a violet tone dashed with white specks of clouds. The yellow street lights only added to the magical transition of day to evening. It was quiet - but not eerily so, soft fading chatter of students echoed around the campus and the sounds of distant birds were sung in the air.

Sakura breathed in, taking in the moment. She was sitting down on the cold stone steps in front of the union. She rarely ever looked at the scenery around her, but when she did, it helped her feel a little bit more at peace. It helped her feel a little bit more alive.

“Sakura?”

“Sir, you haven’t left?” a sudden bubble of anxiety exploding in her.

“I am now. Are you alright?” He asked. She wasn’t sure if he was asking just to be nice or if he genuinely was concerned.

He probably didn’t care, he just had to ask as her teacher. Realistically speaking, why would anyone really care anyways. She was pretty burdensome and didn’t deserve to be worried about by even her closest friends.

“Yeah, I’m fine!” She smiled, her smile feigning genuine happiness.

“Alright then.” He passed her a...cookie? “Just making sure. Get home safe, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He pointed at her, his expression asking her for confirmation. She just nodded in reply with the same smile.

His figure grew smaller as he walked away and into the parking area, and her stomach felt even more uncomfortable now that she was alone. But she wanted to be alone, so she really couldn’t complain about the discomfort.

Also, what the fuck? A cookie?

“I kind of wanted to ask for her number…”

“Then you should have before we left.” Shisui sipped his Chatime drink. “But then again, maybe you scared her off with all that eagerness.”

“I don’t think I came off too forward.” Itama stated questioningly, and looked to Itachi for an answer.

“I mean...when you mentioned the club..she did look a bit uncomfortable.” Itachi pointed out. Itama pouted slightly. “Maybe next time. You need to be able to read people better if you wanna find someone.” Shisui only laughed. All of the boys, including Itama himself, knew that it was hard for the boy to date. “Not your fault though, cheer up.”

“I was a bit nervous.” Itama said, taking a sip of his green tea latte with a nervous smile.”I’m sure I’ve seen her at Kyo, but only in passing maybe, once or twice. Pretty sure we never talked before.” he sunk into the chair. Itachi just stared at his friend’s disappointed features. “I would’ve remembered.”

“You’re so upset, awh!” Shisui teased.

“She was just really pretty, you know?”

In their house it was always quite lively; everyone was cooking and getting dinner ready before communing in the living room area to gossip and talk about their day. Hinata and Ino were undoubtedly the best cooks of the house, while Sakura and TenTen were often the ones buying readymade food.

Tonight however, Sakura’s fridge was almost empty and all she could really make was some good old penne pasta with ready done tomato sauce. She wasn’t upset about the option, but it was about the fourth time in a row now that she’s had to eat pasta for dinner.

Ino came into the living room - bouncing happily as her usually gleeful self- with an amazing katsu curry dish she had whipped up. The curry flavours lit up the whole room in salivating awe.

“Yes, all of you can have some too. I made a lot.” She grinned with a certain kind of confidence only the Yamanakas had. Taking a seat on the floor between Sakura and Tenten, Ino dug into her delicious dish.

“Honestly I’d marry you just for your food.” Sakura hummed after taking a spoon of her curry.

“JUST for my food?”

“Let me correct myself.” Sakura rubbed her chin in a joking manner. “Because I love you.” Sakura hugged her best friend, and everyone erupted with laughter.

“Ino would be an annoying wife though, think about it.” Temari piped in. “All that nagging and having to do everything her way blah blah.”

“Well, Shikamaru seems to be completely fine with Ino.” Tenten winked and gave a sly look to her long haired blonde friend.

“Oh shut up, we aren’t a thing. We’re just hooking up here and there and we enjoy each other’s company.”

“Well I bet 50 that they’ll end up together!” Ino shot a look at Tenten.

“Honestly I’d be happy if you guys date Pig, you’ve known each other for a while and he is actually a nice person.” Sakura thought of them dating, and she had always rooted for them to eventually end up together. Ino furrowed he brows.

“Maybe Ino just wants to just leave it as it is?” Hinata, usually just an observer, added. “I’m happy you’re having fun though!”

“Okay enough about me guys. My love life is always a hot topic but it gets tiresome when-” Ino flipped her hair back dramatically, “-its always about me” she grinned and sat prettily.

“Yeah oh my god Hinata how are you and Naruto!” Tenten squealed like a little 15 year old girl. Hinata blushed at the question, she was usually more reserved when talking about her personal life.

But Sakura could feel a tightness in her chest at hearing that name.

Hinata noticed this, and smiled softly.

“We’re doing really good. It’s been about 2 months and he’s already met my family.” Hinata made sure to keep it short for her pink haired friend. She knew there was a lot to unpack there and hadn’t expected Tenten to carelessly bring that name about.

“Awh, you guys are honestly so cute. It makes me happy knowing that 2 of us here are having good and fun love lives.” Tenten sighed as she slid next to Temari.

“Let’s not talk about me though!” Hinata waves her hands off nervously. “My relationship isn’t very interesting, we all know about it!” She glanced at Sakura, who was fumbling with her fork and pasta. Ino noticed it too and caught on to redirect the conversation.

“Sakura! So, found that mystery hot makeout session boy in Kyo yet?” Ino grinned nudging her best friend.

“Ah?” Sakura woke up from a trance.

Fuck. She didn’t like falling in and out of conversation and her thoughts like this. It was really tiring and disorienting.

“Kyo guy!” Tenten giggled back.

“Oh you know what, maybe? I met this guy today and he said he recognised me-”

“What?! You’re only saying this now?? Bitch the fuck!!” Ino’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped to the floor.

“What’s his name?” Temari asked amidst all the shocked faces.

“Well uh..I met 3 guys. The guy who I think could be the one I met at Kyo is Itama. Then I met Sasuke’s brother and another Uchiha. Shisui if I remember right.” Sakura remembered. They were all really friendly guys.

“Was it at that meeting today?” Ino asked.

“Yeah, Madara knows like all three of them personally. Madara’s Itachi’s uncle. And I think Madara also knows Itama’s family? Or something? Honestly I’m not sure.” It was confusing to be fair.

“Even I’ve never met the famous Itachi…” Ino muttered. “So, Itama was it?”

“Yeah. He’s got like brown hair with silver highlights and it’s not done well I can tell you that.” Sakura scoffed. “He said he recognised me because he’s seen me in the club.”

“Ah but everyone here goes to all the clubs. Your pink hair sticks out so he probably just remembered that.” Temari waved her hand and looked at Sakura before smirking. “Was he cute though?”

“I mean..he was actually pretty cute...in a boyish charming kinda way.” All the girls had wide smiles on their faces.

“Will Sakura finally find the one?!” Ino shrieked.

“Is this Kyo club makeout boy?!” Tenten added.

“Will Sakura go on dates again?!” Temari furthered the questioning.

“Stay tuned to find out!” Hinata closed the statements clapping her hands together. It was followed by her kind smile and all the girls laughing- the atmosphere was light and warm between them. The girls, all 5 of them, shared a strong bond.

Sakura smiled at their jokes, but she also knew they genuinely wanted her to be happy. All of them understood how hard it was for Sakura to engage in meaningful conversations with boys; her anxiety and defenses would instantly go up if a boy approached her on campus. Which was why they were all so interested in ‘Kyo club makeout boy’ who Sakura -though very drunk and out of it -chose to instigate a hot kissing battle with.

However happy they were for her -and she was appreciative of this, don’t mistake that - it was hard to see herself dating again. It was a scary thing to think about, even though deep down she wanted to fall in love, again. She missed being in love, and the last time she was - she was unlucky.

There was a knock at Sakura’s door.

“Just come in!” Sakura yelled from her desk spilling with notes from lectures. The door opened revealing Ino in her flowery satin nightdress.

“Almost done?” The blonde sat on Sakura’s double bed that was messily covered in her grey covers detailed with white and pink sakura trees. Looking at Sakura - who was dressed in her oversized Neck deep tee - Ino could see she was stressed; but this was often how Sakura looked. It worried Ino.

“Yeah - I’ll get to bed soon.” Sakura muttered, completely focused on her assignment. Scribbling away, her desk lamp was bright and boring into her papers and laptop screen; her jade eyes were tired and her eyelids weighed heavy. She sighed. She wasn’t taking care of herself with all of these late nights.

She was tired of feeling this way.

“Do you need me to stay? Ino asked. “I can’t really sleep either... I’m just feeling a little off as well.” Sakura turned to look at her, not sure what she was saying.

“Yeah..of course. What’s..wrong?” Sakura asked, turning around from her work. Ino shuffled uncomfortably and crossed her legs on the bed. Had Sakura been so caught up in her own head that she completely ignored her best friend? Was Ino hiding it well or was Sakura that selfish?

“The whole talk earlier about Shikamaru...it just made me uncomfortable.” Ino paused. Sakura had completely forgotten and internally facepalmed herself. “I don’t like him that way. And you know how I feel about relationships.” The issue here was that Ino didn’t want to settle down, and Sakura would often bring up relationships to Ino - about how Ino should get in a relationship. Sakura knew that her friend was a strong and confident person, but had taken that for advantage and pressed on Ino’s insecurities.

“Fuck I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have projected my own wants of being in a relationship onto you..” Sakura muttered, guilt strung in her words. Her head was swirling and she felt horrible. Why was she such a bad friend? People always had to support her, people always had to help her, and she couldn’t even keep her own mouth shut. Why was Sakura such a fucking shit friend- and to Ino who had been there for her every step of the way.

“No it’s okay, I just felt weird talking about it and I know I won’t date him. I just don’t want to get into a relationship.” Sakura’s eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but her head was heavy with guilt. “Hey, honestly don’t feel too bad about it at all. I came to also just sit with you. I knew you were uncomfortable too.”

Ino could pick up on Sakura’s discomfort, and Sakura couldn’t even do the same for her friend. She didn’t deserve Ino.

“Yeah. The whole Naruto thing kinda just made me space out.” Sakura ducked her head as she moved to sit next to her best friend. “It’s just...it hurts to think about it sometimes.”

“You know, I think if you tried to talk to him now he would be all for it. You know how much he cares about you. Heck he loves you as much as I do.” Ino’s head fell into Sakura’s neck to remind her that she wasn’t alone.

“Maybe one day I can. When I’m better.” Sakura muttered, wanting to believe it could happen. She wanted it to, but somewhere inside, she didn’t want it to.

“Well, when you’re feeling good, or bad, and on your best and worst days I’m here for you okay?” Ino smiled reassuringly.

“I know.” Sakura smiled in response. “I...I also emailed welfare for a session…its in 2 days” Ino jumped up and looked at her friend.

“You did?” Sakura nodded smiling. “I’m so proud of you! That’s a really big step! I can’t wait” Sakura was met with a loving hug and giggled in response. “I am so proud of you. I’m coming with you okay?”

“You don’t have to-”

“I am.”

Sakura thanked Ino. That night, Ino slept on Sakura’s bed to make sure Sakura slept alright and that she would feel at ease falling asleep. Ino missed being at peace with her best friend, and she just wanted the best for Sakura.

There were no other two best friends like those two.

She doesn’t even know why she’s here at this point. Why did she volunteer to do this?

Sakura groaned internally, her back against the wall. She was standing in the hall filled with college students, and she was lined up on the sides of the hall with other volunteers. She slept pretty late last night, but she was glad she managed to get sleep anyway. The anxiety and self-deprecating thoughts always snuck their way into her head when she wanted to find peace in slumber; but she felt like she deserved it anyways.

It was just exhausting.

“Oh I think he’s finally about to end his speech.” Shisui spoke.

“Finally.” Itama yawned. “We gotta gather the students and call the groups after this.” Itama looked at Sakura, expecting an answer from his group partner. She was looking at Izuna presenting, but her mind seemed elsewhere.

“Honestly, Madara talks a lot, but Izuna can go on forever. At least Madara is able to get straight to the bush rather than beat around it.” Shisui huffed. “Don’t know how Sasuke and you dealt with uncle Izuna over summer.”

Sakura woke up. Sasuke?

Itachi noticed.

“We were fine. It wasn’t hard.” Itachi shrugged his shoulders.

“And now your tour shall start. The volunteers will bring you around campus and the facilities - they’ll call you by name so when they do please stand up and come on stage.” Izuna closed signalling a thumbs up.

“Aight, that's our cue Sakura.” Itama nudged her with a grin.

He had such a boyish grin, Sakura thought.

“Lets round up the kids.” She joked, a more confident part of her showing. Itama looked at her, amused.

Gathering their group, Sakura felt a little out of place. She had to remind herself to be confident, to just go with it, and that she would be fine. A little speaking wouldn’t hurt her and she chose to do this, so she had to live up to it.

“So here we have our main cafeteria. Conveniently close to the Student Union, so it’ll be easy to grab lunch.” Sakura walked the students through the food hall. It was large and circular shaped, and it smelled like damn good food.

“It’ll be easy unless you’re studying art.” Itama joked. “Which none of y’all are, so it’ll be an easy quick lunch!” he winked, earning him a laugh from the younger people. Sakura smiled. This Itama boy had charm, that much she knew. “Alright so that concludes the main campus. We’ve just got the facilities left in our building.” he led the way.

Itama was so confident, and so happy. He carried himself so well and just by the way he walked, you knew he was someone whose company people enjoyed.

“Oh yeah we’re passing the main Law building, if any of you were interested in what’s that big old rusty building. It’s the Law building. Just one of their buildings.” Itama pointed to a very wide and stretched out red brick build.

Laughs, and a lot of them.

“They like you.” Sakura noted, walking by Itama’s side. She peered to see his reaction which wasn’t any less than what she expected from the boy. A toothy grin. He may be older, but sometimes she swore he was 15.

“I’m just a likable guy haha! They like you too, you know. You speak very well.” he replied pointing backwards to their walking group of students.

“Oh no, I really don’t.” He looked at her with a really-bitch-? Face. “Alright, I guess..yeah I can speak quite well. But I’m not as confident as you.”

“What? Really? You seem really confident to me.” That earned him a sweet laugh. He suddenly felt a jump in his stomach.

“I’m not. I can be, but I doubt myself a lot.” They were close to the building entrance. “You also don’t really know me.” She pointed out, opening the doors to their building.

“Okay everyone, we’ll take you to labs first.” Itama announced to the buzzing group, before turning to Sakura. “Well then, can I get to know you?” he swung his phone out.

“Did you get her number?” Shisui asked, slinging an arm around his two friends.

Itama looked at the pink haired girl across the lecture hall.

“No, I didn’t.”

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