#is now a good time to share that i only really know overcompensate and *briefly* heard next semester once

[wavernot4love]

oh my brain is truly mush this time what do you mean i have clancy AND (suddenly) nex gen to process in less than an hour what a fine evening this is to be alive

[hange-zone]

Hello! I really like this song called Heather by Conan Gray. Can I please request an eremin fic based on it and with a happy ending? (I'm not great with angsts.😂)

They’re under the bleachers – far away from anyone else, close together. Eren’s hands are soft in his. He’s holding them gingerly, as if he’s afraid that his fingers would leave a mark on the back of Armin’s palms, something that told the whole world they’d touched. His breath brushes Armin’s cheek. Their faces are inches from each other and he can’t bear to look Eren in the eyes. Instead, his gaze flickers to his lips – there’s a sheen to them where he’d licked them nervously, pink tongue going round and round and there were little droplets of sweat above his upper lip, a tiny beaded mustache. 

A single moment of wanting seizes him and before the fear kicks in, Armin leans forward clumsily and presses his lips against the other boy, who responds with an equal and opposite reaction.

He was thinking about that now. That moment where time slowed and the world shrank to immediate sensations – the salty wetness of Eren’s mouth, the softness of it all, the expanding satisfaction neat and pert in his heart – and he smiled quietly to himself, remembering the six seconds where nothing mattered anymore.

But it turned out the kiss probably didn’t mean anything at all. Eren was still the same as ever, friendly, yes, but there was something distant about him. They passed in hallways and Armin expected a sort of shared understanding about what had transpired that afternoon between best friends – a nod, a touch, something, but Eren hadn’t mentioned it and he himself had been too scared to ask. So there wasn’t anything at all. He thought about ships in the night and wondered if this were what it meant.

And the way Eren had acted after made him feel sick. How in the few days after the encounter he’d suddenly attached himself to Historia, been extra chatty as she passed them in the same corridors. And the same softness had descended on his features and he’d looked lost in a daydream after her small figure. Armin hated it even more, hated himself, actually, because in that moment he hated her, hated how sweet and lovely and unassuming she was, how she would hide her smile in an admittedly cute giggle and Eren would smile back and he could only think that Eren didn’t care about him in that way, he probably liked Historia and she liked him back and - 

And he hated knowing that maybe it wouldn’t ever work out anyway, that maybe that one time where they got too close was a mistake and he shouldn’t have even entertained the thought in the first place. They were better off as friends. Good guy friends, who maybe kissed that one time but it was water under the bridge, off the duck’s back. 

All this he told Mikasa after school, while they sat on the sidewalk and ate their rapidly melting ice creams. It had been four days since the incident and its dizzying spiral of consequences.

“Mm,” she said, in between licks. “Yeah, I noticed too. He’s been a bit weird lately. But I suspect it’s because he actually likes you back. He just hasn’t found a way to say it properly. So he’s overcompensating.”

“That’s dumb,” Armin said, taking a long taste of his ice cream and feeling the cool sweetness spread across his tongue. He thought about the pinkness of Eren’s mouth and sighed. “Though I guess it makes sense, in a way. But it’s also so incredibly dumb.”

Mikasa shrugged. “I know.”

She paused, thinking. Then, slowly, pragmatically, ��Do you want me to tell him? I mean - what you’re thinking. It’ll save you both a lot of - ”

“No,” Armin said quickly, horrified. He thought about Mikasa accosting Eren, asking him in her usual solemn way, to act rationally and explicably about the kiss. It seemed absurd and not to mention intrusive to bring her directly into that moment between them. And then he thought about confronting Eren himself, gesturing to the space between them, and asking, desperately, what about this? That also seemed too much all at once. The thought of exposing his raw jealousy to Eren seemed terribly mortifying as well - to say, also, that he hated the other girl who was so small and cute and perfect? Who Eren had given his brown sweater to when it was raining and she’d looked miserable and cold? He made a face. 

Historia hadn’t even done anything objectionable. In fact half the boys at school had been too glad to offer their varsity jackets when she’d forgotten her umbrella and had to run out in the rain. She’d merely taken Eren’s because he was the closest and besides, friends did that all the time right? He’d lent Eren his blue cardigan a few weeks ago and he hadn’t seen it since. He wondered briefly if he should ask Mikasa to get it back from him. She was the only one who could make sense - or be bothered to parse through - the mess that was Eren’s bedroom. He sighed, and swallowed the rest of his strawberry cone in a big, sad bite as he looked at his reflection in the shop window. Though they were both small and slight, yellow-haired with large cerulean eyes, he was certain that he would never be as pretty or attractive as Historia. They were going for the exact same place in Eren’s heart, and she had won on all counts, depsite not even trying. She probably didn’t even know they were competing in the first place. She was also probably a better, kinder person whose insides didn’t twist up when she saw Eren standing too close to someone else. And Eren liked her instead. And so he wouldn’t kiss him again. Ever. 

“He’ll come around eventually,” Mikasa said knowingly, comfortingly. She stood up, brushing the crumbs off her skirt, and helped Armin to his feet. “Even if he’s being silly about it right now and it takes him some time to sort himself out.”

“I hope so,” Armin said, and in a sudden gesture Mikasa had leaned over and given him a hug. 

“I know so,” she said firmly. He smiled into the warmth of her shoulder and mouthed thank you. There was a certain sort of solace in her certainty, and he felt a bit more of a spring in his step as he walked her to the bus stop and waved her off. He went home feeling considerably lighter and a tiny bit more hopeful than before. 

Mikasa - brilliant, lovely, perfect, sage and compassionate Mikasa - was right about Eren coming around. Or she might have knocked some sense into her brother, because at the end of the longest week of his life, in which Armin spent trying very hard not to think of the green-eyed boy, Mikasa had smiled an extra big smile at him as they said their goodbyes, and later at home he got a text which made his heart skip a beat. It was from Eren, and it simply read, Are you free? 

By the time his shaking hands had typed out, deleted, retyped and finally formulated a faux casual reply - yeah, what’s up -  the doorbell was ringing insistently and his grandfather was calling his name from downstairs and then shouting about a visitor. He heard those footsteps which could only be one person and by the time he scrambled out of his chair and over his bed and finally, finally, opened the bedroom door Eren was standing in front of it. 

In his hands he was holding Armin’s crumpled blue sweater - it’s just polyester - and he was saying, “Armin, I was being dumb, I’m so sorry -”

But already Armin had closed the gap between them and the knitted sweater had fallen forgotten to the floor because Eren was holding him again, his hands wrapped around the back of his head and their faces impossibly close. His breath was warm and his mouth was soft and he was leaning in, pressing the two of them together in another soft, sweet kiss. 

--

here you go anon & hope you like it! sorry it took a while but here’s me channeling my best high school AU vibes and secretly loving Mikasa, she’s the real MVP here :”) and here’s the ao3 crosspost if you’re so inclined

...you don’t know how much Conan Gray is a guilty pleasure of mine (and how many times I’ve played crush culture / maniac / overdrive / wish you were sober on repeat…)

[sourw0lf]

Take the Heat

Summary:  Dean is sent to Sioux Falls Mixed-Gender Correctional Prison to live out his ten year sentence.

Tags: Russian Mafia, Gangster!Cas, Alpha!Cas, Omega!Dean, True Mates, Mating Cycles/In Heat

Relationship: Castiel Krushnic x Dean Winchester

Read it on AO3

Written for last years spnabobingo and spnkinkbingo lol

Dean couldn’t believe he got caught.

It was embarrassing, really. They planned the heist for months, working every little detail out to ensure no mistakes were made.

His father blamed him, of course, and his new presentation.

‘You didn’t fuck up jobs before you were a breeder,’ he had told Dean when he came to visit him at the jail. Dean was awaiting sentencing at the time, only a week after he was arrested for a job gone sideways.

He could have argued that it wasn’t his fault, that no one expected the forth guard to show up when he did and it was just a matter of happenstance, but he didn't. Instead he mumbled a ‘Yes, I’m sorry Sir.’

It wasn’t like there was anything they could do about it now. The damage had been done and he was charged with ten years for armed robbery and assault to Sioux Falls Correctional Prison Facility.

He couldn’t imagine what was awaiting him. He had ended up downtown a couple times for some mere disturbance and assault charges, but he had never gone to prison. He heard all the stories about omegas in there, beaten and raped and played with until they either submitted or gone crazy. He was sure he wouldn’t let that happen to himself, he wasn’t going to let some piece of shit alpha gangster break him, he would fight back if he had to.

At least that’s what he told himself.

“You will be forced to use scent blockers and suppressants during your time spent residing here,” the warden told him. He looked smug behind his mahogany desk, talking dismissively, as if taking away Dean’s free will was no big deal at all. It occured to the omega that at this point in the alpha’s career, it probably wasn’t. “We can’t have you causing a commotion with your smell or going into heat.”

Dean nodded, because it was exactly what he was expecting. He never used suppressants before, he knew how bad they could be for omegas if they were used too often and too long, and the side effects were atrocious. But he didn’t want some knothead alpha attacking him either, so he begrudgingly accepted the terms.

“You will be placed on the third floor and will share a cell with another inmate. I suggest you get along with them because we do not take requests to switch inmate’s cell blocks.”

Dean nodded for the seventeenth time, rolling his eyes at the alpha’s useless information.

“His name is Castiel Krushnic,” the warden continued. Dean looked up from his lap with, eyebrows raised with question. That name sounded vaguely familiar. “And he’s a crazy son of a bitch so don’t get on his bad side.”

Great.

Of course his cellmate was batshit, it’s exactly what he expected the universe to hand him at this point.

“Yeah, got it.” Dean sighed, “Look I’m not stupid, I know how this shit works. Suppressants and scary gangsters and bad food, I know what to except. My father’s been through a couple times-”

“John Winchester,” the warden interrupted. “Yes, I know. A real piece of work if you ask me.”

“Don’t I know it?” Dean sat up in his chair. “Can we get on with this already?” He then asked impatiently.

The warden gritted his teeth, “You won’t last long in this place, Winchester, not if you keep up the act. I suggest you learn a little obedience to the higher dynamics around you because if you’re not careful some alpha is going to eat you up and spit you out,” he warned. “Omega’s ain’t got no good place here.”

Dean briefly wondered if the warden was allowed to speak to him like that, but brushed it off. It’s not like anyone would care.

“Really?” He asked sarcastically, “Omegas having trouble in a mixed-gender prison? I would have never guessed.

The alpha let out a low growl, palms resting flat against his desk. Instead of reprimanding him again, as Dean expected him to do, the warden suddenly called out, “Peter?”

A few moments passed, and then a tall beta walked through the door. He was dressed in a blue uniform with a taser and a gun attached to his hip.

“Come take Winchester to his cell, please. Show him around the place.”

The guard walked out to Dean with cuffs in his hand, clicking them around the omega’s wrists with a perverted smile.

This is gonna be fucking awful, the omega thought to himself as the man dragged him up out of his seat and lead him out the door with a rough push.

They walked down a bland, white hallway and into the room where the front desk sat. He held Dean by the chain of his cuffs as he unlocked the door. Dean briefly wondered how much of an asshole it took to be one of these guards. The guy must have gotten off on the whole power-play aspect of it all. Just like fucking cops.

“So, tell me. Did you become a prison guard because you didn’t have the balls to be on the force,” Dean started with a smirk plastered on his face. “Or to make up for lacking a knot?”

The guard shoved him into the wall as he opened the door, “Shut the fuck up.” Dean smiled and followed him into another dark hallway.

“That’s what I thought,” Dean continued. “What’s the matter? Omegas aren’t interested in your pathetic cock so you have to come here and push ‘em around to prove your masculinity?”

The guard pushed him up against the wall, growling at the omega, “You better shape up, kid,  or someone’s gonna end up beating you to a pulp, and no guard is gonna be there to help.”

“Don’t you think you’re overcompensating a bit?” The omega could deal with a little manhandling, he liked to push people’s buttons, and getting a rise out of the guard was exactly what he needed right now.

The beta backed off with another growl and forcefully lead the omega into a small elevator. He pressed the third button, silent and fuming with anger.

He followed the guard through another door and into the cell block, eyes glancing over the silver bars that lined the hallway. As they walked down the path, people shouted from their cells. They shouldn’t have been able to tell he was an omega, what with the three scent blockers he had doused himself with, but that didn’t mean they weren’t interested. A couple of alpha-looking men cooed and flirted with him, but Dean didn’t look at them as he passed by. He didn’t want to look at them or imagine what they wanted to do with him.

When they reached the end of the hallway Dean was thinking maybe the guard had picked the wrong floor. That was, until, he was sharply pushed against the last cell and the guard opened up his block. Dean’s heart was hammering in his chest. He didn’t dare look behind him because he could hear another person moving behind the bars, his cellmate.

The supposedly insane Castiel Krushnic let out a soft chuckle when the beta warned him to get back against the wall.

“My, my, I didn’t know my new mate was gonna be such a looker,” in any other occasion, Dean would be wet with slick at the deep, Russian accent rolling off the man’s tongue. But today he was disgusted with the flirtatious voice, it was a threat.

Dean could smell a faded musk of alpha, and wondered if the people sharing the block before them had been alphas. When the cell gate clanged open, the guard hastily pushed him inside, locking the door behind him.

The scent suddenly got a bit stronger and he glanced at his cell mate, sniffing the air in curiosity. His eyes went wide with fear when he realized what was happening, “What the fuck?!”

The beta turned to him with a sigh, “What? What is it now?”

“You can’t make me share a cell with an alpha,” Dean demanded. “What the fuck kind of place is this? You’re putting my life in danger.”

He heard Castiel chuckle yet again, but he said nothing as he sat on his bed.

The beta rolled his eyes, “You have scent blockers and suppressants, you’ll be fine.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean reached through the bars to try and grab the guard in anger but his fingertips barely skimmed the man’s uniform as he dodged the omega quickly.

He pulled out his taser in defense, “Watch it, you don’t wanna be assaulting a guard on your first day. Being placed with an alpha is nothing less than what you deserve, Bitch.”

Where he came from, or at least in his own mindset, saying bitch to an omega were some fighting words. He growled, not letting up as he reached through the bars, “I’ll fucking kill you, you pathetic wannabe alpha piece of shit!”

The guard laughed as he walked away, and the omega continued to growl until he was out of sight.

From behind him, he heard a few slow claps, “I have to say I am impressed by your spirit, pup.”

“Do not call me pup . I am a grown adult.”

The alpha only smirked at him, amused.

Now that Dean was actually looking at the alpha, he was kind of taken aback at how attractive he was. Don’t get him wrong, he still hated the man with every fiber of his being. But he couldn’t deny the alpha had something going for him, with messy dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes. He had maybe and inch or two on Castiel, but that didn’t negate the fact that he was still six feet of pure, unadulterated alpha.

He needed to talk to the warden. Surely, there must have been a rule about alphas and omegas sharing space like this, there had to be some kind of law. How could there not be?

“It was not an insult, красивая,” Dean sucked in a breath at the slip of Russian.

No, he reprimanded himself

“Although you look like a pup, how old are you?”

Dean gritted his teeth, he did not look like a pup. He was 6’2 and well built for an omega. He grumbled under in breath and looked at the alpha with a sigh, “I’m twenty, so you can fuck-off.”

Castiel grinned at him, “Not even old enough to buy yourself a beer and you’re in North Dakota’s most dangerous prison.” The alpha tsked with a smug expression, “How did a sweet thing like you end up in that kind of trouble?”

Dean let out a little growl, “None of your fucking business, that’s how?”

The alpha took a step towards him, his amused smirk contorting into a deathly stare. Dean took a step back with a growl, glaring at him. Before he could react the alpha had him pinned up against the wall with no way to move, “I have enough enemies, I am not interested in making any more. But if you test me, I will react.” He growled into the omega’s ear, “You would benefit from making friends with me, pup.”

Dean shied away from his touch, still growling low in his throat, “Yeah? And how’s that?” He struggled against the alpha grip.

Seemingly amused again, the alpha’s grip tightened, “There are only two other omegas in this prison. One of them is a Krushnic, and he is lucky for that. He is taken care of, and for that no one dares to touch him. The other omega, though? He had no such luck.” Dean shuttered, “So unless you would like to be raped raw everyday for the remainder of your sentence, I suggest you play nice with me.”

“Are you threatening to rape me?” Dean bit out.

“No,” Castiel said defensively. “I’m threatening to take away your only hope at surviving this place: My protection.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Why would you help me, huh? What do I gotta do in return? Be your bitch? ” He wasn’t interested in being someone’s warm hole to fuck, especially not Castiel’s.

“I wasn’t planning on demanding that of you, but if that is what you wish it can be arranged,” the alpha laughed. “All I want is a good cellmate, me and my last one didn’t get along so well. It made things… difficult.”

“Well do you usually pin your ‘good cellmates’ against the wall, Castiel? ” the omega asked, getting tired of the uncomfortable position. The alphas elbows were digging into his stomach, and the pressure around his hands was starting to cut his circulation off.

Without a thought, the alpha backed off and straightened up as if nothing happened, an unreadable look on his face, “My apologies.”

Dean blinked, who the fuck was this guy? ‘My apologies’, like he didn’t just fucking kung-fu grip him against the wall and threaten to be his ‘enemy’. “So, pup, are you gonna tell me what you’re here for?”

“Why do you want to know?” Dean asked with an accusing tone. He glared, crossing his arms.

“I want to know what you’re capable of,” the alpha said with a smile. “Come on, tell me. I promise mine is worse.”

“Okay, that doesn’t make me feel better about you,” Dean said, wondering what kind of fucked up shit the alpha had done to promise such a thing.

Castiel gave him insistent eyes and he shrugged, “Botched a robbery, got uh, ten years for it.”

“You’ll get out in six with good behavior, trust me,” Castiel assured the omega. “This place is packed, they can’t afford to not let people out early on parole. And they’ll probably take pity about you being an omega and all.”

“Thanks,” Dean said sarcastically. “So what about you? The warden told me you were all kinds of fucked up, what’d you do?”

Castiel smirked, looking a little more than amused, “Accessory to a murder, twenty years. Those fuckers were keeping an eye on me for years, and all they could get on me was accessory to a murder. Fucking pathetic.”

Dean tried to ignore how hot the alpha swearing was, “Who was watching you?”

“The FBI,” Castiel said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They like to keep tabs on my family, but they’re not very good at it.”

“What are you like in a gang or something?” Dean asked, wondering just how fucked he was for befriending this psychotic man.

“No, pup,” the alpha chuckled, sighing as he sat back on his bed. “The Bratva,” he said, the r rolling off his tongue through the thick accent.

“The what?” Dean asked. “Is that some kind of special group for crazy murderous bastards?”

Castiel nodded, “Yes and no. What I mean is I am of the Krushnic family… of the Russian mafia,” he nodded to Dean. He leaned back with a smile, “That omega I was talking about earlier? My cousin Balthazar. Our family is powerful, we have a standing in this prison and all across the world.”

Dean’s eyes were wide, “Um… okay. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.” The mafia? Like the mafia mafia? Dean was in over his head. He needed to pull back, abort, get away from this alpha and never look back.

Except he couldn’t because he was his cellmate and also happened to be the only chance at protection from this hell that Dean had.

“I know what you’re thinking, but you should stop that right now. The Russian mafia isn’t the most fucked up organization in this place. You should feel lucky you didn’t get placed with one of those nazi Aryan fucks,” Castiel spat.

“Hey, fuck you Krushnic!” Dean heard someone shout from a cell across the way.

Castiel stood up and walked over to the gate, one hand wrapping around a bar. He growled, “ Я вырежу его язык!” Dean tried to will the omega inside him to calm down as the alpha screamed. The alpha is not attractive, you will not fall for the convicted murderer , he told himself.

“Ew, there’s nazis here?” Dean asked, trying to urge the alpha to come back and sit down and stop yelling at the bald, tattooed man.

The alpha sighed and walked back over to Dean, “Oh, puppy. That and more, the scum of the earth walk through these halls. I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to it.”

Dean nodded, trying to comprehend it all. He kept asking Castiel about his family, what they did, who they worked with. Castiel gave him small grins and short answers, leaving out all the good stuff. Dean imagined it was because there were probably ears listening in on their conversation.

When he got bored of the conversation he climbed up on the top bunk and laid down, sighing at the rush of nerves flowing through his body. Being in this place wasn’t going to be an easy adjustment. He only hoped that with the scent blockers he could pass as a beta to most. He knew, of course, that some of the alphas would be able to pick it up, but if he put enough on the betas might leave him alone.

He didn’t know how this whole ‘protection’ thing went. What, is the alpha just going to announce to the entire prison ‘this is mine’ and leave it at that? He didn’t want to be perceived as some weak omega that couldn’t protect himself, but he also didn’t want to get killed… or worse.

He ended up falling asleep for an hour or so, waking up to loud announcements about dinner. He heard an alarm and then the lock of the gates unlocking. The cell mates walked in an orderly line, the guards watching from every corner. Castiel hit the bed frame a couple times, “Come on, pup. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Dean hopped out of the bed, shoving his prison-issued boots on.

“For what I’m about to do,” the alpha started, earning the omega’s attention. “I apologize for because I know you don’t want to be touched. I’m sorry, but I need to make a statement.”

Their fellow inmates began to pass by and through the door on their way to the lunchroom. Dean only had a moment to step back before Castiel was grabbing him and pressing his body against the bars. The alpha’s fingers entangled with his hair, and he leaned in to kiss the omega. Dean struggled at first, a small whine escaping his mouth before he gave in and kissed the man back. Castiel slipped his tongue in the omega’s mouth, licking his teeth and he growling in a display of dominance.

He could hear the alphas and betas behind him whistling and commenting, but he couldn’t focus with the alphas tongue in his mouth and hands on his body. Despite the inmates teasing, it was clear to everyone now that Dean was Krushnic property.

Dean almost wanted to continue when the alpha pulled away, taking deep breaths as he tried to regain himself, “Okay…”

“My apologies,” the alpha told him, straightening up as he neared the opened gate. “Now come on, pup, follow me.”

Dean stayed close behind Castiel, following him into a large cafeteria that smelled of food and sweat. Dean turned his nose at the smell. Ever since he was a child he had a sensitive nose, it was part of being an omega.

They got in line with the rest of the inmates, Dean stared at the food in front of them. There was some kind of rice-looking dish and soup, and down the line were some bread rolls. Dean grabbed one of the milks out of it’s case and picked up a tray, holding it in front of the cook just like Castiel had done. She glared at the omega and slapped some food on the platter. He just looked down at his food, avoiding eye contact. You had to be a real hardass if you were a woman working in a facility such as this, and he wouldn’t dare try pissing off the lady in charge of feeding him.

He followed Castiel over to a table. Sitting there was a short, blonde man, he could tell the alpha knew him by the way he shot the man a familiar smile, “Balthazar, this is Dean.”

His eyes lit up, “You’re the other omega! People are already talking about you, kid. Be careful.”

Dean nodded, “Thanks for the heads up, but your cousin here already filled me in on what all the big bad alphas wanna do with me.”

Balthazar took a bite of his food, “I figured he would. Heard you already took dibs, Cassie.” The omega looked to his relative with expectant eyes.

“Just being efficient,” the alpha shot back. He gave Balthazar a glare. “I knew people already had their eyes on him, everyone was so excited to have another omega. They’re probably angry we took him in as a Krushnic.”

Balthazar smirked, “Oh yeah, I’m sure.”

Dean quietly ate his food as he listened to the Krushnics talk. A group of people sat around them, sometimes chiming in to their conversation. It soon became clear to Dean that the large group of alphas were Krushnic recruits as well. They were large, mean looking men with tattoos and frowns but they didn’t seem too threatening when they got to talking.

When he came back from dumping his tray, he shoved Castiel and murmured, “I’m gonna go take a leak.” The alpha nodded, looking over to the closest alpha.

“Dmitri, accompany Dean to the bathroom. I have to discuss something with Balthazar. See that he makes a safe return,” he ordered. The alpha nodded and Dean blushed. He wasn’t sure how he felt about having someone tagging along while he was going pee.

Dmitri lead him to the bathroom and stood next to him as he went, making Dean semi uncomfortable. He almost couldn’t piss with the alpha standing there all brooding and silent.

The bathroom door opened suddenly and Dean heard a loud growl from the man next to him.

“Alistar, what the fuck are you doing here. We have territory for a fucking reason, and the left wing is yours.” Dean zipped his pants up, taking a step back from the men. “You got a death wish or something?”

A couple of alphas followed behind Alistar, and Dmitri growls grew scary.

“Not exactly,” the slimy alpha said with a chuckle. “I want the omega. You give him here and I’ll leave, no force needed.”

Dmitri let out a low laugh, “Not a fucking chance. He’s Castiel’s, back off.”

“Castiel can have him at night,” Alistar dismissed. “They do share a cell, don’t they? Maybe we can make an arrangement,” he flashed a sickeningly yellow smile at the omega.

Why Alistar, of all people, was allowed to disregard the scent blockers rule was beyond Dean. But he could smell the musk of the alpha, a sick arousal spilling into the air. Dean thought he was going to throw up, maybe from the nerves or maybe from the smell, he didn’t know.

He wanted that faint scent of Castiel back, the one that smelled like cinnamon and honey. He wanted to get out of here and go home and never come back and it made his heart hurt when he realized that this is his home now, fighting for the safety of himself and his life every day.

“No,” Dmitri insisted. “I’m giving you one more chance to Back. Off. ”

The two alphas on Alistar’s sides walked up to him and Dmitri threw a punch, his fist connecting with one of their faces. Then, it was an all out fight, and Dean shrugged as his fingers clenched together into a fist. He had fought some people in his day, he could at least help. He threw a couple punches and kicked one of the alpha’s in the balls before his felt Alistar’s cold, clamming arms wrapping around him, his scent engulfing the omega’s senses. This time he couldn’t help but gag.

“Come on now, don’t act like you aren’t excited for a real knot,” Alistar whispered into his eyes. Dean looked over to Dmitri, who was busy taking a boot to the face. Dean flinched at the loud crack of his nose, the alpha shouting in pain.

Dean shook his head and tried to get out of the alpha’s grip, elbowing the man in the chest. The alpha growled, grabbing Dean and pushing him up against the wall.

“It’s a good thing I don’t care either way, then, if you’re gonna be so difficult about it. He punched Dean in the face. Alistar’s hand wrapped around his neck and slammed the omega’s head into the wall a couple times, making him dizzy and sick.

He thanked God when one of his kicks connected with the alpha’s shin, making him take a step back. He could feel blood dripping down his face and matting in his hair but he didn’t care. Alistar grunted when Dean’s foot connected with his stomach.

“You little bitch,” he spat, reaching out. Dean pushed him away, stumbling out of the bathroom. He ran back into the cafeteria, feeling bad for leaving Dmitri back there. He knew he couldn’t have saved him.

He walked with wide eyes back over to Castiel’s group, well aware of the people staring at him. Every time he looked down there was little speckles of blood on the floor.

Balthazar gasped when his eyes landed on Dean, standing up as the omega approached the table. Castiel squinted in confusion and then turned around to see what the omega was looking at.

He growled when he saw the state of Dean.

“What the fuck happened?” He demanded, “Where is Dmitri?” He placed a hand on Dean’s face, examining his injuries.

“Some knothead… Alistar,” Dean said. Balthazar swore under his breath and Castiel let out and inhuman growl. “Dmitri, I don’t know. He had a couple people with him but…”

Castiel nodded, shouting at the alphas behind him in Russian. A guard approached them, eyebrows furrowed at the blood and open wounds on the omega’s face.

“What the hell is going on here,” he demanded.

Dean let out a growl, “How ‘bout none of your fucking business, Peter.”

“Looks like you got into a fight. On your first day? That doesn’t look good for you,” he said, sounding smug.

“Doesn’t look like anything to me,” Balthazar said. “Not sure what you’re talking about. The omega looks fine.”

Castiel smirked, “Indeed, I don’t see anything wrong with him. Why is it that you came over here again?” Peter glared at the both of them scoffing.

“Whether or not I like you, I have to get you to the nurse or something,” Peter said, grabbing Dean’s arm.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m fine, fuckin’ aces. Or at least I was before you walked over here for no reason and started putting your hands all over me,” Dean retorted, following the Krushnics lead.

“What the hell are you lunatics playing at?” Peter asked. “Are you serious right now?”

“Deadly,” Castiel said, tugging Dean away from the beta. He pushed him through the halls, having one of the other guards escort them back up to their cell. Castiel knew this guard, and he seemed to be far less of a dick than Peter. He didn’t ask what happened to the omega’s face, he could probably guess.

When they got back to their cell the guard handed them a mini first aid kit that he had pulled from his belt, “Technically, I’m not supposed to be giving this to you but both of us know you won’t say anything.” Castiel nodded at him with a thanks and the guard left them in the cell alone.

Castiel turned to him, “You okay, pup?” Dean almost laughed at the concern in his voice.

He nodded, “I thought I told you not to call me that.” The omega sighed as he sat down on Castiel’s bed, hoping the alpha didn’t mind.

His body and mind hurt. He had had a terrible first day.

The alpha kneeled in front of him with the opened first aid kit, leaning into the omega’s face with a wet antibacterial cloth.

Dean pushed his hand away, “It’s fine, I can do it.” He was a grown ass man for God’s sake, he could fix up a couple scratches.

The alpha shook his head, “It’s my fault you ended up with these, let me take care of them.”

“Not your fault,” Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s Alistair’s fault because he’s the one who did it.”

“Yeah, well Alistair is my rival, and he took a liking to you mostly because I did. I should have sent more than just Dmitri, I should have gone with you myself,” the alpha assured him. He reached up to Dean’s face again and this time Dean didn’t have the heart to push it away. He hissed as the cloth stung with wounds, huffing when Castiel insisted they put a bandaid on the worst one.

“Dmitri said something about having territory… is that true?” Dean asked. Just how complicated was this mafia thing? “Which family is he apart of?”

“Yes, we divide the prison between the left and right wing. The right is ours, it divides through the cafeteria and Alistair crossed that line. Which is not okay, he will be reprimanded thoroughly for that,” Castiel said with a bite to his voice. Dean wondered why the alpha was so pissed he got hurt, was it about Dmitri? “And to answer your other question, Alistair’s the head of the Aryan Brotherhood. At least, in this prison anyways.”

“He doesn’t look like those other fuckers,” Dean commented.

“Yeah, well, that’s because he doesn’t have to.” Dean nodded. He guessed that was explanation enough. The alpha’s hand reached around the back of his head and he winced as his fingers brushed by the gash there.

“Apologies,” the alpha said. The omega turned his head to let him look at it.

“Need stitches? ‘Cause if you get me some dental floss, a needle, and two mirrors I can probably do it myself,” he smirked at the alpha.

The alpha laughed, “No, no you’re fine.”

Dean didn’t know why he was starting to like the alpha. There was just something about it that appealed to the omega. Maybe it was because the alpha wasn’t as much of a bad person as he had originally thought, or maybe Dean was just doing his best to adapt to the people around him.

Chapter Two

[nike-ravus]

Would you write a fic or a series of headcanons about Maggie and/or Alex in an ABO setting?

Ahh! I have never talked about my ABO headcanons for Maggie. Lol, I probably have a fic idea with every genera for Maggie and some variations on it that no one has ever thought of, but I have one, which is part of a spitball that I love a lot (but will probably never be a fic), so I will share a fragment. (it’s an Astra/Maggie fragment but . . . let’s say Alex gets involved at a later time.)

It is going under a cut, because this is ABO and ABO is mostly filth.

In this verse, Maggie presents as an alpha pretty early in a family that thought female alphas were abominations, defective. She was outed and kicked out, and grew up with her beta aunt, escaping to the city as soon as she could for a better life. She's never been totally comfortable being an alpha because she's short and pretty and tends to overcompensate. She's a fireman in this verse, because whether or not it's a good idea, she is drawn to situations that are mostly knot-measuring contests. Being a female alpha is already pretty queer.

She spends a lot of time in spaces that aren't the normal alpha/omega meat-market clubs, because its easier to find a heat buddy or a hook up with someone who isn't looking for a traditional alpha. These spaces are pretty welcoming for female alphas in general and male alphas looking for male omegas, and even for omegas who like to spend their heats with other omegas. But alphas getting with other alphas, well, it's a little weird. Are you a real alpha? You want to be treated like an omega? No self-respecting alpha would ever take a knot.

This isn't a problem. Maggie admires other alphas, but there's always a dose of jealousy and competition to it. She'd never fuck another alpha. She's not that queer.

Only one night at the club she notices another alpha watching her. Maggie's tense and unsettled by this. The other alpha's scent is strong, she's tall and lithe, easily confident and . . . hot. She's drawing enough attention on her own, and Maggie's like, why the fuck is she looking at me? Is she itching for a fight? Did she not notice that Maggie was an alpha? Is she too small? Maggie doesn't know what to do, but the alpha keeps looking, and Maggie can't not look back.

Maggie is hot and too drunk and it's making her uncomfortable, so she slips out of the main room and finds her way upstairs to the less popular alpha bathroom. She's washing her hands, trying to catch her breath and tell herself that it was nothing and the weird way she's feeling isn't attraction, isn't desire.

Then the alpha steps into the dim room behind her, a shadow in the mirror, moves up behind her and puts her hands on Maggie, cupping her hips. She pushes aside Maggie's hair to press her mouth to the back of her neck. "Is this all right?"

Fuck, yes, it's all right.

Maggie takes in a short sharp breath and lets her head fall back onto the other alpha's shoulder. She's had too much to drink. She feels like she's hallucinating. But the hands on her are so hot and the alpha smells rich and aroused and undeniably alpha, and her mouth is wet and sharp and rough on her shoulder and her neck. She's pressed tight against Maggie's back, on hand gripping her hip, restraining her, the other unfastening Maggie's jeans. Then she has her hand on Maggie's knot, and Maggie is squirming up against her body, already extended and hard, already breathless, and she feels the grin pressed tight against her ear and the hard curve of the other alpha's knot against her back.

The alpha jerks her off, swift and relentless, as if she's known what makes Maggie tick her entire life. Maggie comes gasping and messy and the other alpha is dark eyes and rough panting behind her, and so fucking hard, that Maggie just drops to her knees, and takes her out of her pants and blows her.She's never blown anyone before, but she's gotten enough to know how it's done. But she's never known how it feels--the other alpha's hands tight in her hair, the way she responds to everything Maggie does, her scent so fucking strong that she ought to be overwhelmed, ought to be repulsed, but she just opens her mouth and rubs into it.

She likes it. She likes it so much it's terrifying. She's always been into omegas, but not like this, not wanting to lose herself in fucking them. The way the other alpha moans and fights to keep herself from moving her hips, the sense of power Maggie has here, of control, even on her knees, it's so good. (She never feels powerful with an omega, perhaps because she knows she has the power there, social, biological, and has done nothing to deserve it, so she feels guilty. But here the power is entirely a gift.)

It's good enough that she doesn't realize what it means until the other alpha's come, and Maggie is sitting on her heels, jeans undone, mouth bruised and messy, and there's another alpha with her, who's had her, who's taken things she was never supposed to give an alpha, who's made her want things that she isn't supposed to want. This isn't okay. She can't recover from this. (The shame, someone knowing what she's done is bad enough. But worse is because it was so good. It felt right. It felt like something she needed. And if she needed this, what was she, defective? Again? Fuck.)

The other alpha still has her hands in Maggie's hair, but her grip is soft now, sifting through it as if to tidy her up. She has a smirk on her face which is equal parts hot and terrifying, because Maggie dropped her dignity like a contact on the floor and fuck if she knows how to find it again. But then she's got her hands under Maggie's arms, is lifting her back up onto her feet, gently, even though she's still smirking. She fastens up Maggie's jeans, straightening her shirt, and gives her a pat on the rump.

"You ever taken a knot?" Her voice is low and rougher than it was before.

Maggie shakes her head, jaw set, trying to look stubborn, trying to look like she'd never even consider it. But she was considering it now.

"Let me know if you think you might want to." And then the alpha had taken Maggie's arm and was writing something up the back of it in a sharpie she'd pulled from nowhere, and Maggie couldn't move. It felt like marking, like something she shouldn't--couldn't--allow. But the pen was already being capped before she could pull away, and the alpha was giving her a once-over, toes to head, something like pleased appreciation on her face. Then she was leaning in, catching Maggie's mouth, briefly, gently.

"Thanks," the word was breathed half into her mouth, and then the other alpha was out the door and gone.

Maggie goes home after that. She can't go back to her friends after hooking up with an alpha. At home, in the light, she looks at what's on her arm. It's a phone number and a name. Astra.

She doesn't call. Fuck no. She is not going to call to get bent over something and have another alpha treat her rough. She's not that much of a pervert.

Only, maybe she is that much of a pervert, because she can't stop thinking about it. She wonders what Astra would make her do. She wonders what Astra would let Maggie do to her.

So she texts.

Hey, this is M from ––– Club. Want to meet up?

She has over an hour of bitter regret and self-recrimination before she hears a response.

Sure. Free at 4 on Tuesday? Meet at [Pinned Address: 450 Vaylan Drive]?

Maggie paces around in circles, checks her calendar. She doesn't have a shift on Tuesday. Why can't she be scheduled for a shift on Tuesday? Why does this alpha want to meet up so early? Will it take all evening? How difficult is it to knot another alpha? Is there a lot of prep work? And did she just give out her address? Like it was no big deal? And it was just an address. No public meet up first to see if they still found each other attractive while not drunk? Just a hook up? Walking in and getting fucked like she wasn't even a person? Maggie would never do that to an omega, though she knew some people would. It was disgusting.

Maggie replied Ok., then panicked and packed up her entire inventory of lube and condoms. She'd arranged hookups and heat-buddy meet ups and stuff like this before. But it didn't feel like she'd done anything like this before. It wasn't with an alpha. Was this how omegas felt? Was that what this was? Unsafe but also excited, riding the edge of enthusiasm and panic? It really sucked. Why wouldn't alphas talk more, so she could actually know what sort of person she was going to see?

Fuck this. She nearly cancelled five times.

450 Vaylan Drive was a coffee shop. Maggie strolled right past it the first time, expecting brownstones. The second time she strolled by again because fuck fuck fuck, Astra was sitting at a table outside, long legs stretched out, looking super hot and casual. The third time, Maggie knew she'd been spotted and gave in, sauntering over to sit down across from her.

Astra gave her that smirk again, as if she'd won, and Maggie glared.

"What are you drinking?"

The words didn't make sense. Maggie frowned. Then slowly, slowly, she started to put things together. "Um, just black, thanks."

Astra was up, off, and Maggie stared after her, not quite sure what the vibe was that she was getting from this. Astra was back in a minute, with hot coffee, and handed it down, oddly gently. Then Astra was in the chair opposite, knees spread wide, elbows wide also. "So, M," she said. "Am I getting a name this time? What do you do?"

The vibe solidified. This wasn't a hook up. This was a date.

Maggie glanced around, unsure if she should be worried that people would notice, that they would be confused or grossed out by two alphas on a date. But no one really was looking.  Only Astra was watching her, still sly and a little lazy smirk teasing her mouth, watching her as if she half wanted to eat her up. But the other half wanted to hear what she had to say. Maggie took a sip of coffee. It was good. She let out the breath she'd been holding. "I'm Maggie," she said.

Astra's smile widened.

I'm fucked.

[thebarsondaily]

A Perfect Christmas

for @barsonaddict

Title: A Perfect Christmas Author: CUtopia (roseinutopia) Rating: T for some minor language Summary: Olivia and Rafael’s first Christmas as a couple, as a family, comes up and they’re looking forward to celebrating it quietly. Naturally, Lucia Barba has other plans for her grown family, and throws everything upside down. - Barson family, Barba family and the squad (with Mike Dodds because he isn’t dead!) A/N: A big thank you to thebarsondaily for betaing this fic. It definitely got out of hand, I promise I didn’t plan to write 8,7k words on this and submit last minute. Ugh.

Hey barsonaddict, surprise XD I hope you like your present, I had a hard time keeping quiet about it

Winter had been a little shy, but December brought a biting cold to New York City, and with it, the snow came, to Noah Porter Benson’s delight. Soft flakes floated from the low-hanging grey clouds endlessly, covering the city with a thick, white blanket inviting kids to play in the parks that had become a true winter wonderland, untouched havens in the middle of the concrete towers. Until the very last light of the day had faded, the gleeful laughter of snow-covered children would fill the air at the parks. Tiny, excited voices told the parents and babysitters about the snowmen they’d built when the adults had finally managed to coax the kids away from the fun with the promise of hot chocolate.

Usually, Rafael Barba would hurry past the park, maybe his phone pressed to his ear, his mind too occupied with work or the desire to get home and out of the cold to notice the children, or even the beautiful fairy lights that seemed to hang in every single tree. Unaware of how their warm light broke the cold, the darkness, he would have walked home, not even knowing that he’d missed a beautiful sight.

How times had changed.

Today, he was in the middle of the string of parents and children, holding Noah’s hand as his cousin Delfia and them lingered a moment longer to look at the lights, their cheeks pink from the cold. He was feeling more relaxed than ever, no restlessness coming over him as he stood still, admiring the lights before glancing down at the little boy next to him. Noah’s eyes were gleaming in wonder as the lights reflected in them, and he seemed to hold on to Rafael’s hand a little tighter, smiling. Fia had a smirk on her lips, even visible while a thick scarf covered most of her face to prevent her from getting a cold; he’d known her since the day she was born, he could just tell.

“What is it?” he asked dryly, and the younger woman shrugged, a light chuckle coming from behind the scarf.

“It’s just adorable how domestic you’re being, Rafi, that’s all. Suits you, really. You might just spend a Christmas without being a Grinch.”

“You were a Grinch, Rafa?” Noah asks in shock, almost losing his woolen hat – knitted by Lucia – when his head snapped up. “Why? Don’t you like Christmas?”

Fia leaned down to pull Noah’s hat back down over his ears while Rafael shot her a glare - the last he wanted was for the Christmas enthusiast Noah to think that he disliked the holiday.

“I do like Christmas, amigo. I really do. I was just… really lonely the last years, you know? Fia was dancing in Chicago and the evenings with Abuela were very quiet. So I wasn’t really looking forward to Christmas. When you’re lonely, you sometimes dislike things just because you have nobody to share moments with.”

Noah, ever the sensitive and smart boy, stopped to think about Rafael’s words for a moment, then smiled. “So you’re really the Grinch, Rafa! The Grinch only hated Christmas because he was lonely! Like you!” he exclaimed, obviously proud of his deduction, and Fia laughed lightly while Rafael frowned.

“Don’t worry, Rafa, now you’re not alone anymore!” Noah added, leaning against his leg. “You have Mama and me and Abuela and Fia! You’ll never be alone again!”

“Awww, stop being so adorable, pequeñajo!” Fia cooed, giving Rafael the time to gather himself - Noah’s words had hit him hard, though not in a bad way. The thought that he was being loved, that he had a family now, people that cared about him… and that Noah adored him, even though he’d been kind of awkward around him in the beginning… It made his heart feel heavy, because he didn’t know how he’d been able to live without this pure love the boy was giving him. Or without Olivia and her miraculous ability to make him feel like he was a better man than before they’d met.

“I’m happy about that, mijo,” Rafael said, more to himself than to Noah and Fia; Fia gave him a soft smile before taking Noah’s hands.

“Come on, boys, let’s go home. Your Mama will be home soon, and I got a bad feeling about having left your Abuela alone at your place.”

Confusion wrinkled Rafael’s forehead, and he sent her a questioning glance. “Why? She’s only cooking dinner.”

“I don’t know, call it what you want, I feel like it wasn’t a good idea,” Fia replied with a shrug as they started their short walk home, looking forward to getting out of the wet clothes. “She’s been weirdly silent about Christmas, and that just can’t be a good sign.”

“You haven’t been home for Christmas for a few years, Mamí really isn’t making a big deal out of it. A nice dinner, a few quiet hours together, done. You’re imagining things, seriously.”

Biting her bottom lip, Fia didn’t pursue the topic any further, though she still couldn’t shake off the feeling that Rafael was way too optimistic about his mother. Lucia Barba’s main trait was that she was unpredictable and could come up with ideas when you least expected it. But maybe Rafael was right, and she was worrying too much.

By coincidence, Olivia was just coming home when they arrived in front of her apartment building. Noah didn’t waste time to tell his mother about the giant snowman they’d built together – at least to Noah it had been giant, as it was taller than him, but neither Rafael nor Fia corrected his story. Olivia listened to her son with a soft smile on her lips, only taking her attention off him briefly to kiss Rafael.

A little later, in the elevator, she sent Fia a smirk. “Thank you for having an eye on them on your day off. Did they behave?”

Fia chuckled lightly as she pulled her scarf and hat off. “Noah was on his best behaviour, like always. Only Rafi checked his emails once or twice. I guess we won’t be able to get that out of him. But for a day off it was respectable, really!”

Rafael chose to ignore their teasing, concentrating on Noah who seemed to think that Rafael needed a refresher on Santa and everything about Christmas now that he was leaving his ‘Grinch-hood’ behind him. Chatting happily, the little group got off the elevator and Olivia unlocked the door for them, only to stop on the threshold and wonder if they’d gotten into the wrong place. She couldn’t remember her apartment looking like this when she’d left it this morning. Behind her, she could hear Fia cursing in Spanish and Rafael gasp, so shocked that he even failed to scold his cousin for having a foul mouth in front of Noah.

It was as if a shop for the most kitschy Christmas decorations had exploded, resulting in one of the most tasteless arrangements of overcompensating decorations that Liv had ever seen.

“Didn’t you say Lucia isn’t into Christmas that much, Rafi?” she hissed under her breath, turning her head to glare at her boyfriend, who was staring at the garish spectacle with wide eyes. The giant singing plastic angel next to their shoe rack had effectively rendered him speechless. Fia was blinking rapidly as if she hoped that the copious amounts of ornaments with photos of the family printed on them dangling from the false pine branches hanging over the doorways were just a weird hallucination.

Only Noah seemed less skeptic about all the glitter and kitsch and skipped through the hallway when Lucia stepped out of the kitchen with a satisfied grin. “Hey ninõ, did you have fun in the park today? I cooked us quesadillas!”

She hugged the little boy and pressed a kiss to his brown locks, smirking at the three adults still standing in the doorway, shocked and unmoving. “Now, what do you say about my decorations? I decided that after the last years without any we should make a little more effort. For Noah, you know?”

Olivia forced out a polite smile, still not having gotten used to opposing Lucia – she didn’t know how Fia and, sometimes, Rafael did it, she definitely wasn’t brave enough for that – while Rafael made a weird noise. Noah was too busy exploring the other rooms to really react, and so the only real opposition came from Fia. “Horrible.”

Lucia shot her niece a glare, a scene that had taken place between them so many times that nobody really paid attention anymore and neither of the protagonists really cared about it all.

“Now, come in, take your jackets off, dinner is ready,” Lucia ordered resolutely and turned back towards the kitchen, heavenly smells now reaching everyone’s nostrils, and everyone’s shock started to fade a little at the promise of her delicious food.

-

A little later, they were seated at the table, Olivia and Rafael chatting about workplace gossip while Noah tried to eat his weight in quesadillas. Fia was trying to ignore her aunt’s complaints about the little amount of food she was eating and felt relief rush through her when Lucia’s focus shifted abruptly.

“Now, I’m sure you’ve all noticed the decorations…” Fia bit her bottom lip so hard that she almost drew blood to keep herself from saying something- “… and I guess I should tell you the reason for them. I thought it would be nice for us to celebrate Christmas traditionally, as a family. It’s the first year we’re all together, and Liv, Rafi, it’s your first Christmas together, so we should make it special, yes?”

Fia frowned and Rafael could tell that she wished she had a show on Christmas Eve to avoid all the hustle and bustle they knew Lucia would definitely go for. Olivia kept her expression neutral, not really sure what to expect from such a decision – and it was a decision, Lucia definitely wouldn’t leave them a choice – and Noah had a big smile on his cheese-covered face. Having a full house probably sounded amazing to him, considering that he only knew how it was to spend Christmas alone with his mother and his expression killed the last bit of resistance. “As long as it’s not over the top,” Rafael said weakly, glancing at the huge advent calendar occupying the wall next to the dining table, and he knew that his words would go unheard. Lucia was already having a serious case of Christmas fever, and everyone at the table knew that they had no other choice than to play along. She was over the moon at the thought of a big family Christmas, and there Rafael and Olivia had thought that they were excited about their first holiday together.

It had been a long way to this point, to taking the leap, with many dates and long talks about what-ifs, fears and hopes slowly building the base of their new relationship.

Their eyes met, and Olivia shrugged subtly while giving him a soft smile, as if to say “Let her have her fun.” while Lucia talked about big dinners, rituals and who knew what.

“And then I remembered how much your squad is like your family and I thought maybe we could have a little Christmas party with your colleagues, Olivia. And Rafi, you could invite Rita and Carmen, of course.”

Olivia and Rafael both froze and Fia raised an eyebrow; tension suddenly built up inside the room, and Rafael sat a little straighter, clearing his throat slowly while obviously carefully calculating his next words. “You still remember that we haven’t told anyone but Rita yet, right?”

Lucia waved dismissively, rolling her eyes dramatically. “I don’t understand this hide and seek game. It’s ridiculous.”

“Lucia, Rafael and I agreed to take small steps for the sake of our careers-”

“Your bosses approved, you said, no?” Lucia interrupted her in an annoyed tone, and Rafael’s expression darkened. Of course Chief Dodds and the DA had been informed about their relationship right after they’d decided that they were ready to take the leap, and the two had indeed approved - though with a warning. They’d acknowledged that they’d known that this had been bound to happen, but if they let their personal life interfere with their jobs, they would have to bear the consequences.

And this very serious warning had led to Olivia and Rafael deciding to limit the number of people that knew about the change in their relationship for now until the biggest part of the transition was over. Of course Noah had known from the start, so had Lucy, and Rafael had told his mother and Fia about them because Lucia would have killed him if he hadn’t, and Fia was the person he’d genuinely wanted to share his new happiness with.

To their surprise, it had been easier to hide their love than they’d expected; the change in their relationship ultimately wasn’t as big as they’d anticipated, making them realise how close they’d already been the whole time. They refrained from more than their usual touches and private moments at work, and they found that they liked having their little secret, their new relationship safely resting in a small cocoon.

Well, once they’d slipped, though. Carmen had been away to get lunch, and Olivia and Rafael had used the opportunity to snog on the couch in his office, letting themselves be carried away by the moment. Of course Rita had walked in in that exact moment, cursing like a sailor about the scene before grumbling a “Finally" and marching out again.

Luckily, that remained the only revelation, and, surprisingly, the only close call, too. While they probably suspected something - they seemed to have since Barba had started to work with them regularly – Liv’s squad never got a confirmation about their theories.

And naturally, Lucia disapproved.

She didn’t understand - didn’t even try, which was so like her - why they would want to keep their happiness from the people they worked with every day and who they considered family. If they would let her, she would shout it from the rooftops that her son, the notoric bachelor and workaholic, had finally found his true love and that her niece, the notoric bachelorette and workaholic – Lucia suspected it ran in the family – would be next. Lucia wanted everyone to know, to make everyone jealous with beautiful family photos and big wedding invitations and “We’re having a baby" announcements because her friends had been showing just these to her for literal decades. Late revenge was better than no revenge - a Lucia-ism.

And this led to the phrase she’d hauled at Rafael and Olivia since even before the day they’d gotten together: “Stop the hiding!”

“Mamí…”

“Just imagine how sad and disappointed they would be if they realised you kept this good news from them even during the family holiday!” Lucia argued, though all the adults in the room knew that this was about her, Lucia, and no one else. Noah only knew he wanted another quesadilla, and with all the adults so conveniently distracted, no one could stop him from getting himself another to stuff himself.

“Tía, just leave them the fuck alone. It’s their choice, you can’t force them to change it just because you want to send out ugly forced Christmas cards,” Fia said, trying to support Olivia and Rafael, which of course caused Lucia to glare at her.

“Language, Delfia!”

“Seriously, Tía…”

“Your first Christmas back home, and you’re not bringing a man…”

“Mamí, enough!” Rafael grumbled, loud enough for Noah to look up in surprise, and this reaction finally stopped Lucia. The last thing she wanted was for Noah to witness his family fighting with each other.

“We’ll discuss this after Noah is in bed,” she said with a forced smile, sitting a little straighter and reaching out to ruffle Noah’s curls.

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Rafael stated firmly while Olivia touched his hand under the table, gently squeezing his fingers to calm him. The expression on Lucia’s face told him that she wouldn’t miss the opportunity to try and open this topic again, but for now she stopped, to everyone’s relief. Slowly, the tension left the room again, and Rafael saw Fia release a breath.

Luckily for everyone, Lucia had to leave early, called away by a friend who had an emergency, and before Fia left the three swore that they would keep their eyes open concerning Lucia and her determination to have the perfect Christmas.

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” Olivia said with an optimistic smile as Fia hugged them goodbye, and Fia and Rafael could only smile weakly, knowing that her hopes wouldn’t be fulfilled.

OoO

For a few days, it was surprisingly quiet.

Lucia didn’t text anyone of her family more than the average, only called once or twice to ask if she should pick Noah up from preschool, and didn’t mention Christmas apart from presents for Noah.

And that made Rafael horribly uneasy.

Maybe Fia had been right.

Olivia thought that he was being unreasonably paranoid, despite having learned by now that Rafael and Fia rarely exaggerated when it came to Lucia. Over the last days she’d subtly removed the most garish components of what had Lucia called decoration and thrown them into the trash with huge satisfaction, discovering hilarious things again and again. Yet she thought that maybe Lucia only had done this to make fun of them and that her actual Christmas plans were harmless.

The day Rafael could call her a sweet summer child and have her agree with him arrived quicker than anybody had anticipated.

A mere week after that dinner that had aroused the discussion about the secret of their relationship, Olivia and Rafael were sitting in Rafael’s office, going through trial preparations when Rafael’s phone suddenly started vibrating.

Once, twice.

Followed by that were so many vibrations that the device moved over the smooth surface of the coffee table towards the edge, and he hurried to grip it, cursing under his breath. While he unlocked his phone, the vibrations stopped with one last message popping up on the screen: Tell me what you think, mijo.

Rafael raised an eyebrow and opened the messenger, groaning when a dozen pictures started loading; Olivia leaned in to glance at the screen too when Rafael grumbled: “Mamí, what the fuck…”

The heap of pictures turned out to be screenshots of recipes, and with messages in between, Lucia had combined them to five course menus, one more complicated than the other. “Does she seriously plan to-,” Olivia started, her eyebrow now cocked too, but before she could finish the sentence her phone started vibrating violently as well, and another dozen messages flooded Rafael’s phone once more.

Mamí: Thought it would be more convenient to have us all in one group so everyone can see the suggestions and tell me what they think.

A few more pictures arrived in the newly created group “Christmas Dinner” that Lucia had added Rafael, Olivia and Fia to, and Rafael shot Olivia a glance. “You still convinced she won’t make a big deal out of this?”

Frowning, she shifted a little on the couch. “Well… maybe she’s just excited and it will go away soon?”

“You’re being naive again, Livy. She’s well past that point by now, unfortunately. We’ll have the most bourgeois Christmas she can think of.”

Mamí: Hey, I found these sweet Christmas tree decorations! They would be ideal for our tree!

Another half dozen of pictures flooded the group and Olivia made an undefinable noise as she hurried to mute the group.

Mamí: Have you looked at the menu suggestions already?

Mamí: Hello?

Mamí: Are you ignoring me?

Mamí: Rafael Felipe Barba! Delfia Ysabel Rodriguez! Stop that! Olivia!

Rafael almost growled at that and did the same as Olivia before texting: We’re working, Mamí!

“It’s a wonder I haven’t lost my mind yet, seriously.”

Mijo, are you sure you should be on the phone during work?

“Family,” he grumbled and put his phone down after turning off the vibration, just in case. “Sometimes I feel like she’s doing this on purpose because it seems so impossible for her not to be aware of her behaviour. But then I also don’t want to think that she would terrorise us like this knowingly.”

Shrugging, Olivia took her coffee cup from the table and sipped a few times. “Your mother is a… well… very special woman. But that’s her charm, isn’t it? Being a little eccentric, dramatic, temperamental and opinionated? I know two someones who are a little bit like her.”

A giggle broke out of her when Rafael gasped in playful shock, his palm coming up to rest on his chest while he cried: “Are you implying that I’m like my mother, Olivia?”

“It’s not my problem how you interpret my words, Rafi,” she replied with a wink, putting her coffee down and grabbing the file she’d been reading earlier. “Now, let’s get some work done. I got plans for you and me tonight, and I don’t want them to be ruined by work.”

Her suggestive smirk on her lips made Rafael sit up straighter and effectively wiped all thought of his mother from his mind.

Lucia’s Christmas stuff could wait – he had something way more important at his hands right now.

OoO

Of course Lucia didn’t take it well that nobody answered more than half-heartedly to her suggestions. Fia and Rafael had genuinely tried to express their opinions, but nothing had been carefully formulated enough to please Lucia, and so they’d chosen to simply stay silent, leaving dozens of recipes and miscellaneous Christmas ideas uncommented.

Of the repercussions they should have thought of, but neither did, and so it wasn’t surprising that Rafael wasn’t prepared at all.

But underestimating his mother wasn’t new to him, as she always managed to top herself.

-

His tongue stuck between his lips, Rafael scribbled down the last key points of the cross-examination he would have today. With Rita as his opponent, it was never easy, but he knew that he had all the evidence he needed to win this trial, so his nerves were calm. As long as he wasn’t interrupted during his preparations, everything was fine, and he would bring his top game…

Suddenly, the door to his office was ripped open, and with a dramatic whirl of her coat that almost seemed practiced, Lucia Barba marched into her son’s office. A flabbergasted Carmen was right at her heels, not happy about having been unable to fulfill her duty by keeping Rafael’s preparations uninterrupted. Knowing that it was impossible to talk his mother out of something, Rafael gave his assistant a nod to signal her that it was alright.

“Mamí, what can I do for you?” he asked with a heavy sigh, putting his pen down as the amazing closing sentence he’d just thought of slipped from his mind.

Lucia crossed her arms in front of her chest, shooting him an accusing glare. “As no one has responded to any of my suggestions yet, I thought I would drop by and tell you about another idea in person so I’ll finally get a response!”

“Mamí…”

Her raised index finger stopped him, and Rafael closed his mouth again. “Rafael, as this is our first Christmas with the family reunited, I would like us to go to a photographer and have a nice Christmas portrait shoot done. Imagine how nice it’ll be, pictures of Olivia, Noah and you. And Noah and Delfia! I’m sure she would like having these pictures, too! Oh, don’t make such a face, Rafael!”

“Is that really necessary? You know how much I hate these staged pictures,” Rafael asked with a sigh, inwardly shuddering at the thought of his mother forcing everyone into their best clothes to have them fake smile for awkward Christmas card photos. Only over his dead, rotting body. “Mamí, no.”

His desk couldn’t shield him from the evil glare that Lucia shot at him, and Rafael was unable to describe his relief as the door suddenly opened again.

“Rafael, we gonna be late for court. Oh, hey Lucia.”

Rita smirked as if she knew exactly that she’d just kept Lucia Barba from roasting her son, but being ridiculed by Rita was something Rafael would choose over his mother’s ranting any time. At least Rita didn’t try to force him to put on ugly Christmas sweaters.

Taking the opportunity, Rafael jumped from his chair and grabbed his notes, nodding maybe a little too enthusiastically. “Yes, court. We better hurry! See you, Mamí.”

While striding past her, Rafael pecked a kiss on Lucia’s cheek, almost convinced for a second that she would pull back.

“What did you do this time?” Rita asked, her smirk widening impossibly as they walked towards the elevators – of course, she would mention it.

“Mamí wants to have family pictures taken.”

To her credit, Rita seriously tried not to laugh, but only a few seconds later she was snorting, causing him to roll his eyes. “Seriously? With sweaters and smiles and kitschy decorations?”

Him pressing his lips together was answer enough, and she laughed even louder this time. “Gonna have to ask her to send me a few so I can tease you with them forever!”

“I’ll tell her, along with the fact that you’re planning to spend Christmas alone,” he shot back smoothly; Rita’s laughter stopped abruptly and for the second – third if you counted the gaze Noah threw him this morning when he burned his first pancake – time on this day Rafael found himself at the receiving end of a nasty glare.

“Marilyn is taking the girls skiing. That’s the only reason. And I won’t be alone; I got Giorgio.”

Rita held her head high during her stiff answer, trying to appear like it didn’t bother her; Rafael knew that once Christmas had arrived, she would feel less of that ‘lone wolf and proud of it’ attitude. “Also you do remember I’m technically Jewish, right? No Christmas here.”

“You’ve never celebrated Hanukkah once since we met.”

“Still,” she threw back weakly, then straightened herself. “Please don’t tell Lucia, Rafi. She would make my life hell.”

“Are you begging?” Rafael’s green eyes sparkled in amusement, and he couldn’t keep himself from teasing her a little. He knew she could take it. “It must have been at least ten years since you did that. Where’s my calendar?”

Of course she wasn’t finding it funny, but still the corners of her mouth twitched slightly while she mumbled: “Oh, shut the fuck up.”

“Don’t worry; I won’t talk. But I can’t promise she won’t find out on her own. She’s sneaky, you know that.”

Rita shrugged, not particularly impressed by that. “The worst that could happen would be to be roped into your family Christmas.”

“You realise you’ll have to wear an ugly sweater too?”

“Shoot me.”

OoO

For a few days, Lucia seemed to be moping about her son’s harsh dismissal of her family photo idea, as she didn’t send any texts at all. To Rafael, it was obvious that she was trying to make them feel guilty for denying her the full package of Christmas joy, but he was way too used to her ways to fall for it. So was Fia, and Noah, of course, was being excluded from the guilt-tripping, but it seemed to get to Olivia.

“Maybe we should do it. This one time, for her. I mean, she hasn’t had a real Christmas in… how long?” she said carefully when Rafael visited her in her office to talk about a case. And to steal some kisses, but her suggestion ruined the mood a little.

“Liv… no! You’re letting her get to you, and that’s exactly what she wants!”

He ran a hand over his face, shaking his head while standing up from the couch. Turning, he faced her and was just about to unpack his best pleading expression when something in the squad room caught his attention. The detectives present were all moving towards the conference table in the corner with interest.

“Your squad would tell you if there was a breakthrough in the case, right?”

Olivia shot him a confused glance, gazing over her shoulder and raising her eyebrow when their eyes met again. “Yeah… maybe someone’s showing off baby pictures,” she answered with a shrug.

A frown contorted his face, and then Fin stepped to the side – Rafael needed to blink several times to believe what he was seeing.

Lucia Barba was standing by the conference table with a big basket full of boxes, smiling and laughing as she greeted Liv’s coworkers.

“Oh no… oooh no! What is she doing here?”

The slightly hysterical undertone in his voice made Olivia turn around in confusion; a second later, her eyes widened too. “What the hell?”

“Finally we have the same opinion!” Rafael exclaimed as they both hurried out of Olivia’s office, needing a few moments to realise that they had to act as normally as possible despite the dangerously real horror of their relationship being exposed.

By the time they reached the group of detectives, Lucia had spread the boxes on the table and opened some, revealing half a dozen different kinds of Christmas cookies. Of course this lifted the mood in the squad room immediately – soul food was always welcome with cops, especially when it was a surprise. Noises of delight swallowed the sound of Rafael clearing his throat and gave him a moment to think of a strategy. “Mamí… hello! I thought you would come later, you should have called! But now that you’re here…here, this is Lieutenant Olivia Benson…”

Lucia rolled her eyes when he formally introduced his mother to Olivia and then the rest of the squad, but to his relief, she played along. “How nice to finally meet you. I must admit that I’ve been pestering my son for quite some time so he would give in! I hope you’ll enjoy my cookies.”

“Thank you very much, Ma’am, they’ll be greatly appreciated,” Mike said with a polite smile that made Lucia beam.

“Oh, it’s my pleasure, Michael, really! If you run out, don’t hesitate to tell me, and I’ll bake more!”

Fin made an approving noise while munching a chocolate cookie and Amanda grumbled something about having to go to the gym more often.

“Why don’t I show you my office?” Olivia asked with a smile, but Rafael could hear the dangerous tone in her voice, the one that made clear that the person it was directed at was in big trouble.

“Oh, but I just wanted to…”

“Come  on, Mamí. Lieutenant Benson is a busy woman, and you don’t want to steal her time, do you?” Rafael said, placing a hand on his mother’s back to guide her towards Olivia’s office with gentle force, all the while keeping up the smiles for the others. He knew he probably wasn’t able to deceive a room full of trained investigators, but for the moment, he was only interested in damage control. Also the cookies would hopefully keep them busy for some time.

The moment Liv had closed the door behind them, he lost most of his composure. “What the hell are you doing here, Mamí?!”

His voice was quivering with rage while he managed to keep the smile on his face – he probably was looking like a maniac.

“Well, isn’t that obvious? I’m bringing you and your colleagues Christmas cookies!” Lucia replied in the tone she usually used when she was trying to simplify an explanation about grown-up’s business for Noah.

“Yes, but why?! You know the squad doesn’t know about Olivia and me! They’ll never believe you’re here because you just wanted to get to know some people! Hell, we told you a thousand times that we’ll tell them about us when we think it’s the right time!”

“I just tried to make your day a little bit nicer, your jobs aren’t the easiest,” Lucia replied defiantly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “It hurts that you can’t appreciate that, Rafael.”

Olivia pinched the bridge of her nose to fight an oncoming headache and she was fighting hard to remain calm as she said: “You’re not dumb, Lucia, you know exactly how this could look to our colleagues. The ADA’s mother dropping off cookies out of nowhere? Fishy. You’re deliberately trying to expose us just because you think that we should stop hiding.”

The word “selfish” was hanging in the air heavily even though it hadn’t been said out loud yet, and the tension between the three would have made any third party in the room squirmy.

Eventually, to everyone’s surprise, Lucia stopped the glaring contest that had started and sighed heavily. “Fine. I won’t do that again. Everything at your pace.”

Rafael cocked an eyebrow in suspicion – he could count the occasions on which his mother had actually given in on one hand – but Olivia smiled at the other woman in relief. “Thank you, Lucia. Really, I appreciate that.”

“Promise it,” Rafael grumbled; and Lucia rolled her eyes about her son’s childishness.

“I promise. You happy now?”

“Yes,” was the short reply, though a glare was still directed at her, and Lucia decided to ignore it.

“Now, Olivia, your colleagues are very sympathetic. I’m looking forward to getting to know them more closely!”

Olivia glanced over her shoulder, smiling softly as she watched for a moment how everyone got themselves a coffee or tea and gathered around the table, tasting all the cookies that were laid out. Fin was obviously telling a joke, making everyone laugh, and Olivia felt warmth rise inside her.

“Yes, they’re amazing, aren’t they?” she said quietly, more to herself than to anyone else in the room.

“By the way… Michael… is he single?” Lucia asked with an interested face after a moment of silence, almost smirking, and Rafael audibly gasped while Olivia tried to suppress a chuckle.

“He is, but isn’t Mike a little too young for you?”

“Oh, I’m not asking for myself.”

Lucia’s smirk now broke out full force complete with mischief, making it obvious that a plan was forming in her head. Rafael managed to overcome his shock, though lacking his usual suave, as he blurted out hecticly: “He was engaged and she broke it off, so he probably is a shit person to be in a relationship with! Also Fia is going to kill you if you try and set her up again.”

A roll of her eyes and a dismissive wave followed, expressing Lucia’s lack of interest. “The girl is too sensitive sometimes.”

“No, she’s just tired of your…”

“Why don’t we meet tonight for dinner? After Noah is in bed, we can wrap his Christmas presents together,” Olivia interjected skillfully, and the mention of Noah effectively pushed Lucia into her Abuela-mode, making her forget about what Rafael had been about to say.

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea. And then we can have a quick phone call with Delfia about our Christmas menu; you guys still haven’t decided! I need to plan! Oh, I better get going, I need to pick up one of Delfia’s presents.”

OoO

Olivia had to admit that after Lucia’s little stunt at the precinct, she’d finally lost her trust in the elder lady’s good intentions. Lucia Barba was on a mission, the mission to organise the perfect family Christmas, and nothing would stop her. Rafael had only muttered a “Told you" while Fia had shrugged and said that it must have been nice to have that illusion.

Only after another serious conversation with Lucia – and some barely concealed threats – had she been able to trust that Lucia wouldn’t show up at the precinct again. It was almost a miracle that the squad hadn’t caught on to what was going on that day – or Olivia was unable to see that her detectives were lying. But then Carisi was unable not to freak out in joy when something like this happened, a trait that had developed as his consummation of trashy reality TV had risen. Olivia guessed that they were safe for another few weeks if Lucia didn’t reinforce her idea of a big Christmas party. And as it looked like they had that under control, she allowed herself to relax.

Nothing could wrong now.

At least that was what she was thinking to herself as she ate a cookie and continued to type out a report for Chief Dodds, knowing he would have her head if she didn’t get it finished before the holidays.

A second later, that dream castle already collapsed again.

First, she only heard a “Can I help you, Ma’am?” from Dodds, which didn’t really get her attention, but then a familiar voice exclaimed: “Liv, I’m going to kill her!”

Only a moment later, Fia stormed into Olivia’s office with Noah, whom she’d obviously just picked up from preschool. “Liv, we need to get rid of her or Christmas will be hell!”

Olivia’s stomach sank and she sighed, standing up and rounding her desk to give her son a kiss. “Hey baby, why don’t you go say hello to Amanda and the others, hm? Fia and I have to talk. Maybe Jesse has time for a playdate soon?”

The mention of his best friend wiped the confused expression off the little boy’s face and he nodded, skipping out of her office after giving his Mama a sloppy kiss.

Amanda and Carisi had been lingering dangerously close to the office door, but now that Noah came towards them, they were unable to hold their position. With a short, satisfied grin Olivia shut the office door and turned to Fia – surely she would manage to find a good explanation for this, too.

“What happened, Fia?” she asked calmly while the younger woman paced the office like a caged lion. Her temperament was barely controllable sometimes and Liv knew better than to ask the young woman to calm down.

“Lucia!”

“I could tell so much. What did she do this time?”

Fia ran her fingers through her dark curls with an annoyed noise, needing a few deep breaths before she managed to answer. “She showed up at work and started telling me about how lovely she would find it if I brought someone home for Christmas and if I want her to help me find someone!”

Olivia blinked  a few times, confused by Fia’s story. “But doesn’t she do that every time you see each other?”

“Yes. But have you read the Ledger yet today?! She entered an ad on the dating page in my name! ‘Beautiful ballet dancer searching for a merry man to take home for Christmas’! I’m going to kill her if someone answers that fucking ad! I guess I can be glad she didn’t give out my phone number!”

Of all the things Olivia had thought of that could have happened that made Fia so furious, this was the one she’d expected least. Lucia obviously was capable of a lot of things, but until now she hadn’t thought she would seriously try to meddle around in her niece’s life like this.

“She doesn’t respect me, or how I want to live my life! When I told her I wouldn’t react if someone answered the ad she started getting all whiny! And then she asked if I would ever give her grandchildren, and that maybe I should stop being so selfish all the time.”

“I’m so sorry, Fia… I honestly don’t know what to say to this. Or how to get her to stop this. But I’ll support you if you want to do something about this.”

Fia released a breath in frustration, shaking her head in resignation. “I don’t know what to do, that’s the problem. I’ve tried everything already, but nothing works. Not even in Chicago was I safe from her. Maybe I should just do what she wants, date someone so I’ll have my peace.”

“You know that that wouldn’t make you happy,” Olivia said gently, touching Fia’s shoulder encouragingly. “If you want to date someone then do it, but don’t force yourself into something. You and I both know that that wouldn’t satisfy her for long. Rafael and I probably are a few weeks away from being asked about when our wedding takes place. It never stops.”

-

Mike watched with a smile as Noah inspected his golden Sergeant badge, eyes wide in awe. “You like it, Noah?”

“Yes! I wanna be a cop, like Mama,” Noah replied proudly, beaming up at Mike while Amanda came over with a box of Lucia’s cookies.

“Tell me, Noah, isn’t Lucy your babysitter anymore?” she asked curiously, dying to hear who that young woman in Olivia’s office was. She seemed vaguely familiar, but Amanda was unable to put her finger on it.

Noah took a cookie with his free hand, frowning in confusion. “Lucy still is my nanny, but she has school today! Why?”

“Oh, I’m just surprised, buddy. Who’s your friend over there?”

Mike sat up a little straighter as his gaze wandered over to Liv’s office and he had to admit to himself that he was just as curious about that. Though more because he found the woman fascinating, from the moment she’d entered the squad room and he’d noticed her mesmerising beauty. She was gesturing sharply, her dark eyes sparkling with passion and untamable temperament and fire and he had to watch out so he wouldn’t stare at her.

It was Amanda’s undeniable advantage that children were the biggest security leak that could possibly exist and that Noah, of course, didn’t know about his parent’s wish to keep the secret of their relationship. Even if they would have told him about it, he probably wouldn’t have understood anyway.

“Fia is Papí’s cousin! But she’s not a Baba like Papí and Abuela,” he replied enthusiastically, his smile full of love and adoration, proof of how much he liked his new family.

For a moment, it was completely silent in the squadroom and everyone was staring at Noah in shock, the boy obliviously nibbling his cookie. He didn’t know what kind of bomb he’d just dropped, and the squad had of course always suspected that something was going on between their Lieutenant and the ADA. Yet they hadn’t expected that they’d be blind to it actually happening right in front of their eyes for a time frame long enough to get Noah used to Barba enough to make him call the man Papí.

Fin was the first to find his voice again, shaking his head in something that could be disbelief. “Those sneaky little…”

Amanda shot him a glare, and he managed to swallow the curse word just in time. Carisi looked like he would start squealing any moment while Mike was staring over at the office with a mix of shock and disbelief. Amanda seized the opportunity and took another cookie from the box, holding it towards Noah.

“So, do you like Papí? I mean, is he a good Papí? Since when is he your Papí?”

Noah happily took the cookie and paused to think about Amanda’s questions for a moment. “He’s my Papí since we went for ice cream without Mama when it was still warm. And Mama left with him after bedtime to eat since summer. He’s the best! We laugh, and we play pirates or cops, and he makes me pancakes and reads my stories with voices.”

“Thank you, Noah, it’s nice to always tell the truth. Here, have another cookie. Is Mama happy?”

Amanda almost started swooning at the way Noah’s smile widened impossibly and he nodded heftily. “Papí makes Mama happy again when she’s sad.”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Fin said with a grin, then he pulled a piece of paper from a drawer of his desk. “Now, let’s have a look at the betting pool. Dodds, looks like you made the best guess, man! Together with Calhoun. That’s a hundred bucks for each of you, congrats. Dodds… you listening?”

Mike blinked a few times, tearing his gaze away from Fia, and Fin smirked teasingly. “You can take the lady in there for a fancy dinner with the money.”

With pink cheeks, Mike shook his head, mumbling something about her being Barba’s cousin and him not being interested anyway before turning his attention back to Noah, though Fin noted with satisfaction that his eyes flickered to Fia from time to time.

-

For a long moment, it was silent between the two women, then Fia sighed and whispered: “I guess you’re right. I’ll just keep my head up and try not to let her shit get to me.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Olivia agreed, her gaze wandering over to the squad room. A bad feeling started to spread inside her gut when she saw how smug Amanda looked, kneeling next to Noah with a box of cookies. She just knew that something was going on, something that she wouldn’t like, and Fia must have noticed because she turned and stared out into the squad room, too. However, her focus was more on the young Sergeant who let Noah play with his badge rather than on the faces of everyone. Cocking her head, she allowed herself to study him for a moment, taking in his handsome features, his trained physique accentuated by his suit and his hands – strong but probably gentle or sensual, too…

Ripping herself out of her little fantasy, Fia shook her head, glad that Olivia hadn’t noticed her staring, and now she, too, realised that Noah was being stuffed with cookies while the detectives around him looked a little too interested.

“Oh no,” she mumbled, more to herself than Liv, before her voices got a little stronger. “Feed him cookies and he sings. Oh no, Liv… I’m so sorry… maybe… maybe it’s not too late yet…”

Olivia started moving at that, leaving her office with Fia right at her heels, and everyone’s attention turned towards the two women. Mike appeared as if he tried to refrain from any kind of judgement, Amanda and Carisi were smirking like Cheshire Cats and Fin wore an ‘I can’t believe you told me, we’re like siblings’ expression.

“Congratulations, Liv. We’re happy for you guys, seriously, we’ve been waiting for that. Here Noah, sweetie, have another cookie.”

Everyone chuckled at that, only Noah unaware that he was part of the joke, and Olivia stared at them for a long moment. She wanted to be angry that they’d bribed her son, but she knew it wouldn’t have happened if they’d just been open from the beginning.

This definitely wasn’t how she’d imagined the revelation of their relationship to be, so completely not under their conditions, out of nowhere…

But now it was too late anyway; she couldn’t change anything now.

Liv’s gaze wandered through the room, over the smirks of her friends and colleagues, and with resignation in her voice, she said: “I’ll text Lucia that she gets her squad Christmas party.”

OoO

Cheerful Christmas music was playing in the background, mingling with the laughter of the detectives crowding the squad room, sipping non-alcoholic punch and stuffing themselves with the mountains of food that Lucia had cooked. Hands on her hips, Lucia watched the scene in satisfaction just as Carisi walked past her with his third helping from the buffet.

“Your food is incredible, Mrs Barba,” he complimented her, and Lucia’s smile widened further.

“Well thank you, Dominick.”

Having everyone eat gave her the triumphant feeling typical for a Cuban mother. Reassured that everyone would be sated in the end, she let her gaze wander again. Jesse and Noah were sitting in a little play corner with Fin’s grandson Robin, discussing Santa and how he could fit all the presents on the sleigh over a game of Memory.

Olivia and Rafael were standing a little away from their colleagues, an air of contentment surrounding them as they kept exchanging smiles and subtle touches, obviously still a bit overwhelmed by not having to hide anymore. When Olivia had confessed to Rafael that Fia and especially Noah had revealed their relationship, he hadn’t been exactly happy, but he couldn’t really be angry with either of them – especially when he heard that it had been Lucia’s fault to some extent. For a few days, he’d been busy expressing his disagreement to the whole situation, and Olivia had joined him; yet they didn’t seem uncomfortable about public affection in general and Lucia chuckled to herself – they’d been unreasonably afraid. The colleagues hadn’t acted like it was a big deal, their bosses were still approving…

Everything was fine, wasn’t it?

“I can’t believe you cheated on us in that betting pool, Calhoun,” Fin grumbled to Rita as Lucia walked past them on her little tour through the room. “You could only win. I thought you’re more into challenges.”

Rita smirked into her glass, shrugging. “I simply had more information. That’s not cheating, seriously.”

Rolling his eyes, Fin looked like he was annoyed with her argument, but Lucia only needed one glance to know that he wasn’t. She would definitely have to keep a closer eye on these two – Rita had been alone way too long for her taste, and she was determined to change that. Such an unlikely combination, but Lucia was no fan of the ordinary, and she liked a challenge.

Continuing her round, Lucia frowned when she spotted her niece standing in a corner on her own, sipping a glass of punch that Lucia just knew the girl had spiked while nobody had paid attention to her. Rebellious and cheeky like her late mother, Delfia certainly had caused many headaches, but Lucia couldn’t be angry with her for long. Well, except for her lack of interest in settling down with a nice young man and starting a family. Delfia certainly wouldn’t have trouble finding someone if she weren’t so proud and overly focused on her dancing career all the time.

Thinking of a nice young man…

Lucia smirked triumphantly when she glanced over to where Mike Dodds was standing with Amanda, the Detective talking with him in a hushed voice; Lucia had no trouble analysing him and the slightly nervous expression he had on his handsome face as his gaze flickered over to Fia again and again. Obviously, Amanda was trying to encourage him to go over to her to talk, and Lucia sighed about the young people. They were making everything way too complicated and moved so cautiously they needed ages to reach their goal. Back in her days, boldness had been a thing – if you wanted to ask someone out, you just did it!

She was just about to go over to them and introduce Mike to Fia to get them to talk when Mike finally started moving, crossing the room while nervously fidgeting with his glass. Lucia couldn’t deny that she was holding her breath as he approached Fia, but when she saw Fia’s posture change at seeing the man’s smile she knew that she’d won. Oh, they would be a beautiful couple, and their children… the wedding pictures… She was swooning at the thought, and she could barely wait to see Delfia admitting that Mike was a guapo she found interesting. Maybe she would bring him to the little Christmas brunch she was planning…

Everything was going the way she’d wanted it to, all her plans worked out, and she couldn’t help but feel smug. How much they’d struggled and protested, but in the end, they’d all given in, just like she’d known they would.

And finally, she would get the perfect Christmas she’d been longing for, with all the people she loved gathered together.

THE END

[onceuponamirror]

7, 22 and/or 45! Whichever you feel like :P

combo platter! this also spiraled way out of control

7. fake relationship & 22. two miserable people meeting at a wedding

[read on ao3] [should also establish this is comics!chuck, not tv!chuck]

PART ONE

.

.

.

The hitching goes off without a hitch.

As in, an adorable toddler rumbles down the walkway as the ringbearer and everyone coos, vows are shared, tears shed, people clap, and Betty is in the back, chugging champagne.

Which is probably not so all well and good, considering this is just the practice round.

It’s not so bad, really, Betty thinks, as she watches the new bride and groom gently sway across the dance floor. Considers that maybe she’s being dramatic.

After all, she’s happy for Nancy, her best work friend. She looks beautiful tonight, she’s been beaming all day, and Betty knows that her own anxiety around weddings is not fair to project around onto others.

And while she doesn’t know much about Nancy’s choice of husband, save for the fact that Chuck has done a couple of children’s books for the publisher for which they both work, their relationship certainly seems solid and cute, and Betty once again thinks that, alright, maybe she is being too dramatic.

But then she watches Chuck and Nancy share a kiss so tender and beautiful it feels wrong to have seen, and she curses. Apparently out loud, because a moment later, from a dry voice across the table comes, “You’d publish your mother with that mouth?”

She lowers her glass from her lips and glances over at the guy a few seats over. It’s just them at the table now, everyone else having gotten up to mingle, dance, or let themselves eat cake.

That is, just her and someone with dark hair, a downturned mouth that thus holds a frown with ease, and an angled face. Even in formal wear, something about him vaguely, dimly screams I was once a disaffected youth.

She’d noticed him earlier; it was hard not to, when he was the cutest person at the table, even if the few times she looked over he was scowling or avidly puncturing his dinner with a fork.

But Betty knows what locking eyes at a wedding means, and she is not here for a hook up. So she kept her roving gaze firmly away from him all throughout dinner, to the point she hadn’t even realized it was now just the two of them left.

“Pardon?” She asks, furrowing her brow at him. He looks back at her, eyes scanning across her face. Unfortunately, he’s still just as cute, especially as he loosens his tie and leans back in his chair.

“Dumb joke, never mind,” he sighs, even as Betty thinks, belatedly, it was actually kind of funny. “Bride or groom?”

“Bride,” she replies, straightening in her chair despite herself. Sit up straight, Elizabeth. There’s no such thing as a second impression. “You?”

“Both,” the guy says, after a long sip of water. “Kind of. Nancy is my editor, and Chuck did a cover for a book of mine. Only met him twice, though. Good guy.”

“Oh,” she says, blinking in surprise. He’s a writer then, which doesn’t exactly help her case of not finding a place to put attraction at a wedding. She’s always had a bit of a thing, as Veronica likes to put it, for writers. “I work for Random House too. YA though, so we probably wouldn’t have crossed paths unless you’re secretly the next Meg Cabot. I’m Betty,�� she adds, reaching across the table to offer her hand. He shifts a chair closer in order to easily shake it.

“Jughead,” he returns, “but only colloquially. Nancy insisted I go by a pseudonym.”

“That was probably wise,” Betty says, trying to sound kind but smirking all the same. “What is it? Maybe I’ve read your book.”

“Oh, I’m the real Meg Cabot, actually,” Jughead grins, wiggling his eyebrows. She giggles, which is also not helping her determination against wedding hookups.

“Wow, I love your work,” she says seriously, a hand over her heart. “You really speak to the teenage girl in all of us.”

He scoffs, clearly wrestling with a deeper grin as his eyes roll up at the ceiling before landing back squarely on her. Then, after a long moment, and without any segue, “So, you seem pretty miserable.”

“Excuse me?” She asks, grateful she’s just finished sipping at her champagne, because a second earlier, and she would’ve choked on it.

Jughead shrugs. “Look, I’m not great at small talk, and I noticed you’ve fondly been cradling a drink every time something stupid and sappy happens. So. Just a professional courtesy that I ask.”

“I think that’s the opposite, actually,” she sighs, and his face twists with something like amusement. She folds her hands in her lap, trying not to blush when she thinks about the fact that he’s been apparently noticing her. “But yeah, I guess you’re right. I realized I’m not a big fan of weddings.”

“Huh,” he says, looking at her quizzically, like perhaps she’s a book he hasn’t read. She frowns, and he must think he’s done the wrong thing, because he hastens to add, “I mean. You just have that…show-biz look to you. Not literally, but that fresh off the bus to Manhattan look, where the world is your oyster, but also all the world’s a stage, you know the drill.”

“You don’t know me,” Betty says slowly, after a long moment, not even sure what he’s implying. Just because she’s…what, blonde, she isn’t allowed her own healthy dose of cynicism? Maybe if she was still sixteen and luminously hopeful about life and love, she’d understand what he meant.

But that Betty Cooper is all grown up, and despite being paid to edit the literary mind of a teenager every day, she does not think like one, not anymore.

“That’s true,” Jughead replies, scratching behind his ear. He looks uncomfortable. “Sorry. Okay. I have an annual checkup with the podiatrist for the foot stuck in my mouth, I promise.”

She laughs despite herself, almost wanting to stay offended. Her hands fidget in her lap, so she moves them onto the table, her palms flat against the silk tablecloths. “It’s not like I got left at the altar, or anything,” she says, without really meaning to. Surely he doesn’t care about her issues. “Actually, officially, I was the one who got cold feet. But it was a mutual disillusionment.”

“You were engaged?” He asks, after a pause.

“Oh, well, twice, technically,” she sighs, a little grin appearing at her mouth. She puts on a voice of faux-wistfulness. “The first fiancé is actually getting married himself in a couple of months. Not to me, but I’ll never forget the day he proposed—kindergarten, as we shared our crayons.”

Jughead digs his tongue into his cheek, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Sounds romantic.”

“Very,” she agrees.

“Still hung up on that high bar set by a five year old, eh?”

When she doesn’t say anything, just lets her eyes fall back on the now busy dance floor, she hears a soft oh next to her. “You’re still hung up on him in general?” He asks, something in his voice she cannot place.

“Hung up is a strong way to put it,” Betty says, finally. Self-loathing is probably more accurate, the side effect a lifetime of asking herself why-nots. Why not me, why not now, why not us—but she’s not about to dump that on a stranger.

Still. Archie’s wedding is the biggest why not of them all. She doesn’t want to be with him, she knows that much now, knows he was definitely right to want to stay just friends, but it’s always going to be the biggest rejection of her life, and she’s never quite gotten past it. Despite her best efforts, it has made her—well, for lack of a better word, a bit jaded.

Because she is never going to get her first love back. She’d put it out there, tapered it with a tenderhearted, childish wish, and simply gotten a return to sender.

Betty knows it’s a problem with fantasy. Knows that she gets wrapped up in ideas of should, expectations of want, not need. Archie was always a daydream of what a love should look like, should make her feel.

She knows this all, has analyzed it plenty with Veronica over and over, and just can’t quite let it go. The massive break up with Adam had only proved that.

Realizing now that Jughead is still watching her, she finds herself saying, “He…was always an idea of romance, to me. But sometimes fantasies feel better than reality, even when it’s not healthy. So it still hurts to see him really…committing, I guess.”

Jughead nods, but not in a way that says he really seems to understand. She wonders if he’s ever been in love.

“So this wedding is supposed to be my practice run,” she continues, sighing. “And based on tonight, I don’t think it’s going to go that well. Especially the alone at the singles table thing, which is bound to happen again.”

“Oh, this was the singles table?” He repeats, clearly sarcastically, and grinning broadly. “Hadn’t noticed.” She passes him a wry look. “I mean, hey, I get it. Weddings suck. Dramatic gestures do not love make, in my opinion, so anything that’s such an overt statement of it—makes me immediately suspicious, you know?”

“As in, overcompensation? The bigger the wedding, the more doomed the marriage?” She supplies, and he chuckles darkly.

“Sure. But hey, it’s an archaic tradition, so almost all marriage is doomed in general, in that I think a lot of people get married for the wrong reasons. I’m not particular about where I throw my criticism.”

“Ah. Child of divorce?” She asks, cradling her face with her hand so she can lean in a little closer.

His eyes, which had been briefly watching the bridal party perform the cha-cha-slide, turn back to her. The lights of the dance floor flick between red and blue, and he’s backlit by the churning colors, almost neon, like some kind of beat poet slung under the arm of Americana.

He folds his arms and leans back in his chair, one corner of his mouth tugged up. “Maybe.”

“Your cynicism is so cliché,” she hears herself saying, almost kindly, despite the resulting mild horror for being so forward.

He sighs, but the grin is still there. “Ideally a little less cliché than you think. But hey, I’m not the one mooning over the memory of a five year old.”

She opens her mouth to protest, particularly because she’s not used to being called out on this by anyone but Veronica or Cheryl, but, well, he is right. Her shoulders deflate. “True. So do I win the pity party?”

“Nah,” he says, snaking a green bean from her plate. “Maybe at the next wedding, though.”

“Ha, ha,” she says, digging her chin into her palm. “But. Probably. I don’t know how I’m going to get through it without having a panic attack. Ply myself with wine, I guess.”

Jughead is watching her, the slightest movement in his brow that she cannot name. But before he can find his words, Midge is jogging over, her heels kicked off and her pink maid of honor dress billowing with the run. She seems perhaps a bit tipsy, grabbing Betty’s hand and pulling her to her feet.

“Betty! Come on, Nancy and I want you to dance with us!” She seems to notice Jughead is there a moment later, her eyes darting between him and Betty with the silent question all women know how to ask one another; do you need an out, or do you like him and want to stay?

And Betty realizes it’s both, remembering her firm rule about not hooking up at weddings. Not that she’s particularly great at casual sex as it is, but now that she’s been talking to him, she especially doesn’t want to feel like she’s using him for escapism from her own misery. And she is in no place for a relationship, and that’s getting ahead of herself, as usual.

He might be interested, and she could probably find a way to justify that curiosity, but she’s not going to find out tonight, and thus probably not ever.

So she just runs a smoothing hand down the front of her lavender dress, and as it’s also strapless, makes a plan to tug it up once she’s out of Jughead’s sight.

She may still have her mother’s stern propriety lessons rattling around in her head after all these years, and she may have learned to curse or try to be forward in rebellion of such, but Alice Cooper leaves a scorch mark. She doesn’t want to fix her dress in front of him, that would look improper.

“Let’s dance,” she agrees, and Midge squeals, tugging her away, barely giving Betty enough time to wave and call, “Nice to meet you, Jughead!”

Later, she catches his eye on her once, her arms in the air to Dancing Queen, bathed in blue light, her hair lose in its bun, his expression too far away to read.

The next time she looks over, his seat is empty.

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The rest of July comes and goes before Betty even has a minute to think about it; summer rainstorms boom out of nowhere, drenching New York City in five-minute-bursts, but the community garden next to her building is lush with resulting blooms, so she can’t complain.

Nancy returns from her honeymoon, still all aglow, even in the florescent of their conference room—and now that they’re away from the buoyant, public declarations of love, Betty can properly appreciate how happy she is.

The advertising team packs up their laptops and pens while Nancy wanders over to Betty’s side of the conference room, fanning out Betty’s own printouts for the roughs her book designers sent over. “Nice stuff this season,” Nancy comments.

“Yeah, I liked your presentation too,” Betty says, though a little thought nags at her, realizing he’d never actually given her his pseudonym. “So, were any of them Jughead? We were at the same table at your wedding, chatted a little. Just curious.

Nancy looks up in surprise, which quickly turns into an almost sly expression. “Mm-hmm. The singles table, if I remember correctly,” she says, her inflection annoyingly interested

“It wasn’t like that,” Betty insists, even as she shifts from one foot to another. “We just talked.”

That seems to coil Nancy’s smug look. She almost laughs. “Talked? With Jughead? I think my record is getting five words out of him in one sitting. Bless email, it’s the only place he’ll actually unload.”

Betty blinks. That was not the impression she got from him at all, but circumstances can change a lot about a person’s usual behavior. Her preoccupation with her champagne flute, for instance—one she deeply regrets, as she was so hungover the next morning she didn’t get out of bed all day. Probably particularly because she is not a big drinker in general; all it took was a couple glasses to put her under.

“Anyway,” Nancy sighs, restacking the printouts of Betty’s she’d been scanning. “He’s J. Pendleton. He writes a lot of investigative, murder-mystery type stories, but personally I think he’s getting a bit restless with the genre. He won’t admit it until he’s got another manuscript testing out something new, though.”

“Hey, don’t knock safety nets,” Betty says, holding open the conference room door for them both to pass through it. “I think that’s wise.”

“Aw, you two are a match made in paranoid heaven,” her friend retorts, giggling. “Glad to see there’s still an argument to be made for seating charts.”

“Stop,” she sighs. “Again, nothing happened.”

“Irrelevant,” Nancy replies, her fingers wiggling in a wave goodbye as they cut down different corridors.

And that’s the last of it, until July has finished rolling into June and August lumbers on, laying thickly over New York City with humidity and rain. But Betty doesn’t mind; she’s always found the sound of pattering drops to bring a sense of cleansing comfort, particularly summer rainstorms, arriving swiftly like a promise.

Betty is just ruminating over this, standing under the awning of her building, watching the sheets of water landing loudly beyond and mourning the fact that she left her umbrella upstairs, when she hears her name.

She turns, recognizing the voice but not knowing who to place it with. Jughead stands a few feet away, dressed in a pair of black jeans, sneakers, and a white undershirt underneath an open, faded blue shirt.

“Jughead!” She exclaims, genuinely surprised to see him again. Well, ever again, really.

“Hey,” he returns, scratching at his neck.

After an awkward moment of somewhat shocked silence on her behalf, she realizes the polite thing to do is to hug him, so she steps forward and embraces him. He freezes, but eventually his hand slowly comes up to touch her back, patting it once.

Wondering if that was perhaps the wrong thing to do, Betty pulls back. He doesn’t move, and for a moment, it’s just them standing halfway out of a hug, their faces not far apart, looking at one another. And then he shuffles back himself, a look on his face she doesn’t know how to describe. Discomfort, maybe, or something else.

“Um, how are you? What are you doing here?” She asks, clasping her hands in front herself.

He throws a shoulder back towards the building. “Meeting with Nancy. She wanted to show me the finished cover and go over about a few edits. That’s the nice thing about living in the same city as your publisher, getting to talk in person.”

Betty gives him a skeptical look. ���Nancy told me she was lucky to get five words out of you.”

He might flush. “I’m…listening. You know. I’m there to take notes,” he explains, shrugging. “I speak, just when I think it’s important.” He pauses, his tongue swiping across his teeth. “So, you two were talking about me?”

“No,” Betty says quickly, her turn to blush. “You were in Nancy’s fall schedule presentation.”

His eyebrows settle back into normal place. “You heard about the new Princess Diaries book I have planned, then?” He cuts back, with that kind of drawling amusement she’s come to appreciate about him.

“So excited for it, Meg,” she sighs. “But really, I’ve actually been meaning to check out your work, Jughead Pendleton. Heard you got some good reviews to your name.”

“Jones,” he corrects. “I mean, Pendleton is my middle name. I’m Jughead Jones, for the record. Wouldn’t want you getting the wrong idea about me, thinking my name is any worse than it already is.”

She glances at him, suddenly unsure what to make of this whole conversation. Is he…trying to flirt with her? Or at the very least, get to know her? But then surely he wouldn’t have been so awkward about the hug, right?

“Well then, for continuity’s sake,” she says, gesturing to herself. “Cooper, Betty Cooper.”

“I’m not going to make a James Bond joke, just letting you know that I thought of one,” he intones, grinning. “Anyway. I should be heading back to Brooklyn. Got an article to finish.”

“You’re a reporter too?” Betty asks, almost frustrated about how on paper this is all feeling.

“Not really,” he says, shaking his head. “Nothing heavy. I write freelance for a couple of magazines, on the side. Reviews. Mostly music stuff.”

Her face pitches into an impressed expression. “Rolling Stone?”

“Pitchfork. My sister works there, so it is pure nepotism at it’s most finest. But I tried the whole principled thing, and learned that unfortunately, capitalism is the beast on all our backs. Money is money.” He shrugs. “So I try not to squint too closely at it. Anyway—uh, curiously, are you just standing here for the fun of it, or were you heading out?”

“I was going to take a coffee break, but I forgot my umbrella upstairs,” she sighs, looking back at the rain, showing no signs of letting up. “But you said you have a deadline, so I’ll let you go.”

“Yeah, deadline,” he says, blowing out a breath and opening up his black umbrella. “Alright. Well, I’ll see you around, Cooper, Betty Cooper.” He tips one finger from his forehead in her direction, in some kind of mock salute, and then he’s gone, walking off towards the A train.

As he cuts around a corner, Betty turns her eyes back onto the rain. She finds she doesn’t much appreciate it anymore.

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.

.

“I’m here, I’m here!” Veronica says, rushing around to kiss Betty’s cheek, and then Cheryl’s lips. “Ugh, long day. You’d think absolutely everyone has the competence of a sea slug without me. I had so many suits to file, it’s amazing I have any manicure left at all. I mean, look at this,” she says, holding up the back of her hands to flash them one chipped nail out of an otherwise perfect set of gleaming, navy blue polish.

“You’re late,” Cheryl says simply, her wide, red lips pursed.

“I’m not late,” Veronica sniffs, her chin in the air. “You were both early.”

“I was early,” Betty says, smiling. “Cheryl was on time. You were late.”

“Semantics,” comes the response, waving a dismissive hand in the air, as Veronica slides onto her stool.

“Well, late or not, we still ordered you a French Cabernet,” Betty adds, pushing forward the long-stemmed glass of dark liquid.

Veronica’s expression is equally parts genuinely touched and panderingly simpering as she gathers the glass close. “Have I told you today that I love you?” She sighs, the painted plum of her lips matching the color of the drink.

“Hello? I’m right here,” Cheryl cuts in, eyes rolling, but her mouth fidgeting with a grin as Veronica reaches over and squeezes her hand.

“So,” Veronica says sharply, turning back to Betty, both hands now in the air between them. “Catch me up, Girl Talk. We haven’t seen you in so long!”

This is true; their weekly meet up at their favorite, warmly lit wine bar halfway between Betty and Veronica’s offices had been delayed for much of the summer, as Veronica and Cheryl had been busy sunning themselves and Instagramming cobbled-street-romance while vacationing in Italy.

“Well, we had our fall season pitches last week,” Betty starts, distinctly aware that every single time Veronica asks her about her life, she has very little else to offer up other than work related information. “I have a new author I’m really excited about, she’s so sweet. Oh—and Nancy told me to tell you she was sorry you two couldn’t make the wedding, but hopes you had fun in Rome.”

“Oh, right, she must be back from her honeymoon by now,” Veronica chirps, one hand curled underneath her chin. Then her mouth twists downwards, her voice lowering. “How was it for you? All the wedding stuff?”

Betty blows out an exasperated breath. “Okay, why does everyone keep acting like this whole wedding thing is such a big deal? Just because I broke off an engagement doesn’t mean I was traumatized.”

“Oh, please,” Cheryl says, flipping back a curtain of long red hair, her eyes once again rolling faster than King Henry could roll heads. “I just got back from my vacation, must we jump back into Betty’s newfound sense of existential nihilism already?”

“Thank yo—wait, hey,” Betty says, eyes narrowing. “Not fair.”

“It is fair,” the redhead counters sharply. “You’ve had, what, twenty-five years to get over Archie Andrews? And from where I stand, you’ve only gotten worse. And Veronica was the one who actually dated him, but you don’t see her crying over spilled orange juice. Move on, little egg.”

“I am over him,” Betty huffs, her hands curled at the edge of their round table. Cheryl arches an unconvinced brow. “I am. Veronica, tell her.”

“She is,” Veronica agrees, though her tone obliquely carries a but. And then, her eyes flicking onto Betty, “But…well, sweetie. You and I both know he represents a certain amount of symbolism for you. Symbolism of which, as soon as I became aware of, I ended things with him, if you’ll recall. We were never meant to be, anyway. But, I digress; you made a declaration of love that went unreturned, and thus it makes witnessing great declarations of such hard for you. That’s perfectly understandable.”

Both Betty and Veronica look at Cheryl, eyes again rolling. “Whatever. I don’t recall asking for your amateur psychoanalysis, but fine. I get it.”

“Can we change the subject, please?” Betty asks, sighing, but her best friend is eying her curiously, in the way that she does when she’s struggling with whether or not to voice a thought.

“I just wish you didn’t have to go alone,” Veronica says, all in a rush, clearly as if she can’t help herself. “Can’t you bring me as a plus-one? For solidarity?”

“Veronica, I’m sure Archie didn’t invite his exes to his wedding for a reason,” Betty says flatly, though secretly touched all the same for her protective nature.

“Then bring Cheryl,” Veronica suggests stubbornly, even though she’s far too smart for such a useless, obstinate argument.

“Right, because that’ll look so much more subtle, bringing the ex’s current girlfriend,” Cheryl says, her tone dry.

“Point taken,” Veronica says, her lips twisting into a slight pout. She looks back over at Betty. “What about Midge?”

Betty sighs, thinking privately that of all the people at this table, the once-socialite is the last one who needs a refresher in traditional etiquette. “Plus-ones do not qualify for friends, as Val and Archie know you all are. They’re for dates, V.”

“You could’ve started dating Midge, for all they know,” Veronica insists, and then takes the kind of big breath that precursors a trademarked Lodge rant. “Bisexuality—”

“Midge is engaged,” she counters, desperately wishing Veronica would do something uncharacteristic like drop it. “Anyway, again, reminding you that I’d like to change the subject.”

“Only because you’re trying to avoid the reality that Archie’s wedding is making you already retroactively anxious,” Veronica replies, lips pursed.

Betty sighs. “So I’m anxious currently, and simultaneously in the future, while also reminiscing about the anxiety that would be then past? How exactly am I doing all that? Do you know something about time travel that I don’t?”

Cheryl throws her a rare, amused smile, but Veronica plows right on, ignoring her. “I just don’t understand why you’re even going,” she huffs, folding her arms over the top of the table.

“Because I want closure,” Betty says, her voice slightly raised. She pauses, finding a moment to resume normal pitch. “I shouldn’t have been with Adam for a bunch of reasons. Archie wasn’t one of them—but when I broke off the engagement, I just felt so…tired. Like it all came back to me at once. Archie didn’t mean to hurt me so many times, but he did. And it made me feel broken, and unwanted. And I’m sick of that feeling hanging over my head. I want to close the book; I want to see it closed. I think I can only get that by actually watching him get married, you know?”

For the first time tonight, Cheryl’s expression turns to one of actual, genuine sympathy. She and Veronica exchange looks, the mood instantly changing.

“Look,” Veronica says, letting out a breath, her voice much lower and less bullish. “I get that, sweetie. That’s totally valid. And you know I’m all about the independent woman. I’m not trying to force you to start dating again. But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t also…worried about you going through all that emotional weight alone. That’s why I’m just saying—bring a date. Someone to have by your side if you get anxious. Someone you trust. I can’t believe I’m saying this, because I know I deliberately wasn’t invited, but I’ll throw social grace into the wind. Let me come with you.”

Betty rubs at her eyes, closed to her best friend, unable to go through this conversation much longer. She knows she’s trying to help, but this just isn’t going to go anywhere productive. “Veronica…”

“No, I mean it,” her best friend interrupts, in her typically adamant tone. “I’m sorry, but I know I’m right about this. Betty, just let me—”

“I’m already seeing someone, okay?” Betty blurts out, for no other reason than to get Veronica to stop. And it absolutely, finally works; Veronica’s mouth snaps shut at once.

And then, almost shrilly, “Quoi?”

“Yes, what?” Cheryl laughs, her look pointed.

“Please don’t act like it’s so impossible,” Betty says, sighing, even as she has absolutely no idea what she’s saying, save for the distant, dim certainty that this is a terrible, terrible plan. “That’s not helping anything.”

“No, no,” Veronica says quickly. “I just meant…well, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me twenty minutes ago, when we could’ve spared ourselves this entire conversation?”

“Well, you didn’t let me get very far into said conversation,” Betty points out, and technically, this is the truth.

There’s a long pause.

“No, you’re lying,” Cheryl says finally, decisively. Betty stills; it’s like being doused in cold water. Or being caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Or—whatever idiom applies, because Betty’s brain has short-circuited at being called out so immediately. Cheryl sighs. “Sorry, I find it hard to believe you’d keep this to yourself. You two tell each other everything. Literally everything. Veronica gets mad at you when you get a pedicure without her, for god’s sakes.”

The woman in question holds up a silencing hand, her silver bracelet jangling forcefully. “That was one time, there were extenuating circumstances, and you’re exaggerating. Betty, please continue.”

“I’m not lying,” she says, in a strained voice that probably isn’t helping her case. Think of something. And then, without intending to, Jughead’s face materializes in her mind. “Um, we met at the wedding. He’s a writer. One of Nancy’s authors.”

Cheryl makes a skeptical noise, and Veronica pulls herself out of shocked silence. “Betty, that was a month and a half ago. How couldn’t you have told me?”

“You were on vacation! And we haven’t been seeing each other that long,” Betty says, wondering if, still operating under technicality, this isn’t quite a lie. She has, to all effects, seen him. “You want me to prove he exists? Here, I’ll google him,” she adds, pulling out her phone. She quickly types J. Pendleton into the search engine, and a list of Pitchfork articles and book reviews pops up.

Both women grab for the phone, but Veronica is faster. Betty cranes her neck anxiously, watching her click on the images option, which brings up mostly pictures of Pendleton blankets, but one or two black and white headshots of Jughead, clearly from an author’s bio.

“He’s cute,” Veronica says approvingly, passing the phone to Cheryl, who makes an ambivalent kind of noise at Jughead’s face. “Well, this is perfect. You already met at a wedding, so I’m sure he’ll be happy to escort you to another. What does the J stand for?”

“Jughead,” Betty says, and Cheryl openly scoffs, her laugh high and loud.

“Well, lord knows no one could make up that name,” she sighs, handing Betty back her phone. “Fine, fine. I believe you. So, can we put this to bed now? I’d actually like to pass the Bechdel test before my next drink, if you don’t mind.”

“Yes. But first, honestly, this deserves a toast,” Veronica says, raising her glass and clearing her throat in a way that brings reality back down onto Betty, and hard. “To Betty, who is slaying her dragons and solving her problems.”

Cheryl too raises hers, and, trapped, Betty follows in suit, her throat thick with thought.

The sound of tinkling glass meeting rings like a tiny, ominous, warning bell.

Betty swallows.

What did you just do?

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[createdbyangels]

“C”

**Disclaimer - I can’t give details about C’s story, history or current situation.  We are contractually bound to maintain his privacy and intend to do so.  But this story is something I want to remember the details of because it could have only been crafted by God himself.  So there will be lots of letters used in place of names or other details I can’t share.  But this is a record of this story for our family to have in the future because it still seems hard to believe sometimes.

The week of December 9th was our first “back to normal” week, coming off the heels of a 4 week track out, Corbin’s birthday, Thanksgiving at Grandmom’s and our week at Disney.  Our foster license was approved 11/18 but we knew that with everything we had coming up in the next few weeks we wouldn’t even be considering a placement until at least December.  We actually got a very interesting placement email the Thursday we were at Animal Kingdom (our last Disney day) but of course I didn’t see it until late that night (after 7pm) and James and I were not even close to being in a state of mind to have a conversation about it until the next day in the car.  We decided we might be interested and I emailed our placement specialist.  She said she would let them know we were interested but she was pretty sure they had been placed already.  I felt....disappointed.  It was a sibling set in our age range it seemed like we could have been a good fit.  Several days later (the beginning of the next week I think) we got another placement email but it wasn’t something we could handle.

In the mean time, we have some friends at church who have become GREAT friends over the past year.  We didn’t realize until after we started getting to know each other that they had actually been licensed through the same agency we used months before we were.  They have teenage kids and are fostering teens - and are a general wealth of parenting knowledge along with being all around wonderful people.  And since it is hard to understand the journey of fostering if you haven’t been through the work that goes into it, we talk often about how we are feeling and what is going on.  M called me early in the week of December 9th to talk to me about a placement they were working on.  She would be visiting for the weekend (they’d met her once before) and our friends were excited about the potential.  The circumstances were different this time than they had been in past placements.  We talked for a while about what it would look like, expectations for the weekend and the fact that T had a brother who was also trying to be matched.  M asked what our age range was and when I told her “3-9″ nothing else was said.  I had a very small moment where I felt like I should offer to host the brother (even though he was out of our range) because he needed somewhere to go but I decided against it.  It might be weird to insert myself into their family’s journey and I didn’t know anything about this kid.  And he is 11 which is way older than our range anyway. So we wrapped up our call with promises to pray and keep each other in the loop.  And we knew we’d see each other Sunday at church and I’d get to meet T.

So Sunday 12/15 we got to see each other and I briefly met T since she was with our friends.  They’d had a good weekend and I found out that things hadn’t gone as well for the brother.  He’d met a few families but it wasn’t looking like they’d found a great fit.  But the siblings had to be moved to a new placement ASAP and they were relocating them to be near an older sister who was adopted a few years ago and is currently in the greater Raleigh area.

Monday 12/16 I was beginning to feel “back to normal” after all the trips and reentry from the trips.  I dropped everyone off at school and came home prepared to spend several hours working.  It was my favorite day of the year...Savannah’s school had extended hours as a “parent shopping day” so I didn’t have to pick her up until 2:30!! (Usually Monday pick up is 1:15 after kidokinetics and W/F are 12:30).  So I get to my desk and there is an email from our specialist.  Asking if we’d be interested in a “temporary placement” for a boy who we might be somewhat familiar with because our friends are taking his sister.

So, now we have been officially added to the mix.  I just stared at the screen for a minute and as I was typing a text to James I got one from him.  “You see the email?”  So I called him.  And told him everything I knew (which I hadn’t done before then because honestly, I assumed he wouldn’t care and things had been shared in confidence by my friend on the phone the week before).  James had hesitations.  There was still a family that might be interesting in taking him but they “didn’t want to move too quickly”so they weren’t ready for him to move in yet.  But it was time for him to move somewhere.  So maybe we’d just be a stop over while he visited and got to know the other family.  That seemed too risky to James.  He didn’t want to be another disappointment in C’s story.  Another failed placement.  And, he is a 6th grader.  Not even on our radar.  But everything I knew made me very insistent that it was our time.  We would frame it as, “We are getting you to the area to be close to your sisters and make it easier to find your forever home”  I had a long conversation with our placement specialist about that concern and how I wanted to be sure to talk about it.  She was on board.  At that point they said he might be arriving tomorrow.  As in, 24 hours from that initial conversation.  I called my friend and told her what was happening.  She was shocked that we’d been looped in.  And that we’d said yes.  Then she told me that T wasn’t coming until Wednesday bc that was the soonest they could be ready for her so we shouldn’t expect C until then either.  I couldn’t focus on anything else that day.  There was suddenly so much to do.  So many loose ends to tie up.  A mattress topper so the bed was more comfortable. Matching Christmas jammies since the rest of the family had them already (those came from our kindness elf so don’t mention that part of the story to the kids until they are older).  I had just THE NIGHT BEFORE gotten us tickets to a Carolina Hurricanes game in January (using Corbin’s 2 free tickets through a school reading program) so I called all the people and found a seat in the row directly behind us.so James could sit right behind us and we could all go.  We talked to the kids about what was going on and they were SO EXCITED. I honestly have no idea what happened on Tuesday.  On Wednesday I met my life group at church to help with something and then picked S up from school.  We ran one more last minute errand and then we came home to wait.

C arrived with his social worker shortly after 2pm.  He was shy and nervous but luckily Savannah is neither of those things and launched right into making him feel at home.  He’d made an ornament for our Christmas tree.  I talked to the worker for a while and then she drove away and left me fully in charge.  We played basketball for a while after showing him around the house.  When Corbin got home he was eating a sandwich.  They smiled at each other and within an hour it was like they’d know each other forever.

We went to Chick Fil A for dinner (C’s request) that night and James met us there from work.  He ended up having to turn around and go back to work that night before C’s bedtime.  C and I played a game until he got home and we tucked him in for the first time.  I distinctly remember trying to figure out what it must feel like to be 11 years old and suddenly living in a totally new place with new people and new everything.  And kind of being a professional at doing that. I couldn’t fathom it and it made me so so sad.

He had a good night sleep and the next day we were off to the races - an awards ceremony at Corbin’s school, meetings with social workers and our licensing specialist (that happened at James’s property so my dad actually got to meet C on day 2 because he was there doing a set up) and the workers bringing the rest of C’s stuff.  A LOT of stuff.  and SO. MANY. CHRISTMAS. PRESENTS.  They were concerned he wouldn’t get much at his previous placement so they really overcompensated and sent him approximately 2-3 Christmases worth of stuff.

I had a great friend in the neighborhood come over before Christmas and help me go through, open and sort the gifts to make it more manageable.  Friday he came with me to Savannah’s Christmas program at preschool.  He moved to the aisle so he could see better during their songs.  Things flowed easier than I expected.  The boys couldn’t wait for the weekend so Corbin would be home for a week and a half on Christmas break.  And boy do they have a good time together.

Now to some of the crazy things.  We found out that the family who adopted the oldest sister is friend’s with our pastor.  They go way back.  So even though all 3 siblings are placed with different families there is a tie that runs through all 3 of us.

Also - C came to us on 12/18.  Exactly one month after we got our license.  And crazier still, exactly ONE YEAR to the day from the day my leg pain moved from something annoying to something that I thought was really a problem,  I’ve said many times that I think God literally laid me out so I could understand that I’m not in control and even if I stop spinning all the plates, the world will keep turning. AND exactly one year TO THE DAY from the day I went with Pam to see “Instant Family” in the theater and told her, the first person I said it out loud to, that James and I had officially made the decision to look into adoption through foster care.  I spoke the words to someone after seeing a movie on the topic and 365 days later, C arrived.  

There are some crazy connections regarding his legal name that I obviously can’t share but they are enough to give you pause for sure.

Here is a story I shared on FB on Christmas:

Several weeks ago I went and bought "Santa wrapping paper" (2 rolls per kid for some reason) and stashed it in the back of the closet. I pulled it out yesterday and my heart skipped a beat when I realized that one of the rolls was Snoopy driving Santa's sleigh. It was meant for Corbin but I'm not sure why I picked it since neither of my kids are very interested in Charlie Brown. C LOVES Snoopy. He has several stuffed animals he sleeps with and his night light is even Snoopy. He has proclaimed his love more than once over the past week.  And one of the presents we unwrapped in the stash the social workers brought was a giant box of Nerds (one of the novelty ones) with grape and strawberry nerds.  A day or 2 before opening that package, I was laying on Corbin’s bed with the boys reading before bed.  They were acting a fool (per the norm) and I called them nerds.  They laughed and laughed and said, “Are you gonna eat us!?”  I pointed to them one at a time and said, “You’re strawberry and you’re grape”  And then I find the box.  That box came from me to them on Christmas.  They thought it was hilarious. No one can convince me that God didn't know long before we did that we'd have an extra stocking to fill this Christmas. I am so grateful for His perfect timing and faithfulness.

I saw that oldest sibling’s family had shared their story with a local church congregation during their Christmas service.  We had friends over for Christmas dinner who go to one of the campuses.  I asked if they’d heard the story or seen “these people” and they said, “YES!” They told me some of the story the family had shared (a story I already knew) and then said, “We wondered what happened to the other sister and brother she mentioned”.  My response?  “The brother.  He is upstairs” 

It keeps happening.  Please understand this wasn’t a local placement.  These kids came from a few hours away.  But the story continues to be woven together in a way that can only be explained by God.

It is day 16 and C started middle school today.  He was a lot more emotional than I thought he would be and it broke my heart.  I spent the day worried about him.  He came home smiling though.

The kids regularly and freely talk about how C should live here forever.  Our agency won’t start those conversations for at least 6 months.  We are all open but James and I are being careful about what we say.  16 days feels like a lot.  But it obviously is not.  To say this is a MAJOR decision is an understatement.  So, we continue to take it one day at a time and wait to see what God will do next.

[benandmollycohen]

It's finally time. Time to tell everyone what's been going on in our lives over the past year. It's not that we've been hiding it; we've just been at a loss for words. Just when we thought we understood what was going on, things would change and again we'd be left with even more unanswerable questions. But we've finally reached the end of one road, and we've got a "plan" to get us on a new road. I say "plan" lightly because nothing is promised. Since January 2016, Ben has been hospitalized for 52 days (10 days in 2016 and 42 days in 2017 thus far), and has had 46+ hospital visits for cardioversions (shocking his heart back into normal rhythm) and other appointments/check-ins. The conclusion? Ben has been diagnosed with severely dilated idopathic cardiomyopathy. What the heck does this mean? Basically, Ben's heart is failing and no medication can fix it. The solution? A heart transplant.

I feel weight coming off my shoulders as we are finally able to have a "solution" and to share it with everyone. My husband, Ben Cohen, needs a heart transplant. We've known this was coming. This was briefly discussed last January. We figured that by the time he actually needed a transplant, science would have progressed and an amazing artificial heart would be developed and he could just get one of those! But our lives have been turned upside down since May when Ben was hospitalized for 24 days and a heart transplant became our immediate future.

How did all of this happen? Ben is a young, healthy guy! Well, truth be told, the doctors aren't even sure. Ben has been a confusing case for the doctors. Since Ben was 19, he has had heart issues that seem to run in his family. Those issues have been medicinally managed until about a year ago. Ben's heart started changing and having more and more problems, and medications just weren't working. For so long, Ben has been "tired", "short of breath", and overweight. Now we know that Ben's sudden weight gain and shortness of breath were huge indicators of his failing heart. From January 2017-July 2017, the doctors took off over 35 pounds of water weight. When your heart is failing, it overcompensates causing water to retain in your body. Doctors kept checking his ankles and his wrists where most water weight gain is evident. But, for Ben, he stored most of the water weight in his belly. So, when doctors checked Ben's ankles and wrists, they didn't appear swollen so the doctors couldn't tell at that point just how badly his heart was failing. The doctors continued checking Ben based on his current heart condition and trying to treat it until May 2017.

Ben was away for the weekend at his best friend’s bachelor party. Ben had been really sick on and off since January, so he knew better than to drink alcohol. He was increasingly short of breath the second night up in Maine and was texting me saying he didn't feel right. Thank God Will’s dad was there and was also sober because he drove Ben from Sebago Lake, Maine, to the hospital in Boston, MA at midnight. Ben was admitted to the hospital and began his longest stay yet. Countless blood draws, EKG's, and other tests were done yet no answers were surfacing. They concluded that Ben's heart was in bad shape and decided it was time to implant a double lead defibrillator into his heart. One lead would act as a pacemaker to keep his heart steady if it falls below a certain BMP (beats per minute). The other lead would shock his heart if he goes into a dangerous rhythm. Ben's heart was so bad that he was at an extremely high risk of a heart attack. After 12 days, the doctors finally released Ben, but none of us felt good about it. We wanted him out of the hospital, but we all knew something wasn't right. They changed his medications up a bit, got him "stable" and sent him on his way.

Ben returned to work that Monday. On Tuesday I begged to take him back to the ER. He declined saying that he just needed more time to get used to walking around again rather than laying in a hospital for twelve days. I didn’t believe him for a second knowing he just didn't want to be stuck in the hospital again (rightfully so). Ben was only able to work about half that week and finally Saturday came. Ben was hardly able to get himself off the couch, and that's when he said to me, "Molly, I'm ready to go in". I knew there was a huge problem when he finally admitted he was ready to go back to the hospital. I grabbed the diaper bag, our two boys and we were out the door.

When we reached the hospital, I dropped Ben off at the front door so I could park and wrangle the boys inside. I was later told that about 20 doctors and nurses surrounded Ben hooking him up to an EKG, blood pressure cuff, and using other instruments to get a good picture as to what was going on with him. By the time I got the boys inside and they allowed us to go back and see Ben, the doctors and nurses were gone. Ben was sitting there super lethargic and just looking like a ghost. The heart monitor he was connected to started beeping and a nurse promptly came in. All of a sudden, his room was filled with doctors, nurses, and equipment and the next thing I knew, the boys and I were being shoved out of the way to make room for more nurses, doctors, and equipment. They began inverting his bed so his feet were higher than his head in order to "save his heart and brain". Wait, what?! What is happening?! I've always kept my faith and confidence in the doctors and believed they knew what they were doing and that they were going to keep my husband, my children's father, safe. But at that moment, I was terrified. I literally hid behind the double stroller and cried. I cried as fast I could while my boys weren't looking. I cried in fear for my husband. I cried in fear for my boys, especially for Jackson. He's only 4 years old. He shouldn't be watching this right now! I quickly pulled myself together knowing I needed to lock it up and stay strong for my boys and assure them that Daddy was going to be okay. I needed to stay strong for my husband so he could focus on himself and getting better and not on me or the boys. I had to get the boys out of there. I didn't want Jackson seeing anymore. I didn't want him seeing his "Honey" this way. Luckily, the doctors worked quickly, and by the time I realized we needed to leave, the doctors had cleared out. Jackson was able to say good night to his Honey and end on a "good" note.

I felt so numb and so very alone. What the heck was going on and how can I help? I can't raise these two boys on my own. They need their father! Ben was admitted into the CCU. It's the ICU but for cardiac patients. And there he stayed for another 12 days. In that time, the doctors had no answers as to why this was happening. At first they thought this was just the normal progression of his heart disease, only later explaining to us that this has all been caused by a virus. A virus that attacked his heart. A virus that could have attacked my heart or your heart in the very same manner. A virus that has completely messed up my husband’s heart past the point of return.

Before Ben was released from the hospital, they put in a PICC line. A PICC line is a long-term IV port. This port was in his right arm with a tube going into his heart directly administering medication. Ben’s PICC line delivers medication 24 hours a day. Every other day, Ben has to glove up and change his medication bag. The whole process takes about 5 minutes and can now be done independently. (Update* Ben’s PICC line in his arm got infected July 3, 2017. Due to his defibrillator implantation, they could not move his PICC line to his left arm, so they had to put it into his chest. Luckily, Ben likes it better there!) Ben’s PICC line runs off a small portable pump that he carries with him at all times. In a fanny pack. (If someone could help bring fanny pack’s back in style, that’d be great! This new medication through the PICC line has made Ben feel better than he has felt in over a year!) At the end of the last 12 day admission, we were told he would need a heart transplant. Ben's heart was so bad that they expedited his case and did all the crazy amounts of testing to get him listed for a transplant. As of June 12, 2017, Ben has been listed for a heart transplant.��

Ben was released from the hospital May 31. The following day, I was nursing Colton and remembered I had a whole bunch of frozen breast milk that I needed to donate before it expired. (I promise there's a point to this.) Colton was asleep but still nursing and for the first time in a long time, life went back to "normal". My husband was home and feeling "well". The baby was asleep in my arms, and we weren't sitting in the hospital listening to monitors beeping and having constant nurses poking their heads in causing the baby to wake up. The baby was finally able to have some peace and quiet, and I wasn't about to interrupt that. Nursing him seemed to be the only constant in my life; everything else seemed to be swirling around in a tornado. I was going to donate it all to a breast milk bank, but once I found out that the receiving families had to pay for it, I dropped out. I asked on my town's Facebook page to see if anyone locally was in need of my milk. Amazingly, many people responded with the same message, "Ali could use your milk! She just had a baby via surrogate and is unable to induce lactation due to her toxic heart transplant medications!” 

My jaw hit the floor, and I got goosebumps so bad that I shivered causing the baby to wake up. I was able to get Colton back to sleep and in his crib. I needed both my hands to anxiously find this "Ali". What are the chances that someone close to me has already had a heart transplant and needs my milk?! And someone young at that! Side note: one of the reasons I felt so alone is that on the cardiac floors in hospitals, we are surrounded by older people. Like way older than us. It was really hard to relate to them. For a couple of years now, Ben has been receiving notices to get his AARP card... c'mon, really? End rant. Anyway, to hear that there was another YOUNG person who already experienced our nightmares... I HAVE to find her! She reached out to me saying she heard I had milk that I was looking to donate. I told her, "I will give you all the milk that I have in trade for you to sit down with my husband and me and talk to us about your experience because my husband needs a heart transplant, too.

Ali agreed to meet us just a few days later. As it turns out, she lives a few blocks away from my mother-in-law.  We were truly meant to meet each other, and oh, how amazing it has been. Ali spoke with us for two hours. Ali got a heart transplant in June 2014. She lived in Boston at the time she found out she needed one. Her father, who worked in the medical field, did research and found an outstanding doctor in Tampa, Florida. Long story short, Ali was able to move to Florida for her transplant. From the day she moved there to the day she received her gift, was 19 DAYS. In Boston the average wait time is 3+ years with the last year+ being hospitalized. Let that sink in for a minute. We did. And so we jumped right in making a million and one phone calls trying to get a meeting with the doctor in Florida.  Ali is beyond incredible and such an inspiration. She gave us names and numbers of doctors, nurses, coordinators, apartments, nanny’s, pediatricians, and more. Ali even wrote her own book about her journey. (A link to Ali’s book will be available on this blog. Support your local author!) 

I can’t even begin to describe the headaches we worked through in order to make it happen. But we did it. We got Ben a 3 day appointment with Ali’s doctor in Florida. At the end of the three days, the doctor we came to meet and the entire team had a meeting about Ben and whether or not they were going to accept Ben and get him listed for a transplant in Florida. We finally received their call on August 10, 2017. They have decided to accept Ben as a patient and get him listed for a transplant at Tampa General Hospital! 

I didn’t expect this first post to be so long. But, once I got going, I just had to get everything out. Thank you to all who have made it through this post! My plan is to do a weekly blog entry to keep you updated on Ben and the rest of us. We’d love to hear from you! We enjoy hearing your questions and love answering them! We will put a FAQ’s page up once the questions start coming in. We hope you sign up to receive our weekly updates and please take a look around this blog! 

I’m finally bringing this post to a close. I’ll leave letting you know the last details we have. We signed a lease for a beautiful apartment 15 minutes away from Tampa General Hospital. We have a move in date of September 14, 2017. We are in the process of packing up our house and finding movers. Look out Florida because here we come!  

[hahnralph]

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How Can I Get My Ex Back Quora

[arnarantos-blog]

taera & ryojin compendium

Putting a group of young adults in a single building is bound to result in revelry. When they're all overcompensating for various shortcomings and tied together by a bond no one else can understand - read, superpowers - it is perhaps even more likely. Needless to say, Taera standing in the middle of the common area, lights turned dim and ad rink clutched in her hand, is not an uncommon occurrence lately. At first she'd skirted away from the parties, ducked in and out quickly, but now she's a little braver, a little more sure. She's not the only one who's done stupid things, who's been hurt, who's been used. It helps a little, too feel less alone as she gets to know the others. Getting to know Ryojin, however, has already happened, and on top of that, she has already betrayed him horribly, and so when she finds him standing in front of her, she's a little uncertain, clenches her fingers around her drink a little tighter, takes a gulp and fiddles with the split ends of a strand of hair. "Hey, having fun?"

Lots of things in Ryojin's life could be categorized as unfair. He tries not to dwell on them, to focus too heavily and let everything pull him under. It's not because he wants to be positive, it's just, he likes to keep it to himself. Likes to project a specific image, a devil may care attitude. He's not larger than life, but he can certainly get in someone's face. Cocky, bold, competitve, those are all things he is. Just, sometimes he hyes them up even further as either a deflection tactic away from the truth, or means to get attention. He doesn't care if people think he's obnoxious, and he doesn't care they don't know what he's been throgh. In fact, he prefers it that way. But some of those past experiences pile up, and they're the reason he's been trying to push himself closer to Taera once again. Equal parts understand (because he was under a not-too-good thumb once upon a time) and acceptance (because he knows, at the end of the day, there's something about him that drives people away or mad). He doesn't even care if everything way a lie before, he still feels bad. He knows what it's like when it feels like you've been tossed in the gutter, so he's been trying to pull her into the fray. After all, he managed. "Sort of, last week was more fun. You look bored though, so I figured I'd take my chances in remedying that." he answers, tucks one hand into the pocket of his jeans and takes a sip from his bottle. "Waiting for someone?"

Taera is still getting her bearings, getting her feet underneath her again. The program has enlisted a somewhat out of her depth therapist, which helps, but the doctors say the effects of the serum, like her powers, are permanent. Its not going away - its an issue of management now. It feels weird, to know that. To know that the damage of it will exist in psychological scars now, in addition to the emotional. Bizarre. She feels broken, in a new way. So when she found Ryojin here, at the tower, it felt a little unfair. Ryojin was everything she would have wanted if she had grown up in a normal family with a normal life. But now? Well first of all she shouldn't be allowed to want him anymore, even if his hair flops into his face and his lips tilt playful. "Oh, I didn't come last week. What was so fun?" She's selfish, always has been, so she pushes headfirst into the conversation, stealing bits and pieces of his time to horde for herself. She nips at the inside of her cheek, shakes her head."Not bored, just..." she squints, glances around, "Honestly a little out of my depth." Honesty is new for Taera, tastes strange on her tongue.

"Someone said I couldn't slam Cyborg through a wall, but I definite /could/ slam Cyborg through a wall." he explained nonchalently, despite the fact that he got stuck with part of a bill (it had proven impossible to say that it hadn't been him who did it when there was a bear-sized hole in the wall and dozens of eye witnesses, or traitors, depending on who you asked). Ryojin shoots his own question back before he takes another sip of his beer, shifts his weight on his heels as he listens. "You wanna go kick whoevers off the balcony off and get air or something?" he asks her, because he has an inkling Taera will say no if he offers to drag her around to talk to people. "I could use a smoke," he exaplains away for himself, before he starts ambling off toward a balcony, though it had thankfully been vacant when he pulled the sliding door open, leaned  his shoulder against it and waited for Taera to pass before he yanked it closed behind him, promptly hefted himself up to sit balanced on the ledge of the railing, apparently impervious by the danger of the fall below (but then, he was, he could turn morph into a bird if he really did lose his balance). "anything on you mind? you look pensive."

Taera isn't even really sure why Ryojin keeps talking to her. Why he started talking to her in the first place. She appreciates it, but its painful too - like a breathing reminder of her stupidity, her shortcomings, her foolishness. Still, she laughs, because he is funny and because the mental image of him jamming the other through a wall leaves nothing to be desired in terms of humor. "They must have fixed that up fast. I swear, whoever runs maintenance on this place must be paid a fortune for all the work they have to do." Just the other day Starfire had experimented with cooking, leaving an impressive fire to put out in her apartment kitchen, and she was pretty sure there was more than one arrow lodged in the ceiling of the lobby courtesy of Arsenal. She nods at the offer, follows after and then past, out into the cool air, eyes sliding shut for a moment. She reopens them to the other balanced precariously, as if to prove he can, as if to demonstrate he is invincible, and smiles. "I'm trying to be mindful. Its been recommended by my therapist. Think about things before I do them or say them." She pauses for a moment, her expression impassive, before her brows knit together and a sigh falls from her lips. "Its very difficult and it gives me a headache."

"There's a really handsomely paid maintenance worker on standby, possibly one just for me." Ryojin agrees. Granted, he's gotten somewhat better about mayhem int he form of destruction, it's jsut that his powers don't necessarily lend themselves well to not destrying things. Sort of. At least when he transforms into the larger varieties. Ryojin finds himself wandering off, out to a balcony to heft himself up, props his half-empty bottle against a nearby windowsill before he leans precariously backward to tug his cigarette pack out of his pocket. "What does being mindful entail exactly?" he asks her curiously as he sparks a lighter to life and inhales in deep. "Well, you don't have to be mindful right now if you don't want, I'm pretty tough." Ryojin informs her with a lazy shrug of his shoulder, swings one foot out only to thump his heel against the metal rung of a bar immediately after.

"I wouldn't doubt that in the slightest." she agrees, lips twitching into a smile as the other announces this somewhat proudly, as if he is thrilled to suggest the idea. He seems to revel in his ability to create mayhem with so little at his disposal- compared to some, anyway. In a world that suddenly involves aliens and demons, a boy who can be any animal seems somehow run of the mill. "I don't think you wanna hear about that," she points out, but he looks at her with dark eyes, curious even, as if he cares about the things happening in her life, as if he cares about her even. It makes her uncomfortable, toes curling in her sneakers, one pushing through the threadbare toe of her socks. "Just. Meditation? I guess. Uh, what is it she always says...." she trails off, takes a gulp as if that helps to jog her memory somehow. "Acknowledging and experiencing emotions but not acting on them right away. "  her tongue pokes out between her lips, the bridge of her nose crinkling briefly. "Its dumb. Talk about yourself, talking about me sucks." she mumbles, but she doesn't follow up right away, edges closer to stand beside the other, fingers smoothing over the railing, shoulder bumping lightly against his thigh. "You like it here a lot?"

Ryojin takes a drag of his cigarette as he waits for Taera to open up, or to at least answer his question. It's not exactly like he's an impatient person, because he's not. At least, not in situations where things like winning or time limits are not involved. "Lots of things are dumb." he agrees unhelpfully enough, but it's not like he has a depth of knowledge concerning meditation. He takes another drag instead of jumping into himself as a general topic. Even before, when he thought she'd just joined in his little gang he'd been careful about that. He always has been, he hates pity, hates fear, hates a lot of things. Keeping people in the dark is just the easiest thing to keep all of that at bay. Not that he hides everything, he's happy enough to share the surface things, just not the winding path of his life, overgrown with weeds and brambles. He lets his leg sway to the side to thump his knee back against her lightly before he tips his head back to exhale out a cloud of smoke. "Better than a lot of other places I've lived. Besides, it's paid for and everything. Why, you don't?" he hazhards out a guess.

Taera's lips purse slightly as she thinks, considers, eventually lilts her explanation out as she feathers a hand back through long blonde hair. "True." she parrots back, because letting silence fall feels awkward and wrong. It used to be so easy to talk to him, she thinks, it used to flow so naturally and so quickly she barely thought about it. Even if it was mostly barbs and banter, even if it was largely playful as opposed to serious. Now it feels so uncertain. Now she feels like she's not deserving of the conversation to begin with, not deserving of his time or of the details of his life, but she presses for them anyway. In her year of separation she'd realized she didn't properly know anyone - except maybe Kori but Kori would tell her life story to an ant if prompted, and it hardly counted. And of all the people she found herself wishing she had known - her parents, the truth behind Slade, - she wanted to know Ryojin the most. But he's not forthcoming - truths don't fall from his lips as easily as jokes. "No, I do. I think." she admits, a small grin sweeping over her lips as the other thunks back at her. "But I feel like... I'm not supposed to be here, you know?"

Ryojin ashes the cigarette against the railing before he reaches over to nab his bottle, takes another long sip before he sets it back down with a clunk, his own leg swaying out to thun at her as he balances himself back in place. He's not entirely sure if he's wanted, now. If Taera had followed him out to be polite. It's hard for him to pick apart the truth from the former deception, but unless Taera snaps out and tell him otherwise, he's going to assume he's in the clear, tries his best to act like they had before. He's doing better now, even if it had taken a little bit of work to get over it, to hide the hurt when he'd seen her again. But it's easy enough to pretend that hadn't happened, easy enough to fall back into grins and jokes. "Why not? Last I checked most people can't fling rocks around with their minds. Or rock powers. However the fuck that's sposed to work." Ryojin point out with a bob of his head in a nod, extends a hand out to offer his half-smoked cigarette to her in case she wanted a drag (it was only polite).

She'd hurt him, Taera knows that. She'd almost gotten him killed, probably, and then she had killed the most important person in her life (who had been a megalomaniacal liar, it turned out, but it was still a murder) and then she had tried to kill herself. And after all that, they'd stopped her. Of course she'd run off after that. Of course she'd be humiliated and guilt ridden now. "You know why." she points out, takes it from him and fits it to her lips, smoke flooding her for a moment as she shifts, pulls it away to exhale, eyes fluttering closed. "I'm sorry, you know." she adds helpfully, awkwardly, smoothing her thumbs awkwardly against the edges of the railing, glancing up at him as he looks towards her, hands off the cigarette. "I don't know how to talk to you now. Or anyone else, honestly." she grumbles, a little bit reproachful, directed more at herself than anything else, sighing slightly as her chest tightens with something like anxiety or regret.

"I dunno, lots of people have done lots of shit things. I don't even think yours is the worst of it." Ryojin tells her truthful, it's not like he can't reate. Maybe not on an exact level, but one that's close enough. To be pulled under someone else's control and forced to do things you didn't really want to. Survival's a funny thing that way, people are willing to do a lot of things they swear they would never. "It's fine, I get it." Ryojin answers her back, and the words hold more weight than if someone else were to say it. Like it's more than forgiveness, like he understands. Bu he doesn't breach the topic back that, just hands off the cigarette with a lopsided grin. "I'm not mad." he tells her, and this much is true. Maybe he's not perfectly fine, maybe he feels some less than pleasant emotions with how everything ended, but anger isn't one of them. "What'll make it easier? Should I re-introduce myself or something? Clean slate?"

Taera laughs a little, ducks her head, fingers feathering through her hair when it promptly falls into her face. Its hard, still, to get out of that headspace, to look at him and know that she was lying to him, 24/7, for a year and a half. Its a long time to betray someone, a series of small decisions that she made, and she's saddled with the certainty that at any point she could have chosen to end it, to doubt Slade, to trust Ryojin, and every moment that passed she did not. Ryojin's words are oddly comforting, in the way they settle over her shoulders, like an arm draped reassuringly around her. "Why not? How can you be so...forgiving." Its another act she's unfamiliar with - forgiveness, absolution. He continues after a moment and it prompts a laugh, a quiet hum as she considers the idea, bites at the edge of her lip as if to stifle the smile that threatens to edge across them. "Yeah. Start over," she prompts, tilts her head slightly to look up at him expectant.

Ryojin shrugs at the question, swings his foot in the same arc and listens to the thump as his sneaker once again hits the bar. "Maybe someone made me do stuff I didn't want to either." he finally offers her, and it's not the full story, but it's a decent enough overview. It will at least give Taera an idea of where he's coming from, on why he can at least see most of it from her perspective, slightly quicker to come around. "Fine," Ryojin answers in turn with a chuckle, props his cigarette between his lips and offers out a hand for Taera to shake. "I'm Ryojin, and I'm a beast." he mumbles around the filter, waggles his brows a bit at that before he laughs, plucks it free from his lips and waits for the smoke to dissipate before he turns it back around on her. "And to who do I owe the pleasure?" he continues on, reaches out to grab at his bottles, drains the last of the beer.

Taera pauses when he speaks, the closest thing to an admission from his past that she’s ever gotten out of him, nodding slowly as she let a hand pat down against his thigh, squeezing lightly before she dropped it, tucked her hands into her pockets. “Nice to meet you Ryojin.” she murmured back, fit his hand against her own and shakes, laughing. “You’re gonna need to expand on your beastliness though, because right now it feels like a come on.” She flicks her hair back over her shoulder, tucks a few stray strands behind her ear, lips slanting lopsided. “Go Taera, ironically named, considering.” she informs him in return, “I’ve been a manipulative lying cunt for most of my life, but I’m straightening out now.” she extends an arm, fingers rigid, a straight line that she mimes pushing forward over the railing. “Or trying. Minor truancy appears to be built into me, so its a mixed bag.”

"Maybe it's sposed to be a come on." he tells her with a cocky looking grin, chuckles to himself as he props the cigarette back between his lips, takes another few drags of th dying stick before the stubs it out against the metal railing next to him. "It happens to the best of us." Ryojin tells her, winds his legs around to bars to hook his ankles against the metal rungs so he can lean back even further over the empty air. "I'm pretty sure destroying a walls counts as vandalism, so there's really so much they can expect out of us." Ryojin points out, closes his eyes briefly before he pulls himself upright once  again, slides down from his perch entirely and spins on a heel to prop his forearms against the railing next to her. "Getting any easier?" he asks her, head dropping to meet her eyes in something curious. "Should we like, get more drinks or something? Will that help?" he continues on with a grin.

Taera tries (and immediately fails) to suppress a smile at that, brows lifting slightly. "I could be open to that," she drawls drily back at him, as if unrattled, as if she doesn't sort of want that to be true, as if it wouldn't be unfair of her to want that from him in the first place. "Alas," she coos quiet in response, watches him shift, leaning back, fingers curling around the loose fabric of his jeans where it falls past his knees over his calves, in folds, tugs instinctively before she remembers he isn't in any danger. "You must give your mom heartattacks." she mumbles, scoffs a quick laugh before he moves - quickly, abruptly, gracefully. The next thing she knows he's right beside her, shoulders brushing, the smell of his cologne or his soap, and his cigarettes heavy in the air. "Little bit." she murmurs back, "But you're breaking immersion. You really should learn to commit to the role, haven't you ever taken a drama class?" she teases, pauses in thought. "Probably. But I like it out here. With you, with less people." Honesty, again, but a little easier this time.

Ryojin shoots a grin back at that, but doesn't push it farther. He's charming, and generally overconfident, but considering his track record with Taera he's unsure about pushing things too far. After all, he's pretty sure she had pretended to go along with all of his flirting back in the day to get closer to them, and he retroactively feels a little bad about that. He twists his legs around the bars and leans back, though laughs again when he feels Taera yanking at the fabric of his jeans. "My mom's six feet under, I don't think she worries about me much anymore." he offers out, more as a passing statement, an attempt to share a piece of himself. It's complicated, the way he sees his parents. One that he's never worked out. He slips down from the railing anyway, spins to stand next to her and settles his weight forward against the metal. "Everyone tells me I'm already dramatic enough, you'll just have to live with it." he teases her back. "Wait, say it again. But this time, just say it like, with you. Full stop." Ryojin cracks out like a joke, tacks on a "kidding." just to be safe )he might be slight amounts of tipsy).

Taera had been annoyed by Ryojin at first, because of how intensely he'd come onto her. Or at least, that had been her cover, even to herself. He was distracting from her mission, obviously. He was unnecessary, a barrier. That's how she'd thought at the time. But it became clear upon reflection he'd been a distraction, a nuisance, because of how much she had wanted to reciprocate, because she'd wanted to pursue something there, something more real.  Taera nods a little when he speaks, looks up at him. "Mine too. But I didn't meet her, and then my foster mom, she's gone too." Not dead, but written out of her life. Sort of the same thing. She watches him shift, swivel and thud into place beside her, a groan on her lips as he continues, teases. She thinks about it for a minute, finishes off the drink in her hand - far more rum than it is coke - and swallows hard, glances to the side. His features are cast in sharp relief like this, with shadows painted over him. "I like it out here, with you." she repeats, holds his gaze for a minute before she turns away again, clears her throat. "I could use the alcohol." she decides, a little louder, turns to head for the door.

"I don't talk to my foster parents anymore either." Ryojin notes in turn, fingers knitting together as he glances down at the streets below. He follows it up with another joke, a laugh, though eventually Taera parrots the words back at him, and his grin turns a llittle wider. He's not entirely sure what to make about them, or Taera, or what she feels about him in general. But for the moment, he'll take it. It's a nice way to spend the night, even if nothing turns out to be genuine. "Drinks it is." Ryojin agrees, follows after her toward the kitchen of the apartment they're in - discards his empty bottle for another and leans against the edge of the counter as he waits for Taera to mix another drink. "Porch part two, with me?" Ryojin asks her, referencing the stupid line he'd gotten her to say just moments ago. "Or somewhere new?" he concedes, though his intention that he's going to stick around her is obvious enough.

She pauses at that, when the other continues, looks at placid features and casual brows, a grin on her lips, slowly filtering into place. "You're really one to rely on the mystery factor huh, Beast?" she teases, but she's really just trying to express that she appreciates the fact he's opening up a little more, reaching out. She wants to ask him why - why on earth he'd bother with all this, but she doesn't, still selfish enough to not want to jinx it all. They end up in the kitchen, where he slouches easily against the counter, artful even. "With you?" she parrots back out, takes a gulp from the drink and grimaces, coughs. Its too strong, but she needs it that way, if she's going to keep being honest. "Rooftop." she decides, "I wish I lived on the top floor," she adds, as they headed towards the stairs. "It must be nice to be able to walk down the hall to the whole patio thing like that."

"Says you," he rallies back with a quiet laugh, fingers dragging through his hair as he shifts up to follow Taera back inside. He finds a drink and pries off the cap as he waits, though snags another bottle to go when Taera suggests leaving the part to head to the roof. "Maybe you can trade rooms with someone." Ryojin suggests in jest. He really doesn't mind being on the top floor though, despite the stairs. If he really wants to, he doesn't even have to take them, he can just leap off the roof and finds hiw way down as something that flies. He pushes his way out to the rooftop and walks toward the ledge before he drops down to splay himself out across the cement, ignores one fo the metal chiars nearby, and somehow succeeds in keeping his beer from spilling. "Not afraid of heights, I take it?" Ryojin questions out in order to fill the silence, elbow shifting against the cement to prop himself up so he can take another drink without choking.

"Maybe Kori will just move in with Hyun and I can take hers." she muses further, building on his joke with a quiet laugh, lips twitching at the edge as she trails after him. There's the elevator too, but none of them are strangers to a workout, so the stairs are hardly a bother. She's tipsy now, properly, to the point that the edges of her fingers are tingling and her cheeks are warm, a dead giveaway she's sure, watches as the other flops down against the cement, laying flat on his back. Taera bends her head to examine him for a minute, an incredulous grin as he props himself up. "isn't that uncomfortable?" she points out, shaking her head slightly even as she shifts, carefully sits beside him, tries not to let the slight disorientation of her senses cause her to falter, failing slightly and leaning into his side as a result. She doesn't bother to right herself, however, just leans into it for the moment, pulls a gulp. "Not really. I mean, maybe if we weren't on a stone patio with a bunch of stone on the ground. Kind of helps, all the rocks people use to build shit. I guess like how you don't mind heights because you could just fly away."

Ryojin takes a moment to relax against the ground, eyes slipping closed, and it feels like the world it spinning slowly around him, just a little tipsy. "Not really." he hums out, though uses the opportunity to crack his eyes open, push himself up on his elbow, and take another sip of his drink. "So what about airplanes then?" Ryojin asks her when Taera talks about the rocks giving her confidence. Granted, Ryojin's always been comfortable with heights, and flying in general is especially exhilarating. "How've you been though? You know, past the whatever stuff." Ryojin asks her, waves a hand around as he says it, as if to usher away the past that she undoubtably doesn't want to talk about. He shifts a little more, so that he's sitting upright completely, tries to focus his eyes on the cityscape below. "Or, what's on your mind?" he suggests as an alternative topic.

Ryojin pushes upright a little and Taera follows after him, settles beside him as carefully as she can manage, with the world tilting around her. She reaches for her drink regardless, as if continuing to drink is going to help her feel more at ease here. "Dunno, never been in an airplane." she admits, glances over at him, "I bet you love flying, right?" she teases, pushes at his knee lightly. "On your own terms of course." she tacks on, slides her hands down her legs until she's folded in half, fingers curled around her ankles and her head against her legs, sighing softly as muscles burn. The blonde straightens a moment later, looking over at him, "You seem like you do everything on your terms." she murmurs with a faint smile, rolling her shoulders back to press her palms against the concrete behind her, flat to anchor her. "We're on a fresh slate, I don't know whatever stuff you're talking about." she informs him sagely, glances sidelong at the other and takes a breath, another drink, chases it with a sigh and a smile. “So tell me, Ryojin, my new friend, “ she begins, tilts her head back to look at the distant sky above them. “ Is this like, your move? The porch thing. Although I guess I did suggest the patio, but I gotta say. Its pretty typical. Lets go somewhere more quiet.” she pitches her voice low to sound like his, “I just expected a little more effort from my beastly new companion.” She’s ditching the emotional subtext now, full tilt into playful and a little lighthearted. “How’s a beast like you not got a girlfriend to be pissed off at me right now? Or am I gonna have to watch my back?” And okay, maybe she’s fishing, a little but a year away is a long time, and he’s not exactly hideous.

"Yeah, it's pretty great. Hard to explain though." Ryojin answers her in turn, shifts around as he sits up and makes himself comfortable, pulls another sip of his beer. Ryojin hums when she speaks again, because he's not entirely sure what he wants to talk about, though Taera speaks sup again before he has time to think of something and let it slip free. "To be entirely fair, you're the one who said it wasn't your scene. Or something. I was just being a gentleman." he hums out, and while he doesn't have an exact recollection of what Taera had said, he's pretty sure it was something like that. "I'm on a low-effort mandated probation period, when I go high-effort I throw people through walls and mangement has a problem with that." he sighs out teasingly, lifts one hand to drag his fingers back through wind-mussed hair. "I don't know, I guess my roguish good looks are too much for most to handle." he decides with a grin, though it's true enough that he doesn't have a girlfriend. "What about you - or do you need a 3 to 6 months adjustment period before you can start looking?"

"You should at least attempt. Or turn into a...a...a...pterodactyl and fly me around." A young Taera had always been just a tiny bit obsessed with dinosaurs, but she's pretty sure he'd mentioned once that the prehistoric were off the table - right? maybe not. It would certainly be a nice surprise. "You're very gentlemanly, good point." she determines, laughing a little as she gulps down more of her drink, looks to the side at the other. "On second thought, continue to slack off. I'd like to remain in tact and not inside a wall or over the edge of the patio," the girl jokes in return, and damn if it isn't a weakass joke, but she's tipsy at this point, giggling as her skin flushes red. fortunate genes, there. "Well." she begins, squints. "I've historically been bad at commitment, honesty, and communication, so I'm really not sure what the best idea for me is, generally speaking. But, I did also spend a year on a fucking mountaintop with some fucking buddhists, so, like, I'm also sort of aching for companionship, to be pathetically blunt." she drawls back, nudges her knee against his. "Which is why I'm talking your ear off, probably. That and the roguish good looks."she concedes the second point with a smirk, a sip from her drink.

"Unfortunately, pterodactlys are off the table." Ryojin informs her, tips his head back to stare at the darkening sky as he tries to think of something bg enough with wings where that would work out, but his mind mostly comes up blank. "I'm not slacking off, I'm zen." Ryojin protests, even if he really isn't. When they'd tried to get him to meditate with raven, he'd been kicked out a record five minutes later. Meditation wasn't really for him. "Well that sounds a little bit terrible. No offense." Ryojin decides (though this is perhaps due to his ever present need to be around other people), takes another sip off his own drink before he tacks on a "what kind of companionship?" his own leg rocking to the side to bump against hers in turn. "I am pretty charming, aren't I?" Ryojin agrees with a grin, head ducking down briefly to meet Taera's eyes before he laughs to himself and sits upright once again. "What'd you do on the mountain anyway? Aside from, like...buddhist shit."

“Bummer.” Taera sighs wistfully, lets her lowerlip jut out slightly. “I really love dinosaurs. As a kid I was completely obsessed.” She’s about to bring up the fossil they’ve found recently, that’s so well preserved it looks like a statue, but she figures that might be hitting the nerd button a little too hard this soon. “Zen. Of course. Sure you are.” she laughs out, immediately skeptical and disbelieving, nodding a little bit. “It was. I mean. I think I needed to do it, the whole mountain thing, but it was miserable at first. I hadn’t… I have…” she pauses, squints slightly over the horizon, trying to reorder her thoughts. “I hadn’t ever really been alone with myself before, you know what I mean?” Its uncertain phrasing and she isn’t sure if it gets the message across, but she DID just profess to being a poor communicator - at least she’s making the effort. She holds up a middle finger as he teases her, thunks a leg against hers, rolls her eyes even as she suppresses a grin. “very.” she denotes drily, sniffs a little. “Thats really it. Hiking, practicing powers, training. A lot of cleaning and cooking. You have to pitch in, if you stay there.” she explains, scratches at a scrape healing over her knee. “I just needed to get my head on straight.”

"Made of zen." Ryojin informs her with another sage nod, even if it is entirely untrue. "Yeah, I guess. Mountain's pretty like, extreme mode though isn't it?" Ryojin asks, even if it's mostly rhetorical. "Rude, aren't you supposed to think really hard about these things before you go around flipping people off? I'm telling on you." Ryojin  declares teasingly, though the large smile plastered on his face makes it obvious enough that he doesn't really care. "That all sounds really, really boring." Ryojin declares, takes another long sip of the beer and shakes around the remaining liquid in the bottle. "You had to entertain yourself somehow I bet, right?" he asks her, brows shifting up again, paired with a mischievous looking grin and the lewd implications are obvious. Obvious enough that he braces himself for a stray fist, lifts his own shoulder up in preparation for it, or for a chunk of the roof to come careening toward his head. "I'm kidding," he tacks on, just in case. "What'd you miss the most though, while you were there? The internet?" he asks her, this time more seriously.

Ryojin's hair falls into his face when he nods, tousled and a little too long. "I mean.. yeah, but I felt like it was necessary. Extreme mode was kind of how I'd been living my life until then, so..." she shrugs, shoulders lifting as she stretches her legs in front of her, hand smoothing down them, scratching absently at the edge of a scrape. She's about to reply that yeah, it was pretty boring, when he continues, and she flushes despite herself, courtesy of being entirely embarrassed in the moment, and entirely too drunk. "You - you are.." she trails off, clears her throat. "Correct, and also obnoxious." she determines, nose scrunching upwards as she resolutely finishes off the drink, clears her throat. "The internet." she agrees, slicks her tongue over her lip. "I missed... I missed..." she sighs, bites down the inside of her cheek."I missed certainty. I'd thought...up until that night, that I had a purpose. That I was loved, and needed, and wanted. That there was a clear goal, someone to stand by me. And then all of a sudden all of that was over. I didn't know who I was, or what to do with myself, or how...to be," she sniffs, pinches at the bridge of her nose, and punches the other in the shoulder.

"I'm not saying it was a bad decision, just. Extreme." he reiterates, just to make sure she knows he's not trying to poke flaws in her logic, but the booze is making him chatty. Chatty enough to make jokes that leave her cheeks flushed pink and it has him hiding his laugh in the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "I'm adorable and endearing." he correct in place of obnoxious, but he does the same thing with his eyebrows once again when she tells him he's correct. He pushes on anyway, toward a new topic and taps his fingers against the ground as he waits for her to talk. He'd meant to keep things lighthearted, but when Taera sniffs and pinches at the ridge of her nose, he feels a little out of his element. He scratches the tips of his fingers against the cement like a distraction, but eventually he pulls a hand up to press his hand between her shoulders, something he means as comforting, though flinches away when she punches him, lets himself flop dramatically to the ground and shifts briefly into a dog just to shoot forlorn puppy eyes at her, sits up and then morphs back into a boy. "I mean, you can still have all that, it's not impossible."

"I'm prone to extremes." she admits in turn, grins a little when he hides his face, laughs hearty and husky. Its a nice sound - he's a nice boy - and she wonders again why on earth he bothers to forgive, to reach out. She mumbles out a little more honestly, more candidly than she had intended to be, and watches him fidget uncertainly. She should have just said porn or booze, she thinks, but its worth it for the weight of his hand against her back, offers him a grin before she slugs him in the shoulder, laughing as he flops and whines. When he becomes a dog, she's laughing, cooing slightly as she strokes at soft fur, sighing dramatically in disappointment as he changes back shortly thereafter. "You should have stayed a dog, you were the cutest that way." she informs him sagely, fingers still tangled into his hair, only it is longer and silkier now, and she combs his bangs carefully from his eyes. "Its more difficult, though. Its an adjustment, I guess." she explains, sighing softly. "I just like to complain."

Ryojin flops to the side at the punch and morphs into a dog (because if there's one thing he's learned cheers up girls, it's dogs), tongue lolling briefly out of his mouth as he feels her fingers stroke at his fur, nips playfully at her hand as he rolls upright, though drops his hold as he morphs back. "I'm not cutest all ways?" he asks, and it comes out in a gasp, like he might have been shocked by the statement. His nose scrunches up as her fingers drag through tangled hair - and he probably should have combeed it before going out, but he definitely hadn't. Hardly ever does. He's a mess of a boy, with perpetually wild hair and scrapes and bruises aplenty, but it's hard to make it look like he's composed when he's constantly shifting. It's not like hes going to carry around a comb. "Why's it more difficult?" Ryojin asks her, because all things considered, hitting it off with the eviler of two stupid steet gangs at least /sounds/ like it would be more difficult.

Taera smiles, a laugh quiet in the cool night air when he nips playful at her hand, slides her fingers back through his bangs as he shifts into a boy again, scratches lightly at his scalp, smoothes out a few errant tangles. "He basically raised me, so, you know, I didn't... have to think about things. I just trusted him. Which, obviously, was not the best idea ever. But now I have to be distrusting, or careful, you know? Its a good thing to do - to evaluate people, motives. But its also a lot more difficult than blind acceptance." she points out, shrugging a little bit. "But I guess some people seem easier to trust than others, which helps." she teases, sliding her fingers free from his hair. "You, for example." her nose scrunches, finger pressing lightly into the dimple of his cheek.

"I guess so," Ryojin agrees, because it's true enough. But then, even with what he's been through himself, he's alwayss been on the easier side of trust. The problem lies in the fact that he wants to, that he wants to forge relationships and create friends. "I do have a very trustworthy face," he agrees, eyes slipping shut as he smiles, he fingers pressing a little harder into his cheek before he lets the expression drop, pulls a knee to his chest and winds an arm around it before he drops his chin to rest against it. "But anyway, now you get to have the internet and everything, so. Exciting." he points out, because he's never been spectacular in emotionally charged situations, or situations that promote sharing and feelings. He's better at difffusing, and at running away from problems without letting people realize he's doing so, with hiding all his own hurt behind fun house mirrors - because the best sorts of distractions are ones that make people laugh, or turn them incredulous when he throws people through walls on a dare. "Plus there's pizza, I bet mountain food is lacking. I'm already depressed just thinking about it."

"Extremely trustworthy." she agrees, pats his cheek lightly before she drops her hand, watches him shift. Her hans press back behind her against the concrete surface, head tilting back to examine the sky above them. "Yeah, I really fucking missed the internet. And pizza. Not just pizza, either. They're vegetarians up there, you know. LIke, I got pretty healthy and all that but damn did I miss fried chicken and cake and pizza and now I'm really hungry." she bemoans, lowerlip jutting out slightly as she rolls her head to the side to look at him. "Thanks a lot." she adds, a dramatic sigh as she continues, "Turn into a chicken so I can fry you up, it'd really hit the spot I bet." he fights the urge to laugh at her weird, shitty, cannibalistic joke. "Does that even count as cannibalism you think?" she adds after a beat, squints slightly. "Do you count it - like, are you a vegetarian? Since you...can be all those animals, is it weird to eat them?"

"Gross," he chuckles out at her prompt to turn into a chicken, turns to level her with a fake looking glare "or I could turn into a wolf and eat you." he trades in turn, pairs it with a toothy grin before he shrugs a shoulder. "I mean, it freaked me out at first. I went vegetarian for a while, but eventually it was like...well, I can transform into other animals that eat meat so, circle of life and all that. Some of the industry is kind of..." he trails off, pulls a face (and maybe he's a bit of an animal activist on the side, but going into detail about /why/ and /how/ the meat packing industry needs to improve is a conversation for a different day). "I think it only counts as cannibalism if I turn into a chicken and then eat the chicken. Or whatever. Which is weird." he notes, drums hiss fingers against his shin as he contemplates. "So if you get to ask /me/ stupid questions about my powers - do you listen exclusively to rock music?" he asks her, just to return the favor.

"That would definitely be inappropriate," Taera returns with a laugh, his grin toothy and pretty, chased with a chuckle as the other continues. "Fair enough." she denotes, nodding along as he references the problematic meat industry, hums quietly in contemplation. "Makes sense." she adds, a laugh when the other continues, "It wasn't a stupid question and it also wasn't about your powers. Technically. It was about you, psychologically responding to those powers." She sniffs slightly, lips slanting with a smile. "Absolutely." is her deadpan reply, before she shakes her head. "I mean, not exclusively, but a lot. I like other stuff too though." A moment of contemplation has her throwing another question his way, "What's your favorite animal to turn into? Do you have a favorite, even or is it just a case by case thing?"

"Whatever, whatever." he ushers away, picks up the bottle to drain the remainder of his beer before he sprawls out against the pavement once more, heels ressting against the ground and his knees crooked up. "Case by case, but. Bear happens a lot. Very scary. Raven, because I like to fly and it makes Raven-Raven huff. Dog is a fan favorite, so's cat." he lists off, threads his fingers together and tucks his palms underneath his head like a pillow. "Why, what's your favorite animal? Maybe I'll humor you sometime." he tells her with a chuckle, one knee swaying back and forth as he stares up at the sky, dark now, but hard to pick out the stars. "But, three months...done anything fun or just hiding out in the tower?"

Ryojin promptly splays out on the ground beside her, lazy and laconic and woefully endearing in his casual posture. "Those are all other people's favorites or useful." she points out, pushes her hand back through smooth blonde strands. "I like..." she trails off in momentary consideration, contemplating the question. "I like bears." she decides, nodding a little. "Really big and fat ones." Taera laughs a little, groaning slightly as she shifts in place, the world still spinning ever so slightly. "And foxes. They have domesticated ones, in Russia. I saw it online." Taera shifts after a moment to lay against the concrete beside him, a moment of concentration softening the concrete beneath them to contour slightly to their forms, a more comfortable resting position this way. "The first month was awkward. Buying stuff for the apartment, catching up on shows, about five hundred awkward first meetings. Second month I got a part time job, leading hiking tours at the nature preserve, took a bunch of extra shifts to build up some savings. Third month... I've been trying to , you know. Make friends. Get my bearings. Find another job closer to the tower." she rattles off, blinks over at him. "You work at all?"

"Bats are cool. Everything's just real...different. But you still know what's going on. Plus flying." he tells her, even if he's not entirely sure if it's his favorite. "I think I have lots of favorites." he finally settles on. "Well, I can get the bear part down at least, but. As you can see I am definitey not fat." Ryojin concludes, slips his hands out from under his head just to drop on down and pull up the hem of his shirt to expose his skin, the slight definition of his abs. He laughs, tosses it back careflessly and leaves a strip of skin visible, though that time was unintentional. "I'm a cute fox." Ryojin informs her, though makes no move to actually turn into one at the moment, but hums when he feels the concrete soften under his head. "Yeah, I work part time at an arcade, and then some late night podcast thing on the side but. That pays pennies." he answers back. "But I guess it's okay, considering I don't have to pay for rent." he concludes. "What kinda job you looking for?"

Taera considers the idea of being a bat, taking to the skies and seeing with sound, the screech of ecolocation. "I can kind of do a bat thing." she announces after a moment, before realizing this doesn't make any proper connection to his statement, lost in the tipsy wanderings of her brain. "Wait, okay, this makes sense. I can like - sense vibrations through the ground, right, so I know if like, someone is sneaking up on me." she explains, "which...is kind of... like...echolocation?" she lilts, swallows. "maybe not. Maybe I'm a little drunk." She clears her throat, tilts her head to look over at the other, a chuckle on her lips as she reaches out to smack her hand lightly against the exposed line of his stomach, "You're a fucking flirt is what you are," she accuses brightly, clicks her tongue and shifts, laying back a little to settle against the concrete, a slight grin following as he hums his quiet appreciation. "What kind of podcast?" she queries with interest, shrugs a little. "Something that pays me money and isn't totally useless? I guess I have to think about the future, too. Like. A career, and shit."

"Kind of." Ryojin agrees with a laugh, but he really doesn't know too much in either direction to really make that call. But he moves into talking about bears, and about himself, the hem of his shirt moving up, though he groans when Taera lands a hand against his stomach. It's easy enoough to tell he likes the attention though, and he uses the opportunity to clench his stomach. "What's so bad about that?" he asks her as he settles back into place. "Guess you'll need to listen and find out. Try not to get too enthralled by the sound of my voice though. It's hard, but I have faith." he trades back, though hums in agreement when she mentions the future. "Yeah, well. Future's future. Just focus on now." he decides, which is exactly what he has a tendency to do in most situations. To the point where it leads to poor impulse control and damaged property, but at least it's easier that way. "How's the friend making thing going though, any luck?"

Taera laughs as he clenches his stomach, groans pointedly, and she smacks him again, lightly, before she shifts in place slightly, lying on her side facing him, hand propping her head as she murmurs her explanations. "Nothing really.' she teases back, shakes her head a little as he continues. "I don't even know the name of it. At least text me the link or something later, how else am I supposed to find you. I can't just google sexy beast man podcast. Maybe I can. But I'm dubious about the kind of results I would get." Her tongue tangles a little as she flits from topic to topic, courtesy of the rum and cokes she's downed, humming quietly as the other continues. "I like that idea. The future will work itself out, right?" It won't, and she knows it, but its comforting to pretend at least for a moment that she isn't worried about it.  "Well.." she begins, squints over at the other, "Are we friends?"

"Need your number to text you." Ryojin points out, and it has him fitting a hand down into the pocket of his jeans to retrieve his cell, unlocks it and opens up contacts before he passes it over to her. "Yeah," he agrees, drums his hands against his own stomach as she waits for Taera to finish putting in her information. "Us? Yeah, I'd say so." he tells her, because he'd like to think so, even if she had been keeping her distance from him over the past couple of months. Things seem to be a little easier now though, granted, it could be from the sheer amunt of booze they'd both knocked back. But eitheer way, he's not complaining. There's a silence before he glances over at her "should we like, do something? Are you bored?" he wonders aloud, reaches his hand out and waits for her to drop his phone back against his palm, fits it back into his jean pocket after.

Taera laughs as he points that out, passes over his cell, and she taps in her name, number, hands it over. "Then I've made one friend, and I'll consider that a good start." she informs him with a wry grin, "it turns out I'm not super personable." She drops her voice to tell him this, like a stage whisper during a play, muted in theory but still quite entirely audible. Its true though, he is her friend at this point, she thinks, even if she doesn't properly deserve that olive branch extended her way. Still, if he wants to be forgiving she's not going to ruin it. She could use a little forgiveness from someone else, since she's not liable to receive it from herself.  "Sure, but what? You wouldn't turn into a pterodactyl and fly me around, so I'm sore for ideas. I guess I could fly us." She's not sure why her drunk brain has latched onto flying, but maybe he'll have a better idea. "I guess its more of a floating zippy kind of thing." she corrects after a beat of consideration, "We could find someone else for you to chuck through a wall. I hear you've made a hobby of it."

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It's late, and the building had been shaking, enough to wake a few of them up. It had been pieced together, and Ryojin eventually volunteered himself to go wake Taera up, because crawling under the gap in her door as an ant seemed like a better option than hyun kicking down her door. So that was exactly what he did, morphed back into a boy as soon as he crawled under the gap, looked sleepy and rumpled in an oversized hoodie and flannel pants as he shuffled closer. "Taera." it came out in a hushed whisper before he realized he was supposed to be waking her up, feet bracing against the ground as the building shook again. "Taera." he tried again, louder this time, one knee pressing to the edge of the mattress as he reached out to prod at her shoulder, body tensed in case she woke up and fung a rock at his head, preparation prickling underneath his skin in case he needed to turn into something tiny with wings.

Sleep does not come easily to Taera, and even when it does finally descend it becomes tumultuous rather quickly. This is, she supposes, par for the course. The nightmares have subsided over time but the serum and the psychosis mean they never entirely leave. Sometimes they are chased with sleep paralysis, the feeling of a crushing weight on her chest, looming figures that obscure her vision adn fill her with dread, the temptation to lash out quashed by her bodies' unwillingness to respond. This is what she thinks is happening, when a hand pushes at her and she opens her eyes to a shadowed figure, winds her fist back to strike before she registers its a familiar presence. By that point she's upright in bed with her fist cocked back, pupils wide and breath in quick pants. Slowly she relaxes, squeezing her eyes shut with a groan. "Sorry," she mumbles, glances around. The knicknacks on her shelves have slid a few inches, things knocked askew. "Was I shaking?" she groans, rubs at her face. "Sorry."

Ryojin prods again, and then once more before her eyes crack open there's a flurry of motion and he spots a fist, takes the moment where she pulls her hand back to turn into a tiny songbird and propels himself a little higher, closer to the ceiling. He's already found out how bad it hurts to get pelted in the head with a rock once and he doesn't want a repeat. The morphing seems to alert her to who it is though, so he flutters back down to perch at the eend of her bed, skitters back and forth in funny looking bird hops as he waits for Taera to fully wake up. When she starts talking, he flutters off the end of the bed and morphs back before he hits the mattress, flops onto it with a thump of a noise. "S'okay, you woke us up. I think cuz we all live above you. I volunteered for waking up duty, I figured you'd rather wake up to my face than Hyun's. That would be like...nightmare part two." he declares with an exaggerated, mock shudder.

By the time there’s a hopping bird at the edge of her bed she can’t help but feel a little more lighthearted, a little bit brighter, a smile ghosting over her lips as she feathers a hand back through her hair, trying to regain her senses.  He moves quickly, collapsing into place against her mattress, jostling her a little in the process, her head turning to watch him splay out, a grin twisting the edge of her lips.  “Ah, shit, " she groans, falls backwards on to the mattress, pouts at the shadowy ceiling. "That means that little punk is gonna scold me or some shit. Or worse, get all...concerned and in my face." she rolls to the side to face the other, laughs as the other continues. "You're definitely preferable to Hyun, yes." she reassures him with a laugh, nips at the edge of her lip before she adds, as nonchalantly as possible, "Would you stick around for a minute? I get paranoid after nightmares, and then its hard to sleep again, so, yeah." She doesn't look at him when she asks, eyes trained on a distant point over his shoulder.

"He does the concerned in your face thing a lot. You can piss him off by turning into something large and trashing his room, or kissing his totally-not-girlfriend." he advises, like that might have been real, actual advice. To be fair, either option, /will/ piss Hyun off. "Yeah, sure," he agrees, tucks both hands into the front pouch of his hoodie as he fixes his own eyes to the ceiling, not that he can make out much. His gaze is dragged down once again when he can't find anything to focus on, eyes adjusting to the light slowly and he can begin to make out Taera's face. He could just transform into something with night vision, like a possum, but he figures that might just make her shout. He briefly contemplates a cat before ushering that away too in favor of still being able to speak. "Wanna talk about it or nah?" he asks her, toys around with his own fingers, though the motion is hidden behind fabric.

"You do that a lot?" she questions with a laugh, but honestly she's the most curious about that last part. "You and Kori I mean." she adds, tacks it on in a way that is entirely not obvious, of course. But she's rattled and tired and he's sweet and staying, so she allows herself an obvious question, just this once. She's trying the honesty thing after all. "Thanks." she tacks on, slips her hand over his arm to curl a little closer, presses her cheek to his bicep. "Not really." she admits, sighs a quiet, restless sigh, "Its that stupid serum shit." she adds after a second, "I guess it fucked with my brain a little." Taera sighs, rolls away from him onto her back, disentangling from the heat of his arm.