#youre met with a 'still good to continue?' which IS just a good faith clarifying question but your own cptsd and autistic Polite Mode

[angel---eater]

we wanna relax and have a good time for the rest of the night but that DM like sapped all of our spoons and mental energy. like we feel straight up like a husk rn i cant even think thoughts beyond what im about to type and i still have to manage all my fuckin 5e spells, on top of convoluted homebrew spells [skull emoji] [skull emoji] [skull emoji]

[deathofacupid]

blind date | jake peralta

summary: jake takes a leap of faith with this blind date. warning: cursing pairing: fem!reader x jake peralta word count: 2.9k+ words

“alright, charles, why’d you blow me off this time?”

“aw, c’mon! you know it wasn’t like that,” he says, shrugging off his jacket to put on the back of his chair. “i never get to see her, and i don’t know how long she’s in town for.”

“i’m kidding, i’m kidding. but i have to say, i’m getting kinda curious. like, who’s this chick? you talk about her all the time, but i’ve never met her.”

“she’s from florida.”

“okay, first ick already.”

charles plops down in the chair next to jake’s desk. “no, no, no. she’s not ‘from’ from florida. she lives there.”

“that’s not better, dude,” jake shudders.

“she’s a family friend.”

“so, like, childhood bestie?”

“no, she’s much younger than me.”

“never a good sentence in any context.”

“oh, my— just let me finish. i used to babysit her when i was a teenager. don’t make it weird, jakey.”

“wait, wait, so how old is she?”

“mm, 27? maybe 28 now? something like that, i’d say.”

jake turns back to his computer, continuing to type. “okay.”

out of nowhere, charles gasps, “oh, my snickerdoodles—"

“nope.”

“what? i didn’t even finish!”

“whenever you start a sentence with ‘oh, my snickerdoodles’, i always end up significantly more uncomfortable than before.”

“this is a good snickerdoodles, i swear.”

jake groans, throwing his head back. “fine. what’s it this time?”

“okay, well, you know how you’re single?”

“thanks for reminding me.”

“well, she’s single too!”

“charles, i’m not—"

“you see, it’s perfect! and she’s not even that much younger than you!”

“a: lower your voice, you’re making me sound kind of like a pedo; b: no.”

“why?” he whines.

“no offense, man. seriously. but you kinda suck at this stuff. i mean, last time i went on a blind date you set up, i ended up with a peacock for a pet.”

“but this one’s so good!”

“dude. charles. you kinda… well, it’s just… you hang out with people like you. and that’s not a bad thing! i just don’t know if i want to date a… charles,” he winces.

charles is confused for a second, but then he nods slowly. “she’s not a me, whatever that means.”

jake, once again, winces. charles definitely took offense that, which is fair — jake didn’t exactly make what he said sound right.

“i mean, she works in home insurance! i could never deal with a job with that level of risk and responsibility.”

“‘risk and responsibility’?”

“oh, boy, yeah. she’s makes that good money, though.”

jake raises an eyebrow, “is the money thing supposed to get me to say yes?”

“…yeah. did it work?”

“a little,” he admits. “but not enough.”

“think of it as an early birthday gift for me!” charles claps his hands together.

“but your birthday isn’t for another 5 months.”

“well, then, you’ll be all set.”

“y’know what? fine. not because of the birthday thing,” he clarifies, “i’m still getting you something. i’m doing it to make you happy.”

charles grins, “oh, jakey, i knew you loved me! i’ll go talk to her! keep this weekend open!” he calls out, rushing back over to his desk.

as jake watches him, he chuckles quietly to himself. if charles cares that much, he’s sure it’ll be worth it.

for charles it’ll be worth it, is what he means. he doesn’t think anything’s going to come out for him.

jake gets four things later that day. a date, time, location, and most interestingly, a name.

your name’s really pretty, at least to him. it feels like a fresh start, things with amy hadn’t worked out. they’d gone strong for 2 months, but that was it.

worst part was, he really did like her.

again, however, there was nothing he could do. what happened, happened, and he was ready to move on from it.

saturday night, 7:30pm, shaw’s. he’s waiting, seated at a table for two. jake drums his fingers on the table, taking a sip of his water.

he’s not punctual either, but he got here early (early!) for charles. granted, it was just by 6 minutes, but still.

he checks his watch again — 7:36.

weird that’s he’s 6 minutes early, and you’re currently 6 minutes late.

“hi,” a voice snaps him out of his own head, “are you jake? peralta?” he looks up to see the, out of what he’s seen before, the most beautiful woman ever.

your hair falls in styled ringlets around your shoulders, which are exposed in the burgundy, spaghetti-strapped dress you’re wearing.

you’re so pretty, he finds himself repeating mentally.

your eyes are kind, and he can see the curve of your lashes. with those soft lips, he can’t help but wonder how they’d feel, pressed against his own.

“uh, yeah,” he confirms. “y/n?”

“yes, yeah. that’s me.” jake gets up to give you a quick hug as a greeting. and now he’s wondering if that was too much as he pulls your chair out.

“i’m sorry i’m so late.”

late? please, that’s normally his early.

not that he’s about to admit that.

“oh, no, you’re totally fine,” jake assures, pushing the chair back in. he then takes his own seat.

“i went to the wrong shaw’s,” you wince. “apparently there’s, like, 4? and i went… not to the right one,” you chuckle. “i haven’t been back for a really long time. and when i was younger, i never came here.”

“huh, so it’s your first time?”

you nod, “yeah.”

“better make it remarkable then,” he grins.

jake went into this date with the full intention of half-assing it. now? now he was going to make it the best he possibly could.

you laugh lightly, and it’s now his new favorite sound.

as soon as he thinks that, he’s recoiling at himself. what’s wrong with him? is he completely whipped for this girl he doesn’t even know?

well, another voice says, doesn’t even know yet.

a waiter passes by the two of you, handing out menus.

“just give us a few,” jake says. he hopes you won’t order anything expensive. he’s not sure his wallet can afford that.

you flip through it, small furrow in your brows as you think.

“i think i’ll go with the smoked salmon,” you decide. jake didn’t even notice he’d been staring at you. his eyes flicker back to his own menu, where he finds what you’re talking about.

it’s a decent price, and he’s thanking the lord. it takes everything in him not to order the chicken nuggets.

“sounds good,” jake notes. “i’ll have…” not the nuggets, he tells himself, “the same.”

he hates fish, but he’s nervous and doesn’t trust himself.

“cool,” you smile.

“cool.”

“um, so charles tells me you work with him?”

“ah, yeah. i do.”

you’re still looking at him, so he assumes you’re waiting for him to say more. “detective at the 99th precinct.”

“honestly, that’s so cool. sounds very interesting.”

“it is,” jake’s getting more pumped, “murder is so cool.”

you snicker, and it’s only then that he realizes what that sounds like.

“i mean, solving murders is cool. the… actual murder part is less cool. y’know, for the… murder-…ee?”

“‘murdered,’” you correct, “and no, no, it’s okay. it does sound cool. and, like, i’m sure it is. i work in home insurance.”

“oh, yeah, charles told me that.”

“it’s a snooze-fest, honestly. but at the end of the day, it keeps me off the street in a cardboard box. so— so i can’t really complain.”

“okay, well, if you could have another job, what would it be?”

you wince, “uhh… man, that’s a good question,” you fold your hands in your lap. “i actually don’t know. it’s funny because i have a master’s degree in psychology—“

“oh, so like a shrink type?” he asks, without thinking. “in a good way— because shrinks are awesome and hot and very helpful.”

you smile, unsure and continue, “maybe a therapist of some sort?”

“ohh, cool. cool, cool.” to him, that sounds worse that home insurance, but whatever floats your boat.

“what about you?”

“huh. i don’t actually know. i can’t see myself doing anything. i’ve always known what i’ve wanted to do, from a young age.”

“can’t relate,” you say. “i waited until the very last minute to pick something. and all that got me was being able to read emotions crazy good. and overthink basically everything.”

he chuckles, “but, hey, at least you’re in home insurance now?”

you groan, “i hate my job.”

“then get another one!”

“i seriously don’t think you know how much harder that is than it sounds.”

“yeah, probably. wait, so you don’t want to be a shrink? double wait, is it offensive for me to say that?”

you giggle, “i don’t take offense. but to the first thing, i don’t know. i mean, i never really tried with that.”

“so you worked your ass off to get that master’s… and then choose to do math all day?”

“to sum it up, yes. but enough about work. do you have any hobbies?”

before jake can answer, the waiter comes back over. you give him your orders, along with a request for a (cheapish) red wine.

he’s grateful for the extra minute to try and come up with a hobby, because aside from work, he doesn’t really have any. and it’s not like he can say die-hard binging is his hobby.

can he?

no, of course not.

but…?

no, no.

unless…?

“uh, i… knit!” he stammers.

“you knit?”

“yes, yeah. i knit. and, boy, do i love it.”

“huh.”

“what?” maybe lying wasn’t the best option here. you can clearly see through it, with that amused smirk of yours.

“nothing. you just didn’t seem like a knitter.”

“well, i am. gah, i’m not. not even remotely. knitting’s so stupid. what do you want me to do with those chopsticks?”

“you’re funny,” you say, after your laughter dies down. “why’d you lie, then?”

“because i panicked, also because i don’t have any. work is my hobby. i love what i do, so it’s not really a job for me.”

“y’know what would be fun? for our next date?”

his heart jumps at the mention of another date.

“what?”

“finding you a hobby! i think i have some things in mind that you’d like.”

“like… motorcycles!”

“what with motorcycles?”

he shrugs, “can’t see me as a teenage dirtbag?”

“teenage?” you snort. “yeah, you wish.”

“that does sound fun, though. i can’t wait,” he smiles softly. “you got any hobbies, shrink?”

“i read, mostly. it’s refreshing after having a basic 9-5 job where i do math all day.”

“oh, i read too!”

“what do you read? any favorites?”

“uh… sci-fi’s cool. occasionally, fantasy.”

“what’s that thing called? the skyfire circle, is it? you read that?”

“yeah, i did. it was okay,” he downplays.

“really? i hated it.”

“what?” he sputters, “how?”

you clap your hands, accomplished.

“i see what you did there.”

“you’re fun.”

“thanks.”

“fun fact,” you say, as the waiter sets down your food. you thank her quietly, then turn back to jake. “i have a minor’s in creative writing.”

“oh, my god. seriously?”

“yeah,” you laugh. “like i said, i really didn’t know what i was gonna do with my life.”

“next thing i know, you’re gonna be like, ‘i have a major in freakin’ bakery science’.”

you’re silent, and his jaw drops. “no way. you’re kidding!”

“no, no, i am!” you grin, “but your reaction was insanely funny. would that be crazy? if i did?”

“yeah, like fucking barbie.” did he just make a barbie reference? why?

why?

you cut into your food, and take a bite. “pretty good for as far as bar food goes. new york bar food at that.”

he takes a bite too, “mm. yeah. delicious!” he plasters a smile.

“didn’t i just catch you for lying?”

“…yes.”

“dude! what’s wrong?”

“this is disgusting,” he gags, spitting the fish back onto the plate. “honestly, the plan was just to swallow and not think. title of my sex tape,” jake adds, without thinking.

“sorry?”

“oh,” pink tinges his cheeks, “it’s just a thing me and my friends do. it’s like ‘that’s what she said’, but more ethnically advanced.”

“wait, wait, ‘ethically advanced’?”

“it’s original. what are we, 12 year old boys?” he snorts.

giggling, “i would believe it.”

he feigns horror, dropping his fork on his plate.

the rest of dinner is nice like that, where you go back and forth with playful banter. or as he would say, flirting. but banter sounds more ethically advanced.

he slides out his wallet, “i’ll pay.”

you make a face, “we’ll split it.”

“y/n, really, it’s fine. i want to.”

“so do i,” you smile.

“okay,” he says, giving the waiter his credit card, and then yours. “split it, please.”

“did you drive here?”

“no, i taxied. i don’t trust myself to drive here. looks scary. i need to adjust to that,” you chuckle.

“i’ll drive you home.”

“no, it’s—“

“as a cop, it’s my duty to protect/tell you that it’s dangerous at night in new york, taxi or not. as your date, it’s the bare minimum,” he winks.

jake grabs his stuff, and so do you. you adjust your dress accordingly, and leave with him.

“uh, this one’s mine.” he pulls open your door, and helps you in before doing the same.”

you give him your address, and he puts in the gps.

“i like your car,” you say, mostly to break the silence. “…is that— toothpaste? and a toothbrush?”

“if i deny it, will it make it better?”

you laugh, “you late a lot?”

“constantly. but it’s not late, it’s, like—“

“if you used ethically advanced again—“

“ethically advanced.”

“how does that even apply here?”

“i don’t know. but i shouldn’t have to tell you. it’s not ethically advanced.”

“oh, my—"

“it’s not! i’m just being honest,” he shrugs, taking a turn. “hey, you live really close.”

“you wouldn’t believe. i went to the other side of the freaking city, because i got the wrong shaw’s!”

“for real? the other side?”

“basically. i literally left half-and-hour early, so i wouldn’t be late.”

“hah! that’s funny.”

“it was pain. i’m gonna kill charles. i asked over the phone! i was like, ‘is it the one on 11th?’ and he was like, ‘yeah.’ i should’ve known he was too excited about this to actually be a normal person.”

“like i said, funny. charles says he’s known you for some time.”

“yeah. he used babysit me. wouldn’t get payed, obviously, because he’s a family friend.”

“y’know, i thought you’d be more like him, that’s why i was hesitant to do this.”

“i know what you mean. trust me, i’ve dealt with those ‘i love yous’ my entire life. they’re the bane of my existence.”

“what, you don’t like constant affection, like at every waking moment? but that’s living the dream!”

you give him a look.

“charles was a great sitter though. he was such a pushover, he’d let me do anything. like, once, he sneaked me into a bar through the bathroom window. we were both underage! it was crazy. well, aside from the part where i got grounded for, like, a decade.”

“what? charles hasn’t told me about any of this stuff before!” he exclaims, pulling into your driveway.

“really? i have so many stories.”

“well, i can’t wait to hear them all.”

as you go to open the door, he stops you. “wait, wait! don’t open that!”

“why?” you ask, panicked, “is it going to explode?”

“huh? why would it-?”

“i don’t know. you’re a cop. maybe… i don’t know.”

“i was gonna say that i’m on a gentleman-y streak here. gotta finish strong. oh, did you notice that, by the way? like, with the doors and chairs?”

“yes, i did,” you smile. “and it’s very hot.”

he does a small fist pump. “i’ll walk you.”

you chuckle, “it’s, like, 10 feet.”

“yeah, but what if someone abducts you?”

“in that 10 feet?” you ask incredulously.

“i’ve seen it happen before,” he shrugs.

“yeah, okay. walk me to my front door, fuzz.”

“what?”

“the fuzz. y-you know, cause you’re a cop? a police dude? smokey the bear? barney? …po-po?”

“we’re good here,” he cuts you off. after he walks with you to the front door, he stops you.

“tonight was really fun. like i said, i was skeptical, but i clearly had no reason to be. you’re smart, and funny. 8/10, overall.”

“only 8?” it’s a teasing tone.

“would’ve been at least a 12/10 if you’d seen die-hard,” he mutters.

“we can add that to our next date option list. i mean, assuming you’re open to one?” it comes out more of a question.

“yeah, no, of course. that sounds awesome. seriously, can’t wait.”

“okay, well,” you feel shy, “cool.”

“cool.”

jake decides to be a little risky, leaving a kiss on your forehead.

“bye, y/n,” he says, as you close the door. as he takes a seat in his car, he pulls out his phone, sending a message to you.

jake 12/10

sliding the key into the ignition, he makes a mental reminder to thank charles for this blind date.

it’s his finest work yet.

taglist: @deathofapiano

[angelojamal]

When I was married, I knew I was not being replenished, I didn’t think that was supposed to occur. I felt then, if you pour into a spouse, they automatically pour into you. Not everyday, but often enough, so I could continue to pour into my spouse. When I knew I chose wrong, it was the first marriage anniversary. After a fight over my plans for our anniversary (probably because it was a planned event with her, my son, and myself and not a tangible item she can brag about online) it turned into a nasty argument where my ex spouse was breaking items in the house such as fans, due to her having a temper-tantrum. Then she left the house for more than 10 hours with my 6 month old son. She just left me in the house sulking in my own thoughts. The pain felt that day, I don’t care to relive and wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. The Holy Spirit revealed then, I had a spouse that lied, cheated, stole, gossiped, was a angry, angry person. The Holy Spirit removed them from my path but I still needed to guide my children. The plan for my life was already set at seven years old. Once I had my children at 26, I kicked up my effort to be the best version of myself. Work smarter, not harder. If I stayed married and didn’t ask for a divorce in February 2016, I would not be who I am today. After the separation and the divorce was finalized in July of 2017, I have moved forward carefree of the ex spouse. I believe that my growth, thru the ruach’ha kodesh, has led the ex spouse to see me differently now. And I know my son and daughter need me present for them, however I can never be present for there other side of the family. I have had multiple attempts on my physical person verbally from them and the ex spouse and even narrowly evaded multiple attempted assaults on my person. I was ready for every attack, however, that displays what low vibrational people appear as. I moved on once I asked for a divorce and I was denied a divorce on terms I set with the court which was in my opinion very amicable and fair. The divorce was later brought up again once the ex spouse did enough fralicking around town, and once she finally researched the process enough to make it hurtful for myself. I didn’t care I wanted it over. I believed that if you didn’t want someone, you’d just go away, this woman stayed, kept my last name, and now after she is a single mom, with no man around that cares about her, her father just recently ascended RIP; now her negative and lonely mother has just moved into the house that was intended for my kids. Why are people attracted to what they claim they hate. It is wicked work. They believe my love for striving to be more like Yeshua/Jesus, makes me gullible. Shame on them. Retribution is YHWH/God’s, not mine. One things for sure and two things for certain, every dog has its day, and a good one might have two. Forgive others they trespasses, sometimes forgiveness, in a particular area or about a particular thing, may take years to master. And since our flesh is inherently sinful, we can relapse and have to ask God for more forgiveness about something years, and years later. Yet, YHWH is faithful. Anyone in need of scriptural basis of why forgiveness is needed and how it looks when YHWH forgives, just read the entire book of Micah, but right around about the 7th chapter is where the spirit enlightened me of how to move past a failed marriage attempt, with a harlot, in 2016. If your ex spouse was a harlot when you met, no judgement just clarifying, read the entire book of Hosea. I struggled financially due to child support. I struggled mentally due to not seeing my kids, as often as I’d like, and I continue to struggle at times emotionally because I’m in court again, almost 8 years after the divorce was finalized, which the ex spouse won (not me and certainly not the kids). I look to marry again, def not to this ex spouse, that’s tired, over, and done with. However, my next marriage will have the family, the home, the children the furthering of the legacy, but it will be done peacefully, and within the confines of peace.

”“For if you forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.“

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭6‬:‭14‬-‭15‬ ‭NKJV‬‬

To learn more about Forgiveness through YHWH’s example read the book of Micah in the Old Testament:

[freydis-freydat]

“Which is precisely why I clarified they shouldn’t be taken in good faith,” Freydis reminded Aurea with a confident nod of her head. “Undercutting our status on the basis of gender–to me, that often signals no worthwhile flaw can be cited. The misgivings and insults I’ve heard regarding your rule can be boiled down to an assumption or prejudice against your sex. Articulate a genuine complaint, point out a genuine misgiving or failing, and then we can talk,” she continued to explain. “Far be it from me to pretend my leadership has been perfect, but what gets back to me? It never has to do with my mistakes or failures–always the shape of the body that carries me through this life.” She was staring off into the crowd of refugees and Aurea’s subjects as she spoke but seemed to snap back into the present moment after a brief pause. Freydis met Aurea’s gaze again, “Or at least that’s been my experience. I would assume yours has been at least somewhat similar.”

Freydis eyes seemed to soften with an edge of appreciation of Aurea’s words, but they held confusion as well. “How could I not?” she asked. Aurea’s experience and rule had undoubtedly been different than Freydis’ in many ways, but there was one significant parallel. They had both stepped into these roles of their own accord–they weren’t inherited or thrust upon them, they were earned deliberately and with blood. “None of us have fought to make it this far just for their leaders to bow out now, what sort of a message would that send?” she asked. But she wanted to. She felt used up, spent, exhausted. And still, her hands shook under the weight of all she had been through and all she had learned when they weren’t put to work. Being idle brought on a different type of exhaustion, and she knew she was burning the candle at both ends, but grinding herself down in the service of others felt like the safer option. The energy needed to be loosed somehow, and she worried that her own, private manner of release might escalate if she made it to her tent with the energy required to ease the bloat of her heavy mind the only way she really knew how. “Manual labor,” she responded after some thought.

"Ah c'mon now, they fling the same mud at me that they throw at you." For Lysara being ruled by a woman, some people sure did have a hard time wrapping their head around a female alpha. Or the fact that she'd put down the last alpha. Or the fact she was an outsider. There were a lot of factors, Aurea tried not to think too hard on them now, their detractor's would talk regardless. Despite everything, subject matter, circumstance, she can't help but just be overwhelmed by the idea that Freydis is here. Here and safe, that's more than a comfort to her and she hopes the blonde feels the same. She who has been fighting tooth and nail in Iskaldrik her entire life, being challenged for positions of power, Freydis could rest easy now. Aurea brings a free hand up to gently pat at the other woman's shoulder, touched by kind words. "And I cannot express how appreciative I am that the lot of you still want to lend a hand in some way." Of everyone who had shown up from all over Lysara to help, of the refugees who after settling asked if there was anything they could do. Taking a rather large bite of bread, she thinks as she chews, trying to keep from just sort of rattling off bits and pieces of what is going on like she's been doing to everyone all day. Instead she tries to think about where Freydis could fit in, what would make her feel like she's really making herself useful. "Manual labor or talking to people?" Aurea asks thoughtfully after a moment.

[deanswaywardgirl]

The End

A/N: Hey, okay, so this is my attempt at a re-write of one of my top five favorite episodes, including my OC. I don’t have very many of these, because re-writes are difficult and very time consuming. I do not claim Supernatural or Sam and Dean. Just my OC.  

Faith sighed as she considered calling Gabriel, pacing in her motel room. Any minute, Dean would be headed to 2014 and meeting up with his future self. Being half angel, she didn't have the power to send herself.

"You rang?" his sultry voice penetrated the silence, earning Faith's attention. "I need your help to get to 2014, Gabriel." His brow arched as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Why?" he asked her, his eyes narrowing. "Because I know Dean's going, thanks to your douchebag brother, Zachariah. Look, he managed to let slip that I play some part in this pissing contest between Michael and Lucifer." Gabriel sighed and rolled his eyes.

"So, what? You want spoilers to see who wins?" he asked, pulling a sucker from his jacket. Faith squared her shoulders. "You owe me for that Wednesday Mystery Spot stunt you pulled," she reminded him, arching a brow. Gabriel smirked and shrugged. "Okay, okay, I hear you. Deal," he said and the humor faded from his features as he took her hands. "Be careful, Faith. My brother will not hesitate to take you off the board. Dean, he can't, but you're different."

"I'll be careful, Gabe, thank you." Gabriel snapped his fingers and in the blink of an eye, Faith could tell she was no longer in 2009. "Awesome," she breathed and headed out of the run down motel she was in, out onto the street. "Focus on finding Dean, Faith. Nothing else." As if on cue, she could hear heavy artillery being fired. "Dean," she said with a smile, and ran towards the noise. She ducked into a back alley and ran around the back of the building, able to see Dean. "Dean, come on! This way!" she called to him and smiled when he didn't question her.

"What are you doing here? Are you living here?" he asked. Faith shook her head. "Nope, I'm from 2009 just like you. And before you ask, I had help getting here, from a much nicer angel than Zach." she said, both of them relieved they were, for the moment, out of danger. "Who?" he asked. "Gabriel. The archangel," she told him with a shrug, not wanting to lie to him. 

Think of him as my own personal Castiel." She smiled and nodded down the road. "Come on, we need to get to Bobby's house." "You knew about this? All of it?" he asked, the pair reaching an abandoned car. Soon, they were on the road. "I'm sorry, Dean, but I've told you, I can't tell you what happens down the road. I want to, believe me. But the angels will know, and as punishment, they'll make the outcome pretty damn bad." Dean sighed and licked his lips.

"What can you tell me?" he asked, gently. "Not much. Just vague details here and there, point you in the right direction. I'm sorry, Dean, I really am." Dean sighed and glanced over at her in the passenger seat. Licking her lips, Faith shrugged. "I can share irrelevant details. Who knows, maybe they'll help." Dean couldn't help but smile at her addition. "Faith, I know you're trying to help. Out of everybody, I've always been able to trust you. You've been there to help me these last few long weeks. I can't tell you how much I appreciate that." Faith smiled softly and touched his arm, and gently squeezed.

"You can always trust me, Dean, no matter what. I guess I can tell you this. You won't find Bobby at his house, but you still need to head in that direction." "Where's Bobby?" Dean asked, slightly confused. "I don't know. He might be dead, they never clarified. There was just a bloody bullet hole in his overturned wheelchair, which was just an implication. But you will find John's journal, which is important. For now, that's all I can tell you." Dean nodded before jumping at the sound of wings fluttering.

"You wanna explain why this abomination is here?" Zachariah scowled. Faith smirked. "Tour guiding. Dean, on the left, you'll see old rusty street signs, maybe abandoned buildings. And up ahead, we have Croatoan zombies because angels are too busy watching holy porn to do anything helpful." Dean smirked proudly at the girl beside him. "I knew I smelled your stink on this Back to the Future crap."

"President Palin defends bombing of Houston," Zachariah read, obviously ignoring Dean's jabs. "Certainly a buyer's market in real estate. Let's see what's happening in sports. Right, no more sports, Congress revoked the right to group assembly. What's left of Congress, that is. Hardly a quorum if you ask me," Zach rambled on to himself. Faith shook her head in the front seat at the angel behind them.

"How'd you find me?" Dean interrupted. "Had to tap some unorthodox resources. Human informants. We've been making inspirational visits to the fringier Christian groups. They've been given your image, told to keep an eye out." Dean's eyes slightly widened in realization. "The bible freak outside the motel. He, what, dropped the dime on me?"

"Onward Christian soldiers." "Good. You've had your jollies, now send me back, you son of a bitch." "Oh, you'll get back, all in good time. We want you to marinate a bit," Zachariah told him, ignoring the insult. "Marinate?" Faith and Dean asked in unison. "Three days, Dean. Three days to see where this course of action takes you." Faith rolled her eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked, irritated. "That your choices have consequences. This is what happens to the world if you continue to say no to Michael." Faith glanced back at the paper he was holding up.

"Palin defends bombing of Houston?" she asked, then turned to Dean. "Dean, I say we hunt Sarah Palin down and exile her back to Alaska where she belongs. It'd be doing Houston a great service," she said, sarcastically, earning a chuckle from the eldest Winchester. Zachariah smirked and shrugged, clearly knowing something the two didn't. "Have a little look-see." With that, the angel was gone. Faith glanced over at Dean and smiled at his smirk. "I've always hated him. He's worse than Uriel, believe me." Soon, they were pulling up to Bobby's house, and slipped out of the car. "Bobby?" There was no answer. "Dean. No Bobby, remember?" Faith whispered. "Right," Dean replied and entered the house. Sure enough, Dean found Bobby's wheelchair with the bullethole. "I think you're right, Faith. I think he is dead. Where is everybody, Bobby?" he asked, quietly. "Hey, come here," Faith called to him, and held out John's journal. Dean took it and pulled out a picture, and glanced down at it, Bobby in the front of a group of men. "Camp Chitaqua." ************************ Dean and Faith snuck up on the encampment and noticed a rather familiar outline of Dean's beloved impala. "Oh, Baby." He took Faith's hand and led her to the broken down shell of a car. "No. Oh, no, Baby, what did they do to you?" All Faith could see was Dean go down before she was hit as well, everything going black around her.

************************* A ringing in her ears caused Faith to stir and look around before she saw Dean in front of her, and beside her. She tried to stand, but hissed as the cuffs chaffed her skin. Looking back at Dean, she licked her lips. "If I remember correctly, you should know who I am," he said, watching her as she nodded. "You're the 2014 Dean." He scoffed. "And what are you, exactly?" he asked, aiming the gun at her.

"You haven't tested me? I know you tested your past self over here," she nodded at the stirring Dean beside her, who looked up at his future self, then to Faith, and back after noting that she was okay. "What the hell?"

"I should be asking that question, don't you think? In fact, why don't you give me one good reason why I shouldn't gank you here and now?"

"Because you'd only be hurting yourself," Dean replied with a huff of laughter.

"Very funny." Future Dean moved back to his table of weapons.

"Look, man, I'm no Shapeshifter, or demon, or anything, okay?"

"Yea, I know. I did the drill on both of you while you were out. Silver, salt, holy water. Nothing. But you know what was funny, is that you had every lockpick, box cutter and switchblade that I carry. You wanna explain that? Oh, and the resemblance while you're at it."

"Zachariah," Dean said, simply. Future Dean's brow furrowed.

"You remember him, don't you?" Faith asked. "You should, Dean, since it was you sitting where this Dean is because of that dick angel," Faith told him, swallowing hard, earning his attention.

"That still doesn't explain how...." Future Dean's eyes widened slightly before they fell to the floor. Faith could tell he was thinking about something or someone. When his eyes met hers, again, all she could see was a heartbreaking sadness.

"You're not a monster, either, are you? You're the Faith from the past." Faith nodded, then glanced over at Past Dean and back. "I'm not sure I like that look." The future version broke eye contact, his hazel eyes blinking. He sighed, and rubbed his forehead.

"Can you...will you come with me?" he asked and moved towards her, unlocking her cuffs.

"Whoa, hey, you're just gonna leave me?" Past Dean asked as the two moved to the door. "Yes. I have a camp full of twitchy trauma survivors with an apocalypse hanging over their heads. Last thing they need to see is a version of the Parent Trap."

"You can at least uncuff me, man."

"No, absolutely not."

"Oh, come on. You don't trust yourself?"

"Absolutely not." Future Dean gently tugged on Faith's hand and led her out of his cabin and down a barely hidden pathway. "So, are you gonna tell me what this is about?" Faith asked. Dean turned to face her and without a word, pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Faith slowly melted into it and pushed her fingers through his hair. She then wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled back, breathing heavily. "Okay, I'm not sure I understand." 

Dean swallowed hard and led her further down the private path.  What got her attention was the name on the headstone. Her name. "Oh god," she whispered, unable to speak any louder. "Listen, I gotta go out on a mission right now. Stay here, and we'll talk when I get back."

******************* Faith had sat at what seemed to be her own grave for hours, unable to take her eyes off of it. Silent tears fell down her cheeks, unable to think about anything but how it might've happened. Either Croatoan or Lucifer? Every now and then, she would wonder about Dean. That kiss had seemed desperate, like he'd been dying to do it for awhile. Did they ever get together? If they did, how long before she died? Letting out a shaky breath, she let more tears fall. It wasn't much longer before she felt Dean standing behind her, and swallowed hard.

"When?" she asked, her voice cracking. "A year ago. In Chicago, I brought you here, gave you a hunter's funeral, and gave you a headstone. It was my way of seeing you when I needed to. Your ashes are in my cabin." Faith's eyes burned with unshed tears.

"How?" When he didn't answer her, she stood and turned to face him. "Dean, tell me." Dean let out a deep breath, his eyes falling.

"The Croatoan virus had spread all over, started in the Windy City. You and I headed there and got separated. Eventually, we reunited, both with a few people that had tagged along. Those people are here now, most of 'em anyway. We locked down an abandoned hotel and regrouped into two groups, and made a plan to go out and look for more survivors. After that, we moved out." He licked his lips, his brow furrowing. "When you and your group didn't show up at the rendezvous point, we went looking." He stopped and swallowed hard, biting his lip. "When-- when I found you, you were barely alive, and calling out for me. I picked you up and held you in my lap. You told me you loved me and that you'd always be with me." 

Tears fell down his cheeks before he wiped his hand over his face, clearing his face of the tears, and sighed. "And I told you that I loved you, and it was over." Faith placed both of her hands over her mouth and let out a shaky breath, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I never should've let you go off on your own, Faith, I am so sorry. It was my fault." Faith shook her head and moved towards him, hugging him tightly.

"No, I'm sorry, Dean. Knowing me, I probably insisted." She felt him bury his face in her neck and gently squeeze her. "That's why you've barely been able to look at me. I remind you of the Faith you lost." He nodded, then opened his mouth to talk when Chuck appeared at the end of the trail. "Sorry, Dean, its time." Dean glanced at Faith and sighed, then smiled sadly as he took her hand and led her out, back to the cabin.

"Don't tell my version what you told me. I don't want him to worry about me. That'll just get him killed."

"I'm not worth that," Faith and Dean said in unison. "I knew you'd say that," he told her, glancing at her. He smiled for the first time since she'd arrived. "Is that a smile? I wasn't sure if you remembered how to do that." Dean then chuckled, and glanced at her. "I've missed you, sweetheart. All I think about anymore is what you would do, or say if you were here. And to God, I wish you were. I find myself talking to you sometimes, and I always wonder what you'd say." 

He took her hand and gave it a squeeze before releasing her. Faith glanced up when the past version walked up to them. "Hey," she said, gently dropping Dean's hand, winking at him, then turned back to her version. "We going now?" she asked, earning a pointed stare and a nod. "Where were the two of you?" he asked, his eyes shifting between the two of them.

"Dean was just showing me what the future holds," she told him, being as vague as she could possibly be. Dean's eyes betrayed him, showing his curiosity, but Faith shook her head. "Not gonna happen," she told him, slightly smirking. "Trust me, I won't let this happen to us. Any of this." Faith watched the future version of Dean closely, especially his expressions and emotions, which were rare. But she couldn't blame him. 

He'd lost everyone that had ever meant anything to him. The only people that made him happy. Swallowing hard, her eyes fell as she wasn't really paying attention to the conversations around her, and blinked when everybody but the two Deans filed out of the cabin.

******************** "We're loaded up and on the road by midnight," Future Dean ordered, followed by an "Alrighty," from Castiel. Faith let out a breath as she was overwhelmed by all the information she'd acquired. "Why are you taking me?" Past Dean asked, not seeing any reason for him to go. "Relax, you'll be fine. Zach's looking after you, right?" Dean asked, tossing firearms into a duffel bag.

"No, that's not what I mean," he said, earning his future self's attention. "I wanna know what's going on," he commanded. "Yea, okay." He rounded the table, his eyes flickering to Faith and back. "You're coming because I want you to see something. I want you to see our brother."

"Sam? I thought he was dead."

"Sam didn't die in Detroit, he said yes." Dean's face had hardened as he spoke, watching his other self put the puzzle together.

"Yes? Wait, you mean--"

"That's right, the big yes, to the devil. Lucifer's wearing him to prom." Faith could see the sting of a future betrayal in her Dean's eyes.

"Why would he do that?" he asked, swallowing thickly.

"Wish I knew. But now we don't have a choice. It's in him, and its not getting out. And we've gotta kill him, Dean."

"Could you really do that? He's in your brother, Dean," Faith intercepted, her eyes not holding anything but sadness and empathy.

"I know, and believe me, I don't want to," he said, and Faith could see just how heartbroken he truly was, before he turned his eyes back to Past!Dean. "And you need to see it, the whole damn thing, how bad it gets, so you can do it different."

"What do you mean?" Past!Dean asked.

"Zach was gonna bring you back, right? To '09?"

"Yea."

"When you get home, you say yes. You hear me? Say yes to Michael."

"That's crazy. If I let him in, then Michael fights the devil. Battle's gonna torch half the planet."

"Look around you, man! Half the planet's better than no planet, which is what we have now! If I could do it over, I'd say yes in a heartbeat."

"So why don't you?"

"I've tried. I've shouted yes til I was blue in the face. The angels aren't listening; they just left, gave up. Its too late for me, but for you..." Future Dean was pleading for his past self to go and save a world he couldn't.

"Oh no, there's gotta be another way."

"Yea, that's what I thought. I was cocky, never actually thought I'd lose. But I was wrong. Dean, I was wrong. I'm begging you. Say yes." The two stared at each other for a moment as Dean's future self regained his composure. "But you won't. Because I didn't. Because that's just not us, is it?" he asked, rhetorically. Faith swallowed hard as she watched the both of them, the tension in the room so thick, she could barely breathe.

****************** "Dean," Faith called and ran to catch up with the future Dean, gently taking his arm. "Hey, talk to me." Finally, gaining his attention, she took his hand. "Dean, let me tell you something. On the other side of the fence, where I'm from originally, you know what happens when one of these big fish rise up? You and Sam beat it, but you never do it as two douchebag angels. You take care of it as Sam and Dean Winchester. The two most badass amazing men I've ever known. Dean, you can't give up on Sam. Believe me, I wouldn't want that in any time period."

"Faith, its too late. I've tried talking to him through Lucifer. He's either too far gone, or he's refusing to listen to me," Dean said, defeated.  "Sam's gone, he's just gone." Faith sighed and gently hugged him, threading her fingers into his hair, inhaling his scent with a sympathetic frown. ********************** "There. Second floor window. We go in there," Future Dean directed, looking back at the small group behind him.

"You sure about this?" Risa asked, her brow arched.

"They'll never see us coming." Present Dean's brow furrowed as well as Faith's as they both watched him. "Trust me. Now, weapons check, we're on the move in five."

"Hey, Dean. Can we talk to you for a sec?" Faith asked, but knew he would  know she wasn't really asking. Both Deans and Faith split off and turned to face each other."

"Tell us what's going on." Past Dean demanded.

"What?"

"I know you. You're lying to these people, and to us."

"Is that so?" Future Dean asked, shifting his weight.

"Yea. See, I know your lying expressions, I've seen them in the mirror. There's something you're not telling us."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Faith watched him closely and looked up at her version of Dean.

"Really? I don't seem to be the only member of your posse with questions, so maybe I'll just take my doubts over to them," Dean threatened and took a step in that direction.

"Okay. Whoa, whoa, wait."

"What?" Dean asked, stopping and turning to face him.

"Take a look around you, man. This place should be white-hot with Crotes. Where are they?"

"They cleared a path for us, which means that this is--"

"A trap, exactly.

"Then we can't go through the front."

"Oh, we're not. They are." Dean and Faith's gazes hardened. "They're the decoys. You two and I are going in through the back."

"You mean you're gonna feed your friends into a meat grinder? Cas too?" Future Dean's eyes fell, and Faith could tell he hated his plan. "You wanna use their deaths as a diversion." Future Dean turned his head to the side and clenched his jaw. Past Dean turned his eyes to Faith before going back to himself. "Oh man, something is broken in you. You're making decisions I would never make. I wouldn't sacrifice my friends."

"Dean, stop." Faith turned to face him. "You wouldn't because you haven't lost every single person that's ever meant anything to you. You still have Sam, and me, and Bobby, and you're not the one about to kill his brother in order to save the world. Look at him. Can you honestly say, you wouldn't be as heartbroken and tired of caring as he is?" Both Deans stared at each other. "He's lost everyone, Dean. Everyone." Future Dean licked his lips as he moved his eyes to Faith and set his hand on her shoulder.

"These people count on you," he said, his voice gentle. "They trust you."

"They trust me to kill the devil and save the world, and that's exactly what I'm gonna do."

"No, not like this, you're not. I'm not gonna let you."

"Oh really?"

"Yea."

"Dean, stop." Faith hissed, but Dean was already unconscious on the ground. She turned to face Future Dean. "Would you please quit doing that?" she asked, her voice trailing off as the future version of Dean stepped closer to her and cupped her face in his hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

"Stay here, sweetheart. I can't lose you twice, and he's gonna need you. Like I did. And thank you, in advance. You were always there, even when I thought I didn't want you there. Just remember, you mean more to him than you think. He just doesn't realize it yet. Because I didn't. By God, I wish I had." He then swallowed thickly and smiled crookedly down at her before pressing his lips to her forehead in a tender kiss. "I love you, Faith. I'm so sorry, sweetheart. For everything, okay?" he asked, slowly backing away, and heading for the back once he was sure she'd stay. 

Faith was in shock. She'd never expected Dean to say anything of an intimate nature to her. Taking a shaky breath, she forced her eyes down to the past version of the love of her life, even if he didn't know it yet. Slightly, she jumped at the sound of guns going off behind her. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she knelt down and caressed his cheek. "Forgive me, Dean. I love you," she whispered, then ran after the future version.

******************** When Dean came to, he expected Faith to be there beside him, but grew nervous when he found she was nowhere near him. Getting up, he rubbed his eyes and called out to her, only to receive no answer. Running around the back, he swallowed hard at the sight in front of him. Faith was horrifically still off to the side, while his future self struggled under the weight on his neck from a white shoe. He could then hear the sickening sound of bones breaking causing his future self to grow still and his eyes to close.

"Oh, hello Dean," Lucifer!Sam said, turning to face the other Dean, earning his attention as Dean turned his attention to Lucifer. "Aren't you a surprise? You've come a long way to see this, haven't you?" Lucifer asked, appearing behind him. Dean turned, the heartbreak evident in his eyes.

"Well, go ahead. Kill me."

"Kill you? Don't you think that'd be a little..redundant? I'm sorry. It must be painful speaking to me in this..shape. But it had to be your brother. It had to be," he said, going to place his hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean stepped back out of reach. "You don't have to be afraid of me, Dean. What do you think I'm going to do?"

"I don't know, maybe deep-fry the planet?" Dean suggested, sarcastically.

"Why? Why would I want to destroy this stunning thing? Beautiful in a trillion different ways, the last perfect handiwork of God. Ever hear the story of how I fell from grace?"

"Good god, you're not gonna tell me a bedtime story, are you? My stomach is almost out of bile," Dean snarled, not wanting to listen to any more.

"You know why God cast me down? Because I loved him more than anything, and then God created you. The little hairless apes, and then he asked all of us to bow down before you, to love you more than him. And I said 'Father, I can't.' I said, 'These human beings are flawed, murderous'. And for that, God had Michael cast me into Hell. Now, tell me, does the punishment fit the crime? Especially when I was right. Look what six billion of you have done to this thing, and how many of you blame me for it?"

"You're not fooling me, you know that? This sympathy-for-the-devil crap? I know what you are," Dean whispered, angrily.

"What am I?"

"You're the same thing, only bigger. The same brand of cockroach I've been squashing my whole life. An ugly, evil, belly to the ground, supernatural piece of crap. The only difference between them and you, is the size of your ego." Lucifer smirked.

"I like you, Dean.  I get what the other angels see in you. Goodbye, we'll meet again soon." Dean took the opportunity and moved towards Faith, kneeling beside her and checking for a pulse before scooping her up into his arms and getting to his feet. "You better kill me now," Dean called after him. Lucifer stopped and turned, his brow furrowing.

"Pardon?"

"You better kill me now, or I swear I will find a way to kill you, and I won't stop."

"I know you won't. I know you won't say yes to Michael either, and I know you won't kill Sam. Whatever you do, you will always end up here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up, here. I win, so I win." Tears streamed down Dean's cheeks.

"You're wrong."

"See you in five years, Dean." Lightning flashed around Dean, and in Lucifer's departure arrived Zachariah, who placed two fingers upon Dean's head and set him back to his motel room. "Oh, well if it isn't the Ghost of Christmas Screw You," Dean commented and moved to lay Faith down on the bed. He covered her with his jacket and turned back to Zachariah.

"Enough, Dean, enough. You saw it, right? You saw what happens? You're the only one who can prove the devil wrong. Say yes."

"How do I know that this thing isn't one of your tricks, huh? Some angel hocus-pocus?" Dean growled.

"The time for tricks is over. Give yourself to Michael. Say yes and we can strike before Lucifer gets to Sam. Before billions die." Dean turned and his eyes moved to Faith. "Nah."

"'Nah'? You haven't learned your lesson?" Zachariah asked him.

"Oh I leaned a lesson, alright. Just not the one you wanted to teach."

"Well, I'll just have to teach it again, because I got you now, boy, and I'm never letting you--" Dean disappeared just then, and Faith smirked at Zachariah before she also disappeared. "Son of a..."

"Faith!" Dean called and helped the girl to stand. "You alright?" he asked, earning a nod.

"I will be. I just need to sleep and I'll be good to go." Dean nodded.

"We'll get a ride. Just gimme a minute, sweetheart. I'm just glad you're walkin and talkin." He smiled down at her before gently squeezing her shouder and turning to Castiel. "That's pretty nice timing, Cas."

"We had an appointment," the angel said, simply. "Don't ever change," Dean told him, his hand on the angel's shoulder. "How did Zachariah find you?" "Long story. Lets just stay away from Jehovah's Witnesses from now on, okay?" Dean asked, dialing Sam's number. "What are you doing?" "Something I should've done in the first place." ******************** "Hey, Dean. You okay?" Faith asked, sliding out of the back seat of the impala and coming to stand beside him, earning his attention and a warm smile. "Yea. How'd you sleep?" he asked. "Good, I feel better." Dean nodded and rubbed her back. "Good, you had me worried there for a minute."

"Nah, don't worry about me. I'll be okay. I'm with you, I'm safe." Dean smiled crookedly and leaned down and kissed her cheek softly. "I'm glad you're here, Faith, really. Thank you for staying close." Faith's cheeks tinted bright red as she cleared her throat. Dean turned at the sound of a car pulling up. 

"I'll wait here, Dean. Go ahead, fix things with your brother." Leaning up, she kissed his cheek tenderly and gave his hand a gently squeeze. He winked at her, then went to meet his brother.

"Sam." Dean pulled the demon knife out and held it out to Sam. "If you're serious, you want back in, you should hang onto this. I'm sure you're rusty." The two of them sighed and took a beat. "Look, man, I'm sorry. I don't know whatever I need to be, but I was wrong." Sam nodded, his brow furrowed.

"What made you change your mind?"

"Long story. The point is maybe we are each other's Achilles' heel. Maybe they'll find a way to use us against each other, I don't know. I just know we're all we got. More than that, we keep each other human."

"Thank you. Really, thank you. I won't let you down." "Oh I know it. I mean, you are the second best hunter on the planet." Faith laughed quietly, not far behind Dean.

"So, what do we do now?"

"We make our own future," Dean answered his brother.

"Guess we have no choice," Sam sighed, earning a nod before the two of them made their way back to the Impala. Faith stood and moved to Sam, hugging him tightly. "Hey, Faith," he said, smiling and hugging her back.

@dean-winchester-is-a-warrior​

[heyheydidjaknow]

I finished it, finally! Yee fucking haw! It’s not perfect, but I’m not feeling terrible about it, and the next one is going to be fun. Unless something happens, the next chapter should come up on Sunday as planned. Knowing me, it won’t, but I wanna hope. As always, the table of contents and the previous chapter is at the bottom, and a full list of the shit I’ve published is at the bottom of the table of contents. I’ll do a proper proofread tomorrow. Right now, Grammarly and Kami are carrying the team, so if there’s a mistake, take it up with them.

Chapter 14

“I trust you won’t be creepy.”

“I’m thankful.” Yoshi runs his thumb along the rim of his cup slowly. “You have little faith in me, as I understand it.”

You try not to be disrespectful. “Well, things in your life could’ve gone better, right?”

He seems to consider this for a moment. “I suppose so.” He takes a slow drink. “Mistakes from my youth have led to many hardships. Still, though the road has been a long and strenuous one, I would not want to change my past.”

Your untouched drink is cradled in your hands. “You don’t regret anything?”

“It is a foolish and maddening thing, longing for a life unobtainable to you.” He closes his eyes, your own scanning the walls for the photograph you know is in some nook or cranny. “Besides, if things hadn’t happened the way they did, I wouldn’t have my sons.”

You can understand, intellectually, he does not mean to be—and likely is not— as arrogant as you perceive him. Still, something about the way he sits, the way he speaks, even how he looks at you now makes you feel painfully inferior, as if you reacting the way you are makes you somehow beneath him in more than a literal sense.

You decide against arguing the point, eyes flickering from the shrine back to the man in front of you. “I guess that’s true.” You know you are not going to drink any of what he has offered until you have to. “And you’ve always thought like that?”

He nods. “It was what I was taught.”

Nodding, you look back down at your cup, a deafening stillness settling between you two. ‘He convinces me to come here,’ you grumble silently, ‘and all I get for it is a lecture and an awkward silence.’ You look back up at him, setting the clay vessel on the ground and pulling your knees to your chest. ‘I could be doing something else, like fixing my shirt or something.’

“Speaking of them,” he continues, “Donatello tells me you have been experiencing night terrors.”

‘Snitch. Did he tell me he told him?’ “You don’t?”

His eyebrows rise. “Sorry?”

“We have the same trauma,” you explain simply. “Both our families died in fires we caused. Think that counts.”

He does not even flinch. “I’ve never thought of it that way.” He smiles softly. You want to punch him in the face. “I suppose so, yes.”

“You seem pretty calm about it.”

He chuckles at your expression. “I’ve had fifteen years to come to terms with my loss,” he takes another drink. “And,” he jokes, “I was often simply too exhausted to have nightmares back when the wound was fresh; caring for four young boys is tiring, you understand.”

“Right.” You crisscross your legs in front of you. “Yeah, the makes sense.”

“Having said that,” he continues, voice lowering, “I can’t imagine going through what I did at your age.” He sighs. “If something like that happened to one of my boys at this age, I can’t honestly say how they would cope.”

‘Poorly. I’d guess they’d cope poorly.’

“I understand that you and I have differences in ideals and morals.”

“You could say that.” Your mouth stretches into a wry smile. “I honestly only started hangin’ with and helpin’ y’all as a way to make up for my manslaughter. With this exception, I live by the adage, ‘Not my circus, not my monkeys.’”

“As I said,” he covers his mouth to hide his amusement, “we differ in that respect. I take it that’s why, when Donatello explained the situation—” you break eye contact—“he was unable to explain in any sort of detail what they were about.”

“Not his circus not his monkeys. ‘Sides,” you shrug, “he was already being really caring and understanding, and I was already sobbing my eyes out, which I’m sure he already told you, so.”

You stare down at your tea. “Are you going to elaborate?”

“Not if I don’t have to, no.” Your face heats up.

“Do you want my help?”

‘I hate this,’ you squirm. “Honestly, I wouldn’t be here if Donnie hadn’t asked me to.”

“For someone who believes in leaving people to their own devices,” he notes, “you seem to value the requests of my son a great deal.”

Your knees are back up to your chest. “He’s important to me. He’s been there for me. It’s the least I can do.”

He takes a beat to gather his thoughts. You brace yourself for a lecture.

“You care for him, then.”

You nod once, treading carefully.

“Romantically?”

You still do not look at him directly, staring instead at the gorgeous screen door. “I dunno.” Your fingernails scratch at the surface. “I’m not exactly in my right mind, you understand.”

“I can’t say I do.” A pause as he takes another drink. “Then again, I’ve only felt for one woman all my life.”

“Look at that,” you try to joke. “Another difference between us.”

“Do you mind letting me in, then?”

“A little,” you admit, “but I will since there isn’t really a point to being here if I don’t.”

“That’s the spirit.” You can hear his smile.

You set the cup down again, glancing up at him before fiddling with the laces on your shoe. “People under stress and without anywhere else to turn tend to latch onto the first people they relate to,” you explain, practicing your knot tying with fumbling fingers; there is no harm in practicing your dexterity. “He was the first guy I met after I died, got kidnapped, and almost got killed by a giant vine creature. I like him,” you clarify quickly, “I really do, but it’s hardly fair to pursue that sort of relationship, especially considering everything going on with the Kraang and Shredder.” Your eyes go out of focus. “We get along great,” you mumble. “He’s sweet, kind, generous, and empathetic. He deserves to make sense of his feeling properly without me muddying things up with my possibly trauma-induced attachment.”

“So,” he clarifies, “it is not that you aren’t in love with him, but, instead, you’re worried for his sake?”

Your face goes scarlet as you choke on your saliva. “T-that’s a bit—uh—extreme, isn’t it?” You rub the back of your burning neck. “I’m not even sixteen, Yoshi. You don’t understand love properly at sixteen!”

“I fell for my wife at thirteen,” he smiles. “It’s certainly not impossible.”

“That’s—look,” you protest, “that is entirely besides the point. The point,” you state, “is that is completely irresponsible for me to pursue a relationship with your son. Frankly, I’m surprised you don’t agree.”

“He cares for you. You know that. Who am I to decide who he does and does not pursue, especially when that person makes him happy?” He reaches for a worn kettle sitting between you two on a table, pouring its contents back into his teacup—you remember Leo telling you that it is technically called a yunomi. “I find love typically does no harm so long as it does not consume you. Moderation is key.”

You look up at him. “So, you don’t have any reservations about it?”

He takes another drink. “I wouldn’t say that. He is my son, after all. In truth,” he admits, “I was more concerned that my sons would never experience what I did than anything. Given the circumstances of our existence, I’m sure you can understand my wish to give them a relatively normal, happy life.”

You sigh. “I guess, yeah.” You adjust your blanket again. ‘Seems counterintuitive, teaching them the art of murder, but I guess that’s his normal.’ “That’s just a generally good parenting thing though, right? I’d hope you’d want that even if you weren’t a giant rat and they weren’t anthropomorphic turtles.”  

A parent. He is talking to you like one might speak to their kid.

“I suppose so,” he nods. “It’s been difficult, but we’ve certainly come a long way over the years.”

The screeching of tires pierces the still air, the chattering of his four sons bouncing off the concrete walls.

You strain to hear what they are saying. “I never noticed that there was an echo in here. It’s less noticeable than in the tunnel.”

“That’s by design,” he explains. “I’ve made something of an effort to dampen it.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” You set the yunomi on the table. You sigh, holding your breath and downing your now gross, cool tea in three quick gulps. “I hate to cut this short,” you lie, wiping your mouth with your sleeve and tottering to your feet, “but I’ve gotta check to make sure everything went smoothly on their mission and adjust my timetable accordingly.”

He nods, deciding not to point your tell out. “I won’t keep you, then. Would you like to borrow my cane?”

This is not the first time he has offered. You, of course, refuse.

“Oh well. I thought I’d offer.” He sets his cup down, staying seated. “It has been pleasant talking with you, Y/N.”

“Likewise, Mr. Hamato.” You nod once in acknowledgment, hopping over to the door and slipping out into the hallway.

Your stomach churns at the stench coming from the lab—you can smell the gasoline. You lean against the wall, making a pointed effort not to eavesdrop and rapping your knuckles against the door. Their voices immediately lower to hisses and someone drags the door open.

“Hey,” Mikey beams. “We were just talking about you. Need somethin’?”

“Just is an over-exaggeration.” There is a considerable amount of protest as Donnie pulls him away from the door with an uncomfortable edge to his voice. “P-please, come in.”

A beaten DIY van sits pathetically on the subway track, looking not dissimilar to a burnt, crushed soda can from where you stand. The once hot pink graffiti has most certainly seen better days, and you squirm at the thought of the sound it must have made if you understand the situation properly. Raphael, who you glance at out of the corner of your eye, looks similarly beat up. Of course, you are not going to say anything because you value your life.

You whistle, smiling incredulously. “So,” you try not to laugh, “I take it you took on the cucaracha.”

“Made it my bitch is what I did,” boasts Raphael. “Shot it with a laser.”

“Cool, cool.” You chuckle at his excitement. “You take care of the egg?”

Is there a better sight than watching the light in someone’s soul die? You would hesitantly say no. “The what?”

“Right outside the building,” you elaborate. “On the side of the road. Looks like a horrifying imitation of an orbee?’

He takes a slow, deep breath, holds it, exhales. “I’ll be right back,” he says calmly, and sprints out of the lair.

Michelangelo laughs. “Were you being serious or are you messing with him?”

“Serious.” You readjust the blanket, trying to subtly figure out how to breathe without being assaulted by the mechanical smell. “I won’t joke about that sort of thing. It’s cruel.”

He hesitates. “… speaking of, are you alright? I didn’t get to ask before.”

The other two are quietly watching the interaction with an odd amount of intensity.

You shrug. “I guess. Probably.”

“Alright,” he nods. “Just lemme know if you need to talk, alright? Donnie’s no—ow!”

“Don’t talk bad about people in front of them,” Leonardo criticizes. “It’s rude.”

“You called him special, like, four hours ago!”

“The word of the day is hypocrisy.” Donatello puts his hand down.

“Hypocrisy’s right” You rub Mikey’s shell reassuringly. “To be fair, though, Leo could honestly probably just dodge it anyway.”

He leans into it. “I guess,” he grumbles, shooting a look at Donatello. “Favoritism.”

“It’s strategic favoritism,” the tallest brother corrects. “It’s to encourage parti pris.”

“Cronyism,” you tease, grinning. “You mean cronyism.”

“Hey, I’m plenty qualified!”.  

You stifle a giggle as his face reddens, looking back over at the battered vehicle, raising an eyebrow.

“That was a team effort.”

“Yeah, okay, Hamato.” You blow a strand out of your face. “How long do you think it’ll take to fix?”

“Half a week? Maybe a bit less.” He looks back at it ruefully. “The spy roach completely jacked it.”

“Clearly.” You remove your hand, Mikey seemingly thoroughly comforted. “Then mind if I borrow a needle and thread so I can fix my jacket? I have school tomorrow.”

“Do you have the dexterity for that?” Leo crosses his arms across his chest absentmindedly.

“If I can hold a pencil,” you reason, “I can do basic stitching. ‘Sides, it’s only gotta hold until I get home.”

“I didn’t know you sewed.”

“I don’t. That’s why I’m asking now.”

Donatello pipes up again. “I really don’t mind—”

“Dude,” you reason, “you have to fix a whole ass van. I’ll manage.”

He pulls his phone from his pocket. “It’s a quarter to twelve. You won’t finish before midnight.”

“Then sucks to be me.” You shrug. “I’ll fix it here and walk home.”

He looks at you with a surprising amount of incredulousness. “It’s New York City.”

“You go out at night all the time,” you protest.

“I can carry you—”

Immediate panic. “Nah, I’m good!” You try to sound confident. “I walk home all the time, remember?”

“Not at midnight.”

“What’s a couple hours difference?” You would rather get attacked or kidnapped than fly over buildings again.

“A hundred-twenty minutes,” he states. “You know that crime is statistically more likely to happen at night, right?”

“That tracks. What’s different?”

“Violent crime peaks at midnight.”

Mikey butts in. “Why can’t she just go in the blanket? It covers enough.”

Donatello rolls his eyes. “Mikey,” he sighs, “she’s a teenage girl walking around with her torso covered by a single conspicuous quilt. Let’s use our heads here.”

It takes him a minute. “So you’re worried about her getting, like, attacked?”

“… were you paying attention to any of the conversation? Or the lesson we just learned?”

“Dude,” he protests, “when do I ever?”

“What, you mean the one where y’all learned to face your fears or the one where talking about people in front of them is rude?”

The bitter edge to your words is not lost on him. “Look,” he reasons with you, “I-I’m not saying you’re incapable of taking care of yourself—”

“You are, but that’s not the point.”

“Shut up, Mikey.” You are surprised he did not punch him, though, admittedly, you can hardly argue the point. “What I mean is that if you put yourself in harm’s way, you’re going to get hurt.” He nods at Leo. “He’s a really experienced fighter and even he gets overwhelmed if he goes out of his way to do something reckless and dangerous like Karai.” He spits out her name like it is poisonous.

“Since when have you had a thing against Karai?”

The eldest brother sighs. “I’m never living that down, am I?”

“Unimportant, and nope. Point is,” he continues, fingers twitching at his sides, “it doesn’t make sense to tempt fate.”

You open your mouth to argue. You close it again. He has an extremely valid point all things considered, especially considering everything that has been happening, and although you are completely certain about your stance on him carrying you home, you would be lying if you said the idea of stumbling home without your walker or shirt sounds very appealing.

“Then what exactly are you suggesting?”

He looks off. “I’m suggesting she stays the night, Leo.”

Mikey blinks. “What, in your room or on the couch?”

“It would be up to her.”

That works for you. “Your home. You pick. Where do you keep your sewing supplies?” You slip out of the circle the four of you have formed.

“On top of the bookshelf,” he points. “Behind the cardboard box.”

You nod, hopping over.

Mikey offers his two cents. “It makes more sense for you two to share a room. It’s kinda cold in the front room, and you guys’ll probably end up going to bed at around the same time anyways. She also has your blanket.”

You stand on your toes, fingertips brushing against a plastic container.

“That’s a fair point.” You catch it before it cracks open on the ground. “Training starts pretty early, so she should have time to grab her things before school.”

“See? Foolproof plan.”

“Would Master Splinter approve?”

“Leo,” you call over your shoulder, “he’s slept over at my house twice already. I really doubt he cares.”

“But we don’t know.”

“Then you can go ask him.” You turn around. “Where’s the jacket?”

“In the cardboard box.” Donnie starts towards the train wreck on the tracks.

You pull it down, taking your shirt and jacket and sitting down, crossing your bad leg under the one you can use, despite the nausea. ‘Exposure therapy.’ “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

You feel a tap on your shoulder. You glance up at Mikey, who crouches down next to you as Leo waves to his brothers and leaves. “You need anything?”

He shakes his head. “Just wanted to hang out with you is all,” he shrugs. “You didn’t go after Donnie.”

“I didn’t,” you nod in agreement.

“Why?”

“Because car.” You unlatch the box, carefully digging around inside for some pins. “That, and the smell is bad enough from over here.”

He crosses his legs in front of him. “That’s fair.” He taps his foot absentmindedly. “You think he knows?”

“I thought I made it pretty damn clear,” you shrug, “but it’s Donnie, so I wouldn’t bet on it.”

He grins at that. “Then do you wanna hang out while you work on that out front? He isn’t exactly talkative when he gets in the zone.”

You shake your head. “If I do, I won’t get much done,” you admit. You unwind a long portion of the thread, snapping it apart. “Besides, the only way to get over a fear is to face it head-on.”

“Alright.” He hops to his feet. “Thought I’d ask. Have fun.”

”Bet,” you mumble through a bit tongue, shaky fingers making threading the needle almost impossible. “You too.”

“See ya.” He waves, running out of the lab.

You let out a breath, picking a piece of loose wire off of a table and creating a poor imitation of a threader. While you genuinely enjoy talking with Michelangelo, you have some things to think over.

Clumsy fingers start on a running stitch. If your timetable still holds true—which, surprisingly enough, it has thus far—the episode after next’s plot will take place in about three weeks. Your cast is coming off in two. You do not know where and when The Kraang are coming through their portal, or if there is any way for you guys to know, but seeing as you are skipping the episode where the turtles get stuck in a labyrinth under the assumption that, without Baxter being bullied by the Shredder and his goons, he has no reason to construct it, you would tentatively estimate the next episode will happen in about a week. You are still fairly sure that Stockman will not get involved with the Shredder without his input until Oroku finally opens his eyes to the dangers and powers of the Kraang, which should happen around the same time as the next episode.

Your eyes glaze over as you get into the groove of it. ‘The next episode is also when the guys get on Karai’s shit list because they betray her, and, if that happens, the episode where the Shredder starts getting involved with the Kraang and comes to appreciate their resources." You prick your finger. ‘It wouldn’t be long after that before Saki gets the idea to create a mutant army, and with Baxter already somewhat on the villainous map, our best chance to make sure he doesn’t end up under his employment is to…’

You wipe the sticky liquid on your jeans, careful of the bandages on your back. ‘It’s not a guarantee that he even knows Baxter exists.’ Your eyebrows furrow in concentration as you try to keep the stitches separated at equal distances. ‘Hell, it’s not a guarantee he’s even alive. Still, it’s better to air on the side of caution and not think about how you’ll have to do it until the time comes.’

You let out a soft sigh. “I’ll buy a gun, when that happens,” you murmur to yourself. “Just want more time where bodily harm is all I have to deal with is all.”

 --

 You slide your poorly stitched jacket over your shoulders under the blanket, pulling your sleeves into place and zipping it up. After folding the blanket up and draping it over your arm, you pull yourself to your feet, hopping over to Donatello and his death trap as he sat down, looking over his work. “How’re the repairs comin’?”

The two of you have not spoken for the three hours it took you to repair the jacket, and significantly more progress has been made on his end than yours. At the very least, the generally rectangular frame was pounded back into submission.

He looks over at you, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand and stifling a yawn. “Fine,” he sighs, looking back at the hulking mass of metal as you lower yourself down next to him. “It won’t blow up or anything if it’s driven, but it still needs another day’s worth of work to get it back to where it was before.” You nod along as he goes into more intimate detail, not understanding half of it, but happy to just listen to him talk resentfully about the whole process that you can tell he genuinely does not mind.

“Sounds like a time.” You rest your head on your good knee. “And you’re not gonna fix the graffiti?”

“It rubs off,” he shrugs. “Besides, it’s not exactly important to the design.”

Your head bends in a subtle nod, cheek numb from the pressure of your knee. “Are you going to sleep today?”

He shrugs. “Maybe? It wouldn’t be a bad idea.” His legs are almost crisscrossed in front of him, and he leans his weight back on his skinny, muscular arms. “I honestly don’t want to leave it alone, though. It would be weird to just leave it unfinished.

“Hardly, but alright.” You sit up for a moment, handing him back his quilt. “Thanks for giving me something to cover myself up with, and for not ditching me on a roof, and patching me up, and—I owe you, is what I’m getting at.”

He smiles tiredly. “Don’t worry about it, really,” he reassures you, his face flushing and muscles relaxing slightly. “You’ve made it up plenty.”

“I disagree. I’ve never saved your life.” You trace the fading lines on your cast his brother had left.

“I don’t think a ton of people would literally kill someone for me and my family,” he argues. “That’s pretty awesome, right?”

‘Not sure how I feel about framing murder as a positive thing.’ You do not say anything, looking back at his work.

He sighs. “You should go to bed,” he advises practically. “It’s getting late.”

“Never stopped you.” You straighten your legs. “I’ll go if you come with.”

“Tempting,” he teases with a sudden burst of confidence, hoping to his feet and outstretching his arm to help you up, “but what’s in it for me?”

Your face lights up as your face goes red at his borderline roguishness, taking his arm pulling yourself up. “For as much shit as you’re going to get for it,” you promise, pecking where his nose would be with an almost kittenish smile, “I’ll get up extra early, make everyone breakfast, and go topside for coffee.”

His face almost turns the shade of a human blush, forwardness gone in an instant. “C-can’t,” he stutters, clearly flustered. “When I was eleven, I got addicted to it and I’m not allowed to have any anymore.”

“Relatable,” you giggle. You blow the hair out of your face, comfortable as he helps you walk towards the door, the air between you two charged with electricity. “Is that for all caffeine or just coffee?”

He opens it for the two of you, ever the gentleman with the quilt over his shoulder. “Tea’s fine. Don’t bring tea down, though,” he quickly clarifies. “Leo’ll have a very inconspicuous fit.”

You blink curiously, looking up at him as he pulls you along. “Why?”

“It’s the one food thing he’s particular about,” he shrugs, not bothering to hide his gooey smile as you use his upper arm for support. “Couldn’t tell you why.”

“Are you particular about any foodstuff?”

“Not really?” He helps you up a few steps. “I’m not Mikey, but I don’t think I’m that picky about that sort of thing.”

“That’s fair.”

You do not let go of his arm to use the wall. You do not even think to if Donnie is reading your body language correctly. His smile widens as he opens the door for you.

You give a nod as thanks, lowering down onto the foot of his relatively narrow bed. “Alright,” you clap your hands together quietly as he sits next to you. “How do you wanna do this?”

You are sitting on his bed, willing, with no pretense other than sleeping getter. He is currently on cloud nine.

You look back at the frame. ”Too narrow for us to lay side by side,” you note. “You sleep on your front, meaning you will likely take up most of the room." You look between him and the bed, trying to imagine a position that would work. “You could lay on top of me, I guess, but then your legs would hang off the end.”

“I can sleep on my side,” he offers hurriedly. “If that makes things easier, I mean.”

“You sure?” Your fingers fumble with your shoelaces.

He nods eagerly. “S-so long as you still don’t mind being close to me, I mean. The bed’s still kinda narrow.”

You roll your eyes, smiling. “We’ve slept together before,” you reason. “If you wanted to pull anything, you would’ve the other two times.”

He glances off, face still red. “Y-yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck bashfully. “That makes sense.”

You gesture to the bed. “Then,” you nod once, “so long as you’re comfortable, you lay down. I’ll work from there.”

He tentatively lays himself down, facing the wall, tensing ever so slightly as you lay behind him, legs curling up under his thighs.

You lay your arm under your head as a pillow, the other pulling the blanket over the two of you. “This work,” you whisper, closing your eyes.

“Mhm,” he hums, covering his face with his hands. “We closed the door, right?”

You look back over. “Yup.”

“Locked it?”

“Seems so.”

He relaxes a bit. “Alright,” he nods, quietly reveling in the way your fingers, again, traced the indentations in his shell like the first night.

‘When I wake up tomorrow,’ he realizes, ‘she’ll be right there. Right behind me, in my bed. By choice.’ He smiles behind his fingers. ‘When we get older, maybe we could have our own place. Or our own room, more accurately, where she just lives with us. Imagine her moving in. If—no, when,’ he corrects himself, ‘we defeat The Shredder, if I ever get the nerve, I’ll ask her.’ He reaches his leg back, entangling it with yours carefully. ‘Would we have to get married first? No, you move in before you get married, right? I should’ve paid more attention during those movie marathons.’ He closes his eyes as you drift off, focusing on this train of thought. ‘How long do you need to be in a relationship before you get married? How would we get married, even? Legally, that would be impossible, right? I can’t go to a courthouse. And if we had a child—practically speaking, of course—would they live with us or go to a public school? We could give them a good education, I’m sure, but—’

You shift in your sleep, absently laying your arm over his side and pulling him closer.

He exhales, allowing himself to relax back into you. ‘Not tonight.’ He rests his hand on top of yours. ‘It’s too late, too soon.’ His thumb runs along the back of your hand, letting himself drift off in your arms.

‘It’ll be okay. We’ll last long enough to take it slow.’

Table of Contents

Chapter 13

Chapter 15

[procrastinatorimagines]

I Want Us Part 1

Fandom: Chicago PD / SVU

Series: I Want Us

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 (Final)

Character/s: Reader x Carisi

Warning/s: mentions of kidnapping

Word Count: 2,171

Request:  Hi! So, idk if you will be up for writing a kind of crossover, if not it's totally okay. I was thinking reader being a detective in chicago pd but they go help svu with a case and she and carisi (still detective) have something ?? First meeting and stuff or more deep as in long distance relationship and reader gets pregnant so one of them have to leave their city ?? Idk I want you to feel comfortable writing whatever inspires you more. Amazing work btw!!

Summary: When a child abduction case crosses state lines in New York, Intelligence flies out to meet the Special Victims Unit and track down the missing boy. With the clock ticking, both units decide to mix up partners in order to combine their knowledge of the case with knowledge of New York City, pairing Intelligence’s newest member Y/N with Detective Carisi.

“I’m telling you boss, it’s like he’s just vanished,” Adam insisted, leaning forward in his chair as he spoke to Voight, who was standing in front of a whiteboard filled with potential leads and locations of your suspect and his son, Logan, who he kidnapped in the early hours of the morning, none of which had panned out. 

Voight looked increasing frustrated, and you didn’t blame him, the father and your suspect, Ronny had just been released from Statesville for assault and battery of his former spouse and older child. You were all scared for this boy’s safety and well aware of how quickly the odds of survival decreased as the clock continued to tick. 

Jay and Hailey had interviewed the family, the mother Claire and his older sister Josie, and were now at Hailey’s desk going over the statements, with Jay obviously sat on it instead of on a chair. Kev and Vanessa had gone to the prison, talked to Ronny’s cell mate and old friends, the warden, anyone who might have overheard him mention any plans. Leaving you and Antonio to review any surveillance, put out BOLOS and search the bogus address Ronny had given his parole officer. 

You’d all turned up a sum total of nothing.

“There has to be something,” Voight addressed the room, facing his unit with conviction, “go back over what we’ve got so far, we must have missed something, overlooked something, anything.” 

Adam spoke up again and you knew why, he’d already gone back over the witness statements, reinterviewed everyone with Kim who said they might have seen or heard anything in the neighbourhood, it was a dead end. “Listen-”

“No, you listen,” Voight snapped and you winced a little, you might have all been thinking the same thing as Ruzek, but he was the only one who usually ever said what was on everybody’s minds, putting him on the receiving end of Voight’s temper. “Unless you want to go downstairs and tell that terrified mother that her son’s ‘just vanished’, you shut up and do you job, clear?” 

You’d been in the unit a couple of years now and you were damn proud to be here. No matter how frustrating this was, you still had faith that you would catch the bad guy, this unit did it’s job and it did it well, you just hoped you wouldn’t be too late for Logan.

Ruzek begrudgingly nodded and so did the rest of you even though Voight hadn’t waited for an answer, heading straight back into his office. Turning back in your chair to your desk, you looked to where you were midway through re-combing the surveillence in the area for any sign of a vehicle Ronny might have fled in. He only had one registered in his name, and you and Antonio had found it less than a block from the foreclosed house he’d put as his current residence. Someone had clearly been squatting there, but there wasn’t anything useful in the house or in the beat up old car. 

You were just starting to think that maybe they had actually vanished off of the face of the earth when Trudy made her way up the stairs. “CCTV camera just picked up Ronny and Logan, dyed hair and new clothes but facial rec seems to be a match,” she announced, getting all your attention as Voight made his way out of his office.

“Where?” He asked her, noticing the not so triumphant look on Trudy’s face.

“JFK Airport,” she replied, met with annoyed sighs and confused looks. How had he gotten there? You were shocked to say the least, you and Antonio had made sure to call all the airports in Chicago to make sure this guy didn’t flee. 

“He’s in New York?” Hailey looked to Voight, waiting like the rest of you were to be told what to do next. 

“One of his old prison buddies relocated there last year,” Kev told you all, rifling through his paperwork to find the information he was looking for, “yeah, Ryan O’Connell, got a rep for making people disappear, some that want to, some that don’t.” 

“Looks like we’re going to New York,” he decided, aware that the ever ticking clock was now getting faster, you needed to find them now. “I’ll call ahead, get some boots on the ground before we arrive, we’ll roll out as soon as we can. Upton, get the family up to speed, see if they know where he might go in New York.” She nodded.

You all packed up to leave, needing to make arrangements before you could just fly out. “Who’s he calling?” You asked your partner as you headed for the stairs. 

“Captain Benson I assume,” he told you, elaborating when he saw that that hadn’t clarified much, “oh I forget, you weren’t with us then. We’ve done a couple of cases with the Special Victims Unit over there, good people and cops, especially their Captain, this is their kind of case.” 

You nodded, you’d heard about some of the cases Intelligence had done in New York, especially about Nadia Decotis, and you were looking forward to getting the chance to work with them, circumstances aside. 

Voight text you all details about the flight and you left to prepare, you had a job to do and a boy to find, and you were determined to find him.

-

While the flight itself wasn’t actually that long, it felt like forever, ever second ticking past putting you and the unit further behind Ronny and Logan. You knew it would be straight to business the second your feet hit the tarmac, but Voight had assured you all that although he’d only had time to briefly fill SVU in about the case, they had made finding this boy their top priority. If it was good enough for Voight, it was good enough for you, so you passed the time by looking at everything you had on this O’Connell so you had somewhere to start when you arrived. 

There were cars waiting when you arrived, taking you straight to the 16th Precinct and the Special Victims Unit. It was much bigger than the 21st, and nicer too. You had never really spent any time in New York, but it was all just as impressive as you’d heard.

“Hank,” a woman smiled, making her way to greet you all at the entrance of the Unit’s bullpen. 

“Olivia,” Hank shook her hand with familiarity, this must have been the Captain. “It’s Captain now isn’t it, congratulations.”

“Thanks, it’s been an adjustment,” she replied, shaking hands with the rest of Intelligence and welcoming them inside.

“Well, it’s certainly well deserved,” Jay told her as the rest of SVU headed over to introduce, or reintroduce, themselves.

“Thanks Halstead,” she smiled, reaching you and Vanessa last. “We haven’t met, I’m Captain Olivia Benson,” she told you.

“Officer Vanessa Rojas,” Vanessa told her, following after Kev to be introduced to the rest of the Unit. 

“Detective Y/N. Y/L/N,” you continued, “I’ve heard good things.” 

“Likewise, Hank mentioned he had a couple of new members,” she said, leading you further into the main room, “this is Sergeant Tutuola, Detectives Rollins and Carisi, and Officer Tamin,” she gestured around the group as you all shook hands.

You could tell Voight wanted this part to hurry along, eager to get stuck into the case, so you said the generic ‘nice to meet yous’ and stepped out of the way as Voight and Benson positioned themselves at the front of the group. 

“So fill us in,” Voight addressed her as he passed out extra copies of your case files to the rest of SVU. 

“Okay, so we followed Ronny’s tracks as far as we could after he left JFK, but by the time any unis arrived he was in the wind, we’ve got BOLOS out but nothing so far, although a surveillance camera did pick up the vehicle he left in,” Benson explained.

“Plates?” You asked but she shook her head, bringing up a shot of the back of the car on the screen nearest to her. It was a long way away from your whiteboards and blue tac, you thought.

“Stollen, but we’re trying to match the make and model with any recent reports of car thefts,” she answered. 

“Any we’re tracking the names they used to get through airport security,” the male detective, Carisi, continued, “checking for any credit or debit cards under the same names as their fake passports.”

“They must have been good, do we know where Ronny got them from yet?” Hailey asked as Benson got up the images of their passports too, complete with fake names, fake addresses and disguises. 

“We’re thinking this O’Connell guy,” Tutuola told her, “he’s got the connections and experience, and this must have been in the works for a while.”

“Yeah, we’re looking at anyone and everyone he’s been in contact with in prison, seeing if any of them might have sent him any packages or had any New York connections,” Rollins said.

“We’ve already gone through the prison logs,” Jay countered, “we know O’Connell did time with him before he got out last year.”

“Yeah, but since then they don’t appear to have had any direct contact, so we’re thinking there’s a middle man, probably the figure you can see in the drivers seat of the car they took from JFK, O’Connell rarely does business in person, that’s why we only had him in for a minor possession stint,” Rollins grabbed a file on O’Connell’s record and handed it to Jay to flip through.

“Can we get a clearer image on that?” Adam asked, pointing to the blurred image of the car. You squinted at the image, trying to get a better look, but the man was clearly wearing a hat and shades, even if they managed to tidy it up, facial recognition would be a waste of time. 

“Unfortunately not, but we’re doing everything we can,” Benson said.

“So what now?” Antonio voiced up, all of you turning to your Sergeant and Captain Benson.

“We’re in your house, it’s your call,” Voight said to Benson. He had a lot of respect for her, you noted, he never gave up point on a case so easily.

“Well with your know-how on the case, and our knowledge of New York, we though it was best to combine teams, partner up one of us and one of yours,” she looked back at both units, still stood a little apart from one another, and you and Antonio shared the briefest glance, seeing the other partners in your unit do the same. 

You worked well together, all of you did, and let’s be honest, Intelligence had never been very good at sharing, but if it was what was best for Logan, so be it. It hadn’t escaped anyone’s notice that the numbers didn’t add up, so you waited to see who would be moved around. 

“Fin, you mind going with Dawson?” Benson gestured to the two men, who happily nodded and Antonio gave you an encouraging nod before he headed off the join the Sergeant at his desk. 

“Halstead and Rollins, Upton and Kat,” she continued with Voight’s approval and you knew you’d be next, she’d done her best not to split up any of Intelligence’s partners entirely. “Which leaves Carisi and Y/L/N,” you nodded and so did he.

“Well then, let’s get to it,” Voight ordered, “we’ve got a child to find before he disappears.” With that, he and Benson went to go talk in her office, leaving you all with your new partners. 

“First time in New York?” He asked you as he grabbed a chair for you to sit at his desk. You could see notes on the case covering most of the surface, potential locations O’Connell may use and streets that the car may have turned down after they lost it on surveillance, none of which looked familiar to you. 

“I got a connecting flight through here once,” you shrugged, feeling out of your element away from Chicago and fully understanding why Captain Benson thought it best to mix up the units. 

Carisi chuckled as you took your seat, pulling out the files you’d brought with you from Chicago. “We’re on O’Connell,” he explained, “these are all the files on his known and potential locations.”

You leaned closer to take a look at what he’d been doing. “That’s a lot of ground to cover,” you noted, feeling a sense of dread. O’Connell’s file had him as one of the best, and Ronny had a head start, they might not even be in the state anymore. 

Carisi seemed to sense your worry. “We’ve got traffic stops in and out of the city, ports and airports, he won’t slip through again,” he tried to reassure you, but you knew he wasn’t entirely convinced either. 

He handed you one of his files and you handed him one of yours. “Let’s get started.”

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Not Today IV

A/N: Funnily enough, I was really struggling with what to write in this chapter. Then, it hit me, and... it got long enough I decided to make it into two separate chapters. Finally getting some more plot building here, and this little feast arc will be wrapped up next week! Until then, I hope you enjoy! Skål!

Summary:  When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.

Masterlist

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True to his word, Alfred had a feast called to be hosted for Aethelind’s guests, and they were rather stunned to hear about the feast being held in their honor. They also were sure this was Aethelind’s work, a show of good faith and good things to come. And Ubbe certainly had no plans of turning down free food.

Sounds of celebration poured out of the feasting hall, and Aethelind grinned widely as she sat, quietly talking with Torvi. The feast was in full swing by now, Vikings socializing with Saxons, something that brought peace to the Princess’s soul as she watched the crowd. Her eyes had focused on Lagertha, speaking in an almost conspiratorial way to the Bishop Heahmund. She smirked slightly, and then returned her attention to the woman at her side.

“And… you are one of these shieldmaidens, yes?” she was asking the older blonde, and Torvi smiled and nodded.

“I am,” she confirmed. “Though, I wasn’t always.” When Aethelind turned a curious gaze to her, she decided to elaborate. “My second husband tried to make me kill Björn.” The Princess’s eyes widened drastically at that, and Torvi chuckled. “I didn’t, obviously. Instead, I killed my husband. That led to me joining the raid on Paris, and… Lagertha trained me from there.”

“You killed your husband?” Aethelind questioned, as if that were the only thing that had caught her attention.

“My second husband,” Torvi confirmed. “Erlendur. He was the son of King Horik, who-”

"Who once helped King Ragnar raid Wessex,” Aethelind finished, and chuckled. “I had no idea you were no stranger to being married to royalty, before Ubbe.”

Torvi laughed softly at what Aethelind said, and said, “Oh, I have always been married to royalty. First, Jarl Borg, then Erlendur, Björn, and now Ubbe.”

Aethelind gaped in a way she knew her mother would have scolded her for, and asked, “Four husbands? Torvi!” This led the Viking woman to giggle, and she put her hand on Aethelind’s hand familiarly.

“Two of them died,” she defended. “Björn is the only one that… we simply did not work.”

“‘Two of them died’,” Aethelind repeated playfully. “I was under the impression you just confessed to the murder of one?”

Torvi nodded, still laughing, and answered, “Yes, but that does mean he died.”

Aethelind gave a small shake of her head, and kept giggling at what Torvi had said. “You are too much,” she teased. As the two began to regain theirselves, Aethelind asked her, “Now, what exactly is a Jarl? Is that… sort of similar to a Lord?”

“Essentially,” Torvi answered her. She began to explain the hierarchy of the Viking royalty, and as she did so, Ubbe found himself chuckling and watching the pair.

Alfred looked up from his meal as he heard this, and tilted his head slightly. “What is it?” he questioned. No one had said anything to Ubbe, so he wasn’t quite sure what the Viking was laughing at.

“Your sister and my wife,” he answered Alfred. “It seems they are getting along very well. I cannot be sure what they are talking about, but they keep laughing together.”

Alfred’s eyes turned from his plate to his sister and Torvi, who were now laughing once again, and he made a slightly considering face. “I suppose I cannot be… too surprised by this. I have always found her to be more similar to our biological father than I am.”

“Your biological father?” Ubbe asked, looking to Alfred.

“Yes, the priest, Athelstan.”

Ubbe’s eyes lit up with recognition at the name, his brows lifting slightly. “Athelstan?” he said, looking back to Aethelind again. “I didn’t know you were his children. I knew him in my youth.” A small chuckle, and he added, “I led the search for the man who killed him, on my father’s orders.”

Now it was Alfred’s turn to look slightly stunned, and he even blinked a few times as he processed this. “You- you were not very young when he died then, were you?” he asked.

“No,” Ubbe confirmed. “No more than… eight winters could have passed, since my birth. But when Floki ran, it would have been about ten.”

“My grandfather sent me to Rome at three years old,” Alfred commented. “It looks as if we were both doing things we might have been… more prepared for at an older age, during our youth.”

“Apparently so,” Ubbe agreed. “Though, I would be lying if I said I was unprepared for such a task at that age. Viking children are prepared for much more than it seems your children are.”

Alfred sighed and shook his head a little. “I wish I could argue that, but I was being taught things in books at ten years old, while you were leading searches for an escaped criminal at that age.” He looked to Aethelind, and smiled a little. “My sister might have been happier to grow up in your world, I think.”

“How so?” Ubbe asked curiously. His eyes turned to Aethelind, who had moved from Torvi to speak to his brother, Björn. He seemed to be quite amused with her, leaning against the wall and watching her animated expressions. Ubbe smirked a little.

“Look at her and your brother,” Alfred pointed out. “Doesn’t she already seem happier, with you all here?”

Ubbe shrugged, even though the thoughts of what had been said of her and Ivar circulated through his mind. “I wouldn’t know.”

The sound of her laughter reached them at their table, and Ubbe noticed the way Alfred smiled. He couldn’t be sure if Alfred was happy to see his sister with the oldest Ragnarsson, or concerned.

“No, you can’t mean that,” she was currently saying to him. “Not one wound? Nowhere? Not even a scratch?”

“Nothing indeed,” Björn confirmed for her. “It is why I am called ‘Ironside’.”

“So explain to me then, how your brothers are Ragnarssons, but you are Ironside? Should they not instead call you Björn Ragnarsson, the Ironsided?”

This caused Björn to chuckle slightly. Her confusion was somehow very endearing, the way her voice shifted and brows drew together as she tried to figure out the name worked. The Viking chose not to let her suffer with that confusion for too long, and clarified, “I am called Ironside, just as my father was called Ragnar Lothbrok.”

“So, your name was never Björn Ragnarsson?” she questioned, and he nodded.

“It was.”

Her lips pressed together in a frustrated way, and her expression fell flat. He chuckled again. “Now you’re teasing me,” she insisted.

“I am not teasing!” Björn said defensively, even lifting his hands as if in surrender. “It is the truth! I am Björn Ironside, and also Björn Ragnarsson. An earned name can become how you are known, instead of the name you were given at your birth. It is the beginning of your own legacy. I am set apart as my own man by this name, and not simply part of my father’s legacy.”

She couldn’t help herself in saying, “And so, Ivar the Boneless…?”

Björn was clearly not quite sure how to react to this. Of course, he knew what her question was- was that name some part of a legacy he had already made for himself? Or, was it a title given to him simply because his legs did not work? But at the same time, it was a subtle way of asking about him, seeing what he had been up to. If nothing else, it confirmed for Björn that the Princess still cared for the man.

“He was first called that because of his legs,” he ended up explaining. “But now, he has turned that name he was given into a name which… he hopes will be remembered for ages to come. It has become his legacy, and likely, it will be a powerful one at that.”

"But not more powerful than ‘Ironside’,” Aethelind teased, and Björn cracked a grin.

"I should hope not,” he agreed. She giggled lightly at that, and smiled up at him.

“Then make it so, Björn Ironside. If it is what you wish. You seem to be a great man. I don’t doubt you can do what you set your face toward. Though, I still wish there were more I could do to help you in this battle.”

Björn looked at her curiously, tilting his head and pressing his lips tightly together. “Why are you so interested in turning against Ivar?” he asked her. “He was your friend in childhood. Why turn against him now? We cannot have become better friends to you now than he was to you then?”

Aethelind sighed, and leaned against the wall as she considered what he said. “In truth?” she questioned, looking to him with the silent question of if she could speak freely to him or not. He nodded. “I am not interested in turning on him. A peaceful resolution is what I am interested in, where there can be peace among your family again. He may have been my childhood friend, Björn, but he was your brother.” Her hand rested against his arm, and he found her eyes to be perfectly sincere when they met his.

Alfred choked on his drink as he and Ubbe saw the interaction between their siblings.

“All I want,” she continued, though they could not hear her, “is to see your family reconciled.”

“Even if that means standing against Ivar?” he questioned.

“I hope it does not come to that.”

Her mind was working quickly, trying to come up with some way she could make sure it didn’t, near ready to pray for a solution, when Björn spoke again. “If it were possible to speak to Ivar, then I would…” The Viking paused, unsure of what to add to his statement, before shaking his head. “He cannot be reasoned with. Speaking to him would do no good.”

Björn, try as he might, could not have foreseen the response Aethelind would have to his words. He believed it was a worthless cause, talking to Ivar, but to her, he’d provided exactly the thought she’d needed. “Unless the wrong person has been trying all along,” she said, a thoughtful look entering her eye.

“The wrong person?” Björn asked. “How could… who else is there to try?”

When she grinned at him, his eyes widened, and brows creased in shock. “No. You cannot mean…?”

"I do,” she confirmed. “Send me to speak with your brother. Maybe he’ll believe I would still be on his side, and he’ll trust me and my judgement. After all, you and Ubbe spoke as if he were still fond of me. Is that true or isn’t it?”

“By his standards, it is true, but if he would listen to reason, he would have already heard it. His desire to rule Kattegat is not only because he wishes to be King, but because he wants revenge on my mother. Do you not remember-”

“I do,” Aethelind interrupted. “But we are taught against such pursuits here. Surely, I could convince him to let it go? I know the good that comes from forgiveness. I can show him.”

Björn would have scoffed, had he not cared if he offended the Princess. “You would have to convince your brother to send you,” he reminded her. “Without his permission, you will not make it beyond the docks. If he asks me what I believe, then I will not voice my support in this endeavor. You are safe here, Princess. You should remain here.”

Aethelind gave a slight huff, and her hand dropped as she moved to cross her arms. “Then I’ll talk to the rest of your party. Surely one of you will support me.” She thought perhaps Torvi would, maybe Lagertha. If she could get two supporters out of the Vikings, then maybe her brother would listen. And if Lagertha agreed, then she could likely gain Heahmund’s support as well.

The Princess wasn’t blind. She could see easily through the way the two looked at each other, spoke in their hushed tones. And… Well, Heahmund was no longer a Bishop, she figured. With that the case, then he was free to love Lagertha. She couldn’t fault him for finding happiness in a romantic love, when his ability to find it in giving spiritual love to the kingdom of Wessex had been taken. Not by any fault of his, of course, but he had been gone. They’d needed a new Bishop.

Well, Aethelind decided that had all worked out the way it was meant.

She turned to find any one of the Vikings who would be available, and soon noticed her brother talking to a beautiful young woman with long, dark hair and fair skin. His betrothed, then, Princess Elsewith. This meant Ubbe was no longer in conversation with the young King, and so Aethelind soon found he was talking to Torvi. Perfect. She began her walk toward the couple, a warm smile on her face as she approached.

“How are you two enjoying the feast?” she greeted, and Torvi smiled brightly in response.

“It is wonderful,” she answered. “Ubbe and I were just saying how excellent the food is.”

“Yes, we are very impressed with… whoever prepared all this,” Ubbe agreed. “It was done well.”

“Good,” Aethelind said, nodding slightly. “Perhaps the two of you would like to join me for a drink? I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

“With us?” Ubbe questioned. “Very well.”

Torvi and Ubbe followed Aethelind as she went toward one of the tables, finding a pitcher of wine and filling their three goblets. Ubbe noted with interest how she didn’t call for a servant to refill their cups, simply doing so herself. Was that common in England? he wondered.

Once they all had some wine, Aethelind led them over to a place they could sit alone, comfortably, and discuss what she’d wanted to. Torvi and Ubbe watched her expectantly, and she smiled. “I have had a thought,” she began. “A plan, perhaps, that may help your plight in Kattegat.”

Ubbe’s brows lifted as he heard this, and Torvi’s eyes widened. “A plan?” he asked. “What sort of plan?”

“None of you want to fight Ivar, and he’s your brother anyhow, it wouldn’t be right,” Aethelind began. “So… someone needs to talk to him. I have it from Björn that this has been tried, that he cannot be reasoned with, but I wonder… Would he listen to someone who wasn’t one of you? Someone who has no stake in this except perhaps bias toward him, even?”

“What are you suggesting?” Torvi asked skeptically. She was beginning to suspect where Aethelind was going with this, and the idea was unsettling to her already.

“I am suggesting… an old childhood friend,” Aethelind replied with a small, playful smirk. “Someone he continued to think of even once he was home.”

"No.” Ubbe’s response was nearly shocking to Aethelind, but she still turned to look at the son of Ragnar. “No, you also have it from all of us that Ivar has changed drastically since he was young.”

“Do we ever change?” Aethelind questioned. “Or do we just think we do?” Ubbe and Torvi looked at her with slight confusion on their faces, unsure now of what she meant by that. But, before they could ask for clarification, she gave it. “You, Ubbe, said that, ‘he is buried beneath years of anger, and pain, and hatred,’ didn’t you? If he really is still there? If that’s true, then why shouldn’t I try and… bring that back out? You told me he was always cruel, but if that were true, then why would he have behaved so… differently with me? Doesn’t it make sense that, if he wasn’t then, he may not be now?”

“You are putting a lot into these uncertainties,” Ubbe said. “You have no way of knowing if Ivar will be cruel to you if you go to Kattegat. If he is, then the worst-case scenario is that he would kill you. Best is that he simply will not listen, and turns you away. And if he is not cruel, there is still no guarantee he will listen to you. Your life is too great a risk to base off nothing more than a ‘what-if’, Princess.”

"I agree with my husband,” Torvi said. “We cannot risk you. If I knew better that you could defend yourself, then perhaps… But for now? I’m sorry, but we just… we don’t have enough information, and Ivar has always been unpredictable as it is.”

“Then it stands to reason that he might just listen after all.”

Torvi and Ubbe were getting rather tired of being so bewildered by her all the time. What could she mean now?

“You predict that at best, he won’t listen, and at worst, he would kill me. But… he is unpredictable, you say. So it stands to reason that he would again be unpredictable, and at worst, listen to me. At best, he may agree to find peace. And Torvi, if you trained me… I could defend myself, and the worst-case would be far less likely to actually be a threat.”

Ubbe looked to Torvi, his brows creasing thoughtfully as he watched his wife carefully consider Aethelind’s words. Her argument did make sense, in a rather twisted up sort of way. She didn’t want to say it, but the logic rather reminded her of Ivar himself. It sounded like exactly how he’d have sold one of his daft plans- the sort that tended to work, she thought begrudgingly- to his brothers. Perhaps this English Princess had the exact same sort of mad genius that Ivar did. If that were so…

“Very well,” she said, with a sigh. “With your King’s permission, and the agreement of the rest of us, and satisfaction that you can defend yourself… I will agree.”

Ubbe’s eyes widened. He’d had a similar train of thought to hers, concerning how Aethelind had defended her argument, but to hear Torvi agree…

“And I suppose I will support my wife,” he said. The words seemed to surprise him, even as they left his mouth. “Her terms seem… reasonable.”

Aethelind grinned happily at their agreement to her plan. “Excellent,” she said. “Björn has already spoken his disapproval of this plan, but I think if I can convince your Queen, the Bishop- who I suppose will agree with her- and my brother, especially with these terms, then he might come around.”

Torvi grimaced at hearing Björn was already against the idea. “Well… That, or we may have to go with the majority,” she conceded.

“Is he that stubborn?” Aethelind asked with a soft chuckle, and Torvi nodded in a slow way that agreed enthusiastically. “Well, a majority will do, then. Excuse me, I have to find Queen Lagertha and speak with her about this, before Björn does and convinces her against it.”

She glanced out into the people, and found Björn speaking with Elsewith and Alfred, now. The sight made her grimace. “Hopefully, he wouldn’t speak of this in front of my brother’s intended…”

“I doubt it,” Ubbe assured her. “It is too private a thing for him to share with any who are uninvolved. If she weren’t there, he might tell your brother, but… He won’t say anything with her there, I don’t imagine.”

Aethelind let out a small breath of relief, and nodded, smiling once more. “Thank you,” she said. “Well, pardon me, and enjoy the feast, and I cannot thank you enough for discussing this with me.” She briefly kissed Torvi on the cheek, a show of her gratitude for the new ideas concerning her plan. And then, she walked away, leaving a wide eyed Torvi and Ubbe- neither of whom had expected that- behind.

Now, she approached Lagertha and Bishop Heahmund, who were still in deep conversation, which made her hesitant to interrupt. But the matter was important, and she figured both Heahmund and Lagertha would be involved, and therefore, Björn likely would feel comfortable speaking to them both on the subject. She needed to get their approval before he gained their dissent.

As she approached, Lagertha offered her a kind smile, and stepped back just a bit from Heahmund. The Princess held back a knowing smirk.

“Queen Lagertha,” she greeted, giving a small curtsy to the shieldmaiden, and turned to Heahmund. “Your Grace. How is the feast treating you both? Well, I hope?”

“Very well,” Lagertha answered. “We could not be more grateful for your hospitality and generosity.”

“You are most welcome to it, Your Highness,” she said with a smile. “We’re happy to have you here. And Bishop Heahmund, it is a joy to see you returned in good health, by God’s good grace.” She put a hand on his arm, a small sign of sincerity.

“Thank you, Princess,” he replied with a smile. “I can only think it must be your prayers, and the prayers of your people, which moved Him to spare me.” Aethelind grinned, and nodded slightly.

“It must have been,” she agreed. “And we thank Him for it. And for your health as well, Queen Lagertha.” She turned to her, and mirrored the placement of her right hand on Heahmund with her left on Lagertha. “You have been through quite an ordeal. It is good to see you have survived, and survived well, it seems.”

“Thank you,” she said. “The gods have certainly been merciful. It is said that I and my allies have lost their favor, but… We are alive, and with good allies. I cannot believe it is so.”

Aethelind smiled, and nodded to that. “Neither can I,” she agreed. “And, on that front, I have had an idea that I have discussed with Prince Ubbe and his wife, Torvi. One that- with mild alteration- they have come to support. It is a plan to begin working toward the restoration of Kattegat to you.”

Lagertha’s eyes widened and her brows lifted in shock. “You have come up with a plan?” she questioned. “A plan to take Kattegat back?” She hadn’t expected the girl to have any military expertise, and yet she found the fact she did to be something of a comfort. Militarily experienced women were rare in England, and so it was calming to her to discover that Aethelind was one such woman.

“Yes,” the Princess confirmed. “This is still contingent on two circumstances, of course, and those circumstances are that Torvi train me to defend myself. Though, thinking now, I can’t help but think you would also be an excellent asset in this, if my grandfather’s stories held any truth- and I fully believe they do. And, that I have majority approval from yourselves, and my brother.”

Lagertha’s brows now drew together suspiciously. What could Aethelind be thinking that would require her and Torvi to train her..? “And what is this plan of yours, Princess?” she asked.

“With training and approval, I would like to go to Kattegat, and meet with Ivar, myself.”

Now Lagertha’s eyes widened, but it was Heahmund who spoke. “You cannot mean this, Princess,” he said. “I have worked at this man’s side… He is ruthless, and wicked, and he will-”

"-Not harm me, I don’t expect,” Aethelind interrupted. “Would you agree that Ivar is unpredictable, Bishop Heahmund?”

Lagertha watched Heahmund as he seemed to be given pause by Aethelind’s question, his eyes focusing on some invisible place, and his mouth hanging slightly open. He blinked a few times, then closed his mouth, and nodded. “I would, Your Highness,” he finally agreed.

“Then if it is predictable that, at best, he might simply not hear me out, and at worst, he may try to kill me- an option made less likely by Torvi and, should she agree, Lagertha’s training- then the unpredictable option would be that he, at worst, will not hear me, and at best, listens. And if he is unpredictable as you say…”

“Then he may hear you out,” Lagertha finished.

“Exactly.”

Heahmund gave a short laugh, one that held no mirth, but that Lagertha recognized as realization. He was coming to agree with Aethelind already. “That’s just mad enough that… with him, it might work,” he said.

“Then you will support me?” Aethelind questioned, her eyes hopeful. He nodded.

“I will,” he said. “My vote… hasn’t been asked for, but I will offer my support in any way I can.”

Aethelind smiled a little, and gave his arm a grateful squeeze. “You know Alfred has always appreciated your council, Bishop Heahmund,” she assured him. “It may just be your voice that convinces him.”

“If your voice cannot, then I doubt any can. Especially considering I doubt your mother will support this.”

The Princess grimaced slightly. “No… I don’t think she will,” she agreed. “But I will have the support of each Viking- save for Björn, I imagine, and hopefully… including yourself, Your Highness.” She turned back to Lagertha briefly as she said this, before returning her attention to Heahmund. “If I can gain Alfred’s approval of this plan, as I gained his approval in allowing me to open my villa to our guests, then… She won’t like it, but I will journey to Kattegat without her permission. I would simply like to have her blessing, is all.”

“You go for a righteous cause, Princess,” Heahmund said. “We will do all we can to ensure you go with the blessing of God.” He didn’t say it explicitly, but she could tell what he meant.

The approval and blessing of her mother, Queen Judith, would mean little, if the Lord Himself were on her side.

“I believe you are right, Your Grace,” she said with a warm smile. “Thank you.” Aethelind took a deep breath, and turned her attentions once more to Lagertha. “And… that leaves you, before I attempt to sway Björn once more, and then my brother. Will you support me, and this plan?”

Lagertha sighed softly, looking into Aethelind’s young face. The Princess was clearly less experienced with war than the Viking had believed at first. She was speaking of going to talk to one of the most dangerous men in their world, a man who Lagertha knew would have little interest in peace. If Aethelind was going to sway him, she would have to do something powerful in order to do so. Something… very clever. She’d have to gain his full trust before even mentioning peace to him. But, this plan, though only the bare bones of it were had at the moment… could perhaps be made into something that would work. She nodded.

“I will want a stronger plan,” she said, “and a new vote when the time comes to send you, so we all are assured that you are as ready as you can be, but… For what you have now, I will support you. And, I will help train you, if you receive your brother’s approval. With myself, Heahmund, Torvi, and Ubbe… This does give you majority from us, so that and your training is settled.”

“Yes,” Aethelind agreed, and grinned. “Thank you for your support, both of you.” She moved so she could speak more directly to both the Queen and the Bishop at once. “I do wish to have Björn’s support in this venture, so I will give him the updated plan, before I speak with my brother about it. Though, I will do so with or without Björn’s approval. Torvi has insinuated that he may be very difficult to convince, so… I don’t hold out too much hope.”

“My son is fond of a good plan, one he believes will work,” Lagertha said. “And, I believe he will see how like Ivar you think.” Aethelind’s eyes widened. “That, in and of itself, has increased my confidence.”

“Might I ask why that is?” Aethelind asked curiously. “Don’t you think that may make Ivar keen to what I’m attempting to do?”

“On the contrary,” Lagertha countered. “It means it may work exactly as we hope it will on him.”

A smile split Aethelind’s face, and she nodded. “Then I hope and pray it will, Your Highness.” She turned to Heahmund, and with a slightly less enthusiastic expression, added, “We all must.”

“And we all will,” he assured her. “But you have business, now. Go to Björn and your brother, convince them as you have us and the others. Then, we’ll see about training you.”

Aethelind’s smile returned in full force, and she nodded eagerly. “Thank you, Bishop Heahmund, I will.” She gave both their arms a small squeeze, and then said, “Enjoy the feast,” before turning and walking away.

“What do you think?” Lagertha asked Heahmund, stepping back in with a look of concern on her face as she watched the Princess go.

Heahmund sighed as he considered carefully his words, also watching Aethelind’s retreating figure. “Her plan is a good one,” he said slowly. “But if it is approved…” He sighed, and gave a small shake of his head. “I will pray to God daily for her safety, and her survival.”

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @wilhelmyna, @katfett, @fangirl-nonsense, @zuzus-sun, @heavenly1927

If you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to reach out either by commenting, reblogging, DMing me, or sending an ask, and I’ll be more than happy to add you!

[whitefoxed]

Stupidest Plan Shenanigans

@algrimthestrong​: continued from here

“This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.”

Algrim gave Lise a pointed glance over his shoulder. “I appreciate your honesty, but a little more faith in my abilities would be nice.” He peered around the stone pillar, grimacing at the sight of the two green-skinned ogre women guarding the entrance to the treasury.

After negotiations had failed, there was but one way to obtain the fabled grimoire they had been sent to acquire. Under normal circumstances, resorting to theft would have been far below Algrim’s dignity, but it was still preferable to dealing with the Accursed’s temper should he return to the king with empty hands. As Algrim had explained to Lise earlier, this particular breed of ogre happened to have a weakness for elves. Against his every expectation, the queen had remained adamant, withstanding his every attempt to persuade her to part with her prized possession. Thus, after diplomacy had failed him so miserably, Algrim’s plan was to send Lise in his fox form to slink past the pair of guards and steal the precious book while he took it upon himself to distract the ladies.

“If you have a better idea, now is the time.”

Lise was grinning his head off. The mere idea of Algrim doing his best to charm large ogre ladies had him in fits, when just mere hours ago the adviser had been so confident that he would be able to convince the queen to trade them the grimoire. As far as he saw, that charm did little with the queen, though it was more likely his precious elf would be eaten up by the powerful ladies.

“I could use magic if I knew what the treasury’s inner layout was like.” No point teleporting in to get stuck in a wall or some trap. Lise swished his tails smirking, arms folded across his chest while he leaned against the pillar where they were hiding. “Why don’t you share a few lines before we do this? I know my taste in elves, but who knows if the ladies prefer a rogue?” He gave Algrim a good once over, taking in his current ensemble and hairstyle. Mysterious yes, even the silhouette was well covered in bulky cloak. The fox’s grin turned into a squint and flattened lips, followed with a shake of his head.

Being someone who could turn into a lady if he wanted, the whole vague mysterious traveler thing wasn’t working very well.

Algrim shook his head. “Teleporting is not an option - too dangerous.” Admittedly, the plan he had devised was below his usual standard, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and Lise’s open amusement at Algrim’s suggestion earned the fox a quelling glance from the elder. “The queen would have yielded up the book,” Algrim clarified, “but the price she set on it was… outrageous, shall we say.” He wrinkled his nose in disdain, but offered no further explanation as to what sort of payment the ogre queen had demanded, trusting Lise to draw his own conclusions. In the end, stealing the book was the only feasible option.

When Lise suggested they rehearse Algrim’s lines before putting their plan into action, his request was met with grudging acquiescence. “Well, I was going to pay them a compliment, to praise the craftsmanship of their battle axes, their devotion to their queen, or even the colour of their eyes,” Algrim explained. “Ogres are simple creatures, easily impressed. I am sure I can engage them long enough for you to steal into the treasure chamber and locate the book.”

Allowing Lise to assess him, Algrim remained still under the younger’s scrutiny. The decidedly unimpressed look on Lise’s face told him everything he needed to know. Without comment, Algrim stripped off his cloak and opened  the collar of his robes to reveal a V of smooth indigo skin. “Well, how’s this, then?” The look on his face could have curdled milk.

At Algrim’s clarification, Lise raised his brows with understanding. Certainly it was a price he himself would not agree to, for such a thing. Still, it amused the fox that the elder’s charm backfired on Algrim and that he was going to proceed with the same plan with these ladies. 

Watching the elf sacrifice some coverage, Lise tapped his lips with a finger. “Much better. You’d need to think of more lines than that though, the fastest I can promise is a quarter an hour and that’s if I don’t get lost or there isn’t any traps or devices safeguarding the grimoire.” He pointed out, mentally forecasting that Algrim would end up in awkward silence with the guards. “Perhaps showing off your skills or sparring with them? Unless you want to start pole dancing in front of them.” Lise suggested, the mere idea of which had him holding back giggles.

In fact Algrim’s current expression was enough for him to find glee for the following week or so.

[fleckcmscott]

After

Summary: Arthur is heartened to have Y/N back by his side. But moving forward isn't as simple as he'd daydreamed.

Warnings: Adult situations, Swearing

Words: 3,391

A/N: This request comes from @jokerownsmysoul​! It's a continuation of Ch. 23 of Watch What Happens and takes off right after the last paragraph. Funnily enough, when Karen originally beta'd that chapter she said, "Where's their conversation? Oh, well, I guess it's implied." 😄 Special thanks to Domino, aka @thegirlwho​, (who also wanted their conversation 😂) for sharing her point of view and helping me see things from a different perspective.

A good portion of my life is the exploding head emoji right now, so it's been a while since I've posted. However, I'm still here. Still writing. Still trying. Work on the new multi-chapter continues. If you've got any requests, let me know. Your patience, support, and you mean a lot to me. Thank you.

Nimble fingers twined through his loose, brown curls, a gentle tug as lips met and parted, met and parted. Her body surrounding that soft, most intimate part of him was visceral. Warm and wet. "I love you" fell from her mouth. Once, twice, more than the walls of his apartment had ever heard. He swallowed but was unable to murmur an appropriate reply. She came back, his mind affirmed. She came back.

Shit, I haven't mopped for a week.

Arthur braced himself on his knees and elbows to look down at her. The notched collar of Y/N's blouse had somehow remained uncrumpled. Strands of her hair fanned out messily over the beige, aged hexagons of the kitchen linoleum. Her tears had reduced to stains on her flushed cheeks. He brushed them away with the back of his knuckles. She'd said he hadn't hurt her, that she was happy. Both good things. If he could figure out the next step...

His eyes flitted back and forth between hers, brows pinched. Moving to kneel, he tucked himself back into his briefs, pulled his light blue pajama bottoms over his rear, then ran his hands along his thighs. "Have you had dinner?"

Buoyant laughter left her as she propped herself on her forearms. "I'm famished. Especially after that." She extended her hand and he accepted it gladly. When she started to pull herself up, he grabbed the other. Her kitten-heels slid the weave rug along the floor; it took some effort for her to get her footing. Once she stood, she tied the drawstring of his pants and adjusted her skirt. "Be right back," she said and scurried to the bathroom.

The thud of the door closing cleared the awe from head. He'd rather have kept it. Changes in mood were typical as of late. The bliss of her return was already twisting into dread. No longer consumed by the need to be inside her, his mind conjured questions, too many to brush off. He turned the knob of the toaster over. Studied the orange glow of its heating element. Had charity - or worse, pity - caused her return? Had distress afflicted her as deeply as it had him? Had she thought of him half as much as he'd thought of her?

Was she going to abandon him again?

He suddenly felt very silly and quite small for allowing himself a modicum of relief. Nothing had been clarified. By having a quickie on the floor after they'd barely exchanged a word, he'd set himself up to be hurt. The way he had when he'd kissed Helen, or when he'd considered Randall his friend, or when he'd believed, for one foolish minute, that Murray might be kind. He flinched against the fury simmering in his stomach. That same panic and anger from when Y/N had walked out of his apartment and, he'd been convinced, his life. He clutched the counter's curved edge so hard his fingertips went numb.

But then she curled herself into his side and squeezed him tight about the waist. Her blithe bearing was almost enough to quiet his tumult. "Anything I can help with?"

"No." He moved to dig through the freezer. Beans and franks with a brownie. English style fish 'n' chips. His mother's favorite, meatloaf. Only the teal packaging made them appealing. He grimaced at the meager offerings. He snatched one from the door, held it out with some trepidation. It was possible the gel-like gravy, slices of turkey roll, and drowned stuffing wouldn't put Y/N off. "Um, this was on sale. I bought a few."

"It's perfect." She accepted the carton and tore it open. "I heard a song on the radio yesterday that made me think of you."

"Oh yeah?" He closed the door of the toaster and set the timer with a flick of the wrist.

"The man was singing that his name was Carnival. That's your clown name, right?" She chuckled, dragged the black, wooden stool from under the counter, and perched on it. "It reminded me of the subway." A flirty pinch to his abdomen. "And that I still have to see one of your performances."

Arthur scoffed and averted his gaze, struggled to push through his anxiety and enjoy her. But he wasn't the type of man to let questions lie. When he'd gotten the courage to ask Y/N on a date, he'd taken the risk. When he'd read Penny's letter, he'd hopped on the first train to Wayne Manor. After the confrontation in Wayne Hall, he'd gone to Arkham and stolen that wretched file.

His curiosity tended to pick wounds that hadn't yet healed over.

The warmth of her hand met his back. "Thank you for giving me time."

The tenderness of her tone loosened the clench of his jaw. But he still couldn't bring himself to look at her. He'd done what she'd requested, because he'd feared mistakes would drive her further away, not because he'd wanted to or understood. He wondered if someone without a mental illness would have behaved differently. She'd pleaded with him to listen, kissed him goodbye, then left like it was nothing.

Whatever the case, her appreciation felt wrong. He didn't need gratitude. He needed answers. He inhaled sharply. "Why did you go?"

She traced the knobs of his spine. "I had to figure out the best way to be with you."

"Am I that hard to be with?" he bit out.

"Of course not. That's not what I said."

He gulped and released a ragged breath. "It broke my fucking-" He faltered when his voice cracked.

"Arthur, I didn't want to hurt you. I'm sorry." Her embrace was tight, a welcome pressure on his ribs despite the ache. Her palm slid up his sternum. "I was afraid to do more harm than good." He should have contradicted her, told her she was crazy if she believed loving him would damage him. But he stopped himself when she nuzzled his bicep. It was a while before she cleared her throat. "I love you more than I imagined possible." She giggled, then, and sniffed. "Which isn't bad for six weeks, Mr. Fleck."

Tears threatened as his eyelids fluttered. He managed to keep them at bay, covering her hand with his to distract himself. He pressed it tighter to him, until he thought her fingers might break through his chest. Finally, he met her stare. Found it full of love and what might have been joy at being together. In that moment, he knew nothing would ever separate his heart from hers.

~~~~~

"Christmas is coming up. Let me know what you'd like to do."

Arthur's slight nod was typical of their conversation this evening. Well, that wasn't quite fair. More like half of it. He'd been vacillating between bouts of confidence and timidity, with the latter tending to win out. He'd put his arm around her, examined the latest issue of TV Guide, and asked what she'd preferred to watch. She'd let him choose; he'd picked a three-hour variety show. Minutes later, he'd been squished into the corner of the sofa, legs neatly crossed with his hands clasped in his lap. She'd risen to refresh their ice teas, and he'd halted her with a kiss to her knuckles and his handsome grin. Upon her return, he'd focused on the floor and kept quiet. The changes were difficult to predict.

At least the periods of stillness made it easy for her to reflect, even as those reflections weren't entirely pleasant. She'd had faith in his ability to take care of himself and his judgment to reach out to her if he was in crisis. And while she had no regrets about taking five days to ensure she could sustain their relationship, she lamented the pain it had caused him. She'd detected it in his stiff posture in the kitchen. Seen it in his glistening eyes. Sensed it in his inconsistent reluctance to be touched.

It had been hard for her, too. The absence of their nightly calls, of shared laughter, of his presence had been keen. She would have returned to him without receiving his letter. But the ink on the page, with its occasional misspellings and earnest admissions ("I don't kno if I'm doing this right but I want to try. Maybe you want to try with me, to?") had prompted her to run to the subway before she'd taken off her coat. Confirmed that despite their differences, them being opposite in many ways, their hearts were the same.

He perked up slightly when the next performer came on, an old man from Whitefish, Montana and his paper mache ventriloquist dummy. Y/N's attention drifted to Arthur as he leaned forward onto his knees. Though the act was nothing special - terrible jokes, drinking water while the puppet talked, strumming a ukulele as it sang - his face crinkled in amusement. "They just have regular people on there," he said. "I haven't seen anyone from Gotham. I should try out."

Thankful he was focused on the show and not her, she pursed her lips. Had he forgotten how Murray had gone? Or Pogo's? Then again, he'd believed both had gone great. And she wanted him to succeed. To strive. To dream. His determination impressed her, made her proud. She searched for a truthful but kind answer. "Once you've got a set you're comfortable delivering, sure. Would you send a tape? I have a recorder you can borrow."

"I wrote a lot this week. Not many jokes but I've done some brainstorming." He flicked ash from his cigarette into the pink ashtray on the coffee table. Splayed his fingers and rubbed his palms together. The bob of his Adam's apple was faint in the dim, blue light. "Do you- Do you want to sleep over?" He turned to her.

Elated, she smiled widely and shifted to sit side-saddle. "I'd love to, but I didn't bring any clothes."

"Hold on." He rose from the couch and disappeared into the bedroom. After a minute, she followed to find him digging through a couple of cardboard boxes. Boxes filled with his mother's things, she realized. She'd have to follow-up for details, find out what had happened to ensure the transition would go as smoothly as possible. Though the relationship between him and Penny was complicated, change wouldn't be easy.

He held out a threadbare, light-blue, nylon nightdress with ruffled cap sleeves and a ribbon at the neckline. "Here."

Y/N cocked her head. The gown was exceedingly narrow, its seams stretched. If she had been inclined to wear it, it wouldn't have fit. Arthur's hopeful expression made it plain he did not see the oddity in offering his romantic partner his mother's nightwear. It was logical, she supposed. His years had been spent living hand to mouth. He didn't have any siblings. Hand-me-downs - a spare sweater here, a pair of socks there - would have come from Penny. A tad strange, to be sure. But poverty had a way of making the abnormal normal.

"Thanks," Y/N said. "But I'll be fine in my panties." At his pout, she closed the inches between them. "If you have a t-shirt, I'll take it." His brows lifted and he gave a toothy smile, comprised of surprise and conceit. The shirt he retrieved from the living room was plain and white. The lightly stained armpits didn't bother her, nor did its loose fit. It was part of his work outfit, he explained. And he claimed she looked cute in it.

Her sleep was restful, deep, better than it had been the last two weeks. Arthur being nearby and her certainty when she'd lain her head on his pillow had calmed her. She didn't think about the Wayne Foundation. She didn't worry about how to pursue a future with him. She didn't waste her energy being afraid of powerlessness. Warmth filled her, aided by contentment and cozy blankets.

When the mattress sunk beneath his weight, she didn't check the clock. Judging by the speed with which her drowsiness dissipated and the blackness of the room, it was likely around 4:00 AM. She'd gotten a solid five hours. With a slight stretch and mewl, she blinked up at him. Her elbow accidentally bumped his chest. "Aren't you tired?"

"No." He palmed her shoulder, caution palpable in every movement. Then his caress dragged down her upper arm, hovered over her breast.

She stroked his stubbled cheek. "What are you up to?"

"Making sure you're really here."

It was unclear if he was kidding. The extent of his imaginations or hallucinations - if that's what he experienced - weren't yet known to her. She recalled how he'd clutched her jacket, the way he'd fiddled with her wall calendar and coffee table when he'd come to her for help. Tactility oriented him, as it had her father before the final stages of his diagnosis. And, outside of acute episodes, Loving Someone with... had advised her to carry-on as always.

Laughing gently, she entwined their legs. "Where else would I be?"

"I don't know," he scoffed. He tucked his chin. Silence permeated the room, interrupted only by their exhalations. Eventually, he spoke, his rasp bashful and desperate. "Are you going to leave me again?"

"No." She pressed his hand to her breast, tried to soothe his tremble away. "I like it here."

She could hear his smile in the dark. He dipped his head to capture her lips. He kissed her and kissed her and kissed her again. She kissed him back until she ached with emptiness. Until she felt him hard against her hip.

"Y/N?" he breathed into her mouth.

Her pulse throbbed in her ears. "What?"

His forehead met hers and she shivered all over. "I wanna make you come."

~~~~~

Drip, drip, drip. A calming, predictable sound. The pungent smell of generic brew wafted to his nostrils, slightly burnt but familiar. Coffee. He was making his girlfriend coffee before she went to work. After they'd made love and snoozed until sunrise. After she'd admonished him for smoking in bed, then caressed his flaccid sex and teased him about his "secret freckle." (He'd covered his face in horror and delight and promised himself that one day he'd find a "secret" on her.) He hummed along to the radio, though he disliked the song, and whistled while he filled their cups. Once he'd added three sugars to his and the last of his milk to hers, he padded to the bath. He leaned on the doorframe, an imitation of nonchalance.

In her apparent rush to get to him, Y/N hadn't simply neglected to pack a change of clothing. She was swiping his stick of deodorant under her arms with haste. When she grabbed his comb and tried to tame her hair, he didn't mind. She declined his offer of Penny's eyeliner and mascara but that was fine. She didn't need them, anyway.

As she buttoned her pleated blouse, he giggled. He'd heard jokes about women going to work in identical outfits two days in a row. The innuendo had escaped him until now. A thrill went through him at finally getting the joke. He blushed. "You're dressed the same."

"I left Patricia a message that I'd be late. It won't surprise anyone." She accepted the proffered mug and took a long drink. A mischievous look as she arched a brow. "She'll want details."

Arthur's eyes widened and he rubbed his forehead. This would take getting used to.

She squeezed a line of toothpaste onto her index finger. "What are you doing today? Any gigs?"

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, braced his arm on the wall. "I have to call the hospital. Figure out where to send my mother." He was glad to begin the process of moving on, moving forward. To start building a life of his own. Freed from the woman who hadn't protected him. Paired with the woman who understood him most. Still. He was daunted.

After a few seconds of attempting to brush her teeth, Y/N rinsed her mouth and washed her hands. "The social worker should be able to help. There must be homes specializing in lobotomy patients, given how common they were. Actually..." She stepped to him and wrapped her arms around his middle. "I bet there's an advocacy group for the elderly in Gotham. I'll call around on my break. We can have lunch and review their recommendations."

The tightness in his chest prevented him from holding her gaze. His longings for kindness didn't make it any less peculiar. He hoped he would be able to accept it without skepticism soon, like a normal person. That he wouldn't wait for the other shoe to drop. He tried to fight his negative thoughts rather than give into them.

But he couldn't. Not yet. "Why are you doing this?" he mumbled.

She gave a small shrug, as if what she was about to say wasn't a miracle. "I love you. Why wouldn't I?" Before he could react, she walked to the front door and slipped on her heels. "Besides, we should plan this weekend. Shall We Dance is showing at the Monarch. We could catch it and have dinner at my place. And there's a doctor I found for you - when you're feeling up to it. We'll go over the particulars."

The offer to see the film, one he knew every number of, was an obvious attempt to butter him up for that discussion. It would work. "That sounds nice." He went to her side and took her coat off the wall mounted rack, guided her arms into the sleeves

"Arthur," she started, zipping her jacket. Her pretty eyes met his. "I wasn't going to end our relationship. I don't want you to fear that."

He winced and clutched his hands together, annoyed she had raised the subject again after the wonderful morning they'd shared. "I believe you now."

"Back home, I made mistakes. That's why I needed time." She shook her head. "The thought of repeating them with you..."

Mistakes? What kind of mistakes was she referring to? She'd said her divorce had been mutual. A big fight with her sister or mother hadn't been mentioned. She almost never talked about what had happened with her father, other than to name his diagnosis and state she'd gone on medication. She was a good woman. Whatever she had done, it couldn't be that terrible. Not half as bad as the notions that wormed their way into his brain like a broken record.

Then she continued. "I didn't know what to do then. But I think I do now. " She nuzzled his sideburn and carded her fingers through his hair. "If I see you walking towards a cliff, I won't follow. I'll pull you back before you get there."

He stared at her, blinking rapidly as he tried to hold himself together. Her words felt like the kind of fantasy he'd created to ease his misery. To try to convince himself he should exist another day. That he should stick around. Multiple hospitalizations had proven that hadn't always worked. But this was new. Real. Maybe that reality would allow him, for a little while, to be all right.

He cupped her face, drifted his thumbs over her cheeks. She leaned into him, into the kisses he placed on her brow, her nose, her mouth. His lips parted but all he could manage was a shaky exhale. The press of his face to hers.

She must have noticed he was overwhelmed. It frustrated him - he wanted to find a way to articulate himself. But her peck to his jaw, her hand covering his, made him feel safe. "Meet you at my office at one?"

"Mm-hmm." He nodded into her hair, not quite ready to let go.

Gently, she pulled away from his grasp, took her purse, and opened the door. She smiled. "Call if you need anything."

At that, she strode down the hall in the direction of the elevator. He stepped out and watched until she disappeared around the corridor's corner. He rested against the door and closed his eyes, wishing harder than he ever had before that every morning would be like this for the rest of his life.

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​, @ithinkimaperson​, @sweet-nothings04​, @stephieraptorr​, @rommies​, @fallenstarsabyss​, @gruffle1​, @octopus-plasma​, @tsukiakarinobara​, @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile​, @another-day-in-chuckletown​, @hhandley80​, @jokerownsmysoul​, @mrscarnival​

[sleepingcrisis]

Teamwork

@like-a-festival

*****

"Okay so here is the plan —"

"Question!"

"What is it Reki?" Miya asked having to pause his elaborate explanation when the red head raised his hand.

"Why are we caring so much about this?"

"What do you mean?" Miya tilted his head in confusion, as if the thought had never crossed his mind.

They currently sat in Reki’s room. Langa with his head hanging off of the edge of the bed and Reki sitting on his knees on the bed while Miya paced the floor back and forth easily.

"It just seems like we should stay out of their issues. They will figure it out eventually," Reki explained.

"Will they?" Miya asked the hypothetical question but didn't wait for an answer, "They have known eachother for over ten years. They are getting old. You two managed to figure out your feelings within a year. These three have known eachother for —"

"Don't forget Tadashi," Langa piped up.

"Who?"

"Snake."

"Oh... well he and Adam can figure their stuff out, I have full faith in them. It is when you put Cherry, Joe, and Adam together that they only have two brain cells split among the three of them," Miya explained, "They have known eachother for over ten years and they haven't figured themselves out yet!"

"It still isn't our business —"

"When it effects us it becomes our business."

"How has it effected us?" Reki asked with an eye roll.

Miya cleared his throat, "The incident after the tournament, the incident during the tournament, the way they hog the track at S, the way Joe nearly crashed into you when trying to show off, the way Cherry has been nagging us more often when Adam is around, they argue constantly but not actually argue. You know what I mean?"

"No," Langa muttered and sat up. Maybe the blood rushing to his head was keeping him from thinking.

"They are flirting," Miya explained.

The other two didn't seem convinced.

"Okay fine. What flower does Adam bring to his opponents?" Miya asked.

"Roses," Langa explained like he was stupid.

"What did he bring Joe when they had their last beef?"

"That doesn't mean anything —"

"Sunflowers!" Miya cut Reki off. "He brings Joe sunflowers and Cherry gets —"

"Lilac or Cherry Blossoms," Langa answered.

"Precisely!"

"So what is the plan?" Langa asked and ignored the way Reki groaned.

***

The plan was simple enough even if Langa wasn't sure if it made sense.

It started with a bouquet of flowers that Langa convinced Shadow was for Reki... considering Reki and Miya were standing right beside him it probably wasn't very convincing.

Regardless they got the bouquet. Light pink flowers: liles, carnations, bleeding hearts, and more mixed in with a few bright yellow roses. As far as flowers go it looked really good.

Phase two of the plan was easy and went off without a hitch. They simply requested that Langa have a beef with Adam tonight.

He agreed enthusiastically as always.

"They haven't had a beef since the tournament," Reki pointed out as they were making their way there.

"Well they will tonight," Miya decided.

It was true. The three hogged the track on regular nights but never had an official beef again. Now that word was out that Langa was having a beef against Adam there was sure to be a crowd... they just had to hope all three of the actual competitors showed up.

"Hello my little snow bunny. Isn't it always such an honour to share this stage together?" Adam asked as he presented Langa with red roses as always.

"Sure," Langa said as he carefully took them with a small "thanks". He always accepted the roses even if he never knew what to do with them. "Uh Miya?" He glanced over to his friend.

They noticed Adam looked confused but the confusion morphed into an unreadable expression when Miya took the flowers from Reki and presented them to Adam.

"My little snow bunny! I'm honored. Truly —"

"They aren't from me," Langa explained quickly (his wallet said otherwise).

"Well then who are they—" Langa made a slight nodding motion to Cherry and Joe who were watching from their place above the crowds in the rocks. Langa watched as Adam’s eyes, hidden by his mask, made their way over.

From this distance Adam wasn’t able to see how confused the two looked.

"Sorry little Langa. You are going to have to find another dancing partner for tonight," Adam said before leaving... he left. That wasn't supposed to happen.

"Did he just drop out?" Joe asked.

"Adam doesn't drop out of races —"

"That is what he just did Kaoru," Joe fired back. He expected a swift kick, but when he glanced over the pink haired male was staring down at the start point with calculating eyes.

"They did something," Cherry said after a moment before he began to slid down the rocks before Joe could respond, it forced Joe to follow after him.

Cherry got within grabbing distance of Reki first which meant grabbing him by his yellow hoodie.

"Hey Cherry!" Nervousness laced Reki’s voice. He had been about to take Adam’s place for the beef so people still had something to watch.

"Don't give me that, beef is canceled for tonight boys," Cherry stated. "Joe grab the other two," Cherry tacked on. He let go of Reki briefly before grabbing his arm and continuing along.

"There is no way he can get both of those two," Reki scoffed. Ear grabbing simply wasn’t Joe’s style.

Reki was very wrong though when he glanced over in an attempt to ignore his pain when he heard, "let go you old man!"

Joe had Miya and Langa over his shoulders.

"Hold onto your boards or else they are getting left behind," Joe hummed as he kicked his own board along.

They were set down once outside of the gate and a flurry of cusses was thrown at Joe by Miya.

"So what happened?" Cherry asked when Miya was done.

"What do you mean?" Langa asked dumbly. It was hard to know if he was playing along or if he actually just didn't know.

"With Adam," Cherry clarified and rolled his eyes.

"Oh," Langa hummed and didn't elaborate since he felt that Miya should be the one to take the fall on this one. Apparently Reki thought so too but Miya glared at them in return.

"Fine," Reki grumbled, rubbing his sore ear. "Miya had the wonderful idea to buy Adam flowers," he explained.

"Okay and what else is there?" Joe added and tilted his head. "He has always liked being given flowers so that can't possible be it —"

"You didn't say they were from you three did you?" Cherry asked. His calculating eyes seeing through them immediately.

"Wait did you guys say they were from us?" Joe asked when he realized what Cherry meant.

"Uh... nooooo?" Miya hummed with a grin.

Cherry and Joe shared a look that morphed between concern and frustration.

"What is the big deal? People cancel beefs or drop out at the line —"

"Not Adam," Cherry cut Miya off and rubbed his face.

When realizing they had caused him, not just him... both of them, stress they felt the guilt come over.

"Sorry," Langa piped up first and was followed by two other apologetic mutters.

"It's fine," Joe spoke up quickly which earned him a glare from Cherry.

"It most definitely isn't fine —"

"It is fine," Joe insisted and sighed softly. "Let’s go get him," he muttered.

"You two know where he is?" Reki asked but Cherry looked just as confused.

"Yeah I have a hunch," Joe hummed.

"Oh wonderful, a hunch," Cherry grumbled but followed after him anyway since he had a similar guess about where Adam was.

"You three don't pull a stunt like that again!" Joe called as they took off on their boards.

"Well wrong equation but maybe the right solution?" Miya suggested and was met with a wack on the head from Reki.

***

"Told you we would find him here," Joe mentioned as he kicked his board up.

"Shut it," Cherry grumbled as they made their way over to the railing where Adam was. The last time they had all been here together didn’t end well to say the least.

All three were still in their skating outfits and Adam had that bouquet of flowers clutched in a hand over the railing with a frown on his face. When he heard the other two he plastered on an easy smile and turned over to them.

"The boys told me you got me flowers, how kind. Although do wait until we have a beef to gift flowers," he hummed and offered them back.

"We didn't buy them," Cherry mentioned, "I wouldn't but you a bouquet like that anyway."

"Oh—"

"I would buy you a magnolia," Cherry stated quite simply.

"Oh," Adam’s frown turned into something unreadable before he smiled slightly. A little more genuine, "only one?"

"Only one," Cherry confirmed.

"Well then you let yourself get outclassed Cherry. We both know you would get a bouquet of them," Joe scoffed and leaned back against the railing. He considered it for a moment, "Sweet peas."

"What?" Cherry tilted his head. He didn't know much about flowers. Had no reason to get them aside from occasionally for his office.

"Just know that they are nicer then magnolias," Joe hummed with a grin.

"Whatever," Cherry scoffed.

They both looked back to Adam and Cherry reached over to gently take Adam's mask off his face.

"What are you —"

"You showed up to the after party with your mask on yet you said that we were special when we were younger. So what is it going to be Adam?" Cherry asked using only his fingers to hold the mask in place. When he was met with no resistance he carefully took it off.

"You two are special," Adam insisted.

The two seemed skeptical to say the least. The glanced back to one another in silent communication, but they weren't good at regular communication nevermind silent.

"Do you love us?" Joe asked. It had Cherry making noises similar to that of a dieing fish.

"Yes," Adam didn’t hesitate.

Cherry felt his face heat up and the other two though he was flustered for a second, but it wasn’t that... it wasn't embarrassment either. Then his lip quivered and his eyes glossed over.

"You can't say shit like that and also say how boring I am while giving me a concussion!" He snapped. Anger was easier then breaking down, but breaking down followed his anger anyway. When he pressed his palms against his eyes and his chest tightened, Joe was by his side in an instant and had his arms around him as if to shield him from anymore pain. It was like Joe thought that he could protect Cherry — it was as if Kojiro thought he could protect Kaoru from the entire world.

"I —" Adam bit his lower lip in nervousness and looked at his two former best friends — his two lovers — in a way that could only be described as fear, "I wish I could take it back. I wish I could take it all back."

"Ainosuke," Kojiro urged since he could see that the words were on the tip of his tongue. Just waiting to spill out.

"I'm sorry Kaoru," Ainosuke whispered. He reached a hesitant hand over to touch his shoulder but pulled back when Kaoru lunged forward and pressed their lips together. The mask dropping from Kaoru’s hand and onto the pavement in the process.

It wasn't a very long kiss and when Kaoru pulled away Ainosuke realized he was still crying. He had tears running down his cheeks. Before Ainosuke could reach a hand up to clean them away Kojiro did it for him. Gently reaching over Kaoru’s shoulder from behind him and cleaning away his tears without even needing to see where they were. He had the tracks Kaoru’s tears ran memorized.

"You two are so special to me, and if I have to spend the rest of my life proving it to you both then I will. You both are worth every moment of it. Please let me prove it to you?"

"Okay," Kaoru and Kojiro both agreed.

When they left two things stayed: the bouquet of flowers, and Adam’s mask. Propped up against the railing.

***

The problem with someone like Ainosuke trying to prove that Kaoru and Kojiro were special again was that the two were competitive. They couldn't simply allow themselves to be spoilt.

So when Adam showed up with bouquets for them, they both brought flowers for him. And Joe was right. Kaoru couldn't just bring one.

"Wrong equation right solution," Miya pointed out as the three founders of S stood at the starting line, offering eachother flowers.

"Oh shut up, now we have to deal with this," Reki grumbled, "this is arguably worse." Despite his words he did allow himself a small smile.

"Arguably," Langa pointed out, "Should I get you flowers before beefs?"

"No!" Reki shot right back as his face warmed.

There wasn't really a point to it anyway. The three couldn't actually skateboard with flowers in their hands anyway. Instead of giving them to fans (like Joe normally did) they were dumped on the three younger boys.

"They are special," Cherry informed.

"Besides this is your fault," Joe tacked on.

"So hold these for us until we are done, thanks my little snow bunny, you to kitten and birdie!" Adam hummed all happily.

"'Kitten'?"

"'Birdie'?"

"Good luck you three!" Langa called before the lights changed from red to green and the three took off.

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Fresh Start - Ch. 1

Pairing: Ethan x MC

Catch Up Here

A/N: These past two weeks have been absolutely draining, both mentally and emotionally, but I think my motivation to write is finally coming back, so yay! Let me know if you want to be tagged on untagged. Or if they’re not working for some annoying reason

Tags:  @fanmantrashcan @ao719 @x-kyne-x @colourmeshy @writinghereandthere @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramsey @the-soot-sprite @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @miyakokurono @trappedinfandoms @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @thatysn @bellcat2010 @theeccentricbibliophile @cecilecontrera @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @kaavyaethanramsey @caseyvalentineramsey @desmaranj @mal-volaris @whatchique @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartwriting @mvalentine @nooruleman @queencarb @lucy-268 @caroldxnvxrs @doilooklikeiknow @agent-breakdance @rookieoh @mrsdrakewalkerblog

~v~

“Is that the last of your boxes?”

“That’s all of them. The rest are in a storage unit.”

Naomi looks around the spacious guest room in Naveen’s house. There’s a gorgeous view of the lake right outside her window. “Thank you again for letting me stay here. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I find a place.”

She really did it. She packed up her belongings and accepted the job at Edenbrook, leaving behind the only life she’s ever known. It was exhilarating, and terrifying, and nerve-wrecking, and exciting all at the same time. But being in Boston, helping with that patient in Edenbrook stirred something within her, a fire she hasn’t felt in months. She knew if she didn’t at least give Edenbrook a chance, the regret would eat her alive.

Naveen smiles and dismisses her claims with a flick of the wrist. “You can stay as long as you need to, dear. I’ve been in this house by myself for so long, I think I’ll enjoy your company.”

“At the very least, I’ll steal one of my mom’s recipes and cook dinner for you some time this week.”

“Her famous spaghetti and meatballs?”

“That can definitely be arranged.”

“Oh good. I’m a shoddy cook, so it’s nice to have something that’s actually good every once in a while.” Naveen sighs heavily. “You’ve had a long day today, and your first day of work is tomorrow. I’ll let you get some rest before the big day.”

“Can I get a hint as to what I should expect?” Naomi asks. Butterflies bloom in her stomach at the question. In a few short hours, she’ll be embarking on an entirely new journey.

“Mostly onboarding mumbo jumbo with HR. Getting your keys, giving you clearance to certain parts of the hospital, meeting as many doctors as possible, and then meeting up with Ethan and the rest of the diagnostics team.” He doesn’t miss the way she rolls her eyes at the mention of Ethan’s name. “You two seemed very tense when you met him a few weeks ago, and he wasn’t all that thrilled about you joining the diagnostics team. What happened?”

“A patient collapsed in the waiting room and we both rushed over to help. When that was all done, Dr. Ramsey scolded me and said my technique was amateur and I could’ve killed the patient. Naturally, I didn’t respond too well.”

Naveen has known Naomi since she was born, and she can have a fiery temper if the situation calls for it. He raises an eyebrow at her in amusement. “What did you say?”

“Honestly, I didn’t even say anything that was too bad,” she replies with a shrug. “Basically, I said he was on a power trip and I didn’t need him overseeing and judging my work if he wasn’t going to help. You came back before we could really kick things up.”

“Well thank God for my good timing.”

“He was a jerk,” Naomi continues. “How is he your protege? How are you friends with him? You’re so sweet and he’s so...not.”

“Ethan can be a handful,” Naveen concedes. “He’s just guarded, and he takes his work very seriously. He takes everything too seriously. But once you get to know him, you’ll see that he’s incredibly loyal, intelligent, and he strives to put his patients above everything else. I think the two of you will get along just fine.”

Naomi scoffs. Naveen has more unbridled optimism than she knows what to do with. “Yeah, okay.”

“You’ll balance each other out. You’re strong-willed, you’ll challenge him. Ethan needs that, he’s gotten comfortable being the boss. And no one else in the team will do it.”

“Who else is on the team?” Naomi asks. Her curiosity has gotten the better of her now.

“There’s Dr. June Hirata. She’s a brilliant doctor, perceptive as heck, but she lacks your...assertiveness. June would never challenge Ethan head on even if she’s quietly seething on the inside regarding a decision he’s made. And there’s Dr. Baz Mirani, who is basically a teddy bear in human form. He goes with the flow for the most part, and he hates conflict.”

“So you’re putting me on the team to be his babysitter?”

“No. I’m putting you on the team because you’re a damn good doctor. The fact that you can go toe to toe with Ethan is just an added bonus.”

“You never told me, how exactly did Ethan react to you putting me on his precious team. And you just said he wasn’t thrilled”

“It was my team first,” Naveen clarifies. “But he took the news...less than okay.”

“Naveen, we really need to talk,” Ethan says, chasing his boss through the Edenbrook corridor.

“Why don’t we talk later?”

“How about we talk now.”

Naveen slows down and allows Ethan to catch up. He already knows what this conversation is going to be about. “Ethan, if this is about Naomi–”

“You handed over the reins to the diagnostics team. You don’t have the right to hire new members without consulting me first.”

“I may not be the director of the team anymore, but I’m still the Chief, which makes me your boss. The boss of this entire hospital actually. And being the boss means I can do whatever I want.”

The two men make it to Naveen’s office and Ethan sits down dramatically. “I don’t know anything about this woman, what type of doctor she is, how she’s going to fit in with the rest of the team.”

“Dr. Valentine’s father and I go way back. She graduated top of her class at Johns Hopkins, your alma mater, she’s 28 years old and a first year attending in internal medicine, she skipped a grade in elementary school, and she’s obviously gotten under your skin.”

“She hasn’t–” the argument stops in his throat as he realizes it’s a blatant lie. This Dr. Valentine woman is argumentative and stubborn, and clearly has no respect for authority. And she had the audacity to question him.

Naveen raises an eyebrow at Ethan, daring him to continue.

Ethan’s jaw tightens as he stares at his former mentor. “Look, you don’t get to play favorites on my team just because you and her dad are friends.”

“You didn’t seem to mind favoritism when you were the one benefitting from it for the past decade,” Naveen shoots back and Ethan’s cheeks and neck turn scarlet red. “Besides, I put her on the team because she’s good. And you’re going to have to get used to it, because unless she totally screws up, she’s here to stay. Any other questions?”

He’s fighting a losing battle, Ethan soon realizes. Naveen is hellbent on putting this woman on the team, no ifs, ands, or buts about it,

Ethan crosses his arms across his chest. “I’m not going to go easy on her on your behalf. She’s going to have to put in the same amount of effort as me and the rest of the team.”

Naveen chortles. “Trust me, I don’t expect you to dole out any favors. But give the young lady a fair shake. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Regardless of how Ethan feels, he’s going to have to buck up,” Naveen says with a shrug. “You’re here, and you’re here to stay.”

“You have a lot of faith in me, Naveen. And we’ve never even worked together.”

“No, but I know you. I know you’re a force to be reckoned with and I know it’ll work out beautifully for the team. And Edenbrook as a whole.”

Naomi smiles at him, her skin growing warm at the praise. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. Now get some rest, you have a very busy day ahead of you.”

“Goodnight, boss.”

~v~

“Okay, where the heck is the directory?” Naomi mumbles, mostly to herself as she walks down the large Edenbrook halls. “Where the heck am I?”

She’s only been at the hospital for 3 hours and she’s already lost. Fantastic. After spending most of her morning in the legal and HR department, signing paperwork, taking her ID picture, and going through a few videos, Naomi was sent off on her own to find the office for the diagnostics team. The problem with that is she has no idea where she’s going.

This is so embarrassing, she thinks. How do you get lost on your first day of work?

“Excuse me? Are you lost?”

The soft voice instantly grabs Naomi’s attention. She spins on her heel and sees a petite woman about her age, staring at her.

Naomi nods. “I’m very lost. I think I’ve been wandering for the past 5 minutes.”

The other woman laughs softly. “Everyone gets lost their first few days here.”

“Is it that obvious I’m new?”

“Yes, you stick out like a sore thumb. But don’t worry, I’ll point you in the right direction. Where are you headed?”

“Dr. Ramsey’s office,” Naomi answers.

“Alright, that’s 3 floors up. Come on.” The woman starts walking and Naomi follows closely beside her. “I’m Sienna Trihn, attending with family medicine.”

“Naomi Valentine, internal medicine.” Naomi smiles. “Nice to meet you.”

“So you’re the one who got the coveted spot on Dr. Ramsey’s diagnostics team, huh?”

“You know about me already?”

“The hospital may look big, but I assure you it’s not,” Sienna says. They step onto the elevator and she punches the number 7. “News travels fast around here.”

“Yes, I’m going to be on his team. And I have no idea what I’m walking into.”

“He’s a hard-ass for sure,” Sienna says. “I can’t tell you the amount of interns he’s made cry or quit because they can’t handle him or his brand of teaching.”

“Well, I’m not an intern nor do I scare easily.”

Sienna smiles. “I like you already, Naomi.”

“I like you too.”

The elevator dings and the doors pull apart. Sienna leads Naomi straight to the diagnostics team’s office, stopping right at the door. “Well this is your stop.”

“Thank you so much, Sienna. I’d still be floundering around downstairs if not for you.”

“It’s no problem. And good luck in there!”

“Thanks.”

Naomi opens the door and steps into the office. Everything is so sleek and modern from the deeply frosted glass, the huge touch screen taking up most of the far right wall, next to a whiteboard. There’s a circular table in the corner, a large desk and bookshelf towards the back, with a couch perpendicular to it.

Wow. Naveen wasn’t kidding when he said the hospital invests a lot of money into this team. This office alone is spectacular.

Her entrance garners the attention of the others in the room and suddenly, 3 pairs of eyes are on her. “Hi.”

“Dr. Valentine,” Ethan greets from his spot behind the desk. “Thank you for joining us.”

“Of course.”

“Guys, meet the newest member of the team, Dr. Naomi Valentine. Dr. Valentine, this is Dr. June Hirata and Dr. Baz Mirani.”

The other woman – June as Ethan just introduced – calmly observes Naomi, scanning her head to toe. Naomi resists the urge to look away, not used to being appraised like an item up for auction, but June then smiles slightly and extends a hand for her to shake. “It’s lovely to meet you, Naomi.”

“Thank you.” Naomi grabs her hand, giving it a firm shake. “You as well.” She turns to Baz, and has to do a double take. “I’m sorry, didn’t we meet earlier today?”

Baz chuckles to himself. “I’m a twin. You met my brother, Zaid.” Skipping a handshake, Baz pulls her in for a warm hug, which she reciprocates after a few stunned moments.

“That makes sense. You’re much friendlier than he is.”

“He’s secretly a huge softie,” Baz insists. “Don’t let the gruff exterior fool you.”

“Now that introductions have been made, let’s get down to business,” Ethan says. “Dr. Valentine, since it is your first day how about you just sit back and observe how things are done?”

First, he wanted to throw her into the deep end to test her mettle, and now he wants her to play wallflower? Naomi doesn’t really understand what his angle is.

June and Baz sit down and Naomi follows them. Within seconds, the large board on the wall is illuminated with a picture of a smiling pre-teen. “This is Taylor Hopkins, a 12 year old girl from Boston. For the past month, she’s been to the Mass Kenmore ER 4 times for unexplained seizures.”

“No history of epilepsy?” June asks.

Ethan shakes his head. “No. The doctors there also suspected a minor stroke because she had bouts of slurred speech and body numbness, or vertigo because she gets dizzy, but multiple neurologists say that isn’t the case.”

“Any injuries recently?”

“None. Not even so much as a simple scratch or paper cut.”

Ethan writes Taylor’s symptoms down on the board, while June and Baz ask questions and toss around ideas. Naomi doesn’t say anything, she just quietly listens and observes.

After a few minutes of not saying anything, Naomi clears her throat, garnering Ethan’s attention. “Can I see her patient file?”

“Sure.”

The file is in June’s hands, but she slides it over. Naomi flips through it, looking at the young girl’s medical history, scans, and lab results.

“She wears glasses?”

“Yes. Both of her parents are near-sighted and wear glasses, and within the past year, Taylor’s vision has begun to deteriorate. She’s been declared as legally blind by her optometrist.”

“Interesting.”

Ethan can practically see the wheels turning in her head, like she’s slowly putting together a puzzle. “Any theories, Dr. Valentine?”

“My gut wants to say multiple sclerosis,” Naomi replies.

“In a 12 year old?” Baz asks.

“I know it sounds crazy because it’s pretty rare in children, but the symptoms line up. And maybe her eye problems aren’t caused by near-sightednes. It wouldn’t hurt to run more tests because it might be inflammation in the optic nerve.”

The room goes silent as they all ponder Naomi’s potential diagnosis. She bites the inside of her cheek, waiting on bated breath for someone, anyone to speak up.

“Look, I just wanted to feel included and throw something out there–”

Ethan cuts her off with a raised hand. “The only rule I have for this team is to speak up if you have an idea because there are no wrong answers. You gave us an idea, own it.”

“Noted, Doctor.”

“I want you to order an OCT scan and an MRI, and also test her spinal fluid. And then I want you to meet with the patient and familiarize yourself with her and her parents, because this case is now yours. Congratulations.”

~v~

Naomi spends the rest of the afternoon running on autopilot. Naveen made it seem like this was going to be a cake walk, an orientation of sorts. When she woke up earlier, she wasn’t expecting to be working a case for the diagnostics team on her first day of work, and potentially solving it.

She wanders into the cafeteria and sits down at the first empty table she finds. This is the first quiet moment she’s had all day, and it’s not even a real break, she’s just waiting for Taylor’s test results to come back.

“You look like Hell.”

Naomi looks up and sees Sienna standing behind her, along with a few others. She nods. “I feel like Hell.”

“Naomi, meet a few of my best friends, Aurora, Bryce, and Jackie. Guys, meet Naomi.”

Naomi offers them all a smile and polite wave. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Can we sit with you?”

“Sure.” Naomi moves down a bit, so Sienna can sit next to her, while Jackie, Bryce, and Aurora move to the other side of the table.

“So how’s your first day at Edenbrook?” Sienna asks.

“How is it working with Dr. Ramsey?”

“Overwhelming, to both questions,” Naomi answers. “But it’s fine, I thrive in chaos and pressure.”

“Any interesting cases?”

“Do you guys think pediatric MS is interesting?”

“Absolutely!” The one Sienna called Jackie exclaims. “Less than 5% of MS patients get a diagnosis as children.”

“Poor thing just got done with a battery of tests, and she’s finally resting. Hopefully the results come back with something concrete, and I can give the family some answers.”

“Is it severe?” Sienna asks, her eyes softening.

Naomi shrugs. “She seems to be managing things fine for now. Her seizures are under control, and we’ve given her corticosteroids for the swelling behind her eyes. She’s much tougher than I was at 12 years old, I can tell you that much.”

Bryce leans in closer to Naomi, and he flashes her a good-natured smile, showing off his perfectly white teeth. “So Naomi, are you new just to Edenbrook, or new to Boston in general?”

“New to Boston. I’m a DC girl, born and raised.”

“Interesting. So in theory, you could be the president’s doctor. What made you want to move?”

Would it be too much to tell these near strangers that there’s nothing left for her in DC other than a cheating ex husband? Absolutely.

So she smiles coyly. “Oh, I can’t reveal all of my secrets, at least not sober. I need to keep some mystery about me, you know?”

“All I’m hearing is that I need to take you out for drinks. Is after work a good time for you?”

Naomi chuckles and checks the name etched into his white coat. “You’re smooth, Dr. Lahela.”

“Ooh, I like the way you say my name.”

“Bryce, she’s been my friend for less than 12 hours,” Sienna scolds with an eye roll. “Do not scare her off with your flirting.”

“It’s fine,” Naomi assures her. “He’s pretty harmless.”

“Harmless?” Bryce grabs his chest and feigns pain. “That’s like, an instant friend zone.”

“Trust me, I’m not a tree you’d want to bark up.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that.” Naomi laughs and rolls her eyes at him.

They sit around talking for a few more minutes, familiarizing themselves with each other, and grilling Naomi as she’s the new girl. Naomi’s only known this group of people for 15 minutes, but she can tell they’re an insanely tight knit group of friends who all love each other. Now she’s curious about the rest of their friends.

Her pager goes off, interrupting the conversation. She checks it with a sigh. “Lab results are in. I gotta go, but I’ll see you guys around.”

“Wait!” Bryce catches her wrist, holding onto it lightly. “Flirting aside, you really should get drinks with us tonight. We’re regulars at Donahue’s, right across the street.”

Naomi ponders it for a second before nodding. “Sure. I’ll see you guys when I’m off.”

She rushes to the lab to get her patient’s results, and then pages Ethan. He meets her in the lab with June, who’s thankfully a neurologist.

“So, Dr. Valentine, what’s the diagnosis?” Ethan asks, as Naomi hands him Taylor’s test results.

Naomi clears her throat and stands up a bit straighter. She’s normally a confident woman, but Ethan Ramsey intimidates her, even though she hates to admit it. She doesn’t want to show any weakness. “My gut instinct was correct, we have a case of pediatric multiple sclerosis.”

“Okay. What’s the next step.”

“There’s no cure for MS, we can only manage the symptoms. She’s taking medication for the seizures, but we can also get her started on physical therapy for the muscle weakness and to maintain her strength.”

Ethan nods. “Okay. Go ahead and deliver the news to Taylor and her parents.” He hands all of the paperwork back to Naomi and turns on his heel, walking away. He makes it a few steps away before turning around again. “Oh, and good work.”

~v~

She’s at the hospital for 5 more hours, but the rest of Naomi’s shift flies by with relative ease. With her first and only patient taken care of, she spends the rest of her time meeting various nurses and doctors, and trying not to get lost.

And now she’s at Donahue’s, sandwiched between Bryce and another one of their friends, Kyra, throwing back shots of vodka.

“Let’s propose a toast!” Sienna exclaims, raising her small glass in the air. “To the newest member of our gang, Naomi!”

“Cheers!”

Naomi stands dramatically, curtsying at the attention. “To Sienna, for taking me under her wing with absolutely no hesitation. And to me, surviving my first day of Edenbrook and the diagnostics team!”

With excited cheers, they all clink glasses and down their drinks. The alcohol burns her throat but Naomi doesn’t care. It’s been a long day, and she’d drink just about anything at this point.

She makes a quick note of the empty glasses at their table. “Next round is on me. Are we sticking with vodka?”

“Tequila, this time.”

“Deal.”

Bryce slides out of his seat so Naomi can squeeze out of the booth. On surprisingly steady feet, she makes her way to the bar and flags down the bartender. “8 shots of tequila, please. And a pitcher of water.”

“Coming right up.”

While she’s waiting, Naomi hoists herself onto a barstool. She looks around, the bar is packed wall to wall. Some people are playing darts, some are dancing on the makeshift dance floor, and all of the tables are at full capacity. Her eyes settle on Ethan, who’s sitting at the end of the bar, quietly nursing a drink by himself.

She slides out of her seat and walks over to him. He’s so absorbed in his own thoughts, he doesn’t even notice her walk over to him. 

“I never thought I’d see Dr. Ethan Ramsey hanging out in a bar with the rest of us plebes,” she teases.

Naomi’s presence gets his attention. He turns his head and looks at her, really looking at her for the first time today, eyes sweeping her from head to toe. She’s no longer under the ugly fluorescent lights and out of the light blue scrubs, trading those in for a green top and extremely short shorts. Her hair, that’s been in a bun all day is down, her dark brown curls framing her face and falling to her shoulders.

He clears his throat and looks down once he realizes that he’s been staring at her for far too long. “I’ve been coming to this bar since you were probably a freshman in college.”

“Gosh, just how old are you, grandpa?”

“Old enough, how about that?”

Naomi shrugs and steals a seat next to Ethan. “I won’t tell anyone if you’re 40. Your secret is safe with me.”

“How’s your patient?” Ethan asks, completely switching gears.

“She’s good. A long day of being poked and prodded wears a girl out, and she was sleeping when I left the hospital.”

“Again, good job solving the case today. Especially since it’s only your first day here.”

“Are you complimenting me?” Naomi teases again with a gasp. “Am I no longer an amateur? Has my mettle been thoroughly tested?”

Ethan inwardly groans at his words being thrown back at him. “We started off on a bad note.”

“We did. I get that you’re Ethan Ramsey, and you’re at the top of the food chain, but it gives you absolutely no right to speak to me that way. I put in the same amount of blood, sweat, and tears into my medical training–maybe even more so, because I’m not a privileged white guy–so don’t ever forget that I deserve basic human decency again.”

“I deserved that tongue lashing.”

“You did, and maybe more.”

Ethan turns his body to face Naomi, their knees almost touching. “I’m sorry. You did save that patient’s life, and I shouldn’t have been so harsh. And you were great today. Who knows how long Taylor would’ve suffered before she received a diagnosis had you not been there. You’re a good doctor.”

Warmth blooms in Naomi’s chest at the praise. Who knew underneath his extremely cold exterior, Ethan Ramsey is actually a decent guy?

“Thank you. It just feels good to help and to give a patient clarity.”

“Can we please put our awkward meeting behind us?” Ethan asks. “For the sake of our careers and this team, we shouldn’t have any dark clouds looming ahead.”

Naomi extends her hand, offering Ethan a shake. His large hand completely envelops hers as they shake. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

“Good.”

“Good. Glad we got all of that out the way.” Naomi points to the tumbler in his hand. “What’s your poison?”

“Scotch, neat.” Naomi pulls a face at that answer. “What? Are you not a fan?”

“I don’t like dark liquor. And scotch is for stuffy old guys who wear suits all day and fuck their secretaries, and the villains on soap operas.”

Ethan’s eyebrows shoot up at the younger woman’s explanation. “That is ridiculously specific. And narrow-minded. Scotch isn’t for everyone though, it takes a sophisticated and refined palate to enjoy.” He raises his glass. “This is a 21 year old, single malt. $200 a bottle.”

Naomi shrugs in indifference. “If you say so.”

“God you’re so young and naive. What do you like? Peach schnapps?”

“Of course not, I’m not a 17 year old anymore. I’m a Stoli girl all the way, but Belvedere will suffice in a pinch.” Ethan nods as if he approves of her choices. “Do those get the Dr. Ramsey stamp of approval?”

“I’ve never tried Stoli before.”

“I’ll have to buy you a bottle then.”

“You think you bribe your way into my good graces?” 

“I think I’m already in them.” Ethan doesn’t respond, he only hums, neither in agreement nor denial. 

A comfortable silence lulls between the two of them, the hustle and bustle of the bar quickly fading away.

Before Ethan can move, Naomi reaches out and grabs his glass. Lifting it to her mouth with a sly smirk, she takes a languid sip, trying to gauge the mouthfeel of the drink.

He watches her, slightly transfixed as she helps herself to his drink, the way her jaw clenches, the way she doesn’t flinch in the slightest at the taste. Naomi slams the glass down on the bar, and the noise rattles around in his head, but it doesn’t fully register. A drop of the dark alcohol catches on the corner of her mouth, but she swipes at it with the pad of her thumb, which she then sucks dry.

Ethan inhales sharply. Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

“Oh, that’s good,” Naomi says. “It’s surprisingly sweet!”

“Y-yeah,” Ethan stammers. “There’s notes of, uh...toffee and vanilla.”

“You should’ve led with that,” Naomi continues, oblivious to the fact that she’s nearly rendered Ethan speechless. “Next time I come here, I’m ordering whatever this is.”

The bartender comes back with Naomi’s tray of drinks. She gets out of her seat and slaps some cash down onto the care. Carefully, she grabs the tray tightly with both hands.

She glanced at Ethan once more, smiling at him. “Enjoy your night, Dr. Ramsey. See you tomorrow.” And she’s off in a flash, heading back to her newfound friends, leaving Ethan alone again. He watches her retreating form like a hawk until she’s securely at her table.

Ethan sighs heavily. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but he can feel it deep in the pit of his stomach: Naomi Valentine is about to turn his world upside down.

[jemej3m]

if the shoe (ring) fits

in which we meet ichirou, who’s a lot more tolerant to neil’s fuckery than expected.

*

“Condolences on your father,” Neil said, respectfully with a gentle bow of his head. 

He had not liked Kengo Moriyama. The man had been brusque and ruthless, and sickeningly traditional. In a way it was why he and Nathan had be been so well matched together. 

“Condolences on yours,” said Kengo’s son, looking out across the sea of milling individuals, dabbing their eyes with napkins and clasping each other’s wrists. Kengo’s brother was down there, somewhere, but not his second son. Nor his wife, who was killed for allowing Riko to exist. 

The funeral was plasticky. Neil had never actually been to a funeral, seeing as his mother had been thrown into the bottom of a lake and his father had died whilst incarcerated. 

Neil hummed, settling down beside Ichirou. 

“We need to talk about your security.” 

Neil paused a moment before rolling his eyes. “This again?”

“Yes,” the man said, one eyebrow arched. “How do you expect to continue a dynasty without a child?”

“I’ll have a child,” Neil said offhandedly, even if the idea terrified him. Every day he walked around wondering if there was a switch in his body that’d turn him into Nathan, or at least open up and shove him down the path to become him. Perhaps having a child was that trigger. As a coddling infant, Neil could remember one or two moments of peace and joy with his father, before Nathan decided Neil was a good target for his anger. “Anyone can have a child.”

Neil had never, and would never, have sex with a woman, so long as he was still with Andrew. Which he fully intended to be. But he assumed that it was relatively simple.

“You need a wife,” Ichirou’s voice was cold. “There are many good candidates that you can evaluate -” 

“I’m already married,” Neil blurted out. Oops. Andrew was not going to be pleased that Ichirou knew before even he did. 

Ichirou finally turned from overseeing his father’s funeral, up on his prestigious balcony, to look at Neil. His eyes were impossibly narrowed. “You’re what?” 

“My lord,” Neil said, emphatically. “It has been successfully strategic. This person diverts police attention away from me and the Wesninski name, which in turn includes your name. I do believe I avoided telling you because I didn’t want to trouble you whilst your father was ill.”

“Bullshit, Nathaniel,” Ichirou bulstered, his calm facade broken. He looked very tired and a little incredulous. “I can’t believe you’re married to that fucking cop. Seriously? I could have looked around him being a man, but a police officer?” 

Neil shrugged. “It’s worked for us.” He jostled the man’s shoulder. “I forget you’re only a few years older than me, with the way you act like a wall.”

“Yeah, well,” Ichirou muttered. “Neither of us can live up to how our fathers wanted us to be, I suppose. Gay and married to a cop,” he scoffed, but it was almost a laugh. “Your father would’ve had an aneurysm.” 

“Not gay,” Neil muttered. “And he did. That’s how he died.” Blunt trauma to the head, clotting, aneurysm, boom: no more Nathan. No one was sad about it.

“You need an heir of your blood and bone, still,” Ichirou insisted. “Not letting you get away with that one.”

Neil waved him off. “Surrogacy with Allison. We’re in the modern world, Ichirou. There’s always a solution.” He wasn’t about to say that he didn’t intend on sticking around for that long.

Ichirou considered him for a bit, before turning back with a resumed stony expression. “Don’t forget your place, Wesninski.” After a few moments, he added “Congratulations.” 

Neil felt something settle in his stomach. Relief.  

Now he just had to tell Andrew. 

*

The apartment was dark when Neil arrived home, lugging his little suitcase through the door. He’d only gone to New York for the weekend, of which Andrew had been thoroughly peeved about: they both worked long hours during the week, and weekend were meant to be their time.

It was easier now that they lived together. They’d moved in a year ago: it meant Neil only needed heightened security detail on one place rather than two, the rent was cheaper together (not that Neil really needed to worry about that), and it was closer to Andrew’s precinct than his old place. 

The dusty yellow lamp was still on in their bedroom despite the late (or early) hour. Neil left his suitcase out by the couch and tip-toed his way into their room.

He had fallen asleep reading, the book on his chest and head at an awkward angle on the pillow. Neil grinned: Nicky had given him a set of grinch-themed sleep clothes last year for Christmas. He wondered how many times Andrew would stab him if he took a photo and sent it to his cousin. 

Andrew had to be up for work and Neil wanted to avoid waking him if he could, so he dressed in pyjamas as quietly as he could manage and eased himself onto the mattress. The bed was pushed up against the wall so that Andrew could sleep with his back curled against it, so Neil could easily relieve Andrew of his book, settle it on their one nightstand and switch off the lamp. Then he held Andrew’s shoulder lightly, and tried to ease him into a better position that wouldn’t hurt his neck. 

Andrew made a few light noises before rolling and almost squishing Neil underneath him. Neil laughed as Andrew’s arm came around Neil’s chest, his face settling into the crook of Neil’s shoulder. 

Neil twisted around till his back was against Andrew’s chest and let himself relax. He’d worry about the marriage proposal later. 

*

Neil knew, objectively, that Andrew wouldn’t say no to marrying him. They were kind of a forever package: The four years since they’d first met and just over three years since they first got together have been as smooth as any relationship between a mobster and a police officer could be. 

Neither of them had really sat down and said that out loud though: they each had their fair share of problems than inhibited any such emotional conversation. But Neil still knew. 

It was in the way Andrew cooked him his favourite meal when he got home at eleven at night, exhausted and haunted by screams, continually scrubbing at his hands. It was in every sacrifice Andrew made for Neil, the faith he put into Neil’s promises that they wouldn’t have to live they way they did forever.

“You have something to tell me,” Andrew said the following night, when he’d arrived home from work. Neil put dinner down on the table - mac ‘n’ cheese, with nothing remotely healthy about it - and Andrew arched his eyebrow. 

Neil sighed and slumped into his chair opposite him, tugging at the collar of his shirt. It was suddenly very warm. Had he turned the oven off? 

“Neil,” Andrew warned. “Did something happen in New York?”

“Oh, you know,” Neil said, lightly. “Nothing really. I, uh,” Andrew leaned closer, eyes narrower. “I may have told Ichirou we’re married to get him off my back?”

For a moment, Andrew stared. 

“So, what do you think?” Neil asked, voice reed-thin. “I’d change my vows to be ‘CI till death do us part’.”

It didn’t seem like the joke went down well: Andrew’s chair skidded back as the man stood, immediately vanishing from the living room. The bedroom door clicked firmly shut behind him and Neil put his head in his hands. It was too soon, or Andrew didn’t feel the same, or maybe this was Neil’s final straw and now he’d fucked up one too many times for Andrew to tolerate.

“Fuck,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Fuck.” 

It’s not like Neil was hell-bent on marriage either - he’d seen the bloodied divorce between his own parents - but it put the two of them on a different page. There was no way that Neil would force Andrew into something he didn’t want - or that Andrew would let him - but it’d be a rift between them. Maybe even permanently. 

Neil didn’t want to lose Andrew over this. He should have waited - it’s not like Ichirou would have actually checked legal records to see if they were properly married - they’d only been dating for three years, that wasn’t that long by modern standards, if Neil wasn’t so ridiculously irrational then this wouldn’t have been a problem. He wouldn’t lose Andrew over his loose tongue, when there were plenty of valid reasons for Andrew to leave him -

“Stop.” 

Neil looked up, movements jerky and uncoordinated. His limbs felt dismembered. Andrew was stood by the table, watching him with hooded eyes and curled fists. 

Neil made a weak noise of inquiry. It broke in his throat. 

“Stop thinking,” Andrew clarified, slowly sitting back down on his chair. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

Neil snorted, rubbing the corner of his eye. After another moment of terse silence, Neil cleared his throat. “I can fix it. I shouldn’t have said anything, Andrew - ”

Lightning fast, Andrew reached over their food and put something on the table. For a moment the little velvet box didn’t register in Neil’s mind, but then his stomach was rolling on the floor, heart swooping and soaring. With careful fingers, he picked up the box and opened it. 

Within were two silver bands, identical but for the size. Simple. Glossy. Neil took out the smaller one and slipped it on - it fit perfectly, of course. The new weight on his finger felt odd. Odd but good. 

“How the fuck did you get my size?” Neil remarked, quiet. Everything was very quiet, but for his heart, which was probably thudding loud enough that even the corpses in Linkin Park could hear. 

Splotches of colour appeared on Andrew’s cheeks. “You were napping.”

Neil laughed, admiring it. He wasn’t fussed about jewellery, or ceremonies, or titles or heirs or tradition. He just wanted to know that he’d go to sleep and wake up by Andrew’s side, every day that he could. 

“Yes?” Andrew asked, just to be sure.

Neil took Andrew’s left hand where it was resting on the table top and slipped on his respective wrist, kissing his knuckles in lieu of an answer. 

*

“You cannot have ‘Nathaniel Wesninski’ on your marriage papers, Andrew. Are you insane?”

“You’re not taking my name. Or hyphenating.”

Neil huffed out a laugh. “Wesninski-Minyard. No, thank you.” 

Andrew scoffed. “I think you mean Minyard-Wesninski.”  

Neil shook his head, leaning into Andrew’s shoulder. A lot of time had gone into not reacting to that name with visceral disgust, like it would have a few years ago. “I’ve been meaning to change my name for a while now. For real.”

Andrew looked at him. “They’d allow that?”

“Who cares about them?” Neil said, fierce. “It’s just a name. If they’re upset by that, they’ll be devastated by the knife in their stomach. Fuck them.”

Andrew hummed. “What will you change it to?”

Neil took the file of paperwork they were meant to fill out from Andrew’s la, already bored out of his skull. His legs filled the space, draped over Andrew’s lap. Neil pressed an open mouthed kiss to the corner of Andrew’s jaw, to which he rolled his eyes and muttered “Fine,” even though he was just as sick of the paperwork as Neil was. 

“You already know what I’ll change it to,” Neil said, letting Andrew pick him up and carry him to their room. 

“Neil Abram Hatford,” Andrew mumbled, laying Neil down atop of his side of the bed. It was unmade, as usual. He grinned and kicked the sheets away with two errant flicks of his feet, arms looped around Andrew’s neck. “Has a ring to it.” 

“Hatford-Minyard? Minyard-Hatford?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Andrew muttered. Neil just laughed. 

*

teehee!!!

[uniarycode]

Takari Week, Day 3- Digital World Visit

The discovery of an old memorial sets Takeru and Hikari on a not-so-happy trip down memory lane.  Set about a month after the end of 02.  Written as part of @takariweek​

It had been sent in good faith.

Ken couldn’t possibly have known, no one would have told him.  And Daisuke would never have sent it to her, if he’d been smart enough to collect the dots.

“Beware, poop monsters may be nearby” attached was a picture displaying a crude statue of sorts, rocks piled together to create the vague facsimile of ‘digital sludge’.

Or at least, that’s what she had been going for, when she was eight.

Ken wouldn’t have known that.

Daisuke wouldn’t have either, not explicitly.  She had only said she’d made a shrine to the Numemon, there was no need to explain what it looked like.

It should have been reformatted anyway.

Iori had chimed in with some wisdom about how most Digimon didn’t want a fight, and that any conflict at all should be avoided.

Miyako was muttering about meeting with Mimi later, and not wanting to go smelling like poop.

There was no more reason for them to know than Daisuke.

And if she was being fair, the lingering odor of digital sludge was not something anyone wanted to deal with for the rest of the day.

The point of it was to smell, to identify an aggressor to other Digimon, and if nothing else it would annoy an attacking Digimon. There was a host of Digimon that relied on the sludge as a defense, as they were too weak to scare off even lower level attackers.

No, not weak, she scolded herself.  They were never weak.  They were simply not suited to combat.

A ping notified her of a message from Takeru: “Do you need to talk?”

She typed a single world in response “Yes”

***

It was risky to go anywhere in the digital world without your jogress partner.  Most Digimon would not stake their lives on a fight, and the appearance of a perfect level would be able to scare off even more powerful attackers.  There was no evidence that Tailmon or Angemon could evolve if needed, and less that Aqualimon or Ankylomon could.

Both she and Takeru tended to be a bit conservative in these matters, so when they requested to pair up, it was taken seriously.

Iori had been understanding, but Miyako looked a little hurt.  It wasn’t that the older girl was insufficient or inept, it was just easier to talk about this with someone who already knew.

Someone who had been there.

Pegasmon and Nefertimon flew in silence after the tradeoff.  Even with just the two of them and their partners, Hikari was unsure what to say. Nefertimon suggested they head to the memorial, and the group had quietly departed.

It was odd:  a grassy meadow, between two trees, with a river flowing a few feet away.  It was nothing like the wasteland she’d first constructed the memorial in.  A less attached observer may even claim it was the statue that tarnished the otherwise picturesque landscape.

Hikari would be too kind to correct them.

“It shouldn’t be here.” She said.

“I know.” Takeru answered calmly.

“Why wasn’t it reformatted?” she asked, the question directed as much at the wind as at her companions.

“I don’t know.” Takeru responded.

She waited for a few minutes, still trying to get her emotions in check.  “Do you think they were able to be reborn?” she asked.

“I do.”

“Why?  If this wasn’t reformatted properly, then why would anything else?  How do you know they are okay?” she accused.

“I don’t.” he responded “But Whamon, Leomon, and Piccolomon were.  There’s no reason they wouldn’t have been either.”

She felt a small comfort at that.  Admittedly she’d never met Leomon the first time, and had only a brief encounter with Piccolomon.  Still they had by all accounts died, and then come back.

“The digital world is not like your world.” Tailmon said, “Forests, lakes, even mountains can be destroyed in a particularly fierce fight, and they are rebuilt within months.  Perhaps this monument is part of the code now.”

“So it will be here forever?” she asked wistfully.

“Maybe.” Tailmon responded.

There was a break, as she collected her thoughts.

“Do you think, do you think they regret it?” Hikari asked. “That they hate me?”

“No.” Takeru said, wrapping his arms around her. “It was their choice, and it was Mungendramon who did it.  If anything, I think they’d thank you.”

“Thank me?  For getting them killed?”

“For freeing them.”  Takeru clarified. “For giving them the ability to fight back.”

She felt tears begin to pool in her eyes. “I still dream about it sometimes, all those Numemon rushing in and then vanishing in a flash.” She closed her eyes, letting darkness console her.

“Sometimes the dream ends there, sometimes, it goes further. Agumon doesn’t evolve.  I just watch as he takes you out one by one.  First Taichi and Agumon, then Sora and Biyomon, then Koushiro and Tentomon, and finally you.  All of you.  Until I’m the only one left.”

A soft squeeze reassured her of Takeru’s presence, as Tailmon began to brush against her leg. “It’s fine.” Takeru said, “I’m here, we’re here.  And he isn’t.”

“I know.  He can’t hurt us anymore.  None of them can.  But that doesn’t stop the dreams.” She cracked a sad smile. “Pretty lame, huh.”

“No!” Patamon cried out. “Not lame!  It’s cool.  Like a battle scar.”

The flying hamster’s enthusiastic denial forced her to open her eyes, show her not only his serious face, but Takeru’s face, which was wracked with torment.

“You too?” she asked incredulously.  It shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise, given what they’d all went through.  And yet, Takeru had always seemed so calm to her, so brave.  Especially three years ago.

“Some nights.” He admitted quietly.  “Not Mungendramon normally, but others.”

“Who?” she asked. She regretted the word as soon as it left her tongue.  It somehow seemed too intimate to ask.

If Takeru shared her opinion, he didn’t show it. “Devimon mostly.”  Hikari nodded in understanding, she hadn’t heard the full story herself, but had overheard enough rushed conversations to piece it together. “But others too,” he continued, “playing hide and go seek in Pinochimon’s mansion.  Endlessly running away in Piemon’s castle.”

“And also,” he paused, studying her face. “When Vamdemon took over the city.”

She let out an involuntary shutter at the name, and Tailmon’s hair began to stand on end.

“I thought so.” Takeru said sadly, pulling her close once more.

It took a few minutes for her to rally enough nerve to speak, but takeru merely held her patently.

“It’s been getting worse.  Ever since, you know.” She couldn’t say it, but it should have been obvious. “He just doesn’t seem to die.  No matter what we do, no matter what prophecies we fulfil.  He just keeps coming back, stronger than before.”

“Third time’s the charm.” Takeru offered a paltry attempt at cheering her up.

“I’m being serious.” She scolded “We barely beat him last time, and Tailmon, Patamon, all of them, they split into all their evolutions, and then every chosen in the world came together.  If he were to come back stronger, how could we top that?”

“I don’t know, but we would.” Takeru replied.

“You’re just saying that.” She pouted.

“I’m not.  It’s based on history.  We’ve fought foe after foe, each more powerful than the last.  And in the end, we always win.  And if Vamdemon or Devimon, or any of them come back, we’ll beat them again no matter what.”

She held him tighter, as if she could absorb his optimism though osmosis alone.  

They stood like that for a few minutes, finding comfort in each other’s arms, not caring what might happen if one of the others found them and misinterpreted the situation.

“We should say a prayer.” Takeru said suddenly, breaking them out of the moment. “Right now.  We’ll pray for the Numemon.  Since we’re already here, it’s the least we can do.”

“I thought you said you thought they were alive.” She asked meekly.

“I do.  You can offer prayers for the living too, Hikari.  Most of my prayers are sent to those around me.” Takeru said, turning her around. “We can pray that they are happy and healthy, wherever they are now.”

She knelt in front of the memorial alongside Takeru, as he began his prayer.  Somehow it seemed so much smaller than it had three and a half years ago, when she’d first made it.

And yet, that wasn’t the only thing that had changed.

When she had first constructed the monument, it was in a wasteland tarnished with darkness.  Made on a world warped and mutilated by the Dark masters, and then reduced to one quarter of its size as the Dark masters died out.  A monument to some outcast Digimon, who had met their end valiantly, but seemingly vainly, against a far more powerful oppressor.

But now it sat in this green meadow, framed by a pair of trees, with the calming sound of a nearby river flowing past.  The oppressor was long gone. And those memorialized remained, living lives full of joy and happiness.

A testament to the peace they had all worked for.

Takeru finished his prayer and turned to her. His face turned first to confusion, before it began to light up.

“What?” she asked, looking away from his gaze.

“You’re smiling.” He said simply, it’s infectious.

She almost didn’t believe it, even walked over to the river to see a grin reflected on her face.  And not a sad smile, or a somber grin, but a warm, gentle smile.

She turned back to Takeru, “Better?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She said nodding. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”  He said, as he began to collect their stuff.

“Do you think we could mark this place down somehow?” she asked. “I think I might want to return sometime.”

“I’m sure we could.  I’ll ask Koushiro.”

She smiled, not looking away from the monument as Tailmon and Patamon became Nefertimon and Pegasmon and flew off.

From that day on, she had one less nightmare to worry about.

[creative-frequency]

Cal Kestis x Reader: DEAR STAR SYSTEM Ch. 02

Word count: 1585 Pairing: Cal Kestis x Female Reader Summary/Contains: The Mantis lands on Bogano. Greez is very particular about his eggs. Friends to lovers, mild angst, (partial) canon-rewrite. Notes: I’m still getting into the Star Wars lingo, so if there’s any words/terms/slang etc. you think sound off or know a more canon-ish counterpart, please don’t hesitate to let me know! This is the first time I’m actually writing for Star Wars fandom despite loving it for so long.

Previous Chapter

My Writing Masterlist

DEAR STAR SYSTEM // 02

During the years you’ve known Cere, you’ve never seen her playing an instrument. There must be a reason she keeps those things around the ship, often gazing at them longingly or sitting still with one on her lap. When she does, that sad, almost haunted look befalls on her. You’ve never had the courage to ask about it. It’s too personal.

Something invades your mind, twining to the aerial calculations of a piercing weapon’s throw line. The imaginary blade disappears mid-air as your focus shifts. You turn to the side on the bed.

A sound. Background noise. Music?

At first, you think it’s inside your head but before you can concentrate on listening, it stops. It’s silent again but your earlier thoughts are lost to curiosity.

Cere and Cal are sitting by the round table, talking in low voices. One of her musical instruments is leaning to the table, confirming that the chords you heard weren’t just imagination. The tone of their conversation is somber aka something you don’t want to accidentally eavesdrop. But before you can take even a step to go back, Cere’s familiar words command your attention, coming through loud and clear and hitting home on your end too:

“And you’re not alone. Not anymore,” Cere reassures the young Jedi and places a hand onto his shoulder.

You hesitate by the door, to make your presence be known or to withdraw back into your cabin.

You know something about the situation Cal is in. His old life is behind, all ties severed and while for you it still might be possible to go back, it definitely isn’t for him. Fairly certainly neither of you wants to go back.

Greez’s voice cracks over the comms, saving you from a decision on which direction to move:

“We’re comin’ up on our destination.”

Cal bolts up and heads to the cockpit with resolute steps. Cere’s hand stays hanging in the air where his shoulder was before she follows him and you wait for a moment or two before going after them. You’ve arrived on Bogano.

//

“How do you think he’ll do?” you ask Greez in the cockpit, both of you watching Cal’s retreating back into the grassy planes.

Greez shrugs and makes an indifferent “meh” sound. “I just hope whatever he does, he does it fast.”

He stretches three of his arms and scratches his belly with the fourth. It’s lunch time and yesterday’s scraps will make an excellent omelet with some gartro eggs.

“But not too fast, am I right?” you comment, knowing what the Latero has on his mind. The eggs are a Coruscantean delicacy Greez has been treasuring for some time. And he isn’t into sharing his eggs with some random Jedi kid.

“Have faith,” Cere remarks just as she steps back inside. The ship doors close with a sizzle. The plating carries the scar from the Second Sister’s lightsaber and Greez has been silently going mental about repairing it.

“What’d he say?” you turn to ask Cere. They exchanged words outside before Cal took off.

She holds a mysterious smile. “He’s out there and that’s enough for now.”

Her often frustrating Jedi-ism deserves a dramatic sigh. “Somehow I knew you’d say that.”

You plop to sit down on the sofa next to her, subjecting yourself to Cere’s sharp, inspecting look. Idly, you inspect the instrument leaning against the table. It has seven strings. The design is simple, yet the materials used look polished and expensive. It has seen better days. You wonder does Cal know how to play or was it really Cere earlier.

“What about you?” she asks.

“What about me?”

“I’m asking how you are,” she clarifies with a strained smile.

You think about replying since you’re not doing so badly at the moment, but just shrug and move on. There are more interesting things to discuss.

“He”–you nod towards the exit–“seems like a decent person,” you say casually.

“Yes, he does,” Cere agrees.

You’re not sure what to make of Cal yet. He keeps a lot inside, hidden to protect himself, or maybe others. On the outside he’s an upright person whose features would be a better fit for a smile than any expression you’ve seen him wearing so far. It’s also been a while since you met another human about your age even though your lives so far couldn’t be more different. It’s probably biasing your judgment.

Also that he’s kind of cute. You didn’t think you were into gingers.

“Secretive, but that’s a Jedi thing, right? One of those with lots of layers you can’t quite reach,” you say and add, “Not that I tried.”

Cere’s smile turns into a warning look. When she took you under her wing, you agreed to not play your tricks just for a show.

“I heard what you said about trusting him and I agree,” you continue despite her, “but my gut is telling me he’s okay. And he isn’t gonna open up until we can trust each other. All of us.”

Greez is busy with his eggs in the kitchen nook and is, at least seemingly, not paying attention to your discussion.

“I think your gut feeling may well be right,” Cere says after a moment and reveals that annoying knowing smile.

“If you say anything about the Force, I’ll throw you with one of Greez’s eggs.”

“Hey! This is non-negotiable: My eggs are off limits!”

You and Cere laugh. Whatever Greez is cooking, smells delicious. He prides himself in being an able cook but you’ve never had the heart to tell him when he doesn’t succeed so well. He almost single-handedly takes care of the catering aboard the Mantis and that’s enough reason to pinch your nose and keep your culinary opinions to yourself. The Laterons like their spices in weird mixes.

“Any thoughts, Greez?” Cere inquires.

Greez humphs, again, as is quickly growing into his norm when talking about Cal Kestis. For some reason it makes you smile.

“Saw him pawing at the grass the moment you turned your back. Hmph. What a weirdo… and he was talking in his sleep.”

“He was?” Greez grimaces at your surprised glance. Guess you shouldn’t be surprised to hear an escapee Jedi suffers from nightmares.

“Yeah, you didn’t hear that? The kid was yelling a name… Prof or Praf or, I don’t know! Something. Why’re you both looking at me like that?” Greez spreads one pair of hands in frustration. The other pair stays with the eggs.

You turn back at Cere, excited words on your lips.

“No,” she says deftly before you can even open your mouth.

“But I can help him,” you argue right back, “That’s not showing off. Let me be helpful for once.”

Cere sighs. “You know I can’t stop you if you ask him and he agrees to it, but please, learn to know him first.”

You slump deeper into the couch, sulking like a child. You both know you don’t need permission from her but you respect Cere too much to act behind her back. Ever since learning of your talents, that she persistently claims to fall under Force-sensitivity (yeah, right), she has been wary, constantly warning you about how influencing the mind can have devastating effects. It’s hard to argue against that since in your previous life the subjects usually didn’t live long enough to experience side-effects.

“I understand… I just want to help,” you mumble.

Cere takes your hand and squeezes it lightly. “I know you do. Let’s discuss this later.”

She doesn’t let go until you nod.

While Cal is out, there’s not much you can do besides pester Greez about some omelet and wait until finally the comm device cracks into life. Traveling in hyperspace is dull but at least you’re moving. You’ve always hated the waiting game. It’s the first time you realize you’re not as patient as you thought you were. Saying it aloud amuses Cere.

The comm snaps and Cere hurries to the control desk – you right at her heels.

“Think I found what you wanted me to see.”

“Be-bee-boop?” a familiar-sounding droid replies confused.

So that’s why Cere sent Cal on wild bogling hunt on Bogano. It starts making sense. You’re trying to keep your nose out of the Jedi business, often just offering understanding hums when Cere wants to talk your ear off. Fortunately, she has a fresh set of ears now in Cal.

Cere smiles relieved. “Sounds like you did. We’ll be waiting.”

“Finally!” Greez rejoices. All the gartro eggs are long gone and who knows when is the next time he can procure such delicacies.

It doesn’t take long for the Jedi to track back to the ship with his new friend.

“You passed the test,” Cere welcomes him.

“So you knew about BD-1?” Cal points to the droid on his back, who twitters in excitement.

“Come on board, we’ll talk inside.”

Cal is positively radiating. Sunshine and fresh air did some good to him. The shadow you first met is gone and he is relaxed, smiling. Your heart is fluttering from relief. You were right about his features being better suited for a smile than a frown.

Greez freaks out when BD-1 jumps on his precious potolli-weave fabric sofa and you swear it’s the last time you’re staying behind when Cal treks out. Based on what he learned about some Jedi master on Bogano, he will have to go and get his hands dirty again on another backwater planet.

//

Next Chapter

[melodyalanaroster]

Welcome To Weathering

Disclaimer: This takes place after The Implementation Of Protocol 216.

"I love you Nathaniel. Don’t ever forget that.” Alana’s voice began to waver, despite her desperate attempts to keep it steady. Nathaniel was doing everything in his power not to cry. “I promise you, I wont.” He choked. He took his jacket off, placed it around Alana’s shoulders and kissed her. “I love you more than anything in this world Alana. And when I get home, I will spend the rest of my life proving that to you.” Alana turned to Sam and Ken. “Take good care of them.” She pleaded. Sam hugged Alana. “You know damn well we will.”

The car ride to Weathering was mostly quiet. Kentin drove and did his best to catch up with Nathaniel and make small talk, but Nathaniel wasn’t having it. It was nice to see his friend again, but he was too upset over having to leave Alana. Amber attempted to apologize to Kentin and Sam for how she acted in High School, but Sam cut her off before she could finish. “If Mels believes you to be redeemed, then so do we. My sister wouldn’t forgive and protect someone like you if you hadn’t changed.” She stated. “Oh, okay.” Amber muttered and looked down. Nathaniel stared out the window. “The last time I was in Weathering, Alana was leaving for Toronto.” He thought. Sam got on her phone. “Rini? Are you near Amouria? Good. I need you to get to the Black Tower and keep Mels company. She’ll know why I sent you and will tell you if she feels like it. Because you and I both know she’s insanely stubborn and will fall back into the abyss if someone from her innermost circle isn’t there to keep her out of it. I have no idea how long. The Black Tower has plenty of spaces to do that, I’m sure Mels won’t have an issue with you using a room to perform that action. Viktor can handle that, it’s not a difficult task. Trust me, you still won’t meet Nathaniel until the moment she’s decided upon. Thanks for this Rini. No, seriously. I’m not as worried for my sister... But I do know Nathaniel will rest easier knowing that Mels is being looked after during this. Alright. Love you too. Later.” She hung up and put her phone in her lap. “So, Severina is going to be with Alana?” Nathaniel piped up. “Yeah. Trust me, if anyone can keep my sister from falling back into that pit of depression, it’s her.” Sam replied. Nathaniel continued to watch the scenery pass by. It had been forty five minutes and they still had a few minutes left of the drive before they would arrive at the Roster Family Home. “Wow, I didn’t know Weathering was so far away from Amouria. This town is so cute.” Amber commented as she watched the town begin to pass her window. “It’s gotten a few face lifts over the years. It was a bit smaller when Mels and I moved to Amouria... And even smaller when we were kids.” Sam explained. “What type of people live here?” Amber asked. “It’s a mix. Neighborhood wise, the farms are to the East, the upper class is to the West, and everyone else lives in the North And South. The Roster Family Home is to the North...” Sam explained. 

The car swiftly passed through the city and began to enter a slightly wooded area. “We’re here.” Ken stated as he pulled up to a gate and put in a pass code. As the gate opened and the car pulled through, Nathaniel and Amber looked at the house. “Woah.” Amber commented. When the car came to a complete stop, they all got out and looked around. Ken popped the trunk and Sam immediately walked up to the door, unlocked and opened it. “Come on.” Sam encouraged. Nathaniel and Amber got their bags and walked inside. “Welcome to Weathering guys. Until Purification is complete, this place is your home. You can move about freely within the city, but you cannot go to Amouria. Nathaniel, you will be in Mels’ room. I trust that you remember where it is.” Sam clarified. Nathaniel nodded and walked to Alana’s room. When he got to her door, he sighed. “It’s strange being here and not having you with me.” He muttered as he opened the door. The room was covered in geeky items. The bed was black and deep blue, like her bed in Death’s Domain. He sat his bag down on the floor and sat down on the bed. 

His mind wandered to what was going to happen. Each and every member of the Cartel was going to die. The Police Force was going to be made aware of the R.D.R’s decision, as well as why he was no longer an issue. Eric had tried to call him at least twice in the past couple of days, but he ignored him. He knew what Eric was bound to ask and say... And he really didn’t want to be interrogated again. Alana had told him that she would contact Eric and tell him everything that he needed to know. Because of Sam, Alana would have Severina to lean on during this time. He kicked his shoes off and laid down.

“Hey Nathaniel! Wake up!” Sam shook him awake. “What’s going on?” Nathaniel gasped as he sat up. “Dinner is downstairs. Come on, you need to eat.” Sam stated. “Aren’t you not allowed in here?” Nathaniel asked as he sat up. “Under normal circumstances, Mels would kill me if I came in here. But, I am allowed to come in and check on you if it involves a meal being ready.” Sam explained. Nathaniel got out of bed and followed Sam downstairs. 

Kentin had ordered take out and placed it on the table. “There’s tacos and nachos for everyone but Amber.” He stated as Nathaniel and Sam entered the room. “Thanks for the salad.” Amber did her best to smile as she sat down in front of it. “You made sure to get sweet tea, right?” Sam asked as she sat down. “Of course I did, love. Come on Nathaniel, sit down. Make yourself at home.” Ken smiled as he sat down next to Sam and motioned to Nathaniel. “How can you two eat? Knowing what Alana is doing right now?” Nathaniel asked Sam and Ken. Sam sighed. “Right now, my sister is currently watching Sailor Moon with Severina and intends on doing a live stream of some of her play through of Kingdom Hearts 3 tomorrow.” She stated. Nathaniel blinked, a little caught off guard. “What?” Ken checked his phone. “Yeah, it’s on both the Family Forum and Instagram.” Nathaniel took out his phone, checked Instagram and the Family Forum, and sighed. Sam cocked her head a little. “This isn’t the first time my sister has watched over a Purification. This is simply the only time she’s ever been the one to enact it. She doesn’t have to take part in some elaborate plan. She just can’t leave the city until it’s over.” Sam explained. “So? She’s not gonna do any of the killing? Or be present to it?” Nathaniel asked. Sam face palmed. “I know she explained this to you. YES. She will be present for the death of the final boss. Once he’s dead and Purification is officially over, she will probably come out here and pick you up herself. Geez boy. I get that you’re upset, but please don’t waste my time being dense.” Nathaniel looked at Sam, annoyed. “Do you always have to be like this?” He asked. “YES! Nathaniel! As my brother, you are entitled to being treated how I see fit to treat my siblings. When you and Mels act like dense fools, I will happily call you two out on that. For fuck’s sake! I told you the exact thing the first time you two were together! You think that’s changed? Fuck no! So, sit your ass down and eat!” Sam boomed. Nathaniel looked at Sam, shocked and sat down in front of a plate of nachos and tacos. His mind didn’t want him to eat.... It wanted him to do his best to make his way back to Amouria and make sure Alana would be okay... But, he knew Sam was right, and his stomach needed him to eat... So, much to his brain’s dismay, he began to fill his stomach.

After dinner, Sam and Amber began walking around the property, talking. Either Alana had notified her sister about Amber’s condition, or Sam had instantly recognized it herself. Nathaniel pondered as to which option was the one that took place. “Mels told us the other day about Amber’s diet.” Ken walked up behind him. “Am I really that easy to guess?” Nathaniel asked. They began walking through the house. “For the past few years, I have had to be the sane one for both Sam and Mels. You can’t do that without picking up a few tricks.” Ken explained. They began talking about some of the events of the past few years. Alana had told Nathaniel a lot, but Ken was filling in some of the blanks. The rumors of the treaty between the Military and the R.D.R were true. Alana and Sam had had a fight so vicious that the organizations made it illegal for them to ever fight as enemies ever again. Everyone hated Azrael and blamed her for worsening Alana’s depression. “I don’t need to hear your side of Azrael forcing Alana’s and my separation.” Nathaniel interrupted Ken as Ken had begun to talk about it. “Sorry.” Ken replied.

After a few minutes of walking in silence, they met up with the girls, who had also ended up walking in silence. “Hey, guys, do you think we could go into the city and wander around a bit tomorrow?” Amber asked, doing her best to break the silence. “I’d rather not.” Nathaniel stated. “Well, that decides it. We’re all going.” Sam declared. “Why?” Nathaniel asked. “Because, you’re not gonna sit around this house and mope the entire time my sister is saving your ass! There are a shit ton of things to do in this city, and frankly, it would be good for all of us to actually enjoy our time here.” Sam emphasized.

It didn’t take long for the conversation to end and Nathaniel to go back to Alana’s room. He checked social media to see if there had been any updates. Eric was still trying to get a hold of him, demanding to know the answers to several questions. “I will discuss things with him.” Alana had told him. He knew he had to have faith in her. As he logged onto the family forum, he noticed that Severina had posted a video. She and Alana were laughing and eating pizza. “Come on Mels, why can’t I meet him before that gala?” “Because! This will be the first time my best friends meet my boyfriend! It’s going to be a historic event! Not to mention how Nathaniel and I will look like royalty and be able to have a romantic dance.... We haven’t done that since Prom....” “And what about that party you two went to a while ago?” “That was different... Nathaniel pulled me into a tango, and I was wearing a dress that amounted to little more than a napkin. At the gala, he’s gonna wear a custom suit, which he looks BEYOND SEXY in, I’ll be wearing a really cool dress, and we’ll have a chance to slow dance. God, the mere thought of it is magnificent!” Alana blushed. Nathaniel chuckled. She seemed fine, but he knew that with Severina there, Alana wouldn’t get too depressed. That didn’t stop him from missing her and worrying about her.

As he took off his clothes and got into her bed, he looked at the ceiling and sighed. “This is going to be interesting.”

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I had the option of keeping Nathaniel and Amber in The Black Tower, but everyone told me that it would be better to do some world building. And because of that, here we are. Nathaniel and Amber are in Weathering with Alana’s sister and Ken. This completely derails from the in game canon. I’m definitely out of my element in the sense of writing from Nathaniel’s point of view... But, I feel like it’s necessary. I was really unsure of how long this one should be, because it doesn’t go with the game canon... But, I’m happy that it’s much shorter than the other ones....

Credit goes to:

Unnieverso for the Kentin Sprite

FNAFfanart67 for the base to Sam’s sprite

andanguyen for the background