#anyways I think this is both hilarious and sobering as it reflects both my own biases and also emery's biases regarding the series

[birdmenmanga]

birdmen as presented by my bestie beloved @ashe-is-here​

[chainofclovers]

Grace and Frankie 7x1 - 7x4 thoughts

Meh? Like...I love them so much, but...meh?

(I did enjoy this line about brunch.)

I really loved season 6 of Grace and Frankie. I thought it was well-paced, largely very well-acted, generally well-written, and it culminated in a massive moment of character development for the title characters, who, having spent years growing closer and being there for each other when others could not or would not be, finally articulate to each other that they are the primary person in each other’s lives. Platonic gal pal soulmate BFF emotional support witches 4 lyfe!

I know progress isn’t always linear, and in fact is very rarely linear, but after a moment that significant, you’d think the writers on this show would maybe come up with some more interesting things for these characters to do than spin in circles?

@bristler and I watched on Friday night, and just this morning over breakfast had a good conversation about the first four episodes of the new season now that they have settled in our brains a bit. We concluded that the writing (often noticeably clunky, like the dialogue is responsible for more narration than usual) and the tone (aggressively wacky) feel really off, especially compared to the prior season. I think we diagnosed the big issue, which is that Lily Tomlin and Jane Fonda are by far the most talented actors on this show (if you disagree, fight me in the parking lot) and it feels surprisingly unfortunate that their characters have, to this point in the new season, pretty much figured out their perspectives on each other. No matter how people feel about Grace and Frankie’s sexualities, the whole show has been about them finding each other and getting in deeper and deeper, and it’s less interesting to watch other characters have realizations about that than it is to watch Grace and Frankie having realizations about themselves. If the title characters are now limited to reacting to other people’s actions, and the title characters are played by the best actors on the show, the whole show’s gonna suffer. And is suffering, very much so, at least for these first four episodes. I’m definitely still excited for the final twelve in 2022 (twelve! I cannot believe this season will have sixteen eps!), but I’m pretty disappointed so far.

Stuff I Loved:

The family brunch. These families have been entwined for so long, and the backstory for this particular brunch was so fun (even though I didn’t care for the effects they did to depict Grace and Robert 25 years ago; there was no need for a visual flashback in the scene). I love that Grace hit Frankie with a wiffle ball bat. I love that the two couples realized some of the emotional reasons behind their decisions to lie to each other about Bud’s Bunny and about M’Challah. I love the way Jane Fonda sounds uttering the phrase “Bud’s Bunny” with little to no irony. I love that Grace is able to recognize and articulate just how deep and miserable her anger issues were, albeit with the continued help of her omnipresent martini, and that Frankie told her she’d now make up a holiday in order to spend more time with Grace. I really, really hope Frankie does exactly this at some point in the remaining episodes of the season. I love that Grace is generally a pretty good person now, with aspirations of being a delightful person. I love that she and Frankie don’t have it in them to stay angry with each other, and I love all the evidence that they really, really talk to each other about everything now.

Frankie talking to the man at the office (I don’t remember who he was supposed to be? A toilet manufacturer? I didn’t mention this before, but I actually got pretty high while watching?!? Believe it or not, this was the first time I smoked pot and watched Grace and Frankie at the same time despite having enjoyed both activities on their own for quite some time. I would recommend the combo! And I think I still pretty much got what was happening) about paying for the toilet parts with candy. This whole subplot with the money laundering was absurd and not that interesting, but I loved this particular scene because it was finally evidence of some really thoughtful writing. The concepts aren’t enough! You have to write them into good dialogue! And the whole cash/candy thing was a moment of dialogue that only someone as hilarious as Lily Tomlin could pull off. Which she did, IMO.

In a show about super messy people, Coyote has stayed sober this entire time. He is sober, employed, in love, and preparing to buy a full-sized house with his partner. He hasn’t murdered anyone in his family. Hasn’t even attempted murder once.

In 2017 or whatever, Grace Hanson would have been furious about Frankie using obscure Beatles references like a treasure map when hiding the cash. But here in 2021, she cooperates and even gets in on the fun. The writing is very unsubtle this season, but that did feel like a reasonably subtle moment that shows how good of a partner she is for Frankie. (Platonic, of course! So platonic. Female friendship, amirite?)

Stuff I Did NOT Love and Felt Incredibly Negative About:

Brianna. I can only conclude that June Diane Raphael has decided she’s happy with playing a character whose primary role in life is to be hot and mean. She succeeds at being hot and mean, but I have reached my limit with this character. I realize we’re only a quarter of the way into the season, but I don’t think I can take another arc about her learning to compromise only to reveal to Barry that she never intended to compromise at all. At this point, it’s both abusive and boring. How?! The Grace/Brianna parallels aren’t interesting anymore, because one character has grown and the other is stagnant. I get that Brianna was raised in an emotionally stilted environment by two unhealthy people. But I think it would be very cool if she could learn something from her mother at this point. Grace has put a ton of effort into dealing with her “rabbit-killing, mad-at-the-world anger.” She’s put a ton of effort into figuring out what makes her happy, what she wants her life to look like. She’s even started accepting her age and abilities without shame. And that growth is believable; Grace is still short-tempered and she still slugs back way too many martinis and she struggles to articulate certain things, but she’s grown into a truly lovely human. And while, as a daughter with a mother, I can absolutely attest to the fact that it can be difficult and uncomfortable to learn lessons from one’s mother, Brianna really, really should. Grace spent decades letting anger and shame trap her in a small, miserable life. Brianna—and even Mallory, who just seems like a vapid idiot this season—are traveling that same path, but there’s someone right there who could really help, maybe even more than Frankie helped when the Hanson girls were first growing up.

The arraignment. The scene might’ve been salvageable if it was filmed from Grace’s perspective, and filmed to reflect how surreal and improbable it all was. But speaking of non-linear progress, this scene erased everything Nick Skolka has done to put himself in my good graces (LOL) over the past couple seasons. I mean, I tried, man. I even wrote fic about Nick, Grace, and Frankie making a genuine effort at polyamory. But the arraignment is so emotionally manipulative, such a slap in the face of everything Grace has worked for, and while we’re certainly “supposed” to feel the weight of the moment, I mean, it’s not like we’re supposed to be like, “Oh, cool, we’re in a rom com now! This is adorable!” it still felt bad and unearned and slapdash.

And I want Frankie to process these things with her! Frankie seems so happy to have all this information about Grace and how Grace feels, but I want to see scenes in which we can gain an understanding of how Frankie actually feels. Hearing Frankie talk to other people about how Grace feels is interesting, but it’s like there’s no room in these episodes for us to learn anything new about Frankie herself.

Grace’s transitional wig. Is so. Bad. It is. Such a. Bad wig. Oof. I mean, I like what they’re doing with Grace’s hair from a plot perspective, although (see one bullet up) I would really like to get more of an understanding of what’s happening in Grace’s head, not just on top of her head. And gosh, Frankie would be a really good person to talk to about this in a conversation that lasts longer than 30 seconds. But the wig! She’s in a wig in all four episodes, of course, since Jane Fonda went grey and cut her hair short before they started filming this season. The wig for episodes 1 and 2 is fine; it’s a good approximation of Grace’s typical hair, and of course we know that canonically Grace’s hair isn’t 100% her own hair anyway. But the wig with grey roots looks so weird. The part that’s growing out doesn’t look the same as the hair on the wig from 1 and 2. And the grey roots look like a yarmulke. I cannot wait to get to the point in the season when Grace goes all the way grey.

(One more thing about the hair. I can’t let it go. I paused the show while we were watching to rant, but I’m not done.) I had the great privilege of seeing Jane Fonda in person at a protest in 2019. She is an insanely beautiful human. She was growing her hair out and it was partially dyed blonde and partially grey. It looked really cool. I am not ashamed to say I spent that day learning many things about the climate crisis and about Jane Fonda’s hair. Having seen her in real life with her real hair looking that fucking great, I just have a an extra-large grudge against everyone involved in that horrible wig. The wig is necessary, but it didn’t have to be this bad.

What Do I Care About Now?

I am pretty intrigued by the way Grace threw out her real age in a conversation with Nick and Elena. She has nothing to fear anymore! She’s so chill about aging! What could go wrong? I assume that Nick and Elena maneuvering for Nick to be on house arrest in Grace's house specifically has to do with the fact that Grace is 82. She’s gonna find out that Nick is allowed to be with her because she’s ancient and helpless and the court took pity. Or something like that. She’s going to feel betrayed on top of feeling stifled and overwhelmed by Nick’s presence. I want to see where this goes for sure.

Other than that, and other than the fact that I really do continue to believe this show is moving in a direction in which Grace and Frankie will choose each other, I feel very whatever about this whole thing. I love this show and I will always appreciate this show for giving me some incredible characters to spend years of my life writing about, and for bringing me some pretty amazing friendships. Speaking of those friendships, yesterday @ellydash and @telanu and I were talking about some of the incredible TV we’ve watched recently, like Ted Lasso and Hacks and Fleabag and Killing Eve, and how great it feels to watch beautifully written TV crafted by writers who are profoundly—organically yet intentionally—attuned to even the most minor character’s rhythm. The disappointment of these first few episodes of the new G&F season feels like a mild disappointment rather than a sharp heartbreak, and that has a lot to do with being deeply invested in other shows that could also go in all kinds of different directions but with writing I fundamentally trust.

Also Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin are my forever faves and my appreciation for their performances and general awesomeness onscreen and in life is undiminished. So that’s pretty cool.

[artificialqueens]

Case Closed (Part 1/2) - Shalaska - pureCAMP

A/N - So… guess who watched Brooklyn 99 and then decided to… make something… 

It was me. I did that.

So, to preface - I made this inspired by (as you’ll see when you read) Jake and Amy, but not entirely because I like to make my own characters. Anyway, here’s the one where the gang are detectives.

(Also, this will be submitted in two parts consecutively. It was intended to be a oneshot, but it’s… you know… 18.5k words. I really don’t know either. Happy quarantine and much love to any key workers, affected students or teachers out there <3

It was a perfectly normal day in the precinct and Alaska was forty minutes late to work.

In some of her previous jobs, such as waitressing in that horrible little restaurant or working as a store clerk as a teenager, being forty minutes late would almost certainly mean being fired. However, Alaska revelled in the fact that she would most definitely not be fired for her tardiness, and she grinned proudly as she was met with polite applause.

The gentleman who she led in with cuffs behind her didn’t seem quite so receptive to her hero’s welcome.

“Check out this punk,” Alaska announced to the room. “Busted with two hundred kilos of cocaine in his storage unit and found to be the asshole behind that huge drug ring we’ve been tracking. Proud of yourself, bud?”

As expected, her roughed-up drug dealer said nothing, staring fixedly at his reflection in the handcuffs.

“Good work, Detective Thunder.” Captain Tidicue nodded, impressed. “Take him to the holding cell, meeting in five minutes in the break room. Dismissed.”

It was a perfectly normal day, Alaska’s perp was in the holding cell, and as she stepped into the break room, she bumped shoulders with Jinkx.

“Detective Tsunami.”

“Detective Lightning.”

Jinkx’s smile, as always, seemed to stretch from ear to ear and her lipstick was eerily red. Captain Tidicue had tried a few times to get her to tone down the brightness of her makeup, but eventually she had gotten so fond of Jinkx that she let the matter go entirely. Jinkx seemed to get away with a lot of things in that way, and Alaska loved her for it. As a matter of fact, so did the rest of the squad.

Captain Tidicue closed the door behind them and took her place at the front of the room. There was absolutely nothing extraordinary about a normal morning briefing, even if Alaska had been forty minutes late. That happened sometimes and nobody minded. Everything was normal.

“Good morning everybody. I wanted to let you know that we’ll be welcoming a new detective to our squadron beginning today. She’s experienced and smart and she just moved into the area, I think she’ll be a good addition to our team. I want you all to welcome her.” Tidicue smiled. “I know you will. Let her adapt to our ways, yeah? Make her one of us. Anyway, Detective Needles is on her way now. Dismissed.”

She headed off, leaving the rest of the team to break out into excited discussions, with zero intention of running straight to their desks. Jinkx turned to Alaska with a loud laugh.

“Short, sweet, concise. Never thought I’d see that from a New Yorker.” She quipped.

Alaska chuckled. “Okay, Chicago, calm down.”

“Whatever, Pennsylvania.” Jinkx paused. “Fuck, that isn’t nearly as insulting even though we’re just naming states.”

From across the room, Sergeant Royale beckoned the two of them over, where she was chatting with Detectives Velour, Coulee and Michaels. Inexplicably, Willam, the notoriously work-shy secretary, had also managed to sneak her way in and was perched on the table, right in the midst of the conversation.

“So! New detective, huh? Things are getting exciting round here.” Latrice fought back her laugh as Alaska, rising to the bait despite knowing it had been laid there just to get her, opened her mouth.

“Hey! I literally just busted a massive drug trafficking ring! Is that not exciting?” 

The squad laughed, and Alaska acquiesced with a giggle. “But seriously? Detective Needles? Do you think she’s just really good at drug cases or what?”

A new voice appeared suddenly. “Well, yeah. But unfortunately that’s my actual name.”

Alaska whirled around and promptly smashed foreheads with possibly the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. The woman in question reeled backwards slightly and started to rub her head, but offered her hand and a charming smile regardless.

“Detective Needles. Your story is pretty impressive, I’m sorry that my name is stealing your thunder.”

Alaska started to giggle in spite of herself. “Oh my god, this is brilliant. Hi, Detective Needles, I’m Detective Thunder.”

“You’re shitting me. That’s such a fucking cool name.”

“And Needles isn’t?”

“Yours is cooler.”

“No way!” Alaska faced her colleagues again. “Am I really arguing with someone about whose name is cooler and I’m not on my own side? Jinkx, slap me.”

Jinkx raised her hand. “Gladly!”

Before she could deliver what was sure to be an almighty sobering smack, Latrice butted in with a calming hand and her ever-diplomatic ways. “The only way to solve this is by first names. At the same time, go.”

“Alaska.”

“Sharon. Fuck!”

Sharon crossed her arms over her chest as Alaska celebrated her victory. “God, I hate my parents right now. They gave me the most suburban white mom name ever.”

Thus began Alaska’s first triumph over Sharon Needles. Sharon Needles, who was a detective, who would be working a few feet across the room from her now, who was surprisingly tall and with dark curls that really suited her face and eyes that were surprisingly sparkly even though she seemed like she would be quite intimidating in the interrogation room and a leather jacket that made her look so badass and-

Detective Needles made quite a strong impression on that perfectly normal day.

-

It turned out that Detectives Thunder and Needles worked together like a dream. Alaska called them thick as thieves, once, and Sharon proceeded to double over in incredulous laughter that her partner hadn’t even noticed her own hilariously unintentional joke.

Usually, Captain Tidicue would assign Alaska to work with Jinkx, given the close nature of their friendship, but seeing Sharon’s arrest numbers at a similar rate to Alaska’s, she had decided they could work the case together instead. It was almost like she didn’t know they had an unspoken bet about who was going to get more, and that it was actually a very spoken bet that was being monitored daily by tally marks on the whiteboard and was currently tied. 

And she almost definitely did know about the bet, because there was no way Latrice hadn’t told her.

“Okay. I think, when we catch this guy, we both add a point to our list of arrests since we did it together. That cool?”

Sharon laughed. “Ooh, feeling nervous? You want to keep us on an equal playing ground, huh?”

“No, I just don’t wanna hurt your feelings,” She teased, “I know you’re a little sensitive. You need these arrests to make you feel cool.”

“I’m already cool.”

Alaska snorted. “Right, sure. I did some sneaky detective work and found out your favourite show is Jeopardy.”

Sharon frowned at her, the mirth evident behind her eyes. “You mean, you followed my Twitter? Also, Jeopardy is a great show, and if I was straight, I’d go for Alex Trebek in a heartbeat.”

They were nestled in a discreet car to help them blend into the city, dressed casually to avoid arousing suspicion. When Sharon rocked up in leopard print and leather, Alaska had first mercilessly mocked her before admitting that she was highly impressed by the choice of attire, and wished her jeans were quite as bold. Naturally, Sharon gave as good as she got. 

Still, they had been getting bored waiting for their suspect to turn up around town, and had taken to mindless conversation. It was beginning to get… interesting.

“Alex Trebek?! Sharon, he’s like ninety.”

“He’s seventy nine!” Sharon shrugged, and then chuckled and conceded. “He’s a total zaddy, okay, you wouldn’t get it. Anyway, he’s a man so I’m not actually into him, and no one will believe that I told you this so you have zero leverage.”

Alaska leant back in her chair, keeping her eyes on the street. “Well, if you can hold that against me, I can do that too. I used to be terrified of Marilyn Manson as a child, but then when I was a preteen - so before I was gay - I had a crush on him. There. Something no one will believe.”

Sharon gasped. “You monster. I’m dying to use that against you!”

“Well, you can’t.”

“I can’t believe you’re aroused by scary people. Do you jack it to Freddy Kreuger or something?”

“This is getting weird.”

“Agreed.” Sharon held up her hands. “In all fairness, you took it there, not me. So, we should quickly go over the plan because the asshole just turned up for his shift at the store, fifteen minutes after it should’ve started.”

She pointed. A tall, balding white man was entering the run-down convenience store, his bright employee vest halfheartedly tucked into his baggy trousers. Alaska looked down at their case file and nodded.

“Alright. Darren Jones, you’re going down. Sharon, tell me your fake name and invent a story to go with it, I like a bit of storytelling. Adds some pizazz to the case.”

Sharon rolled her eyes and giggled. “You’re the world’s most immature detective. We don’t need to go undercover for this.”

Alaska raised an eyebrow. “It’s fun, Needles. Much more fun than watching episodes of Jeopardy.”

“Rude, but fine. My name is Sarah Anne Jefferson and I’m visiting from Iowa, I have an addiction to cigarettes and I need the store clerk to search all the way at the back of the shelf for the good ones, because I may be desperate but I’m still picky and that bullshit fake excuse means he’ll have to face away from us so we can surround him. I also happen to be very conversational and may casually ask him about his weekend during my rambling about my dumb boyfriend Brad, who’s from California.”

Alaska shuddered, snapping the case file shut. “I don’t know what’s worse, California or Iowa. Gross.”

Sharon winked, and Alaska maybe found it a little bit hot. “Iowa. I grew up there, it’s terrible. The town I lived in is famous for dryers and meth. A great combo.”

“I’d argue California is still worse.”

“You’re right.” Sharon undid her seatbelt. “Okay. Detective Thunder, you’re heading to the back of the store so that you can search for the milk and sneak round so we got him on both sides and he can’t run. You ready?”

Alaska winked back. “Born ready, baby.”

So what if Alaska became a detective just to pretend she was one of those badass cops from a movie? It was worth it - she could protect civilians, take down bad guys and pretend to be a cool movie cop, all at the same time.

She browsed the store idly, waiting until she heard Sharon enter the store and began listening for her cue. Darren Jones was connected to a series of robberies around the area, and despite his penchant for breaking into places without witnesses, the guy was a total dunce. Each of his crime scenes had several valuable items stolen, all of which had been recovered in his apartment earlier that day, and he was stupid enough to leave fingerprints all over the items and the crime scene.

He was a terribly unskilled criminal, that was for sure. Whilst Alaska loved cracking the difficult cases, this one had been pretty fun. It was like watching a child blundering their way through college. He had no idea what he was doing, and it was an easy arrest. 

“Hi there! My name’s Sarah Anne, sweetie, y’all got cigarettes in here? Oh, perfect, thank you so much. Listen, I know this is an odd request, but do you mind digging for the ones at the back of the top shelf? They’re always better when the air can’t get to ‘em, you know?”

Alaska held her breath, fighting not to laugh as Sharon exaggerated her Iowan accent. There was nothing… objectively funny about the accent, just that fact that it was Sharon’s but stronger and the fact that Sharon seemed to work so hard to convince everyone of how much she loved Pittsburgh when she had lived there. She almost always sounded like she was born there, except for now.

Nobody else would find it funny. But Alaska knew her and Sharon would laugh about it later, because they had great banter and no one else could stop them. She crept further along the aisles, inching closer to the cashier desk, listening.

“-asshole boyfriend Brett convinced me to smoke them like that years ago and I always do now. He was here all weekend, driving me nuts. Did you get busy this weekend?”

Alaska readied herself, the signal having been sent. The idiot cashier/criminal kept his back turned as he responded, allowing Alaska to position herself behind him on the other side of Sharon.

“Oh, not really, just hung out at home…”

He trailed off when he saw their police badges glinting in his direction.

“NYPD, you’re under arrest for three robberies. Darren Jones, you did have a busy weekend, huh?” 

It was highly unprofessional, but Alaska still offered a high-five on the way back to the car, dragging the cuffed Darren behind them, and Sharon still accepted it.

“I thought your asshole boyfriend was Brad? You said Brett.”

“Did I? Oh, I’m cheating on Brett with Brad. They don’t know about each other.”

“Depth! Nice, I love it. Real fleshed out character.”

“Shut up.” Sharon started the car. “So, one more arrest for me since I said the words, so that’s 25 to Needles and 24 to Thunder-”

Immediately, Alaska had to protest. “What?! No, we agreed to split it. A point each, he was an easy one.”

Sharon fiddled with her badge, deep in thought. “Okay, fine. We need some stakes, though.”

“I’m vegetarian.”

“No, not steaks! Stakes!”

“The things you kill vampires with?”

“No! Like, a reason for our bet.” Sharon’s eyes glinted dangerously, and Alaska sucked in an excited breath. “Something that we want from each other. Personally, I want to crush your spirit.”

Alaska nodded. “Alright, nice. I also want to crush your spirit. Maybe we should be more specific.”

An idea started forming in Alaska’s head, and for once it felt like a pretty good one. Naturally, Alaska loved to embarrass and humiliate people, and she loved for people to bring her up in conversation all the time, and her idea would work perfectly for that. Plus, it would be hilarious, particularly for her, and it would make for one hell of a story.

“I got it. However, judging by the slight inclination of your head and the beginnings of a smirk on your face, you’ve got an idea. Hit me with it.”

Predictably, Sharon grinned. “Okay, Detective Alaska Thunder. When I win this bet, you have to watch reruns of Jeopardy with me, and you have to play along. No sitting and saying it’s boring, or dorky-”

“It is dorky.”

“-Didn’t ask - you have to answer questions or rag on the idiots who answer the questions wrong with me. Full involvement, it’s my favourite show.”

As she resisted calling Sharon a dork for the second time (she really was a complete dork beneath her incredible cop/badass persona), Alaska hissed outwardly. She really didn’t want to watch some stupid quiz show, not when there were so many better things on TV these days. For example, Golden Girls reruns. 

“Fine.” Alaska smiled. “I think it’s adorable how you used when and not if. So, when I win this bet, you…”

She held her breath for dramatic effect, watching as Sharon playfully rolled her eyes.

“…Will go on a date with me. And it will be the worst date of your life. I will make sure of it.”

Sharon made a disbelieving face. “Yeah, right. I had a date once where the girl spilled her entire glass of red wine onto my dress and then cried for two hours about her ex, who it turned out she had invited to the restaurant so that she could beg her to get back together. Nothing can top that.”

Alaska sucked in a breath. “Oooh. One, that’s terrible, and two, you just set the highest bar for this date and that is going to be your downfall. I will humiliate you, Needles. You just wait and see.”

“You’re on.”

-

A few weeks passed. Alaska took a considerable lead, and swanned into the precinct every morning with the arrogance level of, according to Captain Tidicue, a peacock who had stumbled into a Las Vegas dressing room. No one had been quite sure about whether that was a compliment or not, judging by her stony, passive face, until it suddenly morphed into a cartoonish grin and they swiftly left the briefing room amid terrified laughter. 

Then, Sharon’s arson case took an interesting turn and Alaska watched, green with envy and competitive spirit, as she made six arrests in one day and started closing the gap between them.

“That’s how you do it, Thunder.” Sharon mimed injecting into her forearm, which in hindsight was probably a little inappropriate, but only Alaska saw it, and she didn’t give a shit.

“Do what, Needles? Get a crippling addiction?”

Sharon shrugged. “I guess I’m just addicted to justice, baby. You better start reading up on your trivia.”

She took off with an infuriating amount of swagger, even worse than that of a Las Vegas peacock.

“That was a fucking fantastic line, Alaska.”

“Shut up, Jinkx.”

-

“Ladies and gentlemen of our squad, no need to be alarmed, but this is just a reminder for Detective Sharon Needles to clear her calendar for our deadline, because she’s looking at a brilliant officer who just took her total up to 41, dwarfing your measly little 37.”

Latrice high-fived Alaska, and Sharon groaned. “Seriously? What the fuck, how?”

“Simple theft case turned murder investigation, naturally. Gang crime. Boom!”

At Detective Michaels’ stern face, she deflated slightly. “Okay. Gang crime and murder isn’t cool nor acceptable to celebrate in the workplace, however, I am winning.”

-

It was 11pm, which meant that Sharon had definitely missed that night’s Jeopardy episode, and yet Alaska noted that it didn’t even seem like she cared. Maybe that was her professionalism, given that they were on a short stakeout waiting for a drug deal to go down so that they could rush in and arrest the guys, but whatever. She hadn’t even mentioned it, and they had been talking a lot.

Jinkx had been Alaska’s best friend ever since she joined the precinct as a new officer. They had connected so well, and it almost felt like they were easy best friends within a week or two. But it wasn’t quite like that with Sharon.

If anything, it was totally the opposite. They got along extremely well, but it wasn’t the kind of easy-going friendship that she shared with Jinkx, not at all. Of course, they talked personally the same way, and argued and laughed and cooperated the same way, but being around Sharon didn’t feel easy. It felt… exciting, almost. Invigorating. 

Perhaps it was the thrill of a new friend, coupled with an exciting job and a fantastic work relationship.

“It’s getting late, I hope this drug deal happens before three in the fucking morning. I’d love to get some sleep tonight.” Alaska groaned, sitting down on a plastic chair beside Sharon. She had perched on an overturned storage container, as apparently the roof of the building they were staked out on didn’t have much in the way of garbage removal.

“We can take shifts, if you like? If it gets real late and we’re exhausted, I mean. I’d happily take first watch.”

Sharon tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and Alaska watched her with a soft smile. “I can’t let you do that, Needles, that’s not fair. But, I did bring snacks, so that should give us some energy. How do you feel about…”

She dug into her bag. “Uh, off-brand chocolate counter things? I hear they’re pretty good… probably.”

In the moonlight, Sharon’s skin looked almost blue, like a nymph. Her quiet giggle was mesmerising after the awkward silence of an abandoned industrial site.

“I won’t turn them down.”

They kept watch, determined not to miss any minor discrepancies that would reveal their perpetrator in the midst of the darkness. All they needed was one damning deal, some incriminating photographs, and they could make their arrest and still get a good night’s sleep.

In the meantime, they had their ways of entertaining themselves. Namely, telling horrific jokes, and attempting to catch chocolate counters in their mouths, at which Sharon was awful.

Yet another victory Alaska could laud over her.

She doubled over in laughter as Sharon kept trying, missing by miles and in turn, collapsing into giggles. Her head was bent at all kinds of strange angles as she kept going, the counters flying everywhere but her mouth, even pinging off the edge of the roof. The closest she came was landing smack on the middle of Sharon’s forehead, which she counted as a win, and Alaska counted as a complete and utter fail.

“I can’t fathom someone being that bad at catching them in your mouth! It’s so easy!” Alaska wheezed. “Look, let me show you.”

Sharon stood up. “Fine, fine, you gotta teach me. As soon as I throw it, I can’t see it anymore! I don’t get your game, Thunder!”

Alaska stood in front of her, close so that Sharon could watch. She quite liked being taller than her partner - it meant Sharon had to look up to her, just like she would be when Alaska won their bet. It must’ve been a humbling feeling, Alaska assumed. 

“See? Watch.” She flicked the counter into the air and caught it deftly on her tongue. “Easy. Challenge mode, throw me more than one. Get a good handful or something.”

Sharon’s hand was already reaching into the bag. “You’re never gonna get all these. Nobody’s that good.”

“Try me.”

The handful rained down out of nowhere, and needless to say, Sharon’s cackles of delight made the meagre one counter that she managed to catch seem a little better. A good amount of them had fallen onto her face, anyway, so by Sharon’s standards, that must count as a win.

“I concede, you’re the chocolate champion. Congrats.” Sharon grinned. 

Bowing, Alaska offered her most dazzling smile. “Told you I’m amazing.”

“And you have chocolate on your face. Real dignified.”

“Ha! You’re bluffing.”

“No, I’m serious!” Sharon’s eyes sparkled with humour. “Let me get it.”

She closed the tiny gap between them and stepped closer, Alaska again noting the slight height difference between them and how kind and sweet the moonlight made Sharon’s features appear. Her eyebrows furrowed and then relaxed as she reached an admittedly cold hand towards Alaska’s lips. Everything seemed to happen agonisingly slow, as she gently brushed her thumb over the corner of Alaska’s mouth and her expression softened. In the background, Alaska heard a car door shut. She never wanted to take her eyes away from Sharon in the moment, but regrettably found herself doing so.

“I think that’s our guy.”

She sighed, internally cursing herself over and over as they each took a step backwards, Sharon coughing and righting herself with a nod. “Right. Armed and ready?”

Alaska nodded, confused about why she felt so disappointed. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

-

They caught the guys red-handed. Alaska said the words, so she took credit for the arrests. 

Sharon rewrote the scores on the board and blew raspberries at her. Detective Velour suggested that Sharon had sunk to Alaska levels of childishness, to which she received a high-five from most of the other detectives, some laughs of agreement, and one outraged huff followed by a much louder raspberry than Sharon’s had been.

-

When Alaska got to her desk, Jinkx was already there waiting. She held a case file between her fingers and she tapped her foot impatiently as Alaska sat down and looked at her.

“Tidicue just thanked Sharon for the two of you offering to take that drug stakeout and rejecting the backup offer.”

Alaska shrugged. “That was nice of her.”

Jinkx pressed on. “She seemed a little confused. Almost as if she didn’t know that the two of you volunteered, or that there was a backup team. I didn’t pry, but I saw her face. Just wondering when you were planning on admitting that you like her.”

Something about the accusation made Alaska feel a little hot under the collar. What the hell was Jinkx trying to imply? That she liked Sharon? It made no sense. Alaska took comfort in how absurd it was.

“Of course I like Sharon,” She chose to respond, deliberately ignoring the obvious implication. “She’s a great detective and a good friend. We didn’t need backup, so I didn’t ask for it.”

Inexplicably, Jinkx’s eye roll was almost audible. “Or you were just enjoying your alone time…”

Alaska looked at her screen. Her computer was open and unlocked, as she’d left it, and there was a form that needed filling in before she got started on some of her paperwork that had been piling up on her desk. Really, she needed to get a move on with it all. Jinkx was highly unprofessional for interrupting her. Alaska had never done that to anyone before, of course.

“I have work to do, shut up. It wasn’t alone time, it was a stakeout! We were literally working together, as colleagues.” Alaska sent back an eye roll of her own. “I don’t like Sharon that way, she’s not my type. Don’t make it weird.”

From behind her, someone cleared their throat. Alaska spun in her chair and found Sharon having just approached, tucking her hair behind her ears and smiling awkwardly. “Tidicue said we should split the paperwork. I just came to pick up my half.”

She gathered some of the files from the desk in a few seconds and left with another brief smile. Alaska watched her go, then turned and met eyes with Jinkx, who was nothing if not a picture of smugness.

“See? We’re professionals.” Alaska retorted.

Jinkx shrugged. “Sure. Okay. I believe you. Just putting it out there that you seem so determined to win the bet and make the forfeit the worst date ever, you’re putting a lot of thought into this. But fine, I’ll leave you to it.”

As she slunk away, back to her own desk, Alaska swore she heard Jinkx humming a wedding march. 

-

“Hey, Sharon! Hey, glad I could catch you. I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

The roof had quite the scenic view of the city. It wasn’t particularly high, but it gave a perfect vantage point of everything that Alaska considered essential to make up her home - graffiti, pigeons, dodgy food vendors and an every-man-for-himself attitude wrapped in an aura of grey bleakness. That being said, grimy and dark as it could sometimes be, there was a lot of life and colour and excitement in the city that could always be relied on to keep things interesting. As she joined Sharon by the edge of the brick wall, where she was absent-mindedly tapping off cigarette ash, they watched as passersby went about their days.

“I know you probably overheard a little of what Jinkx was saying to me, which was totally out of line, but I just wanted to make sure that I didn’t hurt your feelings or anything with what I said.”

Sharon looked pensive for a moment, then she took one final drag from her cigarette and stubbed it out before throwing it into the trash. Alaska felt strangely nervous as she waited for a response - apologies and humility were not really her style.

“Oh, it’s fine.” Sharon replied, amused. “I wasn’t hurt. My type isn’t really cocky, arrogant and goofy, so…”

Alaska laughed. “Right! Like, I’m just not into… I mean, you look like a nerdy dork who tried to reinvent herself as a biker chick by just wearing leather. Different personalities.”

“Exactly!” Sharon agreed with a smile. “You’re too blase for my tastes.”

“And you’re really Type A. Too strict for me. I don’t know what Jinkx is seeing, but she should get her eyes checked.”

Sharon giggled. “Alright, I’m going inside. You coming?”

Alaska watched a pigeon chase a man halfway down the street. “In a minute, you go ahead. I’m getting some fresh air.”

So, progress. This was good. Alaska had proved Jinkx wrong, and clarified in no uncertain terms that she didn’t like Sharon and that Sharon didn’t like her. But at the same time… cocky and arrogant. That struck a nerve, somehow. It wasn’t like her nature hadn’t been commented on before - hell, it was open game to everyone in the squad. They all knew that as a detective, and in general, Alaska was pretty lax and carefree and chilled out. But the fact that those qualities made her unattractive in Sharon’s eyes…

It wasn’t like Alaska wanted Sharon to like her, not in that way. It just… stung. It stung, and it had never stung before when others said it.

-

It was late. The shift was almost over, the clock edging towards midnight, and Alaska overall thought her day had been pretty good. There had been a long, tedious interrogation, but that had kept her entertained for long enough that the rest of the shift was pretty much smooth sailing. She had even had time to harmlessly prank Detective Coulée by covering her computer monitor in googly eyes, during which Latrice, her superior, and Detective Michaels, her moral superior, watched her with disapproving but amused stares.

When Sharon walked in, at two minutes to midnight, her smile lit up the room.

“Thunder, you got a pen? I need to update our arrest numbers.” She asked with a wink.

Alaska shrugged. “I never have a pen, Needles, but I know for a fact that you have one, so I see right through your little power-play.”

Sharon smirked. “Right. Just wanted to make you sweat a little, that’s all.”

She sauntered into the other room, pen in hand. Jinkx got up from her desk and scuttled across to Alaska’s, practically bouncing with excitement. Looking around the room, Alaska noticed that the rest of her colleagues were all watching her with anticipation, knowing what was about to happen. In response, Alaska just offered a grin and held her finger to her lips.

“You’re not gonna tell her?!” Jinkx scream-whispered.

Alaska shrugged again. “She can read, she’s a smart girl. Anyway, I want to hear how she reacts when she-”

“WHAT THE FUCK!”

As the room erupted into laughter, Alaska stood up in the midst of the desks and opened her arms wide. Perfectly on cue, when Sharon stepped out of the briefing room, Jinkx, Sasha and Latrice started releasing party poppers whilst Willam gladly helped Shea unfurl a banner proclaiming Alaska a champion. Detective Michaels, loathe to take part in the childishness of it all but still wanting to offer her support, broke into polite applause.

“Why the fuck is your count one higher than mine? We were tied, I was about to beat you, I-”

Sharon’s eyes fell on the parade and she shook her head. “How?! How?!”

As if rehearsed - although it wasn’t, as Alaska had asked and Captain Tidicue had insisted it would be funnier if it was entirely natural - Tidicue stepped out from her office and shook Alaska’s hand.

“Working with a bunch of children is definitely a challenge, but I enjoyed this little bet. It made two of my best detectives work harder than ever and, Detective Needles, you’ve helped to increase Detective Thunder’s productivity massively. She’s willingly completed paperwork because of you.”

Sharon’s jaw dropped. “But-!”

Alaska’s carefully timed alarm ticked over, and celebratory music cut Sharon’s protest off before it could even start. Deciding to add insult to injury, Alaska performed the most obnoxious victory dance she could think of.

“You see, my dear, dear colleague and close friend, whilst you were out today working your little detective socks off on your case, arresting your one suspect…” Alaska trailed off, leaving the room in gleeful suspense as she wheeled the whiteboard with their scores in, “I put away two guys. And now, since the clock has hit midnight, the bet is over and I have won. Ladies and gentlemen, the amazing Thunder wins again!”

Jinkx joined Alaska’s enthusiastic dance, but they stopped in unison when Alaska held out her hand for silence. “Now, I believe first of all you have a statement to announce?”

If looks could kill, Alaska would have happily died under Sharon’s murderous gaze. “You’re a great detective and you’re hot.”

“Hmm… a little louder. Also, that’s not what I texted you to say, so…”

Sharon shook her head. “I’m not saying it again, nor am I reading your horrendous text. It was scarring enough when I had to read it in my own head.”

Alaska raised her eyebrows in mock sympathy. “Aww. Listen, your terrible date starts now, and our first port of call is for you to do what I say in every humiliating way possible. Would you like a chair?”

“A… chair?”

“To stand on, so everyone can see and hear you.”

This had to be the best day of Alaska’s life. Nothing would compare to the pride and glee that she felt at dragging a plastic chair into the middle of the police station at midnight for Sharon to stand on. Every part of her indignance only made the experience more enjoyable. The rest of the officers rallied around Alaska in a crowd, palpably excited that the bet had finally come to its end.

Sharon read from her phone, and sighed audibly at the content. “I really don’t want to say this.”

“Come on, date-o-mine!” Alaska cajoled her. “Tell everyone what you really think!”

There was a long pause, and then Sharon began speaking in a loud, flat voice. “Attention, everyone! I have… an announcement to make. Alaska Elizabeth Joanne Thunder - that’s really your full name? - is the greatest detective known in this world, and in comparison to her, I am… I am a helpless misguided child. This… wonderful influence on my life will now take me on a date and teach me her mastermind ways.”

She paused and groaned. “I don’t wanna - I also would like to confess to the room the deep and embarrassing nature of my feelings for this heroic woman. She makes my pan- fucking hell I’m not saying that!”

“You can say basement.” Alaska interjected, as unhelpful as possible. “Keep going.”

“She makes my… basement flood, every day. It will be difficult to keep my hands off her tonight. Goodnight everyone.”

The room burst into laughter again, and Sharon stepped down from the chair and whacked Alaska’s arm with a nearby folder. It hurt more than she expected, but something about Sharon’s glare told Alaska to just laugh it off. Instead, she offered a charming smile and handed a plastic bag over.

“Feel free to do your hair however you like, but I’ve packed a beautiful date outfit for you and a lipstick colour that I think will look gorgeous. Meet me out here when you’re done and we’ll head off.”

Naturally, Alaska’s planning for the Worst Date Ever had been meticulous, in possibly the most un-Alaska behaviour of hers ever. Since they had started the bet, she kept track of little bits of information that she could use - things that annoyed Sharon, things that she hated, offhand comments she made that indicated her opinions on things.

For example, she now knew that Sharon hated pink lipstick, claiming it made her look like a man. She thought anything off-shoulder was stupid, and pale colours didn’t flatter her skin tone, and long strappy shoes were dumb because the ties looked weird wrapped around people’s legs.

Her face when she reappeared was something Alaska never wanted to forget.

In the time Sharon had been changing, and likely cursing herself for not winning the bet, Alaska had slipped into something a little nicer in the bathroom too - just a ripped jeans and button-up combo that she would usually wear on a date, which had been made to feel twice as good by Jinkx’s compliments. Alaska suspected her friend was hoping for a romantic connection to blossom on the date, and inwardly laughed at the idea. One, they weren’t into each other like that, and two, this was not the kind of date that would make a girl fall in love.

Sharon emerged with a scowl, but even so, Alaska couldn’t deny that she looked pretty. It was abundantly clear that she hated her outfit from head to toe, which was a great start. In all fairness, the skin-tight pink minidress, off-the-shoulder style with long sleeves, actually looked pretty good on her. It clung to her curves in a somewhat intoxicating way, showcasing a figure that Alaska never knew had been hiding under her detective uniform and leather jackets. 

“I look ridiculous.” She sulked. “I hate these shoes, and this lipstick makes me look like a man. Are you happy?”

As soon as the question was out, Sharon rolled her eyes as she predicted Alaska’s gleeful response. “Thrilled.”

Latrice walked past and stopped to marvel at the outfit, before bursting into infectiously loud laughter. “Damn, Needles, I ain’t never seen you dressed like that before! You look like Angelyne!”

Sharon crossed her arms over her chest. “And you’ll never see it again! It suits Angelyne, it doesn’t fucking suit me! Can we get this thing started already?”

Alaska offered her arm, ever the polite, charming date. “Since you spoke so sweetly of me earlier, of course. You’re going to love my date.”

Sharon was not going to love Alaska’s date.

There were very few restaurants that were still open and serving food past midnight, but that was fine - Alaska wasn’t in the mood for a restaurant. What the city had a plethora of, however, was exactly what she wanted. Even in the darkness of the city streets, lit only by street lamps and the jarring white light of the food stalls, Alaska saw Sharon’s face drop.

“Fuck off. No. You can’t do this to me.”

By far, the worst street of the city was the one they stood in, lined as far as the eye could see with various unsanitary or just plain unusual food trucks. Even drunk Alaska knew better than to search for something edible from them after a night out, which meant it was perfect for her terrible date.

“You get to pick!” Alaska beamed. “I’m a great date partner, so it’s up to you. Of course, I’m paying.”

Sharon tugged at her dress and huffed. “Thunder. You can’t be serious. If we eat from any of these places we won’t shit solid for a week. I am not subjecting myself to food poisoning because of you.”

Eventually, they settled on what seemed like a fairly inoffensive option, a small truck selling wraps and burritos. Sharon took about two bites of her ‘vegetarian special’ before spitting it onto the ground, disgusted. It turned out a cold wrap filled with lukewarm lettuce, tomato and sour cream wasn’t the most appetizing meal. Once she’d thrown it away, she leant towards Alaska and playfully barged into her.

“You’re an asshole! I hate this. I hate you.”

Alaska winked. “Oh, you think you hate me, but trust me, things can only get worse from here. I promised you an awful date and I will deliver because I am a woman of my word. Now, how do you feel about mud, loud noises, and smashing vehicles?”

Sharon glanced down. “In these shoes?”

To be completely honest, Alaska didn’t see the problem with lace-up heels. In fact, she thought they looked quite good wrapped around Sharon’s legs. She had nice legs.

“Come on, let’s go.”

To make the date even worse, on the way to a monster truck rally that some dumb kid Sasha had arrested a few weeks ago had mentioned, Alaska chose a ride-share, subjecting Sharon to twenty minutes in a car with a bunch of hammered straight girls. Every five minutes or so, they whooped loudly and demanded the driver play some Dua Lipa.

Sharon looked murderous, but in a sort of amused way. Alaska figured she was surprised at quite how horrific the date was turning out to be. It was quite a shock, really.

It quickly became apparent that the truck rally, however, was a pretty big mistake on Alaska’s part.

Unsurprisingly, it was just as terrible as she had planned it to be - floodlit, loud, dirty, and full of raucous drunk people thriving off destruction and chaos. They were perched on the edge of shaky metal benches, disgusted at the filth of the place.

“This… is disgusting.” Sharon almost seemed impressed. “I thought the food choice was bad, but the activity is so much worse.”

Alaska could barely hear her over the noise, but she nodded. “I told you I’m good.”

Sharon laughed and conceded. “Fuck. Something about this place feels very illegal, and I don’t even know why. I’m just going to ignore my surroundings.”

Behind them, a greasy-looking man wearing a beer-stained vest and sagging jeans clicked his tongue. “Hey, ma, shake that thing on over here. That’s right, I’m talkin’ to you, hot stuff. You look good in that pink.”

Sharon stiffened, and Alaska bit her lip. “I… forgot about the existence of gross men in a place like this.”

In spite of the comment, Sharon cracked a smile. “So caught up in the fun of humiliating me that you forgot about sexism. I love that. We should leave.”

“Fantastic idea.”

Luckily, there was a decent bar not too far from the site of their awful date, so they hastened away from the chaos of the rally as quickly as they could and made their way inside. Alaska reasoned that maybe a good bar would act as a little bit of a reprieve from the bad date and vile comment, and figured she could still ruin it tactfully by ordering the grossest drinks they had available. Straight tequila would do, probably.

“Can we get six shots of tequila? Thanks,” Alaska handed over the money and laughed at Sharon, who sat on the barstool and groaned exaggeratedly loud. “This is what happens when you lose the bet, Needles! Maybe you should be better next time.”

“I tried so hard!” Sharon defended herself, laughing. “I held the lead for at least three weeks in a row! Stupid fucking criminals working alone instead of together.”

When the shots arrived, Alaska barely had a chance to gloat about how horrible it was going to be before Sharon had downed her three, wincing but persisting nevertheless. Alaska quickly caught up, taken aback and tickled by how fast she had knocked them back.

“Listen,” Sharon giggled at Alaska’s stare, “I look dumb, I ate gross street food, went to a fucking monster truck rally and got catcalled. I need to get shitfaced, you succeeded. Your date is terrible.”

Alaska pumped her fist into the air. “Yes! Succeeded and the night is still young! Although I can’t help but feel like the catcalling was my fault because of the outfit, so I will offer a rare Alaska Thunder apology.”

Sharon smirked. “Oh, thanks, I appreciate that. I’d look better in a body bag.”

Checking her phone, Alaska saw that it was just coming up to around two in the morning. She ordered two double whiskeys and winked at Sharon. They still had plenty of time before she would call the date finished and let her go home.

Sharon could hold her alcohol incredibly well, Alaska discovered, but also that she became a heightened and twice as hilarious version of herself the more she drank. Or maybe Alaska just saw it that way, as she matched her drink for drink. She found herself doubled over, howling with laughter at something that one of them had said, with no idea what had been said or by who. 

They even danced a little, with drunk Alaska unashamed to show how terribly uncoordinated she was. Sharon was by no means an expert dancer, but drunk Alaska was more than a little open-mouthed and amazed at how close drunk Sharon danced against her. There was hardly space between them to breathe, and Alaska found it difficult to tear her eyes away from Sharon’s hips.

It wasn’t like it mattered anyway… finding someone physically attractive didn’t mean you liked liked them, or wanted to date them or have sex with them or engage in anything other than a friendly professional relationship with them… Jinkx was stupid. There was no such thing as ‘chemistry’ or anything like that. There was just Sharon, who looked good, and Alaska, who had drank a lot, and a dance floor and some loud music, and that was enough.

Alaska didn’t remember when they decided to leave the club, but at some point they had made the decision to. Her phone read four in the morning, not that she could really register that either. The ground was cold and a little bit stony - she looked down and saw she was walking barefoot, holding a pair of heels by their straps, and Sharon was wearing her flats. 

Perhaps she’d offered them to her. How kind.

Both girls stumbled down the street, presumably towards the Uber they had probably called that would be arriving in ten minutes or something along those lines. Alaska’s head was swimming, and a bubble of laughter escaped from her for no reason, triggering Sharon to do the same.

She was really kind of beautiful, in the darkness. But that sounded bad - Sharon was pretty in the daylight, and in the moonlight, and through the lens of drunk, smug Alaska. She had successfully created the worst date, and she’d had so much fun.

“This is so fucking fun…” Sharon slurred, wobbling as she clung to Alaska’s arm and laughed. “I’m counting the worms on the street. I’ve seen like five, and they’re all called Joe. They’re my sons now.”

“You’re a mother!” Alaska exclaimed. “How exciting for you! Congratulations!”

She almost tripped, grabbed onto Sharon for balance, and started howling with laughter. “Oooops, I might be a teensy bit drunk.”

“Good! So am I!” Sharon declared proudly. “I’m ha-having so much fun. This is definitely not the worst date ever. I’ve been- I’ve been on worser- more worse - badder dates than this. One time, this girl left me for her ex! At the table! Was fucking bad, Lask. But funny.”

Alaska gasped. “Aww, shit. You told me that! Now I gotta plan a w-worse date?”

Sharon smiled, her expression dopey. “I like hanging out with you! I’ve had so much fun tonight. Also, you’re waaaay pretty! Even though you’re a goof! A goofy goofball dummy head.”

“That’s me, baby!” Alaska puffed her chest out. “OH! I think that’s our car. It is! Let’s go, pretty pretty girl. You’re pretty too. Let’s gooooooo!”

-

No amount of alcohol was worth the raging headache that Alaska woke up with. Her memories were hazy but nevertheless still there, and as she tried to think back on the events of her night, her head spun. Where did Sharon end up?

The reluctant opening of her eyes soon solved that mystery. Alaska’s bedroom door was wide open, and if she squinted to try and focus her blurry vision, she made out the shape of Sharon’s body passed out asleep on her couch, one arm thrown up in the air and one leg stretched out. 

With a groan and an extreme amount of effort, Alaska shifted herself up and into the kitchen, overlooking the living room. She needed coffee and she needed it now. Thank god neither of them had work - there wasn’t a chance in hell that either of them would’ve been able to make it in.

“I feel like Satan’s asscrack right now.” Sharon’s voice came weakly from the couch. “I’m so tired.”

Alaska smiled, though Sharon couldn’t see her from where she was lying. “Coffee? I just brewed some… gonna fucking need it.”

“Oh, please. Black, no sugar, and toss in a Redbull if you got one. I need the caffeine more than I need a steady heart rate.”

Alaska poured the two drinks and brought them into the living room, the two of them laughing weakly at each other in their hungover, exhausted states. She handed over the mug and recalled how her drunken self had dwelled on Sharon being pretty as they walked together.

Sharon’s eyes were puffy and rimmed with smudged black makeup, her lipstick smeared across her cheek but mostly on her hand. Her hair was loose and stuck up wildly from the way she’d slept, not that she seemed to care. As she sipped her coffee, Alaska realised she must have offered her something to sleep in, as the offending pink dress had been discarded halfway across the room, and instead she wore an old Golden Girls t-shirt of Alaska’s. She looked a mess, as they both did. 

Alaska was sober, it was daylight, and she still thought Sharon looked beautiful.

Fuck. As much as Alaska hated the thought of it…. Jinkx might’ve been onto something.

-

Jinkx was onto something. 

Her case had suddenly had this amazing new lead, and within a day of hard field work, she had enlisted Alaska to join her for the arrest and taken down a guy she’d been hunting for months. It was obviously an amazing feeling, and as a celebration, she invited her friend over to spend the evening.

It soon became clear that Jinkx had an ulterior motive, because the questions began the moment that Alaska’s second glass of red wine had been refilled.

“So… no work talk tonight, we did a good job. How was your date?”

Alaska rolled her eyes and giggled, feeling relaxed in the comfort of Jinkx’s home. When she’d joined the force, she hadn’t expected to become such good friends with her colleagues, but Jinkx in particular had assumed the position of best friend in no time. Her home was slightly kooky and unusual, but the little touches of her personality made the whole place endearing and safe in Alaska’s eyes. In the soft lighting, a glass of wine down, she found herself more open to talk.

“I thought you said no work chat,” Alaska teased.

Jinkx coughed expectantly. “That wasn’t work and you know it. Spill, bitch.”

“Fine.” Alaska lazily sipped her wine. “I took her out and tried to embarrass her, succeeded, and we ended up having a really good night. Sharon’s pretty fun.”

“You could’ve stopped at pretty.”

Alaska laughed. “Are you sure it’s me you’re trying to imply liking her? You seem into her.”

“Har, har, har,” Jinkx shot Alaska a meaningful look, going as far as to push her glasses further down the bridge of her nose to make eye contact away from the lens. “She’s good looking, of course, but she’s not my type.”

“What makes you think she’s mine?”

Dangerous territory. Alaska still couldn’t shake the thoughts she had woken up sober with after their night out - that Sharon was pretty, even when she looked and felt like death. Sometimes, she’d walk into work in the morning and see that Sharon had tied her hair up or worn something different or just looked the same, and would internally note that she looked nice. It was like all of a sudden she couldn’t not notice her colleague’s appearance.

“The way you look at her.” Jinkx shrugged, matter-of-factly. “You have to admit there’s an element of attraction there.”

Alaska swallowed. She drank some more wine and thought for a moment - it wasn’t like she couldn’t trust Jinkx, but admitting it would feel so humiliating. Still, she supposed, there was a reason they called it liquid courage…

“To be honest, I feel like I’ve been looking at her differently since the date. Nothing happened, but I guess I’d never considered looking at her romantically before that. I mean, why would I?” She stared off into the distance, not quite wanting to look Jinkx in the eye. “She’s obviously pretty. It’s just that… I notice it now, you know? She’s this badass detective and that’s attractive, but then it’s like… she’s also this dork who likes dumb shit and it’s funny to me when she talks about it.”

Alaska’s gaze flickered over to Jinkx, who seemed to be masking her smugness in order to hide her judgement. Her face was so perfectly still that she burst into laughter, prompting Jinkx to do the same.

“I knew you liked her. You give her this look sometimes, I don’t think she ever notices it, but you smile with half of your mouth and then laugh at things she says. Almost subconsciously, I would say.” Jinkx wrinkled her nose and giggled. “I’m a love expert, just saying. I have a PhD in love.”

“You’re so full of shit.” Alaska deadpanned, and then spluttered into laughter. “I can’t keep a straight face. Look, I just… don’t know how to proceed with these new… observations, alright? I wouldn’t make a move on her, it’s not like she sees me the same way.”

Jinkx’s gaze somehow seemed wise, like an owl’s, and knowing. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“Wouldn’t be so sure?” Alaska repeated, confused.

Jinkx got up and started walking into the kitchen, her back to Alaska so she couldn’t read her expression. Dammit, social cues! Alaska was going to go crazy.

“Jinkx, wouldn’t be so sure?”

-

They texted a lot. Even sometimes at work, when they were only across the room from one another. Alaska would text something dumb that she knew would make Sharon laugh, and watch as she looked down at her desk and then smiled to herself, privately.

No one else got to see those smiles of hers. Just Alaska, who had caused them.

[luckyspike]

The Trouble with Nocturnal Ambush Predators - A Good Omens Fanfiction

when I went to post this on AO3 (found here), turns out Crowley’s weird statue has its own tag

shit’s wild guys

anyway crowley and aziraphale make a bet about how shitty crowley’s vision is

nobody but also everybody wins, in a way

count the parks and rec references. also of course i had to make someone a doctor because i live at work i guess idk

-

Everyone was rather surprised when Brian announced that he would be going to school with plans to become a doctor. Brian, who reveled in dirt and grime, Brian that even at twenty would wear clothes more than once if he thought he could get away with it, Brian that ate food out of takeaway boxes and still left them in the sink. It was startling, the image of Brian, that Brian, standing in a sterile operating theater, scrubbed and gowned and as anti-septic as possible. And yet, this was also Brian that was always there for the Them, who would come the moment he was called if help was needed, who swallowed his pride and rebuked his filthy habits if only for a few minutes, to help his friends and save the world.

It was surprising but, the Them and friends reflected, not entirely shocking. It did make sense, in a sort of way. “I’d really like to study infectious diseases,” he said one night over dinner at the Pulsifer’s, while everyone was still gathered around the table for drinks. It was late, and Anathema had gone an hour or so ago to put her little daughter to bed, even over the child’s protests and desperate clinging to Crowley, who objected much less firmly than any self-respecting demon should have. Well enough then, he told Aziraphale, when the angel had pointed it out, that he was only still a demon in technicalities only.

Pepper looked amused. “You should see him in classes,” she said, for she was in the same class as Brian, with her sights set on psychiatry as a specialty once she’d graduated. “He sits right up front, a real gunner, and every time they ask about some weird bacteria, boom! He’s right there with the answer.” She rolled her eyes, but she was laughing, too. “I think it was all the dirt he always had on him when we were kids - he communed with the germs and they accepted him as one of their own.”

Brian flushed. “I don’t talk to germs. I just think they’re jolly interesting, is all.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Adam Young said, leaned back in his chair with his hands folded behind his head. “Someone ought to, right? Otherwise we’d all die of cholera or something.”

Aziraphale frowned into his wineglass. “Nasty illness, cholera. I remember the pump outbreak …” He shook his head, putting an end to that reverie, and smiled at Brian instead. “It is fortunate you have such an interest, Brian - the world needs doctors, certainly.”

“So what’s medical school like these days?” Crowley asked, a mirror of Adam, leaned back in his chair with his feet on the table, idly swirling the scotch in his glass. “Last time I tried was, oh, the sixteenth century I think. Thereabouts.” He winced. “Pretty sure it’s got on since then. Hopefully.”

“Oh, yes,” Brian nodded. “Yes, I’d imagine it is. Very structured now, and there’s labs and independent study and practicing skills and all kinds of things, not to mention all the lectures and exams.”

“So many,” Pepper agreed mournfully. “Endless exams.”

“D’you practice on mannequins then?” Crowley looked thoughtful. “I’d imagine they do a good bit with mannequins.”

“Some yeah. And then some - the safer stuff - we practice on each other. Y’know …” Brian thought, waving his hands vaguely. “Listening to lungs and hearts, eye tests, that kind of stuff.”

Aziraphale looked up at that. “Eye tests, you say?” He looked across the table to Crowley, a grin slowly spreading over his lips. “Crowley, dear, we could finally settle the debate -”

“No. No, we can’t.”

Newt, who had been washing up in the kitchen, returned, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Debate? What are we debating, then?”

“Nothing,” Crowley griped. “Angel has been insisting for the past decade or whatever - since you kids were eleven, however long ago that was -”

“A decade,” Wensley confirmed.

“Right, so that long, I’ve had to hear about how I really shouldn’t be driving because snakes don’t have good visual acuity.” Crowley spread his hands. “To which I make my point: if I really couldn’t see, you think I would’ve gone this long with the Bentley without crashing it? Armageddon notwithstanding, that was extenuating circumstances.”

Aziraphale muttered into his wine, “Only thanks to occasionally-gratuitous use of miracles.”

“Occasionally, angel! Occasionally doesn’t count. Not like it’s a daily occurrence.

“And anyway, my vision’s better than a human’s at a distance and in the dark,” Crowley said authoritatively. “Horizontal planes an’ light refraction and all that. Saw a film about it.”

“Listened to a film about it,” Aziraphale mumbled. Adam snorted.

“Wasn’t very nice,” the boy said, although he was grinning.

Pepper laughed a little too, while Crowley presumably glared at Aziraphale - the sunglasses, as ever, made it difficult to tell for sure. “It’d be easy enough to test, if you really wanted to.”

“I don’t.”

“Not even for a wager?” Crowley looked at Aziraphale at that, and a long silence stretched out. The Them and Newt watched, rapt, because they’d only ever seen the two supernatural entities bet on something once before, and that was whether or not either of them could, after two bottles of wine, climb to the top of the biggest tree in Hogback wood without using miracles, wings, or shapeshifting*. They had, if memory served, wagered an entire years’ worth of song-selection privileges. It was, perhaps, fortunate that neither had won the bet, because in retrospect Adam considered it a distinct possibility that an ultimatum like that could only have ended in some kind of argument**.

[* They couldn’t, but no one had paid attention to that, because the entire spectacle was so hilarious that the end result was fairly irrelevant, and Crowley turned into a snake when he thought no one was watching and cheated anyway. ]

[** Crowley and Aziraphale, after the Nahpocalypse, argued very seldom, but being that neither liked to do anything by halves, arguments were usually intensely dramatic, if short-lived. The last argument had resulted in Crowley living in the garden at Jasmine Cottage as a snake for a weekend, and only ended because Newt threatened to call animal control on him if the two didn’t reach some kind of agreement about whether or not Tom or John Barnaby was the better detective .]

The demon was tempted. “What are the stakes?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Something.” Aziraphale shrugged. “Let’s say … oh, alright. You win, and I turn a blind eye to whatever you want to do to your plants for a month before the flower show next year.”

The Them and Newt, like spectators at a chess match, breathed out. “Oh, that’s a good one,” Brian mumbled.

“But if I win, which I will, of course, then …” Aziraphale considered it. “Then …” He thought harder, and then beamed. “Then next time the neighbors want to take a week holiday, you have to take care of their smallholding by yourself .” There were assorted gasps from around the table.

Crowley barked a laugh. “Absolutely not.”

“Because you know you’d lose.”

“No, because I always end up taking care of the smallholding by myself anyway, bloody goats.” Crowley leaned his elbows onto the table and tapped his chin with steepled fingers. “Right, when I win, I’ll … or you …” He brightened. “I get to yell at my plants, and you have to let me move the statue into the living room for an entire year.”

Aziraphale groaned. “Not the statue. No, just the plants.”

“No, the statue is a part of this.”

“When I win,” Aziraphale soldiered on, pretending they were not arguing about Crowley’s infamous Angel Statue that served as a crucial part of every argument and poorly-concealed threat in their relationship, “you have to put the blasted statue in a storage unit somewhere, and you take the speakers off that abhorrent vacuum cleaner."

Crowley looked appalled. “You’d cut out DJ Roomba’s tongue for a bet?”

“I’m hardly -” He looked to Crowley, and then relented, with a sigh. “Alright. No speaker on DJ Roomba for three months. Then you can put the speakers back on.” He seized Crowley’s hand the moment the other extended it, and they shook on it, both with equal enthusiasm and smugness. “I look forward to my three months of peace.”

“Can’t wait to put my statue in the living room and kill those bloody fittonias at last.”

Pepper and Brian exchanged a look, while Adam, Newt, and Wensley were trying to hide their laughter behind their hands. “We should print a Snellen chart,” Pepper said solemnly.

“Definitely need a Snellen chart.”

Newt nodded and stood from the table. “The printer is has bluetooth. Wait for me to be outside before you connect to it.”

Once Newt had vacated the building briefly, it was easy enough to print the eye chart. Adam found a measuring tape in a cookie tin full of sewing supplies***, and they solemnly marked out the ascribed distance. “Never done one of these before,” Crowley said, sobered-up for the endeavor. “What, you’re just supposed to read it?” Aziraphale was standing over his shoulder, arms crossed, looking so smug he might as well have already won. Perhaps he had.

[*** “ Why do you need it?” Anathema had asked him as she rocked Millie to sleep on her shoulder. Adam had explained, and she had nodded. “Oh, definitely,” she’d said. “The sewing kit is still in the linen closet in the bathroom - there should be a tape measure in there. Wait until I put Millie down to bed. I want to be there.” ]

“Yeah, you cover one eye,” Pepper instructed. “Right, and then you read the smallest line you can see. Ready?”

“Easiest bet I’ve ever won,” Crowley said, motioning to Brian to flip the corkboard he’d pinned the chart to. “Right, go for it.” The board flipped, and Crowley blinked. “Well, there’s the big ‘E’ at the top.”

“Everyone knows the big E,” Anathema said, dismissive. “He said read the smallest line you can.”

“Right. Ah …” There was an uncomfortable pause. “Can I try the other eye?”

“I knew it,” Aziraphale hissed triumphantly.

Brian swallowed. “Uh. In a minute. Um. Which … which direction is the ‘E’ pointing, then?”

Crowley frowned. “Whatever way ‘E’s usually point. What kind of stupid question is that?”

The assembled humans and one angel looked at the ‘E’ which was, very clearly, printed backwards. Aziraphale raised his hands to his mouth. “Crowley, you drove us here.”

“So? Didn’t crash, did I?” He switched eyes. “Oh, yeah, the other one’s better.”

“You’re serious?” Brian asked, craning his neck around to stare at the chart. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, so what’s that mean, then?” Crowley stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back onto his heels.

Pepper grimaced. “You’re legally blind?”

“No, that can’t be right.” He shrugged. “I drove us here, didn’t I?”

“He drove us here at 100 miles per hour,” Aziraphale added, in a mix of astonishment and terror.

“Right, and didn’t hit anything -”

“This time,” Anathema muttered under her breath.

“And made great time, all here, safe as houses.” He smirked. “Could a legally blind guy do that?”

“Maybe Daredevil,” said Newt, unhelpfully.

“Anyway,” Crowley went on, turning away to stalk across the room, past his horrified angel, and flick off the light switch, instantly plunging the room into darkness, “you’re not looking at this the right way. Move the chart around a bit, med student,” he instructed, the last part said with some disdain.

“You’re not at the line,” Brian protested.

“Just move it.” There was a whisper in the dark as the corkboard started moving in irregular figure-of-eights, Brian waving it around. Had it been light enough to see, his confusion would have been plainly evident on his face. “Right, so you got the ‘E’, which is backwards, then F, P, ah … T, O, Z, er … right, faster, okay, L, P, E, D, and then … Hm. Yeah, not sure after that.” The lights flipped back on, and Crowley put his sunglasses on. “So there.”

All the others looked from Crowley, to the eye chart, and back. “How?” Adam demanded. “You didn’t mess around -”

“Nocturnal ambush predator,” Crowley replied, as if it were obvious. “Plus, the ink’s still a bit warm from the printer. So even easier, really - I’ve got a whole extra sense, even, unless humans can see infra-red.”

“We can’t,” Wensley assured him.

“Right, so what’s that make me, then? I win, obviously.”

Aziraphale jumped in then. “Oh, no, no you don’t. Under human standards -”

“That was never specified.” Crowley grinned, and showed his teeth. Nocturnal ambush predator indeed. “Don’t try that with me, angel, remember which one of us is the demon, here.”

“It was inferred.”

“No such thing in a bet. Has to be expressly specified.” Crowley made a fist. “The fittonias die tonight.”

Since the lights had come back on, Anathema had been frowning, her lips moving occasionally as she clearly puzzled something over. She spoke, finally, slowly, and said, “But … but when you hit me with your car … it was night. And I was moving. And you were moving.” She looked at him, frowning. “You should have seen me, then.”

Crowley shrugged. “Wasn’t paying attention. No harm done, anyway.”

“Not after Aziraphale fixed me!”

Crowley scoffed. “Right. Like I said.” He pointed to Aziraphale. “I’m making an entire pop playlist for DJ Roomba just for this, angel.” He grinned even wider. “And I’m moving the statue as soon as we get home.”

“Really, dear boy, I don’t think this is as clear-cut as you say.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” Crowley pointed to Brian and Pepper. “Med students, stop me if I’m wrong -” they wouldn’t “- but the definition of visual acuity does allow for corrective devices, yes?”

“Yes,” said Pepper, while Aziraphale groused, “A moving chart and total darkness do not count as corrective devices, you know they mean glasses -”

“So there you go.” Crowley crossed the room and tore the chart from the board. “With corrective devices I’m … 20/50. So there. Not perfect but I still win.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were narrowed. “That’s cheating.”

“Again, if it’s not specified in the terms then technically it is not cheating. I’ve got books about this somewhere^, Aziraphale.” He spread his hands. “I’ve made a few bets and bargains in my life, believe it or not.”

[^ Books that were, he would not add, written in blood and bound in human skin.]

Aziraphale scowled. “You’re not putting that statue out.”

“Oh, but I am. I won the privilege.”

“You didn’t win anything.”

“Oh, but I did.” Crowley rubbed his hands together. “I definitely did. By the laws of betting.” He clapped Brian on the shoulder. “Thanks for moving the chart, kid.”

“And not letting the ink dry all the way,” Adam added under his breath with a poorly-stifled laugh.

Aziraphale was still scowling at Crowley, arms crossed over his chest. “We’ll discuss this further in the car.”

Crowley made a noise that might have been a chuckle, if there wasn’t just so much infernal glee instilled in it. “You sure you want me to drive home?” The angel’s wine glass miraculously filled itself. “Oh, so you’re going to be like that?"

“That statue is going out over my discorporated body.”

“It’s a very expensive statue.” He wilted a little under the blue fire in Aziraphale’s eyes. “Alright, we can talk about it in the car.”

The angel swallowed the wine in one gulp. “Capital.”

[absent-angel]

Blindside

Summary: When Lucy agreed to go on a blind date she hadn't been expecting, well, this. A valentine dedicated to my followers.

Rating: T

AN: This wasn't what I planned on giving you for a valentine but the other one started to turn a tad angsty and you all deserve some fluff from me for once. ;D Hope everyone had a wonderful day full of love (whether it be romantic, platonic, or even self). 

Read it on ff.net

Lucy evaluated her reflection in the store window thoughtfully. Not a single blonde hair was out of place, but she found herself lightly running her hands over the loosely curled strands just in case there was any frizz she missed. Her make up was impeccable (as it should be considering she spent over forty–five minutes agonizing over it), and the little black halter dress she had finally decided on (another hour long process) clung to her curvy body in all the right places.

She looked good. Damn good. 

She smiled at the thought, but immediately sobered back into a fit of nerves when she recalled exactly why she was dressed up in the first place. Down the street, sitting innocently on the corner, was a busy restaurant with a single man sitting at a table, waiting for her. A man who she was apparently suppose to find from a white scarf.

Lucy had half a mind to just turn around and go back to her apartment. This whole thing was completely ridiculous and she didn't know why she had ever listened to those twins Gem and Mini when it came to her love life. Blind dates never turned out well for anyone. It was like the unwritten rule in the dating world. So exactly why she had spent hours on her appearance for a night that was ultimately doomed to be a complete disaster was completely beyond her, but she had a feeling that the twins insistence that the person they were setting her up with was 'perfect for her' probably had something to do with it. 

A sigh passed her glossed lips, fogging up the glass of the lovely shoe display. Maybe she should just go shopping – those pink stilettos in the corner there were incredibly cute. She could totally rock them. 

Of course, then Gem and Mini would never let her hear the end of it.

The thought of their echoed words of infinite frustration immediately had her stepping away from the (oh so tempting) display and towards the restaurant at the corner. One night of disaster would be better than a lifetime of nagging from those two. Being that they were both actors, they had the annoying habit of impersonating close friends, especially when said friend had done something silly or stupid. It was hilarious most of the time, their impersonations were always spot on which made it even funnier, but the joke wasn't quite so amusing when it was her lack of dating prowess on front and center stage.

Checking her phone before she stepped through the restaurant doors, she reread the message Gem had sent her. 'He will be at Rainbow Sakura Restaurant at 6pm wearing a white scarf and sitting at a table for two. Have fuuuuuun!' It was five after now (was fashionably late still fashionable?) so if this mystery man had any kind of manners he should be in there. Waiting for her. 

God, tonight was going to be awful. She just knew it. 

Accepting the preconceived notion that she might as well kiss the rest of her night goodbye, she pulled open the large glass door. The hostess, hands full of a rather heavy looking reservation book, asked her if she needed a table and Lucy shook her head. "No. I'm uh, meeting someone." The heat she was feeling in her cheeks must have been visible because the plucky brunette gave her a little, knowing smile and turned to face the dining area. "Do you see him?"

Eyes scanning over the crowd, her fingers nervously fiddling with her little gold clutch purse, her gaze quickly landed on a small, private table in the corner of the restaurant. Or, rather, the white scarf wearing man sitting there.

Mercifully he was too busy concentrating on his menu to notice her blatant, evaluating stare. He was... cute. Bordering on handsome. The pink hair was a little on the odd side – she certainly never would have thought a man could pull off that particular shade and still look masculine, but somehow he managed. He had more of a boyish face – one that she suspected would sport adorable dimples if he smiled wide enough. He wasn't her usual tall, dark and handsome type but he looked friendly enough... the fact that he didn't seem to put as much effort into his appearance as she did was sort of annoying (since she had spent hours) but she could assume by his casual jeans and fitted t shirt that he would probably be more laid back. 

At first glance it didn't seem like his company would prove too terrible.

Summoning up her courage, Lucy confidently walked up to the table – letting just a little extra swing in her step. She expected him to look up before she arrived, but he must have been too focused on the menu to see her because she was soon standing right at the tables edge and he was still immersed the burger and sandwiches section. Ok... she could get a bit oblivious too when she was concentrating on something. She could let it slide.  "Hello?" she said, softly so as not to startle him too much.

His head jerked up, green eyes (a lovely dark shade, she noted) blinking up at her. "Oh, uh, hi."

She held out her hand. "My name is Lucy, it's nice to meet you."

After a few moments of hesitation, he took her hand and shook it gently. He was wearing an odd expression – as if he wasn't sure what to make of her. Perhaps he was one of those socially awkward types? "Uh, Natsu." She caught his gaze briefly drifting down before they quickly refocused on her face. Lucy did her best to hide her smirk behind a pleasant smile.

Of course, poor boy must have just been dazzled by her good looks. She did pull out all the stops.

She sat down in the chair opposite of him, noticing (but not commenting) on the fact that there was no menu waiting for her. The restaurant was really busy... maybe they ran short? She'd ask the waiter when he came by. "I haven't been here before, you?" she asked, trying to strike up a conversation as she set her clutch on the corner of the table. 

"Uh, yeah. I come here almost every Thursday..." He was still watching her, eyes open and curious. "They have really good burgers."

Somehow she wasn't really all that surprised to hear that his favorite thing on the menu came with a bun. He didn't really strike her as the shrimp scampi or tomato bisque type. If she was still in contact with her father he would probably mock him for having a “commoner's palette”. Lucy actually found it to be encouraging – "refined" hadn't really gotten her much of anywhere in the world of dating. She was a moment away from asking where he worked (because that was her usual follow up question when it came to first dates) but was interrupted by the arrival of the waiter.

He was looking between them curiously. "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't know someone was joining you." He promptly handed her an extra menu from under his arm, and she accepted it gratefully. "What can I get you to drink?"

His dark eyes were focused on her, so Lucy took the opportunity to answer first. "Just water for me, thank you." The waiter nodded in acknowledgement and she proceeded to open her menu, eyes skimming over the dinner options.

"I'm actually ready to  order," Natsu said, handing his menu to the waiter.

Lucy gaped at him, any earlier hope of him proving to be a decent date rapidly deflating.  He – he didn't even give her time to look at the menu! He had to be joking!

Their waiter seemed just as taken aback, glancing over to her with something akin to pity as he hesitantly took the menu being offered to him. "Oh, um, are you sure you don't need more time?"

"Nah," he said, seemingly oblivious to the disbelief Lucy knew had to be painted all over her face. "I always get the same thing anyway. I'll do the Jalapeño Burger with a root beer. Medium rare."

Cautiously, he pulled the notepad from his front apron pocket – casting Lucy tentative glances as he wrote down the order. After his pen finished scratching against the paper, he cleared his throat. "Anything else?"

Finally seeming to sense the tension around the table (and the waiter's pointed looks) Natsu blinked. “Oh!” he exclaimed, turning his attention back to her. "Did you want something, too?"

Did she – what the hell kind of date was this?! What were Gem and Mini even thinking when they set him up with this guy?! She pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth and forced a strained smile and closed her menu with a snap. "I'll just have a Caesar salad." Since, you know, she had no idea what was on the actual menu. "And I think I'll change that water to a Long Island Ice Tea," she added. She had a feeling she was going to need a drink before the night was out.

The waiter jotted it down, seeming a little relieved that her idiot date finally got the hint. "Would you like that delivered with your meal, or now?"

"Now." Definitely now. And, at this rate, maybe even another one to follow the first. Then, remembering her manners, she quickly added, "Please."

He nodded, sending her a little smile before putting his pen back into the pocket of his shirt. Lucy didn't miss the way he raised an eyebrow at Natsu as he passed – or the small shrug the pink haired man gave in response. 

An awkward silence descended over the small table, and Lucy found herself drumming her fingers on her lap. 

"So... Long Islands, huh?" He raised an eyebrow. "You know those have a lot of alcohol, right?"

She wanted to tell him that was the point, but she bit her tongue. Instead she assured him, "I can handle it." Only that was mostly a lie. She was a light weight. The only reason she ever ordered Long Islands was because one was enough to do her in, and she had a feeling she would be paying for her own meal tonight. 

He held his hands up, surrendering. "Alright, just don't say I didn't warn you. Cana makes them strong enough to sink an entire freaking football team. So you might just want to take it one sip at a time."

She eyed him, curious despite her irritation. "You know the bartender?"

Natsu shrugged. "Yeah, we grew up together."

"Huh," she hummed, "Well that probably comes in handy." At his questioning look, she leaned her elbows on the table. "Doesn't she give you a good deal on the drinks?"

The cringe he gave was full of embarrassment. "Uh, yeah. I'm actually not allowed to drink here anymore. Long story." 

She raised a an eyebrow skeptically. "In summary?"

"Might have broken a few things," he grumbled under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. 

In the face of his sheepish stare, her annoyance slowly ebbed. "So... you're one of those destructive drunks?" 

"Destructive is such a harsh word," he whined. "I'm just... enthusiastic."

She couldn't help it, she laughed. The sound seemed to startle him, but his teeth were soon flashing behind a lopsided grin. It was cute – he was cute. Even if he was completely oblivious to standard dating etiquette. There was something warm about him, something sincere.

The waiter returned, setting the tall glass in front of her. She thanked him with a smile before sipping from the straw. Natsu wasn't kidding – it burned like a straight shot going down and she had to fight back a grimace. "Wow," she wheezed, trying not to cough. 

"Tried to warn you," he snickered, leaning back into his chair. "So what about you?"

Lucy took another sip, finding it more tolerable the second time around. "What about me?"

"What kind of drunk are you? I bet you're one of those crazy drunks!" 

His tone was teasing, and she rolled her eyes in good humor. "Really? At least I've never been banned from drinking in public for breaking things."

"Hey," he said warningly, though there was no real threat behind it. "You didn't answer the question! If you're going to keep drinking that thing," he gestured to her Long Island, "You should at least tell me what to expect."

She shook her head, lips curving in amusement. "Fair enough I guess, though you really don't have much to worry about. I'm more of a..." she trailed off, eyes settling on a man towards the back of the restaurant who was stalking towards the exit. His expression showed that he was very much disgruntled, but she was more focused on the accessory draping over his shoulders. 

A scarf. A white scarf.

Natsu waved a hand in front of her face. "Hey! Don't leave me hanging!"

Lucy paled. It couldn't be. There's no way she could have made such a terrifyingly awkward mistake. But the more she looked at Natsu's casual clothes (a stark contrast from the suited man that just walked out) and considered all those little (huge) dating blunders she had been subjected to, the more she realized that yes, yes she did. "Shit," she cursed.

His nose scrunched. "Shit? What the hell is a shit drunk?"

She ignored him in favor of burying her head in her hands, fingertips threading through the meticulously hair sprayed locks. "I am such an idiot," she groaned, willing up every last bit of courage to look up at him. "You aren't here for a blind date, are you?"

His head tilted, brow furrowing as he matched her embarrassed stare with his confused one. "Blind –" His eyes widened, and Lucy knew he understood. Suddenly he was laughing, his mouth pulled wide and his eyes shining. Absently, she noted that she was right about the dimples – he sported a matching pair on either cheek. 

Humiliated, she grabbed her clutch from the corner of the table. She could feel the blood rushing to her face and knew her complexion was probably getting redder by the second. "I'm so, so sorry. I'll just – " Oh god. Her food. She ordered food. She couldn't just run. Her hands fumbled with her purse, praying to find cash she knew just wasn't there. She only ever used her debit and credit cards – it was lighter, less bulky than carrying cash. Tonight was no different. "Shit. Damn it!" Oh god this had to be one of the most embarrassing moments of her life and she just wanted to go hide. "I – I don't have cash." The waiter. Maybe if she found the waiter. "I'll just go –"

His hand caught her wrist as she started to leave her seat. "Hey, wait! Don't leave! Look, we can just split the check when the bill comes, yeah?" With his free hand, he rubbed the back of his neck and gave her a shy smile. "I mean, I know I've been a pretty horrible date and all, but I'm pretty good at the whole friendly conversation thing. You know, if you want."

Slowly, she sat back down and he let her wrist slip away from his hand with little effort. "I just can't believe..." She shook her head, leaning bonelessly against the back of her chair. She was still flushed from embarrassment but the urge to hide in the women's bathroom and cry was slowly dissipating.  "God this is so embarrassing."

"Ah, come on. It could totally be worse," he consoled, but his there was a teasing glint in his eyes that told her he found the entire situation hilarious.

She responded with a weak glare. "I doubt that."

"Ouch." He put a hand over his heart, as if she wounded him. "Does that mean I was your worst date ever?"

"Sadly, no." With the help of his lighthearted banter (and that easy, boyish grin) she felt her spirits tentatively lift. "The most mortifying, but definitely not the worst."

He gave a low whistle. "Well damn, that's saying something. I was pretty awful."

She snorted, her grin quickly growing. "You kinda were. Even the bad ones usually let me have a look at the menu."

Natsu cringed, but the appearance of one of his dimples on the right side proved that it was in good humor. "Yeah, definitely not a shining moment for me. But in my defense I really had no clue what the hell was happening."

Lucy fought a smile. "Well, that is a pretty good defense." For extra courage, she took another tentative sip of her drink before shaking her head. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Shrugging, Natsu leaned his chair back childishly until the front legs were about an inch from the ground. "I don't know. Pretty girl happens to sit at my table? Seems kinda messed up to send her away." His casual expression soured into something sheepish. "Uh, not that I would have if you weren't. Pretty, I mean."

A pleased blush dusted her cheeks, and she absently stirred her drink – the cherry red straw perched between her fingers. "I'm glad you didn't," she admitted, before gesturing to herself. "Because I sorta put a lot of effort into this, and it really shouldn't be wasted."

He made a sound in the back of his throat – an almost half laugh, half scoff. "Well that would just be a crime."

After taking another sip of her drink she responded, "I know, that's what I'm saying."

His eyes were bright and full of amusement, and Lucy found herself admiring the bright flecks of green in his irises. When he grinned at her like that, she thought that maybe 'cute' didn't do him justice after all. Talking with him was easy, and they quickly found themselves deep in lighthearted conversation about pretty much any and all aspects of their lives. By the time their food was finished, Lucy realized that she didn't have to fall back on her memorized list of "date questions" even once. 

When they got the check, Natsu refused to take her card ("What kind of awful date would I be if I let you pay?"). She wished she could stay longer, but a quick glance at the her phone proved what she already suspected. Slowly (regretfully) she slipped her phone back into her clutch. "I should probably get going. I have work in the morning."

Natsu nodded, her words seeming to sober him. "Yeah, me too." He stood up, sliding his chair in before putting his wallet in his back pocket. "I'll walk you out?"

She tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "Yeah, I'd like that."

They left together, Natsu waving casually to the pretty brunette behind the bar with a casual, "See you later." Lucy didn't miss the lewd grin his childhood friend responded with, or the suggestive lilt to her voice when she told them to have a good night. The blonde was thankful for the cold fall air once they stepped outside – it helped cool the heat from her cheeks. 

"So," she said, fingers playing with the clasp of her clutch. "I guess this is good bye then."

He rubbed the back of his neck, seeming as disappointed as she felt. "You know... tomorrow is pizza night. Roma's off of 12th street is the best. So, I'll be there tomorrow. If you wanna, you know, meet me there?" A sheepish grin curling his lips. "For a not so blind date, maybe?"

Lucy had to bite her bottom lip to keep her answering smile from completely overtaking her face. "Will I get to look at the menu this time."

Under the light of the restaurant sign overhead, his eyes practically glowed with excitement. “I think I could probably manage that.”

[diamondsareapearlsbestfriend]

Sans/Toriel 30 Day OTP Challenge: Day Seven

AO3 | Day One | Day Two | Day Three | Day Four | Day Five | Day Six

day seven: laughter

prompt: “Your OTP making each other laugh. Jokes? Stories? Tickle fights?”

Sans' memory is hazy at the best of times, but no matter how many years or timelines go by, he's pretty sure he'll never forget the first time he heard Toriel laugh. 

Some things from back in the Underground, he's still not sure whether they happened, or how they happened, or if they happened to someone else entirely – but that day, he remembers almost better than anything. The pause before the punchline, that fleeting moment of uncertainty as he realised he wasn't alone – and then those glorious, unrestrained, braying howls of laughter like nothing he'd ever heard before, right when he was starting to think he'd heard it all before, that they were all just locked in the same pointless loop until the next reset. Maybe you'd call it fate or destiny or something, if you believed in that stuff. Sans never did, but he did know back then, leaning back against that ancient forest door and listening to her laugh at everything he said like he was the funniest, the most fascinating guy in the world – and she was pretty damn hilarious herself – that nothing was ever going to be the same.

Sans always knew he wanted to keep making Toriel laugh for as long as she'd let him, but really, he was pretty much gone from the first time he saw it in person; not just the sound, but the way her whole face transforms as she clutches her belly, doubling over or throwing her head back as she laughs, throat bared and all her fangs on show with a totally unashamed, raw, almost primal energy that has absolutely no business being as attractive as it is. Sans isn't expecting to be as into it as he is, but hey, he's always been down for learning new things. Specifically, figuring out just how many different noises he can get Toriel to make – snorts and shrieks and howls, and sometimes he can even make her bleat, when he gets the ticklish spot right behind her ear.

He gets to learn a lot of her different laughs: there's the lighter, almost musical titter when she's in a good mood, pleased with herself as she pulls another delicious dessert out of the oven, or recites a particularly interesting snail fact or historical tidbit from school to Sans or Frisk or anyone else around to hear it, and then there's the shrill, high-pitched giggle that pops up when she's nervous or uncomfortable or trying to hide something.

Toriel is a terrible liar, Sans figured out pretty fast; she feels too much to be able to keep it from showing on her face, her eyes too wide and expressive to hide whatever's on her mind and in her heart. A little inconvenient if you're trying to plan a surprise party, sure, but Sans has to admit he's always loved that about her, how open she is and how easily he can read her when he gets to know her tells. Maybe it's a little because he got a little too good at pretending himself over the timelines – but mostly it's just the way Toriel's mouth twitches or how she scrunches up her nose right before she cracks, secrets spilling out in breathless, hysterical whoops, and then Sans starts too before he even has a chance to press her for details, until they're both just giggling like numbskulls at nothing, but it's worth it. It's always worth it.

The one that might actually be his favourite, though, that usually comes later. When they're just chilling on the couch, Toriel with a book on her lap and Sans sprawled out with his legs hanging off the end of the sofa and his skull resting against the crook of her arm or shoulder. He'll be telling her about his new genius idea of giving out discounts for every ten hot dogs or cats a customer can get on their head, or how someone's been stealing beer mats from Grillby's and it's definitely not him, despite what anyone says, because he's been pretty much set for life since back in the Snowdin days. Toriel might only be half listening, peering over her glasses at her lesson plan, but she'll still laugh, a soft, indulgent chuckle as she rubs the palm of her hand tenderly over Sans' skull, warm and comforting as a freshly baked cinnamon bunny.

It might not be as loud or as long as the first time, but it's real, and it's her, and it's perfect.

(Maybe later, some time further down the line, Sans will tell her he's pretty sure he's been in love with her ever since that first day, when he first heard her laugh. Toriel will laugh at that too and insist he's just flattering her, that he couldn't possibly have known that back then, when she was just a voice behind a door – but she'll still reward him with a kiss on his skull or a nuzzle against his cheekbone, and Sans still thinks that maybe, in some way, they've both always known it was true anyway.

Once, back in the Underground, he heard Toriel laugh and he started to feel like maybe there was hope, maybe there was still something, someone out there he could believe in. Someone who might be able to make all the timelines he'd trudged through over and over again worth it in the end.

Now, on the surface, he hears that laugh every day and he knows he was right.)

Toriel has learned many things, in her time, and come later to learn that perhaps not all of them were true. But if there is one thing that she has only come to realise more and more over the years, it is that one must be able to laugh.

Perhaps she had not realised just how much she had missed it until she met Sans; swapping jokes through that old forest door, she felt more alive than she had done in decades, simply to laugh again and to share that joy with someone who sincerely appreciated her jokes, genuine mirth rather than polite, insincere titters out of a desire to appease their queen. Toriel knows well that a smile can conceal a multitude of complications, because people rarely look beneath the surface as long as it reflects what they want to see, reassuring them of what they have already decided to be true – and having known him only as a voice, the first time she finds herself quite fascinated by Sans' appearance, the hard edges and sharp contours of his skull, strikingly different from her own pliable flesh and fur, and his teeth bared in a seemingly ever-present smile, a mask to the world of permanent amusement or indifference.

Yet Toriel has lingered for many hours listening to Sans laugh, and she only grows to appreciate the differences more from up close, when they are firing puns back and forth at one another; the subtle yet unmistakable shift in Sans' smile from merely a fixture to a genuine grin, his warm chuckle as instantly comfortable and familiar as from behind the old forest door, yet immeasurably more wonderful, more satisfying to behold in the flesh and bone– especially when she is the reason for it. Sometimes, when something truly tickles his funny bone, a tiny dimple appears in his left cheekbone, and it is one of Toriel's favourite things in the world. 

Sans may have the superior comic timing of the two, maintaining a naturally deadpan delivery up until the moment he drops the punchline; indeed, Toriel is almost envious at times, because she is prone to giving the game away by laughing at her own joke before she can tell it – but she can still surprise him every once in a while, relishing the moment Sans' sockets widen before he lets out that wonderful long pfffft of laughter when she sneaks in a pun before he does, or recalls the somewhat perplexing incident when a child asked they could have their milk from Toriel instead of the cow on the carton. He'll turn to her with a high five or fist bump, which Toriel has just about learned to catch, but even if she does not they are usually both laughing too hard by then for it to matter.

(She may also not be above more devious means, having discovered that skeletons are indeed ticklish – or hers is, at least, especially his ribs and lower spine, and blowing a raspberry there is quite an effective method of persuading Sans to move when he does not wish to, which is often. Until he retaliates, digging his fingers into Toriel's sensitive sides until she is helpless with giggles, and war has been declared, both of them rolling around the bed tickling each other until someone pleads for a truce. Or – on one unfortunate occasion – until Frisk walks in and, having evidently misunderstood what they have just witnessed, runs away again covering their eyes with both hands and yelling “sorry oh my gosh Mom I'm so sorry I didn't know you were I really didn't mean to –“ before running straight into a wall.)

But sometimes it is the moment just before, when Frisk and Papyrus are eagerly talking about their hard day's “ambassadoring” and something will remind them of an earlier joke. Toriel has only to catch Sans' eye, that dangerously infectious twinkle of amusement in his sockets, and they are laughing before either has even said anything, her braying snorts and his deeper chuckles intertwining and building to something louder, stronger, virtually unstoppable until there are tears rolling down Toriel's cheeks and her stomach aches, but it is surely the sweetest pain of all. Frisk and Papyrus will shake their heads, exchanging fondly exasperated looks over their respective family members, but they know by now not to take offence; that it is just Sans and Toriel being Sans and Toriel.

Eventually, they will sober up, the warmth in her soul remaining even as their laughter fades away. Toriel looks at Sans, sees the kaleidoscope of emotions somehow contained within that smile – laughter and trust and love, all for her, so much brighter and better than she ever dreamed it could be, ever since that first time she heard him back in the Underground. Leaning against each other long after they have stopped laughing, his head on her shoulder and her cheek resting against his skull, she feels like she is home.

As long as Toriel can laugh – and as long as she has Sans to laugh with – she knows she has nothing to fear.

[lady-trickster]

That day...

I had to be home early. Lucky for me, practice had been cancelled so there was no use hanging around at the school after classes let out. The daylight hours were still short so I walked home in the dark, the path illuminated by only the dim streetlamps and the glow coming out of the windows of nearby houses. I didn't need the lights either way — my route home was second nature by that time.

My uneventful day quickly turned into an eventful evening when I heard a man and a woman arguing in the distance. A part of me begged to go home another way, but the rest of me decided to investigate the commotion further. From the sounds of their yelling echoing through the streets I would cross their path anyways. I continued onward, the woman's frantic screaming quickening my walking pace into a full-blown sprint.

When I finally came across them, I found a man harassing a woman... The air reeked of alcohol around him. He reached at her, grabbed at her wrists... I feared that he would resort to violence if the woman continued to resist him. She was in danger.

The thought crossed my mind to call the police, but of course I had forgotten my phone at home, and the nearest public phone was too far away for comfort. Thankfully I heard the sirens from police cars approaching, alerting me that someone else had heard the woman’s cries for help. I wasn't the only one who heard the sirens — the man paused for only a moment before he pulled the woman harder, more frantically. He was desperate to be gone before he could be seen. His drunken rants continued as he continued to shove and pull her, spewing more slurred words and insults her way. The woman ignored him, trying to get away from his firm grasp. She looked at my direction, a pleading look in her eyes. She saw me standing there, witnessing everything that was happening. "Please, help..!"

I couldn't ignore her. I had to do something. Anything. So I approached the man, not-so-gently pulling him away from her. The man stumbled backwards and, in his drunken stupor, tripped over his own two feet and fell face-first into a nearby guardrail. For a moment I couldn't help but wonder if I had pulled him that hard, but he towered over me and was at least twice my weight.

Reflecting back on it, it’s hilarious to think of such a large man being toppled by a teenage girl. However, in that moment, I was in shock and fear at my own strength.

The man was finally forced to acknowledge me, all 160 centimeters and 52 kilograms of me. White hot rage burned in his eyes as he realized a young girl of barely 16 years of age had toppled his mighty frame. "Damn bitch,” he spat with such clarity. It was terrifying how quickly he had sobered up. “I'll sue!"

I froze up as the man pulled himself upright and continued his argument with the woman — they were going on and on about money or something... At that time I couldn't comprehend what was happening. I only snapped out of my own stupor when I heard the man direct the woman to make a false statement to the police. I couldn’t help but laugh from the stress of the situation. What bullshit — he fell on his own. The smell of alcohol and his inability to stay upright would surely work against him, and with the woman as both a witness and victim of the man, there was no reason for her to cave to his demands...

Unfortunately, I misunderstood the leverage he had over her... and over the police. The woman gave her false testimony, and as soon as the drunken man gave the word, I was accosted by officers from all sides and then shoved into the back of a cruiser only to be transported to the coldest, dampest prison cell I thought I’d never have the misfortune of being held in.

During that entire time she couldn't even look at me. Yet, I felt more pity for her than anything. That man, on the other hand...

... I wish I had gotten a better look at his face.

Author's note: 165 cm ≈ 5' 5". 52 kg ≈ 115 lbs.