#serious as a grave and completely no nonsense all at the same time

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

"Fangdad" I'm soft uwu

Haha awww, he is best Fangdad!!!!! I’m so glad you enjoyed my nonsensing uwuwuwu 💕💕💕💕💕

[redrosesartcabin]

Kenji x first perspective female reader:

Things happened

—————————————————

(Hey, how is it going peeps! This was requested by @xxno-0xx . I hope you all, and especially the requester, like it. Only one warning: It involves some swearing, so if you don’t like that don’t read. If the requester doesn’t like it, please tell me and I’ll edit the story! Also: The story plays somewhere either between season 2 and 3, or somewhere around season 3. Though not in a canonical episode)

It’s crazy how things sometimes happen.

A very vague description, I know, but it’s the only way I can convey how I feel.

Things happened that made me have the opportunity to go to Jurassic Worlds Camp Cretaceous.

We had won the league as the best female Baseball team, with the price being -besides the typical golden trophy and some media glory- a trip to Camp Cretaceous for one of us. And as the team leader, I was chosen as the one who can go.

“Oh no it’s fine!”, I had said. I already had a funny feeling about the trip. But they all had insisted, “it’s fine”, they had said, “it’ll be cool” they said.

Oh and weren’t they just so right. I am super peachy.

Practically prancing through the jungle and killing Dinos with my little finger-

Ok that’s enough, I think y’all got the gist: The shit had hit the fan.

Things happened, that made everyone be gone, and suddenly it was up to us to survive on this pretend Prehistoric nightmare.

At least my beloved baseball bat had survived the fall of the Camp Cretaceous building. After that discovery I didn’t let go of it anymore. I took it everywhere with me, hitting every living being that even dared to breath in my new found friends direction.

Friends… I had never thought, before the evacuation of Jurassic World and all that crazy stuff happened, that I’d ever call any of them that. I hadn’t really found any of them to be friendship material. I love baseball and building things out of wood in my free time and had a dry, sarcastic sense of humor. The only person in the group who had come close to that was Yaz, but she had been so closed off, that I couldn’t really tell before we became a group that fought for their survival. Darius also had been ok, but I was older than him and we didn’t have anything in common, so that checked itself out. Everyone else sort of annoyed me in one way or another. Especially Kenji’s pompous ass. He had appeared very full of himself and just generally narcissistic, or at least painfully self centered and pretentious.

Now imagine how surprised one might be, when one figured I was crushing on the guy.

Let’s just say, that things happened that made me see Kenji in a completely different light.

Turns out he has a good enough sense of humor to catch my drift when I speak “in sarcastic” as he likes to call it. Turns out, he was a loyal and fun friend. Turns out he was just a lonely soul, neglected by a father whose work is more important to him than his own son.

Everything turned out different than it appears about him. He still sometimes annoyed me with his pranks and especially when he wouldn’t shut up about his wealth. The latter however became very apparent as the means to show that he was someone, although he didn’t need to prove that anymore. But of course he would think that’s how people would like him, his father had taught him no better.

The first thing I mentioned somehow makes me love him even more. It annoys me, gets such a rise out of me, that it’s somehow funny again. It gives me a spark and Kenji seemingly seems to enjoy seeing that spark. And him enjoying that spark makes me somehow happy as well. It would start with a cat fight and ended in rigorous laughter.

“Why so serious?”, he would sometimes ask when I’d respond with a glare towards him when he’d steal my bat for what felt like the fifty millionth time.

“You’re getting so creative. I barely saw it coming”, I answered dryly and one could practically see the words alternating between being written in small and big letters.

“Well then you should have no problem finding your sweet baby bat then”, he cooed. Looking deep into his dark brown eyes and almost devilish handsome grin made me both want to punch and kiss him, which may have made me irritable and even madder.

“Finding? Why should I find anything if I have a living and breathing treasure map. Come here!”, I demanded with a creepily sweet grin as I’d walk towards him. Then he’d run, I’d run, we wrestled for a second on the ground only to break into a laughing fit, rolling on the floor, crying tears, resolving this nonsense prank and then getting back to either relaxing or fighting off Dinosaurs… again.

I didn’t think, however, that anything could happen between Kenji and me.

For many a reason, though only two are essential: For one, we were busy surviving, one barely had time to get downtime with the group, yet alone for themselves. Secondly, I didn’t really know, or couldn’t really tell, if he felt the same. Maybe it was my own insecurities coming to light or something, but I just couldn’t really believe it.

Seemed unlikely.

But then things happened.

Kenji and I were on the run from an especially nasty, big Dinosaur. We had been collecting some water in big canisters and wanted to head back to camp when it sneak attacked, unexpectedly.

It snared at us, opening its huge mouth, showing a row of thin, long, sharp teeth.

“Fuck off, you tooth pick mouthed asshole!”, I hissed back at it, flailing my bat at it in panic.

The reason for my irrational action was mainly, that we were stuck between two huge rocks, backed up against another rock with no way out.

Maybe hills or mini-mountain were a better description, but it’s also not important.

All that I could think of was that we were stuck and that little fucker wanted to eat us.

“Calm down, y/n, this isn’t making anything better!”, Kenji tried to reason with me. I was close to shouting some obscenities at him or a dry ‘got a better idea, genius!?’, but this time his dark brown eyes, that often had a mischievous twinkle, calmed me, instead of creating the usual spark. I crawled closer to him as we were pressed to the stone wall.

The Dino however wouldn’t give up. Vehemently, it pressed its ugly snout between the walls, stretching its uncomfortably wet tongue towards us and exhaling a nauseating breath.

I was paralyzed, as I looked at that thing, not knowing what would happen next.

Suddenly, I felt my bat being taken out of my hand. I watched as Kenji took on a fighter stance, the bat positioned over his head, ready for the hit.

“What are you doing! Didn’t you just tell me that we should calm it?”, I asked. He turned around, a frown adorned his face, “I said you should calm down”, is all he answered before he darted towards the animal.

“NO!”, I heard myself scream. I had never heard such a sound come from my throat. It was shrill, loud and all in all I couldn’t recognize myself. I was terrified, even more than when I first caught sight of this beast that had brought us into this situation.

Everything seemed to pass by in slow motion as I saw Kenji swing the bat towards its snout. At first I thought it was over for him as the Dinos mouth opened, the teeth seeming to scrape Kenji’s head, that’s how close it was to him… but then I saw Kenji swinging the bat again, directly hitting its head so that it flew against the stone wall. The beast wailed in pain, seemingly backing up, and just like that, it was gone.

“I… I made it”, Kenji first whispered, before he laughed, repeating, “I made it!”, even louder, jumping into the air and forming a victory fistbump in the air.

“That was awesome! Did you see how- Y/N?”, Kenji’s joy subsided as he looked into my angered expression. With a swift motion I took my bat back, glaring at him as I pressed out, between gritted teeth “let’s just go, hero”

Kenji seemed to have caught the sarcastic undertone of me calling him a hero, because I could physically feel his mood shift closer to mine, “hey what’s with that attitude? I just saved our lives!”

“By doing what I also wanted to do. Great!”

“You were panicking! I don’t know if you would’ve gotten a good hit by panicking. Besides, I couldn’t risk you getting hurt!”, he explained.

For a second I could feel my heart flutter, but that didn’t help my opinion on what just happened.

“But you were ready to risk yourself?”, I asked, my tone bitter.

“Why are you so mad?”, he asked, “we are safe, what more could you want?”,

“I-“, I stopped in my tracks, thinking. Yeah: What was I so mad about? He was right, I had panicked. Panic never helps with concentration and right decision making. I found it impressive, that he had the courage and the focus to fight the Dino off. But I just couldn’t fight off the thought of it going wrong. What if he would’ve been eaten?

“What-“, I wanted to repeat what I had been thinking, but could feel a hiccup, breaking the tear flood inside me. No- I was not going to cry. I took a deep breath, looking directly into his confused visage, “- what if it would’ve gone wrong, I’m just… I- I wouldn’t have known what to do without you. I can’t imagine being without you anymore”.

I saw and heard him gasp, his glance unfreezing from his confused state.

“I didn’t realize I was that important to you”, he answered.

I chuckled, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes, “everyone is important to me from the group, I wouldn’t have liked any of them to risk their lives for me but- but especially not you. I- I can’t believe I’m going to say this - I had vowed to take this to my grave ya know-“

“- Get to the point”, Kenji urged me.( I wasn’t looking at him, but he later told me he had smiled whilst saying it, I however thought he was getting annoyed and was almost too scared to continue. Stupid how that sometimes works)

“- I, eh- I’m in love with you I think. Or at least I definitely feel very strongly for you”, I confessed, “there! Now you have something to use against me. Finally got something you can laugh at again on this miserable Isla-mpf”, my self deprecating monologue was interrupted by soft lips catching mine. It almost took my breath away, but then I leaned in, still not believing this was happening, though it definitely was.

“I’m not going to laugh, I love you too. I wouldn’t be stupid enough to risk everything if I didn’t”

“That’s cheesy, but I appreciate the honesty”, I said, wearing my usual shit eating grin as I regained confidence back.

“Oh look who's talking now”

“Oh shut it!”, I laughed and just like that, I found myself kissing him again.

“And here I thought I had to worry, but you two just ran away to make out”, I suddenly heard Darius in the background, half serious, half amused by the moment he found us in.

I quickly broke away from Kenji, grinning sheepishly, “You know how it is Darius: You get chased by a Dino, and then you need a kiss to make the boo boo go away… just so happens I got a bit of a chap on my lips, and Kenji wanted to make it real good again”, I explained, earning a silent chuckle from Kenji.

Darius rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hold back a smile either, “let’s get you love birds home”

————————

And so things happened. Did we have much time to enjoy us being a couple? Not really.

Did more things happen, making everything crazier and tougher?

Did the rift between Darius and Kenji make me anxious as I was sitting by Kenji’s side, as he, with an expression that was too serious for my liking, drove the yacht?

Absolutely.

But I know, that at least he’s by my side still, as am I, and we will make things happen so that we can finally be free from this place.

Hopefully, we’ll make it.

Depends on what the Dino on the yacht has to say about it...

[tinyboxxtink]

"Weird Secret Friends" *Chapter 12*

Chapter 11

(i fucked this up by editing on my phone and now I have to post the next chapter link like this. )

Whoooo buddy! The angst is REAL, y'all.

I apologize for this, but also I really don't. And I made it normal length to make up for that short shitty one earlier.

Enjoy!!!! Mwahahahahha

Tag List

@madamsnape921

@lolliepopsicle

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@milkshqke

@wanniiieeee

@word-scribbless

@gibbs274

@sassyada

@aprildecker-blog

@bookishfanfic

@stars-in-the-skies-world

@stars-trash-18

@omgsuperstarg

@objection-argumentative

@thatesqcrush

@shittanyy

@mrsrafaelbarba

---------

It seemed like forever for the ambulance to get there, Rafael just sat there trembling and crying while you started to convulse in his arms. Finally the door busted open and EMT’s threw you on a gurney and took you downstairs. Rafael sprinted behind them and jumped in the back of the ambulance as it sped away.

“Y/N….Carino please, please don’t die on me…” Rafael stroked your hair as you were hooked up to oxygen and anti drug meds. It was like literal hell having to watch this all over again, even worse that it was someone he actually...loved.

“Please, please don’t die…” He looked up to the sky.

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

Rafael paced the hospital waiting area furiously, they wouldn’t let him go back with you once the ambulance got you both there. When he saw Sonny running up the hallway towards him, he grabbed him by the neck and shoved him up against the wall.

“I TOLD YOU!!!!” He screamed violently, while several nurses ran over and pulled them apart.

“Rafael! Jesus Christ--” Sonny was breathing heavily while he tried to recover from Rafael’s ambush.

“I told you something was wrong, I told you I knew her better than you did!” He tried to wrestle away from the nurses.

“Okay I’m sorry, I’m sorry alright?!” Sonny yelled, tears starting to fill his eyes. “I should have listened to you--”

“You’re god damn right you should have!!!” Rafael continued to scream.“ She could die right now, do you realize that?”

“Of course I realize that!” Sonny screamed back while looking around them, trying not to make a scene.

“God dammit Carisi, she knew better than you. Why didn't you listen to her?!” Rafael was beginning to cry; he was so upset.

“Barba I--” Sonny started to apologize.

“Excuse me, is Miss Y/L/N’s family here?” An orderly came out from the back.

“I am!” Sonny forgot about Rafael and ran over to the man, Rafael did the same.

“I’m sorry sir but this is really just a family conversation--” He started to dismiss Rafael, but Sonny put his hand up.

“He’s fine,” He assured the doctor.

“Right, well--” He cleared his throat as he led them to a more quiet area. “The damage to Y/N’s body is pretty bad,”

“....God,” Sonny muttered, putting a hand over his forehead.

“The mouthwash has several chemicals that aren’t in traditional grain alcohols, mostly lethal. And her pancreas, liver and gallbladder were already severely damaged from the years of alcohol abuse,” He explained as he looked gravely between the two men.

“No…” Rafael put his hands over his face.

Flashbacks of a very similar conversation happening between a doctor and his mother filled his mind. The way his mother fell against the wall when she heard the doctor say there was a good chance his father was never waking up.

“How bad is it, doc?” Sonny’s voice quivered, and Rafael instinctively took his hand.

“Well, we had to completely remove the gallbladder, and parts of her pancreas so she’s most likely going to develop diabetes,” He further explained. “...And she most likely will need a liver transplant, depending on how the next 24 hours go,”

“Christ…” Sonny whipped his hand from Rafael’s touch and put both of his hands over his head while he paced.

“Can we see her?” Rafael asked.

“Yes, you know your daughter is very lucky to be alive,” The doctor informed them.

“...Excuse me?” Sonny asked while he and Rafael exchanged confused looks.

“...Are you two not her dads?” The doctor waved his pen between the two men.

“Oh my god,” Rafael muttered in horror, wanting to vomit right there.

“Uh, no sir-- no we’re not,” Sonny shook his head. “I’m her uncle and this is my partner,”

“Excuse me?!” Rafael practically screamed in disgust.

“...Do you want them to let you back there to see her or not, honey?” Sonny said through his teeth.

“Right,” Rafael nodded uncomfortably, taking Sonny’s hand once more. “We’re her...Uncles,” He tried not to grimace.

“Oh, right. So sorry sirs,” The doctor apologized once more as he led your “Uncles” to the room you were in. You were unconscious, but breathing on your own.

“She might be out a while from the meds, if you’d like to come back tomorrow,” The doctor informed them once more.

“Uh, I think we’ll wait at least for a little while, if you don’t mind doc,” Sonny replied while Rafael walked up to your sleeping body and just stroked your hair lovingly.

“Whatever you two want to do is fine with me,” He nodded. “I have other patients to see, if you’ll excuse me,”

Sonny nodded to him and he walked out of the room leaving the three of you alone. Sonny ran his hands through his hair while Rafael pulled a chair up next to your bed, still stroking your hair.

“...Barba I think you should leave,” Sonny said softly.

“...What?” He laughed. “Are you...are you fucking joking me, Carisi?”

“No look,” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, I’m sorry I didn’t hear her. And I’m sorry that I just...gave up, protecting her,”

“Yeah well--”

“But I hear you now, and-- and she’s going to need to go away,” He looked at your sleeping body sadly.

“She’s in no shape to go anywhere, Carisi,” Rafael clutched your hand as if he was protecting you.

“Not now, no,” Sonny agreed. “But when she’s better--”

“We don’t know if she’s going to get better!” Rafael suddenly stood up and walked towards him; Sonny backed up as he approached, afraid Rafael was going to grab him again.

“Even more reason you shouldn’t be here!” Sonny argued.

“What?”

“Barba look,” He cautiously put a hand on Rafael’s shoulder. “I...I get that you two have some kind of-- I don’t know, connection,” He glanced at you.

“But it doesn’t change the fact that you barely know her, and she barely knows you. You have a job and a life waiting for you tomorrow, you can’t be sitting here sitting vigil for some girl you slept with once,”

“How dare you fucking say that to me, Carisi,” Rafael’s eyes narrowed as he snapped his shoulder from Sonny’s grasp.

“How fucking dare you. First you don’t want me anywhere near her, then you tell her she’s nothing to me, then suddenly you think that I’m in love with her, and-- and now that I’m finally...attached to her-- you want me to just leave her alone again?”

“No, I never wanted you near her because of this exact situation!” Sonny hissed, trying not to wake you. “I told you straight up that she was complicated, and that you weren’t about that life,”

“I am about that life-- I’m serious, about her,” Rafael corrected himself, rolling his eyes at the terms Sonny used.

“Well I don’t think you should be,” Sonny crossed his arms.

“This is the jealousy thing again, isn’t it?” Rafael licked his lips angrily. “You and your stupid ego can’t stand the fact that we--”

“That is NOT it Rafael and you fucking know it,” Sonny narrowed his eyes.

“Then what is it?” Rafael crossed his arms. “It’s clearly not because it’s too much for me, because I’m flat out telling you it’s not,”

“Rafael--” Sonny placed his hands over his face. “I have spent my life protecting this girl, okay? And I may have dropped the ball here, but that just means that I will sure as hell not do it again. And that means that I have to have her best interest at heart,”

“What does that even mean?” Rafael looked at him quizzically.

“Her whole world is different now, Barba!” Sonny gestured to you. “You heard the doc. She has no gallbladder, whatever the fuck that means, she will probably get diabetes, god knows what will happen even if she needs a liver transplant, but my guess is it ain’t good!”

“...Well she won’t be able to drink alcohol,” Rafael said softly.

“Which will make her sobriety that much more urgent and permanent, Barba,” Sonny stepped towards your bed.

“She’s gonna have a long hard road ahead of herself no matter which way this goes right now, and keeping her on track is the only way she is gonna get through it. You think she’s gonna be able to focus on anything but you if you stay here?”

“I can help her--” Rafael insisted, glancing down at your innocent sleeping face. It broke his heart you were hurting, now all he wanted to do was take care of you and make sure you never hurt again.

“You don’t have the time or the freedom to do that, Rafael,” Sonny said sternly. “And you know it,” Sonny’s statement brought him back to reality.

“And you do?” He looked back up at Sonny.

“I’m a detective, Barba. It’s not like I do that much,” Sonny shrugged. “And I have enough PTO for a bit to take care of her. And she’s my responsibility! She’s MY family, Liv will understand that. What she won’t understand is you sitting Shiva at some young girl’s bedside who you barely know,”

“....And what are you going to do when she gets better?” Rafael ran a finger down your bare arm, wishing you would wake up and stop this nonsense your cousin was spewing.

“I’ll ask around,” Sonny now sat next to your bed. “I’ll find her a good place, somewhere she can be taken care of the right way, not some creepy mental hospital,”

“...Alright fine,” He sighed, looking at his watch. It was getting late, and he had an early court date.

“I’m coming back--”

“No, you’re not,” Sonny shook his head. “Look I promise you if she gets worse and needs your emergency liver or kidney or somethin’, I’ll let you know. Other than that, just-- leave her be,”

Rafael flashed back to the last time Sonny had used those words, and how as soon as he agreed, you heard him and it destroyed you. He couldn’t do that again, what if you could still hear him?

“No, I’m coming back--”

“Barba if you come back here I’m gonna tell the nurses that we broke up and you are no family member of hers,”

“You,” He shook his head. “You wouldn’t do that--”

“If it keeps you away from her, I’ll do anything right now Barba, I’m sorry,” Sonny gave him a sympathetic look.

“...She’ll never forgive you for this, Carisi,” He warned Sonny. “When she finds out you kept us apart she will never forgive you,”

“What are you Romeo and Juliet all of a sudden, counselor?” Sonny scoffed. “Give me a friggin break. I’m sure she’ll get over it, when she’s clean and sober and thinking straight,”

“I’ll never forgive you for this,” he growled with a death glare.

“...Yeah, well--” Sonny stood up and started escorting Rafael out the door. “I guess that’s something I’ll just have to live with,”

Rafael glared at him once more before turning on his heels and stomping down the hall, just as you stirred from your med nap.

“Sunshine?” Sonny quickly ran to your bedside.

“Rafa..?” You sleepily asked, you swore you heard his voice just moments ago.

“It’s Sonny,” He nervously looked back at the door, making sure Rafael hadn’t heard you wake up and came running in again.

“Oh,” You blinked several times, trying to get your vision back. When the blur in your pupils resolved, you saw Sonny’s smiling face beaming at you.

“Hey there,” He kissed your forehead. “You scared the shit outta me there, Sunshine,”

“...I’m so sorry, Sonny,” You began to cry in remorse.

“Hey hey hey,” Sonny took you in his arms and shushed you while he rocked you. “Shh shh shh, you’re alright. I’m sorry I didn’t hear you when you were asking for help, I just--I just let you go,”

“...But Rafael didn’t,” You sniffled as you looked around the room for him. “Where is he?”

“He uh--” Sonny stammered. “He left, Sunshine. Early court meeting tomorrow, y’know. Lawyer stuff,”

“Right,” You nodded.

“...He said he wouldn’t be coming back,” Sonny added with a sympathetic look.

“What?” You blinked in disbelief. Had he really just taken off? Without even saying goodbye?

“Well it’s just,” Sonny took your hands. “Honey you’re-- you’re gonna have a lot to go through these next few weeks, maybe months. And Rafael--”

“He doesn’t have time for that,” You finished for him, accepting the truth.

“Yeah,” Sonny nodded slowly.

“Right,” You picked at your blanket as you stared down at it morosely. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything more than him dropping me here. He tried telling me that he was--”

“He was what?” Sonny quirked an eyebrow. You thought about telling him that Rafael had said he was in love with you, but you weren’t entirely sure that happened anymore, given how out of it you were at the apartment.

“...He was ready for a relationship,” You lied. “But I guess he wasn’t ready for a dumpster fire of a girlfriend,”

“You’re not a dumpster fire, Sunshine,” Sonny assured you.

“...Yeah clearly this doesn’t scream ‘damaged goods’,” You gestured to all the wires you were hooked up to.

“You’re not--” Sonny sighed and shook his head as he wrapped his arms back around you. “You’ll find someone,”

“...Not someone like him,” You whispered sadly, tears dripping down onto your IV tube.

“Well hey,” Sonny coughed as he tried to change the subject. “I better get goin’ make sure you get some good sleep,”

“...But I was just--” You tried to say you had been sleeping this whole time.

“I’ll come check on you tomorrow, kay?” Sonny kissed your head and started heading towards the door. He hated to do this, but he had to keep you safe. He turned around and gave you a sad smile.

“Hey, Sunshine?”

“Yeah, Son?”

“I uh, I don’t wanna rub it in or nothin’, I just--” Sonny cleared his throat. “Barba wanted me to tell you not to contact him anymore,”

“...Oh,” You looked over at your phone, which was charging on the table next to your bed.

“He just thought it would be easier, y’know? Clean break and all,” Sonny lied with a sad smile.

“Yeah, sure no of course,” You nodded, trying to keep it together.

“Alright well, I’ll see ya,” He nodded one more time before shutting the door, leaving you alone.

You immediately grabbed your phone and began typing a message to Rafael, telling him how you were sorry and that you never should have tried to kick him out, and that he saved your life and that you knew you were a huge mess, but that you would clean yourself and do everything in your power to be good enough for him if he just let you--and you just stared at it.

You re-read it a thousand times, tears streaming down your cheeks. You couldn’t send this, it was pathetic. He already made his choice, he tried to tell you he loved you and you had blown him off by almost dying in his arms. And he ran. You couldn’t blame him either, you’d run away faster than a Kenyan track star if you were him.

After going through all that bullshit with his dad, he’d never want to relive that with you, some girl he barely knew. There was no way. And begging him to come back to you after all the shit you said to him at your apartment was just pitiful.

You deleted the message and then started to delete his contact info, but you knew you needed to be drastic. If it was a clean break he wanted, you’d have to give it to him. You’d already put him through way too much stress and punishment than he deserved, you had to be stopped. You highlighted his number and hit “BLOCK NUMBER”, before deleting it from your phone.

There. Now there was no way you could find him, or vice versa. Clean break. You put the phone down next to you and laid down, realizing what you had just done. You had just deleted the potential love of your life from your existence, forever. You cried yourself to sleep, only dreaming of Rafael.

=============

Rafael laid down in his bed after getting home and showering the bad day off of him. He opened the text thread of your messages, and saw the ellipsis light up, signaling that you were typing. It was there for a long time, he became more and more anxious as they just flashed in the darkness, taunting him. He was so happy you were okay, he had to tell you what Sonny said but that he would never be able to keep him from you. He waited and waited, and then the dots were gone. He waited a moment for you to send it, but soon got impatient and just texted you

“Y/N I’m so glad you’re okay, you had me so worried. I miss you,”

He hit SEND, but was met with the most horrifying response:

“The number you have texted has blocked you from contacting them.”

“No…” He muttered alone in the dark. “No, this can’t be happening,”

Did Sonny have your phone? Did he do this? Did he tell you something to make you do this? Did you do this on your own when you realized he had left. Sonny had to have told you something bad, something diabolical. He had no way of contacting you now, and he would never get into the hospital to see you.

What was going on?

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

The next morning after his court session, Rafael headed over to the precinct to talk to Sonny. He practically sprinted through the door into the bullpen, to find it empty.

“...Where’s the SVU squad?” Rafael asked a cop at the front desk.

“Do I look like a concierge, Barba?” The cop rolled his eyes. “Does my badge say ‘doorman’? I don’t keep tabs on you people!”

“Thanks Louie,” Rafael rolled his eyes as he walked out of the station, dialing Sonny’s number on his phone.

“Hello?”

“What did you do?”

“Barba?”

“What did you do, Carisi?!”

“What do you mean?”

“Y/N blocked my number,”

“Well good--”

“NO, not good. Carisi. What did you say to her?”

“Y’know Barba, maybe you should take the hint and move on,”

“Oh fuck you, Carisi,” He growled into the phone. “I’m going to the hospital,”

“Yeah well, good luck getting in here counselor,” Sonny shook his head with a small laugh, glancing over at you in your room, while he stood outside. “I’ve told the nurses you were a deadbeat dad who wanted to kidnap our niece for yourself, so they’re on alert not to let you anywhere near her,”

“You’re evil,” His voice was low and horrified.

“I’m doing what’s best for my baby cousin, Barba. If that makes me the bad guy, so be it,” Sonny spoke like a mob boss, tracing the glass on the window to your room.

“I’ll see her when she gets out,” Rafael sneered.

“Well that might be difficult, seeing as I’ve found her a very nice place to go as soon as she gets outta here. Somewhere far away from here, and you,” Sonny couldn’t help but smirk.

“No, Carisi don’t do this,” Rafael became desperate, his angry threats turned to pathetic pleas. “Please don’t send her away-- I love her,”

“If you love her you’ll let her go, Rafael,” Sonny simply said, ending the call before Rafael could say anything else.

“GOD DAMMIT!!!!” Rafael screamed in the middle of the foot traffic, making people turn and stare at him.

He had to fix this. He couldn’t let you leave thinking he didn’t want you. He couldn’t lose you, not now. Not after everything.

Was he going to lose you forever?

[fanmoose12]

Partners

Characters: Petra Ral, Levi, Hanji Zoe x Levi Genre: Action / Mystery / Romance Rating: T

Detective!au

Summary: when Petra was promoted to a detective and partnered up with legendary Levi Ackerman, she felt like the happiest person in the world.

But, as she soon found out, detective Ackerman she used to admire so much was actually a far cry from the ideal policeman Petra thought he was. He was rude, harsh and easily annoyed. And, in addition, he still hadn’t moved on from the death of his previous partner - detective Hange Zoe.

Chapter 9/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Сhapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Сhapter 7

Сhapter 8

 "Have you lost your goddamn mind?" Levi paced around Erwin's office, his face dark with fury and his hands clenched into fists. "Erwin, since she won't listen, never listens to me!" he sent a sizzling gaze at Hange. "You tell that idiot that she lost her mind!"

"Levi—"

"Don't fucking Levi me, four-eyes!" he cut her off harshly. "What the fuck is wrong with you? That fucker ruined your life, and now, what, you're defending him?"

"I'm not—"

"I don't understand it! Just a few days ago you wanted to catch him. You were ready to sacrifice your own life to get that bastard. What the fuck had happened since then? Why are you trying to save him?"

"Levi." Hange’s voice was quiet, low. So unlike her usual one, it made shivers run down his spine. Levi knew that voice, Hange reserved almost exclusively for the worst, most despicable criminals and greedy snobs from the brass. She used this voice with him only once. And it was one of the most unpleasant moments of his life.

Hange slowly rose from her seat at the sofa and came to stand in front of Levi, looming over him. In the semi-darkness of Erwin's office, her eye was burning with fury.  

"Shut up and listen. Stop focusing on your desire to avenge Zeke. Believe me, I can't wait to get him behind bars, that's the only thing that got me through these past two years, but can't you see it? Someone's obviously trying to set him up."

"So what?"

"So what?" Hange repeated, disbelief and irritation painting her voice. "Do I really need to spell it out for you? If you let Zeke go to prison for someone else's crime, then the real criminal won't be punished for the death of two civilians. Is that what you want? Have you forgotten about your duty?"

Fuck.

Levi took a step back from Hange, lowering his head and hiding his eyes from her. She was right, of course, she was right. He was too blinded by his hatred to see it.

"Besides," Erwin spoke up, reminding them that he was still there. He was sitting at his desk, hands folded beneath his chin. Levi looked up, staring at him cautiously. When Erwin wore that particular expression – brows furrowed and lips pressed in a line – it always meant bad news. "Zeke is not the only one who's being set up."

"What do you—" 

"I've been thinking about this too," Hange agreed. 

Levi let out a low growl. He hated when these two did it. Kept him in the dark about their genius revelations. 

"So? Fuckling enlighten me then."

"Think, Levi," Erwin said, his frown deepening. "What would have happened if you try to tell anyone that Zeke is the real murderer?"

"I—"

"They'd call you insane," Hange answered for him. Despite her sympathetic tone, her face showed the same graveness as Erwin’s. "For everyone else, Zeke had been dead for two years."

"Yes, but—"

"You could prove that he's alive," Erwin agreed with a small nod. "And that may even work. But if you don't," he shook his head. "They'd kick you out. Sannes has been trying to find the excuse for a long time now."

"What?"

That was news to him. Sure, he knew that he had somewhat tense relationship with Sannes. But to go as far as to try to fire him? What a fucker. 

"He had been complaining about your work for a while," Erwin explained. "I do what I can to protect you, but Sannes got almost every captain on his side. I thought that if I make you agree to accept another partner, he'd stop, but—"

"He didn't," Levi guessed. "What did that asshole do this time?"

"During the brass's meeting this morning, he raised the issue of your discharge once more. I managed to convince a couple of captains—"

Dawk and Pixis, Levi realized. And if he could somewhat understand why Pixis would vouch for him, the man looked like a goof, but always had some hidden motive, what Erwin could have promised to straight-laced, bullheaded Dawk? Levi refused to believe that he agreed to help simply out of the kindness of his heart. 

"But others still push for your dismissal,” Erwin continued, his clenched jaw showing all of his disapproval and annoyance. “This case will be decisive. If you find the killer, you'd keep the job, if you fail—"

"They'd kick me out," Levi realized. Fuck. He didn't want that to happen. He liked his job. A lot. He wouldn't know what to do with his life without it. 

"Now you understand why you can't just go around, claiming Zeke is the killer."

"Because that's what Sannes wants me to do," Levi agreed.

Scheming bastard.  

"Fine," Levi announced. "You won, I agree that turning Zeke in isn't the best course of action. But," he leveled Hange with a fierce glare. "I still don't understand why you would want to tell Zeke about everything."

"We might need his help. Besides," Hange shrugged, her motions easy and careless. "He'll find out anyway. I want it to happen on my terms."

"There is nothing I can say to change your mind, right?"

Hange shrugged again, grinning lopsidedly. 

Levi sighed. "Fuck. Alright, tell me about you plan again."

*** "Are you kidding me?" Oluo took a step back, shaking the hand Petra wrapped around his wrist to drag him here.

She brought him to a hallway at the east wing of a precinct. Old and unused, it was one of the most secluded areas. No one ever walked in here. It wasn't even properly lighted, and Oluo's irritated mien disappeared with each flicker of a pale fluorescent lamp.

"Please, tell me you're kidding."

"I—"

"Are you seriously asking me to spy on deputy police chief? What the fuck, Petra? Is your partner's paranoia contagious?"

"What?" Petra blinked a few times, mimicking the flickering light above them. "Levi is not paranoid."

"Sure," Oluo drew, following it with a short huffed laugh. "Everyone knows he's got a few screws loose."

"No," Petra argued with a confused frown. "You're wrong. You've said it yourself, Levi is a great detective."

"He was a great detective. Until his partner died. His success rate dropped and he became even more secluded than usual. Did you know that there are talks about his discharge?”

No, Petra didn’t know about that. Why didn’t she know about that? Did Levi know?

“I didn't tell you, because I know how much respect you hold for the man. But it's not a secret to anyone that he's obsessed with conspiracy theories. And the fact that you want to spy on freaking Sannes only confirms it. He's lost it and now he's dragging you along with him as well."

"You don't understand—"

"Of course I don't," Oluo said, sarcasm dripping from his every word. "I'm such a fool after all..."

Petra drowned out the rest of his blubbering. She heard something, just a second ago. She closed her eyes, straining her hearing. Oluo's voice was severely distracting, but it seemed like...

Without thinking more about it, Petra acted. She needed to create a diversion, she needed to make their little meeting look less suspicious. So she grabbed the back of Oluo's neck and dragged him down, pressing her lips to his. 

The moment stretched on, as she listened, with her eyes still closed. She was sure she heard someone's steps. But now the hallway was silent, save for the quiet sound of Oluo's moan?

Right, Oluo. Oh god, Oluo.

Petra jumped back from him, mortified and embarrassed. Her cheeks were so red, she felt like her skin was going to catch on fire.

She kissed Oluo. She kissed him on the lips in the dark, deserted hallway. 

Her father didn't raise her like this. 

And, sure, she kissed him just yesterday, but it was a very different kind of kiss. That kiss was innocent, chaste. There was nothing chaste about their second kiss. 

"Sorry!" she squealed, covering her face with hands. Embarrassed, she was so embarrassed. 

"Huh, Petra," Oluo's lips curved into that irritating smirk Petra hated so much. "You've come up with all that nonsense just to get me here and steal a kiss? I'm flattered, really."

"Shut up," Petra whimpered, still hiding behind her hands. "I thought someone was coming and I panicked, and, hey!" She glared between her fingers. "I was being serious! I need your help, Oluo. I know that Levi doesn't have a very good reputation but—"

"He thinks his dead partner is alive," Oluo said in a grave voice. 

"Oh," Petra dropped her arms to the side, looking up at him. "But she is alive."

Oluo's face fell. "Petra..."

"No, no!" she shook her head. "I know how it sounds, but detective Zoe is actually alive, I've seen her with my own two eyes."

The hallway was silent for a long, long moment. Oluo kept staring at her, searching for something on her face.

Then he raised his hand to rub his forehead and let out a long, tired sigh.

"...Oh. Um. Okay, yeah, alright, I believe you,” he didn’t look utterly convinced, but he stopped looking at Petra like she had gone insane, and she counted it as a win. “Maybe, detective Ackerman isn't a complete lunatic after all. But... How is it connected with deputy chief Sannes?"

"He's crooked. He's been working with criminals and I know it. I just need a real, substantial proof."

"Sannes is crooked, oh god,” Oluo closed his eyes. “Another big revelation, alright. Let’s not focus on it right now, or I’ll have a panic attack. Do you know who he’s working with?”

Petra pursed her lips. “I’m not sure yet, Levi doesn’t tell me much, but I think he might be working with Zeke Yeager.”

“Yeager?” Oluo repeated. “I’ve heard this name.”

“Yeah, Zeke Yeager, he was a notorious criminal back—”

“No,” Oluo shook his head. “Not Zeke. I’ve heard the name Yeager before. Read it in one of the reports, I just can’t remember what the case was about. Maybe, it’s a just a coincidence, but it was about Grisha Yeager. The name was so strange, that’s why it stuck with me.”

“Hm,” Petra frowned, tapping her chin. “Grisha Yeager… No, I don’t know that name.”

“Doesn’t matter then,” Oluo shrugged. “Better tell me - how you're intending to get your proof?"

"I don't know," Petra hanged her head, fidgeting with a sleeve of her blouse. "I've thought about following Sannes home…"

"What?"

"But later I realized that it won't produce any results, because I doubt he has frequent meetings with his allies. Then I thought that getting inside his computer might be a good idea—"

"What?"

"But then again, there's no guarantee that he keeps important data there. And it would be pretty hard to get past his password. I wasn't able to guess Levi's password after all. But!" Petra looked up, a smile present on her face. Oluo didn't like that smile. It wasn't Petra's usual warm and pretty one. This one had a weird, almost feral edge to it. "I've come up with another plan, and that's why I need your help!"

"What do you need me for?" Oluo asked slowly, eyeing her carefully. He was almost afraid to hear the answer. 

"You have keys from a depository, right?"

"Right..."

"And you're friends with Dita, the janitor, yeah?"

"Yep..."

"So!" she clasped her hands, looking unusually delighted for a person who was in a middle of plotting a very dangerous and definitely illegal scheme. "I need you to go into repository and took a wire from there, and then I need you to go to Dita and—"

"And ask him to give me keys from Sannes' office?" Oluo guessed. "We'll be discovered in no time, Petra. Dita and I aren't that close of friends."

"I know," Petra rolled her eyes. "That's why you'll steal them!"

"Petra!" he exclaimed with a scandalized expression. 

"Shh," she smiled, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It'll be fine, I promise. You'll get a wire and a key, we'll get inside Sannes' office and plant the wire. I'll be able to listen in to his conversations, and no one will suspect a thing. Oluo, please?"

It was a stupid and extremely daring plan. If it failed, they'd be kicked out of force immediately. In the best case scenario. In the worst - they'd go to jail for breaking and entering the policeman's office. 

But Petra's smile was really nice, her hand on his shoulder was so warm, and she looked right at him, batting her long and pretty eyelashes. 

He was never a man with strong will. Oluo’s resolve crumbled. 

"Fine," he sighed, refusing to even think about possible consequences. "But you owe me, Petra. This whole scheme is worth two dates. Minimum!" he finished, raising a finger. 

"If we manage to succeed, we'll go on as much dates as you want."

"And kisses? Will you give me more kisses?"

"Of course," Petra murmured, leaning in to give Oluo exactly what he wanted.

***

"Call me when you finish with this, erm, meeting of yours," Erwin said, when Hange and Levi were ready to leave the office.

“Will do, captain!” Hange saluted, giggling.

Listening to the sound of her laughter and staring at Erwin’s smiling face, warmth spread through Levi’s chest as he was hit with a wave of nostalgia. Just a day ago, he would have never thought that he’d get to experience this. His two best friends, laughing together, as if nothing had changed. As if these two years, filled with grief and misery, had never happened.

The warm and familiar atmosphere enchanted Levi. The corners of his lips slowly lifted into a smile.

“Come on, four-eyes,” he turned to the door, hiding his joyous expression. His soft voice treacherously betrayed his feelings anyway.

"Wait!" Hange called the moment they left Erwin's office.

The hallway around them was dark, deserted. It was almost ten pm, so it wasn't a surprise that the precinct was so quiet.

Leaning against the wall, Hange took off her backpack and started rummaging through it. "Wait, wait, wait, I've got something for you. Here!" she announced with a proud grin, presenting Levi with his own coat.

Levi hesitantly accepted it, arching an eyebrow. "How did you manage to fold it so neatly?"

"It's one of my secret powers, of course!" Hange fixed her glasses with a cheeky grin.

"Hm," he narrowed his eyes. "Did you take it to the laundry?"

"Um, no," Hange answered, rubbing her neck sheepishly. "Didn't have the time to do that."

Good, Levi almost said. He wanted Hange's scent to linger, he hoped it did.

He carefully unfolded and put the coat on, lifting the collar. It was faint, but Hange's scent was present. He pushed his hands inside the pockets, feeling strangely content.

Still, something gnawed at him.

"Hey," he glanced up. He tilted his head to the side, giving Hange's dark green blazer a critical look. "Is that shitty jacket of yours warm enough?"

A soft, gentle smile bloomed on Hange's lips. Just the sight of it made Levi's breath catch in his throat. His recently discovered feelings made themselves known again. Goddamn it, she was beautiful. How he had never seen it before? He was a fool.

"I'll be alright, shorty, don't you worry. Your concern is touching, though."

Levi forcefully tore his eyes away from her face and tsked, trying to fill the sound with as much annoyance as possible. Hange's smile didn't even falter, and it meant that he wasn’t too successful in hiding his true feelings. That, or Hange just knew him all too well. It was probably both.

"Just don't want you catching pneumonia or some other shit after you just got back from the dead." He grunted, dead set on keeping his aloof demeanor.

"Touching," Hange repeated in a singing voice.

"Shut up," he groaned, fighting a smile that threatened to appear on his face.

He shook his head and headed to the elevators.

"Hey," Hange touched his sleeve. "Can we take the stairs instead?"

"Are you restless?" Levi asked, as he turned around, leading Hange to the stairs just like she requested.

"A little," she chuckled awkwardly. "Not exactly afraid, but, um, nervous. And excited. I can't wait to see Zeke's face when I tell him the truth."

As that image entered his mind, Levi let out a soft chuckle as well.

"Thanks for bringing me with you then. I'd like to see it too."

They couldn't get Zeke in jail right now, and as much as that knowledge pained Levi, there were other ways to make his life a living hell. He couldn’t wait to exploit some of them.

"Wait," Hange suddenly raised her arm, stopping him. Her face became sharp, focused, as her gaze was trained at the dark hallway in front of them.

"Hange?"

"There is someone there," she whispered, taking one cautious step forward. Instinctively, Levi mimicked her soft stride. "I heard some muttering."

"Sannes' office is that way," Levi whispered back. "You think it's him?"

"Only one way to find out," Hange said with a rueful grin.

Before she could take another step, Levi wrapped his fingers around her wrist.

"You shouldn't go in here,” he said, his voice urgent. “Let me handle it. We can't let Sannes know you're alive."

"I disagree. The cat is almost out of the bag as it is. Let him know who he's up against."

"You're too reckless," Levi scolded with a shake of his head. He didn't try to stop her though.

They went ahead, each move slow and deliberate. The muttering became louder and when Levi and Hange turned the corner, they saw two figures, standing next to the door to Sannes' office. Levi narrowed his eyes with a frown.

One short figure seemed strangely familiar.

He cursed under his breath.

"Petra!" he shouted.

The woman whirled around, pressing hands to her chest with a shocked gasp.

"Levi!"

Levi strode closer, his scowl deep and dark.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he hissed.

"I wanted to know more about Sannes' intentions, so... We broke inside his office and planted a wire there."

Levi cursed again, more creatively this time. Beside him, Hange started laughing.

"It’s not fucking funny, four-eyes," he glowered, not taking his eyes from the young woman in front of him.

Petra stood with her head bowed and her eyes cast down. Her fingers were playing with the ends of her skirt. She looked like an abashed student who was scolded by her teacher. That thought chased away some of his anger.

Levi let out a tired sigh.

"Take it easy on her, shorty," Hange leaned over to murmur in his ear.

"I'm trying," Levi answered in the same quiet voice.

"Are you finished already?" he asked Petra. He decided to follow Hange's advice and make his tone a bit softer.

"Yes," Petra nodded, still avoiding his gaze. "We planted the wire inside his chair."

"Huh," Levi blinked. It was a pretty creative hiding spot. "Not bad."

"Good job!" Hange congratulated, raising her thumbs. "You did great!"

"Oh, detective Hange, you're here too..." Petra mumbled, finally lifting her eyes.

"Detective Hange?" the man behind Petra gulped. “So you’re actually—”

“The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” Hange snickered.

Levi rolled his eyes at her silliness and then took a step closer to the man, looking at him intently.

"Bozado?" he asked. "And what are you doing here?"

"You know my name, sir?" Oluo's looked up, his eyes bright with hope.

"It's written on your badge," Levi pointed at his breast pocket with a bored expression. "And you didn't answer my question."

"I— I was helping, Petra, sir," Oluo said, scratching the back of his head. "I got the keys to the office and took the wire from the repository."

Levi bored his eyes into the man. Oluo swallowed, squirming under his heavy gaze.

"And why did you decide to help?"

"Levi!" Hange pocked him in the side. "Don't be so insensitive. It's obvious he has feelings for her."

"How is that obvious?" Levi argued, turning to Hange. "And who is being insensitive now, four-eyes? You brought up the subject of his feelings!"

"I was just trying to save the poor man from your fearsome glare," Hange huffed. "And unlike you, I actually know what feelings are."

"Just what are you trying to—"

"Levi?" Petra interrupted softly. "Can we— can we go? It's late already."

Levi looked at Petra, his eyes widening. He almost forgot they were still here.

"Did you take care of everything? Did you make sure that you won't get caught?"

"Yes, sir!" Oluo answered, straightening out and doing a quick salute. Levi scoffed at the gesture. "I'll return the keys to Dita next morning and since I'm in charge of checking the repository, no one will know that something is missing."

"Okay," Levi nodded, his scowl almost disappearing. They really did a good job. He was proud of Petra. And he couldn’t wait to hear what kind of results this scheme would achieve.  "Then you can go. We should go too, Hange.”

"You're right, we should hurry," she agreed. "Goodbye, guys!" she waved at Petra and Oluo and then took Levi by the sleeve of his coat, dragging him away.

*** "What the hell just happened?" Oluo asked, when Levi and Hange left.

"Detectives Ackerman and Zoe happened," Petra replied, feeling just as confused and bewildered as Oluo.

"The legendary duo, huh?" Oluo scoffed, thrusting hands into the pockets of his pants. "They definitely have some issues they need to work on."

"Yes..." Petra agreed, remembering the expression Levi made when Hange said he had no feelings. Her statement confused him, it was obvious, but Petra could swear she could see a flash of pain in his eyes. There was an apparent tension between two partners. She shouldn't pock her nose into it, though. She learned her lesson already.

"I'm so tired," she yawned, feeling her eyelids grow heavy. It was a stressful day, and, now, as the adrenaline rush was over, she was left utterly exhausted. Petra looped her arm with Oluo's, leaning slightly onto him. "Let me buy you a dinner and then let's call it a day."

"Forget the dinner. Maybe, I should just take you home?"

"No," Petra protested, brushing her nose against Oluo's shoulder. "I want to thank you first. You really helped me out today, Oluo. You're the best."

"I think your exhaustion makes you exaggerate," Oluo snorted. With a soft expression, he lifted a hand to brush a lock of hair from her face. "But I'll take the compliment. Come on, let's leave this place already."

Petra silently nodded in agreement, letting Oluo lead her outside.

***

"Tell me again," Levi asked, as he parked the car near their meeting place with Zeke. "Why did you choose this place?"

"It's public, for starters, and I hope that would be enough to quell Zeke's murderous intents. And it's pretty inconspicuous."

Levi narrowed his eyes. He didn't like the carelessness in Hange's voice at all. Inconspicuous? What the hell did that mean?

"What the fuck did you tell him, four-eyes?"

Hange shrugged, getting out of the car. "I told him it's a date."

Levi, who was in the middle of closing the car’s door, stopped. He froze, then blinked a few times. He stared at Hange intently trying to see if she was joking.

She wasn't.

"What the fuck?" he whispered, completely shell-shocked.              

"Hey! Don't look so scandalized!"              

As he continued to further contemplate this whole thing, his eye began to twitch. He forcefully shut the door closed.

"Are you actually serious?"

"Um," Hange deflated slightly. "Yes, I am. I just thought it would make him less suspicious. And, well, convince him to come alone."

"So," Levi croaked, finding his throat weirdly inoperative. "Did you and Zeke—"

"Levi." Gone was the easiness of Hange's tone. As she stared Levi down with hands on her hips, her voice was rough. And displeased. She usually used it on him whenever she thought he was being extremely irrational and she was done with him, pestering her about such illogical requests like eating her lunch, sleeping for more than two hours a day and washing her hair at least once in a week. "Are you seriously asking if me and Zeke - the jerk who had ruined my entire life - had hooked up?"

Well, now that Hange had put it like this, he did feel kinda stupid. And more than a little embarrassed.

Fuck. He really was an insensitive jerk.

"Sorry for bringing this up," he grumbled, pushing past Hange and continuing to walk down the street.

"Oi, Levi, wait!" grabbing his sleeve, she quickly caught up with him. She fell into step with him, and for a moment, she was silent.

Their conversation was far from being over and Levi knew it. He didn't have to raise his head to see the pleased smirk on her face. Smugness was practically radiating from her.

"So did I just witness the jealousy of great Levi Ackerman?"

His cheeks burned. Levi kept looking straight ahead. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing his discomfiture.

"No."

Hange chuckled. "Just so you know, Zeke isn't my type."

"Cool. I don't care."

"Do you want to know what my type is?"

"No." Yes. "Can we have this conversation some other time?"

"Sure." A pause. "So you are interested what my type is."

Levi groaned.

"Oh, we're here!" Hange said flippantly, like she wasn't mercifully making fun of him just moments ago. "Are you ready, shorty?"

"Yes," he answered, putting their previous conversation to the back of his mind. He fixed his hair and clenched his jaw. "Let's do this, four-eyes."

"Alright," Hange stopped to take a deep breath. She looked more than a little uneasy and, acting on a sheer impulse, Levi took her hand in his, giving it a firm squeeze.

"I'm with you," he reassured. "I've got your back, Hange."

She smiled, relaxing ever so slightly.  "Thank you. There's no one else I could have done it with. Well," Hange tapped her chin with a finger. "I could do it with Erwin too, but—" her smile turned into a playful grin. "His face isn't quite as scary as yours."

Levi rolled his eyes, glad that Hange was back to her insufferable self.

He pushed the door open, still holding Hange's hand in his.

The café, when they entered it, was mostly empty. There were only two people inside - a girl and a boy probably in their early twenties. They were lounging side by side in the corner of the café, but when Levi and Hange appeared, one of them – a blonde boy with big blue eyes - jumped to his feet and hurried to approach them. The girl with the hair as dark as her expression followed, hovering over boy's shoulder.

"Welcome to Dorothy's corner!" the boy squealed with a nervous smile. "What would you like to order?"

"You didn't give them the menu, Armin," the girl reminded softly, nudging him in the back.

"Oh, right! I'll bring it immediately, just—"

"Relax," Hange advised softly. Her words, coupled with that sweet smile worked like a charm. The boy chuckled sheepishly, scratching his neck with an apologetic expression.

"Sorry, I'm kinda new here."

"New?" Levi repeated. "And for how long have you been working here?"

"Almost a month, sir. Why are you asking?"

"Simple curiosity," he murmured. So it was just a coincidence. The boy wasn't a replacement for the dead waitress.

"And you?" he nodded at the gloomy girl. "Are you working here too?"

"No," the boy smiled, affection lightening his features. "Mikasa just worries too much about me. There was a murder recently and, well, she’s here to look over me."

"Oh, she's a good friend,” Hange praised. “We're actually here to meet our friends too. There they are, by the way!" she pointed her finger at the booth near the window.

Levi followed it, and, now he could see Zeke's blonde head sticking out too. And from looks of it, he wasn’t alone. The rage started boiling inside of him just at the sight of that bastard. Hange squeezed his hand again, offering his silent support.

"Can you bring a cup of green tea for me?" Levi asked, turning to the boy.

"S-sure!"

"And a black coffee with three sugars for that weirdo," he added.

"Still remember my order?" Hange wondered, as they walked towards the booth where Zeke was sitting.

"Focus, four-eyes," he scolded sternly, before coming to a stop in front of the needed table.

With a toothy grin, Hange slide in the booth, taking a seat opposite from Zeke. Levi sat down at her side.

When he saw them, Zeke's eyes widened and his mouth hanged open in silent surprise. That expression was gone way too quickly, however, not giving Levi enough time to savor it.

Zeke clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowed and his face sharpened as he glared at Hange.

"You have the gull, Zoe," he sneered. "You fuck—"

"Oi." Levi interrupted. His voice was quiet, but filled with so much fury and hatred. Zeke visibly shuddered. "If I hear another shitty word about Hange from your dirty mouth, you'll be missing some teeth, you asshole."

"Um." Someone above Levi cleared his throat. He looked up, meeting the scared gaze of the waiter. "Y-your order," he said, his eyes darting nervously between Levi and Zeke.

"Thank you," Hange smiled.

"We'll call if we need refreshments." Levi grunted with a nod.

"Charming as always, detective Ackerman," Zeke scoffed, when the boy left. He pushed the glasses up his nose, and Levi noted with no small amount of amusement that his fingers were slightly trembling.

Zeke turned to Hange. "I thought you wanted to meet me alone."

"I told you to come alone," Hange corrected. "You didn't though."

"I thought you'd like to have a double date," Zeke smirked. The arrogant expression disappeared the second he met Levi’s dark eyes.

"Oh, right!" Hange slapped her forehead. "Where are my manners! Levi, this is Porco and Pieck," she gestured to a man and woman, who sat at the either side of Zeke. The man - Porco - gave Levi a small nod. Pieck waved at him with a grin, tilting her head and staring at him curiously.

"And this is Levi," Hange said. "My partner."

"Partner?" Pieck raised an eyebrow. The grin on her face grew broader.

"I meant, colleague," Hange clarified, clearing her throat.

"I'm curious," Zeke said, not taking his eyes off Hange. "What are you trying to achieve with this stunt? It’s true I can’t do anything to you right now, but what do you think is going to happen afterwards, Hange? Do you think I'd let you go? Do you think your boyfriend,” he looked pointedly at Levi. Levi stared right back, his face blank. “Can protect you? You were too valuable to me, you know too much,” Zeke shook his head, his voice disappointed. “I thought you were smarter than this."

"What makes you think I need protection?" Hange leaned over with a smile that looked just a little bit feral. "Maybe, I've already told everything to the police."

Zeke returned her smile, lifting his hands. "Then where are my handcuffs, detective?"

"If you wanted to imprison me, I'd already be behind bars," he continued, remarkably relaxed. "No, you want something from me, Hange. But for the life of me, I can't understand what exactly."

"Like you said, Zeke," Hange's eye glinted wickedly. "I know too much."

"Wh—"

"Levi has brought you something. I'm sure it'd be quite a thrilling read."

Following the cue, Levi took the file out of his pocket and threw it on the table.

Reluctantly, his eyes shifting from Hange to Levi, Zeke opened it. A confused crease appeared between his eyebrows, as he looked at the first page. Nevertheless, he fixed his glasses and started reading. His two companions joined him, leaning over his shoulder.

It was quiet for a long moment, and Levi used this time to drink his tea. It was good, he was quite impressed.

"Is tea here still up to your standards?" Hange asked in a whisper.

"Mm," he nodded. "Definitely not as shitty as the tea you used to make, four-eyes."

"As shitty as it was, you still drank it."

Yeah, he did. Actually, Levi kinda missed that awful, bitter taste. Maybe, once it was all over, he could ask Hange to brew him tea again. Just like in the old times.

"It's the case you told me about," Pieck concluded, when she finished reading the file.

"Yes," Hange nodded.

Levi tilted his head, looking at that Pieck curiously. Hange trusted her. Why?

"I hope you don't think that I did it," Zeke scoffed. "I was out of country. I couldn't kill these women."

"I know," Hange agreed.

"Believe me, if I had even the slightest doubt that you did it, we wouldn't be sitting there, chatting," Levi added menacingly.

"What do you want then?" Porco spoke up, glancing between Hange and Levi.

"Cooperation." Hange answered. "Whoever committed these murders is close to you, Zeke."

"Or tries to get rid of you." Levi said.

"And why do you care?" Zeke asked. "Why would you decide to help? After everything I've done to you, don't you want to take your revenge?"

"You can't even imagine how much I want this," Hange told him fiercely. She moved her face closer to Zeke, putting her elbows on the table. A wide, crazy grin spread on her lips, and Zeke recoiled as though in fear.

Levi relaxed in his seat, watching their interaction closely. Seeing the panic reflect in Zeke's eyes put a satisfied smirk on his face.

“And I promise you, Zeke," Hange continued. "I will get my revenge and I will make you pay for everything you put me through. But," she chuckled, easing her expression into her usual friendly mien. "As it is now, a criminal, who killed two women, is on the loose. And I consider it my duty to catch them. My retribution can wait for a while."

"Do you have any suspects?" Pieck asked, making Hange look at her and giving Zeke a much needed moment of respite. Levi continued to watch him, though, enjoying the slight fear that painted his features. The sight was all the more pleasurable for Levi, because Hange was the one who made the bastard feel this way.

"Zeke is not the only one who's being targeted. Someone tries to harm Levi too." Hange replied. "I'm pretty sure that Sannes is on it."

"Sannes?" Porco frowned. "Isn't he one of yours?"

"We all know that he's one of yours," Levi's face twisted in grimace.

"Why would Sannes go against me?” Zeke wondered. “We've been working together for years."

"Maybe, someone tries to take your place," Pieck speculated. "If that's the case, Sannes could agree to betray you. He's not loyal to you, but to your influence after all."

"Sannes can't be the only one, though," Hange went on. "His main goal is to get rid of Levi, and he could have come up with something less complicated to achieve it. So," Hange kicked Zeke's leg under the table. "Spill it out, Zeke. Who hates you so much?"

Zeke scowled, irritated by her cheerfulness. He opened his mouth, and Levi was sure that nothing nice or useful was going to come out of it. He kicked him under the table too. His kick was much stronger than Hange’s. Zeke yelped, bending down to rub his leg. Levi almost smiled.

"I think Floch is the betrayer."

"What?" Zeke snorted. "Floch is the one who had come up with that plan? Don't make me laugh, Hange."

"I didn't say that he was the one who had come up with it," Hange argued. "I said that it’s possible that he had betrayed you."

"So you think Sannes and Floch are the one to blame?" Porco clarified.

"No," Hange shook her head. She tapped her fingers on the table, biting her lip. "I think... There is a third party involved. Floch would never act on his own volition. But he's easily influenced and if he encountered someone charismatic enough, he wouldn’t think twice about betraying you. But why would they need such an elaborate plan?" Hange wondered. "If they wanted to take control of your gang—"

"Criminal organ—"

"Shut up!" she barked, glaring at Zeke. "You're making it hard to think. Where was I?"

"If someone wanted to take Zeke's power, why not simply kill him?" Pieck said.

"Exactly!" Hange snapped her fingers with a grateful smile. "Whoever is against you, Zeke, doesn't want to simply kill you. They're trying to put in prison. We don't know who that is and I'm pretty sure you don't know it either. I don't think it's someone from your gang, Floch doesn't respect anyone but you. So that leaves with one possible explanation - it's someone from outside. Maybe, a partner you've fucked over."

"Does anyone come to your mind, boss?" Porco asked.

"There is someone," Zeke mumbled, his eyes cast down. "But he already took his revenge on me." 

"Hm," Hange scratched her chin. "That complicates it."

"If someone wants to get rid of Zeke," Pieck spoke up. "Then how is your partner involved in this?"

"Through Sannes." Levi replied. "Sannes wanted to get rid of me. He couldn't find a reason to fire me, so he decided to exploit my only weakness."

"Your weakness?" Hange repeated, confused.

Levi sighed. "You, Hange. Everyone at the precinct knows that I..." he cleared his throat, shifting his eyes to the side. "That your death hit me hard. And Sannes decided to use that. He wanted me to stop thinking rationally, wanted to me to lose my cool. He almost succeeded." He added softly. 

Under the table, Hange took his hand and gave it a squeeze. Levi looked up, meeting her gaze. It was full of sympathy, regret and something else. Something unreadable, something fierce. Something that made it hard to look away. 

"Could you please stop this?" Zeke groaned. "I believe we were in a middle of a serious discussion."

Hange was the first to look away. She continued to hold his hand, however. Feeling bold, Levi intertwined their fingers. 

"You were saying?" Zeke prompted with a roll of his eyes.

"Um, yes, right," Hange nodded. "There a lot we don't know about our enemies, but I theorize that something like that happened: someone - a past ally, or, maybe one of your victims - approached Floch. They convinced him to betray you and probably shared with Floch their desire to take you out of the picture without murdering you. We don't know their motivations and why they couldn't just kill you, since whoever they are," Hange's face twisted in disgust. "They are more than okay with murdering innocents. Floch then goes to Sannes, and Sannes decides to join on the plan. They devise some sort of a gamble – either Zeke goes to prison or Levi gets fired."

"Sounds far-fetched," Zeke scoffed. 

"Maybe," Hange shrugged. "There is a lot we still don't know. Would you help us, though?"

Zeke sighed, covering his eyes with a hand. "I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"Nope!" Hange clasped her hands with a wide grin. 

"Don't forget that this alliance is temporary," Levi added.

"I would rather die than continue it for a second longer than absolutely necessary." Zeke snarled. 

"Good," Levi retorted. "Then die."

"What Levi wanted to say," Hange corrected with a chuckle. "Is that we're hoping for a fruitful cooperation. But for now, we should go our separate ways. I'll contact you if we discover something."

"We'll do the same," Pieck smiled, ushering Porco and Zeke to get up from their seats. "Enjoy your evening," she added before the three of them left.

The moment the door of the café closed behind them, Hange exhaled in relief. Levi sighed too, slumping in his seat.

"Pieck is nice, isn't she?" Hange asked softly. 

"Are you two... friends?"

"Sort of," she replied. "Is that a problem?"

"No," Levi assured. "It's just, well, a bit weird."

"She helped me," Hange confessed. "When Zeke—" she made a vague gesture with her hands, pointing to her lost eye. "You know."

"We'll make him pay," he promised. 

"I know," Hange leaned against his shoulder, yawning. "Can I stay at your place tonight?"

"Of course," he murmured. "Grim would love to see you. I don't have anything to eat at home, though. Want to order something here?"

Hange looked up at him, blinking sleepily. "You'll make me have dinner no matter what I say, right?"

He lightly flicked her nose. "What's the point of asking if you already know the answer?"

"You don't change," she whispered fondly. "It's good to be back, Levi."

It's good to have you back, he thought, admiring her peaceful expression. ***

One foot in front of the other, Petra slowly made her way up stairs to her apartment. She was exhausted, tired to the bone and the only thing she craved was to get into her cozy and warm apartment and then fall face-first into her soft and comfy bed. 

But as her luck would have it, the elevators were broken and now she had to climb all the fifteen flight of stairs that lead to her apartment.

 Heaving a sigh, she looked up. She was already on thirteenth floor. 

Just two more, she thought grimly. Petra grabbed the railing tightly and pushed herself upwards. 

Finally, when she was almost at the brim of exhaustion, Petra climbed up to the needed floor. She breathed out in relief and her lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. 

She was almost home, the only thing she needed to do was to walk up to her front door, unlock it, took off her coat and shoes and change into pajamas. Then, she could get some rest at last. After that insane day, she more than deserved it. 

As she neared the door to her apartment, Petra caught a weird scent, hanging in the air. She stopped for a second, sniffing. It was a strong, bitter and unpleasant. The scent of a cigarette smoke, Petra realized. She had never smelled it there before. As far as she knew, her neighbors didn't smoke. Then where the scent had come from?

A bit wary and alert, she continued her way. She was tired, maybe, she just imagined the smell. Or, maybe, one of her neighbors started smoking. It wasn't a big deal. Definitely wasn't illegal. 

With a reprimanding shake of her head, Petra willed herself to relax. She took out her keys and approached the door. She touched the door handle.

And the panic nearly overwhelmed her. 

Her front door. It wasn’t locked.

Staring at it in confusion, Petra searched her mind, trying to remember if she had forgotten to close the door when leaving in the morning. She always locked it. Could it be that she had forgotten about it today?

She was a creature of habit, she always made sure to turn off the lights and lock the front door before leaving the apartment. On the other hand, however, a lot happened this week. She wasn't sleeping enough. She wasn't getting enough rest. She was constantly in the state of worry and anxiety. Locking her front door was at the very bottom of her list of priorities. She could very easily forget about it. 

Right?

She was probably just getting too paranoid. It was probably caused by exhaustion and emotional distress. She was worrying over nothing. 

Petra took a deep breath. She was worrying over nothing. She kept repeating this phrase like a mantra in her head. She slowly pushed the door open.

The apartment behind it was silent. And dark. 

Petra exhaled in relief.

She chuckled softly, scolding herself for being a scaredy-cat. She closed the door - making sure she locked it this time - and took off her coat and shoes. She draped the coat on the clothes rack and then entered her bedroom. She touched the switch, turning on the light. She blinked a few times, adjusting to the sudden brightness. She swept her eyes across the room—

And then gasped, the fear gripping every part of her body. 

There was a man sitting in her armchair near the window. The same man that she saw in the precinct today - the one with eerie smile. 

That same unnerving smile was spread on his lips once again. 

"Detective Ral," he murmured softly, rising to his feet. "Did you and your partner receive my note?"

[cy-berbyte]

Giga-Brained Cog Bosses HC Hours Feat BG

- They are all evil bitches. All of them. Post over— KWHDJBAJFBAJ OKAY BUT FOR REAL THO:

Non-Romantic HCS:

- VP detests cream pies with all his being, but regardless, has still developed a sweet tooth. He’s tried “toon food” before(aka candy), but decided it’s not good enough for his “Superior Cog Tastebuds” so he’s had some of his workers “Improve” them. Now his favorite candies are high quality Bon Bons that are dark chocolate (SPECIFICALLY 100% cocoa, like the REAL bitter stuff) on the outside, with motor oil on the inside! Yum! :]

- The other bosses don’t admit it, but they do sometimes steal VP’s chocolates for themselves. And yes, a toon has been unfortunate enough to steal and (try to) eat one, and they were saddened on the spot.

- Out of all four of them, VP is the one with the sweetest, most charming, and outwards personality, and he gives the biggest shit about fashion.

- Whenever he thinks about what he would wanna do if he wasn’t evil, VP likes to imagine himself as a director to plenty of hit (commercials and) movies, and he imagines himself living in a super luxurious studio. He hates how the toons have raided his HQ so much so to the point where it looks like the massive shithole you see in-game.

- CFO, like VP, also cares immensely about how he looks, wearing expensive jewelry like rings n necklaces, but when he’s not counting his money, he prides himself in how he carefully spends(steals. He steals.) to have only the finest to fit his tastes. He loves how much cleaner his HQ looks, and his private abode prolly has shit like marble floors or tables.

- Basically? The guy is a massive snob when it comes to architecture, and thus he’ll often watch shows about awful, awful multi-million dollar apartments that look like absolute dogshit just so he can laugh at them and stroke his own ego about how much better his place looks.

- CFO of course hoards money and pretty things like a dragon, but one of his special favorite objects are these tiny trains he owns. He’s like those dads that have a cool little mini train collection/display, and he loves them to death. The only one who knows about them is the VP, mostly cuz the VP genuinely thinks it’s cool, and VP caught him messing with them by complete accident.

- If he ever goes anywhere special, he’ll always nab a little “memento” for himself to remember the occasion.

- The CFO is the massive short fuse, surprisingly. When he’s not being an arrogant cockshit, he’s the quickest to piss off and his anger rivals that of the CEO’s, especially when it comes to his money being stolen (I personally like to think he’ll sometimes yell “I’LL HAVE YOUR HEAD FOR THIS.” when fighting toons).

- CJ, on the other hand, is as graceful and level-headed as you could imagine. If the boss cogs all go out for drinks one day-off, CJ would be the designated driver. He, of course, is the most serious and no-nonsense motherfucker.

- CJ’s unsurprisingly the smartest one of the cogs, his hobbies including reading law books and strategizing the most optimal ways to handle certain toon-related situations.

- Despite this, the judge is actually the most curious about learning new things, including toon behavior, thus he likes gathering information about everything himself when he’s able to.

- The judge is not actually blind, but he wears the blindfold because he has the ability to ‘see’ by sensing everything around him. He almost never opens his eyes because both his sight and his sense working at the same time is too much and thus overwhelms him. It’s considered his only “flaw” by the Chairman.

- The CJ often remarks that, if the world toons live in was not so painfully saturated, he’d actually find the flora... beautiful. He’d like to hang around Daisy Gardens the most.

- The blue muppet-lookin man absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, plays Microsoft solitaire on those old 90’s computers.

- The CEO may be as cocky and angry as the other bosses. However, he excels at the game of wits/cunningness and is absolutely the most chaotic motherfucker. It’s his way or the highway, he doesn’t care. The CEO gets what he wants when he wants, and if ANYTHING gets in his way, he’ll step on or control anyone to have his way and succeed. He can basically be the embodiment of “Murder, Manipulate, Mansplain”

- He’s the toughest out of the bunch. The CEO will absolutely be the one to start problems on purpose, he has the strongest guts and thus has no problem talking back to even the Chairman if he knows something’s not adding up.

- Golf is his main hobby, or lifestyle, of course. HOWEVER the CEO is also one to indulge in the ‘art of gambling’, as he puts it, and he’s pretty damn good at it! He loves raising the stakes and savors swindling the other bosses of their cogbucks, especially the CFO lol. Casinos are nice places to kick back and unwind at if the golf courses are undergoing maintenance!

- Being the final boss cog made, the CEO has the latest tech and runs with the least amount of issues or bugs. He likes to rub in the fact that he’s got the least amount of lag in his systems, the smoothest treads, etc.

- Roast-master supreme. Will absolutely have a toon’s entire bloodline rolling in their graves by the time he’s done roasting the fuck out of them.

- And speaking of roasts, the CEO is a very picky man when it comes to his things, such as his decor or his banquets. He will accept nothing less than perfection, nothing other than his ideal vision.

- CEO will play any kind of game if it peaks his interest, whether it be IRL or online, if it’s got a deal he can’t refuse, he’ll go for it... (This may or may not have resulted in him playing some unexpectedly-hilarious golf matches with Skipper on Kirby’s Dream Course)

-Out of all of the other cogs, the CEO is the lightweight when it comes to alcohol.

[hysterialevi]

Hjarta | Chapter 16

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

A WHILE LATER

TEARS OF YMIR

Sigurd trudged through the snow-veiled woods, wishing desperately that he could veer off this path the gods had constructed for him. His mind was trapped in a perpetual state of fear, and the thoughts racing through his head only seemed to grow louder with every step he took.

He could feel it in his heart that Ulfar spoke the truth. There was merit in the accusations he threw against Dag, and Sigurd had even seen the man’s treachery for himself. He made it quite clear that he wasn’t on their side with the way he manipulated the assault at Kjotve’s Fortress, and the prince could no longer ignore the reality that was standing right in front of him.

But even then, Sigurd’s gut twisted at the idea of causing any harm to Dag. His entire childhood was formed of memories between the two of them, and he still saw him as the same little boy he once loved all those years ago.

He remembered the days they’d spend running around in the wilderness, only to end up covered in mud by the time they returned home. He hadn’t forgotten the way Styrbjorn would scold them for their reckless behavior, and how they’d make the exact same mistakes immediately afterwards.

The joy they shared, the sorrows they experienced, the burdens they had to carry -- it all stayed with Sigurd to this very day. He loved Dag like a brother despite the conflicts between them, and the thought of banishing him from Midgard tore a hole inside his chest. 

But he was a leader now. A future king. With Ulfar dead, Sigurd would have to step up and protect the people he left behind. His position as prince would no longer be a mere title, and he would have to do whatever it took to keep his clan safe. 

Even if it meant making a sacrifice as great as this.

“We’re here.” Sigurd said bleakly, stopping in his tracks once the waterfall came into view. He took a deep breath and gazed at the dreary environment, unable to even recognize the nature surrounding him.

This place once served as a sanctuary for the prince. It used to be a safe haven where he could take refuge when the troubles of his world proved to be overwhelming, and he often found a sense of tranquility in its earthly embrace. It always seemed to breathe with the spirit of the gods, and part of Sigurd even believed they walked with him sometimes when he ventured down this path.

Today though, the forest was barren of any life. The tragedies of the war had burrowed themselves into its very marrow, and it almost felt as if it could sense what was about to happen. The air was leaden with a suffocating anchor of dread, and it only seemed to crush Sigurd more and more the further he progressed.

He didn’t want to kill Dag. Every fiber in his being was screaming at him to stop. 

Part of even him was even considering simply exiling the man in order to avoid further bloodshed. Deep down though, he knew that wouldn’t be enough. He knew that Dag would most-likely run back into Kjotve’s arms once he broke free from the judgement of his clan, and cause their people a plethora of problems that they didn’t need.

It seemed like death was the only option here, and Sigurd hated himself for it.

“...Sigurd,” Dag said, approaching the man from behind. “Will you tell me what we’re doing now? Why have you brought us all the way out here? Is this about what happened between me and Ulfar?”

The prince kept his gaze on the view before him, leaving his hand close to his axe. His back was currently turned to the other man, and yet, he felt as if he could detect his every move.

“...Do you remember the day we met, Dag?” Sigurd asked. “All those years ago?”

The warrior noticed how his friend skirted the subject, but said nothing of it for now. “Of course. How could I forget? I was what, ten years old? Maybe younger? I had just given you a black eye during a training spar.”

Sigurd chuckled softly at the precious memory. “Indeed. And if I recall correctly, it wasn’t too long beforehand that I was boasting about how easily I’d be able to fell you. I was the king’s son, after all. Nothing could touch me.” The prince smirked. “...It seems that arrogance was my greatest enemy back then. The day I met you was the day I learned humility. It was the day I gained a brother.”

Dag leaned against a nearby tree, crossing his arms. “And do you still feel that way?”

The other man paused, his voice hardening with a cold edge. “...Yes. But I suspect that the sentiment is no longer mutual.”

Growing restless with anxiety, Sigurd finally decided to put this game to an end and shot an icy glare at his childhood friend, practically boring through his skull. He approached the older man and looked him in the eye, trying to keep his breath as steady as possible.

“...Dag,” he whispered, “you know how I feel about you. We may not share the same blood, but you are my family. No matter how distant we may grow, there will always be a link between us. And I will always see you as my brother. That’s why... I need you to tell me the truth.”

Sigurd took a few steps closer, barely shifting his gaze. “...Are you the traitor?”

Dag scoffed at the question and shook his head, reluctant to give a direct answer. “You can’t be serious. You actually believe in the nonsense Ulfar was spewing?”

“I believe his words held merit,” the prince persisted. “You can call it nonsense if you like, but that doesn’t change the fact that you stand as an accused man.”

The warrior stammered for a moment, taken aback by the preposterous notion. “What are you talking about, Sigurd? You were there! You saw what happened. I defeated Ulfar in honorable combat. I cleared my name. Isn’t that enough?”

“Enough for the Allfather perhaps, but not enough for me. Everything Ulfar said was true. The way you handled the assault nearly got all our people killed, and I know you well enough to know that you’re too smart to make such a grave mistake. You did it intentionally.”

Still, Dag remained in denial. “I don’t believe this. You would trust the word of a paranoid old man over someone you consider to be a brother?”

Sigurd raised his voice slightly, unable to hide his anger anymore. “I trust what I see! And over these past few weeks, I’ve seen you do nothing but traipse through the shadows like a thief in the night, hiding like coward whilst our men died on the battlefield. I saw you return from Kjotve’s Fortress without so much as a scratch on your armor, and I saw the apathy in your eyes when they fell on Thora’s corpse.”

The prince’s expression darkened with ire. “You claim you are innocent, but innocence always speaks for itself. I see no good reason why I should question Ulfar’s accusations, and I doubt you can give me one. So I’ll ask again--” he leaned in, “--are you the traitor?”

Dag rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at the waterfall, furrowing his brow in disbelief. It was evident that he had something to say, but the stone shackles of pride hindered his ability to come clean.

“How do you know Ulfar wasn’t trying to save his own skin by throwing me to the wolves? He was in a much more powerful position than I. He could’ve done anything he liked and gotten away with it!”

“What reason could Ulfar possibly have had to turn against Arngeir? You really think he would’ve been willing to endanger Thora’s life? Or Eivor’s? He saw them as his own children.”

“Who knows? All I’m saying is -- he was awfully quick to pass judgement on me. We had hardly set foot on Bjornheimr’s shores, and he was already prepared for a fight. The way I see it, Ulfar wanted to use me as a scapegoat. He was the jarl’s right-hand man, after all. He knew he could’ve said anything about me without raising suspicion. I mean, just look at how easy it was to fool you.”

Sigurd’s glare only sharpened at that. “You think I’ve been fooled, do you?”

“Am I wrong? I know you held Ulfar in high regard, but typically, the largest shadows are cast by those who stand the tallest. He may have been a good warrior, but that doesn’t mean--”

The prince shook his head in frustration. “--Enough, Dag! Enough with the lies. Enough with the deflection. Just give me a straight answer. I’m done running in circles with you.”

The other man fell silent, completely at a loss for words. “...You still don’t believe me, do you?”

Sigurd lowered his head in sorrow. “...I wish I could, Dag. Trust me. I wish I could. But if I’m going to keep this clan safe, I can’t allow anything to hinder my judgement. Not even when it concerns you.”

Dag let out a sigh and nodded in defeat, staring blankly at the ground. It was clear to him that his arguments were doing nothing in terms of swaying the prince’s mind, and he didn’t know what else he could say to divert the man’s skepticism. 

“...I see.” He murmured, looking back up at Sigurd. His demeanor had completely shifted compared to when they first arrived at the waterfall, and a grim sense of treachery clung onto his shrewd face. “...Very well then, old friend. If that’s how you wish to do things.” 

Dag pushed himself off the tree and straightened his posture, finally deciding to reveal the truth.

“...Indeed, your conviction is rightfully placed, Sigurd. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to keep up this facade, but I see no point in maintaining it any longer.”

The warrior paused for a brief moment, taking a deep breath. 

“I was the one who warned Kjotve.” Dag confessed. “I was the one who assisted him when he ambushed Bjornheimr, and I was the one who told him to flee his fortress before our clans could arrive. I told him of this alliance.”

Sigurd’s heart instantly shattered upon hearing the confession, and his jaw clenched in rage as a spark of betrayal flared inside his chest. He knew his suspicions had to be correct, but even then, nothing could’ve prepared him for the immense disappointment he’d receive from a revelation such as this. 

The prince wandered away from Dag in shock and began pacing along the waterfall’s edge, uncertain of how to respond. 

“...And why exactly... did you do it?” Sigurd questioned, his tone alarmingly quiet. “What led you to commit such... foolish treason?”

“I did it for the good of our clan.” Dag answered monotonously. “I did it to protect us.”

The other man threw a puzzled glance at him, bewildered by his justification.

“To protect us?” Sigurd gestured to the distant village, storming towards the warrior. “Bjornheimr lies in a bed of its own ashes thanks to you! The jarl’s daughter has been murdered, and you have the nerve to act as if this was an act of heroism? I grow tired of your deception, Dag. Just tell me the truth. What is the real reason you did this?”

The traitor’s nose crinkled in envy, and a newfound sense of contempt twisted his expression. He was behaving in a manner that Sigurd had never seen before, and yet, the prince felt as if he had known this side of Dag for his entire life. 

“We don’t need the Bear Clan,” Dag said. “All they’ve done is weaken us. They’ve even weakened you. Especially that boy.”

Sigurd cocked a brow. “Boy? What boy? You mean Eivor?”

“Yes. He’s turned you soft, Sigurd. Everyone can see it. Before we came to this forsaken village, you were a warrior. A leader. A man worthy of holding a crown. You led raids on our enemies, and you crushed anyone who dared threaten our people. You were a king in everything but name. But now? You’ve just become another pawn.”

“What are you talking about, Dag? How have I become a pawn?”

The traitor laughed. “Are you joking? I see the way you look at Eivor. That man has you wrapped around his finger. He’s distracting you from the war, and you’re allowing it to happen.”

The prince’s face was plastered with a look of dread. “You know about me and Eivor...? Who told you?”

Dag waved a dismissive hand. “No one needed to tell me. It’s as clear as day. You may be wed to Randvi, but we all know where your loyalties really lie. You’re only fighting this war for one reason, and that’s so you can take Eivor to bed while the rest of us do the hard work.”

Sigurd’s eyes snapped onto Dag with an iron grip, and his voice dropped to a dangerously low level.

“Watch... your tongue, snake.”

The other man chuckled. “The truth is painful, isn’t it? Nothing stings quite like the bite of a harsh reality you can’t accept. But please, by all means -- continue to ignore it. Ignore it like you ignore everything else, and let your kingdom crumble for your own selfish needs.”

Sigurd brushed off the traitor’s taunts and got straight to the point, eager to put this to rest. “So you’re a puppet for jealousy now? Is that it? You did all this... just because you envied Eivor’s position?”

A scoff escaped Dag’s lips. “Pfft. I want nothing that man has. Like I said before, I did this for the good of our people. Whether or not you choose to see it that way doesn’t change the fact that it’s true. The gods know this too.”

“The gods spit on oath-breakers like you! Odin has no need for men such as yourself in his company, and neither do I.”

“Then deliver your justice, my lord. Strike me down with the judgement that you deemed so righteous you had to hide it away from prying eyes. The people of Bjornheimr may not be able to see you here, but the Allfather does. And he will remember.”

Sigurd turned away from Dag and rested a firm hand on his axe, using every bit of his strength to stifle the tears that threatened to spill. He wanted nothing more than to scream at the gods for putting him in such an impossible situation, and he could already feel himself breaking down from what he was about to do.

But he had to keep his promise. He had to. Although no longer in this realm, Ulfar was depending on him to protect their clans, and Sigurd didn’t have the heart to deny the man his dying wish.

...But he loved Dag. In spite of all of his crimes, the prince still saw the traitor as the same boy he grew up with, and his memories of their time together only seemed to be resurfacing with every second he spent delaying the inevitable.

What was he going to do when the man was dead? Sigurd may have despised Dag for going behind his back, but a piece of his soul remained bound to him nonetheless. There was a link between them that couldn’t be broken, and the prince felt as if he was about to sever one of his own limbs. 

A part of him would undoubtedly go with Dag once the man departed from this realm, and Sigurd couldn’t imagine himself ever getting it back.

He just prayed he would be able to forgive himself someday.

“You... you were my brother, Dag.” Sigurd said, his spirit collapsing with every word. “I loved you. I did. You turned my childhood into something that I’ll always hold dear. I’ll never forget the time we spent together, or the joy I’d feel when you were around. Those memories are something that no one will ever be able to take from me.” He tightened his grip on the axe. “But I can’t let you walk free from this. I can’t let you hurt my clan anymore. I... I have to keep my promise. I’m sorry.”

Yanking the weapon out of its sheathe, the prince lunged at Dag without saying another word and buried the axe in his chest, immediately causing the man to stiffen in his clutch. The two of them toppled over onto the snow after a single strike, and within seconds, the traitor was already gasping for air.

He writhed in Sigurd’s embrace like a worm on a hook and desperately tried to pry the blade away from his heart, but to no avail. The other man simply held him down and forcibly kept the axe in place, pushing it deeper and deeper into his torso as tears began streaming down his cheeks.

Sigurd couldn’t believe what he was doing. As a child, he always pictured himself leading their clan into a glorious victory that would forever grace the lips of bards across the kingdom, and spread into endless sagas for generations to come. He thought his role in the war would be one of grandeur just like in the tales his father often told him, and he believed his path to Valhalla would be laden with silver and gold.

But now that he was actually here... he was finally realizing just how torturous the nature of war really was. He wept at the sight of Dag’s life vanishing from his eyes, and his stomach churned at the feeling of the man’s blood staining his hands.

There was also the fact that the traitor died without an axe in his grip. He left it with Ulfar back in Bjornheimr, and thus, paved the way straight to Hel’s gates. His soul would forever evade the magnificence of the Corpse Hall, and a part of Sigurd crumbled at the thought of never being able to reunite with his friend again.

Dag was gone for good... and it was all his fault.

Letting go of the axe’s hilt, Sigurd allowed himself to relax and climbed off of Dag’s body, taking a seat beside him as a series of breaths fled from his lungs.

...He did it. He actually did it.

The traitor had been removed from their midst, and their clans would be able to proceed without worrying about betrayal. Kjotve would no longer have an ally inside their walls, and Gorm would give them the last step they needed before taking him down at last.

Sigurd supposed he should’ve been relieved now that things were finally in their favor, but all he felt was emptiness. 

His closest friend lay defeated under the blade of his own axe, and his world remained shaken by the multiple losses it had just suffered. He experienced no pleasure in the face of this so-called victory, and the only thing he had left to hope for was the sight of Kjotve’s head.

He just wanted this war to end. He wanted the constant turmoil of these never-ending battles to become a thing of the past, and he wanted to cleanse the seas of the blood that stained their shores. 

Sigurd dreamed of a future where people wouldn’t have to share his clan’s pain, but deep down, he feared it would never become a reality. 

The war had already lasted for a couple decades, after all. He saw no reason why the gods would allow it to end anytime soon.

“Sigurd?” Someone said abruptly, dragging the prince back to his senses.

The man glanced upward from where he sat and gazed in the distance, only to find Eivor watching him from afar. 

“Eivor...?” Sigurd whispered, quickly wiping his face dry. “What... what are you doing here?”

The blonde viking stepped out from the trees and approached his lover, careful not to distress him even further.

“I saw you leave with Dag earlier,” Eivor answered softly, still drained from the shock of Ulfar’s loss. “The two of you were gone for a while, so I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He paused for a second, allowing his eyes to wander towards Dag. “...You really killed him.”

The older man stared helplessly at the sky, peering into the canopy of branches swaying above him.

“...Yes. I did.” He said, his voice trembling slightly. “I had to.”

Sighing morosely, Eivor pushed his way through the mounds of snow and walked over to Sigurd, crouching down in front of him. He comforted the distraught prince by gently caressing his cheek, and flicked away some stray tears with a simple swipe of the thumb. Afterwards, the young man reached over to the axe protruding from Dag’s chest and carefully removed it, wiping it clean before laying it in Sigurd’s lap.

“You did the right thing. I know it wasn’t easy, but our clan will sleep better at night thanks to you.”

Sigurd loosely met Eivor’s gaze, entirely devoid of life. “...I feel like a monster. Dag was... he was my brother. I know everyone else saw him as a traitor, but to me, he was always that little boy I met in Fornburg.” His expression sank with grief. “...That little boy is dead now because of me. I killed him.”

Eivor held the prince’s face in his hands. “No, Sigurd. You didn’t kill that boy. Dag did. A long time ago.”

The redheaded warrior offered nothing but silence in response, causing Eivor to return to his feet.

“Come, my love.” He beckoned, reaching an arm out. “We should return to the village.”

Sigurd remained motionless on the ground, simply looking over at Dag’s body.

“Wait. Could we... bring him back with us? I’m aware of Dag’s crimes, but even then, I’d like to give him a proper burial.”

“Of course,” Eivor assured. “Many in the clan will question his presence at the funeral, but I’ll send someone to retrieve him once we return. Don’t worry. We won’t leave him behind.”

Sigurd propped himself up on one knee and grabbed the other man’s arm, rising from the snow. “Thank you, Eivor.”

The Wolf-Kissed guided his lover away from the waterfall and called for his horse, leading the prince back home.

“Come on.” He whispered lovingly. “Let’s get you out of here.”

[dottie-wan-kenobi]

DOTTIE’S BATFAM FIC RECS

hi!! so, no one asked for this but,,, I wanted to make one anyway! I really love the batfam a lot and I see a lot of ppl in the fandom wishing it was easier to find good fics. this is by no means all of them but they are some of my faves, generally not too fanon-y! all fics are gen/family fluff with little to no ships (which are not bat/cest). 

feel free to message/ask me about triggers if you’re unsure!! and lmk if I forgot to tag anyone ❤️

---

Homecoming by Ionaperidot / @iowriteswords on tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10966704/chapters/24414906

Summary: “Your son’s grave. It’s been disturbed.” In which people actually notice when Jason breaks out of his grave, and Bruce finds him before Talia does.

My thoughts: Bruce’s voice in this is seriously perfect, plus Dick, Jason, and Tim are great as well!! This fic honestly helps inform me of my Tim characterization!

---

The Wound Begins To Bleed by audreycritter / @audreycritter on tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13295661

Summary: Now that Tim’s moved back to the manor, he just wants a few afternoons a week without Damian around. Funny how getting that was the catalyst for him becoming a better big brother.

My Thoughts: it makes me emotional okay it GETS me right in my HEART!!! both Dami and Tim are so so so good I can’t rec this enough

---

just hold a smile by RecklessWriter

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22777705

Summary: That's the thing about smiles, Dick thinks. If you flash the right one, no one knows there's something more going on inside. Five times Dick faked a smile and one time someone saw through it.

My Thoughts: Dick & others, including Tim and Cass. Dick is really good at hiding his feelings from others, and I love how in this fic, a lot of times, he’s hiding them to “protect” whoever it is

(more under the cut!)

life, if well lived by CaptainOzone

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18378512

Summary: Jason wakes up from a time-travel mishap to find Thomas and Martha Wayne hovering over him. Just another day in the life, right? ...Not quite.

My Thoughts: this one had me crying like a baby!!! the characterization is great and I love CO’s Thomas and Martha

---

one shot, two shots in the night by discowing / @dykewing on tumblr, @/wlwdiscowing on twitter

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18871864/chapters/44792710

Summary: The New York Times ✓ @nytimes · 4h

“A Shot in the Dark” remains on our bestseller list for the fourth week in a row! Read our review of @brucewayne’s tell-all memoir here: nyti.ms/3Fs9k2E

My Thoughts: TALK ABT MAKING ME CRY. this gets me every time, and it’s absolutely worth ALL of the rereads. such a great Bruce.

---

The View From Jade by lowflyingfruit

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11329791/chapters/25359972

Summary: Being transported to the past is not the sort of thing one normally expects. But this having happened, and with no easy way back, Jason's determined to make the most of it. Though the Bat still stalks Gotham's streets, the city's crime is run by the mobs instead of the rogues. There's no Joker yet. There's no Robin. Maybe there shouldn't be.

My Thoughts: Jason & Dick, and also Bruce somewhere in there too. this is SO! GOOD! I absolutely love Jason’s voice, and Dick is so in character. plus Bruce and Alfred are awesome as well!!!

---

The Birds Who Smile by Raberba girl / @raberbagirl on tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12972324/chapters/29656290

Summary: "Dark Nights: Metal" AU where Bruce adopts three of the Robins who once belonged to the Batman Who Laughs.

My Thoughts: I think this was the first fic that introduced me to Duke, actually! and while there are a LOT of characters involved, they’re all pretty great and realistic. they have their moments to shine and it’s,,, *chef’s kiss*

---

The Thing about Apples and Trees by Cdelphiki / @cdelphiki on tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22192747

Summary: When Jason agreed to let Bruce adopt him, he thought that meant Jason felt happy and safe in Bruce's home. But when Jason's nightmares only increased, and his panic attacks and meltdowns started happening more often, Bruce was at a complete loss for what to do. But then, Jason finally opened up to him, and he was able to quell some of Jason's worse fears. Perhaps a midnight chat and a few hugs wouldn't fix everything, but it was a step in the right direction.

My Thoughts: this is part of a series but might be okay to read on it’s own? tho really I suggest the entire series, it’s amazing. but this fic specifically has great kid Jason characterization (and also made me cry, I think!)

---

Kitten by lurkinglurkerwholurks / @lurkinglurkerwholurks on tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18194294

Summary: Bruce opened his mouth, prepared to give the unemotional, no-nonsense explanation he had cobbled together between his walk to the car and now. Instead, his mouth went dry and nothing came out.

“Bruce?”

Bruce was saved from answering by the thin cry that cut through the silence. He winced, then reached back with one hand to shush the dimpled, kicking legs.

“Bruce, tell me I did not just hear what I thought I heard.”

My Thoughts: so so so cute! plus the gangs all here!!!

---

Yes Ma’am by lurkinglurkerwholurks

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22004695

Summary: Jason had shuffled into the bedroom and had just finished pulling his shirt over his head when he paused, arms still trapped in the fabric. A pair of eyes glowed at him from the bed, reflecting the dim light from the hall.

My Thoughts: I also have to include this one bc it was a gift to me, and it’s so cute & angsty & just dkjsfsdjkhfksjah I love it so much

---

The D-Word by AutumnHobbit / @autumnhobbit on tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/9597686

Summary: "See, Tim?" Jason called over his shoulder sardonically. "Dad agrees with me."

He turned back to his food for a moment before the thought suddenly occurred to him that the Cave had gone near silent. He cautiously glanced back at the others. Alfred was still working away at stitching Tim up. Tim looked a little pale and sweaty, but he was glancing over at Jason with a look that was a mixture of concern and confusion. Bruce was standing stock-still, seemingly staring off into space.

My Thoughts: I constantly reread this when I want funny and then heart breaking Jason & Bruce feels. I always know what’s coming and it STILL GETS ME

---

baby wonder by drakefeathers / @drakefeathers on tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1887807

Summary: (baby!damian AU) Bruce dies, Dick becomes Batman. But the Damian that Talia leaves in his care isn’t a ten-year-old warrior, he’s a ten-month-old baby.

My Thoughts: oh my goddd this is so good, it hurts but it’s SO CUTE at the same time??? ugh dskjfhkjsadhf

---

a hat fashioned from tin foil by discowing

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14356020

Summary: nightwang @karakurachou – 8 hours ago

jason todd is alive and faked his death so he could become robin: a conspiracy theory thread

Batfam conspiracy theories meet social media.

My Thoughts: !!!!!!! so good!!!! seriously one of the best social media fics I’ve ever read.

---

Bet Your Bottom Dollar by jerseydevious / @jerseydevious on tumblr and twitter

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17971160/chapters/42447017

Summary: Dick's been having kind of a hard time, recently. When it boils over, Bruce is there for him.

My Thoughts: I reread this one a LOT when I need Dick & Bruce feels

---

Metanoia by AlannaOfRoses / @alannaofroses on tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21943249

Summary: Jason's bleeding out, Dick's overtired, and a half-serious offer turns into their new normal. Sometimes you just need somebody else around.

My Thoughts: this one was also a gift to me!! it’s got amazing brotherly bonding and it made me laugh a LOT

---

a hundred miles through the desert by acrobats

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18197330/chapters/43045388

Summary: Finding himself nearly three decades into the past hadn't been part of Jason's plans for the day, but he could manage. Having no idea how he got there, no clear path home and a recently orphaned Bruce Wayne determined to drag Jason into his search for his parents' killer - that might be a little more complicated.

My Thoughts: ughhh this is such good Jason content (and such amazing Jason voice, too) I adore it

---

oh, where do I begin? by LazuliQuetzal / @lazuliquetzal on tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21988693

Summary: “No, no, nothing’s wrong,” Jason says. “We’re a-okay. Just peachy. Good times.”

“Oh,” Duke says, lamely, working himself out of crisis mode. There’s an awkward silence for a moment before he speaks up again. “Why did you call?”

“Right, right," Jason mumbles, which seemed a little out of character to Duke. His sort-of wayward brother was generally intimidating, even when he wasn't trying to be. "Uh, Dick said that you had a guinea pig when you were younger. How do you take care of a guinea pig?”

_____

AKA, not-exactly accidental guinea pig acquisition

My Thoughts: this was ALSO a gift to me but it’s so funny and sweet and there’s amazing Duke & Jason bonding so I absolutely must rec it

---

Latchkey by goldkirk / @goldkirk on tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21672928/chapters/51685639

Summary: or, How Tim Drake Found A Family, Became A Photojournalist, Learned To Love Coffee, and Grew Up, not necessarily in that order.

Tim Drake is thirteen, runs the famous BatWatch blog that has spiraled hilariously out of control, has absentee parents that suit his purposes just fine, is training himself to run the streets at night, and is doing absolutely peachy, thank you.

Alfred and Jason disagree, and get Dick and Bruce involved in figuring out their weird nextdoor neighbor kid’s life. Everything goes uphill from there.

My Thoughts: this is SO GOOOOD the Tim feels are amazing!!! the family interactions!!! everything! sdkjfhsjdfhksdhfajh

---

Blood in the Water by MishaBerry

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12734052/chapters/29037474

Summary: We all do stupid things when we are lonely, and in faraway lands, we hardly expect the consequences to follow us. Bruce certainly never thought twice about an American woman in Jaipur after one night with her. He hardly expected to see her ever again.

The universe, on the other hand, had different ideas, and the tides of time and chance brought Tim Drake to Bruce's life over and over again.

My Thoughts: this one is more AU than a lot of the others on here but it’s a lot of fun!! it has Tim & Damian & Jason feels, plus the rest of the family on a smaller scale

---

so these are just SOME, and honestly you should go and check out other works done by all of these authors!! also would like to suggest reading the fics of @renecdote , @caramelmachete , @redtruthed , @rredarrow , and @schweeeppess !!!

[bellakitse]

could i request #4 from the prompts list please 🤗💕

Moments Worth Waiting For

After TK has an accident at work, Carlos waits with his crew to see if he's okay.

Grace sits with him, lending him a shoulder to rest on.

Carlos Reyes sits in an uncomfortable chair at St. David Medical Center, staring at a closed door of the hospital where his boyfriend once again lies after another brush with death.

“I’m going to kill him,” Judd mutters angrily next to him as he fidgets in his seat. “After we bubble wrap him within an inch of his life, I’m going to kill him. Damn kid is going to send all of us to an early grave from worry.”

Carlos doesn’t say anything, but he understands the sentiment. It’s only been five months since TK got shot, five months since they decided to be together, making them the happiest months of Carlos’ life. Five months and here they are again, scared shitless as they wait to find out if TK is okay after a beam fell on him while answering to a fire in a downtown building.

Getting the call from Captain Strand telling him that TK was in the hospital after an accident had caused his heart to drop to his stomach – hours later, without the chance to see TK yet, his heart hasn’t returned to its rightful place.

“Bubble wrap and caution tape,” Judd continues his ranting, turning to look at him. “You probably have some in your squad car, right, Reyes?”

Carlos opens his mouth only to close it again, not really sure how he should answer the man. Luckily for him, Grace, Judd’s wife, places a hand on him, drawing his attention.

“Judd, darling, why don’t you go get us some coffee,” she says kindly even as her tone lets them know it’s not a suggestion. “You can keep planning to baby proof TK when you come back,” she finishes saying sarcastically.

Judd pouts at Grace’s blatant mocking but still stands up to do as she asks, leaving the space between them free.

“Sorry,” she says to him with a kind smile. “He gripes because he’s worried, it’s just Judd’s way of showing affection.”

Carlos gives her a half-smile to be polite before his eyes stray back to the closed door of the hospital room. Owen had gone in there with the doctor over twenty minutes ago and still nothing, he was slowly going insane.

Grace continues to look at him, a warm tentative look on her pretty face. “How are you doing, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine,” Carlos says on autopilot, grimacing when Grace shoots him a look that calls bull shit on his response. “Grace – “ he starts again, only to quiet when Grace’s expression turns no-nonsense.

“There is no one here that understands better than me what you are feeling,” she tells him, her voice serious. Her eyes lock with his, and Carlos can’t look away. He feels his heart catch at her next words. “To be so in love with someone who is always in danger. To have them in a hospital bed and not know if they’re going to be okay. I get that fear better than anyone.”

Carlos swallows hard, the word love echoing in his ears. He knows he loves TK, there isn’t a doubt in his mind of that, but this is the first time the word has been used when it relates to them, and it’s neither of them using it.

“We haven’t said we love each other yet,” he says quietly, giving voice to his thoughts. The smile he gets from Grace in return is as tender as it is amused.

“Sometimes things are obvious even without the words, sweetheart,” Grace says knowingly as she reaches out to take his hand in hers, laughing softly when he gives her a shy smile, feeling bashful at how obvious his feelings are. “But,” she continues with emphasis. “Holding everything in doesn’t help, you know?” she tells him with a raised eyebrow. “You should tell him.”

“Tell him what?” he questions quietly, looking around the waiting room again before landing on the door that remains closed despite his silent wishing for it to open already. “That I’m completely and hopelessly in love with him, or that I lose years of my life from worry when he’s in danger. Or maybe, that the idea of losing him makes something in my chest squeeze so hard it seems impossible to catch my breath?”

“I think all that falls under the hopelessly in love category,” she says kindly, chuckling again when he shoots her an exasperated look. She squeezes his hand, letting out a small sigh. “That feeling you described just now, that ‘can’t catch your breath’ feeling?” she questions with a sad, understanding smile on her lips. “I know that feeling all too well, Carlos. It’s exactly how I felt when Judd and the 126 had their accident. It felt like there wasn’t enough air in the room as I waited to see if Judd would wake up, I felt like I was dying.”

Carlos licks his lips anxiously. “Does that feeling stop?” he asks, his spirits lifting when her sad expression brightens.

“It did,” she tells him, her eyes shine with unshed tears; it’s obvious the memory still causes an emotional reaction out of Grace, but she smiles through it. “He opened his eyes and looked at me, and it was like there was oxygen in the room again. It will probably be the same for you.”

Carlos goes to speak when the door of TK’s room opens, a doctor walks out, followed by Owen, who looks around the room as everyone goes to attention.

“He’s okay, he’s awake,” he says, letting out a deep breath that’s echoed by everyone in the waiting room.

The volume in the room goes up as TK’s crew asks to see him, but Owen just shakes his head before turning to look at him. “He’s asking for you, Carlos,” he tells him as the side of his mouth lifts. “Won’t stop, actually.”

Carlos lets out a shaky breath as Grace pats his hand once more before he stands, breaking her gentle hold.

Walking towards the hospital room, he pauses at the door when Owen reaches out and squeezes his shoulder in support before moving to the side to let him in.

He finds green eyes already on him as he steps into the hospital room. TK is sitting up on the bed, white gauzes circle his head, and there are scratches on his face and left arm along with some light burns from the beam that fell on him.

“How are you feeling?” he asks TK, his voice thick as he tries to control his emotions and not sound as scared now as he’s felt since Owen called. The way TK’s gaze on him goes impossibly soft lets him know he’s not very successful.

“I'll feel much better when my boyfriend comes closer,” TK answers, his lips tilting at the corners when Carlos scoffs softly even as he walks towards the bed.

Once he’s within touching distance, TK does just that, and reaches out for his hand.

“And I’ll feel even better when said boyfriend I’m crazy about leans down to kiss me,” he continues, his pretty green eyes dancing with amusement as Carlos shakes his head.

“Needy,” he murmurs, feeling lighter when TK bobs his head in agreement before tipping his chin up, waiting for his kiss.

Carlos brushes his mouth against TK’s, keeping the kiss soft, not wanting to hurt TK’s injured body any more than it already is.

“I was so scared,” Carlos confesses against his mouth, not pulling back even as he sits at the edge of the bed.

“I know,” TK answers, his voice no more than a whisper, his face remorseful as he rests his forehead against Carlos’. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, baby,” Carlos whispers back. “You were just doing your job.”

“I know,” TK sighs, pressing his forehead a little harder against Carlos’ for a moment before pulling back to look at him. “I just hate making all of you worry,” he continues as he raises his hand, running his thumb over Carlos’ brow. “Especially you, sweetheart. I hate it.”

“I can’t help that,” Carlos says, almost apologetically. “I always worry about you.”

TK smiles softly at him, his eyes shining with affection and love. It echoes the feeling inside his chest, and Carlos remembers Grace's earlier advice.

“TK – I,” he starts only for TK to lift his hand, covering his mouth.

“I know,” TK tells him, and if his expression was full of love seconds ago, it’s nothing compared to now.

“I know, Carlos,” he continues, smiling that special TK smile of his that Carlos loves so much. “And I feel exactly the same way.”

Carlos touches TK’s wrist, bringing the hand over his mouth off his face. “Then why…” he trails off, lifting the hand between them.

“I don’t want the first time we say those words to be here,” TK explains; he brings their clasped hands to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss over Carlos’ knuckles. “I don’t want it to be while I’m in a hospital bed, and you’re worried about me,” he continues, frowning gently as he looks up at him. “I think we deserve better than that baby, don’t you?”

Carlos looks at TK, takes in the marks on his face, the tiredness of his eyes as the day’s event starts to take its toll, making them take on a haziness to their usual bright green, and he realizes TK is right. They do deserve a better moment for their first I love you’s than this. He continues to look at him, the man he loves, and even without the words, knows loves him too, banged up, but alive, and he thanks his lucky stars that they’ll have a chance after today to say those words.

“Yeah, baby, we do,” he agrees, his heart fluttering when TK smiles beautifully at him. “We do.”

TK is still smiling when he tugs him in closer, and he’s still smiling when they kiss. “We’ll get that moment, sweetheart,” he whispers against his lips before kissing him again.

A week later, when TK is safe and out of the hospital. When he’s in his arms as they get ready for bed and TK says those words, pressing them into the skin below his ear, his heart feeling fuller than it’s ever felt before, he knows the moment was worth the wait.

[portalford]

Mind and Health (Every Bit of Myself)

AO3

“I can’t believe I finally get to test it!  I’m so glad you’re here for this, Fiddleford.”  Stanford pauses to scribble in that journal of his before he adds, “I mean, it’s not the main reason you’re here, but it is a bonus!”  He snaps the journal shut and beams.

Fiddleford decides not to try and untangle that and just asks a question of his own.  “You’ve never tested this thing?”

“Well, on animals, of course.”  Stanford starts walking again in that brisk way he has, where Fiddleford has to half-jog to keep up.  It’s ridiculous.  This house is so small; why is he rushing?  “They were successful!  Otherwise I wouldn’t bother trying it on myself.  Waste of time.”

Stanford pushes open a door and motions Fiddleford inside.  “Behold!”  He says, flinging an arm out.  “The electron carpet!”

It looks very much like the shag rug Fiddleford’s ma used to have.

Fiddleford doesn’t say that.  “Very nice,” he says instead.

Stanford lights up even more.  “Isn’t it?”  He’s got his hands out of his pockets and is twisting his fingers around — his version of uncertainty.  “I really can’t tell you how happy I am to finally be able to test this, Fiddleford, and even more so now that you’re here.”

And that’s Stanford saying he’s glad Fiddleford’s here, and not just because of his crazy rug.  “Well,” Fiddleford says, knowing better than to make a big deal out of it, “I’m here to help.  How do we do it?”

Stanford hustles over to the rug, pacing left and right in his excitement.  “It’s very simple!  We just walk around on the carpet to build up a static charge, and once there’s enough energy, we touch.  The charge will transfer our consciousnesses from one body to the other.”

Of course.  Silly of him to ask.  “What happens if we touch before the charge is strong enough?”

“Nothing, to the best of my knowledge.”  Stanford frowns.  “We could test that, if you like.”

Good Lord have mercy on him, because Stanford certainly won’t.  “No, I think I’d rather do it the right way.”  The right way.  To body swap.  This was some mad scientist stuff.

Course, Fiddleford’s always figured Stanford as a bit of the mad scientist type.  Figures he must have a streak of it himself, too, or else he wouldn’t like Stanford so much.

Stanford’s waving him over.  “Let’s go in a circle,” he says.  “That way we won’t accidentally bump into each other.”

And all right, Fiddleford’s a little nervous, but he’s got some excited butterflies along with his anxious butterflies.

Body swapping!  It’s unbelievable.  This is the sort of thing he maybe-sort of missed in California, that madcap brilliance and joy that Stanford brings to everything he does.

They start to move.  Stanford’s strung about as tight as Fiddleford feels, mumbling facts and figures under his breath.

Fiddleford starts to wonder when it’s going to happen, are we there yet? over and over like a kid on a car ride.

Stanford stops.  “Now,” he says.  He holds out his hand.  “Always a pleasure to work with you, Mr. McGucket.”

He’s playing, but in a serious sort of way, so Fiddleford matches his tone and says, “Likewise, Mr. Pines,” before taking Stanford’s hand.

It’s like the whole world knocks him flat on his butt.

Actually, it feels like that time he got bulldozed by Sally, the family’s old sow, but with more lightning or something.

“What—” he starts, and stops.

His voice is way too low.  Did his vocal cords fry?

He sits up and looks right at his own self.

He looks weird, from this angle (the mirror effect, he knows; your reflection is your face flipped and not your face as you’d actually see it) and is he really that skinny?

He (Stanford?) adjusts his glasses and looks up at Fiddleford.  “Incredible!” He says, and his eyes go wide when he hears himself speak.

Fiddleford cracks up, and yeah, that’s Stanford’s laugh coming out of his mouth for sure.

Stanford grins, and that big manic look of his doesn’t quite fit on his borrowed face, but somehow that just makes Fiddleford feel a little easier at heart.  

“Well,” Stanford says.  He gets to his feet, a little unsteadily.  “I never.”

Stanford’s teasing, but two can play at that game.

“This carpet,” Fiddleford says in Stanford’s best lecture voice, and he’d definitely do this too if he could sound half so important, “is powered by unicorn juice, and specifically those unicorns that eat gnomes and—”

“Yes, yes, all right,” Stanford says, and it is a special kind of weird to hear Stanford’s speech patterns in Fiddleford’s voice.  “It’s not actually powered by unicorn juice.  You know that, right?”

“I don’t know half of what you get up to, t’be completely honest.”  Fiddleford cautiously gets to his feet.  Stanford’s a bit shorter and far more compact overall than he is, and the lower center of gravity is messing with him.  

Stanford’s peering into the mirror across the room.  “I wonder if I could play the banjo,” he says.  “It’s largely muscle memory, so I’d expect your body to know it even if I don’t.”

“You could certainly try,” Fiddleford says.  He steps off the carpet and frowns.  “Stanford, did you sleep last night?  You feel—”

“I’m getting the banjo!”  Stanford’s already out the door, and there’s a stumbling crash down the hall.

"Stanford!”  If Fiddleford gets his body back black and blue he’s going to play the banjo every night til eleven for a week.

“Sorry!”

Trust Stanford to literally run from the idea of sleep.

Fiddleford takes his turn in front of the mirror.

It’s a trip, for sure, and he decides to leave it at that.

He does take a moment to inspect his borrowed hands and wiggle the fingers.  Stanford’s body is clearly perfectly fine with the extra digits, but Fiddleford’s brain might need a minute or two.

His hands automatically go into his coat pockets when Stanford returns, and Fiddleford’s pretty sure that’s Stanford’s own muscle memory at work.

“Listen to this!”  Stanford picks out the opening bars of “Sweet Home Alabama.”  It’s clumsy, but not half bad, all things considered.  “You seem familiar with this one.”

“It’s one of my thinking songs,” Fiddleford says, “so I can play without really focusing on it.”

“I still don’t know how playing the banjo helps you think,” Stanford says.  

Fiddleford shrugs.  “You just haven’t got the ear for it.”

“I like my ears too much for it.”

Fiddleford has a thought.  “Hang on a minute.  We can change back, right?”

“Hm?  Oh, yes, of course.  You change back the same way you swapped in the first place.”  Stanford gives him a wry look.  “Had enough of being me?”

“Had enough of your sorry excuse for banjo playing, thank you very much.”

Stanford laughs.  “Fair enough.”

“Although playing with six fingers—”

“No, no, that’s not necessary.”  Stanford grabs his arm, like he’s about to drag Fiddleford around the way he does, but Fiddleford doesn’t move.

Fiddleford grins.  “I’m you, Stanford.  I got the muscle in this house now.”

Stanford’s outraged cat-that-just-got-dumped-in-the-tub look is hilarious on Fiddleford’s face.  “Seriously?”

“Yep.”  Because Fiddleford is a nice guy, he gets back on the rug.  Because Fiddleford has always wanted to turn the tables, he hauls Stanford along with him.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you,” Stanford says, and it’s not a question.

“Much more than I anticipated,” Fiddleford says, and it’s the truth.

Swapping bodies is just as unpleasant as it was the first time, but the relief Fiddleford feels when he opens his eyes and sees Stanford across from him is pretty good repayment.

“Stanford?”  He asks, just in case.

Stanford uncrosses his eyes and looks at him.  “Who?”

Fiddleford’s heart stops for all of two seconds before he catches the grin on Stanford’s face.  “Doggonit, Stanford, you’re gonna put me in my grave one of these days and I’ll have to come back as a spirit just to say ‘I told you so’.”

“Nonsense.”  Stanford scrambles up and pulls Fiddleford to his feet.  “You’re a paragon of health, Fiddleford.”

“Uh huh.”  Fiddleford dusts himself off.  “Can we go back to the portal now?  I think I’ve had enough of this mad scientist stuff to last me a week or two.”

Stanford, predictably, starts lecturing him on how it’s not “mad science,” it’s just “highly experimental science,” which is hogwash if you ask Fiddleford.

If it keeps Stanford away from his banjo, though, he’ll take it.

[prime-pulse]

how about 2, 14, 15, 32, 34, and 45?

WAAA thank you for the ask !!!! Let me answer all of these :]

2. How did they decorate and structure Skyhold?

Edric personally saw more value in building a mage tower and new medical center when upgrading Skyhold; everyone fought well and they had way more mage recruits than they did anyone else, so it only made sense, especially with the “medical center” at the time being just a few tents laid on dirt.

When it came to DECORATING Skyhold, though, he mainly let Josephine, Dorian, and Vivienne guide him (except when it came to choosing the throne), because he trusts them to make better choices when it comes to design WAY more than himself. His happy little contribution was choosing the most plain and simple throne he could— which is a bit of a sore thumb compared to the Free March styled windows, Orlaisean decor, and Inquisition banners.

14. Who is their favourite and most trusted advisor?

Josephine, 100%. He would not hesitate in telling you this. Though after realizing how quickly he answered, he would beg you not to tell Cullen or Leliana. Though he values all of his advisors an incredible amount, he couldn’t have accomplished all the Inquisition has without them, Josephine is the only one he can really sit back with and just /talk/ to— whether it be gossip, engaging stories from their pasts, or just discussing future banquet plans.

He personally feels like he almost has to parent Cullen and Leliana when it comes to their sometimes brash methodology— which, of course, he doesn’t mind doing, but he enjoys how Josephine almost always tries to find the peaceful solution to a problem and how she always humors his ideas, even if they aren’t necessarily… Good ideas.

15. Out of the followers/companions, who are they most comfortable around?

Edric is comfortable around almost all of his companions (save for Vivienne, who he is still relatively comfortable around, she just intimidates him more than anything), but for who he’s /most/ comfortable around I think would be a three-way tie between Dorian, The Iron Bull, and Solas— which is a REALLY weird tie now that I think about it?? Apologies if these next few parts don’t make sense I’m going to just pour out my feelings

With Dorian, Edric doesn’t feel pressured to hide really anything about himself. He feels confident around him, he doesn’t feel like he doesn’t know what to do with himself and he doesn’t feel compelled to hide his nervous ticks around him. He loves to joke with him, he loves to gossip, he loves the way they can just talk and none of it feels weird. He feels comfortable talking about things he’s never spoken about before with Dorian, he feels safe to share his (sometimes nonsensical) worries and doubts with him, and he also feels safe enough to express annoyances and grievances with other people to Dorian because he knows Dorian feels safe and comfortable enough to do the same with him!! Edric has never really felt that comfortable around someone before, comfortable enough to have his back turned to them and not expect anything to happen, and he loves being able to feel that comfortable around him. Dorian keeps him grounded when he needs it, and Edric keeps Dorian grounded when he needs it.

With Bull, Edric feels relatively the same way but in a more platonic sense. Bull is very jokey and lighthearted, but he can be blunt and serious when he has to be. Edric likes to bounce battle plans off of Bull, or just plans in general, because Bull has a very calculated mind. Edric likes to come to the tavern and share drinks with Bull on occasion because Bull is not only fun to be around, but because he trusts Bull enough to let his guard down and have fun with him. He loves listening to Bull ramble on and on about the Chargers; missions they’ve had, embarrassing stories, etc. and telling Bull his own stories from when he was still in the Carta. He feels like Bull and him have lead similar enough lives for them both to be able to just sort of understand one another. Also, Bull is a good person to go to when you need to see if a pun you want to start using makes sense.

And lastly, with Solas, Edric finds himself comfortable with him because they both have a similar nature— at least, he did find himself comfortable with him before he ran off. (I haven’t done Trespasser yet, so he doesn’t know about the whole… Dread Wolf thing yet.) They used to sit together for hours in Solas’ study, working through ancient scripts and piecing together puzzles and contraptions Edric found during his adventures. They enjoyed bouncing theories off of one another when it came to magic and the fade, despite Edric not being very experienced in either. Edric felt comfortable enough around him to, like Bull & Dorian, voice his nonsensical concerns and worries to Solas; who would almost always give a solution in a very blunt but kind way. He always appreciated Solas listening to him, and he always loved listening to Solas’ stories. But, now, in recent times, Edric’s starting to see a lot of those stories… Don’t all make sense. It makes him worry.

32. Who did they leave in the Fade, and why?

Edric left Stroud in the Fade. He didn’t have much time to think; he was angry, he was tired, he was afraid and everything around him felt like it was spinning the entire time. He could barely think clearly, but he tried his best to put himself in both Stroud and Kariyan (my Hawke)’s shoes. Both wanted to be left behind, to fix some mistake they both felt responsible for, but Edric decided to let Stroud stay behind. Though it sounds harsh, he figured Hawke had more stories to tell— He was needed in places already; Varric needed him, that Anders fellow he’d briefly heard of needed him, he had a brother in the Wardens who needed him, and Mages who still needed his support. He himself may have been ready to give his life to help, but the world wasn’t ready. Stroud couldn’t do what Hawke would be needed to do.

Edric isn’t happy about the outcome at all, but he can’t rationalize an outcome that would make him happy given the situation. He holds out hope Stroud is somehow still alive and surviving in the Fade, and maybe they’ll be able to save him one day.

34. How do they cope with the stress of being Inquisitor?

Edric doesn’t cope with it very well at all. He tends to overwork himself constantly, with him almost never able to say no to a person in need and being the head of the Inquisition he always has a lot to do. He used to, every other week or so, either lock himself up in his room for a straight two days or would suddenly disappear from Skyhold for a few hours just to be by himself and try to clear his head (doing the latter more often). This of course would cause more chaos and panic for him to return to, the inquisitor being gone without so much as a trace for hours on end, then he’d have to deal with being scolded by pretty much every one of his advisors and a few of his companions.

After those methods didn’t work, he’d try to stay up for as long as he could to complete as much work as possible so he could maybe have a few reasonable days off without feeling too bad about it. Usually, that'd end up with him falling asleep at his desk multiple times and being too tired to actually carry out his work, so he stopped doing that as well.

Recently, however, he’s taken to knitting, reading, or beating the absolute shit out of training dummies depending on how stressed he’s feeling. They’re all definitely way better than what he’d been doing, so it works out for everyone.

45. What is their most and least favourite place to explore? Why?

Edric hates the deep roads. Hates them. Absolutely despises them. Every time he has to go and explore them, he’s stressed and a bit peeved almost the entire time. He’s cranky, the whole place smells like death and mold, there’s darkspawn everywhere, and the fumes from the occasional lava pool make his head hurt. If he had the ability to, he would personally seal up every entrance to the Deep Roads himself. But he can’t, so he just tried to avoid them as much as possible.

His favorite place, though, definitely has to be either The Emerald Graves. He loves the plant life and the general atmosphere. Sometimes he likes to go there himself or with a few of his companions, not to do anything necessarily important, but just sit and maybe have a picnic. He would especially love to go there while it’s raining, just to hear the sound of the rain hitting all the leaves and the sound of the rivers overflowing. He finds the place peaceful (when there’s not a giant chasing him, anyway).

[a-lil-bi-furious]

omg i sent an ask for the ship ask thingy a while ago but completely forgot about it (i assumed it never arrived??) but now i remember and still.. need ...to .. know... opinion on stisaac and allydia?

Hi Anon! Tumblr would betray me and not deliver your ask?? 😱😠 Rude. I did not receive the first, but I am happy to answer this one. Sorry it took me a bit (school’s got me super busy rn), but hopefully you’ll still see this!

Stisaac

I don’t really ship Stisaac tbh, so I haven’t given them tons of thought? It would take some convincing for me to ship them romantically because their relationship in canon just felt like pure hostility on both ends to me. I do, however, see some potential there with the banter (add in even a tiny sprinkle of affection and we have something to work with). If they were to have a relationship, I can’t see them being all that serious or committed to it, and I have a hard time seeing it as a very healthy dynamic. They’d be like...the pair that people think are dating? Maybe? It’s kind of hard to tell when the only things that ever come out of their mouths are insults with very little outward affection (even though they both care at least somewhat, they just won’t admit it).

I think their dynamic in general is interesting, though, because they’re only really in the same circle because of Scott. And (in my opinion) some of their hostility is because Scott’s in the middle of them; he’s always been close with Stiles, but he’s starting to really bond with Isaac too. Scott has always been Stiles’ best friend, and for a long time it was just the two of them, and now suddenly there are all these other people around. And that’s great! They could both use some friends. But Isaac is living in Scott’s house and suddenly just seems to be everywhere Scott is. Stiles already wasn’t all that fond of the guy and now he’s getting all chummy with Scott and Scott is all chummy with Isaac. And he hates it. And Isaac knows he does. But look, Isaac wasn’t big on Stiles either and with the clear chip on his shoulder and all the insults Isaac is happy to just deflect that bitchiness right back. He couldn’t care less about what Stiles thinks of him. He kind of wishes he wasn’t around so much, though, practically marking Scott as his best friend territory. What I’m trying to say is (whatever the nature of their respective relationships with Scott) there’s some jealousy here.

The form of their relationship I’m most on board with is begrudging friends who somehow end up paired off a lot and hate it, but kinda, sorta, maybe, a little bit have grown more fond of each other. But that’s a secret for the grave. They’re frenemies. And hey, sure, maybe they’re frenemies who get a little hot and bothered and make out once. It’s not a big deal, okay? Stiles threatens Isaac in his very morbidly specific way about telling anyone it happened. Isaac quips that it wasn’t good enough to be worth telling. And then casually announces it hours later, entirely too pleased with himself. Lydia and Allison are so over this before it even starts, but ultimately decide to fan the fire. Poor Scott is ready to bash his head in with these two fighting. Again. (Afterward he never lets Stiles live it down. After all, what are best friends for if not to mercilessly lovingly harass each other?) I’m rambling nonsense at this point. What I’m trying to say is I see them as essentially rivals turned friends-ish. I don’t ship them, but I’m discovering this dynamic would be fun to play with in the love/hate, bantering sort of way. I could potentially be convinced to read fic with them given the right premise, but couldn’t see it/wouldn’t want it in canon.

Allydia

Now, Allydia. I don’t even know how to describe my feelings on this ship! I feel mystified by it, honestly. They both just have such wlw energy so much of the time, and it’s a damn shame Lydia never got a girlfriend. I always loved both Allison and Lydia individually, and I did love their friendship! They were never a pair that I really gave much thought while watching the show (specifically ship-wise) but I remember seeing a gif set once outlining their relationship, and was kind of like “ok but why the fuck not??”

I love pretty much any iteration of them, canon-compliant and not. I ship them romantically, platonically, queerplatonically; in a polyamorous relationship, as friends who dated but decided they were better as friends and are super close/supportive exes, mutually pining, unilaterally pining; in different AU situations like... dark!Allydia, (both) supernatural!Allydia, (both) hunters!Allydia, non-supernatural world Allydia, etc. etc. I am 👀 intrigued about pretty much any idea. I do prefer a healthy dynamic, so that’s for sure a constraint, but mostly I just...am more or less indifferent to the form of Allydia I get as long as I get it somehow and they’re close and love each other, whatever kind of love it is. I get so emotional sometimes about how much they bonded, and especially about their relationship in season 3. That’s where it really seemed to blossom in a genuine, reciprocal way. In seasons 1 and 2 I do think Lydia and Allison cared about each other, but they were both so focused on portraying an image/persona that sometimes genuine care in that relationship got overshadowed by superficiality. And they are such a power couple too! Oh my godddd the strength and the confidence and the skill and the intelligence and the sass...incredible. I also cry whenever I think about Allison dying, and Lydia feeling it and screaming for her. I just....they were so connected and they loved each other and I am sad. I haven’t read fic for them before, but I certainly would if recommended a good one. 

I think my overall preference for shipping Allydia is as a queerplatonic relationship--just “platonic” doesn’t seem to quite cover how they feel in the way that most people mean it, but there isn’t a romantic connection. (To be honest, Lydia strikes me as somewhere on the aromantic spectrum just in general.) But, yeah, no one quite understands them like the other does, and ultimately they want to go through life together. So they live together and build a life together. They’re open to date other people romanticlally/sexually (if either wants); they function as partners in every other way, just as they always have, really, since Lydia first spotted Allison and announced “You are my new best friend.” And maybe love at first sight does exist, but maybe it isn’t what everyone assumes it will be. Maybe there was something about that glance that said “come get to know me” and Lydia declared “I already do.” Maybe there’s so much focus on romantics that people miss it when true love in other forms passes them by. Not Lydia. She’s not one to let opportunities pass her, and, honestly, she isn’t one to wait for them to come along either. She creates her own; if she wants something she goes for it. She wants a relationship with Allison. She gets a relationship with Allison.  And hey, it works out wonderfully. No one is impaled by a sword, and they live out their long, happy life together. Yep. It’s decided.

(Send me ships and I’ll tell you if/how I ship them!)

[skepticbeliever-bookclub]

Can you recommend the most heart breaking angst fics? Maybe some where one of them gets in serious trouble/accident or just straight up dies. Start the year with some tears. Thank you for all of your help!

here you go, sweets. 

contrapposto - spoopyy | T, 7.3k, Complete

Ryan works in a museum. Shane doesn't understand art. They fall in love.

Learning How Not to Die Inside a Little Every Time I Think of You - sequence_fairy | T, 3.7k, Complete

“You’d have picked out an entire sentence from that,” Shane says to the spirit box. “And I’d have laughed at you and told you it was nonsense. And then—”

Shane closes his eyes because this is the part he hates remembering the most.

Shut up, Shane.

Shane hates the spirit box, but it's all he's got left.

Home - cleopatraslibrary | M, 2.1k, Complete

“When I die, I want you to do something,” Ryan said.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Shane asked.

“I want you to take the spirit box to my grave and try to communicate with me, so I can prove you wrong one last time,” he said. Shane blinked and looked over at Ryan.

He was staring intently at his thumbs.

“Ryan?”

“Or whatever device they’re using in the future to talk to ghosts. I’m sure we’ll have figured out a sure-fire way,” he continued on.

He asked, “What if I die first?”

“Then I’ll do the same,” Ryan said without hesitation. “I’ll try to talk to you.”

“Nothing will be there, because ghosts aren’t real.”

“Well, if I die first, then I’ll prove to you ghosts are real.”

--

Or, when Ryan has the chance to prove ghosts are real. (And fails.)

The Body That Lies - aebleskiver | NR, 5.3k, Complete

Ryan is dead and haunting Shane. Because he misses him, of course.

But also to prove a point.

Creep - god_of_wine | NR, 1.7k, Complete

"Jesus, big guy, you're such a fucking sap when you drink."

Shane sat up in a rush, regretting it as his head spun wildly, and he grabbed Ryan's arm as much for support as for emphasis. "No, Ryan," he attempted firmly, his tongue working the words thickly, haphazardly. "I -" he breathed in deeply, shakily, the weight of years of wanting this man crushing his ability to speak, to repeat the words. Instead, he had, in a fit of bravery, leaned in and kissed the younger man with all the feeling his wasted self could muster.

there's others that deserve you but my darling, i am still in love with you - uneventfulhouses | T, 4.9k, Complete

It wasn’t a crush.

It wasn’t that at all. After years of meticulously scrutinizing his emotions towards Shane, he found Shane lived on a plane all on his own. Shane was alone in the respect that Ryan didn’t regard anyone the way he did Shane. Ryan had, of course, had best friends before him, but there was a difference to Shane. Something that allowed Ryan to confide, to seek, to decide, like he had when he first met Shane, that there was a space in his life that only Shane fit into.

To say they’re puzzle pieces is cliche and overused. Much more than that, they were links in a chain, stronger when they were connected.

or; mistakes were made, and some mistakes just can't be fixed.

Good Night - HydraNoMago | G, 3.7k, Complete

Ryan felt wired in his own body, and wished to fly off to somewhere far away as soon as possible. Steven was immensely worried about his agitated state. Shane….Well. Shane needs Ryan to be brave.

Lost a fic? Check out our fic found tag, and if you still can’t find it, send us an ask!

[utterlyinevitable]

Moonlit

Pairing: Bryce x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Lao) Word Count: 1.2k Warning: tame, just talks about sex. Summary: At brunch the roommates find out about Becca and Bryce’s affair and the pair are forced to have an uncomfortable conversation.

A/N: Thanks @doriansapprentice​ for the request! Prompt List #2: “I bruise really easily!”.  

________________________________________

The group of friends were hanging out in their apartment’s living room after Sienna served up a very filling brunch. Reveling in their respective food comas, Elijah was scrolling through their Netflix account trying to find something everyone could agree on other than Friends. Sienna watched him eagerly pointing out anything with a cute cover photo, and Jackie sat to her right on the couch scrolling through her social media feeds with feigned interest. Becca and Bryce were sat on the lounge playfully arguing over something nonsensical. 

From the sounds of it Bryce was losing and needed to retaliate. While tossing insults back and forth Bryce’s arm slowly crept behind her back just shy enough for her not to notice its presence. Becca was droning on about the flaws in his argument and Bryce used that opportunity to strike. Strategically his fingers fluttered over her skin. Lightly at first to coincide with her giggles. 

“No fair!” she exclaimed between fits of laughter. “Bryce, stop!” 

Becca started to fight back, wacking his hands here and there to no avail. With little force Becca fell back and Bryce had an even better advantage. Bryce had the upper hand. His skilled fingers more uncalculated and frantic groping for every bit of her.  

“Wait no… Bryce... no stop...” she commanded through ragged breaths. 

He kept tickling her. Every bit of laughter and scrunches of her freckled nose egging him on. 

“I bruise really easily!” she exclaimed loudly as a final plea of surrender. 

Bryce halted his ministrations and cocked a knowing eyebrow down at her, “Now we both know that’s not true.” 

“Gross,” Jackie grumbled.

When Becca’s flushed face and heaving chest started to calm down she looked up at the flawless man still hovering above her. His megawatt smile shining just a little bit bigger.  

“What?” Elijah asked obliviously from the sidelines. 

Jackie scoffed and raised her eyebrow, signalling Elijah to take a second and think about it. 

Sienna had her lips pressed tightly together, waiting for the ball to drop. She knew Becca and Bryce were intimate - the pair all but confessing so when she caught them exiting the bathroom together in towels one early morning. The B’s promised their involvement wouldn’t affect the friend group. So far they kept their vow. Though from that moment on Sienna swore not to tell the others for fear of drama. 

“OH...what!” It finally clicked. “You’ve hooked up!?” Elijah was in disbelief - he wondered how many other doctors Becca got her hands on that they didn’t know about.  

“Uh, yeah,” Becca replied, still firmly placed under Bryce’s body. 

Bryce reaffirmed, “Don’t worry pal, it hasn’t been weird or anything.” 

Becca slapped his forearm repeatedly trying to get him to sit up. With an impish smirk he shook his head and sat back. Like a promiscuous teen getting caught by her parents Becca followed suit, trying to keep a small bit of distance between them.  

With her phone abandoned and arms now folded over her chest Jackie bore them down with a steely glare, “When?” Before they could answer she held her hand up, “Am I going to regret asking this?” 

Becca genuinely told their mutual friends, “A few times.”  

“I’m irresistible, huh Becks,” he nudged her trying to lighten the now stiff air of the room. 

Becca looked around at her roommates. Sienna sat there with a smile, happy to be rid of at least one of Becca’s secrets. Elijah still had the remote clasped in his hand but an amused smile on his face. Jackie was the only wildcard - her normally cold vibe was ever present and the small scowl told Becca that she wasn’t fond of this arrangement. Although, Becca couldn’t decipher if it’s because it was Bryce the friend or the meathead surgeon.  

Wiggling her eyebrows and looking Jackie dead in the face Becca cooed, “Really great hands too.”  

Jackie visibly looked like she was going to hurl everywhere. “Nope. I’m done,” she proclaimed as she fled to her bedroom.   

Elijah was trying to mentally put together Becca’s romantic timeline. He and the whole group know she and Raf kissed, while he and Sienna held onto her other secret. He began to put the pieces together out loud, “What about -” 

Immediately his hand flew to cover his mouth. 

Everyone but Bryce sat there in silent horror.   

His naturally manicured eyebrows furrowed. “What about what?” 

His friends were quiet, looking everywhere but at him. He turned to look at Becca. His light brown eyes meeting her chocolate ones. The grave look on her face told him all he needed to know. “Becks, were you moonlighting? I am appalled,” he winked at the latter.  

Bryce and Becca had indulged in one another on occasion throughout intern year. They had an understanding and didn’t feel the need to define their affair - they found comfort in one another as needed. Not to mention the stress-relieving workout that came with it. They were undefined and casual. There was no reason he should be feeling a slight dip in his chest but he did. He had the option to see other people but he didn’t - he didn’t want to. And he thought Becca felt the same way about getting through residency and that’s why they hooked up. Guess not.

“Drop it guys,” Becca urged.  

Awkwardness settled in the air. Sienna peacefully removed herself before suffering through the imminent delicate conversation. Elijah didn’t give an excuse but diligently wheeled himself away after Sienna.   

Becca stiffly sat in her spot, wringing her hands in her lap. She didn’t want to have this conversation. She never wanted to have this conversation until she actually knew what was going on in her love life. Bryce shifted his body to face her fully, his editorial features becoming more human-like with the weight of the situation. 

Becca was absolutely shocked by the first question out of Bryce’s mouth;

“Did you fake any of it?” his vulnerable eyes implored her looking for validation. 

Although she was taken aback that he didn’t press for information of the other person she was seeing, she was thankful. Even in a serious situation Bryce enabled jovial lightness. “Nope,” she shook her head with a signature smirk, “You really do know your way around a body.” 

With a small chuckle he raised an eyebrow, “Better than the other guy?” 

Opening her mouth to retort, nothing came out. Was Bryce better than the other guy? How do you quantify that? Both men got her off so missions’ accomplished. Did she prefer one guy to the other? Yeah… but for completely opposite reasons. 

“Different,” she finally decided, “Total opposite ends of the spectrum.”  

Bryce visibly mulled her words over. “That’s fair,” he nodded. “We did agree to be casual.”

They sat silently for a minute as the air lifted with resolution. 

Becca broke their silence, “If it makes you feel better you were my first…” 

Bryce’s eyes went wide at her admission. 

She noticed the color drain from his naturally tanned face and chuckled. “In Boston,” she finished her confession.  

Bryce let out the biggest breath of air imaginable in relief. “Don’t scare a man like that, Becks. I almost had a heart attack! Being someone’s first is a lot of pressure.” 

“You can handle it.” she winked. “You’re Bryce Lahela.” 

Bryce needed one more gnawing question answered before they could put this fling behind them. “Still sleeping with that guy?” 

“No…” 

They most certainly weren’t sleeping together.  

________________________________________

Taglist: @ohchoices​ @dulceghernandez​ @aylamreads​ @binny1985​ @ramseysno1rookie​ @interobanginyourmom​ @queencarb​ @perriewinklenerdie​ @rookiefromedenbrook​ @eramsey28​ @choicesficwriterscreations​ @heauxplesslydevoted​ @schnitzelbutterfingers​ @purpledragonturtles​ @ramseyandrys​ @ermidc​ @mrsdrakewalkerblog​ @doilooklikeiknow​ @overwhelminglyaquarius​ @drethanramslay​ @edgiestwinter​ @rookieoh​ @lucy-268​ @mvalentine​ @lilyvalentine​ @starrystarrytrouble​ @angela8756 

[bardsingingasong]

5+1 Chances to scare you

TITLE: 5+1 chances to scare you | Read on AO3

AUTHOR: Bardsingingasong | MarysseLalonde

RELATIONSHIPS: Kyle Rayner/Jason Todd

SUMMARY: Jason never scares, or that's what he says. Kyle is determined to prove the opposite.

           There're 5 times tat Kyle tries to scare his boyfriend and 1 when he gets               it, more or less.

WORD COUNT: 3,677

BOOKS/NETFLIX/2002 SHOW/VIDEO GAME: Batman-All Media Types, Green Lantern- All Media Types

TRIGGERS/WARNINGS: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning.

RATING: G

ADDITIONAL NOTES: 

Happy Halloween!

Yeah, I know Halloween is already past, but never is too late to celebrate it!

I'm very glad to contribute to this fandom and this precious ship. I hope you enjoy these idiots in love.

As usual, I want to thank my beta, TanisVs, for her work. You're the best girl, and I love you so much!!

Friendly reminder: English isn't my first language. I'm trying to improve my English, but I have a lot of work to do. Please if you wish to comment, first of all, thank you, and least be polite, I'm doing my best.

Enjoy!

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

"As if you could scare me.”

Kyle frowned, and raised his head from Jason's shoulder to look at him. It was late at night. The patrol was over, and Kyle was back on Earth for the next month. They had decided to watch a movie, specifically a horror movie.

Growing up in Gotham and being trained by Batman had made Jason think that he was immune to fear. He liked to pretend he couldn't feel that emotion in particular, but Kyle knew it best. After all, the White Lantern was linked to the emotional spectrum.

"As if you were never afraid,” Kyle bit back. "Everyone feels fear sooner or later.” 

"Yes, but it didn't mean you can scare me."

Kyle moved away from Jason, leaning on the sofa to look at him. Jason had that smile of his, which means he was fooling around with Kyle.

"I will," His voice tone was firm. "I know you, I could scare you in one way or another."

Jason stared at him, his smile growing bigger while his fingers held Kyle's chin.

"Sounds like a dare." He sounded playful and sensual. He was using the tone that he knew it drove Kyle mad. He was trying to distract him. Jason probably was bored with the movie, and he was in the mood to play.

And Kyle hated taking the bait so quickly.

"Maybe it is." Kyle was digging his own grave, but he never refused a challenge no matter how absurd it was.

"I would like to see you try."

In a second, Kyle was astride Jason's lap, devouring his mouth.

"It's a dare?" Jason asked between kisses.

"Will you take it?" Jason pulled him and pressed him against his body. His hips were raised, telling Kyle what he was thinking all the time during the movie. That was a little disturbing, but Kyle could understand that it was a time since he was on Earth.

"Maybe later, when I'm not busy".  

There were no more words after that. The movie continued playing in the background, but sooner rather than later, their screams of pleasure ended up covering the scare screams from the film.

Later, when they were resting at Jason's bed, Kyle began to think of his plan attack.

1

“You know, I think we have a ghost in the apartment.”

Jason gave him an incredulous look. He was throw away over the sofa, watching a movie with a large popcorn bowl. Kyle should have joined him, but he had claimed how much he wanted to paint.

"And you think that because... ?"

Kyle stared at him. He usually didn't care how Jason looked like an idiot from time to time, but sometimes he wished his boyfriend would take him seriously. If Jason wanted a reason, he would have one.

"Because I was working on my canvas when some of your books fell from the bookshelf."

“Are you sure it wasn't you who has made them fall?”

Kyle rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "I'm sure, because your stupid Jane Austen's books are floating everywhere, and I can't do that without my ring."

Red Hood grumbled. He left the bowl on the sofa and paused the movie before he got up. He didn’t seem not much convinced but went to the bedroom anyway. Kyle followed him. The two of them stopped in their tracks at the doorway. The room was uncoordinated, with all Kyle's paints over the bed and the floor. An easel was in front of the windows and on it the unfinished canvas. The scene could be normal, but there were some open books, floating mid-air. The books moved like someone was making them levitate. Maybe for the inexperienced eye they could look more real, but Jason wasn't a beginner. A single look was enough to know what happened there.

"If you make a single scratch on my books, it'll not matter how much I love you, you'll sleep in the streets for the rest of your Earth's days off." Jason said. He turned around and started to walk to the living room. "Put them back on the bookshelf, Rayner.”

The Lantern looked at him and back to the room.

"Aw c'mon, man! Are you serious?!" He ran after him. Jason was again on the sofa with the movie playing and the popcorn bowl on his lap. "You didn't doubt for a second."

"Who do you think I am, Ky?" He threw up a popcorn and ate it in flight. "I work with the big bat, your childish tricks could never fool me."

Kyle sighed loudly. He dropped on the couch, next to Jason, resting his head on the backrest. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jason's mocking smile. Acting like a child, the White Lantern set the bowl aside and lay down on Jason's lap, crossing his arms with a pout on his face. Immediately, Jason caressed his hair.

Almost all the time, those gestures made Kyle doubt how people could think Jason was anything but a loving person. He knew how brutal and lethal Jason could be, but it was always for a reason... most of the time. The ex-Robin was very protective of the people he loved, and his love was not easy to earn but if you got it, it would last forever.

In Kyle's opinion, the man had suffered enough to let him be imperfect. Maybe Red Hood didn't comply with Batman's code, but he was efficient, and the same hands that could skew a life they also could be affectionate.  

"Just for curiosity.” Kyle said. "What gave me away?"

"Many things. Your canvas was dry, and I could see the fishing line a mile away". Jason's voice was flat, even bored, but Kyle knew him for years and he could hear a tiny, tiny, note of fun on his tone. "You'll need to be more convincing if you want to scare me, Lantern."

Kyle snorted, giving Jason a bite in his thigh. Scare Jason Todd would be more difficult than he had thought in the first place.

2

"OH MY GOD! JASON!"

Kyle's scream surprised him in the shower. Normally he would have ignored the Lantern while showering, but this time something sounded wrong in Kyle's voice. Jason turned off the tap and wrapped himself with a towel. If it was a joke, he would ensure that his boyfriend would have a punishment.  

Jason walked towards the kitchen, leaving a trail of water behind him. He would clean it up later, when he was sure Kyle hadn't been hurt by any nonsense. If anyone could do something so stupid and end up hurting himself, it was Kyle (and Dick too, but that was another matter). Sometimes Jason would try to explain to himself how Kyle could survive in space and be part of a group like the Lantern Corps as clumsy as he was.

"It may already be import… ant."

Jason fell silent as he entered the kitchen. Kyle was standing by the counter, with a rolled-up cloth tightly covering his hand. The cloth was completely stained red, and was dripping profusely. The cutting board and the knife with which he must have been working until then were equally stained with red. At first glance, it would appear that Kyle had cut himself. Very much so. To be honest, Jason would say that was the best performance the White Lantern could do. He was even crying! He could have fooled anyone, but not Jason. Definitely not Jason, who could distinguish fake blood from the real one with his eyes closed.

Red Hood saved the prank in his mind, he would ensure that Kyle will do it again with the Outlaws. Roy's face would be epic. But for now, he stayed near the door, looking at Kyle with his arms crossed.

"That's the best you can do?" Jason's tone had no emotion, but he arched one eyebrow, revealing his amusement. Jason had left his warm shower to suffer another pitiful try from his boyfriend to scare him. He'll make Kyle paid for it later. For the moment, Jason would be satisfied with dismantling his joke. "I don't know what have you used as fake blood, but it is more liquid than real blood. Nice whack, Lantern."

"In your defense I would say that it could have been quite convincing for someone with no experience. Play the joke on Jordan or Gardner, they'll fall for it."

"What about John?"

"Steward is the smart one in your little gang. He probably won't believe it."

"Does that mean I'm an idiot too?"

Jason didn't answer. He smiled and said:

"You're going to clean up this mess and make dinner while I finish showering, got it?"

Kyle pouted but smiled after. Scare Jason was his challenge, and it would be more fun than the second Robin had thought.

3

"Okay, this time it has to be the final one." Kyle took the final look at his latest work: a tall ghostly figure hanging in the middle of his studio. The smell of fresh paint still hung in the air, as the last layer had not yet dried.

The first two attempts had been a total fiasco, but this time Kyle thought he could make it. He had been working tirelessly for days to finish the puppet of the ghost, covered with layers and layers of fluorescent paint that gave it a rather spooky realism.

That night, none of them would be home. Jason had patrol with the rest of the bats, and Kyle would spend the day working as a team with other Earth Lanterns. That meant the Lanterns had an excuse to drink together, and for Kyle it meant he had an alibi when his prank exploded in Jason's face.

"Okay, Kyle, you can do this."

Kyle had left home early, having left a light construction as an alarm to know when Jason was leaving. So he had come back and set the trap, placing it where Jason didn't expect to find it.

When he returned with the rest of the torches, they bombarded him with questions. Hal and Guy laughed outrageously, while John and Simon looked at him with some disapproval. On the other hand, Jessica smiled at him and gave him new ideas in case the prank didn't work.

Time passed quickly between laughs and drinks, and by the time Kyle returned home, he had forgotten his own trap.

"I'm home," he said, opening the front door.

Jason's muffled voice received him. He wasn't in sight, so Kyle thought he was probably in the bathroom. Exhausted and a little drunk, Kyle went to the bedroom to change his clothes, thinking of making a light dinner for him and his boyfriend later. Suddenly, a tall, shiny figure pounced on him. Kyle, lost in thought, had no time to turn away completely and let out a cry of surprise. The figure collapsed after hitting him, and broke into pieces on the floor.

Kyle stood extremely still, totally taken by surprise, and watched what was left of his joke that he had been working on for a whole week. His drunkenness disappeared suddenly, with the loud sound of his heart beating in his ears. Obviously, Jason hadn't fallen into her trap, but he had.

How ironic, a victim of his own plans.

 "What's broken?" Jason asked, poking his head out the door.

"My dignity..."

Jason was curious, but didn't push for Kyle to tell him what had happened. Kyle looked, and was, very embarrassed, with a strong blush on his cheeks. He just cleaned up the broken pieces of the ghost without saying a word.

Later, when Kyle checked the security cameras, Jason's laughter echoed throughout. And the next day, when he woke up, the icon of an unread message was blinking on his phone. When he opened it, he found a laconic:

<Jason: 3, Kyle: 0>

Sometimes he really hated his boyfriend.  

4

Kyle started to get discouraged. He already had three failures in his mission to scare Jason. Perhaps it was impossible, after all, Jason had been through too many traumatic experiences since he was a child to be afraid of mundane things like ghosts, blood and floating books. Kyle thought about googling. He knew that Gotham had a website where people explained and taught how to make those kinds of scary jokes and traps, not just for Halloween but in case someone wanted to make them at any time of the year. Kyle thought it was a bit disturbing. Some of the jokes were funny, but others also made him think that most people in Gotham needed to go to therapy.

"How do you make a fake cut head? And then they say this city has the highest crime rate in the country. I wonder why."

Kyle decided to try one and ended up watching all the available tutorials. They were really creepy and unpleasant, although Jason probably wasn't afraid of them either.

"But I don't lose anything by trying..."

What Kyle hadn't counted on was having to watch people hide their fake heads in the fridge. That made him feel a lot worse than knowing that he probably couldn't scare his boyfriend, because... Well, the thought of Alex had never stopped hurting him. He had learned to deal with it over time, it was true, but... No, if he was going to play that prank on Jason, he couldn't, shouldn't, even think about going near the fridge with something that simulated a human body part.

The choice of model was quite easy. He couldn't risk anyone going off the rails, so he couldn't choose anyone from Jason's immediate environment. No Waynes, no Alfred, no Outlaws, no Titans in general. So he had to use someone just as willing as he was to play those kinds of jokes. Guy Gardner was always the best choice if you were looking for a partner in crime. Kyle only needed to tell him his plan so Guy would sign up without hesitation.

Now, a large jar was on the kitchen table, and inside was a picture of Guy's head.

"I'm home!" Jason announced from the front door.

Kyle looked up from the picture he was working on and took a look at the jar. He smelled the Chinese food, Jason had brought dinner. "Kyle?"

"Here." Kyle forced himself to stay focused on his work.

Jason walked over to the couch, left a kiss on Kyle's head and went into the kitchen. Kyle needed all his willpower not to look at his reaction. But to his disappointment, Jason pretended that nothing was out of place.

"Okay, I admit I almost believed it this time," he said, calmly. Kyle put the notebook aside and looked at his boyfriend. Jason was taking out the Chinese food boxes, placing them on the counter near Guy's fake head. "Gardner is a pain in the ass, I wouldn't be surprised if one day you decided to give him his due.”

"Don't say that." Kyle leaned against the sofa, watching Jason put the food on the plates. "You should get along better with him, he's my best friend and you're my boyfriend. You get along so badly because you look so much alike."

"Even more so.” When Jason left the dishes on the table, he approached Kyle and leaned in to kiss him properly. "Anyway, it's pretty well done. Can I put it on the shelf?”

Kyle rolled his eyes. Another failed plan.

"Whatever you want. Just don't put it in the bedroom, I don't want to see my friend's head while we're having sex."

5

Everything had failed. Kyle had no ideas anymore, no real strength, to try and scare Jason. His boyfriend was like an iceberg, nothing seemed to scare him, and the most he could do was make him laugh at his pathetic jokes.

"Just jump after him and say 'BOH!'" Dick had said last night, when they were having dinner with Jason's brothers.

Dick's suggestion was absurd. If Jason wasn't scared of anything, he definitely wouldn't do it because of a jump scare. But in for a penny, in for a pound, he thought.

Kyle came closer to the couch, where Jason was having a nap, using his ring to float and make less noise possible. But he was distracted by the thought that he might give Jason a heart attack, until he suddenly realized that his boyfriend had opened his eyes and was staring at him. Kyle flinched.

"Tell me you're not doing what Dick told you to do." Jason said. His voice sounded sleepy and resigned.

"No?" Kyle replied. Jason raised an eyebrow, skeptical, and Kyle felt his cheeks burning. "Okay, okay! I'm out of ideas."

"Do you want one? Admit your defeat, and come here with me."

That was the last attempt and the last defeat, so Kyle decided to be content, rather than reward himself, by curling up in Jason's arms and abandoning himself to pampering.

6

It had to be a nightmare.

Jason searched Kyle's body, frantic and agitated, desperate to find signs of life. He held the lantern in his arms, his head tilted unnaturally, and his eyes closed.

"Please wake up, Kyle, please, please." Jason whispered.

"Jay..." He heard Roy, who put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it tightly in a gesture intended to be comforting.

The other Lanterns of the Earth landed in front of him. Jason didn't need to look at them to know how they felt. He could hear Jessica's grasp, and he was pretty sure that sound was Gardner hitting something.

That couldn't be happening.

"Jason."

Jason ignored that voice, more focused on stroking Kyle's cheek. His skin was cold, and it shouldn't be. Kyle hated the cold, he always wrapped himself in a lot of blankets when he was in Jason's flat.

"Jason." The same voice called him again.

This time, a firm hand grabbed his arm. Red Hood looked up and met Hal Jordan, the man who had once argued with Batman about how Jason was fucking his beautiful little brother.

"Let it be." Jordan said.

Jason frowned.

"I'm not going to leave him! He's hurt, he needs help!" Red Hood replied, angry.

Jason saw compassion in Jordan's eyes, and he hated him. Why did he feel sorry for him instead of helping Kyle? No one around him was moving a finger, what was wrong with them?

"Jason, he's gone." Roy said.

"He's right here."

"Kyle's dead, Jason." Batman's voice echoed in his head.

"Poor little broken Robin. Did you lose something?" He knew that voice. It was the Joker, chasing him wherever he went. "Maybe if he hadn't been near you, he'd still be alive."

His singing voice made Jason feel sick. Batman was right, Kyle was dead. And the clown was also right, if he had been more attentive, maybe, maybe Kyle wouldn't have had to intervene and...

Kyle was dead because of him.

"Jason."

Someone was calling him, but Jason ignored him. I had to help Kyle, I had to do something. He felt a pang of horrible guilt crushing him to the ground.

"Jason."

The voice was loud. He knew it. It was sweet and quiet, like Kyle's voice when he convinced him to stay home on a rainy day, and drink hot chocolate until they couldn't take it anymore. He felt a wave of affection. That had been a good time.

"Jason, please wake up."

Jason opened his eyes. He could feel his heart beating strongly against his ears.

"Come on, honey, breathe. It was a nightmare."

Jason closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing. He inhaled deeply and then exhaled, trying to do it as slowly as possible. When he became aware of his surroundings, he felt someone beside him. A hand was tracing soft circles on his chest, making him feel much more comfortable and calm. A calm voice spoke intelligible words of comfort.

When Jason finally opened his eyes and got used to the twilight, he saw Kyle next to him. He looked very worried, but was smiling softly, surely relieved that Jason had finally calmed down.

"Hey." Jason mumbled.

"Hey." Kyle replied. "Are you okay?"

"I'm feeling better." It was going to take Jason a while to recover, but he would work on it.

"It was just a nightmare." Kyle repeated, still anguished.

Yes, it had been a nightmare, but it wasn't just that, Jason wanted to say.

All of Jason's nightmares were hard.

Sometimes the dream was about his own death, other times it was about the death of his loved ones. None of them were better than the other, all of them made Jason feel like a wreck for a while.

"You were dead in my arms," he whispered.

Kyle bit his lip. He felt many emotions bubbling up inside Jason, but (sadly) fear was the predominant one. Kyle curled up on his side, resting his head on Jason's chest. Jason moved to put his arm around Kyle, keeping him close to him.

"I know he was trying to scare you, but that's not how he wanted to do it. Kyle felt Jason's laughter under his cheek as he pressed him a little closer to his body.

"I'll give you that." He said. "But I prefer all the other times, they were much more fun than... this."

They were silent for a while. Kyle began to feel sleepy, although he knew Jason wouldn't fall asleep, at least for the rest of the night. Then... he heard him.

"I love you."

Kyle smiled, barely surprised, but delighted. He felt it, he felt his love overcoming his fear at full speed.

"I know."

Jason mumbled, with a snort.

"Don't quote Star Wars, nerd."

They burst out laughing almost at once. In the end, Jason had gotten scared, though in the way Kyle would have wanted. It didn't matter though, they were together, they loved each other.

And that was the most important thing.

[aurora-australis-tumbles]

Heey can you do 40 (exes) for phrack?

Oh Anonymous... this went in a direction I don’t think either of us expected. 😂Hope you enjoy it anyway and thank you for the prompt!

For the prompt, “exes meeting again after not speaking for years au”

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

There is a space, on the handlebar of Jack’s new bike, that is just wide enough, and just flat enough, to seat a person while it is in motion.

That is her spot.

Together they ride through the uncharted wilds of North Richmond, the jungles of Fitzroy, the shorelines of St. Kilda. And when he is with her, Jack feels like a true adventurer, a pirate of legend, an explorer of old.

(He isn’t sure who is the captain and who is the first mate, but he suspects they are trading roles with every voyage. He is surprisingly comfortable with this.)

She does a good job of holding on without impeding his view, but sometimes, on the really tight corners, he has to lean forward, his face precariously close to her breasts, so he can see where they’re going.

One those days he makes sure to thank Great Uncle Ted in his prayers.

Well, Uncle Ted and the ice cream man who wouldn’t take her IOU.

Jack had stepped in, offered to pay. She’d declined, told him she didn’t require assistance. He’d then suggested her could see her home, if she wanted, and one look at his bike had her accepting that proposal.

Six months later they spend all their spare time together.

They are an odd pair, from the outside. He’s relaxed, scholarly, funny, sweet. She’s skittish, shrewd, sarcastic, restless. He loves school and thinking about the future. She’s brilliant, but not studious, and can’t plan past the next hour. He’s respectful, she’s defiant. He laughs easily, and she doesn't, but when she does… oh when she does it is earned. He’s from a large, loving family who he speaks of often, but doesn’t even know if she has relations other than a cousin she mentions with a kind smile. He is an open book. She’s never even told him her surname.

But they share a wicked sense of humour, care about the same causes, are both explorers at heart.

They see each other.

His mates think her wild, but she’s not. What she really is is unconstrained, and the distinction may be lost on his friends but to Jack it is everything.

She is everything.

He thinks he might love her but he’s both too juvenile and too precocious to commit to the term. He doesn’t even know if he’s her only… friend. But he would gladly be her boyfriend, her proper boyfriend, if she’d let him.

Not that they’re always proper. He doesn’t lose his virginity to her, but he comes awfully close.

He is just working up the nerve to ask her to make it official when she tells him she is going away. She is only 16 but there are many more years of sadness in her eyes as she says it.

“Where?”

“Europe,” she tells him, but doesn’t elaborate.

He feels like he’s been sucker punched by an entire continent.

“Maybe I’ll see you there,” he manages through the hurt. “I’ve been thinking of enlisting.”

They meet one more time after that, and he gives her a gift. Something he’s been holding onto for a while.

“I can’t take this,” she tells him, knowing its value instinctively.

“You must,” he replies. “How else will you get away with it?”

“With what?”

“Everything.”

She laughs, truly laughs, and then she cries and he holds her and kisses her goodbye.

The poets make this part seem much more noble.

“Will you… do you think you’ll write? I’d like it very much if you did.” It is murmured into her hair, but she doesn’t answer. He knows she doesn’t make promises she can’t keep, but in this case...

“Just one then,” he negotiates. “When you arrive. So I know you’re safe and alright.”

“Jack… I’m not.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that so he just holds her tighter, and eventually she leaves.

His handlebars always feel empty after that.

The world has changed, though, and he feels duty bound to change with it.

He enlists, asking his parents to please pass along word if he receives any letters from Europe.

He doesn’t.

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

The years pass, eventful and mundane, and he never hears from her. Assumes he never will. So when he next lays eyes on her, two decades later and at a crime scene no less, it is a shock to all his senses.

He is trying to keep up as she spins her theories like spiderwebs around the room, but in the end he is just caught in them himself.

She plays the whole thing so coy he’s not even sure she knows who he is.

The idea hurts more than he thought it would.

Still, it would be understandable; Jack feels like several lifetimes have passed in the intervening years.

He eventually finds his footing though, manages to evict her from the room and avoid her as much as possible after that. Calls her Miss Fisher to maintain distance and propriety despite the fact that he once had his hand clumsily up her skirt in the middle of the Fitzroy Gardens.

And then the case is over and good thing too because he’s not sure his nerves can handle much more of this.

When she announces her new occupation he actually spits out his champagne.

He goes to see her in her hotel room that evening, not even caring if she remembers him or not.

She answers the door with a smile and welcomes him inside. As he’s removing his hat, she leans back against the door and crosses her arms.

“You know you used to throw pebbles against my window. I don’t know what to do with this knocking on the door nonsense.”

Oh. So she does remember.

He shrugs without turning to face her. “You’re staying on the top floor,” he reminds her. “And my arm is 20 years older.”

She laughs, easily he realizes with a twinge of something he can’t quite name, and asks him to remove his coat and have a seat.

He does, but keeps his coat on; some situations require armor.

She sits across from him and he gives her a nervous smile. “So…” he begins, uncertain how to actually begin.

“It’s been a while,” she says, saving him a little, and he barks out a laugh.

“Yes,” he agrees.

“It’s good to see you,” she says, and he can see she means it.

“It is. I’ve often… I wondered how you were. I’m glad you’re…” He huffs out a sigh, annoyed at his own tied tongue. He feels seventeen again and not in a good way. “You seem well,” he finally settles on.

“I am. As do you. A Senior Detective Inspector. Impressive.”

“Uh, yes. Yes. Thank you.”

“And useful.” She gives him a gleeful grin, and that look hasn’t changed since they were teenagers. “Looks like we’ll be working together.”

“Yes, about that.” Beguiling smile or not, this is his opening and he has something to say. “Have you thought this through, Phryne?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you don’t have the best track recording for sticking with things.”

“Excuse me?” She seems piqued and he rushes to continue.

“You’re… don’t get me wrong, I know it seems fun. And you always did like a lark. But crime — victims of crimes — they’re not just a distraction.”

She fixes him with a serious look. “And I would never treat them as such.”

“Oh come off it. You’re flighty. Which is fine. Charming even. But this line of work… this isn’t another book you’ll never finish or scarf you’ll never complete. I know you and — ”

“You do not.”

Now it is his turn to be affronted. “Excuse me?”

“You barely knew me at sixteen. You do not know me now. And I’ve really outgrown lectures from men on who I am and who I am not.”

She stands up and walks over to the door, opening it and making it clear he is no longer welcome in her residence. He nods and puts his hat back on. As he passes her he gives her one more long look and that’s when he really sees it. The change in her. The skittishness is gone, replaced with pure resolve.

He leaves, assuming, once more, he’s unlikely to see her again.

And then he gets a call from an irate local sergeant.

He tells himself her involvement is not the reason for his, and for a while he even believes it. He certainly has no plans to use her, except this kid is being so recalcitrant and has obviously been through the ringer and he remembers this one time back in Collingwood, when they came across a lost little boy and Phryne had been so gentle with him. She’d known exactly what to say to calm him and he figures what the hell, maybe she’s still got the magic touch.

What she actually has is a car she uses to kidnap the victim's daughter and one of his suspects.

But when he goes to welfare, and speaks on her behalf, it is with the memories of both that lost little boy and Jane’s smiling face in Phryne’s kitchen.

He gives up on avoiding her. It isn’t worth the effort or bromo-seltzer.

Her intervening years are revealed to him in bits and pieces, and he responds in kind. An ambulance driver and a digger. A pilot and a picketer. Still single and still a marriage.

When he sees her portrait, the first thing he comments on is her hair.

“You still had it long then.” He’d always liked it long.

“Mmmm. Sometimes I miss it.”

He looks up at her and offers a small smile. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think this suits you now.”

When he finds out about her sister, he’s devastated. So many puzzle pieces fall into place, so many odd moments from their time together then that make sense now.

He wishes she’d told him, of course, but he understands why she didn’t. All he can do is be here for her now.

And when she reaches for his hand at the grave, he is.

All in all, he is genuinely enjoying their time together. Thinks she is too. It gets a little more complicated after his divorce, but it’s mostly just innocent flirting. He remembers that from the early days of their first acquaintance and relishs it just as much this time around.

Until she goes too far. Withholds evidence, shields a murderer, lies to him. He’s had it and he tells her as much.

He semi-apologizes, admits he’s giving her up. Hopes she doesn’t cry.

She doesn’t.

“You’re not sorry, you’re a coward,” she accuses.

The words sting and he lashes out in kind. “Why, because I don’t let you get away with everything anymore?”

She glares at him. “I don’t need your protection, Jack. I’m not a child!”

“Well you could have fooled me. This is suddenly feeling very familiar.”

“Stop it. This isn’t the same at all.”

“Of course not; this time I’m the one leaving.”

“And ask yourself just why that is. This isn’t about a stocking or a car crash. You look at me and you see all the possibilities of your youth and you’re angry because you just had to confront losing them for a second time.”

It’s an astute observation, but not quite accurate. Doesn’t account for what he actually cares about losing. Doesn’t account for her.

“And what do you see, Miss Fisher? A safety net? Something to be taken for granted, a distraction until the next adventure without even a letter to let me know you’re alive.”

“Fuck off,” she spits out.

“Gladly.” He turns to leave, and she shouts at his still turned back.

“I never promised I’d write.” He pauses in the parlour doorway, but doesn’t turn around.

“You never promised anything, Phryne. That would have been too much like something real.”

He leaves, for the first time hoping he won’t see her again.

The case at the college is excruciating. They get through it, but it's a close thing, and the irony of it ending with them both on a bike is not lost on him.

But he finds he does not wish to never see her again after all.

They share an alcohol-fueled accord after it is over, negotiate the new terms of their fractured partnership.

She makes the suggestion after the third glass.

He agrees after the fourth.

He meets her on the airfield the next morning, and is ungenerously pleased to see she is just as hungover as him. They share some of Mr. Butler’s tonic in companionable silence and wait until they are both fighting fit.

And then they fly.

It is an experience unlike any Jack has had before. He finds he rather agrees with Mr. Hugo as they dip and swoop in the air; he feels the thread of the infinite and he loves it.

Eventually they land and Phryne grins. “So how did you like my handlebars, Jack?”

“I liked them very much, Miss Fisher. Very much indeed.”

He walks her back to her car, and she turns to face him. Takes a deep breath. “I did write,” she confesses and he is literally stunned silent at the revelation. “Heaps of letters. I just couldn’t bear to send them. You said you were enlisting and… I was afraid they’d be returned. And I found the thought unbearable. I decided it was better to live in hope.” She reaches into her pocket and hands him a small wrapped item.

A beaten up sheriff's badge.

He never thought he’d see that again either.

“It was real, Jack. It was. But so is this. It’s different and it’s new but it’s real. And we’re missing it.”

He looks at her. Really looks at her. Not the distant, foggy memory of his first maybe love, but the living, breathing, remarkable woman in front of him.

What memory could compare to that?

He returns the badge to its rightful owner and asks her a question.

“Miss Fisher… may I buy you an ice cream at the foreshore?”

“No,” she tells him for the second time in their acquaintance. He nods. Accepts her answer this time as he had the first. “But I’ll buy you one.”

He smiles and it feels lovely and odd in the sun. “It’s a date.”

It is.

The first of many.

So much has changed in 20 years. They have changed. But they get to know each other again, anew, and find that much has not.

They still share a wicked sense of humour and care deeply about justice.

They still see each other.

Jack’s virginity hasn’t been an issue in a long, long time, but eventually what he does give her is his heart, and when he does he knows she will protect it. (She still has the badge after all.)

And now he knows he loves her.

There is a space, on the corner of Jack’s desk, that is just wide enough, and just low enough, to seat a person while he is working.

That is her spot.

It always has been.

| Short Fic Ask |

[lizzy-bennet]

The Doctor and Mrs. Smith Fandom: Doctor Who Pairing: Eleven x Clara Length: 6,000 words Warnings: None     Also on Ao3 Summary:

“So, what do you say, Miss Oswald?” the Doctor asks, and he’s got that look in his eyes again, half-mischief, half-madness, all magic. “Fancy becoming Mrs. Smith?”

“Is this a proposal, Doctor?”

“’Course it is. That’s why I’ve got a ring.”

Filler scenes for the The Crimson Horror, the episode where the Doctor and Clara pretend to be married, because it’s a crying shame we only got five minutes of those two being giddy, fake-married idiots.

There were things in space that were magnetic, the Doctor told Clara once, as he wrapped one arm around her shoulders and pointed upward with his other, toward a delicate cluster of silver stars that shone in a scarlet sky. Certain celestial things had this force around them, he’d explained, that couldn’t help but draw everything else to them.

The Doctor, Clara thinks, is the same way. He’s like something luminous that belongs up in the sky, and every Wednesday she steps onto the TARDIS and gets caught in his orbit as he whisks her away to anyplace on Earth or anywhere ethereal. And maybe he feels as much of a pull toward her as she feels toward him, Clara thinks, as she stands on the steps of the Maitland’s and waits for the TARDIS.

After all, this man has all of time at the tips of his fingers and all of space as his backyard and yet every week he comes back to her, like he feels there’s something magnetic about her too.

The TARDIS appears then, flickering in and out like an old movie screen until it grows solid and steady, and when Clara opens the door and steps inside, she sees the Doctor’s bent over the TARDIS console, the glow from it shimmering across his face like a nebula.

“London,” he says, without looking up.

One word. Two syllables.

Clara has no idea how he can take those simple things and make it sound like he’s promising her something dazzling.

Not that she’d ever let him know that.

“London?” she questions, overly casual, as she steps toward the thrumming TARDIS console.

“London in 1893,” he adds with a flourish, and then he finally does look up at her, and she can tell he’s wearing that look, the one where he’s grinning and there’s stardust in his eyes and the promise of adventure on his lips.

Clara tries to keep the smile that’s threatening to spill across her face under control as she says, “That’s a very specific year.”

“Nah, not really, just made it up on the spot. We could go to 1891, if you’d like.”

And this time Clara really can’t contain her smile. She can feel it spread across her face, unbidden and giddy and bright. This is the effect he has on her, the effect he always has on her.

Clara feels like she should probably mind.

(She doesn’t.)

“Alright, then,” she says. “Show me Victorian London.”

#

“Okay,” the Doctor says as he steps out of the blue TARDIS doors and peers around at the mist filled sky and cobblestone roads and quaint little town signs. “Not London 1893. Yorkshire 1893. Near enough.”

Clara is both unsurprised and unbothered by this. At least it’s not like the time he promised her a San Francisco pier and then landed them squarely inside Alcatraz when it was still a functioning prison.

“You’re making a habit of this, getting us lost,” she says as she comes up next to him. Despite him insisting that he’s flying toward someplace specific, Clara’s still not entirely sure he’s really, actually picking a place to land and not just blindly flicking a switch and pulling a lever and flinging them around just for the fun of it.

“Sorry,” he says blithely, not sounding sorry at all. “Hmm,” she hums, and almost absent-mindedly, the Doctor reaches out for her. Clara feels his arm wrapping around her, the weight of it warm and comforting as it comes to rest along her shoulders, and then he pulls her close to his side, tucking her under his arm as they walk.

There he is, doing it again, Clara thinks, drawing her into him like he has some sort of gravitational pull. And perhaps this is why Clara doesn’t care that he hurls them blindly into the unknown. Because whether they stand in Venice or on Venus or anyplace else, he’s always there, right by her side, and 101 Places to See are only as good as the person you see them with.

Besides, as long as the two of them were together, what could go wrong?

It’s as Clara’s thinking this, ironically, that there’s a blood-curling scream, echoing off the cobblestones and slicing through the fog.

The Doctor turns toward her, smiling widely, “Brave heart, Clara.”

# They’re in a morgue. There are cold, crimson colored bodies on slabs and pictures in the eyes of dead men and a man called Edmund who led them there, spinning them a tale of something sinister.

(“They call it The Crimson Horror,” Edmund tells them gravely, pointing to the dead, red body found in the canal that triggered the scream they’d heard. “You’ll never look at that shade of red the same way again.”)

According to this Edmund, these bodies have started to regularly appear in the Yorkshire canal overnight, and though no one else believes him, he thinks the person dumping the bodies is from a community called Sweetville, owned by a woman named Mrs. Gillyflower.

The Doctor, it seems, is absolutely delighted by this. Sweetly named towns that hide something sinister and cadavers that glow red in the dark are apparently all hallmarks of a great trip, because the Doctor’s enthusiastically babbling a mile a minute as he peers through monocles and swipes off samples and starts mixing substances in a makeshift chemistry lab he’s found on a table. Clara, Edmund, and the mortician are all temporarily forgotten as the Doctor conducts his experiments and comes to conclusions.

The red, the Doctor finally decides (if Clara’s deciphering his half-unintelligible, half-overly excited muttering correctly) is some kind of chemically created poison, and it’s only when he’s pouring a beaker full of ruby liquid into a cup with smoke curling out of it that he pauses to look up at Clara for the first time since they got there.

“We’re in a morgue,” he says.

“I noticed,” Clara replies, studying a dead man’s red fingers through the silver monocle the mortician handed her. “A bit hard to miss, what with the corpses and all.”

“No, I mean,” the Doctor jerks his arms about in the way he does when he’s trying to explain something, and the liquid in the beaker he holds bubbles ominously at the movement, “we’re in a morgue. Highly doubt you wanted to spend your day in Victorian Yorkshire here.”

Clara shrugs, “I’ve been on worse dates.”

The Doctor blinks, mouth coming open before snapping shut again. He looks to Clara like he’s torn between wanting to fluster and sputter about how this is not a date, and being morbidly fascinated with finding out that a visit to the morgue’s not the worst date she’s ever been on.

He chooses the latter option.

“So,” he says, putting a drop of something that smokes and fizzes into the beaker, “what was the worst one?”

“Tommy Johnson. Drank too much. Hit on the waitress. Threw up on my brand new boots,” Clara says, shuddering at the memory. “This is definitely only the second worst date.”

The Doctor hums, staring at the bubbling beaker in front of him, and then, quite unexpectedly, he goes, “Want to make it the third worst?”

Clara tilts her head, raises an eyebrow, “What’d you have in mind?”

“Fancy a trip to Sweetville?”

“Sweetville?“ Clara repeats flatly. ”The sinister little village all these red corpses supposedly come from? That will most likely want to turn us into red corpses as well?”

“That’s the one,” the Doctor confirms, and with that he looks up from the beaker and at her. He leans forward toward Clara, crossing his arms on the table, his grin widening as his eyes lock into hers, and it feels a little like a dare. And it’s not in Clara Oswald’s nature to back down from a dare like that.

Clara mimics him, placing her elbows on the table, leaning in closer to him just like he’d leaned toward her, and then she gives him a daring smile of her own. “Let’s do it.”

The mortician in the background mutters something under his breath, and it’s hard to tell from his thick accent, but Clara thinks it sounds suspiciously like, “Stop flirting over the corpses!”

(He is ignored.)

# “Wait,” Edmund says, “there’s a problem.”

“Isn’t there always?” the Doctor replies quickly, and Clara can’t tell whether he’s being serious or sarcastic.

“Mrs. Gillyflower just recruited a good number of people to live in Sweetville. She’s no longer accepting applicants, especially not from single folk,” Edmund explains. “Rumor has it, though, that if one of her people spot a married couple, and they deem them worthy, they’ll occasionally offer them a spot.”

There’s silence for a minute as they all mull this over, and then the Doctor turns to look at Clara, and when he does, Clara can already tell that he’s about to suggest something completely, totally, utterly mad.

“What do you say, Miss Oswald?” the Doctors asks as he grins at her, and he’s got that look in his eyes again, half-mischief, half-madness, all magic. “Fancy becoming Mrs. Smith?”

Clara smirks, raises an eyebrow, “Is this a proposal, Doctor?”

“’Course it is,” he says, holding up a silver band in his hand that he’s somehow procured out of thin air. “That’s why I’ve got a ring.”

#

Clara, the Doctor, and Edmund are in the process of discussing plans and pointing out potential problems, when Clara turns her head to look at a map of the town and feels one of the buttons on her high velvet collar come undone in the back.

Victorian clothes, Clara decides, are as nonsensical as they are pretty. She doesn’t think she could ever live out her life in the Victorian era.

“Top button,” Clara commands, turning her back toward the Doctor, and dutifully his hands come up, and she feels his fingers brush against the back of her neck as her finishes buttoning up her collar.

Button done, Clara turns back around to find Edmund staring at them.

“You sure you two aren’t really married?” he asks.

“Positive,” Clara says, at the same time she hears the Doctor say, “Absolutely not, no.”

Edmund stares at them in utter disbelief, as if the idea of The Crimson Horror’s more believable than their protests.

(Clara tries not to think about that too much.)

“Anyway, the plan,” she says, putting them back on track, “is to attract the attention of one of Mrs. Gillyflower’s recruiters in town and secure an invite, yeah? So, how do we do that? Where do we find them?”

“I don’t think we’re going to find them, Mrs. Smith,” the Doctor says, bending his elbow and offering her his arm, “I think we’re going to let them find us.”

# “So,” Clara says, as she walks down the quaint Victorian street, her hand nestled in the crook of the Doctor’s elbow, “this plan…” “Yeah?”

“If you can even call it a plan -“ “Oh, it’s definitely a plan. You want to hear about plans? I once went onboard a cyber ship with nothing more than a hunch and a licorice twist, so trust me, Clara, when I say I’ve had plans much, much less pulled together than this.”

“Now that I believe.”

“Oi! Watch it!” “So, this plan,” Clara continues, completely ignoring the indignant look the Doctor sends her way, “is just to walk through town and hope to get recruited?” ”Edmund said the past three couples to move to Sweetville were reportedly found and recruited on Main Street, and so here we are. And look at us! New, fresh, walking slabs of flesh, ripe for the picking, or killing, as it were - “

“Really not making me feel good about this - “ “How can they resist us? Trust me, Clara, they’ll find us. When have I ever been wrong before?” And before Clara can answer with an itemized list, the Doctor says, “Oh, here we go.”

Clara blinks, nearly getting whiplash from the sudden change in his tone, but she notices that, up ahead, there’s a lady walking down the street. “No idea if she’s one of Mrs. Gillyflower’s or not, but we’ll pass her by and say a few words,” the Doctor whispers. “Get ready to look married and willing to move to a sinisterly sweet looking community, Mrs. Smith.”

Before Clara can ask exactly what a happily married, eager-to-move-to-a-horror-town woman looks like, the lady gets closer, and the Doctor pastes on his biggest, brightest smile, and moves his hand to wrap around Clara’s waist, pulling her ever so slightly closer to him.

“Hello, there,” the lady says, smiling at them as she approaches. “Are you two new in town?”

Clara‘s completely, utterly, and totally unprepared for what happens next.

“Eh oh, we definitely are,” the Doctor says, in what perhaps is the fakest, most outrageous Yorkshire accent Clara’s ever heard in her life. It’s half over-excited, half over-exaggerated, and all together hilarious. “And we’re enjoying this cozy little town, aren’t we, love?”

Clara nods, desperately trying to keep a traitorous, treacherous bout of laughter down.

She’s failing.

The Doctor must sense her losing it, because Clara sees him raise his eyebrows at her, and she can feel his fingers tighten around her waist in warning.

“Aw, how lovely,” the lady coos, thankfully not noticing that Clara’s half a heartbeat away from dying from laughter. “You two haven’t been married long, have you?”

“Nah, not long now,” the Doctor replies, plowing on in his heavy accent. “Feels as though we’ve only been married minutes though, doesn’t it, Mrs. Smith?”

Clara makes a garbled, choking noise, a pearl of laughter escaping her lips in the process, and she hurriedly and hopelessly tries to turn it into a cough.

(She can’t help it, his accent sounds absolutely ridiculous.) “Ah, right then, better get the missus indoors,” the Doctor says, “sounds like she’s coming down with a bit of a cold.”

Hand still on her waist, the Doctor half-drags Clara down the street, away from the lady, and they don’t even make it half a block before Clara loses all self-control and nearly doubles over with laughter, clutching onto his arm to keep herself upright. “What was that accent? Was it even an accent?” “It’s a Yorkshire accent.”

“That’s an insult to everyone with an actual Yorkshire accent. You sound like you’re talking with a jammie dodger stuffed in your mouth.” “Clara,” he reprimands, still using that terrible accent he seems terribly proud of, “I’ll have you know that my accent is flawless.”

“Cheekfulls of jammie dodgers, actually, like a chipmunk.” ”Oi, is that any way to talk to your new husband and apparent the love of your life?”

“It is when he sounds like that.” He glares at her, she grins.

“You can’t be very mad at me,” she informs him. “Your arm’s still around me.”

He blinks, like he’s forgotten. “Cover story,” he says primly. “Right.”

“Shut up.”

(He still doesn’t move his arm.)

# “You’ve got to do the Yorkshire accent too, you know,” he whispers to her as he pulls out her chair in the tea room on Main Street, where they’ve decided to see if they can attract a Sweetville resident’s attention. “No,” Clara says, taking a seat. “Absolutely not.”

The Doctor scoots her in closer to the table, his hands curled around the back of her chair, and then he bends forward, and she can feel his lips close to her ear and his breath hot on her cheek as he whispers, “It’ll be fun.” Clara turns her head, nearly bumping her nose into his chin, “I think you and I have different definitions of fun.”

“Come on, Clara,” he pleads, as he moves away from her, walking around to the other side of the tea table and plopping down in the chair there, a tangled blur of limbs and hand motions. “You’re my Yorkshire wife, from Yorkshire! We both have to be Yorkshire. The key word here being Yorkshire.” “Are you sure you said the word Yorkshire enough times there, Doctor?”

He waves his finger around the tea room in a circle, like his hand’s imitating the kind you’d find on a clock, “Any single one of these people could be from Sweetville. So you’ve got to do an accent, and you’ve got to start it now. When the waitress comes, give it a go, eh?” “I’m not doing an accent.”

(She does an accent. It actually is quite fun. She’s never admitting it.)

# They’re being watched. Clara can feel it. She just can’t tell who by. But there’s a distinct shiver down her spine that has nothing to do with the autumn wind, and a deep, instinctive urge to stop and turn and look. This was the plan, after all: Get watched, get followed, get invited. Clara’s certainly not getting cold feet, not when they’ve gotten this far, but there’s a distinctively uncomfortable feeling to being watched like you’re the little rabbit in a nature documentary, and there’s a great big fox around the corner. The Doctor must feel it too.

“You know what the best thing about a plan is?” he asks her. “What’s that?”

“It working,” he answers. “And do you know what the worst thing about a plan is?”

Clara huffs out a quiet laugh, watching as a puff of pale fog escape her lips, “Let me guess, it working?”

“Bingo,” he says, and then he pauses, sniffs, licks his finger, sticks it in the air, and says, “Ah, looks like rain.”

And with that announcement, he opens up the umbrella he’s brought with him from the TARDIS, and no sooner than he has, does rain start to fall, glittering in the glow of the streetlights and dusting the pavement around them with raindrops.

Clara has no idea how he does that.

“Funny story about this umbrella,” the Doctor says, and she has a feeling he’s trying to distract her from focusing on being watched, “well, when I say funny story, I mean funny story if you’re not a tremendously grouchy actor. I borrowed it from Gene, when he was on one of his movie sets. Bit temperamental, that man, but a superb dancer.”

“Doctor, are you telling me you stole this umbrella off Gene Kelly while he was filming Singin’ in the Rain?”

“I had to, there was a misplaced alien Slider cat loose there, trying to soak up the warmth from the set lights. If you watch the movie closely, you may still be able to spot it,” he tells her. “Anyway, yeah, kept the umbrella, I was going to give it back, but not with Gene yelling at me like that. Figured I’d return it later after he’d had some time to calm down. We can take it back to him, if you’d like, after we’re done here. You might like him, Clara. Just don’t try to take any of the movie props while you’re there. He’s rather touchy about that.”

Clara laughs and intwines her arm with his, leaning in close to him under the shelter of the umbrella. It’s then that she catches their reflection in the rain-dotted shop window they’re passing. There they are, reflected in glass, the Doctor and his Mrs. Smith, her in velvet and him in tweed, walking a little too close to each other, her arm wound around his. It strikes her then, how much they look like an actual couple. Clara had wondered, honestly, if she was going to feel uncomfortable with pretending to be married, or nervous. And she probably would be, if it was any other guy, but it’s not any other guy, it’s him. It’s him and it’s her and it just somehow feels right.

(This idea that they’re this comfortable together pretending to be a couple should probably surprise her more.

It doesn’t.)

# They’re still being watched, and possibly followed, but when they duck into a bookshop, Clara completely forgets about who’s following her. Or why she’s even in Victorian Yorkshire in the first place. And how can she remember silly things as insignificant as that? It seems impossible when she’s surrounded by so many books. Clara closes her eyes and inhales deeply, enjoying the comforting scent of fresh paper and ink and leather bound covers, and then she’s moving down the aisles, getting lost in a maze of books, and dragging the Doctor behind her, one hand clasped in his as she pulls him along, and her other hand reaching out to the shelves as she runs the tips of her fingers down the book spines as she goes.

She finally stops in one aisle and spins around in a half circle, soaking it all in.

“I don’t even know what to look for,” Clara suddenly admits as she spots a card advertising the ’brand new’ book, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. “What was going on in the world of literature in 1893?” “Ah, 1893. A good year,” the Doctor says, pulling a book out from the shelf, lifting it up to his nose, and inhaling, like he’s at a wine tasting instead of a book store. “Somewhere out there, writers of the golden age of detective literature are being born, and Arthur Conan Doyle is getting ready to surprise fans by resurrecting Sherlock Holmes, and Oscar Wilde’s new play is premiering.”

Clara listens to him, a small smile on her lips as her eyes browse the shelves, and then she sees it, right up there, toward the top. Could it be?

Clara reaches for the book that’s caught her eye, but she’s far too short, the tips of her fingers not even coming close to reaching it, and she harrumphs in annoyance.

It’s then that she feels the Doctor take a step closer, the warmth from his proximity seeping into her clothes and onto her skin as he comes to stand behind her. He stretches his arm up and easily grabs the book she was reaching towards before depositing it into her waiting hands. Clara looks up to thank him, but he’s distracted, watching something else by the counter, and Clara knows she should be paying attention too, but she just can’t, because she’s holding a vintage copy of one of her favorite books in the world.

It’s an 1893 copy of Pride and Prejudice. The cover is a pale, robin’s egg blue, embossed with a bright gold that glints off the bookshop’s lighting and makes Clara’s breath catch beneath her collarbone. She runs the pads of her fingers over the cover, nearly afraid to touch it. If she were back home in her proper time, she’d never, ever be able to afford it or even hold it in her hands. And it’d be old and weathered, if she got it the long way around, but here it is fresh off the printing press, new and pristine, and absolutely beautiful.

Clara’s not sure she can let it go. “Doctor,” she whispers, eyes still on the book, completely absorbed, “can I -“ But she’s interrupted.

“Hello,” someone says suddenly from somewhere behind her, and Clara jumps, hastily placing the book back on the shelf before turning around to see a woman standing close to her. The woman must’ve been who the Doctor had been watching, and Clara can see why. There’s something eerie about her, almost as if she’s a wax figure come to life. Her skin’s a little too glossy, her eyes a little too blue.

“Pardon me,” the woman says, “but I have an invitation to offer you on behalf of my employer, Mrs. Gillyflower.” # “Oh, yes, Doctor and Mrs. Smith,” Mrs. Gillyflower tells them as they stand in her Sweetville office, being interviewed. “I think you’ll do nicely.” “Grand! Smashing,” the Doctor exclaims happily, in that terrible, no good, very bad accent of his. “Eh, the missus and I couldn’t be more chuffed, could we love?”

At this, he brings his arm up and slides it around Clara’s shoulders, half-hugging her close to him, as if he can create a cocoon around her with his arms if he tries hard enough. Clara turns to look up at him, raising an eyebrow. She hasn’t, in all honesty, seen this much hammy overacting since Artie’s disastrous performance as Peter Pan in his school play when he was seven. The play had been tedious, and the urge to groan nearly unbearable, but she’d loved Artie anyway.

(She thinks she loves her idiot, fake husband too.)

# The sky looks like it’s a breath away from pouring down rain, and Mrs. Gillyflower’s leading them through Sweetville. There’s something disturbingly perfect about it, Clara thinks, as she walks past it’s garden and mill that both look a little too flawless. It all reminds Clara of a plastic dollhouse she once had when she was a little girl, where everything was plastic and perfect and pink, unlived in and unreal.

Her grip tightens around the Doctor’s arm as her eyes get drawn up toward the brick chimney on top of the community mill. There was something very wrong about the chimney, something Clara couldn’t quite put her finger on. Clara didn’t even know a chimney could look wrong until she saw that one. “The name,” Clara says suddenly, “Sweetville.”

Mrs. Gillyflower glances at her, “Yes?”

“Why not name it after yourself? After all, it’s your creation.”

“Gillyflowertown, no, Gillyflowerland,” the Doctor says, his accent getting lost a bit in his excited ad-libbing. “You could have rollercoasters!”

“It’s named after my silent partner, Mr. Sweet,” Mrs. Gillyflower says cagily, ignoring the Doctor’s roller coaster comment altogether. “But you needn’t worry about that. All you need to know is that we only recruit the brightest and the best.”

As Mrs. Gillyflower says this, she reaches out to pat Clara’s cheek, and the gesture somehow feels sinister. Clara’s breath catches, her posture stiffens, and then she senses the Doctor protectively taking a step closer to her.

Magnetic, she reminded herself, they were magnetic, him and her. And as long as he was there by her side, she’d be okay.

It’s only when Clara turns to see men with gloves coming toward her, and feels hands on her shoulders ripping her away from the Doctor that she remembers that not everything magnetic can’t be pulled apart.

#

Clara’s screaming and screaming and screaming, and all she sees is crimson.

And then all she sees is black.

# The world is dark and dizzying and Clara is falling. The last thing she remembers is being frozen, of her world turning black, but now she’s thawing, and she feels like she’s made out of ice and wax. She’s barely awake, darkness and sleep still wrapped around her mind, but she feels herself tipping forward, her legs coming out from under her. Clara tenses, bracing herself for impact, but before she can hit the floor, she feels strong hands catch her around her waist and pull her into a warm embrace. There’s the feeling of tweed under the tips of her fingers and the sense somewhere in the back of her mind that she is somewhere safe, so it’s really no surprise when she opens her eyes and sees she’s in the Doctor’s arms.

Clara thinks that she’s never laid eyes on anything better.

He smiles, “Hello, stranger.”

Clara smiles back, and it’s like it’s automatic, her lips curving upward even before her brain can catch up with what’s happening. She doesn’t even feel fully awake yet, like she’s still in that soft, hazy place between waking and dreaming, but she’s dimly aware of the warmth of his hand on her face, the way the tips of his fingers rest in her hair, and the feel of his thumb brushing gently against the edge of her cheekbone, over and over again.

“Doctor,” Clara says happily, and before she can fully wake up out of this post-unfrozen haze and change her mind (because, really, Fully Awake Clara would probably reprimand her later,) Sleepy Clara reaches a hand up and taps him on the nose with her forefinger, a giddy smile coming across her face when she does.

“Mmhmm,” the Doctor hums in apparent amusement, mirroring her own smile as he stares down at her. She still feels somewhat unsteady from being frozen, and he must be able to sense it because he’s still holding her up, and he shifts to slide his hand from her side to the curve of her spine.

They stand there for a moment, grinning at each other like idiots, like the universe has narrowed down to them, just them, but then something catches Clara’s attention out of the corner of her eye, and it’s enough to make her realize three things at once:

One - They were still in Sweetville.

Two - They were still in danger and her and the Doctor (probably, maybe, very likely) shouldn’t be standing there as if they had all the time in the world.

Three -  There was a lizard woman in a dress standing there too.

“What’s going on?” Clara whispers.

The Doctor smiles, and Clara notices he still hasn’t bothered letting go of her.

“Oh, haven’t you heard, love?“ he asks in that terrible, terrible phoney accent of his that she’s secretly missed. “There’s trouble at the mill.”

#

The Doctor’s talking a mile a minute and he’s got that look on his face again, where Clara can practically see the cogs turning like clockwork in his mind as he tries to figure things out. He’s frowning now, and pacing back and forth and back and forth.

“A parasite’s created this red poison, and it’s been hanging around, lurking in the shadows of Sweetville,” he says, still pacing, a dizzying blur of flapping hands and long legs. “As has Mrs. Gillyflower.”

“Doctor,” Clara says slowly, her thoughts coming together bit by bit, like a constellation connecting, “I’ve been thinking. The chimney I saw - “

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” he says repeating the word like it’s some sort of touchstone as he continues pacing and Clara hums in annoyance. “We’re way past that now. Yucky red parasite from the time of the dinosaurs pitches up in Victorian Yorkshire.” He makes a face, “Didn’t see that one coming.”

“Yeah,” Clara agrees, “but the chimney -“

“But what’s the connection to Mrs. Gillyflower?“ He asks, still not stopping in his movement. “Where’s she keeping it? What’s the -“

“Doctor,” Clara says, and this time she reaches up (and up, because no matter how high her heels are, he still towers over her), and firmly places her hands on his shoulders.

The Doctor stills under her touch, like he’s a runaway ship and she’s his anchor, settling him in place.

“An empty mill,” Clara says, hands still on his shoulders, holding him there with her. “A chimney that doesn’t blow smoke.”

She watches as her words sink in and his eyes travel up to the ceiling, where they stare for a moment in thought, before coming back down to her.

“Clever clogs,” he decrees.

Clara tilts her head back, grinning up at him, “Miss me?”

In reply, the Doctor reaches for her, cupping her face in his hands, and she can feel the warmth of his palms against her cheeks, the tips of his long fingers brushing against the tender skin behind her ear. And Clara can’t help but smile as he leans in to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Yeah,” he says. “Lots.”

#

The poison’s found in the mill, Mrs. Gillyflower falls to her death, and the inappropriately named poison-creating parasite Mr. Sweet ends up smashed and scattered into a hundred tiny little pieces all over the floor.

Clara can’t bring herself to feel very sorry about that fact.

#

Now Clara’s back in the TARDIS, sitting in front of the vanity in the wardrobe and undoing her bun, her hair spilling across her shoulders as she does. It’s then that she hears footsteps approaching, and when she puts down her hairpin and glances back up in the mirror, Clara sees the reflection of the Doctor entering the doorway.

“You’ve been gone a bit,” Clara tells his reflection, not bothering to turn around. “You get things sorted?” “Yeah, and then some,” he says, and then, completely unexpectedly, he adds, “Now, hold out your hands.”

Clara’s guard goes up, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. The last time he’d told her that, he’d dumped a handful of murky teal water and a sticky alien octopus in her cupped hands.

Clara hadn’t cared much for the surprise.

She swivels in her chair, the fabric of her dress twisting around her legs as she turns toward him. “Why?”

”Got you something to make up for the, you know,” he flaps his hand as if he can wave the whole situation away with a flick of his wrist, “almost dying thing.”

“Doctor, if you got me a present every time I almost died, you’d have to buy me something every Wednesday,” Clara chides lightly. “Besides, I wasn’t really scared. I knew you wouldn’t let me die here in Victorian times.”

At her words, his face goes pale and his posture turns stiff, and he stares at her both in a way that’s sharp as if he’s trying to spot something in her eyes, and in a way that’s hazy, as if he’s not really seeing her at all. Her words must’ve meant something, Clara realizes, she just doesn’t know what, but that look on his face that’s halfway between anger and heartbreak scares her in a way she doesn’t like, so she tries to pull him out of it.

“Doctor,” Clara says, trying to snap him out of whatever mood he’s in or flashback he’s having, “you going to give me my present now? Or are you going to keep me waiting?”

The Doctor blinks, shakes his head.

“Right,” he says. “Hold out your hands.”

Clara complies, and then the Doctor places her present in her hands, and Clara finds herself holding a book.

No, Clara corrects herself, not just a book, the book, the edition of Pride and Prejudice she’d admired in the bookshop. She blinks for a moment, shocked into silence and not quite believing what she’s holding.

“Uh,” the Doctor says, twitching nervously when she doesn’t say anything, those ridiculously long arms spasming awkwardly at his side. Somewhere in the back of Clara’s mind, it registers that he’s waiting for her reply, that she should be thanking him, but all her words get jumbled up before they can even reach the tip of her tongue because her brain is still catching up to the fact that this is really, truly, actually happening.

“Was that the wrong book?” the Doctor asks, “I’ll admit, I was a bit distracted by the nutty agent of the even nuttier Mrs. Gillyflower, but I thought that - “ Clara doesn’t let him finish his sentence, instead she leaps out of her chair and up in the air to fling her arms around his neck. She collides with him, and he nearly tumbles over at the force of her hug, but he rights himself, catching her around her waist as he laughs, and she‘s close enough to him that can feel his laughter vibrate through her body, and it feels safe and warm and happy like nothing else she knows.

“So,” he says, “right one, then?”

“Definitely, definitely the right one,” she confirms.

She tucks her face into the crook of his neck for a moment, her cheek brushing against the soft tweed of his coat, and then she pulls away, her arms unwinding and sliding down his shoulders. The movement causes something to catch the light, sending a shimmer around them, lighting up the wardrobe before disappearing, and Clara’s confused for a moment, before her eyes land on the ring on her finger.

“Ah,” she says, her right hand reaching toward the ring on her left one. “Guess I’d better give this back to you then.”

“Yeah, you’d better,” he hums in agreement, before adding, “Unless…”

She cocks an eyebrow, “Unless?”

“The 1920s.”

“The 1920s?”

“The roaring 20s in Los Angeles,” he elaborates, and she can already hear the excitement bleeding into his words, feel the energy radiating off him like a fire-cracker, lighting up the night. “1927 specifically. Prohibition, speakeasies, and…a hotel that’s rumored to have many guests check in but only half check out.”

He pauses there, and his words hang in the air, both an invitation and a challenge, an adventure and a dare, and there’s also the promise of both something dazzling and something dangerous.

“So,” the Doctor says, flashing her a smile, “fancy being Mrs. Smith again?”

He holds his hand out to her, waiting for her to take it, and somewhere in the back of her mind, Clara thinks she should probably feel wary of the danger. She doesn’t, though. She feels like she’s coming alive. This pull he has towards her is something magnetic, something electric, and Clara knows she can’t resist, so she reaches out and takes his hand.

“Go on, Doctor,” she says, grinning as she feels his fingers closing around her own. “Give me another adventure.”

And so he does.