It is two days to Christmas. Richie lies and Eddie doesn’t know why. Richie disappears and Eddie doesn’t know where to—and Eddie would call but Richie’s only got Eddie’s phone number, not the other way around. It has been days without word from Richie, and all Eddie can do is hope he is okay. Passing by the big brown house is enough, Eddie supposes; when he is walking down the street he stares up toward the second story window, the one from which music erupts. And Eddie just knows. Richie plays bass from his bedroom in the big brown house. He wants to separate himself, for whatever reason, doesn’t want to talk to Eddie, or hang out.
(No one asked for this but it happened. You’re on your period and Shawn wants to help ease your cramps.)
You had been off all evening. Dinner didn’t seem that appealing. Every way you sat snuggled against Shawn wasn’t comfortable during the movie he picked out for the two of you to watch on your laptop. Not even when Shawn wrapped his tail around your middle while he held you close. It seemed no matter what you did, nothing would relieve the grip of the cramps in your lower stomach.
Shawn noticed early on. The way you were grumping, frowning and clearly uncomfortable. He tried his best with snuggling and wrapping his tail around you which usually put you in a good mood. But nothing was working. He waited to say anything until the two of you were getting ready for bed. And when he did…well…“You smell weird.” isn’t what you thought he was going to say.
amy santiago is the youngest captain in nypd history, and a freakout of corresponding magnitude ensues (feat: mentions of peraltiago babies, husband of the year detective jake peralta, and a ref to kokomo). title from celebration. as always, i owe my life and all my worldly possessions to @jakelovesamy and @elsaclack. also on ao3.
The door shuts behind Captain Amy Santiago (she’s been in official possession of that title for a full three hours, and she has every intention to use it on even her takeout orders, just to hear the sound). The click of the doorknob is louder than expected, and she pauses for a moment, hand hovering, to see if anyone outside noticed, but the chorus of “Celebration” is blasting so loudly that the blinds are rattling against the windows. She shuts them, suppressing a reflexive sigh at the thought of the confetti littering the bullpen - her bullpen - and focusing on the overwhelming joy of this moment.
She moves behind her desk, savoring the feel of the new, heavy medals against her shoulder and the hat resting atop her perfectly smooth bun (she’d spent at least an hour ensuring every hair was in place. It could’ve been half that time, but Rae and Ana, nothing short of tornadoes, had spun through their bathroom halfway through the preparations, already in their pajamas for the babysitter, to grab Amy by the bun and plant large toddler kisses on her forehead, leaving bumps in Amy’s ponytail that refused to settle). Her desk is nearly bare, with only two framed photos perched below her desktop. There hasn’t been time for case files to accumulate, for her detectives and beat cops to need signatures or approvals or second opinions. The thought of the work excites her and terrifies her simultaneously, and it’s only as she’s sitting at this desk, so similar to that of her mentor’s, two precincts over, that the gravity of her situation hits her.
She, Captain Amy Santiago, is the youngest captain in NYPD history.
lonely snow/winter spirit Sid falling in love with Geno as he watches him through the glowing windows of his cozy cabin/house. Wanting for the first time to come in out of the cold, because Geno makes it look so inviting.
Sidney has ice in his veins, frost on his hair, and snowflakes sticking to his eyelashes.
He comes alive with the first sheet of ice across the river and melts away when the steady spring sun starts to thaw the earth.
Everything he touches freezes and when he closes his eyes and exhales snow starts to fall around him.