TO BE OF SERVICE.

[citysheriff]

⚔️   Enforcer Sheriff Grayson. Written by Freddie. Est. 13 December 2021. ⚔️

Low activity & private, pretty much just here for lesbian wish-fulfilment. I know nothing about League of Legends except that Grayson is hot, and that’s very valid of me.

I N F O R M A T I O N    &     R U L E S

[citysheriff]

afraidofchange​:

  Such a sudden proximity - with Grayson’s firm grip holding her chin defiantly within her grasp - forces a snow-white brow to raise, two parts curious and another almost eager to find out what, exactly, the Sherriff’s next step is in this tête-à-tête of iron wills and fierce spirits. She finds those warm, gray-green eyes mirthful, just a hint of mischievousness, but something more - something undecipherable in the heat of the moment. After all these years, still, sometimes, just sometimes Grayson surprises her. 

  The feeling of calloused fingers and a damp but warm palm forces a rise in heat to that of wrinkled cheeks, with laugh lines threatening to show. That is, however, until the other woman shifts her grasp to that of her hijab, nestled in against the delicate column of her throat. This close, she can feel Grayson’s heated breath and the hint of tea on her lips; for a moment, and only a moment, Ana Amari contemplates breaking the rules as her head tips back just enough to meet the other woman’s gaze directly from her single good eye. A taut feeling pulls at the lowers of her gut, of sudden nerves and something that resembles DESIRE – but Grayson pulls away before the temptation can truly surface, and internally, Ana sighs in relief, but externally, she can only offer that same, shit-eating grin from before, and a light bout of low laughter that resonates against the walls of the kitchen, and out the open window.

 “Oh, you are a TERRIBLE tease,” A beat passes, and Ana finds her pace again, back at it with a barb on her tongue and confidence with every word. “Is that why you’re still single these days?” Of course, she doesn’t dig any deeper than that, only playing lightly in jest before relenting from anything further, instead favouring the food before them. Bread, cheese, meat, beer. Eager hands begin to cut away with that of a small paring knife cleverly hidden in the sleeve of her cloak, setting aside slices atop wooden serving plates. 

  “Grown up in my OLD AGE,” Ana remarks, rolling her eye before casting her glance in Grayson’s direction, sitting as told, awaiting her meal. What’s left unspoken lingers just beneath the surface, a tension previously absent, but intent to at least provide her a half-decent meal, Ana stays focused. “I blame my near-death experience letting me know that life is, in fact, short,” Satisfied with the amount of food prepared, she slides one plate toward Grayson, then unceremoniously leans back in her chair with a piece of bread in hand, decidedly raising her feet beneath the table, resting on Grayson’s lap without so much as missing a beat - and showing no acknowledgement of the act itself.

    “But younger me would never have expected to hear praise from one Enforcer Grayson… maybe in my absence you’ve changed for the better, and didn’t bother to tell me, hm?” 

       “ Single. ”  She rolls the word across her tongue like an unfamiliar morsel. A small laugh drops from Grayson's lips, then; an involuntary reflex at her friend's boldness. Impertinence, she'd call it in any other person. “ Never thought of myself like that. ” Her hand, the same that caught Amari by the throat a mere moment ago, goes to her half unbuttoned collar. Beneath the snug fit of her undershirt, Grayson finds the necklace that has long since become her daily companion. She pulls it out for Amari's inspection, letting it dangle from the tip of her forefinger. A thin golden ring on a matching chain. Amazing, how such a small piece of metal can weigh more than a continent, sometimes. “ I'm still married, you know, ” she says gently. In her time, she's given only two pledges so unconditional that neither death nor corruption may break them --- one to the City, the other to her wife. But still, despite the twist of old grief to her mouth, Amari's interest in the topic doesn't fail to amuse. She takes it as a win, so soon after their little tête-à-tête. “ And what about you, my girl? What did death do to your chance of finding love again? Bet you're hot stuff in the Undercity ... handsome rogue like you. ” 

        It's said with only a hint of jest, but a healthy portion of genuine curiosity. If ever Grayson’s been at a disadvantage, it's now, suspended in complete ignorance of all facets of Amari's newfound life but for the ones she chooses to share --- all while the smug bastard herself must've kept hawkish watch over Grayson for quite some time. Enough so to know the best ways into her home ( the bedroom window ), the contents of her kitchen cupboards ( none ), and any potential comings and goings of a hypothetical partner around her house ( also none ). She returns the necklace to its familiar place beneath her shirt, then rests a proprietary hand on the pair of legs draped so bravely across her lap. The easy intimacy of the gesture rekindles the heat in her stomach. Amari is right, of course. In the past, Grayson wouldn't have spared her too many kindnesses. Nor would she have welcomed those feet into her lap, or sunk her fingertips into the muscled flesh above Amari's knee for a gentle massage. She is different these days - they both are. It isn't easy, losing the two most important women in life. How much more painful must it be to lose everything? 

        “ Age softens people, even the toughest Enforcer, ” she admits, her free hand reaching readily for a thick slice of bread. She seeks Amari's gaze, a twinkle in her eye and a delightful tremor in her chest. She could pass the whole night like this, soaking up her friend’s closeness. “ But you, it suits. You're like ... hmm. A good cheese. Not always pleasant on the nose. But more delicious with age. ”

[sevikasbunny]

Grayson kissing my hand 🫶🏽🫶🏽

[citysheriff]

afraidofchange​

   Earning a CURSE from Grayson makes Ana Amari grin cheekily from ear to bloody ear; it’s amazing, really, to see such a bulwark of a woman spin around so damn quickly, ready to fire, only to realize it’s her in a split second. It takes nearly ALL of Ana’s inner strength not to let herself laugh, fighting it off internally and making her cheeks ache with the effort. She watches amusedly as Grayson now stands before her, all hulking, sweaty muscle and indignation, with a healthy dose of annoyance. 

  There’s a certain kind of joy that goes with seeing Grayson wound up, stemming from their days of Enforcer competition, vying for Sherriff all those years ago. In her younger years, Ana was a relentless fighter, career-driven and determined to succeed, even at the cost of her familial relationships. Funny, how that turned out - and yet, here she is, in the Sherriff’s kitchen, still getting on Grayson’s nerves. 

  Still, it’s too damn easy.

  From her seated position, Ana watches on, still as nonchalantly as ever, even going so far as taking another swig of the cold beer, following with an over-exaggerated, satisfied ‘ah!’ to follow. Even still as the other woman slows upon approach but closes in, Ana isn’t certain as to what’s going to come out of Grayson’s mouth, so she speaks first, finding that storm-ridden gaze, perhaps as a means to further tease and antagonize - and provoke. 

  “Hm, you look like you’re either going to hit me or kiss me, I’m not sure which,” Her remark comes quick with that widening smile - but it falters at the Sherriff’s actual retort. Always direct, that one. “Well, I told you what I had planned,” Ana recounts from their exchange from the night prior. Instead, she takes a moment to collect herself, old, calloused fingers tapping the glass bottle beneath them. “She… took it better than I thought. She read my letters, but never answered them. And I cannot blame her for that,” A pause follows, still looking up at Grayson, studying her posture and the way her broad shoulders slope into her bare arms with that undershirt. “But it’s… a start.” 

  With that answer given in what Ana deems a satisfactory way, she reaches for the cloth bag, pulling out the various items she’d acquired for herself and Grayson on her way ‘home.’ “Now, with all that hammering, surely you’ve worked up an appetite, hm? Sit.” 

        Grayson's chest ties itself into knots of heat; a taut sensation of - what? - impatience, delight, a need to wrangle the smugness from Amari's features -- and all of it caused by the sniper’s simple return to her house. To her side. It's a claiming of territory. It's an admission of vulnerability. Both. She leans closer, narrowing her eyes. After all these years, it remains a challenge to read her old friend reliably, but she detects, under all the teasing, a rare sincerity. And the want to be caught off guard; to slap a crack into that self-glorifying façade. Grayson reaches out a work-roughened hand, curls her grip around the hard curve of Amari's chin. The warmth of the caress zigzags briskly up the length of her forearm and shoots into her shoulder, a minuscule lightning that strikes her right between the ribs. Ha. How familiar she is with that face and all its ever-shifting emotions, even now. That soft, defiant mouth. The finely aged cheeks, spiderwebbed with the effort to contain a bout of laughter. 

        ( You look like you’re either going to hit me or kiss me. I’m not sure which. ) Grayson's lips twitch with something that isn't entirely a smile. Well. She knows the rules of this game, and she's not too old to play it. Never too old. Her touch travels further down, fingers closing sweetly around the folds of fabric draped over Amari's throat. There's an edge of possession to her grasp. How many times has she wanted to strangle that insufferable woman? Too many, that's for sure. “ Sometimes, ” she says, voice low and velvety, “ your guess is as good as mine. ” Amari's breath strokes flutters across her skin. They're close, lips almost touching, a spark igniting somewhere below Grayson's sternum. Oh. THERE’S that well-known pull, that stirring appetite - she hasn't indulged herself in a while. She holds the contact for another long moment, stringing herself almost past the point of danger. The pleasure of it is too sweet - painful, in a way. But again, it's nothing but a game. One they're both, she fears, quite good at. 

        With a sigh, Grayson releases her grip. Then, she sits, obedient to her friend's command, the very picture of docility. Only the hard thrum of her heartbeat betrays her. “ Feeding me up, are you? ” she asks, forcing a cool serenity into her words. Something, she feels, has shifted. The aftershocks are almost delicious enough to affect an old working dog such as herself. She stretches out her legs, sinks back into her chair with a slow, satisfied grin. “ And -- mm -- you braved the confrontation with your girl. Actually did that. Don't tell me you've grown up! I couldn't be prouder of you. ”

[terrapia]

Petition for a gif set of Grayson kindly interrogating and arresting the himbo 👉👈 with the dangly handcuffs and all? 🥺🥺

(the last gif sends my mind places-where are the fanfic writers???)

+ bonus

I NEED TO BE ARRESTED BY THIS WOMAN

[mintychocochoo-deactivated20230]

Grayson

[thehoundwrites]

Grayson's the type of butch to wear a cute tan/or brown/reddish suit with a funky patterned tie and matching socks

[afraidofchange]

ana and grayson got me in a chokehold ( @citysheriff​ )

[citysheriff]

afraidofchange​:

 Between the rays that filter in through the spaces of the curtains, and the now slightly sullen expression on Grayson’s face, Ana is reluctant to start her day, despite the familial imperative that should drive her out of bed and out the door. She is reminded, then, of a reminiscent memory of her much younger years - waking next to that of her former partner - albeit with the roles reversed, and Sam’s disinclination to rise from bed, asking her (near begging) her to spend just one day away from work.

All mirth fades from her smile when Grayson gathers her uniform and retreats to the bathroom. She stretches her legs and arms and neck; bones crack and muscles ache with age, but she neither mentions it nor complains. “I won’t get in your way, Sheriff, promise,” Ana quips as she finally throws her legs over the side of the mattress, watching her dear old friend descend the stairs until she can no longer see the top of her head. With a sigh, she begins her day - a routine she has since become accustomed to after her return from the dead. 

With hood and hijab adorning Ana’s head, she barely pays mind to the young Enforced staying guard at Grayson’s order, leaving the main streets and into the alleyways. An apology letter lives in the pocket of her cloak, though today is the day she intends to read it aloud - to Fareeha. 

It is, as far as she knows, a day wherein her posting has been moved to a quieter part of town, navigating between the crowds until they thin out, fewer and fewer along the border of Piltover and the recently minted Zaun in the undercity. From afar, she can pick out Fareeha’s tall stature (an inherited trait from both sides), dressed in an immaculately pressed uniform and matching hat. A sigh leaves her lips, drawing back the hood of her cloak. 

It is now, or never. 

–

The remaining hours of daylight are spent in distant conversation, warming slightly as time passes. There are a hundred different subjects to speak on, though her daughter allows her only one - an apology, and a step forward to fixing the bridge that burnt from Fareeha’s adolescence, until long after her reported death. It is a first step, but one Ana leaves with confidence. They will take it, one day at a time. And that, is all she can ask.

Along the way to her temporary home in Grayson’s residence, she stops in at a quiet market, procuring a late night meal to share - bread and jams, wine, beer, and fruit, even dried meat and sweets. Though, her return is not conventional, sneaking in through that back bedroom window in the midst of shadows, silent despite the cloth bag slung around her arm. With Grayson’s attention fixated upon the broken door, Ana takes a moment so situate herself downstairs - as a sniper, her act of silently moving is an old skill, leaving her undetectable in combat - and certainly, now sat at the other woman’s kitchen table, twisting off the top of a beer bottle and taking a long, long drink.

And, truthfully, admiring the view of Grayson’s muscular arms working the bent lock. After another swig and near silent swallow, she decides then to let the bottle hit the table when she sets it down, anticipating shock and surprise but grinning, all the same. 

“Hey.”

        CLONK. Somewhere behind her, the silence is cut in half by the sound of something heavy - glass? metal? glass! - hitting a surface. Grayson jolts into action. A palmful of screws shatters from her grasp as she twists round on her heel, fingers going to her holster and ---

        “ Oh, fuck you. ” The words are out before she can compose herself. She's had a long day. Look at that grin! That nonchalant posture. The smug twinkle in the bastard's solitary eye. And what’s worse, Grayson's heart lifts to see her friend; flies towards her, in fact, to her own shock and embarrassment. Why? No need for all this nonsense. It's only Amari: pain in the ass, supremely self-satisfied and forever dramatic, a damn annoyance even in her better moments. And an incorrigible old sneak. Always has been, skulking about behind Grayson's unsuspecting back, running rings around her, leaping out of harm's reach, somersaulting obnoxiously away from any and all consequences. Grayson has never quite been able to keep up with her --- even now, years after Amari's death, the woman’s still making a fool of her. And like that fool, Grayson comes stomping into the kitchen, unable to keep the smile off her lips or the warmth out of her cheeks. For all that the idiot irritates her with her unasked-for bravado, she can't think of a more welcome sight than those gangly limbs draped across her chair and that tricksterish face beaming up at her. 

         But then, halfway into the room, she's struck by the memory of last night. It hits her like a punch to the gut, the reminder of their tangled legs. Takes the wind right out of her sails. For a moment, she doesn't know what to do with herself. Her hands, hanging uselessly at her sides and twitching with some mindless impulse to touch Amari's shoulders, are quickly clasped behind her back. She swallows her smile. It's too domestic, her former sniper knowing her way about the house, bringing home groceries, claiming a space that's been empty for so long the nothingness has become a familiar comfort She doesn't know what to do with it. This. With her. “ Hmph. ” Well, there's ONE way to gain the upper hand. Grayson leans against the table, bracing herself on one stern fist, and pins the woman down with a glare. What she needs is a good old interrogation. ( Never mind the flutter disturbing her chest as she draws close ). “ So. Talk to the kid? ” 

[sevikasupremacy]

I’m suddenly the pavement that she walks on

[luvmuffinsx-deactivated20220830]

I love women that could break me in a heartbeat

[citysheriff]

afraidofchange​:

    Bearing witness to an exchange between superior officer and subordinate from beneath the hideaway under the comforter, Ana Amari takes note of the way Grayson raises her voice - a rare occurrence indeed, with the number of incidents over the years (including this one) counted on one hand. From beneath the cover, Ana’s single golden eye watches on, not daring to make a single sound lest, somehow, this young man recognizes her - though, based on the few hairs that adorn his chin and the bushy-tailed, bright-eyed look he has on his face, she is certain he was still but a CHILD when she ‘died.’ 

   “Well,” Ana finally throws the blanket from her face, a warm flush settling on her weathered cheeks, not just from the circumstances that woke them from slumber. She brings herself to sit up partially, hands flattening out the borrowed shirt as mere distraction. “I can only imagine what, exactly it is you had planned.” There is no doubt, whatsoever that she had woken up held in Grayson’s arms, with their legs fitting together, hands and fingers intertwined as lovers do. But it is Grayson’s quick movement that steals her attention away, paired with the coolness of the room on her bare, bare legs. This close, she can see the lines that adorn her friend’s aging face, and the warmth of her morning breath. At the very back of her mind, she watches the way Grayson’s lips mouth the words - her reputation, her name - and it sets something alight. 

  “There are worse ways to ruin a reputation,,” Ana quips in return, finally finding her words with the widening cheeky smile. “A woman in your bed hardly seems like the worst thing an Enforcer could get into.” The change in tone, however, makes her smile fade. There are many things ahead with her official return, with the first finding the courage to find Fareeha, to try to make her amends - or at least, begin with a peace offering - an apology. 

  “Oh, I’ll be back,” Ana reassures the other woman, bridging the space between them with a careful hand settling upon Grayson’s cheek. Pointedly, she looks into Grayson’s eyes, through the strands of silver grey and midday sunlight filtering into the room. “I have a few things to take care of, but… I’ll be back. I promise. Besides,” Fingers lightly tuck an errant strand of Grayson’s short cropped hair away from her eyes. “Your bed is far more comfortable than sleeping on the streets. And waking up next to you is much better than the sewer rats looking for scraps.”

   Lingering a little too long, Ana’s hand falls away, but her smile returns. “Now, are you going to let me get up?” 

That hand on her cheek --- despite her efforts to the contrary, Grayson's lips curl against its warmth in a gentle smile. She holds Amari's gaze for a second too long, studying the sincerity in her features, the affection she detects in the crinkled corner of her surviving eye. Something tugs at her chest, an invisible string tangled in the convolutions of her ribcage. She is quick to sever it, straightening herself to full height and squaring her shoulders in a sudden return of disciple. Despicable, how age has softened her. She still feels the tingle of Amari’s touch in her hair. 

“ All right, ” she answers levelly, cautious to free her expression of any remaining sentimentality. It's bad news, attaching oneself to a dead woman. “ I trust you. If only because rats are foul bedfellows. ” She finds no humour in the quip. One of her own - a friend, a former Enforcer -, condemned to a life of squalor and anonymity ... no, it doesn't sit right with her. She won't tolerate it. Grayson's fist delivers a fond nudge to the woman's shoulder, a gesture between consolation and farewell; then she turns and gathers her equipment with practiced efficiency. Uniform tucked over her arm, she disappears into the bathroom and emerges fully dressed in a matter of moments, rather satisfied to see that last night's excesses have left little evidence on her. Nothing anyone would dare to point out, anyway. She loiters in the doorway for a heartbeat or two, stalling their separation and resenting herself grimly for it. High time to leave. Grayson steels herself, tightens the cuffs of her sleeves. “ Stay out of trouble, Amari. ” And she is gone; down the stairs, into the kitchen to slap on her gloves and helmet, past the shame-faced boy standing guard by her door ( not without pointedly raising a brow at him ), and out into the street. 

A long day awaits. 

She passes it with tightly sealed lips; a secret flowering in the depth of her silence. Thefts to be investigated. Council members to be soothed. A flock of new trainees to be herded about the bowels of the Undercity. Paperwork to submit, rumours of her tragic demise to be cleared. 

 And someone to come home to. She barely remembers the feeling. 

Night has fallen by the time Grayson returns. She approaches the house with tightly strung nerves; the windows are dark. Seated on the doorstep, half slumped against the wall, is her young guard --- almost exactly how she left him, except shrouded in deep slumber. Some watchdog he is. Grayson wakes the boy with a soft kick of her boot against his own, addressing him briskly as she steps past his crumpled form into the shadow-veiled corridor beyond. “ Go home. Get some proper sleep, kid. ” She is cautious in searching her rooms, but not surprised to find each of them empty. Only the remains of their nocturnal drinking session offer proof of her friend’s visit -- that, and the busted front door. Quietly, methodically, trying to ignore her growing unease, Grayson cleans the table, washes the used tea glasses, discards the bottles. Then, shrugging out of her jacket, she goes to inspect the kicked-in door lock. There’s no saving the dented metal: she will have to replace it. Repair work will do her good, Grayson decides while rolling up her sleeves. Take her mind off things. Keep her from storming out there and combing the twin cities for a certain big-mouthed sniper. After all, if she has learned one thing about the old girl in the years of their collaboration, it’s this: you can’t force Amari to do anything. If she wants to come back to her, she will.

[sevikasslut]

My kinks are Sevika’s cigarettes and Grayson’s leather gloves

[citysheriff]

vorcotec​:

        Jane hates when Grayson smokes. She hates when Grayson is stupid. She doesn’t like getting angry, especially at a person she wants to keep alive. She blows a breath out through her nose, brow furrowed, frown tight on her face. “I told you not to smoke in here.”

        The scent will linger now. Jane will spend the next few days smelling it, even through the usual scents of her workshop–the oil, the grease, the resinous stink of solder–and she’ll think of Grayson; she’ll worry about her, about where she is, about what she’s doing, and think of the faulty clockwork rattling in her chest, the thing Jane could fix if Grayson would just let her, the breaths Grayson can barely take, the aches it would ease.

        She thinks of Maryam, like she does every time Grayson appears at her door. Jane wonders who else will grieve if Grayson dies like her wife.

       “You’re not breathing well,” she says. She can see it and hear it. “Do you feel pressure on your chest? Or pain? In your jaw, or arms?”

         The annoyance in Jane’s voice makes Grayson open one tired eye. The second soon follows. Time to pull herself together. The doctor has always been stern with her -- she appreciates it. Nothing would bring her greater horror than to be coddled in a time of weakness. “ Of course. ” The glowing tobacco crumbs are smothered beneath her thumb, the pipe returned dutifully into its pocket. It would be idiotic to antagonise the only woman who has access to her heart. “ There’s a certain ... tightness, ” she admits, voice low and reluctant, “ around the chest and the shoulders. My neck, too. The skin feels numb. But I can move just fine -- that’s all that matters. How long d’you think I have left? ” She swallows, attaches her attention to the thin-rimmed glasses framing Doctor Andrews’ restless gaze. “ Until it gives in? ” 

         Throughout the years of their partnership, Grayson has become familiar with the taut frown worn on Jane’s firmly pinched features. She is evidently irritating the woman, much to her regret, even if the doctor’s quiet demeanour hardly betrays her anger. Hmm. This can’t go on. Jane’s expertise is the only one Grayson has learned to trust. Her opinions and well-being matter to her. She rests a gentle palm on Jane’s stick-thin forearm for a short-lived moment, feeling the sharp contours of her bones through the dark sleeve. Whatever nourishment she gets must go straight to her brain. “ I’m sorry, ” Grayson offers earnestly, taking another rattling breath, “ that I didn’t come sooner. I didn’t mean to upset you. ”

[watch-it-with-t]

Grayson and Caitlyn

We never saw how Caitlyn felt about the death of Grayson. Like who told her? Her mother? Little Caitlyn is getting dressed for her shooting lessons and then is informed by Cassandra of Grayson’s death. Just imagine young Caitlyn crying in her mother’s arms for the loss of her mentor. I don’t think those lessons were a one time occurrence. Grayson is a mentor to Caitlyn in a way and I think an inspiration for her becoming an enforcer. 

Grayson was the sheriff and she often dealt with the council, so I imagine that all the council members were present at her funeral. Cassandra brings Caitlyn along with her and they have a little private moment at her grave. 

Or imagine a now grown up Caitlyn visiting Grayson’s grave after she became an enforcer. Placing either flowers there or having a drink and pouring one for Grayson as well. Telling her about how she became an enforcer against her parent wishes. Grayson would be damn proud of the woman Caitlyn became.

EDIT: When Caitlyn becomes Sheriff she reads back Grayson’s old case files to study them. She does this for fun at home. Always trying to learn from her mentor years after she passed. 

When a particular case gets tough, she visits the grave again and wishes that Grayson were still here to fix things. 

[citysheriff]

afraidofchange​:

    Grayson’s reassurance brings out a lingering smile; Ana only hopes she is right about Fareeha and welcoming her mother back into her life after so, so long. “Good night,” She echoes the same sentiment, deciding then to roll over twice, to leave her with her back turned to Grayson, to allow her some semblance of space in this twin bed. Grayson settles beside her; it is nearly the middle of the night, but getting at least a few hours of sleep is better than where there is none. A few breaths are taken, rhythmic in inhale and exhale as a method to steady herself - much akin to that of the moments before pulling the trigger - she uses such a method to relax her nerves, her heart to the stillness required for sleep. 

   Though, Grayson provides ample distraction, from the way she adjusts to the way her breathing doesn’t settle right away. Ana knows she’s awake, but decides against speaking further, letting it settle in that they are both here in the now. Eventually, with the other pressed up against her back, beneath the silken comforter, she begins to drift away - enraptured by the feeling of safety under Grayson’s roof, in her bed, beside her. 

  Dreams come and go as they always do when Ana reaches the depths of her short sleep cycle; her daughter comes to her, though reacts poorly in dream-like nonsensical fashion, before disappearing into the void, and the cycle begins  anew. 

  When consciousness of a daylight hour begins to rise, Ana is comforted by the sense of warmth at her back, pressed against her from shoulder to hip, enveloped by such a presence. Beneath these comfortable silk sheets, Ana moves closer to the source, humming contently with the way Grayson’s arm pulls her just so - her own arm adjusts to rest above the blanket, haphazardly moving around until settling atop the other woman’s hand, a simple gesture of a half-asleep mind, a subconscious, ‘I’m here.’

  The peace, however, is cut short with the initial loud sound that wakens Ana with a near start, eye opening with a few blinks, trying to register just what disturbed them, before realizing that the light in the room is not that of the dawn, but of midday. Next, Grayson’s voice cuts in, cussing through grit teeth and she knows they’ve slept in. 

  “Oh, shit,” Ana then lifts her head and extricates herself from Grayson’s grasp, sitting upright against the headboard, a mess of silver hair and baggy shirt. Mere seconds pass when she realizes how comfortable they had become overnight, but the sound of the pounding on the door distracts her from anything else, splintering wood before the sound of heavy boots tromp on inside and up the stairs urgently. She’s spared only a second’s grace to give a confused look to Grayson before, in a momentary panic, she slips down beneath the blanket, drawing it up to cover most of her blushing face - hiding from the fresh-faced officer, hand on his hip ready to draw his gun if need be as he comes around the doorway, exasperated from his efforts. His eyes glance from his superior officer to that of her bedfellow in wide-eyed confusion. 

  “Sherriff Grayson?! You’re… uh, alive. And uh… late. Sir.”

         Grayson is out of bed in the sliver of a second. To raise her voice at her inferiors is a rare slip of character indeed --- but this time, in her bedroom, with a woman hiding under her covers and her front door kicked open, she makes an honourable exception. Decorum bolts away from her entirely as she steps towards the young Enforcer, anger radiating from her underwear-clad body. “ What the hell do you think you're doing? ” she thunders, a storm brewing in her voice. “ You don't have clearance to enter my home! It doesn’t matter whether I’m late, dead, or alive --- this place is off limits to you! ”

        There are more words to be spilled - the kind nobody wants to hear -, but the misery in the kid's downcast eyes and the awkward shuffle of his feet rouses Grayson's pity. A mumble rolls off his lips, something defiant and halting that sounds remotely like “ sorry, Sheriff ” and “ Officer Blanxart gave orders to search all possible whereabouts, and, uhm ”. Silence. Grayson sucks in a deep breath through flared nostrils. Her gaze goes from the boy's sheepish expression to the sliver of Amari's pink-flushed face peeking out above the covers, all tousled hair and dream-blurred softness. They both, so she imagines, remember the helplessness of being an inexperienced recruit, always at the mercy of a higher-up's idiotic commands. She gentles her words as she addresses the warden again. “ Go make yourself useful, Lucas. You're on door duty for the rest of the day. Guard it until my return. Make sure no one else enters this house unauthorised. ”

         Grayson waits impatiently for the young Enforcer to stumble out of the room - not without one last curious look at the mystery woman in her bed - before she closes the door behind him and turns back to her friend. A hand is passed through her dishevelled hair, speech deserting her for a moment. “ -- I'm sorry, ” she hears herself say at last. “ This isn't how I planned on waking you up. ” Again, it strikes her how fine her old friend looks these days; especially bathed in soft golden light, the harshness of late-night shadows reduced to mere memory. There's a tenderness to those half-hidden features, an unprotected honesty to the rosy blush on Amari's skin. Something rings a quiet alarm inside Grayson's chest, a keen stab of electricity that hasn't made itself felt in years. She seems to recall arms twined in their sleep, hands closed around each other in an adoring grip, her face pressed into the bright silver of Amari's hair. Her eyes narrow. In two brisk strides, is she by the bed and bent low across the sniper's huddled-up form, palm propped heavily onto the mattress beside Amari's head. She pulls away the duvet to reveal her secret guest in all her bare-legged entirety.

         “ You, ” she accuses, “ have ruined my reputation, Ana Amari. ” The hint of amusement tugging at the corner of Grayson’s mouth is all but overshadowed by her frown. Forty years and she never skipped a single workday --- much less so to laze about in bed with another woman. Her gaze drops briefly to her friend's lips. A sudden sombreness falls over her, calming her voice, straightening the lines around her hesitant mouth. “ Will you be back? ” she asks, fingers curling into the sheets. “ Tonight? If you’re going to disappear on me again, I’d appreciate a warning. ”

[greyfongschemmenti]

Me: I'm watching Arcane for the plot.

The Plot: