#He thinks they’re just old track marks haunting him at first

[pickingbelovedoffthesofa]

Devil’s Minion is the goat because you can just spitball ideas about Armand being a shapeshifting bedbug infestation that haunts Daniel’s bed with your bestie and it’ll snowball into something so ridiculous but also so tender.

[moaloves]

GENRE: gen, tua au, angst, hurt/comfort

SUMMARY: Renjun is thirteen when the world ends around him. He's seventeen when he tries to save it. Title from 그냥 괴물을 살려두면 안 되는 걸까 (Can’t We Just Leave The Monster Alive?) by TXT

WARNINGS: temporary character death, apocalypse, child abuse, child neglect, grief, alcoholism, underage drinking, minor emetophobia

Chapter 3

Jaemin spends his morning tending to his brothers. It’s what he does. As kids The Rumor’s power was always best suited for offense. Jaemin’s job was to stop people when they got too close to his brothers, and it bled into every aspect of Jaemin’s life.

Always treat Mark’s injuries because his eldest brother would bleed himself dry for their father. Always feed Renjun because his scattered molecules and exhausted body after spatial jumping for hours on end burned through calories faster than the boy could handle. Always support Jeno’s plans, even the ones doomed to fail, while thinking of backup options so his brother didn’t crumble.

Always hug Donghyuck, tight and warm and alive, so the boy wouldn’t feel lost to the cold embrace of the ghosts who haunt him. Always comfort Chenle after he and their dad had another fight. Always go to every one of Jisung’s dance showcases because their dad wouldn’t.

Jaemin doesn’t know who he is if he’s not caring for his brothers. When they get back from the crematorium, his father’s ashes held gently in Jeno’s hands even though Jaemin knows he could shatter the urn without breaking a sweat, Jaemin starts cooking lunch. He goes for something light and easy that all the brothers can stomach and makes ramen.

Jeno winces as he does it, but Jaemin pretends not to notice. “We’ll have the funeral after lunch, okay?” He says casually. Jeno sighs but nods. Jaemin sees the spoon he’d laid against the side of the pot start moving on his own and feels his heart twinge a little. “Thank you, hyung,” he murmurs respectfully. He misses his brother so much it hurts. Instead of dealing with that he grabs a pan to start frying vegetables.

Their lunch is simple and easy to prepare so it’s done in less than thirty minutes as Jaemin hollers for his brothers to get their asses downstairs to eat. Jeno winces when he’s done. “I would’ve gone and got them,” his brother says, pained. Jaemin ignores him.

Donghyuck gets to the table first much more sober than he was earlier and noticeably more jumpy. “How are you, Hyuck?” Jaemin asks as he spoons a large portion of rice and vegetables into his brother’s bowl. Donghyuck’s eyes track something behind Jaemin’s back for a long moment.

He gulps when he responds, “I’m fine,” even though Jaemin can see how badly he’s shaking. Jeno frowns and hugs him around the shoulders in both comfort and forgiveness for the slight against him earlier. Donghyuck droops bonelessly against their leader’s shoulder. Jaemin hands Jeno his bowl as they share worried looks above Donghyuck’s head.

They’re unable to say anything when Jisung walks into the kitchen. He’s wearing the sweats he usually wears to dance in, and he’s slightly out of breath. “Feel better Jisungie?” Jaemin checks. Dance has always been how Jisung regulated his emotions from the moment any of them could remember.

Being in a family where everyone was extraordinary, and you were not was exhausting. Mark had spent a while begging their dad to allow Jisung to train with them in hand-to-hand combat. Their dad had refused every time. Mark, barely five years old and missing two front teeth, had gotten the maddest Jaemin had ever seen him. He’d pitched a fit, wailing about the unfairness and begging their dad to stop excluding their brother, all the while sobbing about the unfairness of it all.

Jaemin hadn’t seen him for a solid week afterward. Mark had come back quiet and withdrawn so pale Donghyuck had screamed because he thought he was dead. He’d never gone against their dad again. He’d never told them what had happened no matter how much Donghyuck tried to annoy it out of him.

Instead one night before curfew Mark had gone into their massive library and searched for good activities to pass the time. He’d shown the book to the other kids the next day during a break in training Jaemin remembers. He can picture himself, chubby hands pointing at the camera in the picture in excitement, as Mark tells them about the different things people did to pass the time.

Right after dinner that night Mark had pulled Jisung off to the side. Jisung had started dancing not long after. Neither of them had ever confirmed Mark was who introduced Jisung to dancing, but Jaemin had always suspected.

“I do, hyung,” Jisung responds quietly settling onto the stool next to Donghyuck and murmuring his thanks as Jaemin passes him his food. Chenle comes down the stairs then tired eyes taking note of all his siblings.

“Did you take a nap, Chenle-ah?” Jeno questions. Chenle bobs his head, and Jaemin tries not to let how jealous he is show on his face. God, he’s so tired. Chenle accepts his food with no fight this time and starts in on it immediately.

Jaemin starts doing the dishes as his brothers eat by habit. He’s stopped by Jeno getting up and forcibly dragging him to the table. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a meal together. Let’s at least try to enjoy it,” their leader says. Jaemin hums and doesn’t point out that they’ll never be able to have dinner with all of them together again.

He eats his noodles slowly, not truly tasting anything, as his brothers quietly chatter around him. Slowly their spoons stop moving and their bowls empty, but they still don’t get up. A funeral feels too real, and privately Jaemin feels as though it’s a respect their father does not deserve.

Renjun had never had a funeral; their dad said he didn’t deserve one for his blatant disrespect. Instead, their father had hung a portrait above the mantle of Renjun. Despite sharing the same features it looked nothing like the boy himself. His eyes were too cold, and his lips weren’t titled upwards in his usual small smile. Jaemin hated that stupid painting so much.

In contrast, Mark had been allowed to have a funeral. A horrifically somber affair of his siblings screaming themselves hoarse with their wails of grief. Their dad had allowed Mark to have a statue engraving the boy’s name and “May the darkness within you find peace in the light,” below a metal sculpture of the boy in his academy uniform. Jaemin hated the statue, but not more than Donghyuck did.

Donghyuck had screamed at their father for the words on the bottom, for commissioning a statue of his son in the attire he’d died in and not his everyday wear, and had demanded to know how many of them had to die for their father’s stupid quest before he finally gave up on it.

Their father had locked him in the mausoleum for three months. It was the first time Jaemin fully realized their father did not care if they died. He’d suspected it when Renjun had gone missing, and he’d started to believe it when Mark died, but he’d never fully grasped it until Jeno had pried the mausoleum doors open after months of begging their dad to tell them where Donghyuck was.

The fifteen-year-old had been slumped against the door, his fingers bloody from scratching at the walls, and absolutely terrified. “He’s going to kill us all,” Donghyuck had whispered. “He killed me.” Jaemin had begged for more information, but the boy had no more to offer. Jeno and Jaemin had carried him into Jaemin’s room and treated his wounds. After they’d gotten the boy to sleep in Jaemin’s bed Jaemin had told Jeno that they had to leave. Jeno had argued about the money, the rent, and jobs, but Jaemin wouldn’t budge.

“He’s going to kill us, Jeno,” he’d said confidently. “He’ll kill us all, and I’m not going to just sit back and wait to see whose next.” Jeno had gulped and looked down at Donghyuck who was absolutely covered in scratches from the dead. He hadn’t protested any further.

Instead, he’d asked to make a plan. They needed to save up money, find jobs, and a place to stay, and then Jaemin would rumor their father into letting them leave. Jaemin had agreed almost immediately. Donghyuck had taken longer to get on board.

Jaemin spent days just hugging his brother and begging into his shoulders that he couldn’t lose him too. Losing another brother would destroy Jaemin. It had taken their father threatening to lock Donghyuck in the mausoleum again after a careless comment he’d made at dinner to get his brother to agree. Jaemin hates his father so much that even now when they’re about to scatter his ashes to the wind he fantasizes about rumoring the man into walking off of a cliff.

Jaemin had gone to a convenience store he knew was hiring downtown to rumor them into letting Jeno work there. Most places in their area wouldn’t hire a fifteen-year-old with no degree so Jaemin was forced into desperate measures. He’d rumored the nice old lady who ran the gas station into giving him his job and then felt so guilty about it he cried. The last person he rumored was the manager at the music store Donghyuck works at.

He’d also rumored his father into giving them money. He felt the least remorse about that one. They saved up money for about two months before Jaemin got to look his bastard of a father in his eyes and force him into giving them their freedom.

As a kid Jaemin had tried to rumor their father only once. He’d planned to rumor him into being nicer. Jaemin had barely gotten the words, “I heard,” out of his mouth before his father had slapped him across the face so hard he saw stars. Their father didn’t normally hit them so directly, he was much more creative and cruel in his punishments, so Jaemin was so taken off guard when this happened he just turned and ran out of the room. He won’t let that happen this time.

He’d opened his dad’s office and before the man could demand to know what the hell had gotten into Jaemin he’d already started, “I heard a rumor,” he’d said with his power literally reverberating through his vocal cords, “that you let us move out.” His father’s eyes had glazed over, but Jaemin wasn’t finished. “I heard a rumor that you stop training us.” He’d waited to make sure his power had taken effect. They were supposed to start training in exactly five minutes.

“Number Three?” His father had questioned when he saw Jaemin standing in his office. “What are you doing here?” Jaemin waited for his father to say something about training but he didn’t. The only thing he did was stare at his son in confusion.

“Nothing Dad,” Jaemin had whispered as he fled to tell Jeno the news. The last person Jaemin rumored was their landlord. He’d have never let them move in without Jaemin’s persuasion and wanted to charge them so much money for the rent it was almost laughable. Jaemin made it manageable.

The day of them finally moving out came quickly. Donghyuck had gone to retrieve Chenle and Jaemin had dragged Jisung into his bedroom.

“What’s going on?” Chenle had complained when he saw the serious expressions on his older brothers’ faces. Donghyuck had grimaced at his brothers so Jeno had sighed and taken charge.

“We’re moving out. We can come back here if you leave anything so don’t stress too much about packing,” Jeno’s words were deceptually casual. If you didn’t know him you wouldn't be able to tell how nervous he was. Chenle and Jisung had made shocked eye contact.

“Can we…Can we have a moment to talk about this? Alone,” Chenle had asked pointedly. Jaemin had protested, but Jeno had dragged his brothers out of the room anyway. It took at least three hours for Chenle and Jisung to emerge from the room both with tear tracks on their faces. When they finally did so they were holding hands. “We…we can’t move out with you, hyungs,” Chenle had said softly.

“It’s okay Chenle. Dad won’t care, I rumored him,” Jaemin had promised. Chenle sighed.

“It’s not that. We can’t…we can’t make you guys take care of us. You guys are fifteen…” Chenle was choosing his words carefully, but he was speaking with conviction.

“It’s okay. We can take care of you, I swear,” Jaemin had promised with tears brimming in his eyes. Jisung bit his lips as the fighting started.

“Seriously, we’ll be okay. We can deal with it,” Donghyuck had promised, but his words were slurred. Chenle had sighed deeply dragging a hand down his face.

“Hyung, you’re not even sober. We can’t do this. The academy has been okay for the last few weeks; Jisung and I will be fine to stay. You won’t have the money to feed all of us, and you probably don’t have the space.” Chenle’s words were soft as if that would lessen the blow.

Jeno’s eyes had filled with tears as well. “We can figure it out. Jaemin, Donghuck, and I can share a room, and you two can have your own. We can make it work.” Jisung had frowned.

“Don’t you see how unfair to you that would be? How are you even expecting to afford food for all of us?” Jisung wasn’t looking at any of them, but his words were sure.

“We’ve got jobs. We can do it,” Donghyuck had sworn. Chenle shook Jisung’s hands off of his and let them curl into fists.

“Don’t you get it? You can’t. You can’t make this work. It’ll never work. Leave us if you must but don’t drag us into this doomed plan.” Chenle had glared at each of his brothers with tears on his cheeks.

Jeno tried again, “Chenle…we promise,” Jisung cut him off though.

“Hyung…it’ll never work. Please stop fighting and just accept what we all know.” Jisung had wrapped his arms around himself in lieu of Chenle’s comfort. Tears slowly started to fall down Jaemin’s cheeks.

“Guys,” he’d started but Chenle had cut him off.

“No,” he’d said quietly but sternly. Helplessly Jaemin had turned to Donghyuck and Jeno, but they’d both shrugged. He felt his resolve strengthen. He hadn’t rumored one of his siblings in years, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still capable of it.

“I heard a rumor,” he started as he heard his siblings gasp around him. Jaemin didn’t have time to finish his sentence before Chenle took the knife off the thigh holster he had on and threw it straight at him. Chenle never missed. Jaemin was left choking on his own blood as his brothers exclaimed in alarm.

“I’m sorry!” He could hear Chenle scream in the background. “I’m so sorry. I just didn’t want him to…” He trailed off as Jisung grabbed his shoulder.

“I’m going to take you to Mom, okay Jaemin? You’ll be alright. You’re fine,” Jeno had frantically tried to comfort as Donghyuck’s hands fruitlessly tried to staunch the bleeding. Jeno had picked him up bridal style, and Donghyuck took his own shirt off to apply pressure to Jaemin’s wound. Jaemin remembered at the time thinking it was ironic that the team’s medic needed medical attention.

Their mom had stitched Jaemin’s throat up, but he hadn’t been able to talk for six months. Chenle had gone to the infirmary, crying so hard he could barely breathe, to apologize to Jaemin.

“I’m so sorry, hyung,” he’d sobbed. “We’ll move out with you, I promise. I’m so sorry.” He held Jaemin’s hand as he cried. Their other brothers had watched the two closely. Jaemin had brought his and Chenle’s joined hands to his mouth to tenderly kiss his brother’s knuckles which just made Chenle cry more. He’d then gently untangled their hands to grab the notebook resting on his bedside table.

He’d flipped to a clean page and wrote, ‘It’s okay. You don’t need to come with us. I only want you guys to come if you truly want to and you don’t. I’m sorry I didn’t respect that before.’ Chenle had spent a while sobbing afterward.

Despite not being fully healed the second Mom had declared Jaemin was able to leave the infirmary he, Donghyuck, and Jeno moved out. Chenle and Jisung had hugged them for an hour as their older brothers whispered promises of visiting and protection in their hair.

After a while, Donghyuck gently untangled himself from Jisung to hold his face in his hands. “Jisung-ah, if anything happens. If you’re scared for any reason, or if you’re lonely, hell if you just want Jaemin’s cooking swear to me you’ll come over. No matter the time,” Donghyuck was more sober than he’d been in days, and it had startled Jisung so much he’d agreed immediately.

“Of course, hyung,” he’d said while bringing his own hands up to cover Donghyuck’s. Next to Jisung the other brothers untangle themselves from Chenle although Jaemin had kept close hold of his hands.

“That goes for you too, okay Chenle? No matter what happens or where we are we’re you’re older brothers. You’re our first priority,” Jeno had said intensely. Chenle had closed his eyes to try to stop the tears.

“I know, hyung,” he’d sworn.

Jaemin grabs onto Chenle’s hand as they walk to Mark’s statue after he shakes off the memory. Chenle squeezes tightly so Jaemin leans over to drop a kiss onto his brother’s hair. After they all gather together, umbrellas held tightly to warn off the heavy rain, Jeno starts.

“Our father was a…complicated man,” Jeno starts and has to trail off to grimace when Donghyuck snorts.

Chenle scowls. “He was a bad person and a worse father. The world’s better off without him, and I’m glad he’s dead.”

“Chenle-” Jaemin interrupts gently, but Chenle breaks apart their hands and scoffs.

“My name is Number Two because our father couldn’t even be bothered to give us real names; he made Mom do it! Isn’t that right Number Three?” He demands. Jaemin scowls.

“Of course it is. I just don’t think he’s worth wasting breath over,” he hisses. Chenle scowls and shoves him so Jaemin grabs him, and they start grappling. They’re stopped from fighting further when the ground starts shaking and the sky ripples with color.

“Oh, what the fuck is that?” Jisung questions. Jeno pushes all of his siblings behind him as the ripple continues to grow.

Donghyuck gapes at the sky before asking, “Does anyone else see tiny little Renjun? Or is it just me?” Jisung sets a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I see him too,” he assures. All of them start screaming when they see the boy start falling from the hole in the sky.

“Catch me, you idiots!” He shrieks.

Jeno dashes forward murmuring, “Definitely Renjun,” right before getting squashed by the boy. Donghyuck repeats his previous question about ensuring everyone can see Renjun, and Jisung reassures him once again. Jaemin, in the meantime, walks closer to Renjun. He doesn’t get super close to the boy in an effort to avoid startling him but starts cataloging him from a distance.

“What day is it?” Renjun demands.

Jaemin frowns. “It’s December 6th. You’ve been missing and presumed dead for four years.” Jaemin tries to keep the swell of emotions choking him out of his voice, but he’s not sure how well he succeeds.

“No, I was trying…I was trying to go back to before…Before that stupid dinner,” Renjun insists stubbornly, and Jaemin’s heart twinges as he thinks about the night Renjun went missing. Renjun’s head swerves as he frantically starts looking around, and he deflates as he catches sight of Mark’s statue.

“So he already…” He trails off, but Jeno sees where Renjun is looking.

“He uh…he died on a mission. When he was sixteen. About two years after you left,” he says faintly. “Dad put up that memorial not long after.”

No one says anything for a minute. Jaemin uses the moment of silence to take in his brother. He’s skinnier than he was when they were younger, a little taller, and cheeks hollow from missing meals. He’s not wearing the academy uniform he was when he went missing, and it makes it hard for Jaemin to catalog all his injuries. Still, he knows his brothers enough to know when something is wrong.

“Where is Dad?” Renjun finally asks.

Jeno grimaces bitterly at the urn he’s holding. “Uh here. He had a heart attack so I guess he really did have one after all.” He winces as his joke falls flat.

During this Jaemin creeps closer to his missing brother and observes him more carefully. Now that he’s closer he can see all the scrapes and bruises Renjun’s clothes don’t hide and truly take in how malnourished and exhausted his brother is. He tells Renjun all of this bluntly before ignoring his protests and herding him into the house.

He lets Mom help Renjun take a bath while he heats up some of the soup he made for breakfast this morning. He’s hoping it’ll be light enough for his brother’s malnourished body to handle. Mom guides Renjun back into the room with a hand on his bicep. She’d given Renjun some of Chenle’s clothes in hopes the brother closest to his height would be a similar size, but the clothes hang off Renjun’s frame.

Jaemin settles the soup in front of his brother and watches carefully as he eats not protesting as he doesn’t finish the bowl. Instead, he waves their mother off and gently guides Renjun’s arms over his shoulder to help him go to bed. He foregoes Renjun’s own room, coated in dust from years of the siblings being unable to enter it, and instead settles him in Jaemin’s own bed. Jaemin’s room at the academy is used the most out of the older siblings for the sheer fact that Jaemin comes over to cook for Jisung and Chenle once a week.

After Renjun passes out on Jaemin’s bed the boy slides down beside it and just cries. He cries for the missing years, the elation of his brother being alive, and the ache of grieving for a boy who just needed to be searched for. He cries like he hasn’t since Mark’s funeral. It takes him a while to calm down, but when he finally does he ducks into the bathroom to clean his face.

He walks down the stairs and sighs as he sighs his brothers gathered in their kitchen again. Jeno perks up when he sees him and thankfully doesn’t comment on his brother’s puffy eyes. “How is he?” He asks nervously. Jaemin sighs as he slumps onto the stool next to his brother.

“Asleep. He was too tired for me to ask anything so I just got him fed and put him in my bed.” Jaemin’s words cause a silence to settle over the brothers until he hears quiet sniffling. “C’mere Jisungie,” he calls while pulling his youngest brother into his arms. Jisung settles his head on his brother's shoulder and just cries. There’s not anything else to do.

[refurbishedgray]

Point of Contact

Reader x Tech. Maybe we get feisty and it’s reader x Crosshair, too. In this house, we like both.

Multi-part fic; probably NSFW; f!reader (she/her pronouns)

**Updates: I’ll tag you if you holler

Summary:

“No good ever comes to the Republic from Banking Clan business,” Hunter tells them, “Let’s get this done and get home, boys.”

Arriving on Scipio with the unhelpful directive of, “be discreet, but do whatever it takes,” the Bad Batch find themselves at the mercy of a stony representative whose allegiances lie with the best deal.

Or, the one where Tech and Crosshair think the reader is as intense as she is pretty.

**************************************

Part One

The office is too empty, too bright. The merciless glare of Scipio’s sun cuts across the room, gleaming unpleasantly from the gilded corners of all the fine furniture and glass. A corner office, inherited from an out-maneuvered relic of the past. 

All light and no warmth, you think, not for the first time. Never any warmth. In your early years with the Banking Clan, being stationed here had felt suspiciously like a punishment you hadn’t deserved, a proving ground when you had already proven so much. These days, however, you’ve come to understand that the frigid peaks standing vigil beyond your window are a reminder of how far you have climbed.

Now, as you shift in your chair, the expensive Corellian leather barely squeaking beneath you, you squint past the harsh light filtering in from the floor to ceiling window at your back. It’s all pristine snow on those peaks. Icy. Easy to slip if the cold didn’t kill you first.

Yes, you had climbed and clawed your way up these proverbial mountains. And like the man who last haunted this office, it has left you with so very far to fall.

The early days had been simpler. Smile. Look pretty. Never forget what can be saved for later. You hadn’t forgotten. Beyond the pale blue sky, twinkling out of sight, are worlds fraught with battles, littered with unsuccessful or unlucky tacticians from two sides of a conflict that won’t ever be ended, not truly. You have always preferred to keep your strategizing corporate. Clean. 

A frown drags at the corners of your mouth at the uncharacteristic foray into reminiscence of the…

The…

A phrase comes to mind and you allow yourself a small, private smile against the sunlight. The bad old days. 

Since then, things have always been kept tidy.

Until now. 

An unwanted spur of concern digs in behind your chest as your gaze turns from the window to sweep over the room. To your dismay, you realize why, and realize too clearly that the concern is not solely for yourself. 

He should be here.

Things were less empty when he was around, a relic in his own right and your pride and joy and confidant. How proud you had been when you had been informed that you would require a bodyguard. “A mark of success if there ever was one,” you had told the few family members you kept in contact with, of which there were very few, upon being informed of the recommendation after your previous promotion. “Aren’t you proud?” you had wanted to ask. But you had not asked. Better not to make the query when the answer was always so heavy and obvious. 

He had become your one and only friend. But he, too, is absent now, and upon permitting the observation, your office seems at once less empty and instead, guttingly, horribly hollow. Two rotations it’s been. Two rotations to give into the inconvenience of noticing.  

No, no, you think. You had noticed. Admitting it, that is the phrase that would be more accurate, but if it makes you feel less or more weak, you find you cannot decipher the bitterness creeping up your tongue.

Rising from your seat, you at once miss the meager warmth provided by the leather as the cool office air licks at you. Once upon a time, you had comforted yourself with the promise that one day, you would get used to the cold here. It was one of the few lies you allotted yourself over the years. Crossing the office, the marble floors as white and frosted as the mountain peaks outside resounding crisply beneath your heels, you make your way to the small bar trolley tucked away in one corner. Your last guest, a senator with strong -- unsubtly strong -- ties to the Clan, had complimented your selection of fine whiskeys and other alcohols. You had not admitted then that you did not keep the bar stocked for the guests who were few and far between, but rather for yourself, to chase away the damnable chill in this place. 

Your hand stills between decanters, your mind hesitating at the threatening burn that awaits your selection.

A bad habit.

You can imagine that peculiar modulated voice now. “Madam, the faces you make.”

Instead, you shun the alcohol and the ice that never thaws, yet still gets replaced each morning, now resting in a round chest, as gilded as everything else in this room, and reach for the Felucian pear juice. Duller, perhaps, but you don’t need anymore guilt on your conscience. 

A sip, then two, settles a gnawing in your stomach you only notice once it passes. 

Intolerable, you muse, downing what remains in the glass. The beverage is sweet, almost as sweet as the air outside is cold. Too quiet. Where are -

A rush of air and sliding metal breaks the silence. Glass in hand, your eyes narrow over the rim at the assistant who scuttles in. This one has been particularly insipid since her arrival. The daughter of someone marginally important, she is small and hunched shouldered -- she hasn’t learned, not like you did, and a part of you suspects she never will. 

She stops just short of where the tile begins and as she does, your eyes track down her uniform to a pair of shoes that have never been polished. Stars help her. 

In a quavering voice, she asks, “Madam?”

You raise a brow. 

“We’ve received word. The transport with the troopers has requested permission to land. They’re on their way.”

You set the glass aside, gingerly, its bottom barely clacking against the tray atop the cart. Republic troopers. A battering ram when a scalpel is needed. 

“Ah, the Senate’s grand favor,” you murmur. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

So many years spent with watchful eyes on you has made you good at hiding your frustrations. You swallow a sigh before it ever rises and allow yourself a brief moment to thumb the crystalline edge of the glass. The senator had warned you. 

Your voice is quiet as you instruct the girl, “Get out.”

She scurries gracelessly back through the door. It is an improvement; the last time she had squeaked pitifully before leaving. Perhaps you should have enjoyed the alcohol while you could. If this goes badly, all these nice things, all this luxury will be reassigned, a new name on the door. Such is the way of things -- you know the warnings well.  

Until forty-eight hours ago, they had been going so smoothly. An unfamiliar voice at the back of your mind whispers at you. Had you gotten complacent? You never get complacent. You had been warned for star’s sake. Senator Clovis had been all too clear that vaults here on Scipio were being targeted. You had taken that to mean the transports would be targeted as well. Credits were valuable, gold was valuable, as were artifacts and treasures. The Clan stored it all.  

But most valuable of all were and would always be secrets.

And secrets...you were very good at secrets. Finding them. Keeping them. Exposing them. 

The hand on the glass tightens and through touch or through sound, you sense that just a little more pressure will splinter it. Gently, you lift your fingers. 

You’ve got enough messes to clean up already.

.

…………….

.

Two of his brothers look unhappy. Hunter suspects he, too, looks unhappy. Only Crosshair remains unaffected, toothpick lolling from one corner of the man’s thin mouth to the other as he watches the sky shift from icy atmo to the very tips of craggy mountains. 

“Looks cold,” rumbles Wrecker from his seat, thick legs kicking out miserably. “Nobody said it was gonna be cold.”

From the pilot’s chair, Tech glances at Hunter, sitting in the co-pilot’s seat. Now that Hunter can see him full-on, rather than that goggle-obscured side-profile of his, he realizes that he’d been right. Even Tech is unhappy with the assigned locale. Still, the man sniffs and turns back to navigating the gunship.

“It is Scipio,” says Tech. 

“What’s that got to do with anything? Just sayin’, a little warning might’ve been nice.”

Crosshair shifts, the movement almost imperceptible, just enough that Hunter knows the sniper is asking for his attention. “I believe Hunter was preoccupied with warning us about the...what was it you called them, Hunter? Denizens?” 

“The word does have an apt connotation for the Banking Clan,” Tech mutters. He gives Hunter another look, this one says that he’s no more excited about the prospect than Hunter has been. 

Their mission brief had been a strange one. It wasn’t their usual brand of run-and-gun from the sound of things, but it was important to all the right people, and they needed guaranteed success. “Go to Scipio, meet the point of contact, establish the responsible party, recover the stolen data.” It was more or less all they had been told. 

Hunter knows his frown is getting deeper, sinking into the lines on his face -- he can feel it pulling at his bandana, and he raises a hand to scrub it away.

“Who is this contact anyway?” asks Crosshair. “You never said.”

“Because I wasn’t told a name. We’re to meet with the, and I quote, ‘Principal Trades Specialist for the InterGalactic Banking Clan.’”

“Trades specialist?” Crosshair plucks his toothpick from between his teeth and for a moment, it takes Hunter longer than he would like to decipher the look on the man’s face. He doesn’t look unhappy...he looks intrigued. Crosshair replaces the toothpick, then says, “Sounds like a fancy way of saying ‘corporate spy.’”

“Head corporate spy,” Tech says, “If he’s - “

“She, from what I’m told,” corrects Hunter. His frown has yet to go anywhere, so he lets it stay, his hand falling to his lap.

Tech nods. “If she is based here on Scipio, we’re dealing with someone who needs to be watched closely. Some important players are based on this planet.”

Crosshair folds his arms. “Did the spy part give it away, Tech?”

“The Banking Clan part, actually,” Tech replies dryly, “We’ve dealt with spies before. The IGBC is something different. It is...new territory.”

“We’ve also dealt with new territory before.” At this, Hunter hears them all shift, their quick heartbeats settling into a familiar, all’s-well rhythm. His, too, follows. Just in time, it would seem, for the comms to squawk at them as the Marauder banks left and begins its final descent to the landing pad. He stands from the co-pilots seat, the faint tilt of the floor beneath him a familiar calm before the inevitable storm. He looks to Wrecker, who shakes his head, and then offers a grin. 

“Might be fun. Never clobbered bad guys with snowballs before.”

There’s a snort from Tech and despite himself, Hunter smiles. 

.

**************************************

.

Ten minutes later, they are suited up and disembarking into a cloud of snow flurries and ice crystals. The Banking Clan’s guards are as heavily armored as some of the Separatist patrols Hunter’s encountered. He scowls beneath his helmet. This should be a job for Jedi -- if the Jedi weren’t all dispatched to the war front.   

Soldiers...they don’t deal with these sorts of people. Not well and not effectively. Too much bad blood between the Republic and profiteers like these.

He motions at his brothers to close ranks, their familiar presences a comforting reminder that this isn’t anything new, not really. It’s a mission like any other. 

As the frosted cloud clears ahead of them, the guards, in their gilt armor and insulated cloaks, make way, too much way, Hunter thinks, for the clearance to be for a group of Republic troopers.

Then he sees her.

Half camouflaged by the swirling winds and clad in half a dozen shades of gray and silver, her shoulders draped in white fur, she stands waiting for them, her hands clasped serenely in front of her. She could be a diplomat, a Jedi even, if not for the gleam in her eye. It’s a cold thing, sharper and as frostbitten as this frozen world itself. 

He’s not the only one to have noticed. Beside him, Hunter hears Crosshair draw in an appreciative breath so quiet no one without incredible senses would notice it. In his periphery, he catches an almost imperceptible twitch of Tech’s helmet as his brother spares him a questioning glance. 

When the woman speaks, her voice is crisp, professional. “Clone Force 99, welcome.” She does not smile, but her eyes track to each of them, lingering too long, as though somehow looking past the armor to the men beneath. She introduces herself with a name that sounds too soft for the title she wears. Then, she gives them a crystalline smile. “But you may call me Trader, if you please.”

“Trader?” It is Wrecker who asks the question, finally distracted from the snow and ice. “Sounds like…”

Another smile, this one not quite as cool as the first. Amused, Hunter thinks, though how benign that amusement is, he can’t tell, and it makes his skin itch beneath his blacks. “Like traitor?” she hums. “I suppose it does, doesn’t it?” 

She steps aside and gestures at them to follow. “With me, gentlemen. First, we’ve a meeting. Afterwards, we will take a tram to the vaults, then from there, speeders to the site of the incident.”

“‘Incident’ is an awful clean way to say ‘bloody heist,’” says Hunter as he moves to follow. Her gaze slides to him, her stride never slowing. Shoulder to shoulder with the woman, he has the uncomfortable instinct to slow his steps, to lag behind, as though if he isn’t careful, a blade might slide between his ribs on a blink. He pushes aside the urge, then asks, “How many people were lost?”

“Enough,” she replies. “One could even say too many.”

“But not you?”

“Must someone say something for you to believe they think it?”

Behind him, Crosshair snorts, but does not comment. Hunter lets the statement slide, though the itch he’d felt earlier is heating to a burn now. Together, she leads them through a set of gleaming durasteel doors into a foyer as stark as it is grand. 

“Proceed through those doors.” She crooks a finger to their left. “Senator Amidala has requested a meeting in...eighteen minutes. I will join you shortly.”

Wrecker whistles, the sound too sharp to come from beneath his helmet, and Hunter glances back to see that the man has removed it, his one good eye roving the pristine interior. With a sigh, Hunter follows suit. It’s not exactly warm here, but out from the planet’s whipping winds, it’s close enough that even he can fool his sensitive skin into enjoying it. Soon, they are all unmasked. The woman - Trader - lingers long enough to observe them.

Her expression is...unreadable. There is no twinkle of bemusement in her eyes, not the first twitch of surprise. Normally, when the helmets come off, it gets at least some sort of reaction, gives him some kind of measure. 

Now, the only read Hunter gets is the fact that he can’t get a read on her -- and that, he doesn’t like. There’s no trusting people who have become so numb. 

Her gaze slips between Crosshair and Tech, where it lingers on the latter for seconds longer than it had the rest of them. Something in her frigid eyes warms, the ice of her expression cracking just enough that she might be pleased by what she sees. And Tech...for all his usual detachment, has no datapad to bury his nose in now, and he notices. 

Hunter thinks the woman lets him notice. 

His brother stands a little straighter, eyes flicking nervously to Hunter behind his goggles. Stumped, for lack of a better word. For once, flat out puzzled. 

Then, without a word, Trader looks back to Hunter and inclines her head. “Stay warm, gentlemen. I will see you soon.”

She is gone behind a pair of adjacent doors without another word. 

No sooner do they watch the durasteel whisper shut, than does Wrecker drive his arm into Tech’s side with a chuckle. Tech winces with a hiss and waves the man away. 

“Heh, she likes you.”

“I hoped it was my imagination.” Crosshair’s lip curls, his eyes narrowing until he looks away, and Hunter wonders if they’ve been reflected back at him through the shine of Tech’s goggles.

Tech runs a hand over the back of his head. “What do you think, Hunter?”

“I think she’s Banking Clan, through and through. We’re not among friends here.”

“If we let her alone with Tech, things might get friendlier -”

“Wrecker.” 

Hunter scowls. Another voice has echoed his own and he looks to see Crosshair, arms folded, rocking back on a foot to glare at the wampa-sized man. 

Tech clears his throat. “Perhaps we should wait in the briefing room?”

His heart rate, harder to hear away from the tight confines of the Marauder, sounds schoolboy quick and Hunter wishes, not for the first time, that his brother was more inclined to find company in their off-duty hours than he was. Pretty faces were fine - Hunter himself was inclined to enjoy them - but something about the mask this one wore was dangerous.

Wrecker’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. “Did she say Senator Amidala was waiting?”

“She did. The commander warned us the Senate was at play here.”

“That’s not our usual playground though, is it?” Crosshair is still scowling, his arms folded more tightly now than they had been. All that characteristic suspicion exacerbated by annoyance that has set in and won’t leave him. It makes his eyes hard, his narrow features sharpened and cold beneath the glare of sunlight on durasteel. 

Hunter shakes his head. “It’s not, but I feel better knowing Amidala’s behind us on this.”

“That makes one of us,” says Crosshair.

“Two,” Tech interrupts, his voice crisp; back to himself, Hunter realizes, his relief warm down to his fingertips, until he isn’t sure why he’d been worried in the first place.

“Three! I like Amidala.” 

“We know, Wrecker.” Tech’s smile is gentle, even as he rolls his eyes. “The poster by your bed speaks for itself.” 

Hunter’s gaze slides to his remaining brother, the smile that had spread turning crooked, then fading. “Crosshair?” 

It’s always been an unsettling characteristic of Crosshair’s that his eyes, as brown as all of theirs, manage to be so very cold when the mood hits him. The look in them is not unlike what he had witnessed in the woman. 

The observation tightens Hunter’s throat and he swallows it, turning away, and hopes not to notice it again.

[asweetprologue]

me lámh le do lámh - Part IV

First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

They spent a few days in Oxenfurt, mostly for Jaskier’s benefit. The bard hadn’t been lying when he’d said he wasn’t prepared to head out. There was packing to be done, his rooms to see to, appointments to cancel with the university. Geralt was happy enough to wait. It wasn’t strictly a hardship to spend some time lounging in Jaskier’s rooms and wandering the university gardens during the day before following Jaskier to whatever tavern or hall he was to play at for the evening. Jaskier was away for the better part of most days, but Geralt moved his things to Jaskier’s rooms after the first night at the inn. Waking well before Jaskier in the same bed, he was greeted each morning to Jaskier’s arm slung across his chest, warm and comfortable in the predawn silence. His cheeks would be ruddy with sleep and their shared heat under the blankets, his hair flattened awkwardly to his skull where it had been pressed to the pillow.

He’d missed this. After months without Jaskier’s presence, it felt like he was drowning in it, shocked by the strength of his own reaction. With the golden light of the morning sun shining through Jaskier’s one window to fall softly across his brow and pick out the silver strands in his hair, Geralt wondered at how he could have ever misplaced this feeling in his chest. He loved him. He wanted to preserve each moment in fine amber, never to fade.

But finally Jaskier was finished making his arrangements, and they were able to set out from Oxenfurt towards their first destination. It would take them several weeks to collect the components that Ida had mentioned—weeks that Geralt would have to spend dancing around the subject of the ritual and its origins, as well as his traitorous heart. As he caught Jaskier’s bright smile from up ahead as they crossed the Oxenfurt bridge, he hoped that he wasn’t making a terrible mistake.

*

“So where, exactly, are these mysterious elven ruins?”

Geralt grunted, both in answer and in exertion as he swung his sword through another clump of heavy brush, clearing the path. Roach waited patiently behind him, and Jaskier less so. He turned to look back at them both, finding Jaskier giving him an unimpressed look. Geralt forced down the urge to grumble again. “They’re close,” he said, taking Roach’s reins to lead her through the cleared bushes. The path that they were following was barely a deer trail in places, clearly unused for decades. There had been no sign thus far that the area had once been populated aside from the occasional flash of white brickwork that told Geralt they were on the right track.

“Oh, really,” said Jaskier, who had likely not noticed the brickwork, based on Geralt’s past experience with his observation skills. “You know what I think, Geralt? I think we’re lost in the woods in the middle of nowhere, a day away from the nearest hamlet, and we’re just as likely to find a wyvern den as an elven temple out here.”

“Wyverns don’t populate the lowlands,” Geralt said automatically, kicking a large branch out of Roach’s path.

Jaskier made a strangled sound behind him that Geralt might call a growl if it had come from anyone else. “I know that, I was being hyperbolic, you ass. You’re avoiding the issue.”

“We’re on the right path.” Another glint of white stone caught his eye, this time the edge of an arch wrapped nearly over in vines and moss. Only fragments remained, large chunks blending in with the forest floor.

“As if you would admit it if you were lost,” Jaskier griped, shoving a branch out of his own way. “Remember that time near Spikeroog? We were lost in a boat for three days because you wouldn’t just admit that we went west for six hours—”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, and pushed aside the last of the foliage.

Jaskier fell silent, and they both looked beyond the treeline into the clearing Geralt had revealed. Before them rose a silent, crumbling stone structure, pale as a ghost against the dark lines of the trees in the afternoon light. Much of its surface had been reclaimed already by the forest, but enough of it poked through to give a general sense of scale. It towered at least two stories above them, though the edges were uneven in a way that suggested it once may have been higher. The front facade rose in a flat wall before them, pierced by a line of arches, their edges decorated in fading but intricate reliefs. Here and there along the line of what had once been the path leading to the central arch, the occasional protrusion of a column could be seen. The path beyond the central arch was shadowed, too dark for even Geralt to see past after so long in the daylight.

Jaskier stepped forward into the narrow clearing, and Geralt followed. Wordlessly, Jaskier raised a hand to trail along the remnants of a low, circular stone wall, perhaps the remnants of an ancient well. When he looked up at Geralt, his eyes shone, two pieces of midday sky in the murky shade of the forest. “I stand corrected,” he said, offering Geralt a giddy grin.

Geralt shook his head with a small smile, drawing Roach further into the clearing. “Let’s set up camp here. You can explore when we have someplace to sleep.”

Jaskier agreed eagerly and they both launched into the process of setting up camp. They fell easily back into old patterns, Jaskier slotting seamlessly into Geralt’s routine. It was always easier to set up and break down camp when the bard was around, though Geralt thought it had very little to do with splitting the work halfway.

Within half an hour they had created a comfortable camp in the clearing and Geralt had Roach tended to, and they both stood before the dark archway into the ruins.

Jaskier hesitated over the threshold, his excitement over the history of the place apparently conceding to nerves. “Well, ah. After you, witcher,” he said, holding out an arm as if holding an imaginary door for Geralt to walk through.

Geralt rolled his eyes and stepped into the small hall beyond the archway, blinking a few times to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. “Come on, bard,” he called over his shoulder, amusement and affection swelling in his chest as he heard Jaskier mutter and quick footsteps follow after him.

The hall ended in a flight of stairs leading down, and they had to pause to light a torch when Jaskier ran directly into Geralt’s back and nearly knocked them both down it. A quick burst of igni had firelight dancing across the smooth white stones as they descended into the ruins.

Elves, Geralt had found, rarely built up. Though their cities had towered in ages past, their true magnificence had always lain below ground. The complex that they made their way down into was labyrinthian, huge open hallways with dozens of rooms and offshoots, archways that looked in on underground courtyards with pierced ceilings that let in the daylight, huge caverns expertly carved into cathedrals. Jaskier quickly brought out a bit of charcoal he often used for taking notes or sketching and began to mark their way with arrows pointing back the way they’d come, so they might not be hopelessly lost in the ruins. Geralt led them mostly by smell, at first; Triss had mentioned that any ritual chambers would likely be on the lower levels, as they were considered private and upper floors were generally public. He followed the cool, chalky scent of wet stone deeper into the ruins, down ramps and stairways until they were all but buried in the earth.

“I never knew the true breadth of them,” Jaskier breathed at one point, as they made their way down a winding spiral staircase that curved along what seemed like a natural cave shaft. “I’ve read, of course, about the scale of the old elven kingdoms, but it’s different to see it all. We’ve been walking for hours already and I feel as if there’s still miles to be seen.”

“Maybe not miles,” Geralt said, keeping one ear out for potential movement and one on Jaskier’s footsteps on the slick stone steps. “One’s I’ve been to before are usually somewhere around five and fifteen levels. We’re getting close to the bottom.”

Jaskier hummed in acknowledgment. “You could take an entire lifetime to study this place. Why hasn’t anyone surveyed it? How do you know the thing you're after for this ritual hasn’t already been taken?”

At that moment Geralt heard a gentle click, and he reached up just in time to pluck the arrow from the air as it hissed past his ear and towards Jaskier’s head. Slowly, he turned to look over his shoulder, finding Jaskier wide eyed behind him. Looking meaningfully down at Jaskier’s foot, he jerked his chin up.

Jaskier lifted up his foot, and the click of a pressure plate resetting filled the narrow space.

“That’s how,” Geralt said, tossing the arrow to the side.

“Of course,” Jaskier said weakly. “Of course the place is booby trapped.”

“And haunted probably,” Geralt agreed, continuing down the stairs. “Stay close. Wouldn’t want you to die before I can make you immortal.” The words were said as much in jest as he could make them, but he felt a brief strum of anxiety all the same.

Jaskier huffed in annoyance, but Geralt could feel him press even closer. He ignored the way that the air between them seemed to heat, the soothing warmth of Jaskier’s presence pressing back the dark more efficiently than any torch.

*

“Look,” Jaskier’s voice came from behind him. Geralt turned around to see Jaskier rubbing at a patch of the wall in the hall they were currently trekking through, the ancient slabs of stone crumbling a bit at his touch. “There’s writing here.”

Geralt stepped up next to him, feeling Jaskier’s warmth radiating along his side. Forcing himself to ignore the proximity, he leaned in to peer at the wall. “Elder, looks like. Can’t make it out.”

“It looks like one of the early northern dialects, closer to Laith aen Undod.” Jaskier scrambled in his small pack and pulled out his bit of charcoal and his notebook, handing the torch off to Geralt. Accepting the light, Geralt frowned at Jaskier as he made a few quick lines on the paper, referring back to the wall a few times. His tongue poked just barely out between his lips, as it always did when he was concentrating. After a moment he stood up straight, leaning towards the light to examine his own markings.

“Can you read that?” Geralt asked, genuinely surprised. He was fairly well versed in Elder, but his knowledge was more practical, learned from his interactions with the Scoia’tael and learning the Signs. The One Speech was well beyond his understanding, not to mention the various ancient dialects of Elder.

“Mm, I’m better at reading Elder than I am at speaking it, I’m afraid. Academic knowledge. Have to be able to translate the old poems and stories, after all.” He flashed Geralt a grin, the laugh lines deepening around his eyes. They sparkled in the light of the torch, turning the blue silver-gold. Geralt’s breath caught in his throat.

When Geralt didn’t respond quickly enough, Jaskier turned back to the notes he’d made on the paper. He muttered a few things to himself in Elder, the words sounding oddly musical—as if he’d learned to pronounce the language through song, which he probably had. Finally he scribbled a few notes in Common. “I think it’s a road sign, of sorts,” Jaskier said slowly. His tone took on the particular quality that Geralt had come to recognize as his “professor voice” over the years. He’d always found it rather amusing. “This complex must have been big enough to necessitate passage markers. See the sideways arrowhead under the top line? It says—well, I’m not sure, but I know the root has to do with the evening meal, so I’d guess it’s pointing to some kind of tavern or dining hall. And this one just says ‘sanctuary,’ I think. That’s a weird one, that symbol in more modern Elder just means ‘place’ but there’s a prefix here that adds a sort of defensive quality to it. Maybe ‘protected place’?” Jaskier frowned down at his own work. Already he had somehow managed to smudge charcoal across his cheek.

“Might be right,” Geralt grunted, impressed. “Triss said it would be in a safe place. ‘Ionad chosanta.’”

Jaskier hummed thoughtfully. “Could be as good a translation as any.”

“Better than wandering around,” Geralt shrugged, and turned towards the hall the arrow pointed towards. Before stepping into the darkness, he paused, looking back at Jaskier. Without letting himself think too hard about it, he reached up and rubbed away the charcoal on Jaskier’s cheekbone. The sweep of his thumb pushed back the soot and revealed the pale skin underneath, still so soft even after so many years spent traveling out in the elements. That skin care regiment Jaskier was always going on about must be worth something, he thought faintly.

Jaskier was silent, staring at him with an expression that reminded Geralt of a hare staring down the point of an arrow. Clearing his throat briefly, Geralt let his hand fall and said, “Thanks. For the… You did good.”

Even in the dim light, Geralt could see the flush that lit up Jaskier’s face at that, spilling prettily over his cheekbones. He gaped at Geralt for a moment before his mouth snapped closed with a near audible clack. Geralt expected a witty rejoinder of some kind, perhaps a jab at his historical inability to offer praise. He knew he deserved it, even if Jaskier meant it in anger rather than jest. Raising Ciri had taught him the value of voicing his appreciation and affection for others, even if he still struggled for the right words to do so. Yennefer had painstakingly beat it into his head. Ciri hadn’t known that he cared unless he said so, and so he had no other alternatives. Looking at Jaskier gaping at him, he wondered how many times Jaskier had assumed that Geralt cared little for him for lack of a kind word. His chest hurt at the thought.

After long enough that the silence had grown heavy and awkward, Jaskier coughed lightly, ducking to hide his expression. The ribbing Geralt had prepared himself for did not come. “Not a problem,” was all Jaskier said, brushing past him. “Let’s get a move on, yes? Don’t want the torch to run low.”

Geralt stared after him for a moment before shaking his head and following.

*

The shrine, when they found it, was hidden behind a thick patch of rubble that Geralt had to blast out of the way with a few precise applications of aard. He slipped inside first, sliding through the small opening in the stone and landing lightly on the other side. His eyes adjusted quickly to the gloom, to his surprise, and he realized that there were several glowing crystals embedded in the walls around him at even intervals. There came the sound of cascading stones and a low curse from behind him, and he turned in time to catch Jaskier’s elbow before the bard fell flat on his face.

“Ah, thank you, dear witcher,” Jaskier huffed, reaching up to fruitlessly brush the dust from his jacket. Looking up, he halted in his motions, taking in the room around them in its soft, ethereal light. “Oh,” he breathed.

It was indeed beautiful, even in its decaying state. Like everything in the tunnels, the structures were unmistakably elven, but even so they appeared alien to Geralt’s eyes. The walls were covered in delicate mosaic work, in patterns that danced in the flickering light of their torch and that of the crystals. The center of the room was dominated by a blank circle of unmarked stone, with Elder runes engraved along the edge that Geralt could not even begin to decipher. The circle was framed by a delicate canopy of carved white stone, supported on four pillars of the same material. The carvings were so minute that for a moment Geralt thought the entire structure might be built not of stone, but of some sort of webbing or silk. It was delicate enough to be blown glass, but when he set his hand against one of the pillars it was as unforgiving as a mountainside.

Jaskier ran his fingers along one of the walls, tracing a twist in the tiny shards of colored glass. “It’s beautiful,” he said, voice pitched low.

“Triss said these places were sacred to the Aes Sidhe. They mark where the elves first arrived,” Geralt said. He found his own gaze drawn back to the center of the unmarked circle beneath the canopy. “Here.”

Set into the very center of the stone circle was a small depression, no larger than Geralt’s palm. He stepped into the circle and knelt down, peering at it. Within the shallow bowl formed by the carved out floor sat an oval stone, maybe three inches long at its widest point. Drawing out his trophy knife, Geralt set the edge of it against the lip of the facet and twisted it. It popped out surprisingly easily, as if it was meant to be removed by design.

Jaskier hovered behind him as Geralt picked up the gaes carraigh. It was cool against his fingers, made of a translucent white stone that became more opaque at the edges. The center was nearly see-through, and when Geralt held it up the light played oddly in its depths. His medallion hummed faintly against his chest, warning him of the presence of magic. “Is that it?” Jaskier asked, resting one of his hands on Geralt’s shoulder to lean in closer.

“Think so,” Geralt replied, trying to ignore the weight of Jaskier pressed against him.

“What exactly does it do?” Jaskier reached out his free hand to press a finger against the center of the stone, curious as always. Geralt allowed it, and forced himself not to flinch when their fingers brushed incidentally. He could feel his ears warm regardless.

“It… binds the words of the ritual, or something. I didn’t ask.”

“Gaes carraigh… promise rock?” Jaskier tried, dropping to lean his full elbow on Geralt’s shoulder, casually slotting their forms together. His fingers barely brushed against Geralt’s collarbone, and he took a slow breath to maintain control over his heartbeat. Suddenly the proximity was overwhelming. Here they were, in a sacred space where possibly dozens of couples had made their vows to each other, fingers both lingering over the stone that would bind their oaths. In another life, perhaps they could have had something like this—Jaskier resplendent in the light of the blue crystals, eyes shining, looking at Geralt with adoration as they made their promises to each other. He would want to dress up, like he always did for a big event, but this time it would be only for himself and Geralt. Would he dress in blue? Or perhaps black, a witcher’s color, his pale skin like moonlight against the night sky. Would he wear a crown of periwinkle and sage, as was the northern custom? He would lean in close, like he was now, and murmur his vows to Geralt in words that flowed as smooth as a song.

He hadn’t known it was possible to want something so badly it was like a physical ache. Geralt was a witcher; he did not allow himself to think on things he couldn’t have. But here in this place, with Jaskier so close and yet so far away, the force of his desire felt oppressive. Jaskier didn’t know what any of this meant, and Geralt had no right to it, no right to want it. It was just a ritual. The context didn’t mean anything, because Jaskier would never feel that way about him.

After all, Geralt thought, looking down at the oathstone in his palm, who would want to marry a witcher?

Jaskier was still talking, and Geralt wrenched himself out of his thoughts when the arm on his shoulder pulled back and Jaskier patted the empty space once, as if in parting. “—probably get going, don’t you think? I do not relish the idea of being stuck here overnight. Not that I am not entirely confident in your abilities, darling, but I feel it’s best not to tempt fate when it comes to ghosts of ancient elven sages. Do you think they would count this as stealing? Probably. Anyways, I don’t want to find out what angry centuries old spirits do to trespassers.”

Geralt grunted, still gathering himself. He felt sluggish under the weight of his own emotions, pushing himself to his feet laboriously. The oathstone was heavy in his hand, and he slipped it into his potions pouch in the hope that it would feel less burdensome there. Without a word, he stood and exited the chamber the way they’d come, Jaskier fumbling after him.

[cryinginthebackseat]

you’ve got more poison than sugar - part i

AO3    part ii

Fandom: Call Of Duty 

Pairing: Russell Adler x Bell

Words: 4.009

Summary: Russell Adler should have known better that it wouldn’t take an entire nation or continent to bring him to his knees.

Warnings: just swearings, sexual tension, blood, mentions of past abuse and brainwashing. adler being that manipulative asswipe like usual. 

Author’s note: i don't know what i'm doing. one moment, i was watching the walkthrough of the new call of duty game, found myself curious, acutely curious by that guy with the scars and shades on- a younger, shadier (no pun intended) Robert Redford in Spy Game and oh my... fast forward to 2 weeks later, here we are.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A house somewhere on foreign soil,

Where ageless lovers call,

Is this your goal, your final needs,

Where dogs and vultures eat,

Committed still I turn to go.

I put my trust in you.

A Means To An End - Joy Division (1980)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It's mystifying how little she talks. Or when she does, it's always in fragments. Like a crossword puzzle in your local newspaper, but several letters are missing. He initially thought maybe MK-Ultra fucked her head or worse, if it hasn't worked at all, but the more he watches her, the more he realizes it's just the way she is. And it's ironic because he named her Bell. He expected her to chime like a goddamn goldfinch yet here they are. 

But he won't be fazed. Russell Adler is a man who's stopped at nothing in getting what he wanted before, he sure as hell won't stop now for a close-mouthed science project.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“We've got a job to do, Bell."

It intrigues him, every time, the way the words trigger something deep within her psyche, the way her eyes change, her body stands a little straighter, like a machine ready to function at his disposal. It reminds Adler of one of those cartoons he watched when he was a kid about wizards and magic words, except there are no musical dance numbers playing in the background or a talking cricket perching on his shoulder. This is his power over her, over the USSR, over Perseus. That monstrous filth. It really does take a beast to tame another. 

Although he surmises calling Bell one would be superfluous. 

She barely looks like one, but Adler knows too well than to underestimate her. Just because Bell hasn’t shown her set of claws, that doesn’t mean she’s harmless, delicate, like a miniature China Doll in his breast pocket.

Bell never offered him her reply before, but now, now, she nods, head almost bows, obedient pretty thing, and says:

“Yes, Adler.”

So it goes.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It takes West Berlin for Adler to realize she’s left-handed. 

She wears her watch on her right hand, smokes with that same said hand only when she’s writing or moving her pieces for an impromptu late-night game of chess against Lazar. And she always wears her gloves all the time- leather, black, lined with silk and pretty, small buttons on the cuffs, covering those striking red nails underneath. Whether it is for the theatrics or an old habit of hers, he can't really tell.

He doesn’t know why he begins to take notice of these mundane details about Bell, but rationalizes because he’s never been in the same room with this version of her, post-brainwash Bell, for more than 10 minutes. And for all intents and purposes, there’s still a lot of question marks surrounding her character; who is she? Where did she come from? What is her connection to Perseus? 

Are they in a possession of a walking, breathing bomb about to destroy them all or the West’s only salvation?

He supposes he’ll find out soon enough.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Adler hears Bell from his table, typing busy on the computer- barely blinking- all soaked up in that caffeine-infused energy at 1 am. She's always like that, he learns, when it comes to working, always with that steel determination, pulling out all the stops as long as it gets the job done- that Soviet discipline at it's finest.

Reminds him a little of himself when he's young.

Adler walks up to her. 

“You done for the night?” A shake of her head is her only response. He sighs. “You should go home, Bell.” 

“You go. I’ll lock up behind you,” Bell replies, low and monotone; that youthful stubborn.

If she was any other person, he would probably commend her for such fierce willpower, but she is Bell, the walking conundrum, his ace in the hole. Call him paranoid, but the idea of her having the safehouse for herself does nothing but raises every alarm in his head.

“No, we’re going home,” he says instead, tone brooking no argument and she frowns at the screen, her fingers stop moving then looks up at him with those goddamn empty eyes. "Come on, it's late anyway."

She doesn't say anything. Adler wishes he could read her mind- or crack that lovely skull on the back of her head, dissect her brain, learn its secrets and answers. 

Adler has his gun with him. It wouldn’t take long. A quick, true shot to the heart to keep the brain intact. He’d have Hudson contact one of his people inside BND and he'd deliver the brain himself if he has to. They could do it. He heard they’ve been studying inmates' brains for decades now, anyway. 

Before he has a chance to entertain the idea further, though, Bell nods once and rises up from her seat. 

Bell walks past him. Her scent, like honeysuckle on ice, hits him like an uppercut in the face. Adler inhales, as if against his will. 

He thinks he could get drunk on it.

“Hop in. I’ll drive you back to the hotel,” he says once they’re outside, regretting the decision the moment the words left his lips, but he knows he can’t just leave her on her own at this late hour.

The irony isn’t lost on him, though, considering he just thought about unspooling her brain a few minutes ago.

Bell complies without a protest. Getting inside the passenger seat, wordless still, fingers toying with the radio. An angry, krautrock music comes blaring all over his car. Adler winces, but at least the riot is loud enough to muffle the one's brewing in his head. 

"How's your memory these days?" 

Bell shrugs. "Nihil novi sub sole." There's nothing new under the sun.

Good, he muses. The least she knows about herself the better.

Though that doesn't mean he's out of the woods yet.

"Listen, from now on, I want you to keep me informed if there's any new progress about your memory or if you've developed any new symptoms. I want to know everything." He steals a sidelong glance at her, making sure she is listening (she always does, but Adler needs an excuse)

(An excuse for what?)

"Alright, Bell?"

"Of course," replies the woman in question.

"Good." Adler shifts his attention back to the road. "Good." Taking a long drag, he considers trying to appeal to her sentimental side. It's not something you'd improvise last minute- at least not with someone you brainwashed to believe you are her mentor/confidant for the past decade, but he's itching to know where he stands with her.

"You know, I'm just tryin' to look out for you, kid."

Her lips twitch but the rest of her visage remains impassive and faraway, more like a flick knife than a woman. The correlation is uncanny.

That's when she inches closer. The space between them bridged. He freezes. Hyper-aware of just how dangerous this is, but can’t bring himself to pull back, to look the other way. Not when her hand reaches out to pluck the cigarette from his mouth, eyes still glued to his, and curls her lips around the filter. One heavy pull, and then she rolls down the window and tosses it out on the side of the road.

"Thought I'd reciprocate the sentiment."

And with that, she leans back in her seat before Adler could even process what has just transpired.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Welcome back to the land of the living, kid,” Adler greeted her, about a month ago. 

Park had insisted that he had to be there for her when she woke up (naturally, Adler had balked at the idea, but at the English woman’s fact-of-the-matter explanation, also because it had somewhat dawned on him last minute the logic behind her machinations- “both of you are supposed to have known each other for years now. If she doesn't see you by her side, she’s going to wonder why”- thus, here he was)

“How are you feeling?” 

Bell blinked owlishly and stared at the older man with those bottomless, cat-like eyes that had haunted him since January.

Her gaze eventually softened as recognition flickered across her face.

“Like someone just hit me in the chest with a bulldozer,” she said hoarsely. “Where are we?”

“St. Dismas’ hospital, Pittsburgh.” Adler got up and fetched her a glass of water from the table. “Although not a bulldozer, but bullets did. That, and you hit your head really hard on your way down. Thought we’d lost you there, Bell.”

Bell drank in silence. She’s still watching him, thinking. This was the first time he realized that he couldn’t exactly read her expression and somehow that threw him off.

“What happened?” she asked, one hand mid-air, like she was deciding which to touch first, hesitating and abandoned the idea. 

“You don’t remember?” She shook her head. Adler pretended to look remotely distressed about it. “The doctors warned me about this. It must have been because of the fall- heck, I could even still hear that sickening crunch from here.” He dragged his chair closer towards her bed.

“We were in Amsterdam. Remember Fohler?” she shook her head again. “Well, we’d been tracking this son of a bitch for months, but we were chasing him in Amsterdam. He was running away and climbed up some scaffolding. You were about to go up after him,” he recited the fabricated story he, Park and Hudson had crafted. “He shot you and you fell and hit your head against the pavement.”

Bell looked away first, silent. Her hand gingerly touched the back of her head and winced, albeit only slightly. 

Adler was almost impressed, if not, disarmed by how calm and composed her reaction was to all of this. But then again, after having had witnessed first-hand how the woman barely flinched under any kind of interrogation technique they threw at her- a personality built for wrestling tigers- he really shouldn’t be surprised. 

“Bell, what is the last thing you remember?”

Bell frowned. “Not much. I remember ‘Nam, but-”

“Vietnam? Kid, that was thirteen years ago.” Adler watched the way her throat bopped, like she was swallowing her own blood and the color drained from her face, just like the first time he’d seen her, and proceeded to drop the bomb:

“Bell, the year is 1981.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Bell dear, would you mind taking a look at this?" 

Park's voice sails from across the room. She says it like it's a compound word: Bell-dear. Like the two words belong together. Bell-dear. 2 syllables, 1 word, 9 characters and that just might be the weirdest thing he hears this year and he heard many things.

"Bell dear?" Adler asks much later, his gravel-and-smoke voice reduced to a whisper, when she delivers a document to his table.

Park shrugs as if that explains everything. "What? I like her." 

He's tempted to say you really can't put a term of endearment and someone you brainwashed into submission in the same sentence, but what else is new?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They wind up in a bar. It’s called Die Stube and the place’s brimmed with artists and all sorts of leather-clad, Bowie-esque dramatic, chromatic blue eyelids young people chattering over a dirty cloud of smoke.

The two of them colonize a lone booth in the back. It’s dark and the quietest. She orders a beer and he, a scotch and they drink in silence. There are moments where her head would twist to the side, as subtle as a needle and survey the phantasmagorical scene before them, like studying something from a petri dish. 

While he’s watching her.

Only to tear his gaze away to the nearest object he can find.

It lands on his watch.

"It’s almost ten. Hudson's contact should be here soon," he announces, if anything to distract himself. She nods mutely in reply, as always, and runs a finger around the rim of her glass.

"The place ain't much of your scene?" 

She shrugs, like it's self-evident. "I didn't know this was a scene, though."

"Well, that’s West Berlin for you. A worry-free playground for the hedonists, hipsters and proto-electro NDW enthusiasts with drugs on tap," Adler says, sipping his drink in practiced nonchalance. "Always makes my head spin."

"I guess I remember it differently," Bell replies, tinged with something akin to begrudging. 

That warrants his full attention. "What do you remember?”

Bell shrugs again and lights a cigarette instead, menthol, one of those long, skinny cigarettes they only market for women; biding her time, making him wait. She lets the smoke flares from her nostrils so her eyes are veiled.

"It’s hard to explain, but I suppose it’s grittier?” she gesticulates, searching for the right word like she’s skim reading the entire Oxford dictionary in her head. “Bizarrely, infinitely grittier and dimmer? Like being in an underground tunnel and there's not much to see."

Interesting. Maybe she’s recalling one of her ops for Perseus or her mind is confusing her with the world on the other side of the wall.

“Maybe you’re remembering one of our clandestine ops here. It was a few years after Vietnam,” Adler supplies, passing over the tale like bait.

She falls for it, hook, line and sinker.

“Ah, I guess that also explains my fluency in German.”

“I taught you that.” It’s only logical, he decides, that she learned from him. She’s supposed to be his protégé after all. 

An elegant brow quirk. "You did?"

"Yeah, though you were already fluent in Latin, Russian, Vietnamese and Portuguese when we first met anyway. You have quite a natural ear, kid.”

She gives him a look. He really can’t categorize it, but it makes it a whole lot harder to fight against her stare.

 “What else did you teach me?” 

If they were anyone else, the lines could have a potential to entice, to seduce, that winsome, catty-eyelashes coquette, but they aren't anyone else and Bell does not voice it like that. Yet the implication behind the question stirs something in the pit of Adler’s stomach anyway, that tight knot of confusion as it is buried with something else and he finds himself, once again, uncharacteristically speechless.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

That particular question of her stays, even hours later, unbidden. Interspersed with her scent and face. 

His emotions are a minefield whenever she’s near now. It evokes that newfound rush of terror within him, like walking on a tightrope or being thrown into the pit to face hundreds of hungry lions, bare hands. It makes Adler questions his every decision, and he can’t have that in his line of work. 

Adler lights his sixth cigarette, contemplating everything, nothing. Anything to distract him from her. It's 4 am and he’s exhausted, but his mind won’t stop whirring. This isn’t like him at all- like he's lost somewhere in a Dali-style labyrinth that is his head and he wonders if this is a byproduct of his fear or fascination or confusion for the young woman.

He fears it is all of them.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(They're only 10 minutes away from East Berlin when he senses it, something akin to burning on his peripheral vision, pulling him like weight.

Bell is staring at him from across the seat.

He cocks his head slightly to the side.

Adler catches the quick, telling quirk of her lips, like she's about to smile but lights a cigarette instead.)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Did you hear that?”

Krauss has just crossed the wall and their soles are slippery from the rain. She's panting. Her breath is white like a fog. Adler muses it must be from the running, until his iris trails down to where her hand is clutching his jacket sleeve, the leather creasing like a modulation signal.

“What is it?” Adler asks, hushed. There are no Stasis here, but even one can't be too careful.

“The TV.” She’s gaping at the broken TV next to them. Adler looks at the said object, frowning, then back to her. “Y-you didn’t hear it?”

"Heard what? Bell, the thing's dead."

Bell withdraws from him. Stepping back until her back meets the walls, her eyes seeing and unseeing, like a lens finding focus in the dark, then she closes them, as if trying to regulate her breathing. Adler has never seen her scared shitless of anything before. The sight confuses as it intrigues him. 

"Bell, what's going on?" Adler steps closer, but he dares not to touch her. 

She shakes her head, dismissive. In just a span of seconds, Bell dons that mask she likes to wear again; deadpan and frustratingly distant. A spike of annoyance drives through him. Just when he thinks he can get through her, there she goes again, retreating behind her palisades.

"Nothing." Bell turns away abruptly and she’s walking again."Let's just go. The others are waiting for us."

He doesn't pry about whatever she heard on the TV- Adler knows better than to beat a dead horse, thank you very much- not even after they save her from Volkov's clutches, after she bashes his head against the steel door and reeks his blood all the way home, it seems superficial at the time.

Until two days later.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The day starts, as it mostly does for the team, with a briefing. 

Fifteen minutes in and something like a gasp pulls his attention to her. 

That’s when he notices it; her hands are shaking, coffee spilling out of the mug over her hand. A shatter follows. Her mug smashes to smithereens at her feet. She’s swaying, near collapse, like a house of cards about to fall, a hand on her nose.

Adler catches her before she tumbles to the floor.

“Bell!” His arm around her waist tightens, trying to keep her steady. Lazar rushes to their side in a flash and helps him move her to a nearby chair. 

"Jesus Christ," he curses, more to himself than to her as he watches blood, a bead of angry red, trickling down her nose. "Sims, get me a washcloth from the bathroom."

He kneels before her once Sims returns with a damp cloth. Nicotine-stained gloved fingers tentatively grasp her chin, holding her still. 

“Kid, you alright?” Adler asks, worry bleeds into his voice without him realizing it. He firmly presses the cloth under her nose, his other thumb touches the pulse at her throat- it's almost sickly affectionate. “Bell, talk to me."

Bell looks at him, discombobulated, like he's a figment of her imagination, then blinks. Again and again until she heaves a deep breath.

"I-" she hisses. One hand flies up to her head. "Fuck. My head.”

Adler’s eyes immediately search for Park’s. A knowing look passes over her face and he knows without saying that she's thinking the same thing, like they're attached to the same brain-wire:

MK-Ultra.

There’s a fraction of pause, then Lazar asks, "Should we give her something?” 

Before Park can voice her answer, Bell beats her to it. "I already took an anticonvulsant this morning. It should have helped.”

“Wait, this has happened before?” Adler asks.

Bell looks away, a hesitating look shadowing her face. He fears the worst.

“Bell…” he tries again, a slight warning to his tone.

She sighs loudly, as if mentally preparing herself before walking into a storm. 

“Yes. Two days ago."

His mind instantly refers to East Berlin, the TV. Trying to connect the dots in his head. It seems far fetched, but now he wonders if she saw something that triggers this. Although he's never read about this on other subjects before, the correlation is just impossible to ignore.

Fuck. He heaves a breath, willing himself to calm down, to think. They can't afford complications at times like these. Not when there's so much at stake right now.

Adler snaps his attention back to Bell when she tries to scramble awkwardly to her feet, swatting his hand away. The hand on her neck immediately reaches for her waist again and pushes her back down onto the chair. His grip's tight enough to leave marks on her skin, but he doesn't care.

"Bell, for fuck's sake, stay still or so help me," he says, exasperated, not letting go of her waist. 

"I feel better now." Stubborn little shit.

He is tempted to scream at her face and grab both of her shoulders and shake. “The hell you’re not. Stop fighting it. You’ll only make things worse.”

Her face sours, if only for a millisecond before it morphs into guilt. “I’m sorry.”

Adler watches her for a long moment. It’s only now that he realizes that he’s still holding her waist and the cloth on her face. 

He backs away from her like he’s been burnt. 

“You should have told me. I thought I made it clear the other night to keep me informed regarding this,” he scolds. 

“I’m sorry,” she utters again and she looks so pliable like this, a blank canvas perfumed with obedience and lethal mind. It makes him almost feel sorry for what he has in plan for her once the shit show is over.

“Look, just go back to the hotel and take a day off.” Her mouth cracks open. He raises a silencing hand. “That’s an order, Bell.” But she merely scowls, looking more like jagged ice than a person. Hudson may have just met his match, after all.

“I told you I’m fine.”

“That’s not how it looks to me.”

“It is. It’s my body and I know what I’m feeling, and I’m telling you, I. Feel. Fine.”

His jaw clenches. “Are you disobeying a direct order, agent?”

Bell doesn’t answer, but her whole face remains challenging and hard. Undeterred.

Adler holds his breath. He feels the whole room collectively does the same. It’s like staring down the barrel of a gun and there’s an awful sort of danger to be found in that. 

Just when he thinks an imaginary bullet would dig itself into his skin, however, Bell utters, “Of course not.”

And so the woman resumes to her normal, docile self at a drop of a hat. Even when Park steps in and whisks her out of her seat, drives her back to her hotel with Lazar on shotgun. 

It doesn’t assuage his worry, though. He’s still restless throughout the day, like a roaring ocean inside a bell jar. She’s never done this before, openly rebels against him. Now, the situation is just bad. Not casually bad or almost-got-shot bad, this is the-entire-Europe-could-turn-into-a-nuclear-wasteland bad, an-armageddon-waiting-to-happen bad. 

What if this is the beginning of her old self trying to scratch her way out of the surface? Adler’s blood goes cold at the thought. He is going to have to keep a close eye on this development.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

West Berlin - 1 am, local time.

“How is she?”

“Stable. I’ve administered another dose of Propranolol before I left the hotel. She should be fit as a fiddle in the morning.”

“Tell me, what do you think happened to her?”

“My theory? Traumatic brain injury. A cumulative product of torture, trauma-based mind control and chronic stress. I've read reports about cases like these before in MI6. None of them is still alive to recount the tale, unfortunately."

Adler grips the phone. 

“How long do you think we have?”

“Theoretically, 2-3 weeks tops.”

“But?”

He hears Park sighs on the other line. “But then again, none of the subjects I’ve encountered before were like her. So, I suppose it’s still a little too premature to determine at this point."

Adler kneads his temple, feeling the start of that familiar Bell-induced headache forms in his head. Can things just be fucking simple for once? 

“We don’t have that much time anyway, Park. And if Hudson gets a wind of this, he’ll want her gone by morning. I can’t let that happen. Not…” he pauses. “Not when we are this close.”

"What are we going to do about her, then?" 

Adler sighs.

"Raise the dosages of her drugs,” he says. “And keep an extra eye on her. I think we may be heading into uncharted waters now.”

Tagging: @mvalentine cause you said to tag you with everything i write so  👁👄👁

[libraryofloveletters]

What Could Have Been

Derek Morgan x Penelope Garica 

Warnings: mentions of getting shot, church and Morgan’s favourite line “son of a bitch” 

Category: Angst, so much fricking angst. Fluff at the end.

Word Count: 3.7k 

Author’s Note: For the purpose of this, Derek never married savannah but still left the BAU after the kidnapping and garvez didn’t happen :) also I used the scenes from the episodes below, most of them are quoted but not exactly word for word. (shout out to haley and to whoever she got this gif from <3) 

Song: The Night We Met

Italics are flashbacks. 

FB 1= 8x09 “Magnificent Light”

FB 2= 3x09 “Penelope”

FB 3= 3x09 “Penelope”, 4x01 ‘”Mayhem” & 5x21 “Exit Wounds” 

----- 

I am not the only traveler

Who has not repaid his debt

I've been searching for a trail to follow again

Take me back to the night we met

The clock just struck 12, everyone had arrived back at the BAU after a case in Delaware. The team sat in the bullpen, their heads perked up when the elevator dinged and the doors opened. 

Derek. 

He stepped off the elevator with a smile on his face, the glass doors ruined his image of a surprise but what the hell, he missed them too much to even care. Derek pulled the door open, the familiar smell of coffee and paper files filled his nose. 

“Derek ?” Spencer stood up from his chair. 

“Pretty boy” Derek smiled making his way over to give him a hug. Spencer smiled as his face was pulled into Derek’s shoulder. 

Derek turned to Emily next, “princess” he grinned, “hey you” she hugged him. 

JJ was next, her arms wrapped around his neck as she stood on her tiptoes to give him a proper hug. 

He went on to hug Tara and Rossi, and greeted Luke and Matt as they made their way into the BAU. 

Derek chatted with the team, they told him about the kidnapping case they had just worked but he couldn't seem to focus on their conversations as his mind kept wandering back to her. 

Where is she? 

One by one, the office cleared out. Matt and JJ being the firsts as they wanted to get home to their kids, Luke was next one and on his way to pick up Roxy. Tara and Rossi left shortly after the first 3, leaving Derek, Emily and Spencer sitting in the bullpen, just like old times. 

“Okay, I've been here for..” Derek glances at the clock, “27 minutes and I’ve yet to see my baby girl. Did she leave early?” Derek asked them, Emily and Spencer glanced at each other before turning back to Derek. 

“Derek, she-” Emily started but Derek cut her off. “I think I'll go surprise her” He headed out of the bullpen before either of them could say anything to him. 

“Did she really not tell him ?” Spencer looks at her,

“She didn’t want him to come and beg her to stay” Emily says quietly. Spencer gets up and walks out to find Derek, he sees Derek just as he opens the second door to her office.

“Baby gir-” Derek stops in his tracks. The office only had the lights on but all the monitors were off and all her stuff was gone. The chair was pushed in, there was dust starting to settle on the desk and monitors. 

Where is she? Where’s all her stuff ? God, did something happen to her? I should have never left. 

Spencer’s voice broke through Derek’s thoughts. “She left” Spencer whispered, leaning against the door frame. Derek didn't say anything, he stood there quietly, in the middle of her office, an empty office, trying to make sense of what was happening. 

“When ?” Derek’s fingers dragged across the desk where her key board should be. 

“February” Spencer told him. 

“She didn’t tell me” Derek mumbled. 

Derek didn't know how to feel. 

His heart pounding in his chest. 

“Can I have a minute alone ?” Derek glances at Spencer before turning back to the turned off monitor. 

“Of course. Emily and I will be in the bullpen if you need us” Spencer pulled the door shut as he left Derek in the office. 

And then I can tell myself

What the hell I'm supposed to do

And then I can tell myself

Not to ride along with you

There’s no way she left. This had to be some practical joke. Maybe Penelope hacked the flight records, saw he was coming to Virginia and wanted to mess with him. 

Derek pulled the chair out and sat down. His heart sunk in his chest, his hand ran across the desk again, his fingers making marks in the dust. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that she had left. 

Sure, he knew she would have eventually moved on, she’s talented and smart and beautiful. 

My god, how she was beautiful. 

But never did he ever think the day would come where she would actually leave the BAU. 

This was her home, they were her family. 

Derek had never seen the office this empty. There were always trinkets, sparkly fluffy pens and mugs, so many mugs, more than you could count. 

The room felt heavy though it was empty. 

His hand reached into the desk drawer to his left, it was empty. Not like he was expecting anything to be there but he thought it wouldn’t hurt to check. Derek leaned back in the chair as his foot tapped against the desk, something rattled.

His eyes flickered down to the other drawer as his foot tapped the desk again. Derek pulled the drawer open, there was some paper in it. He picked them up and flipped through them, it was mostly computer manuals and old case files. Under all of that, there was a picture frame. 

It was a simple black picture frame, which was a bit plain for Penelope’s taste but the photo brought a smile to his face. It was a picture from the night of the police gala, they were already running late but she insisted that they take a picture before heading inside. 

“Derek! Don’t be difficult, we’re already late. It doesn't make a difference” she tried to reason with him. “Baby girl, they're waiting on me” Derek looked at her, already on his way to the door. Derek was stubborn but if he had a soft spot, and one she knew he had for sure, it was her. 

“Derek Morgan if you don't get your butt over here right now, so help me god because I will leave you here all by yourself” she mustered up the most stern look she could manage and looked at him. Derek chuckled and shook his head, jogging back down the stairs to his beloved Penelope. 

He’d go to the ends of the earth and back for this woman. 

“Excuse me!” Penelope turned to the man at the valet, “could you take a picture for us?” she fished the camera out of her wristlet, Derek smiled at her. 

“Mama, why don't you use your phone? you’re always carrying around this camera” 

“I like my camera, it holds pictures from forever ago. When we were all young and happy” she wrapped her arm around his waist, Derek put his arm around her shoulder and her other hand came up to reach his, their fingers interlocking. 

“Are we not happy now?” he looked down at her. 

Even with heels on, Derek still towered over Penelope. She looked up at her chocolate thunder and smiled, 

“I'm always happy when I'm with you.” 

The two of them stood there, smiling at each other, they had forgotten all about the picture until the camera flashed. The man from the valet spoke up “would you like one more? maybe looking at the camera this time ?” They turned towards the camera with the brightest smiles on their face. 

Derek’s finger ran across the glass of the frame. She didn’t use the picture of them looking at the camera, but the one of them looking at each other. Her words flooding his mind once again, 

“I’m always happy when I'm with you.”

I had all and then most of you

Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met

I don't know what I'm supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you

Oh, take me back to the night we met

Derek was tempted to call her, to ask her why she hadn’t told him that she was leaving the BAU. He would have come and helped her pack, made sure she had a proper goodbye, most importantly, he would have gotten to tell her what he had come back to tell her. 

He had missed a call from her last month and he didn't return her call simply because he had forgotten. 

To say he felt guilty, was an understatement. 

What if she had been calling to tell him that she was leaving ? Or if something had happened to her? or JJ or Emily or Spencer ? Or even Rossi (because, let’s be real, he’s old) 

The thought of Penelope calling Derek to tell him Rossi busted a hip running after an unsub bought a smile back to his face. His mind wandered back to all the times he had called her and they spent hours talking and laughing and telling each other how much they loved one another. 

Those were just words, it didn't truly mean anything unless he showed her that it did. The feeling of his heart sinking in his chest returned, he thought back to ten years ago, he had missed a call from Spencer. 

The cold air hit his face as he stepped out of the church, Derek took his phone out of his pocket. 

Missed Call from Pretty Boy (2) 

The missed call notifications flashed across the screen in bold letters. Derek assumed that Penelope had Spencer call to find out why he hadn't returned to the BAU with everyone else so he called Spencer back.  

“Hey, sorry I missed your call” Derek said to Spencer as he hopped in the SUV. 

“Derek where the hell are you ?” Spencer sounded upset, Derek chuckled. 

“Woah, calm down pretty boy. What’s wrong?” 

“Garcia’s been shot” Spencer cut straight to the point. 

Derek’s heart dropped and a flood of questions left his mouth. “What ? Where is she? Is she okay ? Where's Hotch ? Did he find the person ? How did this even happen?” 

“Morgan, we’re at the hospital. Penelope’s in surgery and Hotch is here. He’s got other officers at her apartment, he wanted everyone here when she got ou- oh wait, Hotch and Rossi are on their way to her apartment now” 

“Her apartment ? she got shot at home ?” 

“Derek.. please just come to the hospital.” 

Derek hung up on Spencer, all the emotions hitting him at once. He could feel the tears in his eyes but he didn't have time to cry. His only focus was getting to the hospital right now. 

The only thing that came to mind was lights. 

Derek did just that, he turned on the lights and sped down the road to the hospital. His thoughts took over. 

How did this happen? and the one night he just happened to be in church, Penelope got shot. 

His Penelope got shot. 

Derek didn’t believe in miracles but he hoped they were real that night. He glanced up at the sky as he sped down the road. 

“Tonight out of all nights huh? That’s messed up but let her pull through.. please. I can’t lose her” Derek said out loud. He wasn't sure if he was admitting it to himself or if he was talking to someone else, someone out there that could help Penelope but he said it anyways. 

It was true, he couldn’t lose her, he’d feel like lost himself if he did. 

When he arrived at the hospital, he found Spencer sitting with Emily and JJ. Hotch and Rossi stood by the doors. “Where are you still here ? I thought you were at the apartment” Derek walked over to them, Hotch turned his attention to Derek. 

“They don't want us working the case” 

“What ? That’s bullshit. Some son of a bitch shot her and we can’t even work the case? You can’t tell me that you’re actually listening to that shit” Derek practically shouted at Hotch. 

“I’m trying to figure something out Morgan. I understand you're upset, we all are.” Hotch told him. 

When the night was full of terrors

And your eyes were filled with tears

When you had not touched me yet

Oh, take me back to the night we met

Derek almost told Penelope that he loved her. He tells her all the time to be truthful, but like he thought, it didn’t mean anything unless he showed her that it did. He first told her the night she was released from the hospital. 

The two of them stood in her apartment after he brought her home. She was a bit on edge, even if she didn’t say it, he could see it. 

She had assured him it was okay for him to leave but he refused to leave her side until he knew she’d be safe and the son of a bitch that did that to her was either dead or in jail. 

Her back was turned to him, he called for her. 

“Hey, I love you, you know that right ?” he asked her, she smiled at him. 

“I love you too.” 

The second time was during a case in New York. Derek didn’t say he loved her out right but he assumed it was implied. 

“Why is it always you ? Why do you always do this?” she asked him, Derek navigated the ambulance through the traffic. 

“Garica, talk to me. Where do I turn?” he ignored her question. 

“Left, turn left. 30 seconds, get the hell out.” 

“Garcia there’s something I want you to know” 

“You can tell me afterwards, just get the hell out of there” 

“No, hold on let me just tell you” 

“Morgan” she warned him, the woman beside her counting down from ten. 

“Do you know what you are Garica ?” 

The line went silent for a second and the server connected. 

“Derek ?” Penelope called out to him, her voice ringing in his ear. The sound of something exploding was the only thing coming through the line.

“Garcia.. I'll tell you what you are to me” Derek’s voice came through. A wave of relief flooded her body but she couldn't help but roll her eyes. 

Was this man serious ? Here she was thinking something had happened to him and he’s fine. 

“You’re my god given solace” 

Penelope sighed, she loved him and it was clear he loved her too but she was mad at him so that would have to wait until another time. 

The third time was when he came the closest to really telling her the truth. They were in Alaska and the case was taking a toll on her. 

Her red hair caught his eye as he walked down the pathway. He walked up to her, his heart pounding in his chest. Derek wondered if she felt the same way he did. 

“I’m proud of you Penelope.” That was one of the rare days that he called her something other than a nickname or Garcia. His hand rested on her shoulder as she talked, admitting to him that she was scared, she didn't want to lose who she was because she had changed for the job.

“It's who you are baby girl, you see the beauty in everyone and everything no matter where you go. That part is never going to change and I won’t let you forget that.” 

“I don’t need you to protect me” 

“Tough, I think I'll stay on the job a little while longer” 

“Yeah ?” she smiled at him, he smiled back as a hum left his mouth. 

“How much longer ?” Penelope questions him, “every day of my life” 

The two of them were now leaning towards each other. She playfully punched his chest as she leaned forwards and his arm wrapped around her shoulder. 

“I kinda love you Derek Morgan” 

“I kinda love you Penelope Garcia”

Derek couldn't tell her now, she's probably in a relationship and happy. He wouldn't ruin her happiness because he finally figured out his feelings, he couldn't do that to her. 

It didn't lessen the pain nor the heartbreak he felt. 

I had all and then most of you

Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met

I don't know what I'm supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you

Take me back to the night we met

Emily sat in the bullpen with Spencer. It had been close to two hours since Spencer left Derek in Penelope’s old office. “I’m calling her” Emily states as she pulls out her phone. 

“Emily..” 

“Reid, shut up. I know you can see it too.” 

Everyone could see it, even Matt and Luke who were the last two to join the BAU. 

Derek Morgan was in love with Penelope Garica. 

He was in love with her right now and he always had been. 

Spencer listened as Emily told Penelope what was happening. A ‘see you soon’ left Emily’s lips before she hung up. Spencer looked over at her from his chair, Emily just nodded. 

-- 

Derek mentally groaned as someone knocked on the door, “I'm fine, Reid” Derek called out with his back still turned to the door, assuming it was Spencer. 

“I’m offended that you would mistake my beautiful body for boy wonder. Not that anything's wrong with him but- oh you get what I mean” a feminine voice spoke to him. 

Derek turned the chair around to see the one and only Penelope Garcia standing in the doorway with a smile on her face. She looked just as beautiful as she did the day he met her. 

Her white dress with the baby blue pattern on it, her sparkly blue heels and of course, matching jewellery. 

She looked like an angel on earth to him. 

“Hey handsome, miss me?” she asked, Derek got up and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug which made her laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes” she mumbled with her face buried in his chest.

“You have no idea” Derek replied, kissing the top of her head. 

She stepped back from him, their arms still wrapped around each other. 

“what are you doing here?” she looked up at him. 

“I came to see you, how’d you know I was here?” 

“Emily called me” 

Derek nodded, Prentiss always had his back in one way or another. 

Derek tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, she smiled at him. There was a baby blue streak in her hair, the same colour as the pattern on her dress. The frame of her glasses was slightly darker than the blue on her dress but it looked beautiful on her. Penelope’s eyes shifted from Derek to the picture frame on the desk. 

“Where did you find that ?” she picked up the frame. 

“Desk drawer” 

“I remember this night” she smiled looking down at the picture. 

“Me too” 

Penelope turned back to Derek, he reached forward and held one of her hands. 

“Penelope” 

“Derek” 

“There’s something I need to tell you. I’ve been meaning to tell you and honestly, I have told you but I- I just need you to know” 

“Is everything okay ?” 

“I love you” he says 

“I love you too” she smiles. 

“Penelope, I'm in love with you.” Derek's eyes met Penelope's. Her mouth hung out slightly, she blinked a few times, her eyes focusing on Derek. 

“What ?” 

“I’m in love with you, I always have been. I’ve been trying to tell you that for years. I never realized that I was until you got shot to tell you the truth. It never occurred to me that I could lose you, you work from the office in your little room of wonders and you’re safe. You had always been safe.” 

“Derek I-” 

“Baby, let me finish, please” 

She nodded and waited for him to go on.

“You were the only consistent thing when I worked here, did you know that ? Every time I left this building, there was a chance I wouldn't come back, you were the reason I wanted to come back. You were the reason I pushed so hard to come back. Penelope Garica, you are my angel, the light of my life, my god given solace, you are my baby girl.” Derek let out a sigh. Penelope looked up at him, “are you done?” and he nodded. 

She pulled him into a hug, “it took you long enough” she whispered to him. “I love you too, more than words can explain.” 

Derek’s hand cradled her face, “can I kiss you ?” he leaned towards her, his lips inches from hers. “Yes” she mumbled as his lips touched her. Penelope’s heart pounded in her chest, she could only focus on how Derek’s lips felt against hers. Truthfully, she had been dreaming of the day Derek would finally kiss her for years. It was better than she could have ever imagined. It felt as if time stopped and it was only the two of them while the world melted away. 

Derek’s eyes open slightly, taking in the woman he had been in love with for so long. The way her eyelashes flutter against her skin and the way her pink blush complemented her pale skin. 15 years of friendship and love had led them to this moment, the moment that would change their lives from this day forward. 

After what felt like an eternity, they pulled away from each other. Penelope’s hands clung onto Derek’s shirt like he would vanish if she let go. Her red lipstick smudge and surely there was lipstick on Derek too. Derek smiled at her and she smiled back at him, the two began laughing like school children sharing secrets. 

“I think I'll keep my job” Derek mumbled against her lips as he pulled her in for another kiss. Her mind flickering back to their case in Alaska and what he had said to her before they left. 

“How much longer are you planning on doing that ?” 

“Every single day of my life babygirl.” 

------ 

Dedicated to my darling @haleymalaffey <3 

Taglist: @aaronhotchnerr​ @mac99martin​ @aaron-hotchner187​ @tclaerh​ @luke-alvez​ @iconicc​ @lieberhers​ @pumpkin-reads​ @katexrichardson​ @sluttytears​ @thelukealvez​ @scandinavian-punk​ @rosesonmyheart​ @shotarosleftpinky​ @mrs-dr-reid​ @ssaemxlyprentxss​ @summerygubler​ @savannahhayes @moreid187 @lovelyladiess

[drowningbydegrees]

This is my @thewitchersecretsanta gift for @kat-atomic, who mentioned liking modern AU’s with witcher powers etc. and humor. I hope this delivers! Thank you so much @goodheavensgwen for betaing this! <3 Note: This is largely fluffy and ridiculous, but there’s some canon typical mention of blood and injury.

Read on AO3

There are very few things Jaskier can genuinely say he enjoys about working the night shift at the diner. There’s the 3 a.m. rush of customers when all the bars close who usually tip pretty decently. There’s the fact that Triss, the night manager, doesn’t mind if he spends his downtime writing music when his sidework is done. And there’s the occasional regular Jaskier finds himself enamored with.

Like the one on the sidewalk just outside, for instance, who Jaskier privately suspects is some sort of cryptid. With good reason! He only ever seems to turn up in the quietest part of Jaskier’s shift. He doesn’t look old by any stretch of the imagination, and he doesn’t strike Jaskier as the sort to commit to any sort of high maintenance beauty regimen, all of which is at odds with the silvery white hair that falls just a touch past his shoulders. If the hair weren’t noteworthy enough, his unnaturally gold eyes are haunting, like nothing Jaskier has ever seen. Not that he means to look, mind you, but they’re the kind of thing that sticks with Jaskier long after the man is gone. Appearances aside, there’s something about this particular customer that discourages questions and he always pays with cash, so despite coming in on a somewhat regular basis over the last year and a half - not often enough that Jaskier can work out any sort of pattern, but enough that there’s a table Jaskier has more or less decided is his - Jaskier doesn’t even know his name.

The blood is new though.

“Holy mother of- Are you okay?” Jaskier asks when he looks up and sees the man trudging through the door. Is that a limp? It’s hard to tell if he’s hurt or just exhausted. It seems like maybe hurt because that’s definitely blood matting his hair. Probably. Jaskier vaguely remembers hitting his head on the slide when he was little and it looking a bit like that, anyway. And if that’s blood, it suggests that the substance making the guy’s shirt stick unnaturally to his body is also blood, which kinda tracks with the fact that one of the sleeves is ripped to shreds.

The guy freezes, leaving Jaskier with the distinct impression that he’d hoped to come in unnoticed. As much as Jaskier enjoys listening to his gravelly voice, there’s nothing comforting about the reply. “It’s not mine.”

“Right. Okay. That’s- That’s a completely normal and not concerning thing to say. Also, I’m going to go ahead and call bullshit because your arm is… umm. Oh fuck! Your arm. Just, uhh… hang on a sec, okay?” Jaskier rushes off to the kitchen for the diner’s first aid kit, a few bar towels, and, after a hurried explanation to Triss, one of the work uniform button down shirts. First aid isn’t something that was really covered in training, but leaving someone bleeding in the foyer is almost certainly some kind of health code violation. Whatever the case, not wanting his favorite customer to bleed to death in the middle of his shift wins out over entertaining the notion that said customer might possibly be dangerous.

The foyer is empty when Jaskier returns, which admittedly makes more sense than the guy having stayed put. He’s undeniably mysterious, but he doesn’t seem unhinged enough to just wander in here like that without some kind of reason. Jaskier pokes his head into the restroom, assuming the man has gone there and… isn’t wrong. It’s just that he’s also not in a state of dress Jaskier would expect in a public space. The tattered remains of his shirt sit in the sink, and without the fabric to hide it, the gashes at the back of his shoulder, just where it meets his arm, are rather prominent. Oddly, that quells any real concern Jaskier might have had about what events led him here because they look like claw marks rather than anything human. Equally prominent are a really quite alarming number of other scars that litter the man’s back and chest from what Jaskier can see in the mirror.

The man has never struck Jaskier as particularly polite. He speaks very little. He never smiles. He always looks vaguely put upon when Jaskier tries to be nice to him. So it’s strangely endearing to see that, despite Jaskier being pretty sure he communicated he’d be right back, the man still looks sort of surprised to see him. That surprise only grows more visible when he sees the supplies Jaskier is holding. “I thought you might want to get cleaned up.”

The look the man gives him, like he’s expecting some kind of catch, makes Jaskier’s chest ache. Honestly, who does he interact with that getting help when he’s clearly injured is… not the expectation? The guy offers a quiet thanks that is very, very at odds with the whole possible (but probably not) serial killer vibe he’s got going on at the moment when Jaskier sets the supplies on the counter and starts to head back for the door.

“Do you need me to call someone for you… uh, sorry, I don’t actually know your name,” Jaskier finds himself asking, not sure why he can’t bring himself to just leave.

In the mirror the man’s brows crinkle in confusion, or maybe exasperation and he shakes his head. “No.”

“Are you sure?” Jaskier asks, watching the man awkwardly try to balance a pad against his wounded shoulder and wrap gauze around it without nearly enough hands. “It kinda looks like those might need stitches.”

“I said no.” Definitely exasperation this time, probably at Jaskier, but maybe also at his current predicament. Tape would be better than the roll of gauze, but there isn’t any.

“Right. Okay…” The reasonable thing to do would be to go back to work and just leave the guy to it. It’s not his job. They don’t know each other. The guy’s insistence on not wanting him to call for assistance should probably be suspicious. But, Jaskier has never done the reasonable thing once in his entire life and he doesn’t intend to start now. If he can’t get the guy actual, maybe qualified assistance, he also can’t bring himself to walk away. “Can I help?”

The man shifts in obvious discomfort, but eventually he concedes with a terse nod. He silently holds the pad against his shoulder while Jaskier unrolls the gauze and tries very hard to keep his eyes mostly averted. It’s that or Jaskier is going to end up ogling the guy’s quite frankly gorgeous everything and this really doesn’t seem like the time for that.

“Geralt,” the man says sort of out of the blue as Jaskier winds the gauze around the injury. It startles Jaskier into looking up. “My name.”

“Oh!” Geralt. Jaskier repeats it in his head. It’s nice to finally have a name to go with Geralt’s unfairly pretty face. He’s being rude though, Jaskier realizes, and shakes his head and ties off the bandaging. “I’m Jaskier.”

“I know,” Geralt says softly, like it’s some sort of confession.

Right. Of course. He’s probably introduced himself a dozen times. But customers usually forget his name, so it makes Jaskier smile anyway.

“So… Geralt. I don’t want to pry or anything.” The way Geralt tenses, Jaskier is sorry for opening his mouth. But, contrary to what everyone else in his life seems to think, he is not entirely without a self-preservation instinct. He’s not blind to how weird this whole situation is, even though he’s pretty sure Geralt didn’t actually kill anyone. “Did something happen? You’re not in some kind of trouble, are you?”

“No.”

“Right.” It seems whatever strange set of circumstances made Geralt inclined to talk to him has passed. “Well, that’s illuminating.”

Geralt’s expression scrunches like he’s just bitten into a lemon. “It’s not important.”

Inexplicably, that hurts. Not for his own sake. Geralt has no reason to confide in Jaskier specifically. It’s just that it seems like Geralt’s default assumption that he won’t be trusted, coupled with literally everything else Jaskier has seen tonight, paints a sort of lonely, heartbreaking picture. Or, maybe that’s just Jaskier’s inner poet talking. He’s never entirely certain. All the same, he offers what he hopes is a friendly smile. “Suit yourself, but you should know if you don’t tell me, I’m going to make something up and it will be absolutely ridiculous.”

Geralt’s expression smoothes out into a careful sort of indifference. Jaskier is sort of tempted to linger, but there’s really no excuse, and the longer he stays, the more likely Jaskier is to say something that’s just going to embarrass them both. Reluctantly, he steps away. “Well, I’ll just, you know, leave you to it.”

***

By the time Jaskier comes back out into the dining room, Triss looks like she’d been about thirty seconds away from coming in to check on them herself. As he assures her that it’s not actually as bad as he’d first thought, and no she really doesn’t need to call an ambulance or anything, Jaskier finds himself very, very glad he had been in too much of a rush to share his initial concerns with her or he suspects this conversation would be going very differently.

But Triss lets things be, and Jaskier tries to get back to normal.

It’s very convenient, Jaskier thinks, that Geralt always orders the same thing. In retrospect, that might be because he’s some kind of world champion at avoiding conversation at all costs, but Jaskier assumes he’s just a creature of habit. Probably. Either way, Jaskier puts in an order and pours a cup of coffee, glad for something to busy himself with while he waits.

Much to Jaskier’s surprise, Geralt looks more or less himself when he emerges from the restroom. His hair is wet, probably from rinsing the mess out of it, but with long sleeves covering the gash Jaskier had patched up, only the slight unevenness in his step gives away that anything is wrong at all. That and the heavy sigh he breathes out when he finally sits down in the diner booth. Jaskier has heard that one before and wonders if Geralt makes a habit of coming in here when he’s hurting or if that sigh is just one born of exhaustion.

Geralt’s expression does a funny thing when he sees the coffee mug. It might be surprise, but Jaskier can’t think for the life of him why. “Thank you.”

It’s the same quiet, sort of reluctant tone Geralt had thanked him with earlier, and dear lord is no one ever just kind to him or something? Nevermind that this is literally Jaskier’s job. He wants to ask, but he can’t imagine the question going over well, so Jaskier leans against the side of the bench opposite Geralt and smiles, gesturing at the uniform shirt. “It’s a good look. You might have a real future here.”

By some miracle, that pulls what Jaskier thinks might be a smile from Geralt. It’s a small, subtle thing like Geralt isn’t quite certain how the expression fits on his face, and gone almost immediately, but it was there, if just for a second. “I’ll keep it in mind if I ever need a new line of work.”

“I mean, if my line of work tore up my wardrobe like that, I’d probably have noped out already,” Jaskier jokes.

“Hmm,” Geralt replies, staring resolutely into his coffee mug.

“So, I gotta ask,” Jaskier ventures when a few seconds pass and Geralt doesn’t glare at him for lingering. “Not that I mind, but there are like, a dozen places I’d be more apt to patch myself up than a diner bathroom.”

“Everything else is closed,” Geralt says from behind his mug, amber eyes briefly fluttering shut.

“Of course. That explains… Wait. That doesn’t explain anything. There’s literally a hospital two miles down the road. I’d probably-” Jaskier pauses when Geralt’s eyes crack open again, fixating on him. Something about it makes Jaskier far less certain of what he’s saying, and it comes out with a questioning sort of uptick at the end. “You know, try… there?”

“They don’t tend to be keen on my kind,” Geralt replies gruffly.

Jaskier has no idea what that means. “Uhh… uninsured?”

“A witcher.” Geralt glowers at Jaskier, but he says the word like it’s physically painful, a mouth full of broken glass.

Jaskier has never met a witcher, he’s pretty sure, but he’s heard the stories, same as everyone. Witchers are supposedly nearly as dangerous as the creatures they hunt, more monsters than men and never to be trusted. They’re not quiet and unobtrusive and startled by acts of kindness, surely. So, either Geralt is not what he seems or the stories are bullshit, and given the way this particular witcher looks like he’s braced for a blow, Jaskier is willing to bet it’s the latter.

Jaskier can’t help wanting to understand what kind of life Geralt must live that this is where he ends up in the small hours of the morning, injured and seemingly alone. It makes him privately furious, but somehow he doesn’t think the spectacle will be appreciated, even though it’s on Geralt’s behalf. Maybe especially because it’s on Geralt’s behalf, judging by the efforts the witcher goes to to be unobtrusive. So, Jaskier doesn’t say the first thing that comes to mind about how rotten humanity is. Instead, he says the second thing that comes to mind, which is equally unfortunate. “Well, that explains your eyes.”

Geralt’s expression goes stormy, and Jaskier only belatedly realizes he must have taken that as an insult. But about the time Jaskier opens his mouth to explain, Geralt seems to gather that he might have misunderstood. His brows crease as he looks at Jaskier, as if trying to puzzle something out. “What about them?”

“They’re beautiful,” Jaskier blurts out, which, oh that was not what he meant to say at all. Melting through the floor would be great about now. Or maybe disappearing entirely. Really, anything but standing here with Geralt staring at him like he’s grown a second head. Scrambling for an excuse to leave that won’t look like he’s running away - even though he definitely is - Jaskier forces a smile, taking a step backwards. “I’ll just… go get you some more coffee.”

Suddenly discovering his escaped sense of self-preservation, Jaskier doesn’t come back with coffee. His curiosity is tempered by embarrassment, so he stays away until Geralt’s order is up and he has an actual legitimate reason to drift back to the guy’s table. Jaskier does his best to straddle the line between friendly and professional as he sets down the plate. He has every intention of leaving Geralt to eat in peace, so Jaskier startles a little when Geralt speaks up before he can leave. “It was a basilisk.”

“A… like the ‘turn you into stone’ kind of basilisk?” Jaskier turns back and sort of wishes he hadn’t because Geralt looks rather sorry for having said anything.

“That’s just a myth. They don’t do that,” Geralt counters. Jaskier waits for him to expound on that further, but he doesn’t.

Jaskier has never seen a basilisk either, so it seems entirely natural to ask, “Then, what do they do?”

A funny thing happens. To Jaskier’s complete and utter surprise Geralt talks. Not in the teeth pulling miserable way he’s said most everything else, but like it’s a conversation he genuinely doesn’t mind having. Jaskier keeps half an eye on the door, but it’s Monday night, so it’s no great surprise that no one else comes in.

In the absence of other customers to tend to, Jaskier eventually just slides into the seat across from Geralt to listen. It’s not subject matter that Jaskier has ever considered, but it’s interesting if only for how it relates to Geralt. Huffing out a laugh, Jaskier cuts in. “To hear you tell it, people are as stupid and superstitious as they are… unkind. I suppose next thing you’ll be telling me is that vampires don’t actually burn up in the sunlight.”

Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs for definitely not the first time tonight. Honestly, Jaskier is coming to be just a bit fond of it. “They don’t.”

“Wait, really?”

Jaskier is thrilled to discover he doesn’t even have to press for details. Before he knows it, he’s learned more about vampires than he even thought there was to know. Along with fiends, leshens, and what might possibly be the entire list of contracts Geralt has taken in the last month. There’s a consistent thread through all of it that leaves Jaskier warm and maybe a bit embarrassed that he’d ever thought Geralt could be dangerous. “You don’t talk about them like they’re things you kill.”

“I don’t if I can help it. It’s not their fault humans sprawl out into the places they live.” Geralt thumbs at the handle of his coffee mug, staring at the contents that have long since gone cold.

Desperate to drive off the strange sense of melancholy creeping in, Jaskier grasps for some other direction he can steer the conversation. Hastily, he runs through what Geralt has talked about already, and gets a bit stuck on a concerning thought, given how often the witcher is here. “So, are there a lot of monsters around here?”

Crisis averted, Jaskier thinks. Geralt’s shoulders tense across the table, but at least he doesn’t seem sad anymore. “Not really.”

That really just brings more questions than it answers. “Oh, well that’s a relief, I guess. I’d hate to be out hiking and get eaten by a noonwraith or something.”

“Noonwraiths don’t live in forests. Don’t even live, really. They’re...” Geralt makes a face that Jaskier assumes means he’s caught on that it was a joke. That said, Jaskier admires his commitment to finishing anyway. “More like trapped spirits.”

“You’re the expert,” Jaskier says agreeably, not quite managing to stifle the urge to laugh. “So what is it that keeps bringing you here, then? Do witchers have territories or something? Do you live around here? Actually, no. That’s a stupid question. If you lived around here you wouldn’t have wound up here like that…”

He expects the look of annoyance he seems to have gotten very good at drawing from Geralt so far. What he doesn’t expect is the way Geralt’s gaze darts away, looking at pretty much anything but Jaskier. “No.”

“No what?”

“All of it. This is just on the way to a lot of the places I end up,” Geralt clarifies with a heavy sigh. It’s a lie, Jaskier is pretty sure, because this podunk down isn’t really on the way to anywhere, and the rest of Geralt’s answer confirms as much. “... ish.”

“The coffee isn’t that good,” Jaskier teases. He doesn’t get it, but he does like Geralt, no matter how taciturn the witcher might be.

“It’s not.” Geralt tenses where he sits, and Jaskier thinks maybe he ought not to have pressed. As strange as today has been for him, it’s probably been awful for Geralt. Only Geralt doesn’t look upset. If anything, he ducks his head, a bit sheepish, muttering something under his breath.

Jaskier doesn’t even realize he’s leaned in closer until Geralt’s eyes widen just a fraction. “Sorry. I didn’t catch that.”

The way Geralt scowls, not at Jaskier but just in general, he thinks he’s not going to get an answer. He especially doesn’t think he’s going to get this particular answer, and yet Geralt very abruptly surrenders. “I don’t come here for the coffee.”

Oh. Jaskier bows his head to hide the smile that tugs at his lips. Somehow, it’s comforting to think that Geralt, who faces down monsters and seems generally put together is as awkward as he is. So much so that it takes him a second to even realize Geralt is maybe flirting with him. Definitely trying to judging by the vaguely terrified, deer in the headlights expression on the witcher’s face.

“I’m much better off the clock.” Jaskier immediately slaps a hand over his mouth, but it’s far too late. This is the point where Geralt realizes he’s made a terrible mistake. This is the moment where he decides maybe not to come back.

Whatever Jaskier expects, it’s not Geralt’s laughter, a surprised huff that sprawls out into something more concrete. It’s the loveliest sound Jaskier thinks he’s ever heard, and he can’t even bring himself to mind that it’s a little bit at his expense. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Before Jaskier can say anything, flirtatious or otherwise, there’s the familiar chime of someone coming through the door. Not that he needs the door to alert him. The raucous laughter does a good job on its own. That’d be the 3 a.m. crowd.

“I should… get back to work,” Jaskier reluctantly concedes and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t imagine the faintly disappointed look on Geralt’s face.

“Jaskier,” Geralt murmurs just as Jaskier is about to leave, softly enough he almost misses it. When he turns to look, the witcher’s jaw works for a moment before he says, “Thank you. For all this.”

“Any time,” Jaskier replies, not entirely surprised to find he means it. Even if nothing comes of their newfound camaraderie, maybe he’ll get a song out of it or something.

The 3 a.m. rush keeps him busy after that, and Jaskier only really makes it back to Geralt’s table to refill his coffee and bring him the check. By the time things slow down, Geralt is out the door, which is a good thing, honestly. He’s gotta sleep some time, Jaskier supposes.

Jaskier watches Geralt’s car disappear before he goes to clean up the table. As always, Geralt has left everything neatly stacked (yet another reason he’s Jaskier’s favorite customer). There are a few bills, and it’s only as he’s pocketing them that he notices writing on the receipt Geralt left behind.

A phone number is scrawled across the slip of paper, but it’s the note underneath that makes Jaskier grin as he pockets it for later.

Just in case you run into any noonwraiths in the woods.

(Fic Masterpost)

[archivingspn]

2019: Twitter- Eric Kripke

therealKripke: “In honor of #SPN300, here's my original #SPN pitch from 2004. The pilot story is very different, but the tone always rang clear to me. Could never have imagined what this show became and the good it's done. Humbled and grateful beyond words to you all. #SPNFamily @cw_spn ‘[images of spn pilot’s 4pg script]’“ - 12:08 PM Feb 7, 2019

[source]

                                                                                                       1

Supernatural

Pitch by Eric Kripke August 30, 2004

I. TONE AND WORLD

In one sentence, this is X-FILES meets ROUTE 66. Two brothers, cruising the dusty back roads in their trusty 64 Mustang, battling the things that go bump in the night. But much more than that, it's a show about an obsession of mine...

Throughout the U.S., (especially the MIDDLE, where I'm from), we have a folklore, as uniquely American as baseball, as rich and varied as any world mythology, and almost nobody knows it. For instance, Robert Johnson sold his soul to the Devil, at an abandoned Mississippi crossroads, to be the world's greatest guitarist. But he died violently, poisoned at age 26, screaming about Hellhounds as he choked on his own blood. In the shadowy north woods of Minnesota, lives a creature named the Wendigo. Translated from Native American, it means "evil that devours.” It feeds on human flesh. And even today, dozens of witnesses say it's very real.

There are literally HUNDREDS of these stories and legends and urban legends. There are dark and dangerous things out there in the corners of our country. So here's a show that travels the diverse highways and byways of supernatural America. Black woods, ghost towns, those tourist trap mystery spots. Really, a show ABOUT our country-the bloody, beating heart of America.

Unlike X-FILES, this show isn't Vancouver rainy. It's brighter, more colorful, more VISCERAL, and more irreverent. The humor here is extremely important to me—but it has to arise from the characters and their attitudes. The characters can be funny, but the weekly stories have to be SCARY AS SHIT– I'm talking THE RING; how what you don't see is much more terrifying than what you do. I'm talking about making this series as scary as I possibly can, until you guys call and yell at me.

But I also want the tone to be GROUNDED. Where BUFFY, for example, felt HEIGHTENED, our show should feel like OUR WORLD, real-life America. With a darkness that bubbles and boils just beneath the surface. And I want to keep the weekly stories CREDIBLE- leave 'em with a question mark, the possibility of a rational explanation. Something early X-Files did very well.

Finally, I want this show to capture a certain SPIRIT. For one, that youthful electricity of dropping out and hitting the open road; the freedom of wide-open American spaces. But also, EVERY road trip story-from FEAR and LOATHING to Kerouac to The Odyssey, are inherently mythic quests, hero's journeys, real Joseph Campbell stuff. The way STAR WARS, LORD OF THE RINGS, and MATRIX are all the same story, with the same beats. So our series, too, is an epic hero's quest-- across the United States. Almost like a modern western, and our heroes are gunslingers. Or, as I like to call it - it's STAR WARS in TRUCK STOP AMERICA.

                                                                                                                2

II. CHARACTERS AND FRANCHISE

Now, let's get into establishing our characters, and launching our franchise.

So if this is STAR WARS, meet LUKE SKYWALKER. SAM HARRISON, 21. Think Jake Gyllenhall, or Tobey Maguire. Smart, funny, handsome, maybe a little type-A. He just graduated Stanford with a 4.0, and now he's heading back down to L.A., where he lives with his Aunt and Uncle, he'll spend the summer clerking at a powerful law firm. And in the Fall... Harvard Law, thank you very much. Pedal to the metal, Sam is cruising the track to success. But, like all good Luke Skywalker heroes, Sam is vaguely restless. He tells his girlfriend, maybe he should drop everything this summer and blow off to Europe. But of course, he doesn't. He has too many responsibilities.

Sam's well adjusted, successful life, it's a real triumph, especially considering his background. Fifteen years ago, his dad JACK became increasingly dark and depressed. He drank. A lot. Until Mom and Dad were in a car crash. Dad was driving. He lived. Mom didn't. That triggered a schizophrenic breakdown in Dad. He swore that twisted, dark, horrific things caused that crash and took Mom away. And those same dark things were chasing after him. Dad was institutionalized. But he escaped. And disappeared.

Sam is ashamed of his tragic past. Hates his Dad, blames him for killing Mom, and NEVER, EVER talks about it.

Now, Sam's mythic CALL TO ADVENTURE, the events that will change his life forever, begin simply enough. When his big brother DEAN rolls into town. Meet DEAN HARRISON, 25, think Colin Farrel. If Sam's the good kid, Dean's the troublemaker. If Sam's Luke Skywalker, Dean's Han Solo. Charismatic and dangerous. Cocky confidence masking a troubled soul. Sam hated Dad, but Dean was older and remembered Dad in brighter days, and he worshipped the man. Sam buried his past and ignored it, but Dean was haunted by it, never quite got his shit together. Dean never went to college. Just sort of traveled around. In fact, Sam hasn't heard from Dean in almost 3 years, which Sam clearly resents.

And now... Dean makes Sam a proposition. Let me drive you down to L.A.- it's just one day, we'll get a chance to catch up a little. Reluctant, Sam agrees.

At first, they're enjoying the electric, carefree pleasures of a ROAD TRIP. Top down, radio blaring, singing their lungs out to AC/DC.

But then... at twilight... on an empty stretch of highway... Dean's driving. And he has to make a confession. (Though I'm sure we'll break this up into a few different scenes.) "Sam. There's something I need to tell you," Dean says. “I went looking for Dad. And I found him. Took just about every dime I had, but I found him. And I've been with him, for almost 2 years." Sam is shocked and betrayed: "what?! Why didn't you tell me?!" But Dean continues: "listen. I know this is hard to believe. But Dad WASN'T nuts.

                                                                                                                    3

Demons really DID kill Mom. Dark, awful things WERE following Dad. I know. Because I can see them. Because they're following me, too."

Obviously, Sam is BEYOND freaked and well aware that schizophrenia is hereditary. Dean goes on, getting worked up-“so Dad figured out how to kill these things, and he showed me how. Until they caught up to us in Baker. They got Dad. Before I got them." "What do you mean, you GOT them?” asks Sam. “I killed a demon. In human form," says Dean. “You killed somebody?!" "No, I killed a DEMON, it only LOOKED human.” (Which could be a scary, visceral teaser, by the way.) Anyway, DEAN continues: “Listen to me, Sam... it was Dad's wish, his DYING WISH, that I find you, that I teach you the way he taught me.” At this point, Sam goes into placating, survival mode. “Okay. Sure. Just calm down." But Sam's terrified-of his own brother.

Meanwhile, as this conversation's going on, Dean isn't going to L.A. He takes a detour-- for all intents and purposes, kidnapping Sam. They pull into a small, faded, all-American town in Central California. It's 1950's American optimism gone to seed. Basically, they pull right into the pilot's SELF ENCLOSED B-STORY. Whatever it is, the story should be simple, giving us room to focus on the brothers. It should be based in Folklore. And it should be personal—the job their father never completed.

Now, here's an example of exactly the kind of story I'm talking about. The real life ghost story of the "Weeping Woman," a sobbing wraith in a bloody white nightgown. She murdered her children by the river side, as revenge against her unfaithful husband. And today, it's said she lures unfaithful men to the river and drowns them. And sure enough, several MEN in this town have turned up dead by the river's edge. Anyway, something like this. And Dean, despite his smart ass jokes and references to the movie Poltergeist, seems to be taking this SERIOUSLY.

But Sam doesn't believe a WORD of it. First moment he's alone, he calls his Aunt and Uncle. “I'm with Dean, I think he's sick.” They tell him—"cops in Baker found your Dad's body. And a truck driver's body, too. Dean's the suspect. You have to get away! Where are you?!” But before Sam can answer-he pivots, right into Dean. Who grabs the phone, SMASHING it, furious: “Dammit, Sam, I'm not insane," Dean says, “Caspar the unfriendly fucker is really out there!"

Then, as Dean delves deeper and deeper into the ghost story, dragging a reluctant Sam along with him... INEXPLICABLE SUPERNATURAL phenomenon begin to occur, which SERIOUSLY RATTLES Sam. We'll have several good, scary set pieces. And soon, Sam doesn't know WHAT to think. And in the B-STORY'S climax, he'll even save Dean at some crucial point. (Though we'll be careful to leave things open ended, with just the possibility of a logical explanation.)

Afterwards, a beat in which Dean, vulnerable, says to his brother-"I've been thinking. And you're going home, Sam. You're smart, and you've got everything going for you. I don't care what Dad said, I can't let you live like this... Still," says Dean, "it was nice having you around. When you're with somebody... you just don't feel as crazy as

                                                                                                                   4

often." Sam's very conflicted, and he feels awful, but he can't just abandon his old life. So the brothers part ways. Sam hitchhikes up the road. Meanwhile, thanks to his Aunt and Uncle, the cops have been searching for Sam, and now they find him.

At the station, Sam tells the cops, Dean's in Colorado by now. But a patrol car has spotted Dean's parked Mustang at a nearby motel. The police grab SHOTGUNS, they're going to take Dean with force. And in the face of ONE PASSING COP, Sam sees-a glimpse. A shimmer. Something DEMONIC and INHUMAN flashes across the cop's face-and then it's gone, just as quick. Did Sam imagine it? Is he going insane, too? Or is Dean really in danger? Are dark, awful things really after him, like he said?

This is Sam's crossroads moment. And he makes a decision-he takes off. Steals a car. Beats the cops back to Dean. Warns him at the last minute. It's very TIGHT and very HECTIC, but Sam and Dean get away. Escaping by the skin of their teeth.

As we leave Sam... he doesn't know if he's losing his mind. He doesn't know if Dean's a hero or a homicidal schizophrenic. All he knows is-Dean's his brother, and he needs help. And for now, that's enough.

III. THE SERIES ITSELF

I think the overall GOAL here, is building an engine that gives us SELF ENCLOSED STORIES. I am gonna pitch some very simple mythology, but STAND ALONES are a format I really believe in, they're the shows I loved and grew up on. Like the best EARLY episodes of X-FILES.

So basically, our two heroes, avenging their parents' death, cruise the golden backroads of America-picture chrome diners and bucolic farms and dusty Route 66 towns. Places that are mythic and American, but also haunting, in a way. Places where horror can strike in broad daylight. Sam and Dean are kind of like classic gunslingers, or dragon slayers, finding-and KILLING—the monsters of American folklore.

So first question-how do they find the damn things? Dean tracks these creatures in a low-tech way. He scans obituaries for strange deaths. Dean also has a loose network of contacts - defrocked ministers and trailer park psychics, who impart information to our heroes whenever necessary.

Second question-how do they KILL the damn things? The answer—they have no fucking idea. They're outgunned and desperate and in completely over their heads. They don't have a WATCHER, like in BUFFY. They don't have an OBI WAN. They're on their own. Each week, they gotta figure out what the hell they're dealing with, and how the hell to kill it. And a lot of the time, they're wrong, and they have to improvise. Whether it's finding a ghost's remains - and burning them into dust; or loading a shotgun with silver buckshot, our guys will do whatever it takes to get the job done.

[cherry-interlude]

Lana Del Rey Unreleased Ranked (2)

This is a re-ranking of Lana's unreleased songs, after making a first a few years ago. This is all my opinion, which I don't mind anyone disagreeing with but don't come for me for it - honestly, I like every song, despite any criticism, and this ranking is very vague. It's based on objective and subjective opinion.

This is the second of five posts, going past my least favourites.

Money Hunny

Lana details the downside of money, detailing the ways it ruins lives and causes more problems that good for some. However, it’s simplicity isn’t what makes Money Hunny fall short – it doesn’t resonate at all compared to Lana’s countless songs where she is either rich and famous or she is desperate for money (or men with money). As thought-provoking as Money Hunny is, it feels too twee and out of place in her money-adoring music to really hit hard. If Lana has spoken on the topic of how money can literally damage lives more, it would perhaps gel better with me, but with songs like Money Power Glory, National Anthem and Off To The Races (among many, many others), it doesn’t hit the mark as a Lana Del Rey (alternate names included) song.

Strangelove

Strangelove is hypnotising, from Lana’s mesmerising voice that gives her the impression of a Las Vegas desert temptress, seducing strangers and wishing for the simple pleasures of Christmas lights and mint juleps. It hits best for the first opening chorus.

Stoplight Delite

Opening with a tuneful mechanical whir, Lana’s song wouldn’t be amiss in a teen romance film. I’m not convinced by the mishmash of music – the more classical band instruments with unrelenting whirring begins to overwhelm the song. Lana’s at her sweetest in this however.

Daddy Issues

The music is a bit too harsh but it’s a nice enough song, referencing Baby Blue Love among others. It isn’t Lana’s best by far, messy with lyrics that go all over the place, but (yet again), it would be more promising if it was completely remade and produced properly. The demo, I Was In A Bad Way, is a lot more maudlin and less enthusiastic, so it does fall behind Daddy Issues.

Catch and Release

It’s another song that’s kind of creepy, with an eerie vibe thanks to the relentless, whining music and Lana’s razor-edged warnings in her lyrics. Lana is practically a megalomaniac in this song, completely selfish and unafraid to ask for – and get – what she wants. Yet it’s quite a hypnotising track that, with further production, could be more cohesive and dramatic.

Marilyn

One of her old live performances, Marilyn is too simple in its lyrics but is a strangely erotic tribute to Lana’s icon. Lana owns the stage in this performance, a more carnal honouring than some of her other outputs.

Noir

Lana really goes for it in this furious song of crushed self-esteem and badly treated lover. Lana lets her vocals rip and tear as she growls about her “papi”, her being merely his dolly to do as he pleases. It's not her most perfect song but she doesn’t hold back from letting her hurt and frustration spill over.

Bellevue

Lana utilises haunting harmonising in Bellevue and though she seems hung up on her lover not wanting her around (she repeats it, as if she can’t let go, throughout the song) she still convinces herself she could go back to the old days of drinking and not being hurt. It helps – her chanting – to bring out the emotion of the lyrics, and maintain that broken feeling she is so good at conveying whilst saying how happy she is.

Put Your Lips Together

Taking on the character of a femme fatale who can hold her own, Lana seduces the listener on top of a chilled instrumental. Her lyrics are little bit dirtier as much as her vocals aren’t their best in the choruses (of course, it being a rough demo might have something to do with that). It’s definitely a song that, if completed, could rank alongside Beautiful Player and Ooh Baby in her seduction library.

Starry Eyed

Starry Eyed is a romantic enough song, with a gentle plinking intro that leads to a rumbling, Born To Die-esque track – complete with Lana’s pretty vocals. However, it does tend to drag, a slow song that I find majorly skippable. The dragged-out choruses get tiring after a while of listening so I don’t frequently listen to this song.

Breaking My Heart

Lana is fully materialistic in this song, referencing multiple designer companies as well as her desire to be loved and party. It’s not too imaginative in its lyrics, instead pure pop with a mixture of lyrics that never quite come through with a particular meaning, but it’s a good enough bop.

Butterflies Part 1

A little love song about a tumultuous teen romance, Lana plays off the lovestruck teen ultimately in love with a guy not good for her perfectly. It’s heady and full of the rushes of love, emotive enough to get the feeling of a girl going mad from her relationship.

Ben

Lana, using the rain to her advantages, moodily comforts her executive love in the full femme fatale façade, quietly passionate. Lana, as much as she loves him, is still her own woman, insisting she will smoke if she wants and playing with her voice to showcase such control.

All Smiles

Lana puts on a happy smile as she mopes over Jimmy in this small-town, fifties-painted tale of a girl who wants a man she can’t have. She mostly hits the mark in this acoustic track and has the right foundations for a decent country ballad.

My Best Days

My Best Days is a short song of cleverly utilised trap beats, autotune and slowly layering instrumental in which Lana isn’t happy without her lover. The organ outro is gorgeous, and it’s a track that can perk you up or calm you down.

Get Drunk

Restless pace, whispered mocking and an overall darkly seductive tone – it’s unembellished and, in some ways, could play as Lana dealing with her past alcoholism (demanding whomever the song is directed to should get drunk). It’s a vibe Lana should explore more over a decade since Get Drunk and the like were made.

Let My Hair Down

A simple and spooky track, Lana has an acoustic jam session consisting of unsettled guitar, bongos and her voice. It’s rather repetitive but it’s something different that works well. It shows Lana doesn’t need too many fusses and frills on her tracks to make something captivating, much like her Sirens album.

Every Man Gets His Wish

The intro of upbeat whistling climbs into a lowkey track that goes from sensual stuttering and a sad chorus that still sounds like Lana has a smile on her face. The mood shifts along with the tune but it is altogether cohesive.

Dance For Money

As stripped as the pole dancer Lana plays, Lana gently teases and cajoles in her ode to older men, lemonade and motorcycles with little else.

Back To Tha Basics

Much like the title, this track is a little bit basic but it’s still zesty with a wonderful instrumental and some pop-inspired vocals.

Butterflies Part 2

Production isn’t perfect on this track but Lana has such promise in this song in which she compares to lured in girls to butterflies pinned to a wall, all at once melancholy, knowing and cheeky. It’s unfortunate that the lyrics are so hidden beneath the dominating instrumental, but with tweaking this stormer could be even better.

Children of the Bad Revolution

The kind of song that would be found on one of her albums, Children of the Bad Revolution is a pacy dedication to Lana’s life as a delinquent a la the 1950s starlets. It’s good but it’s not anything too impressive, instead a chilled track that is simply about being free.

Beautiful Player

Lana mopes in the track about a somewhat disliked girl (perhaps they’re all jealous of her) who is in love with one of her players, giving the feel of a villain club performer smiling with red lipstick on and black mascara staining her cheeks.

Lift Your Eyes

Lana takes control in this song, instructing her lover to lift his eyes, rise above his demons and join her in self-respect. It’s a fine alternative to her gushing and moping characters, and with machine-like music running under the song, Lana sounds stronger than ever.

Valley of the Dolls

In this compact track Lana is once again frustrated by her lover. It’s pained but pretty with her vocals once again taking the forefront.

C U L8r Alligator

Just an acapella demo, C U L8r Alligator is simply Lana’s voice with her beating a rhythm in time. However, I really do like this song. I think it would sound even better polished and complete, but for a rough demo it’s promising. The Kristijan Majic remix is the version I most listen to, which makes it sound even more eerie (and if anyone remembers the D1ETPUSSY video that went with it, you’ll get why this song doubly haunts me). It’s not Lana’s finest but it’s a song I would have loved to see developed.

In The Sun

In The Sun is so hot it burns, more heatwave than refreshing sunshine, as she scorns her ex-lover. It’s not the finest instrumental but Lana sticks her fingers up with incredulous shock that someone could betray her so. She keeps the vibe great paired with blue skies and swimming pools with the upbeat music.

Hot Hot Hot

Big Bad Wolf, a slightly different demo track, is what I favour – stripped back, sexily uneasy, the lyrics letting the vivid imagery of red skirts, red cars and devilish men shine. Yet Hot Hot Hot is a decent, if not cheesier, song too, the chanting great for singing along.

Trees

Lana and The Rich Whores strike out with this kickass band-driven track that showcases Lana’s feistier vocals strongly. The lyrics are sparse but the overall feel of Lana going nineties-rock-chick keeps me wanting more of her in this style.

Push Me Down

Rather than being like the controversial Ultraviolence, Lana keeps the ‘violence’ fun in this pacy song, demanding her bad boy treats her badly in the best way possible. With a mildly rock edge, it’s still distinctively party-Lana, reminding of a pop-ier True Love On The Side.

She’s Not Me

It isn’t particularly imaginative pop but Lana lets the guitars do the talking as she whispers her warnings to her ex-lover. Lana owns this track, and though it feels a bit amateur in comparison to her discography and some of her stronger unreleased music, it shows she would have been great even if she went for the noughties chart pop scene. Fun and punchy, it’s a song to play on repeat.

I Don’t Wanna Go

The tentative and tight intro gives me the vibe that Lana wants to avoid going home rather than simply wanting to hang out with her lover, and her pain-tinted vocals in the chorus only add to the theory. She compliments her fascinating guy throughout the verses, a little more restrained but ultimately tense in delivery, before confessing how much she wants to stay out.

St Tropez

This is a great track for dancing and a celebration of being a party girl with plenty of attention. Best played when you want to imagine yourself as the main character.

Summer of Sam

Lana has yet another song of being a cutesy bad girl, comparable to the likes of Dangerous Girl and Playground, but it’s still fairly generic, standard pop fare. Summer of Sam is still quite fun however, drenched in pop and even with a hint of rap-talking keeping the song lively.

I Talk To Jesus

Lana returns to her religious roots in a less blasphemous way (Body Electric, for example) and instead sings a sad ditty about wishing she could have her old life. Solemnly it remembers her past (as seen in her older music) where she had the trailer parks, Christmas lights and her equally holy boyfriend.

Axl Rose Husband

The imagery is rich and gorgeous, not to mention the reference to one of Lana’s idols, but Axl Rose Husband doesn’t always do it for me – despite her strained, desperate vocals that perfectly exemplify her emotion.

Ooh Baby

Sampling Sexual Healing, Lana ramps up the sex appeal as she lets the listener know how much they want her, all while keeping it a little but more upbeat than the original song.

Other Woman

Lana’s tired of being the other woman in this track, and I like the way the lyrics flesh out the story a bit more rather. However, the chorus does get a bit tiresome sometimes.

Girl That Got Away

Lana shows you exactly what you’re missing as she mopes for her ex-lover with a smile on her face, taking the reins and knowing she has something he misses in a bubble-gum pop song about being the it girl you’ll regret letting go of.

[oumaheroes]

Earthbound: Matthew’s Story

Context:

Hundreds of years after the fall of Earth, mankind is slowly starting to return. Some people have a stronger urge to return than others, confused by fragments of memories from a life already lived.

Full fic can be found here.

Arthur’s story can be found here.

-----

Matthew is four. His family have got their first dog and it’s a large, fluffy creature, all flank and tail and teeth. Matthew is horrified, at first, at this large thing that has suddenly appeared in his house, and he cries and tries to get away from it when it approaches him in the living room.

‘Just come say hello,’ Daddy says, hoisting him up to sit on his knees and taking his small hand in his larger one. His father’s body curls around him and, enveloped in arms, Matthew feels safe. His daddy reaches out his hand, thus, Matthew’s hand, giant thumb in the middle of his palm so that it is pinned there, and holds it aloft in front of the creature.

A large wet nose immediately descends and Matthew squeals because it is cold and strange and scary and Daddy shushes him, bouncing him on a knee. ‘He won’t bite’, Daddy says, ‘I won’t let him hurt you. He’s just trying to say hello; doggies say hello a little differently, is all.’

He kisses Matthew’s temple and rocks him, gently. ‘Want to try again?’

He is not but he nods and says yes because he wants to be brave and strong and he trusts Daddy, he does, or he really really wants to. At his reply, Daddy holds out their hands again, in front of the thing’s mouth, and whispers soothing nothings in Matthew’s ear- he’s not paying attention, too focused on the mouth with the teeth.

The creature snuffles their hands before giving them a lick, pink rough tongue and slobber; Matthew gasps, surprised, and then laughs. Daddy chuckles, and Matthew feels the vibrations rumble through him. ‘See? I told you; he only wants to be your friend. He’s called Kumajirou.’

The name doesn’t quite stick, too long and cumbersome for Matthew’s tentative tongue and he becomes Kuma, instead. It fits.

Matthew is eleven and wishes people could be more like dogs, open and friendly and honest about all that they are. He finds people too quick, children especially: too sly and fast and always with something hidden behind their smile. He’s figured out that he isn’t really a people person, anyway- it’s not that he doesn’t like people, exactly, but he doesn’t really know how to act around them; doesn’t know what to say or how to read them properly and now the whole process of opening his mouth to speak to someone feels daunting, like standing on the roof of his house and forcing himself to step off.

Matthew likes to sit on his thoughts, chew them about in his mouth a bit and be sure of the shape they will form before he lets them go. This means that he takes too long, is silent more often than not because kids his age don’t have the patience to stop and wait for him to get himself ready, lining up his words like soldiers about to march.

He’s known as the silent one at school, blending into the environment like a piece of furniture. Whether it’s in lessons, in sports, in games, or anything in between, his classmate’s eyes glaze past him and he knows that they’ve forgotten he’s there, forgotten that he’s an option to speak to. They’re not mean to him, they just don’t think about him, anymore. Even adults are not immune, more used to handling the demands of the louder kids, dazzled by the brightness of the smarter ones, fond of the affectionate children. Matthew is only half there, he supposes, sitting in the background with a mouthful of words that won’t come out when he wants them to.

Sometimes he wonders if he’s even really there at all, because that’s what life is all about, isn’t it? Memories of things and people and places and conversations- moments you share with other people that plant you in time, leaving a mark of your life like a footprint in their existence. He feels like a ghost of a person, a shade of parts that resemble someone else and it leaves him more tongue tied than ever.

But if Kuma is there, wherever he is, it’s instantly better because Matthew can be himself, can feel something loosen inside him and let him act like a person because Kuma loves him no matter what. Dogs act the same to everyone as long as you’re good to them- love them even a little. Kuma doesn’t care if Matthew doesn’t want to talk, or doesn’t know how he properly wants to say something. Kuma doesn’t care if Matthew struggles to find his words, tripping and stumbling over them as they clog his mind, clumping awkwardly on his tongue.

Kuma will sit there, patient and still, as Matthew whispers his day into his fur, words clear and strong and unsullied by fear in a way they never are with people. He will lick him on the nose and shove his head onto his lap when Matthew has curled himself into a ball in his room, replaying his day over and over so much that his mistakes blur together like paint, colouring everything with a smear of shame.

Matthew is fourteen and he feels as though he finally understands something. It starts as a small something, creeping and pattering through him and leaving tiny tracks in his mind, but now it’s growing larger and stronger, moving within him and sending his thoughts racing.

Kuma died a few months ago. This is what started it, Matthew knows, seeing Kuma slow and slow, more so each year, before, towards the end, it took all he had left to just lift his head. Matthew had felt terrible, of course- at a loss and helpless sitting there with him, stroking Kuma’s head and whispering final goodbyes. His father had joined him on the floor, both of them cocooned by a companionable silence in a way they couldn’t be at any other time, and Matthew felt truly heard, to the bottom of everything he was, in the depths of his grief. This was a moment that needed no words, was a thing that could not be named- only felt and experienced.

His father is a research scientist at some big lab in the heart of the colony and is more used to theory and hypothetical than practical application, but he had found some e-tab journals on dogs, about how their bodies worked and how to fix them, and used his skills to pour over them with Matthew on the floor, studying the miniscule entries as much as he could to provide some help.  Matthew watched, days lit by the flash of the e-tab as story after journal after analysis was checked and rechecked by his father beside him. There was no medicine that could save Kuma, no special cure for age, but there was some information about helping it, easing it- gentling death until it was as soft as sleep and Matthew’s father tried each and every one that he found. Kuma left them with a shift and a sigh and Matthew was surprised at death’s kindness, how easy it could be.

His father, haggard, tired, and sad, had given something of himself for Kuma, and Matthew felt so proud of him, thankful for the benefit it had given his oldest friend. Kuma is gone, but Matthew thinks of that shared peaceful end, of those journals filled with age old accounts from long dead men. He realises that there must be many of these e-tab entries about so many other animals, the few that are left and the thousands that there were before and he flicks onto one, in passing, just to see.

That’s all it takes. One leads to another, which leads to another and another and another and then Matthew can’t stop himself from drinking up as many as he can sync to, allowing himself to be pulled down through trees of evolution, skipping through the classifications of mammals to haunt reptiles and glide past the wingspan of birds. There used to be so many animals, more than he can ever name, more than he can ever conceive being possible- in the seas and the skies and the land and all at once. In, out, around- a planet teeming with things besides humans, living alongside the hulking toxic growth known as mankind and breathing life into the skies.

When earth fell they were lost, all apart from the few that the survivors managed to cling to, stolen away in their bags and clutched under an arm. Small animals and creatures that could be carried and fed easily with scraps that weren’t needed by another fleeing human life, or domesticated food that was herded and pushed, clueless, into a slaughterhouse of spaceships. It is redundant, of course- a pointless skill for him to nurture but Matthew is hungry for all of it; drawn in and hooked to something beyond his control he syncs file after file, strange creatures taking shape in his mind to migrate the past into his waking day.

Matthew’s colony is one of those ones where they like to push people, like to specialise their children early and drive them to great things. They’re good at what they do, structurally organised to churn out success and Matthew see the benefit of this, finally. He hadn’t really taken part before, hadn’t really shown an interest in pushing himself into a single category, but now, all of a sudden, he wants to do what his dad does.

Well, not exactly what his dad does, numbers and figures and study of physics, but the process of it. The breaking down of information, the mythological categorising of data; the calm soothing expectation of silent contemplation. So, he picks to try to become a research scientist too, selects classes that will give him access to greater libraries and archives and locked journals for deeper study, searching for fur and teeth and claws amongst them.

Matthew is eighteen. He managed to find a uni that taught a few classes in veterinary studies, the medical beginnings for those wanting to specialise as a vet. Matthew doesn’t want to do this, exactly -he’s more interested in how animals work and what they’re like, what colours they come in and how big they are- but if he becomes a vet it will allow him to work with animals all day and this, small as it is, could be enough. He isn’t sure, really; doesn’t really know exactly what he wants other than to learn but he hopes that if he takes enough classes, he’ll eventually figure something out.

The bell rings and he stands, gathering his things and heading out of class -anatomy of canines, his favourite- and turns a corner, slinging his bag over a shoulder and aiming for the canteen where he hopes they’re serving pancakes. He keeps missing them, never making the queue in time, but today he’s hoping that maybe he can manage to push his way through. Suddenly, as he turns a corner someone bumps into him, not seeing him at all, it seems, and everything crashes to the floor, e-tab skidding away out of sight.

There’s a mumbled ‘watch it!’ from someone whom Matthew doesn’t see, just a mouthless shout from a sea of strangers, and then he’s left scrabbling on the floor, parting students like a boulder in a river. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glint of metallic grey and a flash of Kuma’s tail across the hallway by a wall. He sighs in relief and scoots his way over, bending to snatch his tab up before it can get trodden on and straightening to come face to face with an e-board, notice shining bright and loud.

Matthew blinks at it, then shakes his head and blinks again when the advert doesn’t change, displaying something he never thought possible. It’s Earth, there and large and green and Matthew can’t read the words properly because, out of nowhere, his eyes are filled with tears and he’s crying- great shuddering breaths that turn heads and rip his voice from out of him.

Earth. Earth, there, open. Looking for people. He’s crying, crying so hard he can’t breathe, just gasp and choke and cry and people stop to stare at him because all of a sudden he’s the centre of attention, the loudest thing there is. He can’t control himself, can’t reign it in because at the top, under a heading for ‘Looking for skills in:’ he sees-

Animal care.

He doesn’t need to think, doesn’t need to read any further, doesn’t even stop to feel shame for his outburst; class forgotten, lunch forgotten, life forgotten he sprints home, avoiding the shuttles and cars he runs as fast as his legs can carry him, pounding on the electric walkways that shoot through town and feeling himself grow lighter and lighter with each step.

His mother and father don’t want him to go, mother clinging to him with arms wrapped tight around his neck. They feel, briefly, like a noose and Matthew chokes to think of listening to them- at the thought of staying here.

He loves them, he loves them- they’re his parents and he loves them so fucking much but this is something he needs to do, has to do and as he pulls away from his mother and meets his father’s eyes he can see that his father knows this too.

‘You may not get to work with animals,’ he says seriously, ‘at least not the ones you want.’ Matthew’s mother steps back to look at his father in horror, betrayal raw on her face as she realises that his father isn’t saying no Matthew can’t go, that he must stay. She reads the acceptance there, understands the truth of it and leaves the room to compose herself, Matthew staring after her sad but determined.

Matthew nods. ‘I know.’

His father steps forwards and puts a large land on his shoulder, rooting him in this moment. ‘If you’re not happy, will you come home?’

Matthew feels his eyes begin to burn, throat tighten, and thinks of the birds he’ll see even if he works in a lab, the insects he will find and small animals he can watch from a window; life spilling over the edges to bleed into buildings. ‘I’ll be happy.’

[hd-wireless]

🎶 H/D WIRELESS FEST - REVEALS 🎶

At last, the day you’ve been waiting for! It’s the REVEALS! 

Come check out the talented people who created your favourite Wireless fics and artworks!

Massive thanks once again to all the 54 creators of our 64 works (yes some people created multiple works! Special mention to cloudlesslysky who wrote FIVE fics!). And thanks also to all the readers, betas and supporters of H/D Wireless! It’s been a bumper year!

Without further ado...

🎶 H/D Wireless Art 🎶

📻 Stuck on the Bridge Between Us (G)  by pygmy_puffy @pygmy-puffy

🎵 Song prompt: Talk Me Down by Troye Sivan

🎵 Summary: finding the courage within themselves to be vulnerable, so they can stop hurting the other and start loving each other as they so deeply want and need to

📻  So Let's Dance, Take a Chance, Understand Me (T) by Dazed_and_Inked @dazedandinked

🎵 Song prompt: T.Rex, Get It On

🎵 Summary: The War is over and everything has changed.

After a few of years of travelling around the world, Harry decided to move to Muggle London, looking for peace and a place where the scar on his forehead doesn’t have a meaning. His new flat is in a perfectly normal neighbourhood close to the centre, quiet during the day but full of students at night.

He really likes the small bar down the road, a place that serves cheap, awful drinks and plays good old classics. It’s always crammed with people talking, laughing or dancing along with the riff of electric guitars.

From the first time he crossed the threshold, Harry thought it was perfect, the right mix of noise and warmth to be alone without feeling alone. Just what he needed.

He couldn’t imagine that someone else was there for the very same reason, looking for a place where the Dark Mark was only a tattoo.

Blame it on the alcohol, on the music or whatever you want, but when Harry’s eyes landed on Draco’s slim figure, swaying on the dancefloor, something warm and inexplicable possessed him. 

📻  The Pass (T) by julchen_in_red @julcheninred

🎵 Song prompt: The Pass, by Rush

🎵 Summary: Draco, lost in darkness, seeks a guiding light.

📻  If you knew… (T) by gnarf @gnarf

🎵 Song prompt: Young Folks from Peter Bjorn and John

🎵 Summary: The war had left scars on all of them.  Some were obvious. Some only if they looked closely. But the worst ones were those they couldn't see. Those that were hidden inside.

📻  an ode to the boy i love (G) by nettleforest @nettleforest

🎵 Song prompt: Animal - Troye Sivan

🎵 Summary: an evocation of vulnerability, trust and tenderness

📻  Home Sweet Home (G) by gnarf @gnarf

🎵Song prompt: Radioactive - Imagine Dragons

🎵 Summary: In the middle of a Zombie apocalypse Harry made it his main goal to find a safe home for Draco and himself.

📻  Turn back time (T)  bt erlasart @erlasart

🎵 Song prompt: If I Could Turn Back Time - Cher

🎵 Summary: Draco's had a rough few years, if that's what you call falling in with a bad lot, attempted murder and a close brush with death. Now facing the weight of his misdeeds, Draco tries to pinpoint when it all went wrong.

📻  Time to Get Out (T)  by SoldSeperately @secretartlair

🎵 Song prompt: My House - PVRIS

🎵 Summary: A few years post-war, Pansy convinces Draco to go on a night out at a muggle club. They run into some familiar faces.

🎶 H/D Wireless Art and Fic 🎶

📻  A Different Kind of Meaning (E, 17k) by p103 @p103 (art by Zigster)

🎵 Song prompt: Outnumbered - Dermot Kennedy

🎵 Summary: The ceiling doesn't hold any answers, but there are cobwebs scattered across the corners with shadows tangled in their threads. The rug against his back is rough and scratchy, threadbare and devoid of colours other than various shades of brown. Harry takes it all in, absorbs the dingy and depressed state of his home. There's a pointed moment of decision, a note about to be played, a silence about to end, and then he rolls to his feet and sets to cleaning.

It's the first constructive thing he's done in years. 

📻  Keep Holding On (M, 33k) by gnarf @gnarf (fic) and MaesterChill @maesterchill (art)

🎵 Song prompt: Welshly Arms - Sanctuary

🎵 Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry and Draco both fall into their own battles with their mental states. Draco is sent to Azkaban, and Harry turns to drinking, hoping to forget.

Months later, Harry visits St Mungo’s new ward on request of a friend, only to find Draco in a deep vegetative state.

Not willing to give him up, Harry stays by his side, while simultaneously dealing with the Ministry's newest grand idea to make everything worse.

Making new alleys, and losing old ones on the way, would hopefully be worth it in the end.

📻 Fic : Modern Love (E, 61k) by tackytiger @tackytigerfic

📻 Art : Our Love Song (G) by chachisoo @creeeee

🎵 Song prompt: Modern Love by David Bowie

🎵 Fic summary: Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is.

And it really doesn’t seem fair that Draco Malfoy is back in Harry’s life, all of a sudden, and even though he’s wandless, and living with Muggles, and making his mother cry with his lifestyle choices, he’s happy. So what's he doing right, that Harry isn’t?

Because things don’t really change, do they? And if Harry can’t be happy, he’ll settle for a good night’s sleep, some posh antiques, and the opportunity to find out what Malfoy has been up to for all these years.

And that’s what starts it all.  

🎵 Art summary: Harry and Draco enjoying a Sunday morning bus ride in London.

📻  For the Thousandth Time (T, 14k) by bluefay @thesleepiesthufflepuff (fic) and mehroomiyat (art)

🎵 Song Prompt: Lucky by Aurora

🎵 Summary: When Draco's wand refuses to work after the war, he turns to Harry for help. 

📻 Fic : Returning Tides (E, 24.5k) by Zigster @zigster-ao3

📻 Art : Love Will Tear Us Apart (G) by Zigster @zigster-ao3

🎵 Song prompt: Love Will Tear Us Apart by Joy Division 

🎵 Fic summary: 

Is my timing that flawed? Our respect run so dry? Yet there's still this appeal That we've kept through our lives

🎵 Art summary: Art piece to accompany the fic ‘Returning Tides’, based on the song claim, 'Love Will Tear Us Apart' by Joy Division ***** Harry's brooding while straddling a motorbike. Need I say more?

📻  That Sweet Sweet Craving (E, 33.2k) by TheUltimateUndesirable @ultimateundesirable

🎵 Song prompt: Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons 

🎵 Summary: Harry is miserable living a lie because he thinks being a gay role model is wrong. Fake dates raising money for a charity that ends up putting him in a situation he had never expected. Draco Malfoy appears back in his life by some odd chance trying to flip his world upside down and he isn't sure it's a good thing. Malfoy always worked that way to him. Mental health issues, sex, escaping, and that sweet sweet craving of happiness.

🎶 H/D Wireless Fic 🎶

📻  Follow the Water (T, 38.2k) by xanthippe74 @xanthippe74

🎵 Song prompt: “Follow the Water” by Calexico/Iron & Wine

🎵 Summary: Harry Potter’s life is fine. Maybe a little dull and predictable, but he shouldn’t complain about that, right? When he unexpectedly finds himself at Luna’s house one afternoon, Harry gets invited to join the secret wonderland that she’s creating with a surprising group of friends. Maybe a summer outdoors is just what a former hero needs to bring some zest back into his life.

📻  Life goes not backward (T, 8.8k) by shealwaysreads @shealwaysreads 

🎵 Song prompt: Daughter by Loudon Wainwright

🎵 Summary: Harry still isn’t used to gifts, but this one is different.

A story of coming home, finding safe ground, and the wild courage of putting down roots.

Leaving one life behind isn’t always a sacrifice, and sometimes the greatest good comes from embracing the people you love. 

📻  The Way We Used To Love (E, 5.3k) by Zzzara @big-draco-energy

🎵 Song prompt: 'Used to Love' by Martin Garrix & Dean Lewis

🎵 Summary: Is there hope when what is not enough for the one happens to be too much for the other? 

📻  but if you close your eyes (T, 3.3k) by cloudlesslysky @cloudlesslysky 

🎵 Song prompt: Pompeii by Bastille

🎵 Summary: The New Magic Order is trying to take over Wizarding Britain. They're not the Death Eaters, but they're not any better either.

The lines of alliance have shifted, but Harry is still on the front lines working tirelessly to stop them.

📻  Haunt the corner of my eye (T, 23k) by harryromper @harryromper

🎵 Song prompt: Echoes of You - Marianas Trench

🎵 Summary: Harry’s life is very much on track. After a successful career as an Auror, he’s set to become the youngest ever Minister for Magic. But strange things are starting to happen at Grimmauld Place. Items he doesn’t recognise are appearing left and right, and somehow he never feels quite alone. There’s only one thing Harry knows for sure: it has something to do with Draco Malfoy.

📻  Now that the spring is in the air (T, 5.7k) by cloudlesslysky @cloudlesslysky 

🎵 Song prompt: Seasons in the Sun by Westlife

🎵 Summary: A surprise attack in Diagon Alley leaves Draco struggling to make peace with the fact that he won't live long enough to experience his own wedding.

📻  Seven Days to Monday (M, 11.7k) by static_abyss @static_abyss

🎵 Song prompt: Say Something - A Great Big World

🎵 Summary: There are seven days before Harry has to meet Draco for the final signing of their divorce papers. It's been months and the surprise at finding nothing but more cold sheets and an empty pillow next to him still catches Harry unaware. He doesn't know where they go from here. Whether it's possible to go anywhere after everything that's happened between them.

📻  Blond Brew (E, 30.4k) by MicheleBlack @micheleblack

🎵 Song prompt: “Blondes” by Waterparks

🎵 Summary: A blond roast with soy milk makes Draco's morning, but a pair of green eyes makes his week.

📻  A Series of Nonsensical Events (T, 12.8k) by CoffeeCurse @coffee-curse

🎵 Song prompt: My Gospel by Charlie Puth

🎵 Summary: Malfoy is up to something. When Harry and the other Aurors are called into a Gringotts break-in and find him the culprit, Harry’s at a total loss.

But things only get weirder from then on.

📻  Ignore the Truth (E, 2.6k) by static_abyss @static_abyss

🎵 Song prompt: Dangerously - Charlie Puth

🎵 Summary: "Longtime on-again-off-again lovers Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were caught in a compromising position in one the Ministry's lifts yesterday evening. While fans of the couple are optimistic, there's still doubt as to whether or not this particular reconciliation will last. When asked directly about the nature of his relationship with Draco Malfoy, the Boy Who Lived had simply this to say, 'Fuck right off, we're busy.'"

- The Daily Prophet, "Love Is In The Air," 28th Oct. 2005.   

📻  Your Daddy Knows (You're A Flame) (E, 27.8k) by Ladderofyears @ladderofyears

🎵 Song prompt: Babyfather by Sade (2010)

🎵 Summary: It's just over a week until Draco's twenty-fifth birthday party and Harry Potter is a busy wizard. Amongst all the excitements of fatherhood, work and friends, Harry realises something special about his husband Draco. He is pregnant with their second, much wanted baby.

There's only one problem: Draco is entirely oblivious to the fact and seems determined to remain so. 

📻  Don't search me in here (E, 6.7k) by Sassy3 @sassy-sassy3

🎵 Song prompt: Gone - Charlie XCX & Christine and the Queens

🎵 Summary: Draco spotted him in a corner, crowded by Ministry employees. He looked like an animal, trapped in a cage. He had a strained smile on his , and his eyes were looking everywhere else than on the people in front of him.

Draco can’t quite help himself, watching Potter from afar. Just out of curiosity, of course. He’s happy with his life, nothing is missing, and if he’s lonely it’s entirely by choice. 

📻  I Can Be Your Lighthouse (T, 4k) by orpheus87 

🎵 Song prompt: The Lighthouse by The Used

🎵 Summary: When Harry gets called to investigate reports of Dark magic, the last thing he expects to find is an almost unconscious Draco Malfoy. After multiple instances, he resolves to find out what's going on.

📻  Drop Everything Now (T, 21k) by parkkate @parkkate

🎵 Song prompt: Sparks Fly by Taylor Swift

🎵 Summary: After accidentally bonding himself to Malfoy, Harry finds himself in an utterly precarious situation… 

📻  No one fucks with us (T, 3.3k) by Laura_Sinele @laurasinele

🎵 Song prompt: NFWMB by Hozier

🎵 Summary: Draco Malfoy wonders for how long has Harry Potter been a terrifying force of nature. Harry Potter thinks Draco Malfoy has been a badass MF all along. If the world has to end so they can have some peace and quiet, be it. They'll set it on fire.

📻  Will You Stay with Me? (M, 10.2k) by EvAEleanor @eva-eleanore

🎵 Song prompt: ‘Run’ - Daughter

🎵 Summary: Ten months ago, Draco had found none other than Harry Potter blindly drunk and bleeding outside a Muggle pub. He'd brought him home and hasn't left his side ever since. He looked after him, took care of him when yet another nightmare plagued him. 

Harry is sure that Draco will leave him at some point, and he can’t let it happen. He can’t have another person leaving his life unexpectedly. So, Harry forces him to leave — after they spend one last night together.

📻  until the sun has changed the colour of my hair (T, 4.9k) by cloudlesslysky @cloudlesslysky 

🎵 Song prompt: Jag saknar dig mindre och mindre - Melissa Horn

🎵 Summary:  Draco's life has been one big mess ever since Potter broke up with him. He doesn't want to see his friends, he's too ashamed to see his parents, and his apartment is one giant mess. He's constantly prepared for disaster, and spends his time either alone in Muggle parks or in his apartment. But one day... One beautiful day... He will forget Harry, surely.

📻  Love Found (E, 7.5k) by peachpety @peachpety

🎵 Song Prompt: I Found, by Amber Run

🎵 Summary: During Harry’s sixth year, Draco Malfoy joins the Order as a double-agent and continues with his task to get the Death Eaters into the castle as assigned by Voldemort. Draco succeeds with his mission the evening Harry returns from the caves with Dumbledore. The boys reunite on the Astronomy Tower and, with the Death Eater’s arrival, are forced to engage in a fight, driving Harry to come to terms with his feelings about true friendship and romantic love.

📻  On the Third Day He Took Me to the River (M, 14.4k) by pixiedustatsundown @pixiedustatsundown 

🎵 Song prompt: 'Where the Wild Roses Grow - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds ft. Kylie Minogue'

🎵 Summary: This is a story of two lonely young men falling in love.

This is a story about dreams and duty, about witches that give purpose to the one and doom the other.

You think you know how the story goes, but this is a different story, and it doesn't end well. 

📻  (When They Only Hear You Whisper) I'll Be Loud For You (T, 2.8k) by VeelaWings @veelawings

🎵 Song prompt: There for You - Martin Garrix/Troye Sivan

🎵 Summary: Potter must have been having nightmares again. He was restless in his bed across the room. Moonlight shone through his open bed curtains and highlighted the contours of his body, the grimace on his face blatant. His thick blanket was kicked down, one leg still covered by his twisted sheet, the musk of his sweat pungent in their small dorm. Low grunts accounted for the majority of the noise he made, but it was peppered by the occasional groan or unclear shout of words. However, ‘No,’ was always clear.

Draco hated it. 

📻  The Interview (T, 17.3k) by Cibee (Cibeeeee) @cibeewastaken

🎵 Song prompt: Just Say Yes - Snow Patrol

🎵 Summary: One interview had Draco realizing how naïve he was for thinking he deserved Harry. 

📻  Lookalike (M, 1.4k) by Zzzara @big-draco-energy

🎵 Song prompt: 'Lookalike' by Conan Gray 

🎵 Summary: When you look in his eyes, Do you think of mine? And when you look at that smile, Do I cross your mind? I know in your head You see me instead 'Cause he looks a lot like I did back then Baby, don't lie, He's just a lookalike... ©

📻  As Fascinating As a Slap Bracelet (T, 13.2k) by acupforslytherin @acupforslytherin 

🎵 Song prompt: Have It All - Jason Mraz

🎵 Summary: Who would have thought that a wacky little Muggle toy would lead to an unlikely friendship between Harry and Draco? Not Harry, certainly.

Who would have thought that this friendship would bloom into something more? Well, Ron, for one. 

📻  If Sex Is the Drug, Then What Is the Cost (E, 3.8k) by EvAEleanor @eva-eleanore

🎵 Song prompt: I Almost Told You That I Loved You - Papa Roach

🎵 Summary: For quite some time, Harry has been seeing Malfoy. Well... Actually, he's hired Malfoy, to keep him company, in his bedroom. It's only sex — honestly — and since Malfoy is the best, he's the only person Harry wants. That's all it is, right? 

📻  I Grow Fonder Every Day (M, 21.6k) by Drarrelie @drarrelie

🎵 Song prompt: One and Only by Adele

🎵 Summary: Draco still doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse, sharing a flat in Muggle London with Harry Potter.

It’s all Draco’s ever wanted — more than he’d ever wished for. And if it entails suppressing his inconvenient feelings for the man, so what? He’s perfectly happy with his life as it is, perfectly content with just having Potter close and enjoying his company.

That is, until one Friday evening at the beginning of April when the end starts. 

📻  How Can I Live Without you? (G, 2.2k) by ununquadius @ununquadius 

🎵 Song prompt: "So Far Away", by Avenged Sevenfold

🎵 Summary: After Draco's death, Harry wonders how can he live without the one he loves when he's so far away.

📻  Following the Arrow to Your Heart (E, 10.9k) by goddessofthehearth 

🎵 Song prompt: Give Me Love by Ed Sheeran

🎵 Summary: After the war, Draco is recruited into the Department of Love (aka Cupid's Arrow). His job is to bring together witches and wizards whose magical signatures are only compatible with each others' (essentially soulmates). As they all learned during training, Cupids are chosen because they do not have soulmates.

Six years later, Draco's convinced himself that he's perfectly fine with not having a soulmate. But his latest client turns out to be Harry Potter, and he's forced to reconsider in light of his old feelings.

📻  cos I only need your name to call the reasons why I fought (T, 6.6k) by cloudlesslysky @cloudlesslysky

🎵 Song prompt: War, by Poets of the Fall

🎵 Summary: Ron and Hermione leave the Horcrux hunt, leaving a hurt Harry behind.

But at least Draco is still there with him.

📻  Madness (M, 10k) by tigersilver 

🎵 Song prompt: House of Fun by Madness

🎵 Summary: A desperate search for contraception all around Diagon Alley.

📻  Between Myth and Man (E, 16.2k) by slytherco @slytherco 

🎵 Song prompt: Why'd you only call me when you're high? - Arctic Monkeys

🎵 Summary: Draco, lost and a little broken, navigates post-war reality convinced that people like him should not be allowed to make their own choices. To solve the problem of his self-sabotaging tendencies, he starts taking a few drops of Veritaserum every morning.

A story about the complexity of choices, repressed desires that come to the surface when we least expect them, and the utter hopelessness of truths built on a foundation of lies.

📻  stay awhile (stay here with me) (T, 3.1k) by panicparade @panicissharp​

🎵 Song prompt: I like me better - Lauv

🎵 Summary: "Then when?" Harry tries again. He's not sure if he really wants to see the photo or if he just wants to keep talking to Malfoy. This Malfoy, who is so different from what he was expecting. In his Muggle jeans and smartly pressed sweater, with an air of vulnerability around him that Harry isn't used to seeing, Malfoy looks approachable in a way he never has before.

Harry stops his fidgeting as Malfoy looks up to meet his eyes. Through the hum of the crowded pub, he has to strain a little to hear him. "Maybe," Malfoy starts, hesitating a little but never breaking eye contact, "one day?"

📻  All it needs is messing it up and stars (G, 5.9k) by a_reader_and_writer @harrypotterfanfictionwriter

🎵 Song prompt: Tongue Tied by Faber Drive

🎵 Summary: After the war all the Malfoy's came off with light sentences. Now during 8th year Draco is finally free to be himself and date his crush; Harry Potter. Or at least so he thought..

A letter from his father rips that happiness away.

But maybe in the end it will take just a bit of messing up and some stars to get that happiness back.

📻  I'm gonna let it happen (E, 12.3k) by tomoewantsdolls @tomoewantsdolls 

🎵 Song prompt: Florence + The Machine - Shake it out

🎵 Summary: And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope It's a shot in the dark and right at my throat 'Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me Looking for heaven, for the devil in me Well what the hell I'm gonna let it happen to me

📻  I feel it in my bones (M, 6.3k) by cloudlesslysky @cloudlesslysky

🎵 Song prompt: Radioactive - Imagine Dragons

🎵 Summary: Harry’s heartbeat is loud in his ears as his heart pounds in his chest. His lungs burn as he pants for air. His legs are screaming in protests as he continues to push them to their limit, forcing himself to run ever faster.

📻  Born in the U.S.A. (M, 9k) by KittyCargo @kittycargo

🎵 Song prompt: I'm on Fire by Bruce Springsteen

🎵 Summary: “You need to come home, Draco.”

“What? Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I just have an opportunity for you, and you need to come home to take it.”

When Draco's mother insists he comes home, he drags his feet and convinces his friends to take a road trip.

📻  just tell me when it's alright (E, 23k) by M0stlyVoid @bonesliketambourines

🎵 Song prompt: Teeth, Lady Gaga

🎵 Summary: Harry’s been fighting tooth and nail for any bit of normalcy he can get his hands on. He’s sick of feeling like something’s wrong with him, tired of feeling different. He thinks he’s finally gotten to the root of it, and has settled into a routine that makes him happy. Naturally, that’s when Draco Malfoy walks back into his life and upends it once again. Has Harry bitten off more than he can chew with his former rival?

📻  The Courting by the Pureblood Who Only Has Five Milligrams of Romantic Intelligence and Thinks He’s Real Smooth (T, 19.4k) by Cibee (Cibeeeee) @cibeewastaken

🎵 Song prompt: Cupid - Amy Winehouse 

🎵 Summary: Draco could grab Potter and shove him into a stall before proceeding to suck his soul out of his dick, but secretly, deep down, in the part of Draco that he will never admit to anyone, he is (everyone pauses to shudder) a romantic. Potter is not someone Draco wants a one-off with. Potter is — Draco’s beloved!

So Draco decides to boldly go where no one has gone before: to put himself through scrutiny; their friends’ teasing and pranks; unsound romantic advice from a house-elf; wearing pretty clothes; all to try and win Potter’s heart through courtship.

(An unnamed ginger bastard can be heard yelling from afar: “This is actually a detailed guide on how not to court someone!”)

But who cares about the opinions of redheads? Literally no one.

📻  What Will We Do With a Drunken Harry? (E, 4.9k) by Thunder_of_Dragons @thunder-of-dragons

🎵 Song prompt: "Drunken Sailor" by The Irish Rovers

🎵 Summary: A victorious Quidditch match, a claimed Quidditch Cup, and a wild House party can mean only one thing. Will the aftermath lead to one excruciating hangover in the morning, or will it perhaps lead to something more?

📻  Though Your World Is Changing, I Will Be The Same (E, 15.9k) by hephaestiions 

🎵 Song prompt: Slave To Love by Bryan Ferry 

🎵 Summary: “I shower after work,” Harry had told him once when Draco had asked what cologne had such longevity as to be effective after a full day of gruelling Auror work. 

“For me?” Draco had asked. Teased, just a little. There had been a smile lingering on the edges of his consciousness, threatening to traipse onto his mouth. 

“For Ginny,” Harry had said, voice flat. “She hates it when I come back sweaty and crackling with other people’s hexes. Did you know magic has a smell? I didn’t until she told me.”

–

It's all fun and games, till somebody falls in love. Given his luck, it's obviously Draco who has to go and do it.

📻  I Can't Help Falling in Love with You (NR, 4.8k) by readdreamwrite26 @readdreamwrite26

🎵 Song prompt: I can't help falling in love with you - Elvis Presley

🎵 Summary: Harry stood up and set his hand out to Draco. “Dance?” “I didn’t know you danced, Potter.” “Hm, I’ve danced a lot in my time," Harry replied smugly. “How do I know you won’t step on my feet?” “You don’t, but I think the risk will be worth it.”

📻  Searching For a Place to Hide (T, 12.5k) by Erin_Riwen @erin-riwen

🎵 Song prompt: Love Will Keep Us Alive - The Eagles

🎵 Summary: After the war, there were threats against the Malfoys. Needing them kept safe until the trials are over, the Ministry puts them in protective custody but a murder attempt proves there’s a Ministry leak. Desperate, the Ministry decides a safe house is best, but who to trust to keep it secret and keep them safe? Narcissa calls in a life debt, the Minster calls in a favour and Harry Potter wonders why his life continues to hate him. 

Along the way, the Malfoys learn how to be a family again, Harry learns that some things are not how he thought and maybe never were, and the touch-starved boys discover that they may be each other's forever answer.

📻  Isolated Thunderstorms and Scattered Showers (T, 21.3k) by triggerlil @triggerlil 

🎵 Song prompt: Iris - the GooGoo Dolls

🎵 Summary: Post-war, Harry needs space. Everything is too much all at once, and time and time again, he finds himself pulling the invisibility cloak over his head, just for a bit of peace.

Returning for eighth year is hard, especially when you're considered a war hero, and your name is Harry James Potter. It's just that things go a little wonky when Harry starts following Malfoy, and finds that he can't (or doesn't want to) stop.

📻  Kiss It Better (E, 1.5k) by articcat621 @articcat621

🎵 Song prompt: Kiss It Better by Rihanna

🎵 Summary: When Harry's injured, Draco knows there's no place he'd rather be than by his side.

📻  (shut up and) dance with me (T, 7.9k) by punk_rock_yuppie @punk-rock-yuppie

🎵 Song prompt: Shut Up and Dance - Walk the Moon

🎵 Summary: Four dances Harry and Draco share.

📻  In Love with the Ferret (E, 21.9k) by Pineau_noir @pineau-noir 

🎵 Song prompt: I'm Yours by Jason Mraz

🎵 Summary: Harry has never been the most observant bloke. Sometimes to the point of him not realising his feelings for a particular pointy, pale git. And it's not his fault if literally everyone else knows about said feelings except for Harry and the git in question. So it's really not his fault, when faced with the scope of his feelings, he suddenly has a hard time talking to one Draco Malfoy. Or looking him in the eye. Or not being a total weirdo around him.

There's nothing to do but take the advice of his friends and try to woo Draco over dinners with friends, Ministry cases, and an unfortunately named Italian restaurant.

Harry just can't stop the flutter in his chest when he sees Draco smile.

📻  Dance with me? (M, 8.2k) by Aylaar @accioxanxiety

🎵 Song prompt: I Wanna Dance With Somebody - Whitney Houston

🎵 Summary: Draco had given up on love, until one day sitting outside the usual gaudy cafe he frequented 'people watching' he spotted Harry Potter lurking, a suspicious Draco investigates and a series of events ensue.

📻  The Cupid Incident (E, 12.6k) by meandminniemcg @meandminniemcg 

🎵 Song prompt: Can' Get You out of My Head - Kylie Minogue

🎵 Summary: Draco gets into the way of a potions attack and can't get Potter out of his head.

📻  Carouse (E, 19.9k) by Drarryismymuse (Hatchersn) @drarryismymuse 

🎵 Song prompt: Dead by Madison Beer

🎵 Summary: Carouse (verb): To drink plentiful amounts of alcohol and enjoy oneself with others in a noisy, lively way.

Harry finds himself using alcohol in increasingly dangerous ways to cope with the stresses of life. When he is put on leave from work to sort out his issue, he instead falls head first into a lively club scene where he can drink and fuck his worries away. That is, until a certain blond from his past reappears and throws off his entire routine.

Massive well done to all these talented creators - you’ve made this fest utterly spectacular! Take a bow!!

🎙️ Don’t forget to check out the Playlists:

Youtube

Spotify (Provided by @eva-eleanore​ Thank  ypu so much!)

[squeiky]

What if there was a mall based episode of pokemon adventures?

Ps: im on limited juice on what exactly happened after the episode of "practically pikachu" so if anything seemed off, thats why. I can only have so much spoilers.

This is a really REALLY long post, i did my best and added some wholesome satogou moments cause why not. I hope you enjoy ^.^

!!!!!SPOILER WARNING BTW!!!!!!! If that wasn't obvious.

.....(I can't do the read more thing on mobile, so stick with me here.)

So the Professor finds out about some mysterious instances of this shopping district being haunted or constantly full of mischief. So of course he sends Gou and Ash to check it out. Of course Koharu/chloe ends up tagging along with her pokemon, out of curiostiy. Of course something is seemingly following them from behind, and you hear a cute little giggle.

At first, its all nice and fun. They go sight seeing, getting a bit distracted here and there. Gou and koharu do a bit of dress up, and Ash is stuck having to be refferee on who dressed up better. You get some cute satogou moments, and some wholesome koharu and gou rivalry. Before....

The lights start to flicker..

And things go south.

See, before they got to the mall, there was a warning the Professor gave them before the went on their journey. The mall had been abandoned not to long ago, as Pokemon have been infesting it and taking over. Poison types, gost types, what ever dangers you could think of. It used to be very popular, attracting all kinds of mons and trainers from across the globe. Sadly, it had to shut down.

He told them to be careful, and stay on their guard. They did the complete opposite of that, and got distracted.

The light shuts down, and their in complete darkness. Bit of twist, but Koharu brings out a flashlight, then makes a sly remark on how reckless the two are getting. Followed by a slightly agitated gou, though ash doesn't seem to mind. Instead he focuses on another thing.

Wheres.. Pikachu?

Actually... Where is all of their pokemon?

Ash makes a slightly panicked remark about this... Slightly... PanicKEd.. ReSpoNse.. Then everyone starts to freak out. Then the lights suddenly turn on and everywhere around them seems like a battle field. Clothing racks are rolled over, there's some string from some bug pokemon, lying around and some other attack residues from not only their pokemon, but possibly other poison, or dark types. if the situation couldn't get bad enough.

They call out their pokemon names to no evail. The mall is big, even with the 3 of them, they cant possibly cover all the ground. They've only explored basically half of the entire mall.. Or atleast half of what they thought was the entire mall.

Gou gets a bit pessimistic, worrying if they where taken by some baddies like team rocket, or hurt, mabye even kidnapped!! While ash is a bit optimistic, saying they probably got away, or are off fighting them now, and winning!

Koharu though.. Shes not focused on any of that. The patterns of pokemon attack residue.. Shows a winding trail leading off into the bigger part of the mall. Making her even more curious than before..

She turns around to she ash and gou sending out their pokemon from their pokeball, luckily, who ever this was didn't think to take those. Gou explains that the mall is big, and they need as much help as they can get.

So for awhile, we see interactions with their pokemon, looking around, in union or in chaos. Slowly exploring the rest of the mall.

But.. Never once, do we stop seeing all these things happen, in someone elses pov....

We see things from the ground floor, behind clothes, in the ceiling... Anywhere.

Every now and then, we get a faint giggle.. Usually when gou is on screen.

At this point they scaled almost the entire mall. Every now and then finding little things. Nothing to eventful. But no matter what, it all keeps leading then to the same point.

Some random door that says "Antiques" on it, in this freakishly terrifying place. The area is the most rusted, old, and overall creepy place. Inside theres smashed pots and this place has alot of scratch marks and decay. The mall may be abandoned, but not for a very long time. This place looks like it has been there for decades, as if it didn't belong there. You could see a lot of struggle, with some old scratch marks and some strangely.. Fresh ones.

Everyone's tired, and worried, and a bit frightened. Though koharu.. She seems more than excited, it wss her own little adventure. It was nice. Of course, she still worried for her poor yamper.. But she couldn't help but be a bit excited too.

During the whole montage, they'd find some fur from pickachu, yamper or eevee. Sometimes left over pokefood or some old remains of what looks to be pokemon battles. Sometimes they saw some old pokeball, abandoned or even smashed. And even noticed some of the Pokemon that had been watching them through cracks or corners, or under floorboards.

Ash and gou finally catch up to koharu, who has been waiting for them in this creepy antique store. Aimlessly wandering about, searching the place. With the whole gang reunited, they discuss what they found, with koharu piecing it togther.

It seems this antique store looked to be the meeting place for who ever stole their pokemon. They show koharu some of the pokeballs they found lying about, some customized, broken and old. None of them have no strange brandings like "R" on it. Meaning people had their pokemon taken, but not by our common baddies. They found some evidence of pokemon battles, some of the tracks still fresh. Meaning they just left recently, probably during when they got here. That would explain why they kept feeling like they where being followed. They're probably all hiding.

But that doesn't explain why they'd take their pokemon or why it lead them in the antique store of all places. Ash suggests that they should look around here too, find some secret lever or something. Goh agrees, but dismisses the thought that someone would have a secret lever in a antique portion of the mall, then again.. Who has an antique store in a mall??

While they're searching for hidden compartments,

They hear a quick "PIKAA!!" Following a loud bang noise. Sending them all to a panic. Ash locates the sound, and moves one of the shelves. Surprise, Surprise, its a secret compartment. Its pitch black and you can't see a thing. Before ash can jump head first into whatever is happening down there, gou catches him. Followed by koharu, taking out that trusty flashlight, and beaming the light on the creepy old stairs. Seemingly going no where but down.

They quickly and carefully descend the stairs, though their all trying to act brave to lift up on another, you can tell everyone is absolutely terrified.

Then they find a light, like an entrance to some room. The hallway was dim and you could see pipes and some garbage, puddles, e.c.t. Gou runs towards the persumed, but ash catches him. He almost fell into a hole, without Realizing it. Koharu goes infront of gou, with the flashlight beaming infront of her.

Cut to a scene of pikachu. He's charging up a weak electric attack, and looks pretty beaten up. So does the rest of the Pokemon. Though, he is doing his best. The basement is pretty big, but its old. Theres some steel pipes that are broken and bent, scratches and marks everywhere on the wall. Its dark, with only a few lights, struggling to illuminate the room.

You can't tell how many pokemon are there, but there are many glowing eyes all around. There are many different kinds of pokemon. Seemingly coming from all different regions too. They don't seem freindly.

Eevee starts to yell out, angered and fustreated. To their suprising, a quick "umberon~" came rom the darkness.

You can see its shiny yellow rings, glowing in the darkness. It yells back at eevee, hitting the ground over and over with its tiny paws. As if it was trying to prove a point, trying to get eevee to fight like their pikachu did. Taunting them.

The umberon wears some kingly robe it got from a costume part of the mall, presumably the halloween section. Category: medieval.

Yamper could see eevee's eagerness to fight, so he lets out a bark of concern. He's huddled next to pikachu, who still wants to keep going. Determined, to stop them.

Whenever eevee hesitates to attack, umberon lets out a disappointed purr, and attacks them with a weak attack, but it stings either way. It wants a fair fight afterrall.

This was an insult to them. A fellow umberon., using smaller pokemon to rank them up, forcing them to train with them, untill they tire out. All these pokemon henchmons had some kind of scar, or evidence of training. Even the umberon had one. Most of them evolved, seemingly living in the mall, as some are wearing human items like sunglasses, or badazzled items too look cooler.

Then they hear a quick "EEVEE! WHERE'D YOU GO?!" And "PIKACHU! ARE YOU GUYS ALRIGHT?!"

They look back to see its their trainers! And gou, all rushing towards them. Immediately going into the room to protect them. Along with their summoned pokemon charging up their attacks as well.

Seeing this, umberon is pissed. You can see an onslaught of pokemon, who look just as mad. They where crossing their turf, they had to get out.

Umberon curls into the darkness.. Slowly back away from them, in silence.

Untill a tiny, soft. "Umberon" comes out of its mouth and..

They all start to attack, left, right and center. The whole team is surronded. All the pokemon are uncoordinated, but tankish, so they're pretty easy to take down, but leaves you pretty damaged in the long run.

Eventually, they get rid of most of them. Leaving 5 remaining pokemon left. These five being the strongest out of every pokemon and the biggest. Seemingly been in charge for a long time. Basically, its the boss fight.

The pokemon tired them out, and theres not much they can do at this point. Of course they fight, but get taken down, one by one, with ease.

Leading to the grand finale. Everyones on their knees, but still staying strong.

Umberon and its team start to charge this giant attack, thats going blast them into bits and peices.

They charge the attack, for longer and longer and longer. Getting bigger, and bigger, and bigger untill it basically becomes a giant wall. Then they release it. Going full blast at not only the entire team, but the Pokemon behind them that attacked them as well.

The was no where to go.

Pokemon where behind them, and infront.

What do you do then?

Just take it?

Like that?

...

Everyone throws their hand infront of their faces. Away from this giant charge attack, heading towards them in what seems to be slow motion. Some pokemon are running away, others are just watching this happen.

Its a pretty big basement.

Pretty dangerous basement too.

....

Gou looks back for a split second.

And a familiar sound plays out.

A tiny..

little..

giggle.

And then it just stops.

The attack was stuck in place..

...

Then suddenly, behind them in the darkness...

From the entrance of where they came..

Glowing eyes emerge, with a silent.. "Mew!"

And the whole attack backfires onto the 5 pokemon with one, full, swoop.

The place collapses onto them. Knocking 4 pokemon unconscious, except for that..

That..

Umberon.

With the only expression on its face being absolute RAGE.

Everyone starts running out, a bunch of pokemon try to help move the 4 unconscious ones, and umberon runs in the opposite direction, into what might be their secret escape route. They look back, at the commotion.

The 3 little humans and their pokemon are running out, even picking up some of the pokemon, who attacked them, and helping them run away from the collapsing area.

Umberon sees this. But looks away. Muttering a "umber.." Before leaving. This wasn't the last of them.

Everyone safely makes it out of the mall, alive.

Everyone is tired, exhausted and hurt.

They look up to see the many battle scars of all the pokemon, who are just lying around, not knowing what to do anymore without a leader.

Some a bickering and arguing, some are confused and tired, others are just watching from afar.

Eeveee jumps out of koharu's hands, and onto some tall boxes and rocks lying about near he store. They yell out a "EEVEE!!" Which everyone quiets down immediately. They even stiffen up, as if they where trained to do that by the umberon. Which startles eevee and makes them feel uncomfortable.

Ash stands up, looking at his poor pikachu, for a bit. Its smiling, with its eyes closed. Ash gives them a concerned, but soft smile. He tells everyone that they should all go to a pokecenter, and get some rest. The pokemon try to argue, not wanting to go and to wait for their umberon, but they see eevee is following ash, and they end up following along.

Gou runs up to ash and softly pats ash's shoulder, and gives him a soft, but concerned look. Only followed by a smile. Then everyone starts following them to pokemon center.

It cuts to scene, where they show the pokemon center for a sky view. Its night time and everyone is tired. a bunch of the nurses and doctors are taking care of the many pokemon without question.

Ash is sitting there, next to his pikachu, with gou is standing right beside him, and koharu is somewhere off with her pokemon as well. They all have some bandages here and there, on their knees or hands, just watching as nurse joy takes care of pikachu.

She asks what the three of them had done to get not only so many injured pokemon, but get this pikachu in the state its in now.

They explained to the nurse about the whole incident, with this umberon and a giant battle in a basement, and a this abandoned pokemon infested mall. How the umberon acted and all the Pokemon who teamed up agasint them.

Nurse joy recognizes the umberon, to their suprise.

She explains its not the first time shes heard of this umberon. Apparently, its trainer had abandoned it when it was a little eevee. She said that they'd capture pokemon who they saw great potential and power in. One day, the eevee's win streak went away, losing many battles every single day. Thats when they abandoned them, or atleast, thats what they say.

Ash mutters a quick and angered response of why someone would do such a thing.

Nurse joy looks at ash and gou sadly, then returns back to what she was doing. She doesn't know why someone would do that. Though, she tells them she always used to see that same eevee in the pokecenter constantly. For some reason, the pokemon really loved their trainer, to the point of exhaustion. When it got abandoned, it probably took it personally. Who knows though, that umberon is quite the mystery. Some people even tried to catch it seeing how strong it was, but they'd never succeed.

She pauses what shes doing to ask if ash doesn't mind leaving his pikachu here for the night. Its pretty injured, and needs some rest. She wants to be able to take care of it, in case it needs extra care. She says he can see them tomorrow, as it might feel better by then.

He sadly agrees, and they go home for the night.

Here, we get a nice scene, just to calm things doen a bit. The 2 boys put on their cozy pajamas, and get ready to go to bed.

We see koharu in her bedroom, with her pjammas on, petting her yamper who has a cute little "get well soon!!" Sticker, stuck on his forehead, and he has his younger sticking out, as he sleeps. She doing one of those lo-fi girl poses, as she writes in her journal about her day, as a moonlight shines on her, through her window.

We see gou sleeping on the bottom bunk this time, since he's too tired to try to climb to the top. Ash isn't in bed though. He's looking out through the window of the room. With the moonlight coming through. He's tired and exhausted, but still worried for pikachu. Gou notices he's not in bed yet, asking if he's alright. Ash doesn't give a response, he just continues staring.

So gou walks up to him, and ash speaks a bit low. He wonders if pikachu is alright, and the umberon too. The umberon was hurt too, they could've helped it.

Gou looks at him, then out the window. "Sometimes you cant save everyone, and you cant help those that don't want to be helped."

He smiles brightly at ash. "Like catching pokemon!" Ash is confused, but he tries his best to understand. "Sometimes pokemon want to be caught, and some don't. All that matters is that you tried, right?"

Ash looks at gou, and smiles back. Then looks at the window, still smiling "Yeah, you're right.. Do you think pikachu will be okay though?"

Gou softly pats him on the back. He tries his best to comfort ash. "Yeah, i think so."

It goes quiet for a bit. And it zooms out as they both look out at the window.8

With that, it ends here.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

[that’s just what the cold really is]

Sometimes I wake up at one o’clock in the morning to drink some tea and write a briolet oneshot. 

Don’t ask why because I don’t know what this is either. 

Read on AO3

---

Frost kisses the glass, starting from the wooden frame and spreading across the window. Violet stares past the ice, allowing her mind to clear itself, content to exist and be. How long has she sat there, cross-legged on her desk, watching the stillness of the night? Who knows. Long enough for her nose to become cold enough it stung to breathe through it.

Pressing a finger against the foggy glass, Violet glides it across to draw two eyes and a smile. Dumb and lopsided, she thinks, before smearing away one of the eyes. 

With a sigh, Violet climbs off the desk, stiff muscles wincing as her bare feet hit the hardwood floors, so cold it almost hurts to walk. 

Another sleepless night in the beginnings of winter, not an unusual occurrence these days. Not when thoughts of the undead and loved ones long lost haunt the most inner workings of her mind, and not when the cold irritates her eye to the point where she could just rub it better.  

If only she could put some pressure on it, warm it up enough to be uncomfortably comfortable, but the healing process for the loss of an eyeball is apparently a long and agonizing one. Possibly more so than the actual removal itself, though that’s debatable-- Violet doesn’t have nightmares about healing.

No, these days she still has nightmares about a cell much colder than her dorm, about disfigured faces holding her down as she struggles, spitting more curses than pleas. Lilly’s smug voice echoes in her ear from far away and a woman with a cold, dead stare hovers over her, knife in hand as she commands her to stay still.

Violet reaches her arm out to grab the bar belonging to the top bunk of her bed, the metal cold enough to burn her fingertips. She lets her hand drag along it as she makes her way closer to the door. She wouldn’t want to accidentally walk too close and stub her toe again. 

The hallway’s just as dark and still, and it occurs to her that it might be dangerous to walk around here barefoot. Sure, the school’s clearer than it’s ever been thanks to Ruby putting her foot down about everyone being a bunch of pigs, but that doesn’t mean Violet won’t step on a missed piece of glass or a tracked in rock. 

Does that scare her enough to turn around and head back into the forlorn darkness of her dorm to try and get some sleep? 

Violet makes it down the hall with ease, keeping a hand dragging along to wall to steady her. Not that she really needs to do that. It’s not like she’s completely blind. She still has one eye that’s as good as new, but having only one good eye makes for some poor depth perception most of the time. 

The outside chill cuts right through the thin material of her shirt, sinking down into her bones to bring involuntary tremors through her limbs. Rubbing her arms in an attempt to warm them,  she ventures into the yard, setting her sight on the stairs leading into the admin building. 

She doubts anyone will be in the music room tonight, though she is a little hopeful that Louis might be there. She’d enjoy a song or two tonight, she thinks. He could always was make her laugh, and perhaps that’s what she needed right now. 

Louis has his fair share of sleepless nights, and like her, he wanders out here to the music room. Work out frustrations by ‘tickling the ivories,’ as he puts it, or to comfort himself after a bad dream. Violet just hopes that if he’s here tonight that he’s alone. While she enjoys the company of both Louis and Clementine, the two of them being in there together at this time of night probably wouldn’t be the most innocent outing. Violet’s lone eye can only unsee so many things. 

“Jesus,” she curses. A particularly harsh gust of wind nearly knocks her down as she climbs the stairs. “Yeah, great, thanks for that.”

Well, if they are in there together, at least they aren’t freezing their asses off. 

Violet glares up at the sky, wrinkling her nose at the thought. 

Hell, even if they’re both back at the dorms, they’re still warmer together than Violet is out here by herself. Everyone who remains in their bed is warmer than her. Probably. 

Her face softens, gaze falling down to the steps beneath her. 

Maybe cold nights exist as a reason to drawer people closer to one another, to seek and feel the natural warmth only they could provide. Except what does that mean for those who are cold but lonely? Maybe that’s just what the cold really is, Violet thinks. 

Loneliness. Huh. 

Shit.

Maybe it’s her pride or the fact that she’s never felt weaker than she has the past six or so months after escaping the delta’s clutch, leaving her eye with them. Fronting that she’s tougher than she really is made her feel better, acting as though she’s content being alone or that she doesn’t need to rely on others for help even if she knows it’s bullshit.

Doing this always bit her in the ass on nights just like this one. 

It’s silent within the admin building, so it’s safe to conclude that Louis isn’t here. 

She’d never admit her disappointment aloud, but that doesn’t stop the feeling from tugging at her gut. She really hoped he’d be here, hoped they could talk for a while. For as loud and obnoxious as Louis could be, he could listen just as well, be just as quiet and sincere. It’s stupid now to think that she once thought him incapable of serious, deep conversation, not that she ever gave him much of a chance. Not that he gave her much of a chance, either. 

Just a couple of dumbasses, she thinks. Oh well.

Violet turns the corner to see the door to the music room wide open, inviting her in. Moonlight leaks in through the curtain slits, reflecting off the floor and the old piano. Strangely, it doesn’t feel as cold in here. At least, not as much as it is outside, or even in the hallway. 

She approaches the piano, contemplating if she should sit down. She has no idea how to play, nor does she have any desire to. Resting a hand on the worn-out wood, she curiously admires the inner workings of the piano with all its strings and doohickeys. 

Louis offered to teach her once, and she told him that piano music sucks. He never made another offer. 

“Vi?” 

Violet nearly jumps a foot in the air. 

Whipping around, she finds Brody curled up on the couch with a thin blanket over her leg and a mug in hand, wide eyes gazing up at her. 

“Shit, sorry,” Brody apologizes, setting her mug on the table beside the armrest. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Just didn’t think you saw me and I didn’t want to be, well, creepin’ over here without ya knowin.’” 

Violet presses a hand against her frantic heart, taking a deep breath and nodding. 

“No, yeah, definitely didn’t see you. Y’know,” she motions to the patch over her eye, “blind spot.” 

Brody seems to stiffen up, but gives an unsure nod, face falling as she glances down at her hands. She stretches out her legs, making like she’s going to stand but changes her mind. 

Violet frowns, silently scolding herself. 

“What’re you doin’ up?” Brody finally asks. 

Violet gives a halfhearted shrug. 

“Can’t sleep. Obviously.”

“Your eye?” 

“Among other things.”

Brody nods once more, and Violet can’t help but stare at her, even though Brody can probably feel it. Even from here, and with her vision impairment, Brody’s scare is harshly prominent against her more delicate features. Right above her brow, long and discolored now, fully healed. 

Violet almost scoffs aloud. Fucking Marlon. She hopes he’s freezing his ass off living down in the old train station now. After what he did to Brody, after finding out what he did to Minnie and Sophie, they kicked him out of Ericson. And even after everything with the raiders, after Marlon helped them escape the boat before it exploded, he’s still not welcome here. 

Well, more so Marlon decided it’d be in everyone’s best interest if he didn’t live at Ericson anymore, instead settling in the train station so that he was close enough if they ever needed him. Everyone agreed, even Louis. That was a surprise, but he agreed that Marlon being here with them wouldn’t work anymore, and maybe knowing where Marlon was and that he was safe helped Louis be content with the decision. 

Violet’s just glad she doesn’t have to see him every day, and that he’s far away from Brody, but even gone he’s left marks all over this school... all over Brody’s face. 

“What about you?” Violet asks to break the awkward pause. “Can’t sleep either?”

“Nah,” Brody finally looks at her, tucking a wild strand of hair behind her ear. Bedhead, Violet thinks. Funny. “Tossin’ and turnin’ don’t suit me. If I’m gonna be awake, I might as well be outta bed and doin’ something.” 

“Something like sitting in the dark like a weirdo?”

That gets a small smile from Brody. 

“Yeah, somethin’ like that,” she says. “Just wanted some tea and a change of scenery. Wasn’t expecting company...” she trails off, but keeps her gaze on Violet as she quietly adds, “but it’s a welcome surprise.”

Violet almost smiles despite herself, having to bite the inside of her cheek. 

Ever since they lost the twins, things have been rocky with Brody. After Clementine and AJ showed up, Violet felt for the first time in a so long that her friendship with Brody was salvageable, that maybe they could be close again. Clementine forced her to see what was really bothering her about Brody and why things were so shitty between them, and Violet found herself wanting to fix it. 

Then the truth Marlon and Brody were hiding from them came out, and Violet was beyond pissed. Even with Brody lying in bed, bandages wrapped around her head and her skin sticky and pale, Violet hated her. 

Yeah, hated her. Hated her for lying to her face for over a year, for keeping that secret to hide her and Marlon’s guilt, for trying to grow close with her knowing what she had done. 

Violet never fathomed that she’d ever forgive Brody, but then Brody healed and could explain everything. 

Then the raiders attacked, and she and Brody were taken away, forced to share a cell on the raider’s boat. When Violet failed to cooperate, and they... well, Brody was the one to hold her, sob into her shoulder from within that cell.  

Suddenly, a lot of things didn’t seem to matter anymore. 

“You want some tea?” Brody offers, holding up her own mug. “It’s minty.”

“No, no...” Violet shakes her head, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. 

“It’ll warm ya up. Can see ya shakin’ from over here.”

“Maybe I like the cold.”

“No one likes the cold.”

“Maybe I do.”

Brody rolls her eyes, throwing the blanket off and standing. Over by the fireplace, she lights a match to ignite her makeshift warmer to boil more water. 

Violet abandons the piano, finding a place on the opposite side of the couch as Brody wanders about the room, humming to herself. She comes back with another blanket, this one heavier. Violet accepts gratefully, covering her body up to her chin.

Brody hands her to streaming mug, the scent of warm mint clearing her senses. Violet can’t help but groan after taking a sip, the heat spreading through her body. 

“Good?”

“It’s okay,” Violet lies. ”I guess.”

Brody smiles. Violet wonders how close she’ll sit now that she’s here, but Brody doesn’t move to do so. Instead, she grabs one of the candles off the piano, flicking a match to light it. Violet raises a brow up at her, which Brody meets with a playful shrug. 

“it’s cold,” she says simply, setting the candle down on the small round table. 

Violet can’t help it. She laughs. That makes Brody smile. 

Her laughter dies when the couch dips with Brody’s weight beside her. 

“C’mon,” Brody grins, tugging at the comforter. “Don’t be a hog.”

Violet doesn’t bother putting up a fight, lifting the blanket to let Brody scoot closer. Shoulder to shoulder, they get comfortable. 

“Y’know what I miss?” Brody asks. 

“Summer?”

“No-- well, actually yes, I do miss summer, but that’s not what I was gonna say,” she brings her long legs us, tucking them beneath her. This makes her lean more into Violet and it takes all her concentration to not spill hot tea over her hands. “I was thinkin’ that I miss jerky.”

“Jerky?”

“Yeah. I used to go on these trips once a year with my dad to see my grandpa. Was always just to two of us, and we’d be on the road for hours, but we’d stop at this gas station-- the same one every time, and he’d get us these long sticks of spicy jerky that you could barely chew without feelin’ like ya were gonna break a tooth.”

“Gross,” Violet wrinkles her nose. “Ever break a tooth?”

“Nah, not really. Sure made my jaw sore by the time I was finished, though. Take ya about an hour to get through the whole thing properly. But Daddy said that was the point. Ya gotta chew it long enough to get all the flavor outta it, otherwise, it’s just a waste.” 

“He couldn’t’ve brought you a hotdog or something?”

“You ever have a hotdog from a gas stop?” Brody makes a gagging noise. “Wouldn’t be surprised if those things were made of roadkill off the highway.” 

“How’s that any different than what we eat now?” Violet asks, teasing. “It’s just in stew form instead.”

“I’ll tell him you compared his famous stew to flea-bitten roadkill.” 

“Do it,” Violet challenges with a smirk, setting her tea aside. “I can take him.”

Brody snorts out a laugh, hand flying up to cover her mouth to muffle the outburst, managing an, “Oh god,” out. 

Once Brody gets a hold of herself, Violet says, “Never had jerky like that. Though I didn’t go on many road trips.” 

“We could go on one,” Brody suggests lightly, nudging her. “Get away from here, go find a beach somewhere and sit in the sun.”

“Only if I get to drive.” 

Brody, a soft smile tugging at her lips, wraps an arm around Violet’s shoulders to pull her close, gently rubbing more heat into her arm.

Despite the heaviness in Violet’s stomach, it flutters at the feeling of her body pressed against Brody’s. She hesitates, but eventually leans into the warmth of her side, resting her head in the crook of Brody’s neck while slipping her arms around her waist. 

“Can’t tell anyone we’re goin,’ though,” Brody mumbles. “I’m not spending days in a car with Louis and his singalongs.”

“Twenty-five bottles of beers on the wall, twenty-five bottles of beer-”

“Oh god.”

“-take one down--”

“No!”

“-pass it around-”

Brody’s hand presses over Violet’s mouth to silence her, all while the both of them laugh together. For the first time that night, Violet doesn’t feel a single chill prick at her skin. She pulls Brody’s hand from her face, holding it in her own. When Brody doesn’t pull away, she takes a risk in lacing their fingers together. 

Brody squeezes her hand back in approval. 

The laughter dies down. Brody pulls the blanket closer over them, and together they sit for a while. 

Just as Violet’s eye begins to droop shut, the fatigue finally hitting her, Brody’s lips press against her forehead. Violet thinks to turn her head up to kiss Brody back, really kiss her, but doesn’t. 

Too tired, too comfortable, too warm. 

Violet allows sleep to take her. 

[naivesilver]

sending a very predictable ☮,▼,ൠ for August for the headcanon ask game :^)

You’re aware that asking for August headcanons is like asking for trouble, right? Because every time I either go overboard or find myself sitting before my laptop screaming because I have to put that into a fic and I have too much stuff to write? Are you ready for that?

Asaajhkjfhkjhjk I’m joking of course, thank you, my heart bursts every time I have a chance to talk about August 💞

Send me a symbol and I’ll give you a headcanon

☮ - friendship headcanon

Don’t get me wrong, I’d have entire essays I could type about his friendship with Emma or Henry, but let me present you the sheer awe value of August in those months he spent as a child (again) being Storybrooke’s darling the way Henry was as a kid.

Because I mean, come on. They remember him from the Forest, and his father knows pretty much everyone that matters, so of course the core group of Storybrooke residents would have a soft spot for him - it takes a village, and all that.

So maybe the dwarves don’t really get how in hell he was an adult and then shrunk back, but hey, he seems a little lost, and Marco was their friend all throughout the Curse, so trying to bond won’t hurt, right? And they don’t know what boys his age like, because they were never his age in the first place, but fishing seems a pretty safe bet so they take him fishing, and maybe Pinocchio isn’t exactly a pro at it but he likes feeling included and they clap his on the back and buy him chips afterwards, so he figures that’s good enough for him.

People gently pointing him the right way if he gets lost on his way to Granny’s. Ruby checking that he looks both ways before crossing the street, because their track record of people (mostly villains) being run over in the middle of Main Street. I could go on - the possibilities are ENDLESS.

Just...His life is enough of a mess as it. Some help wouldn’t go amiss.

▼ - childhood headcanon

I honestly believe that in that brief timespan where he was a human boy and still in the Enchanted Forest (or, well, his entire childhood if we’re talking Wish!Realm events), he probably went looking for Jiminy every time he had a nightmare if he had the chance, and not his father. Like, if we take for granted that the bloody cricket followed him from one corner of the world to another, then...well, Jiminy was there when shit went down most of the time, wasn’t he? He was, and Geppetto wasn’t, for all that he tries to catch up and get his son to talk about it. So of course little baby Pinocchio would go to the one sentient bastard creature person who’d know what’s up, if he wants to get some reassurance that they’re not lost at sea, or that no one is trying to curse him back into wood or haunting him for a donkey pelt.

(But I wonder - does he pick the habit back up once he’s an adult in Storybrooke once again, after the dust has settled? Does Archie get 3AM phonecalls because August can’t go back to sleep, and his hands are shaking, and every unsavory coping method he had in the past is now off-limits, and he’ll just feel worse if he wakes his father up? Because I really think he does.)

ൠ - random headcanon

(Upping the rating a little bit for this one, folks)

Okay so this ties in with an adaptation-arching Pinocchio headcanon I have for which I may or may not write an AU about one day honestly I’ve stopped trying to give myself a schedule since I’m now writing about the fucking Fairy again apparently according to which Pinocchio would retain scars of all the injuries his wooden body easily brushed off once he turns human. And I know there wouldn’t be much on-screen evidence if we’re strictly talking about August, but in my dream world where he was given at least part of his book backstory instead of being a Disney ripoff, and therefore he was hanged/stabbed/caught in a fox trap/make your pick, can you imagine the sheer shock value of it? Like, he takes off the damn handkerchief and there are rope marks all around his neck, old and faded after thirty-odd years, and maybe someone notices but they can’t ask him directly if he was swinging from a tree at some point in his life, can they? Or- or you know, even when he was fooling around during the First Curse, if one of his bedmates noticed ruined skin on his feet and up his legs, would he really be able to say “oh, my feet got burned off during my first day of life, don’t worry”?

I’m losing my mind thinking about this so I’ll stop, but yeah, you get the gist.

[pls-let-me-out]

Invisible string 

Chapter 2, 19th of December

The only light in the room was coming from the embers in the fireplace. Red embers, and Will’s widened eyes. Nico startled.

Was it a vision? A trick of the light? No, Nico rubbed his eyes, and Will was still there, kneeling in front of him, with a blanket that went around his head, and fell over his shoulders like a knight’s cape. And he was staring right into Nico’s eyes, like a puppy who has broken its favorite toy.

Nico groaned. “What is it now?”

Will came even closer, and his words came out as a whisper, as though he was afraid of being overheard. Like he wasn’t the one who listened to other people’s conversations. “Don’t be too nice, I might get used to it. So, listen, you know how I said we should both sleep in the living room?”

How he could formulate such complex sentences at –what was it? One in the morning?– was far above Nico’s knowledge.

“Pretty sure I was there,” Nico replied, covering his face with his arm.

Will pulled Nico’s arm away, eliciting another groan from him. “So, do you remember?”

“Are you seriously asking–?”

“I think I’m about to shit myself.”

Nico stared at him, his lips tugged downwards, and his tiredness didn’t seem so important anymore. “I didn’t spend the afternoon showing you the house multiple times, so that you could remember where the toilet was, to just hold your hand and get you there myself in the middle of the night. I swear to God, I’m–”

“No! Not like that, I mean, figuratively. Like, I’m scared.”

“Scared.”

“There’s strange sounds in this place. Like, I was just minding my own business, and suddenly the floor creaked. What floor creaks? Why would it? Is this place haunted? If you brought me to a haunted chalet, I’m suing you! Suing you!”

Will was resting his forearms next to Nico’s chest, and for the first time, he noticed just how close they were. If he leaned forward, he could just grab Will by the ear, and pull him back to the other couch to sleep. Not doing it was costing him a lot of self-control.

“What do you want me to do? Call the ghost busters?” Nico thought that pulling the blanket over his head and curling on himself would just put an end to the discussion, but he had never met someone as uncaring toward social signals as Will.

“It’s the middle of the night, they wouldn’t even be open.” He pulled the blanket away. “Can we go upstairs?”

“I’m sleeping, just go if you want to.”

“Yes, because I want to take the stairs alone. I had to give myself a one hour long pep-talk before crossing the distance between that couch and this couch, and I had to crawl. Crawl!”

There was something Nico’s father often told him. ‘You are stubborn. It will make for an interesting king, seeing as you don’t ever want to bend’. Well. Nico wouldn’t bend. He knew it. Everyone knew he didn’t bend.

Then, Will’s voice came soft, little more than a whisper, as he slowly set his hand where Nico’s was, only the blanket dividing them.

“Please.”

Nico’s eyes opened. Will was still there, in front of him, with those bright, puppy-like eyes, and he was staring right at Nico. From the window behind him, the snow glowed white under the starlight.

“I know there’s only one bed, I’ll just sleep on the floor. Just –I don’t want to stay here.”

Nico sighed, but for an entirely different reason, even he couldn’t quite pin-point. “Alright. Let’s go.”

He already knew he wouldn’t let Will sleep on the floor. When they arrived upstairs, he just tugged Will to the bed, where they both laid.

Nico fell asleep as soon as he touched the mattress.

 The second time Nico woke up, the sun was shining in the sky, and the bed where Will had slept was cold. Nico himself was in the middle of it, which was strange, considering he remembered falling asleep on the edge of the mattress.

Shaking the thought out of his head, he slipped from the covers. He put on another sweatshirt, one he was pretty sure his grandmother had knitted for him.

Will was sitting at the head of the stairs, hugging his knees to his chest, and his expression light up when he saw Nico.

“I couldn’t find the kitchen!” he exclaimed, like it was something he was proud of.

Nico rubbed his ear. It was far too early in the morning for Will’s brightness. “Just snoop around next time. This place is yours too, now.”

It was something he said mostly to himself, he needed the reminder sometimes. With the constant, buzzing cheer around Will, it was hard to remember that he didn’t want to be there, he was forced to. What Nico really didn’t understand though, was why Will’s face fell so much when Nico said those words. After all, that was one of the pros. He was rich now, like filthy rich. So rich, every friend of his could be rich, too. Of course, that came to the price of being Nico’s soulmate. That wasn’t a path Nico wanted to go down, though. Not so early in the morning.

“Alright, let’s go eat,” Nico grumbled, stepping over Will to descend the stairs.

Will’s next words made him completely freeze.

“Wasn’t the fridge empty yesterday?”

Nico blinked. A strange thought wormed its way into his chest, but he pushed it away. “I mean, it’s always full of things.”

He could feel Will’s sharp eyes on the back of his head. “I take it you’ve never gone grocery shopping before.”

Nico fastened his steps, not at all worried. “I’m sure it’s full now.”

“Did you go grocery shopping while I was sleeping? Because otherwise you’ll just find it–don’t close the door in my face, you know I get easily lost!”

But Will’s anger was fast over, replaced by smugness, at the sight of the empty fridge staring back at Nico.

“Guess we’ll go grocery shopping, after all,” Will said.

“But that will take time, I’m hungry now.”

“Oh my God, you are adorable.” When Nico turned to glare at Will, he found him just staring back with those eyes wide open once again. “Come on, we’ll stop somewhere to get breakfast.”

 The streets were packed with people, mostly tourists. Not many bothered to give them a second glance, but that was mostly thanks to the mix of low beanies and big scarves. Nico couldn’t bring himself to look at the people on the ski tracks, it would have just been a cruel reminder.

“Where do you want to go?” Will asked him. He seemed to like the city, or so Nico secretly hoped. He didn’t like the idea of boring Will to death. “Do they even sell Swiss chocolate here?”

Nico bit back a grin. “So that can be the first time you eat Swiss chocolate so close to Switzerland?”

“That’s very funny. I’ll let you know; I’ve been in Switzerland before. So keep your smugness down, fancy boy.”

The blush on Nico’s face was to blame completely on the cold. “Did you go with your parents? In Switzerland, I mean.”

Will scoffed in delight as he watched a woman put gloves on a little girl, no more than two years old. She caught Will’s eyes, and waved her hand. He winked back at her, making her giggle. “Yeah. We went there for my bro–for a birthday. I mostly stayed inside, though. I didn’t know how to ski, nor did I want to learn.”

Nico nodded. He ignored Will’s slip, he didn’t want to force details out of him. He’d understand Will’s need to keep things to himself, they didn’t owe anything to each other, after all. He pointed to a bar on the other side of the road.

“That’s where I usually go with Hazel. They are discreet.”

“Afraid people will take photos of you eating a croissant?”

Will had exaggerated the French pronounce so much, Nico couldn’t help a loud snort. In the back of his mind, he noticed how Will’s eyes lit up.

Inside the bar were enough people for the place to be filled with laughter and chatters. It was hot inside, and a nice smell of freshly baked goods filled Nico’s nostrils. Something bumped into his hand, and when he looked down, he realized it was Will’s own hand. Will, who was nodding toward a free table in the corner, far from the window. Though, when they sat there, Nico realized he could see the TV, and promptly froze, because as of that moment, there was a service about them.

Will followed Nico’s gaze, looking behind his shoulder.

“What do they say?” he asked, looking back at Nico. If only Nico were better at reading people… was it guilt written in his eyes? Did he have someone back at home, were they waiting for him?

“Nothing. Nothing much, they’re just showing our first meeting back at the palace.”

Will nodded. “Do they know we’re here?”

Nico took the scarf off his face, and brushed a hand through his hair. “I don’t think so. My parents made a statement, said we were taking some time off to privately get to know each other.” He shrugged. “No one thought we’d meet quite so soon, I guess. How did they even find you?”

This time, it was Will who shrugged. “A friend of mine is a YouTuber, there’s this scene from an old vlog, we were on his camper, it was after graduation. And I was sleeping, shirtless, he caught the mark in the frame. So, that’s how they got mine, I guess. It was an old video, though. How did they see yours?”

“My cousin Percy posted some pictures of our time in the military. In one of his I was in the back, shirtless.”

“Where’s yours?” Will asked, leaning forward on the table. His voice was so very soft in that moment. “Your mark.”

Nico put his hand on his heart, then trailed up. Just under his collarbone, a little to the left.

“Mine’s there, too, but on the back.”

“When did you get it?”

“Eleven. You?”

Nico opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by the waitress asking what they wanted. Nico ordered for both of them in Italian, and by the time the girl left –she couldn’t be older than Hazel– the topic of their conversation changed. The closer the marks appeared on the body, the stronger the bond. Nico didn’t want to think about it.

“I’m just saying,” Will said, sometime later, when most of the people at the other tables had left and their spots filled by others. “That there’s no better love-trope than childhood best-friends to lovers, and the Lion King failed.”

Nico groaned. “We’ve been at this for an hour, it’s not Simba’s fault–”

“Of course it isn’t, he was a child! But the writers just have them running around, and suddenly they are in love?” Will looked like he’d just swallowed a whole lemon. “What even is that? Is it witchcraft?”

“They have known each other their whole childhood!”

“We have a very different conception of whole, darlin’. They have known each other long enough to sing one, and I mean one, song about how much Simba wanted his father to die so he could step up and take the throne–”

Nico swatted Will’s hand away from his face, his index finger had been once again waving in front of Nico’s face. “He didn’t know Mufasa would have to die!”

“That’s a hypothesis if I’ve ever heard one, and every single solution to every single issue in the American school system is a hypothesis–”

“What does that even mean, I’m–”

Will took one of the awful cookies they’d been gifted with their coffees, and stuffed it into Nico’s mouth. “Don’t interrupt me–”

Nico slumped back in the chair, a frown tugging his lips downwards. “You will never see the light of day again; I’m putting you in the fucking dungeons.”

“You dragged me to a haunted house, so that’s on you. What was I saying again?” He clasped his hands, attracting a few curious glances from the people around them. Nico sent them an apologetic look, but he couldn’t hide his amusement. “Oh, right! Simba’s sudden love. I mean, he just sees her and suddenly he’s in love? They just mistake past fondness for something more, that’s all I’m saying.”

“They have children together–”

“They are part of the same pack. There’s only one lion. They are half-siblings. And Simba takes after his father. He, too, is a whore, who sleeps with all the lionesses.”

Nico blinked, slowly. Will was unmoving, with his arms crossed on the chest, and his tongue sticking out of his left cheek.

“You–you know what? That’s all right.” Nico nodded, swallowing around a dry throat. “You are completely wrong, but I will let you have it.”

“I feel victorious.”

“You really have no reason to.”

Will’s lips turned into a white, thin, line, and he turned redder. Just as Nico started worrying that he was having an allergic reaction to something, Will fell forward on the table, his shoulders shaking as he laughed.

“We should get going, anyway,” Nico continued. “Is there anywhere you want to go?”

“I’m not the one who knows the city! What is even here to see? I saw a lake when we were arriving, are there ducks to feed?”

“You would come all the way to Europe to feed ducks?”

“I actually came here to marry you, but you do you.” Will’s eyes widened, Nico felt his own doing the same. Will coughed, drumming his fingers on the table. He didn’t look at Nico in the eyes.

“There’s actually a library down the road. You want to go there?”

 Of course, Will couldn’t understand a single one of the book titles, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have fun. The Prince was bent forward, grabbing a book from what seemed like the most boring section of the library, but Will was no impartial judge.

“Is it just me or does that book seem very homoerotic?” Will asked, pointing to a book with a girl picking flowers.

The Prince stood in less than a second, flinching slightly, eyes widened. “Are you–?”

“Are you okay? Did you pull a muscle or something?” Will put a hand on the Prince’s forearm, but it was brushed off quickly. Will tried not to let it get to him, he was beginning to notice how little the Prince liked being touched.

“I’m fine. However, that’s a gardening book. Honestly, that’s a new kind of low even for you.”

Will stuck out his tongue at him. “Whatever. Are you buying that? What’s it called?”

“La collina dei conigli. Uh, the title is different in English. Like…?”

“Watership down.”

Both Will and Nico turned at the new voice. A man stared back at them. Man, he probably was around their age, and his English had an accent Will couldn’t quite place.

“I couldn’t help but hear you,” he said with a sheepish smile, shrugging one shoulder. “Sorry for intruding.”

Will spared a glance to the Prince, but he was just looking back at the man, seemingly at a loss for words, and his conversation with Hazel rang loudly in his ears, from his deepest memories.

‘Should you ever feel like he’s cold, you should check the YouTube compilation Prince Niccolò’s top 11 awkward moments. Believe me,’ she had squeezed his forearm. ‘It’ll make you feel better.’

Now, Will turned slowly toward the Prince, with both eyebrows raised.

“Oh, it’s no problem,” he told the man. “You’re helping us, so thank you.”

The silence turned awkward real fast. Will bumped his hand into the Prince’s.

“Oh, yes. Thank you,” the Prince said.

Why was he watching the man like a deer caught in the headlights? It took Will a few moments to remember that, just a day earlier, he had been at the other end of that gaze.

“I’m Will Solace!”

“Oh, uh, Paolo Montez.”

The Prince nodded even more awkwardly. “Niccolò.”

“Niccolò…?”

“Solace,” Will supplied. He sent Nico a sickeningly sweet smile, hoping he would be forgiven when he interlaced their fingers. “He still gets shy saying it.”

Paolo’s eyes filled with understanding. “Oh, I should have realized sooner! Congratulations!”

Will’s smile widened. With a twinge of guilt, he realized that Paolo was exactly the type of guy he’d get a crush for back in high school. He cleared his throat.

“Well, we’ll just go. You know, honeymoon business,” Will said. “Nice meeting you.”

Paolo responded, but Will had already dragged the Prince outside. The cool air kissed Will’s heated skin, making him shiver. For a moment, he wished he hadn’t fled so quickly.

“Are making a thief out of me?” the Prince asked, holding the book up. Then, he glanced down at their intertwined hands. “Will you ever let me go?”

Will let him go, and crossed his arms on the chest. “I’m not going back in.”

“I see. Wouldn’t want your crush to see you so flustered, would you, hubby?”

With a chuckle, the Prince turned back to the library, talking to himself in Italian. Would it be strange to ask the old woman with the Chihuahua to translate for him? Sighing, Will just waited.

 “I’m sorry I grabbed your hand,” Will said, once they were walking to a restaurant. It was almost midday, and the Prince had promised to bring him to the Christmas market in the afternoon. “I noticed you don’t really like being touched, but it seemed like the best idea at the moment.”

The Prince shrugged. “I’m sorry I froze up. Sometimes I’m awkward.”

“Sometimes?” Will clicked his tongue. “Because I’ve heard it happened at least eleven times.”

The Prince stopped, raising the bookstore bag to his chest, his jaw opened so widely the scarf fell in his mouth. He sputtered it out, with an indignant scowl. Will felt the need to pinch his cheek, so badly his fingertips tingled.

“Did Hazel show you that?” The Prince asked. “I’m pretty sure she made it. She always brings it up.”

“I don’t know, I saw her struggling for half an hour with WhatsApp, searching for your father’s contact. She didn’t show me, though. She just told me to look it up.”

“I’ll try to be glad for that, but it’s really hard right now.”

“Oh my God, look there’s a little golden retriever! Isn’t it adorable?”

Before the Prince could stop him, Will was already halfway across the road, cooing at the puppy.

 Will knelt on the ground, his hands buried deep in the puppy’s fur. The girl who held the leash looked up at Nico, a question clear in her eyes.

“Excuse him,” he said in Italian. “He gets excited easily when he sees dogs. I should probably get a leash form him, too.”

The girl laughed, but she was staring at them with eyes wide in wonder. “Are you that Prince?”

Nico’s eyes widened. Usually, children didn’t recognize him, and he was a bit rusty, to be honest. He hadn’t been under the spotlight for the past two years, he was out of shape with being recognized.

“Niccolò,” he said.

Will looked up, despite having missed the entirely of the speech. “I’m Will,” he said, beaming at the little girl. She couldn’t be older than eight.

“Emma,” she said, and when she continued in Italian, Will’s gaze turned confused, a little lost, but he didn’t drop it back to the dog. “I live there.” She pointed at one of the houses on the other side of the road.

“And where are your parents?” Nico asked.

She shrugged. “Home. I’m walking Stella.”

Nico pointed at the dog. “Stella?”

Emma nodded. Will looked up, and pointed at the dog again. “Stella?” Both Nico and the girl nodded, although Emma also giggled.

“You talk funny,” she said.

Nico translated for Will, a small grin on his face, before turning back to the girl. “It’s his accent. He comes from Texas, do you know where that is? It’s in America.”

“Why did he come here?” she asked.

“He’s my soulmate.”

“The TV said so, too! My parents are soulmates. Does he love you?”

Nico blinked, heat rose to his cheeks. “We’re getting to know each other.”

“But will he love you?”

Nico opened and closed his mouth, knowing he was gasping like a fish. Emma lowered her pink hat on her forehead, sniffling with her nose. Without a word, Will took a tissue from his pockets, and handed it to her.

“Do you parents know where you are?” Nico asked instead.

Emma nodded, and pointed toward the house again. “That’s my mom.”

Following her finger, Nico noticed a woman behind the window, with a mug in her hand, the other on her belly. She was pregnant.

Nico stood, fixing Emma’s hat on her head.

“Don’t get out of your mother’s sight. Oh, and don’t talk to strangers. Next time a stranger approaches you, let Stella bite them. Alright?”

Emma nodded. “I will!”

“See you around, then.”

“Wait! You are a prince.” She held out a gloved hand, with another giggle. “Shouldn’t you kiss my hand before going?”

Nico’s cheeks dusted in pink; Will rose from his feet beside him, still looking a little puzzled.

“You’re right,” Nico amended. “I can be a very forgetful prince.”

He bowed deeply, wondering what Emma’s mother was thinking about them. Did she think they were assaulters? He really hoped not to get followed by the police. But also, he hoped the mother didn’t trust strangers so close to her daughter.

“Will too!” She trilled, when they took a step forward.

Will, who had given her a wave and a wink, looked back at Nico. And so Nico translated.

Emma tugged Nico’s coat before letting them leave, only speaking when he bent down to hear her whispered words.

“You should make him fall in love with you.”

 The hostess at the front of the restaurant brought them to the second floor, and gave them a table behind a black curtain. It took Nico probably more than socially acceptable to realize that Will wouldn’t understand a word of what was written.

“I honestly wouldn’t recognize them even if they were in English,” Will said, after Nico asked him if he needed a translation. “I’m sure you haven’t noticed, but I am, maybe, not in the same social class as princes.”

Nico shook his head. He never really knew what to respond to things like that. He had to admit that the trip was going well, at least now. They didn’t have many awkward silences, nor did they hate each other. Maybe Will hated him a bit, for everything he was taking. Sooner or later, they’d have to discuss about their bond.

“Can I ask you something?” Will suddenly asked, leaning forward on the table. “And if you say I already have, I’m going to throw a fit.”

“Well, that would be new. What’s it been?” Nico took his phone out of the pocket, checking the time. “Fifteen minutes since the last? A new record. You must have beaten every other toddler in the city.”

“You are so very funny, darlin’.” Will smiled at him from across the table, his freckles stretched on his nose and cheeks. “It’s just that I’ve seen a lot of guards around the palace, and we were escorted to the airport, but we’re here alone. I’m not complaining, far from it, but shouldn’t you always have a bodyguard? I thought that was just something princes did.”

Nico nodded. “Yeah, but other princes don’t have the same tricks as I do.”

He looked up at Nico. Back at his hip. Nico bit his lip to not burst out laughing.

“If you have a fucking gun, I swear I’m actually calling the police. Do you think it’s normal to go around with guns?” He hissed. His face turned red. He started waving his index in the air again. “If I wanted to feel threatened whenever I stepped out of the house, or god forbid that thing was actually under the same roof as me for all this time, I would have stayed in fucking Texas, with Johnny Red down the road from my house, with his cokes and the lined up bottle on the fence.”

Will breathed heavily, looking like he’d just run a marathon. He was waiting for Nico’s response, but when he received none, he passed his hands through his curly hair, messing them up even more.

“There were children downstairs! Children! And you are telling me you have a gun on you? With children in the building? God, oh my God. I know I said you were bad mannered, but that’s just terrible on a human level. Fuck.”

Nico couldn’t resist it anymore. He burst out laughing, throwing his head back, covering his mouth with his hands. He was hit by Will’s napkin, thrown right in his face.

“Don’t you dare, don’t you fucking dare!” Will exclaimed. He shook his head, crossed his arms, and leaned back in his chair. He shook his head again, making his curls bounce. “Stop laughing!”

“I don’t have a gun, Will,” Nico finally said. He took the small box from his belt, hidden by the long hoodie he was wearing. He left it on the table. “I thought they’d given you one, too. The Queen seems to think you are kind of a big deal, you know.”

Will poked at the box, a blush dusted his cheekbones. He looked at Nico through his eyelashes. “What is this thing? It–it doesn’t look like a gun.”

Of one thing, Nico was very sure: Will was far more than pretty.

“Maybe because it isn’t one. I appreciate your thoughts on gun control, though. It’s a, uh, I don’t really know how you call it in English. Safety box? Should I ever be in danger, I’ll press the little button in that box, and bodyguards and policemen will come fast. Real fast.”

“Oh my God. You’re right. They gave me one, told me it was to keep me safe, and I lost it. Oh God. How much does it even cost? I’m already bankrupt. Hell, I’m far over bankrupt. I’m so bankrupt I don’t actually own anything. I’m not even wearing my clothes! This is all yours. Oh, God.”

Nico froze, staring at the Will, who now had his head in his hands, half slumped on the chair, probably more on the floor. The waitress was coming over, Nico gestured for her to come later. How did he even comfort Will? He should have let the waitress come, and embarrass herself. Now he was going to embarrass himself. Fuck.

Nico cleared his throat. “Isn’t everyone a bit broke?”

Will looked up from his hands, furrowing his eyebrows. Then he looked down at Nico’s finger, where his black ring shone proud.

“Everyone else. Except for me. If, if you take me out of the picture, everyone is broke,” he said. “Maybe not other royals. Or movie stars. Except the ones on drug, they always become poor after a while. Many public figures actually seem rich, but they aren’t. They are middle class, at best!”

Will looked at Nico. He looked at him for a very long time. Long enough that Nico realized what he had said, and starting pulling at the collar of his sweatshirt.

“You are so clueless,” Will said, a smile tugged his lips upwards. “You are so clueless, it’s amazing.”

Nico blinked. “Have you ever been told you don’t know how to show gratitude?”

“Oh, you’re welcome. God, I’d pay golden –well, actually, I wouldn’t, as you now know I don’t possess any gold– but I’d really like to see you for even just a day in New York City. Like, it’s actually crazy how clueless you are.”

“It really sounds like an insult.”

Nico couldn’t find it in himself to be offended, though. Not when Will sat straighter in his chair, without hiding his face.

“I would never insult you, like you would never mock me. It’s a crazy thought, Your Highness.” He furrowed his eyebrows. “Is that how you say it?”

“No, you say it in fancy. It’s Your Highness.”

“You said it like I did.”

“I really didn’t.” Nico bit his lips, but he couldn’t fight off a grin. “I said Your Highness. You said Your Highness.”

“Your Highness.”

“Your Highness.”

“Your–you are mocking me again, aren’t you?”

Will didn’t look too annoyed when Nico bent over the table in laughter.

 It was dark outside by the time they were back in the house. While the Prince tended to the fireplace, Will sat on the couch, the TV remote in his hands.

“So, I guess that’s a Smart TV, since you are the only not-broke person in the world,” Will said.

The Prince stilled, and looked at him from behind his shoulder. “What do you mean. What do you want to do.”

“I’m not Satan, stop treating me like that.” Will sighed, and took his knees up to his chest. “I just want to look into the last eleven awkward moments of your life.”

“I hate you.”

“Thanks, darlin’. Come here.”

Will made grabby hands at the Prince, until his hands were swatted away, though the Prince did sit, albeit with his hands crossed on the chest, and a frown marrying his features.

“Should we watch this?” Will asked, selecting a video from E!News, which talked about them.

The Prince shrugged. “If you want to know what’s happening with us, then I guess we could.”

It took Will less than a second to decide that he didn’t care about it all that much. However, he froze when he saw the video under that. It had more than three million views.

Apollo: between glory and reality. The trailer.

“You are a fan?” Nico asked, noticing where his gaze had fallen. “I met him once. He–he’s a bit full of himself, you know. He’s another one of the crazy rich people on Hearth.”

Will nodded, but his throat was completely dry. In the thumbnail of Apollo’s upcoming documentary, was a photo of his family, with a birthday cake in front of them. Without counting them, Will knew there are ten candles.

He put the remote back on the couch, and tried giving the Prince a smile.

“I forgot to–I forgot something. I’ll–I need to check it.”

 Nico knocked on the bedroom door. It took Will a while to respond, long enough that Nico was sure he wouldn’t.

Will was sitting on the left side of the bed, where he had slept the night before. He had his knees up to his chest, and was hugging them tightly. Nico had thought he was calling someone, and that’s what was taking him so long, but his phone was nowhere to be seen.

“I’m ordering food,” Nico said. “What can I get for you? I don’t think there’s any Chinese restaurant around here. So…”

“Am I a bad med-student if I ask for pizza again?”

It was a strange sight. Will had looked so distressed just an hour ago, but now he was alright. All bouncy and himself again. Had Nico imagined his previous uneasiness? He was shitty at reading people and emotions, it wouldn’t be so strange. But Will was his soulmate, shouldn’t Nico understand him better than anyone else in the world? Hell, in the universe?

Nico nodded. “The worst, probably.”

“Well, then don’t snitch on me. So, can we get pizza?”

Nico rolled his eyes. “Absolutely not.”

They ate pizza in bed. The smell of cheap pizza didn’t leave the room even when they opened the windows.

[wlntrsldler]

Haunt You (Bucky Barnes Soulmate AU) PROLOGUE

The first word that your soulmate says to you appears on your wrist once you turn 18 years old and it disappears once you finally meet. Bucky has been waiting for his soulmate since the word “oops” appeared on his wrist.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

-

It was just another day, much like the others. Bucky sat on the corner of his bed, looking at the black marks on his wrist.

Oops.

It was a simple word but it carried so much weight in his chest. He technically lived three lifetimes, pre-war, pre-dust, and now, but he has yet to meet the one to utter the simple word from her lips. 

After coming back from each lifetime, the first thing he would do was look for the black etching. He always found himself relieved when he sees that it was still on his skin. He never knew the details and complications of the idea of a soulmate. Did his original soulmate die of old age already? Did his soulmate change in every lifetime? Were they programmed by the universe to all say the same thing to Bucky, just in case he meets them in that particular lifetime? Or did the universe know that he would survive three “deaths” and made sure that he would meet his soulmate in his true and final lifetime?

He didn’t know, and quite frankly, nobody really knew the laws of soulmates. Everyone just believed in it and lived in contentment once they’ve found the one designed for them. It made life easier for some, but to others, like Bucky, life became tougher.

There were some instances where he thought he’d met the one. 

The first time was when he and Steve were still in high school. Bucky had just turned 18 and he stayed up all night waiting for the magic words to appear on his skin. He remembered the feeling of butterflies and his heart thumping inside his chest once the final letter revealed itself. The next day, he showed off the mark to Steve.

“Look, Stevie!” Bucky rolled down his sleeve, shoving his arm in front of Steve’s face. “I bet she’s a doll. Maybe a bit clumsy, since her first word to me is “oops” that is. Do you think she’d accidentally fall into my arms? Like maybe she’d slip and I would be right there to catch her? Wouldn’t that be great, Stevie?”

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve laughed, pushing his arm away. “I can’t wait to get mine.”

They entered their classroom, taking their usual spots. The pair remained to themselves for the most part, always sticking by each other and not caring if they’re all they had. The chair in front of Bucky was occupied by a girl, Hayley, who spoke once in a blue moon. Bucky and her never had a conversation before, which is why Bucky’s heart fluttered when she first talked to him.

“Here you go,” She turned around to pass Bucky his paper. Hayley let go of the paper before Bucky had the time to grab it from her. The paper fell to the floor, right in the middle of them. “Oops, my bad.”

He swore his heart stopped when the word left her lips. He sat there, lips parted, a little shocked.

“Not the one, Buck.”

It was Steve’s voice that got him out of his daze. 

“It wasn’t the first thing she said.”

Bucky silently cursed his friend for ruining his fantasy but alas, he was right. “Oops” was not the first thing she said.

The second time was when he was in hiding. He was in the market, looking through the many options of fruits they had. Bucky was talking to the seller, asking how much it would be for a few pounds of plums, with one in his gloved hand. He got distracted by the small TV behind the man, accusing the Winter Soldier of the bombing. Startled, he dropped the plum.

“Oops.”

Bucky’s head snapped up at the sound of the word. He looked to his right and saw a woman, staring at the pile of peaches, inspecting them for the best ones to purchase. 

For a second he had forgotten about the news and he started to make his way towards her. There was a small smile playing on his lips, not being able to contain his excitement. He had been waiting for the one for far too long.

“Hi, I’m B-”

Before he could finish his sentence, the woman turned to the side to reveal that a cellphone raised to her ear. Bucky quickly stopped in his tracks. The woman didn’t notice him at all. She walked away mumbling something about her apologies for sending the wrong document to her work group. 

Oh, she was talking to someone on the phone, Bucky thought. 

He paid for the plums, saying a quick thank you, before rushing back to his apartment.

Now, this was his third life. His third shot to find his soulmate. And he hopes this is his final shot. 

-

A/N: I’ve always wanted to do a Soulmate AU but I never got around to it. BUUUUUTTTT here it is!

MASTERLIST