#I settled down about it after finding out last night but to have the gall to ask me this is too much

[paladincecil]

Oh gee I wonder if buying a £700 phone yesterday that you didn't need could have something to do with that -_-

[ddejavvu]

for a Tyler request what about him and reader getting into a really bad argument and storming off and when he cools down he can’t find her and is panicking

Alive and Crazy - Tyler Owens x Reader

come participate in tyler owens night !

Perhaps it was cruel of you to pick such a secluded hiding spot, but after all, isn't that what hiding's all about? Perhaps then the cruel part was hiding at all. But you can't shake Tyler's vicious words, "Y'know, if you don't stop trying to hold me back, maybe I should just cut myself loose."

All this over a tornado? His lifestyle is... intense. You are of the opinion that Tyler's hobby is ridiculously dangerous, and while you're slightly comforted by the safety precautions he takes (especially the drills that anchor his truck into the ground), you're less than impressed with the way he shows off and makes those precautions almost useless. Really, does he need to lean out of the window to see how long he can handle it? You'd only been trying to find some middle ground, but Tyler apparently seems to think you're trying to chain him up in the basement to prevent him from ever having any fun.

There's a secluded cabinet in the back of your laundry room that's perfect for hiding - just big enough to fit in and with an outlet for easy phone charging. You're just about to hit your two hour mark huddled in the cabinet when you hear thundering footsteps nearing your location.

"Baby? Hey, baby, y'gotta tell me where you are. Come on, baby, just wanna know you're safe. You in here?"

That's the last thing you hear before daylight spills into your dark cabinet, and your phone's screen becomes instantly duller in comparison. You glare up unimpressed at Tyler but his face crumples in relief so fast that you can barely hold the expression.

"Shit darlin'." He heaves a sigh, and any sympathy you'd felt for him instantly disappears when he has the gall to scold you next, "Do you know how damn long I've been looking for you?"

"Oh I'm sorry," You bite up at him, rage reigniting in your eyes, "Does my need for space inconvenience you?"

"No!" He nearly shrieks, but he reins himself in, "No, no, that's not- I shouldn't have said it like that. I was just worried."

"Well I'm not sure why," You turn back to your phone, but there's no concentration present as you mindlessly scroll, "I'd have expected you to be out enjoying your freedom seeing as you're cutting yourself loose."

"I'm not cutting myself loose." He vows, and it's soft instead of his typical drawl. He crouches, then makes the terrible, horrible decision to attempt to fit into the crawlspace with you.

"No- no, Tyler, you can't fit!" You squeal as he shoulders his way in, pressed flush to his body as he settles in a space half his size.

"It's fine." He grunts, but it's labored and very much not fine, "I just wanna be near you."

"I don't wanna be near you." You sneer, but you make no move to get up, "The whole reason I'm squeezed into this cabinet is because I was trying to hide from you."

"Did a damn good job, too." He admits, head slumped against the wall instead of your shoulder, "I was runnin' around for almost half an hour."

"Serves you right." You grumble, "Don't say mean shit if you want people to like you."

"I know." He reaches out and sets a hand on your knee, chaste and reassuring, "I'm sorry, darlin'. I just- lost control, or something. I don't know. I've been doin' this my whole life, and when you try to tell me how to do it, it makes me feel like you don't think I can handle it myself."

"Tyler, no one can. Some of the things that you're doing-" You stop yourself short, "I'm not saying you can't have fun. I'm not saying you can't chase- er, wrangle tornadoes. I'm just saying you don't have to keep trying to outdo yourself. There has to be a limit, otherwise you'll get killed."

He's silent after your speech, perhaps mulling it over, perhaps drafting his counterargument. In the end, he tips his head from the wall to your shoulder, and murmurs close to your ear.

"Yeah. You're right. I think... I think I just don't know when to stop sometimes."

"I agree with that," You try to keep too much accusation from seeping into your tone, "But that's why I said something. I don't want you to stop, I just don't want it to stop you."

"Yeah. Alright. I understand." And he sounds like he does. He laces his fingers with yours like he does, and he cranes his neck to peck his lips against your cheek like he does.

"You're not holding me back," He promises, "What I said earlier... that was dumb. This is a partnership, not some sort of prison sentence. I love you, darlin'."

"I love you too," You sigh, leaning sideways into his embrace, "You promise no more hanging out of windows?"

"I promise I won't anymore. Can't promise nothin' for Boone."

"Boone's crazy," You laugh, "You're all crazy. I just want you alive and crazy."

"Deal." Tyler grins, holding out a pinky and letting you lock it with yours, "Alive and crazy, darlin'."

[onestepbackwards]

Love That Bites Pt. 9

Hiiii! Welcome to part 9 of my Dracula x Reader fic! I hope you enjoy this chapter, though I apologize if it feels kinda wonky. I finally got a new pc built during writing, and a bunch of other stuff has happened. It was hard to piece it all together with so much happening in my life. I hope you all enjoy it though! Just in time for Nocturne to release :D Summary: After arriving in Dracula's castle, you can't help but feel you are in a dream, though you certainly wish it was to avoid the awkward air. Meanwhile, Dracula contemplates his next moves. After all, he's sure he's bound to be the center of the world's gossip mill when they find out he's caring for a Belmont.

CW: Anxiety, references to bad home life, injuries mentioned, blood drinking

Word Count: 4216 words! Like my work? Come check me out here: Link Likes and reblogs appreciated!

Tag List: @Onewiththebeanbag @starrlo0ver @sleepyendymion @dame-sunflowers @sapphicsfordracula @ursamajor17 @maorizon @marshmelloe Wanna be on the taglist, let me know in the comments!

First: Here Last: Here Next: Here! --

Sorting his affairs turned out to be a much more annoying endeavor than Dracula originally intended.

Despite this, he wasn’t all too surprised.

For the past few centuries, despite being the King of the Night, he has had very little presence in paranormal societies.

Every time he had been revived since this cursed cycle began, he had barely been alive long before a Belmont or some other hero would come and battle him to the death.

Even if for all intents and purposes he was the King of Vampires, he has had little or no time to rule.

He absentmindedly swirled his glass, before taking another sip.

There were two probable scenarios because of this.

Vampire covens and supernatural communities were in chaos.

Or-

They were in various communities across the globe, staking territory. He doubted any of them would be happy he was back to rule.

No one liked their own power to be threatened, after all.

Even when he was actively King, vampire covens and paranormal communities weren’t always happy to serve him. Many just did for his power, or the safety he offered.

Some felt the call of power from him and Castlevania itself. Others are uniquely tied to him and his castle. Those ones he hardly had to worry about.

No, he had a feeling his return wouldn’t be as happily accepted outside his usual circles. Most would probably only lend him an ear since he was Death’s master, and Chaos’ champion.

Did not mean they would be cooperative or happy.

He let out an agitated sigh. No doubt being killed over and over made him appear weak. Dracula suspected many would be aiming for his throat and his throne.

Nevermind the fact he was almost always slain just after being revived, before his powers ever had a chance to settle.

And he was sure many underestimated the power of the Belmonts. He may have always just woken up around each battle, but each Belmont still had power beyond belief.

“What a nuisance.” He muttered, downing more blood.

While normally he would handle this himself, he couldn’t afford to sit idly and wait for such pathetic attempts on his life and power from want-to-be rulers.

Dracula had a guest this time. He had you.

Back when his precious Lisa had still been alive, he had been alive for several centuries at that point. Almost every underling knew she was off limits, lest they desire something more painful than death itself.

Even those he knew wanted his head knew better than to go for his wife.

Lisa had been left alone by his servants and other creatures of the night. Ironic how it was the humans that took her from him.

The gall and irony humans had to call him and his own monsters after that. Bah.

The glass in his hand cracked, and he looked at it in annoyance.

Banishing it, another drink was brought to him as he continued to think.

Things were different this time. At least back then, no one dared to lay a finger on his wife. But now?

He had no doubts a target would be on both his head, and the Little Belmont’s.

Dracula was sure word was already spreading across the castle, and no doubt would soon do so to other communities nearby.

‘The Dracula? Taking in another human?’

He can already imagine the gossip.

The scowl on his face darkened.

It would only be a matter of time before word reached across the globe.

He knew you could take care of yourself, sure. You had told him several stories of hunts you had when he had been imprisoned, usually involving the death of a beast hunting innocents.

However, there was no way in hell you would survive in your current state. Whatever had happened, had intended to either permanently harm, or to kill you.

Dracula’s free hand gripped his throne tight, and he felt the arm of it splinter slightly.

How you received those injuries was a whole different issue that he would have to investigate later on. An issue he planned on thoroughly going over.

So for now, you were under his official protection while you healed.

Unless of course, you decided to go against your word. Though, Dracula heavily doubted you would do so.

You really were different then those who came before you.

This would not be easy, but when had it ever been? He was just thankful you knew how to defend yourself, and had the means to do so.

Once word got out, and you were healed, he also had suspicions you would be hunted. Either as a Belmont, Dracula’s human, or a ‘traitor’.

He may not have been privy to any sort of personal information regarding hunters and their circles, but he knew back a few centuries ago, helping out a ‘monster’ was a death sentence. It did not matter if they didn’t wish to harm humans, simply helping a beast was an act against god and humanity itself.

Hunters and the church considered such a person no better than the very beasts they hunted at that point.

Dracula doubted that sentiment was completely gone, even now in more modern times.

Reaching up, Dracula pinched the bridge of his nose in thought.

He had someone making potions for you at least. Hopefully you wouldn’t be badly injured for too long.

After that, he wondered if you would be opposed to staying here at his castle? You didn’t seem disgusted by it, nor did the castle seem to try and push you away like it did other intruders.

Those who were not welcome usually felt such pushes on their mind and body. Only the strong willed could push onwards past it.

Even his castle seemed to see you as a guest.

The castle bent to his will, sure, but it was still a being of Chaos. This small revelation also intrigued him, how such a being seemed not to mind your presence.

Perhaps it was that it also didn’t consider you a threat? It was obvious you currently had no intentions to fight him.

Dracula’s eyes narrowed, a presence pulling him out of his thoughts.

The room grew darker, and a familiar figure rose from the shadows. It flew around his throne, before giving a bow in front of him.

“Good to see you back, Master.”

Death.

Dracula looked over the divine being that had worked under him for centuries. His second in command, his devout lieutenant.

Dracula gave the being a brief nod of acknowledgment, and Death rose.

Even after all the deaths Dracula had endured, Death itself still remained loyal after all these years. He supposed he should count it as a blessing now.

“Report?” Dracula then idly asked, drinking from his glass.

“Things are running smoothly. Everyone is settling in quickly, as usual my lord.”

Dracula hummed.

“Good. Good.” He mumbled, mind still partially elsewhere.

A moment passed, and Death gripped his scythe.

“Master, if I may be so bold…”

Dracula held back a sigh, already having an inkling to what he was going to say.

“Do you think it is wise to have a hunter, let alone a Belmont residing in the castle?”

There it was. He knew his subordinates would be asking sooner or later. He wasn’t particularly surprised Death was the first to make an inquiry.

“They pose no threat. This Belmont is… different from the others. I would like to speak with them properly about our standing with one another as soon as they are recovered.”

He then looked Death in the face.

“They are not to be harmed while under my care. Do I make myself clear?”

Death studied him for a moment, probably wondering if he had a few screws loose, before nodding his head.

“As you wish, milord.”

Death was silent, and a beat passed. Dracula hoped his warning managed to sink into the other entity’s skull.

He was no stranger to the fact Death was his most avid supporter. Although Death had always followed his orders, the entity didn’t shy away from making its own decisions if he felt it was best for his master.

Staying within Dracula’s orders, but bending the rules just enough to do his own thing if he could get away with it.

Typically Dracula didn’t mind. Death was his most trusted lieutenant for a reason.

However, he couldn’t help but feel Death may try and get around this one rule if it felt it was best.

As much as he hated it, he would have to keep an eye on all his close subordinates.

Dracula tried not to focus on the growing migraine building in his head.

“Now, what of the vampire covens across the earth?”

Death gave him a subtle crooked grin, and Dracula had a sinking feeling he would need another drink before returning to see you.

—

Dracula’s castle was far more pleasant than you would like to admit.

Your brain was in and out of a fog, but even then you could appreciate just how nice the guest room and washroom alone were.

You almost felt like royalty with how classy and intricate the rooms were, and how they had convenient modern touches.

Never had you stayed somewhere so elaborate and fancy. All the hotels you have been in couldn’t even come close to compare.

Even now as you laid in the giant bed with its soft, velvet sheets, you couldn’t help but be amazed.

Kinda ironic, the home of your ‘enemy’ was way better than any place you had ever stayed at.

Besides maybe your own home before your step family took over, you supposed, though that was a long time ago.

Slowly rolling onto your back, you winced as your wounds flared and your stomach churned. You continued to admire your setting.

The bed had a beautiful silk canopy around it, and you still couldn’t help but be enamored by it.

Or by it all, really. Even if it was a bit overwhelming.

…Just how long has it been?

You had been in and out of sleep, occasionally slipping into a doze before startling awake. The time was lost to you.

In retrospect, you couldn’t help it. Your instincts were going haywire from… well, everything.

The bed and sheets were nice at least. Almost too nice.

You were used to your old sheets, or stiff bed sheets you’d find in cheap hotels.

Not soft satin sheets and pillows that were as fluffy as a cloud.

There was also the glaring fact you were in monster territory. Despite how nice the decor was, it was something on the back of your mind also keeping you up.

Yes, Dracula said you were a guest, but it was hard to lower your guard when you knew just outside the door were monsters roaming up and down the halls. That this whole castle was filled to the brim with the paranormal and monster kind.

You were also a hunter, and a notorious one from a notorious family at that.

It wasn’t hard to imagine some monsters may go ahead and take a shot at you, regardless of Dracula’s orders.

To some, it may be worth it to suffer Dracula’s wrath or ire if it meant eradicating you from existence. It wasn’t exactly a secret that a lot of the paranormal hated you.

You carefully laid on your side, and looked out the window.

A small comfort. Originally, the window had been covered by thick curtains. However, you had pulled them aside to attempt to relieve your anxiety.

The clouds were dark. You couldn’t tell if it was night or day at this point. Perhaps that was the point.

But you were so tired. Exhausted.

You really couldn’t even sleep if you wanted to, knowing Dracula, or at least a servant, would be bringing you a meal sometime soon.

The hunter in your soul didn’t wish to be taken off guard, even if it was to be fed.

A small part of you wondered if you should even eat. Your instincts whispered in your mind about poisons, warning you of incoming death.

But that was ridiculous. Imagine it, you, a hunter, dying from poison.

No, if Dracula wanted you dead, he would have killed you by now. By his own hand no less, you were sure.

Still, that didn’t stop your instincts from making things difficult.

You curled in on yourself a bit tighter, wincing when some of the stitches tugged. Reluctantly, you adjusted to keep them from stretching.

You reached over, and grabbed the nearby pillow, and hugged it close to your body for some comfort.

It smelled nice.

That was another issue. You were so sleep deprived and struggling with blood loss, your brain liked to bring up such things, no matter how much you were trying to shut them out.

Gripping the pillow tighter, you felt your face form into a sour look.

“What am I going to do…” You mumbled, closing your eyes again.

At least if you didn’t sleep, lying here would be some rest. Better than none.

Though you hated to admit how much you jumped when you heard a brief, but loud knocking against the door. Talk about acting like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs…

You sat up in bed with a wince, and you noticed that no one seemed to enter. Another knock followed the previous one. Your heart pounded in your chest.

“Uh… Come in…?” you called out, uncertain. Were they waiting to see if you were awake, or what?

The doorknob slowly turned, and you felt like the breath was punched out of you when Dracula stepped through.

Right. He had mentioned he would return.

He looked different though. Better, if you had to put a word to it. He wasn’t particularly disheveled to begin with, but now he didn’t look as… Hungry? Irritated? It was hard to figure out the words.

The Lord of the Night had also changed. Similar style, dark cloak and all, though he had on a vest with a dark red dress shirt underneath, and some sort of fancy slacks.

You imagined you probably would have wanted to change too if you had been wearing the same clothes as a stone statue for however many years.

But seeing Dracula again? You hated to admit how he practically took your breath away.

His power and presence were just as intimidating as before, and he wasn’t even angry. How did your ancestors handle him before, when he felt this powerful without seemingly intending to harm you?

Dracula looked you over briefly as he walked into the room, shutting the door behind him. Even if there were no traces of malice on his face, a shiver still ran down your spine, instincts still screaming to run or fight.

You swallowed your nerves down as he walked closer.

He stopped at the side of your bed, and once again, you had to crane your neck just to see him at his full height.

That is, until with the wave of his hand, a chair nearby in the room came scooting forward. It came to a stop behind him, and he sat down without a glance.

Internally, you hoped your awe wasn’t blatantly on your face.

When he sat, he crossed his legs, before holding a tray with some sort of bowl on it. He held it forward, and you blinked at it slowly.

“I hope you are resting well, Little Belmont. I had some servants make you some soup. I fear eating solids may upset your stomach, which would aggravate your injuries if you were to grow sick.” He spoke, his voice low and deep. Even if he wasn’t loud, his voice still seemed to vibrate in your chest.

It took his words a few moments to register, and you looked between him, and the tray. He took in your expression for a moment, before speaking once more.

“If you fear it has been tampered with, I assure you my servants-”

“Oh, no… It’s fine. Sorry, I’m…” You spoke, cutting him off, ignoring how your pulse spiked when you realized you did so.

“S-Sorry… My head is a bit foggy, is all…” You then explained, before shakily reaching for the tray.

Dracula was quick, or perhaps, your brain really was slow. He held out a hand, and quite gently might you add, set the tray down on your lap.

“Of course. You must not exert yourself, and you must eat. I do not know how long it has been since you last ate, but you need something in your stomach.”

As if hearing the conversation, your stomach loudly growled, and you felt your face flush in embarrassment. When was the last time you ate? This morning? Night before last? You couldn’t exactly remember…

It was brief, but you swore you could have seen Dracula’s lips twitch upward seeing you grow flustered. It must have been your foggy mind and imagination. Or not, he could be internally laughing at you. Who knows?

Meanwhile, Dracula knew he had been right to bring you soup. He just hoped you could hold it down.

Though he didn’t want to admit how… endearing it was seeing you grow flustered like that. For a Belmont, you were quite the adorable human.

He would never admit it of course, but hell save him if Death ever found out he had such thoughts. Dracula would never hear the end of it.

Especially considering such thoughts were about a Belmont. Someone he should be wasting no time slaying.

But he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

There was something so different about you, even now, as he watched you pick up the spoon and attempt to eat.

You didn’t stare at him with burning hate in your eyes, but curiosity. There was a sharp mind behind those eyes that asked questions. Someone who didn’t just jump to conclusions.

Was it so wrong he wanted to see more of that, especially in the family of his enemies, who had blindly ran and fought? Killing innocents of his kind?

He was no saint, far from it. But he knew of many others the Belmont clan had killed.

But you… You were so different. He didn’t wish to say it outloud, but he wished to push forward that way of thinking. Perhaps he could even find a middle ground with you.

You weren’t just some ‘scary hunter’. The Little Belmont in front of him showed so much more, showing the better qualities of humanity.

His face almost soured at the thought, but even he could admit every one in a million, perhaps one good human was born. You seemed to be that one in a million exception so far.

Just like Lisa had been.

He decided not to think too much on what that could mean, though he hoped it promised good things in the near future.

It was quiet for a while, and Dracula couldn’t help but study you as you ate. First and foremost, it was to watch and make sure your body could handle it.

But he had his own selfish reasons for doing so.

He could move again. React to you. Speak to you. Touch you.

However, he found it hard to speak. There were many things he wanted to talk about with you, and half of them he intended on waiting until you were a little bit healthier.

Anything he thought of before now though, was suddenly caught on his tongue as he observed.

Perhaps it would be better this way. Dracula prided himself on being charismatic and influential, but that was amongst the supernatural. This was a Belmont, and he knew things were… shaky at best.

However, as he watched you try and consume more of the soup, he found himself managing to say something.

“Are you feeling alright? Adjusting well?”

Briefly, you tensed when he spoke, before you seemed to force yourself to relax. He made a mental note of that reaction, wondering if it was because of him, or if it was a natural response.

Dracula could understand it if it was from him, given the circumstances, but even he could tell there was something off about it. He didn’t like the feeling settling in his gut over the bigger picture.

“It hurts a lot, but I’ll live.” You spoke, your voice still rough, but sounding leagues better than before. For a moment, it looked as if you wanted to say more, but held your tongue.

Interesting.

You were still for a moment, struggling to look at him. No doubt you were still having trouble thinking clearly, and struggling with everything that had happened. Have you even slept?

He had his doubts you’ve even rested. You may not look as manic like before, but you looked completely exhausted.

For a moment, he briefly thought about using his abilities to make you sleep. It was something Lisa would request on occasion if she hadn’t felt well or couldn’t settle.

However, he stomped that idea down. The last thing you needed was him using his powers like that on you, unless explicitly agreed upon. Even though you were… receptive of him taking care of you at the moment, he didn’t want to shatter that small bit of trust.

Given that he had suspicions about your home life, he imagined just the small bit of trust you had given him at all was momentous. Dracula couldn’t afford to lose that. Not now.

Though Dracula hated the odd pain in his chest as he stared at you. He was worried. Something he didn’t think he would ever feel again.

“Thank you, by the way.”

His eyes were on your face in an instant as you spoke.

“I… You didn’t have to take care of me. I do appreciate it.” You spoke, your eyes still on the bowl in your lap.

Your voice was small, and quiet. Dracula could tell though, saying that must have taken strength.

You didn’t see his eyes soften ever so slightly.

“You are welcome. As my guest, I will do my best to make sure you are taken care of.”

Internally you wanted to scream. You hated how much you liked the sound of that. When was the last time anyone cared enough to take care of you? Your mother before she had died all those years ago?

It had been way too long, and it was Dracula who was seemingly wanting to take care of you.

Damn your foggy mind.

A few moments of silence passed.

“I… Um…” You began, unsure on how to word this.

“About when you were a statue…”

You had so many questions, but didn’t know where to begin. Was it even a good idea to ask in the state you were in?

“You could hear and see everything, right?” you asked tentatively.

Dracula was silent for a moment, red eyes staring into you. It seemed he was contemplating what to say, and you tried not to get nervous as the seconds awkwardly ticked onward.

“Indeed I was. I was aware the moment you stepped foot in my castle the first time, though I was not aware it was a Belmont, not at first.”

His voice was still like velvet. No wonder vampires were such good hunters if they could talk like him.

You really needed to force yourself to sleep. Maybe if you smacked your head hard enough on the table, you could knock yourself out before you did or thought anything weirder.

Clenching your fist, you attempted to figure out what to say next.

“Um…”

Internally you cursed yourself for making this awkward. Why did you have to bring this up?

“Then… What now?” You asked, trying to find some semblance of what comes next. Just because he was taking care of you didn’t make everything all happy and cheery.

You couldn’t wash away centuries of history and bloodshed out of nowhere.

Dracula shifted, then reached over to the bedside table, and grabbed a glass of water. You looked at it confused.

When had he brought that in?

Before you could ask, he was gently holding it out to you.

“We can discuss that after you have rested. We have much to go over, but worrying about that and discussing it while you are injured won’t help your healing.”

He looked away a moment, as if contemplating what to say, before his eyes met your own once again.

“You have gained my interest and respect, enough to hear you out and discuss everything. When you are in a state to do so, of course.”

A part of you opened your mouth to speak, as if to say you could do it now, but you froze. Your eyes landed on the glass he still held out.

After a moment, you closed your mouth, and took the glass.

In that moment, you couldn’t help but feel like some sort of agreement or contract was formed, as if your fate was sealed.

As you sipped the refreshing water though, and looked over at Dracula himself, who seemed pleased you accepted the drink…

…You wondered if this would really be that bad?

Perhaps your future wouldn’t be as bleak as you thought.

[definitelynotstable]

Feverish [Ghost x fem!Reader]

AN: Hey sexies! I haven’t used Tumblr since I was like 13 (which was a while ago) and I haven’t written fanfic in a while either. I find it hard to like things without them consuming me and the current addiction is CoD. It started with CoD mobile - me and the flatties play each night and then I rediscovered Modern Warfare and realised MW2 existed. Instantly obsessed. Why are they all so fine???????? Anyway. I haven’t written creatively since like high-school so I’m rusty and there is lots I don’t know. Go easy on me babes x

Synopsis: "Holy shit, you're burning up!" – reader is sick, Ghost is worried. Word count: 1.7k Ghost x reader (callsign “Rags” don’t ask why) not proof-read i have adhd babes x

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5am just wasn’t the ideal wake-up time. Something you should’ve thought about before joining the military. Something you definitely should’ve taken into account when accepting a position in such an esteemed taskforce. The 141 rarely took breaks. When you weren’t on active duty you were at base training. Price was a stern but fair Captain. His drills were consistent and hard, pushing you all to your limits but still allowing you to grow as a team.

But Price wasn’t in charge of training today. Nor had he been for the last week. Away on some need-to-know mission he had left his lieutenant in charge. Simon “Ghost” Riley. Less consistent, far more stern but just as fair as the Captain - Ghost’s drills were significantly more difficult.

You stretched carefully, rotating your neck from side to side and sighing as it clicked. You could hear voices down the hall and the distant rumble of the kettle. Soap and Gaz no doubt. Now fully dressed you pulled on your boots and shuffled down the hall.

“Morning boys.” You yawned, pulling out a chair and slumping to lean against your crossed arms on the table.

“Morning, Rags,” Gaz echoed back to you, Soap grunting in acknowledgment as he poured his coffee.

“Any clue what the LT has in store for us today?” You ask, watching as Soap fiddled with the french-press.

He huffed as he settled into the chair across from you, nursing a mug between his scarred hands. “Somethin’ horrid, nae doubt, he’s been in a bad mood since Price took his leave.”

“I’ll say,” Gaz scoffed tipping the dregs from Soap’s press into his mug and heaping in sugar, “can barely feel my arms after yesterdays drill.”

You groaned rubbing your eyes, “yeah, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

“I don’t recall there being any trucks involved in the drill yesterday - but that can be arranged.”

The bored voice drawled from the doorway, Lieutenant Ghost himself stood, legs shoulder width apart, arms folded across his broad chest. The man took up the entire goddamned doorframe.

Resisting the urge to stand at attention you cracked a sheepish smile. The 141 weren’t one for formalities.

‘Morning LT,” Gaz took the words out of your mouth from where he leaned against the sink, “got more pain in store for us today?”

“If you though yesterday was painful, sergeant, you’ve got a big storm coming.” Ghost turned go head out. “Gym in 10.”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

He wasn’t kidding. Today was worse. The lieutenant had designed a circuit so difficult even Gaz was complaining - something usually only Soap had the gall to do. God you were tired. You hadn’t struggled this hard to complete a drill since basic training as an unfit and unmotivated 18 year old. “Pick it up Sergeant!” Ghost barked from across the room as the battle ropes slipped form your sweaty hands. You grit your teeth and did as asked, only two minutes to go.

“Fuck!” You swore under your breath as the rope thunked against the floor, leaving your grasp again. You quickly squatted to pick it up, hoping the Lieutenant hadn’t noticed. You flinched as his stern voice echoed through the gym but it was Soap on the receiving end, the man smirking as Ghost yelled at him to keep form.

You turned your focus back to the ropes, planting your more firmly as you noticed your form starting to waver. God you felt like you were about the keel over.

“Pick up the pace Sergeant!” The voice came from your left, flinching to hear the Lieutenant so close. Feeling worse by the second you did as you were told, pushing every last inch of energy into the ropes in front of you.

He’ll be gone soon, you told yourself, He’ll move on to yell at Gaz and I can slow my pace.

But the hulking figure in your periphery remained and you found your resolve wavering. Without warning the world tilted dramatically and your cheek was bouncing off the sweat covered foam on the floor. The distant clanking of weights came to a stop and impeccably polished and shined boots filled your vision. Ghost.

“Rags!” Gaz thumped to his knees beside you, yanking you into a sitting position. His worried face swimming in your vision.

“Settle down, Gaz,” Soap spoke as he pulled him back and someone else came to kneel in front of you. A water bottle was pushed into your hands and a cool but rough hand landed gently on your forehead.

“Christ you’re burning up!” The lieutenant rarely swore outside of the field, you must be on fire.

“Yeah no shit,” Water dribbled down your chin as you took a swig of water, “that was a tough drill LT.”

Soap coughed out a laugh from where he stood behind Ghost, "Aye, I reckon he's sayin' ye've got a fever, lass.”

You scoffed, batting back the lieutenants hand, “I think I would know if I had a fever, I just need a rest.”

“Your dripping in sweat,” Ghost retorted cooly.

“We were just working out.“

“You fell over -“

-“It happens-“

‘Not to you.” The lieutenants voice was firm. “Not to us. We are special forces military - we don’t just ‘fall over’.”

There was no room for argument in his tone, you knew he was right. Leaning forward, Ghost looped his arms under yours and pulled you firmly to your feet. You wavered slightly, his grip on you the only thing keeping you standing.

“You need rest.”

Gaz popped into view, eager, “I can take her back too her room, LT!”

Ghost swung his gaze over the young sergeant who shrank back immediately, “if you thought this was the end of training for today, you’re wrong. You and Soap still have a minute left. I want you halfway through the next set once I’m back.”

Laughing Soap clapped Gaz on the back, “Come on lad. Let the LT look after Rags, we don’t give up so easily.”

You scoff, “Rude.”

“Get well soon, Lass,” Soap winked, pulling Gaz back to his station as Ghost led you out of the gym.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

“You really don’t need to lead me to back to my room, I know the way.”

“We aren’t going to your room,” Ghost grunted, his hand hovering behind your shoulder blades as you wavered.

You looked up, frowning as you locked eyes with him. “I don’t need to go to the infirmary, LT. I just need a nap.”

The man shrugged, gently pushing you forward. “We have free healthcare, may as well use it.”

“God you’re relentless,” you muttered, missing how his eyes crinkled through the mask.

“To a fault, sergeant.”

The nurse in the infirmary whistled as she read your temp.

“Good thing you brought her here, Lieutenant,” she turned to you with her hands on her hips, ‘you’re dehydrated, hun. I’m keeping you here overnight or until your fever breaks.”

“Really? I can never sleep in here, it’s too bright.” You felt like a child under the stern stares of the nurse and Ghost who stood beside her, arms crossed.

“We can dim the lights if you’d like, sergeant,” the nurse offered, bustling around while she prepped an IV, “but you’re staying here until I say.”

You sank lower in the bed, letting your chin fall against your chest.

“I usually sleep with an eye-mask.” You mumble, embarrassed.

“What was that, hun?”

Ghost steps closer with a single nod, “speak up sergeant.”

You cleared your throat, feeling silly. “I usually wear an eye-mask.”

“I’m sure we can figure something out,” the nurse smiled, pulling your arm to the side, “small pinch.”

You sucked in a breath as the needle slid home.

“Where is it?”

You looked up, surprised the lieutenant was still there. “Where’s what?”

“Your eye mask.” Ghost responded, arms still crossed.

“Oh,” you wince slightly as the nurse hooked up the fluids to the port on your arm, “uh don’t worry about it LT, one of the boys can grab it later I’m sure.”

“I’m here now. Where is it?”

You met his eyes, surprised. “My room, either on my bedside table or in the top drawer.”

Ghost leaves with a curt nod, the curtain swishing behind him. You sigh, leaning back into the pillow behind you, praying it’s lying on top and not in the drawer that holds a variety of items you definitely don’t want your Lieutenant seeing.

By the time he returns you’re half asleep in your fever-induced delirium. The lights are dimmed but your eyes still burn. He gently lays the mask on the bed next to your arm and makes to leave.

“Thanks LT.” You say with a rasp, cracking your eyes open further.

He looks up, blue eyes meeting yours. “Though you were asleep.”

You laugh softly, “Wasn’t kidding when I said I couldn’t sleep without it.”

“Mm.” He grunts in acknowledgement. “Lieutenant?”

“Yeah?” He stops, hand on the door handle.

“Thanks for today.”

He nods sharply, not sure how to respond. “Thank me when your back in fighting shape, sergeant."

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Masterlist

[avengers--assembly]

Appendix

Summary: Peter is feeling sick during movie night and after originally deciding not to tell Tony the information comes out either way. Unfortunately, we're not dealing with the basic stomach flu

Sicktember prompts:

5. Rogue Organ (tonsils, spleen, appendix, gall bladder ect…)

12. “You’re not fine, you’re throwing up/coughing up a lung”

14. Clean Sheets/Fresh Pajamas

Word count: 1609

Warnings: vomiting (not extreme though)

●◇●◇●◇●◇●◇

 There was nothing wrong with him. He was fine. The constant ache that had settled in his stomach was just an inconvenience. A mild discomfort at best. He could handle it and finish movie night with Mr. Stark. Peter just had to sit through another 40 minutes, and he’d have a free pass.

Mr. Stark was already giving him worried glances ever since he’d declined dessert—a rare event. The excuse of being full from dinner was weak, at best. Quoting Mr. Stark, Peter was never not hungry. Except tonight, when his stomach was aching, and he was swallowing the feeling of nausea.

Another bout of it attacked him, distracting him from whatever was happening on screen. He squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling softly. He had to stay quiet. No attracting attention. He could practically feel Mr. Stark’s gaze flicking toward him every few minutes, so Peter straightened up and forced a smile.

But oh, crap. He was going to vomit. All over the stupid fancy couch and the soft grey blanket Mr. Stark had thrown over him earlier when he’d started shivering. He steadied himself with a hand, pulling himself upright.

“Bathroom,” was all he said before leaving Tony behind, walking as casually as he could. Don’t throw up here. Not here. Wait.

The pain wasn’t just a dull throb anymore. It was sharp, searing. It felt like someone was jamming a hot knife into his side, twisting it until all he could think about was the burn. He clenched his fists, swallowing down bile as he reached the bathroom.

The bathroom was lit with a soft white glow as he threw the door shut and dropped to his knees at the toilet bowl. He emptied his stomach until there was nothing left. When he finally felt as if he was running on empty, Peter rested his head against the cold ceramic, his hands protectively wrapped around his stomach.

Ouch. That hurt. Why did it hurt so much? Even the stomach flu he’d had last season hadn’t been this bad. What horrible food poisoning was this? Maybe that hot dog from patrol? Ugh, just thinking about food made his stomach churn again.

“I must inform my boss that you are unwell,” Friday’s voice floated across the room, and Peter froze. He didn’t even want to know how the AI knew he was sick—there weren’t any cameras in the bathroom.

“Please, Fri, I'll tell him as soon as it gets worse.”

“I must inform you against this as you already have a fever over a 100 degrees, but I will stick to your wishes until I find them unreasonable.”

Peter forced a smile at the ceiling. “Thanks, Fri. I owe you one.”

A fever? That wasn’t sounding good at all.

After taking a deep breath to steady himself, Peter made his way back to the living room. He felt the tremble in his legs as he walked, but forced his expression into something neutral, hoping the dim lighting from the TV would hide his pale face.

Mr. Stark twisted to look at him, and Peter prayed his discomfort wasn’t too obvious.

“Kid, I was starting to wonder where you disappeared to. Wanna finish?”

“I, uh… actually, I thought I should go to bed. School day tomorrow and everything, you know?”

Peter leaned against the doorway, trying to look casual, even as he used it to support his weight. The pain was getting worse. He had to get out of there.

“Eh, it’s only like 10. Aren’t you usually up much later with patrol?”

Peter could almost feel the raised eyebrow from across the room.“I’m tired. And an early bedtime is, like, super good.” His voice wavered, panic creeping in. He couldn’t stand here much longer. It hurt.

“Sure you’re okay, kiddo? First, the ice cream, and now an early bedtime? Not turning into a responsible adult, are you?”

Peter forced a smile, trying to play it off. This was good. He was going to pull this off. No problem.

“Mr. Stark, how could you?” Peter shot back, mock-offended. “I’m not eating my vegetables tomorrow, just because.”

But then Mr. Stark stood up, stretching, and Peter realized he was running out of time. If Tony came any closer, he’d notice the fever for sure.

You could just tell him you don’t feel good, a voice in Peter’s head reasoned. You don’t have to suffer. That felt like something Friday would say. He really should tell him. At that moment, his stomach decided for him, and Peter vomited all over his clothes and the floor. His cheeks burned with embarrassment.

"Peter!” Tony yelped, rushing over. It was clear Peter was about to be fussed over. He just knew it.

“I’m fine…”

“You’re not fine. You just threw up. Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? Friday?”

Tony was already ushering him toward his bedroom, keeping a hand hovering inches from Peter’s back, not quite touching him. Which, fair, Peter thought, he was feeling gross and covered in vomit.

The smell of it curled around his senses, almost causing him to gag again. Definitely gross.

Friday’s voice chimed in: “A fever of 101 degrees, sir.”

“Friday!” Peter whined. “I trusted you.”Tony raised an eyebrow. “My AI, my loyalty,” he teased, though there was worry etched into his features. Peter wasn’t too scared about being murdered for not telling him earlier.

“Okay, kid, let’s get you cleaned up and in bed. Sound good?”

“Yeah...” Peter mumbled as they walked into his room. He really didn’t want to shower right now. More like curl into a pathetic ball of patheticness, but he had to clean up.

“I don’t feel very good…”

“Yeah, kid. Vomiting over everything kind of gives that away.”

“Not everything,” Peter muttered, his embarrassment flaring up again. Tony’s expression softened as he ruffled Peter’s hair affectionately.

“I know, bud. I’m just joking.”

With a grumble, Peter wiggled out of his shirt, tossing it onto the floor. Without it and his trousers, he was technically clean. No need for a shower. He could deal with that tomorrow. Probably.

“Pyjamas, kid. I’m getting something to help with the nausea. Guessing you have a stomach bug again?”

Peter only shrugged in response before Tony left him alone. He exhaled sharply, trying to chase away the shitty feeling clinging to him like a second blanket.

Pyjamas. He could get dressed. Easy.

Sure.He stumbled to the dresser, staring unimpressed at the contents. Everything felt irritating—like it would rub his skin the wrong way. After what felt like forever, he finally settled on a pair of bottoms and one of Tony’s MIT hoodies draped over his chair. It was definitely comfortable.

****

A few hours later, Peter’s peaceful rest was shattered by stabbing pains in his stomach. He groaned, curling up tighter in his desired ball, hugging the ache away. He thought he was better after the medicine Tony had given him, but now it hurt even more.

The movement stirred Tony awake. The man had insisted on staying the whole night, for emotional support or something, but Peter hadn’t cared. He could hardly breathe, his breath coming out in ragged pants.

“Pete?” Tony mumbled, half-asleep. Peter wanted to answer, but the words wouldn’t form, and only a whimper slipped out.

"Kid?” Now Tony was awake, switching on the light and flooding the room with brightness. Peter squinted against it, his eyes tearing up from the pain.

“Where does it hurt, baby?” Tony brushed a hand through Peter’s hair, trying to comfort him. Peter panted out, “Stomach.”

“Uncurl for me, kiddo. I want to check something.” Peter moved slowly, each shift making the pain flare. He cried out, but did as asked, uncurling completely, tears welling in his eyes.

Tony’s hands pressed gently on Peter’s stomach, testing different spots. “Does it hurt here?” He pressed a bit above the middle. Peter shook his head. The prodding continued until Tony’s fingers hit the lower right side, and Peter yelped in pain.

“Shit. Kid, I think we need to get you to the medbay. Friday, call Bruce for me. Tell him it’s an emergency.”

“What? No! I’m fine,” Peter tried to argue, even as he lay there, unable to move.

“I think your appendix might disagree with you on that one.” Peter’s eyes widened in panic, groaning again. Would he always have bad luck?

****

Tony leaned his head against the wall, appendicitis. Of course his kid would get it the one week he was staying over at the compound. And of course he would keep it to himself for some time too. 

He would probably have to call Aunt Hottie sometime today. A basic requirement to fill in Peter’s aunt but first he needed some time to chill out.

Gosh. Appendicitis.  

After nearly a decade of struggling, he got Peter to the medbay. The kid wanted to be cooperative, Tony was sure, but walking proved to be a challenge. And keeping body fluids inside oneself. The elevator took the causality of being drenched in vomit this time.

At least Peter was well on his way to recovery, sleeping peacefully in the hospital bed after Brucie helped out and removed certain rogue organs.

Tony breathed out, rubbing a hand across his face. The kid was fine. An organ lighter, sure, but fine. Tony didn’t need to worry about him that much. A few hours under, and he would have his hyper spider kid back, still the anxiety gnawed at his chest.

Loving people come with this. Worrying. Because he really did love the kid. The honesty settled in a part deep inside of him. 

Love. Yeah.

[slowtravelingcat]

Self reflection and Zion National Park

Monday, October 12th, 2020 

CAL - It’s Monday afternoon, and I find myself waiting by the door again. The large, bald one is on her second weekend trip in a row. I’m starting to get worried that she is trying to do too much. On Friday morning I communicated my concern by fake-sleeping on top of her bag all morning.  It’s an unspoken rule that she does not ask me to move when I’m asleep. I was sure that my plan was ironclad. Given this information, you can imagine my shock and horror when she actually PICKED ME UP and relocated me to the bed. The pure gall! Nobody picks up Cal the Cat. 

I spent the rest of Friday and most of Saturday morning reeling from The Incident. It felt as if our understanding of each other was set back 5 whole years. Finally, around mid-afternoon on Saturday, I started to accept my circumstance. Michele is not perfect and, if I’m being honest, neither am I - sometimes I am the meanest to those that I love the most. I spent the rest of the evening and the following morning in a state of somber self-reflection. It wasn’t the most fun weekend, but it was certainly one of personal growth. Sometimes, if you really love another cat, you have to let them be who they are. 

Earlier today, I did a full sweep of the camper to ensure it’s bug-free for Michele’s return. As I write these words, I dutifully wait by the door. 

MICHELE - I am driving back to Meadview after a long weekend in the stunningly beautiful Zion National Park. I left the camper around noon on Friday and was starting to feel like I was trying to see too much. Nonetheless, this weekend had been planned for several months and there’s no way that I’ll miss this trip. I’ll have to slow down next weekend. 

The drive from Las Vegas to Zion was a truly fantastic experience. The road meanders through bright yellow hills, set against an impossibly blue sky. I had to drive in the slow lane, in order to take it all in. 

I planned to stop at the Walmart outside of the park for a few last-minute purchases but quickly realized that they do not sell wine. I ended up making another trip to a state liquor store, where I found a red blend by Conundrum, which would prove to be the perfect complement to the weather and views of Zion. 

I booked two nights at the Zion Lodge, which is the hotel located inside of the park. Getting to the hotel took a little extra work, including passing through a coded gate, for which I had to use a special code on a piece of paper, which was mailed to me months in advance. I found the whole process both quaint and charming. 

When I finally arrived at the lodge, I was nearly floored. It was nothing like the in-park hotels at the Grand Canyon. Zion Lodge is set against a sheer canyon cliff, with a large lawn in the front, where hikers and deer enjoy their dinner, side by side, in harmony. My cabin had a small porch with a view of one of many multicolored cliffs. Once I was settled, I opened my wine and enjoyed a quiet evening with the canyon and the stars. 

Over the next day and a half, I partake in most of the small hikes at Zion, including Par’us, Watchman, Riverwalk, and the Emerald Pools. Zion is best known for the Narrows which is a hike that takes place mostly in a shallow river and Angel’s Landing. I did not attempt either on this trip, but would happily return, with more preparation, to take on both. 

As I check out of the lodge on Sunday morning, I can not help but lament how every single thing about Zion is wonderful. I had always heard good things about this park, but it’s truly a place that needs to be experienced to be understood. 

This morning I started the drive back. I stopped in Henderson for groceries and got a little turned around trying to get back onto the highway. My brief time in Henderson stood in stark contrast to the lovely Zion and served as a reminder of the vast experience of living in this country.

Now I am pulling up to Happy Trails Campground. Due to my side trip in Henderson, I have left Cal alone longer than expected. I am praying that he forgives me as I push open the front door. 

[delimeful]

in sickness and in health (2)

this fic was patron picked to be published by a 24 hour poll! hope you enjoy! :)

warnings: fear, fairly bad illness, murder mentions, crying, remus saying some remus things

-

The next morning, after a few measly hours of sleep, Virgil poked his head out of one of the upper boltholes in his human’s bedroom and found him still in the same position, the sheets damp with sweat around him.

Another check in a couple hours later found much the same.

And another.

And then night had fallen, and still his human hadn’t moved, looked perhaps even worse than before. Even more galling, nobody else had come over to check on him.

It was to be expected, he knew. He’d seen the human collapse and sleep a day or two away after one of his week-long at-home work sessions; it was only natural that his many friends assumed this was the same sort of scenario.

Except it wasn’t. And now his stupid human was too unconscious to even contact anyone. Virgil dragged his hands over his face, bemoaning the situation and humans and even the world in general.

He peeked down over the ledge, studying what he could see of the burns. Another application couldn’t hurt. At the very least, his parents hadn’t raised him to leave a job half-done.

His human would wake up soon, he told himself sternly as he made the trek over to the nightstand. He paused, and shook his head. There was no point in avoiding using names anymore. He was literally risking his life to go tend to the human’s wounds— he was much more than attached, at this point.

Patton would wake up soon, he told himself as he unscrewed the ointment tube’s cap. It almost sounded a little more believable like that.

Unfortunately, it ended up being truer than he would have liked.

He was halfway done with the right hand when the general unease he wore around like a second skin suddenly spiked into outright fear. He went still, straining all his senses.

There— it was the silence that was setting him off. The constant backdrop of low, raspy breathing had suddenly gone completely quiet.

As if someone was holding their breath.

Slowly, Virgil turned to confirm what his instincts were already telling him, and met the gaze of a pair of huge brown eyes.

Despite himself, he went frozen. Knowing how large humans were was one thing, but being seen by one? It had never happened to him before, and he felt utterly pinned under the stare.

(His sleeves were rolled up. Could the human see the markings on his body? Other borrowers recognizing Virgil as a part of that group was bad enough, but a human-- A human could do so much worse.)

Patton let out a little whoosh of air, as though deciding that he didn’t have to hold his breath to avoid disturbing him anymore. “Um, hi.”

His voice, even at an almost-whisper, was crackly and rough, and it made Virgil jerk slightly, his mind desperately trying to convince his locked up body to bolt already.

Patton’s hand twitched a little in response to the motion, and Virgil went stone-still again. He was standing right next to the curve of the hand, had unwittingly practically done everything but climb into the human’s palm himself. In this position, he had no doubt that in a race between him and Patton’s reflexes, he would lose.

But the human hadn’t grabbed yet. The longer it stayed that way, the better.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Patton mumbled apologetically. His eyes were a little glazed over; he probably thought he was dreaming. Good for Future Virgil, bad for Present Virgil. “You takin’ care of me?”

Virgil let the silence stretch, and then nodded a little when it was clear Patton was waiting for an answer. There was no point in denying it; he’d been caught red-handed. Ointment-handed. Whatever.

“Thanks,” Patton replied, face scrunching up into a weak grin. “I guess a little first aid is just what I needed.”

Not even a raging fever could hold back the puns, it seemed. Virgil narrowly avoided snorting, a return jab about Patton being a big pain on the tip of his tongue.

Abruptly, though, the hand was curling around him, sending his pulse racing as his route of escape was cut off.

Horrific ways this could end ran through his mind one after another; The human was nearly out of his head with fever, all he had to do was misjudge his strength even a little and Virgil would snap—

Everything went still again. Virgil struggled to slow his breathing, gaze darting back and forth like a cornered mouse. Patton’s hand had curled around him, pressing just slightly on his arms without actually trying to lift him. He was just sort of... holding him.

“Y’okay?” Patton murmured, and his thumb (thankfully ointment-free) gently patted his shoulder. “It’s justa’ thank you hug.”

On cue, his almost-grip loosened, hand remaining half-cupped around him but open enough that he could easily step out. Testingly, he stepped forward once, twice, always watching Patton’s face like a hawk as he did.

Patton blinked slowly at him, apparently completely unfazed by Virgil performing the world’s slowest escape.

It wasn’t until he was nearly to the edge of the bed that Patton stirred, shuffling his shoulder a bit and turning his head a bit farther to keep watching him.

“Leavin’?” he asked, looking almost a little worried. Virgil couldn’t imagine why; if anyone had the right to be worried here, it was him.

Still, he was finally close enough to his hook that he could definitely make it if Patton even twitched wrong toward him, so he took a deep breath and nodded, waiting to see how the human would react.

“‘Kay, be safe,” Patton offered, his cheek smushed against his pillow. His eyes were already half-lidded, apparently already preparing to head back to sleep now that there weren’t any convenient borrowers around to scare the life out of.

It couldn’t be that easy. Could it?

Virgil kept checking over his shoulder as he grabbed his rope, but Patton’s attention had already strayed, and as he descended, the human’s breathing returned to that familiar, sleep-slow cadence.

He only barely managed to make it back into the walls before a hysterical laugh bubbled up from his chest. He slid down to a sitting position, trying to get his breathing under control. He’d been seen, he’d have to pack up everything he’d made and leave to face the treacherous elements again--

… Except. Except Patton hadn’t grabbed him. That was no promise of safety, but… really, he had barely seemed fazed at all by the presence of a tiny person in his space. Unnaturally so, for a human. Virgil knew well how a ravaging sickness could make anyone less than keen, leave their memory foggy. There was every possibility that that was the case here.

And if it was… Virgil didn’t have to move. He could observe Patton once he got better, stay discreet and make sure that his existence was dismissed as nothing more than a fever dream.

It was a risk, but… wasn’t every choice a borrower made risky?

(He was tired of leaving homes behind.)

---

There was one problem with his plan: it required Patton to get better.

Watching the human now, it seemed that he was intent on doing anything but that. Virgil scowled down at the bed from his check-in shelf, trying to shove down the worry at the sight of Patton twisting and turning in the sheets, iller than ever.

It seemed his moment of brief lucidity (if it could be called that) hadn’t lasted. He’d spent over a day in bed, only getting worse.

Virgil was getting well and truly worried.

(He didn’t know how long it took humans to recover, but he had an extensive frame of reference for how long it took humans to succumb to sickness.)

He’d taken to pacing indecisively back and forth at his latest check in, thousands of potential options and their terrible outcomes running through his head, when a low noise caught his ear.

Patton was crying, little hitching sobs that came out rough and crackly, blinking harshly as he stared up at the ceiling.

Virgil couldn’t tell why; it could’ve been a nightmare, physical pain, or just the helplessness of being so terribly sick. He gripped the edge of the shelf he was hiding on, biting his lip harshly.

If he called out, would it help? Would Patton listen? Would he remember, later?

Before he could try, the creak of bedsprings drew his eyes back to the human, who was twisting onto his side, reaching for the bedside table. Where his phone was.

“Yes,” Virgil whispered, watching the human strain to reach just a little further. “Come on, come on…”

Patton’s hand grabbed at the edge of the phone, so close to being able to finally get the help he needed— and it fell right through his fingers, his grip too weak to hang onto it.

It was as though their spirits plummeted right along with the phone, landing with a muffled thud on the bedroom floor. Patton let out another half-sigh, half-sob, and settled back onto the bed, exhausted from even that small expenditure of energy. Virgil’s lip began to bleed from how hard he was biting it.

Within moments, the room was quiet again, Patton returning to that hazy unconsciousness.

By then, Virgil had already made his choice.

(It was almost poetic. What better way to spit in the face of his upbringing than to save a human?)

He made his way through the walls in record time, finally able to use the pent up energy he’d accumulated from all that time helplessly watching.

Once he got to the floor, he paused for only a moment to listen to the rhythmic breathing above before darting over to the phone, lying in the shadow of the bed. He flipped it over and pressed the button, the screen lighting up with a picture of a cat.

“Isn’t he allergic?” Virgil muttered, and then shook his head, swiping through to the home screen. Luckily, Patton didn’t seem to have any locks, though Virgil hated to imagine how that trust could be abused.

He recognized the old phone shape on one of the icons easily enough, and squinted at the contact list for a long moment before finding the one with a tiny picture of someone he recognized: Patton’s loud friend, the one who came over for movie nights when they were both free (a rare occurrence).

“Roman”’s number was pressed immediately, and it was only as the phone began to ring that Virgil realized he had not thought this plan through.

The phone rang once, twice, and just as he thought it would ring out and he’d be able to think of a plan-- “Patton! Perfect timing!”

He jerked away from the tinny voice, casting a glance up at the bed where Patton laid. If this was enough to rouse him, even just enough to talk, this situation would resolve itself.

“...Patton? Hellooo?”

The human above didn’t even twitch at his friend’s call.

“Ooh, did you get a booty call from Daddy Dearest?” another voice asked, gleeful and a little bit fainter than the first.

“What-- it’s buttdial, I know you know how that sounds, Remus!” There was the sound of tussling for a moment, and then Roman’s voice piped back up, sounding strained. “Okay, Pat, call back later, I guess? Remus, lemme go--”

The line went dead.

Virgil smacked the screen harshly, cursing the fact that Patton’s friends were apparently prone to nonsense and not nearly as concerned as they should be about the situation, as little as they knew about it. He glanced up at his Human again, brow furrowed.

No speaking, no texts, no physical evidence. How could he get their attention without giving himself away?

He leaned forward and pressed the call button again.

“Uh… Patton?” There was a long pause, and then a nervous laugh. “Jeez, what is he up to?”

Virgil hung up, and called again.

“What the heckity heck--”

Virgil hung up, and called again.

“Patton, are you there?”

“Maybe there’s a serial killer in his house and he can’t pipe up or they’ll get to his windpipes!” the second voice, presumably “Remus”, chimed in.

“Shut up, that’s not it!” There was an uncertain pause. “Patton, that’s not it, right? C’mon, Padre, you’re freaking me out worse than the Outage Incident of ‘09.”

Virgil hung up, and called again, ignoring the phone’s buzzing as worried texts began to filter in.

“Something’s wrong. If his phone was accidentally calling me from his pocket, he’d be replying to my texts.”

Yes! Virgil held his breath, letting the thick silence hang in the air.

“Patton, are you there? Do you need help? Give me some sort of signal,” Roman pleaded, and Virgil leaned back, desperately searching his memory for a sign that would mean something to Roman.

There was something he’d overheard, lurking in nearby wall corridors during one of their sleepovers. Roman had been waxing poetic about effective storytelling.

“That’s the thing about repetition,” he’d said. “Like that saying! Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, but three times? That’s a pattern. And patterns have meaning!”

Virgil had rolled his eyes at the time. The advice didn’t hold true for borrowers, who avoided patterns like the plague. One slip up was all it took to have to uproot his whole life or worse, after all.

Now, though, he latched onto the memory with both hands.

Two witnesses to this were two too many, but so long as they couldn’t prove anything… he pulled out his hook and carefully tapped the side of the phone, producing three distinct, dull clinks.

There was a clutter of alarmed arguing on the other end, and Virgil hurriedly smacked the red ‘end call’ button once more, his nerves frayed.

After a moment, more texts popped up.

Roman!!! ❤️👑✨: patton, i know you wouldnt pull a prank like this

Roman!!! ❤️👑✨: ur spare key is still under the kitten statue, right?

Roman!!! ❤️👑✨: im coming over

Virgil sank back on his heels, letting out a long sigh of relief. Thank goodness he knew how to read.

After another moment of shaky decompression, he hurried back into the walls, returning to his former vantage point on the shelf.

The phone lit up a few more times, the cheery ringtone of an attempted call still not quite enough to bring Patton back to awareness. Virgil resisted the urge to go climb up on a windowsill, knowing that it was far too risky, and he wouldn’t be able to recognize any human vehicles anyhow.

Finally, finally, there was the sound of a key rattling in the front door’s lock. Virgil ducked back behind a novelty bobblehead as voices spilled into the house, growing more alarmed once they reached the kitchen. Virgil remembered belatedly that the mess from Patton’s disastrous attempt to make cookies was still there.

“Patton!” Roman appeared at the doorway, eyes fixed on the bedridden form of his friend. He rushed over, pressing a wrist to his forehead. “You’re burning up…”

With some careful maneuvering, he managed to lift Patton from the bed in a bridal carry, calling for Remus to get the door.

And then they were gone, off to the human version of a sickbay.

Virgil sprawled back, letting all the tension leave him, his heart still racing from his part in it all.

Now, all he had to do was wait.

[tillidontneedfantasy]

A Track-by-Track Breakdown of Taylor Swift’s 9th Studio Album: ‘evermore’

“My collaborators and I are proud to announce that my 9th studio album and folklore’s sister record is here. It’s called evermore,” is how Taylor Swift introduces us to this album in its foreword. One might assume a “sister record” would entail b-sides, or tracks that didn’t quite make the cut for folklore, despite Taylor���s explanation that “we just couldn’t stop writing songs.” evermore’s release came at a strange time, upon the heels of the Folklore: Long Pond Studio Sessions film on Disney+, as well as 5 Grammy nominations for folklore. The world still captivated by folklore, it’s understandable why one might not consume evermore as critically. Even as a die-hard fan, I felt some whiplash by this announcement; I am still processing folklore! Hell, I’m still processing reputation!

If this was the Taylor from two years ago, this may have been a big enough fear of hers to hold off on releasing evermore. But as she explained upon folklore’s surprise release, life is too unpredictable now, and there are zero givens or guarantees. So she followed the same path this time (although making sure it fell in line with her birthday weekend). But it’s not just the strategic timing of the release that she’s thrown out the window for now, but also her mindset whilst making records. As she explains in the evermore album foreword,

“I’ve never done this before. In the past I’ve always treated albums as one-off eras and moved onto planning the next one as soon as an album was released. There was something different with folklore. In making it, I felt less like I was departing and more like I was returning. I loved the escapism I found in these imaginary/not imaginary tales. I loved the ways you welcomed the dreamscapes and tragedies and epic tales of love lost and found. So I just kept writing them.”

This is a revelation for Swift, to let the music lead her into artistic freedom, which is what makes evermore such a triumphant return. Truly folklore’s sister record, Taylor wrote evermore with the same creative team: Aaron Dessner of The National (Swift’s favorite band), long-time pal and collaborator Jack Antonoff, Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, and William Bowery aka Swift’s boyfriend, Joe Alwyn (as officially revealed in the Long Pond Studio Sessions). Additionally, former 1989 tour openers and close friends of Taylor, the HAIM sisters, join the crew, along with Marcus Mumford for some dreamy backup vocals.

The production is just as wistful and mesmerizing as it was on folklore, yet the storytelling on evermore is kicked up a notch, expanding on the topics and worldbuilding established in its sister record, with even sharper lyrics and an effective and elaborate use of alliteration. The best thing about Taylor is that no matter what she does, her masterful lyricism is always at the heart of her art, and somehow, she keeps getting better. Once again, I wanted to explore the rich stories she’s crafted in this woodsy universe. This is how I’ve interpreted the album, but I hope you find your own meaning in the songs as well.

1. willow It is fitting that the opening track to folklore’s sister album, where we wade further into the forest that is Taylor Swift’s imagination and storytelling, would center on the type of tree that is a symbol of hope, belonging, safety, stability, and healing. “willow,” one of the few more obviously autobiographical tracks on the album, is a hymn of gratitude for her man (as she wants you to know, yes, thirteen times), Joe Alwyn, and how the invisible string tethering them together pulled her to him in a time when everyone else was counting her out. Though not as present on many of the other songs later to come on this record, you can feel the lightness in her heart on this song as she embraces the way in which the willow has bent, wrecking her plans, throwing her into the water and leaving her happily lost and afloat in his current. The downward key modulation throughout the last two repetitions of the chorus is beautiful and very fitting for Swift vocally, but also sounds like the feeling of finding your comfort and settling into it, basking it in while you wait for the next place the wind pulls you. Best lyric: “Now this is an open/shut case / I guess I should’ve known from the look on your face / Every bait and switch was a work of art.”

2. champagne problems On the second track of the album, Taylor dives back into the fictional worldbuilding she began to explore on folklore. While on folklore high school relationships and dramatics took center-stage, evermore graduates from adolescence to young adulthood, not that it is any easier emotionally on the listener’s heart. “champagne problems” chronicles a rejected marriage proposal between two college sweethearts at their old dorm building. Taylor sings as the narrator, a reflective, self-deprecating young woman who jokes about belonging in a madhouse and dismisses all her turmoil as champagne problems. The term ‘champagne problems’ itself could have various meanings here: their trivial concerns, the fact that their “sister splashed out on the bottle” of champagne that they will not be using to celebrate as they had hoped, or perhaps it could even hint that excessive drinking is a piece of all the ways the narrator is “fucked in the head,” as they said. Although the person she is singing to is the one who got hurt in the story, the hurt in the narrator’s heart is just as palpable and relatable, because you only have yourself to blame when you self-destruct. Best lyric: “’She would’ve made such a lovely bride, / what a shame she’s fucked in the head,’ they said / but you’ll find the real thing instead / she’ll patch up your tapestry that I shred.”

3. gold rush On her YouTube live chat prior to the album’s release, Taylor explained that this song “takes place inside a single daydream where you get lost in thought for a minute and then snap out of it.” The daydream consists of a love story so pure that the town had never seen such a thing; it could only happen in a fantasy for the narrator. How could she possibly have the gall to call them out on their contrarian shit, or end up with her Eagles t-shirt hanging from their door, when they are so coveted by all, and when she cannot withstand the thought of even competing? She sings, “My mind turns your life into folklore / I can’t dare to dream about you anymore,” a sweet little connecting piece to this album’s older sister, effectively convincing herself out of the idea of jumping into the chaos of the gold rush because even inside her own imagination it’s too dangerous. Best lyric: “I don’t like that falling feels like flying ‘till the bone crush.”

4. ‘tis the damn season According to Aaron Dessner, Taylor had written the lyrics for “’tis the damn season” in the middle of the night amidst their Folklore: The Long Pond Studio Sessions recording after a long night of chatting and drinking with their co-conspirator, Jack Antonoff. The lyrics perfectly encapsulate the guttural ache the track evokes. It is a tale of two people who always find their way back to one another in their hometown, which acts as the ever-returning fork in the road. The path taken, back to L.A. in pursuit of her dreams, is the one she chose and continues to choose, but whenever she returns home, she takes a ride down the road not taken, just to get a taste of what could have been, even if just for the weekend. What starts off as an icy homecoming always transforms into the warmest intimacy. The success of this track is aligned with the success of Taylor’s entire career; even with such specific details, it feels so deeply personal to the listener. You know the street you’d drive along late at night laughing, the spot you’d park the car, the person who stars in every what-if. You will never really know if the road not taken is as good as it seems, but that might be ok; sometimes, the fantasy is better than the reality, anyway. Best lyric: “It’s the kind of cold / fogs up windshield glass, but I felt it when I passed you / There’s an ache in you / put there by the ache in me.”

5. tolerate it Inspired by the novel Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, “tolerate it” is an agonizing track from the perspective of a devoted wife who polishes plates and paints portraits and waits by the door for her husband with a battle hero’s welcome, who at best tolerates all her adoration. There are few things as painful as idolization being met with indifference, when you have all this love to give to someone who just leaves it there untouched. “tolerate it” captures that desperation for the approval you know will never arrive, but you sit and watch, waiting for it just in case you’re wrong, but you know you’re not. Best lyric: “I made you my temple, my mural, my sky / now I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life / drawing hearts in the byline”

6. no body, no crime feat. HAIM “no body, no crime,” the one evermore song solo-written by Taylor, has the clearest plot from beginning to end. In the same vein as the female powerhouse country classic “Goodbye Earl” by The Chicks, Taylor is out for blood to avenge her friend, Este (named for one of the HAIM sisters). The story goes as such: Este’s husband kills her for calling him out on his infidelity, and then Taylor kills the husband and frames his mistress. The HAIM girls, who are long-time friends of Taylor’s and former touring mates, lend their vocals to reinforce the accusation on the husband and to provide Taylor’s alibi. “no body, no crime” is so far the closest we’ve gotten to a return to “country Taylor,” proving that she is still the master of a killer country tune (yes, pun intended, it had to be done I’m sorry). Best lyric: “Good thing Este’s sister’s gonna swear she was with me / (she was with me, dude) / Good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy”

7. happiness Written a week before the album’s release, “happiness” is one of Swift’s strongest and most reflective breakup songs. Although she writes it as though it is recent, there’s a lot of power in knowing that she’s been happily in love for four years, and that she is even better now at doing the thing that has always been best at. She is finally “above the trees,” as she sings, and is able to see it all for what it is, but her character is still in the heat of it all, trying to navigate the stages of grief when a relationship ends. We see the narrator grapple with many of those stages throughout the song. Most striking is the anger displayed in the second verse when she sings: “I hope she’ll be a beautiful fool who takes my spot next to you / No, I didn’t mean that, / sorry, I can’t see facts through all of my fury.” That section is jarring and feels like one of the most honest moments in a Taylor song, the insanely difficult emotional balancing act when we are grieving a relationship. The devastation of loss can distort our perception, and a part of that is the difficulty of understanding how multiple seemingly opposing things can co-exist in our hearts, such as happiness because of someone and happiness after them. But when you leave it all behind and finally find your place above the trees, you can find happiness after someone and also look back and appreciate the happiness they once provided. Both of these things can be true. Best lyric: “Showed you all of my hiding spots / I was dancing when the music stopped.”

8. dorothea Taylor Swift has the uncanny ability to create such developed and well-rounded characters with such little information, which is what makes her storytelling so compelling. In “dorothea,” we learn much about the title character through the narrator’s eyes, and the relationship they once had. The lyric “skipping the prom just to piss off your mom and her pageant schemes” alone tells an entire story in itself. “dorothea” is also the companion song to “’tis the damn season,” just from the other person’s perspective, which helps shine even more light on the story. The narrator of “dorothea” reveres her but wonders if she’s still the same soul in L.A. as she was back in their never-changing town. Whatever the answer, they’re still willing to support her no matter where she is, but she’s always welcome back in Tupelo by her hometown love’s side if she ever just wants to be herself rather than someone known for who they know. Besides, they’re the only soul who can tell which smiles she’s faking. And you can always return to the road not taken. Best lyric: “They all wanna be ya / but are you still the same soul I met under the bleachers? / Well, I guess I’ll never know / and you’ll go on with the show.”

9. coney island feat. The National What really started the folklore / evermore journey was Taylor’s love for The National. Taylor has cited them as one of her favorite bands for many years, and as we know, this led to her beautiful new collaborative relationship with Aaron Dessner. So it would make sense for the track written with the intention of this duet to be so well executed; you can feel the love and care Taylor put into writing this song. In her press for these sister albums, she has spoken about trying to channel frontman Matt Berninger’s writing style. But what actually happened was she just produced her own signature lyricism at its sharpest. “We were like the mall before the internet, it was the one place to be / the mischief, the gift-wrapped suburban dreams / sorry for not winning you an arcade ring over and over,” is a hall of famer Swift-ian lyric. “coney island” explores the confusion, hurt, and self-reflection when a passionate affair burns out fast because you did not prioritize that person. And to top it off, Swift and Berninger’s harmonies are achingly beautiful, transporting you right there in the story, on the bench, wondering, over and over. Best lyric: “Do you miss the rogue who coaxed you into paradise and left you there? / Will you forgive my soul when you’re too wise to trust me and too old to care?”

10. ivy Leave it to Taylor Swift to make a song about an affair sound so romantic, and so sympathetic to the narrator, that you’re rooting for adultery. “ivy” tells the tale of a woman in a lifeless marriage, likening her home with him to the tombstone that the widow in town visits each day. I like to think this is the same wife whose husband was out there building other worlds without her in “tolerate it,” because then that means she found someone who celebrates her love, who holds her pain for her, who blooms all over her; they started it, but she’s fighting for it all the way to the end, nonetheless. “ivy” showcases Swift’s gorgeous vocals and her sharp lyrics, with a melody so infectious it is bound to permanently plant its roots in your dreamland. Best lyric: “Oh, I can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland / my house of stone, your ivy grows, and now I’m covered in you.”

11. cowboy like me With the beautifully blended backing vocals of Marcus Mumford, “cowboy like me” is an entrancing love story of two con artists who lost at their own game and got conned into forever with each other. She’d gone from swindling old men for their money and fancy cars to falling victim to the danger of dancing with someone who only has eyes full of stars, and she knows she’ll pay for it. “cowboy like me” is one of the most romantic tracks on the record, proving that life never plays out quite as we plan. Best lyric: “Now you hang from my lips like the gardens of Babylon / with your boots beneath my bed / Forever is the sweetest con.”

12. long story short One of the more pop-sounding tracks on evermore, “long story short” is pretty much a summary of the long story behind reputation (2017). The song is filled with various metaphors for her reputation crumbling around her, and then finally putting her defenses down to be with her lover, someone as “rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky.” It is a sweet ode to her boyfriend, and a gentle comfort to her past self that it will all work out. But it is also an oddly relatable example of how we shrug off our struggles and minimize them to just a “bad time,” when the time she is singing about was obviously something that deeply affected her (as will be further explored in the title track); but sometimes it actually feels good to just shrug it off as just a blip in your life, because at the end of the day, you survived, and that’s what counts- even if you’re not keeping score anymore. Best lyric: “Pushed from the precipice / clung to the nearest lips / long story short, it was the wrong guy. / Now I’m all about you.”

13. marjorie Whereas track 13 on folklore was a tribute to Swift’s paternal grandfather, evermore’s track 13 is a tribute to her maternal grandmother, Marjorie Finlay, who was an opera singer in the 50s, and passed away in 2003 when Taylor was 13 years old. “marjorie” is quite possibly the most touching track Taylor has ever written thus far in her career. Grief is one of the most difficult topics to tackle in a song; the genius of “marjorie” is that it is simple, yet not understated. Swift reflects on the profound lessons she learned from her grandmother, about the difficult balances of kindness and cleverness, and politeness and power. She curses herself for not cherishing the moments she had with her, for complaining rather than understanding in the moment how admirable her spirit was, for all the amber skies she’d love but will never see. The chorus, blunt and hard-hitting, reminds us that someone does not have to be living to be alive, to be all around, to be with us. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were singing to me now,” Taylor sings towards the end of the song, right before you hear a sample of Finlay’s opera singing in the background, a truly eye-swelling moment. It is clear that Finlay played a pivotal role in Swift’s own ambitions, as she sings, “all your closets of backlogged dreams, and how you left them all to me.” Marjorie knew she was leaving them in good hands. If you haven’t yet, check out the moving lyric video for the song, where you can see photos and video clips of Marjorie, both throughout her career and in her time with Taylor. Best lyric: “Never be so polite you forget your power, / never wield such power you forget to be polite.”

14. closure On the most experimental track musically on the record, Taylor writes off her need for closure from a relationship of some sort, whether it be romantic or platonic or business, all of which can cause hurt of equal intensity. The subject of the song is trying to make nice with Taylor, and she is just not having it, as it is not coming from a genuine place, but rather to ensure that their life remains picture perfect, or to clear their guilty conscience, or to preserve their own ego. This is a deeply relatable sentiment; as valuable as forgiveness can be, sometimes the person who hurt you just doesn’t deserve it, and all you can do is forgive yourself for blocking their number or shredding their letters. Best lyric: “I know I’m just a wrinkle in your new life / staying friends would iron it out so nice.”

15. evermore feat. Bon Iver To close out the standard edition of the album, Taylor joins forces once again with Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, with whom she collaborated on the Grammy-nominated duet, “exile” for folklore. However, Swift leads most of the track this time, lamenting the difficult time she went through in 2016. The piano and Swift’s vocals are haunting, particularly when she describes this time in her life as “catching my death,” consumed by a pain that she feels will never end. If you’ve ever been depressed, you know what that feels like, and the dark places it leads you. Although she is singing about a time four years prior, it sounds so present, and it is heartbreaking to hear her in such a state. When Bon Iver comes in, the tempo of the song picks up, the piano riff becomes more erratic, like a winter storm hitting you in the face, and he voices all the anxieties of the cost of such a downfall. But through those anxieties, Taylor finds not a cure, but an anchor in love, and then the tempo slows back down. By the end of the song, Taylor has the foresight to understand that although it may not feel like it now, the pain she is experiencing is not permanent (a sentiment my therapist has been trying to instill in me for years). In her Apple Music interview with Zane Lowe, Taylor explained how the lyrics parallel the times we are in currently, and so it feels really special to have the album end with someone who knows how it feels to be imprisoned by your pain gently comfort us with the wisdom that “this pain wouldn’t be for evermore.” I hope one day soon, as we leave 2020 far behind, we can all truly believe her. Best lyric: “I was catching my breath / barefoot in the wildest winter catching my death.”

16. right where you left me (bonus track) The first bonus track on evermore, “right where you left me,” captures a moment so earth-crushing, a piece of you is trapped in it forever. In this song specifically, the narrator finds herself stuck in the same corner of a restaurant where she was told by someone she loved that they had met someone else. “Glass shattered on the white cloth, everybody moved on,” she sings in mourning. We have all experienced those moments that we could teleport back to if we just closed our eyes; the scenery, what you wore, the smell and taste of the season, the very point in your body where it felt like your insides were collapsing. Or that one particular person, who is long-gone from your life but seeing them is like time-travelling back to that person you once were, ready to pick up where you left off. But as much as you want to stay in that moment forever, just in case it changes in your favor, the cold reality is that the world stops for no one. Best lyric: “If our love died young, I can’t bear witness / And it’s been so long, but if you ever think you got it wrong / I’m right where you left me.”

17. it’s time to go (bonus track) “right where you left me” was Taylor’s cry for help to get out of restaurant, and “it’s time to go” is the answer to the call, as she sings in the first line, “when the dinner gets cold, and the chatter gets old / you ask for the tab.” This song is about gathering the strength to leave situations and relationships behind that no longer serve you. She grieves the betrayal of someone she thought to be a twin from her dreams (almost definitely referring to former friend, Karlie Kloss), acknowledges that keeping a marriage together for the sake of the kids often actually has the opposite intended effect (possibly- but not certainly- something she and her brother experienced), and recounts attempting to bargain with someone consumed by greed, only able to leave with herself (absolutely referring to the end of her fifteen-year long business relationship with Scott Borchetta, her former record-label owner). But as painful as leaving all of those situations was, Taylor has gained the wisdom to understand that walking away sometimes takes as much strength as persevering. You can’t stay at the restaurant, or at the mercy of someone else forever; you have to forge your own path, even if it’s in the opposite direction of what you envisioned for so long. And even with all her past success behind her, as folklore and evermore have proved, there is so much more ahead of her. Best lyric: “That old familiar body ache, the snaps from the same little breaks in your soul / You know when it’s time to go.”

In a time where we are all trapped in our homes and in our heads, the folklore/evermore experience has been the sweetest escape. If anything, the creation of these wonderful sister records has taught me that our most powerful tool in times of distress is our own imagination. Even just the ability to close my eyes while listening to one of these tracks and feel the character’s story is a gift. The way I’ve always been able to pick up Harry Potter and escape to Hogwarts when I’ve felt alone and friendless, I can listen to folklore and evermore when I feel scared or hopeless and escape into this enchanted forest Taylor has built, where I can climb above the trees and see it all for what it is. I feel so lucky to watch Taylor’s imaginative world unravel around me. I can’t wait to see what she creates next.

DISCLAIMER – REVIEWER’S BIAS: I would literally die for this bitch.  

[leatherbookmarking]

sits.

a curse/plot imperative hits nmj and makes him invisible (inaudible, untouchable, etc, etc) while he’s in jinlintai. he’s convinced it’s somehow jgy’s doing, so he sets to find him and make him remove it, except, of course, shouting your san-di into anything is a bit difficult when he acts as if he can’t see or hear you -- the gall, the--oh fuck and walks right through you, as if you were a ghost?! fucked up. really fucked up, alright. and he can’t summon baxia to like, cleave the bastard in half, so he settles on following him everywhere, determined to discover the way to uncurse himself (because it’s clearly jgy, cmon). and also all the atrocities and plots jgy is undoubtedly up to when no one’s looking.

he finds... things, oh that he does. and stuff. such as: what jin guangshan looks like after a merry night with the girls (jgy came to wake him up). or: how jin guangshan behaves with a barely awake girl who passed out last night, and how long it takes for jgy to politely persuade him to perhaps get up and go have breakfast, or madame jin might be cross with him. or: how jin guangshan snorts and pushes his son away, sending him straight into what looks and smells like a puddle of vomit, for some reason. etc, etc

during those very educating hours, nmj does get an answer to the immediate question of why does he allow that to happen to him?!, and the one to provide it is no one else than madame jin, who never wastes a chance to remind jgy that he’s a disgusting bastard, this is not his home, and one wrong step can send him back down those stairs, so watch your place. she’s not the only one to voice her thoughts in this manner, because a couple of cousins also always has something to say. eventually he also learns to recognize the less obvious signs of someone’s contempt -- jgy sometimes does that soulless smile or clenches his jaw and nmj initially doesn’t know why, that person didn’t say anything hateful, and then he learns to notice the facial expressions, the tone of voice, even the backhanded compliments. tl;dr jinlintai is hell, what the fuck, nmj would have beheaded half of those bastards and jgy just keeps on smiling--

i mean he does find the corpses too, okay. he does find them because jgy has to pay a-yang a visit. like this is a thing that happens,

BUT ALSO he witnesses his meeting with sect leader su -- oh his name’s minshan, whatever -- who seems to be... aware of everything that happens to jgy and fucking furious about it, and also something something society. this su minshan notices that jgy has been slapped this day, and looks as if he’s boiling inside for a moment, and then he Snaps, which -- judging by jgy’s face -- isn’t his first time.

nmj finds out about a lot of interesting things after that? such as jgy doesn’t have any place to leave for, and if he “doesn’t like it” at jinlintai, he might as well just hang himself, it’ll be quicker that way; how his sworn brothers must think they’re so great and noble but how can they be any of these if jgy doesn’t feel he can ask them for help; how jin guangshan may be his father but it doesn’t excuse him deliberately putting jgy to the most humiliating, dirty and atrocious tasks, and ordering him to kill nie mingjue is honestly too much, what, can’t he kill him himself, this old, pathetic worm? does he have to send his son? and to nie mingjue, who regards him as lower than an insect, as if it wasn’t him who saved his ungrateful ass, etc etc? it’s a very enlightening evening for nie mingjue, in short

of course sms uses slightly gentler words; but jgy tells him off for that anyway, but at this point nmj... sails off a little, needing time to... (gestures) this ALL

and like. how it ends is honestly not as important as the EXPERIENCE, like LEARN A LITTLE, NIE MINGJUE. nmj is a character that, i feel, hasn’t really been robbed of his agency and power as others have (jgy being jgy, wwx and jc losing their cores, lxc losing his home and family etcetc).

like yes, he’s been living with the looming threat of losing his mind to saber brain, but being so possessed by rage and killing intent that you explode, killing everyone around you is slightly different flavour of hell than being aware that anyone could kill you anytime and no one would care! or notice.

so all the scenarios where he loses a lot of his power -- for example his golden core, i think i had an idea like that on twt, rip in pieces -- and can witness, first or second hand, what it’s like to be jgy or jgy-adjacent, are. good. crunchy. juicy and umami. yknow?

so, does he get uncursed? does he decide to help jgy, now seeing him in a different light? does he See, and feel bad about his black-and-white views? or does he simply -- march into xy’s merry little workshop when jgy is there, drag him out and execute him in front of everyone? who knows, it could be a very interesting fic i’m not going to write, but also, hngggghhh i am sorry for saying this and i love da-ge, his firm titties and his sexey moustache to Bits, but -- yesss nmj can get brought down a peg or seven from time to time. as a treat (for me).

also, it was all sms

[caratmagic]

—jung wooyoung—

contains: arguing, pretty offensive words, explicit content

word count: 2.3k

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Enemy Territory 🌻chapter 4🌻

You hate that you find yourself dragging your feet slowly—yet quietly— to Wooyoung’s door. Hoping that the noises you hear from behind it aren’t those of pleasure.

There’s an exchange of them chatting, audible enough to hear but not enough to make out the words. As if snooping like this wasn’t enough, you press the shell of your ear against the door. Using the frame of it to steady your body from making any unnecessary movements or noise.

A rustle. Then several more. You think you hear the sheets move.

They’ve stopped talking.

More silence, then a loud thump onto the floor.

Your heart races out of your chest and you have a hard time picturing what could possibly be going on inside Wooyoung’s room.

Footsteps hurry to the door and before you could get more than halfway down the hall, Wooyoung’s body peeks out from behind his door.

“Snooping on me now?” He scoffs with that annoyingly charming sneer. “I thought we were supposed to stay out of each other’s business? Now look who’s breaking their own rules.”

You shut your eyes tightly while your back faces your ex.

Fuck.

A breath quickly fills your lungs as you turn around in efforts to compose your expressions. You’re somehow confused as to why he was suddenly wearing a shirt.

“I— I was just about to knock and ask you what type of meat you wanted to grill, you idiot.” Your mouth moves faster than your thoughts and you’re so glad that your brain was quick enough to pull something straight out of your ass. “I didn’t want to…  interrupt.”

Wooyoung holds the door open slightly for you to catch a small glimpse of the girl politely seated at the edge of his bed. Blinking curiously at you with a content smile on her face, although her tears still stain her cheeks. “It’s not even noon yet y/n, I’m smarter than that to start having rough sex knowing that you’re in the apartment.”

This thought somehow makes your stomach turn and not in a pleasant way. You didn't want to imagine Wooyoung like this with someone else. Yet, an image of him bare and in his sexual glory flashes across your mind and for a second you forget that you aren’t single. You forget that you have a neglectful boyfriend who likes to have sex with you once a week then proceeds to avoid you until the next weekend arrives.

Does Wooyoung have sex often when I’m not around? Did he have to use the word ‘rough’? Do they have rough sex together?—

Why was the thought of Wooyoung having sex with someone else more distressing to you than the entire problem of your boyfriend literally using you as a weekend booty call?

Not a single soul should know why, because the reality of it all is that: One, Wooyoung is single. And two, you are not.

So you had no right to be bothered about it.

Right?

“Uh. Right,” You subconsciously mess with the tips of your fingers to think of what to say next since you didn’t expect that his comment would throw your mind into a loop. “Just text me when you’ve, um, decided what you want. I’ll head to the store now since you’re busy… so you’ve got 20 minutes to make a choice.”

“No need to wait 20 minutes for me to text you, y/n,” Wooyoung slowly pulls his lips into a gentle smile. A smile that sets off a million bursts of fireworks through your chest. “You already know what kind of meat I like to grill.”

Instantly you blink away the feeling—or at least try to ignore it. “People change. Just wanted to ask in case you had a change in taste.”

Wooyoung presses his lips together before nodding his head slowly. Clearly catching your composure and deciding not to point it out due to the guest on his bed. “Uh, nope. My tastes are constant, y/n.”

The worst part of it all is, your conversation was being monitored by a ditsy flower, just waiting for Wooyoung to come back and take care of her… You hated it. Everything about this set up.

Now, heading out of the apartment to get groceries seemed like a much better idea to you than twiddling your thumbs to wait for Wooyoung’s pretty guest to leave.

“I’ll head out then.”

Upon grabbing your purse and your keys, you curse at yourself mentally for getting caught snooping. Even scolding your heart for causing your mind to lose control of your emotions.

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

It had only been half an hour since you left to get ingredients for the meal with Wooyoung, yet a familiar vehicle pulls into the apartment complex parking lot.

A few flights up and your boyfriend is back at the front of your door. Sure to himself that your car has left and that you’d be gone for a while.

San punches in the code of your apartment door. When it opens, a girl stands on the other side peering up at San with a shocked expression.

“Oh hey, It’s y/n boyfriend.” She smiles before turning to Wooyoung who, at the moment, keeps a straight face.

They had finally completed their 30 minute rant session, where she comes to him for help with her loneliness. Which was a topic to talk about for another time since Wooyoung felt like it wasn’t even his place to do it for her— also, considering he’s rejected her multiple times to be something more than her emotional support friend.

He never felt like a new relationship was something he needed.

As far as relationships are concerned, Wooyoung has enough on his plate to deal with considering the ugly truth he’s recently discovered. And of course, his unsettled feelings for his gorgeous ex.

“What are you doing back?” Wooyoung asks San, holding the door open for his emotionally unstable friend.

“Uh, coming to see my girlfriend??” San exchanges an offended glare at Wooyoung.

“Oh, I thought you already had your fill for her last night… What happened? Fell asleep before you could finish the job?” Wooyoung’s words are calm yet sharp like knives. Attacking San with precision as he tilts his head in accusation. “She’s out getting groceries.” He adds.

“You know,” San narrows his eyes, striding to level his face right in front of Wooyoung’s. “You have a lot of nerve thinking you can have any say in our relationship considering you’re her fucking ex.”

“We only broke up because I decided to switch colleges last minute without telling her.” Wooyoung doesn’t back down. He’s aware that his choice was the reason why the two of you broke up and that he should’ve told you sooner he wasn’t going to go to the same college as you guys had planned. “At least I never snuck out of bed after having sex with her.”

San scoffs at the gall. “Don’t act like you fucking know me.”

“I don’t.” Wooyoung shifts his weight and sticks his hands into his jean pockets. “But I know every part of y/n way better than you do. Every. Single. Part.”

San’s hand clenches into a fist and right before he draws it back to swing at Wooyoung. The girl awkwardly standing beside them in the threshold of the door raises her voice. “Hey, as much as I like the drama, I kind of have work so if I can just pass through…”

San doesn’t steer his eyes away from Wooyoung as he takes a step to the side for the girl to get around his body. Too peeved to realize that he was blocking the door.

“…I’ll see you later, Wooyoung. Thanks for helping me out again.” She waves before disappearing into the hall.

San huffs through his nose. It’s upsetting to him that Wooyoung doesn’t even seem the least bit affected by the situation. “Why aren’t you packing your shit? Isn’t this your last week?”

As if his train of thought derails, without even waiting for an answer to his own questions, San pushes past your ex and heads straight into your room.

Looking for what he left so recklessly before sneaking away that morning.

Wooyoung, with his hands still in his pockets, calmly follows San. Watching your boyfriend’s frantic search for whatever he’s misplaced.

Since Wooyoung respects your privacy, he stops right at the entrance of your room. “Did you wait for y/n to leave the apartment?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” San tosses a pillow off your bed. Not sparing a single glance at your ex.

“I don’t know,” Wooyoung leans against the door. “I mean, if I had something to hide, I guess I’d want to wait until she was gone too.”

San stops completely. His heart drops to his stomach when he turns to your ex standing in front of your room. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Wooyoung shrugs with a playful smirk etching onto his face as one of his hands pulls something out of his right pocket. “You tell me.”

There. What San was looking for.

His phone.

“Where did you find that!?” San yells as he practically dives for it.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Wooyoung shoves it back into his pocket. Placing his hand in front of himself defensively. “Question is, why are you so upset?”

San swallows and processes quickly before clearing his throat. He couldn’t understand why his palms were so sweaty. “It’s—Because it’s fucking mine! Hand it over!”

Wooyoung shakes his head, angling his body away from your boyfriend. “It can’t be yours.”

“Are you fucking mad?” San yells again. Smacking Wooyoung’s arm away from the position he’s guarding his pocket. “Of course, it is. It’s my phone!”

“No, no, no.” Wooyoung’s stupid, playful smile begins to boil hate into San’s veins. “This can’t be your phone.”

“I’ll drop kick that fucking smile off your face, you son of a bitch, give me back my phone!”

“Dude,” Wooyoung chuckles, loving how riled up your shitty boyfriend is getting. “I swear this phone has got to be someone else’s… because when I saw it on the couch, ringing at 4 am, someone named Eunji was calling to ask if her ‘daddy’ was still going to—and I’ll quote her on this, “Rearrange my guts like you always do on Saturday nights.” And you're telling me you’re certain that this is your phone?”

The reality settles into the air and San realizes that he’s been caught cheating on you… by your ex.

This is when Wooyoung’s twisted smirk turns into an angry scowl. He’s disgusted that you found a man so indisputably vile and unloyal.

“You really think you’ll get away with this? Lying to y/n like this and fucking her once every week just to make up for how shitty a person you are?”

San’s gaze falters to the floor and he snatches his phone from the unguarded pocket of Wooyoung’s jeans. “What are you gonna do, huh? Tattle-tail on me?” He shoves it into his back pocket, scoffing. “She’ll never believe you. She hates you.”

“Even if she does,” Wooyoung turns on his heels and enters into his room across the hall. “She’ll wish you were dead after figuring out that you leave her in the mornings just to be in some other woman’s bed the very same night.”

San follows Wooyoung a few steps into the hall. “You wouldn’t dare tell her.” He spits.

An exasperated sigh paired with the front door swinging open, startles the two men away from glaring at one another.

*********

After 30 minutes of shopping, you head home.

The entire time in the parking lot, you were gathering the courage to talk yourself into confidently walking back into your house. 

So what if he was having sex? You have sex all the time with San while Wooyoung stays in the room across the hall from yours.

How is coming back home knowing that he’s having fun with a woman be any different?

Equality at its best example for it. You remind yourself as you exit the elevator.

To your dismay, You were unpleasantly greeted by a very voluptuous woman with intruding questions as to why you were going to enter into her boyfriend’s home.

You push past the nuisance at your front door. Sighing as you lazily drop the groceries onto the floor.

You can only assume that this other girl— an entirely different girl compared to the one from this morning—is Wooyoung's little problem.

This boy must be cheating… What a waste. “Taste’s are constant” my ass.

You pray that Wooyoung’s ditsy girl toy from earlier this morning has left.  Though you liked witnessing drama, you didn’t want to see two girls fight over your ex. “Wooyoung? I think you have a guest.” You call out as you take off your shoes.

To your surprise, Your boyfriend is staring at you from the hallway— eyes wide and stunned.

Wooyoung steps out of his room to stand in the hall next to San. A flat smile sets on his features as he stares at you and eunji. “I won’t need to…” He seems to be talking to San when he speaks. “Next time, set a better password on your phone. You never know who’ll scroll through your messages and send people your girlfriend’s address.”

This confuses you. Immensely. More so, when San’s face drains of all color.

“Baby! Who the hell is this girl?” Miss voluptuous checks your shoulder as she rushes past you. Headed towards Wooyoung with her arms stretched out.

What rattles your world from it’s axis isn’t that Wooyoung doesn’t hold her, it’s that the girl doesn’t even look at him. She doesn’t even acknowledge that Wooyoung’s standing there.

Instead,

She’s all over your boyfriend. Calling him “baby’ and glaring at you as if you were nothing more than a disgusting insect.

No, no… I must be dreaming.

“Sannie, who the hell is this girl and why is she coming into your apartment?”

[ chapter 5 >> ] 

[illusionsofdreaming]

the next life;

Notes: It’s here. I did mention that I was inspired by one of my previous reblogs about existential conversations (here) except I took it and decided it’d probably do well with angst LOL

Ft: Cale

Of all possible endings, this had to be the least satisfying one. Away from all the main action, unable to watch the final blow and too damn tired to move into a more comfortable position. The cheers can be heard from where you were so at least you can be assured the war's been won. Finally. You groaned a relieved sigh, I can get some much needed sleep.

A nice warm drink would be pleasant too, you thought as you shivered, it's getting a bit chilly. You blinked at the dirt encrusted on your lashes. A bath. Yes, that would also be very nice. But most of all, you'd really wish you could gather enough strength to turn over just a bit just so you can alleviate the ache in your neck from having one side pressed to the ground for an extended period of time. 

As if the Gods heard your wishes, you heard footsteps towards your side then a pressure against your shoulder as they gently rolled you from your uncomfortable position till you faced the sky, a much more agreeable arrangement than having your face pressed to the dirt. You grimaced as you blinked from the sun shining in your eyes. You were ready to thank the stranger, grateful for the assistance. However, the words died in your mouth when you realised who it was that helped you roll over.

"Shit.." your horror escaped from you in a laugh. "I had hoped you wouldn't be the one…"

His signature red hair was caked with so much dust it almost looked brown, but though his face was covered in dirt and blood, his eyes never shone brighter. He looked like a mess. 

Cale also looked absolutely furious. 

"Idiot." his face was pinched with anger, but his movements were careful as he sat down beside you, hand running down his face in exhaustion. There was a spark in the distance, probably Raon flying off to get help.

You couldn't feel your right arm or leg, not that you had any hopes of either surviving the blast when you had, with all intentions, leapt in front to receive it. You coughed, nearly choking on your blood if not for him turning you to the side to let the fluid out. He wiped the corners of your mouth meticulously. His frown deepened.

You sighed. "That bad huh…?"

Cale didn't say anything, which ironically only confirmed your worst suspicions.

"It's… alright." You breathed slowly, lips twitching into the beginnings of a smile if not for the warning glare he gave you. His eyes were vicious. 

"I thought I told you to survive." he gritted, "That no matter what happens, if it's dangerous, you must run. Nothing's more important than surviving. What's this bullshit?"

You grimaced, accepting his anger. This was why you didn't want him to find you first. Anyone but him. The one who sacrificed so much to get everyone here, the one who told them to 'survive' at all costs. In the end, despite your strengths and skills, you were still human. One misstep, a fraction of a second too late to dodge, and it costed you. That was just how war worked.

"..there was a kid.." It was either you or him. There was barely any time to react, and you had leapt forward to push them aside before your mind could even process your body moving. You managed to dodge the enemy's blades, but it had been too late for you to move away from the demon who masqueraded as a child.

He gently moved you, shifting you so that your back rested against his chest, leaning on him. "Stop talking and conserve your energy. Jack and the dragons are coming."

You kept quiet, groaning in pain when his hand touched your side, squirming when he pressed down against the sluggishly bleeding wound. Deep down, you knew help would arrive too late. You had bled too much and for far too long. Your injury was also touched by demonic energy, even the ancient dragons would find hard it hard to dispel the twisted mana poisoning your blood. He probably knew all this too, but Cale had always been stubborn to a fault. He had always been the one to look for solutions even when things seemed impossible.

"Hmm..." you huffed and reached to grab the wrist of his hand pressed to your side, hoping he would ease up on the pressure, not at all surprised when he wouldn't budge. This bastard. 

You let out a shaky sigh, frowning but let go of his hand. ".. humour me while we wait for help then.." He 'tsked' softly, probably wanting you to stop talking and rest but also knew he had no chance in stopping whatever it was you wanted to say. You took a ragged breath, "..do you think we'll meet each other again in our next lives?"

Immediately he glanced down, a flash of sternness in his eyes. "What nonsense are you going on about-"

"Humour me Cale. It's boring to wait in silence." You could see his frown, knew he wanted to retort and expose your bluff, but he held back. For that, you were grateful. 

He took a deep breath then replied quite bluntly. "No, you're too bothersome."

You laughed, "Really?" you coughed again, blood spilling down your lips. You pretended you didn't see how his hand shook as he wiped away the stains, his grip tightening around you as your body shuddered from shock.

"Don't talk anymore." his voice was soft.

"I think I'll probably find you again.." you mused quietly. 

He scoffed in disbelief at your gall of ignoring him and the idea of it all. "How would you know it's me? I might not even look the same."

"Hmm... I think I'll just know." You looked to the skies, your vision darkening. Someone with his particular brand of charm would be hard to miss. Cale Henituse is the type of person to attract a following no matter where he went. "Ha…this life was fun.. but.. I think I'd like to enjoy a slacker one next time."

"You can enjoy a slacker life this life." he corrected you.

"Mhm...sure.." you acquiesced softly as you lost your vision. "..In my next life.. when I find you again.. no matter what form.. I think... I'll fall in love with you again."

He froze in place.

You smiled wistfully. It was all the little things, the gifts and lingering touches. The long nights spent together to keep each other company, the laughter and the jokes. It was something - never addressed properly because there was war looming ahead. It wasn't time, and you knew better than anyone that it should be the last thing you should be worrying about. But before heading out this morning, you had resolved yourself to finally talk about it after the war's over. After everything's settled. 

"… I'll live a peaceful life.. won't learn any martial arts.. and fall, madly, madly in love.." you coughed, "W-what do you think...?" 

Perhaps if you were a better person, you would've taken it to the grave, never address the what-ifs and could've beens. But upon facing the end, you wanted to be a bit selfish. I.. can do that right?

"Shutup." For the first time ever, you heard his voice waver. But you could've been mistaken. You could no longer see; you wouldn't be surprised if your hearing failed you next.

"Don't talk nonsense. You're not dying." The pressure increased against your side fractionally, but you could no longer feel the pain. 

Thunder rumbled in the sky as the wind picked up. You flexed your hand, searching and was comforted when a larger one gripped yours. ".. I'll definitely find you.. and fall in love with you again..."

"Stop talking."

You smiled, and with this last selfish act of yours, you'll also set him free. ".. don't grieve too long…you should.. live your slacker life...and I'll…" You sighed as the breath left your body and your eyes closed for rest.

…wait for you there, in the next life.

The last thing you felt was rain falling on your face.

(You'd never know that the skies had been the clearest that day with not a single rain cloud in sight.)

[sparring-hyena]

the 5 stages.

thanks @cloakanddaggerthings for the gentle nudge with this one.

OR, Poppy’s five stages to accepting that she’s in love.

-

1. denial.

a natural starting point for most things.

Poppy denies most things in the beginning. not because she necessarily wants to, it’s just how her brain’s wired.

she had denied the truth of her paternity when she first found out. had spent years pretending that it didn’t exist all so she could preserve some fantasy of a happy little family.

it hadn’t worked and the fallout had been disastrous. but each time something new comes along, each time she tries to deny again, she always insists that it won’t end that way.

so she denies whatever it is she can feel for AJ. denies it so vehemently that she’s almost able to convince herself that there’s absolutely nothing there.

she says i hate you and goes out of her way to prove it. but sometimes when she says it, AJ will give her an odd look, almost like she can see right through the denial and understand what it really is.

“it’s a self-defence mechanism,” AJ will say so many years later as she gets into bed beside Poppy.

“no it’s not,” Poppy will say, because of course she will. she’ll glance over at AJ through the reading glasses she had insisted she didn’t need, and give her a look that’s lost all its malice but still tries to look intimidating.

but AJ will understand, because she apparently always has, and she’ll say, “okay.” and then she’ll give her a kiss before getting comfortable in bed.

2. anger.

it’s just before winter break in her senior year when the denial stops working. when she realises that she maybe doesn’t really hate AJ at all. and that the hate that she thought she felt was just misplaced frustration because it’s annoying how not annoying she is.

she spends the last few days before everyone goes home stomping around campus and the sorority. she doesn’t say anything to anyone—would never breathe a word of this to another soul—but she lets her actions speak the words that she’s too scared to say.

“alright, what’s wrong?” it’s Veronica who asks, who corners her in the kitchen late one night, and fixes her with a stare that says she’s done dealing with this. “you’ve been in a shit mood all week.”

“no, i haven’t,” Poppy says, because of-fucking-course it’s more denial that comes out of her mouth.

“you have, and it’s obvious that bottling everything up isn’t helping, so spill.”

“leave me alone,” she snaps.

“fine. when you’re ready to talk about it, come find me.” Veronica leaves and Poppy fumes because how dare she try read me.

she goes home for the break and spends most of it angry and annoyed. and when her phone buzzes with a text from AJ, wishing her a happy holiday, she’s fuming because she can’t understand why she’s being nice.

her mother notices. because for all her flaws, she still cares in her own way.

“you know you can talk to me about anything. your father doesn’t have to know,” her mother says as the two of them enjoy their coffee in the morning.

and maybe it’s because she’s tired of being angry or something else entirely, but Poppy says: “there’s this girl.”

“ah. i see.” and then her mother has the gall to smirk as she takes another sip of her coffee.

“there’s nothing to see. it’s just... complicated.”

“oh, i’m sure it is. take it from me, most things that are worth something tend to be.”

they’re talking around the issue again—always talking around, never talking toward.

“just,” her mother sighs and rests her hand on top of Poppy’s, “try not to be angry about this for too long. it’s all time that you won’t get back, okay?”

there’s a small amount of understanding that sparks to life in Poppy. because she does understand. understands what her mother is talking about and how she’s veering dangerously close to following a similar path.

but she still doesn’t understand the how or the when or the why did it have to be her? so the anger remains, but she can see her mother’s words for what they really are—an olive branch, an explanation, an apology. so Poppy says, “thank you,” and finds that she means it.

3. bargaining.

she doesn’t spend much time here. she just thinks what if i had done this instead? and grows frustrated with herself for not doing it.

so it’s mostly just more anger, and then the occasional thought crisis where she imagines how simple her life could be if she’d done just one thing differently. but it’s fine. she’s fine.

except when she’s, decidedly, not fine. it’s when she’s in bed most nights that her brain starts to wander. starts to conjure up all these little scenarios. it’s nothing too outlandish, just little moments where her and AJ are together and totally, completely in—

4. depression.

—love. she’s in love with AJ. but she hasn’t hit the acceptance quite yet, doubts that she ever will. so she falls into a... not quite a depression. she just seems to lose most of her bite.

her words aren’t quite so sharp and pointed anymore, or not nearly as much as they could be. maybe that’s worth something.

she sits alone at one of the picnic tables on the quad during lunch and sorta zones out as she tries to figure out what the fuck she’s going to do now.

someone sits down across from her, and if it were any other time, she’d definitely tell them to get lost. but it doesn’t matter much what she would have done. because AJ is sitting across from her eating a salami sandwich, and Poppy’s first instinct isn’t to tell her to go away, but rather it’s to ask how she’s been

“not too bad,” AJ says with a shrug. “you?”

Poppy shrugs too, unsure of how to answer that. because saying i’ve been really confused lately, but i’m pretty sure i don’t hate you and that i actually love you instead. and also i think my mom and i are getting better seems like way too much. but simply saying good hardly seems like enough.

but AJ looks at her and smiles and Poppy wonders if she understands anyway.

5. acceptance.

she’s known for months by the time she finally accepts it. has known in the way that she feels something so undeniably calm settle over her whenever AJ’s around. has known in the way that all her insults aren’t jaded anymore and are really just i love you’s in disguise.

they’re studying together when Poppy accepts it—AJ on her bed and Poppy at the desk. it’s quiet and it’s a Tuesday afternoon and Poppy knows beyond any sort of doubt that she’s in love.

she doesn’t say it though—not yet anyway. accepting it and saying it are two totally different things. when you say it, you put it out there into the world. you make it real, and Poppy isn’t quite ready for that, but knows that she will be soon enough.

and years later when their feud and i hate you’s and days at Belvoire are so far behind them that it’ll seem like a completely different life, AJ will ask, “when did you know you loved me?”

she won’t even have to think about the answer, it will just fall from her lips like it’s so damn obvious. “when you sat down and ate your salami sandwich,” Poppy will say without looking up from her book.

after a moment of silence she’ll take the reading glasses off that she finally accepted she needed, and look at AJ who’s smiling like they’re twenty-one again and falling in love for the very first time.

[stanknotstark]

Easy Aim (Is Only Exciting Once or Twice) Pt. 5 (Loki x Reader)

Loki’s turn to be a woman in every sense. Guys normally react pretty badly to our level of cramping but I don’t make Loki react too badly because he’s a warrior and probably has felt worse pain. If anything it’s more uncomfortable for him but not enough to warrant much reaction! 

Finally. 

It’s Loki’s turn to suffer. 

You hadn’t come up with a way to get back at the god but karma was a bitch. 

Loki walked into the kitchen and because of his obvious mood the team became quiet. You’re pretty sure the temperature dropped like five degrees too. 

“Who pushed you out the wrong side of bed, seeing as you haven’t had your cereal yet?” Tony asked. 

You snorted into your bite of eggs. 

Loki scathingly looked at you and Tony.

“I will piss on your mother’s grave, Stark.” Loki bites at the man. 

“Loki!” You yelled at the man. Going for Tony’s mother was off limits. Kind of like how the team didn’t ask questions about Loki’s true parentage. 

Tony waved you off with a smile. 

“Oh, you didn’t get pushed out of bed. You woke up with a big red spot on the sheets, didn’t you?” Tony says with a light voice. 

Realization dawns on you. Loki drops the bagel he had picked up and looks to you with squinted eyes. 

Loki had obviously never dealt with this when he shapeshifted. 

You quickly stand, gather Loki’s breakfast and push him out of the kitchen, with little resistance, and towards the direction of your room. Ignoring the Avengers questions and concerns. You were so worried you left your own breakfast.

When you both reach your floor. You make him set his breakfast down in the living room, then push Loki to your bathroom and have him sit on the toilet. 

It’s too silent so you start talking to fill it.

“Usually when I’m about to start I get extremely horny the week before. Then when the actual day hits I’m cramping like crazy, mostly in my lower back.” You explain as you pull out a bunch of pads from under your sink. 

Loki looks at you with something akin to fear but it’s not quite fear, when you glance at him.

“That explains the pain...” Loki whispers with realization.

“The second day is the heaviest so you’ll need to check your pad more so than usual and keep a bottle of Midol nearby because the cramping is terrible. Wait, do Earth medicines even work on you?” You ask the god, freezing your looking to look at him but continue when he shrugs at you. 

“The second day you’re also going to deal with mood swings, like, bad so maybe stay away from people?” You tell Loki as you realize you didn’t give him night pads so you search under your sink again.

“The third day it lightens up and usually my hormones balance out. The fourth day you’ll still need to wear a pad, it’ll only be spotting but it’ll spot enough to bleed through your clothes. If you feel like randomly crying at the smallest things, or even something as random as someone sneezing that is normal.” You explain to Loki. 

“Wait, I have read about periods, to an extent, but why am I having one exactly?” Loki asks.

You leave the room to find a plastic bag for all the stuff you’re giving Loki, when you come back you explain to Loki who sits there patiently. “Your uterus is shedding it’s walls because you’re not pregnant.” 

Loki squints at you. 

“How many times does this occur in your lifetime?” 

“Once a month till you hit menopause.” You tell him flippantly. 

You smile as Loki looks bewildered. 

“When do you experience menopause and when do periods generally begin?” 

“Usually around fifty and they start around twelve but can start as early as eight years old.” You shrug down at him. 

Loki closes his eyes, rubs a hand over his face with a sigh. When his hand drops he shakes his head. “And males have the gall to call presenting females weak.” 

You actually laugh at that causing Loki to softly smile up at you. 

“I uh, suggest buying some panties that you don’t care about, comfortable too, because you’re going to get blood on them whether you like it or not. I would offer you my panties but that is...gross, for some reason, even if you are in my body.” You babble out to Loki who nods at you as he stands. 

You throw the pads he holds into the plastic bag you hold, throw the nightly pads in, throw in a new bottle of Midol then hand it to him. 

“Eat with me, I’ll answer all your questions after you put a pad on of course.” You tell Loki, leaving the bathroom. You’re pretty sure he can figure out the pad. 

You sit waiting in the living room on the big couch. 

Loki comes out of your room not long after and sits next to you, pulling his plate from the coffee table and getting comfy. 

You’re shocked but Loki decided to sit pushed up against you. You wrap an arm around his shoulders which causes him make a happy noise while he chews and leans into your arm. 

“I guess this explains last night.” You say randomly thinking about the way Loki reacted to you yesterday. 

Loki chews through his honey bagel and nods. 

“It also explains why I’ve been getting wet for the past few days.” He admits without thought. 

You look down at him with a raised brow. “Oh?”

“Yes. There was a time where Steve was lifting something heavy and seeing his muscles bulge made me wet.” Loki explains, eating away, not looking at you but speaking as if he has no care about what he’s sharing. Another milestone you figure.

“There was a moment where you were laughing at something Tony said and that made me wet, I could not fathom why.” 

You laugh a little shocked Loki is sharing this with you. 

“Also, when you were hard that made me wet.” Loki finishes starting to pick at some grapes you had grabbed for him. 

“You’ll tell me you got wet but refuse to tell me you have feelings?” You ask teasingly.

Loki glares at you. 

You smile. 

Loki goes back to his food and you settle further into the couch causing Loki to further settle into your arm. 

“I thought periods last for seven days, did I read false information? Why do yours only last four?” Loki asks after he’s chewed through some of his food.

You hum. “Well everyone is different. Some people last three days, some last the usual seven, some people don’t have them monthly, some do.” You explain. “However if they don’t have them monthly that’s because of a disorder or because they’re young and haven’t balanced out yet.” You thoughtlessly explain better.

Loki is quiet for a bit but then asks. “And you did not know this period was coming?” 

You laugh lightly as your hand around Loki’s shoulders plays with your hair. It’s soft and silky. “Well, I don’t take birth control, I had a bad reaction to the one’s they gave me so I can’t really predict when they’re going to hit me. I can generalize between a few weeks but that’s it.” 

Loki hums, licking honey off his fingers. It’s just as cute as it sounds.

It’s only four hours later when Loki starts. 

You had both moved back into the general public of the tower. You had needed to eat more since you didn’t finish your breakfast then settled in the common area.

You were sitting on the couch with Natasha wrapped in your arms and Clint trying to burrow into your side when Loki made an exclamation crossed with a groan, an arm wrapping along his stomach from across the room where he was reading. 

You perk up and look at him as he looks at you with wide eyes. 

Natasha knowing what’s going on says, “It’s normal if you feel like you’re pissing yourself, you’re fine.” 

Loki relaxes and nods. 

“That’s nasty, Nat.” Clint huffs. 

“It is a natural event for a woman’s body, something they cannot control and you dare call it nasty?” Loki hisses at Clint. 

“There’s blood man!” 

“You see more blood on missions, is there a difference?” Loki points out.

You’re smiling with Natasha, looking between Loki and Clint like it’s a tennis match. 

“Well, it comes out of their vagina.” Clint weakly argues back.

“I have no doubt you’ve put your mouth on a vagina and that failed to gross you out, your arguments are irrelevant.” Loki says going back to his book.

Clint lets a pitiful noise out of his mouth and looks to you and Nat. 

“Don’t look at us, we’re on his side.” Nat says with a shrug, settling back into you. You laugh as Clint rolls his eyes. 

You watch Loki out of the corner of your eye as you converse with Nat and Clint. Loki has an uncomfortable look on his face and his arm is still wrapped around his stomach. 

You tell Nat you need to get up and she groans but allows you to. Then, she climbs onto Clint. 

Out of everyone in the tower you did not expect Natasha to be the most affectionate. 

You grab Loki’s attention and get him to follow you back to your floor, again. When you have him laying on your bed you search in your bathroom for what you seek. 

Coming out of the bathroom a few minutes later you show Loki what you have by holding it up in both hands with a satisfied smile. It’s old fashioned, you probably should just buy a heating pad, but this was given to you by your mother and you can’t let go of it because of sentiment.

“What is that?” Loki asks with confusion etching his face, propped up on his elbow. He stares at the orange, rubber bag you hold. It’s the size of a decorative pillow.

“A water bottle.”

“Are you expecting me to drink it?” He asks slowly.

“No.” You laugh and make your way over to him. 

When you’ve climbed into the bed and cuddled up to Loki you place the warm bottle on his lower stomach and Loki actually groans. 

“I understand the intended use now.” He says in a grateful voice as the heat of the bottle penetrates his aching stomach. 

You smile at him but turn your attention to putting on a movie so Loki may rest here for awhile. 

See, thing is, it doesn’t stop. The cuddling, that is.

The next day Loki comes to you and asks if he may use your water bottle. When you tell him yes and go to give it to him he holds it, looking at it like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. 

“Would you mind.....holding me as I use this?” Loki says in a soft voice, as if afraid he’s going to be rejected.

You can see tears welling up in his eyes when he looks up at you, which you blame on the period. You smile at Loki and nod. 

“Of course.” 

As you lay there with Loki wrapped in your arms, a movie playing in the background, he says, “While I am trying to keep an open mind about this whole situation, the blood clots are disgusting.” 

You laugh, causing Loki to smile up at you. 

“Have you bled through yet?” You ask him after awhile, curious. 

Loki scoffs. “Yes. I was wearing a nice pair of pants at the time. Natasha promised to get the blood out though.” He says with a frown. 

“If anyone here knows how to get blood out of clothes, Natasha would be the expert.” You chuckle out. 

“I must apologize to her. I was a bit snappy at the time because of the frustration of ruining a perfectly good pair of pants. She was close and received the brunt of my frustration.” Loki says, his fingers trailing down the side of your chest as he spoke, his eyes trained on the movie though.

Loki must not be ticklish, you absently think as his fingers drag over your sides and you don’t react. 

It happens again the next day. The day after that too, you both cuddle with the bottle and watch movies. 

When the period ends Loki still comes to your room and cuddles with you. It’s a routine now. Every evening, if there is nothing going on, Loki comes and you both relax into each other and watch movies and tv shows, casually talking or teasing the people in the movies. You refrain from teasing Loki personally until after the period has passed because you’d feel bad if you made him cry.

It’s nice, to say the least. 

What you don’t expect is Loki almost kissing you one day. 

It was a normal day, you were cuddling and watching Die Hard, teasing the actor when things were way exaggerated. You had been rambling on about how some of the action scenes could have ended had Bruce’s character did something else. You had noticed Loki looking at you with a twinkle in his eye but said nothing about it. You really looked down at him when he grabbed your chin and angled it just enough to where he could reach your lips. 

Loki pushes and crawls up, you laying beneath him, frozen. Your eyes roam his face, it’s a little weird looking at your face but you’re too invested in the moment, to invested in the switching bodies thing. His lips come to hover over yours, close enough you could close the distance in a blink but you stay rooted to the bed. You both breath each other in, eyes memorizing everything about this moment. 

Then the moment passes and Loki pulls from you. You let out a deep breath and blink. 

Surprisingly, Loki did not run, instead he cuddled back into you and continued conversation as if nothing had happened. You replied back casually, if not a little shaky from the anticipation you had just experienced. 

Tag list: @a-laufeyson​ 

[ragingpancake]

Ancients bless you for writing McShep. ♥️ I would LOVE to read something about John finding out Rodney plays piano o.o ... And maybe Rodney finds out John plays guitar O.O ... And m a y b e they start playing together 🥺🥺🥺 Or really anything involving them and their respective instruments; it can go wherever you want. ♥️

A/N: I'm so sorry for the delay on this! Thank you so very much for sending me this prompt! I hope you enjoy it! There are a lot of things he thinks he’d rather be doing at two am. Sleep, for one thing, because it’s been a long few days and while the bed the SGC had offered him at Cheyenne Mountain wasn’t as comfortable as the child sized bed he’d grown used to in Atlantis, it served the purpose well enough. But it’s not just the Pegasus Galaxy that hates them and so here he is, driving down the familiar streets of Fort Carson on his way back to the rundown bar he’d left most of his people at about four hours earlier. He’s annoyed, but he also understands: the memorial service for Carson had been rough, his loss felt more acutely somehow here on Earth than it had been on Atlantis and so despite the fact that the bartender had to call him to round up his group of misfits and herd them back to the base, he won’t be too hard on them. Pulling into the bar parking lot, he parks the borrowed car and climbs out, and even from here, he can hear the noise coming from inside and there are a lot of things he expects to find, but as he pulls the door open and steps inside, this is… one hundred percent not one of those things. “Sing us a song you're the piano man

Sing us a song tonight

Well we're all in the mood for a melody

And you've got us feelin' alright

Now John at the bar is a friend of mine—" Rodney spots him now and from his place at the piano, he falters, hitting the wrong keys in his haste to stand and wave, grinning broadly. “Hey! My buddy John! John! Hey! Come here!” John can tell, even from the doorway, that Rodney is completely wasted. His cheeks are flushed, eyes glazed, and Evan Lorne behind him isn’t in any better shape. The only one who appears to not be completely obliterated is Ronon, who’s leaning against the bar with an amused look on his face. John nods in his direction and walks over, never pulling his eyes from Rodney as he sinks back down onto the piano bench, resuming his rousingrendition of Piano Man while the left over stragglers in the bar hoot and holler, clearly enjoying the performance. “How long’s it been like this?” He asks Ronon. “Since ‘bout an hour after you left.” “Why didn’t you call me?” John asks and the look he gives the Satedan isn’t the most charitable. Ronon is not phased, merely shrugging one shoulder. “I dunno. Seems like he probably needed it. He’s had a hard time of it.” John can’t argue that. Out of everyone on Atlantis, he thinks Rodney was probably the closest to Carson. For all the ways they bickered and fought, there was a true friendship there, probably one of the most genuine friendships that Rodney’s ever had. Losing Carson was hard. He leans against the bar beside Ronon, arms crossed over his chest as he just watches, letting Rodney finish up and for the first time since the memorial, John really looks at him; he kind of wants to kick his own ass for not seeing it before, the weight of Rodney’s grief and guilt. Shit. “Yeah,” John sighs finally, making his way up to the bar stage before Rodney can be coerced into an encore performance. He supposes Rodney did need this. “Alright, buddy. C’mon. Time to go.” “But, but, but! John—” “Bar’s closing, pal. C’mon.” For a second, John thinks he’s going to have to enlist Ronon’s help in getting Rodney out, but it’s easy enough to manhandle him on his own, leaving Ronon to Lorne. --- The ride back to Cheyenne Mountain is mostly uneventful. Lorne passes out in the back seat, drooling on Ronon’s shoulder, while Rodney rambles incessantly about putting in an official request to bring a piano back to Atlantis, waxing poetic about all of the benefitsof music in regards to mental health. John placates him, promising he’ll make the request for the next Dedalus run and it seems to be good enough for Rodney who gives him a brilliant crooked smile. John hadn’t realized, until this moment, how long it’s actually seen since the last time he saw Rodney smile a real, genuine smile. Even though he knows it won’t last for much longer.

--- By the time they make it back to the mountain, it’s nearing 4am. Once again, Ronon takes Lorne, leaving John with Rodney and it’s easy enough to usher him back to John’s own quarters so he can keep an eye on him. Rodney’s gone quiet now and John imagines that the alcohol is starting to wear off, the feelings that Rodney had been trying so hard to suppress, creeping back in. “This isn’ my room,” Rodney slurs, and John shrugs. “I can take you there if you want. Just figured it’d be easier to keep an eye on you here.” “Oh,” Rodney says and not for the first time that night, John finds himself surprised by the scientist. He’d been gearing up for a fight, truthfully. Instead, Rodney trudges over to the bed and sits down, nearly pitching forward before John grips his shoulder, keeping him from toppling over. “Easy. I got ya.” And something shifts on Rodney’s face then. Here it comes, John thinks. “I should’a had Carson,” he says, voice strangely tight. “Fishing. We were supposed to go fishing. He wouldn’t have been in the city if I hadn’t—” “—Rodney,” John says, voice gentle. “You cannot go down this road, buddy. You know that. What happened to Carson is not your fault. You’re smart enough to know that.” “Maybe,” he says and he lets John guide him back down against the mattress. “But I should have gone. He was, he was a good friend, you know? So are you. Better than I deserve. So much better.” “That’s not true either,” and it’s these moments that the little cracks in Rodney are visible, the self-loathing thickening the air until it’s almost hard to breathe. “You’re a good guy, Rodney. A pain in the ass, sure, but you’re good. That’s why Carson liked you so much. He knew that. Even if you’re always trying to make sure no one actually sees you.” But they do. John does. He always has. “You gotta get some sleep, alright? We’re heading back tomorrow.” “Yeah,” Rodney agrees. “Yeah. ‘m tired. You should, you should sleep too.” “Don’t worry about me, buddy. Just get some sleep, alright? I’ll be here when you wake up.” And that’s all Rodney needs to close his eyes, the alcohol making it easier to drift into much needed sleep, leaving John to his own thoughts. There’s no point in sleeping now, he thinks. They’re due to Gate out in a few hours, so rather than even try, he reaches for the guitar he’d brought back with him, settling back into the chair across from the bed. He plucks the strings slowly, some long forgotten melody filling the quiet of the room as he watches Rodney sleep. They’ve lost a lot of people. Ford. Griffin. Abrams. Gall. Carson. Each of them have left their mark on all of them, carved into their hearts, their minds. John has spent so much time not letting himself feel, but tonight, it hits him all at once and for a moment, he can’t even breathe. They’ve lost. They keep losing and one day, he has no delusions about losing Rodney too, whether out in the field or to someone better than him, someone like Katie Brown. They have a finite amount of time, and it’s never been as clear to him before as it is now. Rodney is going to spend the rest of his life regretting not going on that damn fishing trip; John will regret not ordering Carson to stand down. It adds to the laundry list of all his other regrets, and he doesn’t think he has room for anymore. He knows what he must do. He settles back, strumming again against the strings, eyes never leaving Rodney’s face. Tomorrow, he decides. Tomorrow, when Rodney’s sobered up, when they’re back home on Atlantis, John will tell him. Maybe they can help each other navigate through the hurt, the loss, and for once… for once, they can deal with what they’re feeling together instead of alone. It’s at least worth a try.

[pagingdoctorbedlam]

And now, that cyberpunk AU I’ve been talking about the past few days...here’s the result from one of my potions for @quirkyseastone ‘s “Brew a Love Potion” event!

Characters: Kaku x Reader; cameos by Chopper, Franky, Kalifa (unnamed) and Rob Lucci (also unnamed).

Genre: Cyberpunk, Enemies to Lovers

TW/CW: Violence, guns and swords, cyborgs, partial memory loss

Word Count: ~4.2k words

...

You'd say it was fate, but really, it was no surprise that the Greatest Thief in Water 7 (that being you, of course) would attract the attention of assassins sooner or later.

The first time you met, you were running along rooftops in the world's first and only floating city, and you nearly ran into his sword. Not one of those laser-sabers or poseur chainsaw-blades, but an actual steel sword that tore your sleeve, would've torn your throat if you hadn't pivoted at the last minute.

"You'd best watch where you're going pal," the assassin said, his smile barely creeping past the high collar of his black uniform. His face was almost entirely hidden, save for large eyes and a long, square nose that jutted from his face like the barrel of a gun. "These rooftops get dangerous at night."

"I could say the same to you," was your response. And you shot him. Not the most romantic introduction ever, you admit, but he walked out of it fine. The bullet seemed to bounce off his torso. Bulletproof vest, you thought at first. You didn't get to consider beyond that because he swung a second blade and did a pretty good job of keeping you on your toes.

From this rooftop, you could see the whole city. Water 7, a marvel of engineering, floated over an ocean that seemed to glitter with starlight instead of all the neon signs. You could look across every district, including all the Docks that produced everything from marvelous flights of fancy to dangerous war machines. Down on the streets, market stalls offered every delight imaginable. Paradise for a thief. But sometimes, you needed a challenge, and a target to stick your ire to. You figured which one might've sent an assassin after you.

"Let me guess," you said between breaths and shots. "You're a government goon, aren't ya'? Mad I stole those weapon blueprints from your headquarters last week?"

The assassin had the gall to laugh. "You sure hit the nail on the head! We put a lot of work into acquiring those, and then you go on and walk right out with them. Got the whole place buzzing worse than a hornet's nest." Then he moved faster than any natural human you've ever met, and next thing you knew, the tip of his sword pressed up into your chin. "If you tell me who you sold those blueprints to, I can make a case for sparing your life. For being so darn cooperative and all."

You couldn't help but look into his wide, dark eyes. There was an earnestness in them you'd never seen in anyone else who'd tried to kill you. You also noticed the inner workings, that those weren't human eyes but cybernetic lenses. Ah. That made more sense.

"I didn't sell them. I was hired to snag and burn, and you know what? If I'd known what they were for before I got hired, I would've done the job for free. Did you know what those blueprints were for, or are you the kind of lackey they keep in the dark?"

The cyborg didn't answer right away. His blade lowered ever so slightly.

"I did. That's why we had to secure the blueprints, to make sure no one else makes use of them."

"That's what the previous owners tried to do. Now those blueprints have changed hands twice this month. You really think that if I hadn't destroyed them, some power-hungry idiot wouldn't have eventually grabbed hold of them and actually built the damn thing?" A war machine that could sink all of Water 7 toppling into the sea with a single shot. Nations would bow before it. Not something you'd want in anyone's hands, much less the government.

"Shame to hear you had such good reasons," The assassin said, an honest goodbye. "But orders are orders."

"Indeed they are." And it was time for you to make your escape. You angled your gun up and fired. The assassin was human enough to flinch when a bullet fired at his head, even though you only hit his baseball cap. You ran and flung yourself off the rooftop, using a grappling hook to swing over to the next skyscraper before you could see his reaction.

A small part of you wondered what the assassin's name was. The rest of you, more practical, decided to put that train of thought to rest at the station. No matter how charming an assassin might be, there was no point in wondering about someone who'd tried to kill you.

Next time you two ran into each other, you shot at him again from the opposite end of a mansion hallway.

"You must really hate my hat, huh?" He put his hands up and tried that bright smile on you once more. "Easy there, pal. I'm not here for you."

"Though I'm sure if you offed me as collateral, you'd get a pretty bonus on your paycheck, huh?"

"Depends. What're you after here?"

You debated telling him. Didn't want your goals used against you, but you really didn't have time to chase off an assassin while finishing your job. "Wapol killed my client's adopted father years ago, and hung onto some of the man's personal items as a trophy. I'm stealing them back."

"What a coincidence! I'm here for Mr. Wapol's head. Or at the very least, to threaten him to fall back in line. Someone's been selling supplies to foreign armies, and we'd rather he stop." The assassin slowly walked toward you, hands still up, until the two of you were only a few feet apart. He lowered one hand, offering it to shake. "Tell you what. I'd rather not fight you tonight and risk another hat. So say I deal with Wapol, you get in and grab what you need, and we both pretend we never saw each other. Deal?"

You glared at the offered hand. For all you knew, he could have all manner of weapons built into it. "I don't even know your name. Though I'm sure you know mine, what with being hired to kill me earlier."

"I do." Your name rolled off his tongue in a way that made your traitorous little heart flip in your chest. "And my name's Kaku. That better?"

You wondered if his skin was plastic, or flesh and blood. "You could have a gun built into your palm, or something."

Those camera-lens eyes widen. "You could tell...?"

"I deal with a lot of cyborgs. Some of them don't even try to kill me."

"Aha. Well, you may not believe me, but I try to stay honest, so I mean it when I say I have only one firearm built into me."

You smirked and shook his hand. "If that's a pickup line, you really need practice."

You learned two things that night before parting ways. One, that his hands were warm and calloused, and you felt a steady heartbeat under his skin that no robot could replicate. Two, he was human enough to blush and sputter at your innuendo, giving you enough time to run off into the depths of the mansion.

Wapol's death hit the news the next day. You'd half-expected the crime would be pinned on a break-in, and eventually on you. But no, the death was clean. Made to resemble a suicide. Nothing reported as missing, even the handful of extras you'd taken while Wapol had been distracted. You found yourself pleasantly surprised. Really, the night would've been perfect, if you could get that bastard's blushing face out of your head.

Over the next few months, you two kept ending up at the same places with different goals. The first times were coincidences. The rest were casually coordinated, notes left tucked into the windowsill of your cruddy apartment or texts from what you assumed were burner phones. Coordinates or articles about unique treasures. You once responded back "sounds like a date" and he responded with a flustered emoticon like a teenager from the early 2000's.

Either way, you two made a pretty good team, and no one had to know if he cleared out the security in your way or if you showed him a sneaky shortcut through a building. You finally saw his built-in firearm too; turns out, there was a reason his nose was so long.

And whenever these "accidental" meetings involved staking out the locale first, you'd make small talk. He'd ask about your plans for whatever treasure laid in wait. You decided not to ask him about his murder plans, instead opting for hobbies and whatever an assassin might do outside of work. Found out he liked vehicles of all sorts, especially ships, and that's part of how he'd ended up assigned to Water 7. You once admitted that you were born in Water 7, lived in the slums your whole life.

"I've never even seen a live animal, other than the birds that sometimes fly overhead. Sad, isn't it?"

Kaku perked up at that. "You know there's a zoo here, right? Most of the animals are electronic, but a few are the real deal. You can even feed some!"

"Yeah, but zoos are so expensive. Gotta' pay big bucks for authenticity, you know."

The conversation had drifted off after that. But the next time you got a text, the coordinates and timestamps also included a photo of two tickets.

The practical part of your brain warned you that this could be a trap. Surely, a trained assassin could find plenty of ways to murder someone in the emptier corners of the zoo, and then toss the body into a carnivore's mouth to be disposed of. Yet as was more common of late, you ignored your practical side and snuck off to the zoo like you were off for another big score.

You're sure the two of you stuck out. Sure, he was in more casual clothing (that still concealed most of his body), but the reflexes of a trained killer didn't reflect well in real life. Neither did a thief's. You both jumped at the wrong sounds and gave security a wide berth. There were nerves to you two that didn't settle on the shoulders of the easygoing crowd.

"We should hold hands," you whispered. He gave you a questioning look. "To blend in, right? No one thinks twice if a happy couple acts odd. Love makes people do weird things."

"So...pretend we're weird and in love, hmm?" He interlaced his warm, human fingers with yours. "Should I call you darling, then?"

"If you're that old fashioned, sure." The two of  you laughed as if you hadn't tried to kill each other only a few months before.

It was strange, seeing animals and being unsure which ones were full of blood and muscles instead of gears and electricity. For someone partially artificial himself, Kaku had a good eye for such things, and pointed each one out. There was a spark in the eyes of living, breathing animals and, an unpredictability to their actions that made them stand out no matter how lifelike their companions seemed.

"What about you?" you asked on a park bench. He'd treated the two of you to popsicles on that warm day, and you watched the giraffes as you talked. "Like, I know you've got a couple cybernetic enhancements, but this..." You shook his hand, still in your own. "This is real."

Kaku glanced around to make sure no one else was watching the two of you instead of the animals. He tore his fingers from yours and for the briefest moment tugged down the collar of his jacket. The letters CP-9 were emblazoned on the side of his neck with laser precision.

"Typical tragic orphan story. Family got into a terrible accident when I was a kid, parents passed, and I was broken up literally and figuratively. Government swooped in and rebuilt me, raised me with a bunch of other orphans to be secret agents. And here we are."

"So...your job is repayment because they saved you?"

"Pretty much. Rebuilding my face alone cost a pretty penny, to say nothing about the rest of me or the years of training. I'm saddled for life." He winked and added, "But I still squirrel away a little bit for myself. Like for this. Being around animals calms my nerves when things get too much. Especially the giraffes. Beauties, aren't they?"

You turned your attention back to the exhibit. They were strange and gangly things, that sort of weird that humans couldn't make up on their own. But they were kinda' cute, galloping around like that. (And if their dark eyes and long lashes reminded you of a certain someone sitting next to you, no one had to know.)

You pointed at one. "That one on the left's been licking the fence for like, fifteen minutes now. Robot?"

"Real. Stranger than fiction, I guess."

He ended up telling you about the giraffes, as if animal facts could bury the bits of backstory the two of you had revealed to each other. He accidentally got popsicle juice on his nose, and flushed the brightest red when you brushed it off. Sometime after that, you took his hand in yours again. You didn't want to part ways when you returned to the gate.

You didn't see him for another month after that.

Funny, how quickly another person could become a staple of your life, and how you came to miss those infrequent texts and adrenaline-fueled meetups. Every job you went on left you peering into shadows as if he'd emerge in his assassin blacks with a smile sharp as his swords. But Kaku was never there.

Despite yourself, you started seeking him out. Texted back every number he'd messaged you from, hoping one burner phone might still be active. Snuck into the zoo and lurked around the giraffe exhibit, hoping he'd show. You even broke into a couple government facilities without any goals beyond finding him. And you knew it was stupid, knew it was dangerous, you barely knew this man and every vulnerability he'd shown you could be part of an elaborate ruse to trap you...but you wanted to believe in him. That whatever had sprouted between you two was as real as your heartbeats syncing when you held hands.

You realized you'd hit paydirt when a new assassin came after you. Even if she hadn't tried to kick your head clean off your neck, you would've recognized her as one of Kaku's coworkers with her black uniform and the tattoo creeping out from under her jacket.

"Things must've gone sour if I've been reassigned," you said. Tried to keep it light as you had with Kaku, even as your mind spun with implications.

"This is entirely your fault, you know." Oh goody, this assassin had a spiked whip, and she got one end wrapped around your foot. "If you hadn't compromised my coworker, if you'd rolled over and died like you should've, we wouldn't be here."

Ah. You'd half-expected that. "Your bosses found out about the date." Your ruse had worked too well. But what else could it have been construed as? You'd even thought of it as a date yourself once he'd disappeared and you'd realized that more than any treasure, you wanted to go back there with him, wanted to go everywhere with him.

"They knew well before that. Did you really think they'd give him camera eyes without reviewing the footage?" The whip tightened around your ankle. "They let it slide for a time because you were useful, and they thought he could still capture you. And he did, but not in the way anyone wanted."

"Where is he?" You tried, and failed, to not sound desperate.

"It's already too late. They decided he was too human, and now he's being rebuilt. There isn't..." and here, she faltered.  Out of fear for her coworker or of such a fate befalling herself, you're not sure. "There isn't anything left of the Kaku you knew. So please, don't go after him. And die while you're at it."

The fight with her was more brutal by far than any of the brawls you'd had with Kaku. She actually scored a few hits on you, and once you finally gave her the slip and made it to one of your hideaways, your ribs and legs ached something fierce. You patched yourself up, and you began to plan.

You'd never stolen a human before. You hoped there was still one left to steal.

Breaking into a secret government laboratory was easier than expected. You built a crew, called in every favor you could, reviewed blueprints until you swore the building's layout had been tattooed on the back of your eyelids. The night of the heist, another crew of saboteurs known for their bombastic fights distracted the security guards, making it seem like they were the true culprits out for revenge.

You alone went underground. In stolen laboratory gear, you entered the cybernetics facility. Your breath fled from your lungs, and it wasn't from the shock of sharp antiseptic clinging to the air.

In a glass pillar full of fluids and wires, Kaku floated. Even from a distance, he looked more plastic and metal, like someone had crafted a lifesize doll replica of him. The monitors showcased diagnostics on a metal skeleton and the integration of circuitry in organs. You touched the cold glass, but he didn't respond.

You got to work. Following instructions you'd reviewed every waking hour, you hacked into the system and initiated the extraction procedure. You already had a gurney for transport, and a prepped lie that you'd be transporting the body of a failed cybernetics integration to be disposed of. The fluids behind the glass slowly drained, wires disconnecting. You held your breath.

Then you crumpled as a bullet hit your side.

You hissed, feeling your side for blood even though you had armor under your disguise. And looked up to see a black uniform, an assassin pointing at you, bullet shaped like a sharp fingernail loading into place.

You gasped, "Don't do this. I'm trying to save him."

"Far as we're concerned, you're stealing classified government property. He's one of our most expensive assets. Second to me, of course." The assassin wore a predator's smile, and the heels of his shoes clicked ominously on the floor as he strode toward you. "It'd be so easy to end this here. It wouldn't be the first time I've made a mess of the lab."

"Yet here you are, chatterbox. I get the feeling you don't want to kill me."

"How bold. As it happens, I like to play with my prey. But so did Kaku, and he got so wrapped up in the chase that he forgot what to do when he caught you."

"Stop talking about him in past tense like he's dead."

The assassin shrugged. "Isn't he? Not in body, but in spirit. They tore out most of his brain and replaced it with machinery. The process wipes most of one's personality and emotion. There isn't a person in there anymore."

"Then I'll find him again and bring him back. That's what a good thief does." The glass opened up, and Kaku nearly fell out. You stepped forward to grab him. First contact jolted your body; you didn't feel a heartbeat anymore. And when you angled him onto the gurney, his body felt cold and smooth. You glared up at your unwelcome guest, who'd watched the event in silence. "Now, are you going to finish the job, or get out of the way?"

"Unlike a certain someone, I'm not in the business of keeping fools alive."

The assassin's fingers sharpened into claws as he closed the distance between you. He swiped at you with those claws, and you barely dodged the first one while pulling the gurney back with you. Whatever happened, you couldn't let Kaku get hurt in this state. But to your surprise, when the next claw swung, you heard a gunshot that you didn't fire. And whoever fired it knew where this cyborg assassin was still flesh; he fell to his knees, surprised at his own blood.

Smoke rose from the gun built into Kaku's nose as he sat up. Camera eyes opened and refocused with faint clicking noises. For a long, quiet moment, he scanned the room. But then they settled on you.

"Darling." 

Your heart flipped in your chest again. "You remember me?"

"Of course. They did their best to wipe everything else, but I couldn't let them take you." He paused, unused to his new body, and the resulting smile looked more like a grimace. But he still said, "I love you."

"I love you too. And I'm going to get you out of here." You grabbed Kaku around the shoulders with one arm and grabbed your gun with another, now that you knew where to shoot your foe. You said to the other assassin, "Well? You were wrong about him."

"Was I?" The assassin lurched back to his feet, one hand over the bullet wound just above his clavicle. "Kaku, how much did you give up in order to keep the memory of one thief you failed to kill?" No answer. "Do you even remember who I am?"

"I made my choice," was all Kaku said. "Now let us go."

The assassin turned away before you could see if there was any hurt had broken across his cold face. "Killing you like this won't be any fun. Once you can be a challenge to me again, I'll come back for you. But for now? See if you can run." His heels clicked against the floor as he walked away. "I'll clear your path out of the facility. You're on your own after that."

Time stretched long as the other assassin left the room. You held tight to Kaku. When you held his hand, it was so smooth that he didn't even have fingerprints anymore. But he still intertwined his fingers in yours and squeezed.

"I'm still me," he whispered. "Even if I don't have a real heart or anything else left."

You forced yourself to shrug and smile. "Just means you're a little closer to some of the giraffes at the zoo." That earned you a quizzical look. "Uhmm...you know, because some of them were robots too?" Still blank. "...Did you even forget about giraffes so you could remember me?"

"Suppose I must have."

You resolved to take him back to the zoo once he'd recovered, bring him back a little of that wonder he'd showed you. But first, time for your masterful escape.

The following weeks were long and painful.

Soon as you broke out and got to one of your safehouses, you called in two last favors. One from Franky, cyborg engineer who'd hired you to retrieve and destroy the blueprints for that war machine that started this whole debacle. The other from Doctor Chopper, who'd been so grateful to have his mentor's things returned. The two of them came in and worked on your assassin-turned-lover tirelessly, fixing up what little flesh remained and making sure all the cybernetics were in-check. There was plenty of work to do, as you'd stolen Kaku before his procedures had been complete, and rewiring muscles and nerves turned out to be a long, painful process.

And while you'd rescued Kaku before they could completely erase his humanity, there were still gaping holes in his knowledge, and his smile didn't reach his eyes nearly as often. There was much you had to fill him in on. You spent many nights just talking to distract him from his painful recovery. You held his hand and tried to pretend he still had a heartbeat.

But now? Now you're back at your dingy old apartment, limbs entangled on the couch, staring out the window at the skyscrapers above.

"I think that one will be my next target," you say, pointing up at a gilded skyscraper that seems to pierce the clouds. "Heard the owner there hoards gold. Actual gold! Can you believe it? We'd be rich."

"Sounds like a challenge, though." Kaku's free hand twirls a dull blade between fingers, trying to familiarize himself with his new body. He's admitted a couple times to phantom limb syndrome, like his flesh and blood is just beyond reach. "Sure you'll be able to handle it, darling?"

"It'll be no problem for the Greatest Thief in Water 7. Stealing a bunch of gold will be a cakewalk, seeing as I already grabbed the greatest treasure this city had." You get a quizzical stare in response. "That'd be you, partner."

"Partner," Kaku echoes. This smile lights up his whole face. "I like the sound of that. So, what's the first step in your plan?"

You hum in thought and look deep into his eyes.

"I do believe our first step should be a visit to the zoo. We've got a lot to catch up on, after all."

[hirikka]

twisted thrice about the tree

For @mikkeneko! Written for @thewitchersecretsanta

Rating: G Relationship: Geralt/Jaskier Summary: Jaskier finds Ciri just after a sorcerer from Nilfgaard has cursed Geralt—together they need to find a way to break the curse. 

on AO3

Jaskier had been doing his best to avoid danger. It was a new thing for him, and he didn’t think he was a huge fan. He felt that he had to give it a fair shake, after his near-crippling incident with Reince—which had been particularly galling, as he hadn’t even sung any of the White Wolf cycle in months, but that was not the point. The point is that he is avoiding danger, so he should absolutely not run into the dark woods towards the sound of an explosion.

His legs do not seem to have gotten that memo. He curses under his breath but keeps running. It doesn’t take him long to find the source of the explosion—an area of flattened trees that stretched into the distance. Jaskier stops at the edge and thinks very hard about turning around. Until he sees a dragon lift off the ground from just over a ridge and take off into the sky with a flash of silver wings. The dragon circles high above and lets out an earth-shaking roar. A high pitched scream comes from over the hill and Jaskier runs in that direction. He crests the hill just in time to see a portal flash open—there is a man in Nilfgaardian armor holding the arm of a child, pulling them towards the portal. The dragon roars again and Jaskier feels a sudden chill as the creature's shadow blocks out the sun. He has only a moment to act so he springs forward and whispers a blessing on his dagger before he throws it. It flies straight and true—striking the Nilfgaardian in an eye. The man stumbles, releases his grip on the child, and falls. The portal blinks out as he lands. For a moment the clearing is silent. Then the dragon lets out a high keening noise and flaps upwards, the winds buffeting Jaskier and whipping up debris from the destroyed trees. 

“No! Wait!” he hears the child scream.

When the dust settles enough that Jaskier can see again, the dragon is gone. A single silver scale lies by Jaskier’s feet. He picks it up and then moves down the slope towards the child. They’ve fallen to their knees in the dirt.

“Are you injured?” Jaskier asks when he is close enough. The child startles to her feet at his approach, watching him with wary green eyes. 

“No,” she answers after a moment. 

“Good,” Jaskier says. He moves over to the soldier to retrieve his dagger. “Are you traveling alone?” He can’t see any sign of other people—but the destruction around makes it impossible to tell for sure. 

The girl hesitates. “I wasn’t.”

“Did he…” Jaskier trails off pointing at the soldier, hoping his point is clear. 

The girl nods, a little tentative.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier says. She’s not the first orphan he’s seen in the first few months of the war, and she’s unlikely to be the last. “I would be happy to help you to wherever you were heading.” He can see the suspicion in her gaze at his offer. “My name is Jaskier.” He hopes that she’ll recognize the name at least, a famous bard will hopefully feel like a safer traveling companion than a strange man.

The girl’s eyes widen. “The bard? You traveled with”—she hesitates for a moment—“with the White Wolf?”

Jaskier is about to respond when he spots a flash of silver on the ground near their feet. He kneels to pick it up and it feels as though his heart stutters to a stop. It’s a wolf witcher medallion—the chain has been snapped but the sight is so familiar and it hums softly under his touch. He looks at the girl, she’s gone tense and still in front of him. “Yes, I traveled with the White Wolf,” he says. “What happened here?”

The girl gulps, glancing towards the sorcerer. “He cursed Geralt. He wanted to separate us, make it so Geralt wouldn’t be able to protect me.”

“Oh,” Jaskier gasps. “You’re Cirilla!”

“Ciri,” the girl corrects. “Or Fiona in public.”

Jaskier thinks of the silver scale in his pocket. “And he turned Geralt into a dragon?”

Ciri nods. “I don’t think he knew me, after he transformed, it didn’t seem… didn’t seem like him.”

Jaskier hums, considering what he knows about transformation magic. Wonders exactly how different the reality is from the songs. “Well, we ought to start by figuring out where he would have gone. Where were you heading?”

“The coast.”

Jaskier blinks. “The coast? Why?”

“He didn’t say exactly,” Ciri admits. 

“I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me.” Jaskier sighs. “But I’m not sure if he would have carried on that way, or if he would have gone somewhere familiar…” he trails off, trying to think of any reason he could avoid going to the one person who might know where he was. Unfortunately— “I know someone who should be able to track him for us.”

Ciri brightens. “Who?”

“Yennefer.” 

**

“I don’t want to get involved in whatever scheme you’ve gotten tangled up in.” Yennefer doesn’t even bother looking up from her book.

“Oh well, Ciri, let's go. We’ll have to see if there’s someone else who can help us.” Jaskier says.

Yennefer looks up at that, narrowing her eyes at Jaskier and Ciri. “Why do you have a child?” The disdain in her tone made Ciri press closer to Jaskier. “Nobody in their right mind would trust you with a child.”

Jaskier scoffs. “Please, I’m perfectly responsible.”

Yennefer just raises an eyebrow. 

“Alright, fine.” Jaskier huffs. “You’re correct in a way, her true guardian is very much not in his right mind. That’s why we’re here.” 

Yennefer sighs and then stands. “Alright, you better come in and sit down. I have a feeling I’m going to need a drink.” 

As she leads them into her apartment behind the shop, Ciri tugs on Jaskier’s sleeve. “Will she be able to help us?”

“Of course, poppet,” Jaskier assures her. “She might not be my biggest fan, but she won’t turn you away.”

“Alright, explain,” Yennefer says. “And keep it simple, please, bard.”

“Right. Simple.” Jaskier has heard that before, fine, if she wants just the bare bones of the story: “Geralt’s been cursed into a dragon and we need to find him.” 

Yennefer takes a moment to process that. She takes a long sip of her wine. “Why?”

“Why was he cursed, or why do we need to find him?” Jaskier asks. “Although, I suppose it's the same answer either way. This is Cirilla, Geralt’s child surprise.”

Yen’s eyes widen. “His child surprise is the lion cub of Cintra?”

“Yes, so you can see why he didn’t exactly feel like he could snatch her away at any time, the lioness was a bit touchy about the whole thing.” Jaskier’s voice is cool, remembering the words he had overheard on the mountain. 

“He was cursed because he was trying to protect me.” Ciri cuts in. Her hand is clenched around the wolf medallion. “I need to help him.”

Yen turns her attention to the girl and softens. “I can create a tracking spell for you.” Ciri lets out a relieved breath but Yen continues. “That will be the easy part. Once you find him you’ll need to find a way to break the curse.”

“I have one of his scales,” Jaskier says. “Would that help in figuring out the details of the curse? How to break it?”

Yen nods, reaching out a hand. Jaskier reluctantly passes the silver scale to her. “The tracking spell will take a few hours to prepare, and I’ll need some time with this to see what I can find out. You can stay here for the night, I have a spare room.”

“Thank you, Yennefer,” Jaskier says, hoping she’ll sense how sincere he is.

She gives a curt nod before pointing down a hall. “And take a bath before you track any more filth into my house.”

**

“I have good news and bad news,” Yennefer announces over breakfast. “Geralt’s not far, you should be able to reach him in three days on horseback.” She pauses. “I’m not sure how to undo the curse. It’s a mess, they mucked something up rather badly and now it’s too twisted up to have an easy cure.”

“Fuck.” Jaskier and Ciri say at the same time.

Yen glances between them with a bemused look. “It’s not hopeless. The curse got twisted, you’ll need to remind him who he is first.”

“How?” Jaskier asks.

Yennefer gives him a pointed look. “You know him better than anyone, Jaskier, you’ll have to figure that out.” She softens slightly. “Three things. There’s a reason the tales always call for three things, three tasks. There’s a real magic there—three things that remind him who he is and then—” 

“Then?” Jaskier prompts.

“Then, you should be able to break the curse,” Yennefer says. Jaskier can sense there is more to it than she’s saying. 

“What if we choose the wrong things?” Ciri asks.

Yennefer frowns. “I’m not sure—you might be able to try again but it could also cause the spell to warp again. I wish I could give you a clearer answer.”

“You’ve given us enough,” Jaskier says, hoping to reassure Ciri even as he starts running through ideas, trying to figure out what options they have. “Ciri, can you go and get Roach ready?” Jaskier asks. Ciri gives him a look that makes it very clear she knows exactly what he’s trying to do but she does head outside. Once she’s gone, Jaskier turns to Yennefer. “Alright, what’s the rest of it?”

Yennefer sighs. “If the curse didn’t break when the caster was killed… then the only sure way to break it is the, well, traditional method.”

“Traditional method?” Jaskier asks. He has a feeling he knows what that is, but he needs to hear her say it. 

“True love,” Yennefer says, as if it is such a simple thing.

Jaskier stares at her. “Will you—?”

Yennefer shakes her head. “The bond created by the djinn warped whatever Geralt and I have—could have had. I care for him, and I know he cares for me—but it’s not true in the way it would need to be to break the curse.”

Jaskier sighs. “Does true love have to go both ways?”

Yennefer gives him a look that, in another person, he might have mistaken for sympathy. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Jaskier nods in thanks and moves towards the door.

“Jaskier—” Yennefer calls. “Try to do it before the season changes or it may be too late.”

Jaskier grimaces—there are so many ways for this to go wrong and such a narrow path to save Geralt. “Thank you, Yennefer.”

“Good luck.” Yennefer says.

Jaskier steps outside and prepares to save his witcher.

**

“What are the three things?” Ciri asks once they’ve set out. Yennefer had given them a map, Geralt’s location marked with ink she had infused with a piece of the scale so that it would track Geralt if he moved. He is currently on a stretch of coast between Gors Velen and Oxenfurt—the cliffs of the area mean that it is mostly unpopulated which hopefully means they won’t have to contend with any dragon hunters.

Jaskier considers. “I’m guessing that just his swords and medallion won’t be enough for this. The medallion is certainly one of the things, though.” He runs his hand absently along Roach’s neck. “Unfortunately, he was never a big fan of sharing so I’m not completely sure what else we can use.”

“What about a song?” Ciri suggests. “One of the ones you wrote for him?”

Jaskier glances up at the princess—she looks so hopeful and he hates that he has to admit that he is probably not actually well-suited to help with this. She doesn’t have anyone else to turn to. “He wasn’t a fan of my music, to tell the truth.”

Ciri gives him a skeptical look. “He used to hum them, sometimes, when he was trying to help me sleep. He never sang the words but I recognized the tunes.”

“He did?” Jaskier can’t hide his surprise. 

“Yes,” Ciri says, as if it should have been obvious. “He talked about you, about how you helped him.”

Jaskier snorts.

“I’m serious!” Ciri says with a huff. “You were the only person besides his brothers he ever really talked about.” She has an intense look. “I know you’ll be able to figure out what we need to bring him back.”

“Ah, well.” Jaskier is at a loss for words. He wishes he had as much faith that his knowledge of Geralt would be enough.  “I’ll certainly do my best.”

**

“A song, the medallion…” He taps his quill against the page, trying to think. “Ciri, I think you might be the last thing we need.”

“What?”

“Material possessions have never been that important to him,” Jaskier says. “His medallion is a symbol of his profession, his purpose. The song to remind him that he’s more than the monster people claim he is, and you—you’re his destiny. His future.”

Ciri tilts her head. “Really? It's been such a short time… are you sure it wouldn’t be his swords?”

“No,” Jaskier says, he’s as certain that she is part of this as she is that his song will help. “The swords are just tools, he’s lost them before. Gotten replacements. They’re important to him, certainly, but not, I think, in the same way that you are.”

Ciri ducks her head to hide a pleased smile and Jaskier hopes to all the gods that he is right. That they both are. They’ll reach the coast and Geralt tomorrow and he needs this to work. Jaskier lets out a long breath as he watches the dragon disappear from sight. Tries to calm the racing of his heart. He’s so desperate for this to work, so scared that it won’t. He makes sure he is steady enough to pretend at confidence before he returns to where Ciri is waiting a little way back from the cliff edge.

**

They can smell the salt in the air long before they see the ocean. As Jaskier had suspected, the area the dragon has led them too is at least a day's walk from any villages. Remote enough that nobody is likely to stumble upon him. Of course, if he’s spotted in the air that’s another matter, but hopefully they’ll have Geralt cured before anyone decides to muster up another dragon hunting expedition. The cliffside they approach is empty except for a single great hawthorn tree. The dragon is resting underneath the tree. Jaskier stops their approach to study him. His scales are the color of a stormy sky, silver and grey with tinges of blue and black. He has several horns on his head but is otherwise sleek and sinuous.

He lifts his head and fixes them with a piercing look. His eyes are still golden but they seem so much colder than Geralt’s. “You shouldn’t be here.” The dragon rumbles.

“Geralt!” Ciri cries, taking a step towards the dragon but he lifts his head higher and bares his fangs. 

The dragon’s tail lashes—the end seems almost feathered and it stirs up a cold wind as it moves. “Leave this place.” 

Jaskier places his hand on Ciri’s shoulder and stares at the dragon’s huge golden eyes. “We need you to come back to yourself, Geralt.” He thanks his years of vocal training for allowing him to keep his voice steady.

The dragon says nothing. 

Jaskier squeezes Ciri’s shoulder. “Wait here,” he whispers as he takes Geralt’s medallion out of his pocket and slowly walks towards the dragon. In response, the dragon bares his fangs. 

Jaskier stands before the dragon and holds out the medallion. “Here is your medallion, the symbol of your trade, your life. While you wear it, you shall always have your purpose.” 

The dragon extends his head towards Jaskier cautiously. “If you touch me, tail or fin, I swear my medallion your death shall be.” The dragon’s words are said in an almost song-like chant—it’s an odd touch, but the whole spell is odd. With the dragon this close, Jaskier can sense the magic; it feels ancient and he wonders exactly what the Nilfgaardians thought they were doing. 

Jaskier places the medallion on the ground and steps back with his hand raised to show that he will not touch the dragon. He watches the dragon extend one clawed foot to pull the medallion in close, holding it close to his face. He is still for a long moment before he launches himself up into the air and over the edge of the cliff. 

“Is he leaving?” Ciri asks, rushing to stand by Jaskier’s side.

“Hunting perhaps,” Jaskier suggests. “I imagine we’re meant to come back tomorrow, and the day after—three days and three items.”

Ciri makes a face. “Why does magic have to be so complicated?”

Jaskier huffs a laugh. “I’ve often wondered the same thing. Come on, let's see if we can find a decent spot to set up camp. 

**

They had set up camp in a copse of trees far enough back from the cliff edge that the wind was not quite so biting. They eat a quick breakfast and then head back towards the hawthorn tree. When they arrive, Geralt has not returned. Ciri, needing something to burn off her nervous energy, starts running through her training drills. She practices with a sword that Geralt must have had made for her—it is finely made, well balanced, and she is clearly comfortable with it. 

Jaskier watches for a while before he settles down with his lute, trying to figure out what song might work to bring Geralt back. It’s a daunting task whe he’s still not entirely sure that one of his songs will even help, but they hadn’t been able to come up with any better ideas, so he’ll have to hope that destiny is on their side. 

The sun is high in the sky when they hear the rushing sound of the dragon’s wings. They watch as it lands lightly on the edge of the cliff, water slides off his scales, sparkling in the sunlight. He coils himself around the tree. He regards them with clear interest. The medallion hangs around his neck.

“You’ve come again.” The dragon observes. “To offer another trinket?”

“Ah, not an item this time but a song!” Jaskier says, walking as close to the dragon as he dares before he adjusts his lute. “The medallion was to remind you that you are a witcher,” Jaskier explains. “The reason you walk the path. The song is to show you how important that is, how despite the difficulties, you remain good. A hero.”

The dragon rumbles something that sounds vaguely like disagreement.

“You can’t argue that you aren’t a hero when you don’t remember who you are.” Jaskier snaps. He’s had this fight enough times with Geralt when he does know himself.

The dragon snorts but he doesn’t protest beyond that. He lays his head on the ground gestures for Jaskier to proceed with a flick of his tail. 

Jaskier takes a deep breath and starts to play the familiar notes of ‘The stars above the path’. It is not quite as popular as ‘toss a coin’ but it has more truth to it, written after Jaskier and Geralt had traveled together for almost a decade. Geralt is still heroic, of course, but the story is more complex—not meant to merely please a crowd at a tavern. Jaskier had tried to show the truth of Geralt—his compassion and bravery, his humanity. It’s the closest to a love song that Jaskier has ever written so obviously about Geralt, not that the witcher noticed.

 The dragon seems intrigued at least, his focus never wavering from Jaskier as he sings, and by the final chorus his tail is twitching in time with the music. When the song ends the dragon moves slightly closer. 

“He is your friend? Geralt?”

“He is,” Jaskier says easily. It has been almost two years since he had left Geralt in the Kestrel Mountains, but he still considers the witcher his friend. 

“Then I hope your plan works.” The dragon says before he takes off, flying out over the open water.

**

The third day dawns blustery and cool, the scent of frost in the air reminding them they do not have much time left. Jaskier tries to keep himself calm and steady, he can see how frightened Ciri is and doesn’t want to do anything that might make it worse.

They still don’t know exactly what will happen if they have chosen wrong and they are not able to restore Geralt to himself, but Jaskier cannot imagine they will be allowed a second chance. He fears that the dragon will turn on them, but cannot do more than pray that if that happens he will be strong enough to hold it off long enough for Ciri to flee. 

They wait in silence for the dragon to return—watching as he crests the cliffside and curls through the air above them. He spirals down until he is once again on the cliffside facing them, the long line of his body looped around the tree. 

“Ready?” Jaskier asks, rising to his feet and offering Ciri a hand up.

“What if it doesn’t work?” Ciri asks.

“Then we go back to Yennefer and see if she has any other ideas,” Jaskier says, hoping that will reassure Ciri.

Ciri doesn’t look convinced but she lifts her chin, shifting to stand at her full height. “Let’s go.”

Jaskier nods and together they walk towards the dragon. The dragon watches, tail twitching like a cat preparing to spring.

“You’ve returned.” The dragon rumbles. “What will you try today?”

Jaskier takes a deep breath. “Today, your destiny”—he steps back and Ciri steps forward to take his place—”Cirilla, your daughter.”

“Daughter?” The dragon rumbles the question, eyes narrowed.

“Fate brought us together,” Ciri says, voice fierce and determined. “You swore that we would always find each other, that you wouldn’t leave me!”

The dragon moves his head closer and Jaskier holds his breath.

“Geralt, I need you. Your destiny is more than this.” Ciri says.

The dragon withdraws rapidly, coiling tighter on himself until the tree within his coils creaks a protest. “Destiny is cruel, child.”

Jaskier steps closer, placing a hand on Ciri’s trembling shoulder. “Destiny may have taken much from you, Geralt, but it has given you a gift. A chance for happiness. To have a family.” He takes a deep breath. “Would you abandon your child the way you were abandoned? Do not let this curse turn you into a monster.”

“I am a monster.” the dragon growls.

“You aren’t,” Jaskier says. “You are a witcher, a hero, a protector, a father. You are so much more than they say you are. More than you think you are.”

The dragon darts forward until he is so close to Jaskier that his breath ruffles the bard’s clothing. Jaskier stands still, resisting the urge to push Ciri behind him as the dragon examines them. His golden eyes seem different, warmer than they had before and Jaskier holds his breath—hardly daring to hope.

“You are so sure?” the dragon asks. “Even after the Kestrel Mountains?”

Jaskier sucks in a breath, if the dragon can reference past events then perhaps Geralt’s mind is becoming his own again. “Even after that,” Jaskier says. “Anger doesn’t make you a monster.”

“I hurt you.” the dragon says.

“You did.” Jaskier agrees. “That doesn’t change who you are. You are still a good man, Geralt. You’ve made mistakes but that doesn’t make you a monster. It makes you human.”

The dragon, Geralt, gives a slow blink. He doesn’t speak but he doesn’t move away either. 

“What now?” Ciri whispers.

Jaskier gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Classic curse-breaking,” he says. “The traditional ways always work best. Hopefully.” He takes a step closer to the dragon who is still not moving—just watching with an intense focus.

“Gods, please let this work,” Jaskier whispers, and then he leans in and presses a kiss to the dragon’s snout. 

For a long breathless moment, absolutely nothing happens. Then everything goes white.

**

Jaskier comes back to awareness slowly. His ears are ringing. He feels a small hand holding his own. With a great deal of effort, he opens his eyes, blinking away bright white spots. For a moment he is staring up at the empty sky and then Geralt is there, warm golden eyes scanning his face. Jaskier reaches his free hand up and touches the loose hair falling around Geralt’s face.

“It worked.” Jaskier hears himself say, voice breathless and awed. He touches Geralt’s cheek and marvels at the way Geralt presses into his hand.

“It did.” Geralt agrees. “Thank you, Jaskier.”

“Oh, well. It was no trouble.” Jaskier lies cheerfully. He’s not certain how to act, how to deal with the fact that Geralt is his true love. “I ju—”

The rest of what he was going to say is silenced and then forgotten completely as Geralt leans in and kisses him. It is soft, gentle and so tender Jaskier almost wants to scream. After a long moment, Geralt pulls back, just slightly, so that he can press his forehead against Jaskier’s.

“I missed you.” Geralt says.

“Oh,” Jaskier murmurs, at a loss for words. Any anger he felt fades away in the face of Geralt’s little smile. He looks radiant with happiness. 

“Um. I hate to interrupt,” Ciri says. “But we should probably find somewhere to spend the night?”

Geralt moves away with a great deal of reluctance. He rises fluidly to his feet, looking no worse for his time as a dragon. He reaches out a hand to Jaskier and pulls him to his feet. He doesn’t drop Jaskier’s hand. 

“What now?” Jaskier asks, trying not to appear as nervous as he feels. 

“We’ll find a place to camp tonight.” Geralt says. “And then… would you come with us?”

“What?” Jaskier asks. “Where?”

“We’re going to Kaer Morhen for the winter. Will you come?” Geralt actually looks nervous as if the answer isn’t blatantly obvious.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says softly. “I’d follow you anywhere. All you had to do was ask.”

“Hm.” Geralt’s mouth tilts into a tiny smile. “Good.”