#is this the best squirrel in the world? all signs point to yes

[its-avalon-08]

Hey lovely, can i make a request for Daniel Ricciardo fic based on But daddy i love him by Taylor? You can have free reign on it, but just that line "me and my wild boy and all of his wild joy" is so Daniel and has been stuck in my head for ages. Something fluffy and funny, so whatever you want (maybe even a pregnancy reveal 👀👀) if you see fit i just love that song and it's so big ric coded.

Love your work!!! Thank you so much 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

but daddy i love him (dr3)

(please bear with me this one is extra long, ily all)

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

the start of the most beautiful things in y/n's life were often masked by difficulties and plagued with the anxieties of life. but when danny was around, things just fell into place. time seemed to stop and the fast paced world began to still.

clutching their pearls, sighing "what a mess"

the air in your childhood home crackled with a tension thicker than the gravy simmering on the stove. you sat across from danny, his smile a little too wide, your dad's gaze narrowed like a hawk eyeing a squirrel.

"so, danny," your dad began, his voice gruff, "you're a… racing driver, is that right?"

"yes sir," danny chimed, a touch too enthusiastically. "formula one, actually! just signed with mclaren for next season."

your dad grunted, poking his mashed potatoes with a fork. "formula one, huh? sounds… dangerous."

"it can be," danny admitted, "but safety's paramount these days, you know?" he flashed a winning grin. "plus, the adrenaline rush? unbelievable."

your dad snorted. "adrenaline rush. sounds like you live life on the edge, son."

you shot your dad a warning glare. "dad, be nice."

he sighed, leaning back in his chair. "honey, I just want to make sure he's responsible. you deserve someone stable, someone who won't make you worry constantly."

"dad!" you exclaimed, cheeks burning. "he's not a reckless teenager, he's a professional athlete! and he takes care of himself."

screaming "but daddy i love him!"

danny, bless his heart, interjected, "exactly! I train like a champion, eat healthy, the whole nine yards. your daughter's in good hands, sir."

the tension remained, a thick fog in the air. dinner progressed in tense silence, punctuated only by the clinking of cutlery. you stole glances at danny, his usual sunny disposition dampened. it broke your heart.

suddenly, your dad cleared his throat. "so, danny," he began, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "you said you race for mclaren? ever met lewis hamilton?"

you watched in surprise as danny's face lit up. "met him? I race alongside him! absolute legend, that man. we have some epic battles on the track."

for the next hour, the conversation flowed. your dad, a former racing enthusiast himself, peppered danny with questions about the sport, its history, the intricacies of car setup. danny, more than happy to oblige, regaled him with stories, technical details, even pulling out his phone to show pictures of him with lewis.

by the end of the night, your dad was chuckling at a particularly funny anecdote about a rogue pigeon causing a pit stop delay. he clapped danny on the back with a newfound warmth. "alright, alright, danny. you alright in my book. just take care of my daughter, you hear?"

danny, his grin back in full force, squeezed your hand. "wouldn't dream of it, sir. consider yourself one of my biggest fans from now on."

as you walked danny to his car later, a comfortable silence settled between you. "thanks for being patient with him," you whispered, leaning into his side.

i know he's crazy but he's the one i want

he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close. "your dad just wants the best for you, that's all. and seeing you happy… that's all I want too." he planted a soft kiss on your forehead. "besides, I think I scored some serious brownie points tonight, wouldn't you say?"

you laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet night. "maybe just enough to convince him that a formula one driver can be perfectly responsible... especially when he makes my daughter this happy."

time skip

the sun beat down on the golden sands of miami beach, the gentle waves lapping at the shore lulling you into a state of pure bliss. sprawled out on your beach towel, sunglasses perched on your nose, you were lost in a trashy romance novel, the sound of danny's playful laughter occasionally breaking through your concentration.

suddenly, a shadow fell over you. you peeked over your sunglasses to see danny, a mischievous glint in his eyes, standing over you. before you could even register what was happening, he swooped down, scooping you up in his arms like a prize.

now i'm dancing in my dress in the sun and

"hey!" you shrieked, a surprised laugh escaping your lips. the book tumbled into the sand, forgotten.

with a triumphant yell, danny sprinted towards the ocean. the cool water rushed at you as he plunged in, carrying you with him. you shrieked again, this time with delight, water splashing everywhere.

when danny finally set you down, the waves lapping at your waists, you couldn't help but grin at him. his hair was plastered to his forehead, and a carefree smile stretched across his face.

i'm his lady, and oh my god

"you're a menace, ricciardo!" you exclaimed, shaking your head playfully.

he just laughed, the sound echoing across the beach. then, in a flash, he was pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. you giggled as he dipped you backwards, the cool water washing over you both.

when he pulled you back up, his eyes held a playful fire. before you could say anything, he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was warm, sweet, and tasted faintly of salt. you melted into him, the world around you fading away.

me and my wild boy and all of this wild joy

the kiss ended with a sigh, foreheads resting against each other. you looked into his eyes, their blue depths sparkling with love and adoration.

"you're crazy," you whispered, a smile blooming on your face.

"only for you," he replied, his voice husky. he brushed a stray strand of hair from your cheek, his thumb gently tracing the curve of your jaw.

you sighed contentedly, leaning into his touch. in that moment, with the sun warming your skin, the sound of the waves crashing in your ears, and danny by your side, everything felt perfect. you wouldn't trade this feeling for the world.

time skip

you fidgeted with the hotel room balcony railing, the bustling city of monaco blurring below. danny, oblivious, was humming along to the pre-race hype blaring from the tv. today was his big day, the monaco grand prix, and the nervous energy crackling in the air was almost tangible. you, however, were grappling with a different kind of jitters.

taking a deep breath, you approached him, the small velvet box clutched tightly in your hand. "danny," you began, voice barely above a whisper. he glanced up, a dazzling smile splitting his face.

"hey there, sunshine," he said, reaching out to pull you into a quick hug. "ready for the race?"

"actually," you mumbled, biting your lip, "there's something I need to tell you before you go."

he frowned playfully, his brow crinkling in mock seriousness. "is it that you secretly placed a giant shoey on toto wolff's yacht?"

you laughed, a little relieved at the lighter mood. "no, nothing like that. it's… well, it's important."

he set the tv remote down, his smile softening. "alright, come here," he patted the space next to him on the plush couch. you sat down, fiddling with the box in your lap. the words seemed to get stuck in your throat, a tangled mess of nerves.

"danny," you tried again, voice shaking slightly, "we might need to… postpone those post-race victory celebrations."

now I'm running with my dress unbuttoned

he chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "losing faith in your honey badger already? don't worry, I've got this."

frustration bubbled up. "no, it's not that! it's… it's…" you squeezed the box so hard your knuckles turned white. "i'm pregnant, danny!"

the playful smile vanished, replaced by a look of utter confusion. "pre… what now?" he asked, brow furrowed.

panic clawed at you. was this the wrong approach? "pregnant! as in, a baby, danny! we're having a baby!" you blurted out, your voice bordering on a squeak.

i'm having his baby

the confusion on his face morphed into a look of dawning realization. his eyes widened, then welled up with tears. a choked sob escaped his lips. he whipped his head towards the balcony door and threw it open, a joyous yell erupting from his throat.

"we're having a baby!" he bellowed across the bustling streets of monte carlo, his voice thick with emotion.

i know he's crazy but he's the one i want

he turned back to you, a goofy grin splitting his face, tears streaming down his cheeks. before you could even react, he swept you into a tight embrace, the box tumbling onto the floor with a soft thud. he squeezed you like a lifeline, muttering incoherent words of joy into your hair.

his emotions were infectious. you clung to him, tears welling up in your own eyes. he pulled back, his hands cupping your face. he peppered your cheeks, forehead, your nose, with kisses, every kiss filled with a love so profound it took your breath away.

"this is… this is incredible, y/n," he finally managed to say, his voice hoarse. he pulled you close again, resting his forehead against yours. "we're having a baby. we're going to be parents."

he was chaos, he was revelry

the celebratory noises from outside were a distant hum, drowned out by the frantic thumping of your heart and the overwhelming sense of happiness washing over you. in that moment, in danny's arms, with the promise of a new life growing inside you, the world seemed to shimmer with possibility. you couldn't wait to start this incredible adventure together.

but oh my god you should see your faces

[electricbluebutterflies]

Chris/Melissa + bridal carries

Post-s6 domestic fluff is the best timeline. PG-ish and also on ao3.

Sometimes Melissa forgets how vulnerable she actually is.

It happens more often, as time passes, as she becomes more acquainted with the wild world around her. There is never a point when she forgets her humanity, no matter how many different species take up temporary residence in her spare bedroom, but the details of it blur. In the communities and whisper networks of every faction that wants no more than survival, safe outsiders are rare, and Melissa acquires her own reputation, just slightly separate from what her loved ones have done.

She is useful, and she maintains her mundane life as she can and all the weird stuff was sent her way at work even back when all of it seemed human, and she becomes protected by a web of alliances and blood debts, and it has been years since anything supernatural threatened her and she forgets that the mundane can wound her too.

It is a quiet day in the midst of a quiet month, and that means tagging along when her partner decides he needs to check all his warning systems because quiet never lasts. She has come to appreciate what someone else might describe as paranoia, the love and repentance shown through being absolutely thorough, even as attempts at explaining anything more complicated than “it’s gone because a squirrel got it” go right over her head. This isn’t an outing normal people would consider a date, but it’s at least a few hours of alone time and that’ll do, and-

Melissa is as always two steps behind, a little distracted, and trips on a tree root.

She has learned not to scream when distressed, but her body still makes a noise as it hits the ground and then the tiniest noise that she can’t suppress as she feels a sharp pain in the general vicinity of her ankle. At the very least twisted, she processes, maybe more than that, and so help her she is not trying to move right now, and-

Her partner whirls around, barely holding back the instinct to draw a weapon, and the look of relief in his eyes as he sees what actually happened is… probably not a normal-person reaction, Melissa thinks, but this is the kind of peace she can give him, this immunity to greater tragedies. He’s on the ground with her in a few heartbeats, and what a comfort it is to have a lover who is actually useful in a crisis, and-

“Tripped,” she says, just in case it isn’t damningly obvious. “Not sure about moving. I know we’re not done, but…”

He undoes her boot without asking – how did she get this lucky, she always asks herself at the strangest times – and puts just enough pressure on her obvious wound to confirm it. “We did enough. It’s alright.”

“You could leave me and loop back,” she shrugs, even now minimizing her importance. “Nothing else out here but me and the squirrels. I’d be fine. Take a catnap in the leaves.”

“Not happening.”

She leans up to take a kiss – she’s at least functional enough to do that, feels like a good sign, and she likes confirming that she’s attracted to certain tendencies – and rests her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I-“

“I forget you haven’t been doing this your whole life,” he murmurs, and she hears the longing in his voice, the things they don’t talk about until they make a vivid appearance in a nightmare, the fact that he has been out of the world that created him for some years now and he still hasn’t outrun it and-

“Unfortunately, my body forgets that too,” Melissa laughs. “Now what’s the plan?”

“Do you trust me?”

That question has never ended in anything more favorable than desperate decisions or a narrowly averted panic attack, but she nods anyways. “Yes…”

Instead of an explanation, and oh why can’t that man ever discuss what goes on in his mind before he does things, he starts shifting their position and… lifts her up, she processes as it’s happening, and the only reason this won’t end up the kind of questionable idea she’ll tease him about for years is because that bar is so low. She’s on the small end for a human woman in her age bracket, she knows, and he’s in decent enough shape, but the car is like a mile away and-

“Are you out of her mind?” she murmurs, hoping it comes out the right combination of affectionate and annoyed.

“You’re not putting weight on your ankle. It’ll get worse.”

There are days she appreciates how rarely he tries to control her behavior, how he hits all her usual weaknesses without being a jerk about it; these very occasional moments when that breaks, when it genuinely is for her own good and she’ll accept that later, are not among them. “This is still a bad idea.”

“It’ll be fine.”

She’d make a comment about how it will absolutely not be fine and he’s not going to want to move for like two days afterwards, but she really does appreciate the care of it all, how nice it is to be loved this kind of way. It should feel more normal a few years in, but somehow this is the hardest adaptation, not the fantastic and ever-changing amount of weird shit that becomes her problem but being loved by someone who is trying so hard to be normal about it. She’s unsure the two of them are capable of the sort of mundane dynamic they should be hitting in their late forties on a mutual second marriage, but-

“I have mentioned today that I love you, yes?”

The good thing about being carried, Melissa realizes, is that it makes kisses so much easier. “You have…”

“You take care of me. And I am trying to get less weird about it.”

There’s no need to escalate that into a fight, not with this endurance test they’re currently inflicting upon each other. She’d wanted physical closeness today; this isn’t how she planned on getting it, but she has no complaints. She feels secure enough, trusts her partner’s reflexes and understanding of his own capabilities, but-

There are a few pauses, but they do make it back to the car intact without any more mud ending up on her clothes and that looks like a win from her perspective, looks like love as he pokes around in the trunk for an instant ice pack and oh she will never be tired of how capable he is. How safe she is in the mundane disasters she still survives every once in a while, how this really has become a new beginning for both of them, how-

“It’s just twisted,” she points out as he bats her hands away. “I’ll be fine when we get home and I get a brace on it.”

“Still…”

“I forget. And then we remind each other. It’s alright.”

It always is, in the end. She can’t believe any other way anymore.

[seekingthestars]

so you know how i haven't talked lately about how marshal is best boy? i have an update and, good news, he's still best boy.

[graniairish]

Walking on eggshells

So this is my first own story here. I hope it is written in an understandable way. (Please ignore any grammatical errors. English is not my mother tongue.)

Title: Walking on eggshells

Words: 6761

Warnings: language (some explicit words), harassment and insults, heartbreak

Summary:

Daryl and reader have been close friends since the early days in Atlanta. They are deeply in love with each other but have no clue about it.

At some point new people join the community, including a young woman who is immediately after Daryl.

Reader is not exactly thin, no size zero, but also not fat, rather curvy, feminine. Even in this apocalyptic time. (you are just the way you are.)

Daryl has withdrawn more and more from reader, avoids contact. Reader believes he does that because he now has a perfect woman by his side.

However, Daryl avoids reader because he does not know how to deal with his feelings.

One day reader goes on a run that goes wrong. To save their group, the reader does a suicide stunt, that can cost her life.

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

"Ya even know what ya're doin’?"

Those were the first words Daryl Dixon had ever said to you.

It was still at camp in Atlanta. Daryl stood over you, the sun behind him, as he looked down at you as you made a stew from a basket full of leaves and mushrooms.

“Believe it or not, I know what I'm doing here. My mother taught me as a child which mushrooms and plants are edible, and which can be used as medicine."

He nudged his nose up in a nod.

"If ya say so."

With that he dropped something in front of you.

"Maybe the whole thin’ tastes like somethin’ with that," he said before he turned around and made his way back to his brother.

Your eyes followed him - confused. Only then did you notice that he had thrown about a dozen freshly hunted squirrels in front of you.

Maybe the grumpy redneck was not that bad after all, you thought to yourself with a smile as you started to skin and gut the dead animals.

It was not long before a friendship developed between you. You were the only one he really let near him after the disappearance of his brother and Sophia's death. And after the farm was overrun by Walkers, he was by your side to comfort you.

He was always there for you, just as you were for him. You cared for each other.

But you only noticed how deep the feelings really were on your side when Daryl - after the incident with Woodbury - had turned his back on you and everyone else and disappeared into the woods. Just to be with his brother.

The realization that you were infinitely in love with the withdrawn redneck hit you hard. And just seeing him walk away hurt you so much that you could not breathe.

Without knowing it, Daryl had broken your heart into a million pieces.

It felt like he took a part of you with him.

More and more you withdrew from the others. From time to time, you even slept in the old management office of the Prison, far away from the cell block, from everyone else, from your family. You just wanted to be left alone in your grief and heartbreak.

In the first time you had gone through hell emotionally and a psychological breakdown would not have been long in coming. And if it had not been for Maggie, you probably would not have found your way back.

She had been your solid rock and, without you really noticing, had become your best friend - your sister.

And after a while it got better. It did not hurt that much anymore. Although it was not quite true. It still hurt - hurt infinitely - but the distances that those waves of grief hit you grew larger.

And then suddenly Daryl was back.

It was a shock to you.

And the moment he moved back into his cell in the cell block, you moved out. There was no trace of you or your belongings in the whole building anymore.

Quietly, and without anyone noticing, you moved into the management's office - permanently. The thought of being so close to him - physically - without actually being able to be close to him was just unbearable for you.

And so you had retreated.

Daryl did not seem to mind. It almost seemed as if he had not even really noticed it.

You hardly had any contact with each other. He rarely talked to you, and if he did, then only what was necessary and as monosyllabic as possible. He even seemed to be avoiding you.

But that's how life works - hard and unfair.

And you cannot choose who to fall in love with.

The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return. But it only worked like that in movies and love songs, right? It did not work that way in real life, at least not for you.

As time goes by you had devoted all your concentration to your small farm. Your mother taught you how to handle plants as a child. In your previous life - before the apocalypse - you also had a vegetable garden with which you mostly tended yourself. So you knew the job and it was easy for you.

You lived in your own little world where you worked side by side with Rick and spent your meager free time with Maggie. Sometimes Carol would join you, but you had already noticed that she somehow always dropped a few comments about Daryl.

You did not want to talk about the redneck, let alone think about him. So, you ignored her as best you could - or at least her suggestions.

But it was not that easy. Your whole prison family knew how deep your feelings were for Daryl. No matter how hard you try to hide it, hide yourself from it.

Then Woodbury fell. New people came to the Prison and with them a young woman - Michelle. Probably only in her mid-twenties, model type, blonde, pretty. A typical homecoming queen.

To you, she made it seem like she had never worked hard in her entire life. She was the type of person who always muddled through, for her own benefit.

And just a few days after moving in, she was permanently on Daryl's heels. She asked questions, talked to him, spent most of the days near him.

But worst of all, she was openly flirting with the man you loved, and he did not seem to mind. Your stomach cramped painfully at the sight, and you had not been able to eat for two days.

Your heart, painstakingly patched together, broke one more time. After that you had avoided Daryl and his blond girl for almost a week, avoided them like the devil had shunned holy water.

But it could not go on like that. And at a certain point you realized: as long as Daryl was happy, nothing else mattered. At least for you.

To make matters worse, there was that cruel little voice in your head that kept whispering to you why Daryl was interested in Michelle and not you. It kept talking to you, all the time.

And then the little wheels in your head started spinning until you were caught in a vortex of thoughts.

She was thin and delicate; you were rather well built.

Her shoulders were narrow; yours were broad.

Her stomach was flat; but you had unmistakable love handles.

She had a firm, shaped ass; you childbearing hips - as your mother used to call it.

Her golden blonde hair always fell in gentle waves down her back. You always had your y/h/c ones in a messy bun. And after hours of hard work in the gardens, you always looked like a half-plucked chicken.

You would never have any chance of comparing yourself with this beautiful, gorgeous woman. Michelle was perfect.

You were just you.

But the worst part of this whole thing was that this woman could not leave you alone. She had won, the man was hers. What else did she want from you?!

Every now and then she dropped small comments, out of the earshot of others. But so that you could hear them very well.

"Hard to believe how one can be so well fed.”

“Are you secretly eating your way through our supplies?"

"Given your size, a whole bunch of Walkers could get fed up with you for a week."

It hurt, hurt infinitely. But you were willing to endure everything. You did not want to make a scene. Did not want to get upset, maybe to draw more unwanted attention to yourself.

In the depths of your heart, you only wanted one thing. You just wanted Daryl to be happy. Everything else does not matter to you.

But what you failed to notice in all your self-doubt and self-sacrifice was: Daryl was not happy.

You were both blind to each other's intentions, had no idea why the other acted the way he was doing.

But the inner circle of your family, especially Maggie and Carol, knew what was going on. And having to watch the two of you - while you did not notice it yourself - slowly but surely drove everyone to despair.

The whole thing was like a fucking soap opera!

You and Daryl had barely spent time together and avoided each other as best you could, so you had not noticed all the little signs that spoke volumes to all the others.

How his ears turn red when you have been near him.

How he sometimes looked at you a little longer than others.

How he changed his shifts in the guard tower just so he could take care of you when you were near the fences during your work.

The moment Daryl faced you for the first time since his return, the floor was torn from under his feet. When he saw your y/e/c eyes looking at him, he felt his heart swell. Warmth spread in his chest and he had thousands of butterflies in his stomach. The redneck had never felt anything like that before and it terrified him.

It was something he could not handle.

He knew he screwed up when he left you because of his brother. The way you behaved towards him was unmistakable. Daryl did not want to endanger the little friendship that was still between you. He could not risk losing you for good.

So he gave you your freedom and just adored from a distance - without you noticing.

But from a certain point in time all his thinking was focused only on you. Or rather, to hide what he really felt about you - how much he loved you.

Daryl was so busy hiding the love he felt for you that he did not even notice how much this young woman from Woodbury was constantly flirting with him. Of course, it had not escaped him that she ran after him like a lost puppy; and yes that annoyed him.

But weren't all of these newcomers a pain in the ass?

He was not interested in this blonde woman, not a little bit. Daryl does not care about her; he does not even listen to her most of the time.

If he was honest, he did not even know her name.

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

In the last few weeks, it had become routine for the redneck to be on guard duty in the early hours of the morning. Not just because he was an early riser- and finally got some peace up here from the intrusive people from Woodbury - but because you went to work in the vegetable gardens shortly after sunrise every day.

And from high up there he had the opportunity to watch and admire you unnoticed.

You have always been used to working hard, and everyone who saw you knew that you had no problem with it and that you could lend a hand. Rick once joked that you could overshadow any Amish when it came to your work ethic. You just shrugged your shoulders and replied that you had no problem with that as long as you didn't have to pray for hours.

So you and Daryl spent the mornings together - without your having a clue about it. You, lovingly watching over the plants in the vegetable patches, he on the guard tower, lovingly watching over you.

As the sun rose higher and higher on its way across the sky, it made the sweat shimmer on your skin as you patiently devoted yourself to each of your tasks without taking a break. The black tank top you wore on that hot summer day stuck to your body and framed it perfectly. Your figure was like an hourglass, and each of your curves came out sensually.

At least as far as Daryl could tell. For him you were perfect, just like you were. He could watch you for hours without getting tired of it, could watch you for the rest of his life.

Only when the crotch of his jeans became uncomfortably tight did the redneck look away from you. His thoughts had taken a suggestive course, and the images that emerged in his head were by far no longer suitable for minors. Daryl would surely spend this evening in his fist again - dreaming of how you would feel lying under him, how you would smell, how you would taste, and what sweet noises would come over your lips if he would touch you where you needed it most.

"Everything's okay," he heard a familiar voice next to him.

Damn it, did the time really go that fast? Was his shift already over?

"Are you okay? You seem a little distracted to me."

Carol had come to relieve him. But Daryl, in his fascination for you, had not even noticed her.

"’m okay."

"Yes, of course, and your thoughts were on the task in front of you the whole time."

There was unmistakable amusement in Carol's voice. With a knowing smile, the woman leaned on the railing and watched you work for a while.

"Can you please finally tell Y/N that you love her. So that we can finally all get on with our lives? It's really not nice to see you two walking around each other on eggshells."

Daryl was embarrassed. He was caught with his hand in the cookie jar by Carol. Still, he tried to stay as cool as possible.

"I have no idea what ya're talkin�� about."

But the woman was not easily fooled. She knew very well what was going on in the man in front of her. Just as she knew how you felt about him.

"I hear what you say, but your ears say something else.”

Daryl flinched. Sometimes he hated the way his body betrayed him.

“What the hell,” Carol had to keep from laughing “I didn't even know that they could get so red."

"Stop it woman."

Again and again, Carol tried to get her friend to finally confess his love to you. Because in her eyes you were both wasting valuable time. And being able to spend time with loved ones was the most important thing now.

You had not noticed any of this. You were too busy tying up the tomato plants and removing the leaves so that they brought the greatest possible yield. After all, many mouths had to be fed, and you all needed supplies for the coming winter.

And it was precisely these necessary supplies that prompted Rick to ask you to go on a run the next day with others. Of course, you immediately agreed, after all, everyone went on these runs at some point. It wouldn't be your first time, and certainly not your last time, that you would take part in something like this.

But who could say that in these uncertain times?

What you did not know at the time was, that Michelle would be there too. Maybe then you would have refused. But now you sat in the back seat of the pickup truck in silence, staring stubbornly out the window.

Michelle just a few inches away from you.

It had been clear to Maggie from the start that this constellation would not bring any good. However, even the young woman would not have expected what dimensions the whole thing would take. And in what a heartbreaking catastrophe it would end.

During the entire journey Glenn and Maggie tried to break the mood. The four of you sat in the truck and drove a few hours until you finally arrived at your destination.

It should be a simple thing - in and out, quietly, quickly, unseen.

But what no one had expected was the behavior that Michelle had displayed when it came to doing her part. She had absolutely no desire to be actually a part in this job.

And Michelle let the three of you feel that very clearly.

She neither wanted to help find the necessary supplies nor carry them; even found it outrageous that she had been asked by Rick to join in and risk her life. She had never had to do this before, why now?

It took you so much strength to stay calm and not yell your opinion on Michelle's face - or beat her across the street.

You did not like this woman, not a bit. For you, she was a narrow-minded, self-centered, selfish slut who cared about only herself. And what Daryl saw in her was incomprehensible to you.

But when Michelle began to risk all of your lives because of her loud behavior, even Maggie's patience ran out. The eternal insults in your direction were just the cherry on top. Maggie would have liked nothing more than to give this snotty brat a huge slap in the face.

But to make a shitty day even more shitty, that was unfortunately your smallest problem.

Michelle's loud complaints drew the attention of more and more walkers, and at some point, you had difficulties getting back to your car.

You had just successfully cleared a pharmacy when you saw the horde slowly approaching on the street.

That was by far the worst scenario, and your greatest fear.

It was all happening so quickly, and the only thing you thought was that Michelle had to make it back to the Prison alive. You could not risk Daryl losing someone he loved again. No matter what a fucking bitch she was. You knew it would destroy him.

The way back to the pickup was long and the Walkers unfortunately closer than wanted. The heavy backpacks did not make it any easier to escape them quickly. So you stayed back when Maggie, Glenn, and Michelle started running back towards the truck. You knew your partners needed a distraction to make it through.

And what could be a better distraction than you.

"Come to me you damn motherfuckers! Here I am! Come and catch me you bloody bastards! You ugly fuckers!" you screamed on top of your lungs, tried to make as much noise as possible.

The walkers slowly turned to you and came to hunt you down - to kill you. You would be their lunch. Scared to death your heart was beating so hard in your chest that you thought it was about to pop out.

From that point on, you could not remember anything. Your brain just shut down, went into survival mode. You only ran on instinct, no more active thinking.

In a way, like the Walkers you tried to escape from.

Maggie turned when she heard your voice, and the blood froze in her veins. She thought you were right behind her, but you were still near the entrance to the pharmacy and the horde of walkers was on the way to you.

"Y/N!" her voice was desperate.

She was about to turn back to you – to help you - but Glenn could not and would not let that happen.

"Come on Maggie, we have to get the car. We'll come back for her; I promise."

Glenn took his girlfriend's hand and pulled her forcefully with him.

Michelle had not noticed anything of that, she was the first to take a seat in the pickup and firmly locked the passenger door behind her.

When Glenn finally started the engine and Maggie - now in the back seat - turned her eyes back to the pharmacy entrance, you were gone.

Your best friend was in a panic.

"Where is she? Oh my god, where is she?"

Only then did she see you on the canopy of the building - the backpack with the bandages still firmly strapped around you.

"On the roof, Glenn, she's on the roof! We have to get her!" the young woman screamed in desperation.

She could not and did not want to lose her friend. Not now and not like this.

“and preferably before these things figure out how to climb”, was Glenn's addition when he turned the truck and drove towards the pharmacy.

"Are you crazy," squeaked Michelle, "do you want to die just to maybe save her life?"

Maggie's eyes darkened, and Glenn realized immediately that she had now reached the limit. Another word from Michelle and his girlfriend would feed this woman to the Walkers with no trace of guilt.

"You shut up now, bitch! You're to blame for all this shit. If you’d shut your damn mouth and done what we've all done hundreds of times before, none of this would have happened! These fucking things would never have noticed us."

Michelle gasped to give Maggie a neat answer, but Maggie was faster.

"If I hear one more word from you, if you just beep, I'll feed you to these Walkers!"

Michelle's reply was interrupted by the gruesome sound of breaking bones as Glenn brutally drove through the horde of walkers who were now confused and trying to understand what was going on around them.

You were still standing on the roof. Your gaze was focused on the scene before you but not fearful, as if your self was not there at that moment.

"You have to jump," Glenn called to you when he brought the pickup to a stop right under the roof.

And with that you jumped onto the back of the truck. The fall was higher than expected, and there was a thump as you hit the flatbed. Immediately Glenn had accelerated the car again and drove away as fast as he could in the direction of Prison.

Desperate, Maggie kept calling your name, but you just did not answer. Maybe you were in shock. After all, it was not common practice to voluntarily sacrifice oneself as a meal for these monsters.

A few miles out of town, Glenn finally stopped the car, and Maggie was by your side in an instant. But she was not prepared for what she saw. You were passed out and a small pool of blood had formed under your head. The thud she had heard - when you landed - had been your head when it hit the loading wall.

"Oh my God."

Immediately Maggie was at your side, looking for your pulse with trembling hands. And there it was - weak - but she felt it.

"Please open your eyes Y/N/N", the young woman pleaded as she lovingly brushed the hair off your face.

"Maggie?" Glenn's voice was timid, almost frightened, as he stood next to the pickup and stared at your broken body.

"We have to get her to my father as soon as possible!"

Maggie's harsh words seemed to loosen Glenn from his stupor.

"Okay, no problem, I can do that."

And with that Glenn was back behind the wheel and gave full throttle. Maggie stayed with you on the flatbed, took off your backpack and trying to stop the bleeding on your head.

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

Rick and Daryl were in the courtyard of the prison, discussing the next runs when the pickup truck drove through the gates with screeching tires. It was immediately clear to both of them that something bad must have happened.

Without wasting time, the two men ran towards the car.

"What happened", Rick called out.

But Daryl could not hear Glenn’s answer. Everything around him fell silent and vanished when he saw you - bleeding, passed out - in Maggie's arms.

Without thinking further, he jumped on the flatbed and leaned over you. He caressed your pale cheek with trembling fingertips before desperately looking for a pulse on your neck.

Frightened, he held his breath until he felt it, your heartbeat.

Even but so weak.

"We have to take her to my father."

Maggie had not even finished the sentence when Daryl had already taken you in his arms - bridal style - and was on the way to the infirmary with you.

With a lover's desperation, he clung to you as he ran all the way.

“Don't do this to me. I beg ya, please don't die to me."

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

Daryl never left your side for a moment. He sat like a statue and held your hand. He did not say a word, did not move. Neither when Hershel examined you, nor when he sewed your laceration.

He listened quietly to the vet's diagnosis and what he thought might happen in the next few hours or days.

Only when Maggie came with a bowl of water and a cloth to wash off the dirt and blood did he break free.

"Let me …" Daryls voice cracked, and the knot in his throat made it difficult for him to say anything else.

He took everything from Maggie's hand and put it on the little table next to your bed.

The redneck looked broken. The young woman could clearly see how much he loved you. And she knew that if you died, Daryl would vanish. He would just cease to exist.

“I'm so sorry,” Maggie said quietly, and a tear rolled down her cheek, “I thought she was right behind me. But … but she wasn't."

"It's not ya’ fault." Daryl's voice was barely perceptible.

Slowly he dipped the cloth into the warm water and began to carefully wash the blood off your face.

"Daryl I’m ... I’m"

"I know."

“Y/N is strong, she is tough. She will be okay."

Daryl just nodded absently while he concentrated fully on washing the blood off your temple.

And so Maggie left the redneck alone with you in the infirmary.

With trembling hands, he began to clean your neck. Little by little he washed your whole body- took care of you quietly and lovingly- making dirt, blood and sweat disappear, made you as clean as he saw you before you went on that fucking run.

Then he sat there, hour after hour, just looking at you, holding your hand. You looked so fragile. You lay there injured and pale, almost like a corpse. Only your quiet, even breathing told Daryl that you were still with him.

Inside Daryl, everything contracted painfully at the thought that you might not wake up again. Slowly he leaned towards your face. He looked at every birthmark, every wrinkle, every freckle, as if he wanted to burn them into his memory.

“I don't know if ya can hear me,” he finally began with a trembling voice.

“But I ... I ... I “, he had to laugh bitterly.

“’m a bloody coward. Why can' I jus’ say it?"

Daryl took a deep breath, he had to get his fear under control somehow. He had to tell you. He would never forgive himself if he did not do it now.

What if you died.

"I love ya Y/N. 've been in love with ya since ... I actually have no idea how long. But I love ya. I should have told ya much earlier. I don' know why I didn't. But I love ya."

Daryl fought back tears but lost.

"Oh God please, I beg ya, please come back to me. Give me a chance to show ya how much I love ya. Just one chance to prove myself to ya." and with that Daryl collapsed on top of you, crying and sobbing.

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

It took you two days to open your eyes again. Two days in which Daryl had not left your side. Two days of going through hell and back again. In which even he had sent a quick prayer or two towards heaven.

It was as if you had been awakened from a deep sleep far too abruptly. And it took a while before you knew where you were. You felt dizzy and tired. Your head hurt like hell. And you were confused.

First, why you were in the infirmary, and second, why Daryl was sitting next to your bed looking like he had not slept in days – your hand in his.

"Hey," he whispered, "how are ya feelin’?"

"Tired", your voice was scratchy from not using it for a long time, "my head hurts."

“You hit ya head bad. Hershel had to patch ya up."

"What happened?"

"Can't ya remember."

"No ... Yes …. but not ... not really ... only up to a certain point."

You were nervous, were not used to Daryl being so close to you. You did not want to make a fuss about yourself, and yet you liked the attention this man was giving you.

“I can still remember the horde of Walkers who came up to me, but then … nothing ... I can't remember what happened then."

You had not noticed that tears had started to run down your temples until Daryl lovingly wiped them away with his thumb.

"Hey ... shh ... take it easy. Everythin’ is okay. Everyone’s fine. Please don't get upset, ya have a concussion. Hershel says ya need a lot of rest now."

And suddenly you were silent. Never before had Daryl spoken to you with such a loving tone in his voice or had touched you in this way. You did not understand what was happening here.

But he said you had a concussion. Perhaps it was to blame for this filter through which you noticed this whole interaction.

“I'll let Hershel know that ya woke up. I'll be right back; promise."

Confused, you looked after the redneck. Something had happened that you had no idea about. But you did not want to worry about it now. Your head hurt too much, and you just wanted to sleep.

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

When you opened your eyes again, Hershel was sitting in the chair on which you had previously seen Daryl.

"It's nice to see you again with your eyes open Y/N," said the older man with a friendly smile, "you worried us very much."

"‘m sorry. "

"It's okay. How do you feel?"

"Okay. Tired, head hurts."

"Something else?"

"No, except that I feel like I'm wrapped in cotton wool."

Hershel sat and listened to you before nodding.

"Daryl said you can't remember what happened."

"Not really."

"Don't worry, that's nothing unusual with this type of head injury."

He patted your shoulder encouragingly.

"Will I be able to remember one day?"

"You know kid, sometimes it is really good not to be able to remember some things."

"Probably."

“But now you should rest first. I know you have questions, but answers will come later. After all, you have to regain your strength."

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

You knew you had slept, but not for how long. Because the next time you opened your eyes, Carol was sitting on that same chair. But there was something else. Could it be that it smelled of her venison ragout?

"How are you, Y/N/N?"

"Still tired, but the headache is almost gone."

"Good to hear. You gave us all a real scare."

"I'm sorry."

"Especially Daryl. I've never seen him so frightened."

You looked questioningly at the older woman next to you. You were used to it that she kept dropping allusions about Daryl - at least when she talked to you. But you just did not understand that statement at all.

Daryl was never afraid of anything. Why would he ...

"Well. Are you hungry?" Carol had a friendly smile on her face when it broke your train of thought.

At that moment, your stomach made a loud rumbling noise.

“I'll take that as a yes,” smirked the gray-haired woman, “Daryl went hunting so that I could cook this. He knows it’s your favorite."

Unsure you looked at Carol before you took the bowl from her hand and slowly began to eat. It was true, that was your favorite food - if there was such a thing at all in times like this.

"You know that he loves you," she suddenly began out of nowhere

"Of course, we are family," did you try to belittle the matter.

“Okay, let's reformulate the whole thing again. Daryl is in love with you, absolutely and one hundred percent madly in love with you. A 'you're the only one for me' love. Without any misunderstanding."

When she said that, you choked on the stew right away and now you sat in front of her, coughing and snorting.

“And I know you love him too. So don't try to deny it at all. Everyone here knows that. Or how blind do you think we are? Although ... apart from Daryl. He has no idea. He probably wouldn't even understand if it bites his ass.”

At this picture you had to laugh.

“Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith in order to reach their goal. You two really have to start talking clearly to each other. You two belong together like pepper and salt Do you actually notice how much you waste your precious time? Neither of us knows how much of it is left. You should know that now, because honey it was damn close."

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

Sleeping was your main occupation right now. A concussion took time and a lot of rest to heal. So it wasn't uncommon for your life to consist of short scenes at the moment.

With a sound - like a purring cat - you stretched in the hospital bed before opening your eyes. You no longer had any sense of time, and only the sunlight falling through the barred windows told you that it was probably afternoon.

"Hey."

Only now did you notice that Daryl was with you again.

"Ya feel better?"

"Yes."

Daryl seemed kind of nervous. But that wasn't possible, why should he?

"I've been here before, but ya slept and I don't want to wake ya", his words just gushed out of him.

Could it be? Was he nervous?

"Okay ... yes ... uhm ..."

You were easily overwhelmed with this situation, and somehow your head just seemed to have been swept clean. You could not find any words.

"We take turns. Hershel thinks there should always be someone with ya. Because of the concussion. Rick has already been here, and Maggie of course."

"And Carol."

"Yea."

"I wanted to thank you."

"For what?"

"For the food. Carol said you went hunting especially for it."

"No problem."

“I still appreciate it. And for ... that you are here ... with me."

He nudged his nose up in a nod.

And then there was silence. The conversation with Carol kept going through your head. What she said. Could it really be true?

You knew that Daryl has always been more of a man of action than a man of words. And it was clear to you that if you did not take the first step now, you two would probably never get anywhere.

"Carol spoke to me", you started when you sat up

The man across from you was obviously nervous now. You could tell all too clearly by the fact that he was starting to chew the inside of his cheek.

"With me too."

"Apparently something like an intervention is going on here, could that be", you smiled, trying to loosen up the mood a bit.

"Seems so."

Daryl looked at you for a few moments. You could see the wheels turning in his head.

"I'm a coward, Y/N," he finally began.

You had expected a lot, but not a statement like that.

"No, you’re not. How did you come up with such an idea?"

"I was a complete idiot and too cowardly."

"What are you talking about Daryl."

In your opinion, this was going completely wrong right now. You actually wanted to tell him you loved him, and now it seemed to end in a vortex of self-doubt.

"I love ya, Y/N.”

And with that your thoughts became silent.

“I am terribly in love with ya. And out of fear I didn't say anything. But then I saw ya lying on the flatbed of that fucking truck, covered in blood and passed out. At that moment, my heart stopped. And I swore to myself that when ya're okay again, when ya've got throu’ this, that I'll finally tell ya what I feel for ya. Y/N I love ya. "

During Daryl's monologue you forgot how to breathe and just listened intently while thousands of butterflies fluttered around in your stomach like they're having a bloody party there.

It took you some time to realize that Daryl was waiting for a reaction from you as he gnawed his thumb in fear.

"I love you too," it gushed out of you before you even realized you had said something.

And then there was silence again. You and Daryl just looked at each other. Unsure what to do now. After all, you were both in uncharted waters.

"And ... and now," you asked uncertainly.

"Don't know," Daryl just shrugged.

"I mean ... um ... are ... are we ... together now?"

You carefully ventured out of cover.

"Um, yea ... if ya ... if ya want that."

"Oh my god, yes please", you replied in one breath.

Suddenly the tension between you had dissolved and you both had to laugh. It was so surreal. Two adults acted like teenagers in love who had no idea what to do.

But then Daryl slowly leaned in towards you. Your heart was pounding when you could finally feel his breath on your face. But before your lips touched, he stopped. He wanted to give you the opportunity to evade him if you did not want this.

But you wanted it, wanted it more than anything else in your life. And when you had overcome the last few inches, you finally felt his lips on yours.

The feeling was amazing. As if at that moment an electric shock had run through your whole body, and at the same time it was like coming home.

Everything around you no longer existed, was no longer important. Here and now, it was just you and Daryl. The way his lips moved with yours, how his fingers slowly ran up your arms until they were in your hair.

Everything was so intense. And when you finally parted to take a much-needed breath, Daryl leaned his forehead against yours.

"Ya have no idea how long I've been dreamin’ about this."

"Probably as long as me."

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

When Rick was about to visit Y/N in the early evening hours, he saw Carol and Maggie standing in the door to the infirmary.

"Everything's okay," he wanted to know.

The two women turned around with their index fingers over their lips.

"Shhhh."

Both did at the same time.

"Be quiet and come here," Carol whispered, "you really have to see that."

Rick approached the two women curiously. What could be so interesting that Carol and Maggie were half-hidden behind the door, staring into the infirmary?

He was confused, but when he saw what fascinated them so much, his heart swell. A satisfied smile played on his lips, as he was seeing what was going on less than five paces away.

Daryl was lying - half sitting - on the bed. His back supported on the wall behind him. Y/N was snuggled close to him, head on his chest and her arm wrapped around him. Absently, the fingers of his right hand traced patterns on her upper arm as he read to her from an old paperback.

Everyone could see the love that bound these two people. And thank God the two finally understood that.

"Seems like we finally have a happy ending," said the former deputy with a broad smile.

"Thank God", Maggie exhaled, "nobody wanted to watch this puppy love shit anymore."

“Yes,” laughed Rick, “but you have to admit there was something exciting about the whole thing. As if it had been our very own little soap opera."

"You're right, but I prefer my best friend happy."

"And what do we do now. I mean this seemingly endless heartbreak theater has come obviously to an end."

"Gossip- Rick is afraid he'll get bored?"

Maggie's voice was teasing.

"No, that's not how it was meant."

"Don't worry, Rick," said Carol with a smile, "I think the whole thing has a sequel anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, has someone told Michelle yet?"

All three looked at each other with big eyes before they having to resist laughing convulsively.

This story could get really interesting after all, they agreed.

part two

[julek]

my kingdom for a kiss (upon your shoulder)

read on ao3 | rated T | 6.2K | no warnings | for @asweetprologue <3

The sun shines soft in Toussaint.

Geralt can’t remember whether it’s always been like that — if the golden tint that falls over the city as gently as wind-blown petals is genuine or just a product of his imagination. Spring isn’t in full bloom yet, timid flowers peeking at him from the side of the road, proud birds carrying twigs and feathers to their newly-made nests, the tree branches still cold after the last snow.

They’re not far from the main square, their pace steady and unhurried since they set out to Beauclair in the morning. The midday commotion fills Geralt’s senses, spices and bread and frantic conversations making him shake his head in discomfort — busy cities always take a while to grow used to; thankfully, he never stays long.

Next to him, Jaskier sneezes.

“This weather, I tell you—” he starts, but gets immediately cut off by another dainty, kitten-like sneeze. He wipes his nose on his sleeve, then makes a face at it. “Be the death of me.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “It’ll take more than pollen to take you, I fear.”

“It doesn’t stand a chance against me,” he says, and strikes a pose, like one of the heroes in the silly novels he insists on buying, but the puffy eyes and red nose dampens it a bit. He doesn’t seem deterred, though. “Besides, I wouldn’t let pollen, of all things, keep me from performing at tonight’s ball.”

Geralt hums, flicking a fly off Roach’s mane. They were in Spalla when Jaskier was approached by a passing servant and asked to partake in some baron Geralt couldn’t care enough to retain the name of’s early spring ball — naturally, Jaskier had jumped at the invitation, eager to be among the distinguished crowds that frequent such events, even more so after a long winter tucked away at Oxenfurt.

“By the way,” Jaskier says, picking an inexistent piece of lint off his doublet, aiming for casual even though he knows Geralt can hear the curious lilt to his voice, “will you be attending tonight?”

“I might not make it in time,” he says truthfully. He rubs his thumb over the contract he’s holding in his free hand, the sharp edges digging into his skin. “I will hunt this afternoon.”

Jaskier nods. “Well,” he says, his voice soft as he bumps his shoulder against Geralt’s. “You’re welcome there. I’ll vouch for you, you know.”

Geralt smiles at him solemnly — then bumps him back, laughing when the bard accidentally crashes into an old woman perusing the wares of a silver-tongued merchant.

“Geralt!” Jaskier says indignantly, smoothing out his doublet and shooting the woman a sideways glance that’s more annoyed than apologetic. “You can’t just push people.”

“Apologies,” Geralt says, not sounding sorry at all. “My balance seems to be off, lately. You know how it is.”

“With your old age, yes,” Jaskier says and pats his arm sympathetically. “I fear you’re showing signs of decay already.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, yes.” Jaskier takes his arm and loops it through his, a steadying hand at his back. “Your gait is off— look, even Roach looks concerned for your wellbeing.”

Roach looks unfazed.

“And all the lines on your face!” Jaskier gasps in mock-horror. “My, Geralt, we should take you to a healer. Perhaps you’ve been cursed— There! Those dreadful frown lines you sport, old friend… Have you considered retirement? I hear there are great Witcher-friendly settlements in this area, and— hey!”

Geralt smirks as Jaskier rubs the side of his head where Geralt’s innocent and weary hand slapped it. He can see the worn-down sign of the inn he favors when they’re in the city a few steps ahead, can already taste the fresh ale on his mouth.

“Whoops,” he says, trying to school his features into something that isn’t a smug smile. “Seems I’m losing control of my limbs, too.”

+

The Rose and Thorn is as it has ever been. Clean wooden floorboards that creak as they walk in, the blossoming vine hanging over the kitchen door, the innkeeper’s old dog napping in a spot of sunlight pouring in through the window.

It’s good.

Geralt likes routine. He thrives on it. He likes familiar faces and comforting smells and the sound of pans and pots banging together as the cook murmurs a string of expletives that would be considered indecorous on a lady’s mouth. He likes knowing where he stands, likes the well-loved booths and the tankards that are cracked around the edges, the face of an unruly lion faded on the ceramic. He’s pleased with the way the innkeeper’s eyes crinkle with recognition as she nods at him and Jaskier, as she wordlessly takes his coin and points her head in direction of the room he always takes.

They move upstairs, Jaskier’s lutecase hitting the narrow walls as Geralt pushes the door open. The room is simple — two beds and a small table under the tall window, light pouring in through the thin linen curtains. He sets his bag on one of the beds — the closest to the door — and puts his sheathed swords next to it before allowing himself a moment to sit and wind down.

“I’d say lunch is in order, don’t you think?” Jaskier says after a while, even though his words are muffled by the pillow he’d thrown himself face-down onto and he doesn’t seem to be moving any time soon. “I’m aching for something other than apples and jerky, if I’m honest.”

Geralt’s stomach rumbles in agreement. “Too coarse for your fine palate, bard?” He teases.

“Never,” Jaskier says, lifting an accusatory finger at where he supposes Geralt is sitting. Then, because it isn’t as dramatic as it should’ve been, he rolls over, facing Geralt, his hair sticking up at odd places and his face flushed a pretty shade of pink. “I’m well used to all kinds of provisions, but the soul wishes for something a little bit more substantial every once in a while.”

“Hmm,” Geralt concedes. He laces up his left boot tighter than the right one and stands. “Let’s go, then, man of substance.”

Jaskier grins up at him, bright and easy, and leaps out of the bed so fast the wind gets knocked out of him.

Downstairs at the bar, there are steaming bowls of pottage being sent to the patrons that are starting to overflow the room, bread and cheese abundant at every table. It must have been a fruitful winter, Geralt reasons as he nods to the barmaid and gestures to the plates.

“Ale as well, Sir Witcher?” She says as she wipes her forehead, no trace of fear in her voice. She’s probably too busy for it.

“Two, please.”

He makes his way to the table where Jaskier’s already tearing a loaf of bread in two, tapping a rhythm with his fingers on the hard wood as he looks out the window at the passersby. There’s a neatly-made arrangement of wildflowers on the wall by his side, larkspur and thistle with a touch of baby’s breath, Geralt thinks.

“Here,” he says, passing the half-full tankard over to Jaskier and taking a sip of his own.

Jaskier hands him a piece of bread. “So, what are we slaying today?”

“The only thing you’ll be slaying today is your audience’s eardrums,” Geralt says, smirking at Jaskier’s huff of indignation. He takes a bite out of the bread. “There seems to be an archespore around the vineyards.”

“An— the—” Jaskier’s face does a complicated thing and Geralt wants to point out that he looks like a gaping trout before he says, “An archespore?! This mythical— magical— never before seen creature—”

“It’s been seen plenty of times,” Geralt points out.

“Not by me!” Jaskier thumps his fist on the table, defeated, and his ale sloshes dangerously. He wipes a hand down his face. “Ugh. And I can’t even fight you on it, because I’ve got, uh, what do they call it— Geralt, help me out here, what’s the word—”

“A compromise.”

Jaskier gags. “Yes. That. I shall honor my, uh, compromise to the arts and leave you alone and defenseless before such a legendary creature. Naught but two swords and the strength of” —he looks Geralt up and down appreciatively— “roughly twelve men built like bulls to keep yourself out of harm’s way.”

Geralt lifts his eyebrows, unimpressed, and leans back on his seat as a barmaid approaches them with a bowl in each hand. “Thank you,” he tells her, and digs in.

The stew is pleasantly hot and thick with spices and vegetables, the potatoes sweet and the meat tender, and he lets a pleased rumble escape his chest.

He doesn’t get to indulge in good meals very often — when he gets the opportunity to sit down at a proper table and have a proper plate placed in front of him, the food is usually sizable and filling, but never particularly appetizing. It’s mostly overcooked, tough meat — if he can afford it — and out-of-season vegetables that remind him of dried-out fields rather than a lavish banquet.

Jaskier is used to them, though. Or was — right before he was hit on the head with a chunk of stale bread and had the brilliant idea to trail after a Witcher, to trade comfortable beds and roasted pheasants for a hard bedroll spread on the forest floor and charred squirrel, at best. It still intrigues Geralt, watching Jaskier roll up his sleeves and dig into the pottage like it’s the finest meal he’s ever tasted, like it doesn’t pale in comparison to what he’ll be served tonight. Like he doesn’t see it — the immensity of the gap between Geralt’s world and his own.

There are moments of hesitation — moments when Geralt thinks Jaskier will wake up. When he thinks the bard will look around and shake his head in astonished confusion, and his blue eyes will widen comically like they do when he’s caught slipping treats to Roach, and he’ll see through the desperately-sewn seams of Geralt’s life. He’ll see that behind the so-called heroics and martyrdom there’s nothing more than a Witcher and a horse and a lonely road ahead.

But then, just when Geralt’s doubts start to creep into his hairline and show on his face, Jaskier will prove him wrong. Like now, as Jaskier lets his spoon fall into his empty bowl and leans back on his seat, sighing happily, nothing but contentment and warmth on his scent. As he watches through the window again, with a smile that dimples his cheek and sunlight crinkling his eyes.

Geralt feels something touch his leg. When he looks down, the innkeeper’s dog is resting his chin on Geralt’s thigh, his eyes big and pleading.

He picks up a hard bit of bread Jaskier had set aside earlier and carefully brings it up to the dog’s nose for inspection. After a few curious sniffs, the dog gently takes it out of Geralt’s hand, tail wagging excitedly. His fur is soft where Geralt smoothes it out with the flat of his palm, softer than Roach’s mane.

When he looks up, Jaskier’s eyes have abandoned the window, and he’s watching the two of them with a smile that’s half fond, half soft. Too tender.

Geralt’s never been looked at like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

It feels inadequate, and he pats the dog’s head to hide the almost imperceptible tremble of his hand. Jaskier’s smile reaches his eyes, and doesn’t waver.

It’s good.

+

The soft breeze wafting through the window as Geralt straps his swords to his back is tempting.

Jaskier yawns.

“You sure you don’t wanna get a nap in before you,” he yawns again, “go?”

He’s sprawled on his bed in a position that just can’t be comfortable, limbs long and bent at weird angles, pants unbuttoned and doublet resting on the back of a chair. His hair is ruffled and his cheeks are pink from the meal and the impending sleep that will follow.

“I’ve read, somewhere,” he continues, forcefully wrestling with the blankets that are firmly tucked into the bed, “ah, that napping increases, um— aha!” He wiggles under the covers. “It increases your strength, sharpens your” — a yawn — “mind, and whatnot.”

“Hmm.” Geralt adjusts his potion belt. “And how’s that worked out for you?”

Jaskier squints at him, managing to stay awake just to be annoyed. “See? You just continue proving my point! That,” he says, gesturing vaguely at Geralt with a half-covered hand, “would easily be fixed with one tiny nap!”

“Your naps are never tiny.”

“Well, no, because as a bard, I require more energy than a Witcher. Besides,” he says, closing his eyes, “I never seem to get enough sleep, you see, since I keep getting assaulted by this beast of a man who thinks dawn is already late.”

Geralt snorts and walks over to his bed. “Should put a contract out, then. A Witcher may come across it.”

Jaskier turns around, facing Geralt. “Oh, no, thank you. One Witcher is enough for me.” Geralt can hear the smile in his voice, though.

Checking he’s got everything he needs, and closing the open windows for good measure, Geralt turns to Jaskier. “I’m going. Stay here.”

This time, it’s Jaskier who has to snort. “Napping, remember?”

Geralt hums. “Don’t sleep through your performance,” he says, closing the door behind him, and the sounds of Jaskier tossing and turning while making indignant sounds makes him smirk.

The walk to the vineyard doesn’t take long. He passes the district alderman’s house on his way over, discusses the payment and whatever information he has to offer about the vineyard itself and the archespore sightings. The man’s face goes white when Geralt asks about any late violent crime.

The sun is still high in the sky when he gets to the heart of the vineyard, the earth uneven and freshly dug up. The victims’ bodies aren’t there anymore, he knows, but the archespore can’t be too far away from him. He draws out his sword and walks deeper into the field, watching the ripe grapevine sway with the wind.

There’s a vine in particular that calls his attention, thinner and bare, no grapes clinging to it. Just as he gets closer to it, it disappears under the ground. Geralt crouches and backs away, waiting to see it come back up — except when it does, it’s not just a lonely vine anymore.

The archespore stands tall and imposing, growling at Geralt as he signs Igni at it and aims for its trunk — he only gets one good blow before it buries itself under the earth. He waits again, looking for the green-brown color, and it shoots back up with renewed force, surrounding Geralt with acid-filled pods.

He casts a quick Quen and gets closer to it, choosing Aard this time as Igni causes it to relocate, and seizes the way it trembles minutely to get behind it and run his sword through its flesh. The creature growls, its jaw-shaped leaves curling around Geralt’s limbs. He struggles and manages to cast Igni at it, freeing himself as the plant relocates itself. When it sprouts back up, one of its pods blows up next to him, making him fall to the ground as the creature towers over him, its screeches deafening.

The archespore opens its forked mouth and screeches louder this time, acid shooting through its pores before Geralt can shield himself. The acid burns his skin where it reaches it, but the creature seems satisfied enough that it misses the opportunity to pin him to the ground. He reaches for his sword and lunges, casting Aard and tearing its leaves and damaging its thick stem.

This time, when it goes underground, Geralt has a feral smile on his face as he takes his Golden Oriole and upends it in his mouth. The venom stops burning for a second, and, when the archespore comes back up, its tendrils reaching for Geralt, he ducks and rolls, positioning himself behind it. The archespore screeches one final time as Geralt runs his sword from its head down to its core before it collapses to the ground, lifeless body still twitching. Geralt throws the severed head far enough that it won’t be able to reattach itself and slices up the remaining pods, their venom oozing sluggishly onto the torn-up ground.

He makes his way back to the city, the head of the archespore dripping slightly from its bag. The sun is setting, painting the walls golden against the pink sky, the shadows cast over the buildings helping the buzzing in his brain. He takes the less-traveled roads to avoid the commotion of the streets, but it seems the city is already mellowed out.

He thinks of Jaskier.

The first star of the night is twinkling against the pink-blue sky, the moon translucent. The baron’s residence is distant, surrounded by a stretch of the city’s walls, but Geralt imagines it’s close, close enough that Jaskier’s voice can carry through the night — that his soft melodies can reach them all.

He thinks of Jaskier, dressed up in his finest clothes that he had especially tailored — because I’ve filled out in the winter, Geralt! — drinking sweet wine from the vineyard he’s just left behind, mingling with the nobles and regaling them with honeyed tales of the Witcher’s heroism. The Witcher who is currently covered in muck and sticky with dried acid, carrying a severed head across the streets of Beauclair.

But Jaskier would disagree. He’d see a knight in shining armor, coming home triumphant after saving a family’s livelihood, the scars of the ferocious battle showing on his face. A defeated beast and a courageous warrior. A tale worth telling.

After dispatching the head and collecting his coin — what they’d agreed on, thankfully — Geralt heads back to the inn. The humming in his veins has simmered down, leaving behind a hint of exhaustion that clings to his bones and makes itself known. He calls for a bath, ignoring the innkeeper’s knowing look — she’s seen him trudge inside wearing worse.

Once he’s in his room, he takes his time unbuckling and sets his armor aside, a filthy pile that he’ll have to tend to eventually. After, he thinks, and sinks into the steaming tub. The room’s windows are open despite him closing them before leaving, tacit proof of Jaskier’s aversion for closed spaces and feeling oppressed, Witcher, and his distinct lack of self-preservation. Geralt’s chastised him enough about being easy prey, but there’s something in the way the bard moves that makes him want to protect, rather than prevent — he’d rather be the one to free Jaskier from his cage than be the one to lock him there in the first place. Not that Jaskier would ever let himself be locked away — he’s feisty enough on his own — but something about him screams freedom.

Geralt can’t take it away — wouldn’t ever want to. So he lets the cool air enter the room.

His bed is neatly made, pillows fluffed and sheets crisp. Next to it is Jaskier’s — somehow, pillows are on the floor and the sheets are turned inside out, twisted like a serpent around the blanket. His side of the room looks like it’s been a victim of a cruel whirlwind — clothes and accessories are strung about the room, picked up only to be frowned at and then put back down.

It’s tempting enough; to crawl under the covers and blow out the candles and get a half-decent night of sleep. Maybe get something to eat from the bar downstairs. Maybe drink some ale. But—

I’ll vouch for you, you know.

He knows.

+

It’s a beautiful night, in truth.

The ball is being hosted in the halfmoon-shaped garden, the cool spring breeze dancing around the guests as they dance themselves, carried away. Moonlight and candlelight alike wash over the cobblestone, a few delicate and intricate paper lanterns placed over a wooden railing casting gentle shadows on the whole scene. There are flowers all around — on tall vases in every corner and on the small centerpieces at every table, on the open hand of every statue and weaved into delicate crowns for everyone to wear.

It isn’t like anything Geralt’s seen before. He’s been to many balls — begrudgingly — but never one in which everyone carries themselves so freely, where raucous laughter is allowed if not mandatory, where not one person sits alone at their table, instead gathered around savoring the food, where there are chairs but no one sitting on them because they’re so busy prancing around the yard, marveling at the flowers and the outfits and the beauty of the night. Where everyone seems to be there because they want to be — because they belong.

He’s standing by a pillar, not hidden but not in plain sight, either. He tightens his jacket around himself, half to fend off the chill of the night air and half to hide the stain on the chemise underneath — a dangerous encounter with a drunk Jaskier and a goblet of wine. His leather band is on his wrist tonight, his silver hair tickling the spot behind his ear and catching on the high collar of his shirt. People are still coming in through the garden gates, the path to the grounds lit by small candles by each side of it, couples strolling hand-in-hand across the grounds and children running around, their flower crowns hanging off their heads.

There’s no music yet, just conversation carrying the night away. He can hear Jaskier’s heartbeat somewhere in the gardens, but hasn’t seen him yet — perhaps he’s encountered one of his old dalliances and is catching up, as he’s often done before.

Geralt moves to the balcony with the stone railing, the one looking out to the lake. The waves are calm tonight, gently rippling back and forth, shimmering under the stars. He leans his elbows on the railing, feeling very small as he looks down.

Heights used to scare him when he was a child. It’s one of the only things he can remember. His house sat on a small hill, and every night, after his mother went to sleep, he would tiptoe across the kitchen and open the window, and he would look down and feel terror beat inside his chest, gripping his heart like a vine.

Now, as he looks down, he can see the scrape of the stones jutting out of the earth, the clear beach beneath him. He can see the boats resting on the shore and the stars reflecting on the water. Looking down, he just feels at ease.

The sound of children protesting catches his attention. When he looks back to the courtyard, he can see two small children — siblings, he presumes — looking at their mother with very exaggerated frowns on their tiny faces.

“You mustn’t use your sister’s dress as a cleaning rag, Petyr,” she says to the boy as she tries to wipe down the girl’s gown.

“But the floors here needed cleaning!” Petyr responds, petulant. “You told us things should be squeaky-clean.”

His mother is about to reply when suddenly a voice cuts in. “And your mother is right, of course,” says Jaskier, winking at her and meeting her smile of relief with one of his own. “But this is a party! You’re meant to have fun, you and your sister! Don’t you like to dance?”

Petyr and his sister shake their heads. “We don’t know how to,” she admits.

Jaskier’s grin is wide. “Well, then you must be born singers!” At that, the girl smiles.

“Mama says our singing sounds more like a dying wyvern’s last breath,” she says simply, and it makes Jaskier laugh, “but we like to sing anyway.”

“And you should! Singing is the way our soul gets to have a laugh,” he says knowingly, and slowly takes his lute out of his case. “I don’t suppose you know what this is?”

The children’s eyes light up. “A lute!”

Jaskier laughs. “That’s right!” He holds it out to them. “Here, try a strum.”

The children look at each other, then at the lute like it’s something precious. Geralt knows it is. “You go first, Fiona,” the boy whispers to his sister.

Fiona approaches the lute carefully, and holds out her little hand. Jaskier takes it on his own, then gently, very gently, he runs her hand through the strings. It’s a simple chord, and Jaskier’s holding the note, but Fiona looks blown away. “Wow,” she whispers. “It’s so… pretty.”

Geralt can see the way Jaskier’s mouth quirks up and his eyes go soft at the corners. It tugs at his heartstrings.

“Now,” Jaskier says, “Do you want to try, Petyr?”

The boy nods, coming forward. He knows what to do, having watched his sister, so he simply lifts his hand and strums. Jaskier’s changed the chord, a lower one now.

“Wonderful!” Jaskier exclaims, and applauds the both of them, making their cheeks flush. “Naturals, the both of you.”

Petyr’s hand is still on the lute, feeling the strings and reaching the pegs. “And what do these do?” He says just as he turns one of them, the string deflating slightly.

Geralt wants to laugh at Jaskier’s pained grimace as he tightens the string back as he explains to Petyr that he should leave those to the adults, but suddenly he feels a pool of warmth in his stomach, an ache in his chest he hasn’t felt before — as if all the spring’s air has been stolen from him.

He watches Jaskier play a silly little ditty for the children to dance with their very amused mother, and he can’t look away. Can’t stop staring at the way Jaskier’s eyes crinkle with joy and his face is full of laugh lines and his own flower crown threatens to fall down, small yellow petals gathering at his feet.

And the thing is — he knows Jaskier. He knows he’s kind, and thoughtful, and painfully honest. He knows he feels everyone’s pain as his own, everyone’s joy as his own.

Everyone’s love as his own.

He knows that he’ll play silly made-up songs for bored children just as he knows he’ll gather herbs for Geralt’s potions without being asked to, just as he’ll buy treats for Roach, just as he’ll carefully avoid the fork on the road to Blaviken.

He sees it, now — the way his face is lit up but not from candlelight but from within, because he’s so in love with the world that he can barely stand it.

And he’s seen him before — has watched his furrowed brow illuminated by wavering candles as he writes well past dusk, has seen the curl of his mouth and the freckles on his nose and the scar that goes through his left eyebrow and yet—

Yet it feels like he’s seeing him for the first time.

There’s a smudge of ink on Jaskier’s cheek. There always is. There always has been.

Geralt’s never wanted to wipe it off.

He wants to wipe it off, wants to tuck his hair back behind his ear and kiss the spot where his jaw meets his neck. He wants to hold him close to his chest tight enough that maybe he’ll crawl into his heart and never leave.

It should scare him. It should feel like standing at the top of a hill and looking down.

It doesn’t.

Jaskier walks into the stage, a space of elevated marble he supposes a statue had been resident of. It suits him, the small pedestal — the way the golden thread of his dark green doublet glitters when moonlight catches it makes something ethereal of him, the few fallen flowers of his crown tangled on his hair — now tousled and matted with sweat — making something beautiful of him.

“Yes, yes, I’ve returned with more!” He exclaims at the whistles and cheers from the crowd, who’ve undoubtedly fallen in love with his first set. “We’re changing things up a bit now— How would you feel about something softer for a change?”

People cheer again, and Jaskier’s face breaks into a blinding grin. “Perfect! Now,” he looks around, “I want you to find the people you love. Your spouse, your lover, your friend, your sister, your child— everyone and anyone your heart beats for.”

The crowd starts gathering around in different groups, and Geralt smiles at how mismatched they are — tiny children and their grandparents, groups of single maidens hugging each other tightly, couples tenderly embracing each other.

Jaskier’s smile is softer, this time. “There,” he whispers. “Because love is something to share— This song I’m sharing with you.”

And then he’s gone — all his stage-borne facade falls away as he starts to play. His fingers are plucking a gentle, easy melody, and he’s humming along. People start slowly swaying to the sound of his voice, their eyes bright and shiny with mirth and love. Then, very softly, his voice barely above a whisper, he sings,

“Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help

Falling in love with you…”

It’s incredibly gentle, and Geralt feels drawn to it immediately. He watches as Jaskier sways with the music, eyes closed and brow furrowed, completely lost on it. There are buttercups on his hair and love in his mouth and Geralt suddenly wants to reach for him, put out his hand only for Jaskier to hold.

Jaskier opens his eyes as the last verse comes in. “Take my hand,” he sings, and he does a brave thing and looks into Geralt’s eyes. “Take my whole life, too.”

He would.

“For I can’t help,” he says with a smile, and looks out to the public. “Falling in love with you.”

The song ends, but Jaskier keeps playing the chord progression softly. The crowd isn’t there anymore — they’re all somewhere else, holding their beloved in tender arms and swaying to the tune of their love. As Jaskier’s playing slowly fades out, there is no applause, no enthusiastic cheering nor plea for an encore.

They all know.

Geralt’s looking out to the waves when Jaskier joins him by the railing.

“Hey,” he whispers.

Geralt turns to face him. “Hey,” he whispers back.

Jaskier’s smile is soft as he takes him in. “You came.”

“I did,” Geralt says, voice low. “Was told someone would be waiting for me.”

“And here I am.”

The waves crash against the rocks.

“That was a new one,” Geralt murmurs, looking at the scar on his knuckle. “The song.”

“It was,” Jaskier replies simply.

Geralt looks at him. “I liked it.” It’s no big compliment, but Jaskier seems to understand him all the same.

He always does.

“I’m glad,” he says. “I like it too.”

He leans his elbows on the railing, their shoulders almost touching. Jaskier’s cheek is still smudged with ink.

“You have…” Geralt says, gesturing to his own face, and Jaskier frowns at him. Geralt shakes his head. He licks his thumb and reaches, Jaskier’s skin soft as he swipes the ink away, his mouth slightly parted.

“There,” he whispers, but his hand doesn’t leave Jaskier’s cheek. “Do they really say it?”

Jaskier frowns, confused. Their shoulders are touching. “Who?”

Geralt reaches for Jaskier’s flower crown and looks at him, a silent request. Jaskier nods. Geralt takes it in his hands and gently tucks the loose stems back together, the way he’d seen girls do it in the town square. He doesn’t lose a single petal.

“The wise men,” he says, placing the crown on top of Jaskier’s head, where it belongs. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Jaskier takes them in his. “It is foolish to rush in unprepared. You taught me that.”

“Am I wise, then?”

Jaskier laughs, shakes his head. “I never said that.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet, watching Jaskier’s rings as they glint in the moonlight, watching Jaskier’s fingers as they play with his.

“I love you, you know,” Jaskier murmurs, looking at their joined hands.

“I know.”

“You’re my best friend.”

Geralt looks at him. “I know.”

He needs the weight of his swords strapped at his back. He wants to be brave.

He looks down.

“I love you,” he says. “I can’t help it.”

Jaskier smiles. “Well, now you’re just being mean— plagiarizing my song right in front of me.”

“Jask.” It sounds like a prayer. Geralt squeezes his hands, amber meeting cornflower blue. “You know what I mean, when I say—”

“I know what you mean,” Jaskier says. “I know.”

They drink each other in, and Geralt knows this is the first time they’re seeing each other. Gently, he places one hand on the small of Jaskier’s back, the other on his nape, and brings their foreheads together.

Jaskier’s hands find their way to Geralt’s waist. Nobody’s ever held him like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

His nose grazes Jaskier’s cheek and he whispers, “Can I kiss you?”

And Jaskier’s smiling when he says, “I wish you would.”

So he does. Soft lips against chapped ones, lute-calloused hands against scarred ones. Jaskier kisses him back tenderly, unhurried, and it’s honey-sweet like the wine he can taste on Jaskier’s mouth, like the love he can feel on his scent.

When they pull apart — only because they have to — Geralt circles Jaskier in his arms, pressing small kisses to his cheeks, his jaw, his nose, his forehead. It makes him laugh.

“Tickles,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice. “Your beard.”

Geralt presses a final, lingering kiss to his mouth. “Sorry,” he whispers against his lips.

The party has carried on without them, as it is wont to do. There’s a harp player on the stage now, plucking a soft melody from its strings.

Jaskier’s eyes are bright when he looks up at him. It feels right, to be holding him like this, to drown in his warmth and press love into his hands like it’s all he can do — and it is. All he can do is watch into Jaskier’s eyes and try not to get lost in them and stop a smitten smile from curling on his lips.

He’s helpless, he knows. It doesn’t scare him anymore.

“Home?” Jaskier murmurs against his cheek.

The inn, he means. “Aren’t you playing?”

Jaskier’s mouth curls into a mischievous smile, one of Geralt’s favorites. “They’ll survive without me, I reckon.”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “Jaskier—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he protests, rolling his eyes. “We need the coin. Ugh— one would think the guy confessing his undying love—”

“Now, undying is—”

“His undying love for me would change things, would buy me some indulgence— not at all!” He buries his face in Geralt’s neck, letting out a long-suffering groan. “Why must you be so responsible all the time?”

There are many reasons. Looking at Jaskier’s flushed face and capricious frown, Geralt can’t remember any of them. “Go,” he says softly, nodding at the stage. “For me.”

Jaskier groans louder. “That,” he says, poking Geralt’s chest, “is a very unfair card to play.”

“And why’s that?”

Jaskier tangles their fingers together. “Because you know I would do anything for you.”

Geralt’s face softens. He knows. “Go. I’ll wait for you.”

Defeated, Jaskier looks at the stage, then at Geralt, pouting. “Won’t you at least kiss me farewell? I’ve a long journey ahead.”

It’s Geralt’s turn to roll his eyes — still, he reels Jaskier in and presses a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Great start!” Jaskier says cheerfully. “Now, like you mean it.”

“Insufferable,” Geralt murmurs, but he gives in. The kiss is deep and slow, and somehow full of promise. He can feel Jaskier sigh happily against his lips, his scent gone sweet and warm as Geralt’s hands find Jaskier’s sides.

They part, begrudgingly. Jaskier’s cheeks are deep pink and his flower crown sits askew on his head once again, so Geralt fixes it for him.

“We should get one for you,” the bard says, watching him.

“Hmm.” Geralt presses a final kiss to his lips. “Go.”

“I’m getting you one,” Jaskier says stubbornly, ignoring Geralt’s wish, and Geralt loves him too much. “Just wait here.”

He lets Jaskier go, and watches as he runs over to the stand where a young woman is weaving tulips and baby’s breath together into a crown. He watches as he excitedly gestures at it and cradles it in his tender hands, a look of genuine joy on his face. He watches as he turns around, his lips stretched into a too-wide grin as he waves at Geralt, pointing at the crown.

He watches as he walks toward him.

He waits for him to fit into his open arms. He waits for him to place the crown on top of his head and adjust it once, twice, before it’s deemed perfect. He waits for him to kiss his cheek and groan about having to return to his duty as entertainment for the evening.

He waits for him as he plays.

“I love you,” he tells him later, when they’re both tucked in bed and their fancy clothes have been folded and their legs are tangled together.

Jaskier grins. “Say it again.”

Geralt can’t hide the smile that curves his lips — he doesn’t want to. “I love you,” he says, and kisses his cheek. “I love you,” his forehead, “I love you,” his eyelids. “I love you,” his mouth.

He says it so much the words sound foreign in his mouth. He says it until they belong in his mouth again.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says after a while, candlelight framing the tenderness in his eyes. “It’s been good.”

Geralt smiles.

It has.

[vidalinav]

A Kinder Sea: Chapter 1

Summary: After the IC give Nesta an ultimatum Nesta chooses instead to support herself, cutting herself off from them completely and so begins Nesta’s journey of finding a job and falling in love with everyday life (Slice of Life/Fix-it Fic)

Masterlist, Chapter List 

Dedicated to you Noni!

~

Three flights of stairs later and Nesta could feel the muscles in her legs quake, and she wasn’t even on her floor. Even after all these months she was still not used to the stairs. They wound up the apartment building in a way that offered no shortcut.  

To get to her apartment, she’d need to pass every door on each level, each apartment spiraling around the building like a dome. Nesta’s was at the end. At the very top and the last apartment on the fifth floor. It was the cheapest one she could find in Velaris, and when she’d moved in she understood why.  

Never mind that the entire layout seemed impractical, Nesta often wondered what would happen if a fire broke out. She could only imagine jumping from the fifth floor like a flying squirrel, landing in that lone tree at the center of the complex. Then she’d really be lost to the wild, as her sisters probably thought now.  

She could hear the pounding footsteps of the floor above and Nesta rolled her eyes. Two little boys came trampling down, running as if they were made of air. They did not so much as huff as they bounced the ball they carried and Nesta held her breath as they passed. No sense in showing them that she couldn’t make it to her floor without panting out a lung.

“Hi Ms. Nesta!” One yelled.

“Bye Ms. Nesta!” The other called.

Nesta didn’t get the chance to answer before they were gone. Matching red shirts disappearing to lower levels. Her eyes tried to follow them as she grasped the railing for the fourth set of stairs. She couldn’t catch the youngest’s dark curly hair or the oldest’s green shoes and Nesta lugged herself up, sighing in defeat.  

She wondered if falling down four floors was enough to knock herself out--if the beautiful fae male on the first floor would perhaps carry her up, gods knew she’d survive the fall. But no... Nesta couldn’t chance it. With her luck, no one would even notice, and she’d have to pick herself up, shame and all, and climb them all over again.

She supposed she could always pretend to be napping. Lie under that tree and the beautiful azure sky like she hadn’t fallen four floors. The summer sun, Nesta would say to her neighbors if they asked. Such a beautiful day to be out here. Picnics and all.

Why are your legs broken then? They’d say.

None of your business, she’d answer in that haughty tone of hers.

Nesta laughed at her own thoughts... But as she looked back at all those steps, her smile dropped. Nesta could only tip her head back and groan.

She’d chosen the apartment because it was the cheapest, yes, and she’d regretted it every day since. Not enough to move, but perhaps she was just too stubborn. Even when her sister had asked with that tone of hers why she lived there, or when the silence between them was enough of a proclamation that Feyre did not approve, Nesta held onto the apartment. Nesta held onto it like it belonged to her. Like she owned it and Nesta knew she owned nothing. The city might as well have been signed under Feyre Archeron and her insufferable mate—property owned and sold by the Night Court’s finest and Nesta was not ashamed to say the thought made her bitter.

Nesta could not run far enough away to escape her sister, and now her sister thought she owned her too.

She began the trek up, breathing through the burn of her thighs, trying to focus on the movements of her body rather than the berating voice of her mind, but the anger was a tight first pulling at her skull.

Forget them. They mean nothing to you, Nesta told herself.

You mean nothing to them, a voice whispered back.

She could only agree, and Nesta couldn’t help but lean over the railing. Four floors and then five, contemplating that height.

The only time she hadn’t regretted this apartment was when spring came in a flurry of rainstorms. She’d watched from her balcony window the rain pour down on the city below, gloomy and perturbed that her night of drinking had been postponed indefinitely. But when days had passed and the sun at last began to peek out once more, and she unashamedly ran to the nearest tavern, Nesta had caught a glimpse of that lone tree at the bottom. It had bloomed in magenta and white, it’s flowers swaying to a soft breeze.  

She’d gripped those rails and stood there, didn’t even know if she made it to the bar that day. Nesta had stayed there for hours looking at those colors—to each door, each floor thinking that the building itself bowed to that tree, protected it in its sacred embrace. Nesta, herself, had bowed to that tree that day as she leant over the railings.

She could imagine the petals still, the wind picking them up as if it might gift it to her. She’d wished for Elain then... hoped that she might come—forget what she said about her life being separate from theirs. But Elain never came... Elain never visited her once.

Now, Nesta thought, Elain didn’t deserve to see it at all.

The thought of her sister made her chest thrum with unsettled words—and Nesta chastised herself for her straying thoughts and that restless anger she didn’t know what to do with.

The summer had taken away the beauty of spring and there were no flowers left when the sun beat across the sweltering concrete and all Nesta knew for sure was that she was sweaty and exhausted, her chest heavy in a way that she usually only felt after a long night of drinking and getting nowhere. The stairs were usually a punishment then, a pain she’d only vaguely complain about the next day when she did it again, lugging herself up flight after flight.  

She supposed this was a punishment, too.

Nesta could see her door as she managed the last step and she could have flopped down right then and there, but she raised her chin instead because the stairs would not best her today.

Neither would her snooty sisters. Neither would her mind that wouldn’t stop thinking of them.

The surest way to forget, Nesta learned, was wheat, barley, and hops or whatever the tavern made ale with. She could practically hear the tumbling drunken voices as she walked to her door. She’d drink the memories away, music filling the space where her thoughts had once gathered. Let them return in the morning with the headache and the dry throat that would surely accompany like loyal friends—old friends that Nesta had begun to miss.

She fumbled with the lock on her door with that thirst in her throat, her mouth parched for the taste of it. The key jammed as she twisted it and Nesta shoved it harder in its slot.

“Are you serious?” She asked the door. The dingy, brown-painted wood did not reply and Nesta groaned as she kicked it. Nesta fiddled with the lock, turning the key over and over, slamming the door with her body, and when the lock would still not budge, she pointed to the door as she had to the King of Hybern. “Open up you blasted thing!”

Meow.

Nesta turned to the black shadow that poked its head out of the wall, clenching her fists at the interruption.

"Shoo,” she said as she waved her hand.

Meow, the cat sounded, tilting its ghostly head.

Nesta could make out no mouth or eyes and she didn’t know how she could hear its cry, but she’d stopped asking questions about the logic of the fae world the first weeks of becoming fae. It did her no good when she was hungover or tired... which were most days, and it was not the first time the little shadow cat seemed to come out of the walls and greet her at her door.

She pointed to the shadow merely wagging its tail like the arrows of a metronome. “At least you can get inside,” Nesta grumbled.

The shadow cat tilted its head as if contemplating her statement then rolled onto its back, offering its belly. Nesta didn’t know what solution that might have wrought so she ignored its luring movements.

“I’m allergic to cats,” she haughtily replied.

Nesta pulled the key from its slot and slammed it in once more. She wiggled it back and forth, her face feeling hot with frustration. The cat meowed louder as it jumped up, coming to rub itself against her leg.

Nesta raised her hands in defeat, sighing as the door stubbornly stayed closed.

“Fine,” she said, looking to the little shadow. “You win.”

The cat bobbed into her outstretched hand, and Nesta crouched low, scratching behind its ears. The shadow’s fur felt as soft as silk, and she wondered why it didn’t feel like air like she thought it should. The cat meowed again, and Nesta huffed. Attention hog, she thought, but the cat merely rubbed against her, purring sweetly.

“You know, you’re far less judgmental than most people I know,” she said. The cat flopped on its back again and Nesta went for its belly. The cat swatted her away with its paws. She swatted back, feeling herself smile lightly at its antics.

At the unconscious raise of her lips, Nesta frowned, but before she could contemplate the distraction, the little cat’s head stood at attention, its body stilling its lazy movements. The cat looked to the stairs and so did Nesta. She could hear the echo of concrete as someone took heavy steps.

When Nesta turned to the cat again, it was gone.  

“No music. No stomping. No parties. No recreational sports. No hobbies. No shouting!” The male shouted.

“What? No laughter?”

“Not if it’s loud,” Nesta’s landlord threatened. She could recognize the nasally tone, the footsteps when he went from apartment to apartment reminding them about rent, leaving notes on their door about policies. Why he frequently climbed those stairs on his own accord Nesta never knew.

But she took note of the feminine laughter, one she’d never heard before.

Nesta recognized all of her neighbors—knew what they looked like, how they talked, their routine on a regular basis. She watched them from her world above and occasionally they would say high, but mostly it was Nesta watching as they interacted in the world below. She didn’t care to know any of their names, she only wanted to know what level of bothersome they would be—what kind of threat.

This voice was new and they didn’t sound threatening, but Nesta knew that she would spend hours looking out of the little peep hole to see if she’d catch a glimpse of that unknown being who laughed as if her landlord was joking. He was not joking.

Nesta certainly wouldn’t stay outside to greet them. She didn't have it in herself to meet one more person who would just stare along with all the rest. As if she was some carnival attraction.

Come see the failure of Velaris. Some say she’s so hideous, she never comes down from that tower.

Nesta looked to her door, the key still stuck in its slot. She could hear them louder this time, their voices clear and ringing.

“No pets. No flags. No patio decorations. Nothing colorful...”

She twisted the key with reckless abandon, slamming herself quickly at the same time she pushed. The door opened easily and Nesta watched her landlord reach the top of the stairs as she shut it quickly.

The door clicked in place with a heavy thump.

Nesta didn’t look back out—didn’t move. She was almost afraid the stout male would be there breathing down the worn paint, some random fae trailing behind like death on her doorstep. She leaned against the door and tried to picture that tree again. The cat with silk-soft fur. The fizz of alcohol that floated to the top. The pop of a champagne bottle as if she had something to celebrate.

But when Nesta closed her eyes, she could only see a shadowy figure standing beyond that worn, thin door. Hovering over it as if it breathed on the back of her neck. Scythe in hand—the grim reaper yelling across its wood in sharp, distinct notes.

Nasal and high-pitched.

Where. Is. The. Rent?

~

Nesta left the windows open to air out the scent that Cassian had so graciously commented on the day before, and the room had become unbearable. The hot sticky sun of a mid-summer warmed her skin, and she kicked her blankets away, feeling as if she’d just bathed. Her hair stuck to her face, but she didn’t bother combing it away. It seemed that all Nesta could do was slouch back and stare at the ceiling.

She had stared at the ceiling all day, couldn’t stop staring at nothing until Nesta hoped it would just collapse on top of her. Popcorn ceiling constellation for wary, vindictive dreams. Not that she remembered many these days.

From her bedside window, she could see the sun had already begun to set on Velaris.

The window was another thing she liked about this place—that she could see the city without ever leaving her bed. She could see rooftops and the interweaving trees. Great twisting oak that she felt might come alive one day, grab her by one of its many branches and hoist her over the city to the sky above.

Nesta didn’t know what time it was. Most days she found herself having slept before realizing she’d ever laid down. She was always tired and just like yesterday and the day before, Nesta had slept to the buzz of cicadas, and she’d woken to crickets chirping. The sound so loud she thought they might be hidden in her cupboards.

But all Nesta could do was sigh...

Nothing much had changed. She was still in her apartment, could still see the endless amount of clothes strewn about, knew that there was nothing to eat in the pantry or the refrigerator.

The crickets chirped, and nothing changed.

Still, she felt different.

And she felt as if the world should look different, too. Rain, because something permanent had happened yesterday morning and the sky wanted to wash it away. The ground shaking instead of her body. The wind roaring instead of her words. But the sky was only dipped in peaches and purples, and the world was still.

The bed creaked as she tumbled out of it and Nesta kicked away the dress she’d worn that gathered at her feet. Maybe she’d burn it, too, because she didn’t want to remember what it felt like to be embarrassed... ashamed.

Maybe she’d keep it.

Because no person, thing, entity, or otherwise was going to take one more piece of her. She’d keep it like the memory of a risen middle finger. Like a power that hummed a furious tune.

For now, she’d throw the dress in the corner with the rest of the clothes and hope it took up space in a room that was mostly bare.

That was her apartment’s fault. It was too large, even without a bedroom. A studio Nesta couldn’t fill—didn't want to fill at the time. It was empty and it echoed as she walked. She didn't even have a dining room table. Only a bed that came with the place, a frame that was squeaky and rusted. Her dirty clothes and her shoes strewn about decorated the room, and she was okay with this...

Until he had wandered in.

Some part of her thought she ought to take a bath and wash the grime of the days away. Look somewhat decent. But the thought of him filled her with disgust. She would be decent for no one.

So Nesta went to the kitchen instead, tucked away in the far corner, where the cream-colored shelves sat studiously staring as if to say you haven’t opened us in a while. Nesta didn’t bother with them.

Nesta went to the refrigerator instead, reached above the tall contraption she’d found to be positively fae. Nothing existed quite like this where’d she lived most of her life. They’d had an icebox when it was winter, where they stored uncooked meat if Feyre had come home with excess. But that had rarely happened. In the fae world, it seemed, everything she found a luxury, was common and not worth speaking about.

Nesta reached for the cookie jar that sat at the top, its white hue dusty as she took it down. In it was her security and she couldn’t help but hold it to her chest.

In the beginning, when she’d first started frequenting taverns and hadn’t yet discovered the joys of sex and booze, Nesta was rather serious about cards. Mostly because she was good at playing and males were easy to fool. They’d stare at her breasts, try to make casual chit-chat, all the while Nesta was making bets. They were making their own bets too, of course, who’d go home with her, who’d she kiss in the back hall, feel her up where it was quieter, and the lights were dim. They didn't seem to mind losing money and Nesta certainly didn’t mind taking it.

She stored the bills and coins away in some random jar she’d found in the local grocery store. It was on sale, and it was the first thing she’d ever bought with money of her own.  

Nesta didn’t want to think on what they would call this money, but it was her money. She splayed the bills on the counter, piled up the coins, and when she was done counting, Nesta found she had just enough for next month’s rent... and maybe a grocery run if she’d budgeted well enough. It would have to last her—the groceries. Unless she found a job soon. She’d start looking today...

Tomorrow, she decided.

Today she’d clean herself up. Because tomorrow, she’d have to look presentable whether she wanted to or not. It was not about pride. It was about survival and Nesta had survived worse things than this.

So, who cares about them? Nesta thought. The only person who lives here is me.

~

Something her sister didn’t seem to realize was that getting drunk was free.

Most nights Nesta didn’t even have to buy her own drinks, and the only reason she did was because she’d knew her family would see it. She liked imagining the red of their faces, the clenched fists in which they held the bill. Making them angry seemed to spark some thrill in her that nothing else could replicate.

Now as she sat at the bar, a glass of whiskey in her hands, she almost felt annoyed. Not just because she couldn’t get drunk today, but because even if she did who would see it? Who would care?

Not that they did, anyways.

But she supposed all of them had won in that sense... and the idea that they won, that they had an advantage even now made Nesta want another drink.

“Can I get you another round?” The male asked, sidling up to her, placing his hand on her back.

Nesta didn’t spare him a glance, as she rocked her drink in her hand, “No.”

"You’ve been sipping on that drink since you got here.”

“You've been paying attention, how nice.” Nesta held up the half-finished glass, “I’m fine with this one.”

The male didn’t seem to get the hint as he sat at the stool next to her. He could have been beautiful or a disgrace, Nesta didn’t care. He could have been him and she still wouldn’t have looked.

The whiskey told her that was a lie.

“Come on, just one drink.” He lured, leaning into her. When the male didn’t capture her attention, she heard the slam of his glass on the table. She gave it a sidelong glance, where the liquid spilled on the counter. “What? You’re too proud to drink with someone as lowly as me? Lady Archeron.”

He sang the words, and at the title, Nesta shot him a glare, letting her powers glow through, “if you want to keep your tongue, I suggest getting away from me.”

The fae stepped back at the look.

Good, she thought. Smart. Nesta had no interest in blowing up the bottles stacked behind the bar, and she had no means to pay if it happened. If it happened, he’d have bigger things to worry about then her eyes glowing silver.

Nesta looked to the puddle forming where he’d slammed his drink and gave him another glare.

Leaving this mess? Who raised you?

A waitress huffed a laugh, and Nesta turned towards her. She couldn’t help the scowl she gave the female behind the bar, who took out a rag and wiped the counter clear. “What are you looking at?”

The female only gave her a smirk, humor dancing in her eyes.

Nesta gulped down the last of her drink, slamming the finished glass on the table like the male had done before. She took out a few coins, pushing them forward.

Tonight, she did not feel like another.

~

Finding a job was harder than she expected and Nesta spent most of the morning going from shop to shop asking if they had any availability for work.

Most of the stores had barely begun to open, and only a few gave her concrete answers. The little book shop—Nesta's first choice—had told her that the owner was away and wouldn’t be back for two weeks. The pastry shop, where Nesta might have been happy smelling the sweet scent of bread for hours and sneaking the tarts they’d displayed in the windows, had inquired about skills in which she had few.

By the time she made it back to her apartment, she felt the heavy weight of the rising sun and little more than disappointment settling on her shoulders. She was hungry, too. It seemed that job hunting worked up an appetite that only a job could satisfy, and Nesta could think of nothing that sounded remotely good to fill her.

Nesta had been like that lately. Always hungry. Never hungry enough... or perhaps too hungry to move and search for food in her pantry. Not that she had much in there besides dust bunnies.

She’d taken money out of the jar that morning, though her heart hurt with every silver coin. The bills, in their array of colors, Nesta hadn’t touched—wouldn’t dare if she wanted her rent paid next month. She couldn’t stop thinking about it... the looming sense of dread that accompanied her and her dwindling jar. Her stomach ached with it.

Still, she had enough for a bag of groceries, Nesta told herself... minus the coin for the drink. She shouldn’t have bought it. She should have let the male pay for it.

Nesta didn’t want to dwell as the guilt roared up her chest.

She had enough for some bread and butter, cheese and some fruit. Tea to tide her over. She let that fact comfort her. She didn’t need much. Afterall, she’d starved half her life. There was no difference in doing it now. Nothing new, Nesta decided.

For now, even as her nausea demanded she go home and hide behind her door where she could pretend it was safe, she’d buy a sweet bun for her effort and she would try to enjoy it, too.

There was a grocery store a street down from her apartment and trees lined the sidewalk. Nesta could make out the pinwheels poking out from the ground, rainbow colors spinning so fast she might have gotten dizzy starring at them for too long. Windchimes rang as she approached, and its soft music drifted past as if it were made of dreams. It made her envious. The little shop that could hear music made by the wind.

“Good morning!” An elderly male greeted her as he set down a box of oranges lined in neat rows. Nesta recognized him as one half of the couple who owned the store. She raised a hand in greeting but didn’t say a word instead jumbling past him and the ramshackle array of boxes. Reds and vibrant yellows. Bright greens and dark greens and something shaped like a star.

“Can I help you find anything?” He called, though Nesta had lost him between the shelves. The fae always asked her that as many times as she dared to show her face, and just like the many times before Nesta did not reply. She merely looked to the corner, already knowing its place, where the clear display casings were filled with buns and bread.

Nesta eyed her favorite immediately.

She took the tongs out of the encasing and felt her mouth water, her stomach grumbling its get on with it roar. She picked up the toasted brown, the bun dusted with powdered sugar. She ignored the other sweets trapped inside. Nesta hadn’t wanted to try any of the others. As soon as she’d first bitten into this one, she hadn’t wanted anything else.

She wanted nothing else, as she went to the counter, carrying that little bun wrapped in paper.

The male sidled up the register, clearing his throat as he smiled. Nesta only moved to get her coins and tried not to stare at his face. She didn’t care for the warmth it held.

Liar, she thought. Everyone in Velaris is a liar.

“That will be two silvermarks,” He replied cheerfully.

Nesta pulled out the two coins from her bag and felt her mouth pull into a frown.

Was a bun worth it? She asked herself. Two silvermarks for one bun that would last her only a moment. Apprehension welled up and her stomach twisted in greedy knots. But she set the coins on the counter anyway, the money rattling a harsh ring.

The male dipped his head politely, sliding the silver towards him. Nesta watched as he entered a button on his register and the till opened with a sharp ding.

“We appreciate your business,” he said at last. She nearly grimaced at how chipper he sounded, but he once more smiled warmly and Nesta’s brows furrowed.

Liar times two.

She didn’t note her goodbye even as he called for her to have a nice day and only when she was out of the shop did Nesta unwrap the bun she’d carefully held. She nearly moaned her pleasure as she bit into it. Her favorite part was the yellow custard at the center, and as she took a few more bites, she licked at the cream. Before she knew it the bun was half eaten and Nesta wrapped it once more in paper.

She’d save it. Savor it because it would be the last of them for a while.  

Nesta shuffled along as she walked back to her apartment, cradling the rest of the bun with care.  She blew at her hair that fell into her face, escaping from her braid. It stuck to her sweaty skin. She didn’t like how hot it was, how bright the sun shone, and as she entered the dome of her apartment building, Nesta could only think of getting back into her room, sleeping until it was night again.

No disruptions. No busybodies knocking on her door.

As she looked to the steps, Nesta sighed heavily. She could hear the noise of two little boys.

Oh, right.

“Ms. Nesta! Ms. Nesta!” They called, out of breath.

Nesta waited for them at the bottom of the stairs, but they were not coming from the floors above, but rather the pavilion. They passed that large swaying tree at the center, and Nesta stood straighter as they ran towards her.

“There's a ghost!” The oldest yelled.

“Come quick!” The youngest one said, grabbing on to the skirt of her dress. He pulled her forward and Nesta followed casually, not at all bothered by the notion of ghosts.

They had on matching blue shirts today. Jerseys of some sport Nesta knew nothing about. There were many teams in Velaris, she found, and she never knew if they were from a specific organization or just friends who went out in the world proclaiming that they fit together somehow. Nesta would never do such a thing.

She knew of one group who certainly would.

The youngest let go as he ran towards the laundry room. That was another thing that Nesta thought was strange. To wash clothes by spinning water and dry them using magic. Gods forbid, they hang one piece of cloth.

The boys stopped at the door and waited, and Nesta crossed her arms. “What’s wrong with it?”

“They think it’s haunted,” a voice said from behind.

Nesta turned to find the female leaning up against the tree. She recognized the voice—the light tilt of an accent.

Nesta eyed the fae, taking in the pink fuzzy slippers first. Bunnies, she thought. But Nesta’s gaze caught on the wings tucked so keenly behind her back.

Illyrian.

Nesta almost sighed out her displeasure.

“I gathered, after they said there were ghosts,” she replied.

“There are ghosts,” the eldest boy argued. He held up his hands. “Just wait.”

Nesta shrugged away the female and peered inside. White and dingy washers and dryers were stacked on top of one another. Dutiful soldiers all lined up on each wall. There was an old bubble gum machine at the farthest end that must have stopped working before she was born, because she saw no one ever use it when she came down. Granted Nesta didn’t do it often. But the number of gumballs didn’t seem any lower. It was rusted around the red base, and Nesta didn’t trust the age of the candy inside.  

There was nothing odd about this place, though. She didn’t feel anything off.

“There is no such thing as ghosts,” Nesta said, looking to the boys peering back into the laundry room. She refused to look once more at the female. She squared her shoulders, raised her chin, averted her eyes as she so often did—the way she was good at. Nesta could feel her stare any way.

“You have to believe us!”

“There’s a ghost Ms. Nesta.”

“Did you see a ghost?” Nesta asked, turning to the female who only shrugged a shoulder.

“I might have seen a shadow move around.”

Nesta almost gave her a glare.

“Wait look!”

“See!”

Both boys pointed to the room that began to be overrun by darkness. It reminded her of a shadowed cloud. It filled up the room like water in a bathtub, and Nesta stepped toward it, her brows furrowing as she reached a hand out to feel exactly what the substance was made of.

It felt soft as if she were running her hands down the back of some giant cat.

As if summoned by her thoughts alone, the shadow stepped out of the cloud.  

Meow.

Nesta rolled her eyes as it rubbed its body against her legs.

“It’s just the cat,” She mused.

The three of them merely looked at her as if she’d grown another arm.

Nesta crouched low; her hand held out scratch behind the little cat's ear. She’d forgotten she was holding the bun, and the cat seemed to smell it—to want it.

“Hey!” Nesta yelled, as the cat jumped on her shoulders. Nesta shifted the bun to the other hand, but it seemed to want to crawl down her arm, and she could feel the sharp claws sink into her skin.

“Stay away you mangy thing,” Nesta yelled in outrage. “Pay for your own!”  

The boys laughed, coming closer, petting the menace as the shadow cat purred.

Nesta looked for the female, but the Illyrian seemed to not find them interesting enough. She went back to perch on her tree, or whatever those with wings could do. She could already feel the touch of irritation. Of course, she’d be okay living on the fifth floor. She could fly easily up there without wasting a breath.

“You have a cat!” A voice yelled.

Nesta closed her eyes at the nasally tone.

Just. Her. Luck.  

“No,” the boys said in unison, but the landlord stormed towards them, all shrunken limbs and potted belly.

“I said no pets!” He raved.

“He’s not mine,” Nesta said even as she held it. The cat conveniently had not gotten off her shoulders. In fact, it seemed to want to lounge on them, and she hunched slightly at its claws on her back.

Her landlord sneered, “It sure looks like yours.”

“He’s been here since last fall.” Nesta tried for a haughtier tone, but she couldn’t very wall act arrogant when she couldn’t even stand straight. “He is not mine.”

The landlord wagged his finger, “Vagrant then. I’ll just ought to call the forest prowlers. They’ll tear right into him.”

Nesta blinked at that and she was sure the boys did, too.

“You can’t do that! He’s just a cat,” The oldest said.

“He’s not harming anyone,” The youngest argued. The child’s cheeks turned a bright shade of red and she watched as he clenched his fists while the oldest crossed his arms.

She had to admire them. When she was young, Nesta would have never been so bold. She learned to be bold after her mother had died, and it had done her no good in poverty. Nesta felt for them, felt for the cat—though she didn’t know what kind of creature could eat a shadow.

Nesta didn’t want to ask, but she held up her hand, feeling the regret already settle in her stomach.

“I lied. He is mine.”

Her landlord huffed as if he knew, but Nesta only gripped the cat as it came down her arms. She grasped it in the crook of her elbow. As its body dangled, its tail wagged lazily.

“Get rid of it, there are no pets allowed.”

“Unfortunately, it’s my brother-in-law's pet,” she said quickly, resisting the urge to gag at the phrase. “He told me to take care of it until he could take it back.”

The male paused at that. “Brother-in-law?”

Nesta hummed, “Brother-in-law. It was a gift for my sister, but... she’s allergic to cats. He’s looking to rehouse it. It seems he hasn’t found the right one yet.”

As the landlord sneered, opening and shutting his mouth, Nesta raised her chin. She felt the satisfaction thrum through her at the lie. She was good at making up stories. Perhaps she could find a job in lying through her teeth.

Nesta watched as he took a breath, his face dulling to a peach. She hoped that would be the end of it. She hoped that he’d never get the chance to ask her... brother-in-law... if the story was true. Nesta doubted he would do her any favors.

She didn’t want his favors.

In fact, she’d never mention him again.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to charge a pet deposit then. Nonrefundable. And of course, your rent is going to go up.”

Nesta dropped her custard bun.

“What?” She yelled. “Pets aren’t even allowed!"

“But as you have one, I’m going to have to change the terms of your lease. I’m sure your brother-in-law will have no problem fitting the bill as he’s done before.”

The little shadow cat meowed, wiggling in her arms. She set it down and Nesta watched as it disappeared back into the wall.

Good for nothing...

“You’ll have to keep it on a leash, too,” The male scowled, “I don’t want to break a leg going up the stairs because he’s running about.”

Nesta wanted to tell him that he could break more than just a leg.

“Oh, and make sure he isn't loud. I’d hate to have to terminate your lease early over a noise complaint.”

Her landlord smiled, dipping his head in a mocking bow as he went to yell at another neighbor coming down the stairs. The boys shirked away, looking to the laundry room again.  

Nesta could only kick at the bun at her feet. Now dusted in dirt.

~

Tagged: I’m sorry if you wanted to me tagged and I didn’t tag you. I’m horrible at tagging and you should never consider be reliable for this. I think I tagged everyone who has ever asked to be tagged in any of my random posts of fics. But that’s probably a lie. If you want off/on let me know. I will not be offended nor enthused. I will have only one list from now on. No individual fics. If you asked to be tagged, it’s for all fics. Be forewarned. I’m tired. I hate tag lists. 

@my-fan-side, @sophilightwood, @nestaarcher0n, @duskandstarlight, @soitsgorgeous, @ekaterinakostrova @swankii-art-teacher, @lordof-bloodshed, @arinbelle, @thewhelk, @daisy-in-danger, @highqueenevankhell, @valkyriae, @lovelynesta, @sirendeepity, @champanheandluxxury, @ladynestaarcheron, @moodymelanist, @teagoddess99, @spoilersteph, 

~

Nesta’s... a little misanthropic. We’re going to beat that out of her through love and healing. 

Personal Anecdote: I put a magnolia tree because at my university there was one in this random place on campus that you couldn’t find unless you knew where the post office was and I was obsessed with sending my mom cards to tell her I was still alive (She lived in a different state). No one ever went there, I never saw more than a few people or maybe they didn’t even know the post office was there. It was tucked in between buildings and it was the definition of serendipity. Little freshman me would go there and sit under it and sometimes eat a taco lol (fried avocado and barbacoa) when I was finished with classes. It bloomed every spring for about three weeks and I yearned for those weeks. I worked so many jobs, took so many classes, but during those weeks the only thing that existed was a tree of magenta and white. I sometimes really miss it. 

[exosmutfactory]

Six Phases 006 Pt 6

Who knew it nearly took 6 months to win your heart, and 6 phases for Baekhyun to lose his mind.

A/N: I couldn't find a picture to match Baekhyun's appearance—so I chose one that fits his mood instead  2.0 😅 ♡

[ contains: angst ] Two’s a couple, Three’s a crowd 💔

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3  P(1) P(2) | Part 4 P(1) P(2) | Part 5 P(1)  P(2) | Part 6 P(1)  P(2) —– P(3)  P(4) —– P(5)  P(6) ✓ ||| ♬♩♪♩ FINALE P(1)  P(2)

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My heels click rhythmically on the sidewalk, in perfect sync with the song I’m humming. I’ve taken a liking to listening to new music lately instead of sticking to the same old artists that I’ve heard a thousand times. Trying to expand my horizons and replace sob-inducing ballads with uplifting trap beats.

It’s going okay so far: moving on. Learning how to navigate the world while riding solo. It’s not like I haven’t done it before—sleepless nights aren’t new. Lack of appetite isn’t either. A breakup will never be the end of the world, no matter how excruciating it is. So why should I let it hold me back and define me?

Birds chirp merrily in the trees, bringing a smile to my face, especially when I catch sight of a little hummingbird enjoying nectar from a patch of flowers. If there’s one thing I can say that has helped me during this time, it’s nature. Simply looking out at the world from my apartment window and taking long walks around the more remote parts of this city have calmed my soul more than I can express with words.

I’m watching the squirrels scurry around on the other side of the street while waiting for the crosswalk light to turn green when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I sigh, so much for a moment of tranquility.

I pull my phone out of my tiny jean pocket, furrowing my brows at the caller ID. Jongin…? That’s strange, has he ever called me before? I rack my brain for answers. Nope, this is the first time he is calling me. Flashbacks of our distant friendship since that one summer fight I had with a certain someone flashes through my mind... I press my phone to my ear before I can overthink it any longer. "Hello?"

"Riley." Jongin’s smooth voice filters over the line.

"Hi," I mumble, continuing down the street, noticing a beautiful blue and green butterfly flying by with a smile. The pitter patter of a water fountain in the distance has me falling back into my 'Zen’ mode. "What’s up? How are you?"

"I need a favor." He drops; straight to the point. Sending me right into a panic.

My phone nearly falls to the ground. "...You didn’t break a leg or something-"

"No, no," He immediately responds, recognizing the high pitch of hysteria in my voice. "It’s nothing bad."

Thank fuck, the last thing I need right now is bad news. It may be the end of March, but I’m not really feeling this 'Spring’ season. My mood shifts faster than the strong wind. The only stress I try to have nowadays are always work related because if I stop and think about my personal life for a moment I am fucked.

I take a deep breath, leaning my back against a light pole before replying to him. "Okay."

"There’s a dance competition in June," He slowly explains, "and I need a partner."

"Oh..." I blink a few times, straightening back up. "Huh… I’m sorry, I’m not really good at choosing candidates. I’m not a professional-"

"I mean you." He interjects, background music drifting over the line. "I want you to be my partner."

I pull the phone away from my ear for a moment, looking at it in disbelief, "I'm sorry—What?"

"I have a routine already," His voice takes on a warmer tone, pure persuasion dripping from his honeyed words. "With your name all over it."

"...Eh??" I look off to the side, trying in vain to find something—anything to distract me from the tingles zapping down my spine at the sound of his voice. God… what the fuck? "Don’t you have like a million other people who specialize in-"

"I made the choreography for you."

My heart hammers in my chest. "And why the heck would you do that?" I demand, tightening my grip on the phone. Something out of the corner of my eye suddenly captures my attention, dragging my eyes over to it instantly. The sight that greets me has my throat going dry, gulping as my hands shake.

It’s Baekhyun—and he isn’t alone.

He’s accompanied by a tall, beautiful woman, the same height as him in her flat sandals. Her black hair reaches the middle of her back, contrasting against her light blue overalls and swaying softly in the cool wind. They lean against a brick wall next to a cute coffee shop with matching coffee cups in their hands.

Jongin’s words fade into background noise while I watch them. My vision blurs when she laughs, resting her hand on his arm. The way she easily initiates physical contact with him speaks volumes; this isn’t their first meeting. It’s been 2 months since January, and yet...

My heart constricts painfully in my chest, I suck in a deep breath. Lightheadedness hits me full force, I quickly cling onto the pole when my body sways off balance. Shit… I must have been holding my breath. 

"Riley?" Jongin’s muffled voice drifts from my distant phone. Thankfully it fell onto the parking meteor next to me and not on the ground. "Riley!"

Burning a hole into the back of Baekhyun’s silver-haired head, I bring the phone back to my ear. "I’ll do it," I mumble lowly.

"I’m sorry?"

Staring at Baekhyun and his new friend, I make my decision. "I’ll be your partner."

•••

Okay… Maybe I was too hasty in agreeing to this whole dance competition thing. I should have waited to make a decision when I was in a better state of mind.

It’s been a good four weeks since I agreed to be Jongin’s partner—four weeks of pure hell.

If I had known what kind of dance moves were incorporated in this routine I never ever would have agreed. The choreography appears simple and subtle enough on the surface, especially thanks to Jongin’s gifted skills, but that’s the problem. It’s not simple; it’s a fucking ankle breaker. It’s pure well-organized insanity and I don’t know how much more of it that I can take.

"From the top," Jongin’s voice echoes in the dance studio. He presses a remote to start the song over again. I try to stay focused, ignoring the looming figures of the other hostile dancers in the room. Why they all gathered here to watch us practice today, I have no idea, but it isn’t helping me at all.

The bass booming from the stereo speakers vibrates the wood under my feet. Sweat permeates the air. Their predator-like stares break me down from the inside out. The memory of Baekhyun with that woman pops into my mind...

"5, 6, 7-"

Shit!

Gasps echo around the room when it happens: I collapse onto the floor, clutching onto my throbbing ankle.

"Riley?!" Something about the alarm in Jongin’s voice makes me wince, curling in on myself as everyone’s whispers float into the air.

"Oh my god, is she serious...?"

"See what I mean! She has two left feet. Why is he wasting his time on her?"

"Dumbass can’t even do a single number, let alone a simple choreography. The way he chose that over me…"

I try my best to reel in my emotions, to keep the hurt from being seen on my face, but there’s only so much I can bear—there’s only so much I can take.

Tears pelt down my face while their loud gasps and delighted giggles fill the air. I make a move to climb to my feet, ready to bolt out of here and never step foot in this place again when a gentle hand on my shoulder stops me.

"Riley." It’s Jongin, crouching down to meet my eye. "Are you okay?"

I can only shake my head, losing my breath as their taunting voices swirl around my head like a whirlpool, consuming me whole.

"Riley, stay with me." Jongin rests both his hands on my shoulders, directing my eyes to his whenever I look away. "Talk to me. What’s wrong?"

"I-I," I choke, covering my face in my hands before I sob pathetically on the hardwood floor. The throbbing of my backside and ankle only makes it worse.

"Ri-"

"Look at her! Pathetic at it’s finest."

Jongin stiffens, I don’t even need to see him to know that he’s gone rigid. His hand slips off my shoulder as I watch his silhouette rise from the spaces between my fingers, standing to his full height.

"Mind sharing with the class what you just said, Kim Nora?" He looks at the woman in the middle of the 5 dancers leaning against the far wall, his jaw clenching.

"I-"

"If you have something to say, say it."

"I’ve been waiting for this opportunity for years. Years, Jongin!" She snaps, her shrill voice bouncing off of the walls. "I’m on time for every rehearsal. I practice until I bleed. Why does this no-name slut get to come in here and take it from me when she can’t even stand on her own two feet?!"

"Kim Nora." The way he says her name has everyone on edge. My back prickles in fear and secondhand embarrassment. He’s not even directing that stone cold tone at me and I’m hella uncomfortable sitting here.

"Who’s dance studio is this, Nora?"

"Yours-" She looks away, not brave enough to meet his eyes anymore. "-M-Mr. Kim..."

Jongin hums, holding his hands behind his back while pacing up and down the floor. "Who’s name is on the sign out front, everyone?"

"Yours, Mr. Kim." They chime in sync with meek voices. A look of regret painted on every single one of their faces.

"Mine." He concludes, satisfied before turning his dark eyes back onto Nora. "Let me explain something to you, Nora."

Her eyes stay focused on the floor.

"This is my practice, my building." He stops pacing, stretching his arms out to showcase the room. "You are under my roof." He looks dead at her, eyes colder than ice. "You are here because I let you. Do you understand that?"

"Y-yes, sir, but I-"

"Next time," He cuts her off, "You decide to be immature. Next time, you decide that your knowledge is anything close to my expertise." He steps closer, and I’ve never seen a person standing 3 feet away have such an impact on an individual. "Next time, you decide to mock one of my friends." He lowers his voice, and I can feel the heavy promise coming off him in waves. "You are gone. Do you understand me?"

Nora babbles something unintelligible, tears brimming her eyeliner caked eyes.

"Do you understand me?"

"Y-yes!" She sucks in a breath, snot clogging her nose as she directs her eyes back to the floor. "Yes, sir."

"Good." He steps away, turning on his heel before rushing back over to me. "Riley," His voice is softer now, much like the Jongin who helped rescue me from my birthday party 2 years ago.

"Hey..." I hush, lowering my hands to my lap.

"Are you okay?" He hands me a clean towel, his brows furrowed in worry. "How’s your ankle?"

"I-It’s fine."

He raises a brow, reaching out a hand to me. "May I?"

"Yeah." I sigh, noticing the familiar look of concern on his face.

Jongin takes my ankle into his hands, handling it carefully and pressing a few places. "Does it hurt?" His frown deepens when I wince. "And here?"

"Yeah," I nod, my face pinched up in pain.

"From 1 to 10," He continues, looking me dead in the eyes, "How much pain are you in?"

My lips part to answer, but I pause, biting the bullet and wiggling my ankle around to see how bad it actually is. "F-four out of ten." I grit out, still so sensitive that tears sting my eyes again.

"It’s sprained." He concludes, gently lowering it back to the floor.

"W-what does that mean?" I ask fearfully. Whatever it means, it doesn’t sound good with the contest 6 weeks away. Shit, why am I such a fuck up? What if I can’t perform let alone learn the choreography in time? I’m such a failure, I-

"It’s not bad," He reassures, resting a comforting hand on my arm. "A few days off of it and you should be good as new."

"R-really?" 

Jongin nods, smiling softly. "Nothing a few days off can’t fix."

"Oh, thank you," I whisper in relief, wrapping my arms around his neck to mask the tears that escape my eyes. "Thank you, thank you."

"No," Jongin shakes his head, hugging me warmly, whispering just as quietly in my ear. "Thank you."

•••

After that day, none of the dancers have bothered me, let alone showed up to any more dance practices. Jongin made sure of that. No one fucked around with him either after the way he resolved the issue. An angry Jongin is a scary Jongin; that much I know now.

Sighing softly, I look up at the fluffy clouds overhead, trying to salvage the calm that washes over me in wake of April’s flourishing weather. The flowers are more alive than ever. Small animals and other critters run around for food on the ground. The world around me is the picture-perfect example of nature at its finest—so why is there an uneasy feeling weighing on my chest?

Work is going well and the book we had spent months and months preparing was released last week. I’m on my way to the nearest bookstore to grab a copy for myself. To check that no grammar related errors got past my keen eyes or because I genuinely enjoy the novel, who knows. I want to see the final product for myself and check out other releases. It’s about time I pick up another book besides the one I stayed up countless nights making sure everything was finalized.

A cute bell chimes when I step through the door, hit with the aroma of fresh coffee. Every time I go to a bookstore or library, it’s like I am stepping into another world. The shelves filled to the brim with hundreds, maybe thousands of literature, all at the touch of your fingertips.

From ebooks to the dusty classics, I love them all. I may not read everything; I might be one of the pickiest readers out there, but I appreciate the blood, sweat, and tears that go into every completed book. Good or bad, the author has big balls for trying and putting their name out there. I have mad respect for that.

Venturing further into the shop, my eyes catch the Fantasy section with ease. I make my way over, already seeing a colorful display set out for the newest releases. The sight of the book I’m looking for brings a smile to my face. It feels different to see it in a store instead of reading the rough drafts in the comfort of my bed. Damn the graphic designers put their foot in the cover; it captures the personalities of the main characters perfectly. I couldn’t be more proud.

My smile widens the closer I get to the display, realizing that there is only one copy left of the book. Deserved; everyone from the author to the marketing team have done their best to make this book a big seller. Thankfully the universe left one just for me.

Just as my fingertips touch the edge of the paperback cover, someone else’s hand brushes against mine.

"Oh! Sorry-"

"Ah, I’m so sor-"

My heart plummets and my head snaps up to look at them at once. Puppy brown eyes that I could identify out of countless others and a million stars stare wide-eyed right back into mine.

Fuck.

"Riley?" He breathes, his handsome face painted in disbelief.

I can only wheeze, my chest throbbing as if my heart will explode.

Fuck fuck fuck shit fuck—

Before he can say another word, before I can crumble in front of his questioning orbs, I turn on my heel and sprint out of there like a bat out of hell.

I’ve been doing better, I’m slowly healing from it all, but the moment I see his face—his sweet, tired, kicked-puppy face, I fold quicker than an umbrella in an incoming hurricane. It hurts worse than the force of an 18-wheeler. My whole world full of its fragile edges and duct tape unravels under the weight.

Normally, I wouldn’t do this.

…

Okay scratch that—I used to do this. All the damn time, but with the way our lives have changed and that one conversation we had back in March 2 years ago I… I haven’t been able to bring myself to talk to him. I’ve made it my mission to avoid Sehun.

I know what he will say the minute I tell him what’s up: I told you so—the bane of my existence. That one phrase alone is enough to keep me from confessing so many things. I rather suffer in silence than hear that sentence, but… This is different.

No matter how much it pains me and paints me in shame, I need to tell my best friend what's been going on. After everything he has done for me since our childhood... I owe him that much. So here I am now.

I chew on my bottom lip and knock firmly on his apartment door, waiting for someone to answer with bated breath.

It opens a few minutes later, revealing his unmistakable tall form as he dries his hair. Sehun does a double take. "Shorty?" He breathes in disbelief, pausing in ruffling his messy black locks.

I laugh a little, warmth sparking in my aching heart from the nickname. "Yeah," I breathe, managing a wobbly smile, already feeling tears prickle my eyes. "That's me."

We stare at each other for a long moment, nothing but the distant swish of driving cars and the muffled conversations happening beyond the open balcony on his floor fills the silence. Ah… My heart squeezes painfully in my chest. I shouldn’t have come here. He’s probably busy enough as it is-

As if reading my mind, Sehun’s gaze softens. He throws the towel around his neck before opening his arms. "Come here."

I bury myself in his chest without hesitation, soaking the fabric of his black t-shirt with my tears. "I’m sorry," I croak, holding back sobs.

"Hey, hey," a low, soothing voice chimes in, resting a hand on my arm. "What happened?" 

"I don’t know," Sehun mumbles, rubbing my back as I shake in his arms. "But whoever did it will be missing an arm."

"N-No need, Hun," I sniffle with a shaky sigh, pulling away from his embrace. A chill covers my skin with goosebumps the moment I step away. It’s been like this all week; feeling hot to the touch, yet shaking like a leaf at the same time. I have no idea what is going on, and at this point… I don’t want to know. I can say that for a lot of things.

Wiping my face with the back of my hand, I turn around, smiling apologetically at the brown-haired man standing in the doorway. "I’m sorry for popping up out of the blue, Lu."

"Nonsense," Luhan shakes his head, his curly hair partially covering his worry-filled eyes. He takes my hand between his, "Come in, I’ll make us some tea."

"Okay," I whisper, shuffling into their apartment. I take the tissue box he offers me, following him into the spacious living room. He goes into the kitchen while I sit down on their couch, my breath hitching from the emotions budding in my chest.

Sehun closes the door, noisily walking on the wooden floor in his flip flops. He sits down next to me, questioning me with his unwavering stare, but I can’t bring myself to meet his eye. I… I don’t know where to begin; I can’t even find the words. The squeal of the teapot in the other room fills the tense silence between us.

"Alright," He sighs, propping his foot up on the coffee table and resting his arm on his knee before giving me a hard look. "What did Byun do?"

I choke, snapping my eyes to his, "How do you know?"

"You never visit," He points out in the driest of tones. "And when you do, you always call first."

I can only lower my head, pulling my knees to my chest.

"You don’t usually cry after seeing my face either. I mean," He continues, nudging me with his elbow. "Am I ugly or something?"

I snort. "Shut up." Shaking my head, I sigh deeply. "I just… A lot has happened." Risking a peek at him, my shoulders relax at the worried furrow of his brows and the care in his sharp brown eyes.

He nods, smiling the softest that I’ve seen in a long time. "I got time." 

I smile a little, my chest bursting in gratefulness for having a friend like him in my life. No matter what happens or what I get into, I can always count on Sehun to be there.

…

If only I didn’t have so much baggage to bring to his door.

"I…" Come on; I ball my hands into the fabric of my shirt. Say it.

Sehun keeps his eyes on me and I struggle more to get the words out, my chest starting to heave. Should I be here? Should I be doing this? What will he say? What if this just makes everything worse—

No.

Sehun is my best friend. We have shared so many memories together, the good and the bad. I was the first person he came out to. He was there when my father walked out of my life. I cheered him on as he climbed the ranks of his weight training team. He helped me catch fireflies in my backyard when all I could rely on was my poor eyesight.

It’s always been him and I against this cruel world. One man—one boy, won’t change that overnight.

"I broke up with Baekhyun." 

"What?!" Sehun leaps off of the couch. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah..." I drag out, looking him up and down in confusion. Panic hits me in the gut. "W-Why? What’s wrong-"

"Dude!" He exclaims, tangling his hands in his hair, the most comically distressed expression on his normally 'bitch’ face. "I thought he broke up with you."

The thought of what would have happened if Baekhyun had been the one to dump me makes my heart hurt so much I feel the color drain from my face.

"H-Hey," Sehun immediately takes notice, waving his hands around. "Not on the couch, anywhere but the couch-"

Luhan suddenly appears behind him with a tray of drinks, lovingly smacking the back of his head. "Here," He soothes, ignoring Sehun’s pelulant whines while setting down the tray on the coffee table and offering a mug to me.

"Thank you, Lu." I breathe, smiling when the scent of lemon and ginger hits my nose.

Luhan takes the seat on the other side of me, resting a comforting hand on my knee. "We’re here." He nods, sharing a look with Sehun before focusing back on me with the gentlest of eyes. "Whenever you are ready."

Gulping, I curl my fingers around my mug, the warmth of the tea and their soft eyes giving me the strength to open up.

I am finally able to put everything into words… I just hope we all make it out unscathed. 

Closing my eyes, I start from the very beginning, updating them on what has happened since the year we started dating. The summer fight I never told Sehun about, Baekhyun’s ex Haneul following me around. The French lady at the photoshoot, the model behind the scenes. Our fight that reached the public. What went down at the Byun’s house… And finally… how I ran, and never looked back.

Sehun’s facial expressions shift from one extreme to the next throughout my confession. At one point I have to look away from him, stuttering the more I see the disappointment in his eyes. By the end of it, I’m mumbling to the lukewarm mug between my palms rather than them.

My words trail off into silence, nothing but the ticking of Luhan’s treasured grandfather clock making a sound. I’ve grown to hate this the most: the empty space that leaves room for my thoughts to sneak up on me again.

"You were hiding all of this..." Sehun speaks up, betrayal joining the disappointment in his eyes. "All this time."

A lump forms in my throat, "I-"

"You kept this to yourself for years." He grits out, his voice growing sadder by the minute. "Years, Riley."

"I’m sorry," I sob, curling up into a ball, choking on my tears. "I’m s-so sorry."

"Why?" He runs a hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut. 

"I-I didn’t wanna bother you," I babble, gasping so much for air I choke even more. "You’re busy with work and your own love life, who am I to bother you with my problems?" Tears blur my vision and stain my glasses, rolling uncomfortably down the bridge of my nose. "Isn’t that what growing up is about?" I whisper, staring lifelessly down at my untouched tea. "Learning how to depend on yourself?"

"Riley, I don’t care if you’re fucking 80." Sehun barks, scaring me until he opens his arms, forgiveness swirling in his softened brown eyes. "You can come to me for anything."

"O-Okay," I mumble, hiding in his chest.

"Do you hear me?"

"Yes."

"I don’t care if you shave your relaxed hair, adopt a cat, or the world is on fire." He proclaims sternly. "No matter what, you can always come to me."

The comforting smell of fresh laundry on his clothes has my shoulders relaxing, my sobs quieting down to small hiccups. "Okay." 

"Good. Now take these sweaters back."

His words take a few moments to register in my sluggish mind. "Huh?" I blink, lifting my head off of him, sitting up fully and immediately recognizing the bundle of clothes in Luhan’s hands. "No," I shake my head, ignoring how dizzy I suddenly feel. "Sehun, those are yours-"

"And I want you to have them."

"I-" My heart constricts in conflict, "But-"

"But nothing. You act like I don’t know that your ass gets cold." He mutters grumpily, crossing his arms. "Keep them, alright?" Being the observant guy that he is, he picks up on my weary glance at Luhan. "Lu chipped in some of his too."

"Mine are comfier," His boyfriend jokes, smiling cheekily.

"Yah."

"You know it’s the truth."

"Only because you—yah! Why are you crying now?!"

"I just…" I sniffle, laughing softly. "I love you guys."

Luhan’s smile brightens while I whine over Sehun messing up my hair. "We love you more."

•••

May passes by in the blink of an eye, mature plants welcoming the upcoming summer heat. I love and hate this for two reasons. One, it’s a certain someone-who-shall-not-be-named birth month. Two, the dance competition is two weeks away. Two weeks. It is literally May 20th and I am sweating my hair out over it.

Why did I agree to this forsaken competition again? Oh right—I decided that a two-step routine is the equivalent of a love triangle. Nice going, Riley.

I sigh, wiping my forehead with the back of my arm. Two weeks until the competition means that my schedule is more packed. Yeah Park’s Publishing may be on an "easy going" break from publishing books right now, but I’m not getting a breather. 

Nope, the moment I jokingly told Jongin how I didn’t know what to do with all my free time, he brought up daily dance practice—no, he down right demanded it. And when I started to complain:

"What? It’s not like you have anything else better to do."

I’ve been seething over that for a week.

Huffing at the memory, I plop my bag not-so-subtly on a chair before looking at Jongin on the other side of the room.

"Glaring at me won’t help you perfect the choreo faster-"

"Suck my dick."

"Oh, baby," He grins, raising a brow. "I would if I could." He saunters his way over to me, his beautiful bronze skin already glowing in a thin sheen of sweat when he leans down to face me, "but I don’t mind either way."

I push him away with a hard roll of my eyes, "Let’s get this over with."

"Feisty," He humors. "Someone is feeling better today."

"Better enough to kick your ass," I mutter, tying up my hair in a messy bun.

"Let’s rehearse the second verse," He takes a swing of his water bottle, a serious expression on his features. "Then we’ll talk." 

"Bring it on," I lift my chin, playing tough despite the nervousness washing over me.

He nods, grabbing the stereo remote and getting into position. "Show me what you got."

We go over the steps one last time before we begin. The first half of the choreo goes smoothly… and then I stumble the moment the second chorus hits.

"Let’s take a break."

"No," I shake my head, resting my hands on my knees.

"Riley."

"One more time." I pant, trying to catch my breath. "I swear I got it, just-"

"We’ve been at it for 30 minutes."

"But-"

"Break. Now."

I flop to the floor in a tired heap, groaning loudly to annoy him. I’m grateful he called for a break though, my flat feet are crying for mercy like no one’s business. Maybe I should—"Ah," I sigh in relief.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking off my shoes," I mumble, throwing him a look over my shoulder, not liking his attitude. "My feet are dying over here."

Jongin raises a brow, leaning against the mirror on the other side of the room. "Your parents didn’t see a pediatrician about that?"

"Nope."

"Why?"

"Born and raised in America," I chirp. "The land of the free, Mother fucka."

Both his brows shoot up. "Are you feverous?"

"No," I mumble, fiddling with a loose string on my shirt. "It’s really hot out."

"Have you been sleeping?" His eyes narrow at my lack of response. "Riley?"

"Oh would you look at that, the ceiling tiles have a noticeable gap between them-"

"Sit down."

"I’m fine." I sigh, reluctantly dragging myself over to the only chair in the room.

"You won’t be if you keep this up." He points out, more than a little peeved. "Have you been drinking enough?"

"I-"

He thrusts his water bottle in front of me. "Drink this."

"But you drank from it!"

"I’ll give you mouth to mouth too if you don’t sit your ass down."

I blink, giving him a long, wide-eyed stare. "Why so serious?" The fed up expression on his face is enough of an answer. "Okay—okay! Fine." Inspecting the bottle for anything floating around on the bottom, I tilt my head back to pour some water in my mouth, mumbling with stuffed cheeks, "There, happy?"

Jongin just sighs, turning on a rotating fan. "Stay here. I don’t want you moving until you finish that bottle."

"Sir yes sir," I mutter, giving a little salute. Grinning when he glares sternly at me. He sighs before going back to the other side of the room.

Watching him practice his solo parts in the mirror, I leisurely sip from the bottle, noticing how his shirt sticks to his fit body. Jongin is tall, a bit broad, and lean. He has a dancer’s body and muscle in all the right places—I can’t imagine his diet. I shiver at the thought of it, checking my forehead. I’m not picky about fitness; I’m a bit on the curvy side myself. I rather have something to sink my fingers into. Speaking of which...

"Hey, Jongin?" I call him tentatively, continuing when he hums. "Why… Why did you make a choreo with me in mind?"

He doesn’t respond for a minute, and I wonder if he will until he goes over to retrieve something from his bag. "I always wanted to dance with you," He admits, throwing a towel around his neck. "To know what it was like to view your beauty up close." He bends his knee, bracing his foot against the wall as my eyes widen. "The way you move, twirl around, and glide across the floor. The blissed out expression on your face… You are at home on the dancefloor, and it shows." He looks up at me then. "You shine brighter than a million stars."

I forget how to breathe for a moment, staring at him with wide eyes and a racing heart.

"I’ve never been envious of Baekhyun but..." His sultry eyes meet mine again. "When it comes to you, it’s hard to fight my jealousy."

My lips part a few times, endless questions dying on the tip of my tongue. Realizing I’m gaping like a fish out of water, I settle for looking down with a hot blush.

Jongin chuckles, tossing his towel onto his bag. "Come on," He pushes off of the wall, walking over to me and taking me by the hand. "Let’s finish up for today."

"I can stand up on my own, you know?" I grumble. "...Thank you."

He just smiles before we take our positions in the middle of the room.

We take it from the top again, soaring through the routine without a hiccup. I put all my energy into not missing a step, dancing beside and around him with ease—

"Stop."

"What?" I blink, turning around to him. "What’s wrong now?"

"That."

"What?" I repeat, my eyes narrowing.

"That." He emphasises, gesturing to me. "You’re too tense. You need to relax."

"How do you expect me to relax, Jongin?" I mumble heatedly, hurt swelling inside of my chest. "I broke up with the love of my life. I had a shitty week. I can barely do the second verse of the choreo without breaking my ankles-"

"You can’t relax," He speaks up, suddenly standing in front of me. Staring into my eyes with his determined ones. "Because you don’t want to."

"I-"

"You fear what will happen if you do." He continues, holding me captive with his piercing gaze. "You fear the unknown."

"D-Don’t I have the right to...?" I hush, feeling my heart race the longer I look into his observant brown eyes. A part of me hates it; being read like an open book. My vulnerabilities and weak points on display without me wanting them to be. But this is Jongin.

He stares deep into my eyes, his minty breath washing over my cheeks. "Not on my watch."

There’s nothing to fear.

He selects a song for the stereo to play, and the moment a certain afrobeat instrumental plays through its speakers, I feel the urge to move my body deep in my soul.

"Let go," He encourages, turning around to meet my eyes in the reflection of the mirror.

Woman

Let me be your woman

Woman, woman, woman

I can be your woman

Woman, woman, woman

I’m intimidated by my reflection in the mirror. The sight of me with messy hair, dewy skin, baggy clothes, and my bare feet makes me feel like the wildest looking woman in the world… until I see the sadness and fear visible in my own eyes.

Let me be your woman

Woman, woman, woman

I can be your woman

Woman, woman, woman

Slowly, I move my hips to the beat, getting a feel for it while watching myself in the mirror. My awkward posture makes me tsk, shifting into a more flattering and stable position. 

What you need?

She give tenfold, come here, papa, plant your seed

She can grow it from her womb, a family

Provide lovin' overlooked and unappreciated, you see (Yeah)

The lyrics… A sense of empowerment washes over me in waves, motivating the swirl of my hips and the smile forming on my lips. The melody of the song begins to seep into my very bones, warming me up from the inside out.

You can reciprocate

I got delicious taste, you need a woman's touch in your place

Just protect her and keep her safe

Baby, worship my hips and waist

So feminine with grace

I touch your soul when you hear me say, "Boy"

Let me be your woman

Winding my waist feels like the most natural thing in the world, circling my wrists while bringing my hands back down to my sides. I can see Jongin’s proud smile from the corner of my eye.

My movements get more energetic as the chorus plays again, the repetitive lyrics flowing like the blood in my veins, felt deep in my very being. Hitting me on a level that very few things ever could.

I glide across the floor when the second verse begins, letting my hair loose and throwing my weight around. The soreness of my waist only makes me shimmer harder, fighting against the aches trying to hold me back—against the chains locked in my mind.

Princess or queen, tomboy or king (Yeah)

You've heard a lot, you've never seen (Nah)

Mother Earth, Mother Mary rise to the top

Divine feminine, I'm feminine (Why?)

Throwing my hands up, I smile as Jongin starts complimenting my movements, playing a smooth rhythmic cat and mouse game with him all over the dance studio. My bare feet on the wooden floor propels me forward, making me feel more connected with the Earth around me, with the woman I want to be.

I’ve caught up to him by the time the song ends, breathing heavily with giddiness pumping in my veins. For the first time in months, maybe even years, I feel like me again—I’ve found myself again.

A hand tucking hair behind my ear has my eyes snapping up to Jongin’s, the adoring expression in his chestnut brown eyes making me feel small and appreciated at the same time. He cradles my face in the palm of his hand, rubbing his thumb over the apple of my cheek. Tingles erupt on my skin; my heart swells with something I haven’t felt in a long time when he starts to lean in.

"You were out fucking Jongin."

I flinch away, pressing my back to the wall, my heart in my throat. "I-I," I look away, hot embarrassment painting my face red. "I don’t want to make you a rebound." A thought occurs to me at that moment: how much taller and stronger Jongin is than me. The consequence of my actions. The vacant practice room. Fearing the worst, I hold my breath, squeezing my eyes shut.

Nothing happens for a while, the silence dragging on for so long that I start to grow lightheaded, cursing myself for agreeing to all of this in the first place.

Are you happy?

I pause, thinking hard for a moment. Despite the rain cloud constantly hanging over my head, I am doing something that I love. Regardless of me looking like pure shit, Jongin sees a light in me. And against all the fucking odds, I… I feel liberated. I feel free.

With that, I open my eyes, staring fearlessly at the man in front of me.

To my surprise, Jongin smiles. "I don’t want to overstep my boundaries," He mumbles, resting his forehead on mine.

A smile breaks out on my face, putting my secret dimples on full display.

It’s finally D Day—the dance competition is just about to begin, and I can’t for the life of me find my bracelet.

"Do you really need that?" Jongin carefully ruffles his styled hair, squinting with one eye over at me.

"It’s for luck," I justify, searching both our bags.

"You depend on a silly little bracelet to give you luck?"

"My grandma made it for me," I snap, my blood pressure skyrocketing.

"Okay, okay—you," He gently takes me by the shoulders, directing me to his chair. "Sit. I’ll find it."

Finding that all-too-familiar 'no nonsense’ expression on his face, I sigh, carefully covering my eyes with my hand. Both of us got our makeup done for today. He’s got on a golden glimmer of eyeshadow to bring out the sultry brown of his eyes, and I’m rocking a burgundy shade that makes my eyes have their own sensual glare in the mirror.

Tucking my hair-sprayed hair behind my ear, I wince at the thought of washing it out later, but the end result is worth it. My brown hair is bone-straight, complementing Jongin’s lavender-gray, middle-parted hair. Not gonna lie, he’s a total eye-candy right now in that red jacket and mesh shirt, and his stage presence is to die for. His oozing confidence just pumps me up even more.

Watching him pull out my bracelet from some hidden department that I have never seen before in my life and come over to strap it onto my wrist with the gentlest touch has newfound hope blossoming in my heart. We came to perform and we came to perform well.

As if hearing my thoughts, Jongin looks up at me at that moment, nodding firmly.

I nod right back, smiling softly. Win or lose, we are going to give it our all.

We make our way out of the dressing room, listening for our cue from the staff member next to the gap leading out onto the stage. They give directions to someone in their headset before giving us the signal.

I can hear the crowd as we step onto the stage, vibrating the floor under us and my whole being with their excited cheers. Nerves aren't pumping furiously through my veins. No, pure adrenaline guides me forward, and the reassuring smile Jongin sends my way makes me at ease all the more.

When the lights dim and the music starts, my hands are already in my hair, my hips popping to the beat.

Just let it flow as it is for me.

As it moves, show me.

I slide down into a crouch, spreading my knees before rolling my neck to the beat. Quickly standing back up, I slowly run my hands through my hair, swaying my hips side to side. I stop moving to let the crowd focus on Jongin, watching him with a smile.

The party has been getting boring.

Jongin starts doing his own thing while I beckon him closer with a body roll, strutting to him on the other side of the stage. I strike a different pose along to the beat, rubbing my hands over my body and rolling my hips. 

Don’t hide it anymore for me

Sliding my hand down my chest, we lock eyes before the chorus hits.

The reason that hides your heart

Do you feel it triggering me a bit?

Here comes the fun part; we sync up our dance moves. Shooting each other little smiles while staying on beat. My long hair sways in the wind; the feeling of being free—free to be me striking me with a sense of comfort in this moment. Jongin catches my eye as if he feels it as well, his killer smirk morphing into a heartwarming smile.

Baby don’t play with me

I slow down to sway my hips to the beat while Jongin slides behind me, pressing his firm chest to my back. The ripples of his abs brush against me through the fabric of his mesh-shirt, warming my sun-kissed skin under the light heat of the partially cloudy sky. His hand tucks under my chin when I face him for the next lyric, "You’re my VIP."

(She talkin’ about)

We sync up again for the next part of the choreography, making me giggle in delight, beaming over the fact that I might have cried a hundred times practicing this choreo but I can finally say that I can dance it without breaking my ankles. And the proud smile on Jongin’s face adds onto that fact.

He points out to the crowd and we change positions as the pre chorus starts again. Jongin acts like the cool, smooth man that he is while I roll my way back to him, matching his moves before blowing a kiss to the crowd when the chorus kicks back in again.

Top down ya

It could be you and me, it could be you and me

I place my hand on Jongin’s shoulder, strutting around him while he shrugs off his jacket. Preparing for the bridge that we changed last minute. Now it’s his time to shine.

Now let me give you what you want tonight

You told me

I take a step back, focusing on complimenting his movements while he has his moment to woo the crowd. Those charming smirks and attractive smiles can steal the heart of anyone, especially the cheering people standing in the front row. There’s a lot of things I’ve learned recently about Jongin, and his unmistakable stage presence is one of them.

The chorus comes back one final time and we go all out. Dancing until our feet ache and the wind picks up around us. The sweet smell of tteokbokki and summer breeze in the air brings another smile to my face. Jongin gets down on the floor while I kneel on one knee to straddle his lap, looking into his eyes with his finger tucked under my chin as the last lyrics of the song fades away.

There’s a long moment of silence, and then the crowd erupts into cheers. Applauding so loud it overwhelms my sensitive ears. Jongin and I step forward to take one last bow, smiling at each other before making our way off stage… but a certain, persistent stare has my eyes flickering back to the crowd. The glimmer of silver hair in the front row is all I allow myself to see before hurrying to leave.

"That was," I start, gasping for breath by the time we reach the dressing room. "Fucking amazing!"

Jongin smiles, glancing over at me, "You liked it, huh?"

"Dude—I fucking lived for it!"

He laughs and it’s super cute, especially with his wide smile.

"That was so cool," I sigh, flopping down onto the couch.

Jongin raises a brow, a smile still on his plump lips. "Would you do it again?-"

"Hell no!" I squeak. "Well… Not unless it’s with you." His eyes dance under the painfully bright lights. "Stop smirking, I take it back."

"Don’t worry." He chuckles, crossing his arms as he leans back against the vanity table. "You’ll be the first one I call next time too."

We’re called back up onto the stage before I can reply, but the smile I beam his way speaks volumes. However, nerves are plaguing my mind this time around. There’s no mistaking the silver hair that I saw in the crowd.

Just as I thought, when we are standing next to the other contestants, there he is. Front and center. I close my eyes with a deep sigh. What the fuck, man? Why are you everywhere?! Can I catch a break from him please? Please?!

Tension builds in my body, but then something cracks.

You know what—

I clench my fists. Fuck him. It doesn’t matter if he’s here or not; he’s no longer a part of my life. Why should I care?

My eyes don’t stray far from the judge and Jongin, even with the constant itch of Baekhyun’s stare. Take a picture, it’ll last longer, asshole. 

The minutes seem to drag on as the judge gives his big speech, listing the criterias and rubric for calculating the winner. A whole lot of gibberish that I have no interest in listening to; I hope Jongin is paying attention. The knowing look he gives me when we briefly make eye contact confirms it. Yep, I smile sheepishly. Sorry.

That damn ticklish sensation on my skin still hasn’t moved while the couple in 3rd place steps forward to receive their reward. I swear to the heavens, Byun Baekhyun—

Snapping my neck around, I glare right at him despite my heart dropping at the sight.

He stands in the front row, sticking out like a sore thumb from the rest of the crowd in his black hoodie and dark jeans. The only thing that makes him pop is his ever-silver hair… and the bouquet of flowers in his hand.

My heart races. Are those—

"And the winner is: Jongin and Riley!"

The crowd roars in excitement, everyone standing up to applaud us as the judge hands Jongin the trophy and a helper places a ribbon around my shoulders. I can’t help but beam at Jongin, both of us smiling wide enough for our mouths to hurt later, but I don’t worry about that now. This is our moment. I throw my arms around him, laughing loudly when he sets down the trophy to spin me around in the air. 

"We did it!" I wrap my arm carefully around his neck, pumping my fist in the air.

Jongin sets me back down, keeping his arms loosely around my waist. "You," He plants a kiss on the top of my head, "did it."

I can’t erase the smile on my face or the glee in my heart even if I tried. My eyes glance back out at the crowd while he goes around congratulating the other contestants, immediately locking onto those soul-sucking, puppy brown eyes. Half a year later and his eyes never fail to make me feel nothing and everything all at once. But I won’t let that define me: I’m not Baekhyun’s woman anymore.

Spectators in the crowd around him are buzzing with energy, dancing to the outro music they are playing overhead while he continues to stand stock-still, his brown eyes focused on me. 

My mind drifts for a second, imagining what it would have been like to be standing up on this stage with him, winning the competition with him by my side. I acknowledge it, let my mind have its little reminiscing moment—and then nip it right in the bud.

I don’t want to live a life of 'What ifs?’ anymore—I want to experience those 'Why nots?’ instead.

I sense Jongin before he steps closer, his chest brushing against the back of my arm. "Are you ready to go?" He asks, his lips grazing my ear.

I continue to lock eyes with Baekhyun, laughing inwardly at the unreadable expression on his face and the lack of a sparkle in his eyes. And when that tall raven from months ago runs to pull him into a hug, my gaze doesn’t waver from his in the slightest. "Yes." I turn my back on him and rest my hand on Jongin’s bicep with a swirl of my hips, peeking at him from under my eyelashes.

He smiles down at me, understanding dawning in his eyes. We link our arms together while walking backstage and out of the stadium.

•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3  P(1) P(2) | Part 4 P(1) P(2) | Part 5 P(1)  P(2) | Part 6 P(1)  P(2) —– P(3)  P(4) —– P(5)  P(6) ✓ ||| ♬♩♪♩ FINALE P(1)  P(2)

A/N: Team Jongin or Team Baekhyun? After that dance practice scene, my heart is stuck somewhere in between 💔

Hiya! Long time no see (^-^)

I don't have much to say ahh (>.<) my brain is fried. The emotions in this chapter came from a week of sleepless nights and a marathon of Doja Cat's Planet Her <3 I still got 10 scenes to finish up before Six Phases will be completed. This isn't the end! Just the best cliffhanger I could do with a 100+ page doc (thanks to my nearsightedness. font-size 16 is a lifesaver)

I might suddenly drop the Finale out of nowhere :'D everything depends on Riley~

Thank you so much for reading and supporting this story!! 🥺🥰🌸💗 Writing this baby (haha) is my favorite thing to do and to share it with all of you means the world to me <333 Alright, I'll stop being mushy. Have a great weekend, lovelies! See you as soon as the Finale is done~

Happy two years of Un Village & city lights!!

Thank you endless Baekhyunee for inspiring me. I wouldn't be here without you ❤️

[winters-tales]

Hunting Party

“Come on rookie, time to go; we’ve got reports of a herd moving in from the breach.”

“A herd? Deer?”

“No, a herd of Elephants. YES, a herd of deer! Grab your chain, and let’s go.”

“If it’s just deer, what do I need chain for?”

“Haven’t you read the manual? The bestiary? Deer are so common they’re the first damned page! Have you seriously not read it?”

“I was planning to- I thought- I didn’t think I’d see action so soon…”

“First mistake there, rookie. Get your chain. Let’s go. We’ll fill you in on the way.”

**

The deer, Vanden explained as the battered Land Rover rumbled along, were one of the more common “leaks” that you’d get from breaches. Something about them was drawn to the volatile energy that left a gap between this world and The Other, and the deer found it easy to slide through before the Veil sealed itself over. They always came in numbers, and the trick was to get to them before they got to any unwary passers-by.

“We tried cordoning off the areas around breaches as unsafe, like minefields,” Owen continued as Vanden leaned forward to speak to the driver. “But you wouldn’t believe how many dog-walkers think we’re exaggerating, or that their little pooches will protect them. Ramblers are the worst; think their right to roam overrides our need to protect them. Idiots.”

Killian nodded, concentrating hard on what she was being told. So, the deer were dangerous; that made sense, she’d come across red deer previously and the size of them had left her very aware of how small and squishy she was. But she didn’t think chain would do much to protect her against the blunt force trauma of a whole herd of deer, surely?

The Land Rover veered off-road suddenly, and Killian grabbed for her chain shirt as it tried to slink and slide out of her hands.

“Rookie!” Vanden barked as she sat back from where she’d been leaning forwards. Killian jumped, nearly losing her grip on the chain for a second time. “Don’t just stare at it, wear it! Preferably over your shirt, but under your jacket; the layers of cloth will dull the sound so we can get the drop on the damn things.”

Killian nodded and shrugged off her jacket, wriggling her way into the heavy chain shirt. Neither Vanden or Owen had explained why she needed a chain shirt to begin with, but they were very keen she wear it; both already had theirs on, the dull steel showing just under their jacket collars.

“They’re not too far from the breach, which means they’ve not long come through and are probably just getting their bearings.” The older woman was gesturing over a map with the broken end of a pencil, and Killian leaned over to watch as she pulled her jacket back on. “We’re going to approach from the west, downwind of them, so they don’t pick us up; reports have them at a herd of 10, maybe 12, so the four of us should be fine to take them on as long as we don’t mess up. Rookie, Darcy, you get the shotguns; rounds are packed with rock salt and iron filings. Make sure the shots are carefully placed – we’re going to try and force them back through, so aim for the ground in front of them. Myself and Owen will run the netting around the outside edge of the herd, we just need the rest of you to help keep them corralled while we push them back through.” Darcy gave a thumbs up signal from the driver’s seat as Owen started passing out guns and shells, and as Killian took the weapon a thought occurred to her.

“What happens if the net breaks?” Owen rolled their eyes at their question - that was probably mentioned in the manual as well, Killian thought to herself - but Vanden grinned viciously, the scar on her lip pulling her mouth into a snarl.

“If the net breaks, it’s open season. Empty your gun into their faces, and if you run out of shells, use your pistol. I’ve got Sally here,” and she patted the butt of the hunting rifle slung over her shoulder, “so if any of them make a run for it, I’ll be able to pick them off with this.” Her smile dropped abruptly as she fixed Killian with serious eyes. “But if they knock you over, there’s only so much that chain of yours will do. Don’t fall over, rookie.”

Killian swallowed nervously, and accepted her weapon, trying not to let the others see how much her hands were shaking. All this for deer…? What had she missed by not reading the bestiary? Too late to dwell on it now, as the Land Rover was skidding to a halt in the dirt, and the others were piling out.

Vanden was clearly the veteran of the group, with her scarred face and greying flyaway hair. She shook out a length of silvered cord that seemed to refract the light in odd ways that hurt Killian’s eyes, and rolled it up loosely in a practiced motion that spoke of years of experience.

Owen was the right-hand; they obviously knew what they were doing and deferred to the older woman, although they didn’t seem to have as much patience as she did. They also had their fair share of scars, the most obvious being an ugly twisted length visible on their neck that vanished below their collar; Killian couldn’t decide if she wanted to see the full extent of the injury.

Darcy was perhaps another recent addition to the team; she hadn’t said anything on the drive up, concentrating on Vanden’s shouted directions, but she seemed a bit more fresh-faced than Vanden and Owen. Her dark skin didn’t show any visible scars, and she smiled easily when she met Killian’s eyes.

“Are they always this intense?” Killian asked her as they readied their shotguns together. Darcy smiled and shook her head, then leaned her weapon against the Land Rover carefully, and made a series of gestures with her hands. Killian’s heart sank slightly; she got the sense Darcy was signing slower than usual in case the rookie needed help keeping up, but Killian couldn’t understand sign language at all. She shook her head, and watched an unmistakable look of disappointment come over Darcy’s face.

“I’m sorry, I- I don’t speak- uh, I mean, I don’t use?- I don’t-”

“She says we’re nice when we’re not on a hunt.” Vanden said at Killian’s shoulder causing the younger woman to jump and nearly drop her gun.

“Are you Deaf, or- or just- ” Killian trailed off as she tried to think of the best way to phrase the question delicately, but the look on Darcy’s face told her she’d probably got that wrong, too. What a great first impression you’re making, she thought bitterly. From behind her, Vanden sighed.

“I take it you didn’t look through any of the company materials we emailed? There’s a video course for basic BSL. Watch it, learn it. You’ll need it.” Vanden turned to move away, but paused. “Oh, and to answer your question: Darcy can hear better than anyone on this team, and I’m including me in that; she just doesn’t talk.”

“Can I ask why? Did something happen?” Vanden, Owen and Darcy were striding away towards the treeline now, and Killian scrambled to keep up. Darcy shot her a flat, sideways look that Killian couldn’t quite decipher, and her hands moved again, this time clearly aimed at Vanden and Owen. Owen barked a humourless laugh, and Vanden smiled again.

“Learn to sign, and maybe she’ll tell you. For now, hush, or you’ll give away our position.”

The four of them settled into an easy pace, making sure their footfalls landed softly. Here, Killian was glad she could hold her own; she’d always been a quiet child, ghosting around her house as she grew up, and when the recruiters came to town they’d been impressed with her easy stealth during their aptitude tests. She could learn everything else, but she had nothing else to learn about being quiet. Even her chain shirt under her jacket was silent, and she saw Vanden nod approvingly at the wraith-like way the rookie was able to move through the forest.

The older hunter finally signalled them to a stop, and Killian saw their prey.

The deer were a couple of hundred metres downwind of them in a small clearing, and the breach they’d come through could be seen flickering and pulsing another hundred metres beyond them at the edge of the treeline. As Killian watched, she realised there was something off about the deer. Sure, the numbers were relatively small – deer in this area usually travelled in numbers upwards of 30 – but it wasn’t the number that was bothering her. As a bird flew up from the grass near the creatures, she realised what the problem was.

They were too still. None of them seemed to be grazing, and as the bird flew up, every single antlered head turned to watch it go with an intensity deer didn’t usually have. Not a single one of them spooked, or jumped, or twitched - they all just watched it fly away, as if they’d never seen a bird before.

The heads turning in such an uncanny way highlighted another thing: they were all the same. The more Killian looked, the more she realised they all looked like they’d come off the same production line. Markings on their coats were all the same colour, in the same place; every set of antlers twisted at the same angles and came to the same number of points; she’d be willing to bet that even the most subtle variations in the coat were all identical as well.

Killian turned to remark on this to the others but Darcy was already there, planting a hand firmly over the rookie’s mouth. Her easy going expression had vanished, and there was a sense of urgency in the young woman’s eyes as she slowly shook her head. The meaning was plain: not a sound. Killian nodded slowly, and the hand was removed from her mouth. She turned back to watch the deer, just in time to see why the chain was needed.

A squirrel had opted to run along the forest floor, and clearly hadn’t picked up on the aura of wrongness these deer had, as it scurried ever-closer to them. As with the bird, every cervine head swivelled to observe the newcomer, until with blinding speed one swooped its head down and seized the creature in its mouth.

Killian nearly broke the silence again, and again Darcy was ready, clapping a hand over Killian’s mouth to choke the scream of horror back down.

The deer had teeth. Sharp teeth, too many teeth, and a mouth too big and all wrong for the shape of the head. It now seemed to be happily swallowing the unlucky squirrel whole. Darcy waved her hand in front of Killian’s face to get her attention, and then gestured towards the creature’s feet.

At first glance, they seemed like normal cloven hooves, but as Killian looked she realised that these, too, were wrong. As she focused, she saw that the hooves were, in fact, made up of claws that sat together so tightly you didn’t realise how sharp they were, until a foot was lifted and the furrows left in the ground were revealed.

Well. That explains the chain. No protection from blunt force trauma but it would definitely stop her getting disembowelled if she goes down. She remembered Vanden’s words: Don’t fall over, rookie, and decided she didn’t want to test what the chain could hold up against.

At some point, Darcy had removed her hand from over Killian’s mouth, and was looking at her. Killian didn’t need to know sign to know what the other hunter was asking with that look: do you have your shit together now, rookie? She nodded, and tightened her grip on her gun.

Vanden motioned to the two girls, and pointed slowly. These gestures Killian did know; me, Owen, flank. You two, head on. Await signal.

Killian and Darcy nodded, staying put as Owen and Vanden split off, each taking a flank. They’d moved well out of sightlines before Killian thought to wonder what the signal would be, and hoped Darcy knew what to expect.

Killian counted her heartbeats as she waited, watching the unnerving herd. No, she thought. Not a herd. This is a pack. These are sharks in deer’s clothing.

Silvery thread flashed out between the trees as Vanden threw one end of the netting to Owen, who caught it deftly, and suddenly the deer were all on their feet, up, and staring hard at the silver, before looking past it to stare straight at Killian.

Their eyes, she realised, their eyes are forward-facing. That’s a predator looking at me.

The not-deer nearest to her peeled back its lips from sharp, sharp teeth, and screamed; an ungodly cry of bestial rage and horror layered over itself that rooted Killian to the ground in primal, instinctual fear.

The pack charged. The net pulled tight. And the sharp retort of Darcy’s shotgun next to her brought Killian to bear as she began firing her own shells into the ground at the creature's feet.

Rock salt and iron filings erupted from the barrel of her gun, scattering across the pack leaders who screamed again and shied back, retreating from salt and iron and cold, unforgiving silver. Reluctantly they moved back, and as Darcy and Killian moved forwards, firing rhythmically, they saw Owen and Vanden weaving through the trees, nets in hand, creating a tunnel that would leave only the breach as a way out.

The not-deer seemed to realise this, seemed to know that they were being forced back to wherever they had come from, and rebelled, circling around the ever-decreasing space, looking for a gap to push through. But Vanden and Owen had done this too many times before, and there were no gaps, and slowly but surely the not-deer were herded back towards the breach.

The pack were perhaps 50 metres away from the breach when one of the not-deer stopped and looked up, with what seemed a calculating expression on its face. Where the rest of the pack continued the frantic circling of predators within a too-small cage, this one creature took a couple of steps back, muscles coiling, and leapt.

It cleared the top of the silver netting, just about; one clawed foot caught the edge, and the smell of burning (hair? Bone? Sinew?) matter reached Killian’s nose. It screamed again, an awful sound equal parts pain and rage that could never be mistaken for something a real deer would ever make in this world, set its sights on Killian and Darcy - and charged.

This thing didn’t put its head down, like a stag would in rutting season; the antlered head stretched out before it like a dog stretches out for a dead sprint, and the claws where its hooves should be seemed to loosen from the cloven shape, gripping the sod to pull it over the ground faster and faster.

For a moment, Killian found herself almost outside her own body, watching herself fire into the earth at the thing’s feet, eject the shells, rack the next lot of shells, fire again.

The not-deer was bearing down on her now, getting closer, and with a start it occurred to her that it hadn’t been put off by the spray of salt and iron at the ground, that it had tracked where she was aiming and swerved to avoid the worst of the spray.

Now, deeply intent on her, it had almost reached her, and it was hard to work out what to be most alarmed about. This close, it didn’t look much like a deer any more, the sweeping crown of twisted antlers being the one stark reminder of the disguise this creature tried to wear.

Vanden’s voice cracked out like a whip.

“Open season, rookie!” And Killian was back in herself, gun heavy in her hands. A quick calculation told her she just had two shells left; one shot, so she’d need to make it a good one or risk being taken to the ground by that thing. Her eyes measured the distance between her and the creature, watching it shrink, working out the best time to rack her shotgun one last time -

With one and a half lengths between them, she racked the gun as the creature bunched its powerful hind legs and leapt towards her. She watched its arc, saw the trajectory in the air, and as it came down she took a step back, angling the shotgun so it pointed upwards into the thing’s open, horrifying maw.

It’s front legs touched the dirt, and in the seconds before her finger tightened on the trigger, she saw it staring at her with a hatred unmatched by anything she’d seen before.

It knew it was finished.

The trigger pulled all the way back, and the not-deer’s head vanished in an explosion of salt and gore that coated the unfortunate hunter. The body slumped before Killian, and she stood, fingers already mechanically slotting new shells into the shotgun.

The rest of the pack let out screams of their own, turned tail, and fled back towards the breach, no longer needing the net or the shotgun blasts at their heels for encouragement.

The breach flickered as each not-deer passed through it, and as the last of them squeezed their way through – and it must have been a trick of the light, the way their bodies shivered and stretched almost liquid-like as they reached the entry point – the breach shuddered, pulsed, and grew still.

“Closed.” Vanden said, satisfied, reeling the netting up into an easy loop over her shoulder. “Good shot there, rookie; not seen them try to jump it before. You doing ok?”

Killian, covered in drying gore, nodded dumbly, and watched Darcy double over in silent laughter at what must have been a truly shell-shocked expression on her face. Owen was surprisingly gentle as they took the shotgun out of Killian’s trembling hands and made it safe.

“Calm as you please taking that thing’s head off, shaking like a leaf after.” Their voice was gruff, but they were smiling as they looked at Killian, who felt like she was about to start crying. “You’ve got a good one here, Vanden. But I think she’ll have read the bestiary before her next shift.” Vanden laughed then, the sound rough but warm.

“Have I been wrong yet, Owen?” She slung her arm around Killian’s shoulders, seemingly unbothered by the viscera coating the rookie, and steered her towards where they’d left the Land Rover. “None of us took the books seriously until we came face to face with a live one.”

Darcy snapped her fingers in front of Killian’s face to get her attention, and made a gesture with both hands, curling the crook of one index finger against the inside flat of the index finger on the other hand, then jerking it backwards in a motion that made Killian think of cocking a gun.

“Well, check that,” Vanden said, her low voice amused. “Darcy’s given you a name already.” Catching the confused look on Killian’s face, Vanden elaborated: “rather than spell your name every time she wants to talk to you or about you, she’ll come up with a sign that’s yours. That one was yours, the sign for K turned into something that makes Darcy think of you. Feel proud, rookie: last new hire we had, it took 5 weeks for Darcy to name him. Safe to say, I think she likes you.”

The crude gesture from Darcy in response to that was one that Killian didn’t need translating, and even Owen joined in the laughter.

And just like that, Killian started to relax. She was alive. She’d helped. And she could probably fit in here, in this peculiar job. She’d be ok. She shrugged off Vanden’s arm and moved to walk next to Darcy.

“Hold on, show me how to do that again; which bit is the K…?”

Up through the woods they trudged, arms around one another, laughter bouncing off the surrounding trees at them as squirrels and birds returned to the branches, taking comfort in the return to normalcy.

Behind them, the breach began to flicker again.

[themurphyzone]

BatB AU: A Provincial Life

Summary: It’s an ordinary day in ACME Village for Pinky. Until it isn’t. 

AN: This oneshot adapts the opening number ‘Belle’ and village scenes, up until Pinky sets off for the castle in search of his father, which leads into the entry Imprisoned. 

AO3 Link

Pinky scooped a ladleful of oatmeal into a small, earthen bowl, humming dreamily as he added a dash of cinnamon and several apple slices into the mixture. 

Today was a very special day for Papa, and Pinky wanted him to eat a healthy and nutritious meal before he went off to the fair with his invention. It would be a few days of travel, and Papa would need his strength for traveling there and back. 

“Papa, I’m going out!” Pinky called as he carefully pushed a large woven basket of acorns outside. “Your breakfast is on the table, so make sure you eat it all!” 

There was a sputter and cough of machinery and a trail of smoke from the small room that served as a makeshift workshop next to the kitchen, followed by a loud bang. 

“Just getting ‘er warmed up for the final test!” Papa shouted. “C’mon, Madeleine! You may’ve fallen apart for the 264th time, but you can do it!” 

Oh, Pinky had no doubt people were gonna love the woodcutting, ax-wielding, only occasionally threatening to take fingers off machine known as Madeleine. She was definitely gonna win that gorgeous blue ribbon at the fair! And even if she didn’t, they’d love her all the same anyway. 

He opened the door and stepped into the beautiful autumn morning, taking in the cool, fresh air as he carefully maneuvered the basket of acorns into a red wagon. The leaves were varying hues of crimson and gold, dancing along a gentle breeze that ruffled Pinky’s fur. The sun was peeking over the horizon, slowly bathing the world in light as it rose.

Two songbirds flew merrily above him, their sweet morning song filling the air with beautiful music. Pinky reached up, and one of the songbirds briefly landed on his outstretched hand before flying after his partner, leaving a red feather behind. 

“Thanks for the feather!” Pinky shouted to the sky as he tucked the feather behind his ear, where it fit perfectly. 

He picked up the wagon handle and pulled it along, the wheels squeaking along behind him.  

In the meadow beside their quaint little cottage, Pharfignewton chewed placidly on dew-covered grass. She neighed a greeting to Pinky, and Pinky cheerfully waved back. As much as he loved taking the beloved family horse into town for company, she needed her strength to lug Papa, Madeleine, and all their supplies later. So he had to let her rest. 

Reeds and wildflowers of all sorts grew along the banks of the pond that separated the little cottage from the rest of ACME Village. A pair of ducks paddled along in the water, trailed by four adorable, fluffy yellow ducklings. Several tiny turtles sunbathed on an old log, while a large green frog sat on its lily pad and caught insects unlucky enough to stray in the path of a long, sticky tongue. 

Pinky took his time crossing the cobblestone bridge over the pond, watching the wild animals go about their day without hustling, bustling, or rushing from place to place. Their lives were very different from their neighbors, despite living so close together. 

Little animals, little pond, and little humans in their little town. 

Or was everything just bigger than him? He was a mouse after all. It wasn’t hard to be bigger than a mouse, unless one happened to be an insect. 

As Pinky crossed onto the other side, he spotted a smooth, pretty gray stone poking out of the reeds. He plucked it out of the damp soil, cleaning the dirt off with the inside of his apron. 

It would be a perfect stone for his collection. And he didn’t have any that were this smooth. Most of the rocks he picked up were half-crushed or broken from city streets or well-worn paths. He tucked it into a pocket that he’d sewn on himself, because for some odd reason dresses never came with pockets. 

Then he faced the little town, with all its timber and stone buildings lining a narrow cobbled street that quickly filled with half-asleep, half-awake people trying to get an early start on their sales and trades. 

To think he and Papa had lived here for three years. While not the most exciting town in the world, Pinky was just happy they didn’t have to move again. He’d spent too much of his life being bustled from place to place since Mama died. The cottage was the loveliest place they’d ever owned. 

And while the townsfolk had the same ol’ familiar routine every day, Pinky tried to vary his activities. From baking to horseback riding to volunteering for odd jobs around town, or just taking a day off to nap under a tree and roll down the hilly meadows while grass stains formed on his back.  

Just a normal provincial life, yet Pinky often wondered what laid in the big blue yonder. Did the stars and sky look different elsewhere? Do the clouds form big, fluffy, and silly shapes in South America? 

“Bonjour!” a man called out as he threw open his shutters. 

“Good morning, Emile!” Pinky replied as he skipped past his window.  

“Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour!” The echoing chant swept across rooftops and streets alike as a new day dawned upon ACME Village. 

Everyone from chimney sweepers to merchants to coachmen responded with vigor and cheer, all of them satisfied with their occupations in life. 

Pinky greeted everyone he passed, though not all returned the gesture. Everyone was staring at the feather tucked behind his ear, the bulge of the stone in his pocket, or the red wagon with the basket he pulled along. He didn’t think he was that strange-looking. 

Unless he had a bit of cabbage stuck in his teeth again. But he flossed really well last night, so he didn’t think that was the case. 

“Marie, hurry up with the baguettes!” the baker shouted as he carried several loaves of bread outside. 

Pinky inhaled deeply. There was nothing quite like the scent and sound of fresh bread. 

“Narrrrrrf! Smells just like heaven, Mr. Baker!” Pinky exclaimed.  

The baker set his tray of bread on a windowsill, tapping his foot as he impatiently waited for Marie. “Morning, Pinky. You off somewhere this morning?” he asked, though he didn’t turn around. 

“Yup! I’m delivering this basket of acorns to Slappy!” Pinky said, pointing to his basket of acorns. “She really likes the acorns near our cottage but doesn’t wanna make the trip herself. She says it’s too far for her aching joints and she can’t take Skippy along because she’s still trying to convince him that we’re not gonna be shot like Bumbie’s mom if we venture into the meadow, and-” 

“Yes, yes, that’s all very nice,” the baker said, half-leaning into the open window. “Marie, I said hurry up with the baguettes! The morning rush is coming soon!”  

“Well, if you’d bought the ingredients from Francois instead of Vincent like I suggested then maybe we wouldn’t be running behind, Pierre! But no, you always act like you know best!” Marie snapped. 

Not wanting to get embroiled in yet another argument between the baker and his wife, Pinky followed the cobblestone path further into town, where the usual market sprung up, full of local farmers, tradesmen, and merchants. 

Villagers bartered and argued and traded like always, and as Pinky stopped to admire a small yellow daisy poking out from the cracks of the street, he could feel eyes follow him closely in that looking-at-you-but-pretending-we’re-not sort of way. 

“There goes the funny mouse again.” 

“Gets distracted by the littlest things, I swear.” 

“Does he even have a useful skill?” 

“Besides being the village idiot? Doubtful.” 

They’d made those comments ever since he and Papa had moved in. Everywhere they went, people asked Pinky for his trade, and Pinky always told them he took care of Papa and worked various odd jobs around the area for money. 

But that wasn’t considered a useful role in society.

He didn’t mind helping Papa though. 

Oh well though. He couldn’t delay getting these acorns to Slappy, so he hauled his wagon alongside a horse-drawn carriage that steadily cut through the crowded streets, clearing Pinky’s path.  

“Bonjour!” the coachman called to a young woman walking down the street. His eyes were trained on the girl rather than the road, and his horse plowed straight into a farmer’s cart, knocking his produce into the road.  

“MY CABBAGES!” the farmer screamed, tearing out his hair as several pigs devoured his vegetables. 

The coachman let out a nervous laugh and flicked the reins, spurring his horse forward and blithely ignoring the despairing farmer’s demands for compensation. 

“I need six eggs!” a woman cried as she tried to hold several fussing babies at once. 

“That’s too expensive!” a man complained to someone selling pottery. “Twenty coins for a pile of cheap clay? Bah!” 

Pinky and the carriage parted ways as the cobblestone street changed to an unpaved dirt path. The gossip and chatter of ACME Village faded to background noise. 

Slappy had made her home in a hollow tree on the outskirts of town, close enough to get supplies but far enough to deter most from knocking on her door. 

Pinky passed by many warning and danger signs that kept most people from bothering the old squirrel. There was a new post up today, right next to Slappy’s front door. 

LAST WARNING 

NO SELLING, NO PREACHING, NO TAX COLLECTING 

KNOCK AT YOUR OWN RISK 

Well, what was life without a little risk? Pinky knocked on the door anyway. 

He was trying to decide if one of the clouds overhead was shaped more like a monkey or a strawberry when a small brown squirrel in a blue nightgown and cap opened the door. Despite the early morning, he was wide awake and hopping in place, his excitement only growing as he spotted the basket of acorns behind Pinky.  

“Morning, Skippy! Got the basket of acorns your aunt wanted!” Pinky exclaimed.

Skippy grinned as he took the basket from the wagon. “Thanks, Pinky! Aunt Slappy will love these!” 

He popped a few acorns into his mouth and loudly crunched the shells. 

“Skippy, what’d I say about answering the door at this godforsaken hour in the morning?” a cranky voice yelled from upstairs.

“It’s just Pinky with the acorns, Aunt Slappy! No door to door salespeople, preachers, or tax collectors in sight!” Skippy shouted. Then he turned back to Pinky and pointed to his ear. “I like your feather, by the way.” 

“Thanks! I like your nightcap!” Pinky said, returning the compliment with his own. 

A few moments later, Slappy joined Pinky and Skippy downstairs. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, her long gray tail dragging behind her. 

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Slappy asked. She tossed several acorns into her mouth and nodded her approval. “Crunchy with a pinch of salt. This is gonna be a good topping for my world-renowned creamed spinach later.” 

“SPEEWWWWWWWWW!” Skippy cried, sticking his tongue out in disgust. 

Pinky just smiled politely. Slappy took a lot of pride in her creamed spinach recipe, and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings by saying it tasted like soggy socks. 

“Hey, when I was your age, I ate lots of creamed spinach for dinner. And now I have enough muscles to wield a hundred ton mallet,” Slappy retorted. 

“Wow! Was that when dinosaurs roamed the earth?” Skippy asked. 

Slappy gave him a light smack on the back of his head. “Little brat. Go grab a few coins from the bureau in my room. Gotta pay the mouse for lugging this stuff across town.” 

Skippy blew a raspberry at her and ran up the stairs. 

“Your tongue is never gonna go back in your mouth if you keep doing that!” Slappy yelled. 

Funny how the Squirrels were his best neighbors, even though they lived on the opposite side of town. They’d helped out so much when Pinky and Papa first moved into the countryside cottage, from showing them all the best places to buy from and all the best trees to climb. Everyone else usually stared at them strangely for not knowing how to find a shop and moved on with their day. 

Still, Pinky didn’t want to impose on them or anything. Collecting the acorns was no trouble at all. And he knew money could be a little tight in the village at times. 

“You don’t have to pay me,” Pinky said. “Poit. I don’t mind the morning exercise.” 

“You’re walkin’ outta here with those coins whether you like it or not,” Slappy said in a tone that invited no room for argument. “Don’t be one of ‘em honor before reason types. That sorta mindset is nothing but trouble.” 

Slappy’s long tail flicked in irritation, accidentally knocking a framed painting askew on the wall next to her. She sighed and fixed the crooked painting so that it hung straight. “Can never keep this darn thing straight,’ she muttered. 

Pinky had been inside the hollow tree many times, but he’d never seen this painting before. It contained a colorful cast of characters, from a carrot-munching gray rabbit to a crazy black duck to a short gunslinger with an enormous bright red mustache. 

In the painting, a youthful Slappy with a manic grin on her face and giant firecracker in her hand was chasing a bald hunter. Her smile was brighter, and her eyes didn’t seem so world-weary there.

“Like it? Old pals sent it to me two weeks ago,” Slappy asked, a hint of nostalgia in her voice. “The Looney Tunes Troupe were a rascally bunch, that’s for sure. All the money for a detailed painting, and they can’t afford a better frame. Our shows were legendary back in the day, you know.” 

“Never heard of them,” Pinky admitted. 

“Course ya haven’t,” Slappy sighed. “Your generation doesn’t know good comedy when it hits them in the bum with a mallet. Troupe’s faded into obscurity now, but they’ve never stopped traveling and being annoying yet lovable nuisances to everyone from Albuquerque to Kalamazoo to Timbuktu.” 

Pinky tilted his head. “But you don’t travel anymore.” 

If the Squirrels needed something they couldn’t get in ACME Village, they usually asked Pinky to run the errand for them. 

“Yeah, well, that’s life,” Slappy said. “Sometimes you’re a nomad with total freedom and other times you gotta flee with your nephew to a different country.” 

Before Pinky could ask more questions, Skippy barreled downstairs with as many coins as he could carry. “I didn’t know how much to grab so I just took a handful,” Skippy said, dumping the currency onto a small side table. 

Slappy picked up six coins from the pile and dropped them into a small drawstring bag, then tightened the strings and tossed the bag into Pinky’s wagon. “You can have these. I’ve got plenty more lying around,” she said. 

“If you're sure then,” Pinky said, picking up his wagon handle and turning it around. “Love to stay, but Papa’s leaving for the fair soon and I gotta see him off!” 

“Tell him we said hi!” Skippy shouted, and Pinky saluted back. 

Slappy yawned, stretching her arms above her head. “And I’m hitting the hay again. It’s too damn early, and I’m too tired to censor my swearing in front of kids.” 

o-o-o-o-o  

After his visit to Slappy’s tree, Pinky decided to kill some time at ACME Village’s fountain, where he could enjoy the fine spray of water and run in circles along the stone rim. It was always fun seeing how fast he could go without tipping into the water.

“Sorry!” he shouted as he accidentally trod over freshly washed sheets that a woman had been folding next to the fountain. She made an indignant noise and carried her basket of laundry away, nose high in the air. 

And the whispers started up again. 

“That mouse may be a beauty, but he is way too peculiar for his own good.” 

“You have to wonder if he’s feeling well.” 

“Always a dreamy, far-off look on his face.” 

On his tenth lap around the fountain, a flock of sheep strolled by, guided by a young shepherd from behind. Two fluffy ewes jumped onto the fountain rim next to Pinky and drank the water. Pinky smiled and stroked their soft wool, and the ewes bleated in contentment.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Pinky whispered into their ears. “Don’t go blabbing this to anyone now...but I believe Papa’s a shoo-in for that blue ribbon!” 

One of the ewes turned and nibbled on his ear, and Pinky laughed as her blocky teeth tugged and tickled his fur. He gently pried her jaw open and his ear popped out of her mouth, dripping wet with sheep saliva.

As Pinky prepared to slide off the fountain rim and onto the small bag of money he’d gotten from Slappy, a regal fanfare went off in the distance, thundering hoofbeats growing ever closer. 

A messenger in a white powdered wig blew his coronet and cleared his throat. 

“HEAR YE! HEAR YE! MAKE WAY FOR HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, PRINCE SNOWBALL AND HIS HUNTING PARTY!” 

The messenger’s declaration sent every man, woman, and child running towards the plaza, gathering in front of the entrance of the local tavern, the centerpoint of all social activities in ACME Village. 

The hunting party rode in on their enormous horses, spearheaded by the ruler of the province, Prince Snowball. Though only a small hamster, he was famed by all for his keen mind and ability to get results on whatever he set out to accomplish. 

Though dressed in only a simple red shirt and breeches for hunting, the only signs of his higher status being the golden crown upon his head and the expensive black horse he rode, his presence commanded respect and awe. 

Behind him, a hunting party consisting of the best huntsmen and archers in the land dragged an enormous buck, two wild boars, and several pheasants into view. 

“People of ACME Village, tonight we shall dine on these fine specimens of the animal kingdom!” Snowball announced as everyone bowed in fear of a noble’s anger. “Everyone’s presence is required, for I have a further declaration that shall lift this derelict province out of the ashes and into a glorious future!” 

His pink eyes were sharp, but beneath that layer of intelligence, there was an undertone of something that didn’t feel right. Pinky couldn’t explain it, but he always just had this odd, icky feeling that crawled up his spine whenever he saw Snowball.

The crowd straightened up, cheering and clapping and praising Prince Snowball’s name for bringing them such good fortune with the promise of more to come. 

Pinky’s ear twitched. There was a soft, desperate sound mixed in with the roars of the captivated audience.

And to the left side of the crowd, there was a tiny lamb whose back leg was tangled in a large fishing net. The mother ewe was both nuzzling the lamb in comfort and trying to pull the net off with her teeth, but to no avail. 

The shepherd never noticed his sheep were in trouble, too caught up in hailing Prince Snowball to notice one of his charges was stuck. 

Pinky hopped off the fountain and slowly walked over to the thrashing lamb and his mother, putting his hands up to show them he wasn’t a threat. The lamb bleated in panic, and the mother eyed Pinky warily. 

“May I help? I’m good at untangling stuff,” Pinky asked. He’d gotten a lot of practice when Papa occasionally tangled himself up in threads and wires. 

The ewe regarded him for a long moment, then nuzzled the back of her lamb’s head, letting him bury his head into her wool. The lamb’s trembling stopped, his back leg still. 

It was a sweet gesture, one that seemed so familiar to him, even though his own mother had long passed. He remembered that feeling of warmth and safety from so long ago, the last time he felt like he was truly home. 

Wiping a stray tear from his eye, Pinky untangled the mesh from the lamb’s leg, starting from the top and slowly moving down to the hoof. 

“There you go, baby,” Pinky said once the leg was completely free. The lamb pulled his hoof out of the netting, gave it a good shake, then joyfully pranced and bleated around his mother and Pinky. 

The mother gave Pinky a tiny nod, bleated to her little one, and together they rejoined their flock. The shepherd was still ignoring his flock in favor of Prince Snowball. Pinky couldn’t see him anymore from the ground. 

Pinky picked up his wagon handle, ready to go home and help Papa hitch everything up to Pharfignewton.

Then he felt a pair of fingers pluck the feather he’d lovingly tucked behind his ear. Pinky turned to get his feather back, and jumped when Snowball was just inches from his face. 

“Hello, Pinky,” Snowball said. He smiled, but it was more out of smugness than a real smile. 

Pinky’s ears lowered, but then he remembered his manners. “Bonjour, Prince Snowball. May I have my feather please? A really nice bird gave that to me.” 

Snowball frowned, holding the feather out of Pinky’s reach. The feather crinkled in his tight grip. “How could you possibly need this? It’s hardly good quality for even the cheapest quills.” 

“Poit. It doesn’t need to be a quill to make me happy,” Pinky replied. 

Snowball rolled his eyes, tossing the feather behind him. Pinky tried to grab it, but it was caught on a gust of wind and drifted to the ground. It landed in a mud puddle, soaking the barbs of the feather and staining it brown. 

“Pinky, get your head out of the clouds and pay attention to important matters,” Snowball’s lip curled as he blocked Pinky from retrieving his feather. “Such as showing royals courtesy when they address a peasant like you.”  

“Excuse me, Snowball,” Pinky said politely, going around the hamster to pick up his feather. The damage didn’t look too bad. Still, he tried to be careful when he cleaned it with his apron. 

Snowball crossed his arms, and the town’s whispers started up again. 

How dare he not show proper respect to Snowball, does he fancy himself higher than a prince, why would Snowball pay him any individual attention and not someone more deserving. 

“That’s Prince Snowball to you.” Snowball’s fur bristled for a moment, but he took a deep breath and put his arms around Pinky’s shoulders instead. “The whole town's talking about you and your lack of...purpose. And we can’t have that, you realize. After all, a machine requires all of its cogs and gears to run smoothly, otherwise it won’t work.” 

“Bet his crackpot father would know something about that!” one of Snowball’s men chortled. 

Everyone laughed, even Snowball, who rarely did so. An unfamiliar feeling boiled in Pinky’s stomach. 

“Don’t talk about my father that way!” Pinky snapped. His inventions were amazing and he was going to do well at the fair! They didn’t know how hard Papa worked on his inventions! 

Snowball glared at his men. “Yes, don’t talk about his father that way, you fools!” he hissed like Pinky hadn’t heard him laughing just seconds ago. 

“He’s not a crackpot! His invention’s gonna win the blue ribbon cause it was made with smarts and love, you’ll see!” Pinky declared, just as an explosion went off in the distance. 

And he knew exactly where that explosion had come from. 

“I have to go. Goodbye!” Pinky dragged his wagon behind him, setting off for the cottage he and Papa called home. 

“It’s a pity and a sin, 

He doesn’t quite fit in. 

He really is a funny mouse, 

A beauty but a funny mouse, 

He really is a funny mouse, 

THAT PIN-” 

The sharp, high-pitched crack of a rifle interrupted the village’s song, and everyone ran for cover. 

“WILL YA SHUT UP? SOME OF US ARE TRYIN’ TA SLEEP!” Slappy shouted from her tree, her screech blowing tiles and lumber from the roofs of buildings. 

Just a provincial life in this little town. Pinky ran across the cobblestone bridge, wondering if he truly had the right to ask for something more than that.

o-o-o-o-o

He hurried over to the cellar, where smoke trailed from the gaps of the heavy wooden doors. Pinky opened the entrance, and a smoky cloud blew right in his face. He coughed and waved it away, hiding his nose in his dress as he hurried over to Papa, who’d been thrown onto his back. A pile of broken wooden planks covered him. 

In the corner, Madeleine sputtered, her gears and dials spinning wildly before she finally quieted down, one loose spring sending a gear crashing into a wall. 

“Dagnabbit, Madeleine!” Papa cursed, stumbling as he extracted himself from the pile of wooden planks. Pinky grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet, checking him over for any injuries. Luckily, there were no bruises or splinters to be found. “Don’t you stall out on me now!” 

Pinky smiled. Papa’s string of random gibberish and mutterings of smart inventor words he couldn’t understand was something he’d been familiar with from a young age. No matter where they lived, it was just one of those things that came with home. 

Papa huffed, untying his apron with all his tools and tossing it to the ground. “She’ll never work in time for the fair! What was I thinking?” he lamented. “It’s not too late. Maybe I can cobble something else together quickly! Yes, I’ll just take the doowhatzit out of Madeleine, combine it with the kaleidomajiggy from the old washer, and-” 

“You always say that, Papa,” Pinky said, hugging his father around the shoulders. Papa rested his hands over Pinky’s with a sigh. “Don’t worry. I believe Madeleine will work, and she’ll win you that blue ribbon and help you become an inventor for the history books! Narf! Just like Benjamin Franklin, ‘cept without all the kite-flying.” 

“You really think so?” Papa asked, his frown turning to a hopeful smile. 

“Course I do,” Pinky grinned. 

A determined look crossed Papa’s face, and he tied his apron around his waist, nearly tripping over it in the process.

“What are we waiting for then? Let’s fix ‘er up!” Papa said, laying down on a flat, low cart and pushing himself under the broken stove that made up Madeleine’s main body. “So how was your morning in town?” 

“A little birdie gave me a feather. I found a pretty stone by the pond. And I delivered the acorns to the Squirrels. Did you know Slappy used to be a part of a traveling troupe? I didn’t.” Pinky recanted his morning to Papa as tools clinked and scratched against metal. “Oh, and I guess you’ll be missing Prince Snowball’s feast tonight. They’ll have venison and wild boar there.” 

“A feast? That sounds nice. Much better than inn food,” Papa mused. As usual, only part of what Pinky said ever registered with him. “Are you going?” 

“I don’t know yet,” Pinky admitted. “Don’t get me wrong, I love a good party...but Prince Snowball is-um, what’s a good word for him?” 

“Rich? Smart? Confident?” Papa suggested. “He’s been talkin’ to you a lot lately.” 

So everyone’s noticed, even Papa who spent much of his time in the cellar that doubled as a workshop. 

“He has,” Pinky agreed. “And he says he can give me a purpose. But...I don’t know. I don’t think he’s right for me. Maybe I’m just as odd as they say I am.” 

It was the same everywhere they settled. No matter what Pinky tried to do, the whispers always followed him. He noticed strange things, he wore strange clothes, he and Papa were always strangers in towns where everyone knew each other from birth. 

Papa slid out from under Madeleine, wearing a silly helmet on his head that gave him huge, bug-like eyes. 

“My son is odd?” Papa asked in disbelief, and Pinky laughed. The helmet always made Papa look silly. “Don’t know where these folks get their ideas from…anyway, I think Madeleine’s all ready to go. Care to give her a whirl?”

“Zort! Am I!” Pinky clapped his hands together. Papa pointed to a lever, which Pinky pulled with all his might. 

Madeleine’s bells and whistles sounded, water steadily pumping through her system while steam filled her stove. Pulleys and gears turned along her sides, reaching the front. Her dials quivered until they reached the red zone, and the ax at her front swung down, scoring a deep cut in a block of firewood. The ax swung faster and faster, until one final split the firewood in half and sent one chunk flying. 

Pinky and Papa ducked, and the chunk flew over their heads and landed perfectly on a pile of firewood against the wall. 

“She works!” Pinky shouted in joy, kissing one of Madeleine’s wooden wheels. “You did it, Papa!” 

“I did?” Papa murmured. “I did! 265th time’s the charm, Pinky! Look out fair, I’m on my way!” 

o-o-o-o-o

Within the hour, Madeleine was wheeled out from the workshop, covered and tied up with a tarp, and hitched to Pharfignewton. 

“Bye, Fig,” Pinky said, hugging his beloved horse’s muzzle. “Keep Papa on track to the fair, okay? You know how he likes taking shortcuts.” 

Pharfignewton whinnied gently, planting a sloppy kiss on top of Pinky’s head.

Then Pinky embraced Papa, who returned the hug with the same enthusiasm. And he was reminded of how the mouse and horse he considered his home would be leaving for some time. He wished he could go with them, but someone had to keep house and he was the best one for the job. It wouldn’t be for long, but he’d miss them all the same. 

A stray tear dropped. Just another reason he was considered odd. He cried so easily. 

“Chin up, Pinky,” Papa murmured, rubbing a soothing circle into Pinky’s back. “I’ll win that blue ribbon along with the prize money, and we’ll begin our lives anew within the week.”  

Through his tears, Pinky gave him a wobbly smile. Then he helped Papa onto Pharfignewton’s back. 

“Take care!” Pinky called as Papa flicked the reins, and Pharfignewton trotted off at a steady pace, dragging Madeleine behind her. He watched them from atop the highest hill in the meadow, as they went further down the well-worn trail that merchants used for their travels. 

Then they were nothing but specks in the distance, swallowed by the thick, twisted branches of the forest. It was an unusual forest, one where the trees lost their leaves in early autumn, making the trees look scarier than they actually were for half the year. 

With nothing else to do outside, Pinky went back into the empty cottage. He’d had three years to become familiar with this house, full of odds and ends from Papa’s inventions alongside their meager belongings. 

Mama’s cloak hung from a place of honor on a coat rack by the door, one of the few belongings Pinky could take along no matter where they lived. 

Hours passed, and Pinky already missed the banging and exploding and sputtering of Papa’s inventions. It was just too quiet without them. 

He cleaned the red feather and pretty stone, then added them to his collection. Feathers and rocks didn’t take up a lot of room, and like Mama’s cloak, they could easily be taken to new places as well. He was just very careful not to lose them. 

The wagon was tucked away by the door, and the small bag of money was tucked inside a flower pot. It was how Papa always stored money, and Pinky had picked up the habit. 

There wasn’t much to do. He’d cleaned the cottage several days ago, cellar notwithstanding. That was Papa’s territory, and he always had trouble finding tools when Pinky put them away.

Suppertime approached. 

He could either cook dinner or go to the feast. 

Didn’t matter what he chose. He would be lonely either way. 

A sharp rap on the door startled him out of his thoughts. How strange. People only knocked at this time when there was an emergency. 

“Sorry for taking so long. I wasn’t expecting-” Pinky opened the door, and he immediately stood face-to-face with Prince Snowball. They were so close that their noses nearly touched. “-to see you here, Snowball. Um, this is a surprise. Poit.” 

Snowball’s pink eyes narrowed in annoyance, and Pinky remembered that Snowball preferred to be addressed with his full title. “Yes, it’s not often that someone of my standing chooses to grace a peasant’s home with their presence.”   

Behind Snowball, there was an entourage of townsfolk. Many wore their Sunday best, which was still quite cheap compared to the royal finery that Snowball bore. A fine red coat, a decorative golden cape slung over one shoulder, and white dress pants. A shiny crown embedded with rubies and emeralds sat atop his head. 

“I thought you were all at the tavern for the feast,” Pinky admitted. 

Snowball laughed, but it was a joyless laugh. He stepped across the threshold without being invited in. 

“Why, Pinky. Your hovel is positively primeval,” Snowball said, wrinkling his nose in disdain. He tugged Mama’s cloak off its hook, stared at it for a moment, then carelessly tossed it behind him. “If this is how you live, then it’s a truly auspicious time for me to come and offer you an opportunity out of this squalor.” 

Before Pinky could ask what auspicious was, though he figured it had something to do with Austria, Snowball harshly dug his fingers into Pinky’s shoulders. Pinky tried to pry them off, but the fingers just burrowed further into the fabric of his dress. 

“Not to worry, dear Pinky,” Snowball said. “Today is the day all your dreams come true.” 

“You mean my dream to find a home and a porpoise? Because I don’t know if we have enough money to live by the ocean. Beachside properties get very pricey, you know,” Pinky asked. 

Snowball waved off that concern. “You forget that finances are of no consequence for me. But I digress. For now, allow me to plant the image of a wonderful future in your vacant mind.” 

“Okay, but I don’t know how you’re gonna water it,” Pinky said. 

“Picture this,” Snowball demanded, leading Pinky around the cottage. “A magnificent castle. Two golden thrones, mine higher than the queen’s of course. A few summer homes to expand my sphere of influence. A court of other royals, lesser nobles, while the servants do all the menial work around the fires and kitchen. We’ll have...oh, six or seven.”     

“Servants?” Pinky grinned nervously as Snowball leaned in with a chuckle. 

“Castles, Pinky. How else would I showcase my power?” Snowball corrected. “And the townsfolk shall become our servants. It will save me the trouble of setting up a hiring process anyway. Besides, you’d appreciate having familiar faces around. Less of an adjustment period.” 

Pinky freed himself from Snowball’s grip. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t,” Snowball shrugged. “But in simplest terms, I require a queen. One who is good at smiling, waving, and entertainment.” 

Wouldn’t that person become a princess rather than a queen though? 

Snowball must’ve seen the question coming. He paused in front of the mirror to adjust his crown. 

“There is but one title higher than a prince, Pinky,” Snowball said once he was finished. “In order to qualify for the kingship, it’s required of me to marry first. And do you know who that queen will be?” 

“Elizabeth? Victoria?” Pinky wilted under Snowball’s intense stare. “Um...Cleopatra, final answer?” 

Snowball shook his head. “It will be you, Pinky.” 

A queen? He’d always just been the inventor’s son. An outcast no matter where he lived. How could he possibly be a queen? 

“That’s a very generous offer, Snowball,” Pinky said, once he finally found his words again. 

“Isn’t it, though?” Snowball said smugly. “You and your father will live in an extravagant new home as you perform your queenly duties, and I will be forever hailed as King Snowball. Both of us shall benefit.”

Maybe he and Papa could live in better conditions. Maybe they didn’t have to move around anymore. Maybe they could afford shoes for Pharfignewton. But at the same time…it wouldn’t be right. 

It wouldn’t be home. 

Smiling, waving, entertaining. Was that all he was good for? Was that all Snowball thought he could do? 

“I thought...marriage was for love,” Pinky said softly. “That’s what Papa always said.” 

Snowball rolled his eyes. “It’s a political marriage. It doesn’t have to be built on love.” 

Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it.

It was one of the earliest morals Pinky had learned. 

Wish for a home, only for it to be a castle. Wish for a purpose, and it’s to be married without love as a foundation. 

“Snowball...I’m speechless,” Pinky said, backing out the front door. He nearly tripped over the welcome mat, but regained his footing. “I...I really don’t know what to say.” 

Not even a narf would help him out of this situation. 

“Say that you’ll marry me, Pinky,” Snowball replied, and he stalked toward Pinky like a cunning predator, backing him against the edge of the porch. “And after you say yes, I will announce our engagement to the rest of ACME Village at the feast. Attendance is mandatory for a reason.” 

“I’m really, really sorry, Snowball,” Pinky said. He’d backed up too far, and the heels of his feet dangled precariously over the edge. Instincts kicking in, Pinky grabbed Snowball’s shoulder to pull himself to safety, though he underestimated his strength. Snowball yelped as he was pulled over the edge, falling into the mud puddle by the staircase. 

Oops.  

“Sorry, Snowball! But I just don’t deserve you,” Pinky admitted. 

The mud-covered crown slipped around Snowball’s head, covering his eyes until he took it off with an annoyed grunt. 

Pinky slipped back into the house, grabbed a small towel, and handed it to one of Snowball’s men. 

Claude, if he remembered right. 

“He can have that one,” Pinky told Claude, who gingerly took the towel like it was a fragile item. 

Snowball crawled out of the mud, his royal clothing covered in gunk and sticks. He stomped out of the mud, hands clenching against his sides. 

Snowball’s brow lowered, his pink eyes hidden in humiliation and a quiet, seething fury. 

Slowly, Pinky retreated into the cottage and hid behind the door. There was something about that look that terrified him. And it wasn’t the fun kind of fear, either. 

“You will consider my offer, Pinky. Make no mistake about that,” Snowball spat, his scrutinizing gaze directly on Pinky, despite the door between them. “Claude, quit being daft and hand me that towel already!” 

Pinky waited in the cottage until he could no longer hear their voices or footsteps. They must’ve gone back to the tavern for the feast. 

He didn’t feel hungry though. Snowball’s proposal left a sour taste in his mouth, like he’d just sucked on a lemon.

“He asked me to marry him,” Pinky said to his mother’s cloak, which was still crumpled on the floor. He gently picked it up, brushed off the wrinkles, and put it on. The fabric was warm against his back, like being wrapped in a ginormous embrace. “But he doesn’t love me. Narf! You can’t have a marriage without love!” 

He thought of all the married couples he knew in ACME Village. The baker couple, who were constantly at each other’s throats. Gerard the butcher was always making googly eyes at any woman who bought cuts of meat, much to his wife’s frustration. There was the stressed lady who had to drag her six kids around town while her husband played cards and darts at the tavern.

And Pinky thought of his parents. His mother had fallen in love with his father’s inventive streak when she was the daughter of a town official and Papa was just the crazy mouse whose inventions blew up a lot. 

He tied the cloak tighter around himself. Unable to take the silence of the cottage and the stifling influence of the village much longer, he allowed his feet to carry him out of the cottage and to wherever they wanted to go. 

He sprinted into the unknown. He wouldn’t be afraid of whatever he found there. The autumn wind blew golden, red, and brown leaves in whichever direction it wished as Pinky climbed the highest hill in the gorgeous flower-filled meadow. 

The peak of the hill was his favorite spot, and he was surprised that nobody else came out here to enjoy the view with him. Trees lost their colorful leaves so they could sleep for the winter, the river splashed and babbled along its banks, and proud mountains with mysterious cloud-covered peaks rose high above the landscape.

What laid beyond villages and towns, he didn’t know. 

There was something in that great wide somewhere for him. Just a feeling, an inkling, a hunch. 

But could he truly go exploring it when his home was here? 

Maybe he could convince Papa. Somehow. When Papa came back with the prize money, they could fit Pharfignewton with her shoes and they could all explore together! 

Staring into the autumn landscape, Pinky sank to his knees, careful not to squish the daisies and dandelions around him. 

Maybe that was home, but…

He didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life. Would he ever figure that out? 

He loved Papa, but he couldn’t really talk to him. And Slappy had her hands full with such an energetic nephew. Pinky didn’t want to impose. Everyone in the village gossiped about him, like he couldn’t understand. 

But he did. 

And it hurt. 

“Would be nice to talk to someone. Anyone, really,” he whispered, and he blew on a cluster of dandelion puffs. His wish scattered along the wind.

Pinky picked up more dandelion puffs. If he blew more around, maybe his wish would come true. And dandelion flowers were very pretty. 

Maybe they were considered weeds, but how could anyone call such a sunshine-y yellow flower a pest? He didn’t get it.

Then a distant, familiar neigh caught him off-guard. 

Pinky thumped his hand against his ear. Maybe he was missing Pharfignewton so much that he heard her voice? 

But he’d recognize her magnificent white coat and spirited blue eyes anywhere. 

“Easy, Pharfignewton! It’s okay!” Pinky cried. He scrambled up Pharfignewton’s leg, avoided her flailing hoof, and held onto her muzzle as she bucked and reared in sheer panic. “Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay…” 

Pharfignewton quieted down, her frantic neighs melting into soft, worried nickers as Pinky stroked her nose. She stopped kicking, though she was wide-eyed with fear. 

Madeleine wasn’t hitched to Pharfignewton. Nor was she wasn’t the only one missing…

And Pinky suddenly understood his horse’s panic. 

“Pharfignewton, where’s Papa?” Pinky asked. “Is he okay? How did you get separated? Did he try another shortcut when I told him not to do it?”  

Pharfignewton’s hooves shuffled, and Pinky forced himself to take a deep breath. He was scaring her with all these questions, so he nuzzled her between the eyes in apology. Still, his heart raced with panic. 

From the top of the hill, he saw thick, gray clouds rolling in from the mountains. The temperature was dropping fast. 

An early winter would be upon them. They had to find Papa quickly. 

“Please, Pharfignewton. We’ve gotta find him,” Pinky pleaded. 

She whinnied in agreement, and galloped into the strange forest with all its dangerous, twisted branches before Pinky had a chance to settle in his usual spot at the base of her neck. 

Don’t worry, Papa. I’m on my way. 

End AN: Well, this is beast is complete (no pun intended). 

Yeah, poor Pinky’s usual charm doesn’t really work here. Poor mouse. 

Slappy is fun to write, not gonna lie. Love her cartoony antics. She’s also led quite the interesting life in this AU. 

The reason Snowball didn’t show up sooner was because I wasn’t sure how to tweak the proposal scene to fit. Cause for one thing, Snowball is way smarter than Gaston, but just as arrogant to boot. So I changed Snowball’s motivation into marrying Pinky because it will help him gain a higher title than a prince. He doesn’t actually love Pinky in this AU, but he’s very annoyed at him for that stunt with the mud puddle (though it’s accidental on Pinky’s part rather than intentional like Belle’s). 

The reason Snowball doesn’t go seeking a princess’s hand to gain the kingship is cause he tried that already. It was Billie of a nearby kingdom. It didn’t go well. 

Also yes the village is named ACME Village because I’m lazy and can’t come up with anything better. 

[thetorchwoodarchive]

Found family event masterpost

Thank you for all your submissions! Below the cut is the list of Torchwood fic recs focused on found family, as submitted by you, our followers!

we built a family (home) by myre ( JackIanto | Complete | 17844 | M )

When Jack gets back, things are different—he’s different—and he’s not sure where he fits anymore, but he should’ve known that there was a place reserved just for him.

Ianto Jones' thoughts on Life, Death, and Summer Squashes by Arnica ( JackIanto, GwenRhys | Complete | 17762 | T )

The first thing he remembers afterward (and the rest of his life will always before and after Thames House now) is waking up to the sound of hospital machinery droning away, Gwen's head heavy on his legs as she drools on him with Rhys snoring away in the chair next to her, his hand spread wide across her back, head tipped back as he sleeps. Then there's Jack, sitting sideways in the window with his gun drawn and resting in his lap as he does something with the wrist straps in his hands.

Two of Us Are Hung From the Same Twisted Rope by ShastaFirecracker ( JackIanto, ToshOwen | Complete | 15799 | T )

An accident with some sort of brain-scanning alien device leaves Owen and Ianto sharing Ianto's body. Hijinks and nightmares ensue.

Does Africa Know a Song of Me? by etmuse ( JackIanto, MarthaTom, GwenRhys | Complete | 17618 | T )

Jack gets a call from UNIT. They need his help in Namibia. And when they arrive, Jack and Ianto (because Jack wouldn't leave him behind) discover the only communication they have with the team is letters.

Torchwood One Archive by james ( JackIanto | Complete | 11346 | M )

AU after season one. Jack has returned to Torchwood and to Ianto. Ianto is determined to make the best of it but he knows it won't last forever. Their time together threatens to get even shorter when the Doctor shows up unexpectedly.

In Bits and Pieces by reiley ( JackIanto, GwenRhys | Complete | 83306 | M )

Sort of a fill-in-the-blanks story throughout the entire series: How they pull the pieces together after the world shatters, focusing mainly on Jack and Ianto, but all the others are there, too. Takes place between 'Exit Wounds' and 'The Stolen Earth', goes through all of series 1 and 2, and far back into the past.

Lost and Found by Kaneko ( JackIanto | Complete | 3642 | E )

Straddled over the rift, the Hub was a place where things were lost and found. Strange objects washed in like driftwood. Things went missing. There was never any sign of where they'd gone.

Personnel Issues by PinkFairy727 ( JackIanto, GwenRhys | Complete | 41434 | T )

The Torchwood Three email newsletter: an excuse to gossip, bitch, plan dates, fight, and discuss squirrel rats. Co-authored with sparking_off.

Warnings: canon character death and swearing.

Just this once by Beleriandings ( JackIanto, ToshOwen, GwenRhys, LoisEsther | Complete | 239639 | T )

(Everybody lives.) (Or: when a certain Doctor arrives to save Owen Harper from a stricken nuclear power station, it begins a chain of events that will lead Torchwood Three down a very different path. From time locks and telepathy to tea and coffee, high-speed chases to unresolved sibling issues, their new lives (and new and old loves) may be different, but their bonds of friendship and family grow stronger every day. But when every child on earth starts speaking with one voice, the team are torn apart again as they’re forced to fight for their lives, and to confront monsters they’d thought they’d left behind in the past. But with all of them working together – along with some allies they’ve made along the way – Torchwood Three will stop at nothing to save their friends and set the world to rights. The consequences will ripple out across the universe and into the distant future. But they have to start somewhere, and the present is as good a place as any.)

Club Wales by pocky_slash ( Gwen&Ianto, GwenRhys, JackIanto | Complete | 19898 | T )

In the wake of Jack's disappearance, Gwen finds comfort in a new friendship with Ianto. Gossip, bonding, and other hijinks of understanding ensue.

Hell or High Water by aliciajazmin ( GwenJohnTosh | Complete | 3102 | T )

Toshiko, Gwen, and John have been married for a year now, beginning a life of adventure and crime (but only against those who deserve it). A mission going wrong results in the discovery of an orphan.

The three of them and the orphan must then decide what they want for their future.

A E I O Moo, I love Y O U by aliciajazmin ( GwenJackIantoRhys, GwenRhys, JackIanto | Complete | 627 | G )

Jack finds a new song to introduce to Anwen.

AKA Roses are red, violets are blue, Jack likes to sing: A E I O Moo.

Never Has He Ever by Jackdaw816 (JohnAndy | Complete | 1666 | T )

Hub lockdowns are great for juvenile drinking games and revelations of the self

Coping by innocent-until-proven-geeky (JackIanto, Gwen&Ianto, Gwen&Jack | Complete | 910 | G )

After the events of Exit Wounds, Jack, Ianto, and Gwen are exhausted.

Hug by innocent-until-proven-geeky ( Gwen&Ianto | Complete | 401 | G )

Not-wanting-to-let-go hugs.

March 31st in the Torchwood Family Household by innocent-until-proven-geeky ( JackIanto, GwenRhys, GwenJackIantoRhys | Complete | 117 | G )

Happy Trans Day of Visibility! Please enjoy this little ficlet of trans Torchwood polycule. In my headcanon, Ianto is a binary trans man using he/him pronouns, Jack is genderfluid using he/him pronouns, and Gwen is nonbinary using they/them pronouns with Torchwood and she/her pronouns in public.

Here For You (a friend's night out) by BookWerm ( Ianto&Tosh | Complete | 354 | T )

An answer to the prompt : “I’m their best friend” with Ianto and Gwen or Ianto and Tosh

The Lonely Cheryth by BookWerm ( Alice&Jack, Steven&Jack, Others | Complete | 6581 | G )

Steven's Uncle Jack is a mystery. One that he's determined to solve.

A fic through quite a bit of Steven's life (yes, he lives through Children of earth) that was quite a bit of fun

A Moment (An Eternity) by Clare_Hope ( JackIanto, ToshOwen, GwenRhys | WIP | 10923 | T )

Owen slid underneath the closing door just in time to escape the room about to be flooded with radioactive coolant. Tosh didn't die of her wounds because with Owen there, she got medical attention before it was too late. The entire Torchwood team made it through that terrible day. Everything should be alright now. But Jack is really, really not alright.

Below 20° Celsius by Clare_Hope ( JackIanto, Team | Complete | 5182 | T )

20° Celsius is generally considered to be the lowest a human's body temperature can be before dying. This is bad news for Jack, who is a bit colder than that when he's pulled out of Cardiff Bay after drowning continually for a couple hours. The good news is that he doesn't have to deal with it alone.

Work Friends by Clare_Hope (Ianto&Tosh | WIP | 3431 | T )

After everything that happened with Mary, Ianto is the only one who doesn't seem uncomfortable around Toshiko. She can't read his mind anymore, but pretty sure she knows what he's thinking: We've both seen someone we thought loved us killed by Jack. I understand. I might be the only one who understands.

Of Motion in Perpetuity by Beleriandings ( JackIanto, GwenRhys | Complete | 106708 | M )

When Gwen, Jack and Ianto investigate a cold case from end of the nineteenth century, they find themselves pulled back in time against their will, fighting to protect each other and to get home.

Conditional Iteration by Beleriandings ( Gwen&Ianto, JackIanto, GwenRhys | WIP | 35431 | T )

Gwen can only watch, helpless and raging and grieving, as Jack and Ianto die in Thames House. The next moment though, she finds herself pulled out of time, back to the moment it all started to go wrong. Maybe second chances aren't in quite such short supply as she thought.

Coffee Break by firesnap ( Gwen&Ianto | Complete | 2069 | G )

Gwen and Ianto steal a few minutes to chat and make plans.

Another Rainy Day by SerenityJane ( Team | Complete | 3088 | T )

Tosh darted the occasional look at the closed door, curiousity warring with courtesy. So was Gwen, but she looked more like someone was dangling sweets in front of her nose and telling her she couldn’t have them. No prize for guessing who the candy was. Owen was watching the girls, and desperately trying not to think of pink elephants.

The Right Kind of Doctor by joonscribble ( Owen&Team | Complete | 2008 | R )

Three times Owen Harper was good at his job. Set between season 1 and 2.

Stargazing and Truth-Telling by earlybloomingparentheses ( JackIanto | Complete | 4632 | T )

A month after the events of "Exit Wounds," Jack Harkness heads off to an unknown galaxy on a mission for UNIT, and Ianto and Gwen are left behind to stare up at the stars and wonder when he's coming back. As a small act of rebellion against Jack's perpetual mysteriousness, they decide to play a game: they have to answer each other's questions with absolute honesty. There's a lot Ianto needs to get off his chest, his feelings about Jack Harkness not least, but the truth is tricky--it's never safe, and it's certainly never easy.

ghosts in my head by Sholio ( Team | Complete | 2637 | T )

Owen doesn't sleep, but he does dream. And the dreams he gets are mostly nightmares, because of course they are.

Facing Light in the Flow by engagemythrusters ( JackIanto, GwenRhys | Complete | 3821 | T )

A slice of a life nobody had dreamt they would ever have.

The Door Wide Open by sherlockpond ( GwenRhys, JackIanto, ToshOwen | Complete | 5333 | G )

Torchwood incurs a tough life on its field operatives.  They deserve times where they feel like they need to be vulnerable in  front of each other. [6 times the team were emotionally honest with one another - set during various points of S1 and S2]

Flatpacked by Beleriandings ( Ianto&Rhys, JackIanto, GwenRhys | Complete | 6946 | G )

Rhys has a day off, and decides to spend it peacefully looking at homeware in Ikea. He's not expecting to bump into one of his wife's coworkers there; much less, a shapeshifting alien that likes to eat batteries. But then again, that's Torchwood for you.

On saving the world, and what happens after by Beleriandings ( Gwen&Ianto, JackIanto | Complete | 2447 | G )

After the events of Journey's End, Gwen and Ianto wait for Jack to come home.

Domestic Disharmony by thirteeninafez ( Gwen&Ianto, Gwen&Jack, GwenRhys, JackIanto | Complete | 3163 | G )

In which Jack and Gwen get stuck in the Archives and discuss green milk, thermostats and Ianto Jones.

After the events of Journey's End, Gwen and Ianto wait for Jack to come home.

Pastries, Avoidance Tactics, and a Bottle of Scotch by pocky_slash ( Gwen&Ianto, JackIanto, GwenRhys | Complete | 6220 | G )

In which Gwen said something she regrets, Ianto makes a poor dinner choice, Rhys offers sound advice, and Jack has a key. A different sort of "Meat" post-ep.

Respite by Beleriandings ( Gwen&Ianto, GwenRhys, JackIanto | Complete | 2591 | G )

Even by their usual standards, Gwen thought it was absolutely fair to say it had been a rough week.

Blood on Steel by Sholio (Owen&Ianto, Gwen&Jack&Owen&Tosh&Ianto | Complete | 12257 | T)

An alien booby trap turns the Hub into a deathtrap. Lucky thing it doesn't react to someone with no vital signs. Now Owen is their only hope. More specifically, he's Ianto's only hope.

The Cartography of Feeling by Sholio (Owen&Ianto | Complete | 20846 | T)

"We're sodding gladiators," Owen said. "Fuck this entire day and Jack Harkness too."

(Or: Owen and Ianto are abducted by aliens and forced to arena-fight. But the worst part might be the control device that connects them in an emotion and pain-sharing bond.)

Haul Out the Holly by Flamingbluepanda (JackIanto, GwenRhys | Complete | 1069 | G)

Sometimes you need a little magic in your christmas

with a lil’ help from my friends by Flamingbluepanda (JackIanto, GwenRhys, OwenTosh | complete | 1307 | G)

Everyone needs a Hug sometimes, Torchwood Included

(Or, five times Jack thought about hugs and the one time he thought of nothing at all)

I’ll think of you each time I watch from distant skies by Violetmessages (JackIanto, GwenRhys, Jack&Team | complete | 3749 | T)

In which Tosh makes a discovery and the team comes together to show Jack how much they love him.

Halfway Back by Sholio (Gwen&Jack&Owen&Ianto&Tosh | complete | 13953 | T)

Team Torchwood run a sanctuary for magical creatures, and this time they've got a basilisk on their hands.

Team Means Pack by Sholio (Gwen&Jack&Owen&Ianto&Tosh | complete | 2615 | G)

Post-Countrycide in a universe with werewolves.

Stormwrack by Sholio (Gen | complete | 2111 | T)

The last time Owen was in the Brecon Beacons, Welsh cannibals tried to eat him. This time, it was pouring buckets on him, and he was dead. At least the latter might help with the cannibal problem, although given his luck, probably not. They might just consider him well-aged, like a side of bacon.

Sky’s the Limit by Blackkat (JackIanto, SuzieTosh, Ianto&Suzie | series | 6,694 | T)

Ianto and Suzie meet as strangers on a rooftop, and bond over aborted suicide attempts, failed plans, bastard fathers, and the fact that they're batting for both teams. Friendship is a beautiful thing.

Forever and What Comes After by violetmessages (JackIanto, GwenRhys | complete | 10028 | T)

“Hm, imagine if they did,” Ianto said. “Torchwood would have to come out of retirement.”

In which Gwen and Ianto relax at a spa, Jack and Rhys attempt bad science, and Anwen is just along for the ride.

Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time by paycheckgurl (JackIanto, GwenRhys | complete | 3351 | T)

This wasn’t exactly how they planned their Christmas going, but they were going to make the best of it.

Remnants of a Forgotten Past by paycheckgurl (Gwen Cooper & Jack Harkness & Owen Harper & Ianto Jones & Toshiko Sato | complete | 7523 | T)

Torchwood's latest case hits close to home for Tosh when it seems to center on Lodmoor Research Facility's Newest project...of a destructive off world variety.

Written for Torchwood MiniBang

Midlife Crisis by Princessoftheworlds (JackIanto | complete | 371 | T)

"You do realize," begins Owen one day during their usual lunch meeting, chopsticks dangling from his hand, "that technically, Javic is your mid-life crisis?"

Found you made us a star by Princessoftheworlds (JackIanto, OwenTosh, GwenRhys | complete | 6477 | T)

Millennia after having lost their team, Jack and Ianto set about reuniting with old friends and crafting a Torchwood for a new future.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 41)

I typed this chapter on mobile so it might have more typos than usual and I, a responsible fic writer, do not proof read.

Warmth. There is a sense of community in warmth and trying to stay in a state of it during the colder months. Wujing makes a celebration of doing so. And that is how she finds herself seated around the largest fire she has seen in the Earth Kingdom. She is their go to women to keep it lit until the festivities are over.

They seem to rather adore her fire and on nights like these she yearns to display a vivid blue. Perhaps one day. One day after she tells Hajime who she is. Though she isn't sure when she would tell everyone else. She hopes that everyone will take just as well to her fire when it burns blue. Perhaps if she is lucky, they will enjoy it more.

Until then she adds more orange to the blaze while Atsu shifts his weight in her arms. "My turn, Atsu!" Caihong declares.

"No-o." Atsu shakes his head, "she's my mama, go by yer dad!"

Despite the boy's protests, Azula lifts the blanket and let's Caihong crawl under it and next to Atsu. Hajime steps away from the fire and returns to her side. "I'd say that this is a promising way to start the winter."

"We've had a productive year. We have more than enough to get the Wujing through the winter." Seukhyun notes.

"No thanks to you, boy." Ojihara jests.

"I did most of the work ol' man!"

Listening to the father and son go back and forth is one more constant in her life. A thing that wouldn't feel right if absent.

Azula, to the best of her ability with to little beasts in her lap, moves closer to the fire. "Hey!" Atsu shouts, "I was com-fera-table!"

"I wasn't." Azula shrugs. Truth be told her legs are tingling from having held the same position for so long. "I need to stand up."

Neither of the children takes the cue so she tells them both to stand. She doesn't know why she expected to be met with anything other that a, "no, Rikka! We're cozy!" And an agreeing not from Atsu.

"Hajime, hold these things." She sets Atsu and then Caihong in his lap.

"These things are called children, Rikka." He laughs while Atsu folds his arms and pouts.

"They're more like chittering toad-squirrels if you ask me." She stretches her arms and then her back with a contented sigh. She makes her way even closer to the fire.

"Cider?" A man offers. She recognizes him from the market square, a clothes salesman she thinks. She can't quite recall his name but it could be Poying or maybe Poyang. The man is quite fond of telling everyone that he has a tinge of Air Nomad blood. Azula isn't the only person to take this with several grains of salt.  But he is an honest man otherwise do she takes the glass with a thank you.

"Gimme'a sip, gimme'a sip!" Caihong makes a jump or two for Azula's cider.

Poyang chuckles, "aye, lil' one we got plenty more, ya don't have to snatch Rikka's."

"You don't have to take me." She repeats smugly, holding her glass just out of Caihong's reach. The girl sticks out her lower lip, folds her arms across her chest, and gives her foot a stomp--making sure to rumble the ground for good measure.

Hajime gives her a little nudge. "Aww don't tease Cai."

"She's gonna get her drink anyways." Seukhyun dismisses just as Poyang comes back with more cider.

"Poyang has the best stuff!" Atsu declares after his first sip.

"Cause his brother's the apple man!" Caihong declares enthusiastically.

"One day we'll have to visit his orchard together." Hajime offers.

"We have a lot of one days to get to." Azula points out. But she supposes that they will have a lifetime to do them.

"It's nice to have a lot to look forward to, isn't it?" He slings an  around her waist and pulls her closer. Hot cider splashes onto her shirt. She crinkles her nose, "thanks, Hajime."

"You said that you were getting cold. I thought that I'd help you warm up."

"Won't be so warm when this cider freezes…"

"That's what you get for not sharing it!" Caihong declares smugly. That impish little earth gremlin…

That day she learns that there is a special bond, a sense of community, that comes with the seeking of warmth.

.oOo.

She hadn’t expected to outlast him, but her demise comes as a surprise all the same. And maybe it is because she had wrapped her topmost parka around him. Maybe it is because she had stripped off her remaining glove to keep a fire going for him. For the both of them.

But she is weak and grows weaker as the cold burrows into her wound and seeps deeper into her bones. She looks at the teeth marks with much hatred. Could those have been prevented?

“Azula?” Sokka murmurs. It is the first sound that he has made in a while. And she could cry. Maybe both of them will die, but at least she won’t have to watch another lover do it before she succumbs for herself. She is so terribly cold, she can’t imagine that it will be much longer now.

"Yeah?" She answers.

"What happened?" He slurs.

"First we got caught in a blizzard and then we we got attacked by wolves…"

"Where's dad?"

Azula grits her teeth. "We couldn't find him, remember." They might have fared better against the wolves if they had. As things were they had taken a good chunk out of her arm before being struck down by Sokka's boomerang. The man best appreciate her taking those teeth for him instead of focusing on her own fight. On the grander scheme of things she supposes that it doesn't matter at all. They had done more damage than even that in shredding Sokka's parka and stealing one of her gloves. If they hadn't, she might not have had to spare one if her own.

Agni, she isn't built for this weather. She isn't adapted to withstand it. And it hurts so terribly. Everything stings and tingles. Her face and toes especially. Her fingers had tingled  it that has subsided to a more than alarming nothingness. She sniffles, if only to remind herself that she still has a nose. Her cheeks are so red and she feels as though they have been slapped repeatedly. In a sense, they have. The winter slaps them with a force that a human hand couldn't possibly manage.

She had never realized just how much the cold could burn. Very resentfully, she thinks that the cold might just be higher than even her fire.

She huddles closer to Sokka, rather she tries to do so oh to find that they are as close as they can possibly be. And there is nowhere near enough warmth between the two of them.

"Take your parka back, Azula." Sokka says.

She shakes her head.

"Azula, you need it more, you're not…"

She shakes her head, "no." She won't be the weak one here. She can't allow it. She can't allow it especially if it means watching another lover die. "No."

At least now she can say with conviction that she does love him. Very much. Just as much as she loved Hajime. And more than enough to let herself succumb to the cold to give him a chance.

He tries to remove his parka anyhow so she rolls atop him, he is too weak to shove her off. Which is good because she would have been too weak to resist if he had.

The bite marks on her arm flare. She closes her eyes and shudders as another pang passes through her. How long have they been out here like this? Long enough for the blizzard to pass.it occurs to her that she and Sokka are half buried.   The realization come with a jolt of panic--a queasiness in her belly and a spinning in her head. She doesn't want to be buried in a coffin of snow. She doesn't want to be buried at all. The panic is fleeting when she recalls that she has already unburied herself in putting her body atop Sokka's. Though that isn't to say that more snow won't come to cover them up, she hopes to be hours dead by then.

"You know, I always thought that I would die in combat." She mumbles, pressing her ear to his chest so that she can hear his heartbeat. So that she can be sure that she isn't alone. "That would have been more glorious than this."

"You're not…"

But she isn't done lamenting, "but I also always thought that I would be alone when I died. So I guess that this is better." It's certainly better than dying alone and dehydrated in a grassland.

"We're not going to die."

"We're in the middle of nowhere and the rest of the village didn't expect us to venture this far out to the glacier. We've been out here for hours, my arm won't stop bleeding…"

"Yeah." Sokka's expressions darkness. "Looks pretty grim doesn't it." He is so cold that his breath no longer comes out in puffs. He is quiet for a very long while. "Katara, Aang, Toph, and I were once lost in a desert with ver little water. You made it out of several situations like this…"

"Yes, Sokka and it was mostly luck. How many times can I keep getting lucky?" She doesn't have the energy for shouting. For changing her tone and diction at all really.

She feels Sokka's hands patting her hair. "Hopefully every time."

.oOo.

There is no worse feeling than watching Azula go limp and mostly quiet. For the last several minutes, the oh sign of life was an occasional wimper. Her body is still trembling but not as violently as it had been. She is shutting down. And she still won't take his parka.

"I'm so cold, Sokka." She whispers, her voice sounding so pathetically small. But she is afraid. He can tell, if only because he is terrified too.

"Yeah, me too, Azula."

She rubs her face against his chest. She gets no warmth out of it because there is none left in him. He looks to the sky. To the glimmering cosmos above. Maybe he'll be reborn as one of them…

Azula clings to him with what can oy be the last very last ounces of her strength.

"It's okay, Sokka." She tries to smile though her face is too stiff with the cold. "I told you on the first day that I came back that I had more waiting for me in the Spirit World…"

"Don't say that." He squeezes her tighter.

"It's okay." She says again. "I think I that he wanted me to do a bit more exploring but he'll be happy to know that I got this far."

He wonders if she is thinking of Caihong at all. He wonders if that will do her any good anyways. He doesn't want to say it, especially not to her. But she is right, she is dying. He doesn't think that she will last the night even of he does force her back into her parka.

He hugs her as tight as he can. And then he rolls her onto her back. She murmurs some sort of protest, some sort of distress. But there is something that he wants her to see. Something that he needs her to see.

"Look up, Azula. Open your eyes." He gently slaps her cheeks and her eyes flutter open. They are unfocused and mostly vacant. He slaps her cheeks again until he has her at least a little more alert. “Look at the lights, Azula.”

He thinks that she might have smiled. "That's nice, Sokka." But her eyes close again and the moment is good.

She doesn't cry. She doesn't bargain or beg. She simply squints and, to the best of her ability with blackened, numb fingers and clumsy daze, touches his cheek. And then her hand falls and her eyes close once more. No amount of slapping gets them to open again.

In the distance he hears barking. Sprits, he prays that the wolves aren't back. He squeezes her hand if only to feel her slowing pulse.

[river-bottom-nightmare]

Damijon Secret Santa

@woahjaybird happy holidays ris!!!!!!!!!! i admit, i was a bit confused, bc you signed up for a ship fic exchange and requested platonic bros, but whatever. i hope you like it!

To be honest, it was something Damian said a lot. 

Jon heard those words practically every time Damian opened his mouth: in the middle of a mission, when they were baking pies with Ma Kent, during a stakeout, on a rooftop eating takeout. 

They used to be annoying. God, sometimes Jon just wanted to drop his restraint and punch Damian in the face, full-force. Especially when he said those words, again and again and again. Over time, though, Jon grew used to them, and after a while, they just began to amused him.

You should be afraid of me.

Because Jon never understood those words. What was there to be scared of?

The two of them were sitting on a rooftop in Metropolis, Jon with his long legs dangling over the side of the building, Damian cross-legged next to him. Taking a long slurp of his smoothie, Jon glanced over at Damian, who was outlining their plan of attack for tomorrow-- a mission to take down an arms dealer who had been working out of Metropolis for months. With Dad stretched thin over League, international, and intergalactic affairs, criminals were becoming a little less hesitant to step foot into the city. Superboy and Robin would be taking care of that soon.

Jon was listening, he really was. The battle plans were definitely lodging themselves somewhere in Jon’s subconsciousness. But he had to admit, most of his attention was fixed firmly on Damian himself.

Jon remembered the days the prickly young boy would throw his nose up haughtily in the air, state he’d been intelligent enough to have a doctorate at seven years old, and miff at anyone who insinuated otherwise. It was a far sight from when Damian had  curled himself up on Jon’s bed, and under the guise of watching a movie, told Jon about his acceptance into the most prestigious art schools in Gotham. 

And that was the reason behind Jon’s inattention, wasn’t it? Damian was eighteen, now. Their age difference didn’t seem like much when they were ten and thirteen and going against the world with all the confidence of a couple boys playing pretend. Now, Damian had a weariness in his shoulders, but lips that quirked up into a smile far too often, skin layered in scars but hands gentler than Jon ever thought he was capable of. Jon himself was a fumbling, awkward fifteen year old with jeans that were always too short, hair that was always too messy. And Jon used to think he was over feeling inferior to his best friend.

He’d miss him. Jon would miss Damian so much. Sure, Damian would probably try and keep their visits somewhat consistent, but work would pile up, and a curator would probably see Damian’s talents and whisk him away to the world of the famous artists, and Damian would forget he ever had a friend named Jon and would go on to become a household name while Jon spent the rest of his life living in his parents’ house and updating his mediocre blog that he started because of a dare.

No, he wasn’t being dramatic, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, Damian seemed to catch onto his lack of attention and snapped his fingers underneath Jon’s nose, startling him back to focus.

Never one to sugarcoat, Damian said, “You look miserable.”

“What? No, I’m fine!” Jon didn’t know why he even tried to play it off, he’d never been able to lie to Damian.

“Right. My mistake. Someone who was fine would definitely spend the past hour drinking out of a smoothie cup that’s already empty.”

Huh. Jon hadn’t even realized he’d finished the drink. He put it to the side and shook his head. “Really, it’s not a pro-oblem.” Oh, goddamnit.

“Your voice cracks are ridiculous,” Damian informed him. Why had Jon ever thought he’d changed? That smug voice was as irritating as ever.

“Yeah, they’re hilarious, thanks.”

“I don’t understand why you’re upset.” Apparently, this matter was serious enough for Damian to put his map down. Wasn’t that comforting?

But Jon had never liked to keep things from his best friend. “That. That’s what’s bothering me.”

“Your voice cracks?” Now Damian just sounded confused.

“Yes! No, I don’t know. I just don’t like them.” Jon crossed his arms in frustration.

When he looked over at Damian, the other boy’s eyes were wide, and in that stupidly deep and non-cracking voice, he said, “This conversation has gone well past the point of understanding and I’m going to continue with the plan now.”

Jon sighed. “No, Damian, it’s not that.”

“Then?”

Searching for the right words, Jon drummed his fingers together. “You...you’re going off to that fancy art school soon. You’re all grown up. And here I am with my stupid video games and voice cracks.”

Jon wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting. Damian could never be called a master of social interaction, and his basic settings were sarcastic, condescending, or incredulous. Still, Jon expected something a bit kinder than:

“You’re such a moron, Jonathan.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Jon stared at Damian for a moment, blinking stupidly. “So I tell you about the problem that’s been eating me up for weeks, and all you say is that I’m a moron? Thank you so much for that.”

“I’m telling you you’re a moron because you’re worrying about something so inconsequential.”

“Oh please, do elaborate.”

Damian paused, then let out a tired sigh, turning to face Jon. This was going to be a serious conversation, then.

“Jonathan. I have told you time and time again. You should be scared of me-”

“Oh my god,” Jon interrupted. “This stuff, again?” He was laughing now. “I know, I know. You should be horrified, cower in terror underneath my ruthlessness, blah blah blah. You say it all the time, I get it. I should be scared of you.”

Damian stared at him. “Are you done?” he said with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m tired of you bringing up the same thing over and over, Damian.”

“And in saying that, you just proved my point.”

Jon frowned in confusion. “What?”

“I’ve always said that you should be afraid of me. But you never have been, not since the moment we met.”

“Like there’s anything to be scared of.”

“Yes, Jonathan. There is.” Damian looked Jon in the eye, his gaze sharp and serious.

Damian’s honesty was strange, something Jon wasn’t used to, so he tried to play it off with a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, assassin training’s tough-”

“When I was six years old, I murdered a man in front of his daughter.”

Jon fell silent.

“I used to command an entire legion in my grandfather’s army. We completely destroyed and took down three different countries.”

“Damian, I-” 

“Once, Grandfather put me in a straightjacket and wrapped me in chains, surrounded by trained guards, with no instruction other than to escape. And I did.”

Hesitantly, Jon said, “I never knew.”

“Because I never told you. That, and so much more, is why everybody I ever know has been scared of me.”

“Even Nightwing?”

“Nightwing grew out of it eventually,” Damian admitted. “But everyone else. The rest of the bats. Father. Even Mother. There’s fear in their eyes when they look at me.”

“Oh. Uh,” Jon shrugged. “That sucks.”

“That sucks?” Damian said, dry but amused.

“I didn’t know what else to say!” Jon defended.

“See? That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

Jon furrowed his eyebrows. “You’ve been trying to tell me it sucks? Because I already knew it sucks.”

“Jonathan…” Damian trailed off, then grabbed Jon’s wrists with his own hands.

“Hey!” Jon protested, though only out of surprise. Because Damain’s hands were warm and his thumb was pressing down on Jon’s pulse point and Jon could honestly say he had no objection to this.

Damian’s face showed nothing but piercing intensity: brows furred and eyes locked on Jon’s own. “Jon. Look me in the eyes, and tell me you’re scared of me.”

“But I’m not?”

“I just told you things that would have grown men running away from me in terror. Tell me at least some of that scares you.”

“No,” Jon shook his head and gripped the other’s boy’s wrists back. “No. I’m not scared of you.”

Letting out a breath, Damian moved away. For a moment, Jon found himself chasing that warmth.

“You are the only person who’s ever thought that.” Damian turned, shifting to mirror Jon’s position. Staring out over the city, a billboard washed colours over Damian’s face. He looked like a work of art, and Jon had no idea how anybody could ever fear him.

“You’re my best friend, Damian.” Jon shrugged, despite the fact that Damian couldn’t see him. “I’ve seen you scream at a machine for losing at Cheese Viking. I’ve seen you befriend a little squirrel you found on Ma’s farm. So how exactly am I supposed to be afraid of you?”

Damian nodded, as if that solidified something. “If you really think that I would leave the only person that isn’t scared of me, if you think that I would stop being friends with someone who has always thought of me as a human first and a weapon second just because I’m going to a university, then you are the biggest moron to ever walk the face of the earth.”

Stunned, Jon moved to sit next to Damian. “Oh.”

Jon had always been aware of their height difference, made plenty of jokes about it, but it really struck him how much smaller Damian was when the older boy turned to look up and smile at him. “So stop worrying, okay Kent? It’s unbecoming.”

“Whatever you say,” Jon acquiesced. 

Damian wasn’t leaving for good. Damian, with his burning green eyes and molten beauty, still wanted to be friends with him. 

With a smile on his face, Jon turned to look out at the city, letting the quiet wash over him. At his side, Damian did the same. A huge thank you to @iamwhelmed for organizing the secret santa this year!!

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @elles-shitposts-personified @subtleappreciation  @screennamealreadyused @pricetagofficial @catxsnow  @iconbicon

[awhitehead17]

Universal Signs

Epilogue / Previous Chapter

A/N: This is the final chapter and I want to say a huge thank you to everyone who has read this story, who has stuck by it from the start and to everyone who interacted with the story. It's all greatly appreciated, so thank you.

Also on AO3

Enjoy! :D

After slapping a sticky note on the fridge Tim heads out into the gardens of Wayne Manor. He feels the need to be alone and plus he wants some fresh air, the garden is a great place that provides him with both of those things. The note just happens to be letting everyone know where he’s gone off to. It wouldn’t be the first time its happened so they know to leave him be.

Tim walks through the grass and heads into the cluster of trees at the back of the property. Over the last few months, this area has become his escape for solitude. It’s peaceful, hidden away from the manor and no one else goes there. There’s a small gap in the grove, it’s big enough for him to settle on the ground, the tree roots emerging from the ground provide a good support to lean on and the grass there keeps it somewhat comfortable.

He comes here when he needs a break and today is no different. Being inside the manor is suffocating him and Tim just needed to get out, he needed to get away from the same walls in attempts to try and clear his mind.

Settling down on the ground Tim lets out a sigh and takes a moment to observe the nature around him. The leaves on the trees are slowly beginning to turn into a mixture of reds, oranges and browns, a clear sign that autumn is on the way. There are birds chirping away in the trees. There’s an occasional rustling of leaves where there are squirrels hurrying along the branches above him.

After a while he closes his eyes and leans back against the tree root he’s come to favour over time and lets his mind wonder.

It’s been six months since he’s returned home from being in space. At this point he’s somewhat adjusted to being back however there are plenty of times when he struggles with it. There are as many good days as there are bad days, they seem to balance one another out with how often they each occur.

The first month had been the hardest. His emotions were all over the place, everyone was on high alert, there were so many things Tim needed to catch up on like events in the world and even just his family relationships. Tim’s mental health went downhill, not alarmingly so considering what had happened but it was still a cause of concern for his family. He was constantly hit with anxiety, paranoia, disorientation, nightmares and insomnia.

Tim absolutely refused to go to therapy. No matter how much his family tried to convince he just outright refused, even straight up walking out of the room when the word was mentioned. He knows it would be good for him, however what the fuck was he supposed to say? How would he describe about being kidnapped by aliens? They would think he's insane and would probably try to lock him up in an asylum! The easiest way to avoid that is to simply avoid therapy.

He did find though once he told Dick and Jason what happened things became a little easier. A weight disappeared from his shoulders and he could be open with his brothers. Not about everything that occurred but most things and that alone made a difference.

Things stayed rocky throughout the second month and it wasn’t until the third month that things started to improve. Tim started to handle his mental health better, it took some time but he came across a variety of resources online and used those as guidance. While he didn’t magically heal overnight and still had problems, they slowly became less severe and easier to handle.

When the fourth month came around they let the public see Tim for the first time since he returned. That had been a mistake. The Wayne’s are well known in Gotham City (and somewhat the world) so there had been spotlights on them from the moment it got declared Tim was missing. While the spotlight lessened over the course of the two years Tim had been gone, once Tim’s return made it to the news the family were instantly highlighted once again.

Bruce and his team kept Tim out of the way, they kept statements and quotes pretty vague and anonymous. Of course there were lots of conspiracies on what had happened to Tim, where he had been that entire time and how he had managed to return home. If Tim was being honest some of the theories were pretty hilarious, though not one of them even came close to the truth.

The time they decided to get Tim out in public was during the annual charity event that took place in city hall. Majority of his family were attending meaning Tim wouldn’t be alone, the spotlight would theoretically only be on him for a few moments until the next celebrity showed up. Tim had been reluctant at first but after reassurances from his family he said yes. After all if he made an appearance the media may calm down and leave them alone.

The moment Tim stepped out of the limo they arrived in he had been bombarded and it didn’t let up the entire night. Even with his family there and the bodyguards no one really left him alone. The press were savages hunting for food.

Before getting kidnapped Tim could handle the press well, he knew how to play the game, how to avoid and deflect questions and answers, but this time he couldn’t. It was all too overwhelming, his emotions and mind went into overdrive and panic. He couldn’t help the panic attack no matter what, fortunately his family caught on to what was happening and managed to get him away somewhere private by the time the attack happened. They supported him through it and then called it a night. He hasn’t been in public since.

The fifth month had been a mixture of month two and three. Tim had his ups and downs but he was handling it the best he could. His family were always there to support him no matter what.

During the fifth month Tim decided to tell Bruce what had happened. He sat down with his adoptive father, Alfred too, in his office and Tim told him everything that had happened. Tim had been a nervous wreck and it took encouragement from Dick and Jason for him to finally do it.

Both Bruce and Alfred seemed to take it in stride. At first they seemed like they didn’t believe him but after a couple of days thinking about it they said to him they believed him, why would Tim make up something like that? On the other hand his story seemed to only encourage Bruce to try and get him a therapist even more and once again Tim blatantly refused. He argued he was handling it and so on. With reluctance Bruce dropped the topic but Tim knows it’ll come up again soon enough.

Now though, at six months, Tim thinks he’s doing okay (besides the obvious). He would like to believe he’s doing okay. There’s not a day that goes by where he doesn’t think about the aliens that saved him, or some of the events and adventures that had happened when he had been with them.

If there’s anything positive that’s come from his experience it’s that he's decided on a career change. Before getting kidnapped Tim had been working at Wayne Enterprises in the offices doing a mixture of roles. At the time he had been looking into the future of helping Bruce to run the company, he was well on his way to do it too despite his age. However his trip has opened his eyes up and he’s decided a career change seems suitable. He’s now going into astrophysics. A job in the sciences and looking at space, time and the universe.

Tim has only recently started up online courses because he needs to work on getting a degree in the field before moving onto getting an actual job in the area. He’s smart enough for it, and now that he has the interest and even first-hand experience in the area its all the more interesting. He finds it particularly fun when the question “is there life on other planets?” come up.

Apart from the online classes Tim’s time is spent catching up with things and generally chilling around the house unless he's dragged into something by one of his siblings.

Oh, doesn’t that make him think of another major adjustment he’s had to come to terms with. Damian. Bruce’s biological son. Tim knows his story of arriving to the Manor but he doesn’t fully know the details of his past. There was tension between them but they were civil to one another any time they cross paths. It certainly took time, and still is taking time, to get used to that he has a younger sibling. On the bright side at least he’s not the youngest anymore!

It was also thanks to Damian that Tim learnt that his universal translator works on Earth too. Upon his arrival back home, Tim had completely forgotten about the little device installed in his teeth and the remote that came with it. His mind had been on other things after all but it wasn’t until Damian spoke in his native tongue, Arabic, that Tim realised the translator is still implanted in him and it works with Earth languages too.

After that discovery Tim spent a good five hours on YouTube watching a range of videos in a variety of languages. It blew his mind that he could understand every single one of them. However, even though he can understand them, he can’t speak the languages nor can he write or read them. It had been an interesting discovery, now any time Damian speaks Arabic and Tim hears him, he can’t help but snicker at the teen’s language and the kinds of names he calls their siblings.

He sighs again, feeling oddly unsettled. His life seems almost rather dull now in a way. If anyone heard him say that after knowing everything he went through they would call him insane, but it’s like his “space life” had always been one adventure after another, always something to do, or a danger to be aware of. Now that he's back on Earth where there’s not so much of that it feels strange.

With that pleasant thought in his mind Tim opens his eyes up and starts to make a move to leave. He usually comes out to this forestry area to clear his mind but unfortunately today that doesn’t seem to be the case, his mind doesn’t seem to want to shut up. Tim trudges back to the Manor through the gardens as the sun begins to lower signalling the approach of the evening.

The next few days seem to repeat themselves until the weekend rolls around. It’s Saturday when Dick decides he wants to take Tim shopping. It’s a risk going out into public like that, as Tim pointed out to him, but Dick argues it’ll do him good to leave the Manor and how it’ll make a change of scenery for him.

Tim only agreed in the end when they compromised they’ll only be out for no more than three hours. Dick wanted more and Tim would prefer less, three seemed to be a good balance for them. Apparently his brother wanted to get himself some new clothes and there was the fact he needed to get Barbara something for her birthday that’s quickly approaching.

Together they go to the closet mall and Dick drags him into about five different clothing shops. The man gets himself a variety of new autumn clothes and even grabs Tim a fluffy sweater and a new jacket. Tim really did have to stop him when he tried to by an elephant onesie though, Dick may like the damn things but that didn’t mean Tim did.

After clothes shopping Dick decided to duck inside a jeweller’s shop on the way out of the mall. While Dick is inside buying who knows what, Tim choses to wait for him outside the shop. He stands  by the door, leaning against the frame and people-watched as they walked by.

No one paid him much attention as they went about their days. Each person, family, couples all absorbed in whatever activity they were doing or what shop they wanted to get to. It still was bizarre to Tim, even after six months, that everyone here just goes about their days without the slightest bit of clue to what’s out there above and beyond. It makes him wonder what and where he would be if he never got kidnapped.

Tim shifts his position against the frame, propping his back up against it more as he continues to look around. He freezes however when something catches his eyes at the other end of the mall. There’s a small group of people who were stood off to the side by the wall out of the way from everyone that catches his attention. Their heads were ducked together as they spoke to one another and they all had their backs to Tim so he couldn’t see their faces. Tim doesn’t look away though because there’s something about them that seems familiar.

He’s not sure how long he stares at the group of three but they don’t move from their position in that time at all. He doesn’t think they’re up to anything as they don’t seem suspicious but there’s a tugging feeling inside of Tim that’s telling him there’s more to the group.

When one of them turns their head around to observe the surroundings as if trying to find something, Tim gasps. Surely that can’t be…

“Tim!”

Tim blinks and looks away from the group to find Dick standing next to him looking at him curiously.

“What’s gotten into you? You okay, I was calling your name for ages.”

Tim blinks at him again before looking back over the group, he sucks in a breath when he finally sees all three faces of the group. He watches with wide eyes as they start to move from their position and Tim knows he needs to go after them.

Without saying anything he pushes off the door frame and heads in that direction as the group starts walking in the opposite way. If Tim doesn’t catch up to them now then he’ll lose them and that isn’t an option.

However he doesn’t get more than a couple steps away before he's stopped as his arm is caught in a tight grip by his older brother. Tim tugs his arm roughly as he tries to get Dick to let him go. He frantically looks between his brother and the slowly retreating group.

“Dick, please, let me go… I need to go.” Tim begs. He could feel the desperate need to go and approach that group, he could feel his heart pounding and even some excitement stirring inside of him.

Dick’s grip only tightens. “What the hell you on about Tim?” His words are stern but Tim could hear how they’re said with an anxious tone.

Tim tugs his arm again, this time reaching out with his other to shove Dick away. “I’ll explain, I promise, just let me go…”

“No, not until you tell me what you’ve seen.”

When Tim looks over the group was now almost out of sight and Tim could feel his heart dropping. This was his last chance just to make sure he hadn’t been seeing things. Knowing Dick wasn’t going to let him go, Tim shoves him hard and yells at him.

“Let me go!”

In either shock or panic, Dick lets him go and Tim couldn’t be more relieved. As soon as his brother’s hand is off his arm Tim is shoots off in an instant, he ignores all the eyes now staring at him as he runs by them in the direction the group had disappeared from.

Miraculously he manages to catch up to the retreating group. He spots the three familiar figures manoeuvring their way through the crowd heading towards the other end of the mall where an exit is. Tim rushes forward, not caring about how manic he looks as he passes by strangers, and as soon as he’s in hearing range he shouts to try and get their attention.

“Kon! Kon, Cassie! Guys. Bart!”

The shouts get him a few more weird looks but he continues to be oblivious to them as he’s tunnel visioned on the three people in front of him. Thankfully his shouting gets the attention of the right people because the group stop and turn around in their place.

Suddenly Tim couldn’t breathe. There in front of him were the aliens who he thought he would never see again, the aliens who saved his life numerous of times and the ones who returned him home.

Kon, Cassie and Bart stand in front of him staring back seeming just as shocked as he is. For a long time none of them move as they all take in that they’re actually seeing one another again. If Tim weren’t so surprised by their appearance he would be questioning it, but he’s too elevated to give it much thought in that moment.

Without realising it Tim is moving and so were they. They meet in the middle and Tim finds himself wrapped up in a group hug. He breathes deeply, wondering why the action feels so familiar, and even safe, when he hasn’t seen them in six months.

He pulls back and looks wildly between the three of them. He can’t believe they’re here. Could this be a dream?

“Tim! We were just looking for you!” Bart grins brightly.

Tim shoots him a look, then glances at the other two. “Looking for me? Why what’s going on? Wait, wait, wait, how are you guys here? Why are you here?”

Bart’s smile falters a little at Tim’s rapid questions. “Because we wanted to find you.”

Tim shakes his head, feeling a little guilty that his questions came across wrongly. “No, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just completely surprised to see you that’s all. This is totally unexpected.”

“Tim, as wonderful as it is to see you, do you know a place we can talk privately and not in the middle of… this place.” Cassie says glancing around cautiously.

Tim copies her and he finally realises how many people are looking at them funnily as well as giving them a wide berth as they pass by. Tim nods his head in understanding, this isn’t the kind of topic a group of people can discuss in the middle of the mall.

Just as Tim was thinking of a place they could go for privacy a shout gets his attention.

“Tim what the hell!” He turns around and is met with a furious Dick marching up to him. “What the fuck were you thinking running off like that?”

Tim huffs and rolls his eyes, he gets why Dick is worried but at the end of the day he is in fact an adult and not a toddler. “Dick it’s fine, I’m sorry but this is important.”

Dick studies him for a moment before his eyes flicker over to the three aliens standing opposite them looking awkward at the sudden appearance of his brother.

“Right so, Dick, this is Kon, Cassie and Bart,” he points to each alien in turn, “guys, this is my oldest brother Dick.”

There is a pause between them all and while the aliens look confused he could see the wheels turning inside of Dick’s mind. As if it’s clicked, Dick turns to Tim with wide eyes, “Are these the ones that saved your life?”

Tim smiles, feeling pleased that his brother has remembered his story and those involved. “Yeah that’s right.

“What are they doing here?”

Tim shrugs and turns to the others. “What are you guys doing here, beside looking for me?”

“Can we go somewhere else first Tim. Like away from all the eyes.” Cassie says pointedly.

Next to him Dick looks confused. “Tim what did she say? Wait, how do you understand them? That isn’t any language I’ve heard of.”

Tim blinks trying to comprehend everything going on. The aliens that saved his life are on Earth and he doesn’t know why, his brother is clearly confused and the others are looking at him expectantly. Tim is starting to feel pretty overwhelmed by it all.

In attempts to control his thoughts and emotions Tim takes a deep breath. “Right lets go somewhere else. Then everything can be explained.”

The private place they end up going happens to be a nearby park. It’s a large open space, where people are scattered over the place, it’s private in the sense that no one is paying them any attention and unless someone walks directly next to them, no one can hear their conversation.

The five of them settle down on the grass in a circle, the aliens and even Dick all look a little apprehensive for the choice of location but it’s not like there’s many others. It’s not like Tim and Dick can return home with the aliens in tow and expect Bruce to be okay with it.

“Right,” Tim says getting everyone’s attention. He glances at his friends, while still feeling  completely gobsmacked by the fact they’re here, and gets down to business. Tim needs to find out what’s going on.

Now they’re all sat down Tim blurts out his questions without restraint. “How are you guys here? Why are you here? I thought you were all being punished or put on probation? Did you complete it, did it end and now you’re free to do as you please once again?”

None of them respond to his rapid questioning, they each look at him blankly like they couldn’t understand what he’s saying. When the silence drags out for too long Tim is about to repeat them when Kon speaks up for the group.

The Kryptonian sends him an empathetic look and with patience says, “Let us just explain what’s happened that’s brought us here, hopefully the story will answer your questions.”

Tim has to retrain himself from firing out the questions again. He wants answers! He can’t believe they’re here, he thought he would never see them again but here they are!

Next to him Dick lightly smacks his shoulder to get his attention. “Tim what are they saying? What’s going on?”

His brother is looking awfully confused and concerned. Tim can’t exactly blame him. He’s dragged Dick with him to sit down with practically three strangers and is now witnessing a one-sided conversation because he can’t understand the other three.

“They’re about to explain why they’re on Earth. I honestly thought I would never see them again, I’m just as confused as you are.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea Tim. What if it’s some sort of… trap or something?”

A surge of anger rises inside of Tim at the accusation. He understands Dick’s worries but this isn’t a trap and he knows it. They wouldn’t do that to him, not after everything they went through together.

“Dick shut up for a moment.” Tim snaps at him after a pause once he’s got his emotions under control. “Also they can understand you too, so watch what you say. If you don’t like it, go away and I’ll come find you later, or sit here and be quiet, it’s your choice.”

Dick stares at him, clearly taken back by the aggression of his words. But Tim isn’t relenting. He narrows his eyes at his brother, daring him to say something. In the end Dick raises his hands up in surrender and stays where he is. Once he’s delt with Tim turns back to the aliens.

“Sorry about him, there’s just a little misunderstanding. Please tell me what happened and how you’re here.”

Kon launches into the explanation of what happened after they took Tim home. Apparently they returned back to Krypton before finishing off their collection job, what they had originally been doing when they first met Tim. Once they completed that they were put on probation and were kept under watchful eyes for a long time. They weren’t allowed on any missions, they had to go back to the basic training skills and from there build the trust back up with their so called leaders.

Once some trust was established they were allowed on missions but only with other older members of their squadron, they described it like someone was babysitting them. They also had to report back on anything and everything during the mission. Because of good behaviour from the each of them, they were then allowed out on missions independently as a team some time later.

After more trust had been built, after they had once again proven themselves apparently Kal approached them for a very specific mission that would suit their abilities and past experiences.

Kal had given the three of them the mission of doing recon and observing humans on planet Earth. Apparently their files and databases don’t have enough accurate information on humans and after the fiasco with Tim, it’s about time they start taking human beings into consideration and start learning about them properly.

The three of them were to stay on Earth for an extended period of time to gather the data they need and to regularly report back to the leaders with their findings. They didn’t go into detail on what it is they need to do or what they need to observe but Tim can easily overlook it because at the end of the day they are in fact here on Earth and with him.

“So Kal sent you here on Earth to ‘observe’ humans because of you guys knowing me?” Tim asks just so he’s clear on it all.

The three of them grin and nod in response. Amused, Tim snorts softly. He settles back on the grass, using his elbows to keep him propped up. “Surely he knows that as soon as you land you would try and find me. By the way, how did you find me? I thought I was unable to be tracked?”

“We parked the ship where we dropped you off. We’ve hidden the ship from anyone seeing it or anything detecting it. Once we’ve found a more suitable place we’ll move the ship.” Cassie explains waving her hand around subconsciously as she talks. “Knowing that the city next to it is the one you said you lived in, we took a chance and started looking for you. As you pointed out, we can’t track you, so we’ve been relying on nothing but hope and chance in bumping into you.”

Tim shakes his head in disbelief. So it had been by pure chance that they happened to be in the same part of the city, in the same mall, at the exact same time as Tim.

“I’ve always wanted to come to Earth, especially after meeting you Tim. It’s strange, different from other planets we’ve visited before. Also why are the days so short? Everything is bright because the sun is out and you’d practically blink and it would suddenly be dark, but after that you’d blink another time and it’s light once again.” Bart starts rambling from his position in between Tim and Kon. He looks around curiously, taking in everything and Tim could see him shaking in place, it’s like it’s taking all of Bart’s self-restraint to not go speeding off into the city in his excitement.

Tim laughs at his comments, Bart is just the same as he remembers. They all are really and it fills Tim with a warmth he can’t describe.

“How have you been since you’ve been back? Is everything alright, run into any trouble?” Kon asks him sounding concerned. Tim notices the way his eyes drift over to Dick who is currently on his phone not paying them much attention. Tim gets the feeling Kon may be feeling a bit protective of him, especially after seeing how Dick had unintentionally treated him earlier.

Tim shrugs, pulling a face as he looks around the park. “No more than what was expected to be honest.” He looks back at the alien. “So far, and touch wood, I haven’t run into or even seen any League members. There’s been my own personal stuff I’ve had to deal with but nothing like what you’re thinking of really.”

Cassie sits up straighter, she’s also eyeing Dick like he could be a threat of some kind. “And him there?”

Tim rolls his eyes in response. When will everyone stop treating him like a kid that constantly needs to be protected? “He’s fine. He gets a little over-protective and after not seeing me for a couple years, especially after what happened, he wants to make sure I’m fine. He’s not a threat.”

Both Cassie and Kon don’t seem satisfied with his answer but they let it go. Tim lets out a long breath. “So what now? You guys are here, what did you have in mind once you found me? How are you planning on completing your mission?”

“We were hoping you would be able to show us things about the human life.” Bart says looking at him hopefully. “After all, you know what you’d be talking about, there’s also the matter of fact no one can understand us except you because of the translator.”

“Yeah okay, I think I’d be able to help you. After all, it’s the least I can do since you saved my life several times. However I won’t be able to be with you all hours of the day, I have commitments to deal with as well.” Tim points out. He would love to help them out but he can’t just drop his life to do so, not that there’s really much going on but that’s not the point.

The three of them nod in unison, clearly understanding what Tim meant. “Any help would be great Tim, thank you.”

They get talking about a few other bits, like what they have discovered since being on Earth for themselves. During that conversation there were a lot of snarky comments made about how underdeveloped humans were, surprisingly those comments no longer annoy Tim, he simply rolls his eyes and moves onto the next thing.

Tim’s broken out of the conversation after Dick nudges him to get his attention. Tim blinks at him, completely forgetting he was even there to begin with. “Tim it’s getting late, we should probably get heading home.”

Tim glances at the clock on his own phone and is surprised to see the time. They’ve spent hours talking and catching up.

After a brief conversation about where they could meet up the next day, they settle on a time and place before parting ways. Once they were out of hearing range Dick puts his attention on Tim. “So they were the aliens who saved you? I didn’t expect to meet them, they don’t look like what I expected them to.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “I have described to you before what they look like Dick, not all aliens are huge and green with tentacles, antennas and multiple eyes.” He certainly isn’t going to tell Dick that there are in fact aliens that look exactly like that.

Dick laughs at his sarcasm. “You know that’s not what I meant. They each have a different language yet you spoke to the three of them with no problems.”

“Yeah that’s because of the universal translator I have planted in my teeth. Its one of the first things they did when they found me. Once it was implanted I was able to understand everything they said, it’s how they all communicate out there.”

The two of them finally reach the car and climb inside.

“So what are they doing here on Earth?” Dick asks as he starts the car up and begins driving them home.

“They’re here because they’ve been sent to do recon on humans, they need to report back their findings to their leaders. While being here they decided to come and find me, they have also asked if I could help them out. Since they saved my life, agreeing to help them isn’t an issue, it’s the least I could do.”

Dick asks him a few more questions about what they discussed, his brother is still put off by the fact they all have different languages and yet they can all understand one another, but on the most part he seems okay with them.

It makes Tim wonder if he should let his family officially meet the aliens, if he did how would it all play out? Communication will obviously be an issue, Tim will have to be their translator but it may be worth considering in the long run. The aliens showing their powers to the family would certainly be interesting and with how private Wayne Manor is, they could get away with it and not be spotted.

Those thoughts remain in Tim’s mind for the rest of the day, into the night and stay with him until the next day when he meets the aliens again. Tim makes sure to keep them all away from too crowded areas (they ended up in the park again) and makes sure he’s prepared for anything that may go wrong. It’s one of the first times he’s left the grounds on his own since returning home and he’s nervous. His anxiety does calm down a little when he finally meets with his friends but he stays alert just in case.

They have a brilliant day together. Tim answers as many questions as he can when they each ask him stuff, he also shows them what he could, stuff that really helps humans in their day to day lives, for example his mobile phone. Alongside that Tim introduces them to the internet. Witnessing them using google for the first time was as amusing as it was painful to watch.

Don’t even get him started about when Bart tried to talk to Siri.

When their day starts drawing to close, Tim’s earlier thoughts come back to the fore front of his mind. In the end he decides to bite the bullet and turns to the aliens.

“How would you all like to meet my family?”

There's a pregnant pause between them and before anyone could reply Tim starts rambling on. “I know that communication may be an issue but we can get around that. I think it would be good for you to meet the ones I spend most of my time with. Not only that, I can then also show you what human family life is like, how homes operate and what gardens can be like. It may be worth considering?”

When there’s more silence Tim winces, curing himself for his eagerness. It’s stupid, of course they wouldn’t like the idea. Why would they –

“Yeah okay. That sounds interesting, of course only if you’re sure about it.” Kon says eventually looking thoughtful.

Tim whips his head around and stares at him. “Really? You want to?”

Kon shares a look with the other two, who nod in response, and turns back to Tim. “Like I said, if you’re sure about it, yeah.”

“Okay, okay…” Tim mumbles now getting equally excited and nervous about this happening. After they agreed Tim called Alfred up and asked the butler to come and pick them up. While on the phone Tim explained to Alfred the situation and how he’ll have company with him. God bless his soul, Alfred took it all in stride. While he seemed dubious about it, he agreed to let them come back to the manor.

Once Alfred arrived Tim took the others to the car and guided them inside. He greets Alfred before diving into an explanation on how cars work.

The journey back to the Manor is a short one and Tim has the fantastic opportunity to watch the awe expression cross his friends faces as they see the manor for the first time. Despite how many places they have travelled to, it seems like this really captures their attention, something that’s truly impressed them and Tim couldn’t help but feel slightly proud of that.

Once they’ve parked up, Alfred goes ahead first, probably with the main intentions of warning everyone what’s about to happen. Tim hovers behind for a while as he lets his friends stare at his home and the surrounding gardens. When more time than necessary has passed, Tim gently nudges them up towards the stairs, saying he’ll take them on a tour later on.

When they enter the manor they’re greeted with the sight of Alfred, Bruce Jason and Cass standing in the hallway watching them come in. Once they were all in Tim closes the door behind them and moves so he’s standing in front of his friends and faces his family.

Tim shuffles uncomfortably in his place, he’s feeling the apprehension of this meeting now more than ever. Taking a deep breath he addresses those in the room. “Everyone I would like you to meet Kon-el of Krypton, Cassandra of Themyscira and Bartholomew of Keystone. These three are the ones who saved my life while I was gone, without them I would have died long ago and never would have returned home. I owe them everything.”

Tim stares at each family member in turn, observing their reactions. Alfred of course is aware of them already and seems pretty neutral, Jason narrows his eyes at the aliens in distrust but doesn’t comment, Cass looks at his friends with curiosity which seems to be on the more positive side of things and finally Bruce seems stoic as ever, Tim couldn’t really tell what he’s thinking.

Eventually the thick atmosphere in the air is broken when Bruce steps forward, eyeing each alien carefully until a smile takes over his face and he relaxes his posture, letting go of what Tim could describe as the ‘alpha’ persona (the one where Bruce tries to make it clear he’s the one in charge and has all the dominance in the room).

“Thank you for helping my son and bringing him home. If I could ever repay you please let me know.”

Of course the aliens could understand Bruce but if they spoke then he wouldn’t understand them. In return to Bruce’s words, they each smile appreciatively and duck their heads. Bruce doesn’t seem bothered by the lack of verbal response, he resumes on as normal.

“Since we have guests how about something to eat. Tim, I’m sure your friends would be interested in trying some of our food?”

Tim glances at the trio, raising an eyebrow in question. They each look back at him and shrug nonchalantly, clearly not bothered either way, or at least that’s Kon and Cassie, Bart on the other hand looks as eager as ever to try food.

Tim turns back to Bruce. “Yeah they’ll eat. I hope you have a lot because Bart will literally eat everything in  the house. He’s a Speedster and naturally eats more than the average person.” Tim laughs letting his adoptive father, and even Alfred, know in advance.

“There’ll be plenty Timothy, no need to worry about that. Now if you would like to follow me, I’ll show you where we will be eating.”

Without waiting Alfred turns around and heads into the depths of the manor. After sending a glare at each of their guests, Jason is quick to follow Alfred. Cass smiles politely and trails behind Jason with Bruce behind her.

The trio glance at Tim, clearly waiting for his cue before doing anything. Tim rolls his eyes and gestures on ahead, “Go, it’s going to be fine. Plus you’re going to absolutely love Alfred’s food, it’s the best.”

“If you say so…” Cassie mutters walking ahead.

Bart is about to speed off down the corridor but Kon catches his arm just in time to stop him from doing so. “Bart. Be careful, this isn’t somewhere you can easily run around in.”

“After we’ve eaten I can show you the gardens Bart, its plenty big enough outside for you to have free reign.” Tim says, knowing the Speedster’s way of dealing with his energy. Bart rapidly nods in response and starts after Cassie, not in a run but certainly a quick walk.

Then it’s just Kon and Tim left. They share a knowing smile. “It’s good to see you again Tim and it’s great to know that you’re still safe.”

Tim grins, feeling warmth rise up inside of him. Before saying anything he gestures for them to get walking, as they do he speaks up. “I missed you guys too. While I don’t particularly miss space and everything out there, I miss being with you three on the ship. I certainly wasn’t expecting to ever see you again.”

Kon shrugs, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “Well we, or rather I, planned to visit you from the moment our probation was mentioned. I knew as soon as we had free reign again, we were going to come and visit you.”

Tim’s eyes widen at that. So even before they parted ways, Kon and the others had wanted to continue seeing him. “Well I’m glad you’re here, and that you’ll be here for an extended amount of time too.”

When they reach the dining room, they stop just short of the door. From inside loud sounds where being made and Tim dreads what kind of chaos he's about to walk into. It’s just another usual family dinner at this stage, there’s always some kind of drama going on. He turns to Kon with a thought, before he enters the room he shoots him a sly look, unable to help himself. The Kryptonian has no idea what he’s about to be in for.

“I’ve experienced your life Kon, now you get to experience mine. It’s probably going to be the wildest adventure you’ve had yet and that’s truly saying something, I hope you’re prepared.”

As he walks into the dining room, Tim leaves behind a bewildered looking Kon. For the first time since everything had happened, Tim is actually forward to what the future will bring. He knows that ups and downs will happen but he’s also excited to see what’ll occur with his new friends by his side as they learn about his way of life. It’s certainly going to be an experience.

[buckyhad]

Tangled (Bucky Barnes x Stark!reader)

II. Meeting.

Summary: Since tony met you, he keep you safe in the tower, but Bucky has another idea about that.

Or

A Rapunzel avenger story.

Warnings: minor violence.

Word counting: 1,4k

Note: if you see a mispelling let me know. Also if you want to be added to the masterlist tell me or reblog. Lots of love.

Tangled masterlist

After hitting the guy with a frying pan, he fell over face first. I analized him for something that can hurt me but didn't find anything.

"Huh?." Bucky started open an eye.

And I hitted him again.

I put him in a chair and used my hair as a rope. Didn't told you how long my hair is now?

"Too weak to handle myself out there, huh Anthony? Well, Tell that to my frying pan!" And I hitted my head. "Fuck, it hurts." I rub my temple.

"That's what you get for hurting me"

"Buck! I'm gonna hit you again if you don't stop interrumpting."

"But I make it funnier! Auch! Fine."

"AHH!" Bucky was awaked with Pascal's tongue in his ear. "Wha..? Is this...hair?."

"May I've to call F.R.I.D.A.Y?" I asked the intruder.

"What? No."

"Who are you, and how did you find me?."

"Ah. hah?."

"Are you dumb? Who are you, and how did you find me?."

Bucky clears his throat "I know not who you are. Nor how I came to find you. But may I just say. Hi! How you doing? The names Bucky Barnes. How's your day going, huh?."

"Who else knows my location, Bucky Barnes?" I pointed at him with the pan.

"All right, doll,"

"(Y/n)."

"Gesundheit. Here's the thing. I was in a situation, Gallivanting through the forest. I can across your door and...Ho, ho no, where is my satchel?."

"I've hidden it, somewhere you'll never find it." I looked my nails like they were the most interesting thing in the world.

"It's in the pot, isn't it." And I hitted him again, moved the satchel and made a sign to Pascal, so he can wakes the man in the chair "Ugh! would you stop that?!." He said while rubbing his ear in his shoulder to clean Pascal's saliva.

"Now it's hidden where you'll never find it. So, what do you want, with my hair? To cut it? Sell it?"

"No! Listen, the only thing I want to do with your hair, is to get out of it. Literally!" Bucky was annoyed at this point.

"Wait, you don't want my hair? Did my dad send you?."

"Why on earth would I want your hair? And who the hell is your dad?,"

"Tony" I interrumpted.

"Tony has a daughter? Look, I was being chased, I saw a door, I open it, end of story."

I turned around "Hmmm. I know. I need someone to take me. I think he's telling the truth, too. What choice do I have?,"  speaking with Pascal I decided to make a deal with him "Okay Bucky Barnes, I'm prepared to offer you a deal."

"Deal?."

"Tomorrow evening they will light the night sky, with lanterns. You will act as my guide, Take me to these lanterns, and return me home safely. Then, and only then, will I return your satchel to you. That is my deal."

"Yeah," he smiled "no can do. Unfortunately, the city and I are not exactly, simpatico, at the moment. So I won't be taking you anywhere."

"Something brought you here, Bucky Barnes. Call it what you will, fate, destiny."

"A horse."

"So I have made the decision to trust you."

"A horrible decision, really."

"But trust me, when I tell you this. You can tear this tower apart, brick by brick. but without my help, you will never find your precious satchel."

"Yeah Tony would kill me if I do that so it's not an option" he clears his throat "Let me just get this straight. I take you to see the lanterns. Bring you back home. and you'll give me back my satchel?"

"Yes."

"All right, listen, I didn't want to have to want to do this, but you leave me no choice. Here comes the 'smolder'." He twisted his face into a weird type of duck face while raising an eyebrow. "This is kind of an off day for me.This doesn't normally happen." I pointed the pan at him again "Fine, I'll take you to see the lanterns."

"Really!" I queaked, releasing the hold on the chair, making he hits his face with the floor "Ooops."

"You broke my 'smolder'."

"You coming, Doll?" Bucky asks while climbing down the stairs. I jumped helping myself with my hair. He looked at me with his mouth open.

"What? I've to give it some use."

"Look at the world, so close and I'm halfway to it

Look at it all, so big, do I even dare?

Look at me, there at last, I just have to do it

Should I?

No

Here I go

Just smell the grass, the dirt, just like I dreamed they'd be

Just feel that summer breeze, the way it's calling me."

"Oh god are you going to sing all the way through?."

"Of course, otherwise where is the fun?."

"I'm gonna kill myself."

"For like the first time ever, I'm completely free

I could go running and racing and dancing and chasing

And leaping and bounding, hair flying, heart pounding

And splashing and reeling and finally feeling

That's when my life begins"

"I can't believe I did this." I mumbled

"I can't believe I did this." I exclaim one minute after that .

"I CAN'T BELIEVE I DID THIS!" I screamed. "Tony will be so furious. That's okay though, what he doesn't know won't kill him, right?" Trying to convince myself was hard.

"Oh my gosh, this will kill him."

"THIS IS SO FUN!" 

"I am a horrible daughter, I'm going back."

"I am never going back!."

"I am a despicable human being." "WAHHOOOOO! Best day, ever!."

I ended up sobbing sitting in the floor.

Bucky clears his throat "You know, I can't help but notice, you seem a little at war with yourself, here."

I looked his way.

"Now, I'm only picking up bits and pieces. Overprotective father, forbidden road trip. This is serious stuff. But let me ease your conscience. This is part of growing up. A little rebellion, a little adventure.That's good, healthy even."

I laughed "You think?."

"I know. You're way over thinking this, trust me. Does your father deserve it? No. Will this break his heart and crush his soul? Of course. But you just got to do it."

"Break his heart?." I mumbled.

"In half."

"Crush his soul?."

"Like a grape."

"Wait, where did you find those grapes?."

"Oh, you know, just stole them." He said matter of facts.

I gasped and went back to my crisis "he would be heart broken, you're right."

"I am, aren't I? Oh, bother. All right, I can't believe I'm saying this, but...I'm letting you out of the deal."

"What? No you are not."

"Don't thank me. Let's just turn around,and get you home, here's your pan, here's your dog. I get back my satchel. You get back a father daughter relationship based on mutual trust and viola! We part ways as unlikely friends."

"No, I am seeing those lanterns." I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Oh, come on! What is it going to take to get my satchel back?" He kicked the ground like a child.

Showing my pan in his direction, I heard a noice, jumping behind him. "Is it, war criminal, assassin? Have they come for me?!" Having a avenger dad telling you storys doesn't help if you're scaping.

"Stay calm, it can probably smell fear." Bucky smiled while looking at the squirrel in front of us.

"Oh, sorry. Getting just a little bit, jumpy." I eased myself. "Probably be best if we avoid war criminals and assassins, though."

"Yeah, that's probably best." He chuckled. "Are you hungry? I know a great place for lunch."

"Where?."

"Oh, don't you worry. You'll know it when you smell it."

*at the Stark tower*

Tony entered the building while talking in his phone. "Hey Maximus." He continue walking and abruptly stopped.

Maximus sniffed at him.

"Where's Nat?." Taking the stairs he open the door to your place. "(Y/n)?." After not having a response, he called his A.l "Where's (Y/n)?."

"She went out with Mr.Barnes."

"I'm gonna kill him. Call Steve."

"Calling Steve."

"Hey Tony, what happen?."

"Your ciborg kidnapped my daughter."

"What?. You know where Buck is?."

"No I don't, gonna track him to make sure the two of them are fine." Tony rolled his eyes. He didn't want his child with a retired assassin but who can take better care of her than him?.

*back at the city*

"I know it's around here, somewhere. Ah, there it is. The Snuggly duckling. Don't worry, very quaint place, perfect for you. Don't want you scaring, and giving up on this endeavor now do we?"

"Well, I do like ducklings."

Taglist: @gabrielislovegabrielislife

@archive-of-the-fic @tonystankschild

[shesclearlya3]

Look What I Found.

Pairing: Bobby Richter II x Ghost!Reader

Word count: 2,716

2 0 1 9 

You had a hitch that today was going to be a beautiful day.

You were roaming the campgrounds with your best friend, Xavier, early in the morning. It had been over thirty-years since you took your last breath here at Camp Redwood. After all that time, you finally started to see your predicament in a different light. While it sucked being your age forever and unable to enjoy life, you were with your friends. You had a great view of the valleys and the large lake that you occasionally liked to swim in. You loved watching the sunset over the water. You didn't realize your full love for nature until it was one of the only things you had left.

There was something different in the air on this fateful day. You had asked around to see if Xavier Plympton or Montana Duke had felt the same way. They shrugged it off, joking that the world was probably going to end and take everyone out of their misery.

The air was strangely cold, so you wore an oversized jacket with your shorts. You decided to take some time away from your rowdy friends and see if there were any baby animals you could fawn for a few hours. Xavier liked to tease you at all the names you had given chipmunks, rabbits, and skunks over the years until you named a particularly chubby squirrel after him. You saw Xavier Plympton Jr occasionally, his fat cheeks always full of food.

You were about to breeze past the entrance to the camp until you saw a car idling in the distance. You squinted at it, wondering if it was full of curious teenagers or assholes ready to tear the place up more than it already is.

You never minded having company around camp. You always tended to hide as tourists came and went. Every day it seems the fashion changed drastically. You watched as denim jackets slowly went out of style until they seemed to become popular again. You've seen jeans become more shredded over time, and those god awful chunky highlights seemed to finally go out of style.

You slowly hid out of sight as one of the doors swung open, and out stepped a dark-haired man. You could vaguely make out that he seemed to be rather tall, dressed warmly, and with a backpack. You waited for others to join him, but the car sped off, leaving a dust trail.

It was rare you had singles wander around the camp. Most people bought at least one friend with them, just in case the horrid stories of tourists disappearing after a visit here. You remembered the days when Xavier and Montana murdered many innocent people. It was a dark period that you wished you could forget.

As the man grew closer, you noticed he was at least in his early thirties. He was very handsome, slowly taking everything in as he pulled out something from his pocket, pointing it at the sign before you heard a click.

Did he just take a picture?

Your interest was piqued. That wasn't a camera you were used to seeing.

He observed the area quietly, occasionally raising the suspicious camera to snap a photo of the cabins. The more you watched him, the more you realized how good looking he was.

You decided it was time to leave before you got caught. You went to step over the large root of the tree you were hiding behind, not realizing it was higher than you anticipated. You let out a shriek as your sneaker covered foot snagged the root, sending you sprawling forward.

You hit the ground hard, your breath leaving you as you heard heavy footsteps rushing towards you. The man stood a few inches back as you scrambled to your feet, turning to look at him.

"Are you hurt?" He called towards you, his hands raised as you avoided eye contact, brushing yourself off.

"No, I just fell," you said, really wishing you would have just disappeared when you hit the ground. You were a ghost!

"Are you exploring too?" He asked a sort of timid, yet kind smile on his lips. You weren't used to this, what would you even say?

"Sort of," you said, deciding it was best to be friendly. "Uhh, what's your name?" You asked.

"Bobby," he said, finally putting down his hands. "And you are?"

"y/n," you replied, giving him a little wave. His lips twitched, giving you a small wave in return.

You decided to move towards him and out of the woods. Bobby watched you, his light smile slowly fading as he tried to pinpoint why you looked so familiar.

"I better get going..." you smiled, ignoring the confused look he was now giving you.

"What did you say your last name was?" Bobby suddenly asked.

"I-I didn't... but its y/l/n," you mumbled.

"Holy shit," he breathed. He shrugged off the backpack he was wearing, kneeling down as he quickly unzipped it and pulled out a thick black binder. You had a bad feeling in your stomach as he flipped through it, coming back to full height.

"Is this you?" He asked, turning the binder around and showing you a broad picture of you from the 80s. Your mouth fell open as Bobby watched you in fascination and fear.

"N-Nope, never seen her before in my life!" You deflected. Bobby frowned, and you were unsure if he was pained or just trying not to laugh.

"But your name is-?"

"Nope, not me." You said, before turning to head back to the lake.

"Wait a minute!" He called from behind, quickly stuffing the binder back in its place before he chased after you. You kept a quick pace, your head down as he eventually caught up to you.

"How are you still alive?" Bobby asked as you kept walking, steering clear of the lake when you saw your friends standing on the dock. You headed towards the kitchen, knowing there was a clearing you could go unheard.

"I don't understand what you're saying." You mumbled.

"You haven't even aged!" Bobby said. "What are you-?"

"I'm not trying to be rude, but could you leave?" You snapped, looking back as he slowed to a stop. There was a considerable amount of space between you now.

"I'm just... Trying to understand," Bobby said, looking a little sad now. You sighed, realizing you shouldn't have snapped at him.

"Who are you?" You asked, trying to figure out who this man was. "Why are you here?"

Bobby stood in silence, looking as if he were debating on how to answer that. You crossed your arms, patiently waiting as the air around you grew colder.

"I'm Bobby Richter," he said softly. You stared at him as his words sunk in, and you realized how stupid you were. "I'm trying to find out information about my father."

"Mr. Jingles," you whispered.

"So it is you? You were one of the victims here in 1984?" Bobby asked, moving closer to you.

"Your father killed me," you replied, closing your eyes. You haven't thought of your death in a long time. "He murdered my friends and me."

"How are you here?" He asked again, his tone becoming more severe.

"I'm dead," you shrugged, almost enjoying the horror that crossed his face. "I'm a ghost. A lost soul trapped here forever."

"I don't believe that. Ghosts aren't real?" Bobby shook his head.

You giggled, "Bobby, things aren't always what they seem."

He didn't quite know what to say to that. Bobby thought your laugh was cute, but this wasn't what he expected to find when he came here. You were as young as you were thirty years ago. This didn't make any sense. Then again, most of his life didn't.

"Look, I'm just here to find out what happened to my father, I'm desperate," Bobby said, and you could see the hurt lingering just below the surface.

You knew that you'd have to prove to him that you were telling the truth for this to work. "Okay. Follow me." You said, not waiting as you walked past him, knowing your friends would be able to help.

-

Bobby chugged down his bottle of water as you took a seat next to him on the stairs. His forehead was beaded with sweat.

"Believe me now?" You teased, enjoying watching him squirm.

"Yes," he said. "I'm sorry I even doubted you."

"No hard feelings," you shrugged, and he smiled at you. "You learned your lesson."

Bobby laughed, taking a moment to observe the surroundings. The clouds were starting to move in now. You hoped it would bring a storm, you missed the rain.

"Was Montana telling the truth?" Bobby asked, bringing your attention back to him. "You haven't seen my father since?..."

You smiled sadly, "No, we haven't seen him. There are times I wonder if he was somehow able to avoid being trapped here."

Like yourself and the others, Bobby was still perplexed about how any of this made sense. You had come to the realization ages ago that you'd never have an answer why souls never got to leave this place. But it would make you angry knowing your murderer might have gotten to go to another place after his death and you were stuck here.

You noticed the strange device sticking out of Bobby's pocket. He was deep in thought when you poked it with your finger. He looked down before looking at you with a nervous grin, "That's my phone, y/n," he said.

"Oh... There's no wire?" you asked. 

Bobby laughed louder now, "No. It's all wireless, see?" he pulled it out, showing it to you. You came to learn that it did many things, including taking pictures, watching television, and shopping. You were amazed by this, wishing you had the chance to use it yourself.

"I can't believe how much the world has changed," you said sadly, seeing the darkened clouds hovering closer. "What year did you say it was?"

"We're halfway through 2019," Bobby nodded, now observing the sky with you. "Half the time, my life doesn't feel real anymore."

"What do you mean?" you prodded, seeing that he was back to being serious. You kind of liked that about Bobby, you realized. 

"I've lived my whole life wondering about who I really was," he said, "I was young when I finally learned the truth. How my mother died, who my dad was, what happened here, all of that stuff. I don't think I quite processed it until I was about to graduate high school. My aunt, who raised me, started to hate talking about it, I was annoying asking her so many questions. I just wanted to know who my parents were. I wanted to know what really happened."

You nodded, still in disbelief that Mr. Jingles, the man partially responsible for the death of your friends, had a son sitting right in front of you. Bobby was typical; he had a sense of humor, he was sarcastic, he was ambitious. You always felt bad for him, especially after time passed, and you weren't angry anymore. Montana always said that we'd finally see his son, but you never would have expected this.

"When I was able to finally come out here..." he laughed, "I've heard all the stories about this place. The whole world has. I was a little worried that I wouldn't make it out alive, but... I didn't expect to meet you, either."

You were surprised to feel a jolt of happiness hearing his words. 

"I figured if I could at least see the place that haunted my dreams for so long, maybe one day I'd be able to accept what is and put it behind me." Bobby gestured towards the cliffs where a storm was approaching. "Is there anywhere we could go?" he asked.

"Follow me," you said, and the two of you hurried off towards the recreational room. It was one of the few cabins that remained in decent shape; no leaks, no rotting wood, nothing. 

You made it safely inside once it started to rain, and you sat in a chair across from Bobby, who looked as invested in the rain as you did. You sat in comfortable silence, listening to the rain's patter on the windows and the roof above. 

"y/n?" He asked.

"What's up?" you asked, admiring the lightning that lit up the sky.

"You know, I did a lot of research about what happened here," he said, staring at your feet. You looked at him now, "And I read about how you died..."

You took a deep breath. You haven't thought of that in so long. At this point, you hardly remembered what it felt like. Your friends never liked to talk about 1984. It was almost like it never happened. You told Bobby this, seeing a hint of relief in his eyes.

"I just don't want to think of anyone hurting you." Bobby admitted, smiling at you. You reciprocated, finding that you loved talking to him.

"I don't remember, I guess time does heal." You shrugged, thinking of how your mother would always say that when you were in high school.

"I'm happy that you don't." He whispered.

You talked to him until the rain let up. The day was coming to an end, and you knew that he couldn't stay here with Margaret Booth on the loose. You swore to yourself already you'd protect Bobby.

"You should really head home, it won't be safe here after dark." You told him as you stepped outside, the air crisp. You hugged yourself as Bobby frowned.

"I don't want to leave you," Bobby said, and you stepped down into the wet soil. He stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at you.

You grinned, "I'm flattered, Bobby. But I'm serious, it's best if you stay away from here."

"And you can't leave?" He asked.

You shook your head, your smile fading. "I wish I could."

You followed Bobby towards the entrance. He rented something called an Uber with what little connection he had left. You still had a good twenty minutes with him until it was time to part ways. He continued to try and persuade you to let him stay.

"Bobby, don't you have a girlfriend or a wife waiting back home for you?" You teased as you stood in front of the lake in the sand.

He giggled nervously, "No, I don't actually,"

"Oh, I would have thought a stud like yourself would have a girl on the side, you know?"

He scoffed at you, "Nope, nothing like that."

You talked near the lake until his phone said the driver was three minutes away. You finished the trek to the entrance, stopping just before you knew you would be pushed back. Bobby paused, too, turning to look at you. The invisible barrier separated you now.

"I just want you to know that nothing you say will keep me from visiting," Bobby claimed, giving you a mischievous smile.

You smirked, "I'll hold you to it, Richter."

You could see the distant headlights of his ride. Bobby glanced behind him before looking at you with a solemn expression. You were saddened that he was leaving, but it was the safest thing he could do.

"I guess I'll see you around?" He asked.

You nodded, "I'll see you around..." you whispered.

Bobby grinned, before turning and walking down the path. The car was right down the road. Almost as an afterthought, you called out after him:

"Don't forget about me!"

Bobby stopped, swiveling around to gape at you. You stared back, feeling like you just offended him.

Bobby started towards you again, taking you by surprise when he grabbed your waist, pushing you back a few paces before kissing you. You were in shock, your hands up as you melted into him. It was short, but you missed the touch of another person. Bobby pulled back, looking down at you sadly.

"I'll never forget you, y/n," he whispered, and you watched as he slowly pulled back, heading to the car now idling feet away. You watched as he glanced at you from the window before he disappeared out of sight.

[woulddieforperrytheplatypus]

*spoilers for infinity War/endgame* Because technically Phineas and Ferb Is in the same universe of the MCU, does that mean that before the Avengers undid Thanos snap some of the PnF crew died? Imagine Doof Dying, Perry living but still visit his tower every day bc he misses him. Or Phineas and Ferb Dying, and Candace trying to bust them Just to rember they're gone.

WAIT THAT’S SO SAD O_O

I can’t stop thinking about what would happen if Heinz died. Perry would absolutely keep coming back to the tower even though there’s no scheme to thwart. Sometimes he’d run into Vanessa, who’s mourning just like he is. Her dad may drive her up the wall sometimes, but she still loved him and she would have to have a lot of regrets about how rocky their relationship had been at times. And assuming the squirrel powering Norm up didn’t die, he’d have the whole penthouse to himself for the first time. I don’t know if it’s in Norm’s programming to be genuinely sad, but I have to think that over five years of only finding companionship in Perry and Vanessa’s visits, he’d have to lose the cheerful air he always has. 

In fact, I think a lot of OWCA and LOVEMUFFIN would be fucked up. Only about 25% of nemesis pairs would survive, and 50% of evil scientists and agents would be left without their nemesis. There would have to be a lot of rearranging, and depending on what happens to the OWCA/LOVEMUFFIN member ratio, some agents might be without a job or some might have to double up. Can you imagine Perry taking on two evil scientists every day while he’s mourning the loss of his best friends?

And then when his day at work is done, he’d have two choices: he could go to Doofenshmirtz Evil Inc and not be met with Heinz’s self-assured monologuing, or he could go to the Flynn-Fletchers (it would be difficult to call it “home” now) and constantly be reminded that his boys are gone. I would like to think that both Linda and Lawrence get to stick around, but they’re no substitute for Phineas and Ferb.

Much like Perry’s dream in Phineas and Ferb Get Busted, Candace would be heartbroken. She wouldn’t know what to do with herself if she wasn’t busting the boys. It really is the only thing she’d focused on all summer, and if they just up and disappeared one day, she’d be so lost. I have to imagine that either Stacy or Jeremy would also get snapped away -- the odds that all three would live would be slim to none -- so she’d also be mourning the loss of at least one of the closest friends. Assuming one of them survived, I imagine she’d lean on them for support more than anyone, but they’d be dealing with losses in their own family, too -- they both have at least one parent and a younger sister; I imagine at least one person in their family wouldn’t make it. 

I think Candace would really hold a grudge against Perry at first because he reminds her of them. Perry’s used to her being rude -- and it’s not exactly a one-sided thing -- but never to this extent, and I think he’d take that as a sign that maybe he shouldn’t come home. He doesn’t want to sleep in Phineas and Ferb’s empty beds, anyway. It would make it easy to embrace a second nemesis at OWCA, even if he feels numb the whole time, but he’d still need somewhere to go when he’s not working, and I think he might make himself at home at DEI, at least at night when he needs somewhere to sleep. He’d be careful not to disturb anything because even though he knows Heinz is gone, he can’t stop hoping that maybe one day he’ll come back, and Perry doesn’t want to move anything for when that day comes. Even after five years, whenever he pays DEI a visit, he touches nothing but the coffee maker and the bed. 

I think eventually, though, Candace and Perry would have to be reunited. It’s a small town; they can’t stay away from each other for long. Maybe it’s Perry who takes initiative, going back home for the first time after a month just to see how everyone’s doing. Obviously everyone’s still broken up about it, but it’s been long enough that people have to start moving on and living their lives without their loved ones, no matter how much it hurts. I don’t think Perry would have gone home to see Candace, but I think once he did, he wouldn’t want to leave. And for once, I think Candace wouldn’t want him to leave, either. Yes, Perry reminds her of the boys, but so does everything and everyone else. But having him disappear within days of the boys turning to dust just left another hole in the household, and it helps to have back the only one who misses them like she does.

I think the gang would absolutely fall apart. They had nothing in common before Phineas and Ferb brought them together that summer, and with them gone, there’s no one to unite them anymore. I don’t think it would be a conscious decision, but I think they’d slowly stop spending time together and that eventually it would be almost like that summer never happened. I even think Buford would stop bullying Baljeet, even as a friend, because it just feels wrong now. They wouldn’t know how to cope without Phineas and Ferb, and it would tear everything apart.

I think the Fireside Girls would grow closer, though. I think Isabella would become much more focused on getting her patches because it’s something to take her mind off the pain and she wouldn’t have to think about the fact that she never got to tell Phineas about her crush, and I think the girls who survived would know what she was doing and they would do their best to help her. I think there’d be a lot of heart-to-hearts and a lot of tears, and maybe they’d expand their duties to try to help others who are struggling the same way they are, even if the best they can offer is some sort of distraction. 

And as heartbreaking as it is to think about what would happen when they’re all gone, I can’t even imagine what would happen when they come back. Maybe Perry’s at DEI with 21-year-old Vanessa -- a whole ass adult now -- and Norm, sitting together quietly or reminiscing about the past and bam, Heinz appears in the middle of his lab. I think that might be the first time anyone ever sees Perry cry -- and I mean full-on sobbing; he’s been waiting for this day for five years but he never actually thought it would happen. It would be such a nice, happy reunion, and I can’t even imagine how much it would mean to Heinz to know that Perry stuck around for five whole years waiting for him when he knows that everyone else has abandoned him the first chance they got. 

And then they’ve notice how loud the tower is and how busy the streets are and they’d realize that Heinz isn’t the only one who came back, and Perry would give Heinz a big hug before running out the door to see if Phineas and Ferb came home. Heinz wouldn’t understand at first -- why would Perry wait around for five years just to leave within 10 minutes of Heinz coming back? -- but Perry had spent enough time with Vanessa lately for her to know that he has a family back home. That would just make Heinz feel even better. Perry lost his two boys and he still spent so much time here.

Phineas and Ferb would be so disoriented. One second they’re building a giant disco ball, the next they’re standing in an empty yard with no friends, tools, or disco balls in sight. They’d head inside to ask their parents if they knew where Isabella, Buford, and Baljeet went, and their parents would start crying because the boys are back! After all this time, their boys are finally home! and Phineas and Ferb wouldn’t understand why they’re suddenly being given the biggest bear hugs of all time but they wouldn’t protest. And then Perry would run through the door, almost like he somehow magically knew he’d find them, and he’d stay by their side all day, only leaving (after a day full of snuggles, obviously) to go back and visit Heinz. OWCA and LOVEMUFFIN would have a lot to sort out, so he’d hopefully get at least the next couple days off to spend with his family -- both the Flynn-Fletcher family and the Doofenshmirtz family.

Candace would probably be at school -- she’d be 20, after all, and probably at a college dorm a ways away from home. Maybe shed get a call from her mom, sobbing, telling her that her brothers are back. Or maybe someone in her dorm would start screaming and telling everyone who will listen that her dad is alive and her dad’s been dead for five years and this is the best news she’s ever gotten, and soon the entire school (and probably the entire world) is on their phone calling around to see if their own families and friends are okay. The phone lines wouldn’t even be able to handle all this, and the streets would be a wreck with people trying to get to their loved ones. 

And can you imagine what it would be like for Isabella, Buford, and Baljeet to see them again? They’d be 13-15 years old at this point, and Phineas and Ferb would still be in elementary school. The boys may be mature for their age, but I have to imagine the five-year age difference would create a major rift in their friendship if they tried to go back to where they used to be. If Isabella still had remnants of a crush on Phineas, it would probably stop the moment she remembered that he’s just a little kid, and she’d have to figure out how to cope knowing that her former best friend (and first crush) is back but that they’re at such different standings in life now. Hell, Phineas and Ferb are probably closer to Little Suzy Johnson’s age than to Isabella, Buford, and Baljeet’s. I think it would really mess with Phineas and Ferb to see their friends so much older and more mature, especially because to them, they’d just been kids building crazy things the day before. 

Once again, I think the Fireside Girls would be fine. They probably would have taken in some of the Lil-Sparks-turned-Fireside-Girls like Melissa (not Chase) into their troop to make up for lost members, so the varying ages would be nothing new; they’d just be happy to have their friends back.

tl;dr I think the snap would be heartbreaking and the reunion would be bittersweet and this is the woRST ASK I’VE EVER GOTTEN AND NOW I’M GONNA CRY IN A CORNER FOR A FEW HOURS /j