#try. also to still se people talk about how they run out of books. sir. while they did that they speeded it up so fast and they where never

[what-does-the-moose-say]

So funny that those showrunners tries to blame the hbos parentcompany for got's final season. Grown up verson of dog eats homework.

[aesthbaby]

Her Secret

Summary: We’re all aware of Emily’s untold secrets that she took to the grave with her but what about Lauren? The one thing both woman have in common is you, and the memories they took with them in both of their deaths

Pairings: Emily Prentiss x Reader

Prompt/request: None, just an idea I’ve had in my head for a while.

Warnings: Cursing | Death

Wordcount: Almost 4k

Master List

AN: Time line might be a little spotty because the show did not give many details but I promise its still comprehensible.

Its beautiful for a sad event. The white flowers are such a stark contrast to her personality. The color reminds you of a time before, before they knew her and before all of this happened. One of your eyes feels kind of funny so you reach for it, pulling back to examine the small drop of water on your finger. You compose yourself and push the large, black, sunglasses up your nose. Maybe you shouldn’t be here. You were dressed in all black with a black umbrella. Despite it being a sad day, it was unnecessarily sunny.

You spot her team making their way down the walk way. Three men carrying the dark coffin with one Caned man in the front and the women in tow. You take a step back into the shadows as they near the podium. As the service progresses the amount of speeches and tears are--overwhelming. Images of Emily, once known to you as Lauren, flash across your mind as you hold back any and all emotions associated with this event. 

You knew she wasn't really "dead," she couldn’t be. Emily Prentiss is invincible and would never go like that. You saw the woman known as "JJ" glances your way but she says nothing about it. Probably assuming you were another one of Emily's secrets taken to the grave.

Emily’s not dead. Emily wouldn’t die like that. 

You kept repeating it in your head.

Italy - 2004

The violets surround the mansion like a protective field. Their peaceful existence mocking your volunteer imprisonment. You only took this job because you and this other agent were the only ones who spoke fluent Italian. She was supposed to take it and you were the understudy or whatever but then she got knocked up so here you are. Being mocked by fucking flowers. Your thoughts are interrupted by Doyle approaching you with his brunette arm dealer on his arm. You turn away from the balcony upon his approach.

“Lauren deve restare qui mentre scappo. Per favore, tienila d'occhio.” Lauren has to stay here while I run out. Please keep an eye on her.  He’s always been so bossy, and for what? To make himself seem more powerful than he actually is? We’re all aware of the danger working for him provides.

“Si signore.” Yes sir. You turn to acknowledge the woman in front of you but she speaks first.

“Perché? Non posso venire con te?” Why is that? Can't I come with you? She whines.

He gives her a look and she backs down. The Captain heads out with his guards behind him, leaving you alone with his lover.

You’re not sure what to do with her. Is this a form of  babysitting?

She clears her throat. “I know.”

Hearing her speak English was a surprise but it makes sense, there was always something different about her. You arch an eyebrow and reply, “Sai...che cosa?” You know....what?

She holds up a finger for you to give her a moment. She turns around and sticks her head out the door; then closes and locks it. “You’re not really from Tirana, are you?” Who is this woman? You maintain a neutral face while she continues. “The fact that you never eat with us was a dead give away. You’re always held up in this room.” She gestures to the large room filled with files, records, and books. “Like you’re trying to avoid something. I’d also like to point out how you rarely present any Albanian customs.” Where are you going with this Reynolds... “At first I thought, ‘Maybe they’re one of Doyle’s assassins that I’m not supposed to know about.’ But then I started paying attention and realized you’re nothing like that.” You let out a sharp breath. “Its okay.” She takes one of your hands. “I won’t tell Ian. There’s already enough death in his life and I wouldn’t want to see you be one of his next victims.”

You’re stuck in the moment and words are hard to form. All of your training is slipping through your fingers. For all you know she could be bluffing, trying to get you killed. You go with your safest option because you don’t know this woman at all. You pull your hand from her and take a step closer. Peering into her eyes for any sign of fear and when you find none, you proceed. Leaning in as close as possible to her. “Non farei acquisizioni così pericolose se fossi in te.” I wouldn't make such dangerous acquisitions if I were you. You whisper. You could never be sure if your suspicions were correct but this, this was all the confirmation you needed. What’s that old saying? Takes one to know one. “Agente.” Finishing off that last word you brush past her.

Virginia - present

 Being back in The States with Doyle still running around is unnecessarily risking. Emily’s defeat is the only reason you’ve come back. To watch her team grieve over the coffin is saddening but having to hide is the shadows is unfair. Am I not allowed to publicly grieve? Are my tears not worthy? The grip on your umbrella tightens. She’s not dead. Emily doesn’t loose. Emotions are running high and the speeches are getting long. Last time you talked, she claimed to be alone. No family and no fiends but clearly she was wrong. What you’d give to be laying under a plum tree on a wool woven blanket with her head in your lap. Eating pastries you raided from the kitchen and telling the Captain that you needed her to help analyze costs. What a fool.

You were so entranced with the memory that you didn’t notice when the pale, dark haired agent approached you. Aaron Hotchner, the unit chief if I’m not mistaken. “Agent.” He acknowledges.

“Sir?” You mumble.

“Your profession was easy enough to guess, though I’m not sure of your name.” Those knitted brown sweaters and golden, dainty necklaces. The short chestnut hair with soft curls that smelled of honey shampoo. The way she’d nudge your foot during dinner while casting discreet glances. Its all gone. “Agent?” He calls again. “Are you alright?”

Before you say anything you make sure your voice is clear. “Tell me Agent Hotchner, did she suffer?” That question didn’t need to be answered but you just had to know. A favor was called in on your behalf by Lieutenant Parks, he gave very few details about her death but you’ll take that over nothing at all. This was the one question you didn’t have an answer for. With nothing but silence from the man, you have your answer.

Reaching for your pocket there’s a small clear box; inside of the plastic is a handful of pressed violets. Without looking you hold the slim box out to him. “Please, make sure she gets them.” After he takes them you make one last note of the sight in front of you. All of her friends, family, and coworkers gathered in one place with Emily’s grave as the centerpiece. You turn to finally face the man, tilting your shades so he can see a bit of your eyes. “Dead or alive.” And then disappearing in to the back of the cemetary.

Italy - Spring of 04′

Two months ago you were staring off of Doyle’s Spanish-styled balcony thinking, “What would happen if I called it quits?” You had enough evidence and entail for him to never see freedom again. So what was stopping you?

Her. She was making you second guess.

After having her call you out for being a spy, you were very careful about what you did and said around her. Its not like she had any definitive proof but at the same time neither did you. What you said that day was a total bluff. Its a miracle you’re still alive. You were left with only two conclusions: one was that she herself is a spy, or two, she’s one of the smartest people Ian has ever brought home.

Then came a day where the boys went out to wherever and it was just you, her, and the maids. Most of them are Russian and speak poor Italian so they usually keep to themselves. You’re at the dining room table pretending to run numbers since that’s literally your job- well that and vetting backgrounds of sellers and buyers. Essentially a secretary with dangerous patrons. The position is mind numbingly boring but it does allow you to remain invisible while observing the operation. Think about it, who’s going to notice the secretary while discussing millions? They’re idiots. They allow you to sit in on every single meeting because you’re just the person who runs numbers. A debatable perk to this job is the amount of free time you posses. Usually its spent digging around the operation, sending information back to HQ, or actually enjoying small aspects of the city. That brings you to right now where you’re doodling random shapes on the bottom corner of the paper.

Lauren is on the couch wearing a button up satin dress, quite short for Ian’s taste so you’re surprised to see her wearing it. She’s read something you’ve never heard of, not that it matters. With no idea why she’s in here with you, you retreat back into your own mind.

“The maids have left.” You suddenly hear beside you, nearly jumping out of your skin.

“You scared me!” At the realization of your chosen language you gasp and watch as Lauren smiles widely. You shoot to your feet repeating no over and over. Actively trying to take back your words while she looks rather amused.

“I knew it!” She points at you all accusingly and shit. You keep shaking your head no and trying to get her to be quiet. “I was right about you!” And here’s the perfect time to have a maid to walk in. Lauren says something to her but you’re too wrapped up in your head to translate. All your years of training, expierence, undercover work has just been thrown away over your stupid mistake.

They’re going to kill me. They’re going to have my head on a stake in the middle of the garden for the world to see- or worse! I’ll be tortured for my crimes by one of Doyle’s men.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the brunette waving her hand in front of your face. “Don’t worry,” She say softly as you notice the house keeper is no longer with you. “I told her they could take a break...” At your confused face she continues. “So now we can talk.”

Virginia - present

To say you had no idea where you were going, was an understatement.

You hadn’t been to Virginia in years so everything felt unfamiliar. You took quick peaks at your surroundings as the rented porshe pushed through the traffic. Everything hurt, not the traditional pain you experience over a broken toe but the emotional kind that coursed through your entire body.

Is this what a broken heart feels like?

You kept telling yourself she wasn’t dead; couldn’t be. Not your Emily, the woman you know is a fighter. She’s fucking invincible and would never let herself die at the hand of that monster. If she was really dead, wouldn’t you feel it? Wouldn’t you feel your connection to her sever?

At the reorganization of the build ahead of you, you pull the car into the left lane.

Italy - Spring of 04′

She is so fucking clingy. Always starring at me when no one is watching and going on less missions with Doyle. Speaking of him, the man likes to take her everywhere; calls her “Ho il mio portafortuna” his good luck charm. She usual goes out with him whenever he’s traveling but lately she’s been making little excuses on why she wants to stay for the day. Instead of spending the day recuperating from a headache (like she’s told him) she’ll bother you.

That accent and the way she pronounces her R’s makes you wanna melt, but then she starts asking you a million and one questions. What’s your favorite food? When’s your birthday? Have you ever broken a bone? Do you enjoy reading? Its always something with her. I think she’s trying to annoy me. So far you’ve been answering her questions in Italian to insure that you don’t fuck up again.

Doyle is none the wiser, he still sees you as a secretary and her as arm candy.

But you must admit that Lauren is growing on you. She hasn’t said anything in English to you lately or exposed you to Doyle. You’re rarely ever alone but when you are, she gives you one of her finished books and sits in the room quietly. Its comforting. Today she’s given you Niccolo Ammaniti with a note scribbled in pencil on the 5th page, “Hang in there.” Smart woman, writing it in light pencil so I can easily erase it without leaving a trace...also paranoid woman but rightfully so.

Virginia - present

You adjust your shoe so as not to slip before going into the building and suck the shades into your pocket. The giant letters, I. O. D. S. stare back at you in Ariel font.

Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this. Just accept her death and move on.

Inside of Investigations of Death Services you nod to the secretary, an ex of yours, and continue on to your destination. While in the elevatored your vision feels blurry but now isn’t the time for tears. Arriving at your floor, you spot his office and walk in without so much as a knock or invitation.

“One second,” he speaks into the phone. “Can I help you?” His dark eyes look angry, like he doesn’t recognize you. You take a step forward, offering your closed palm to him. “What? What is this? A fucking magic trick?” You slowly open your palm towards him, revealing the silver clover pin. The suited man looks like he’s just seen a ghost. “Shane, I’ll have to call you back.” He hangs up the phone, then reaches from you hand. “Where did you get this?”

Snatching you hand back and putting the silver back in your pocket. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

He narrows his eyes on you before answering. “Can’t say I do.”

“Back in 03′ you knocked up Carin and proposed I go on assignment. Granted I was the only person who was fluent in Italian--or so I thought. Come to find out there were five other agents who could’ve been assigned there. You chose me because I was up for your job.” Your anger is boiling over quickly. “You were a shitty employee and they were ready to fire you.” You take a daring step forward. “Until you proposed infiltrating Valhalla with one of the foreign operative agents. You told them there were only two fluent agents. Back then we had never met but I knew who you were, Hell, we all knew how much of a screw up you were. Guess you don’t recognize me anymore? I mean in your defense its been years and I’ve lost a few pounds due to the stress you caused me but that’s for another day. How about we go back to 2003.” For a man with toxic masculinity issues, he looks pretty scared. “You couldn’t just out right suggest me so you have to offer up someone else. Coincidently Carin got pregnant right around the time she was starting her training, by you I might add, and could no longer go.” A wide smile starts to grow on your face. “Bet you were counting on my death, huh?” Awe poor baby seems to be shaking. “No...you’re too much of a pussy for that. I bet you were hoping I’d go to Italy and screw things up for the whole operation.” Now you’re toe-to-toe with him. “Mess up so bad that they’d have pull me out and demote me. Or! Reveal myself and hope Doyle’s men killed me or I’d go sprinting home with my tail between my legs.” His silence is starting to irritate you. “So which is it, Mark? Hmm? Cat got your tongue?”

“I’m sorry!” He yells with a reddened face. Out of the corner of your eye you see his co-works looking through his glass walls but you couldn’t care less. “I’m sorry, y/n. What do you want from me? I’ll do anything!” Now we’re getting somewhere.

You push the pin into his face “Where is she, Mark?”

“Where is who?” He’s still fucking shaking.

“Asking me another stupid question and there will be hell to pay.” You’re not really going to hurt him but considering the circumstances, this is justified. The man put your life on the line over some stupid position, a bit of threatening wouldn’t hurt.

“Okay okay. All I know is that after you left she was taken by ALPHA and later faked her death. When Lauren Reynolds died, Emily Prentiss got to go home and Ian Doyle went to a North Korean prison.”

“And now...”

“Last I heard she was working for the Behavioral Analysis Unit at the FBI but was recently killed under suspicious circumstances.” At your expression, he continues. “We know she died during a scuffle with Doyle and there was a funeral but we are yet to have a death certificate on record. Sometimes it take anywhere from a week to a month for us to receive proper records on agent deaths. I thought that-”

“Stop, talking.” You cut him off through gritted teath.

Italy - Autumn 04′

“What is your problem, Lauren?” You’re out on the patio in front of the pool on a warm day. Lauren has a four course meal on the table, courtesy of the chefs.

“Nothing...” She shrugs with a mouthful of strawberry.

“You want me to leave.”

Another fucking shrug.  

“Be serious.” You’re trying to stop yourself from stomping your foot.

She puts down her food and clasps her hands together. “Yes I want you to leave.” You watch as she gets up and smooths her skirt; taking your hands in hers. “Your time is thinning and you’ve been her a lot longer than me.”

“And leave you here alone? No way, I know you’re invincible but even Superman had his down fall.”

“Superman?” She loops you in closer. “Why not superwoman? Awfully sexist of you.”

“Oh, shut up.” You nudge her back a bit. “But wouldn’t you miss me?”

She gives you one of her wide smiles. “Let me show how much I’d miss you.” She leans in for a light kiss against your lips.  You pull away quickly so as not to be seen. El, like the letter, picked out a blind spot that’s covered partially in shadows. “I have to leave in 15 minutes but until then...” She trails with a very telling expression.

“Where?” You laugh. “Not in the second floor bathroom again because that was...tight.”

Her perfectly plucked eyebrow arches upward,  “And you were loud!”

You hop past her to sneak a grape. “Hey! You do know that was mine, right?”

“What are you going to do about it, Superwoman?” You turn to grab another grape, while doing so you feel her presence behind you. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, L.”

“Oh why not?” She lightly trails down your backside. “It’ll be so much fun.”

You turn back to her. “Ten minutes?”

“In the library?” She smirks and you nod along.

Virginia - present

This four hundred dollar airplane ticket is going to serve its purpose but paying it back is going to suck. Your government salary was nice and all but $400 is still a lot.

Just two days before, you rushed around you place to pack all of the essentials for a quick flight to Paris; charger, hygiene, two outfits, and the pin all tucked into a stylish backpack.

That brings us here, standing in the streets of downtown Paris alongside the buzzing mopeds weaving through the streets. In front of you is the little café Elle would go on and on about, naturally this is the first place you could think to look.

You didn’t even know what you were looking for. The woman you fell for was a brunette with light curls and bangs.

You were looking for Emily. The woman Lauren introduced you to. The woman you grew to love in the same way you love Lauren, but Lauren is dead. Has been for awhile, now its time to find Emily. Your Emily.

You find nothing, no one who even slightly revels Emily on your first day there. So you find a hostel to lay your head in and continue on the next day. Again and again with the same routine for five days straight.

You wasted all of your time here for what? A memory? A dream? Two woman who no longer exist on the same astral plane as you?

That’s when you see it, a head of dark brown hair a few tables ahead of where you’re standing. With all hope lost you almost think its a mirage. 

You sit a few tables ahead of her, careful to keep your face hidden. When the waiter comes around to take your order you give him very specific instructions.

Emily’s POV

Being a dead woman is lonely and isolating...at least the coffee is good. The waiter who dropped off the hot beverage not too long ago has circled back with a cheese croissant in hand. That’s odd, I hate cheese croissants. “Cette personne là-bas m'a demandé de te livrer ça.” That person over there has asked me to deliver this to you. He points over his shoulder to a person who’s face I can’t quite make out. “Ils m'ont également demandé de vous donner ceci.” They also asked me to give this to you. He reaches from his front pocket and softly places a silver clover pin that I haven’t seen in years, and a pressed Violet. I can feel the air drain out of my lungs at the objects in front of me. “Merci beaucoup.” The only person who knows what these objects mean are Doyle and-

At the sense of being watched my head shoots up at the source. At first there’s nothing there but then I spot the familiar figure. Its been weeks since I’ve actually seen them, it can’t be. I must be seeing things. Closing my eyes and taking in a deep breathe, I open them to see that they’re gone.

“Boo.” I hear in my right ear; looking up to see y/n standing beside me with a bright smile.

“You scared me!” Realizing how loud I am, I take a breath.

“Miss me Elle?” I left you behind, twice. I died twice without letting you know. You’ve had to start over too many times and its not far.

“Y/n, how did you find me?”

“Really, Elle. Did you really think I’d fall for that party trick you pulled at the BAU? I’m not dull, and besides,” Y/n/n gently puts their hand over mine on the coffee mug. “You’re my Superwoman, you’ll never die.”

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･**･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*˚✧₊⁎ ⁎⁺˳✧༚ ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟ･*:.

@beyondprincess @confused-and-really-hungry @millipop18 @supercorp8388 @groovygoob  @emilyprentisswife@covetedcoven @justaghostmonument @rabid-wild-misfits @nomit16 @afuckingshituniverse @mys2425  @fanfictionfangirl04  @aaron-hotchner187 @lisztomaniacalice @thestrawberrygirl  @miidguardian-exe @criminalmindsmoodrn @ssacandice-ray @davidrossiismydad @garcias-batcave @ssaemxlyprentxss @andreaxxg13 @emilyprentissistoocute @mortallythoughtfulgurl @iamyouknow-yours @aesthbaby​

[freelancer-chronicles]

It’s a poem, so if course it had to rhyme. 

(it seems really long but that’s just the formatting)

The ice flowers are oozing, snow blows in your ear;

Now javelins are racing—look! Icetide is here!

The time for Frost Fellow to bring gifts draws near.

So it’s time to assess: have you been good this year?

Now, don’t try to fudge it, for as you all know

Frost Fellow has got a small army in tow;

A veritable herd of small korox in boxes,

Observing from mantles and peeking through locks-es.

“Why korox? Why boxes?” you’ve come here to ask;

this story is here to accomplish that task.

The tale, it begins several Icetides ago,

when a small anrisaur took a fall in the snow…

Young Kogin the korox sat next to her friend

the also-young Ardek, in bed, on the mend.

“My leg hurts. I’m frightened and feeling so blue,”

the anrisaur said. “And now what will I do?”

“My leg is all broken and I cannot walk

to go see Frost Fellow and have a good talk

about Icetide presents. I’ve been good all year!

But now I won’t get that toy javelin, I fear.”

“You HAVE been so good this year,” Kogin replied

“You listened at school, and I don’t think you’ve lied.

When I played with that human called Sayrna who came

and Mama got mad—why, you took half the blame!”

“You’re a very good friend, helped me keep out of trouble

I’ll go find Frost Fellow for you on the double!”

Then Kogin went home, packed a bag, told her mum:

“I’m off to find Frost Fellow.” “Right, dear. Have fun.”

Kogin picked a direction and set off to find

the Frost-man she could talk with to ease her friend’s mind.

Through the valleys and fields, she roamed in light snow

Until things looked familiar. She thought, Oh, I know!

This town is called Pontiex; I am no fool—

that sentry post was in a book at my school.

Some cheery bright spots of pink peeked through the snow.

Oh, look at those flowers! They taste good, I know.

She then saw a lady who picked the blooms there.

Are these flowers hers? I will ask if she’ll share.

“Great gazicks! A korox!” the tall woman cried.

“Don’t eat me! I promise I’ll go back inside!”

“How silly,” said Kogin “I only eat plants”

“like those flowers you hold; may I have some, perchance?”

“Of course," said the lady, “I’ve always got more.

At the end of the day when I close up my store

"I take any extras, like these blooms right here

and give them to elders who might need some cheer.”

“How lovely,” said Kogin, “I’ll only take one

so you’ll have enough when your workday is done.

"By the way, do you know—does Frost Fellow live near?”

The lady said, “No, haven’t seen him ’round here.”

“Well, thanks for the flower! I’ll be on my way.

When I find Frost Fellow, I’ll be sure to say

how you give away flowers—I hope you don’t mind.

He really should give gifts to someone so kind.”

Kogin trotted away with the bloom in her mouth

back out to the trail: should she go north or south?

She roamed and she roamed till she heard a voice call:

“Oy, what are you doin’ outside of the wall?”

A Freelancer glared at a frightened young child

outside of the Fort Tarsis walls, in the wild.

This made Kogin worried.  He really sounds mad.

And, oh! There’s a wolven—that’s probably bad.

“Hey, wolven!” she called, “What are you doing here?”

The wolven looked at her, then raced off in fear.

“Oh, crap! It’s a korox!” the Freelancer cried.

“Much worse than a wolven. Let’s get back inside!”

With a sigh, Kogin said, “I am nothing to fear;

I just want to know if Frost Fellow lives near?”

“You’re safe!" said the Freelancer, grabbing the child.

“This beast shall not hurt you, this creature so wild!”

As the Freelancer flung the child over his shoulder,

she yelled, “I think Frost Fellow lives where it’s colder!”

Makes sense, Kogin mused as they hurried away.

But I hoped I’d find Frost Fellow sometime today.

Well, when I do see him, I’ll sure let him know,

Kogin thought as she headed back out through the snow,

that girl tried to help me, although she felt scared.

The lancer helped her, though he seemed unprepared

to chase out the wolven (good thing I was swift!).

Frost Fellow should know that they each need a gift.

Kogin set off again, and soon walked in deep snow.

Cold wind began howling and started to blow.

She plodded along and was starting to mope

when she spotted a trail sign that read “To Third Hope”

“How hopeful,” she said with a sigh of relief

that was short-lived as she heard a man yell, “Stop! Thief!”

What now? Kogin thought as she felt the ground shake.

Explosions lit up as men ran in their wake.

“Be careful, you!” snarled one, “That stuff will explode!

If we let that coolant blow up on the road,

we stole it for nothing. Some outlaw you are.”

Stealing! thought Kogin, Well, you won’t get far!

“You give that right back!” Kogin yelled as she ran.

The first outlaw saw her and shrieked, “Screw the plan!”

“That korox is charging! Just run—get away!”

“Good, go!” Kogin snorted. “No stealing today!”

She heard a new voice drifting through the tall trees,

and held still and listened, despite the cold breeze.

“Hey, look—there’s the coolant. Where’s the gang, do you know?”

“Who cares?” said a man. “Let’s just get it and go.”

The others were scared, Kogin thought, feeling blue.

So she snuck off, not wanting to scare these folks, too.

But she’d tell Frost Fellow those outlaws weren’t nice;

no presents for them—shouldn’t even think twice.

But what if she never found Frost Fellow’s home?

Kogin frowned as she once again started to roam.

I might have been looking for nothing, she sighed.

A single tear froze to her cheek as she cried.

Kogin wandered and searched for more hours and days,

when she finally spotted a light in the haze!

She could smell peppermint and some tasty warm stew.

She then spotted a cabin, and closer she drew.

She peeked through the window, and what did she see?

Frost Fellow himself, as he sat sipping tea!

“Hello!” called out Kogin, “And please don’t be scared!

I’m just a small korox with news to be shared!”

Frost Fellow appeared at the door with a smile.

“Of course, you’re young Kogin—I’ve known you a while.

Your tusks and your toesies, so cold, they must be.

Would you like to come in for some hot flower tea?”

“Yes, thank you!” she said “I’m so happy you’re here!

Young Ardek, my friend, can’t come see you this year,

for he’s broken his leg—but he’s still been so good.

And so have the people I met in the wood!"

So she sipped and she told him of all that she’d seen,

the folks who were good and the folks who were mean.

Frost Fellow heard everything she had to say,

but something seemed wrong. “Sir, do you feel okay?”

“Well,” Frost Fellow said, “I’ll just cut to the chase.

My doc says I’m working at too fast a pace.

I do have a relic from long, long ago

that helps me deliver my gifts through the snow.

For one night a year, I can handle that mess.

It’s the rest of the year that has got me all stressed.

Tracking who’s bad and who’s good, do you see?

I’m not near as young now as I used to be.

But you, my dear korox, are helpful and strong!

Just look at the info that you’ve brought along

on the people of Mirrus you’ve met on your way.

Just think! You could do that all night and all day!”

“So I’d just sit and watch till the people get sleepy?”

Kogin said with a frown, “Isn’t that a bit creepy?

Frost Fellow looked shocked. “That’s a harsh allegation.

They know I won’t sell or share their information.”

“That isn’t the point," Kogin said. “I should go.

My mum might be worried I’m lost in the snow.

And I’m only a kid, just one korox, you see.

It’s too bad that there aren’t several million of me.”

“THAT’S IT!” yelled Frost Fellow. “My dear, you’re a star!

If my special relic gets me near and far,

why can’t it make millions and millions of you?

One korox per household—yes, yes! That will do!”

He let out a breath and he smiled. “Now let’s see…

You’ve already done some of my job for me!

I’ll give special presents to those that you met—

except for those outlaws. No gifts for them yet.

Ah, here’s a new javelin toy—will it do?”

“Oh, yes!” Kogin said, “Ardek really likes blue.

You already knew that!” “Yes, I have my ways,

but you had to be sure, so you traveled for days.

Your heart is so big, and your friendship is true.

So I’m making a gift that is special like you.”

Frost Fellow walked into a room in the back;

there were some low rumbles, and then a loud CRACK.

He soon strolled back in (some hair burned off his hand)

and held out a globe of clear glass on a stand.

Inside, snowflakes danced around one tiny row

of blooms in a meadow all covered with snow.

“With help from my relic, it’s Icetide in here;

to make you ice flowers to snack on all year”

“Oh, thank you!” said Kogin as she smacked her lip.

“A delicious reminder of you and my trip!”

Frost Fellow helped Kogin to pack up her load

and brand-new ice flowers to munch on the road.

“I’m so glad you found me, when I was so blue.

If I’m spared an ulcer, I owe that to you!”

Kogin made her way home, and her mum kissed her cheeks,

while Frost Fellow worked with his relic for weeks.

After trial and error (and a few nasty shock-ses),

he’d made lots of korox and packed them in boxes.

Now one of these korox is home safe with you,

watching and listening to all that you do.

So stay in the walls, do your chores; if you blow it,

your very own korox will certainly know it.

Special thanks to the Anthem writers, for your support; Derek Watts, for adorable wee korox art; Carlo Lynch, for your patience; Ryan Cormier, for your eagle editing eyes; and Patrick Weekes, for shared nitpickiness about rhyme schemes

[paintingraves]

Behold French!Graves

Or, that one AU in which Grindelwald erased Graves’ memories and dumped him in Europe, leaving him alone to rebuild his life from scratch. Everyone believes him dead. Newt and Credence run into him in France by accident. 

They’d been staying in Paris for a couple of days, trying to find the wizard Newt was searching for. Another supposed expert when it came to magical beasts. Newt absolutely wanted to talk with him about the Beast of the Gévaudan, and other legendary creatures he’d heard originated from France.

There were staying at a Hotel in separate rooms, a cheap but nice place to be with everything they needed. America was far behind, now. It had been two years since the debacle with the Obscurus in New York, and a year and 9 months since Newt Scamander found Credence residing in his suitcase, occupying the freezing landscape in his Obscurus form.

He’d taken Credence with him, refusing to tell anyone about his discovery, and offered to teach Credence magic. With Newt at his side, Credence had grown. He’d learned to raise his head higher when he talked, had learned to be more confident when he expressed his opinions, had learned to say what he liked and disliked and most of all, he’d learned to control the dark force within him and now managed to do actual magic. Sure, there was still a lot to accomplish yet, but Credence was a far cry from what he’d been a few years ago. He’d let his hair grow as well, getting rid once and for all of the horrible haircut Mary Lou gave him. It was still short but it curled around a bit, giving his face a gentleness he thought didn’t resemble him.

Newt left him alone that morning after they got dressed and ate. He had an informant to meet and left Credence money to wander around the city and do as he pleased.

So Credence did.

Paris was a busy city, bustling with life. Credence walked around, without any destination in mind, enjoying the sun and observing people around him. He gave some of his money to beggars, made sure to visit the Church and pray, and when noon came he was hungry.

Seeing an open bakery, Credence decided he’d buy a sandwich or two. The place seemed like it was popular. A long queue of people were waiting their turn inside, and Credence dutifully fell in line behind an old lady wearing a pink scarf. He quickly decided on what he would order and let his mind drift while the queue slowly advanced, thinking about the books he would read this afternoon and the spells he could practice.

Which is why he was entirely unprepared when the cashier called upon him and Credence found himself face to face with Mr Graves.

“Bonjour,” Mr Graves said, perfectly at ease in his white apron, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a professional smile plastered on his face. “Qu’est-ce que je vous sers?”

Credence opened his mouth a couple of times, but nothing came out.

Mr Graves looked… Different. His voice was the same. His face was the same, the way he held himself was the same, but he sported a bit of stubble; his hair was no longer slicked back and shaved on the sides, but even, short and slightly ruffled as if Mr Graves had the habit of passing his hand in it too many times. He looked exhausted, eyes ringed with fatigue, but they were warm and kind as he patiently waited for an answer.

Credence knew that the last Mr Graves he saw was not the real one, Newt explained it to him. But the searches to find the real Mr Graves were fruitless, and after a year, the man was declared dead. So the last place Credence ever expected to find him was working in a bakery in Paris. Mr Graves’ French sounded flawless, but then again Credence wouldn’t be surprised that a man like him would speak different languages. Mr Graves did not, however, seem to recognize Credence at all.

Had Grindelwald erased his memories and dumped him in the middle of France? But why France, of all places? Or did Mr Graves have a long lost twin he never told Credence about?

“Mon garcon, je sais que je suis beau, mais il va me falloir une réponse. Tu n’es pas le seul dans la boulangerie. »

Credence had no clue what the man just said, but judging by his amused smirk and the giggles he heard behind him, he was currently making a fool of himself. Cheeks flaming, Credence muttered a “Un sandwich au jambon et un pain au chocolat, s’il vous plait.”

“Ca sera tout?”

“Oui, merci.”

Mr Graves dismissed him and greeted the next customer. Credence left the bakery clutching the bag in his hands, mind reeling with what he just discovered. Mr Graves was in France, speaking perfect French, looking as regal as ever, working among pastries and baguettes and with apparently no memories of who Credence was.

A perfect No-Maj. A perfect normal middle-aged man with a successful, normal business. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t him.

Credence resolved to come back to the bakery tomorrow and at least get the man’s name.

He didn’t tell Newt about it when the man came back to the Hotel. He wanted to be sure.

Xx

“Encore vous.” Mr Graves greeted him. “Qu’est-ce que je peux faire pour vous aujourd’hui?”

« Je voudrai une baguette, votre nom, ainsi que l’heure et la date à laquelle vous seriez disponibles pour qu’on se voit en dehors du travail, » Credence said, which roughly translated to « Give me food and also I want to go on a date with you. »

Credence just wanted to talk, that’s all.

Mr Graves stared at him before laughing, leaving Credence breathless. The man was cute when he genuinely smiled. He had no right to be cute.

“Okay,” Mr Graves said once he caught his breath. “Okay. Voilà ta baguette. I’m Percival Graves. Nice to meet you. My shift ends at seven tonight, wait for me outside?”

Credence nodded vigorously. “Avec plaisir. Bonne journée, Mr Graves.”

Xx

Credence was in front of the bakery at seven pm sharp. Mr Graves came out a few moments later, cigarette between his lips, wearing a dark coat that suited him and a hat atop his head. He pulled out his lighter and lit the cigarette, taking a long, slow drag as he looked at Credence.

“So? Where are you taking me?”

“I just want to talk to you, Mr Graves,” Credence murmured. He grabbed Graves’ arm and led them away from the crowd, into narrow streets until they reached the back entrance of the Hotel he and Newt were staying at. Mr Graves looked up at the façade, eyes widening comically. He was extremely amused to be led like that by a kid half his age who clearly knew what he wanted, but that was bold even for him. They hadn’t even gone on a proper date first.

“A hotel? Really?”

Credence was thrumming with anticipation. He needed to know. He didn’t reply, merely pushed Mr Graves inside, up and up the stairs until they reached his room.

Credence sat Mr Graves down on the sofa while he fetched something inside his case and came back to Percival, who was even now getting confused. What did the kid want? He didn’t even know his name.

“Credence, sir. Credence Barebone? Does that ring a bell?”

Percival tensed. It looked like the kid had a grudge against him, and maybe he wasn’t as innocent as he looked. “No,” he said dryly. “Should it?”

Credence pursued his lips. “Hmm. Does this picture remind you of anyone?” he asked, shoving an old, dirty black and white moving picture between his hands. Percival blinked. The picture couldn’t move, it was impossible, and yet – the young man there looked up at him. He was wearing clothes too big for his body, and a horrible haircut, but he looked like Credence. The face was the same. Which didn’t explain why the boy inside the damn picture could move his head around and blink at him.

“What the hell is going on?” He breathed. “Who are you?”

“What do you remember, Mr Graves?”

“What do I-“

“Have you always been in France? Have you always worked at the bakery? How come you speak English as well? Do you have family? And if I do this,” Credence opened his palms in front of him and a ball of fire appeared in the middle of them, hovering above his skin while Credence looked on unperturbed, “Does that feel like something you know?”

Graves got up. He had enough.

“I don’t know what you’re on, kid,” he said, willing his voice to sound normal, “or how you pulled off something like that, but this is too weird even for my liking. I’m getting the fuck out of here. Don’t – don’t come near me or the bakery ever again.”

“Mr Graves, wait!”

“Hell no!” Graves opened the door and rushed outside, descending the stairs two at a time. His heart stopped when he saw Credence waiting for him in front of the exit door. How was this possible? How?!

“Get away from me!” He cried, stumbling backwards and knocking his legs badly against a table. He hissed in pain. Credence kept approaching him, holding his palms up as if to show he was unharmed, but Percival wasn’t taking any chances.

“Get away,” he growled. “Let me go, and I’ll never speak of this to anyone.”

“I can’t do that, Mr Graves,” Credence shook his head. “You’re too important.”

“Important to whom?! To you? I don’t even know you! All you’ve been doing is scaring the shit out of me ever since I got here! Let me go!”

“What is going on here?” A third, slightly bewildered voice asked. He turned his head to meet the gaze of a tall, gangly man with unruly ginger hair, a blue coat and holding onto a brown leather suitcase. He looked so normal Percival could have cried.

Graves raised a shaky finger towards Credence and said with as much authority as he could muster, “Tell him to let me go.”

Newt raised an eyebrow towards his apprentice. “Credence?”

“This is him, Newt!” Credence said in a rush. “He said his name is Percival – Percival Graves! But he doesn’t know who I am, or who you are apparently, and he doesn’t know magic, or anything – I haven’t been able to determine how far the modification of his memories go, because he tried to escape.”

Newt sighed. “This is problematic. If Grindelwald altered his memories too much, I don’t think there’ll be a way to get them back… Plus, I don’t think he wants us to do that.”

They both turned their heads towards Mr Graves, considering what best to do with him.

Except Mr Graves had apparently taken advantage of their little scuffle to run away. The back door was wide open and they hadn’t even heard it. He’d slipped out entirely unnoticed. Newt frowned. The man probably had some magic left in him. Which was dangerous if he believed he was a No-Maj. He wouldn’t be able to control it if the outbursts became more frequent, and they would be after his encounter with Credence.

“What are we going to do?” Credence asked.

“I think it’s best if you let me do the talking, Credence,” Newt said. “You’ve frightened him.”

“I did?”

“He’s a No-Maj at the moment, Credence. He lives and acts like one. Yes, you’ve frightened him. We need to re-introduce him to the world of magic slowly, if we want to see exactly how far Grindelwald’s damage goes and if there’s a way to fix him.”

“Alright,” Credence chewed on his lips. “Did you find your informant?”

“Yes. Doesn’t matter. We’ll extend our stay here. I’ll go see Mr Graves tomorrow. Don’t go near him again, Credence. Or if you do, at least go unnoticed. He doesn’t need any more stress.”

“Okay.”

“Good. That’s settled. Now, what spells did you wish to practice today?”