#{it's also a bit dusty or at least the one my pay parents brought was}

[glassesandpassion]

@digitaladventurers​ | Daisuke Motomiya & V-mon continued from here

- 'Course it's edible! - Miyako huffed, prompting her elbow on the counter - I mean, they've been using the same recipe and selling it for almost three centuries, right? How wouldn't it be edible, Daisuke?

She then turned to Hawkmon, who was sitting on a stool right next to her.

- Tell him, Hawkmon, tell him it's edible.

"We...we haven't really tried it, but..."

Her eyes widened, challenging the poor digimon to finish his sentence.

"...But! There's nothing like Catalan cuisine! The strong flavors that melt in your mouth, I'm sure the xocolata is no different, Daisuke-san!"

- Exactly! And if you're in doubt, you can always give it to V-mon, the true chocolate connoisseur to try it! - Miyako now glanced at V-mon and suddenly her confidence in his unconditional love for chocolate began to waver - ...r-right?

[your-cryin-fool]

Married in Vegas

Pairing: Tom Petty x F! Reader

Request: I wish I had copied it down because unfortunately I do not remember it. But I would like to thank @run-down-that-dream​ for requesting it and for being so understanding that it took me until now to finish it

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: Mentions of Tom smashing his hand while making Southern Accents 

Rating: T

Notes:  If you enjoyed this please lemme know! Just a like would be fine, but if you can comment or reblog, or even shoot me an ask about it I’d be so grateful! As much as I am writing this because it makes me happy, I also like to know how it’s being received by all of you! Thank you for reading!!

Tags: If anyone would like to be tagged in my fics please let me know :)

Going on tour with Tom and the band wasn't anything new to you, you'd been with them on their previous tours, but this one seemed risky to say the least. It hadn't been long since Tom had recovered from shattering his hand, though you worried that going out on tour right away would mess something up, but when he assured you he would be okay, you believed him.

You sat next to him on the tour bus, he had his arm around you, your head was turned so you could look out the window and watch the dusty horizon, and he idly twirled strands of your hair.

"You okay?" He asked after a noticeable silence grew. "Seem awful quiet."

"Hm?" You turned to look at him, "Sorry I was zoning out a bit. I'm alright, though."

"Just makin' sure," he smiled then kissed your forehead.

"Be nice to get out of this bus though, I need to stretch my legs."

"Shouldn't be too much longer. You wanna take a walk when we get there?"

"Yeah I'd like that."

He moved his hand from off of your shoulder and held yours instead. You smiled and leaned against him, gently stroking his hand with your thumb. 

You eyed the thin pink line running down the back of his hand, and as you stared you remembered the circumstances that resulted in that scar. Mike calling you from the hospital telling you not to worry while Tom waited for an x-ray. And of course Tom telling you it wasn't a big deal when you burst into the waiting room looking for him. Then, what you remembered most of all and what you never wanted to see again, the pain in Tom's eyes. Not just pain from the injury, but pain from the doctor telling him that they could fix his hand but he may never play guitar again. Pain he hid behind a smart-ass comment. He didn't accept the possibility, you recalled him saying 'Fuck that' and you knew then that he was determined to prove the doctor wrong, and he did.  

"(Y/N)?" 

You snapped out of the memory, "Hm?"

"I was wondering if I could ask you something." Tom's voice was quiet, shy. Not a tone you were used to hearing when it wasn't just the two of you.

"What's up?" 

Just as he was about to speak, the bus stopped. 

He fumbled, almost as if he was counting on the engine to muffle whatever he was going to say.

"Well it's just--"

"C'mon lovebirds, we're here!" Mike beckoned the two of you as the band headed toward the exit.

"Guess I'll ask you later." He sighed, but a smile stayed plastered on his face as he got up from his seat, and helped you up after.

You stumbled slightly as your legs woke up, but Tom just held you tighter to stop you from losing your balance. You smiled at him, then headed toward the exit. When you stepped out you immediately felt the contrast between the nice cool bus to the dry desert heat, but it was only temporary as you headed into the hotel shortly after. 

Once you'd checked in, everyone went up to their rooms to rest from the drive. Your mind was preoccupied on what Tom could have possibly wanted to talk to you about on the bus, to a point where you didn't even notice him leave the room. 

Was it something bad? Had you done something? No, Tom would have told you then and there if there was something wrong between the two of you. Neither of you really believed in going anywhere angry, so if you'd fight, you'd always be quick to make up. And there was a lot of fighting when he was in recovery. 

His frustration with not being able to play anything or do anything, and your inability to help him. To say your tempers and stubbornness would clash was somewhat of an understatement. You knew neither of you meant anything you said, but you still said it, and you both would always apologize as soon as you realized you had said something that hurt the other. 

In all the years you had been with Tom, that was probably your most difficult time as a couple, but through patience and understanding, and beyond all things, love, you got past it.

"Hey, you ready?" Tom asked you after he had come back in, once again snapping you out of your thoughts.

You nodded and took his outstretched hand, then once again headed out into the arid city air.

The two of you walked hand-in-hand along the strip, pointing out the fun looking buildings and funny signs and taking pictures in front of them. 

It wasn't very often that he could go out while he was on tour, but one good thing about Las Vegas was that everyone there was too preoccupied with sight-seeing to pay attention to who was standing in front of them. It was a nice break. 

"So," you began, "What were you going to say on the bus?" 

He rubbed the back of his neck, "Oh right, well I…" 

You couldn't help but think that he seemed nervous.

"It's just that you mean the world to me, you know that?"

You laughed, "I had a hunch."

After a pause, you continued. "Was that what you wanted to say earlier?"

He shrugged, "It's part of it."

"You gonna tell the rest?"

He laughed, "I might." 

The two of you continued walking, and eventually he spoke again.

"What would you say Vegas is pretty known for?"

You looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "I don't know, casinos?"

"Yeah, but anything else?"

"Strip clubs, tourism, cocaine... wedding chapels."

"Right..."

He stopped suddenly and you looked at him. "Is this still about what you were gonna tell me on the bus?"

"Sort of." He pointed up at the sign on the building you stopped in front of.

You looked up to read it, then looked back at him.

"Wait are you-?"

"Do you want to?" 

You grabbed his face and kissed his lips. "Let's go." 

The two of you walked in and were greeted, not only by someone dressed as Elvis at the end of the aisle, but the rest of the band waiting for you.

"Are you kidding me?" You asked him, "You set this up?" 

"Well, I figured we might as well." He grinned.

"And if I said no?"

"Then I'd be pretty embarrassed I guess. Good thing you didn't."

You stood hand in hand at the altar, listening as Elvis spoke to you about what you were agreeing to, and then Tom asked to say a few words. 

"(Y/N), you helped me through one of the hardest times in my life. Having to go through surgery and relearning to play, I don’t know if I'd have ever been able to do that on my own. I know I probably wasn't much fun to be around, but you stayed by my side the whole time. Without you, who knows what I would have done, maybe I'd have done what the doctors said and stopped playing. But you believed in me, you've always believed in me. And I wanna return the favour, I promise to be there for you when you need someone by your side," he chuckled quietly, "And even when you say you don't. I know you're strong, but you don't have to do everything alone. I'll always be in your corner, I'll always believe in you, and most of all, I'll always love you."

You were fighting back tears, you thought this was a spur of the moment decision, something brought up just because you were going to be here, but he was speaking like he had it written down long in advance. As you dabbed at your eyes with a tissue, he pulled out a small box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a ring you recognized.

"Wasn't that your mom's ring?"

"She loved you, she would've wanted you to have it." He smiled.

The tears you were fighting back almost came out right then and there. You knew how much his mother meant to him, and you knew how heartbroken he was when she had passed away. So for him to give you a ring with such importance to him meant everything to you.

"But how... Did you plan all of this?"

"The guy dressed as Elvis is a surprise." He shrugged then slid the ring on your finger. 

Soon, the two of you said your 'I Do's' and Elvis declared you married. 

You kissed Tom and the guys cheered from the audience, and without really having a plan to do so, you'd just married the love of your life. 

––– 

That evening, you laid in the bed with Tom, tangled up in a cuddle.

"So, we're married," Tom said, a smile growing on his face.

"Apparently." You wiggled your ring finger and smiled.

"Can I talk about it at the show?"

"What, like, tell the whole world now?"

"Not the whole world, just a couple thousand people."

"And the press."

He frowned, "So that's a no?"

"It's a 'not yet', you know my parents, they'd kill me, well they'd kill you, if they found out we got married in Vegas."

"Yeah, I didn't really think of that. My folks would've probably been a little pissed too." He shrugged and his smile returned. "You know what that means, right?"

"What?"

"Means that we have to get married again, just not in Vegas. I'd rather not be killed because I couldn't wait."

"Well, if it spares your life, I guess I can agree to that." 

He pulled you close to him, "I'm glad that I'll get to call you my wife, even if no one knows."

"Well, the two of us know, and the boys."

"And Elvis!"

You yawned. "Right, can't forget Elvis." 

He kissed your forehead, and smiled at you, "Goodnight, Mrs. Petty." 

Just as you were about to drift off to sleep, he spoke up again.

"Can I tell the crowd I proposed?"

You laughed sleepily, "Sure." 

[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday, socmono!

Happy belated Birthday, @socmono! We hope you had a wonderful day back on the 14th, and that you got exactly the presents you were hoping for! To bring the birthday feels back around, the lovely @endlessnightlock​ has written a story just for you!

I’m sorry this is so late! This story spiraled out of control inside my head, resulting in a “drabble” that is almost 7000 words long (eep)- I also have plans to add a little more on the end before I post it on Ao3, so keep your eyes peeled for that.

My inspiration for this story came from one of my favorite oldies- the 1968 Dusty Springfield song Son Of A Preacher Man. If you haven’t heard that one, I suggest giving it a listen before reading this.

This story isn’t religious, but it does have some mild religious themes (including religious guilt) because it features Peeta as a preacher’s son in the late 1960s. Also I have mentioned two separate church denominations simply because, to my knowledge, neither condone alcohol use. There is no other reason for the mentions :).

This story is also rated E for underage sexual contact.

(Have I covered everything? I think so.)

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

Katniss picked at the loose thread that’d made its way out of the darts in her dress. Frowning in concentration, she valiantly tried to work the string free since it insisted on mocking her the way it was. She knew she wouldn’t be able to get away with messing with it for long, not with Momma next to her on the sofa. 

Momma always had something to say about Katniss’s fidgeting- said a seventeen-year-old girl had no need for such restless energy; that was why she was so unladylike. No one complained about her vigor much when she was getting up before the crack of dawn to go out to the woods and track down meat for their dinner, and that was the truth.

“Katniss!”

At the sound of her harshly whispered name, Katniss caught her mother’s eye and let her hand drop back to her side with a barely-concealed huff. For her own good, she bit back a scowl. In no way was she in the mood for another lecture from Momma about giving herself early frown lines. 

It was a hardship being a wild girl tethered to a parent who forever wanted to make you like them. 

From the other side of the room, Katniss caught a muffled laugh from Peeta, and it took everything in her power not to glare at him- he knew better than to laugh at her, especially over her frustration with this stupid dress. It was a ridiculous thing, anyway. It certainly hadn’t been Katniss’s choice to wear it in the first place; it was so outdated with its knee-length skirt and tailored top lined with pearl-glazed buttons that were a bit tight across her bust since she’d had a bit of a growth spurt figure-wise this summer. 

Even the dress’s color was out of style: a soft, faded blue that wasn’t like anything currently being worn, although Katniss didn’t mind that part of it so much. She didn’t go for the garish yellows, reds, and browns presently in fashion- not that it mattered; her papa wouldn’t dream of letting her go anywhere in the type of miniskirts her friend Madge wore, anyway. 

“Katniss,” Papa said softly, setting his coffee cup on the table next to his chair, his kind grey eyes focusing on her, sensing her discomfort.

At the sound of her father's voice, she let out the breath she'd been holding. He was her saving grace- Papa understood her better than Momma ever would.

“Why don’t you take Peeta and go for a walk or something? It’s too nice of a day for a couple of young folks to be stuck indoors while their folks talk politics.”

“Or religion,” Reverend Mellark, Peeta’s father, added, smiling in that slightly blank way he had that made Katniss wonder if the man had ever had an earth-bound thought cross his mind. Of course, with Peeta’s mother, she couldn’t say she blamed him for preferring to immerse himself in his theology books.

Katniss nodded, setting her iced-tea glass on the end table willing herself to act naturally. She stood, glancing briefly at Peeta before looking away again. The glee in his light blue eyes prevented her from paying him any mind in front of the adults. They might catch on to something. “Well, come on then,” she said, her voice low.

“Don’t go too far, Katniss. I’m going to need your help getting supper around when the Reverend leaves,” Momma reminded her as she stood to leave the room so the men could talk alone, which is what they’d planned on doing all along.

“Yes, Momma.”

xoxoxo

“You don’t seem all that happy to see me today,” Peeta told her as they stepped out the kitchen, the screen door slamming shut behind them. Katniss grimaced at the brilliant afternoon sunshine meeting them. It was hot and muggy- the kind of July day that wasn’t good for much other than swimming in the creek or lying in the shade with a book. 

“That’s not it,” she told him, catching his eye and shrugging. “Come on, let’s go out a little further.”

Peeta grinned at her, shoving his hands in the pockets of his khaki’s as they walked. They headed in the direction of the back end of the Everdeen's expansive property. Chickens scattered around their feet as they made their way down the packed-earth drive; the birds ran towards the garden to look for bugs to eat.

“I get tired of these dang birds,” Katniss admitted to him, frowning as she stepped over a pile of droppings. No one wanted chicken shit on their church shoes. “You’re lucky you don’t have to keep livestock in town. Watch your step- right there,” she admonished Peeta- he’d come dangerously close to stepping in a pile of excrement. Being a town boy, he wasn't as adept at looking out for himself here.

“They ain’t so bad,” he said, stepping around the mess, “at least you don’t get stuck making house calls to Ms. Trinkett’s with my father every Monday night,” he nudged her lightly with his elbow. “I’d take regular chickens over those ladies any day.”

Katniss glanced over her shoulder quickly, hoping Momma hadn’t seen them from her vantage spot at the kitchen window. Momma and Papa insisted she wasn't old enough to have a boyfriend yet, even if it was the preacher's son. Despite her concern at getting caught being so familiar with him, Katniss snorted, picturing Ms. Effie and her sister. 

The Trinket sisters, one long-widowed and one a lifetime spinster, were a bit over the top for a rural community like Panem. ”I can’t disagree, ” she told him, ”Momma says they're something else.”

She and Peeta were nearly at the back of the lean-to then, just out of sight of the house, so Katniss grabbed his arm, tugging him behind the building with her where no one could see. Once there, she threw her arms around his neck. “I am happy to see you,” Katniss said, smiling coyly.

He grinned at her forwardness. In a move that was quick enough to leave her laughing in surprise, Peeta spun the pair of them around until her back was the one against the outbuilding. He caged her in with his body there, letting his hands come to rest on either side of her shoulders as she giggled. “Well, that makes two of us,” Peeta told her. He ran the tip of his nose across her cheek, nuzzling against her before his lips met hers. He kissed her gently at first and then deeper, with ease they’d perfected over the last month of these “walks.”

Katniss still wasn’t sure what their fathers found so interesting to discuss that it brought the Mellarks out with such frequency.

There was a question for Peeta laying heavy on her mind, though, nagging at her. Katniss wasn’t sure if she’d like the answer, but she had to know before things went any further between them, so she just said it. 

“You’re not kissing girls at every house you visit with your papa, are you Peeta?” 

He frowned, studying her face, before giving her a small, unreadable smile.  In a flash, he’d tilted his head and begun trailing his lips down the side of her neck in a way that made her pulse flutter like a bird’s wings while bathing in a puddle. 

“Peeta-“ she warned, but he just chuckled.

“I might’ve kissed a few girls before, but you’re the only one I’m kissing now,” he reassured her softly, words vibrating against her skin. ”Are you puckering up to any other fellas? For instance, what about that friend of yours- the one who helps your father at harvest?”

“Do you mean Gale?”

“Yeah, I mean Gale,” he admitted, his voice tight. 

Was he jealous? The thought kind of thrilled her. Katniss chewed on her lip before exhaling against his shoulder because he still wasn’t looking at her. “He, ah, he did kiss me once,” she admitted, thinking it was better to be honest since it was just him and her right now. “Might have done a little more than kissing-”

Peeta tensed against her.

“But that was last summer,” Katniss told him. 

There wasn’t much to tell- Gale had tried putting his tongue in her mouth, and he’d touched her breasts over her shirt a little. It wasn’t like there was much of anything there for him to grab at the time. Either way, she hadn’t liked it, so she asked him to stop pretty quickly. Katniss hadn’t given what happened with Gale much thought before now- she’d just assumed she didn’t like making out like other girls did. She felt different about it with Peeta, though.

“Well, I haven’t done much more than kissing myself,” he admitted.

Katniss was sort of relieved. She hadn’t thought Peeta was a fast boy- not that it would’ve changed her opinion of him if he had been. If he’d gotten around a little more than her, then he just had. Either way, she still would’ve liked him the same; it only made her more comfortable knowing he didn’t have much experience either. 

Frankly, the only girl Katniss wanted Peeta to be fast with was her. 

What she wanted to do with him was probably considered a sin in the Lord’s eyes, but that wasn’t going to stop her a bit. All she knew for sure was that while she hadn’t been kissing Peeta Mellark for very long, he always made her want more. It was hard to be good all the time, no matter how hard she tried. Wrong or right, being with him made her feel like she was flying.

She sighed when his hand curled around her waist and pulled her closer. He still maintained a polite distance between their bodies, but she stepped closer to him, pressing her breasts against his chest for the first time. She had the strongest urge to feel his touch there- just that light press was overwhelming.

Peeta must’ve enjoyed that because he pulled her tighter, lining his hard chest against her softer curves. Breathless with anticipation, she was just about to take his hand and move it up to her breast when he dropped his hands away from her and stepped back. 

“What’s wrong?” Katniss asked, studying him for signs that she’d done something wrong. Didn’t he like that? 

His eyes looked kind of wild, she thought.

“Don’t you wanna-“

Peeta’s gaze raked over her face. “Can you sneak away tonight?” he asked, eagerly. “Would you meet me like we did last time?”

Just last week, Katniss snuck out and met up with him once her family had gone to bed. They’d sat by the creek, ditching their shoes and rolling up the cuffs of their pant legs to dip their toes in the water. There’d been some fooling around, but mostly, they’d just talked until she started having trouble keeping her eyes open. 

She figured tonight, though, Peeta wanted to do more kissing than talking. That was alright with her.

Without considering it much, she bit her lip and nodded. “Yeah, I can.” 

Momma and Papa went to bed as soon as the sun went down, so the house was always quiet by ten or so. She wasn’t sure how Peeta managed to get his father’s car to drive out and meet her, but then again, she’d never asked him about it.

“Great!” he said, his grin as wide as a Cheshire cat. 

His enthusiastic reaction made her giggle, a sound she was pretty sure only Peeta had ever solicited from her. Katniss was disappointed when he stepped away from her, signaling an end to their impromptu makeout session, but he still kissed her gently, his lips melting her frown away before she had a chance to argue with him. That soothed her. 

“Don’t scowl at me that way,” he said, “you know I wanna kiss you. I just don’t know if we ought to risk showing up again, looking like that’s what we’ve been doing. Your momma and papa will figure out what we’re up to; she looked funny enough at us last week.”

Katniss knew he was right, so with a resigned sigh, she stepped away from the side of the lean-to; they’d have to wait until tonight for more, she guessed. Pushing her disappointment aside, she grabbed his hand and tugged, indicating he should follow her. “You’re right, Peeta Mellark, just like always. Come on then- if you’re not going to hold me, then you can at least come and see the new litter of kittens in the barn.”

xoxoxoxoxoxo

That evening, when the frogs were singing in the trees, and the crickets were making a real ruckus from down in the grass, Katniss found Peeta sitting on a log by the creek behind her house, just like he said he’d be. It was way past sundown, but she could still see well enough, besides= she’d know the broadness of his shoulders and the tousled back of his head anywhere. 

Her bare feet sunk in the damp, sandy soil lining the bank where she stood off to the side, studying Peeta’s profile- he was so handsome it made her chest hurt sometimes. He hadn’t heard her approach, though, so Katniss let him know she was there too after a moment. “Been waitin’ long?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“Hey,” Peeta greeted her, smiling warmly, catching her eye as he looked over his shoulder. As she approached, he scooted down the log, making room for her to sit next to him. “No, it hasn’t been long- ten minutes or so at the most.”

Katniss sat down next to him and pulled her hair over one shoulder, using it as a shade she could use to peer around at him. She’d worn it loose around her shoulders the way she knew he liked, and, thankfully, that dress from earlier was long gone, replaced by jeans and an old button-down shirt. She felt much more like herself this way. 

“It’s a pretty night,” she said, feeling a little shy now that they were alone in the dark. 

The remainder of the afternoon, once Peeta and his father left, she’d been distracted by thoughts of him and what they might get into tonight. The hours had dragged by until Momma and Papa were finally in bed, and she could sneak out to meet him.

”It is, ” Peeta agreed, “but not nearly as pretty as you.”

“Flatterer.”

He just grinned in answer.

The moon was full, reflecting off the shallow creek water. It was bright enough that she could make out the look on her face and the way he sat, totally focused on her. ”I’m glad you made it.” Katniss told him, her voice soft.

”I wouldn’t have missed the chance to see you.”

She scooted closer to him. “You know, Peeta; I gotta ask you something.”

“What is it?” he said the words as if he’d gladly tell her every thought that had ever entered his head. He took her hand in his.

Katniss curled her fingers through his and squeezed. It was wonderful to touch him again freely. “How is it that you manage to get the Reverend’s car out without anyone noticing?” she asked, her curiosity getting the best of her. “I know he’s got his head in the clouds all the time, but my momma would sure notice me starting up our car after everyone’s gone to bed for the night.” She laughed. “If I weren’t on foot coming to meet you, I’d be out of luck.”

“But I’d find a way to pick you up,” Peeta said, looking down at their hands. “I gotta see my girl.”

“Your girl?”

“Yeah. My girl- neither heaven nor hell would stop me.” He paused after his declaration and snorted. “My father probably wouldn’t approve of the sentiment behind those words; I don’t think.”

“I don’t know about heaven or hell getting in the way, but what about your momma- doesn’t she try stopping you?” Katniss prodded. He still hadn’t answered her question. 

Peeta glanced away, scratching the back of his head with his free hand. She had the distinct impression there was something he wasn’t telling her. Things grew quiet, and the longer he was silent, and the longer she sat curling her toes in and out of the sand, the more sure she was that he was keeping something from her. Peeta took forever to answer; he seemed to be weighing what to say, frowning into the dark in concentration. It was painful to watch.

“What is it?” Katniss asked, breaking the silence. She wasn’t going to make him do something if he didn’t want to. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I don’t- ah, hell. Why not. The thing is, you can’t say anything to anyone.” Peeta finally said, glancing her way again. He looked nervous. “You gotta promise me that.”

Katniss nodded, scooting closer to him on the log. “Of course.” Even if Peeta hadn’t been her boyfriend, she still wasn’t one for running her mouth about everyone else’s business. 

He sighed resignedly, looking pained. “So I don’t know if you know this, I think some people suspect and some know, but Momma likes to drink. Drinks quite a lot.”

Katniss’s eyebrows shot up. While their church wasn’t a bunch of complete teetotalers like the Baptists or the Apostolic church up the road were, their congregation certainly frowned upon overindulgence in alcohol. “Oh,” was all she could manage, her mind whirring with what he’d told her.

Peeta huffed. “Maybe “likes” isn’t the right word- I’d say she has to drink. She does it most all day- says it keeps her in her right mind. But then nighttime rolls around, and at that point, it’s a lot more. By the time she goes to bed, she isn’t in any state to wake up again. An elephant stomping through the kitchen wouldn’t rouse her once she’s passed out.”

“Peeta,” she said, hating that she’d made him feel bad to find out the truth.

He kept talking as if she hadn’t said anything. “That’s why me and the Reverend go visit the Trinkett ladies every week. Momma likes their home-brew the best. She’s real nasty if she doesn’t get it.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered- and she was. Her momma and pappa were over-protective and kept her under tight reign, but at least they paid attention to her. She never doubted they were thinking of what was best for her or her baby sister Prim. She couldn’t say that about Peeta’s theologian father, who liked to distract himself with his religious books, and certainly not about his over-indulging mother.

“I don’t like it- leaves the Reverend and me to play clean up after her all the time- have to tell folks she’s sick or has a headache when usually it’s just the drink.” Peeta finally looked at her, and this time he had a wistful smile on his face that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “But then again, it ain’t all bad, having no one pay you no mind. It makes it a whole lot easier to sneak away and see your girl.”

“I wish we didn’t have to sneak off this way, though. Don’t you?” Katniss said abruptly. 

There really ought to be some sort of happy medium between not being allowed to have a boyfriend like her momma and papa and Peeta’s folks who barely recognized his existence. She wanted to have a relationship in front of others; she wanted the whole world to know Peeta was her boyfriend. She was proud of him- he was a catch.

“We won’t always,” he insisted. “I swear- your momma will change her mind about you having a boyfriend eventually, and then we won’t have to do this anymore. And it’s not like you’re dating some hooligan-”

She laughed.

“How much more respectable can you get than the preacher’s son?”

“You aren’t that respectable, Peeta Mellark,” Katniss said, leaning into his shoulder with a sigh and letting her hip rest against his. They couldn’t be sitting much closer now if they tried, but she wanted to be close to him, to show him how much his trust in her meant. “No matter who your papa is.”

“Do you want me to be respectable all the time?” He asked, wrapping his free arm around her waist. His hand came to rest at her side, and he curled it against her, rubbing her hip. His fingers slipped just under the tails of her shirt, the calloused tips of his fingers brushing against her skin.

She shook her head. “Not really, no. You don’t kiss like a respectable boy.”

“I feel the least respectable of all when you’re sitting with me like this. The things I’m thinking about you are positively sinful,” Peeta admitted, quirking his lips in a funny little smile that was much more genuine than its predecessor.

“Me too,” Katniss said softly, her voice so low it must’ve been difficult to hear over the crickets chirping behind them or the gurgle of the creek.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, if it is a sin, then the Lord will just have to forgive me; I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t touch you more,” he admitted, startling her with his bluntness.

Katniss licked her lips, excited and nervous. “Go ahead then,” she told him boldly.

“Maybe I will,” Peeta said, his eyes lighting up.

“Well, maybe I want you to.”

“Really?” 

Instead of answering, Katniss leaned into him. She let her free hand rest against the line of his jaw, and Peeta tilted his face into her touch and let his eyes droop closed. “I like you an awful lot- do you know that?” she said.

His eyes fluttered open again, and Katniss watched him turn his hand and kiss the palm of her hand; it was a sweet gesture, but one that made her heart race. His lips were like petals, and his breath was warm when it fluttered against her skin. “I do, but a fella doesn’t get tired of hearing it,” he told her softly.

Katniss laughed under her breath, relishing in the way Peeta always made her smile until her cheeks hurt. It was funny to be kissing him sometimes when he felt so much like a friend- she liked talking to him just as much as she liked kissing him.

“I was kind of hoping you were going to throw yourself at me again like you did earlier this afternoon,” he confessed.

“What are you going to do- just sit there while I ravish your body?”

“Maybe for a bit, but I kinda looked forward to doing some ravishing myself,” Peeta admitted.

Katniss snorted, but not for long because he moved into her, smiling against her lips before nudging them lightly with his own, playing with her, prodding at her mouth until she opened to him. Their teeth bumped from their open-mouth laughter; there was a little more hesitancy, but then he pulled her closer and sunk his hand in her hair, and she found herself lost in the taste and feel of him.

After kissing her until they were both breathless, Peeta pulled away. Tilting her head to the side, he trailed the tip of his tongue around the shell of her ear before sucking the lobe into his wet, warm mouth. 

“Sweet lord-“ she whispered, shivering. 

Peeta held her tight against his side, one arm around her waist while the other hand settled on her belly, just above the waistband of her jeans. His lips moved down her neck until he reached the bit of skin open to him at the top of her shirt.

Giving in to that same urge from earlier, brought on now by his closeness to such an intimate part of her body, Katniss took his hand, lifting it to the first button of her shirt. 

Peeta stopped what he was doing, mouth freezing against her skin. He tensed with indecision, so she squeezed his hand in reassurance- Katniss wanted him to see her and touch her more than she’d wanted anything. Her nipples felt tight, her breasts aching for his hands. “Please,” she asked, curling his fingers into the shirt so there was no way he wouldn’t understand her meaning. “I want you to, so bad.”

Her words must’ve given him the confidence he needed because he sat up and kissed her passionately. His hand at the placket of her shirt was shaking under her hand, but when she let hers drop to her side, he began undoing the buttons regardless.

Katniss closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing as more and more of her skin was exposed to the night air. She hadn’t worn a brassiere out here to meet him, wanting one less barrier impeding them. That thought made her lick her lips, nervous to see what he would think of her and wondering when Peeta would notice.

“Oh, you’re not,” he faltered as he pushed her shirt open slightly. “You’re naked under here,” he said dumbly.

Katniss peeked her eyes open. Peeta’s focus was on the space between her breasts; just the inside curve was visible, the fabric caught on her nipples, keeping everything from being revealed to him just yet. He looked stunned- his eyes were wide, and even in the dark, she could see the color in his fair face was high. He backed away from her, and she couldn’t help notice the way his hands clenched and unclenched in his lap. 

“You can touch me,” she said breathlessly, encouraging him.

Peeta met her eyes, looking like a deer in the headlights, paralyzed with doubt. Katniss realized that for all his big talk about it being a sin not to touch her, he was still nervous, so she took his hand and slid it beneath her shirt, her eyes steady on his the whole time. The skin on his palm was soft, and his fingers were warm and slightly calloused against her sensitive skin as it curled around her. She gasped, leaning into his touch as he dragged his thumb across her nipple, triggering pleasant warmth that began at her breasts but spread down to her belly.

Peeta dropped down onto his knees in front of her, pushing the shirt off her shoulders. She shrugged the material the rest of the way off her body. Once it was gone, he gawked openly at her, his hands frozen at his sides again. 

She kind of wished he would do something instead of just staring at her breasts- it was starting to make her second guess taking her shirt off. Maybe they weren’t ready for this yet. In a fit of sudden shyness, Katniss crossed her arms over her chest and covered herself. Her bravado was evaporating by the second.

The movement stirred him out of the daze he’d fallen into, and he looked up at her then. Being able to see his eyes again steadied her nerves a little. 

“Do you want me to take off mine too?” he asked, reaching for the bottom of his shirt.

“Yeah, I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” she admitted, laughing a little. “You’re makin’ me nervous the way you’re staring, is all.”

Peeta let his head drop.“You’re just- you’re so beautiful, Katniss. I’ve never seen anything like you before.”

“You’ve never seen breasts?” she asked, frowning at him.

He looked up at her again and shrugged. “I’ve seen some in magazines, but I’ve never had a girl show me hers before.” 

And then Peeta tugged his t-shirt up and over his head, tossing it down beside them.

She couldn’t think of anything smart to reply- it was her turn to gape at him. She’d seen shirtless boys before, but not one of them had looked so beautiful as Peeta did, kneeling in front of her the way he was. He was slim in the waist but broad through the shoulders and chest. He had muscular arms, and in the moonlight, his skin seemed to glow.

Katniss bit her lip. Did he feel the same way looking at her that she did him?

Peeta moved in closer to her, dislodged the piece of flesh from beneath her teeth with his thumb. Then, with his hand still at the corner of her mouth, he kissed her open-mouthed, with more passion than she’d ever felt from him. As his tongue brushed hers, he slid his arms around her waist. Katniss spread her knees apart, wanting him closer. Peeta moved between them and pulled her flush, pressing their bare chests together.

The feel of being skin-to-skin with him was overwhelming. There were so many places Katniss wanted to touch him, so her hands began to roam: his hair, his back, his arms- she found that when she drug her fingers down his sides, he squirmed a little. He must be ticklish there.

And all the while, while they kissed and touched each other, feeling wild and free and alive, her body became something she’d never been so aware of until that moment. Katniss snaked her legs around Peeta’s hips and tugged him forward until she had his hardness lined up to her center. “You feel-,” he groaned in her ear, thrusting against her. With the first movement, she went from feeling warm and tingly to downright aching.

If he was still talking, he must be doing better than she was- Katniss knew she couldn’t form words if her life depended on it.  All she wanted was to feel more of him and more of what they were doing to each other.

Katniss dropped her hand down between their bodies, taken by an urge to touch what she was feeling- she cupped his erection over his pants, and he thrust into her grip. 

When she looked at Peeta’s face, she was stunned by his glassy-eyed, slack-jawed expression. It startled her a little, so she took her hand away, ashamed of herself for doing something so daring without asking him first, but he grabbed her wrist, lightning-fast. 

“Don’t stop, please,” he begged. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“You liked that?” Katniss asked, leaning her forehead against his neck. With all the feelings running wild through her, she couldn’t look him in the eye.

Peeta took her hand, placing it over his hardness again. He curled her fingers around him so that she was gripping him. 

When she rubbed him through the thick material of his jeans, kissing his neck and collarbone because she couldn’t look him in the eye, it seemed like he stopped breathing. Katniss touched him that way but eventually grew frustrated with the way his jeans left so much to the imagination, plus it felt a little awkward. “Can I-” she trailed off, running her fingertip up his zipper. 

Peeta’s hand curled around her waist, turning his head to speak in her ear. “You can do anything you want.” His voice was breathless, his chest heaving against hers like he’d run a mile. 

She moved her hand up to the button on his pants, and when her fingers brushed against his taut skin above the waistline, he sucked in a breath. “Are you sure?” Katniss asked one last time, her fingers curling inside the waist of his jeans.

Peeta dropped his lips to hers, kissing her fervently. She guessed that was her answer. Katniss moved to the button of his pants and undid it before carefully pulling down his zipper in almost painfully heavy silence. When his fly was open, she only hesitated for a moment before slipping her hand in his underwear and wrapping it around him.

“Oh god, oh god, oh my god,” Peeta muttered against her mouth, lips slack. 

He didn’t seem capable of kissing her as she touched him; that was alright- she wanted to be uninhibited in her exploration of his body. His dick was larger than she thought it would be, and his skin was petal-soft but rigid beneath the surface, and he seemed to be growing stiffer as she rubbed her hand up and down the length of him. It seemed strange, but she could feel his pulse in her hand. When she made her way to the top, Katniss moved her thumb across the head, rubbing the small amount of dampness into him on instinct. 

“Fuck,” Peeta gasped, gripping her forearm.

“You’ve got a dirty mouth,” Katniss told him breathlessly, never hearing him swear before. This night was full of surprises and what she was doing to him excited her more by the minute.

When Peeta let go of her arm and moved his hand to the inside of her upper thigh, she forgot how to breathe herself. “Can I, too?” He managed, trailing his fingers up the inseam of her pants.

“Yeah,” she choked out, stilling her hand on him. Her pulse thumped like mad as he reached for her, unbuttoning her pants. Katniss might not have planned for all of this to happen tonight, but she didn’t want to stop, either.

She leaned towards Peeta as his hand slid inside her underwear. Knowing she was ridiculously wet, she hoped he wouldn’t think it was weird; the idea made her pretty nervous. Katniss knew it was natural to get that way when aroused. The times she’d touched herself, despite knowing it was probably a sin, had taught her that. 

But sliding her hand inside her underwear and exploring herself had mostly been out of curiosity. 

With Peeta, it was an entirely different thing- a hot, burning need that grew in intensity the further they went.

His fingers brushed against the short curls between her thighs, and when he moved further down, dipping just inside her wet lips and dragging them forward, Katniss’s hips jerked against his hand. His touch was unbelievable, much better than any time she’d done this herself. He hadn’t found the spot yet that make her sing, but it still felt amazing.

“You like this,” Peeta whispered disbelievingly, “Katniss, you’re so-”

“Yes,” Katniss gasped as his fingers rubbed against the top of her, “it feels so good.” She wanted him to delve deeper and touch that place that always felt so good when she did it herself. Their position with her on the log and him kneeling in front of her was awkward. 

And then, realizing she’d stopped moving her hand over him, Katniss tightened her grip on Peeta’s dick again. He might not be able to reach her very well this way, but she could still touch him. They’d gone this far, and now she wanted to see what happened next.

“Unf,” Peeta grunted, his hand going still inside her underwear, his body slumping forward.

Katniss watched his expression as she touched him. Peeta seemed lost entirely to what she was doing, his breathing becoming shallower, fighting to keep his eyes open. Was that because he didn’t want to look away from her?

“I’m- oh,” Peeta wrapped his free hand around the back of her head, jerking her against his chest as his length started throbbing in her hand. The faster she moved her hand, the louder he became, until his whole body stiffened up and his dick pulsed harder as hot, white liquid spurted from him, splashing against her bare arm and chest, bathing her hand in it as she continued pumping her fist up and down him. “Holy hell, goddammit,” he gasped.

Katniss turned her head, grinning against his shoulder when he seemed done after she’d taken her hand off of him. She felt suddenly shy, despite Peeta’s slack hand still lodged down the front of her underwear and his ejaculate all over her.

“I’d better,” Peeta began, pausing to kiss her firmly before as he took his hand out of her underwear and reached to the side to grab his discarded t-shirt, “take care of this. Sorry about the mess,” he added, using the material to wipe her hands and chest clean. He lingered at her breasts, rubbing the shirt across them long after she’d been wiped clean.

Katniss laughed deliriously, still a little in shock over what had just happened. She swatted his hand away, teasingly. “That’s okay- it was fun. I liked it,” She admitted. 

“It was certainly fun for me. Probably could’ve lasted a little longer,” Peeta said a little sheepishly. Even if he was embarrassed, he couldn’t keep the happy smile off his face.

Katniss didn’t think he had anything to be embarrassed about- from what she’d heard about boys, what he’d done was typical for the first time someone touched him. She figured touching each other was like anything else; there had to be a pretty big learning curve. A bigger part of her liked that she’d gotten him that worked up.

Peeta leaned forward and kissed her insistently until she was breathless, reminding her again how excited she was. “Now I wanna make you feel good too,” he said when she was half-crazy from his lips. “You might need to show me how.” He got up then, pulling his underwear back up to cover himself but leaving his pants unzipped. 

When He offered Katniss his hand, she took it. “What are you taking me?” she asked.

“Nowhere. Just changing things around a bit,” Peeta answered, stepping behind her and sitting on the ground with his back resting against the log. He spread his legs apart and patted the space in front of him. “I thought it might be easier this way, especially if you want to take your pants off.”

Katniss didn’t overthink pushing her jeans over her hips and down her legs at that point. After all, she was already shirtless in front of him, and for some reason letting Peeta see her breasts left her feeling more exposed than anything. She knew he wouldn’t try to take things any further than she wanted to

She lowered herself to the ground, kneeling in front of him, but Peeta, with a quick kiss, told her to turn around. Katniss did, settling upright against his chest. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said as she shifted against him. He wasted no time mouthing against the back of her neck while his hands settled at her waist.

“You haven’t seen much then,” Katniss whispered with what was supposed to be humor but came out sounding breathy instead. Her body tingled in the night air, the slight breeze across her nipples causing her breasts to ache even more. 

Like he was reading her mind, Peeta’s warm hands moved up from her waist and cupped her breasts. “I think I’ve seen all I need to see.”

“They’re just,” she bit her lip to keep from moaning too loud as he played with her, his thumbs rubbing and pinching her nipples, sending sparks between her thighs, “breasts. Half the world’s population has got them.”

“But I just want to see yours,” Peeta said, gently squeezing her with his warm hands. The pressure made her squirm, and she rubbed her thighs together. “How does it feel when I do this?”

“Good,” Katniss whispered, arching into his hands. He groaned under his breath. She could tell his dick was getting hard again, pressing against her backside, and that surprised her- she always thought boys were a one and out deal. 

Not Peeta, apparently. 

“How about this?” he asked while one hand glided down her stomach. His fingers were at the waistband of her underwear, edging beneath the elastic.

“Yes,” she said. The sensation was different than before. Peeta wasn’t restricted by her stiff pants this time or the awkward position she’d sat in when he’d touched her earlier.

“Help me?” he asked.

Katniss covered her hand with his and pushed them down together, leading him to the place. “Rub me there,” she said, spreading her legs wide to make it easier to get to the nerve bundle. She gripped his fingers, demonstrating what she meant. Katniss rubbed their fingers over her together in slow circles- not too soft or too rigid. Their hands together in her intimate places felt wickedly good. 

“I think I’ve got it now,” Peeta whispered in her ear. His breathing was noticeably heavier, their noises mingling together in the night air, the sounds of the creek, and the insects in the woods background noise to their pants and moans.

Katniss dropped her hand away and closed her eyes. The pleasure was coiling, burning low in her stomach. Her feet scrabbled against the sandy creekside, looking for something to hold onto; when Peeta realized what she was doing, he wrapped his free arm around her waist, holding her tight against his body as she tensed all over.

“You’re so beautiful, so perfect, so everything,” Peeta murmured in her ear. “I love seeing you this way; I love doing this to you.”

His words and his fingers rubbing her perfectly now between her thighs, the feel of his hand pressing into her waist, his mouth sucking on the side of her neck, and his dick pressing firmly against her backside all converged as one to overwhelm her. The deep, tight pressure broke, and pleasure flooded her body. The feeling was much more intense than anything she’d ever experienced on her own. 

[formerprincess]

A tale written with fangs and claws || Chapter 58

Chapters: 58/? Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Liam Dunbar/Theo Raeken, Corey Bryant/Mason Hewitt Characters: Liam Dunbar, Theo Raeken, Mason Hewitt, Corey Bryant, Nolan (Teen Wolf) Additional Tags: Alpha Liam Dunbar, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, Dunbar Pack, Bisexual Liam Dunbar, Werewolf Theo Raeken, Alpha Theo Raeken, Canon-Typical Violence, Smut, Mates, Liam and Theo are mates, Top Theo Raeken, Bottom Theo Raeken, Top Liam, Bottom Liam Dunbar Series: Part 1 of Morning Dew Pack

Liam has to take care of a very important matter. And there is an invitation...

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Liam immensely enjoyed working for Ellie. She was happy to show him her craft, teach him things, but she was also very easygoing, and as long as she saw him trying, she loved him and was thrilled with his performance. Also, Ellie knew about the supernatural, so she completely understood when he looked at his phone after it chimed with a text, just in case his pack needed him. Not that anything had come up in the few weeks since Liam started working for her, but he liked to have this option. He didn't have to hide anything, and Liam realized how much better he felt with that.

When work was slow, they talked about a lot of things and Ellie taught Liam some things about supernatural creatures. She had laughed loudly at the story about the fairies in their garden and proceeded to elucidate the different variations of fairies and elves. There were plant fairies, water fairies, sun fairies, and almost that many elves classes. Just like there were different weres out there. Liam felt kind of silly he didn't know about any of this and one day voiced his thoughts. Was he simply ignorant or just blind?

"Neither. You're from a town where none of those things exist. Don't blame yourself for that", Carlie said. Carlie was one of Ellie's three best friends, the other two being Libby and Simone. All three were at Ellie's age and the friends had a weekly meeting at the shop where they sat together, talked about their lives, drank tea or coffee, and ate cookies. Carlie herself was a petite woman with short spiky hair and big square glasses. From what they had told Liam upon first meeting, they all were elves but Liam secretly suspected Carlie of being a pixie. She was cheeky, witty, always said what was on her mind, and her eyes sparkled with mischief. Needless to say, Liam liked her. "Yeah, but I also feel like I should know more." "You know enough. About Onis and Berserkers and Kitsunes and hell and other terrible things. You're twenty. Most guys your age know how to party and wear their base caps the wrong way." She bit into a cookie. Liam laughed. "My boyfriend likes to wear his caps the wrong way. He looks hot with it. But he also knows other things." "You have so much time to learn still. Don't worry. Even we old ladies don't know about any supernatural being out there", Simone comforted him and filled her cup with some more tea. She was the opposite of Carlie; tall, thin, and the quietest of the bunch. "I also agree with Carlie, you know about terrible things, traumatic things, things one should not know about. Especially not this early in life. But unfortunately, trauma is also experience. " Liam made a face. He sat down on the armrest of one of the chairs Ellie had placed around. "I just could have lived without some of those experiences. I mean, I could have gone without the experience of being homeless but hey. Maybe that's just me." Ellie put her arm over the backrest of her chair and turned to look at Liam. "When have you been homeless?" They talked about a lot of stuff but Liam's life story, she only knew parts of it. Good parts. He didn't want to deliver sob story after sob story. Liam had a good life, he knew some people had it worse. He cherished that. Now he exhaled loudly through his nose and then he told the four women how the hyenas came into town and caused havoc, how they finally destroyed the house and left the pack picking up the pieces. He ended with the move to the new house.

After he finished, his listeners were shocked. "You experienced all this and you still find it in yourself to be such a happy and polite young man?" Libby asked in awe. She was usually full of life and laughed loudly, her afro curls always bouncing around her round face, but now she was stunned. Liam shrugged. "What's the option? Turning bitter? It worked out in the end. Doesn't mean I will ever forgive them for what they did but no one died, at least." "You are a terrific young man, Liam", Ellie praised. He smiled softly. "Thank you."

The store door opened and Angela, Ellie's oldest daughter, stepped into the shop. She was a lawyer and used her breaks to visit sometimes. She greeted everyone happily and hugged her mother. Liam ran to get her a fresh cup and dragged another seat to their circle so he should sit and interact with the group. She squeezed his arm in a silent thank you as she sat down and accepted the cup. "What were you guys talking about? Is everything okay?" She asked good-heartedly. "Liam just told us about those horrible, horrible hyenas who destroyed his house" Libby filled her in. Angela raised both eyebrows. "I hope none of you were harmed." "Everybodys fine. We managed to get out in time before the house exploded. I'm just grateful I got my brother out of town before it happened." "Oh, you have a brother? I didn't know that." Angela loved kids and had specialized in family rights. She claimed she liked to help kids get justice. "Hm." Liam nodded. He walked to the cash register where he left his phone and while he walked back searched through his pictures. "Landon. He's almost ten." She showed her and the rest of the women the picture and they all cooed how much alike the brothers looked. "You said you brought his out of town? So I take he's usually living with you? Your parents must appreciate such a tight brother's bond." Angela was surprised but happy. Liam hesitated. "Landon's not my mother's son. We're half brothers. Same dad. Well, father. Sperm donor. My biological father is...he's a piece of shit. Alcoholic. Abuser. You get it. I didn't even know Landon existed until we met months ago by a pure coincidence. The circumstances don't matter but in the end, Theo and I took him home with us. Not a chance I would have let him stay with that man. So he lived with us in the house. Until I brought him to the lake to keep him safe. He lives there now." Liam missed Landon terribly but they were all still so young, they could not care for a child properly. Byron and Lana were perfect for that task and Landon also liked them. He blinked. "But enough of sad stories. Let's talk about something different, okay?"

****** He was cleaning up after Ellie's friends had left. After he had basically pleaded for a change of topic, the talk had revolved around lighter topics and ended on a very funny note. Now Ellie was in the back, doing some accounting, and Liam manned the front of the store. Angela was the only one still there. Now she stepped to the cash register where Liam was currently filling some jars with bagged candy. "I'm going to tell you something, not as a friend but as a lawyer, okay? And I need you to listen." She looked serious and Liam tensed. What happened? "Did I do something wrong? Is your mother mad at me?" "No. But listen." She tapped both index fingers on the counter. "You need your biological father to sign his rights over to you as fast as possible. What you said about him, having him in Landon's and your life is dangerous and not good for either of you. So you need to act fast. Have him make you Landon's legal guardian." Liam frowned. "I planned on doing so once I turned twenty-one. I wasn't aware I can do it now. Thought I had to be twenty-one." Angela shook her head strictly. "No. You need to do it now. In most states, anyone who is eighteen years old can become a guardian. Look, who tells you your father agrees to it in a year? He still holds guardianship and can make decisions for your brother. If he does not sign over his rights, he has so much time to cause harm. You said Landon's almost ten. That means another eight years of having the right to decide about medical procedures, school enrollment, the living situation. Even if Landon stays with you, all it takes is somebody checking who is the legal guardian for Landon. Could be school, could be a doctor's office, or if he gets in trouble it could be the police. If he's in the hospital. For eight years, you have to always fear for this to happen. If your father does not sign his rights over." "If he does not do it on his own, I will take him to court." Angela shook her head even more firm this time. "Honestly? They will ask you where Landon lived for the past year. Legally, what you and Theo did was kidnapping. If you manage to get a strict judge, that alone will cause you to lose the case. Landon will get sent back to his father and you're probably not even allowed to see him. I told you, I'm not telling you this as a friend. As your friend, I understand why you did it, as a lawyer I have to inform you about this likely possibility. The only chance you have is to have your father make you his guardian." It was a hard pill to swallow and Liam gulped. He had been naive, he realized now, and considered it all easier than it was. And maybe Landon had to pay the price for his neglect. "Thank you, Angela", he mumbled sadly.

****** Liam sat in his car and watched the house across the street. The sun was beating down and these barren landscapes made the air even drier. The dusty roads stirred up sand whenever a car raced by. Bleak. He cast a look at the passenger seat. All documents he needed were laying there, including a pen. Now all that Liam was left to do, was get out of the car, walk up to the door, and get a signature. Angela's stern talk from days ago had left Liam rallied. Once he was home, he had told Theo about everything and the couple had to admit them taking Landon out of the house had been a stupid move from the legal point of view. They had emotions get the better of them and now this potentially harmful situation had arisen. Theo had supported Liam in whatever was needed to ensure he would become Landon's guardian but the Beta was also not a lawyer and as much at loss as Liam.

Thank god for Angela. She had helped Liam set up the documents Emmet had to sign and those documents Liam grabbed now when he exited the car. Theo was not with him, his boyfriend didn't even know Liam was here. Nobody knew. This, Liam felt, was something he had to don his own. Maybe to find a deserving ending. Maybe to test his control. Or maybe this was stupid but then again, Liam could proudly admit he was doing stupid crap now and then. Stiles, according to his own claim, could show Liam a list.

He let out a shaky breath when he walked through the unkempt front lawn. Some new beer bottles and cans had gathered around the chair. Emmet was not there but Liam heard his heartbeat through the ajar window. You're not going to kill him, Liam. He does not deserve you getting your hands dirty. Liam knocked at the door. Inside the house, he heard some bottles falling and Emmet's slurred voice mumbling.  Then scuffling steps and the door opened. And the young Alpha had to gasp and take a step back. "God, you stink!" The stench of booze, beer, and sweat made him almost gag. Disgusting, his man. "You. What do you want?" Emmet slurred angrily and grabbed the door for support. Liam turned his head away and took a few breaths. He willed his nausea down and turned to face his father. "How long have you been drinking, alkie?" "What do you care? Why are you even here? I don't want you." "Trust me, I don't want you either. But I need something from you and that means I have to come here. I would rather be somewhere else, believe that." "What? Want money for the little gremlin? I'm not giving you a dime." Emmet swayed on his feet. "I don't need your money. Go inside, before you fall flat on your face. I'm not catching you." Liam pointed inside the house. His father made a step towards him. "I should beat the crap out of you for talking to me like that and not stop til you're whimpering. Do you know who I am?" "A sorry excuse for a worm." Liam pushed his biological father by the shoulder and he stumbled back. As drunk as he was, he didn't stand a chance against an Alpha.

Emmet was taken by surprise but managed to catch himself at the table. He spewed a few curse words in Liam's direction before he shuffled around and fell on one of the chairs with the grace of a sack filled with potatoes. Liam closed the door and followed inside. His nose twitched and he wanted to retch at the smell and how dirty everything was but he kept himself from it last minute. This was not for him, this was for Landon. "How's your mother? Still wailing about how horrible I am? The slut should be lucky an honest man wanted her." "My mother is neither a slut nor are you an honest man. Don't mention her or I break your nose." Liam felt his anger building up. This was a test for his control and he might fail it. "Piss off! She's the reason you're such a weak bastard. Wonder what happened with the other one. He's just as weak. Cried whenever I hit him. Begged me to stop. Just like you. Oh, I remember you. Your mother screamed and cried when the ambulance came. I would have left you on the ground. Would have taught you a lesson." "I didn't need a lesson, I needed a father who loved me!" Liam slammed the papers on the table. "Here! Sign this!"

Emmet grabbed it after a few tries and dragged it over the table. He narrowed his eyes at the print. "What should I sign?" "Those are the papers for you to make me Landon's legal guardian. Sign and we're out of your hair forever." Liam balled his hands and felt his fingertips itch. His claws wanted to come out, his wolf furious at the man in front of him. Years of pent-up rage welled up and dared to spill over. He could kill Emmet and probably nobody would shed a tear. Laughter disrupted his thoughts. Emmet had left the papers on the table and laughed. It boomed in Liam's ears. His blood rushed through his veins. This man was mocking him. "If you really think I'm signing this crap, you're mistaken. Know why? Because you bastard want me to and you get nothing from me!" Emmet was still laughing but decided to underline his words by spitting in Liam's direction. It landed on the carpet between them. His claws almost broke through and he was ready to lunge but a voice in his head stopped him. No. Not like this. Not him. Maybe it was his wolf who was even stronger than Liam's human side burdened with IED but it was enough to make Liam pause. If you kill him, you'll never become Landon's guardian. Keep the little one safe.

Liam exhaled loudly through his nose and closed his eyes for a second. If even the animal inside him knew better, he would follow. Had to follow. All for his little brother. Landon didn't deserve a murderer for a hero. He opened his eyes and stared at Emmet. Suddenly Liam was seven again, cowering at the floor while his father screamed at him and walked closer and closer. He had put his arms up back then, in a feeble attempt to shield his body from the hits, and pleaded for the man to stop. Fear. Panic. Pain. But this time Liam didn't feel panicked. He was not afraid of this drunkard calling himself a father. Instead, Liam felt disgust and maybe even pity. This guy had nothing to live for. It gave the young Alpha a strange sense of calm. Out of the two of them, Liam was the better man. The better person. IED or not. The condition didn't rule him as much as it ruled his father, and Liam had quite a lot more on his plate.

He sat at the opposite of the table and took the pen in his hands. "And why wouldn't you? What's in it for you? Just to be petty? Just to put one over on me?" Emmet snickered. "It will bug you forever, that's good enough for me." He reached for a bottle of booze and uncorked it to take a swig. Liam glared at him. Then he put the pen down. His glance landed on his bracelet. The bracelet he shared with Theo. Suddenly, he got an idea. Maybe it was time to see if he could take a book out of Theo's playbook. He raised his head and crossed his arms on top of the table. "Okay, fine, don't sign. We will play your game. I will send Landon back to live here." Emmet eyed him. "You're bluffing." "Not at all. He will come and live with you again. But be aware. I will be around every damn day." "And then what? What will you do? Punch me? You're no match for me", Emmet sneered. "If you lay so much as one finger on him, and we both know you will, I will call the cops on you. They will come and they will arrest you for domestic violence. And yes, Landon may be sent to foster care but I will make sure you will be sent to prison. There is no booze, no beer, no schnapps in prison. But the people there love people who abused kids. I know people and I will make sure every inmate knows what you did to two little boys. That's what will be awaiting you. No freedom to get wasted like you're doing now every day. Think about it." His biological father still eyed him suspiciously. "No way you would ever let him live here again." "To get you locked up, I would do other things. Landon too, by the way. All to make sure you will rot in hell. He's tough, he will take whatever you might to do him. Maybe I will move in as well. One happy family. With me comes my boyfriend, obviously. By the way, how's your hand?" He looked at Emmet's fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle. Father and son stared at each other, accessed each other until Emmet snorted. "Your mother raised you better than this. I call bluff. You don't have it in you, weak shit!" A cold, dangerous smile appeared on Liam's face and he leaned closer. "You call my mom a slut and other horrible names, yet you forget I also inherited DNA from you. We both have IED. Wanna find out how much more alike we are? If I'm as cruel as you are?" He gave his father a death glare. "You want to start a war? I'll raise you World War III. Your choice. Either don't sign and feel the whiplash or sign and you will never have to see us again." Liam placed the pen on the papers and waited. His heart was thundering inside his chest. That was not his usual way to carry on negotiations and he had no idea if it worked. Theo made it always seem so easy and pulled it off without a hitch. But Liam knew he was not that good. Emmet grabbed the pen and fiddled with it. He scribbled his signature at the marked fields, an unruly chicken scratch but his signature nonetheless. "Get the hell out of here. If I see you on my front lawn again, I will shoot you." Liam's hand shot towards and he pulled the documents towards himself after the last signature was done. "I have better people to be around than you. Give your liver a break once in a while." He got up just in time as Emmet's hand shot towards his throat. The alcoholic missed by far and his hand thumped on the table. "Fuck off, you piss baby!" The sound of the splintering bottle hitting the wall was the last thing Liam heard from his father when he now left the house without so much of a goodbye.

It only dawned on him what just had transpired when he was in his car and already on the road. Liam stopped at a red light and breathed a sigh of relief. "Holy shit!" He had faced Emmet Dunbar, that one man he hated with a burning passion, the one who had made his childhood horrible and hurt Liam, Ilona, and Landon so much. Against what he had wanted to do to him, Emmet had left the meeting completely without a cut, Liam was incredibly proud of himself. Even though now, that everything settled, his hands shook and his heart raced, adrenaline pumping through his body. That had the potential to go so, so wrong and yet Liam stood tall. He glanced at the papers safely sitting on the passenger seat. Not only had it worked out without Liam losing his temper, but it had also really worked and he was Landon's guardian. The threat of Emmet interfering with their lives and taking Landon away again was erased. Liam wanted to cry.

His phone chimed and Liam almost hit another car. "Jesus Christ!" He accepted the call over the speaker. "Hey, Theo." "Hey. Say, just out of curiosity, where the hell are you? Nobody knows where you left. It's not like you to disappear like that. What's going on." Liam bit his lip. "I was at Emmet's." "Emmet? Emmet Dunbar? Your father? What the fuck! Is he still alive?" "Shh, let me explain. I told you about what Angela said and I went to get his signature. Yes, he's still alive, I didn't touch him. Even though I wanted to." He heard Theo closing a door and birds singing in the background. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have accompanied you." Yeah, good question. Liam didn't know for sure. "I guess...I needed to burn this bridge alone? Prove to myself I can stay calm around him. I'm not like him in any capacity and while I know you and I absolutely adore you for always being there for me, this was something I had to do alone. You understand? Maybe for my own peace of mind, I dunno." Theo was silent for a few moments. "Yeah, I understand", he finally confessed. "Did it work, at least?" A smile broke out on Liam's face. "Yep. Have all the signatures I need. Thanks to you as well." "Thanks to me? What did I do?" "Well, let's say you're a good teacher, even if you don't want to be one. I'll tell you everything once I get home, okay?" Theo laughed. "Okay. Love you." "Love you too."

****** Landon's face appeared on the screen in front of Liam and as soon as he had a picture, the child waved animatedly. "Hello, Liam!" Videocalls were a good way to keep in contact even if they could not see each other in person. Liam happily waved back. "Hey, Landon, how are you?" "I'm good. Zack and I built a fort." Landon launched himself into a story of all the things his best friend and he had done. Lana and Byron appeared in the background of the call but they simply waved and let the boy talk. Liam put his chin in the palm of his hand and listened with a smile. Seeing Landon so carefree and hearing about him being a normal child was all he ever wanted. It came nine years too late and Liam knew his brother must have been affected one way or another by his upcoming but now that he was out of Emmet's claws, Landon was in for an amazing life. After he was done, Landon asked about Liam's life in Seattle. Now it was the older's turn to talk about college, his pack, the fairies (Landon loved this part and he asked thousands of questions). Theo had joined Liam for a while and laughed softly. "He's like you", he whispered into his mate's ear and kissed Liam's cheek before he disappeared out of the frame again after a wave in Landon's direction. Liam chuckled but then he finished his story. "One more thing, Landon. You know we took you away from Emmet, right?" Landon shivered at the mention of his father's name but nodded bravely. "Do I have to go back? Please, don't make me go back!" "No, no, hey, I would never. That's why I'm telling you. He signed all the papers. I am your guardian now." Lana and Byron appeared left and right from Landon. "He did? Oh, how wonderful, Liam." Lana was touched. Landon scrunched his nose. "What does guardian mean?" "It means Liam is responsible for you now and Emmet can never hurt you again. Say you want to go on a class trip, for example, the school has to ask Liam and not your father anymore", Byron patiently explained to him. Landon considered. "So, he can't get me?" "Never again. He's out of your life for good", Liam promised firmly. His brother beamed at the adults. "That's amazing!" "Yeah, it is." Lana stroked through his hair. "But, Sweetie, you have to get ready for bed now. Tomorrow's a school day." "But I want to keep talking to Liam. I'm not finished." Yes, Landon could be stubborn. "We can talk tomorrow, Laddie. After school, yeah? Now you have to get ready for bed. Sleep is important. I'm going to bed now too. Theo does too. See?" He rolled to the side and tilted his screen so Landon could see Theo brushing his teeth with the bathroom door open. Theo waved. It wasn't that he actually wanted to go to bed but he had tried some licorice Mike had brought home, not from Ellie though, and after eating it Theo claimed to have a bad taste in his mouth. Landon huffed. "But we talk tomorrow", he insisted. "Werewolf promise." Liam raised his hand solemnly to swear. "Good Night, Laddie." "Good Night, Liam. Good Night, Theo." Landon stood up. "Good Night, you two," Lana called out and then disappeared with Landon.

Byron sat on the desk chair. "I know he signed but did the meaning with your father go well?" "It did. As well as possible with this man. I was pretty surprised at my control. At a certain point, I was ready to snap but somehow my wolf made me pull back and I got more level-headed." "That's the Alpha in you. Even if our personality or our urges say otherwise, sometimes the Alpha part can balance it out to keep the peace. It is impressive how well you learned to work with your wolf." The praise was nice because Liam tried. Sometimes it felt like all he did was running in circles but then he proved to everyone (and mostly himself) he was a good person and improving. "Speaking of Alpha and peace, Liam I forwarded an email to you just now. Have a look at it, maybe Theo should do so as well."

Theo had dried his mouth and now walked over to lean on Liam's chair while Liam opened the mail Byron had forwarded. It included a word document and when Liam opened it, it turned out to be an invitation to a meeting held in a hotel in Seattle. "Liam, part of being an Alpha are pack politics." Liam whined. "I told you I'm not good at that! What is this? An Alpha congress? I can't go there." "Maybe let the man talk before you cut and run", Theo suggested and smoothly avoided the contact between Liam's elbow and his stomach by moving aside. "I know what you said, Liam, and this is no pressure but I wanted to inform you. The invitation is indeed for an Alpha meeting. No congress, just a few Alphas coming together and talking." "About what?" Liam saw himself on a stage, in front of hundreds of Alphas, a whole auditorium filled with them, and making a fool out of himself. People would laugh. It would be a degrading experience. "Life. This and that. No one is expecting a speech from you, Liam. See I've been to a few of those meetings. There are only packs living close by attending these meetings. They're mostly boring. You stand around, do some small talk, maybe eat a quick snack, and leave. But they can also help you get a better idea of which packs are around yours. In the area. It can be interesting, if only so for scouting. But, of course, that does not mean you have to attend. It's no declaration of war not to go there. Just like you cannot declare war by saying a wrong word if you go." "Those are all Alphas, experienced Alphas probably, and then I show up. Junior McJunington. What will they think?" "Screw what they think. So what if they're older or more experienced? You're you and that's awesome" Theo passionately declared. "Thank you, Dr. Seuss", Liam hissed. He frowned and scratched his cheek. "I have to think about this." "As it is your right. Don't do anything you're not comfortable with." "If I should attend, there will be no problem? I can just show up there?" "The invitation is addressed to the Alpha of the Morning Dew Pack. They seemingly didn't get the memo about the change in our pack but that doesn't matter. The invitation is for you, not for me. Actually, no Beta can attend the meeting. And no Alpha mate either unless they're specifically invited." "I have to go there alone??" Liam shrieked. In his mind, he had Theo by his side. Maybe Brett and Caden since both could be real charmers and have intellectual conversations. Corey would have also a good match despite him being as insecure as Liam in those settings. Byron rubbed his hands together. "Those are the rules. But I know, alone or not, you will be just fine. Should you go or not. This is not something I can do for you. The decision is all yours. Just one more thing, to be fair. you will be the youngest in this group. By a few decades, I suppose. That's why I don't think they will pay you much attention. They're just curious." "Great", Liam said sarcastically. "Given my track records with strange Alphas so far, this will be a marvelous experience."

****** "I don't think you should go. What if that's a trap?" Tim worried about Liam's safety. Liam had informed his pack about the invitation right the next day and after classes, they were sitting in the living room and discussing this. "I think he should go. Just to check the others out. Maybe he can make allies?" Brett opposed. "I also think Liam should go. Byron said he has been to a few of those meetings. I don't think it's a trap", Sadie tried to dissolve Tim's worry and he gave her a grateful look. "The two strange Alphas I met in the last year have both tried to kill me. You understand I'm not keen on walking in a room full of unfamiliar Alphas?" Liam questioned. "I think that should be the reason you go", Ever stated, "to show all of them you're not afraid. If they plan on messing with you, you will look them in the eye. Maybe then they won't underestimate you." "I just don't see the purpose of those meetings. From what Byron said it sounds pretentious." Corey looked peeved. "Oh, it is", Lori confirmed. "But they are not that rare. I don't think you have to be scared, Liam." She offered a genuine smile. Liem returned it cause he knew she was trying to make him feel better. "What do you mean by not rare?" "Well, they're not, if you have Alphas of the old school" Brett took over from his sister. "Modern Alphas just meet up, talk, like Scott with Satomi. They don't even call it an Alpha meeting and send out fancy invites. Those are practices of the old guard, mostly well-esteemed werewolves who love to use those meetings to gossip. Ever seen those movies with scenes in Gentlemen Clubs? Country Clubs? Those are the people to expect at those meetings. Byron's not that far off when he says they won't spare you a look. You're - and don't take this the wrong way - not their type of person, if you know what I mean." "The Alpha from my parents' pack also attends such meetings. They always gush about the delicious and expensive things they eat there. But this woman also has a rich husband and considers herself playing tennis and golf as labor. So, pretty much pompous, entitled snobs", Sadie said. Maya rolled her eyes. "I also know about those meetings but I'm so glad I never met an Alpha going there before. Eh, no offense, Liam." Liam groaned. "Okay, just the danger of becoming the new hot gossip for the elite wolves around. Yeah, I think I'll pass." "I would still go", Caden chimed in. "It's a good opportunity to get to know how many are around. Do you know that? They invited Byron so their radius must be quite large but how many packs live between Seattle and the lake? Wouldn't it be good to know in case we need help? What if the hyenas come back? Having some werewolf allies would not be that bad."

He had a point. They all did. Liam was still torn. For once because he was afraid of making a fool of himself, then for the reason not to offend another Alpha and start a war, and on top of it, he now came to the realization just how different those Alphas seemed to be. He looked at his boyfriend. "What do you say?" Theo had listened to everything and had made up his mind. "You should go. For all those reasons. Byron said there will not come anything bad from it. He would never let you go to any event if he feared something might happen to you. If he says you can go, I believe him. And yeah, it is a good way to get information. Maybe there are not that many packs around.  But you will only find out if you go." Since most of his Betas said he should go, he considered. Maybe it was a good idea indeed. Only one problem: "If it's that high class, what should I wear?"

Fifteen minutes later Liam regretted that question. He stood in his bedroom while Theo, Brett, Mason, and Sadie sat on his bed. Sadie throned between the other guys, one leg crossed over the other, and looked like she was having the time of her life. Liam was the poor victim and had to model several outfits for the self-proclaimed fashion experts of his pack (he knew Theo could dress good but at this point, Liam felt betrayed) who all had other ideas of the perfect outfit. "That dress shirt is perfect for you. Not too out there but also not too normal" Mason praised Liam's current outfit consisting of black pants and a dark grey dress shirt. Liam hated it. It was not even one of his shirts but one of Theo's Mason had just grabbed. His boyfriend had not protested (see, there was the betrayal) but now shook his head. "That's not the outfit to go." "Absolutely right. Liam, grab the one I hung there." Sadie pointed at the clothes and Liam grumbled but grabbed them and stalked into the bathroom. When he emerged again, he was wearing jeans, a blue slipover with a white button-down shirt underneath. Liam felt like he was a kindergartener dressed by mommy. "Now you look like back in Devenford. Then again, maybe this private school flair is exactly what you need", Brett snickered. Liam glared at him and Theo scoffed before he handed Liam the third outfit. Liam glared at him too for good measure and disappeared into the bathroom again.

The outfit Theo had picked for him, Liam didn't even know where he got it. He had never seen Theo wearing this particular combo. Cloth trousers, a polo shirt and a sports jacket over it. "How the hell do you get this? And why do you get this?" He asked once he emerged from the bathroom.   Interesting, Theo became a bit sheepishly. "I got it for some occasions? Maybe a job interview?" "This is so not you." Liam eyed himself in the mirror. "This is so not me either. What were you thinking, guys? None of your outfits were good." "You wanted us to help you", Mason defended himself. "I wanted to get suggestions, not become your dress-up doll", Liam replied sharply. Sadie sighed. "You're being difficult. Don't you want to make a good first impression?" "A good impression as himself, shouldn't that be the goal?" Caden had walked into the room and crossed the arms in front of his chest. He looked at Liam. "You look strange. Actually, you look like me whenever my aunt visited the family. Horrible." "How do you look when your aunt visits?" Brett had to know. Caden pulled out his cellphone and searched a bit before he handed the phone over. Brett snickered. "Okay, thanks for the laugh. So dapper, oh my. One would not think that since you're almost only ever wearing more casual clothing." Sadie giggled. "Does Ever know you can look like that?" "As a matter of fact, yeah. She doesn't like it. I can relate. But my aunt is quite old-fashioned and conservative. She came to town, we dressed like that, covered up our tattoos, the whole shebang. We just never liked it. Liam doesn't like dressing up either." "Tell me about it. That's a topic we have had since we're friends." Mason rolled his eyes. Liam wanted to glare at him but if he was honest, his best friend was right.   So he raised his shoulders. "I have dress shirts. I just happen to like t-shirts and jeans more." "Hence why I think you should wear that", Caden stated. "You are not like the type of Alpha who wears expensive clothing and the latest brands. You're Liam. We like Liam. Why do you want to be somebody you're not? Just to impress people you probably will never see again after that one time?" "That's true." Even Theo had to admit that. "I know when you're comfortable and you never are when you dressed up to a certain extend." "I still think if the occasion calls for it, you should make an effort", Sadie insisted. "It's not about what you want; it's about what our Alpha wants. Liam goes to the meeting and Liam has to represent himself and our pack. He should do it as his truest self possible", Brett retaliated. She pouted.

But then she got up from the bed and walked towards Liam's open closet. She dug around there for a while before she pulled out a pale blue t-shirt. It was a new one, Liam had only worn it twice and he loved how soft the fabric was, it felt good and comfy on his skin. Sadie handed it to him. "The color makes your eyes pop. That and that one light blue jeans you have. If you walk into a room full of strange werewolves, bright colors make you look friendlier." "That's Sadie. If you can't dress them up the way you want, at least get into chromatics", Brett praised.

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Quite a Liam-centric chapter but then again he's the Alpha and Landon's brother. And he had to make decisions. Now the question is, what will happen at the meeting? What do you guys think? All I can say is, I'm excited about the new chapter.

[josiecarioca]

Waiting (one-shot)

Requested by @artisticreptilequeen and @latitsoso

Summary: Soren Snape has chosen a lonely path for himself that not even his closest friend can help him walk. 

(Soren Snape x Audrey Blake, characters mentioned: Severus Snape,Evelyn Black and Eloise Snape)

Also available on Ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/30010311

Tagging:  @snapescapades  @mafagafobebum  @marvelschriss @codename-thedoctor @zealouspickleeggdragon @green-oasis @drawnfromthedead @snapescapadesafterdark @serosvit @snapecentric @hayalee8 @oliverlandomens @sleepysnapesnake @lily-themadqueen-andpinky @paracosim @the-witches-son @aikersen @violet-knox @viper-official @be-zoar @thepomegranatejuice @alwyssnpe @siriuslysircadogan @hbprincealice

     …

“Soren, are you alive?”

Soren opened his eyes and looked around, searching for that familiar voice. He didn't know the place around him. It looked nice enough, though. A small livingroom, with teal colored walls covered in classic movie posters and a moon themed tapestry hanging next to a tall bookcase, loads of colorful cushions and, in front of him, a square coffe table with food and cooking themed hardcovers and a notebook filled with a round and small handwritting he knew all too well. He found himself laying on a soft white couch, “Golden Girls” was playning on the TV in front of him.

He sat up, feeling as if the room was moving around him like a ship in open sea. His clothes were sticking to him, tight and uncomfortable and his mouth was so dry he felt a bitter taste in his tongue. He didn´t remember drinking any water since right after curtain call.

Soren heard the sound of something frying, before the smell hit him. His stomach growled. He couldn't remember when he had last eaten anything that day.

“You´re getting glitter all over my couch.” that voice...Soren shook his head, suddenly angry at himself. How had he ended up here of all places? Idiot!

“Audrey, I...” he called out but his head felt like it just about split in two when he raised his voice. “I mean...how did I...”

“Here...” the voice approached. He looked up and there she was. Audrey, in a dusty pink turtleneck wool dress that hugged her plump figure, black leggings and boots, her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, with thick bangs framing her roud, dollish face. She looked like she was either going to a date or  coming back home from one when he, at least he assumed, crashed-landed at her door.

She held a plate in front of his face and it smelled something like heaven is supposed to smell.

“This is what you eat when you're flat on your arse drunk, if I recall correctly. Rashers, eggs benedict and your mother's cheddar, chive and potato pancakes. Right?”

“You...know how to make mam´s pancakes? ” he smiled, hoping foolishly that small talk would delay the earfull he was about to get. “She never gave anybody this recipe. Not even my cousins.”

“I lived with your parents for a whole year remember? I've seen auntie Lyn make this more times than I can count.”

Even though he felt like somebody had taken an axe to his skull and split it clean in two, Soren had to smile.

“Thank you. You didn't have to.”

“I sort of did have to, though” she let out, sounding tired “I found you laying on my doorstep, looking healf dead. Trust me, I was tempted to just walk around you and leave you there, but then what would I say next time I visit your parents? Besides, my landlord and neighbours wouldn't be too happy. Here, you´re going to need this. You must be dehydrated.”

She put a gallon of water on the table in fronto of him. Soren shugged nearly half of it before he could even begin to think about eating.

“Now, pray tell...what has gotten into you?” she crossed her arms and stood before him, looking far taller than her 5 feet, maybe 5'3 including the boots. Soren looked at her, pleased to notice she had put on weight. She looked like her normal self again, he thought. Last time he'd seen her she looked gaunt, almost.

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? Is it a normal occurence for you to prance about town drunk off you mind and pass out in front of people´s doors dressed like Beetlejuice and Dr. Frank'n'Furter's lovechild?”

“Oh, this!” Soren looked down at himself, finally remembering...

The effin' costume. Yeah, she was right. Her neighbours wouldn't be none too pleased to see a 6´2  man in full make-up wearing a leather corset-garter combo with stockings and high heels under a stripped trenchcoat passed out drunk in the hallway.

“I was...working.”

“Working? Is this an honest-to-God opera costume, or the Ministry for Magic had you go undercover in a fetish brothel?”

“Costume. The Ministry doesn´t usually have me dress up nice and sexy  when they want to get me fucked. Hardly pay me as well as they should for it either.”

“What opera are you in this time around?”

“Orphée aux enfers...Our director decided to give the  Kosky version a run for its money, so of course genderfuck drag was the way to go. Because why the fuck not? ”

“We're just going to pretend like you didn't love the idea...” she smirked. That was good...he hoped.

“Well, yeah, we decided to have a few drinks after the performance, and Henri thought it would be hilarious to just go out partying in full costume.”

“Who?”

“Henri Fournier...he played Orpheus”

“Of course...” Audrey, sighed, no longer amused.

“He's a riot, you should meet him.” Stop digging, Soren. She´s already mad at you, no need to act like a bufoon.

“And you should shower and change.”

“I´m afraid I don't have anything to change into...Unless, what's his name, your...”

“Ethan, his name is Ethan.”

“Yeah, him, unless he doesn´t mind me borrowing his things...”

“I´ll see if he left something here...”

“Left...I thought you two were...”

“He moved out.”

“When was that? Last we talked you we...”

“Come on, finish eating go have a shower, I'll find something for you to wear.”

“Hey, Shortcake, I...” He let out without even thinking. It had been so long since he last called her that, years maybe, but somehow it just poured from his lips.

“Don't...call me that.”

“I'm sorry...I really am. About this whole thing as well, I really don't know how I ended up at your door, I would never...”

“You don't have to apologize. Just eat, take your shower and...” she sighed “...we´ll see.”

…

Soren was tripping over himself so badly Audrey had half a mind to offer help. But eventually he got himself to the bathroom. She glued her ear to the door, half expecting to hear him collapse inside. The sound of the water running reassured her enough to step away and try to find something for him to wear, hoping Ethan had forgotten at least a pair of shorts or something.

Typical Soren to put her in this situation without even thinking. He never did think, did he?  Just did whatever he wanted to do and everything else be damned. Nevermind that his parents were constantly worried sick about him, that his sister had to keep calling him to remind him he had a family and he should go see them sometime. Audrey was almost sure neither his father nor his mother knew what he was up to.

That he was spying for the. ministry.

His father would never allow it.

Audrey had been only a spectator, entirely foreign to their world of magic and wars no one of her kind was supposed to know, but she knew well enough, apparently even better than Soren, that it was a disastrous idea for the son of Severus Snape to be a spy. To collect inteligence about the very same criminals who still had a reward out for his father's head. Soren was born with a target on his back. Even as a child, Death Eaters had tried to get to him, the same with his sister, Eloise. And why wouldn't they? What better revenge on the man who brought down their leader than to harm his children? Audrey knew from hearing whispers and bits and pieces of conversations when she had lived with his parents in Glencoe, right after deciding to go no contact with her mother. She knew from what Eloise told her, in a vain, desperate attempt to get her to help knock some sense into her brother.

But Audrey also knew there was nobody on earth who could keep Soren from doing what he wanted. Sometimes she was tempted to tell Severus and Evelyn what he was doing behind their back. If they knew...They thought Soren was travelling around the world singing. A successful baritone, touring Salzburg, Paris, New York, Lord knew where else. Surely that shouldn´t prevent him from coming home now and then, however...But he would go months without showing up, so his parents, maybe, just thought that if he didn´t show up for Christmas or Easter it was because he was somewhere in a nightclub or a bar, partying. And sometimes that was true, but not always. At times, she wondered how and when they would find out, and hoped it wasn´t through some tragedy.

But...sometimes she also wondered if they didn't already know. If they were just waiting for him to finally be honest with them. Maybe neither Severus nor Evelyn could bring themselves to believe Soren would do that to them, so they acted like they didn't suspect, when in reality, they knew. Maybe they were just hoping he'd show himself worthy of their trust. Just waiting for him to come around.

So Audrey said nothing. It wasn't her place to, after all. If Eloise hadn´t, then she certainly had no right.

She finally found something. And old t-shirt and some pajama pants. Good thing Ethan was tall, she thought. This would do for Soren to at least make it back home, or wherever he was staying in London. Come to think of it...She shook her head and left the clothes on the bed where he could find once he was done showering.

“Soren?”  She called once the water stopped running and she could hear him in her bedroom.

“Yeah?” he sounded a bit more sober.

“I'll call your sister, do you have her girlfriend's number? Maybe they can pick you up.”

Soren didn't answer answer immediately. Instead he took his time to get dressed and came back to the livingroom, sat on the couch and took another swig of water from the bottle.

“So, should I call her?”

“I would literally rather you hand me over to a dementor.”

“Maybe if I knew how. Eloise is my next best choice.”

“Eloise will never let me hear the end of it.”

“She wouldn'r be wrong, now would she?”

He didn't answer. He just made that face. That face he put on when he knew he was wrong, when he knew he had no good excuse. The corners of his mouth turned slightly upwards in an odd, clumsy smile, and his nostril flared slightly as he breathed out, then he looked away. Thinking of the next joke, of the charming comment that would deflect questioning, the next change of subject.  Had been that way since he was a boy. Soren always knew when to leave an argument well enough alone. This way he wouldn't have to admit he was wrong.

“As soon as my head doesn´t feel like the the 1812 overture is playing on surround sound inside my skull, I can see myself out.” she shrugged with that devil may care grin that could get him whatever he wanted.

Audrey sighed. She didn´t have the energy to argue, And true to be told, if she hadn't found him passed out drunk at her door after nearly a year of no contact whatsoever, she would be happy he was there. Wasn´t this what they used to do, back when things were different? Staying up at night, huddled up on the couch, watching old TV programmes reruns till the wee hours of the night? She missed that. She missed having Soren around, she missed his stupid jokes, his impromptu performances. She missed him singing “Largo al factotum” early in the morning as he shaved, his voice filling her bathroom till the upstairs neighbours complained.

But she didn´t miss what came with it. She didn´t miss the disappearances, the weeks and months without a single phone call, the excuses, the worry, the panic...

“You already ruined my couch with all that sodding makeup” she sighed, sitting next to him “Might as well spend the night. But you´ll have to be out before noon. I´m working the lunch shift this week.”

“How's that going? Mam told me you made it to sous-chef.”

“Yeah, which sounds impressive until you realize it just means I'm the first in line to be verbally abused when Bastianinni wakes up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“I worked with a Bastianinni once...It was for the best sharp knives are not part of our line of work, or the whole cast would have used him for target practice, down to the children's choir. When a tenor decides to be a diva, oof...”

“So, you´ve been talking to your mother?”

“Yeah, I called her and dad last week from Salzburg...to apologize for not showing up for Christmas again. She told me you were there.”

“I was. I assume that's how you got my address...”

“I...I mean...is not like she” Soren stammered like a little boy caught with his hand in the biscuit tin.

“Did you really think your mother would give you my address if I didn't tell her it was ok?” Audrey smiled “I´m just surprised you asked.”

“Why wouldn't I ask?”

“You tell me...For the past four years I´ve seen more of your parents and your sister than I´ve seen you. And you don't call anybody, just go off for months on end...”

“You know why that is...”

“I do. That´s why I don't wait for you anymore. It's pointless. But then when I give up waiting, you decide to show up.”

“Is not like I planned to just...”

“You never do.”

“Audrey, I...”

“I´ll get you a pillow and some covers, it's getting late.” She couldn't let him speak. If he started he'd take her in again. And before she knew it, she would be waiting again...for a phone call, a message, waiting for that moment she'd finally be fully a part of his world. A moment that would never come, no matter how long she waited. Not for her and not for anybody else. Soren had chosen a rocky path that only fit the steps of one person: himself. She couldn´t walk with him, and it would be fooolish to wait for him to come back any time soon.

“You said you were working lunch shift tomorrow.” the sweetness on his voice reached her as she got up from the couch, disarming. “Can´t you stay a little while longer?”

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Breaking the Curse

Chapter 58: Advice From a Salesman to a Believer

He stayed in the little room with August Wayne Booth longer than he should have. Partly because he had nowhere to go. Partly because watching him struggle to get out of his jacket and gloves and get comfortable was entertaining. But he could only sit there and watch him struggle for so long before he had to get up and have mercy on him. Once he'd helped him out of his jacket, he could finally see the extent of the damage. He'd only seen one leg, but he had a feeling both of them were wooden. His belly and torso, also wooden. His left arm up through his shoulder was wooden, and after he got his jacket off, he watched as his right shoulder was slowly enveloped in wood as well. He'd bet it was only a matter of time until his chest, neck, and head followed. And once that happened…

His cell phone rang just after the sun went down and he wasn't surprised when he saw Mark's name on it, but he was nervous. If he was calling over what he thought it was about, it could potentially be life-changing. So he flipped his phone open, managed to mutter an undignified "yeah," and listened.

"Just thought you should know, an ambulance was called to Mary Margaret's apartment not long ago, and they just came rushing out."

"Is it there for Emma?" he asked.

"No…for the boy." He felt himself let out a breath as he glanced over at Booth, who was watching him with interested eyes. He had the feeling that he knew, even though he had yet to announce anything. "The ambulance gathered a crowd, I asked around a bit, they're saying the kid choked on something, but…when they wheeled him by, it doesn't look like a choking to me. Kid was out cold. We're on the way to the hospital now."

He nodded, but if they were on the way to the hospital, then what was done was done. He gave this game he was playing twenty-four hours, at max, to play out the way he wanted it to. If it did, then neither Mark nor Dove would be of any use. If it didn't…then there was certainly nothing more he could do.

"Take the rest of the day off, Mr. Dove. They might be there a while." He only heard a relieved sigh before he snapped the phone closed and glanced back over at Booth, still staring at him with knowing and expecting eyes. "Henry took the curse, and they're on the way to the hospital now where nothing the hospital can do will be able to help him."

"Should I be relieved?" he asked with sarcasm.

The truth? No, he shouldn't. When he'd made the call, Booth had still had use over his right hand. That had gone away in just the time that he'd arrived, barely an hour ago. He doubted that August would make it through the night. So, no…he shouldn't be relieved because he very much so doubted that there was anything to be done for him except wait for the Curse to be broken and hope that the Blue Fairy could turn him human again or that magic coming to Storybrooke would at least bring a puppet back to life. That was a big hope. But he also didn't need to know that, not at a time like this when there was a little boy in the hospital who had just risked everything, his very life, to make sure Emma broke the Curse. He'd never felt the weight of this Curse on his shoulders like he did now.

"There's nothing happy about any of this," he stated indifferently. "I have to get to the shop. There are things I need to do," he stated truthfully. He had stayed far longer than he wanted to already. Now, he needed to be in a place where Emma could find him when, not if, she needed him.

"What about me?" the puppet asked.

"Well, your part is not yet done, Mr. Booth," he sighed. "You see…if Emma starts to believe, first she's going to look toward her allies."

"Mary Margaret?"

"You. Mary Margaret…her mother is a friend, but still Cursed. Emma will seek out answers; she'll try to understand what she believes. You were the one insisting she believe, so she'll come to you first."

"And you want me to what…send her to you?"

If he was still alive and talking…

"That thought had crossed my mind," he smiled. Emma had no idea that he wasn't cursed. In desperation, she might come to him, and he could use that opportunity to reveal himself, but a finger in his direction could work just as well. And when she came to see him, he'd be ready. "We'll get her there, Mr. Booth. One way or another, we'll get her there."

And he would, that was why the moment he returned to his shop, he prepared. He knew his client, and like a good salesman, he wanted to have exactly the tool she was going to need out and ready when she appeared. Fragile as his client was, the last thing he wanted to do was leave her alone or turn his back on her allowing her to lose her nerve and run away.

The "tool" that Emma would need, in her situation, was contained inside a long, thin case. It was dusty. What was inside had really only been touched on one occasion since they had been brought over from the Enchanted Forest. Its original owner had stolen it after being stored in an umbrella stand. After that, he'd had the case fashioned for it and took it off the shelves, keeping it out of sight, waiting for the right person to come in and take it back.

When he heard the bell to his shop chime, his heart jumped at the thought that the right person had finally come for it.

And then he bit back a stutter as he saw that it wasn't exactly what he'd been planning.

Emma had come to see him. But she wasn't alone. She was with Regina.

They entered the shop together, not in a whirlwind or in anger. Instead, they both looked exhausted. That was good. Exhaustion did him little good, but desperation and determination-those could both easily force exhaustion to the side and allow what needed to be done to get done, but…

Together!

It was shocking. He'd always known he needed Regina and Emma to face off to be against one another, but he hadn't expected they might come together! But…

The more he thought about it, the more he realized it was a good thing. Henry was sick, in the hospital. Regina knew the reason why. She'd used magic to put him there. Which meant Regina was doing exactly what he'd thought the Savior might do…she was looking to her allies, namely him. Regina was here to ask for help with magic, to save Henry. And if Emma was with her, instead of at the hospital demanding they fix him with medicine, then that had to mean…she knew.

Better yet. She believed.

Believing meant that she was ready to fetch his potion. He could make that happen. No, it wasn't exactly how he'd pictured it or figured, and yes, Regina might pose a problem, but he could overpower her easily and what would be left in its wake was the same. Magic in Storybrooke. A broken Curse. Emma could do this. And once she did, he could bring magic back. He was closer than he'd ever been; he wasn't about to let a simple thing like shock throw him off.

"Do my eyes deceive me, or is that the look of a believer?" he questioned, coming to stand behind the case he'd set out for Emma on his glass countertop.

"We need your help," Emma cried, standing before it perfectly.

"Indeed, you do. It seems quite the tragic ailment has befallen our young friend." He glanced at Regina. "I told you, magic comes with a price."

"Henry shouldn't have to pay it," Regina whispered with something like sadness in her voice.

"No, you should, but alas, we are where we are."

"Can you help us?" Emma interrupted.

"Of course," he stated, turning back to her and offering her his best salesman smile. He'd never felt more like Mr. Gold and Rumpelstiltskin at one time. Considering that was his future if everything worked out, he rather enjoyed that knowledge. "True love, Miss Swan…the only magic powerful enough to transcend realms and break any curse. Luckily for you, I happen to have bottled some."

"You did?" Regina questioned with a mix of astonishment and hopefulness.

"Oh, yes," he breathed, answering Regina without looking at her. He willed himself to stay focused on Emma. "From strands of your parents' hair, I made the most powerful potion in all the realm. So powerful that when I created the Dark Curse, I placed a single drop on the parchment. Just a little safety valve."

It was a half-truth, but to explain the lie to either of them right now would only bring more questions, and he was working on bringing this all to a close by sun up. Besides, it took a few seconds for it to register, but eventually, Emma Swan's eyes widened in understanding, and she gasped, ending any comments he might have made.

"That's why I'm the Savior. That's why I can break the curse."

"Now you're getting it."

"I don't care about breaking the curse. All I care about is saving Henry."

"Which is why it's your lucky day. I didn't use all the potion. I saved some…for a rainy day."

"Well, it's storming like a bitch. Where is it?" she demanded with absolute seriousness in her eyes that had him growing more and more excited by the second. Her parents always had looks like that before they saved the day. So too would she…if she could scramble together their bravery.

"Where it is, isn't the problem. Getting it is what should worry you."

"Enough riddles. What do we do?" Regina asked, raising her voice.

"You do nothing. It has to be Miss Swan." The vision he'd had so long ago only concerned Emma, not Regina. If she tried, she might get in the way, and he hadn't come this far for Regina to ruin it all.

"He's my son. It should be me."

"All due respect, but it's her son. And it has to be her," he stressed, making something up last minute. He knew how Regina worked. If she thought there was reasoning behind it, then she wouldn't risk Henry. "She's the product of the magic. She must be the one to find it."

"I can do it," Emma nodded.

"Don't trust him!" Regina insisted.

"What choice do we have?" the Savior argued.

"That's right, dearie. What choice do you have?" he argued right along with her.

"Where is this magic?" Emma interrupted again, refereeing their war of words as if she were their parent instead of Henry's.

"Tell me, Your Majesty," he pondered, looking over at Regina, a smile growing on his face, "is our friend still in the basement?"

Her face shifted and morphed. For a brief second, the anger she had toward him melted into confusion as she considered what he'd just said, then twisted into shock and horror as she realized exactly what he was talking about, all before coming back to anger, an appropriate expression, once again.

"Oh, you twisted little imp!" she gaped. "You hid it with her?!"

"Oh, no, no. Not with her," he corrected. "In her. I knew you couldn't resist bringing her over."

"Who is 'her'?" Emma asked, ignoring Regina and staring at him for answers. That was the result of a lack of trust between the two women. It was worth noting for later if this turned out the way that he thought it would.

"Someone you should be prepared for," he answered, wiping a cloth over the case that had been settled between them before tossing it aside and placing his hand on it, preparing them for the Grand Reveal. "Where you're going, you're going to need this."

And then he opened it. Emma looked inside the case. To her credit, she didn't gasp or ogle it. Instead, she reacted like he would expect a skeptic to react. She stared down at it with a look that suggested he had to be joking, but he wasn't.

"What is that?" she finally asked with a growl, as if she knew but didn't want her suspicion to be true.

Emma might have been a woman of this world, but a dragon was a monster of theirs. She wouldn't beat the creature with a gun. She needed a weapon from their world, which had already proved itself against a fearsome beast of this kind. She needed a sword. And since she didn't have any "family heirlooms," well…it was a good thing he had a few for her.

"Your father's sword…"

He expected Emma Swan to argue, to scoff at the sword or put up some kind of fight at the suggestion she use a sword. She was a believer, but she was still a new believer. She would cling to what she knew before surrendering to something uncertain. But he knew better than anyone that the love a parent had for a child, especially one who was hurt or hurting, could be stronger than anything in this or any other world. Perhaps that was what made her utter a strained "fine."

"What do I have to do?"

"Retrieve an egg," he answered.

"An egg?"

"Not a real one. The potion is protected by a golden egg of my own fashioning. Your father hid it inside the dragon shortly before waking your mother from the same Curse that currently holds your son captive. A Curse created by the same woman, if I might add." His gaze slid to Regina. "Same apple too, I imagine. Yes, your Majesty?"

Regina let out a short, irritated sigh that confirmed his suspicion. "Get the golden egg, and we get the potion, is that all?" she questioned. "Are we done here? Any other helpful tips?"

He smiled. "None that I can think of at the moment, but one never knows."

"Thanks," Regina drawled sarcastically. When she turned to go, Emma caught the action and made a step to go after her before glancing back at the sword. With Regina on her way out, she unceremoniously reached into the case, removed sword and sheath in one fluid motion, then united the two as she hollered Regina's name and followed her out the door.

[ladynestaarcheron]

Like Pristine Glass - Chapter Eighteen

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost

(tagging these cuties: @humanexile @skychild29 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @candid-confetti  @rhysandsrightknee @missing-merlin @azriels-forgotten-shadow @books-and-cocos @sezkins79 @city-of-fae @someonemagical @dusty-lightbulb @messyhairday-me @rinad307 @superspiritfestival )

so, i recalled earlier this week that in canon, showers don't exist. you might be thinking, hey lior zoë, what are you talking about? allow me to refresh your memory. in acowar, nesta confesses to feyre in front of the inner circle that her ptsd is triggered by taking baths, because of the cauldron. so she has to bathe in buckets. feyre assures her that they will come up with some contraption that will allow her to clean herself some other way. in the snippet from the end of acofas (which we now know is called A Court of Silver Flames, btw!!), nesta mentions her ability to slip into a bath is huge progress. so presumably, feyre has not given her this contraption. i think about this all the time, because the idea of a superior race with all the magic in the world not having ever invented showers is so supremely stupid to me. however, it has come to my attention that on two occasions I have forgotten this, and mentioned showers in previous chapters of lpg. i have elected to continue ignoring this and in the future will continue to reference showers. but in accordance with the rules of the game, I can no longer call this fic canon compliant AU. henceforth, this fic is a showers exits!AU and nothing more.

enjoy.

---

February 9 - 4 years after

The last of Sugar Valley's snow melts in early February, and as mid-month nears, the weather almost looks warm outside. Of course, it is still plenty cold, so every morning brings a new argument on whether or not Avery has to wear her coat, which sparks an identical one with Nicky.

Nesta takes a deep breath. "All right, Avery," she says. "Stand outside for one whole minute without your coat. Just on the porch. Yes, you too, Nicky."

"I want Ollie to come too," Avery demands.

"No, Ollie doesn't want to stand in the cold without a coat. There you go. Your minute starts...now."

Nesta watches the two of them stand on the front porch, Nicky enjoying himself like it is a game and Avery, cross and stubborn, glaring at her.

Ollie sits on the floor next to the door, working on putting his boots on by himself. He's quiet except for slight whispers as he coaches himself on how to tie his laces.

"Had enough?" Nesta calls.

"I'm cold, Mummy."

"Well, come inside and put on your coat, then," Nesta says, doing her absolute best to keep her voice even.

Nicky does, but Avery remains outside, scowling.

Nesta takes a deep, shaky breath. "Avery," she says. "I can see you're shivering."

Avery stomps her foot. "I am not."

Nesta closes her eyes. "All right," she says. It's far too early in the day to choose a hill to die on. "Let's just walk to nursery, then."

Nesta wraps Avery's coat inside hers—she can't hold it normally, for if Avery sees it, she'll throw a fit. She fastens her buckle tightly, so the smaller coat won't slip down her body and she can still use both her hands to hold onto her children.

But Avery doesn't want to hold hands today.

Eventually, she manages to get all three of them to nursery, with Avery in her sour mood the whole way, Ollie keeping to himself as much as possible, and Nicky blissfully unaware of both his sister's and his mother's irritation.

She sneaks the coat into their teacher's hands and leaves after only two quick kisses goodbye—Avery has joined her friend Emilia in a game and refuses to pay Nesta any mind at all.

So Nesta scowls on her way to start her day, too. Perhaps even more than usual, for Maz ducks behind a bookshelf as soon as he sees her.

"How have you scared him off already?" Zeyn asks, laughingly, from behind her.

Nesta whips around. "All I did was walk in here!" She can't help her outburst. She doesn't have many outlets. She'll take what she can get.

But Zeyn is rather used to this, and his easy-going personality never falters. "Woah," he says, holding his hands up. "Coffee's in the back room. Come with me."

She'd like to stew in her misery for a bit longer, actually, but Zeyn doesn't let her, pushing her along and sitting her down in a chair.

"Is it the workload?" he asks her. "I know you've been taking the brunt of those Prythian writers..."

"It's all of it, Zeyn," Nesta says, dejected. "It's the writers and my regular workload and Avery's going through this phase...and Ollie's being quieter than usual and I think his lungs are part of the reason, really..."

And she doesn't say it to him, but it's Cassian, too. Not that he's done anything wrong, it's just...he's been in the Night Court all week, and she has grown so used to having him around. And now it feels like everything has been dumped upon her alone. Pairing this with that "paperwork" that Amorette had started doing, which is shaping up to be a huge opportunity for her in Ciyaluck...Nesta's never felt more burdened in her life.

"At least Nicky's still singing to himself," she says miserably.

"Ava's not exactly depressed, Nesta," Zeyn says, teasing slightly.

"I think she hates me now."

"She doesn't! Like you said, it's just a phase."

"It's not..." Nesta swallows. "It's just a lot."

And now she can't even share with him, because...well...it feels too weird. She and Cassian have been co-parenting for months now. She's been slowly easing Zeyn out of conversations like this, and to suddenly talk about something as intimate as her relationship with her daughter with such brazenness...it feels wrong to be talking to anyone else this way.

But that isn't right. She still loves Zeyn. He still helped her with the children so much when they were born, when she was pregnant.

"It feels a lot to handle sometimes," she says finally.

Zeyn cups her face with his hand. His eyes, warm as ever, twinkle at her. "You don't have to handle it alone," he promises, voice sweet.

She summons a smile. "Is that an offer to edit these short stories I just got?"

Her ill attempt at humor works. He laughs and breaks apart. "Count on it."

---

February 3 - 1 year after

It was a good thing Adil had found her a house when he did, because the deals with the bank and with Erest, the councilhead, were finalized just as Nesta grew to be too big to fit through the door of her room at the inn.

Nesta had actually been looking forward to her second trimester, because of the promise of not greeting every morning with violent illness, and then crumpling up in a heap on the bathroom floor.

But it seemed that the first day she had awoken to find all she had eaten before going to bed yesterday had successfully stayed down, was also the day she thought she would not be able to get out of bed on her own. While it was true—in her case, at least—that the fourth month of pregnancy brought with it the energy that had all but disappeared completely these past few months, it wasn't much use if she was too heavy to handle herself.

Amorette, her healer, was pleased to note every pound Nesta gained. She had been worried, at first, having heard tell of females unable to produce enough space and nutrition for multiples and losing all of them, one after the other, but Nesta was having no such troubles. She—and Miri—had assured her that she did not look to be the same size as her new two-story house, though.

(There was some concern about the size of one of the triplets, a male, significantly smaller than the other two, but Amorette said as long as they were keeping an eye on it all, they should be fine.)

"Right, then," Adil said, coming down the stairs of the house. "You should be set for now. Placeholders," he added, nodding towards the blue couch in the living room and other items that graced Nesta's sparse new home. "Until we can...get some..." he trailed off, looking around, perhaps doing more measuring in his head.

"You've done more than enough," Nesta said firmly. While pregnancy had not been kind to her over the last month, Adil certainly had, helping her with everything she could possibly think to need. Miri as well. And Zeyn...well, Nesta could never really tell if he was more irritating than helpful, but he was there, too.

"Got the cribs set up, room next to yours. Didn't paint the room, though..."

Nesta could hardly believe it. "What?"

Adil looked as startled as she felt. "Well, Miri said it was important for you to paint it. Nesta...?"

"Nesting," Miri called from the kitchen.

"Right."

"No, no, it's not that. I just..."

I just forgot I'd need cribs.

"...didn't realize you had bought me cribs. That's—that's too kind."

"Gift from the shop," he grunted, looking away. That was fine. Nesta didn't want to make eye contact either. "Well, we'll be on our way."

Miri came out of the kitchen. "I've got some meals ready for you in there, dear."

"Oh, thank you, Miri. You didn't have to do that."

"Oh, please. We'll see you tomorrow, dear."

"Thank you," she said again, to them both, as she walked them out.

The sound she made when she shut the door was between a sigh and a groan. Endless relief and gratitude that she finally—finally, for the first time in her life, had her own home. And the dawning realization that it would not be hers alone in a few short months.

Or would it? Nesta didn't remember deciding she was going to keep the triplets, only that she wasn't terminating the pregnancy. Were those her children stretching out her insides, she wondered, running her hands over her belly as she stared in the mirror? Or was she just holding them for someone?

That was something she needed to figure out. Before Cassian wrote back, at least.

She tried not to think about how he hadn't written back yet. Perhaps he was still...upset. But he would, eventually, and then she...they would...what?

Less than five months to go...and with the average duration of a triplet pregnancy being far less than the typical nine months, probably not even that. Whatever decision she was going to make, she had to make it soon.

---

February 18 - Year of

Nesta never thought the sight of Cassian's house in their camp would bring her so much relief. But it meant that trip was finally over.

"I've got to shower," she said, as soon as she walked in the door. "I have to get all of that place off of me."

"What was so bad about it?" he called after her, but she didn't stop to answer.

That camp wasn't so terribly different from this one, true. In fact, it was uncannily similar, as she had noted when they first arrived there. But the people were different. There was no love lost between all the townspeople here (save Cassian and Emerie) and Nesta, but she had not missed being looked at that way. Hated...feared.

She hadn't minded really, in that room. And she could admit to herself here, alone in the shower, that she even...enjoyed some of it. The parts where she spent all her waking hours with Cassian, and even when there were other people in the room, she wasn't sharing him.

Nesta had never been someone's first choice. No one had ever placed her at the height of their priorities, given themselves to her first and foremost. And that still wasn't what was happening. They had only gone because Cassian was General Commander—sworn to her sister and Rhysand and the people of the Night Court first.

But all that had seemed far away on this trip. It was so easy to pretend like none of that was real.

Even then, she knew the illusion couldn't last that long.

---

February 26 - 1 year after

Days seemed to go by quicker now. What with her new house, Nesta felt she had more freedom to go about the town as she pleased. She was so taken with living life as she saw fit, she didn't even mind that Sugar Valley really didn't have much to do. She thought she might prefer it that way.

In the mornings, she would walk to the bookstore, and someone would be waiting with a coffee for her. Zeyn or Miri or sometimes Leyla. Perhaps they worked in shifts.

She'd read and repair all day, and stop to eat lunch with everyone at half past noon. There hadn't been a collective lunch break when she had started, but one day she sat down with a large container of chicken salad, and Zeyn had sat himself next to her, and then Leyla had joined, and Maz followed her, along with Xeyale and Amir, and Miri had come to see what the gathering was about, and then Adil had wandered in after her. Sometimes their publishing agent, Hazar, stopped by and joined them.

Sometimes she'd leave in the afternoon for a visit with Amorette. In the evenings, she'd go home and fix herself dinner, which she liked to do alone.

But after that, she'd go for a walk about the town, and inexplicably, someone would be there. Most often Zeyn.

"So, you think of any names yet?" he said to her one night, as they walked.

Nesta popped a sugarberry into her mouth. "Names?"

"For the babies."

Nesta flinched. "No."

"Oh, do you think it's bad luck to talk about it? Some people do. My mother's that way."

"I don't believe in luck," she said. Luck was so faerie, like their pantheon of gods and fate and mates. None of that was real. Not real enough to matter, anyway.

Zeyn laughed. "That must be nice."

She didn't think it was. He laughed at everything, didn't he? Nesta would never be that way.

"So, do you need any help? With the names?"

"Did you have some you wanted to share?" she asked drily.

"ZJ," he said immediately.

"ZJ? Zeyn Junior?"

He grinned at her. "Got a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

She summoned a weak smile. Where she was from, someone was only a Junior if they had taken their parent's name.

"Zahra's pretty popular for a girl," he continued, unaware of her thoughts. "I think it's pretty."

"I don't think I want a Gilameyvan name, though," she mused. And she certainly shouldn't choose a name if she wasn't sure she wanted to keep the children.

"What's popular in Prythian, then?"

"I don't know," she said shortly. Then, after considering it for a few moments, "I'm from south of Prythian."

"What's popular there? Is Nesta a common name?"

"Hardly," she scoffed. Feyre wasn't, either. They did know their fair share of Elains, though. "I guess...Heather? Joyly? Analynn?"

"Joyly's nice."

"Well, I didn't like any of the Joylys I knew."

"What about boy names?"

Nesta thought. "Well...Caleb, I guess. Elias." She didn't remember many boys she had known. Tomas, of course, but she wasn't going to name anyone after him. "Actually," she said, softly, "I did always like my father's name."

He touched her elbow gently. "What was his name?"

"Ollison," she said. She hurried to find something else to say. She certainly didn't want to talk about her father. "I like Avery for a girl. A book I liked when I was younger...the heroine was called Avery."

"Human-authored?"

"Yes."

"Maybe we can find it," he said. "How do you know so many human-authored books anyway?"

So Adil hadn't mentioned her slight stretch of truth. "I lived among them for many years," she said.

"Wow, really? What were they like?"

"They were normal," she answered, irritated by the question.

"Really, even to a High Fae?"

Oh. That was why he asked. How to answer?

"Friendships and love can transcend race," she said, thinking of her sister and her new family. Herself and...

"You loved some of them."

After a lengthy pause, Nesta said, "I did. Very much."

---

February 11 - 4 years after

Avery's poor attitude does not transfer towards her behavior at nursery, according to her teacher, and while Nesta supposes she should be glad of this, she finds she's only upset that it seems to be just her Avery has a problem with.

This is further worsened by her shrieks of delight when Cassian accompanies her to pick them up that afternoon.

Avery races towards him like she hasn't seen him in months—even though Cassian had arrived last night, and they had all eaten breakfast together.

Cassian doesn't seem to notice Nesta's disgruntlement, and laughs as he picks Avery up into his arms. Nicky and Ollie clamber at his legs, and he scoops them up too.

Nesta keeps her eye roll to herself as she takes their bags. Not Avery's coat, though—because at Cassian's request, she had elected to wear hers today.

At least Nicky says, "Mummy, I missed you so much today!" and Ollie nods along eagerly.

"Can we go to the park?" Avery asks.

"You know the rules, Ava," Cassian says sternly, as they leave. "We go home and eat first."

Avery pouts some, and Nesta's blood rushes to her cheeks—is she going to throw a tantrum? Oddly, the idea of a public fit doesn't faze Nesta at all, as the three of them have each had their fair share, but having Cassian see how incompetent she can be mortifies her beyond belief.

But he coaxes her out of it by promising they're going to go to the park later, and actually, they're going to cook something together to eat, and won't that be fun?

Nesta has been hiding her bitterness from her children their whole lives, so this one afternoon is hardly the one that kills her. But she takes extra care to keep up cheery pretenses because of Cassian's presence, and she's convinced she's done a good job of it, because he doesn't seem to notice anything's the matter at all.

At least, she doesn't think he does, but right after they shut the door to the children's room, he puts his arm over her shoulder, and—when they are safely out of earshot, in the kitchen—says, "Nesta, what's wrong? You've been miserable all day."

"I have not been miserable all day," she scoffs, trying to hide her flush with a glare.

"Come on, Nesta. What is it? Is it Ava? Kids act like that all the time."

"I know how children act," she snaps.

"I didn't mean to imply you don't," he says. "Just...trying to reassure you." He hesitates. "Nesta...Rhys and Az and Mor each told me that you're a wonderful mother."

"What a surprise that must have been."

"To them, maybe, but not to me," he says seriously. "I always knew. But it's okay if this is hard for you to do on your own. With Ava and with everything you've had to take on at work...and, you know, if anything else has been pressuring you..." he trails off, and when she doesn't show any sign she knows what he's talking about, his lips tug upwards slightly, and he adds, "If I've been pressuring you."

"You have not been pressuring me," she says automatically.

"Well, I hope you're lying," he says, "because I've certainly tried to."

Nesta rolls her eyes.

"You really haven't thought about my telling you I want us to be a family?" he asks, skeptical. "I don't believe you. Come on, Nesta, it's just me. You can tell me."

Nesta gives a short, irritated sigh. "Well, of course I've thought about it."

"And what?" He takes a step closer to her. "You haven't come up with an answer yet?" He puts his hands on her shoulders, smirking slightly.

He's...he's much closer now. And his wings aren't spread wide, but inching closer to her as well. Blocking out everything in her periphery, so he is all she can see. "I have."

He raises an eyebrow. This is unnatural, isn't it, being this close without actually touching? "And?"

His eyes—like Avery's, like Ollie's, like a dark honey disappearing into the black of his pupils. It takes her a minute to remember what he's talking about. "Oh," she says, slightly surprised to remember. "Well. Of course I want us to be a family." She doesn't get a chance to say anything else.

Because then he is kissing her, and it's like no time has passed. His hands circling her waist and hers taking their place in his hair. He tastes the same—that vague lemon and mint. His hair is a bit longer, but the growling sound from the back of his throat when she pulls it is just as she remembers. It's what spurs him onward, downward. His lips move to the side of her mouth, and he kisses down her neck, but she pulls him back upwards. It's been too long. She has waited so long for this.

And it appears she'll have to wait a while longer, because just as their hands start to roam, a small voice from the stairwell calls, "Mummy, my throat is really hurting a lot."

They rip apart. Cassian's eyes are wide, and he snaps his wings backwards to be tucked against his back.

Nesta whips around, hands furiously smothering her hair—just in time to see Ollie wobble into the kitchen.

He hasn't seen.

The pair of them breathe a sigh of relief together.

Then Nesta remembers what he said. "Your throat hurts, angel? Come here." She picks him up and holds him against her. He lays his head on her shoulder and coughs, wet and deep.

"It's been back," Nesta whispers to Cassian. To Ollie she says, "Do you feel like you need to take the purple medicine we got from the healer?"

Ollie nods, yawning.

"It's in that cabinet there," she says to Cassian. She takes a deep breath to calm herself so she can calm him. "We're going to take a little bit of medicine. We're going to practice our deep breaths over the steaming bowl, and first thing tomorrow we are going to see our friend Healer Nazrin. All right, angel?" She looks at Cassian when she speaks, and he nods along with Ollie.

After she directs Cassian on how much of the tonic to give Ollie, she says, "Now, why don't you go with Appa and sit on the couch, and Mummy will bring the steaming bowl?"

This is not the first time Ollie has woken up in the middle of the night complaining of throat or chest pains and a cough. Nesta's not overly terrified; in fact, she's even pleased to see he is old enough to tell her exactly what hurts and that he wants medicine. But she knows that for Cassian, this is the first time, and he is probably as scared as she was. So sitting with him for a moment alone on the couch while she takes care of the treatment will probably calm him down.

And give her just a few seconds to collect herself. There is far too much on her plate. She doesn't need anything extra to deal with now.

---

hope you enjoyed that!!

also, did you know, i started a booktube? also also did you know, june 21st as this week and it’s the triplets’ birthday? also also also did you know, june 25th is tomorrow and that’s my birthday!!

thank you all so much for the overwhelming support. i just love you guys so much. i also love @thestarwhowishes, my beta.

---

Chapter Nineteen

[tisfan]

Witch Hunter

for @livewire28

Title: Witch Hunter Collaborator(s) @tisfan Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25152004 Square Filled Y3: Identity Porn Ship/Main Pairing Wanda/Bucky Rating Teen Major Tags/Triggers/Warnings: Witches, Church, Heresy Summary  It’s the same old story, every time. Witch appears, idiots try to kill witch. Shit happens. God, Bucky’s tired of it. Word Count 1,724

for @buckybarnesbingo

Same old story, every time.

Bucky sometimes hoped something new would happen, but no.

Same old story.

A witch comes into power and either tried to hide it (in which case, when she inevitable slips up, the village would accuse her of witchcraft and sentence her to death) or she tried to help the villagers, her friends and family. And eventually, when something went wrong (as it would-- someone would die, or someone would ask for something the witch wouldn’t, or couldn’t, do) the villagers would accuse her of witchcraft and sentence her to death. 

People were stupid, Bucky decided.

Trying to put a witch to death was a dangerous proposition most of the time. More often than not, ended with dead villagers and burning houses than a dead witch. Didn’t seem to keep them from trying.

Bucky's job was a witch hunter -- those witches who had been accused, tried, found guilty, and who managed to get away… or who had been just one step ahead of the village elders.

Those were his prey.

The lost souls who were wandering, afraid and angry. 

He needed to catch them before they decided vengeance was the path to trod. An angry witch was even more dangerous than a woman scorned.

“Hell hath fury,” Bucky muttered. 

The village elder looked up at him. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Bucky said. “Tell me the whole sequence of events, from when the village started to suspect there was witchcraft at play.”

The story was the same old story; the girl came of age, and things were naturally just better for her for a while. Unexplained streaks of good luck, fortuitous rains on dry crops, good hauls fishing, bushes loaded with berries. Lucky in love, or unexpected money.

Never too much, never really more than anyone needed.

But it was enough to stir petty jealousy. To give someone who already looked at the witch without favor ammunition. A lot of times, Bucky thought, it came to nothing except tragedy. The girl wasn’t really a witch, and she’d either scorned the wrong suitor or pissed off the wrong bitch. The whole thing ended with a farce of a trial, and a dead woman who’d never done anything except exist.

It was always a woman.

“Did she hurt anyone?”

Yes, of course she had. Sickness came to the village. A farmer’s cow had died. Eggs that wouldn’t hatch.

“Did you save any of these unhatched eggs?” Okay, well, that was new. And Bucky didn’t believe the girl was responsible for the cow, or the sickness. They usually weren’t. Tragedy happened, illnesses happened. No witch needed to be involved. But eggs that didn’t hatch. That was something new.

The elder took him to the coop. All the chickens had been removed, but the place still smelled of dusty feathers and chicken shit. 

Three nests of eggs, neatly stacked in piles. Fully large enough to hatch.

Dead chicks, that was one thing, but this was different. Bucky counted. Nine eggs in each nest.

Three. Times three. Times three again.

That was… unusual.

“Do you mind?” Bucky picked one of the eggs up. It was heavier than a chicken egg should be, and somehow still warm, even though no chicken had been sitting on it in a while. He knocked the egg sharply against the wooden ledge, cracking the shell.

What dropped out of the egg wasn’t a yolk and white.

It wasn’t a chicken, either.

Or it might have been, at one point. But now it was some monstrous, unborn thing with three heads and scales instead of feathers.

“Woah, yikes, that’s--” Bucky crushed it under the heel of his boot. “If you can spare a messenger, I’d like to send these eggs to the Witch Hunter General. Pack them each separately in a leather bag, with a wafer from the sacrament inside with it. Seal the ties with lead. And for God’s sake, don’t break them on the way.”

“You think the girl is, in fact, a witch?”

That was also new. Usually, by the time Bucky was involved, everyone was beyond sure.

“She’s something, all right,” Bucky said. “I’m going to repeat my question from earlier. Did anyone -- any human? Die?” Bucky wasn’t sure what the demon chicks meant, but he also wasn’t sure they had died. That was a question for the philosophers, what came first the demon chickens or the eggs?

“No, thank God,” and Bucky made the sign of the cross as well. Thank God. 

There were some lines too dangerous to cross.

“What will happen to her, when you find her?”

“We’ll take care of the problem,” Bucky promised.

“Thank God.” 

The village elder handed over the tithe, all the Church and the village could afford. Probably most of it was the result of the worldly goods that belonged to the girl before these fools tried to arrest her. Seemed appropriate somehow.

“Does she have any living relatives, someone I could speak with?”

“No,” the elder said. “Her parents died about eight years ago in a fire, and the twin brother--”

“What happened?”

“He was shot in the attempt to apprehend the witch. He died almost instantly, poor deluded fool.”

Oh, Christ.

“You idiots killed a witch’s twin brother?” He was half a mind to leave them to their fate. “Never mind.”

“God go with you, my son.”

“Yeah, God stay here and watch over you,” Bucky said. Idiots.

*

Wanda practically threw herself on the ground. She was exhausted, filthy. Hungry. And she was going to be hungrier, she thought, not having had time before dark to do anything like hunt or fish, or even gather berries, although there had been a bush that burst into fruit right beside her around lunch and she’d stuffed her mouth greedily, before she heard the baying of hounds.

The church’s men, she thought, and bolted off.

Now, it was dark and she was cold.

Fire. She could at least make a fire. Probably.

A fire would keep animals away. And no one, not even the Church, would hunt a witch at night. Wanda’s hands were shaking as she moved her fingers, summoning pieces of dried wood, bits of moss for tinder, gathering them out of the woods with a thought.

She gestured, stacked them neatly in the center of the small clearing. Another twist of her fingers and the ground was scraped clear around the fire. That was enough for responsible fire-tending. Even if she wanted to see the village burn, she didn’t want to set fire to the forest. The animals had done nothing to her. The children had done nothing to her.

God, the children.

She released one last burst of power, lighting the flame.

Pietro, her brother, had died, an arrow right between his eyes. 

Everything had been a madhouse; villagers that she’d known her whole life screaming her name, their faces distorted by rage and fear.

Calling for her death, calling her witch and whore of Satan.

Saying she’d brought disease, that she’d cursed the land and the crops and the cattle.

She hadn’t done any of those things. 

But she just might.

“Nice fire,” someone said. A shadow separated themselves from the darkness of the wood. “Pretty much tells anyone human in the area that there’s another human around.”

Wanda tensed, drawing strength from the earth and the trees--

“Eh, you don’t want to do that,” the man said. “Once you cross that line, you can’t come back. You hungry? I have a couple of pheasants, and you have this nice fire. We could share.”

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“My name’s Bucky, nice to meet you,” he said. “And what I want… is to cook these pheasants.”

“And after that?”

“Well, we’re probably eat them,” Bucky said, sitting down uninvited in her clearing and setting up a spit over the fire. “I might offer you some wine. You might tell me if you have any plans. And then I’ll tell you what we’re going to do instead.”

“Who are you?”

“Bucky Barnes. Witch Hunter, point of fact--” he held up one hand. “Ah, don’t do that. I’m still faster than you are, and I really, really don’t want to kill you.”

“I thought that’s what Witch Hunters did.”

“Only if we have to,” Bucky said. He spitted the birds, stuffed their cavities with a mix of herbs and grains. “Only if you kill someone first. You’re a witch. Simple fact. Another simple fact -- humans don’t much like witches. Because they can’t control them. It’s as simple as it is. They will grind you underfoot if you try. You don’t belong with them.”

Wanda didn’t quite sneer. “Let me guess,” she said. “I belong with you. You’ll protect me?”

Bucky laughed. “Lady, anything that’s an actual danger to you would make stew meat you of me. I’m here to help you. To get you home. And to make sure you don’t kill anyone.”

“Why?”

“Because once you kill someone with your powers, I can’t help you anymore,” Bucky said. “So if someone needs to die, you step back and let me do it. You can’t risk your soul by becoming a murderer.”

“But you can?”

“That’s the interesting bit,” Bucky said, and he took off his glove, showing off a silver, shiny hand. “I don’t have one anymore. I already sold it. So I suppose the only question left -- Are you going to have dinner with me, or are you going to go back there and burn that place to the ground?”

“They took everything from me,” Wanda burst.

“No, not yet,” Bucky said. “So don’t give it to them. Make the better choice, Wanda. Come with me.”

She wasn’t quite sure when she’d reached out her hand, or if she’d meant to take his, or to strangle him.

But she started to cry, and he gathered her into his arms, even the strange silver one felt warm and comforting around her back. “I know,” Bucky said. “There’s always a cost-- and you shouldn’t have to pay it. I’m sorry. Killing them won’t bring him back. It will only hurt you, and then there will be no one who remembers him.”

“You’re going to take me somewhere safe?”

“I promise,” Bucky said.

“Okay.”

“Dinner first? I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

“Dinner first.”

[ren1327]

Pretty Boy Ch.3

“I told Kenji.”

“I am not telling Ben.”

Both statements came out at the same time, but both men heard in Simon’s large open office.

“Why wouldn’t you tell him?” Kosei asked.

“He just stopped taking his antidepressants and antianxiety medication.” Simon said. “I’m not going to throw this at him!”

“Let me remind you my son is also a part of this.”

“Kosei, I can’t. I really can’t.” Simon said and started pacing back and forth in front of his floor to ceiling windows, the sky getting dark with approaching storm clouds.

“Simon. Have you told Sandra?”

Simon made a face and Kosei sighed, putting a hand over the other’s arm.

“Simon, despite this seeming like a mistake, I see this a blessing.” Kosei said softly. “I want nothing more than for my son to be happy and I know he would be happy with any child you raised.”

“Gentlemen.” The third person in Simon’s office said, sipping his water. “There is an expiration date where both parties come out without any damage. In fact, the only issue is telling Benjamin.”

Ajay Tembo was an attorney for the Masrani’s since Simon was a child. And he only called him during emergencies. The older man was technically retired and enjoying his down time. Luckily, Ajay’s husband was leading a hunting/trapping expedition. So, being bored and it too quiet around their house, he arrived less than an hour ago.

“I still find it insane how you found a way to create a legally binding contract while drunk off your asses.” He said with a smirk.

“Ajay…” Masrani groaned. “Our sons?”

“Yes, yes.” He said and pointed to a line in the messily done contract. “here.”

They both read the line.

“If found unsuitable, both parties must verbally deny marriage with no issue on the deadline of Benjamin James Pincus Masrani’s 21st birthday. If not both parties will marry and—”

“Combine Masrani and Kon assets under both names?!” Simon asked.

“Kenji is my successor.” Kosei said.

“But Benjamin never wanted to be mine!” Simon groaned. “And they are nowhere near ready to take over!”

“I agree. I was going to wait at least more a few more years before I started to properly train him.”

“Kosei!” Simon chided. He sighed.

“I would love for our families to be united and if our legacies to combine. But I know now that Ben would never want to be placed on that pedestal. I can’t force that on him.” Simon said and put his face in his hands. “Oh, my sweet Ben, please forgive my drunken actions.”

Kosei stayed silent for a moment.

“Simon. Kenji agreed to go through with it.”

“Are you serious?” Simon asked, gaping at his friend.

“Yes, my friend.” The Japanese man said and took his hand in a firm shake. “I know we love our sons. But shall we stand back and observe? Perhaps it’ll be in our favor in the end.”

“I…Fine.” Simon said and squeezed Kosei’s hand.

“Let us see if our sons are compatible.”

Ajay capped his pen and smiled.

 *

 “I’m happy y’all want to help me out!” Sammy said as Brooklynn put on the blue and gray stripped apron.

“It can’t be too hard, right?” Brooklynn asked. “Just take the orders to the tables.”

Ben smiled and nodded. “Sammy, Yaz and I will take care of prepping and plating. Just smile and take them their drinks and cakes.”

“I think we might be overstaffed now, Beloved.” Yaz said, making Sammy blush and bite her lip.

Ben smiled as he watched them smile and Yaz wrap her arms around Sammy’s waist and pull her close.

He couldn’t help feel a little jealous at the two’s interactions.

Yaz had came in the shop last year, huffing and upset she hadn’t qualified for an obstacle course that would have ended with a recommendation for her to qualify for team America. She had angrily yelled for the most sugary dessert they had and Sammy had served her with a decaf chocolate frap. She had sat next to her and after Yaz finished her food, she broke down and vented to the Latina.

They talked for hours between customers and Yaz asked Sammy to a movie.

And now here they were, on their way to sharing an apartment and getting hers and hers mugs.

“Thanks for this.” Darius suddenly said, smoothing out his pale blue button down with the Hammond University crest on the right chest, then putting on his own apron, his name display in clean gold embroidery.

“You’re very welcome.” Grey said from behind him, dressed in a suit.

“Looking sharp.” Yaz said.

“My aunt wants me to meet Mr. Lockwood. Ben, can you come with me with a cup of that passionflower and honey tea?” He asked.

Ben nodded and grabbed a saucer with the tea.

“Oh shoot, my apron.” He said. “I forgot it at the shop!”

“Just use the blank extra.” Grey said. “Please hurry. I don’t know how long Mr. Lockwood can be up and about.”

Ben put on the bare non patterned blue apron with no name. After measuring the right amount of heat and straining the tea a few times, he poured the fragrant tea in the porcelain cup painted with green leaves and crooked branches. He sighed and picked up the saucer again, handling it carefully. He remembered how clumsy he was as a child. How on his first day, he had stained a sofa and Mr. Van Owen with a barely warm dark roast.

The owner had laughed and shown him what supplies to use to clean the sofa of its stains, before he showed him how to make coffee and hand him practice in the employee parking lot with heavy wooden saucers, cups and plates filled to the brim with water.

Nick play yelled at him, surprised him as a way to test his grip and walk. He always helped Ben get back up until he was able to walk confidently with a full tray, his arms trembling slightly, but not one drop of water spilling.

Nick and Grey decided to have him in the back after he folded like a chair when a stressed out student had all but bit his head off for adding cream instead of non-fat milk to her cappuccino. She had calmed down a bit after admitting she was failing biochemistry and to his own shock, Ben offered to help her with her homework and share his notes.

Zia had become one of his good friends from then on. She and Franklyn were some of the volunteers who walked dogs at the daycare and puppy corral during mental health awareness month at HU during mid-terms and finals.

They had all met Franklyn during pals and pets day. He often brought his sphynx cat Onyx, often in hand knitted sweater vests with a snappy bowtie, to these events for those with allergies. Ben had cooed over the excitable hairless creature, who had quickly made friends with Bumpy. And they fell in love with the pets, adopting two calico cats within an hour of being there.

And quickly, he was added to their little friend group when they were coerced into a picture with the women. Her moms always invited him over. Ben had to admit out loud to the women how impressive it was they knew Spanish, French, Cantonese and were able to switch in and out between the three and English. The Mrs. Rodriguezs had always doted on him and encouraged their daughter to take care of him and Franklyn.

Ben smiled down at the cup as he followed Grey, still surprised at how far he had come from that child who broke down so easily. Who slept between his parents until he was ten and refused to leave the house as a child and preteen. But now, he had a job, friends, the cutest best friend asleep in her little bed in his room and supportive parents.

He took a deep breath.

He was gonna be okay.

 *

 Kenji was dressed in a fitted black suit. He wore a shirt matching his step-mother’s ash gray cold shoulder dress with many light pink cherry blossoms decorating the maxi skirt and the edges of the elbow length open sleeves. A dusty pink sash was tied around her waist and held by a pink cherry blossom brooch right over the swell of her plump belly. Her curly dark hair was lose and curled around her shoulders as if protecting her from stares over how casual her dress was.

Kenji stayed by her side as his father talked and conversed with other guests of the large ballroom. It was larger than theirs and Kenji was impressed with the rich Indian influence and colors painted on the walls with a large drip chandelier above them.

Candy had been praising it while sipping a soft rose wine from her glass. Kenji put in his own two cents about color and window shape, finding it endearing that Candy had to praise anything and everything that caught her attention.

He wrinkled his nose as Eli Mills, Lockwood’s personal assistant made his way over to them, obviously confused. He had heard from Roxy that he was a ‘straight upturned prat with his nose so high, birds nested in it’. To which Dave had covered Carmen’s ears and said, ‘He’s a douche’.

Mills was flanked by two large guards and Kenji felt his blood boil. Two personal guards, most likely Lockwood’s, as Simon’s staff tended to appear non-threatening at all times.

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met!” Candy said before he could open his mouth, making Mills stop abruptly. “I’m Candela Kon and this is my son, Kenji.”

“Kon?” Mills asked and then smiled. “I see! I’m sorry we haven’t met yet!”

“Yes, I don’t often go to such big parties like this.” She said and looped her arm through Kenji’s. “Luckily, I have this handsome young man to keep me sane among all the hubbub.”

“Eli?” Claire, her red hair done in a high ponytail and her boyfriend, Owen in a suit next to her. “What’s going on?”

“I was just greeting our esteemed guest.” He responded.

“With your own security?” She asked. Owen rolled his eyes from next to her.

“We got this, have a drink, fellas.” Owen said, holding out his own badge. He and Claire stared down Eli, who nodded and the two men walked away.

“Mrs. Kon.” Claire said and hugged Candy hugged her back.

“Claire!” She said with a smile. “You know better.”

Owen hugged her next. “Hey, Candy.”

He smirked at his girlfriend, who rolled her eyes good naturedly. She took Kenji a step away as Owen and Candy played to Mills’ ego ad asked him about his latest accomplishment, the man paying no mind to them.

“Hello, Kenji.” Claire said. “Mr. Masrani told us of your…arrangement.”

“You know him?” He asked.

Claire smiled, eyes soft. “Yes, I do. He’s very shy and prefers to live a normal quiet life. If you two do marry, I have no doubt he will be happy by the side of someone he loves.”

“What’s he like?” Kenji asked.

“He’s sweet and kind. Loves his family and is very polite. He wants to work in botany, finding ways to use plants for health benefits. He’s also very…” She shut her eyes and sighed, as if trying to push away bad memories. “He’s struggled with anxiety for years and as of now, his confidence is astounding. I think he would be a fine husband.”

“Oh, there’s Dad.” He said as Kosei came to Candy’s other side.

“Uh, h-hello, Mr. Kon. I was just admiring your wife’s…dress.” Mills said.

“Torrid flash sale.” She said proudly, causing a corner of Kosei’s mouth to quirk up as he placed a hand on her bare shoulder, pulling her close.

They shared a look that squeezed Kenji’s heart and even made Owen and Mills melt a bit.

“Have you met our guest of honor?” Mills asked. “Oh, look, there he is.”

Kenji looked over to see the old man in a wheelchair, accompanied by his ever present granddaughter, Maisy.

And next to him was a young man in a nice gray suit and messy brown hair. Along with the owner of green eyes that had captivated him.

“Oh, isn’t that Masrani’s boy?” Mills asked, squinting.

And Kenji felt his heart fall into his stomach.

“I gotta go.” Kenji suddenly said. “Uh, bathroom.”

He walked away quickly.

That man in the suit was his intended. But he hadn’t felt a thing.

 *

 Ben watched Kenji suddenly walk away, who he could assume was his mother taking a few steps after him before her husband stopped her.

“Ben?” Grey asked.

“Huh?”

“Mr. Lockwood said he liked your tea.” Grey said and Ben had to tear his eyes away as his father approached the couple, the older Japanese man talking quickly and quietly to Simon as he frowned.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Lockwood, but I’m afraid I have to excuse myself.” He said.

“Of course, Ben. I know I’ll see you soon by the way Maisy has been talking about those sweets.” The old man joked. “You go do what you need to.”

“Thank you, Sir.” He said.

Grey took the tray. “Go ahead, we got this.”

Ben nodded and took off his apron, giving it to Grey before running off.

 *

 Kenji was sitting alone in the Masrani gardens, looking at the lotus fountain. He watched as the wind blew one into the other and they danced around one and another.

“Kenji?” A voice called.

There was Ben, minus his apron. He was looking down at him in concern.

Kenji looked at him. His kind eyes, sweet smile and how his head cocked a bit like a puppy’s.

He had to know.

“Ditch this party with me?” He asked.

“What?” He stuttered. “I can’t just—”

Kenji grabbed his hand.

“Please?”

Ben looked down at their hands.

“Okay.”

[latent-thoughts]

I Will Always Test You (Chapter 1 - Prisoner)

[Co-Authored with @emeraldrosequartz​]

Rating : 18+ (there be lots of citrus here; kinks galore).

Warning: Forced Marriage; Dubious Consent; Nonconsent Touching; Use of strong language and terms.

Pairing: Loki/Original Female Character

Summary: Loki and Iona Trygvedottir have never gotten along. She is a headstrong lady-in-waiting to Queen Frigga, and Loki is... well, Loki. The simmering animosity between them begins to boil when Frigga chooses her to make regular visits to Loki in the dungeons, bringing him luxury foods and items of interest. She takes the opportunity to give him a piece of her mind. Meanwhile, he's set on paying her back for all the insults and slights she insisted on lobbing at him while he was locked up - in the most vindictive way possible.

[Thor: The Dark World AU; No Ragnarok; Enemies to Lovers, Arranged Marriage]

[NEXT CHAPTER]

_________________________________

IMPORTANT NOTES:

Bold Text = Loki's POV

Normal Text = Iona’s POV

_________________________________

Iona grumbled to herself while she carried the dusty old books to the dungeons.

"Take the books to the prince. Take the wine...take the damned raudrberries. They're his favourite! As if there's nothing better for me to do. Norns, I sometimes despise this station. This wasn’t why I had become the queen’s lady-in-waiting.”

The magical garb provided by the queen protected her, so she didn't bother about keeping her volume low. At least she could air her frustrations this way before reaching her destination, which was bound to annoy her to no end.

When she reached the prince's cell, she stepped in through the one-way magical barrier and dumped the books onto his table without so much as a greeting to him.

"The queen sent these for you," she stated primly, looking down her nose at Loki.

She didn't even hide the disdain in her voice this time around. He was a disgraced royal now; he had no one’s favour save for the queen’s. And that certainly didn’t shield him from Iona’s burning contempt.

"If his royal highness needs anything, he may tell me. Though, I don't guarantee that it will be delivered to you.”

She smirked as he turned to glare at her.

“Ah, Iona. So lovely to see you again,” Loki growled sarcastically as he lounged on the divan, returning to the book he had been reading...though why he should continue to entertain himself with THAT now that she was here…

“Anything new in the outside world? Perhaps a death, or a coup, or a sneaky little minx that might accidentally cause my release?” He smirked and watched for her reaction.

She laughed acerbically at his insinuation.

"Oh please. As if releasing you will do anyone any favours. I happen to think that you're finally in a place where you belong," she quipped, sniffing haughtily, knowing that he hated seeing her act like this. "Though the queen, bless her sweet heart, has a soft spot for you the size of the Yggdrasil, even she won't think of doing it, I believe. She knows that her son is a walking, talking bad influence, an inglorious wretch."

“Ooooh ‘inglorious wretch.’ Look at you, learning new insults. How long have you been waiting to call me THAT one, sweetling?” Loki stood, eyes still locked on her as he brought himself to his full height, intentionally becoming as intimidating as possible. He stared her down as he walked slowly towards her, taking long and languorous steps, almost panther-like.

“You’d know all about how bad of an influence I can be, won’t you, Iona? And since no one but my mother--who you already know is wrapped around my finger--knows you’re here… and no one outside can see anything unusual happening in this--” he waved his hand dismissively at the space around him “-- luxuriously accommodated fish bowl--” he bent down, nose to nose, daring her to flinch. “Perhaps you best watch your tone, girl.”

Iona tried her best to stand her ground, even though his proximity was unsettling. Damn him and his intimidation tactics.

"The queen may be bent on spoiling you, but she's not blind to your deeds, my prince," she said defiantly, placing a hand on his chest to push him back. The touch somehow felt more charged than it ought to; still, she persisted.

"But go ahead, deliver more empty threats. I'm really terrified."

She stared back at him in challenge, knowing full well that he was sentenced to spend the rest of his life here in the dungeons. There was nothing he actually could do.

And even when he was free, he couldn’t do much, for he knew the immunity she enjoyed under the queen’s protection. Hence, his threats of harm were almost always empty…

Loki half-smiled at her retort.

“I’m sure,” he purred, not moving an inch at her attempt to shove him back. “But a little terror--” he leaned closer, still focused on keeping her gaze firmly on his “--can add a bit of excitement to an otherwise dreary existence, can it not?”

His whole body pushed forward, forcing her back until she was pressed against the cell’s wall, and he chuckled from a very deep place in his chest. He tilted his head slightly to the side, watching her closely. “What kind of terror have you imagined I’m capable of, little one? I’ve attempted to destroy whole realms. I’ve nearly killed the mighty Thor on several occasions. I’ve survived more horrors than you could imagine…what can you do to resist me, you small, delicate little thing?”

He put a hostile finger under her chin, lifting her face to align with his.

"I'm not delicate," she fumed, nudging his finger away. "And you've listed the precise reasons why you'll never escape this prison. Being born a prince is no accomplishment."

His eyes seemed to glow in anger at her words, and finally, she tried to slip away sideways against the wall to escape their intensity. It didn’t work, for he blocked her by putting his palms against the wall on either side of her.

Loki had always unsettled her with his strange, predatory mannerisms, but she wasn't a simpering girl. She had learned to deal with him over the years.

"You'd also do well to remember that I'm a lady, a noblewoman. Your threats can land you in even more trouble than you're already in."

“Define ‘more,’” he chuckled, finally backing away and laying back down in the divan, his legs spread obscenely wide. “You may be a lady, but I am a prince. Despite my transgressions. I outrank you.”

He noticed her gaze gravitating towards his spread legs, especially lingering on his crotch. That reaction from her alone made him feel quite smug about his physicality.

“Besides,” he said, stretching himself across the cushions of the furniture he’d chosen to support his lean frame in the most sexually seductive way he could manage. “It’s not my ambition that concerns me. It’s yours, your ladyship.” He grinned, wrapping his hand behind his head. “How long have we known each other, Iona? How long have you been desperate to become more than a ‘handmaiden to the Queen’?”

His emerald eyes remained hooded as he settled back on his lounge.

“How many ages has it been since you decided you wanted to be a ‘princess’? And what, sweet girl, would you be willing to do for that title?”

She blanched at his insinuation, grasping the folds of her dress in consternation. How dare he!

It was true that she had been trained by her mother, since childhood, to somehow grow close to the royalty. Getting closer to the princes, in particular, had meant that one of them would eventually take interest in her.

However, that didn’t quite work out the way her ambitious parents had expected it.

Iona had not gotten along with Loki right from the start, for he had always managed to play some sort of mischief or trick on her. She didn’t think him unattractive--it was hard to miss his striking features--but she did think him utterly obnoxious. The obnoxiousness eclipsed the beauty in his case.

Hence, Thor had been the only other option. Honestly, Thor wasn't the kind of man that usually attracted her, but still, she had tried her best to attract him in the past. And she had been unsuccessful in her endeavour.

Loki knew all about that. And hence, he was now taunting her.

"I'm after nothing, my prince. I aim to serve the queen, that's all," she lied, trying to regain her composure in front of the infuriating man. "You're trying to stir an empty pot."

He smirked.

“Aha...” was his only response. God of Lies that he was, her charade merely amused him. And, now that he was facing an eternity of the same four walls, any amusement was gold.

“Well then. Best be on your way, to serve your queen.” He waited to see if she had more to say before departing… he certainly had a final word to give her, if she’d indulge him…

"Don't think to command me, fallen prince, I'm not your lady-in-waiting," she stated stiffly, her anger with him bubbling over in her words. "And as I said, do tell me what all you want. I'll relay it to the queen so that she can move ahead in her endeavour to spoil you rotten."

Loki settled deeper into the divan, leaving his legs spread as wide as he could. “Dear, if I were to tell you what I truly want, you would run from here, blushing like a virgin maiden. And despite your--” his hand circled in the air, as though he were trying to find the right words “-- insistence that my desires are those of a spoiled boy, I’m certain the queen would hardly be surprised by my… exotic tastes.”

Suddenly, his expression changed from one that was lax and disinterested to one that was challenging and feral.

“And what I want, the queen certainly can’t give me. That, little one, is solely up to you.”

He sat up, never breaking their intense eye contact.

“I admire your ambition, Iona. To become more than you were meant to be. To ruthlessly pursue what you want. You understand that drive; can you honestly judge me for making the attempt?” He stared at her, hard, awaiting her response.

Norns, the incorrigible man was pretending to be suggestive with her now… perhaps thinking that she’d be flustered.

She knew that this was all merely posturing on his part...

"I haven't any inkling of what you mean, Loki, for you and I are hardly comparable creatures," she said, deliberately taking his name this time, wanting to annoy him in turn with her impertinence. "But I do know that I haven't got the whole day to spend here. I'd rather do something much more engaging. This conversation is boring me to sleep."

She rolled her eyes at him and pretended to yawn.

"If that's all, and if you have no other requests to make, I'll be taking my leave."

“If that’s all...then I suppose that’s all.”

He smiled knowingly, picked up his book, and proceeded to completely ignore her.

She rolled her eyes again and then left in a huff, muttering to herself about the annoying jobs that the queen kept giving her. Why couldn’t she give this particular task to someone else? Why only her?

As she left… he checked out her ass--presented so well in that form hugging fabric of her dress. He wondered what it looked like under that flowing dress of hers. Perhaps, someday, he’d have a chance to find out...

To be honest, the girl was pretty enough, and he wasn’t averse to the idea of seeking pleasure between her willowy legs. Truth be told, her scathing wit was quite arousing… for nothing aroused Loki more than a sharp mind.

However, her transgressions against him were ever increasing, and hence, Loki also wished for a bit of revenge... 

-----

It wasn’t long after that that Thor brought his ailing mortal--Jane Foster--back to Asgard. She was possessed of the Aether, and targeted by the Dark Elves--long thought to be extinct by Asgard. They attacked the palace, led by Malekith, and in the battle, Odin was slain.

Thor and Loki forged a tentative alliance to save Jane and rid the universe of the Dark Elf threat.

Finally, after a risky battle, the brothers triumphed, saving Jane, defeating Malekith, and containing the Aether.

In their efforts together, Loki and Thor came to understand each other much better than before. And this was how Thor revealed to Loki that he truly wanted to stay on Midgard.

And Loki, gladly, accepted the throne of Asgard.

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

Carry On Countdown Day 11: Angst 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21664300

Above is the lovely artwork created by the talented @fight-surrender for my Carry On Countdown fic for today! It was originally going to be for the magical creatures prompt (before it morphed into a Carry On prequel with a dash of parental figures before taking a deep dive into angst)! 

Summary: Young Baz deals with his concerns and anxieties about his eventual transition to full vampire state. There is support for him, from unexpected sources, but it doesn't make the realizations and realities all that much easier to face. But sometimes it's good to know you aren't completely alone. (Warnings for mentions of blood, feeding, and the family dog from Wayward Son) Title from the David Bowie song. 

Scary Monsters

Four Years Ago

Baz

I don’t like the lodge much. We aren’t here often so it doesn’t feel like home.

My room is smaller here. It doesn’t have gargoyles so I suppose that’s something, but I miss my books. I miss the library. The one here isn’t as grand. The books are older, dustier, darker. Ones Father would rather not have on display.

They don’t hold much appeal for a ten-year-old, even though I read far above my age level.

But Father is intent on letting Daphne become familiar with each of our estates this summer so we’ve been traveling from one to the other since June. They started in the south of France. Daphne offered to have me go with them, but Fiona wouldn’t hear of it.

“For Crowley’s sake, who takes a child along on their honeymoon?” Fiona had snorted. “You’d think Malcolm would come up with something a little more exciting than Bordeaux for you, Daphne, but then again it is Malcolm so I suppose you’re lucky he isn’t taking you to the estate in Galloway.”

She’d ignored Father’s indignant huff. “You’ll have all the time in the world with Baz. This is just two weeks, for Christ’s sake.” Fiona swears like a Normal when she’s worked up. “Take a few days alone with Malcolm. See if you can get that stick-in-the-mud to lighten up a little.” Daphne had made some protestation but Fiona had cut her off.  “Baz will be fine with me.”

That’s how I managed to spend two weeks in London at Fiona’s new flat.

It was brilliant. We hit all the typical tourist stops--The Tower, The London Eye, Westminster, the markets at Covent Garden, but she also took me to the cinema to see Ratatouille and The Globe to see A Comedy of Errors.

It was the best part of my summer.

We ended up going to Galloway after all, once Father and Daphne returned from France. It was cold and rainy the entire time. And now we’re near Oxford, at the lodge. We’ve got one more week here and then I finally get to go home.

To my room. Gargoyles and all. Back to my books, my violin. Back to tennis lessons at the Club. Back home. Where everything is familiar.

Except for Daphne. She’ll be new there.

But I like Daphne. Truly, I do. She’s kind and she doesn’t push. I think she’ll be good for Father. I think she already has been. It’s nice to see him smile more.

But that leaves me frightfully bored at the moment.  Vera went to the market and Father and Daphne have been sorting books for hours.

Fiona’s in London.

There aren’t any neighbours for miles.

I finished reading all the books I brought with me and I don’t fancy looking for more in the library. Father will probably set me to work alphabetizing the ones he’s sorted.

I’d rather not.

I mope around my room for a bit longer and then trudge downstairs to find something to eat. Vera made a trifle yesterday and I’m sure there’s some still in the refrigerator. Daphne finds me poking about in the kitchen and serves me up a healthy portion of trifle without me even having to ask.

“What are you up to today, Basil? Another book? Or a tramp out in the garden?”

“I finished the books I brought with me.”

“Ah. That’s a bit troublesome.” She shakes her head and gives me a smile. “Not much for you in the library here, that’s for certain.” She tilts her head. “Unless you’d care to tackle The Iliad in the original Greek? There are one or two copies at least, if you’d like one. Malcolm says you’ve got a good grasp of it already.”

I do. But probably not enough to puzzle out Homer. Not yet. As much as I love languages I don’t feel like plodding through Greek today. I don’t feel like doing much of anything. I’m restless but blank on inspiration.

I wish I’d thought to bring my violin.

I shake my head and scoop up the last bit of trifle.

“Maybe take a turn in the garden?” Daphne suggests. “It’s a nice enough day, not too bright or hot.”

She knows, of course. It’s something Father told her when things had become serious between them. Before he had asked her to marry him.

I think her response to his revelation made his decision.

She’s never said anything to me about it. Father told me he had spoken to her, assured me she is most concerned about how she can help, when the time comes.

When the time comes.

I don’t think any of us know when that’s going to be. Father rarely speaks of it. Fiona never mentions it. I’ve no idea what to expect, other than what I’ve read in the library at home. Books I’ve pulled down from the high shelves, the dark corners of the library. Books full of hearsay and folk tales, lurid second hand accounts and likely more fiction than fact.

None of which helps.

I’ll be heading to Watford once I turn eleven.  A place where no one will know about me and where I won’t have anyone to walk me through whatever might happen.

I can hope that it occurs when I’m home but there’s no guarantee.

I take Daphne’s suggestion and go out to the garden but there’s nothing to do there either. I walk by the roses. I go to the back where the herb garden is. The scents all mingle here--mint, basil, coriander, sage. I can smell them all, even if I don’t pick the leaves and crush them between my fingers.

I wonder about that. I wonder if it means something. If the transition is coming. It’s in the books. The books about vampires. It’s one of the few things that seems to be consistently reported--the heightened senses.

Vision, hearing, smell.

It’s mentioned in most of the accounts--along with the blood lust, the pale skin, the ferocious strength (the bit about garlic is rot) (pesto is full of garlic and I’ve never had a problem).

I can’t say I’ve experienced anything like blood lust. Not that I’d know what that is, really. I like a good steak, preferably rare, but I’m not raiding the refrigerator for raw cuts of meat or developing a craving for blood pudding (I hate it actually).

I am pale. It seems like my skin fades a bit more each year.

In the photos with Mother I look . . . well, I look like her, I suppose.

I don’t anymore.

I’m not particularly stronger than other children my age, not that I can tell. I have a solid serve but I’ve been getting tennis lessons since I was six. I should hope I’m decent at it by now. It would be embarrassing for the Club instructor if I wasn’t. I beat Dev almost every time we play but it’s more that I pay attention than due to the quality of my game.

I’m better at football. I’ve got a vicious kick--not my words--it’s what my coach said to Father at the end of last season. It’s powerful and I’m fairly accurate but it’s not as if I can hurt someone with the way I drill a ball.

I’d never want to do that. I wouldn’t be able to play anymore. I love football. I’d miss it far too much. I don’t want to think about it. That this stupid condition will keep changing me and make me lose something else I love.

I’ve already lost the most important person in my life because of it.

How much more will get taken away?

I kick a rock off the path in frustration and wish I could kick something else.

I don’t want to be thinking about this but I can’t help it. There are so many questions but no one wants to talk about it. I think Father would rather pretend it never happened.

We talk about Mother but never about that.  Never about me. Even Fiona avoids the subject.

I can’t remember much about that day. But what I do remember plays over and over in my head. It keeps me up at night, sometimes. The images flashing before my eyes.

I dream of it. I see Mother with the blue flames in her hands, the set of her jaw, the despair in her eyes when she saw the vampire snatch me up and sink his teeth in me.

The flames that followed.

The nightmares come. Sometimes weeks apart, other times two or three times in a week.

Father usually sits with me after. He strokes my hair and talks about everything but the reason for the nightmares. I know he’s trying. I don’t think he knows what else to do.

Fiona used to come, when she still lived with us. She was always up late and she’d hear me crying out in my sleep. She’d pop her head in and if Father wasn’t there yet she’d sit on the bed with me and tell me stories of her time at Watford. The pranks she and her friends would dream up and how Mother was at her wits end half the time trying to keep them all in line.

And then she’d sing. Not the traditional lullabies, not Fiona. That’s not her style. Her style is mainly 80’s alt rock but that isn't what she would sing to me.

She says my mother always loved the Beatles. So that’s what Fiona would sing.

She still does. She did when I stayed with her a few weeks ago, when the dreams came. There’s something particularly soothing about “I’m Only Sleeping.” I start humming it as I walk further down the path.

I wander around the side of the lodge, to the shed that’s there. It’s probably locked. When I jiggle the handle I don’t expect it to do anything, but to my surprise the door opens. I peer inside and I can see the garden equipment in the dim light.

But I can also see a football, dusty and dirt stained, tucked between the rakes and shovels. It must be one I left behind last time we were here. I dig it out and wipe it off.

Kicking a ball is better than thinking.

I could do with some practice. I dribble it down the lawn then back and forth between the shrubs. There’s a short break in the hedge and I shoot the ball there, well chuffed when I get it between the greenery. It’s a much smaller space than the goal we use for games.

I fetch the ball and dribble it again, shooting towards the hedge over and over, making more of the shots than not. This is good. I can feel the sweat running down my back but I don’t care. This is the most fun I’ve had since we’ve come to Oxford.

My next kick sends the ball over the hedge and into the woods. I chase after it as it rolls between the trees. It’s when I bend to pick it up that I catch a flash of red in the underbrush. I take a step closer but there’s nothing there.

I see it again a few moments later, when my ball has tumbled under the trees once more. Just a glimpse of red, glittering in the weak sunlight.

I wonder if it’s a snake. Do they have snakes in Oxford?

I don’t really want to find out.

But I am curious. I pick up a stick and gingerly poke at the leaves. Nothing comes out but I see a glimmer as I move the stick around. I push the leaves away and that’s when I see the broken pieces of shell scattered in the underbrush. The fragments are a shimmery rose color.

I’ve never seen anything like this. It must be a bird but what kind? I know I shouldn’t but I can’t help but pick up one of the pieces.

It has a thicker shell than the eggs Vera uses for cooking. Heavier. Warm. It glitters in my hand.

I put it in my pocket.

I wonder if there are any books about birds in the library.

Four years later

Baz

It’s been a few years since we’ve summered at the lodge. The arrival of my little sister kept us in Hampshire initially and the logistics of traveling with her kept us there last year as well.

Mordelia can be a bit of a handful under normal circumstances, but she’s not the best with travel. Her terrible twos have continued unabated into age three.

But Daphne wanted to get away for a bit this summer, so here we are.

She isn’t so fond of the Galloway estate, and now that she’s expecting again Father indulges her every whim. And this is where Daphne wanted to be, for a change of scenery she said. I can’t see that Oxford is all that different from home but I wasn’t about to argue the point with her when she’s expecting twins. She should get to do as she likes, I’m thinking.

It’s fine. I don’t mind so much. I far prefer being in Hampshire but I suppose I can tolerate a few more weeks here.

The library has an eclectic collection, that’s for certain. I’m surprised the Mage hasn’t made one of his surprise visits. Perhaps he doesn’t know about it. That may very well be why Father keeps some of the books here.

Not that I’ve found any books that are particularly helpful. For my condition, that is. We’ve been here for a week and I’ve looked through the ones that looked promising. Not much more detail than the ones back home.

I’ve learned about how to destroy someone like me.

But not about how to exist as someone like me.

It seems I am on my own as far as figuring things out.

Father and Daphne didn’t even say anything about . . . well, I don’t want to think about that. It’s beyond shame.

It’s revulsion.

The nights have been terrible since then. The dreams more vivid. The nightmares more frequent.

The thirst started a little over a month ago and I didn’t realize what it was at first. I was exhausted, worn out but hungry, so very hungry. Nothing satisfied me. Nothing filled the gnawing void in me.

I ate constantly. Vera laughed as she made me sandwiches and served heaping portions on my plate. “You’re a growing boy, Basilton. Teenage boys will eat you out of house and home. I’ll have to adjust the list for market days.”

I’d tried to laugh too but the thundering beat of her heart was drowning out almost everything by then.

That was new too. Hearing the heartbeats of those around me, sensing the quickening of a pulse, the steady thump of blood coursing through arteries. I tried to drown it out--with music, with my violin, with running. Repeating Latin declensions in my head.

None of that has worked very well.

I tried to satisfy the thirst. First with blood pudding (I still don’t like it). Then I made sure to ask Vera to keep the roast beef rare for me.

It wasn’t enough.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Couldn’t stop hearing the thrum of pulsing blood all around me.

And then . . . then . . . I lost control the day Father and Daphne went to London for her appointment.

I hadn’t meant to do it. I’d spent the entire morning desperately chasing rabbits and squirrels to no avail. I hadn’t managed to do more than scrape my leg up and get grass stains on my jeans.

Vera was away and no matter how much food she’d left for me, it didn’t make a difference.

I felt so empty.

Painfully empty. A desperate abyss of hunger.

Until after. When the blood was sloshing in my belly and for the first time in weeks I felt the thirst subside. And the shame and regret took over.

No one mentioned it. Not Father, not Daphne. Not Vera, although I think Father cast something to make her forget.

Not me.

The only one who said anything was Mordelia. And it broke my heart every time she asked.

Father must have spoken to her finally, told her he’d run off, made some excuse. I don’t know. I couldn’t bring myself to ask. But she stopped, finally stopped asking.

My craving didn’t stop. If anything it got worse, once I’d tasted blood. I couldn’t risk getting that desperate again. I had to find a way to deal with it.

I’ve figured out how to catch the squirrels. The rabbits still give me fits. But I’m faster now. I’m stealthier. I caught one here two days ago and didn’t even stain my shirtfront that time, just my sleeves. That’s progress, I suppose.

It disgusts me, if I’m going to be honest. Every part of it. The hunt, the chase, the feel of the fur between my hands as I snap the neck (I can’t drink when it’s alive) (I can never do that again). The way my fangs drop and then latch on. Even the first taste turns my stomach. But then . . . then the warmth of it fills me, the hunger recedes and I almost feel like myself again.

Until I have to dispose of the drained corpse.

That’s when the horror comes once more. At what I’ve done. At what I am. That this is my life, from now on. I scrub my hands and brush my teeth over and over, but it doesn’t wipe away the memory.

All I can do is promise myself that I will be as humane as possible when I do it (as if that isn’t a colossal joke) (there’s nothing humane about any of this).

But I can try. I can remember to respect the life I take. To be as quick and painless as possible. To never take more than enough to get by. To be judicious as to what and where and how.

I need to stop thinking.

I need to stop thinking about this.

I’ve read all the novels I’ve brought with me from Hampshire and I’m done searching for any answers about myself in the arcane books here. I just can’t do it anymore. I’ve found nothing useful and all it’s managed to do is make me even more frustrated and depressed.

I scan the library shelves for lighter reading. Something to distract me, if that’s even possible.

I run across a leather-bound edition of The Iliad and settle into one of the armchairs to read. I know the Minotaur doesn’t have us translate Homer from the original verse until seventh year, but I’m fluent enough in Greek already and I enjoy a challenge.

It’s hours later when Daphne finds me and I’ll not deny the fact that I was asleep with the book resting on my chest.

She sweeps the hair back from my forehead and smiles down at me. “Achilles not providing enough excitement for you?”

I close the book and sit up. “No, it’s just a bit more challenging in the original Greek, I suppose.”

Her hand comes to rest on my shoulder and her eyes soften. “Are you getting enough sleep, Basil?”

I nod. I’m not but I don’t need to burden Daphne with that. She’s got enough going on, with Mordelia and this pregnancy. She’s pale, almost as pale as I am, and even though she’s not that far along she’s still thinner than she should be, I think.

Her heartbeat’s steady though, as are the faint tandem beats that echo from her belly. I’d have said something to Father if they hadn’t been, even if it meant admitting how I knew. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to Daphne. She means too much to me, to Father, to this family.

I’ve not answered her question and her gaze has gone from questioning to concerned. I pat her hand. “Well, enough. You know it always takes me a bit to adjust to a new place."

Which is bollocks but better than admitting the truth about the nightmares.

She grips my shoulder tightly. “You’d tell me if you weren’t?”

“I’d tell you,” I lie.

“Alright, then.” She drops her hand and her lips curve into a smile. “Are you hungry? Shall we see if there’s any pudding left from dinner last night?”

“I wouldn't say no to that.” I smile back up at her. “You’re sure Mordy didn’t finish it off already?”

“Mordelia’s taking a nap so this may be our chance.”

Daphne has as much of a sweet tooth as I do. There’s a bit of berry crumble left and the two of us polish it off bite by bite.

“You’ll spoil your dinner, you will,” Vera grumbles, as she takes the empty baking dish from us and shakes her head.

Daphne laughs. “I don’t think anything will spoil Baz’s appetite for one of your roasts, Vera, and I’m eating for three at this point so poor Malcolm will be lucky if we leave him a morsel."

She’s right. The four of us polish off Vera’s generous portions at dinner that evening, even Mordelia who is usually frightfully picky about what she eats.

It’s still not enough. It’s been two days since the rabbit and I can feel the thirst gnawing at me again.

I excuse myself after dinner, on the pretense of doing some drills at the back of the garden. I do, dragging out the football and aiming some kicks at the space between the hedges. But it’s all just cover for the hunting I need to quell this thirst.

I chase the ball into the trees and let my eyes and ears take in the sounds around me. A squirrel should do, although a rabbit would be better.

I’m not sure I can handle anything larger. Not yet, which is as depressing a thought as it sounds. I need to get better at this but the reality of how I need to go about that is dispiriting to say the least.

I can hear the squirrels chittering and birds chirping. I stalk one of the squirrels but it shoots up into the branches and I’m not about to go climbing after it. I have my limits.

I go in a bit deeper and crouch down by one of the larger trees. There’s still a bit of light left although it’s dimmer here under the trees. I watch and wait, seeing the squirrels rush from tree limb to trunk, then down to the ground and up far too quickly for me to pursue.

It’s probably easier to catch one on the lawn, like I did the other day, but I don’t want to chance someone seeing me from the house. Crowley knows if anyone did, but I’d rather not give them a repeat performance.

I scan the trees, the underbrush, the shadowy spaces between the trees, and that’s when I see a flash of red deeper in the forest, between the trunks of the birch trees up ahead.

Is it a fox?

I creep a little deeper into the woods. A fox would likely provide more sustenance than a squirrel or even a rabbit but they are a protected species and the thought of draining one disturbs me, in more than just the general sense of how all of this is disturbing.

I’ve never liked the idea of fox hunts. Contributing to the demise of a protected species doesn’t sit well with me.

None of this bloody sits well with me. I’ve got no choice as far as the feeding goes--I have no idea what might happen if I try to stave it off. I’m actually a bit scared to find out, especially in a house full of people.

I don’t think resisting is an option. I can swear off ever taking human blood but I don’t think I’ll be able to withhold myself from all blood, not anymore. I was half crazed with need that first day and look what happened. I’ll have to live with the regret and guilt of that.  

I see the flash of red between the trees again. I don’t think it’s a fox. It's too bright, catching the light in a way I wouldn’t expect from a fox.

Odd.

But familiar in a way I can’t quite explain.

The light is starting to fade, as the sun dips down in the sky. The squirrels are keeping their distance, staying up in the trees rather than scampering across the spaces between.

This won’t do. I need to find something. Anything.

I move further in, slowly and silently. Well, as silently as I can. I’m not particularly skilled at it yet, although I’ve gotten better over the past few weeks.

I’ll need to get better still.

I see movement to my left and I freeze, holding my breath. It’s a rabbit, sizeable and plump. Exactly what I need.

It’s out of reach but thank Crowley it takes two hops in my direction, bringing it almost close enough. I hold perfectly still, barely breathing, willing the rabbit to take one more hop, maybe two to bring it within my reach.

It does just that.

I burst from my hiding spot, arms outstretched, my fingers brushing at and then clenching in the rabbit’s fur, at the same time as a red streak lets loose from across the clearing, colliding with me and almost knocking the rabbit from my grasp.

There’s a confused moment where I feel the rabbit being pulled from my hands. A growl rips from my throat and I tighten my grip but almost drop my prey when I see what’s fighting me for it.

It looks like some sort of oversized lizard or iguana but that can’t be right. They’re not native to England.

That’s when I see the wings.

Fucking hell.

It's a dragon.

It can’t be. Dragons are known to be reclusive and extremely wary of humans.

Apparently not this one. This one is involved in a full out tug of war with me for this rabbit.

It can’t be a dragon.

It’s too small, for one thing. It’s no bigger than a spaniel. And it’s certainly not reclusive or wary. It hisses at me and that’s when I remember about dragons and fire. I drop the rabbit as if it were a hot coal and scuttle away, breathing rapidly.

What the bloody hell.

I’m staring at it, at the iridescent glitter of its scales and I can’t help but be reminded of something. Something in this very wood, years ago.

A shard of eggshell, thick and warm, rose-colored and glittering.

Could this be a baby dragon? I know it’s been years since I found the shell, so it’s not quite a baby dragon anymore but it’s still a youngster.

Dragons are immortal (unless they have the misfortune to run into my insufferable and indiscriminate roommate Simon Snow and end up hacked to bits) but they grow very slowly after they hatch. This one must be just a few years old.

The dragon glares at me and hisses again, talons digging into the rabbit’s fur (it must be a dragon, what else could it be) (It can’t be an iguana) (iguanas don’t have wings or talons). It nearly gets knocked over as the rabbit struggles mightily. The damn rabbit is near as big as the dragon but the daft thing isn’t intimidated by the size of its prey. I can see drops of blood in the rabbit’s fur now and my fangs drop at the scent of it.

The dragon bites at the rabbit’s throat and the rabbit goes limp, more blood welling at its neck.  

I see its wings flutter but the dragon doesn’t appear to be able to fly with the weight of the rabbit. I’m pressed against the tree, not daring to get closer. Do baby dragons breath fire or is that something only the adults can do? Surely we’ve studied this but I can’t for the life of me remember right now.

It’s crucial information.

The dragon struggles with its wings for a moment more and then stops and decides to drag the rabbit carcass into a shadowy recess across the clearing, keeping its golden eyes on me as it retreats.

Its scales glow and even in the failing light of the setting sun I can see the shimmer of them, glittering gold and scarlet and a deep blood red. It’s beautiful.

The books don’t do dragons justice.

I can’t take my eyes off of it. I stare until it disappears in the twilight shadows and then let my breath out shakily.

It takes me almost twenty minutes to finally corner a squirrel and drain it dry. It’ll have to do for tonight. It’s near dark now and my excuse of kicking a football around is wearing thin.

I’m out again the next day and the one after that but I don’t see the dragon again until two days later, in the late afternoon.

It’s not as bright, the clouds covering the sun, so I miss seeing the glint of the scales until it lunges at the rabbit I’ve been stalking.

Not so fast, you bastard. I’ve spent the last two days in the library, doing my research on dragons. I know this one is young, likely less than five years old based on its size and that it’s not able to breathe fire at this stage. Soon enough but not quite yet. That’s why it hissed at me, rather than send a gout of flames in my direction. Lucky for me.

I get a grip on the rabbit and I’m not about to let go. Unfortunately it seems the dragon feels much the same way. We struggle in the dirt for a moment or two but then the damn thing rakes a claw across the back of my hand and I drop my hold on the rabbit’s hindquarters with a curse.

“You fucking arsehole,” I say, as the dragon hisses and glares whilst dragging this rabbit back to it’s nest among the trees. That’s twice now.

I need a better strategy.

The idea comes to me later that night. Maybe if the dragon gets food some other way it won’t fight me for it. I’ve got at least another ten days here at the lodge. I don’t intend to be wrestling in the dirt with a cantankerous midget dragon for the duration.

I don’t dare nick food from the kitchen. Vera runs a tight ship and she knows when even one biscuit goes missing.

I’ll have to find another way.

Another way unfortunately involves me and a bicycle and some rambling excuse that revolves around “better cardio” and “cross-training for football season.” It’s all rot, of course, but no one questions me so I pedal my way to the butcher shop to buy some cuts of fresh beef.

Then it’s just a matter of drawing the dragon out.

It works better than expected. The smell of the fresh meat draws it out. I get a suspicious glare in my direction but I sit quietly under a tree, pretending to be engrossed in the book I’m reading, as the dragon eyes the morsel I’ve left it and then sniffs it daintily.

It’s really quite lovely.The wings are webbed and delicate, almost see-through when stretched out, sharp spikes at the joints. The scales sparkle in the light, a mesmerizing range of red hues.  I can see the sharp teeth, the curved talons, the spade like tail lashing back and forth.

It seems the first phase of my plan is working. The dragon seizes my offering in its jaws and drags it away to devour in privacy.

I’m off to the butcher shop the next day. And the next.

I manage to nab a rabbit while the dragon is distracted on the second day, so I’m counting that as a success, even if I’m finding my wallet considerably lighter as a result of the frequent trips to the butcher.

It’s on the third day that things change.

The dragon doesn’t even bother to give me its usual glare this time, advancing confidently to the cut of meat I’ve left in the usual spot. As it sniffs the food I move a bit closer, daring to do what I’ve been longing to for the past few days. I sidle up to it, as stealthily as possible, each movement slow and deliberate so as not to spook it.

I’m a handbreadth away when it turns its eyes to me. But it’s not the baleful stare I’m expecting. It cocks its head to the side as it regards me, looking almost curious. I hold very still.

The dragon takes a step towards me. I’m ready for this. I’ve got a bite of meat wrapped in a bit of butcher’s paper in my hand, kept aside for just this moment.

I lift my hand ever so slowly, letting the dragon watch my every move. It sniffs the air, no doubt catching the scent. I gingerly unwrap the paper, until the morsel is sitting exposed on the palm of my hand.

The dragon eyes the piece in my hand and then looks to the slab of meat I’ve left on the forest floor. It looks back and forth. I’m counting on it being greedy enough to want them both.  

It seems I’ve got it right. The dragon edges closer to me and leans over my palm to sniff the bite. I’m holding my breath, every muscle tense. There’s a chance it could bite me but I’m willing to risk it.

I don’t think it will. I think we’re past that now somehow.

The dragon darts forward, snatching the piece of meat from my hand and downing it in one gulp. I almost laugh but I don’t want to scare it off, not now, not when it’s so near.

I swear it almost smirks as it swallows the food down and that’s when I dare to do it. I reach forward and gently run my finger along the back of its neck.

I expect it to retreat, to snap at me, to claw my hand away.

Instead it stretches out its neck and closes its eyes. I keep petting it, running my fingers down to where the wings attach. It shifts nearer, curling up next to my leg. I can feel the heat of it through my jeans. I keep up the repetitive motion and it's not long before I feel a thrumming sensation where it rests against my thigh and hear what almost sounds like a low hum.

I think it’s coming from the dragon. I think it’s purring or whatever it is that dragon’s do when they’re particularly content.

I run my hand from its neck all the way down to the tail, between the wings that are now resting limp and folded on the dragon’s back. I lean down just a bit and whisper to it “I think I’m going to call you Smaug.”

Smaug and I are hunting together by the end of the week. When I trip on a root and lose my grip on a squirrel a few days later, Smaug pounces on it before it gets away and, to my surprise, drags it over to me to drop it at my feet. When I stare down in shock he nudges it closer to me and then flicks my leg with his tail.

I reach for it, tentatively, in case I’m reading this all wrong, but once the squirrel is in my grasp I hear the humming again and Smaug butts his head against my leg before scampering off to track down his own meal.

I’m grateful and near tears as I sink my fangs into the squirrel and drink deep.

I don’t feel quite so alone.

Five years later

 Baz

“Come along now, Snow. I’ve got someone for you to meet.”

Simon gives me a dubious look as I pull him into the trees behind the lodge. “Someone lives out here?”

“Yes, someone I’ve been friends with for quite awhile.” I smirk and raise an eyebrow. “I may have known you for more years but Smaug and I have definitely been friends for longer.”

“Smaug?”

I can’t help but laugh at Simon’s expression when we finally track down my dragon.

He looks utterly gobsmacked.

I have to admit Smaug is a fair bit larger than he was when we first met. Roughly the size of a Shetland pony and he’s nowhere near full-grown.

“There’s nothing to be alarmed at, Snow.”

“Not be alarmed? Are you fucking kidding me, Baz? This is a bloody dragon, you barmy git. And you’re flammable!”

“Smaug’s not about to torch me.”

“I see no reason to think he’s not. He’s a dragon, Baz, for Merlin’s sake. Are you daft?”

Smaug and Simon sizing each other up is enough to render me helpless with laughter. The way they both flare their wings is particularly endearing.

It’s alright. I’m sure they’ll get along.

Someday.

I hope.

Simon

Baz bloody Pitch has a pet dragon. Of all the magical creatures he chooses to befriend an animated flamethrower.

“You’re flammable!”

He’s laughing, the insufferable prat. “It’s fine, Snow. He’d never hurt me.”

“He might not intend to. One dragon sneeze gone wrong and you’re done for.”

“Shut up and come say hello.” Baz drags me over to the dragon.

I won’t deny he’s beautiful. The dragon, I mean (well, Baz too, but I always think he’s beautiful).

This dragon reminds me of the one from Watford. From the day Baz cast “Ladybird.”

The day it all started for us.

I can’t let my mind wander like this. Baz is walking up to a great bloody dragon (Okay, fine, a small bloody dragon) and he’s flammable.

Baz is so close to the dragon now and my heart is about to beat its way out of my chest. I’ve broken into a sweat. I’m absolutely terrified of what this thing can do to Baz. I wonder if I can shove him out of the way fast enough when the dragon starts to breathe fire. Shield him with my wings.

I mean, they’re dragon wings, right? They should be a bit fire-proof?

While I’m going mental over the possibilities Baz has actually sidled up to the dragon and is petting it. Literally running his hand back and forth along the spiky part of its neck.

“Hello there, Smaug,” Baz croons to it. His voice has gone all low and velvety. “This is my friend, Simon.”

The dragon gives me look, sizing me up, I swear to Merlin. It’s not my first time facing one of these, I know that look. I’d give anything to have my sword right now, Baz’s assurances this thing is safe be damned.

Baz runs his hand to just above the wing joints and keeps petting the blasted menace.

And the fucking thing nuzzles its head into Baz’s chest and closes its eyes, looking for all the world like an overgrown cat. It’s literally purring. There’s this weird humming sound coming from it, I swear.

“Simon, stop looking at Smaug like you want to take his head off and get over here. I told you, he’s safe.” As if on cue the dragon wraps its tail around Baz’s lower legs and it’s just the picture of lethally powered contentment.

“I can’t believe you named it Smaug,” I say, as I take a tentative step closer. I’d feel a sight better if I had a fire extinguisher with me.

“You know how much I love Tolkien.”

“Well, yes, but I didn’t realise you’d be daft enough to have a pet dragon.”

Baz actually rolls his eyes at me. “Smaug isn’t a pet. I told you, he’s a friend.” Baz looks down at the dragon resting against his chest and moves his hand to place it on the damn thing’s head, far too close to its jaws in my opinion. “He gave me my first lessons in hunting and stalking.” Baz rubs the creature’s spiky crest. “He was with me when it all started.” There’s a fond look on his face as he gazes at the dragon but there’s something unspeakably melancholy there too.

I close the distance until I’m standing just in front of Baz. The dragon opens its eyes and stares at me, its golden gaze holding mine, heavy and deliberate. Then it stretches its neck out and dips its head a little.

“Go on,” Baz whispers.

I reach my hand out slowly and gently brush my fingers low on its forehead. Baz nods at me so I run my fingers up and down the scales there. They’re smoother than I expect as my hand slides up and rougher as my hand comes back down. The dragon—Smaug—closes its eyes and that’s when I feel a thrumming sensation. I jerk my hand back but Baz shakes his head and motions me to keep going, so I do.

And then the blasted thing is purring and Baz is smirking at me.

“He likes it when you rub above his wing joints too,” Baz suggests and then leans in close, his breath against my ear. “Just like you do.” And he laughs, the insufferable bastard.

He’s not wrong and I’m bloody well red in the face now.

“So this is why you think you’re such an expert on dragons, is it? Your dragon friend here?”

Baz’s arm slips around my waist and I feel him press a kiss into my hair. “Hmm. More my dragon boyfriend.” And then he laughs and Smaug looks up at him with such a puzzled expression that I can’t help but laugh too.

[eskalations]

Smoke and Gunpowder, Chapter 2

A/N: I was not going to post this chapter so quickly after the last, but life happened and I needed a distraction. Earlier, my sweet dog of 17 years, passed on and this has been just about the hardest day of my life. His passing was peaceful, but it didn't make things any easier. I was in the middle of writing this chapter when I received the news, so this piece will always have a special place in my heart. I'm still not sure if I'm back in the swing of things with my writing, but I'm planning on going back and editing when I'm feeling more like myself.

So, today we have the meeting of Ray and Raina. While I wanted to do a chapter where there was more interaction between the two, this chapter seemed necessary for backstory purposes. I also realized I never specified the age changes for our lovely characters. Since Roy was born in 1885 and Riza was born in 1889 (canonically), I just decided to swap their ages. That's pretty much the only big change there is.

Please let me know how you enjoyed this chapter! I love getting feedback!

AO3 | FFN

Tumblr: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

This chapter is dedicated to Skippy (May 18th 2003 - May 29th 2020)

Augenblick, East Area - Summer of 1903

The town of Augenblick was less spectacular than she could have ever imagined.

'Blink and you'll just about miss it' The man had said as she exited the train earlier that day. He must have seen the look of surprise on her face at such a small station existing in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere. There was no town in which the station was on the edge of, no bustling streets with families doing their Sunday shopping, no cars puttering down the road to their destination – all she could see were fields stretching out endlessly in every direction.

The man who had gotten off the train with her was long gone by the time she pulled out the booklet the Madame had given her. Honestly, she should have realized what this small blip of a town was going to look like by the map in front of her – there seemed to be nothing but green bleeding across the wrinkled pages.

At fourteen, she wouldn't call herself incredibly resourceful – but at least she could read directions. The Madame had circled her destination with a fat, red marker – making it stand out amongst all the greenery it was surrounded by.

The girl started walking and hoped that she was traveling in the right direction.

The dusty road crunched beneath her shoes and she had to cringe as small particles of dirt made their way between her toes. Maybe wearing the new shoes she had bought for this occasion hadn't been the best idea...but it was too late to change them now. She had wanted to impress Master Hawkeye by dressing as professionally as a young girl could, but now she was beginning to see why the Madame had kept insisting that she needed to wear something a little more comfortable.

'I want him to see me as a lady,' She had shared with her foster mother while buttoning up her crisp new blazer. All her clothes had been starched earlier that morning before she was set to be at the station and even her usually black unruly mane was combed and slicked to perfection. 'I want him to see me as an apprentice worth taking.'

The Madame had simply smiled at her young charge's determination, smoke pouring from her lips as she spoke.

'My dear – with the amount I'm paying him for your lessons – he would take you on even if you were a newborn baby,' The words did little to abate her nerves.

She didn't want the man to pour his efforts into her because he had to – she wanted him to teach her because he saw potential.

The amount of information she had on Master Hawkeye was scarce. She knew that he was an excellent freelance alchemist, who's early research had been compiled into a single publication that had made waves in the alchemy community.

However, that was it. After his first work was published, he retired to the country and was now known as a bit of a recluse. From the Madame's information, it seemed the military had propositioned him multiple times to become a State Alchemist, but to no avail. Raina found it hard to believe that he wouldn't jump on the opportunity since with that grand title also came grand funds for research.

The only other piece of information she had received from her source was that the man had a son who also lived with him. The age of said son was unknown to her still.

'Now you must be careful, dear,' Her older "sister" Margaret had warned her that morning, patting her head gently in an endearing fashion. 'You will be the only woman in the house – so, you must make sure they are treating you right. If they try anything funny, you have to promise to call us immediately.'

Madame Christmas had scoffed at the idea.

'Once they get her riled up once, they'll know better than to mess with her,' Madame Christmas insisted without worry, taking a long drag from her cigarette before exhaling a cloud of smoke. 'We've taught her well. She knows how to defend herself.'

Her foster mother wasn't wrong; she could defend herself. However, it had been a long time since she had lived with a male counterpart. She couldn't remember her father (her parents had died when she had been just three years of age) and the Madame rarely housed young men in the bar.

The thought of living alone with two men had caused her quite a bit of anxiety, but she wasn't going to let it stop her. Even as she trudged down the road, sun beating down mercilessly upon the top of her scalp – her gait was confident as she embarked on this new chapter of her life.

She had been walking for about half an hour before she came upon a small town. A groan unknowingly slipped from between her lips at the sight of it.

Augenblick was small – so small you could hardly justify its place on the map. From what she could see, it was comprised of one long row of buildings lining two sides of a dirt road that spanned just about 100 meters. From the looks of the way the lots were set up, it seemed that they were all commercial.

A few people milled about, swinging bags full of produce as they went about their morning routine. There were stands set up in front of the buildings where farmers were selling their goods to residents and chatting merrily with their neighbors. This version of the Sunday Market was very different from the bustling one back in Central that Raina was familiar with.

Gripping her suitcase tightly in her sweaty palm, the girl continued to trudge forward. She had passed a school house and a general store before finally getting stopped by a curious shopper.

"Can I help you, dearie?" An elderly woman asked, taking notice of the map clutched in her hands. After giving the girl a once over, she continued with her line of questioning. "You don't look to be from around here – are you looking for something?"

Raina was caught between wanting to find the Hawkeye residence on her own – to prove her status as an independent young lady – and wanting to get some help since the map's lines were starting to bleed together in the heat of the midday sun.

"Yes," The girl said, accepting that this was a small concession to make in her journey to becoming a worthy young apprentice. She could always be independent tomorrow. "I am looking for the Hawkeye residence."

The woman looked at her strangely for a moment. Raina's confident stance did not waver though – she knew it probably looked strange for a young girl to seek out an older man, but she wasn't here to worry about appearances. After a brief pause, the woman answered her cautiously.

"It's just down main," The elder spoke slowly, still unsure of what the young girl's motive was. "If you keep walking that direction, you will come to a fork in the road. Take a right if you're looking for the Hawkeye residence, take a left if you want to traverse the desert."

Raina laughed nervously at her dark humor. At this point, she wasn't sure which path the woman considered to be more dangerous.

"Thank you!" Before she could take her leave though, the woman's hand reached out to grab her wrist. This stopped the young girl dead in her tracks as she was met with a serious set of dark eyes, concern evident in the way the woman drew her near to speak quietly in her ear.

"What do you want with that old man, child?" Her voice was low, suspicion blending with worry. Raina glanced nervously at the shoppers who passed them, but none even batted an eye at the strange scene in front of them. The woman tightened her grip again, forcing the girl's gaze back to her own. "If you need any help, all you have to do is tell us."

Shaking her wrist from the woman's grasp, Raina brought her hand protectively to her chest – map and all.

"I am an apprentice, ma'am," The girl insisted, tone bordering on rude. These country folks may be fine with lecturing young ladies and manhandling them in the streets, but she certainly was not. "I am here to learn alchemy from Master Hawkeye and that is all."

She could tell the older woman was affronted by such a brash response, not used to a girl speaking to her elders in such a way – however, she recovered quickly. The surprised look on her face morphed into one of sympathy.

"I didn't mean to offend you, child," The lady insisted, picking up the bag of vegetables she had dropped to her side at the beginning of their conversation. "I just know that the elder Hawkeye is not one to be trusted. Ever since the death of his wife, his behavior has been strange. We've rarely seen him for the past few years – the only one that ever comes into town is his son."

The people mulling around the market were now eyeing them – pausing at the stands nearby to watch the encounter while still attempting to appear casual. They would pick up an apple, turn it in their hands to check if it had any soft spots, and then glance quickly over at them. She could tell by her faces that, at the mention of Berthold Hawkeye, she had set the subject for Sunday gossip amongst the small populace.

"Just because someone does not wish to mingle with others does not mean they are any less trustworthy than you or I," Raina insisted, defending her new teacher from the accusations of the lady in front of her. Already this town was a little too judgmental for her taste. "I could care less how social he is as long as he is a dutiful teacher."

"Child," The woman pleaded, a hint of desperation in her tone as Raina made to walk away, suitcase swinging in her hand. Luckily, she did not grab her this time – however the fear that infused her tone, had the young girl turning to regard her once more.

"I know it seems like I am simply an old gossip who has nothing better to do," Raina fought the urge to raise her brows at the expression since that was precisely what she had pegged the woman as. "But you must listen to me – there is something wrong with that man."

The genuine concern in the woman's voice caused a shiver to run up her spine. Raina would have argued it was just a chill – however, in the middle of summer, that was unlikely. Seeing that she now had the young girl's attention, the woman continued.

"His son was so gaunt during the first few years after his mother's death, that it looked like a breeze would knock him over," The woman revealed, her voice so low that even someone walking past them would have to strain to hear her words. "He finished school early and after that – well he just disappeared. We didn't see him for months then suddenly one day he walked up to Mrs. Roth's stand to buy potatoes. By that time, he had filled out a bit – but there was a haunted look in his eyes."

Raina's curiosity was piqued, though she couldn't help but have some doubts in regards to the woman's claims.

"Madame," The young girl began carefully, lowering her tone to match the volume of the elder. The townspeople were still watching them – however, their interest seemed to have lessened once their conversation had become harder to hear. "I don't think it's fair to assume that something bad happened to him during that time. He and his father could have taken a vacation."

"No one left that house." The woman insisted, causing another chill to run through the girl. The older woman spoke with such conviction – like she knew that whatever it was she suspected was true.

"Maybe they were just enjoying some time alone together after the son finished school?" Raina tried to reason with the woman, desperately grasping for straws in an attempt to abate her fears. "Why does his disappearance have to mean something bad happened?"

The serious look in the woman's eyes was one that Raina would remember for a long time after.

"Because he was covered in bruises when he returned."

It was this conversation that had Raina shaking slightly on the doorstep of the Hawkeye residence. After the old woman had finally let her continue on her way, she was left with more fear and anxiety than before. She was more fearful now than she had been when she had originally been told she was being shipped out for alchemy instruction.

The house was nothing spectacular. It looked like it could have been grand once upon a time, but the broken shutters and overgrown garden implied that once hard times had hit, all efforts of upkeep had been abandoned. Even so, the view from the porch was one that's beauty couldn't be denied – the rolling green fields that surrounded the home for miles looked as though they were straight out of a painting.

Raina took a deep breath. She could do this. No amount of town gossip was going to keep her from doing what she had come here to do. She had been waiting her whole life for this and that old biddy was not going to ruin her chances of becoming a great alchemist.

As far back as she could remember, she had been studying alchemy. Madame Christmas liked to joke that the young girl had practically forced her to read alchemical essays to her at bedtime before she was able to read them on her own. One of her favorite alchemical works had always been the book of research Berthold Hawkeye had published a few years before her birth. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined she would have the honor of studying under him.

It was this realization that had her fist raising resolutely to the door. She was not timid. She was not shy. She was not scared. No one could deter her from the goals she had already set out to achieve. She would knock on this door and accept whatever fate lay on the other side.

But before her hand could even come in contact with wood, the door was swinging wide open in front of her.

Raina stood frozen. Well, she certainly hadn't been expecting that. Her fist fell swiftly to her side.

Standing before her was a young man only three or four years her senior. He was tall – certainly taller than she was – with a sturdy build that marked years of hard labor. His skin was golden, much like his hair, and there seemed to be a fine sheen of sweat covering him as if he had just come in from the fields. She watched as a droplet traversed down the weather worn features of his face before dropping off his sharp chin.

She had begun to sweat herself at his sudden appearance. She tried to tell herself that it was from the heat - but later she would question if that had really been it at all.

Despite his humble background, the man's spine straightened automatically at the sight of the young girl on his doorstep. Assuming the role of a gentleman – though looking nothing like one in ripped pants and a sweaty white shirt – he bowed his head in greeting to her.

"I must apologize," His voice was deep, much deeper than the voices of the boys she had gone to school with. "I did not realize you had arrived, Miss Mustang."

Being addressed so formally, she realized what set him apart from the boys at her school. He was not a boy; he was a man. His voice was too deep to be that of a boy's and his features were too hard to still be touched by the innocence of childhood. In the face of his own maturity, she puffed out her chest a bit before primly joining her hands in front of her.

"Hello, Mr. Hawkeye," She answered, clearing her throat to adopt a much deeper tone that would better match his own. "Please, just call me Raina. Miss Hawkeye sounds much too formal when we are going to be housemates."

The young man appeared unimpressed by her words, causing another bout of sweat to break out beneath her starched white shirt. Any hopes that she had conceived of the two of them being friends, seemed to be thrown farther and farther out the window as their staring contest continued. His amber eyes beat into her own, resembling those of a hawk's.

'Fitting,' she thought wryly to herself, as his gaze dropped to the suitcase she had laid to rest at her feet. Her hand itched to pick it up and turn right back around, leaving this house and his unnerving stare in the dust – but he surprised her.

Picking up her suitcase himself – the young man stood to the side of the doorway and gestured for her to make her way inside. The expression on his face was unreadable, but the grim lines of his face softened as she hesitantly stepped forward into the humid air of the home.

The inside of the house was much like the outside – dark and rundown. She could see a living area with a small stone fireplace off to the side, the furniture worn from many years of use. There was a door at the back of the room that she assumed led to a dining area and kitchen. The stairs were nestled in the corner of the area, leading to where she assumed the bedrooms and bathroom would be.

It was certainly different from what she was used to – but she guessed it could be considered cozy.

Careful to school her features, she turned back towards the younger Hawkeye. She didn't want him to think of her as a spoiled city girl. Despite their rough start, she still held on to the hope that they could be friends. She must not have covered her reaction quickly enough though, because when she met his gaze, there was a knowing look in his eye.

"I know it's not much, Miss Mustang," He emphasized his use of her formal name, pointedly ignoring the fact that she had asked him to call her Raina earlier. His words were polite, but she could hear a harsh undertone in them. "But I assure you that you will find everything you'll need to further pursue your alchemical studies within these walls."

Embarrassed at the censure evident in his tone, the young girl gave a quick nod of understanding.

"Yes, sir."

Satisfied with her quiet response, he gestured for her to follow him up the stairs. She grabbed her suitcase in her sweaty palm before following his orders.

"My father is having one of his bad days, so you will have to wait until tomorrow to make his acquaintance," Raina could feel herself deflating in disappointment, her footfalls heavy on the old wooden stairs. She had really hoped she'd be meeting her master upon arrival. "However, I am sure you are tired from your journey and will want this afternoon to rest."

"Oh, I'm not tired," Raina insisted, despite the aching in her feet. "What are your plans for the rest of the day?"

Without batting an eye, the young man turned to look at her over his shoulder.

"I'm going hunting," His words implied that he figured this answer would somehow affect her sensibilities.

Being raised in a bar though, Raina had never been the squeamish type.

"Can I come?" She asked innocently, following behind him as he led her down a hall at the top of the stairs. The strong set of his shoulders stiffened in surprise at her request, stopping him mid-step.

"I don't know," He answered slowly, clearly caught off guard by her words. The surprise on his face was short lived though as his features quickly settled back into the stoic expression he seemed to be so fond of. "Are you going to scare off our dinner?"

"Our dinner?"

The young Hawkeye had to grin as he continued to lead her forward. Like a dutiful guest, she followed closely behind – waiting for an answer.

"Surely you don't think I am going down to the market to get our food for tonight?" He finally asked, his hand turning the knob of a door leading to what she assumed to be her bedroom. A few doors down, she could just make out movement underneath the door that resided at the end of the long stretch of hallway.

"Of course not," She answered evenly as she stepped into the room, setting her suitcase by her feet. There was a bed, a dresser, and a desk. It wasn't much, but it would do. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the young man studying her face. If he was looking for a negative reaction this time around, she wasn't going to give it to him.

"So," She started, crossing her arms over her chest and turning to meet his gaze once more. "When do we leave?"

His answering smirk made her heart soar – though she would never admit it.

"Half an hour."

Her heart continued to beat sporadically even after he had closed the door behind him, leaving her to unpack and dress for their outing. However, the heavy beating of her heart wasn't from the small smile he had given her or the moment of softness she glimpsed in his eyes before taking his leave.

No, her heart was beating because she had seen the bruises on the back of his arms through the material of his shirt.

Falling back upon the mattress, she stared blankly up at the ceiling. Just what kind of secrets were hiding within these walls and just what did it all mean for her?

[fragiledewdrop]

High school Newspaper Shenanigans

I don't have a lot of good memories about high school, but today I found a dusty copy of what passed for a "newspaper" in my school and it brought me back to when I was 16.

The girl who had been running the school newspaper for as long as I could remember was graduating that year, so she had to prepare for the final exam and university and she did not have time to edit anymore. My friends B., C., and I, in what was probably a fit of madness, decided to try our hand at it. And so I found myself co-editor of a newspaper. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but it would be one hell of an adventure.

The paper was called "Up!", after the Disney movie, for...some very creative reason I cannot remember. The first thing we did was change the title to "Up patriots to arms!"

One of the first things we had to cover was a very important, popular, yearly student strike,which would have been fairly easy, if not for the freaking tension between the two student organizations in our city. The biggest one, the "Rete" , was basically left wing - although many people didn't know or care about their affiliations- and they constantly butted heads with the student block, a group of self proclaimed neofascists who dressed in all black, used smoke bombs during protests and were always surrounded by the police.

We decided it would be a grand idea to interview the respective leaders to get both opinions on the matter.

The president of the "Rete" came to meet us after school. The highlight of the interview was when he said that his was a "non political organization", at which point we looked at each other in disbelief and asked him:"Really?"

The answer was "Yeas, although of course many of us are registered in different parties along the whole spectrum, such as..." and he started listing all left wing parties in the country, from communists to centrists, because apparently that's what he meant by "variety". Anyway.

It was time to interview the leader of the Block. He told us to wait in a square until someone would come get us.

B. and I were getting very nervous.

A guy with a shaved head and a black leather jacket came towards us. "You the journalists? Follow me"

We followed him to the lair. I mean headquarters.

(By the way, we realized we knew this guy. He was a lamb. I had no clue what he was doing there.)

The headquarters' walls were legit covered in swastikas and pictures of Mussolini. Yikes.

The leader was also very nice. Didn't stop me wanting to throttle him when he said that poor Mussolini was just misunderstood.

I had to ACTUALLY stop B. from doing something rash. No picking fights with the fascist dudes in he fascists's lair, please.

They straight up told us, I shit you not, that they were a brotherhood and, as a very effective bonding experience, they put on music and danced in a circle while whipping each other with leather belts. I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP. Maybe they were, but it didn't seem so. That didn't make it into the article, but it's forever etched into my brain.

I was shaken, but the double interview turned out great. #journalism

A while later we were sitting at a school assembly in the local movie theater. Everybody was complaining about the fact that our gym's roof had collapsed the year before and nobody was doing anything about it. We were taking the bus every week to a public gym, but we had to pay for it and were Officially Not Happy About It.

It was then that B. went : "You know what would be great? If we could interview the mayor about this"

I lit up. "Oh my god! We could ask him so many things! And not just about our school, but about the Linguistic High school that had to be evacuated and about [all the other schools that were literally falling to pieces. You know, Italian things]"

But the consensus was that, while we could try, it would be almost impossible for us to get an interview. So we sighed and sat back.

C.cleared her throat. "Guys." "Yes?" "You know how the mayor is a lawyer?" ".... Yes?" "Well, my dad is a lawyer. He knows him."

We dragged her to the bathroom

"We are not leaving here until your dad gets us an appointment" (poor guy)

He did

For that same night. At the town hall. At 8 pm.

We cleared our afternoon to come up with pertinent questions and practice and freak out.

At 8 we were at the town hall.

There was a red banner on the balcony with a slogan on it, that would be there for months afterwards, because...

... that same night a group of workers had occupied the town hall to demand better pay and better working conditions

Good for them

Bad for us

We were about to leave, but they assured us the mayor would be with us shortly

We waited three whole hours

During which, obviously, an old council member came to talk to us about how, if we wanted to do some real journalism, we should investigate the presence of the Illuminati in our town

Not gonna lie, we were kinda interested at that point

Around 11, the mayor called us in

I am going to concede that he must have been tired

But he was still a slimy son of a bitch

Extremely condescending

When we brought up our problems, he told us our schools were the Province's responsibility

(the Province would of course later tell us we were the Mayor's responsibility)

It was a train wreck

But eye opening

The article we wrote was extremely passive aggressive

He told C.'s father that he really liked it

I don't know if he was impermeable to sarcasm or just a politician.

Fast forward a few months. While our math teacher was talking, a giant piece of plaster fell from the ceiling, missed her by millimeters and crashed on the floor. We went on, business as usual, but that was kinda scary. And it was not the first incident of that kind to happen in our school.

We decided to do a reportage

Armed with notebooks and a camera, we went from classroom to classroom, asking students and teachers about problems with the building.

It was like opening a can of worms.

We got everything from "Oh yes, don't you see those huge holes in the ceiling and in the floor?" to "Yes, every time it rains the classroom gets flooded" to "See this giant wooden piece of tent rod? It fell on my shoulder last week. We don’t even have tents!"

Everyone had something to complain about. The teachers. The janitors. It was scary, to be honest. Especially considering we were repeatedly told ours was the safest school structure in town (what with having been standing since the end of WWI and all)

One day, while we were trying to get on the roof to evaluate its conditions, the headmistress called us in her office.

She said that she had gotten wind of what we were doing (duh)

And she hoped that we wouldn't give a bad impression of her "to parents and important people"

Because after all her hands were tied

It was the responsibility of the Mayor and the Province

(Just who the fuck was responsible for us?)

She smiled sweetly, leaned in towards us and whispered "You'll be careful now, won't you?"

She looked at me and said my name

Hoping I'd be the responsible/most easily intimidated one

(I had beef with that woman, mmmkay? But that's a story for another day)

I smiled and I told her: "Of course. We are just taking pictures of what we see. We'll let the truth speak for itself"

We did

No commentary

Just very objective descriptions and pictures

We really felt like heroes of the free press and free speech, at the service of the people despite the threat of power. (Yes, it sounds dramatic. It's because we were teenagers)

And then there were the other, less momentous adventures:

That one time when, after days of editing, we had to fill a little blank space at the bottom of the last page and nothing fit. We were frantically searching through our notes, the articles other students had sent us, drawings, everything, and we were slowly losing hope, until B. unearthed one of my notebooks and said : "What is this? 'Requiem. In memoriam termosifoni malati, ego ista verba pronuntio..." I was horrified. "NO" I yelled. "That's just a joke. We are NOT publishing that. NO WAY!" It was really a silly thing, you see. There was a radiator in our classroom that didn't work very well. Sometimes it was scorching hot, sometimes (on the coldest days, obviously) it was icy. So my friend E. and I had decided that the radiator was "sick", and we wrote its last will, its epitaph, parodies of famous poems like "La fontana malata" (The sick fountain) by Palazzeschi or "All'amica risanata" (To the healed friend) by Foscolo (can't find translations, sorry). It was fun. B.had found my silly attempt to write a "Requiem" in...kinda dog Latin I guess? But the grammar was correct. In any case, IT WAS NOT MEANT TO SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY. But we were desperate, so I relented. On one condition: it had to be ANONYMOUS. And that was the best decision I ever made in my entire life, because when we distributed the newspaper I saw a bunch of Latin teachers analising the fucking thing in front of their classes. "Mmmmhhh I am not sure an accusative was the best choice here. I would have gone with a dative." Then write your own pastiche poem, Marta! One of them had even copied it on the blackboard and was trying to figure out the metric! That was the equivalent of a 3am shitpost, not fucking Catullus, people! I have never been so embarrassed in my life! At least my friends were having a field day with it. Oh, and my Latin and Greek teacher figured it out. She read it and told me : "This was you, wasn't it?" I wanted to disappear. But she said it was funny, and that was the end of it.

All the times we had to edit what other students gave us and it was WILD, you guys. The grammar alone...The choice of topics....We got quite a few articles about UFO sightings over our town, so that was a thing. (We got to see a lot of really interesting and creative stuff, though)

The times we absolutely lost our cool, because it was hard work, okay? "Federica, your Isabel Allende analysis is a bit too long. Maybe if we cut the Scheherazade comparison..." "YOU ARE NOT CUTTING THE SCHEHERAZADE COMPARISON, B." "But.." "That is the backbone of the whole thing. The structure would collapse without it." "It's only a metaphor!" "No! I won't sell myself and my principles for a chance to be published" "Guys! CALM DOWN! It's just...essentially a book report." "SHUT UP C."[........] "I think we need to eat something" "Yeah. Should I make pancakes? With chocolate chips or without, B.? "

The time we got stuck at school because it was snowing, and C. wrote a beautiful piece called "The agonizing mesmerism of snow", and our friend P.,who was a wizard with a pencil, made an earie and amazing drawing for it that almost made me cry. Coincidentally, it was the day pope Ratzinger resigned. We thought it was a joke while still at school, then later on agreed that it was the reason it had been snowing in the first place. None of us wanted to write about the pope, so we asked the guy who was always sending us articles about the occult and arcane symbols hidden in churches. It turned out great.

The time a bunch of our more "troublesome" classmates started making hilarious dirty jokes based on Catullus' double entendres and B. promised them we would publish them (anonymously) if they wrote them down. They did, and the result was a page titled "Surrealism" full of the dirtiest "poetic" stuff in existence that made everybody laugh themselves unconscious, with the exception of some teachers who somehow didn't get the jokes.

The time we interviewed our student representative (a classmate of ours), whom B. had always thought was too full of himself and needed to be brought down a notch. So we "accidentally" misspelled his name in the article. Nobody noticed except him. He was fuming and it was glorious (not my proudest moment, but what can you do)

The time another brilliant classmate wrote a piece called "The pathologic mysoginist" that absolutely enraged some of the guys in our school. I stan her to this day.

That time I wrote a long article for Woman's day about the abuse and mistreatment of women in our country and across the world. I thought it was nothing special, really, but then Maria the janitor (the sweetest lady in existence) stopped me in the corridor and teared up a bit and said that she hadn't known about a lot of the things I had discussed, but she thought it was important to talk about them and that she felt represented as a woman and that she wanted to bring the paper home to read it to her husband. It touched me so deeply I still get emotional when I think about it.

Anyway, all of this and more happened in one year. Then we, too, had to worry about university admissions and exams and we passed the burden on to "aliens and occult" guy (who was amazing too)

But I remember the passion we poured into it, the willingness to take risks, the feeling of defying authority for the "greater good". We were idealists, all of us, and so full of hope and a will to change things in every way we could. Maybe a high school newspaper means nothing in the great scheme of things, but it meant something to us. It made us brave when we didn't think we were. It made us defiant. I wonder if that part of me is still sleeping, somewhere deep inside.

[find-the-eyes]

I’ll Try Anything Once: Chapter 26

Written by: Sol Edited by: ss, Allegra

Alex invited everyone over the next day for what ended up being a particularly brutal band practice. He had finally started looking around for potential venues for their first gig, despite the fact that Franz Ferdinand, as a group, was collectively not ready for one. There were moments where Alex wouldn’t want anyone to leave the room or get distracted in any way, at all. He wasn't going to settle for anything less than the best from his bandmates.

Finally, after hours of rehearsing, playing the same four songs over and over, Alex relented and let them all take a break. Bob accompanied Alex into the kitchen for a drink, and Paul approached Nick as he stood absentmindedly at his keyboard. “Want to go for a walk?”

Nick jumped at the sound of Paul’s voice, not expecting anyone to disturb him. He gave Paul a small nod and headed towards the door.

“I’m sorry for freaking out on you at dinner last week,” Paul sighed as soon as the door to the flat was closed.

“It’s… okay.” Nick studied his shoes as they walked.

“Ah, I don’t believe that.”

“N-No, I—”

“Hey, I’m just messing around!” If Paul heard the tinge of panic from Nick’s voice before, he didn’t show it. He teased around as usual like he would to anyone who was a friend.

Nick only nodded and kept walking, trying not to do anything that would set Paul off again.

“I just wanted to get to know you better, and I didn’t know how to ask. I’m sorry,” Paul finally said in a way that didn’t worry Nick.

“Oh…”

“So…” Paul hesitated when he saw the frightened expression on Nick’s face. “What brought you to Glasgow?”

Paul’s calmer tone made Nick less antsy. Feeling slightly more comfortable, Nick began slowly telling pieces of his story to Paul. From what Paul could understand from Nick’s fragmented anecdotes, he had been through a lot more than Paul had originally thought.

“Do you… Want to show me the abandoned prison? I never got to see it and I was wondering if it was the same one I’ve snuck around in a few times…”

Nick nodded slowly and grabbed Paul’s arm, leading him down a side street and down a few more blocks. He stopped in front of the rusted metal doors of the abandoned prison. Paul pushed them open. The entire building seemed to creak as a particularly strong gust of wind blew through.

“You lived here?!” Paul gasped, glancing back at Nick, who followed a few steps behind him.

“Yeah.”

“For how long, exactly?”

“... A month. Or two.”

“That long?!” Paul was genuinely surprised. He knew Nick had been through quite a lot, but to live in an abandoned prison all alone in such a condition sounded rough. And Paul knew all kinds of rough. He just didn’t think that Nick had lived such a life.

Nick didn’t say anything and just stared up at the rope ladder. He quickly flipped the lights on and Paul watched as the dusty building came to life.

“Maybe we could do something about this place,” Paul suggested, taking note of the high ceilings and completely open floor plan. “I mean, the police would be less bothered with your petty theft if there were entire concerts going on in here, right? They wouldn’t even be able to tell that any of that ever happened!” Paul grabbed Nick’s shoulders out of excitement.

Nick jumped slightly, but nodded along to Paul’s idea and followed him as he ventured into the side room with the cabinets.

“We could put a little bar in here, drinks and snacks and all that…” Paul grinned, absolutely enthralled with his idea. He flung open a few cabinets and watched as clouds of dust billowed out into the air. “Man, this needs a proper renovation. Full on Property Ladder, yeah?”

Nick nodded yet again and went to the sink. He turned it on, showing Paul that the abandoned prison even had running water.

“Oh, that’s perfect! I can’t wait to start working on this place,” Paul stood back from the cabinets and looked around at the room and glanced into the dark hallway. There’s got to be a lot more, right? Could you show me around?”

Nick hesitated. “I-I only know these two rooms.”

“Maybe we could explore together, then?” Paul stepped out into the hallway. Nick followed slowly behind him, not wanting to venture too far into the darkness. He followed Paul through a few more rooms, stopping by the individual prison cells and trying not to look at them, afraid that he might see his future inside.

“Kind of funny that you were hiding from the police in a prison,” Paul chuckled softly, just trying to make casual conversation with Nick. Nick forced a laugh, wanting to keep up with Paul.

“You’ve been through a lot, yeah. Kind of like me, but more, I guess. I just couldn’t get into any good university and had nowhere else to go.”

Nick nodded intently.

“Not much of a conversationalist… At least you’re a good listener,” Paul turned back to return to the main, open room of the prison. He glanced back at Nick, who stood with his hands in his pockets, smiling faintly. “Alright?”

“No one’s ever said that about me before,” Nick replied quietly, his smile broadening.

“Well, it’s true,” Paul grinned, pleased that he had pulled any sort of emotion out of Nick.

"What did you mean…" Nick's voice was so soft that Paul barely noticed it.

"What?"

"When you said you had nowhere else…"

Paul paused for a moment. This wasn't exactly what he had expected. "Why don't we...uh...why don't we sit down for a minute?"

Nick looked up at the rafters and invited Paul to follow him. Nick climbed the wobbly rope ladder to the top and watched as Paul followed after him. Paul was amazed that for a man with so much anxiety, Nick had scaled the ladder with ease. Nick crawled over one of the beams and plopped down in the pile of dusty blankets. The dust made his eyes water a bit, and he was worried that Paul wouldn’t want to stay up there.

Paul cautiously followed Nick over to his blanket pile and sat across from him.

“Sorry it’s dusty…” Nick said softly.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Paul laughed, “you don’t live here anymore. It doesn’t have to be nice.”

Nick made a quiet hmm of approval. "So…"

"Oh, right, yeah," Paul said, averting his eyes. "Well...it's kind of a long story." It was also a story Paul hadn't ever really told to anyone. Paul looked back at Nick, who was staring at Paul, eyes vacant as ever, but with a look on his face that indicated that he was listening intently. “I think we have a lot in common, Nick. My parents didn’t really care for me either. They were never really around... they'd go to work all day, go down to the pub all night, come home late...my siblings and I had to take care of ourselves." Paul looked into Nick's eyes. "They kicked me out as soon as I finished secondary school... basically told me that I was an adult now and I had to figure my own shit out."

Nick nodded and scooted a bit closer to Paul, listening closely to his story.

“I tried to get into university. I applied literally everywhere I could. I was rejected on the basis that I couldn’t pay for tuition and didn’t have a permanent home.” He let out a sigh. "That's why I started working all those odd jobs...met some people along the way who would let me crash with them for a while. And that was it. Until Bob."

"Your siblings…?" Nick didn't finish the question, but Paul got the idea.

"Don't really talk to them anymore," Paul shrugged. "We're all kind of going our separate ways. Guess we always have, really."

“Do you miss them?”

“Sort of, but… We weren’t as close as you and Lukas were.”

Nick nodded and looked away. He blinked a few tears out of his eyes.

“You miss Lukas?”

Nick nodded.

“He seems like a great brother.”

“He is…” Nick smiled. He thought back to everything Lukas had done for him, from supporting him when he wanted to play guitar as a kid to helping him fill out his music school applications.

“Well… I’m glad you’re here in Glasgow, Nick. This city needs more people like you,” Paul smiled.“You have an interesting perspective.”

Nick’s smile widened quite a bit, and Paul was sure that Nick had never smiled like that before. But maybe… looking into the good parts of his past made him feel better about the bad ones.

“Hey, maybe we should go back to your flat before Alex gets mad,” Paul laughed softly. “He really wants us to sound perfect, huh?”

Nick agreed and began descending the rope ladder, watching as Paul followed behind him.

Paul examined the room for the final time that day. “I think we’re going to have some killer parties here.”

—

Upon returning to the band practice, Paul and Nick were met with a very enthusiastic Alex. As it turned out, Alex had just set up their first ever gig.

“Yeah! It’s at this guy’s flat, from our painting class…” Alex explained. “He heard me talking after class about the band and called me about an hour ago asking if we wanted to play his flat.”

“At his flat? And we won’t get in trouble for that?” Paul asked.

“You really care if we get yelled at by the landlord of some guy from my painting class?”

“I mean…” Paul thought about it. “No?” He shifted a bit, not comfortable with the idea of breaking the rules, especially with a formerly wanted criminal in the band.

“That’s the spirit. Now let’s get back to practicing.” Alex picked up his guitar and made sure everyone else was stationed at their instrument.

[zardoru]

Clans of the desert

Part 3, Chapter 6

"Goooooooooooooooooood morning!" A piercing shout resonated across the walls of the cave as everyone, with the exception of Mud, begrudgingly lifted their heads to see Tija. Fri was glad Tija was back in spite of the rude awakening.

"Awfully rude," complained Astra. "You could've waited outside."

"Wow, you're the one to talk," said Joy.

"The difference is that we don't have to hunt this morning," said Astra.

"Tija," said Tuga, putting both claws against her forehead. "I was just dreaming of you. That, or your shouts just pierced right into my dreams."

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to surprise you," she said.

"Well, Queen Desertwalker, you did," said Astra, moving the left leg spread to the side below her, lifting her head from her right leg, and sitting as she let out a yawn. "Oh, you're not in the best of moods, are you?"

"No," said Tija, changing her enthusiasm for solemnity. "It wasn't the greatest of trips."

"Well, at least one of us is having a good rest," said Joy, looking over Mud, who was sleeping belly up, front legs on the air, kicking her leg against the air with some drool coming to the side in an uncomfortable posture. "So how did it go?" She continued, "you used to be super excited to go to the desert."

"Well..." said Tija, making short furrows on the ground with her claws, grimacing. "It's complicated."

"Don't talk about anything you don't want to, Tija," said Astra. "These things are never easy to talk about."

"Oh, I cannot... not tell you. Which is to say I must, because..." Tija paused.

"Our impression of you will not change," said Astra. "Go ahead. We're here to support you, no matter what."

*What could have been so bad? *Tija was uneasy around us for the first time since Fri could remember. It must've been bad. At least, for her.

Tija nodded solemnly. "Okay, here goes."

I never told you why I wanted to go to the desert. It's not the first time I had been there. I was raised there, by two loving parents. I had a brother too. When I escaped in a tantrum I thought I'd live on my own for the rest of my life, but I couldn't stop thinking that I had left them. I've spent the last few years thinking of meeting them again. Since we had a few months to gather everyone, I thought I had time. I did, but I also didn't.

If you've never been to the desert, you should know that the dunes are always changing, and it's not hard to forget where you are. Every other grain of sand looks like every other grain of sand at a distance, even if they are all completely unique.

Hah. I thought I would be over them after all this time. I found you all, you became my new family; and we've already achieved so much! But my feelings kept working against me. As much as I proved myself successful on my own, I miss them. And I never will really have the chance to ever tell them that I'm sorry for leaving them...

Because all I found was bones. Bones of animals. Dragons. Even scavengers with their empty water flasks, that most likely never knew where to find any water. It's all mostly silent and quiet, with the occasional dry, dusty wind shifting the sands. No matter how much the dunes reshape themselves, the desert is still a desert.

I think that's why I kept going.

Maybe with the trinket Fri gave to me --- besides this weird scorpion tail --- I'd eventually find them. If the desert stayed the same, and I also couldn't let them go, there was a chance that I could maybe find them again.

The river. If they were anywhere, it'd be on the river.

The oasis. If they were anywhere, it'd be on any oasis.

You saw the number of dragons that lived in the desert; we're easily the smallest tribe of all. It's impressive, even in the arctic lands of the continent you found more dragons than I did. Most of what I found was corpses, picked off by the vultures already so long ago. Every body far from water.

I wonder what made them wander here when they were clearly not as prepared as I was to the heat, or the thirst, having grown here. Though, among you, eating cows, so close to a river, and with so little fighting with other dragons compared to when I saw my family fight for the right to have some water off a band of dragons, I had grown a little soft.

I followed the stirring glow of the piece of amber I got from Astra. Its direction didn't change for a long period of monotonous flight, until I saw some holes in the sand that seemed to go from some far away place, and go all the way in the direction I was heading to. Someone must have traveled from far away in a minuscule period of time, I thought.

I had no hope that I'd find anyone I had cared for, but I wanted to. I followed the trail all the way to the end, to find a dragon carrying one of their clan-mates to their part of the river.

You see, back then, I remember my parents explained that we organized in clans, different groups of dragons that competed for all the different so--- I already explained this! So, these two were very badly hurt. One of them --- the one that was conscious --- was bleeding from one of their missing wings. They had opaque, yellow scales. The other one was missing all of their claws, with darker, mustard scales.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"Flightless and Clawless," explained the one without a wing. They were reluctant, because they clearly would've tried to fight me believing I would've attacked them, but they didn't have the energy. I like to think that I'm still a bit menacing even if I am not the fighter I used to be.

I grimaced at their response, though. "Why those names? Who could've named you something so cruel?"

Flightless snorted at me, and dismissed answering, drinking some water and trying to wash their partner's freshly cut off talons. "Are you going to ask stupid questions, are you going to kill us, or are you going to help us?" they finally responded.

*Oh, what an idiot I am, *I thought. I helped them lift the other dragon from the sand and helped them suspend their friend on the water. Flightless stared at me with a piercing gaze, probably thinking I'd harm them while they're down. I avoided making eye contact and laid their brother in the water to clean up the wounds. "I never expected that I'd ever see help from anyone, much less of a dead clan," they explained.

A dead clan, I thought. That was worrying; I still expected to be able to see my family, as well as the rest of the clan. I didn't know what of me gave it away, so I asked.

"It's the golden coloration of your scales," they explained. "They're a dead giveaway." I never believed that something so trivial could meant something to others. And come to think of it, my own family often rejected other dragons that were willing to give their lives for us if only we allowed them to stick with us. Three moons, we killed some dragons only on that basis.

I wasn't as eager to meet them after that.

"You asked about our names, didn't you?" asked Flightless. "It was that bunch of cowards, the Windraiders, attacking us at night, right at our home."

That name woke up some unpleasant memories. That bunch always played dirty. I heard that they had an artifact they stole from the... As Tuga described, "the white dragons," like you, Fri.

"They stole from my family?" said Fri. "Did you learn anything about them on your journey?"

I did, but not much. We eventually managed to convince one of them --- the one who stole it --- to tell us about them, but all he said is that they were being protective of the only egg they had in years, which I presume is yours. He said he'd threatened it, and with that they let him go without any further discussion. The parents were livid, he said. "Let him take it! If this is the dragonet you were really talking about, these items will be completely redundant! Just please, don't give our child's life for a stupid trinket!"

Anyway, the artifact I brought with me, and it's supposed to let you speak with humans, but I'm not sure how to use it. Maybe you'll be able to figure it out, Fri. Though, with your ability to enchant, I don't think you need it, but it could be good emotional support, nonetheless. Your parents really loved you, didn't they, Fri?

We have a few things in common. Neither of us can tell them we felt the same way after all this time.

... So anyway, the Windraiders.

"What happened to your clan?" I asked.

The look on their face changed to resignation. "We're all that's left of the clan, now. And these snakes, they let us live, only to shame us with our names; they cut my wings, and took his claws," they said, with a slow buildup of rage. "And neither of us can make them pay, as we are. We were just the last two to die, and they wanted to desecrate our clan's memory as much as they could when they realized they had killed almost all of us."

So I guess I remembered my mission, and I figured we'd have to face them at some point anyway, so I offered them, "Hey, just about everyone hates them, and I and some friends are just going to take down humanity, so how about you come with me? I'll have to make them come around at some point or probably get rid of them if they resist, anyway."

"You? On your own?" they laughed. "It's far more likely that it rains than that you could take them down on your own."

"I'd demonstrate," I said, "but I think neither of you are in conditions. Besides, my plan is far simpler than whatever you've got in mind."

"What are you thinking of?"

"Well, uniting all the clans against them, of course!"

And they stared at me with disbelief. I guess with good reason. Haha.

"How are you going to do that? And how could we help like this?" asked Flightless.

"We'll figure out a way," I said, not with anything in mind yet.

Flightless eyed my tail suspiciously, and I had to explain to them your enchantment thing, and showed them the magic artifact. They saw the thing stir around and point someplace else now that I had met them, and I explained how it worked.

"Is that one of the artifacts from the white dragons?"

"Well, yes and no, it's from a different one, a friend."

Fri chuckled.

Flightless asked for my permission to look at it, and I allowed them to play with it for a bit. They were fascinated, almost like a dragonet playing with dying prey: they juggled a bit with it, gave it a nibble, a lick, a smell, and even rubbed it against them. "It is so mundane, yet so magical." They hoped to meet you at some point.

We cleaned up Clawless. Once he woke up, Flightless ran over to help him get up. Clawless complained about how painful it was to stand up at all, and so he sprawled himself on the floor so that the ends of his limbs wouldn't support his full weight. The poor guy wasn't doing too great.

"Can you move?" asked Flightless.

"I'm sorry," he said with an unexpected high pitched voice. "I'm not sure I can walk like this."

Flightless snickered at their mate, and said, "Well, I can walk, and you can fly, so that makes us one whole dragon."

Clawless merrily sighed and bumped snouts with them.

Flightless explained the situation; they also introduced me, noting that I was a friend of the white dragons. Or just you, really. Flightless asked me for the amber piece and showed it to their partner. He gave it a brief, dispassionate examination, not bothering to take it away from Flightless' talons.

"What are we supposed to do?" he said. His voice was heartbreaking, grieving and defeated. I could understand them well. Not being able to fight here is a death sentence, but they may not know how to live anywhere else. Living away from what you're used to can be tough, and even more so when hunting like you always have can prove... challenging.

Flightless tried to be as encouraging as they could, and pointed to me a few times saying that we'd be fine if I had managed to be on my own for this long.

They didn't know I hadn't been on my own at all, but I had to pretend that I was a hero, one that could live on their own and was leading the initiative to end with humans and unite the clans of the desert.

We chatted some more just to know each other a little better, so I told them that I had abandoned my family when I was younger, and that I regretted it some, but they assured me that doing so was wise, as none of my kin ever showed up around them; they firmly believed there was no chance of them being alive.

But you know, that's not the end of that, at all.

We followed the amber piece until we saw smoke during the cold desert night rising from between the dunes, with me walking alongside Flightless, Clawless aloft with the seeking artifact. We climbed the dunes and only peeking our heads in case someone in the basin caught a glimpse of us.

There was a long river that seemed to reach all the way from the east to the west. The opaque, yellow dragons slept underneath these wide, bushy threes with bright greens that seemed white under the dim moonlight, but closer to the bonfire they'd made in the middle of their makeshift camp, had a yellowish reflection. You could see some of the alligators that live on the river sleep right next to some of the dragons, as if they were old friends or even couples.

But then, I saw them --- my siblings --- living alongside this body of dull, sleepy dragons that could've easily been assaulted as they were so obviously overconfident; with numbers that big, they must've relied on being possibly the largest of all the clans around now.

I guess the union of the small clans had already been over before it had really started for me, or I hoped so. Challenging the leadership should've been enough.

That reminds me, I presume we're going to preserve that, right? If my rule is strong, nobody would challenge me, and if it is weak, a better leader will surely rise from the aftermath of the duel. It makes sense, doesn't it?

Anyway, we waited until the next day. I told the other two that we'd try to mix in with the group, though I was eager to try to talk to my brothers and sisters, it'd surely have to wait until I figured who was in charge.

Flightless and Clawless were, in contrast, anything but. They noted it was dragons of this clan that had left them in the state they did; were they to be recognized, it would surely cause trouble. I told them that it'd be the perfect opportunity for me to seize the leadership, as a challenge to protect them is the most honorable way of proposing a duel.

They didn't like the idea very much, but they didn't have many options; they could try to leave for the mainland and adapt to their situation on their own, try to find a clan that will have them, which, generally, don't like giving dragons in their situation a chance even though they absolutely deserve it, or try to live on their own and most likely die. I explained it so to them, and they found themselves in agreement, so as undignified as it seemed, they had found a strange purpose.

We followed this newfound clan that seemed too numerous to notice that we were there at all, and so, they organized themselves in cells day by day, where small groups would perform different tasks throughout the day, and I found myself following my siblings' cell only to know what they were up to. Of course, I didn't let myself known, though my tail barb made me very simple to identify; enough that eventually, I was called "The Scorpion," which is funny to me. Though that happened later.

My siblings weren't doing any good things, of course. They'd learned the ways of the desert, and intimidating other groups and threatening them with the whole clan being thrown at them, bullying, clawing and biting the food out of the smaller clans after they managed to hunt some large lizards --- much like vultures, except those are scavengers, not bullies.

If they deemed it necessary, they killed off those that stood up against them --- which weren't that many. It was enough of a deterrent to say "We're from that large clan by the river, fear us."

So the worst part of it is, I just didn't seem to know them, or care much about them; they weren't the warm caring dragons I lived with, these were as far off from my memories as I could've thought. It was disappointing, but I was ready for it; I already thought they were dead.

Flightless and Clawless caught me staring and tearing up because of them, and quickly put me in my place. I wasn't here to know the fate of my family, because, as I explained to them, the Fire Wing was my family, not this band of hooligans. I was here to give them all a better life, and maybe, if they do change their ways after we manage to ensure our living spaces, and bringing everybody in, I could possibly bring in this new vision we've had together of thriving instead of surviving.

So, we left to stir up some conflict.

"We don't want to stand back and let you do this on your own," said Clawless. "We deserve to fight for our own vengance."

I stared at both of them thinking how the snake they were going to do that. They clearly noticed.

"We're not going to do this on our own," said Flightless. "All we ask is that you let us deal the fatal blow."

Oh, how was I going to let them, they deserved it and I was not in a position to stop them. "Go ahead," I said. "The fight is going to be over in seconds." I waved the barb at the end of my tail back and forth just to hint at what I had in mind.

Well, my pride wasn't going to let me just use it right away. That'd be boring. I hadn't had a fight in years, and I wanted to make sure how much my own two claws could damage this stupid leader that decided to use their strength to subjugate other clans instead of helping them. I knew what I wanted. I knew I wanted to draw it out, make the coward bleed.

The call wasn't so dramatic. I openly called the leader to a challenge after waking everyone up extremely early; I was surprised to see that their leader was an old and feeble dragon. But not just any dragon.

"Tija!" he said, confusing me because I had no idea how he knew my name. "My daughter, you are alive!"

My heart sunk. Suddenly everything made sense; why her siblings were there, though I cannot guess why they didn't tell him earlier, I am most certain they knew I was there, but that's why they didn't attack Flightless and Clawless on sight, or so he explained. I had to stick my arm in my mouth not to scream at him why the hell was he attacking the other clans.

"We thought they had taken you away," he explained to me. "This was our vengeance, to do onto them what they might've done to you a hundred times over."

Well, that was unexpected, to say the least. I always thought they were dead, but of course... this wasn't just any clan. It was where I came from. "It's us! Your mother went on a quest so long ago to find you, but we found her corpse on the dry desert, bleeding out and being eaten by impatient vultures; all because these snakes attacked her."

But none of them deserved it. I ran away. It wasn't their fault. And my mother died because of me, that is to say, I was not having much fun in my journey back home at all. I know for a fact that if I had stayed with them none of it would have happened, but I would've acted the same way had my own child disappeared under my nose.

I asked him why they thought why the other clans might've done whatever he thought they did to me.

"It was the small corpses of the hatched dragonets they tested out in the desert, leaving them to die," he said. "I always thought one of them might've been you, dead in one of their barbaric tests."

I chuckled, because obviously, he tried too hard to protect someone that already was able to hold on their own. It's almost infuriating. I made a promise to Flightless and Clawless, however, and now that was weighing heavily on me. I said the only thing that could be said. "We need justice for the clans you've wronged."

His scales went pale as Flightless and Clawless came to my sides, bloodthirstier than ever. I explained to them that he was my own father, and to wait for a moment. Father trembled as I hesitated until the very last moment, whether I would actually kill him or not, and then I remembered what our objective was.

We are going to kill all of the scavengers who had wronged us.

I don't need to tell you what we did to him next, because I already told you. We killed him; I stabbed him in the head with my tail, and Flightless and Clawless bled him dry for his wrongdoings. He begged me for forgiveness during the last moments of his life. I didn't want to hear it.

He was responsible for the death and agony of countless others, and I could not let that go with impunity.

We invited the rest of the clans into submission, promising a life without violence. Almost none of the clans accepted, but they'd come to us soon enough. We acquired control of the water with ease, which is as non-violent of a method as I could manage.

My siblings protested, of course. It didn't take much to strike them down. It's almost not worth mentioning.

I am not sure if I did the right thing. Not at all.

Tija looked at the ground. "But that...is what I did."

Loud noises interrupted everyone's astonishment at Tija's decision to kill her own father; making the small group, with the exception of Tija, look outside as a flock of dragons with scales with tints of orange and red, large wings, and an exceptional discipline of formation loomed above.

The loud dragon had arrived.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 120:  Fair is Fair

It was the "lazy". He knew he'd taken things a bit too far with his caretaker when he'd called her lazy. He'd watched her for two solid days and what he'd found had been anything but laziness, and yet he'd called her lazy anyway. Now she was angry. It didn't take a genius to see that.

Clean the glove, he'd said. And she had. In fact, she'd taken a page out of his own book and made a show of it. That night, when she'd brought him dinner, aside from their two plates, the tray she'd carried in had a third plate on it, upon which she'd laid the glove. It was so clean that it practically sparkled, even in the firelight.

And she was so angry that she practically outshined that firelight.

He snatched it off of its place on her tray and examined it himself all the while feeling the heat of her eyes on him. Over and over and over he'd turned it in his hands, looking for something, a smudge here, dust there, a scratch anywhere! But there were no marks, no smudges, no imperfections at all. He hadn't wanted to ignore someone so bad since he'd lived with Milah. But when she kept his food from him, he found he had no choice but to look at her. Fire blazed in her eyes. How women could master looks that were both cold and hot at the same time was a mystery to him that was greater than how she'd gotten the glove so clean. But when she finally raised her eyebrows and offered a small haughty smirk, he felt something in his belly drop to the floor.

She was angry. There was no doubt about that as she grabbed her own food to sit and eat by the fire and left him to move his own plate. He didn't dare order her to come back and serve him. He knew enough about women to know better than to do that.

He had questions, he had curiosities. He did desperately want to know if she'd tried the thing on, but he didn't ask. He'd been tempted more than a dozen times between then and now to check on her, but he'd followed his own recommendations and curbed that particular desire. If he really didn't care about what she did or what she thought, then he had to start acting like it. The first step in that was to stop watching her and get back to the real task at hand. If he needed her, or needed someone to wear the Gauntlet, he'd know right where to find her. That was also why, tempting as it was to see her smile, he didn't pay attention to her reaction when he left a fresh stack of paper, a couple of jars of ink, and a few quills in her library the next morning.

She didn't deserve them, not after she'd practically thrown his plate at him that morning, but when he recalled the shine of the Gauntlet and how he'd called her lazy, he'd been compelled to do that one, last, little thing for her. Perhaps it would improve her mood; his plates couldn't continue to take the abuse if it didn't work.

Fortunately, it seemed to work. When he sat down that afternoon for tea, she seemed her normal self, though that meant she was neither angry nor pleasant. She set his saucer and teacup on the table lightly and poured him his tea as a proper lady should without a hint of malice in her actions or even her demeanor; no nasty smirks, no glares, no raised eyebrows. He could have wept with relief at that. Gods, she frustrated him. Probably just as much as he frustrated her. In some ways, he felt like it was only fair. She was the first person he'd met in a long time that refused to come quaking and shaking before him or serve him as a dark and frightening being. Instead, he almost felt merely human again when she was around, and that made him feel…he didn't know what to call the feeling. It was far more exciting than normal, and yet it wasn't quite powerful. It was just…he didn't know.

"So…" she sighed as she handed over his tea gently. "I've figured out why you collect so many magical objects, like the Gauntlet from Camelot…"

He was grateful that the cup hadn't quite made it to his mouth yet, for surely he would have spit his tea out at her assertion. He was amused again. Whatever deep psychological conclusions she'd come to were sure to be wrong but entertaining. Unfortunately, he'd promised himself he'd stop looking to her for entertainment, so he tried not to show it. Instead, he dramatically set his tea back on the table and rolled his eyes at her.

"I really need to find you more tasks…" he muttered before glancing up at her and preparing himself for whatever she might need to say.

"You have a hole in your heart," she commented as if she was commenting on a bird with a broken wing or a snail who had lost his shell.

A hole in his heart? He didn't know what she expected him to say to that. Did she think he was going to confess that she was right, that he missed his son more than anything and it was in his absence he'd become who he was now? Or was he to joke with her about some sort of mysterious physical ailment that literally put a hole in his heart?

"No…in my stomach! Because while you so ably made me tea, you forgot all about the tea cakes!" he shouted instead. He snapped his fingers and a plate of tea cakes stacked one on top of the other appeared there. Figures, he hadn't watched her, but every other week, on this day, she'd brought him teacakes and so he'd taken a guess and summoned them from the kitchen. There they were. She hadn't quite forgotten them, she'd just forgotten to bring them up. Lucky for her. "Must I do everything?"

He prayed she'd take his cue to pretend she'd never said what she'd said. He hoped that instead she might just pour herself a cup of tea, take a cake, and go sit in his chair by the fire quietly reading her book like she always did. What he wouldn't do to go back to just before he'd given her that dress and things had been simpler. When she'd been down and out because a curtain had been too dusty for her to handle. He wanted her to leave well enough alone, but he knew who he was dealing with. They'd been living together now for long enough that he wasn't surprised when she didn't take her tea or cakes and go sit down like a good little girl might. When she had something to say, there was just no getting out of it.

"You're a lonely man," she insisted as he tried to ignore her by taking a cake. The problem was that she was difficult to drown out. "But the fact is no matter how many things you acquire, that's all they'll ever be…things! And…an awful way to fill a heart."

Well then, she'd only got part of it right. She didn't know as much as she thought she did. A hole in his heart he would admit to, he missed his son in a way that any parent would miss their child. But his artifacts didn't fill Bae's departure, they didn't make him feel better or replace his son. They were merely the tools to getting back the most important person in his life. He wasn't about to forget that. And he wasn't about to let her go about making her assumptions incorrectly. If his options were that she could be angry with him or questioning his every move, he would prefer her to be angry.

"There is only one thing missing in my life right now…clean clothes!" With another snap of his fingers, he summoned every item of cloth he could think of, every shirt, every sheet, every towel, every linen, and piled them up on top of the table before her.

"But…I…" she stepped forward and examined the pile, shaking her head in disbelief. "I-I scrubbed these just yesterday!"

"Well, scrub them again, dearie!" he insisted. There was a difference between being beautifully bold and proudly annoying, it was a thin, thin line, but she was coming to cross it. After Robin he was committed to keeping her here with him until he could figure out the plans the Seer had for her, he could handle being kind to her, giving her a library to make her smile, and clothes to make sure she was kept modest, though her cleavage might say otherwise at the moment. But he'd be damned if he was going to allow her to walk all over him as she was. He was the master, she was the servant. She had to learn her place.

"You're getting too big for your britches! You should remember your place…cleaning mine!" He took a cake and sat back proudly as he watched her shift back from curious to angry and felt pride swell. There. He'd pushed her over the edge again. It was a job well done.

"Maybe the next time you want to insult the person making your food, you should-"

Before she could finish, he snapped his fingers again and sent her and the laundry out back to where she did the laundry.

And there was that temptation again, the urge to get up, to go to his cauldron, to watch her and see how she'd react…

He fought it back.

He paid her too much attention as it was, allowed her too many privileges. She had a tendency to make him so angry he could shake. Maybe it would do her some good to be so angry with him that she shook too. If they returned to the quiet angry tension they'd had before he'd tried to smooth things over with paper and quill, then at least he'd have peace and quiet in his home.