#and in the meantime still do flat ground retrieving

[abirddogmoment]

Now I'm introducing a board so she will have clear criteria for starting and ending her retrieves in heel position.

This was just an intro session so very easy, just stand on the board until released. She already understands the board (from her conditioning course) and heel position so it was simple to put them together. Next steps are to fade the big lure onto the board and waiting longer to release her from the board.

It's crazy to think that she's just a baby! Not even six months! She's doing so so so good, I'm so proud of her.

[pearly--rose]

WIP excerpt

I’m now 4,000 words deep into what I’m telling myself is just gonna be a little post-LSH oneshot. It’s centered around a few scenes of Jaime & Brienne sparring, and silly me, I know nothing about sword fighting, and yet here I am trying to write this thing lmao. Anyway, here’s a mostly finished quarter of it:

Yield - (probably) rated T, book canon, post-LSH

“I’ll never get better if you don’t actually try,” he sighs, tapping aside her halfhearted strike with his blade.  

She steps outside of his reach. “Perhaps I am not the best person for this task.”

“Nonsense. Where is the wench who nearly drowned me in a brook?” He gestures to his eyebrow with the golden hand. “Where is the wench who gave me this scar?”

She casts her eyes to the dirt rather than meet his gaze.

“Tell me,” Jaime says, circling slowly now, eyes drifting lower, “does your skin bear the memory of my sword as well?” He makes it sound as lewd as possible, hoping to rile her, before lunging forward. He aims the tip of his practice sword for her upper thigh, remembering the blood he made blossom there, oddly thrilled by the thought that he may have left a permanent mark on her skin all those moons ago.

And finally, finally, he’s sparked some life into her. Her faces flushes with indignation as she wrenches herself into furious action, easily parrying his strike before it can make contact with her leg. She continues to drive him back, slashing with impressive ferocity. He attempts his own attack but she quickly smacks the back of his knuckles with the flat of her blade, sending his sword clattering to the ground. 

“Yield,” he laughs, shaking out the pain in his hand, utterly delighted. “I yield.”

She draws back, exasperated. “I do not understand you!”

“You seem to have understood well enough. You see, Lady Brienne, when an opponent says ‘yield’—”

“Why are you not angry with me?” She asks, cutting him off as she pushes sweat-dampened hair from her face, exposing the still-healing knot of flesh on her cheek. He feels murderous every time he sees it, reminded of the cruelties she has endured.

“I was, for a moment or two.” He crouches to retrieve his sword, looking up at her from the dirt. “Do you wish me to be angry with you? Curse you, bind your hands and keep you prisoner? Should I have left you to die of your wounds? Shall I call you traitor? Oathbreaker?” He narrows his eyes as he returns to his full height. “But you swore no oaths to me, my lady.”

“I would deserve no less.” She pulls her lips in and furrows her brow and looks completely, utterly at sea. “I truly don’t understand why you do not.”

“Neither do I,” he shrugs, striving for flippancy, and desperately ignoring the way the invisible coil seems to tighten around him again at the look in her eyes. “There, are you satisfied? You do not understand why I don’t hate you, and I do not understand why I forgive you. Fools, the both of us, yet mayhaps we can agree to put it behind us? I admit, I find the way you always expect the worst of me rather tedious and predictable.” 

Brienne considers him for a long moment. “Alright,” she says, and she sounds reluctant but a bemused smile threatens her lips, and there is a set to her shoulders that tells him they will not need to discuss it again. 

She trudges alongside him as they walk back to camp, though her silence is now more companionable than sullen. She does not speak again until they reach her tent.

“You’re not a lost cause,” she ventures, so quietly he’s not even sure she spoke at first. “The skill is still all there in your mind, it will just take time to reestablish it in your other hand. Lighter steel would do you well in the meantime, while you build strength.”

She begins to unfasten her sword belt and in an instant he understands what she means to do. He feels a rush of annoyance that she would even think it. The lion on Oathkeeper’s pommel seems to grimace up at him, pityingly, when she tries to press the sword into his hand. 

“It was meant to be yours,” Brienne says. “Take it.”

Jaime crosses his arms against her. “You’re a highborn lady, surely your wicked septa taught you that it’s impolite to return a gift? I gave you that sword. It pleases me to think of you wielding it,” he snarls.

Something unreadable flickers across her face and she parts her lips as if to speak, but no sound comes out. He suddenly feels as if he said much more than he meant to. Those absurdly expressive eyes of hers are staring at him, and he thinks he could not look away even if he wanted to. 

“I will strive to be worthy of it,” she says, finally. 

He wants to tell her she need not strive; she is already worthy. That until he met her, he had long thought honor a cruel fantasy. That there is no one worthier in all of Westeros—she may think herself just a maid, yet he is certain there is no truer knight living. 

He wants to tell her this, but he does not. 

And he does not stop her when she tears her eyes from his, nor does he catch her arm when she brushes past him to duck into her tent. He puts it out of his mind as he makes his way back to his own pavilion, pretending he does not feel the thread trying to pull him back.

[purrincess-chat]

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH24

It’s here!!! I’m so excited to share it with you all. What was Marinette shouting about at the end of last chapter? Is Lisette going to get akumatized? Will Eliott? Find out below ;)

Previous    First     Next    AO3

Chapter 24: Dancing With Our Hands Tied

Marinette grabbed Lisette by the wrist and tugged her to the ground, narrowly dodging a blue beam of light. A large robot with an old computer for a head towered over the buildings, absorbing passing cars and bystanders. It scanned the movie theater, and the whole building vanished in a flash.

“Upload!”

“What is that thing?” Lisette gasped.

“Lisette!” Eliott raced to her side. “Lisette, are you okay?”

Her cheeks flushed pinker than her dress as Eliott looked her over.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she said.

Adrien pulled Marinette in for a tight hug. “Nothing broken?”

“I’m fine.” Marinette assured him, leaning against his chest. There was no time to savor how good he smelled, even if Marinette wanted to. “We need to get out of here.”

“Marinette’s right, we shouldn’t stay here,” Macy said.

Eliott took Lisette’s hand, and their group darted up the street. Hawkmoth’s latest creation shot blue beams left and right, absorbing everything in its wake. Marinette needed to break away from the group, but Adrien’s tight grip on her hand told her she wasn’t getting away any time soon.

“Ah!” Lisette tripped on the pavement and stumbled forward, her cute white shoes clearly not made for running.

“Lisette!” Eliott stooped to help her up.

“Upload!” The akuma took aim, charging another beam.

In one swift motion, Eliott swapped places with Lisette, taking the hit. He vanished in a flash, the akuma absorbing him into its mainframe.

“Eliott!” Macy cried.

“No.” Lisette’s eyes watered.

“Macy…” Martin eyed the akuma as it charged another beam. “Move!”

He wasn’t quick enough, and the akuma took them both. Marinette’s jaw clenched. No one else was getting uploaded on her watch.

“We have to move.” She pulled Lisette to her feet.

“This way!” Adrien instructed, taking the lead.

They rounded the corner and started up the next block. Marinette drilled excuses to get away in her head, but to her relief, Adrien stopped at the end of the street where the road forked.

“We should split up. The akuma will have a harder time uploading us if we aren’t grouped together,” he said.

“Good idea.” Marinette added.

“But what about the others? Shouldn’t we do something?” Lisette’s eyebrows furrowed.

“There’s nothing we can do. We just have to wait for Ladybug and Chat Noir to defeat the akuma and bring them back,” Adrien said. “The best we can do is not get captured ourselves.”

Marinette placed a hand on Lisette’s shoulder. “I know it’s hard to run away, but Ladybug will bring Eliott back. I promise.”

Lisette searched her expression with a frown and nodded, pointing to the road straight ahead. “I’ll go this way. Be careful, you two.”

As she took off, Adrien pulled Marinette into his arms, leaning his head against hers and squeezing her shoulders.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he murmured.

Marinette wrapped her arms around him, nuzzling into his neck. She clung to his waist, breathing him in for one blissful, selfish moment. It wasn’t fair. When akumas attacked, everyone else got to hold their loved ones close until it was over. Why was she the only one who had to let go?

She pulled away and smiled up at Adrien. “See you when everything goes back to normal.”

Adrien kissed her forehead, brushing her cheek with his thumb. They turned their backs and ran in opposite directions up the street. Marinette’s face still tingled from his touch as her suit materialized. Her heart longed for the boy running away from her, but she couldn’t listen to it now. Paris needed Ladybug, and a good hero always listened to her head. She swallowed the ache, steeling her focus. There would be plenty of time for snuggling after they defeated Hawkmoth, and she had a fist or two with his name on it for all of these interruptions.

The akuma had made its way up the block by the time Ladybug looped around. André the ice cream man cowered behind his cart as the akuma closed in. Hooking her yoyo between light poles, Ladybug tugged her net tight as the akuma raised a leg to step. The threads of her yoyo tangled its feet, and it stumbled forward onto the concrete with a loud thud.

Civilians ran for cover while it was down, and Ladybug waved André on. He bowed gratefully before scurrying off with the rest of the bystanders.

“Aww, what a shame. I was hoping for a scoop of mint chocolate chip before we got started,” Chat Noir called from his perch atop the lamppost.

“We’ll just have to treat ourselves afterward,” Ladybug replied.

“Down, Ladybug. This cat’s got a date with another lady. You had your chance.” He winked, and Ladybug stifled a laugh.

“I’m just happy you’re not calling me m’lady anymore, though I do feel sorry for the poor girl that has to listen to you run your mouth,” she said.

“Joke’s on you. She loves when I mess around. She’s perfect,” Chat Noir said with a dreamy sigh.

“Just be sure she gets her brain scanned before your next date.” Ladybug giggled.

“Ha-ha.” He rolled his eyes, flicking his tail.

“Come on, kitty. Let’s make this battle quick. We don’t want to keep your dream girl waiting.” Not to mention, she was eager to get back to Adrien herself.

The robot rose to its feet, scanning the media van at the end of the block.

“Upgrade!” Its aura glowed, electricity sparking down its limbs. The clunky gray casing morphed into a thinner black model, reminding Ladybug of the computer her parents had when she was little.

“Something tells me that’s not good,” Chat Noir said.

Ladybug charged in again, brandishing her yoyo. She and Chat Noir took turns striking the monitor, but none of their blows seemed to deal much damage. Ladybug searched the mech high and low for an object where the akuma could be hiding, but everything was so streamlined.

“Any ideas on where the akuma is hiding?” Chat Noir asked when they landed to take a breath.

“I don’t think it’s on the outside. If only we could get inside…”

They dodged a sweeping arm. Ladybug tossed her yoyo, but the akuma caught it in one clawed hand. It swung her around, crashing her into Chat Noir and flinging them both across the city. They handed in a pile on a deserted street, their weapons clanking on the concrete beside them.

“It’s assimilating newer technology and increasing its power. I have a sneaking suspicion the akumatized person is inside the mech suit, probably with the object where the akuma is,” Ladybug said.

“Well, if you’ve got any ideas, I’m all ears. This Technobot is interrupting a very important date,” Chat Noir said.

Ladybug tapped her chin, palming her yoyo.

“Lucky Charm!” She caught the teacup as it materialized and turned it over in her hands.

“I don’t think now’s the best time for tea.” Chat Noir teased.

Ladybug hummed, studying the cup, and shook her head. “I need to go to Master Fu. We’re going to need some help for this battle.”

“What should I do in the meantime?”

“Give our little Technobot the runaround, and try not to get uploaded.” Ladybug instructed. “I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

Ladybug shot off toward Master Fu’s street, letting her transformation drop behind a parked car. Her footsteps pounded up the stairs to his flat, where her old mentor was drinking tea.

“Master, I need to borrow a Miraculous!”

Master Fu set his cup down and retrieved the Miracle Box from its hiding place. Small drawers opened on all sides, and Marinette pursed her lips. Malin’s illusions wouldn’t do them any good against a computer. Queen Bee’s venom might help, but she wasn’t sure where the akuma was hiding yet. The turtle might stop them from being uploaded temporarily, but it wouldn’t solve their problem. Plus, she didn’t know who to replace Carapace with yet. Today was Gabrielle’s day off, so Ladybug would be hard-pressed to get her to agree to be Tigress again. She needed something new. Something that could get past Technobot’s defenses and get inside. Something like…

“Good luck,” Master Fu said when she reached for the mouse.

“I’ll bring it back when I’m done.” Marinette winked before trotting off.

All of her friends had been uploaded by Technobot—all but one, and Ladybug had a feeling she’d be more than willing to help.

Lisette was sitting on the edge of the Seine when Ladybug found her. Her blonde buns bounced as she glanced up, brown eyes clouded with worry.

“Ladybug! Have you defeated the akuma yet?” she asked hopefully.

“Not yet,” Ladybug said, and Lisette deflated. “I need your help.”

“Me?” Lisette tilted her head to the side. “Why me?”

“Well, I heard that the akuma took someone important to you. How would you like to help me get him back?” Ladybug offered her hand.

“I dunno, Ladybug. I don’t think I’m cut-out to be a superhero.” Lisette lowered her gaze to her lap. “I can barely even get the boy I like to look at me.”

“He sacrificed himself to save you. I think he looks at you more than you know,” Ladybug said. “Trust me.”

Lisette searched her expression, taking a deep breath. “Okay. What do you need me to do?” Her eyes widened when Ladybug held out the small box.

“Lisette Auclair, this is the Miraculous of the mouse which grants you the power to multiply. You will use it for the greater good and return it to me once the mission is complete. Can I count on you?”

With a hesitant hand, Lisette took the box, wincing against the bright light as she opened it. She recoiled with a squeal when Mullo manifested, but Ladybug held up cautioning hands.

“It’s alright. This is your kwami, Mullo. He gives you your powers,” Ladybug assured her.

“To transform, just say, ‘Mullo, transform me!’ Your powers will let you shrink and multiply for a short period of time. All you have to say is, ‘Multitude!’” Mullo explained.

Lisette fastened the necklace around her neck and nodded.

“Mullo, transform me!”

When her transformation finished, Lisette examined her pink and grey suit with curious eyes. Ladybug beckoned her on.

“Come on. Let’s go save your friends,” she said.

Ladybug led the way through the rooftops, Lisette hot on her heels. Technobot had looped his way to the news station when they caught up to it. Chat Noir smiled as they touched down beside him.

“You sure kept him busy.” Ladybug commended.

“He’s heading for the news station. If he absorbs it, he will be even more powerful,” Chat Noir said. “What’s the plan?”

“We haven’t been able to spot the akuma object, which tells me it must be inside the casing like the hard-drive of a computer,” Ladybug said. “If we can get someone inside to take care of it, we can take it down.”

“I assume that’s where our little friend comes in.” Chat Noir winked at Lisette. “Hi, I’m Chat Noir.”

“Yeah, I know who you are,” Lisette said with a smile. “You can call me…Souris Rose.”

“Chat Noir, extend your staff between the buildings. Souris and I will try to trip him up like we did earlier. That should distract him long enough for Souris to slip inside and destroy the object where the akuma is hiding,” Ladybug said. “Whatever you do, don’t let him reach the news station.”

“Got it.” Her partners nodded.

Chat Noir charged ahead, dodging blasts. He planted his staff as directed, and Ladybug looped her yoyo around its arms. Souris swooped down, kicking him in the back, and Technobot stumbled forward, tripping over Chat Noir’s baton—a few meters shy of the news station.

“Yes!” Ladybug cheered.

“Upload!” It extended an arm and absorbed the news station in a blue beam.

Souris Rose and Chat Noir flanked Ladybug as Technobot rose to its feet. The dated black casing morphed into a sleeker design, and Technobot moved quicker with the lighter weight.

“I think we need a new plan,” Chat Noir said.

“Lucky Charm!” Ladybug summoned a can of soda, mask furrowing as she caught it.

“I know it’s a long trek to Master Fu’s, but I don’t think now is the time to rehydrate.” Chat Noir placed his hands on his hips.

Ladybug glanced between Technobot, the soda can, Souris Rose, and Chat Noir, then nodded.

“Got it.”

“Really?” Souris Rose blinked.

“I don’t question it at this point.” Chat Noir shrugged.

“Have you ever spilled soda on your keyboard?” Ladybug asked, handing the can to Souris Rose. “I need you to get inside that casing. Chat Noir and I will do what we can to distract him, so he doesn’t upload you. This should short-circuit his system long enough for Chat Noir to use his Cataclysm.” She placed a hand on Souris’s shoulder. “I know you can do it. Think about all the people you want to save.”

Souris pressed her lips together and nodded. Unwrapping her jump rope from around her waist, she issued the command, “Multitude!”

Ladybug scooped up her tiny copies and set them on her shoulder, readying her yoyo. She and Chat Noir charged in, hitting Technobot with their weapons. Souris Rose and her doppelgängers leaped from Ladybug’s shoulder onto the robot, crawling between the seams in the casing. Chat Noir and Ladybug took turns taking swings, keeping the akumas attention until smoke billowed and the monitor sparked.

“Cataclysm!” Chat Noir rushed in, scraping his claws down the body.

The mech rusted and crumbled to a pile of ash, and the operator fell to the ground. A small hard-drive stumbled from his lap, and Ladybug stomped it under her foot. A black butterfly fluttered from the rubble, and Ladybug readied her yoyo.

“No more evil-doing for you, little akuma.”

Tiny copies gathered together, reverting Souris Rose back to her original size. The three heroes touched their fists together, and Ladybug tossed the empty soda can into the air.

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

Chat Noir readied his staff, giving a two-finger salute. “Well, I’ve got a lady in waiting, so I’ll see you next time, LB.”

“Send her my condolences.” Ladybug waved as he shot off, turning to Souris Rose. “Right, let’s get you back to your lucky boy.”

Martin, Macy, and Eliott were back by the movie theater when they arrived. Eliott pushed to the front of their group when Ladybug and Souris Rose touched down.

“Ladybug! Have you seen Lisette? She’s about this tall, light blonde hair, the most beautiful warm brown eyes—I got zapped by the akuma, and now she’s missing, and I-”

“Your friend is safe.” Ladybug assured him, casting a sly grin in Souris’s direction. Her cheeks were pinker than the accents on her suit. “Tell you what. We’ll find her and tell her to meet you at the Trocadero. How does that sound?”

Eliott opened his mouth to protest, but Macy draped an arm over his shoulders.

“He’ll be there,” she said.

Souris Rose turned to follow Ladybug, but Eliott caught her wrist.

“Wait! I messed up earlier and let my nerves get the best of me. When you see Lisette, can you tell her I’m sorry?” he asked.

Souris Rose eyed him, a small smile curling on her lips. “I think it would mean more to her to hear it from you.”

“I guess…” He flicked his gaze to her necklace when it flashed. “Looks like you need to go.”

Eliott stepped back, but Souris remained in place, lips pursed.

“Between you and me, most girls will forgive anything if you buy them ice cream. If she really likes you, then I’m sure she’ll understand,” she said.

“Thanks, uh, Mouse…”

“Call me Souris Rose.” She corrected. “Good luck with your date.”

Ladybug wrapped an arm around Souris’s shoulders, tugging the slack on her yoyo, and the two heroines shot off into the rooftops.

♪♫♪ The Only Exception ♪♫♪

“Lisette!”

Taking a deep breath, Lisette turned over her shoulder as Eliott descended the stairs two at a time. Brown eyes clouded with worry, he pulled her into a crushing hug. Her heart fluttered, and she nuzzled against his shoulder, cheeks warm.

“I was worried something happened to you when the akuma attacked.” He pulled away and looked her over. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Ladybug and Chat Noir took care of everything. I was actually worried about you because you got uploaded by that monster.”

“Lisette…” Eliott pressed his lips together. “I’m sorry for how I acted earlier. I’m just not used to this, and it freaks me out.”

“Oh.”

“Not like that!” He waved his hands frantically. “I’ve just never felt this way, and it’s all new and scary and exciting. I lost my cool earlier, but only because I really like you.”

Lisette stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I like you too.”

Eliott touched the spot tenderly, a smile warming his face. “Let’s start over. We can go find André and get some ice cream if you want.”

Lisette bit back a smile, linking her arm through his and leaning her head against his shoulder.

“I do.”

♪♫♪ Lover ♪♫♪

“Aww, they’re so cute!” Macy squealed.

Martin, Macy, and Marinette had gathered to watch Eliott behind a column. Macy bounced excitedly as their friends headed up the steps together.

“Today was a success.” She declared.

A hand slipped into Marinette’s and tugged her away. Blond hair filled her vision, heart fluttering in her chest. When they were safely away from Martin and Macy, Adrien pulled her into his arms. How was it possible for anyone to smell this good? Hopefully, he didn’t notice how aggressively she was inhaling.

Behind them, a silver town car rolled up to the curb and honked its horn. Adrien’s grip tightened, shoulders heaving with a sigh.

“We keep getting separated today.” He remarked, touching his forehead to hers. “I always wish we had just a little more time together.”

“Me too,” Marinette said. She closed her eyes, gripping his hands tightly. “Let’s do something together soon. Just the two of us.”

“We still have to celebrate your designs for Clara. Don’t think I’ve forgotten, mon ange.” He winked. The car behind them honked again, and Adrien sighed. “Though with how busy my schedule stays, I’m probably going to be a terrible boyfriend.”

Marinette’s heart skipped. “It’s fay- okay! Fine. It’s fine.” She shook her head. “I’ll take any chance I can to see you, no matter how brief.”

Adrien leaned down with a smile, pressing his lips to her cheek. “Then I’ll see you as soon as I can, mon ange. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

She touched her cheek as he climbed into his town car, watching it pull away with a dreamy sigh. Her boyfriend Adrien. Her boyfriend Adrien! It was finally happening!

“Hey, Marinette!” Macy called from the top of the stairs. “We’re gonna go get some ice cream, you wanna come?”

Marinette turned, glancing over Macy’s shoulder at Martin. A smile curled on her lips, and she shook her head.

“Nah, I’m gonna head home. You two go together,” she said.

Martin’s cheeks flushed, and Macy sighed.

“Alright, suit yourself.” She turned and linked an arm through Martin’s, calling over her shoulder, “Congrats, by the way!”

Marinette giggled, skipping to the subway entrance. Her boyfriend Adrien. She liked the sound of that.

 ------------------------

You can see Souris Rose here!

[lovelyasfcuk]

Voyager

A Mandalorian Story | Din Djarin x F!Reader

V: Sacrifice

Summary: Din starts to unravel the mysterious shroud you’re hiding under and the legend of the Jedi. In the hope of finding a lead and repairing the Razor Crest for the journey, you make a difficult decision in any possible chance for success.

Word Count: 2,120

Warnings: Mentions of death. Internal struggle. Protective Din.

A/N: Starting to post longer chapters because there is...a lot. 

The gentle hum of the atmosphere in the Crest crept into his consciousness, as he started regaining awareness of his extremities, slowly shifting his body about the small cot. He glanced at the monitor next to him, displaying various readings of within the ship. He sighed, realizing he had only slept for not more than four hours.

The truth was, he couldn’t remember the last time he fully rested; definitely not while the child had come into his life. It also didn’t help there was a stranger onboard. He listened harder, trying zero in on any foreign sound outside of his quarters, but the only sound that he found was the gentle coos of the foundling, deep in sleep. 

The vastness of space was insurmountable. How could any thing exist at all? It had been so long since you had seen the stars so clear. You sat in the pilot seat, legs pulled up into your chest and arms wrapped around them, gazing at the delicate swirl of colors against the harsh black. You had heard the clanking of his boots long before he had quietly cleared his throat in an attempt to make his presence known. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” You quietly asked.

“Had to make sure we were still on course.” He replied.

Realizing your potential faux pas, you dropped her feet to the ground and standing to leave the cockpit. Din watched you gather your cloak, pulling it up to your lips and clutching your text in hand.

“You said this might hold the next clue?” He asked pointedly.

You stilled at his question, watching him sit in the co-pilot’s chair. Slowly sitting back down yourself, you tried your best to read the air.  “I believe so. I believe there is someone in Black Spire that may be able to help me with…”

Hesitating, you glanced up at Din, who made no effort to interrupt your thought.

“How do you know of the Jedi?” You asked him.

“One of my creed told me about them. Some kind of…sorcerers…who can move objects with their mind. Enemies to Mandalore.” 

You chuckled quietly at his assessment and peered down at the text in your hand, gently swiping your thumb over its cover. “Long ago, the Jedi were peacekeepers in the galaxy, but they were deceived. Manipulated like puppets by the Republic. By the time it became clear, it was already too late. They had their faults, to be sure, but I believe they were just misunderstood by everyone on the outside.”

“You sound confident.”

You paused for only a moment, before opening the text to a page. Holding it up to Din, you pointed to the geometric drawing. “That…is the next clue – a Holocron. Said to hold vital information used by the Jedi. If I can find one, it may be able to tell us the location of any that remain. If any survived.”

“Survived?” Din gently prodded, his voice soft and thoughtful.

“Yes. They were all but executed and the few that remained abandoned their lives, going into hiding to protect themselves from the Empire. After that, it’s almost as if the utterance of the word “Jedi” put you in immediate danger. They became a legend. A myth.”

The air around you both seemed to grow heavy, as your voice became merely a whisper. You closed the text, laying it on your lap, becoming self conscious of the weight of the conversation.

You smiled bashfully and glanced up at Din. “…But you cannot kill the force. I believe your little one possesses the talents that would make a very strong Jedi. I have never seen anything like him.”

“Like you.” Din responded.

“No.” You chuckled, “No, I am of no importance.”

“You have the same power that he does. If the Jedi is where he belongs, then you must too. Is that why you have these texts?” Din asked, but received no answer. “Where is it that your people are from?”

“I hardly know anymore.” You responded, looking down at the text in her lap. “I am without a people”.

———

The Razor Crest touched down, landing within a dark hanger. The grinding groans of its mechanisms giving away the tell-tell signs of much needed repairs.

A young man approached the ship’s ramp, pulling his googles on his forehead and grease-stained gloves from his hands, watching as you made your way down alone. A smile broke across your face as you eagerly took his hand in yours. 

“Just where have you been, cuyan?” He asks you, his wide smile matching yours. 

“It’s been sometime, hasn’t it?” 

“…and still getting into trouble, no less.” His smile leaving his face, as his focus was stolen by the beskar clad Mandalorian making his way down the ramp. His eyes met yours again, filled with questions. 

“This is my friend Coltan. He’s the best mechanic I’ve ever come across, and he’s going to get the Razor Crest repaired so we can be off planet quickly.” You spoke to Din, but kept your eyes on Coltan’s, his own gaze still fixed on yours intently. 

“The faster, the better. And discretion…” The modulated voice directed.

“Let me just grab everything I need. If you wouldn’t mind just walking me through the problems? I’ll meet you inside.” Coltan interrupted Din, quickly turning and jogging off to retrieve his tools.

You turned to the man at your side, stepping closer and lowering your voice, though the hanger was empty except for the humming of the buildings generators. “You can trust him. I’ve known him for many years and he’s never once let me down. In the meantime, I’ll head out and see what I can find.”

You looked down at the child in the knapsack slung around Din’s chest, finding him peeking out from behind Din’s arm. You reached down, rubbing the pad of your thumb against his cheek. “I will be back.” You promised, your eyes meeting the wide stare of the child and returning to Din’s visor. 

“And if things go wrong?” He challenged.

“It won’t. There won’t be a Mandalorian with me to give me away.” You smiled. “And with Coltan working on the Crest, I’ll have to be quick.”

His helmet lingered in your direction after you spoke, left you wondering what expression shone through his eyes. He nodded once and made his way back into the Crest.

“What are you doing?” Coltan’s voice appeared from behind you, making you jump slightly while you watched Din disappear into the ship. You turned to him, meeting his inquisitive expression.

“I don’t know anymore.” You sighed.

“No. You don’t. Have you learned nothing? Do you know anything about him? Where he comes from? Who he belongs to? What if he is one of them?” Coltan lectured, his voice in hushed frustration.

“No, I don’t know any of it. But I do know is this - nothing will ever change unless someone takes a stand.” 

“And you’re the one that’s going to change all of that?” He asked skeptically.

You paused, your gaze falling to the ground. “When will it ever be enough? I’m…so tired, Colt.”

He reached a finger under your chin, lifting your gaze. “But are you ready for what this might bring?”

His words stung and you winced as your mind conjured up every possibility laden in his meaning. Before you could dwell on any one possibility, you began to feel a light bloom in your chest, melting any frayed edges of your doubt. 

“I believe he is different.” Confidence ringing in your tone. “I feel it.” You spoke quietly, bringing your hand to your chest, fingers splayed over your heart.

A slight smile played on Coltan’s lips, but failed to touch his eyes. He sighed and nodded, slinging a thick leather band of tools around his shoulder. You returned a single nod and patted his arm before heading out of the hanger into the dimming light of the afternoon.

———

The settlement was calm as the sun began to fall on the dark spires that pierced the orange and red sky, casting a fiery hue against the cylindrical structure in front of you. You took a deep breath and entered the doorway.

Dim lights filled the space below the vaulted ceiling. Various artifacts hanging from the long walls, filled every open space. Mounted heads of trophied kills, murky green water filled glass canisters of ancient creatures - the room was a menagerie of the disgraced and forgotten.

You looked around in awe, recognizing some and curiosity drawing with others. From behind the ornate metal counter within the room, an Ithorian appeared speaking his native tongue.

“I’m…sorry. I do not understand.” You smiled apologetically, approaching him.

The Ithorian continued to speak, deep gurgled sounds filling the room, and waving you closer to him. He waved his hand over the counter, encasing artifacts of higher value, and to the wall behind him. You reached into your knapsack, retrieved your text and laid it upon the counter. 

“I’m looking for one of these.” You said, pointing to the holocron. 

His eyes widened and blinked, as he made a deep grumbling sound from his chest. He disappeared behind the counter, gurgling and rustling items as we went. You reflexively looked over your shoulder but was immediately distracted when you heard the clank of an object set down in front of you. A holocron.

You reached out hesitantly, but was stopped by the Ithorian’s hand, his palm facing upwards. Reviewing your pockets in your mind, trying to conjure up any amount of credits to offer for the relic. Your face fell knowing there was no financial value to your name, until a thought flashed across your mind.

Taking a deep breath, you reached into your jacket and pulled out a delicate silver chain that hung against your chest. Slowly, you unclasped it from you neck.

You draped the chain around your fingers, holding it up for the Ithorian to survey - a long silver, diamond shaped pendant. Pointed at the top and bottom, its flat sides embraced a turquoise stone at its center.

It swayed heavily in the air between you. He squinted his eyes and, after a moment of consideration, nodded. You took the pendant in your hands and brushed your fingers against the stone.

You felt tears well in your eyes, quickly sniffing and straightening your shoulders, attempting composure. You brought the pendant to your lips, quickly kissing it and placed it in the the Ithorian’s palm.

———

“Everything should be running smoothly now. Quick fix.” Coltan called out, making his way off the loading ramp of the Crest, tools in hand. You had just returned to the hanger, meeting him at his work station.

“Too quick, I’d say.” You responded as lightly as you could.

“And that kid is…wait…how could you ever doubt me?” He feigned shock at your assessment, before turning to see your expression. He recognized it immediately. “What happened?”

You shook your head, your eyebrows furrowed in concentration and trying for the best smile you could. “Nothing. Just…focused.”

Coltan grunted in disapproval. “You may be able to lie to him, but you won’t ever be able to fool me.”

You smiled at your old friend but found no other words to offer in your defense.

“You were right, you know - he’s not like them. But that doesn’t mean…just…be careful, please?” He quietly pleaded.

“I will. I have to help him. That child…he’s too precious.”

“Yeah, there’s been a lot of talk about a bounty hunter in town, but I had no idea it was that one. You sure know how to avoid trouble.”

“I’m starting to think that maybe I’m just destined for it.” You chuckled darkly. “How could I ever repay you?”

A smug look flashed across his face, “Well, he already did. Truthfully, I’m just honored that I got to see you again.”

You held steady your trembling lip as your eyes glossed over with fresh tears, threatening to pool. You tightly wrapped your arms around him, hiding your face to quickly clear the emotion that dared to break your visage. 

“If you ever need me, I’m never far away.” He said, holding you at arms length, his hand framing the side of your face.

You nodded, composed again. 

“Be strong, ner kote.” He said softly, before taking your hand in his, bowing his head, and placing a kiss upon it.

.........

Taglist: @babybelou​ @pascalsky​ @ayamenimthiriel​

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 114: The Lion and the Serpent

Frank groaned, already missing the towel bed back as he lay on the cold floor once more flat on his back. His leg was propped up uncomfortably on a chest, and it was only after his head stopped ringing did he realize it wasn't his whole body shaking, just that.

He jerked quickly away with a startled yelp, drawing Alice and Lily's attention at once. He watched carefully, but they were in an open office with no obvious danger in sight, the two girls circling around a desk to get to him.

He didn't recognize it, but found himself unsurprised who did when the explanation came.

"I didn't even know Madam Hooch had an office," the older Black was tapping his chin and circling curiously on the spot. "Where in the castle would that be?" They were on the ground floor he was certain, bright sun streaming in through a window that directly showed the Quidditch pitch's entrance, but none of them really paid enough attention to her when she was refereeing to notice if she came and went from any door in particular down here.

"I've heard of it at least," Frank grumbled, now eyeing the chest in understanding, everybody knew the Quidditch balls were in here in between games to stop with tampering, and were returned here after practice so teams couldn't do anything in the meantime. It was probably the bludgers trapped inside that gave him a fright.

He smiled at Alice and Lily and told them, "did you know this is probably the most guarded office in the whole castle, even better than Dumbledore's. I once heard a Ravenclaw tried to sneak in here for her team to get at those, and no matter what she tried, she couldn't get in."

The younger Black came out of an adjacent door stretching, a bed beyond him showed this was also her room compounded.

"I've never heard that," Alice laughed.

"But I believe it," Lily rolled her eyes as she looked around in exasperation.

"Must be a Quidditch chapter!" Potter hooted in delight, shouting the summoning spell first. The chest went zooming across the office, Potter yelping in shock and ducking just in time as it sailed over his head and crashed into the wall behind him. Frank was now even more grateful he'd moved when he had the chance or he would have gone with that thing.

He tried to pry it open, but the lock on it would not give. Muttering in disdain, he went circling around the desk and went rummaging through it with no care for some keys, throwing things pell-mell in his wake.

"And here I thought this was the one place you'd show some restraint," Lily sighed as she spoke to him and had to dodge a magazine lobbed near her. "Madam Hooch is the only adult in this place you lot actually use her title for."

To everyone's utter disbelief, he ignored her and abandoned the desk to go into the room instead.

Every eye in the room turned to Sirius for explanation, and he quickly scrambled to hide his face wasn't as shocked as everyone else's, muttering audibly about body snatchers as he followed and keeping the building shame to himself.

How had he not realized the last time he'd talked to Prongs something had been on his mind? Sure he'd been distracted by having some fun with Moony, and then Longbottom just confirmed he was an arse, plus the mess with Regulus and Peter, not to mention the entire mess that was this future every time his name came up, but still, it bothered him greatly if James had somehow fallen through the cracks by not even registering if his best friend wanted to talk about something during all of that!

He walked in the room brazenly, determined to put Prongs in a headlock until he told whatever his problem was, but he'd already found the keys in a side drawer next to the bed and was trying to skip past him just as fast.

Sirius seized the back of his robes and kicked the door shut instead.

"The hell Padfoot?" James yelped in surprise, turning to him in genuine confusion. "Quidditch?!" It really would have been all the explanation needed under other circumstances, even he'd been distracted from Evans when one of their games was coming up, but Sirius wasn't buying that this time.

"Sure that's the only thing on your mind? I know there's not space up there for much else, but I'm just checking," he frowned, still casting his mind back to try and place when this could have started and still kicking himself violently he really couldn't say the last time Prongs had spoken up what was on his mind.

"I, err," he met his eyes uneasily and still glanced longingly at the door. "I was, just," finally he huffed and put it as bluntly as he could. "I was trying to give everyone some space, thought that's what you wanted."

Sirius looked stunned stupid, and James found himself just as confused as him now.

"What on Earth gave you that impression?" He demanded, glowering back at the door with a now familiar look that made James exhausted just recognizing it.

"You, you idiot," he said quickly. Sirius opened his mouth to protest so James continued with a halfhearted shrug, "I get a lot's been going on with you lately, I've been dead through all this so it's not like I know how it feels to be hearing about this future version of me, and you've been talking to Moony about it 'cause, he's alive, I guess, and I'm glad you two are friends again, honestly, but ever since you two have been talking to each other again," he stopped and rubbed at his temple, thinking that had come out all wrong.

Sirius wished a pit would swallow him whole already. Was he just cursed to ruin everyone's life? He really hadn't considered any of that at all!

The two were interrupted by a tentative knock on the door, and then it opening anyways and Remus shoving Peter inside.

Sirius had half a mind to kick the two out, he clearly needed to have a chat with his best mate, but Remus quickly intervened by smiling at the two and saying cheerily, "oh good, we weren't interrupting."

Peter laughed awkwardly, still eyeing the door like he wasn't even sure if he was supposed to be in here. Just because they didn't want to kill him now didn't make him automatically think he was invited back just like that.

James tapped the jangling key ring against his hip with nerves as he realized this was the first alone moment they'd gotten in a very long time, and they all just stood there awkwardly now. He was really starting to believe nothing was going to be the same anymore, and he looked miserably at the door and tried to stammer some half-hearted excuse to leave.

Sirius startled him by throwing his arm over his shoulder like old times, and then tightening around his throat in that choke hold that meant he wasn't going anywhere.

"Look, I'm sorry Moony and I didn't share our brilliant idea to try and get those others to relax around him by making a few more furry little jokes in front of them," Sirius said honestly, bouncing on his toes a bit and making James squirm all the more uncomfortably under his arm.

"Our?" Remus frowned at him, but Sirius ignored him and kept going.

"It, err, was a bit spur of the moment, and look, we really should have, but look, we-"

"It's not like I disagree," James nodded now that he understood, finally wrangling out of his grasp. "Just, I'd have liked a little warning."

"Sorry Prongs," the two said together, Remus adding, "I just, I saw an opportunity and went for it before I chickened out."

"Don't be ridiculous Moony," Sirius snorted, "you'd rooster out, and even then, it certainly wasn't a full moon, you had too much energy."

He stopped with a remorseless laugh as Remus shoved him. James smiled at the display as he told himself that whatever had happened, he was glad for it. If things had changed enough that Remus got through to him but he couldn't anymore, well, it's not the first change that had happened, and probably wouldn't be the last. He'd adjust...

Peter laughed in surprise at the idiots again, and then Sirius lunged without warning and snatched the keys away from Prongs, darting for the door himself now. James pounded after him shouting profanities, and the two barely had time to get out of the way of the door as the two began pushing and shoving each other, laughing madly by trying to get back to the trunk first.

James finally tackled Sirius to the floor, and the two went rolling around for several minutes before he came up victorious with the keys once more and finally retrieved his prize.

Sirius just grinned and threatened to release the bludgers on him if he didn't get started.

Remus stayed leaning against the door jam with a fond smile as Prongs read out The Lion and the Serpent, and wasn't even surprised when Peter wandered back over to Regulus and the two began smiling about the feeling Harry carried of his pride in the DA group.

He still winced internally as the root of the problem definitely hadn't been solved, they hadn't even seemed to realize Peter hadn't gotten a word in, again, but they weren't looking traitorously at him anymore as he went off. He didn't know if that marked a good thing that they had faith he'd come back if needed, or if he really wouldn't try to be a part of their group anymore. He seemed like he still wanted to be, having knocked and all, but Remus wasn't any better just shoving him like that, he scolded himself far too late. Would an apology just sound dumb so long after the fact?

Sirius finally seemed delighted to fix one problem right now though, as he stayed attentive at James's shoulder, trying to read with him and the two chatting loudly about the brilliance of Hermione's coin system.

As talk of Quidditch was built up and the two were louder than ever, she turned back to Frank and the three of them continued their much quieter conversation.

"I know you didn't mean anything by it darling, and you apologized right away," she squeezed his hand once more, "but I know you've been uneasy from him since all this came out, and it seems like he's trying a bit now. Can't you do the same?"

"It's not that simple," he wasn't even sure how he had to explain this to her, it still baffled him he seemed the only one with this problem. It's not like he'd been the only one in that cage, the mad animal having to be pinned down to stop from killing them, yet they'd gone back to acting like that never happened, that it couldn't happen again before all this was up. "Telling myself that and still doing it just aren't," he waved his other hand vaguely, but turned to watch him again. Seeing him now laugh along at Ron's inept yet impressive Quidditch save of accidentally kicking a Quaffle across the field into a goal post was the most normal thing anyone could do, but he doubted this would be the first thing his brain thought of if any of them had copious amounts of blood while in his vicinity again.

"I think Alice was right before though, maybe it would do us some good to, talk to them more," Lily paused with an eye roll as Crabbe and Goyle were announced as the new Beaters for the Slytherin team and the boys were mocking this. "At least, maybe when they stop being idiots about this game later."

Both of them watched her in surprise, she certainly hadn't agreed moments ago when Alice had said such a thing.

Lily just shrugged, waving vaguely at Lupin as well. "Couldn't hurt, maybe we've had them pegged wrong all this time, I know they've surprised me more than once during all this."

"I, yeah I guess," he sighed. "What are we even supposed to talk to them about? I'm with Lily, you know neither of us are the biggest Quidditch fans," he needlessly informed Alice.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll come up with something," Alice answered him with a beaming smile, leaning forward and planting a kiss on his cheek, before standing up properly and now sitting on the desk, joining the others in their disgusted shouts of this new low by the opposing team of making a full song about the Weasleys' life just to mess with them while the game was in full swing.

Lily and Frank exchanged an exasperated look, but still decided they'd wait for a better opportunity and began discussing games they wished they could be playing in a much more normal volume, like Gobstones. No one ever almost died playing that. The two did stop in outrage when Malfoy lost the game, and continued further insulting Harry now, even dragging Lily into it with more crude language.

She pursed her lips and couldn't say she blamed Harry or George attacking Malfoy, she'd curse anyone who called her that. She'd mostly forgiven Regulus for once doing the same, especially as he hadn't ever since that one time, and he'd only technically laughed along rather than out right saying it. She'd caught Sev even laughing at some cruel jokes before looking apologetically at her and changing the subject, insisting it was just force of habit from having to pretend around the others in his year.

Regulus's moment with his brother back in their house, each expressing they didn't want the other dead, was honestly the first step any of them had seen he'd even been willing to change. More than her own best friend had ever made, he wouldn't even say with any force he'd stop hanging around that awful lot.

The dragon bogies really hit the wind when McGonagall dragged the two up to her office for a telling off, but even though however much of that was deserved varied per person, Umbridge's arrival and banning Harry and the twins from said sport met a deadly silence from all.

"Well that sucks," Frank finally spoke into the heavy air.

Lily gave a nervous kind of laugh beside him, still watching all of them as if she expected someone to blow up any second.

"As if we didn't have reason enough to kill her before all this," Lupin said with an ugly scowl, then shot a guilty look at him, and Frank almost wanted to laugh at himself; Alice had been right already, he agreed with him. He still hadn't quite gotten over his fear of what this woman would do to Neville and the rest of the DA if she found out about that, but it would likely be the same if not something crueler as this woman carving up Harry's hand, and now stepping in from his own head of house and dueling out such punishments as lifelong bans.

Potter finally kept going with that same cold, calculating look in his eye Frank was now all too familiar with, but he'd help along with any plan these guys came up with to keep this woman from ever entering their school, let alone getting as far along in life as she had when they got back.

It was only in the last line of the chapter did any good news seem on the horizon, Hagrid was finally back.

[shootybangbang]

[Talking Bird] Ch 15: In which a literal slow burn occurs

[Ao3 Link]

Before long, the forest gives way to the rolling plains of the Heartlands. Its white cliffs jut from the earth like masses of eroded bone, their pale spires gleaming between sheets of prairie rain. Below them the yellow grasses lay rippling, the long stalks flattening beneath each new sweep of wind. And above, with all the vastness of an approaching Leviathan, the indigo-bellied storm clouds miles away, lit up from beneath with thin white forks of lightning.

It feels as though you’ve been riding for hours already, so protracted has every painful minute spent through this endless downpour been.

Like the baptism of some cynical god, the rain has washed clean the last remnants of violence from your skin and clothes. Your shirt and trousers are plastered to your body like a second skin, clinging cold and heavy with water, and the chill of it already has you shivering hard, teeth chattering as you ride slumped forward, gripping the saddle horn with both hands to keep your balance. It’s an uncomfortable position, but your only other alternative is to lean backwards, against the man behind you — and frankly, you’d rather fall off the horse.

(Though it’s generous, you suppose, that he’s allowed you the faculty of your hands at all.)

More pressingly, the cut across your upper arm is beginning to present itself as a real problem. It asserts itself as a dull but constant ache that doubly renews itself with any sudden movement or exertion. Earlier, when Arthur pulled you by the arm to help you into the saddle, the shock of pain that followed had been so intense that you’d nearly choked.

But the discomfort offers a welcome reprieve from the burden of guilt. After all, it’s hard to ruminate on your own damnation under this trifecta of misery: cold, wet, wounded. You glance behind your shoulder, and turn your attention from the dead to the living.

Well. Arthur looks like shit.

The leather of his clothes and his wide brimmed hat have kept him somewhat drier in comparison, but his eyes are red with fatigue, his posture that of a man half-asleep in the saddle. He seems to stir as you continue to stare. “What?” he says, irritated but too exhausted to conjure up any real ire.

“Just wanted to give you a quick reminder that you’re not gonna get any money outta this if I get sick and die.”

“Ain’t no point in carrying dead weight,” he growls. “So if you’re gonna die that easy, do us both a favor and keel over now.”

So he’s alert enough to still be needlessly aggressive. That’s good.

“You planning on riding the whole night through?”

“Nah.” Arthur points towards a rock outcropping about half a mile out. “There’s a ledge over yonder that I’ve camped under before. Gonna wait the storm out there.”

———

Soon after, he reins Boadicea in beside a thin grove of cottonwood trees bordering the road. You open your mouth to ask what he’s doing, but he answers before you can get the words out.

“Kindling,” he says.

“But it’s wet,” you protest.

He ignores you and strips off a few of the dead lower branches of the trees, breaking a large bough in the process that showers him with a sudden spill of rainwater. Arthur ties the gathered bundle to the horse’s back, an area which only hours before, you’d been stowed much in the same manner.

———

The overhang itself yawns like a dark gash at the foot of the butte. Arthur dismounts to lead Boadicea inwards, and as he guides the horse beneath the rock ledge you have the distinct sensation of being swallowed by the earth itself.

Arthut rummages through the saddlebag and pulls out something that, as your eyes adjust to the dimness of the overhang, you recognize to be a flint. He unhooks the unused lantern from the saddle, and in the dark you see a sudden array of sparks, bright as topaz, as the oil wick behind the glass alights, then catches.

A sea of orange light floods the overhang, casting long and lurid shadows against the rock walls. Arthur sets the lantern down carefully against a small recess in the weathered stone, then straightens his back and turns towards you.

“There’s an oilcloth in there,” he says, gesturing towards the saddlebag. “See if you can find it.”

Your wet clothes weigh down your limbs like a leaden coat as you grope through the jumble of items. Your fingers make out the ridged metal of a can, the smooth face of a pocketwatch, a few assorted pencils of varying lengths… and finally, a small bundle wrapped in a square of oilcloth that you pull out from the mess the same way a man might draw a fish from a river.

“This?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Toss it here — got it.”

Arthur unwraps the cloth, then frowns. “Tinder’s damp,” he says.

“So no fire, then.”

“I didn’t say that.” He jerks his thumb towards the back corner of the shelter. “Get outta the way for a minute.”

You’re so exhausted that you practically fall off the horse when you dismount, landing with footing so unsteady that you have to catch the wall with your hand to keep from falling. Then you stagger to the cold stone wall, lean your back against it, and sink down until you can hug your knees to your chest.

Arthur unloads the bundle of wet branches from Boadicea’s backside and lets them fall clattering to the ground. He crouches down and picks up a piece of wood about the width of your wrist, then pulls his knife from its sheath. When you hear that familiar slither of metal against leather, you look up at him sharply, eyes wide - but he meets you with a steady, evenhanded gaze.

“Watch me,” he says, slipping the blade along the lateral edge of the branch. He splits it lengthwise to expose the core beneath the bark, then scrapes the knife against the pale, ragged edge, shaving off long, thin curls of wood that fall at his feet like snow.

“Wet wood won’t burn,” he explains. “But the inside’s dry. Cut it thin, like this, and we’ve got tinder.”

Arthur sheathes the knife and tosses it at your side, scabbard and all. “I’m gonna get some more wood to feed the fire,” he says, then points at the pile of kindling. “So make yourself useful in the meantime.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “Are you stupid?”

“… ‘scuse me?”

“I tried to kill you earlier and you’re giving me a knife?”

“I got enough faith in your incompetence to not be too worried. And besides…” He taps the holstered pistol at his hip.

You press your lips into a flat line and glare at the ground. “Fair enough.”

Boadicea seems reluctant to step back into the downpour. She tosses her head and snorts when Arthur takes the reins in hand, but he speaks to her in a gentle murmur, with words too quiet for you to make out, then pulls a withered peach from his satchel.

“Good girl,” he says in an affectionate tone, feeding her by hand. “We’ll be back soon enough.”

Your stomach makes an obscene gurgling noise. Hunger beats out pride, and you grimace as you ask, “Can I also get fed?”

“You really think you deserve food after what you put me through today?”

Fortune favors the bold , you think to yourself. Yet another one of Feng’s much loved aphorisms. “Yeah. You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

Something resembling a smile quirks at the edge of his lips. “Get some of those sticks carved up. Then we’ll talk.”

He walks out from the rock shelter and into the rain, with Boadicea trotting faithfully beside him.

———

You’ve always been good at peeling apples.

The owner of the brothel where you’d been born had been fond of them, and as a kid you’d quickly learned to cut away the skin in a single, graceful red spiral. Doing so made it easier to scavenge for later, when you’d dig through the kitchen scraps to retrieve the discarded skin and core to gnaw on in secret.

Carving wood, you find, is not a dissimilar process. The same basic principles apply: angle the blade and gauge the resistance of the material to be shaved, then press down and slide the knife through.

Still, your first attempts are laughable at best. With fingers stiff and clumsy from cold, and an arm that aches persistently with rippling bites of pain, you struggle to gouge out anything more significant than a series of shallow pockmarks. The blade of the knife either deflects or bites too deep, cutting irregular chunks of wood that fall at your feet like dense breadcrumbs.

But the work warms your hands and brings blood circulating back beneath your skin. The jerky, unsteady cuts begin to melt into a steady, deliberate motion that takes all of your concentration to maintain. And soon the rhythmic chk chk of the knife with every downwards swipe becomes a wooden staccato, the constancy of it blurring the rain, the chill, the events of the day from your mind. Only this, the smooth burled handle of the knife in your fingers and the steadily growing pile of wood shavings.

“Having fun?”

You jump so hard that your thumb slips against the dull edge of the knife and you nearly cut yourself. “Jesus Christ , don’t do that to — my god man, did you just crawl out of a lake?”

“May as well have. Storm’s gettin’ close.”

He and Boadicea are both so soaked that the water drips from them in a constant stream, strewing a series of small puddles behind them as they make their way back beneath the ledge. Arthur takes off his hat and jacket, then hastily wipes his hands across the grass in an attempt to dry them.

You watch as he gathers the newly-made tinder into a circle, then stacks a few sticks of kindling around it in a cone-like fashion. His first attempts with the flint result in nothing but an impotent shower of sparks. But on the fifth try the tinder catches, producing a fledgling flame that shivers against the wind from the approaching storm.

It glows orange-white, pale and wavering. He cups his hand to it and blows, and from your vantage point, it looks as though he’s breathing life into it, like some sort of modern day Prometheus. Then, with a sudden blaze of light and warmth, the fire spreads to the cone of kindling, licking at the wood with a warm constancy.

“Finally,” Arthur sighs. He staggers back and all but collapses against the stone wall of the outcrop.

Seeing him like this — wrung out and bedraggled and just as exhausted as you are — sparks in you a reluctant sort of camaraderie. In the isolation of the overhang, both huddled close to the fire in wet clothes, it’s not hard to imagine him as just another sodden refugee seeking shelter from the storm.

Outside, the wind picks up and the fire flickers in its wake, flattening and twisting and casting a nervous ebb and flow of uncertain light against the cliff face. The chill of it settles deep, exacerbated by the cold, damp cloth clinging to your skin, and you curl into yourself, folding all four limbs in close as your body will allow.

Arthur clears his throat. He shifts uncomfortably in his own soaked clothes and won’t meet your eyes when you glance in his direction.

“Look,” he says. “I don’t like it anymore’n you do, but we’re both gonna get pneumonia if we don’t get outta these wet clothes.”

[allthe-queens-men]

Sugar Free

John x Roger x Reader (polyamorous triad)

You feel bad about your boys spending their new money on you. So you make a plan to have only cheap and mostly at-home dates for a while.

Chapter 1

At least on tour they have each other. John, more than any of this bandmates, needs the kind of stability that he seems to find in the two of you: you and Roger help him feel grounded when everything still feels so up in the air. And God forbid Roger is left alone for more than a few days. If not for John he would’ve been calling you at 3 AM (his time) every morning. Even if he has nothing of substance to talk about, he needs to be distracted from the empty bed behind him.

You didn’t think you needed any of that. You’re happy to let them go live their dreams while you live yours, and your dreams don’t involve being uprooted for two-thirds of the year. But then your own two-thirds are gone for so long, and you love them so dearly, that the closer the day of their return, the more you find you’ve missed them all along.

Pepper sits with you at the window. She’s purring in the rare mid-September sun, eyes shut, perfectly content.

You wait.

And wait.

‘We just landed. We’ll be home soon!’ John had texted you some three hours ago. The airport isn’t right there in London, but it isn’t so far away either. And this morning that hour-drive distance is feeling greater than halfway around the world.

Part of you wants to step away, brew a relaxing cup of tea. But what if they pulled up in the meantime? You wouldn’t be there to welcome them home after seven long months. A few more minutes –your fingertips drumming erratically on the windowsill— couldn’t hurt.

“Your dads are coming home today, Pep.” But the wise creature probably already knows. You’d been flitting about the flat like a hummingbird, cleaning the tidy space spotless. You’d nearly stepped on her tail twice. And once actually did. But Pepper is a compassionate old girl –she understands.

An old black sedan pulls up out front. It was one of so many cars like it that had already passed by today. It’s so unremarkable that you don’t recognize this one as Brian’s. It had left with your boys back in February and was delivering them home today. You finally see the silhouette of his large mop of curls in the driver’s seat, and you all but fly off the sofa. Your eyes remain glued to the car, though, in case it was just your frenzied mind getting the best of you just now. But then you catch John climbing out of the back seat, dressed in khaki shorts and a t-shirt to take advantage of the pleasant weather. The way he shakes out his soft hair and pushes his bangs to the side light a candle in your soul as you grin from ear to ear.

He retrieves his bag from the boot and stands there, just off the pavement, waiting for something. Or someone.

Roger climbs out now, less graceful than John but still making it look effortless even when his boot catches on the back of Freddie’s seat. He pulls his hair out of his face and pushes his glasses back up his nose. He goes around back, shouting something incoherent to the car’s remaining occupants, and grabs his own luggage out of the back. A pat to John’s lower back briefly becomes a squeeze around his waist, and then he’s racing up the stairs.

He trips in his excitement, and it sets you to laughing. It’s the last glimpse you can get of them (John helping Roger to his feet again) before they disappear behind the wall.

You can’t wait any longer.

You tear yourself away from the window with Pepper hot on your tail as you rush to meet them at the door. You catch yourself against the wall just as the door is flung open, and in come the two loves of your life.

With a shout of your name Roger pulls you into a crushing embrace. You eagerly press your face into his shoulder, breathing in his cologne. You try to hug him back just as tight; he’s never really home until he can feel it in every nerve ending. Having you back in his arms is a good start. John sidesteps around the two of you and bends down to scratch behind Pepper’s ear. He knows he’ll get his turn. In the meantime he’s content with the cat.

“I’ve missed you so much you wouldn’t believe!” Roger exclaims when he’s loosened the hold up enough to breathe.

“You really probably wouldn’t,” John says, scooping Pepper up in his arms. She starts purring again –he’s always been her favorite.

“You think you’ve missed me? I had to do without both of you!” You’re joking, of course. You mean to, anyway. But you also know it’s a bit of a sore subject that the three of you try to work around as much as possible. “But at least I had Pepper.”

Your attempt to placate them doesn’t work on them, but John smiles and brushes your arm with his free hand. It’s a fleeting but warm and gentle touch. “Well, you don’t have to do without us now.”

“And we’ve got something big planned to make it up to you.” Roger takes you by the hand and leads you back to the lounge. “So I know we’ve been away for a while, but John and I have both been meaning to get away, just the three of us. I think it would be good for all of us.”

You sit down, John setting Pepper down and sitting next to you. “What would?”

“We’re planning a holiday to Paris.”

“Oh.” You nod, and try to match his excitement. “Sounds great!” It doesn’t work. But you had been to Paris twice before, and you were really hoping to just have some time with them at home. Something else is weighing on you now, too: something more amorphous.

Roger’s hands fall at his side. “Well, don’t be too excited now,” he teases, but you can hear the edge of hurt in his voice.

“What’s wrong, love?” John leans his chin on your shoulder. You want to relax back against him, but you’re terribly tense. John shoots Roger a look and he sits on the other side of you.

“Sorry. Maybe Paris isn’t the best idea right now?”

“No, I-…” You don’t know how to describe it. “I… As much as I’d love to go away just the three of us, I think I just want you home more than anything.”

“Oh.” And Roger is nothing if not adaptable. “Well I’ll call that fancy Parisian restaurant downtown and we’ll celebrate with dinner there tonight.”

You nod, lips drawn tight in a smile. John lets you go to go get dressed.

“This place takes months to get a table,” John says as they pull up to the restaurant. “Are you sure we actually have a reservation?”

“Relax, babe, I know the owner.”

John rolls his eyes, and Roger grins and pulls him in for a hard kiss to his cheek. He doesn’t let go until John smiles –“Alright, alright, get off me before we’re late!”— and you laugh as you walk alongside them. But as entertaining as their antics are, you feel the sinking pit in your gut again as you see just how high end the place really is. They charge exorbitant prices for the tiniest portions they can get away with. You make decent money with your job, but you know you can’t afford this kind of outing –and so you know who’s going to be footing the bill. You try not to feel too ill for the wine Roger orders for the table.

On the walk back to the flat the boys get into an argument about something too silly for them to remember by the time you get home. You’re not paying attention to all of that; you’re trying to figure out what felt so wrong about tonight, and once you can explain it to yourself, how you can explain it to John and Roger.

“Y/N?” John’s voice is so tinged with concern that you feel you need to put on a smile to put him at ease, but that doesn’t last more than a few seconds. “Are you alright?”

You sigh and lean on the front door of your building. “No, I don’t think I am.”

He frowns deeply and touches your waist. “What’s wrong?”

“Can we get inside yet?” You look down to Roger grabbing the post from the box, and then back to John. He’s as handsome as when he left, but visibly tired. “I don’t want to have this conversation outside. It’s getting chilly.”

“I’ve lost the box key!” Roger calls as he hops up the steps to join you.

John laughs softly. “We’re never getting them back, then.”

“I probably stuffed them somewhere in my bag.”

“Or they’re somewhere in Kyoto.”

“Ye of little faith.” He playfully pinches John’s cheek and pulls his house key out of his pocket. “We’ll see when we get inside.”

“Actually—” You’re hesitant to cut in, but you quickly have both their attention. “I want to talk. All three of us.”

“Oh. Alright.”

You get inside and, with both your boyfriends sitting on the couch in front of you, you go into your loosely rehearsed spiel.

“Now that you boys are making money and, well, lots of it— I understand if you want to spend some of it on me, but I can’t help feeling like a burden or… worse… a gold digger, when you drops hundreds of dollars on dinner like that.”

Roger’s face is burning as he sinks into the cushions.

“I don’t mean—… I know you mean well, Rog. I know you’re just trying to show that you love us. But I don’t have that kind of money to spend on you and it makes me feel selfish, or like I’m taking advantage of your new fame.” You don’t know what to do with your hands, so you just let them bob against your thighs. “So I guess those are my hang-ups tonight. Any questions?” You ask in jest, an attempt to lighten the mood. You’re surprised when John raises his hand. You awkwardly point to him, unsure of what to expect (you thought it was all pretty straightforward, if not a little muddled in the delivery).

“How can we help you feel better?”

You look between them, their eyes asking the same question. You feel an unexpected wave of relief wash over you, and squeeze yourself between them, ready for a long brainstorm session.

When you finally go to bed, you all have the plan in mind and feel much better for it. You sleep between your boys tonight, safe and excited.

@deacydeac @anotheronebitesthedeaks @sarcasticc-sunshin-e @im-happy-at-home @be-the-cheese-to-my-toast

[chocoboyjames]

#FFxivWrite2019 - 2 - Bargain

for @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast​ ‘s FFxivWrite2019!

“James!” a panicked female voice shot through the stables of the Bentbranch Meadows. The blonde Midlander dropped his broom in fright, a loud clattering followed, when hastened footsteps came closer to him. “A pack of Poachers stole Lucia!” James turned around, his eyes widened as he witnessed his Mi’qote colleague catching her breath as she leaned against the stable door. “I was out with her, giving her a nice walk after she’s been in the stable too long, you know? Because she’s finally healthy again, and she’s not sick anymore!”     The young man blinked a few times, before he began to soothe her. “Hush now, H’olga.” he tried to remain calm, yet hearing the words ‘poachers’ and ‘stole’ in one sentence when it came to chocobos, was never a good sign. “Where have they taken her?” H’olga tried to take a deep breath, but it turned into a loud sniff. “The South Shroud!” James gritted his teeth, the South Shroud was known to be home to a few poachers, but for them to go at a chocobo. “I’ll get her back.” the blonde Midlander hissed out, clearly not to be trifled with, if a chocobo was in trouble. “I’ll take Dorian, and ride for the South Shroud.” “Be careful, you know they are not to be trifled with!” She made a yammering sound, and James but his hand on her shoulder, making a weak smile. “It’s going to be alright, I’ll bring Lucia back, I promise.” 

After grabbing his jacket, lance and saddle for Dorian, he prepared himself and his chocobo to set out for the South Shroud. Not soon after their small journey began, raindrops started to fall. “By the Twelve, such a great timing.” he mumbled under his breath, yet he didn’t let this stop him from going. A bell later, he arrived in the South Shroud, and looked around the area to see if there were any poachers about, he could spot before he would need to venture out too far into their territory.     Yet, little did he know a poacher already catched the sight of him. An arrow flew by James’ ear, who in shock tugged heavily at Dorian’s reigns. The chocobo made a loud kweh, and with panic of what just had happened. The Midlander slipped off and with a loud grunt he landed on the muddy ground. His chocobo was about to run away, but more poachers approached from the bushes. “Seems that female stablehand has called for help!” one of the poachers shouted, the arrow still nooked on her bow, which was aimed at James, who still lay face flat on the ground. “And another chocobo to capture!” another one laughed. Dorian made a few threatening shoves with his talons, ready to defend his master, but it seemed now five poachers surrounded them. James spit out some mud that came into his mouth from the fall and looked up seeing that same display. “I’ve only come here to retrieve our chocobo.” he carefully began, and raised his hands to show he was unarmed. “Retrieve the chocobo, lad?” one of them laughed. “And what is your offer?” “Offer? You see this as a chance to bargain with our chocobos?” James hissed, and clearly became the more furious. “There won’t be any bargaining if we just shoot you down and take yours as well!” The young man wiped a bit of the mud from his face and had a hard time containing the rage that was now building up inside him. His lance was strapped on Dorian’s saddle, who now was a few steps away. If he could just reach it, he might give a few good swings and take them down. 

“Fine, then my offer is this.” James began with a tone of confidence in his voice. “If I beat all of you, you’re to return her to the stables anon.” “And what if you lose, little boy?” she sounded all the more menacing. “You’ll get to take my chocobo.” The rest of the poachers laughed and James saw this as his chance.

    Without further ado, he made a slippery attempt to reach out for his lance. Another arrow was shot, and razed past his shoulder. Every single poacher reacted, a fellow lancer already lunged towards James, who in the meantime had a wonderful opportunity to get ahold of his weapon.

“Dorian! Now would be a good time!” James shouted, and the chocobo made an aggressive chirp, and shoved a good amount of mud towards the poacher with the bow, who then slid on the ground. James was now engaged in fighting the lancer, which was more a slippery dance, than clashing weapons.

“You little shite!” the poacher growled, and James made a grin on how easy it was to dodge them. It was far easier than the sparrings with his father. In a flash, he found a chance to grab the poacher’s lance and give a good tug at it, making the man slide over into the mud as well. Two down, three more to go. James glanced over, and saw how Dorian was playfully yet aggressively made two of them trying to catch him. A smile formed on the Midlander’s face, the chocobo really had learned a lot from his training. Pride engulfed James for a mere moment, before a sword swooped down on him, which he blocked just in time.

“You should’ve taken the faster way out!” She hissed and pushed her sword closer to James, who was still blocking it with his lance. A loud kweh was heard from behind James, almost as if his chocobo was in distress, and in an instant he looked over his shoulder, seeing if his companion was fairing well. The two men had their weapons drawn at Dorian, who didn’t seem impressed by it at all. A strong kick into one’s stomach, and with a loud thud he landed on the ground. Yet the female poacher didn’t let this moment slide, and when James looked over, she lashed out to his face. A loud gasp echoed through the forest, when the young chocobo caretaker felt a sharp blade rush past his right upper cheek. He covered his wound with his hand, trying not to let the pain overcome him. Dorian made a few threatening steps towards his opponent, yet the man shivered slightly, dropped his weapon and ran away. The chocobo then rushed over to his master’s aid.

    “You did well to take them all down, but let’s see if you can take me-” before the female poacher could finish, Dorian ran her over, and she rolled a few malms away. James blinked a few times, realising what had just happened and made a soft and relieving sigh.

“Well done, my dear friend.” He gave his chocobo a big hug and once more touched his wound to cover it up a little. “Now, please do bring me back Lucia.” he panted, making a firm grab on his lance, shuffling over towards the female poacher, who lay on the ground defeated, her squad too, inshame alongside her. “Do as he ask…” she spit towards James’ boots, and one of the poachers nodded heavily and took off. “Take this as a warning, that we are not to be trifled with.” James spoke up, pointing the lance into the woman’s face. “You do not want to touch our chocobos ever again. See this as a lesson.”

The female poacher looked away with anger in her eyes, clearly still ashamed by her defeat, frustrated even. A kweh was heard from a behind a few trees and suddenly Lucia was in view with the poacher who was ordered to get her. Dorian made a very loud and excited chirp in return, clearly happy to see her back as well. “My thanks.” James grinned, and got ahold of Lucia’s reign. “Don’t even think about trying anything.”

A last warning, and the young Midlander walked away from the group of poachers. When they were far away from them, James finally knew he was able to relax, and call this a well deserved victory. Little did he know that he would be so brave to take on a band of poachers. He shivered slightly of what might’ve been had things gone wrong. Yet, when he arrived back at the stables, the smile of H’olga seeing her beloved Lucia back, made it all vanish. Today was a victory, it was now time to celebrate.

[sunflowerseedsandscience]

D’Un Nouvel Oeil: Chapter Three

Previous Chapters: One | Two

ORADOUR-SUR-GLANE, HAUTE-VIENNE, FRANCE LATE DECEMBER 1943

"Champagne? Are you serious?"

"Come on, Frohike. I'll pay. How much?"

"It's not a question of price, my dear."

"Don't call me what. What is it a question of, then?" From his perch at her dining room table, Melvin Frohike heaves an exasperated sigh.

"There's none to be had, Dana," he says. "What little there was has been confiscated by German officers. If anyone, anywhere has some left, they're keeping it for themselves." He frowns at her inquisitively. "What do you need it to trade for? Maybe we can help."

"I don't need it to trade for anything, Frohike," says Scully. "It's for personal use. For New Year's."

"Ahhhhh, I see," says Frohike, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Entertaining a gentleman caller, are we?"

"It's none of our business, Frohike," says John Byers, frowning disapprovingly down at his friend. "We can't get champagne. That's all she's asked for." Frohike rolls his eyes, and Byers turns to Scully. "Is there anything else you need? Anything you're short on?"

"Bandages," Scully says. "Iodine... and antibiotics. I need a place to get all of those things, other than the pharmacy in the village. The pharmacist is starting to ask questions."

"We'll see what we can find," says Frohike. "Bandages shouldn't be a problem."

"Iodine, either," chimes in Richard Langly, from his lookout at the window. "Antibiotics, though... that's a tough one."

"They're necessary," counters Scully. "Without them, I'll only be sending refugees out of here to die before they can get where you're taking them. They'll be sicker, more difficult for you to transport. It'll be much more dangerous."

"Is there anyone you can send to the pharmacy in your stead?" asks Byers.

"I already send my mother sometimes," Scully says.

"What about your contact in the German army?" asks Langly, but Scully shakes her head.

"He's too high-ranking," she says. She thinks, suddenly, of Mulder. Could she give him money and ask him to buy what she needs at the pharmacy from time to time, as a favor? Claim she's too busy to get there herself?

No, she's not comfortable with lying to him outright, with using him like that.

"I'll think of something," she says, finally. "In the meantime, see what you can do, all right?"

"And I'll keep my ear to the ground for your champagne," promises Frohike, standing, "but I can tell you right now it's not going to happen." He looks apologetic. "I wish I could tell you otherwise."

"I appreciate you trying," she says, as she rises to escort them back downstairs. "Three o'clock Wednesday morning. All three of you. All right?"

"Got it," says Frohike. "Any idea what shape the next one's going to be in?"

"No, and that's why I need all of you," says Scully. "My contact only knows he's hurt. Nothing about the extent of his injuries."

"So it could be a body we're carrying out of here by the time we arrive, for all we know," sighs Langly.

"Which is exactly why I need new ways to get those antibiotics," says Scully. "Now get moving."

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

At the start of December, Scully would never have described her evenings as "lonely." Solitary, yes, but she'd had things to occupy her time, once the cafe had been closed for the evening.

It's amazing, though, how quickly she'd become accustomed to spending every evening with Mulder. The silence in the kitchen seems strange now, somehow, as she goes about her business, washing dishes, kneading bread dough, settling her accounts, tallying up the day's earnings and stashing them away. It's true that she'd still been alone while doing these tasks for the past two weeks, but then, she'd been rushing through them after hours spent out in the dining room, talking, and there had been far less time to ponder her solitude.

Scully has been trying very hard to remind herself that, however much she might be enjoying whatever is developing between Mulder and herself, it's destined to be temporary. His regiment is the fourth to be stationed in Oradour-Sur-Glane since the beginning of the occupation, and they've already stayed longer than the three units before them. Sooner or later, they'll be relocated... or, in the event of an Allied victory, they'll be forcibly expelled. Chances are, at some point, they'll be needed for an engagement elsewhere, and for all she knows, they could all end up killed.

She tries not to dwell on the last possibility... but still, it is a possibility. And one way or another, the fact remains that she cannot afford to get attached. Her dismay at suddenly being alone each evening has served to reinforce that simple fact.

She can enjoy Mulder's company, certainly- their conversations are the high point of her day. And she recognizes that, whatever the Church and her mother might claim, women have many of the same needs for companionship and comfort that men do, and she sees nothing wrong with her and Mulder fulfilling those needs for each other. But to look at it as anything more than a temporary arrangement? Madness.

The trouble is... she has a very hard time remembering any of that when she's actually in his presence. Even more troubling is the fact that his demeanor says, all too clearly, that he is entertaining very few of the same doubts that she is. His eyes speak volumes every time he looks at her, and she has very little trouble imagining what's going on behind them.

Scully has had men in love with her before- or, at least, she's had men who have fancied themselves in love with her. She's had two lovers, since coming home to care for her mother five years ago. One had been a hired hand on her mother's farm, who had been conscripted into the French army at the start of the war. The other had been a British soldier, stationed nearby on his way to the front. Both had professed that they had been smitten- though, in the case of the soldier, she's relatively certain it had been a case of heightened emotion in the face of danger, the romantic notion that he ought to be leaving behind a girl worth fighting for.

She had been fond of both of them. Nothing more.

She'd felt something more for Sebastien, the professor with whom she had carried on an affair for most of her third year of medical school, and she'd thought, then, that it had been love... but when her regard for him had shriveled so quickly and so completely in the face of his insistence that, were they to marry, she could not continue her studies, she had been forced to admit that it had been simple infatuation. She's certain that, had she truly been in love with him, the end of their relationship would have hurt her. Instead, it had come as a relief.

Mulder, though... Mulder is somehow different.

It could be that he's not intimidated by her intellect, which is a fairly new experience for her. During her time in Paris, she had often been advised, by older women nearing the completion of their degrees, that it was wise for a woman not to flaunt her intelligence, lest she make the men pursuing her feel inferior. Since Scully had refused to do this, her gentlemen callers had been few and far between. But Mulder has made it clear that, to him, her mind is part of the attraction, not something that takes away from it.

It could also be that she senses the hurt in him, the unhappiness and helplessness in the face of what he sees as an un-winnable situation. He doesn't want to be in the army, doesn't want to have a hand in any of the horrors he sees happening around him, but he doesn't see a way out, so he simply allows it to eat at him.

One way or another, Scully spends most of her time alone reminding herself of the many, many reasons why she cannot afford to get attached, why she must not, above all else, allow herself to fall in love... only to have it all fall to pieces the moment she's actually in Mulder's presence once again.

Tonight, though... tonight, she has other things she needs to focus on. At some point between ten and eleven o'clock, Walther Skinner will be making his way to the church, where he will be retrieving an injured British airman and, with the help of the priest, delivering him to the back door of the cafe shortly before midnight. Scully is to see to the man's injuries and keep him in her flat until three o'clock in the morning, at which point Frohike and company will arrive and sneak him out of town under the cover of darkness to hand him off to one of their contacts traveling south.

Scully prepares her flat to receive her patient. She amasses her medical supplies, not knowing for certain which she'll need, and puts a pillow and blanket on the sofa, so the man can rest for a bit, once he's been treated. She makes sandwiches, some to eat here and some to take along, since meals are never guaranteed during the journey. She pours a glass of water, and brings out the whiskey, which is frequently the only thing she has to dull the pain, should it be necessary. When she's finished, she goes downstairs, to the kitchen, to keep watch at the back window.

It's not long after eleven-thirty when she sees two figures staggering along the alleyway behind the buildings. She opens the door as they draw near, and Walther Skinner staggers slowly inside with the airman, who is thankfully much smaller than he is, leaning heavily on his shoulder. Scully shuts the door quietly behind them and locks it.

"I told the priest to stay behind," says Skinner. "No sense in him having to hide out in town all night when I could get us here without him." Scully nods in agreement. Father Clemence is an invaluable resource with connections to priests working for the Resistance all over the country, but caught outside after curfew, he would be in just as much danger as any other French citizen.

"Can you get him upstairs?" asks Scully. She'll treat him down here if she has to, but he'll be more comfortable in her flat. Skinner nods and steers the man to the staircase, Scully following closely behind.

Once the airman is settled on the sofa, Skinner collapses into an armchair, exhausted. Scully pulls up her stool and sits by his head.

"What's your name?" she asks the airman, in English. He opens his eyes and looks at her, surprised.

"American?" he asks. "What're you doing here?"

"I'm a French citizen," Scully says. "My father was American. Can you tell me your name?"

"Joe," the man says. "Joseph McGovern."

"Joe, I'm going to do what I can to help you," Scully says in her best calm, soothing voice, "and then I want you to rest for a bit until our contacts arrive to move you. All right?" The weary soldier nods, and Scully gets to work.

Seventeen stitches across the abdomen later, with Scully and Skinner both worn out from holding the man down and working quickly, Joseph McGovern lies trembling on the sofa, covered with a blanket Scully has draped over him.

"Joe, close your eyes for a bit and try to sleep," Scully says, wiping sweat from his face with a clean rag. "You're safe here. I'll wake you when it's time for you to move on." He nods, too worn out to speak, and closes his eyes. Scully stands and motions wordlessly for Skinner to follow her out of the room. She takes the bottle of whiskey with her.

In her bedroom, with the door closed behind them to keep the light and their voices from disturbing the man on the sofa, Scully sinks down to sit on the edge of her mattress with a sigh. She takes a generous swig of whiskey straight from the bottle, then offers it to Skinner, who does the same, casting his hat onto her nightstand before sitting beside her.

"Are you all right?" he asks. She nods.

"If I just had something to knock them out while I work on them," she says, "this would be far easier." She motions for the bottle, which Skinner gives her, and she takes another swallow. "But even if I did... it wouldn't be safe to give them, not really, not when they might have to be moved again at a moment's notice." She looks up at him. "There's no good way to go about this. Not really."

"You're doing the best you can, Dana," Skinner reassures her, rubbing her shoulder. "You working on them might not be pleasant in the moment, but it's saving their lives."

"How long, though?" she asks. "I told my Dutch Paris contacts today that I need a new way to get antibiotics, but they don't know if they can pull that off or not. And I can't keep getting them from the village pharmacist."

"We'll think of something," Skinner promises.

"And how long before your unit is ordered to relocate?" Scully asks. "Allied invasion could happen at any time. Everyone knows it. What happens when you're told to move along?" She shakes her head. "Eventually, this is all going to fall apart."

"Dana," says Skinner, "no one's asking you to keep this going forever. At some point things are going to change, for better or worse. One way or another there are going to be fewer refugees as time goes on, either because whoever can escape will already have done so, or because no one else can. And when the Allies do invade, Germany's focus will be on them, not on people sneaking through the countryside. Invasion will send all sorts of people fleeing in all different directions. It may actually be easier to move people then than it is now."

"But I have no guarantee you'll be here to help," says Scully, and something shifts in Skinner's gaze, something that sets off alarm bells in Scully's head. She realizes, too late, that she's likely said the wrong thing- or, at least, phrased it the wrong way.

It's confirmed when Skinner moves his hand from her shoulder to her cheek. Scully stops breathing all together as he caresses her gently.

"I'm doing everything I can to make sure I'm not going anywhere, Dana," he says softly.

She thinks about it. She does. She entertains the idea... for two, maybe three seconds. And then she takes Skinner's hand and removes it gently from her cheek. She gives it a squeeze and places it carefully on the mattress between them.

"That's good, Walther," she says, taking her own hand back. She stands and carefully places the whiskey bottle atop a chest of drawers, then turns back to him. "Because if I'm going to keep on doing this, I'm going to need your help as long as possible." Skinner presses his lips together in a thin line and closes his eyes briefly. When he looks back at her, he's resigned.

"Obersoldat Mulder will be finished with his nighttime guard rotation after Thursday," he says, standing.

"Yes, he's told me," says Scully. Skinner nods.

"So presumably your evenings will be spoken for once again." She could deny it, but there's no use.

"Yes, I think it's safe to say that," she replies, and Skinner nods again. He retrieves his hat from her nightstand and puts it back on.

"You should try to get yourself some champagne," he suggests. "For New Year's." Scully relaxes, smiling.

"I've tried," she admits. "But I'm told it can't be had, not for any price." Skinner purses his lips thoughtfully.

"Give me a day or so," he says. "I'll see what I can do." Scully smiles and crosses the room to him. She embraces him once, briefly, and kisses his cheek.

"I appreciate it, Walther," she says sincerely. "Thank you."

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

"Will you still be on guard duty Friday night?" Scully asks Mulder as they stand side-by-side at her kitchen sink. He'd completely taken her by surprise, moments ago, by abandoning his table in the dining room to rush back here and help her with the dishes that have been piling up all day. She'd protested, but he hadn't been deterred.

"No, Thursday will be the last night," Mulder replies, smiling down at her. "I'll be a free man on Friday. Which reminds me-"

"Would you like to have dinner with me?" Scully forges ahead with the question she's been building herself up to all week. But before she has the chance to get even the slightest bit nervous, she's suddenly doused with dishwater as the bowl Mulder is washing slips from his hand and splashes back down into the sink.

"I'm so sorry!" Mulder's face goes red with embarrassment, but Scully laughs, grateful for the break in the tension. She wipes her face with a dishtowel... then, after a moment's hesitation, she raises herself to her toes, leaning against him slightly, and wipes his face off, as well, sending it into an even deeper shade of red.

"No harm done," she says.

"You want to have dinner with me?" he asks. "On New Year's Eve?"

"I'll be closing the cafe at six," she explains. "I thought you could come by at eight. Would that be all right?" She wonders, again, if he'll think her too forward, but his smile is answer enough.

"I would love to, Scully," he says. She feels warm all over, and it crosses her mind that now would be a perfectly natural time to try and kiss him again, while they're alone back here... but before she gets the chance, the bell on the front counter sounds, and, with a regretful look at Mulder, she runs back out front.

If something doesn't happen on New Year's Eve, she is going to slowly but surely go insane.

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

Scully doesn't manage to figure out how to get her hands on any champagne, but she does manage to procure a leg of lamb from the butcher next door. As soon as the cafe is closed, she heads upstairs and begins to prepare it, removing all but the largest shin bone and using a sharp knife to cut deep slits in the meat. She stuffs these with cloves of garlic and sprigs of rosemary, and rubs the entire thing down with butter, salt, and pepper. She cuts potatoes into thin slices and layers them at the bottom of a deep pan, balances the lamb on a rack above it, and puts the entire dish into the oven to roast. Soon, her entire flat is suffused with a heavenly aroma. She sets vegetables over the stove top to boil and removes the cherry pie she'd bakes yesterday from the cupboard, then goes to change her clothing and get ready.

In her bedroom, Scully selects the most daring, most revealing dress she owns- which is not, sadly, all that revealing. It shows more, certainly, than her customary work skirts and blouses, but perhaps not quite as much as she would like. What she wants, if she's being honest with herself, is to drive Mulder absolutely mad with desire, to make it impossible for him to resist her.

She flushes with a tingling heat as a vision invades her mind: Mulder, seated on her living room sofa, with her astride him, her carefully-chosen dress rucked up around her hips, Mulder hot and hard and thick between her thighs... she shudders and banishes the image. For the time being, at least. It's not likely to happen tonight; she very much doubts that Mulder is ready.

She carefully styles her hair, applies a bit of makeup (for once grateful to Melissa for insisting that she learn at least a little bit about what Scully had once termed "ridiculous face-painting"), and dabs perfume at her wrists and neck. She removes the finished lamb from the oven, drains the vegetables and coats them in butter, and when everything is out on the table, she goes downstairs to wait for Mulder.

If, some day in the future, Scully ever finds herself feeling down, feeling unattractive for any reason, she thinks she'll be able to remember Mulder's face the moment he sees her in the cafe window, and she'll never be able to feel anything but beautiful again. He quite literally stops in his tracks, right in the middle of the road, and when he finally coaxes himself into moving again, he walks like a man unsure of whether or not he's dreaming. She opens the door to let him in, and he stands stock-still in the doorway, gazing down at her.

"Wow," he breathes, and she just barely keeps herself from chuckling at his punch-drunk expression as she takes his hand and brings him inside, shutting and locking the door behind him. When she turns back to him, he's withdrawing a bottle from within his overcoat, and he face lights up when she sees what it is.

"Where did you manage to find this?" she asks, taking the bottle of champagne from him. "I wanted to get us some, but it was impossible."

"It was a gift from Hauptmann Skinner," says Mulder. "He instructed me to share it with you." For a moment, Scully is afraid she's going to get choked up. Most men, she's certain, even if they had not been offended by a woman turning down their romantic advances, no matter how gently, would not have gone so far as to assist a rival in wooing her. Walther Skinner is a man in a thousand.

They dig into their holiday feast with gusto, Mulder complimenting Scully repeatedly on her cooking, as they make their way slowly through Skinner's bottle of champagne.

"How did your family celebrate the New Year when you were a child?" he asks her.

"When my father was alive, he liked to take us down to the docks," Scully says, "or to the beach. Sometimes there would be fireworks, and there would always be stands selling ice cream, right up until midnight." She smiles. "Somehow or other, ice cream at eleven o'clock at night always tasted better than ice cream in the middle of the day." Mulder chuckles and nods, understanding. "After he'd passed away and we moved back here, we always spent the New Year quietly, with our neighbors in their homes." She shrugs. "It didn't seem right, especially at first, to have such a loud celebration when Papa wasn't around to enjoy it with us."

"I wish I could have met him," says Mulder, and then grimaces. "Maybe out of uniform, though." Scully smiles.

"Out of uniform, I think he would have liked you," she says sincerely, and then, to change the subject, she asks, "How about you? How did your family celebrate New Year's?" Immediately she regrets asking when his face sobers. She curses herself for forgetting: he doesn't like to talk about his family. Still, though, he answers.

"My father always went out for the evening with his partners at his firm," Mulder says. "My mother... preferred to celebrate alone. Samantha and I usually just took advantage of the opportunity to stay up extra-late without any parental supervision." He takes a thoughtful drink of his champagne. "Not that we had a good deal of it the other three-hundred and sixty-four days of the year." He shakes his head as though clearing away the unpleasant memories. "When I was at Oxford, though, my friends and I always made a big night of it." He ducks his head, embarrassed. "My first year, I let being away from my parents go to my head and I drank rather more than what could be considered reasonable, even for New Year's Eve." Scully laughs. "My friends thought it would be amusing to goad me into flirting with a woman sitting in the corner of the pub where we were drinking, and I did... and later found out that she was the wife of one of my professors." Scully laughs so hard that she nearly chokes on her champagne.

When they've finished eating and have cleared the dishes (Scully insists she'll wash them later; she doesn't want to waste a single second on things she can do any time), they retire to the parlor, where Scully coaxes Mulder to sit beside her on the sofa. He's adorably timid, which only reinforces her earlier notion that he is not ready for the fantasy she had envisioned earlier, while getting dressed. She wonders to herself: what is he ready for?

"Is something wrong?" he asks her, and she realizes she probably looks troubled.

"No, of course not," she says. "I'm just...." She bites her lower lip thoughtfully. "I want to suggest something, but I'm not sure how you'll take it." Mulder's eyebrows raise in surprise. "Nothing like that!" she reassures him. "No, I... well, I know you're not in the army by your own choice, and I know from what you've told me that you have no real love for Hitler... but...." She glances at the radio she had brought over from her mother's some time back. "Mulder, what are your thoughts on music and dancing?" He smiles, pleased.

"I'm quite fond of both," he says, and Scully relaxes.

"I know there are kinds of music that Hitler has forbidden," she says. "Am I safe in assuming you think as much of that as you do of the rest of his policies?"

"Very safe," he says. She smiles.

"All right, then," she says, and she stands, crossing to the radio. She scans through the available stations, holding her breath, hoping... and then, clear as a bell, the clarinet solo of Artie Shaw's "Begin the Beguine" fills the little room. "I don't know where they're broadcasting from, and sometimes they'll go quiet for days at a time," she says, turning back to Mulder, "but this station plays the most wonderful music." She places her champagne flute on the end table and holds out her hand to him.

"Mulder, will you dance with me?" Mulder beams, and she feels a thrilling rush of pleasure that in moments, she'll finally be in his arms. He puts down his own glass and stands, taking her hand.

"Scully, there's nothing I'd like more."

The song isn't as slow as Scully would like, but still, she's closer to Mulder than she's been yet, and it feels sublime. He's not a bad dancer, moving her around what little space they have between the sofa and the armchairs, twirling her around, making her giggle- something she hasn't done in... she can't even remember when. Certainly not since the last time Melissa had been home.

She's enjoying herself, certainly, but she's more than ready to get closer... so when the song ends and "Moonlight Serenade" begins to play, she takes it as a sign. Scully looks up at him, and his beautiful hazel eyes fix on hers. They're asking a question, waiting, as always, for her to tell him what she's ready for. She doesn't think he's quite prepared for the honest answer to that question, so she settles for stepping closer and laying her head against his shoulder, sliding her arm as tightly around his neck as she can and curling her other hand, the one holding his, against his chest.

She can hear his heart speed up where her ear is pressed against him, and, taking a deep, shuddering breath, he rests his cheek against the top of her head. They sway softly, slowly... and as much as Scully has been yearning for more than this, craving it, even, she suddenly wishes she could stop time and stay like this with him forever.

Temporary, the panicking voice in the back of her head screams at her. This is only temporary, can only ever be temporary... but for once, she silences her rational side, choosing instead to snuggle closer to him. As they make another slow rotation of the room, the clock above the fireplace comes back into her view.

"Mulder, look," she says softly, lifting her head from his chest and pointing at the clock. The minute hand is poised to strike midnight. Scully watches Mulder watching the clock as it begins to chime, and when he looks back down at her, she knows there's no way he can possibly miss the expectant look in her eyes. Slowly, he lowers his head until their lips are touching softly.

Well, this won't do at all, Scully thinks to herself, and without a second's hesitation, she presses herself tightly against him, taking his head in her hands and pulling his entire body flush against hers. She parts her lips, and at the first touch of her tongue, he inhales sharply through his nose and tightens his hold on her, practically lifting her into the air in his enthusiasm.

It's the first time she's seen fireworks at New Years in a very, very long time.

The kiss goes on and on, and when it finally ends it's because they're both out of breath and unable to keep going- at least not just yet. Mulder takes a moment to gather himself together before he regains his power of speech. He leans his forehead against hers, breathing hard.

"Happy New Year, Scully," he says finally, and she smiles, winding her fingers into the hair at the back of his head.

"Happy New Year, Mulder."

Next Chapter  >

[theartofbeinganerd]

Hi Shayna! I'm infatuated by your little fic collection on AO3, and I was wondering if you'd like to add FS + pets to it? Thanks so much!

Hi!! I was actually really excited to get this prompt, because this fic ended up based on an idea that I’ve had rolling around in my head for quite some time, so thank you! :)

(Ao3)

-

Jemma had already searched every inch of her flat, twice, but just in case she’d missedsomething, she peered behind her couch once more, calling worriedly, “Queenie?Where have you gone?”

Frowning in concern, she knelt down to check beneath herbed, but still didn’t find the little ginger cat her friend Daisy had surprisedher with some months ago. Jemma’s latest relationship had just ended in apretty nasty break-up, and Daisy had gotten her a cat in an attempt to cheerher up – the only problem had been that she’d chosen while Jemma was back homevisiting her parents to pick out a cat from the local shelter. She hadn’t had aname to call her, so she’d jokingly started using “Queen Elizabeth”, but by thetime Jemma had come home to the surprise, it had already stuck.

Plus, she had to admit, with her cat’s royal attitude andpicky appetite, the royal moniker did seem to fit quite well.

However, in the short time that she’d been Queenie’s owner,she’d never pulled a stunt like this, seeming to simply disappear into thinair. It had Jemma increasingly troubled, and when another search of the flatcame up empty, she deduced that she must have somehow slipped out the frontdoor without her notice.

So, with that in mind, Jemma picked up the bag of Queenie’sfavorite treats and stepped out into the hall, calling sweetly, “Queenie? Here,kitty kitty!” She shook the bag of treats as she went up and down the halls ofher building, until she’d ended up all the way on the second floor. “QueenElizabeth! Come here, kitty! I’ve got treats! Queenie?”

Just as she was about to give up and try the ground floor, adoor to her right abruptly opened, nearly giving her a heart attack. Anattractive man stuck his head out into the hall, glancing around until theirgazes locked. “If you’re looking for the Queen of England, then I’m afraid Ican’t help you. But, if you’re looking for a little orange cat with thestartling ability to make me feel as bad about myself as human women do, thenI…may just have what you’re looking for.”

A wave of pure relief washing over her, Jemma turned fullyto face the man and nodded excitedly as she confirmed, “That’s my cat! You found her?”

“Well…” The man cleared his throat a tad uncomfortably, thenwordlessly opened the door further and gestured into his flat. Jemma could seepart of his kitchen through the doorway, and caught sight of a well-loved catbed in the far corner, on which Queenie was snuggled up with a striped, sandybrown cat.

Gasping, she rushed right past the man and into his flat, immediatelyscooping Queenie up and away from the other cat. Queenie struggled a bit in herarms, obviously unhappy with this arrangement, but Jemma held fast.

“I’m sorry,” the man apologized quickly, and Jemma turned tofind that his expression was truly upset. “I don’t even know how she got inhere.”

“That’s alright,” Jemma sighed, adjusting her grip onQueenie. “I’m not sure how she got out, so I suppose that means we’re even.”

He shifted slightly, reaching up to rub the back of his neckas he explained, “I tried to pick her up, but…”

“Yes, she’s not very fond of being told what to do,” sheadmitted with a nod of understanding.

“I figured it wasn’t doing any harm, and she and Albertseemed to like each other well enough, so…”

Frowning, Jemma glanced from the cat, to the man, and askeda bit disbelievingly, “Your cat’s name is Albert?”

He planted his hands on his hips, replying defensively, “Yes, his name is Albert; I named himafter the first monkey in space, of course.”

Jemma arched an eyebrow, pressing her lips together to hide theamused smirk suddenly tugging at them. “Right.Well, thank you for finding her, and for letting me know that she was here.”She took a step toward the door, but paused when he called for her to wait.

“Um, I just…I was…I…Fitz,”he stumbled out, his cheeks slowly pinking.

Unsure what to make of the jumbled sentence, she hesitantlyasked, “What?”

“My name,” he explained, “it’s Fitz. I figured Ishould…y’know, introduce myself since I don’t think I’ve ever seen you aroundbefore.”

“Oh. Well, I’m Jemma Simmons. Thanks again for findingQueenie for me, Fitz.”

Fitz chuckled, shrugging off her gratitude. “Yeah, well, itwas really more of a ‘she found me’ situation, to be honest.”

A little smile quirked Jemma’s mouth up at the corners, andshe took another step toward the door, Queenie still restless in her arms withher tail twitching impatiently. “I’m grateful regardless.” As she stepped outinto the hallway, she called back to him, “Perhaps we’ll see each other around,Fitz.”

Following after her to stand in the doorway, Fitz agreedwith a hopeful little grin, “Yeah, maybe we will.”

Little did either of them know, though, it would only be avery short time before their paths crossed yet again; it wasn’t even a weeklater that Jemma found herself knocking on Fitz’s door rather quickly. As soonas it had opened to reveal Fitz himself, she demanded to know, “Is Queeniehere?”

Fitz grimaced and nodded, stepping back to allow herentrance into his flat. “Yeah, I just found her. I was going to let you know,but I wasn’t sure how to get a hold of you.” He led her through the kitchen,further into the flat than she’d been the last time. They ended up in hisliving room, where Albert and Queenie were fast asleep on the cushions of hiscouch.

“I don’t know how she keeps doing this,” Jemma admitted, atad frustrated as she moved to pick up her cat so that they could return to herflat.

“Wait,” Fitz said suddenly,causing her to pause mid-motion. “It’s just…they look really peaceful, yeah?Why don’t we just let them finish their nap, then you can take her home.”

Taken aback at the suggestion, Jemma turned to Fitz andasked, “Oh? And what do you suppose I should do in the meantime, then?”

He flushed, shrugging widely as his gaze darted about theroom, looking anywhere but at her. “Oh, well…you could join me for a cup oftea, if you want. I was just about to put on a pot, after all.”

She mulled it over for a moment, glancing over to Queenieand Albert, who did look quitepeaceful, before turning back to Fitz’s hopefully raised eyebrows. “A cup oftea would be lovely, thank you.” They returned to the kitchen, and Jemma took aseat at the table as Fitz hurried about the room, preparing their tea. “So,”she started after a short stretch of silence, “how long have you had Albert?”

“Um…about six months now, I think,” he answered. “It justseemed logical that getting a cat would be much easier than finding agirlfriend to spend all of my free time with.” He shot her a teasing,self-deprecating smirk over his shoulder. “How long have you had Queenie?”

“My friend surprised me with her a few months ago,” Jemmaexplained. “That’s where the whole ‘Queen Elizabeth’ thing comes from; Daisystarted it as a joke, but it ended up sticking.”

“Well, it’s probably for the best, since it certainly suitsher.” Turning briefly from the pot of tea, Fitz asked curiously, “So why didshe surprise you with a cat? Was it your birthday, or for some other reason? Ifyou don’t mind me asking, of course.”

Jemma had to stop herself from making a bit of a face at thequestion; it wasn’t exactly a subject she was interested in discussing withanyone, let alone someone that she barely knew. Still, she replied carefully,“No, my birthday’s in September. She just felt that I needed some cheering upafter a break-up.”

Fitz was quiet a moment, before saying simply, “Ah, I see.” He turned away from thecounter then, carrying two cups of tea over to the table, where Jemma waswaiting. They prepared their tea in silence, and once they’d finished andsettled in, he cleared his throat and asked, “So…other than owning a cat namedQueen Elizabeth with a penchant for breaking and entering, what have you gotgoing on in your life, Jemma Simmons?”

Chuckling, Jemma set down her cup of tea and confessed, “Notmuch.”

For the next hour or so, they talked, getting to know eachother better, and Jemma had to admit that Fitz only seemed to grow more andmore interesting by the moment; truthfully, she could certainly see herselfspending a lot more time with him in the future.

But, when she and Queenie left Fitz’s flat, it was withoutextracting a promise to see him again soon. She didn’t want to be too forward,after all, and scare him away, so she just had to hope that things wouldprogress naturally; perhaps they’d run into each other in the hall sometime, orcross paths while retrieving their mail.

Queenie had otherplans, apparently, as she began to make a habit out of disappearing fromJemma’s flat, only to appear not long after in Fitz’s, and it wouldn’t be longbefore she was receiving a call that her cat had been found strutting aboutFitz’s flat as though she owned the place. As such, they continued to use theircats as an excuse to see each other, always lengthening Jemma’s stay byreasoning that if Queenie had gone to all that trouble to see Albert, then whowere they to stand in the way of love?

Things were going…well– really well, in fact – and it was making Jemma nervous. After all, this wasusually the time when things started to fall apart, always proving too good tobe true. And, she was proven correct some weeks later, arriving at Fitz’s doorand knocking a bit harshly.

It wasn’t long before it swung open to reveal Fitz’s face, twistinginto a confused expression as his gaze landed on her. “Jemma? Queenie isn’t…Idon’t think she’s here.” He shot a glance over his shoulder into his flat,shaking his head and frowning as he turned back to her, then offered, “I canhelp you look for her though, if you’d like.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Jemma told Fitz flatly, “Iknow exactly where my cat is, thank you – we just got back from the vet.”

His frown deepened as he asked in concern, “Is everythingokay?” She glowered wordlessly at him for a moment, until he asked uncertainly,“…what?”

Unable to keep in her frustration any longer, Jemma criedout, “You got my cat pregnant!”

Blanching, he peered out into the empty hallway behind her,his eyes wide and filled with anxiety as he hissed, “Can you not yell that, please? I don’t exactly wantpeople thinking I’m going around getting cats pregnant.” He released a heavy sigh, then went on, “And are youeven sure it’s Albert’s?”

Gasping in affront, she took a step closer and lowered hervoice to demand fiercely, “Are you calling my cat promiscuous?”

“What? No!” he said hurriedly, still looking a bit confusedeven as he shook his head. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. I just…” Heblinked a couple of times suddenly, his brow furrowing. “Wait…I thought yousaid that Queenie had been spayed?”

“I thought so!” Jemma cried, throwing up her hands inexasperation. “Daisy promised me that’s what the shelter had told her!”Groaning in defeat, she dropped her head into her hands and shook it. “What amI going to do?”

When she felt a hand on her shoulder, she glanced up to findFitz smiling at her warmly. “We’ll figure it all out,” he promised, briefly squeezingher shoulder. “Come in, sit down, and we’ll talk over some tea, okay?”

Releasing a relieved breath, she nodded, allowing him tolead her into his flat and to sit down at his kitchen table. After a long talkwith Fitz, with her hands wrapped around a nice warm cup of soothing tea, Jemmafelt much better about the whole situation – and of course, she was no longerupset with Fitz, who had promised to help in any way that he could, and to takehalf the responsibility of the situation (however, she couldn’t help but giveAlbert a bit of a look when hewandered into the kitchen for an afternoon snack).

“I should probably head back to mine,” she said once they’dfinished their cooling tea, even as she lingered in his kitchen, only takinglittle half-steps toward the front door. “Queenie’s no doubt upset at beingleft alone for so long.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Fitz agreed, hovering a fewfeet away from her as he walked her the short distance to the door.

Turning the knob and opening the door, Jemma paused in thedoorway, turning back to face him as she told him, “I’m sorry for…how I actedearlier, Fitz. I was just so upset and I’d been blindsided by it and…”

“Hey, you don’t need to apologize,” he hastened to assureher, “you were completely in the right. After all, you’ve got the female cat,so ‘course you’re gonna assume all the responsibility is falling on yourshoulders.”

“But it’s not,” she reminded him with a grateful littlegrin. “Because I’ve got you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you do,” Fitz agreed, his voice growing soft ashe gazed at her. “Always.”

It was those words, paired with the warmth and affection inhis tone, that had Jemma sucking in a sharp breath and throwing whatevercaution and reasons she’d had against this to the wind, surging forward tocapture Fitz’s lips with her own and wrapping her arms around his neck.

Fitz stumbled slightly at the sudden force of her bodycrashing against his, one of his hands flailing about wildly as he caughthimself on the nearby counter. His other hand, however, slid around her lowerback, fisting in the material of her shirt as he gave a pleasantly surprisedgroan against her mouth. Once he seemed to have regained his balance, he spunthem around in order to press her up against the counter, kissing her with apassion that took her by complete surprise.

However, when she eventually gave him a gentle push away,Fitz immediately reined in the passion and stepped back, his eyes wide withconcern. “Jemma?”

Smirking, Jemma found Fitz’s hand with hers, lacing theirfingers together as she nodded her head in the direction of his bedroom. Whenhis eyes rounded in shock, she informed him in a whisper, “Albert’s watchingus.”

Startled, Fitz threw a glance over his shoulder, towardwhere Albert was curled up in his bed, watching them with wide, unblinkingeyes. Turning back to her, he asked lowly, “But…are you…we don’t…”

Giving a little tug on his hand, she began to move backwards,taking little steps toward his bedroom. “I’m sure, Fitz, I promise.” With alittle laugh and a roll of her eyes, she added, “Besides, I think there’s aproblem if my cat has a better love life than me.”

Chuckling, he shot another look at Albert, and admitted,“Okay, yeah, you’re probably right about that.”

But, said problem was no longer an issue as far as Jemma wasconcerned, and when she woke up the next morning and entered Fitz’s kitchen tostart the tea, she wasn’t even upset (or really surprised, to be honest) tofind Queenie with Albert in front of his bowl of cat food.

It was like they’d always said; who were they to get in theway of love?

-

“No.”

“But Jemma!” Fitzaffected his best pout, holding up one of Queenie and Albert’s tiny, squirmingkittens up. “They’re just so cute.”

“No, Fitz! We already agreed that there was no possible wayfor us to keep them,” Jemma reminded him tiredly, folding her arms over herchest. “Kittens need constant care, and neither of us has all day to dedicatethat kind of time – and I, for one, do not want to be carting a box of kittensup and down between our floors several times a day.”

Fitz lowered the kitten, allowing it to slip free from hisfingers and hurry off to join its siblings as a contemplative look crossed hisface. “Well…”

“What?” she asked, arching a suspicious eyebrow at him.

“I mean…it’s not really fair for us to split up Queenie andAlbert, is it? Especially not with the kittens, so…” He pointedly raised hiseyebrows, but when Jemma shook her head in confusion, he swallowed visibly andcolored a bit as he went on, “So…maybe we should solve all of those problemsby…not splitting them up.”

Frowning deeply, Jemma looked over to Queenie, who was lyingdown in Fitz’s living room, keeping a careful eye on her kittens as theyexplored around her. “You…you want her to stay here, with you?” She had toadmit that it made sense, but she just couldn’t imagine parting with her cat,even for a short time.

“Queenie and…and you.” When she whirled around to stare athim with wide eyes, he hurried to explain, “You’re already here all the timeanyway, and Queenie clearly wants to be here, and…and if it’s too fast then wecan forget I said anything and just…figure something else out, but –”

“Yes,” Jemma interrupted, pressing her lips together in anattempt to hold back the brilliant grin she could already feel forming.

Fitz’s eyebrows rose in pleasant, slightly disbelievingsurprise. “Yes?” he repeated unsurely.

She nodded excitedly, dropping to her knees on the floorbeside him and throwing her arms around his neck, burying her face in hisshoulder. “Yes, yes of course. Itreally does make the most sense, doesn’t it? I can’t remember the last time Ispent more than a few minutes in my flat anyway; there’s no use paying rent forsomething I don’t even use anymore.”

He looped his arms around her waist, tugging her down ontohis lap and pulling her closer. “We’ll start moving your stuff here tomorrow,then.” Jemma pulled back a bit to meet his gaze, sharing a ridiculously wide smilewith him. Just as she was about to lean in to kiss him, however, she feltsomething brush up against her leg.

Glancing down, she let out a laugh when she noticed Albertsitting beside them, looking as though he was waiting patiently for something.“And what is it you want, Albert?” she asked, reaching out to scratch the topof his furry head.

“Ah, he probably wants me to thank him, the bloody beast,” Fitz admitted with a roll of hiseyes. “None of this would’ve happened if he hadn’t been such a Romeo, afterall.”

Giving a surprised giggle, Jemma told him in a hushed voice,“I can’t believe we were set up by cats.”

“Oh, with the way my life’s gone, it’s no real surprise tome.” He patted Albert’s head then, giving him a couple of pets. “Thanks, buddy.I owe you one.”

Jemma watched as Albert trotted back over to Queenie and thekittens, and she almost could’ve sworn that Queenie looked…smug just then. If she didn’t know better…she might’ve said thatthis had been her plan all along, to get Jemma to fall in love with Fitz sothat she and Albert could be together – fortunately, Jemma had more commonsense than to believe that cats had plots.

Still…

“Thank you,” shemouthed to Queenie, gratefully tightening her arms around Fitz’s neck to hughim just a little closer. With Albert sitting protectively at her side, Queenielooked even more self-satisfied then, if such a thing was even possible.

Jemma never thought that she’d owe a cat for helping her to find love, but…it’d gotten her Fitz, so shesupposed that she could be okay with it.

After all, who was she to stand in the way of love?

[essiefreds]

… 

In light of what happened last night in Las Vegas, I’m not going to try to make jokes or anything, and I probably shouldn’t even have posted this, but maybe someone will read this and feel better. 

That’s all I ever want anyone to get from anything I write. 

Please stay safe, everyone, and keep all those affected in your thoughts and prayers, if you do that kind of thing.

Word Count: 2710

“You’re insane!“ 

“I know, isn’t it great?“ 

Eddie helplessly followed Richie in the direction that the skateboard had gone, not knowing what else to do. He couldn’t just leave; if Richie ended up breaking something while trying to actually pull off a trick, and he wasn’t there, then Richie would be alone, with an injury, and Eddie couldn’t let that happen with a good conscious. 

So, instead of leaving his idiot friend to fend for himself in case he did manage to break something (which seemed likely, considering the bullshit stunt he was currently attempting to do on the skateboard), Eddie was sticking around, unable to do anything but watch as Richie time and again fucked up. 

"Now what are you going to do?” he asked, stopping a few steps away from where the skateboard had rolled to a halt. 

Prior to this, Richie had been struggling to manage a wheelie on the back two wheels of the skateboard. Eddie didn’t feel like telling him wheelies were usually performed on only one wheel, mostly because he knew that that information would only mess things up further. 

“I gotta get the wheelie down,” Richie said, stubbornly placing a foot near the back of the skateboard and pushing down on it so that the front two wheels rose into the air. “Stan said it’s impossible. I’m going to prove that impossible is just I’m possible, meaning me, and this fuckin’ trick." 

"Richie -” Eddie began, but cut off as Richie pushed his foot against the pavement, and the skateboard went rolling away again. Eddie watched as Richie stumbled his way to both feet on the board, and then to one foot on the back of it. 

And, just like before, as soon as he attempted to push the front wheels into the air, he lost his balance, and went tumbling to the street. 

Eddie inhaled a sharp breath, and hurried forward to where Richie had fallen. “You dipshit,” he began, watching Richie grope blindly for his glasses, which had fallen from his face. He bent down the retrieve them, and frowned at the crack in the left lens. “Uh… here,” he said, and handed the glasses to his friend. 

Richie slid them on, and cursed. “Fuck. My dad’s gonna kill me; I just got the right one replaced!” He yanked the glasses back off and held them in his hand, glaring down at them, blinking. 

Eddie stood back, unsure of what to say to that. He knew that when Richie mentioned his dad, and in a context like this, he was only mildly exaggerating when he said he was going to kill him. Obviously, Richie’s dad wouldn’t actually kill him, but… 

After a moment of back and forth with himself, he huffed out a sigh and stepped forward, holding out his hand. 

Richie looked at it, and then up at him, blinking. “What?" 

"C'mon,” Eddie said. “We’re gonna get your glasses fixed.”

“And how the fuck do you plan on doing that, Spaghetti Man? You got some stock invested into your favorite lotion brand?” Richie demanded. 

Eddie smiled slightly. “Condom brand, actually. Let’s go." 

Richie grabbed his hand, and Eddie hauled him to his feet. Richie stumbled over the skateboard, which had rolled to a stop a few steps away from them, and Eddie bent down to pick it up. 

"I hope you didn’t spend your life’s savings on this thing,” he said, offering it to Richie. 

“Nah,” Richie answered. “Even if I had a life savings, I wouldn’t waste it on this.” He shoved the skateboard under his arm. “It’s Stan’s, and he bet that I couldn’t learn at least one trick on it by the end of the week.” He blinked down at the ground, stumbling over a rock, and Eddie reached over to grab his shoulder before he could fall on his face. “Guess he was right, the asshole." 

"I just can’t believe Stan has a skateboard,” Eddie said, and Richie snorted. 

“I know, especially since it took him four months to convince his folks to get him a bike.” He tripped again, this time over the curb, and Eddie once more reached out, grabbing his shirt sleeve this time. “Thanks, Eds. I can’t see shit." 

"Obviously. Fuckin’ four eyes." 

Richie responded by trying to reach over and shove him, but he missed by a mile, and Eddie cackled. 

"Fuck off, you walking hand sanitizer bottle,” Richie grumbled. 

“Better that than you, mole." 

"The fuck? That’s not even an insult,” Richie said, and Eddie rolled his eyes. 

“Moles are blind, dumb ass." 

"I didn’t know that, so the insult has no affect on me,” Richie stated. 

Eddie sighed to himself. “Whatever." 

The banter continued back and forth as they made their way into the center of Derry, Eddie stopping Richie from falling flat on his face or running into things along the way. By the time they’d reached the optometrist office, Eddie had saved Richie at least eight times, although neither one commented on it as Richie almost stumbled down the stairs after missing one, and Eddie had to push him back upright from behind. 

"Richie, you need to take better care of your glasses,” the eye doctor scolded, seeing the crack in the lens after Richie had shown them to him. 

“I know, doc,” Richie said, “but I’m a teenager, out doing stupid teenager things. This is the prime of my youth! I’m supposed to go out and hurt myself and break my glasses." 

The eye doctor shook his head and examined the glasses for a moment. "We’ll have to get a replacement lens. That could take about a week." 

"A week?” Richie sounded as though he was about to vomit, and Eddie quickly stepped in. 

“Is there anything you could do in the meantime? Another pair that he could borrow?” he asked, looking at the doctor. 

He glanced between the two boys, and then he smiled slightly.

“Richie,” he began, “have you ever heard of contacts?" 

"Yeah, but they’re like… way out of my price range, doc,” Richie answered. “You know that." 

"Not the trial pair,” the doctor said, and Richie blinked at him, both in a lack of understanding, and simply because he couldn’t see. “See, before we try to sell contacts to someone, we give them a free trial pair, so they can see how they like them, and then decide if they want to pay for them. Buying a box of contacts will be much cheaper than getting your glasses fixed over and over again." 

Richie blinked once more, and then looked in Eddie’s general direction. Eddie shrugged once. If the trial pair of contacts was free, and they would help Richie see while his glasses were getting fixed, why not try them out? 

"All right,” Richie decided, turning to the eye doctor once more. “Let’s give it a shot.”

“These fuckin’ burn!" 

"So stop rubbing your eyes, stupid, and maybe they’ll stop!" 

The two boys, after leaving the optometrist’s office, Richie with two new contacts in his eyes, along with a container to hold them and a little bottle of solution to keep them wet, had made repeated stops in front of shop windows so that Richie could look at his reflection. 

They had just stopped again, this time in front of the ice cream parlor, and Richie was fidgeting with his left eye, rubbing at it. He didn’t look like he was satisfied with this new method of corrected eyesight, but he’d barely had the contacts in for twenty minutes.

Eddie was getting impatient. "Richie." 

"They hurt, Eds!” Richie moaned, pressing his fists into his eyes and turning away from the window. “They really fuckin’ hurt!" 

"They do not,” Eddie dismissed. “You just think they do because you’ve never worn them before. Give it time, and you’ll forget you’re even wearing them." 

"Fat chance,” Richie said. 

Eddie let out a breath, and looked around, trying to think of a way to distract his friend. He spotted first Stanley’s skateboard, still tucked under Richie’s arm, and decided it was the best choice.

“You should try skating again, now that you don’t have glasses to worry about,” he suggested, gesturing to the board. 

Richie sniffed, wiping at his eyes again. “I guess I could,” he said, and then he set the skateboard down on the sidewalk and placed one foot on it. He kicked off with the other, and the skateboard went rolling down the sidewalk. 

Eddie ran along behind him as Richie steadied himself, then quickly stomped down on the back of the board. The front wheels rose into the air, and, miraculously, Richie stayed upright. Granted, his arms were spread out as wide as he could make them for balance, and the skateboard was traveling very slowly, but he’d done it. 

“Holy shit!” Richie exclaimed, jumping off the board before it had rolled to a complete stop. He turned around to face Eddie, who drew to a halt in front of him. “Did you see that? I did it!" 

"Yeah!” Eddie said, grinning. “Nice job, Trashmouth." 

Richie was beaming. He turned back to the skateboard. "I wonder if I can do it while it’s going faster,” he said, and Eddie smirked to himself. He was a genius. 

The rest of the day was spent like this: Richie continued to practice his wheelie, and Eddie sat on the curb, offering tips and tricks. He didn’t think any of them were reliable, but he felt useless otherwise.

And Richie forgot all about his contacts. 

By the time the sun started to sink to the west, Richie had mastered the wheelie, and had almost mastered something he called an ollie. Eddie didn’t know why a skateboard jump was named such a stupid thing, but he didn’t argue with Richie, which was probably a first. 

“I think we should head home,” he began after watching Richie jump over another can in the street. “It’s getting dark." 

Richie nodded, and kicked the skateboard back and forth with one foot. "Let’s see if we can ride this together,” he suggested, and Eddie blanched.

“Are you kidding?" 

"No, I’m Richie,” his friend answered, grinning. “C'mon, Eds, what could go wrong?" 

"Um, everything,” Eddie answered. “One of us could fall off and get hurt. Both of us could fall off and get hurt. We could break Stan’s skateboard, uh -" 

"Eddie, Eddie, Eddie!” Richie interrupted. “Where’s your sense of adventure?" 

"Down in the sewer,” Eddie mumbled, not loud enough for Richie to hear. He then raised his voice: “I’m not getting on the skateboard." 

"You can stand in front of me,” Richie offered. 

“What does that change?” Eddie asked, and Richie shrugged. 

“If we fall off, I’ll be the one to hit the ground first." 

"Oh, that’s tempting,” Eddie said, sarcastically, and Richie rolled his eyes at him. 

“Eds. Don’t make me pick you up. I’ll do it.”

“No you won’t.”

“Is that something you’d bet on, Spaghetti Man?”

Eddie decided that, no, it wasn’t something he’d bet on, so, muttering, he walked over to where Richie stood waiting. 

Richie grinned, and held out a hand. “Join me, my dear, and I will take you to wondrous places,” he said in a terrible attempt at a sultry voice. 

“Fuck off,” Eddie replied, and he placed first one foot on the skateboard, and then the other. The skateboard shifted slightly, and he gasped, holding out his arms for balance. 

It was unnecessary, however, for Richie had grabbed him by the waist and was holding him steady. 

“Whoa there,” he said, a grin in his voice. “Don’t fall." 

"Fuck you,” Eddie said hotly, his cheeks burning. 

“Interesting choice of words, Eds." 

Eddie bit his tongue to keep from saying anything more, and Richie’s hands moved until both his arms were wrapped around Eddie’s middle. 

"All right,” he started, “we’re doing this. Try not to move, and everything should be fine." 

Eddie started to complain, but Richie was already kicking at the ground to get them going, and before he knew it, the wind was blowing in Eddie’s face, and the two of them were skateboarding down the street. 

Richie whooped loudly in his ear. "Check us out, Eddie!” he exclaimed. “We could be a circus act." 

"You could be one all on your own, with you’re goofy looking face,” Eddie retorted, probably louder than necessary. 

Richie cackled, and Eddie pressed back against him, fearing for his life. 

They actually made it pretty far without incident. Whenever they began to slow down, Richie would gingerly reach out and kick again at the ground, and off they’d go once more. Eddie, who’d decided almost immediately that he despised skateboarding, eventually stopped panicking, and allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of the wind on his face, and the fact that he didn’t have to do anything in order to keep the board moving.

As they reached the outskirts of their neighborhood, however, something went wrong. Richie’s foot, instead of kicked off the ground, ended up dragging instead. Because the two of them were attached courtesy of Richie’s arms around Eddie’s waist, they both toppled off of the slowing skateboard and hit the ground. 

Hard. 

Just as Richie had predicted, however, he hit the ground first, saving Eddie from the worst of the impact. Eddie went rolling over the pavement once he’d fallen from the protective scope of Richie’s grasp. 

He stopped a foot away from where Richie had landed, groaning. His elbows hurt, and he could already feel the road burn on his leg. 

He pushed himself upright, and drew his knee towards his chest. Indeed, an angry red road burn laughed maniacally at him from its spot on the side of his calf. A glance at his elbows showed they’d suffered the same.

“Ouch,” he muttered, brushing at the burn on his leg to get some of the gravel out of it. He lifted his gaze towards where Richie was. “Richie?" 

His friend was didn’t move. 

Eddie paled, and crawled across the street towards Richie, who lay still on the side of the sidewalk. He reached out and shook Richie’s shoulder. "Richie? Are you okay?" 

He was relieved when Richie let out a soft groan in response. "Here, let me help,” he suggested, and then supported Richie by the shoulders as his friend pushed himself into a sitting position. Richie had a road burn on both his arms, and his shirt had been pushed up, so that one had ended up on his stomach as well.

“Geez,” he said, peering at the one on his stomach. “Got the wind knocked out of me." 

"You’re okay, though?” Eddie asked him, and Richie nodded. 

“Yeah, totally.” He reached up, as though to fix his glasses, and when he didn’t touch them, his eyes went wide. “Where’re my glasses?" 

"At the eye doctor’s office,” Eddie reminded him. “You have contacts on, remember?" 

Richie blinked in surprise, and then his face broke into a wide grin. "Eddie! Do you know what this means?” he demanded, and Eddie frowned at him. 

“No, but I have a feeling I’m not gonna like it,” he said, slowly. 

“This means I never have to worry about breaking my glasses again!” Richie exclaimed happily. “Well, for a week, at least, but still! Eds, do you have any idea how much trouble we’re gonna get into?" 

Eddie exhaled. "A lot?" 

"Yep!” Richie clambered to his feet, and held out his hand to Eddie. “Come on! Let’s see if we can do a wheelie with the two of us on the board!”

Eddie felt a stone drop into his stomach. He had created a monster.

Then again, it was his monster. 

He took Richie’s hand, and allowed his friend to haul him upright. “I’m not getting on the skateboard to try a wheelie, but I will ride with you,” he said. “You have to promise you’ll keep all four wheels on the ground, though." 

"Aw, but Eds -”

“We can get into trouble tomorrow." 

Richie gazed at him for a moment, and then he sighed. "Fine,” he submitted. “Can we at least try -" 

"No.”

“Tomorrow?”

“We’ll talk about it first." 

Richie beamed. "That’s basically "yes”.“  

Eddie smiled to himself. "Sure, Trashmouth. Whatever you say.”

[gyromitra-esculenta]

The Edgiest Fairytale 2

this one is Frankenstein's monster type of thing, but i still like those little shits. It’s mostly on here in bits and pieces 

At eleven years of age, Gabriel was everything a young prince should be, and much, much more. He was well-mannered although a tad overdramatic – but this particular quirk had followed him through childhood and wasn’t entirely unwelcome. After all, every prince should know his way around a proper soliloquy, even if it were only to woo his prospective princess.

Gabriel has also shown a strong interest in theater and poetry, warranting many a performance staged before the court, starting from a monthly thing, then escalating to biweekly, and finally - to the utmost terror of the courtiers - to weekly shows. When his repertoire grew to include, of all things, interpretative dance, the frequency of staged performances was forcibly cut down again to a monthly schedule to the silent relief of all involved.

Gabriel also did care about the animals, so much in fact that some of the ravens nesting over the former nursery gave up their ability of flight and waddled around on the ground, too heavy to fly more than a few meters in one go.

The Queen herself was also slightly skeptical over his choice in reading material, which mostly included romances, tutorials on black magic and hexing handbooks. Why couldn’t he develop a stronger inclination towards necromancy, for example, as was a longlived family tradition? The King assured her it was certainly merely a phase.

Gabriel also was ‘not going to marry no girl’. Certainly, the Toad Incident had no bearing on that little pronouncement.

*

At the tender age of eleven, Jack was a little shit everyone expected him to be.

*

The first time Gabriel had disappeared was just after his twelfth birthday and it was absolutely not connected to the fact he did not get that pony he wanted so much – the Queen decisively said no to any horse with eternal flames around its hooves. He ran away from home but came back two days later because in true ‘youthful rebellion spirit’ fashion he had forgone any provisions.

He brought back a puppy he promptly named Ripper. No-one had the heart to take it away even when the puppy turned out to be a hellhound leaving scorched and burned-out marks in the carpet or on the furniture every time Gabriel had forgotten to walk it outside. Some semblance of peace and relative quiet was unquestionably worth suffering a faint aroma of sulfur in the air.

*

The first time Jack had disappeared was just after his twelfth birthday and was in no way connected to the fact he did get that stallion he was promised. He returned a week later with a bag of jewelry, a minotaur head as a trophy, and a very confused scantily-clad voluptuous blonde in front of his saddle.

Said blonde murmured: ‘it seemed like a good idea at the time’, then asked for directions and went back home.

Jack was grounded for the following month – incidentally, two wyvern attacks and a giant rat invasion happened in the meantime. The next time he got grounded (which included a peace envoy from remote orc tribe begging for a ceasefire), there was a snake population explosion and the castle’s rafters got infested with dire bats.

“Prince Charming curse,” the royal astrologers agreed.

After the Queen wanted to take her bath and accidentally dipped herself in black slime which started breeding in the piping, her and the King reached a strained consensus: let the prince do whatever he wants, whenever he wants, and preferably outside the city, so the curse finds other outlets. The prince was virtually immortal, anyway.

*

When ravens had left the roof over ‘the nursery-turned-Gabriel’s private chambers’ (pronounced ‘Hell’ by a garish wooden plaque carved with a kitchen knife with added ‘No trespassing’ below and ‘Specially no girls allowed!’ nailed almost on the ground level - the servants, on the other hand, took to calling the place ‘The pit of disrepair and dirty underclothes’), it was a definite relief.

Until the moment it became painfully apparent the ravens left because the roof had been taken up by a mated pair of wyverns.

Gabriel reveled in the development – everyone else lived in fear of sleepless nights due to wyverns serenading each other and getting hit with the excrement when they did take to the skies occasionally (the Duchess still cried when she had to venture outside). The chicks took liking to chasing the courtiers down and then nipping at their calves.

“It’s a Fairytale Princess syndrome,” the royal medic had explained while nodding mournfully. “A very rare variant of the affliction. We call it Dark Princess.”

“What are we supposed to do!?” The Queen hyperventilated.

“It’s best to let it run its course, it usually fades in the forties, or after the marriage.”

When it came to light that certain encroaching fauna did follow Gabriel around, his solitary trips into the forests were… slightly encouraged. After few months, the prince managed to haul half of his belongings into rundown shack in the middle of the woods and spent there most of the time not taken up by his lessons or other interests.

*

Magic, as usual, found a way to slot everything into place, and screw up all and any contingency plans that were already in place, so the fact that both princes somehow managed to wander into each other’s presence should not surprise anyone.

Thirteen years old Gabriel detested interlopers, especially the ones that had no appreciation for his art, just like the blonde that apparently had ripped a bone off his scarecrow and was now throwing it for Ripper to retrieve. The traitorous dog brought it to him and then rolled onto its back, showing its belly, and expecting scratches from the total stranger.

“Who’s a good doggie!” The blonde cooed while obliging, not minding the puff of fire the hellhound exhaled excitedly. “You’re a good doggie! Yes, yes, you!”

So Gabriel decided to scare him off like all the others.

“Who dares to intrude on Death’s domain!” He did his best voice and cape flourish. The blonde looked up and his face scrunched up in obvious displeasure.

“This is really disappointing.” Clearly, this was not a reaction Gabriel was gunning for.

“What?”

“I was expecting some kind of demon, or at least a witch, after all the stories I’ve heard.” To add insult to injury, the blonde had not stopped petting Ripper in the meantime.

“I am Death incarnate and I will devour your soul!”

“And you’re just some kid in a lame costume.”

“No, I’m not! I’m a demon!”

“Sure. That’s why the stitching on the sleeve is coming apart?”

“Uh… no?”

“And why you have human hands?”

“Um…”

“And why is your mask just flat? It doesn’t even cover your entire face.”

“I…”

“So,” the blonde got up and Ripper, being the stinking turncoat it was, whined loudly, “see you ‘round.”

Gabriel stared at the other boy that had the damn audacity to wave at him before disappearing behind the line of trees.

And that was the whole story of how Gabriel took up crafts – because he was going to show that blonde buffoon!