#both bedrooms in my house are awkwardly shaped and have a few bits of furniture that cant be removed as they’re the landlords

[morraien]

Me: I am in a perpetual state of discontent.

Mum: …you’re always in a perpetual state of discontent…

Me: yes but this time it’s about the bedrooms!

Mum: your bedrooms are looking well though!

Me: NOT WELL ENOUGH

[arts-and-drafts]

Unexpected Delivery

(This is the start of the Big Brother AU! I made it in fic form since my hand was out of commission at the time!)

-

Cleo hummed absently as she finished up the last of the DNA samples for the cloning tubes. It was routine by now; she was nearly halfway done cloning the other hermits for her zoo, the growing duplicates catatonic in their seperate tubes.

Cleo thought there was nothing wrong with her quote "questionable" science, but the other hermits seemed uncomfortable whenever she casually brought it up. Which was fine! She was sure they wouldn't mind that she didn't tell them they were being cloned this time. She'd take great care of them! It'd be a great feature of the zoo.

Cleo poured the last sample into an empty tube, having already confirmed the cells were reproducing as expected. She gave a soft smile as the tube filled with the liquid she liked to call "human fertilizer", which would help the clones grow to their correct proportions in the span of a few weeks.

Cleo removed her protective lab gear, carelessly throwing her gloves on the ground. She wasn't alive, there was no danger of hazardous disposal. And her lab was entirely Joe-proof, so not even he could mess this up. There was nothing left to do now but wait.

-

Cleo started in stunned panic at the last tube. Oh no. No no no.

Instead of a recognizable hermit taking shape by now, it was a small, bean shaped fetus. Something was very very wrong.

The other clones were nearly finished, already clearly resembling Cleo's friends. But instead of a nearly fully grown adult, there was a developing BABY in the last tube.

Cleo was terrified. She had no idea what could've gone wrong. She swabbed each hermits individual bases EXACTLY so this had no chance of happening. What was she going to do?! It was too small to even see any definitive traits of who the parents could be, but even if there was, what was Cleo going to do? Just walk up to them and hand them their accidental test tube baby, sorry and good luck?

Cleo paused her panicked fidgeting. That could actually work. She did just successfully create a scientific breakthrough, accidental or not. Surely that was something no-one could be mad at. All things considered she should be very proud of herself, actually. How hard could taking care of a kid be anyway? Cleo found it relatively easy; that's why she was a teacher before she died, after all. She loved the little buggers.

Surely it would be fine. Everything would be just fine.

Cleo sat in front of the cloning tube, now an artificial womb. The soft green light from the tube shone on Cleo's thoughtful face, her eyes focused on the small little creation growing in front of her.

What a miraculous turn of events.

-

Mumbo was awoken in the dead of night by something banging on the door to his hobbit hole.

He blearily looked around the bedroom, unsuccessfully trying to blink away the sleep from his eyes. He saw the light from his son's charging cord gently pulsing in the corner of the room, Grumbot still soundly resting in sleep mode. Rain battered the glass ceiling of the two-room house, the trees along the coast lashing in the monsoon-like winds.

The banging at the door came again, and Grian stirred at Mumbo's side. "Whazzit." Grian mumbled without opening his eyes. Mumbo listened intently at the knocks.

"Zombie." Mumbo realized, Grian groaning in annoyance in response. "You geddit." Grian stated, waving a hand vaguely towards the direction of the door. Mumbo sighed exaggeratedly, resigning himself. "It's raining," he complained, but was met with pointedly fake snores from his husband.

Mumbo shook his head with a small smile, pulling back the blanket to swing his legs over the side of the bed. He yawned and stretched as he stood up, shaking out his hands before grabbing his netherite sword from the bedside chest. Zombies weren't terribly dangerous, but Mumbo doubted he could take one on without serious damage if he was sleepy.

He swung open the door to his hobbit hole, sword poised to strike, but stopped suddenly as he recognized Cleo's face staring back at him, sopping wet and holding a mess of blankets. "I guess I was right," Mumbo stammered with a small laugh, not knowing what else to say. "There was a zombie at my door."

"Very funny." Cleo scoffed, wrinkling her nose to signify no harm done. "What--it's the middle of the night, what are you doing here?" Mumbo asked, sheathing his sword and yawning again.

Cleo opened her mouth, but was instantly cut off by a massive thunderclap. The mess of blankets she was holding suddenly came to life, squirming and bawling its lungs out.

Mumbo stared as Cleo frantically shushed the thing in her arms, gently rocking it back and forth. "Is that a baby?!" Mumbo gasped. "I would love to come in, if you don't mind." Cleo said dryly, purposely ignoring his question.

"O-Oh, of course--get out of this weather, goodness--" Mumbo stuttered, moving aside.

"Hold this." Cleo said distractedly, shoving the screaming bundle of soaked blankets into Mumbo's arms after he shut the door to the raging storm. Cleo shook off the water like a dog, spraying Mumbo and his nice furniture with a shower of droplets. "Ack--Cleo, come on!" Mumbo complained over the wailing of the creature in his arms.

"It's fiiine." Cleo responded, wringing out her hair over the doormat. "You can't just say 'it's fine' whenever you do something," Mumbo muttered, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. He turned his attention to the bundle in his arms as Cleo peeled off her soaked striped socks.

Mumbo pulled back the top covering of the screaming heap, revealing what he'd recognized from the beginning; a small human baby, very clearly newborn.

"Is that a baby?" Mumbo looked up to see Grian, out of bed and staring at the poor thing in Mumbo's arms. "Hi Cleo. Oh hi Grian! I'm doing great, thanks for asking!" Cleo flipped her hair back from her face and glared at Grian, the avian sticking his tongue out at her in return.

"Here--can you get new blankets, Gri? These are soaked." Mumbo asked, unconsciously slipping into Dad Mode. He freed the still crying baby from the soaking bundle, unceremoniously dumping the blankets on the floor.

Cleo moved to sit her wet butt on Mumbo's nice couch as he tried to quiet the baby. "Where--where did it come from? Why the middle of the night?" Mumbo stammered, wordlessly handing the child over to Grian, who had returned with clean warm blankets. The baby was dressed in a plain leather tunic, something Grian quickly replaced for an old nightshirt of Grumbot's. It was still too big, but at least it was dry.

Cleo took a breath, clasping her hands together on her knees. Mumbo and Grian sat on the couch across from her, the baby finally quieting from ear-splitting wails to snuffled fussing. "Please explain, Cleo. Who's is it?" Mumbo pleaded, moving a hand through his hair.

"Well, ah, it came from my lab." Cleo began nervously. "Yes, I have a lab." She interjected at Mumbo's surprised look. "And uh. Well, it's yours."

Grian snapped his head up from the baby, having the same shocked-slash-confused look as Mumbo. "Wh--what? Sorry?" Mumbo stammered. "We're both boys." Grian stated stupidly. "Men. We're men." He corrected, going red.

Cleo rolled her eyes. "It's not a traditional baby, dummies. It's a test tube baby. A--an accidental one." Cleo wrung her hands awkwardly at Mumbo and Grian's faces.

"How do you make an accidental test tube baby, Cleo?!" Mumbo exclaimed. He wasn't mad, just--well, extremely confused. "Why were you making a test tube baby in the first place?!" Grian continued. Cleo held her hands up in surrender. "I--okay--I'm making a hermit zoo exhibit! And I'm cloning you! For the zoo! And uh--well, THAT happened." Cleo explained, gesturing at the small being in Grian's lap. "I individually swabbed your bases, so--I'm not really sure how it happened?" Cleo stuttered.

Mumbo stared. "Cleo. We're married. We live together." Mumbo said, holding up his hand to display the ring Grian had made him.

Cleo stared back. "Oh. Well, that would make sense." She rubbed the back of her neck self consciously. "Cleo, you came to the wedding!" Grian stated incredulously. "You were my groomsmaid!!" Cleo winced. "Right. That's right. I remember now." She said apologetically.

"I--anyways. That baby is a perfect mix of your DNA, so--I mean, technically speaking, I managed to create life without the use of traditional means, so you should be not mad, you should be impressed, really." Cleo rambled.

Mumbo opened his mouth and then closed it again. His redstone brain was truly very impressed, actually, but his parent brain took over. "So you just--gave us a baby? We have a baby now, that's it?" He asked, his voice pitching.

Grian gasped quietly next to Mumbo, pulling his attention from an increasingly nervous Cleo. Grian was staring at the baby, who had finally quieted into idle murmuring. "He has your eyes, Mumby." Grian whispered, his voice catching. Mumbo leaned over, startled to see the same shade of red as his staring back at him. "Oh," Mumbo breathed, a strange feeling coming over him.

Grian held out his finger to the baby and was immediately grasped by the tiny thing's button-sized hand, letting out a coo of endearment and peeking the smallest of smiles. The baby was a naked newborn, hardly a day old, but Mumbo was instantly struck by how much the little smile reminded him of Grian.

Mumbo finally looked away from the baby to Cleo, who brandished a smug grin. Mumbo huffed in annoyance he couldn't bring himself to feel.

"Well...he needs a name." Mumbo reluctantly stated, silently accepting the new member to the family that Cleo had brought them. Cleo grinned wider, undoubtedly coming to the same conclusion that he had.

"Jrum--wait." Grian bit on a laugh. "We can't call him Jrumbot, Grian." Mumbo corrected dryly over Cleo and Grian's giggling. "Okay, how about Junior, then?"

Mumbo wrinkled his nose. "That sounds patronizing. And cliche." He disagreed. Grian hummed in thought while their unnamed son sucked on his finger.

"Okay, how about Juni? That's got a nice ring to it," Grian suggested. Mumbo smiled. "You're just saying that because you can't think of another name than Junior." He teased, letting out a laugh when Grian shoved him in response.

"I like Juni." Cleo piped up, visibly more relaxed after knowing they wouldn't be mad at her.

Mumbo looked down at their new son again, his bright red eyes now curiously swiveling around to everything he could see. He was so young, so small and fragile, and yet Mumbo could already see so much life in him.

"Yeah." Mumbo said, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat. "I like Juni too."

[hunnybadgerv]

Shattered Impressions | Far Cry 5 | Leah Rook

Summary: Awoken out of a deep sleep just after dawn, Leah struggles to catch up with her speeding world as it spins haphazardly out of her control.

a/n: Sincerest and most hearty thanks again to @amistrio and @chyrstis for beta reading this piece for me. You guys are amazing. I cannot explain how much I appreciate it.

Also on AO3

Shattered Impressions

-1-

The alarm sounded sharply through the small bedroom. A woman rolled over with a groan and slammed her hand down on it. “Why didn’t you turn that off last night?” she asked herself as she lay on her stomach and blinked at the light streaming into the window through the blinds.

Leah Rook might have stayed in bed longer, but voices outside her window startled her. She was very much awake now.

Pulling open the bedside drawer, she grabbed her pistol and hopped out of bed. Her empty hand plucked a silky robe off a hook and she hurriedly pulled it on over her tank top and boy shorts, awkwardly tying it one-handed.

Careful silent steps led her down the hall and into the living room. At the front door, she peeked out, edging the curtain away just enough to see where whoever they were might be. The door could not have opened without any noise, but she tried to do it as quietly as possible before tiptoeing out. She took only a few steps out the door before making her presence known.

“Hey!”

Two men in black pants and white ribbed shirts turned toward her in surprise.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked, trying to figure that out for herself. One of them seemed to be trying to lift one of the half barrels of flowers that sat around the base of her porch.

“We’re helping the lady of the house?”

“I beg your pardon.”

“She told us to gather up everything outside.”

“Who?” she asked.

One man’s gaze dropped to the weapon in her hand and he reached out and touched the other’s shoulder.

“Mrs. Ruthie,” he answered. Both of them locked eyes on the pistol.

Leah’s brows furrowed in mingled curiosity and suspicion. “Her place is on the other side of the parcel,” she said. There was something important in what the man said, but Leah couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She tipped her chin toward the fence a good forty feet from where they were standing. Then she continued in an attempt to correct any misunderstandings. “This land, this house belongs to me.”

“Ah,” the taller one said. “Then we’ll just—”

“What are you helping her with?”

“We should be going,” the man insisted.

Knowing full well the impact of holding a weapon while asking questions, she shifted to let her service pistol become more visible. “What are you doing?”

“I think it’s best you talk to Mrs. Rook.”

Leah pulled her cellphone out of her robe’s pocket and called the Sheriff’s Office. “Hi Nancy, can you send someone out to my place? I’m putting two trespassers under citizen’s arrest. They’ll be near the porch. Can you send Staci or Joey to pick them up? I’d like to press charges.”

“Will do, hon. You all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just got woken up by folks skulking through my yard is all. And I need to go check on my mom.”

“I’ll send someone right out.”

The phone dropped into Leah’s pocket, then she fully turned her attention back to the intruders again. “We going to do this politely or are you going to make me shoot your knees out?”

Both men raised their hands and moved toward the porch.

“Have a seat on the steps.” She kept an eye on them as she inched back to her front door. Pulling out the drawer in the table that sat there, she pulled a pair of handcuffs out. Leah linked the men to one another through the rails of the banister. “Someone should be here shortly,” she told them as she hopped on one foot to pull on her running shoes that had been sitting just inside the front door. “Don’t go getting yourselves lost again.”

A minute later, she was dashing across her family’s land toward her mother’s home. The pinpoint accuracy of her focus locked onto the ranch-style home that had been built by her father’s father’s father. She ignored details that tickled at her peripheral vision and hearing—voices in the stables, people moving near the barn.

She barely missed a step as she scaled the fence that separated the backyard of the house from the fields lying fallow and untouched. Taking the stairs two at a time, she landed heavy on the back porch. Leah slowed enough to tug the screen door out of the way before she bounced against the back door. Stunned to a halt, her attention fell to the doorknob, which she turned again before leaning into the door.

“Locked?” she muttered as her mind ran. Mom never locks the doors. Even after Leah begged her to do just that after Dad’s death.

There was a flicker of movement just barely visible behind the lace curtain in the door’s window. Leah pounded on the wood with her fist. She needed to make sure her mother was okay. Nothing else mattered, not even finding out what the hell was going on, not until she laid eyes on her mother.  

When the door swung open, Leah’s forward motion rocked back onto her heels when she stared at the vaguely familiar face of a young woman. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and a floral dress that looked incredibly out of place in the dusty farmhouse of a grieving widow.

“Good morning, Leah.” The woman’s voice was buttery and delicate, feeling almost as out of place as the lacy outfit. While Leah remembered the woman’s face, she could not pluck her name out of the roiling sea in her head.

Leah wasn’t sure she really liked the way this woman curled her name around her tongue. It reminded her of the warning hiss of a snake, or maybe that was the projection of her own tension and anxiety onto the greeting.

“Mornin’,” she replied, moving into the doorway. If the woman would not move, Leah would make her.  

But the woman didn’t move from her position blocking the door when Leah surged forward with intent. It brought them to within inches of one another, far beyond the usual propriety offered by the concept of personal space.

“Can I help you?” The woman didn’t back down despite their rather intimate proximity.

The weirdness level of the situation continued to rise, as did Leah’s hackles. The younger woman straightened to her full height though that still left her having to look up to keep their eye contact.

“Remind me of your name again,” Leah said, barely trying to maintain politeness. This is wrong. This is all wrong. Where is my mother?  

“Faith,” the other woman purred in a genteel voice. “Faith Seed.”

“That’s right,” Leah replied with a nod. “I’m here to see my mother, if you don’t mind.” The last bit came out with a bit more venom that she really intended.

“She’s upstairs.”

“Excuse me, then.”

Faith’s reluctance telegraphed in the huff she gave Leah when the shorter woman inched forward insistent upon entering the home. Whether it was the bodily contact as Leah bumped into her, or the determined look she wore, Rook gained entry. Moving from the door with a quicker pace, her eyes darted to and fro, trying to figure out why all these people were here. Well, three really shouldn’t be that surprising, except that for the last six months her mother had barely allowed a single visitor, let alone a herd of them, small or not.

“What’s going on here?” Leah asked as she noticed two women in the living room emptying her father’s bookshelves into boxes. Leah jumped when Faith’s voice came from right behind her.

“Probably best to speak with your mother about that,” she told her. Faith waved a hand at the other two women, both dressed in all white, and they continued packing up the books.

Leah shot a sharp glare over her shoulder even more determined to do just what she suggested. She glided up the stairs rather than stomping up them like a rhino, recalling all the lectures she received about that particular behavior as a girl. Creeping down the hallway, she pressed a hand to one of the bedroom doors that was left slightly ajar. The room had been emptied completely—not a photo left on the walls, not a stick of furniture. Pressing it open more, she noticed that even the curtains had been removed.

Her heart raced in her chest, thumping against her ribcage by the time she reached her parents’ room. The knuckle of her middle finger rapped against the wood before she pressed it open with caution.

“I said I’ll do this myself.” Her mother’s voice shook like she’d been crying. Despite the warning in her tone, Leah pressed the door open. The look of relief on her mother’s face when she saw Leah was all the incentive her daughter needed to cross the space, letting the door close loudly behind her.

“Mama,” she said. It was a question and a greeting aimed to deliver comfort all at once.

“What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t going to be able to make it down until after your graduation.”

“I wasn’t,” Leah told her crouching and wrapping her mother in a tight hug. She tried her best to ignore the fact that her mother had a stack of her father’s sweaters in her lap and was surrounded by boxes that brimmed with his things.

It had been hard to see traces of him all over the house when she visited, but somehow seeing her dad’s whole life boxed up made his absence seem more visceral, more real, and final. His dresser was bare, save for little dusty shapes that outlined where the items he had kept there once sat.

“But I decided that I just needed to check in on you,” she admitted, easing her grip on her mother, and giving her a sweet smile.

“You probably should have dressed first, sweetie. Running around in your robe really is not the most prudent course of action.”

Leah laughed. “Yes, you’re right. But I heard voices outside my window that woke me up.”

“Oh, my goodness. Are you okay?” Ruthie asked, shock and concern all over her face.

“I’m fine, Mama. Sheriff’s coming out to pick up a couple of trespassers. They said they were there for my landscaping,” she said in a confused tone.

Ruthie’s hand covered her mouth. “Oh, no. They were only supposed to pick up the items I had the hands set out here,” she corrected. “Poor dears must have gotten confused.”

“Clearly.” Leah held her mom’s left hand, looking down at it, at the rings she still wore. “What’s going on, Mama?”

Her mother sighed and laid her other hand on top of Leah’s. “I thought it was time,” she admitted quietly.

“For?” Leah prompted, looking back up at her mom.

“Your father … God rest his soul. He’s … It’s so much harder.” The little sob in her throat even choked Leah up. “I wake up in this room, and everything is just the way he always left it. My clothes are still hanging next to his. He’s everywhere.”

Leah pulled her mother into another tight hug as she cried. Tears streamed down Leah’s cheeks too as she tried futilely to comfort her mother’s grief.

“I’m not going to be able to move forward if this place remains a shrine to Paul’s memory.” Ruthie held her daughter tighter.

Leah knew her mother was right. Knew this was a healthy choice, a step that she needed to take, but it still broke her heart. Her father had spent almost his entire life in that house and suddenly his presence was being stripped from it. It felt wrong, but in a way, it also wasn’t fair to expect her mother to live in a mausoleum to the man she’d loved and raised a family with.

“Can I help?” the young woman only just managed to eke the words out of her tight throat.

Another tight squeeze came before her mother released her and held her face in both her hands. “Are you sure?”

Leah cradled one of the hands on her cheeks and turned her head to give the warm palm a kiss as she nodded. “If you are, then so am I.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t a lie. Leah wasn’t sure she’d ever be really ready to push away her father’s memory. Even so, she could understand her mother not wanting to remain in a shrine to the man she’d loved almost her whole life.

“Thank you, sweetie.”

“You’re welcome, Mama.” Leah pressed a kiss to her mother’s forehead and shifted back. “Where should I start?”

“His nightstand,” she said, turning and pointing toward it. The glassiness in her mother’s eyes and the state of the rest of the room suggested that she had perhaps already tried to clear that piece of furniture and given up.

 -2-

Gradually the traces of Paul Rook disappeared from the bedroom amid stories that brought both tears and laughter amid the aching fondness. Leah’s father had been a big man who lived a hard, but robust life. It wasn’t just filled with struggle, but with great moments and deeds. His was not an easy shadow to grow up in, and all of his kids tried to live up to the example he and their mother set. Leah wasn’t sure she’d ever even come close.

At one point, when things were on track, she thought she might be able to offer as much to the community as her parents, but then her dad died. With his death, she lost a foundation—the support that helped her hone her direction. She knew that she could have taken out loans to finish school, but law school would not have given her time to be there for her mother. And of all the ways Leah was like her father, her dedication to people, to family, stood out among the others. It had been her choice to put law school off, but it was a decision heavily weighted in the loss of her father, which she could never fault anyone else for.

In the bottom of her father’s dresser, Leah found a drawer that almost shattered her. It was filled with handmade birthday, holiday, and Father’s Day cards from her brothers and her. Everything they’d ever given him that wasn’t practical, or which hadn’t found a place on the dresser or the shelves downstairs rested in that drawer. Shaky paintings drawn by unsteady hands, awkward clay creations crafted in school rooms, even haphazardly written letters to Santa had found their way into that drawer.

Leah couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to. And emptying that drawer went far too slowly because she studied each artifact in turn before wrapping the fragile ones and stacking all the dry crinkly pages together. Leah packed the box with an abundance of care, perhaps too much, but to her these were more than mere possessions or trophies. They spoke of something deeper.

The roll of tape screeched in reply as she finally sealed the box. She didn’t know what to write on the outside and decided to go with Dad’s Trinkets. It wasn’t a meaningful enough name for what was contained within, not by a long shot, but it was all her bleary-eyed, grief-stricken, tired brain could muster.

She set the box atop a few others from the closet, which sent her mother into crying jags off and on. This task weighed on both of the Rook women, and that fact wasn’t lost on Leah. Stretching, she shimmied into the closet and grabbed the hat boxes off the top shelf, removing them to the bed.

Finding the nearly pristine buff colored one had little effect on her. Her father only wore that hat to church and on special occasions. She set it aside and checked the other box. That one made her knees a little weak; it contained his hat—the deep chocolate colored one that he wore every day. Whenever she remembered her dad, he was wearing that hat.

Taking it out of the box, she examined it, the way the brim was bent just so. Her fingers traced the familiar line. Like a child afraid of being caught with something she shouldn’t have, Leah glanced over her shoulder at her mother. Ruthie had her face buried in one of her father’s work shirts; her shoulders shook gently with silent sobs. Her mother had always been good at that, Leah realized in the moment, controlling her emotions.

Better than her daughter at least, Leah wore her heart on her sleeve. She didn’t bear the same kind of guile, or ability to cover over her feelings. Her tongue pushed over her lips as she weighed the idea running through her head, but Leah couldn’t stop herself. She lifted the hat to her own head. Even now it still fell over her eyes and ears, just like every time her father had playfully dropped it on her head as a kid.

It was almost too much. She ripped it off her head and dropped it in the box like it had burned her. Leah leaned there, teeth burrowing into the inside of her cheek as she held onto the footboard of the bed trying to fight back the sobs brought on by her broken little heart. She missed her dad, his laugh, his smile, his hugs. He gave the best hugs, she recalled, squeezing her eyes shut and trying hard to swallow her grief to keep it from bursting out of her like it had in the church prior to his funeral.

“Mrs. Ruthie,” a voice called from the hallway. A gentle knock at the door followed. Leah rushed to right the hat in the box and get the lid back on it. “Can we take some of those boxes for you, dear?”

Faith’s face peeked into the room and Leah didn’t hide her scowl. Leah knew none of this was her fault specifically, but at the moment it felt good to have someone to blame and the leggy blonde was a convenient target of opportunity.

“Yes,” Leah’s mother answered. “Please. Thank you so much for your help. I don’t know what I’d do without it. Without both your help,” she added looking up at her daughter from the stool she sat on near the closet that now bore no more traces of her husband.

“You’re so very welcome,” Faith said sweetly before Leah could say anything. The woman entered and crossed straight toward the older woman. She hugged Ruthie tightly, and Leah felt a pang of jealousy at the way her mother clung to this veritable stranger.

A pair of young men had followed Faith up the stairs and one lifted a heavy box while the other took Mr. Rook’s dress hat and set it atop it. When he moved toward the other box on the bed, Leah placed her hand over it and narrowed her eyes at him for good measure.

“Oh, he’ll take that for you,” Faith suggested.

“Not this one,” Leah insisted. “Mama, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take Daddy’s hat.”

Ruthie looked over at her with traces of empathy and disquiet. “Sweet girl,” she said, reaching out for Leah’s hand.

“I know it’s hard to let go,” Faith added, placing a delicate hand onto her own chest “But the Father—”

“Do not presume—,” Leah started, turning her gaze on the other woman, and holding up her hand to caution her. She did not need some Bible study leader telling her anything about her religious obligations, or about how her father was in a better place, and that all this was for God’s glory or some other line. After an hour going through her father’s things, her nerves were too raw to deal politely with anyone’s interference—no matter how well-intentioned.

“Leah,” her mother interrupted, her voice held that same note of chastising comfort that it did when she was younger. “Your dad’s gone. Clinging to these things …” she looked at the items surrounding them. “Yes, they can spark happy memories and serve as reminders, but we don’t need to anchor ourselves to his possessions to remember the man your father was.”

Truth—painful and honest. She knew it when she heard it; still Leah’s heart ached in her chest. While at first glance, she had moved on with her life; she knew she still struggled with the absence of her father. For her, the grieving process had yet to conclude. Even so, her mother’s suggestion worked as it had been designed. Leah removed her hand from the box and stepped away from the bed, moving toward the window.

The footsteps moved through the room behind her, coming and going for several minutes. Leah didn’t watch them shuttle the traces of her father from the house he spent his life in. Instead, she looked out on the fields that should have been turned by now, should be budding with traces of lush green growth.

She watched in silence as two men forced open the lock on the gate and swung it open. “Mama,” she said quietly at first.

The gentle conversation between her mother and Faith continued as if Leah had said nothing.

“Mom,” she repeated, turning when she noticed someone leading Lincoln, her horse, out of the stable. “They’re taking the horses?” she asked her mother, shooting Faith an accusatory glare.

“Pardon?” Faith asked, clearly offended.

“Give us a few minutes,” Ruthie asked.

Faith pursed her lips, which still bore a polite smile. The look in her cool blue eyes that turned on Leah suggested the other woman was clearly disinterested in being dismissed.

“Leah, dear,” Ruthie Rook said, joining her daughter near the window. “We discussed this.”

Green eyes narrowed at the older woman with curiosity. No such conversation ever occurred between the two of them.

“I cannot keep up with this place on my own.”

“You’re not on your own,” Leah argued.

“You shouldn’t have to anchor yourself to this place.”

“This land has been in the family for generations.”

“I know, but your brothers have taken other roads. And you deserve the chance to move on to your own dreams. This place—”

“Is our home.” Leah slipped her arm out of her mother’s grip.

Ruthie shook her head.

“What?” It was the only word Leah could find, but it seemed to be more than her mother could locate.

Glassy brown eyes blinked down at Leah. It was like all those times when her mother found herself having to break her daughter’s heart in tiny yet memorable ways.

“Mama. What’s going on?” A frenzy rose in her once more, similar to the panic she felt hearing men outside her bedroom that morning.

“I donated the livestock and equipment to the church.”

“You what?” The air rushed out of Leah’s lungs like she’d been punched in the gut. She couldn’t find her footing and stumbled back against the sill of the window.

“Your father would want the horses cared for. And the equipment used rather than rusting away in the barn.”

Leah shook her head. She wasn’t sure how she felt about all this. Mother had a point, but … but this wasn’t right. She couldn’t be serious, could she? Leah wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Her heart hurt, her head swimming in grief and anger and fear. Leah did the only thing she could: scrabbled up and staggered out of the door.

 -3-

Hearing Lincoln’s high-pitched cry pulled Leah to the backdoor faster than she might have moved otherwise. Confusion, anger, fear, and uncertainty roiled beneath her skin and coursed through her veins.

“Stop it!” she yelled across the yard. “Stop!”

A man and a woman looked at her, the man still tugging at Lincoln’s reins like he was pulling a wagon across the park. Leah ran over to him and grabbed the man’s shoulder. Before she could think better of it, Leah decked him. A sharp pain bloomed in her hand and shot up her arm. The man hit the ground with a dull thud and a protest. Leah’s attention was on Lincoln.

“Shh,” she told him, trying to ease him through sound and touch. “It’s going to be fine, Lincoln. Calm down.”

Leah ignored everyone else. It was far easier to pour all her attention into the distraught beast she’d spent years bonding with.

She pressed her palm over the white diamond on Lincoln’s nose. He was only ever hers in spirit only. If her mother signed over the papers … Leah preferred not to think about it. She focused on Lincoln, on calming him so he would not injure himself when these people again tried to get him into the horse trailer that had been pulled behind the house.

The horse responded to her, calming, mostly. Like her, tension remained in him beneath the surface even as he responded affectionately to her touch. Leah poured her focus absolutely into that one task, soothing Lincoln. It was not unlike how she managed to get through helping her mother; her mind focused on the most incremental bit of the task before her.

Small steps carried her backward, Lincoln following her awkward movements with strength and power. Even as she whispered her own gentle goodbyes to him, they still moved. Eventually, she couldn’t take another step. She nuzzled her face against his.

“Good boy,” she whispered to him.

“Leah!”

The voice sent a shiver down her spine, which straightened hard with the snap of her head. A sense of relief flooded her at the sight of him. She almost forgot everything that had happened that morning in the rush of emotion at seeing him there. She held out the reins, not even waiting to know if someone had taken them. Then she rushed toward the porch, scaling the steps with heavy thudding footfalls. When she reached him, she slipped her arms around John’s waist.

A hollowness crept over the warmth she expected to find. He didn’t fold around her like he usually did. Instead a statuesque stiffness distanced them in a way she’d never experienced with John Seed. His hand fell onto her shoulder, giving it a momentary squeeze before the pressure of his touch pushed her away. Physically a gulf opened up between them.

Her green eyes lifted to his face, the questions racing through her head all written in the hurt filling her gaze.

“John?”

He pulled the backdoor closed behind him. Leah could see other figures in the house. She was almost certain that one of them was Joseph, his brother. Her mother had called him the Father at the brunch months earlier. In that moment, an epiphany hit her. That’s what Faith said, too. Leah had just thought she was talking about the Holy Trinity—God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, like she’d been taught in Sunday School.

Suddenly, everything felt like she was standing in the center of a cyclone. Nothing felt real.

“Why are you here?” Leah finally asked, unaware that John had been talking to her already.

His brow furrowed over his bright eyes. “That’s what I was saying, Leah. Are you all right?”

“No. No, I’m not all right, John.” She pushed at his chest trying to get his hands off her. It all felt wrong. The way he was looking at her. His family being there.

“It’s going to be fine. Change can be traumatic.” He set his hand on her shoulder.

Even his touch, which she’d craved so often felt off. Tainted and distant somehow … perfunctory. Leah shrugged it off, easing a little farther from him. “Touch me again, and I’ll show you traumatic,” she snapped, discomfort and uncertainty twisting everything she thought she should be feeling. In her mind, the pieces were starting to come together; her heart was slower on the uptake.

“Leah. It’s me.”

Her eyes fixed on his face in realization at how right he was. She felt sick. How could she have been so stupid?

“It was you, wasn’t it?” she breathed.

He looked momentarily confused, realizing they were having two different conversations. “What do you mean?”

“This. All of this. I mean you’re a lawyer. You’d know just how to formulate a donation of this scale. And with a stroke of a pen everything my father worked his whole life for would disappear.”

“Leah.”

“Don’t Leah me, John Seed.” She bit back sharply. “Is that …” she stared at him unable to give voice to the idea that sprang into her head. She gestured between them. “Is that what this was?” The question hung between them as she searched his face for any trace that it could be true. “You distract me? Take my focus away from what was happening here?”

“No,” he answered instantaneously, firmly.

A part of her wanted it to be true even as Leah floated backward a step. “I’m not sure I believe you,” she said, voice quavering despite her efforts.

Leah wanted him to have nothing to do with all of this. Wanted everything that happened between them in the last few months to be real, but she couldn’t believe a word that came out of his mouth. Not while standing on her parents’ porch watching people load up the family’s horses and park the equipment near the service gates. Not while people shifted boxes inside the house, which they removed one by one.

“Is this your part in it all?” she asked, her voice breaking but quiet.

“I assure you,” John started, reaching for her this time.

She swatted at his outstretched hand, backing away with every step he took toward her.

“So, John.” Anger fueled her now, kindled by hurt and broken trust. “Just how many widows’ daughters in Central Montana did you—?”

“It’s not like that,” he hissed. John’s hand clapped over her mouth and he backed her against the wall. His lean body pressed to hers as he held her gaze. “I have not. Would not,” he swore on a growl, like somehow his adamance could overwrite the blatant honesty of everything happening around them at that moment.

Leah opened her mouth and bit down hard on the fleshy bit of his palm. John howled and recoiled from her. It was all the room she needed. Pulling her knee up hard and fast between his legs, she doubled him over in an instant. Her fingers threaded into his hair in a way that bordered on tender. Then her fist tightened to hold him in place for the punch that came an instant later.

“You fucking two-faced bastard.” I was falling for you. Swiping at the hot tears stinging her cheeks again, Leah hopped over the banister and landed on her feet in the grass, then took off for the front of the house. The sight of flashing lights gave her heart another lift. Finally, someone who could clear up this situation.

She slowed near the corner of the front porch, looking back at the house with more confidence now that she felt she had back up. That feeling wavered when she watched Joseph saunter out of the front door. Leah noticed Faith behind him; the young woman was embracing Leah’s mother, who seemed distraught by everything unfolding around them. She moved toward the steps, toward Joseph.

“Leah,” John’s voice was ragged, strained. Seeing the limp in his gait, however, did give her some satisfaction.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Joseph called out to her, pulling her attention from his brother.

Leah huffed a gruff, disbelieving laugh at him. “This is still my parents’ land.”

“Actually,” John interrupted as he stumbled ever closer, “as of midnight this morning, the deed for this property transferred to the Project at Eden’s Gate.”

Like someone opened a floodgate everything rushed out of her body, every thought and emotion. Leah felt beyond numb, more than empty. She couldn’t feel anything in that moment. Not the pounding, nor the shattering of her heart. She just stared into those blue eyes—the ones she’d trusted.

“Sheriff, thank you for coming so quickly,” Joseph’s voice rang in her head.

“Mr. Seed,” Earl Whitehorse replied, using his official voice. Leah knew his various tones well. She’d spent the previous two summers working in his office, and he had been the one that hired her on as a deputy when she found herself in a hell of a spot after her dad died.

John straightened and tucked his hand into his jacket pocket. A stoicism wafted off him as he moved with that trademark liquid smoothness she knew so well. “This young lady is trespassing. Now, we’d rather do this without incident.” With every word, he moved toward her. Only when Sheriff Earl Whitehorse passed by her did she realize that John was in fact not approaching her.

The youngest Seed brother handed over a copy of what Leah could only presume was the transfer papers for the farm to Earl, who inspected them dutifully.

“I’m sure you’d agree. After all,” John’s blue eyes fell on Leah with a coldness she couldn’t remember seeing there before, “it would be a shame to end a promising career before it even begins.”

It was that statement, that threat that broke her the frozen shell that had bound her. The whole world went red and all she could hear was a sound like the rushing of blood through her veins. Leah leapt at John, grabbing hold of his lapel for leverage before she punched him twice more in the face in rapid succession. She felt the sickening crunch of bone beneath her knuckles before a weightlessness took over her body.

Losing her grip on him as her feet came off the ground, she kicked futilely in his direction.

“Son of a bitch,” she screamed. “You bastard!”

“Rook. Rook!” Earl’s voice barely cut through the rage in her. “Goddamnit, Leah!”

She fought him every step of the way, until he had to let her loose. The instant her feet touched the ground, she turned on a dime and started back after John Seed. She’d teach him to mess with her, mess with her family. He took everything she knew; she’d be happy to return the favor.

“Damnit, Rook!” A thick arm looped around her waist and another face came into view.

“Leah. It’s not worth it,” Joey insisted. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Please make sure the young woman steers clear. If she returns, we’ll be forced to press charges,” a man’s voice called across the front yard.

Leah surged into Deputy Joey Hudson, who just caught Leah in a hug of sorts. “Not worth it!” the other woman bit out as she battled the smaller woman’s strength.

“It’s my whole fucking life,” Leah replied, finally letting some of the fight eek out of her. One hand clutched at the back of Joey’s uniform.

“Don’t let them take the future, too,” Hudson whispered in her ear. “We’ll take a drive.”

“Yeah,” Whitehorse agreed. “Get you back to Helena.”

“I can’t leave,” Leah argued. “They took our land. What if …?” She didn’t know what might come next. To be fair, she really didn’t want to think about the few things left for them to take. Her gaze flashed back up to the porch in time to see Faith guide Leah’s mother back into the house.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Joey insisted. “We’ll figure the rest out once that’s done.”

“Fine,” Leah agreed reluctantly.

She didn’t leave completely of her own volition. Joey and the Sheriff all but pushed her to Hudson’s vehicle. And while Joey drove off, Earl stayed put. Leah wouldn’t know for how long, just that he was probably waiting for her to return, or at least making a show of keeping the peace for the people who’d somehow managed to talk her mother into signing over the house Leah had grown up in, the land she’d worked with her father growing up, the horses she learned how to ride on, and the equipment that taught her to drive. Nearly every good memory Leah Rook had was tied to that place. Those acres of green in the middle of Montana.

Losing that just made her feel her father’s loss more keenly and stoked her anger more brightly.

How could anyone target a grieving widow? she wondered.

Pushing her hand through her hair, Leah realized that she played right into it. Fell into the trap of a hunting spider whose venom blinded her, allowed her to hallucinate some pipe dream without seeing what was happening around her.

“So stupid,” she told herself.

How could you be so stupid, Leah?

Also on AO3

[diego-hargreeve2]

light in the dark

Part Three 

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy (Netflix)

Ship: Diego Hargreeves x Original Character

Warnings: Language, abuse (emotional and physical), mental illness, violence and, in later chapters, smut.

Maybe it was because she was like them, the only other one like them he’d met born with these strange abilities. Maybe it was because she was such an easy target for the thugs he despised - she was still so wide-eyed and fragile looking, exactly the sort of person who would be targeted if somebody didn’t keep an eye on him. Or maybe it was because she seemed to like him, admire him, encourage him even - no judgement or standoffish airs. 

Whatever it was he kept coming back to her, usually first thing in the evening. She’d hop in the car and they’d grab a drink, or just sit there with the radio on, one ear listening for trouble when she’d disappear, and he’d get stuck in.

That evening he hadn’t gone to the shelter first – he’d heard something on his way and diverted. It was the early hours of the morning as he headed back to the gym, he called home when he passed the shelter – and saw her, perched on a step outside despite the hour. Face creasing in a frown he pulled over sharply; at this hour even the city’s streets were quiet which was a blessing as it didn’t occur to him to check for other traffic.   “Kid, what’re you doing out here?” He said, speaking the moment he opened the door even before he’d finished getting out the car. “Wasn’t the point in taking you to a shelter to get you off the street?” he reminded her. 

Eve had been hunched over, folded in on herself, lost in her thoughts – but her head had snapped up as the car pulled up. Had it not been Diego she’d have moved, as it was she merely offered a shrug and a faint smile.

“The shelter was full and somebody else arrived. They needed the place more than me” she explained as she scrambled awkwardly to her feet. “They’d freeze out here” she pointed out. It was a cold evening, dry and crisp, and every breath she exhaled had mist rising before her.

“Don’t you need to keep warm? Keep that fire stoked?” He asked, giving in to some curiosity, and Eve smiled as she shook her head. “I’m never cold” she assured him. It wasn’t that she needed the heat to survive, the heat was inside her and nothing stopped it – the cold didn’t bother her like it did other people, because she was toasty regardless, and the heat never upset her either. Eve couldn’t be too warm, as far as she could tell. Diego nodded, accepting that at least, but he still looked annoyed.

“You might not be cold but it's not safe,” he told her, scolding and she blinked, abashed.

“I’m fine” she assured him. “I’ve slept rough a lot – honestly. I’m awake, and if somebody came, I’d go bang the door of the shelter – they’re just full tonight. Even the chairs are occupied”. Cold nights are the hardest if you live on the street.

“It’s not fine – I spent all evening seeing how dangerous this place is, and you think you can just stay out here all night?” He was annoyed enough to raise his voice and Eve stepped back, shrinking into herself automatically. You might think a lifetime of being shouted out would render her immune, but Eve had no ability to withstand confrontation, and her automatic response was to try to hide, to make herself invisible.

Diego was frustrated, but from concern rather than true anger – which gave him enough control to pull back and he signed, flexing his fingers before nodding toward the car.

“Get in. C’mon. You might not be cold, but you can’t just sit out here” he said, his tone brusque despite the kind intent behind it. The mixed signals had Eve hesitating, eyes wide as she bit her lip nervously. It was a strange combination - she’d grown up with the opposite, honeyed tones and stinging words.

“Kid. C’mon” he repeated, softening his tone further. There was something shaming about seeing her react to him like this. Normally, Diego liked to be seen as intimidating. Appearances could be half the fight. It didn’t bother him, he was proud even of his ability to threaten others, but with Eve…well, it was not impressive, it just felt wrong. Like scaring Bambi – it was too easy, too cruel and nothing to be proud of.

The nickname helped a little, that ridiculous moniker he’d given her, and Eve stepped forward and nodded slightly. Part of her wanted to point out that she was fine, that she didn’t need him to take care of her. That she had managed for years and he didn’t have to add to his burdens by caring for her. Right now, though, arguing was beyond her. Eve had very little ability to enforce boundaries or stand up for herself, and so she slid into the car silently.

“Where are we going?” she asked when both doors were closed, her voice subdued. “Since you’re too selfless for your own good, and I’m done working for the night – we’re going to my place. It’s not fancy but it’s safe” he assured her as the car pulled forward.  

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

Most people would have found the room warm, the boiler in the corner meaning even this sparse, cement basement had heat - but Eve was unaffected, though she looked around the place with a keen interest that had Diego’s eyes rolling. “Yeah, like I said, it’s not fancy” he repeated, gruff even though it was clear she wasn’t judging him. It was his home, it served its purpose - interior design wasn’t high up his list of priorities after all.

“Would you even want fancy?” Eve questioned. It had been a quiet journey, not an awkward silence or one filled with anger, just quiet, and that space had given her time to collect her thoughts and find her tongue again.

Diego snorted at her words. She had a point.

“Nah. I grew up in fancy. Who needs all that shit” he said, thinking of the rooms that belonged to Reginald Hargreeves. Their father had kept their bedrooms sparse and simple – well, most of them anyway, his favourites being an exception – but other areas of the house had betrayed his wealth and fondness for material possessions. Heavily framed paintings, suits of armour and stuffed creatures, damask upholstered furniture, gilt ornaments, and dark wood – very fancy. But not his style.

Eve’s acceptance of the space, and Diego’s choice of how to live, only lasted so long. As he approached a counter and picked up an egg she turned to ask another question, her mouth opening – but her expression grew horrified as he cracked the shell and poured the raw contents directly into his mouth.

“Did you just – eat that egg – raw?!”

She had never thought of herself as fussy. Growing up it was very much a ‘don’t eat that, don’t eat’ the environment, no catering to preferences, and when you sleep rough…well, you almost reduce yourself to eating what you can get. The past few years she’d grown used to street vendor hot dogs and junk that wouldn’t perish in a nuclear apocalypse, so you could certainly trust it shoved in a backpack. She had thought her only standard was not eating other people’s leftovers from the trash (and even that marked her as particular in the eyes of some homeless people) but she had never in all her days seen anybody eat raw egg and Eve learned that her standards were set slightly higher than she expected at that moment.

“It’s protein,” Diego told her, defensive at the look on her face.

“It was raw!” Eve repeated, finding it impossible to find any other response.

“It’s a bodybuilding thing – it takes work to look this good, sweetheart,” he told her, slapping one hand against his stomach. Eve’s gaze dropped to his hand, hearing the solid sound made by his palm against the muscles there. A weird feeling twisted inside her, finding herself wondering exactly what ‘this good’ would look like. Her cheeks coloured at her own thoughts and she glanced away, silent for a moment – and entirely missing the slight smirk that twitched Diego’s mouth from the corner as he guessed a pretty accurate idea of what she had suddenly found herself imagining.

“OK, so…fine…protein…” she said after a moment, trying to return to the conversation and to forget the image of him shirtless she had been contemplating. “But surely you can still cook it”.

“Look around – do you see cooking facilities?”

There he had a point. This was not a room that had been built with creating fine cuisine in mind. But she did have an idea.

“I think I might be able to help,” she told him, crossing to the sink and filling a mug that sat there with water. She dropped another egg into the water and slid her hands around the mug, hugging it with her fingers as though seeking warmth – it was quite the opposite actually. Focusing, a crease between her brows and her teeth nipping at her lower lip, she stared down at her hands as they began to glow – and the water began to bubble, slowly at first then faster.

Diego figured it out pretty quick, and couldn’t help but chuckle.

“That’s what you use it for?”

“You know, I’d never thought to before” she admitted after a moment.

For a beat of silence, he watched the cup, the boiling water – but his gaze rose to her face and that held more interest. She was so focused and intent as she tried this. Most of the time she just looked young and lost, the huge blue eyes in a heart-shaped face making her look younger than she was. He called her ‘kid’ on instinct, there was something about her that meant he felt older despite the fact they were the exact same age. But concentrating this hard, she had a fire in her expression that matched her palms. For a moment he let himself watch her, study her…and then pulled his mind and eyes away, turning abruptly and speaking with his back to her as he began to unbuckle the knife harness.

“How long you’ve known you could do it?”

“I…I think I was about…nine? When I realised I had some control over it”.

“That late?”

“I could do it earlier,” Eve told him, her turn to sound defensive. She had read Vanya’s book and knew they’d been far younger when their abilities first manifested. “But before then I didn’t realise it was me”.

“You thought fires just started?” Diego scoffed, turning back to her as he hung the harness over a chair back.

Eve swallowed, considering her answers. They weren’t strangers now. She thought they were friends – she’d had too few to be certain. And friends shared things.

“No…I…they said…” She lost her focus, her eyes glazing over slightly as she turned inward looking for the right words to describe. In doing so she began to remember. Being four years old and crying. Kneeling on the ground outside, naked, the rest of the Church circled around her praying. And the Prophet, their leader, standing tall with a whip in one hand and vial of holy water in the other as he tried to expel the demons from her. Back then she had believed them when they told her devils were using her, demons worked through her, that there was a core of evil in her heart – she had thought it was those monsters that created the fire.

It was a bad memory to visit. Her palms flared hot, too hot, and the china cracked beneath her fingers. The sound yanked her back and she yelped and, some instinct taking over, all but threw the cup into the sink – where it shattered, as did the half-cooked egg.

“I’m sorry”. The words left her lips quickly, too quickly, revealing how many times she had apologised for mistakes and clumsy moments in her life.

“You okay?” He learned toward, tilting his head so he could see her face as one hand moved to her shoulder. Diego figured something had happened in her head, had seen that sort of look before – the moment before the crack, she’d reminded him of Klaus. Her expression had that same haunted, heartbroken air that made him feel as though part of him as cracked as surely as the mug.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to – I’m sorry” she repeated, her voice half a whisper and he very gently shook her, no violence or malice in the movement, just trying to get her attention.

“Hey, kid – the mug doesn’t matter. You alright?”

Eve blinked, turned her gaze to him slowly. He might have found her expression familiar, but Diego’s was all new to her. The level of concern, the softness and compassion, the want to help and the need to know she was okay – Eve had never seen anything like that before. Meeting his gaze she found it hard to swallow, hard to breathe for a moment.

“I’m alright” she managed to reassure him. Diego squeezed her shoulder gently before letting go, offering a weak joke to mask the concern he’d just displayed and break the tension he’d felt as well as she met his gaze.

“Good thing I don’t mind my eggs raw”.

@lovinglydiego

If anyone else is reading and would like to be tagged just let me know

[fidgemimic]

betaadmin replied to your post: my brain over here thinkin abt jester getting a...

hey fidge WHY you gotta do this to me

because im sad abt this CONSTANTLY and i love it

he does borrow it eventually. either bc he asks jester, or she assumes he’d want to read it as well. but having it on his person feels like carrying a massive stone, and he’s almost terrified to open the cover and begin reading it.

beau gives him strange looks when he catches him not 40 pages in by the second day. he doesn’t notice - trying to keep his eyes on the words while frumkin digs his claws into caleb’s shoulders and purrs loudly. it helps keep away the foggy memories trying to creep through and pull him away from what’s in front of him. it works most times, but it only gets harder as he goes on.

he gets lost once - reaching a scene where the children, now teenagers, dance together in an empty house where no one can hear them. holding each other and laughing and feeling so, so happy and safe for reasons that they haven’t quite got an understanding of yet.

it had been late - two and a half hours past midnight - and they had been left in the cottage alone. master ikithon had been called on business in Rexxentrum, and had decided that the three of them would be left alone to study on their own. he would test them upon his return to ensure they had been working.

but until then, they were alone.

they had pushed the heavy furniture out of the center of the small bedroom - leaving a small clearing with just enough space for the three of them to practice dancing, trading off with each other in smooth, fluid movements. he can feel their hands still. astrid’s body in front of him, radiating warmth as she places a hand at his hip and entwines their fingers a bit too tightly. he welcomes the pressure - finds it calming - and has to resist the urge to pull her close just to prove they’re really here. eodwulf takes her place once they trade off, towering over bren by a good couple of inches as he places a hand on bren’s shoulder. his fingers always feel too cold, and bren carefully rubs his thumb over his knuckles hoping they warm.

they’re so different from each other and yet so utterly amazing in their own right. he thinks he loves them, but he can never bring himself to say it. but this is good as it is. together, safe, alone. laughing at each poorly placed step and half-whispered joke they say in the dark of this bedroom. his heart feels so full he thinks it might burst, but instead he laughs and leans into one of them, tears coming unbidden as the emotions become overwhelming-

a heavy hand on his shoulder pulls him back. his head feels stuffed with cotton, tight and unfocused. he blinks rapidly for a moment, but the tears in his eyes don’t clear, even as they roll down his face. the hand squeezes, and he looks over to see the blurry shape of beau sitting next to him.

“Hey, put that away for a minute, ok?” she says, vaguely motioning towards the book in his lap. caleb takes a shaking breath and complies. he will find his place later, if needed, though he didn’t look at the page number that he had been on. “You ok, man?”

He opens his mouth to speak, closes it and clears his throat when he notes how tight it feels. Looks to the stained wood of the table in front of him. “Ja. I am.. fine.”

She’s quiet for a beat, and he doesn’t dare look up - instead focused on reaching up to try and subtly wipe the tears from his eyes.

he watches as she reaches out and places a hand on the book in front of him.

“Maybe you should give this back to Jester. It looks like it’s not really doing you any good.”

“I.. I would like to finish it at the very least.”

he hears her sigh in annoyance. “You can finish it later. Like when you aren’t in the kind of mood where you’re going to keep doing that.. thing,” he sees movement out of the corner of his eye as beauregard waves a hand around her own head, “but I just saw you spacing out and crying in the middle of the tavern. You haven’t been reading this.”

“I have.” he mutters, a small bit of annoyance creeping into his own voice. “I am just... remembering.”

“Yea, but are they good memories?”

“Yes.” and that stops her. he looks back up, eyes meeting hers, and he can see the creeping hint of skepticism in the way her eyebrows are cocked. he can feel a horrible part of him, desperate for things he doesn’t deserve, begging. “Beauregard, these are some of the best memories that I have," his voice breaks terribly, and beau startles. his vision is blurring again, but he feels too stubborn in this moment to break eye contact to wipe them again. “I am asking you to let me have this. I will return the book when I am done, but just let me have this for a few more days.”

“fuckin.... fine.” she reaches up to scrub at her face and groan. the second her hand is gone from the book, he grips it close to his chest before he has a moment to even think about the action. a single finger reaches out to poke him harshly in the shoulder. “but listen - if you start actin fuckin weird and shit, or i have any reason to think that this is fucking you up worse than normal, i’m taking it. understand?”

“Ja - got it.”

“Cool. You have 3 more days.”

“Danke.”

she sits back in her seat, her gaze lingering on him for just a second before she brings up her ale to take a drink. caleb rests the book in his lap - content to be done reading for the time being. his head still feels foggy, his eyes wet and tired. he’s not sure if the book is doing anything good for him at all, honestly, but he can’t bring himself to leave it just yet. at the very least, beau allows a moment of silence between them, though he can see her fidgeting. the conversation isn’t finished yet, and watching her attempt to give him a second to recollect himself is almost as heart warming as it is utterly annoying.

“Do you have a question, Beauregard?”

she shoots him a half glare, but still attempts to act nonchalant.

“I mean.. I guess?” she mutters, crossing her arms, “I just.. like, you said you fell in love, right?”

he hums.

“But Jester and Nott have only ever mentioned Astrid.”

there’s a deep twinge of guilt in his chest. something that’s become more and more prominent the more he lets the nein think what they will about his old friends. he winces.

“Ah. Ja.”

“but it was both of them?”

he breathes. in. out. “Ja. I just.. I didn’t want them to ask more questions than they already had. Let them think what they will.”

beau snorts. “That’s a shitty idea that will definitely backfire.”

“I am aware.” he mutters back, his lips twitching into a small, sad smile. “I am, ah, worried I suppose. I think he would be very upset with me if he knew.”

that earns him a Look. “Why? I mean, I think if we meet up with your exes,” he nearly chokes at the word, “I don’t think whether or not you talked abt both of them to your friends is going to be anyone’s biggest issue.”

"Mm. You are definitely right about that.”

he nearly winces at how dejected his voice sounds as he says it, but instead he drops his gaze back to the book in his lap and places his hand on it, stroking the cover gently. they will have many problems if they were to ever see astrid and eodwulf again. his gossip about the two of them will hardly be at the top of their list, he’s sure.

beau glances at him, brows furrowed, and he can see the gears turning in her head. slowly, awkwardly, she places a hand on his shoulder again.

“If we, like, see them.. and they aren’t - you know - absolutely fucking crazy and evil and shit-”

“they will be, but go on.”

“yea but like, on the super off chance that they aren’t,” she pauses, looking him in the eye. her hand squeezes in what he assumes is her attempt at comforting him, “maybe we can do something. ok? i’m not promising shit, but.. you never know or whatever.”

he blinks, unsure of what to say or think. he doesn’t like the small spark of Something in his chest at the words - at the implication - and he tries desperately to stomp it down before it can burn too quickly.

“i.. do not think that will be an option.” he says carefully, “it has been a, ah, very long time. the empire is very good at ensuring it’s people do what it wishes - especially, ah, Him.” he breathes again shakily, ignoring the sudden race of his heart at the thought of that man. “but, ah.. thank you for the, the thought, beauregard.”

“hey man, it’s an option, alright? we’ve tried dumber shit and gotten out alive.” we really haven’t, he thinks, but stays silent. beau stands and grabs her drink, turning to walk away before pausing. instead, she turns back around and stares at him, then leans down to awkwardly wrap her arms around his shoulders. caleb freezes, suddenly unsure of what he’s supposed to do other than offering an awkward pat on the arm.

when she pulls away, she’s still got a hand on him. “i mean it though. if that book fucks you up, i’m taking it.”

he faulters, “J-ja, ok.”

“and you give it back in 3 days.”

“i remember, beauregard.”

“and if we see those two, we’re going to get them away from him.”

he doesn’t respond.

“okay?”

silence.

“Widogast.”

“beauregard,” he glares at her, his voice deeply tinged with warning as she glares back. he tries to ignore the anxiety crawling through his chest. “these are very dangerous people. if we meet them, it would be easier to kill them than it would be to change their minds.”

“if we have to kill them, we will,” she says, and his stomach twists at the thought. he’s considered the outcome hundreds of times over the years, but hearing someone speak it into existence makes it feel closer than ever. he reaches up to frumkin and scratches at his cheek, warranting a new round of loud purring that draw’s beau’s attention. “but if there’s something we can get a hold of, i’m will to try and pull them out. got it?”

there’s a pause before caleb nods, nearly imperceptible at how small it is.

"good.” she slaps his shoulder just a bit too hard, “good talk. enjoy your book.”

she turns and walks to the bar, leaving caleb at the table alone.

he glances down, eyes roaming over the cover of the book, using a single finger to softly trace the outline of three small figures huddled together in front of a lone house in the middle of a field. he breathes deeply, focusing on that and the sensation of frumkin’s purrs. he’s done reading for the night, he thinks. he can feel the familiar mental exhaustion creeping forward, already threatening to turn the soft lull of the dinner-crowd into a dull cacophony of grating voices and sharp, unexpected noises that will make his skin crawl.

collecting his items and draining the last of his ale, he stands and makes his way upstairs to the quiet of his room. putting the book away for now is simple, and there’s still a warmth in his chest that lingers from the soft memories of dancing alone in an empty home. he hopes - knows - that dreams will come, but at the very least he knows they will not be nightmares. and for that, he’s grateful.

[chuffyfan87]

Temptation. Part A.

Set after Series 3, Episode 5.

-x-

Charlie's eyelids felt heavy and it hurt to move his eyeballs. He tried to focus. His mouth tasted like something had crawled into it and died there. His head was throbbing. How much had he had to drink last night? More to the point, where had he even been last night? Focus, focus! A fragment of a memory resurfaced - the pub! Right, he'd been to the pub with the others from work. Why had he gotten so drunk? A wave of sadness washed over him. Ewart. They'd decided to have their own wake for him after the family had decided they didn't want any of them at the funeral. Ewart's death had affected them all but it had been seeing the broken looks on Duffy and Megan's faces that had spurred him on to organise something. It was hurting his head too much to remember anything more though so he gave up and decided to go back to sleep for a while.

Duffy opened her eyes briefly but shut them again quickly as the tilting of the room made her stomach churn. She tried to focus on her breathing, willing the nausea to settle. She feared her legs wouldn't carry her the few short steps to her bathroom and she really didn't feel like clearing up the mess of vomiting all over her bedsheets. Her head felt like it was about to explode as she rolled over and curled up into the fetal position, clutching her stomach. It was her own fault for mixing her drinks, she knew better than to do that! She risked opening her eyes again and found herself staring at a closed door a few feet away from the bed. What? Her bedroom door was on the other side of the room. Surely she hadn't been so trashed last night that she'd decided to rearrange the furniture in her bedroom on a sudden whim? She attempted to lift her head to see what else she had moved but that turned out to be a very bad idea indeed as almost instantly she felt the vomit begin to rise up her throat. Oh shit! She slumped out of the bed, clutching one hand tightly over her mouth as she crawled along the carpet trying desperately to get her barings before it was too late. Where the hell was everything? She spotted a bin and lunged for it, barely grabbing hold of it and bringing it towards her face in time before she was violently sick.

The sounds of vomiting roused Charlie once again from his drunken slumber. For a brief second he feared he'd vomited in his sleep but then he heard the noise again. It seemed to be coming from the direction of his desk. He slowly pushed himself up to sitting, his head feeling like it could fall off his shoulders at any moment as he did so. He wasn't alone, that was for sure! His companion was turned away from him however so at first her identity was a mystery. He forced his eyes to focus. Whoever she was, her skin was pale and scattered with freckles. She possessed a shapely figure too. If only he could see her face but that was obscured by her red hair and the bin she was vomiting into. Red hair... Oh shit! No! He hadn't, had he?

Turning away from her he got out of bed, wobbling slightly as he bent down to pick up his boxers and put them back on. He also picked up his shirt. He stumbled across the room and lowered himself awkwardly to sit next to her on the floor. He draped his shirt around her as best he could and rubbed her back. She was no longer vomiting but still occasionally retching and hiccuping.

"Shh, its OK. You'll be alright soon." He reassured her softly.

On hearing Charlie's voice, and feeling his hand on her back, several thoughts raced through Duffy's brain all at once. Why was Charlie here? Where was here? How had she gotten wherever here was? What the hell had happened last night? Lowering the bin to the floor she looked up tentatively. He was sat next to her wearing just his boxers. Her brain suddenly registered her own lack of clothing. She felt very self conscious and tried to wrap the shirt around herself. Oh shit! Her mind went blank. What the hell was she going to say to him?

Sensing her discomfort he staggered back to his feet. "I'll go get a flannel so you can... Um... Er..." His words trailed off as he stumbled out the bedroom. As the door closed behind him, Duffy dropped her head into her hands. She felt so embarrassed. How had she let this happen?

Entering the bathroom Charlie closed the door behind him and lent back against it, closing his eyes briefly. He was such an idiot! He should have known better. He was almost 10 years older than her and he was her boss for goodness sake! He had a responsibility to behave properly towards her. Put a few drinks inside him though and all that went straight out the nearest window! A few drinks was all it took for him to be totally unable to resist the charms of his gorgeous, vivacious, headstrong best friend. He sighed, she let few people see the vulnerability that lay behind the facade she presented the world. He'd had to work to gain her trust and when he had he'd discovered something so delicate and precious. He wanted nothing more than to protect her and care for her but she was far too stubborn to allow that. What now though? Had he ruined everything between them as a result of being unable to control his desires for her or would she be willing to give them a chance?

Sighing once more, he grabbed the flannel from the side of the sink and ran it under the tap before squeezing it out and taking it with him back to his room. He was about to walk in when he stopped. What if she wasn't yet dressed again? He took his hand from the handle and knocked on the door. There was a lengthy pause before he heard her voice telling him that he could come back into the room. As he entered he saw that she looked confused.

"Why did you knock? It's your house..."

She was now laid back on the bed, one hand massaging her forehead and the other holding her stomach awkwardly.

"Do you still feel sick?" He queried gently.

"A little," she replied. "But I don't think there's anything left in my stomach to come out."

He handed her the flannel and then crossed the room to grab a t-shirt from one of the drawers. He put it on and then perched on the edge of the bed near to where she was laid. Looking over at her he watched as she wiped her face with the flannel before placing it on the bedside table. It was then that he realised that she was still wearing his shirt, though she had put it on properly and made an attempt to do up the buttons. He didn't understand why she hadn't simply quickly redressed while he was out the room so she could make a quick getaway.

"I think..."

"Look about..."

They both spoke at the same time. She blushed and briefly closed her eyes whilst he cleared his throat awkwardly and spoke again. "Um, I think we need to talk about what happened last night, don't you?"

"Yes..." She replied hesitantly.

"So we went to the pub..."

"I'm so sorry I was late getting there." She interrupted him.

"You were! You never said why though."

She blushed again and bit her lip. "I overslept..."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You usually start work then..."

"I went dress shopping in the morning and I'm not used to being up so much in the day so, well, I had a nap." She shrugged.

"Oh, OK. Well, you looked... Nice..." He mumbled.

She couldn't stop herself from giggling. "Just 'nice'? Well thanks Charlie!" She rolled her eyes at him. Silence descended over them for a few moments until Duffy giggled again. "I can't believe that Kuba insisted we all drink vodka shots!"

"Polish tradition I think he said it was."

"I should have just stuck to wine." She grumbled.

"Well you nicked my whisky at some point too."

"No I didn't! I swear you gave it to me."

"Oh yes, we swapped drinks didn't we? That wine you were drinking was awful!"

She shrugged. "It was the nicest one I could afford."

A sudden thought occurred to Charlie. "I hope Megan is OK. It's all hit her pretty hard."

"You're right. Megan and Ewart were like a proper mum and dad..." Her voice trailed off as she started to sniffle and hiccup.

Charlie reached out his hand towards her but then stopped himself. He began to recall a similar conversation from the previous evening. She'd started to cry as they'd been walking back to her flat. They'd been near his house at the time so he'd suggested they pop over there til she calmed down. He moved his hand back to rest on the bed beside him. He should keep his distance.

"I'm surprised she didn't insist you got a taxi home with her."

"She wanted me to but I was hungry."

He laughed. "Oh yeh, you made me buy you a curry!"

"Did I? Well that explains why my throat burns!"

"I did try and convince you that it might not be the best of ideas but you insisted!"

"Best not tell Megan you let me make myself sick. She'd not be pleased with you!"

"Well to be honest Duffy I wasn't exactly planning on mentioning any of this to Megan..!"

"Um... Yeh... Probably best." She cleared her throat. "So we came here and I ate my curry. Actually I'm pretty sure you ate half of it."

"You started complaining that it was making your stomach hurt coz it was spicy and then, well, you burst into tears again."

"Sorry about that, I'm not normally so..."

"Hey its OK, its been a tough few days for all of us." He gave her a reassuring smile.

"You said pretty much the same thing last night when you gave me a hug." She said tentatively.

He shrugged. "Well, it's true." He looked away. "That was when I... Um... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I shouldn't have... It was wrong of me..." He stammered.

Duffy was deeply hurt by his words. "You didn't mean to kiss me, it was a mistake? Is that what you're saying Charlie?" She replied sharply.

[unabasheddinosaurkitten]

Rise Of Orthros

Chapter 3

Amelia was seated on her bed in her room that was located in the guild house, glancing down at her wooden desk writing through her journal that she did daily. It was something she started when she was 5 something to keep her mind off what was really happening; it helped her through the dark times.

Her room was a rectangular shape, with wooden furniture, the floor was covered with dark blue carpet, to her right was a large bookshelf filled with magic books and also some crystal she had received on her trips, or by herself. The newest addition to her collection was the red crystal she was given by Seviphal. Lights were provided by wall lamps and a ceiling light.

Amelia couldn't help but when she looked at the crystal she was mesmerized by it, the beautiful red glistened whenever the sun would touch it, the clear speckle of black could also be seen in the crystal. Unfortunately Amelia was drawn out of her thought process as she heard a knock at the door, clearing her throat as she stood up and wandered over to it, amazed to see Phillip standing behind it. Phillip never came to her room for anything, it was something he always avoided.

She raised an eyebrow at him before he spoke, "Someone is here to see you? She refused to tell me who she was but I think I noticed the mage necklace she was wearing."

Amelia nodded, "Thanks." She stepped outside her room wondering who the person could be. She hasn't spoken to a maze in our 7 years, nor has she wanted to.

Amelia closed her bedroom door before heading downstairs towards the front door of the guild, she hummed to herself, stepping onto the last step she turned her head towards the door where a girl stood, Phillip was right she was a mage. Amelia could tell from the red and black cloak she was wearing, the girl was also wearing a dragon eye pendant which only mages wore.

"Can I help you?" Amelia asked as she was now standing in front of the mage, "Who are you? What are you doing here? In all places?" Of course, she had a million questions, who wouldn't.

The mage let out a chuckle, removing the cloak from her face so Amelia could have a good look at her, the mage had emerald green eyes, pale skin, and her hair was a brownish-blonde that was French braided, "Calm down, my name is Abigail Stronghold, I of course as you would know am a fellow mage like yourself. Your family has sent me to request that you go see them."

Amelia frowned at Abigail, "My parents? Why would they want to see me?"

Abigail sighed deeply, "Unfortunately they wouldn't tell me the details as to why, but they say it's urgent. You know they wouldn't call on you unless it was desperate."

Amelia couldn't help but chuckle this time, "Right, my parents wouldn't either way." She felt a little calmer as she felt Hunter's hand come to the small of her back.

"Amelia? You alright? Who is this?" Hunter asked.

"This is Abigail Stronghold; she has come here on my parent's request."

"Request?" He asked a little shocked; he knew that something had gone down with her parents and to why she never spoke about them or to them.

"Please just come Amelia; your parents won't be happy that you declined, please?" Abigail pleaded; she knew it would be hard to get Amelia to help.

Amelia took a deep breath as she rubbed her forehead in thought, biting her lip ever so gently, "Alright fine, but I'm not going alone. I will bring Hunter and Hanna with me."

Hunter nodded, "Alright let me go tell Hanna, I'll meet you in the stable Amelia."

She nodded and looked back over at Abigail who looked happy that she had even agreed, this was something Amelia was hoping to never do, see her parents and brother again. "So how did you get here?" Amelia asked.

"I took a boat, took me a day and a half to get here, I think I figured out that I don't like travelling by sea" Abigail let out a chuckle, to which Amelia smiled, just a little.

Abigail and Amelia arrived at the dragon stable where Ethrinria was laying down, her head laying on the hay beneath her, Amelia took a few steps towards Ethrinria which made her lift her head, a happy puff left her nose only for her mood to change when she saw Abigail, Ethrinria flared her nostrils puffing out bits of smoke while guarding Amelia with her wing. Amelia gently stroked Ethrinria's gold face as tears formed in her eyes thinking of Gandor, the one place she never wanted to return. From a young age, she was classed as an outsider due to her having a love for dragons. She always wondered where she got her love of dragons from and that was simple.

Amelia's grandmother Adriana had a love for dragons just like her, Adriana wanted to show everyone that not all mages were bad and she began to make a difference, Adriana began showing a side mages thought was evil and unlike them. Adriana grew so many followers until they realized that only certain people could ride dragons.

People with good hearts, since Adriana was sweet and gentle lady dragons and other animals loved her. Mages didn't approve of this so they tried to take away her pure heart which backfired killing Adriana in front of everyone in town especially her loving husband Richard. A few elders at Gandor still adore Adriana even if she was no longer with them. Amelia heard stories about her grandmother around town as she killed when Amelia was only a year old.

"It's alright Ethrinria; she isn't going to harm you. We have to go back," Amelia whispered gently towards her dragon, who whined in pain.

Amelia wiped her tears away before looking over at Abigail who was awkwardly standing in the corner, she motioned her hand towards Abigail letting her know to step forward, "Ethrinria needs to feel your touch so she knows you aren't a threat."

Abigail whimpered a little before taking a gulp as she stepped forward towards Amelia and her dragon, she slowly stuck out her hand as she got closer and closed her eyes. Amelia couldn't help but roll her eyes grabbing Abigail's hand she guided it towards Ethrinria's nostrils, who gently smelt her hand.

"Let her pat you Ethrinria, I know it's hard," Amelia said as her dragon gently nudged Abigail's hand shortly after.

Abigail gasped and opened her eyes, "Oh my, your scales feel amazing. How could someone harm something as gorgeous as you?" Abigail looked into Ethrinria's eyes to see the fear that both she and Amelia were feeling, not to mention the pain those two had been through.

"Alright, we should get you tacked and ready Ethrinria, it's a long flight" Amelia spoke, she was hoping she would calm on the flight but she knew it might be unlikely.

Ethrinria stood up towering over Amelia and Abigail; she turned around allowing Amelia to place her leather saddle on her back. Amelia turned her head as she heard Hunter and Hanna entering the dragon stable.

"How long of a flight is it to Gandor?" Hanna asked, her eyes fixed on Abigail, wondering if she could trust her.

"Not long about half an hour to forty-five minutes," Amelia replied, which Hanna responded with by nodded before heading over to her dragon and saddling him up.

Once Amelia had guided Ethrinria out of the stable, she climbed on top of Ethrinria, using her tail as a ladder. She placed her feet into the stirrups before grabbing onto the reins. Abigail had trouble at first getting on Ethrinria, but she finally found her rhythm and grabbed onto Amelia's waist once she was seated behind her, "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Abigail whispered.

Amelia patted Ethrinria's scales gently whispering ever so gently, "Alright girl, you know the way." She grabbed the leather strap gripping on tightly, her body filling up with nerves.

Abigail watched as Ethrinria's wings flared out, before they began to flat softly at first to get a bit of lift-off. Ethrinria let out a small screech alerting Hillverion and Atrastrasza to follow behind which they did.

Abigail peered over to see how far they were getting, she watched as the ground below them became nothing but a small blur as Ethrinria made it past the clouds.

Hunter flew up next to Amelia while Hanna was just behind them, "What are we going to expect?" Hunter asked Amelia.

He needed to know what they were heading into, he didn't want to head into a trap.

"I'm not sure Hunter; I haven't been home in years. But I guess we have to be on our toes," Amelia replied.

Abigail looked at Hunter, "It hasn't changed, not in the 8 years Amelia has been gone. It's still the same, hatred is still written on mostly everyone's faces."

Abigail was ashamed to admit that no one had changed, they were all still the same. Even her own parents hated everyone that wasn't a mage. She was only 10 when she watched Amelia leave; it pained her to see someone she admired to be turned away because she was more than just a mage.

|||||

Amelia felt numb as she knew she was getting close to Gandor, her body felt like it would freeze at any moment. Ethrinria made another scratching sound before she flew down towards the ground. Abigail let out a screech as she held onto Amelia tighter, it felt like her stomach was dropping as Ethrinria accelerated towards the ground stopping just before she could smash into the ground, the flapping over her wings made the grass below them move slightly.

She slide off of Ethrinria's saddle and looked around noticing it was still the same feature-wise as well; found on the Western side of a sea, the settlement of Gandor, where the mages roam and practice their magic. This settlement wasn't built by a sea by accident, as it was a great area to hide and be themselves with hidden passageways and ancient burial grounds, which is important to the mages; as some of them study the dead.

The settlement itself looks humble. With its spruce wood rooftops, pinewood walls, and frozen waterfall, Gandor has an enthralling atmosphere. The main attraction is the hostel, which was built 48 years ago and designed by mages and wizards.

Gandor has a hurting economy, which is mainly supported by alchemy, thieving, and engineering. But their biggest strengths are rare wood production and weapon making. Amelia looked up at Ethrinria and she could feel her anxiety, she gently rubbed Ethrinria's shoulder blade making her purr.

"It's alright, I won't let them hurt you," Amelia whispered, but she was also trembling in fear as well.

Abigail was the first to walk down the path with Amelia and Ethrinria following behind followed by Hanna and Atrastrasza, Hunter and Hillverion. Amelia kept her head down as she walked towards the one place she never wanted to return to. The Jayne manor; From the outside, this house looks magnificent. It has been built with white stones and has grey stone decorations. Small, rectangular windows allow enough light to enter the home and have been added to the house in a mostly symmetric way.

Abigail knocked on the front door before stepping back, she gave Amelia a small smile who returned it. It only took 2 minutes for the door to open to reveal Amelia's mum Teresa. Teresa hadn't changed in the last 8 years; blonde, flowing hair awkwardly hangs over a chiselled, worried face. Sparkling brown eyes, set low within their sockets, watch cheerfully over the estate they've come to love for so long.

Scars reaching from the top of the right cheek, running towards her right nostril and ending on her upper lip and leaves a burning memory of restored honour. "Amelia... you are back!" She gasped and went to hug Amelia only for her to step back.

Teresa stopped her movements and cleared her throat before stepping inside, "Please come inside, Abigail will you escort the dragons around the back please."

Abigail nodded bowing her head slightly before backing away and headed outside shutting the door once again. The house is equipped with a modern kitchen and 6 lavish bathrooms; it also has two snug living rooms, 8 bedrooms, a cosy dining area, and a modest basement.

The building is shaped like a squared S. The two extensions extend into stylish gardens to each side. The second floor is the same size as the first, but part of it hangs over the edge of the floor below, creating an overhang on one side and a balcony on the other. This floor follows the same style as the floor below.

The roof is low and triangular and is covered with stone slabs. One large chimney pokes out the centre of the roof. Several long, thin windows let in plenty of light to the rooms below the roof. The house itself is surrounded by paved ground, with a pool at the backside of the house.

"Thank you dragon riders for coming on such short notice. We didn't know who to ask. So we sent Abigail. You see we aren't very welcome in most city's" Teresa explained.

Amelia scoffed, "I wonder why," she rolled her eyes as Teresa escorted them into the living room.

Their living room which was still spacious and delicate; has coordinating plastic furniture. The seating is plush. The floor is stone and the walls are painted with a wallpapered dado. Light is provided by wall lamps. The room is done in autumn colours and overall has a cluttered look. Among the first things, one notices walking in is an old sculpture of the family.

Amelia looked away from the sculpture watching as her mother walked into the hall, "Richard... Tony... come down, Amelia is here with some friends!" Teresa shouted.

Amelia, Hanna, and Hunter sat down on the couch, Teresa couldn't believe how grown Amelia was now. She knew she screwed up the minute she allowed Richard to harm her. Teresa could see a scar on the side of Amelia's rib from the time she saved Ethrinria and another one on her stomach when Richard had brought in preachers to take out her good heart. Teresa wondered if she still had the word on her back.

The sound of footsteps was heard catching the attention of Hunter who turned to see two men walking in. "Hunter and Hanna I would love for you to meet the Jayne's... Richard Jayne and Toby Jayne."

Amelia looked at Richard first checking to see if his features were changed, she noticed that he had gained a little weight when she last saw him; Brown, long hair neatly coiffure to reveal a thick, radiant face. Shining grey eyes, set low within their sockets, watching his daughter sitting in front of him after many years of seeing her. A beard roughly compliments his eyes and hair and leaves an unsettling feeling in Amelia's stomach.

"You aren't going to introduce us as family" Toby scoffed.

Red, dreadlocks hang over a craggy, tense face. Hooded brown eyes, set a-symmetrically within their sockets, narrowing his eyes towards Amelia, he couldn't help but shake his head. He was disappointed. Fallen debris left a mark stretching from the bottom of the right cheek, running towards his left nostril and ending on his right cheek leaves a compelling memory of redemption.

"Why would I when this was never home for me?" Amelia asked as she clenched her fist, the rage was building up inside her body but she instantly calmed down when she saw Ethrinria laying on the grass outside while Abigail was sitting by her side.

"Enough! We call you here for your help. Someone is after our land. We've been threatened by the person and if we don't give them all of our money by noon Friday afternoon he will burn our village down," Teresa spoke.

Amelia rolled her eyes while Hunter frowned, "Why haven't you notified the king about it?" He asked.

Toby scoffed as he looked at Hunter, "You really think the king would love to see us? No, we will be killed the very first moment we set foot into his palace."

"We wouldn't have asked for you if it wasn't urgent. We've even set up the house out the back for you guys to stay, plus it'll give you guys a good chance to think it over," Teresa replied.

"Thank you Mrs. Jayne, we will see to the house at the back and will speak to you tonight. Do you remember the way, Amelia?" Hunter asked.

Amelia stood up from her seat and began to walk towards the back door, Hunter and Hanna followed behind. She opened it slowly and stepped through before heading down the stairs that led towards the back. The house was small, it was used to host many quests along the years, the brick exterior still stood tall, with three small-sized bedrooms, a tiny kitchenette, and a lounge room. The interior was painted in warm colours. Around the home sat a beautiful flower garden with roses and lilies planted around.

"You never told me your parents owned the estate," Hanna told Amelia as they walked inside.

"Why would I? They aren't my family," she replied.

Hunter frowned, "Why do you hate your family so much?" To elves family was everything and the elders were treated with respect.

Amelia looked at Hanna and Hunter; she knew she had to tell them. She knew one day she would have to. "My father hated when anyone stood against him, when I was 5 I went down to the market when I saw Ethrinria is chains about to be slaughtered in broad daylight. I stepped in and I unchained her using my mage powers and just as we were about to leave my father ordered an attack that almost got me killed." She pointed to the scar on her chest knowing everyone had been curious about why she had that scar.

"Your own father?" Hanna asked.

Amelia nodded and took a deep breath, "I was almost dead but Ethrinria saved me, I don't know how but she did. That's why we have a bond like no other, after that my fate in my family declined and I left at 15. I couldn't handle it, I rode Ethrinria until I found you."

There was also another reason why Amelia left but she didn't feel like sharing it, plus she hated the thought of it. Hunter sat back and listened to everything Amelia said, it made sense why she was quiet and didn't want to come here. The way she looks and acts around her family. Tensions grew in the guest house as the three of them began to think of what they should do?

|||||

Meanwhile back at the guild, Phillip was trying to figure out what was so urgent that Amelia, Hunter, and Hanna had to go and why there was a mage standing at their door, he should have killed that mage.

"What are you pacing about Phillip? We all get called away for some separate missions," Stephen asked as he walked up.

Phillip ran and hand through his hair, "I want to know what's going on, I hate being left in the dark. Where is Sam?" He asked noticing that the guild was silent without him, normally there was grunting and fighting.

"We aren't left in the dark, they've got their own mission as we all get. Since when have you cared about missions... Oh, this is about Amelia isn't it?" Stephen asked as he realized why he was so upset.

Phillip frowned before looked at Stephen, "So what if it is... She doesn't deserve to be a dragon rider. She isn't a pureblood plus she's a mage."

Stephen rolled his eyes, "So, who cares if she is a mage. She is a better rider than some pure-bloods plus have you seen their bond?"

"Maybe she's controlling the dragon to be close to her," Phillip said.

Stephen laughed and shook his head, "No one has that type of power, stop being so jealous over Amelia. You asked where Sam is, his father called him to the knights guild about something."

Phillip wanted to prove that Amelia was just as dangerous as the rest of the mages, he only needed time and one wrong move.