#ive had this idea stewing in my head for the better part of a decade

[wolfsbanesparks]

is there an original story that you would like to write or get writing it somday? if so would you share an excerpt??

I have had a few original stories I've entertained over the years. The one I'm most invested in is called The Devil in the Details. It's a paranormal mystery/cold case type of story. It's basically two stories in one set five years apart.

Basically the "present" follows a young man as he searches for clues as to what happened to his younger brother who went missing five years ago while.

The "past" follows that younger brother, a high school senior, as he uncovers secrets of the occult in their hometown that ultimately lead to his disappearance.

It's an interweaving plot where the younger brother's disappearance haunts the narrative and the reader is left to wonder who or what is responsible while picking up clues.

I've written a (very rough) 20-30k of the story and haven't even gotten into the meat of the story yet.

Excerpt under the cut

His father stared back at him slack-jawed and confused for a moment, the smell of the whiskey on his breath souring the air between them. 

“Your mother said you came by, I didn’t think she’d let you in the front door.” His voice was strangely hoarse, though he spoke clearly. He took a few steps forward and Issac was able to get a better look at his face. It was more lined and sagging than he expected. It was as if he had aged twice as fast as everyone else.

“She didn’t. I let myself in,” Issac straightened his posture as he spoke, trying to swallow the defensiveness that always came from talking with his parents. He realized he had a couple inches on his father, though they were likely close to the same height when the man wasn’t slouched and hunched over himself. 

All he got in response was a huff of what might have been laughter, though there didn’t seem to be any humor in it. 

“Did she tell you why I’m here?”

Samuel paused just staring at Issac for a moment before raising his glass to his lips. He downed what was left in one swig and stared into the now empty glass. He nodded his head before dragging his hand down his face. “Yes...yes she did” His voice cracked with emotion and Sirius thought for a moment that he was going to start crying. Instead he gently pushed past Sirius and headed towards his study.

Sirius followed him on instinct. “So are you going to help me? Or are you going to completely shut me out like mom did? Because I’m going to find out what happened with or without you”

Once in the study Samuel all but collapsed into his desk chair. He gave no indication he was going to respond or even that he had heard his son. He stared at his desk for a long time. Long enough for Issac's anger to begin to boil over.

“Well? Are you going to answer me or not?” Still no answer. “Dammit dad! I’m asking for your help! This would all be so much easier if you just cared enough to do something instead of just sitting on your ass and--”

“Don’t you dare say I don’t care enough!” Finally Sam looked at him. There were so many emotions swirling in his somewhat clouded eyes. Pain. Fury. Sorrow. 

“Then help me figure out what happened to my brother”

“I already know everything I need to know”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Samuel took a deep shuddering breath. He avoided Issac's eyes as he spoke. Instead his eyes drifted to a photograph on his desk. Issac wondered briefly if it was a photo of Noah or if that was too much of a cliche for his father.

“He’s gone and we’ll never see him again. Not in this life...Not even in the next one I imagine.” Before Issac could protest his vague and unsettling answer Samuel continued. “He’s gone because he was good, so good, and I wasn’t. I couldn’t protect my own family from the monsters in my closet. I was a coward who thought he could outsmart the goddamn devil himself and Noah paid for that mistake” His voice broke again and this time a few tears did spill out of the corners of his eyes. “This hell is so much worse than the one imagined being dragged to and that bastard probably knew it”

“Are...Are you saying you know who took him? Who killed him?” The icy chill of realization brought bile into his throat at the mere thought. “What the fuck did you do?! Who was it?!”

“He doesn’t have a name, at least not one I ever knew” 

“Well give me a description, a location--something! You can’t just say cryptic shit like that and expect me to leave it alone!”

“Please Issac, nothing good will come from you knowing more.”

“TELL ME!” 

“I made a mistake, years ago, before either of you boys were even born. If I had known that this would be the price I never would have agreed!”

“Why can’t you give me a straightforward answer? Or some details that might actually help!”

“Because knowing the details will get you killed just like it got him killed!” Orion was breathing heavily, tears streamed down his face, making him look red and blotchy. “The two of you are so alike that way. You keep digging and digging, looking for a truth that is going to hurt far worse than not knowing ever could. I lost everything because I couldn’t stop him from learning the truth. I will not make that same mistake with you.”

“This isn’t over”

“I know”

“You can’t stop me. I have a right to know”

“I think it’s best you leave Issac, before your mother gets home”

[thescorpioracesfestival]

Challenges I to IV

My debut into the festival, starring the tourist Elisabeth and the rider, Jem.

Part 1: Elisabeth Bradbury-Stuart

Chapter I

The island existed only in stories. There was a single photograph that her mother had shown Elisabeth while she was young, and even that didn’t really show it. It was of herself as a young girl, taken in the late 1890s. Elisabeth’s mother was small and slight and happy, nestled into the side of her stern-faced mother.

Elisabeth had thought of that picture often, especially as she got older. She couldn’t help thinking about the unknowingness of those young eyes. No idea that in less than a decade she would leave that island and never return.

But here Elisabeth stood, feet planted on a ferry that bobbed back the way her mother had come all those years ago. Sea spray in her eyes, she lifted one of the last Marlboros she’d brought with her, lighting it.

“Oy, missy!” called a voice, and she turned to see a man looking like two hundred years of wave had been carved into his face. “Don’t you be standing so close to the edge or you’ll find yourself in a capaill uisce’s breakfast.”

Right, it was only breakfast. Elisabeth hadn’t paid attention to the time, having spent all of early morning on the prow.

Elisabeth smiled at him, but only took another step towards the edge, her fingers curling around the railing.

She had been on ferries before while perusing the archaeology of Greece, but this was different. Back there, the air had been hot and balmy; the waves quiet and blue like the petals of bluebells. This ocean, however, was dark like the bottom of a saucepan, the crests of foam like suds of greasy liquid.

The boat made a dip over a rise, and she gripped the railing tightly, suddenly conscious of dress fabric that would hardly help her swim.

The man from before was laughing at her. “I warned ye!” Elisabeth ignored him, going inside and making her way to her cabin. She ignored the sound of her roommate whimpering into a bucket. Instead she tugged out a small bible and focusing on the small pinpricks of letters.

It was a good few hours before the roommate set down the bucket and finally spoke to Elisabeth.

“You going for the races?” she asked, her voice raspy. Elisabeth had never once felt seasick; possibly a side effect of her mother’s island upbringing. Elisabeth raised an eyebrow and the girl stammered. She was a slight blonde waif of a thing, crawled out of a Bronte novel. She looked to be about fifteen, with a tiny upturned nose. “My nan says she saw them once. She said a man died on the beach and everything- You know, I saw a dead body once. When little Marianne got the whooping cough.”

Elisabeth watched the girl, tucking the bible back into its draw. She smiled. “I suppose. My family lives on the island.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Where are your parents?”

“Oh, my mam’s back at home. I’m supposed to be staying with my mam’s old friend to learn how to be a proper lady, since I’m not so good at listening to her.” To prove her point, she sniffed and pulled out a small note. “It’s because Thomas Walley says he’s going to marry me, but nobody believes me. But he told me his own self, and I know Thomas Walley better than any of those girls.”

The talkative girl spoke quickly, forcing Elisabeth to keep up. Elisabeth smiled, in a way reminded of her own sister. This girl was about the same age as Lucy anyway. “What is your name, sorry?” she said, interrupting the girl mid-sentence. The girl’s eyes widened, apparently having forgot the subject altogether.

“My name’s Francine but everyone calls me Dorothy. It’s cause I look just like my cousin. What’s your name-” And then, stuck clumsily to the end of her tongue, “Ma’am.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dorothy. I’m Elisabeth, but everyone calls me Lisabet. Because my mother was Elisabeth, too.” She lit a cigarette, leaning back against the bed and letting smoke fill the tiny room; clinging to the shitty. She felt Dorothy watching her closely, possibly trying to will a cigarette into her own mouth. She seemed like the kind of girl with a sailor for a father.

Elisabeth didn’t know when she fell asleep, because she didn’t know she had until the ferry whistled the signal for land. She had slept through lunch and dinner, and she was suddenly terrifyingly aware of the cavern in her stomach. She reached down, grabbing her belongings and making her way to join the long queue of people leaving the boat. Different emotions spilled over everywhere, and Elisabeth tried to block them out.

But what Elisabeth felt was numbness, as she stepped out onto the only dock on the entire island. It was not the only beach, but it was supposedly the only place where the water horses didn’t breach; the railing covered with rusted iron.

It was beautiful, though. Turning her head, she could see the beach, mostly empty except for a few people still trying their hand at catching a horse to train for next year. Elisabeth paused, watching as sunlight spilled over not-quite-equine flanks. There were a few yells from the men, as well as those around her, but all she could wonder was How could her mother have left this?

“Oy, get a move on,” grunted someone behind her, and Elisabeth rushed to take her place on the land; away from the gruff men and their never-satisfied faces. Some vendors carted tourist trap souvenirs, but the only souvenir Elisabeth intended on taking were the Thisby-red locks her mother had given her.

And answers. Elisabeth was hoping for some answers. She reached into her suitcase for her wallet, and paused when she felt it missing. She remembered that teenager, Dorothy’s, wildly glinting eyes. Elisabeth felt for it one last time before letting out a wild, “Fuck!”, something quickly met by horrified gasps. But she didn’t care, for the young girl had already gone.

The evening didn’t improve. Crackling telephone exchange had told her that her uncle would be there by seven, but it was currently 10 and Elisabeth knew that this island was not that large.

It was strangely quiet in this town, especially after the day she’d had. When night time fell, it truly fell, as the people turned their lights down in order to not be noticed. The only sound that existed was her breathing, as well as the rush of waves in the distance.

No one was coming for her. Elisabeth figured this out and stood up, grabbing her briefcase and making her way through the town.

Her mother had never said a word of her life here. What little she knew came from her father, Earl Ebenezer Bradbury-Stuart. She knew that he’d met her mother at these races when she was 18, that she had jumped at the chance to leave her island home behind and never interact it again, save for bits of money that she sent back to her family for Christmas.

Elisabeth had felt no panic, because her mother had decades to tell her… or she was supposed to have decades.

Biting down on bile, she was suddenly jerked to attention by the sensation of being watched. Horses, Elisabeth thought with a panic, but found that she couldn’t move. Her knees were locked into place by the tension of attention.

She had just mustered up the self-control for a breath when a low voice spilled out over the cobblestones. “If I’d been a horse, you’d be dead already.” Elisabeth shivered, making eye contact with the silhouette of a man leaning against a number of boxes. She couldn’t say anything, because she didn’t know this island, and she certainly didn’t know these animals.

“Are they really horses?” she forced, wincing at the way her voice sounded like a squeaking gate. The man chuckled, the glow of a cigarette humming a few inches from his mouth. “Don’t step any closer; I keep a knife.” A tactic she’d had to learn while surrounded by men in Rome.

“A knife is nothing against a capaill uisce. You’re a tourist, right? It’s not safe at night, here. No place to go?”

She shook her head, crossing her arms. “Someone stole my wallet.”

The man tutted, but then started walking down the street away for her. He stopped, turning to look behind himself. “Are you daft? I know somewhere you can say.”

A million and one reasons bubbled up inside Elisabeth’s mind. Murder, rape, the list went on. But she didn’t really have any other options, and so she ran up the street to follow him.

They didn’t stop until he halted at the foot of a two-storey fixture that looked dangerously close to teetering onto the street. He knocked hard on the door, humming something to himself until the door was cracked open by a young woman looking to be around Elisabeth’s age. The island had worn her older though, her hands appearing cracked and dry below the tassels of her shawl. Still, youth spilled out of her as she pulled the man into a hug. “Jem, what on earth has you up at such an hour? And who’s this?”

The man’s demeanour had changed around the woman, allowing him to crack an awkward smile. He cast a glance at Elisabeth, and for the second time that day found herself saying the name ‘Lisabet.’ “Had a tussle with the Bolley Brothers at the pub, found her wandering the streets in what is hardly appropriate wear.” He gestured to the hem that ended mid-calf. Elisabeth had hardly noticed the weather. “Says she lost her money to a pickpocket on the ferry.”

“Oh dear!” the lady grinned, pulling Elisabeth into a surprising hug. “Don’t you worry, dear, there’ll be no kelpie feasts under my roof. I suppose I can’t be too mad at your drunken antics for once, but for God’s sake, Jem.”

‘Jem’ chuckled again, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “Sorry, Madeline, it won’t happen again.” He glanced at Elisabeth once more and cleared his throat. “Would it be a problem if I stayed the night as well? They say Stu Dorricky saw hoofprints on the sand.”

A few minutes later and Elisabeth was sitting at the table with a bowl of stew. She didn’t know what it was, but in her hungered state it felt like bliss. Madeline was holding a swaddled infant to her shoulder, patting its back as she tried to pay attention. “So, what leads you to Thisby? Just another tourist?” “My mother was from Thisby,” Elisabeth swallowed, “Left here when she was 18 to marry my father, but I never heard anything about it. Until her death, when her childhood best friend ended up talking about Thisbean rituals and whatnot at the funeral.” Elisabeth smiled unsteadily. “Bertha Parton?”

“I know of the Partons,” said Madeline. Jem was sipping stew as well. Elisabeth had filled in the gaps that they were probably brother and sister. “Not personally, but their names get tossed here and there. They’re real old Thisby folk, from right before the Christians came.”

Even this was more than Elisabeth had ever heard, and she felt a wide smile grace her cheeks. Before she could thank her hosts, Madeline was handing off the child to Jem and standing. “Dear Lord, you must be exhausted. Let me set up a bed for you. Jem, please can you handle Tilda.” Then Madeline was gone, leaving Elisabeth and Jem alone.

Elisabeth shifted uncomfortably. “Cute kid,” she mumbled at the same time he said, “Sorry about your mother.” Elisabeth nodded her thanks.

“Our mother’s still alive but barely. Well- our birth mother died having Madeline, so my aunt’s our mother now.”

“I’m sorry,” Elisabeth hummed.

“So, is your mother’s death the only reason you came here? To try and reconnect with her, or whatever?”

Elisabeth shook her head. “I’m an anthropologist by trade, graduated from Wellesley College in America. This place fascinates me. All the age of it,” she trailed her finger along a splinter of wood that clung for dear life to the kitchen table.

“Most wouldn’t,” Jem was watching her hand, “Be fascinated by it, I mean. I imagine there aren’t many who would choose to keep this place in their body. It isn’t exactly Paris.”

At that moment Madeline called Elisabeth’s name, more of a whisper than a call. She said goodnight to Jem and followed the voice to the guest bedroom; a small wallpapered place that teetered gingerly on its side. When at last she was in bed, Jem’s words nagged at her mind. It isn’t exactly Paris. Well, Elisabeth had seen Paris in all its glory, had seen the Eiffel Tower and the Champs Elysees. And she didn’t want it.

  Chapter II. Challenge 4.

Jem Martin.

Jem wasn’t going to buy a horse. He was standing on the strand, sand caked into his boots as he observed the competition with something likened to paranoia. But paranoia was the only rational response to the capaill uisce, especially with a beach that bubbled with the beasts. In the distance a bay was twisting snake-like around her master’s hand, foam telling of the man’s approaching doom.

He already had a horse, bought two years before from a dud auction. Like that interaction with Lisabet, it had been built on a rash decision. He had seen the creature, not quite full-blood but some fucked-up creature that craved the ocean more than anything. Her hocks were thick, forelegs showing hints of feathers, but her neck still held the serpentine anger of the water-horses, her nose quivering at the scent of the ocean.

The hypothesis was that the mixed blood came not from her water horse parents but from a few years back, some Frankenstein’s creature of a Percheron and his mate. As such, she now sported her fair share of brute strength and scars that dotted the length of her body. Some had been made from iron, others from teeth, and one side of her face held no eye but a gaping cavern of a socket. She made up for it with rigid awareness and scent that could mark one out a mile away.

“Hello, Jem, what’re you doing down here? Don’t you have that murder machine back home?” came the barking laugh of Tom Crawley. He was holding his own horse, a thing that appeared more calm than most but that did not deceive Jem. A water horse was still a water horse, a carnivore, a monster that was currently paying slightly too close attention to the side of Tom’s neck.

“I’m seeing who has what.” He lit his cigarette, glancing at the horse as it gave a cautious look to the flame. “What’s its name.”

“Her name is Great Jack. I thought that if I put the part Great in there it would do me good.”

“Why Jack?”

“Because it’s a beautiful fucking name, isn’t that right, Jem?” Tom smacked the mare’s chestnut neck; making her flinch and move her hindquarters away. Her left ear flicked towards the man who held her lead tight enough for his knuckles to pale.

After a few minutes, Tom moved back to the main throng. Time wore on, and Jem was about to pack in for the day when a dreadful scream filled the beach. Every person on Thisby knew that sound, whether they followed the races or not. Jem turned his head in just the right angle to see Tom’s mare, Great Jack, turning and biting a black stallion on the side of the face. The stallion seemed intent on breeding, but the mare was having none of it, and clearly had the upper hand.

Tom tried to get her attention and the chestnut kicked out, her hooves meeting Tom’s face and knocking him into the sand. She shrieked again, her lead ripped out from her ‘owner’s’ hand as she ran to fight the stallion.

Jem just turned and walked quietly away from the agon, not stopping until he reached Madeline’s house.

When he opened the door, Lisabet was with Madeline in the kitchen. She was not particularly talented, asking Madeline for as many hints as possible.

“Uncle Jimmy!” came the cry of a toddler, and he turned around to see his oldest niece, Joyce, tearing up the floor towards him. He let out a whoop of delight as he hoisted the two-year-old into his arms, resting her on his hip.

“Hey there, Joyce. You been behaving well for your mother?”

“No…” she pouted, and Madeline laughed in the background. “I didn’t be quiet when she told me to, and I didn’t go to sleep for a long time last night.”

“That’s not very nice of you, is it?” Jem smiled, pushing a blonde lock of hair behind the prominent ear she had inherited from her father; a sailor who had disappeared in the middle of the night. They’d held a funeral for the fellow, but the truth was that no one really knew if he’d died or gone to the mainland. Either way, it wasn’t much of a loss, but Jem knew when to keep quiet. He knew it too well.

“No, Uncle Jimmy. I’m sorry.”

“Say sorry to your mother and Lisabet.”

“Sorry, Mummy and Lisabet!” He let her down and she ran off again, probably to play with her younger sister.

Jem crossed the room towards the women, before resting his shoulders on the counter. He snuck a carrot off the counter. “I think Tom Crawley died today.”

Madeline stopped mid-smile. She took a deep breath before continuing chopping. Lisabet turned to swipe the carrot back out of his hand, giving him a reproachful glare.

He stole a beer instead, cracking off the lid and taking a swig. “His mare kicked him in the face but I didn’t hang around. But if he bled, then he’s fucked. Broken bones? That’s fine, but god save you if your blood carries on the wind.”

Quiet settled on the house. He knew what Madeline was thinking about- she was thinking about the grey-black mare that was currently nickering for meat in the stable down by his house. If she didn’t get it, she would hardly struggle to get past the gates capped with iron.

“I’d better get back,” he said, and left.

When he got home, he grabbed a bucket of meat. A favour from the butcher, he sloshed it onto the floor of the stall and watched as Angel bowed her head, tearing at it while using her hooves to apply tension. Her ear was flicked towards him, watching him carefully.

“How you doing, Mutt?” he hummed affectionately, reaching out a slow hand to rub her neck. She snorted, blood bubbling along her muzzle. “Nice dinner?”

She didn’t respond, barely acknowledged him until she lifted her head and let him touch her jaw. With him came the one piece of draft horse temperament that had probably ever existed in her at all.

After she was done, he grabbed her halter- a ragtag piece made to match her face of traumas and lackings- and slipped it over her ears. He led her out to the round yard and finally got to work on sliding the blanket and saddle into their proper position.

Then he was on her, easily 18 hands high, but not the biggest horse he’d ever seen. She quivered under his touch, turning her good eye towards him. Her nostrils flared to catch his scent.

Finally he urged her to move. And move she did.

It took a single touch for her to burst into a gallop, bucking as she took off along the grass path down towards the Lachlan household. “Whoaaa,” Jem called, feeling his heart buck out of his chest along with the angry mare’s movements.

But then she was soaring over the partition, and bucking right after. Jem felt his body lift from the saddle and he dropped the reins, his body slamming into the hard dirt of a wheat field. A loud ‘oof’ left his body, and he braced for death. But then he opened his eyes and his mare was looking at him; as though curious.

Movement sounded on the property, however, and she twisted her head in the direction of the Lachlan house.

“Hey!” called Mr Lachlan, one of his children pressing gingerly into his side. “Get that thing off our property before it ruins not just our bodies but our livelihood too!”

“Sorry, Mr Lachlan!” Jem called and turned around. But he needed to figure out how to get over this fence, first.

[bitsfordays]

Work Visits

Another part to my nurseydex children series! Ive offically deemed this Au “Things That Stop You Dreaming” and it can be found on AO3 under that title!

Enjoy Addy being cute af, plus an introduction to Bella! 

(pst, i posted this in two parts on AO3 but yall will get it all in one bc im lazy)

“Daddy, are we there?”

Derek sighed and looked at his daughter for probably the seventh time in the last 10 minutes he's been driving. This was the seventh time she asked.

“Addison, I know you have the route to the rink memorized, so I know that you know that we are literally in the arena parking lot. You don't have to antagonize me.”

Addison gave what could only be described as a shit-eating grin from her spot in the back seat. She swung her legs happily. “I know Daddy, but Papa says that I should mess with you more often. He says its funny”

Derek was going to kill his husband.

He pulled into one of the parking spots reserved for players families and shut off the car. He turned around so he could make proper eye contact with his daughter.

“Okay Addison, Papa is playing against Uncle Jack tonight. Uncle Bitty was in town already for his book tour and so he brought Bella with him and we’ll be sitting with them in the family section. Do you remember the rules for when Uncle Jack plays against Papa?”

“Boo when Papa gets checked but don't cheer if someone on Uncle Jacks team gets checked, unless it's by Papa.” Addison explained neatly.

“Anything else?”Derek prompted.

“Don't curse?”

Derek couldn't help but laugh. Addison had learned her fair share of curse words, despite only being 6 years old. It's what happened when a child had an uncle whose name was literally Shitty.

“Not quite, lovely but that's a good one. I was actually going for ‘don't heckle Uncle Jack.’ He needs to stay concentrated on the game ”

“Oh.” Addison shrugged her little shoulders. “I can do that. Can we go inside now?”

Derek laughed. “Yes, Addy. We can.”

They got out of the car and made their way inside, not even bothering to wave their passes at the security guards, who they knew by name and had for years now. They went to their seats in the family section, directly behind the glass and found their family already there.

“Bella!” Addison tore her hand from Derek's and ran to greet her best friend/pseudo-cousin. They hugged tightly in the way that only young kids could.

Bella was a year older than Addison but that didn't stop them from being as thick as thieves. They lived three hours apart so they didn't see each other often but they adored each other just the same. Bella was more soft spoken than Addison was,

“Nursey!” Bitty grinned and pulled Derek into a tight hug.

“Hey Bits.” Derek laughed and hugged the other man back, just as tight. “How was the book tour?”

“Oh, you would not believe...”Bitty launched into a story about his time touring for his newest cookbook and Derek let his thoughts drift as Bitty rambled on.

“Oh, there they are!” Bella interrupted her father, pointing down at the ice as the players skated on for warm ups.

Jack and Will  were both easy to spot. Even from under his helmet, Will’s ginger hair was easy to spot, just as Jacks distinctive blue eyes were easy to spot behind his face guard.

“Papa!” Addison jumped up and down in front of the glass and waved her arms furiously. “Papa! Papa, over here!”

Derek could see Will’s grin from the other side of the ice. Will waved at his daughter, who waved back energetically. Derek could see Jack’s shoulders shake as he laughed and saw Jacks mouth move in some chirp. Will grinned and said something back before they skated their separate ways to warm up with their teams.

Addison kept waving her arms, trying to catch her father's attention again until Derek had to put a stop to it. “Add,let Papa warm up in peace. You dont want to throw him off his game, do you?”

“Its preseason, Daddy, it doesn't effect the season.” Addison responded, not looking away from the ice. Bitty chuckled from his seat.

“Addison. Leave him be until after the game, okay? Then you can harass him as much as you want.”

“Fiiiiiineeeee.” Addison backed away from the glass and sat down between Derek and Bella with a pout but Derek couldn't help but chuckle. There were times where he wanted to do the same thing.

Addison kept pouting and Derek took pity on her. “Hey Addy, how about you tell Uncle Bitty how your skating classes have been going? Im sure he would love to hear about them.”

Addison perked up immediately and Derek smiled.

This was going to be a good evening.

Rangers beat the Falconers 4-3, with Dex getting the game winning goal at the end of the 3rd period. Jack clapped Will on the shoulder during the handshaking and from the stands, Derek could see him say something and Will laughed before they both went on to shake more hands.  

They met Dex outside of the Rangers locker room. He was sweaty and gross but he still beamed when he saw his husband and daughter. It made Dereks heart do flips, the same way it did when they met in college.

“Papa!” Addison tore her hand from Dereks and did a flying leap towards her father. Will dropped his hockey bag to open his arms as his daughter slammed into his chest. “Hi Papa! You played really good tonight!”

“Thanks baby.” Will hugged her tightly. “Did you enjoy watching the game with Uncle Bitty and Bella?”

“Yeah! Did you know Bella is taking figure skating classes? Im gonna have her show me all the stuff shes learning there and Ill teach her everything Im learning in my hockey skating class!”

“Thats wonderful, Addy-Girl.” Will smiled. He set her down and looked over at Derek. “Hey babe. Did you enjoy the game?”

“You know I did.” Derek smiled and kissed Will on the cheek. “Nice check on Jack during the 2nd. Had him rattled for a second there.”

Will shrugged. “He got me back in the 3rd, twice as hard. I felt my brain rattle.”

Derek frowned. “How's your head?”

“It's fine, Der. They got me all checked out and I'm fine.”

“Good. I like you better with your brain intact.”

“Same.”

“Quit being gross!” Addison jabbed Will in the leg to get his attention.

“Ow, Addison. That's not how you get people's attention.” Will chided.

“Sorry. Can we go see Uncle Jack and Bitty and Bella now?” Addison said.

“Sure. Lead the way.” Derek said.

Addison lead them around to the visitors lockers, just in time to run into Jack, Bitty and Bella, who was currently asleep on Jacks back.

“Nice game, Cap.” Derek said with a smirk.

Jack sighed. “I havent been your captain in over a decade, Nurse. Please stop.”

“Ah, but you were the best one Ive ever had. Sorry Bits.”

Bitty and Jack both rolled their eyes.

“We would love to stay and chat with you two but we gotta get headed towards the airport.” Bitty said. “Especially since Bells already asleep. Shes been up since 6am with me and is just bone tired.”                                                             

“Okay Bits. We’ll see you in a few weeks for the Falconers home opener. Wanna get dinner before hand, while our husbands do their thing?”

“Sure. We’ll see you then. Have a safe flight you three.”

“See yall later!”

The Zimmermann-Bittles walked away, leaving the Poindexter-Nurses on their own. Addison tugged on Dereks hand. “Are we gonna go home now?”

Will grabbed Addison's free hand and smiled. “Yes, Addy-Girl. Home for now.”

“Okay.” Addison gave a tired smile. “It was a good game, Papa.”

“Thanks baby.”

Together, the three of them left the area at the end of another good day.

Derek Poindexter-Nurse hates writing. Its difficult, its time consuming and tedious to do. He hates writing with an undeniable, fiery passion.

Which is why he does it for a living. Obviously.

When it comes to writing, Derek’s been lucky. Hot got published only a few years after college and he quickly made it onto the bestseller list. He has hordes of teenage fans who would probably commit many crimes if he asked them to, all of them clamoring for another installment, another book, another bonus story, another anything. He could give them a five hundred word shit stain and most of them would probably be content. Literally anything.

Which is of course, how Derek found himself holding down the ‘H’ key for ten minutes, thumping his head continuously on his desk, as if that will make the ideas come faster. Usually when Derek gets into a slump like this, he just goes and talks to Will but its early May and the Stanley Cup playoffs are looming in front of the Rangers, so Will’s at practice and will be for another four hours, meaning that Derek is stuck stewing in his own mind indefinitely.

Indefinitely doesnt last for long. Dereks stewing is interrupted by a knock on his study door and it being pushed open to reveal Addison in all of her 13 year old glory.

“Are you okay Dad?” Addison said, looking at her father with a mixture of concern and vague disgust.

“No.” Derek sighed. He thumped his head aginst the wood again.

“Um..” Addison walkedd ina nd leaned against the desk where Derkes head currently was. “Maybe stop hitting your head against the desk? I dont think getting a concussion would be very good for you. Besides, Papa’s gotten enough for the both of you.”

Derek leveled a glare at his daughter but he lifted his head off the desk and sat up. He rubbed the red mark on his forehead. “Ive gotten my fair share of concussions too, ya know. I did play hockey for a lot time.”

“I know, I know, all im saying is that Papa had a concussion like, a month ago. “ Addison shrugged. “So his might be a little more relevant.”

It was true. Will had gotten a harsh check and was out of the game for a while because of it. It was rough on all three of them, just as it always was whenever Will got hurt during games. It always made Derek worry, usually about how much longer Will could play in the NHL or if they should continue letting Addison play in her junior league. It sent his head in swirls and him and Bitty and Caitlin have spent hours talking about the stress of being married to three of the top players in the NHL. And Derek knew that their children have had similar conversations about being the children of NHL stars.

“Dad? Hello?” Addison waved her hand in front of Derek's face to get his attention. “You still with me or did you actually give yourself self a concussion? Do I need to drive you to the hospital?”

“You can't drive yet, Addison. You're 13.”

“I know but I figured that if you had a concussion you would let me try anyways.” Addison grinned.

“And that's where you're wrong.”  

“Worth a shot. So what's wrong?”

Derek let out a long sigh. “Writing is hard, Addy. Don't do it. It isn't a viable career. “

“I mean, it wasnt on my list. I was more thinking hockey.”

“Huh?” Derek stared at his daughter and his heart thumped extra hard. “Really?”

“Well, yeah.” Addison shrugged. “Its what makes sense and I like it a lot. Is there…..something wrong with that?”

Derek let out a breath. The idea of his daughter, his pride and joy, one of the two most important people in his life, playing a dangerous game that both him and his husband loved made him feel nauseous. He knew first hand how dangerous the game was and while he knew that Addison took after her fathers in her love for the game, part of Derek wished that she didnt.

“Just..be careful.” Derek said carefully. He didnt want to admit to her how much it scared him. “You have time to decide. Most kids your age have no idea what they want to do. But, me and Papa will support you no matter what, okay?”

“Okay Daddy.” Addison leaned over and hugged him tightly. Derek hugged her back, putting all of his concerns and hopes into that hug.

“So, how can I help you get past your writing block right now?” Addison asked, pulling away from the hug.

Derek glanced at his laptop, which was just showing a word document full with the letter “H”. An idea tickled at the back of his brain. Something about an over-do meeting between a main character and their parent. A nice conversation about fears. Derek grinned

“You've already have.”