#the hearth? the home? a reminder of what they’re fighting for which is like laughter and joy?

[jon-sedai]

Sansa is a dancer! It’s mentioned in one of her Alayne POVs in the fourth book.

Yup! And I completely forgot that I read her Winds sample chapters lol Because they are more relevant to the theme of my post which was about singing/dancing but in martial settings. Sansa’s Winds chapters are interesting because she’s dancing with knights - those who will eventually leave and dance to the “music” of swords. And much of her singing is for martial “dancers” as well. So I think she’s connected to all this in some way but I’m not sure how? Right now, I’m thinking of her as more or a “hold down the fort” type of character but kind of blanking beyond that….

[mrs-theirin]

understanding.

so uh this originally started as “hating rebecca hours”, then it was loving nate hours, and then suddenly at the last second it became.......mutually respecting adam hours??? so here we are. @magebastard this one’s for you <3

calliope langford x nate sewell / calliope & adam du mortain, 2585 words. mommy issues paired with getting to know your stuffy leader better (also on ao3 <3)

The apartment is quiet. 

Mind-numbingly quiet, actually.

“Stay home and enjoy yourself,” Tina had said, practically pushing Calliope out the door, a wide smile plastered on her face that said if you don’t go home right now I will end you. Even Verda came out from the lab to say goodbye, his gentle eyes hardened in a way that let her know there was no fighting him. 

She needs something to do. The apartment just isn’t the same without Farah’s laughter, Adam’s groans of distaste, the irritating clouds of Morgan’s smoke—which still lingers on everything she owns. Honestly, she’s going to take Morgan’s cigarettes and shove them somewhere unpleasant—and Nate’s warm, calming presence. She debates sending him a text, maybe asking him for coffee, but the idea leaves as quickly as it came. 

He’s probably busy. She’s sure he has more important things to do than—

Im bad at this texting thing. Coffee

Calliope laughs. Before she can respond, another text from Nate comes in.

That was supposed to be a question. I cant find the apostrophe or question mark. I would like to have coffee with you. 

Another text, separate from the last.

Now, if you can. I heard you were sent home from work and I know how much you like the pastries there.

Her heart races at the thought of Nate frantically typing away at his phone, confused but determined to send her a text. She must admit, it’s a hilarious image, and she laughs as she sends her response.

relax and look for the “123” on the left of the keyboard. you’ll find all your punctuation needs there. and yes, i’d love to go get coffee. meet me there?

Ah! Found it. Thank you. And no, I’m outside your apartment. 

Calliope straightens, deigning to push aside the curtain and peek out at the sidewalk. Sure enough, Nate stands awkwardly outside, staring down at his phone. His gaze flickers up as her hand makes the curtain dance, and he waves politely. She waves back. She mouths “be right there” and pulls away, cursing herself for looking outside in the first place. Did he just run here? Was he just outside her apartment when he sent the original text? Did he just assume she would say yes? 

She rushes to her bedroom, ripping the nicest—and hopefully subtle—thing she owns out of her closet and throws it on, stopping in front of the mirror to undo the messy bun she has her bright orange hair in and tussle it into something appropriate. She glances at the panicked look in her eyes, and tries to calm down. What is she freaking out for? It’s just Nate. 

I would fight through any form of technology if I knew you were on the other end.

Nate, who can make her face flush with just a few words. Nate, who towers over her, his warm brown eyes staring into her soul. Nate, who is patiently standing outside waiting to take her to coffee. She tries not to hold out too much hope that it’s a date.

“Hey!” she says when she finally makes it outside, unconsciously taking too large of a step and standing uncomfortably close to him, which she quickly rectifies by inching backwards. They both laugh nervously. “Did you—”

“I was in the neighborhood,” Nate rushes out, his face flushing. “It’s a beautiful day out.”

She accepts the obvious lie with a face full of heat. “Let’s go then.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She loves the way he laughs. 

At Haley’s, he relaxes; his shoulders slouching, his gaze softening. He is no longer scanning every person on the street, trying to gauge if they’re a threat. He is talking and he is joking and he is smiling and he is laughing. And every time he throws his head back to laugh at some stupid sarcastic joke she makes, she melts. 

He sighs dreamily, then faces her with soft, kind eyes. “I really missed you, Calliope.”

Her heart thumps in her chest. “I missed you too. You could’ve called, you know.”

His smile fades. “I wasn’t allowed to. The Agency thought it was better if we just...left you alone for a while.”

“So I could recover?”

Nate turns away, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. That’s it.”

Before she can ask him to elaborate, she hears a familiar clack of heels behind her. Her body tenses. “Calliope,” her mother’s voice says, clear and professional, though surprised. She wasn’t expecting her daughter to be here. 

Calliope doesn’t even turn. Her hand clenches around her coffee and she clears her throat. “Rebecca.”

Something in her dies when she sees Rebecca take the seat next to her. It is crushed to ash as she turns to Nate, who is smiling kindly at Rebecca, ordering another pastry for her, inviting her to stay longer than Calliope prefers. Her mother hums gently. “Coffee date?” she asks, though there is something else in her voice. Something resentful. Something...cautious.

“And what if it was?” Calliope mumbles into her coffee, as Nate replies, “Oh no, just catching up.”

“You should be careful about how much time you spend in the open, Agent Sewell,” Rebecca offers, and it’s obvious why she’s saying it. Calliope begins to shake, as she always does around her mother, and washes her resentment down with her coffee. The warm liquid contrasts the coldness of her bitterness. 

It wasn’t always this way with Rebecca; there was a time where they laughed and smiled and shot each other with water guns. But eventually laughter dies out, smiles fade away, and water guns change to Glock 22s. Love changes to resentment. Dads die. 

She understands why secrets were kept. She hates that Rebecca doesn’t understand why she would be upset by the secrets that were kept. The way Rebecca’s eye twitches when Nate leans into Calliope is sign enough on its own. Can’t even be happy with the circumstances she has, apparently. 

“Of course,” Nate says, professional as always. “Understood.”

“Let the man...or, vamp, live,” Calliope retorts. “We’re just having coffee.”

Rebecca presses her lips together tightly. “Calliope. Do I need to remind you why you’ve been wearing turtlenecks for months?”

She chokes on her coffee, slamming the cup down on the counter, the paper crunching in her hand. Typical of her mother to remind her of trauma, trauma that deeply affects her, as if it’s just a statement she can throw out at any given moment, like a quick anecdote or conversation starter. How can one look at their daughter having her neck torn out by a killer vampire and think, “This will be good for future scoldings”? And her scoldings, well, of course they aren’t scoldings, they’re concerns. Worries from a concerned mother. A mother who was so concerned about her daughter that she left for years with no contact, leaving the local librarians to raise Calliope. 

Calliope tenses as she feels a hand on her shoulder, but deflates when she realizes what side the hand is on. Nate squeezes her shoulder affectionately, and she cannot thank him enough for being a rock. If Rebecca is the storm—cold, predictable, unrelenting—then Nate is the hearth; warm, welcoming, reassuring. He smiles softly at her. 

“Of course you don’t,” she finally speaks, subconsciously scratching at the scars. “But considering I’ll be working with the Agency again soon, getting coffee won’t matter much, will it? Or are you trying to say that I can only put myself at risk if I’m not having fun?”

Rebecca’s eyebrow twitches as she sighs. “I’m only trying to look out for you—”

“No, you aren’t.” Her voice is stern, but quiet. Don’t want to draw too much attention. That’s the way it’s always been, right?. “You’re looking out for yourself and your reputation as a ‘good mother’, but it’s all crap anyway. If you wanted to preserve that, you wouldn’t be begging me every 5 seconds to tell you you’re doing a good job.” 

“Calliope,” Nate gently warns, and she slowly shrugs his hand off of her shoulder. Now is not the time for another one of those sad, soulful looks he gives her when she argues with Rebecca. She doesn’t have the effort. 

Rebecca’s lips are thinned again, in that disappointed scowl Calliope’s seen so much of since this whole Agency business started. “Sweetheart,” she starts, and Calliope is already cringing away, already preparing herself for whatever pandering crap Rebecca is about to spew. “I want you to be safe.”

“But not happy, clearly.”

“Calliope Langford.” Rebecca’s voice is harsh, but it only manages to enrage Calliope more. Her mother isn’t stern often, usually grabbing for the ‘soft and meek’ route, but on the occasion she does show annoyance, it’s never a pleasant feeling. Not because it upsets Calliope, but because she knows it’s a ruse. If she holds out, her mother will give in, because they both know she can’t stand being the bad guy (despite making herself the bad guy in every single conversation they have). “This is dangerous business. I don’t want to see you hurt. I do love you, whether you believe me or not.”

Calliope stands abruptly, slapping a $20 bill on the counter. “Why don’t you concern yourself less with whether I believe you, and more with whether you believe yourself. Come on, Nate.”

She starts to walk away, but hesitates when Nate doesn’t immediately follow, out of his seat but hunched over, like a kicked, obedient puppy. A twinge of betrayal tugs at Calliope’s chest, but she waves it off, instead holding up her hand, exasperated. She leaves without another word. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The phone rings.

Once. 

Twice. 

Three times. 

Calliope sighs in exasperation, about to hit the red ‘end call’ button, when the phone finally clicks, a stern, professional voice coming through as clear as day: “Special Agent Adam du Mortain. Is this something important?”

She rolls her eyes, unable to keep the smile off of her face. “It’s just me, Adam. You don’t have to answer the phone like that.”

“Is this something important,” he repeats, though this time it’s less of a question. 

She gives in. “I was wondering if you wanted to spar. You said you were...less than impressed with my combat skills, so why don’t you teach me?”

The line is silent for a moment, before Adam lets out a small huff. “Where?” 

She blinks. She hadn’t thought of that. “...Here?” she offers, uncertain.

He sighs heavily. “Open the door.” 

The call ends and she is rooted in place for a moment before she springs up from her couch, opening the door and peeking out. Adam is standing on her stairs, looming over her, and he raises a single eyebrow, making the action of entering her apartment. She steps aside and watches him analyze the living room. “Move the table,” he says.

“You’re the one with the super strength,” she jokes, closing the door behind her. “Can’t you do it?”

He glares at her. “Are you serious about training with me?”

She straightens under his gaze, nodding sharply. “Yes,” she responds, though it comes out like a nervous question.

“Then move the table. And slide the couch away too. We need plenty of room.”

She salutes him, tying her hair back into a high ponytail. “Can do!”

He groans. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Why didn’t you call one of the others?” Adam asks, crossing his arms and staring down at the panting, sweating Calliope, who is holding onto her knees for dear life.

“Oh, you know—” she says between heavy breaths. “You’re starting to grow on me.”

“Your form is poor.”

“Oh, I know!” she wheezes. “You actually told me that, a bunch of times, like two seconds ago.”

If she didn’t know any better, she can swear she sees a ghost of a smile threatening to appear on Adam’s lips, then it’s gone as quickly as it came. He regards her with complete and utter disappointment. “They would’ve been nicer.”

“Ah, but nice isn’t what I need. I need to learn how to fight.”

This time Adam does actually smile, though it’s still not quite a full smile, more like pride over seeing a lesson learned. He cocks his head to the side. “It could also be that you’re fighting with Nate.”

She hesitates for a moment before scoffing. “I’m not fighting with Nate. Fighting would require words, of which there were none.”

Her two seconds of hesitation were enough for Adam, because he nods his head sharply, and scowls. “Figure it out. I don’t want you two at odds next time we’re all together.”

“Why?” Calliope drags the table back to its original spot, collapsing on the couch with a heave. “I thought I was a distraction.”

He joins her on the couch, his posture as formal as ever, the distance an obvious sign of something. “You are a distraction. But you’re more of a distraction when Nate is running through his mind trying to make up a list of ways he can make it up to you.”

“Make what up to me?”

“You’d have to tell me that.”

The two stare at each other before Calliope sighs, smiling. “Thank you for coming over. You didn’t have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything I don’t wish to,” he simply says, and she rolls her eyes.

“Loosen up a little sometime, huh? I think it would do you good.”

“Then you and I will have to have differing opinions.”

A knock sounds at the door, and Calliope starts to stand, but Adam takes the lead instead, gesturing for her to stay put. She doesn’t put up a fight, after all, her body is aching and all she really wants is a nap right now, maybe a 3 day slumber. When the door opens, she strains her ears to hear the soft mumbles of whoever is at the door. Adam’s voice is strong, and overshadows the meeker, much quieter voice of the person—no, woman, that’s a woman’s voice—standing at the door. A few more minutes pass until Calliope finally hears Adam say, “I think you should leave,” and shuts the door. When he returns, she gives him a curious smile. 

“Who was that?” she asks, and he shakes his head. 

“No one important. It’s late, I should leave. Goodnight, Detective Langford.”

She stops him before he can zip out. “Adam, honestly. You can call me Calliope. I promise you won’t implode.”

He hesitates, gears in his head clearly turning, then gives in, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “Goodnight, Calliope. You did well.”

“You’re lying to me!” she calls after him, and he says nothing as the door shuts behind him. She lets out a soft, incredulous laugh. Well, at least one good thing happened today. 

She heads to the light switch, peeking out of the window just for a second to try to catch a glimpse of the woman Adam had sent away. Her heart drops into her feet as she sees the car she knows too well. Rebecca sits in her car, taking a deep breath, and eventually starts it up and drives away, shaking her head. Calliope is frozen at the window. 

It was Rebecca at the door. Rebecca, who Adam...turned away? Told to leave?

She takes a moment to suck in a deep breath, letting out a loud sigh. Huh, she thinks, turning off the light and heading to her shower, eager to wash off the grime and sweat of training. Maybe he’s not so bad after all.

[granddaughterogg]

The day Death forgot something - part 1

Soo, guys, this was supposed to be a short story. Ya know, an itty bitty one. But it has grown to such a degree that I see no point in putting it here in its entirety. After all no one wants to read my long-ass posts.

This is mostly domestic fluff with a slice of life feel to it. Found family, sibling interactions, Reader being both Death and War’s girlfriend (not yet Strife’s, it’s Complicated) as a background and all that jam. Includes my headcanon that War hates spiders, because I find it hilarious. Perfectly SFW.

It seems that whichever chaotic deity stood behind those incidents, they’ve saved their best for War. 

It all started with a leaky roof.

The Four have bought themselves - and you - a house. They did so with coinage looted in countless different realms. You'd always treasure the facial expression of the bank clerk. Poor guy squirmed in his seat while explaining to four freakishly tall, fiery-eyed, fully armoured individuals that Makers' hacksilver (mere 26 pounds apiece) doesn't register as "money" in those parts. 

Most interesting day in his career, that's for sure.

The house in question was old.

Not dilapidated; just run-down enough to justify the low price. It has soon become obvious that it will have to be torn down and then rebuilt to fit the non-standard sized tenants. Poor War always felt so despondent among tiny human doorframes, their pitifully brittle walls and dainty knickknacks, prone to shattering at the slightest nudge. 

You know, like tables and such.

Strife could navigate among those just fine; despite being the noodle of the pack, he’s got the proprioception of a seasoned ballerina. Still claimed that all this hunching makes his back hurt. 

Death and Fury could fit into a human-sized environ without much problem. 

Yet she bristled at the thought of wearing lower heels, and your beloved would loathe admitting that he’s a short Nephilim. One thing is to know something; another altogether is to put it into words. 

Death has a recurring problem with this sort of thing.

So you didn’t make him. This house needed revamping anyway.

And it has been done. After countless trips to the local Home Depot, after summer weeks full of construction work - while you lived in a tent in the overgrown garden and the Four camped under the stars like they’re accustomed to. After amazing feats of Horseman cooperation and as much squabbling (Strife and Death had opposite opinions on anything), the house has been finally ready to be lived in. 

Under the latter’s lead, your boys displayed adeptness at carpentry, even if they didn’t pay much heed to the decorative side of things. War etched some protective sigils into the walls, the doorstep and the ceiling joist - and that was it. You had no idea what those exactly mean, but they sure glowed pretty in the dark. 

The house turned out to have a raw, pioneer aesthetic. There was a rustic stone hearth and lots of stained wood everywhere. You thought this starkness to be rather fetching.

Fury - who couldn’t be bothered to work with wood, but did care about them comforts and frills - made Death undertake another shopping trip. This time towards IKEA.

You enjoyed your first night spent in a proper bed like nobody’s business. Only partially because this was also Death’s bed.

And then the roof started to leak.

It was a slow leak at first. One morning Strife would drag his long ass down the stairs for breakfast, yawning and scratching, tendril hair pointing every which way, and claimed that he’s woken up to water splashing on his face.

„Maybe a bird relieved itself on you”, said Death flatly.

„In my own bed?!”

„Must have been a dedicated bird”, was the uncharitable response, followed by a swig of coffee. (Black, no sugar.) Fury rolled her eyes to high heavens but said nothing. You on your part couldn’t help but titter; even War’s dour Morning Expression gave way to a snort. Strife shot him a side-eye. 

„Don’t you neigh, my square-shaped brother. Birds don’t poop on your head cuz they can’t find it.”

The Big Guy harrumphed and focused on his cereal. Strife slumped on a chair with an annoyed puff, stuffing his face with two toasts at once.

Next time is was Fury who fell prey to the stealthy leak. One day you dropped by to chat. She was brushing that awe-inducing mane of hers while sitting in front of a large mirror. Fury had a proper vanity installed in her bedroom; a sturdy, antique-looking affair, covered with lots and lots of little bottles. As far as you knew, all of them contained some sort of magic. Fury took this whole beautifying thing to the next level.

So there she was, styling her coif with a self-indulgent smoulder when – PLOP! - something fell from the ceiling and landed precisely on the top of her head.

Fury shrieked.

„WET!” she cried out, eyes bulging, hands frantically pawing the ruined hairdo. „What was that, Little One? WHAT WAS THAT?!”

You suspected that the disgrace of having bird droppings touch her precious hair would cause someone as vain as Fury to shave it all off. And to remain bitterly bald while never, ever disclosing the reasons for doing so.

So it was with relief that you could state what you just saw:

„Oh, it’s just water.”

„Water?” She eyed the ceiling suspiciously, both hands still submerged inside the fluttering blue flame (Ice Hollow was the look du jour). „But...how?...”

Both of you glared upwards like two paranoid magpies. Still, nothing else has happened.

It seems that whichever chaotic deity stood behind those incidents, they’ve saved their best for War. 

It happened during dinnertime, too. You’ve just cooked a new dish – garlic butter shrimp pasta – and proudly displayed it to the Horsemen. The twins were already munching in abandon. Death excused himself politely. He seldom ate at all but would stay at the table nonetheless, sipping his extra bitter coffee or as unforgiving tea. You knew he did this entirely for your sake.

Meanwhile, the established big eater of the bunch seemed to have his reservations.

You watched the Red Guy pin his eyes to the full plate in front of him, fighting to retain his stony expression. The corner of his mouth twitched.

„What is it, baby?” You teased. „The shrimps are well and truly cooked. They ain’t gonna pounce at you.”

War exhaled. „Don’t misunderstand me, Little One...” he said, eyeing the dish with comic seriousness. „I would never dare to question your, eh, cooking abilities. I am just not that fond of food with tiny legs. It reminds me of many a thing I had to slay...”

„War’s afraid of spiders!” Strife chimed in, his mouth full.

The Big Guy sputtered in indignation. 

„I am not afraid of anything”, he stated, accosting his enfant terrible of a brother with a glare. „I just don’t like things that...walk like that.” He made a crawling gesture with his good hand.

„Too bad”, Strife licked his long fingers. „This shit’s delicious!”

War crinkled his wide nose and said nothing.

„So it’s about the visuals, huh?” you said, struck by an idea. „Would it be okay for you to try it just a little bit - if you couldn’t see it ?”

„Huh?” War clearly didn’t follow.

„Please don’t make our brother eat with his eyes closed”, murmured Fury between slurping in more pasta. „He makes a fair mess as it is.”

„Wouldn’t dream of it”, you grinned. „What I mean is: just close your eyes and I’ll hand feed you.”

„...Okay.”

Death cocked an eyebrow - his lip curving upwards - but he said nothing.

„Uh-oh,” said Strife. „Here comes the lovey-dovey stuff. Excuse me while I go and puke.”

„And put all this food to waste?” Fury taunted.

The gunslinger shrugged in defeat and went back to munching.

You picked a decent amount of food on the fork, lifted it and smiled at War, who stared you in the face with that endearingly earnest expression. He must’ve really hated arthropods in any shape or form, you thought. Yet he was willing to overcome his disgust. 

For you.

„Close your eyes.” He did, and suddenly there was much less light at the table. „Open wide!”

That he also did. You placed the shrimp inside his mouth with a jeweller’s precision. Strife sniggered.

„...Well?”

War’s snowy eyelashes fluttered while he pressed his jaws together, focusing on the taste. You saw his Adam’s apple bob a little.

You loved this big lug of a man so much.

„How is it?”

„Mmm. Good.” Those lightning blue eyes were looking at you again, wide and smiling. „This was really good.”

„Well then, ready for another round?”

War nodded, pressed his eyelids together and gaped, willing and trustful in that childlike way of his which always turned your cynical heart into jelly.

PLOP.

Suddenly many things happened at once. 

Strife howled with laughter, while Fury’s face became a picture of slack-jawed bewilderment. Death, always the quickest to react, was already standing up, one hand pushing his chair aside and the other outstretched protectively towards War. Who was clearly choking.

You watched the Big Guy wheeze and gurgle as if glued to your seat, paralyzed, motionless, the shellfish on your fork like some absurd sceptre.

You didn’t do this.

Death kicked War’s chair out of the way and held his brother in some Nephilim rendition of a Heimlich Maneuver, shaking him unceremoniously through the coughs until the latter went slack in his grasp. 

Finally, War stopped wheezing and did a dog shake.

Only then you were finally able to move.

„Oh, fuck. War. Are you all right?”

„I seem to be.” The Big Guy shot you a dizzy half-smile. Flyaway strands of hair covered his reddened face.

Death cautiously let him go and taxed you with a somewhat less-than-tender stare.

„I didn’t do this!” It hit as hard as a spoken accusation. You waggled the fork with the shrimp still on it. „I didn’t do anything!”

„Then what in the Nine Hells was that?” Fury wanted to know.

„Water”, gasped War, pointing upwards. „A lot of water fell into my mouth at once...I think.”

The four of you suspiciously eyed the ceiling.

Except for the lanky one, who was still guffawing.

„Strife. Did you see that happen?” Death’s voice was perfectly level. Focusing on the task at hand. You felt relief washing all over you; the Reaper clearly didn’t think that you just tried to choke his favourite brother.

Which was a good thing...your bond notwithstanding.

And out of the Four D might’ve been the fastest to react, but it was the gunslinger who had the perfect eyesight.

„Y-yeah!” Strife wiped the tears of mirth away. „Like, at least half a litre at once – boom! Hilarious.”

„What is so damn funny?” You could do with less of Strife’s sense of humour right now.

„Aw, come on there, pumpkin pie. It’s not like he could die from that. Or from anything else.”

You rethought this statement. „Right...yet D reacted!”

„Death used to do this all the time when we were kids”, Fury said softly, tilting her head in your direction. „We’d choke on anything, really. And back then, before we were anointed Horsemen we could have actually died, you know.”

„I guess old habits die hard”. Strife put on his shit-eating grin.

War nodded at his eldest and that was it. The whole „thank you for caring” compressed into one curt gesture. 

You smiled at War and then at Death. He caught your kind, appreciative stare, pressed his lips together and looked away.

PLOP!

(to be continued)

[blog-sliverofjade]

Hearth Fires 2: Sneaky Like a Cat

Pairing: Remi Denier x OFC

Summary:  Lorel Maddox just wants to live as a human, run her bakery in peace, and forget. Unfortunately, the alpha of the local leopard pack has very different ideas. Remi Denier doesn’t know what to make of the female Changeling who wants nothing to do with him or the RainFire pack. He does know that he has a driving need to protect her. Even if it’s from herself. While they’re embroiled in a battle of wills, there’s a war brewing on the horizon. The outside threat could not only destroy everything they hold dear, but tear apart the fragile new bonds of the Trinity Accord, plunging the world into bloodshed to rival the Territorial Wars of centuries past.  

Word count: 2466

Hearth Fires Masterlist

Beta read by the invaluable pandabearer

Remi entered a familiar code into the comm screen and sprawled out on the large cushions scattered around the main floor of his aerie.  Waiting for the call to connect, he cracked a longneck and took a swig.  Stomach rumbling, he wished he’d at least gotten a cupcake before scaring the piss out of the little baker.

He knew she didn’t intend any harm to the pack.  But sometimes what happened wasn’t what one intended, as he knew very well.  Just like he hadn’t intended to throw out that ultimatum. He’d wanted to get a sense of her and make the offer.  Then she’d turned him down and it was like his brain had switched off and his alpha hindbrain had taken over.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been turned down since he started building RainFire; it was, however, the first time a lone submissive female had said no.  Generally, ones like her didn’t go roaming for as long as she had. The feeling that something was amiss with her hadn’t left him, like an itch that he just couldn’t scratch.

“I’m flattered I’m your drunk dial,” Lucas Hunter said dryly, “but I have a mate.”

“I’d’ve to be drinkin’ bad hooch to be drunk dialin’ your laide tchew,” he snorted.  “And I’d hope it’d make me blind.”

Hunter snorted, then reached down out of view of the screen and picked up a little, black cub by the scruff of her neck.  Naya purred loudly enough that Remi could hear it and butted her forehead against Lucas’ face, even though her body continued to dangle limply in his grasp.

“You know better than that,” her father frowned at her, unfazed by the cute affection, and tapped her nose.  The responding mewl was adorable enough to pierce even the most jaded heart. “No, you can’t have a cookie, but you can say hi to Remi.”  He pointed to the screen and set her on his lap. A fluffy black tail rose high and curled at the end in greeting.

“Quoi se fais du mal, possede?”  His cat stopped its irritated pacing and chuffed in amusement at the pair of bright green eyes that now took up most of the screen as she leaned in to greet him.

“She’s been using my chair as a scratching post.”  Remi coughed to cover a laugh at the other man’s deadpan expression that barely hid his amusement.  At the recount of her misdeed, she flopped onto her back and put one paw over an eye as if to say “oops.”  Hunter had answered in his office at DarkRiver HQ. If he’d been at home, which had cushions instead of traditional furniture much like Remi’s own, his daughter would have sharpened her claws on a tree instead.  “Can you make it quick? I have a meeting in ten.”

Remi laid out the situation to Lucas, who listened without interruption.

“She says she didn’t know ‘bout the expansion.”  He spread his hands wide.

“You posted to Packnet?”  Hunter referred to the network utilized by Changelings all across the world.  Even loners used it, primarily to keep track of claimed territory to avoid accidentally trespassing.  A mistake meant death for a predatory Changeling.

“’Course I did,” Remi snapped in frustration.  Lucas let that one slide. “Damnedest thing is she says she’s never heard of it!”  He ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Bullshit,” he snorted, then darted a glance at Naya, who’d climbed up to drape herself across his shoulders.  “You just don’t like your options.”

“Could you run a submissive off your lands?” he snarled.  Lucas gave a low warning growl to remind him that they were both alphas; his cub stopped kneading his shoulders and her ears swivelled forward, looking for the threat.  Remi had to rein his cat in before they got into a pissing match; it had been on edge since he stepped into the bakery. The animal, too, was disturbed with the mystery that was Lorelei Cain Maddox.

“Buy her land, her mortgage, and any other debt out from under her if she doesn’t play ball.  It doesn’t have to come to combat.” A ruthless solution from an alpha who was as accustomed to fighting in the boardroom as he was with teeth and claws.  The merciless alpha stroked his daughter’s back, lulling her back to her sleepy state. He looked like a damn villain when he did that in that chair.

“Mais.”  Blowing out a breath, he took another drink to give himself time to consider the suggestion.  He shouldn’t have made the offer at all if she made his hackles rise, not until he figured out why.  Now he had to deal with the fallout and any leverage would serve to protect the pack, even if he didn’t use it to force her hand.  “Might have to. She looked like she’d rather chew an arm off than listen to me.”

“I can’t blame her if you were your usual charming self.”  Remi flipped him the bird, but there was no heat in his accompanying glare.  Lucas huffed in laughter. “You can’t help those who don’t want to be helped, you need to focus on your own.  If she won’t play ball with you, she might with your enemies.”

“Ca me rapelle, there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.  I’m forwarding you something.” He set his bottle down and fired off the email as he spoke.  “Several folks in town reported receiving this.”

“’Trinity’s Goal is Human Genocide’,” Lucas read the subject line with a snort.  “’We won’t be replaced, trying to take power, subjugate the human race…’ Yeah, we had something like this awhile back, so did StoneWater.  Do you know where it came from?”

“We got someone working to trace it.  I was wonderin’ if your people have time to look at it, might be tied to the one you mentioned.”  The older pack had resources that RainFire simply didn’t have yet and he wasn’t above asking for help to keep his pack safe.

“It might be the same group, but extremists tend to use the same catchphrases; it’s like they just swap out the nouns.  I recommend keeping your sentinels on alert.” Remi nodded. He’d already briefed those that hadn’t brought the situation to his attention, but if this was a larger threat then they needed to know that, too.

“We’ve got some friends in the city, I’ll ask them to keep their ears to the ground.”

“This might be an individual, but if it’s a cell working to sway public opinion your friends will probably hear of it first.  I’ll have my team see what they can find.” Lucas’ eyes narrowed, but that didn’t hide the teasing glint in his green eyes that looked so much like his cat’s.  “You know, the mentorship was only meant to last the first year.” While that year had passed nearly nine months ago, the two of them had kept in regular contact.

“You don’t have to answer my calls,” he shrugged and tucked a hand behind his head.  “I could always ring up Hawke. Say, you got his number?”  Hunter scowled at the mention of the SnowDancer alpha.

“Are you so hard up you’d ask a wolf for help?”

“I’m asking my Trinity representative for help with somethin’ that might be a bigger problem, but if you’re too busy…”

“Naya, say ‘adieu’ to Oncle Couillon .”  She waved her tail back and forth.

“Bye-bye, cher.”  Remi blew the cub a kiss.  “Donne la belle Sascha un bec pour moi.”  Before hanging up, Lucas gave him one last scowl for telling him to kiss his mate for the other alpha.

He pulled out his organizer and began to plot.  She might be stubborn, but he had an entire pack behind him and he wasn't afraid to use it.

At the sound of the front door opening, Lorel set down the cranberry coloured frosting she was piping onto rows of cupcakes.  She wiped her hands off on a damp white washcloth that was already smeared pink and red with previous uses.

Stopping in the archway that led to the front, she stifled a groan.  The customer who’d entered with her daughter was a changeling: a leopard, to be specific, and one of many who'd managed to wander into her shop over the past week.  Even if she didn’t have a note in her scent that matched an element of Denier’s, she obviously had to be a member of RainFire.  It seemed like she'd already met half the freaking pack, and, in the southern custom that she was rapidly coming to learn, a quick chat was at least half an hour long.

She could hardly refuse to serve the woman; not only was it illegal, but it would be hypocritical.  Besides, changelings were extremely loyal and prolific customers at their favourite restaurants due to their higher caloric requirements.  And not to mention it was probably unhealthy for her if she pissed off RainFire.

Somehow, she was sure the asshole was behind the parade of leopards in her bakery, even if she had no way of proving the suspicion.  She had seen some underhanded tactics in her time, but this latest was the lowest of the low.  Standing up straight, she braced herself.

A little girl in a lavender tutu dress toddled up to the display case like she’d found Nirvana.  Her dark hair was tied up in loose buns that bobbled with every step of her purple, glitter rainboots.  It was impossible not to smile at the sheer joy that lit up her face, which was marked with what looked like slashes from a set of claws, yet they lacked the pigmentation and texture of scars.  They appeared to be birthmarks, albeit pale instead of dark.

“Cookie, pease?”

Seriously, those big, guileless eyes should be registered as lethal weapons.

“What kind would you like?” Lorel asked after glancing at the adult with her to make sure it was ok.

“Dat one!”  A tiny finger pressed to the plas-glas pointed to a set of sugar cookies shaped and frosted to look like various types of leaves: green fading to brown, yellow to red, and whatever other combination had occurred to her at the time.  Lorel picked one of her favourites: a maple leaf with yellow at its centre, surrounded by orange, and turning to red at the edges. For the veins, she’d drawn a knife through the frosting to create lines of colour that bled outward through the gradations.

“Make it a dozen, please, and a dozen each of the caramel apples, the maple pecan cupcakes, and, ooh, pumpkin cheesecake snickerdoodles,” the woman said, her eyes lighting up with the last order.

She nearly did a double-take.  That was her entire stock of each of those items and over half of her seasonal items.  Not that she was about to complain. She wrapped the maple leaf in a napkin and handed it to the girl, experience telling her that it wouldn’t last enough to warrant packaging.

“Thank you!” she chirped and rose on her tiptoes to take the leaf.  The cookie was bigger than both of her hands. Settling back on her heels, she took a bite and exclaimed in delight, eyes going impossibly wide.  Lorel struggled to breathe past the ache in her chest.

Avoiding eye contact with both of them, she quickly boxed up the goodies.  The sooner she got them out of there, the sooner she could breathe easy again.  It didn’t help that her cat was currently clawing at her with a fierce need to play with the cub.   Kid , she mentally reprimanded herself.

“Is something wrong?”  Lorel stared at the other woman for a heartbeat before she realized she’d been shaking her head while silently rebuking herself.

“Oh no.”  She donned a smile like well-worn armour.  “Just talking to myself. Thinking about how many to bake tomorrow, you know?”

The customer nodded and hummed in agreement, but something in her eyes said she wasn’t buying it.  

“It must be hard to move to a town where you don’t know much of anyone and take over your aunt’s business.”

Lorel’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t trust sympathy from a cat, not even one with a child that appeared to be loved and treasured.

“Small towns, everybody knows everybody.”  The other woman shrugged off the suspicion cast her way.  “By the way, I’m Tien and this is JoJo.” JoJo was currently spinning in the sun streaming through the window and watching her skirt flare out.  The glitter in her boots flashed brilliantly in the light. With each bite of her cookie, she hummed a happy little tune.

The pang in her chest was back.

“Lorel,” she flashed her customer service smile, the small one when she wasn’t really feeling like smiling.  Luckily, she was ringing up the sale and therefore had an excuse to avoid anything more than briefly flicking her eyes at Tien.  Then she gave the total and they went through the ritual of the transaction.

“Here’s my number.”  Tien jotted down the code on a slip of paper she’d found in her purse.  “Let me know if you ever want to talk or if you ever want to… I’d say go for coffee, but,” she broke off with a laugh and gestured at the espresso machine.  “Do lunch or something.”

She couldn’t decline without being rude, and being rude in a small southern town would spell disaster for her business.  And the other woman’s smile was so broad and genuine that she smiled back despite herself.

“Thank you.”  Lorel took the scrap and slipped it into her apron; today it was yellow and edged at the bottom with lace.  The lavender flowers on it matched the full-skirted dress she wore.

“Come on, kidlet.”  Tien herded the girl towards the exit.

“Bye!”  JoJo waved and skipped out the door, offering a bite of her cookie to her mom, who accepted with an “mmm!”

Lorel sank back against the counter and thrust her hands into her pockets, idly fingering the contact number.  How could they be so happy and obviously well-adjusted in a pack with an autocratic asshole like Denier? Although, was there really any other kind of alpha?  In her admittedly limited experience, the answer was no.

And yet neither of them had, had the hollow, guarded eyes that were the result of abuse from those in power.  While the rest of the pack seemed friendly enough, no doubt the carrot to Denier’s stick, it wasn’t something she was used to.

She crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the recycler.

No matter how honest she appeared to be, Tien was still Denier’s pawn.

Notes:   Remi isn’t canonically Cajun, it’s left ambiguous (“with a name like that sounds like he should be hunting gators in a swamp somewhere”).  But I like the idea that he can play the dumb swamprat, or the suave southern gentleman, or a shark in the boardroom because he learned how to dominate whatever room he was in and that he had to learn to blend in (*foreshadowing of my personal HC’s).

I'm a bit of a language nerd. The evolution of Louisiana French is interesting because it basically takes Acadian French and drifts it, then splices in some Choctaw.  And it appears to share some quirks and sentence structure with French Creoles. I'm not sure if that's due to sharing a "parent" language (I don't know enough to say) or due to cultural exchange in the region.

The Cajun French in this chapter comes from published dictionaries and articles written by native speakers, then cross-referenced (or simply plugged into google to see if similar results pop up). Then if I need to conjugate something or figure out grammar, I'll run it by my spouse who speaks Quebecois (which evolved from Acadian, too), but isn’t French Canadian.  So if it’s atrocious, my apologies and please let me know.

Laide tchew - ugly ass

Quoi se fais du mal - what trouble have you been getting into?

Possede - literally possessed one, a term for a mischievous child

Mais - Literally French for “but.” According to kenwheatonwrites.com it “means “well then,” and is used to delight, shock, exasperation — any number of things. It’s almost like “dude” or “fuck” in its ability to morph into anything depending on situation, tone, delivery and other factors.”

Ca me rapelle - That reminds me

Oncle - uncle

Couillon - idiot, imbecile, funny person. In standard French, it means dickhead or bastard. I like to think that Lucas knows standard French, which helps him to understand Remi when he's slipping into his native patois. ;)

Donne la belle Sascha un bec pour moi - give the lovely Sascha a kiss for me

Fun fact: "bec" can mean "kiss" and "beak." So I'll tell my pet birds "bec la bec!" I'm easily entertained, what can I say?

[maedarakat]

Until Sunrise

The Clubhouse was dark this time of morning, save for the fire. Winter meant the sun wouldn’t rise for hours, but Astrid was shocked to find she wasn’t the only one awake.

The flames in the hearth were noisy, hungrily consuming pine branches and chunks of dry maple wood almost as swiftly as the figure by the hearth could feed them into the glowing pile.

She stretched and yawned as she walked over to join him, not wanting to sneak up on him. Tuff glanced over at her and greeted her with one of his mellow grins.

He looked exhausted, and he had every right to be.

The attack on the Edge, led by Ryker, had forced both him and Astrid to stay up for nearly two days straight preparing to defend their home and get Ruffnut back to safety. 

They’d gone on Hiccup’s field trip right afterwards - a stupid thing to have done. Not that it wasn’t interesting, it was just that they really should have gone to sleep in their beds - Ruffnut too. 

Astrid had thought maybe she’d feel better and safer flying next to Hiccup, to see whatever he’d been up to while she and Tuff had been defending their lives and the Dragon Eye. 

He’d been too damn cheerful. It had irked her somewhat, listening to him go on about how smart the the pack was, and what an adventure it had all been showing the wild dragons that he was one of the good guys.

This had all been some kind of adventure to him - he hadn’t been here to see Tuff jump off a cliff, to see him staring off in the direction of more approaching hunters while anxiously gripping his pendant.

Hiccup hadn’t heard Tuff’s voice break when he’d said “Okay, Astrid,” or seen his expression freeze and shut down when she’d needlessly reminded him how serious this was, that Ruffnut could die.

Astrid had felt a disconnect on that flight, where she’d wanted to feel safe and reassured and maybe even just a little fussed over. 

The whole thing had been days ago by now, but she was still sort of avoiding Hiccup - not sure how to tell him how upset she was, or whether or not she was overreacting.

Unbidden, a memory surfaced - Hiccup shrugging off her anger at the Twins, quite literally telling her she was crazy. He hadn’t even really been standing up for the Twins - just dispensing his usual brand of snarky humor, though at her expense. 

“Are you being quiet because you’re mad at someone?” Tuff asked, and it startled her to hear him speak, but not that he’d guessed her mood.

Astrid sat next to him on the hearth and grabbed a handful of twigs, joining Tuff in feeding the fire. 

“I am mad at someone,” she confirmed, but didn’t say more.

Tuff was quiet for a moment, nose wrinkled in thought. “Snotlout?” he guessed.

“Surprisingly no, not this time.”

“Hmm. Can’t be Fishlegs. It’s almost offensive how inoffensive that man is.”

Astrid smirked. Fishlegs had been singing her praises all week, apparently thrilled at not losing his topiaries, books, and rock garden. Oh and the Dragon Eye too, yeah that was great.

“What about Ruffnut? Did she prank you like we both agreed not to for a week?”

“Oh? You mean the Edge gets a reprieve from your pranks for an entire week? Nice of you to tell me on Wednesday,” Astrid ribbed gently.

“No not the whole Edge, just you. And of course I didn’t tell you. Nothing is more suspicious than two pranksters saying they’re going to give you - specifically you - a break. You wouldn’t have gotten any sleep, which defeats the entire purpose of said reprieve.”

“. . . That’s a fair point, Tuff.”

He gestured flamboyantly. “You’re welcome, my dear Astrid.”

She let out a puff of soft laughter, remembering with a shake of her head when she would have been annoyed. 

“So . . . I never took you for an early morning person. Are you having trouble sleeping?”

“Subject changer,” Tuff scoffed, though good naturedly. “But actually, yeah. I keep . . . dreaming. Bad dreams. It’s annoying, because they don’t even have completed stories - just glimpses of what could have happened, if . . .”

Tuff trailed off, looking at the flames intently. 

“If?” Astrid prompted, throwing in a couple of pine cones.

She knew what he meant - of course she knew. She had been there.

“If Hiccup hadn’t gotten there in time. If Ryker had . . . chopped my arms off, or whatever he was going to do with those giant swords. I dream of them coming down and as soon as they do, I wake up - and then my arms feel like they’re on fire.”

Tuff rolled a shoulder, popping it back in with a grimace. Astrid winced and reached over without thinking, rubbing the muscles of his neck with a firm circular motion. Tuff leaned into the touch gratefully, looking pained, and Astrid felt a jolt of concern.

“The guy was wearing some crazy thick armor when I jumped him. Honestly, it would have hurt less to fight a boulder. Or maybe a drunk angry Quaken, or a statue made of Gronckle iron.”

“I think it might have more to do with the fact you jumped off a cliff to fight him. Maybe we should have Gothi look at you,” she started but Tuff’s eyes widened and he shook his head.

“No way - what happens on the Edge stays on the Edge. If Gothi finds out I almost lost my sister to these guys, our family will. And henceforth, I will be forever shamed in the halls of our ancestors.”

“What, your parents don’t believe Ruffnut can defend herself?”

“Oh, it’s not that. She’s just more valuable than me - you know, worth twelve boars - whereas I’m worth about three. So if she’s ever lost, it would be a huge blow to the family fortune.”

Astrid had to take a minute to try and figure out if he was joking. No teasing grin chased those words; rather Tuff had said them without a fuss, as though it was perfectly normal for parents to calculate a child’s worth against the market value of livestock. 

“I don’t want them to know what happened here, or else they’ll demand that Ruffnut move back home, and my sister really needs this place. She’s so over Berk.” 

“But . . . Berk is your home.”

Astrid had to admit, her counter argument felt weak even to her own ears. She had said that mostly because she couldn’t imagine living in a place that didn’t also have the Twins. Especially not now, but even before the attack - before fighting side by side with Tuff against the enemy, home wasn’t home without them there to cause mischief.

“Nah. Home is just wherever you hang your hat,” Tuff said, shrugging. “We’ll go back to Berk if and when you all do. We can live there if you guys are around, because . . . well, you’re like a second family. A really nice family, that likes us.”

Astrid’s arm slung around him, pulling Tuff closer without thinking. Tuff was only a little taller than she was, about three extra inches with the helmet spikes, but he tilted his head quickly so he didn’t poke her with the horns that she had completely forgotten about.

 It meant that his lips brushed across her nose and she felt a light shiver, unsure what to think of the impulsive thought to kiss him.

She instead reached up with her free hand and took off Tuff’s helmet, setting it on the hearth. 

“It’s still hours until dawn. Aren’t you going to suggest we sleep in? As a team?”

“My place is no good, Ruffnut and Chicken are snoring too loud. I figured I should let them bond.”

“My hut then.”

“What if we go find a hill or Fishlegs’ mounded herb garden? That’s pretty warm to lie on.”

Astrid blinked. Fishlegs had been so excited to find imprints in his thyme where apparently a small dragon had curled up to sleep. He was going to keep checking to see if he could get clues as to what kind of dragon it was; there had been a small pile of multicolored scales near the site.

As long as she’d known him, Tuff was and always had been a collector of things colorful and shiny - including feathers, seashells, bones, and yep - shed dragon scales. Astrid bit back a smile. The thought of Tuff as a small dragon with a hoard of items was endearing somehow. Nevertheless . . .

 “Come on, Tuff, are you saying my hut’s not good enough for you?”

“No, that’s - no, it’s fine. It’s just . . . aren’t you afraid of the gossip?”

“What gossip? I’ll just tell anyone who asks that Ruff and I were having a sleepover,” Astrid smirked, all innocence. 

Tuff pouted at her. “Well. I’m beginning to regret that reprieve.”

She laughed, playfully pushing at him. He grinned, and shoved her back, accidentally knocking her clear off the hearth onto her backside, which she for some reason found utterly hilarious. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Tuffnut snickered, attempting to help her up. Still giggling, Astrid got him into a brief headlock for a moment or two, but then allowed him to help her to stand.

Together, they walked to Astrid’s hut. It was only a few hours until dawn, and this time they would wake side by side, knowing they were safe.

[yougottabeblitzenmyhearthstone]

Chase Space: Garden

Ao3

Some requests seem so far out of left field until you dig a little deeper.

   Why Jayelle wants a garden, Hearthstone had no idea. She had presented the idea to him and Blitzen a few weeks earlier, her dark eyes twinkling with excitement as she spoke and signed her request. Both of them had been hesitant to agree. Blitzen couldn’t go out in daylight unless he donned his sunproof clothes and that was entirely too much effort and explanation. Which meant if she needed help with it, it would be up to her to get some of the other residents interested in a garden or get Hearth to help.

   Hearthstone looks up wearily as he catches sight of a hand waving out of his peripheral. Jayelle is trying not to smile, her face shaded under the brim of her straw sunhat. Pablo is busy next to her, delicately planting some sort of tree Hearthstone hadn’t caught the name of. Hearth’s already exhausted, his black clothes practically brown from digging in the dirt.

    Need a break? Jayelle signs, still fighting back a grin. Somehow, her clothes, blue denim overall shorts over a pink t-shirt, are practically spotless. Judging by the slight tremor in her shoulders, she’s fighting back laughter as well.

   The two of them end up lounging the the shade of the back deck. Pablo had offered to go inside to fix snacks and lemonade for them and Hearthstone hadn’t stopped him: If Blitzen was going to chew out someone for tracking dirt inside, it wasn’t going to be him. He looks out at the yard, studying the small changes they’ve managed. He has to admit, it makes the backyard seem friendlier, brighter.

   He looks over at Jayelle, her face hidden in the shadow of her sunhat. He claps to get her attention. Why a garden? He signs once she looks at him.    Jayelle smiles as she pulls off her hat, revealing her short natural coil curls. The sunlight, even in the shade, makes her dark complexion glow. Is it okay if I talk? She signs with a questioning glance. I don’t think I can tell properly in signs. After Hearth nods, her lips started forming her words instead. My mama and I always gardened together when I was growing up. That woman could plant anything and it would flourish. It was unreal. She always said Grandma, her mom, was an even better gardener.

   What happened to her? Hearthstone signs. He meant Jayelle’s mom, but she obviously took it differently. Or maybe she just wanted to interpret it that way.

   I never got to meet her, Jayelle responds. My mom’s dad raised her by himself, but that was completely normal. He always told her that her mom couldn’t stay because of her family, but that was okay, she still loved her. She sent her these gloves on her sixteenth birthday. Jayelle’s eyes drop to the simple gardening gloves sitting on the deck beside her. Hearthstone looks down as well. They’re simple enough: worn from years of use, but somehow still in good shape. The cuffs are decorated with green vines and red roses. He looks up again just in time to catch Jayelle’s next sentence: I made sure I grabbed them before I left.

   Hearthstone hesitates. Blitzen likes to remind him that these kids won’t be here forever, they’re just helping them get stable, get back on their feet or helping them stay on track until they’re legal adults.. Hearthstone knows what it’s like to lose a home though. Why did you have to leave? He signs, his expression cautious.

   Jayelle’s round eyes get misty. We had a nice place. My parents both worked good jobs, she says, staring past Hearth but facing him so he can read her lips. Someone broke in. My parents both woke up because of the alarm. The burglar killed both of them before the police managed to get there. Her thin lips curl in a sneer. Not that they were in a rush. She shakes her head, eyes dropping to her gloves again. Neither of my parents had a will, so the courts decided their possessions would go to the oldest child. Which was my half-brother, Daylon. Dad’s kid from a high school relationship.

   You have a family still? Hearthstone asks, feeling confused. It sounds like Jayelle had a good, loving home life.

   Her chest seems to jolt, a clear sign she just gave off a sharp laugh. If you can call that asshole that. Her swearing doesn’t seem right. She’s only fourteen. Daylon acted all sweet, him, his wife and their kids moved up from Pittsburgh, charming the courts, saying they’d take good care of me. Her eyes flicker with emotions: sadness, anger, bitterness. Those are just the ones Hearthstone can pick up on. I believed them too. Once everything was cleared and everything was in his name, he told me I had thirty minutes to get my shit packed and to get out of his house.

   Everything seems to make so much more sense. It explains why Jayelle has such nice clothes, why she’s so kind to every single soul that comes into the Chase Space, despite why or how long they’re there. It also sheds light on why she had been so wary, so mistrusting of everyone when she had first gotten there. She was expecting it to be too good to be true. Like being able to stay in her childhood home.

   His attention is caught by Jayelle wiping furiously at her eyes. It’s why I wanted a garden. Mama would’ve told me to grow no matter where I ended up. Her lips tremble. I wanted something to remember her by.

   Pablo ends up coming back out, carrying a tray of lemonade and sandwiches to find Jayelle sobbing into Hearthstone’s shoulder, trying to expel all of the misery and grief she hadn’t been able to face yet. Hearth just hugged her tightly, trying not to cry himself. He didn’t need Pablo asking why his tears were green.

   Later that week, he comes back from town with groceries and a black sun hat with matching black gardening gloves. Blitzen just stares at him before launching into a tirade of signs about fashion choices and oh my gods, you stupid elf, you’re going to bake staying out in the sun in all back. Behind Blitzen though, Jayelle is beaming at him. That makes it worth it.

[blog-sliverofjade]

Hearth Fires 15: Conflicted

Pairing: Remi Denier x OFC

Summary:  Lorel Maddox just wants to live as a human, run her bakery in peace, and forget. Unfortunately, the alpha of the local leopard pack has very different ideas.

Remi Denier doesn’t know what to make of the female changeling who wants nothing to do with him or the RainFire pack. He does know that he has a driving need to protect her. Even if it’s from herself.

While they’re embroiled in a battle of wills, there’s a war brewing on the horizon. The outside threat could not only destroy everything they hold dear, but tear apart the fragile new bonds of the Trinity Accord, plunging the world into bloodshed to rival the Territorial Wars of centuries past.

Word count: 3685

Hearth Fires Masterlist

Beta read by the precious @pandabearer​

          The small, green valley was thrown into early twilight by the forested mountains that protected the Arrow settlement.  The children were playing their hearts out, as if trying to eke out that much more life before the day’s end.  Judd Lauren, inarguably a lethal blade of a man, made a mix of cubs, pups, and psy give chase before allowing them to swarm him.  Remi shook his head; he was still amazed that the assassin was capable of laughter, let alone could play with children with such care.

       “I’ve asked around and a couple of other packs around the country are experiencing the same issues, mostly in places where there was already anti-psy sentiment.  Word is they’re running militia training camps,” he said to the man who led some of the most dangerous people in the world.  “Have the psy been having similar problems?” 

      Before Aden could answer, a baby leopard bounded up to bat playfully at Remi’s boots, tail swishing back and forth.  He scooped up the cub for a tap on the nose and a quick cuddle before sending her off to rejoin the game.

       “No,” Aden answered when they were alone again, watching his wife clean up the aftermath of a sugar-fuelled feeding frenzy.  Even though Halloween was still a few weeks off, Zaira had brought candy; the cubs and pups enthusiastically introduced their psy playmates to the concept of Halloween and trick-or-treating.  Remi suspected she didn’t grasp the concept of the holiday and was just using it as an excuse to spoil the children.  Heaven knew the baby Arrows could certainly do with the occasional spoiling, and she knew that better than anyone.

      Envy sank its claws into him.  The Arrow pair weren’t mated in the changeling sense, yet they had an unbreakable bond that was obvious even to the non-telepathic races.  He yearned to know what it was like to be so intimately connected with someone who suited him on every level.  A predatory changeling alpha needed a mate by his side, someone who knew when to bend and when to show their claws, someone who would help their pack grow and thrive.  He wanted someone he could trust enough to let his guard down and just be.  No duties, not dominant, not alpha, just Remi.

      Compared to most alphas, he’d taken some time to wake up to his alpha instincts.  Once that need overrode his reservations, he’d gone about it with the laser-like focus of an apex predator. However, there were some aspects he hadn’t anticipated.  At first, some of the women tried to climb the hierarchy by climbing into his bed.  He’d shut that down right away, making it crystal clear that intimate skin privileges between packmates would in no way impact one’s position either positively or negatively.

      Ever since then, he’d been sure to never pay too much attention to any one partner when his need for intimate skin privileges grew too much.  He’d inherited too many of his father’s traits that had turned dark after his mother passed.  He would be driven to take and possess a lover entirely, demanding complete sexual submission.  Dominant changeling women weren’t exactly known for their surrendering natures, and any paramour he took would have to be dominant.  Any other personality would be crushed by him simply being who he was.  The fragile equilibrium of the new pack couldn’t handle such an imbalanced relationship.

      A submissive couldn’t fight against a dominant, especially against sexual aggression from someone in a position of power; it was against their very nature.  And he would slit his own throat before he shed the blood of any of his people, before he turned into the monster that stalked his darkest nightmares.  He’d simply come to accept that being alone was the price he had to pay in exchange for the family he’d built.

      “On top of that, we’ve had a perimeter breach in the eastern and northern sectors.”  The second occurrence had been reported when Remi’d been arguing with Lorelei; he’d had to see her safely home before going to investigate.  He’d bullied her into shifting to her other form by threatening to throw her over his shoulder and carrying her if she didn’t.  The obstinate ocelot went into the change still wearing his shirt.  His scent, already coating her in a superficial layer from wearing his tee, spread more evenly on her body when the fabric inevitably disintegrated.  That had satisfied something primal, deep below the conscious level.

      Coming of age in a brutal pack had irreparably changed him.  He managed the violence that lived in him by directing it at those who would harm his people, but those same drives darkened to a sexual hunger when it came to her.  He was rapidly becoming addicted to her.  Unfortunately, his drug of choice was touch averse, specifically his touch.  He hated the loss of control, feeling like a juvenile fresh from his first kill again.  The pack needed him to keep his head on his shoulders, not lose it sniffing after a female.

      “You’re getting harder,” Tien had said as he’d driven her home.  It wasn’t a criticism: it was concern from one packmate to another.  His touch hunger was already causing friction and there weren’t enough mated pairs at the higher end of the hierarchy to counteract the instability.  And the only person he wanted to sate that need with was dividing his attention.

      “She’s a liability.”  If they thought he wasn’t doing right by the pack, especially if he was focused on an outsider to their detriment, he’d soon be facing challenges, and that would tear them apart when they were already facing outside dangers.  

      “Not everyone’s built for combat, that doesn’t mean they have nothing to contribute.”  She misinterpreted his flat statement and defended the submissive, an arch statement reminding him that neither end of the power hierarchy was worth more or less than the other.   That was what maternals did, protective in their own way.

      He knew that better than most.  Lorelei’s strength shone whenever she was in the same room with him; annoying as it was, he respected the hell out of her for standing up to him.  What his father had forgotten, or perhaps never known, was that strength wasn’t always physical; a person’s value couldn’t be calculated in terms of how much blood they could shed.  He would never understand how his father could have treated their most physically vulnerable as unworthy of respect.  It ultimately led to his downfall.

      “That’s not what I meant, Tien,” he’d growled, hands tightening on the manual controls until the wheel groaned in protest.  “She poses a security risk.  I never should have let her so deep into our territory.”  They had changed the site of the autumn barbecue at the last minute to one more distant from where they made their homes at the heart of their land.  But with several non-predatory changelings disappearing in the area recently, his instincts were driving him to keep his people protected deep within their territory and ban anyone who wasn’t fully allied with RainFire. 

      Changelings of any stripe needed freedom; too many restrictions, even if they were for protection, stifled them.  The proper balance of safety and freedom gave cubs a firm foundation and the safety to develop their strength and personalities.  It was an alpha’s honour to ensure cubs have what they need to flourish, not crush them by keeping them tightly confined without room to grow.

      “She’s a baker, hardly a master spy.  What’s she going to do?  Steal Avery’s cheesecake recipes?” she’d scoffed.  “What she is, is scared.  I don’t think she knows how to stop protecting herself; it’s why she’s short-tempered.”

      Remi had a different interpretation on that.  He’d kept his reservations about her stability to himself, not even warning his sentinels.  That was the true risk she posed: he was already keeping secrets from the soldiers who shed their blood in defense of RainFire because he wanted to protect an outsider when all his energies should be focused on safeguarding his people, not divided between them and a woman he couldn’t have.

      When she went feral, and there was no doubt in his mind that she would if she didn’t learn to balance her two aspects, he would be the one to take her down.  It would be his responsibility because he would have failed both her and his pack, which meant he could not permit that outcome to come to pass.

      “Physical reconnaissance?”  The question wrenched Remi from his musings.

      “Seems like,” he said grimly.  They still hadn’t been able to pinpoint who was behind the incursions and it was maddening.  A stray breeze blew his hair back into his face and he shoved it back with one hand; he needed a haircut otherwise he’d soon need hair ties.

      “I could have the squad monitor for any related activity, although the possibility of finding any evidence is minute.”  A smile lit up Aden’s face as he watched his mate attempting to settle a squabble between a cub and a baby Arrow with cool logic.

      “Don’t waste manpower, but I’d appreciate any intel passed our way.”  The elite military unit protected the heart and conscience of the psy race: the empaths.  Aden would never sacrifice their greater mission for RainFire’s sake; it was an unspoken understanding between the two men.  Despite their differences, they both had an adamantine core of integrity, and both had been forged in crucibles of the cruellest kind.  “I’ll send the info on the missing changelings.”  

      A wolf couple roaming in the area had disappeared sometime over the past week; he’d only known because they’d failed to check in during the window of time they said they would be leaving as arranged when they’d asked for permission to be in his territory.  Two of the most powerful Tk’s he knew, one of them a true teleporter, had already tried to teleport to the two missing, using their faces as a lock and both had failed, which meant that they had either been disfigured or were dead.

      Normally spending time with the cubs soothed even his worst moods, yet today it sat uneasily on him that he was on a playdate instead of searching for the wolves; his overdeveloped drive to protect was punishing him.  Logically, he knew that the children needed to play with their friends before the semi-monthly gatherings would be disrupted by the holiday season.  The pups and cubs were more flexible and would be fine until the new year; it was the psy who needed the foundation of routine, and even though they weren’t his in the strictest sense, it wasn’t in him to hurt a child, no matter how obliquely.  

      Aden Kai, a scary motherfucker who could create an impregnable shield that could deflect bullets back along their trajectories, smiled, hard eyes softening as Zaira climbed the rise towards them.  A faint line between her brows was the only indication of her apparent puzzlement, and held up two identical cups.

      “Tavish and Jasper are in disagreement over who gets the blue cup.  These are both blue.  I’m not familiar with Logan’s medical history, but no visual impairments were noted at Owen’s last physical.”

      Remi’s shoulders shook with laughter as the two lethal Arrows looked to him for advice, perplexed.  If only all of his problems were simply bickering cubs.

 FROM: Zayaan Derici <email redacted>

TO: Lorel Maddox <email redacted>

October 15, 2083  2:30PM

Subject: RE: Fion and Mila Caine, RedRock

       I cannot express my gratitude for your parents saving my life from our rogue member nor can I convey the depth of sorrow I’ve carried with me all these years, yet I know that it’s merely a drop compared to your loss.

       Your parents were fine, courageous people.  If you would like to know the details of what happened, I will gladly provide them, but I didn’t want to burden you with the knowledge before you were ready.

       I’m ashamed that I didn’t look for you; I’d forgotten they had a little girl.  Please forgive me, you would have been “a baby” in my 10-year-old mind.  When I was older, I tried to find their relatives, but RedRock’s records were destroyed in a fire that night.  I was astonished when your alpha reached out to me and elated when I received your email.

       You may wish to move on and not re-visit this tragedy.  I would not fault you for that, but I hope to hear from you again.  I’ve attached a picture of my two cubs, Fiona and Mila; they are named after your parents.

       Gratefully yours,

       Devon Gutierrez

        Two days passed without incident: no ultimatums, earth-shattering maxims, moments of bloodthirsty madness, and definitely no arguments with a certain autocratic leopard.  One would think that would be restful, and yet, no matter how many times she gave herself a firm talking to, Lorel found herself restive.

      The longing she felt for him was stronger than mere lust, which was something she’d more or less dealt with on her own since puberty.  It was like her very skin ached for touch and without it, she felt untethered from the earth, like she didn’t exist without tactile contact to anchor her.  His touch had fanned her ever-present hunger to a voracious need that kept her awake at nights no matter how many times she used her battery-operated boyfriend.

      Lorel was grateful that Irena, who was across the workspace from her, didn’t appear to have the same sense of smell that cat changelings had, otherwise she’d never be able to look her in the eye again.

      “Irena, could you please pass me the passionfruit?”

      “Depends, will you get me that gorgeous cat’s number?” she asked, handing over the bowl with a mischievous grin.

      “I don’t think he’s looking,” she shook her head with a rueful smile and began to cut the purple fruit.

      “Damn.  Wouldn’t mind getting eaten by a cat, if you know what I mean.”  Looking up briefly from the sugar cookies she was cutting out, she waggled perfectly manicured eyebrows.  This week’s designs were ghosts, pumpkins, and witches’ hats.

      “Irena!”  Her knife slipped and juice squirted down her apron.

      The crow laughed gaily at Lorel’s shock, the sound filling the kitchen.  It was still early and they were preparing for the day; they didn’t have to worry about scandalizing customers yet.

      “Can I ask you a personal question?” she asked once she’d recovered from the embarrassment.  “And if you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone, I will make sure you get all the early morning shifts during the holiday season.”  She jabbed a warning finger at Irena; SweetCheeks would have to start baking at 3 am, two hours earlier than usual, to meet projected seasonal demand.

      She shuddered and nodded acquiescence, waiting for Lorel to continue. 

      “Do alphas, or wing leaders,” she added, remembering the avian-specific term Irena used, “have certain… expectations of packmates?”

      “Uh, depends on the person and the needs of the flight, or pack.”  Her dark brows drew together when she looked up briefly from the dough.

      “No, I mean single pack members.”

      “What, you mean like one of them cults where the guy in charge sleeps with all the women?  No, that is not normal.  I won’t say it’s never happened, but people can be evil.”  Hazel eyes aghast, she shook her head furiously.  “I haven’t heard anything like that about RainFire, and we’re on good terms with them.”

      Lorel had not only heard of instances of alphas becoming corrupt and taking advantage of those they were meant to care for, she’d also been forced to watch documentaries on them.  Ostensibly, it was to protect her from becoming a victim of the depraved culture of changeling packs.  While she didn’t think that authoritarianism was the default culture of packs, neither had she known exactly how abhorrent such occurrences were considered among changelings.  She could smell Irena’s scent sour at the thought despite the competing aromas coming from the ovens.

      Face warming, Lorel sketched in with broad strokes what had taken place in the woods the week before, never looking up from her work.

      “Kissing between packmates is usually more like kissing a sibling.  That sounds more like he’s looking for intimate skin privileges,” frowned Irena.

      The kiss between them had been the farthest thing from that.  It had been wild and sensual and like nothing she had ever experienced before.  When she woke from fitful dreams in the bits of sleep she did manage to get, she swore that she could still taste him on her lips.

      “And if there was a misunderstanding, like someone thought he was abusing his position as alpha?”  The words he’d used were imprinted in her brain, they’d been so full of restrained fury.  Once the hormones and adrenaline had faded, she’d nearly thrown up she’d been so disgusted with herself.  Conflict of any kind usually left her feeling deeply discomfited, or at least it did whenever her ocelot wasn’t complicating matters with its temper.  And it was always worst when she was in the wrong.

      “You did not,” winced Irena.  “In that case, I’d say it’s a damn good thing you’re not in the pack yet because his pride will not take that well.”  Eyes wide, she shook her head and blew out a breath, golden-brown cheeks puffing up.

      “He said I was ‘touch hungry.’  How was I supposed to know it wasn’t just a line?  Like when doctors used to say, ‘I diagnose you woman, the cure is medically induced orgasms’!” she threw her hands in the air in frustration, sending green bits of pulp flying, even as she pinked at her own words.  In fact, she was pretty sure that was the first time she’d ever uttered the word “orgasms” aloud; Chloe and Irena were definitely bad influences on her.

      Giggling, Irena pressed the back of her forearm to her forehead.  Since her hands were covered in flour and bits of dough, it was the equivalent of clapping a hand over her face.

      “Flights- packs, whatever- are good for that, and no, I am not talking about group sex,” she said once she had breath again, sniffing back tears of mirth.  “Mind you, some of those cats…” she trailed off with a slyly speculative expression.  “Anyhoo, there’s different skin privileges between packmates, family, and lovers.  Any might help alleviate touch hunger, but all the hugs in the world won’t cut it if you’re in dire need of a good dicking.”

      “Do you enjoy making me blush?” Lorel mock glared.

      “Yep,” she chirped unrepentantly.  “One of these days I expect to see blood spurt out of your nose like in anime.”  She waggled a hand near her face to mimic a spray of blood.  Lorel flicked a passionfruit pit at the crow who giggled and batted the airborne seed towards the sink where it landed with a plink.  “If he’s offering as a packmate, there’s no strings attached.  It’s just fulfilling each other’s need.  You set your own boundaries when it comes to skin privileges, all you have to do is say no and they’ll back off entirely.  If he wants a relationship, that’s a whole nother kettle of wax, and I don’t know what big cats are like.  Now if it was a corvid, I could give you a crash course.”

      “How can I tell?”

      “Ask him,” she said, hands spread wide, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

      Lorel stared at her like she was speaking another language. 

      “Communication?  You know, the basis of all healthy relationships?” 

      Unsure how to respond to that, Lorel busied herself with straining the passionfruit pulp.  She’d had few healthy relationships and even fewer romantic relationships, none of which had qualified as healthy.

      “Lorel, are you a virgin?”  Irena tilted her head in a way that was distinctly not human.

      “No!”  Her voice was so high it could have shattered glass.  Then, in a calmer register, but not looking up, “Not technically.  Besides, I don’t think he even wants to look at me; I’m half-surprised he hasn’t given up and banished me entirely.”  Inexplicably, the thought made her chest ache till it felt like she couldn’t breathe.  “I haven’t known him very long, but I feel like he’s mine.”  This last she whispered to herself, confounded by the sudden realization.  She hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t even known she was thinking it until the words tumbled out.

      Irena crossed the workspace to enfold Lorel with a hug, face set with lines of sympathy.  Instincts told her to maintain her guard, to hold some part of herself back, but she was so tired that after a moment she released the tension she carried.  Slowly wrapping her arms around the crow, she laid her head on the taller woman’s shoulder and breathed in the scent of friend, allowing herself to relax.

      Lorel made acquaintances easily, but she’d never clicked as deeply as she had with the friends she’d made in the short time she’d been there.  She’d always kept herself apart to protect the people around her from the violent madness she’d seen as an inevitability.

      To hold that at bay, she lived by rigid rules to keep her other half, the one ruled by needs and emotions, under control.  Being good and demure and all the things she was taught to be had gained her nothing, certainly not the approval of her grandparents; if anything, it put her more at risk of going rogue, if Remi was to be believed.

      Now she knew differently because he was trying to show her a different way.  He’d never demand that she silence herself or hide her wildness, on the contrary, he challenged her to embrace it.  Such an attitude was a stark contrast to the people she’d called family for so long.  He didn’t know that she would have to give up everything she’d ever known, including the people who raised her.