I hereby dedicate this fic to @frenchiefitzhere and her versions of Marie and Colm and their relationship because I like Frenchie's version better than canon.
This takes place years ago, btw
2.0k words
Also. I frickin' started writing this like back in spring or summer. Idk what was up with my brain that it took me until last Saturday to actually finish it
—
Asher jolted as his phone started ringing. He scooped it up.
Incoming Call…
Little Man Syndrome™
“Hey Milo,” Asher greeted, holding the phone up to his ear. “What’s up?”
“What’re ya doin’ for dinner tonight?” Milo asked.
“Leftover pizza and wings. Why?”
Over the connection, a long string of expletives met Asher’s ears. But not from Milo.
“Ma—Ma—don’t blow your top just yet,” Milo said placatingly, voice distant from the mic. Before getting closer. “Ash. You realize what today is right?”
“Uh… Thursday?”
“Which Thursday?” Milo prompted.
“Well, hell, Greer. I don’t know.”
He heard the impact of Milo smacking himself in the forehead. “Oh for the love of—” Milo was cut off by Marie swearing again. “Ma! I got this!”
“You’d better 'got this' young man or Asher is never gonna hear the end of it from me!” Marie snapped.
“Ash,” Milo said, level but clearly irritated. “Today is Thanksgiving.”
“Ohhh! Is that why David invited me to go to his dad’s house with him for dinner?”
“Presumably. Why didn’t you go?”
“I don’t know I just thought it was Thursday!”
“Only you could be so time-blind to forget a holiday like this,” Milo muttered. “Look—”
“Asher Reed Talbot, you get your ass to this house in one hour, ya hear?” Marie interrupted.
Milo sighed. “Ma, I was gonna do it the polite way. Like a gentleman. Like you taught me.”
Marie’s voice softened immediately. “I know, baby,” she said. Asher heard her kiss Milo’s hair. “But sometimes a boy needs a mother to kick him in the pants in the right direction.”
Milo chuckled. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “Anyway, Ash. I’d ask if you’d care to join us for Thanksgiving dinner but I think that ship has sailed.”
Asher laughed. “I think you’re right. I’ll be over in an hour,” he said. “What’s the dress code?”
“I don’t care if you show up in your underwear so long as you’re here,” Marie said, still sharp with exasperation. “No son of mine—of my friends’—is eatin’ leftover pizza and wings alone on Thanksgivin’ if I have anything to say about it!”
“And clearly you do,” Colm’s quieter voice added even more distant from Milo’s phone.
“Hush, you,” Marie said, a smile in her voice. “One hour, Asher!”
“Yes ma’am!” Asher agreed. “Do I need to bring anything?”
“Just yourself,” Colm supplied.
“Okay. Will do.”
“Bye,” Milo said.
“See ya soon.” He hung up and put the pizza box back in the fridge. Setting his phone down on the counter in the apartment, he rushed to his room.
Thanksgiving dinner had always been a business casual dinner at his house. Probably because Madelyn and her mate flew home for it every other year and his parents wanted to make an event of it. This was the first Thanksgiving they weren’t going to be home for, traveling somewhere in… Korea or somewhere.
And knowing Marie…
“Khakis and a polo should be fine,” Asher decided.
—
“HA!” Milo barked the second Asher slipped through the front door—not bothering to knock. The Shaw and Greer houses were second homes to him. He never knocked if the door was unlocked. Which it usually was. “Someone’s overdressed!”
Asher turned to see Milo in jeans and a T-shirt with a cartoon turkey on it.
Marie thwacked Milo upside the head gently with the back of the mixing spoon in her hand. “Well how ‘boutchu go dress to match him, huh?”
Milo rubbed the back of his head. “Wait—you serious?”
Marie fixed him with a look only a mother could give. “Very,” she said.
Milo sighed. “Fine. I will.” He cast a sidelong glance at Ash. “And I’ll look even better’n you in it.”
Asher snorted. “You can try.”
Milo stomped toward the hallway, flipping the bird over his shoulder.
“Milo Anthony Greer!” Marie warned.
Milo’s hand dropped immediately. “Sorry, Ma!” He scampered off for his room.
Asher sheepishly approached Marie. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I know you said an hour and it’s been an hour and fifteen—”
“And I knew you’d be late which is why I said an hour when dinner was an hour and a half away from bein’ finished.”
Asher chuckled. “Do you know everything?”
Marie smiled and cupped Asher’s cheek in one hand—the one not holding the mixing spoon. “Just my boys,” she said with a wink. “Now get those rolls in the oven for me then get the hell out of my kitchen.”
“Yes ma’am.” Asher ducked around her to assist immediately, knowing better than to hesitate.
Colm was in the living room. A replay of the big parade in New York was going on the TV, but Colm wasn’t watching it. He was reading from a sheaf of papers on the coffee table.
Asher cleared his throat. “Look, uh, Marie,” he started quietly, heat burning at his neck and ears. “I just. I wanted to thank you. For thinking of me tonight. And for… y’know. Inviting me.” He closed the oven door and took the mitt off. But didn’t straighten to his full height. His shoulders were slouched forward and his eyes were cast down to the hardwood floor.
Marie gave him a warm smile. “Asher,” she said fondly. “You are always welcome here, you got that? Now, I don’t care if it’s Thanksgiving or a random Monday in the middle of May. You are family. And there will always be a place for you at our table.”
Asher blinked away a sudden salty sting in his eyes. “Thanks Marie,” he said, trying to swallow the thickness of his voice from the emotion in his chest. “I appreciate that.”
Marie turned back to the gravy she’d been making. From scratch. Of course. Marie Greer would never dream of any other kind of gravy disgracing her kitchen. “I’m happy for your parents. Gettin’ the chance to travel like they always talked and dreamed about. And I respect their decision to do it while they’re still young enough to withstand how exhaustin’ it is.” Her mouth narrowed into a frown. “But that doesn’t mean I approve of all-a it.” Her warm grey eyes—the same as Milo’s—flicked over to him. “They didn’t need t’ leave you here alone.”
Asher shrugged. "They thought I was old enough to live without them."
"Livin' without your parents doesn't mean ya don't still need their influence or advice." Her voice had gone hard with disapproval.
"Hey, that's what I have you for!" Asher joked brightly.
Marie leveled a Look™ at him. "You're damn right," she said seriously.
Colm covered a scoff by clearing his throat in the other room. Marie turned her Look™ briefly toward her mate before going back to her gravy.
Asher slunk carefully out of the kitchen, managing to only knock a mixing spoon onto the ground—that he quickly put back—and not mess up anything else.
Milo was stalking back into the living room, sour look on his face, having changed into a polo shirt and khakis himself.
It was, of course, Asher's job in life to give Milo a hard time. They were brothers in all but blood. But Asher admitted—silently, to himself, never out loud—that Milo definitely pulled off a polo and khakis better than he did. Milo was one of those lucky suckers who looked good in everything. Asher was tall and leanly muscled, but being tall sometimes made things look too short on him.
Milo didn't have that problem.
"Hey. Hey Milo," Asher started.
"What?" Milo retorted.
"You've got somethin' on your face."
Milo raised a single, sarcastic eyebrow. Waiting.
"Yeah. Y'know, I think it's called sour grapes."
"Oh you—" Milo moved as though to take a swing at Asher. Who ducked with a laugh and dodged out of the way.
—
Marie looked through the archway between the living room and the kitchen, watching her boys goof off and chase each other around like they had since they were little. She smiled to herself as she took the gravy off the heat and turned off the stove. A quick check through the oven window revealed the rolls were coming along.
As they kept baking, she started moving everything she'd made from the cookware she'd finished them in, to a pretty crystal serving dish. Then took them, two at a time, to the dining room table.
The clearing of a throat announced that Colm had gotten up from looking at his case files to help her. She smiled at him. He kissed the side of her head and took the two dishes from her hands, letting her grab two more.
After taking the two dishes, Colm set the table. After letting his mate choose the most festive tablecloth.
She got the rolls out of the oven right as the timer went off and quickly got them out of the pan and into a little basket with a white cloth lining it.
"A'right boys!" Marie announced, whipping her apron off after wiping her hands on it one last time. "Wash your hands and sit your asses down at the table."
Milo and Asher both froze from where Milo had managed to yank Asher down to his eye level and get him in a headlock. Marie met both of their eyes in turn, a stern look on her face. Milo cleared his throat and let go of Asher's neck. Both of them straightened their shirts and bustled—still poking and prodding at one another—into the kitchen to wash their hands. "Yes, Ma," Milo said automatically.
They knew better than to protest.
Marie and Colm sat on one side of the table. The boys sat on the other.
Milo leaned over to Asher. "We do the stuff we're thankful for before we eat," he whispered. Asher nodded.
"I'll start," Colm said. "I'm grateful, this year, for patience. The patience that my family has shown me." He reached under the table and gave Marie's leg a squeeze. She did her best not to react as his hand slipped a little higher up her leg before sliding off back to Colm's side.
She cleared her throat. "I'm grateful for my family," she said. "I'm grateful for a mate who loves me and works hard for us. I'm grateful for a pack that welcomed us as family all those years ago and never once acted otherwise. I'm grateful for an amazing, strong, brave son who has every right to be as confident as he is. And I'm grateful for all his friends who have become his family. Because they're my family. And I'm grateful that Ash could join us tonight, so he could be with family on Thanksgivin'."
She pretended not to notice Asher wiping a tear off on his sleeve.
"A'ight. My turn," Milo said. "Welp. This year... I guess I'm grateful for... everythin' I've been able to do. I learned a lot of lessons this year, and all-a 'em were important and valuable." He turned to Asher.
Who cleared his throat. "I, uh... I'm grateful for a lot of stuff. I'm really grateful for the pack that I got to be raised in. I'm grateful that David somehow has the patience to be my roommate. I'm grateful that I haven't burnt the apartment building down yet. And... I'm grateful for the Greer family. For being willing to accept me into your home on a holiday that's stressful enough as it is. Whether I wanted to come over or not." He smiled around a chuckle. "Thank you, for always making me feel welcome and at home." He swallowed. "Now can we please eat? I'm hungry!"
Colm and Milo both started laughing along with Asher. Marie just met his eyes with a loving look on her face. Sure, Ash was Frank and his mate's kid. But Ash was Marie's kid too. He certainly was now that the Talbots were traveling, but she'd loved him like a son since he and Milo had been close friends.
He gave her a grateful smile. She returned it.
"Go ahead an' dish up before it gets cold, boys," she said.
"Thank you," Milo said, reaching for the mashed potatoes.
—
General Shaw Pack and Characters Tag list: @zozo-01 @thegoldenlittlerose @pinksparkl @darlin-collins @icedunderwaterroom
So. If y’all haven’t read my Bastard Warrior high-school-English-style essay (<- link), you’re probably not going to be aware of what musings of mine inspired this... maybe go give it a read? (The TL;DR is that Albus’ subconscious put him in a fantasy instead of his happiest memory, like Devlin was in, because Albus doesn’t have happy memories. I was confused why Faithful didn’t feature in the fantasy considering he’s so in love with her and knew exactly how to make the fantasy even happier for him)
5.8k words (holy sh!+ this one got away from me. I was expecting 2.2k)
—
“Alright, I know you don’t really need to hear this from me, but… please, be careful,” Devlin said, eyes flicking between me and his younger brother lying on the medical bay gurney. “I’ll keep an eye on everything out here.”
I nodded and set the Key against Albus’ forehead, feeling the sinkhole of psychic power drag me into unconsciousness.
—
Quiet grunts and a gentle sigh were the first thing I heard as I emerged into Albus’ mind. My eyes were closed and I was pleasantly warm. Everything around me was soft and I was lying down.
“Good morning, princess,” a familiar voice said quietly.
My eyes flew open.
“Albus!” I whisper-shouted, scrambling to get over to him, realizing I was under sheets and blankets, before throwing my arms around him as best I could.
“Oof,” he muttered as I impacted against him, holding tight. “Is… everything alright, darling?” He held onto me in the hug, but slowly released me, leaning back to look me in the eye, and I started to take stock of where we were.
Albus was lying beside me, shirtless, in a bed of white sheets and fuzzy blankets. His hair and beard were tidier than I’d ever seen them before—and the scars on his face were gone. Instead he sported a new one on his left temple that wasn’t even half the length of his real facial scars. His warm, dark eyes held concern in them, but none of the anger I’d come to recognize every time I looked at him. They were more open and honest than I’d ever seen them. There were no walls. No guards he had in place between him and the rest of the world.
His bare chest and arms had a peppering of small scars too, but not the ones I’d patched up from the demon when we first met, or every injury I’d bandaged since.
I realized I wasn’t wearing anything either. Not even a nightdress or a slip. The sheets covered my modesty but I could feel them against every inch of bare skin that I usually kept covered by clothing. My heart started pounding.
“Everything’s… everything’s fine. I’m just happy to see you,” I said.
He scrunched his eyebrows. “You saw me last night when we went to bed,” he said in a tone that sounded like he was trying to politely point out something obvious. He lifted a hand and pressed the back of it to my forehead. “Are you feeling alright?”
I shoved his hand off my head. “I’m fine,” I retorted. Then my eyes caught sight of a flash of light.
There was a bright gold ring on his ring finger.
His left ring finger.
He smiled at me when I shoved his hand away. “There she is,” he said. “There’s the woman I love.” He removed his wrist from my hands and trailed the backs of his fingers down the side of my face before moving them to trace idle patterns over my shoulder. “You had me worried for a moment there.”
I looked around, taking in our surroundings.
What… what was this? Where were we? I was in his head, sure, but this place looked and felt real. When I’d delved into Devlin’s mind, I’d seen… glitches. Wavering in the scenery. Tricks to reveal the workshop was just a memory.
But this place looked nothing like anywhere in our world. The architecture was wrong—I’d never seen wood the shade of the planks used to make the walls. This wasn’t a reflection of our home-world.
This wasn’t his happiest memory, as Devlin’s had been.
“Where… where are we?” I asked tentatively.
His eyebrows knitted together again. “Our… bedroom?”
Our?!
I didn’t say that out loud, but I couldn’t stop my eyebrows from arching in surprise and confusion.
“Are you sure you’re alright? Why are you acting like this is new?” Albus sat up just enough to perch on his elbow and look down at me. I’d seen him shirtless before when I’d patched him up a few times, but this time with him actually conscious I tried much harder than usual to not stare. The conspicuous lack of the Bastard’s Mark over his heart was throwing me off just as much as everything else. “Darling? Are you having nightmares again?”
My first instinct was to snap at him to cut it out with the pet names—but the words died on my tongue. The concern on his face—the way his eyes looked at me…
Visceral memories of Knight-Captain Bran threatening me at the Wall of Dawn and the terror on Albus’ face shot through my head.
I swallowed and hid myself under the white sheet. “Kind of,” I said quietly, still trying to figure out what was happening.
With some shuffling, Albus climbed under the sheet himself.
“There’s no ‘kind of’ with nightmares. Either you are, or you aren’t,” he said sharply. And for a moment, the softness and tenderness vanished, leaving behind the rough, sarcastic tone I was used to. Then his eyebrows twitched and the rest came back. “I… I don’t know why I said that. Forgive me.”
Before I could say anything, heavy pounding resounded off the door. “Do you two plan on getting up while it’s still morning?”
At this point, I’d know Devlin’s voice anywhere—and that was definitely him.
Albus rolled his eyes. That much, at least, was familiar. He rolled over to face the door. “We’re already awake, brother!”
“Well then how about you consider getting out of bed and—”
“Dev, are you really going to interrupt a husband and wife who finally get a lazy morning to themselves?” Albus snapped.
A who and a who?!
I looked down at my hand. Albus was wearing a ring, I’d seen that. I wasn’t though.
I didn’t know how to describe the noise Devlin made. It was almost akin to a squeak. “O-oh. Well. Then. I’ll… leave you to it. Come downstairs when you’re ready.”
Footsteps thudded down some stairs nearby.
Albus sighed and glanced at me, both of us still under the bedsheet like children playing in a blanket fort. “I know it was my idea to live at the inn and help my brother run it but if I’d known he was going to be this nosy, I probably wouldn’t have ever suggested it. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” I said automatically. But also because Albus apologizing felt weird.
“Still. Feel like I should.” He inhaled and then slowly breathed out. “So… kiss and then get ready to head downstairs for the day?”
Kiss? Kiss?! First the husband and wife thing and now—
“Yeah.”
Maybe it was better to play along for the moment? I didn’t know how long Albus’ body had back in the real world and whether time moved slower here—the way it did in dreams. How long could I put off the reality check?
Albus shuffled over the mattress to be closer to me. I tried to relax into the kiss, but couldn’t.
The second he pulled away, I rolled over so I was facing away and peeked out from under the sheet at the floor beside the bed.
Oh, thank the gods, I thought.
My usual clothing—that I did recognize from home—sat in a pile on the floor.
I slipped out of the bed and started pulling on my underthings first. Keeping my back to Albus and trying to keep my modesty as covered as possible.
I heard the blankets and sheets get thrown off and then Albus’ chuckle. “Trying to hide, princess?”
I scowled.
“C’mon. We’ve been married for a year. There’s no need to be modest,” Albus said. There was no sarcasm in his words. Just gentle encouragement.
I scooped up my shirt and temple tunic, pulling them on one after the other. Under them sat the necklace chain with the shiny ring Albus usually wore but I’d put on after the heartripper attack. I slung it over my head and tucked it down the front of my tunic. It brushed against my shirt’s lace ring with a metallic shing!
“Did you say something?” Albus asked.
I shook my head. “No.”
“Mm. Strange. Thought you did.”
More shuffling of fabric behind me and I heard feet hit the wooden floor. I widened my eyes at the ground and made a point of not looking behind me as I shimmed my socks up my legs. Once they were in place, I was fully clothed. So I went to the small vanity in the corner of the bedroom and fixed up the rest of my appearance with the tarnishing mirror, taming my bedhead and then making sure my hair was taken care of the way I usually had it.
Albus wrapped his arms around me from behind, burying his nose in my neck and inhaling deeply. “You forgot your ring,” he said. One of his hands twisted so his palm faced upward and revealed a gold ring with a small, vibrant blue sapphire set on it.
I took it from his hand and slid it onto my finger. It was a perfect fit. I stared at it for a moment, ignoring his bare skin in the reflection of the mirror. “Thanks,” I said softly. I slipped out of his embrace and headed for the door. “I’ll see you downstairs?”
“Yeah. See you downstairs.” He sounded a bit confused but I dodged out of the room before he could ask any more questions.
I stopped halfway down the stairs, hand on the railing, and blinked hard several times.
There was no way I’d be able to keep up any charade—and Albus needed to come back. He was dying and I had to save him. This little fantasy was just that—a fantasy. And Devlin and I needed him back in the real world.
I sucked in a deep breath and sighed before finishing my path down the stairs.
Where I spilled out into a tavern. Mostly empty, apart from Devlin behind the bar.
“Oh. Good morning. I thought you two were going to be another hour, at least,” he greeted when he saw me.
I bit my tongue for a moment. “Nope,” I said.
He hummed, looking a little red around the ears, wiping out glass steins with a towel in his hand. His… his hand.
“Your hand,” I said quietly.
“What about it?” He looked down at it.
“It’s flesh and blood.”
“Of course it is… why wouldn’t it be? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I insisted. “I’m getting a little sick of being asked that this morning.”
Devlin arched his eyebrows. “I’m sorry. You’re just acting a little strange.”
“Compared to what?” I asked snappishly.
“Well, you and Albus have been living here for nearly a year. I think I have a fairly solid idea of your usual behavior.”
I’m sure you would if you were real, I thought. Instead I just rolled my eyes. “Whatever,” I muttered. I went to the bar of the tavern and leaned against it, watching Devlin’s normal hand—not his forgemaster prosthetic—wipe down the glass. He had the sleeves of his shirt rolled above his elbows. There were a few scars on his knuckles and freckles all the way down his arm.
Heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs. Albus emerged, stretching his arms and back. “Morning Dev,” he greeted.
“Good morning,” Devlin replied blithely. “Sorry for interrupting your morning… activities.”
I dropped my head to look down at the bar with wide eyes, pursed lips, and the fire of embarrassment burning everywhere at the implication—while Albus burst out laughing. I heard his boots click against the wooden floor and he draped himself over my back. Wrapping his arms around me and planting his chin on my shoulder. “You weren’t interrupting anything like that, promise,” Albus said. “We were just talking. Enjoying the peace and quiet for a while. Right, princess?” He tilted his head and planted a kiss in the spot where my cheekbone met my temple.
“Apologies. I was trying to be delicate,” Devlin said.
“It’s fine,” I mumbled.
Albus chuckled again and gave me a squeeze. “So, darling. Day off for the two of us. What do you want to do with it?”
I spun around in his arms to face him—completely unable to break his grip if I tried—and paused before I could cut to the chase. I’d never seen him in any colors other than blacks and greys. The creamy off-white linen shirt and brown trousers made his dark hair stand in much starker contrast than usual.
It was actually quite the fetching look on him.
I stared for a few solid seconds, eyes roaming the way the shirt clung to his shoulders and arms but the laces up the front were open halfway down his chest.
A slow, smug smile crept its way up Albus’ face. “Mm. Should we go back to our room after all?”
Devlin, to his credit, turned his bark of laughter into a cough.
There was that fire of embarrassment again. No time to think about that now, I thought sharply to myself. Shoving all the mortifying thoughts down.
“Actually, Albus,” I started, “I was hoping to talk to you about something.”
Albus sighed. “Okay. I’m all yours,” he said.
“Let’s go sit down.” I wrapped his forearm in both my hands and tugged him over to a corner booth in the otherwise-empty tavern. He followed me without resisting. But instead of sitting opposite me like I indicated, he sat next to me. “Albus… this is going to… to be hard to hear. But there’s no point in me pretending.”
“Darling, what are you talking about?”
“Just let me explain, alright?” I asked entreatingly, trying to curb my attitude. I set my hand on top of his on the table and threaded my fingers between his. The calluses weren’t as thick or hard here as they were in the real world. “This… this is a dream. None of this is real. We’re from a place called New Tennessee. You and I haven’t been married for a year. I met you about a month ago in a region called the Far Eastern Faithlands.”
Albus’ eyes widened as I spoke and he shook his head. “Don’t… no. Don’t do this to me. Please,” he breathed. His hand tensed under mine.
“I’m sorry, Albus. I have to.” I blinked and felt a pair of warm trails slide down my face as tears fell. “Where we’re really from, we’re both paladins. You’re a warrior, I’m a temple attendant. And… and in the real world, you’re a bastard…”
I kept explaining, watching denial stitch itself into the lines of Albus’ face.
“You’re lying,” he said when I was done. “I just can’t figure out why.”
“Then what’s the truth?”
“I’ll tell you. I was born in Trents. My father taught me to fight when I was a kid and my mother taught me to keep my nose clean. When I was old enough, I joined my brother’s platoon and journeyed across Queria until he decided to take up work outside of combat. I was his right-hand at the time so I was given the position of knight-captain. We settled here, and that’s when I met you. I courted you for just under a year and then just under a year ago we got married and we’ve been living here helping Devlin run this place when I’m not out on patrol.”
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes with a sigh. That sounded like a nice life. The kind he deserved after all the pain he’d been through. The pain I’d put him through, and whatever he’d experienced before we met that he was so reticent to talk about. But it wasn’t his life. Not his real one.
“I… I’m sorry, Albus. But I’m not lying to you. I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this. I… I have lied to you before. I didn’t tell you that my brother had kidnapped a child at first. But I would never lie about something like this. Please, Albus.” I squeezed his hand gently.
“No. No—stop it!” He ripped his hand away from mine and shoved out of the booth, stumbling across the tavern floor and nearly crashing into a table. The motion of him pulling away jerked me after him. I hissed in pain—and when I looked up, Albus was staring at me. Wide-eyed. His gaze was on… my chest?
I looked down. No. Not my chest.
His ring had fallen out from under my tunic with getting yanked forward.
“What is that?” His voice went hard and sharp. “Where did you get that ring?”
Promising. “Have you seen it before?”
“Yes. But I… I don’t know where.” He kept staring at it.
Devlin was watching us from the bar, but was no longer pretending to wipe out steins.
I swallowed to try and steady myself. “Do you want to hold it?” I asked gently.
Albus blinked finally, but there was a glaze on his eyes. Almost like he was entranced. “Y… yeah.”
I slung the thick, heavy chain off over my head and held it out. Albus took the chain first, and carefully lowered the ring onto his hand.
The lights in the tavern all darkened to near-blackness before flaring back full force as a pulse of energy rippled out from the point where Albus’ hand touched the ring’s bright metal.
Albus lurched backward, letting go of the chain. My hand lashed out and snatched it from the air before it could fall. A reflex I hadn’t actually expected to work. But was pleasantly surprised when it did.
“Albus? Albus, what’s wrong?” Devlin’s voice demanded—but over Albus’ shoulder, his body faded and vanished as his voice got softer and further away.
Albus whirled to see the last vestiges of Devlin disappearing. “Devlin—Devlin, where did you go?” His looked around wildly, as if Devlin would just pop up elsewhere. The tavern shifted—losing some of its luster, almost going grey. The light dimmed a bit. “What—what’s going on?!” He shot a look at me. “It’s you, isn’t it? This is your doing!”
I slid out of the booth. “Albus,” I said placatingly, holding my hands out, palms toward him, in a gesture meant to show I meant no harm. The chain of his necklace was caught between my thumb and around my forefinger. “Albus, please.”
He jerked and recoiled farther away. “No—get away from me!” He shoved away from the table he’d stumbled into and ran for the front door of the tavern, nearly ripping it off its hinges in his haste to open it.
Despite the sun still streaming through the windows, there was a solid wall of stone blocking the door.
Albus stared. “A wall,” he said. Bitter amusement in the scoff that followed. I didn’t move from where I’d stood from the booth. He didn’t bother shutting the tavern door. Just looked at me. Pain echoed in those dark eyes. “Don’t do this to me, darling. We—we’re happy here, aren’t we?” His gaze flicked between my eyes and the ring on his hand.
I closed my eyes. “Albus, please just listen to me,” I said.
“Listen, I don’t know what it is you want from me, but I want nothing to do with it!” His voice got louder until he was shouting. “Do you understand? I’m no one’s slave!” Shock and confusion creased his eyebrows. “Gods above. I don’t even know what I’m saying! S-slave? Is that what I am? Or—or what I was—to you?!”
Before I could tell him no, never, he shook his head hard and shoved his hands into his thick, dark hair.
“No. That’s not it—that’s not it, right? I… I… I’m in love with you, aren’t I?” He swallowed. “That… that hasn’t changed. I love you. I do.” He met my eyes. “Darling, please. Make it stop. All of this—please.”
“I wish I could. This is such a beautiful life. It’s the one you deserve. Even without me in it.”
“No—no, I… I want you here. I’m happy with you, here. We have a good life together. We’re happy. We’re in love. I don’t—stay back!”
I froze where I’d taken an entreating step forward, but kept my hands low with my palms out.
“Don’t you know who you’re talking to? I’m Albus York! I’ll kill you just for looking at me funny!” He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists in his hair, pulling at the roots but not ripping them out. “Wait. That’s not who I am. I—” He looked around the tavern before his dark, heavy gaze landed on me again. “Stop, please. Whatever joke you’re playing on me, my princess, stop it. Oh gods—I can’t remember!”
He stomped around the tavern in a tight circle before marching over to me and cradling my face in both hands.
“Sweetheart. Please. Whatever’s happening—just stop it. We can stay here. We can be happy. Together. Just you and me being—” He laughed, but it was sorrowful. “—being annoyed by Devlin on a lazy morning. I love you. I don’t—I don’t want—I can’t lose this.” He stared pleadingly into my eyes.
I reached up as though to take his hand in mine and he pulled away again. “Don’t come near me with that ring! It’s evil! I want nothing to do with it!”
“Do you remember where it came from?” I asked.
“No. No I don’t! Don’t even try to—” He bent double, eyes slamming shut, muttering under his breath, “Yeah, I found this ring back in my training stash… no idea where it came from… not sure what but… it felt special to me… so I kept it…” He shook his head like he was trying to dislodge his brain out his ears. Grabbing at his head and recoiling. “Stop it, stop it, stop!” He panted and I wished I could help him, but didn’t want to aggravate him further. “You can’t do this to me. Please, darling. Don’t make me lose this. Don’t… don’t make me lose you.”
“Albus…” I whispered, moving to reach for him and faltering as I caught sight of the ring still dangling from my hand. Albus stared at it.
“It’s like it doesn’t belong anywhere… it doesn’t fit in…” he whispered. I remembered the words from when we were at his mentor’s grave. “Why—darling why? Why are you doing this? Why do you want to hurt me?” He kept holding his head, digging his fingertips into his scalp.
“I don’t want to hurt you. But I need you to come home! This place, this life. It’s not real.”
“Not… not real? What are you talking about? This place is very real! The air, the atmosphere, these tables and chairs—the bar! I can touch them. They’re all real!”
“I wish they were. I wish this was the life you had. But it’s like how dreams feel real while we’re in them. And then we wake up and see everything not right about them.”
He made a face of utter contempt. “Sticking to your story, are you? Fine. Maybe I believe you, huh? Maybe—maybe none of this is real. But I don’t care!” There was a gleam in his eyes of terror and sorrow and anger. He was breathing hard. “The world we come from—from what little I remember from it—it… it… it runs on lies. And blood!”
His hands balled into fists and snapped downward, smashing against a table.
“But this right here. This… this lie you found me in. There’s no blood here. There’s nothing here—there’s none of that! There’s just you and me and my brother—and all of us are happy.” He unclenched his fists and cradled my face again. “Darling, I don’t want to go. I beg you, on my knees—” He dropped to his knees as hot tears ran down my face. “—please. Just let me live this lie. Let me be happy here, with you. Let me fall asleep and wake up beside you, even if it’s only a dream. Let me laugh with my brother. Let me stare at you while we both hide from the morning sunlight under the bedsheet.”
He sniffed hard and blinked a pair of tears from his own eyes.
“For the first time in my life I… I finally… felt… I finally felt like… like I wasn’t a monster! Like people wanted me around! Like they weren’t ashamed of me! Tell me, in that other world, who’s got my back, huh?” My mouth hung agape, unsure how to answer. “No one! Not even you! And even if somehow you did, I’d push you away. That’s who I am in that world, isn’t it? The kind of man who has to distance himself from everyone because… because I’ve been hurt! So many times!” His head fell forward, almost giving him the appearance of a knight kneeling in prayer before going off to battle. But far more desolate and hopeless. “What kind of life is that?” His voice had gone soft. I doubted he’d shouted himself out yet, he was just losing the energy to care.
“Albus…” I knelt opposite him, tucking the ring into the pocket of my clothes so it wouldn’t be visible anymore. I held his face in both my hands, rubbing my thumb over his cheekbone.
He met my eyes. “Please, please, darling. Please don’t take me away from this. Let me live this. Here. With you. Even if it’s not really you. Please.” His body started to shake with sobs. I wiped a tear with my thumb on another pass over his cheekbone. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to mine. I tilted my head so our noses could touch.
“Would that I could,” I whispered, sniffling against my own falling tears.
The electricity in the lights crackled and the sun through the windows faded. The whole tavern grew dim as Albus flinched in surprise, retreating away from the contact of our heads to look around. “What was that? Why are the lights dimmer? What’s going on?”
“Albus, you’re…” I didn’t know how to say it. I closed my eyes, pressing out more warm tears.
“I’m dying. Aren’t I?” he asked. I nodded. He huffed. “That’s why you’re here.” It was a statement, not a question. “You came here to… to save me.” He lifted a hand and cupped my cheek for just a moment before his eyes looked at where his ring had disappeared from his finger and his hand fell back to his lap. He slumped to the side so he was sitting rather than kneeling. I copied the motion. “Forgive me if I’m not exactly grateful. It seems I have to choose. Between living in Hell, or dying. What kind of choice is that?” He swallowed. His breath shook in and out of his lungs. “Maybe I should just die. I wouldn’t have to deal with this pain anymore.”
I gasped quietly.
“No… no I…” He swore sharply under his breath. “I can’t bring myself to do that. I can’t die. Why? Why—what’s holding me back?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I said honestly.
He met my eyes again. “Tell me, in that other world… is there anything—anything—that keeps me going? Is there anything I’m fighting for?”
I stared into his eyes. My shoulders lifted slightly in a shrug. “I don’t know,” I repeated, barely a breath.
He scoffed, and then laughed bitterly. “My gods. That’s it, isn’t it? All this time—fighting for a reason to live and that’s it.” He huffed. “It’s cute. You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you? Me neither, to be honest.”
“Please come home,” I whispered. “I don’t know how much longer we have.” I looked around at the dimly-lit tavern. “I don’t know how much longer you have.”
He sighed. “I get it. You can stop trying. I’ll come back. But… before I do…” He met my eyes. I was waiting for him to say something about having a drink from this fancy bar, but he just stared.
“Before you do… what?” I prompted.
He lifted his hands to cradle my face again. His calluses were softer than they were in the real world. He swallowed thickly, holding my gaze with those deep, dark eyes.
“Tell me you love me—I don’t care if it’s a lie.”
The smile on his face was heartbroken and sorrowful and his eyes were still shining with tears.
“Albus…”
“No one will ever have to know. Hell, I don’t know if I’ll even remember any of this if-slash-when I wake up—”
I cut him off by lurching forward and planting my lips on his.
He made a noise of surprise before I leaned back to meet his gaze again. His lips were parted and his eyes widened. We were both breathing heavily, staring. I was a bit shocked that I’d done that, and I was even more shocked that he’d let me.
Our eyes flicked to each other’s lips at the same time—
And we were crashing back together. Grabbing at fistfuls of one another’s clothing in a desperate attempt to pull each other closer. One of his arms held me around the shoulders, the other my waist. Mine wrapped around his neck and my hands slid into his hair. Softer than I would have expected.
We kissed on the floor of the tavern until our heads started to spin and I withdrew.
“I love you, Albus,” I breathed. “I don’t know if that’s a lie or not, to be honest.”
“I don’t care.” He pulled me close for one more kiss. This one soft and tender. Gentler than I had ever seen him. I sighed into it. He pulled back and rested his forehead against mine. “It’s not just me. He does too. The other me. He won’t tell you that, so… I’m gonna do it for him.”
I remembered the manic look on his face when he told me that after he shot himself out of a broadsword cannon. “He’d be so angry if he found out you told me,” I said softly.
He smirked. “So what if he gets mad at me? What’s he gonna do, give me a stern talking-to?” He snickered. Then his face went serious. “But, uh… yeah. He loves you. A lot as well.”
“How much?” I could have asked something else, but couldn’t think of anything else.
He smiled. “Well, I’ll tell you.” He cupped the side of my face and brushed his thumb gently over my cheek. “He looks at you… and he sees an angel. And he won’t make a move. Because… he’s unworthy of you.”
I closed my eyes. “That’s not true. You’re worthy of so much more than you think. You’re worth so much more than you think. I care about you. I can’t lose you.”
“You’re a lot stronger than he or me—whatever I am.”
“That’s not true either. I can’t… I can’t even fight.”
“You don’t have to fight to be strong, darling. Being strong is sticking to your beliefs no matter what. Which makes you stronger than Albus. Bastard can’t even die right.” He sighed and pressed his forehead to mine. “Maybe this fantasy is no way to live after all,” he whispered. He lifted the ring out of my pocket by where its chain had been dangling out of it and slung it on over his head.
A sob shook his body. “I don’t want to go back. I know I said I would but I—I don’t—” His breathing shuddered. “I don’t want to—” He stumbled over an apology.
“Hey. Hold my hand?” I asked.
Without protesting, he slid his fingers between mine and brought my knuckles up to his lips, pressing a kiss to them. A tear fell on our intertwined fingers. “Oh gods above—I’m such a baby,” he hissed.
“There’s nothing wrong with sorrow, Albus. It was given to us by the gods so that we’d also know joy.”
He shook his head with a sharp inhale and glanced around at the tavern. “This place. It’s nice. Lot of good memories here. Though I suppose none of them are real.” He sighed. “This life with you. This dream. A… a fantasy of the both of us being in love and married… could you, uh… could you do me a favor? Remember it for me, please? I don’t know if I will.”
“I don’t know either. But of course I’ll remember it for you. This is a beautiful life. Maybe you’ll find something similar to it, one day.”
“Just maybe not with you?” There was a hint of his sarcastic teasing in that tone.
I blinked a few times. “You never know. But I’ll remember this for you.”
“Thank you. In that case, let me give you something to remember me by.”
He pulled me close and we shared another kiss. Tender but desperate. I threaded my fingers of my free hand into his hair and held him close to me.
Albus pulled away first. “I love you, my darling.”
“I love you too, Albus.” Still wasn’t sure if I was lying, but knowing he needed to hear it.
A touch of mirth danced in his eyes. His lopsided smirk tugged on the corner of his mouth.
“I’ll see you soon, faithful.”
A tear fell out of my eye at the nickname I never thought I’d miss.
—
I woke up with a gasp, sitting up from the chair next to the gurney Albus was in. The heartrate monitor was still beeping.
“Sister? Are you okay?” Devlin asked. I nodded, a bit breathless. Devlin sighed with relief. “I was worried. It looks like his vitals are stabilizing. You did it, sister!” I tried to smile, but my mind was still back in that dream. “So… I… hesitate to ask but… how was it? Were you safe?”
I thought about the tavern. The soft bedsheets and the morning sunlight. A pair of gold rings glinting. The kisses. “Better than I thought,” I said wistfully.
“Well, that’s good at least. I really am glad you’re safe, sister. Having you around… it really makes me feel a lot stronger. Just something I noticed when you weren’t around. I wanted to say something sooner but… well. You know. I, uh… I was wondering… if we—no, when we—get out of this place, maybe we can—”
“Ugh. If you’re gonna start making out, can you do it somewhere else?” a familiar, gruff, grumpy voice grumbled.
“Albus!” Devlin and I exclaimed at the same time, whirling to see him trying to sit up.
—
Tagging the GB peeps who I think would enjoy: @palilious @gwenifred @zozo-01 @halscafe @ryn-halo26 @staplesmainbitch @miloeveryday38
... More Rockstar AU. In the same universe as "Last Night of Tour" but now with the other band ;-) Please welcome Milo and the Wolves to the stage!
5.5k words this was not meant to be this long omg
@palilious and @zozo-01... figured you two would like to be informed that I finished this one ;-)
—
Sweetheart
Milo shoved open the hotel room door and stormed inside. Me hot on his heels. “I am not your parents, Mr. Greer. You hired me for your safety, remember?” I snapped the second the door closed.
Milo scoffed. “And you’re good at what you do—but I’m gettin’ a little sick-a you breathin’ down my neck day in and day out!” His retort fired off his tongue fast, like he knew what I was going to say.
“Look. I’m not here to judge you, okay? If you wanna go out and party, then go out and party. If you’re sick of the rest of the band and want to sneak out to party without them—fine. But you take me with you. I’m not gonna judge you for sneaking out. I’m just here to make sure you’re protected. That’s why I’m the one carrying the gun. So if you’re sneaking out, then dammit I better be right by your side next time. I don’t care about the why or whatever. I’m just trying to do my job. And you make it pretty damn difficult when you go behind even my back, understand?” As I spoke, I pushed myself into his personal space and glared him right in the eye. But didn’t touch. Never touch unless it was absolutely necessary.
Milo bared his teeth at me and looked like he was literally going to pounce down my throat. Insufferable spoiled rockstar who always got whatever he wanted and—
He slouched. “Fine, sweetheart,” he bit out with a pissed off snap in his voice. “Next time, you’re comin’ with.”
I leaned a little closer. “Good.” With that, I whipped around and stomped back to the door, yanking it open. “Goodnight, Mr. Greer.”
He waved me off dismissively. I pulled it shut firmly behind me, but didn’t slam it.
Out in the empty hallway, identical to every other hallway, I closed my eyes for a moment. Trying to calm myself down. I rubbed my eyes and went to my hotel room on the other side of the wall from Milo’s.
“You look frustrated,” my roommate, the band’s manager and the lead guitarist’s partner, remarked. “You find him?”
I inhaled deeply through my nose and sighed out of it. “I found him.”
They smirked. “Did you have to ping the GPS in his phone with your hacker whiz skills?”
I rolled my eyes. “No. Thankfully.”
“Do I want to know where he was?”
I blinked several times. “No.” I turned toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna shower and go to bed. I had to chase that moron halfway across Kennedy and I'm exhausted. Next thing I know I’m going to be hunting him down while he’s getting frisky with a cowgirl or cowboy or someone in Mont Blanc. And if I do, I might actually lose my mind.”
Asher's partner crossed their legs on their bed when I paused in the bathroom doorway. "You ever wonder if he's acting out like this to get your attention?"
I stared at them for a moment. "Wh... why the hell would he do that?"
They shrugged. "I don't know. Because you're hot?" they suggested. I scoffed. "I'm serious! You're attractive and I've seen him sneaking glances at you when you're not looking and he thinks no one else is!" They sat forward on their bed.
"That's not why he's sneaking out. He does this at least once a tour because he gets sick of the band."
"And he always does it in Kennedy."
I shook my head. "Nope. Last time we were in Borden. The time before we were in Mont Blanc. He's only done it in Kennedy once before."
"You've paid that much attention?"
"Had to. It's my job," I said. I ducked into the bathroom. "See ya in a bit."
"Or not! I might spend the night in Asher's room."
"Okay." I shut the bathroom door behind me and yanked off my jacket to reveal my gun holster. After unbuckling that, I stripped everything else off and got in the shower.
—
Baaabe
I knocked on Asher's door with the same knock we always used to signal one of us was there. A pattern Asher had come up with that had taken me about seven tries to actually get right.
Barely three seconds later, the door opened. "Baaabe!" Asher whispered, beaming broadly and ushering me into his room without a moment's hesitation. I fell immediately into his arms and let him kick the door closed as he tucked me into his arms.
We took whatever time we could while on tour to be alone together. It was rare. Most of the time, at least one member of the band or crew was within at least earshot. If not direct line of sight. Most nights everyone slept on the tour bus as it drove to the next city. Not the most comfortable of beds or the best of sleep. Where Milo found the energy to kept engaging the audiences at every performance, I still had no clue. I wasn't the one on stage every night and tours left me absolutely wiped. How the band did it... I didn't know.
Well, except Ash. I knew where he found the energy. He'd been a coffee addict since before the band became famous enough to do tours. According to David—who had known Asher since they were pretty much born—Asher had been stuck on coffee since he was sixteen.
"Did they find Milo?" Asher asked as he tugged me toward his bed. It was a rare night on tour when we got to be alone in a hotel, and we were going to make the most of it.
"Of course they did. Milo could disappear to the bottom of the Bermuda Triangle and they'd still be able to drag his short ass back."
Asher's muscles relaxed under my fingers. "Thank God," he breathed. "Now we get to have fun without the anxiety of that looming over our heads."
I snorted. "As if you were ever actually worried." I tilted up onto my tiptoes—Asher was so tall—and puckered my lips just a little.
He bent down immediately and met them in a kiss, one hand cradling where the back of my head met my neck. Quickly the kiss turned hot and heavy, Asher digging his fingers into my body to keep me close. I felt him bump his legs against the bed.
Before he could react, I pushed him down onto it.
"Whoa—whoa!" He hit the mattress, shaggy warm black curls splaying out over the white duvet with his head thrown back in a smile. "Mmm. Miss me, babe?" he teased.
"What are you talking about? I see you every day."
A lazy, playful smirk bloomed on Asher's stupidly handsome face, white teeth stark and glittering against his bronze skin. "Well sure. But not alone. Not—" He bucked up at the hips and caught mine, dragging me down onto the bed on top of him. "Not private." He kissed me. Sloppy and heavy. "Not like this—with no chance of David or Milo turning the corner and finding us. For the first time in weeks, it's just you and me. All alone. No where to run. Nowhere to hide. No one trying to find us." He pulled back enough to wink. I snickered—
And planted a hand on his chest, pushing him down into the bed and away from me. "Are you gonna behave, Talbot? Or am I going to make you behave?"
A wild gleam flickered to life in his eyes. I felt his breathing speed up under my fingers. "I don't know, babe," he said breathlessly. "I might be feeling a little naughty."
I raised a brow. "We'll see how long that lasts."
I trailed my hand on his chest down his torso, lifting all but one finger to trace the line between his abdomen muscles. His eyes rolled back and his eyelids fluttered.
I paused with my fingertip low on his torso, just above the waistband of his pajama trousers slung low on his hips. "May I slide these off?"
Asher nodded. Fervently.
I didn't move. "Both?"
Another nod.
My other hand rested on his hips. "Use your words, Asher."
"Yes—God—please, babe."
I smirked and hooked all my fingers around the waistband of his pajamas and underwear. "Ready for a long night?"
"I've been dreaming of it," Asher said.
—
Angel
"I miss Tank," Asher remarked, leaning back on the folding chair he'd dragged onto the stage while we were all prepping for tonight's concert.
"We all do," David said softly, setting a hand on my mid-back to edge around me from behind with a case for part of his drum-set in his other hand. "But they made their choice to leave the band behind and we're going to respect that."
"Well duh," Asher retorted. "But, like, remember their energy? I miss the chaos."
"I don't," his partner—the band's manager—muttered. "Do you know how many fires of theirs I had to put out? I love them but they're a troublemaker."
"Besides," Milo threw in, a cord for something wrapped around his arm, "I thought you liked bein' lead guitar now."
Asher opened his mouth, thought for a moment, then closed it. Milo burst out laughing.
I drifted over to where David was setting up his drum set and sat on his usual stool. "Nervous for tonight?"
He glanced up at me, spinning something into place. "Not particularly. All things considered, I have the easy part."
I scoffed. "You do not."
"I keep the rhythm. It's not like I have notes to worry about."
"You have the hard job. You're the foundation of the whole song. Keeping the rhythm can be hard—and also your instrument has more parts than all the others. Except maybe the keyboard. And you have to remember which drum and which symbol to hit when. I think that's a lot to keep track of."
David almost cracked a smile. "Well, one of us is a musician, and one isn't. I think one of us is more qualified to speak on the difficulty of my part in the band than the other."
I rolled my eyes. "Maybe. But you have a habit of undercutting for the sake of humility and it's boring." I spun around on his swivel stool while he rolled his eyes and pulled one of his snare drums out of its case.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Curious—since I rarely got notifications right before a concert even as the PR manager—I pulled it out.
Tank: How was the Kennedy show last night?
I smiled. "Hey! Speak of the devil," I said.
David looked up from where he was setting up the snare's stand. "Tank?"
I nodded. "Asking how last night's show went in Kennedy." I was already texting them back.
Me: It went really well! There were very few technical issues (apart from Milo's mic having a funky connection during testing but we got that fixed) and I thought it was a great success. Got a lot of pictures for promo stuff.
David nudged me off of his stool and sat on it himself so he could put a cymbal stand together. I just stood there, watching the bubble of Tank's reply appear with the dots that showed they were typing.
Tank: Sounds great! You should check out the replay of the Dahlia concert of House of Solaire that they did last night. Right after intermission ;-)
Me: Am I going to find shenanigans?
Tank: Mild shenanigans maybe. Nothing illegal. Nothing certain members of MatW didn't already agree to.
They sent a quick follow up text with a YouTube link to The House of Solaire's verified YouTube channel. A specific video on said channel.
I paged through it quickly. Someone had marked "chapters" in the video of each individual song.
Until I found one that was most definitely not a House of Solaire song.
Scrunching my eyebrows, I put a Bluetooth headphone in and started the video from there.
My jaw dropped.
I disconnected my headphone and sat in David's lap, starting the song over. He made a grunt of protest before he realized what I was doing, and watched House of Solaire perform "Tougher than You"—with Tank. On stage.
A wistful, nostalgic look crossed the tilt of David's eyebrows and angle of his mouth before quickly vanishing. "Some things don't change," he muttered, lifting me off his lap to go back to work.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
He scratched the back of his head. "We made a fairly decent amount of money in this band before Tank took their hiatus—or retired. Whichever. But in all that time, I've only ever seen them play that one guitar. They could have bought a new one. A nicer one. A better one. They never did. They treated it like their baby. Not surprised they still take meticulous care about it."
I smiled as I went back to the text thread. "Maybe they'll return to performing, one day."
David shrugged. "Maybe."
I texted Tank back.
Me: OMG! So good to see you on stage again! Definitely haven't lost your touch. 100/10 would recommend. Vincent did the rest of the vocals justice, I can give him that. We miss you <3
Tank: I miss you all too. But that's what dinner and the club is for when you all return to Dahlia. You are Going to meet up with me and No One is allowed to protest.
Me: Aye-aye, Captain!
They replied with a single emoji—flipping me off—and I threw back my head and laughed.
Milo wandered over with his gold mic stand in one hand. "Did I hear 'Tougher Than You' over 'ere?" he asked.
I switched back over to YouTube and showed him, Asher and Christian drifting closer over the course of the song.
Asher looked sad. "That's the sound I miss. I can never replicate it."
"You do a good job!" Asher's partner reassured him.
"It's not the same as when they do it," he mumbled, drifting off as the song ended and I paused the YouTube video again.
Me: I showed the rest of the band. Milo was smiling. Asher got kinda sad. Christian didn't react and David seemed a little nostalgic.
Tank: Wow. The big guy reacting visibly? I might pass out of shock XD
Me: We all miss you a lot
Tank: I know. But I'll see all of you soon
Tank: Speaking of... what's the MatW tour schedule again? Have a screenshot you can send me?
Me: Of course. Let me dig it up. One sec
—
Tank
"So... who all knows about this?" Sam asked as we took our seats in the stadium. He hadn't been back to his hometown here in Mont Blanc in years—The House of Solaire tours always skipped it, opting instead for Atlanta due to some of Sam's bad memories in Mont Blanc—and seemed a little fidgety. Looking around like he might see people he knew.
In a leather jacket, a graphic T-shirt, jeans, and boots with his sleeve tattoos hidden and his distinct black piercings removed, no one in this crowd recognized him. Despite the fact that Milo and the Wolves and The House of Solaire shared a massive portion of fans.
Then again, this crowd had seen me perform on this very stage a few years ago, and none of them seemed to realize who I was either. One of Sam's flannels hiding one of the tank tops I used to perform in and a baseball cap on my head, I didn't even merit a double-take.
"The PR manager, the manager-manager, the security team, and Milo," I replied, settling into my seat. "That's it."
Sam looked around. "We're on the front row, darlin'. Dontcha think Ash and David will recognize you?"
I scoffed. "David won't be able to see me past the stage lights. He's too far back to make out anything in the crowd. Ash plays on the other side of the stage and won't be looking down here.
"If you say so."
The wait for the concert to start always seemed so much longer on this side of the stage. Backstage, I knew Asher's partner was running around frantically making sure everything was ready. Milo was pacing in the dressing room, wringing his gold-painted mic between his hands in order to not mess up his hair. David's partner, the PR manager, would be sitting in David's lap, letting him hold them tight enough to crack ribs if he squeezed just a little harder. Asher would have his head down on the makeup station, practically biting into his own arm to keep from clenching his jaw.
All that was missing was me sprawled out on the couch of the dressing room, spinning one of David's drumsticks between my fingers and needling them all to get them to chill as my own way of coping with nerves.
The band didn't get stage fright, but they were always anxious for everything to go well. Every show.
A playlist of old rock hits and a few new ones was filling the stadium as a crowd of fans filtered in. I kept the brim of my hat low just in case, and Sam looked stubbornly straight ahead. A few stage hands were putting the finishing touches on the setup. A few of them finishing the final soundcheck. The base drum of David's set rippled as it was struck, making the band logo flash in the stage lights.
Then the stage lights turned off and the stage was left empty, set up for each person. Any second now, tucked into the backstage clutter of equipment, the band's PR manager was setting one last thing up, hidden from the others. Aided and abetted by the band's main bodyguard and main manager.
"Waitin' feels long on this end," Sam remarked. "Nothin' to prep. No nerves to work through."
"Yup," I agreed.
"This what it's like every time you fly out to a show on the weekends with Vincent's partner?"
"Yup."
Sam swore under his breath. "I'm sorry."
I shrugged. "It's always worth it to watch my man perform." I leant close and pecked a quick kiss to his neck so I wouldn't bonk him with the brim of my hat.
We only exchanged a few words for the rest of the waiting time.
Until I snickered.
"What is it, darlin'?"
"Hear that?" I nodded toward the speakers in the ceiling playing the rock music.
"Yeah. 'Through the Fire and Flames.' Dragonforce, right?"
I smirked. "I begged David to let me put this on the playlist when we were first setting it up. Everyone else thought it was a little too much. I'm surprised they left it in the lineup after I backed out."
Sam gave me a look. "They care about you more than you think," he said.
The house lights faded out. The crowd's chattering went silent and still.
"Hello, and welcome!" a prerecorded announcement from a DJ friend back in Dahlia boomed over the speakers. We used to get a new one from him every year so it always sounded just a little bit different. "Everyone give it up for Milo and the Wolves!"
The crowd erupted into cheers and screams and whistles and clapping. Sam dared a glance around at the crowd, slightly curious.
My friends—who had been my only family for so long—ran out onto the stage, taking their positions.
Milo's eyes found mine immediately and he winked before waving at the crowd. "Good evening, Mont Blanc!" he called into his gold-painted microphone. "How's everybody doin' tonight?"
Sam passed me a pair of earplugs as the cheering grew even louder. We both put some in.
"A'right, a'right. Not bad," Milo said, exaggerating his East Coast accent a little. "Who's ready for a great lineup for tonight?"
More screams.
Milo nodded, pacing back and forth. "Good. As most of you know, we're on our 'Winter Solstice' album tour. But we got a few of our more popular hits sprinkled in too. I think you're all gonna have a great time tonight. Should we get started?"
The roar swelled.
Milo sucked the back of his teeth and sighed, pacing back toward Asher. "I dunno, Ash. I don't think they're ready. What do you think?"
Ash leaned close to his own mic. "I don't think they are." He chuckled. "What do you think, Mont Blanc? Are you ready to get started?!"
The cheers and screams were so loud it hurt even with the earplugs in.
This was the crowd I remembered. The House of Solaire crowds were loud and rowdy, but they were a lot of alternative rock fans. This was the true rock-and-roll crowd I loved.
"A'right. I think they're ready, Ash. Shall we?"
"Let's do this!"
Milo glanced back at David, but said nothing.
The same way Sam did, David knocked his sticks together to signal to the rest of the band the rhythm before slamming them down on his drums at the same moment Asher opened on a power chord.
Milo and the Wolves didn't believe in gentle openings. A stylistic choice leftover from when I was writing the instrumentation.
I smiled.
I knew every song. This was their second album without me, but they always sent me the album early. I could play along to every single recording by the third week, usually.
Their fifth song in, they played one of the popular ones from an old album. One I'd written.
Fighter's Spirit
Sam held my hand through most of the concert but let go of my hand so I could pretend his wrist and arm were my guitar's neck to play along out of sheer habit and muscle memory. He didn't seem to mind it so much.
"Baby, you know I got a fighter's spirit—
"Can't give up, won't give in—
"Know it's bad but ya gotta hear it—"
I'd written it based on something Milo's mom had said to me once. She and David's dad had been better parental figures to me than my own. Marie had once looked me dead in the face and told me I carried the spirit of a fighter lodged in my throat, barely bitten back by my teeth. Gabe had joked when he overheard that I was a wolf in human form, just waiting to bite someone.
And the name of the band had been born.
During a brief interlude so Milo could take a drink of water and work the crowd, Sam turned to me.
"You miss this, don't you." It was phrased like a question, but his voice made it a statement.
I blinked. My eyes were stinging a little. I hadn't blinked in several minutes, it felt like. "I... to an extent." I swallowed. There was a hollow feeling in my chest. One that the cheering around me made yawn wider—though the cheering used to fill it. Because it wasn't for me this time?
Sam squeezed my hand. "You're allowed to miss it, even if you don't want to go back to it," he remarked.
I didn't reply. I did miss this. Severely. But did I not want to go back?
Jury was still out on that.
A heavy bass line from Christian opening the next song after Milo's brief break to take a drink cued me on which song they were starting next.
Asher had written it, but back when I was still in the band and he played the bass instead of lead guitar.
I sang my harmonies and fingered the chords on Sam's arm while he smiled. As if I didn't catch him mimicking David's movements. We were both musicians and we felt our instruments in our souls.
A few more songs passed, Milo introduced the band to uproarious applause, and before I knew it, Intermission had arrived. The band ran off the stage to go dry off the sweat and change out of T-shirts and into dry tank tops. Where the crowd would certainly go wild at the sight of David's arms.
David felt like a brother to me and I'd never been attracted to him particularly but damn his arms were something else.
Of the band, I'd always been the only one to spend the whole concert in tank tops.
People filed out of the stadium for a break.
Sam turned to me. "You can go back, you know," he said softly. "You know these guys would take you back in a heartbeat."
I sucked in a deep breath and sighed. "I know."
"You wanna go back?"
"Yes and no. After Quinn and Nomadic... I just... you know what they tried to do to me. My image and reputation. Backing out of public life seemed the best idea at the time. And Asher's been a great lead guitarist."
Sam made a face. "You know we listen to y'all's albums on the tour bus while we're tourin', right?"
"You've mentioned it before, yeah."
Sam nodded. "Asher's a good lead guitar, sure. But he doesn't have the raw power you brought."
"Meaning what?"
"Asher..." Sam sucked in a breath. "Don't take this the wrong way, darlin', but you play like you're desperately fightin' to get somethin' outta you. It makes your sound heavy and raw. Ash doesn't have that. You can feel the difference between how he plays your songs and how you do. His technique is perfect but the feelin' behind it is all off." He made a face.
I mimicked it. "We'll see."
The rest of intermission was spent in silence between us.
Fact of the matter was, I did want to go back. But I couldn't admit that to Sam or myself. I didn't want to leave Sam. We'd end up seeing each other even less than we already barely could with him being the only one touring.
Get through tonight. Then unpack those feelings, I assured myself.
Eventually the house lights dimmed again. The band came back onstage. With no preamble or gentle opening to ease the audience back into the mood, they rocked into an opening. I smiled at the looks on my friends' faces. Still a little sweaty but mostly dried off. Absolutely high on the adrenaline of performing.
The crowd went nuts the whole song while I laughed and sang right along with them.
When the band reached the bridge of the song, I started to subtly unbutton Sam's flannel I was wearing, keeping it closed so my black-and-gold marbled-looking tank top was still hidden. One of my favorites to perform in, a couple years ago.
They reached the end of the song and I slouched in my seat, slipping the ball cap off my head and handing it, my earplugs, and the flannel to Sam.
Milo waited until the crowd settled a little. "Welcome back! Hopefully, everybody's had the opportunity the make their way back to their seats. Because we have a special surprise in store for everybody."
A few cheers. Scattered, and a bit confused. Most of the crowd seemed to just be waiting with bated breath for Milo to get on with it.
"It's been a couple years since we played this next song on tour. It never felt right, without the writer of it with us. You get to be the first ones to hear us play 'Tougher Than You' live on stage since Tank retired."
I saw David and Asher exchange a confused look.
Milo smiled conspiratorially at the crowd. Caught on the jumbotrons. "Because Tank is here tonight and gonna play it with us."
Asher's jaw dropped open and David's eyes widened as I popped out of my seat and hauled myself onto the stage. I whirled to face the stadium and waved, knowing the cameras were all on me.
The screams were loud enough to nearly knock me over. Milo threw an arm around me, lowering his mic to his side. "They never hated you," he said quietly. "Quinn failed."
I smiled at him and went to go get my guitar from backstage.
David shook his head. "Oh you sneaky motherf—" I didn't catch the rest because I turned away but I didn't need to catch it. I knew.
David's partner was beaming backstage beside Asher's partner and the band's security lead, holding my guitar out for me by the neck.
Grinning, I snatched it and threw the strap over my head, rushing back out with one hand held high, a pick flicking out of my leather cuff and into my fingers. I took a spot on the stage where I used to stand. Asher had taken a few steps back to give me room at his mic, plucking out the rhythm guitar part to remind himself what it was.
David knew this song even better than Sam did. So I didn't bother giving him a chance to count off the rest of the band before slamming into the opening.
Everything came naturally. Easily. Milo sang with the biggest smile on his face I'd ever seen during a show. I was at home, leaning my back against Asher's on the harmony. Feeling the stage lights' heat bead up sweat on my forehead and neck, David's drumbeat strong enough to sway my heartbeat to follow it.
Like I'd never left the stage behind.
Sam was right, I thought as I struck a hard chord. I do play like I'm fighting to get something out of me.
Because I was. I was fighting to get the music I felt in my soul out of my soul so the audience could feel it the way I did.
I'd written Tougher Than You from the perspective of me telling it to an ex of mine.
Now I sang and played it to Quinn, the same way I had onstage in Dahlia with Vincent and Sam and Alexis and Frederick. He'd allowed me to take a step back from the rockstar life—but he hadn't knocked me down permanently. I would always get back up and fight whatever he tried to do to me. I was tougher than everything that bastard could have ever thrown at me. I'd chosen the stage-name Tank as an inside joke. But it felt right now, in a way it hadn't before.
I was at home. With my band on my stage and my audience cheering me on with excitement.
Milo was right too. They never hated me.
As we hit the last note of the song, letting it sustain over the absolutely wild crowd, I panted with the biggest grin on my face.
I could get used to this feeling again, if I let myself.
Asher slung his guitar down its strap until it was upside-down on his back. I did the same, knowing what was coming. He crushed me into a hug, holding me tight. I ignored the slight stinging in my eyes. I was a damn rockstar—I wasn't going to cry onstage.
"God, I missed you, Tank," he said.
"Missed you too, buddy."
Milo rushed over and hit the hug on my side.
Next thing I knew, David was there too, arms encircling all three of us.
The crowd was still going wild.
When the cheering started to die down, I ran my guitar offstage and went back to my seat. Sam handed me my earplugs first, then my hat and flannel. Thankfully, the people sitting on either side of us respected us enough to leave us alone. And, to their credit, still didn't seem to recognize Sam.
—
Angel
"Tank!" I shouted, running across the backstage area after the concert was over. They held their arms out, letting me slam into them in a hug. "That was incredible!"
They laughed. "Thanks. Glad I could make it in time for Mont Blanc."
Sam chuckled from behind them. "Surprisin'ly, me too," he said softly. "Good reason and good way to come back."
I smiled at him too. "Thanks for accompanying our guitarist here," I teased. "Heaven knows they need it."
Tank glared at me playfully. I beamed.
David pressed a kiss to my head as he passed by. "Don't mind my menace too much, Tank," he remarked. "They do enjoy teasing."
Tank shrugged. "Feels like home, Davey."
That earned them a growl and an eye-roll.
I kept holding onto Tank in a hug. "So! What did you think?"
Tank glanced at where Milo, Asher, and Christian were helping the crew disassemble everything. "I'm gonna be honest, I missed this like hell. I wanna come back."
Asher's head whipped over at those words, smiling.
"I don't know if I'm ready just yet, but if you ever want me back..." They sniffed and wiped a quick, small tear that had escaped their eye. "I thought this was going to be one last show with this band. But I don't know if I'm ready to fully give it up."
"We'd take you back in a heartbeat," Milo said.
"Less!" Asher agreed.
Tank smiled. "When I'm ready, I'll let you know."
Sam kissed the side of their head. "There's my darlin'," he said quietly. "I knew the rockstar was still in there."
They laughed.
—
Tag list: @zozo-01 @thegoldenlittlerose @shellssstuff @darlin-collins @icedunderwaterroom @ajfromabove
Star's back? Star's Back! (For at least one one-shot anyway.)
1.6k words
Spoilers for the new video, obviously
—
Porter missed nothing. Years of living—of fighting for survival—as a vampire had taught him to observe everything.
He didn't miss the way Sam's shifter tensed every time a voice was raised. Even Sam's. He didn't miss the way they positioned themself partway between him and Vincent's partner. He didn't miss the scars on their exposed arms glinting slightly in the light of the living room.
He'd heard of them, of course. Living in Dahlia as long as he had. He knew the Shaw Pack's reputation. He'd heard of their sledgehammer. Their... tank. He wasn't in Dahlia, but he'd kept tabs on the city while he was gone. He heard of the single shifter who took on the 50-year-old progeny of an Old Blood and live to tell about it.
He hadn't expected them to be that attractive, though.
Porter missed nothing. Shifters were humans who could change into an animal form. But that didn't mean instincts of the animals they could become didn't linger. Wolf shifters had a reputation for fierce loyalty to anyone they considered pack—legal or not. And apparently the Shaw Pack shifter in front of him had nearly killed themself to protect a friend from the vampire they'd fought.
Porter missed nothing.
This shifter was a protector.
They didn't tense because they didn't like the sound of raised voices or as a trauma reaction from their past. This shifter tensed because if punches started to flying, they were going to protect Vincent's partner.
And given the fact that Vincent's partner didn't seem to notice, the shifter was going to do it without their knowledge or coordination.
Porter missed nothing. He didn't miss the shifter's muscles rolling under their skin. He didn't miss the fury in Vincent's face—though, honestly, it wasn't subtle. He didn't miss Samuel fighting to keep his fangs from extending defensively, even as the man tried to... mediate the situation.
Porter noticed everything. He noticed the confusion on everyone's faces when he announced the Plus One he was bringing to the summit. He noticed that, strangely, the shifter's face was the one to turn from confusion to anger first. They'd remained fairly impassive of expression the whole time. The tension in their body being the only thing that gave them away. Their face had been neutral as stone. He wondered, as he blasted away from Sam's house, what set them off before the others at the mention of bringing his new lover.
—
Vincent and his partner were well out of earshot on their way home by the time I let out a growl and tore a log in half out in the backyard.
Sam was standing on the back porch, leaning against one of the supporting beams with his arms folded, and just watched. I could tell he wanted to ask what was wrong, but he was keeping his questions to himself.
I ignored the axe in the tree stump next to the pile of wood we chopped for the fireplace (usually to blow off steam) and ripped the next log in half. By the time I dropped the pieces of it in the woodpile, I realized I was half-shifted. My nails had become claws, my teeth were too big for my mouth, and the seams of my clothing were straining.
I took several deep breaths. "Bastard," I muttered as the magic eased out and my body went back to normal, full human.
"What're ya thinkin', darlin'?" Sam asked.
I sat in the dirt, not even bothering to go to the back porch steps. "It's a power play," I said. "Bringing an unempowered human to the summit before they have the informed status."
"Mmhmm. I clocked that," Sam agreed. "He's doin' whatever he can to get under... everybody's skin, probably. But especially Vincent's."
I shook my head. "It's not that. I don't think, anyway."
Sam scrunched his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"
"I doubt it's just about pissing all of us off. It's a power play but it's almost a dare. Saying no one can touch him. No one can stop him from doing whatever the hell he wants." I swallowed—hard. "I've seen moves like that before. Taunts. Dares. Begging someone to try to stop him so he'd have an excuse to lash out."
Sam growled low in his chest. His boots thudded down the porch stairs. He sat on the last one. "You never mentioned Quinn did that."
I raked a fingernail through the dirt with a bitter scoff in my throat. "Oh it wasn't Quinn. I had a string of bad partners. Not just him. Quinn was wholeheartedly the worst, but I'm not talking about him this time." I drew another line in the dirt. "I'm talking about Raphael."
Sam cocked his head.
"He was another vampire. Passing through Dahlia on business when I had just barely turned eighteen. He was from a clan up in Washington. That's why I listened to him in the first place. My parents live there. I spent part of my childhood there. He was turned when he was like twenty-one and had only been a vampire for like three years when I met him." I kept doodling, refusing to meet Sam's eyes. "David thinks I didn't fall into a bad crowd until right before I met Quinn. David could fill an encyclopedia with the amount of stuff he doesn't know about my life. I've always been... solitary. Introverted. And for a wolf shifter it's a real pain in the ass to be introverted. Pack members always shove their way into your life when your social battery is at its lowest and expect you to reciprocate.
"But anyway. Raphael seemed nice. But he was definitely part of the shadier... underground vampire scene in the city. The one William managed to mostly wipe out. But not completely, back then. And... I don't know how exactly, but Raphael knew I was powerful, for a shifter.
"He..." I took a deep breath.
"Darlin', you don't have to keep goin'."
"It's okay. This is water far under the bridge." I cleared my throat. "You heard of the gang-drains, right?"
"Several vamps feedin' off one human, usually unempowered. Yeah. Had to heal a couple-a the victims back before I turned. William's still fightin' that fight on gettin' the ban on those enforced."
I nodded. "Raphael took me to some of them. We weren't together long and it ended in flames. But there were three that he took me too. Y'know. A wolf shifter. Who a lot of vampires are well aware of the old feuds with."
Sam scrunched his eyebrows. "Why? What was the point?"
"He was daring the other vampires to confront him about my presence without saying a word. He was showing he had all the power in the situation because none of them were ever brave enough to tell him to have me get lost."
"Why you?"
I shrugged. "I was there. Right magic at the wrong time. Naïve teenage wolf with no self-preservation." I paused. "And... I like to think that he knew if things did go south, I was a wolf that would be able to protect myself. He was a jerk but he was nowhere near as sadistic as Quinn was. I think he just liked to flex."
Sam chewed on his lower lip in thought. "And you think that's what Porter's doin'."
"I think it'd be wise to entertain it as a possibility. We all knew it was a power play the second it was out of his mouth."
"And you looked about ready to rip his fangs out of said mouth before the rest-a us even processed what he said," Sam observed.
"He's needlessly endangering an innocent unempowered human who probably didn't ask for any of this bullsh—" I cut myself off with a hiss. "It's not that I don't trust the Old Bloods and their retinues that will be at the summit not to control themselves. Hell, David and Asher are bringing their unempowered mates." I growled—animalistic and furious. "But if he met them two days ago, that poor human is in far over their head and has no idea what they're walking into. Any explanation he might give them will never do justice to what they could actually experience and—"
"Your friend that Quinn attacked," Sam said softly, his eyes on my furious doodling in the dirt. "You're tryna avoid a repeat performance. Innocent unempowered fallin' victim to a vampire tryna use 'em for his own gain. That's why you got pissed at him before the rest of us even realized what he was sayin'."
I slumped. "I clocked that Porter is a bit of a bastard with his head somewhat up his own ass the second I answered the damn door and he made a pass at me at your expense. But if he's enough of a monster that this goes the way I'm praying it doesn't, you won't stop me from protecting that human he's bringing. Even if it means a giant grey wolf in formalwear rips his arm off in front of every Old Blood in the country."
That almost got Sam to smile, but his expression was still grim. "I wouldn't try, darlin'." He took a deep breath. "You should tell Vincent some of that. Not the whole thing if you're not comfortable but... I think he'd appreciate the insight."
I sighed. "Maybe tomorrow." I pushed myself up so I wasn't sitting in the dirt and brushed off the seat of my jeans. "I'm gonna go for a run. Wanna join?" I moved to start taking off my clothes so I could shift.
Sam was on his feet in a blur of movement. "'Course. If it'll help you blow off some steam. I'll be right by your side."
I kissed him. "Thanks, Sam."
"Always, darlin'."
—
Tag list: @zozo-01 @thegoldenlittlerose @shellssstuff @darlin-collins @pinksparkl (figured I'd add you just to say hello! <3)
I missed my children OMG it feels so nice to have them back
1.9k words
—
"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" Natalie shouted. Her little feet thundered down the stairs. She had excitement in her voice but David still looked up in concern. "Look, look, look!"
She ran into view around the corner.
"Ta-daaa!" She spun in a circle.
Oh, thank God, David thought.
His six-year-old daughter was standing in a black-and-white checkered overall dress with a white shirt underneath and her red rain boots. Her hair had been pulled into a pair of pigtail braids. There was a basket on her arm.
The obvious clue of her costume was the vibrant red cape with the hood pulled up and bobby-pinned to her hairline.
His mate had, once again, outdone themself. Not that he was surprised. They loved dressing the kids up for Halloween. And them being them, always had to be Extra™ about it.
"You look so good, Natty!" David said with a small smile.
She giggled and ran at him, leaping for a hug. David caught her and hoisted her up to sit her on his hip.
"Are you excited to wear your costume to school today?"
She nodded so hard it seemed like she'd almost throw her hood off even with the bobby pins. "Uh-huh! It's gonna be so fun!" She balled her fist in the chest of David's shirt. "Guess what Gabe's going as!"
David leaned closer to her, conspiratorially (as if his mate hadn't told him months ago). "Who?" he asked quietly.
Natty giggled again. "I'll give you a hint! It goes with my costume."
David pursed his lips. "Hmm... who are you for Halloween again?"
His baby laughed. "Daaaaaddy! I'm Little Red Riding Hood!"
"Oh! Of course." He booped the end of her little nose. She squeaked through her giggling. God, she took after his mate. "So then I'm guessing Gabriel is... a loaf of bread."
She shook her head—her whole body following with the enthusiasm of the movement. "Nooooo!"
"Is your brother... a cookie?"
She shook again. "No!"
"Hmm... is he the grandmother?"
She squealed with laughter. "No!"
"Well, then, I'm stumped."
"Daaaaaddy!" Natalie protested. "It's not that hard!"
At that moment, another set of footsteps thundered down the stairs. "Rrraaawwwrrr!" Eight-year-old Gabriel tore into the room in a button-down plaid flannel and jeans. There were tufts of fake fur glued to his hands and the sides of his face, all disappearing under his shirt. He had some fake teeth in his mouth. His face had been dusted in a slight layer of paint to match the fake fur better and the end of his nose had been blackened in a triangle with some face paint.
Natalie shrieked in delight and squirmed in David's hold to put her dad between her and her brother.
"I am the Big, Bad Wolf!" Gabriel cried, trying to growl and failing through the fake plastic teeth in his mouth.
David chuckled quietly. "You will be one day," he said.
Gabriel preened. "I know! I'm excited."
"I'm gonna be even bigger!" Natalie teased.
Gabriel blew a raspberry. "No you won't! You're a girl!"
Natalie growled—more successfully than her brother if David was honest—and moved to lunge for her brother. David held her tighter to him. "Nope," he said. "You're not going to ruin your costumes before you get to school."
"Daaad! He's being mean to me!" Natalie protested.
"Gabriel. Be nice to Natalie. Natalie, no tackling your brother while you're both dressed up."
Natalie bared her teeth in a childish snarl at Gabriel. Who tried to do the same around the plastic ones in his mouth.
David's mate made it down the stairs at that point. Bits of face paint stained their fingertips where they'd been helping Gabriel. They smiled at the sight of Natalie fighting to free herself from David's hold to attack her brother. David met his mate's eyes. They smiled.
"Alright you two," David said with the quiet, firm, but loving authority of a man who'd been an alpha long before he was a father. "Let's get in the car."
Gabriel grabbed his backpack and David gave both the kids their lunchboxes after setting Natalie back on her feet. They both went running for David's mate's car—where Natalie's car seat and Gabriel's booster seat were buckled in. David and his mate put the kids in their seats and piled into the car to drive them to school.
Natalie filled the whole five-minute drive with rambling. Guessing what her classmates were gonna be dressed up as, expressing excitement for Trick-or-Treating, and so on. Another normal morning for the Shaw family.
When they got to the school and started getting the kids out of their seats, a familiar little voice "Rawr"ed from nearby.
Gabriel leapt from his booster seat in time to collide with Evelyn—who was dressed as Spider-Man. Asher was laughing a couple cars down the drop-off lane as he shut the back door to his mate's car. He jogged over while Gabriel and Evelyn wrestled. Gently, so they didn't mess up their costumes. Asher leaned against David's mate's car with his arms folded.
"I never want them to grow up," he said softly. "They've grown up enough. They can stop now."
David couldn't help but chuckle in quiet, bittersweet agreement. "Yeah," he agreed.
"Uncle Aaaaash!" Natalie exclaimed, barreling into Asher's legs for a hug.
"Oof! There's that strong girl!" Asher said, bending and scooping her into the air while she screamed in excitement. She kicked her legs. "How are you doing, Natty?"
"Put me down!"
Asher kissed the top of Natalie's hood and set her down. David's mate caught her hand before she could run off. They smiled at David. "I'll walk her to her classroom. Make sure Gabriel gets inside?"
"Of course."
They nodded and handed Natalie her tiny backpack and lunchbox before walking off holding her hand.
David and Asher watched the two of them go. Gabriel and Evelyn kept wrestling, like they didn't even notice.
"You ever wonder if we made the right choice?" Asher asked.
"Meaning?"
"Sending them to normal elementary school. Instead of the same school Lily, Danny, and Micah go to?" Despite Asher still being Asher, he'd improved a bit at not breaching covert in public.
"No. I don't wonder. Both of our mates thought it was important for our kids to have some normal schooling before puberty. And now that they're here, I agree with them both. I think it's done our kids a lot of good."
Asher sighed. "Just don't want to break their hearts when they go to middle school and lose all their friends."
David leveled a look at Asher that was so full of sarcasm it would have frightened a lesser wolf. "I don't think our girls could lose their friends if their friends wanted them to," David said. "Or have you not noticed we've got the most gregarious girls in the pa—family?"
Asher laughed. "Touché," he said. "And good point." Asher shoved off David's mate's car and snatched Evelyn around the waist. "Nuh-uh-uh, Ev. No pulling on Gabriel's costume."
Evelyn growled, her warm black curls shaking in the weak autumn morning sunlight.
"C'mon, my little monster. Let's get you to your classroom."
Evelyn snapped her teeth playfully at her dad, who wasn't fazed and just laughed.
Gabriel turned to David with wide eyes. The same green as David's own. "Time to go already?" he asked.
"Yeah. But today's gonna be fun. You're gonna have a good time and you'll be home before you know it." David grabbed Gabriel's backpack and lunchbox and handed them to his son. Gabriel shimmied his backpack onto his shoulders and held a hand out.
David took it and walked Gabriel to class.
Gabriel hugged David around the middle before going into his classroom. David passed a friendly wave to Gabriel's teacher before going back to the car. Asher waved to him before driving off himself.
David waited for his mate to come back. "Ash is right," David said to his mate when they returned from dropping off Natty at her classroom.
"That's rare coming from you. About what?"
"The kids are getting too big. They need to stop growing up now."
David's mate gave him a smile. "Awww. Sappy. It's sweet." They popped a kiss on his jaw and went to get in the car.
David climbed in as well. "I just don't want to miss any of this. One day they're gonna be teenagers and they're gonna hate us."
"You think so?"
"Isn't that what teenagers do?"
"I didn't. Did you?"
David thought about his dad. "... No."
His mate shrugged. "Then maybe we'll get lucky."
—
Ten Years Later...
—
"Dad! Dad! Dad! Dad! Dad!" Natalie ran down the stairs, a beaming smile on her face. Micah Collins and Danny Greer close on her heels. All three were dressed up. Natalie had on a black cloak and purple, gothic dress with fake fangs in her mouth.
David looked up from his laptop on the kitchen counter. "What is it?"
"Micah's uncle is gonna come pick us up and we're gonna take Rose Trick-or-Treating, if that's okay." Natalie pointed over her shoulder. Micah's vibrant cyan pixie cut had been sprayed white. She looked supremely out-of-character, dressed as a fairy. The glitter and the short pink-and-green dress contrasted with her claw scars from shifter wrestling.
David raised his eyebrows. "Did you ask—"
"Yes, yes. Your mate said yes, Uncle Milo and his mate said yes. Micah's parents said yes. Micah's uncle said yes," Natalie said. "Just hoping for you." She gave him an anticipatory smile.
David gave his daughter a small grin. "Then go ahead."
Natalie beamed and bounced a little in excitement. "Thanks Dad!" she rushed forward and kissed his cheek around the fake fangs in her mouth. "I've got my phone. We'll be back by ten!"
Micah and Danny both grabbed at her arms and the three of them all rushed out of the house, talking excitedly and clinging to one another. Danny tripped over his Superman cape. Natalie and Micah caught him. "Love you!" Natalie shouted over her shoulder. The front door shut behind them right as David caught a glimpse of Vincent Solaire's Porsche SUV parked on the curb.
The three climbed into the SUV. Micah in the front, Danny and Natalie with Rose in the back.
Vincent gave David a wave. David returned it before the car drove off.
David's mate appeared. "Natty and her Musketeers leave?"
"That would have been a good costume for them this year," David deadpanned. "Yeah. Vincent just picked them up."
His mate nodded. "Good thing Rose is eleven and still can Trick-or-Treat so those three can 'supervise'," his mate remarked, perching on his lap. He wrapped his arms around them and rested his forehead on their arm. Their other hand played with his hair.
Upstairs, Gabriel was yelling at Evelyn and Lily while the three played a video game together.
David felt his mate rest their cheek on his head. "Wanna go downstairs and watch a movie?"
David blinked. "Sure. Which one?"
"That one that scares Gabriel."
"Guaranteeing we get a couple hours alone, angel?" he asked, almost teasing.
"I plead the fifth," they replied, sliding off his lap.
With a low growl, David pursued his laughing mate down the stairs.
—
Tag list: @zozo-01 @pinksparkl @arialikestea @shellssstuff
*Guy voice* There are spoilers for the Monarchal Summit Arc, have I made that clear?
—
Avior scrunched his eyebrows as his phone started ringing, glancing over at it. He hadn’t even had one before we escaped the Meridian, but once we had and he started spending a lot more time on the human plane, we both found out easier if he had one. “Do you mind if I take that? Might be a student.” He met my eyes.
“Go for it.”
He reached over and snatched it up. “Professor Avior,” he greeted.
After a moment of the caller greeting him, his head cocked to the side in curiosity. “King Solaire. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I raised my eyebrows and mouthed, “William Solaire?” He nodded. I made a face. He’d mentioned once that he was vaguely acquainted with the Solaire clan’s king, but only in passing because they both frequented the same vinyl records shop in downtown Dahlia that stocked a lot of old-fashioned big band music.
“What do you mean when you say ‘a favor,’ if I may ask?” Avior snipped. He shifted his position, raising a brow. He bent close to me and tilted the phone so we could both hear.
“Well, dear boy, you do not have to agree. Although this would be by far the easiest avenue for my needs,” William Solaire said with his light, French accent. Avior and I exchanged a confused glance. “The short version? I need a single vial of demon blood. Tonight.”
Avior flinched. “Demon blood?”
“Yes.”
“What for?”
“Ah. Well. It’s probably better that you don’t know.”
“Your Majesty, you know I can’t accept that answer.”
“Nonetheless. I cannot give you any more information. For your own protection.”
“If you’re trying to give me plausible deniability for using my blood for a crime, I don’t think I need to remind you that demons don’t have DNA. Demon blood can’t be traced to the demon it came from if it can even be collected in a useable form within its half-life.”
“I’m well aware, dear boy,” William remarked. Avior’s jaw clenched at the endearment. “But I’d rather you not have any knowledge in case of any telepathy that might put this under a microscope it was never intended to be examined by.”
“Demons don’t like to part with their blood. Even less than humans do. We feel the loss of even a drop. Pulling at our magic until it disperses back into Arcana,” Avior said, voice taut. “What could be so important that you’d ask me for mine and believe there’s even a chance I’d agree?”
“How about potentially stopping CloseKnit from arranging another disaster?” William asked.
Avior’s entire body went unnaturally still in a way I’d only ever seen demons and vampires do. “I’m listening,” he replied. Tensely. His hand not holding his phone found mine and gripped it tight.
“Tonight is a ploy to cut off the vast majority of CloseKnit’s funding. All I will say is that, in order to do so, an Old Blood must be overpowered by a vampire much younger. An impossible task without crippling the Old Blood with the poison of a demon’s blood.”
Avior’s eyes met mine. “Give me a moment,” he said.
And muted his end of the call.
“Starlight,” he whispered. “If CloseKnit is gearing up for another Inversion or a new disastrous hell entirely…” He shook his head. “Hundreds or thousands more could die for whatever reason they’ve been orchestrating all this.”
“I understand that.”
He pursed his lips in frustration. “But it’s a bad idea for me to give up any of my blood to a vampire.”
“I agree. But do you get something in return?”
He blinked. And unmuted the call. “What would be in it for me, Your Majesty? I won’t part with even a vial of blood easily.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to. There are several options. I know demons… care little for human currency. But I could compensate you handsomely for your blood should that be the option you choose. There are plenty of other strings I can pull, should you choose something else. Or, if you’d rather keep it general, I can simply owe you a rather large favor.”
Avior scoffed. “An Old Blood vampire king owing a demon a favor is almost as dangerous as the opposite,” he pointed out. “When the demon comes to collect, the price can be steep.”
“Of which I am well aware, Avior. And willing to take that on because you are a good man. I need the blood tonight to stave off a potential catastrophe. One I know you also would rather not inflict on the world. You mentioned bad history with CloseKnit’s members before. Should you come calling for a favor, I’m willing to do what I need to, for the sake of the lives that may be spared.”
Avior stared into my eyes for several long moments, breathing steadily, but slow. He raised a brow in askance. Seeking my opinion. “Your choice,” I mouthed.
His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply. “One vial. One. And no funny business.”
“There will be no funny business, I assure you. My clan member who will do the extraction is good at what he does. It shall be quick and clean.”
Looking determined but apprehensive, he nodded once. “Fine. What time will he and I need to meet?”
“He can be at your place of residence by four-thirty-PM. I’m given to understand you’ve taken up semi-permanent residence here on Terra with a partner. Not too far from one of my clan members’ homes.”
“You’ll have to forgive me but I’m not comfortable with having a vampire I don’t know in my home.” He held my gaze. Protecting me from an unknown vampire.
“I understand. Do you recall the Solaire Property Management building in uptown Dahlia?”
“I’ve seen it in passing. Never stopped by.”
“Porter, my clan member, can meet you there. Should you be willing to travel that far.”
“That’s not far. I’ll meet him there.”
“Delightful. Thank you, my young demon friend.”
A muscle flickered in Avior’s jaw. “You’re welcome,” he replied.
“I trust you’ll pass a pleasant evening. Good afternoon, Professor Avior.”
“You too, Your Majesty. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
The call ended.
“I can’t tell if I have a bad feeling about this,” I remarked frankly.
“If it stops another Inversion, or something worse, a favor owed by an Old Blood king might very well be worth it, starlight.” He kissed the top of my head. “One vial. It’ll be uncomfortable for a few hours, and then I should be fine. Though… I might take some energy from this ‘Porter’ to make up for it. For the trouble.”
I couldn’t help the small grin. “I’d expect nothing less.”
He grinned—then sighed. “I guess we’ll finish up here and then I’ll have to leave.”
I nodded. “That’s okay.”
He kissed me firmly.
—
Porter didn’t even flinch as the rift opened a few feet away from him. The demon who stepped out was tall and trim, with wavy chocolate brown hair and metallic gold eyes. He wore dark jeans and a black polo shirt. His horns were nowhere to be seen and he looked mildly disgruntled. “Let’s make this quick. Porter, right?”
“That would be me,” Porter agreed. “I believe William said your name is Avior?”
“Mmhmm. Let’s get this done. My partner is waiting for me.”
Porter nodded and pulled the needle, tube, rubber ribbon, and vial off the table. “I’ll have to tie your upper arm.”
Avior smirked. “I’m a demon. Just stick it in.” He extended his arm.
Porter made a face of confusion. The smugness on Avior's expression deepened.
"I don't really have... veins unless I need to. Stick it anywhere. I'll form a blood vessel around it."
Porter blinked, but steadied his hands, held the vial carefully in one, and swiftly inserted the needle in with the other. Avior didn't flinch. Barely blinked.
"So. Someone's killing an Old Blood tonight?" Avior asked, voice quiet.
"That would be me," Porter replied.
"Best of luck. Sounds dangerous." Avior cleared his throat. "Where are you from?"
"Does it matter?"
"You've got a needle in my arm. I'm just making conversation."
"Originally the UK. But I've lived here for most of my afterlife. Parts of my accent have faded to match the one people use around here."
"Hm. I can kinda tell, now that I'm listening for it."
Porter grunted. "How old are you?"
"Does it matter?" Avior's arrogant expression seemed amused as he turned the phrase back on Porter.
"Not for the purposes of how potent the magic is in your blood. A brand-new demon's blood would work just as well. I told you a personal fact, now it's your turn."
"Thirty-six, give or take a few months. I coalesced in nineteen-eighty-seven."
"Hm." Porter pulled the needle from Avior's arm. The puncture sealed instantly—even faster than a vampire's would—and didn't even bleed. Porter met Avior's gaze. "All done."
"Best of luck with the assassination." A rift tore open directly behind the demon, and with another snarky glint in his gold eyes, he stepped back through it and vanished. Leaving Porter completely alone in the Solaire Property Management building with a corked vial of demon blood in one hand.
In a blitz of movement, he changed from day wear to his Summit outfit. A gaudy, grandiose, distracting dark red tux with all the frills of House Solaire's usual style. In sharp contrast to the lavender blue tux he knew Vincent was going to be wearing. The vial of blood got gently wrapped in a handkerchief and tucked into his inside pocket.
A quick glance in one of the bathroom mirrors satisfied him. He gave his reflection a nod. "Time to go piss off my prince and kill a king. What fun."
Listen, Erik said Link would be Vincent's main in Smash Bros because Vincent has a fondness for the character and fell in love with Breath of the Wild like the rest of us did. That is enough for me to decide Vincent is at least kinda a Legend of Zelda fan. And as a Zelda fan, this was just an excuse to be a Big Nerd.
1.2k words
—
"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon! I just need one more hit..." Vincent muttered under his breath. So focused on his game that he didn't realize I was standing in the archway behind him. He didn't hear me, smell me, see me—nothing. I smiled and watched Colgera fly around the screen while Link and Tulin furiously flew around in the swirling wind.
Biting my lip, I crept out of the archway and behind the couch. Vincent swore as he took a shot with his bow and it shattered. I smirked, leaned down until I was right behind his ear, and raised a hand.
I dropped it onto his shoulder. "Whatcha doin'?" I asked loudly.
Vincent swore and nearly threw his controller into the TV. Instead managing to only arc it over the coffee table. "Lovely!" he exclaimed. "Don't do that to me!" In a blur of movement, he had his controller back and the game paused. He spun to look at me. "What was that for?"
I laughed. "I'm sorry," I said around my laughter. "I couldn't help it. You were so focused you didn't—you didn't even notice I was right there. I had to see how close I could get!"
He sighed, giving me an affectionate—but exasperated—shake of his head with a little grin. "You're a menace," he said.
I shrugged. "Just for you, and just when we're alone. Because you love me."
"I do. I do love you." I leaned across the back of the couch and met his lips in a kiss. He reached and grabbed at my hips, hauling me over the back of the sofa while I shrieked as I flopped down onto the cushions. He cackled. "There we go. We're even now. And you get to sit with me and watch me play."
"Fine with me."
He kissed the top of my head and unpaused the game. Quickly equipping a new bow to try and shoot Colgera again.
"Rare for a Zelda boss' weak spot to not be their eye," I joked.
"Mmhmm," Vincent agreed, barely paying me any heed.
We sat in relative silence, broken only by Tulin's encouragement and the boss music and various sound effects like the cyclones and Vincent's controller clacking, for a few minutes.
"You're running out of cold resistance," I said.
He cursed under his breath and paused, searching his menus for another dish of food for cold resistance.
"Didn't you get a portable pot in one of the Zonai capsules?"
"They don't work in boss fights," he replied. Right as he found another meal he'd made to fight the cold and had Link eat it. He unpaused and went right back to it.
"Damn, this track slaps," I said quietly.
"It really does. I barely noticed it my first time playing through this game since I was so focused on the fight. Now, every time I restart, I always fight Colgera first. It's the best boss fight."
I smiled. "How many times have you played through Tears of the Kingdom in the last six months?"
Vincent shrugged. "Like five or six. But I don't search for all the Koroks every time. Just as many as I need to get all the spaces in my inventory. I still haven't found all of them on my main Switch profile's save. They added more. It was already a pain in the ass finding nine-hundred in Breath of the Wild. Now there's a thousand. They managed to shove a hundred more into almost the exact same map."
I smiled. "These are your favorite Zelda games, aren't they?"
He didn't even break his concentration from the boss fight. "Maybe. Wind Waker, Twilight Princess, and Ocarina of Time are pretty high on the list too." He moved around with his motion controls to aim his bow. "Twilight Princess is high on that list," he added. "I'd only been turned for six years when it came out and I was in the perfect moody, dark headspace to vibe hard with the game's aesthetic. Maybe the nostalgia helps keep it that high on my favorites. It's also just a good game to boot. And, if I may say, the most iconic appearance for Princess Zelda. She was barely in the game and yet when I hear the name 'Princess Zelda', I always think of her Twilight Princess look before even her Breath of the Wild one."
I smiled. Mmm... talk nerdy to me, you lovable dork, I thought fondly. "I never finished the Forest Temple in that game. Much to my best friend's chagrin. Twilight Princess was their favorite Zelda game while we were growing up."
Vincent shot me a quick look. "We'll fix that. I'll break out the Wii or the Wii-U and we'll get you through it."
"If we ever have time," I muttered sarcastically.
"Fair point. We'll find time. The fact that we don't really need to sleep as much has helped me get through this game multiple times."
I snickered and continued watching him.
The Rito Village/Dragon Roost Island theme hit and washed over our living room in a wave of nostalgia. Vincent sighed in rapture at it.
"This music is so good," I whispered.
"Uh-huh," he agreed. "Nintendo really went off with all the Tears of the Kingdom music. Remember that trailer's saxophone?"
"Mmhmm." I grinned. "Remember the first trailer to feature Ganondorf's voice and the entire internet blew up like 'Matthew Mercer'?"
Vincent started laughing. "That was hilarious. So many memes."
"Yeah. It was great." I gasped. "You're on your last shot, Vin!"
"I know. I'm so close."
"You know, if you did this with a Multi-Shot bow, you could do this a lot faster."
"Yeah, yeah. But I like doing this fight first. It's a challenge." He let go of the button on his controller. Link loosed the arrow.
It arced toward Colgera. Vincent and I both held our breath.
It struck, breaking the final bit of cracked ice.
"Yes!" Vincent cheered, pumping his fist into the air. I whooped and let him give me a kiss.
"Good job, lover boy," I said.
"Thanks, lovely." He gave me a soft look. "I forgive you for scaring me to death."
I burst out laughing. "Thanks. And you're welcome."
He kissed my hairline. "Were you wanting a turn on the Switch or were you just coming in to watch me play?"
"I was actually coming in to ask if you wanted a hot cocoa or something but I saw an opportunity that I couldn't pass up."
"Menace," he accused affectionately.
"Playboy," I retorted. He grinned.
"I would actually love a hot chocolate though," he added in a cheeky little whisper, curling his shoulders up and smiling like a mischievous kid.
I smiled. "I'll get some made for us. You're cute." Kissing his curly, glossy blue-black hair, I got up from the sofa and went toward the kitchen while the cutscene kept playing on the TV.
—
Tag list: @pinksparkl @zozo-01 @thegoldenlittlerose
This just kinda came to me. Teenage Shaw Pack boys + Darlin'
1.3k words
CW: discussion of parental issues and "marital" issues between parents
—
"Psst! Tank!" Milo hissed. I jolted out of my half-asleep stupor back into full wakefulness, anxiety clenching around my lungs and heart and in my throat. I sat up, looking around for a fire.
Asher rolled over, snoring, and scratched at his armpit. Still fully asleep.
Milo's smaller figure was silhouetted against the sliding glass door that led out to Gabe's backyard. The door was partially open. When he saw me sit up, Milo beckoned me closer.
Carefully, I eased to my feet and picked my way across every couch cushion and pillow in the Shaws' house that we'd gathered on the living room floor in a gigantic cuddle pile. I did my best not to step on Asher and hop over David so he wouldn't wake up. Amanda had rolled off the hodge-podge of blankets and fluff and was sprawled out on the carpet, drooling.
I tiptoed over to Milo. "What?" I whispered.
He slid the glass door open a little wider and slipped out, beckoning me out with him. Once I followed, he slid it shut behind us.
"What'd you wake me up for?" I asked, still whispering.
He scoffed quietly. "You were still awake."
"Barely. I was almost asleep, you moron."
"Sorry." He didn't sound apologetic at all. "Come sit with me."
Barefoot and in our pajamas, we crunched through the semi-dry summer grass to the pool deck. Milo carefully moved some of the pool cover out of the way and sat on the deck, dipping his feet in the water. I sat beside him. "What?"
His grey eyes were turned skyward. Stars twinkled in his irises. "We're not stupid, right?" he asked.
"Of course not."
"Okay. Then let's be honest with each other."
I raised a brow. "What are you getting at?"
He made a guttural noise as he sighed. Like a drawn out uuuuuggggghhhhh, but not quite. "You 'n' me both know that David doesn't spontaneously throw sleepovers. David doesn't host the sleepovers unless Gabe makes him do it."
"And?"
Milo looked down from the stars to fix me with a stare. "C'mon. My parents aren't the only ones arguin' tonight, Tank."
Ice spread out across my entire body from my heart. Even as anger at Milo's—correct—assumption boiled the blood in my neck and face. I sucked in a deep breath and huffed. "So?"
"So. We know why we're actually here. Not just for a fun night of video games and pizza. Gabe's tryna get us away from our folks tonight. Maybe it's an alpha's attempt to protect the young wolves in his pack."
I grunted and kicked my feet through the water of the pool, trying to be quiet. The water right at the surface was still warm from baking in the sunlight under the pool cover, but below the temperature dropped quickly. "Probably," I said noncommittally.
Milo pursed his lips in the corner of my eye and nodded.
We sat on the pool deck, listening to the crickets and trailing our feet forward-and-back through the water, for a really long time. Milo occasionally sniffed and scratched at the healing scab that split his left eyebrow from Asher's claw last week. The third time he reached up to itch it, I grabbed his wrist and dragged it back down. "Your mom said not to itch it. If you rip the scab it'll bleed a lot again."
That earned me an eye-roll. "I know," he retorted. "Doesn't stop it from bein' itchy though."
"That's because it's healing," I said.
With a quick yank, he pulled his wrist out of my grip.
I returned my hand to holding onto my knee, flicking my gaze up to the stars.
"Why..." I licked my lower lip, realizing how dry my mouth had become. "Why doesn't she ever... leave him?" I thought about the multiple times my parents split up and got back together.
Milo's expression turned thunderous and I knew I said the wrong thing. Stupid Tank. I always said the wrong thing.
I opened my mouth to tell him to forget I said anything, but he beat me to speaking.
"She never would," he said. Bare and honest and open in a way I just... never could replicate. "The thing about my folks is..." He made a face, thinking about how he wanted to word the next part, probably. "My parents love each other. Truly and deeply. It's honestly kinda gross sometimes. But..." He took a deep breath. "There are some... fundamental misalignments between them. Ma's priority is her family. Plain and simple. Dad... his is work. And then, y'know. The other stuff." The last three sentences were dripping with fury. "And I watch it break my ma's heart again and again but she'll never give up on him."
"Then your mom's better than both of my parents," I said.
Milo cleared his throat. "I kinda noticed that," he admitted.
I snorted. "It'd be impossible not to notice."
"Tank." He pulled one leg out of the pool to turn to face me head-on. "You're not them, got it?" he said.
"Both of them would vehemently disagree. I'm their blood."
"That means nothing. You've got your own life. How you choose to live it is up to you. Me? I'm terrified of bein' my dad. So I'm not gonna be. If I ever get a mate, I'm gonna love 'em and make 'em my number one priority and... avoid whatever sent my dad down the road he's on. Same can go for you."
I scoffed. "Oh please, Greer. Like anyone's ever going to want to date me. I tend to scare potential partners off before they're even within earshot. I'm waaay too much of a handful."
Milo fixed me with an expression that looked so much like his mother I actually leaned away from him. "Ya just gotta find someone who's willin' to use two hands, then. Look at my folks. Dad's a disaster 'n' Ma loves him anyway."
"Yeah, and look at mine," I replied sarcastically.
He screwed up his mouth. "You're not gonna be like them. Your heart's better'n both-a theirs."
"Maybe."
His hand landed on my shoulder, fingertips digging in tight. "It is. I see it all the time. No arguin', understand?"
"Yes, Marie."
"Oh, you little sh—" He shoved at my shoulder, kicking water out of the pool and over my pajamas.
I snickered and hopped up, water following me with a loud splash, racing away. Milo gave chase.
—
Gabe lifted one the slats in the blinds, looking down at the backyard. The starlight was barely enough to see two teenagers chasing each other around the lawn and pool. They were both smiling broadly, even through a plain competitive spirit.
Gabe breathed a sigh of relief. A lot of the younger generation of wolves in his pack had the misfortune of different degrees of rocky home lives.
At least here, those two got a little bit of respite to just be kids and chase each other around the yard.
He dropped the slat in the blinds and went back to bed.
—
I woke up the next morning exactly where I went to sleep.
Lying on my back in the grass with Milo's head near mine. But at a different angle where we'd laid down to look at the stars after running ourselves ragged chasing each other.
Morning dew clung to my pajamas and skin. The sun wasn't yet up, but it was ready to rise. Shafts of orange, pink, and gold were beginning to spear across the dark sky.
I made a face and sat up. "Wake up, Greer. We crashed outside."
Milo jolted tiredly and sat up. "Wh... what?" he mumbled.
"Let's get back inside."
—
Tag list: @zozo-01 @thegoldenlittlerose @darlin-collins @icedunderwaterroom
