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#i don’t think jack ever forgets that bitty’s name is eric but i DO think he has created so many pet names for bitty

whoacanada · 3 years

Text

‘Wishful Thinking‘

Summary: Every NHL champion gets a single brush with ice magic. When Jack takes his first cup with the Falconers, he accidentally undoes the wish that brought him back from the brink of death in 2009, and Bitty becomes hell-bent on lifting the cup himself for a chance to set things right.

A/N: Finally posting some concepts I’ve played around with that aren’t 100% complete massive fics, but still pretty solid, just little things that might be enjoyed. Yet another cup-wish-gone-wrong-au with monkey-paw components. Also inspired by discord convos about canon!Jack meeting an older, veteran NHL!Bitty and having a lot of feelings. Also mentor/father-in-law!Bob trying to help Bitty navigate the NHL. There’s more to this floating around but this is the meat of it

____________

Bob can sense when it happens. A shift of something monumental that he’s only felt on a handful of occasions his entire life. A quick glance across the ice finds a number of the celebrating Falconers looking around curiously, unsure of the sensation; for so many, it’s their first brush with ice magic. A pleasant novelty. The vets, though, they look to each other.

Bob turns and doesn’t have to look far to find his son, one hand clasped around the cup, the other around Eric Bittle’s waist, smiling from ear to ear. Something about the moment is wrong, but Bob can’t quite determine why as he’s overcome with a wave of nausea. The stadium lights are too bright and he blinks hard, face scrunching, trying to force whatever wrongness he’s feeling out of himself.

Someone’s made a wish.

The moment passes. Bob’s vision clears. There, veiled in a shower of blue and gold confetti, is Eric; alone at center ice, face twisted in confusion as he looks around for the man who only moments earlier had been in his arms.

“You take the cup, you get one real wish,” the decades old, bourbon-lacquered voice of his first coach reminds him. “But only the one. Can be something small, like an empty cab in the rain, or it can be something big. World changing, even. The one thing, the most important thing — ”

“No,” Bob breathes. “Please, no.”

“— You never use your wish on another player.”

____________

They don’t know exactly what Jack wished for, but the next time Bitty’s blades touch the ice, it’s as if he’s stepped into the body of a new man. No more slurs. No more targeted chirps. He’s just one of the boys.

He plays. He wins. Then, the offers start to come.

NHL teams looking for fast wingers, team players, leadership material; not one of them mentions diversity, or Eric’s status as the first out NCAA hockey captain. No one cares. No one remembers Jack, and no one cares about Eric.

The best and worst case scenarios rolled into one. If this is the reality Jack unknowingly traded his existence for, Bitty has no choice but to walk through the door his partner opened.

Bitty swallows, trying to force the words out on one of his now nightly calls with the man who would have been his father-in-law in another world, if the shared connection between them hadn’t been interred in a Montréal cemetery almost a decade prior.

“I think . . . I think he wished for acceptance.”

___________

“No one remembers anymore.”

Eric scuffs his skate against this ice, building up a small pile of shavings before scattering them again, focusing on the soft white as if somehow he’ll be able to transport himself bodily to somewhere cool and quiet. Jackson Hole. Banff. Tremblant. Anywhere but here. Anywhen but now.

“Saw Tater last week at a press junket. Blank stares all around. Some days, most days, I wake up and I don’t know how I got here. I can go without thinking of him.”

Weeks. Eric doesn’t say aloud. Months. Those hideous mornings when he wakes up beside a warm body and forgets they aren’t him. They aren’t supposed to be him. Was there ever even a him.

Jack. Eric mouths silently, just to remind himself. His name is Jack.

The details always slip. The universe constantly trying to correct the fallacy of Eric Bittle remembering a man who died before they technically ever met. Faded photographs and corrupted memory cards. Selfies that used to have two people in frame. Vlog posts with cosmic ADR, swapping Jack’s name for someone else’s like a hastily rewritten script. Eventually, even Eric’s memories turn traitor. First times lost to reshoots and post-production magic. Blue eyes are brown. Black hair is blonde. Jack becomes Phillip. Eric’s first love recast. In desperation, he pulls a page from Memento, finds a tattoo parlor and has ‘Jack Laurent Zimmermann’ inked in dark, unmistakable letters on his inner thigh. Adds a cup, the Falconers’ crest, and the date they lost everything. It works well enough until the name fades; there are still days where a hook up will ask why Eric has a championship tattoo for a team he never played with.

Now, all he has is Bob.

“That’s why I’m here.” Bob reminds. “That’s why we talk.”

“But what happens if we don’t.”

Bob’s familiar assurances rumble through the phone. Constant. Refusing to acknowledge the harsh realities of the passing of time. The ever-present doomsday clock moving them both toward disaster — Bob aging, Eric aging out. He’s good, but he isn’t great, and the only offers coming his way are single-season contracts with teams that haven’t sniffed a championship in years. One day very soon, there will be no more chances for Eric to undo what’s been done. No more favors to ask of teammates that have long since forgotten a world where Jack Zimmermann was a college graduate and a rookie MVP. Not just an addict. Not just dead at nineteen.

Eric listens to Bob ramble, asks him to tell him a story, to tell him about the Jack that Eric never really got to know. The Jack he can barely remember. A man that Eric has dedicated his entire life to honoring, to bringing back — from where he cannot fathom — and Bob obliges in a soft tone Eric imagines is not dissimilar from how he must have spoken to his son as a child.

Eric ignores his teammates rushing around him — tossing chirps and gentle insults about his ‘Sugar Daddy’ — and focuses on the accented voice in his ear; grasping desperately at the memory of a man who doesn’t exist. Pretending. Hoping.

__________

Across the ice, Eric sees Kent Parson watching him. When they lock eyes, the aging star glides toward him, under a guise of one amicable captain greeting another. He’s pushing 37, and while the years of competitive play are starting to show, he’s just as viciously handsome as the day they first met. At least, Eric thinks he is. He can’t imagine a life where Kent Parson strolled onto a college campus and played beer pong at a frat party, but there’s a folder of old photos on Eric’s computer. Jack is in none of them, but there’s one of himself and Kent. Smiling.

Eric can’t recall why the image bothers him so much.

Parson used his wish years ago on something that he’s never bothered to share — and Eric’s far too much a gentleman to ask a man who was once a rival what he wasted his golden ticket on — but now, he’s slowing down, and this is supposed to be his farewell season. Going out with a bang, riding the high of his fifth cup win. He’s worked hard, and he deserves to shove the Penguins back down into obscurity for another season. Deserves it far more than Eric, with his selfish, single-mindedness that’s ruined god knows how many careers in the last decade between his own ruthlessness and Bob’s meddling.

Except. . . this is also likely Eric’s last season. His last chance to undo the great tragedy of his life, and Parson knows it.

“How you feeling, Peaches? You ready?”

Eric hates the nickname in the same way he hates when his father calls him ‘Champ’.

Eric fights his own shame because he wants to be honest, say, ‘No, I’m not ready, I’ll never be ready,’ but Eric can’t ask for what he wants, anymore. He wants the Aces to balk on a power play. He wants Parson to flub a pass and throw the game — he even knows the man would probably do it, too — but Eric needs to come by a win honestly. They learned the hard way in 2022 when Eric hands were wrapped around the cup, wishing, praying, crying, pleading . . .

Clear eyes, full hearts, or some such bullshit.

Cheaters don’t get wishes.

“I can’t remember, anymore,” Eric admits as they square up across the face-off circle, the resigned terror of an inescapable end creeping upon him like the burn of an old injury ignored for far too long. “Kent. Please.” Parson leans down, rests his stick against the ice, and holds Eric’s gaze as if to say, I’m here. Trust me. Just play.

The puck drops.

________

There’s someone watching him, young, handsome with dark hair and the kind of bright blue eyes that scream ‘notice me’ with all of the biological bluntness of neon plumage and a mating dance. The man weaves through the crowd, unnoticed by Eric’s teammates, and comes close enough that Eric can’t help but assume familiarity. He must be a fan, the way he’s flushed and excitable.

Eric’s drunk enough on the moment that he’s happy to indulge his baser instincts. He also literally can’t remember the last time he brought company home and if there’s ever been a night to get laid, it’s this one.

“Crisse, look at you, Bits.”

The man is caught between being awestruck and simply struck, reaching out to touch Eric’s arm but not quite making contact, like his depth perception is the tiniest bit off. He drops Eric’s old nickname so easily, so earnestly, that for a moment Eric thinks they might already know each other — but that’s impossible. Eric would remember someone so handsome, so very much his type.

“Only my friends call me ‘Bitty’.” Eric cautions, raising his half-empty champagne bottle in a mock toast and flashing his best ‘you’re coming home with me tonight’ smile. “But I’m more than happy to to get acquainted with you, Sugar.”

Eric isn’t usually this forward, this unrestrained. Tonight, it doesn’t matter, he’s celebrating: another championship, the end of a career, a life well lived. It’s to be expected. What isn’t expected is how the man’s relieved smile falters; as if Eric’s unbridled joy is somehow misplaced.

“Bitty? It’s me.”

“And ‘me’ is called . . . ?”

On very few occasions in Eric’s life has he been able to witness true devastation first-hand; and those instances were related to deaths, hockey losses, or blackout morning afters.

“Jack.” The man says softly, face slack with surprise. “It’s. . . Jack. Bitty, you know me.”

“If we’ve met before, I’m sorry,” Eric apologizes, hating to see the kid look so defeated. “I meet so many people — ”

Over Jack’s shoulder, Eric catches sight of Bob Zimmermann and waves, delighting in the way Bob’s face lights up when he catches sight of Eric, practically going supernova when he notices Jack as well, crossing the ice like a man possessed; Bob moves to pull them both into a hug but Eric’s new friend holds up a defensive hand and Bob stops mid-gesture.

It’s extremely apparent something is off, and between the reporters, the confetti, the champagne, and the fans, Eric is missing all of the context clues.

“Just won my last cup,” Eric singsongs, gesturing with the bottle between his mentor and the man Eric would very much like to fuck — who look very similar now that Eric can see them side by side. “Everyone’s super excited, right? Yeah? So, what’s going on. Did someone die?”

“No.” Bob says quickly, eyes flicking between Jack and Eric warily. “No. Not . . . that.”

“Severely injured?”

“. . . Non.”

“Okay, then, we should be celebrating!” Eric throws his arms wide and nearly clocks a passing teammate. “No more party pooping, Bobbert. Speaking, this is my new friend, Jack. Jack, Bob, Bob, Jack. Though, I’m getting the feeling you two might know each other. Or might be . . . related.” Eric gasps and smacks his free palm against his forehead. “Oh my god, the Tremblant retreat? Is that where I know you from? Listen, I was fucked up on pain meds that whole weekend, I am so sorry if we’ve already met.”

Despite Eric’s continued attempts at clarifying their shared mystery past, Jack keeps looking at Bob with that same wounded expression and it’s really killing Eric’s buzz.

“Bob.” Eric redirects. “Help me, here. Cutie’s nervous.”

“Eric, this is my, ah, well,” Bob’s smile is so forced, so tense, it looks more like a grimace. “Well, this is my son, Jack.”

There is only one ‘Jack’ Eric has ever known in relation to Bob Zimmermann, and he is not someone to be mentioned in polite conversation.

“Your son?” Eric echoes slowly. “Your son, Jack.”

Bob realizes what Eric’s tiptoeing around and casts a furtive glance toward the younger man, lifting two fingers to his cheek conspiratorially to imply ‘it’s a long story, not meant for public ears’. Eric knows how to play along.

“Wow, okay, did not expect that, but now that you’re saying it, I can one-hundred-percent tell. You have the same, well, everything.”

Eric takes Jack’s hand for an obligatory shake, not missing the way Jack’s features twist up into something caught between flattery and misery, before staring down his pseudo-mentor.

“My question is this, where have you’ve been hiding him — because how long have I know you, Bobby? Shame.”

“I’ve been . . . away.”

Jack’s tone is weighted with context Eric absolutely does not possess, but can definitely read into. Given the age difference and Alicia’s conspicuous lack of attendance this evening, Jack’s definitely a love child from some 90s Zimmergroupie. Or, original Jack didn’t actually OD and Bob spirited away his kid to keep away the prying eyes of the public; but that wouldn’t explain the age difference or the shared name.

Oh, Bobbert.

“Couldn’t wheel him out too soon,” Bob jokes, but Eric can tell the man’s heart isn’t in it, reinforcing Eric’s suspicion.

“Well, I’m happy you did,” Eric says graciously, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. “He’s very handsome, when he isn’t doing this Eeyore impression.”

“Just like his father,” Bob says reflexively — defensively — as Jack goes pink. “Eric, will you excuse us for a moment? Back in five minutes, tops.”

Eric offers a gracious wave, gaze lingering on Jack’s retreating back — and backside, bless — watching Bob rest a firm hand on his son’s neck, gripping tightly to lean in and furiously whisper something. As Eric watches, Jack looks back over his shoulder; it’s not the fond glance of a potential paramour. Regret, maybe? Grief, definitely.

He must be as disappointed to be cock-blocked by his father as Eric is.

Across the ice, Kent Parson has rushed Jack, gathering him into a crushing embrace that the younger man returns easily — burying his face against Parson’s pads; pulling back only when Parson grabs Jack’s shoulders to push him away, taking a long look at him, holding his face between his hands briefly before pulling Jack back into his arms.

They don’t just look like old friends, it’s a reunion of desperation, like the videos his mother sends of soldiers coming home from war, but before Eric can think better of it, a teammate fists a hand in the collar of Eric’s sweater and pulls — away from Bob’s forlorn love child and forgotten first meetings — and the night goes on.

Bob doesn’t return. Neither does Jack.

Eric doesn’t even notice.

__________

#Part I #maybe?#zimbits #omgcp #angst #long fic #cup magic #ice magic #my stuff #my fic #NHL!Bitty

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justlookfrightened · 4 years

Note

How about number 11 from the fluff prompts?

From this prompt list: “Are you flirting with me?” “You finally noticed?”

I did have to modify slightly to “Were you flirting with me ...”

Background: Bitty went to Samwell and stayed in New England. Jack didn’t go to Samwell but still plays for the Falconers.

Bitty had just set out the pie samples when the man in the yellow shoes ran by.

Every week, just at this time, the man ran through the just-opened market, keeping to the center of the aisle and never stopping to look at anything. Not the sweet, crisp lettuces or heirloom tomatoes from Bruce’s stand across the way, not the strawberries and blueberries that Harry had displayed, not the lavender and honey soaps from the booth next to Bitty’s.

It wasn’t really a bother. The man came early enough that there weren’t many customers to disturb, and the market was in a public park. Anyone could jog through it if they wanted to. It was just annoying that the man never even looked around or acknowledged anyone. And that he looked so good doing it, hideous yellow shoes notwithstanding.

Today he was wearing the shoes and navy blue running shorts -- the kind that barely reached the top of his thighs -- and a dark ball cap with sunglasses. What looked like a blue T-shirt was tucked into the back of his waistband, the better to sweat freely and give anyone who was out and about an eyeful of his shoulders, pecs and abs. Not to mention the massive rear end. All of which was damn near poster-perfect.

Bitty sighed and looked over at Margie, who had paused from setting up her stand to stare as well.

She caught Bitty’s glance and pantomimed fanning herself.

“You should try to sell him some soap,” Bitty said . “He’s gonna need a shower after that run.”

“Forget him,” Margie said. “I’m going to need a shower after watching him.”

The sun rose higher in the sky as Bitty’s stock of pies, cookies, muffins and turnovers got lower. The sample slices disappeared first, of course, but nearly everyone who took one bought something, so they were definitely a success. Maybe next week he should do more samples? Maybe apple and cherry? Or peach?

He was mulling fruit choices over when he noticed a customer -- well, a potential customer at least -- standing off to the side looking at his table. The guy was tall and broad across the shoulders, clean shaven, with the lightest blue eyes Bitty had ever seen on someone with hair so dark. His baggy shorts and ratty T-shirt, combined with socks and athletic slides, reminded Bitty of his old hockey teammates.

Bitty stood up.

“Can I get you something, sir?”

“Euh,” the man stalled, then looked at the table again. “Do you have a sample I could try?”

The man’s accent wasn’t as harsh as the New England voices that Bitty had finally gotten used to after six years in Boston and Providence. It wasn’t a southern drawl, that was for sure, but Bitty couldn’t place it.

“Not anymore,” Bitty said. “You have to wake up earlier to get those. I’ve got a couple of apple pies and peach pies left, and some cherry turnovers. Chocolate-cherry cookies, too, but I’m afraid everything else is sold out.”

“Um, how much for a cookie?”

“$6.50 for a dozen,” Bitty said. “I know it sounds like a lot, but …”

“A lot of cookies?” the man said. “I’m not sure I can have that many.”

“You can’t find anyone to give some to? Everyone likes a little sugar.”

“Haha,” the man said. “I guess.”

He handed over a $10 bill, took the cookies and left before Bitty could make change.

The following week, Bitty and Margie again paused in their set-up when the man in the yellow shoes ran by.

“Of all the markets I go to, this one definitely has the best view,” Margie said, turning back to her soaps.

“You know it,” Bitty said, arranging morsels cut from apple, cherry and peach mini-pies on a tiered stand to offer as samples.

Once again, Bitty had sold most of his stock by time he was considering getting a start on packing up. Once again, the man with ice-blue eyes appeared, hanging back until Bitty noticed him.

“Did you like the cookies last week?” he asked.

“Um, yeah,” the man said. “And I shared them with my … friend. He liked them, too.”

Bitty looked up, wondering what the awkward hesitation before the word “friend” meant. Did he not really share them? Why lie about that? A dozen cookies wasn’t too many for one person to eat in a week, and Bitty hadn’t even asked who ate them. Was his “friend” not really a friend? Maybe more of an acquaintance, like a neighbor or coworker? Or maybe more than a friend? A wife? But he said “he.” A boyfriend? A husband?

Bitty tried to get a read on the man, but when he looked up, the man was looking down at the table, at the card reader with the pride flag sticker and the now-empty sample stand.

“Looks like I missed the samples again,” the man said.

“Looks like you did,” Bitty agreed. “You’ve got to get up pretty early to get those.”

“Do you have more of those cookies?”

“Sorry, not this week. Maybe try something different? Peaches are in season and I make a mean peach pie.”

“Why would I want a mean pie?” the man asked.

Now the cute accent came with dad jokes.

“Haha,” Bitty said. “I’ll have you know I won the blue ribbon at the tri-county fair with my pie when I was still in high school.”

“I think a pie is too much for me,” the man said. “It’s not as easy to share as cookies.”

“I’ve got just the thing,” Bitty said. “You can take my last half-dozen mini-pies, and since I’m packing up, I’ll only charge you for three. There’s four peach and two cherry. That’ll be $13.50.”

The man handed over a $20, and this time Bitty didn’t pass him his food until he accepted the change. The man just dropped it in the tip cup.

“Thank you, sir,” Bitty saud. “Y’all have a good week now.”

“Good-looking and generous,” Margie said from the next booth over. “Why do I only get little old ladies or girls who want their bathrooms to smell nice?”

“Because you sell soap?”

“Don’t men want their bathrooms to smell nice?”

“Well, I do,” Bitty said.

The following week’s market started much the same way, with the runner in the yellow sneakers kicking off the day, this time carrying a balled up red T-shirt in one large hand.

Bitty arranged sliced of apple and cherry turnovers as samples and displayed his pies and cookies, then passed the time between customers chatting with Margie and Bruce across the way.

“You think your boyfriend’s coming back?”

“What boyfriend would that be?” Bitty asked, as though he hadn’t spent a good part of the week daydreaming about blue eyes, sharp cheekbones and broad shoulders.

Once again, just when he was getting ready to close up, Blue Eyes showed up, this time with an even larger man. His friend? Or “friend”?

The bigger man walked right up to the table, not hanging back like Blue Eyes usually did.

“Hello,” he said, smiling widely, the word flavored with an accent Bitty couldn’t quite place. “Jack says you make the best pies. You have blueberry?”

“Uh, not this week?” Bitty said. “Maybe next week, if I can get enough blueberries. I can make sure to save one for you, Mr. --”

“Alexei,” the man said. “You can call me Alexei.”

“Okay,” Bitty said, writing the name on a sticky note. “I’ll save a blueberry pie for Alexei, Jack’s friend. Can I get you anything today?”

“I see you have lemon bars,” Alexei said. “Six of those?”

“And what about you, Jack? It’s on the house. I noticed the extra $20 in my tip jar last week.”

“You don’t have to,” Jack said. “I like what you make, and it’s your business, so you should be paid. Um, you have a cherry pie left?”

“Just one,” Bitty said.

“It’s amazing,” Alexei said, “that you get this guy to eat dessert. Usually he only eats protein. All the time.”

“Protein is good for you,” Jack defended himself.

“Well, sure it is, hon,” Bitty said. “But you have to have a balanced diet.”

Both men paid, and Alexei said, “Maybe Jack will come get my pie next week from you -- wait, I don’t know your name.”

“Eric,” Bitty said. “But most everyone calls me Bitty.”

“Bitty baker,” Alexei crowed. “Excellent.”

“Bye, Bitty,” Jack said quietly.

After they left, Bitty collapsed dramatically on the table.

“Why are all the good ones taken?” he said.

“Who said he was taken?” Margie said. “Maybe they’re just friends.”

“Friends who pick up pie for each other?”

Bitty was well stocked with blueberry pies the next week, and he dutifully put one aside for Alexei. The berries had been so plentiful at the market that he’d made a couple of dozen blueberry bite-sized blueberry tartlets to set on his sample stand.

Bitty was just placing it on the table when the man with the yellow shoes loped past.

“Put your tongue back in your mouth.” Margie was laughing at him. “You have your guy who comes every week. This one is mine.”

“Hush, you,” Bitty said. “I have a regular customer. That doesn’t mean I can’t feast my eyes on what’s on display.”

Then he stopped talking and busied himself with his display, because the man had broken his pattern and turned around when he reached the end of the market. He was headed back down the aisle.

Bitty was preparing himself to nod at the man, who for once seemed to be looking his way instead of straight ahead, but it was hard to see from behind the man’s sunglasses.

Wait, the man was heading right toward him, slowing to a trot as he passed the table.

“I see you got the blueberries,” he said. “Save one of those for me?”

Bitty was glad the man -- Jack -- kept moving, because he knew his jaw nearly hit the table.

Once he managed to close his mouth, he turned back to Margie. “Still not my boyfriend,” he said. “But jiminy crickets. How did I not know it was the same guy?”

“You were blinded by the shoes?” Margie suggested. “Or, you know, the totally ripped half-naked body.”

“At least he’ll be dressed when he comes back,” Bitty said, placing three of the tartlets into a container that he put with Alexei’s pie.

“The better not to drool over him?” Margie asked.

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “Pretty sure that’s considered bad customer service.”

Bitty spent the rest of the morning on pins and needles. It was fine, he told himself. His (very handsome) customer was the same as the (very hot) guy who ran through the market early every morning. The guy who never showed any sign that he even realized there were other people there, let alone that those people might be looking at him.

To him, Bitty was just the guy who sold cookies and pies. But his friend said Jack didn’t usually eat sweets, Bitty remembered.

Maybe Jack was buying them for Alexei. Maybe they were … it wasn’t right to say “more than friends,” Shitty would have his head for that.

But they hadn’t seemed, well, couple-y, last week. And Bitty was pretty sure Jack lived alone. And Bitty couldn’t believe he had gotten himself wrapped up in whether there was an ethical difference in spinning daydreams about a customer based on whether the customer had a significant other. They were daydreams, for pity’s sake, and nothing would come of them.

Good thing the tartlets were doing their job and Bitty’s baked goods were more or less selling themselves today.

The stand was so successful that Bitty sold out of everything except the tartlets and pie he was saving for Jack and Alexei a half-hour before he usually packed up.

He took his time stacking his trays, folding his tablecloths, stowing equipment in now-empty coolers for the trip home.

“Leaving already?” Margie asked. “Want me to hang on to the pie for when he gets here?”

“Nah,” Bitty said. “I’ll wait.”

Once he had everything stacked and ready to go to the truck, he sat in his folding chair and pulled out his phone to answer comments on his latest video.

He had just explained -- for the six-hundredth time -- how shortening and butter behave differently in pie crust when he heard a throat clear a few feet above him.

The Jack he saw when he looked up was different from the ones he had seen so far. No tiny running shorts or baggy basketball shorts, no horrid yellow shows or shower sandals. This Jack had on dark wash jeans that had to be tailored to fit like that, a snug T-shirt and a flannel button-down left open and with the sleeves rolled above the elbow. The moccasin-style shoes were a nice bonus. He looked a little familiar, but Bitty supposed that went with the fantasizing.

“Bitty?” Jack said. “Are you done for the day?”

“I am,” Bitty said, getting up and then immediately bending over to pick up the boxes for Jack. “But I saved you some tartlets and Alexei’s pie is here.”

“How much do I owe you?” Jack said.

“The pie is $20 even,” Bitty said. “But you can catch up to me next week if you don’t have cash.”

“I’m good for it,” Jack said, reaching for his wallet. “More to the point, so is Tater. What about the little blueberry things?”

“No charge,” Bitty said. “Samples, remember?”

“Samples are for people who get here early,” Jack said.

“You were here early,” Bitty said. “You just couldn’t take them with you. No, uh, pockets.”

“You think I’d put them in my pockets?”

Jack handed over two crisp twenties.

“It’s just $20,” Bitty said.

“For your trouble,” Jack said. “I’ll get Tater to pay me back.”

“Why do you call him Tater?”

“Hockey nickname,” Jack said. “He’s my teammate.”

“You play hockey?” Bitty said. “Where?”

“With the Falconers?” Jack said.

Suddenly it clicked.

“Alexei … Mashkov? And you’re Jack Zimmermann!”

“Uh, yeah,” Jack said, ducking his head to look around to see if anyone heard. He raised his hand to his head like he wanted to pull the brim of his cap down, but with no cap, he ended up brushing away the hair that had curled onto his forehead. “Sorry you had to wait for me. Do you need a hand moving your things?”

“Aw, you don’t have to do that, hon,” Bitty said. “It’s a kind offer, though.”

“I don’t mind,” Jack said. “I was hoping maybe after you were done clearing up, you’d want to get coffee with me? Or a late lunch? Or something?”

Bitty managed to keep his mouth closed, but only just. A quick glance to the side told him Margie hadn’t been so successful.

“You don’t have to,” Jack said. “It’s fine. I mean, I know you shouldn’t ask people out when they’re working, so that’s why I wanted to wait until you were done --”

“No, sugar,” Bitty said. “I’d love to get lunch with you. Just so I know, though, you mean like a date?”

“Yes?” Jack said. “Wasn’t that clear? After all these weeks? Tater said he thought you liked me.”

“Wait,” Bitty said. “Were you flirting with me?”

“You finally noticed?”

“Never mind,” Bitty said. “Got there in the end, didn’t I?”

Jack started pushing the dolly with the folded table and stacked coolers towards the parking lot. As soon as he passed, Bitty flashed Margie a thumbs-up, picked up his chair and trays, and followed.

#omg check please #omgcheckplease #zimbits #my fic #prompt fill

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everwitch-magiks · 3 years

Text

dance with somebody (ch. 25)

start from ch. 1 | back to ch. 24

"Oh lord," Bitty whispers to himself. "Oh my goodness."

How long has it been, since the first time he stood in front of the Samwell hockey Haus with a pie in hand, just like this? Four and a half years? No, even longer. Goodness gracious.

He's been able to visit from time to time, since graduation. Providence is close, after all, and the Samwell team will always hold such a dear place in Bitty's heart. It's just, usually, he's come down to watch a game, and always together with Jack. They've stopped by the Haus, of course, have made their rounds and tried to catch up with everyone. Besides, it's not like they don't see many SMH members, former and current, at various other social occasions every so often.

But it's just… Bitty loves coming back to Samwell with Jack, loves reconnecting with their important people and places together. Yet even so, Bitty's relationship with his former teammates isn't quite the same, with Jack added to the equation. Not that going back to the Haus with Jack is bad, or uncomfortable, or anything in between. Not at all. It's just…

Senior year, Bitty became captain. The boys all chose him. Stepping into that role, and leading them through that grueling season, through those excruciating, exhilarating, endless playoffs all the way to actual championship victory, is something that still means more than Bitty can put into words. It was everything. And Jack was there for all of it, yes, he supported Bitty through all of it – without Jack, Bitty isn't sure if he would've held himself together until the end. But while Jack was there, he wasn't there. It wasn't his team.

It was Bitty's.

It's not something that Bitty thinks of as a good thing or a bad thing. It's just the truth. And it probably says something that, when Bitty had hesitantly told Jack that he'd been thinking about making a visit to Samwell on his own, Jack had been completely unsurprised. In fact, Jack's smile had been so knowing, he'd almost looked a little bit smug.

"Of course, Bits. You tell your boys hello from me. Don't spoil them with too much pie, eh?"

Bitty adjusts his bowtie, a little wearily. Gosh. He's actually nervous, isn't he? He has literally no reason to be. It's just the boys, his boys. His home away from home. They'll be happy to see him. Won't they?

Maybe turning up unannounced was a bad plan.

"Bits?"

Bitty almost jumps, he's so startled.

Thankfully, it's just Dex.

"Morning!" Bitty tries for cheerful. It almost works. "I was in the neighbourhood, so. Thought I'd pop by for a bit."

"It's so good to see you, man." Dex is grinning widely as he goes in for a hug. Bitty somehow manages to balance his pie and wrap one arm around Dex, simultaneously. "How long can you stay?"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to impose too much, I'm sure y'all are swamped with homework and practice and-"

"Don't be an idiot. Everyone's gonna be so psyched to see you." Dex's grin softens. "Actually, today, we're-"

"Bitty!"

"Holy shit, Bits!"

"Pie!"

Bitty can't help his smile as Nursey, Tango and Hops tumble out of the Haus. It's debatable, whether or not Nursey has actually managed to put shoes on.

"Careful," Dex mutters as he swiftly takes the pie out of Bitty's hands. "Got your back, there you go."

It's just in time before Bitty is engulfed in something that feels so much like a celly, his heart actually aches.

"Goodness, I've missed y'all." Bitty smiles helplessly. "My, Hops, were you always this tall?"

"Probably," Hops says. He grins widely. "Maybe you just got tinier? Even more itty-bitty."

"Hey, now!" Bitty exclaims. He's grinning, too. Somehow, he has a feeling he'll be doing little else, today. "I'll have you know I'm a perfectly respectable height, Jonathan."

"Come on!" Tango is literally tugging at Bitty's arm in excitement. "This is such perfect timing, we were just-"

"Holy shit. Isn't that Bitty? Hey, everyone, Bitty's here!"

There's the unmistakable sound of a hoard of hockey players sprinting down several flights of stairs, and that's only the calm before the storm.

It takes well over half an hour before Bitty actually makes it inside the Haus.

His heart feels pleasantly warm as he steps into the familiar kitchen. Dex has set his pie to the side of a counter, his aunt’s old curtains are still hanging in the window and someone has managed to keep those plants on the windowsill alive. There's even a couple of succulents that Bitty doesn't quite recognise. Evidently, Bitty's housekeeping ambitions are actually being honored.

Most importantly, though, the kitchen is absolutely bustling with activity.

"We're having a deluxe team breakfast," Chowder is telling him enthusiastically. "Or, well, sort of a team brunch. Except, it's more brunch and lunch, really-"

"And snacks!" someone chimes in. It takes Bitty a second to remember his name – Joseph Lyons, one of the so-called Scones. Bitty has met all of the freshmen before, and he's tried his best to be his usual, charming self and make an approachable impression, but there's certainly something of an endearing flush on the boy's cheeks as he speaks directly to Bitty. "We're actually making baked potato bites, soon as Whiskey's done with the oven. I hope you'll like them!"

"Oh, that's exciting! I'm sure they'll be delicious."

Bitty offers Joseph a somewhat distracted smile. Whiskey? The oven?

He looks further into the kitchen, and… Yes. There's Whiskey. He's mixing something in a bowl, and listening to a boy next to him. A boy who is prattling on about something as he chops vegetables, his brown eyes bright with excitement.

A decidedly unfamiliar boy.

"Hey, Ocean," Nursey says – the boy looks up. "Can I borrow that knife, when you're done?"

"Do we want Derek Nurse with a sharp object in hand?" Ocean asks, just a bit too loudly. He grins as the kitchen at large provides a good round of chirps in agreement. "How about you hand me those tomatoes, Nursey, and I'll take care of them for you."

Bitty watches the boy for a moment longer, his brows slightly furrowed. Ocean seems to fit in quite seamlessly. Did he recently transfer from another school? Or did Bitty somehow actually manage to forget a Scone?

"Hey. Bits."

Whiskey has looked up. For some reason, he's watching Bitty with a certain level of apprehension. Bitty quickly offers him a bright smile.

"It's good to see you," he offers, because it truthfully is. "Jack says hello, by the way."

Whiskey smiles, too.

"Tell him I said hi. I hope you're finding the Haus in a decent enough state?"

"Oh, you best be taking special care of my old room, too," Bitty chirps good-naturedly. "I hope it's to your liking, and all?"

"For sure. You can head up and take a look, if you'd like that trip down memory lane." Whiskey's suggestion sounds surprisingly sincere. "You know the way. Door's unlocked."

"Oh," Bitty says. It hasn't been on his list, exactly, but now that it's being offered… "You know, I'll actually take you up on that."

Whiskey nods towards him, once, before returning his attention to his bowl.

Stepping into his old room feels more than a little bit surreal. It's familiar, of course, but also very different. Whiskey clearly keeps it quite neat – the bed's been made, and it's not too cluttered, overall. There's a Samwell banner pinned to the wall and two eye-catchingly colorful yet discreetly minimalist posters above the desk. It all fits in well with how Bitty remembers Whiskey, on and off the ice – here lives someone with a good amount of discipline, and a simultaneous desire to stand out, and fit in.

On the desk, there's a framed picture of the team from last year's championship victory that Bitty can't look at without getting a lil’ teary eyed. He directs his attention out the window, instead. Unsurprisingly, the view is just the same as ever.

"Changed the decor a bit."

Bitty looks over his shoulder. Whiskey is leaning against the doorway, his hands in his pockets. There's a bit of flour dusted over his sweater in a way that Bitty has no idea how to chirp him for. His expression is almost entirely unreadable.

"It's nice," Bitty tells him carefully. Gosh. This shouldn't be so frightfully awkward. "You look well, Whiskey."

"I'm doing alright." Whiskey steps a bit further inside the room. "Actually, I'm doing better."

"Oh." Bitty tries to smile. Is he supposed to offer a follow-up question? Is this a heart to heart, or small talk? "That's… That's nice to hear."

"Excuse me, sorry." Suddenly, unexpectedly, that boy from before pops in. Ocean. He goes straight for a backpack that's sitting on the chair by the desk. "Just need my charger. I'll get out of your way."

"No, wait," Whiskey says quickly.

The boy stills. There's a moment of eye contact between the two of them that Bitty can't seem to interpret.

"You two should meet."

Whiskey turns back towards Bitty. Slowly, and very deliberately, he places an arm around the other boy's waist.

"Bitty, this is Miguel."

Oh, sweet Mary.

Bitty looks between the two boys, blinking slowly. Of course. Of course.

"Hello." Evidently, Miguel has taken it upon himself to fill out the silence. His smile is, quite frankly, lovely. "Eric Bittle, right? I've heard so much about you."

"Oh, sugar, it's wonderful to meet you." Bitty has recovered enough to extend a hand. He's beaming, and it's probably ridiculous, but he can't quite bring himself to care. "My goodness. Hi. Are you a junior?"

"That's right." Miguel seems to take his enthusiasm in stride. He gamely shakes Bitty's hand. "Me and Whiskey had a class together, this fall."

"And now I can barely get you alone for a minute, given how the whole Haus has collectively adopted you." Whiskey doesn't sound at all bothered by this turn of events. He's got his hands back in his pockets, and he looks quite a bit more relaxed than before Miguel came in. "The Waffles are literally going to all of your games."

"Well, so are you," Miguel says, with a fond smile towards Whiskey. He quickly turns back to Bitty, though. "I'm on the water polo team."

"Isn't that something," Bitty says. And then it clicks. "Oh. Ocean, right?"

"Right." Miguel grins. "We don't really do nicknames in water polo, at least not the same way you lot insist upon, but it's actually-"

"Hey, Ocean!"

There's someone in the doorway. It's… A Scone. One of the Scones. Bitty really must try to visit more often. The Scone looks between the three of them, his expression mildly confused, before he states his business.

"Joyo and Jader need your advice on their potato-ricotta experiment."

"I'll be right there."

Miguel glances at Whiskey for a second, and there's another moment of silent communication. Then Whiskey nods.

Miguel offers Bitty another smile.

"I'm sure we'll have the chance to talk some more, but I believe I really must see to those potatoes.”

His hand touches Whiskey's briefly on his way out. Bitty would never have noticed, unless he'd known to look for it.

Unexpectedly, Whiskey closes the door behind Miguel. He turns back towards Bitty.

For a second, they just look at one another.

"He, uh." Suddenly, Whiskey seems flustered. "He's great. So great."

"I'm glad." Bitty has rarely meant something so much in his entire life. "Am I right to assume that the team doesn't know?"

"That's right." Whiskey actually looks a bit apprehensive. "We don't… I'm not out to my family. Or to many of my friends."

"I'm just so happy that you're happy." Bitty smiles. "And, can I… He's kind of unfairly pretty, isn't he?"

Bitty would never have guessed that Whiskey could smile so gently.

"Yeah. Honestly, he's kind of everything."

"Oh, Connor." Bitty wants to hug him. That would probably be a little much. "Aren't y'all just too sweet."

"I would, um." Whiskey hesitates. He starts over. "Could you not tell Jack?"

Oh.

Bitty feels surprised. And, surprisingly, just a little bit pleased. It's been somewhat unsettling, figuring out bits and pieces of Whiskey's current life through Jack, watching the two of them connect in a way that Bitty was never able to no matter how hard he tried. Still, he's grateful to Jack for trying to help Whiskey, and even more grateful to him for succeeding. Really, he is.

But it's honestly nice to know that Whiskey trusts him with this. To know that, when it comes to this, Whiskey actually trusts him more. Maybe it shouldn't matter, but if Bitty is completely honest with himself, it does.

"Of course." Bitty smiles. "Honestly, I'm so happy you even wanted me to know."

"I did. I really did." Whiskey runs a hand through his hair. "Bits, you… You must know that I have a lot of respect for you."

Bitty stares at Whiskey. He looks so earnest, and there's a depth to his words that Bitty already knows he will always remember. It's one of those moments in life.

"Thank you," Bitty says warmly. "You know, I've never wanted to make you feel like you need to make choices that aren’t right for you. That you’re not comfortable with."

"No, I know." Whiskey shakes his head. "You haven't made me feel that way. I've struggled with this for a lot of other reasons, I guess. The narrative is always about coming out."

"It is. And that's something I've certainly contributed to."

Whiskey actually smiles.

"Sure. But more than that, you've… I've been in this sport for years. And with everything that's happened with you, and with Jack, it's… There's a before and an after. Things are better."

"Oh. That's… Oh." Gosh, Bitty might actually be tearing up a little. When, exactly, did Whiskey grow up so much? "I'm so glad you think so."

"I believe it goes a little beyond my personal opinion," Whiskey says plainly. He's still smiling. It is, quite frankly, unsettling. "Should we, um. I think the Scones might die a little if you helped them with those potatoes. In a good way."

"Oh, I'd love to cook with those sweet boys." Bitty manages a slight grin. "You know… I almost thought Miguel was a Scone, too. Your boy's not really built for hockey, but he just fits in so well, I didn't know what to make of him."

"You sure you wanna talk about being built for hockey?" Whiskey chirps. He sounds almost playful. "I wouldn't, if I were you."

"Hey, now," Bitty admonishes cheerfully. "What happened to having lots of respect for me? Let's go back to that."

"Why don't we go back to the kitchen, instead?" Whiskey suggests. "I kind of need to check on the oven."

"Of course," Bitty agrees quickly. Obviously, the oven needs to take priority. "Is there, um, any chance you could remind me which Scone is Jader? I think I know, but…"

"Jaden Brant," Whiskey supplies readily. "Tall one. In your defense, he's pretty much joined at the hip with Joyo."

"He is, isn't he? Those two…?"

Whiskey smiles.

"Yeah. Those two." He looks away for a moment. "And that's… They're coming in as freshmen, immediately knowing they'll be accepted. No hesitation."

"That's so wonderful."

Whiskey looks at Bitty again.

"You did that," he says simply. "You know that, right?"

"No, I'm…" Dear lord, he's going to cry again. "Their decision to be open can't be only because of little ol' me. It can’t.”

"Maybe not only," Whiskey concedes. "But they chose Samwell for a reason. They knew they'd be safe here."

"Well. That is nice." Bitty wipes at his eyes. "Dear me, I'm… We should… Oven?"

Whiskey nods. His expression is soft in a way that Bitty can't quite put into words.

"Come on. There are literal and figurative scones to attend to."

As they're leaving the room, Bitty feels brave enough for one final, careful question.

"You actually bake?"

"I know," Whiskey says. He sounds… Relaxed. Content, even. "It's not bad. Feels like I'm doing something nice for everyone. You know?"

"Yes," Bitty agrees eagerly. This day is already turning into so much more than he could ever have hoped for. "Believe me, Whiskey. I know."

ch. 26

#check please #omgcheckplease #omgcp #eric bittle #connor whisk #OC: Miguel #all of the scones #literal and figurative #we're really really really nearing the end #there's only one update left #I've been writing this since March it is now December I have a lot of feelings about this #I hope you'll enjoy this and the next part ♡#dance with somebody #evie writes #fanfiction

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birlcholtz · 4 years

Note

do you remember that week n a half when everyone cared about bittyjohnson? can we bring that back?

bitty/johnson.... the forbidden jeric ship

lol yes i do remember that it was a weird fucking time let's bring it back!!!! side note this turned into... well i'll just let you read it. can one really write about johnson without it turning into an ethical debate and a philosophical crisis rolled into one weird metaphysical narrative? i finished this after midnight which also explains the whole ethical philosophical crisis thing

johnson, as someone who is fully aware of This Whole Fictional Narrative thing before it even starts, is also an expert on eric bittle. he knows all of bitty's strengths and his cute idiosyncratic flaws and his deeper issues that are the result of childhood trauma

you can't know that much about someone without loving them at least a little. and johnson, for all his fictionality, is a person, imbued with the same liveliness and sense of self as all of the other characters in the comic, and he meets bitty and thinks oh, shit.

does john johnson know i'm writing this right now

and bitty's like wow. another intimidatingly attractive teammate. his name is john johnson. weird but okay. and he's a goalie which means he's weird too. cool i can handle this

for a while johnson wrestles with the ethics of being in love with bitty??? like bitty hasn't made the choice to share any of this information with him and he KNOWS they're fictional characters and as a result autonomy is more of a high ideal than something that's actually put into practice but isn't it best to at least give bitty a semblance of choice?

so, he plays his part. he does not reveal any information that he should not know— well, that his character should not know— johnson knows all. he knows the conversations that happen behind the scenes too, the ones that get transcribed on twitter or referred to in ask a wellies. he thinks maybe he'll get a twitter someday, if that's something he can do in-universe. just to see what it's like for himself and not have this weird extrasensory knowledge of it.

but he can't stay away from bitty, especially not when bitty seems so determined to like him (johnson knows it's probably because he's not Aggressively Hetero like ransom and holster or rude like jack or in-your-face like shitty. it's a process of elimination. but still)

and he knows that they're in a story, and he knows that the story must have some sort of goal, and bitty swings by his room one sunny afternoon and complains about unsolicited early morning checking practice with jack and johnson thinks, oh. so that's how it's going to go.

he plays his part, commiserates, encourages bitty, all with a bad taste in his mouth

and johnson expects bitty to peel away, and spend more time with jack, and open up to the rest of the team. and he does open up to everyone, but he keeps coming back to johnson, and part of johnson wants to tell him no, i'm just a filler, the team needed a goalie, don't waste your time and part of him just wants to enjoy it while he can

johnson is on the swallow's 50 most beautiful again. four years running. his face isn't in the photo. he knows he has a face, because he sees it in the mirror whenever he goes to brush his teeth, but he can never remember what it looks like. apparently these cartoon cameras can't either. and that's johnson. destined to be there while you look and gone when you turn away.

and he knows bitty sees it because holster snags a copy somewhere and reads aloud the list at team breakfast. ransom sits on holster's right and bitty sits on holster's left, and johnson sits on bitty's left and wonders where he'll be a year from now

but he will remember how bitty takes the copy of the swallow holster hands him, opened to the page with johnson's photo, and lingers on it for just a moment before passing it on, and johnson will remember that for the rest of his existence, however long that might be. especially because jack is in there too. johnson knows jack is in there too. holster has already provided his thoughts on the rankings of johnson, jack, and ransom within the 50 most, loudly and at length. but bitty doesn't flip to it. he doesn't flip through at all. just lingers on that one page and then passes it along, almost as if he doesn't care about the others

bitty likes johnson. he's weird, but he's never overbearing, he asks bitty questions about his life and actually listens to the answers, really listens, and he is thoughtful. he's also beautiful but like half the team is that doesn't make johnson special

and bitty likes how when he talks to johnson he never feels like he's out of place. he never feels like he doesn't fit in. because johnson is weird as fuck but his unabashedly *being* weird as fuck gives bitty license to be who he is, even if that's not who the rest of the team are. johnson is a paragon of not being like the rest of the team and he gets away with it and bitty doesn't know if he wants him or wants to be him but then johnson smiles at him after his game winner at family weekend and says 'congrats', hair wet, eyes sincere, and bitty knows.

johnson doesn't know.

because here's the thing about johnson. he knows everything that has happened. he knows bitty is scared of checking because he knows the history. he knows bitty is gay from the moment he mutters 'men' to his camera in first semester. but he cannot predict the future. he's a character in the story as much as anyone else is and knowing that he's fictional doesn't tell him what's coming next. and he cannot read bitty's mind.

but the second bitty admits it to himself out loud, johnson knows, and even though he feels like this can't be the intended narrative he has the urge to just say 'fuck it' and do what he wants. seize his own free will. ignore what he thinks was supposed to happen.

and that's what he does.

bitty and johnson are an odd couple, to all observers. johnson is just so weird and bitty is just so sweet and nobody can fathom how or why they are together.

but they defend each other. johnson chirps the other team loud enough on the ice that they focus on the annoying goalie instead of the tiny, vulnerable-looking forward. bitty summons up his chilliest southern politeness for the people who talk with raised eyebrows about whether johnson is actually sane behind his back, and he never tells johnson about these people but johnson knows anyway because it happened, and he loves bitty more for it.

they love each other, too, gravitate towards each other whenever they can, and johnson's room in the haus turns into a haven. he helps bitty navigate haus parties and he knows the cup of beer in his hand is fictional but he can taste it anyway and he starts to wonder why it matters if it technically doesn't exist in the real world. does it matter if johnson is a fictional character? does it matter if bitty is a fictional character? they're real enough to each other and this is the only world they will ever know.

johnson is weird. he faces existential crises every day he wakes up from a dreamless sleep, and he can't always keep himself from breaking the fourth wall— although who he's talking to out there, he doesn't know.

but he feels like a real person. bitty had asked, early on, what he was majoring in, and johnson hadn't had an answer, but then he had blinked and said 'philosophy' and it was as if it had been the case all along. he knew what classes he had taken, which professors he had had, the grades he got, the papers he wrote, what he's writing his thesis on. it felt real. it *was* real, to him and to everyone who matters.

he can look at his face in the mirror and hold on to its memory for a little longer. he knows what his mouth looks like now, and he has a vague idea about his nose. he's hoping he'll learn more about himself. it's easier to remember when bitty's reflection is in the mirror next to his own.

johnson knows his favorite flavor of pie is peach now. not because of how it tastes but because he'd helped bitty make it once, smiling and laughing together in the kitchen, and the golden, rosy memory is an anchor for him to when he decided he was real enough to matter.

he graduates and gives his dibs to bitty because who else would he give them to? he was probably supposed to give them to bitty. he knows bitty is protagonist material. but johnson gives his dibs to bitty because bitty is the person he wants to give them to. he receives his diploma on graduation day and knows that leaving samwell does not confine him to an endless future of nothing. he is a character but that gives him power. every word he says becomes canonical. everything he does is something real.

and he paves his own way into the future, a thought and a word at a time— he's hiking the appalachians, but he miraculously has cell service the entire way because that's what he tells bitty when he asks, and he calls bitty with that cell service and thinks that maybe he could be happy. he gets a twitter. the appalachians have wifi too now, because johnson decreed it. he follows bitty and bitty follows him back.

on the day he finishes his hike and returns to visit samwell, he finds bitty in the kitchen, pulling a peach pie out of the oven just in time for johnson's arrival, because he knew johnson was coming, because they planned this together. and johnson glances at his reflection in the window and notices the color of his eyes, and when he turns to look at bitty, he doesn't forget them.

bitty/johnson.... the forbidden jeric ship

does john johnson know i'm writing this right now

and bitty's like wow. another intimidatingly attractive teammate. his name is john johnson. weird but okay. and he's a goalie which means he's weird too. cool i can handle this

he plays his part, commiserates, encourages bitty, all with a bad taste in his mouth

johnson doesn't know.

and that's what he does.

bitty and johnson are an odd couple, to all observers. johnson is just so weird and bitty is just so sweet and nobody can fathom how or why they are together.

#johnson the metaphysical goalie #omgcp #fun with rarepairs #a little bit meta #<- that's my bitty/johnson tag that i found in my tags spreadsheet

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bittysvalentines · 4 years

Text

Gravity Can Forget

From: @the-lincyclopedia

To: @loveyoutoobits

Summary: Jack takes such good care of Eric after Eric's concussion that Eric can't help but develop feelings. Too bad Jack is straight . . . right?

Rating: T

Tags: Concussions, Hurt/Comfort, Coming Out, Year 1 (Check Please!), Getting Together, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Present Tense

“Bittle. I’ve got your back.”

The words echo around Eric’s head as his ears ring. The crowd seems to be making noise—a lot of noise, actually, enough to worsen his headache—but their roar is competing with the ringing in his ears and the ghost of Jack’s words. It’s a lot of sound to take in, and Eric shuts his eyes as if eliminating input to one sense will make it easier to handle the overwhelming input to another. He’s not sure how he wound up laying on the ice; the last thing he remembers is Jack talking to him on their way out of the huddle.

The next thing he knows, there’s a hand on his shoulder. He can feel its weight through his pads, but it’s not shaking him; it’s just resting there.

“Bitty,” he hears. It’s Jack’s voice. “Bits, are you conscious? Wake up for me, please.”

“’M awake,” Eric mumbles.

“Merci à Dieu,” breathes Jack. “Can you open your eyes, bud?”

Eric groans but opens his eyes. There are stars in his field of vision. He blinks several times, but they don’t go away. He’s dizzy.

Two pairs of feet—wearing shoes, not skates—stomp-shuffle into view. The legs they’re attached to bend, and then Hall and Murray’s faces enter Eric’s field of vision. “Come on, Bittle,” says Hall. He slides his hands under Eric’s armpits and pulls Eric upright. “Can you skate?”

Eric considers the question. It feels like his brain is working more slowly than usual. “Maybe?”

Hall puts his arms around Eric in a sort of side-hug, and Murray adds a hand against Eric’s back, and the three of them make their slow, halting way off the ice. There seems to be . . . clapping? Eric isn’t sure what’s happening until he hears his name: Bitt-le, Bitt-le, Bitt-le. He’s surprised. He knows his name is on the back of his jersey, but he’s just a frog. Nobody really knows who is—right?

Lardo gives him a shaky smile when he makes it to the bench. “You okay, dude?”

Eric starts to shake his head and immediately regrets it. So much nausea. “Not great,” he mumbles.

She reaches out a hand as if to clap him on the shoulder and then seems to think better of it. “You did great. Proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Eric mumbles.

“Larissa, can you take him to urgent care?” Hall asks. Murray’s hand is no longer on Eric’s back, and Murray himself isn’t in Eric’s field of vision. When did he leave? “I’ll come as soon as the game is over—you’ll probably still be in the waiting room. He’s conscious, so it’s probably fine for him not to go to the emergency room, but we should get him checked out tonight. Someone will need to stay with him all night if he has a concussion, but we can figure that out later.”

“All right,” says Lardo. She stands and maneuvers Eric’s arm over her shoulder. “Let’s go, Bitty.”

Lardo helps Eric to the locker room and oversees him taking off his skates and pads. She grabs his bag out of his cubby and makes sure his wallet is there, with his insurance card in it, before they leave the arena. Eric gets the most carsick he’s been in ages on the drive to the hospital, but he manages to avoid actually throwing up until they’re in the parking lot. Lardo, to her credit, just rubs Eric’s back as he hurls and then helps him walk around the puddle and into the building.

After Lardo helps Eric check in, the two of them sit down and Lardo takes out her phone. “Well, we won,” she says.

“Huh?” Eric asks.

“Samwell won the game. It’s over already. Jack says he and Hall are going to head to the hospital soon.”

“Oh. Good,” says Eric. He’s vaguely aware that ordinarily he’d be tweeting right now, but the prospect just seems overwhelming, so he stares at the wall instead.

He’s not sure how long it’s been when Hall and Jack show up. Hall takes a seat on Lardo’s other side and begins asking her quiet questions, but Jack crouches down in front of Eric and says, “Bits, I’m so sorry.”

Eric isn’t sure what Jack’s apologizing for. The only word he manages to form is, “What?”

“The play was dangerous. All I was thinking about was winning, and I put you at risk for that.”

“Jack, we play hockey.”

“Yeah, but that guy boarded Holster. You were so brave, but I shouldn’t’ve—”

“Eric Bittle?” a nurse calls.

Eric stands and then lurches forward. Jack catches him and throws one of Eric’s arms over his shoulder, which doesn’t work very well given the height difference, and then Eric, Jack, Lardo, and Hall make their way back to a doctor’s office, with Jack half-carrying Eric.

The doctor asks Eric a number of questions, about both his symptoms and the world at large—he’s dizzy and nauseous, but at least he knows Obama’s the president—and then tests to see whether Eric has double vision (he does) and can walk on his own (kind of). In the end, Eric gets diagnosed with a mild concussion, which makes him wonder what sort of symptoms are required for a serious one. The doctor says he should ask for extensions on all his assignments and do less schoolwork for the next few weeks at least, as well as avoiding exercise and screen time. The doctor also says that someone needs to wake him up every hour that night to make sure he’s still conscious and lucid.

Hall asks if Eric thinks his roommate would be willing to wake him up all night, but, before Eric can even wrap his head around the question, Jack says, “Don’t worry about that. I’ll do it.”

“What?” Eric asks.

“You can stay at the Haus tonight. You can take my bed and I’ll take the floor. I’ll wake you up every hour.”

“But why?” Eric feels so confused.

Jack looks pained. “Because it’s my fault you’re hurt. Let me take care of you, all right?”

Eric feels like he should argue, but he also feels like he might throw up, so he decides to just say, “Okay.” Hall and Lardo are looking between him and Jack, and Eric can’t read their expressions, but he’s too tired to care.

Jack supports/carries Eric out of the hospital and back to Lardo’s car, and then the three of them drive back to the Haus. Eric winds up borrowing one of Jack’s T-shirts and some of Lardo’s sweatpants to sleep in (Lardo makes a “never thought you’d get in my pants” joke that Eric ignores), and he wipes his top half down with a washcloth rather than showering, since he’s still pretty unsteady on his feet. He brushes his teeth by putting some of Jack’s toothpaste on his finger, and he doesn’t bother washing his face or even looking for floss. He’s exhausted and he feels awful. All he wants is to faceplant on Jack’s bed.

Still, he’s a Southern gentlemen. He has to ask. “You sure it’s all right if I take your bed? I feel bad about kicking you out.”

“Bits. You literally have a traumatic brain injury because I made a bad decision. You have every right to take my bed. Just try not to hate me when I wake you up all the time, all right? I want to let you sleep, but your safety matters more.”

“Of course, Jack,” says Eric, and then he crawls gingerly into the bed, because he has a feeling faceplanting would worsen his headache.

(He kind of hates Jack when Jack wakes him up every hour all night, but he manages not to say anything about it, though that has more to do with talking being difficult than with Eric being tactful.)

Luckily, the next day is a Sunday, so Eric doesn’t have any obligations. He stays in Jack’s bed all day—he’s allowed real naps, without the hourly wakeup, after eight a.m.—and Jack brings him food periodically and keeps the blinds shut. When it’s dinner time, Jack orders them both takeout and they both sit cross-legged on Jack’s bed to eat it.

“Do you want me to email your professors and tell them you won’t be in class for a few days?” Jack asks.

Eric groans. “I’m already kind of behind in my classes.”

There’s a pause when Eric suspects Jack might be restraining himself from saying something unkind. Then Jack says, “Do you think you can handle class tomorrow?”

Eric finishes chewing his bite and says, “Ugh. No.”

“Okay then,” says Jack. “I’ll email your professors. I can get your schedule from Lardo.”

“Thanks,” says Eric.

They don’t talk much for the rest of the meal. After Jack cleans up their trash, he offers to walk Eric back to his dorm, and Eric agrees. Eric is steadier on his feet now, which is good, but Jack keeps an arm around him anyway. Eric tries to ignore the warmth that spreads through him from the points of contact. Jack is straight, and he’s just doing this out of a sense of duty and guilt.

The next few weeks are hard. Eric spends three more days in bed before venturing to class, and then he finds his focus is worse than ever, which is saying something—his ability to pay attention has always been so bad that he hadn’t realized it was possible for it to get worse. Reading is also hard, and screens give him terrible headaches so quickly that he can’t deal with his email or typing up his papers at all. He spends his whole printing budget (and then Ransom and Holster’s printing budgets, once his runs out) printing out the scanned readings that his professors have put up on their class websites. He starts writing papers by hand and Shitty types them up, since Shitty turns out to be the only one on the team who can read Eric’s handwriting. His professors are being okay about giving him extensions, and the team is being wonderfully supportive, but he still feels like he’s limping to the finish line of this semester, and his grades are not going to be what he’d hoped.

On top of all of Eric’s academic and concussion-related problems, the team loses their next game, knocking them out of the playoffs. After the loss—which Eric half-watches on the Haus TV, because there’s no way he’d be able to handle the noise level in the arena—Shitty texts the group chat comprising the team minus Jack (the group chat normally reserved for inappropriate jokes and planning kegsters) and tells everyone sternly that they are to leave Jack alone until Jack comes to them, and that he, Shitty, will be checking on Jack and there’s no need to double up because that’ll only make Jack annoyed.

Which is why Eric is so surprised that Jack keeps checking on him daily after the loss. It was also a surprise right after Eric got concussed, because the team was training feverishly for the next round of the playoffs, but it’s even more of a surprise the day after the team gets knocked out of the playoffs, because Eric has seen how hard Jack takes regular-season losses, and this was the last game of the season.

But, in spite of Eric’s expectations, Jack keeps sending How are you texts, keeps dropping by Eric’s dorm with food or medicine, keeps inviting Eric to the Haus. Eric’s stomach flips a little every time it happens, and eventually he can’t put it down to concussion-induced nausea anymore. It’s so inconvenient that he has a crush on Jack, his straight, hockey-robot captain, but that’s undoubtedly what’s happening.

The poll for the hockey awards and for next year’s captain hits Eric’s email a couple weeks after the concussion, and Eric forces himself to deal with the screen time in order to vote. He reads the descriptions of the awards—the Carlisle Award mentions “enthusiasm,” which SMH is basically drowning in, but ultimately Eric votes for Shitty—and of course he votes for Jack for captain. The team comes first and last for Jack, and Eric is positive that, without Jack’s help with checking, he wouldn’t still be on the team—he probably wouldn’t even still be at Samwell. And that’s not even mentioning Jack taking care of him these past two weeks.

The banquet is a week later. Eric is shocked when he receives the Carlisle Award but not at all surprised when Jack is unanimously voted captain. Jack seems surprised, though. After the banquet, he catches Eric on the way out and says, “Hey, Bits, can I talk to you about something?”

Eric keeps glancing at Jack while the rest of the team files out of the clubhouse, but Jack doesn’t say anything more to him while the other guys leave. At last, everyone else is gone, and Jack says, “Would you mind walking with me?”

“Sure,” says Eric. He’s got a baseball cap with him that doesn’t work at all with his suit, but direct sunlight still hurts enough that Eric’s willing to let his style drop a bit. He puts the cap on as the two of them step outside.

“I, um, I wanted to thank you for voting for me,” says Jack. “I know I haven’t always treated you well—I haven’t treated you the way a captain should—and just when you started trusting me I let you down. I can’t tell you how sorry I am, for both of those things, and I feel like I don’t deserve your vote, but I’m, uh, really grateful that you voted for me anyway.”

Eric puts a hand on Jack’s arm. “Of course I voted for you, Jack,” says Eric. “You’re a great player, but you’re also a great friend. I probably wouldn’t have been able to stay on the team without your help with checking, and you’ve been so good to me these past few weeks as I’ve been dealing with the concussion.”

“You skipped some details,” says Jack, “but, if that’s how you want to remember it, that’s okay with me.”

They haven’t walked very far yet, and Eric’s wondering if all the fanfare was for this. “Is that what you wanted to say to me? That you’re glad I voted for you?”

Jack runs a hand through his hair. “No. I mean, kind of, I guess? I definitely wanted to say it. But there’s another thing I wanted to say too. Well, two other things.” He clears his throat. “So, um, first of all, I’m bisexual.”

Eric squeaks in surprise. “You—really? Oh wow, Jack! That’s great! I mean, not that you wouldn’t be great if you were straight. Just—thank you for telling me!”

Jack chuckles a little. “You’re welcome. Um. Now the hard part. And I know there’s like a 99% chance that the answer’s going to be no, and I want you to feel free to say that. Like, this is me speaking as your friend, not your captain. Everything’s going to be fine if you say no, with the team and with me personally. Shitty knows I’m doing this, and he’s going to check in with me in like an hour, and he’s really good at cheering me up. So just say whatever you want to say.”

Eric doesn’t know what this is about. He knows what he’d like it to be about, but that would be delusional, right? “Jack. What is it?”

“I, um, I wanted to ask you out? And I know it’s rotten timing because the school year is almost over and we’re going to be in separate places over the summer, and, again, you can absolutely say no and everything will be fine, but Shitty gave me a pep talk and told me to go for it, and—”

Eric, who’s been feeling like a balloon has been expanding inside of him, suddenly deflates. “Shitty put you up to this?”

Jack stops walking. “What? No, Bits, no no no! I’m asking because I want to ask. I just wouldn’t have had the courage to do it if Shitty hadn’t talked to me about it.”

“Oh,” says Eric.

“You can say no, Bits—it really will be fine—”

“You silly boy,” says Eric gently. “Of course I’m saying yes.”

“What—you—really?” Jack gabs.

“Yeah,” says Eric. “Really.”

“Do you want to go back to the Haus?” Jack asks. “My room locks—I mean, not that we have to do anything—but we could get a bit of privacy if you want it. Or just hang out with the guys. Whatever you want.”

“Jack,” says Bitty. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for weeks. A room that locks sounds great.”

Eric has never seen a smile this big on Jack’s face.

#bittyjack #bv2020 #bitty's valentines #omgcp fandom #omg check please!

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wetwellie · 4 years

Text

Your Name AU

(because i’ve seen this movie a bajillion times and it makes me feel things and i am FEELING THINGS about zimbits rn) (It probably won’t work, but i’m gonna make it work)

Bitty is a guy who is trying to peacefully spend his last summer before heading off to college in peace.

He spends his days working his part time job at his Aunt’s produce stand.

and Baking

and playing club hockey twice a week

Fairly peaceful

and...boring as hell

Until the dreams start

Jack has just started his third year at Samwell university

he’s still broken

still anxious

still the “golden boy” --even if he doesn’t feel like hes polished and shining

but he’s making do

and making friends

just a year or two left until

until what?

graduation? getting signed?

wasting away?

Jack doesn’t know. But he’s resigned to focus on hockey and let the rest of the world pass him by

Until the dreams start

Jack wakes up and it’s too hot

He shifts to get out of bed and finds that the covers he is tearing away from his body

are not his

or Shitty’s

or any of his roommates’

also. uh

those skinny legs and short shorts are not his

his hands look different too

and his face feels different

and the voice that calls to him from downstairs is not one he knows

huh

well

weird dream

hope it’s over soon

Bitty goes downstairs to eat the next day

His parents are both fairly silent

“I see you got over whatever mood you were in yesterday, young man”

“mood?”

“it doesn’t matter.”

That’s all he gets out of them

When he drives to the produce stand his cousins run up to him smiling

“I see that you actually remembered how to drive that thing”

“What?” says Bitty

“yesterday you were all over the place. almost knocked over the stand. if you were anyone else I’d think you were drunk”

“Aunt Judy figures you might have been possessed” the other cousin says

“With a fit of stupidity”

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about” Bitty says

“It doesn’t matter. Just don’t ‘get lost’ or forget ‘how to drive stick’ again, Dicky” she says using finger quotes

Later in the day, Suzanne asks Bitty if he’s really feeling ok.

She was really worried about yesterday’s behavior

Bitty replies that , despite evidence on the contrary, he feels normal

They finish up some jars of jam and Bitty returns to his room for the night

There is where he finds it

Tucked under his pillow there is a note in scratchy handwriting

“Who are you?”

Bitty wakes up cold, in a bed that is too big for him

an alarm he doesn’t remember setting, or ever having, is blaring next to him

he looks to see the time

4:30 am

oh.

hell no

bitty gets up to unplug the dream alarm clock, and returns to sleep

Bitty wakes up 6 hours later with another man coming into bed with him

This man is naked

and moustached

one of those dreams? huh

never would he dream about this kind of guy though

because this guy doesn’t crawl into bed, like he thought

he wraps bitty in a burrito made out of comforters and yanks him onto the floor

“I know you needed to a break, but let the coaches know before you sleep through morning practice like that”

“practice?”

“yeah. and you’re lucky that I’m waking you up in time to go to your 11am.”

“but it’s summer”

naked moustache man just looks at him and rolls his eyes

“we’ll grab lunch after class”

“Wait!”

“What”

“...where is my class?”

Jack wakes up the next day

and is dragged to the doctor to test for a possible concussion

“the things you were saying and doing yesterday were crazy”

“you skipped morning practice”

“After class you threw down your notes and said you’d never major in History”

“You baked seven as an apology for skipping morning practice”

“And then you dropped into fetal position in afternoon practice when Ollie was about to check you”

“And you took, i don’t know, 7000 selfies of yourself and called yourself handsome”

“have you ever taken a selfie before in your life?”

jack just shakes his head

“yeah. like i said you’re getting checked for a concussion”

Did I hit my head? , Jack asks

“no. but it can’t be” Shitty pauses “It wouldn’t be your other thing would it?”

I don’t think so he says.

Jack has never really had memory problems. and his anxiety and panic never particularly affected him in the way described

faintly, he recalls a young boy at one of his games right before the draft, voice broken as he says “Jack, don’t you remember me?”

it leaves his mind as quickly as it entered

because he had bigger problems to figure out

namely how he had new entries on the journal on his phone

it was a summary of all of the things that “Jack” did the previous day

“Thanks for a long day of being a Big Shot on campus, handsome!”

signed Eric

Eric??

Who the hell is Eric?

it happens again

Jack spends a day as bitty

and Bitty spends a day as Jack

and they wake up not remembering too much about what happens

the only thing that cements that it’s not just a weird dream is that

well...real life consequences

Jack becomes a lot more...spinny and less up for contact when he plays hockey

and ends up enjoying time with his teammates a lot more

and has a huge country dialect now

and one time someone came up to him speaking french and jack had no idea what was going on???

and he smiles sometimes???

and at the end of the day he’s almost always on his phone typing away

Bitty is able to kick ass into gear with hockey

but can’t bake worth shit

honestly, suzanne hasn’t seen anything of that quality since bitty was seven

AND he had to check a recipe

also, he’s started to bike to work

driving stick is impossible

he’s very serious on some days

he spends his evenings watching history documentaries and writing in a journal

Well. It seems like this is just gonna be life for a while, they both figure

best set up some rules

Bitty, as Jack, is NOT ALLOWED TO DITCH CLASSES

no use of the word y’all

no beyonce

no short shorts

don’t drop like a brick when someone comes to check you

seriously Eric it’s fine

Eric it’s my body that would get hurt don’t worry

also please don’t drink or use drugs in my body

it’s a long story but again

it’s my body

Jack-as-Bitty is asked to be polite to his friends and customers

and please never bake anything ever

don’t leave the house dressed like some weird clothing outlet exploded

if you yell at my teammates i swear to god, mr. zimmermann.

don’t disrespect senor bun

or anyone

stop frowning so much, even Coach has asked me about it and i don’t know what to say

don’t watch stuff on my netflix account. your history documentaries are messing up my recommendations

Despite the rules

They find ways to keep bothering each other

But also trying to make each other better

As captains of each others teams, both teams are able to benefit from their guidance

Bitty’s team gets a lot stronger technically

but kind of hate how much of a hardass Bitty is 3 times a week

The SMH is more in synch with each other than ever

and Bitty is able to help out a lot more

But Jack ends up having to put a lot of money in the sin bin for

‘acting off’

Jack is very upset to find a picture of himself in the swallow, sitting on the roof of the Haus shirtless and wearing short shorts chilling

what the fuck Eric

But they get a little routine down, and nothing changes except for minor nuisances

so whatever

It all works good until one day, while Jack and Suzanne are bonding over making jam, Suzanne looks Jack right in the eyes and says

“oh...you’re not my dicky. you’re dreaming aren’t you?”

Jack snaps awake in his bed

not Eric’s bed. His bed

Huh. weird.

He goes to check his phone and of course, there is a long journal entry left over from the day he didn’t get

It’s all mostly ok until he gets to the end

“It looks like your first big hockey game is tomorrow night! Be sure to have fun. Enjoy it!”

“There’s a comet tonight for me. I’ll take lots of pictures so that you can see it next time we ...do whatever we do”

Jack and the SMH win the game. and he actually tries to have fun. but the only person he wants to celebrate with is

well

he’s in georgia

bUT

Jack has a phone

He dials bitty’s cellphone number that has been saved in his contact

his heart is beating quite fast.

and then he hears

“We’re sorry. The number you have dialed is no longer in service”

Jack stops switching after that

He should be relieved. overjoyed

but he’s not

he doesn’t miss the humidity

or the dirt roads

or the bugs

but he does miss something

and he’s forgetting all about it

so he tries searching online for the town

the town he can’t remember the name of

he doesn’t want to forget, so he starts drawing sketches of what he remembers

they’re not bad

pretty darn good, even

Not as good as Lardo’s, but she’s still abroad

He tries to call Eric’s number a couple more times. He gets the same results

Jack can’t take it anymore

During the winter break, Jack flies down to Georgia for a weekend, rents a car, and drives himself in the general area he remembers the town

he stops locals and shows them sketches

“is there any town nearby that looks like this?”

they all respond in the negative

he does this for hours

the sun is starting to set when he resigns to give up

he pulls into a diner in the town he’s in, orders, and looks at his sketches again

maybe it’s possible that the town isn’t...even real?

it really could have just been his dreams

that is what he thinks when the server returns with some water

“Hey. that’s a pretty good picture of Godfrey”

“Godfrey?”

“Yeah. I grew up there.” he says looking a bit sad

“Can you tell me how to get there?”

The server pauses and gives Jack a mourned, but puzzled look “ it was about a 15 minute drive from here but-”

“it was?”

“you didn’t hear about what happened?”

Jack shakes his head.

“If you don’t mind,I’ll take you to it after you finish your dinner”

It’s all gone.

Oh God.

Everything from the small ice cream shop to the old creek where Bitty’s cousins would hang around

It’s all rubble

and mounds of dirt

Literal miles

Jack can’t breathe

he can’t

breathe

just breathe

just

breat--

#au #a shitty au #omgcp #check please #it's really nothing like the story except for the couple of major plot points #because honestly how could i bring in ancient forgotten japanese concepts into an american context #fic #wipitgood

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omgcpreversebang · 5 years

Photo

The first OMGCP Reverse Bang is officially closed!

Thanks to all the amazing artists, authors and betas for giving us all these new art pieces and fics!

Under the cut, you can find this year masterlist. Fics are listed in alphabetical order.

The Adventure Ends in Chaos by loveyoutoobits (lostflares)

Art by omgtranspoindexter

Rating: T

Caitlin is the defacto leader of the odd questing group consisting of Caitlin as the ranger, Chowder as the rogue, Dex as the cleric, and Nursey as the bard. They travel from one land to another, across the ocean, fighting an ogre, a group of pirates, and the beast of Riberia, which proves a tough nut to crack, even for the somewhat experienced adventurers.

All I need is home (my feet will always land) by whatsdunisdun

Art by shadowfaerieammy

Pairing: Derek Nurse/William Poindexter

Rating: T

“Alright, Poindexter?” Nursey asks, a soft smile on his face, bright sunlight behind him, lighting up his hair like a misshapen halo. “Alright, Nurse,” Dex replies, and if Nursey doesn’t drop his hand once he stands up, Dex isn’t really one to complain. He didn’t know he could have this, but now doesn’t know how to live without it. OR: 5 times Nursey found Dex and 1 time Dex found Nursey

A Cat By Any Other Name by WhatWouldLilyDo

Art by pretty-meris

Pairing: Derek Nurse/William Poindexter

Rating: T

Nursey sat by the cat and held out a finger in greeting. “You’re gorgeous. I haven’t seen you before. Hi. I’m Derek.” The cat leaned its head towards his finger cautiously before pressing its head against his hand. Nursey was all too happy to give the cat the petting it wanted. “How are you, this fine day?” The cat stood and looked at Nursey before she arched her back and rubbed it against his hand as she stepped onto his lap. Her eyes seemed to be pointed to the cast on his left arm. “I know,” Nursey said with a sigh. “I play hockey for the Falcs, you see, but a bit of a confession — I didn’t injure myself on the ice. It was totally unchill. I tripped over the boards at the end of the game. I may never be able to show my face in public again. But I have to be chill. For the fans. And Jack drew a falcon, look, so at least I have a neat cast.”

Don’t Keep Your Distance by actualkon

Art by jckzimmermanns

Pairing: Eric Bittle/Jack Zimmermann

Rating: E

The kingdom of Montré has, for centuries, been isolated in the snowy mountains, holding its wisdom and secrets of magic close to its heart. Now, for the first time, the kingdom is forging an alliance with the neighboring kingdom of Samwell; their princes, Jack and Eric, are married off to each other. With their fathers dealing with a potential invasion, and their mothers ruling in their place, Jack and Eric are left in a palace on the outskirts of Montré to become familiar with one another.

Fall back together (monsters turned out to be just trees) by whatsdunisdun

Art by topieornottopie

Pairing: Eric Bittle/Jack Zimmermann

Rating: T

Soon enough, something that is surprisingly not Beyoncé is blaring out of the car’s speakers, and Parson is trying to see how loud he can turn the music up without pissing off Jack, who appears to be attempting to read a history book in the middle seat. Connor doesn’t understand these people most of the time, but he loves them. Reluctantly, but still.

OR: Whiskey, Chad L, Jack, Bitty, Kent and Tater go on a weekend road trip/camping getaway together. Some unlikely friendships ensue, some emotions are discussed, and some relationships are finally worked out.

Flasks of edelweiss by palateens

Art by intimatopia

Pairing: Kent Parson/Jack Zimmermann

Rating: T

edelweiss n. - a European perennial symbolizing adventure and notoriety. literally translated as "noble white"

flask n. - a metal container used to hold and conceal liquid. sometimes a tool of dependency for the excessive.

It’s the first time Jack realizes why Kent’s eyes change the way they do. More often than not, Kent remembers while Jack forgets.

For Good by sailorsav

Art by jckzimmermanns

Pairing: Adam Birkholtz/Justin Oluransi

Rating: G

Adam Birkholtz has been racing teams of sled dogs most of his life. The sweet isolation of living in a tiny town of Northern Maine let him excel at that. There’s no one he’d rather be around than his dogs. Well, not until he meets the new vet in town and then he wants to be with his dogs and Dr. Oluransi.

Long story short: A Holsom Sled Dog AU

From afar by hockeydyke

Art by tangotangredi

Pairing: Eric Bittle/Jack Zimmermann

Rating: T

National Geographic wildlife photographer Jack Zimmermann arrives at a small, uninhabited island off the coast of Georgia to get some shots of migratory birds, but there's something else lurking in the waters, and he's pretty sure it's watching him. The problem? Jack can't swim.

Got Your Back by LeftWingLibrarian

Art by rub-a-dubb

Pairing: Gen, Shitty Knight & Jack Zimmermann

Rating: T

Extrovert Shitty adopts cold hockey robot Jack Zimmermann.

Hey there Ghosties, it’s us, ya boys! by emimix3

Art by omgtranspoindexter

Rating: T

It would sound like a stupid idea, but the year was 2016 and the new Ghostbusters movie had just come out. So of course, when there were issues with the Haus' ghosts, Tango's first idea was for him and his friends to become the local paranormal investigators. If they wanted Dibs, it was that or massaging feet for months anyway.

Choose Your Own Adventure story (mobile-and-desktop friendly) based on the adventures of the Tadpoles hunting ghosts.

The Hothead and the Cat by bellabee

Art by nubs-mgee

Pairing: Derek Nurse/William Poindexter

Rating: G

William Poindexter was not soft, thank you very much. Anybody who knew him could certainly attest to that. He was as hot headed as his hair would suggest and had a fuse shorter than Bittle. It wasn’t often that he showed emotions other than indifference or anger, and when he did it was usually to Bitty or Chowder. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t feel any other emotions, obviously, he just wasn’t one to show them. This, among many other reasons, was why it was so baffling to Nursey when Dex suddenly stopped on the walk back to the Haus at the sound of a pitiful mewl from a bush. He had come to an abrupt stop, causing Nursey to run into his back and almost topple over. Dex grabbed his arm to steady him, though not without shushing him for the noise he created from his clumsiness.

While on a walk, Nursey and Dex stumble across an injured kitten. Once they get her fixed up, neither can bear to get rid of her. Thus, she becomes their secret basement cat.

I Wanna See You Be Brave by Kirani

Art By dyinginjapanese

Pairing: Denise Ford/Tony Tangredi/Connor Whisk, Connor Whisk/OMC, Minor or Background Relationships

Rating: T

In which crushes are had, feelings are talked about, and chirping is indistinguishable from flirting.

Is Forever Enough? By ershai

Art by actualkon

Pairing: Eric Bittle/Jack Zimmermann

Rating: T

"Eric crept cautiously toward the street. No one was in sight; whoever had been speaking was no longer there. He didn’t know whether to be glad of it or not. His head was pounding, he was in a strange place - who could say if the unknown speakers were friend or foe? He had no memory of how he had come to be here. He could barely remember his own name, his head hurt so monstrously.”

The Kiss: Five Years On by blueflamingo

Art by korechtonia

Pairing: Kent Parson/Jeff “Swoops” Troy

Rating: T

Five years after The Kiss, a journalist wanting to write about how hockey's changed reaches out to players across the NHL.

Learned Our Lessons Well by McBangle

Art by immahockeysticktoyou

Pairing: Gen, Shitty Knight & Jack Zimmermann

Rating: T

Shitty had known enough sons of celebrities and millionaires to have a pretty clear idea of what Jack Zimmermann would be like. But this kid was nothing like any of them. For some reason, Shitty couldn’t shake the urge to protect this quiet, awkward nerd. Or to maybe actually be friends with him.

Or, scenes from Shitty’s and Jack’s friendship, from their frog year through Shitty’s second year at Harvard Law.

Let Him Dance With Me (Just for the Hell of It) by shiptoomuch

Art by karin848

Pairing: Eric Bittle/Jack Zimmermann

Rating: E

Turns out having loud sex with your fwb does not make you popular with the neighbors...

Like the Way It’s Going by deppendlttleocean

Art by pwoops

Pairing: Kent Parson/Jeff “Swoops” Troy

Rating: T

Kent Parson spent the ages of 18 through 24 pining over a boy who didn’t love him anymore (maybe ever) and then spent all of 25 and the first month of 26 thinking about the first “real” crush he ever had. eff Troy had been a year older than him and a year younger than his sister Naomi. But Naomi had repeated Kindergarten and she and Jeff had ended up in the same class. Then he ended up at every single one of Naomi’s birthday parties and sleepovers, and then he ended up at their house after school every single day until he and Naomi were inseparable. Then he and Kent were inseparable.

The Line Between by writingonpostcards

Art by transzimmermann

Pairing: Eric Bittle/Jack Zimmermann

Rating: M

After accusing his partner, Kent, of being a double-agent, Jack is suspended from his job. One year later, Jack’s put back on duty with Bitty, a US agent five years his junior. It’s hard not to read it as a snub. Jack and Bitty’s partnership is rocky, with distrust on both sides. When a chance arises for Jack to prove his suspicions about Kent, can he move past his resentment toward Bitty so they can work together and finally prove he was right?

More Than a Friend by believesinponds

Art by lasenbyphoenix

Pairing: Alexei Mashkov/Jack Zimmermann

Rating: T

Jack sees Tater as more than a teammate, more than a friend. On a long roadie, Tater does something about it.

My Love Keeps Me Warm by kirani

Art by sexydexynurse

Pairing: Chris Chow/Caitlin Farmer/Derek Nurse/William Poindexter, Chris Chow/Caitlin Farmer, Derek Nurse/William Poindexter, Background Ford/Lardo, Background George/OFC, Past Dex/Whiskey

Rating: E

Will Poindexter is not looking forward to six months of darkness at the remote Antarctica scientific base he’s stationed at, until his colleague Derek Nurse approaches him with a mutually beneficial arrangement, and then one thing leads to another and, well, the dark gets a lot more interesting.

New Face of Failure by Khashana

Art by abominableobriens

Pairing: Jack Zimmermann/Kent Parson

Rating: M

Fresh out of rehab, an angry, jaded Jack is dragged unwillingly to the Olympics, where he begins a passionate love affair with a figure skater who understands him more than he thought possible.

Newsies Need (Ford’s) Help Today by TheAceofLyz

Art by jckzimmermanns

Pairing: Eric Bittle/Jack Zimmermann

Rating: G

Denice Ford has been searching for a job, but the one she ends up with is in a world she thought she left behind.

It's still going to be awesome, though.

No Question by winchysteria

Art by tangotangredi

Pairing: Chris Chow/Caitlin Farmer

Rating: G

It is a well-curated myth that Caitlin Farmer has been certain about everything she has ever done in her entire life.

Now I’m A Believer by sc010f

Art | Art2 by pwoops

Pairing: Kent Parson/Jeff “Swoops” Troy

Rating: no rating

Jeff has never believed in luck. Rituals aren’t superstitions - rituals are ways of focusing the mind. Jeff has never believed in God, really, either. If he’s ever believed in anything, it’s been hockey. He loves his mom, but love is different from belief, and later he loved Tristan, and probably believed in him, too. These days, though, Jeff knows better than to believe in anything other than himself. He exists, he breathes, he works, and he still loves his mom, but love is different from belief. It’s not hubris, it’s just a fact. A lifetime of hockey had been taken from him, but at least he gets to keep his music.

Of imagination, all compact by akaparalian

Art by zim-tits

Pairing: Derek Nurse/William Poindexter

Rating: T

“Well, we can’t just leave him here,” Dex snarls, pacing back and forth and occasionally raking his hands through his hair so violently that it’s started to stick out in all directions. “Personally, I’m thinking I should turn him into an earthworm and leave him out on a rock to fry.” “You can’t turn me into an earthworm,” the stranger calls dismissively from the other end of the glade, where Dex had ordered him to stand so that he and Chowder could discuss amongst themselves how best to ‘deal with him.’ He’d acquiesced, at least in the sense of physically going over to where Dex had told him to go, but he hasn’t exactly been letting them get on with their business without input. “And why not?” Dex snarls, spinning around to glare at him. “Dex,” Chowder points out, as calmly as possible, “you can’t turn him into an earthworm. You’re terrible at that sort of thing.”

Or: the lunatic, the lover, and the poet.

Off to the Races by blindinglights

Art by actualkon

Pairing: Eric Bittle/Jack Zimmermann

Rating: T

The thing is, Bitty knows that Jack doesn’t mind Bitty racing because Jack still races. He knows this, they’ve talked about it a lot. He also knows that Jack is only worried this time because of the fact that he’s racing the Lax Bros again, because of some stupid bet they made before.

On the Wings of Dragons by effyeahzimbits

Art by KARIN848

Pairing: Eric Bittle/Jack Zimmermann

Rating: T

The How to Train Your Dragon AU that nobody realised they needed until now.

The Vikings of Samwell have been at war with dragons for centuries. Until one day, a young man by the name of Eric Bittle changes destiny. He wouldn’t kill a dragon.

Out of the Hockey Rink and Down the Rabbit Hole by Black_market_orchids_and_books

Art by missweber

Pairing: Kent Parson/Jeff “Swoops” Troy

Rating: T

"There were labels on the bottle and the plate that held the cake; the former said ‘Drink Me’ while the latter said ‘Eat Me.’ Kent had to laugh at that. This was some weird kind of Alice in Wonderland shit. Still, he couldn’t just unfall through the hole. The only way out of here was through that door..."

Kent Parson has become Alice, left to wander Wonderland to find a way out again. Everything about Wonderland is just strange and there is this vague sense of familiarity that Kent gets from the people he meets there, but he just can't remember. Why is all of this happening? He was just trying to practice when it all started…

Paint Me Like One of Your French Canadians by Denois

Art by pastel-franceschi

Pairing: Derek Nurse/William Poindexter

Rating: M

Lardo hooked Dex up with an extra part time job to help make ends meet back in his frog year. Modeling for the art classes was pretty easy money, and the team never had to know. Until Nursey took an art elective and needed a private model to complete his project and pass the class. Nursey's sure that he can keep it professional and friendly....as long as Dex never sees the completed paintings.

Photosynthesize (and drink up the sunrise) by Faiasakura

Art by abominableobriens

Pairing: Larissa Duan/Kent Parson

Rating: T

Lardo wasn’t anticipating much time for relationships or dating when she moved to New York. If she’s truthful to herself, she doesn’t know what she was anticipating. But Kent feels like coming home.

The one where starving artist Lardo meets Kent, son of the local bakery owner. Romance ensues, revelations are had, and things don't end so much as they progress.

Pies, waves and kisses by bittycanbake

Art by ForFutureReference

Pairing: Derek Nurse/William Poindexter

Rating: T

In a world where magic, ghosts, fae, demi-demigods and monsters are real, Nursey Patrol has a whole different meaning for poor ol' Dex and the rest of the Samwell crew.

When Nursey proposes they go on holiday to his parents' cottage in Cornwall, England, Dex manages to convince Nursey that Lardo, Shitty, Bitty and Jack should come with. Y'know, make it a couples' holiday... only he and Nursey aren't a couple yet. But hey, at least Dex will have the backup he needs for Nursey Patrol.

A pinch of magic by halfdesertedstreets

Art by abominableobriens

Pairing: Justin Oluransi/Kent Parson, Kent Parson/Jack Zimmermann, Justin Oluransi/Jack Zimmermann, Justin Oluransi/Kent Parson/Jack Zimmermann

Rating: T

Jack pauses at his doorstop, key in hand, nonplussed as he takes in the small army of people hauling boxes and furniture into the once-empty house. “Swoops, if you drop that box of plates, I’m fucking murdering you!” a voice calls out in cheerful warning. “That dining set has been in Ransom’s family for over twenty years!” “What the hell, bro, plates do not last that fucking long!” a tall figure balancing a precarious stack of boxes yells back.

Or, the one where Jack is a solitary spellbook shopkeeper, whose quiet life gains a lot more color when Kent Parson and Justin Oluransi, warlock partners deeply in love, move into the house across the street.

Real Gone by moransroar

Art by kittpurrson

Pairing: Eric Bittle/Jack Zimmermann

Rating: G

“Better keep an eye on him,” Shitty muses as down below, the coaches call everyone together to start the tryout process, and Bitty privately thinks he won’t have any trouble keeping his eyes on that.

Roll for Initiative by bookwyrmling

Art by faiasakura

Pairing: Larissa Duan/Kent Parson

Rating: T

“Are you working on any art projects right now?” “Shits!” “I’m allowed to ask!” he defended himself. “You’ve always loved art and then you just suddenly dropped it all and flew across the country.” “I’m getting my life together!” Larissa argued. “It feels more like you’re running away." Larissa glared out her apartment window, hiding from the late summer heat as her air conditioner burned through her paycheck. “You’d know about that, wouldn’t you?” she asked, not quite regretting the words as much as she knew she should.

Sometimes it takes a run-in at a frat party and a Dungeons & Dragons campaign to realize how much life there is left to live.

Send Me Back A Thousand Days by ackermom

Art by faiasakura

Pairing: Kent Parson/Jack Zimmermann

Rating: T

The boy in the frame is slipping off his jacket. He looks into the camera, suddenly aware of its presence. He’s not smiling yet. But the sun is shining across his face, and Jack remembers that this was the first time he ever loved Kent.

Seventh Time’s The Charm by halfdesertedstreets (coming soon)

Art by korechtonia

Strictly Professional by blindinglights

Art by goldenknighter

Pairing: Alexei Mashkov/Kent Parson

Rating: T

Kent Parson gets injured right after the start of the season and Alexei Mashkov ends up assigned to help him get back on the ice.

Summer Camp by RoyGoodRoyGreat

Art by smhloudboy

Pairing: Larissa Duan/Shitty Knight

Rating: T

Shitty and Lardo decide to end Shitty's Samwell career with a bang by signing up to be camp counselors.

The Thing About William Poindexter by shadowfaerieammy

Art by sexydexynurse

Pairing: Derek Nurse/William Poindexter

Rating: T

William Poindexter is a private person; he likes to keep things to himself. Everyone knows this, especially his roommate and D-man Derek Nurse. But when Derek Nurse realizes that his roommate might be hiding something huge, he takes it upon himself to uncover the truth with the help of his friends. What could he possibly discover?

Trail Magic by Denois

Art by tangotangredi

Pairing: Chris Chow/Derek Nurse/William Poindexter

Rating: M

Five days after winning the Frozen Four, Dex’s world flipped upside down. When his friends heard that he was planning to hike the Appalachian Trail with just his two Newfoundland dogs, they invited themselves along. Are any of them prepared for the highs and lows of the mountain ranges or each other?

We must open our hands by kirani

Art by carys

Pairing: Kent Parson/Jack Zimmermann

Rating: T

“Shapeshifting? That’s rare. May I ask what kind of bird?” Kent smiled again, glad it hadn’t derailed the conversation. “A crow.” The man, Jack, hummed. “I would have taken you for something lighter. Smaller, maybe.” “Hey, is that a comment about my height?” Kent put a hand on his hip. “Haha, no,” Jack replied. “Just the feeling I get from your magic.” “Ah, an empath. Also rare.” Jack’s cheeks colored and Kent nearly melted. Handsome, magic, and shy? Adorable.

We Say Please by giraffeter

Art by 4rekid

Pairing: Eric Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Larissa Duan/Shitty Knight

Rating: T

A year after his divorce, Jack Zimmermann is finally getting the hang of this whole "single parent" thing. When his best friends Shitty and Lardo ask Jack's daughter to be a co-flower-girl in their wedding, Jack meets their friend Bitty - a single dad, just like him. The fact that Bitty is sweet, charming, and cute as a button? That's just icing on the (wedding) cake.

Eric "Bitty" Bittle has a thriving bakery and an adorable little girl - too bad he doesn't have much of a social life. All that changes when he meets sexy hockey star Jack Zimmermann. So what if Jack is probably straight? It's just nice to make a friend who understands what Bitty's going through.

Can these two single dads overcome heartbreak and find love again?

Welcome to the Neighborhood & Welcome to Our Hearts by Lukutoukka

Art by vicioushyperbolizer

Pairing: Caitlin Farmer/William Poindexter, Chris Chow/Caitlin Farmer/William Poindexter

Rating: T

He saw them for the first time the morning two days after he moved in. He ran into them a few weeks later. With a little help from his favorite d-man, maybe he could be in their lives for a lot longer than that.

you could make this place beautiful by sophiegaladheon

Art by karin848

Pairing: Eric Bittle/Kent Parson/Jack Zimmermann

Rating: T

Eric Bittle has thirteen soulmates. Thirteen. A baker’s dozen of soulmates. There was something appropriate about that. It fit.

You Make Me Happy by Lukutoukka

Art by theartofhellebarde

Pairing: Alexei Mashkov/Kent Parson

Rating: T

It's the first time Kent and Tater will see each other since Tater was traded from the Aces to the Falconers. They're... excited. A lot. Jack is not equipped for any of that, but especially not the dog in his locker room. Hold on, Tater the dog?

#omgcp #omgcheckplease #check please #omgcp reverse bang #omgcprb #2019

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effyeahzimbits · 5 years

Text

On the Wings of Dragons

AKA The How To Train Your Dragon AU that nobody realised they needed until now. Title: On the Wings of Dragons Rating: T+ Pairing: Zimbits Warnings: A few swearwords. Summary: The Vikings of Samwell have been at war with dragons for centuries. Until one day, a young man by the name of Eric Bittle changes destiny. He wouldn't kill a dragon. Written for the OMGCP Reverse Bang event in response to @karin848's wonderful art which can be found here: https://karin848.tumblr.com/post/185231569946/very-excited-to-finally-post-my-art-for-the.

Prologue

Let me set the scene for you. It’s late at night, so late the dark is pitch black and the stars are obscured by thick, heavy cloud. It’s windy too, and the ocean is crashing against the cliffside, but that’s not the reason why no one can sleep.

This is Samwell, my remote island village. It’s twelve days north of Hopeless, and a few degrees south of freezing to death. I’m not exaggerating. It’s located solidly on the meridian of misery. It is, in a word, sturdy. It’s been here for seven generations, but every single building is new.

We have fishing, hunting, and a charming view of the sunsets. We might be small, but we have excellent trade connections. Our weaponry and armour businesses are second to none, out of necessity really. I particularly like the bracing sea air and the smell of salt that lingers on everything. Some might even say we are a top tourist destination.

The only problems are the pests. You see, most places have mice, or mosquitos.

We have - dragons.

Tonight, we are overrun with them. This is a weekly occurrence. They swarm the houses, stomping through the winding alleys and making the ground tremble with every step. I’m hiding at home, like I was instructed to, but I’m restless. Why is a grown man asked to stay inside during a deadly dragon raid I hear you ask? Because I am five foot four and a half inches with all the muscle of a common garden sparrow. And I have a certain, shall we say, knack for trouble. And I may be a tad clumsy. Okay, I’m a lot clumsy. Not exactly prime Viking material.

I can hear the roars outside and each one sends a shiver down my spine. It takes a while, but when I finally dare open the door, there’s a huge beast swooping towards me, its jaws open wide. Its mouth is at least as tall as the door and three times as wide, its throat a blazing tunnel just waiting to spit a stream of fire. The rest of it is bigger than my house, all wide torso with skin a tough, leathery yellow with sharp spines running down its back. It’s a wyvern, gigantic wings where its arms should be, and it swoops towards me like a bat, big bulbous orange eyes staring straight at me.

I slam the door and the cascade of fire rains down on the wood. I can feel the heat through the slats, its red light momentarily illuminating the room. I fling the door open again before the rest of the house can catch alight, and I bolt before the monster can see me. It has already moved on – they know we don’t keep our cattle and crops in our houses. Vikings are streaming out of their homes, clad in armour and wielding axes and swords. They’re all ready for a fight, like they’re ready every night.

Most people would leave. Not us. We’re Vikings. We have stubbornness issues. We’ve been fighting dragons for years and it doesn’t look like the war will end any time soon. Around me everyone is rushing to attack, but I’m running in the opposite direction. I know this village like the back of my hand, and there’s lots of eaves and nooks that shelter me from the bursts of fire that occasionally blast past me.

My name’s Bitty. Great name, I know. But it’s not the worst. My actual name is Eric. Parents believe a hideous nickname will frighten off gnomes and trolls. Like our charming Viking demeanour wouldn’t do that. We’re a little…unkempt, if you will. Hygiene isn’t typically my neighbours’ priority. But we’re good people. And everyone knows each other here.

A few spot me, Hoark the Haggard shouts a cheery if insane “Mornin’!” before throwing himself at a dragon. Most of them snap at me to get back inside, but I ignore them, continue making my way through the fight. I’m suddenly yanked from my weaving and ducking by a large hand, plucking me into the air as easily as picking a carrot from the ground.

“Bitty?! What is he doing out again?!” Richard the Vast asks the surrounding Vikings, but they all shrug and mutter, so he scowls at me instead and sets me back on the ground. “What are you doing out?! Get inside!”

He’s the biggest Viking in the entire village. His chest is so broad, his breastplate is made from an entire dragon hide. He’s the Chief of the tribe. They say that when he was a baby he popped a dragon’s head clean off its shoulders. Do I believe it?

I watch him grab a wooden horse cart and hurl it at a dragon like it was nothing. It hits true and knocks a soaring beast out of the sky.

Yes, I do.

A nearby explosion makes us all duck, sparks and debris splintering the night air. Richard just sweeps it off his shoulders and out of his grand red moustache and surveys the scene with a calculating eye. I slowly try to duck out of sight, hoping he forgets about me.

“What have we got?” he asks Ack, one of his men.

“Gronkles. Nadders. Zipplebacks. Oh, and Hoark saw a Monstrous Nightmare,” Ack replies, his fingers twitching on his axe like he’s dying to plunge it into a dragon’s throat.

“Any Night Furies?” Richard wants to know, scanning the sky.

“None so far.”

The relief on Richard’s face is obvious. He orders the torches to be hoisted, and I’m able to slip from the scene without being spotted. As the braziers are lifted into the sky, a golden light bathes the area, highlighting just how many dragons were raiding. The number is terrifying. They swirl and dance through the thick smoke and the noise is deafening. Those that aren’t attacking us snatch sheep and cattle from the ground.

I finally make it to the blacksmith, deftly hopping over the counter littered with tools and glowing metal. I seize my leather apron from its hook and slide it over my head before taking my place at the bellows. Bad Bob, the blacksmith, is reshaping shorn off blades with a heavy iron hammer attached to the stump where his hand should be. Sweat is pouring down his face, scarred but still handsome, and his dark hair is damp too.

“Ah! Nice of you to join the party. I thought you’d been carried off!” he quips, flashing me a grin.

He abandons his hammering and his wooden leg clunks on the floor with every mad step as he dashes from station to station. I follow him, grabbing his scattered appendages as he discards them for another. Most Vikings missing a hand would settle for a hook, but not him. He’s crafted all kinds of tools he can screw onto his wrist, pliers, smoothing files, scalpels, you name it. Ingenious, really, if a little insane.

“Who, me? Nah, come on! I’m way too muscular for their taste. They wouldn’t know what to do with all this!” I joke, pulling a pose that was meant to show off my bulging biceps. Except there was a severe lack of them.

“They need toothpicks, don’t they?” Bad Bob smirks.

I roll my eyes and start collecting the chipped and broken weapons that Vikings are trying to shove in my face. I transfer them to the forge as Bob hands out replacements while he can. I’ve been his apprentice ever since I was little. Well, littler. My true love is cooking, but that didn’t work out. I don’t want to get into that right now.

Before we continue, I feel like I need to explain. There’s more to these raids than meets the eye. They aren’t mindless attacks, but carefully constructed plans to steal our food and cattle. These dragons are intelligent and cunning, and well versed in warfare. They’re more than animals, they’re shapeshifters.

Except it’s very rare to see a dragon in its human form. Some say it’s been so long that dragons don’t even know how to become human again. They’re so much more powerful as dragons that they stay that way, losing their mind to bloodlust. Their clan is ruthless and cruel and have waged war against humans for centuries. Their nest cannot be found no matter how hard we try. So, we fight while they steal and kill.

It’s a vicious, endless cycle.

Chapter One

From my station at the blacksmith’s, I can see the battle still raging around us. People are trying to carry the sheep to safety or protect crops and supplies while the dragons spit flames and lash out with their deadly claws and tails. The air is stifling, and I can feel my hair sticking to the nape of my neck. Over the roars I hear Richard the Vast ordering counter attacks with the catapults. He’s getting desperate, and no one likes that. No one’s forgotten the last time, when he threw his axe into the wall in a fit of rage.

Ahead, a huge Monstrous Nightmare soars, spewing sticky fire over the rooftops. They’re appropriately named and are one of the more dangerous breeds we come across. Like I said, old village, lots and lots of new houses. As the wood begins to smoulder and burn, I see the fire brigade rushing to action. There’s five of them, all around my age, pulling a cart bearing a huge wooden barrel, overflowing with water. They draw buckets full, throwing it over the fire before it can get out of hand.

The tall, slender one with beautiful cheekbones is Ransom. He knows more about dragons than anyone I know. Beside him is Holster. He’s loud, competitive to the point of being rude sometimes, and very hot-headed. Then there’s Lardo and Shitty, they’re inseparable, I don’t think I’ve ever seen them apart. Lardo can definitely kick everyone’s butt if she wants to, and I’m pretty sure Shitty is high twenty-four seven. And then there’s Jack.

Even with an explosion blasting nearby, he still looks poised, determined. The light makes his blue eyes glow and casts shadows over his defined muscles. He’s the most attractive man I have ever laid eyes on; the strong, silent type. And I’m pretty sure he hates my guts. He’s also Bad Bob’s son, so that in itself is problematic.

Their job is so much cooler. I know I can help, but I’m always told to stay out of sight. It’s humiliating really. I’m dying to help and it’s like I move almost without thinking, attempting to vault over the counter so I can give them a hand, but Bad Bob yanks me straight back.

“Aw, come on. Let me out, please. I need to make my mark,” I insist, shoving his big hand away.

“Oh, you’ve made plenty of marks. All in the wrong places,” Bob says dryly, heading back to his work.

“Please, two minutes,” I beg, just short of grabbing his apron. “I’ll kill a dragon. My life will get infinitely better. I might even get a date.” With your son. I don’t say that part though.

“You can’t lift a hammer. You can’t swing an axe. You can’t even throw one of these,” Bob insists, grabbing a large bola and waving it demonstratively.

A Viking rushes by and seizes it with a hurried ‘thanks!’. He throws it expertly at a Gronkle, a fat, stumpy dragon that looks a lot like a boulder. The bola binds its legs, sending it crashing to the floor.

He’s right. I can’t do that.

“Okay, fine. But…!”

I dash to the corner of the stall, where one of my own inventions awaits. I might not have much spare time at work, but I do enjoy tinkering with my own creations when I can. This particular catapult is specifically designed to fire bolas with unerring accuracy, using a unique swinging motion that expertly twists the weapon as it is launched – just like a Viking launching one himself. I’m very proud of it, so I wheel it in front of Bob to show him.

“This will throw it for me!”

As it jerks into place, the arm suddenly springs forward, prematurely launching a bola out into the fray. I wince as it catches Phlegma the Fierce around the waist and takes her to the floor with a strangled cry.

“See, now this right here is what I’m talking about!” Bob sighs in exasperation, rubbing his face. Thankfully with his hand and not with the tool still attached to his arm.

“Mild calibration issue,” I try to assure him, yanking the catapult’s arm back into place.

“Bitty. If you ever want to get out there to fight dragons, you need to stop all…this,” Bob huffs, dramatically waving his hand in front of me.

“But…you just pointed to all of me!” I declare, scandalised.

“Yes! That’s it! Stop being all of you!” Bob snorts.

“Oooh,” I scowl at him, ignoring his mimicked ‘oooh’ back at me. “You, sir, are playing a dangerous game. Keeping this much raw Vikingness contained. There will be consequences!”

I honestly don’t know what I’m trying to achieve or why I’m attempting to threaten Bad Bob of all people, but he just rolls his eyes, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“I’ll take my chances,” Bob drawls. He gestures towards one of his blades, all of them lined up ready on the wall. “Sword. Sharpen. Now.”

I take the first one begrudgingly and lay it over the grinding wheel. The metal screeches and a few sparks fly, and I glare at it as I work, though I don’t really see the weapon. One day I’ll get out there. Because killing a dragon is everything around here. A Nadder head is sure to get me at least noticed. Gronkles are tough. Taking down one of those would definitely get me a boyfriend. A Zippleback? Exciting. Two heads, twice the status.

Outside, the dragons are staring to get desperate. I can see Nadders flying off with fat sheep in their claws and Gronkles loaded down with racks of fish. We are losing, and badly. Richard the Vast is attempting to direct the catapults, but it’s difficult when your enemy is as fast as lightning. A Monstrous Nightmare squares up to him, and he puffs out his chest and lifts his axe in preparation. Only the best Vikings go after those. They have this nasty habit of setting themselves on fire.

An ear-splitting moan breaks the noise and I jump, the grinding wheel very nearly skinning my hands. The ultimate prize is the dragon no one has ever seen. We call it the Night Fury. As if on cue, there is another screech and the Vikings outside all duck for cover and even the Monstrous Nightmare pauses. Moments later, a catapult explodes, wood splintering into thousands of pieces. What is left of it smoulders. The blast is so bright it hurts my eyes and I have to look away.

This thing never steals food, never shows itself and never misses. No one has ever killed a Night Fury. That’s why I’m going to be the first.

I’m broken out of my reverie by Bad Bob, who is trading his hammer for an axe. He screws it into place, his face determined.

“Man the fort, Bitty. They need me out there.” He pauses, then gives me a threatening glare. “Stay put. There. You know what I mean.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, charging into the fight with an excited yell. I wait until he’s swallowed by the crowd, then leap for my own catapult. It’s hard work wheeling it through the streets. Flaming wood blocks my path and I have to weave in and out of the ruins. I ignore people shouting at me, and throw my strength into shoving my contraption up the hill and onto open ground, away from the mayhem.

It’s one of the highest points in the village, and gives me the most unobscured view of the horizon. Beneath me, I can see the full extent of the damage. We’ve lost a lot of animals, and most of the village is destroyed. I can spot Richard the Vast taking on a group of Nadders, aided by Bad Bob. His son and the rest of the fire brigade are not far behind.

I get to work, slamming on the breaks. I crank the right levers, unfurling the catapult’s long arms and spinning it into position. A bola drops into the chamber and I press my eye to the scope, peering up into the sky. Smoke billows behind me, leaving the sky in front clear save for stars and cloud. My hand is poised on the trigger. I can hear the Night Fury’s terrifying screech in the distance. The dark night camouflages it well, and I beg for even the slightest glimpse.

The Night Fury suddenly unleashes a blast. It’s a vivid silvery blue and hits the defence tower with an almighty crash. For one, breath-taking moment, the dragon is illuminated in the blaze. It’s a black shape on a blacker background, but it’s enough. I fire a split-second later, the catapult flings the bola skywards with so much force the machine lifts off the ground. I wait, eyes wide, and then I’m rewarded by a thud and a surprised screech.

Holy shit.

I hit it! Yes, I hit it! Did anybody see that? I spin, elated and desperate to share my victory. I hoped to see Richard, or Jack, or anyone, but I’m met with the cold, dark eyes of a Monstrous Nightmare. The beast slithers up over the cliff, its dark skin smouldering and smoke puffing from its nostrils. I react on instinct, speeding down the hill and back towards the village. The dragon gives chase, snarling and fleeing after me. I don’t mean to scream, but my throat thinks otherwise, and I start to yell, drawing everyone’s attention.

I can feel the Nightmare intake a breath of air behind me and I dodge its sticky fire mostly on instinct. Vikings yell and scatter as I pelt through them, followed by the flaming monster. Fire splashes up the buildings as I pass them, causing yet more damage. My heart is pounding and I’m pretty sure I’m going to die before I can tell people that I hit a Night Fury. I suddenly realise I really need to pee too, though I’m not sure why that feels important right now. I leap behind the bulking stem of a brazier, praying the dragon on my tail wasn’t all that smart.

Of course, it is. It descends on me, leering with its huge, gaping mouth. We’ve never seen dragons eat humans, but I’m sure I’m going to be the first meal. It takes a deep breath, and I can feel the hot air rush past me. I close my eyes, preparing myself to be engulfed in flames. Before I’m swallowed though, the dragon is abruptly tackled to the floor. I open my eyes in shock to see Richard wrestling it, snarling in its face like he was one of them. The Monstrous Nightmare snaps its jaw at him, but Richard is fast, drawing himself out of its reach. It tries to roast him instead but pathetically coughs up smoke.

“You’re all out.” Richard smirks victoriously.

He swings his hammer, smashing the beast square in the face. There’s a crunch and he does it again and again until the dragon takes to the air, recognising defeat. Around it, the rest of its clan are fleeing too, though not out of fear. Their claws are full of the spoils of war, and it becomes obvious that their raid has been successful. We’re left with nothing. A little breathless, Richard turns to me. Before he can lecture me, the torch I had taken shelter behind collapses, its massive iron basket spilling fire as it goes. It scatters yet more Vikings, who consequently release the Nadders they had been trying to capture. The rescued beasts soar into the sky, joining the trail disappearing into the distance, carrying the last of our remaining sheep. I look into Richard’s furious brown eyes, and grimace.

“…sorry, dad.”

People start to crowd around us, a few charred, a few injured, all of them waiting to hear what my father, the chief of the tribe, would say to me. I want the ground to swallow me up, I’ve never felt so embarrassed as I do right now. I try not to look at Jack. I know he won’t look impressed.

“Okay, but I hit a Night Fury,” I tell him, my only shot at trying to defend myself.

For a beat, my dad doesn’t do anything. Then he grabs the back of my jacket and hauls me aside, away from prying eyes. I can tell he feels just as humiliated by his frown and stiff shoulders, and I can add guilt to the weight crushing my shoulders. It makes me babble, but it falls on deaf ears.

“It’s not like the last few times, dad. I mean I really actually hit it. You guys were busy, and I had a very clear shot. It went down, just off Raven Point. Let’s get a search party out there before it—”

“Stop! Just…stop!”

My dad unexpectedly releases me, causing me to stumble a couple of steps. I stare up at him, but he looks so disappointed and so furious that I have to look away again. I can feel people staring, and it makes my skin crawl. People have stared since I was little. I’m small. I’m scrawny. I’m clumsy. I can’t fight. I can’t hunt. I’m gay. I’m a waste. I’m not a Viking.

“Every time you step outside, disaster follows. Can you not see that I have bigger problems? Winter’s almost here and I have an entire village to feed!” Dad snaps at me.

“Between you and me, the village could do with a little less feeding, don’t ya think?”

He scowls at me and I quickly shut up.

“This isn’t a joke, Bitty! Why can’t you follow the simplest orders?” he demands. A spark of defiance flares up within me, and I lift my head to rebelliously meet his gaze.

“I can’t stop myself. I see a dragon and I just have to…kill it, you know? It’s who I am, dad,” I argue, trying to puff out my chest. Honestly, I have no idea what I would do if faced with that opportunity. But I hope that I’d make him proud.

“You are many things, Bitty. But a dragon killer is not one of them.”

I can’t argue that, and the words sting, especially when people around us nod in agreement.

“Get back to the house. Make sure he gets there,” he adds to Bad Bob, sounding defeated. “I have his mess to clean up.”

I stare after him, the sight of him turning his back to me engraining itself on my memory. My eyes burn, and I somehow manage to hold back tears. Bad Bob lightly touches my shoulder and I turn to follow him. I can hear the fire brigade sniggering and I lift my head up to glare at them, hoping my face wasn’t splotchy and red.

“Quite the motherfucking performance, dude,” Shitty smirks at me, his moustache dancing around his face.

“I’ve never seen anyone mess up that badly,” Holster adds, snickering. “That helped!”

“Thank you. I was trying, so…”

My sarcastic response trails off when I see Jack’s face glaring at me. I always assume he’s so scary by himself that he doesn’t need a Viking nickname. I quickly look away, hurrying to keep up with his father. I can’t stand the silence for long, and I hope that Bob will at least hear me out.

“I really did hit one,” I try, but my voice sounds small.

“Sure, Bits,” Bob sighs. Tiredly.

�� “He never listens.”

“Well, it runs in the family.”

“And when he does, it’s always with this…disappointed scowl. Like someone skimped on the meat in his sandwich. ‘Excuse me, barmaid. I’m afraid you brought me the wrong offspring. I ordered an extra-large boy with beefy arms. Extra guts and glory on the side. This here. This is a talking fishbone!’” It’s a very good impression of my father’s broad accent, if I do say so myself.

“You’re thinking about this all wrong. It’s not so much what you look like. It’s what’s inside that he can’t stand.”

Bob’s joke falls flat.

“Thank you for summing that up,” I say dryly.

“Look, the point is, stop trying so hard to be something you’re not,” Bob advises, a gentle hand squeezing my shoulder. It doesn’t make me feel any better, and his sympathetic look is just making my heart sink.

“I just want to be one of you guys.”

I don’t wait for a reply. I let myself into the house, the singed door slamming shut behind me. I stop and look around for a moment. The outside is a bit charred, but it mostly escaped the ordeal unscathed. We had to rebuild it completely after a bad raid last year. I half wish I could rebuild myself. It feels suffocating in my head, but one thought hums louder than the others. That Night Fury is still out there. And I’m going to prove myself.

Chapter Two

The Great Hall is packed to the rafters, the entire village have crammed themselves inside to discuss the latest raid. Richard the Vast sits at the head of the table, grimacing at the din. He hasn’t slept, having spent the night putting out fires and cleaning up the mess his son had contributed to. Bad Bob sits beside him, drinking deeply from a mug of ale. It’s going to be a long meeting. He raises his hand, effectively silencing his subjects.

“Either we finish them, or they’ll finish us! It’s the only way we’ll be rid of them. If we find the nest and destroy it, the dragons will leave. They’ll find another home,” he insists to their waiting faces.

He gestures towards a huge nautical chart laid out before him. It’s covered in marks and notes, showing just how futile their searches have been in the past.

“One more search,” he says decidedly. “Before the ice sets in.”

Around him, there is a murmur of uncertainty. People glance at each other, worry etched all over their faces.

“Those ships never come back,” one man reminds their chief gently.

“We’re Vikings. It’s an occupational hazard,” Richard shrugs matter-of-factly. “Now who’s with me?”

He throws a meaty fist into the air, expecting his people to cheer loudly and do the same. But he’s met with a restless silence. They shift uncomfortably, averting their eyes and scratching beards nervously.

“Today isn’t good for me,” someone murmurs awkwardly.

“I’ve got to do my axe returns,” someone else mutters feebly.

“Alright,” Richard hums, lowering his fist. “Those who stay will look after Bitty.”

The change is instantaneous. His people are suddenly excited and motivated, shouting about packing bags and preparing the ships. It’s an underhanded tactic that he hates to use, but at least it works. His people start rushing to the door, piling out in an enthusiastic chatter. Richard sighs and slumps back in his large ornate throne. Only Bad Bob stays, draining his tankard.

“I’ll pack my undies,” he jokes, scraping back the bench to stand up.

“No. I need you to stay and train some new recruits,” Richard tells him, sounding exhausted. He thinks about his bed waiting for him, but then he also thinks about all of the work he still has left to do.

“Oh, perfect. And while I’m busy, Bitty can cover the stall. Molten steel, razor sharp blades, lots of time to himself…what could possibly go wrong?” Bob asks dryly, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“What am I going to do with him, Bob?” Richard asks, almost rhetorically. He sounds lost, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Put him in training with the others,” Bob suggests, nudging another full mug of ale towards him. He doesn’t take it.

“No, I’m serious,” Richard argues, shaking his head.

“So am I.”

“He’d be killed before you let the first dragon out of its cage,” Richard snorts, glaring at him.

“Oh, you don’t know that.”

“I do know that, actually.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, actually, I do.”

“No, you don’t!”

“Listen!” Richard snaps, tired of Bob’s insistence. “You don’t know what he’s like. From the time he could crawl he’s been…different. He doesn’t listen. Has the attention span of a sparrow. I take him fishing and he goes hunting for…for trolls! When I was a boy…”

“Oh, here we go.” Bob rolls his eyes and reaches for the untouched beer.

“My father told me to bang my head against a rock and I did it. I thought it was crazy, but I didn’t question him. And you know what happened?” Richard asks, though it’s clear he doesn’t expect an answer.

“You got a headache,” Bob mutters under his breath.

“That rock split in two. It taught me what a Viking could do, Bob. He could crush mountains, level forests, tame seas! Even as a boy, I knew what I was, what I had to become. Bitty is not that boy,” Richard sighs, sounding sad. He stares desolately at the map in front of him, his eyes on a crudely drawn dragon swirling over the parchment.

“You can’t stop him, Richard,” Bob says gently. “Only prepare him. Look, I know it seems hopeless. But the truth is you won’t always be around to protect him. He’s going to get out there again. He’s probably out there now.”

“It’s easy for you to say. Jack is a good boy.”

If Bob didn’t know Richard better, he would say Richard is jealous, but he knows that’s not the case. On paper, his son Jack is the perfect Viking. He is everything Bitty isn’t, almost to a fault. It’s a little sad that the boys aren’t as close friends as their fathers are.

“Jack has his own battles,” Bob murmurs, casually glancing down into his drink.

Richard is silent for a short while longer. Outside he can hear people shouting and preparing for their journey. They would travel tonight, under the cover of darkness. He worries about Bitty, about the trouble he might get himself into, and sighs. Bad Bob is right.

---

My notebook is covered in scribbles. I sigh and look up from my hand-drawn map to the gorge it portrays, just off Raven Point. I see nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to suggest a huge dragon might have crash landed anywhere nearby. I draw a big X over that area on the map, then scrawl over the whole thing in frustration. I’ve been out here all morning and found nothing.

The gods hate me. Some people lose their knife, or their mug. No, not me. I manage to lose an entire dragon. I huff and shove the notebook and charcoal pencil into my pocket. I start violently pushing my way through the undergrowth again, muttering angrily under my breath. I try to whack away a low branch, but it just snaps back and hits me in the face. I swallow the swear word and let out a frustrated growl instead.

I freeze when I see the split tree trunk. It’s almost entirely sheared off, revealing a huge trench of upturned earth. Something huge must have crashed through it. My heart starts to hammer in my chest and I hurry forward, stumbling over rocks and branches in my haste. I scramble over the small hill, and what I see in the shadow of the cliffside stops me in my tracks.

The Night Fury is beautiful. It’s not quite as big as a Monstrous Nightmare, and it’s slender, its muscles attuned for speed and not strength. It’s as black as night, with a sheen of blue that only gleams when the sunlight hit its scales. The bola is wrapped around its long tail and lower body, the iron digging in deep. It looks dead.

Elation rushes through me, as well as relief. I can’t believe I’ve done it. This fixes everything! I can just imagine the looks on everyone’s faces when I bring home the head of a Night Fury! All I’ve ever wanted was to hear my dad tell me he’s proud of me. I hurry over, grinning so wide my face splits in two. I plant my foot on the creature’s huge torso, raising my fists victoriously. I have brought down this mighty beast!

The dragon shifts beneath my boot, sending a sudden spike of fear through my chest. I scramble backwards, seizing the small dagger from my belt. My eyes trail the dragon’s length, spotting dried blood near its tail. So, it’s definitely wounded, but probably no less dangerous. I slowly step towards its head, blade poised to strike.

I suddenly notice the dragon is watching me. Its eyes are big, almost too big for its face, and a bright, piercing green. My heart stammers for a second and I try to look away, but I can’t. I’ve never looked a dragon in the eye before, and it’s unnerving and profound all at once. But I still have a job to do.

“I’m going to kill you, dragon,” I tell it, in a voice that sounds steadier than my nerve. “I’m gonna cut out your heart and take it to my father. I’m a Viking. I’m a Viking!”

The words sound empty to my ears no matter how much force I put behind them. I raise my blade, ready to plunge it into its throat, but its laboured breathing distracts me. It must really be hurt. But, that’s a good thing. A hurt dragon can’t fight back. I lift my knife a smidge higher, but pause, making the mistake of looking into its eyes again. It stares back, and I can’t help but wonder what it’s thinking. It finally turns away, resigning itself to its fate. Shit.

With an irritated sigh, I let my arms drop, casting my gaze over its body once more. I did this. And I’m not proud of it. I thought I would be, but now the initial excitement has faded away, I feel dirty and ashamed. I turn to leave, but think better of it. I can’t leave it here to die. Any other Viking would, but for some reason I can’t make myself go through with it. I kneel beside it and start cutting through the rope holding the bola tightly together.

The dragon’s steely eyes shoot open once it starts to snap. I try not to think about it, focussing only on sawing through the bonds. The instant they are broken, the Night Fury pounces with a speed I didn’t know possible. It pins me to the ground and my heart is in my throat, too shocked to scream. I can’t move, my entire being paralysed by the wide, heavy paw on my chest. It snorts, ruffling my hair and making me jump. It stares at me, big eyes boring into my very soul.

I’m going to die.

It opens its jaw wide and I can feel the heat building in its throat. I desperately grasp at the dirt beneath me and with a sinking heart I realise I dropped the blade when it tackled me to the floor. I grimace, bracing myself to be torched at any second. Instead a high-pitched shriek deafens me as the dragon roars, spit and hot breath flying in my face.

It turns in a blur and leaps away before I have chance to react. I sit up so fast my head spins, watching it spread those gigantic wings. It briefly attempts to fly but it’s clumsy, bashing into the cliffside before dropping out of view. I sit there in awe for a long moment, waiting for my heartrate to return to normal. When I have the strength to stand, my wobbly legs give way again and I sink to the floor.

Chapter Three

It’s a long time before I move. The walk home takes ages, my legs still like jelly from the shock. I try not to think about what just happened, but my mind keeps going back to the Night Fury’s huge, green eyes. I should be dead. I take it as both a blessing and a sign. I am not meant to kill dragons, that much is obvious now. Anyone else wouldn’t have hesitated, but I just didn’t have the guts. Some Viking I am. It’s no wonder my dad is so disappointed in me.

I walk into the house through the back door again, thinking about my soft bed. I wasn’t expecting my dad to be seated by the fire, and I freeze in the doorway. He looks as exhausted as I feel, his brown eyes heavy. He stirs the fire with his axe, watching the embers crackle. I swallow and take a few steps to slip past him, but he looks up and says my name, so I go still once more.

He stands and takes a deep breath, and suddenly I’m scared that he somehow knows about the dragon and is going to disown me for being such a terrible Viking. I take my own deep breath, hoping to appease him before he comes to that decision.

“I uh…I have to talk to you, dad.”

“I want to speak with you too, son.”

We both straighten at the same time, open our mouths and speak as one. “I’ve decided I don’t want to fight dragons.”

“I think it’s time you learn to fight dragons.”

“What?”

“You go first,” he tells me, waving his massive hand. I shake my head.

“No, you go first,” I murmur, deciding to get the worst of it out of the way first.

“Alright. You get your wish. Dragon training. You start in the morning,” he tells me in a way that suggests he was expecting me to be over the moon. Instead, I grimace, my heart sinking all over again.

“Oh man, I should have gone first. Uh, ‘cause I was thinking, you know we have a surplus of dragon-fighting Vikings, but do we have enough bread-making Vikings, or small home repair Vikings?” I scramble to ask, babbling in my nervousness.

Except dad doesn’t seem to be hearing me. He lifts his axe, holding it out with an air of finality that makes my blood run cold.

“You’ll need this,” he tells me, trying to press it into my hands. I don’t grasp it. I can feel my palms starting to get clammy.

“I don’t want to fight dragons,” I argue in a voice that is starting to tremble.

“Come on, yes you do.” He tries to smile, but it fails.

“Rephrase. Dad, I can’t kill dragons,” I try again, on the edge of panicking now.

“But you will kill dragons,” he insists, trying to give me the axe again.

“No, I’m really very extra sure that I won’t!”

“It’s time, Bitty.”

“Can you not hear me?” I demand, my voice finally cracking.

“This is serious, son!”

My father finally forces the axe into my sweaty hands. It drags me down, but its more than the physical weight of the weapon that does it. I look up to see him towering before me, huge, overbearing, unrelenting. The firelight casts shadows across his face so that his beard almost appears black.

“When you carry this axe…you carry all of us with you. Which means you walk like us, you talk like us, you think like us. No more of…” he pauses, waving a hand in my general direction. “…this.”

“You just gestured to all of me!” I scoff indignantly.

“Deal?”

“This conversation is feeling very one-sided,” I mutter, scowling down at my scuffed boots.

“Deal?!”

His tone makes me flinch. I glare at the axe, half wanting it to just dissolve in my hands. It’s a no-win argument, and there’s a pit in my stomach.

“Deal,” I sigh, exhausted all over again.

My dad nods in satisfaction. He grabs his helmet and a heavy bag that I only just notice. My face falls as I realise where he’s going. There’s the familiar fear settling in my bones, but I try not to acknowledge it. He only brushes off my concern.

“Good. Train hard. I’ll be back. Probably.”

He heads towards the door, pausing to look back at me.

“And I’ll be here. Maybe,” I murmur, and that seems to be enough for him.

He nods and ducks out of the door. He doesn’t say goodbye, he never does. I sink into his vacated chair, feeling very small. I stare at the blade, barely able to recognise myself, but not because my reflection is distorted in the cambered metal. I thought I wanted to be a dragon slayer. I thought I wanted to be my dad. Now, I don’t know anything.

I don’t sleep. I try, but the house just seems empty and daunting. When I do sleep, I have nightmares. My dad fights the Night Fury, before they’re both swallowed in a blaze of flame. I awake in a cold sweat and put my head in my hands. What a complete mess.

I lay in bed for a while, watching the sun rise through the wooden slats of the shutters. Alone, I can admit I’m scared. My dad’s hunts for the nest never succeed, and men are always lost, either by the dragons or the treacherous seas. That never seems to deter my father though. A lesser Viking would have given up by now.

I get up when the sun is high enough. I don’t eat, still feeling sick to my stomach. Probably not a good idea, if I really am going to start dragon training. Maybe I’ll just have to watch. Bad Bob wouldn’t really throw me into the arena with a real-life dragon, would he? It’s the best I can hope for.

I dress in a daze, my fingers fumbling over my buttons. The village seems deserted as I wander through it. Those who haven’t gone on the hunt will be working. Everyone works around here. If buildings don’t need to be repaired, weaponry needs to be made and crops need to be sowed yet again. If it weren’t for the dragon raids, we’d probably be quite wealthy.

There’s a large training arena on the south side of the settlement, high up on the clifftop. We use it for sport sometimes, where we pit our best fighters against beasts we’ve captured in the past. I’ve never gone to any games, finding them a bit barbaric, but they’re popular. The walls tower high, with rows of benches for spectators, and there are thick, iron chains laced along the top to stop the dragons from escaping.

I can see Bad Bob waiting by the tall gates, the fire brigade gathered around him. Of course, I’m the last one to arrive. I get a few dirty looks as I approach, but my boss pretends he hasn’t noticed. I hang at the back, hoping to blend into the background.

“Welcome to dragon training,” he announces with a flourish.

The gates open and we file in. The others look excited, but I feel like a criminal walking to his death. The arena seems even bigger inside, and I feel like an ant about to be squashed. I’m pretty sure the black, scorched marks on the walls look vaguely Viking shaped.

“No turning back,” I hear Jack mutter beside me.

He’s as handsome as ever. Tall, imposing, his chiselled face the picture of determination. If I didn’t feel so sick I’d be swooning over him. The others crowd around us, crowing with confidence and excitement.

“I hope I get some serious fucking burns,” Shitty jokes cheekily, his auburn coloured moustache dancing around his mouth again. It does that a lot.

“I’m hoping for some mauling, like on my shoulder or lower back,” Lardo adds like it’s no big deal.

“Yeah, it’s only fun if you get a scar out of it,” Jack grins, his gorgeous eyes lighting up mischievously. They do funny things to me.

“Yeah, no kidding, right? Pain, love it!” I drawl, trying to puff my chest out. As one they all turn around to look at me, letting out simultaneous groans. Jack’s grin morphs into a glare and my bravado drops.

“Oh great, who let this guy in?” Holster sighs, rolling his eyes.

“Let’s get started!” Bad Bob calls, distracting the others. I merge into the background again, letting my excited peers bustle towards the front. “The recruit who does best will win the honour of killing their first dragon in front of the entire village.”

“Bitty already killed a Night Fury, so does that disqualify him, or…?” Holster asks dryly, grinning as the others snicker. I glare at him, but he seems unphased.

“Can I transfer to the class with the cool bros?” Shitty asks jokingly.

Bad Bob can’t resist joining in either and slings a reassuring arm around my shoulders.

“Don’t worry. You’re small and you’re weak. That’ll make you less of a target. They’ll see you as sick or insane and go after the more Viking-like fighters instead,” he tells me, which obviously does nothing to alleviate my fears. I love him, but he’s such an idiot.

He guides me into line besides the others. Holster is twitching excitedly, and Ransom is bouncing on the balls of his feet. Bad Bob stops in front of two huge doors nestled into the bottom corner of the arena. I know what’s behind those doors, and my stomach churns nervously. There’s a roar, muffled by the thick metal, but it still makes my blood run cold.

“Behind these doors are just a few of the many species you will learn to fight.” He starts listing off the various breeds we had managed to capture, and to my surprise, Ransom begins murmuring enthusiastically under his breath, his eyes almost manic as he recites facts he has learned.

“The Deadly Nadder.”

“Speed eight. Armour sixteen.”

“The Hideous Zippleback.”

“Plus eleven stealth. Times two.”

“The Monstrous Nightmare.”

“Firepower fifteen.”

“The Terrible Terror.”

“Attack eight. Venom twelve.”

“Can you stop that?!” Bob finally snaps, scowling at him. Everyone apart from Jack snicker to themselves. “And…the Gronkle.”

“Jaw strength eight,” Ransom whispers, unable to resist, earning himself an elbow to the ribs from Holster.

Bad Bob ignores him and raises the lever. The locks begin to slide open, each thunk of the metal like the hammering of nails into a coffin.

“Whoa, wait! Aren’t you going to teach us first?” Holster demands, and I have to admit it gives me a tiny bit of pleasure hearing the tremble of panic in his voice.

“I believe in learning on the job,” Bad Bob shrugs, and I swear there’s the tiniest smirk on his lips, that sadistic bastard.

The doors finally swing open. A Gronkle bursts out of captivity like a charging rhino, furious and ready to kill. I have no time to panic and throw myself out of its way before it can pound its way into me. Jack, Ransom and Holster dive for cover too, though Shitty and Lardo start yelling and bounding towards the beast.

“Today is about survival,” Bad Bob continues, shouting so he can be heard over the roar of the dragon on our tails. He stands safely to the side, observing the action with far too much enjoyment. “If you get blasted, you’re dead. Quick, what’s the first thing you’re going to need?”

“A doctor?” I joke almost incredulously, scrambling off to the side as the dragon zooms in my direction yet again. I thank Odin I’m small and slight, probably for the first time in my life.

“Plus five speed?” Ransom volunteers from somewhere to my right.

“A shield,” Jack answers, his voice steady and calm like he does this every damn day. I peek up from my hiding place (the weapons rack) to see him striding confidently towards the stack of shields on the other side of the ring. My stomach does flip flops.

“Shields. Go!” Bad Bob confirms, waving his arm enthusiastically in the right direction.

I sprint across the open ring, my blood hammering in my ears. I’m terrified, but also kind of excited too. It’s a strange kind of thrill that surprises me. I seize the first shield I come across, grimacing when I realise how heavy and clunky it is.

“Your most important piece of equipment is your shield. If you must make a choice between a sword or a shield, take the shield.” Bad Bob is suddenly at my side. He helps me lift my non-descript shield high and sends me running again.

I pass Shitty and Lardo amidst a pile of shields, sniping at each other as they tussle over a certain one. It has a large, snarling skull painted on the front, and they’re trying to snatch it out of each other’s hands. I catch titbits of the argument as I dart past.

“Get your hands off my fucking shield!” Shitty cries, pulling it towards him. “There are like a million shields!” Lardo insists indignantly, dragging it back towards her.

“Take that fucker, it has a flower on it. Girls like flowers,” Shitty huffs, gesturing towards one of the other shields at their feet. Lardo takes the opportunity to smash him in the face with it, but he holds on to it in his daze.

“Oops, now this one has blood on it,” she drawls, rolling her eyes dramatically.

I notice the Gronkle rearing to throw a blast and I duck instinctively. The ball of fire soars over my head towards the distracted pair and I quickly glance over my shoulder to make sure they’re okay. The shot thankfully strikes the shield and they dive to the floor in a cloud of dust.

“Shits, Lardo, you’re out!” Bad Bob calls.

I retreat, heading towards the far side of the arena where Jack, Holster and Ransom are dancing out of the Gronkle’s reach. The dragon swallows up gravel and rocks as it hovers towards us, its mouth huge.

“Those shields are good for another thing. Noise. Make lots of it to throw off a dragon’s aim,” Bad Bob suggests, still loitering near the edge and out of harm’s way.

I seize a small dagger from the rack, trying not to trip up over my own feet. The others are bigger than me, and reach over my head to grab the heavier, larger weaponry. I start pounding my shield with the pommel of my knife, and the others soon follow suit. To my surprise, it’s obvious the Gronkle doesn’t like the din, shaking its head and grunting unhappily. It looks disorientated, wobbling in mid-air.

“All dragons have a limited number of shots. How many does a Gronkle have?” Bad Bob asks, shouting to be heard over the commotion.

“Five!” Holster yelps, diving for shelter as the beast gave chase. “No, six!” Ransom pipes up from my left.

“Correct, six! That’s one for each of you!” Bad Bob said cheerfully. Ransom drew himself up out of his hiding spot, momentarily forgetting about the dragon as he felt Bad Bob deserved a lecture.

“I really don’t think my parents would-"

He yelps, his protest cut off as the Gronkle notices him and fires gobs of molten lava at his shield. It flies out of his hand and he squeaks, hurrying for cover again.

“Ransom, out!”

Bad Bob suddenly realises that I’m trying my best to hide in the shadows and pretend I’m not there. He grabs me by the scruff of my jacket and throws me back out into the open. Jack and Holster are on the front line and I stumble behind them. Jack bounces on the balls of his feet, ready to dodge at a moment’s notice. Holster hovers beside him, though his eyes are on Jack instead of the attacking Gronkle.

“So anyway, I’m moving into my parents’ basement,” Holster says, lounging over the shield he was carrying and trying to look nonchalant and cool. It almost makes me gag. “You should come by sometime to work out. You look like you work out.”

Jack ignores him, cartwheeling gracefully out of the way as a blast of melted rock is spat in their direction. Holster catches it against his shield but is flung across the ring on to his back. A little part of me is glad and I hurry to take his place at Jack’s side. Maybe this is my moment. Maybe this is when I do something heroic and Jack finally recognises that I exist.

“So, I guess it’s just you and me, huh?” I say coolly, cursing inwardly as my voice breaks slightly.

“No, just you,” Jack replies smoothly.

He deftly rolls away before I have a chance to process what he said. I frown after him, then suddenly realise that the Gronkle is rearing back to strike. A huge glob of lava shoots my way and I manage to lift my shield just in time. The force of it knocks me back and sends my shield out of my grasp and across the ring. My arm stinging, I hurriedly chase after it, not wanting to be left exposed.

I hear Bad Bob’s panicked shout and lift my head to see the Gronkle zooming towards me. My sudden movements must have startled it into action and before I know it, it has me pinned against the wall. It’s cold against my back and yet again I feel like I’m about to die. The dragon opens its jaws wide enough to swallow me whole and I feel the air rushing past me as it inhales. It’s going to fire point blank. I am a dead man.

Just as the Gronkle is about to fire, Bad Bob appears out of nowhere. He’s faster than I ever thought he was, anchoring his hook into the corner of the dragon’s mouth and wrestling it aside. The shot misfires, landing somewhere above my head. It’s enough to make me jump, and cinders float around me. I feel like I’m watching everything in slow motion as Bad Bob wrenches the irate beast back towards its prison. I think I hear a wobble in Bad Bob’s voice when he speaks.

“And that’s six! Go back to bed, you overgrown sausage! You’ll get another chance, don’t you worry!”

I watch like I’m having an out of body experience as Jack’s dad throws the Gronkle back into its pen. The doors finally slam closed and that is when it hits me. I fall back against the wall, gasping for breath as the shock sets in. My knees knock together, and I try to focus on the cold rock beneath my hands as Bad Bob stalks back towards me.

“Remember…a dragon will always, always go for the kill.”

His voice is stern, and it makes something in me churn. He grips my shoulder, steadying me as I start to sag. I can tell the lesson is over, but his words set my brain in motion. I nod clumsily and straighten up a bit. For a moment, no one moves. The others file out first, leaving me alone with my boss and his son. Jack isn’t even looking at me, he’s looking at the floor and somehow that’s even worse. I wait for a lecture, but it doesn’t come.

After a long, horrible few minutes I walk away. I think I’m still in shock because as soon as I make it past the gates I sink to the floor. I pressed myself into the corner, grateful for the shadows that wash over me. I press my head back against the stone, focussing on the roughness grazing my scalp. My breath comes quick and I have to fight to stay calm. That Gronkle almost killed me, but that’s not why I’m so shook up. It’s Bad Bob’s words that have rattled me. “What on earth is going through your head right now?”

Jack’s sudden, hissed words make me freeze. I look up, expecting him to be stood before me but I find no one. He’s standing in the entranceway to the arena, angry enough that his voice carries across to me hidden in the outside porch. I hold my breath, struck with a sadistic need to listen to him, even though it was almost definitely about me.

“Now I know that didn’t exactly go well,” Bad Bob sighs, sounding exhausted.

“He almost got himself killed!” Jack snaps, and his tone makes my heart sink. “Why is he even here?”

“Richard and I agreed it might be best for him to learn how to fight. Maybe then he might not get into so much trouble,” Bad Bob explains gently.

“He is a hindrance. He’ll never fight dragons,” Jack scoffs derisively.

“Maybe not. But Bitty has other strengths. He’s clever, and creative, and considerate. You should try to get to know him a little more,” Bad Bob suggests.

I can hear them getting closer, heading out of the arena. I shrink further back against the stone, my eyes burning as the shame cloaked me.

“No thanks. Even if he wasn’t so hopeless in the battlefield, he’s still small and annoying,” Jack huffs.

They pass me, and I can see the indignant look on Jack’s face. It’s nice that Bad Bob tried to defend me, but Jack’s words still wound me. I vaguely hear Bad Bob’s admonition, but then they carry on towards the village and I don’t catch anything else. I press my face to my knees and force myself to breathe. This mess just keeps getting bigger and bigger.

Chapter Four

I ache something terrible. It took me a long time to get the strength to stand up again after listening to Jack’s conversation with his father, but I managed it. I’ve decided I don’t care what Jack thinks. Well, I care quite a lot, actually, but I’m going to make myself not care. I’m not doing this for Jack, and deep down I know that if he doesn’t like me then that’s his problem, even if it does hurt. I’ll show him, just like I’ll show everybody.

Bad Bob’s words are still sticking with me, like thorns nipping into my back. A dragon will always, always go for the kill. So, why didn’t the Night Fury? The mystery is eating at me more than Jack’s obvious dislike, and I have to understand it. I’ve come back to the crash scene, though I’m not entirely sure why. The dragon will be long gone by now, and even if it was around, who’s to say it would hesitate to kill me off this time? I must be crazy.

I decide to head in the direction it flew off, carefully making my way through the undergrowth. There’s a sharp decline that I nearly fall down, but I manage to snag myself on the rocks on the way down and squeeze through a rocky crevice. The path finally opens to a gorgeous cove that I never knew existed. It is almost perfectly round, littered with trees and healthy flora. There’s a small lake in the centre too, that glitters underneath the sunlight. There’s a single, black iridescent scale on the grass, but no sign of the Night Fury.

“Well, this is stupid,” I huff, stooping to pick it up anyway. Suddenly, a gust of air knocks me sideways, quickly followed by a black mass that throws me aside with ease. I land on my bottom and stare in awe as the Night Fury attempts to scramble up the sheer cliff face. It’s larger than I remembered, and no less frightening as it frantically sinks its claws into the rock. Though it seems determined, violently flapping its huge and magnificent wings, it still falls, roughly landing on the ground once more. It’s trapped, I realise with a start.

Grinning, I hurry forward, knowing I might not ever get a chance like this again. I’m careful to hide behind jutting rock and watch as the beast tries over and over to scale the cliff. It beats its wings furiously, but it can never seem to lift itself into the air. It can jump, its powerful legs springing it ten feet up and against the rock, but it soon comes crashing down again. Pebbles and dust start to gather as its claws drag through the stone, and the ground trembles every time it tumbles.

I abruptly remember the notebook tucked away in my pocket and frantically retrieve it and my charcoal pencil, splaying it open against a boulder. I sketch as quickly as I can, not wanting to miss a single second. It’s haphazard and clumsy, but it didn’t take long for the majestic beast to form on the page. I flick my eyes up again, watching it finally give up after yet another crash landing. Instead it heads to the small pool, each step graceful despite how exhausted it must be. It swipes a huge paw into the water, I’m not sure what for. Fish, maybe? Either way, it comes out empty handed.

Why doesn’t he just fly away? I frown, studying every inch of it again. I compare it against my sketch, then gasp quietly as I see the mistake. Carefully, I erase the tail fin on one half of its tail to match its real-life counterpart. I’m not entirely sure how dragon anatomy works, but I would say that had something to do with its inability to fly. And that was probably where all the blood had come from. Shit.

I drop my pencil. It’s an accident, and I scramble to catch it but miss as it cascades down the outcropping rock and into the cove. I freeze, hardly daring to breathe. When I lift my eyes from the stupid charcoal, it’s straight into the big, calculating green eyes of the Night Fury. It gazes back at me, and I can’t tell what it’s thinking. Fear nips at me again, but there’s something else tugging on my heartstrings that I just can’t get my head around.

It doesn’t move, and it doesn’t break eye contact. It’s sat almost like a cat, calm and poised. I feel like I’ve pushed my luck. Very slowly, I creep backwards, notebook in hand, ready to freeze again if the dragon moved an inch. It didn’t, and my hands finally press against the cold, rocky crevice I’d stumbled through in the first place. I squeeze through, and as soon as I’m clear, I flee.

It’s night when I get back to Berk. It’s cold, dark, rainy and I’m exhausted, and think longingly about my warm, soft bed. The notebook I clutch protectively to my chest. I can’t let anyone see this. If people knew there was an injured Night Fury down there, they wouldn’t hesitate in killing it, and I can’t let that happen. I’m not sure what’s changed, but this is my only shot at studying a dragon, and I’m not going to jeopardise that.

As I pass my neighbours’ houses, I can smell their dinners. My mouth starts to water and my stomach rumbles, reminding me I haven’t eaten all day. I let out a tired sigh but change courses, heading to the Great Hall where I know a hearty stew would be waiting for me. I tuck the notebook back into my tunic and push open the giant doors.

It’s lit up by candles on every table, and there are the odd few Vikings scattered around, talking quietly over their meals. I spot Bad Bob at the far end, surrounded by the other recruits. My heart sinks a bit, but I’d have to pass them to get to the huge pot of soup simmering over the fire. I take a breath to steel myself and march towards them.

“Alright,” Bad Bob starts as I slink past him. I help myself to a clay bowl and ladle heaps of thick, meaty broth into it. “Where did Jack go wrong in the ring today?”

“I mistimed my somersault dive. It was sloppy and threw off my reverse tumble,” Jack replies instantly, like he’d been thinking about it all day. I slip into a seat at the far end of the bench, away from everyone else. His earlier words still sting, and I can’t help but roll my eyes a little, along with everyone else in the group.

“Yeah, we noticed,” Lardo scoffs, flashing Jack a sarcastic grin. Nobody would have noticed, because Jack is perfect.

“No, no, you were great,” Holster is quick to assure Jack, grabbing his hand. “That was so, ‘Jack’.”

Jack snatches his hand away like he’s been burned, and if I didn’t know better, I would swear Ransom gave Holster a dirty look across the table. “He’s right. You have to be tough on yourselves,” Bad Bob agrees with a nod. He pauses as he notices me, causing everyone to send glares my way. “Where did Bitty go wrong?”

“He showed up,” Lardo smirks at me.

“He didn’t get eaten,” Shitty adds with a cackle.

“He’s never where he should be,” Jack answers definitively.

His tone is enough to make my face go red, and I hurriedly shove another spoonful of stew into my mouth. If he wasn’t Bad Bob’s son, I’m pretty sure I would launch this bowl and its contents at his stupidly handsome face.

“Thank you, Jack,” Bad Bob says, and I’m not sure if it’s meant genuinely or if it’s a warning.

He pushes a huge, leather bound book into the centre of the table. It’s worn, the cover faded and old, and there are pages sticking out like they’d been half ripped.

“The dragon manual. Everything we know about every dragon we know of.” He pauses, and there’s a distant roll of thunder that makes me shudder. “No attacks tonight. Study up.”

He leaves us in peace, the sound of his wooden leg echoing in the hall. When he opens the door, I can see the storm brewing, and it sets my teeth on edge. I look back to the huge book on the table, noticing that everyone else looks rather unimpressed.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, brah. Wait, you mean read?” Shitty snorts, rolling his eyes dismissively.

“While we’re still alive?” Lardo snickers, clearly thinking the same thing. “Why read words when you can just kill the stuff the words tell you stuff about?” Holster asks dryly, draping himself casually across the bench.

“Oh, I’ve read it like seven times!” Ransom gasps, clutching Holster’s forearm dramatically. “There’s this water dragon that sprays boiling water at your face. And there’s this other one that buries itself for like a week…”

“Yeah, that sounds fucking killer. There was a chance I was going to read that. But now…” Shitty trails off, his expression slack.

“But now…” Lardo joins in on the mockery, then they both giggle, like there’s a private joke they have between them.

“You guys read, I’ll go kill stuff,” Holster announces boldly. He stands, and Ransom is quick to follow.

“Oh, and there’s this other one that has these spines that look like trees…”

Ransom’s voice is lost as he scampers after Holster, though I can see him still chattering away. Shitty and Lardo meander after him, and I’m sure they’re both high as they squabble about something unintelligible. I turn back, and then notice that Jack is giving me an odd look. It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

“So, I guess we’ll share?” I suggest at a feeble attempt to bridge the awkward gap between us.

“Read it.”

Jack unceremoniously shoves the huge, dusty tome in my direction and gets to his feet.

“All mine, then,” I say as he stalks past me and through the empty hall. “Wow, so okay. I’ll see you…” The door slams. “Tomorrow.”

I sigh and shake my head, dragging the book towards me. I was hoping for some bonding or something over this but clearly, he has other plans. He’s a busy guy and has better things to do than hang out with me. I try not to think about it and pull the lantern closer to me too. It’s gotten really dark now, and I can hear the storm picking up intensity outside. The shutters are rattling in their frames and I can hear the rain beating on the roof.

It’s an old book, probably written by my ancestors. I open it carefully, not wanting to tear any of the delicate pages. The letters are a bit faded but readable still, though it’s the drawings that set my teeth on edge. They’re accurate, but there’s a twist to the charcoal lines that makes them seem even more bloodthirsty than usual. I slowly start making my way through it.

“Dragon classifications. Strike class, fear class, mystery class…Thunderdrum. This reclusive dragon inhabits sea caves and dark tide pools. When startled, the Thunderdrum produces a concussive sound that can kill a man at close range. Extremely dangerous. Kill on sight.”

I read aloud, a useless attempt at drowning out the noise outside. I should have taken the book home to read, but it’s too late now. I’d get soaked in that rain. Better to stay here where I’m dry, even if I am freaking myself out a bit here. I flip another page, grimacing at the sketch of decapitated Vikings.

“Timberjack. This gigantic creature has razor sharp wings that can slice through full grown trees…extremely dangerous. Kill on sight.”

The longer I look, the shadows cast by the candles seem to make the dragons move on the page, dancing and swirling across the paper. I squint and try to make them stand still. A sudden blast of thunder outside makes me jump, and it’s soon followed by a bolt of lightning that flashes through the gaps in the wooden walls.

“Scauldron. Sprays scolding water at its victim. Extremely dangerous. Changewing. Even newly hatched dragons can spray acid. Kill on sight.”

I’m starting to get a bit frustrated. This isn’t telling me anything I want to know. I start flipping through the pages, the dragons a blur, and list through the names. I’m not entirely sure what I’m searching for at this point, but my fingers are shaking a little.

“Gronkle. Zippleback. The Skrill. Bone Knapper. Whispering Death. Burns its victims. Buries its victims. Turns its victims inside-out.” Grim. “Extremely dangerous. Extremely dangerous. Kill on sight. Kill on sight. Kill on sight…”

I freeze as I suddenly land on an almost empty page. There’s no drawing, only a few hastily scrawled words at the top. There’s nothing afterwards either, like the writer hurriedly gave up. My blood runs cold and I realise my shirt is sticking to my back.

“Night Fury. Speed unknown. Size unknown. The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself. Never engage this dragon. Your only chance, hide and pray it does not find you.”

With a trembling hand, I reach into my tunic and pull out my little notebook. It falls open onto my sketch of the dragon and I stare at it, not knowing what to think. I should be dead, that much is obvious. Twice now I’ve fled from this dragon unscathed. I let out a long, wobbly breath. This doesn’t make sense.

---

Wind billows through the sails. There’s a crudely drawn picture of a snarling dragon with a blade sunk through its heart. It’s a challenge, a declaration of strength, but no one wants to respond. Richard the Vast stands at the helm, the weathered nautical map in his hands. There’s sea salt crusting his moustache and he narrows his eyes, trying to glimpse something, anything through the mist.

“I can almost smell them,” he mutters to the man at his side. To anyone else, it might have sounded insane. “They’re close. Steady.”

He raises his hand as the epic fog bank before them thickens. It stretches higher than the masts and threatens to drape over them like a thick, suffocating curtain. Nothing is visible beyond it, and the crew start to shuffle and murmur nervously, knowing exactly what their chief is considering. Their hearts sink when he opens his mouth.

“Take us in.”

The helmsman steers the ship with a grim determination. The other two follow, carving a path through the fog. The hiss of swords being drawn is loud in the clogging air, and drawing their weapons does nothing to calm the crew’s nerves.

“Hard to port…for Helheim’s gate.”

The boats are swallowed.

Chapter Five

The next day at training, I take a brief moment to wonder what the hell I’m doing. We’re about to face a Deadly Nadder – I can hear it snarling with rage – and I stare down at the painted image on my shield. Its teeth are bared, and I run my fingertips over the crude lines. I must be insane.

“You know,” I say out loud, hoping Bad Bob listens to me before unleashing death upon us yet again. “I just happened to notice the book had nothing on Night Furies. Is there another book? Or a sequel? Maybe a little Night Fury pamphlet?”

There’s a sudden explosion that demands my attention and I scramble backwards with a shocked yelp. I look to the axe I’m grasping and notice the head has been blasted off, the iron still steaming. Behind me the wall is singed and smoking where the dragon’s shot hit. Before it can rear back for another try, I run.

“Focus, Bitty! You’re not even trying!” Bad Bob yells at me from his safe spot.

I roll my eyes and plunge myself into the stone maze he’d created, as some kind of twisted obstacle course. I would love to know what goes on in his brain sometimes. I press myself tight against the rock and catch my breath, listening to him shouting instructions. The Nadder hops daintily on top of the structure, scouting us out like it’s looking for snacks.

“Today, is all about attack. Nadders are quick and light on their feet. Your job is to be quicker and lighter.”

I dare to peep around the edge of my shelter, ignoring my fellow recruits as they bustle past me. They dart from hiding place to hiding place, taking advantage of the various nooks and shadows. I watch Ransom tuck himself into a corner, but he can’t resist leaning out so he can stare at the magnificent beast as it hovers above. It spots him, and with an almighty roar whips its long tail in an arc, firing lethal spikes right at him. Ransom shrieks and staggers back to avoid the spray.

“I’m really beginning to question your teaching methods!” he snaps at our instructor, and I have to hide my smirk.

“Look for its blind spot,” Bad Bob suggests, ignoring the jibe. “Every dragon has one. Find it, hide in it, and strike.”

I creep around my shelter, trying to decide whether to approach it from behind or from the front. Shitty and Lardo decide for me. The Nadder has abandoned its perch to sniff through the maze, and I notice with surprise that it hasn’t noticed the pair of them right under its nose. They squish together uncomfortably close to avoid its gaze and I can tell by their expressions they aren’t happy about it.

“Do you ever bathe?” Lardo hisses, wrinkling her nose up. I can sympathise, Shitty always reeks.

“If you don’t like it, then just get your own blind spot brah,” Shitty retorts hotly, sticking his own nose up in the air.

“How about I give you one?!”

I grimace as Lardo takes offence and shoves him angrily. They always bicker, and then make up two minutes later, but now really isn’t the time for it. They start to tussle, and both the noise and the movement startle the Nadder. It snarls and snaps at them, causing them both to scramble in different directions to avoid its rows of sharp, glistening teeth.

“Blind spot, yes. Deaf spot? Not so much,” Bad Bob points out.

I take the opportunity to creep towards my boss while his eyes are on the dragon. I try to be nonchalant, but he can probably see me struggling to lift the huge wooden shield on my arm. I just couldn’t help myself. I had to learn more about my own dragon.

“Hey, so how would one sneak up on a Night Fury?” I wonder casually. Bad Bob rolls his eyes.

“No one’s ever met one and lived to tell the tale. Now get in there!”

“I know, I know, but hypothetically…”

I can’t even finish my sentence. He roughly shoves me back into the maze and I very nearly stumble into Jack. He looks rugged today, his hair mussed underneath his helmet and dark stubble peppering his chin.

“Bitty!” He presses a finger to his lips – very nice, pink and plush looking lips - and gestures to me to hide. I obey, but only because he’s giving me this look that I just can’t argue with. A moment later, the Nadder leaps over the walls, surprising us both by landing deftly in front of him. I feel a rush of panic, but Jack stays calm. He gracefully somersaults into its blind spot like it was no big deal. The dragon pauses, confused because its prey effectively just vanished. Jack rears back to strike and I hold my breath.

We’ve both forgotten about Holster. He dramatically appears out of nowhere and protectively sweeps Jack behind his broad, muscled frame.

“Watch out, babe. I’ll take care of this,” he announces with a flourish and ignoring Jack’s angered shout.

Holster flings his axe, aiming for one of the Nadder’s huge, amber eyes. He misses by a long shot and the axe goes sailing by.

“The sun was in my eyes, Jack!” Holster cries in defence as Jack angrily shoves his shoulder. “What do you want me to do, block out the sun? I could do that, but I don’t have time right now!”

Jack just growls furiously and takes off. The Nadder is quick to follow, its huge stomps making the ground tremble. While it’s distracted, I shout up to Bad Bob. I think if I keep pestering him, I’ll manage to take him by surprise and he’ll actually give me an answer I’m looking for.

“They probably take the daytime off,” I call, referring back to the Night Fury. “You know, like a cat. Has anyone ever seen one napping?”

I startle as both Bad Bob and his son suddenly yell my name as a warning. I bolt around to see the maze walls collapsing around me like dominoes, sending up massive clouds of dust as they collide. Jack comes flying towards me, his hair streaked with grey and his helmet missing, and crashes into me. We both tumble to the floor, a mass of limbs tangled together, and his weight knocks the breath out of me.

“Ooh, love on the battlefield!” Shitty croons somewhere above us. I’m going to kill him.

“They make such a nice couple,” Lardo snickers. I’m going to kill her, too.

We’re scrambling but struggling to untangle ourselves. Jack is big and for once seems clumsy as he hurriedly tries to pull himself free from my uncoordinated body. Something catches, his sleeve on my belt I think, and just makes everything worse. I can feel the tremors in the ground as the Nadder springs closer towards us. Jack panics, I can see the flash in his blue eyes and it sets off something inside of me.

In the fray, his axe has managed to embed itself in my shield, which is still unfortunately attached to my limp, gangly arm. I can see the Nadder closing in, its enormous mouth preparing to strike. Jack is trying to pull his axe free but all he seems to be doing is wrenching my arm out of its socket. Instead I shove him aside and throw my arm back with as much strength as I can muster.

The shield flies off my arm and smacks the Nadder across its nose with a nauseating thud. It screeches in pain but that only seems to infuriate it. The shield plummets to the floor at my feet. I’m frozen to the spot, staring as the Nadder roars and lunges for me, desperate for revenge. I’m fairly certain I’m about to feel its teeth sinking into me, but before it does, there’s another ear-splitting crack as Jack swings the shield by the hilt of the axe, striking it in the face.

The Nadder yelps like a wounded animal and scurries off, disappearing into the cloud of dust. I melt back against the rock, gasping for breath. The world is spinning, and I feel like a puddle of goo, my heart pounding against my chest. These near-death experiences really need to stop before I give myself a heart attack.

“Well done, son,” I hear Bad Bob say, his voice oddly grim. I hear him limp off, probably to wrestle the Nadder back into its cage.

After a moment, I force myself to stand up. My legs wobble but hold me. All thoughts of a nice hot bath leave my head when I realise everyone is staring at me. Jack’s glare is cold, and that hurts more than bruises that are already beginning to flower.

“Is this some kind of joke to you?” He snaps, and I can see it takes everything he has to hold himself back from screaming in my face. “Our parents’ war is about to become ours. Figure out which side you’re on!” Anger flares up inside of me, accompanied by pain and humiliation.

“I just saved your life back there!” I yell at his retreating back, my fists clenched so hard at my sides I can feel my fingernails digging into my palms. Jack turns back, his scowl piercing me through the chest.

“Bittle, it was a lucky shot,” he sneers.

The words are like barbs. I watch him go, and he’s followed by the others who mutter amongst themselves. At some point, Bad Bob passes me. He doesn’t speak, but he does lay a heavy hand on my shoulder for the briefest of moments. I cannot even say how much of an embarrassment I feel. It’s a crushing weight that just seems to be getting heavier the more I try to throw it off.

I don’t have a bath. I know that if I stop and rest I won’t get back up. Instead I head to the stream on the edge of the village, an idea stuck in my head. If I can’t fight dragons, then I will study them. No one knows anything about the Night Furies, and I’ll be the first to know everything. That will prove my worth, to everyone, but especially to my father and to Jack.

The water is ice cold and helps to alleviate some of the aching. It takes a little time to catch a juicy, fat fish, but I manage it and stuff it into my tunic. It’s just a guess, formed by watching the Night Fury attempting to snag one himself yesterday, but it’s the only idea for a peace offering I have. I hurry back to the cove, hoping my friend is still there and in a good mood.

I sling the fish through the crevice first, peeking through to watch it slide down the banking. I wait a moment but nothing happens, so I squeeze through the gap to look around. Just as I think the place is deserted, I hear a quiet snort behind me. I whip around to see the Night Fury perched gracefully on a huge rock, looking like a black panther taunting its prey. Its eyes are alert and watch my every move. Very slowly, I pick up the fish and offer it out.

I freeze as it suddenly hisses. Its gaze is fixed on the knife at my waist and I inwardly curse. If losing my only means of self defence will earn its trust, then so be it. It growls as my fingers touch the hilt, and I quickly take it out of my belt and toss it aside. The knife tumbles down the embankment and into the lake with a plop.

The dragon calms so instantly I’m taken by surprise. Its large ears twitch and it gazes at me almost curiously. I have an overwhelming urge to touch it and see how the scales feel beneath my fingers. I hold the fish out again, watching as it saunters up to me warily. I hold my breath, and then it suddenly snaffles the fish from my hand and chomps it up eagerly in mere seconds. My breath comes out in a startled gasp.

It turns its big eyes on me, looking almost expectant. It strides forward, quickly reaching me with its long legs, and starts sniffing at my coat. I step back nervously, my palms outstretched to show they were empty.

“Uh, no, I don’t have any more,” I’m quick to tell it, hoping it understands.

It continues to search me with its snout and I retreat until my back is suddenly pressed up against a large rock. I grimace, expecting the creature to be frustrated with my lack of fish. It stops, fixing me with this odd look and I wonder yet again if I’m about to get eaten. There’s a gross, gurgling noise and it pulls a face, and for one horrifying moment I think it’s about to vomit on me. What it actually does is much worse.

The regurgitated fish head lands in my lap, the stench immediately hitting my nostrils. I stare at it, then up at the dragon, who just stares back. I slowly realise what it wants me to do and I start to feel sick to my stomach. Knowing I wouldn’t get away with miming it, I steel myself and take a bite. It’s slimy, and my teeth gets caught in its sinews as I pull away the flesh. It’s disgusting, and I instantly want to spit it out. I force myself to chew and swallow, though it nearly makes me gag as I feel it slowly sliding down my throat. The dragon is looking at me expectantly, so I give it a smile that turns into more of a grimace.

To my amazement, it mimics me, the corners of its wide mouth lifting in an odd smile. With a rush of bravery, I reach forward to touch its big, powerful shoulder. The spell is immediately broken. It hisses at me and stalks off like it’s offended. It rounds the edge of the stream where there’s a large patch of charred and blackened ground. It suddenly blasts it again until the muck is smouldering, then curls up like a big, reptilian dog. Unable to resist, I hurry towards it and settle down.

I hold myself back for all of five seconds. It seems to tolerate me, so I lean forward and try to stroke the long, tapered tail curled up in front of it. It snaps at me with the exasperated air of a dog being pestered by a puppy. I snatch my hand back and try to look innocent, but it snorts and glares at me. Taking the hint, I stand up and leave it in peace.

I’m not about to leave though. I can’t go home while it’s still daytime. I can’t face the disappointed looks and humiliation I’ll get from the others. Despite its defensive and standoffish attitude, this dragon is probably the closest thing to a friend I have right now. So, I take myself to a large flat rock by the edge of the lake and settle down to wait. The sun has warmed it and the heat sinks into my wearied bones and I’m content to just sit there a while.

I soon get bored though. I’ve always been one to keep myself busy. If I’m not tinkering in the workshop I’m sneaking off to cook and bake to my heart’s content. I can do neither right now though, so instead I take a stick from the ground and begin to trace shapes in the sand. The sun gradually sets around me, casting a golden light over the whole cove. The dragon looks gorgeous where it naps, the glow bringing out a rainbow in its black scales.

I’m so lost in sketching the Night Fury in the sand that I almost don’t notice it behind me a short while later. It hovers over my shoulder and I make myself continue to mind my own business while it curiously watches me draw its face. I’m starting to realise that patience will earns its trust more than anything. It might be a long process, but it’ll be worth it if I could just get close enough to touch it.

I look up when I hear noise, and to my astonishment the dragon has dragged a broken off bough into the clearing. It holds it in its mouth and carves it through the sand with a kind of frenzied excitement. I watch, stunned, as it dances around and creates its own drawing. After a moment it stops and inspects its work, looking proud. I stand to check it out myself, awed at what was happening. The dragon was looking at me expectantly again, waiting for my verdict.

I stepped on one of the lines by accident and it growled at me, so I quickly remove my foot. Testing it, I rested the tip of my boot on the line again only to receive another snarl. Realising how sensitive it was, I carefully stepped between the complicated and intricate design. I’m slow to start but soon speed up my steps, getting lost in the swirling patterns. I’d expected a clumsy and haphazard bunch of lines but there seems to be an artistic pattern to it that is making my heart race.

I suddenly stop, my back falling against its snout. I whirl around, not wanting to upset it. It watches me, and I’m lost in its big eyes again. It’s making an almost purring noise that warms my chest. We gaze at each other, and it’s like something tugs on my chest. I have an overwhelming desire to just know it.

“I wish I knew your name.”

It’s a whisper, but the dragon hears me. It seems to be waiting for something. I hesitate, chewing on my lip, then look away, closing my eyes. I lift my hand and just wait for what feels like an eternity. The warm snout finally pressing against my outstretched palm makes my breath catch in my throat. My eyes fly open, but I don’t dare look at it yet. The scales are rough beneath my skin and its breath is warm. The sensation disappears and only then do I look.

I nearly fall to the floor in shock when I see a man standing before me. He looks to be around Jack’s age, tall, broad shouldered and slim with the hint of finely tuned muscle. He has a mop of unruly golden hair that falls into his handsome, freckled face.

My eyes trail down, and I blush when I realise he is as naked as the day he was born. I look further down, and my stomach twists with guilt. He’s missing his right foot. Instead there’s a smooth stump, ending at the ankle. I quickly drag my gaze back up before I can dwell on it too much. His shoulders are a little hunched and his back bent a bit as if unused to standing. He balances awkwardly on his damaged feet. I look back at his face again when he lifts it and gasps.

The dragon’s eyes are staring back. Big and round and grey-green with black lines running through like a turquoise stone. I can’t speak, I’m too amazed.

“My name is Kent.”

His voice is hoarse, like he hadn’t used it in a very long time, and it makes me shiver. It’s a long moment before I remember my manners.

“My name is Eric, but you can call me Bitty.”

My voice trembles but I try to be sincere and cheerful. He doesn’t speak again, and we just gaze at each other, both of us incredulous. Finally, he snaps first. He turns away from me and leaps forward into a crouch. His body morphs as I watch, his pale skin darkening to black scales and his limbs elongating. Wings sprout out of his back like spiked flowers and before I know it he’s a dragon again. He disappears into the undergrowth.

Chapter Six

One of Bad Bob’s bright ideas is to have a ‘bonding bonfire’. We’re sat on top of an abandoned catapult tower and I’m currently entertaining fantasies about throwing myself off it. It was almost dark when I’d returned from the cove, still astounded by seeing Kent in his human form and the progress we’d made. Bob had basically ambushed me and dragged me along, ignoring my protests. So far, no one else has even said hello to me.

There’s a fire roaring. I’m watching it crackle and gently roast my fish while the others goof around me and have sword fights with their skewers. Bad Bob has been retelling the tale of how he lost his limbs, and I swear it gets more dramatic every time I hear it. I can see Jack rolling his eyes behind his dad’s back.

“…and with one twist he took my hand and swallowed it whole. And I saw the look on his face. I was delicious. He must have passed the word, because it wasn’t a month before another one took my leg,” he announces darkly, thrusting his pegleg into the air to demonstrate his point.

“Isn’t it weird to think that your hand was inside a dragon? Like if your mind was still in control of it you could have killed the dragon from the inside by crushing his heart or something,” Ransom suggests curiously. He gazes off thoughtfully into the starry night, missing everyone’s incredulous looks. I know he’s amazingly smart, but he says some really odd things sometimes.

“I swear I’m so angry right now!” Holster growls. “I’ll avenge your beautiful hand and your beautiful foot. I’ll chop off the legs of every dragon I fight, with my face.” He tries posing heroically to Jack but is ignored, so he shows off to Ransom instead, who looks pleased.

“Uh-uh,” Bad Bob disagrees with his mouth full of food. “It’s the wings and tails you really want. If it can’t fly, it can’t get away. A downed dragon is a dead dragon.”

My heart sinks and just like that I’m not hungry anymore. I lay my skewer of meat aside where it’s instantly snatched up and devoured by Lardo. I turn away, burrowing into my blankets so no one can see my horrified expression. A downed dragon is a dead dragon. Oh Odin, what have I done?

“Alright,” Bad Bob yawns. He gets to his feet with a groan and stretches. “I’m off to bed. You should be too. Tomorrow we get into the big boys. Slowly but surely making our way up to the Monstrous Nightmare. But who’ll win the honour of killing it?” He asks playfully.

He winks at his son before hobbling off down the ladder. Jack watches him go, and I kind of understand the look on his face. He wants to prove himself just as much as I do. He works so hard at everything, I think he forgets to breathe sometimes.

“It’s gonna be me,” Shitty declares proudly. “It’s my fucking destiny, dudes. See?” He rolls up his sleeve, revealing an ornate red dragon winding around his forearm. In the firelight it looks like blood, but I’m sure it’s paint.

“Your mom let you get a tattoo?” Ransom gasps, his eyes wide.

“It’s not a fucking tattoo. It’s a badass birthmark,” Shitty corrects him, sticking it in his face for closer inspection.

“Okay, we’ve been friends since birth, and that was never there before,” Lardo snorts. There’s a thick joint in her hands that seems to have appeared out of nowhere the moment Bad Bob left.

“Yes, it was. You’ve just never seen me from the left side before,” Shitty sniffs haughtily.

“It wasn’t there yesterday. Is it a birthmark or a today-mark?” Holster taunts him with a smirk. Ransom chokes with laughter. I don’t think it was that funny. I can’t take it anymore. I still feel sick with guilt and listening to them fooling around is just making my head pound. I quietly slip away, knowing they wouldn’t miss me. I can feel eyes on my back as I go, but I don’t look behind me. I don’t need to see Jack’s face right now. I head back down to the village but pause on the path. Instead of walking home, I sneak to the blacksmiths.

There’s a little room at the back that I jokingly call my office. Bad Bob lets me tinker around in here by myself most of the time. I’ve pinned up sketches and blueprints up on the wall, most of them of my bola catapult. That thing’s still up on the southern hill, abandoned. The moonlight is strong and filters in through the window, but I still light a couple of lanterns. I seat myself at my desk and lay open my notebook on the drawing of the Night Fury.

There has to be something I can do. Kent didn’t deserve to be maimed like that. I stare at the missing tail fin in the drawing. What if there was a way I could make him a mechanical one? It would need to be fully jointed, maybe like a fan, and needs to be rooted to his tail. Logically it could work, right? I shove my book aside and hurriedly start to sketch designs on a blank piece of parchment.

It isn’t long before I’ve pencilled one I’m happy with. I get straight to work, lighting up the fire and pumping the bellows. It’s very late at night now, but I’m not tired, not even after the long, hard day I’ve had. I fall into a familiar routine once the blaze is hot enough. Heat the metal, hammer it, heat it, hammer it. It’s almost therapeutic, and now I have a goal in mind I don’t feel as bad. Some hours later, I eventually plunge the pieces into the barrel of water with a hiss of steam.

They fit together almost seamlessly. I’ve had to guess the measurements, but as a prototype I’m sure they’ll do. It’s taken some work. I’ve used a batch of iron we were saving for repairs, and I’ve taken studs from about a dozen shields. I’m tired now, but still unable to rest. I’ve folded stiff leather around the straight pieces, and they open and close smoothly. It feels weighty in my hands, but it feels right, too.

It’s dawn by the time I leave. Sunlight is streaming I through the windows and the village is just starting to wake up around me. I’m going to be exhausted at training, but I’m sure I’ll survive. Well, I suppose that depends on whatever crazy training exercise Bad Bob has concocted today, but I’ll be fine. It’s worth it. Before anyone sees me, I hurry down to the cove.

It’s a little chilly, and I wish I’d bought my jacket, especially as the morning dew settles on my tunic and soaks through my breeches. I’m not sure which version of Kent I’d prefer, the dragon or the man. Either way, it doesn’t matter much. I just hope he’ll give me a chance to explain and show him the prosthetic. I stop by the stream on my way and add piles of fish to the basket I’m carrying. It might make the leather smell a bit, but I’m sure he won’t mind.

I squeeze through the rock and dump the basket down with a groan. I’ve never been one for heavy lifting, and my arms are screaming at me. I look around and spot Kent across the lake. He’s a dragon again, and I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or not. I suppose it might be a self-defence thing. We were both a bit vulnerable yesterday. He eagerly stalks towards me and I don’t even flinch when he sniffs me expectantly.

“Hey, honey,” I smile. “I brought breakfast, I hope you’re hungry.” I tip the basket, letting the fish slide out on to the floor. The stench makes me gag, but his eyes light up. “Okay, that’s disgusting. Uh, we’ve got some salmon, some nice Icelandic cod, and a whole smoked eel.”

Kent devoured the lot enthusiastically, until he got to the eel. He gagged and spat it out, screwing up his face in such a way that it cracked me up. He even scraped his massive tongue along the sand just to get rid of the taste.

“No, it’s okay, I don’t like eel much either,” I laugh.

I wait until he’s finished scoffing the rest and he’s lying all content and full like a dog who’s feasted on chicken. I say his name and he lazily looks at me, tail wagging ever so slightly and sending up little dust clouds.

“I’ve made something for you,” I announce, a slight tremble in my voice.

I rest my hand on the basket and that piques his interest. He’s probably expecting a cake made from fish or something. I take a deep breath and carefully avoid his gaze.

“I’m…I’m the reason your tail is hurt. I fired the bola that hit you.”

It’s quiet for too long. When I look up, Kent is watching me. I expect him to be sad or angry, but he seems neither of those. His expression seems more thoughtful, and he just nudges my foot with his nose. I take it as an invitation to keep going and pull out the huge mechanical tail fin. His ears prick up.

“I know this won’t replace what I’ve taken from you. But hopefully it’ll at least get you flying again,” I say, trying to smile weakly.

He sits up, completely alert now, and leans to sniff it curiously. Encouraged, I fold it out, demonstrating how it works and showing him the buckle that would cinch it to him. He looks reluctant for a moment, then slowly turns around, presenting his tail to me. My grin is so wide it splits my face. I dive forward and straddle his tail to start buckling him in, my fingers trembling with excitement. It clicks in easily and I lean back to inspect it after spreading out the spokes.

“There. Not too bad. It works.”

It’s a bit crude but it kind of does the job. I suddenly notice that Kent is completely tense, adjusting to the sensation of having something there again. His gigantic wings spread and a split second later he bolts away. I squeal and clutch his tail instinctively and I’m carried with him along the ground. He crouches and springs up into the air, ignoring my panicked yells. He soars high and the ground speeds away, turning into a green and blue blur beneath us. He starts to fall almost immediately. He can’t control it, and the wind rattles through the useless prosthetic. Its counterpart is flared though, and I realise what I need to do. Despite my head spinning, I reach out and tug the fan open, clinging to the thick meat of his tail for dear life. The air catches it and stabilises the twisting tail, letting Kent even out his trajectory. The wind has chilled my face and made my eyes water, but I get a sudden thrill that bubbles out of me into a whoop.

“It’s working! Yes! Yes, I did it!”

I’m excited and terrified all at once. Kent starts to climb, his eyes wide and lit up. I glance back at the fin, it’s trembling with effort but holding. I can hardly believe it. My head’s starting to swim and there’s another sudden rush of air. I look back at him, my grip on his scales starting to loosen as my hand goes clammy. Shit. We’re heading straight for the cliff face.

Kent turns at the last minute. The force flings me from his tail and I only just have time to scream as I’m suddenly freefalling. Luckily, I can see the lake glistening beneath me and I thank Odin we didn’t travel too far. I look up to see where Kent had gone and see him plunging beside me, no longer able to catch the air no matter how hard he flaps his enormous wings. I manage to take a deep breath.

We both hit the water with a crash. It stings worse than the wind and I immediately go under, Kent following me with a massive cannonball. We don’t go deep, and I’m able to easily swim up and break the surface. I’m vibrating with excitement, a huge grin across my face. I can’t believe it actually worked! I look across to Kent, but he doesn’t look as impressed. He spits water at me. I laugh and splash him back, elated by our progress.

“Did you see that?” I ask excitedly as we both swim back to the shore.

Of course, he did, but it didn’t stop me from chattering about it as I crawl onto dry land. Already my head is exploding with ideas and I know just what I have to do next to make the mechanical fin functional. I can’t go back to the village wet through, and our little experiment has left me exhausted so I flop onto the grass to dry out. The sun is still beaming down and Kent collapses beside me, basking in the glow. I turn my head and throw him another grin, but he rolls his eyes at me. I swear he looks fondly exasperated.

“This is such a great start, sweetheart,” I smile.

I lightly pat his arm, trying to be reassuring. He doesn’t flinch, but he does honour me with a grunt. I’m not sure why he doesn’t transform back into a human, but I don’t question him, I’d rather he be comfortable around me. I sat up and start carefully removing the fin from his tail. It’s rubbed the scales a bit, from the pressure of the wind. I’ll have to add multiple contact points, to spread out the force. Easily done, and it’d be stronger too. I examine the fin, pleased to see it was still going strong. The leather was soaked, but the hinges were all working perfectly. I lay it aside to dry.

“Just you watch. We’ll have you flying in no time!” I promised.

He didn’t react, and after a minute or two had passed I didn’t think he would. He makes my breath catch in my throat though when he suddenly lays his chin on my lap. He closes his eyes, worn out from the exertion, but he looks content and comfortable. I hesitate, then gently put my hand on his head, slowly rubbing the pebbled skin with my thumb. I don’t say anything, but I don’t think I need to.

Chapter Seven

I spend most nights working on the fin. I have to stop myself not long after midnight, otherwise I’d carry on until dawn. I’m not finished, but that’s okay. I’d rather it be perfect than rushed. It’s not easy work, and my fingers are pinched and singed, but I’m satisfied with what I’ve done so far. If Bad Bob hears me hammering away, he never comes down to me. As soon as I leave the workshop I’m already thinking about the time I can come back. Probably the evening, after I’ve visited Kent.

I’m in a good mood as I head to the training grounds the next day. The others must notice because they give me odd looks, but I can’t bring myself to care. I fall into line next to Jack and sneak a glance at his handsome profile. I like it when the sun shines in his hair because I can see chocolate tones in the black strands. He catches me staring and I hurriedly look away to avoid his glare. I hope he can’t smell the dead eel stowed away in my inner pocket. Kent’s adverse reaction to it yesterday gave me an idea for a backup plan.

We warm up and I’m careful not to stretch beside him. I made that mistake yesterday and had to suffer through an awkward arousal for at least an hour. Catching sight of Shitty bending over and sniffing his own foot does not have the same effect. That done, we crowd around the wide doors at the back, awaiting whichever beast Bad Bob is going to unleash on us today. He’s put us into pairs – Jack and Lardo, Holster and Shitty, Ransom and me – and armed us with buckets of cold water. I squint, watching green gas starting to seep through the cracks in the wood.

“Today is about teamwork,” Bad Bob announces. He’s behind us, ready to spring into action should needs be. I think the last couple of disasters have made him a bit paranoid. “Work together and you might survive.”

The doors suddenly blast open. I jump so much half of the water slops out of my bucket. I expect to see a huge dragon come stampeding towards us, but instead thick clouds of gas begin rolling out. They fill the ring, instantly obscuring our vision. It stinks, and I try not to breathe it in, slowly edging towards Ransom.

“Now, a wet dragon head can’t light its fire. The Hideous Zippleback is extra tricky. One head breathes gas, the other head lights it. Your job is to know which is which.”

Bad Bob’s words don’t fill me with encouragement. I can only just see Ransom’s outline in the gas, let alone a dragon. I listen hard and my eyes water with concentration, on the hunt for any sign of the beast. Ransom’s voice makes me jump again.

“Razor-sharp, serrated teeth that inject venom for pre-digestion. Prefers ambush attack, crushing its victims in its…”

“Will you please stop that?” I quickly interrupt, feeling sick to my stomach.

I think he opens his mouth to retort but we both freeze as we hear Holster quietly humming under his breath, probably to calm his nerves. I can just see his bulky silhouette through the fog, with Shitty’s lankier frame beside him, as they try to scope the dragon out.

“If that dragon shows either of its faces, I’m gonna – there!” Holster breaks off, voice tense with terror.

He’s spotted a dark, swirling shape in the smoke, though I think it might be too small to be the Zippleback. He and Shitty hurl their water anyway, which cuts through the gas and splatters both Jack and Lardo. They’re immediately soaked to the bone.

“Hey!” Jack snaps, his hair stuck to his face.

“It’s us, idiots!” Lardo snarls, looking ready to pounce on them. It’s even funnier because she’s tiny and Holster and Shitty both tower over her.

“Your butt’s getting bigger,” Shitty teases her with a smirk. “We thought you were a fucking dragon.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with a dragonesque figure!” Holster says quickly, but the damage is done.

Lardo growls and is just about to leap at them when Jack suddenly grips her arm. The colour drains from his face.

“Wait.”

Everyone instantly freezes, the tone of his voice leaving no room for argument. Out of nowhere, a long tail whips their feet from under them, narrowly missing Ransom and me. Their buckets clatter to the floor as they fall, the water pooling around them. I grimace and slowly edge back. The wooden bucket is getting even heavier in my hands and my knuckles start to turn white with how tightly I’m clutching it.

“Oh, I’m hurt, I’m very much hurt,” Shitty whines from somewhere. The gas has enveloped them again.

“Chances of survival are dwindling into single digits now,” Ransom whispers beside me.

I ignore him, peering through the smoke. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears, but I finally hear a shift in front of us. I snap my head in that direction and suddenly see a huge silhouette darken the air.

“Look out!”

A Zippleback head emerges out of the smoke. It leers over, its neck long and snake like. Its beady eyes fixates on us and its teeth gleams in the light. Ransom springs into action, hurling the bucket of water and dousing it completely. We both hold our breath, hoping that was the correct head. It leers and opens its mouth, spewing thick gas around our ankles. My heart sinks. Ransom yelps and staggers away in a panic when there’s a strange clicking sound. I wait, bucket poised.

“Now, Bitty!” Bad Bob suddenly yells.

The other head sweeps out of the smoke, an identical twin. It’s a few meters above me, and I throw the contents of my bucket as hard as I can. The water soars in a glittering arc but falls short of its sparking mouth. The dragon grins, ready to savour the kill.

“Oh, come on!”

“RUN, BITTY!”

I can hear the genuine fear in Bad Bob’s voice and it sends a shiver down my spine. I ignore the scream though, remembering the secret weapon tucked in my pocket. I took a confident step forward and throw the bucket aside. The Zippleback prepares to strike and I open my jacket slightly. I can see the precise moment it gets a whiff of the stinking eel because it freezes, nostrils flaring. Encouraged, I fished it out of my pocket, careful to keep it out of the others’ view.

The Zippleback hisses and starts to retreat, obviously just as disgusted as Kent had been. I hold my hands out, guiding it back into its prison almost like it was under my control. It cowers as it scrambles back, ducking into the safe darkness of its cave.

“Back! Back! Now don’t make me tell you again! Yes, that’s right. Back into your cage.” With a flick of my wrist I sling the eel after it before slamming the doors shut. “Now think about what you’ve done.”

I manage to heave the lock into place with a grunt. Dusting my hands off, I turn around only to see everyone staring at me, completely slack jawed, even Jack. It was enough to make my skin crawl. I slap a cheerful grin on my face and try to brush it off as nothing.

“Okay! So, are we done? Because I’ve got some things I need to…”

I trailed off when I realised no one was responding to me. They were still staring with that same awed expression. Giving it up as a bad job, I jog past them with a feeble farewell. They let me go without question, but I felt their eyes on me the whole time. It makes me shudder worse than the dragon.

I head down to the workshop again, vaguely wondering if I’ll ever get the smell of eel out of my jacket. Probably not. The fin only needs a little more work, and I’m confident I’ll have it finished in an hour or so. I’m quite proud of it, if I do say so myself. I’ve fashioned a harness to go with it, complete with handles and foot pedals. It took me a bit of time to work out the schematics for it, but I’m almost sure they’ll be spot on. It’ll allow me to control Kent’s prosthetic and give me a bit of something to hold onto.

The test drive is a disaster. Well, that might be a slight exaggeration. Kent doesn’t seem keen on the harness to begin with but allows me to fit it once I’ve explained what it will let me do. It goes well, at first. We lift off smoothly and Kent heads straight to the ocean, lured by the freedom. We only make it about fifty feet before the force of Kent’s tail snaps free of the taut leather holding everything in place. I’m sent flying back towards the cove with a strangled yell. I’m lucky I didn’t break anything.

I dash back to the smithy for rudimentary repairs. The straps are reinforced, and I attach a metal clamp to secure me to the saddle and take the brunt of the force. An hour later I’m dashing back to try it out. The hiccup hasn’t deterred me, and I’m full of the same excitement. Kent sees my expression and sits still during the fitting, looking exasperated. I fumble over the catches and hoist myself onto his back as soon as they’re secure.

Our launch is a little wobbly, but to my delight everything seems to be working. The salty wind stings my face and my hands instantly ache with the force of holding on, but that thrill I feel as we soar high above the cliffs and the glistening sea is more than worth it. I can’t believe I’m actually flying. For about fifteen minutes.

We crash land into a wide-open field, skidding through tall grass and mud. I feel dizzy and sore but elated, and I sit up hurriedly to see if Kent shares my excitement. To my surprise he’s writhing through the grass in pure bliss, on his back with his legs up in the air and groaning happily. I stare at the grass in awe, another idea for tomorrow’s training forming in my head.

It works. I try it during training the next day against the burly Gronkle. As soon as I’m close enough I press it to its nose before dropping it to the ground. The dragon goes with it, rolling around and whimpering delightedly just like Kent had done. I’m a little surprised it worked so well, and as soon as the Gronkle is stowed back into its cage, my fellow recruits swarm around me as we leave and start bombarding me with so many questions I’m instantly overwhelmed.

“Hey Bitty, I’ve never seen a Gronkle do that before!” Ransom said, stumbling beside me excitedly.

“How’d you do that?” Shitty asked eagerly.

“It was really cool,” Lardo added with a casual nod, the epitome of cool herself.

I squirm, feeling on edge and awkward. I struggle for an excuse, my eyes falling on the large axe Jack is carrying.

“I left my axe back in the ring!” I suddenly announce, pretending not to see Jack’s highly suspicious look. “You guys go on ahead and I’ll catch you up.”

I hurry back towards the ring but change direction as soon as I’m out of sight. Phew. That was awful. I need to be more careful if Jack is already so wary of me, I can’t risk him following me. Which I’m sure he’d do. I love how determined he is, but I really don’t want that willpower discovering what I’m up to.

I visit Kent again after working some more on the harness. We don’t fly today, but we sit together again, like we often do. He still hasn’t transformed back into a human since that time, but I never ask him to. I imagine it’s still a difficult thing for him. It’s enough for me to just sit beside him anyway, absently petting him like a dog. He doesn’t seem to mind. I find that if I scratch just behind his ear, he goes all limp and his big tongue lolls out of his mouth. It’s so cute.

It’s also a trick that works on the Deadly Nadder. I try it in training the next day, just as the dragon is lunging towards me. I spot Jack diving forward with his axe raised, but I reach it first. The Nadder goes boneless like Kent had done, and even makes a slight purring noise. Jack is so stunned he drops his axe, but it soon turns into fury. I hate upsetting him, it must kill him to not be the best in his father’s class, but if it means I can end the lesson before anyone, human or dragon, is hurt then so be it.

I have lunch in the Great Hall for the first time in forever. I don’t even bother trying to sit with my fellow recruits, choosing a seat at another table. To my shock they all scoot towards me with their food, looking keen and bright eyed. They leave Jack by himself, and the scowl he shoots in my direction makes my heart sink.

“Hey Bitty!” Ransom greets brightly.

“What was that?” Holster wants to know, shocking me by sounding genuinely curious. “Some kind of trick? What did you do?”

“Bits, you’re totally going to fucking come in first, brah. There’s no question!” Shitty assures me, nodding wisely. His eyes look red and dazed. Again.

I grimace and shrug, shovelling food into my mouth so I can leave. I appreciate that they’re being so nice to me, but the attention is weirding me out a bit. Especially because I feel guilty about Jack. I finish my food in record timing and make yet another excuse. They look disappointed but offer cheerful goodbyes. I avoid Jack’s eyes as I leave, knowing them to be boring into my back, like he’s trying to search my soul.

It doesn’t help that I discover another trick when I’m sitting with Kent later. I’m fiddling with a polished stone, turning it over in my fingers as I think about what I could do with it. It’s pretty and would look nice mounted in jewellery or something. The mirrored edge catches the bright sunlight and casts a patch of light on the ground. Kent spots it and can’t resist clawing at it. I move the stone, making the light dance, and Kent follows it, transfixed. He’d probably never do it if he was human, but as a dragon he chases it for ages.

The next day at training, I watch the gates open, wondering if my little light trick would work on whichever dragon Bad Bob presents us with. I’m itching for our lesson to finish, as I finally completed my next round of work on the harness and prosthetic last night and am desperate to test it out. I’m not sure the bigger dragons would be as fascinated with the light as Kent had been.

To everyone’s amazement the smallest dragon we’ve ever seen skitters out of the darkness. It’s the size of a small dog, with huge eyes that take up most of its face. If I’m being honest, it looks positively adorable.

“Meet the Terrible Terror,” Bad Bob announces.

“Ha!” Shitty scoffs, bending down to peer at the tiny creature. “It’s like the size of my d—” I’m pretty sure he was about to say his penis, but his sentence is thankfully cut off with a strangled yell. He’s tackled to the floor in a blur, the Terror snarling as its teeth tear into his clothes.

“Get the fucker off! Get it off! Oh, I’m hurt! I’m very much hurt!”

Before anyone else can react, I move forward, the polished stone in my hand. It catches the sun easily and the Terrible Terror instantly spots the patch of light twirling on the ground. It pounces immediately, captivated by it. I guide it back towards its cage with ease as it is completely oblivious to anything other than the pesky light. The dragon follows it into the darkness and Bad Bob closes the gates again, utterly dumbfounded.

I slip the stone back into my pocket, amazed it had worked so well. I grin sheepishly as the others cheer and surround me. Jack hangs back, furious all over again. Whatever Shitty mutters to him, it makes Jack scowl even harder. I’m not sure why, but I get the feeling that Jack can’t take it anymore. I’m going to need to be careful.

Chapter Eight

That afternoon, I finally strap the new and improved harness to Kent’s back. He stands tall and ready, as excited as I am, I think. I’ve had to make quite a few modifications, and I’m reluctant to dive straight into flying with this one. We need to take a little more care and I need to study Kent’s movements properly if we’re going to make this work. So, for now, Kent is tethered to a sturdy post to keep him stationary while we’re in the air. He throws it a disapproving look that makes me chuckle but otherwise allows it.

He only has to flap his gigantic wings once or twice to get us into the air and moves them at a steady pace to keep us there. The slow pace allows me to enjoy the breeze in my hair without the thrill of oncoming death. It’s perfect, just what I need to be able to observe his tail movements. He almost looks a bit like a kite tied to a tree stump and it makes me snicker. He sneers at me, as if he understands what I’m laughing at.

Of course, the rope snaps. We’re suddenly flung forward without resistance and sail through the air. Unable to correct his trajectory, Kent crashes straight into a tree, sending a flock of birds screeching into the air. We tumble to the ground, both of us groaning. No doubt I’ll get more bruises, just after the last ones had faded. I sit up and rub my head, grateful that we at least landed in the grass and not the water.

I go to unclip myself but to my dismay the clips securing me to the harness have been warped out of shape. Shit. I knew I should have reinforced the steel that little bit more and added a hinge. I give it a hard tug, but it doesn’t budge. Kent looks at me with a raised eyebrow, wondering why I hadn’t got up. I growl and give it another pull but it’s futile.

“Great.”

We wait until nightfall, and then we wait just a little bit longer. It’s pitch black when we start heading back to the village. This is stupid, and dangerous, but I really don’t have a choice. There’s no way of unclipping that strap without my tools. Kent doesn’t turn human and I don’t suggest it. I assume he feels safer as a dragon when walking through a village of humans intent on killing him if they spotted him. Even if he did transform, we’d still have the same problem anyway. I guide him through the crevices, though it’s a tight squeeze. We tiptoe through the undergrowth like thieves, hoping that everyone has gone to bed. I can’t help but notice how beautifully his scales gleam in the moonlight.

“We have to be super quiet, honey,” I whisper as we edged towards the houses.

It was a useless warning. He knows as well as I do how bad things would be if we were caught, but it was just an excuse to ramble to myself to calm my nerves. The streets are thankfully empty, and we sneak down them, sticking close to the shadows towards the smithy. I steer Kent inside as quietly as I can and light a couple of candles. I grimace as I realise just how big he is in the tiny space. He tries to turn, but his massive tail scatters a bucket of tools to the floor.

“Bitty?”

We both freeze. That’s Jack. I hurriedly seize the pliers and frantically try prising the saddle hook open, but it still won’t move. My heart is starting to pound in my chest and I nearly drop the tool, my hands clammy. Kent is looking in the direction of the window, his eyes wide and curious.

“Are you in there?”

He’s right outside. Without thinking I throw myself out of the window and slam the shutters behind me. The slack in the strap is pulled taut but there’s just enough if I stay very still.

“Jack. Hey. Hi Jack. Hi Jack. Hi Jack.” Odin, I sound ridiculous. I inwardly curse, hoping I don’t look as awkward as I feel. Jack doesn’t look impressed. “I normally don’t care what people do, but you’re acting weird. Well, weirder,” Jack accuses, narrowing his lovely blue eyes at me.

I open my mouth to give him whatever lame excuse comes to mind, but I’m suddenly yanked back, pressed tight against the shutters. It’s obvious I’m surprised for a moment and Jack glares suspiciously. A second later I’m dragged back through the shutters with a yelp and they slam in Jack’s face. Before he has chance to open them, I seize the tools I need and desperately coax Kent back through the door. Just as Jack wrenches the window shutters open, we disappear into the night. I’m grateful for Kent’s dark skin as it camouflages us in the shadows and we manage to escape unseen.

---

As the sun dawns the next day, a lone, battered ship pulls into the bay. The men upon it look equally as battered, worn thin and dead on their feet. A crowd forms on the pier as they disembark, looking like hometown heroes who had just suffered a serious defeat. It’s obvious that many Vikings haven’t returned, and Bad Bob watches as his neighbours’ hearts break.

He spots Richard clambering off the ship and pushes through to meet him. Their chief looks like his pride has taken a hit, and it’s clear that the loss of his men has disheartened him. Bad Bob stops dead when he finally sees the extent of the damage. It’s a wonder the ship made it back in one piece. Richard stalks past him, easily cutting a path through his people. Bob quickly turns and hobbles after him.

“Well, I trust you found the nest at least?” he asks hopefully.

“Not even close,” Richard mutters darkly.

“Oh, excellent,” Bob replies dryly, shaking his head. He reaches out with his hook to snag Richard’s duffle back, sharing the burden wordlessly.

“I hope you had a little more success than me,” Richard sighs tiredly. “Well, if by success, you mean that your parenting troubles are over with, then…yes,” Bob shrugs. It is bittersweet.

Richard stops dead, staring at him in confusion. A couple of merry Vikings rush past, one of them hurriedly squeezing Richard’s shoulder.

“Congratulations, Richard! Everyone is so relieved!” the man grins widely.

“Out with the old and in with the new, right?” his lady friend cheers.Richard is dumbfounded.

“No one will miss that old nuisance!” the first man hooted, even dancing a little on the spot.

“The village is throwing a party to celebrate!” the woman adds gleefully, like a bunch of men hadn’t just been lost at sea. They both disappear, skipping towards the pier.

“He’s…gone?” Richard whispers overwhelmed by their insensitivity.

“Yeah…most afternoons. But who can blame him? I mean, the life of a celebrity is very rough. He can barely walk through the village without being swarmed by his new fans,” Bad Bob explains.

“Bitty?” Richard looks even more confused. Bad Bob smiles and puts an arm around his huge shoulders.

“Who would’ve thought, eh?” He guides him towards the Great Hall where he can make sure Richard has a good meal and a big tankard of ale. “He has this…way with the beasts.”

Chapter Nine

The sky is clear and a perfect blue, with only a gentle breeze blowing west. It’s ideal flying weather, and Kent soars through it gracefully. It’s an amazing feeling, gliding above the ocean with the wind ruffling my hair. The clouds are billowing around us like fluffy marshmallows, and everything beneath us is a blur. The harness is working perfectly, the weight is evenly distributed, and every clip and ring is doubly reinforced. If I can lock down the various fin positions required for manoeuvres, then we can really start exploring the skies.

“Okay there, honey, we’re going to take this nice and slow,” I remind Kent, gently patting his shoulder.

I’ve mapped out a leather cheat sheet and attached it to the harness, ready for me to consult at a moment’s notice. I’ve inscribed the different tail fin positions, along with the accompanying pedal locations.

“Here we go, here we go…position three. No, four.”

I push down my left foot, clicking the pedal into the correct notch. The tail fin flares out behind me, instantly catching the rippling wind. We roll off into an arcing bank, the setting sun casting an orange glow over us as we soar by. I tuck myself tight to Kent’s neck, making us a little more streamlined. The extra speed makes my gut swoop pleasantly and I cling tighter to the handles.

I study each fluctuation of Kent’s tail fin, trying to match it with the pedals. The prosthetic is quick and responsive, and it makes my chest swell with pride. I look up and gauge a target to really test us both – a towering arch of stone rising from the sea. Perfect.

“Alright, it’s go time, it’s go time.” We dive towards it, lining ourselves up with the gap.

“Come on, come on sweetheart!”

We zip through perfectly, the wind whistling as we sail past.

“Yes! It worked!”

I pump the air with my fist, elated at the smooth manoeuvre. The triumph is short lived though, and we smack into a sea stack as I struggle to keep up with the turns. I apologise, scrambling to correct the pedals, only to bash into another stone pillar. Kent grumbles at me and swats me with his ear, making me snicker.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it. Position four. No, three.”

We start to climb, finally piercing the thick, fluffy clouds. The dew sticks to my jacket and sprinkles my face as we burst through them. I look down and see the entire island for the first time. It’s truly magnificent and is shrinking faster with every passing second. I swallow and clutch the handles so hard my knuckles turn white. I should be terrified, and I kind of am, but it’s squashed by this blossoming thrill of freedom. I can’t contain it any longer and let out a whoop of excitement as we pick up speed.

“Yeah! Go, honey! Yes! This is amazing! The wind in my…”

My words die as I notice the leather guide starting to flap madly and tear free in the turbulence.

“Cheat sheet! Stop!”

I grasp at the airborne sheet, managing to seize it before it flies out of reach. Kent, however, seems to think I was issuing an order and stops beating his wings. We slow to a stop and before I know it I’m weightless. The rings on my vest float off their harness hooks and I’m suddenly detached and free falling. I’m instantly very, very frightened.

“Oh, gods. Oh no!”

Without me controlling it, Kent’s tail loses control. He yelps as he starts to spiral downwards, and I plunge alongside him, the air rushing by me and making my eyes water. Kent fights to get back under me, the panic evident on his face. Somehow, that helps me to keep calm even as we plummet.

“Alright, okay. You just gotta kinda angle yourself. No, no, come back down towards me. Come back down.”

I clench the cheat sheet in my teeth and extend my arms and legs, trying to give him as much surface area as I can, even though the gravity pushing down on me makes my limbs ache. There’s a couple of misses but he finally angles himself and tumbles close enough for me to snag the harness. It feels like we’ve been falling forever, yet it can only be seconds. I lock in the clips and pull myself back into the saddle with just enough time to yank hard on the handles, dragging Kent out of his dive.

We skim the tree tops, scattering leaves in all directions. We careen past the wooded cliff and directly into a treacherous slalom course of jutting sea stacks. I pull the sheet from my teeth and attempt to check positions, but it flaps violently in the turbulence and it’s just impossible to read it as the stone towers zoom towards us.

With no time to think I toss the now useless sheet over my shoulder and grit my teeth in determination. I steer Kent’s tail on instinct alone and I don’t have time to be amazed at my perfect intuition. It’s like there’s a connection between us, letting us move together as one. Together, we manage a tight, hair-raising series of split-second turns and finally make it to open water, unscathed.

I finally take a breath of sweet, sweet air and look behind me at the death-defying obstacle course now safely behind us. The relief and pride burst out of me and I let out an ecstatic yell, throwing my arms up in the air. Kent shares my delight and gives an excited squeal and follows it up by spitting a huge blue fireball several feet in front of us. My glee turns to dread as I realise he’s heading straight towards it.

“Aw, come on.”

He relishes diving through the heat like a human might enjoy sinking into a warm bath. It isn’t hot enough to burn but it does char my jacket and covers me in a fine cloak of soot. We emerge blackened and slightly smoking, and Kent couldn’t be happier. I cough the ash out of my lungs and I swear he’s laughing at me. I swat him playfully.

“Very funny. That’s enough now, let’s find somewhere to rest.”

We start to sink, Kent still letting out a few snickers. Controlling the pedal now seems as natural as breathing, and I don’t even have to look behind me to check the tail positions. I just seem to know. Eventually we spot a small, deserted island and head towards the shore. The landing is mostly smooth, and I gratefully pry myself out of the saddle. My legs and hands are stiff from holding on so tightly and it’s a relief to stretch them out.

We catch fish together, finding a near unending supply in the clear waters. I manage to coax him into spitting fire on a couple of pieces of driftwood before he tucks into his feast. I spear mine on a stick and settle down to roast it. It doesn’t take him long to finish, and he curls up behind me, letting me rest my back against his side. It’s usually how we sit together in the evenings, and it’s comforting.

After a few minutes he lets out a really gross gurgling sound and scoffs up a half-digested fish head, gobbing it at my feet like he was giving me a gift. I give him the driest look I can manage and indicate my own meal.

“Uh, no thanks, I’m good.”

Kent makes that annoying snickering again and settles down, dozing a little. There’s a companionable silence as I eat my own dinner and I feel like something has changed between us. Kent must feel it too, because after a few minutes, I suddenly realise he’s shrinking behind me. I sit up and turn to watch as the dragon shape shifts. It’s mesmerising to watch his limbs shortening and the pebbled skin turning smooth and pale. Before long, a human is sat beside me. He gives me a tentative smile and I give him one back before looking out to sea again, if only because he was butt naked again.

The fin falls away, completely useless now his tail has morphed into a pair of legs. I’m filled with a weird kind of honour, that he trusts me enough to see him like this again. I don’t know what to say, so I default to my usual clumsy speech.

“Hey. Kent. Hey Kent. Hey Kent.”

I grimace but he just chuckles and lightly nudges my shoulder.

“Hey, Bits,” he replies, his voice still a little husky with misuse.

“That was fun, huh?” I ask brightly, hugging my knees to give my hands something to do. I glance at Kent when he doesn’t reply straight away, but he’s smiling gently.

“Thank you. For helping me fly again,” he murmurs. I almost don’t catch it, and my expression softens.

“Oh, honey. It’s the least I could do after what I did to you. I’ll never be able to forgive myself,” I say sadly, looking down at the smooth stump where his foot should be.

“I forgive you,” Kent tells me, in a tone I can’t argue with. “Besides. You’re right. Flying together is fun.”

He flashes me a grin that lights me up from the inside. I laugh quietly, my shoulders starting to relax. I run my fingers through my hair, shaking soot out of it.

“Odin, if Jack could see me now,” I snorted, dusting off my hands. “I must look like a complete mess.”

“Maybe he likes the dishevelled look,” Kent smirks, waggling his eyebrows at me. “I’m so disappointed I didn’t catch a glimpse of him the other night. I wanted to see if he’s as handsome as you say.”

I roll my eyes, half regretting him telling him all about my crush if he was just going to mock me, even if it was good-natured. The other half of me was just pleased that I could talk about liking a boy with someone I counted as a friend.

“You’ll never meet him. You’d just embarrass me,” I sniffed, laughing when he squawked indignantly.

“I would not!”

I just laughed at him, tired but content. We fall quiet again, but there isn’t an awkward need to fill the silence. After a while we both hear tiny wings flapping hard over the rustling waves. We look up to see a group of Terrible Terrors heading towards us. I sit up straight as they drop gracefully onto the sand, but Kent doesn’t seem to be concerned. The tiny dragons hesitate, instantly recognising him. There’s an awkward moment where no one knows what to do.

The group starts to transform, their bodies growing instead of shrinking like Kent’s. They remain small, for humans, though their eyes almost seem too big, still resembling their dragon counterparts. There’s two women and three men, and I concentrate on their faces, because they are all completely naked. They’re understandably wary of me. I must look obviously human.

“Stand down,” Kent tells them, almost lounging back. His tone is lazy, but it still somehow commands their attention. “This human is not our enemy.”

“Can you be sure of that?” one of the men asks, eyeing the harness and prosthetic tail fin at our feet.

“Absolutely,” Kent says firmly.

Just for a moment, I think I see a flash of something in his eyes, but it’s gone before I can be sure. The visitors hesitate, glancing between themselves. The man who spoke doesn’t seem convinced, and frowns at me.

“This is unnatural, Kent,” he argues lowly. “You’ll get into big trouble.”

“That’s my concern, not yours,” Kent tells him sharply. I look up at him, not expecting him to take a tone like that. “He is not to be harmed.”

“…very well,” the man finally agrees, though he still doesn’t look convinced. “We’ll pass on the message.”

“See that you do.” Kent nods and lounges back again.

There must be some kind of dragon hierarchy I’m not aware of, because after a short pause the Terrible Terrors transition back into dragons and are on their way again. I watch them disappear on the horizon and am suddenly struck with the overwhelming realisation that this is a lot bigger than I thought.

“Everything we know about you guys is wrong,” I murmur, a little awed.

I look up at him, but he glances away, appearing a little uneasy. He gives a half shrug, drawing patterns in the sand.

“There’s a lot more to it than you realise,” he admits quietly.

I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. Then too much time passes, and it would be weird if I speak now so I don’t, looking back to the ocean instead. I feel him transition beside me, and a moment later I’m leaning against a dragon’s huge torso instead of a human’s shoulder. He feels safer as a dragon, and I’m starting to understand that. I can’t blame him. I’d probably feel safer too.

Chapter Ten

I flick my pencil upwards and listlessly watch it roll back down the slanted desk. The candle burns low, casting dancing shadows over my sketches, but I don’t have the energy to change it. Today’s flying session has left me exhausted, but my mind just won’t settle. It’s racing with so many thoughts about these dragons. They’re completely different to how I imagined. Those Terrible Terrors had every opportunity to murder me where I sat.

Kent’s behaviour had been a little odd too. What kind of authority did he have over them that I wasn’t aware of? They knew him, and had obeyed his wishes, albeit reluctantly. This whole thing is just mind-boggling. I’m honestly not sure what I’m going to do. We miraculously haven’t had a dragon raid in the few weeks I’ve known Kent, but I know it’s only a matter of time. I think he does too. He always watches the sky at nightfall, like he’s waiting for something.

A huge shadow suddenly blocks the doorway and I bolt up in surprise. I’d only left it open for the nightly breeze and hadn’t even heard anyone approach. My dad stands there, tall, proud, as intimidating as ever. He looks weary, his shoulders burdened with the weight of chiefdom. It’s not a weight I’m looking forward to. I suddenly remember the sketches of Kent and the prosthetics covering my desk and I fling my arms over them.

“Dad! You’re back!” I turn slightly to face him on the bench, carefully hiding the contents of my desk from view. He’s never cared much about what I work on, and I’m frantically hoping that’s still the case. “Bad Bob’s not here, so…” “I know. I came looking for you,” my dad replies simply, shrugging his massive shoulders.

“You did?” My heart starts to sink.

“You’ve been keeping secrets,” he tells me sternly and my heart practically plummets into my boots.

“I have?” I push the papers aside, hoping he thinks I’m just tidying up for the night.

“Just how long did you think you could hide it from me?” he demands, taking a step inside. He fills up the whole room.

“I don’t know what you’re…”

“Nothing happens on this island that I don’t know about,” he interrupts me, his voice so cold it sends a shiver down my spine. I’m well and truly fucked.

“Oh?”

“So. Let’s talk about that dragon,” he says darkly.

The candlelight flickers even more and I know the colour is draining from my face. He’s going to kill me. And then he’s going to kill Kent. My only option is to beg.

“Oh gods. Dad I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you. I just didn’t know how to—”

He starts laughing, big and booming in the small workshop. My words die in my throat and I stare at him, utterly baffled.

“You’re not…upset?” I ask hesitantly, watching him with wide eyes.

“What?! I was hoping for this!” He grins, and I can see his eyes dancing even in the dim light.

“Uh, you were?” I gasp, unable to resist feeling a little elated with relief.

“And believe me, it only gets better. Just wait until you spill a Nadder’s guts for the first time. And mount your first Gronkle head on a spear. What a feeling!” he gushes excitedly.

He’s oblivious as my expression sinks. Bad Bob must have told him about my progress in training. He thinks I’m a budding dragon trainer. The disappointment leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. He suddenly claps my back enthusiastically, nearly sending me stumbling into the wall.

“You really had me going there, son. All those years of the worst Viking Samwell has ever seen! Odin, it was rough. I almost gave up on you!” He looks obviously delighted, not noticing my ironic grimace. “All the while, you were holding out on me! Thor almighty!”

He grabs a small stool and sits before me. He looks almost comical, his huge, bulking frame perched so delicately on such a tiny seat. And he gazes up at me with this overjoyed expression that reminds me of an excited puppy. If that puppy is a huge, moustachioed Viking.

“Ah, with you doing so well in the ring, we finally have something to talk about,” he sighs happily.

He rests his chin on his hands and his elbows on his knees, watching me expectantly. I avert my eyes, completely lost for words at this point. There’s a long, pregnant pause that soon becomes awkward when it’s apparent I have nothing to say. He clears his throat and straightens up a little, looking a little less excited.

“I brought you something. To keep you safe in the ring.”

He reaches to his belt and unhooks a small, horned helmet I didn’t notice before. I accept it with a quiet and awed thanks and inspect it. It’s probably a little too big for me, but it’s neat and well made. I slide my fingers along the intricate carving, feeling an odd kind of connection to it.

“Your mother would have wanted you to have it. It’s half of her breast plate.” He taps his own helmet, smiling fondly and looking far away, just for the briefest moments. “Matching set. Keeps her close, you know?”

I grimace, a little uncomfortable at holding something that was so close to my mother’s bosom. It still belonged to her though, and I couldn’t help feeling attached to it already. Anything of hers is treasured dearly in our house. Gods, I miss her.

“Wear it proudly. You deserve it. You’ve held up your end of the deal,” he tells me, beaming.

His expression makes me squirm. I feel like such a fraud, but I just can’t bring myself to open my mouth and tell him about Kent. Gods, I’m such a coward. I yawn, feigning tiredness, though I feel anything but.

“I should really get to bed.”

He stands, eager to take the escape route just as much as I am. He nods, overzealous, and we both open our mouths to speak at the same time.

“Yes. Okay. Good talk. See you back at the house. I’m glad I stopped by. I hope you like the hat.”

“Good. We should do this again. Great. Thanks for stopping by. And for the uh…breast hat.”

Breast hat?! Gods, why do I say such ridiculous things? My dad leaves with an awkwardly mumbled goodnight and disappears back into the night. I groan dramatically and collapse back onto my desk. I am such an idiot. How did I get into such a mess? I’ve no idea what I’m going to do in the arena tomorrow but obviously my dad is expecting some kind of amazing dragon slaying. The thought makes me sick.

I stay at the workshop for another hour, until I’m sure he’s fallen asleep. I’m grateful he’s home safe, I really am, but everything was a bit simpler when he was away. Now he’s back, the guilt is crushing me again. I tiptoe into the house and can instantly hear him snoring away in his room upstairs. I slip into mine, but it’s a long time before sleep comes, and even when it does it’s fitful.

Dad leaves before me in the morning and we don’t get time to chat, which is probably for the best. I feel sick to my stomach with nerves. Today is a test and I don’t know what to do. I could let Jack kill the dragon, he’s certainly more than capable, and I know that earning his father’s pride would mean so much to him. But the thought of another dragon dying by our hand is unacceptable. I can’t let it happen.

I dress, skip breakfast, and make my way to the arena, but it’s all a blur. I can’t seem to get my brain to work properly. I think people wish me luck as they hurry excitedly to their seats, but I don’t hear them. It’s only when I’m standing in the ring with a Gronkle soaring above that everything snaps back into focus. The crowd’s roaring is deafening, the dust is choking my chest and there’s a sprinkling of sweat on the back of my neck.

The Gronkle dives and sends my recruits scrambling. I stagger back out of its way, behind a huge outcrop of rock that had been lugged in to serve as a shelter. I try to gather my wits, but my brain is completely fried. A moment later, Jack joins me to escape a spew of lava, and he fixes me with his trademarked glare, pointing his axe at me.

“Stay out of my way,” he warns me. “I’m winning this thing.”

“Please. By all means,” I reply, though I don’t really mean it.I don’t think I could watch Jack spear the Gronkle, but I still don’t have any ideas myself.

He darts off, and I’m not sure if he even heard me. He rolls off, the picture-perfect Viking as he storms towards the Gronkle. The crowd cheers him on, stamping their feet and screaming themselves hoarse. I stand up and spot my dad in the stands, beaming with pride. He catches my eye and gives me a nod of encouragement that only makes my gut churn. I adjust my new helmet before it slips down in front of my eyes again and give him a half-hearted smile in return.

I turn, expecting to see Jack lunging for the Gronkle with his axe poised. Instead I have to duck quickly, the Gronkle’s teeth mere centimetres from my throat. It’s so close I can smell its putrid breath. Without thinking I reach out and press my fingers to the sensitive spot by its ears, the one that made Kent’s leg repeatedly stamp the ground in pleasure when I rubbed it. The Gronkle drops like a stone, its tongue lolling out as its body is overwhelmed with bliss, like a dog when you pet its belly. I didn’t even mean to do it. It was like instinct.

Jack is furious. He lets out a snarl and slams the hilt of his axe against the weapons rack, making it judder violently. I can’t blame him. I hate stealing this victory from him, but it’s better than the alternative. The crowd screams its approval, and everyone looks to our village elder, a wizened old man named Johnson who always keeps his face covered and spouts strange existential proverbs, for his judgement.

I take it as my cue to leave, not wanting to be around to hear what he had to say. I try to slip off unnoticed but Bad Bob appears behind me, snagging the back of my jacket and stopping me in my tracks.

“Not so fast,” he tells me, hiding his amused smirk.

“I’m kinda late for—”

“What?” Jack snarls at me, looking absolutely livid. “Late for what, exactly?”

My dad holds out his huge hands, silencing everyone. I can only wish to command that kind of respect one day. Everyone shuts up, watching Johnson with wide, expectant eyes. Bad Bob points to his son but Johnson shakes his head. I see the bright hopeful light in Jack’s eyes die out before he schools his face into a neutral expression and it breaks my heart. Bad Bob points to me and Johnson nods. My heart sinks as the crowd explodes around us.

“You’ve done it, you’ve done it, Bitty! You get to kill the dragon,” Bad Bob grins, clapping me heartedly on the back. If he’s disappointed that his son didn’t win, he doesn’t show it, but the look Jack fires me is practically murderous.

“That’s my boy!” I hear my dad yell gleefully from the stands.

The other recruits are cheering too, and Shitty and Ransom hoist me up onto their shoulders before I can do anything. I feign excitement, if only for my dad’s benefit, but it’s killing me. There’s a big celebration, where my dad gloats and I just want to disappear into my chair. It’s near dark when I can finally escape, and I flee to the house. I’m barely thinking, and I pack a bag with trembling hands, unable to see another way out.

“I am so leaving!” I announce to the cove a short while later. Kent is nowhere to be seen, probably skulking off somewhere hunting fish. I continue to rant, knowing he could still hear me. “We’re leaving. Let’s pack up. Looks like you and me are taking a little vacation, forever.”

I dump my bag down dejectedly, planting my hands on my hips. I let out a breath that ruffles my untidy fringe, staring down at my scant supplies. A sharp, short screech makes me jump and I whip my head up, spotting Jack perched on a huge boulder casually sharpening his axe. Fuck. I must be distracted if I didn’t hear him following me.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, hoping my voice didn’t tremble too much.

He gracefully hops off the rock, casting aside the flint he was using. He looks calm, composed, a contrast to his earlier fury. He spins his axe, attempting to look casual, but I know it’s a threat. My eyes dart around, looking everywhere for Kent. There’s no sign of him.

“I want to know what’s going on,” he says, slowly walking towards me. I stumble back. “No one just gets as good as you do. Especially you. Start talking! Are you training with someone?” he demands, brow furrowing.

“Uh, training?” I repeat, a little confused. His eyes fly to the harness around my chest and he grabs it with lightning quick reflexes.

“It better not involve…this,” he sneers.

“I know this looks really bad,” I say hastily, holding up my palms to mollify him. “But you see, this is…uh…”

A loud rustling in the bushes disturbs us both. Jack is instantly suspicious, and lets me go to investigate, his eyes narrowed as he tries to peer into the growing darkness.

“You’re right!” I announce loudly in a panic. “You’re right. I’m through with the lies. I’ve been making…outfits! So, you got me. It’s time everyone knew. Drag me back. Go ahead. Here we go.”

I grab his arm and place his hand to my chest, insinuating he really should drag me back. He snatches his arm back and shoves me roughly, making me stumble. I can see the anger burning in his eyes again and I feel guilty once more.

“You lied to me, Bitty,” he hisses. “You’ve lied to everyone!”

He’s interrupted by a growl on the other side of the cove. I recognise it and my heart sinks. We look over to see Kent prowling towards us, his teeth bared, and body arched as if ready to pounce at any moment. Jack instantly tackles me to the ground, the surprise and panic evident on his face. I groan in pain as my shoulder hits the floor – he’s a lot heavier than he looks.

“Get down, run, run!”

Jack staggers up in a split-second and lifts his axe, preparing to lunge. It’s touching that he’s so quick to defend me, but I instantly panic, images of his blood spilling out onto the ground flashing before my eyes. I scramble to my feet and forcefully knock Jack’s axe askew and out of his hands, screaming at Kent to stop. He stops his pounce short and skids, spraying us both with sand.

“He’s a friend,” I tell Kent breathlessly, holding out my palms between them. Kent snorts in disagreement but Jack stares, horrified. “You just scared him,” I tell Jack, trying not to sound like I was scolding him.

“I scared him?” Jack splutters, his eyes bulging as he takes in Kent’s dark, svelte form. “Who is him?”

“Jack, Kent. Kent, Jack,” I sigh, waving my hands between them in a lacklustre introduction.

Jack looks between us, and I can tell he’s warring with himself. His fright wins, and he turns and bolts, heading straight for the village. Great.

“We’re dead,” I say dryly. Kent, satisfied with Jack’s departure, starts to pad off. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Kent rolls his big eyes at me, clearly more interested in whatever he was doing before. I shake my head and hop gracefully onto his back, clipping the harness to his saddle in one smooth motion. He grumbles as I steer him around, but he obediently launches us into the air, his massive wings beating down the bushes around us. By now, we have flying down to an art.

Jack hasn’t got far. Kent swoops down effortlessly and scoops him up in his arms, thankfully gentle. Jack however lets out a startled yell and kicks his legs, understandably terrified. We soar high, levelling out once we reach the treetops. There, Kent carefully perches on the top branches of a pine tree. It sags and creaks under his weight but holds, and Jack dangles a hundred feet in the air. A tiny part of me relishes the pale, petrified look on his face.

“Bitty! Get me down from here!” he shrieks, voice shrill with fear.

“You have to give me a chance to explain,” I insist.

“I’m not listening to anything you have to say!” he argues, sounding childish.

“Then I won’t speak. Just let me show you,” I say diplomatically. “Please, Jack.”

I extend my hand, praying he’ll take it. If I can just show him how wonderful Kent really is, how amazing flying through the sky is, I’m sure he’ll understand. Jack eyes me for a moment, then Kent warily, then the ground below, where the cove looks minuscule. That seems to make up his mind. He swats my hand away and reluctantly climbs over the pedal, lines and harness. He settles behind me, avoiding as much contact as physically possible. It’s a start.

“Now get me down,” he says stiffly.

“Kent, down. Gently,” I stress, knowing he probably has other ideas.

As predicted, he leers mischievously. He slowly spreads his wings, and I swear he’s showing off the span of them. They fill with the updraft, and for a moment we just hover in place. I take a breath, hoping he was going to swoop down carefully like I’d asked.

“See? Nothing to be frightened of,” I say to soothe Jack, but even I can tell I don’t sound so sure.

Kent suddenly launches himself straight upward. Jack yelps at the enormous acceleration and I instantly grab the handles tightly, my stomach swooping. Every downbeat of his wings bucks the saddle, heaving us into the sky and doubling our speed like a rocket. Jack is thrown backwards, and he yells, winding his arms around me and holding on for dear life. It’s something I’ve always dreamed of, but certainly not like this.

“Kent!” I scold, my heart pounding in my chest as I scream to be heard over the rushing wind. “What is wrong with you? Bad dragon! He’s not usually like this,” I add to Jack, mortified.

My face pales as I realise what Kent intends to do. Kent abruptly rolls and plummets down towards the coastline, the instant change in direction making me nauseous. My foot moves on instinct, controlling the prosthetic fin so we don’t plunge to our deaths. Within seconds we’re soaring over the ocean, and the little shit purposely dips and showers us in salty froth. Jack is screaming in my ear and I briefly wonder if I’ll ever be able to hear again.

“Kent! What are you doing?! We need him to like us!”

Kent completely ignores me, heading skywards once more. The damp on our clothes instantly dries in the whooshing air. He begins tumbling head over the tail like some glorious dance, and all the blood in my body rushes to my head as we loop.

“And now the spinning. Thanks for nothing, you useless reptile,” I say as dryly as I can muster, hoping he realises just how thoroughly unimpressed I am with his obnoxious display. Behind me, Jack clenches his eyes shut and presses his face into my shoulder, despite being a head taller.

“Okay! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Just get me off this thing!” he begs, his hands digging into my sides.

There’s not an ounce of aggression left in him, and that seems to appease Kent. He levels off, heading up at a steady pace to glide through the clouds. Jack, sensing the change, slowly opens his eyes to look. I hide my smile, knowing how he sees a world he’s never even dreamed of. The awe is obvious on his face and he’s never looked more gorgeous. The setting sun makes his eyes glow and he reaches out to skim his fingertips through the clouds. He grins, despite himself, and I know I’ve won him over.

Kent rises above the blanket of clouds and emerges into a cloak of stars. The sky darkles around us, and the Northern Lights dance just beyond our reach, scattering a rainbow of colours along the horizon. They seem close enough to touch, but so far away at the same time. Below us, Samwell’s torches flicker in the inky darkness, and it’s truly beautiful. Wordlessly, Jack’s arms slide into my vest and he closes the space between us, resting his chin on my shoulder.

The movement takes my breath away, and instantly I know something between us has changed. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s like we’re leaving everything behind as we climb past Samwell’s tallest peaks and head out to open water. If I look back, will I see the little bits of worry and stress falling away from us? Probably not, but it feels like it’s just us, Eric and Jack and Kent, without the weight of the world.

“Alright, I admit it,” Jack murmurs softly, breaking the little spell we were under. His voice tickles my ear and gives me goose bumps. “This is pretty cool. It’s…amazing.” He pauses, then lightly pats Kent’s side appreciatively. “He’s amazing.”

I smile gently, my heart swelling with something I can’t place. I lightly squeeze Kent’s sides with my heels, letting him know I agree. Right now, I can’t think of anything more incredible than gliding through the night sky with Jack’s arms around my waist.

“So, what now?”

I groan. Every little worry we just shed comes piling back, a million times heavier. It’s a problem without an answer.

“Bitty. Your final exam is tomorrow,” Jack needlessly reminds me. “You know you’re going to have to…kill a dragon.” He whispers that last part, clearly not wanting up upset Kent.

“Don’t remind me,” I sigh, but it’s too late.

Of course, Jack has to ruin it. That boy.

Chapter Eleven

We only fly for another twenty minutes or so before we notice a steadily growing din around us. It’s a strange hum that makes our ears ache and Kent’s flicker upwards, scanning the area. Spooked, he dips below the clouds and I can see him twitching with a growing panic.

“Kent. What’s happening? What is it?” I hiss, leaning close.

He gives a short, low bark, and I somehow know he’s telling me to be quiet. Jack presses close to my back, looking around us warily. Out of the dense cloud, a Monstrous Nightmare appears and my heart jumps into my throat. Jack and I duck as low as we can manage, but the Nightmare doesn’t even glance at us. A Zippleback appears on Kent’s right, effectively boxing us in. My pulse is starting to quicken, and I hope Jack can’t feel the sweat starting to appear on my back.

“What’s going on?” he whispers in my ear, clearly hoping I knew what was happening.

“I don’t know. Kent. You’ve gotta get us out of here, sweetheart,” I murmur.

Kent hisses quietly. Other dragons, previously invisible in the thick clouds start to appear around us. There are probably hundreds, all different kinds, and they’re all carrying fish or struggling animals. Their snouts point unrelentingly in the direction they’re heading, like nothing can break their focus.

“It looks like they’re hauling in their kill.” I quickly shut up as the Nightmare beside us swivels his eyes towards me. He looks ravenous.

“What does that make us?” Jack asks nervously.

I don’t pay any notice to the question. I trust Kent with my life. There’s no way he can get us out of this right now without being swarmed. The dragons bank and dive in formation, plummeting through the thickening fog and weaving between towering, craggy sea stacks. I’m grateful the pedals for the prosthetic are smooth and oiled, drawing as little attention as possible. The last thing we need is our company discovering Kent has a weakness they can exploit.

We emerge at the base of a massive volcanic caldera, glowing with rivulets of lava. The flock of dragons fall into rank, funnelling through a crack, and zipping through a winding tunnel. The temperature instantly drops. It gives way to a vast, steamy inner chamber, tiered with crumbly shelves and overhangs. Dragons lay about, nesting in hordes and watching the entrances with beady eyes. The arriving ones soar in, dropping the fish and game into a central pit that was glowing red and shrouded in mist.

“What my dad wouldn’t give to find this,” I breathe in awe.

Kent peels away from the procession, landing on a small, shadowy shelf to keep a low-profile. No one notices. The heat of the pit is dry and rolls by us in waves. We peek around the rock, watching the busy hive continue to drop their food into the gigantic pit. Sheep and cattle cry as they fall, but we don’t hear them hit the bottom.

“It’s satisfying to know all of our food is being dropped down a hole,” I comment wryly.

“They’re not eating any of it,” Jack frowns.

The last to arrive is a slow, dim-witted Gronkle. It hovers over the pit and regurgitates his paltry contribution -- a pathetic little fish. As it falls into the steamy chasm, a terrible roar rings out, shaking pebbles and the rocks around us. The Gronkle realises it’s made a mistake and tries to flee, but before it can, a gargantuan dragon head; grey, wrinkled and bony with dark, calculating eyes, juts out from the pit and snaps it from the air, swallowing it back whole. The crunching noise is sickening, and Jack and I instantly recoil in horror.

“What is that?” Jack gasps, his own eyes wide. I can see his knuckles growing white as he clutches the rock.

The dragons around us cower, pressing themselves into the rock in fright. The monstrous beast sniffs the air, like it’s seemingly aware of us. My blood turns to ice. It turns towards the ledge where we’re hiding and lets out another almighty roar. The rush of breath is hot and putrid, and spittle flies in our direction. Several dragons take flight in a frenzy.

“Alright, Kenny, we gotta get outta here, now!” I cry, clutching the handles of his saddle.

Kent launches into the air, barely avoiding the monster’s snapping jaws. It lunges for us but changes its mind mid-strike and snatches a poor Zippleback out of the air instead. It’s distracted by its meal and Kent vanishes in the winged exodus as thousands of dragons flee the caldera in fear. The cold air cools the sweat on my face and I only breathe out in relief when we break out into the night.

We’re silent the whole way home, stiff and sore and scared. Jack’s hands don’t unclench from around my waist until we land, safe and sound, in the moonlit cove. We dismount, and my legs feel like jelly when they finally touch the ground. Jack is twitchy, and he grabs my arm in a death grip.

“It totally makes sense. It’s like a giant beehive. They’re the workers…and that’s their queen. It controls them. Let’s find your dad.” He starts to yank me away but panic flashes through me and I pull myself free.

“No, no! Not yet,” I argue desperately. “They’ll kill Kent. We have to think this through carefully, Jack.”

He looks incredulous, glancing back at Kent. He’s watching us with a neutral expression, like he’s waiting to see what we’d do.

“Bitty,” Jack says impatiently. “We just discovered the dragons’ nest…the thing we’ve been after since Vikings first sailed here. And you want to keep it a secret? To protect your pet dragon? Are you serious?”

Kent can’t take it any longer. A moment later he’s a man again, shoulders broad and brows furrowed in anger. I can just about see his freckles in the moonlight. Jack’s shocked expression as he takes a step back is almost comical.

“I am not a pet,” Kent snarls, inches away from Jack’s face. He’s not quite as tall, but his rage is intimidating, and I can tell it makes Jack think twice. He swallows and nods, realising Kent is far from anyone’s pet, let alone mine.

“The answer is yes,” I tell Jack, firm and resolute. I hate to stand against him, but this is bigger than us.

Jack concedes surprisingly quickly, though I don’t know why. His shoulders slump and he looks away in embarrassment, his cheeks tinged with pink. It’s kind of cute.

“Okay. Then what do we do?” He asks.

“Just give me until tomorrow, I’ll figure something out,” I sigh in defeat. I have no idea what.

Jack nods and it falls quiet between us. Kent folds his arms across his chest, his irritancy dissipating when he realises Jack has no fight left in him.

“You were right, by the way,” he tells Jack. I can tell he’s still a little wary, his shoulders are tense, and his voice is tight. “It is her that controls us, and her ancestors before that. For centuries.”

“What do you mean?” I frown.

“It stems back to the First War,” he sighs, and his expression looks haunted.

I know the war of which he speaks. Human versus dragon in a bid for power. It happened eons ago, when the gods still walked the earth. Legend has it Odin slaughtered hundreds of them, but I don’t know how true that is. What I do know is that since then, the peace was destroyed. There used to be a harmony, I think, but that is never mentioned much. We saw dragons in their human form less and less and the stories grew more and more grandiose, in our favour of course.

“Our queen was devastated by the defeat and declared that we would never take our human form again, because it is weak and deceitful,” Kent continues. “The monarchy became corrupt and we obey in fear. You saw what happened to the dragons who got in her way.”

They were eaten or killed. The memory of crunching bones makes me shiver. We know nothing of this. But our people never bothered to find out. We were blinded by our fear and our hatred and caused so many unnecessary deaths. The whole thing is just one huge, bloody mess.

“We have to stop this.” It’s only then I notice my fists are clenched so hard my nails are digging into my palms.

“How? You saw how powerful she is,” Kent snorts, kicking at the floor with his stump. It’s a sad sight that makes my gut twist. “There’s no stopping her. It’s all we’ve known for so long. I don’t think we even know how to be people anymore.”

“I’ll think of something. And I’ll figure out tomorrow too,” I say firmly, but my voice sounds more determined than I feel.

“Okay,” Jack lets out a breath through his nose.

Kent’s words seem to have struck a chord in him. He searches my eyes for a moment, then suddenly shoves my shoulder, making me stumble back a bit. I look at him incredulously.

“That’s for kidnapping me,” he sniffs haughtily.

My mouth drops, and I look at Kent for support, but he just snorts dismissively. Jack grabs me without warning and I tense, expecting another push of some kind. The unexpected kiss on my cheek though is tender and makes my breath catch in my throat.

“That’s for everything else.”

He vanishes before I can even formulate a reply. I stare after him, completely stunned. I slowly raise my hand to my cheek, and it’s like I can still feel the press of his plush lips. I hear Kent cackling behind me and I whirl around to glare at him, unable to stop the blush rising to my face. He only laughs harder.

Chapter Twelve

I’m standing in the middle of the arena with the sun beating down on my back and the crowd roaring in my ears. I wish I was anywhere but here. The place has been transformed. Flags and banners flap in the wind, all of them emblazoned with my name. They make me feel like a fraud. I’m pretty sure the whole of Samwell has turned up for the event. My father is in the thick of it, clearly enjoying every second of it.

“Well, I can show my face in public again,” he jokes to his people, who all chuckle knowingly. “If someone had told me that in a few short weeks, Bitty would go from being, well...Bitty, to placing first in dragon training...I would've tied him to a mast and shipped him off for fear he'd gone mad. Yes! And you know it! But here we are. And no one’s more surprised…or more proud than I am. Today, my boy becomes a Viking. Today, he becomes one of us!”

The crowd erupts with appreciative roars and cheers, but each one of my father’s words is like a knife to the chest. If only he knew what a coward I am. I honestly have no idea how to stop this. If I don’t kill this dragon, then everyone is going to see me for what I really am. But I just can’t bring myself to slay any of Kent’s people. It’s just wrong.

Jack sidles up to me. I don’t know how he managed to slip past the gates, but I’m grateful. He gives me a supportive smile that makes my heart pound.

“Be careful with that dragon,” he warns.

“It’s not the dragon I’m worried about,” I admit with a sigh, glancing back up at the crowd.

“What are you going to do?” he asks. His hand jerks, like he was going to squeeze my shoulder but thinks better of it.

I have no choice. I refuse to fight this dragon. A new resolve starts to blossom inside me. I’m going to make them see there’s another way.

“Put an end to this,” I say decidedly. “I have to try. Jack. If something goes wrong…just make sure they don’t find Kent,” I beg him.

“I will,” he promises, his expression grim. “Just promise it won’t go wrong.”

I can’t do that, and he knows it. Bad Bob approaches, his face kind, and claps his son on the shoulder. He gives me a nod and I lift my mom’s breastplate helmet on my head.

“It’s time, Bitty. Knock ‘em dead,” Bob tells me.

I take a breath and step forward as they retreat. The crowd hollers themselves hoarse. I can vaguely hear my fellow recruits screaming excitedly. It’s touching, but I can’t bring myself to look at them. I do look at my dad though, and he gives me an encouraging smile. I try to return it, but it quickly drops from my face. I hoist my shield further up my arm, ignoring how it aches already. I eye the weapons rack, and eventually choose a small knife I know I won’t end up using.

I turn to face the heavy, bolted door and take another deep breath. It does nothing to calm my nerves. The bolt is raised, and it feels like everything is moving in slow motion. The crowd finally hushes, and I can hear the blood pumping in my ears. My hand is trembling, so I grip the knife harder. There’s a deep booming that reverberates around the ring and makes the rocks on the floor quiver.

The doors blast open with a stream of sticky fire. It’s followed by a Monstrous Nightmare, coated in flames and looking furious. It tears out of the cave like an irate bull and I grimace as I hear the crowd jeering, knowing that would only piss it off even more. It climbs the walls and chain enclosure like a bat, gripping with the gnarled hooks on its wings.

It hisses at the provoking crowd but soon spots me and descends, leering and licking at the flaming drool dripping from its lips. The onlookers go silent again in anticipation, and for the briefest of seconds I can hear my own, panicked breathing. It’s now or never. With the Monstrous Nightmare’s eyes locked on me, I extend my arms and deliberately toss down my shield and knife. They clang to the floor like a tolling bell and I take a definitive step away from them.

The dragon pauses, confused, then begins to edge towards me, almost like a curious animal. How to show him that I mean no harm? I cast my mind back to the first time Kent honoured me with his human form. I don’t know if this will work, but it’s worth a shot. I outstretch my palm towards it, but it snarls threateningly. I notice its big, orange eyes flickering towards my helmet. I take a breath to acknowledge the point of no return, then reach up and remove it from my head. I toss it aside.

“I’m not one of them.”

I can almost hear the crowd collectively gasp and murmur amongst themselves. I’m glad I can’t see my dad’s face. He’s probably furious, and rightly so. But the dragon is obviously calming down, and I hold my hand out once more.

“Stop the fight.” My dad’s voice is dangerously calm.

“No, I need you all to see this. They’re not what we think they are. We don’t have to kill them,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady.

“I SAID STOP THE FIGHT!”

His scream stops me dead. There’s a horrendous clang, probably from his hammer being slammed against the railings, and it’s enough to rattle the entire enclosure. Spooked, the Nightmare snaps at my outstretched hand and I only just manage to wrench it back in time. The spell is broken, and it reacts to my sudden movements, screaming and blasting a stream of fire. I yelp and dive to the side, but my jacket is singed.

I immediately scramble up and run, but the Nightmare pursues, snapping and springing from wall to floor. I hear Jack screaming my name somewhere to the right and I try to run towards him. I have no time to think about how genuinely terrified I am. I briefly consider the weapons rack as I pass it, but as soon as I think about arming myself, it erupts in flame. It’s closing in on me.

A hammer whistles through the air and smacks the Nightmare square in the face. It snarls in anger and with a sinking feeling I realise Jack has somehow made his way into the ring. The dragon heads straight for him. Before I have time to react, I notice my dad on the far side of the arena, frantically waving us both toward him. Jack is thankfully closer, and sprints in that direction.

I follow as fast as I can, my legs screaming with the effort. My hair is damp with sweat, making it stick to my forehead. Jack clears the gate and my dad pulls him to safety. Before I can reach it though, the Nightmare blasts the ground in front of the doorway and a wall of fire springs up in my way. I skid to a halt. I’m trapped. It pounces before me and rears back, preparing to finish me off. I close my eyes and brace myself, hoping it’s quick.

Suddenly, a terrible roar pierces the din. I hear Bad Bob yell about a Night Fury and I instantly wrench my eyes open. I look up to see Kent bounding through the screaming crowd, snarling in anger. He blasts a hole through the chain enclosure and disappears in the boiling smoke. The crowd rush to the railings in time to see a flurry of wings cut through the dissipating haze. I scramble back as Kent and the Nightmare tumble into the clear, locked in a toothy, vicious fight.

I’m frozen to the spot, unable to do anything but stare. It’s the first time I’ve seen Kent look like a malicious animal and it’s terrifying. He manages to kick the Nightmare off him and send it backwards. He plants himself protectively in front of me and roars deafeningly. I have no idea how he managed to get here but I’m so grateful he has. The Nightmare circles, but I can tell it’s wary now by its hesitation. Kent lunges towards him, teeth thrashing, and it’s enough to make the other dragon relent and back away.

“Alright, Kent, go. Get out of here!”

Before anyone can attack, I fling myself at Kent’s side, grabbing hold of him defensively. The crowd gasps in shock, but it’s not long before they grow livid. I try pushing Kent away, but he refuses to budge. Vikings begin clambering through the enclosure, yelling furiously and brandishing their weapons. A new wave of panic washes over me as I notice my father leading the charge, his hammer held high.

“Dad! No! He won’t hurt you!”

My screaming is futile. The other Vikings surround us and start to attack, wielding their hammers with yells and sneers. Kent tosses them aside like ragdolls, but his eyes remain on my father, like he knows he’s the real threat. “No, don’t! You’re only making it worse!”

My voice is cracking now and no matter how hard I tug on Kent’s harness he won’t stop, blind in his attempts to protect me. My dad leaps to attack, and Kent throws me aside and meets him head on with a pounce. They tumble together, but Kent manages to pin him with ease. To my horror he opens his mouth wide and inhales. There’s the familiar build of gas and everyone braces. I scream so desperately it tears my throat.

“Kent! Stop! NO!”

To my relief, Kent swallows the blast. He looks back at me, not understanding why I don’t want this man dead. In that split second the crowd rushes in, piling on him and taking him down. I throw myself at them only to find Jack holding me back. He’s stronger than I am, and easily clamps me to his chest as I struggle fruitlessly.

“No! Please...just don’t hurt him. Please don’t hurt him,” I beg, sounding completely wrecked.

My dad gets to his feet, fuming and shaken. A Viking presses an axe into his hand and for one horrifying moment I think he is going to slice Kent’s throat. Instead he hands the weapon back and I nearly collapse.

“Put it with the others!” He commands, his voice shaking with fury.

It genuinely breaks my heart to see the Vikings guiding my friend away. He looks sad and defeated, dragging his tail as he walks easily. He’s locked in the cave and the second Jack lets me go, I fall to my knees, sobbing in despair. My father drags me back up by the back of my jacket a second later. He shoves me through the crowd and I have never felt so humiliated, tears streaming down my cheeks. He doesn’t speak, and roughly heaves me into the nearest building that allows us some privacy – the Great Hall.

The massive doors rattle and echo as they slam shut behind us. I stagger but don’t trip, and my dad storms past me, his cloak a whirlwind behind him. He paces against a backdrop of shadowy tapestries and carved pillars - a legacy of heroes, all peering down in angered judgement.

“I should have known, I should have seen the signs,” he mutters, fists clenched at his side. He ignores my weak calling of his name and snorts at me. “We had a deal!”

“I know we did,” I reply, tearful and flustered. “But that was before…ugh, it’s all so messed up.”

“So, everything in the ring. A trick? A lie?” he snaps, glaring at me with pure hatred.

“I screwed up. I should have told you before now. Take this out on me, be mad at me, but please…just don’t hurt Kent,” I beg him desperately. The threat of Kent’s death is still very real and rips at my heart with each passing second.

“The dragon? That’s what you’re worried about? Not the people you almost killed?” my dad thunders, his eyes ablaze.

“He was just protecting me! He’s not dangerous!” I insist.

“They’ve killed hundreds of us!” he snarls, looking like he was only just holding himself back from striking me.

“And we’ve killed thousands of them!” I snap back, a bolt of fury lighting me up from the inside. “They defend themselves, that’s all. They raid us because they have to. If they don’t bring enough food back, they’ll be eaten themselves. There’s something else on their island, dad. It’s a dragon, like—”

He huffs, cutting me off. He points a shaking finger at me and my heart sinks.

“…their island? So, you’ve been to the nest.”

“…did I say island?” I ask weakly, but it’s too late. I fall silent, knowing I’ve said too much.

“How did you find it?!” he demands, almost looking insane. I’ve never seen him like this and it’s terrifying, makes me trip and stumble over my words in a panic.

“No…I didn’t. Kent did. Only a dragon can find the island,” I stress, hoping to get that through his skull.

He glares at me and a long moment passes. I can see the exact moment an idea forms in his head. His eyes flare up again and he stomps towards the doorway.

“Oh, no. Dad, no.” I chase after him, panicked. “Dad. It’s not what you think. You don’t know what you’re up against. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen.” I grab his arm, tugging with all my might, but it makes no difference. “Dad. Please. I promise you can’t win this one. Dad, no. For once in your life, would you please just listen to me?!”

It’s a scream of frustration that finally makes him react. He throws me off him and I crash to the floor, hard. I wince in pain, nothing broken, but we’re both still in shock. There’s an icy stillness.

“You’ve thrown your lot in with them,” he mutters, his voice stinging like a knife. “You’re not a Viking. You’re not my son.”

He pushes through the doors and before I can even leap to my feet they smash shut. I throw myself at them just as I hear the lock fall into place. I scream and beat my fists upon the wood, but they don’t even budge. I can hear him yelling, I can’t make the words, but I don’t need to. He’s going to take Kent and hunt for the nest. I pound and shriek until my voice dies in my throat and my knuckles are bruised but I’m still not let out.

I lose track of time. The dried tears itch on my cheeks and my body aches something terrible. I can’t even say how I’m feeling, but I know I’m a wreck. It’s at least an hour later when someone finally opens the doors. I streak past them in a blur, praying that they hadn’t already left. I race to the cliffside where there’s a perfect view of the docks.

The ships are sailing into the distance.

I clutch the rockface as something inside me breaks. They’re going to die, every last one of them, and I’m powerless to stop it. I stay until they’ve disappeared on the horizon, but even then, I still don’t move. At some point, I hear footsteps behind me, but I don’t need to look to know who it is.

“It’s a mess. You must feel horrible. You’ve lost everything. Your father, your tribe, your best friend,” Jack murmurs, standing next to me to watch the tide drawing in.

“Thank you for summing that up,” I say bitterly. I sigh immediately afterwards, my shoulders slumping. “Why couldn’t I have killed that dragon when I found him in the woods? It would have been better for everyone.”

“Yep,” Jack agrees easily. “And the rest of us would have done it. So why didn’t you?”

I shake my head, I really don’t know. Jack’s eyes glimmer, and I suddenly realise he’s after something.

“Why didn’t you?” he repeats.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Why is this so important to you all of a sudden?” I snap, irritated by his pushiness.

“Because I want to remember what you say right now,” he tells me, something strange in his voice.

“Oh, for the love of – I was a coward, I was weak! I wouldn’t kill a dragon,” I huffed loudly.

“You said ‘wouldn’t’ that time,” he pointed out, only succeeding in frustrating me further.

“Whatever! I wouldn’t! Three hundred years and I’m the first Viking who wouldn’t kill a dragon!” I snarl, throwing my hands up in the air in exasperation.

“First to ride one though,” Jack reminds me, suspiciously casual. I blink. I’ve never looked at it that way before. I suppose he’s right. “So…”

“I wouldn’t kill him because he looked as frightened as I was. I looked at him, and saw myself,” I murmur, awed at my own realisation.

“I bet he’s really frightened now,” Jack says, looking back at the calm ocean for a moment. “What are you going to do about it?”

I sigh. There’s no getting around it. I have to do something. Gods, I think I’m in love with this man.

“Probably something stupid,” I snort.

“Good. But you’ve already done that,” he prompts. I swear he looks playful.

“Then something crazy,” I reply, the corners of my mouth lifting.

“That’s more like it.”

Chapter Thirteen

It’s an insane plan. No, it’s more than insane. It’s too insane even for words. But Jack likes it and his approval means everything to me right now. We race down to the village and I’m surprised at the hope starting to bud in my chest. I don’t know what it was that changed between us yesterday, but I’m grateful. It would be so easy for Jack to scoff in my face and tell me I deserve everything that has happened. But he hasn’t. He supports me.

I daresay we might even be friends.

He grabs the other recruits on our way. I wouldn’t feel comfortable barging into their houses and dragging them out, but he does it almost like it’s his job. If the situation weren’t so dire, I’d laugh at everyone’s vaguely stunned faces as he barks orders at them. They’re confused, but as soon as they know it’s about my Night Fury friend and my dad’s ridiculous mission, they’re on board.

I lead the way into the now-deserted arena. The remnants of the disastrous exam and the horrific fight are everywhere. Banners and flags are scattered over the dusty floor, and no one has bothered to clean up the charred weaponry or anything else. I shake my head free of the memories and head straight to the heavy, bolted doors that house the dragons. The others hang back, understandably wary. I hesitate for only a moment. These might not be as understanding as Kent, and who knows what he told them in the short time he was in captivity?

But I have to try.

“If you’re planning on getting eaten, I’d definitely go with the Gronkle,” Ransom tells me dryly, arching a perfectly groomed eyebrow.

“You were wise to seek help from the world’s deadliest motherfucker,” Shitty announces dramatically, waving an arm with a flourish. He stinks.“…it’s me,” he adds when I don’t react.

“I love this plan,” Holster assures me. It’s dangerous and idiotic and hot-headed, so of course he would.

“You’re crazy,” Lardo huffs, shaking her head at me. Then she smirks. “I like that.”

“So, tell them the plan,” Jack urges me.

Instead of telling them, I decide to show them. I lift the bolt on the doors and throw them wide. For a long, agonising moment, nothing happens. Then slowly, the dragons emerge from the darkness. There’s four of them, the Monstrous Nightmare, the Deadly Nadder, the Gronkle and the Zippleback. They step out into the sunlight and I finally see the scars littering their bodies and guilt hangs heavily on my heart. If they want to kill us, they’d be entirely justified.

I take a step forward, unsure how to address them. They stand still and watch me, like they’re waiting for something, but what? It would be better if we could stand eye to eye as equals. I didn’t get chance to try this before, after my dad interrupted my meeting with the Nightmare, and now is as good a time as any to try again.

“Hold out your hands, like this.” I outstretch my palm towards our company, glad to see it isn’t shaking. “And look away.”

“Look away?” Holster splutters, fear showing through his bravado. “Are you crazy?”

“Relax, it’s okay. Just trust me.”

He bites his lip but does as he’s told. They all do, stretching out their arms and turning their heads away. Holster braces himself, like he’s ready for his hand to be bitten off any second. I glance back at the dragons, then move out of their way. Warily, they close the distance, each of them slowly lowering their snouts into the offered palms. My friends all gasp as one and my shoulders slump in relief as I watch.

One by one, the dragons morph into humans. The Deadly Nadder in front of Jack shrinks into a tall and slender woman with cascades of golden blonde hair. The Monstrous Nightmare facing Holster becomes a broad-shouldered man, his skin tanned and tattooed. The Gronkle before Ransom is a woman almost as small as a child, but her muscled arms could probably lift ten fully grown men. Finally, the Zippleback transforms into one androgynous looking person, thin and gangly with sharp, clever eyes. They smirk at Lardo and Shitty’s gobsmacked faces.

It confirms my belief that dragons and humans are far more intertwined than any of us had ever realised.

My friends stare, drinking in those reptilian features that lingered and marvelling just like I had done. None of the dragons wore a stitch of clothing, and I could tell that Shitty immediately felt like he had found his people. We had always struggled keeping him in clothes. After a moment, nine faces swivel towards me expectantly.

“If we are to save Kent, and the people of Samwell, and rescue the dragons from their queen, then we need to work together,” I say into the silence, proud that my voice doesn’t tremble. I’ve never felt so sure of myself. “So, let’s cast aside hundreds of years of warfare, and call a truce.”

It’s the Nadder female that speaks. Her voice is scratchy from neglect, like Kent’s had been. She turns towards me and searches my eyes. I almost feel like she’s searching my soul.

“Kent was right about you, Eric Bittle,” she murmurs. “You’re a man who can change the world.”

“I don’t know about that,” I reply awkwardly, a little embarrassed. “I’m just the first guy who wouldn’t kill a dragon.”

She smiles, like it’s one and the same. She holds out her hand.

“We accept your truce.”

We shake hands, and something shifts. It’d be silly to say destinies change in that second, but that’s almost what it feels like. As soon as we separate, everyone rushes forwards. There’s a small commotion as everyone talks over each other, introducing themselves and asking questions, touching tattoos and hair trinkets and furs. If we didn’t have more pressing matters on hand, it would be beautiful.

“I hate to break up the party guys, but we have a job to do,” I remind them. They all stop abruptly, remembering the mammoth task that lies before us. “How are we going to get there?” Ransom frowns, looking around us.

The blonde Nadder smiles again, her blue eyes playful.

“We fly.”

Chapter Fourteen

The ride is smooth and quick. I sit with Jack on the female Nadder and she is swift and controlled. I let Jack take the reins and he’s obviously a natural. I swear, is there anything this boy can’t do? The Nadder is responsive to him too, moving as one almost instinctively. The others are a little uncoordinated to begin with but soon pick up the basics. It fills me with pride to see how hard they’re trying to make this work. It also makes me realise just how much effort it took Kent and I to get to where we have.

There’s a slight breeze from behind, spurring us on, and the sky is clear. There’s a little sun which hopefully won’t cause too much of a problem. I’m not sure what I’m expecting, but if my dad has anything to do with it, there’ll be a brutal fight. It’s probably already begun. I hope we’re not too late.

The island starts to appear on the horizon. I’m nervous, but I’m also filled with a strange, excited anticipation. If a year ago you’d have thrown me on the back of a dragon smack bang in the middle of a fight with their queen I think I would have melted into a puddle. But now there’s a determination in me that’s bursting to break free. I’m going to end this. I’m going to free these dragons and I am going to end this war.

As we get closer I see the columns of smoke rising from the sea and my heart sinks. Most of the ships have been destroyed. I try not to let it cloud my mind though, and I instruct Jack to lead the formation. I can see a huge, gaping hole in the mountain where it’s been cracked open like an egg. Dragons teem out of it, circling the skies frantically. Vikings litter the beach, hauling catapults and boulders into place. The gargantuan queen perches at the base of the volcano, spewing fire and roaring so loudly we can feel the shockwaves from up here.

She’s so huge she makes my father’s crew look like ants. She smashes them like ants too as she descends, crushing anything in her way. She looks like the stuff of nightmares, her grey skin stretched over gaunt bones and rotting teeth. Her wings are tattered and holey, and it looks like she is reluctant to use them. Her gaze is focussed on one thing only, and my stomach churns when I realise she’s gearing up to fire straight at my dad.

“Okay, we need to redirect that blast,” I shout, hoping the Nadder can hear me over the roar of the wind.

She moves her head in what I assume to be a nod and bursts forward with an injection of speed. I raise the signal to the others and they’re soon on our tail. No one seems to notice us, their attention understandably locked on the queen and the destruction she is raining down upon them. She opens her mouth wide and inhales, the air rushing in. The Nadder doesn’t even need prompting. There’s a stream of fire before I can even tell her, and it collides with the back of the queen’s head.

Of course, it isn’t enough to do any damage, but it distracts her from the Vikings scattered on the beach beneath her. We punch through the blossoming smoke, banking across the sky. The others follow, and we roll in unison. I grin, catching the sight of my dad and Bad Bob staring at us all in total awe. It’s short-lived though, and I force myself to get back to the task at hand.

“Shitty, Lardo, watch your backs. Move, Ransom!”

The queen shakes off the blast with ease and snaps at our tails as pass. I lead the squadron out of harm’s way, climbing out of reach and circling. I’m proud of how well we’re working together already, humans and dragons uniting seamlessly. It’s the stuff of legends, really.

“Look at us, we’re on a motherfucking dragon!” Shitty hollers at the Vikings down below, clearly elated.

“Up, let’s move it!” I shout over him, unable to resist the fond smile. “Ransom, break it down.”

“Heavily armoured skull and tail made for bashing and crushing. Steer clear of both,” Ransom replies, studying our enemy meticulously. His ability to identify and analyse dragon features in a heartbeat always amazes me. “Small eyes, large nostrils. Relies on hearing and smell.”

“Okay. Holster, Ransom, hang in its blind spot. Make some noise, keep it confused. Shitty, Lardo, find out if it has a shot limit. Make it mad,” I order, knowing both would relish the opportunity.

“That’s my specialty,” Lardo crows proudly.

“Since when? Everyone knows I’m more irritating. See?” Shitty sticks his head in her face, waggling his tongue and making ridiculous noises. I swear the Zippleback rolls both sets of eyes.

“Just do what I told you,” I say exasperatedly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Don’t worry brah, we got it covered!” Shitty assures me. I’m not filled with confidence.

Jack and I peel away from the commotion, careening back towards the ocean. I can hear Shitty and Lardo taunting the queen with insults as we pull away. I gotta say Jack’s arms around my waist feel as good as I remember, but I try not to dwell on it. There are more pressing matters at hand. Like finding Kent. We head over the smouldering ships, and I focus on searching rather than the panic that’s starting to eat away at me.

I spot him. It’s a ship at the head of the fleet, and it’s steadily burning. Kent is still in dragon form, heavily chained and looking downright defeated. I steer the Nadder over the deck and hand the reins over to Jack. He briefly squeezes my waist and I stop myself from looking back at his face, afraid of what I’ll see. I line up my jump and hop, not giving my brain any time to register the distance. The wind rushes through my hair and my eyes water but I stare hard at the safe part of the deck, aiming my fall.

I shield my face from the flames, crouching as I land. I spare a second to wave to Jack, showing him I was fine, and he gives me a brief nod before zooming off to help the others. I pelt over to Kent, ducking spitting embers and sparks as the ship continues to burn. He doesn’t notice me at first, but when he instantly starts pulling at his restraints. I unbuckle the muzzle first and he immediately lets out a shriek, probably warning me of the imminent danger we are in. I start working on the chains. Under my hands he morphs into a human again, but the chains bite tighter at his arms as he does so. He’s frantic, trying to help me with clumsy, trembling hands.

They won’t budge. The links pinch at my fingertips as I try to coax them free, but it’s impossible. Bad Bob welded these chains and without the key I’m not getting them off. I curse and look around for a tool to use, but Kent’s urgent calling of my name makes me look up. Flames are starting to lick my coat and I’m sweating in the growing heat. Through the haze of smoke, I see the huge foot of the queen speeding down over us. It crashes through the frame and smashes the bow under its impressive weight.

We’re flung through the air as easily as ragdolls and we’re thrown into the water in a maelstrom of burning planks and rigging. It’s freezing, a shocking contrast to the flames, and the salt instantly begins to sting my eyes. I ignore it, concentrating only on Kent’s sinking form just a few feet in front of me. He looks as panicked as I feel. We’re both caught in a mess of rigging, dragged down to the bed in a matter of seconds. The palette Kent is chained to settles into the rocky bottom like an anchor, shooting up clouds of sand. He stops struggling, and that’s what breaks me.

I refuse to give up. I give another hopeless tug at the chains, my lungs practically burning now from lack of oxygen. There are black spots in my vision and I know my strength is fading. He shakes his head at me, eyes desperate, but I ignore his unspoken plea. I won’t leave him!

A meaty hand grabs my shoulder. I wrench at it, bubbles streaming from my mouth, but it drags me upwards. The last thing I see is Kent’s shocked eyes beneath me before I break the surface. My head spins at the sudden intake of air and I gulp it down greedily. It takes me a moment to realise it’s my dad who has rescued me. He drags me under the shelter of a hanging rock and doesn’t give me chance to recover before he disappears beneath the crashing waves once more.

It’s long, agonising minutes before there’s a sudden explosion of water. Kent bursts out of it in his dragon form carrying my father, and I’m so relieved I could collapse. Kent lands gracefully, carefully depositing my dad beside me. He snorts and dances restlessly on the spot, and I instantly fling myself onto his back and begin buckling myself into his saddle. The ground rumbles underfoot and somewhere above us the monster screeches, its massive claws stomping around in the smoke. Kent spreads his wings.

“Let’s go, honey!”

My dad unexpectedly grabs my arm, halting me in my tracks. I look down at him and am left speechless by his reproachful look. He’s soaking wet and salt froths on his auburn moustache.

“Eric. I’m sorry…for everything,” he murmurs sincerely. I swallow, my throat suddenly tight.

“Yeah…me too,” I manage to admit.

“You don’t have to go up there,” he says, but we both know I do.

“We’re Vikings. It’s an occupational hazard.” I smile, and my chest swells when he returns it.

“I’m proud to call you my son,” he whispers, squeezing my arms.

“Thanks dad,” I croak, my eyes prickling.

He nods, then finally lets me go. I take a deep breath and squeeze Kent’s sides with my heels, a silent command. He leaps up into the air and instantly begins to climb. We’re both charged by my father’s belief in us, and rocket into the sky. As we streak through the sky I locate the queen, surrounded by our friends. Of course, Shitty and Lardo are bickering. Is that Holster stranded on the queen’s head? And where is Ransom? What the hell has been going on? Jack soon whips them into shape, issuing orders like he was born to do it.

The Zippleback sweeps over the irate queen, easily scooping Holster up to share the saddle on one of the long, snake-like necks. To my horror, the queen spots Jack in her way and begins to inhale, the familiar hiss of gas growing louder as it amasses. Sure that Kent is now dry enough to fire, we head in their direction. Jack and the Nadder seem caught in the suction, pulled towards the monster’s gaping mouth.

Kent shoots a massive blast that jolts the queen’s head sideways. Jack and his Nadder are thrown clear of its mouth but the force also knocks Jack clean out of the saddle. He tumbles through the air and we zoom after him, cutting through the sky like a knife. The ground is racing towards him, but Kent reaches out, seizing him by the leg. I cheer loudly, every nerve in my body singing with adrenalin. They share a grin between them before Kent safely deposits him on the shore amidst the other Vikings.

We don’t stop to take in their awed stares or yells of encouragement. Instead we circle back to re-engage, a black speck against the clouds. We rocket past the queen’s head and start to climb higher and higher. I eye the beast again as we soar past, looking for any weaknesses we can exploit. I spot her wings again – they look weak and spindly compared to the rest of her.

“That thing has wings,” I remind Kent. “Let’s see if she can use them!”

I pull him into a harsh turn. We plummet, gaining tremendous traction in an instant. The wind buffets us as we target the queen in a super-sonic blur. Kent unloads another fireball against her head and it explodes in a shower of sparks like a firework. She goes down with a rumble and we climb again, hoping to lure her into the air.

“Do you think that did it?”

I look behind me, trying to peer through the swirling clouds of dust and smoke. Suddenly the enraged behemoth emerges through the smog, flapping her wings furiously. It’s a daunting sight, but I refuse to think about it. The second I acknowledge my fear we’re dead.

“Well, she can fly,” I say dryly.

We dive again into the tangled sea stacks, weaving through the rocks like rabbits through a briar. The queen snaps at us but simply cannot reach. We pull ahead, and she smashes through the canopy of stone right behind us, bursting through fifty-foot formations like they were mere saplings. There’s just no slowing her down, it isn’t enough. I eye the clouds above, and an idea suddenly hits me.

“Okay, Kent, time to disappear.”

Kent pulls into a steep climb, heading straight for the clouds. The queen follows in an instant, closing in fast. I hear the loud hiss of gas before I smell it and I yell a warning, though Kent probably knows before I do. There’s an ear-splitting blast and we narrowly dodge a column of flame and smoke. We reach the low-hanging clouds and pierce through them like an arrow. The monster follows us but lets out an irritated roar when she realises she can’t see us in the dense mist. Just what I was hoping for.

We curve around and dive at her, seemingly out of nowhere. The blast Kent fires punctures yet another hole in one of her flimsy wings. She screams in anger, but we’ve disappeared before she can even locate us for a shot of its own. My clothes are soaked in dew, but I don’t even notice, too caught up in the strategy we’ve established. It’s an endless loop of attacking and disappearing, lighting the clouds up with a piercing blue light almost like lightning. The infuriated roars the queen gives with each hit is like thunder to match.

She snaps, fed up of our game. She unleashes a never-ending stream of flame, whirling around and spewing it in all directions. I scream a warning and Kent ducks the blast, though it clips his tail. I grimace as half of the prosthetic tail fin falls away, badly burned and smouldering.

“Okay, time’s up. Let’s see if this works.”

I pull Kent into a turn, flying directly into the queen’s snarling face as soon as she’s stopping throwing fire.

“Come on, is that the best you can do?”

Kent follows my taunt with his own, and that’s probably what makes her bellow in fury. Without warning we jack-knife into a steep dive. She’s hot on our tail and Kent pumps his wings, racing faster than he’s ever gone before. I press myself flat to his back, forcing my eyes to stay open even though they burn. We stay just ahead, no longer trying to evade her. I glance back to check the tail fin, wincing as it further disintegrates. We don’t have much time.

“Stay with me sweetheart, we’re good. Just a little longer,” I assure Kent, briefly patting his shoulder.

The queen closes the gap. I tuck in and hold the handles steady, making sure the monster has us in her sights. Kent twitches impatiently underneath me, aching to spin and fire.

“Hold, Kent,” I hiss.

There’s a rush of air as the queen inhales and my ears are filled with the shrill hiss of building gas. Ignition is coming.

“NOW!”

I slam my foot on the pedal hard as Kent extends one wing, neatly cutting through the air. We pivot in place, hurtling directly into the monster’s mouth. Kent fires point blank down the gaping blackness of her throat. The amassing gas is ignited, backfiring into her and erupting in a chain of blasts throughout her body. We emerge from the clouds, the queen hot on our tail, exploding from within. She glances forward and sees the ground rushing up. She throws open her wings, attempting to put on the brakes, but the punctured, damaged web can't stop her momentum. She chokes on the internal, expanding fireball and we pull up, streaking past her head to safety.

She hits the ground, head first, and explodes in a maelstrom of fire and flesh and bone. We weave through her massive back plates, wings, and flailing legs - a high-speed recall of the freefall slalom run we inadvertently stumbled into on our first flight. The growing fireball races toward us, about to swallow us.Somehow, somehow, we manage to clear the obstacles and I risk a glance over my shoulder. We’re outrunning the raging inferno.

I look forward just in time to see the monster's massive club tail careening towards us. I curse under my ragged breath and try to shift our direction, sweaty hands slippery on the handles. The last shreds of Kent’s tail tear away and flutter past me in streaks of red. The pedals go dead.

“No, no!”

We can’t manoeuvre, completely dead in the air, the spokes of the prosthetic flapping uselessly. There’s nothing we can do. The giant tail smacks into us, tearing me from the saddle and snapping the harness with ease. I tumble against the backdrop of the fast-approaching fireball, a terrified scream tearing my throat. The heat is unbearable, licking at my skin, and I desperately reach up towards Kent. I see him wrestling towards me, but my vision is starting to cloud. We’re going to die. I choke on the smoke and in fear, tears stinging my eyes. I’m going to die.

The fire swallows us both.

Chapter Fifteen

“Eric? Eric!”

“Bitty!”

Ash and smoke swirls in the air, acrid and choking as the Vikings search for the chief’s son and his Night Fury. They’re aided by the dragons, who stick their snouts high into the air and sniff intently for the slightest whiff of them. All they can smell is soot and burning flesh. Everything is scorched. Even the ground beneath their feet is charred and smoking from the terrible heat.

“Eric? Son?”

Richard squints through the grey haze, finally making out the unmoving silhouette of Kent. He hurries to the dragon’s side, Jack on his heels. They’re both staggering with exhaustion and blackened by grime. Richard sighs slightly in relief when he notices he’s conscious, if a little roughed up, his wings curled around himself protectively. The scorched saddle however, is empty. Richard buckles to his knees, overwhelmed by the loss. Behind him, Jack’s throat grows tight and he quickly averts his eyes as they well up.

“Oh son, I did this.”

Richard chokes on his words, shoulders slumped. Bad Bob flanks him, looking just as sorrowful. The Vikings hover a respectful distance behind, sharing a mournful silence with the dragons that had stayed to witness the death of their queen. As Richard weeps, Kent stirs groggily, tilting his head towards the huge man. Their eyes meet.

“I’m so sorry,” Richard manages through his tears.

Kent hesitates, then slowly unfurls his wings. He reveals Bitty, unconscious and pressed tightly against his chest. He looks small and broken, covered in soot and blood. Richard’s eyes widen, and he scoops his son up in his giant arms, cradling him like he was something precious. He cocks an ear to his chest and listens to his heart, then bursts into hysterical, relieved laughter.

“He’s alive! You brought him back alive!”

The crowd roars, and the dragons surprise them all by joining in, just as elated that both were alive. Richard leans in close to Kent, fat tears dripping into his moustache, and places a tender hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you, for saving my son,” he murmurs, each word filled with sincere gratitude. Beside him, Bad Bob eyes up Bitty’s body.

“Well, you know. Most of him,” he comments.

Richard doesn’t grace him with a reply. He stands, easily carrying his son’s body and embracing him like he was a child again. Jack takes a step forward, hurriedly wiping his eyes on his sleeve and leaving a sooty smudge across his face.

“I’ll take care of Kent, sir,” he offers after clearing his throat.

Richard nods thankfully and limps off through the crowd. There’s only a boat or two fit to sail, but by the looks of it, a few dragons were willing to give them a ride. Bad Bob squeezes his son’s shoulder proudly before following their chief. Jack watches him go, oddly feeling more at peace with himself than he has in a while. He turns back to Kent who is eyeing him mistrustfully and he can’t help but smile.

“Don’t look at me like that. Come on. Let’s get you up.”

Kent stubbornly glares at him for a moment more, then gives in. A moment later he lies there as a human, battered and bruised. Jack’s eyes soften, starting to see what Bitty sees. He extends a firm hand and smiles a little more. Kent hesitates, then takes it and lets Jack haul him up with a groan. Jack could probably carry him with ease, but he doesn’t suggest it, knowing Kent wouldn’t be impressed at all. Instead, he loops his arm around his neck and helps him hobble after the others.

“You’re amazing you know,” Jack finally murmurs, low enough so only Kent can hear.

“Not as amazing as Bitty,” Kent whispers back, his eyes on Richard’s retreating form. Jack nods in agreement, smiling to himself.

“I’ll give you that one.”

Chapter Sixteen

The first thing I’m aware of is pain. It washes over my body, starting in my head and spreading down through my bones to my feet where it ends in fire. I feel a bit feverish with exhaustion, my hair sticking to my forehead with sweat. But then I hear it, a quiet, impatient grumbling. My eyelids are too heavy to open to begin with, but I finally manage it. Kent’s face, Kent’s human face, is above mine. He’s grinning widely, eyes dancing, and the freckles over his nose seem even brighter than usual.

“Hey, Kent,” I mumble, closing my eyes again and fully planning on going back to sleep.

But then it hits me. I bolt upright, ignoring the sudden spike of nausea and pain, and look around me. I’m in my bed, moved beside the firepit in the main part of the house. This doesn’t make sense.“I’m in my house.” I look at Kent, hovering over me like an excited puppy ready to pounce. “You’re in my house.”Kent lets out a delighted peal of laughter that only confuses me further. “Uh, does my dad know you’re in here?”

I shift to get out of bed, eager for answers, but immediately freeze. Something isn’t right here. My entire body feels off. I reach out a shaking hand and slowly peel back the sheets. My head whirls as I’m suddenly startled, horrified and overwhelmed all at once. I reach towards the bloody stump and attached metal appendage but then pull my hand back, thinking better of it. I take a minute to get my brain around it, squashing down the growing nausea. Kent’s grin falls from his face, looking understanding instead.

Okay.

I take a deep breath, let it fill my lungs, and then exhale. My heart rate settles a little bit. This…isn’t the end of the world. I’m alive. That in itself is a miracle. It would have been impossible to escape a fight like that unscathed. This isn’t going to hold me back.

I swing my legs over the side, touch down first with my foot, and then the mechanical prosthetic. It feels weird, like it’s not meant to be there. I take a minute to inspect it, marvelling at the spring-loaded iron. Bad Bob’s work no doubt. Kent is by my side in an instant, and with a start I realise he knows exactly how this feels. Gods, how ironic.

I brace myself on the bedpost and carefully lift myself up. The second I put any weight on the new foot, pain flares up my thigh and I wince, trying to stifle it. I stumble on the first step, unused to the weight, but Kent is quick to catch and stabilise me. I throw him a grateful smile.

“Thanks, sugar.”

I lean on him like a crutch, taking steps together. I notice he’s wearing a similar prosthetic, and together we form a poetic silhouette. The pain eases a little with each step and by the time we reach the door I feel a bit more confident. I prise it open and yelp at the sight of a Monstrous Nightmare swooping past my house. I slam the door closed in shock, and Kent bursts into laughter. I narrow my eyes at him, unimpressed, and hesitantly open the door again.

The sight I’m met with takes my breath away. Vikings and dragons in all their forms mill around the village by the dozen, basking on the sunlit rooftops, weaving along the plaza, soaring through the air in a glorious parade. No one is fighting, there isn’t a sword in sight. A Nadder blasts fire onto the framework for a massive barn, while a Viking hammers the white-hot metal into place. Nearby, a draconian woman is admiring herself in a new dress with a Viking tailor making adjustments as she turns. Another Viking backs a Zippleback into a stall to check its size. I stare out at the harmony, unable to believe my eyes.

“I knew it. I’m dead.”

My dad appears beside me on the porch, chuckling heartily. Kent stands behind me, almost protectively, and laughs along with him.

“No, but you gave it your best shot,” he teases, wrapping a warm arm around my shoulders. It’s the stuff of dreams. He gestures towards the transformed village. “So, what do you think?”

I have no words for him. I just shrug, gazing around me in awe. The villagers and our visitors suddenly realise I’m awake and swarm around me with a hero’s welcome. It’s a little embarrassing and overwhelming. They call out greetings and praise, and I blush when I notice Jack hurrying across the plaza to meet me, followed by his father.

“Turns out we just needed a little more of this,” my dad grins, sweeping a hand over me.

“You just gestured to all of me,” I laugh, playing along and nudging him. “Well, most of you,” Bad Bob adds, pushing his way to the front and beaming with pride. He nods towards my metal leg. “That’s my handiwork. With a little Bitty flare thrown in. Think it’ll do?”

I look down at it. It doesn’t feel quite so horrendous anymore.

“I might make a few tweaks,” I joke weakly.

Jack appears at my side and for one fleeting moment I think he’s about to embrace me. Instead he jabs me sharply in the arm and I recoil with a grumble, swatting at him.

“That’s for scaring me,” he tells me seriously.

“Is it always going to be this way?” I huff. “’Cause I…”

His tight grip on my arms silences me. Before I can react, he leans down and kisses me on the mouth. For a moment, the world disappears. It’s short but firm, a promise, and it makes my toes curl. He pulls away and I’m left with a swirling warmth, slightly dazed.

“…could get used to it.”

Everyone watching hoots and teases, but I ignore them, my face bright red. I look up as Kent gently nudges my shoulder. His arms are full, a saddle and an adapted harness gleam in the sun. He smiles widely at me.

“Let’s go for a ride.”

Epilogue

The wind on my face has never felt so good. Kent and I glide through the air seamlessly, my prosthetic foot rotates the pedal with ease. Astride him, I’m whole again. Behind me, Jack’s Nadder gives a squawk of disapproval as we soar miles ahead, easily winning the race. I look out over the changed world as we swirl through the bright blue sky and I feel my chest swell with pride. It’s really something, to see your wildest dreams become reality.

We race through the village, under eaves, over rooftops, down cliff-sides and through ship masts. It’s almost like a high-energy, romantic dance between Jack and me. I keep catching his eye and his laughter makes me melt. It’s romantic until our friends join us at least, but that doesn’t make it any less fun. We take to the open sky, rocketing far above Samwell. The sky swirls with blazing, multicoloured dragons. I let out a whoop of sheer joy and spin towards the blinding sun.

This is freedom.

Let me set the scene for you.

This is Samwell. It snows nine months of the year and hails the other three. Any food that grows here is tough and tasteless. The people that grow here are even more so. The only upsides are our friends. The friends who merge into our lives seamlessly like they’ve been there forever. The friends who help us to be better people. The friends who only eat fish and growl at each other and occasionally spit fire when annoyed.

Our friends, the dragons.

The End

A.N: This closely follows the script with a few changes here and there. Previous knowledge of the film isn't essential but recommended. Plus it's a gd awesome film and should be watched anyway. This was a much bigger task than I anticipated but I'm very happy with it. Eventual PBJ was in my head when I started, but the story soon decided that it was going to be solely Zimbits. But I suppose you could squint and see it if you were so inclined. I want to thank Karin for such a lovely idea and for creating the amazing art that inspired this. Thank you to @comefeedtherainn for your badass beta skills.A short rest is in order before I start planning for the Big Bang event I think! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

#my fic #my writing #omgcp #omgcheckplease #checkplease #zimbits #zimbitsau #checkpleaseau #howtotrainyourdragonau #jack zimmermann #eric bittle #kent parson #zimbitsfic #omgcprb #omgcpreversebang

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coffeelouis · 5 years

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i don’t really have much of an intro this month! here’s what i read!

streetwise hercules by @bottomlinsons “I said,” Louis’ voice is venomous, “who the fuck is this?”

Right.

This is Harry’s part.

(Uni AU, where Louis pretends to be Harry’s boyfriend to scare away his one night stands.)

On the edge of the next nine years by @forreveries

“It just hit me,” Harry continued, putting down his phone so he could wring the nerves out of his fingers, shake them too, “This is actually happening.” “Nine years in the making.” “Nine years. Shit,” Harry repeated, as though it was the first time he was hearing this. As though they hadn’t been talking about this moment for the past year, hadn’t been planning it for just that long too, “What if-” “Love,” Louis cut him off. There was no room for what ifs anymore. They’d been told their whole careers to be scared of those words, that if something went wrong - came out - it’d be the end of them. And they’d had nine entire years to learn that those what ifs weren’t worth it.

In which Harry and Louis come out at the Met Gala.

Gold Running Through My Veins by @hazzayoudoing

Harry can’t help himself when he leers. No one ever said you had to be unaffected by your own teammate’s body. Louis has a great one. He’s compact with muscle, curves in places Harry could only dream to touch one day. They hate each other, on the surface. It’s always been this way. Some ribbing here, some eyebrow raises there. But Harry would be lying if he was forced to admit he’s never thought of Louis in a different way.

“Take a picture, Styles. It’ll last longer,” Louis says as he ambles past with Zayn. His board shorts brush Harry’s shoulder, water droplets cool to the touch.

“Fuck off,” Harry responds. He’s got his part to play.

Or, an Olympic gymnastics AU that finds sworn enemies Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson on the same Olympic team, battling it out for gold medals in Belgium while they fall, quite stubbornly, in love. Featuring a steamy striptease in an empty gym, Harry canoodling with a gymnast from another country, a bit of sight-seeing in gorgeous Belgium and some really delicious waffles.

Make a Dime Go One Hundred by @screwstyles “Hey, Haz,” he says, encouraged in equal parts by the weed and the cocoon they seem to have created around themselves. “Do you think you could trust anyone enough to have full control over you?” he asks into the night, hoping his sentence won’t break their bubble. It doesn’t, if the way Harry’s eyes meet his is any indication.

“What do you mean?” Harry’s voice is barely above a whisper, rough from the singing they had done earlier. Louis wants to keep this memory forever.

“You know, if someone wanted to, uhm,” he coughs, “to tie you up, or blindfold you.”

Friends to Lovers AU: Harry volunteers to help Louis experiment with bondage. Things don’t go exactly to plan.

blend into my favourite colour by @rainbowninja

Harry often wonders if they’ll ever meet in real life. And if Harry will recognize Tommo the instant they see each other, like somehow their souls will just know. Or maybe Harry’s soul is shouting “Louis!” too loudly for any other signals to go through.

Harry is a barista with a secret Werewolf High fan blog, a desperate crush on a customer named Louis, and a best friend on Tumblr who always makes him laugh. Louis can’t figure out why the barista at his favorite coffee shop keeps creepily staring at him, and to make matters worse, he may be slightly in love with a friend he met online.

A love square involving two boys, one TV fandom, and one food fight.

One Week, Eight Hours by @daggerinrose

Louis doesn’t have a reason to hate Harry Styles (which, to be fair, is a reason of its own.)

or: a production assistant with no experience in front of a camera interviews a rockstar with old shoes and a distasteful attitude.

⭐ Emperor’s New Clothes by sunsetmog

The fact that Louis’s most precious belonging was a cat with a face like thunder and an uncanny ability to cover every single inch of Louis’s clothing with cat hair was something that Louis chose not to think about too much.

or: Harry’s a pop star and Louis isn’t, and there’s a non-disclosure agreement where there used to be a relationship.

The Red Coat by @larrymylove

In which Harry wears a red coat, Louis is a little shit, and Harry has plans for him when he gets home.

I’m Not Over You (But I’m Trying) by @greeneyedlarrie

Louis’ House of Solo photoshoot drops, and Harry forgets how to forget about boys.

We’re Like Bumper Cars by sincehewaseighteen

“I have won, I won the final cross country. I win, Harry–”

“Whoever gets to fucking nationals wins it, pretty boy,” Harry teases. “You haven’t won. Interhouse is nothing compared to nationals, or interstate. You haven’t even won interschool. You can dream all you fucking want that you’ve won.”

Louis becomes so ignorant he decides to no longer eye the boy taunting him. “Trophies prove it all, Styles.”

“Where’s your trophy for biggest asshole?”

“Where’s yours for winning cross country?”

Harry growls before hooking his fingers in Louis’ belt loops and bringing them together for a flat kiss.

Or the AU where Louis and Harry are rivals of the century and Cross Country competitors before things get complicated and they play pretend.

plus i reread some fics!

feel so foolish by @juliusschmidt

Louis and his friends keep laughing at Harry; he’s sure of it. But he’s not sure why.

deleted your number (so i can’t call you) by @tofiveohfive

Harry wakes up to a voicemail.

It’s Saturday morning and it’s raining, a barely there drizzle. He sees the notification as soon as he picks up his phone from the bedside table, bleary eyes making it hard to distinguish the words. He’s got a few instagram mentions, a couple unread texts, but what really stands out is the “Missed Call and Voicemail”.

From Louis.

Or the ten hours before Harry comes home to Louis, and the five hours after he does.

and finally! a drarry one. that i cheated and listened to a podfic of but it’s so good im gonna rec it anyway!!!

it doesn’t really have a description, or an author, or a link… huh, this worked out weird. anyway, you can find the podfic here or a pdf compiling all the fics by this author here (in a dropbox link.) maya went pro like 10-11 years ago (this fic was started BEFORE deathly hallows came out! there’s some things that are Wrong because the books weren’t OVer! how wild is that?!) and deleted everything, so there’s really just these little things floating around the internet now. which is also why it doesn’t have a summary but the summary is basically just that harry is a veela and attracts everyone to him, except for the one person he wants to attract, which is DRACO his best friend and auror partner whom he has PINED FOR for YEARS but is an oblivious walnut! ugh it’s just the best… so much good pining but self-aware harry, which is such a rare treat.

and a check, please! one! (#wild)

one day (we’ll get this right) by onawingandaswear

Fifteen years ago, Jack was traded to Winnipeg for a first round draft pick; a move that cost him far more than the ‘A’ on his sweater when the distance proved too much for his partner to handle.

Now, Jack is two years into his new job as the Schooner’s Assistant General Manager when a chance encounter offers Jack a chance to rebuild the life he was always meant to have with Eric Bittle.

Prompt: Jack and Bitty were never quite able to make a relationship work. They reconnect in their 40s.

anyway, i’ll stop rambling now. hope you had a nice may!

#mine #brookes fic recs #fic rec

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samwell-actually · 6 years

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Zimbits Fic-Rec

Although I have my all-time favorite OMGCP fic bookmarked on my Ao3 page, I wanted to compile a master list of all of my favorite OMGCP Ao3 fic to have in one place on my tumblr. And since I’m that neurotic, I thought it might also be nice to break-up each ship as well:

You Never Said You Wouldn’t So Here I Am | emmagrant01 One-Shot, 10k. Eric just wants to get past this crush, but Jack keeps getting in the way.

Phone, Please! | twentysomething One-Shot, 5k Five Times Jack Took Bitty's Phone (And One Time Bitty Put It Away Himself)

Ice Crew Please! | rosepetals42 Completed Multi-Chapter, 61k Jack Zimmermann was drafted first by the Providence Falconers when he was eighteen years old. He is good at hockey. Very good. Jack should be on top of the world. And some days, he manages to convince himself he is. He’s not, of course. Enter the Ice Crew.

écrit dans les étoiles | gurlsrool One-Shot, 5k Jack didn't go to Samwell and Bitty doesn't follow hockey but through the bathroom of a Beyoncé concert, a ticket to a Bruins game, and a lot of texting, they come together anyways.

Positive Image | twentysomething One-Shot, 4k When Bittle first showed up at a meeting with management, sitting next to Sara with wide, scared eyes, Jack didn't think he had a chance in hell.

I never saw the signs | biblionerd07 One-Shot, 4k Bitty gets asked out on a date, but he's already spoken for. It wouldn't be a problem, really, except he didn't know he was already spoken for.

Mixing It Up | sinspiration Completed Multi-Chapter, 41k Eric Bittle, of Bitty's Bakery, is very excited to have been chosen as a contestant for the Food Network Challenge. He's even more excited to find out that he's making a cake for the NHL new-Cup winners, the Falconers.

Being in Motion | marswithghosts Completed Multi-Chapter, 54k Watching a college boy jerk off online for money is not what Jack Zimmermann ever saw himself doing. Getting to know that boy is something he expected even less.

found out | applecrumbledore Completed Multi-Chapter, 20k “Bitty, you have finally rose to the rank of ‘bad roommate who brings people home and has loud sex,’ and we love it. It’s lonely here at the top. And now, you’ve joined us.”No one notices Jack, at the far end of the table, staring at his bacon.

A Little Bit Closer | marswithghosts Completed Multi-Chapter, 108k Children’s librarian Eric Bittle falls for Boston Bruins forward Jack Zimmermann.

Hold It All At Bay | psocoptera Completed Multii-Chapter, 50k The theory of extrapolative synchronization of the mirror neurons was debunked back when he was still in his teens, so Jack is reluctant to mention that he can smell Bitty's pies baking from across campus.

naked ambition | asfroste One-Shot, 2k The one where Jack strips down for ESPN The Magazine's Body Issue and Bitty has some...issues with it. issues involving inconvenient boners.]

live through this and you won’t look back | nighimpossible One Shot, 4k The worst part about falling in love with a straight boy is definitely not watching him date girls. No, the worst part about falling in love with a straight boy is that you never even had a shot.

Here Come the Dreams | porcupinegirl Completed Multi-Chapter, 26k Sometimes it seems like Jack can't go anywhere in Providence without being hounded for autographs, so he's relieved when the people who work at the coffee shop in his new neighborhood don't seem to recognize him.But the cute baker who owns the shop, Eric, has a few surprises for him - and maybe Jack has a few of his own in return.

say it’s been a long six months | biblionerd07 One-Shot, 10k Jack falls in love, comes out, and loses his friends. Not quite in that order.

Helpless | emmagrant01 One-Shot, 19k “So we should ask Bits and Lardo to come with us to New York,” Shitty said. Jack turned to look at him, frowning. “Seriously?”“ Yeah, man. I mean, I know this was supposed to be just you and me, but… We both know those two are gonna be part of our lives after graduation. It’d just be like. Getting a head start on it.”

make this house a home | bleepobleep One-Shot, 2k With the prospect of an empty Haus for Thanksgiving, Jack invites Bitty over to his new place in Providence. As friends, of course.

i don’t see your name on it | heyfightme One-Shot, 5k that old chestnut of soulmates’ names being branded on each others’ wrists. jack and bitty, from the moment their names appear to the beginning of the rest of their lives.

Catfishing for Dummies | andquitefrankly Completed Multi-Chapter, 12k Eric Bittle hadn’t planned on signing up for online dating.He also hadn’t planned on messaging the super obvious catfish masquerading as Jack Zimmermann. And he definitely hadn’t planned on possibly falling in love with him.

if there’s anything on my face you put it there | jedusaur One-Shot, 2k “You don’t have to tell them it was me. I mean, you don’t have to do anything. I’ll stop leaving marks if you want me to. Just…“ He lifts up Jack’s shirt and touches one of the hickeys. When he looks back up, his eyes have gone dark. “I really, really like it. Do you mind?”

forget the wax and feathers | decinq One-Shot, 6k Bittle scores against Yale and Jack acts like a son of a bitch. They’re not friends.

bold; over the worst of it | decinq One-Shot, 3k “Spring C,” Jack says, “is full of mystery.”

when it’s over (you’re the start) | onawingandaswear Completed Multi-Chapter, 13k Jack goes to sleep in Providence next to his boyfriend and wakes up in Montréal to discover he’s been in a coma since 2009. Refusing to believe Samwell, Bitty, and the Falconers were all a dream, Jack tracks down the real Shitty, Lardo, Ransom, and Holster to find they’ve shared the same group hallucination for years. Now, they’re on a mission to find Bitty, the love of Jack’s non-existent life, and the only member of SMH they can’t seem to get in contact with.

is it too late now to say sorry | magneticwave One-Shot, 5k I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS, Eric types furiously into Twitter. THIS IS LIKE RENAMING LAKE WOEBEGONE “LAKE SCOTT WALKER.” // Or, the only person in the entirety of Canada who is upset about Jack Zimmermann’s first Stanley Cup is Eric Bittle, and by God is every single one of Eric’s 160,000 Twitter followers going to hear about it.

providence loves you | nightwatch One-Shot, 8k Bitty loses his phone.He dies (approximately) a thousand deaths when he finds out that it’s Jack Zimmermann who found it.

through the crowd | kirkaut One-Shot, 4k The notification sound isn’t the one that he’s got assigned to Jack, which is why he doesn’t feel any panic when Holster hums an agreement and leans over to peer at Bitty’s phone screen.At least, not until Holster says his name in the tone of a person with a slowly growing suspicion. “Bitty,” he says, very expectantly. “Who is ‘Good Robert’, and why is he blowing up your phone?”

the backpacker’s guide to the aftermath of gap year hookups | heyfightme Completed Multi-Chapter, 20k In which Eric Bittle absconds from Georgia with half a year of hard-earned savings, and makes the most of his six months before starting college living a backpacker’s dream in Europe. On the final night of his travels, the night before a giant reality check and with the threat of a future looming over him, he meets a fellow traveler. There is etiquette, for sure, about hooking up in a hostel dorm.

gonna wanna make it move | decinq One-Shot, 8k He spends so much time thinking ahead–being careful, holding onto everything so tightly with his shaking hands–that it’s easy to forget that he’s an honest to god dipshit.

Jack Zimmermann is a Masochistic Fuckwit | porcupinegirl One-Shot, 11k Bitty decides to go home for Thanksgiving his sophomore year - so he can come out to his parents. When Coach Bittle is in denial, the boys in the Haus decide that Bitty needs to bring a boyfriend home for Winter Break. A boyfriend chosen from the very attractive ranks of SMH, of course.Why does Jack volunteer?Because he’s a masochistic fuckwit, that’s why.

Passing Notes | marswithghosts One-Shot, 4k Jack Zimmermann is charming, and Bitty enjoys the way he writes the B in Bittle. He knows he’s being stupid, but his life consists of seventh graders and baking pies; he’s allowed to have a little bit of a fantasy.

the road leads back to you | heyfightme One-Shot, 9k Bitty meets Jack Zimmermann on 5 AM on a Sunday morning after someone set their grilled cheese on fire in his dorm. He doesn’t really expect that they’ll become friends. Or that he’ll become friends with an entire hockey team.

someone to count on (and other cheesy idioms about finding your soulmate) | heyfightme & Omgpieplease One-Shot, 9k (+ art!) Another soulmate AU, this time with pining, lying, and a lot of assumptions.

Bad Coffee and Ugly Running Shoes | alocalband One-Shot, 4k The Captain of the Providence Falconers lives in Bitty’s neighborhood. Well, more specifically, he lives somewhere within jogging distance of Bitty’s barely surviving first venture into small business ownership. During the preseason, he visits Bitty’s bakery at exactly 6:35 in the morning every weekday, without fail. He keeps his gorgeous blue eyes trained on anything and everything that isn’t another human being the entire time he’s there. And he only ever buys a cup of coffee. Bitty kind of hates him.

give my regards to summer romance | gurlsrool One-Shot, 2k SK 6:48 p.m.FUCKINDEETSJACKFUCKINLAURENTFUCKINZIMMERFUCKINMANN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! JZ 6:50 p.m. It was nice.

Just Spit It Out | porcupinegirl One-Shot, 2k Jack can't believe he just heard the words on his soulmark from the mouth of the gorgeous new waiter at the diner he frequents. But now the pressure is on - what if he says the wrong thing back? Can you screw up meeting your soulmate?

All the Love in the World | alocalband One-Shot, 3k Bitty’s hands are shaking. He has five missed calls from Jack, two from Chowder, one from Lardo, and an astronomical number of yet to be viewed text messages. It’s not that he hasn’t been checking his phone, it’s that every time he’s picked it up at an alert, all he’s been able to do is stare at it. Which is what he’s doing now, as he waits for his mother to finish speaking with the doctor at Coach’s bedside.

the road leads back to you | gurlsrool One-Shot, 9k “That’s prom, right? You walk in on your friends boning, bone someone yourself, eat some chips.” / The boys find out Bitty didn't get to attend his high school prom so they throw their own.

Will Wonders Never Cease | porcupinegirl Completed Multi-Chapter, 57k You’ve Got Mail with a magical twist.

A Clerical Error | 1electricpirate One-Shot, 7k “There aren’t any twins left,” Lardo’s telling them, stress evident in the corners of her eyes and the tight clench of her jaw. The hotel is cheap and conveniently located, but the payoff for that is terrible management and a logistical nightmare. “Just a double. You’ll have to share.

Eric Bittle Got Married | emmagrant01 One-Shot, 27k If you could do it all again, would you change anything? (The time travel fic no one asked for.)

Something Rational | porcupinegirl One-Shot, 1k Jack knows tonight was a turning point, but it's not over yet. He won't be able to relax until he's sure they're on the same page about this.

It’s an Investment | imaginarycircus One-Shot, 1k Jack hasn't bought anything for his kitchen in Providence because he wants Bitty to pick everything out. That way he'll feel right at home when he moves in, but they haven't talked about that yet.

Graduation Day | iboatedhere One-Shot, 27k It takes Jack 50 days to finally see what's been right in front of him for the past two years.

the road leads back to you | heyfightme Completed Multi-Chapter, 56k Jack Zimmermann is an established hockey player. He’s three years in to his NHL career, has had the A for the Falconers for two and a half, and is ready to make winners out of the new group of rookies. He pulls one under his wing, affectionately nicknamed Poots, and it should all go as planned. But say Jack accidentally discovers that Poots has a boyfriend. And say that Poots wasn’t a very good boyfriend. And say, for arguments’ sake, Poots’ boyfriend definitely deserved better. Jack is maybe, possibly, totally fucked.

don’t you tell me i’m dreaming | gurlsrool One-Shot, 4k “It’s me,” Jack’s voice comes low and hits him hard. You are not in love, Bitty reminds himself. He is not in love with you and you are not in love with him.

#zimbits #zimbits fanfic #omgcp fanfic #fanfic #omgcp #omg check please #check please

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exhuastedpigeon · 6 years

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Like a Bob Ross Painting Dex/Nursey Teen 2,863 words

“I can’t believe you still don’t drive,” Will said, trying and failing to keep the fondness from his voice, slowing as they hit traffic on the Whitestone Bridge, “You’re a 28 year old adult.”

“I’ve lived in New York most of my life, I don’t need to drive,” Derek kicked his feet onto the dashboard. If it had been Will’s actual car he might have been annoyed, but it was a rental and Derek was paying for it, so he didn’t say anything.

“Except for times like these,” Will pointed out, “I won’t always be around to drive your ass to our friends weddings.”

“Yeah you will, you’d never leave me, Poindexter,” Derek bat his eyelashes and blew him a kiss, “You’d be lost without me.”

“And you’d be stranded without me,” Will chirped, a smile tugging at his lips.

“It’s been years and you still chirp me,” Derek grinned, “And they say romance is dead.”

Will turned up the music. It had taken a few years of road trips for them to get on the same page, but they discovered that they were both fond of Vance Joy, Shakey Graves, and Blue October. Derek sang softly under his breath as Will drove them out of the city and to Providence for what felt like the 100th time since they graduated 5 years prior.

Read on ao3

He wasn’t sure why they’d car pooled the first time, he hadn’t owned a car and was planning on taking the train, Derek couldn’t drive and was planning on flying, then someone had asked if they were driving together and next thing Will knew Derek was renting them a car and Will was driving them north.

They hadn’t bothered to change it up since then, and honestly, they didn’t need to, it worked well.

Things had changed a lot since they graduated from Samwell, Dex wasn’t shit broke anymore, Chowder played for the Rangers, Nurse was the top copy editor at a small publishing company, they were all doing well. They all tried to get together a couple times a month, but with his NHL schedule Chris couldn’t make it as often as he liked, but Derek and Will never missed a week, and honestly, they rarely missed a day.

The drive from Derek’s Brooklyn apartment to Providence was just under three and a half hours and with the way Will drove they usually got there in about three hours and fifteen minutes. This drive though, Will took his time.

They didn’t technically need to be at the hotel until dinner with the guys at 6 and the drive through New England was beautiful this time of year, he didn't mind taking a little longer to enjoy the view. Plus, the earlier they got there, the longer they'd have to help with wedding stuff and it wasn't that Dex didn't love Bitty and Jack, but he definitely didn't love arts and crafts.

“Yo Will, can we stop here?” Derek asked suddenly, jolting Will from his thoughts.

“I told you to pee before we left,” Will rolled his eyes, but pulled off at a scenic overlook. They were the only ones at the overlook and Will bit back a smile at the way Derek’s eyes lit up.

“The trees match your hair.”

“Oh fuck you,” Will snorted, “The leaves don’t match my hair.”

“They do,” Derek picked up a leaf off the ground and held it up to Will’s hair, “I’m in a forest of beautiful Poindexter hair.”

“You paint such a vivid picture,” Will leaned against the little wooden fence, “Such a wordsmith. Are you, by chance, a poet?”

“Oh fuck you Poindexter, I could write sonnets about your hair,” Derek jumped onto the picnic table, “Odes to your eyes, an epic about my love.”

Will laughed, fighting the flush the threatened to spread across his cheeks, “You, have absolutely no chill.”

“For some reason I lose all my chill around you, William Poindexter,” Derek laughed, “There once was a man named Dex, who dreamed of lot’s of -”

“We’re going to stop there, you’ve rhymed my name with sex enough times to know how that one ends,” Will pushed off the fence and walked back toward the car, “Come one, let’s go. I bet if we get there early Bitty will feed us. You know he’s stress baking as we speak.”

“Think Chow will propose to Cait now that the wedding is almost over,” Derek asked a little while later when they crossed into Rhode Island.

“I’ll be surprised if he makes it back to New York before asking,” Will snorted, “He’s got no chill .”

Derek grinned at him and Will’s stomach swooped, “ You’ve got no chill Poindexter.”

“I never said I did,” Will turned up the music. He was going to spend the entire weekend with Derek at his very best, surrounded by their friends who knew him better than anyone in New York and who brought out Derek's charm, he needed a little time to prepare himself. Every time Derek opened his mouth Will wanted to either kiss him or fight him. Or both. That was something that would probably never change.

It was just that most of their former teammates had settled down or were well on their way to settling down. It was weird seeing Shitty and Lardo with a baby, Ransom married, Holster engaged, hell, even the tadpoles were mostly in serious relationships these days. Everyone but himself and Nursey.

Will dated occasionally, mostly when his coworkers set him up, and it never lasted longer than a few months. He was busy with working at a small but profitable startup, and he’d never say it out loud, but there was also Nursey. He’d probably always harbor a little something for Derek Nurse.

And Nurse would joke that he didn’t need a partner because he already had Dex. So, yeah, they were both single.

“Over/under on Bitty and mama Bittle getting into the Great Jam Fight of 2016 all over again,” Nurse asked as they pulled into Eric and Jack’s driveway.

“She wouldn’t right before the wedding, would she?”

“Only one way to find out,” Derek opened the trunk and grabbed the boxes that they’d brought from New York at Bitty’s request.

The door opened before Will could knock and Jack stood in the doorway, “Oh thank god.”

“Everything okay?” Will asked, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer. The last time he talked to Bitty on the phone had been three days ago and he’d seemed okay then, but a lot can change in three days.

“Bits was convinced you two would forget to bring the champagne. I told him even if you did, we could buy it here,” Jack waved his hand as if to say, ‘you know Bitty’.

Will and Derek nodded, they did know Bitty.

------

Will took a sip of his beer, smiling at the busser who took his plate away. Bitty had managed to transform the barn where the reception was so that it was barely recognizable. To his right Derek was talking loudly about the rec league hockey team that he and Will played on, to his left Ransom was talking to Holster, loud enough that the table could hear.

“We’re thinking about adoption,” Rans’ smile was soft, the kind of soft that made Will’s heart clench.

“By thinking, Justin means we already have baby coming,” Tater’s smile was so bright Will had to look away. The rest of the table was grinning at Ransom and Tater, “Little Sam get here next week! We even have room done already”

“Bro!” Holster hugged Ransom so hard that Will was sure his head might pop off, “You’re having a baby!”

Before anyone else could jump in, the first dance was announced and they all turned to face the dance floor. Derek leaned his head against Will’s shoulder, “Do you ever feel like everyone else is growing up and starting their lives and we’re just here, two bros who haven’t done any of that yet.”

Will looked at Chowder and Cait, an engagement ring now on her finger, at Ransom and Tater who were adopting a freaking kid, at Holster and Halle, at Shitty and Lardo, little Ella on Shitty lap, “At least we’ve got each other.”

Derek huffed out a laugh, “Sap.”

“Shut up and watch the dancing, asshole,” Dex flicked his arm and Derek grabbed his hand, squeezing it and not letting go. Will felt his heartbeat in his throat, but he didn’t let go of Derek’s hand, he never wanted to.

Bitty and Jack looked so happy, completely wrapped up in each other as they danced to Drunk in Love . It was actually pretty well choreographed, not that anyone was surprised.

The two days that lead up to the wedding had been surprisingly calm on the wedding front. There had, of course, been the usual whirlwind that came with the former Samwell men’s hockey players, but that was familiar, even comfortable.

There hadn’t been any disasters with the centerpieces, with the venue, or with Bitty’s family. Will was pretty sure that had a lot to do with Bob and Alicia Zimmermann keeping things under control, for which he was grateful. It had meant that the team and their respective partners had a chance to just hang out. It felt like the old days between Rans and Holster completing each other’s sentences and Shitty ditching his pants.

Once the dance ended the DJ invited everyone onto the dance floor. Dex allowed himself to be pulled up from his chair by Derek, willing his stomach to stop flipping. He and Nursey were in such a good place now, really good friends, probably best friends if Dex was honest with himself, he didn’t want to ruin that with his unrequited feelings.

“Put a smile on Poindexter,” Derek spun Will around with a laugh, “This is a wedding, it’s a celebration, of love .”

“I’m celebrating plenty,” Will rolled his eyes, but spun Derek around, his heart feeling light.

“Well, now you are,” Nurse grabbed Will’s hand and they danced. Will let himself enjoy it, let himself think that maybe this could be real, that one day maybe this could be them.

Three songs later Dex managed to duck off the dance floor when Derek got pulled into a dance off with Holster and Shitty. He tucked himself against a wall with a drink, watching everyone dancing and laughing.

He was happy being with all his friends, seeing everyone so happy, but he was also a little sad. Well, maybe sad was the wrong word. He was a little melancholy and he didn’t know why. Well, that was wrong too; he knew why. He was glad that everyone else was so happy, he was happy, but he wanted something more. He was tired of pining.

“You’re looking awfully lonely over here Poindexter,” Derek leaned against the wall next to Will, gently bumping their shoulders together. Will barely managed not to jump out of his skin.

“They really managed to capture ‘autumn’ as the theme,” Will looked around the barn, it looked like something off of Pinterest, “Bitty outdid himself.”

“Of course he did,” Nurse leaned against the wall, watching as everyone danced and mingled. Will watched him instead of the other people, “Fall is the most beautiful season after all.”

“You just love it because you love leaves,” Will grinned, bumping his shoulder against Derek’s, feeling a little warm under the collar at the way Derek looked at him, “Fall was always destined to be your favorite.”

“It must be the autumn in your hair, the sunshine that’s somehow been trapped in your eyes, the way you’ve managed to become the embodiment of my favorite season,” Derek’s voice was quiet, his eyes steady as he looked at Will, “Maybe it’s that you’re both the chill in the air and the fire that warms me up, maybe you were always destined to be my favorite.”

There wasn’t anything that Will could say to top that or at all really, but he tried, “So you’re a poet after all.”

“I told you, I could write odes about you,” Derek gave a helpless shrug, like he was starting to regret saying anything at all.

“Well, I’m no poet,” Will stepped a little closer to him, wishing he wasn’t holding a drink, “My feelings tend to manifest in more physical ways.”

“That so?” Derek offered him a smile, but he still looked a little helpless.

“Yeah, like this one time,” Will took a breath to steady himself, “I was so into a guy that I built him an entire bedroom set.”

The smile that spread across Derek’s face lit Will’s heart on fire, “Oh yeah?”

“And this other time, I made him weekly dinners for three years because he’d eat takeout every night if I didn’t,” Will put a hand on Derek’s hip, “But see, he does stuff for me too.”

“Does he now?” Derek put his hand on Will’s shoulder, stepping a little closer to him, invading Will’s space, like he had been for years.

Will squeezed Derek’s hip, “Sure, he drags me out of my comfort, he tells me stories, he makes me smile.”

“You make him smile too,” Derek’s lips quirked up, “So, I’m gonna kiss you now, if that’s chill.”

Will rolled his eyes on instinct, but he was smiling, “Yeah Derek, that’s chill .”

Derek closed the gap between them, his lips soft against Will’s. It was gentle, but it only took Will slipping his hand under Derek’s button down to deepen it. He pinned Derek against the wall, grateful that they were the same height, it made kissing easy.

“Will, fuck Will,” Derek said into the kiss, “God, I’ve wanted to do this forever.”

“Me too,” Will grinned into Derek’s neck, “Only took three weddings for us to get here.”

“Yoooo,” Holster’s voice was too close for comfort, Will looked behind him to see Holster and Random high fiving, “Foiiine.”

“Fines ended when we left the Haus,” Derek laughed, “Go back to your partners, I want to spend some time with mine.”

“Partner huh?” Will’s heart flipped.

“Figure we did it on the ice for four years at Samwell,” Derek shrugged, “It’s a good title.”

“Yeah, yeah it is,” Will wanted to take Derek back to the hotel and solidify the next step of their partnership right now, but Chowder grabbed both of them in a tight hug before he could suggest it quietly to Derek.

“Guys!! You’re together!! Guys!!” Chowder’s smile was as bright as the fucking sun, “I can’t believe you’re finally together!”

“Yeah, who had Jack and Bitty’s wedding in the pool?” Lardo asked with a smirk.

Shitty pulled out a little notebook, “That would be, Jack.”

“Jack?” Ransom and Holster said at the same time. Some things never change.

“Wait, you guys bet on if we’d get together?” Will asked, feeling Derek’s hand in his and squeezing it.

No one looked ashamed of themselves, which wasn’t surprising at all if he was honest with himself. Bitty and Jack walked over to their little corner of the barn, “Actually, we bet on when y’alled get together, not if.”

“When, not if,” Derek smiled, “Like fate.”

“Well, Dex does make you dinner twice a week, and you play hockey together one night a week, and you go out together at least once a week,” Chowder said like he was explaining something to a kindergartener, “It just seemed kind of inevitable.”

“Yeah, that seems fair,” Derek nodded and they all laughed. Will felt like that last piece of himself was finally clicking into place.

------

“It feels like we’re driving through a Bob Ross painting,” Derek grinned lacing his fingers through Will’s as they drove back to New York the afternoon after the wedding. They’d gotten a bit of a late start, it had been hard to pull themselves out of the hotel room.

“It’s really beautiful,” Dex kissed Nurse’s knuckles, pulling into the next rest stop. He’d been planning on stopping soon anyway, he wanted to see Nurse’s smile at the leaves again, it lit up his entire face.

“You beautiful fucker,” Nurse got out of the car and took a deep breath. There was the smile that Will had been hoping for, it made him feel lighter just looking at it.

“You sound like Shitty,” Will laughed, “Don’t make me feel like stopping was a mistake.”

“There are no mistakes, Poindexter, just happy accidents,” Derek grabbed a handful of leaves and threw them in the air with a grin.

“Are you a happy tree?” Dex asked, not even trying to hide his smile.

“Of course I am, I’m with you,” Nurse picked up more leaves and dropped them on Dex’s head before running away yelling, “They matched your hair, I couldn’t resist.”

“I’m not a fucking Bob Ross painting Nursey,” Dex ran after him with a laugh, tackling him into a pile of leaves with a dull thud.

“Coulda fooled me,” Nurse leaned up and kissed him, “Meeting you was the happiest accident of my life.”

Dex smiled into the kiss. Yeah, it was a pretty happy accident.

#dexnursey #nurseydex #check please #omg check please #omgcp fic #omg cp #william poindexter #Derek Nurse #nursey/dex #nursey x dex #nurseydex fic #check please fic

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alphacrone · 7 years

Text

Heart Like Mine - or, Bitty finds himself in a McDonald’s on a lonely, Wednesday evening

[Part of the Blue-Eyed Jack ‘verse - Takes place in Nashville, long before Jack and Bitty meet...]

CW: mentions of homophobia, running away, vague mentions of homelessness, a very very lonely boy reconsiders his life choices, hopeful ending i promise

AN: So I was listening to Emily’s FANTASTIC playlist she made for Bitty in this universe and actually started crying at work thinking about Bitty when Heart Like Mine came on, so I had to write this little piece.

Cause I heard Jesus He drank wine And I bet we'd get along just fine He could calm a storm and heal the blind And I bet He'd understand a heart like mine

-Miranda Lambert, Heart Like Mine

Eric didn’t know why he was here.

And — gosh — it was weird to think of himself as Eric, but that was the only name people knew him by in Nashville. He grew up as Baby and Dicky and Junior, as Sweetheart and Boo Boo and Champ. He went by other names as he got older, crueler names hissed at him in hallway at school, shouted at him from across the street. The kids in first grade called him Little Bittle, but even that seemed preferable to Eric in this moment. Eric was the lonely name of a lonely boy hundreds of miles away from a place he couldn’t call home. But it was the only name he had anymore.

It still didn’t explain why he felt the need to wander into a random church on a rainy, Wednesday evening.

Back in Georgia, Eric had attended church every single Sunday with his mama and Coach. He took communion with half the town, and it was the one moment in the whole week he felt like he was one of them. The reverend didn’t have the nicest things to say about boys like him, but when he spoke of love and peace and turning the other cheek, Eric felt like he could survive Madison and come out the other side a better person than he’d been before.

Well, he’d survived. But he’d become someone he didn’t know, someone who left in the middle of the night with no goodbye, save for the note on the kitchen table that read, I’m sorry. I love you. Don’t look for me.

Eric hadn’t signed it; that was the moment he shed all the names of his past, like he’d scraped off a snakeskin on the doorframe as he walked away.

Now that he sat here, in the back pew of an empty church, shivering under the blast of the A/C, Eric wondered if he’d ever grow his new skin, or if he’d feel this raw and tender forever.

In the lobby, he could hear someone vacuuming the carpet. Somehow it comforted Eric to know he wasn’t the only person in the building. He thought he’d come here to find God, to have one of those religious epiphanies that only happens when you’re the only one for miles, but maybe he’d just been looking for home.

“This is dumb,” he murmured, standing too quickly. He’d worked long and hard today — construction jobs were ruthless but paid better than the shitty tips he’d been getting at TGI Friday’s — and hadn’t eaten since breakfast. The world spun as he stumbled back out of the church, face and hands going cold and numb. The rain was coming down harder now, and Eric was just grateful he’d managed to save up enough to rent a closet-sized room in a sketchy sublease. Maybe he’d stop by a Bojangles and treat himself to chicken and biscuits, if only to fill his stomach better than a ramen pack would.

Eric didn’t find a Bojangles anywhere between the church and his apartment, to his disappointment, but he did find a McDonald’s, which was almost as good. The food was hot and salty and made him forget his aching muscles or the fact that after living in Nashville for several months he’d yet to land any sort of gig — not even at an old folks’ home or at an open-mic. The best he’d done was the day a kind woman dropped a twenty in his open guitar case as he busked on the Strip — one of ten curbside singers in a five-block radius. Maybe he’d have had more luck hitchhiking down to Austin to try his luck among the Willie Nelson- and Stevie Ray Vaughan-wannabes. But Eric couldn’t imagine having more than one state line between him and the family he’d left behind, as far away as he felt now.

“Give me a sign,” he said, staring down at his half-eaten burger and fries. “Give me a sign to give up and move on with my life.”

Eric didn’t know if he was speaking to God or the universe or the spirit of the cow that was now his dinner, but it didn’t matter. He’d take anything as an omen now, take any sort of permission to let his dreams die and move on from the bright lights of Nashville.

“Hey, uh, do you mind if I sit here? I don’t really want to eat alone.”

Eric looked up into warm, brown eyes peering down at him curiously. They belonged a boy — no, a young man — who couldn’t have been much older than Eric himself. He wore one of those Best Buy ‘Geek Squad’ polos and looked as worn as Eric felt, but his smile was bright and kind.

“Sure,” Eric said, voice coming out as more of a surprised squeak. “I’m- I’m Eric.”

“Abel,” the man said. He sat down in the seat across from Eric, setting down his tray. “And thanks. I was gonna take this home, but my roommates are out and I guess I just wasn’t ready to sit in an empty apartment by myself.”

There was a loneliness in Abel’s eyes that felt achingly familiar. Eric nodded in understanding.

“I’m grateful for the company,” he said, picking at the seeds on his bun. “I was feelin’ a bit lonely myself.”

Abel smiled at him and they dug into their meals in a comfortable silence. After a couple minutes, Abel swallowed a large mouthful of burger and asked, “So, Eric, what do you do?”

Ah, the horrors of smalltalk. “Oh, um, right now I’m working in construction. S’the best work I could find. Been thinking ‘bout saving up to take a class or something, maybe get into something vocational.” He nodded at Abel’s shirt. “Never really had booksmarts. ‘C’s get degrees’ and all that.” He laughed nervously.

“You know anything about bartending?” Abel asked. “My cousin’s got a little dive near here, he’s looking for a bartender. Pays decently, not nearly as dangerous as construction.”

“Sadly, no,” Eric said with a shrug. “Only time I’ve ever spent in bars has been going to shows. I’m only 19.”

“That’s old enough for plenty of people,” Abel said, not unkindly. “What shows do you go to?”

Eric shrugged, popping a french fry into his mouth. “Mostly country, lots of up-and-coming singers and bands. Sometimes more indie stuff, but country’s my thing, for better or worse.”

“You a singer?” Abel asked around a mouthful of food. When Eric nodded, he continued, “You should sign up for the open mic battle at Black-Eyed Susan’s — it’s this terrible bar that only stays open because it hosts really fun competitions and shows and stuff.”

“Oh.” Eric sat a little straighter. This wasn’t the sign he’d asked for at all, but he’d be a fool not to see it as the opportunity it was. “Yeah, that’d be- that’d be great.”

“Here,” Abel pulled a pen from his pocket and scribbled vague directions down on a napkin. “I forget the address, but it’s not that far from here. If you talk to a girl named Jenny, tell her I sent you.” He paused, smiling goofily. “That’s my sister. She’s the best.”

Eric laughed. “I’m sure she is. Thank you, this is- I walked in here ready to give up and you really turned my night around.”

Abel shrugged, looking embarrassed. “It’s nothing. I thought I’d be eating by myself and now I have a new friend. Sometimes magical things can happen in a McDonald’s on a rainy day, Eric.”

But it wasn’t magic, or even divine intervention. The universe didn’t really care what happened to Eric, but maybe Nashville would.

“Call me Bitty,” he said after a moment. Itty Bitty Bittle, he could hear the boys in the locker room jeering, but the memory didn’t hurt like it once had. He’d show them; he’d show them all what Bitty could do. “No one’s ever really called me Eric. I go by Bitty.”

Abel shrugged and smiled and said, “Well, then, it’s real nice to meet you, Bitty. I really can’t wait to hear you sing.”

[Blue-Eyed Jack Masterpost]

[Writing tag]

[My online novel, The Discourt Knife]

#omgcp country singer au #anna writes things #check please!#eric bittle #omgcp fic

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multsicorn · 7 years

Text

fic: how do you make it for real (zimbits, 4/5)

for @queersherlockian, the third chapter of my much-belated@fandomtrumpshate fic. also here on ao3.

Jack Zimmermann’s an adjunct history professor at Samwell University. Bitty works at Annie’s, at the start of what’s now his second year after graduation.

In this chapter: fake dating, and Christmas at the Bittles’ family home.

Jack meets Bitty at the airport the morning after the semester's over. He's not feeling awake, for once, though it's already later than his usual morning run's over. Worry over how the visit will go had kept him up all night long, but seeing Bitty, who's looking around, and waiting for him, a huge paper cup of coffee in his hand, is like a shot of calming medication and caffeine all at once.

"How are you doing?" Jack asks.

Bitty rubs his eyes with the hand that isn't holding his coffee, and yawns hugely. "Sleepy, mostly."

Jack nods, and shifts the weight of his carry on bag on his back. "Ready to get this show on the road?" He just hopes that Bitty's parents don't end up disliking him. He's starting one down, already, if they don't want Bitty to have a boyfriend at all - but, that's why he's coming, right? To help Bitty. Or, support him. Something. Like that.

"As long as no one's asking me to pull any more double shifts, I'm ready for anything. Bitty chugs his coffee for a solid few seconds, throat working, while flight announcements echo from nearby gates in the well-controlled chaos of the airport. "How about you, though? Cause if you're having second thoughts, there's still time to back out if you want. I'll figure out something tell my parents, and I guess if you didn't mind changing flights at the last minute already, then you could change them back again…"

"Thanks," Jack says, "but if you're in, I'm in."

Bitty's parents pick them up from the airport in Georgia in the sort of oversized SUV that editorials are written about. Jack knows he's being a hypocrite here; his own SUV is modest-sized, and environmentally friendly to boot, but it's still an SUV when all's said and done. He just can't quite like these people who make Bitty feel like he's not good enough.

"This is my boyfriend, Jack," Bitty says, in the arrivals area.

They're not standing about six inches apart, carefully not touching. Jack had offered his hand when they disembarked, but Bitty had hissed, "What part of small town Georgia do you not get?"

Now Bitty says, "Jack, this is my father, Coach Bittle, and my best friend, Mama Bittle." Jack shakes hands with both of them. Coach's handshake is hard, testing, and Jack meets it force for force until Coach lets go with a reserved but approving nod. Bitty's mother's handshake is loose, and her smile is warm.

"Call me Suzanne."

Coach takes the lead in asking Jack about himself in the car. What does he do, what's his workload like, what are his plans. He must've listed his whole curriculum vitae within the first five minutes or so of the drive, air conditioning humming under his voice, even in December. It's not long, when all's said and done. At least it seems that his answers are going to be accepted, not treated as provocation for the sort of attacks and subsequent defense that he'd feared they might've caused.

The grilling's so modest, in fact, that Jack's been lulled into a false sense of security by the time Suzanne says, "Enough of that, now, Richard. I have a question for our son." She turns to look backwards between the seats and deliver it directly. "What I want to know, Dicky, is why your father and I had never heard that you had a boyfriend before last week."

Bitty's hand has been lying in the cramped space between them in the back seat all this time, where they're pressed shoulder to shoulder by their respective carry-on bags. Jack feels Bitty flinch all along his side, and squeezes his hand to try to convey some comfort.

"Well," Bitty says, and then it all spills out of him in one burst. "ididntknowifyouandcoachwouldapprove."

"Could you repeat that?" Bitty's mother says.

"He said he didn't know if we'd approve," says Bitty's father, and Jack feels a wave of protectiveness come over him. Bitty's parents aren't saying anything bad, per se, not yet, but the fact that they're not responding to his fear by immediately trying to comfort and reassure him makes Jack want to - well. It makes him want to drop his gloves, which hasn't been an appropriate response for years. It makes him want to keep hold of Bitty's hand and take him right back to the cafe, where he's never second-guessed himself like this. But in fact all that Jack can do is look sideways at Bitty's face, and try to radiate love and support at him.

"Well, I don't know why not," Bitty's mother says. Bitty's fingers are trembling, under his. Jack can't stand not being able to help. "You're our son, Dicky. Of course we'll love you, whatever you want to do."

"I know, Mama," Bitty says. His voice is strangled, but no one says anything. It's some minutes, in fact, before anyone dares to say anything else at all, and Jack wonders how long the unspoken ceasefire of silence is going to last. For the rest of the car ride? All evening? Then out of nowhere, Suzanne starts to talk about a new recipe for fruitcake that she found on the internet. Bitty chimes in with his own opinion when she asks for it, looking and sounding for all the wrold as if the exchange of only a few minutes ago hadn't just happened.

And Jack thinks: this is what this family's like. Just as if the reevaluation my family did when I was nineteen never occured.

The Bittles' house, when they get to it, is festooned inside and out with strings of Christmas lights. There's an inflatable Santa on the lawn, and a perfectly conical fir tree aggressively bristling with ornaments in the living room: yet all the Bittles are unanimous that the decoration isn't done.

"We're still waiting for you, son," Bitty's father says. Bitty glows a bit like the lustrous gold star that he digs out of a stack of packaging that looks simply like a mess to Jack.

"You oughtn't to have."

Suzanne claps her hands, quick and light, close together. "Well, go on."

"Are you tall enough yet?" Bitty's father makes as if to grab him around the waist, and pick him up, but Bitty darts away. He stops, though, at the open-plan entrance to the kitchen, and pivots, hand still on the back of one of the wooden ladderback chairs there. He's eyeing Jack speculatively.

"Actually, I think Jack should lift me up this time."

Jack's too frozen to even shake his head 'no' - and besides. This is what he's here for, right. Bitty comes up to him and then brushes right past, so that he's - oh. So that he's standing right by the tree, and Jack follows behind him, helpless.

Bitty's waist is warm, a lovely solidity to it, even through his shirt. He's not that light - though it feels crazy powerful, to pick him up - and it requires enough concentration that Jack's not able to, say, whisper in his ear while he does it and ask 'what exactly are we doing here?' Bitty sets the star on the top of the tree, and Jack sets Bitty, flushed and beaming, on his feet and takes a couple steps back.

Bitty's extended family descends on the house in waves throughout the next morning. The whole Bittle-Phelps clan, and more Bitty explains, though Jack forgets every single name as soon as he says it. Bitty just explodes in a flurry of so much to say to his Aunt Judy, when she arrives, and Jack, seeing with relief that his services aren't needed anymore, retires to lurk in a corner.

Even the corner's occupied, it turns, by the most entertaining and relaxing group of people to hang out with at any party. There's a boy and two girls, named Taylor, Tyler, and Alex, wheeling around large plastic trucks perched on by Barbie dolls. Jack kneels down to get on their level. "Hi," he says. "You guys want another person?"

They don't have any extra trucks, Alex haughtily informs him, stubby pigtails bobbing, but they could use a crossing guard.

Turns out that crossing guards have to adjudicate doll murder, who knew.

Bitty reappears eventually, an impossibly fond smile on his face. The kids scatter when he says "Food's ready," but Jack's waiting for something else.

"Is that a personal invitation?"

Bitty holds his gaze. "I didn't know you needed one."

"Well." Jack brushes his knees off and gets to his feet. "I guess it's time to eat. Is there pie?"

"Is there ever," Bitty says, darkly. "But, hey. You looked like you were doing a really good job with my little cousins there."

"I was having fun," Jack says, honestly. "They're great kids."

"Yeah. Yeah, they are."

There's several more rounds of food throughout the day, as groups of people show up and leave, which is only one of the reasons Jack can't believe that he and Bitty have ended up at the end of the evening - Christmas Eve evening - cutting slice-and-bake cookies from a tube and slipping them onto a cookie sheet.

Suzanne had started the first batch with them, and then left with a significant look, with a wink, for God's sake. "Have a good night, Dicky."

Bitty's humming while he's slicing, and Jack can't take it anymore.

"I can't believe this," he says. "Eric Bittle, baking cookie dough from a tube. Is everything I know a lie?"

Bitty laughs. "I contain multitudes."

"I'm sure," Jack says. "Though you're kind of small for that - no, stop!" Bitty's brandishing an open bag of flour that he wasn't even using for the cookies, since flour's apparently never far in a Bittle kitchen. "Why, though?" he asks, as they return to the slice-and-place rhythm. The pan in front of him is filling up fast. "It's not as if you don't have more than enough cookies in the house." People'd been bringing different kinds all day, and tins now line the counter.

"I know, but this is a tradition." Bitty slices the last two cookie-widths apart, and turns to wash his knife in the sink. "D'you know, these were the first type of cookies I ever made. My mom always made a plate of cookies for Santa, and I wanted to help her, so - when I was three or four she got these, and let me put them on the pan after she cut them. I don't know if she didn't want to risk ruining good cookie dough, or what, but - yeah. Now you know my secret."

"Who would I tell?" Jack asks. Bitty shrugs, shoulders looking somehow smaller than usual, hunched under his blue button-down, back to Jack. So Jack steals a bit of dough from one of the cookies on the pan, and eats it noisily. "Mm, it's good."

"It is not," Bitty says. But his eyes are dancing, so Jack counts that as a win.

"Is so. Here, try it - " Jack tries to put a bit of dough in his fingers into Bitty's mouth, and Bitty doesn't dodge it the way that Jack must've been at least half expecting.

Bitty opens his mouth and takes the dough gently off Jack's fingers. He doesn't suck on them, or anything, which means there's still a little residue of sticky cookie dough left, which means Jack's first instinct is to suck it off, which -

Wow. Bitty doesn't seem particularly struck by anything that's just happened. At least, not judging from his face. He opens the oven smoothly, slides the two pans of cookies in, while Jack's insides whirl aroundin a torrent of questions. Is he leading Bitty on, or is Bitty leading him on, or are they both, or - what?

The house gets up ridiculously early on Christmas morning. It's not early for Jack, compared to his usual five-o-clock wake-up-and-face-the-day run, but he'd thought for some reason that at the Bittles' he'd be able to sleep later. Instead the basement that he'd shared with several kids, all in sleeping bags, is filled with excited and incompletely shushed chatter long before it's filled with daylight.

Jack would be angry about the basement-and-sleeping-bag setup on Bitty's behalf if he thought Bitty wanted to share a bed with him. As things stand, he's not sure whether to be more righteously indignant or more shamefully relieved that he doesn't have to carry the fake boyfriend act that far.

Eventually, the clock on the wall ticks to seven. The children thunder upstairs, yelling as they go.

First breakfast - Bitty and Suzanne share duties herding everyone, first breakfast, piles and piles of bacon and sausage and pancakes and biscuits and grits, and then presents.

Jack's glad that his presence here as Bitty's supposed boyfriend and not a guest in his own right means that he's been able to simply sign his name to Bitty's cards. He wouldn't know what to get anyone, though he did get Bitty's parents, collectively, as a combined Christmas and host gift, a painting that he'd commissioned from Lardo about Bitty. It's all gold and electricity, and it's called *Hot Stove*.

Bitty got his father a gift card to Dick's Sporting Goods, and received one himself from Crate & Barrel. They're each a round fifty dollars. "It's the thought that counts," Bitty says, into Jack's ear. Bitty and Suzanne exchange cookware the purpose of which Jack doesn't even pretend to understand, but they're both exclaiming over their presents. It's nice to watch.

Bitty got Jack a couple books. *Master & Commander*, the first of a series Jack's been meaning to get around to for a long time, but never has yet, and an autobiography of Saint-Exupery called *Wind, Sand, and Stars.* "I didn't nkow what to get you," Bitty says. "But these made me think of you."

"They're perfect," Jack says, in wonder. "Thank you. So much." He keeps stealing glances at Bitty, after that, as they go around the circle again and again. He does love these things, Bitty knows him, knows his research - but still, they make Bitty think of him?

Bitty opens Jack's present for him in the very last round. It's a huge box, and Jack knows it's not creative, but he hopes that Bitty doesn't care too much about that.

When Bitty lifts out the KitchenAid mixer, he looks like he's just an inch away from tears. "How did you know I wanted this?" he says.

"Well, you mention it at least once a week." Jack shrugs.

Bitty launches himself at him, arms coming around behind Jack's neck, kneeling unsteadily on his lap. "I can't believe this," he says. "Three hundred and fifty dollars! And shipping! Jack, you shouldn't have."

"But aren't you glad I did?" Jack simply has to put his hands on Bitty's waist, to hold them both steady. He doesn't have to rub his fingers over the firm flesh there, but he's only so strong.

"Of course I am," Bitty says, into the region somewhere between Jack's ear and his shoulder and his neck. "Who knows when I could've afforded it, much less when I could've justified the expense. But it's much too much!"

"I just wanted to see you happy," Jack says. It's too honest, maybe. But he's not kissing Bitty, just talking close, face-to-face, nose-to-nose. If he's going to kiss Bitty, which is seeming more and more likely by the hour, lately, he's not going to do it for the first time here, with all his family watching.

Later in the afternoon, all the adults assemble to go to church. They're letting some of the younger kids stay at home to keep playing with their new toys - "they won't be able to think about anything else, anyway." Bitty explains - so Jack's offered the option of staying home to babysit. "Someone has to."

"I'm going wherever you're going," Jack says, pitching his voice low so that only Bitty can hear.

The church is decorated more simply but just as thoroughly as the Bittles' house. It's a small brick building, covered with strings of plain white lights and evergreen boughs, footprint more than matched by a parking lot full of cars and exclaiming families. Jack feels awkward; on more than axis, he's conscious that he really doesn't belong.

"What should I do?" he whispers to Bitty.

"Bless your heart, you don't have to do anything," Bitty says. "Just stand up when everyone stands up, and sit down when everyone sits down, and you can sing along if you know the carols. It's pretty simple."

Jack nods. And Bitty seems, to all appearances, to be fine, and his parents are still right next to them, but - "Are you sure you want to be here?" he whispers again. Because this place is probably ground zero for the sort of prejudice that Bitty has to put up with at home, and Jack can't shield him from it, but - "Cause I could be an excuse to leave, if you want."

Bitty looks at him like he's crazy. "Do I want to be here? It's Christmas. Where else would I want to be? Now, hush."

Everyone's finished filing in; the sermon's about to start.

It's not half as political, or even as theological, as Jack had unconsciously feared it might be. Sure, he doesn't believe in Jesus (he probably doesn't even belive in God), but the pastor's talking about the importance of hospitality. Make more room at the inn, he says, invite God into your life. And invite people into your life, because God came along us… Jack doesn't follow all the arguments, but the Bittles seem moved. Make room for strangers, the pastor says, and make room for the people you love who are stranger to you than you know.

Bitty squeezes Jack's hand, where it's placed between them on the bench, and whispers in his ear. "D'you think they're hearing this?"

His parents. "Maybe. We can hope so, right?"

There are some prayers, after the sermon, and then come the hymns. Jack doesn't know any of them, but the harmonies swelling all around him are still nice. Bitty's voice must blend into the rest of the congregation's from any distance whatsoever, but from right next to him, where Jack's sitting, it sounds pure and clear as a bell.

The day's already turning towards evening by the time they come back home. Bitty's various aunts and uncles gather up their children one by one. Jack watches Bitty bid them farewell, standing in the chilly air, so bright against the fading into purple sky.

When the leavetaking's finished, they go inside, just Coach and Suzanne and Jack and Bitty. Almost like a little family.

"Anyone wanna watch a game?" Coach asks. "I've got a couple on the DVR."

"I'm gonna make a pie with Mama," Bitty says, aiming it more at Jack than at Coach.

"I can't believe it," Suzanne says. "How've you been home for several days already, and we haven't made a pie yet?" Bitty's mom is just as excitable as he is, it seems; no wonder he says they're best friends.

"Cause we've been making cake, and biscuits, and cookies?" Bitty says. "But - go on, Jack. I wanna cook with my favorite sous chef."

"Oh, I'm the sous chef now!" Suzanne says. "Who's getting too big for his britches!" but she shares a side-hug with Bitty.

"Sure, I'll watch the game," Jack says. Coach Bittle gives him a clap on the shoulder, like he's done something right.

Jack hasn't spent years in the States without managing to learn the basics of how football's played. Coach doesn't say much of anything for a while, and though Jack doesn't have anything to say either, it's a bit odd not having commentary on plays and calls. Jack's beginning to wonder why he was invited to watch the game at all, when, sometime in the middle of the second quarter, Coach leans forward, putting his hands on his knees, and lets out a deep sigh.

"I don't know how to do this when you're also a boy."

"Wait," Jack says, "What?" He can't figure out where this conversation is going, but it's pretty clear that it's nowhere good. At least, maybe, Bitty's not here to have whatever this is aimed at his face, for once.

"If Dicky brought home a girl," Coach says, "Then you know that I'd have to ask him how he felt about her."

I do? Jack thinks, but that probably wouldn't help Bitty's case here. He doesn't want to start a fight with Bitty's father, if it can be avoided. "You could… still ask him?" he tries. Because Bitty's not bringing home any girls, but he still wants to go back to his parents, apparently.

"Maybe I could do that," his father muses. "I think I'll think about it. That's an idea." Jack realizes, belatedly, that he's just suggested that Bitty's dad ask Bitty about his feelings for him, and, furthermore, that their supposed relationship is a fake relationship on which Bitty most likely doesn't have any real opinions, and, furthermore, that he's nevertheless quite curious as to what Bitty's opinions might be.

But at least if Bitty's dad has been nudged towards treating him in one way the same way that he'd treat him if he were straight, that's some sort of win.

"But," Bitty's dad continues, "I still need to ask you how you feel about him."

"Um," Jack says. His mind goes blank. "I think he's… amazing?" He's usually full of thoughts about Bitty, if he thinks about anything, but now the inside of his head's all stirred up, like a river with the mud stirred off of the bottom. "I just really like him a lot," he says. "I don't know how to describe it." Those statements might not be the most persuasive, or the most eloquent, but at least they're all true.

"You like him," Coach repeats with a frown, and a heavy emphasis. "Is that it?"

Jack doesn't know how he would've answered. What does he feel about Bitty? Too many things, he doesn't know what they are, himself, and even if he did he can't imagine how it'd be a good idea to tell Bitty's dad before he'd told Bitty.

Bitty comes into the room, then, color high, unannounced, all in a rush. "There you are, honey," he says. It takes Jack a second to realize that Bitty must mean him. "We're going for a walk now. Okay?"

Coach grunts his assent, and Jack's put on his coat and out of the door after Bitty before he asks "Are you okay?"

The purple sky's almost faded to black velvet around them. The chill, even with the wind that's picked up, isn't quite severe enough for Jack to have needed his coat. Bitty scuffs the ground, and looks at his feet, and says "I'll be fine." His voice is strained, like a string about to break.

"What's wrong?" Jack asks. "What happened?"

"It's my mom," Bitty says. He starts walking - there's no sidewalk. But there's no traffic, either, right now, so Bitty walks down the road and Jack follows, just a step or two behind. "She wanted to know why I didn't tell her that I had a boyfriend," and Jack's stomach drops to about his knees. It's his fault, this whole dumb idea, that he'd thought would help Bitty, somehow, but it's only making his vacation worse.

"So what did you tell her?" Jack asks. His heart is pounding, but - he's here for Bitty. "Since you couldn't tell her that's because it was fake."

Bitty throws an odd, unreadable glance back at Jack. His face is lit with - the whole street's lit with, really - fuzzy halos of rainbow colors, the reflections of the neighborhood's Christmas lights on every surface. "It's not even about that," he says. Jack's mental world tilts, or maybe rights itself again.

"What?"

"Well, who says that I would've told her anyway?" Bitty's pace has been increasing furiously, and despite the differences in their strides, Jack now finds himself working to catch up.

"You… wouldn't?" Though it makes sense, Jack supposes. He's just so used to seeing Bitty as open, because he sees him where he is.

"Sure, eventually," Bitty says. "I'd kind of have to. But right away…? Anyway, she was acting all injured about it. As if I'd somehow insulted her, personally, by not giving her up-to-the-minute updates on a part of my personal life that, sorry! Not sorry! I couldn't actually be sure she'd respond to in a non-awful way!" Bitty huffs out a breath, and suddenly stops. He's standing in a pool of pure white light, spilling off someone's Christmas tree.

"I'm sorry," Jack says. He is. "I know it doesn't do much good, and I don't know what else to say, but. I'm sorry that your parents aren't supporting you the way you deserve." Jack's palm itches. He wants to take Bitty's hand, but, why…?

"It's not that big a deal," Bitty says. He starts walking down the street again, kicking the deposits of dry leaves that are left by the curb as he goes. The crunching noises are calming, somehow. "I think that they're getting better. And, hey, who knows? Maybe by the time I finally have a boyfriend I want to take home for real, they'll be ready to be decent about the whole thing."

"So you're not planning on having a boyfriend for a while, then?" Jack asks.

Bitty walks onward, out of the light. There's a stretch of empty space, maybe a field, between his family's clump of houses and the next. "You never know," Bitty says. "I don't know what's going to happen, but - yeah. I don't want just anyone, you know. I'm holding out for Mr. Right."

Jack's breath catches in his lungs. Because caught and held on his tongue, are the words "I want to be Mr. Right," but - really?

But of course that's what he feels too. And that's what he always seems to feel, with Bitty. Bitty says the things that he doesn't know how to say, or even know how to think, until he's heard Bitty say them. Bitty makes him feel like he's where he's supposed to be, wherever they are. And he only wishes that he could make Bitty feel even a little bit of the same way, about him.

He doesn't realize that he's stopped walking, this time, until he hears Bitty says, "Jack? What's up?"

"Me too," he says, stupidly.

"What?" Bitty asks. Cause, of course. "You mean you're also waiting for Mister Right?"

"No," Jack says, "I mean, yes, I mean, I am, but - "

"You'd better start making sense," Bitty says. His voice is hard, like it almost never is, and Jack is trying.

"I mean," he says again, "that yes, I'm waiting for Mr. Right, but also, I think that you're it. I mean, him. I mean - " Bitty's hand is on Jack's upper arm, and whatever else that means, it probably means Jack should stop babbling. "Bitty? What do you think?"

"I think - you sure that you're not jerking me around?" Bitty's eyes are dark, and they're not even looking at Jack now. They're swallowed up by the darkness of the ground. "Because that's happened to me before."

"I wouldn't," Jack says. Also, who dare - ! But he'll never know; he's pretty certain of that.

"You couldn't," Bitty says, breath puffing out into the cold night air in what's probably the ghost of a laugh.

Then Bitty's up on his toes, and his lips are warm, so warm, against Jack's, and Jack barely gets to feel them, barely gets to appreciate the miracle of their firmness and give attached to Bitty, before Bitty's standing back on his feet again.

"Is that?" Jack asks. He doesn't know what to ask. Everything.

"Yes," Bitty says. "Yes, that's yes, I'll be your boyfriend - if you'll be mine," he adds, suddenly shy again.

"Of course," Jack says, though just two minutes ago it hadn't been at all. He thinks it has been an of course for some time, though, and he just hadn't known it till now.

#zimbits #omgcheckplease stuff #a: my fic

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michelleisinhell · 7 years

Text

Daddy Lessons

In which Bitty comes out to his Daddy. (The mom version)

Read on Ao3

It sounded like the beginning of a joke. Two Bittles walk into a den.

Eric stood awkwardly in front of his dad’s gigantic trophy case, his body slouched and his fingers intertwined in front of him. His adrenaline was still soaring from the conversation he’d just had with his mother and he could still catch a faint hint of smoke clinging to his button-down.

The elder Bittle was sitting in his favorite navy blue recliner, the hideous and torn one that had been banned from the living room after one (or ten) too many years of service. He held his ipad aloft in front of him as he scrolled through a sports news feed with a scowl. His body language was open, but intimidating, just like always. Richard had a habit of completely filling up every room he was in without meaning to.

The easy commanding presence was great for coaching, not so much for parenting. He knew that his son found it intimidating. The boy was far too soft-hearted for his own good, never wanting to bother or upset anyone. Afraid to speak up for himself for fear of being considered a burden.

Polite to a fault that kid. Just like his mama.

It wasn’t that Eric was afraid of his father. Of course not. He was afraid of disappointing him. Of not living up to his expectations and legacy.

It was the worst kind of fear. Self-imposed and corrosive. Everpresent. A lens that had colored every interaction between the two of them for more than half of Eric’s life, starting with the disaster that was his very first football game.

He would never forget the look on Coach’s face, afterward. The tense set of his jaw as his Mama stormed the field, corralling people to help scrape him up off the turf like a burnt stuck-on pancake.

It had made Eric want to build himself a paper mache turtle shell to hide inside of for all of eternity.

Alas, that solution was neither practical nor cost effective.

Instead, he chose to focus all of his time and energy on things that he loved. Figure skating. Baking. Vlogging. Things he was actually good at, because if he couldn’t be a huge masculine football player like his Daddy wanted, he could at least be the very best at everything else.

Still, even as an adult, Eric had never been able to outrun this intrinsic fear of not being good enough. Of not meeting his father’s expectations.

The truth, though?

Richard Bittle was not disappointed in his son at all.

He was jealous.

Jealous that Eric wanted, had always wanted, to spend all of his time with Suzanne and not with him. That the two of them had so much in common. That Junior’s relationship with her was so easy when their own was so damn hard.

He couldn’t blame his wife and son for being close; he would never begrudge them that, but it was still kind of a hard pill to swallow. Eric was their only child, and for a time it seemed like the only thing his son had inherited from him was his name.

Richard had so much more of himself that he wanted to share. So much wisdom he wanted to impart. But he couldn’t. They weren’t close enough for that. Junior didn’t tell him things, and when he did, Richard never knew the right things to say. That just wasn’t the kind of relationship they had. They communicated mostly through offhandedly whispered football stats and milkshakes on friday afternoons. Hockey terminology and quiet smiles from across the dinner table.

The fact that his son suddenly wanted to talk to him about something serious was both worrying and exciting.

Richard sat his ipad aside and cleared his throat.

Junior was still standing there, not meeting his gaze. The silence was already starting to become awkward.

“Sit down, son.” he said finally, figuring that Eric would stand there looking like he was being scolded for hours if he didn’t say something to spur him into action.

Eric sucked in a breath and pried his hands apart before walking over to the ancient oak writing desk and rolling the accompanying (and completely non-matching) chair over to his father’s side. He ran his delicate fingers over the back of the chair consideringly for a moment before gracefully lowering himself into it.

Richard smiled and did his best to make it a disarming one. It probably looked like a nervous twitch more than anything.

“What’s on your mind, Jr?”

Eric didn’t know where to start. He flashed back to his mother’s advice:

There’s no one more impressive to your father than a professional athlete. You might want to lead with that.

“You know Jack?” he began, butt on the edge of his seat, legs bouncing, fists shaking, ready to bail at any second.

Richard laughed. “You mean the man who spent a whole week under this very roof? First friend you’ve had over in a decade. How could I forget?”

Eric blushed and bristled slightly. “Well um…” he cleared his throat and looked down at his lap. “Jack and I have gotten a lot closer here lately. In fact, he’s invited me to live with him after graduation.”

Richard frowned, unsure of where this was heading. “Okay, that’s fine of course. And not my decision to make, but why are you telling me this as if its groundbreaking news?”

Eric closed his eyes. For Jack, he said in his mind. For you and Jack. He took in a breath.

“Because Daddy. We’re not moving in together as friends. Jack and I are together.”

Richard froze, his world narrowing into a tiny pinprick of perspective. “What did you just say?”

Eric’s heart was throbbing and he felt like he was gonna pass out, but he forced the words out of his lips anyway. They felt like acid and cold water on a hot day all at the same time.

“I’m gay. I’m dating Jack Zimmermann. Have been for almost a year now. And please don’t ask me to prove it to you because I doubt he’s recovered from the phone call with mama and I--”

“Your mother knows about this?” Richard cut in.

Eric put a cap on his nervous babbling and nodded. “I just told her right now. She said I better come talk to you right away, so here I am. Please don’t be upset with her.”

Richard was quiet for a moment. His son watched him with wide vulnerable terrified eyes.

Richard cleared his throat. “Okay.”

Eric opened his mouth and then shut it a few times. “Okay?”

Richard nodded. “Okay.”

A spike of irritation flashed through Eric’s body. It’s not like he wanted a big reaction out of his father, but this surprising lack of one was unnerving. Quite possibly the last thing he was expecting.

“You’re not...mad, or something?” Eric asked.

Richard turned his neck to the side until it cracked. His posture was loose and unconcerned. “Why would I be mad?”

He sounded genuinely confused in a way that made Eric’s heart pound.

“Um, because it’s not manly?”

Richard quirked a brow. “Do you really think that?”

“No!” Eric said quickly, “But I just thought...I didn’t think you’d be so...you’re really not upset?”

Richard scooted forward until he was perched on the very edge of his chair and placed a hand over his son’s knee.

“Eric. You are my son. My only son. And I’m not gonna pretend to know your world or what it’s like for you or what you had to go through growing up. But no matter what you do or who you like, I will always love you. I am so proud of you son. Always have been. It takes guts to be true to yourself in a place like this, and you’ve always tried your very best. I’m sorry if I ever made that harder for you.”

Eric was blinking away the tears in his eyes. He did not want to cry in front of his Daddy. His amazing wonderful Daddy whom he clearly hadn’t been giving enough credit.

“Did you know?” he asked softly.

“I had my suspicions,” Richard confirmed.

The tears fell. He couldn’t hold them back. “Is that why were you always so hard on me? Saying I needed to be stronger and tougher all the time?”

Richard sighed and retracted his hand. “That’s part of it. Yes. Nobody wants to see their boy get hurt, Jr. The world’s not always a nice place. You know that. Seeing what those boys at school did to you…” he clenched his fists. “I’ve never been more angry in my entire life.”

Eric let out a manic and relieved sort of laugh. “I thought you were ashamed that I hadn’t been able to protect myself.”

Richard looked appalled. “The only way I could ever be ashamed of you is if you started rooting for Auburn.”

Eric laughed. “No chance. Y’all raised me right. I still have a Bulldogs keychain on my backpack even though nobody at Samwell understands.”

“Good.”

They fell into a clearer, much more comfortable silence.

“Daddy?” Eric said finally.

“Hmm?”

“Jack has a game in Nashville over New Years. Do you think it’d be okay if he dropped in for a couple of hours. I’d like to reintroduce him to you now that you know the truth.”

“As long as I get to ask embarrassing questions about why he thinks he’s good enough to be dating my boy.”

Eric flushed. “Coach…”

Richard grinned and picked his ipad back up. “This is gonna be fun.”

#A wild sequel appears #omgcp #check please #zimbits #eric bittle #coach bittle #bitty comes out #his daddy loves him #fanfic #mine #this is super sappy #get ready to cry kids #work it out

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bittysvalentines · 4 years

Text

Only if You Want To

From @bitty-smol

To @pastelle-pvnk

Rating: Teen (for swearing)

Hey pastelle-pvnk! I hope you like your gift, because I had a lot of fun writing it for you! (P.S. we should totes become friends because we have a lot of the same interests, so hit me up <3)

That being said, he was sure of at least one thing: he was in love with his coworker, Derek Malik Nurse.

He was not necessarily a willing participant in this. The revelation came as a shock to him and once the thought crossed his mind, it wouldn’t leave. No matter how many times Dex tried to forget about his unfortunate unrequited love, it would just come back full force.

It came like this: Nursey chirping him in the middle of a shift and then proceeding to eat shit while hopping the counter.

how am i in love with a man who can barely stand on his own two feet?

oh shit.

If anything, that should’ve helped the whole “in-love-with-your-completely-idiotic-coworker” thing, since Nurse was forced to take paid leave for a good month while his leg healed. Dex thought that not seeing him would lessen whatever he was feeling, but in retrospect it made it so much worse.

He missed Nursey. Like, a lot. Like, more than you should hypothetically miss a coworker, regardless of the crush you have on them.

That’s why, when Nursey finally returned, he couldn’t help the small tug he felt in his chest or the urge he felt to step out from behind the counter and hug Nursey as soon as he got close enough.

“Woah, Poindexter. Did you really miss me that much?” Nursey muttered against Dex’s shoulder.

Dex’s heart hurt.

“No, but I did miss you at register. Johnson kept telling the customers that he was only taking over until the main love interest gets back, whatever that means.” Dex folded his arms and looked over at Johnson who was currently staring at him and Nursey as if he knew something they didn’t.

“Yeah, well I’m glad to be back,” Nursey stepped back from Dex, “I didn’t think I would miss going home smelling like pastries, but turns out it grew on me. I’m gonna go say hi to Bitty and clock in.” Nursey turned towards Bitty’s office and started walking away.

“Um, Nursey!” Dex shouted, his hand coming up to the back of his neck as if he could cover the blush that was creeping up. Nursey turned slowly, his face blank.

“Yes, Poindexter?”

“I, um,” Dex met Nursey’s eyes with his own.”I did. Uh, miss you, that is.”

Dex’s blush couldn’t help but crawl up his cheeks as he saw the smile that spread across Nursey’s face.

“I missed you too, Dexy.” Nursey said, turning his back and heading back towards Bitty’s office.

Before Dex could let the “I missed you too” comment take over him he managed to call back “Don’t call me that, Nurse!”

Nursey couldn’t help but smile.

_X_

Nursey is in love. But then again, he always is.

Derek Nurse cannot remember a time in the immediate past where he was not waxing poetic about some person or another. His sister called him a “disaster bi” and like, yeah, he could agree with that. But something about Dex was different.

His dreams were filled with fiery red hair and pale, freckled skin. More often than not, he found himself writing poetry about a muse that hardly even gave him the time of day and when he did, it was to chirp him.

Maybe he was a glutton for punishment or maybe he was in that purgatory where life is just slightly shitty. Like, yeah, you can be in close proximity with the one you love, but they will never give you an ounce of reciprocation.

That’s why when he finally came back to work after the counter incident (“Nurse, the counter lifts up for a reason.” “Now that wouldn’t be any fun, would it, Dexy.”) he couldn’t help but take the hug that Dex was offering.

Fuck, he missed him.

And then Dex had said that he had missed him and-

Fuck, he was fucked.

After the hug, he found himself walking to Bitty’s office in a sort of daze, opening the door to find Bitty chatting away on the phone.

“Oh, I’ve gotta go, sweetpea. Nursey just walked back into the office,” Nursey took a seat in front of Bitty’s desk as he finished up the call. “Yeah, honey, I love you too. Bye.”

“So, how’s Jack?” Nursey asked, with a smirk on his face.

“He’s great. He just finished up teaching a class, so he called me before his office hours began to talk about dinner with his parents tonight.” Bitty said, smiling as he did.

Seeing Bitty and Jack’s relationship gave Nursey genuine hope for his future love life, as well as a model for how a healthy relationship should look. They had been together for at least three years now and on their way to many more.

“That’s great, Bitty.” Nursey smiled.

“Well, I know you didn’t come in here to talk about me. How’s your leg?” Bitty asked, standing up to walk around his desk and get a better look.

“Good as new,” Nursey said, bending his knee back and forth as if to prove his point.

“Oh thank goodness! You had me worried there for a second, Derek.” Bitty paused. “So uh, have you seen Dex yet?”

So, here’s the thing about being friends with your boss: they know far more than a boss should at any given time.

It also doesn’t help that a few work outings ago, when Bitty was watching a drunk Nursey (a job, lovingly titled Nursey duty), he ended spilling his guts to Bitty. It was quite cute, really, aside from the vomit that ended up on his shoes for his troubles.

“I have. Uh, seen him, that is.” Nursey stopped and looked at Bitty from across the desk. “He gave me a hug. It was… really nice.”

“That’s sweet, Nursey,” Bitty smiled, a small grin tugging at his lips.

Bitty finished giving Nursey the rundown of new recipes and products, but he couldn’t help but think that work at the bakery was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

_X_

Eric Bittle was no stranger to pining. Nor was he a stranger to emotionally constipated boys. He knew how to spot said boys from a mile away and he has made it one of his personal missions to help them as much as he possibly can.

Bitty’s love life had been rocky to say the least. He moved out of Georgia and straight to Providence, Rhode Island to pursue his baking career. He’s not exactly sure why he chose Providence, but as he stared at a map one day it just seemed… right (that and when he threw a dart at the map, that's where it landed). So there he was, enough cash in his pocket to rent out an old restaurant space and a whole lot of motivation.

Not a month after he had opened, Bitty had already become a staple business in the community. He had a solid group of regulars and found himself making more than enough to sustain his business and set himself up in a nice apartment.

He loved his employees, his customers, his job. He really just loved his life. So when all of a sudden Mr. Tall and Handsome walked into the bakery, Bitty knew he was gonna have a problem. He knew as soon as he had seen those bright blue eyes and, oh lord, that <i>butt</i>, that he had to get to know that beautiful man.

And so it turned out that his name was Jack Zimmermann. He was a history professor at the local university and an avid runner, as Bitty would come to find out.

He came in almost every morning during his runs and often times after teaching classes to grade papers and answer emails. It was in times like these where Bitty made it his mission to befriend Jack. Before long, he found himself talking with Jack longer and longer and even took it upon himself to make Jack his favorite pie after a particularly hard week at school.

It wasn’t until Dex brought it up that Bitty had even realized what was happening.

“So, like, are you ever gonna actually ask him on a date?” Dex had asked the day after Bitty had presented Jack with his pie.

“I don’t think I understand what you mean, William.” Bitty said, playing coy. He knew exactly what he wanted to do with Jack, but he wasn’t about to make one of his favorite customers (and people, in general) uncomfortable if everything went south.

“Dude, are you kidding me?” Dex said. “He’s smitten with you, I just don’t think he realizes it yet.”

So one confession and an ice skating date later, they were official. It didn’t feel like some big event though, it just felt like something had clicked into place. Like this was exactly how his life was meant to be.

And he just wanted Nursey and Dex to feel that too.

_X_

Once Nursey fully returned to work things got back to normal. Or as normal as they could be, he guesses.

He found himself working with Dex more and more often, whether it be opening or closing with him. It’s kind of nice, if he’s being honest. He couldn't remember a time when work was so fun.

Not to mention that he and Dex become a lot closer than before and dare he say it- friends, even. Sometimes after they closed they’d go out for drinks and when they’d open Dex would make Nursey his favorite salted caramel latte before the early birds arrived. They didn’t fight about dumb shit anymore, only the important things, like if pineapple belongs on pizza or not (Derek totally thinks it does).

While all of this is all well and good, Nursey’s feelings are only growing. He found himself staring at Dex more and more often and can't help but try to make him laugh every chance he gets.

Dex has a really nice laugh.

But that's besides the point. They're friends now and Nursey does not want to ruin that. Even if it does mean suffering through work or staying out much later before opening shifts than he should, just so he can spend more time with Dex. He can handle a little self-control.

Or at least he hopes he can.

_X_

Jack Zimmermann was a lucky man and he knew it. He had a job that he loved, teaching at a well-established university. He had amazing students who wanted to learn. He had a devastatingly handsome boyfriend (soon to be fiancé, if he plays his cards right) who loved him.

That being said, he knows exactly the kind of person Bitty is. He's got a big heart, sometimes to a fault. He wants to see everyone happy and Jack can’t be mad at that.

Which is why when Bitty tells him all about the plan he comes up with, he can’t help but go along with it.

He sends out an email to his students to let them know that class on the 13th is cancelled due to an “unforeseen emergency” and heads to the bakery per Bitty’s request.

It’s going to be a long night.

_X_

Unsurprisingly, Valentine’s day was one of the busiest days of the year at the bakery. They always ended up selling out of their chocolate strawberry creme pies and heart-shaped sugar cookies. Nursey and Dex started their shifts at the same time, as had become normal, neither looking forward to the rush that would inevitably come.

Nursey was taking orders and dishing up pastries, while Dex was making the drinks. They made a solid team and time seemed to pass so much faster when they worked together. When Jack came in around seven Dex was shocked to find that he had almost been working a full seven hours already, the hours flying by. He finally stopped to look at Nursey, who looked about as tired as he felt. His heart fluttered at the little smile Nursey gave him, before he turned back to take another customer's order.

“Jack, honey, what are you doing here?” Bitty said, as he came out of the kitchen. He was a mess, covered in flour from head to toe and smelling of chocolate from baking with it all day.

“Bits, I told you that I had made a dinner reservation for us at 8, didn’t I?” Jack said, coming around the corner to press a kiss to Bitty’s forehead.

As he said that Bitty couldn't help the look of shock that crossed his face.

“Oh sweet pea, I can't believe I forgot! I'm supposed to close tonight.”

Nursey and Dex exchanged a look between the two of them, before Dex made a resigned sigh and mumbled, “We can close if you need us to Bitty.”

With that, Bitty turned to the both of them with a smile wider than they had ever seen.

“Y'all would really do that for me?” Bitty was still looking at them with shining eyes.

“Of course, brah. It's chill.” Nursey spoke up, after a moment. “We want you to have your romantic date night so that we can live vicariously through you.”

“The night is still young,” Bitty sang as he brushed past the both of them, “I'll go grab my stuff from my office and then we can leave, honey.”

“So, euh, thanks for doing this you guys,” Jack said, rubbing the back of his neck as he did so.

“No problem, Jack,” Nursey said, “Bitty deserves a break anyways. He said he stayed late last night working on something.”

“Uhm, yeah, about that-” Jack started.

“Alright, sugar, let’s go,” Bitty said, as he came back from the office. He laid a hand on Jack’s arm and looked right at Nursey. “Close the doors right at nine and make sure to take the money back into my office. Don’t bother counting it tonight, I’ll do it in the morning.”

“Ready, Bits?” Jack asked, smirking and cocking an eyebrow at his boyfriend.

“As I’ll ever be, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty said, turning back to Nursey and Dex. “Thank you boys, have fun!”

“Yeah, we’ll try,” Dex mumbled, bumping into Nursey’s shoulder as he turned back to the espresso machine to make a drink.

_X_

Luckily, the rest of their shift went by pretty quickly. All of the customers had cleared out around 8:45, presumably to spend the night with their significant others. They had cleaned the cafe area and were finishing up the kitchen, when Nursey went to the front to begin collecting the money and closing out the register.

“Lame Valentine’s day, right?” Dex said, walking up behind Nursey as he was putting the cash in the bank bag.

“Eh, it wasn’t too bad,” Nursey said softly, as he glanced back quickly to look at Dex. “There isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be.” He whispered, turning around fully to face Dex.

“Derek…” Their eyes met and they stayed that way for a few moments, before Nursey broke the trance.

“C’mon, let’s take the money to the back so we can get out of here,” Nursey mumbled, brushing past Dex. He’s not sure if he’s getting warm because he’s embarrassed or nervous. It had sounded as though Dex was going to respond to his advance, but instead he just… hadn’t.

Nursey had been thinking so deeply about the encounter they had just had that he hadn’t noticed the giant red heart on the outside of Bitty’s office door. He did, however, notice that the normally plain office now looked as though Cupid himself had thrown up all over it.

There was a round table in the middle of the room, where Bitty’s desk usually sat, covered in a rich red table cloth, roses, champagne, and of course a strawberry chocolate cream pie. Next the the pie sat a note that read:

Dear Nursey and Dex,

It was clear to me that neither of you were going to make the first move, so let this be it. The way you look at each other reminds me of the way that Jack and I used to look at each other. How we still look at each other. Y’all have something so special and I just want you both to be happy. Happy Valentine’s Day.

Love,

Bitty

“Hey, what’s- oh holy shit.” Nursey turned to find Dex staring at the office with wide eyes. He looked like a wild animal trying to decide whether he should run away or not. “What the fuck is all this?”

“Well,” Nursey started, “It’s Bitty’s Valentine’s Day present to us.” He finished, chancing a glance at the other boy as he moved to take the note from Nursey’s hand to read it. Dex read the note, before taking a seat at one of the chairs seated at the table.

“Am I that fucking obvious?” Dex asked, running his hands through his hair.

Which is… Not exactly what Nursey was expecting to hear.

“What are you talking about?” Nursey could feel his forehead scrunching as he asked the question. He was really fucking lost.

“Oh c’mon Nurse, there’s a reason that Bitty did this. Apparently I’m shit at hiding my feelings and he wanted to pity me by giving me a little hope today.” Dex sighed, “You don’t have to go along with this Derek, I understand it makes you uncomfortable.”

Nursey just sat there dumbfounded, because- what?

“Dex, are you fucking kidding me?” Dex’s head shot up at that. “Did you even read the note?”

Nursey couldn’t help but to laugh. How is this his life? He crossed the room to stand in front of Dex, whose expression was still blank.

“He did this for the both of us, you idiot,” Nursey couldn’t stop the smile spreading on his face. “Apparently neither of us have been very good at hiding our feelings. Although in my defense, I was drunk when I confessed to Bitty. You’re just always in awe of my beauty, apparently.” That final jab was the one to snap Dex back to reality.

“Don’t flatter yourself too much Nurse,” Dex mumbled, crossing his arms and refusing to meet Nursey’s gaze.

“It’s okay Dex. I’m always in awe of you too.” At this, Dex finally looked up at Nursey, who was slowly uncrossing Dex’s arms. “Kinda hard not to be.” He whispered, taking Dex’s hands into his. They stared at each other for a few moments, both men afraid to look away.

“Did our boss just fucking matchmake us?” Dex whispered, rubbing his thumbs back and forth on Nursey’s knuckles. Nursey couldn’t help but laugh.

“I guess he did,” Nursey said, flicking his eyes down to Dex’s mouth. “So like, I know we both just became aware of this whole thing, but can I kiss you? I’ve waited so fucking long.”

Dex’s eyes widened and he began shaking his head.

“Fuck yes,” Dex said, stretching up to meet Derek’s mouth and covering it with his own. By the time they finished kissing they were both breathless.

“Okay, so,” Dex started, “I know that Bitty planned this whole thing for us, but-”

“You wanna take this elsewhere?” Derek finished.

“Only if you want to,” Dex said, looking happier than Derek had seen him all night.

“That’s alI want,” Nursey whispered.

With that, Derek couldn’t help but think that work at the bakery was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

#bv2020 #bitty's valentines #dexnursey #omg check please!

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