"Walk on a Beach" for Indigo and Fathom

It feels almost like home here. I had forgotten what it felt like; the sun on my back, warm sand sinking beneath my talons.

And in the midst of all this mess, I can find it in myself to be grateful for that.

"We can build a proper house from the driftwood," Indigo says thoughtfully. "If we're gonna live out our days here, we want it to be nice, don't we?"

"Yeah," I say, nodding. "I'll, um--I'll ask Darkstalker or Clearsight or someone to give us some tools, so we don't have to totally go it alone."

She nods. "That sounds like a plan."

I sigh, sitting down at the shore, letting the warm water lap against my talons. The sun is rising in the sky, staining the water a pretty shade of light blue. I can hear a symphony of tropical birds cawing in the distance.

A smile tugs at Indigo's mouth. "You know, if I had to pick a dragon to get stick in the middle of nowhere with, I'm glad it got to be you."

I laugh. "Yeah. Me too."

"First Date" for Listener and Thoughtful

Dear lord they are such a mess. They're just, like, two people who were moderately attracted to each other at best and sort of in love with the idea of each other who decided to get married out of high school and then inflict this nightmare dynamic on their children. Their kids are probably SO messed up from all this. These two have ZERO chemistry. After ten minutes of writing them I can understand why Clearsight was driven absolutely NUTS by this relationship, if I had to deal with this I think I'd snap at some point too. Anyway here's the best I could do.

Thoughtful orders soup. Not just any soup, but split pea soup. What a boring order. What does that say about him? I try to be subtle about it, but tune into his thoughts. (I know I shouldn't, but it's hard not to be curious.) But it's just this weird churn of low-level anxiety--not regular, Clearsight-level anxiety. That's good. I couldn't handle two of them.

"So," I say, my heart racing in my chest. "I can't believe we're finally hanging out! I feel like we've been dancing circles around each other for ages." I lean over, resting my chin on my talon.

"Oh. Um. Yeah. I guess we have?" He smiles, and my heart melts  a little.

This one is real. This one is good. He's the one! We're gonna get married, and everything is gonna be perfect!

"You do, um--you're in music class, right?"

He nods. "I play the cello."

"Oooo. Pretty. You'll have to show me sometime." Am I coming off too interested? Some of the other guys I've dated though I came on too strong.

He's my soulmate. Probably. I resist the urge to check his thoughts again--that's probably gonna be an awkward detail to edit out when i tell this story to our future dragonets someday.

"Oh. Sure. I'm really not that good," he admits, laughing. "My mom--one of my moms--she wanted me to take it, so I did. That's all."

Ooo. I wonder what his parents are like. I resist the urge to ask; maybe that could come off kind of creepy.

"Well, my parents always wanted me to be into reading and scrolls and stuff. My dad's a teacher, so I totally get where you're coming from. Ugh, parents, right?" I laugh nervously. I figure I'll tell him the whole bit about my parents not being together anymore, like, maybe never. Who wants a girlfriend with emotional baggage, right?

"Right." He taps his claw at the table. "I like your earrings."

I grin. "Thanks. I got them from this RainWing at the market." 

I'm gonna do everything right. And we're gonna be happy, someday. I'm not gonna make my parents' mistakes.

"Surprise Kisses" for Whiteout and one of her exes

I mentioned one of her exes was named Patience, who she was with from like, age 7-9 or so. I think they probably lived together for a year or so. I imagine Whiteout's dragon-equivalent-of-early-twenties relationships weren't always the healthiest, she really learned too much about relationships from her mom, and put up with a lot of crap from anyone who thought she was worth spending time with. It took her a lot of heartbreak to figure out how to stand up for herself. And then the other two that she saw from ages 11-14 and 16-18 were much healthier, but you know, it was during a war and she was hanging out in revolutionary circles. So one of them probably got executed, and the other I like to think she parted ways on good terms with, and they're still friends.  I mentioned she had a girlfriend named Swiftstrike, which is not my most inspired name, but anyway, here you go, I wrote a thing for her and that girlfriend. The one who ended up getting executed. Poor Whiteout.

"Hey, you." Swiftstrike leans into my shoulder. She's a lovely shade of lilac, and ever since we've started dating, it's become my favourite colour, turning all my most serious paintings into pastel-toned dreamscapes and my brain into mush.

She smells like cold night air and sea. "What branch have you been climbing?" I ask.

She laughs. "I'd have to kill you if I told you, darling. What are you drawing?" I've been experimenting with still lifes; charcoal and watercolour. A nice, pretty, controllable piece of the world. They feel contrived, but these days, it's better than going out into the wild.

I look back to meet her eyes. "You're made of glass, you know. You can't shatter on me."

She sighs. "I know, sweetheart. I'm careful. Hey! You didn't have to bandage me up this time! That's a good sign!" she nudges me.

I roll my eyes. "That's good. I've never been one for stitching."

"You're being dramatic. It was a tiny burn, and now I've got an epic scar to show it." She points to the spot on her neck, grinning. "Come on. I miss you."

"You were the one tangling with the abyss. I've been right here," I say, amused. "Suppose that's one of the benefits of my job. I'm safe from all the fireflies." Sometimes, I imagine what it would be like to have a job like my girlfriend's--wake up, leave, come home. Maybe she hates it, but at least she knows when it's done. Sometimes, my life feels like an endless waiting game, pacing around my studio, waiting for inspiration like a visitor that's running hours late.

She nuzzles her snout to my cheek again. "I don't have to work tomorrow. And... if Clearsight wants me for something, then she can find someone else. I'm all yours." She pokes my snout, giggling. "Boop!" 

I giggle. "Stop that!" I swat her away. 

She rolls her eyes. "I caught a very sad rabbit on the way home, I'm gonna try and make dinner. I've been reading this fascinating scroll about plant biology--so, there are different kinds of cells, apparently, and they're all, like, these organisms unto themselves, and apparently--" she goes on about her scroll, and I listen closely, following her instructions as she gives me things to chop and spices to measure out. (She's a far better cook than me, but I'm learning.)

I watch her closely as she talks, the candlelight soft, and warm. And she is here, and she is mine. Safe, and alive. For one more day.

Compliments for Eclipse and Harp

Harp invited Eclipse over to her house in their chapter. So here is a snippet from how that ended up going.

"I love your room." I've never been over to someone else's house before. I mean, okay, there's Nebula, but his house was a palace, plus we had met at the palace, and had known each other from such a young age, I don't remember the first time I saw his room.

This feels so normal. So weirdly, suspiciously normal.

If you ignore the battle training dummy and the excessive amount of weapons, that is. (Knife, spear, different spear, training spear, armour. Is this normal for IceWing dragonets? Or maybe other NightWing parents let their dragonets have this much weaponry, and Shadowhunter was right that Mom was being paranoid for not buying her a spear on her fifth hatching day. Man, I bet Shadowhunter would have a fun time making aristocrats angry here.)

"Oh. Thanks. Um. That's my bed." Harp points to an ice shelf, decorated with paintings of arctic scenes--a polar bear, the aurora, the sunset--and a few different furs. "And that's my desk, with all my homework, and that's my scroll shelf. And, um, that's my attempt at sculpture?" she points to a misshapen lump of ice on the window. "It was supposed to be a self-portrait." She sighs. "Oh, and, uh, that's my battle training dummy, we don't know where to put him. I learned how to hit all the major arteries to make someone bleed out on him, his name is Mr. Stabby. I was one when I got him," she explains, a little embarrassed. "And my spear collection. My grandma got me that one," she says, pointing to the most ornate one on the wall, with something engraved along the shaft.

"Cool." I'm learning that this dragon says so many messed-up things, you just have to go with it.

"Harp, dear," her mother says at the door. "Is everything okay in there?"

Her mom let me come over, but she's not exactly thrilled about it. I guess that's fair.

"I'M FINE, MOM!" Harp shouts. "GO AWAY!"

"Do you want snacks?" Harp's mom tries.

"NO!" Harp shouts, being really a bit harsher than she needs to be. I wince. 

"Okay," Harp's mom says, still seeming worried. She peeks her head in, as though confirming her daughter is still alive, and then seems to leave us alone.

Harp throws open the window. "Come on! I wanna show you how to hunt here! Not to brag, but I'm a really good hunter."

***

Anyway that's all I've got for you! The next actual OTQ chapter is gonna be late, I'm going away for the weekend and have just had a really hectic week. Amongst other things, I write my driver's test on Tuesday, so, uh, wish me luck.