Raegan Northland

Blue Ridge Clan

-

The soft crackling of the fire had no business being that comforting. Not when the wind was tapping at the windows like it was trying to get in, and the flickering white glow of the television was turning her living room into something out of a paranormal documentary. It shouldn’t feel safe. It should feel like the exact kind of situation someone in a horror movie would ignore right before getting axed. And yet... it was fine. She was fine. This was fine. Axl was fine. Somehow. Against all logic and probably her better judgment, she wasn’t tense. Her shoulders weren’t tight, her jaw wasn’t clenched, and she wasn’t plotting an exit strategy. She just… was. Her eyes wandered over to him, watching the way his jaw ticked every so often like his thoughts were physically trying to punch their way out of his face. She tried, briefly, to guess what he was thinking — and then immediately gave up because that man’s brain was a cryptid with a machete and a trauma journal. There was so much she didn’t know. And that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? Once upon a time, she’d thought she knew everything about him — the kind of knowing that came with sleepovers, inside jokes, and too many shared scars. But apparently, she'd only ever scratched the surface. Maybe if she'd known more, she could've done more. Or at the very least stopped him from spiraling face-first into the world's worst family legacy.

Still, when she saw the corner of his mouth twitch into a small smile, something warm sparked in her chest and she smiled back without thinking. It was automatic now — see Axl smile, return immediately. Pavlov’s dog but for emotionally stunted men. She liked to think it was just her friendly nature, but no, this one was for him. Just for him. Maybe if she gave him enough, he’d start smiling more often. “So, what I’m hearing is — you want me to yell at you,” she teased, waving a lazy hand his way like she was casting a spell. “I mean, I can absolutely do that. But only if I get a script. I want stage directions. Monologue cues. I will emotionally destroy you — in a very loving, supportive way, obviously.” She rolled her eyes and chuckled, the kind of laugh that sounded like it’d been bottled up for too long and was finally leaking out. No, she wasn’t exactly someone you'd pick to chew you out in a life lesson sort of way, but if she had to fake it? She’d at least make it entertaining.

Raegan gave a sharp little nod in agreement after a pause, her expression somewhere between “I’m deeply concerned” and “I will fight your entire bloodline for you.” Yep. He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. That bastard. The one who left wreckage in his wake, burned down entire chapters of Axl’s life and left him trying to stitch himself back together with duct tape and bad jokes. Her eyes landed on his arm, where the fabric of his suit had shifted just enough to show that scar — the one from the fire. Her land. Her people. Her stomach twisted again, and not in the fun kind of way. How did people just let that happen? How did they not help him? She didn’t know the how, but she wanted to be the who now. If he needed to talk, she’d listen. If he didn’t, she’d still be there — ready with a cup of coffee and a raccoon meme.

“You said that? Not to me,” she said with a soft chuckle. “But, yeah. He doesn’t deserve the luxury of existing in our conversations,” she added, before letting out a devilish little cackle that felt like it came from somewhere much deeper than it had any right to. Her mouth twisted into a faux pout at his next comment, her bottom lip jutting out dramatically like he’d just insulted her ancestors. “Excuse you. My mother is a lovely woman. She’d bake you cookies before she had you executed. You’d get a lovely last meal — all gooey and homemade — and then bam, off with your head. Hospitality matters.” She sighed wistfully like she was reminiscing about a family picnic, not a casual hypothetical murder.

Her mouth opened like she was about to deliver a heartfelt monologue when he denied having a raccoon spirit guide, but instead she let out an offended little huff and sat back like he’d slapped a kitten. “Where is your faith, Mr. Jager?” she demanded, raising an eyebrow. “Raccoons are adorable chaos goblins and you know it. They’ve got thumbs. Little bandit faces. I aspire to that level of menace. You’re probably stuck with a goose. Or a pigeon with abandonment issues.” She giggled to herself and then squinted when he brought up hippos. “Can hippos jump?” she repeated, deadpan. “Okay, first of all — weird question. Second, I’m going to say no. They don’t have the knee structure for that kind of behavior. Have you seen a hippo? They’re basically water tanks. If one tried to jump, the ground would file a restraining order.”

Her grin came back in full force when he brought up the whole Disney princess thing, teeth flashing like she’d just been personally delighted by the universe. “Axl, that’s adorable,” she snorted, clearly amused. Sure, it was heartbreaking—his sister, the loss, all of that—but the mental image of him plopped down in front of a screen watching Frozen or Moana, probably with a blanket and maybe even a snack, was too much. She’d crease right there. It was oddly comforting that he still watched them. She wasn’t particularly religious, or spiritual, or even the kind of person to go on about fate or anything like that—but still, a small part of her hoped that if there was some version of an afterlife, his sister was absolutely sitting there beside him, humming along to the songs and judging the animation. That thought alone almost made her emotional. Instead of saying that, though, she hummed thoughtfully and tapped a finger against her lip, deep in scheming. Yep. Next gift: Disney tiara. No question. He’d either wear it proudly or suffer through it with quiet dignity, but either way, he’d wear it. Her head tilted slightly as he went on, chin dropping into her palm as he got surprisingly animated about Eugene Fitzherbert and Maximus, like this was serious film critique hour and not just two friends rambling. “Mhm, the writers nailed it,” she agreed easily, a little chuckle in her throat. “Tangled was a masterpiece. But The Princess and the Frog? Top-tier. Prince Naveen was my awakening,” she added with a sly grin, all sass and nostalgia. The whole movie had that old-school Disney sparkle she never quite grew out of.

She shot him a smile, a real one, after a few seconds. It was kind of nice, hearing him talk like this — soft, unguarded. He trusted her, or at least was trying to. She’d gone to absolute war with her family to make sure he didn’t get torn apart after what happened the night he’d attacked her. People were planning his death like it was a team-building exercise. She’d somehow managed to reroute their fury with enough charm and logic to earn at least a temporary ceasefire. But still — she wanted more than one photo. If he died, she wanted proof he’d lived. That she’d been part of that. So, without asking, she grabbed the camera, tapped the lens to get his attention, and wormed her way over to press her back against his shoulder. “Smile, or I’m telling everyone you cried at Frozen 2.” She grinned wide, snapped the photo, and sent it straight to the little printer in the corner. He could hate it later.

She wrinkled her nose at the 2 percent comment and waved her hands like she was exorcising the thought. “Two percent? You think only 2 percent of people care? Please. I’ll show up with at least a moderately sized army of mourners. There will be balloons. There will be speeches. There might even be interpretive dance.” Her voice got louder as her arms flailed dramatically. “You’re not taking this away from me, Axl!”

Raegan gasped when he joked about Ryan Reynolds and immediately adopted the most over-the-top British accent she could muster. “Apology not accepted! You have ruined my peace, my joy, my deep and meaningful bond with Canadian cinema!” She threw him a playful glare, then nodded seriously when he tried to ask how to fix it. “Bring me coffee tomorrow,” she declared, holding up a single finger. “With oat milk. And the dignity to admit you were wrong. Then — maybe — I’ll let you live.”

She sort of fell quiet through the rest of the movie, trying her hardest to keep up with the plotline. It was good... busy, and she actively had to use her brain to understand what was going on, but she managed to catch on a little better after a while. She curled herself up on the couch, legs tucked in and her head pressed into the armrest, eyes blinking slowly as the film played on. Somewhere along the line — probably during one of the longer, quieter scenes — she drifted off, her attention span tapping out entirely. She wasn’t even sure how long she’d been out when the credits finally rolled, but her eyes fluttered open and she let out a soft, confused little breath as she stretched, her joints popping in protest. She blinked a few times, trying to figure out if she’d missed anything important. Axl hadn’t really moved. He looked like he’d sort of just resigned himself to the fact that she’d passed out halfway through. She frowned slightly at that, her voice coming out quieter than before, still touched with sleep. “Are you working tomorrow?” she mumbled, forcing herself to sit up a bit. She didn’t want him to feel like he had to stay — especially not when she’d basically just conked out on him halfway through their conversation.

Raegan Northland

Blue Ridge Clan

--

Raegan’s eyes drifted toward him when she caught the sigh—small, almost nothing, but telling in a way that made her stomach give a soft twist. Her eyebrows furrowed before she could stop them, lips pressing together as her thoughts started tumbling, wondering what could be wrong this time. Was it boredom? Was that a bored sigh? Her eyes flicked around the room in a quick scan, searching for something that might’ve triggered it—a shift in energy, a wrong word left hanging—but everything looked fine. Comfortable, even. And that was the trouble with boredom—it was always a two-person game. She started to brace for disappointment, some subtle shift that would pull the rug out from under the warmth they’d built.

But then he just leaned back into the couch, like it was the first time all day he’d let himself breathe. She let out a small breath of her own, one she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and her face softened again. No, not boredom. Just him relaxing. Her lips curved into a tiny smile—soft and crooked and a little bit relieved. She knew what it meant for him to relax, how rare it really was, especially when she was around. There was weight between them. Most of it good, full of sharp laughter and things unspoken, but also that one day. That day that left a mark. She didn’t even know how much it affected him—maybe more than he let on, maybe less than she feared—but she knew it was one part in a much bigger, messier picture. The man had a kingdom on his back. And that kingdom had been built out of the ruins of a family that should have lasted. He carried it all like armor—heavy and sharp-edged. But he was smiling now, even if just a little. That meant something. That meant maybe this was working. That maybe he’d be okay.

Her eyes lit up when she saw his smile stretch further, and she let out a low, incredulous snort, one that said more than words could. “I took that wrong? Seriously?” she scoffed, pointing a dramatic finger at him as if that would settle it. “So you don’t want to be reprimanded now? Because I distinctly remember—” she groaned, throwing her hands up before letting a raspy giggle cut through the feigned frustration. She couldn’t keep a straight face around him for long. Especially when he started talking about bringing in writers. “Oh, absolutely, get this recorded. Immortalize it. When my future kids start acting out, I’m showing them the video of me putting you in your place. Real motivational parenting,” she added with a smirk. The mental image of Axl Jager getting scolded on tape—it was already priceless.

Still, no matter how much she joked or how far she steered the conversation away, the heaviness of his past never stayed gone for long. It lingered. And try as she might, she couldn’t shake it—not fully. His life felt like a movie she couldn’t pause, one with far too much loss for any one person to handle. He’d had everything: family, protection. And then one man walked in and cracked the whole thing down the middle. It still didn’t sit right with her. How could the Blue Ridge clan have just stood by? Why didn’t they fight for him? It wasn’t Axl Jager, the strategist and commander, who lost his family—it was a boy. A kid who watched the world collapse and didn’t get a single hand to hold onto. That part gutted her, even now. She’d made up her mind to start asking questions. Dig through the dirt. Something had gone wrong—something had let that happen to him—and she couldn’t let that go. She caught herself staring at his arm again and blinked quickly when she saw the shift in his posture, like he’d noticed her. She looked away, shook her head, and tried to shove the guilt back where it belonged. This wasn’t the time. He didn’t need to relive it—not now.

So she shifted gears, clinging to the normalcy of something as dumb and warm as cookies. “Again, she’s not evil. You can have a cookie,” she said, pouting like it was the most serious argument she’d made all night. A laugh bubbled up from her chest, easy and quick. She couldn’t even remember how they got on the topic, or why they were still talking about cookies, but she didn’t really care. This—whatever this was—felt good. Pointless and stupid and familiar in the best way. She hadn’t had that in a while.

When his laughter broke loose—honest, unguarded—she quieted, just watching him with a kind of stunned fondness. The way he tried to muffle it, the grin he couldn’t stop, the soft wheeze in his breath as he tried to speak through it—it was all so unfiltered. So unlike the version of him most people got. It hit her somewhere deep, warm and sharp all at once. She wasn’t sure why, but she made a quiet promise to herself to make him laugh like that again. As many times as she could. Her eyes lit up with the moment, feeding off his energy. “Yes! Thumbs! They’re adorable!” she beamed, ears twitching slightly as her laughter joined his. His joy was infectious, pulling her into it like a current. When he threw back a comment, she feigned outrage, pulling a dramatic pout. “You are not adorable,” she declared, clearly lying. “You don’t wear a burglar mask! You don’t have tiny grabby hands! You’re not fluffy!” Her voice cracked on a snicker, and she had to huff just to get herself back in line. “Nope. Goose. You’re officially a goose now. You hate raccoons, so that’s what you get.” She gave him a satisfied little nod, like the matter was settled. She squinted at him, grinning when he admitted she was right. “Finally! I’m right, and I’ll never let you forget it,” she laughed, rolling her eyes with theatrical flair. Her head tilted as he mentioned raccoons couldn’t swim, and her nose wrinkled in confusion. “Wait, really? Don’t they, like, live in water or something?” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Well, okay, they can jump underwater. I know that. I saw it on Planet Earth. So there,” she added, completely confident in her documentary-based science.

Raegan bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from grinning like an idiot. The mental image of him watching Tangled—Axl Jager, infamous for his brooding intensity, lounging in front of a Disney movie—was just too much. Adorable. Hilarious. Heart-warming. He’d never admit it, and she wouldn’t press. But she’d be keeping that one tucked away. She perked up at the mention of Puss in Boots. “Wait, the new one? Haven’t seen it yet,” she said, eyebrows lifting. “I’m kind of out of the loop with newer Disney stuff. But I did catch the new Lion King. Honestly? Not bad. People just hate it ‘cause it’s not the one they grew up with,” she shrugged. “But come on, it’s Mufasa. It slaps.” She nodded like she was stating a universal truth. “Old villains though?” she mused after a pause. “Some of them were seriously creepy. I hate to admit it, but those cats in Lady and the Tramp? Freaked me out. They were too smooth, too synced up. Like they had one brain and it was pure chaos. Gave me the creeps.”

She turned a mock glare toward the camera. “If I warned you, it wouldn’t have been authentic,” she said matter-of-factly. She tapped a few buttons and handed him the picture, smug as anything. “Look. It’s perfect.” It really was. Him, grinning dumbly, in a ridiculous unicorn costume. Confused as hell but actually smiling. She took pictures like that all the time—not of him, of course, but of moments. Random shots of life that she’d stick on her fridge or scatter around the cabin. It made her place feel full. Like life had happened there. Like she wasn’t always alone.

She lifted her eyebrows when he raised his hands in surrender, shaking her head slowly, playfully disappointed. “Fine. No interpretive dance. But we’re having a party. In your honor. Celebrate your life. You deserve that much,” she said lightly, though her tone carried something more sincere beneath the teasing. It was true. No matter what he believed about himself, he was someone worth celebrating. She was sure of that.

Her grin widened as she nudged him with her heel, curling back into her spot beside him. “Thank you, kind sir. For your bravery and sacrifice, I might just let you live a little longer.” Her voice was playful, but her eyes softened just a touch.

The woman stretched slightly, arms lifting above her head before dropping lazily into her lap as she listened to his plans, nodding along with a soft hum of acknowledgment. “After twelve... in that case, bring me some lunch,” she chirped, her tone casual, like the request was no big deal. It technically wasn’t—she’d be at work, sure, but for him, she’d make time. She always did, even if it meant shuffling things around or running behind on something else. Axl time was different. It mattered.

Her eyes lingered on him for a beat longer than necessary before narrowing, her expression shifting ever so slightly into something more pointed. “And if you’re not getting to bed after this, once we’ve had said lunch you need to go get some rest. You’ll be running on fumes by then,” she added with a quiet sigh, her brows pinching slightly as she looked him over again. She didn’t say anything more, but she didn’t need to. The worry was already clear in her tone, the kind that had crept in more and more lately. From the little pieces he let slip—the late nights, the long hours, the weight he was constantly carrying—she’d begun to piece together just how much he was doing. Too much, probably. She couldn’t figure out when he had time to sleep, let alone eat or do something remotely normal. It was like his life had been set to permanent overdrive and no one had remembered to hit the brakes.

Still, she didn’t want to bring it all crashing down by dwelling on it. Her mind had only just started to drift when he mentioned the guitar, and that was all it took—her eyes lit up immediately, and she all but shot up from where she was sat, the fatigue she hadn’t realized was creeping in instantly gone. “Oh my god, yes,” she chuckled, her voice rising in excitement. The thought of him playing, of seeing that piece of him—this entirely different side—was too good to pass up. “I’m sure I can make it through one song! Go get it,” she grinned at him, practically bouncing in place now, fully awake, fully engaged. She couldn’t help it. The whole idea of him in a unicorn suit playing the guitar just amused her more than she could admit.

Raegan Northland

Blue Ridge Clan

--

Raegan found herself sinking into the couch, shoulders slack, heartbeat even, like her body had finally caught up with her mind’s quiet revelation: everything was okay. Actually okay. Axl was okay, she was okay, the world hadn’t cracked open beneath them. Not today, anyway. And God, she was so tired of trying to dig for disaster, of combing through every little moment like it might suddenly collapse in her hands. But nothing was broken. Nothing was wrong. This was... good. No, better than good. It was something like peace. Axl was smiling—really smiling—and it was such a beautiful thing, so effortless, so light, it hurt her a little. He didn’t look like someone who’d clawed his way through hell to get here. He looked like the Axl she remembered: teenage mischief stitched into every grin, eyes that glinted with something just shy of chaos, always chasing the next laugh. And oh, how she wished it could stay like this forever. She’d shield this version of him with everything she had if it meant keeping that joy in his eyes. Konig wouldn’t touch him again. Nothing would. Not if she had anything to say about it. She’d keep him laughing for as long as she could. And on the days he couldn’t, she’d be there—smiling for both of them.

She felt her posture soften when he answered her, her body catching up to the ease in her mind. The conversation wasn’t even really about anything anymore. It was just... fun. Banter for banter’s sake, and she loved it. Every damn second. She’d missed this. Missed the rhythm of it, the lightness, missed him. She’d tell him that later, maybe. Now wasn’t the time. This moment didn’t need the heaviness of longing. It needed laughter. So she rolled her eyes with a huff that shook her shoulders, holding in a giggle she didn’t care enough to stifle. “Well, as long as you accept your fate. Just know I’ll damage you emotionally—but only in the funniest way,” she teased, grinning up at him with that crooked smirk she did more than she cared to admit. He’d never hate her. She wouldn’t let him.

She scrunched her nose in exaggerated faux-disgust, letting her gaze drag over him. “Hmm... yeah, okay. I’ll make sure to tell them just how tragically beautiful you are. Not that they’ll need me to. The video will do all the work.” She paused, head tilting, expression mock-considerate. “You want me to tell my children you have abs?” she asked, nearly snorting before waving a hand at him. “Please. I still don’t believe you. Show me the abs or it didn’t happen,” she said, eyes glittering, clearly just messing with him because she could.

Raegan nodded when he mentioned the raccoon thumbs again, and she honestly wasn’t sure when she’d grown this passionate about those ridiculous little animals—but there it was. They were just so weirdly charming with their twitchy noses and those ridiculously expressive hands. Axl could fight her all he wanted, but he wasn’t changing her mind. Still, when his eyes lit up—really lit up—it made something twist behind her ribs. That look in his eyes? That spark? She’d kill for it. Protect it like a secret. Anything to keep him like this. Her fingers curled and she shook her head, huffing out a breath. “Babies have gross thumbs. They’re sticky and always doing weird stuff,” she said matter-of-factly. Then she tipped her head, lips twitching. “But yeah, okay, fine. They’re cute. Like... at two months. Newborns look like the back end of a goat and you will not convince me otherwise,” she added, her voice rising in a playful whine. She wasn’t a huge baby person, but even she couldn’t deny they became at least semi-adorable eventually.

But then Axl gave her that smug look and she narrowed her eyes, arms crossing in a half-hearted huff. “Axl!” she groaned, clearly not serious, but also completely unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing how flustered she was. “You are not adorable anymore. You lost that privilege.” She buried her face in her hands with a loud sigh, voice muffled as she pouted. “This is cruel and unusual. You’re enjoying this way too much.” When she peeked at him through her fingers, she added with a quiet laugh, “Let us forget you got deeply offended when I said a raccoon was cuter than you. Then you're threatening become one. You're planning on wearing a burglar mask and everything. I was heard you. I remember.”

Her eyes widened at his next idea, then immediately squeezed shut like she could erase the mental image before it took root—but it was already too late. The thought of Axl in full raccoon regalia, making weird chirpy sounds, was so absurdly hilarious she had to cover her mouth to hold the laughter in. “Oh God. That’s terrifying,” she gasped, then broke into a snort. “But if you do it tastefully? Might be art. Street performance-level genius.” She glanced down at his hands, then held up her own, examining them. “You know what? I bet you’d rock tiny raccoon hands. Little baby fingers on those giant arms? A fashion statement. You could start a trend.” Her voice dropped into something mock-serious, like she was reviewing couture. “Wouldn’t wanna hold anything heavy, though. Nightmare fuel.”

Raegan’s head tilted slightly as she watched him, and a grin tugged at her lips. “Wow. I feel like you’re genuinely wounded by this whole thing,” she said, watching his face like she was studying a piece of art. “Okay, fine. Would it help if I said you’re actually the cutest thing I’ve seen all year? Look at you—smiling in that unicorn costume like I'm not about to emotionally destory you.” She made her voice saccharine and high-pitched. “Who wouldn’t love that face?” she cooed, sounding like someone talking to a toddler. “Does that make you feel better, baby boy? You happy now?” Then she wrinkled her nose and grinned when he mentioned the whole shirt thing. Ugh, no. “Because the last thing I need is some sad, ancient dad energy haunting my house. You’d be in the kitchen talking about ‘the good old days’ and asking me if my Wi-Fi is too fast,” she teased, eyes sparkling. “But I am proud. No one else has ever gotten you into a fluffy animal costume. I deserve an award.”

When he tried to turn it around, her expression just brightened. “Well, you can drop in unannounced whenever,” she said with a shrug. “I was going to give you my password anyway. Unlimited access to all the princess content your heart desires. You’re welcome.” But then—his voice shifted, teasing, threatening her precious TV, and her smile dropped into theatrical horror. “You touch my TV and I will end you,” she said with deadly seriousness. “That thing cost me so much. If you break it, I’ll cry. Actual tears. No one wants that.”

But then came the wrap conversation—and his reaction was instant. He curled in on himself like the world had tilted off its axis, and she froze for a moment before completely dissolving.

At first, it was just breathless giggles—but then the laughter ripped out of her in a full, joyful wave. It was the kind of laugh that made her eyes water, that took the air from her lungs. “Axl! Calm down!” she managed between wheezes, wiping at her cheeks. “It’s a wrap! A wrap! You’re acting like I gave you a riddle from the gods.”

When she could finally speak again, she took a deep breath, adopting her most serious tone. “Okay, okay. Pulled pork, black beans, extra cheese, lettuce. I don’t care about the tortilla—whatever wrapy bit you’ve got. Just feed me.” She grinned, clearly pleased with herself. “Better? Do you feel spiritually grounded again?”

She perked up when he started explaining the song, shifting on the couch until she was cross-legged and watching him with open curiosity. Her head tilted as she listened, a grin slowly blooming as the melody filled the space. It wasn’t what she expected—at all. Axl had a voice. A real one. Something raw and rich that sent a ripple down her spine. She didn’t even realize she was swaying until he hit the last note, and she broke into full applause, whistling like she was front row at a concert. “That was awesome!” she beamed. “And —your voice? Ridiculously good.”

When he told her why he loved the song, her expression softened. She could see it. The connection. The meaning woven into the lyrics. And she knew it wasn’t just nostalgia. It was memory. It was love. “I’m sure you were just like them,” she said gently. “And I bet they’d be proud of you. Watching you, cheering you on—if you believe in that sort of thing.” She gave him a warm, quiet smile, full of something deeper than amusement. “I know I am.”