#and someday I’m going to make my sky quilt

[tj-crochets]

I’m pretty sure I’ve posted this before but it makes me so happy to be able to pull back the rainbow quilt on my bed to show another rainbow quilt

[thestarlightforge]

For Gus and Claudia

6/22/24

******

We can have spirit bonds with animals, I think. You don’t always bond with pets in your soul, just like you don’t always with people. But sometimes, we do.

I don’t know that I believe in “heaven,” exactly. But my childhood dog, Gus—a little white west highland terrier—came to visit me last night. A dream where we were walking with my family’s current dogs, and he was just there. He died in 2017. He was rarely clean in life, his coat a shaggy gray from rolling in the dirt. But he looked clean, fluffy and happy. He always does. He visits from time to time.

Our family has had several cats, too. I’ve loved them all, of course. But Claudia was special. A regal black with lush, medium-short hair. A white diamond on her breastbone, at the base of her throat, where she most liked to be petted. Declawed in the front and acclimated to indoor-outdoor before my parents adopted her, thus her premature death of borderline kidney failure at age 14, she was the most feared and fearsome warrior in our neighborhood nonetheless. She protected me from everything. When my folks put a screen door on my bedroom as a toddler, she tore through it to get to me. I would come home from school or baseball practice, or finish my dinner or homework inside, go to the front door and call, “Hey Clauuudia! I’m going to bed!” and she would come trotting up the street. She died when I was at school one day, in the sixth grade. My mom said she drifted off to sleep in her arms, a month into terminal illness, and she was buried in the garden by the time I got home. I sat in the dirt for hours that day, in front of the tiny cross made of sticks my mom had fashioned, and finished reading aloud the book I had been reading her every night that final week. I do not remember the book, but I do remember the dirt on my clothes. One of our last nights together, I cut off one corner of my childhood security blanket and one corner of the red plaid quilt she always slept on in my bed, told her they were hers, and said she would always be the best cat in the world to me. She walked on my back at night, kneading the knots before I was big enough for scoliosis surgery. The one picture I still have of her, which sits on my nightstand, is of us on our old living room couch together, before my sister was even born; she sat beside me, and I had one arm, already crooked from fractures, rested over her shoulders. Rain or shine, chaos or calm, she slept with me every single night of my life from my infancy until I was twelve years old, when she died—except for a couple nights that final week, when she slept with my little sister so she would know she loved her, too.

I’ve loved all my pets. My cat, Dany—also black, but with a tail crooked like my bones, a kindred spirit—is like a son to me. When I have nightmares, they are often of him getting injured or lost—as I would be without him—and he often sleeps on Claudia’s quilt. But sometimes, they are special. Sometimes, spirits are special. Our pets, friends, family chosen or by blood.

I have not seen Claudia in many years. I doubt this is because “only dogs go to heaven.” I think she is an astral warrior, now, trekking with Artemis across the stars, huntress goddesses on mighty missions. She has not visited me in a long time because she has important things to do. She will visit when she can, and in the meantime, when I catch a glimpse of sky dark enough to make out stars, I feel she is out there and I love her still. I was hers when I first learned how to dream, but she died before I knew who I was—before I could label how I loved, what I wanted, or what genders rested inside me. I hope she knew. Perhaps she did. I can only hope she knows how much I love her, hope she remembers our blink of time together fondly, and hope she is proud of me—that she finds me brave enough, and we will meet again someday.

I cried as I wrote this. It has been more than a decade, but some days, her absence aches as much as when we parted ways. If you’ve read this far, thank you for spending a little time with them—my Gus and Claudia. They were animals, but they sat with me through the hardest of times. There is something to being remembered, I think. Why wakes hurt, but they are sometimes called “celebrations of life.” Grief and separation can be sad, raw, painful—they can lap away at you, waves knocking you down. But they remind us of deep joy, also. Of the magic of spirits and connection. Of how lucky we are to live and to love.

[vhenadahls]

the remnants of the life i used to live here in eden

After Tali is exonerated, she decides to give Pippa Shepard a tour of the Rayya.

G, 2600 words.

“Tali’Zorah, in light of your history of service, we do not find sufficient evidence to convict. You are cleared of all charges.”

Admiral Raan’s voice is still steady and professional, a proper admiral’s voice, but it’s lighter than it’s been the entire time they’ve been on the Fleet. Tali sags forward against the railing in front of her and Pippa, relief exuding from her entire body. The garden plaza erupts with a buzz of chatter, blotting out both Raan’s and Shepard’s next words - not that Tali is sure she would’ve heard them anyways, her own heart is beating so loud. She hasn’t been exiled, and Shepard hasn’t revealed her father’s treachery, and when she woke up on the Normandy today she definitely had not expected this to be the way her day went.

The admirals end the trial, and people start to stream out of the garden plaza, still buzzing with conversation and gossip and thoughts and theories. Tali drags Pippa over to speak with each of the admirals, pointedly keeping the conversation with Admiral Xen blessedly short, and to thank Reegar and Veetor yet again for speaking up for her. Eventually they make it back to the corridor outside the plaza, Garrus trailing behind them. Looking up at the achingly familiar patched-together entranceway, she makes a split-second decision. “Garrus, you go on back to the Normandy. We’ll catch up.”

Garrus looks at Pippa for confirmation. She glances back at Tali, who knows her body language is telegraphing her excitement but that Pippa and Garrus won’t know what it means. After a moment Shepard nods, and Garrus walks back up the corridor to the docking bay the Normandy is in.

Pippa turns to face Tali full-on, a wide grin visible through the viewscreen of her helmet. “Well then, Miss vas Normandy, what’s got you so excited?”

Okay, maybe Pippa’s not so bad at quarian body language as she thought. She pushes that aside and bounces from foot to foot “We’re on the Rayya. It’s my birth ship. I thought I’d take you on a tour.”

Pippa’s mouth drops open behind her viewscreen - Tali’s learned this one, a display of shock or awe for many species, not just humans. “A tour? Really? Is that allowed?”

Laughing, Tali links her arm through Pippa’s and steers her towards the trading plaza. “Probably not, but I doubt they’re going to say anything after today.”

The trading plaza, just a short walk down the corridor from the garden plaza, is also achingly familiar and almost just as she remembers it. The people and items in it are different, of course, but it’s the same design as always. Bank of lockers on the back wall, all different sizes, all full of things someone didn’t need but someone else could use. Rows of desks for anyone to hawk wares, services, whatever it is they can do or make or trade that others might want. It’s loud, crowded, full of people speaking Khelish, people she can still understand if she turns off her translator. A wave of homesickness washes over her, even though she’s standing right in the middle of the ship she grew up on. She won’t live here again, not on the Rayya, even if she does come back to the Flotilla.

Trying to disengage from that feeling, she turns back to Pippa, whose grin has spread even wider. “Where are we now? It looks like a market.” Her eyes dart back and forth across the plaza, head turning so rapidly she looks like a top.

“Kind of,” Tali says, leading the way to the stall of a quilter she remembers from before her Pilgrimage. “We don’t use credits within the Flotilla. Needs like food, water, and medicine are doled out as needed, and you trade for other things. Trade your work, your surplus supplies, information, whatever you have. That’s what this is for - this is where people trade what they can. The lockers on the wall,” she points, “are for people to leave items they don’t want anymore, and someone else can take them. Other people make things to sell here. Quilts, suit adornments, and so on. And musicians and storytellers and dancers can show off their skills.” She points again, to a musician and a dancer attracting a small audience in the opposite corner.

“No credits? How?” Pippa slows, trying to watch exchanges between traders and customers while continuing to follow Tali. “Even when I was a kid on the streets, creds were king. That’s what will for sure get you food in your belly and a safe place to sleep.”

Tali’s heart squeezes painfully, the way it always does when Pippa mentions her childhood before BAaT and the Alliance. She’ll have to ask about that someday. “We don’t have to worry about food and shelter - everyone gets food, everyone gets shelter. You know that’s why we don’t have an incarceration system and our highest punishment is exile - we can’t support those who don’t work to provide for the community, because everyone is given those things by virtue of being quarian. But this sort of thing - things that aren’t necessities, things that make your life happier or easier or the like - those we trade for, because what better thing to offer than something else we value?” They’ve reached the quilt-trader, and Tali holds up her hand in greeting. “I’m Tali’Zorah, and this is Pippa Shepard.”

The quilt-trader nods. “I remember you, Tali’Zorah.” She turns to Pippa, holding out a hand with her palm facing forward, fingers slightly bent, so Pippa can interlace her own with them - a first-time greeting. “Welcome, Pippa Shepard. I am Chenah’Ayyal.”

Pippa looks back at Tali, probably confused, but holds her hand up - Tali would never have doubted she’d be a good sport. The quilt-seller interlinks their fingers, and Pippa won’t be able to tell, no matter how good she’s gotten at reading quarian body language, but Tali can almost feel the approval wafting off Ayyal.

“What brings you to the Rayya’s trading plaza, Shepard?” Ayyal asks, pointedly re-fluffing one of the quilts on her display. It’s reminiscent of Rannoch, qorach and canyons and wide-open sky, in shades of blue and purple.

Rather than answering, Pippa shoots a sidelong glance at Tali. The meaning is obvious - she’s going to let Tali do most of the talking, let Tali choose how others will see a human wandering around one of the Fleet’s most precious ships. She can spin this however she wants.

“I’m taking her on a tour,” she says. No spin. “I want to show her where I grew up.”

Ayyal’s stance becomes guarded, but not angry or mistrustful. Honestly more than Tali had expected, and her stomach unclenches just a bit. She draws one finger down the neat and even stitching of the Rannoch blanket. “This is beautiful. Your stitching is every bit as lovely as I remember. I’ve never seen it fray.”

With the disgusted sound Ayyal makes deep in her throat, the air clears even more. “How can you say that?” she asks, dragging the cloth from under Tali’s hand. “See here, the stitches are off center - everyone will notice! How am I supposed to be happy with anyone displaying this in their quarters? I’ll be a laughingstock!”

Tali tries her very best to muffle a laugh, and the hacking cough suddenly afflicting Pippa spells the same. “Just like a craftsperson,” she says, unable to contain a final huff of laughter. “Thank you for talking with us. Until I return.”

“Until I see you again,” Ayyal replies, and holds up her hand again to Pippa, who readily interlaces their fingers again. “And you, Pippa Shepard,” she adds, and Pippa’s answering grin could power the Flotilla for a week. At least.

 Grinning too, Tali links her arm back with Pippa’s and steers her back out of the trading plaza and into another corridor. “So that’s the trading plaza, obviously. Most of what’s right around here is also community areas - a school, an infirmary, you saw the garden plaza, and those sorts of things.” She points out the places they pass as they go, places where she spent her childhood and adolescence. “Schools are clean rooms, because children don’t have suits yet. They’re bubbled - like Raan talked about - but when there’s that many children together, it’s better for the space to be clean too. Infirmary too, for obvious reasons, so those are usually right near each other for efficiency.”

“Name of the day on a ship, any ship.” Pippa peers in through windows when they exist, nodding at each quarian they pass. Tali’s heart skips yet another beat as she watches her. The Rayya might be one of the Fleet’s most important ships, but it’s still dingy and patched-together and shabby compared to the least Alliance ship, let alone the Normandy. But Pippa doesn’t look out of place or uncomfortable at all. She looks excited, interested. She looks like she fits in.

There’s only one reason Tali could be worrying about whether Pippa fits in on the Flotilla, and she is not ready to interrogate that quite yet. Instead, she pulls Pippa down a side corridor, so suddenly that Pippa yelps from being knocked off balance. “This way is to hydroponics - the reason these are called liveships.”

Pippa might be an entire handspan shorter than Tali, but she sure can walk fast when she’s excited about something. “Oh, man! I know I’m not going to understand any of it. But it’s so cool! You figured out how to grow enough food to support seventeen million people in space! Three hundred years ago!” She’s pulling Tali now, stopping dead when they reach an intersection. “Which way?”

Their footsteps echo on the metal floors, familiar and comforting, as Tali leads Pippa through the maze of cobbled-together corridors to the hydroponics observation deck. When the doors open, Pippa hurries over to the windows, pressing her faceplate against the glass to peer at the leafy green plants below. “Look at it! That’s all food!”

Laughing again, Tali joins her at the window. “We all take turns volunteering there, not just those of us who live on the liveships. So everyone has a chance to be part of how and where food comes from and is distributed and all of that.” She gestures to a corner on the far end of what they can see. “I always worked in that corner over there. Helped plant, check irrigation systems, whatever needed doing.”

“Wish I’d had something like that.” Pippa’s smile this time doesn’t actually reach her eyes. “Didn’t really think, as a kid, about where food came from before I nicked it.” Her voice is wistful - the opposite of nostalgic, whatever that is. Tali squeezes her hand, and Pippa turns away from the window.

“Show me where you used to live?” she asks. “If you want to.”

“That was my plan. It’s a deck down, so we’ll just go through here…” she lets her words trail off as they head back into the corridor maze, find the stairs, and go down to the deck where she spent most of her life. The designs painted on the walls, the quilts hung to muffle sound, someone in a familiar suit in literally every corner of the ship - it’s almost like she’s stepped back in time.

She stops in front of the door to her family’s apartment, the apartment that was her home until two years ago. The blank door beckons, but she doesn’t knock. “It belongs to someone else now, another family. They moved my father once I transfered to the Neema, gave him a space more conducive to one person alone and gave this to a family that needed more room.” Her voice is as devoid of emotion as she can make it, trying not to let Pippa hear how draining this is to be back in these spaces that hold memories of her father. And her mother.

Pippa’s hand appears on her shoulder, and Tali looks down at it, trying to let it pierce the haze of remembering. “Hey. It’s okay. It’s alright to be upset.”

It’s alright. Tali snorts. “My father wouldn’t agree. We don’t have time for sentimentality. We didn’t have time to come here at all, honestly. He would’ve been upset with me for letting my feelings overcome my duty.”

“Hey.” The hand on Tali’s shoulder slides down her arm to interlace their fingers together, three and five. “You’re allowed to care. He cared about you. He didn’t know how to show it, but he did. You care about him, still. You care about your people, about our crew. And that’s a good thing. That means you’ll do what you can to protect as many of them as you can.”

“They didn’t want me to come home.” An unfamiliar person emerges from the apartment door, looks between the two of them, and heads off down the hall without a word. Tali moves back up the corridor, Pippa trailing behind, so they won’t be right in front of someone’s door anymore. She tries again. “They didn’t want me to come home. They were using me as a prop, a piece in someone else’s game.” Her voice is rising, and she doesn’t care to stop it. “They stripped my ship name, Shepard!”

“I know. But you don’t have to accept their reasoning for it.” Pippa leans against the wall below a sign in Khelish telling her not to do exactly that.

Tali narrows her eyes. “How do you mean?”

“The ones who voted to strip your ship name wanted you to feel like you didn’t belong. Like you had no home, no one to stand with you. But you do, Tali, you have so many people who stand with you! And multiple homes!” So quickly she looks like she’ll topple over, Pippa stands up straight away from the wall, hands spread for emphasis. “Raan did what she could for you, Reegar and Veetor spoke up for you. They gave you the Normandy in your name in quarian fashion - that’s not a thing any other species does, you know that. You belong in both places. Both, and. Not neither.” Embarrassed, like she wasn’t expecting that speech to pop out of her, she leans back against the wall.

You belong in both places. No one’s ever made it sound like that could be possible. You go on Pilgrimage, you come home and you stay home. Or you don’t, and you never come home again. But Pippa - the same ridiculous human that Tali followed by chance two years ago, who’s come back from the dead at the hands of a terrorist organization Tali couldn’t hate more if she tried - Pippa thinks it doesn’t have to be like that. She can have a human ship name, an entirely non-quarian crew...and still belong to the Fleet. Two homes.

It’ll take some time to get used to that idea.

“You stood for me, too.” She nudges Pippa with her shoulder. “Don’t forget yourself.”

Another blush spreads across Pippa’s pale cheeks. “Well, yeah. I thought that was a given. Or at least, it’s a given to me.”

“It means a lot, though.” Tali takes a deep breath. “I’m glad to be part of your crew.”

The blush deepens. “I am too, Tali. Um, glad you’re part of the crew.” She looks back at the apartment door, closed now. “You ready to go home? Wait, shit, sorry. You ready to go back to the Normandy?”

Five minutes ago, Tali would’ve appreciated the correction. It still grates a little. But…

“Let’s go home.” She can have both. Or at least she can try.

[muertawrites]

Two Halves - Chapter Seven (Zuko x Reader)

Part Six

Word Count: 3,000 (really? it seemed longer...)

Author’s Note: I decided to make this one cute because it’s been a hella weird week (year) and I needed some sweet Zuko lovin’ in my life. The only downside is that now I’m piney as fuck, but it’s fine because I’ve got spaghetti from my favorite Italian place in the fridge and comfort food fixes everything. I’d also like to use this time to admit that I’ve always thought King Kuei was cute, because clearly I have a thing for adorable dumbasses who live their lives in denial (shout out to Mark, my ex, fuck you and I hope you miss me every fucking day because we both know you loved me as much as I loved you but were too weak to just own up to your feelings because you’re a punkass little bitch boy ♥). King Kuei and reader are BFFs and that’s canon. 

I hope you’re all holding out okay and staying safe - PSA to wear a mask whenever you go out, make sure it covers both your mouth and nose at all times, wash your hands after being out in public, and stay the hell away from people outside your household. Do something nice for yourself today, you deserve it. I wish you all find a love someday who makes you feel as fluttery inside as these fics make me feel, and that they love you endlessly and fearlessly. I need to stop writing now, I’ve put myself in my feels. 

~ Muerta

Much to the dismay of the international affairs advisors, their opportunities for stalking you about your daily life are drastically cut short when Iroh announces he wants to return to Ba Sing Se. 

“I've been away from the Jasmine Dragon for too long,” he explains, breaking the news over dinner. “I miss her dearly and would like to be with her again.” 

“I should go back to the Earth Kingdom, too,” Toph speaks up. “The metal bending program will probably have to be rebuilt - the idiots I left in charge of it can barely bend rocks.” 

You and Zuko exchange amused looks, though the idea of being left totally alone with him - without the comfort of your mutual friends - makes you lightheaded. Having to go toe to toe with Advisor Qiang and his sketchy, passive aggressive behavior while also navigating a potentially deadly political climate? No sweat. Having to face your husband every day without the distraction of your friends and family to break the awkward tension? Horrifying, but in an exciting, slightly panicky way. 

“It would be a good idea to visit,” Zuko muses, “see how the city is rebuilding. Aang’s coming back in a week or two on his way to the Northern Air Temple, and I bet he’d give us a lift.” 

“Do the international affairs advisors have to come, too?” you ask. “I'm tired of their assistants taking notes on how I prefer to pour my own tea in the morning.” 

Zuko smirks, shaking his head. 

“I'm sending them to the Southern Tribe,” he tells you. “Hakoda’s hosting a summit for them to celebrate our union.” 

“You're finally getting your life changing field trip with Hothead!” Toph cheers, playfully jabbing her elbow into your arm. “Now we can start a club - Sokka really wants to get jackets.” 

As Appa glides through the air, you lean over the edge of his saddle, gazing out at the clouds as they pass. It’s your first time flying, and everything about it amazes and terrifies you - the miniscule landscape below, the shift of Appa’s massive body under his movement and breathing, the cold breeze kissing your cheeks and running its fingers through your hair, the way the sky is so much more vast than you ever could have imagined - it’s like you’ve fallen into a different world entirely. 

You reach down and stroke at Appa’s fur, earning an appreciative grunt from the bison. Aang turns back from his place at the reins to grin at you, much more excited about your first time in the air than you are. 

“What do you think?” he wonders cheerfully. 

“It's like sailing, but in a dream,” you reply. “The clouds remind me of glaciers back home.” 

“Makes you wish you were an air bender, doesn't it?” Aang chuckles. 

You laugh nervously, shaking your head. 

“No! I can't stop thinking about how long the fall is from up here!” 

Aang tosses his head back with laughter, the sound of his voice carried on the wind filling you with the feeling of walking through the threshold of the cottage you shared with Sokka and Katara as a child; neither of them are present, but having Aang nearby feels just as much like home. 

Across the saddle, Zuko smiles at you. You’re a few feet away from him, yet you still feel the warmth from his body as his eyes meet yours; his gaze is different somehow, as if he's seeing you for the first time. You blush, bashfully returning his grin. 

“Are you okay?” Toph asks beside you. She's clutching your hand, neither of you very fond of your height off the ground. “Your heart rate jumped.” 

“I'm fine,” you tell her. “I just looked down.” 

Ba Sing Se is larger than you ever thought a city could be. As you approach, you stare in awe at the epic sprawl of the place, each district looking like its own little country within a quilt of a continent. You've been to the North Pole before, having spent a year there after the war, but even the shock of seeing their massive skyline pales in comparison to just how huge the Earth Kingdom is. Zuko smirks at you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. 

“Wait until you see it from the ground,” he teases. 

You’re even more amazed by the city as you view it from the palace. It sprawls in every direction, some of its buildings reaching as high as Appa can float; Iroh explains that it's a new concept designed by the most renowned Earth Kingdom architects, some of them planning towers that stretch one hundred stories. Everything about the place seems impossible. 

Inside the palace, King Kuei meets you in the entry hall, greeting Aang with a warm hug and Zuko with a firm handshake. 

“It's so good to see you all!” he exclaims. “It's been far too long. Tonight we’re having a party to celebrate your arrival, and to congratulate the newlyweds!” 

You smile, bowing low at the waist as you thank him. 

“My husband has told me of your hospitality,” you say. “It’s an honor to be celebrated by you.” 

When you straighten up, Kuei takes your hand and politely places his lips to the back of your palm, closing his other hand atop it. 

“And I've been told about your exquisite nerve,” he replies, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Your bravery deserves to be celebrated.” 

After a tour of the palace, you and Zuko are led to your suite. The windows in both the sitting room and bedroom look out over an incredible view of the city, in which you can almost see as far as the eastern wall; you can hardly pull yourself away, leaving Zuko the task of inspecting the rooms to ensure everything is in order. 

“We have a problem,” he says, stepping out to where you perch by the sitting room window. “There's only one bed.” 

You snap your head to attention, fixing him with a quizzical expression. 

“... I mean, I guess that's normal,” you reply, piecing the situation together in your head. “We are married.” 

“Do you want me to request another room for myself?” Zuko asks. “I could get one of the bedrolls from Appa’s pack and sleep on the floor.”

You shake your head, pacing over to where he stands. 

“I trust you,” you tell him. “We have to get comfortable with each other at some point.” 

Zuko nods, blushing and unable to hold your gaze. 

“You're right,” he agrees. “I trust you, too.” 

You gently take his hand, causing him to shift his eyes back to yours; you smile, giving his palm a light squeeze. 

“Zuko, it’s okay,” you assure him. “Really. I’m okay with it.” 

Zuko nods again, reaching absently to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear. 

“I just want you to feel safe,” he admits. “You’ve already got enough to worry about without… all of this.” 

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you smile at him. 

“All you’ve done since the day we met is protect me,” you remind him. “Sleeping with you is the last thing that could possibly worry me.” 

Zuko chuckles, leaning to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” he playfully scolds. “Or I’ll make you sleep on the bed roll.” 

You gasp, giggling as you push his shoulder. 

“I can’t believe my own husband would make me sleep on the floor,” you tease. “And in a strange city, no less! You’re so awful to me.” 

Zuko rolls his eyes, smirking as he bends and hooks his arms under your bum, lifting you up over his shoulder. You squeal, laughing as he carries you into the bedroom and flops you down on the mattress, jestfully smacking a pillow into your face. 

“Get changed, Queenie” he tells you, retreating into the sitting room before you can launch a counterattack. “The party’s in an hour.”

In the ballroom of the Earth King’s palace, it seems everyone in the city has turned out to celebrate your arrival. 

You sit in a throne beside Kuei’s, Zuko to your left and Aang to the Earth King’s right. Dignitaries from Kuei’s cabinet as well as various parts of the kingdom come to give their regards, all greeting you much more fondly than many of the guests at your wedding; Kuei is excited to introduce you to everyone, giving fervent, detailed descriptions of what each person does and launching you into long conversations with them. You don’t mind his enthusiasm, finding it endearing that he cares so much and so openly about the people who serve him. 

“Ah, here’s a very special guest!” Kuei announces, cheerfully clapping his hands. 

A woman approaches the throne, leading a large, furry animal up the steps towards you; its long claws and massive stature send a chill through you, but once you look into its beady little eyes and notice its round ears and bumbling demeanor, you’re enamored. 

“Is that a bear?” you ask, excitedly gripping Kuei’s sleeve. 

“Yes!” he cheers. “His name is Bosco; he’s a close friend of mine.” 

Bosco lets out a soft growl as Kuei scratches him under the chin, pulling the fuzzy giant into a tight hug. 

“He loves cuddles and blackberries,” Kuei tells you. “Don’t let his claws scare you - he’s a big softy.” 

One of the servers appears with a bowl of fresh fruit, setting it into your lap for you to share with your newest party guest. You carefully take a blackberry into your palm, holding it out for Bosco to sniff; his nose hovers above your fingers, letting out a few warm huffs of breath onto your skin before licking the berry up into his mouth. You turn to Kuei and give him a wide smile, gathering more berries into your hand for Bosco to eat. 

“I love him,” you tell your host. “He might be coming back to the Fire Nation with me.” 

Kuei laughs, giving Bosco a loving pat on the head as you continue to fatten him up, switching between feeding him and running your fingers through his thick coat, giggling when his tongue flops out to lick your cheek; you never expected an animal fabled to be so fearsome to turn out so sweet. 

Once the bowl of fruit is empty, Bosco settles onto the floor at the foot of Kuei’s throne, letting out a heavy yawn. Kuei reaches to scratch behind his ears, then stands, offering you his hand. 

“Would you like to dance?” he asks. “I heard you and the Avatar made quite the display at your wedding.” 

“We did!” Aang chimes in, also getting to his feet and sweeping Toph (who stands just to the side of the thrones, having declined the royal treatment for the evening) into his arms. “We were taught a few Earth Kingdom dances by your advisors, too!” 

Toph laughs as you’re both led onto the dancefloor, taking her position beside Aang. 

“And that’s why I call him Twinkle Toes,” she jokes. 

Kuei chuckles, taking you by the waist and starting the dance, twirling with you in an interlaced circle between Toph and Aang. You each pass from partner to partner, raising your hands to meet them together and spinning gracefully around each other before returning to the escort you  started with. Kuei’s arm skillfully finds your waist when he takes you back in, each of you facing the opposite direction with your sides pressed together, turning in a clockwise motion. He grins at you, and you can’t help but smile back. 

“You’re a natural!” he praises you. “I’m sorry I have two left feet.” 

You laugh, shaking your head. 

“Back home, they consider me clumsy,” you confess. “I used to step on my brother and sister’s toes when they tried to teach me to dance - I still do sometimes!” 

Kuei chortles, taking your hand in his and repeating the sequence of steps you just completed. You recite the ritual five times before the dance is over, ending with each of you bowing to each other with cheerful, elated smiles. Someone behind Kuei clears his throat, and he turns to find Zuko, his hand outstretched toward you. 

“You promised to teach me to dance,” he reminds you. 

You nod, a burning heat pinkening your cheeks as you take his hand. 

“I did,” you echo. “Thank you for the wonderful dance, your majesty.” 

Kuei smirks knowingly between the two of you, bowing before taking his leave. 

“The pleasure was all mine, my lady,” he says in parting. “It’s rare that I have such an excellent partner.” 

Zuko’s arm locks around your waist, skirting you to the edge of the dance floor where he stands stiffly, holding you in place in front of him. You let out a soft giggle, resting your hands on his chest. 

“I thought you didn’t want to learn how to dance with an audience?” you prod, starting to sway in time with the music. Zuko does the same, his body drifting along in sync with yours. 

“I wouldn’t enjoy the party if I sat through it,” he explains, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. You quirk a brow, grinning teasingly at him. 

“Sure,” you say. “It definitely didn’t have anything to do with me dancing so close with another man.” 

“Not at all,” Zuko replies. His hand at the small of your back clutches you a little tighter, giving himself away. “It looked like fun and I wanted to join in.” 

You roll your eyes, smirking as you take a step back from him, lacing your fingers with his. 

“Let’s find Aang,” you suggest. “He can help me teach you the dance we did at our wedding.” 

For the rest of the evening, you, Aang, Toph, and Zuko occupy a small corner of the dance floor, guiding the Firelord with the steps of your favorite traditional Water Tribe dance. He’s nervous, moving with rigid gestures and clearly unsure of what his body is supposed to do when set to music, but he tries, watching every move you make with rapt attention. By the end of the night he has the dance memorized, and you twirl in time with him as Aang cheers him on, Toph laughing beside him at the ridiculousness of the scene; Kuei even joins in, rousing Bosco from his nap and dancing with the bear on his two hind legs, sending the entire ballroom into gleeful fits. 

“You’re better at this than you think, you know,” you tell Zuko when you’re left alone, dancing with him much the same way you danced with the king earlier in the night. “I noticed at our wedding that you have great rhythm.” 

Zuko blushes, his lips curling into a timid smile. 

“I’m a fighter, not a dancer,” he says. 

“They’re not that different,” you shrug. “From what I’ve seen of fire bending, it’s a lot like dancing.” 

Zuko hums, gently turning you so that your chest is pressed against his, his hand resting firmly at your waist. 

“Maybe it’s the music lessons my mother forced me to take when I was a kid,” he muses. “Uncle still keeps asking me to play the tsungi horn for him when we’re together.” 

“You play the tsungi horn?” you exclaim, eyebrows raising in excitement. “You should play for both of us sometime!” 

Zuko groans, immediately switching the dance so he can pass you off to Aang. 

You lean against the sitting room in your guest suite, watching the lights of Ba Sing Se as they flicker with the movement of its people. The world looks dreamlike from where you sit, as if it's been turned upside down; a black expanse of sky hangs above a sea of stars, and you float between the two, dizzy with the surrealism. 

Zuko emerges from the bedroom, having changed into his pajamas after giving you the chance to do the same. He crosses the room to where you sit, resting a hand on your shoulder. 

“You coming to bed?” he asks. You nod, standing and following him back into the bedroom. 

Zuko allows you to slip between she sheets before him, giving you a few moments to get comfortable before crawling in beside you, keeping to his side of the bed. Even though the mattress is large enough to fit another couple between you, you can still feel the warmth of his skin spreading across the fabric below, feel the weight of his body sharing the same space as yours. Your heart flutters against your ribs, making your breathing shallow. 

“I had fun tonight,” Zuko whispers into the darkness around you. “Thank you for teaching me how to dance.” 

“I had fun, too,” you reply. “I can teach you the dance people do for Water Tribe weddings; I wish we could’ve done it at ours.” 

“I’d like that. I’m sorry we didn’t have much Water Tribe tradition when we got married… We should go back and have a ceremony there. I’d like to see you in a Water Tribe wedding gown.” 

A shiver runs through your veins, heating your skin as if a fire has been lit beneath it. You roll over to face him, making out his silhouette against the rest of the shadows in the room. 

“I’m glad you asked me to marry you,” you admit to him, the manic jitters in your chest rising to your throat. “I don’t think anyone else could treat me better.” 

Zuko reaches his hand towards you, finding yours beneath the blankets and curling his fingers with yours. For a moment you forget that your relationship was arranged, feeling as if you’re lovers instead of leaders, tasked with repairing a world that’s been shattered since long before you were born. 

“I’m glad you agreed,” Zuko answers. “I was afraid you’d hate my guts because I stalked your brother and sister for six months when we were teenagers.” 

You release a breath of laughter, the pressure in your body unraveling with it. Zuko’s thumb runs tenderly across your knuckles, and you forget that anyone else in the world exists except for the two of you. 

“Goodnight, Zuko,” you murmur. 

“Goodnight,” he hums back to you. “Sleep well.” 

You wake early in the morning with his arm draped over your waist, your head tucked under his chin with your cheek pressed to his chest. You drift back to sleep to his quiet, blissful snores, his heartbeat pulsing in time with your own.

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[halfway-happyyy]

An Invisible String - Part 3

AN: This is something I’ve been working on for quite a while now, and it is a little different than my usual pieces. It will probably be about three or four installments. If you enjoy it (or even if you don’t) (I don’t do too many chaptered pieces… like, ever) please feel free to send feedback. Warnings include: mentions of suicidal tendencies, depression, anxiety, past mentions of domestic physical and mental abuse. Loosely inspired by the music video for ‘High Hopes’ by Kodaline.

Synopsis: Depressed, suicidal and recently single Alexander Skarsgård is at the end of his rope. But he is about to find out that no matter where you come from, what your pain looks like, or what your truth is… The universe will always fight for souls to be together.

Part 1 Part 2

Specific trigger warnings for this chapter: tw: mentions of past domestic abuse

Alexander Skarsgård had never been in the habit of letting fate amass space in his life. As far as he was concerned, which was not extremely far at all, everything that had happened to him thus far in his life was just exactly the way it was supposed to be. People left; it was something that he had grown accustomed to a lifetime ago. Maybe they ended up coming back, maybe they did not- regardless, it ceased to be his business a long time ago. He had made a silent promise to Thea that evening, under the glow of the pub lamp, and with her small hand tucked into his much larger one, like so many times in the past. He promised her that as long as he still had the air in his lungs, he would never chase another ghost again.

“Thank you for dinner this evening,” Thea smiled. Alexander watched her in the low light of the hallway lamp. Her hand was poised on the round, brass knob of the bedroom door and he found himself aching to ask her to sleep next to him. Though sex could not be further from his mind, the thought of having her lay next to him, the sheer warmth that would radiate off her seemed too sweet an opportunity to pass up.

Alexander bent his head toward her, a small smile pulled at the edges of his lips. “It wasn’t much I’m afraid, but it was nice to spend an evening with you, Thea.”

“Goodnight, Alex. Sleep well.”

He watched her disappear into the room, listened for the now-familiar sound of the lock turning on the other side. Though he wondered briefly why she was still in the habit of doing that, he could understand it better now. “Goodnight Thea.” Retreating to the stillness of his room, he sat perched on the edge of the bed while raindrops raced each other down the length of his windowpane. He let his mind wander back to an hour ago, to the secluded booth at the back of the pub. He allowed himself to revel in the feeling of her weight against him, of the tantalizing familiarity of it all. He remembered thinking that he could be content to stay like that for the remainder of his days. That if nothing else in the world made sense to him at all, she was the one thing that did. Eventually, when the rain had dissipated, he stood from the edge of his bed and rid himself of the days clothing until he was clad only in a pair of black briefs. Pulling back the edge of the charcoal comforter, he slid into the blissfully cool sheets and pulled the blanket back over his bare chest. He stared up at the darkened ceiling above him for what felt like hours, hoping in vain like every night, that sleep would come for him fast and deep. He could not be sure how long he was under before a blood-curdling scream ripped through the blanketed silence of the night. It roused him immediately and he shot up in bed like a cannon, his chest heaving under the duress of equal parts fear and adrenaline. A slick sheen of perspiration covered every square inch of his body as he fought to take a proper breath of air. Again, it happened, and his stomach dropped with dread. “Thea,” Tearing the covers from his body, he leapt out of bed, and tore open his own door, frantic and wide awake. “Thea, are you alright?” He pounded on her door and waited for a response. When he received none, he pressed his ear right up against the paint-chipped wood and listened carefully. She was sobbing so hard now, that she could barely get a proper breath in.

“No, don’t- Please, no!” She pleaded, her voice was raw from screaming, and painfully desperate.

“Thea, I need you to open this door right now.” Alexander’s voice was firm but teetered precariously on the edge of breaking. Again, another earth-shattering scream emanated from beyond the door and he knew immediately what he needed to do next. Taking a deep breath, he stepped back into the hallway and in one swift motion, came charging at it with his leg out. The door stood less of a chance than he thought and shattered from the lock and hinge on impact, swinging open and falling against the closet. His hand immediately went to the light switch to the left of where he stood, he flicked it on and squinted as it bathed the room in a soft, yellow glow. He was not sure what he expected to find when the light found her- was not sure if an intruder had made its way through Thea’s window now, or if they had broken in earlier. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized that she was alone. She was sat up straight in her bed, her legs curled up tight beneath her chin. Her shoulders shook silently under the weight of her sobs and Alexander immediately rushed to her side and threw his arms around her body. “Shh, it’s okay Thea, I have you.” He rocked her against him for an unknowable amount of time, placed periodic kisses to her temple and cheek. He tried to brush the tears from her face, but they were merely replaced by fresh ones moments later. “I’ve got you Thea. You’re safe with me.” He could not be sure how many times he repeated himself in the growing morning light. He just desperately needed her to know that he was there, that he was not about to go anywhere and that she was not alone. Thea eventually grew silent right around the time that her clock read ‘4:47 AM’, her soft, measured breaths told him that she had finally given in to sleep, and he was relieved. An hour passed after that, and he gingerly moved away from her to return to his own bedroom, but she stirred only slightly to say,

“Please don’t go.”

He hesitated in the threshold, but could hear the earnestness in her tone, could hear the precise fragility of it, and he nodded his head. “Okay, Thea.” Padding around to the vacant side of the bed, he slid in behind her and pulled the quilted blanket up over their bodies. Only when he was certain that she was asleep again, did he let his own heavy eyelids slide shut. His sleep, like most nights, was heavily fragmented by dreams broken up by the sound of Thea’s scream that he could not hide from no matter how hard he tried. When he awoke a few hours later, she was still fast asleep. A golden yellow sun shone through the cracks in the curtains above her bed and shone beams of warm light over her sleeping figure. Like this, it was difficult to imagine the terror that had plagued her only mere hours earlier. His gaze drifted from her hair, which cascaded down her freckled shoulders and stopped somewhere near the middle of her back. A small, dark shadow lay just beneath a piece of her hair that caught his eye. Alexander reached toward her to brush the hair away from her back, and swallowed hard. Bruises of all shapes and sizes scattered her back like a warzone. Some seemed about a week fresh, violet and utterly angry, while some were almost fully healed, the only evidence that they were there at all was in the faded yellow ring that that encircled them. He let his fingertips traverse the many bruises, but was careful where he touched her marred skin, for he could not be sure if they still caused her physical pain or not.

“It’s okay, Alex.” Thea whispered.

Alexander’s hand dropped from her back and he discovered that any moisture in his mouth had long since evaporated, and he swallowed hard again. “Did he do this to you?”

“I’m okay now, Alex.” Thea whispered again.

“This is so far from okay, Thea.” His stomach lurched, and he wondered briefly if he would be sick. He closed his eyes and took a few steadying breaths, and the moment passed. In its place, he considered for a second what it might feel like to wrap his fists around the neck of the man who had subjected her to this, to see the life slowly fade from his eyes… Alexander shook his head and cleared his throat. “This is not okay, Thea.” He repeated.

She rubbed a hand up and down the length of her arm slowly, as if to ward off a sudden chill. “I’m safe now, Alex. I feel safe here. With you.”

For now, and despite the immense trepidation that he felt, he would have to accept that.

“What do you feel like doing today, Thea?” They had risen for the day in silence and in separate rooms. Breakfast had also been a quiet affair, the urge to say anything had not plagued either of them. He was tired, but it was the kind of tired that seeped into his bones and made him weary of his own home. He thought that it might be beneficial for them both to have some reprieve from the house today.

She glanced up from the steaming cup of coffee in her grasp and shrugged. For whatever reason she had gravitated to that one cracked mug since she had arrived, and Alexander simply thought of it as hers now. “It’s a beautiful day,” She mused. “Reminds me of when my father used to take my sister and I to the beach.” Alexander followed her gaze out the window, at the glorious shade of blue of the mid-morning sky. He watched the trees in the backyard sway in the early June breeze, and thought for a moment that he might really like to be near the ocean today.

“Why don’t we go?” He asked.

She swallowed the last sip of her coffee, her eyes wide in mild surprise. “Beg your pardon?”

Alexander shrugged. “Let’s pack a lunch and head to the beach today.” He watched in awe as her face curved up into a wide smile, and he figured that maybe someday he would make a list of all the things he said that made her smile like that. “What do you say?”

“Sure, Alex.”

He lived about a two-hour drive from the beach in which Thea had referred to earlier, and he found that he was grateful to be able to put some mileage between himself and the unsavory morning that they had just endured. Though he remained proud of the house that he and his wife had once shared, he figured that he might like to sell it someday soon. That he would like to settle somewhere a little closer to Stockholm, somewhere a little closer to the comfort of his family. Thea had fallen asleep fifteen minutes into their drive and Alexander found that he had to fight to keep his attention on the road and on the traffic around him. She slept peacefully for the time being, which he was thankful for. When the vehicle trundled to a halt at a spot in the gravel parking lot thirty minutes later, he was surprised to see that it was mostly empty save for one or two couples scattered haphazardly along the shoreline. “Thea,” He murmured and rested a warm hand atop her forearm. When her eyes remained closed, he pressed a little further and gave her a small shake. “Thea, we’re here.” She inhaled deeply and as her eyes slid open, Alexander watched her pupils constrict against the sudden barrage of light. She smiled sleepily at him, and it was all he could do not to lean over and kiss her deeply.

“Hi, Alex.”

“Hello,” He smiled back at her. “You ready?”

She nodded her head and unbuckled her belt, letting herself out of the side door and stretching her arms high above her head. Alexander followed her suit, and grabbed a couple of towels, a thick checkered blanket, and the picnic basket from the backseat. He followed her down to an uninhabited stretch of sand where he shook the blanket out and watched the ocean breeze pick it up and carry it out before him. He settled it down over the sand and sat down, setting the wicker basket off to his side. His eyes slid shut as he raised his face to the heavens and inhaled deeply the briny scent of saltwater. To him, it was nostalgic and immediately comforting. Thea stood a few feet away at the water’s edge; she had one of his worn, blue beach towels draped loosely around her shoulders that billowed out behind her in the wind.

“God, it’s beautiful isn’t it?”

Of course, she was referring to the view before her; to the vastness of the Baltic sea as it stretched on for what felt like forever before her very eyes. But his only view now, and certainly the only one that really mattered, was of her solitary figure at the waters edge. “It sure is,” He murmured. He watched her approach the water with trepidation and though it was June, it was only just, and he knew that the temperature would be far from comfortable. “Go on then.” He encouraged her.

She turned back to him with a smile and let the towel fall from her shoulders. Alexander watched the wind carry it out a little further away, and finally set it down a few feet from where he sat. “This isn’t going to be like yesterday,” She giggled.

“Yeah? Well, we’ll see about that.”

She waded out a little further out into the ocean so that the water came up around the middle of her calves. “It isn’t warm.” She shivered.

Alexander laughed from his perch on the blanket. “Didn’t think it would be.”

“You don’t want to join me?” She asked with a wink.

Alexander glanced down at his jeans and shrugged his shoulders. “Would you like me to?”

She turned in the sand, and held a hand over her eyes to shield herself from the sun’s glare, and nodded her head. “As a matter of fact, I would.”

Alexander smiled and pushed himself up from the blanket. “Well alright then.” He stood in his spot and leaned down to roll up the bottoms of his jeans so that they sat snug just below his knees. He enjoyed the feeling of the sand between his toes, reveled in the feeling of the sun as it shone down on his back and basked him in a warm glow. He stepped into the frigid water without hesitation and joined her where she stood. For a moment he wrestled with himself on what he was about to do; the moment passed, and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, his hands falling to rest just below her sternum. He could not miss the way that her body immediately molded to his own, could not miss the contented sigh that exited her mouth as he held her to him. He placed a soft kiss to the top of her head and dipped his head lower so that his lips were mere inches away from the shell of her ear. “I’m happy that you found your way back, Thea.”

She turned in his arms, her gaze lingered on his lips, and then met his own and she smiled. “I’m happy too, Alex.” She reached up first, though it was difficult because her had feet begun to sink in the sand. Alexander tightened his grasp around her waist and held her to him as their lips connected in a kiss that had been in the works since the beginning of everything. It was the innate push and pull of a love that dwindled a lifetime ago, but never fully burnt out. She tasted so familiar to him that it caused an ache to twinge somewhere deep in his heart and he deepened the kiss. She had found her way back to him and he had no idea who to thank for it. They held each other for a long while, both equally needing the comfort that the embrace brought them. “Are you hungry? How about some food, hm?” Alexander felt her shiver against him, and rubbed his hands up and down the length of her freckled arms to create warmth. He smiled when he felt her nod her head against his chest. They walked hand in hand to the towel a few feet from the shore and Thea settled down to eat her sandwich in between the crook of his open legs. They had not packed much in the way of food; two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, a bag of multicolored garden-grown carrots, and two water bottles. It was enough, but Alexander found that his appetite for food was nearly nil. Instead, he was simply content just to watch her eat as he held her to him, his mind still buzzing from the kiss that they had just shared. She finished her food in silence and when she was done, Alexander cleared his throat. “Thea?”

“Hm?” She murmured.

“The situation this morning…” He could feel her stiffen against him and he winced. “You were dreaming about him, weren’t you?”

She hesitated before she nodded her head. “Yeah, I was.”

“Does that happen often?”

Thea started to wring her hands in her lap- a nervous habit that she had yet to outgrow. “More often than I’d like,” She admitted quietly. “Last night was the worst one yet, though.”

Alexander hugged her tightly to him, his lips ghosted the top of her head. “You’re safe with me now, you know, that right?” He pressed his lips to her cheek. “As long as we’re together- you’re safe. I would never let anything happen to you, Thea.”

She rubbed a hand reassuringly over the top of his forearm. “I know, Alex.”

They remained at the beach until the sun began to sink low over the Baltic sea, the shore now entirely void of everyone except an old man and his golden retriever. Alexander gazed at Thea from his spot at the blanket. The pockets of her jean shorts bowed out at the sides, bursting with the tiny treasures that she had stumbled across. He watched her pick up rocks of all different shapes and sizes, watched her run her fingers over the smooth ridges in scattered shells. Alexander watched the old man toss a piece of driftwood out into the ocean and his four-legged companion dive in after it, happily. A twinkle of familiar laughter sounded in the distance and he saw Thea drop to her knees in the sand, her arms wrapped loosely around the dog’s neck as he waggled his blonde tail in unbridled excitement. “Hi Max,” He heard Thea giggle. She exchanged a few words with the man and with a sincere goodbye, scratched the dog once more behind his ears and made her way for the blanket. “Did you see that dog?” She asked, breathlessly. Alexander did not think she had ever looked more beautiful. Her hair was windswept from the ocean breeze, her cheeks pink from the slight, early evening chill. But best of all, he loved the way her eyes twinkled merrily when she spoke of the new friend she had made.

“I did see that dog, Thea. He looked like the best boy.”

She beamed at him. “He was, Alex.”

Thea had fallen asleep on the ride home like Alexander had predicted that she would, and mid-sentence about the dog that she had just fallen head over heels for. He had hardly minded a bit, because minutes before she nodded off, she took hold of his hand in hers, and did not let go until the car glided to a halt in front of the house. “Thea, we’re home.” He murmured and placed a kiss to her temple. As he carried her half-asleep figure into the house, he wondered for a moment if maybe he ought to leave a little more room for fate after all.

[collecting-stories]

Ursa Major - Kiara Carrera

Request: date idea with Kiara or John B: camping in the backyard or on the dock, one sleeping bag and making up stories about the constellations

A/N: I did Kiara cause I don’t get enough Kiara requests

Outer Banks Masterlist

///

You had unzipped the sleeping bag from that Kiara had brought from home, laying it out on the dock behind your house along with the quilt from your bed. Lanterns lit the small area and you’d carried down some old throw pillows that your parents wouldn’t absolutely murder you for using. 

You both wanted to go camping but since Kiara parents nixed the idea and told her she wasn’t allowed to leave the OBX you’d decided that backyard camping would have to do. You’d set up a tent at the end of the dock in case it rained but both of you thought that just camping out under the stars would be better, especially since it was a surprisingly cool night. The last week had been nothing but humid weather and you were thrilled to finally have some breathable air back.  

“This looks amazing.” Kiara called as she stepped onto the dock. She was carrying a portable grill and her backpack.  

“Thank you, I’m a pretty skilled camp ground...preparer. I don’t know.” You shook your head, “what’d you bring?”

“S’mores.” Kiara held up the grill as evidence. “All the stuff for it’s in my bag.”

The grill was set up away from the blankets on the edge of the dock. You sat facing each other, mirroring positions with one leg tucked in and the other hanging off the end of the dock, feet brushing against the water as you roasted marshmallows. Kiara liked them just browned while you singed them all until the outside was a black shell.  

“I don’t know how you eat that.” She admonished as you pulled the marshmallow off the skewer with your graham crackers.  

“This is the only way to eat them.” You replied, taking a bit. Kiara laughed when part of the marshmallow escaped the sandwich, dripping onto your chin. Careful of the fire, she leaned over and kissed your chin, eating off the leftover. “Thank you.” You smiled, kissing her before she moved back to her own spot on the dock.  

“I’ve seen kids eat neater than you.” Kiara teased, taking a bite of her own smore.

“Maybe I did it on purpose, did you ever think of that?” You asked, watching a new smore catch on fire. You blew it out, inspecting the level of char. “I mean I got you to kiss me.”

“Yeah cause I don’t kiss you all the time.” She laughed.  

You stuck your tongue out at her before turning your focus back toward making yourself another smore. While you did Kiara turned her attention out toward the marsh, looking up at the sky in the distance. She had big plans to travel someday but there wasn’t anything like this view. The OBX had some of the best clear skies, especially, it felt like, in the summer. The stars were bright, clear, and visible in the distance.  

“What’s up?” You asked, poking her knee with the handle of your marshmallow skewer.  

She looked back at you and smiled, “the stars just look so beautiful.”  

“Well,” You said, laying down your skewer and standing up, “turn that thing off and come join me here in the stargazing area,” you did a sweep with your hand over the blankets and pillows before plopping down in the middle of them. Kiara laughed, finishing off her smore and turning off the grill so that she could join you on the blankets.

“Alright, I’m here,” she said, stepping onto the blankets and lowering herself down next to you. “Now what? Are you gonna wow me with John B facts about the constellations?”

“John B knows one fact about the constellations that he learned on a field trip to the planetarium and he’s never forgotten it.” You replied. “I know actual astronomy facts about the constellations because your girlfriend is a genius.”

“Alright genius girlfriend, wow me with your facts. I wanna know it all.” Kiara teased.  

“Well, since we’re technically in the northern hemisphere we’ll see constellations like Ursa Major, Cassiopeia, and Ursa Minor. I want to go to the southern hemisphere someday to see Centaurus, it’s my favorite constellation-”

“Oh my god...you’re like the astronomy version of Pope.”

“Shut up!” You laughed, “astronomy is way cooler than Pathology. And someday when they’re elevator to space is finally constructed, I’m not taking you.”

“No, please, I can’t possibly handle you leaving me here on earth Zenon.” Kiara teased, propping herself up enough to look at you.  

You looked over at her for a second before turning back to the sky. “That constellation is Ursa Major, the bear. Now, let me wow you with my mythology skills. The ancient Greeks saw the bear in the sky and believed that Zeus had been caught in an affair with Callisto. In a jealous rage Hera had cursed Callisto, turning her into a bear. It was then Zeus who put her and her son Arcas into the sky. Her son becoming Ursa Minor or the little bear.”  

“Damn, that would suck.” Kiara laid back beside you, looking up to the constellation that you pointed out.  

“JB could tell you that the big dipper is part of Ursa Major but that’s hardly her most exciting celestial object.”

“Celestial object.” Kiara laughed, “you sound like a teacher.”

“I’m literally gonna go in the tent and never come out.” You replied.  

“I’m sorry, I love you, you’re such a nerd. A beautiful, amazing, nerd.” Kiara pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder. “tell me more, I promise, no interruption.”

-

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[lemonyellowlogic]

the harder the rain, the sweeter the sun: chapter twenty-four

-o-

masterlist

first

previous

-o-

chapter twenty-four: the nightmare

“Alright everyone, that’s enough for today!”

Emile landed in front of the group, Logan grumpily following behind him. The two had been leading the group for the last hour or so after Logan complained of his wins feeling cramped. The look on Roman’s face as he watched the two fly into the sky was hilarious.

Logan smirked at the memory, but he shook his head, listening to Emile speak.

“We made quite a bit of progress today, enough that I feel good to say that we’ll arrive at the village by tomorrow if we do the same.”

Logan’s mouth pursed, knowing they’re going to stay with humans, but all of the others seemed...excited? Logan couldn’t fathom why. 

Humans took away his mother and father when he was just a fledgling, and then they attacked his family for a second time just a week ago. How can he be comfortable around Roman when his people were the ones to destroy his life?

Logan was (begrudgingly) aware it wasn’t Roman’s fault and he didn’t have anything to do with the attack, but he’s still dangerous, and Logan didn’t trust him. 

“We’re splitting up you five in the tents again, but this time, we’re changing it.”

Emile gave a pointed glance at Virgil and Logan, who had gotten into a loud argument the night before while everyone else was asleep and it ended with everyone awake and purple magic shooting into the air.

Diego and Remy were worried that the magic notified humans, but no, they were lucky. Logan felt his face redden at the mention, and he looked away even as Remy snickered.

“Roman, Logan, you two go in a tent, Pat, Dee, Virgil’s with you.”

Logan’s eyes widened and his brow furrowed and he opened his mouth too loudly to oppose this, but Roman cut him to it, “Um...Emile, Logan and I do not exactly...get along. Are you sure…?”

Emile held up a hand, “The two of you can get along for one day, no questions, okay?”

Roman glanced at Logan, who sneered back, and he quickly turned away with a sigh, “Alright. I’ll start on the fire then.”

Emile hugged Roman tightly, and let the boy go to do his job.

Logan walked up to his uncle, “Emile, you seriously cannot-”

“Logan,” The older avian sighed, clasping his nephew’s shoulder, “The two of you are going to have to get along someday, and you refuse to even speak with him. Just...try, please?”

Logan shrugged his hand off, wings raising as he glared at his uncle, “How can you still trust him? His people attacked, killed ours! My parents, Anton, they’re dead! I-I held his body, you held it! How can you pretend it didn’t happen? Like it doesn’t matter? Like they don’t?”

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, and he roughly rubbed his face with his black tunic. Emile’s eyes filled with sadness, “Logan, I know how you feel. I’m hurting, I’m hurting as much as you, but I’m pushing through it. They would want their deaths to make a difference, and I’m not going to scorn them by letting my pain consume myself. “ 

Emile kissed his forehead, “Please, Logan, don’t let it consume you.”

Logan pursed his lips and stood for a moment before looking into his uncle's eyes, his own filling quickly with water and shaking his head, flying into the woods to get firewood without a word. Emile sighed, running his hands through his brown hair and roughly tugging on it before flying towards the river.

When Logan came back, he threw the wood in front of Roman’s feet, ignoring the human’s pained yelp as he stomped into their now shared tent. He came out to eat, but rushed back without a word, his upset aura making the others stay away.

Roman crept into their tent an hour later, having stayed away as long as he could, talking to the others until they too went to sleep. Logan lay awake, but tucked away, as far away from the other blanket as possible. Roman sighed, but didn’t say anything, laying down and trying to fall asleep.

Roman only took a few minutes before he slept, and Logan stared at the ceiling, his lips pursed in an attempt for them to not quiver.

He missed his fathers, Sloane and Corbin. They were all he knew, and now he didn’t even know if they were alive. Emile should be furious, but he's just numb. Numb like Anton. Logan feels bile rise in his throat at the memory of his friend, his best friend, dead in his arms.

Logan shook his head, refusing to think about that. He couldn’t...it hurt. Logan sat up, his hand knocking back and forth in the air as he attempted to breathe. Logan knew he wasn’t having a panic attack, but he was close. A minute later, he calmed down, and he gulped air out of the tent, his hand slowing but still hanging in the air.

Logan sighed, letting his hand fall as the rest of him did, laying down far away from the human and falling into a restless sleep.

--

Fire raged all around, and Logan screamed. Emile stared up at Logan, bleeding. His wings were broken and warped, his eyes empty and mouth open. Saliva pooled in his mouth and his chest wouldn’t move. 

Fire raged all around and Logan screamed, clutching his uncle and sobbing. He turned, as he yelled for help, and saw Remy face down dead next to him, their lilac hair a mess on the dirt, fire slowly consuming them. Logan stood up, running, and saw Diego and Patton holding each other, their beautiful scales popping off their burning faces. 

Fire raged all around and Logan saw Virgil, who crawled closer and closer to Logan. He stepped back, and Virgil screamed out, looking at Logan with fear, and he tried shifting into a dragon, but he was too weak, and the fire got him too.

Logan felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to see Roman, who looked down at his face with fire burning in his eyes. Fire raged all around. Blood dribbled from his mouth and flames followed it.

“I didn’t mean it.”

Logan screamed as Roman pressed his lips to Logan’s, and Logan was consumed by his flames.

Fire raged all around.

--

Logan screamed as he sat up in the tent, his wings spread out wings and flapping wildly as he hyperventilated. Roman shot up, looking around panicked and blearily, before spotting Logan. Logan held his fist to his mouth as his wings beat furiously, his sobs muffled. The air was getting rough in the tent, but Roman still scooted in front of Logan, and clasped his hands.

“It-it’s okay, Logan, it’s just me, it’s okay.”

“No, no, no,” He sobbed, shaking his head but not pulling away from Roman’s hands, instead clutching them tighter.

Roman patiently shushed him, carefully wrapping his arms around Logan and holding him close. Logan struggled for a moment before going limp, his wings falling at his back. Diego had run to their tent and had the flap open, his eyes darting back and forth, but Roman just waved him away quickly. 

Diego's brow furrowed, but he looked at Logan up and down, and his eyes grew sympathetic and understanding. He nodded, and Roman heard him whispering to the others outside. Roman ignored them, focusing on Logan.

“I’m not going to hurt you, no one will.”

“They're dead, they're all dead. Anton was murdered, Roman, he was murdered and no one cares! My fathers, they’re gone, everyone’s gone…”

Roman cupped the back of his head in his hand, and he softly whispered, “I’m so sorry, Logan. An-Anton didn’t deserve that. I’m so sorry humans...my people did that to you, but I will never hurt you.”

Logan shook in his arms, “I...I don’t trust you.”

Roman’s face grimaced at the sting, but he still held Logan, “I know, I’m going to keep trying to show you thought. I promise.”

“...I believe you.”

Logan’s breath had calmed down, and the tears had slowed, but he still held onto Roman. Roman was the first to pull back, and Logan’s face was flushed with red as he wiped his face. 

Roman held onto his shoulders and had the avian look into his eyes, “I don’t know much, Logan, but I believe your dads are alive. Emile said they were gone when you went to find them?”

Logan shallowly and slowly nodded, and Roman let out a breath.

“I know enough about my kingdom’s military habits, and I know that during conquests they don’t often take prisoners and they leave the dead. If your parents weren't there they probably escaped. I don’t know when, but you’ll see them again, Logan, I promise.”

Logan shoved the human off of him and took a deep breath, “You’re saying many promises about things you don’t know, human.”

Roman gave a weak smile, “I know, but believe me, okay?”

Logan pursed his lips and gave a pause before nodding, “I don’t trust you, Roman, but I’ll try.”

He smiled again, this one stronger, “Thank you, Logan. I really appreciate that.” He yawned, “Do you think you can go back to bed?”

He bit his lip, “Maybe.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Logan scrunched his face and felt himself blush, “Could...you make sure the fire is extinguished?”

“Of course,” Roman squeezed his shoulder, before crawling outside the tent. He was immediately ambushed by the rest of the group, but Logan didn’t care enough to listen. He laid back down, and held his arms close to himself, burying his head in his quilt and letting his wings blanket him.

Minutes later, he heard Roman enter and sigh, much like at sundown, but now Logan wasn’t as angry or upset. Roman laid down again and quickly fell asleep, and Logan stretched his black and blue wing out, letting the tips of it brush against Roman’s arm. Logan breathed constantly, hearing all the others go back to bed. 

Logan didn’t trust Roman completely, but he did enough to know he wasn’t actively in danger around him. Logan was glad that Roman and the people he still cared about were still safe, and maybe one day, Logan thought, Roman could be added to that list too.

-o-

a/n: so uhhh how’d y’all feel about the first kiss in this story to be in a dream and also not real? because it’s gonna take a long ass time for them to actually kiss, so buckle your seatbeats, kiddos.

-o-

next

[kaitoujokerscans]

Showdown in the Dark Night! Joker vs Shadow CH4

<4> The Events of Last Month

Obscured by thick clouds, an airship with two shark heads cruised the sky. It was Spade's vessel, the Twin Thunder Shark. In the bedroom, Spade had been laid to rest on the mattress atop clean sheets and had been tucked in with a white down quilt. His breathing was ragged and quick even in his sleep. At the bedside was Dark Eye, facial bandages removed, looking down at Spade with concern.

Dark Eye's inner identity was a handsome girl by the name of Ai. She seemed to be slightly older than Spade and Queen. Her emerald green hair was cut into a short bob, and her similarly green eyes watched over Spade trepidly.

"Is he all right?" inquired Queen worriedly from the side.

"He seems to have calmed a bit. He's been working nonstop without rest recently, so he must have been tired..." Ai replied as she looked at the thermometer. It was only a slight fever; she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Does Spade-san get fevers like this often?" Rose asked from beside Queen with concern. She and Queen had brought Spade all the way here from the field where he passed out.

"Yes, he frequently becomes ill when he stresses himself. He should recover if left in peace for some time, but..." Ai replied.

"I knew it... he pushed himself too far when he went into the water to save me..." Rose said remorsefully.

"It wasn't your fault. Spade just gets fevers easily. It happens all the time, so don't worry about it!" Queen patted Rose's shoulder to cheer her up and called out to Roko, who was watching the security cameras. "Roko, how's it?"

"I rolled back the footage, and it looks like Shadow was the one who took Komachi's Gilded Chrysanthemum."

"Thought so..." Queen put her finger to her chin. "Then the Gilded Chrysanthemum isn't in the manor anymore, right? Why are there still so many officers around?"

"It's probably because of him." Roko pointed to the screen with his long ears.

The screen displayed a large saloon. A giant cage was set in the middle of the room, and within the cage was a boy in a familiar red suit tied to a chair.

"It's Joker...!"

"It seems Oniyama caught him. He stole the treasure again from Shadow and ended up in there."

"If that's the case, then why did they put him in there? Couldn't they have taken him to the police station?"

"There's a reason for that."

"I see... he doesn't have the Gilded Chrysanthemum."

Joker had probably hidden it somewhere before he was caught. As long as he didn't have the goods that Joker stole, it wouldn't be a perfect arrest. Oniyama wanted to capture Joker and get back the Gilded Chrysanthemum.

Queen folded her arms. "Do you know where Joker hid it?"

"No, that I don't know. He was caught in a net and brought to where he is now."

"So that means we've got to ask the man himself..." Queen murmured and glared at Joker on screen. Joker was whistling with his usual expression of feigned ignorance. "Okay, I'm going to Joker."

"Eehh, on your own?" Roko turned to her worriedly.

"I can handle that much. They didn't pose much of a challenge earlier!" Queen answered with confidence, but Roko was still uneasy.

"Yes, but..."

Rose interrupted from beside Roko. "Then will you take me with you?"

"What?"

"I want to go there too..." Rose told Queen as she side-eyed the saloon on screen.

"Hmm... so you can meet Hayami?" Besides Joker and Oniyama, Hayami was also on screen keeping guard. He was talking to Joker as he slowly rolled his wheelchair around the room.

"Yes... there's something I have to apologize to him about..."

"Apologize?"

"What happened?" Roko asked out of genuine curiosity.

After a few moments, Rose began to tell her story little by little.

§§§

One month ago, Shadow and Rose were in Singapore. A pricey gem called the "Black Opal" was to change hands at the fancy Paradise Hotel. They had learned that Joker was after the gem and came in high spirits.

Shadow and Rose arrived via the roof of the sprawling hotel.

"Rose, are you really going to be okay?"

"I said, leave it to me. You should keep it together, Oniichan."

"Yeah, no problem. I'll invite them to the 𝒹𝒶𝓇𝓀𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈." Shadow replied in his unique manner of speech, flapped his cape, and jumped down towards the entrance. Rose stayed on the roof and entered the building through the ducts.

Usually, when Shadow worked, he would violently break in with Bloody Rain and take the treasure by force. He wasn't very good at making elaborate plans in the first place, so from time to time he ran into unexpected difficulties on the job. There were also many times when his opponents put up a tough resistance to his frenzied attacks. That was where Rose came in.

Rose's powers would freeze anyone threatening Shadow with a gun, while Shadow used the opportunity to find the treasure and leave the place behind. On these occasions, Rose would take great caution to make sure she wasn't seen by anyone.

Nowadays, the two of them often used this tactic to steal. Despite that, there were times when Rose thought she wanted to try sneaking her way to the treasure's hiding place and steal it with her own hands. She imagined herself stopping the security guards and then audaciously and elegantly taking the treasure away, wishing that it would come true someday. And today's mission gave her that very chance.

Aware that Joker and Shadow were targeting the treasure, Singapore's police had readied a stockpile of weapons and set up a solid defense formation. Shadow had therefore decided to create a diversion around the hotel and distract the eyes of the police. During the confusion, Rose would sneak in and steal the treasure, or so the plan went.

"No! Absolutely not!" Shadow had immediately objected when Rose had first proposed the strategy. "It's dangerous for you to go in alone. There's a bunch of armed people inside."

"But I'll be able to drop in unnoticed if I'm on my own. Oniichan, you make uproars wherever you go. You'll put the police on even higher guard."

"Ghh, I can't deny that... But your power has a limit."

"I'll be fine. I have a proper strategy. I've thought of a way to minimize how much I have to use my power. While you're going as wild as you want outside, Oniichan, I'll bring out the treasure."

"But..."

"Or can you not trust me? You could let me handle things on my own once in a while!" Rose's eyes shone accusingly.

"Urk..." Her menacing look made Shadow shrink back.

--One time, Rose had made a hideous, awful-looking dinner. On the spur of the moment, Shadow offhandedly commented "Is this edible?". When Rose turned to look at him then, she had the same glint in her eyes as she did now. Shadow's body froze up, and then...

He didn't want to remember what happened after that...

A chill ran up Shadow's spine. "...F-Fine. Just this once."

"Really!? Yay! Thank you, Oniichan!" Rose jumped for joy, her whole face beaming.

I'll show Oniichan I can do it even better than him! Determined, Rose fluttered down from the duct into the hotel laundry room. She flung off her black cloak, revealing an employee uniform underneath. Rose's strategy was to make her way in as a hotel employee. The hotel was heavily staffed, and barely anyone was familiar with all their faces. In short, even if nobody recognized her, it was unlikely she would be exposed.

Rose briskly walked down the hallway, exchanging nods with different people, and made straight for the floor where the treasure was supposed to be. Possibly due to Shadow beginning his rampage outside, it was a chaotic, hasty mess of people inside the hotel.

At last, Rose reached the floor with the treasure without any trouble. This wouldn't have been possible for Shadow. All she had to do now was freeze the police on this floor and steal the treasure.

Rose smiled and peeked around the corner at the treasure room. Two guards stood at its door, and near them was a boy sitting in a wheelchair. He had neat bowl-cut hair and wore a blazer and slacks. He seemed to be about high school-age. The boy was meticulously checking the entrance to the treasure room with a serious look in his eyes.

"Is he with the police too...?" Rose wondered to herself, just as...

"What are you doing there!" A man's bark came from behind her. Rose turned around with a gasp. A stern-faced, brawny officer was standing there.

"U-Um... There was a call from a guest..."

"There shouldn't be any lodgers on this floor. That's suspicious..." The man neared Rose and glared. Just as Rose was focusing power in her hands...

"What's tha problem?" Rose heard a Kansai accent from behind her. She turned around to see that the boy in the wheelchair had come up right behind her. The officer quickly straightened up and told the boy.

"Sir, this employee was acting suspiciously..."

"I was feelin' a bit peckish, so I called up for 'er."

"Eh?"

"Innit right?"

"Eh... ah, yes."

Once Rose answered, the boy faced the officer again. "Case closed. Ya can take it easy."

"Yessir, understood!" The officer presented a respectful salute and walked away.

"Ha ha, did that blindside ya?" Once the officer was out of sight, the boy gave Rose a benign smile.

"Yes..."

"Ya got tha wrong floor. There's nothin' 'ere but treasure and brute armed police."

"I-It does seem like it." The boy appeared to be with the police as well. Moreover, he was ranked high enough to give orders.

"Yer bang on time. I wasn't lying about being peckish, so could ya come with me to tha room?"

"Eh..." Refusing now would arouse suspicions and put her in trouble. Besides, she might be able to overhear something about the security. Rose walked after the boy.

On the way, as Rose pushed the boy's wheelchair, they talked. The boy's name was Hayami Kyoutarou. He was a Japanese detective, but he had corresponded with the owner of the hotel who had passed away about a year ago, and when he heard that Joker was after the owner's treasure, he offered his services. He had also researched Joker and Shadow, the senders of the notices, in great detail...

"Shadow is Joker's rival. I bet I wouldn't be too off ta say that he's the man Joker's scared the most of right now."

"I-Is that so..." Rose wasn't sure what to say, but she didn't get any bad vibes from him. She tended to think of her brother as strict, rambunctious, and simpleminded, but it made her happy to hear someone else acknowledge him.

"Yup, it must feel peachy for a guy like Joker ta have a rival like Shadow hot on his heels. Joker's a smart guy and does everything slick-like, so havin' the bunglin' but zealous Shadow opposite him makes 'em complementary rivals."

"Yes... you might be right." Rose took the opportunity to ask Hayami. "Hayami-san, aren't you zealous about chasing after Joker too?"

"No two ways about it. Deduction's part and parcel of bein' a detective, but I've got loads more zeal than anyone else about solvin' the mysteries nobody else can and seein' the looks on their faces."

"So you do... I had a feeling."

The two of them passed through a glass-windowed passage overlooking the garden. It was illuminated here and there at night, but still it was silent and dim. Shadow must have been rampaging on the other side. The hotel hallway was bright in contrast to the garden's gloom, and the two of them were reflected on the glass as they moved along.

"Hayami-san, I'd like to see one of your deductions."

"Ha ha, ask and ya shall receive." On the glass surface, Hayami's prudent expression crumbled and was replaced by a grin. It was a warmer smile than she had expected.

"...Hayami-san, it's your dream to bring down Joker, isn't it?" Rose asked gently.

"Yup, my brains can't be beat. It's my dream ta make Joker lose in a match of wits. Then I'm gonna catch Joker, no question about it."

"Somehow... I feel like you and Onii-- no, Shadow, resemble each other."

"Me and Shadow? Ha ha ha, that's an honor."

"Yes..." Observing Hayami from behind, Rose almost felt the same familiarity as she did for her brother.

"True, me and Shadow might have somethin' in common on account of chasin' Joker's tail. But I get the feeling Shadow's got somethin' that sets him apart from me."

"Sets him apart?"

"Somethin' like that. Not sure what, but it's hidin' in Shadow's heart. I think that somethin's probably what fostered that simpleminded and earnest personality of his."

What could it be...? Rose couldn't think of a likely answer. What set Shadow and Hayami apart...? How he didn't think ahead, his violent streak, his esoteric choice of words; there were too many to choose from, so she felt he meant something else... Just then, a call came in on Hayami's cell phone.

"Hello. ...Understood. I'll be there." Hayami ended the call. "Joker's shown up."

"Eh?"

"I'm about ta go catch 'im. Do ya wanna come see?" Hayami asked, a colder smile than before forming on his face. Rose had been guided to a guest room directly above the room with the treasure in it. "Ya can watch 'im from here."

The monitor in front of him displayed Joker and Hachi running towards the treasure room. The police were putting up a resistance, but were completely useless; Joker and Hachi darted between them with grace, continuing down the hallway.

Watching them, Hayami quietly began to explain. "I'm about ta show ya Joker's movement pattern as I've deduced it. When Shadow's going after tha same treasure as him, Joker always makes the same move..." On the monitor, Joker reached the treasure room, opened the door without trouble, and slid inside. Then while the police were confused, he had them all down within moments. "Th' moment of truth. Joker'd try ta take the treasure and run off, usually." On the monitor, Joker gleefully grabbed the Black Opal. "But not this time." Just then, the room's window shattered and Shadow leapt inside.

"!?" Oniichan, you were just supposed to make a fuss outside this time......! Rose yelled internally.

"I gave orders ta bait Shadow to the treasure room. And he bit right in."

Really, how simpleminded can you get... And he couldn't trust me after all, could he... Rose clenched her fists. Still, Hayami kept talking in the same calm voice.

"Now th' two meet. Here's a question. When Joker and Shadow meet, they always do this one thing."

"One thing?"

"Yup, tha answer is fight like kids. Takin' a look at all tha cases before, those two never fail ta squabble whenever they meet. It's always over somethin' trivial, ta boot." Just as Hayami prophecied, the pair started to quarrel on screen. Their voices weren't audible, but no doubt it was their usual back-and-forth spat.

"..." Rose was too fed up to say anything.

"When people squabble, that's when they don't pay attention ta anythin' else. Even our ever-alert Joker can have it happen ta 'im. What I'm sayin' is, that's tha time ta spring a trap." Hayami's words were bewitchingly convincing, and Rose found herself nodding along. "That in mind, all ya halfta do is get a special trap ready in tha treasure room. That's my plan ta catch Joker... that's deduction too."

What Hayami said had a ring of truth. Joker was keen and clear of mind, but whenever he faced Shadow, he would forget himself and start fighting. And Shadow went without saying. This was the one thing Rose couldn't stop him from doing.

Soon enough, just as Hayami had said, Joker and Shadow began to fight on screen. Shadow lunged with his Bloody Rain, and Joker mischievously blocked it with his cards. She had seen the same thing time and time before. With everything going exactly as Hayami had foretold, she was disappointed in her own brother and Joker.

"Now the both of 'em are snared like vermin... hokay, time ta let it rip!" As soon as Hayami sent the signal, something seemed to happen inside the treasure room. The duo on screen stopped fighting and looked around at their surroundings.

Then, steel panes slammed down in all four directions and walled them in. Joker and Shadow both had been instantly trapped in the room.

"Those are...!" Rose exclaimed. Hayami told her.

"That's a steel cage. It's no piece 'a cake ta break, and ya can't lift it up either. Soon enough, sleepin' gas'll fill the room, and those two'll be sleepin' pretty till the police show up."

"Oh no..." Rose whispered and looked at the monitor. On it, Shadow was panicking and shooting beams at the wall, while Joker was trying to pierce the wall with his cards. But the wall remained unmoving.

"Fu fu, and now Joker meets his end. How do ya like my plan?" Hayami smiled triumphantly and turned around. However, Rose wasn't there.

Rose went along the blind spots of the security cameras, and by the time she arrived in front of the treasure room, Hachi was pounding on the steel walls. "Joker-san! Joker-san!"

Rose called out to Hachi. "Hachi-kun, how are they?"

"R-Rose-san!? Well, I was keeping watch outside. Then suddenly these steel walls dropped and trapped them..."

"Oniichan!" Rose yelled towards the wall. She could just barely make out two voices from within.

"Rose, is that you? Get us out of here!"

"Please! Rose!"

These were the voices of Joker and Shadow, or as Rose knew them, Jack and Cyan. She could tell that they were in a tight spot. Rose held her hands out front and concentrated. But just then, she remembered what Hayami had said. I'm gonna catch Joker, no question about it. Hayami's passion and warm smile crossed her mind. He had researched Joker and Shadow and formulated this plan, and Rose was about to ruin it.

Just like my brother Shadow, he's zealous about bringing down Shadow... Should I really undermine all that devotion he's put in...? But...

"Rose, what's wrong!? Hurry, please!"

"Oh shoot, Shadow! It's sleeping gas!"

Shadow and Joker's voices from inside pressured Rose. I'm...

"...!" Rose made up her mind and spoke to Hachi. "Hachi-kun, break the security cameras."

"Eh? But why?"

"Never mind why, please just do it."

"O-Okay!" Hachi sprang around the hallway, wrecking the cameras surveilling the area one after another.

If at all possible, she didn't want Hayami to see her using her powers... As she concentrated, Rose's body took on a pale glow. Her hands in front, Rose stared at the door and focused her power. The steel doors rumbled as they gradually lifted.

Once the gap had opened wide enough for a person to pass through, Joker and Shadow appeared from within and leapt out. As soon as they exited, they grabbed each other's lapels.

"Shadow! We were shut in because of you!"

"What!? It's because you did something you shouldn't have!"

Seeing them go back to abusing each other again, she screamed without thinking. "Both of you, cut it out!"

Shocked by her shout, the two of them looked back over at Rose. She was tearing up a little and glaring at Joker and Shadow both.

"W-What's wrong, Rose?"

"What are you angry about?" Joker took the gem out of his chest pocket. "See, I got the treasure!"

"Rose, thanks to you using your powers, we're sa-" Shadow started. But Rose cut him off with a yell.

"I didn't use them because I wanted to! I don't care anymore!" She pouted and looked the other way; then with her powers, Rose made herself float and speedily flew out of the window into the night sky. The two boys and Hachi could only watch dumbfounded as she faded away...

[xyliane]

love or fear of cold

summary: killua can’t sleep. it’s the problem with getting used to a storm who can’t shut up and can’t stop moving. when it’s quiet, it’s hard to tell where he went. 

notes:  okay yeah I didn’t write anything for several weeks but look over here, a fluff! for that au I have where gon’s a summer storm and killua and alluka are stormchasers. also happy saint’s day for the patron saint of beekeepers and the plague. G, aged-up killugon (killua’s ~23 or 24, gon’s a storm so.), thunderstruck au, 2000 words. (title’s from mumford and sons)

----

Killua can’t sleep.

Once, it wouldn’t have made sense that some place can be too quiet. His parents’ homes are either too far away or too high above the world, the barest wisps of clouds or the distant hum of traffic the only white noise to break through the thick walls of metal and glass. Even Gramps’s place, the old mansion an hour outside of town, doesn’t so much make noise as echo with nothing, the butlers’ footsteps silent. The world was quiet, and Killua had slept easy knowing that was how it was made for him.

But that was a long time ago.

When he and Alluka had first stayed at Palm’s house, pressed into clean clothes and warm food by a cranky Palm and an apologetic Ikalgo, neither of them had slept well. The whole place creaks with a threat that it’s about to fall down even in the lightest breeze, as though the warmth built steadily in an ancient heater will leak out the cracks. The house isn’t too far from her restaurant, but it’s been around since before the storms can remember, a weathered old monster not nearly large enough to hold three (mostly) humans, a doctor, an octopus, and a storm.

Now, Killua’s used to the aches of old timber, the sighing winds of open plains, even the chill of winter creeping around the mantle. It reminds him that he’s not where he was. But more importantly, it reminds him that Gon’s around. The storm has trouble staying in one spot for very long, let alone trying to sleep like a normal person. So he roams the fields and the forests, and the winds howl after him. Maybe they chase him, but knowing Gon, he’s leading them around, exploring the nooks and crannies of the world. He might not be staying with Killua at night, but he won’t leave either. They’ve only known each other since summer, and Killua already can’t imagine a week going by without seeing his friend, without hearing his laughter or smelling the static of wet fields and thunder. It’s a strange comfort, hearing the creaking of the world at night and knowing it’s Gon. Strange, and new, and exciting in ways Killua isn’t sure he wants to explore yet.

Tonight, though. Tonight is silent, and Gon’s not around. So Killua can’t sleep.

At least Alluka can. His sister sighs softly, buried under a stack of quilts Palm dug out of the closet. The forecast said it was going to get cold, but neither Zoldyck was prepared for just how cold. Not this early in the season. Killua’s own pile is even thicker, but it’s not the cold he’s having a problem with.

His whole body shivers when his feet hit the icy wooden floor, and he wraps himself up in at least two of his blankets. The whole house is quiet, the only sound the creaking of the floorboards as he tiptoes out of the room. If he can’t sleep, he can at least borrow Palm’s cocoa tin while she’s not awake to chastise him about how much sugar he puts in his hot chocolate. He’s an adult, with a paying job and a solid following on social media. He can drink as much sugar as he likes.

Killua gets halfway down the stairs when a familiar frizz of static settles over his skin. He spins and nearly catches the hem of his quilts, hissing a curse as he struggles to not tumble down the stairs. Maybe it’s the magic his family buried in his blood, or maybe it’s being around the storm for too long, but Killua knows exactly where Gon is.

Worry drains out of his shoulders before he realizes he was carrying it. Not like Gon would leave. It’s silly to think that the house was quiet because Gon left. Gon would have said something first, because he’s loud and energetic and bleeds with his emotions. Killua never had anything to worry about.

...Hot cocoa comes first.

A pot of boiled water later, Killua follows the gentle static through the chilly air up to the roof. As the panel drops back to the shingles, the storm jolts up, smile bright enough to see even in the moonless night. “Killua!” he says, voice too loud for the silence.

Killua smiles despite himself. “Hey Gon. Can you give me a hand?”

A warm wind stirs around them both warningly. But this time Gon decides to not use a small tornado to lift Killua, instead taking both mugs of hot cocoa to let Killua scramble onto the tiles. “Why are you still awake?”

Killua shrugs, carefully rearranging the blankets around his shoulders so he can sit comfortably. “Couldn’t sleep. Why are you here tonight and not running off? And gimme my cocoa.”

“Didn’t feel like it,” Gon says, and hands over one of the mugs before taking a sip of his own. “This is a lot of sugar, Killua.”

“I can have as much sugar as I want. Not like I’m going to sleep anytime soon.” He takes a long slurp, ignoring how Gon snickers. “You don’t even try to sleep. I know storms don’t sleep, but you’re in a human body. Do you not want to try?”

“Maybe someday.” He leans against Killua, and his skin is unnaturally warm through his favorite jacket. “You seem to like it.”

“I don’t like it, but I have to. Sleep deprivation sucks.”

Gon hums, and the cold night air vibrates. “I could sleep with you?”

Killua spits out his cocoa. “That’s--Gon, there’s sleeping, and then there’s sleeping, and you don’t know… What are you--?”

Gon is laughing openly now, and a warm breeze wraps around both of them like an extra blanket. Killua decides storms are assholes. Or at least this one is. So he swipes the second mug of hot cocoa and downs it in a single go, glaring at Gon all the while.

The storm pouts. Killua does not notice how cute it is. Storms aren’t cute. At least, not this one. Kirk was cute, in a Tropical Storm funny postings from the national weather service sort of way. Anthropomorphic storms with constellations of freckles and big brown eyes and a laugh that makes Killua’s heart pound--those aren’t cute.

Vengeance exacted and hot cocoa gone, Killua settles back into his cocoon of blankets, and Gon returns to his spot at Killua’s side, head leaning against the quilts approximately around Killua’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to go to the forest tonight because the stars were talking,” Gon says.

Killua blinks. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“Exactly! They speak in silence, and sometimes you can figure out what they’re talking about. Listen.” Gon points up at the night sky. Stretched out above them is a canopy of stars, unblemished and bright against inky darkness. Some are brilliant, massive orbs of burning gas lightyears away but sparkling like gemstones. Others are scattered like dust, too far away to gather together. All of them are so far away. But above Killua, they almost seem close enough to touch.

He wonders what Gon hears in them.

“I can’t hear anything,” Killua finally whispers.

Gon nods. “That’s okay. I didn’t figure out how to listen to them for a long time, either.”

“Oh.”

They’re quiet awhile longer, Gon listening to the stars and Killua listening to the breeze. Up here, it’s easier to hear the gentle patterns of wind swirling around Gon, the storm’s summery warmth pulling at the evening chill. Occasionally, the shingles will tremble, or the half-plowed fields will rustle below. The night’s quiet, but not silent. Not with Gon around.

Killua is starting to doze when the storm laughs, a weirdly rueful noise that echoes through the roof, vibrating the shingles beneath them. “I’m awake,” he mutters.

“Oh, sorry, Killua.” There’s a strange look in Gon’s eyes, and not the sort of look where his sclera are bright gold. This look is practically human, piercing and patient and just a dash of nerves.

So Killua pokes him in the side, firmly. “Out with it,” he says. “You didn’t wake me up for nothing.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Gon says. He’s still staring at Killua with that weird look. His hands start to reach for something, but stop halfway there and tangle in the quilts. Killua can taste the static in the air, getting denser by the second. “Killua, can I kiss you?”

Whatever Killua had been expecting, that isn’t it. Gon’s always full of surprises--that he’s a storm, that he loves the world around him and always wants more out of it. He makes everyone around him look at the world differently, because Gon can’t help but see things sideways, or from far away, or from much too close. Gon is interesting. Has been since the day they met. It’s why their friendship became so strong so fast, and Killua’s been happy with it. But Killua never even considered that Gon might want more from Killua.

Not least because Killua wants to kiss Gon.

He wants to kiss Gon.

“Why?” he blurts, and immediately wishes he’d said anything else.

Gon shrugs, a small smile on his face. “I want to.”

Killua’s mouth opens and shuts without letting out any sound. Maybe he’s curious, one more human thing for the storm to learn. Has Gon even kissed anyone before? He must have, if he’s a storm, and he looks like he does, and at least he’s seen people kissing before. And Killua doesn’t want to just think about what it would be like, kissing someone made of wind and lightning and summer.

Would kissing Gon call down a storm? Would Killua even care if he’s struck by lightning again? He can handle it, magic channeling electricity through him like a battery. And if he can handle that, he can handle...

Gon’s smile wanes a little. “If you don’t want to, that’s okay,” he says. “I’m not--”

“Okay.”

Gon blinks, and his grin is back in full force. “Really?”

Killua shoves aside as much of his blankets as he can afford to, and covers the storm’s hands with his own. Almost immediately, a current runs between them, and the hair on the back of Killua’s neck stands straight up. “Yes, you idiot. Have you even done this before?”

As a response, Gon kisses him.

It’s incredibly chaste, barely the press of skin on skin. But Killua’s breath catches in his throat, unable to escape as their lips move gently against each other. Even if Gon’s never kissed anyone before, or has kissed as many people as Killua has, this is theirs. No one else could kiss a storm and fill their lungs with electricity, no one else would be stupid enough or brave enough or wanting enough. Killua wants to be the only one. A sudden wind curls around them, tugging at the blankets and sending Killua’s hair into immediate disarray. Like everything else about him, Gon’s kiss is warm, and his fingers tangle with Killua’s, grounding them to each other, a promise that he won’t go anywhere, at least for now.

They pull apart slowly. When Killua leans his forehead against Gon’s, a spark of static jumping from his skin to Gon’s and making the storm’s hair stand up even more than usual. And brighter than the starlight, Gon’s brown eyes are shot through with a burning, brilliant gold.

Small clouds drift and coil overhead, and Gon whispers, “Thanks, Killua.”

Killua coughs a broken laugh, his cheeks on fire. “Only you would thank someone for that. It’s just a kiss.”

“It’s not just a kiss!” Gon says.

Killua flops onto his back, using his quilts to soften the fall. Gon curls up against him, spiky hair tickling Killua’s chin and gold fading away from his eyes. But Killua can’t look away. “Then what’s it supposed to be?” he asks.

The storm turns back to the sky, a smile on his face and a chill in the air. “It’s a kiss from you, Killua.”

And Killua can hear the stars singing.

[rainbow-sides]

Anomalies: Chapter Seventeen

Summary: Anomalies is about different reactions to grief and how four brothers each respond to the death of their mother. The oldest brother, Roman, gets custody of the twins, Patton and Virgil, and the youngest brother, Logan, after their mother’s death. Virgil is also trying to navigate through a multitude of anxiety disorders, including OCD and trichotillomania, with the help of his brothers and his therapist, Dr. Picani. But meanwhile, Roman isn’t sure he can handle the responsibility of taking care of his brothers, Logan doesn’t process loss in a way most people can understand, and Patton isn’t nearly as okay as he seems…

Warnings: Death of a parent, grief, cancer mention, mention of attempted suicide, mention of severe depression and self harm, gift-giving, food, Christmas.

For a list of the content warnings for the whole story as well as more information, please see this post. Please heed the warnings and stay safe.

Word Count: 3,236

Notes: This is mostly just the Christmas chapter, with bonus Remy! <3 ~Martin

Masterpost to All Chapters

“Don we now our gay apparel, eh?” Roman called, bounding into the living room wearing a slightly ugly rainbow Christmas sweater. He laughed at Logan and Virgil’s groans, and at Patton’s delighted squeal.

“Can't we just open presents?” Logan complained. “A fashion show is not necessary.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Roman tossed a package to each of his brothers. “Actually, a fashion show is absolutely necessary. Go on, I want to see you all wearing them!”

The tearing of wrapping paper filled the room. There were sounds of delight as everyone saw their sweaters. “Are these hand-knitted?!” Patton exclaimed.

“I didn't know you could knit,” Logan said, stroking the soft material and smiling.

“My friend Kelly from work taught me and helped me,” Roman explained. “I've been working on them for months.”

“They're beautiful,” Virgil said softly. “Thank you.”

Patton had already put his sweater on and ran over to hug Roman. “Thank you, I love it!”

Roman squeezed him tightly. “Love you, Pat.”

“My turn!” Logan scrambled to hand Patton a large, heavy package.

Patton opened it and looked at it confusedly for a second before his eyes widened. He pulled out a large, blue and grey plaid quilt. “Is it a weighted blanket?” he asked.

“Yeah, it's heavier than mine because they're supposed to be twenty percent of your body weight,” Logan said. “I thought...you might like one. They're grounding.”

Patton had sat down on the ground and was wrapping the blanket around him, an expression of pure contentment on his face. “It's so cozy and warm and soft,” he sighed happily. “Virgil, come share!”

Virgil slid under the corner of the blanket. “Oh, this is a nice one,” he said. “It is really soft, you're right.” He nestled down in the blanket next to Patton, closing his eyes.

“We're not getting them out of that anytime soon,” Roman laughed. The twins looked very comfortable. “Maybe you should've saved that one for last, Lo.”

“Perhaps you're right,” Logan said. “I do have a gift for you, too, but I think it would be better if I showed you later.”

Roman tilted his head. “Some big secret?”

“Yes, exactly. Can we give Virgil our present to him instead?” Logan suggested.

“If we can distract him from the blanket for long enough,” giggled Roman. He picked up the box under the tree that had Virgil’s present that he and Logan had gotten together.

Virgil reluctantly pulled his arms out of the blanket to take the box into his lap. “It's heavier than it looks,” he observed. He carefully sliced through the tape on the package with his fingernail and took the wrapping paper off in one piece. There was a long pause where he just stared at it. “Whoa,” he breathed.

Logan and Roman exchanged a glance. “Do you think he likes it?” Roman asked.

“Hm, I'm not sure,” Logan replied.

“I think he needs to tell us what he thinks,” Roman said, reaching out to poke Virgil. “Hello? Anybody home?”

“I...I wasn't expecting…”

“If you don't want it, give it back,” Roman teased.

“No, it's mine!” Virgil retorted, hugging the box to his chest. “Oh, my god, guys!” He looked close to tears.

“You better take lots of pictures with that,” Roman instructed. “That is a good camera.”

“Yeah, I know! I haven't...I haven't been taking many pictures lately,” Virgil confessed.

“I know.” Roman reached over and put his hand over Virgil’s. “This is so you start again. Okay?”

Virgil nodded. “I will, I promise. Oh, Roman, Logan, thank you!” He blinked his tears away and smiled. “I love it.”

“It was Logan's idea,” Roman made sure he knew. “I just provided some of the funds.”

Already opening up the box, Virgil said, “Its battery needs to be charged...but I should be able to start taking pictures tonight. Oh, it's beautiful!”

“I'm glad you like it!” Logan said.

“Here, this one is for you,” Virgil told him, handing him a thin, flat box. “I...um, it's from a while ago, but I gave it some new life.”

Logan opened the side of the box to slide the picture frame out. His face didn't give much away, but his eyes sparkled as he turned the frame around so everyone could see it. Roman recognized the picture as being from a photoshoot that Virgil had made them do at the beginning of his photography class last year. He had taken them all out to a field in the middle of the night, all of the brothers and their mom, and taken pictures of them sitting together with their backs to the the camera, holding hands and gazing up at the sky. They had to sit very still, Roman remembered, because Virgil had set the shutter speed slow enough to capture the light of the stars. They shone clearly in this photo, probably having been enhanced, and thin white lines had been added between some of the stars to form the constellations.

“It's alright,” Logan said in a small voice, but it meant so much more, and Virgil understood.

“Good, I'm glad.” Virgil looked at Roman and Patton. “I hope you like it, too, ‘cause you all get photos.”

“Well, hand them over!” Roman took the package that Virgil held out and opened it. “Ahh,” he breathed as he opened it. It was a very simple photo of himself sitting on the edge of the stage at the community theater, deep in thought and not aware of the camera. The golden lighting and red curtains behind him made the picture seem more dramatic than it probably had been at the time. Roman’s shape was slightly out of focus, more the background than the subject. The silhouette of three people sitting in the audience was the foreground of the photo, and Roman recognized their shapes as being Logan, Patton, and their mother. The rest of the audience was empty. Roman didn't even remember sitting there like that. He had no idea that Virgil had taken his picture. “It's really nice, Virge. Thank you.”

Virgil gave him a thumbs up and a smile, and then passed Patton the third package. It was a smaller frame, and Patton stared at it for a long time before he showed the others. Virgil watched him carefully, pulling the blanket tighter so he could snuggle closer to his twin.

Roman didn't say anything when he saw the photo, just nodded. There was a sudden lump in his throat.

“Your first homecoming,” Logan stated.

In the photo, Patton was standing with a bright smile, holding their mother's hands as she laughed about something. He was wearing the dress he had fought the administration to be able to wear to the dance in support of their trans and nonbinary friends at school, and she was just in a t-shirt and jeans, but she looked beautiful. She had always been beautiful, even when the cancer had made her thin and weary, her hair fallen out from the chemotherapy. But this was before the cancer has touched her--or perhaps it was already there, and they just weren't aware of it yet. Her diagnosis had come just a couple months after this picture had been taken. It captured a moment of pure joy, and Patton stroked the glass of the frame lovingly and longingly. He didn't seem to have any words. After a few more seconds, he turned to bury his face in Virgil's shoulder, hugging him so tightly that Virgil coughed.

“Patty, I'm glad you like it, but I can't breathe!” he yelped.

“I love you so much,” Patton whispered, barely audible. He loosened his grip. Virgil got his arms out to hug him back.

Roman waited a minute, then said gently, “Patty, are you gonna give us your gifts or should I grab them from under the tree myself?”

“You do it,” Patton responded, muffled. He was crying a little bit, and Virgil rocked him back and forth.

“It's okay, Patty, we can wait,” Roman said, sliding closer to the twins and touching Patton’s shoulder. “Take as long as you need.”

“N-no, you get the p-presents,” Patton stumbled. “Yours is from both of us.”

Roman took the gift bag addressed to him and opened it, gasping at the beautiful notebook and pen set inside. “Oh, it's gorgeous! Oh, thank you, I'm gonna write such good words in there, you have no idea.”

Patton was smiling and wiping his eyes, sniffling a little. “Glad you like it.”

“Someday when you're rich and famous, you better not auction those away,” Virgil teased. “Unless it's for charity, I guess. ‘This is the pen that the great Roman Sanders wrote the first lines of his award-winning script with!’”

Roman laughed. “I wouldn't auction it away, don't worry.” He handed Logan the other gift bag. “What's in here, hm?”

There was an actual squeal of delight that came from Logan's mouth as he pulled the book out of the bag. “Patton, this is wonderful, it's exactly what I wanted!”

“May it bring you hours of joy from reading it,” Patton told him.

Logan was already flipping through the pages of the collection of Sherlock Holmes stories, making ecstatic remarks about each one he came to. They all listened fondly as he talked. Virgil opened his gift from Patton, putting the sweatshirt on and smelling the purple candles with a content expression.

Roman eventually managed to drag them all to the kitchen to make pancakes, which was almost a disaster because one of them burnt so badly it started smoking, and they narrowly avoided setting off the fire alarm. It turned out fine, however, and the pancakes were delicious. Christmas movies followed, starting with The Nightmare before Christmas by Virgil’s request.

Halfway through It's A Wonderful Life, the house phone rang. Roman flinched. Hardly anyone called them there.

“Are you gonna answer it?” Patton whispered. “We can pause the movie.”

“It's fine, you don't have to pause it.” Roman wriggled out from underneath the excessive amount of blankets they were cuddled under and ran to get the phone before it stopped ringing. “Sanders residence.”

“Hey, girl, merry Christmas.”

Roman bit his lip. “Rem, this isn't the best time.”

“Please?” Remy begged. “Please, you haven't answered my calls in months and I just wanna talk for a few minutes.”

“Okay, okay! Fine. Hold on.” Roman came back over to the couch. “It's Remy,” he whispered. “Don't pause the movie, I'll be back in a few minutes.” They all gave him a sympathetic look. Roman fled to his bedroom and closed the door behind him, sitting on the bed. “Yeah, Remy. I'm here.”

“Girl, oh my goodness, it's nice to hear your voice,” Remy sighed. “You okay?”

“I'm…” Roman hesitated. “Yeah, I'm okay.”

“Okay, I know you've...had a lot going on,” Remy said. “And I know you've needed to spend your time taking care of your baby bros. But...I've been kinda worried about you. All of you. Can I have any sort of an update?”

Roman clutched the phone tightly and said nothing. This was hard. Really hard. It was hard to talk to Remy after everything that had happened between them.

“Ro, honey, listen. I'm good with giving you as much space and as much time as you need, I promise. I told you that before, and I'm telling you again now. I'm waiting, for as long as it takes.”

“I know,” Roman managed. “And I love you for it. You deserve better, someone who can actually be there for you--"

“Don't you start that again,” Remy warned him.

“Sorry.”

“It's okay, girl, it's okay.” Remy paused. “How's Patton? Poor baby.”

“He's doing better,” Roman answered.

“Yeah? Oh, that's good, that's good, I've been so worried about the kid. Miss him. I see Virge sometimes when I'm helping out in the school theater, but he doesn't talk much. And how's the baby genius?” asked Remy.

“Logan's doing pretty good.”

“And how are you?” Remy said seriously. “Roman. Be honest, ‘kay?”

“Rem...if I'm honest, I'm gonna start breaking down on the phone with you,” confessed Roman, his voice shaking. “I can't talk, not really. Not yet.”

“Come see me soon,” Remy said softly. “Come see me when you can talk, really talk. I'll be here."

“I know. I know.” Roman swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Merry Christmas, Rem.”

“Yeah, girl. Merry Christmas. Love you.”

“I love you.” Roman hung up quickly before he could start crying. He closed his eyes. After a minute, he stood up and went back to the living room. He slid underneath the blankets next to Patton and grabbed his hand, fixing his eyes on the movie.

“You okay?” Patton whispered softly.

“Hardly,” replied Roman.

“Is Remy okay?”

Roman squeezed his hand. “He's fine. Shhh, talk later.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah, I promise. It's okay.” Roman smiled reassuringly at him and kept watching the movie.

Late that night, after Roman had talked to Patton a little bit about the phone call and everyone was supposed to have gone to bed, Logan came into his room.

“Hey, nerd, what's up?” Roman yawned.

“Did you forget? I have a present for you,” Logan said.

Roman eyed him suspiciously. Logan didn't seem to be carrying anything. “Okay, where is it?”

“It's not an object.”

“Okay...what is it, then? You've sufficiently piqued my curiosity.”

“Promise you won't be angry?”

“Uhhh...tell me what it is, first.” Now Roman was slightly worried.

“It's just, I did it without your permission--but if it's not something you want, it's easy to back out, I promise, I did a lot of legal research, and nothing is actually signed, of course.”

“Logan,” Roman said calmly. “What did you do?”

“I got you a book deal.”

“A...book deal.”

“With a publisher. A small publisher, but a legitimate one. Like I said, I did a lot of research. And you can back out of the contract at any time.”

“Okay, first of all, how?” Roman demanded. “You're fourteen!”

“I registered myself as a literary agent with a company that didn't have an age restriction, and I communicated with the publishers only via email,” Logan answered. “I, well, I got the idea from School Story, by Andrew Clements.”

“Oh, you did, did you?” Roman scoffed. “Is this legal?”

“Morally dubious, but technically legal. And the publisher wants your book, Roman. They aren't supposed to sound eager, but the way she was talking about how much promise your novel has and how much she liked your writing, and the deal she offered you...of course you should look at the contract before you sign it. I just…” Logan shifted where he stood. “Perhaps this was a bad idea.”

“Logan,” Roman said softly. “How long have you been working on this?”

“Since I finished editing the first draft three weeks ago. Well, longer than that, actually.”

“And there's a publisher who wants to publish...my novel.”

“Yes. It's a very good deal for a first novel, too, and above average royalties, and…” Logan was fiddling with his thumbs, looking rather nervous as he swayed from side to side. “But as I told you, you don't have to take it. I just got the opportunity for you.”

Roman was trying to wrap his head around this. Part of him wanted to chastise Logan for doing something like this behind his back. Another part of him just wanted to pull Logan into a big hug. “You think it's good enough to publish?” he asked.

“Not only do I think it's good enough to publish, the publisher agrees with me,” Logan said.

“My silly little novel?” Roman checked. “Are you sure you didn't accidentally send them something else?”

“I'm positive. Your novel. A publisher wants it.”

“And you did this for me.” Now Roman was getting a bit choked up, which made Logan seem even more nervous.

“Roman?”

“Come here,” Roman demanded, and he wrapped Logan in the tightest hug he could muster. “Come here.”

“So you'll take the deal?” Logan squeaked, clearly having a hard time breathing.

Roman let him go. “I'll have to look at it first, and actually talk to this publisher myself.”

“Of course!”

“And under no circumstances should you ever do something like this again. I thought we were done keeping secrets?”

Logan crossed his arms. “I thought it didn't count if it was a present?”

“Finding loopholes now, huh? You'd make a good lawyer if you weren't so set on being a medical researcher and college professor, buddy.” Roman nudged him playfully. “Okay. You're gonna show me everything tomorrow morning. But right now, we're going to bed. Night, Lo.”

“Then...you're okay with the present?” Logan checked.

Roman’s face split into a grin. “It's the most thoughtful present I've ever gotten.”

“I didn't do much,” muttered Logan. “You're the one who wrote the book, I simply made someone else see the potential.”

“And you edited it and encouraged me and had faith in me even when I didn't.” Roman poked his little brother's nose. “We make a really good team, huh?”

Logan gave him a tiny smile and backed out of the room. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Lo. Sleep well.” Roman laid down on his bed in the darkness. He reached for his cell phone and hovered his finger over Remy’s contact for a minute before putting it aside again.

He and Remy had been together for almost two years before they had parted ways. Remy was Roman’s first kiss, first love, first everything. They had a friendship based on trust, which had been hard for Remy to form at first. It had broken Roman's heart to tell him that he needed space, that he didn't have the time or the energy to maintain their relationship when it became clear that his mother wasn't going to make it, and that he was going to be responsible for his brothers.

Remy, wonderful Remy, had understood. He had told Roman he would wait for as long as it took until Roman could be with him again. They were both in the production of Singin’ in the Rain even after they had broken up, with Remy absolutely nailing the role of Cosmo even when Roman was struggling to balance rehearsals and family, and Remy had been the one to tell the cast that Roman had to quit after Roman had officially told the director. Roman was so grateful to him for that.

He had fallen apart in Remy’s arms only once, a week after the funeral. Roman had left work and found himself driving to Remy’s house. The door had opened before Roman had even knocked, and Roman let out everything that he had been holding in because he couldn't let his brothers see how much he was struggling. They had to believe he was strong, or they would have been so scared.

“I can do it, I can take care of them,” he had insisted, sobbing and barely able to stand. “I just need to...I just…”

Remy had pulled him inside and held him as he collapsed to the floor. He didn't say much, but he didn't have to. Roman only needed someone he could break down around, someone with whom it was safe to show his weakness. Remy drove him home a few hours later, long after sunset when the other three boys were all asleep. Roman didn't know exactly how long Remy had sat with him. He remembered falling asleep to Remy rubbing his back, and the next morning, there was a text saying that Remy’s ma had picked him up and brought him back home.

Roman hadn't replied. Virgil was the only one who talked to Remy much after that, since he occasionally drove him home from school. Resolving to at least text Remy tomorrow, Roman closed his eyes.

Hope you enjoyed! It’s been a while since I posted, I was just having a hard time finding the time to post over the past couple weeks because I’ve been so busy doing adult stuff. <3 ~Martin

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[thescholarlystrumpet]

All Through the Night Rated Explicit

Smutty one-shot for the @a-monthly-rumbelling January prompt: “I don’t mind if we sleep in the same bed tonight.”

Bae's nanny, Belle, harbors a secret and - she's certain - unrequited crush on her employer, Bae's father. But secrets can be tricky things to keep when people get trapped together by a thunderstorm, with no electricity and only one bed.

Bed-sharing!smut with some feels and added child!Baelfire cuteness bonus. Tropes abound!

A/N: Big thank you to @rumple-belle for both encouraging me to just go ahead and write this and for beta-ing it!

On AO3 HERE

“I don’t mind if we sleep in the same bed tonight,” Baeley asserted, holding up a corner of his quilt to welcome her under it.  

Belle bit back a smile at his earnest little face, completely unaware of dimensions and how she’d never possibly fit in the nook he occupied. A growing boy of six and a half, he’d be too small, himself, in a year or so.

“Well that’s very sweet of you but I’ll be just fine on the couch.” She smoothed the blanket up under his chin.

“Oh. Are you sure? It’s kinda lumpy.” The boy’s expression twisted with distaste.

Belle cocked her head to one side, “Are you worried about my comfort or does someone not want to sleep alone like a big boy? Is it because of the storm?”

Bae’s lips pursed. “Nuh-uhh. I am a big boy! I’m just being nice. You can sleep wherever you want.” he grumped, sounding oddly like his father in his rush of obstinate defensiveness.

Accustomed to her young charge growing more mercurial at bedtime, Belle gentled her tone. “I know you are, Bae. You’re growing up so fast! But even big boys can dislike big scary sounds like thunder. Even I get scared of it sometimes, you know.”

He wrinkled his nose at her. “You don’t get scared of nothing.”

“Anything,” she corrected automatically.

“Anything,” Bae echoed dutifully. “Right?”

“It’s alright to be afraid, sometimes,” she assured him, rather than face more questions. If only he knew…

Sure, she was lying about the thunder. That hadn’t frightened her since she was younger than Bae. But Belle definitely lived with a large and overarching fear. One that consumed her thoughts and left her more than her share of sleepless nights. It was as adult a fear as she had ever felt: the fear of revealing her most secret heart to one who would surely reject it. Belle lived in the shadow of an undeniable and overwhelming attachment to the most unsuitable and indifferent man she knew  - her employer and Bae’s father, Mr. Gold.

Loving Bae was easy. Most days, when he wasn’t cranky from staying up too late, he was an absolute delight; sweet, intelligent, and highly inquisitive. He kept her on her toes and she treasured the way his eyes lit up whenever she helped him to discover new facts about salamanders or satellites or whatever new subject had caught his fancy that week. They went to the library every weekend so he could stock up on books for them to read together. Now that he was on chapter books, he would even insist on reading to her, at times. Bae was her little darling and she loved him unequivocally.

His enigmatic father, on the other hand, was another story. He should have been nothing more to her than the father of her charge, the man who signed her checks. He should have been a glorified roommate, since she’d finally agreed to move into their guest room after that messy break-up with Garrett left her homeless. He should have been a friend, co-parent, or mentor. He should have been anything but the object of her increasingly embarrassing fantasies, the one person in town whose very silhouette could make her heart jump into her throat, the man she couldn’t stop picturing as the quintessential part of her someday Happy Ever After.  

Belle had been raised on fairy tales. Or rather she raised herself once her mother passed away and her negligent father stopped even trying to be a parent. Belle had wanted that knight on a white horse so badly as a girl, as a teen, even into early adulthood. Unfortunately, in Storybrooke, there had only been Garrett and his gas guzzling car, and his possessive grasp, and his wandering eye.

Mr. Edmund Gold was certainly no Prince Charming but he had rescued her anyway, in her time of need. And his brusque manners weren’t so off-putting once she’d gotten to know him. He could be surprisingly funny, even charismatic when his guard was down. And the way he was with Bae these days was so alien from the way she’d first seen him (the way the whole rest of town still saw him), all warm affection and playful teasing. Belle liked to think she’d been an influence for the better in that regard.

It was just about three weeks ago, while Gold and Bae were playing, that Belle had first realized she was falling in love. In a moment of weakness, she’d let herself imagine what it would be like to have Mr. Gold look at her with the kind of affection he only ever bestowed on his son.

“Bae?”

The velvety voice of the man himself, broke Belle’s reverie. He stood in the doorway of the tiny room dressed in flannel pajama bottoms and a shaggy robe, his long hair still damp at the very ends. He had a battery powered lantern slung around his wrist on a cord, the blueish light throwing his already striking features into a deep, shadowy bas relief.  

They’d been just coming back from the lake, the sun sinking fast toward the horizon, when they got caught in a sudden downpour. A streak of lightning lit the sky, followed in seconds by a roll of thunder. The raindrops felt sharp as needles against Belle’s skin, blown hard by the rising wind. Returning to town on foot, as had been the original plan, would be impossible. They made a snap decision to head to Gold’s cabin, instead. All three were soaked and shivering by the time they arrived. For a day that had dawned quite warm and sunny for fall, it had come to a rather miserable end.

Belle had ushered Bae into a hot shower to warm his numbed fingers and toes while Gold attempted to build a fire. Unfortunately, the wood was all damp and refused to catch. There was a single electric space heater that helped a little, but was useless once the electricity went out. Bae’s room wasn’t too chilly, small as it was, and the boy was packed in with as many blankets as he could tolerate.

“Papa!” Bae threw back the quilts and blankets to extend his arms toward his father.

Gold looked askance at Belle. “He’s still up?”

Belle blushed and rose from the edge of the bed where she’d been sitting. “We were… just talking about the storm.”

“Is that so, son?” Gold perched on Belle’s abandoned seat, bracing one side with his cane as he hugged Bae back thoroughly with his free arm. “I hope it’s not too loud out there for you to get some sleep.”

Bae shook his head, his eyes already drooping with exhaustion. “Belle is scared of the thunder so I said she could sleep here with me. Is that okay?”

Gold chuckled and ran his fingers over a cowlick in Bae’s dark curls. “Well, I don’t quite think there’s room for her here, but I’ll make sure she stays safe and dry, alright?”

“Okay. So she can sleep with you, tonight?” Bae asked, settling drowsily back against his pillow.

Gold made an indecipherable sound at the back of his throat before turning his head to cough politely into his forearm. Belle’s cheeks burned, the air suddenly thick in her throat. There was a moment of stark hesitation before Gold leaned in to kiss Bae’s forehead.

“I know you’ll sleep like the dead once you settle down. Just all this excitement keeping you up. Close your eyes,” Gold ordered softly.

Bae obeyed.

Belle could tell him something a thousand times, cajoling and convincing, occasionally even bribing him to do it. His father need say it only once. Such was the kind of quiet power Mr. Gold could exude.

Belle would never admit it aloud but she’d had more than one little fantasy feature Gold giving her orders of an entirely different nature. She closed her eyes and rubbed the spot just between them, above her nose. It was an entirely inappropriate thought to be having at this time. Gold was probably a little peeved at her for not getting Bae properly settled. This was the third time father and son were saying good night, Bae having bounced up and out of bed twice to ask Belle for another story.

They hadn’t brought his reading material for a day by the lake and the only book Belle had on her was definitely not child friendly. Instead, she’d told him variations on fairy tales that her mother used to tell her, personalizing lead characters with traits Bae would recognize as his own.

Two such stories in, Belle had felt herself being watched. She’d looked up to find Mr. Gold’s eyes fixed on her, his expression intense and unreadable. Bae had also noticed his father and gotten so excited to share Belle’s stories that he leapt out of his blanket nest and it took several minutes to ease him back into it.

Third time, it seemed, was indeed the charm. Bae’s face had gone slack, his breathing even, as his father rose slowly from the bedside.

Gold inclined his head back toward the living room and the two of them adjourned, shutting the door to Bae’s room to just a sliver. He hated when his door was fully latched.

Belle shivered in the main room of the cabin, the higher ceiling and poorly insulated windows making it much draftier than either bedroom. She didn’t have a change of clothes, but luckily Gold had found a spare pair of fleece pajama pants and a sweater. The clothes smelled musty and were comically long in both arms and legs, but she was grateful enough to be dry that she didn’t complain. Gold was similarly outfitted in his spare pajama pants and a T-shirt with that ugly, tattered bathrobe thrown atop it for warmth.

Belle turned to face Mr. Gold, hoping he wouldn’t be too upset at having to put his son to bed a third time that night. She had no real defense for not putting her foot down. The truth was, she spoiled little Bae like he was her own. She’d never really been a nanny before this, and now she was starting to understand that perhaps she ought to have stayed a babysitter and part time librarian instead. It was easier when there were dozens of children to mind. With just one to focus on - and one she already adored - her judgement could get a little clouded. Then again, Belle could see such a world of difference from the unhappy child Bae had been a year ago. It was little wonder that she couldn’t help but indulge him.

Mr. Gold had been rather stiff with his son when she first met them both, as though he feared the child would break if he handled him too often. Mrs. Gold had only recently left and it was clearly a sore spot for both father and son. Bae was pale and entirely too serious for a five year old child. Gold was distant and uncertain in his attempts at showing affection. He’d apparently only hired a nanny to provide supervision and enforce the house rules, seeming genuinely confused the first time he came home to find the two of them crawling around on all fours, pretending to be dinosaurs.

Early on, he had even reprimanded Belle for letting Bae “take advantage” of her “tender nature.” She’d have taken the latter part as a compliment if it weren’t for the way he frowned when he said the word “tender,” almost like it was a dirty word. It was one of the few times Gold had really gotten her goat. Children needed tenderness, she told him, emphatically, to be reassured that even when they were naughty, they were loved. She’d let everything she’d been holding back up until that point pour out of her: how lonely Bae was, how he longed to spend time with his father, how difficult it was to be a child expected to behave like a small adult. Gold had listened to every word she’d said with a grave expression. Belle feared for her job by the time she was through, but she could not have stayed mum if her life depended on it. She should have known even then that she was already too far gone. Gold had been silent a long time before simply nodding and dismissing her from the room.

She’d spent a week on tenterhooks, flinching every time he addressed her. Yet he never reproached her for her tirade, or even mentioned how inappropriate she had been to lecture him in his own home. That weekend, however, was the very first time Gold stayed home from work and went with them to the park on Sunday. Bae had been overjoyed for the chance to play with his father and it quickly became a new part of their routine. Gold could still be prickly at times and Belle had learned to read when he was getting overwhelmed so she could step in and distract Bae with another activity. Overall though, the relationship between Bae and his father had grown in leaps and bounds - much like the youngster himself, who seemed to shoot up like a weed in the sunshine.

After that, Belle had also been a lot less afraid to speak her mind, when it counted.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Gold,” Belle began, noting how heavily Gold leaned on his cane, his shoulders slumped with weariness after such a long day.

He waved his free hand. “It’s no matter. He’s had a lot of excitement today, it’s only natural he’d have trouble settling down.” He limped to the couch and lowered himself gingerly. “I, on the other hand, may need to sleep through the next century just to recover,” he smiled thinly.

Belle returned the smile with a tired one of her own. “Well, Rip Van Winkle, I have a feeling a certain human alarm clock won’t let that happen any time soon.”

He gave a short huff of amusement. “Just as well, not really sure I’d like having a long, white beard just yet.” Gold ran a hand down his very clean shaven face.

“It was good enough for Gandalf,” she shrugged, wrapping her arms around herself and rubbing her forearms for warmth.

“Ah, now there’s a fashion icon worth emulating,” he replied dryly. His brow creased. “You must be freezing. My apologies. Let’s get you to bed.”

Belle blushed again at his words but he didn’t seem to notice as he was focused on standing up. He inhaled sharply, swearing under his breath as he heaved himself to his feet. Belle flew to his side, attempting to help support his bad side but he waved her away.

“I’m not an invalid,” he snapped, wincing again as he tried to take a step forward.

Belle frowned. “I know… but, it’s been a long day and I thought…”

“I don’t need a nurse, Miss French.”

Belle sighed. She was exhausted too but it wasn’t in her nature to stand by and let someone suffer. Even if they were being a pratt about it. “Well that’s good because you’d be a terrible patient. Now, do you want a hand or would you rather be stubborn and suffer?”

His lips thinned as he gave her a hard look. When she returned it, flatly, the corner of his mouth quirked upward for just a moment before he looked away. He cleared his throat. “There’s, ah, there are some extra blankets in the chest at the foot of the bed. I was… going to fetch them.”

“Okay then. I’ll be right back.” Using her phone’s torch function, she went to the aforementioned chest and threw it open. Inside was a mess of fabric, tarnished silver, and and what she really, really hoped was not a giant spider web. She tried not to think about that last part as she reached in and fished around for something that felt blanket-y. She pulled out two swaths of scratchy wool, grimacing at the way they felt in her hand. After a few more minutes, she determined they were the only passably blanket-like things in the pile and closed the trunk.

She returned to the living room to find Gold on the sofa, bent double to massage his calf. She held up the hunks of tartan patterned wool. “Did you mean these?”

He looked up, quickly pulling his hands from his leg, fingers flexing in the open air before settling in his lap. “Yes. Those would be the ones.

Belle bit back a face of disgust. She didn’t fancy sleeping under these harsh, dusty things but beggars couldn’t be choosers and at least she was dry. She set one down to shake out the first.

“Ahhh, Mr. Gold?”

“Hm?”

She held up the blanket - what was left of it. “I think you might have a moth problem.” There was a gaping hole in one side and several smaller ones dotting the rest like Swiss cheese.

Gold’s face fell. “How about the other? Let me see…” He started to stand and reach for it, grunting and swearing again, then muttering an apology for swearing as he regained his seat. Belle handed him the first blanket and picked up the second. Unfurled, the second was almost worse than the first; nearly as much hole as blanket.

Gold’s jaw went still and tight as he stared at the woolly remains, nostrils flaring.

“Mr. Gold?” Belle eased onto the seat beside him.

He swallowed audibly and spoke without turning to look at her. “Mothballs. They told me I’d need mothballs. When I put the blankets in the trunk, I forgot.” He ran his hand over the tattered cloth in his lap. He looked at at her, almost unseeing. “They’d be very disappointed.”

“Who?” she asked, softly.

Gold’s mouth fashioned the tremulous ghost of a smile. “My aunts.”

He looked smaller than usual and rather lost in the thin, pale light of the lantern. Belle was overwhelmed with the urge to pull him to her, to rest his head against her breast and stroke his hair. Instead she gripped his upper arm, very lightly, just a little touch to know she was there, that she cared. Gold looked at her hand on his arm as though he’d forgotten he was capable of being touched.

Belle leaned in just as a flash of lightning illuminated his face. He was oddly beautiful in his sorrow and she was immediately ashamed for thinking so.

“They… they meant a lot to you,” she surmised.

Gold met her eyes, again, his own dark and fathomless. He nodded. “They were all I had,” he stated simply. “And these,” he indicated the blankets, “were all I had left.”

Belle knew it was just the storm and the quiet dark, just the exhaustion setting in and tearing down both their walls, but she didn’t care. She was fully and brilliantly alive in this moment, only inches from the man she loved, and he was being more candid with her than he’d ever been before. She might never get another chance to be with him like this, again.

“I know what that’s like,” she admitted.

“Do you?”

Belle nodded. “When my mother died, I was left on my own. All I really had were her books. They became like friends, cold comfort for a lonely little girl.” She huffed a small laugh at her own self pity. “When we moved, my father made me choose only one favorite to bring with us. He said we wouldn’t have room in the new place. One out of a whole library. I thought he was so cruel for that.”

“He was.” Gold agreed solemnly. “Monstrous.”

Belle paused, uncertain if she was being mocked, but Gold’s frank expression didn’t change. She allowed herself a small smile. “The joke was on him, though. Rather than work in his flower shop like he wanted, I got a job at the library after school. So I could read all my favorites as many times as I liked.”

Gold gave a low little chuckle. “I always knew there was something of a rebel in you, Belle French.” His voice was a low rumble, accent deliciously thick, the ‘r’ rolling off his tongue in a way that made her want to chase it with her own.

His breath was warm as it wafted across her face, still smelling sweet from the lemonade she’d brought to the lake. She tilted her face toward his just a fraction more and his gaze flicked from her eyes to her mouth and then back. A crack of thunder sounded, so close it may have well been in the room, and Belle shivered.

Gold pulled back, blinking rapidly, “I… I think I ought to get some rest.”

Belle deflated against the couch cushion. “Oh. Oh, right. Well, uh, at least let me help you.”

His brow furrowed. “Help me what? I’m already here.” He indicated the couch. He hoisted the holey blankets over his lap. “These are… less than expected but they will suffice for the night.”

Belle crossed her arms over her chest. “You are not sleeping on this lumpy couch with barely enough blanket to cover one limb at a time.”

He pursed his lips, “Miss French….”

“Mr. Gold….”

“Well, where on earth should I sleep, in your expert opinion?”

Belle rolled her eyes. “In the bed.” She stood, grabbing his cane from where it had fallen to the floor. “Don’t be such a fussbudget. Come on, I’ll help you into the bedroom.”

Gold made a blunted noise of outrage. “Do you think I’d be such a negligent employer - nay gentleman - as to let you freeze to death out here on the couch?”

“So, what? You’d rather martyr yourself for my comfort?”

“Yes!” he splayed his hands in exasperation.

Belle paused in her efforts to get him to take his cane and stand. “That’s… sweet. In a misguided sort of way.”

Gold’s eyes scrunched closed and he pinched the bridge of his nose, just between his eyes, with his forefinger and thumb.

Belle sighed. “Look, I know the mattress isn’t huge but it’s bigger than Bae’s bed so I think there’s plenty of room for the two of us to share.”

Without moving, Gold made the same strangled sound as he had before at Bae’s similar suggestion that they share the bed. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through his nose before opening his eyes and removing his hand. “I hardly think that is… appropriate,” he said, without much conviction.

“Appropriate is in the eye of the beholder and the only one to behold it would be the six year old who suggested it in the first place. I think we’re on safe territory, Mr. Gold.”

It rankled her just a little that he was being so dense about this. In a little over a year, he’d barely just begun to treat her as a human being, let alone any kind of companion. Tonight he’d been so open, almost easygoing, or as easygoing as the Town Misanthrope got. She’d started to think maybe there was a chance… the way he had leaned toward her, the way he’d looked at her just moments before… that perhaps her attraction was not wholly one-sided. If that was the case, why wouldn’t he want to share a bed?

He licked his lips and, without a word, held out his hand. Belle placed his cane into it. He leaned on the cane, but did not object again as she came around to his bad side and helped him rise. Leaning on her and the cane, he limped into the bedroom.

She helped him get situated before crossing to the other side and sliding under the heavy quilt. The bed was chilly and also covered in a layer of dust (Belle made a mental note to send a cleaning service out once they got home). The blankets were unevenly distributed and sheets twisted down at the foot so she found herself sitting up and running her hands along the edges to try and fix them.

Gold shifted uncomfortably beside her as her wandering hands brushed his legs once, and then a second time. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“They’re uneven,” Belle groused, tugging at a sheet.

“Good God, woman, relax. You are off the clock. I am not Bae and I can fix my own blanket,” Gold snatched it out of her hands, rolling onto his side, away from her.

“Well, at least Bae knows how to share properly,” she replied, snaking an arm over his shoulder to pull the blanket back. “You’ve got the long end and if I don’t flip it, we’ll both have cold feet!”

He resisted for a moment before releasing it with a grumble. Belle set them to rights, smoothing the sheets up and blanket down. Gold was curled in a tight, unmoving ball and she made a face at his back.

At last she sank into the mattress, her body relaxing. She closed her eyes and let her mind meander through her day. It had been a beautiful day at the start. Gold had taken them out in a rented motorboat and shown Bae how to fish. They didn’t catch anything but that hadn’t been the point of the exercise. Bae had happily listed every fish fact he knew while his Papa listened attentively, and Belle had wished she could take a surreptitious photo. Gold looked ten years younger, lounging in the sun with his boy, relaxed and thoroughly happy. He’d even smiled at her a few times, in the brisk distracted sort of way he occasionally did these days.

Once they got back to shore, Belle had taught Bae how to recognize edible berries and they’d collected handfuls to add to the picnic lunch she’d packed. Belle kept stealing glances at Mr. Gold over Bae’s curly head. It was just so rare to see him out of a suit, dressed as he was in jeans and long sleeved shirt. The suits were always lovely and well tailored, and gave her plenty of thoughts about slowly unwrapping him like a present. Dressed down he seemed… human, like his sharp edges had been filed down. He’d caught her looking more than once, and they’d both quickly looked away.

Now she could feel the warmth of his body beside her, seeping into the sheets. She breathed out heavily through her mouth, fighting down the urge to snuggle up behind him. It was ridiculous, feeling this way for a man who could be so infuriatingly opaque. One minute they were swapping childhood stories and he looked very much like he wanted to kiss her. The next he was a human boulder, shutting her out in every way possible.

She must have drifted off at some point but a crack of thunder jolted her awake. She and Gold had rolled closer in their sleep, he on his back with an arm flung over his head and she on her side, facing him. He must also have shed the bathrobe at some point because he was only in the T-shirt now. There was barely enough light to make out his facial features but it occurred to her that he was smiling softly, unselfconsciously. She pulled herself up onto her elbow, cupping her cheek in her hand.

What would it be like to wake up like this and belong in a bed together? To lean in and kiss him awake? To have a playful little tussle before stripping each other bare and making love ‘til morning?

He made a soft little sound and Belle fancied that he was agreeing with her fantasy.

“What do you dream about, Mr. Gold?” she whispered, lowering her head back to the pillow.

Another little sound, low and masculine, greeted her query but then he fell silent and Belle fell back asleep.

The second time she woke, the rain had stopped and the moonlight shone strongly through the window. Belle had curled into Gold’s side, one arm slung over his waist. She held very, very still, listening to the thud of his heart beneath her ear. Despite the rain and the dust and the old fusty clothes, she swore she could still smell a hint of his cologne and she inhaled it deeply, trying to commit this moment to memory. The arm beneath her had fallen asleep but she couldn’t bring herself to move just yet.

She felt a rush of warm breath against the top of her head.

“Belle.”

His voice was more air than sound but it was loud enough in the now-quiet early morning.

Feeling guilty of trespassing, Belle began to shrink in on herself. Until she realized he’d used her first name. Gold had never called her anything but “Miss French” or, rarely, “Belle French”,” never just Belle. She loved the way it sounded on his lips.

“Yes?”

He released another, shakier, breath. “You’re awake.”

“Yes.”

“I… I need you to move.”

Disappointed, Belle began to slide her arm away when she realized that it had not been, as she thought, at his waist. Her arm had extended across his belly at an angle toward his hips. So as she began to roll away, her hand skimmed across… oh. Oh.

They both froze.

Belle moved first, lifting her hand away and pulling herself up on her other arm, tingling with pins and needles, to look at his face. Gold was wide eyed and slack jawed, his lips parted as he seemed to be taking one very deliberate breath after another. He studied her with an expression that bordered on fear.

Belle gathered all her courage, though her mind was sluggish with sleep and foggy with pent up desire.

“Is that… Is it because of me?” She lay her hand on his chest, noting how his heartbeat had accelerated.  

“Belle,” he whispered again, almost a whimper as he added, “Belle, please…” His eyes roved her face in the moonlight, asking a question he could not seem to form with words.

“Please, what?” Tentatively, ready to pull back at any sign she was unwelcome, she slid her hand downward, toward where she’d felt him hard and straining beneath the sheet. “Is it… I want to touch you, Edmund. May I?” Her heartbeat was thudding in her ears and her pulse seemed to have relocated itself to the apex of her legs. She’d wanted him so badly for so long and it seemed like she must be imagining this happening, even now. It took every effort to keep her hand from shaking.

He shuddered just slightly as she said his name, his eyes closing briefly before reopening on her face. “Why?” His tone was incredulous.

Belle hiccuped a giddy little giggle. “Because I’ve wanted to for months? Because if I’m just dreaming again, I don’t want to waste it? Because… because you’re finally letting me? Pick your reason, Mr. Gold.” Seeing the look on his face, she self-corrected, “Edmund.”

He made a needy little sound at that and lifted the hand that lay between them to stroke the side of her face. “And how do I know I’m not the one dreaming?”

Belle smiled gently, leaning toward him until her mouth just barely hovered over his. “Only one way to find out,” she breathed. Her eyes shut, she made a silent wish before closing that infinitesimal space and kissing him. For half a second she feared he’d push her away but then the hand at her cheek slid into her messy curls, his fingers tangling between them as he held her fast. His other arm came up to wrap around her shoulders, lips parting to allow the tip of his tongue to dart between them.

Belle met that volley with a flick of her own tongue and Gold moaned into her mouth, tightening his grip. She slid down the bed, needing to be even closer, flinging a careless leg over his hips. And oh yes, there he was, pressing hot and insistent against her inner thigh. He ground himself against her as he devoured her mouth, the hand not buried in her hair tracing her waist and hip like he was learning every curve by heart.

She snaked a hand upward, running her fingertips through the baby-soft silver hair at his temples. She’d always wondered if it would feel as good as it looked and it absolutely did. They broke apart from kissing only to gasp for air, Gold breathing half a swear word into her shoulder as she moved to straddle him completely. Belle nipped at his earlobe as she centered herself on the rigid line of his cock, bringing both knees forward to gain friction where she needed it most.

His lips found purchase along the long column of her neck, trailing biting kisses up and down its length as she shivered with pleasure and shimmied her hips against his. His hands traveled down to grasp her arse and squeeze. Belle hummed her approval and he did it again, the tips of his fingers sliding to the crease at the back of each thigh, agonizingly close to her heated core. She was embarrassingly wet already, her panties sticky and clinging, twisting with her increasingly desperate undulations.

Growing frustrated with the many layers between them, Belle sat up.

Gold’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked up at her. “Is, ah, is everything….?”

“Oh God yes,” she nodded. “Just... too many clothes, don’t you think?”

Gold made a low sound of agreement, a smile on his kiss-swollen lips. “Whatever you say, Miss French.”

“Mm, can I get that in writing?” she teased. “And I thought we were on first name basis, now.”

He looked down. “I’ve never been fond of my first name.”

“Oh.” Belle bit back a frown.

“But I like it when you say it.” He met her eyes again, his tone the quiet, confessional one he’d had on the couch earlier that night. “I… like a lot of things when you say them.”

Belle felt herself melt a little inside and dipped down to press her lips to his. He kissed back hungrily and it was all she could do to pull away long enough to tug off the loose sweater. They teased and tasted one another until they were both breathless and she touched her forehead to his.

“I’d like to see you,” he murmured.

Happy to oblige, Belle kissed the tip of his nose and sat up again, feeling his cock twitch against her.

He inhaled deeply, “Fuck. You’re…” His hands shaped her waist, gliding over her ribs to cup each small breast, the nipples already pert with arousal and the chill air. She trembled as he flicked his thumbs simultaneously under their sensitive undersides before then running a thumb over each nipple. He shook his head, hair fanning on the pillow below him. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.”

Belle blushed deeply, the color running from cheeks to chest.

Gold continued caressing her nipples with his thumbs until she was squirming, little mewling noises escaping her involuntarily. With a hand at her waist, he wordlessly directed her to lower one breast over his mouth, using his lips and tongue tease her as his other hand moved down toward the juncture of her thighs. She shifted her hips to allow him better access and he slid his hand beneath the elastic band of her borrowed pants, finding the soaking gusset of her knickers with his fingertips. He groaned at this discovery, the sound reverberating against her breast. Belle turned to allow him access to the other breast and gasped as one knuckle slid deftly along her cleft.

“Less clothes,” she mumbled, moving off of Gold to shuck her pants and underwear. Before she regained her place atop him, she tugged at the hem of his T-shirt, giving him a meaningful look.

He frowned. “Are you certain?”

Belle raised both eyebrows. “You ask that, now? Maybe I should remind you what you do to me, Mr. Edmund Gold…” Kneeling on the bed, the cold causing gooseflesh on every exposed patch of skin, she pulled his hand between her parted thighs. His fingers just barely skimmed her nether lips, coming away glistening with her arousal. He stared at them, spellbound before returning his gaze to her face. The pure adoration in his eyes was enough to leave her momentarily stunned.

She choked back an unexpected lump in her throat before gingerly reaching for his shirt, again. “Yes?”

Gold nodded, allowing her to help him sit up and divest himself of both shirt and pants. The moment they were both nude, he hauled her atop him and fervidly captured her mouth. She kissed him back with equal exuberance, rolling her hips as her slickness coated his erection. The blunt head nudged her clit and she made a needy, throaty sound that Gold eagerly swallowed. He bucked his hips beneath her, hitting the same spot again and Belle pulled back with a swear on her lips.

“Please, no more teasing… I need you,” she pleaded, almost mindless with the steadily building ache at her core. She ground herself against his cock, the head nearly slipping inside her.

“I don’t have any…” He forced the words out with some difficulty, his thighs below her tense, the muscles strained and quivering.

“Protection? It’s ok. I’ve got an IUD. And I’m clean.” Raising herself up and wrapping a hand around his shaft, she bit her lip and looked down at his face. “Please, Edmund?”

“Fucking hell, Belle,” he rasped, gripping her hips with both hands, nearly hard enough to bruise. As he lowered her hips, she guided him inside her, both hissing with pleasure as flesh met flesh, wet and hot and oh so deliciously ready. Inch by inch he filled her, her inner muscles already clenching and fluttering, until he was fully seated.

“God, you feel fucking amazing.’ His voice was almost a growl, hands still at her hips as she adjusted to the feel of him inside her.

Belle leaned in to kiss her way up his jaw to his ear. “You do too.” She canted her hips, rising up just a little before sliding back down, then repeated the motion. He rolled up and into her downward movements, echoing and answering the language of her body. “So good…” she crooned, as they began to establish a rhythm of short, sharp thrusts.

Gold’s breathing was harsh and ragged, his parted lips brushing her neck, her shoulder, her ear, whatever they could reach. Belle ducked her head to kiss his cheek, his jaw, nipping playfully at his earlobe and at his voluptuous bottom lip as heat began to spiral up her spine and down her legs. Conscious of how quiet it was without the storm, Belle held back the moans and half formed words that kept bubbling up, bursting to escape in shuddering gasps. She was getting close, slipping a hand between them to press at her sensitive little nub and riding him faster. Every fiber of her being was focused on their joining, on the way their bodies seemed to fit perfectly together, his hands moulding to her flesh as he hit all the right spots within. Her peak hit her suddenly and with a blinding force. Gold’s dull nails dug into her skin as her pussy milked him hard. She felt his teeth sink into her shoulder to muffle his moans as he reached his own completion.

Belle grasped his face between both hands and kissed him soundly. “That was worth waiting for,” she murmured against his lips.

He made a sound of agreement, pulling out of her reluctantly as she moved to lay on her side. “I’m only sorry I ever made you wait, sweetheart.” His tone was half amused bewilderment, half pillow talk.

Pulling the blankets up, she tucked herself against his side again, his arm curling automatically over her shoulders - as though they’d done this a million times. “Apology accepted. Just don’t let it happen again.”

“I like when you say that word, too. Again.” He kissed the top of her head.

“I mean it.” Belle tightened her arm around him, kissing his chest, just over his heart, in reply. Cocooned in his warmth, she began to drift off, noting that they probably had very little time left before dawn. It wasn’t light yet but she could almost feel the morning coming on.

Drowsily, he added. “I did dream of you, by the way. Just like this.”

Her heart gave a powerful thump in her chest and she tilted her head up to share a sleepy, lingering kiss. “Me too.”

[maxrev]

Sorry...it’s long. Again. These two smh. 

Day 5 - Memories

Kaidan kept the memory close to his heart, cherished it like nothing else. He’d brought it out so many times, it was like a favorite book. One whose pages were worn with the printed words inside it smudged, spine bent and creased, the cover’s edges tattered and fraying. Yet, you still continued to read it, fixing it up every so often because you couldn’t bear to part with it.

He’d been back in Vancouver with a rare weekend off, had decided to get off base for awhile. His parents owned a condo overlooking English Bay, just on the outskirts of town. It was there he went to get away, to unwind, just be himself instead of his parent’s only son or an Alliance soldier. A rare opportunity. If he’d only known then what that truly meant.

Exhausted from the latest deployment and the usual crack-of-dawn early morning routine, Kaidan slept in Saturday morning. Taking a rare moment to indulge himself, he stayed cocooned under the thick down quilt, eyes closed against the sunlight trying to steal its way between the curtains.

The air in the room was cool, the temperature having dipped overnight. Because of his biotics and always feeling too hot, he loved when the air turned cooler as he felt more comfortable in his own skin. But right now, he was warm and cozy against the chill in the air.

Finally deciding that if he didn’t get up, he’d lay in bed all day, Kaidan swung his body out from under the covers, stretching his upper body towards the ceiling to work out the kinks. The Alliance beds were hard and this bed was not. His body wasn’t used to this luxury anymore.

Walking to the window and parting the curtains, wincing against the sunlight, he saw that already clouds were moving in on the horizon, though still a good bit away. In Vancouver, grey clouds were as common and usually meant rain of some degree was on its way. That likely meant a migraine would be in his near future, how bad he wouldn’t know until it hit him.

For now though, the sky was blue and the clouds were large, white and fluffy. He’d take advantage of it.

Rubbing a hand through his mussed curls, a cup of coffee was first on his agenda. Everything else could wait. While it brewed, he fixed himself some food. Coffee pot chiming that it was done, he stirred a couple packets of sugar in the hot liquid, grabbed his plate of eggs, bacon and toast and went to enjoy breakfast on the balcony with a view of the English Bay.

He could get used to this. Maybe someday, when his career in the Alliance was done. In the meantime, he knew he had it to come back to when time permitted. Someplace quiet with a beautiful view. There was the orchard as well but here he could spend a little time alone and just recharge.

Checking the weather app on his phone, he dressed in a pair of jeans, old leather boots, a long sleeved T and his Alliance hoodie. Downtown was brimming with bookstores, museums, cafes and restaurants with every type of food imaginable. Having no specific plan, he’d just see where his feet took him and enjoy the day for what it was.

Getting close to the holidays, downtown was busy. People rushed by him in a hurry to get that one specific present or run errands before work pulled them away again. In contrast, Kaidan walked leisurely, hands in his pockets, enjoying himself. It was louder and more crowded than he generally liked but just the chance to get away for awhile made it more bearable.

A sign up ahead advertised books for sale, new and secondhand. He loved to read, though lately just never had enough time. An occasional brief opportunity presented itself while on deployment but with little room to spare, books were read on his omni-tool. The smell of the pages of a real book, the feel of it in his hands...well, nothing could compare to that.

Bells overhead signaled his arrival but no one greeted him. Murmured voices could be heard in the back, so Kaidan figured the owner was likely busy with a customer. The store was quaint, tiny, bookshelves covered in books of all kinds, top to bottom - overloaded actually. It was a booklover’s paradise. Comfy chairs, knitted colorful throws, soft pillows decorated reading nooks for those who wished to partake of a good book in a comfortable setting.

A soft meow had him glancing down. A large Maine Coon wrapped itself around his legs, purring loudly. Squatting down, Kaidan ran his hand over the soft fur, coming back to scratch the cat behind the ears. The purr intensified and he could feel it vibrate against his fingers.

“Whisky, stop bothering the customers.” The words were spoken with exasperation laced by an obvious love.

Looking up, Kaidan’s eyes met those of who must be the owner. “It’s okay. I like animals. He’s a beautiful cat. I love his name, too.”

Eyes sparkling with humor, the woman smiled, “He is beautiful and of course, he knows it, which makes him insufferable. He got into a shot of my whisky when he was a kitten. Hence, the name.” Ignoring Whisky’s answering meow, her head tilted in question, “Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“No, not really. Just thought I’d browse, see what catches my eye.”

“Okay, then. Enjoy your search. I’ll be here...or somewhere...if you have questions.” With her customer pitch out of the way, she took off again.

Breathing in the scent of all these books mingled with the pleasant smell of fragrant incense, Kaidan wandered down the aisles. He wasn’t even sure if he’d buy anything but he felt at peace here, calm and unhurried. It was a nice change. A few other customers moved out of the way as he passed, a shared look and smile, a few nodding when they saw his jacket. One women reached out and shook his hand, whispering, “Thank you for your service.” He was never quite sure what to do with that, usually just nodding in response. It was just his job, nothing more.

As his eyes traveled over a bookcase, he spotted a title he was familiar with, though hadn’t read yet. It was among many by the same title but the condition of one particular caught his interest. The book was older, hardback, and in excellent condition. He had to open it up and look inside. Reaching for it, he was distracted by a noise and turned away. His hand met resistance and Kaidan looked back to see two hands on the spine of the same book, one of them his.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who was interested in The Count of Monte Cristo.

A deep, husky voice spoke, breath ghosting across his ear, making him shiver. Turning, his breath caught as he encountered intense, vivid blue eyes crinkled at the corners. Not even realizing what he was doing, his eyes traveled lower as the man continued to talk, watching full lips move with every word. They tipped up in a smile. “Anyone home?”

Startled back to himself, Kaidan could feel a blush creeping up his neck, turning his face red. Caught in the act of staring, he wasn’t sure what to say. “I...uh, yeah. Sorry.”

His hand dropped loosely to his side. Disappointment etched his features as the book made its way into the other man’s hands. He tried, but didn’t quite succeed, in keeping the sigh from slipping between his lips. Those brilliant blue eyes looked back at his, “You really wanted this book, huh? I have to admit, it’s not every day I find someone who’s interested in the same book I am. In fact, most of the people I’m around don’t bother to read at all, unless it’s manuals. Apparently, you do.”

“I love to read. I just rarely have the time.”

Blue eyes studied the Alliance hoodie, eyebrows raising in surprise. “Alliance soldier, huh? Yeah, any downtime is rare.”

Kaidan smiled, “It is. I do manage to fit in an occasional few minutes here and there. Space is also limited on deployment, so I read mostly on my omni-tool. I much prefer holding the real thing.”

They talked for awhile, discussing their preferences of books, the pros and cons of digital versus real. Kaidan couldn’t remember when he’d connected with someone so quickly or when he’d felt so at ease. His awkwardness was well known among the soldiers he worked alongside.

“Well, I really need to get going. It was nice talking to you, Kaidan.”

“You too, John. Nice to find someone who enjoys books as much as I do.” Glancing at the book in John’s hand, Kaidan smiled. At least it would have a good home. “Enjoy your book.”

The other man slung his leather jacket, red stripes on the sleeves, across his shoulder and turned to go. Kaidan admired his well built body, black T hugging well defined muscles. Just in case, he willed his eyes to stay topside. Didn’t want to get caught staring again. Good thing too, as John turned slightly back, calling over his shoulder, “I will.” Eyes straying to the Alliance emblem, he added, “Good luck out there.” And then he was gone.

Browsing for a little while longer, Kaidan couldn’t find anything else that really caught his interest. Besides, it was about time for lunch. At least, that’s what his stomach was telling him as it growled quietly. Turning to leave, he smiled at the owner, telling her, “Wonderful store. When I’m back in town, I’ll visit again.”

“Would love to have you back! By the way, that man that you were talking to earlier? He left something here for you.”

Kaidan’s brow furrowed in confusion as she set a paper bag on the counter. Reaching inside, he pulled out a familiar book. A brilliant smile lit up his face. The Count of Monte Cristo. A random stranger, someone he’d never see again, had just given him the best gift he’d ever received.

To chance encounters in a book store.  Enjoy the book, Kaidan.  Maybe someday we’ll meet again and you can tell me how it was. -- John

[idthellyeah-blog]

“Quiltheads” by Bill Latham

(In May 2017 my good friend Bill  Latham passed away. It knocked me on my ass and put me in a spiral for a few years. Bill was a legend, in every way possible. We'd been friends since playing in bands together at The Cog Factory and had some wild misadventures later in life. He was the dude I would call when things were grim. He headbutted a bro dude at a bar once and rode another dude down a flight of stairs like a sled. Legend. I hate that we grew apart, but that's what happens with most friends. I was left with messages between each other trying to eventually meet up in Austin and a very old email of a sketch idea Bill wrote. Here it is in its entirety. I hope to someday make it a real thing. Miss you Bill.)

QUILTHEADS

A script

by Bill Latham

[Scene 1]

[Camera fades in on a dusty, country 2 lane highway.  The sky is red with the dawn of early morning. The trees along the road are green and full]

["Sugar Magnolia" by the Grateful Dead fades into the scene as a beat up VW Microbus rolls down the road.]

[The camera hovers over the VW Microbus as it rolls down the country road past farm houses.]

[Slowly the camera passes over the bus and the shot cuts to a front view directly facing the driver and front seat passenger.  The people are both quite visibly old hippies with long hair, beards, beads, rose tinted shades, and buckskins.]

[The camera cuts to an inside view of the van.  The driver [GRIZZLY] is smoking a joint and tapping with one hand on the steering wheel.  The woman in the passenger seat [HALO] is cross stitching something.]

["Sugar Magnolia" fades out slowly]

[The camera cuts between side shots of GRIZZLY and HALO as though the camera were looking from the listener's point of view in the conversation.]

GRIZZLY

We need to stop for gas, babe.

HALO

How much do we have left?

GRIZZLY

Less than a quarter tank.

[HALO begins to put her cross stitch work into a tote bag.]

HALO

I'll check the map and see what town's next.

[HALO unfolds a well worn map.  She studies it very quietly for a moment.  GRIZZLY hands her the joint and she takes deep toke off of it, holds her breath, exhales, passes it back to him, and resumes looking over the map.]

HALO

Where are we anyway, man?

GRIZZLY

In the van, babe. In the van.

[They camera cuts to a view of a green road sign showing several different towns and distances.]

HALO

Looks like we have five miles 'til Arbor Junction.

[GRIZZLY inhales the last bit of the joint and places the roach in the Microbus' ashtray along with several others.]

GRIZZLY

Arbor Junction it is, babe.

[Grizzly scratches his beard and thinks to himself for a bit.]

GRIZZLY

Where are we catching the Quilt at again?

[The camera cuts to an outside view of the VW Microbus as it continues down the road.]

[The Highway scene fades out.]

[End scene]

[Queue the Jimi Hendrix version of "All Along the Watchtower"]

[Title sequence and credits for the movie begin as "QUILTHEADS" fades into the shot]

[credits, etc.]

[Scene 2]

[The camera cuts into a very tidy and orderly looking office.]

[Text appears on screen: Grand Forks, North Dakota]

[The camera pans around the room revealing several bookshelves full of encyclopedic looking books, potted plants, and a large embroidered, psychedelic square on the wall in black matted frame.]

[The camera pans to a door and a man in a blazer, slacks, with a well trimmed beard enters the room.]

[Text appears on screen: John Naughton, Professor of Historical Studies, University of North Dakota]

[PROFESSOR NAUGHTON reaches toward the camera and shakes the hand of the off screen INTERVIEWER.]

INTERVIEWER

Thank you for meeting with us today Professor Naughton.

[The camera maintains a focus on PROFESSOR NAUGHTON at all times and never shows the INTERVIEWER.]

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

It's my pleasure.  Now what can I do for you?

INTERVIEWER

Well, as I said on the telephone yesterday, I was looking for someone to give us some background on the AIDS quilt and the people who follow it around the country.

[PROFESSOR NAUGHTON looks outwardly, very stern, but manages an amused smile.]

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

Oh you mean the Quiltheads?

INTERVIEWER

Yes, the Quiltheads.

[PROFESSOR NAUGHTON chuckles to himself a little bit and regains his composure.]

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

We'd better have a seat then.

[PROFESSOR NAUGHTON walks towards his desk and takes a seat.   He clears some papers aside and places them in a drawer.  He reaches under the desk and pulls out a bottle of Wild Turkey Whiskey and sets it down in view of the camera.  He picks up the telephone at his desk and hits a number.]

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

Send in two glasses of ice, Irene.  Thank you.

[The camera stays focused on PROFESSOR NAUGHTON as he sits and waits without saying anything.  The interviewer is silent as well.]

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

I'm sorry for the delay.

[There is a knock on the office door and the camera pans towards it.  IRENE the secretary enters the room with two glasses full of ice and the camera follows her as she sets them down on PROFESSOR NAUGHTON's desk.]

[The camera pans back to PROFESSOR NAUGHTON]

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

Thank you, Irene.

[The camera follows Irene as she leaves the room and closes the door and then pans back to PROFESSOR NAUGHTON who is now pouring the Wild Turkey into the two glasses.  He hands one to the INTERVIEWER and they clink glasses.]

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

Ah, Kentucky...now where were we?

[PROFESSOR NAUGHTON sips on his whiskey as the interview begins.]

INTERVIEWER

First off, what can you tell us about the AIDS quilt.

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

The AIDS quilt is a memorial for people who have died of AIDS related causes.  It began in 1987 and has continued for over 20 years now.  It's the largest community art project in the entire world.  The panels in the quilt are sized at 3 by 6 feet, to represent the standard size of a human grave. The panels are grouped into 12 by 12 feet sections called Blocks.  Usually there about 8 panels in one block.

INTERVIEWER

And why is this?

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

Well, when the project began, many funeral homes would not handle the bodies of deceased AIDS patients and many were cremated rather than buried.  The project represents a graveyard in the form of a patchwork quilt, but without the morbidity of a graveyard as it is a celebration of the lives of people who have died from AIDS.  Currently there are 44,000 reported panels.  The quilt itself weighs over 54 tons.

INTERVIEWER

That's fascinating.  Now, what subcultural groups have been involved with the quilt in the past?

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

Well, there have always been a wide variety of folks involved with this project.  I mean, what else can you really expect from a disease that can affect every human being regardless of race, gender, economic status, or sexual preference?  Honestly, when you have a disease that affects everyone, you see a sampling of literally everyone represented.

INTERVIEWER

So, why Quiltheads?  What makes the Quiltheads different?

[PROFESSOR NAUGHTON has a deeply concerned looking stare.]

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

I'm trying to find a polite way to say this...

INTERVIEWER

Feel free to take your time.

[PROFESSOR NAUGHTON scratches his chin]

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

It's clearly a sensitive issue and I don't want to appear callous and I don't wish to generalize...

INTERVIEWER

...but?

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

Well, Quiltheads tend not to, well...

[PROFESSOR NAUGHTON struggles for the words and sips his whiskey.]

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

...it's just, they don't...

[PROFESSOR NAUGHTON stares above and sort of beyond the frame of the camera.]

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

...they usually don't have AIDS or much association with anyone who does.  They aren't coming out to see the AIDS quilt in support of anything.  In fact, many of them that I have met may not even be aware what AIDS actually even is.  This may be for the best as they would probably describe it as "a bummer" or "harshing their mellow".

[PROFESSOR NAUGHTON finishes the whiskey glass in a gulp and begins to pour another.]

INTERVIEWER

[long pause]...How can they have missed out on that information?

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

Well, as I understand it, up until 1995 the vast majority of Quiltheads spent their summers following the Grateful Dead around on tour as many of them had been doing since the 1960's.  As you can imagine, these people have consumed massive- and I say that in the way that the universe is massive- massive amounts of lysergic acid diethylamide.  I mean, they've been dosing themselves for years with LSD.  That's bound to effect perception of reality quite a bit.  Now, I understand that was exactly what many of them were going for, but there comes a point where everything has become so disconnected from reality for these people- the disconnect is so great- they're utterly divorced from reality... they...they...oh Christ...I can't believe I'm even letting you interview me about this.

[PROFESSOR NAUGHTON takes a giant gulp from the whiskey glass.]

INTERVIEWER

And I thank you very much for doing so, sir.  Your assistance has been greatly appreciated.

PROFESSOR NAUGHTON

What I'm trying to say is that the Quiltheads are an anomaly unto themselves.  In 1995 Jerry Garcia died and these people were left with a large gap in their lives.  Many of them began asking themselves who or what they would follow around from city to city next?  Some of them happened across a viewing of the AIDS quilt while loaded on acid and then found out it was a touring exhibition.  Suddenly, they had a new purpose in life.  They had a new experience.  They had something else to follow around the country that would allow them to peddle shoddily made Hippy crap in the parking lots of every civic center and arena from the Atlantic to the Pacific.  And ever since they've continued to grow.

INTERVIEWER

Thank you very much Professor Naughton.

[Professor Naughton nods and begins to pour another drink.]

[Scene ends and fades to black]

[Scene 3]

[Segue to "Teach Your Children Well" by Crosby, Stills, & Nash]

[Camera fades in at a mom and pop diner in dusty little country town.  GRIZZLY and HALO's VW Microbus is parked outside.]

[The camera zooms in towards the door and follows it's way past diners, waitresses, and tables to the dining couple.]

[The camera frames GRIZZLY and HALO from a side view allowing us to see them as they face each other.]

[They munch away on plates of food without saying anything.]

[The camera time lapses while they eat.  A waitress walks in and out of the frame.  Several diners walk past them.  Finally they pay the waiter and get up and leave.  The shot fades to black and the music goes silent.]

[end scene]

[Scene 4]

[Camera fades in at a craft table in a crowded parking lot.]

[Queue "Gimme Shelter" by the Rolling Stones]

[The camera pans across the tables' wares revealing hackey sacks, dream catchers, small glass marijuana pipers, beanies, and hemp necklaces.]

[The camera cuts across different scenes in the parking lot: hippies playing hackey sack, families walking together towards the civic center, elderly folks, gay rights banners, extremist christian protesters, etc.]

[The camera cuts back to the craft table in the parking lot where a man is standing at work]

[Text appears on screen: Denver, Colorado]

[The camera pans up to the man selling the products, an old acidhead Hippy with a scraggly beard, wearing a dye tyed  t-shirt.]

[Text appears on screen: Benjamin "Wolfy" Johnson, Salesman]

[The camera zooms in on a sale that WOLFY is making. An old woman hands him a twenty dollar bill and he passes her back a hemp necklace.]

WOLFY

Peace, man.

[Wolfy flashes her a peace sign.]

[The old woman smiles and walks out of frame.]

["Gimme Shelter" fades out.]

INTERVIEWER

We're here in Denver, Colorado with a peddler of small trinkets that calls himself Wolfy outside of an AIDS Quilt viewing.  Wolfy sells handmade items in the parking lot at these displays and follows the AIDS Quilt all over the country.  Wolfy, when did you first discover the Quilt?

[Camera zooms in on WOLFY. His eyes are very glassy and his pupils very dilated.  He looks stoned out of his mind.]

WOLFY

It musta been about...I dunno...'96, '97... everything was kind of a blur after Jerry died, man. I was wanderin' around DC one afternoon and I'd just taken a few hits of this Batman blotter acid...I'm from Baltimore originally and I was hanging out in DC a lot in those days...

[The camera stays focused on WOLFY who is not particularly focused on much of anything.  His eyes wander when he isn't speaking and he plays with his hands and fidgets like a scared child.]

INTERVIEWER

In 1996, Washington, DC hosted the largest display of the AIDS Quilt on record at the Capitol Mall.  Is this the display you saw Wolfy?

[WOLFY's attention returns to the camera and he looks directly into the shot.]

 WOLFY

Whoa?! Far out! I was at the biggest display?

[WOLFY is once again distracted.]

INTERVIEWER

Well, I can't necessarily say for certain, Wolfy...

[WOLFY resumes his stare into the camera.]

WOLFY

Duuuuude... yeah, it was outside.  I remember seeing the Washington Monument and thought I needed to stop and worship it...I was pretty zonked dude...I'd taken a few hits of this Batman blotter acid...and see, I'm from Baltimore originally, but I was hanging around in DC a lot in those days...

[WOLFY is still staring at the camera and talking as he interrupted.]

INTERVIEWER

Uh, yes- you already told us that, Wolfy.  Now, about the Quilt-

[WOLFY holds his stare into the camera and looks visibly excited.]

WOLFY

Well, dude, the Quilt totally blew my mind.  I still don't even really understand what it's all about.  But if I drop a few hits of acid or eat a fistful of mushrooms, I can walk around staring at it all day long.  Sometimes you see the most fucked up things and sometimes you see things that make you feel so sappy you want to cry because your heart feels so moved.  It's insane dude!!!  Ever since that afternoon I understood that I was meant to follow the Quilt around.  I started selling merch in the parking lots for gas money & food to keep up with it.  I've been on the road following the Quilt now since '98.

[WOLFY begins to stare off camera again.

INTERVIEWER

And you have friends who do this too, correct?

WOLFY

Oh yeah, man.  We live for the Quilt.  The Quilt is like God for us, man.  When we look into the Quilt we see things that we never thought we'd see in our entire lives.  It's a really positive experience over all, man.  I love the Quilt.

INTERVIEWER

Wolfy, do you know what the Quilt represents?

WOLFY

It represents a lot of things man.  Each one of those panels is different.

INTERVIEWER

Well, yes, that's true, but what I was asking about- just a little more specifically was "do you know what the Quilt is a memorial for?"

WOLFY

Well...I'd say people.  Yeah, it's definitely about people, man.

INTERVIEWER

...And there's something that all of those people have in common, right Wolfy?

WOLFY

Everybody's got something in common, man.  I heard Keith Richards say once that "blood is red and bones is white".

INTERVIEWER

...And while I agree that's an interesting point, Wolfy, I'm kind of asking you what we reporters call a "leading question"...

WOLFY

You lead and I'll follow, man.  I think I get it.

INTERVIEWER

[with growing agitation in his voice]

What kind of people are being memorialized, Wolfy?

WOLFY

It seems to be about everybody, man.  I can dig that.

INTERVIEWER

[Explosively]

Do you even know what a Memorial is for??!

WOLFY

For remembering, man.  For remembering.

[Camera follows WOLFY back to his craft table as someone hands him money.]

[The camera pans from the view of the table to a view of the grass as though the camera man has tossed it in a fit of irritation.]

INTERVIEWER

Goddamnit!

[The shot fades to black.]

[End scene]

[Queue "Brokedown Palace" by the Grateful Dead]

[The camera fades in on the side of the two lane highway that we have been following HALO and GRIZZLY down.]

[Their VW microbus is pulled over on the side of the road and the front driver side tire is clearly flat.  There is a jack propping the vehicle up.  GRIZZLY is busily working at the lugnuts with a tire iron while HALO sort of dances to a song that no one else can hear.]

[The camera zooms in on GRIZZLY who continues to turn away on a lugnut.]

[He stops turning the tire iron for a moment and looks over to HALO.]

GRIZZLY

Hey, babe, it's "righty-tighty-lefty-loosey" right?

[The camera pans to HALO who turns to him still sort of dancing.]

HALO

Yeah, man.  "Righty-tighty-lefty-loosey" it is.

[The camera cuts back to GRIZZLY.]

GRIZZLY

Oh good.  I was gettin' worried there for a minute.

[GRIZZLY successfully removes one lug nut and holds it up in front of his face a little bit and then peers through the hole in the center.  He sets the tire iron down and stands up.  He stretches his arms out and opens the driver side door of the microbus. Seconds later he emerges from the microbus with a joint and sparks it up.  He holds the lugnut back up towards his eye and looks through it and then takes another toke.

[The camera pans to HALO.]

[HALO dances over towards GRIZZLY and the camera follows. She takes the joint away from him and takes a couple of puffs herself.]

HALO

Hey man, you've only gotten one of those lugnuts off that tire!  You still got 3 more to go and then you gotta put all of 'em back on before it's time to party!

[GRIZZLY smiles sheepishly.]

[He gets back down on the ground, picks the tire iron up and gets back to work.]

[Halo sits down beside him on the road and continues to smoke the joint.]

HALO

What do you think the Quilt's gonna be like tomorrow?

[GRIZZLY removes another lugnut.  He sets it down on the side of the road next to the first one.  He begins to remove a third.]

GRIZZLY

We haven't caught it in a couple weeks, Babe.  I expect it to be pretty intense.  Where are we catching it at anyway?

[HALO thinks for a moment and her stare is intense.  A smile creeps across her face as she remembers.]

HALO

Omaha, Nebraska, man.  At some auditorium.

[GRIZZLY continues to unfasten the lugnut.]

GRIZZLY

Far out, man!  I wonder if Omaha's ready for us?

[HALO holds the joint in front of GRIZZLY's mouth so he can take a drag too.]

HALO

I think it's the same place we saw the Dead in '78, man.

[GRIZZLY stops.  He drops the tire iron.  His eyes are wide with excitement.]

GRIZZLY

WHOOOOOOOA! Far out, babe!  It'll be like...what's that word...synchronicity!

[high5nerd]

Alone Together---Chap. Eight

I don't remember moving from that couch, but we were outside in the cold air that night, watching the sky darken and the stars come out. So far that dream I had seemed possible, and I wasn't sure if I was welcoming that idea. As long as we both meant it...that she meant it...I'd gladly have that dream be a reality.

But it was much different. She and I were lying under the stars, hands behind our heads and happily enjoying the silence. Though immune to temperatures, she was bundled up snugly with her jacket, gloves and beanie. She was still shivering from the biting wind. Twice, I suggested we go inside, but she refused. She wanted to see a shooting star so badly, she said she would rather freeze to death than miss it. A comet shower would happen soon, and there was no reason to make her change her mind.

I like how stubborn she is. It's refreshing. Almost amusing as well.

"See any yet?" she asked, wisps of her breath curling into the air.

"No, but that satellite is throwing me off." I pointed to the sky, right where a tiny pinprick in the sky was lazily drifting further to our right.

She laughed, and moved her body closer to mine for warmth. I smiled and teasingly raised a brow, "I thought you said you could handle the cold?"

"Oh come on, it's colder than you would think." she bumped my side with her elbow.

"Short people have a tendency to be more prone to being cold. Nothing to be ashamed of." I teased, looking back at the sky.

"Ugh, God you're annoying." she groaned. I knew she hated being shorter than me. I couldn't blame her. I was a massive six foot three feet tall. She was a shrimp compared to me. Okay, maybe not a shrimp, but a head shorter than me.

I chuckled, knowing she was smiling along with my dry humor.

But then across the sky shot a bright, wicked star. A white-hot tail left its mark quickly in a matter of milliseconds before dying out again.

"Saw one." I grinned, making a silent wish.

"Darn! I missed it." she snapped her fingers, but then turned her head to mine and asked, "What did you wish for?"

"...I honestly don't know what to wish for." I blinked slowly. My mouth seemed to say the words without my brain registering what I was speaking. I was still thinking about the beauty of that shooting star.

"Really?" she looked up, looking quite surprised, "Not anything?"

"Nope."

"Not power, fame, connections...anything?" she was starting to give me a suspicious look.

"...Well, there is one wish. But I know it will never happen." Yep. My mouth was no longer connected to my head. It was foolishly flapping all on it's own while my brain is shouting at me to shut up and not let this woman see inside myself.

Damn her and her kindness. Damn it all for making me so vulnerable.

"What would it be, even if it would never happen?" she asked, rolling onto her back again, inches away from me. Darn. I liked having my arm draped around her shoulders.

I thought about it for a while, maybe a good two minutes before finally-and quite truthfully-telling her. Before I gained control of my own being, the fearlings would often whisper and hiss in my mind that the Boogeyman must be the strongest of all spirits, showing not only no mercy, but no feeling and no honesty. And for a while...I believed that. I soon found it disgusting and disturbing to see others confessing feelings or sharing personal thoughts that would have no beneficial improvement on their current predicament. It still slightly irks me. Where I'm from, men refused even the slightest 'are you alright' questions. It was because even at birth, we're born to be warriors. We were born to be strong, fearless pilots of the spaceships and fight off the darkness that consumed every constellation in the universe. That is, until I...uh, switched sides.

But this world was different from the one I was from. In some ways, even brave soldiers confide in each other and those they trust. Humanity here had a strong connection to their thoughts and feelings...which in a way is beneficial to us spirits as well. Fear, dreams, hopes, wonder, memories...they all came from the whispers of trust.

Maybe Alice was one of those people I could confide in.

"A family."

It was quiet. She stared at the sky, her mouth unmoving, closed in thought. I looked over at her. Maybe I shouldn't have truthfully told her what I wished for...it definitely wasn't 'Boogeyman' material.

She finally looked at me, and I felt my heart stop. It even ached seeing her tears. She gave a small smile before wiping her tears away.

"Me too."

There was another warm silence between us, nothing too bothersome. Well, maybe it was slightly bothersome to her. Because right as I was about to open my mouth and change the subject, she blurted out, "Not that Sadie isn't family. I just...I just want Mom and Dad back."

"I know." I said, looking at her seriously.

"Do you remember your parents?" she asked, almost whispering it out so I couldn't detect her voice wavering.

"I'm willing to change the subject if this bothers you, Alice. Really." I stated, and it made her smile, at least.

"That's sweet of you, but I'm okay. Trust me...Well?"

Honestly, the only memory I have of my parents back in the Golden Age was when they attended the ceremony of my becoming of a general and their hopeful faces as I left the piers to fight the fearlings...I couldn't even recall their first names besides Mother and Father. I can't even remember if I had any siblings. Sad, isn't it?

So when I told her that, she looked surprised. Then after more explanation of what era and universe I lived in before here, she seemed to understand. I could tell not by her nodding, but by that twinkle in her eye.

"So you're as old as the mountains and rivers, basically. I can't blame you for the memories fading away."

I raised a brow at her, smirking, "Hey, I'm not as old as Pangea, missy."

"I wasn't implying that." she laughed, nudging me with her elbow as she sat up.

"It sure sounded like you were. Well, in a poetic way," I sneered at her, "which doesn't ease the insult any better."

"So how old were you before you became yourself?" she asked, genuinely curious.

Again, I had to think about it. Let's see...became an officer at nineteen...married at twenty two...general at twenty four...father at twenty five…

"Thirty, at least." I finally said.

She laughed and touched the hair on my head, "Oh, so those aren't highlights?"

I blinked, eyes widened. "What are you talking about?" I couldn't help but feel shivers run up and down my spine as her fingers played with my hair. It oddly felt good.

She gave a quite attractive, mischievous grin before saying cheekily, "You've been under a lot of stress for all these years, huh? It's showing handsomely in your hair."

Immediately my hands flew up to my hair and covered it, causing her to roll back and laugh, covering her mouth to quiet herself before Sadie could hear us outside when she was supposed to be sleeping. I glared at her, trying to hold back a smirk. Cheeky wench.

"At least you said handsomely. Besides, you have no idea what stress is like when you're immortal." I huffed, sitting up myself.

She finally calmed herself and nodded, "Yeah, I give you full credit for that. You're pretty strong."

I smiled and looked away, pulling out green blades of grass and throwing them somewhere else, away from me. She watched me for a while before giggling out, "Not good with compliments, huh?"

"Nope. Never have been, never will." I winked at her, and she gave one last beaming, white smile before getting up.

"Come on, I need sleep myself. You wanna spend the night again?" she asked, helping me up gracefully.

"I think I've earned that right after you pointed out my greying hair." I pouted, and it caused Alice to smile again.

"Call it peppering. I think it's very pretty with your hair, since it's already dark. It gives it shape."

"Oh, so now you're a hair stylist?" I laughed, causing her to roll her eyes at my playful jab.

Meanwhile, Sadie peered out the window as we walked towards the patio once more, the moonlight making the backyard bright enough to show that her beloved sister was in fact smiling and having fun. She smiled to herself and turned to Sanderson, who was happily sitting Indian style on her bed with children's playing cards spread out on her quilted bed.

"I'm glad Pitch is making Alice happy." she sighed, jumping back onto the bed and picking up her cards.

Sandy nodded as well, his smile showing just that. He put down an ace with fishes, and Sadie snapped her fingers disappointedly.

"Is this his first time talking with real people?" Sadie asked, drawing two cards from the thick deck.

Sandy touched his chin in thought, his mind reeling backwards in time to recall such events. Finally, he shook his head and held up two fingers.

"Second? What was the first time?" Sadie raised a brow, accidentally bending a card between the pads of her fingers.

Sandy conjured up an image of Jamie Bennett, and Sadie immediately recognized him. She beamed brightly, "The storyteller? He really met Pitch? That's so cool!"

Sandy silently laughed, his sparkling eyes crinkling with amusement. Through his chuckles he pointed at her cards to pick, and she quickly put down a five of jellyfish before slapping the deck, making Sandy crinkle his nose teasingly. Sadie giggled before moving her left card over to her right hand.

"Someday, can I meet North and the others?" Sadie asked, hushing herself when she heard the sliding door of the patio open, following the murmurs of her sister and Boogeyman friend.

Sandy raised a golden eyebrow, intrigued at the question. North hasn't ever had children over at his place, not even Jamie Bennett. The big man himself also knew how much Sadie meant to Sandy, for she was his Devout Bond. Maybe he would allow her to visit the place, just for a while.

Sandman smiled and gestured to her, his way of saying, Like right now?

Sadie gasped as her smile grew wide, "Yeah! Right now!"

Sandman nodded excitedly and jumped up, Alright! First we'll stop by the Island of Sleepy Sands, and then we'll take a ride in the Dream Ship to Santoff Claussen, okay?

Sadie quietly cheered as Sandy opened the window and morphed golden stairs to help them leave the room. After a quick shake of his finger, Sadie retrieved her white winter coat and light blue mittens. She was so filled with excitement, she ran up the stairs and onto the stingray that flapped slowly in the air, waiting for it's passengers to board. This wasn't the first time Sadie had a ride on one of these magical beasts, it might have been her fifth or sixth. She always loved late-night rides like this with the Sandman.

Rolling his eyes, he grabbed her light blue scarf and hat she forgot before following her to the stingray. Behind him, the window shut closed firmly, and the sand stairs fell to nothing once more, but a pile of glowing sand, barely visible to the naked eye.